Chapter 10
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“-rry! Harry!-” Harry’s attention swung away from the piece of parchment he was reading to meet Hermione’s worried eyes. Luna sat next to her, buttering a piece of toast, wearing her spectacles framed in a bizarrely identical shade of purple to their “House” colors. Harry wondered, not for the first time, if Luna had some sort of Seer blood in her.
“Hm? What’s up ‘Mione?” He asked distractedly, crumpling the paper and sticking it in his pocket. ‘ Tomorrow, 4pm, Room.’ it read. Harry snickered internally. They were already bunking together, was the melodrama really necessary?
“I’ve been trying to ask if you’ve been sure to submit your career plans forms. They’re due soon, you know, and it’s important that you make sure all your classes are lined up correctly–” Harry tuned her out again. He didn’t like thinking about the future. There were more compelling things to pay attention to at the moment.
Malfoy wasn’t here, as expected. Not for breakfast, and now lunch. The Eighth Years shared a communal table, but none of the former Slytherins regularly made an appearance. The most common frequenter was Goyle, who sat to the side, alone. Harry felt generally apathetic about their self-imposed isolation, except–
It did make him wonder about what exactly Malfoy was eating. And since their “discussion” a few days prior, Malfoy seemed to be intentionally avoiding him again. Always gone when Harry woke up, and still sequestered in some library corner when night fell. It was driving Harry up the wall, especially when Zabini’s name could be found hovering oh-so-close to Malfoy’s at nearly all times. But he’d learned his lesson about ambushing Malfoy. Monitoring the other’s dot on the Map was a decent compromise for now.
The few times he had caught a glimpse of the other boy, in their overlapping NEWT-level classes of Charms and Potions, Malfoy had looked paler than usual. And Harry supposed he understood now why he hadn’t seen Malfoy cast any magic this semester. Though the continued Glamour that Malfoy maintained indicated he wasn’t out of stores yet. Flitwick likely had noticed something, but seemed hesitant to broach the issue. Harry disapproved.
Most of all, Harry didn’t understand why Malfoy hadn’t yet asked for his magic. It wasn’t for lack of trying on Harry’s part. He’d tried every method he could think of. Even going as far as to use one of the castle owls to send a letter to the prat. Nothing. Until the clandestine message left next to his pillow this morning.
His previous relief had been premature. He wasn’t in the clear yet. Malfoy hadn’t even explained what the process entailed and when Harry had tried to ask about it last Sunday, Malfoy’d just brushed him off and said they would cover it when necessary.
Harry still wasn’t even sure that he was the only person providing Malfoy with magic. Malfoy had said as much and at least it sounded like he didn’t have any existing agreements of a similar nature, but… people could lie. It would explain why Malfoy still hadn’t approached him. And he had no real way of knowing what Zabini and Malfoy were up to. Their timing in falling silent whenever Harry decided to check on them under his Cloak was uncannily accurate.
He passed through his classes, only half-paying attention, ignoring the odd looks Ron kept shooting his way. It wasn’t as if he could tell them anyway, he had promised Malfoy.
Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow. The anticipation was coiling in his gut. Harry could swear his magic itself was tingling. Even Malfoy staying out the entire night– where the hell was he? Oh, of course, with Zabini. Fuck– wasn’t enough to entirely dim Harry’s good mood the next day.
“Okay, Potter.” Malfoy was waiting when Harry got back after dinner.
“Hello there, stranger–” Harry bit out, before he could stop himself.
Malfoy’s eyes glinted. “What that could mean, I can’t imagine.”
Harry shrugged, hesitant to start a fight but unwilling to completely set the issue aside. “You were saying?”
“Before we start, this will be your last chance to amend any aspects of our contract as well as propose any of your own specifications.” Harry had already waved away any notions of clauses and conditions and all that stuff that made his head hurt.
“There’s still nothing, Mal- actually…” Harry had a thought. “No wait, there is something.”
“Spit it out, then.” Malfoy’s expression was vaguely disturbed.
“You can’t spend the night anywhere else but this room.” It was a reasonable ask, Harry thought. Malfoy shouldn’t have any business elsewhere, at least none that couldn’t be undertaken in Harry’s presence.
Malfoy didn’t seem to think so, though. His face turned bright red.
“Wh-... bu- H-how does my private life have anything to do with our contract, Potter?” Harry kept his face impassive. The lack of immediate agreement bothered him.
Did that mean Malfoy did have someone he was seeing? Zabini? Harry had no idea what Malfoy’s type was, but surely it wouldn’t be Zabini. Or Parkinson.
“I think it’s wholly understandable that there be accountability on both sides. Right, Malfoy?”
