FIC: Just Like A Gryffindor (Part 4 of 4)

[anjenue]

Back to Part 3

'You keep getting earlier! You had better be careful or I'm going to start to think you actually look forward to-- Draco?' Potter came out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on his jeans. 'What's the matter?'

Draco let out the breath he'd never quite exhaled all the way. The euphoria was starting to make him dizzy now, and it was only just sinking in what he'd done, what he'd said, what the implications were, and it terrified him so much his knees buckled, and he would have slumped to the floor had Potter not been there to catch him.

'Whoa, easy,' said Potter, looping an arm around his waist. 'I think you're on a sugar low there. We'd better fix that, get some good old refined white sugar into you, put some meat on--'

'I shouted at my parents.'

Potter blinked, monologue forgotten. 'You...what?'

Draco's smile dropped completely from his face and he shivered, digging his nails into Potter's arm. 'I shouted at my parents,' he said again; his voice sounded like it belonged to someone else, eerily calm and emotionless. 'I told them I didn't want to be a Malfoy anymore.'

Potter was silent for a long moment, obviously shocked, but then he tightened his arm again and started moving toward the sitting room. 'All right,' he said. 'I think you're in shock. You need to sit down, have some water, and then you can try that again.'

'Not in there,' said Draco, and giggled. 'The upholstery'll make it worse.'

'Okay, maybe not shock,' Potter snorted, but turned Draco obligingly, leading him into the bedroom, waving his hand absently to turn on the lights. He helped him sit down, propping him up against the headboard, and then Summoned a glass, spilling water into it before holding it up to Draco's mouth.

Draco giggled again, wearily. 'I'm not an invalid, Potter,' he mumbled. 'I can drink it myself.' He took the glass and drained the contents in one long gulp, letting the cool water wash away the metallic sting of adrenaline. Then he slumped back, eyes falling shut, and didn't protest when Potter slipped the glass out of his hand before he dropped it.

'Better?'

Draco nodded, then shook his head, then shrugged. 'I don't know,' he muttered. 'I don't know what I was thinking. I just...snapped.'

'What did they say to you?'

Draco shrugged again. 'Lucius told me that he'd found me a job pushing paper in Luxembourg. I told him I didn't want to go. He told me I was being stupid. I told him he was being stupid. He hit me, I snapped.'

'He hit you?' Potter sounded shocked, and his naiveté was so funny that Draco laughed again.

'It's not a big deal, Potter. He used to spank me all the time when I was naughty. He just never hit me across the face before.'

Potter went silent, but Draco could hear his teeth grinding.

'Really, Potter,' he said. 'It's nothing. Besides, it's not like you like me, right? So what does it matter if my father smacks me around a bit?'

The teeth-grinding stopped, and for a moment, the only sound in the room was the clink of metal against glass against wood. Then, a hand found his shoulder, warm and strong, pressing down against the muscle. It was the first time Potter had touched him like this, with this sort of familiarity, of intimacy, while awake, and the tension holding Draco's body shifted suddenly, winding in coils through his chest, his stomach.

'I don't hate you,' Potter said softly.

Draco turned his head slowly, breaths coming shallow and ragged. Potter looked steadily back, green eyes dark and intent and huge without his glasses, face a perfect mask of sincerity, and he looked so serious that Draco's stress bubbled free all at once in a choked, truncated laugh.

'Stupid Gryffindor,' he whispered, and kissed him.

Instead of pushing him away, or freezing, Potter kissed Draco back immediately, free hand curving around the back of his head, and the unexpectedness of it was such a shock that Draco moaned, eyes squeezing shut as heat exploded in the pit of his belly. Potter responded, a low murmur that may have been an attempt at soothing but only served to arouse Draco even more, and he grabbed at Potter's nape, fingers digging into soft skin, and parted his lips, tracing Potter's mouth with his tongue.

