Hooray! Training Series Update! Tell me what you think! And I'm sorry it took forever!
Sorry that RL has eaten my soul. I still love! Please still love me!
Title: Training Series: How Long?
Pairing: H/D
Rating: Nc-17 (Rimming! You have been warned!)
Disclaimer: Don’t own, don’t sue!
Summary: Draco and Harry remember their days back at school.
“Jealous?”
Harry was broken out of his rapt contemplation of the ceiling by the advent of Draco emerging from their bathroom, a towel firmly tied around his slim hips and drops of water falling from the tips of his hair to the carpet.
They had been engaged in one of Harry’s very favorite living-with-Draco pastimes: the shouted conversation from different rooms. Having known for quite some time that Draco was capable of hours of uninterrupted monologue, Harry had found himself subconsciously orbiting Draco wherever he wandered in their flat, content to converse or just sit back and listen. Once Draco had noticed Harry’s awkward lurking, rather than get perturbed that he would never have a moment of privacy, he seemed pleased at the idea of a portable audience. And so, he started addressing Harry directly, either to his face or from another room.
And Harry was happy to be included.
Presently, they had been rehashing the situation with Hannah, which Draco seemed eager to forget but which Harry couldn’t let slide. And Draco, being the sly bastard that he was, had accurately pinpointed one facet of Harry’s personality that they did not appear to have in common.
“Well,” Harry started, wondering if his next statement would be akin to exposing his jugular to a rattlesnake, and then cringing at his own imagery, “well….yes. I get jealous. You knew that, otherwise you wouldn’t have flirted with her in the first place.”
“I was only testing a theory, Potter.” Draco was now rooting through the closet, which allowed Harry an excellent view of the clear lines of water coursing down his shoulders. “I hadn’t anticipated uncovering this volatile layer of your psyche.”
“I am not volatile.” Harry said defensively. To be called volatile by someone who had patently over dramatized every single event from their formative years was a bit much.
Draco caught his tone and threw a small smirk over his shoulder. “Oh yes you are. It’s all right, you can tell me. All of that angst from your childhood and frustration over being closeted for so long, not to mention your painfully unrequited secret longing for your schoolboy nemesis….these things have their consequences.”
Harry got his own little smirk then, and rose from his comfortable lounging position on the bed to pad over to Draco, who was still intent on finding something suitable to wear.
He put his hands on Draco’s towel-clad hips and licked a strip up the back of Draco’s neck, catching droplets of water before they fell. He watched as tiny goose bumps raced across the blond’s shoulders.
Harry leaned forward to speak into Draco’s ear, “Unrequited?”
He watched Draco’s hands still on a pair of boxer-briefs. Draco let out a distinctly shaky breath before responding, “Well, Potter you were intolerable back then.”
Harry pressed on by pressing his hips up towards Draco’s backside, gripping hipbones with more authority under his fingertips. “Intolerable?”
Boxer-briefs slid, forgotten, from Draco’s hands. “Quite. All of your Quidditch-winning and bad-hair-having. Not to mention..”
Draco’s breath caught as Harry ran a hand up his back to tangle in damp silver strands, tugging at their roots.
“Not to mention….?” Harry prodded, running his teeth slowly along Draco’s neck, pausing to suck on the marks from a past lovebite.
“Hmmm….your infatuation with a certain redhead.” Draco’s weight was full against Harry now, his hips making small circular motions, a clear mimicry, even if it was somewhat stunted by the presence of terrycloth.
Harry decided to rid himself of the obstacle, and ran his hands around to Draco’s navel, tracing lightly over muscled stomach and thin hairs, marveling at the perfection that was Draco Malfoy.
“Now who’s jealous?” he murmured, pulling at the towel lightly, leaning back to watch the white fabric pull along pale skin, revealing smooth planes.
“Don’t flatter yourself, Potter. I’m only pointing your numerous former flaws.”
Harry was momentarily distracted from his study of pressing his fingertips into Draco’s skin and watching the colors go light and then redden from his touch. He suddenly had a rather interesting thought.
He leaned forward to speak against Draco’s skin. “I don’t think you really mean that.”
