Princes in Exile

It was definitely time for Silencing Charms around his room, Harry decided.

The image of Draco's pink cheeks and wide eyes still far too fresh in his mind, Harry cast the appropriate spells, doubling them around any areas that he felt needed it, like the window, the door, and the wall that separated his room from Draco's. After a moment's thought, he threw another one up around the bed, and yet another in the bathroom. He nodded to himself, satisfied. If his obviously damaged psyche decided that moaning Draco's name was the proper way to reach climax, well, at least this time Draco wouldn’t find out about it.

Yes, Draco had invaded Harry's thoughts during a wank. It was perfectly natural. It happened to every wizard. Not thoughts about Draco—despite what Draco might think—but thoughts about someone in close quarters, friend or foe… or whatever Draco was now. It was the proximity, that was all. And Harry did have a problem with separating good looks from good people. Just take Justin Finch-Fletchley. An attractive—very, very attractive, damn him—man who'd shown an interest in Harry once Harry had come out to his small group of friends. Harry'd been drawn to him, thinking their foundation of friendship would be enough to build on. Beyond the sex, Harry soon enough came to see there was nothing between them. For a while, it had felt good to be wanted, to be needed.

Now Draco needed him.

That was the connection. Harry was thinking about Draco because he was attracted to men who needed him. Again, he nodded, not caring that he must have looked like a loon, wandering around the room he was staying in, grim-faced and nodding. His theory didn’t hold very much water, though, when he thought about his other relationships. Neither Cho nor Ginny were the type to need a man, and they certainly hadn't acted half as clingy as Justin. Well, maybe Ginny in her more trying moments.

Harry realised that it wasn’t because Draco needed him—it was because he wanted Draco to need him.

Which meant that he was insane.

Putting the entire incident from his mind, Harry moved to his desk and checked the schedule. Draco was supposed to try a wandless cooling charm that morning. Harry knew he could do it. He wasn’t hopeless when it came to wandless magic. He just gave up too easily when it didn’t come to him right away. Harry decided not to let Draco veer off the schedule any more. The previous day's foray into Legilimency had been both startling and unwelcome. Not only had Draco pushed past his mental barriers—though, admittedly, they hadn't been that strong since he'd not expected Draco to prove to have any ability whatsoever—but he'd latched on to the exact memories that Harry didn't want him to see—and that was the mark of a true, latent talent in Legilimency. It was worth encouraging, yes, but it wouldn’t help Draco do the wandless magic that he needed to live his day-to-day life.

After the cooling charm, he would have Draco counter it with a warming charm. Harry had to know that Draco could defeat, or cancel, his own magic, or the results could be disastrous. Cooling charms that froze him to death in his sleep, hovering charms that floated objects right up to the ceiling, cleaning charms that scrubbed his skin right off… Harry shuddered. The possibilities were endless, many of them fatal.

It was all about control. Yes, Draco could probably do wandless magic. But could he control it? Could he master the nuances of such magic without a focusing agent?

Harry supposed it was his job to find out.

He dressed casually, donning snug denims—given to him by Justin, but there was no sense punishing them for Justin's wrongdoings—and a green jumper that Hermione insisted made him look dreamy. He wasn’t sure how the jumper had even made it into his duffel, but there it was. He usually wore it just to annoy Ron, who hadn't much liked Hermione's glazed eyes when he'd tried it on at her insistence. He had to admit, he wasn’t unattractive.

Next to Draco's automatic grace, however, he felt clumsy, like his body extended beyond its natural barriers.

He really had to stop thinking about Draco that way. The man was a git—it should have been easy to hate him. After all, he'd managed to do for so for more than a decade without thinking things like automatic grace and piercing pale eyes. Wait—when had he thought that second thing? Damn it, he was thinking it now!

Taking charge of the matter, Harry left the room and walked the six paces to Draco's door. He treated it to an authoritative knock before crossing his arms over his chest and waiting.

The door opened to reveal Draco as Harry had never seen him before.

Piercing pale eyes was the least of Harry' worries.

Draco lifted a slender, arched eyebrow, his hands tying a knot in his silk dressing robe, a silver so pale it was almost white and matched Draco's hair like it had been made just for him. Of course, it probably had. At this thought, Harry's eyes moved to Draco's hair—it was as close to dishevelled as Harry suspected it ever got, which meant it was miles neater than Harry's on his best day. There was a slight tangle on one side, and three soft strands fell onto his face as his other eyebrow rose to join his first.

