Another Kind of Love

In Draco's bedroom, he'd dared to pull all of his clothes off, but slipped under his dark sheets to be considerate of Harry. Bringing the pillow under his face, he rested his cheek on the navy sheets and plumped it with his hands beneath.

Harry had excused himself to the bathroom as Draco started stripping and came out with lotion. Draco would've pointed out there was lotion in the nightstand, but he worried what sort of threatening images that might conjure.

To Harry's credit, he warmed the lotion in his hands before clapping them down on his shoulder blades and distributing the lotion over his shoulders. Draco groaned as Harry's thumbs pushed along the muscle just below the turn of his shoulder. It was a muscle that tended to tense up quite a bit on Draco when he was stressed and immediately Harry started working on the knots.

His thumb pressed against the soreness creating a delicious release in the muscle that bridged the gap of sharp pain and loosening stretch. Pressing his face against the pillow to muffle the moans, Draco pumped very slowly against the bed. It was more of an experiment than getting off as he still wasn't quite hard yet. Harry didn't seem to notice, which pleased Draco just fine.

Harry's fingers hooked over Draco's shoulders and his thumbs swept inward, squeezing in on the base of his neck and the top of his spine. Walking his thumbs along the back of his neck, Draco heard and felt the small pops of bones presumably shifting into place, or joints clicking together. Draco wasn't entirely sure of the mechanics of it, but it felt brilliant.

Draco pressed his palms flat against the headboard and flexed his shoulders a few times, feeling the improved range of motion. He writhed under the massage as Harry moved down his spine with his palms, pressing his fingers deep into the tissue as he went.

Somewhere in Draco's shifting, he could feel the sheet moving over the crest of his arse. The cool air was warmed by Harry's body and Draco pushed harder against the mattress. He kept his face buried in the pillow even though it stifled his heavy breathing. He found himself at a sudden lack for oxygen as his spine popped and his cock ground into the mattress, running through the warm dots of precome he left on the sheets.

Spine popping, Draco grew more daring, flexing his thighs as he ground his knees into the bed. Were he not so aroused and so focused on getting off, he might've been ashamed of how obvious he was being, practically forcing his arse into Harry's face. Sometimes, he wanted to just take charge as he had when they did fuck. He wanted to just throw him down and sit on him again, or tease his hole with his fingers, watching the expressions change as he relaxed enough to take Draco.

All of that seemed so far out of his reach that it was barely worth speculating on. Instead, he concentrated on Harry's hands moving down his tailbone. The hard press of Harry's palms on the topmost part of his arse pinned him to the bed, ending all but the most minimal of movements. Taking it as a sign to stop, Draco stilled and waited breathlessly and disappointed for Harry to move up his back again.

But he didn't. Harry's hands vanished from his back and Draco cursed himself until he heard the tell-tale wheeze of the lotion bottle. Harry's hands squelched and slicked together a moment and then he resumed his massage at Draco's tailbone.

Draco was shocked and aroused to find that instead of moving up, Harry's hands moved down and he kneaded Draco's arse. He filled his hands with the cheeks and squeezed them almost to the point of pain. Harry moved his hands in opposing circular motions and Draco felt mortified and excited about what Harry was seeing.

As his cheeks split apart repeatedly for Harry, Draco grabbed the pillow again, holding it tightly. His whole body was tense, all the way to his curling toes. The insides of his arse cheeks moved together, creating a luscious friction between them.

Unable to stand it anymore, Draco pushed his knees into the bed again and squirmed against the sheets. Maybe Harry would get weirded out or turned off, but Draco was becoming increasingly desperate to get off.

Tentatively, Harry worked his fingers down between Draco's cheeks. Unable to control himself Draco gasped for air and turned his cheek against the pillow. Harry kept Draco spread open now and caressed around his hole, arousing the thrill of soft tickling sensation around it. It made Draco feel sensual in a part of his body that had been so often abused.

Draco raised his hips, trying to goad Harry into penetrating him, if even with just one finger. The rubbing was gone from his cock so he wrapped his hand around it and pulled.

For a moment, Harry froze and Draco thought he might well scream. Or cry. He quickened the pace on his cock, hoping to at least get off with Harry feeling his arse. He squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated on the idea that Harry was looking at his hole, that he could see it, that he'd been inside of it before.

