FIC: Give My Heart 2/5

[gypsyflame]

He slept deeply and dreamlessly until an insistent knocking on the bedroom door woke him many hours later.

“Malfoy,” Potter said from the other side. “Malfoy.”

“What?” Draco mumbled groggily.

“It’s past ten. Are you awake?”

Draco sighed into his pillow. “I am now.”

“Can I come in, then?”

“Count to twenty first.” Forestalling the certain way Potter was going to misunderstand that instruction, Draco clarified, “To yourself. Not out loud.”

While Potter counted - or so Draco assumed from his silence - Draco shook himself awake, rolling over onto his back and assuming a more attractively vulnerable position before feigning sleep once more.

He heard Potter open the door and walk towards the bed, setting something down on the nightstand. “Malfoy. Wake up.” When Draco didn’t respond, Potter leaned down and touched his shoulder lightly. “Mal -”

Draco “woke” with a terrified shriek, jerking away from Potter and scrambling backwards across the bed. Potter swore and jumped back; the genuine alarm in his eyes gave Draco a sense of juvenile gratification.

“It’s okay,” Potter said quickly, raising his hands in a gesture of diplomacy. “It’s just me. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Backed against the headboard on the far side of the bed, Draco looked up at Potter and accessed one of his most useful skills - the ability to blush on demand, which was facilitated by his fair skin. “I thought…” He dropped his eyes to the bed in a mix of embarrassment and resentment. “Never mind.”

He could feel Potter’s eyes on him, studying him curiously. “I brought you some food,” said Potter, apparently deciding not to comment on Draco’s reaction. “I don’t know how long it’s been since you last ate.”

Draco’s gaze darted to the nightstand, where Potter had set a glass of water and a plate of eggs and sausages. His stomach suddenly started to ache with very real hunger - he hadn’t eaten since lunch yesterday - and his mouth was cottony with thirst.

Ignoring Potter completely, Draco slid towards the nightstand and downed half the glass in one go before setting into the food. Potter lowered his hands, but otherwise didn’t move.

Draco swallowed his mouthful and glared at him. “Are you just going to stand there and watch me eat?” he snapped.

“Why do I even bother?” Potter muttered to himself. He turned to leave.

“Potter, wait.” When Potter had turned back, Draco said, “Where’s the bathroom in this place? I’d like to have a shower at some point, you know.”

Potter frowned at him, obviously put off by his tone. Draco was secretly delighted. He hadn’t had a chance to be this rude to the git in ages.

“It’s across the hall.”

“And am I likely to run into anyone out there who might wish to do me harm?” Draco took another large bite. He’d already demolished almost the entire plate.

“No. Remus and I are the only ones here right now, and he’s downstairs.”

“Good.” Draco finished the last bit of food and pulled the covers back, standing up carefully as if testing his ability to hold his own weight.

“Does your leg still hurt?” Potter asked. “It was broken pretty badly yesterday.”

“It’s a bit sore,” Draco lied. His leg felt fine.

He took a few cautious steps towards the door. As he drew close to Potter, Draco shifted his weight onto his newly-healed right leg and gave a little gasp, his leg crumpling underneath him and making him stumble into Potter.

Potter caught him by the elbows and steadied him. Draco’s hands pressed flat against his chest - which, he was annoyed to note, was firm and well-muscled. They were of a height now, and when Potter looked into Draco’s eyes, Draco couldn’t help but look back. .

“All right?” Potter said quietly.

Draco blinked, then shoved him away with more force than was probably necessary. He didn’t have to completely fake his own discomfiture, which angered him. His cheeks heated up again of their own accord. “I’m fine,” he snarled. “I don’t need your help.”

Potter’s expression said that it was plainly obvious that Draco did need his help, but he just nodded. “Okay.”

Draco left the room with as much dignity as he could muster. He was irritated by the fact that his little stunt had clearly made him more uncomfortable than it had made Potter.

Fucking Potter. Draco could never win against him.

His irritation melted somewhat during his shower, which was deliciously hot and washed away every reminder of Yaxley’s sickening touch. Further soothing his bruised ego was the knowledge that what he was about to do to Potter would more than even the score.

Draco stepped out of the shower and stood in front of the mirror, drying himself off just enough so that he was still a bit wet but not totally drenched. He wrapped the towel low on his hips and tied it off. A careful examination of his reflection reassured Draco that he looked practically edible - flushed and damp, most of his skin on display, his wet hair framing his face becomingly. His physical attractiveness was the one thing Draco had never felt insecure about. If anything, he reveled in it.

Satisfied, Draco left the bathroom and crossed the hall to the room Potter had pointed out last night as his own. He knocked on the door.

“Come in.”

Draco pushed the door open and leaned against the jamb, waiting for Potter to acknowledge him.

Potter was crouched in front of a bookcase, trying to tug a large tome out from where it had been packed in too tightly with the other books. “Just a second,” he said. He finally managed to pry the book free and stood up, dusting the cover off as he turned around. “What -” he started to say, looking up at Draco.

Potter’s jaw and the book fell at the same time, the latter causing a resounding thud as it hit the floor.

Draco smirked.

“Malfoy, you - what are you -” Potter stammered.

“I don’t have any clothes,” said Draco.

“What?” Potter looked as stunned as if Draco had hit him over the head, his eyes running over Draco’s wet, half-naked body.

“I don’t have any clothes,” Draco repeated, very slowly. “In case you hadn’t noticed, mine are all torn and stained with blood.”

Potter finally brought his eyes up to Draco’s face. From the look in his eyes, Draco could tell that Potter wasn’t sure if this was part of their ruse or not. He hoped that Potter erred on the side of caution, because this was too good to waste.

