Nearly

”What happened to your hand?” Draco asks him the next morning, as they’re sitting down for breakfast. 

Harry glances at the back of his hand in panic, expecting to see the words ’I must not tell lies’ still carved into the skin there, but the only thing visible is a relatively subtle streak of red where the skin is irritated and he swallows a sigh of relief. 

”Nothing”, he lies smoothly and reaches for the coffee to disguise the tremor in his fingers. ”Probably just scratched it in my sleep or something…”

Draco frowns slightly, but doesn’t question the explanation and by the time they’re making their way to Transfiguration he seems to have forgotten all about it. 

I wish I could, Harry thinks to himself, glancing at the blush on his hand for the umpteenth time. 

As he drags his feet towards Toady’s office for his second sitting later that eveing, his stomach is churning unpleasantly with a mixture of dread and hunger, since he’d been too anxious to eat any dinner. 

Draco had shot him a worried look when he’d accompanied him and their friends back to the dungeons to drop off his book bag instead of heading straight to the Great Hall, but he’d just shaken his head and given the other boy a small smile of reassurance. 

Now, however, as he comes to a stop outside the side door of the Defence Teacher’s Office, he doesn’t think he could stretch his lips into a smile even if his life depended on it. 

He raps his knuckles against the door.

”Come in”, a by now familiar sickly sweet voice calls out from the other side and his stomach flips. 

Taking a deep breath to steel himself, Harry pushes the door open. 

Professor Umbridge is standing in the middle of the room, wearing taffy pink robes and an awful grin when he shuffles inside.

”Good evening, Mr Potter”, she says in her simpering voice. 

”Evening”, Harry mutters and looks down. 

He walks over to the small table where a fresh piece of parchment and the long black quill are laid out for him and plops down on the rickety chair. 

”Hem, hem…”

He ignores the pointed cough and grabs the quill, desperate to get the detention over with so that he can get out of here. 

Even though he’s expecting the sharp sting and is determined not to let Toady get any satisfaction from watching his discomfort, Harry still sucks in a sharp breath at the sudden stab of pain. It’s a lot more intense than the first cut of the previous evening had been and, he notices with a subtle glance, it doesn’t heal immediately this time either. 

With a sinking feeling, he realises that there’s no way he’ll be walking out of here with an umblemished hand tonight.

”Problem?” Umbridge says. 

Harry doesn’t reply. With another steeling breath, he puts the quill to the parchment and writes. 

Just as he’d suspected, it’s with a red raw hand that he makes his way back to the dungeons three hours later. Umbridge had interrupted him an hour earlier tonight, not out of kindness or mercy, but simply because that’s the amount of time it took Harry to create a deep enough cut in his hand. 

It’s not bleeding anymore, but the ’I’ and the word ’lies’ are still somewhat visible on the edges of the patch of raw skin. 

How am I going to hide it from Draco?

Well, he isn’t — is the answer. There’s no way he possibly could. Even if he manages to keep his hand in his pocket without showing any pain or discomfort on his face, at some point he’s going to have to get ready for bed and change into his pyjamas, after all… and even if Draco opts for his own bed tonight (which is becoming a rarer and rarer occurrance), he’ll still be right next to Harry. 

Better to just show him and get it over with, Harry decides. 

So as soon as Draco’s eyes narrow and he snatches Harry’s hand from where he’s holding it gingerly in front of him, and holds it up for a better look, Harry sighs and tells him everything. 

”What?” Draco says sharply, his narrowed eyes flitting up to Harry’s and flashing furiously. ”She’s making you use a blood quill?”

”Yeah…”

”Yesterday too? Why didn’t you tell me?”

”I didn’t want to… worry you”, Harry mutters. 

”You’ve got to show Professor Snape!”

”No—” Harry starts to protest, but the blonde just huffs out a furious breath and clamps his hand around Harry’s wrist and physically hauls him out of the Common Room again. ”Draco, wait—!”

”Shut up! I don’t want to hear it!” the blonde snaps. 

He continues to pull Harry down the corridor and Harry stumbles after him, trying not to trip over his own feet. They come to a thundering stop outside their Head of House’s office and Draco starts off by rapping his knuckles against the door but, when nothing happens immediately, he bangs his whole fist against it with such force the wood trembles against the hinges. 

They hear the muffled sound of apporaching footsteps from behind the door and Draco quickly jumps back, before it swings open with a groan. 

Professor Snape glares back at them from the other side of the threshold, the collar of his grey nightshirt sticking up behind his black robes. 

”What?” he hisses. 

