"Potter! What have you done?"
Harry's eyes snapped open. He had collapsed backward onto the floor, his body still trembling with aftershocks. Shifting, he winced at the feel of the slippery fabric against his still-hard, oversensitive cock. He glanced up at Snape then immediately flinched away again, sharply reminded of--god, no, he couldn't think about it--and the expression on his face now was so different, so intensely furious. God. And he deserved it, too. How could he ever look at Snape again, or Draco, or himself--
"Answer me, Potter!"
"I couldn't find my way out," he finally mumbled.
"And you thought the best way out was to have an orgasm? You would have known how to withdraw if you would have allowed me to finish explaining--"
"I would have allowed you to finish explaining if you had actually bothered to explain rather than insult--"
"Your excuses are pathetic," Snape spat out, and only now did Harry realize how much respect Snape must have had for him at the end of the war--respect that was now lost, because now, now there were new levels of loathing and disgust that Harry had never heard in Snape's voice before. "I should have known better than to trust you not to violate someone like this, invade the sanctity of their most private thoughts and experiences just to satisfy your curiosity...or your lust."
Harry felt sick to his stomach.
"Which memory did you mutilate?"
Harry had a flash of memory. Snape, caressing Draco's arm, with far gentler a touch than Harry had ever imagined the man capable of. Draco gazing up at him--Yes. I need you--and then closing his eyes as he relaxed against Snape's chest.
Had Snape and Draco really been lovers? Had Harry destroyed a treasured memory?
"Do you have any idea what sort of damage you may have done?"
Harry's gaze snapped to Draco. "Is he all right? Why hasn't he woken up?"
"The potion hasn't worn off yet. He should be waking up on his own any minute now. If you had just waited, rather than taking it upon yourself to blunder into and violate his memories, you would have easily found your way out at that time." Harry miserably remembered the dining room he could have chosen to remain in rather than exploring further in Draco's mind.
And Snape hadn't answered the first half of his question, Harry realized sickly.
Their attention shifted immediately to Draco as he groaned, sitting up straighter and blinking his eyes.
"Draco? Are you all right?" Harry asked.
"Harry..." Draco said, then looked around the room, taking in the reminders of their late night--the tray from the kitchens with half-eaten sandwiches on one table, the cauldron and scattered ingredients on the the other. He flushed slightly and looked back at Harry, appearing chagrined. "I'm--"
"Draco," said Snape sharply. "You can...converse with Potter later. Please come here. I need to speak with you."
After a moment of hesitation, Draco approached Snape's portrait. Harry briefly considered following, but Snape warned him off with one malevolent look, and he stepped into the corner instead. He felt dirty in a way he never had before, as he cast a surreptitious cleaning charm.
Harry stared at the floor for a moment, hands trembling, then turned to Draco and Snape, who were speaking quietly. He couldn't hear what they were saying and didn't know if he would have been able to follow the conversation even if he had. He was too preoccupied with memories of what he had just experienced--he could still feel Draco coming against him, groaning into his mouth, and had to remind himself that none of it had really happened. And Draco, he realized, didn't know what Harry had done--not yet. At some point, though, he would think back, realize that Harry had no place whatsoever in that memory, and then. Then he would despise Harry. How could he not?
He wanted to leave, but he couldn't, not without knowing. "Is he all right?" Harry finally asked.
Snape's head snapped up, eyes narrowing as his gaze focused on Harry. Draco turned toward Harry too, and took a step forward. "I'm--"
Snape hurried to cut him off. "Draco is not suffering from any side-effects from the potion, and his memories of the last four years appear to be fully intact."
"Right, well that's. That's good," said Harry. "I suppose we should get to bed then. It's late." He gestured half-heartedly at the clock on the wall, already moving toward the door.
Draco's expression was one of concern and confusion. Harry turned away.
"I'll see you tomorrow. Good night."
Harry smoothed out his robes and ran one hand through his hair in a likely useless attempt to put it in better order before stepping into the Great Hall. He'd overslept and was late for breakfast. There were only two empty spaces at the staff table: one beside Draco—Harry's usual spot before today—and one between Flitwick and Trelawney.
Draco's eyes were already upon him.
Draco, eyes dark, water running down him in rivulets. Snape behind him, staring right at Harry. Draco pulling him closer, Draco's mouth on his, the rush of water, the heat--
Harry quickly looked away, but couldn't help glancing at him once more as he seated himself at the other end of the table. Draco was staring forward, fist clenched beside a largely untouched plate of food.
Harry forced himself to look away, nodded to Flitwick and McGonagall, who were conversing on his right, then turned to find Trelawney blinking at him through her thick glasses.
"Hello, Harry. I'm surprised to see you sitting here."
"Yes, don't you normally sit..." She paused, narrowing her eyes.