Draco was very pleased with Potter’s reaction, and not just because it appealed to his vanity. From the second the Dark Lord had announced his plan, Draco had doubted its potential efficacy, because he had never seen any indication that Potter was attracted to men. But the look Potter was giving Draco now was not the kind of look a man gave another man if he was only interested in women.

That would make things much easier.

“Er, okay,” Potter said. His eyes started wandering downward again. “You can…you can wear some of mine, I guess.”

He didn’t move. Draco bit his lip to keep from laughing and snapped his fingers in front of Potter’s face. Potter jerked, looking up at him guiltily.

“Now would be nice,” Draco said.

“Yeah. Just, er…just wait there.”

Potter got some clothes out of his bureau, although he kept stealing glances at Draco. He seemed to have picked up on the fact that this wasn’t for real, because he didn’t say anything else until he handed Draco a pile of clean clothing.

“I’m not lending you any pants,” he said challengingly, obviously intending to get a bit of his own back.

Draco wasn’t about to allow it. “That’s fine. I don’t wear any.”

That was a blatant lie, but it had the extremely satisfying effect of making Potter suck in a sharp breath and run his eyes back down Draco’s body.

“Thanks for the clothes,” Draco said insincerely. He turned and walked back to his room, feeling Potter’s eyes on his arse the whole way.

Once the door was safely shut behind him, Draco allowed himself a moment to bask in his triumph. He knew it was petty and potentially dangerous for him to turn this into a game of one-upmanship, but he couldn’t help it. Potter always brought out the immature thirteen-year-old in him.

He was still inwardly gloating as he dressed in Potter’s clothes - a pair of jeans, which Draco absolutely loathed, a simple button-front shirt, and socks. Although Potter had broader shoulders and more muscle mass than Draco, he was far from brawny, and they were the same height. As a result, his clothing hung a bit loosely on Draco’s frame, but not so much that it would look ridiculous. In fact, the loose fit might actually help enhance the impression of vulnerability he was trying to convey.

It wasn’t just necessity and convenience that had driven Draco to ask Potter for clothes. He knew from experience that for some men - those who tended towards possessiveness and territorialism - seeing another person dressed in their clothing could be intensely arousing. Draco was certain that Potter would prove to be that kind of man.

Draco had learned that particular lesson early in his relationship with Severus. He had stayed the night at Spinner’s End, and Severus had been called away early in the morning to attend the Dark Lord. Draco hadn’t yet started keeping any of his own clothing at Severus’ house, and his clothes from the day before had been rather ruined by their activities of the previous night. When he’d grown hungry, Draco had been forced to choose between going down to the kitchen naked or finding something of Severus’ to wear.

He’d put on one of Severus’ shirts, which were long enough on him to hit mid-thigh, and he’d been wearing it when Severus had returned. Draco could still remember the look in Severus’ eyes, how intense it had been - he’d thought Severus was angry with him for borrowing his clothes at first. He’d been quickly disabused of that notion when Severus had slammed him up against the wall and fucked him harder than he ever had before, with Draco wearing his shirt the whole time.

The memory of that encounter had a predictable effect on Draco, and he winced at the uncomfortable feeling of denim against his hardening cock. He’d never actually worn jeans before, but they were just as horrid as he’d imagined, especially considering that he didn’t have any pants between them and his skin.

At least the discomfort helped cool his libido.

Draco was interrupted in his musings when the bedroom door banged open and Potter stormed in.

“What the fuck, Malfoy?” he said angrily.

Draco turned around, lifting an eyebrow but remaining silent. Best to let Potter get it all out.

“You can’t just…just walk around popping in on blokes all wet and naked like that!” said Potter. “It’s not on.”

“Did it make you uncomfortable?”

“Of course it -” Potter abruptly stopped speaking, glaring at the smirk that Draco simply couldn’t restrain. “You -” he started, then stopped again with a sound of frustration. He ran a hand through his messy hair and looked Draco over. “Those clothes are too big on you.”

“Not much.” Draco smoothed the shirt down a bit self-consciously. “You were shouting about something?”

“Huh?” Potter said, seeming distracted by the way his denims rode low on Draco’s hips. “Right, yeah. You can’t keep pulling tricks like that. I didn’t even know if you were pretending at first.”

“You figured it out well enough.” Draco raised a hand to keep him from speaking. “Potter, did I not give you fair warning that I would be doing things like that?”

“I guess,” Potter said grudgingly.

“And did you not agree with me that it was necessary for your reactions to be as authentic as we can manage?”

“I never actually said -”

“Potter!”

“All right, fine, yeah,” Potter conceded. “I just didn’t expect it, is all.”

“That’s rather the point. If it’s any consolation, your reaction was exactly what I needed. The Dark Lord will be very pleased with it, and that’s what we want.”

Potter made a face. “If you say so.” He withdrew Draco’s wand from his back pocket and handed it over. “Might as well give this to you now. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you -”

“Not to let anyone see it, yes, Potter, I’m not an idiot,” Draco said as he slid the wand up his sleeve.

“Are you going to stay in here today?”

“I think that would be best. There are people coming here all the time who don’t know the truth, and I’d rather avoid them. Besides, I’m supposed to be convalescing from a terrible ordeal - not to mention grieving my parents.”

“Okay. I can bring you some books or something so you don’t go completely mad being cooped up in this room.” Potter hesitated, then said, “Actually, if you don’t mind, it would be a big help if you could look over some of the research we’re doing on Hufflepuff’s cup.”

Draco shrugged. “That would be fine.”

“Thanks.”

Potter gave him a small smile before leaving the room. Draco threw himself onto the bed with a sigh.

