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hp_drizzlemod ([personal profile] hp_drizzlemod) wrote in [community profile] hpdrizzle2017-09-06 08:21 pm

FIC: One Dark and Stormy Night [Harry/Draco]

Title: One Dark and Stormy Night
Author: Anonymous
Prompt: S1 by [personal profile] shiftylinguini
Pairing(s): Draco/Harry
Word Count: 5,235
Rating: NC-17
Warning(s): Triggers for anger and shouting, although all’s well that ends well.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: All the thanks in the world to the incredible SL, who’s the kindest, funniest, most encouraging beta I could have ever hoped for.
Summary: The prompt says it all: When Hagrid’s animal sanctuary floods in a sudden freak storm, he needs all the help he can get. Harry and Ron are of course more than willing, and are prepared for anything ― except, of course, to see that Malfoy is assigned to help too, as part of his community service. (If you like bickering, shouting, and getting caught in the rain… you’re in the right place.)

Draco was soaked to the skin.

He was slogging down to Hagrid’s from the castle, casting Impervius charms that weren’t quite strong enough to keep him dry, muttering curses at this freak storm and its bloody buckets of rain and thunder and lightning and hail and who even knew what else, damn it all.

When McGonagall had summoned him to her office to send him to help Hagrid, Draco hadn’t been surprised. It was awful outside and this was an awful job, so of course he would be sentenced to it. That was simply how Hogwarts worked, now, for him.

None of Draco’s friends had returned to school after the war, and most of the time, he wished he hadn’t either. But he’d had nowhere else to go; it was either be shipped off to Hogwarts or be confined to the Manor, and that was vastly worse. Guilt and anger, the ever-present twins inside him, gave a quick knock to Draco’s heart and he picked up his pace to a jog in the slashing rain, as fast as he could go without slipping.

Draco ran past Hagrid’s hut, now dwarfed by the animal sanctuary he’d built after the war. The sprawling complex was easily four or five times the size of the modest wooden hut, and the hospital wing looked like a modern veterinary facility, all sterile surfaces, institutional lighting and medicinal smells. It had been trickily designed to appear official and reassuring — wild animals and pets all rehabilitated here, including animals belonging to Muggles, and the place was charmed within an inch of its life so that they had no idea they were on magical grounds. No magic from the staff, either — at least, not with the Muggles around, or the wizarding staff would spend half their time Obliviating freaked-out pet-owners.

But after hours, when the Muggles had gone, so many of their pets experienced miraculous recoveries that Hagrid’s hospital was becoming famous all over the country. The big oaf was coming into his own, Draco had to admit, although he avoided Hagrid whenever he could. The image of him carrying Harry’s limp body back up to the castle was still too vivid. It would always be too vivid.

Draco finally reached the sliding doors of the hospital. They silently parted to reveal Harry and Ron pushing some kind of Muggle cleaning tools — long wooden handles, like brooms had, but with strange spongy strings on the end of them — all over the floor of the waiting room. Their clothes and hair were plastered to their bodies.

Bloody hell. Draco should have known they’d be here.

"What are you doing here?" Weasley asked, echoing Draco's own thoughts, as he started toward the two of them.

"Ron, come on." Harry was standing right there, drenched with his water-broom-thing, his red t-shirt drawn tight across his chest and his hair even more disheveled than usual. Harry, with an oddly kind and gentle expression on his face. Harry, looking so bloody fit.

"It’s fine. It’s part of my community service," Draco said, turning away from Harry and peeling off his drenched jacket, his lips and cheeks numb with cold.

"Whatever, Malfoy. Leave it to you to get here long after we actually need help," Ron grumbled.

"Shut up, Weasel," Draco said dully, but without any heat behind it. He motioned to the giant puddle in the floor. "Why aren’t you using magic to clean this up? It’s after hours, isn’t it?"

"Oh, thanks ever so, Malfoy, we hadn’t thought of that!" sniped Weasley, the unpleasant little git.

