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Assistant: Title: Nyctophilia
        Author: red_leonne red_leonne 
        Chapter: 13/20 
        Summary: Everyone's back for 8th year, and Harry and his friends seem determined to spend their last year in school running around at night, hyped up on coffee and alcohol and Honeydukes candy, doing all the childish things they didn't have the chance to do before. Draco watches as he's always watched: from afar, quiet and bitter and hopelessly in love. That is, until Pansy decides she's had quite enough of it.
        Contents: Chapter 13: Revisiting the Potions Classroom
    

    


      
        
          
          (See the end of the chapter for  notes.)
          
      
  

  
  
    
    With the enlightenment of time, dissuading excitement and dulling perspectives with every ticking second, the memory of that surreal night dimmed down into something much more understandable. By the end of the weekend, and sobered under the tepid sunlight, Draco had already analyzed the entirety of the evening in so many different ways that he could strip down each digressing glimmer of hope and stick only with the facts. Harry was only tipsy that night - that was the first one. He’d told Draco that they should do it again. Kiss again, f@ck again, Draco didn’t care for the specifics. That was fact number two. Ron knew. He’d seen it and looked properly disapproving and ran off. Harry hadn’t cared: he’d kissed him despite it. Numbers three and four, respectively. It was all incredibly optimistic, which was rare for facts. Granted, Draco wasn’t too experienced with romance, but he could recognize that they were getting into some sort of it. Harry had looked fond. And he’d taken initiative - that was something Draco couldn’t quite shake from his mind whenever he closed his eyes. So, Draco found it safe to say that, after years of pining, Harry and he weren’t enemies nor polite acquaintances nor platonic friends. They were something else entirely. Something more. The problem was the lack of definition of it all. Draco liked order, and labels could be extremely reassuring. So, if they weren’t boyfriends, and they weren’t quite friends with benefits, what were they? When Harry had suggested they should do it again, he’d done it in the vague tone of someone throwing an idea into the air to see how they like it. It lacked details. There was no protocol. Draco doubted he was allowed to go ahead and kiss him whenever he crossed the t@ss@r in the halls, no matter how lovely he seemed. He always ended up ogling him silently. Harry never looked back. Then, one cold and uninteresting morning, at the end of Charms class, Harry broke the silence between them. ‘D’you need help with your books?’ he asked, fit into the narrow space between their desks, fingers thrumming on the edge of Draco’s. Draco very primly pretended that he hadn’t been staring at Harry’s back all class, and that his presence there at least somewhat surprised him. ‘No. Was that an excuse to talk to me?’ ‘It was an excuse to be hanging at your desk until everyone else gets out.’ Draco suppressed a smile. ‘By all means then, help me with my books.’ Harry helped by absent-mindedly creating a pile - untidy, using the smallest books as a base, because he truly had no concept of order. Draco, on his part, left his chair to sit on the desk behind him instead, crossing his arms as he watched the others slowly filter out the room. When they were finally alone, Harry spoke:‘Are you busy tonight?’ ‘Not especially.’ ‘Are any Slytherins planning on sneaking out of the dorms?’ Draco huffed, an eyebrow raised in impatience.‘Did you wake up feeling cryptic this morning?’ ‘Just answer the bl@@dy question, Malfoy,’ Harry snorted. He was taking apart the pile of books now, lean fingers treading over their spines, and Draco was assaulted by the thought that he had pinned that very hand to a mattress a few nights ago. ‘I don’t know. I’d wager not.’ ‘Good,’ Harry smiled. ‘We should meet, then. In the Potions classroom.’ ‘Why there?’ ‘Will you go?’ ‘Of course I’ll bl@@dy go,’ Draco rolled his eyes. There was nothing in this world that would make him miss it - every fiber in his body was already coiling with excitement. ‘I’d just like to know why you chose the actual coldest classroom in the entire school.’ Harry chuckled. ‘Because,’ his eyes took on a mischievous twinkle. ‘No one likes to go about in the dungeons. Plus, after Ron threw that helmet in it, anyone who’s caught there again will be screwed.’Draco frowned. ‘You do understand those are both reasons not to go there?’Harry drew a wicked smirk, leaning over Draco’s desk so he was tauntingly close.