Draco twisted around, looking back at Harry with large grey eyes. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.” He leaned in, clearly looking to be kissed, and Harry had to take his eyes off those pink lips and closing eyes to stay on track. He pulled back slightly, keeping Draco steady with strong hands on hips, grinning a bit at the small sound of disappointment issuing from Draco’s throat.
“I think,” Harry said, his tone calculating, “that you fancied me like mad.”
Draco snorted, obviously still put out at the flamboyant lack of kissing taking place.
“No?” Harry’s grip went even tighter around Draco’s waist. “Maybe you just need some.. persuasion. Then perhaps you’ll admit that you’ve always wanted me.”
Harry sank to his knees behind Draco, watching the blond tense subtly and take a more serious grip on the closet door.
Harry started by placing small, delicate kisses on Draco’s lower back, using teeth and tongue sparingly, teasing at the skin until it flushed pink. He only paused in his ministrations to remove his glasses, sure that they would only get in the way. Draco seemed to know exactly what he was doing; Harry could practically feel the tremors of excitement rolling off his pale form.
Harry could hear Draco breathing above him, intense and full of anticipation. He ran his hands reverently over Draco’s firm cheeks, only pausing slightly before pulling them gently apart.
He looked up Draco’s arched spine just long enough to ask, “How long have you wanted this, Draco?”
And then he licked a long trail, from between Draco’s legs to his lower back where the skin was still enflamed and pink from his teeth. He heard Draco’s keening above him, saw the blond’s calf muscles tense, and repeated the motion again, savoring a sweet taste against his tongue.
He whispered once more, “How long?” before delving back to Draco’s hole, tracing the rim with his tongue, hearing Draco cry out above him. His fingertips pulled at Draco’s skin, exposing more, tasting of clean soap and something that was completely Draco and completely his. A possessive flare rose inside Harry’s chest and he was immediately gripped with the desire to have all of Draco, everything there was, and he could use his tongue to mark and take and keep. He plunged into Draco deeply, ending the tease, wanting the taste for himself. He could hear Draco’s breathing all around him, labored and intoxicatingly harsh. He suddenly remembered what he had been after in the first place.
Harry gave Draco one last proprietary swipe before rising again, quickly replacing tongue with two fingers, entering Draco with gentle attention.
He peered around at Draco’s face, which was flushed and damp. His bottom lip was livid pink, small teeth marks clearly visible from where Draco had tried to restrain himself.
And Harry was overcome, for the millionth time that day, with how goddamn lucky he was.
“How long, Draco?” He said, his tone soft and coaxing, fingers flexing in an inviting manner.
“Hmm?” Draco’s eyes were closed, his body intent on fucking against Harry’s hand.
“How long have you wanted this?” He listened for the hitched breath, and pressed his fingers again, and from the shudder he received as a response, he knew Draco was coming apart.
“Please, Harry…” Harry felt a bit of his resolve breaking, knowing that tone, knowing exactly what Draco was begging for. He watched Draco’s knuckles go white against the closet door, and he tried to keep focused.
“Tell me, Draco. Tell me, and I’ll give you what you want.”
“Mmm….take me to bed and I’ll tell you.” Draco said in a heated whisper.
Harry was happy to comply, but as soon as he had removed his fingers, Draco whirled around to face him, cool eyes hungry and intent.
Draco’s fingers tugged at the edge of his tee-shirt, lifting quickly and moving to his jeans, pulling boxers and denim until there was nothing but air between them. Draco was moving quickly towards him, eyes unreadable and mouth a smooth line.
Harry lay down on the bed, moving aside for Draco to lie down as well, but the blond had other plans. Strong hands pinned Harry’s shoulders to the bed, pressing him down. Draco climbed on top of Harry, straddling his legs. Draco leaned forward, reaching for a small vial of lube kept on the nightstand.
Harry reached up to take it, and Draco gave him a quelling look. “No. You wanted to listen, so now, you can lay back and listen.”
Draco was still above him, inhaling deeply, reigning in calm like it was lingering in the air. Harry’s eyes went wide as he watched Draco cover his fingers and realized what was about to happen.