Harry shot Ron another look. "The Muggles are here late tonight," he explained to Draco. "Cleaners and things, helping with the flooded areas. But all the animals are safe now, moved to the upper floors. We’re basically finished."

"No thanks to you," Ron muttered, wringing out his water broom into a dirty yellow bucket on wheels.

Draco started to snap a sarcastic reply, but he forced himself to bite it back, just as he’d been doing for months. He’d only returned to Hogwarts by the grace of McGonagall and Harry himself, through a series of humiliating conversations he never wanted to revisit. The new headmistress had made it quite clear that Draco’s return was conditional on his endless community service, his good behavior, and his ability to get along with every single fool at Hogwarts. It was embarrassing and exhausting, and it made Draco’s mind so cluttered and noisy with unspoken, furious thoughts that he could hardly stand to be in his own head.

But he could hardly stand to get out of his own head, either. Entire days went by when Draco barely spoke a word. He felt Snape’s absence like a strange ache, a hollow at the base of his throat, like the empty space left when something essential and necessary went missing after you’d barely even noticed it before. He’d dropped Potions, his old favorite class, unable to stomach even the walk down the corridor. No one seemed to notice or care.

Draco fetched one of the odd brooms leaning up against a far wall, surreptitiously casting a quick drying charm on himself. Weasley was just standing there now, glaring at him behind Harry’s back like he expected, even wanted, Draco to snap at him. But self-control was not something Draco had ever lacked. And he certainly didn’t intend to lose it now, in a glorified barn of all places, and not because of a Weasley, and certainly not in front of Harry sodding Potter.

"Where’s Hagrid?" Draco asked instead.

Ron turned away, disappointed that the fight he was itching for wasn’t coming. Harry answered instead. "He’s in the outdoor paddock with the Thestrals, trying to convince them to come inside. It’s what we were doing before this, but it wasn’t working, so we came in here to try to clean up instead."

Not Thestrals, Draco thought, his heart sinking. He hated Thestrals. He’d need to make sure that McGonagall knew he’d shown up like he was supposed to, but he didn’t fancy the company of the Thestrals any more than he wanted to see Hagrid.

"Hagrid said we could leave after this," Harry volunteered. Draco thought he was looking at him oddly, too hard and too long, but he didn’t dare glower back. His water broom was already soaked through, and he surreptitiously cast a quick charm to wring out its stringy wet rags.

"Oh! Hadn’t thought of that," Harry exclaimed and cast the charm himself. Draco felt the glow of Harry’s magic the whole way across the room, that powerful git. "Brilliant. This’ll go twice as fast now."

"We’re not allowed to do magic in here!" Ron hissed, but Draco saw him furtively pull his own wand out a minute later.

The three of them worked in silence, sopping up water, wringing it out into the wheeled buckets, casting drying charms, and repeating the whole mess. After a few minutes, the last of the puddle was gone, and they rolled their buckets into a utility closet to empty the last of the disgusting water into an equally disgusting sink.

"Come on, then," Harry said to Ron and Draco, "We can go over to Hagrid’s and Floo back to the common room."

"No. I’ll walk." Draco said it reflexively; he was so used to disagreeing with everything Harry did or said that the words came out before he even knew he was thinking them.

"What? Why?" Ron asked, displaying the same exact reflex. "You could Floo to the Slytherin common room. You wouldn’t have to..." his voice trailed off when he saw the imperious look Draco plastered on his face. "You know what, forget it, Malfoy. I couldn’t care less why you want to walk. Freeze your arse off walking back up the hill. Go ahead and drown, for all I care. Come on, Harry."

Ron stepped toward the doors and they slid open, letting in the sounds of the crashing rainstorm still battering the building and the hillside.

Both of them started outside, with Harry behind them. Ron turned away from Draco, heading right toward Hagrid’s instead of left toward the castle. Draco, relieved at being alone again, began to jog through the rain, but then he heard Ron call to Harry, "Come on, then, mate, what are you waiting for?"

