Chapter 27
Harry found Draco in the palace garden, standing under the shadow of an ancient tree with dark, shining leaves. The silvery light of the moon illuminated his face, revealing the tension in his clenched jaw and the way his hands tightened at the sides of his cloak.
He stopped just a few steps away, his presence like an invisible fire that made the air around them vibrate. The garden, usually a haven of peace, seemed to hold its breath.
«You can’t just say things as they are and then disappear.» he finally burst out.
The blonde spun around, surprised by the tone.
He took a step forward, his face impassive, yet his eyes—green and gold—burned with a dangerous intensity. They were unmistakable proof of his irritation, a contained anger crackling in the air like static electricity.
«Give me time to formulate a sentence, you stupid idiot.» he added with an exasperated sigh.
He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment. The magic inside him was still unstable, coursing beneath his skin like a storm held at bay. But with a slow breath, he tried to chain it, to restore balance within himself.
Silence.
Only the rustle of leaves stirred by the wind and the dull throb of his own heart filled the space.
«Draco.» his voice was calm, softer now.
«I’m not good with words—anyone could say that.»
«I’ve hidden my emotions for as long as I can remember.» he continued, and Draco found himself holding his breath.
«I’ve concealed them for so long that I didn’t even believe I felt anything.»
«And then you arrived.»
The blonde’s heart skipped a beat. Harry lowered his gaze, almost with a strange irony.
«You literally crashed into me.»
Draco chuckled softly, though it was a trembling, almost nervous sound.
«And you kept being that infuriating constant.» the dark‑haired guy looked up at him again, and felt an electric jolt run down his back.
He felt warmth rising on his face, opened his mouth to retort, but the Gryffindor hushed him as he continued: «You have no idea how many plans I’ve screwed up just because of you...»
The taller one swallowed; a shiver ran down his spine.
«What I’m trying to tell you is that I love you, you paranoid, stupid idiot.»
Malfoy stared at him, eyes wide, his breath caught in his chest.
Harry had said it in that exasperating calm of his, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, as if it weren’t some earth-shattering revelation. As if he hadn’t just turned his universe upside down.
But for him, it was. He felt his heart miss a beat. Then another.
His head swiveled. The world seemed to shrink down to that very moment, to those words repeating in his mind as if his brain were desperately trying to grasp them.
«And it’s not true that I don’t want to spend eternity with you... you’d be the only one I’d ever do it with.»
He widened his eyes, feeling his hands turn cold.
«And the whole damn story about you being my Bound doesn’t mean a thing.» he added, with a hint of annoyance in his voice.
«I couldn’t care less about all that nonsense those lunatics spout.»
«I just thought that you... I don’t know.» he looked away, almost uncomfortably.
Before he realized it, he moved. He pulled him close, holding him tightly, his face pressed against his shoulder, his heart hammering in his chest.
Harry remained motionless for a moment, then his arms moved hesitantly, almost timidly, until he too pulled Draco into an embrace.
«I was completely thrown off before…» the shorter one whispered.
The taller one closed his eyes, feeling the dark‑haired guy’s breath brush against his skin.
«I don’t want you to leave everything for me…» he continued, and the blonde sensed the tension in his shoulders, in the way his fingers barely clung to the fabric of his shirt.
«You’ll see your family, your friends, die...»
He moved slightly, raising his hand and letting it glide slowly through Harry’s hair, caressing it with a gentle touch as if trying to calm the silent storm boiling inside him.
The dark‑haired guy leaned in slightly, as if that simple gesture were enough to make him yield.
Draco pulled away just enough to look him in the eyes, his fingers still entwined in his hair.
«I’m not leaving anything, Harry.» he whispered.
Harry stared at him; the green in his eyes was deep, incandescent—as if an ancient, untamed fire burned within—and the taller one felt his own heart lose itself in that flame once again.
He didn’t give him a chance to say anything more. He kissed him.
It wasn’t a controlled or elegant kiss, nor was it even a carefully studied one. It was a desperate, raw kiss that spoke of emotions too vast to be contained, too intense to be expressed in mere words. He kissed him with a desperate intensity, as if the only way to silence him was to imprint him into his very breath. He ran his fingers through his hair, holding him tight, pulling him closer, as if he could merge them into one.
He felt tears streaming down, warm as they slid along his cheeks, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. He held him tightly, almost in fear, as if Harry might vanish into nothingness if he ever loosened his grip.
«Please, not again…» he murmured as Draco pulled away, his breathing broken and his eyes glossy.
«Shouldn’t I be the one crying?» he asked, raising an eyebrow, watching him with that usual exasperating calm as the blonde huffed and wiped his moist eyes, frustrated with himself.
The taller one shook his head, pressing his lips into a thin line, trying to compose himself, though tears still threatened to fall.