Potter sucked in a breath, sharp and cool against Draco's lips, and Draco took that as his cue to slip his tongue into Potter's mouth, exhaling slowly at the liquid heat as their tongues slid against each other. Potter tasted of salt and butterbeer, not sweet like a girl or refined like a Slytherin, but real, and honest, and so typically Potter that Draco felt tendrils of warmth trickle down his spine. The tangle of fingers in his hair tightened, pulling at the strands, but it didn't even occur to Draco to protest, because that was perfectly Potter too, the demanding determination, the sense of entitlement, but not in the way he'd used to think. Potter wasn't the arrogant, self-important bastard younger Draco had thought he was, but he was stubborn, and he was sure of himself in a way that was refreshing rather than obnoxious, and despite the forcefulness of his kisses, the sounds he made were ragged, almost pleading, combining certainty and genuine want in a way that Draco had never imagined possible before. Just Potter, bare and simple, no posturing, no pretences, and just as before, the verity of this, of Potter's actions and reactions, was so arousing that Draco ached with it.

This was sharing a bed with Potter and waking up to find Potter's hand down his trousers. This was seeing Potter in the shower, vivid and open and alive. This was knowing that Potter was not as simple as he'd once thought, that maybe he and Potter weren't so different after all. This was that realisation that everything he'd been certain of was maybe not so certain after all, and finding that was actually okay. This was him, not a Malfoy, not a Slytherin, just himself, just Draco, and just Draco knew for the first time beyond all shadow of a doubt that he wanted.

Potter hissed as Draco twisted his body, pushing him down against the mattress and settling atop him, knees digging into the mattress and back curving over as he kissed Potter more deeply, tracing the ridges of his palate with the tip of his tongue. Potter was impossibly warm and solid beneath him, fingers digging into his back, nails scratching over his scalp, and Draco let out a shuddering breath as he shifted, prick dragged against a matching hardness. Potter groaned, fisting his hand in Draco's shirt, and arched up, pressing their bodies together from shoulder to hip, and the contact was electrifying and grounding all at once, sucking Draco's breath from his lungs. He broke the kiss, turning his face aside and gasping, which quickly turned into a hitched moan as Potter's mouth found his throat and latched on, biting down until sparks exploded behind Draco's eyelids. Potter's lips curved against his throat, a smile instead of a smirk, and then Potter's tongue swept across his skin, tracing the throbbing line of his vein up to the spot beneath his ear before Potter's teeth sank into his earlobe.

Draco's hips jerked, eyes rolling back in his head and fingers clutching at Potter's shoulders, and he felt Potter chuckle, his only warning before Potter's muscles bunched and he surged upward, flipping Draco off and onto his back and settling between his thighs like he had every right to be there, like he belonged there. Draco certainly wasn't going to object, since Potter felt so fucking good, the little flexes of his hips driving his cock down against Draco's until Draco felt his toes start to curl, and Potter's mouth on his throat felt like heaven and hell all at once, equal parts soothing and punishing, until it was all Draco could do not to come in his pants just from that.

'Potter,' he panted, 'I don't know about Gryffindors, but Slytherins prefer not to hump each other like dogs in heat.'

Potter snorted, tugging Draco's hair sharply and biting down on the juncture of neck and shoulder until Draco hissed. 'You never give up on the House thing, do you?' he murmured, damp lips brushing Draco's ear. 'And it's Harry.'

'Force of habit,' he gasped, though he wasn't sure which part of Potter's statement he was responding to.

'Break it then,' said Potter, pitilessly, and dragged his hand down Draco's side, curving fingers around the back of Draco's thigh and pulling it up alongside his hip, locking their bodies together and turning Draco's protest into a thready moan.

'If you want something,' Potter went on, voice breathless but stern, 'then just say what you mean. You've done it before - I know you can do it.'

'Thank you for the vote of confidence,' Draco said dryly, or as dryly as possible with a hand on his arse and a mouth on his throat. Potter snorted again, biting Draco sharply, and Draco yelped in mingled surprise-pain-arousal, cock throbbing against the restrictive material of his trousers.

'Just say it,' Potter murmured, breath warm and humid against sensitised skin.

Draco gritted his teeth. He had learnt growing up never to speak plainly, to only say things that could be spun out in more than one way, to allow him an out, but he knew how far that had gotten him, and though it might have been what he knew, that didn't mean it was the right way to be. Besides, as Potter had said, he was a horrible liar.

'I want...' Draco swallowed, spine arching as he tipped his head back and stared blurrily at the ceiling. 'I want you to fuck me.'