"Well, who would have thought," Draco said with a smirk that was strangely lacking in cruelty. "Harry Potter does know that red is not his colour."

"My… what?" Harry asked, frowning. Draco was monochrome against a richly coloured backdrop, grey in a world of garish shades. He shook his head to send the thoughts scattering and ran a hand down the sweater over his stomach. "It was a gift."

Draco nodded. His expression changed when his eyes moved to Harry's jeans. "Were those a gift, as well?" he asked with a sneer, obviously disapproving.

"Actually, yes. From an ex."

"I must say it doesn’t surprise me that everything you own came from charity," Draco said, his voice suddenly cold. He brought a hand up to push the hair from his face and touched the knot on the side. His eyes widened and he stepped back into the room, closing the door without another word.

Harry waited. He could hear Draco moving around inside, hopefully getting dressed. He realised that his hands were clenched into fists and forced himself to relax. His clothes weren't charity. It wasn’t like everyone saw what a hopeless case he was and gave him clothing to correct the errors of his ways.

Although, that probably was the case with Justin. Harry wrinkled his nose. The jeans needed to be thrown out.

When Draco emerged, after almost half an hour, he was wearing grey slacks and a black oxford with the cuffs rolled over twice. His hair was, unfortunately, impeccable.

"What's on the agenda today, oh, wise one?" Draco asked, breezing past Harry and down the hall.

Harry met his stride easily, not letting Draco take the lead. "Some simple charms to gauge your capacity for control. If you can't manage these, I'm afraid I'm going to have to suggest we not continue."

Draco stopped without warning, forcing Harry to backtrack once he realised. "What?" he asked, eyeing Draco's livid features.

"So, what, if I can't do this on the first try, we just give up? I'm relegated to living as a Muggle based on today's outcome?"

Draco looked more upset than Harry would have expected, and he tried to sound soothing when he said, "We won't give up, Draco. I just meant that you can't practise wandless magic, especially by yourself, if you can't manage to control it."

Draco's pale features brightened and he began to walk once more. "Well, then I suppose you'll be staying here until I have perfected it, won't you? I'd say that's incentive enough to teach me properly, wouldn’t you?" He gave Harry a smug smile and walked to the dining room, where they ate Peachy's breakfast in silence.

Harry was… reasonably certain that Draco couldn’t force his presence forever. But given Robards' near eagerness to put Harry on Draco's case, he wasn’t sure enough to make a snide comment in return.

"To the solarium?" Draco asked once they were finished eating.

"Actually, I thought we might go outside," Harry said. If anything went wrong, it would be much easier to deal with if he didn’t have to be concerned about some ancient vase or heirloom tapestry.

"Out… side?"

"Yeah, you know, where the sun is. And trees, usually. Grass?"

"Yes, thank you ever so much, Potter. Like you, I learned what outside consists of at a very young age. I want to know why you think outside is a good idea."

Harry had just about had enough of Draco's attitude. It wasn’t any worse than usual, but the culmination of bitchy remarks and the entitled way he questioned everything made Harry see grey at the edges.

"Because I bloody well said so, Draco. And if you've a problem with it, you know exactly where to shove it." With those words, he strode past Draco to the front door, using his wand to throw it open before walking through without a glance back.

He heard Draco huff, followed by the click of expensive loafers on the parquet.

Harry kept walking until he found a place to his liking. Around the back of the manor, the area beside the garden was flat and open with a small pond that would serve well if Draco managed to set anything on fire—or if Harry needed to drown him for a few seconds. He took a seat on the grass, cross-legged, and waited for Draco to catch up.

Draco looked down at him, his eyes incredulous even though his sneer tried to say he'd expected nothing less than Harry Potter in the dirt.

"You expect me to sit on the ground?"

"Yes."

Draco looked around as if a chair would appear. His fingers twitched at his right side, a sure sign that he was wishing he had a wand.

"Can you at least Scorugify the spot for me?"

Harry sighed. "If I Scourgify the ground, you know what would happen?"

"My trousers would live to see another day?"

"It's dirt beneath the grass. A cleaning spell would just make a hole."

Draco said nothing.

