oOo

Thursday, 9th of November

"It's simple, really," Harry was saying. "It would be loads easier if we could just pick up a telephone instead of wasting time and energy writing out a memo, and then waiting for it to arrive at its destination. Do you know what I mean?"

Draco gave him a look laden with judgement at his insistence to replace Interdepartmental memos with muggle devices.

Harry shrugged. "If you want to be poked in the eye again by one of these," he waved a hand at the purple paper aeroplanes above them, "fine by me. I still think telephones are safer and would save a lot of time in an emergency.

The doors to the lift opened and they stepped out onto the main floor of the Ministry.

"In an emergency one would apparate, Potter."

Harry didn't respond. They walked side-by-side, Harry avoiding eye contact with the witches and wizards that walked past. Soon they reached the Ministry café and entered.

"What I don't understand," Draco hissed in his ear when they reached the front counter, "is why Proudfoot sent us to order his bloody coffee."

Harry gave a too-wide grin at the black-haired witch behind the counter and tried not to shiver at the breath on his neck. The witch stared at the pair of them, bemused and wide-eyed. Self-consciously, Harry patted his hair down on his forehead, but it only served to place more attention to his scar, which the black-haired witch was now staring at.

"Does he think I chose to be an Auror solely to serve them all drinks? Do I look like an errand boy to you, Potter?"

Harry elbowed Draco the moment the witch turned away and glared. "You think I want to be down here doing this? Being ogled by everyone around? You think I enjoy it?" Harry hissed back. "Never mind—don't answer that. Besides, Proudfoot and the others have been working overtime with the Miller case. He could use some caffeine. I don't think any of them have gone home since last Friday."

"Anything for you, sir?" the witch asked in Draco's direction after taking Harry's order.

"No," Draco replied, his eyes narrowed at Harry. "Thank you, Elena." He seemed to decide it wasn't worth responding back to Harry and proceeded to walk towards the entrance of the café. Harry watched him go, puzzled.

When they called for Harry's name a few moments later, he took the proffered cup and frowned when the witch pushed another in his hand. She motioned her head towards Draco, who stood tall and poised by the entrance, glaring at anyone who turned his way.

"For the moody one," she said to him, smiling a toothy, dimpled grin.

Not knowing how to reply, Harry nodded and walked away.

After securing an empty lift back up to headquarters, Harry handed Draco his drink. Draco stared at it.

"You didn't have to," he said, taking it anyway.

Harry frowned. "Wasn't me," Harry said, concentrating on not spilling Proudfoot's drink on his training robes. He felt more than saw Draco's questioning eyes on him. "The witch from the café," he clarified. He couldn't help but gage Draco's reaction carefully.

"Elena the Waitress?" Draco asked, his eyebrows furrowing. He contemplated his drink for a second before smirking and took an appreciative sip from his cup. He tilted his head back a little, exposing his neck, and when he swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbed invitingly. Draco caught Harry's stare and held it, lowering his cup and letting his tongue swipe across his lips. They stood this way for a moment, neither looking away and neither making a move to close the distance between them. Just as Harry's instincts told him to move, the doors opened on the floor of their department and the spell was broken. Draco smiled at him, a smile more mischievous than anything, and extended a hand for Harry to precede him from the lift.

When they arrived at Proudfoot's office, they found Oliver waiting for them. His Auror robes were gone and instead he wore a dark brown muggle jacket over a denim button up. He turned towards the pair when they crossed into the room.

"Finally," Oliver said, motioning for them to follow him back out of the office. He took the cup that Harry was still holding in his hand and took a long gulp from it. "I know you two should be heading to ST in a few, but we'll be doing something a little different today." He threw them an excited grin over his shoulders.

"Stealth and Tracking cancelled, then?"

"Not quite." The three of them crossed several desks in the open-office area, weaving around them so as to not disturb the stacks of files that littered the tops.

"Where's Proudfoot?" Harry asked.