Potter lifted his head. His cheeks were flushed, lips swollen and wet, eyes nearly black behind half-lowered lashes, but he said nothing, simply staring steadily at Draco, expectant, waiting.

Draco licked his lips, prick twitching at the intensity of Potter's gaze, and took a breath. '...Harry.'

Potter -- Harry -- smiled, pleasure twining with predatory want until he looked almost dangerous, and Draco shuddered with the sudden rush of arousal, fingers twitching against Harry's back.

'See?' Harry breathed, voice like crystallised honey, liquid-smooth and ragged all at once. 'That wasn't so hard.'

Draco raised a brow. 'I beg to differ,' he retorted, twisting his hips deliberately, and couldn't help but smirk when Harry's eyes rolled back and his mouth fell open.

'Touché,' Harry replied after a long moment, and then grinned, teeth flashing white in the dim light. 'Better this way anyway.'

Draco opened his mouth to say something else, but the words died on his tongue as Harry's hand slid between them to curve around the outline of his cock, and despite the layers of fabric, it scorched him, fingers pressing just there, palm flat against the underside, and it felt so good it hurt, making Draco drop his head back against the pillow and groan, hips pushing up against Harry's hand. It was so like what he'd experienced before, the possessive, certain grip he'd felt combined with the torturous restraint he'd seen Harry use on himself, and yet so different because this time it was deliberate, and aware, and really meant for him, and that made it ten times better than any of the hints of it he'd had, and made him ten times more desperate for more.

'Too slow, Potter,' he growled, grabbing at Harry's arm in an attempt to urge him on, but Harry simply raised a brow, not ceasing his slow strokes over Draco's prick, but certainly not hurrying them either.

'I'm sorry, are you speaking to me?'

'Potter...' Draco threatened, but Harry was unmoved, taking his own sweet time about it, and Draco was right, Harry did like to torture, only he seemed to be enjoying it even more now that he was torturing someone other than himself.

'Faster, Harry,' he whined, slamming his head against the pillow again, and then groaned loudly as Harry's hand tightened right away, giving a long, hard stroke from base to tip that had Draco's toes curling hard against the soles of his feet.

'You see?' Harry murmured, his smile audible in his voice. 'That's all it takes.'

'I wish I'd known that was all it took when we were in school,' Draco muttered, sentence punctuated with gasps and hitched breaths. Harry laughed, and bent his head to Draco's neck again.

'I don't know if I would have listened to you when we were young,' he murmured, scraping his teeth across Draco's throat, 'but it's a nice thought anyway.'

'Why are you listening to me now then?'

Harry paused, exhaling against damp skin, and then smiled. 'Because you listen to me,' he said softly. His tone suggested that the listen in that sentence was different than the listen in the sentence before, but before Draco could think about it, Harry's teeth sank into his shoulder again, and Draco whimpered, wrapping his leg tighter around Harry's waist and arching up hard against him.

'Take them off,' he breathed as Harry's hand skimmed the fastenings of his trousers, and Harry chuckled against his skin, though Draco didn't miss the way his fingers trembled as he began to tug open the row of buttons. Draco's hands went to the hem of Harry's t-shirt, catching hold of the thin cotton and dragging it up over his spine; Harry curved his back, letting Draco tug the shirt up to his shoulders, then lifted his arms just long enough for Draco to yank it off and throw it aside before crushing his mouth against Draco's, fingers returning to Draco's buttons with renewed determination.

Draco kissed back hungrily, their tongues battling for dominance, teeth scraping muscle, sinking into flesh, breaths passing from mouth to mouth until he could no longer tell inhale from exhale; when Harry's fingers yanked open the last button and his hand slid between the flaps of fabric, squeezing Draco's prick, Draco groaned into Harry's mouth, clutching at his arse with both hands and shifting restlessly in a silent plea for more. Fortunately, it seemed that Harry's desire for Draco to say what he meant only applied to verbal requests, because Harry's fingers immediately withdrew, but went straight for the waistband of Draco's trousers, dragging them down as Draco lifted his hips to help Harry yank them down his thighs, then unwound his leg from Harry's back and kicked the fabric off his legs, along with his shoes, to land somewhere on the floor with a satisfying rustlethump.

