The Gryffindor common room was a damn circus—third-years screwing around with Exploding Snap, the fire popping like it was mad, and Harry Potter was done. He was slouched in this ratty old chair, Quidditch Through the Ages open but he hadn’t looked at it in ages, glasses all fogged up ‘cause he was pissed or maybe just hot. Draco Malfoy was late again and Harry knew why—Blaise fucking Zabini.
Six months ago shit hit the fan with Draco. They’d been yelling in some dark hallway—same old Gryffindor-Slytherin trash—when Draco slammed him against the wall and Harry just kissed him instead of breaking his nose. It was nuts after that—sneaking into the Room of Requirement, Draco’s hands all grabby, their breathing all loud and sloppy in the dark. They didn’t call it anything, didn’t do the lovey-dovey crap, but it was theirs. Harry felt it every time Draco looked at him like he wasn’t just some scar-headed loser. But now Draco was acting weird.
It started last week. Breakfast—Blaise leaning over the table, whispering some smooth bullshit, Draco laughing like it was the funniest thing ever. Blaise’s hand brushed Draco’s arm and Draco didn’t even flinch. Harry just sat there, fork stuck in his food, feeling like a total tool. Then tonight Draco mumbled about “studying” and took off with Blaise, leaving Harry staring at his plate, guts all twisted up. Studying. Yeah, right.
The portrait hole banged open and Draco strolled in—cloak half off, hair all messed up like someone’s fingers had been yanking it. He looked too damn good—sharp face, grey eyes catching the fire—and Harry’s stomach flipped, mad and horny all at once.
“You’re late,” Harry said, low, glaring at his stupid book.
Draco stopped, then strutted over, flopping into the chair across from him with that smug grin. “Aw Potter, crying ‘cause I wasn’t here? Lame.”
“Where you been?” Harry snapped, slamming the book shut so hard it sounded like a gunshot.
“With Blaise. Studying.” Draco grinned wider but his eyes darted off quick. “You should try it—might learn how to talk without grunting.”
“Studying,” Harry said, jumping up, stomping to the window. The grounds were dark and didn’t give a shit. “Yeah, ‘cause Blaise is such a bookworm, whispering crap, making you laugh like I’m invisible.”
Draco’s grin slipped a bit. “What’s your deal Potter?”
Harry spun around, hands in fists. “You’re all over him—touching him, laughing like a dumbass. What’m I supposed to think?”
Draco laughed—mean, loud—and got up too. “You’re jealous? Holy crap that’s hilarious. You think I’d screw Blaise?”
“Then why’s it feel like you’re bailing on me?” Harry’s voice cracked, all shaky and dumb, and he hated it.
Draco’s face went weird—soft for a sec—before he scowled, grabbed Harry’s wrist hard, and yanked him to the stairs. “Come on. Move.”
They didn’t talk while Draco dragged him up to the dorm, kicked the door open, locked it with a lazy wand flick. Room was empty—Ron and them still messing around in Hogsmeade—and it was quiet but loud too, like all their unsaid crap was screaming.
“Sit,” Draco said, pointing at Harry’s bed like he was some dog. Harry sat, heart going nuts, watching Draco pace and tug his hair ‘til it looked like a bird’s nest.
“You think I’d pick Blaise over you?” Draco said finally, voice all pissy. “Blaise, who’s just a pretty face with no balls? You’re so dumb Potter.”
“Then why—” Harry started but Draco stomped over, knees banging into Harry’s.
“‘Cause I’m freaked out, okay?” Draco’s voice got small, wobbly. “This—you and me—it’s too much. I don’t know how to not screw it up. So I mess with Blaise, shove you away, ‘cause it’s easier than saying I’m fucked ‘cause of you.”
Harry stared, all the mad leaking out, just this empty ache left. “Draco…”
“Shut up,” Draco said, climbing on the bed, straddling Harry’s lap like he owned him. “You don’t get to look all sad and sexy and not fix it.”
Harry grabbed Draco’s hips, squeezing hard, and Draco smashed their mouths together—teeth hitting, tongues all sloppy, a total mess. Draco tasted like peppermint and cigs or something, and Harry made this rough sound, pulling him close ‘til they were smashed together.
“You’re mine,” Harry growled, biting Draco’s jaw, leaving a mark that’d show up later.
“Prove it jerk,” Draco said back, voice all thick, eyes daring him.
Harry flipped them, pinning Draco down, bed creaking loud. He ripped Draco’s shirt open—buttons flying all over—and ran his hands over him, that pale skin, those old scars Harry’d made. He kissed them slow, and Draco shook, letting out this little noise. Draco wasn’t chill either, clawing Harry’s jumper off, chucking it, then yanking at his pants, fingers brushing Harry’s dick—already hard, straining.