"Called on duty," Oliver responded, taking another sip before handing the cup over to one of the Department clerks and waving him off. Beside him, Draco did the same. "Doesn't mean you two are free," he continued when they arrived in his office. He closed the door behind them. "You'll be doing ST out in the field with me instead." Oliver crossed the room and leaned on the edge of his desk, crossing his arms and facing them with an expectant smile.

"Will you be clarifying, or…?" Draco started. The smile on Oliver's face thinned a fraction.

"Are you working the Miller case, too?" Harry asked, failing to conceal the excitement in his voice. Maybe he would be getting involved after all. "Is that where the Aurors have been called off to? I heard some of the officers muttering about a possible lead somewhere up north. Are they getting close?" He felt Draco tense next to him and he turned to him in question.

"Sorry to disappoint you, Harry," Oliver said, taking his attention again. "But we won't be going as far as the others. Just doing some standard house-calls to gather any extra information we can to help with the case." Oliver straightened and turned to his desk. "That being said, this is still your first-time shadowing on the field. The ground rules that you've been studying this past months will apply from the moment we leave headquarters. Is that clear?" He made sure to receive an understanding nod from the pair of them before picking up two leather bindings from his desk. Harry recognized the bindings as wand holsters and he took one from Oliver's outstretched hand. "Shed your cloaks," Oliver ordered. "We'll be in muggle territory tonight and I can't stress enough the importance of acting as any muggle would—that is to say, normal."

Harry shed his cloak, throwing it on the back of a chair where Draco had placed his own. He slipped the holster on his forearm, one circled strap near his elbow and the other secured around his wrist. He slid his wand in the holder which ran down the inside of his forearm and tested it, flicking his wrist almost imperceptibly, satisfied at the speed in which his wand came to his hand. He did this multiple times, raising his wand straight away as if in combat. Next to him, Draco did the same.

Oliver let them practice for a few more minutes before motioning for them to follow him out of the office and towards the headquarters apparition point.

-x-

The first thing that Harry noticed when they apparated was the unpleasant smell of an alleyway. The second thing was that Draco had uncharacteristically misjudged his apparition point and stumbled into Harry. His body was a little too warm against him, warmer than normal, and his breath came out as a barely concealed gasp where Harry had reached to steady him. Was he in pain? Draco straightened quickly and moved to follow Oliver. The three of them walked out of the alleyway and onto the sidewalk, blending in with busy shoppers on the street. The lampposts were only just beginning to turn on for the evening. Harry felt a familiar layer of magic, signaling a privacy charm.

"We got word of another muggle witness this morning," Oliver said to them as they walked. "It's been difficult to find any, especially since headquarters isn't usually given the clear to work with muggles for fear of their safety. This man happens to be a family friend of the Millers and is said to have been in the same area as the Miller's deaths. There's a chance he might've caught sight of the Dark Wizards."

"Wouldn't he have needed a Memory-charm if he saw anything?" Draco asked.

"Normally, he would. But as I've said, we only just got word."

"Where are we heading now?"

"Muggle pub. Local spot, out of the way of the main street. Larson Reif, our witness, has recently become a daily visitor. He might have a lot on his mind."

"Probably something he saw the day of the Miller's deaths?"

"That's what we think. That, or he may just be in mourning. They were friends for quite some time. Either way, he might have information about the Miller's last days that we may have overlooked."

The pub was indeed out of the way of the main street. Few people were out on the dark street, and when they entered the pub, there were fewer people still. The three of them found an empty table with ease and settled across from the only other occupied booth.

"Who is it, then?" Harry asked.

Oliver motioned with his head toward the man sitting at the bar. Harry leaned over to peek around the low-hanging light above their table, studying the man across the dimly lit area. The man seemed to be in his mid- to late-thirties, dark hair, fair skin, unimpressive attire. He nursed a shot glass in his hand and after swirling its contents a bit, downed the whole thing in one go. He motioned for the bartender to fill up another one.

"At the rate that he's going he won't be able to recall anything of use," Draco pointed out. His hands were resting below the table, his fists closed, and his shoulders tensed as if expecting something to happen. Harry was tempted to reach out to him and ask whether he was feeling okay, but held his tongue as Oliver moved to stand.