'Well, we're halfway there,' Harry murmured, voice thick with amusement and arousal all at once, and Draco's percolating quip turned into a wordless moan as Harry's hand finally wrapped around his prick, just this side of not-enough, but so fucking good that any complaint Draco could make was twisted into a gasp before it could form. Harry's palm was lightly callused, his fingers wiry and strong as they wound around his shaft, pads resting against the sensitive network of veins, but his thumb was soft where it skimmed up the underside and brushed feather-light across the head. Regardless, it still felt so good it ached, and Draco choked on a groan, hips jerking, driving his cock through the loose circle of Harry's fist.

Harry hummed, other hand sliding up beneath Draco's shirt to trace patterns across his belly before pressing him back down against the mattress; when Draco arched up again immediately, Harry made a soft sound of something like displeasure, and withdrew, sitting back on his heels.

Draco opened his eyes, staring up at Harry dizzily. 'What?' he said sharply.

Harry shrugged. 'You're very wriggly,' he said thoughtfully, studying Draco's supine form, and then grinned. 'Which is a good thing, really, but I think...'

Before Draco could snap at him to get the fuck on with it before he did hex him, more out of frustration than actual desire to do so, Harry slid down the bed, and Draco's mouth fell open as Harry wrapped his lips around the tip of Draco's cock and sucked. His back arched again, sharply, muscles trembling with tension, but Harry's arm came down across his belly, pushing him slowly back against the mattress and holding him there like a brace as Harry's other hand wrapped tight round the base of his cock and his mouth slid further down his shaft.

There was no way Harry hadn't done this before, Draco thought with what little of his mind he had left - the pressure of Harry's tongue flat against his frenulum was maddening, and Harry's lips moved over him in slow, long, tight passes that drew out his mind until all he could think was rightthereohgodmore. And when Harry's hand shifted, sliding back to brush against his sac, then behind, teasing sensitive skin, withdrawing, then returning cool and slick with gel, Draco didn't have the presence of mind to think anything but yes.

Harry didn't ask him if he was sure, didn't ask him if he was okay with this, and that was as expected, since they didn't like each other, but the fingers that slid into him were gentle, careful, notenoughbutsofuckinggood, and the brief flash of pain was gone as quickly as it had come, leaving only the pleasure, the maddeningly slow stretch of muscle, the torture of oversensitised nerve endings, and when Harry's fingers curved upward with unerring accuracy, it was all Draco could do not to scream, his back coming up off the bed despite the weight of Harry's arm and his heels digging into the mattress as he shuddered with wantneedmorenowplease.

Harry laughed, the sound vibrating against Draco's prick, and Draco moaned hoarsely, hands finding Harry's hair and tugging until Harry lifted his head, mouth sliding off with a wet pop.

'Please, Harry....'

It wasn't a verbal request, nor was it a nonverbal demand, but Harry got it anyway, judging from the way his pupils dilated until they swallowed his eyes completely. He slid his fingers out, leaving Draco feeling painfully empty, but when he watched Harry's hands drop to the fastenings of his jeans, tugging them open with rapid movements and shoving them past his hips along with his shorts, his muscles coiled in anticipation instead of protest and he sucked in a breath, lifting his head to watch Harry strip the rest of the way out of his clothes. He had never really seen Harry naked before, he realised, since there'd always been at least a shower curtain between them, and he drank in the sight, the flat planes of Harry's back, the rippled muscles of his belly, the dark-rose nipples peaked sharply in the cool air, the smattering of hair that started just below his navel and trickled down to join the dark curls between hard-muscled thighs. Harry's cock stood out proudly hard and flushed dark with blood, the tip glistening with pre-come; it was slightly shorter than Draco's, but thicker, veins twisting around the shaft in tantalising patterns, and Draco's fingers twitched with wanting to touch, to feel his palm slide against silk-smooth heat, to brush his thumb across the tip until it was slippery-slick.

He tore his eyes away after a long moment to find Harry watching him, lips curved up into a smile, but eyes blazing with hunger, and his mouth went dry at the promise written in verses across Harry's face.

'Well?' he asked, voice low and rough with arousal and maybe something else. 'Am I suitably Gryffindor, as expected?'