Coming to life again, Harry caressed Draco's hole with more pressure, carefully touching and prodding each bit of it. He caressed it again a few times, dragging his fingers over it until he finally pushed two fingers in.

Immediately, Draco pushed into the invasion, wanting to feel Harry's fingers as deeply inside of him as they could go. Harry experimented with angles, brushing Draco in different places, leaving Draco to try and adjust his hips to get him to the right spot inside of him. His hand was a blur on his cock, and he chanced a look over his shoulder to see Harry's face.

Harry's expression was aroused, but focused and Draco couldn't help but stare at him, thinking about how Harry was looking at him, that he was seeing the tiny mouth clinging to his fingers as he pushed in and out. The idea, along with the pressure from Harry being inside of him made Draco's body tense. He felt the shuddering need of his arousal cloud his vision and sent his body into tense spasms as come spit onto the sheets.

Draco collapsed against the bed, dropping into his own come, but Harry's fingers kept working inside of him, wriggling and teasing him. He was about to object it as unnecessary, but then he heard the soft pat of skin-on-skin-- the distinctive sound of wanking.

Propping his head on the pillow, Draco curled his torso around so he could watch Harry's hand coyly under his boxers. Just the shining tip poked out of the top, but otherwise his hand moved under the flannel fabric.

Harry's face was flushed and his neck muscles strained. His glasses half clouded up and he glistened slightly in the low light of the room. All Draco could do was watch and feel the sneaking tendrils of his cock firming up again at Harry's fingers probing him and how much he was getting off on it. It didn't take long before Harry was choking out his own orgasm. He hunched forward as if he could hide it from Draco, but Draco was watching too keenly not to see the spatter of silvery come on his chest.

When Harry had finished, he pulled his fingers out of Draco and looked disconcerted. Draco sat up and pulled Harry into his arms and kissed him slowly, rubbing his bottom lip to Harry's and clung, fretting he'd leave.

"Was that all right?" asked Harry after breaking the kiss.

"Perfect," Draco whispered against his lips.

"Good." Harry pulled Draco tighter against him and rolled onto his back, pulling Draco with him, leaving him covered by Draco's torso.

Draco wanted to ask Harry if he enjoyed it, but decided that the answer might hurt. He decided to take satisfaction that he'd gotten Harry off, which was as clear an indicator as any that he'd enjoyed it on some level. He kissed Harry again and then rested his ear over Harry's heart to listen to its rapid beating.

--

"Get up, Malfoy."

Draco jolted from dreamland, tumbling back to reality a jumble of nerves and paranoid. Something was wrong. He could tell by the terse way Harry spoke to him and the way he loomed over the bed. The light was behind him, obfuscating his expression.

"Is something wrong?" Draco blushed after Harry jerked away the covers to rouse him faster, revealing his nudity. He grabbed for the sheet but Harry yanked it back and threw a black robe at him.

"Yes. We need to go." Harry's voice sounded choked, heavy with something other than panic, although that was creeping on the edges. He didn't seem in as much of a hurry as he wanted to be terse.

Pulling the robe over his head, Draco pulled it modestly down over his body before standing up and then pulling on his briefs that had landed with the robe. He noticed that Harry was similarly attired. If it hadn't been mid-morning with the sun up, Draco would've thought that they were going to sneak off.

Harry looked rather grim by posture, but it wasn't until Draco smoothed out his robes and looked at his face that Draco saw the red blotchiness of his complexion. He'd seen that miserable expression before. That day he'd confronted Harry after Sirius had died he was affected by the same melancholia. "What...?"

"Ginny. Was.... killed," said Harry. His eyes glistened, but he pressed his lips together and looked determinedly at some point in the room, mentally distancing himself from what he was saying.

Draco reached to pull him into an embrace, but Harry turned briskly to leave the room.

"We're Flooing to the Weasleys's now."

Wrapping his vacant arms around himself, Draco followed, the billowing waves of guilt mounting with every step down the stairs that he took. He'd driven Ginny from this house out of some notion of making Harry Potter fall in love with him and now she was dead.

It was his fault, and Harry knew it.

--

Keeping his head bowed so his hair curtained his face, Draco avoided looking at any of the Weasleys, feeling their silent accusations. He'd mucked with the wonder couple and she'd gone home. He knew she was in danger. He'd saved her from it himself. Not only had he not wanted Ginny for himself, he had kept her from who she really should be with. They all hated him, he knew it. He could feel it as tangible as the scratchy wool of the formal black robe and the uncomfortable stench of come he could still smell even though he'd tried to wash it off his belly in the bathroom.