Draco reached back, hand disappearing, spine curled back, displaying himself in a manner that would have been obscene if Draco hadn’t been so surreally beautiful. He settled into a rhythm with himself, first tense, but then relaxing; and then he began to talk.
“Fifth year.” His voice was low, but distinct, and Harry was thrown by how tranquil he sounded, as if they were just making conversation in the kitchen.
“I was so angry with you,” he sighed, moving his hips up and down, “so angry. And you were so irritatingly distant; you acted like I wasn’t worth your time, like you had better things to do. I was used to getting your attention; I liked having your attention. And then…” his breath hitched slightly as he found a rub that was particularly pleasurable “then you took it away.” His voice was almost dreamlike, and all Harry wanted was to touch….
“After that match, that goddamn Quidditch match…” Draco made a small whimper in his throat, “I would have said anything to get you to look at me.”
Harry remembered, then, that flash of seeing red and running and being so completely overwhelmed by feeling…..
“And you lashed out at me, oh..” Draco’s hips started a more purposeful pace, “and I could feel where you had touched me for days. Like burning, like control.”
Harry knew that Draco was getting to that place where he was hardly aware of what he was saying, but it was enthralling all the same. He remembered the delicious satisfaction of getting physical vengeance, of wanting more, of swearing that he would have continued had he not been bodily removed…
“That was when I knew….” Draco’s breathing was short, his entire torso gleaming, “I knew I wanted you touching me….all the time.”
Harry couldn’t control himself any longer. “Draco, please, let me…”
Draco leaned his hips forward, moving so that they aligned perfectly, and slowly lowered himself onto Harry’s cock.
It was always perfect, and Draco was already so far gone, but his hands came around and he braced himself on either side of Harry’s head, looking down into Harry’s eyes with something like reverence.
Harry was suddenly flooded with every memory they had made together since that day or uncontrolled anger on the Quidditch pitch. How much betrayal and bitterness and abhorrence had colored their interactions across the years.
And he silently swore, for every one of those moments, he would make twenty that were full of loyalty and lust and truth in the hopes that someday Draco would forget the others.
Draco was leaning over him, close and tight, Harry could feel hot breath against his jaw, and he felt like he did for those scarce moments, pressed against Draco on the pitch, full of boiling emotion, and feeling like there were no possible words to express it…but he had to show it somehow or it would overwhelm him completely…
He leaned up and captured Draco’s mouth, once so full of hate and scorn, and he knew that Draco was reliving it too, moving his hips and pressing against Harry as much as possible, moaning into his mouth, asking him to forget..
He felt Draco come between them, and lost himself completely as well, releasing deep inside of Draco with a heated cry.
Harry decided that Draco might have already forgiven him for that particular Quidditch incident.
The next day of training greeted Harry with the reminder that while he and Draco may have decided to forgive the past, others had not.
Ron still grumbled discontentedly at their arrival, though he opted for ignoring Draco rather than launching into an attempt at conversation that made his face look as if he was attempting conversation with Harry’s beloved yet violent rottweiler. He also invited them both to dinner with him and Hermione later that week. And if he had been rolling his eyes when he said it, Draco pretended not to notice.
Hannah was so busy glaring at them that she completely flubbed her practical demonstration of stealth and tactile maneuvering. Harry sniggered, but felt a little abashed when Draco merely twitched in a slightly regretful manner. He felt a small twinge of annoyance at the fact that Draco could apparently forgive her verbal abuse in twenty-four hours, but had held Harry’s eleven-year-old judgmental nature against him for years.
He made sure to bring up this rather glaring double standard once he and Draco had Apparated home that night.
Draco had looked a little confused, and then more than a little amused.
“See? Jealous.” He smirked.
“Well, what do you expect? You hold a grudge against me for years, no…wait, you hold a grudge combined with a fierce determination to make my life a misery for years, and she gets off without a hitch? No sneers? No badges? No blistering commentary on her monetary or parental state? What sort of conclusions do you expect me to draw?” Harry was aware that he was only half-serious, but the half of him that was serious wanted answers.
“You are, and always have been, more important than her.” Was Draco’s simple reply.
It was simple, but it made a suspiciously warm sensation travel from Harry’s stomach outward. And he might have grinned a little.