”Professor”, Draco says importantly. ”Professor Umbridge has just put Harry through two torturous detentions—”

”Yes, she’s well in her right to do so”, Professor Snape snaps. ”Please tell me you did not just risk detention by breaking curfew, so that you could come and complain about having to serve detentions?”

”Sir, you don’t understand—!”

”Professor Umbridge is a professor and she has a right to dole out detentions as she sees fit—”

”Sir—!”

”—There is nothing I can do about it. Now go to bed—!”

”SIR—!”

”What?”

”Look!” Draco exclaims and tugs on Harry’s arm, holding the hand up for the Potions Master to see. ”She’s making him do lines — witha blood quill!”

Professor Snape’s black eyes flicker down to Harry’s hand and widen as they come to rest on the patch of raw skin. His face drains of what little colour it had to start with and he takes a deep breath. 

”I see…” he murmurs. ”I will… I will talk to the Headmaster in the morning… Harry?”

Harry jerks his head up and meets the Potions Master’s gaze. 

”Is it… are you still in pain?”

”Not really”, Harry mumbles. ”It’s all right…”

The man’s eyes narrow again. 

”It stings a bit, I guess”, Harry mutters. 

”One moment…” Snape murmurs and turns away. 

He disappears into his office and returns a moment later with some kind of salve that he hands to Draco, with instructions on how to rub it into the affected skin. The blonde nods seriously. 

”I can do it myself”, Harry protests feebly, but they both ignore him.

The walk back to the Common Room at the other end of the corridor is quiet, both boys shuffling along with their heads bowed. Harry gives the blonde a sideway glance. He seems to be deep in thought, his grey eyes glaring daggers at the stone floor in front of him but not really seeing it. 

When they walk through the passage into the Common Room, it’s mostly deserted save for a few Seventh Years huddled together in front of the fire, still studying furiously whereas the Fifth Years seem to have called it a night. Wordlessly, Draco leads Harry to the boys’s dormitory as well. 

Seamus, Blaise and Theo are still awake when they walk inside, but they quickly disappear behind the hangings of their respective beds after giving Harry pinched smiles in greeting. 

Draco leads Harry to the space between their own beds and promptly pushes him to sit down on the edge of his, before he uncorks the small glass jar Professor Snape gave him and scoops up a generous amount of salve on two of his fingers. 

”Give me your hand…” he says quietly. 

He gently massages the salve into the abused skin on Harry’s hand, his face a mask of intense concentration and his breathing shallow. Harry finds himself unconsciously matching each breath and getting slightly light-headed. 

The fingertips that have been drawing soothing circles over the back of Harry’s hand still suddenly and for a moment, Draco simply holds his hand in both of his own.

”How does it feel?” he whispers. 

Harry blinks. 

”Okay?” the blonde adds. 

Harry nods. 

”Ye-eah, thanks…” he croaks. 

A small smile flickers onto the blonde’s face and he leans down to capture Harry’s lips with his own in a sweet, shallow kiss. 

He pulls away again and Harry almost topples over, trying to prolong the kiss. 

”Careful…” Draco says with a smirk. 

He finally lets go of Harry’s hand again and walks over to his trunk at the end of the bed. Harry frowns, watching him select a pair of pyjamas from inside. 

”I can dress myself”, he says. 

”Fine. I’ll just help you with the sleeve…”

”No, really, you don’t have to…”

”I know I don’t have to”, Draco mutters. ”But will you just let me?”

”Fine”, Harry sighs and stands up again. 

He pulls his robes over his head and lets out a small hiss of pain as the rough material scratches the cut on his hand, which he hopes the other boy didn’t hear… but as he drops the robes to the floor and looks up, Draco is watching him with fiery eyes. Harry swallows another sigh and lets his hands fall to his sides. 

Draco kills the distance between them in a flash and unknots his tie with deft fingers, before continuing with the buttons on his shirt.

After he’s carefully pulled both the shirt and Harry’s undershirt off, he gingerly helps him to thread his arm through the sleeve of the pyjama top as well, but as soon as that is on, Harry steps back from him with a mumbled thanks and reaches for the pyjama bottoms. 

”You’re welcome”, Draco murmurs, turning away to change into his own pyjamas. 

If you can even call it a pyjamas, Harry thinks wryly, watching him with fond eyes. The silky bottoms are quite pyjama-like, he supposes. But the top looks more like a sleeveless blouse than anything.

Not that he’s complaining. It’s tailored to fit the blonde’s frame perfectly, leaving very little to the imagination… 

”Why don’t you take a photograph…” 

Harry immediately drags his eyes back up to the blonde’s face again and returns his small smile, blushing a little at having been caught oogling. 