“ Accountability for what?!” Malfoy’s flush was spreading across his cheeks and neck.
Harry shrugged again, leaning against one of the bedposts. “That’s the only condition I’ll ask for.” At least formally, but we’ll work our way up to the rest. Casual, casual, he reminded himself.
Malfoy was silent for a moment. “I’ll agree, but-”
“ But what?” Harry’s nonchalant mask dropped. What could Malfoy possibly need to be out late at night for?
“There needs to be a strict definition of what you mean. Is this a–” Malfoy sneered at the word, “-- curfew? Or do I just need to spend a minimum amount of hours here during night hours?”
Harry was dumbfounded. Er…. He hadn’t really thought that far. Did there need to be strict rules and stuff? Harry didn’t really care as long as Malfoy wasn’t out doing strange stuff with weird people. But he didn’t really know how to describe it.
“...Uhm-Just, like– don’t stay out late or– y’know sleep over in other people’s rooms or whatever, I guess,” he tried.
The blonde looked baffled. “I have no earthly idea what exactly that’s supposed to mean in terms of specific circumstances, and I am not going to be seeking permission to study late at the library like a child.”
Harry was starting to get frustrated. He knew because he was starting to feel twitchy and wanted to pull at his hair. He didn’t have the words, that was the entire fucking problem.
“Merlin! What is the issue, Malfoy?! Just come back at night, okay! Why does everything have to be so bloody difficult with you?! ”
Harry thought he might have caught a flicker of something, before Malfoy’s face slid into inscrutable blankness. “I can’t follow rules if I don’t know what they are, Potter. I’m sorry for being so bloody difficult. You’re right, this was stupid, forge–”
“NO!” And Malfoy jumped from the force of which Harry had shouted. He tried again. “N-No… Hold on. Uh.. I’m sorry, yea? Just… just spend at least an hour here when it’s dark outside? How-... is that okay?”
Harry hated hated hated when Malfoy wore the look he had right now. Wide startled eyes that reflected how completely out of control Harry felt. Like they were accusing him of something. He felt cornered.
“ Okay? ”
“...Very well, one hour it is…” Malfoy whispered, before clearing his throat and returning to his normal volume. “Will that be all?”
Harry eased, satisfied that Malfoy had agreed. Had that really been so hard? It’s like he tries to be contrary. “Yea, that’s all for my end.”
“Then, with that our agreement is set. It’ll be all honor system based– yes, I realize the irony, no need to smirk like that, Potter–”
Emboldened by the successful negotiations, Harry ambled closer to Malfoy, who was perched on his bed, as per the usual for their discussions.
“I’m not smirking,” Harry sniggered.
Malfoy looked annoyed, probably thinking Harry was making fun of him. Harry couldn’t deny it. Malfoy just was so easy to bait. “You absolutely are, regardless of whether your brain has the capacity to realize it–”
“C’mon, Malfoy, let’s just hurry up with it.” Another glimmer of something, gone too quickly from Malfoy’s face.
Harry was mildly disappointed when Malfoy gave no retort, instead he seemed tense and uncertain. A warning went off in Harry’s mind. “Hey- come off it, Malfoy, I was only messin’ about. Just tell me what I need to do, yea?”
His words did not appear to reassure Malfoy, whose red-rimmed eyes were averted. His posture disclosed his discomfited state. Harry was glad Malfoy finally was willing to take down the Glamours around him.
“Malfoy?” Gentle, gentle. Take deep breaths if you need, he told himself. And took one, two deep breaths.
“...Well, truth be told, I am also not quite exactly sure how the entire thing works–” Harry opened his mouth to interrupt again, but Malfoy continued on. “As I mentioned, I have very limited experience and, both times, I wasn’t made privy to the details. I’ve tried researching, but… there’s really nothing I can find.” Malfoy’s face was somber.
“ Okay … Er- well, what happened those other times?” Harry asked.
Malfoy shrugged, an informal gesture that sat oddly on his refined frame. “I… don’t really know how to explain it? It’s like, even though I can feel their magic already, they change something and it just flows into me…” he trailed off.
“You can feel their magic already? What do you mean?”
Malfoy was taken aback. “Well… I can sometimes just feel magic in the air, especially when there’s a lot of it. I hypothesize it has something to do with my lack of core.” He didn’t elaborate further.
“Can you feel mine?”
Inexplicably, Malfoy turned flustered. The color which had drained out of his cheeks at Harry’s outburst, flooded back. “W-well… yes. Like anyone else’s…”
“What does it feel like?” Without realizing, Harry had already seated himself on the same mattress as Malfoy. They were at opposite ends though, which Harry imagined might put the other more at ease.
