ooOoo

Lesson Fifteen

ooOoo

Draco awoke to the thundering of rain against the Hospital Wing's windows. He opened his eyelids slowly, adjusting to the dim, grey light that filtered into the large room. He tried lifting his head, but found that he had no strength in his limbs.

His voice was gravelly as he croaked out a desolate, "-otter?"

"Mister Malfoy!" That was not Harry Potter.

A blurry face loomed over Draco suddenly, and he blinked the grogginess out of his sight. Madam Pomfrey was fussing with something in her hands, and Draco heard the slosh of liquid. "I'm glad you're awake, dear. We were all worried there for a spell. Now, open your mouth for me." She pressed the rim of a cup against Draco's lips, which he cracked open with effort. He was just so bloody tired.

The potion slid down his throat, blessedly tasteless. He immediately felt more energized, and regained the feeling in his limbs. He struggled to sit, with Madam Pomfrey helping him lean against a stack of pillows.

"There you go," said Madam Pomfrey with a pitying smile as she took a step back from the bed. Draco could finally see the rest of the empty Hospital Wing…and his own body. He was clothed in the simple, striped pyjamas he remembered from his rare trips here years ago. What caught his gaze were his hands, which he raised into the air, examining them from every angle.

"Good as new," Madam Pomfrey's soft smile continued to grow as she fussed with more bottles on the table next to Draco. And his hands were as good as new, the skin as pale and flawless as they'd been before the – just, before.

"I was expecting at least some sort of scar," Draco murmured as he peeked down the front of his shirt, noting the pristine state of his chest – the Sectumsepra scars a shade lighter than the surrounding flesh, as always.

Pomfrey made an odd sort of noise, causing Draco to glance at her. "Well, not everything is exactly as it was before you got yourself into that mess in the Room of Requirement." A drop of acidic dread slithered into Draco's stomach.

"What do you mean?"

"That…mark on your arm – the Dark magic that was embedded in it reacted with the Dark essence of the Fiendfyre, and, well," she trailed off, and Draco turned his eyes to his left forearm, his hand shaking ever so slightly as he pulled the sleeve back.

The Dark Mark was a startling off-white, the skin on the edges of the Mark seared black. Draco swallowed, his stomach rolling with disgust at the damaged limb. He turned his head sharply to stare at Pomfrey, whose eyes were glistening with pity again.

"It was the one section of skin we couldn't fix with magic. There are some Muggle methods we can try to increase the chances of the burn healing, but I wanted you to awaken before we decided on anything."

The air was saturated with the sounds of the storm outside and the dull ringing that was filling Draco's ears. He couldn't stop staring at the Mark, at its new look. This is what his stupid plan to stop the Fiendfyre amounted to: his near death and another reason for people to be disgusted with him.

Wait…the Fiendfyre-

"How long was I unconscious?"

"Almost a week. I had to keep you under a Stasis Charm for days while Miss Johnson, Miss Granger and I tried to think of a way to heal your burns."

"What happened with the Fiendfyre? Is the castle alright? Is Potter –?"

"I believe I can answer your questions, Mister Malfoy," a calm voice said from the entranceway. Draco and Madam Pomfrey turned to see Headmistress McGonagall striding towards them, an unreadable expression on her aging face.

"Headmistress," Draco greeted, his voice sounding oddly breathless.

"Draco, I'm glad to see that you are awake," McGonagall said with a startling smile, her visage suddenly relaxing. Draco distantly noticed that this was the first time she had called him by anything other than 'Mister Malfoy.'

"Headmistress, what happened?"

McGonagall's smile grew wry around the edges as she conjured a stool to sit elegantly on at Draco's bedside. "Well, Mister Malfoy, it seems that Miss Parkinson and the rest of your acquaintances were able to put together what you planned to do not long after you set upon your course to save the castle single-handedly. Luckily for everyone involved, I received an owl from one of my sources about how to stop the Fiendfyre almost simultaneously."

Ah, Pans, Draco thought gratefully. Of course she'd been able to complete his thoughts from breakfast. But, damn, she's going to make me repay her for this for decades.