Draco swallowed, chest tightening with undefined feeling, and reached out, catching hold of Harry's wrist and squeezing. 'No,' he murmured, 'but you're suitably Harry.'

If possible, Harry's eyes got even darker, but Draco didn't have time to wonder why, because then Harry was on him, moulding against him shoulder-to-hip, prick dragging against the tendon-tight top of Draco's thigh. Harry's hand shifted in his grasp, sliding down until their palms met, and he twined their fingers, pressing Draco's hand back against the pillow next to his head as he kissed him again, biting down on Draco's lower lip until Draco could taste blood.

'I'm going to fuck you now,' he growled when he pulled back, lips swollen and blood-dark, and Draco sucked in a sharp breath, but managed to raise a brow anyway.

'About bloody time,' he said peevishly.

Harry stared at him, and then laughed, but his amusement paled in comparison to the want chiseled deep into his features, and Draco's half-smirk faded as Harry slid his free hand between their bodies, wrapping it around his prick. It had been a long time since he'd let someone do this, even longer since he'd actually liked the person enough to want to do this, but as he felt the blunt pressure of Harry's cockhead press against his hole, he didn't eve think of objecting. Instead, he hooked a leg around Harry's back, dug his heel into his arse, and pushed down.

They gasped in unison as just the tip pushed inside; the flash of pain struck through him like a bolt of lightning, and then was gone as Harry slid deeper, nerve endings sizzling with pleasure. Harry's thighs trembled, his breaths coming fast and shallow against Draco's throat, and Draco could tell he was holding back, trying not to hurt him.

'Oi,' he said, voice hoarse. 'You don't like me, remember? You don't have to hold back like that.'

Harry stilled, breath stuttering to a halt, and then sucked in a lungful of air, lifting his head just a bit.

'And what if I did?'

Draco's breath stopped too. They stared at each other, Harry's gaze searching, maybe a bit hesitant, and Draco's face heated with the roar of blood through his ears. After a moment, though, he shrugged.

'You still wouldn't have to hold back like that.'

Harry stared at him a moment more, eyes widening, but then he nodded, a sharp jerk of his head, and buried his face against Draco's shoulder and let go.

Draco gasped at the first thrust, the stretch of muscles as Harry buried himself halfway sending sparkles twisting across his field of vision, but then Harry drew partway out and pushed in again, deeper, and Draco's gasp became a moan, then another, and another, a cascade of sound that spilled steadily from his throat as Harry set a rhythm, driving into him with smooth, sharp thrusts, the fluid roll of his hips deep and slow and threatening to drive Draco mad with how good it felt. Harry's mouth slid along the column of his throat, tongue tracing a line of liquid heat along his throbbing vein, and Draco groaned and dug his nails into Harry's flexed forearm, then slipped his hand up into Harry's hair, pulling his head up so he could kiss him.

Harry kissed back fiercely, growling into Draco's mouth, and sped his thrusts, pressing Draco back against the mattress; Draco's fingers flexed against Harry's, pressing against the taut tendons on the back of his hand, and Harry squeezed back, then lifted their joined hands and pulled them down and between their bodies to wrap around Draco's cock.

Draco inhaled sharply and arched up, thighs quivering, cock pushing through the braided circle of their fingers. Harry shifted the angle of his thrusts to match, and Draco's exhale came in the form of a surprised yowl as Harry's cockhead dragged against supersensitive skin, stabbing heat up his spine to burst in white-hot sparkles behind his eyelids as his muscles coiled all at once, pulling tension upward from his toes and inward from his fingers and twisting it all into an explosion of energy in the form of the most violent orgasm Draco had ever had. Harry's mouth slid down his arched neck to his shoulder, his breaths coming faster and more ragged against Draco's skin as he thrust into him harder, deeper, matching the stuttering clenches of his muscles, and then stilled, hips jerking against Draco's as he came too, fingers flexing against Draco's still-twitching prick and teeth digging into Draco's shoulder until Draco's vision went black.

When Harry finally stilled, slumping against Draco tiredly, Draco blinked open his eyes, and then squinted, confused.

'It's dark in here,' he slurred, voice hoarse and painful. 'Or am I blind?'