”It will last longer”, the blonde adds with a smirk. 

Harry’s mind flashes back to the moment when his dad showed him the old photograph of his daddy that he’d taken when they were the same age as Harry and Draco are now.

I’m regretting that Permanent Sticking Charm now. That’s my favourite picture of your daddy and I can’t take it with me…

”Harry?”

”Yeah…” he says, blinking the memory away and smiling. ”You know, I just might. I have a space for one right here…”

He points to the small space between his Tornados poster and the Christmas Card Draco sent him in First Year. 

”Sap…” Draco mutters, his lips twitching fondly. ”Come on…”

Harry’s smile falls as the other boy moves back towards his bed and pulls the covers back. 

”Ehm, actually, Draco… it’s… um…”

Draco gives him a confused frown.

”It’s a nightmare night…”

”Oh…” the blonde’s face smooths out and he sidles up to Harry, gently nestling his arms around his middle and nuzzling the side of his neck. ”I know…”

”Draco…” Harry sighs. ”It really isn’t fair on you to keep doing this. We don’t have to sleep together all the time…”

”We don’t.”

”No, I know, but…”

”But nothing. I want to sleep with you tonight.”

Whatever else protest Harry might have tried is quickly smothered as the blonde captures his lips in another kiss. Harry pushes at his chest weakly, but it quickly turns into an embrace and before long he’s snaked his arms around the other boy’s body and is pulling on him rather desperately. 

The blonde starts to back towards the bed, pulling Harry with him. They both tumble onto the bed in a heap of sprawling limbs, without once breaking their lip-lock. 

”Silencing Charm!” Blaise calls out from his bed across the room. 

Harry and Draco finally break the kiss and dissolve into peels of hushed giggles. 

”Seriously!” Blaise calls out again.

”All right!” Draco calls back. 

They pull the hangings closed around the bed and Draco casts the Charm quickly, before dropping his wand to the floor and reaching for Harry again. 

Harry’s chuckle sticks in his throat when he catches the glint in the other boy’s eyes and he licks his lips quickly, before meeting him halfway.

Harry sears their mouths together in a feverish kiss and clutches the blonde’s shoulders, desperate for closeness and friction. Draco allows himself to pulled and presses his body against Harry’s with sensuous slowness that makes Harry’s blood boil. But no matter how frantically he paws at the other boy or how hard he tries to deepen their kiss, Draco is determined to set an excruciatingly slow pace. 

He keeps their kisses sweet, but shallow and soon, he’s darting away from Harry’s eager mouth altogether, trailing his lips in a feathery soft path down the side of his neck instead. 

When he keeps going, kissing his way down Harry’s chest while shimmying down the bed until he’s settled between his legs, Harry’s breath catches in his throat and his heart begins to pound, out of excitement or panic or both, Harry isn’t sure.

His mind flashes to the young qizards in the illustrations in the book Remus gave him, frantically trying to remember everything they did and how… and he curses himself for not having looked in the book for weeks, he should have been refreshing his memory, he should have been revising, he should —

”Relax…” Draco murmurs, planting a feathery kiss on Harry’s hipbone and suddenly Harry’s feverish thoughts are Vanished quicker than Draco’s snail in Transfiguration. ”I think I know what I’m doing…”

Harry lets out a strangled chuckle and when his mind whirls up again to wonder if Narcissa ever gave Draco the talk, or presented him with any books on the matter, he promptly stomps it down again. It’s not in the book, that he knows of, but Harry is pretty sure there must be at least one unwritten rule about not thinking of your partner’s parents while he’s about to… about to… oh Merlin…

Draco has snuck his fingers into the waistband of Harry’s pyjama bottoms and his pants and with a confident movement, he pulls them both past his eagerly throbbing cock and down his legs, before discarding both somewhere in the darkness. 

Blonde strands of hair tickle his abdomen as Draco ducks his head to give the inside of Harry’s thigh a teasing lick, right where it connects with his groin.

”You know, there’s a second purpose to the Silencing Charm”, Draco says. ”You don’t have to keep quiet…”

”Wh-what?” Harry gasps, blinking frantically to somehow lure some blood back to his head so that he can get his thoughts to function properly again, because for some ridiculous reason Draco is talking.

”I want to hear you”, Draco repeats slowly, his silver eyes nearly black as he pins Harry with a heated look. 

”O-oh… Ehm… whaa… what would you like me t-to say… then…?”