"Yes?" Harry prompted.
"You normally sit over there, don't you?" she said, gesturing toward the other end of the table. "With Professor Malfoy?"
Harry looked at Draco again—couldn't help himself. His shoulders still appeared tight, perhaps, but all other signs of distress were already gone. He was conversing with Professor Sinistra, a piece of toast in one hand.
"I'm surprised you noticed," he finally said, turning back to Trelawney. He was, too. Trelawney was seen more frequently at the staff table these days, but she usually seemed just as dreamy and oblivious as she always had.
"Just because I maintain focus on higher matters does not mean I never take note of my surroundings."
"I thought your surroundings...err...clouded your Inner Eye?
"They can..." she said shiftily, "but sometimes one must pay attention to the mundane in order to find an Object to focus one's Sight upon. It is more difficult, these days, to find a good Object."
Ah. That explained her more frequent appearances at the staff table these days. Times were more peaceful than they had been in years, no disasters were looming. There must be very little to prophesize doom and gloom about.
Professor Sinistra laughed, presumably at something Draco had said, and Harry gripped his glass of pumpkin juice more tightly.
"You used to make such a wonderful Object," Trelawney continued. She sighed regretfully, then blinked and looked at him more closely. "You do seem...tense, though, Harry. Anxious. And those dark circles under your...you look like you've hardly rested at all." She sat up straighter, beads rattling, a hopeful glint in her eyes. "Are you having prophetic dreams? Did you want to discuss them with me?"
"Prophetic...dreams?" Harry felt his face flushing. There was no way he was discussing last night's dreams with Trelawney. "Er, no, I was just...up late. Helping Draco. With something."
Trelawney sighed, leaned back in her chair, and took a sip of tea.
"It might have come as a surprise to some," she finally said, with pointed emphasis, "but I always predicted you two would be very close."
He almost laughed, despite everything, but then he remembered that even if he hadn't already destroyed their friendship, Draco's interest had never been genuine—he'd had an agenda—and the momentary amusement withered in his chest. Trelawney's "prediction," he reflected, with a bitter glance at Draco, really was as unfounded as it would have seemed in years past.
Draco glanced over, caught Harry looking at him, and stilled. Then he stood, a determined expression on his face, and walked purposefully toward Harry.
"—because you would think, after four years, the school could afford to replace them," Trelawney was saying. "They may not all have sustained visible damage, but once a crystal ball has been used in battle, the vibrations—"
"Er...sorry," Harry said, standing abruptly. "I've just remembered, I—need to be at class early today."
He strode toward the doors, glancing back once. Draco was standing near the middle of the table, an unreadable expression on his face.
The last student exited the classroom, and Harry slumped back in his chair, his eyes already trying to fall closed. God, he needed to sleep. He'd certainly got little enough last night, and what sleep he had managed had hardly been restful. As exhausted as he was, he felt his cock twitch at the memory of those dreams.
I want you. I need you.
Clenching his teeth in frustration, he pushed the unwelcome thoughts from his mind. He was not going to think about Draco. If he could just get back to his rooms, get a good night's rest, then he could figure out how to deal with this—what to say to Draco—tomorrow.
He stood up from his desk, plans decided on--forget dinner, he was going straight to bed—when the door to his classroom opened. Harry looked up, hoping it was a student who'd forgotten a book, or perhaps a member of the Quidditch team wanting to ask about the cancelled practice, anyone but—exactly who it was. Draco, standing there in the doorway, staring at him.
"Hello, Draco," Harry finally said.
Draco had seemed frozen, but those words pushed him into motion. He entered the room—shutting the door firmly behind him, Harry noted uncomfortably—and crossed the room with quick strides. He seemed tense, angry, and suddenly, Harry was filled with the horrified certainty that Draco remembered, that he was here to confront Harry over what had happened last night, and Harry was so far from ready for that conversation...
Draco stopped a couple feet from Harry. For a moment, neither of them said anything, and then they both spoke at once.
"How are you—"
"I noticed you skipped lunch."
Harry quickly realized that Draco had no intention of answering Harry's aborted question. "Er, yeah, I got busy. Had the house-elves bring me something."
"I spoke with Snape again today," Draco said. "At least he was willing to talk to me about what happened."
If he'd had suspicions before, this confirmed them. Snape might have waited until today to tell him, in order for Draco to get some necessary rest, but there was no way Snape would lie, even by omission, to protect Harry from the consequences of his actions. If Draco had spoken to Snape today, then he knew.
There was nothing for it. They were going to have this conversation now. He looked up into Draco's accusatory eyes.
"I know you're angry at me, and you have every right to be."
Astonishingly, this seemed to quell Draco's anger. He looked down, and a slight flush appeared on his cheeks. "Look... No, I—I mean, all right, maybe I was a little upset that you were avoiding me, but it would be understandable. If you were upset at me."