The area felt scratched raw and he could feel it prickle with each exhale as he counted breaths to keep himself from getting overwhelmed during the short funeral ceremony. She would be interred with the other Weasleys in the family plot.

They all had such warm family memories to relive, all of which seemed to bring smiles to their faces through the tears and misery. Ginny as a toddler asking precocious questions, mysteries of magic all her own, her love of daisies, the pranks she'd pulled with the twins.

Draco wanted to take Harry's hand, but every time he looked at him, he received a glare in return.

It was fair enough. He'd pushed Ginny away after the kiss. She'd barely been anything to him other than someone to talk to Harry about, and someone to make Harry jealous with. He considered her a friend, in spite of how he'd used her, at least up until she kissed Harry.

That he was still angry with her over such a minor thing solidified his self-loathing and he found he could bear himself or this living area no longer.

The Burrow had been put under a Fidelius Charm, same as the Malfoy Manor. He was free to walk the grounds and no more, and after the attack, presumably made by her brother Percy as an ill-conceived retribution for what he perceived as being mistreated by his family. Draco had never seen him amongst the Death Eaters but had heard rumor that he was an inside man at the Ministry.

"No Harry, it was a quick kill. Just the Killing Curse and she was gone." Fred recounted the tale as best he could. She'd been just in front of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes when it happened. As the Weasleys had figured it, Percy had been waiting for the twins to come out but found Ginny instead.

Draco secretly wondered if it had anything at all to do with familial issues or if there wasn't a vying for a better position with the remnant Death Eaters. Percy had always been ambitious, and what better way to demonstrate your loyalty than by killing your own blood?

He knew a few old and very dark magics that he wouldn't mind setting after him, but Draco was pointedly not allowed on the family discussion. Nor was Harry, who sat sullenly by the fire, contemplating his hands on his lap. Draco crossed to him, but Harry gave him such a look of intense disgust that he took a step back and decided to go for a walk.

Outside, the sun was spring-bright, coloring the trees in pale shades of green as sprouts opened to salute the sun. Everything seemed to be filled with the promise of a new beginning; not at all your stereotypical London day. Seeing a respectably large Buddelia bush in shades of pink and red, Draco made his way to it to toy with the blossoms.

He didn't know how long he'd been walking around and toying with the flowers, but it must have been a good while as he heard the snap of twigs and crush of grass. Shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun, he saw Molly Weasley making her way to him.

"Mr Malfoy," said Mrs. Weasley, her tone edgy. Draco had overheard her stern voice directed at others, but this was something angrier, but sadder as well.

Inwardly, Draco cringed that she was going to call him out for blocking her daughter from happiness both with Harry and himself, and relegating her to this early death. He smoothed his thumb over the tiny cones of blossoms, bracing himself to hear what she'd say.

"It's my fault, you know," she confided.

Draco shook his head. "No, it's my fault. She kissed Harry and..." he frowned, she probably didn't know about any of that, nor did she want to.

"I know, Malf--Draco. May I call you Draco?" He'd been about to correct her, but since she asked and he'd just killed her daughter, he figured she could take liberties.

He nodded.

"Draco, she felt horrid about kissing Harry. She knew it was out of line. She worried about it-- about you-- for weeks."

Draco wondered how that was supposed to help. He started picking small blossoms off of the flowering cone. "Yes, well...."

What else was there to say? Mrs. Weasley took the branch from Draco. He shoved his hands in his pockets and slouched.

"She wanted to explain to you that Harry was just having doubts. She thought kissing him would show that there was a lack of passion between them, that it wasn't the same as..." Molly trailed off, looking like she felt as awkward as he did about the subject. She nodded once to establish that he understood and cut to the chase. "She hated that that was what you awoke to after all you'd been through."

"That was a silly assumption to make and a reckless way to test someone." The idea of kissing Harry to prove to him he didn't like girls made sense in a Ginny sort of way, but Draco didn't approve, even post-mortem.

"That's our Ginny," said Mrs. Weasley with a genuine fondness. "Things are as how she sees them, even when they're not. She acts-- acted-- on her own, often wrong opinions. Today she decided that the threat was for all intents and purposes over and demanded to be let out to walk to her brothers' shop."