Merlin, this is going to be boring.

***

The only bright spot in the day was Severus’ short visit that evening to collect Draco’s memories, conducted under the guise of him wanting to check up on Draco after his recent trauma. Draco clung to him fiercely as they kissed in his room, protected by several anti-eavesdropping spells.

Even when they finally broke the kiss, both of them panting, Draco refused to release him, and Severus didn’t seem any more inclined to relinquish his hold on Draco’s hips.

“How have you progressed so far?” Severus asked, his calm voice belying the slight flush in his normally sallow cheeks. “I trust Potter has not yet managed to muck it up.”

“Everything’s been fine.” Draco pressed his lips against Severus’ pulse point, just because he knew it drove Severus mad. “Potter’s been surprisingly cooperative. This may not be as difficult as we anticipated.” He nipped at the sensitive spot, feeling Severus’ fingers tighten on his hips.

“Do not be overconfident,” Severus warned, a little breathlessly.

“Who, me?” Draco said. “Never.” He flicked his tongue against Severus’ throat.

Severus let go of his hips only to grab his shoulders and push him away, holding him at an arms’ length. “Stop that, you incubus. We haven’t time and you know it.”

“Fine,” Draco said with a sigh. “I’ll behave.”

“I very much doubt that.” Severus pointed to the chair by the desk. “Sit.”

Draco sat, watching as Severus drew two glass vials from his robes and placed them on the desk. They were connected by a thin, transparent tube made from some kind of flexible material.

“Did Potter give you the Pensieve?”

“It’s in the bookcase,” said Draco.

According to the Dark Lord’s plan, Severus was supposed to simply collect Draco’s memories of his ongoing seduction, replicate them, and take the copies back to the Dark Lord for review, allowing Draco to retain the originals. But because they weren’t truly loyal to the Dark Lord, it was necessary for Severus to look over the memories before he brought them back with him, so that he could catch any missteps that Draco might have overlooked. Potter had provided a Pensieve for exactly that purpose.

Severus carried it over carefully, setting it on the desk next to the vials. “How many memories do you have?”

“Four.”

“Go on, then.”

Draco placed the tip of his wand against his temple, concentrating on the memories he wanted to draw out. It was important that he pick exactly the right points at which to begin and end the memories in order to avoid giving their true intentions away.

It only took a couple of minutes for him to deposit the memories into the Pensieve - the two staged conversations with Potter from last night and that morning, their post-shower encounter, and a brief glimpse at Pomfrey’s words of advice to Potter. Then he put his wand down and shook his head, disliking as always the sensation of having pulled his own memories from his mind.

“That should be everything.”

Severus nodded and touched his own wand to the Pensieve. As the silvery memories began to glow and shift, he lowered his face to the surface.

It took much longer for Severus to watch the memories than it had for Draco to extract them, and Draco contented himself with watching Severus. He’d always found it fascinating that Severus could be so striking, so enjoyable to look at, without being conventionally handsome in the least. It was true that Severus’ nose was too prominent, his lips too thin, his skin too pallid - yet it was also true that Draco had never been more attracted to another human being in his entire life. Sometimes just being in the same room as Severus was enough to arouse him.

Severus didn’t understand it, and it had caused problems for them at times when Severus let his insecurities get the better of him and refused to believe that Draco could want him as much as he did. But Draco didn’t have any trouble understanding why he wanted this man - this powerful, intelligent man with his sinful voice and compelling eyes and fierce protectiveness. Severus made Draco feel safe and unbearably excited at the same time, and that was something to be treasured.

By the time Severus emerged from the Pensieve, Draco was aching with want. Severus turned to speak to him, the words dying on his lips as he took in Draco’s state.

“Draco,” he said softly. “There is no time.”

“I know.” Draco took a deep breath, trying to compose himself. “I just…I miss you.”

Severus reached out to stroke his cheek. “It has only been one day,” he said, but there was no censure in his tone. In fact, the look in his eyes said quite clearly that he felt the same.

Draco turned his head to kiss the palm of Severus’ hand and then stood, putting a bit of distance between them. The farther he was from Severus, the easier it would be not to touch him. “Are the memories acceptable?”

“Yes. That was quite a stunt you pulled with Potter.” The look in Severus’ eyes was a mix of amusement and something darker that Draco easily identified as jealousy.

“I wanted to be sure that he’s actually attracted to men.”

“And your conclusion?”

“You saw the memory.”

“Yes.” Severus’ eyes darkened further. “Though I will remind you that I had no doubts as to Potter’s willingness to sleep with a man.”

“Yes, you were right, as always,” Draco said with a roll of his eyes.

Severus transferred the memories from the Pensieve to one of the glass vials, then tapped the tube connected the two vials with his wand. “Duplicato,” he intoned, and the memories swirled in agitation before a silvery mist traveled through the tube, filling the second vial until it was equal to the first. Severus disconnected the copied vial from the tube and slipped it into his robe.

“Do not forget to replace the memories,” he said.

“I won’t.”

Severus stepped close to Draco and leaned down to kiss him once chastely on the lips, pulling away before Draco had a chance to try to intensify the embrace. “I will return in five days. Contact me only if you absolutely must.”

“All right.” Draco watched Severus remove the spells on the room, already feeling that emptiness creep back into him. “Severus,” he called out just as Severus was starting to open the door.

Severus turned.

“Tell me you’ll miss me,” Draco whispered.

Severus looked at him, the emotion in his gaze laid bare for the briefest of moments. “I shall think of nothing else,” he said, and then he was gone, the door closing with a quiet snick behind him.

