The Third

The Third….by Samayel

Draco flopped forward onto the pillows, exhausted, sweaty, and more than a little shaky from the fucking he’d just taken. Harry’s weight shifted behind him, and he was just barely aware of the body beside him, at least until a familiar arm curled around his waist. The kisses of gratitude and affection on his neck were semi-welcome, but mostly he was just too shaken by the savage nature of the sex they’d just had to even care.

They’d argued, then fought, then shagged, more or less like they always did. Seventh year had seen a lot of changes for the wizarding world, but not as many changes as Draco had. It was always adrenaline-laced madness between them. Always. It was only in the aftermath of orgasm, sated and contemplative, that the reality of what he was doing cruelly tore into him, biting away at his nerves with barbed reminders of the shame he ought to acknowledge. He shouldn’t be doing this. If it were anyone but Potter…but…well…if it were anyone but Potter, they’d all be dead or slaves to a withered maniac. As it was, the world was celebrating its freedom, and Draco was Harry’s grudging sex toy.

In all honesty, it was more than that. Harry had kept their trysts secret, sparing Draco’s fragile pride. He was always gentle afterwards, at least physically, full of small gestures of appreciation and affection, but they rarely spoke of anything deeper than when to meet next, and Harry always came when Draco sent a note to say when and where. Harry had no other lovers, despite the fact that he could have anyone he wanted, and Draco barely understood it, but he didn’t feel any desire for the company of another either.

Harry had never used magic when they fought, and the fights were always the result of Draco’s tension, and Draco knew it. He would arrive at each tryst edgy and full of self-loathing, and Harry would let him vent, enduring insults and threats until Draco could work himself up to actual violence, and then Harry always stood in face of those tantrums, blocking blows and eventually pinning Draco down, peeling away the last of his resistance along with his clothes.

When the last of his urge to fight was spent, Draco would tearfully submit, and Harry would enter him roughly, now that they had done this for months, and shag Draco into a state of exhaustion with merciless efficiency. Inevitably, his own body would betray him, and Draco would come with a violence that he’d only ever experienced with Harry, and in the aftermath of it all, he was as calm as the eye of a storm.

This was when his cheeks would burn with shame. This was when the knowledge bit most cruelly. Harry could show affection all he wanted, but Draco would always lay on his side, turned away, unwilling to face his rival, his nemesis, his new master of sorts. When the heat of anger and need had slid away, there was nothing left but the soreness and stickiness that cried out as evidence of what he’d done. It was a betrayal of everything he’d ever expected to be. He was a Malfoy, and yet another man rutted to completion in him, and he came as wantonly as any whore in the process. It was shameful, disgusting, and a perfect hell to replace the one he’d dwelt in until…until Harry had freed him.

He hadn’t forgotten how this had started. It had only been a few precious months. The flight from Hogwarts, Snape offering up excuses to the Death Eaters who had found them, and his inevitable audience with the Dark Lord, who simply ripped Draco’s mind open and peeled away layer after layer of secrets and knowledge. He’d watched his mother die for his failure. His torment had been a daily amusement for the Dark Lord’s inner circle. The Cruciatus Curse was the least of the spells he was a victim to, and the weeks blurred one into another. Until Harry.

’Get up and move if you want to live. NOW!’

Those had been the words he’d first heard, snapping him conscious in his cell. There were bodies outside, where once guards had stood, and even with vision that blurred, Draco could make out Potter’s form, and green eyes blazed with a towering fury that made the man seem so much taller than he was. Draco had followed, stumbling and weak, while Potter had blasted every door or opponent out his way, methodically reducing Riddle manor’s cellars into a shambles. They’d escaped, with Draco in tow behind Harry the way he’d once been dragged along behind Snape, into the night, and eventually to the headquarters of the Order Of The Pheonix…the Black Estate.

Six weeks. It had only taken six weeks to reduce Draco from a silent and prideful creature into a wanton slut that answered only to Harry. How utterly pathetic that it had taken so little. He’d healed, sullen and frightened of what might become of him, unsure of whether he’d be tortured or imprisoned for what he’d done. As it turned out, his fate was something he’d never predicted.

Harry had been his keeper, apparently because rescuing Draco had not been part of their mission, and Harry had brought Draco back at risk to the security of the others, burdening them with an extra mouth to feed and care for, and the others clearly resented Draco’s presence. He was considered a waste of air, a waste of energy, and a waste of potions while they healed him. Harry had been in that dreadful dungeon searching for something else, and the choice to pull Draco from it had been his alone. He never explained his choice, and Draco never asked. It really didn’t matter anyway.

He’d been silent at first, grudgingly eating what was brought to him, sullenly accepting the clothes that were handed him, and keeping his mouth shut and his head down as much as possible. Everything was fine. Sort of. Potter’s smoldering presence was always at hand. Draco wasn’t allowed to be alone in the Order’s headquarters, and thus Harry was made his guardian. Constant proximity worked its weird will upon them, subtle and tense at first, more overpowering and terrible later. Weeks of being watched at everything he did. Weeks of being tended to and herded room from room, like some kind of human cattle, but without the dignity or occasional affection granted to beasts of burden.

When Harry was away, Draco was locked in a room, wandless and alone for hours. Only with Harry by his side was he allowed into the common areas of the house. Harry’s presence had come to mean freedom. Freedom from sitting in a quiet little room with no windows and a few books and snacks to keep him sane. Harry’s missions started taking longer, and Draco’s nerves had frayed to their edge. The illusion of peaceful co-existence shattered after only a few weeks.

Harry had been gone almost a day and a half. It had been sheer hell. Not the hell of being chained to a wall and tortured for hours, but a subtler hell of the mind. The hell of ‘What If.’ What if Harry was killed? Would the others kill Draco just to be rid of him? Would they send him to Azkaban as soon as they returned? The only thing keeping him here was Harry’s insistence. What had happened? Were they all dead? Was he alone in a spelled house, locked in a room where no one would find him if the others were all dead? He could starve to death before anyone found him, a skeleton in an enchanted house, waiting to be found by some distant future visitor. Could Voldemort have won, and if he had, would they take Draco from here and subject him to even worse than Azkaban?

A day and a half alone in silence, with thoughts like that, was more than Draco could easily bear. When the door finally creaked open, and Harry walked in, dirty, disheveled, bruised and crusted with soot and blood, Draco had snapped completely.

His memory of that night was a little hazy, but still intact. He’d stared at Harry in silence for a few seconds, boring into those calm green eyes for answers, and then launched himself at Harry like a starving tiger. Kicking, scratching, punching and spitting curses and accusations, he’d given the Boy Who Lived a few new marks before Harry had pinned his arms and held him to the floor. With no means left to lash out physically, he’d collapsed into tears, screaming through sobs, losing every shred of dignity he’d desperately clung to for weeks. There had been weird confessions, words rolling off his tongue that seemed alien now, things he wouldn’t have dared to say if he’d been anywhere near sane. He hadn’t been held since he was small, and Harry had held him close, constantly reassuring him that everything would be alright. When he’d croaked a final question, wondering how anything could ever be alright again, Harry’s answer had changed the world.

’He’s dead. I killed him. It’s over. No one’s going to hurt you anymore. It’s over.’

Things were blurry after that. He’d felt so much. More at one time than he could manage. Awe. He’d always admired power, and strength, however ruthlessly they were used. With Voldemort dead, Harry was unquestionably the most powerful wizard in the world, and Draco had basked in that knowledge, coming alongside the realization that he was free of the horrible stain on his arm at last. He was as high and giddy as if he’d been drinking, and the weird mix of fear and relief, admiration and gratitude, mingled into something more tangible. He’d kissed the face he’d clawed at and punched, frantically hungry for something he’d never allowed himself to even desire. And Harry responded.

He’d surrendered himself completely, in a way very different from his acceptance of rules as a sort of prisoner of war. That night, there had been no shame in what he was doing, and Harry had been uncannily gentle, and even if they’d both been fumbling around without a clue, it hadn’t mattered. It had been incredible anyway, and in the hazy glow that came after, Draco couldn’t remember a time he’d ever felt safer or more completely at peace. There were warm arms around him, and the acts they’d indulged in had been shockingly adult, but he actually felt older for having done them. At that moment, he was just glad that he’d done them with Harry, and no one else. How he wished he could have spelled that feeling and made it timeless. Things only became more complicated after.

Draco could guess that Harry had most likely been a virgin until that night, and the same was true of himself, but it had never been said aloud. He hadn’t really thought himself a queer, and Harry didn’t really seem the type either, but they never spoke of that, just as they really never spoke of anything. If an issue was thorny, they kept their silence, and stuck to doing what they knew and understood. It was…easier that way. Kind of.

When the morning came, Harry had been faintly sheepish, and just a little distant, if faintly affectionate, but Draco had been quietly horrified. It was fine to be emotional over the death of the Dark Lord and the freedom from terror that came with that death, but a Malfoy had no business taking a man’s cock up his arse, no matter how agreeable the notion may have been at the time. It would have been bad enough if it had just been memories of weeping like a girl in Harry’s arms, but, to wake up and need a bathroom, to expel the semen of another man from his body, that…that had been the most archly humiliating moment of his entire life! If he’d known then that he’d been marked a second time, this time invisibly, as Harry Potter’s bitch, he’d have waited for the first opportune wand and fled England. Well, maybe not, but he would have done something different!

He was still trapped at the Black Estate while the world changed outside, absorbing the news of Voldemort’s destruction. Harry no longer left on missions, and Draco had a bit more freedom in the Order’s headquarters, but the silent acknowledgement of that night hung between them constantly. It was back to separate beds and silence between them. There were moments, brief seconds where Harry looked like he was going to say something, but they passed when Draco deliberately turned away, cheeks aflame and desperate to avoid any reminder of what he’d done.

