Never Let Go

"Potter! Stop it!" Draco wrenched his arm away, tearing his sleeve from Potter's grasp.

Harry fell forward, but managed to grab a fistful of Draco's robes. "No," he snarled. "I'll never let go!"

Around them, curses went up like fireworks, lighting the streets of Hogsmeade.

Harry fumbled, groped for his wand, which was lying in the gutter just out of his reach.

Draco could see figures approaching, shapes in the smoke. A hex flew. No one could see anyone else, but that didn't matter. For both sides it had become a kill first, ask questions later situation. That's what fear does to fools, Draco thought. "If you don't let me go, we'll both die," he said desperately.

He managed to kick Potter off. Just as he was about to Apparate away, he saw someone come up behind Potter. He was still on his knees, his breath knocked out of him, clutching his ribs.

"Avada Kedavra."

The figure toppled over Potter, coming to its final rest sprawled on the dirty street. It was Bellatrix, her eyes glaring at nothing, her wand still rigidly held aloft.

Draco looked down at the tip of his own wand in disgust. "I know you hate me for Dumbledore's death, but if you stopped to think, you might remember that I didn't do it."

He backed away another step as Potter snatched up his wand. He looked uncertain.

"Even though I could have," Draco added angrily, and vanished.


The Dementors swirled thickly round them, obscuring the crowd that had come to see the Kiss. Every now and then one would break from the group, dart forward and attempt to reach them, but Harry's Patronus always drove it back.

"Potter, give it up," Draco said tiredly. He was tied to a stake, just like the good old days, just like the Muggles would have done if they could. Only Harry Potter stood between him and the icy embrace of oblivion. "You can't keep this up. Go back to your friends and be safe."

Harry grimaced, his hand shaking with the effort of keeping the Patronus, of driving back the fear and despair and remembering something pleasant.

Voices sounded outside the circle of Dementors—gasps of horror mixed with screams for Harry to come back.

Harry was shivering, and he dropped to his knees beside Draco. "Let it go," Draco told him. The Patronus guttered like a flame about to die.

Harry reached out and brushed Draco's cheek. The ghostly buck flickered again, an ember catching, flaring to life once more. "I'll never let go," Harry replied fiercely.

"That's it! Call them off!" someone with authority boomed.

When they managed to clear the last Dementor off, the Ministry officials found Harry Potter leaning against Draco Malfoy, one arm wrapped protectively around the Death Eater.

And whatever they did, he wouldn't let go.


The bed was very large. Draco couldn't see why Potter couldn't keep on his own side of it. He didn't mind much early in the night, when Harry would first climb into bed and sort of wrap himself around Draco. Especially when it was followed by...other things.

Like the way Harry's tongue would start at the nape of his neck and slip all the way down to the base of his spine—or further, sometimes.

Like the way Harry's warm, callused hands could drive all of Draco's problems away with a rub just here, or by just grazing over Draco's nipples, or by hungrily running through Draco's hair, hopelessly mussing it.

Like the way Harry's body fit so neatly with his own, pressed against Draco's back, Harry's knees kissing the insides of Draco's legs.

It was just afterward, when they were slick with sweat, when the heat of the summer night had smothered the breeze from the window, when every breath was a gasping chore, that was when Draco would have liked a bit of space.

He often longed for it; fantasized about getting up, taking a cool shower, coming back and flopping down, stretching out and encountering nothing but crisp linen sheets... He wasn't certain why he never mentioned any of that to Harry.

Somewhere along the line, he must have got used to Harry clinging to him. And when Harry's embrace curled around him—hot, sticky and uncomfortable as it is—and Harry's breath brushed Draco's ear, Draco wondered what he'd do without it.

He supposed he'd suffer it all in silence just to hear that sleepy whisper: "I'll never let go."