"After she could not find you anywhere in the castle, Miss Parkinson was intelligent enough to approach me when she realized what you planned to do. I was just about to head out to stop you when Mister Potter, Miss Granger and Mister Weasley all collided with me on the way to Hogsmeade." McGonagall's eyebrow rose imperiously. "Apparently Mister Nott had relayed your plans to Mister Potter, who was quite…determined to keep you from harm."

Draco felt a shock of heat run through his chest. McGonagall's eyes twinkled interestedly over her spectacles. "After that, we traced your path down to the Hog's Head, where Mister Davies was kind enough to tell us the details of your scheme. Equipped with the counter-curse to the Fiendfyre, it was easy enough to solve the problem of the Room. You, however," McGonagall said with sudden severity, her eyes losing their happy twinkle, "were in quite a terrible state, and I owled Madam Pomfrey at once to aid your healing process. And, well, here you are."

Draco swallowed, watching the miniature rivers flow down the glass of the windows. He could still feel the flames licking his skin, gnawing him to his core, the sensation turning painless as his nerves were burned away…

"But all of the Fiendfyre is gone?"

"Yes, quite so, dear," an ancient, lilting voice confirmed.

Draco blinked, not believing his eyes. "Oh, Laima, you're here," McGonagall greeted. His previous boss, the friendly manager of Mr. Mulpepper's Apothecary, shuffled closer to the bed, her pale, shining eyes wide as she stared at Draco.

"Hullo, dear. Are you feeling better?" She asked sweetly.

"Uh, yes. But what are you doing here, Laima?"

The sagging widow perched on the side of Draco's cot, her unblinking eyes still staring eerily. "My dear, were you not listening to Minerva? I responded to her letter asking about the counter-curse to Fiendfyre." Draco could only stare back, thoroughly surprised. Who could have guessed that the potions shop manager was also an expert in cursed fire? Although, those who worked in Knockturn were bound to be learned in most aspects of the Dark Arts…

"Dear? Are you still listening?" Draco jolted away from his thoughts, focusing on the headmistress and the widow.

"Ah, yes. So, with the Fiendfyre gone, is Hogwarts' magic coming back?" McGonagall smiled, nodding in affirmation.

"Quite so. Even the portraits are returning from wherever they had gone. Everything is back to normal. So I must thank you, Mister Malfoy. For, without your help, Hogwarts would be nothing more than a pile of rubble at this point." Headmistress McGonagall reached out a hand, grasping Draco's bony shoulder and squeezing it firmly. "You will, of course, be welcomed back to Hogwarts with the rest of your class in a few weeks, as we discussed."

Oh, right. That is what all of this was about, wasn't it? That time when he was living at the Manor, talking with Pansy about her Hogwarts letter seemed years ago, not weeks. "Thank you, Headmistress." And with one last squeeze, McGonagall slipped out of the Hospital Wing, Laima following behind her.

For an empty moment, everything was quiet except for the low clink!s from the glass jars Madam Pomfrey was handling. So, that's it. Everything was resolved. My plan worked, in a circumvented way, Draco slowly realized. Weight was lifting off his shoulders, and tension bled from his limbs as he flopped back against the bed, feeling exhausted.

Merlin, I wonder how many times Potter has felt this bone-deep satisfaction from saving someone. And then Draco was sitting up again, a confused tilt to his frown.

Where is Potter?

o

"Really now, do try and remain quiet – Mister Malfoy is still being weaned off his potions, after all," Madam Pomfrey warned as the crowd hustled into the Wing, coalescing around Draco's bed.

"Hullo, you bitch. I see you're making a fine recovering," Pansy sneered icily. "Now you can begin explaining how you could be so stupid and still call yourself a Slytherin."

Draco grinned honestly. "I'm glad to see you too, Pans." Pansy huffed, looking away, but Draco could see how reassured she was by the way she lowered her shoulders, calming her posture.

"Your plan truly was idiotic, you know," Blaise said haughtily, transfiguring an empty cup into a comfortable, high-backed chair he could sit proudly on. "They might have to induct you into Gryffindor next year as a reward. I assume that the test to get in is trying to save everyone by killing yourself."