Harry could have sworn the blonde just rolled his eyes at him, but it happened so quickly it could just have been a trick of the light. Draco’s smirk twitches a little, but Harry blinks and the other boy is just as serious as before again. 

”I didn’t mean it like that”, Draco says and there’s an oddly soothing quality to his voice. ”But I’ve never done this before, so I want you to talk me through it—”

”I’ve never done it before either!” Harry splutters. 

”Merlin…” Draco huffs and readjusts his weight on his elbows, before quite clearly rolling his eyes. ”I know that, Harry. I meant… talk me through what you like and don’t like — direct me!”

”Oh… well, I… I don’t know, do I?”

”You will in a minute…” Draco says with a smirk. 

He then dips his head again and this time, it’s the base of Harry’s cock that gets a lick. Any hope Harry might have had of regaining his ability to think straight flutters out the window. 

How Draco expects him to be able to carry out an actual conversation when he does things like that to him, is beyond Harry. 

The blonde drags his tongue up the length of his cock and then gives the head a small kiss. 

”How about…” Draco murmurs, his hot breath warming the wet skin before he moves away again. ”If you like what I’m doing, make a noise… any noise… and if you don’t like something—”

”Give your hair a good tug?” Harry gasps. 

”Don’t you dare!”

Harry chuckles breathlessly and just to reassure the blonde, he reaches out and gently combs his fingers through what silky strands he can reach. 

Draco tilts his head and plants a soft kiss to the inside of Harry’s wrist. And just like that, both the hurry and the awkwardness drain from the moment, leaving it heavy with affection instead. So heavy, it almost makes it hard for Harry suck some air into his lungs. 

He peers down at Draco, who smiles up at him from his sprawling position draped over Harry’s legs and resting his chin on his hipbone… face mere inches away from… but Harry doesn’t even feel weird about it anymore, doesn’t feel an impulse to cover up tug on him or anything. 

”All right, enough chit chat”, Draco says decisively, puncturing the moment again. 

He gives Harry a teasing smirk as he pushes himself up on his elbows again, but then he’s dipping his head again and Harry’s eyelids flutter closed of their own accord as the sensation of fluttery heat suddenly covers his abdomen. 

Kisses, his oxygen-deprived brain supplies seconds too late. 

Then there’s a wet heat all around him and his brain can’t form coherent words at all, but conjures up images instead… a whole whirlwind of swirling images as the wet heat tightens and squeezes him — so hot, so tight, it almost hurts, almost — then there’s more swirling, but not inside his head, but all around him… 

Harry’s body is on fire, and for a confused moment he tries to pinpoint whether he’s burning from the skin in, or from the blood out… 

Currents of tickling, crackling pleasure run up and down his veins, every nerve-ending exploding, over and over… 

His abdomen tightens with pulsing pressure and for some reason, Harry manages to create enough presence of mind to think he needs to warn the other boy… but not enough presence of mind to actually warn him… before relentless and painfully intense waves of pleasure ripple through his body. Crashing, crushing waves of pleasure, that pull him down. And he’s drowning, drowning in sensation. 

When it all ebbs away again, Harry’s gasping for breath like he really has been drowning. 

He feels feathery soft kisses flutter up his abdomen and sternum, like a little butterfly making its way up his body. Blinking his eyes open, Harry catches it between his nipple and his collarbone — or rather, he grabs Draco’s head and brings it forcefully up to meet his own — capturing the other boy’s mouth in a bruising kiss. 

Draco’s fingers dig into the muscles of Harry’s arms, hard enough to bruise and it anchors him.

That’s what they were talking about, when they talked about seeing stars, he thinks faintly. Except it was nothing like stars, at all. Stars are faraway things. This, this was like lightening. Lightening from the inside out. 

He slowly softens the kiss again, letting his fingers slacken around the other boy’s head and gently massages his skull through his hair instead. 

Draco finally breaks the kiss completely, but lets his forehead stay connected Harry’s. He’s breathing hard now too.

”How…” he swallows thickly. ”How… was it…?”

”Brilliant”, Harry murmurs. ”Best ever.”

Draco chuckles breathlessly. 

”I know what you’re going to say”, Harry mutters. 

”First and only ever?” Draco guesses. 

”But I didn’t mean that… I meant all of it…”

”…Oh”, Draco says in a small voice. ”Really?”

”Mmm… definitely… I love you.”

”I know”, the other boy mumbles, settling down next to Harry instead and cuddling up to him. ”I love you too.”

Harry shifts slightly, bringing his arm around the other boy’s body and hugging him close to his chest. He nuzzles his hairline absently, happy to breathe in the subtle scent of his coconut shampoo and the other indistinct scent that is just pure Draco. 

