Seeking

Author's Note: Several things: A) I know this is rather long for a oneshot. What can I say? I fail at shortness.
B) This was meant to be a gift!fic but I don't know if I like it enough to consider giving it as a gift. We'll find out.
C) I don't know. T_T I just hope you enjoy it.


Seeking

This was what he had been waiting for. Well, not precisely this -he couldn’t have possibly anticipated this particular sequence of events; he was no Seer after all –but something to this effect. He had been waiting for a sign like this one for weeks now. Yes. Weeks.

Everything had seemed so wrong up until this point.

The days following the Battle of Hogwarts had passed by in a blur. After the events of that first night, after surveying all of the fallen and standing in the Great Hall, amidst all the other survivors, wondering ’what now?’, everything had flown by in a flurry of monochrome. Funerals, memorials, celebrations. They had all been black and white, all of them a wash of numb shock.

And then the trials.

The trials had passed by slowly and stuck in his mind in glaring detail. But the same numb shock was still there. It was embedded in his veins, he was sure.

The only thing that he convinced him that things would get better and, eventually, return to normal, was the knowledge that he would be back at Hogwarts come fall.

But the train ride back to Hogwarts had not been what he had expected. He wanted, longed for those quiet hours in the compartment with his friends, talking about inconsequential things. Not the uncomfortable, awed silences that followed him. Not the looks that people shot him whenever he passed. Not the whispers that lingered in his ears like the distant hissing of an army of snakes, instead of comprehensible words.

And then there had been him. Seeing him again shouldn’t have been so strange. It shouldn’t have conjured any unusual feelings within him. It shouldn’t have been so wrong. But the sight of him, his face almost blank, his eyes tired as he sat at the other side of the hall, was the perfect illustration of everything that was wrong with this year at Hogwarts.

Harry couldn’t help staring at Malfoy. He couldn’t, really. When they were in the same room, some inexplicable force drew his attention over to the blonde, his eyes taking in everything he possibly could. Something was severely wrong.

From the moment they returned, Harry had deeply hoped that they could all pretend as though it was just another year at Hogwarts. He wanted to pretend that he was just another student and not “Defeater of the Dark Lord”, as everyone called him. He had been counting on Malfoy –actually counting on him -to ensure that.

He had spoken at the Malfoys’ trials. Even Lucius Malfoy’s trial. He had assured that the Wizengamot that they had defected at the end and had been instrumental in the defeat of the Death Eaters and Voldemort himself. He had convinced the Ministry that they should not be sent to Azkaban. None of them.

And they hadn’t been.

Harry had reasoned that it was war and, regardless of what might be legal and illegal under normal circumstances, the dangers of war rarely allowed one to follow the law. He had argued that, whatever the Malfoys had done that would merit a prison sentence, then Harry should also be locked up for his actions. He had used Unforgivables in his efforts to defeat the Dark Lord. He had been forced to hurt people, forced to kill Voldemort, in the end. Whether he used the Killing Curse himself, or not, Harry Potter had killed.

The Ministry had reluctantly granted Harry his argument. However unwilling they might have been to acknowledge that the Unforgivable Curses could, in certain circumstances, be forgivable, they were far more unwilling to arrest the Saviour of the Wizarding World. Thus, the Malfoys were released and Harry believed he had secured his one promise for normality.

He had expected Malfoy to regain his air of superiority immediately. He had expected him to return with Hogwarts with his usual swagger and immediately rekindle his rivalry with Harry. Perhaps without all the hatred, this time. Harry no longer hated Malfoy, that was for sure.

But he had been wrong, as he had been with everything else.

Malfoy had returned but had decided, apparently, to never speak to Harry ever again. Granted, they didn’t speak much to begin with and only then to hurl insults at one another, but still. Nothing.

Whenever Harry looked at him, Malfoy was in his own world. His face was dark and he acted as though his will was permanently broken. Harry did not like that. At all.

How could you really expect otherwise? he thought to himself, angrily. His family has been thrown from their pedestal, he nearly died a number of times, he has no friends left and, to top it all off, the one person he loathed turned out to be the only one willing to save his arse. You probably murdered his pride along with Voldemort.

Harry didn’t think the idea would have bothered him at all –Malfoy had always needed to be taken down a notch or two in the pride department –if it hadn’t meant that Harry would have to face this broken Malfoy all the time. The idea of the Slytherin being completely incapable of holding his gaze was simply wrong.

Thus, when an owl had delivered a small, square package to Malfoy that Saturday morning, Harry had perked up and accidentally flung some of his scrambled eggs at Ron. After a rushed apology, Harry directed his attention back to the blonde. Harry had not seen him receive a parcel since his return to Hogwarts. And he would know.