Draco very much wanted to call Ginny a lackwit, but he couldn't see that going over well. She wasn't as big a prize to kill as Harry and Draco were, but she definitely had a target on her back, as she well knew since she'd been captured before. She definitely didn't need to be popping about. "I wish she hadn't."

Mrs. Weasley dragged him into an unwilling hug, and he was reminded of Ginny. After the initial shock wore off, he relaxed and patted her back in a "there, there" motion, not sure what to do about this predicament. She sobbed until his shoulder was wet, just another petty discomfort in this already awkward situation.

"I just want her back. I want to not have allowed her to run off without protection."

Not knowing what else to do, Draco whispered, "It's not your fault. There was no stopping her."

"She was really happy for you and Harry. She wants-- wanted-- you both to be happy." Mrs. Weasley whispered into Draco's chest

Draco thought about explaining to her just how unlikely it was that he would be happy. It was a fleeting emotion, anyway. He'd like to have a more solid goal. Vengeance seemed worthy enough.

"I wish I could've made her happy."

"You did, Draco. You did. You may not think so, but you made her happy just being yourself. She loved you. More than you understand." Mrs. Weasley looked up at him, her eyes swollen and red. She pushed his hair back and nodded up to him. "Don't ever doubt that."

Though Draco knew the sentiment was meant to cheer him up, he thought he might be sick with remorse. Everything he'd felt towards her, the anger and betrayal seemed so utterly useless now.

She'd loved him and he couldn't love her back. He'd fixated on Harry and now he'd lost everything. Closing his eyes, he nodded, feeling the emotions rise up through his cheeks. Squeezing his eyes shut, he determined to keep the tears from spilling over.

With the warm, wet dribble sliding from the corner of his eye, he looked miserably up to the heavens and nodded. He knew he should say that he loved her too, that that was the right thing to say and it was really the least he could do. He could almost feel the inklings of the emotion, but they were strangled by his doubt, by the time he'd spent hating her.

Draco had doubted her. He'd been the betrayer. Sniffing, he nodded again and looked down at Molly. He was at a complete loss for words, but said the only thing he could think of: "I'm sorry."

She squeezed him again, but he wriggled free and peered around the yard uncomfortably and muttered, "I have to go," and flung himself back to the house to Floo back to the Manor.

--

"What are you doing?" Harry snapped.

Draco glared at Harry; his wand was mid swish as the bare necessities of his clothing rolled up and fitted themselves into a knapsack. "Packing."

Harry was packing manually, throwing his clothing into his own bag, each item punched into the bag like an assault, as if he could vent his anger through packing alone. Or so it seemed to Draco. "I told you, I'll be back in a couple of days. You are not coming with me. You are going to wait here."

"No." Though Draco was seething with as much rage as Harry was, he channeled his fury into his spells, each flutter of clothing landed with precision and focus. Petulant though he was, he hadn't been a complete cock-up with magic. Maybe he wasn't as fast as Harry in dueling, but he knew dark magic and he had more practice with it. Harry would need him in order to do this.

"I'm not asking," Harry shot back.

Draco didn't answer but summoned food from downstairs, bundling it in with his clothing. This was the most they'd spoken since the funeral, and Draco felt they'd said more than enough already. He wasn't going to sit idly by while Ginny's murderer was on the loose. He'd been scared before, but if nothing else, he now knew he needed to take a stand against something; even if it was just Percy Weasley and a band of rogue Death Eaters.

"Look Malfoy, it's just for family to deal with Percy." Harry spat Percy's name like fire from his tongue, like he couldn't wait to get rid of the word. "The mood you're in, you'll kill him and the family doesn't want that."

"You're not a Weasley either, Potter." Draco had a few choice things to say about the violence of Harry's mood, but he didn't want to speak to Harry right now. He just wanted to focus on this one thing, this one true thing he needed to do to make him feel at peace, as if he could somehow call him and Ginny even, as if retribution was going to solve anything.

"They see me as family," said Harry tightly.

Draco turned his back on Harry to double-check his bag, looking for extra space where he could stash more socks, just in case. "Funny, you were just as on the outside of that family meeting as I was. I don't think you're invited."