Draco’s status was in question, and it was implied by a few of the others that he would have to be turned over to the Ministry soon. He wasn’t sure he even cared at that point, and he was just relieved that it was over, and there was no longer a Dark Lord looming in his future. Draco was prepared to grimly accept whatever life doled out, as long as it wasn’t repeated applications of the Cruciatus Curse, and then Harry played his hand. He could still recall the ferocity of Harry’s gaze when he stared down the rest of the Order.

’No! Absolutely not! No! He stays here, and then he goes back to Hogwarts with the rest of us! Let me deal with Scrimgeour, but Malfoy isn’t going anywhere, and that’s final! Yes, he fucked up! Yes, he took their fucking Mark, but for fuck’s sake, he’s lost everything! They had his mother, and the bastards killed her even after he did what they told him! His father’s in Azkaban for life! Snape tried to cover for him, and they still threw Draco in a hole in the ground and practiced Unforgivables on him! He’s had enough. It’s over, and if anyone says otherwise, they can see me!’

And that was that. The crowd had been stunned by Harry’s virulence and certainty, and his look had been enough to cow them into silence. Granger and Weasley tried to talk Harry out of it in private, and the whispered arguments carried in the drafty halls. Draco heard every word of Harry’s spirited defense, and he resented the implication of helplessness almost as much as he reveled in having a champion with such fidelity to his cause.

Deals were struck, Firecalls were made, and before the summer was over, Draco was granted a stipend from the Malfoy estate, which was held in trust until legal matters were settled regarding his inheritance. Fines were to be levied against the Malfoy estate for its involvement with the Death Eaters, and the family name was in the gutter, but Draco would go to school when fall came around, receive his education alongside students whose lives he’d jeopardized, and graduate into the wizarding world as an adult, free of charges from the Ministry.

Harry had bought his freedom from prosecution, using his public popularity as a bargaining chip, by consenting to support the Ministry in its efforts to calm the public now that the crisis was over. Harry appeared to hate the new Minister with a passion, and every public appearance was a thorn in Harry’s pride, but he’d struck a bargain to gain Draco’s freedom, and he kept up his end of that bargain as promised.

The entire affair left Draco with a bad taste in his mouth. He should be happy to be free, but he wasn’t…not really. Harry paid his debt every few days, shaking hands in front of cameras, never demanding anything in return. So fucking noble. So fucking Gryffindor. Even if it was unspoken, Draco was conscious of the size of his debt to Harry. It went beyond Galleons, beyond words of thanks or praise. It was bigger than that, and they both knew it. The tension ate him alive from within. Gratitude, shame, giddy freedom, admiration, desire, hate, lust, and loneliness swirled together for weeks. And Draco exploded again. Harry had borne up silently, stoic and earnest in the face of his choices and their consequences, and Draco hated that silence with a passion. Too much was bottled up to be properly contained, and he knew he’d picked that last fight before school with a purpose.

He’d wanted it. The release. The frenzy that allowed so much more than the silence ever did. There were things he could never do or say when he was calm or rational, but he wanted them just the same, and he knew only one way to get them. Harry had been under a lot of pressure too, doing something he hated in exchange for Draco’s freedom, and he’d been in no mood for abuse, verbal or otherwise, that night. They’d beaten each other bloody, and their coupling in the aftermath had been primal. Draco’s fingernails had etched angry welts into Harry’s back, and he’d bitten and gouged and snarled while Harry had thrust into him. It had been nothing like their first tryst, except that Draco had come far harder than before, releasing his pent-up emotions in a single orgiastic culmination of lust, taking refuge from his traitorous thoughts in the savagery of their sexual acts.

It had hurt, and in that hurt was a sick kind of freedom all its own. For a few hours there had been no world, no pressure, and no fear. Just a warm and powerful body that plundered him, tearing away everything that made the rational world so frightening. He’d slept like a child after, dreamless and peaceful, only to wake sore and stiff, bruised and bloody.

It was no longer an isolated incident. The marks on Harry’s shoulders were from his teeth. The scratches were bold and red across his tanned back. Draco was sporting a cut lip and a bruised cheek, as well as several bruises along his ribs. The bones of his wrists had hurt. His bum had ached furiously. This hadn’t been the gentle melting together of a few weeks ago. They hadn’t done it just one time, relieving the burden of tension and then drifting to sleep. It had been like a war, and Harry had won without question. Draco’s scalp had still smarted from having his hair in Harry’s clenched fist, his face pushed into pillows while the man behind him had pounded into him unrelentingly. Adrenaline and anger had made Harry insatiable, and Draco had reaped what he had sown. A well-timed slap or curse, a vindictive bite or pinch at the right moment, and Harry had responded immediately, taking up any challenge and brutally reminding Draco of his place. It was incredible…and horrifying.

Draco spent the first half hour of that morning sicking up in bathroom. It was just as well that he hadn’t had a wand…since there was no telling what he might have done to himself at that moment. He’d slowly pushed what he’d done…what he’d practically demanded…from his mind, and forced himself into a shower. He dressed and groomed himself, capturing some petty illusion of vague disdain, and re-entered the wizarding world with his head held high. There had been no words between them while Harry healed the marks on Draco’s face, as well as the marks that Draco had left on him, and there was nothing that could have been said that Draco would have wanted to hear. He left for Diagon Alley without another word between them.

There had been stares, and whispers, and poorly veiled scowls and insults, but he had his stipend, and soon he had a wand and a wardrobe as well, not to mention the other lesser supplies a seventh year student would need at Hogwarts. He had money, and even if he was a pariah, a social leper damned to some island of the self, he would start over again as soon as his schooling was finished, and none of this would matter. Naturally, it wasn’t anywhere near that easy.

Harry was the rising star of the wizarding world, and he kept Draco’s secrets well. No Slytherin would have denied such an opportunity to demand recompense. Harry could easily have used what he knew to command obedience, or to claim favors, but he didn’t. He kept his silence, and all anyone saw between them were smoldering glances that could have been hatred. No one knew why Harry had defended Draco, and even Draco couldn’t say he knew the truth. They’d never confessed anything to one another…not really. There were no revelations between them. Just a few half-hearted insults and dismissive glares. There were implications, and he knew full well what they were, but he didn’t dare voice them aloud. Harry guarded Draco’s slender claim to pride with the silence of a lion that saves his movement and roar for times of need alone, and Draco let it stay that way.

It didn’t last. It was hard…being alone. The world was divided into two camps. There were those who speak to him, and there were those who wouldn’t, and the latter camp was enormous. Even if he hadn’t actually killed Dumbledore, he had engineered an invasion of the school that ultimately got the man killed. Professor Snape was in the custody of the Ministry, charged with murder despite his long and secret alliance with the Headmaster. Harry hadn’t intervened there, and it might be months before the matter was settled. Either way, Severus Snape would never teach again, and Remus Lupin had returned to Hogwarts as the DADA instructor and Head of Gryffindor House. MacGonagall was the Headmistress pro-tem, and Horace Slughorn was still teaching Potions. Aside from the curt and distant staff, almost no one in Hogwarts would speak to him…except Harry…and even then it wasn’t much. He wanted to rave and scream and shout out the unspoken and forbidden things that hung in the air around the school, but he didn’t.

Sometimes he would close his eyes and imagine what it would be like to stand up in the Great Hall and shout out to the world.

“FUCK YOU! Fuck all of you! I’m sorry! I did it! It’s done! I’m sorry! None of you lived what I lived! None of you even fucking cared! Who the fuck are you to judge me now? I want my life back! I hope you all go to hell, you miserable, ignorant, pathetic, prick fucks!”

But he didn’t. He sat through his classes, slept alone in his bed, studied alone in the library, and sometimes…when it was too much even for him…wept into his pillow, with spells for silence firmly in place to guard his private shames.

He’d lasted less than a month. A furtive note and they met in the Room of Requirement. He’d ensured that it looked exactly as it had that last horrible night. The night he’d finished that damned cabinet, and simultaneously ruined his life. In retrospect, he could look back and say that he’d known full well what it would do to Harry…how it would make him feel, but it was better than tears, wasn’t it? Better than sniveling and whining about his life. They argued, spat curses and insults and accusations, and then they fucked. Or rather, Harry fucked. There was good reason to suspect that Harry knew why Draco had chosen that place. There had been glances, hints before and after, but they’d been drowned by outrage, stifled by fury. Draco had taken his fucking on cold stone, trousers still half on, underwear ripped in the frenzy that followed their fight, Harry’s spent seed trickling from him while he lay panting, clenched in arms that were like iron. It was always ugly the morning after, but he got used to it. There was a faint and fluttering relief that came, killing the boredom of routine, after each meeting with Harry. A pact had been sealed between them, and it was a two-edged sword. It had cut his bonds and guarded Draco from harm, but it slashed his heart and carved deep rents into his pride in the same breath.

It fell into a strange routine, comforting and yet disgusting. A week or two would pass, a note would be sent, harsh words would be spoken, and Draco would struggle until he had no strength left, then take Harry into him, sometimes roughly, as savage as that second time, or sometimes gently, shuddering with relief and needy hunger. He wasn’t entirely alone. He had this. This thing. He was wanted for something…sort of. But in some ways, it was worse. Harry was always gentle afterwards, offering spells of healing without words that would complicate things, but sometimes the kindest gestures hurt the most.