”My turn?” he says, even as he feels his eyelids grow heavier and heavier. 

”Mmm… next time…” the other boy mumbles, already half-asleep. 

Harry smiles, then feels himself begin to drift off as well and the smile falls as prickling anxiety begins to creep in instead, reminding him of where he’s going, since it’s a nightmare night… not yet, I’m not ready, he thinks, hugging Draco closer, desperate to stay here in this moment. I don’t want to leave yet. 

Darkness wraps around them like a warm and smooth blanket and Harry blinks, stubbornly trying to stay awake by trying to make anything out. But even though he feels Draco’s lithe body cradled between his body and his arm, he can’t make out his form in the pitch blackness. 

Suddenly stars break through the blanket, twinkling down at him… blinking the sleep from his eyes and squinting up at the dim lights fluttering around above his head, Harry realises they’re not stars at all, they’re butterflies… beautiful, golden butterflies… 

He smiles, watching the many golden wings flutter, creating the twinkling effect… especially when each wing is reflected in the black tiles all around the butterflies as well… like so many flames, burning along the black-tiled wall of the long corridor… wait…

Harry twists around, feeling his body in confusion. The bed clothes are gone, as is the bed itself and Draco. He is standing alone in the middle of a dark corridor, no longer wearing his unbuttoned pyjama top but rather regular robes. 

He knows he should go look for Draco, but something is tugging on him… pulling him towards the door at the end of the corridor… I know this place, he thinks faintly. I’ve been here before. 

I know that door. 

Walking slowly towards it, Harry stares at the sleek, dark wood and a longing such as he’s never felt before suddenly fills him, an overwhelming need to open the door and get to the other side… 

Taking a deep breath to steel himself, Harry reaches out and grips the doorknob —

”Harry… Harry, wake up…”

Harry groans. He’s so close…

”Harry!”

”Yeahh…” he croaks, pressing his face into his pillow and trying to chase the dream, but it’s gone. 

”Come on, wake up…”

Harry turns over onto his back and blinks his eyes open, only to be blinded by the green light spilling in from the window next to the bed. Squinting through it, he looks up at the blonde, blurry blob leaning over him. 

He stretches lazily and takes a deep breath, getting a whiff of coconut.

”You had a bath already?” he mumbles. 

”Shower”, Draco says. ”Come on, get up. I’m starving.”

”I bet you are”, Seamus shouts from his own bed and a chorus of snickers erupts around the dorm. 

”Shut it, Finnigan!” Draco shouts back. ”You’re just jealous!”

”Nah, he’s not my type”, the Irish boy quips. 

Harry huffs out a chuckle and pushes himself up to sitting, reaching blindly for his spectacles. Draco presses them into his hand and Harry gives him a small smile of thanks as soon as he’s got them on and the other boy’s smiling face comes into focus finally. 

”How did you sleep?” he asks softly. ”You didn’t wake me up once… no nightmares?”

”No…” Harry murmurs, flattening his hair absent-mindedly. ”Just a dream…”

”That’s good”, Draco says, turning away. ”Come on, let’s go get breakfast!”

*

In the Common Room, during their free period before dinner, working on their mountains of homework. 

Harry watches out of the corner of his eye as Draco quickly scribbles something in his Dream Diary, then tosses it on top of the Finished pile.

”Did you get another snippet?” he asks. 

The blonde meets his eyes briefly, but doesn’t say anything. 

”You never told me the rest of your dream”, Harry adds. 

”Yes, I did”, Draco mumbles, flicking the pages of his Potions book. ”I can’t believe Professor Snape set us another essay — we just handed one in!”

”I know”, Seamus grouses, glaring even harder at the pages of his own Potions book. ”This year is going to be torture!”

”No, you didn’t”, Harry says. 

”What?” Draco mumbles absent-mindedly, skimming over the pages of the book and making a couple of quick notes. 

”You didn’t tell me the rest of your dream—”

”I did”, Draco snaps. ”That was it — I told you, I don’t have long, detailed dreams like you!”

”You don’t know what dreams I have”, Harry snaps right back. 

”Guys, don’t fight…” Pansy says tiredly. ”Or if you must, go do it somewhere else. If I don’t get the hang of this stupid spell, McGonagall is going to rip me to shreds — and Granger will have a field day watching! — Evanesco!EV-AN-ESCO! Damn it…”

Harry gives the girl a sidelong look, then glances at the twitching Chocolate Frog leg on the table in front of her, that is no closer to being Vanished now than when she’d started hurling the spell at it a quarter of an hour ago. 