"I'm going to see what I can extract from him. You two wait here."

"Are you alright?" Harry asked when Oliver slipped into the bar stool next to their witness. Draco spared him a glance before returning his attention back to the bar.

"Yes," he answered at length. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Harry didn't respond, but he noted the pale complexion of the blonde, despite the fever-warmth that seemed to emanate from him. The muscles on his shoulders hadn't relaxed since they'd arrived. Ever since the day in the study room, the day in which Harry had so carelessly infringed upon Draco's personal, magical boundaries—he'd been careful about reaching out to Draco through the link. He hadn't felt Draco's emotions as strongly or easily as he had before. When he did feel them, they were muffled as though Draco were trying his best to close himself off. Harry tried not to care. But the fact remained that he felt a little stung at the thought that Draco believed the link to be an inconvenience. Which, now that Harry ruminated, it probably was. Harry rested his head on his chin, disheartened and slightly aching, a sigh on the edge of his lips.

Draco turned his head towards Harry just then, his eyes searching. Harry straightened, his face heating unwantedly because Draco could probably feel all of Harry's emotions with ease. Thinking that he should probably close himself off, too, Harry tried, but he'd always been shit at Occlumency and didn't think it helped one bit judging by the small frown on Draco's face. After some more frowning and eye-searching, Draco cleared his throat and returned his attention to their witness. Harry refrained from closing his eyes in embarrassment.

"How's your magic?" Draco asked, startling Harry from his self-deprecating thoughts.

"Oh, erm. It's good. It's good, actually. I've been working on the exercises you've taught me. And along with Hermione's meditation sessions, it's helped quite a bit. I feel a lot more in control, you know, even during Offense. I don't lose control as much—I don't know if you've noticed?"

"I have. That's—" Draco's next movement was slight. He inhaled suddenly, sharply, his left arm twitching as though stung. Draco's eyes widened, his face turning white as sheet, and that's when Harry felt it: the ripple in the air of the bar, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end, the warning charms Oliver had placed around the bar ringing before disappearing all together. Across the bar, Oliver jumped out of his seat, raising his wand in the same second, but is wholly unprepared for the violent flash of green that lights the bar, and Harry's stomach drops. Harry and Draco were out of their seat, their wands raised, by the time the bartender's body hits the floor. The cracks of Apparition sound around them and Harry barely catches sight of something silver disappearing through the window of the bar. Their witness was on the floor, shaking with fright, and the muggles that had been sat across from them have realized something odd has happened; their shouts of alarm turned into screams when flashes of red began to streak around the room. Harry leaped away from flying debris from a blasted table, erecting a protective shield around the muggles before sending his own curse towards the cloaked figures. Draco had already rushed to the other end of the bar, engaged in combat with two men in black. Harry fought his panic when the blonde was shoved against the wall shelving. Louder screams next to him called his attention and he dodged a streak of red before reaching the terrified muggles.

"Get them out!" Oliver shouted, shoving the petrified witness toward him, and turning back to raise a shield just in time to stop the curse aimed at them.

Harry raised his wand and blasts a sizeable hole on the wall that leads outside. The muggles stared at him in horror and Harry grabbed the woman's arm to pull her towards the exit. This seemed to stir the other three muggles and they bolt away from the bar in different directions. Cursing, Harry follows them, managing to send a protective charm around the woman and her companions. Their witness has started running away from him but before Harry can stop him or send a charm in his direction, he's stopped by the apparition of another cloaked figure. The witness stumbles and falls hard on the ground, motionless. An evil grin spreads across the face of the cloaked figure and he raised his wand at the body on the ground. Harry sends a curse in his direction without hesitation and the attacker deflected. The evil grin falls away from his face and he scowled, raising his wand now towards Harry. Harry is caught off guard at the force of the man's spells—powerful and sinister. He vaguely notices that Oliver has now come outside too, engaged with two other cloaked figures and keeping them occupied enough to let the other muggles run away to safety. Harry stumbled on a rock and is too slow to dodge a spell and gets clipped in the shoulder by a curse. He's thrown back on the ground, hard. He has no time to register the pain on his back or shoulder, but quickly jumps back up, his body straining from the curse, to dodge a second curse. Harry's breath is coming out quick, his heart beating uncomfortably fast and his limbs heightened with adrenaline, his movements coming out as instinct. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Draco rush out of the bar, running toward him, his wand raised. Harry finds that his fall has given his attacker some time to turn towards their witness, who has started to crawl away in vain. Knowing this might be his only chance to keep their witness alive, Harry calculates quickly in his head and disapparates. He apparates a second later just behind his attacker, whose wand is raised towards the man on the ground.