Once, just once, Harry had brought a small vial of lubricant. It had been meant well, to make what would come later easier, but it was far and away the worst feeling Draco had ever endured without hearing the word Crucio intoned first. They’d argued rather lamely, as if going through the motions, and his struggles had been purely pretense. That time, he’d been penetrated easily, as slick and wet and easy as an eager whore, conscious every second of how largely painless the act was without spit and gritted teeth. Harry had tried to be gentler than ever before, but it invoked feelings of absolute horror for Draco. There was no burn of friction to blind him to what was happening, no spearing pain to smite the knowledge of what he was doing. He’d always felt the burn of humiliation after, but that time…that time he’d felt it during every second of the act. He’d never been more violently repulsed by his own responses to their trysts than he had at that moment.

He’d felt like a girl, made by nature for entry, convenient and wet, an easy receptacle intended for Harry’s come. It was the first time he hadn’t come to orgasm, or even felt a sense of relief when they were finished. Nothing. Just a burning shame and a frantic urge to vomit and run away.

For all that he’d used it, he barely needed to have been born with a dick. He couldn’t call himself any kind of a man and still allow himself to be used this way. Maybe it was alright to feel such things, if you were a woman, and nature had intended you for something like this, to take another into yourself, but a boy who would let such things be done to him…there were words for that. None of them pretty. Faggot, nancy, fairy, queen, catamite, ponce and poofter…the words ran through his mind like a litany of shame. No one had to call him these things…he felt the sting of those names and worse, all without anyone but Harry knowing what passed between them.

That had been the night things had turned for the worse. Their next meeting had been a disaster. He tried to win. Really tried. He’d fought like hell to make Harry submit to him for once…just once…for the sake of his own manhood. He’d failed spectacularly. Somewhere along the way, Harry realized what Draco had been trying to do, and it became clear that Harry had never once unleashed his full strength against Draco. Harry had healed him up after the beating of a lifetime, and Draco had punched him again in the middle of Harry’s confused attempt at an apology. There hadn’t even been the tainted satisfaction of sexual release that night. He’d gone to his own bed aching and sore, hating himself more than ever.

He’d gotten the desperate notion that they needed to talk. It didn’t seem all that foolish at the time, but frankly he wasn’t very good at it. Neither was Harry. Draco had come off as pathetically petulant, alternately demanding and begging for the right to take the active role in their ‘relationship’. He felt entitled to it. He’d let himself play this part again and again, and he hated it, but he had no interest in seeing someone else. He didn’t tell Harry that last part, but he’d resolved that he could cope with being a faggot if he could at least show a semblance of masculinity while he did it.

Harry weathered the storm of Draco’s speech in silence, wearing a scowl and an expression like a thundercloud. When Draco had finished making his case, Harry has simply stood up and paced toward him, vaguely predatory, and Draco almost felt like Harry was some enormous jungle creature, sniffing the air, catching the scent of frightened prey. It was an uncomfortable reminder that Harry had destroyed a Dark Lord, and that, even in a Hogwarts uniform, he was still among the most dangerous people in the wizarding world. The beating he’d taken only a few days before was still fresh in his mind, and Draco flinched first, letting Harry back him up to the wall. The words burned in his ears.

’That isn’t what I am. You know it. I know it. Make up your mind. Either you’re here, now, and this is what you want…or it isn’t, and you need to get the fuck away from me and stop fucking with my head. It’s your choice.’

The words had been almost whispered, but they were deafening, and delivered with ice cold calm. That wasn’t what he was…but Draco was expected to be something he wasn’t? So much for Gryffindor nobility! It did lay down something that hadn’t been clear. Harry didn’t care if he showed up or not. He was free to do as he pleased. It shouldn’t have hurt to hear that, but it did. He hadn’t really fought that night. He’d just peeled away his clothes and waited passively for Harry to do the same. No argument, no fight, but at least he came. Harry wasn’t especially rough, and he was always decent enough afterwards. Draco had been too disheartened to even feel sick afterwards.

He’d wandered around numb for days after that, depressed and miserable, ultimately resigning himself to the current state of affairs. His choices had been made for him. Endure complete isolation even while surrounded by others, or submit to a role that wasn’t of his choosing. Some choices. Harry’s words were a bitter mockery of his problems, implying that it was entirely up to Draco to change things…as if anything he could do would make it better.

Fall turned to winter, and the holidays emptied the school. Draco had nowhere to go yet, with the legal status of his estate still pending. It was easier just to remain at Hogwarts. The only virtue of that was the absence of sneering faces and silent scorn from others. There was no reason for Harry to stay behind. He owned the Black estate. He had a home to go to. He could even stay with the Weasleys if he wanted to. Draco could guess at Harry’s reason for staying behind…he probably didn’t have anyone else he could make into a bitch there…and the person he’d made into one was here, conveniently alone for two weeks. Even embittered, it was still a comfort of sorts to Draco. At least someone wanted to be around him, and without so many witnesses around, they could spend a little more time around each other…with clothes on.

It was weirdly peaceful between them during those weeks. Draco had accepted his fate, or rather, accepted that Harry wasn’t going to budge on the subject, and with that out of the way, they studied together quietly on occasion, or just chatted about classes and professors, and some of the changes in the wizarding world. Harry was pants at Potions, and Draco’s input seemed to help a little, and Draco found Charms a bit more interesting when Harry was his study partner. He’d wondered if things would stay like that, after the holidays were over.

They didn’t. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as before, but it wasn’t better, or even good. It was silence, and the scorn of others, and heated trysts that left him shaky but briefly replete. He brought up the topic one last time, very quietly, while Harry held him after sex.

“You know I…I would never do this…with anyone else…for anyone else.“

“Yeah. I know.”

“I only want the same things you do. Is that so bad?”

“No. It’s not. But you’re wrong. You don’t know what you want. You think you do…but you don’t.”

The comment mystified Draco, and he wrote it off as pure arrogance.

“Someday…if…if we were still…around each other…would you ever…”

“Don’t ask that. Not now. I can’t tell you what I don’t know…and I can’t promise you that I’ll ever know. I won’t let you make a liar out of me…so drop it.”

Draco sighed. There were only five full months left in their school year. This would all change. There would be money, and time, to go anywhere he wanted, change anything he pleased. There had to be something better than this…this ennui that sapped the strength from him.

Time had made those musing a lie. There were only a couple of months left in the school year, and nothing had really changed. He had an estate and a fortune that was still enormous even after being fined heavily, but some sick need had claimed him, and he rarely went more than two weeks without meeting Harry, and even then it was only by a day or two at most. They had fought and bickered, fucked and slept and studied, all without anyone knowing or caring what they were up to. There was hardly any purpose in rocking the boat now, but Draco had found himself hovering on the brink of madness, and something had to change.

He knew that thoughts of death by his own hand were becoming more common. His own survival instincts had pushed him to face change just to avoid destruction. This pliant creature was not who he was. He’d let himself be shoved into a role he would never have chosen, and something grotesque had sprung into being, absorbing everything that might have brought a little happiness into his life. Warm arms were good, when he was bitterly alone in this place, but what price was he paying to share their warmth? It was unjust, unfair, and unkind.

In some ways, he could still be called a virgin. All he’d ever done, the entire sum of his sexual experience, consisted of playing the bottom for Harry, willingly enough that first time, then reluctantly, then willingly again, in the absence of hope for change. To his way of thinking, he couldn’t even call himself a man. Even Harry could bask in the knowledge that he’d shagged Draco, and to Draco’s lasting shame, it could even be said that Harry had done it well, making Draco come shamelessly onto the sheets beneath them, without so much as a hand being involved in the process. Draco knew nothing else of sex, or of sex with anyone else but Harry. It had to change. If he was ever going to have pride in himself, or be able to feel like an equal next to Harry, it had to change.

And that was what brought him to this. This moment of despair, dreading what needed to be said now, in Harry’s arms, in the exhausted aftermath of their lust when Harry was most receptive to unwanted comments.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

“No one’s making you.”

“I…I don’t want to…stop…seeing you. It…I just…it has to change. Please understand.”

“What’s to understand? Either this is what you want, or it isn’t. I won’t hold you prisoner.”

“Harry…I want a third. Another person. I want to top. I need this. I don’t want to be alone with them. We could still be together. I need this…you don’t know how much. I wanted it to be you…but if you won’t…”

“You’d just shag whoever was willing? Is that it?”

Harry’s normally calm tone had turned acid and angry. Draco could feel the tension in the body behind him.

“At least have the fucking courage to look at me while you ask for this! I’ve kept this a secret for you. I barely get along with my friends because they know I won’t tell them what’s going on in my life! I’ve kissed the Ministry’s ass for months to make sure you got the estate and your freedom! Maybe I don’t know what the fuck ‘we’ are…but I know I wouldn’t do this for anyone else…or with anyone else. Is there even a ‘we’? Or is this just…”

“Please…”

That word worked on Harry even when others wouldn’t. No Malfoy casually used such a word, and the ragged honesty in Draco’s tone stopped Harry cold. Harry got out of the bed and Draco could hear the sound of clothes being pulled on hastily.

“Fine. Find someone. Someone who’ll keep their mouth shut like I do. Someone who’ll do what you want…if you can find someone at all. Here’s a couple of conditions for you, just so you remember that I’m not a complete pushover! One, if you in any way coerce someone into this, and I find out about it, it’s all over…you’re on your own.

Two, anyone you fuck, I fuck too. We’ll do this just once, if it makes you so damn happy. We’ll see how it goes. After that, well, we’ll just see how it goes. Fuck! I can’t even believe I’m agreeing to this. I’m out of here! Send me note when you find someone…or when you get your head together and just get over it! Good night.”

The irritation was evident in Harry voice and stride, and Draco couldn’t think of words to say. They just wouldn’t come, so he remained there in silence, thinking of possibilities.