"Oi, keep the Gryffindor hate to yourself, Zabini," Wood growled, and Marcus smirked pointedly as he slung an arm around Oliver's shoulders. Blaise shrugged daintily, pulling out his wand to manicure his fingernails.

Theo didn't say anything, merely stood near the head of the bed, his hand resting firmly on Draco's shoulder – a silent source of comfort. Draco appreciated it greatly.

The group spent the rest of the day like that, bickering good-naturedly, sharing gossipy predictions for the next school year. The longing in Marcus' and Wood's eyes contradicted their words of gratefulness that they were done with school for the rest of their lives.

When it became time for dinner, Marcus and Wood trickled out, bidding stoic farewells to Draco, promising to visit him one last time before all of the volunteers left the newly-renovated castle. Pansy yawned, standing from her seat on the arm of Blaise's chair. "Well, I might as well go see what slop the elves have served tonight. Coming, Blaise?" He shrugged.

"Might as well. It must be better than whatever Pomfrey is serving here." Draco grimaced. It was true – the Hospital Wing really wasn't known for its wonderful meals. "Well, Dray-Dray, we'll see you tomorrow." Blaise chortled at Draco's irritated expression.

Draco watched Pansy and Blaise approach the door to the entryway, then he struck. He pictured Blaise tripping forcefully, and flicked his fingers.

Blaise stumbled, but retained his balance.

Draco swallowed around his suddenly dry throat, staring at his hands in horror. Oh, Merlin. He could remember when he'd connected his core to Hogwarts', the violent way the castle had ripped his magic away from him. At the end of it all, he'd felt empty of all magic.

Had he damaged his core somehow?

Oh, fuck.

"Draco? Y'alright?" Theo asked concernedly. Draco didn't even hear him, too absorbed at the thought of being nothing more than a glorified Squib, a magical being with the barest traces of magic. Oh, fuck.

"Draco, you're worrying me. Draco!" Theo leaned over him, shaking his shoulders roughly. Draco looked at him, his eyes wide as he reached out to grip Theo's arms in horror.

"Oh, Merlin, Theo. What if it doesn't come back?" Theo's face was strained with anxiety, and some of his dark hair fell across his eyes.

"If what doesn't come back? Draco, what's wrong?"

"My magic, Theo! I must've done something to it. Oh, Salazar, what have I done?" Draco covered his face with his hands, needing the privacy and projected solitude. Death would be solace in comparison to a life without magic.

"Mister Nott? Is something the matter?" Draco heard Madam Pomfrey approach the bed, and Theo muttered something frantically to her. "Oh dear. Well, I'm sure I have some strengthening potions around here somewhere." Draco felt a worn, calloused hand settle on his arm. "Don't worry, Mister Malfoy. We will fix this."

Draco slowly pulled his hands away from his face, and glanced at the witch. Her eyes weren't filled with pity like normal, but more of a firm resolve that calmed Draco significantly. He took a deep breath, falling back onto the pillows once again. This was out of his hands now, and he could only hope that Madam Pomfrey could fix it.

o

Draco was officially released out of the coddling hands of Poppy Pomfrey on the evening of August 26th, a balmy day that was teasing the flickering touch of fall on the horizon.

He shut the door to the Hospital Wing firmly behind him, breathing in a deep lungful of air as he leaned against the wood.

He felt better.

Yes, he would still get lost in the memories of burning alive every now and then, and, yes, his Mark was still in that repulsive state on his arm, and, yes, his magical core was still rather weak.

But he felt better. Better than when the castle had been falling apart at the seams, at least.

He let out his lungful of air, pushing himself off the wall and heading towards the Great Hall, where McGonagall was hosting a parting feast for the volunteers who'd helped finally rebuild Hogwarts to its former greatness.

His footsteps echoed in the Entrance Hall, and he hesitated for the briefest moment before pushing open the door to the festivities, allowing the candlelight and laughter to flow over him.

"Malfoy!"

"Draco!"