“Desperate huh?” Harry said, voice all wrecked, breathing messed up as Draco grabbed him tighter.
“Fuck you just do it,” Draco growled, ripping Harry’s pants down, letting his cock spring out—thick, red, ready. “Now.”
Clothes were gone quick—pants, boxers, everything in a heap—and it was just them, sweaty, all skin. Harry kissed down Draco’s neck, bit hard where it curved, sucking a big ugly bruise. Draco arched up, moaning loud, and Harry’s hand slid down, wrapping around Draco’s dick—hard, wet, dripping already. He jerked him slow, thumb smearing the tip, ‘til Draco was panting, hips jerking like he was dying for it.
“You dick,” Draco gasped, thrusting into Harry’s hand.
“You love it,” Harry said, biting his ear, letting go to slick his fingers—quick spell, Lubricus—and shoving one in. Draco flinched, then groaned, swearing as Harry moved, adding another, curling them deep ‘til Draco’s cock twitched, leaking more, a wet spot on his stomach.
“Fuck—Harry—gimme more—” Draco’s voice cracked, all needy, and Harry didn’t wait. He slicked his dick—spell again, lazy magic—and pushed in slow, watching Draco’s face screw up—pain then this dirty moan. Draco’s legs wrapped around him, heels digging in, pulling him deep, and Harry groaned loud, ‘cause shit, it was tight, hot, everything.
They went hard—fast, bed smashing the wall like a damn war. Draco’s nails scratched Harry’s shoulders, leaving bloody lines, and Harry slammed into him, hitting that spot that made Draco yell—“Fuck—there—” over and over. Draco’s dick bounced, slapping his stomach, leaving wet smears, and Harry grabbed it, jerking him rough, matching every thrust ‘til Draco was moaning like a porn star, all wrecked.
“Say it,” Harry growled, hips banging forward, balls smacking loud. “Say you’re mine.”
“I’m yours—fuck I’m yours—” Draco choked, and it broke them. Draco came first, hot and messy all over Harry’s hand, clenching so tight Harry lost it—thrusting deep, spilling inside with a grunt, falling on Draco as they shook.
But Harry wasn’t done—still mad, still jealous. He pulled out, Draco whining like a baby, and flipped him over, yanking his hips up. Draco’s knees sank in, arse up, slick and dripping with Harry’s come, pink and used. He looked back, eyes all blurry but smirking. “Again?”
“Yeah again,” Harry said, rough, slicking his dick—still hard, fuck yeah—and sliding back in. This time was slower, deep—Harry dragging it out, every thrust making Draco’s hole twitch, his moans turning into these nasty, broken sobs. Harry gripped his hips, leaving red marks, and bit the back of his neck, tasting sweat and skin. Draco shoved back, taking it deeper, dick getting hard again, leaking onto the sheets.
“Harry—fuck me harder—” Draco begged, voice all trashed, and Harry gave it to him, pounding ‘til the bed sounded like it’d break, ‘til Draco was shaking, crying into the pillow. Harry reached around, grabbing Draco’s dick—slippery, raw—and jerked him fast, rough, ‘til Draco came again, this loud sob muffled in the sheets, arse squeezing so hard Harry spilled too, deep and sloppy.
They crashed after, tangled in the sweaty mess, breathing all over the place. Harry flopped off, pulling Draco close, arm heavy over his waist. Draco’s hair was a wet disaster, sticking everywhere, and Harry shoved it back, kissing his forehead all soft like an idiot.
“Thought you were gone,” Harry mumbled, quiet, barely there.
Draco turned, grey eyes on his, tired but real. “Nah I wasn’t. I’m a jackass Harry. I freak out, push crap away. But not you—not now.”
Harry ran a thumb over Draco’s jaw, just staring like a dope. “Good ‘cause I don’t share—not you, not with Blaise, not nobody.”
Draco smirked, small and soft. “Same. Blaise tries shit, I’ll hex his nuts off.”
Harry laughed, chest all loose. “I’d help.”
Draco scooted in, head on Harry’s chest, ear on his heartbeat like a sappy git. “We’re screwed up huh?”
“Yeah,” Harry said, holding him tight. “But it’s our screwed up.”
Firelight snuck under the door, all warm and whatever, and yeah the jealous crap was still there a little, but it was chill now, with Draco right there, solid.
“Next time you’re with Blaise,” Harry said, half out, “I’m smashing his face.”
Draco snorted, all soft. “Do it.”
And they crashed like that, all messed up together, but it was theirs—dumb, messy, good.