”Sorry, Pans…” Draco mumbles. ”We’ll be quiet…”

”Oh, will we”, Harry mutters. 

”Look, I just dreamt that I was in the ocean, okay? That’s it!” Draco hisses. 

”Just in the ocean—?”

”Yes!”

”Just floating around in the—?”

”Yes!”

”Feeling… what, happy? At peace—?”

”No, I didn’t feel ’at peace’, I’ll have you know”, Draco grits out. ”I felt the very opposite of ’at peace’, since I was drowning! There! Are you happy now?”

Harry doesn’t say anything else, just watches calmly as Draco slumps back into the armchair with a frustrated huff and hides his face behind the Potions book. 

It shouldn’t bother him that Draco doesn’t jump at the opportunity to tell him about his dreams, and it doesn’t bother him exactly. But he can’t help but feel a little curious, when the other boy so obviously goes to great lengths to avoid telling him about them. 

Because one thing that does bother Harry, is that Draco still hasn’t told him about his summer since he implied that there actually is something to tell — all he’s said is that he spent the whole summer holidaying with his mother, but he hasn’t said one word about Lucius or where he stands with his father after what happened during the Triwizard Tournament, just told Harry that he’ll tell him later — and Harry can’t help but wonder if the other boy’s dreams are somehow plagued by whatever might have happened between him and his father, like Harry’s own traumatic memories are haunting his dreams… that’s all…

He’s noticed a change in his boyfriend’s attitude towards their relationship, of course. Draco still won’t hold hands or kiss outside of the Slytherin Common Room, but Harry is pretty sure the students in the other houses will be able to work it out anyway, when the blonde sits so close to Harry in the Great Hall and the library that they’re practically draped over each other, and he’s sure Draco must realise this as well, so he obviously doesn’t care if people know… 

But still. 

Harry would really prefer to know exactly where they stand and, more specifically, where Draco stands with his father — is Draco even safe to go home to Malfoy Manor for Christmas? Or should Harry invite him home to Creirwy’s Hollow?

He doesn’t think Draco’s mysterious dreams about the ocean will necessarily answer all of these questions for him, exactly. But curiosity is clawing at him all the same, so when he’s sure the blonde isn’t looking, Harry reaches for his copy of The Dream Oracle and, ignoring Dapne’s look of incredulity and the looks of exasperation on Pansy’s and Blaise’s faces, flicks the pages to ’D’.

Pansy gives him a gentle kick under the table and he looks up. His friends are all staring at him in varying degrees of frustration.  

What? he mouths. 

Pansy just rolls her eyes and goes back to her Chocolate Frog leg, while Blaise gives him a sour look, but it quickly morphs into a thoughtful expression as he glances down at the Divination book. Harry smirks at his friend. Yeah, that’s right, he thinks. Get off your high hippogriff, you want to know as well —

”What are you two making eyes at each other for?” Draco snaps suspisciously. 

The two boys jump and quickly tear their eyes away from each other, Harry snapping the Dream Oracle shut and hastily pulling his Transfigurations essay closer to him.

He decides to give it another day or two, but if the blonde still hasn’t opened up by then, Harry will confront him and ask him about it.

*

If the threat of expulsion and Professor Snape’s reprimand, which reminded Harry of his promise to his dads to stay out of trouble this year, weren’t enough to strengthen his resolve to keep his head down and stay off Umbridge’s radar, then these nightly detentions surely are… as Harry averts his eyes from the woman’s wide, cold grin and slumps into the straight-backed chair for the third night in a row, feeling like he’s stuck in some nightmarish vicious circle, he can help but think that he’d do anything not to have to come back here again — I’ll even stand up in front of everyone in the Great Hall and tell them Voldemort is a figment of my imagination!

Except…

No, no, I won’t, he thinks and, with a heavy sigh, he plucks the black quill from the table in front of him and begins to write. 

It’s by far the worst detention yet. When Harry is finishing up the fourth line, the words are already cut deeply into his skin and he’s bleeding freely down the side of his hand, spattering both the parchment and the lace table cloth, that are steadily becoming a morbid dot work of blood drops. 

He tries not to look at the clock on the wall opposite, mostly because Umbridge is sitting right underneath it and if he looks at the clock, she’s in his peripheral and he’s reminded that she’s watching him with wide, keen eyes, but also because every time he looks at the clock, sure that at least an hour has passed since the last time he looked, he discovers it’s only been a few more minutes. 