There were a good dozen shouts of greeting from the group, who'd all warmed up to him considerably after hearing from the headmistress what Draco had done for the castle. Draco held his smile in check, not wanting to seem like a complete Hufflepuff under all of the attention, as Theo gestured at the seat next to him at the long table. Draco complied, slipping in between him and Marcus, who patted Draco firmly on the back before going back to talking with Oliver.

When all eyes had turned away from him once again, Draco scanned the table as he served himself some steak and kidney pie. One-eared Weasley was draped over Johnson, who wasn't resisting; McGonagall was laughing heartily at something O'Donnell and Hood were explaining, and Draco could see her tipsiness in the way she gulped down her gin and tonic; Davies was reading some book, twirling his wand around his fingers absent-mindedly; Granger was scolding the other Weasley and–

Potter.

Fucking Potter.

Twelve days. Draco had been lying in the Hospital Wing for twelve days, and Potter hadn't shown his face once.

And, Merlin, it made him furious that Potter had the gall to simply watch him like he always did back at school, that emerald gaze unwavering as he sipped his shot of Firewhisky. Draco was suddenly tempted to use his imperfect skills of Legilimency – until he remembered that he wouldn't be able to with his limited about of magic.

Shit. Those core-strengthening potions better begin working soon. And Potter better watch his fucking back. Is it in his nature to ignore me for weeks on end?

He sneered bitingly at Potter before turning to Marcus and joining in on his and Oliver's conversation about Puddlemere United's chances next season.

But, overall, the evening was pleasant, and Draco even felt a pang of bitterness when groups of volunteers began leaving, wishing each other the best before disappearing into the night. "Well, Malfoy, it's about time me and Wood be headin' off," Marcus said through a yawn as he and Oliver stood from the table.

"Let me walk with you two to the gates. I need to talk to you about something."

Marcus shrugged, and Oliver watched Draco appraisingly. The moon hung low over the treeline of the Forbidden Forest, and the lake shone with the reflection of the millions of stars in the sky. Simply put, it was beautiful.

Draco cleared his throat as he walked alongside Marcus and Oliver to the gate. "You know, a while back, I, uh, saw you two in one of the abandoned classrooms…being intimate."

The two men were silent.

And then they burst into rough laughter. Draco stared at them, thoroughly stunned as Marcus guffawed so hard that he had to hold onto Oliver's shoulder for support. "Oh gods, Malfoy," Oliver gasped for air, clutching a stitch in his side. "That's what ya needed to talk to us about all seriously?"

"I don't see how this is particularly amusing. I though being a nancy boy was practically a crime in English Wizarding society," Draco said coldly, crossing his arms over his chest and ignoring the twinge of pain that came as he brushed his Mark against his other arm.

Marcus grinned widely, reaching out to pat Draco's shoulder heartily. "Look, Malfoy, ya gotta loosen up. Yeah, me and Oliver are shagging. Been shaggin' for years now, actually, and we don't really give a fuck what anybody thinks."

"We don't really see why anyone should care what we do with ourselves," Oliver added, still chuckling.

"So you two just…don't care?" Draco asked in disbelief.

"Yeah. Look, Draco, if anything they say about you is true, ya need to get comfortable with yourself real quick. The world's a mean place if ya not sure who you are." And then Marcus ruffled Draco's hair as if he was a child, causing Draco to squawk and slap the older man's hands away, drawing another laugh from Marcus and Oliver.

"Well, cheers, Malfoy. Good luck out there," Marcus said before continuing his way down the path. Oliver paused a moment, watching Marcus walk away. He turned to Draco.

"Good luck with Potter, Malfoy. You'll work it out somehow." And with that, Oliver was following Marcus towards the gate, leaving Draco standing with his mouth open, watching them leave.

o

Fuck.

Draco stood in front of the entranceway to the Gryffindor common room, his hands clenched tightly into fists at his side. The fat woman in the portrait gazed curiously at him while she curled a strand of her hair around her finger.

"Do you need to get in, love? There's no password during the summer, you know." She pointed out, causing Draco to grind his teeth harder.