***

Draco spent the next three days confined to his bedroom, pretending to be a grief-stricken convalescent. In reality, he was restless, bored, and lonely, not to mention desperately missing Severus. He would never admit it - not even to Severus - but he had taken to arranging his extra pillows in a rough human shape next to him at night so that the bed didn’t feel so empty.

True to his word, Potter did his best to keep Draco from dying of boredom by providing him with Horcrux research, intelligence reports on the Death Eaters’ movements, and even a few novels. He also brought Draco all of his meals, and they used those opportunities to create brief memories in which Potter pretended to be gradually softening towards Draco as a result of Draco’s carefully-crafted aura of distress and vulnerability.

Now, on the night of the third day since Severus’ visit, Draco lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling and wondering how the hell he was going to be able to do what he had to do next. It had seemed like a good idea when he’d thought of it, and Potter had agreed. It was still a good idea, objectively speaking. The problem was that Draco wasn’t sure he’d be able to do it.

It’s just acting, Draco reminded himself. It isn’t real.

Still, everything in him balked at the thought of letting Potter see him weak, even if they both knew it was fake. On the list of people Draco would rather die than break down in front of, Potter was rather near the top.

He had no choice, though. Potter was already waiting for his cue.

Just do it.

Draco scrubbed his face with his hands and exhaled heavily. He started thinking of every horrific nightmare and gut-wrenching fear he’d had over the past two years: His parents being killed because of his failures. The Dark Lord discovering his treachery and torturing Severus in front of him. Yaxley raping him. Severus sneeringly tell him that he’d never loved him, that it had always just been about sex.

Then Draco started screaming.

Once he’d started, it was surprisingly easy to continue - even liberating, in a way. Eyes clenched tightly shut, he screamed and thrashed in the bed as if caught in the grips of the worst nightmare he’d ever had, until Potter came running into the room.

“Malfoy!” Potter sat on the bed and grabbed Draco by the arms, trying to still him. “Malfoy, wake up, you’re dreaming.”

Draco opened his eyes, though he showed no sign of recognizing Potter. “No!” he gasped as he struggled to free himself from Potter’s grasp. “No, no, please -”

“It’s me. Potter. Nobody’s going to hurt you.”

Draco resisted for a few more seconds, his efforts weakening as he pretended to awaken and become more aware of his surroundings. He looked wildly around the room, then back at Potter. “What…what…”

“It’s okay. You were having a nightmare. You’re safe now.” Potter’s face was the perfect picture of worried apprehension, and he continued to hold Draco’s shoulders tightly.

Now came the truly difficult part. Draco had learned early in childhood how to convincingly fake tears - it was an effective tool against his parents when they wouldn’t give him something he wanted - but those had been a few simple tears, not all-out sobbing. And they had been his own parents, not Harry bloody Potter.

“I…I dreamt…” Draco took a shaky breath. “Oh, gods. It wasn’t a dream.”

“Malfoy -”

“They’re dead. They’re dead, and it’s my fault.”

“It’s not,” Potter said firmly. “You can’t think like that, you’ll drive yourself mad.”

Draco bit his tongue hard enough to make tears spring to his eyes and then let out a sharp, sudden sob. He ducked his head, trying to hide his face. “Go away, Potter.”

“I’m not leaving you alone like this.”

“What do you care? Just go away!” The tears fell freely now without Draco having to think about it, although he had to remember to breathe in gulping sobs instead of normally. He pushed at Potter’s chest. “Get out.”

Potter let go of his shoulders to grab his hands, the better to quell Draco’s struggles. “No. You shouldn’t be alone.”

“I hate you,” Draco said, although he hadn’t planned to say it and wasn’t sure where it had come from - it was as if his mouth was speaking without permission from his brain. He tried to yank his hands from Potter’s. “I hate you, I hate you -”

“I know,” said Potter, and he looked so sad, and even though it was ridiculous it also seemed right somehow, because only Harry Potter would actually be upset by the fact that his enemy hated him.

Draco fell against him and cried.

It started as pretence, Draco having to force the sobs out so that they sounded like they were being wrenched from him. But the longer it went on, the easier it became, until he was dismayed to realize that there was nothing false about his tears anymore.

He cried for his parents, shut up in their house with a madman, and for Severus, whose life had been so brutal and who could never let himself trust any happiness that came his way. But mostly Draco cried for himself, all of the terror and rage and pain of the past few years pouring out of him. It didn’t even matter that Potter was seeing it, because after all, Potter would never know that it had been real.

Potter held him gingerly at first, stiff and awkward. When it became apparent that Draco wasn’t going to push him away again, Potter gradually relaxed, holding Draco more securely against his chest and murmuring the kind of soothing nonsense that Gryffindors seemed to specialize in.

Eventually, Draco’s cries subsided. He sagged against Potter, drained and exhausted, as his breathing evened out. Fortunately, he managed to retain enough presence of mind to stick to the original plan, which called for him to pretend to fall asleep in Potter’s arms.

Potter held him for a few more minutes before maneuvering Draco back into place against his pillow and drawing the covers up over him. Draco felt the lightest, most glancing touch of Potter’s hand against his brow, then heard footsteps and the sound of the door opening and closing.

Potter never came back in to make sure that the scene had been adequate. Perhaps he believed that Draco had fallen asleep for real.

Less than a minute later, Draco really had.

***

Draco woke the next morning with a horrible headache and puffy eyes, the results of essentially crying himself to sleep. He hadn’t done that in years. It felt just as awful as he remembered.

He fumbled underneath the other pillow for his wand, casting the spells to relieve the stuffiness in his sinuses and reduce the swelling in his face. His stomach rolled as the full memory of what he’d done last night returned to him.

He’d cried in front of Potter. Sobbed, in point of fact. In Potter’s arms. For real.