Harry watched him every morning and every night in the Great Hall.

Because he was so concerned for his well-being, of course.

As Harry watched him carefully scanning the letter, Malfoy’s pale eyebrows rose up and the smallest of smiled pulled at the corners of his mouth. Harry was transfixed by the scene. What could it be? Surely not a birthday gift. Malfoy’s birthday was… it was during the summer, wasn’t it? Between May and August, no? He wracked his brains from sixth year, vaguely remembering that he, Malfoy and Ernie MacMillan had been the only three unable to take the Apparition test because of their late birthdays. Right?

Harry furrowed his brow and then considered that it was a gift from home. His mother probably sent him sweets as she used to do, to help him feel less homesick? But the box was small and wrapped in plain brown paper. Malfoy’s mother’s packages had always been rather large and intricately wrapped.

Harry puzzled over the possibilities while Malfoy tore open the package. As Harry watched, Malfoy’s face brightened visibly. Harry blinked several times, wondering if it was actually possible to light up a room with a facial expression. The Slytherin’s lips drew up into a very familiar, very disconcerting smirk. His eyes twinkled deviously. Harry could see it even from half-way across the Hall.

It was as Harry puzzled over the expression and tried to figure out the best way to satisfy his curiosity that he realized that this is what he had been hoping for. Malfoy was smirking again, as he should be. He let his tongue trace the edge of his teeth for a moment as he considered the unknown item, surely plotting something.

Harry found himself biting excitedly on his bottom lip at the prospect of normalcy returning. He needed to know what Malfoy’s package was. He needed to know why the blonde was so excited. He needed to find out.

Just then, Malfoy looked up and his eyes met Harry’s. He stared at Harry for a good few moments and then, his eyebrows cocked briefly before he winked –he winked -at Harry and got to his feet.

Oh yes, he must be up to something.

“Harry?” Hermione’s voice called from somewhere to his right. He turned in his seat to watch Malfoy leave the Great Hall with the package stowed carefully in his robes.

“Mm?” he asked, as the blonde turned the corner.

“Are you alright?” she asked, apparently worried. He did not turn to look at her. “You’re clutching your fork rather tightly.”

Harry blinked and released his fork, the muscles in his hand aching as he released them. He was mildly taken aback that he had not noticed, but quickly shook it off.

“I’m fine,” he answered hurriedly. He got to his feet. “I’m going to go for a walk. I’ll see you later.”

Before she, or anyone else, could say anything, Harry had left the Hall and was desperately glancing around for any sign of where Malfoy might have gone. He caught a brief glimpse of blond hair before it disappeared outside and Harry ran.

He bolted outside and sought out the same white-blond hair. Harry spotted Malfoy walking quickly but carefully in the direction of the Quidditch pitch. He paused before making his way after him, hoping he didn’t appear to be following the Slytherin.

While he followed him, Harry puzzled over the choice of direction. Why was he heading to the Quidditch pitch? Malfoy had not rejoined the Slytherin team from what Harry knew. Then again, there had been no tryouts yet for any house team. Harry was no longer Captain of Gryffindor’s team, either. The spot had been given to Ginny after Harry had neglected to return the previous year. In an effort to encourage fairness, every player had to try out for their position again.

Did Malfoy intend to reprise his role has Slytherin Seeker? Harry’s heart beat faster and his blood rushed at the idea. But did his gift have something to do with Quidditch then? Harry wracked his mind for possibilities. What could it be?

He was so busy trying to riddle out the gift that he had not realized that Malfoy had stopped just short of the door to the change rooms. And turned around.

“Back to stalking me, are you, Potter?” Malfoy’s familiar drawl interrupted Harry’s thoughts. He stopped dead and blinked a number of times, shocked by the fact that the blonde was smirking at him and leaning casually against the wall. Harry smiled inwardly. “Am I that fascinating?”

“No, but you are that suspicious,” Harry answered coolly, biting back the inexplicable urge he had to respond yes. Malfoy’s face darkened slightly.

“I should have known I would always be under your watchful eye, Potter,” Malfoy said silkily. Harry felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. “But I was unaware that the desire to practice Quidditch warranted suspicion.”

Harry cocked his head to the side and tried to hide his excitement. So Malfoy was going to practice.

“Practice?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. “You intend to try out for the Slytherin team, then?”

Malfoy’s eyes twinkled deviously, just as they had done in the Great Hall. He pushed himself off the wall and stood closer to Harry. It was only then that Harry actually noticed Malfoy’s height. While he wasn’t gigantic, Malfoy had a good few inches on Harry. He cursed himself and wondered how he had never noticed this before.