Harry thought about the things he had learned, about Draco's goals and his false pretenses, and felt more tension creep into his body. "It would be hard not to be," Harry finally said, and Draco winced. "But that doesn't justify my behavior. Draco, I—I'm sorry."
Draco stared down at the floor, and when he spoke, his voice was difficult to read. "What you did, it was really incredible. I don't know anyone else who would have done that."
Now it was Harry's turn to wince. "Draco, I—"
"I'll understand if you're not in the mood, or too tired, to spend another night with me, but--"
"I really need to--to finish what I started last night. You know." He glanced toward the door, as if afraid someone would overhear, even though the room was empty.
Come here, Potter. I want to fuck you. Harry gasped sharply at the memory. He could feel Draco, slick and wet against his skin.
"What?" Harry finally managed, and Draco frowned.
"Like I said, I talked to Snape. He thought it would be a good idea to have a third person—"
Harry gaped at him, and Draco looked confused, and then chagrined. "Or, a second person, I suppose. He's a portrait, so I know he can't really participate, other than offering advice. But I promise, you wouldn't have to do much. I'd do all of the work."
Harry's mouth continued to hang open, all powers of speech momentarily lost to him. Draco stood patiently, apparently waiting for an answer.
"You're saying that you—and Snape—are okay with what happened last night because I fulfilled one of Snape's fantasies?"
"What? Why on earth would he fantasize about that?" Draco asked, giving Harry an odd look. "No, it's just safer. In case there's an accident."
"Just what sort of accident are you expecting you might have?" Harry asked, horrified.
"Well I'm not planning on having an accident. Look, I know things got a little messy last night," Draco said, grimacing, "but I promise, I'll be very careful. Besides, I'll have Snape to direct me, every step of the way."
Harry shuddered. "Look, Draco, I'm sorry if you've got the wrong impression, after what happened last night, but I really have no interest whatsoever in Snape giving you directions while you fuck me."
Draco's eyes grew wider than Harry had ever seen them.
"What did you just say?" he asked, his voice going uneven at the end.
"That's what you said last night," said Harry, growing more uncertain and uncomfortable with every passing moment. "In the shower. That you wanted to fuck me."
Draco stared at him, then suddenly stiffened, inhaled sharply, and closed his eyes. "Oh my god," he said, as a wash of color flooded his cheeks. When he opened his eyes again, they were impossibly dark, and he was staring at Harry as if he had never seen him before. "Oh my god," he said again.
"You didn't remember until now, did you?" Harry said, feeling both horrified and incredibly stupid.
Staring at him, Draco shook his head.
Harry didn't know what to say. "Look," he fumbled, "I'm—I'm sorry. I can't tell you how sorry I am. I don't understand what I was thinking."
A frown began to form out of the momentarily blank expression Draco had been wearing.
"I don't think there's anything else I can say. Or do. I should probably just...go now. I promise I'll never do...anything like that again. Not that I could. But you know. I wouldn't." Draco was still staring at him. Harry turned to leave.
Draco grabbed his wrist.
"Wait. Harry," Draco said, voice tight. "What if I do want it to happen again?"
Shivers shot along Harry's arm, up and down his spine, and his cock grew impossibly hard. Draco was gripping his arm, wanted to fuck him, wanted—to use him. Suddenly as angry as he had been last night, watching Draco pinch the bridge of his nose and agree to his mother's plans, Harry jerked his arm away.
"No thanks," he said, stalking to the door.
"Harry," Draco said, in a strangled voice, and Harry turned back to face him. Draco's posture was stiff, and his expression apologetic.
"Look, I'm sorry. If you're not interested, just say so. You don't have to—I thought we were friends."
Harry glared at him. "But we were never friends, were we Draco?"
Draco's mouth fell open. Harry turned sharply and left the room.
"Professor Potter? Did you hear me?"
"What?" Harry glanced around the emptying classroom and blinked at the student standing in front of him. "Oh, sorry, Lydia, I was just—" too busy fantasizing about fucking another teacher to pay attention to anything my student was saying. He winced. "A little distracted."
Uncomfortable, he began gathering the essays scattered on his desk.
"That's all right. I just wanted to know if Professor Malfoy will be back in time for practice tonight."
"Back?" Harry looked up sharply. "I didn't know he was gone."
"We had a substitute in Potions today. Professor Longbottom. He's terrible at Potions, did you know? But he was the only one who was free. Apparently they tried to get a portrait from down in the dungeons to do it, but he—"
"Why is he gone? Did they say?"
"No, just that he wasn't here today. I hope he's back soon. You know how I feel about Potions, but ever since he started teaching it, it hasn't been so bad. We missed him today." She slung her bag over one shoulder and tilted her head at him. "Is something wrong?"
