Take It Off
Harry scratched errantly at the patch on the side of his neck, already irritated as Madam Pomfrey swatted at his hand.
“Stop touching it Mr Potter,” she chastised giving him a hard look, “You’re lucky we caught you relatively early enough to give you a patch. You have no idea the level trouble we’re having with getting people into suitable suites at the moment.”
Harry’s hand twitched once more before he buried it under his other arm. “How long do I have to wear them for?” he asked, foot tapping on the steel pole of the bed’s leg.
“Five days Mr Potter. Change them out after you bathe, but I’ve included two extras in case you have any issues. I do not want to find out you’ve removed them without being checked by myself first,” she replied shortly, giving him a quick up and down, before indicating him off the bed, “I’ll expect to see you back here bright and early on Monday morning.”
Harry nodded, “Sure thing,” as he quickly made to leave the wing.
Harry couldn’t deny that he was already starting to feel calmer, his breathing was more even, and the presence of other students wasn’t wheedling its way under his skin the way it had been.
Harry had thought he was tired, and worried, and just all together done with idea of school, but now he realised that he just hadn’t been paying close enough attention to himself; something everyone else had seemed to pick up on.
Scents wove through the air, overlapped and danced on the breezes around him but they were softer to his senses, didn’t cajole him into seeking each one out, didn’t make him search and search and search for…
The feeling of a smell swept through him as he let his senses operate on their own regard for the first time in weeks, no longer concerned he’d lose control or get angry or just…
Warm breezes, sweet fresh cut grass and lightning settled against him, and he felt warm.
His body seemed intent on following the scent that was there, but wasn’t; caught in some middle form of reality that he wasn’t entirely aware of but was determined to follow.
His feet caught for a minute as he rounded on the entry to the Eighth year’s Common Room. Justin Finch-Fletchley stood mere feet away, speaking to Professor Flitwick with a concerned expression.
Harry paused, he hadn’t really spoken to Justin since the beginning of the year, but he had been aware of him. There was only four Omegas in their year, and he was one of them; Harry couldn’t help but be aware.
Professor Flitwick said something, placed a hand on Justin’s arm in comfort and then turned to leave.
Justin looked up to see him just as Professor Flitwick turned enough to meet his eyes.
“Evening Mr Potter,” acknowledge Professor Flitwick as he left, heading off towards the entry hall.
“Hi Harry,” said Justin, looking even more concerned than before.
“Hey Justin, is everything alright?” he asked, coming up to the other man. Harry intended to put a hand on his shoulder but was startled to find Justin shift backwards slightly.
Justin’s nose scrunched for a second, “Yeah, everything’s fine, was just asking a question about class is all.” Justin inched back towards the door, “Heading in then?”
“Sure,” Harry replied, leading his arm to tell Justin to enter first.
Justin’s movements were odd, and it felt to Harry as though he was attempting to rid himself of his company as quickly as possible. The feeling irked Harry.
“See you later,” said Justin, quickly disappearing from his side to situate himself between Neville and Seamus.
Harry frowned as he looked around the Common Room. Dean was there along with Neville and Seamus, forming a group around a muggle game; Ernie and Terry were over in a set of armchairs playing Wizard’s chess, whilst Padma, Parvati, Hannah and Susan sat in a circle with homework spread about. All three of the usual people he generally looked for were nowhere to be found.
Harry chewed the side of his lip as he started walking over the Boy’s dormitory, being stopped suddenly as Terry Boot called out.
“They’re in the Girl’s dormitory studying.”
His voice was coated in disdain and something else… Harry could almost convince himself it was wariness, or concern, or fear.
It took Harry reaching the door to Girl’s dormitory, giving it a quick knock before his brain connected another piece of strangeness. Justin wasn’t taking Charms this year.
His knock was received quickly, door opening wide to reveal a grinning Ron who appeared to be in the best spirits of all of them.
“Hey, how did it go with Madam Promfrey?” he asked, Harry stepping into the large space.
There were the same number of beds in here as there were in the Boy’s, however only half of them were taken, so the extra beds were being used as make shift dumping grounds for bags, coats and books.
Hermione was sitting with her back to a wall, several books scattered around her crossed legs as a familiar head of blackish-blonde hair was hung over one of the books in question.
