Chapter 30
Harry and Draco rarely truly fought. Of course, they argued often.
«For Merlin’s sake, Malfoy, it isn’t that complicated!» the shorter one exploded, his eyes gleaming with frustration.
«Don’t tell me how I should feel, Potter!» the other snarled, his face flushed with anger «Not all of us can be as cold and calculating as you!»
The Gryffindor clenched his jaw «Oh, so now it’s a problem if I can keep my composure?»
The blonde laughed—a harsh, humorless sound «It’s not about control, Harry! It’s just that you feel nothing! Or maybe you don’t want to feel!»
It was a provocation. And the dark‑haired guy knew it.
«You always have to do things your own way, ignoring anyone who tries to help you!» Draco continued, stepping forward too close.
Harry’s anger erupted in a flash of uncontrollable frustration «Oh, you want to help me? Well then, do it from a distance!»
And, without really thinking, without truly realizing what he was doing, he severed the connection.
For an instant, the world seemed to stop.
Draco gasped, his breath caught, his eyes widening in a mix of confusion and shock. He brought a hand to his chest, as if trying to grasp something that had just been torn away from him. Then he stared at him, motionless and speechless.
Harry realized too late what he had done.
The silence between them became deafening. It wasn’t merely an absence of sound—it was a void. A void of Draco, that constant and familiar presence that had always been with him—in his thoughts, his emotions, in every heartbeat.
«Draco…» Harry stepped forward, regret in his voice «I—»
The blonde turned and left the room without another word.
«Wait!» the shorter one reached out, but the Slytherin was already gone, the door closing behind him with a sharp, definitive sound.
Panic.
Harry immediately tried to reopen the connection, to reach him with his thoughts, to feel anything from Draco. But there was nothing.
He had been blocked. Draco had cut him off.
Harry stood paralyzed.
Now he understood.
He understood the emptiness Draco must have felt when Harry had been the first to sever their bond. That feeling of being violently torn apart, of being left alone in a way they had never experienced since their connection had formed.
It was like losing a part of oneself.
Harry ran a trembling hand through his hair, his breath uneven. He couldn’t believe it. He had never realized how deep that bond was until he had broken it. And now, Draco had returned the favor.
The pain was greater than he had ever expected.
With a sudden movement, he rushed to the door, flung it open, and burst out into the corridors, his eyes frantically scanning every corner in search of Draco. He couldn’t just let him go. He had to find him, he had to talk to him. He had to make things right.
He was in panic.
He had tried to track him through their bond, but there was nothing—only silence, that deafening void that squeezed his chest like a vise.
He couldn’t have vanished. He had to find him.
He closed his eyes and concentrated on his aura, but he couldn’t feel it anywhere. It was as if Draco had disappeared into nothingness.
«Shit.»
He dashed out of the room, moving quickly down the corridors. The first place he searched was the Astronomy Tower, but it was empty—the only sign of life being the cold wind whipping along the parapet.
The Black Lake.
He ran outside, ignoring the cold that scraped his skin. His shoes sank into the damp earth as he reached the shore, but even there there was no sign of Draco. The dark water of the lake mirrored the night sky, and the silence was oppressive.
Harry ran a hand through his hair, exhausted.
«Where the hell are you, Draco?»
It was only then that the last possible place came to mind: the Quidditch pitch.
He turned and sprinted, ignoring the heavy breath and pounding of his heart.
As soon as he reached the stands, he saw him.
Draco was lying in the middle of the pitch, arms and legs sprawled, as if he had fallen and lacked the strength to get up. His school uniform stood out against the damp grass, and for a moment Harry froze.
Had he ever seen Draco so vulnerable?
He approached slowly, his heart still racing.
«Draco...»
No response.
He knelt beside him, studying him closely. Draco’s eyes were open, fixed on the starry sky above them.
The blonde didn’t move. He didn’t take his eyes off the stars.
The shorter one clenched his fists, a crushing sense of guilt tearing at his chest «Draco... I’m sorry.»
It was then that, finally, the fallen boy spoke.
«Don’t ever do it again.» his voice was flat, but there was something broken beneath the surface.
Draco finally turned toward him, and his gaze pierced Harry more deeply than anything else.
«Never again.» his voice trembled slightly—and that was what finally broke the dark‑haired guy.
He moved a little closer, not quite knowing what to do «Tell me what I can do to make it right.»
The taller one stared at him for a long moment before closing his eyes and sighing «For now… stay here.»
Harry didn’t hesitate. He lay down next to him without saying a word.
He felt movement just an instant before Draco turned toward him and wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him close.
He tensed for a second, surprised by the gesture, but then gave in, letting the other’s warmth envelop him. He felt his breath against his skin, his nose pressed into the curve of his neck. Draco inhaled slowly, almost reluctantly, as if trying to imprint his scent into memory.
«Your aura…» the shorter one whispered.
The other didn’t answer immediately. He just tightened his hold on him ever so slightly, as if afraid he might disappear. Then he spoke, his voice low and worn from fatigue.
«I’ve learned to control it.»
Draco shifted slightly, just enough to lift his gaze and meet the bright green of Harry’s eyes. There were still shadows in his silvery eyes, but they were lighter now, easier to bear.