Harry was right. It wasn’t an easy thing to accomplish. He needed another boy…that ruled out half of Hogwarts students right there. It wouldn’t be right to look for anyone too young…and that ruled out all but the sixth and seventh years. Slytherin House was completely out. Silence about this would have to be coerced out of a Slytherin, and Harry would be dangerous if anything went wrong or slipped out. How many gay boys in three houses and two years? How to find them? Would there even be someone who didn’t seem concerned about the unusual nature of Draco’s needs? He couldn’t just blurt out that he and Harry had a relationship…of sorts, and that a third person would be needed only as a willing sexual partner, and a bottom at that! Who in blazes would tolerate something like that…much less participate in it?

It took two weeks and two days exactly. Draco sifted through rumors, slyly gossiping with the few people left that would still talk to him. The answers he got surprised even him, but then he’d never paid attention to a subject like this before. The number of students who were open to experimentation, or even outright gay, was surprising, but there were still problems. Several of them were just too young, and one was in Slytherin, and a few had paired off into stable couples. Michael Corner of Ravenclaw had established a reputation as an adamant top, and Seamus Finnegan was firmly in the camp of people who wouldn’t bother to spit on Draco if he was on fire.

But there was one other.

He might as well have been invisible to Draco the last six years, but he met the criteria, even if he wasn’t someone that Draco would have noticed before. Gryffindor, and therefore capable of keeping an oath if silence was required. Gay, and comfortable with it, and by reputation a bottom and comfortable with that role as well. He was even fond of Harry, and that lent itself as a kind of leverage that Draco could use without actual coercion being involved. There were possibilities that such a situation could make real, and Draco mulled them over in silence, restless and irritable over his lengthy separation from Harry. It did force certain uncomfortable thoughts to the front of Draco’s attention though, and many of these thoughts were full of thorny implications that he didn’t like.

Was he really gay? Would he really do something like this, just to resolve a point of pride with Harry? Did he feel even remotely comfortable enough with what he and Harry did to share it with another human being…for any reason? It was an awful lot of effort and a bit of risk, just to satisfy his need to assert himself as an equal to Harry, and Harry was only barely speaking to him lately. Did he feel enough attraction to another person to make something like this possible? He was fairly sure he wanted Harry, in exactly the way that Harry so obviously wanted him, but someone else? What kind of man found it difficult to even feel attraction to anyone but the one person who routinely and thoroughly violated him?

Draco watched his quarry from a distance for several days, mustering the nerve to send a message, and composing said message over and over again in his mind. There was also the niggling question of whether he would even feel a desire to have sex with this person. These answers took a little time to find, but Draco was sick of waiting.

The young man was almost as blond as Draco himself, and surely that would help rally Harry’s interest, right? He was slender, but Draco noted with a faint hint of pride that his own slenderness matched an athletic physique, while this boy only seemed awkward…gangly. He was nothing like Harry, who was shorter than Draco by at least four inches, but Harry made up for it in bulky muscle and powerful shoulders. This young man was nothing like either Draco or Harry, but could at least be called passing attractive.

Draco remembered his arrival at school, and it was still surprising that he was even contemplating such acts with a boy he remembered as puny and utterly unnoticeable. It had to be admitted…the years hadn’t been cruel to him. He would probably never be tall, or heavily muscled, and his jaw was the wrong shape for anyone to call him anything but ‘cute’, but Colin Creevey had turned out well enough to draw the interest of others.

He was single, and reputedly discontented with it. That much Draco was able to make sure of easily. He knew that Colin was a willing bottom for at least two past boyfriends, since the both of them had been well known as tops. Colin’s slavish devotion to getting Harry’s attention had faded over the years, and the boy had moved on to more attainable goals, specifically Michael Corner of Ravenclaw, who had been heard to brag openly that Colin had fine looking arse. Not that Draco would know for sure until clothes were actually off, but it was just a little more information to help him plot his course.

All it took was a single note, and things were set on their way. There was nothing to do but wait, but at least he wouldn’t be waiting long. Colin was still a chatterbox of sorts, but he seemed quiet that day. Pensive, but at least he wasn’t blabbing everything to everyone in sight. That day seemed to drag endlessly on, stubbornly refusing to roll along, and the Owlery was a silent graveyard of pellets and cobwebs where Draco lurked and waited. He’d come early and made certain that no one else was about, since his stomach was doing enough flip-flops of its own. He didn’t need an audience for this chat. When cautious footsteps finally heralded the arrival of another, Draco rested his head on a cool stone pillar and calmed himself. If he botched this, well…he might just as well go back to Harry empty-handed and just get used to being an obedient little tart.

“Hello? Is anybody even here? Merlin…this is so stupid…”

The last part was muttered beneath Colin’s breath, and Draco hurried out from behind the pillar, startling the other boy, then taking the initiative and leading the conversation as carefully as he could.

“I’m glad you came. I wasn’t sure if the note even said enough to pique your interest.”

“Malfoy?!” Colin looked aghast. “The note barely said anything. Just that someone wanted to meet me to talk…privately. If I’d known it was you…” Colin was already nervously fumbling for his wand, obviously convinced that Draco was up to no good.

“Yeah, yeah. You wouldn’t have come. That’s why it wasn’t signed. Gods. Just leave wands out of it! I’m not here to hex Gryffindors. You do know the war’s over, right? I swear I really came to talk to you. It’s important.”

Colin looked a little overwrought. In true Gryffindor fashion, his emotions were playing across his face, easily read by Draco. At least the wand went back into the pocket slowly. Some progress was better than no progress.

“Okay. So? Why would you have anything you wanted to say to me?” The narrowed eyes, the sullen look of smoldering dislike. These were things Draco was used to. They didn’t sting as they once did, and they were mere obstacles to be overcome. He’d rehearsed his answer to this a hundred times already.

“It’s about Harry…and me.” Colin’s eyes widened. Draco moved along before Colin could even speak. “Makes sense doesn’t it? If you stop and think about it. Neither of us date anyone else, and he stood up for me publicly when no one else would. You’re putting all that together now that I gave you the clue you needed. Hard to believe, but it’s true. I’d swear to it, if you need me to, but I think you‘re smart enough to piece this together without endless oaths. It has to stay a secret…for Harry. Because of his reputation…and because of mine. Can you do that?”

Colin shook his head, a wisp of dirty blonde hair flopping into his eyes. “No way. I mean, yes…I mean…Bloody Merlin! Why…why the hell are you telling me this? What is this even about? Just rubbing salt in the wounds? Is that it? I can’t…I can’t believe he’d…with…”

Draco took a step forward, letting his old sneer slide back into place. “Believe it. With me. He would. He does. And he’s fucking incredible, but I’m not here to salt anybody’s wounds…in fact, I might just be able to salve a few of them. See…Harry and I have a problem…and I was thinking that you…you might just be the solution. The big question is whether or not you can handle it.”

Still the look of confusion. This might take a bit more leading than he’d expected, but Draco had no intention of quitting easily.

“I heard things didn’t work out so well between you and Corner. What I’m asking is…if you’ve got the time, would you be interested in something else?”

Colin’s look was one of withering disgust and complete outrage. His rather pale complexion was flushing a brilliant red and his mouth was working furiously to shape words. Draco waited to see what the outburst was about.

“You…you have him…and you’d still…with me…you…you miserable cheat! You don’t even deserve him! There’s no way I’d help you cheat on Harry! You’re a-”

Draco cut him off cold. “Gods! Are all Gryffindors this stupid? I don’t want you to see me on the side! Idiot! How is it that Gryffindors even get laid? Let me make it easy for you. One bed…Harry…me…and you. Does that make enough sense?”

Colin looked like a pole-axed steer, stunned past the point of speech. Draco tapped his foot impatiently, wondering if Potter really was profoundly different from his housemates. At least he wasn’t floored every time a new idea invaded his skull. It was one of the qualities that Draco grudgingly admired about Harry. Colin finally spoke, the flush of anger having turned into the pink of shock and embarrassment.

“Wha…no…wait….you mean? No. Harry….he wouldn’t…or…you’re dead serious, aren’t you? You want me to…but…why? Why me? And why would you even need anyone at all?”

Draco smiled smugly. Colin didn’t need to know that he hadn’t actually topped anyone yet. Besides, if this worked, it would be a moot point soon enough.

“We…Harry and I…we aren’t either of us bottoms. We need someone who is. I chose to ask you. I know you like Harry, and you’re fit enough looking. Tell me you wouldn’t like to try something like this just once. If it works out well, then who knows, it could be a regular thing. Sound interesting enough?”

Colin stared piercingly into Draco’s eyes, trying to puzzle something out.

“This…this is just wrong. There has to be a catch. This is all you want? You both want me to…to…”

“Yes. I wouldn’t even say there’s a proper catch, but there are rules. First…Harry is mine. No exceptions. Don’t even kid yourself about getting him off on his own. I’m not someone that anyone would want to cross, and especially not over this. The only way to Harry is through me.

Second, there is to be no question about who’s the bottom. I heard enough rumors, but I just need to make it clear that anyone who gets into a bed with me and Harry is the one getting shagged…by the both of us.

Third, and this is absolute, we need silence. The other reason we’re talking now is because you’re a Gryffindor, and if you swear to keep your mouth shut about this, you really will keep mum. Maybe my reputation is shit, but Harry’s isn’t, and it would be nice if it stayed that way. Let me repeat that part from earlier about me being someone that no one should cross. Hurting Harry’s image would qualify as crossing me.

Those are the rules. If you can handle them, show up at the old Prefect’s suite on the fourth floor tomorrow night by ten. If you can’t, then keep silent and don’t show, either way is fine by us, but I think you’d be missing the chance of a lifetime. Oh…and if that camera of yours shows up, it will get shoved somewhere it wouldn’t normally fit. Understood?”