"No...nothing's wrong. I'll see you at practice, Lydia, all right?"
"All right. Do you think they'll get that portrait to substitute for him tonight if he's not back?" she said, laughing.
Harry suddenly had a vivid and startling image of Snape's portrait balanced on a broomstick. "Erm, no. No, I don't think so."
"Too bad," she said, turning away. "That would have been interesting."
"Oh, and Lydia?" he called after her before she left the room.
"Behave yourself between now and then, will you?"
Her answering grin was far from reassuring, and he hoped she had no plans for making tonight's Quidditch practice more "interesting" herself, especially considering that he'd likely be handling it on his own.
Fuck, where was Draco?
Harry was in no hurry to see him, not after last night, but...damn it, this was such a mess.
And why was he gone today? Snape would know. Not that Harry had any intention of visiting him. He'd either rip Harry a new one, or worse, proposition him. Harry couldn't help shuddering again at the idea of Snape directing him during sex.
Except, wait, that hadn't been what Draco had been talking about, had it? Harry had been rather understandably derailed by the direction the conversation had taken, but what the hell had Draco meant about needing a third person?
I need to finish what I started last night.
He thought it would be a good idea to have a third person.
In case there's an accident.
Bloody hell. Draco had attempted that potion again last night, and Harry hadn't been there.
Several possibilities occurred to him, each more unpleasant than the last. Draco had been caught using illegal ingredients and got himself sacked. Draco had had another accident and landed himself in St. Mungos. Draco had—
Standing up so quickly that his chair fell over behind him, Harry grabbed up his papers and hurried to the dungeons.
Snape was reading a book, and Harry wondered where he had got it. There hadn't been any painted into his portrait. When Snape heard Harry step into the room, he closed the book with a snap, and the look he directed at Harry was glacial. Harry crossed his arms and forced himself to stare back.
"You have a lot of nerve showing up here now, Potter. Where were you last night?"
"I was in my rooms, asleep. I was tired. I'd had a long day."
Snape sneered. "Too tired to help a friend who might very well have ended up—"
The band of worry he'd been doing his best to ignore tightened further around his chest. "Is he all right?"
"What was that you said the other night, Potter? You care more about him than I do? Well, we all know what form that 'caring' takes now, don't we?"
"Where is he?" Harry shouted.
Snape stared at him coolly, and Harry forced himself to relax his clenched fists. He wasn't going to get anything out of Snape by yelling at him.
"Why so interested now? Where was this heartfelt concern last night, when it might have done some good?"
Harry flushed. "Look, I didn't—I didn't know. He told me, but I misunderstood."
"How could you have possibly —"
"That's not important," Harry said quickly. "Look. Just tell me if he's all right."
"He's all right," Snape said slowly, enunciating each word, and the band around Harry's chest loosened. "No thanks to you."
"Where is he? When will he be back?"
"If he didn't tell you, I certainly have no call to."
"He should have told me," Harry said, anger creeping back into his voice. "We have Quidditch practice tonight. It's common courtesy—"
"You have no business talking about courtesy after what you did to him."
"And you have no business lecturing me after what you did to him."
Snape blinked. "To what are you referring?"
"You had sex with him! When he was a student!"
Snape's face went temporarily blank. "I did what?"
"Don't try to play stupid—I know what I saw!"
Harry had never seen Snape look so flustered. It would have been funny, under any other circumstances. "Whatever you saw, I can assure you Potter, I have never—"
"You saw a fantasy."
"People remember what they fantasize about, just as they remember anything else. You saw a fantasy, Potter..."
They stared at each other.
"And you," Snape said slowly, "participated." Snape's expression turned complex--incredulous, disgusted...intrigued? God, no.
Harry stared down at the floor, cheeks flaming hotly. "Shut up."
"Tell me, Potter," Snape said finally. "Was it good for you?"
"God, shut the fuck up!"
"And here I always thought you didn't like me."
Without another word, Harry turned sharply and strode toward the door.
"It's you that he wants, you know,"
Harry froze in the doorway. "What?"
"You heard what I said."
"What he wants," Harry said angrily, "is Harry Potter twisted around his finger."
"Don't tell me you wouldn't be interested. We've already established you're far more sexually adventurous than anyone had previously given you credit for." Snape paused. "With the possible exception of Rita Skeeter. Didn't she write an article once--"
"Don't fuck with me, Snape."
"I thought I already had."
Disgusted, Harry turned again to leave.
"You're making a mistake."
Harry stood, gripping the doorjamb tightly. "The only mistake I made was in thinking I could believe even one word that came out of his mouth. You can say what you like, but I saw them. Draco and his mother, planning it all out. How he was going to use me. He never wanted to be my friend."