Draco, apparently, saw this. He turned fully towards Harry, shrugging off his jacket, and asking, “How long, Harry?”
“What?”
“I said,” Draco pulled at his jumper, blond head reappearing ruffled, throwing the sweater aside, “how long?”
“I don’t know what you’re….” Harry was admittedly a tad distracted by all the Draco-stripping, and now the blond was working on his jeans, toeing out of his shoes with practice.
“How long have you wanted this?” And now it was clear. Clear because they were his own words echoed back to him, and clear because now Draco was completely naked in their living room.
Harry reached out without even thinking about it, felt Draco’s hands push into his hair, and placed his chin on one pale shoulder, preparing to admit to Draco what he’d only ever thought in his most private reflections.
He pulled back, sparing a moment to look into Draco’s eyes, which were alight with tease and affection, not knowing the answer that was to come.
Harry ran his right hand over Draco’s shoulder, brought his fingertips to rest on the tip of the raised scar that chased down Draco’s torso, creating a diagonal knife edge from Draco’s left collar to his right hip. He could feel Draco’s heart beating faster as he traced the white line slowly.
Harry was aware again, as he had been back then, of just how close they had come to never having another moment, never having a chance to fix things.
God, he was so goddamned lucky.
“I’ve wanted this since I realized that it could be taken away.” His voice sounded hoarse, like it was hard to speak, but it was laden with emotion. He hadn’t fully realized the implications of how intensely grateful he had been for Draco’s survival, how nauseatingly horrified he had been at his own capacity to harm the Slytherin, until much later. But that moment had solidified Draco as something necessary. Something that could fill him with fury and regret. Something that had the potential to fill him with so many other things.
He looked into Draco’s eyes, clear and understanding, and searching for something.
“D’you think,” Draco started quietly, “that that’s odd? That those pivotal moments were also the most violent? Don’t you think that’s strange?”
They paused like that, Harry’s hand heavy on Draco’s chest, feeling his heartbeat because he could, because it was still there.
“No,” Harry said after awhile, “I think it’s perfect.”
When they finally kissed, Harry swore he could taste something on Draco’s lips. Something that was somehow bitter and sweet all at once. Something like forgiveness and the future.
Title: Training Series: How Long?
Pairing: H/D
Rating: Nc-17 (Rimming! You have been warned!)
Disclaimer: Don’t own, don’t sue!
Summary: Draco and Harry remember their days back at school.
“Jealous?”
Harry was broken out of his rapt contemplation of the ceiling by the advent of Draco emerging from their bathroom, a towel firmly tied around his slim hips and drops of water falling from the tips of his hair to the carpet.
They had been engaged in one of Harry’s very favorite living-with-Draco pastimes: the shouted conversation from different rooms. Having known for quite some time that Draco was capable of hours of uninterrupted monologue, Harry had found himself subconsciously orbiting Draco wherever he wandered in their flat, content to converse or just sit back and listen. Once Draco had noticed Harry’s awkward lurking, rather than get perturbed that he would never have a moment of privacy, he seemed pleased at the idea of a portable audience. And so, he started addressing Harry directly, either to his face or from another room.
And Harry was happy to be included.
Presently, they had been rehashing the situation with Hannah, which Draco seemed eager to forget but which Harry couldn’t let slide. And Draco, being the sly bastard that he was, had accurately pinpointed one facet of Harry’s personality that they did not appear to have in common.
“Well,” Harry started, wondering if his next statement would be akin to exposing his jugular to a rattlesnake, and then cringing at his own imagery, “well….yes. I get jealous. You knew that, otherwise you wouldn’t have flirted with her in the first place.”
“I was only testing a theory, Potter.” Draco was now rooting through the closet, which allowed Harry an excellent view of the clear lines of water coursing down his shoulders. “I hadn’t anticipated uncovering this volatile layer of your psyche.”
“I am not volatile.” Harry said defensively. To be called volatile by someone who had patently over dramatized every single event from their formative years was a bit much.
Draco caught his tone and threw a small smirk over his shoulder. “Oh yes you are. It’s all right, you can tell me. All of that angst from your childhood and frustration over being closeted for so long, not to mention your painfully unrequited secret longing for your schoolboy nemesis….these things have their consequences.”