Bristling, Harry was on the edge of snapping, his veins were standing out and his face was bright purple-red. "I don't care. I belong with them and you do not."

Turning around to face Harry, Draco stared him down. In a flash of anger resulting in the need to not only inflict pain on Harry, but twist the knife, he said, "I was the one Ginny was in love with in the end. Not you. Me. I have more of a right to--"

Draco wasn't even finished when Harry launched himself at him. In response, Draco dropped the bag, blood pumping eagerly through his veins. He was gagging for a fight, even one he had no hope of winning.

He didn't care who he was attacking, so long as he got to fight.

Draco threw one arm up to block and punched the side of Harry's head as he felt the punishing blows first to his arm then lower, beating against his chest. For a moment, he had hold of one of Harry's wrists, allowing Draco to get in a hard punch that missed its goal of Harry's jaw and instead slammed into Harry's sternum.

It felt like his hand was going to crack, he thought he heard something snap and his pinky throbbed, but Draco couldn't think about that now.

Harry punched his cheek, sending his face to the other side. Draco punched back blindly, feeling the satisfying crunch of Harry's glasses. The glasses hit the floor with a skittering rattle as Draco glared at Harry, seeing how the nose guard had caught Harry's skin and dragged a cut along his cheek.

He shifted under Harry's greater weight. He was pinned down under Harry who straddled him, keeping his legs out of the contest. Being held down made his punches lack some of the conviction he would have liked for them to have, but as he managed a hard crack across Harry's jaw, he sneered his satisfaction at the grunt of pain.

Draco was just gearing up for another monumental swing when he felt thumbs at his windpipe. Immediately, his hands went to Harry's wrists and he clawed and tried to twist them as Harry throttled him. He glared up at Harry, seeing no mercy in his expression. Though he braced his feet to the floor and bucked his hips in a desperate effort to dislodge Harry, he couldn't unseat him.

Worse yet, Harry had started slamming Draco head against the hardwood floor. Draco saw stars and blackness started to edge in on his vision. He was left with nothing to look at but Harry's overwrought face.

After all he'd been through, changing sides and the unbearable tortures; he found this fate of dying at the literal hands of Harry Potter too ironic. He wanted to laugh, but there simply wasn't enough breath to manage it. Everything was starting to turn bright and fade into shades of white. He grinned sardonically as his vision faded.

"No."

The breathless word from Harry's mouth was so achingly familiar. It took him back to sixth year when he was warm slick from his own blood after Harry had hexed him.

No Snape to rescue him this time.

He felt the hands slip from his throat, but it was too late. Everything was drifting away so peacefully and Draco couldn't even make himself be angry about it.

He mouthed, "I love you."

--

It was dead dark and utterly silent and Draco pondered the merits of whether this would be heaven or hell. When he lifted his head and felt the hard pounding pain, he decided that it was definitely hell. He sat back again and brought his hand up to his face.

He had to stop passing out or he was going to get a reputation.

"They found him."

The startle Harry gave him made his pulse race. He opened his mouth to speak, but his lips were numb. He tasted the remnants of potion and licked his deadened mouth to see if he could decipher what it was. He had a frightening familiarity with healing potions, but his head was too full of wool to crack this one.

There was an aftertaste of vanilla, which told him it was store-bought and one of the better ones. He was relieved that Harry hadn't made it. Up until sixth year, he'd been hopeless in potions. The reminiscence made him smile.

"I thought that might make you happy."

Draco sighed, obviously his grin was misconstrued but he'd never had much luck communicating with Harry in the first place. It was pathetically par for the course.

He shrugged.

"You were right. The Weasleys don't see me as part of the family... and I would've killed him."

In response, Draco nodded and turned his head to the direction of Harry's voice. After a moment, his eyes adjusted enough so that he could make out a winking reflection from Harry's glasses.

"I guess life in Azkaban is better. Makes death seem easy to see what those poor buggers are left to," said Harry, just above a whisper.

Draco reached for his wand and concentrated on lighting a candle. As soon as it was lit, Harry charmed them back to darkness. Draco's eyes ached from the dramatic changes in lighting, which made his head throb again. He reached to the back of his head and felt the healing lesion and winced.

"I can't stand to see what I did to you. It's not your fault. I never... wanted to be someone who... and yet... I did it anyway. I'm... I'm really sorry."