"That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard in my life. Draco Malfoy has wanted to be your friend since he was eleven years old. Probably earlier than that."
Harry stared at him.
"Potter," said Snape, in the same tone of long-suffering patience and pitying resignation he had finally resorted to during their potion brewing. "Whatever Draco's intentions when he started teaching here this year, it has been disgustingly obvious for quite some time that his feelings—" Snape's lip curled slightly "—were soon quite genuine."
Harry's mind spun, revisiting teasing looks and friendly touches, clever smiles and familiar conversation.
He wanted it to be true.
What he couldn't understand was why Snape would want it to be true. Or want Harry to think it was true, either one.
"Why are you telling me this?"
Snape crossed his arms. "I've rarely seen him so upset. More significantly, I've never seen him make so many stupid mistakes in such a short period of time. He almost killed himself putting that potion together last night. Whatever you've done, Potter, I want you to fix it. Tonight."
Harry stood in front of the door to Draco's rooms, uncertain what to do next. Draco hadn't shown up for Quidditch practice tonight, the bastard, and he wasn't here. Or if he was, he wasn't answering his door.
Was he even back at Hogwarts yet?
Harry had come straight here after Quidditch practice, rather than returning to his rooms, and now he felt stupid for having done so. Had he returned to his rooms, he could have had a look at his map—and wouldn't the Marauders have shuddered to know it was in a teacher's hands; they'd have rather someone like Lydia have it—or he could have just said fuck it to the whole thing and taken a shower; he needed one. Either would have been a better choice than this.
"Well, fuck it," Harry said to the closed door, then and there making his decision: a shower and perhaps some Firewhisky would feature largely in his evening; maps and Potions professors who couldn't be trusted and didn't want to be found anyway, not at all.
He turned, glad to have something settled, only to find that his decision had somehow unmade itself in the intervening seconds. Once again he wasn't certain about anything--except that Draco was standing in the hallway, about twenty feet away, staring at him.
Harry had the impression Draco would have turned and walked in the opposite direction, if only Harry hadn't been blocking the path to his room.
"Are you lost, Potter?" he finally spat out.
"Were you? Where have you been?"
"None of your business."
Harry intended to say something about Quidditch practices and common courtesy, but Draco, having apparently made some decision of his own, began walking toward him purposefully, and Harry lost his train of thought.
"In fact, it's never been your business, has it, Potter? Seeing as we've never been friends."
"Look, I—might have been wrong about that," Harry said, once Draco was within touching distance. He didn't touch him.
"No, I don't think you were." Draco reached for the door, tense and angry, not touching Harry or looking at him either. He obviously intended to end the conversation there, and Harry had half a mind to let him, but then his arm shot out, blocking Draco's path.
They stood for a long moment, Draco's chest pressed tightly against Harry's arm. Through that single point of contact, Harry could feel Draco's tension, his rapid heartbeat, his deep, shuddering breaths.
"We need to talk," Harry said. Draco seemed, impossibly, to grow even tenser.
"Five minutes," he said, still not looking at Harry. Harry withdrew his arm and followed Draco into the room.
Draco removed his cloak and threw it on the couch where he usually sat, then stalked over to the fireplace and stood there stiffly. Harry remained where he was, a few feet into the room.
"Where were you tonight?"
"I gave the potion to my mother. I needed to stay with her to ensure there were no side effects."
"Did it go well?"
"It did." No thanks to you, Harry could hear him silently adding.
"I didn't understand what you were asking last night. If—"
"It doesn't matter. I didn't have any problems."
"You're going to need to stop doing that, you know. If we're really going to be friends."
For the first time in the stilted conversation, Draco met his eyes. "Stop doing what?"
"Lying to me."
Harry couldn't tell if Draco looked guilty or confused.
"What have I lied to you about?"
"I saw a conversation, between you and your mother. I wasn't exactly pleased to hear how...lacking your education at the Lutece academy was."
Draco paled. "I suppose I should pack my things, then." He made an abortive movement, as if he intended to go and do just that, before shaking his head and leaning back against the mantle, staring at Harry bitterly. "I told her it wouldn't work. You wouldn't even—even have to have seen that memory. My abysmal performance the last few days would have been enough to tip you off."
Harry had intended to punish Draco, leave him to worry over the consequences of his deception, but now that he saw the anxiety in Draco's eyes, he found he had zero interest in seeing him suffer.
"I wouldn't...pack your things just yet. I know you're a good teacher."
"What are you talking about? I'm completely unqualified!"
"That memory wasn't the only one I saw. I know how hard you've worked to prepare yourself for this job. You're a thousand times better as a teacher than Snape ever was. And it would be a bit hypocritical of me to get you fired over a technicality. I spent two years as an Auror before taking this job, and if the rules had been applied to me, I wouldn't have even been through my training at the time I retired."