Potter doesn’t know that.

No. And he never would. That was the one silver lining of an otherwise dismal cloud. With any luck, Potter would just think that Draco was a consummate actor. He’d never know that Draco had fallen apart in front of him in a way he’d never even done in front of Severus.

Draco glanced at his reflection in the mirror on the opposite wall, checking to be sure that he hadn’t been overly thorough in removing the traces of the previous nights’ tears. He wasn’t supposed to have his wand, and it wouldn’t make sense if his face were completely free of the telltale signs. Luckily, his eyes were still slightly bloodshot, his nose a bit red - not enough to be unattractive, but enough to make it obvious that he had been crying.

He flopped back down on the bed, hiding his wand under the pillow as he firmly resolved not to let himself ever lose control like that again. Of everyone who was involved in this charade, it was most imperative that Draco keep himself together. Their lives depended on him being able to maintain a cool and level head.

There was a quiet knock on the door. “Malfoy?” came Potter’s hesitant voice.

“What?” Draco snapped. Fuck it all, he’d forgotten that the scene from last night wasn’t over yet. At least he wouldn’t have to fake his resentment. Or his embarrassment.

Potter opened the door - a bit awkwardly, as he was holding a plate and a glass. It was beyond Draco why a wizard as powerful as Potter didn’t use magic in such circumstances, but he supposed it came from being raised by Muggles.

“I brought you some food.” Potter set the plate and glass down on the nightstand, as he’d been doing three times a day for the past four days.

“My hero,” Draco said with as much bitter sarcasm as he could muster - which turned out to be quite a lot.

Potter raised his eyebrows but didn’t take the bait, sitting in the chair by the desk.

Draco was desperately thirsty, so he took a large gulp from the glass of water before saying, “If you’re waiting for me to thank you -”

“So we’re just going to pretend that it didn’t happen, then?” Potter interrupted.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Draco said icily.

“Last night.”

“Don’t start, Potter.”

“Malfoy, please. I have to know you’re not on his side anymore.”

Draco had been avoiding eye contact with Potter since he’d entered the room, but at that, his eyes snapped up to meet Potter’s in rage and incredulity. “On his side? How can you even say that to me?”

“I have to know,” Potter repeated.

“He murdered my parents,” Draco said in a low voice. “Killed them like dogs. He let the Death Eaters try to torture me to death. And you’re asking me if I’m on his side?”

“Would you go back to him if you had the chance?”

Draco’s jaw dropped. “Are you serious? Do I look suicidal to you?”

“Malfoy,” Potter said, looking weary, “I’m not trying to insult you. I’m trying to figure out if I can trust you. And the only way I can do that is if you tell me what you really feel - no sarcasm, no bullshit, no putting on a brave face because you don’t want to look weak. Just tell me.”

Draco had to be careful here. What he was about to say was, in fact, the actual truth. But the Dark Lord didn’t know that - couldn’t know that, or they’d all be fucked. He had to speak his mind convincingly enough to persuade Potter without giving his true feelings away to the Dark Lord.

He took a deep breath, looking down at his hands as if weighing his options. Then he gave a sigh and looked back up, holding Potter’s eyes with his own. “I hate him,” he said, voice shaking with suppressed grief and rage. “What he’s done to my family, to me…I despise him more than any other person on earth, and you’ll be happy to know that includes you. I just want…” Draco trailed off.

Potter’s eyes were intense. “Want what?”

“Revenge,” Draco said. “I want him dead.”

Potter nodded, satisfied. “Well, that makes two of us.”

Maintaining eye contact with Potter was difficult for Draco, especially after what had happened last night, so he looked away - but not before he saw the acknowledgement in the other man’s eyes. Potter knew that Draco’s little speech hadn’t just been for show, and he appreciated it.

That didn’t annoy Draco as much as he thought it should have.

Potter stood up, his posture resolute, as if he had just made an important decision. “You don’t have to stay locked up in here, you know. You could come downstairs and eat in the kitchen like a normal person.”

“I think that would be a spectacularly bad idea.”

“Come on,” Potter coaxed. “It’s just Remus and Ron and Hermione here right now.”

“Now I think it’s an even worse idea.”

“They won’t hurt you. They know what happened. And anyway, I’ll be with you the whole time.”

“No.”

Potter shrugged. “Suit yourself. I guess I’ll just take these back to the kitchen, then.” He picked up the plate and glass from the nightstand.

“Don’t you dare, Potter -”

“If you won’t come down, then you don’t eat,” Potter said. “It isn’t good for you to stay in here all day, brooding. It isn’t healthy.”

“I do not brood,” said Draco, offended.

“Get dressed. I’ll wait for you in the hall. If you’re not out there in five minutes, I’ll assume you’ve decided to pass on breakfast.” Potter left the room, ignoring Draco’s indignant sputters.

Draco closed his eyes, mentally marking the moment as the place to end the memory later, when he was giving it to Severus. Then he got up and got dressed, joining Potter in the corridor in far less than five minutes.

“How was that?” Potter said, leaning against the wall.

“Good. You play the earnest saviour very well.”

Potter actually laughed. “I’ve had a lot of practice,” he said. Then he sobered a little. “Ron and Hermione are good to go, but you know Remus has no idea -”

“That it isn’t real,” Draco finished for him. “I know. That’s why we have to get it right the first time.”

“No pressure.”

Draco followed Potter down to the basement, feeling a sense of foreboding. He trusted Granger well enough, at least with something like this, but he wouldn’t have trusted Weasley with a Kneazle, let alone a mission of such import. Potter had assured him that Weasley was capable, but Draco had his doubts.