An hour and a half into the detention, Harry’s hand is throbbing and he can barely grip the quill anymore. The words on the parchment swim before his eyes, taunting him… stinging, hot tears keep welling up in his eyes and he blinks desperately. 

Giving the clock another glance, Harry grits his teeth… one hour and thirty-five minutes… only twenty-five minutes left… 

But when the clock strikes seven, Umbridge remains seated behind her desk and simply smiles sweetly at him when he shoots her an expectant look and he realises she let him go an hour earlier the night before just so he’d expect to be relieved two hours earlier tonight, just so she could watch the disappointment in his eyes… clenching his jaw, Harry ducks his head again and glares at the parchment. 

”Problem, Mr Potter?” Umbridge says softly. 

Harry’s vision blurs and this time when he blinks, fat tears fall from his eyes and splatter on the parchment. He watches with mild fascination as one of the drops soaks into the last word he’s written, the ’i’ in ’lies’ fading and becoming a pink smudge.

”Oh, let’s have a look then…”

Harry tears his eyes away from the growing tear stain as it keeps eating up the rest if the word and looks up at the professor. She stands up and round her desk, walking over to him slowly and extending her hand with a cool smile. Harry swallows thickly and lets the blood quill tumble from his stiff fingers and lets the woman grab his pounding hand with her short, chubby fingers.

He can’t help but notice that she’s very careful not to get any blood on her many rings when she grips his hand, but as soon as their hands touch, Harry’s thoughts are immediately distracted by a searing pain — not in his hand, but the scar on his forehead — and he gasps and snatches his hand back again, stumbling to his feet. 

”Yes…” Umbridge says quietly. ”It hurts, doesn’t it…”

Harry stares at her. His heart is beating a tattoo in his chest and his scar is still stinging. Does she know? Is that what she meant?

The woman’s wide mouth stretches into another awful grin. 

”I think… you’ve learned your lesson, Mr Potter… isn’t that right?”

”Y-yeah…” Harry says, feeling like he’s been running for miles. ”Yes, ma’am.”

”Very good… you may go.”

Harry almost stumbles over his own feet in his haste to get out of the office. The pain in his head has faded to a dull throbbing, but his scar definitely hurt when Umbridge touched him… it’s only ever done that when Voldemort’s been nearby… what does that mean, though? he thinks frantically. Is Umbridge a Death Eater? 

She’s evil enough to be one, that’s for sure, Harry thinks darkly as he cradles his injured hand gently to his chest. 

As soon as he steps inside the Common Room, Draco shoots to his feet and hurries over to meet him, the salve Professor Snape gave them clutched in his hand. As he stares down at the bleeding cut on Harry’s hand, his face pales to bone white and when he gingerly positions the hand on top of his own palm and begins to dab salve against the wound, Harry can tell his hands are shaking slightly. 

Despite Draco being careful and barely even touching the cut with his own fingertips, the contact with the salve stings before the magical properties of the salve begins to work and Harry bites the inside of his cheek to keep from wincing in pain, and by the time Draco has finished, a metallic taste has filled his mouth. 

Draco looks up and finally meets his gaze and Harry feels a stab in his chest at the pain he can see in the other boy’s eyes, so he forces himself to smile.

”It’s over now”, he murmurs. 

Draco swallows and blinks a suspiscious sheen from his eyes, nodding. He leans in and plants a soft kiss on the corner of Harry’s mouth, then grabs his uninjured hand and leads him over to the table where their friends are sitting. 

Pansy and Daphne jump up and give him a couple of quick, one-armed hugs and he gives them a pinched smile, before sinking down next to Draco on the love seat and meeting the other boys’ eyes. For once, neither Seamus or Blaise are smirking. It makes Harry feel awkward, but it also makes the whole situation feel worse. 

”That hag…” Seamus grouses. ”Someone ought to teach her a lesson…”

”Professor Snape said he’d talk to the Headmaster”, Draco says. 

”He won’t be able to do anything about it”, Blaise murmurs. ”Come on, be realistic… think Dumbledore wanted her here in the first place? The Ministry isn’t in Dumbledore’s pocket anymore, so if they want to interfere with Hogwarts, there’s nothing he’ll be able to do about it.”

”But if the parents found out”, Seamus says. 

Harry’s heart stutters in his chest… if his dads find out… 

”Then maybe something will happen”, Blaise consents. ”If enough parents get together and protest, that will put some pressure on the Ministry… or if the right parents protest”, he adds, shooting Draco a sideways glance. ”Someone who is also on the Board of Gouvernors.”