Harry groaned, removing his face from Draco's shoulder, and then laughed in disgust. 'No,' he said, extracting his hand from between their bodies and propping himself up so he wouldn't crush Draco. 'We overloaded the surge protector.'

'We did...what?' Draco's brow furrowed. 'Potter, that wasn't English.'

Harry bit Draco. 'I told you to stop calling me Potter,' he said when Draco gave a yelp of protest.

'Fine. That wasn't English, Harry.'

'Thank you.' Harry shifted, and Draco winced as Harry's prick slipped out of him, leaving him feeling bereft, cold, and rather sticky. He reached for his wand, then blinked as Harry produced something and began to smooth it across his skin - a damp washcloth. Well. he had to admit that was rather more personal than a scouring spell; it made his chest tight, and he coughed, uncomfortable with the feeling.

'So did you want to explain yourself now?' he said, a bit more sharply than he'd intended.

Harry chuckled. 'This is a Muggle neighbourhood,' he said, ignoring Draco's twitch of displeasure, 'so the lights and such are run off something called electricity, which is a form of energy that doesn't do so well in the Wizarding world because it tends to interact with magical fields.'

'How primitive,' Draco sniffed, and yelped again as Harry pinched him.

'Pay attention,' he said sharply. 'So...well, basically, if there's a sudden surge of magic, it has a tendency to overload the electrical circuit. There are built-in protections against energy surges, but energy surges coming from magic tend to outdo even that, so...'

'...so you're saying we fried the lights,' Draco said flatly.

'That's pretty much the gist of it, yeah.'

Draco rolled his eyes, pulled his wand out of his sleeve, and cast a Lumos on the room. Harry's face flared into focus, his pupils contracting suddenly in the burst of light, and he blinked a couple times before grinning, lifting a hand to trace Draco's neck. Draco hissed.

'That hurts! What did you do, try to suck my blood?'

'No,' Harry snorted, 'but I think you'll probably have some bruises there tomorrow unless you heal them right away.'

Draco made a face. 'Barbarian,' he grumbled, but made no move to heal anything, instead settling back against the pillow and letting Harry finish cleaning him up.

Harry paused, studying his face for a long moment. Draco lay still, too pleasantly exhausted to protest, but when Harry said nothing else, he turned his head, arching a brow.

'Can I help you?'

Harry shrugged awkwardly, looking away. 'I was just wondering if maybe that magical surge was what we needed in order to rebalance our magical fields.'

Draco blinked. It was possible, he supposed - since the problem had been an unbalanced exchange, it would make sense that a recombination such as the type that occurred during sex would rebalance it; sex magic was, after all, one of the most powerful forms of magic, right up there with blood magic and sacrificial magic. It surprised him that he'd never considered that before, despite the irritation he'd felt at the inconvenience of their situation. He'd known about sex magic for years, so it wasn't like he had an excuse for forgetting it.

He lifted his head, studying Harry's profile, Harry looked tired again, but not in the way that said he hadn't had enough sleep - instead he looked weary, worn out, maybe even resigned, and the expression didn't suit him at all. It made Draco feel...wrong somehow, to see Harry Potter looking like that.

No, he realised. It felt wrong to see Harry looking like that. Harry Potter had nothing to do with it.

He cleared his throat, and lifted a hand, touching Harry's arm. Harry started, looking over at him with wide eyes, and Draco shrugged slightly, pressing his lips together.

'Does it matter?'

Harry's eyes widened still further, and he looked like he was about to laugh, or cry, or both, but he (thankfully) did neither, instead giving a shrug of his own. 'I suppose not,' he said.

Draco smirked to hide his smile. 'Now you're speaking my language.'

Harry laughed, shaking his head, and then subsided, meeting Draco's gaze seriously. 'I'm sorry about your parents,' he said softly.

Draco shrugged again, looking away. 'It's not a big deal,' he said.

'But they're your parents.'

'Yes, and?' Draco made a face. 'How I feel about them doesn't change the fact that they wanted me to be something I wasn't.'

'How very Slytherin of you,' Harry murmured.

Draco looked back, raising both brows. 'I thought you said labelling someone by their house was unnecessarily restrictive?'

'It is.' Harry chuckled. 'I guess I just meant...'