Colin was still too shocked to speak properly, and nodded assent, mumbling breathily.

“Understood. Bloody Merlin…I…hafta think. We’ll see…”

Draco strolled off, keeping his air of nonchalance intact, parting comments flung behind him as he left.

“Good enough. We’ll be there. The rest is really up to you.”

He’d done well. He’d even sounded confident, which was a far fucking cry from the way he felt. Maybe Colin would show, maybe he wouldn’t, but at least he’d tried something to break up the sickening status quo. With a little luck, another night would go by, and Draco Malfoy would no longer be a virgin by any standard.

One more discreet note, and Harry had the time and place for their meeting. He’d asked for Harry to come at half past nine, since there would have to be a few words between before Colin showed. There was still the possibility that Harry would get upset in spite of the arrangement, and the entire night could go pear-shaped before it started. It would be nice to have a few things settled before anyone but Harry arrived.

Harry was full of strange looks that next day. Green eyes were constantly boring into the back of Draco’s skull, and Harry’s face was like stone. Emotionless, cold, and completely opaque. It was another respectable trait in Draco’s eyes. Harry had a face like a Slytherin sometimes. Unknowable and unreachable. Draco had always prided himself on his ability to read the emotions of others and guess at their thoughts or fears. Harry was a perfect enigma to him, and in some ways, it made the prat all the more attractive. Smoldering power and stony silence made Draco long to crack that façade, even if he got himself hurt in the process. It was almost more temptation than he could handle.

It was surprisingly hard to sleep that night, and he didn’t dare wank the night before something that would demand his full attention. Perhaps it was a bit immature, but he was rather fond of imagining Harry looking on impassively while watching Draco shag another boy. Maybe it would make Harry a bit jealous? Perhaps enough to crack a little of that famous reserve. Colin was a means to an end, specifically, Harry’s end, which was something Draco had thought of more than just a few times. If Harry would ever come down from his ‘ivory tower’ and just treat Draco like an equal, Colin could be out of the equation and Draco could still have his pride. Until then…well…this would have to do.

Half past nine came faster than he’d expected. Harry was already there when Draco walked into the suite, sprawled across a chair with one leg dangling over the armrest, reading his Potions text with a scowl on his face. A pair of lazy emeralds flicked Draco’s way, then settled back on the text. This wasn’t quite the start to the evening that Draco had hoped for, but he expected a certain reticence from Harry. If this was as bad as it got, then it would be easier than he could have expected.

“So you found someone.” It was a statement, not a question. Harry’s expression revealed nothing but overall irritation. Draco turned his chin up defiantly.

“You thought I couldn’t? Or that I wouldn’t? I said I needed this. He’ll be here in a half hour. I only asked you here early because I thought you might have something to say about this, and if you can’t be reasonable to me, get it out now, and just don’t spoil this for me.”

There was a flicker of emotion on Harry ’s face. Kind of like the way shadows moved across the ground when storm clouds were high above. The book flipped shut and plopped onto the desk. Harry stared at the ceiling for a few seconds, the small muscles along his jaw tightening and then softening every so often. Draco was about to say something more, or at least demand an answer, when Harry broke the pregnant silence with a sigh.

“You’re sure this is what you want? And you can handle this? You won‘t change your mind about this no matter what I say?”

“Yes, yes, and no I won’t change my mind. He’s on his way. This is important to me. Just…just let me have this…at least this once. Okay?”

Harry lowered his head down into his hands, and ran his fingers through his hair.

“Fine. Okay. Bugger all…if it will make you feel better about all this…then fine. We’ll do it…at least this once. But I meant what I said before. We both do this or not at all. I’m going to gamble on you being too picky to settle for anyone who isn’t at least reasonably good looking. Fuck it. I’ll even admit that I’m curious about trying this with someone else in the mix. I won’t say I’m comfortable with it…or even that I want it this way, but I’ll try it. So that begs the question, doesn’t it? Who did you fin-”

The soft knock on the door of the suite interrupted the both of them. Trust another Gryffindor to be early! Harry’s eyes had already gone flinty, and Draco hurried to the door, opening it with a huff of irritation. At least the look on Harry’s face was worth remembering.

“Colin! Colin? He asked you?!”

Creevey looked a little put off by Harry’s apparent surprise.

“You didn’t even know it was me? I’m sorry. I can’t…I can’t do this…I should…”

Draco cut him off. “I was just getting to that part, but you showed up early! You should just stop worrying and relax. There’s nothing wrong. Nothing. I’m okay with this…Harry’s okay with this…you should be okay with this too!”

Draco threw a desperate look to Harry, hurling unspoken pleas for Harry to say something that might un-ruffle Colin’s feathers. Maybe it wasn’t entirely just for Draco’s sake, but Harry came through when it was called for.

“Colin, there really isn’t anything wrong. I just didn’t know it would be you. I was surprised…that’s all. Draco and I would both like you to stay. I don’t want to pressure you into anything, and you can go if you really want to, but if you’d like to stay, it’s alright, believe me.”

Colin calmed down a little, wiping a nervous palm across his pant leg and pushing his other hand through his hair. A semi-permanent blush had risen to his cheeks while he started to ramble.

“I wasn’t even sure I’d come and then it was just past nine and I’d had this on my mind and I couldn’t just shrug it off and I thought I’d come in person and I thought about saying no and bowing out but now I’m just not sure and…”

Draco chuckled softly, feigning a confidence he didn‘t really possess. “Relax. Shut it. This isn’t really a time for long speeches. I don’t know about the two of you, but I think this is as good a time as any to disrobe.”

Colin’s eyes widened slightly when Draco started peeling away his tie and shirt, and the look of appreciative interest, however nervous, was a stroke for Draco’s ego, which had been a bit undernourished this last year. It was a bit different from the way Harry looked at him. Less predatory, that was it. There was no question between Draco and Harry about who was the more controlling or dominant, but with Colin here, their personal history was a blank slate, and it was nice to be seen by another the way he saw himself. Given the proper chance, a Malfoy was a naturally dominant creature. That intoxicating knowledge stole the edge from his tension and set Draco’s mood to rights. Harry stood up from his chair, lazy-lidded and quietly confident in his usual way, and started pulling his tie loose.

“Why not? No point in hiding anything. We’re all here and we all know why. Sod it. C’mon, Colin…or do you want a bit of help?”

Draco was pretty sure the last comment was just a nervous joke from Harry, but Colin’s face was flaming, and it jolted him out of his reverie and moved him to start tugging at buttons of his own.

Before long, three young men stood silent and naked, not far from one another. Draco was powerfully conscious of the differences between the three of them. He’d never been ‘unoccupied’ this long while Harry was naked before, and this moment gave him the opportunity to notice things in a way he never had.

Harry was only an inch or so taller than Colin, but his skin was several shades darker than either Colin’s or Draco’s own, and he was powerfully built, like a coiled spring. So many little differences. Harry was the only one of the three of them that had grown some small measure of chest hair, and with his dark complexion and coal black hair, it made him stand out rather dramatically next to two rather slender blonde men. At least Draco had long legs and clean lines of muscle along his arms and chest. Harry may have been the heavier of the two of them, but Draco was obviously better proportioned than most people could ever hope to be.

Colin was cute, but his shoulders were a bit narrow in Draco’s opinion. The boy was skinny instead of just lean, and while it wasn’t offensive, it wasn’t necessarily attractive. His hipbones were sharper looking than Harry’s, and if truth be told, his backside really did look pretty good, so Corner hadn’t been lying, but he was a bit of a disappointment in front. Not that Draco or Harry had equipment of exceptional note, they were perfectly normal, but Colin seemed to be too nervous to show any excitement, and as a result, things looked a bit less than modest at the moment. Not that it really mattered to Draco, since it was the other side of Colin that was really important to him, but he’d never been sexually involved with anyone but Harry, and these little differences were just fascinating.

He could feel Harry’s eyes on him while he stripped, and that alone was enough to make his flesh engorge and swell handsomely. Colin was hesitantly seating himself on the edge of the bed, pink-cheeked and looking terribly uncertain. That was appealing in its own right, but neither Draco not Harry had moved toward Colin yet, and Draco was waiting for some kind of sign when Colin spoke up nervously.

“So…what…what do you…want to do first?”

Harry gave Draco a look that commanded an answer to be given…and soon. It suddenly occurred to Draco that, despite all of his complaints about the direct and brutal nature of his ‘relationship’ with Harry, he had never had any sexual experience beyond kissing and getting shagged. Things had been frighteningly simple between them: fight and then fuck, or just submit and have done with it. They’d never really expanded those boundaries. If he wasn’t careful, Colin would figure out that Draco hadn’t the faintest idea what to do next, other than to just turn the other boy over and shove his way in.

Trying to feign complete confidence, Draco took a few steps forward, smirking genially. “Just enjoy yourself. Anything you like.”

Colin leaned forward, looking warily in Harry’s direction, still unsure about touching someone who was obviously in some sort of relationship with his idol and housemate, then gingerly took hold of Draco’s half-hard prick and silently enveloped it with his mouth. Draco shuddered from head to toe, unconsciously placing his hand on Colin’s head. The hand around his prick moved expertly, stroking in time with the lapping suction of Colin’s mouth. The sensations were indescribable. Who would have imagined that the camera-toting chatterbox possessed a skill like this?