"Oh, for—" Harry reached for the hem of his jumper and began to tug it up, intending for Draco to sit his pristine arse on it instead of the evil, evil grass.

"Whoa!" Draco cried, stepping forward and reaching out with two hands to stop Harry without actually touching him. "I'll sit."

Harry was relieved, if a little perturbed at how adamant Draco was at not seeing him shirtless. He watched, stifling a grin, as Draco sat delicately, a small grimace marring his features.

It took a few minutes for Draco to get over the fact that he was sitting on the ground, but he settled in enough to give Harry an expectant look.

"Cooling charm first. I want you to close your eyes and imagine the wand movement, but instead of following through with your hand, I want you to picture the air around you following that movement. You can say the charm if you have to, but try it first without words."

Draco stared at Harry for a moment before closing his eyes. He shifted a few times, obviously finding the grass distasteful to sit on, but then he went still and exhaled very slowly.

Harry threw up a temperature-telling charm behind Draco's head so he could monitor whether it was successful without Draco being distracted by the numbers when he opened his eyes.

"Is it working?" Draco asked, barely opening his lips to speak.

"Not yet."

Draco frowned and his face took on a look of intense concentration. His eyebrows drew together and his lips were a tight line. Harry watched him, enjoying the play of emotions over his face. Draco thought he was perfectly contained, that he was unreadable, but the more time Harry spent with him, the more obvious he became.

"How about now?"

Harry sighed. The temperature-telling charm hadn't budged, but if Draco didn’t get encouragement, he would give up whether he knew it or not.

"Temperature dropped two degrees, Draco. Great work. Keep it up. Concentrate. Don't talk, just imagine the wand movement like a dance. Dance and the magic will happen."

Draco's face softened—he was still concentrating, but he seemed relieved that it was working. Harry didn’t feel bad about lying—especially not when the glowing red letters did denote a two, then four-degree drop. He smiled.

A fluttering sound reached Harry's ears, breaking Draco's concentration a moment later. He opened his eyes, unmasked pride visible just for Harry until Draco took it back within himself, impassive once more.

They both watched as an owl bearing a small note flew over, circling once before landing on the ground beside Draco and walking over, sticking its leg out while it eyed Harry with distaste. Stupid Malfoy owls.

"My apologies," Draco said distractedly, taking the letter and cracking the seal. He read it in seconds and closed it again. "No response," he said to the owl, which gave him a disapproving look—and one more for Harry—before swooping back into the sky and disappearing.

"Everything all right?" Harry asked, eager to get back to the lesson.

"My father," Draco said with an uncharacteristic sigh. "Again."

"Oh? Is he returning?"

Draco shook his head, looking a million Apparitions away. "I don't know what he expects me to do," Draco said. His eyes were on the letter in his lap. "I tried—"

Harry waited for Draco to finish. When he showed no signs of doing so, Harry prompted him. "Tried?"

Draco seemed to come back to himself. He glared at Harry, but it was weak. "To find a job, become worthy of my inheritance, to prove myself, all that rubbish."

"Ah," Harry said, hiding his shock that Draco would reveal anything so personal. "No luck?"

Draco narrowed his eyes at Harry. "Let's get back to the lesson, shall we? I can feel the filth seeping into my bones as we speak."

Over the next hour, Draco managed to lower the temperature ten degrees, a change they could feel without needing the temperature spell. Draco would have done much better if it hadn't been for another owl intruding no less than three times.

Finally, angered that the owl had interrupted Draco during a very steady decline into coolness, Harry snapped, "Persistent, isn’t he?"

Draco looked confused but then said, "Oh. No, these aren’t from Father."

"Who, then?" Harry demanded, frustrated that his time was being wasted and Draco's magic squandered.

"They're from Pansy." Draco exhaled through his nose. "I suppose I'd best tell the owl not to return." So saying, he instructed the pushy little owl not to come back regardless of what its mistress directed.

Harry was alarmed at the burn of jealousy that heated his insides. Pansy Parkinson. The one who'd taken Draco away after Harry had hexed him. He remembered them having a thing during their school years; it only made sense that the two snooty pure-bloods would end up together, and bully for them.

"Back to work," Harry said brusquely, angry with himself for caring.

Draco gave a curt nod and closed his eyes again. Almost immediately, the air around them became cool and then almost cold. At Harry's instruction, Draco eased off the charm, opening his eyes, pride written across his face.

