Title: And Then There Is No Mystery Left

Rating: R

Beta: simeysgirl

A/N: Written for hd_cockbook over at live journal. Title taken from the Rilo Kiley song 'Portions for Foxes' and used with glee!

After looking at his watch for the dozenth time, Harry let his head drop back onto the cold stone wall behind him. He poked his head out of the alcove quickly to take a look, but the corridor beyond was still empty.

Wondering what could be taking Draco so long to eat dinner, Harry decided they must have served mango and passion fruit cheesecake for pudding. He'd never failed to notice the way Draco savoured that particular dessert, the way his face would seem to be wiped clean of emotions except for the small smile on his face with every bite, the way he would take his time pulling the fork from his mouth, his lips clamped tight, making sure to get every last molecule of the creamy cake off the utensil and the way he would always have a second helping. Imaging Draco's tongue licking his lips after eating the cake, Harry let his eyes fall shut and hummed. Then he began imaging Draco's tongue licking other things. Draco's tongue, along with the snarky git attached to it, had been driving Harry mad for months now.

It had started, predictably enough, with a fight. Harry couldn't even remember what it had been about anymore. Despite the war and the lessons learnt and the new friendships forged, when a large number of students had returned to Hogwarts for their 'Eighth Year', Harry and Draco had picked up right where they had left off: Cursing each other with their mouths and their wands.

After a particularly frustrating day the pair of them had fallen easily into the familiar routine of yelling at each other in the eighth year common room. They had slowly made their way towards each other, getting angrier all the time, until they were inches apart and practically spitting in each other's face. It was then that Harry had the wild thought of shutting Draco up with a hard kiss, and had stumbled backwards a few steps with the shock of it. When he'd looked at Draco he'd had his lips pursed, as though he had read Harry's mind and was protecting them from attack by Harry's lips. In Draco's eyes, however, Harry had seen something. Something new. Along with the anger and hatred that there always had been, Harry could now discern a fair amount of shock and not a small amount of desire. Finding that very interesting, Harry had taken a step back towards Draco, who had startled, promptly yelled a half-hearted, "Fuck off," at Harry, then turned tail and fled the common room. After a beat, Harry had ran after him.

When Harry had caught up with Draco in a corridor on the third floor, they hadn't bothered shouting at each other. They hadn't even bothered with words at all. Harry had reached out and pulled Draco around by his shoulder, their eyes had met and all the anger they shared suddenly turned feral with need. Their lips had met with such force that Harry had bitten his tongue and drawn blood. He hadn't cared.

By the time they had made it back to the common room it was very late and everyone else had gone to bed—having presumed that Harry and Draco had offed each other, no doubt—for which Harry was grateful. The next day they had been able to pass their marks and bruises off as results of a spectacular fight, but anyone seeing them return that night with mussed hair, swollen lips and artfully torn shirts—not to mention their glazed and sated expressions—would have had no trouble deducing what had really happened.

They had had many more encounters since that first one—none of them as rough, all of them as desperate—and had even talked. They had agreed there was something between them, and they had agreed to keep it a secret. With no more arguments, everyone assumed they had reached a ceasefire after their overly-rough "fight" and Harry and Draco let them believe it.

Almost three months later found Harry hiding in an alcove waiting to accost his boyfriend. Harry only called Draco that in his head, likely his boyfriend wouldn't appreciate it if he knew. And that was the reason why, two weeks ago, Harry decided he didn't want to keep his relationship with Draco a secret anymore. He didn't think Draco would like that, either, so he'd tried to think of a way to reveal their relationship to the school without simply declaring it, without being seen together or simply telling people. The rumour mill at Hogwarts was a fast one, so it shouldn't take much.

It had actually been remembering that night, their last fight (well, okay, not last, they still fought a lot, just in private and about whose turn it was to top) and their first kiss, that had given Harry the idea for this plan.

Harry's back was getting stiff by the time he finally heard the distinct sound of a single set of approaching footsteps. Catching sight of the blond hair as the person moved past the small hidden space, Harry whipped his arm out and yanked Draco inside. Quite accustomed to dragging each other into empty classrooms and storage cupboards, Draco hardly battered an eyelid at the assault. Instead he saw Harry and smirked at him.

"This afternoon's hand job in the loo not enough for you?" Draco asked.

"It's never enough."