"Yes," said Draco, strained and incredulous. "They do tend to bend the rules for defeaters of Dark Lords. Less often for those who have Dark Marks branded into their arms."
"Snape had a Dark Mark too," said Harry, and Draco stared at him.
He was right to stare, thought Harry. He had intended to rake Draco over the coals, and now he was reassuring him over his suitability for his position?
"Look, don't think you're entirely off the hook, but that's not what I'm really here to talk about." Harry swallowed. "It was...the second half of that conversation that really upset me."
Draco looked confused, then horrified. "Harry..."
"I did think we were friends, Draco," Harry said quietly.
Draco ran a trembling hand through his hair, looking more miserable than Harry had seen him in years. "I suppose you won't believe a word I have to say at this point, but... I said what I did because I didn't think things could ever be different between us. After I was here for a while, I thought... Maybe they could."
How different, Harry wanted to ask. But as much as he wanted to, he wasn't sure if he should believe him. Didn't know if he should take that risk.
After waiting for a long moment, Draco seemed to draw the same conclusion.
"Not that it matters," he said bitterly, "now that you've had such a vivid reminder of all the reasons you've never liked me."
But he was wrong. Because right now, Harry couldn't remember even one of them.
"I don't know," Harry finally said. "You were kind of cute."
"Cute?" Draco said, appalled and disbelieving.
"I was cute when I wouldn't cooperate with anything you suggested? I was cute when I accused you of trying to murder me? I was cute when you spent hours trying to help me and I couldn't come up with anything better to say than 'you're incompetent and I'm taller than you'?"
"I thought so, yes," said Harry, paying more attention to the flush rising on Draco's cheeks and the shape of his mouth as he spoke than to exactly what Draco was saying. The incredulity hadn't left Draco's face, and neither had the hints of embarrassment that had crept in somewhere along the way, but now his expression had darkened.
"And the conversation I had with my mother? Was that cute as well?"
"Obviously not," Harry said, grimacing. "But I don't suppose it would be fair to hold grudges, considering what—what I did." He felt a rising warmth in his own cheeks but forced himself to look Draco in the eyes.
"That's right." Draco wet his lips. "That was rather...inexcusable of you." And now the flush on his cheeks didn't look so much like embarrassment as it did something else entirely, and his eyes... Harry recognized that expression. A shock of arousal coursed through him when he placed it as the one Draco had worn in the shower, right after Harry's invisibility cloak had disappeared, and right before Draco had--
"That wasn't entirely your fault, though," Draco continued, stepping away from the fireplace and toward Harry. "If my memory can be trusted, I did quite a bit of persuading."
"You were very...persuasive," Harry said, crossing to the middle of the room.
Draco stopped, very close, and placed one hand on Harry's wrist.
Heart pounding in his chest, Harry raised his other hand and ran it through Draco's hair. Draco's eyes fell closed. He gave a gentle tug, pulling Harry onto the couch, then slowly opened his eyes. There was a frozen moment as they just stared at each other, before Draco moved closer and then... it had to be magic, or possibly sleep deprivation, or something, because Harry swore he could hear the spray of the shower, feel the water pouring over them, and then he was conscious of nothing but the distance between their mouths. Both of them were holding their breaths, and then nervously touching their lips together--and Draco did taste like yesterday, like Harry had always imagined he would, but also like... right now.
They drew back warily, then grinned at each other.
Yes, we're really doing this, Harry wanted to say, but settled for pulling Draco closer and turning towards him more fully, their arms encircling each other and then Draco—oh--Draco practically climbed into his lap and had him pressed against the back of the couch, and it felt incredibly ... well, like they were kids snogging in a common room instead of a Professor's sitting room. He suppressed a snicker at the thought, leaning back and just going with it.
And that wasn't difficult at all, because there was Draco's weight shifting in his lap, Draco's hand cradling the back of Harry's head, fingers playing in his hair. His other hand cupping Harry's cheek briefly--Harry shivered at the intimacy of it--before slowly moving down, barely brushing Harry's nipple as it passed, and Harry wasn't sure if the gasp that escaped him was due to the small shock of that, even through his robes, or to the slick perfection of Draco's tongue in his mouth. Draco's lips curved into a smile; then his hand went lower, sneaking under Harry's robes, fingers teasing at the waistband of Harry's trousers, while the grip of his other hand tightened at the back of Harry's head and his kisses grew more demanding.
"Mmm, that's nice..." Draco murmured against Harry's lips. "Why did we take so long to do this again?"
"I didn't even...know if you were gay..." Draco's hand dropped lower, brushed against Harry's erection, and Harry bit back a moan, letting his head fall back against the couch. "I mean... I'd hoped. I wasn't sure..."
"I wasn't sure about you either," Draco said, stroking Harry through his trousers. "Nice of you to clear that up for me the other day."