"Well done," Harry said, perhaps less effusively than he might have before he'd realised the letters were from Pansy.

Draco just nodded his thanks, but he was obviously pleased with himself. Truth be told, Harry was just as pleased. Draco's success meant that he would be more likely to want to continue, which meant Harry might actually see his own flat again before the lease agreement was up.

"Heating charm now. And go slow," Harry said. He inched closer to feel the effects better. Cooling charms were easier than heating ones, and the latter were mainly contained to the immediate area around the wizard casting.

Draco straightened his posture, resting his hands on his knees. He took a few deep breaths, and Harry could see the exact moment he tried the spell. Nothing happened. Undeterred, Draco tried again as Harry watched. Still no sign of warmth.

"It isn’t working," Draco muttered, his eyes still closed.

"Just give it time. Concentrate on the dance of the movement in your head. Imagine the area getting warmer. Imagine your magic working for you, a slave to your needs."

Draco's cheeks pinked and he pursed his lips. Harry could tell he was throwing himself into the spell.

Then the rest of Draco's face became pink with exertion. Draco rubbed his hands on his knees before reaching to tug at his collar. A fine sheen of sweat made Draco's throat glisten.

Harry frowned; Draco was overworking himself. He leaned forward and put his hand over Draco's, intending to tell him to take it easy.

Harry gasped and drew his hand back as if burnt. Draco's skin was burning.

He reached for his wand and changed the temperature spell to tell him Draco's body temperature instead. He was way too hot. "Draco," he said calmly, tightening his hand over Draco's. "End the spell. It's time for a break."

"I've almost got it," Draco rasped. He was panting. The hand under Harry's was inhumanly warm—and trembling.

Harry concentrated on bringing Draco's internal temperature back down, but he could tell right away it wasn’t working. "Draco, stop it immediately!"

Draco only clenched his jaw. Sweat trickled down his temple.

Harry had no choice. He aimed his wand at Draco. "Aguamenti!"

Draco gasped and spluttered as he was doused in ice-cold water. His eyes opened at last, and he glared at Harry through the water dripping down his face. "You—!"

Harry ignored him and reached out to grab his face, checking to make sure the water had broken his concentration enough to bring him back down to his normal temperature. He sighed in relief; Draco was fine, if a touch warm.

"What in Merlin's name are you doing, you cad?" Draco screeched, leaping to his feet, somehow dignified even sopping wet.

Harry rose wearily. He hadn't realised how frightened he'd been. Now that the adrenaline was fading, the ramifications were becoming clear. Draco couldn’t be trusted to practise wandless magic alone.

"You were raising your core temperature, you goddamn fool!" Harry shouted, his fear manifesting itself in anger.

"What are you on about?"

Harry closed his eyes. "You were so hot to the touch that had you gone on any longer you could have caused brain damage." He took a step back. "Goddamn it, Draco! Why couldn’t you just stop when I told you? What am I even doing here if you won't follow my instructions?"

Draco paled, looking shaken. "I… I didn’t know. It felt like it was working."

Harry laughed mirthlessly. "It was working. On you." He took deep breaths to calm himself, but he couldn’t get the image of Draco's ordinarily pale face red and sweaty as his blood near boiled.

"Well, it worked, then. Right? I mean, not properly, but I did that without a wand. That's something." Against all things sane, Draco looked proud of himself.

Harry threw up his arms. "I can't do this. You need someone who doesn’t care if you kill yourself. I can't have that on my conscience. I'm out of here." He walked a few steps before being stopped by Draco's quiet voice.

"You're the only one who does care if I kill myself. Anyone else… would have let me." Draco cleared his throat. "I'm sorry I scared you, Potter."

Clenching his hands into fists, Harry knew he was shaking. With anger or fear or frustration or what, he didn’t know.

"I'll listen to you from now," Draco said. The fact that he considered his words a heavy concession was evident in his voice. He really thought he was doing Harry a favour by allowing Harry to keep him from killing himself.

After a long moment, Harry shook his head. "I'll be in my room. Don't try anything until the next lesson. I need some time to myself."

He left Draco, soaking wet with grass stains on his arse, standing in the middle of the lawn. He needed a fucking drink and he planned on raiding Draco's bar until his nerves were good and settled.

The only good thing about the entire morning was the fact that Pansy's letter had gotten drenched right along with Draco.