Malfoy’s stuttered even more. “E-er, I really couldn’t say, specifically. Just like any magic, really.” A pause. “Maybe a bit… crackly?”
“Crackly?” Harry snorted.
“It’s a very indefinable sensation, Potter! I would expect someone as chronically ineloquent as you to be well-versed in the phenomenon.”
He chose to ignore the dig. “Alright, then… crackly. Anything else?”
Malfoy turned contemplative. “Hmm… I really couldn’t say. It’s worth noting that both times I was so low on magical energy that my body just… responded almost intuitively.”
“But- I thought you didn’t need magic to survive?” Harry had been quite put out when Malfoy had informed him of this last weekend.
“Technically, yes. But, especially as a former wix, it’s a quite uncomfortable feeling. My mind experiences it very similarly to.. hmm… magical exhaustion… wouldn’t be an inaccurate analogy. It would be worth noting that since I don’t need to keep up my Glamours in this room anymore, I’m not nearly as low on–”
Harry was starting to get bored with all the technical mumbo-jumbo. “Why don’t we just try stuff and see if anything works?”
Malfoy rolled his eyes. “What a shocking suggestion from our resident Boy Wonder.”
“Do you have any better ideas?”
“No…” Malfoy admitted regretfully. “Fine, we can attempt it your way.”
“Brilliant,” Harry grinned, all teeth. So, Malfoy had described it as like the magic flowing into him? Hmmm… Harry had become fairly well-versed in silent wandless magic. A necessity of the war. Nowhere close to that of Dumbledore’s mastery, though it still came like second nature to gather his magic around him, condensing the energy until it coiled tight around them.
Malfoy’s face was now very, very red. “I-I don’t think anything’s changed, y-yet.”
Harry furrowed his brow. Was he not using enough power? He poured a little more in.
Malfoy squeaked, and Harry’s focus was shattered. The magic scattered around them. “What?” Harry asked.
The other seemed to be struggling to answer. “That felt– odd. What exactly were you doing?” Malfoy shivered.
“I dunno… just… trying to clump my magic together?” Malfoy rolled his eyes. “That’s the only way to describe it!” Harry protested.
“I don’t think I got any energy input from that, but it felt rather– different?”
Oh? “Different how?”
“ Just different! Merlin, Potter, I already said there aren’t words to describe it.” Malfoy retorted defensively, arms crossed tightly. The remnants of his flush were still dusted across his cheeks. Harry refrained from pointing out that Malfoy had just been bemoaning Harry’s own descriptive word choices.
“Fine, whatever. Then does it feel at all like the time with McGonagall?”
“No,” Malfoy’s response was sharp and immediate, then a pause before he continued thoughtfully, “This felt more like your magic was still the same but at… a… sort of, higher intensity, but not much like I was getting any input from it. My core is the same as before.”
They were getting nowhere. And if they couldn’t solve this, Harry was going to have to machinate some other necessity that only he could provide. Which he had not the foggiest idea of how to start doing.
“Let’s just keep trying.”
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And after a few more attempts, essentially more of the same at varying levels of magical intensity, Draco could tell that Harry was getting– there was no better word to describe it – pissy.
“It’s not like I can help it either, Potter. I already told you there’s nothing in any books about this. Do you think I’m enjoying myself right now?” Did he think Draco wasn’t frustrated too?!
He was also more than a little turned on, which was doing nothing for the aforementioned frustration.
“Well, then why can’t we just go to McGonagall and ask ! And it’d be a damn sight more useful than just sitting with our thumbs up our arses!!” Potter would immediately jump to that. They’d not been here for one bloody hour and he was all brash, rampaging energy gearing up to storm every inch of the castle and invite Merlin-knows-who into his business.
Granger always had been the brains of the Trio.
Besides, McGonagall had already made it clear that he was on his own after that one ill-advised chat. If Potter didn’t understand then that was his own bloody problem.
“No,” he said, with finality.
Potter gripped at his hair. “What exactly should we do then, Malfoy.” Not a question. Potter was definitely reaching his limit.
“Just… try again, okay ? See if you can… open your core up or something like that.” Potter’s previous attempts were wearing on Draco’s nerves in the most unfortunate way in a harrowing combination of sensorial pleasure and subsequent mental discomfort. It wasn’t like he wanted his body to respond how it did.
And on top of that Draco had to be the voice of reason and patience for this git.
Potter was still sulking, no doubt annoyed that he wasn’t getting his way. That was the issue with these talented Hero types. No threshold for discomfort. Really. Draco felt Potter’s crackling magic build around him. If its baseline could be described as a sting, then this was a crack that whipped across his body. There was no starting or finishing point, it was a synchronized jolt that set his muscles on edge. He fought back a groan.