Yes, I know there is no password, you behemoth. It's merely my cowardice that's rooting me to this spot. He took a deep breath. "Yes, please open." And with a raised eyebrow, the portrait swung open, revealing the pathway into the common room.

Draco slowly climbed through, unable to stop his sneer when his senses were assaulted by the startling amount of red. Figures, really. He turned in the empty room, noting the dusty surfaces and the empty fireplace.

He'd only assumed that this is where Potter would go after the feast – the thought only then struck Draco that Potter might've left the castle entirely with the rest of the volunteers. But then there was the sound of footsteps on the high ceiling above, and Draco found the stairs leading to what he could only assume would be the dorms.

He followed the sound of voices, eventually stopping in front of another wooden entryway. He took a deep lungful of air; he pushed open the door.

"-ault, mate," Weasley was saying soothingly, his hand on Potter's shoulder. Granger was watching from her seat on one of the beds, but all eyes immediately turned to Draco as the hinges on the door squeaked. Weasley and Granger were speaking his name in surprise, but all Draco could see were Potter's eyes, which flashed with something dark and flighty before Potter turned his back on him.

"Weasley, Granger: get out. I need to talk with the Boy Wonder."

Granger nodded, seemingly unfazed by Draco's brusque tone, and pulled at Weasley's hand. As she stepped past Draco through the entrance, Granger whispered, "Good luck."

Draco heard the door shut behind him, and a dead silence filled the room. He stared at Potter's back, which remained firmly turned against him.

"Where were you?"

Nothing.

"Potter, I asked you a fucking question."

Silence.

"Where the fuck were you when I was lying in the Hospital Wing, waiting for you?"

Fuck it.

"What the fuck, Potter? Did you not fucking care about me enough to come see if I was fucking alive? Was all of that shit you told me before just a lie?" Draco was yelling, shouting at the top of his lungs, but didn't give a fuck if anyone heard. Potter's shoulders tensed dangerously, but he still didn't say anything.

Draco's pulse thump-ed loudly in his ears, and something in him cracked as the quiet stretched through the long distance between them.

And then Draco laughed that same cruel laugh that made him think of sadness and death and his father. "Well, I guess that's your answer, isn't it? You helped McGonagall save me out of what, pity? And then you were done." Draco's smile pulled painfully at his lips. "Well, thanks a fucking lot for the shags, Potter. I guess I should've known from your track record that none of your partners last for long. So much for risking my bloody life to make yours a little fucking better."

Draco's breath hissed through his teeth, and he squeezed the prickling from behind his eyelids before he turned to the door.

And then he was being shoved against it.

He gasped in pain as the door handle jabbed him painfully in the hip and his forehead scraped against the rough grain of the wood. Potter was a solid, burning presence against his back, and Draco gritted his teeth as his body unwillingly began to respond to Potter's proximity.

Potter leaned forward, almost pressing his mouth against Draco's ear. "Are you telling me that you almost burned yourself alive for me? And you think that your death would've made my life better?" Draco shivered slightly, feeling Potter's palms close around his wrists.

"I know that you love this bloody castle," Draco muttered angrily. Apparently more than me. "It just so happened that only you or I could stop the Room of Requirement from the inside."

"And you didn't feel like this was something you should have told me?" Potter yelled suddenly, causing Draco to flinch at the loud volume. Draco turned his head so that he could see Potter out his peripheral vision. Potter's eyes crackled with fury, and blood thump-ed loudly in Draco's ears again.

"What, so you could go do your whole suicidal-hero-of-the-world shit again?" Draco rammed his elbow back, yanking his arm out of Potter's grip and hitting him in the gut. Potter grunted, pulling away and allowing Draco to turn around and push Potter until he fell onto his back on the wooden floor.

Draco stood over Potter, panting. "I'd have rather died in that fire than have lived on knowing that I was the one to cause your death."

Potter gaped at him, all of his ire replaced by shock. Draco suddenly heard his words for the confession they were and flushed hotly. Oh, fuck.

And then Potter kicked at his ankle and he was toppling to the floor, his hands and knees catching his fall. Something shoved at his shoulder, and he fell onto his back, hitting his skull on the cold floor. Potter straddled him, snarling.