Without waiting for a response Harry gripped Draco's hips and pulled him forwards. Draco braced himself by grabbing on tightly to Harry's shoulders. Harry was grinning when he forcefully pressed his lips against Draco's and instantly pushed his tongue into Draco's mouth. Draco, never the passive party, responded in kind. He leaned his whole body into the kiss and pushed Harry none too gently against the wall.

Glad to see Draco being as responsive as ever, Harry began nibbling at Draco's lips. He held onto Draco's slim hips tight enough to know there would be bruises. The thought of purpling finger impressions on the pale skin of Draco's hip bones sent a thrill through Harry and he accidentally bit down rather hard on Draco's bottom lip. With a small cry of pain, Draco pulled back, sucking on his lip. Secretly, Harry was pleased. That was definitely going to leave a mark. At first Draco seemed shocked, but quickly his eyes narrowed and he looked determined, as though Harry had issued a challenge and Draco was not going to back down. Harry had to bite his own lip to keep from smiling.

A second later, with no hesitation, Draco bent his head and began sucking and nipping at Harry's neck, ever so slowing inching his way down. Harry's head fell to the side as a moan of pleasure tinged with the perfect amount of pain fell from his mouth.

About an hour later Harry finally made his way back to the common room, alone, to fall into bed with a happy smile on his face. Along with red blemishes on his neck, bruising to his shoulders and a few bite marks. Not to mention a pain in his arse.

The next morning Harry rose later than usual, knowing the next stage of his plan needed to take place somewhere a little more public than the eighth year dormitories. He spent many minutes admiring the marks Draco had left on him the previous night. When he dressed, he was glad to see the stark white of his school shirt made the red and purple colours of his bites and bruises stand out proud.

When Harry entered the Great Hall for breakfast it was already completely packed. He smiled. Walking down the Gryffindor table until he came across Ron and Hermione, he then settled down opposite them and casually began eating his breakfast.

There was a general low-level hum of chatter across the Great Hall, and the Gryffindor table was full of the same whispered—and not so whispered—conversation. So far Harry had only received a brief, "Hello," from Hermione and an, "Alright, mate?" along with a grin from Ron. But that was okay, Harry could wait.

It was as Harry reached across the table for the raspberry jam, and consequently when his loosely buttoned shirt fell open slightly to reveal his collar bone, that the second part of the plan was forced into motion.

"Harry!" Hermione cried "What happened!"

Feeling himself blush—no matter how much Harry had planned this, part of him would never ceased to be embarrassed by such attention—Harry kept his eyes averted and spread the jam on his crumpet.

"What do you mean, Hermione?" he asked innocently.

"Your neck!" She assisted her explanation with a finger pointed at the offending body part.

"Yeah, mate," Ron chimed in, "it's all red and stuff."

"Oh," was all Harry could manage as he pulled his collar up higher. Hermione simply batted his hands away.

"What happened?" Hermione repeated.

"Nothing," Harry said evasively.

"Did you get into another fight?" Hermione's voice was accusatory.

"No!" Harry said. Quickly followed by, "Nothing like that."

"Then how did you—Oh!" Hermione's eyes widened in realisation. Harry's blush deepened.

"What?" Ron asked. "How did Harry what? What 'Oh'?" He looked between Harry and Hermione, obviously hoping for answers.

"Who?" Hermione asked instead.

Also ignoring Ron, Harry replied, "I can't tell you."

A fire seemed to ignite behind Hermione's eyes, and it was just what Harry had been hoping to see. That was the look Hermione got when there was information that she wasn't privy to. That was the look Hermione got when she was determined to learn that information.

"How long has it been going on?" she asked, obviously eager to learn as many details as she could.

Harry shrugged, wondering how much he could give away and still make it seem accidental. "A while."

Realising he wasn't going to cotton on to the topic of conversation or get any answers, Ron huffed and turned away.

"Do I know them?" Hermione continued to push.

Harry looked her straight in the eye and raised an eyebrow—he hoped it didn't look too much like Draco's, he had learnt it from the git—that clearly said, "What do you think?"

"Hmm." Hermione pondered for a moment. "Are they an eighth year?"

Refusing to answer such a blatant question, Harry pointedly looked away. He didn't miss the smile Hermione gave, of course picking up on the unvoiced admission.

"Well, so long as you're happy," Hermione said, apparently finished with her interrogation.

"I am," Harry conceded. And, in an undertone he knew would carry to Hermione's ears, "I did give as good as I got."

At that Harry left it, knowing he had perked his friend's interest and that she was clever. Hermione would soon put two and two together and the cat would be out of the bag.