"Harry, don't!"

"Avada—"

Harry takes hold of the man by the waist and disapparates once more. He feels the man straining against him, the uncomfortable feeling of apparating intensifying with the added struggle of carrying another person. When they reappear they land hard on the ground. Harry scrambles to his feet, his attacker doing the same, and they raise their wands at each other at the same time. Suddenly, Harry is stunned at the rush of emotions that hit him, an overwhelming sense of fear and such a deep sense of anxiety that Harry stumbles. He immediately turns to search for Draco. Draco is yards away on the ground, on his back, his wand nowhere to be seen. A towering dark figure has overpowered him, and is poised on top of Draco, one hand possessively at Draco's throat, and his head leaned in close enough to whisper. Draco's hands are at his attacker's chest, trying to push him off. Fury courses through Harry at the sight and it's no question that he chooses to aim a harsh curse towards Draco's attacker instead of raising a shield to protect him from the point-blank spell that's aimed at him. The last thing he saw was Draco's expression of surprise as his throat is released and then rushing to stand, searching for Harry, worry and fear coming through their bond, before Harry is sent off his feet, the world around him turning black.

oOo

Saturday, 11 November 2000

Draco sighed heavily. He hadn't slept in two days, his head was pounding, and he found that he couldn't be arsed to care whether Robards kicked him out of the Ministry at this point. He wanted to go home. He needed to go see Harry. He hadn't seen him since the back-up team had arrived at the pub Thursday night and took Harry away to St. Mungos. They wouldn't allow Draco to leave headquarters even after he insisted he should go see his partner. His chest ached at the thought, and his worry hadn't seized ever since he realized he couldn't feel Harry's emotions. They had become so familiar to him; Harry's calm when the both of them studied in Study Room Six, his excitement during classes while they dueled, his mad sense of giddiness when he laughed at something Draco had said. Draco bit the inside of his cheek, clearing his throat when it threatened to close up.

"Remind me again what happened," Robards barked at him.

Draco refrained from glaring. He didn't think he had the energy. Instead he said, "They told me nothing. They celebrated the death of the muggles at the pub. They asked me to find a way to free—" Draco felt his throat close, his oath of keeping the identity of the Sons a secret, forcing him to stay silent. He gasped as his throat cleared and ignored the way Robards sneered at his reaction. "I left with the pretense that I would come back and gather more information." Draco didn't say how Adrian Pucey had attacked him the minute he had arrived at yesterday's meeting of the Sons, blaming him for how the Aurors managed to capture Higgs; didn't say how Nott had looked at him with disappointment when he had no information to relay; didn't mention how Blaise had cornered him once more, whispering in his ear until Draco felt sick with himself. You play your part well.