‘No. They’re reasons why we won’t get interrupted.’ And he’d said it, Draco knew, with the explicit purpose of making ideas rise in his mind. Said it with the subtlest hint of suggestion and already with an overarch of smugness, for he knew what effect it would have. Knew Draco would go mad with it. But it wasn’t like Draco could just lean over the rest of the way and kiss him. The Charms classroom, with its walls stacked with forgotten library books, its desks harbouring perpetual mounts of lost quills and professor Flitwik forever hurrying in and out, wasn’t exactly the discreetest of places. Besides, as it seemed, he’d have the opportunity to kiss him later. So, Draco leaned away from the temptation and simply asked: ‘What time?’ They set it and Harry sauntered off with his little amused smile. Draco’s books were scattered all over the desk. He couldn’t quite bring himself to mind. The rest of the day was an agony of expectation. Time dripped too slow; the sun, surely in some stubborn fit, refused to go down. He finished his book, then had to reread the pages, having realized that he’d barely paid mind to the ending. When the night finally came, he’d gotten himself into a fit of nerves - after all, this was the first time they’d do anything sober. There was a conscious difference between fooling around drunk in bathrooms and bl@@dy abandoned houses, and meeting up in school without a drip of liquor. This was planned, and unignorable, and all too likely to go wrong. He considered changing shirts, was halfway through sliding off it before he changed his mind, sat in the common room until everyone had turned in and the flames had gone out and passed the time by watching the lazily swirling waters of the lake. When the hour approached, he gingerly walked out, making sure the entrance morphed to smooth stone once more before heading down to the Potions classroom. The corridor was deserted. The classroom door was firmly shut. Draco leaned against one of the walls, brow furrowed and arms wrapped around himself. He’d resolved - perhaps presumptuously, but it wasn’t like Harry had been subtle - to wear as little clothes as possible. He hadn’t expected Harry to make him wait in the freezing f@ck@ng halls. After around five minutes, the door opened with a low creak. Harry peered out. ‘You’re a bl@@dy idiot, you know that? Come in.’ Draco huffed, though he stepped in all the same. A tight, painful knot of anxiety inflated at the base of his throat as the door swung closed behind them.‘How was I supposed-’Harry cut him off with a firm kiss, pushing him against the door. Draco’s back snapped against the wood, his hands fell instantly to Harry’s hips - and his lip had healed, and he could kiss right this time, hungry pressure and a seeking tongue, a wicked bite that made Harry wince away. ‘You did that to shut me up, didn’t you?’ ‘Can you blame me?’ Harry smiled slyly. ‘It works wonders.’He stepped out of Draco’s grasp and walked further into the room - it was scarcely lit by a few enchanted candles poised perilously on the corners of the crammed shelves, casting eerie reflections in the jars of minerals, herbs and animal parts. It was a strange sight, all the desks clear and vacant. Made the room feel dead. When he turned back to Draco, he looked unsure. ‘It’s not the best.’ ‘No, it’s not,’ Draco agreed. As he was wont to, though his nerves were still thrumming loud and high-strung, he chased him into the center of the room. ‘Well, it’s not the worst.’ ‘Isn’t it?’ ‘Oh f@ck off,’ Harry bit out, shifting his weight from foot to foot. ‘Better than the Shrieking Shack.’ ‘Potter,’ Draco said, stretching his arm on some reckless impulse to catch Harry’s and pull him closer. ‘We could do it in the owlery for all I care.’ Harry laughed, soft and bright-eyed, resting his hands in the crooks of Draco’s elbows.‘At least there’d be straw on the floor,’ he said, toeing the cold stone. Draco smirked. Slowly, he coaxed Harry’s hips until they were flushed with his and linked his hands on his lower back.‘Are you planning on kneeling then, Potter?’ And he’d asked it in a taunting tone, but the very thought of it made him falter. Harry on his knees for him: he didn’t really know if he could cope. ‘Do you want me to?’ Harry asked - coy behind the tease, Draco could see it in his eyes, and wasn’t that absurd? ‘That’s the bl@@dy stupidest question you’ve ever asked,’ he breathed out, pulling him into another kiss. Slower than before, no less firm. Harry giggled against his lips, trying to suppress the sound, and enlaced his neck. He felt euphoric, having Harry in his arms like this, gentle in the beginnings of heat, intimate and hushed and without the urgent worry of being interrupted - this, he thought, was how it would feel if they were in a real relationship. Digging nails into his back, Draco walked them blindly against one of the desks, not bothering to break the kiss. Harry had been precisely as presumptuous as him - no robes, only the thin white uniform shirt, the flimsiest barrier keeping his fingers, lips, tongue from plains of gorgeous skin… the thought made him groan into Harry’s mouth, a ragged sound pitifully premature in the situation. ‘Malfoy,’ Harry moaned, clawing between his shoulder blades. ‘I- wait.’ Draco didn’t really, instead starting on the stubborn buttons of Harry’s shirt. ‘I swear, if you tell me to check the bl@@dy door-’Harry huffed a laugh. ‘No. It’s just… Where the f@ck is my desk?’ Draco sighed, dropping his head to Harry’s shoulder. Figures the git wouldn’t maintain one line of focus even then. His lips caught wetly on the warm skin of his neck when he spoke:‘Have you forgotten that this isn’t class, Potter?’Harry just shimmied away from the tight space between Draco’s body and the edge of the desk, dragging him by the arm towards his own.‘See, I want to make at least one good memory here,’ he said between open-mouthed kisses. ‘Come friday I’m going to fail Potions.’ ‘What, Slughorn’s little test?’ ‘It’s hardly little- bl@@dy hell, would you f@ck@ng… these buttons are f@ck@ng sewn on…’ Harry complained. Draco snorted and took his shirt off over his head. The cold air prickled at his bare skin; Harry’s hands were impossibly hot. ‘Anyways- here, yeah?’ ‘Here,’ Draco agreed eagerly. ‘Whatever, Potter. Just take your shirt off as well,’ and as he said it he finished on the last of the buttons and yanked the fabric from Harry’s lean arms, discarding it on the floor. Harry’s chest was all pale with flushed patches - and there they were, bringing back a bitter hint of guilt, fading bruises forming patterns over his ribs. Draco traced a few with his fingers, a light touch over the healing blood vessels, following up the ridge of his sternum and to his nipples. They were small and pink and surrounded in sensitive, quivering muscle, and, in Draco’s dreams, they’d always been too flickering a construct to properly appreciate - now, with no shortness of time and the solidity of reality, Draco indulged himself by flicking one, then rubbing the pretty little bud until it hardened. ‘Malfoy,’ Harry moaned, clutching Draco’s shoulders.‘Bl@@dy adorable, Potter,’ Draco breathed out, more to himself than anything, while he did the same to his other nipple. He just squirmed so perfectly, and moaned so prettily, and Draco wanted to do this every morning and every night and every lazy noon until he died. ‘Yeah, f@ck, you have to move if you want me to do it.’ ‘Do what?’ ‘Don’t be f@ck@ng dense, Malfoy.’ ‘Don’t be such a prude, then,’ Draco smirked, flicking one of the nubs again to make him hiss. ‘Say it.’ ‘You’re such a bl@@dy child,’ Harry grumbled, trying to look some semblance of cross even despite the ridiculously endearing keening noises that he kept trying to suppress. ‘Let me get on my knees so I can suck you off, you @rs@hole.’ ‘F@ck,’ Draco moaned. Harry had the audacity to look smug, so Draco squeezed both his nipples at the same time - a bit viciously, but the tw@t deserved it -, earning him an actual g@dd@mn whimper. Draco wanted to bottle it. ‘Come on then, Potter.’ He inched away just enough that they could change positions - Draco with the table edge digging in the back of his thighs, Harry closing him in. And then Harry slithered down, shirtless and flushed and panting, that oxymoronic elegance brimming with energy, holding the waistband of his slacks, and Draco’s c@ck pulsed painfully hard in its confines. Harry was close enough to breathe against it, such an irresistible tease with his red spit-slick lips, and, when Draco brought a hesitant hand to grab at his hair and Harry looked up at him, Draco couldn’t even believe it was real. ‘Malfoy,’ Harry warned as he eased down the waistband. ‘You can’t make fun of me. I’ll leave you with your d@ck out if you do.’ Draco scoffed. ‘Surprisingly, Potter, I don’t plan to p@ss you off while my c@ck’s between your teeth,’ he said. Then, seeing that Harry had stopped, he ran a thumb softly through his forehead. ‘It’s hardly possible to f@ck up, Potter. Lips like that, you’re practically made for it.’ That at least got him a small laugh; the tension eased from his shoulders, and Harry fully drew Draco’s slacks and underwear down, making his c@ck jump out an angry red. Harry put one hand around it -the first time he’d done it to Draco, the first time he’d done it to anyone - and stroked it once from root to tip. ‘What the actual hell do I do, Malfoy?’ Harry asked, a soft laugh escaping him. The way his eyelashes fluttered as he looked up at him - so trusting, so lovely - made Draco’s c@ck twitch in his hand. And he’d like to instruct him, to guide him through it with gentle words and clear sentences, but he was pretty sure that verbalizing any of his thoughts - ‘Lick my c@ck, Harry’ - would make him come on the spot. ‘D’you remember what I did to you?’ he said instead, voice a bit shaky as he stared at his own d@ck in between Harry’s fingers. ‘Do that.’ Harry kept still, a little smile on his lips. ‘It’s going to be sh@t, isn’t it?’ ‘It’s bl@@dy not, Potter. I’ll help you through it.’ Harry nodded a bit absently, let out a quickly fading chuckle and leaned down to lick experimentally along the length. He looked focused - Harry Potter on his knees, figuring out how to properly suck him off - and Draco was embarrassingly close to the edge. ‘See,’ he managed, slumping against Harry’s desk, ‘Wasn’t too hard, was it?’ Harry snorted and tried again, using the flat of his tongue, catching on a drop of precum that had bloomed on the slit. Then, with a little emboldened twinkle in his eyes, he wrapped his fingers around the base and guided the tip to his mouth. ‘F@ck, f@ck, Potter, yes, like that- teeth, cover them. There you go,’ Draco was a rush of hushed words, delighting in the warm wetness beyond Harry’s lips - and he twisted his fingers firmly into his hair, decadently keeping him there until he got used to the sensation. When he eased his grip, Harry ventured just a little bit further, slacking his jaw and taking him for a few seconds more before he withdrew. His hand went to take off his glasses - Draco caught it by the wrist. ‘Don’t you bl@@dy dare.’‘Why?’ ‘I like them.’ Harry snorted. ‘Do you really? Now or all the time?’ he asked with a little smile, stroking Draco fully again. Draco imagined he was using the type of movements he used on himself at night, tight, sure, with a Silencing charm wrapped complicitly around his bed - it was deliriously arousing, and a strange sense of intimate. The slick layer of saliva smoothed each stroke, dimming the friction to a subtle edge. ‘All the time. They look good on you, Potter,’ he managed between bitten off groans, and Harry took him into his mouth again like a bl@@dy reward for his honesty, fingers firmly circling the half he couldn’t swallow around. He bobbed his head once, slowly, testing, the sweetest little thing, then let out a moan that reverberated around Draco’s c@ck - and Draco knew he’d like sucking c@ck, knew he’d be the type to see the power in kneeling, knew he’d fight for control even with his mouth full and a drip of drool in the corner of his lips and his hair tightly twisted around Draco’s fingers. He’d known and now the confirmation rested flushed and breathless between his legs, and Draco suddenly wished that Harry would end up with a girl whenever he got bored of him - maybe even bl@@dy Ginny, so he could marry her and spend his life giving head to her all delicate and soft, and no one but Draco would ever get to see him stuffed full, his throat convulsing, breathless and flushed, his nipples still hardened into desperate rosy peaks.But maybe he wouldn’t get bored of him at all. Draco could allow himself to hope, couldn’t he? They were good together, they were perfect together - surely Harry ought to feel it too. Harry withdrew with an obscene, wet sound. He seemed to be holding in the urge to laugh, a smile teasing his lips. ‘Yeah, alright, I’m gonna- Malfoy, if you say anything, I swear-’‘I told you I’m not going to make fun of you, Potter,’ Draco scoffed. ‘You’re supposed to look ridiculous.’ This time Harry laughed fully. He looked giddy about the whole thing, like he was learning a new Quidditch technique or a strange hex, eyes twinkling in a mix of focus and excitement. ‘F@ck, okay,’ he breathed, shifting a little on his feet before swallowing him as far as he could go, almost immediately starting to gag but holding him there all the same with little breaths through his nose, an edge to his gaze, stubborn and fierce and wanton. Every pretense of finesse abandoned, all hesitante foregone, just the sinful warmth of his mouth and the slick of spit running down his lips and an utterly unforgettable obscene expression. ‘Potter, bl@@dy hell,’ Draco groaned, trying to keep his tone hushed. He gripped the edge of the cold desk for support as Harry swallowed around him and his tongue, as Harry shifted it in his mouth, flicked over his slit. It felt incredible, all the more because it was Harry bl@@dy Potter, because Draco had loved him for years and now he was here, kneeling, drooling over his c@ck and unashamedly wanton for it, and the symbiosis of sight and sensation was making his legs shake, his @rg@sm near pathetically fast. ‘F@ck@ng beautiful, Potter, f@ck- Merlin, you’re perfect, I-’ I love you, he meant to say, but the sound was strangled at the top of his throat, pushed sourly down, leaving him painfully vulnerable - and Harry looked up at him, all questioning eyes, so soft and gorgeous, and Draco couldn’t bear it. ‘Up, up, Potter, come on,’ he urged, voice ragged, pulling Harry up by the hair. Harry dropped his c@ck with the most unbelievable reluctant noise, and Draco caught him for a desperate kiss. He could taste himself on Harry’s tongue, and the saliva coating Harry’s lips made the whole thing impossibly filthy. His c@ck, slick with spit, grinded against Harry’s bare stomach, sticking pearls of precum to the overheated skin, and Draco wanted to smear it in, embed it there like some childish mark of possession, but he couldn’t bring himself to untangle his fingers from Harry’s hair where they were gripping sharply and angling his head just right, fussing with it, keeping him in place. Harry let out a string of moans, too surprised to properly fight for control of the kiss. Draco abused his mouth, plunged a demanding tongue inside to taste all over, nipped persistent and vicious at the bottom lip of this boy he loved, this boy he now, at least for the night, could hold in his arms. ‘Thanks for the breather,’ Harry chuckled against his lips. Draco hummed, running a soothing tongue over the flesh he’d been biting.‘Ready to go again?’ ‘I was never not ready, you’re the one who pulled me off,’ Harry huffed, all stubborn confidence. It made Draco smile. ‘Well, next time I’ll just keep you there until you choke, how’s that?’ he mused. Harry’s cheeks went a shade redder, his nails digging crescent moons into Draco’s shoulders. ‘Yeah, f@ck, let me.’ ‘I’m not stopping you.’ At that, Harry went down to his knees again. Draco’s c@ck twitched against the cold frame of his glasses, leaving a bit of slickness shining there - Harry Potter, utterly debauched with come on his glasses. Draco was very glad he’d told him to keep them on. Like the previous time, Harry took Draco’s d@ck eagerly, too much too fast like he did any challenge. Just like in any challenge, he thrived that way, working on reckless impulse and sure instinct, covering his teeth as Draco had told him and moving until Draco could feel himself jerk against the back of his throat. Harry made a strangled noise, eyes tearful, and tried to shift, but Draco kept him still by his hair. ‘Like this, Potter. Let me see you gag.’ In response, Harry’s eyes lifted in the sharpest edge; he fought against Draco’s hold, but not to withdraw - he inched himself even closer, until Draco’s c@ck was entering the narrow, hot channel of his throat. He did gag then, and Draco let him go, but he didn’t stray too far. Through a bunch of laboured pants he kept licking along Draco’s c@ck, sucking lightly at the head like he couldn’t bear not to press his lips against it. At the sight, Draco couldn’t help but take himself in hand, moaning as he did it. He was close to the edge again - he reckoned he wasn’t meant to last when he was with Harry. And how was that a thought he got to have now, not fantasy but fact? How was it that he got to come not from Harry’s picture in his mind but from his mouth and fingers and precious little sounds? Draco knew the universe’s ways: it worked in a balanced succession of gifts and tests. He figured that, after this, a hellmouth should open just under his feet. Not like he minded. The future was a fickle, irrelevant thing when the present was so heavenly. Holding the base of his c@ck with one hand and Harry’s hair with the other, he traced the head slowly along Harry’s slack lips, leaving an unsteady string of precum. When Harry looked up at him, his eyes were wide and desperate. ‘Remember when you told me I’d get it when I tried it? I get it.’ Draco snorted, then bit out a moan when Harry slid his tongue out mischievously to tease his slit. ‘Merlin, Potter, why do you ever do anything besides this?’ ‘I've got classes. And Quidditch.’ ‘I’ll get you thrown off the bl@@dy team, then.’ Harry laughed, idly nuzzling his c@ck. At this point, Draco was considering just stroking himself over the edge - just twice, all it would take - and coming all over Harry’s soft, pretty face. ‘And class?’ ‘You never pay attention anyway.’Harry hummed. ‘Maybe you’re right,’ he mused, replacing Draco’s hand with his own and giving him one firm stroke. ‘This is definitely more fun than Alchemy,’ he smirked, and then he was swallowing him down again. The sudden suction made him muffle a sound deep in his throat, a low and primitive thing akin to a growl; and the way his fingers worked in tandem with his mouth in a frenzy of stimulation, the sight of him red-faced and eager to please, the entire ecstasy of the situation pushed him right up to brink of his climax - pushed Harry too, because he was getting loud, or trying to, tears perfectly round in the corners of his eyes and neck tendons straining as he moaned long and desperate around Draco’s c@ck. ‘Potter- F@ck, f@ck-’ Draco stuttered, bucking mindlessly against Harry, who took it in stride, moving with him and humming even lower from his throat, a needy sound that reverberated through the whole of Draco’s length. It was those vibrations that tipped him over: he spilled down Harry’s throat, twitching against hot muscle, a hand on the back of Harry’s head to keep him in place. Harry’s gaze was unfocused, his grip weak on Draco’s hips, his breaths ragged through his nose. Spit and come bubbled down his bottom lip, glistening in his chin and forming a steadily dripping stream by the time Draco’s @rg@sm subsided. With a shaky breath, he pulled his c@ck out from between Harry’s slack lips and pulled him up. Harry’s legs were gelatinous little things - he crumbled softly into Draco’s chest, arms winding around his neck, and laid an absent, open-mouthed kiss on his collarbone. Draco immediately pulled him closer with a hand on his lower back, ignoring the way his spent c@ck ran through Harry’s warm skin. ‘You alright, Potter?’ Harry only hummed.‘Potter? Was I too rough?’ That got him a scoff right under his chin.‘F@ck off, Malfoy.’ Draco sighed. They were stuck in these molds of their past selves: too distrustful to accept gentleness, too cautious to admit weakness. He placed a soft hand on his nape, coaxing his head up so their eyes could meet. ‘I didn’t mean to.’ At first, Harry’s features were closed, dazed, impossible to read. Slowly, they gained colours and lines, the telltale crickling of a fire, and he smirked. ‘Quit worrying. I loved it.’ At the genuinity of his words, Draco’s smile grew as well - too fond, too vulnerable, his @rg@sm having rendered him tired and open. He kissed Harry’s forehead, right over his right eyebrow, then under his eye, then his mouth, slipping his tongue inside. ‘You tasting yourself on me, Malfoy?’ Harry murmured, eyes twinkling, an echo of their first night in the bathroom of the Three Broomsticks. It made Draco’s heart clench to think that Harry might remember it as vividly as he did. ‘Yes,’ he whispered, nipping lazily at Harry’s bottom lip, tasting the spit and come there. He really wished they’d done this on a bed; envisioned them falling asleep somewhere soft and safe, entangled in each other’s arms. ‘You swallowed all of it.’ Harry snorted. ‘Not like you were giving me another option.’ ‘Did you want another option?’‘No.’ ‘Worked out for everyone, then,’ Draco smirked before dipping his hand down to search Harry’s crotch. ‘You hard, Potter? Want me to take care of it?’ To his surprise, Harry squirmed away sharply.‘No.’ Draco frowned, cold fear coiling inside him.‘No, you don’t want me to take care of it?’ There was a pulse of silence. Then, almost reluctantly, Harry inched closer until their chests were flushed once more. ‘No, I’m not hard. I kind of...’ he waved a hand around. ‘...took care of it myself.’ That surely wasn’t what Draco had expected. He’d have guessed the unfamiliarity of the experience would have softened his erection, even despite how aroused he’d looked, how wanton and pink as he swallowed around his c@ck… but the thought that Harry had been so desperate that he couldn’t resist waiting, that he’d taken himself in hand as he sucked Draco off, that maybe he hadn’t even bothered to unbutton his slacks and simply palmed himself through the fabric, frantic and red-eyed and so utterly lustful... that was too perfect and too unlikely for Draco to actually consider. Did you really? Let me see.’ ‘What? Sod off,’ Harry managed through a surprised laugh; and he was angling away again, but Draco grabbed him by one hip and unzipped his slacks deftly. They slid half down his thighs, revealing come-soaked underwear and the subtle outline of a very soft d@ck. ‘F@ck,’ Draco breathed, running a finger through the dark wet patch. ‘Look at the mess you made.’ ‘Would you quit touching?’‘Would you quit whining? I’ll stop in a minute,’ Draco dismissed, still tracing the fabric over his c@ck. Harry twitched in overstimulation and Draco smirked, pressing a kiss to the shell of his ear. ‘You really loved it, huh?’ ‘Don’t get smug,’ Harry snorted, though he trailed off into a quiet moan as Draco cupped him with a tender touch. ‘You know, it’s not really usual for people to like their first time giving head,’ he went on, circling a bit of the damp cloth over Harry’s sensitive c@ckh@@d. ‘You’re just made to suck me off, aren’t you?’ ‘I told you I’d be good at it,’ Harry’s smile was teasing. ‘Now get your f@ck@ng hand away, it’s not like I’m coming twice.’ Draco laughed but obliged. His eyes lingered on the patch of come - because Harry had actually been so desperate from blowing him that he’d come in his bl@@dy pants, and Draco still couldn’t quite wrap his mind around it - until Harry tucked himself away and stepped backwards, officially breaking the intimacy. ‘Where on earth did you put my f@ck@ng shirt?’ ‘I didn’t put it anywhere. I threw it,’ Draco retorted as he zipped up his own slacks. When he was done he hopped onto the desk, running his fingers absently through the scratched wood. He hated the thought of walking back to the cold common room and slipping into bed alone; hated the thought of parting from Harry so cleanly and abruptly, like these moments where they were together belonged to someone else instead of bleeding seamlessly into his life. On impulse, he found himself wanting to delay the end. ‘Do you reckon it’ll be better or worse to have class here now that this happened?’ ‘Can’t get much worse,’ Harry chuckled. He was doing up the buttons of his shirt - really, it was a shame to hide all that skin. Draco bit his lip, tapping his fingers on the desk. ‘You know, Potter, it’s just Alihotsy. Slughorn’s test, I mean.’ Harry’s eyebrows raised. ‘What?’ ‘He found some instructions for an old version of it. Got excited about it. That’s the test,’ Draco murmured. ‘Well, how d’you know?’ ‘He’s Slytherin’s head professor, Potter. He told all of us.’ ‘McGonagall doesn’t tell us anything for Transfiguration,’ Harry countered, eyes flashing between anger and disbelief.Draco forced a shrug, aiming for nonchalant:‘The downside of having a House built on honour.’Harry was still glaring, and Draco dropped his gaze to find his own shirt. He didn’t want Harry angry, didn’t want to dispel the brief sweetness between them so completely. Perhaps he shouldn’t have said anything - but it was so easy to forget loyalties when Harry was near, when he was overrun with the instinct to help him. After all, Draco knew he was bad at potions - the bl@@dy idiot couldn’t be bothered to do his measurings twice, even with unicorn hair, which was such a fickle ingredient; he stirred clockwise when the instructions stated counter-clock, because ‘how in the bl@@dy hell will the potion know?’; he got distracted and shook the cauldron with a restless knee, he hardly listened to Slughorn’s explanations and then, when he needed help, he’d ask people like Pansy instead of asking Draco. Awful at it - and didn’t he want to become an Auror? He’d need an ‘Exceeds Expectations’ on his N.E.W.T. It was difficult, therefore, with all of this on his mind, and the fond, intimate sight of Harry doing up his shirt under the dim candle light, and the irresistible urge to pull him closer again or kiss him or persuade him to sneak into the Slytherin commons with him or something, anything to prolong their time together, to keep his mouth shut regarding Slughorn’s own indiscretions. ‘What’d you say it was?’ Harry spoke at last.‘Alihotsy. A variant of it, in any sense,’ he regarded Harry wearily. ‘Don’t go around telling your friends, Potter.’ Harry frowned slightly. The distance between them, though it was only a few steps, seemed impossible to overcome now. This was how friends talked - there was no need to be closer, it was bl@@dy inconsequential chatter, and still Draco felt himself resentful of it. ‘We’d just do some research beforehand. Slughorn wouldn’t know.’ Draco rolled his eyes. ‘No offense, but I’ve as much faith in you Gryffindors as I do in the Whomping Willow.’ Harry scoffed, but he didn’t offer any retort. Instead, when he answered, his voice was a reluctant sort of resigned.‘I guess I can’t tell Hermione either, can I?’ It figured that he’d try to do that: what good would the name Alihotsy do him if he didn’t find out how to brew it? It wasn’t like he’d manage it by himself - he’d need help. But Draco couldn’t very well let this get to her insufferably moral ears. Really, it’d been ludicrous to share this with a close friend of the known stickler that was Hermione Granger. ‘I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t,’ he said. Then, lower, staring at his shoes and gripping white-knuckled onto the edge of the desk, he added, ‘I could teach you how to brew it, if you’re that worried about it.’ ‘You could?’ Harry’s expression was one of skeptical surprise. Draco disliked it altogether: was it that inconceivable that he could be nice? He’d bought him those horrid treacle tarts twice now, hadn’t he? Perhaps that hadn’t quite translated just how nice Draco wanted to be - with foreheads kisses and hands smoothing down his clothes; walking him to class, carrying his f@ck@ng books, spoiling him, tethering him to the ground, his beacon of support and outlet for anger; a lackey, essentially, in his lovesickness - but it surely ought to have counted for something. ‘Well, it’d be a shame for you to fail the test after creating such lovely memories here,’ Draco mused, a tentative smile on his lips. Harry, to his relief, huffed a little laugh. ‘And when you say teaching,’ he started, his eyes twinkling as he stepped closer to grab at the sides of Draco’s shirt. ‘Do you mean you’ll be an arse the whole time?’Draco chuckled. The sound came out a shade too breathless. He placed his hands lightly back on Harry’s hips. ‘Of course. But I assure you it’ll be very educational.’ ‘Tutoring from the best in Potions, huh?’ Harry hummed, irresistibly close, that teasing smirk in his lips - lips still slick with stray droplets of spit and come, still raw red and swollen, so bl@@dy beautiful Draco could feel heat pool at his stomach again. ‘I won’t be a selfless tutor,’ Draco indulged himself by kissing those lewd lips softly, almost reverently, swiping his thumbs over sore hips. ‘I’ll expect you to suck up to me.’Harry snorted and kissed back, just the briefest press of lips before he pushed away with his hands on Draco’s chest. ‘Thanks for helping,’ he murmured. There was a rush of reckless responses on the tip of Draco’s tongue, temptingly tender words he could utter so fluidly in the honeyed moment: sentiments of desperate love and ready devotion that were the utmost truth. They choked a moment before they turned to sound, dissolving into sugar, dripping right back down his throat. ‘Just meet me here tomorrow, after Herbology. Can you manage that, Potter?’ Harry nodded, tapped him once above the sternum, this fond little thing before he stepped away. Their goodbyes were quick, Draco quietly debating whether he should kiss him goodbye until Harry, who was fussing with his shirt, flashed him a wave and scurried out the door before he could make a decision. With a sigh, Draco disenchanted the candles and left the classroom, making his way through the cold halls. It all felt colder now, lonelier with the memory of Harry’s skin still so present in his mind - and when he slipped into bed and idly trailed his fingers to the edges of the mattress, finding himself completely alone under suffocating sheets, he felt an overwhelming urge of sadness, a pang of despair, frightening in its intensity, like he’d never be able to sleep again unless he walked right up to Gryffindor’s dorms and tucked himself around the soft curve of Harry’s sleeping form, gently kissing him on the nape as a proper goodbye. When he did fall asleep, it was with the thought of that last contact between them: Harry’s fingers thrumming over his sternum, synching, for a single pulse, with the rhythm of his heart. 
  
  

    
      
        
        
          Come yell at me on discord, at winter_rouge'
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