"You fucking idiot. Do you think that I would've wanted to live after I learned that you died to save me and this fucking school? Do you really think that I'd sha - no - make love to you twice out of pity? Do you believe that me tracking you down after all this time was a big joke?" Draco's throat was bone-dry. "Well, I guess you must believe that, considering you seem to know me so little."

Potter leaned down, his glasses bumping against Draco's nose. All Draco could see was green. Startling pools of green. "I didn't visit you in the Hospital Wing because I was so fucking terrified that you might not be okay. And after I heard that you were alright, I was so fucking angry that you'd done something so bloody stupid. Because how could you value yourself so little, Draco? Do you not understand how much I fucking need you?"

And Draco couldn't even reply. All he could croak was a broken "Potter" before Harry was kissing him, attacking his mouth so violently that it was less a loving gesture and more like a punishment.

Draco reached up, clawing at Harry's shoulders as he desperately pulled Harry against his chest, savouring Harry's groan of pleasure that vibrated through both of their bodies. And then it was only slick heat and cut off moans.

"Bed?" Harry gasped as he pulled away, his glasses pushed up on his forehead and his hair a tangled mess from where Draco's fingers had been holding it. Draco could only nod, taking Harry's hand as he heaved them to their feet before stumbling and pressing Draco against his bed.

Draco sat up, allowing Harry to pull off his shirt, goose bumps rising where Harry's fingertips brushed against the ticklish skin over his ribs. Harry leaned down, capturing Draco's lips once again as he unzipped both of their trousers, drawing back to set aside his glasses and drag off his own shirt, revealing firm muscles that quivered under Draco's fingers.

"Jesus – can I fuck you again? Please?" Harry's breath caught as he pressed his face against Draco's collar while Draco palmed the growing hardness in his pants.

"Yeah," Draco murmured quietly, using his other hand to grab Harry's chin and kiss him firmly. And then their pants were gone, and Draco was being turned onto his stomach. He scrabbled at Harry's pillow, burying his blushing face in it as Harry kissed down the smooth curve of his back.

And, oh fuck, he couldn't contain his moan as Harry pulled apart his cheeks, licking tentatively at the fluttering rim of his hole. "Oh, Merlin, Harry – I can't – ah!" Draco was nonsensical as Harry's tongue pressed into him, burning hot and slippery.

Draco lost track of time as Harry continued to eat him out, and he was soon gasping for breath, his cock twitching painfully against his stomach. "Fuck, Harry, just fucking put it in already," he growled, reaching down to pinch the base of his cock to keep from coming.

"Not just yet, your majesty," Harry teased breathily against his ear, pressing a biting kiss onto the back of his neck as he slipped a lube-covered finger into Draco's arse. It wasn't long before he added another, causing Draco to turn his head on the pillow, allowing Harry to kiss him sloppily. When the third finger had joined the other two, and Draco's hole felt loose and wet, Harry drew back, grasping at Draco's hips and pulling them into a sharper angle.

Then there was that dull pressure, and Harry thrust inside, causing both men to groan lowly. "Y'alright?" Harry panted as he waited for Draco to relax around him, though he was barely hanging onto his control.

"Yes, for fuck's sake, Harry! Just fuck me!" Draco yelped, shoving his arse back against Harry's hips. Draco watched over his shoulder as Harry's mouth turned into a savage smile and he suddenly rammed into Draco, forcing Draco to brace himself against the headboard.

"Like that?" Harry whispered darkly as he thrust forward again.

"Fuck yes. Harder," Draco ordered, sighing happily as Harry proceeded to pound him more forcefully. And then that spark lit Draco's nerves. "Oh, fuck! There!"

And then Harry was leaning down, wrapping his arms around Draco's torso and pulling him upright. Draco reached his hand back, threading it into Harry's ridiculously messy hair, and Harry ground his hips against Draco's arse. "God, Draco, you feel so good," Harry mumbled against the sensitive skin behind Draco's ear.