Draco’s eyes were clenched shut, and his entire body felt like a live wire, vibrating with an energy he’d never known before. He wasn’t aware that Harry was beside him until he felt a hand on the small of his back and opened his eyes. Harry was stone hard, and the hand on his back moved up to his hair, tilting his head into a kiss that was frightening in its hunger. The next time Draco opened his eyes, it was because the manipulation of his cock had changed, and he saw Colin holding Harry’s erect cock as well as his own, trading off between the two them, suckling the reddened head of one and then the other. He could actually feel the muscles in Harry’s body tensing during the act, and Colin’s originally rather unimpressive prick had grown nicely in the interim, jutting upwards at a sharp angle from a sandy thatch of fur, still somewhat smaller than theirs, but much more credible once he was suitably excited.

Harry’s hands were on him, demanding his attention, and he was lost in another heat-crazed kiss, barely conscious of what else was going on, and then the work of Colin’s hands shifted his brain back to the here and now. Without really planning it, Harry and Draco had canted themselves inward, and Colin had pressed their two erections together, stroking them as one. A nervous intake of air, and a heartbeat later, the heads of both of their cocks were comfortable in the slick velvet of Colin’s mouth, and the faint happy noises from below were as intoxicating as the act itself. Colin’s enthusiasm was infectious! The sight of a fair-looking fellow cheerily sucking off both Harry and himself at the same time was very nearly more than Draco could cope with and still control himself. If he didn’t break away soon…

It was an effort of pure will, and if he’d been in his right mind he’d have congratulated himself, but Draco hesitantly pulled away from Harry and from Colin at the same time, sheepish about their looks of confusion. Draco pushed Colin back gently onto the bed, then gave a look to Harry and a nod of his chin to indicate what he wanted. Harry stalked around the bed like a hunting tiger, moving to the side nearest where Colin’s head lay.

The young man was panting for breath, part from excitement and part from effort. Still, when presented with Harry’s erect cock only inches from his face, Colin swiftly and eagerly gobbled it down, stretching his neck to get closer to Harry, while Draco fumbled nervously with the bottle of lubricant he’d so despised when it had been used on him. He did just what Harry had done then, slicking his fingers carefully, then working the stuff around the edge of Colin’s dark pink whorl. A finger dipped carefully inward, and Colin moaned softly, muffled by the stiffened flesh in his mouth.

Was this how Harry saw him? Spread-legged and wanton, flushed and feverish, waiting for entry? There was power here, and it was more intoxicating than any drug. His fingers worked the slick gel into place while Colin’s body tensed and writhed, sometimes clenching tightly around the fingers inside of him.

He worked the last of the clear and slippery stuff onto his own aching cock, starved for relief and ready to claim his right to manhood. It was easier than he’d thought, but then, given how they’d done it in the past, anything might have seemed easy. A soft nudge and that incredibly hot little entrance opened willingly, and inch by inch, Draco’s cock disappeared into a soft, tight heat he hadn’t even imagined. It felt wonderful, in an alien and slightly frightening way. The most personal part of his anatomy was inside someone else’s body, and the flickering recollection that it should have Harry struck him. He pushed that thought aside, trying to concentrate on what he was doing, and placed his hands just underneath Colin’s knees, the same way Harry had held him so many times this past year.

It took an embarrassingly short time before the intensity of sensation overwhelmed him. He’d meant to stop himself, but he was coming before he knew it, and there was nothing to be done for it but to ride out the brief waves of ecstasy that rolled over him. He salvaged his dignity just a little by thrusting roughly into Colin as he came, but all the other boy did was hiss a little and clench his eyes shut. He’d made a few soft noises during the rest of it, but the entire event couldn’t have taken more than a few minutes. Draco didn’t want to think of his first occasion as a top as lackluster, but the word crossed his mind before he pushed it away.

Draco’s vision cleared from the confusion of orgasm, and his eyes locked on Harry’s. Harry was gently stroking Colin’s hair while the other young man concentrated utterly on sucking Harry off. Draco had barely been noticed throughout. Harry pulled away from Colin’s hungry mouth, strolling around the bed with his erection bobbing in front of him.

“Happy? You look like you almost enjoyed that. I guess that makes it my turn…doesn’t it?” The words were delivered so coldly. Genial and yet emotionless. Draco let his softening prick slide free of Colin’s bum, and took a couple steps back, catching his breath, still unsure of what to say. He’d thought…he’d thought it would feel better than this. He was replete, but inside he just felt hollow. Utterly empty.

Harry moved into position, his erect cock slick with pre-come and Colin’s spit. He wasn’t fumbling or unsure when he poised the tip of his cock at Colin’s entrance. He slid in with a single, slow, steady motion, staring lazily at Draco, while Colin made a small quiet whimper that sounded hungry and excited instead of annoyed or pained. Harry’s movements weren’t really rough, but they were firm and powerful, and the difference in Colin’s reaction was obvious. The slim blond was huffing slightly, face flushed and lips slack with pleasure. One hand was idly brushing its way down Harry’s chest, and the other was softly tugging at the reddened head of his own stiff and leaking prick. Colin’s back was starting to arch almost unconsciously, and Harry dealt with it by simply lifting Colin’s knees onto his shoulders and standing up, raising half of Colin along with him, still thrusting deeply and steadily into the other young man.

Draco felt sick. He could actually feel his gorge rising. This was wrong…all of it. This was a nightmare, and a pinch just wouldn’t wake him up. Watching Harry do…that…with someone else…it was frightening and nauseating at the same time. Colin’s every soft pant or moan felt like a knife in his chest, and Harry…Harry didn’t seem to notice or care. He was perfectly at peace, giving Colin a thoroughly wicked shagging, and…and…

Colin’s manipulation of his own cock took its toll. The faint muscles of his stomach and chest clenched suddenly, and crimson-faced, he began to come onto his chest, heavy pearls of white trickling down while Harry’s pace remained unrelenting. Colin’s cries burned into Draco’s ears.

“Ha-Harry! Oh! Oh! Ah…ahhhh…Gods! Uhhhn…mmm…more…s’ good…so…so good, Harry!”

Draco exploded into action, grabbing Harry by the shoulders and pulling him back, out of Colin, and sending the dark-haired man tumbling to the floor.

“GET OFF OF HIM! YOU! CREEVEY! OUT! NOW! GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE! FUCK OFF!”

Colin was wide-eyed with panic and scrambling backwards across the bed. Draco planted a hand in the center of his chest and sent him sprawling off the bed and onto the stone floor with a startled cry. Then a hand was around his throat and it felt for a moment like he was weightless…until his entire body slammed into the wall, his head cracking loudly against the stone. White flashed across his vision, and he was blinded by tears and pain, and muted by the iron hand that held him off the ground by his throat. He kicked feebly in the air, and clawed at the hand that pinned him, but it was no use. Through blurred vision, he saw Harry’s unrestrained fury, and part of him quailed in terror, but the rest of him just didn’t care. Even this was better than another minute of that!

“Colin. I’m sorry about all this. It didn’t work out too well. I’ll talk to you another time. It would be better if you just headed back to the tower. Okay?”

Colin was winded and shaking from the adrenal rush that hit him. He fumbled for his clothes nervously, and tugged them on as quickly as he could. All the while, Harry had one arm outstretched, pinning Draco to the wall by his throat. Colin was too rattled to even feel anger properly, and just gave a mournful glance at Harry that spoke volumes. There was pity mingled with awe and admiration. Confusion, desire and disappointment. Gratitude and outrage...and jealousy. Colin stopped at the door.

“Okay. Just…I’m sorry too. That was…it was really good…until. See you later, right?”

“Right.”

The door closed softly, and Draco clenched his eyes shut, knowing what would come next. He was already on the edge of blacking out from lack of air, and then he was flung to the floor like a rag doll, skidding across flagstones and flopping to a halt against another wall. He sucked air into his lungs desperately, knowing he’d need it shortly. This was going to hurt.

His eyes were too blurry to make out more than a shape looming over him, and he didn’t have the strength or even the desire to fight. He knew he had this coming, and at this point it couldn’t hurt more than what he was feeling inside. It didn’t really matter. There was nothing he could call his own…not even some slender claim to manhood. Not Harry. Nothing.

“You. You are the most fucked up, pathetic, arrogant, ignorant, obnoxious…complete TWAT…I have even seen. What am I going to do with you? What the fuck is wrong in that scheming, little head of yours? You ask for this, then you attack a friend of mine in the middle of it! I don’t know why I even bother with you! I can’t believe the shit I’ve put up with for you! You…”

“I’m sorry.” It came out a disgusting croak.

“YOU’RE RIGHT! You’re so fucking sorry that I’m sick of the sight of you! I’ve had it with this! We’re done! Do you have any idea how much I hate myself when I’m with you?! I…I don’t know what it is, but you drag the worst part of me out, again and again! Do you think I like seeing you beat to hell…or healing the both of us? It’s sick! It’s wrong! No one should hear the person they just had sex with sicking up in the other room because they hate themselves! I tried! I tried to be nice. I wanted it to be like the first time again. You just won’t let it. You’re so twisted up inside that you just can’t let go, can you?”

Harry finally struck a nerve in Draco’s psyche, touching close to something dark and terrible that Draco had pushed aside since the start of it. Draco found his voice at last, screaming through tears.

“I’M SORRY! I HATE THIS! I HATE IT! I hate what you do to me! What you make me! All of it! This…this isn’t who I am! I can’t…I can’t take this! You should have let me die! WHY?! Why…why didn’t you just leave me? For this? To make me feel like this? Why?”

Harry sat down on cold stone, starkers, and ran his hands through his hair in frustration.

“You want to know? Ask that again carefully. Think about it before you ask it! I’m not sure you can even handle why. I told you before…you don’t know what you want. And you don’t. You really don’t, do you? I’ll tell you…if you want me to, but everything will change, and I don’t think you can. So…ask it again.”

Draco wasn’t really listening. He heard the words, but the seriousness was lost on him. His head hurt, his stomach ached, and his throat was sore and raw inside and out. The word came out unbidden, more a mantra than a genuine question.