Harry got his own little smirk then, and rose from his comfortable lounging position on the bed to pad over to Draco, who was still intent on finding something suitable to wear.
He put his hands on Draco’s towel-clad hips and licked a strip up the back of Draco’s neck, catching droplets of water before they fell. He watched as tiny goose bumps raced across the blond’s shoulders.
Harry leaned forward to speak into Draco’s ear, “Unrequited?”
He watched Draco’s hands still on a pair of boxer-briefs. Draco let out a distinctly shaky breath before responding, “Well, Potter you were intolerable back then.”
Harry pressed on by pressing his hips up towards Draco’s backside, gripping hipbones with more authority under his fingertips. “Intolerable?”
Boxer-briefs slid, forgotten, from Draco’s hands. “Quite. All of your Quidditch-winning and bad-hair-having. Not to mention..”
Draco’s breath caught as Harry ran a hand up his back to tangle in damp silver strands, tugging at their roots.
“Not to mention….?” Harry prodded, running his teeth slowly along Draco’s neck, pausing to suck on the marks from a past lovebite.
“Hmmm….your infatuation with a certain redhead.” Draco’s weight was full against Harry now, his hips making small circular motions, a clear mimicry, even if it was somewhat stunted by the presence of terrycloth.
Harry decided to rid himself of the obstacle, and ran his hands around to Draco’s navel, tracing lightly over muscled stomach and thin hairs, marveling at the perfection that was Draco Malfoy.
“Now who’s jealous?” he murmured, pulling at the towel lightly, leaning back to watch the white fabric pull along pale skin, revealing smooth planes.
“Don’t flatter yourself, Potter. I’m only pointing your numerous former flaws.”
Harry was momentarily distracted from his study of pressing his fingertips into Draco’s skin and watching the colors go light and then redden from his touch. He suddenly had a rather interesting thought.
He leaned forward to speak against Draco’s skin. “I don’t think you really mean that.”
Draco twisted around, looking back at Harry with large grey eyes. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.” He leaned in, clearly looking to be kissed, and Harry had to take his eyes off those pink lips and closing eyes to stay on track. He pulled back slightly, keeping Draco steady with strong hands on hips, grinning a bit at the small sound of disappointment issuing from Draco’s throat.
“I think,” Harry said, his tone calculating, “that you fancied me like mad.”
Draco snorted, obviously still put out at the flamboyant lack of kissing taking place.
“No?” Harry’s grip went even tighter around Draco’s waist. “Maybe you just need some.. persuasion. Then perhaps you’ll admit that you’ve always wanted me.”
Harry sank to his knees behind Draco, watching the blond tense subtly and take a more serious grip on the closet door.
Harry started by placing small, delicate kisses on Draco’s lower back, using teeth and tongue sparingly, teasing at the skin until it flushed pink. He only paused in his ministrations to remove his glasses, sure that they would only get in the way. Draco seemed to know exactly what he was doing; Harry could practically feel the tremors of excitement rolling off his pale form.
Harry could hear Draco breathing above him, intense and full of anticipation. He ran his hands reverently over Draco’s firm cheeks, only pausing slightly before pulling them gently apart.
He looked up Draco’s arched spine just long enough to ask, “How long have you wanted this, Draco?”
And then he licked a long trail, from between Draco’s legs to his lower back where the skin was still enflamed and pink from his teeth. He heard Draco’s keening above him, saw the blond’s calf muscles tense, and repeated the motion again, savoring a sweet taste against his tongue.
He whispered once more, “How long?” before delving back to Draco’s hole, tracing the rim with his tongue, hearing Draco cry out above him. His fingertips pulled at Draco’s skin, exposing more, tasting of clean soap and something that was completely Draco and completely his. A possessive flare rose inside Harry’s chest and he was immediately gripped with the desire to have all of Draco, everything there was, and he could use his tongue to mark and take and keep. He plunged into Draco deeply, ending the tease, wanting the taste for himself. He could hear Draco’s breathing all around him, labored and intoxicatingly harsh. He suddenly remembered what he had been after in the first place.
Harry gave Draco one last proprietary swipe before rising again, quickly replacing tongue with two fingers, entering Draco with gentle attention.