Why am I so bloody short? Or, rather, why is he so bloody tall?

“Oh, I intend to try out for a team, Potter,” he answered oddly. Harry’s expression turned puzzled as he stared at the blonde. He realized, then, that Malfoy was looking him up and down.

“And you intended to practice alone?” Harry asked, trying to regain his footing in the exchange. He stood taller and squared his shoulders. Harry might have been shorter than Malfoy, but he was definitely broader, if only slightly. Malfoy still hadn’t quite regained the weight he had lost during the war. Harry had grown muscles during the whole ordeal and he knew it. Malfoy still looked thin rather than lean.

“Of course not,” he answered in a low whisper that Harry found himself leaning toward. “You’re here.”

“What?” Harry asked suddenly. Malfoy wanted to practice with him? The blonde smirked and pushed open the door of the change rooms. He held it open and cocked his eyebrows at Harry.

“Scared, Potter?” he challenged rather than asked. Harry felt his entire body jump at the prospect. He let his own mouth draw into a smirk to rival Malfoy’s.

“Never,” he answered almost breathlessly. Malfoy sucked on his teeth and walked through the door. Harry followed him, trying not to seem too eager. Malfoy opened a locker and pulled out his set of Slytherin robes. He pulled the parcel out of his pocket and laid it carefully on the bench in front of him, obscuring Harry’s view of it, while he pulled off his robes to change.

Harry found himself watching Malfoy as the impossibly creamy skin of his back was revealed. The fact that Malfoy was so thin made it impossible not to see every muscle of his back. Harry was mesmerized by the movement of his shoulders as he reached for the green and silver jumper. As though he could sense Harry’s eyes on him, Malfoy suddenly slowed his movements. He paused and the angled his head back and rolled his shoulders to realign his spine.

Harry blinked and shook his head violently to dislodge the images of the blond that had imprinted themselves in his mind. He quickly sought out his own robes and changed as quickly as possible. He tried to rationalize that the blood that had decided to abandon its important mission to Harry’s vital organs and collect somewhere south of his belly was only a result of his excitement about playing Quidditch. Yes. It was possible.

Entirely possible.

He pulled on his robes and turned around to see Malfoy watching him, nonchalantly leaning back against the lockers. The smirk was still on his lips and Harry felt himself flush slightly.

“So how does this work?” Harry asked, trying to sound indifferent. “I don’t have a Snitch,” he lied. He did have a Snitch, but he certainly wasn’t going to be using it for this. He was never going to use it again.

Malfoy’s smirk only widened and he cocked his head to the side, walking out toward the pitch.

“I’ve got it, Potter,” he said. Harry blinked and followed him out, wondering how his desire to retrieve normalcy had lead him to follow Malfoy’s lead.

It didn’t matter now.

They walked over to the broom shed and Malfoy pulled out a new broom. Harry smirked at the sight of it and then reached in to pull out his own broom. Malfoy eyed his broom and the smirk on his face very nearly turned into a smile. His eyes flashed brilliantly and Harry fought the odd surge of excitement that ran through him. He couldn’t explain quite why this whole situation pleased him so deeply.

It’s just like old times… isn’t it?

“A Jetstream,” Malfoy said, looking at Harry’s broomstick. Harry realized that, upon returning to Hogwarts, he would need a new broom, if only to feel the freedom of flying again. He couldn’t bring himself to buy another Firebolt, not after having lost the one that Sirius had given him as a gift –his only real gift that remained from his godfather. So, instead, he had purchased the newest broom on the market. It was a level above the Nimbus series, but still not quite the caliber of the Firebolt.

Malfoy had, apparently, purchased the same broomstick.

“This time, when I kick your arse, you’ll know it was my superior talent,” Harry jeered. “And nothing to do with my broom.”

Malfoy actually laughed before turning his back to the shed.

“You seem dreadfully confident, Potter,” Malfoy sneered back. “For someone who hasn’t yet heard the terms of the game.”

Harry paused momentarily and felt a small stab of concern. He narrowed his eyes.

“Terms?” he asked suspiciously. Malfoy licked his lips and Harry had the distinct impression that he was about to be devoured.

“You didn’t think it would be a friendly game, did you Potter?” the blonde asked. He made a disapproving noise. “I’m a Slytherin. There is no such thing.” He paused and then something Harry couldn’t identify chased itself across Malfoy’s face. “We play for keeps.”