And he heard Harry shout above the rain, "I’m going this way!"

"What?" Ron called.

"Don’t want Draco to go it alone!" Harry called back.

Draco? Since when did Harry Potter call him Draco?

Before he had time to process that, though, Harry was heading toward him.

"You’re completely mad!" Ron shouted back to them, as he waved his wand, apparently trying and failing again to cast an Impervius charm.

"S’alright!" Harry shouted back. "I’ll see you up there!"

Ron looked like he wanted to keep arguing, but the rain was coming down in sheets and so he seemed to give up, with raised eyebrows and an odd expression on his face. "Suit yourself, I guess," he called over his shoulder suspiciously, and broke into a run toward the hut.

Harry slung his bag over his shoulder and jogged up to Draco, who started to scowl at him and then decided it wasn’t worth it. They trudged without talking, the rain cascading down. Draco’s hair dripped in his eyes, and his sodden robes flopped around his legs. He glanced over at Harry and found him looking back, curiously, so Draco whipped his head back and stared at the ground.

It was all right until they tried to get up the hill to approach the castle. The steeper the incline, the more slick and impossible it became.

After they both began to slip and stumble in earnest, Harry broke their silence first and called over to Draco, "I know why you’re doing this, Malfoy."

"I’m not interested in your psychoanalysis, Potter," Draco called back, trying to get past a particularly muddy patch. Harry was already ahead of him and offered a hand, but Draco ignored it — and promptly fell in the mud onto his hands and knees.

"Fuck me," he said through gritted teeth, the first crack in his temper beginning to show. He hated being dirty even more than he hated Thestrals.

"It’s because you’re punishing yourself!" Harry called again, taking a few steps back and grabbing Draco’s elbow to help him up, without his permission.

"Fuck you," he said, turning to Harry and wrenching his arm away. "Spare me the savior routine."

"Well, fuck you too!" Harry shot back. "Don’t be an arse. You’re the one who didn’t want to use the Floo, Malfoy!"

"Then what in Merlin’s name are you doing here with me?" Draco ground out through gritted teeth, trying to make himself heard above the crashing rain while holding onto the last shred of the careful control he kept on his temper. It was slipping. Dreadfully. Just like Draco’s feet.

As he tried to pick up his pace to get away from Harry, Draco lost his footing even more dramatically and fell into the mud again. This time, he didn’t just fall to his knees, he fell flat on his face and his chin bumped the ground.

And Harry laughed.

And Draco lost it.
Gracelessly hauling himself to his feet yet again, Draco brandished his wand at Harry, and he let his guard down. Just the anticipation of finally losing his temper after all this time — relief flooded him before he even said a word. His throat loosened, his shoulders dropped, every muscle in his body released the tension and guilt and fear he’d been collecting inside himself for months.

"No, seriously, Potter, why are you here? What do you want from me?" Draco shouted, advancing on him with his wand outstretched. Harry gave a start but stood his ground, just looking back at him, eyes obscured by his wet fringe and foggy glasses, brows furrowed with confusion and — Draco wasn't sure if he could see it — disdain. Or something... what was that expression? Draco shoved his own wet fringe off his face and plowed on.

"I already owe you my life, Potter, my entire stupid, worthless life. Which is complete and utter rubbish, by the way. Is that not enough for you?"

"Come off it, Malfoy, your life isn’t rubbish, stop being such a prat and—"

Draco sneered and it felt wonderful. He’d missed sneering. He sneered more.

"My life is complete rubbish, Potter! Endless, endless rubbish. You’ve absolutely no idea. Do you need me to humiliate myself even more for you? What am I supposed to do, get down on my knees and thank you for saving me? I wish you hadn’t!"

Draco was losing control, his rage bubbling up and out and it felt so good, it felt fucking fantastic to scream and scream and scream, all the things he’d wanted to say for so long just pouring out into the darkness.