He peered around at Draco’s face, which was flushed and damp. His bottom lip was livid pink, small teeth marks clearly visible from where Draco had tried to restrain himself.
And Harry was overcome, for the millionth time that day, with how goddamn lucky he was.
“How long, Draco?” He said, his tone soft and coaxing, fingers flexing in an inviting manner.
“Hmm?” Draco’s eyes were closed, his body intent on fucking against Harry’s hand.
“How long have you wanted this?” He listened for the hitched breath, and pressed his fingers again, and from the shudder he received as a response, he knew Draco was coming apart.
“Please, Harry…” Harry felt a bit of his resolve breaking, knowing that tone, knowing exactly what Draco was begging for. He watched Draco’s knuckles go white against the closet door, and he tried to keep focused.
“Tell me, Draco. Tell me, and I’ll give you what you want.”
“Mmm….take me to bed and I’ll tell you.” Draco said in a heated whisper.
Harry was happy to comply, but as soon as he had removed his fingers, Draco whirled around to face him, cool eyes hungry and intent.
Draco’s fingers tugged at the edge of his tee-shirt, lifting quickly and moving to his jeans, pulling boxers and denim until there was nothing but air between them. Draco was moving quickly towards him, eyes unreadable and mouth a smooth line.
Harry lay down on the bed, moving aside for Draco to lie down as well, but the blond had other plans. Strong hands pinned Harry’s shoulders to the bed, pressing him down. Draco climbed on top of Harry, straddling his legs. Draco leaned forward, reaching for a small vial of lube kept on the nightstand.
Harry reached up to take it, and Draco gave him a quelling look. “No. You wanted to listen, so now, you can lay back and listen.”
Draco was still above him, inhaling deeply, reigning in calm like it was lingering in the air. Harry’s eyes went wide as he watched Draco cover his fingers and realized what was about to happen.
Draco reached back, hand disappearing, spine curled back, displaying himself in a manner that would have been obscene if Draco hadn’t been so surreally beautiful. He settled into a rhythm with himself, first tense, but then relaxing; and then he began to talk.
“Fifth year.” His voice was low, but distinct, and Harry was thrown by how tranquil he sounded, as if they were just making conversation in the kitchen.
“I was so angry with you,” he sighed, moving his hips up and down, “so angry. And you were so irritatingly distant; you acted like I wasn’t worth your time, like you had better things to do. I was used to getting your attention; I liked having your attention. And then…” his breath hitched slightly as he found a rub that was particularly pleasurable “then you took it away.” His voice was almost dreamlike, and all Harry wanted was to touch….
“After that match, that goddamn Quidditch match…” Draco made a small whimper in his throat, “I would have said anything to get you to look at me.”
Harry remembered, then, that flash of seeing red and running and being so completely overwhelmed by feeling…..
“And you lashed out at me, oh..” Draco’s hips started a more purposeful pace, “and I could feel where you had touched me for days. Like burning, like control.”
Harry knew that Draco was getting to that place where he was hardly aware of what he was saying, but it was enthralling all the same. He remembered the delicious satisfaction of getting physical vengeance, of wanting more, of swearing that he would have continued had he not been bodily removed…
“That was when I knew….” Draco’s breathing was short, his entire torso gleaming, “I knew I wanted you touching me….all the time.”
Harry couldn’t control himself any longer. “Draco, please, let me…”
Draco leaned his hips forward, moving so that they aligned perfectly, and slowly lowered himself onto Harry’s cock.
It was always perfect, and Draco was already so far gone, but his hands came around and he braced himself on either side of Harry’s head, looking down into Harry’s eyes with something like reverence.
Harry was suddenly flooded with every memory they had made together since that day or uncontrolled anger on the Quidditch pitch. How much betrayal and bitterness and abhorrence had colored their interactions across the years.
And he silently swore, for every one of those moments, he would make twenty that were full of loyalty and lust and truth in the hopes that someday Draco would forget the others.