Draco shivered, and bit his lip trying to contain his moan as Harry reached around and grabbed his cock. Draco turned his head, pulling Harry's head forward until their tongues could tangle messily, filling the air with more slick noises.

"Oh, fuck, I'm close," Draco gasped against Harry's mouth as Harry thumbed the slit of his cock. Draco couldn't help but tighten his hole, enjoying the sound of Harry's breath stutter in response.

"Me too," Harry grimaced, rolling his hips as he continued to fist Draco's cock. And then he was sloppily pressing his mouth to Draco's again, thrusting erratically as he panted and came. Draco shuddered as Harry squeezed around his cock, and the tight coil of tension in his abdomen released, and he came, his vision whiting out on the edges as Harry swallowed his mewls.

Draco fell forward, Harry weighing heavily against his back. It was a bit annoying, but comforting as pleasant haziness clouded Draco's view. However, Harry eventually pulled out, leaving that unpleasant empty feeling in his wake. He collapsed next to Draco, watching him with unadulterated affection.

"Say it again," Draco whispered as he stared back at Harry.

"Say what?" Harry whispered, his forehead wrinkling endearingly.

"That you need me," Draco breathed.

Comprehension bloomed in Harry's eyes, and his smile was soft and crooked. He reached over, running his fingers through Draco's fine hair tenderly.

"I need you, Draco."

Draco fell asleep with a pleased grin pulling at his lips, his fingers intertwined with Harry's.

o

Flames licked at Draco's skin yet he felt no pain. Great beasts roared out of the hazy surroundings, their eyes glowing with hunger. No, no – please, stop, anyone, stop this –

Draco awoke with a gasp, his eyes opening onto dim hints of daylight. His heart was thundering in his chest, and it took him a moment to recognize his surroundings. This is Potter's room, he slowly realized. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he attempted to relax his pulse. He could feel the tacky sensation of sweat drying to the sheets and his skin.

An odd rumble sounded outside of the darkness of his eyelids, and Draco cautiously opened them. He tentatively sat up, grimacing at the soreness in his hips. And there was the cause of that soreness, sleeping soundly next to him, snoring loudly.

Draco's mouth twitched up at the corners. Annoying prick.

Yawning, Draco slipped out from the covers, stretching as he shuffled to the bright window. He leaned his bony elbows against the chilled, rough surface of the windowsill, watching the liquid sunlight swirl amongst the morning fog. As the day broke through the young dawn, the Marked man couldn't help but wonder about the upcoming evening of September first – the addition of all of those insecure children and judgmental teenagers, the influence of hundreds of new interlopers into his haven, each one of them expecting something from him and Potter that they could no longer provide.

It's all going to go to hell, isn't it? He couldn't help but predict as he watched Headmistress McGonagall begin her morning stroll around the lake.

There was a sleepy, questioning grumble from the covers. "…Draco? Whad'are you doing? Come back to bed," Potter called gruffly as he pulled back the warm blankets in an invitation.

Draco's mouth quirked into a fond smirk as he gazed at the Boy-Who-Lived-Twice over his pale shoulder, the Gryffindor's dark hair sticking up in odd angles and a dried line of drool smeared on the left corner of his mouth. Those green eyes were slitted in drowsy bemusement as Draco slowly made his way back to the bed, leaning down to press his lips against Harry's in a quick exchange of sentiment.

But I suppose all of that can wait until tomorrow.

ooOoo

Fin

ooOoo

606's Note: AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH. IT'S DONE. :D

Now I can finally do some other Drarry fics! YAAAY!

Oh, there definitely will be a sequel, just not for a while. Like, months. So don't be waiting on bated breath or anything. But I hope you guys will stay tuned for some other fics I'm excited to begin! (Oh, in addition to a sequel, this same story is gonna be retold through Harry's POV, so, just, uh, look forward to that too?)

P.S. Thanks so much to all of you who stuck around since the beginning, and also to those who joined the party a bit later. All of your guys' reviews were awesome, and I appreciate every single one of those follows or favorites. So, well, thanks so much, and I hope you at least enjoyed Wednesday Lessons a little.

Bye!