Harry’s deep and almost unnatural excitement was now mingled with the slightest sense of dread. He didn’t care. Nothing could possibly threaten him now. Not like Voldemort. Malfoy might be devious, but he was not evil and he was no murderer. He was hardly a Death Eater. Harry felt confident that he could take whatever Malfoy could dish out.

“What are the terms, then?”

Malfoy seemed pleased by this and stood tall again. His silver eyes were sharp but warm. Harry had never seen them look that way. Then again, perhaps he never paid close enough attention in the past.

No. That can’t be it.

“The object is to catch the Snitch first,” he stated, rather redundantly to Harry’s mind. “By whatever means necessary.” Harry eyed him but nodded. That would be easy enough, he supposed. “And as for the stakes,” he paused and considered for a moment. “The winner is entitled to one thing of their choosing belonging to the loser.”

Harry thought hard on this. There was little chance he would lose to Malfoy. He never had in the past, that was certain. If he did lose, what did he have that he was not willing to part with? The two answers came to him immediately, without much thought. The Marauder’s Map and his Invisibility Cloak. Those two things he could never give up. Never.

He knew that Malfoy knew about the cloak. There was a possibility that he could ask for that if he won.

But he won’t win.

Harry supposed he should have been less confident but he couldn’t help it. He felt right again. He felt like he had in the years before the war complicated everything. He felt excited at the thought of a healthy competition. Though perhaps the competition that existed between him and Malfoy had never been healthy.

“Deal,” he answered, not even having considered what he would ask of Malfoy if and when he won.

“Good,” Malfoy said, holding out his hand. Harry considered for a moment, wondering if he was shaking hands with the devil, and then threw out the thought and took Malfoy’s gloved hand. The blonde held his hand for a long moment before releasing it and pulling the parcel out of his robes again. The almost manic look was back in his eyes. He opened the box and pulled out a small golden ball. “This,” he said with a mischievous tone that made Harry wonder what it would have been like to actually be his friend. “Is a Practice Snitch.”

Harry’s eyes widened slightly and he studied the ball. The wings were folded into the tiny grooves along the sphere, as always. The difference between this Snitch and any normal one, however, seemed to be that this Snitch was painted with intricate, curling black lines. Harry wanted to reach out and touch it but refrained from doing so.

He also refrained from asking the obvious questions. He did not want Malfoy to think him uneducated in regards to Quidditch. He knew his confusion was obvious on his face, but it was always better to have people think you a fool, than open your mouth and remove all doubt.

That was something Harry had learned the hard way. Finally. It only took him… seven years? Perhaps eighteen.

“Practice Snitches are used by professional players,” Malfoy explained, clearly aware of the unasked question. Harry felt his cheeks burn anyway. He frowned at the ball. The smugness was far too clear on Malfoy’s words. Harry refused to look at him. “They are enchanted differently than normal Snitches. The most important difference is that Practice Snitches have no flesh memories, therefore they can be used and reused without losing any of their efficiency.” Harry knew that his face paled at the mention of flesh memories. He had never mentioned to anyone, other than Ron and Hermione of course, that he had used the Resurrection Stone that had been hidden inside the Snitch. He chanced a glance at Malfoy’s face and saw that he had noticed something change in Harry. He was studying him curiously with all the hunger that Harry saw in a wild dog. Sirius had exhibited that same hunger at the prospect of his freedom.

“I see,” Harry said, clearing his throat. “So, are we going to do this, or what?”

Malfoy’s eyebrow raised in question but he said nothing. Harry tried to think on who could have possibly sent him a Practice Snitch rather than think back on the ghosts of his parents before he walked to his death.

“I’m going to activate it,” Malfoy informed him. “Release it and then we go.”

Harry nodded and mounted his broom. Malfoy did the same, holding his wand out. He pressed the tip of it to a small black circle on the Snitch. It glowed, came to life, spread its little wings and took flight when Malfoy’s pale fingers released it. Harry wondered idly where he had gotten a new wand, considering he had never returned the hawthorn one. But his eyes followed the Snitch and then they were in the air.

They circled each other for a few moments, getting used to flying again. Harry glanced at Malfoy who was staring right back at him. He felt an electric thrill run through him.

“I realize it’s difficult to tear your eyes away, Potter,” Malfoy sneered. “But I am not the Snitch. You might want to try staring somewhere else if you don’t intend to give me something of yours.”

Harry pulled a sarcastic face and spun, searching wildly for the little golden ball. He tried not to think that he was staring at Malfoy. Certainly he hadn’t been. Malfoy had been staring back, in any case. Hadn’t he?

Maybe I’ve gone mental. Harry was mildly alarmed by the fact that the idea of losing his mind did not seem particularly frightening to him.