"I wish you’d left me in the Fiendfyre with Vince. I wish I’d let go of you on that broom, I wish I’d had the bollocks to do it. I wish that every day. I should have died that night, I should have died! And now I'm supposed to be grateful to you for saving me?"

Draco kept shouting, kept going, telling far more truth than he’d ever meant to. Harry stared at him with his fists clenched. He was the picture of confusion, nostrils flaring, narrow shoulders heaving, soaked clothes plastered to his chest. His whole body vibrated with barely controlled emotion. Fuck, but he was gorgeous.

The rage on Harry’s dripping face mixed with something else, and Draco realized now what that look was. Something he’d never seen before, something he hadn’t believed was possible… something he suddenly, desperately, wanted to see again and again and again.


It flared in Draco, too. He’d known but hadn’t known how he felt about Harry for years, maybe even since that first fateful moment when Harry had refused to shake his hand on the Hogwarts Express. But sometime during fifth year, it had clicked into place for Draco, and now he desperately wanted nothing more than for Harry to feel that same click too.

"I don’t care about the fucking life debt, Malfoy," Harry called at him. "I don’t want it and I don’t care. I…" Harry cast around for the right word, actually looking around him like he might find it somewhere on the dark, drenched hillside — "I absolve you, all right? I cancel the life debt. Forget it, it’s gone."

"It doesn’t work that way and you know it!" Draco shouted back at him, feeling his throat beginning to go hoarse. "I wish it did, because I fucking hate you, Harry Potter."

"I fucking hate you too, Malfoy!" Harry was raising his voice, beginning to slip out of control himself, pulling his wand from his pocket and pointing it at Malfoy. "I fucking hate every inch of you!"

"Then what do you want from me?" Draco screamed.

"I don’t know!" Harry finally screamed back, furious, incandescent with rage. His skin seemed to shimmer with anger, and he whipped his dripping hair out of his eyes.

"Yes you bloody well do, Potter!" Draco screamed back. He’d gone this far, and it felt so good that he couldn’t have stopped now even if he’d wanted to, even if one of Hagrid’s sodding Hippogriffs had lumbered out in the middle of the field between them. "You know it and I know it and Ron bloody knows it and probably so do all your bloody Gryffindor friends!"

"What? What are you even talking about, Malfoy?" Harry shouted, looking genuinely confused. "I have no fucking idea—"

And Harry stopped in his tracks, because suddenly — Draco could just tell; it was written plain as day all over Harry’s infuriating face — he knew. Oh Merlin, he absolutely knew now.

"Oh," he breathed, as Malfoy stalked toward him.

"Oh," Malfoy mimicked, mocking him, quiet now but still furious. He got right in Harry’s face, as they stood nearly nose to nose, staring at each other, rain cascading down in the darkness like it would never stop.

"Fuck you, Malfoy," Harry ground out, breaking eye contact first. "Fuck you so hard."

"Okay, sounds brilliant," Draco said, with malice in his voice, inches away from Harry’s mouth. "Get on with it, then. Do it. Fuck me."

"Come off it," Harry snarled, but he didn’t pull back.

"Right, Saint Potter, you’re too soft," Draco said, hissing the last word, drawing it out, lingering on it obscenely. "You’d never go through with it."

"Wouldn’t I?" Harry asked, his eyes alight. Draco knew he’d pushed the right button, just jammed his thumb down on the absolute perfect one, because no way would that stupid, brave wanker ever back down from a challenge.

"Prove it," Draco said, and suddenly Harry was grabbing Draco’s face, wrapping a hand behind his neck, and pulling him in. They slammed together, with a low rumble of thunder and a flash of lightning and buckets pouring from the sky. Draco dragged Harry’s mouth toward his and Harry met it, already open-mouthed himself.