"I haven't been able to think about anything else. Ever since. It's been... very distracting."
"I've been very distracted as well," Draco said, then licked Harry's ear. Harry shivered, closing his eyes.
"Fuck, Draco, I want you."
Draco gasped sharply, then tugged at Harry's robes. Harry shifted, allowing Draco to pull them up and over his head, then watched as Draco removed his own, and sweet Merlin, Draco didn't wear much under them.
Harry froze, seeing the scars cutting through the smooth, pale skin on Draco's chest. Those hadn't been there in the fantasy. And there was the Dark Mark, now barely visible. He looked up, to see Draco watching, waiting.
Harry drew in his breath, realizing his chest was heaving, and somehow he'd wrapped his arms around Draco and was holding him so close it felt like he was trying to meld them together. Then Harry shifted slightly against the pressure on his lap and cried out without meaning to as the movement brought Draco's hardness against his own. He pulled Draco even closer, claiming his mouth, then broke off again as Draco moved against him.
As they began to thrust against one another, it was somehow Draco's mouth--the small warmth of his tongue, tracing a pattern around and behind and over Harry's ear, the teasing pressure of his teeth gently biting Harry's earlobe, the smooth slide of his lips, making their way down Harry's neck—that stretched Harry's nerves tight, made his heart race faster and faster--it was too much, but it wasn't enough.
Harry gasped, turning, meeting Draco's lips with his for one heated kiss before bringing a hand up and gently tilting Draco's face to the side, exposing the long, graceful line of his neck. He moved his lips up, near Draco's ear, smiling at the helpless moan Draco gave, the way he pressed himself harder against Harry, the way he gasped and worked a hand in between them, faltering at the button of Harry's fly before redoubling his efforts, finally freeing Harry from his trousers.
Harry squeezed his eyes shut as Draco's hand closed around him, and he gave Draco's neck one last open-mouthed kiss before seeking Draco's lips again. Moving a hand down to the waistband of Draco's boxers, he reached in, finally grasping him. Their lips were moving together urgently, matching the rhythm of their hands until there wasn't enough air, and they separated, panting, foreheads resting against each other as they arched into each other and thrust and stroked faster and faster--
And then Draco cried out, something unintelligible that Harry could barely hear over the rush of his own body's response; the warm wetness covering his hand, Draco's cock jerking against his fingers, the unsteadiness of Draco's movements against him, all somehow pushed him that last bit further, and he was coming, not knowing what he was saying, not aware of anything but the euphoria of release and relief and oh, fuck, oh god.
He drew in a shaking breath, gently drawing his hand out of Draco's boxers, leaning back as Draco did the same. A moment later, Draco picked up his wand and murmured a quick cleaning spell over them both.
Harry slid his arms around Draco, pulling him close again, reveling in the warmth and solidity of Draco's body against his as Draco relaxed against him. This was almost as good as sex itself, he found himself thinking vaguely. The urgency was gone, they were both glowing and relaxed, and there was no energy for anything other than simple touches, simple caresses.
He nuzzled his cheek against Draco's, smiling as Draco turned and took his lips in a long, slow kiss.
He bit gently at Draco's lower lip, and they laughed together. Draco took a deep breath. "Mmm, you smell good."
"I smell sweaty." His hand made smooth, slow movements along Draco's back. "We had Quidditch practice tonight, I'll remind you. Leave me to handle all of them on my own again, and I'll... think of something to get you back." He paused, mind still too hazy and content for clever thoughts to come easily. "Maybe leave you on your own for the next mess your Ravenclaws make."
Draco made a sound of quiet amusement. "Surely that's a little excessive?"
"You wouldn't think so if you knew what Lydia pulled this evening."
Draco chuckled as he slowly shifted off Harry's lap, and Harry tightened his arms without meaning to--and had a half second to feel embarrassed about it--before Draco relaxed against him, no longer straddling his legs but still turned towards him, arms around him loosely, head resting against Harry's shoulder.
"Do I want to know?"
Harry paused, taking a moment to enjoy the new position, and eventually Draco nudged him.
"What? Oh. Lydia decided the Beaters were getting sloppy. Charmed the Bludgers so that each time they actually hit a target, they burst into song and then reproduced themselves."
"There were sixteen of them by the time we were able to stop the charm. Do you have any idea how painful it is to have to capture sixteen rogue Bludgers?"
"You're right, that's terrible." Draco looked up at him, a teasing expression on his face. "How can I make it up to you?"
Harry drew a hand through Draco's hair. "I think you've already made it up to me." He paused, frowning slightly. "So was this our first time? Or our second?"
"I think our first. Since last time didn't really happen."