“Why…why…”

“I know you. Maybe you think no one really knows you, but I know you. I knew what you were up to when sixth year was just starting. I couldn’t quite catch you, but I followed you everywhere. Moaning Myrtle told me about you…about you crying. I knew you were afraid when everyone else just thought you were evil. I saw you, and heard you talking to Myrtle the day I hit you with Sectumsempra. I was under an Invisibility cloak that night in the tower…the night you fixed that fucking cabinet. I heard every word between you and Dumbledore. I saw your face. I’m probably the only person alive besides Snape that knows you were scared shitless and wanted out. I know you.

When I found you in that cell, it all came back. They didn’t reward you…they fucking tortured you. They used you, killed your family, then hurt you just for sport. Until last year, I always thought you were exactly what everyone else said. Just a spoiled, rotten, vindictive and evil brat. I knew you were more. I couldn’t leave you there. I wouldn’t have left anyone there, but I brought you with me. I’ve more than paid for it. Scrimgeour got his money’s worth, Ron and Hermione think I’m crazy, even though they don’t say it, and my reward is a psycho who attacks the person he invited over for a shag. But…I know you.

You want the truth? Here it is! This is what you want. You’re a fucking queer, bent bastard, and this is what you want. You just hate the fucking image that comes with it! The mighty Lord Malfoy couldn’t possibly by a fucking bender who likes it up the arse! So you do this…this insane shit, and you fight and scrap and scheme…just to get what you want, without having to admit anything! You’re…a…coward, Draco! You live in some pathetic fantasy where you’re a victim of circumstances, and nothing is your fault! GROW UP!

Just once…just once I saw a glimmer of something more. That first night. The night I killed Voldemort. I didn’t even know I could fancy blokes, but I sorted it out quick enough after the fact. The things you said, the way you looked at me…I’ve never felt so good in my entire life. I was so happy to be alive…and I was happy to be with you. I was proud of it. Then you killed everything good about it to cover your fucking tracks. You pulled me in…and I’ve been stuck here ever since, waiting for you to stop wriggling your way out of reality.

I’m not one fucking bit ashamed of what I am. Not because I like shagging a boy instead of getting shagged by him, that shite means nothing, but because there isn’t one fucking thing wrong with me shagging someone I fancy, no matter who they are, and there‘s nothing wrong with being the one getting shagged! I’ve kept my silence for your sake, for your pride…for you ego…for your arse-ignorant delusions, but it’s over. There’s nothing wrong with being a queer, and there’s nothing bloody wrong with you wanting to get shagged through the mattress either! Get over it!

Here’s the last of it! You wanted to know why I wouldn’t let you shag me? I hope it makes you happy to know this, ‘cause it’ll have to tide you over for the rest of your life! I’d never let someone who couldn’t say that he loves me shag me! I wanted more than anything just to hear you say it, because you wanted to, and not because I gave you a fucking prompt! Now that I’ve said it, I’ll never be able to believe you’re saying it for real. You’re as Slytherin as Salazar ever was, and I’ll never know if it’s from your heart or just a way to get my heels up for a few minutes. You’re a cowardly, scheming, manipulative shit, and I’m…I’m stupid enough to have wanted you anyway.

Congratulations. Now you know it all. You’ve got all the power, and you always did, but you just can’t see it. I hope all that knowledge is good company, because we’re through! Good bye!”

Draco remained still. He was numb from shock, sore, and reeling under the weight of Harry’s words. Harry dressed and left without so much as a glance at the crumpled form in the corner. Harry’s words burned into Draco’s brain long after he’d left the room, and Draco laid on cold stone in silence until the chill cramped his muscles. He didn’t bother to heal himself, or even go to class the next day. He just sat in a pile of blankets and tried to think.

The weeks passed quickly…faster than Draco had thought possible. His NEWTS were pathetic, but at least he passed most of them. Mostly, he’d spent the weeks staring furtively at Harry, and sometimes at Colin, wondering bitterly if the two of them had taken up with each other. The things Harry had said were mulled over day and night, but they were never welcome thoughts.

He’d wanted to dismiss it all as cruelty. Tell himself that Harry was nearly as Slytherin as he himself was, and that the man had known just what buttons to push to make Draco jealous, but it all rang hollow. There was a terrible possibility that Harry had been right. About everything. It had all struck too close to home. As two weeks became four and four became six, Draco reached a state of anxiety he hadn’t known was possible. At the core of it was the damning knowledge that he hadn’t been with Harry in more than a month…and he missed it desperately.

He’d been so busy hating himself for what he’d been doing, that it had never occurred to him that Harry might think of him as more than a convenient sex object. The word love was an alien thing, used to describe either the naiveté of the young or the delusions of poets, but it wasn’t something he would ever have connected with the things he did with Harry. The children of old Pureblood families didn’t marry unless both families stood to gain something from it, love wasn’t even part of the bargain…not that it mattered for Draco. His name was a poison pill now, and no one would ever offer a daughter to a house so thoroughly disgraced. If he wanted to, he could do anything he liked with the rest of his life.

It begged the question of whether, if he was given a choice, would he take a chance to be with Harry again, or would he get married to stranger? In his imagination, a passionless marriage seemed a small price to pay for some slight improvement in his social standing, but in reality, when it was dark and he was alone, and the sheets that wound around him in restless slumber were his only company, the truth made itself known with a vengeance.

There was no real contest. Life after the war had been bearable, because he’d had some small measure of Harry in his life. Only now, in the absence of that relationship that he’d both treasured and hated, could he look back and see that more had been possible. It was likely that he’d wasted it all, and there was nothing he could do, but the notion of giving up and spending the rest of his life wondering ‘what if’ was even more frightening.

Harry hadn’t as much as spoken a word to him since that terrible night, and he stuck to the Gryffindor crowd tightly enough to keep Draco far away. Colin Creevey in particular seemed to get along better with Harry these days, and there were no words for what that made Draco feel. He’d have managed outrage, but his heart had been full of leaden hopelessness for so long that anything else had difficulty finding a place. Time was running out, NEWTS were over, and in a matter of days they would all leave here. He would be the inheritor of a vast and empty estate, a single forgotten entity in a maze of gardens and lavish suites. How could such luxury look so hollow?

It was a fevered inspiration, moved by the lack of time, and a need that had spiraled out of control. An owl with a sealed letter departed, and Harry got his message as always, mixed with his usual mail. He gave no sign that indicated whether he would come or not, but Draco had picked the Room of Requirement as a meeting place, hoping that his memory of the place he wanted would be sufficient to make it real.

The wait was interminable.Admittedly, though it shamed him, Draco had always been prone to fidgeting when he was forced to wait more than a few minutes, and it was much, much worse when he was…well…lonesome? No…well…yes, he was lonesome, but that wasn’t what really bothered him. He was horny. Plain and simple. He sat on the edge of the bed, fully clothed, intending to attempt a very serious conversation, and it was all he could do keep from panicking and running away or wanking furiously to ease the tension he was feeling. And he knew what he wanted. He hadn’t felt Harry inside of him in weeks, and his entire body sometimes thrummed with need, making him a tense and perpetually nervous ball of energy. How was he supposed to concentrate when he felt like this?

He hoped the letter had worked. It had been a bit formal, but more detailed than any he had ever sent. Potter claimed to ’know’ him, so he hoped the prat ’knew’ what it meant when a letter from Draco started with an apology. He hadn’t skimped on it either. Admittedly, it could have said a lot more, but the rest was comprised of things that he didn’t care to put on paper, and these things were for Harry’s ears only.

Harry came late, which wreaked havoc with Draco’s nerves, but now wasn’t the time to let his sometimes inappropriate temperament make trouble. Draco was down to grinding his teeth and wringing his hands, perched on the edge of the bed, when Harry stepped into the room and looked around with surprise.

At Draco’s request, the Room Of Requirement had reproduced the room in which they’d lived at Grimmauld Place…down to the last detail. This was how it had looked on the only night of undiluted happiness between them. Perhaps it hadn’t started peacefully, but it had ended well…and it remained the only memory that Draco, or Harry for that matter, could honestly claim as untainted by grief or angst. It wasn’t a subtle message at all. The set of Harry’s jaw and a certain faint sadness around the eyes said that the gesture had struck the mark, and Draco hoped desperately that he’d gotten off on the right foot this time.

Words just wouldn’t come. Silence stretched between them, Draco nervously chewing his lip and occasionally glancing back to Harry, who stood with shoulders out and arms down, obviously trying to remain impassive with some difficulty. The tension simmered in the air between them.

“I didn’t come here for a memory shag. I said we were done.”

“I know.” Draco’s voice was uncharacteristically small and quiet. “But it’s a good memory, isn’t it?”

Harry nodded grudgingly, and then silence consumed them again, ticking away like a time bomb. A huff of breath, and Harry turned to leave.

“Harry, please. I…I thought about…the things you said. A lot.”

Harry’s back looked taut, and cords of muscle on his neck and shoulders were visible. He answered without turning back to face Draco.

“Yeah? Good for you. Wish you’d worked on some of that back when the year started. For what it‘s worth, apology accepted.”

Draco refused to let Harry’s stubborn refusal to make this easy stop him. Just this once, his goal was perfectly clear.

“You said you know me. You were right…about some of it. This…this isn’t easy for me, but I’m trying. I don’t…I don’t know what to say. I know I don’t want you to go away.”

Harry turned back around.

“What you…or I…want…has almost nothing to do with this anymore. The year is over. You have your home, I have mine. I hope you have a good life.”