They entered the kitchen, Draco a step behind Potter, and were greeted with three expressions of surprise.

“What the hell is he doing here?” Weasley said dangerously, surprise morphing to anger in a way that Draco had to admit was fairly convincing.

Potter remained calm. “Eating breakfast.”

“Like hell he is.” Weasley jumped out of his seat, shaking off Granger’s hand. “Are you mad, Harry? It’s bad enough that he’s here at all - we can’t just let him wander about the place!”

“He isn’t wandering,” Potter said, putting the plate and glass down on the table. “He’s eating.”

Weasley’s face grew even redder. Granger looked between him and Draco before saying, “Ron, maybe you -”

“He’s a Death Eater,” Weasley said, ignoring her.

“Not anymore.” Potter lifted a hand to cut Weasley off. “This isn’t up for discussion, Ron.”

“I’m not eating in the same room as him.”

“Then I guess you’ll be eating somewhere else.”

The two men stared each other down for a moment - Weasley looking murderous, Potter unwavering. When it became clear that Potter wasn’t going to yield, Weasley snorted in disgust and spat, “Your funeral, mate,” before storming from the room.

Granger sighed. “I’ll talk to him.”

“Thanks.”

She gave Potter a small smile before heading after Weasley. Lupin, who had been watching the exchange silently from his seat at the table, cleared his throat. “Why don’t you two sit down, and I’ll warm the tea up.”

Potter shot him a grateful look and collapsed onto one of the chairs, gesturing for Draco to take a seat as well. Draco sat, keeping his movements careful and tentative. He was slightly taken aback by the equanimity with which Lupin was accepting the circumstances.

While Lupin was busy reheating the kettle, Draco frowned at Potter across the table. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I did.”

The hell of it was, Draco was certain that Potter really would have defended him to Weasley, had the situation been real. That reckless nobility irked Draco; Potter was damn lucky that Draco was on his side, or he would have fallen for this whole ruse hook, line, and sinker.

“Thank you,” Draco said stiffly.

Potter smiled.

***

After a very odd breakfast in which Draco was forced to deal with Lupin’s sympathy and somewhat unexpected kindness, he and Potter slipped off to the library to meet Weasley and Granger.

Granger warded the room for privacy as Draco and Potter sat at one of the book-laden tables. Weasley, who was tipping his chair so far back that it was only balanced on two legs, gave Draco a smirk.

“How’d I do?” he asked.

“Quite well,” Draco said. “One could almost believe that you truly resent my presence here.”

Weasley grinned. “I had to dig deep.”

Draco rolled his eyes, childishly wishing that the idiot would topple off his chair.

The four of them spent the rest of the day in the library, researching. The final inanimate Horcrux - Hufflepuff’s cup - was being frustratingly elusive, the Death Eaters had been using a new, malevolent curse that the Order hadn’t yet figured out how to counteract, and the specifications for the wards on the Death Eater base in Dover, where several Muggleborns were being held captive, read like gibberish. There was more than enough work to go around.

Weasley and Granger begged off after dinner, for reasons which Draco firmly refused to imagine. If he started thinking about those two shagging, he’d never be able to have sex again. He was still fully absorbed in trying to puzzle out the glyphs used in the Dover wards when Potter interrupted the silence.

“Malfoy?”

“What?” said Draco, not lifting his eyes from the parchment.

“Can I ask you a question?”

Oh, for Merlin’s sake. “If you absolutely must,” Draco said with reluctance. He looked up and was surprised to see Potter blushing beet-red. Not a good sign.

Potter fidgeted, his eyes darting about the room uneasily but never seeming to land on Draco. “When we - you and I - when we do the, er…the sex thing…”

“The sex thing?” Draco echoed incredulously.

“Yeah. How do you want - I mean how are we, you know, going to - to do it?”

Draco shook his head, barely able to parse any meaning from Potter’s incoherent stammering. “Potter, I have no idea what you’re - oh.” It suddenly occurred to Draco what Potter - who as far as Draco knew had only ever had sex with a woman - was probably asking. “Oh.”

Potter was staring at his hands now. “What I’m asking is, who’s going to -”

“I get it,” Draco interrupted. He had been hoping to avoid this discussion for as long as possible, because talking out loud about what he and Potter would inevitably have to do made it more unpleasantly real. Leave it to Potter to destroy that one meagre comfort. “I prefer to be the receptive partner, so long as you have no objections.”

The relief on Potter’s face was so profound that Draco almost laughed, although he couldn’t help flushing slightly himself. He’d never been very good at talking about sex; even with Severus, he still found it uncomfortable.

“That’s fine,” Potter said, obviously trying to mask how worried he had been about the matter. “That’s fine with me.”

Now that they were talking about it, Draco might as well ask about the things he needed to know. “You’ve never had sex with a man, have you?” he asked.

“No.” Potter’s blush was receding rapidly, and he no longer seemed embarrassed. “I’ve only ever had sex with Ginny.”

Draco was curious about what had happened there, as he hadn’t seen the youngest Weasley around Grimmauld Place at all, and Potter never spoke about her. Were they still a couple?

“Did you ever have anal sex with her?”

Draco could tell that Potter wanted to be offended by the question but knew that it was a perfectly reasonable thing for Draco to ask. “No,” he said.

“So for all intents and purposes, you might as well be a virgin. I thought that might be the case.” Draco pushed his parchment and books away from him; it was clear he wasn’t going to get any more work done tonight. “It’s actually a good thing - the Dark Lord will love it.”

After a few moments of awkward silence, Potter said, “This is weird.”

“It’s only going to get weirder, Potter. If you start freaking out now -”

“I’m not freaking out! I’m just saying that this is a weird situation. We might as well acknowledge that.”