«When you cut me off, I figured out how to quiet it too. How to hide from you.»
The dark‑haired guy felt a shiver run down his spine. His aura had always been a beacon to him—something that guided him without his even realizing it. Losing it, even for a few hours, had filled him with a sense of emptiness he’d never imagined.
«I didn’t like it.» he admitted softly.
The blonde offered a slight, tired smile «Neither did I.»
Harry lowered his gaze «I’m sorry.»
The taller one sighed and, instead of replying, pulled himself even closer, if possible. The dark‑haired guy felt himself relax slightly, his breathing growing more regular.
He watched the point where their auras merged, mesmerized by the way they intertwined as if they were always meant to fuse. The deep black of his aura blended with the silver‑tinged white of Draco’s, like smoke and light chasing and entwining in a fluid dance. Golden filaments snaked among the silvery hues like sparks amid clouds, while tiny green scales flickered briefly, capturing the moonlight.
Draco followed the shifting patterns with equal wonder. His gaze traced every intersection, observing the places where shadow and light merged seamlessly, without conflict. As if it were natural. As if it were right.
«I love how they merge.» he murmured softly, his voice low and calm—as if he didn’t want to disturb the moment.
The blonde shifted his gaze toward him, a faint smile on his lips. Harry felt a shiver run down his spine. For a moment, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the taller one’s—those silvery eyes that seemed to see deeper than he ever dared admit.
Their auras continued to blend around them, and Harry felt a familiar warmth spreading through his chest as Draco moved even closer, their noses nearly touching, their breaths mingling. There was a strange awareness in his eyes, as if he’d always been destined to be here with him, in this very moment.
The shorter one didn’t wait any longer. He kissed him.
It was slow, almost tentative at first, as if he wanted to imprint every second into his memory. But Draco responded immediately, his fingers weaving through Harry’s hair with a restrained urgency, as if afraid that everything might vanish in an instant.
They kissed as if they wanted to ensure they were still there—that they were real.
Draco clung to him with desperate tenderness, his hands gripping his back as if to anchor him to himself. Harry wrapped an arm around his waist, drawing him even closer, and for a moment everything else—Hogwarts, the Quidditch pitch, the night sky—disappeared.
It was just the two of them.
The dark‑haired guy didn’t know who had first formulated the thought.
«I love you.»
Perhaps it was him. Perhaps it was Draco. Or maybe both, at the same instant, without needing to say anything, without needing to distinguish who was who.
But it hardly mattered.
In the blink of an eye, the air around them twisted—a vortex of shadows and silvery light—and before Harry could fully comprehend what was happening, he found his back pressed against the sheets of Draco’s bed, the familiar weight of the blonde above him.
The blonde was already kissing him, with a hunger he immediately recognized. Their mouths moved in perfect harmony—lips seeking and chasing one another, tongues brushing in a slow, intense dance. Draco pulled away just slightly, letting his warm breath tickle Harry’s half-parted lips, his grey eyes fixed on him with a gleam that made Harry’s blood boil.
«I’ll kill you if you do that again.» Draco whispered against his skin.
Harry smiled, his hands already roaming along the taller one’s back, slipping under his shirt to feel the warmth of his skin.
«Never…» Harry replied softly, though Draco didn’t seem to really listen—or perhaps he didn’t need to.
The next kiss was more urgent, deeper. The Slytherin trailed his lips along Harry’s jawline, leaving small bites on the sensitive skin, his breath growing heavier. When he reached the taller one’s neck, he paused for a moment, inhaling slowly before leaving his first mark: a slow, determined suck, his teeth lightly scraping before his mouth softened the wound with a warm tongue.
Harry arched his back slightly, a low, satisfied moan escaping him without warning. Draco smiled against his skin, pleased, and continued his work. His lips traced a path along the collarbone, leaving further marks—red and purplish stains that would linger for days.
«You’re mine.» Draco murmured, almost without realizing he had spoken aloud, but Harry heard him nonetheless.
And he couldn’t help but smile.
The blonde didn’t even have time to realize it—one moment he was on top of Harry, his heavy breath and lips still pressed against his skin, and the next, he found himself on his back, the warm weight of the other above him.
The dark‑haired guy looked down at him, his hair disheveled and his pupils dilated, his breathing still irregular. A slow smile spread across his lips as he lowered himself, his hands gripping firmly onto the taller one’s chest to keep him in place.
«And you’re mine.» he whispered against his mouth before kissing him.
It wasn’t a sweet kiss. It was hungry, determined—a declaration that needed no words. Harry took hold of Draco’s lips with a confidence that made his head spin. Their mouths moved in unison, tongues intertwining, the taste of one blending with the other. The Gryffindor nibbled on the blonde’s lower lip, tugging it slightly before letting him go, watching with satisfaction as the blonde panted softly, his eyes half-closed and his chest rising and falling in search of breath.
Draco would never admit out loud how much he loved that feeling, but Harry knew. He felt it through their bond—sensed it in the way the blonde’s hands tightened around his hips, drawing him closer, as if he couldn’t bear even a centimeter of distance between them.
The dark‑haired guy then moved his lips along Draco’s jawline, pressing slow, lingering kisses along his neck, where the other’s rapid heartbeat betrayed just how much he desired him.