Robards dismissed him and Draco left, taking long strides out of the office and down the long hallway toward the headquarters apparition point. He debated returning to his flat. He was exhausted and he could do with a scalding-hot shower. But the urge to see Harry with his own eyes, to know that he was safe and whole and as frustrating as ever, won over. He had overheard Wood saying earlier that Harry had left St. Mungos that very morning. He hadn't recognized the curse that Harry had been hit with—Higgs had always enjoyed being creative with his spells—but it must have been very serious if Harry had to stay at St. Mungos for two nights. His fists clenched. Higgs was lucky Draco didn't go after him when Harry had fallen. The back-up team had arrived just at that moment, and Draco was taken back to headquarters by Wood. Not for the first time since that night, Draco berated himself for not going to visit Harry straight away. What would Harry have thought knowing that Draco hadn't come to visit? Would he have been bothered? Would he have cared? Draco hesitated as he entered the apparition room. He stood on one of the green X markers which indicated the point of apparition, and paused. What if Harry didn't want to see him? After all, Draco was the reason Harry had been hurt in the first place. He knew that Harry had chosen not to defend himself, bloody idiot. If only Draco hadn't been so distracted when he'd spotted Blaise. If only his body didn't react so much when the man was around…then he wouldn't have needed Harry to be his bloody savior for the umpteenth time in his life. He sighed, ignoring the stare of the Auror who had just stepped into the room. Harry was probably at home by now—it was getting late in the evening. Before he could second-guess himself further, Draco closed his eyes, picturing the front porch of Grimmauld Place, and braced himself for the cold once he arrived.

The cold, however, never came. When he opened his eyes, Draco found himself standing in the entryway of the house, which was warm and dark. Confused, Draco looked about and concluded that he was indeed in Grimmauld Place, that he hadn't accidentally apparated to his own flat, and tried to calm the fluttery feeling in his stomach at the thought that he'd been keyed in to Harry's wards.

"Draco."

Draco's stomach flipped. Harry stood at the doorway of the sitting room, confusion, surprise, nervousness radiating from him in such a familiar way that Draco nearly sagged in relief. His hair was a wild nest of coal-black hair, his face was a little pale, the skin under his eyes slightly bruised as though he had also spent the past two nights awake, his clothes hung loose around him, and he really could use another few meals a day, but he was whole. He was okay.

"You're okay," Draco heard himself say.

Harry shrugged, a ghost of a smile appearing on the corner of his lips. "I'm alright."

They lapsed into silence. Draco couldn't take his eyes away from him, could barely contain the urge to wrap himself in Harry's arms, in his magic, to touch him and make sure that he was really, truly there. But he controlled himself. It wouldn't do for Draco to just impose himself into Harry's space, especially when he didn't know if Harry was still hurting from his injuries. Besides, he didn't think he could bring himself to take those few steps forward, to make that first move, what was he even thinking of doing? He swallowed, thinking that he'd gotten what he had come for—Harry wasn't in any danger. He was safe and should be back to his old Savior self in no time. Draco was just about to take a small step back, an excuse on the edge of his tongue, when he feels it. Merlin, he could feel Harry's sudden need, the longing through their link and it had him frozen on the spot. Draco couldn't help the shaky breath that escaped him, and he was helpless, he knew it. He wouldn't be able to leave now, not when Harry was staring at him like there was no one else in the world. He bit his lip, more to keep an embarrassing sound from escaping, and that seemed to be the cue that Harry needed because he rushed toward him. All at once Draco was wrapped in Harry's warmth, his body hot and hard underneath the loose layers of clothing, and Draco's heart fluttered when their lips met in a frantic, burning embrace. Harry's hands were around his waist, holding him tight against his chest and he took Draco's bottom lip between his teeth. Draco melted into his touch, reaching his arms up and tangling his hands in Harry's impossibly soft, dark hair, pulling him closer still. Their lips moved together, perfectly in sync, their tongues soon intertwined. Harry felt so warm and solid and real, his excitement apparent through their link and he wondered if Harry could feel the same. His kisses were growing more urgent—he pressed Draco against the railing of the staircase, and his knees grew weak when he felt Harry's hardness against him.

"Draco, I can't—" Harry started to say against his lips. One arm had curled around the small of Draco's back holding him tight, and the other reached around to grasp the bannister behind them. Harry kissed the side of his mouth, sliding his lips across his jaw, towards his neck, nipping gently at the skin and pulling a low moan from Draco. "Shit. I can't stand for too long."