'You meant that for a Slytherin, self-advancement is more important than family and friends.' Draco scowled. 'Well, that is one stereotype that is generally true. I suppose it is in my case as well. I just didn't...' He trailed off, cleared his throat. 'I didn't want to end up like my father.'

Harry smiled faintly. 'You're nothing like your father, Draco.'

'How do you figure?'

'You're here with me, aren't you?'

The echo of their conversation at Hogwarts made Draco fall silent, his thoughts once again in turmoil. He still didn't know how he felt about the fact that he'd ostensibly chosen Harry over his parents, whether that was his original intent or not, and Harry was looking at him in a way that made him realise just how huge of a decision that was, if it was even the case.

After a moment, Harry cleared his throat. 'Well, your mum seems like a more reasonable person than your dad,' he said. 'I'm sure she'd understand far better than he would that it's nothing against them, but you just don't want them to run your lives.'

It was a remarkably understanding statement from anyone, let alone Harry, and Draco found himself unsure of what to say to that. Instead, he shifted into a seated position and fixed his gaze on Harry. 'You never told me,' he said, 'what it was you were dreaming about.'

Harry's expression shuttered, and he looked away for a long moment. Draco watched him steadily, studying the tension in his shoulders, and almost wanted to take it back. But then Harry faced him again, gaze steady, open.

'I kept dreaming that...no matter what I did, I couldn't help anyone,' he said, so softly that it could have been to himself. 'That nobody was hearing me. That everything I tried to do to be helpful only ended up making things worse.'

Draco blinked. It was so completely Harry Potter that it was almost laughable - he couldn't think of anyone else he knew who would have scream-inducing nightmares that involved not being able to help someone. But Harry was still talking.

'I dreamed about you too, about seeing you sitting in the middle of the Room of Requirement, with fire everywhere, and flying over to help you, and not being able to get hold of your hand. And...sometimes...' He swallowed hard. 'Sometimes you didn't put your hand up at all.'

'You...dreamed about that?' Draco had no idea what to say to that. He hadn't ever realised he was that important to anyone aside from his parents and maybe Snape. Especially recently, since his failure to earn the Mark, which was all his entire life had led up to.

'Yeah. I guess...' Harry shrugged again. 'I guess there were so many people that I couldn't help, people who died because I didn't kill Voldemort before he got to them, but then...I managed to help you, but then I had no idea what happened to you. So I guess I thought maybe that even helping someone wasn't helpful.'

Draco stared at Harry incredulously, and then snorted, shaking his head. 'Stupid Gryffindor,' he said. Harry's head snapped up, a retort on his lips, but then he saw Draco's face and laughed instead, running a hand through his messy hair.

'It was pretty stupid, I guess.'

'Yeah, it was.' Draco chuckled, then reached out to touch Harry's arm. 'It suits you though.'

'Thanks a lot,' Harry retorted, but he was grinning now, and the tension in his shoulders was gone.

They fell silent for a bit. Draco slid back down against the pillows; the adrenaline had done its bit, and the orgasm had compounded it, and now he was very tired, and quite ready to sleep. He closed his eyes, relaxing, letting his thoughts wander, and presently, when he felt Harry's arm wrap over his waist, he simply chuckled, too lethargic to protest being spooned like a girl. 'You know, it makes a lot more sense now.'

'What does?'

'Your tendency to be grabby at me.'

'My tendency to...' Harry's voice was rife with confusion. 'What do you mean?'

'I mean your tendency to do this, like you're afraid I'm going to disappear. It's all part of your Saving People thing, isn't it?'

'I don't have a Saving People thing,' Harry said automatically, and tucked his chin over Draco's shoulder. 'I don't understand. How is this a tendency? This is the first time I've done it.'

Draco stiffened.

'Isn't it?'

'I suppose you're right,' he said after a moment.

Harry said nothing, and Draco pressed his lips together, hoping that Harry wouldn't press the matter. Shortly, Harry relaxed, settling in against Draco's back, and Draco relaxed as well, closing his eyes and thanking his remarkable luck and/or his sexual prowess that Harry was clearly too worn out to pursue the matter.

Then, Harry chuckled. 'Draco? You really are the worst liar I have ever met.'