Draco grimaced. “If you say so.”

“Are you and Snape going to be okay?”

“That’s none of your business,” Draco snapped, affronted by Potter’s temerity. It didn’t help that he himself had been wondering that very same thing for days.

“I know, I’m sorry. I just…” Potter sighed. “Do you love him?”

Draco knew that he should tell Potter off, or throw a book at him, or just glare at him in icy silence. Part of him wanted to. But a bigger part of him realized that he’d never spoken to anyone about his relationship with Severus - he’d never been able to, for reasons of safety. And that part was grateful to finally have someone to talk to, even though Potter was a wildly inappropriate choice of confidante.

“Yes,” Draco said. Merlin, Severus would be furious if he ever found out about this.

Potter nodded. “I was pretty sure you did. And I know he loves you; it’s obvious from the way he looks at you.”

Draco blinked. Was it really?

“It’s strange to think of Snape in love,” Potter said with a chuckle. “Although I guess it makes sense that if it was going to be anybody, it would be you.”

“What do you mean?” Draco asked.

Potter shrugged. “Just that he always seemed to get on better with you than he did with anyone else.”

“We never slept together when I was his student,” Draco said, wanting to make sure there was no misunderstanding. “Severus would never have -”

“I never thought you did. I know Snape’s a good man.”

“He is,” Draco said softly.

“So, after the war, should I be expecting a wedding invitation?”

Draco almost choked. “What?”

Potter smiled, looking mischievous. “Come on. Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.”

“I…” The truth was, Draco hadn’t thought about it - not because he didn’t want it, but because it had always seemed so unlikely that both he and Severus would survive the war that there was no point in thinking about what might come after. “I haven’t. And I think I’ve heard quite enough about my relationship from you, thank you very much.”

Potter didn’t seem insulted by the brush-off, returning to his book with his lips still quirked in a slight smile. Draco scowled at him a bit before dragging his parchment back towards himself.

He looked down at the notations he had made in his neat handwriting, but he didn’t really see them. His mind was swimming with the things Potter had said, the long-buried issues he had stirred up and brought to the surface. Draco actually felt a little lightheaded.

No, not lightheaded. Dizzy. And then, quite suddenly, he couldn’t breathe.

Oh, no. No. Not here. Not in front of Potter.

Draco gripped the edge of the table, heart pounding with formless terror. He felt like there was an iron band wrapped around his throat, squeezing the life out of him and preventing him from taking a deep breath. His stomach roiled with nausea.

“Potter,” he tried to say, although it came out as a whisper.

“Yeah?” Potter didn’t look up.

Draco tried to suck in a deeper breath, forcing it past the constriction in his throat. Gods, he was going to die, he was going to suffocate right here -

“Potter,” he wheezed, much more loudly.

Potter took one look at him and jumped up, book falling to the floor. “Malfoy, what’s wrong?”

“P-panic,” Draco said, and that was all he could manage. He had to get out of here, had to get out, or he would die, he knew it. He tried to stand and ended up falling to the floor, fighting for every breath.

Potter knelt next to him. “What do I do?” he said frantically.

“S-spell.” Draco’s vision was starting to dim.

“Spell? What…fuck.” Potter drew his wand and pointed it at the chair Draco had fallen out of. “Wingardium Leviosa.”

Draco gasped, the sudden rush of air into his lungs so unexpected that it hurt his head. His entire body felt like it was on fire - if being on fire happened to be an incredibly pleasant experience. And the panic was gone. Completely.

Seeing that Draco could breathe again, Potter cancelled the spell. The fiery feeling disappeared, leaving Draco cold and shaky.

Merlin. That had been…Draco had never felt magic like that before, so wild and powerful and strong. It had made his blood positively sing, burning away the fear instantaneously. Draco could only sit immobile in shock.

But that was ridiculous. He’d experienced Potter’s magic before, plenty of times. It had never felt like this.

When was the last time he’d been near Potter while the man had cast a spell? Draco tried to think back, but he couldn’t remember. Potter wasn’t the type of wizard who used magic for everyday things; he usually only used it when absolutely necessary. In fact, now that Draco thought about it, he couldn’t remember being near Potter’s magic at all in the past two years.

It had certainly changed.

Draco could always feel magic that was active near him, but he usually didn’t notice it unless it was a powerful spell or came from an unusually powerful wizard. When he could feel it, it always had some real-world analogue, like leather or grass or feathers against his skin. Severus’ magic had always felt like water to him - a strong, steady flow that could be refreshing or destructive. The Dark Lord’s magic was cold and slimy. Granger’s was dry, like parchment.

Potter’s magic…felt like lightning.

Draco hadn’t been able to place the sensation at first, because of course he’d never been struck by lightning before. And he wasn’t sure it was a totally accurate comparison, because surely being hit by lightning was quite painful, and Potter’s magic hadn’t hurt him at all. But it was the only way he could think of to describe it. It was incredible. And that had only been a simple levitation spell! Draco couldn’t imagine what it would feel like were Potter to cast truly powerful magic.

Reeling as he was from the combined effects of the panic attack and Potter’s magic, it took Draco a while to realize that Potter was speaking to him.

“Malfoy!” Potter was saying anxiously, peering into Draco’s eyes. “Malfoy, are you okay?”

“Yes,” he replied, trying to focus. “I’m fine.”

Potter sat back on his heels, exhaling heavily. “What the hell happened?”

“I had a panic attack.” Now that he was coming back to himself, Draco felt the hot sting of humiliation. Why could he never keep himself under control? “I’m fine now.”

“A panic attack? Does that happen a lot?”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“But it happens,” Potter said, a cloud forming on his brow. “And you knew it might happen again.”