“It went… It went fine actually, just had to pick up some patches for, well, you know,” said Harry, approaching the bed slowly as Hermione smiled up at him.
“Draco decided to take me up on my offer to help him catch up on some of his classes,” stated Hermione as Draco finally looked up.
Harry was wrecked by the sight.
Draco’s eyes were red-rimmed, his cheeks puffy, hair looking as though an owlet had been nesting in it and the feeling that flowed off him was utter dejection.
It felt overwhelming as Harry unintentionally came to his knees in front of the other man on the bed.
“What happened?” he asked, hands usually coming forward as if to grab Draco’s but as they got close Draco recoiled.
Draco’s nose twitched and he pulled his hands back, closing the book he’d had open.
“What-“ started Draco, eyes raking over Harry’s face before settling on the slightly darker patch of skin over his glands, “Take it off.”
Harry pulled back, eyes widening in confusion, “What? Why? Hang on, what happened to you?”
Harry’s words went unnoticed as Draco pushed off the bed and quickly walked away. The sound of the door slamming ricochetted off the walls as Ron took the now vacated seat on the bed.
“You should go after him,” stated Ron with far too much amusement, bright smile taking up most of his face.
“I, ah..” started Harry, sitting back on his feet.
“He’s upset at the moment, wouldn’t tell us why of course, but Ron’s right. Go check on him Harry.” Hermione’s words were stern and forceful, her eyes flicking to the door as if to drive the point home.
Harry was fast. He was off the ground, through the door – it slammed again causing a loud enough sigh from Susan that he briefly turned to face her – before taking the few short steps to the Boy’s dormitory.
Draco has sitting on the side of his bed, a bundle of paper haphazardly stacked on the bedside table, and elbows resting against his knees with head in hands. Long, pale fingers twisted through his silky strands of his hair as Harry come to sit beside him on the bed.
“What happened?” asked Harry again, reaching out to try and untangle Draco’s fingers from his hair.
Again, Draco jerked back from him, eyes angrily looking at the patch on his neck and then back up to his, “Take it off. You smell horrendous. Take it off!” The words were quiet but more forceful than anything Harry had heard the man say for weeks. It was a command, something Draco expected to be followed.
“I smell bad?” replied Harry, finger coming up to rub on the rough outside of the patch, “Madam Pomfrey didn’t tell me that would happen.”
“That’s how they work, they suppress your hormones but also work to repulse the senses of anyone who might elicit a response in yours. Take it off.” Words that were sharp, small and biting, and… fierce.
Harry felt his blood drum loudly through his veins. Draco’s voice hadn’t sounded like that in years and it made Harry feel alive all of a sudden. The feeling raced through him so much so that he hadn’t even been aware that he hadn’t been feeling alive before. He’d been surviving, and pushing, and keeping on, and just going on and on and on, but this… this was an awakening. He felt 14 again.
“You take it off,” shot back Harry.
Draco pushed him suddenly, and Harry felt himself almost hit the ground before he caught himself on the edge of the bed.
Ending up on his knees again, Harry didn’t bother trying to stand up.
Draco instead shifted himself until he was sitting awkwardly in front of him, hands up as if he was intending to push him again.
“You don’t get it,” snarled Draco, looking for all Harry could see as if he wanted nothing more than to physically fight him.
“You’re right, I don’t, but if it bothers you, take it off me then,” challenged Harry.
A small part of him tried to poke and prod him into realising this might not be the best idea considering both of their emotional states in general, but the adrenaline, and the intense impulsivity of the moment had stitched up wounds he hadn’t realised he’d left un-mended.
Draco leant forward, one hand placed on front of Harry’s right cheek to keep his face far from his, and the other hand coming up to patch.
Harry pushed forward, testing the barriers around them, as his forehead came lean against Draco’s.
“Take it off Draco,” he said, voice sure and heavy.
The patch was ripped from his skin and thrown somewhere behind him. Draco’s fingers pressed against the gland eliciting a sharp inhale of breath.
Harry didn’t think as his eyes bore into the grey glory of Draco’s. He didn’t think as the air between them was shared between their mouths. He didn’t think when he saw Draco’s eyes soften, just enough, and flicker down to his lips.
Harry didn’t think as he gently brought his lips to Draco’s and lightning reverberated in his veins.