Draco pulled away just enough to notice that Harry's breathing was labored and his legs were shaking. "Well," Draco said, unwilling to stop, "you've a perfectly decent chaise lounge in your sitting room—"

"Bedroom." The word was spoken softly, soft enough that Draco thought he'd imagined it. But one look at Harry's face, the dark, hungry look in his eyes and the slight flush that appeared on his face the longer Draco stood frozen in his arms. Draco found it hard to swallow—his mouth had gone terribly dry.

"Where?" Draco managed to ask, too worked up with the way that Harry kept glancing down at his mouth to care that his voice came out huskier than he would've liked.

"Second floor. First room on the right."

Draco reached his hands up to hold the sides of Harry's face, closing the distance between their lips before he apparated them to Harry's bedroom. He thanked Merlin that his aim was correct. In the light of the lone table lamp, Draco briefly caught sight of peeling blue wallpaper before Harry pushed him gently, the back of his knees hitting the foot of the bed. He fell on the bed and Draco hoped he was moving as gracefully as he imagined because, if he was being honest with himself, his brain was still trying to catch up with the fact that oh, Merlin, this is happening. His hands were shaking a bit too much to pull himself up properly and he only managed to scoot up a fraction before Harry climbed over him, reaching a hand under Draco's back and lifting his body with ease so that Draco was lying more comfortably in the middle of the bed, soft pillows at the back of his head. Draco's trousers grew unbearably tight at being handled in such a careful, thoughtful way, and he quickly spread his legs for Harry to settle between them. This elicited a deep sound of approval from Harry, who bit his lip as he stared down at Draco, his eyes sweeping down to the bulge in Draco's trousers.

"You like that do you?" Draco asked, glad that he was still able to smirk, though his heart was hammering madly in his chest.

Harry let out a breath of laughter and ran a hand up Draco's side, pushing his shirt up in the process. "Yes," Harry said when Draco shivered, and he panicked for a second when Harry urged him to lift his arms, but Harry only pulled the collar of his shirt over his head, leaving the sleeves in place as he recaptured his lips, working his mouth open with his tongue. Draco could feel Harry's magic surround him, powerful and overwhelming, each touch on his skin like fire. When Harry moved lower, his lips leaving a trail of burning kisses down his neck, to his chest, he froze as he caught sight of the old scars that had never properly healed. Draco thought he would stop then, he felt the guilt, but his heart nearly stopped when Harry tentatively ran his tongue across the top of the longest scar which ran from his left shoulder to his right hip. Draco gasped, his hands clutching at Harry shoulders, surprised at the sensitivity, at how very intimate it felt to have Harry doing that. He could feel how Harry was struggling to hold himself up, his arms shaking on either side of him, noticed how Harry was pushing himself even though he should be resting, so Draco made a decision.