«For a Malfoy, you cry a lot… you’ll end up with swollen eyes.»
Draco didn’t give him a chance to add more before he lunged at him, burying his face in the curve of his neck, holding him even tighter, inhaling his scent, the warmth of his skin against his own.
Harry said nothing. He simply raised a hand and gently caressed his back, allowing him all the time he needed.
The blonde tightened his grip a little more before lifting his face from his neck, his eyes still glossy but with a small, uncertain smile on his lips.
«I knew it, I swear, I knew it.» his voice broke slightly, and he lowered his gaze, almost embarrassed.
«You didn’t have to say it.» he paused, as if searching for the right words.
Then he inhaled slowly «No, actually, perhaps a little... thank you.»
As if Harry weren’t Harry—if he hadn’t always shown in his own way how much he cared for him.
He huffed, shaking his head slightly «I feel so stupid.»
The dark‑haired guy looked at him with that inscrutable expression for a moment. Then, with an exasperating calm, he replied «You are.»
«But that’s fine.» he added, and with a slow, inexorable movement, he brushed his cheek with his fingers, as if trying to trace every contour of his face.
Draco closed his eyes for a moment under that touch. Then he reopened them, his chest still tight from a knot of emotions too strong to be rationalized.
«You’re like an unsolvable problem, a constant nuisance I have to live with.» Harry joked, his tone light, almost amused.
The taller one shot him a look—his eyes still red but sparkling, light.
«Oh, perfect. Now I’m one damn nuisance.» he snapped, crossing his arms.
They dematerialized into the dark‑haired guy’s room, entwined with one another—hands searching for skin beneath their clothes, lips colliding in ever-hungry kisses. Draco pushed Harry onto the bed without ceasing to kiss him, the weight of his body pressed against his, his fingers threading through Harry’s dark hair and tugging ever so slightly to make him moan against his mouth.
Their clothes were an annoyance, an obstacle between them, and the blonde took his time unbuttoning Harry’s shirt, leaving small red marks along his skin as the fabric slid down his neck and collarbones—teeth and lips leaving their imprint on his fair skin.
The dark‑haired guy surrendered beneath the other’s touch, his breath growing heavier each time his lips discovered a new sensitive spot. His hands slid along the blonde’s back, barely scratching the surface, and Draco moaned softly, burying his face in the curve of his neck.
But then, as desire intermingled with the awareness of what they were about to do, Harry stopped.
«Draco… are you sure» his voice was low, slightly husky, and his hands rested firmly on Draco’s shoulders—as if offering him a chance to pull away.
The Slytherin lifted his gaze, his light eyes brimming with emotions that struck him like a blade. He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leaned over and kissed him—a slow, deep kiss, as if he wished to imprint his answer onto his skin.
Then he barely pulled away, their noses still touching, and whispered, “I love you, Harry.”
That was all that was needed.
In an instant, the dark‑haired guy reversed the situation—turning around, straddling him with a light yet inexorable weight, his incandescent green eyes piercing through him. He gazed into his eyes for a long moment, as if trying to memorize every nuance of the stormy grey that watched him. Draco held his breath.
Harry leaned in close to his ear, brushing it lightly with his nose before whispering against it, “It’s going to hurt a bit.”
He didn’t give him a chance to answer.
His lips brushed for an instant against the delicate skin atop the blonde’s ear, almost like a caress. Then he sank his teeth in.
The bite was deep—enough to tear the skin, enough to draw warm, salty blood that stained his lips. Draco jumped, a strangled moan escaping him uncontrollably.
A shiver ran through his body, but he didn’t pull away.
The pain was intense, but there was something more—something primordial that insinuated itself into his bones, his magic, his very blood.
The dark‑haired guy remained still for a moment, his teeth still sunk into his flesh, as if ensuring the mark was deeply etched. Then, with infinite slowness, he released his grip, his warm breath brushing over the wounded skin.
And just as slowly, he ran his tongue over the open wound.
He did so with languid, almost reverential movements, licking away the blood as his magic flowed beneath the other’s skin like liquid fire.
Draco trembled.
He wasn’t sure whether it was from the pain or from the way the warmth of Harry’s tongue seemed to soften the sting, transforming it into something deeper, more visceral.
When he pulled away, Malfoy was breathing heavily, his eyes half-closed, his mind clouded by something he couldn’t explain.
The shorter one looked at him, his mouth stained with a thin trace of blood that he licked on his tongue, as if savoring the mark left on him.
«Now you’re mine.» he whispered with a subtle smile, his voice low and etched.
Draco stared at him, his heart seeming ready to burst from his chest.
And without saying a word, he grabbed him by the nape and kissed him, savoring himself upon his lips.