They kissed, tongues meeting each other, as the storm raged around them.
It was already clear to Draco that Harry had no idea what he was doing, absolutely none whatsoever. He wasn’t even good at snogging. And yet somehow that turned Draco on even more, the flare of pleasure inside him growing at knowing something private, something secret, about Harry. He burned to know more and more and more. What Harry’s mouth tasted like, for instance. What his skin felt like, what the hollow of his throat felt like beneath Draco’s tongue. What his cock would feel like in Draco’s hand. The noises he made, low in his throat. The rhythm he liked, whether he wanted it rough or gentle or both, whether he’d babble lovely nonsense when he came. Whether Draco himself could get him to make those sounds. He wanted all of it.

But now, right now, Draco allowed himself to be consumed by this kiss, this moment. Harry’s mouth beneath his was indescribable, moving everywhere all at once, tongue and teeth and lips on his throat, his earlobes, the line of his jaw. Draco was dizzy, breathless. This was happening. The sound of his own heartbeat roared in his ears.

He let go even more, put down his rage, pushed beyond his anger and his guilt, beyond his fear. Draco grabbed at Harry; he pulled at his sodden clothes and yanked him closer, putting his hands everywhere. He reached up and under Harry’s shirt, pressing his palms flat against his back, feeling the muscles shift beneath his hands.

Harry’s hands shoved their way beneath Draco’s shirt too, and somehow they pulled each other even closer.

Draco, going on pure instinct, still hardly able to believe this was happening, let his body take over. With Harry’s tongue jammed into his mouth, feeling like his whole body was on fire, he slotted his leg between Harry’s and pressed. Hard.

Harry gasped so violently that Draco pulled back, just as Harry rolled his hips helplessly up into him. It was so off-balance and artless, so bloody hot and delicious, that Draco nearly collapsed.

Breathless, still at the tail end of his flood of honesty, Draco spoke directly into Harry’s ear, his lips brushing Harry’s skin:"You’ve never done this before, have you?"

Harry didn’t answer, but he didn’t pull away, either. The rain crashed around them, heedless.

"Not even with the girl Weasley?" Draco pressed.

"Sod off, Malfoy," Harry said into Draco's ear, so quietly that he could barely hear it over the rain. Harry was panting, his breath warm against Draco's neck. "We never did… this. Or anything, really. Ginny and I have been over for months." The rumors were true, then. They’d even reached Draco, in his isolated state, but he hadn’t known whether to believe them. His raw desire flared even higher as he realized he would be Harry’s first. No matter what happened after this, after right now, this would always be true.

Fuck, yes.

Draco could have come right then, without anything more than that idea blooming in his mind and Harry’s leg pressing up into his crotch, and the feel of Harry grinding against him helplessly. Just the idea of Harry’s cock dragging against his own through their clothes — but no, it was far too soon, and he wanted Harry in his mouth. Now.

They each scrabbled at their flies and pants, and it’s madness, utterly ridiculous to be taking their trousers off when it was already this bloody wet and cold. But Draco wouldn’t, couldn’t stop. He needed to see Harry, wouldn’t stop looking, couldn’t fill his eyes enough. He rolled his hips against Harry and saw his eyes flutter, and felt rather than heard the gasp and the low growl in his throat.

Harry grabbed him roughly around the waist, and they dropped unceremoniously to the ground. Draco scrambled to get himself fully on top, straddling him and grinding down, his knees sinking into the mud, their cocks lined up with nothing between them.

Rain dripped from Draco’s hair into Harry’s face, into his mouth, as Draco leaned down to kiss him again, their lips finding each other as their hips pressed together. Draco carded his hands through Harry’s hair, hard, and ripped off those damned glasses of his — new ones now, light and rimless and charmed to stay dry; somehow it made him even harder just to be touching Harry’s stupid glasses, Merlin, he was so far gone — and shoved them in his hip pocket. Harry writhed beneath him, their cocks pressed together. Draco thought he might die, quite literally, here on the hill in the rain, with Harry Potter’s rock-hard cock up against his.