It was frustrating only being able to communicate in gestures Harry wouldn't see well and sighs. He wanted to tell Harry that he'd needed the fight, too. That he'd goaded it because he'd wanted to fight, and that he knew from the start he wasn't likely to win. He'd just been so desperate to vent.

Scooting back on the bed, he patted the spot next to him.

He was just starting to feel rejected when he heard the scrape of the chair on the floor and soft footfalls. Draco closed his eyes and tucked his hand under his cheek. His body shifted as the mattress bent under Harry's weight and then some wriggling that set his head to hammering again as Harry made himself comfortable.

Draco wasn't sure if he could bear to see what he'd done to Harry. The memory of the hard scratch on his cheek and the many times he'd punched Harry in the face hung vividly in the darkness behind his eyelids.

Drawing in a long breath, Draco opened his eyes to see Harry's face un-bruised, but there was a long, narrow stripe of scar next to his nose. It was hard to see the size in the tenebrous room, but he felt satisfaction that he'd left a mark on Harry. He assumed Harry had wanted it, flesh wounds were easy enough to heal by magic and they rarely left scars.

He traced his finger along it, considering it and what it meant that Harry had wanted it.

"Every time I look in the mirror, it reminds me of what happens if I lose control."

Drawing off of the line of the scar, Draco brushed his fingertips over Harry's lips and felt a thrill flare in his belly at Harry's lips pursing to kiss them. He brought his thumb over them, and when he reached the center he dipped his thumb into Harry's mouth. His breath caught as Harry's teeth parted and flicked his tongue at it.

He pulled his thumb from Harry's mouth and slicked the moisture along his bottom lip. Draco's pulse raced at Harry's short breaths against his hand.

"Do you really love me, Malfoy?"

Of all the times where only being able to answer "yes" and "no" could be frustrating, this was now officially at the top of his list. He'd said it. Or mouthed it. He'd no idea that was truly how he felt until he thought he might die. Only then did he feel able to say such a thing.

Even with full power of speech, Draco had no idea how he'd answer. He'd probably equivocate. Now that he couldn't, he was left with the black and white unless he wanted to shrug. But even that could be taken in ways he didn't intend.

He gazed into Harry's eyes for a moment, considering how he truly wanted to answer. It wasn't that he didn't believe that he did think he loved Harry, but he wasn't sure if he was qualified to make the assessment.

But then, if not he, then whom?

With much trepidation, Draco nodded.

"You don't hate me for almost killing you?"

Draco lamented the lack of a gesture for apparently not.

"You seemed pretty into it. The fighting part, not the dying part."

I was into all of it, Harry, Draco thought. But his fatalistic streak was fading fast as Harry reached for him and pulled him closer. Draco nodded his response.

"I thought I'd killed you for real this time."

Oh it would've been real enough the first time had Snape not shown up.

"Remus came over and helped."

You let a werewolf touch me? If I get furry by the full moon, so help me...

Harry rolled his eyes. "Don't look at me like that. I had to get someone and he knows a lot."

Draco was well pleased that Harry seemed to understand him now. Perhaps he should've tried not talking sooner.

"Look, I know... I know you know I blamed you for what happened with Ginny. It was wrong, I know. I blamed myself, too. It's just... what we were doing and... I wasn't... I felt guilty."

At that, Draco gave an enthusiastic nod so that Harry would know that he'd felt the same way.

Harry grinned. "We should've tried having you not talk sooner."

Draco grinned back and stroked Harry's new scar gently, gazing at it as if it were a portal to their new understanding.

It was gratifying when Harry leaned into the touch and didn't look uneasy.

"I thought it was my fault you were captured and I just... it was all so unreal and then Ginny and... well, this time I nearly lost you for good and by my own hands."

Harry gave Draco an imploring look, but Draco had no idea what to say to that. He gave a brief nod of acknowledgement. "Look, I don't know what I'm doing and I can't promise anything, because clearly I'm not any good at relationships, but I'm not going to push this away again. I want to try."

Those were words Draco had wanted to hear and now he was gesture-less, aside from a beaming grin.

"Do you want to try?"

Draco adored the anxious look on Harry's face, and after everything that had transpired, he couldn't see the wrong in making him sweat it a little; especially since he was working so hard to ignore the grin. Finally, he nodded and Harry pulled into a kiss so consuming and open that it curled Draco's toes.