“I -”

“Christ, Malfoy!” Potter burst out. “Why didn’t you tell me you have panic attacks? Didn’t you think that was something I might need to know?”

“No, frankly, I didn’t,” Draco said, starting to get angry himself. Angry was much better than embarrassed.

“I had no idea what was happening or how to help you. Fuck, I thought you were dying.”

Just like that, Draco deflated. Potter was right; Draco should have warned him of the possibility. “It feels like dying,” he admitted.

Seeing how shaken Draco was, Potter relented. “But you’re okay now, right?” he said in a gentler voice.

“Yes.”

“Okay. Why’d you ask me to cast a spell?”

“I…” Draco paused. There was no way he was going to tell Potter about his tactile sensitivity to magic; that was something Potter did not need to know. “It distracts me,” he lied. “Gives me something to focus on besides the panic.”

Potter accepted that without question, standing up and helping Draco to his feet. “I’m guessing you’re not up to any more research tonight.”

“No.” Draco swayed a little on his feet, feeling dazed - and not from the attack. “I…I think I should lie down.”

“I’ll help you upstairs.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“No arguments,” Potter insisted. “Leaving aside the fact that you look like you’ll probably fall down the stairs, we can’t risk anyone seeing you walking around the house by yourself.”

Damn.

“Fine,” Draco said with poor grace. “But keep your hands to yourself. I’m not a child who needs to be led by the arm.”

“Does that mean you don’t want me to carry you?” Potter said teasingly.

Draco’s glare was met only with laughter.

***

Draco couldn’t fall asleep that night, and for once it wasn’t because of loneliness. Instead, for the first time since he’d been living in Grimmauld Place - barring Severus’ short visit - he was horribly, distractingly aroused.

Usually, Draco wouldn’t have thought twice about bringing himself off so that he could sleep, but tonight he found himself reluctant to do so. He had tried to convince himself that this was normal, simple arousal, but he knew that it wasn’t. The only reason he was so turned on was because of the way Potter’s magic had felt.

Draco had never been aroused by anyone’s magic but Severus’ before, and even with Severus it wasn’t this intense. Wanking because Potter’s magic had gotten him worked up felt like a kind of infidelity.

But as he shifted around in bed, trying to find a comfortable position that provided a minimum of friction, Draco realized that he wasn’t going to be able to avoid it. His cock was rock-hard and aching, and none of the usual tricks he used to quell an unwanted erection were having any effect. It was starting to become painful.

“Fuck,” Draco muttered, twitching back the covers and pulling off his pajama bottoms. If he made this fast, and only thought about Severus, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

He used his wand to conjure a palmful of lubricant - it was a spell all witches and wizards learned when they were old enough. Severus had taught him a variant that produced something warmer, slicker, and less sticky than the standard spell, more like an oil than a gel. They didn’t use conjured lube all that often, both of them preferring Severus’ home-brewed variety, but it was invaluable in a pinch.

Draco gave his rebellious cock a long, slow stroke from base to tip, sighing with the pleasure of it. It had been too long since his last orgasm - almost a week. He hadn’t gone that long without sex since he’d started having sex in the first place.

Hoping to finish this quickly, Draco set a quick, rough pace. He kept thoughts of Severus firmly fixed in his mind, pushing away the ones of Potter’s magic when they tried to intrude. His memories of sex with Severus soon had him panting for breath, but try as he might, he couldn’t completely shut out the memory of what it had felt like when Potter’s magic had burned through him.

Draco groaned in frustration. This was ridiculous. He didn’t even know why he felt guilty at all - it wasn’t Potter turning him on, just the experience of his magic. Draco would have reacted the same way even if it had been Mrs. Weasley whose magic felt like that.

There was only one sure way to bring this to a rapid finish. Draco conjured some more lube, slicking the fingers of his right hand, then let that hand travel past his cock and over his balls to find his hole. He bent his knees, putting his feet flat on the bed so that he could reach more comfortably, and slid a single finger inside himself.

“Mmm,” Draco moaned, pushing his hips up. He pulled at his cock absentmindedly with his left hand, but all of his focus was centred on the pleasure of being penetrated.

He’d told Potter that he preferred being the receptive partner, and that was the unvarnished truth. He had tried topping once, with Severus, but he’d disliked it so much that they’d switched back halfway through and finished with Draco on the bottom. Draco just didn’t find sex truly satisfying unless there was something inside him. Fortunately, Severus had no objections - in fact, Draco thought he might have been secretly relieved to discover that Draco had no interest in topping.

Draco added a second finger and searched for his prostate, letting out a quiet cry when he found it. He wished he had something bigger to fuck himself with, like the toy he and Severus kept in the nightstand drawer at Spinner’s End. His fingers weren’t really thick enough to give him the stretch he craved.

That thought made him remember the last time he and Severus had used the dildo, just a few months ago. Draco had sucked Severus off on his hands and knees, the charmed toy pounding into him from behind. Severus had come on his face - an act which Draco had found unexpectedly erotic - and then wanked Draco to completion while the dildo continued to work his arse. To Draco, it had felt like he was being taken by two men at once, one of his most secret fantasies. His orgasm had been incredible.

That memory, combined with the fingers pressing insistently against his prostate and the hand sliding over his cock, was enough to push Draco over the edge. He bit his lip to keep from making too much noise, mindful of the fact that there was no Silencing Spell on the room. His toes dug into the mattress as come pulsed over his hand and stomach.

As Draco cleaned himself off and settled down to sleep, he realized with smug satisfaction that he’d been able to come without thinking of Potter’s magic at all.

Part One
Part Three