"Draco, Draco, I’m going to—"

"No, Potter!" Draco stopped frotting against him, stilled his own hips and slid a hand down to press down, hard, on both their cocks to stop them from moving against each other. Harry moaned and tried to move against his hand, but Draco repeated it:"No. Not yet."

He needed Harry in his mouth. Keeping his repressive hand on their cocks, he kissed Harry even harder, mouthing the water from his face and licking him hard, their tongues grinding together. The taste of Harry’s mouth was sublime, perfect, like nothing he could even force into words.

Draco swore he could feel Harry swelling even more beneath him, and he couldn’t stop his own hand from giving them both one hard stroke, which Harry arched into wildly. He moaned again, at full volume this time, the most dirty, gorgeous thing Draco had ever heard.

All right, all right, Draco thought, nearly losing control himself. If this wasn’t going to last long for either of them, he’d better make it bloody well count.

He pulled off of Harry’s mouth, sliding himself down along the length of Harry’s wet body and taking his cock into his mouth.

Harry bucked like he’d been Stunned.

His cock was impossibly hard in Draco’s mouth, hot to the touch, its taste impossible to distinguish from the rainwater everywhere. Draco kneeled, put a hand on Harry’s hip and circled the other around the base of his cock. He stroked once, twice. Harry writhed. It was gorgeous, and the storm roared around them, wild and uncontained.

Draco took his bracing hand off Harry’s hip. He took the reins off, stopped anything that might have started out as conciliatory or kind about this. He refused to take it slowly, to be gentle or soft or modulated. He wanted it to be real.

Harry’s body understood. Draco was sure of it.

Harry arched up into him and just fucked into his mouth, hard, his cock hitting the back of Draco’s throat. He gagged a bit and didn’t care. After spending months and months being careful, so very careful, censoring every word he said and smoothing out his expressions, bottling up every single thought and emotion — this was relief. It was unrestrained and brutal and vital. Draco felt lit up from the inside in a way he never had before. It felt like a first time for him too, and it was bloody beautiful.

Harry shuddered and shouted when he came a moment later, loud and rough, unruly, like everything about him, and Merlin, Draco thought, it was fucking perfect in every way. His come filled Draco’s mouth and mixed with the taste of rain and salt. It would have taken nothing else for Draco to come himself right then, absolutely nothing more than Harry’s taste in his mouth and the sound of that wild shout in his ears. But Draco clamped down on his own orgasm again and forced himself to wait, because he wanted Harry’s mouth on him more than he’d ever wanted anything else in his entire life.

Draco stilled for a moment, unsure of what was coming next. Would Harry want to touch him too? Draco had given plenty of unreciprocated blow jobs in his time, and maybe—

Harry interrupted his thoughts by wrapping his arms around Draco and flipping him straight into the mud. He caught his breath at the cold ground, and the muddy squelch, and how unexpected it was, and at how Harry was biting at his neck, tearing at his pants. Draco laughed, once, a tiny chip of joy sparking inside him.

Harry’s mouth was on him, right away, no teasing or playfulness. Draco was so hard, he ached. Even the inexpert scrape of Harry’s teeth felt brilliant, the unexpected pain sharp and sudden and clarifying, but Draco’s gasp made Harry pull his mouth off Draco’s cock and look up at him, that gorgeous wrecked face squinting up without his glasses.

"Sorry!" He shouted over a fresh rumble of thunder. "Shit. I, er—"

"It’s fine, it’s fine, bloody hell, keep going," Draco breathed, pushing on Harry’s head so he’d get the idea, tangling that wet black hair in his fingers and holding on tight.

"Keep going, please, fuck," he added, in a voice he knew was too low for Harry to hear over the storm, but he couldn’t keep himself from begging anyway, "please, Harry, yes, please—" and then his cock was enveloped again. Draco’s other hand clutched at the mud and grass beneath him as he arched his back, everything cold and wet and insubstantial except the blinding heat of Harry’s mouth and his hard grip on Draco’s hips and then he was coming, a vicious tight twist and huge rush of release all through his body, a flood of warmth, and somehow Harry’s magic found its way in, all golden and whole inside of him.