"What are you doing?" Harry said as he was forced gently back until he was lying with his back on the bed, Draco now straddling him. Draco swallowed, his heart pounding fast in his chest, his hands shaking in nervousness and excitement, and Harry's magic now freely flowing across his skin. He pulled his shirt off the rest of the way, noticing how Harry determinedly kept his eyes locked on his, to which Draco was eternally grateful. His fingers shook when he reached for the hem of Harry's shirt and he marveled at how Harry can so easily make him feel helpless, as though he hadn't a clue what he was doing, as though he had never done this kind of thing before. He pulled the shirt over Harry's head, and though it wasn't anything he hadn't seen before, he'd never been this close for this long—close enough to see the collection of scars that littered his body, faded burn marks, long, thin scars that had also never healed properly. Despite this or, rather because of this, knowing that Harry was just as battle-worn, that he was imperfect in the most faultless way, Draco felt something deep in his chest, something that scared him more than anything he'd gone through before. He leaned forward and with one last deep kiss, Draco pulled away and moved lower. The desire to taste Harry, to explore his body as if this were the only chance he would ever get—he wanted to make this good for him; he wanted Harry quivering underneath his body, coming undone. He moved his hand down Harry's chest, following his movement with his mouth, kissing, nipping at the blemished skin, very aware of the small pants, the shaky exhales that slipped from Harry's lips. When he eventually, inevitably, moved lower, his head now level with Harry's toned abdomen, he paused. He let his breath run softly along the skin, admiring Harry's self-control, how Harry was so clearly holding back with the small sounds that threatened to escape him. Draco kissed the skin on his navel, letting his tongue slide across his bellybutton, smiling when Harry's breath halted and was let out shakily. Draco was impatient; he couldn't wait to make Harry lose himself, to hear those sounds that Draco had provoked. He could feel the warmth of Harry's trousers on his chest, could feel the small thrusts Harry couldn't help but make, and his heart sped up, skipping when Harry reached a hand to hold on to his forearm. Draco moved even lower, one hand spread across Harry's abdomen, the other stroking the inside of Harry's thigh. Boldly, he placed his lips on the tent in Harry's trousers, his hand joining, palming Harry's erection. Sitting up, he unfastened Harry's trousers, and Harry lifted his hips readily so Draco could slip them off. Harry was now lying quite naked on the bed, a flush creeping up on his face when Draco raked his eyes all over, down to Harry's unfairly perfect, proud erection, his mouth watering with the need to have Harry in his mouth. His fingers slowly wrapped themselves around Harry's length, and Harry closed his eyes, biting his lip hard. Draco lowered himself once more, unable to wait any longer, taking Harry into his mouth in one, fluid motion and he wasn't sure whose moan sounded in his ears, but the gasp as Draco started to move his head in a slow, steady cadence was definitely Harry's. His tongue pressed along the underside of Harry's length and he closed his eyes, lamenting how he's gone through his whole life without the taste of Harry in his mouth. Harry tangled his hands in his hair, holding on, and Draco slid one hand up to feel the muscles of Harry's toned chest.

"Fuck, Draco." Harry tightened his hold on Draco's hair, as though he wanted nothing more but to thrust into Draco's mouth and Draco would welcome it. But Harry continued to let Draco set the pace, moving his hands to grip Draco's shoulders, a low moan escaping him.

Draco was getting close. Harry's careful groans, the hardness in his mouth, the intoxicating taste that was purely Harry—it was too much to bear. He unfastened his own trousers, making quick work of lowering them enough to take his own erection in the palm of his hand, stroking in time with the movement of his mouth on Harry's length. He could tell when Harry was getting close: his hands had left Draco to slide across his own face, over his hair, and to either sides of his head to grip the pillow underneath, his chest heaving. There was something about having this much power over someone, to see them unraveling as Harry was doing now, that Draco absolutely loved. When Harry glanced down again Draco held his gaze, the vibrant green eyes widening when Draco deliberately swirled his tongue in a way he knew felt remarkable.

"Oh, God…"

Draco felt the pulsing around his mouth, the pulsing of Harry's magic, which was in sync, and he groaned at the feeling, dizzily wondering if one could get drunk off of someone else's magic; he lowered his free hand from Harry's chest back down to his length while he continued to suck him, steadily increasing the pace until Harry let out a desperate, whispered word that sounded a lot like his name. The only warning Draco had was a frantic hand on his head, pushing his hair away from his face, their eyes once again locked on each other before Harry's body tensed, the muscles on his abdomen tightening, and Draco's throat was filled with the hot, bitter release. Then, before he realized what was happening, Harry had pulled him up, kissing him thoroughly, holding him in place with his hand at the back of his neck, his other hand knocking Draco's away from his painfully hard erection, already moist at the tip, and stroked him expertly. Draco whimpered into Harry's mouth, breathless as Harry's tongue explored, and he really should have known that Harry was the kinky kind, loving the taste of himself on Draco. He was so close and when he pulled away from Harry's lips to gasp, Harry's whispered words of encouragement in his ear, his magic delightfully suffocating, his naked, spent body beneath him, his hand firm and twisting just so, brought Draco over the edge and he came on Harry's chest, his body shaking with the force of it.

He doesn't remember sliding on to the bed beside Harry, doesn't remember Harry cleaning their bodies with a wordless wave of his hand, his eyes drifting closed, and the softest pressure on his lips pulling a small smile from him before he drifts off into a comforting sleep.

oOo