“Don’t…don’t be like this. I said I was sorry. I can’t even say I love you, because you’d think me a liar for it. What do you want? How can I fix this? I’ll do…whatever you want…anything. Just…just tell me I’ll see you after we leave here. Please?”

Harry sighed, muscles relaxing all at once, and hung his head for a moment.

“I’m not agreeing to anything…but there’s no reason we couldn’t at least see each other. Draco…I don’t want anything from you except you. Just put aside all the stupid shite and be yourself. That’s all I ever wanted. I don’t want you to be miserable. I never wanted that…well, maybe during fourth or fifth year…but not since then at least.”

Harry’s smirk made Draco’s heart palpitate. Draco exhaled mightily, flushed and emboldened by the first sign of hope in weeks.

“You won’t regret it…I promise! I wasn’t kidding you…you were right about a lot of things. Maybe I don’t know exactly what I want, but I know I want you to be there when I figure it out. I don’t even care what we do, as long you’re there for it.”

Draco paused, something frightening hovering on the tip of his tongue.

“Harry…I don’t think I can tell you that I love you. Not because of what you said. Because I don’t think I know what love is. I never had it. Or never felt it. I don’t know what it means. I want to find out…with you. No one else…just you. I’m…I’m asking you to be patient…because I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, but for you, I’m willing to try. Please forgive me…for the things I’ve done. Harry…I’m still scared…and I don’t want to be alone anymore. Couldn’t we try this again? I swear I can do better.”

Harry’s sullen resistance crumbled.

“How the hell am I supposed to say no to that? How? Where do you get off suddenly saying the right things? I’m probably going to kick myself for this someday, but…I don’t want anyone else. This…whatever it is between us…started by accident, but I didn’t want it to end either.”

Harry sat beside Draco, landing gracelessly with exasperation in his every movement. Draco sighed with relief and flopped backwards onto the bed, staring at the ceiling that now matched the one he’d watched for weeks that past summer. Harry finally broke the new silence.

“You really have been thinking. Sounds like you figured a few things out, too. I admit to being impressed.”

“Oh, I learned some things alright. First, this whole ‘talking about stuff’ thing is exhausting…and all that introspection and self honesty…it’s bloody killing me! I mean, for Merlin’s fucking sake…I’m a Slytherin and a Malfoy. I’m not bloody equipped for this kind of thing. I…I feel naked when I talk about these things. I don’t like it…but it doesn’t mean I won’t do it…if something is important enough to merit this kind of effort.”

Harry laid back on the bed beside Draco, looking pensive and amused, then turned his head to look at Draco.

“Nice roundabout compliment. I appreciate it. I’ll be frank…it’s better than hearing curses and insults any day. It’s nice…like this…just talking to you. It’s more like what I hoped we could be together. When I came here tonight, I didn’t think you’d ever try to be or do anything different. I think…I think I was wrong. I’m glad of it too.”

Draco clamped his eyes shut, trying to breath carefully and quietly, refusing to show the degree to which he was actually terrified of giving offense or seeming presumptuous. It had taken so much to get this second chance…he was terrified of risking it by pushing too hard or too fast. His hand moved slowly to where he knew Harry’s was resting, pausing at the first moment of warm and weirdly electric contact between them. Harry didn’t pull away at all, but let Draco’s fingers pry open a place to make his hand comfortable in Harry’s. There was a small squeeze of affirmation, and Draco felt bolder immediately, a little giddy with the knowledge that what had existed between them could be better than it had ever been.

“I missed you. You can’t know how much. I’d show you…if you’d let me?”

And lips were against his before his eyes even opened, soft and hungry, and Harry was above him, needy and helpless, however much the stronger he may have sometimes seemed. Draco savored the power he wielded, suddenly aware that what he once thought of as the very essence of weakness, was in fact a power all its own. The feel of Harry’s desire, knowing that he was what kindled that flame, understanding that, without shame, he held control over what he chose to do or not do, as well as control over what Harry would or would not do.

He managed to choke out a whispered entreaty between long, fierce kisses.

“Like it was…here…then. Make it like that again…please?”

If the words were tinged with a little fear and regret, those feelings didn’t last long. Harry was as gentle as a lamb, and Draco only felt wanted instead of wanton. That night with Colin had been a horrible mistake, made so by Draco blindness to his own feelings, but it hadn’t been without some small measure of good. He’d been forced to make peace with parts of himself he’d feared and hated before, and now, in the arms of the young man who was, to Draco, equal parts savior, champion, friend and lover, he was no longer afraid of what he felt. It had almost cost him everything, much like another mistake he’d made, but what he’d gained from it was so very much more.

There were differences between that first fumbling meeting between them and this special night. This time, they had the benefit of those few things they’d learned from that night with Colin, and that knowledge wasn’t wasted. No effort was spared between them, each sating the other as thoroughly as possible, in every was save one. Draco actually had to coax Harry into position, making clear with his own movements that he genuinely wanted Harry inside of him.

Draco had gone back to that hated room days ago, dusty and unused since their final tryst, and recovered something long left behind. He was neither afraid nor ashamed of making use of it, because this was not a night for gritted teeth or pain that seared away comfort or thought. He wasn’t quite bold enough to meet Harry’s eyes while he applied the slick stuff to himself, but he heard the soft hitch of breath that hinted at surprise, and that was enough.

He hadn’t used all that much of the lubricant, but it did its job well, and a familiar heat and thickness filled him at last, this time without the lancing pains of rough entry. His knees were pulled up to his chest, legs clenched around Harry’s torso, while Draco let the dizzying sensations that came of being well and gently shagged overwhelm him. His breath was short and ragged, his face flushed and hot, and his own cock was a rock hard and aching thing, only occasionally twitching of its own volition, pulsing with a need he didn’t dare answer until the time was right.

Time slid by, positions melding one into another, each as pleasurable in its own way as the one before, and always, always Harry restrained himself, refusing completion, fighting to make the night last as long as possible. Draco found a pliancy in himself he hadn’t known he was capable of, and he was lazily aware that he was at peace with it, taking pleasure from Harry’s efforts while he himself relaxed utterly. Eventually, Harry could last no longer, and Draco felt the change of mood and tempo instantly. Before he could fumble for his own sore and weeping cock, Harry’s hand was already around it and moving, and the small noises of surprise from Draco were muffled by a soft mouth and a probing tongue.

Pressure built in him fast, and Draco’s face felt hot, while his very eyes seemed to throb in time with his thudding heart. Strong, short thrusts into him were making the manipulation of his prick a matter of instant concern, and Harry’s mouth drowned the keening noises that erupted from the pit of Draco’s being, letting them trail off to whimpers of pleasure while thick, white droplets dotted the landscape of Draco‘s chest and stomach, and rolled in heavy trickles around Harry‘s knuckles. The pace of Harry’s body slowed, shifting to a few deep, slow pushes, and Draco could actually feel the pulsing muscle inside of him, knowing full well that Harry was coming and coming hard. Those lips parted from his while Harry gasped for breath, droplets of sweat scattering from his hair and speckling Draco with wetness that carried the cool of night air.

It was a long time before they parted, utterly spent and replete, and Draco curled quietly into arms that held him fast and safe. In the silence after, there was no grief or emptiness, and a smile ghosted across his lips while he drifted to slumber.

Harry was his and would always be his alone, and he held the power to make that true. This would be his life, and there was nothing wrong with anything that felt this good, both in flesh and in spirit. Maybe he couldn’t define love, and maybe he had no words to easily explain it, but he’d have time to work it out for himself, and when the time was right, and the words came freely, Harry would be there to here them. Someday there would be no more questions between them, and no more cruel uncertainties, but until then…who could ask for more than this?


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Colin Creevey placed a fresh log on the fire, then returned to his book and his glass of wine. It was a book of pictures, taken years ago at Hogwarts, and when it was quiet and he was alone, he would sometimes flip back through those wonderful memories of youth. Certain pictures stood out, reminding him of some of the best days of his life, but others were only bittersweet recollections at best.

Harry’s was such a picture. With wizarding pictures, the people moved as they had when the picture was taken. Harry didn’t move at all. It was a cluster of Gryffindor seventh years, the picture taken for posterity, posing for Colin and his familiar camera. Harry’s image was stock still, smiling softly, staring off into the distance where the camera couldn’t follow. What the camera hadn’t shown was Draco Malfoy, some twenty feet away, smiling back and watching his boyfriend get his picture taken.

In that last few days before the end of school, Draco had emerged from the closet, and made no attempt to hide his relationship with Harry. Given that Harry was the most beloved figure in the wizarding world since Dumbledore, no one gave either of them more than a minute’s grief about it. Draco had even managed to give Colin a stammered apology about that weird and wonderful night.

Harry and Draco had been the curiosity of the wizarding press since then, still an ‘item’ after more than two decades. Colin had been working for The Daily Prophet almost since his graduation, and it was the only part of the job he truly hated. Even after so many years, and a fair number of lovers, those articles still stung, a constant reminder of what he’d so briefly brushed against for one crazy, heated moment. Who would believe him…if he’d told what he knew?

It was hard to begrudge anyone that kind of happiness, and they certainly looked like they had it, but there were moments…when he wished he’d never walked down that hall, never opened that door, and never stayed long enough to be teased with a fantasy that came to life and then died in front of him.

Colin closed the old scrapbook album and placed it on the stand next to him. The last dregs of his glass of wine had been drained, and the fire was ebbing a bit low. It was past time for bed anyway. It had been a pretty good life so far, with only a few nagging regrets that probably didn’t deserve so much attention, and lots of undiscovered moments yet to come. He wouldn’t have figured the two of them lasting more than a cool minute together, but they’d proven him, and many others, wrong over the years. Maybe…just maybe…some things were just meant to be.

FIN