Harry found himself tensing, as that thought was a little too close to an uncomfortable one he had been avoiding—that the moment between them in the shower, everything Draco had said and done, had been entirely the product of Harry's mind, imposed on Draco against his will.
Draco seemed to pick up on Harry's uneasiness and cleared his throat hastily. "Not that last time doesn't make a very nice memory. But it was just a fantasy. This...this is real." He smoothed a possessive hand along Harry's chest.
Harry took a moment to process that and then smiled, head dropping tiredly against the back of the couch, and allowed himself to just exist. Enjoy the moment. God, after working with him for how long, watching him for how long, telling himself that this couldn't happen, trying to stop looking at him, stop feeling that swoop in his stomach when Draco smiled at him--this was really happening. And Draco wanted it. Draco had been thinking about him, wondering about him too.
How long had Draco wanted him? And how had he not seen it? And why had it taken Snape, of all people, to get them together?
Snape. Right. They should probably talk about that at some point.
"It does...make a nice memory." Harry finally said. He shivered a bit as Draco started kissing his neck, and was tempted to set it aside, bring it up some other time. He hesitated, then pushed himself. "I could do without the memories of, er, Snape, though."
Draco sighed heavily against Harry's neck. "I was rather hoping we could skip that part of the conversation."
Harry ran a hand slowly up and down Draco's back, waiting.
"In sixth year, I hated him," Draco said quietly. "But in seventh year, everything was different. He looked out for me. I had a bit of a crush on him. Used to think about him, sometimes. You know. In the shower."
"Ever think about him in the Prefect's bathroom?"
"Sometimes," Draco said, lifting his head. "Why?"
Draco sighed. "At least Snape never found out about it."
Draco stiffened. "Potter?"
"He sort of...figured it out. Based on something I said."
Draco sat up, glaring, then closed his eyes and seemed to give it up, slumping back against Harry.
"Merlin, he'll never let me live it down."
"I don't know. He didn't seem to give it much thought. He seemed much more interested in the fact that I, er, participated. In the fantasy."
"That's right, you did," said Draco, brightening. "Well, that's all right, then. He'll be so busy taking the piss out of you, he likely won't even think to mention my part in it."
"Don't bother complaining. You don't have to consult with him on a regular basis. I work with him at least once a week."
Harry nodded, happily conceding the point. Snape's scorn didn't really concern him. Not when he had Draco so close, holding him, and it felt so bloody right.
"You know," Draco said, trailing his fingers lazily along one of Harry's arms, "It's almost a shame you didn't explore a little further in my memories. If you'd investigated more recent ones, you'd have found some very different...fantasies."
"Is that so?"
"Oh yes," Draco said, his voice dropping slightly, and Harry sucked in his breath, startled at the tremor that ran through him. God, already?
"In the shower?" he asked, and bit his lip at the flush that spread across Draco's cheeks--except it was kind of charming, actually, and Draco's sheepish expression betrayed no anger.
"Not so much, no," Draco laughed. "Not any more. That was an old one, I think."
"Where are the new ones?" Harry asked, moving his lips near Draco's ear and smiling as he drew in his breath.
"In the Quidditch hutch," he said, a bit breathless, shifting slightly. "While putting away equipment." Draco turned slightly and captured Harry's lips, and Harry wasn't sure whether it was the words or the intensity of the kiss that made his arousal spike so sharply.
"Quidditch hutch?" And now he was the one sounding breathless.
"Mmhmm..." said Draco. "And on this couch."
"Oh." His cock gave a throb and he briefly considered sharing a few of his own fantasies, but Draco didn't seem interested right now.
Which was fine. This reality was better than any fantasy, because reality was that they were moving into each other's arms again, kissing each other deeply, and now Draco was starting to push him onto his back and Harry obliged him, not even minding that the couch was a bit narrower than he preferred for this kind of thing... they'd probably work their way to the bed soon enough, after all...
"I'd almost be willing to take that potion again," Draco murmured between kisses. "That would make for some interesting threesome fantasies, now that I think of it--"
Draco came back to his neck, lips moving gently near his ear and taking another deep breath. Harry turned to kiss him again, then drew back, tilting his head to the side. Draco's expression...
"You don't love the smell of broomsticks, do you?" he asked suddenly.
Draco blinked. "Love it?" He thought for a moment. "Not particularly." He came back to Harry's ear, tracing the outside with his tongue again, drawing a shiver from Harry. "But I love the smell of you. After you've been riding one."
Harry felt his face heating up again, joining the heat of his arousal as well as another, totally unexpected warmth, that spread all the way through him.
He cleared his throat, a bit embarrassed. "I need a shower."
Draco took his hand and tugged him up, off the sofa, and in the direction of the bathroom.
"Come on, Potter. Let's make some new memories."
A million thanks to our betas, melusinahp, schemingreader, and cestwhat :)