His orgasm lasted forever and not nearly long enough. When it was over, Draco, grinning like a fool, put his hands over his face. He was covered in mud and suddenly didn’t care whether he stayed filthy for the rest of his life. Harry flopped down next to him, the rain still crashing down, and suddenly both of them were laughing and clutching at each other, the craziness of what they’d just done washing over them like the rain itself.

(Later, when Draco would wank to memories of this night — and he would wank to it often — this moment was what he’d replay in his head the most. Not the sex itself but this part, just afterward; his tight hold on Harry’s soaked body; the pulse of Harry’s warm, golden magic; the muddy hillside at his back; the laughter that almost felt like love.)

A few moments later, Draco noticed Harry shaking with a deep shudder that seemed to be about more than just the rain, and Draco pulled them both up to sitting, out of the mud and slick grass. He finally managed a warming charm and an Impervius that stuck despite the storm, as long as they stayed still, and it kept them at least a bit drier and muffled the crash of the rain. They sat for a moment together, the curve of the hill at their backs.

Harry turned toward Draco, his face serious. "Did you mean what you said before?"

"Which part? I said a lot of things," Draco replied, but he knew what Harry meant. He just needed to buy some time to figure out what to say.

"The part about wishing you’d died," Harry said, suddenly very serious.

"No, not really. I..." Draco fumbled for the right word. "I would have missed out on this, here, tonight. With you," he added reluctantly.

And the moments right before this too, Draco continued in his own head, and oh, all the moments we haven’t gotten to yet. He wished fervently, desperately, for more.

Harry looked at him like he was completely mad.

"Bloody hell, Malfoy, you just said something nice. Something sweet. I don’t even recognize you. Have you been Imperiused in the last five minutes?"

"Only by your cock," Draco said, and he felt Harry’s laugh start deep in his chest before he even heard it, a sweet embarrassed private laugh just for him. Bloody hell, if that laugh wasn’t a reason to stay on this mortal coil, Draco didn’t know what was.

"Well, I look forward to more Imperiusing soon, then," Harry said, and Draco’s heart thrilled to those words. "But don’t you dare say that bit about dying ever again, you wanker. Don’t even think it. I risked my own arse for you and I’d be furious if it was for nothing."

Draco smirked, and it still felt good. "So noble, Potter."

A beat passed.

"You know," Draco added, entirely unable to resist, "you are pants at giving a blow job. You are really not good at it. At all." Draco couldn’t keep himself from smiling.

"I didn’t hear you complaining, Malfoy," Harry said, smiling back. "And wait, how did you get so bloody skillful at this, anyway?"

"We’ll discuss that later." Draco ducked the question by hauling Harry to his feet, accidentally breaking the warming charm and letting the rain back inside with a yelp.

Once they’d readjusted their clothes and Draco had reluctantly returned Harry’s glasses, they began walking up the hill toward the castle.

The rain was finally beginning to slow. Harry took Draco’s hand and laced their fingers together like it was the most natural thing in the world, and Merlin, Draco thought, how could that manage to be as intimate as the rest of what they’d just done? Harry’s hand was big, stronger and broader than Draco’s own, with unfamiliar calluses on the pads of his palm below each finger. It felt beyond perfect. It fit.

They began walking toward the castle. Draco glanced down at their entwined hands, and then he saw Harry catch him looking. He was already smiling.

"Slag," Harry shot at him, but he was grinning like a fool as he said it.

"Virgin," Draco drawled, feeling the same foolish grin spread across his own face.

"Not for long, I hope," Harry replied as they approached the steps, where anyone could see them now, still hand in hand. Draco couldn’t even speak for the flash of joy catching, kindling, glowing low and steady inside his chest.

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