Continuing his breakfast in silence, Harry allowed his gaze to briefly pass over Draco at the Slytherin table. He was chatting with his friends, apparently having finished his food. Harry wished he knew what they were talking about. Had Draco's friends spotted the marks he'd left? Had they asked where he'd got them?

Harry wondered how early Draco had risen that morning; whether the showers had been empty, or whether one of his friends had been there to spot the possessive bruising on his hips. For the sake of the plan, Harry hoped someone had seen them. But a more selfish part of Harry hoped no-one had; he hoped that those bruises were for him alone.

Throughout that morning's lessons Harry could see Hermione trying to figure out who Harry's mystery neck-sucking partner was. Hermione had known Harry long enough by now, and he could tell she wasn't wasting time by eyeing up the necks of the eighth year girls. Harry left her to it, knowing they didn't have a lesson with Draco until just before lunch.

When their Potions lesson finally came around, Harry was almost giddy with anticipation. He was worried Hermione would pick up on it and not only figure out that Harry and Draco were secretly going at it, but that Harry had orchestrated this whole plot to reveal that fact to the school. Taking a calming breath, Harry entered the dungeon classroom and sat in his usual seat, not bothering to glance towards Draco as he normally would.

The lesson progressed as slowly and monotonously as any other Potions class, though Harry could clearly see Hermione's eyes straying from her potion to stare intently at the neck's of all the boys in the class. Which is why he was surprised when Hermione let out a frustrated huff and scowled before returning her attention to her bubbling cauldron.

Unable to believe Hermione could have given up, not when their table had such a clear view of Draco's (Harry knew, because he had stared at Draco often enough—in anger and in lust—during his entire time at Hogwarts), Harry oh-so-casually (because he'd done that often enough, too) turned his head to look over at Draco.

Draco had his shirt as loosely buttoned as Harry's, the collar wonky and pushed out of the way. For a few minutes Harry's thoughts got lost in the memories of how he had sucked and bitten on that neck the previous night. How it had felt under his tongue and how much Draco had writhed and moaned and begged for more. That was why it took Harry a while to spot the obvious problem that was literally staring him in face.

By the time Harry came back from his pleasant daydream, he was frowning. There was something wrong with Draco's long, smooth, pale neck. It was the fact that Draco's neck was just that: long, smooth and pale. Not one unsightly—and gorgeous—red blemish or shallow tooth impression. Draco's skin was as unmarred and perfect as porcelain as it always was.

At first Harry was simply shocked. How was that possible? He knew he had left a deep red mark a few centimetres below and to the left of that ear. He knew he had spent long enough nibbling across that beautifully spotless collar bone to leave a bruise. And he knew he had run his nails over those proud shoulders tightly enough to scratch. But none of that evidence were there.

Harry's shock soon became confusion. How had Draco done that? Surely he hadn't gone to see Madam Pomfrey and asked her to heal teeth marks and love bites, but Harry didn't know what else he could have done.

Then came the biggest question: why? Why would Draco heal the marks Harry had left on him? Harry knew Draco was a vain bastard, but he'd never seemed bothered by any bodily evidence of their couplings before. Harry's frown turned angry and he pursed his lips.

Draco was not looking over at him, and this only incensed Harry further.

Having been looking forward to this lesson, and the revelation of their relationship, all day, Harry suddenly couldn't wait for it to end. The plan had changed and he needed to confront Draco as soon as possible.

Harry chose one of Draco's favourite cubbyholes right beside the doors to the Great Hall (he was always fond of waylaying Harry on his way to meals) and waited.

It was almost a déjà vu of the previous night, but while then Harry had been hiding in an alcove while alive with excitement and more than a little horny, he was now simply hiding in an alcove sad with disappointment and more than a little hurt. He was still angry at Draco for ruining his plan, but after spending the rest of the Potions lesson thinking about it, Harry was left feeling upset that Draco would want to heal the marks that Harry had left on him, the marks that Harry had used to claim him, even if no one else knew. He needed to know why.

Once again it was a flash of blond that gave Draco away, and once again Harry's quickly reached out and pulled him into the small space. Draco grinned at him. A grin that was far to pleased about something.

"Copying my methods, Harry?" Draco asked as he snaked his arms around Harry's waist. "There's really no point; I'm not as cranky as you if I don't eat, so it's no where near as amusing."

Ignoring the bait, Harry jumped in immediately. "What did you do?"