He struggled to grit words out. “Are you doing it?”
“Not likely, given that I have no fucking clue what I’m supposed to be doing,” Potter shot back.
Draco remembered something… how Potter’s magic had changed before when they had been in closer proximity. Granted, that hadn’t been necessary with McGonagall or Mother, but given that no one else’s ambient magic felt like his either, Draco was more than willing to believe that Potter was just the universal exception in yet another way.
Not to mention, he was starting to get really bloody aroused from this and that was the last thing he needed Potter to become aware of.
He’d never liked pain; he actively avoided it. But somehow this was different, it was like every stinging sensation fed a larger, deeper pleasure that had Draco’s toes curling inside his shoes.
“Wait– I-I have a different idea…”
The magic immediately ebbed, and Draco breathed easier. Good. He would need his focus for the embarrassing details he was about to reveal. Potter was looking at him expectantly.
“Er– before…that night– when we were in the hall outside the alcove–” Draco was struggling to describe what had been his own loss of temper in neutral-sounding terms. “There… was something different that happened then…”
Potter waited. Draco worried his bottom lip. Gods, this was going to sound all sorts of desperate and perverted.
“Your magic– it felt… different? From how it typically does. The most likely conclusion would be that it was a direct result of the difference in our physical proximity at the time…” Draco trailed off, hoping that Potter would fill in the blanks.
“And?”
Clearly, Draco’s expectations had been too lofty.
“ And … maybe we could try changing the relative distances between ourselves. Perhaps that might change our outcome.” Draco would rather die, kind of, than tell Potter explicitly that they should try physical contact. Merlin, as if all this wasn’t humiliating enough.
“So…just try– I dunno, me touching you, basically,” Potter summarized, completely straight-faced and unaffected. Draco’s awareness that he was the only one flustered fed his mortification. Of course Potter wouldn’t care about a bit of physical contact between blokes. Most people wouldn’t have thought twice on it.
“I simply inferred that would be the logical next step,” Draco confirmed, trying to affect the same attitude.
Potter shrugged. “Okay, just tell me where, then.”
“Er– I guess… just try my hand?” Draco was struggling to think of something that wasn’t too intimate. Blokes shook hands all the time, right? High-fives and… the sort.
Unceremoniously, Potter grabbed one of Draco’s hands. More contact than absolutely necessary. Compared to Draco’s long, thin bones, Potter’s hand was wider-set and rougher. Sturdy.
Draco shook off the unhelpful thoughts. “Now, try it the same as before,” he prompted.
Oh shit. The difference was instantaneous. It was terrible. It felt so bloody good. Fuck. The warm sensation was back in full swing, now accompanied by a sort of vibratory buzz that coursed under his skin and went straight to his dick, which twitched with interest. Oh fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck—
Because it was also working. Of course, it bloody was now. Bloody buggering hell. He could feel his core warming and accepting the magic pouring into it. Draco shifted trying to relieve the pressure from his zipper. What kind of fucked-up magic did Potter have that Draco’s libido was in full swing like a 15-year-old boy?
Was this how everyone who sensed Potter’s magic felt?! Even if Draco was likely a tad more sensitive, the sheer amount of magic that Potter held within him– it was… fucking unbelievable.
Draco was equal parts turned on and jealous.
“Malfoy.” Potter’s voice was tinged with aggravation. “You plonker, answer me. ”
An indignant sound escaped Draco's mouth before he could stifle it. Potter rolled his eyes.
“I asked if this was working at all. You looked all… weird for a bit, so–” Potter was studying him, eyes roaming over his face. Draco felt exposed and paused to gather his thoughts.
“I… rather think so, as a matter of fact–” Draco’s words fell off as he took in Potter’s face which was glowing at the news. He cleared his throat. “–this method of transferring magical energy seems to be the only one successful, thus far…”
“Wait–so can you, er– do magic stuff now?? Like– I dunno…can you try something?” Potter looked positively giddy. Draco hadn’t been planning to broach this, but since they were already there, maybe Potter could even do something about it…
“I can’t.”
The other’s face fell slightly before he launched into questions. Draco held up a hand to stop him.
“I don’t… have my wand anymore.”
“What?... B-but I gave it back and what? Then why–”
“It’s not that Potter, you imbecile. It was in the bag that I left by the lakeside… before…” Draco trailed off as Potter’s face hardened in understanding.
“Malfoy… did someone steal your wand ?” His voice was low and dangerous.
“I… can’t be sure,” Draco admitted, nervously twisting his hands into the sheets. “I haven’t exactly been back yet to check…”
“Salazar’s balls you– … Well, then- c'mon let's go– now, even.”