Draco says nothing, just grips Harry’s hand a little tighter and glares at the table in front of him. 

*

It’s another grey day and a light drizzle has begun to fall when Harry and Draco trudge down to the Quidditch pitch for the try-outs. They’d asked Seamus if he wanted to come as well, but the Irish boy had said there was no point now that Harry was allowed to play again, even with half the positions opening up due to half the team graduating last year, the only position he’d really have a chance at was that of the third Chaser and with Harry back as Seeker, there’s no way Flint won’t give the Chaser position to Draco. 

”If you’re sure”, Harry had said with a shrug, but he’d secretly agreed with his friend, because if he was the Team Captain, that’s what he would do as well.

It turns out they’d both been right, because Flint doesn’t even ask Harry and Draco to try out, just tells them what their positions are and then demands they warm up so that they can help try the others out. Harry and Draco exchange a look, but quickly mount their brooms. Harry gives the blonde a subtle wink, before kicking off with a smirk. 

With the wind rushing past him, his stomach swooping and Draco close on his tail, Harry almost forgets about Umbridge and the scar on the back of his hand. Almost. 

Flint calls them back to the ground after half an hour and they touch down next to him and Adrian, eyeing the potential team mates lined up in front of them curiously. To Harry’s chagrine, Crabbe and Goyle are amongst the hopeful applicants, standing out for two reason… their size for one (they’re at least twice as wide as the biggest of the other boys and a head taller than him too) and secondly, whereas the other boys and Millicent (the only girl trying out for the team, again), have the sort of sharp look about them that you get just before an exam or a daunting task, Crabbe and Goyle look as vacant as ever. 

There’s no way Flint will put them on the team, Harry thinks. Even Flint wouldn’t go for brute strength over tactic and wit, not even for the team’s Beaters…

Turn out, that’s exactly what Flint would… 

Harry grumbles about it all the way back to the castle and Draco listens patiently, but when Harry hurls a passive-aggressive right? at him, he just shrugs. 

”Are you serious?” Harry demands. 

”They’re not that bad…” Draco says, then rolls his eyes when Harry gives him an incredulous stare. ”I mean, I’m not saying they’re great conversationalists or anything… but they’ll make decent Beaters!”

Of course, Harry thinks wryly, flashing back to First Year when Draco had ’strategically befriended’ the two brutish boys for physical protection. Draco is obviously less worried about being a Chaser now that Crabbe and Goyle are Beaters, thinking they’ll have his back. 

”It won’t do you any good that they can beat a bludger hard enough to break both broom and limbs, if they’re too stupid to aim it away from you”, Harry says pointedly. 

The relief in Draco’s eyes simmer down significantly after that, but he stubbornly tells Harry he’s exaggerating. 

”They are not… that… bad”, he says slowly, enunciating each syllable sharply. 

”If you say so”, Harry mutters. 

”I do”, Draco says stubbornly, snatching the last word.

Harry rolls his eyes, but doesn’t say anything else. Not until they’re getting ready for bed a while later. 

”Draco…”

”It’s fine, we’re okay.”

”No, it’s not that…”

”What, then?” the blonde mutters, squeezing into one of his impossibly tight pyjama tops and peering over at Harry with a wary frown. 

”Did you… did you ever talk to…” he takes a deep breath and pushes it out again in a forceful sigh, letting some of his nervousness and frustration wash out of him on the back of it. ”Did you talk to Lucius?”

Something about the other boy’s posture, how he seems to just still, tells Harry he’s just entered a [mine field] and he lowers himself slowly to sit on the edge of his bed to wait, don’t push, don’t push… 

”What?” Draco says after a too-long pause. 

”Did you talk? Before you and Narcissa went to France? Or after you got back?”

”We talked. Briefly.”

Harry swallows thickly, and nods. Another pause stretches out between them. Don’t push, he tells himself again. But the blonde is avoiding his eyes now and it doesn’t look like he’s about to elaborate anytime soon… Harry opens his mouth to speak again, but before he’s thought of another question (clear enough to demand a straight answer, but not so demanding it will push the blonde away), Draco speaks again, after all.

”Or rather, he talked and I listened. It wasn’t exactly a discussion.”

What does that mean? Harry thinks in frustration. 

Draco turns away and mumbles something about being exhausted, then crawls under the covers in his four-poster and turns his back to Harry, who feels a stab of pain in the near vicinity of his heart as he stares at the curve of the other boy’s neck. 

His own four-poster bed feels awfully big and cold when he curls up in it. He really wishes he had some Dreamless Sleep, but his next dose isn’t for another two nights…