Draco was leaning over him, close and tight, Harry could feel hot breath against his jaw, and he felt like he did for those scarce moments, pressed against Draco on the pitch, full of boiling emotion, and feeling like there were no possible words to express it…but he had to show it somehow or it would overwhelm him completely…
He leaned up and captured Draco’s mouth, once so full of hate and scorn, and he knew that Draco was reliving it too, moving his hips and pressing against Harry as much as possible, moaning into his mouth, asking him to forget..
He felt Draco come between them, and lost himself completely as well, releasing deep inside of Draco with a heated cry.
Harry decided that Draco might have already forgiven him for that particular Quidditch incident.
The next day of training greeted Harry with the reminder that while he and Draco may have decided to forgive the past, others had not.
Ron still grumbled discontentedly at their arrival, though he opted for ignoring Draco rather than launching into an attempt at conversation that made his face look as if he was attempting conversation with Harry’s beloved yet violent rottweiler. He also invited them both to dinner with him and Hermione later that week. And if he had been rolling his eyes when he said it, Draco pretended not to notice.
Hannah was so busy glaring at them that she completely flubbed her practical demonstration of stealth and tactile maneuvering. Harry sniggered, but felt a little abashed when Draco merely twitched in a slightly regretful manner. He felt a small twinge of annoyance at the fact that Draco could apparently forgive her verbal abuse in twenty-four hours, but had held Harry’s eleven-year-old judgmental nature against him for years.
He made sure to bring up this rather glaring double standard once he and Draco had Apparated home that night.
Draco had looked a little confused, and then more than a little amused.
“See? Jealous.” He smirked.
“Well, what do you expect? You hold a grudge against me for years, no…wait, you hold a grudge combined with a fierce determination to make my life a misery for years, and she gets off without a hitch? No sneers? No badges? No blistering commentary on her monetary or parental state? What sort of conclusions do you expect me to draw?” Harry was aware that he was only half-serious, but the half of him that was serious wanted answers.
“You are, and always have been, more important than her.” Was Draco’s simple reply.
It was simple, but it made a suspiciously warm sensation travel from Harry’s stomach outward. And he might have grinned a little.
Draco, apparently, saw this. He turned fully towards Harry, shrugging off his jacket, and asking, “How long, Harry?”
“What?”
“I said,” Draco pulled at his jumper, blond head reappearing ruffled, throwing the sweater aside, “how long?”
“I don’t know what you’re….” Harry was admittedly a tad distracted by all the Draco-stripping, and now the blond was working on his jeans, toeing out of his shoes with practice.
“How long have you wanted this?” And now it was clear. Clear because they were his own words echoed back to him, and clear because now Draco was completely naked in their living room.
Harry reached out without even thinking about it, felt Draco’s hands push into his hair, and placed his chin on one pale shoulder, preparing to admit to Draco what he’d only ever thought in his most private reflections.
He pulled back, sparing a moment to look into Draco’s eyes, which were alight with tease and affection, not knowing the answer that was to come.
Harry ran his right hand over Draco’s shoulder, brought his fingertips to rest on the tip of the raised scar that chased down Draco’s torso, creating a diagonal knife edge from Draco’s left collar to his right hip. He could feel Draco’s heart beating faster as he traced the white line slowly.
Harry was aware again, as he had been back then, of just how close they had come to never having another moment, never having a chance to fix things.
God, he was so goddamned lucky.
“I’ve wanted this since I realized that it could be taken away.” His voice sounded hoarse, like it was hard to speak, but it was laden with emotion. He hadn’t fully realized the implications of how intensely grateful he had been for Draco’s survival, how nauseatingly horrified he had been at his own capacity to harm the Slytherin, until much later. But that moment had solidified Draco as something necessary. Something that could fill him with fury and regret. Something that had the potential to fill him with so many other things.
He looked into Draco’s eyes, clear and understanding, and searching for something.
“D’you think,” Draco started quietly, “that that’s odd? That those pivotal moments were also the most violent? Don’t you think that’s strange?”
They paused like that, Harry’s hand heavy on Draco’s chest, feeling his heartbeat because he could, because it was still there.
“No,” Harry said after awhile, “I think it’s perfect.”
When they finally kissed, Harry swore he could taste something on Draco’s lips. Something that was somehow bitter and sweet all at once. Something like forgiveness and the future.