Draco heaved a put-upon sigh and placed a single finger against his chin in mock contemplation.

"I've done a lot of things. Did you want a list, or were you after something more specific?"

"Draco," Harry began warningly, before lifting Draco's chin and indicating his neck. "What did you do?"

"Oh, that?" Draco asked casually. "I healed most of them. I couldn't bare to part with a couple of my favourites, so I simply hid them." He winked at Harry and Harry could only gape in response.

"But—" Harry wasn't sure where to start. "How? Why? And how?"

"Well, after that first night of rougher-than-average foreplay with you, I finally bothered to learn a few basic healing and concealment charms," Draco explained.

"Draco, that was months ago, you've never healed or hidden any marks I've given you in that time..." At least not that Harry had noticed. "Have you?" He asked quietly.

"No," Draco said gently as he shook his head and smiled.

"Then why?" Harry continued to ask. "Why now?"

"Because you wanted to use them to out us with gossip and second-hand rumours." Draco was looking Harry directly in eye, daring him to deny it.

Harry cringed. "How did you—"

"I'm not stupid, Harry," Draco said not unkindly. "You've been pretty quiet the last few weeks, as well as staring wistfully at any happy couple that passes you by." Frowning, Draco added, "Including Greg and Millie—and what is that about?" Instead of waiting for an answer, Draco dismissed the question with a shake of his head. "And I'm not blind, either, you know. I see the way you look at me when you think I'm busy, or engrossed in a book, or preoccupied with my cock in your mouth."

Mortified that Draco not only knew what Harry had planned, but also knew exactly how Harry felt—yes, even (and especially) while giving Draco a blow job—Harry screwed his eyes shut in embarrassment and turned his head away.

"Hey," Draco said, demanding Harry's full attention. "Don't be like that."

"Like what, Draco?" Harry snapped, his anger jumping in to hide his shame. "Apparently my heart's been laid out plain for you to see, but obviously you don't feel the same way. You're happy hiding in cupboards for hot and heavy one-offs. You don't want to hold my hand or curl up in bed together. I get that now."

More than a little pissed off, Harry tore from the small nook and headed for the Great Hall. He could hear Draco following him, but didn't turn around.

"Are you seriously that stupid, Potter?" came Draco's taunt.

It was the 'Potter' rather than the insult that made Harry stop and look back. They hadn't been Potter and Malfoy for a long time.

Draco, having got Harry's attention, continued, "I may have noticed the things you do and realised how you feel, but you can't have been looking too closely at me if you haven't picked up on my nervous fidgeting whenever we sit near each other in the common room, or the way I laugh at your jokes that aren't funny, or how my face can't hide anything from you when you're moving inside me."

Harry had stopped breathing somewhere in the middle of Draco's speech and found himself rooted to the spot as Draco's moved closer, quickly closing the distance between them.

"It wasn't your intentions I had a problem with, simply your method," Draco said quietly when he was standing so close that Harry could feel Draco's chest rise and fall as he breathed.

And that was when Harry remembered to breathe. And that was when Harry smiled up at his boyfriend—not only in his head, now—who was smiling back at him. And that was when Harry leaned in and gently pressed his lips to Draco's.

The moment was ruined by Draco's wince and sharp intake of breath as his hand shot up to his mouth. He grinned sheepishly at Harry.

"That was one of the ones I simply concealed," he admitted. "That and the scratches you left on my back. Mmmm..." Draco seemed to drift off into his memories.

Harry gave him a few seconds before clearing his throat and calling Draco back to the present.

"Anyway, if you want to claim me, Harry, you're going to have to do better than that."

With a parting smirk, Draco turned and walked confidently into the Great Hall.

Never one to back down from an obvious challenge, Harry dashed after him, catching up to him just inside the large doors. Wasting no time, Harry began claiming Draco the only way he knew how, right there in front of the entire Hall.

Starting at Draco's neck, Harry began systematically replacing all the marks and bruises from the previous night that Draco had healed. He barely registered the collective gasp of the student body as they had their lunch interrupted. Harry was far too busy licking and nibbling and sucking and biting and making Draco moan.

When that wasn't enough, Harry pushed Draco against the nearest hard surface—a door, Harry thought—relishing the cry Draco released at having the scratches he'd refrained from healing aggravated by the contact.

Finally deciding to lower the volume of Draco's delicious noises, Harry moved his lips back up to join them with Draco's. Instead of a kiss, Harry felt Draco smile before he whispered.

"That's more like it."

- End -