He groaned at his inability to concentrate and resumed his search. In the meantime, he decided to test out his new broom. He dove and spiraled in the air, trying to come to reconcile with the broomstick. It obeyed him easily but did not have the fluidity of movement of his Firebolt.

He pulled out of a spiral and looked around. He couldn’t see the Snitch and so his eyes fell on Malfoy. He was apparently doing something similar to Harry. He spun and cartwheeled in the air, pushing the Jetstream to its limits. Harry tried to watch with an unbiased eye.

When he took it all in and put his feelings for Malfoy aside, he had to admit that the prat was quite talented on a broomstick. He was effortless in a way that Harry wasn’t sure he could accomplish himself. He felt as though he always had to force and urge the broom onward. Malfoy almost looked as though he was flying unaided.

I’m still going to beat him.

Harry smirked and flew in circles around the pitch, searching desperately for the Snitch. Just as he was wondering if the black lines might affect the look of it from a distance, he spotted a tiny glimmer of light from the goalposts at the opposite side of the pitch.

Harry did not hesitate. He urged his broomstick forward and bolted towards the glint of light. He didn’t need to turn around to know that Malfoy was immediately on his heels, and gaining fast.

Soon they were neck-and-neck, both demanding more from their broomsticks than they could offer. Harry gritted his teeth and stared at the Snitch. It was fluttering directly behind one of the goal hoops. In fact, if he had been smaller, he could have flown directly through the hoop to catch it.

As it was, however, Harry knew that if he tried to grab it through the hoop, he would end up crashing into the metal and severely injuring himself. The only way was to edge around it and grab it from the side.

They both approached the hoop and Harry veered slightly off to the side, hoping that if he moved fast enough, he could catch it and Malfoy might misjudge and hit the post instead.

He turned his broomstick sharply to pull off the very slight change in trajectory and moved around the side of the hoop. Malfoy flew slightly to the opposite side of the hoop and Harry briefly panicked that Malfoy was going to try the same thing and they would end up colliding on the other side. Instead, however, Malfoy reached his hand out through the hoop just as Harry reached behind it. He lurched forward, sure that he could catch the little ball before Malfoy and wouldn’t hurt himself doing it.

But then, before Harry’s eyes, the Snitch fluttered its wings and moved directly into Malfoy’s open hand. The long fingers closed triumphantly around the ball as Malfoy whipped his own arm back, out of the hoop, just in time to turn and veer off to avoid Harry.

Harry’s broom careened in the opposite direction to make up for the abrupt turn and his face was hot.

He dove to the ground and jumped off his broom just a few feet off from where Malfoy had landed. Harry’s teeth were clenched, as were his fists. He threw down his broom as he stomped over to Malfoy.

“You cheated!” he yelled, ready to pull out his wand. Malfoy dropped his broom as well and held the Snitch tightly in one hand. His expression was smug, which only served to enrage Harry further.

“Has it ever occurred to you, Potter,” he drawled. “That I might just be better than you are?”

“Bollocks,” Harry spat. He was fighting valiantly against the urge to grab fistfuls of Malfoy’s robes and throttle him. “You’ve never won against me in the past. I saw the Snitch move into your hand, Malfoy. You bloody cheated.”

Malfoy’s face darkened and he glared back at Harry now. The rushing of blood and the steady heartbeat in Harry’s ears was familiar. He both loved and hated the feel of it.

“I did not cheat, Potter,” his words had a sharp edge to them. Harry glared. “Though while we’re on the subject, did you not hear me say that the object was to catch the Snitch by whatever means necessary?” He gave Harry a meaningful look. “It’s not my bloody fault that you didn’t consider all the options available to you.”

Harry’s jaw dropped slightly before he caught himself and glared more forcefully at Malfoy. His jaw was tight and he Summoned his broomstick.

“Whatever, Malfoy,” Harry snapped, walking towards the change rooms. “Your little trick means the bet is off.”

Harry was so angry he hardly felt Malfoy’s hand on his shoulder before he was spun and forced into the wall. The back of his head hit the brick with a dull thud and he screwed his eyes shut in pain.

“I did not cheat,” Malfoy snarled. When Harry opened his eyes it was to see Malfoy’s face about an inch away from his own. The blonde’s gloved hand was pressed firmly to Harry’s chest, keeping him in place. “Now you owe me something, Potter. Unless you are too much of a sore loser to keep your word.”

Harry gnashed his teeth and pushed Malfoy back but hardly managed to move him before he found himself pressed against the wall once more.

“What do you want?” Harry snarled in return. Malfoy eyed him and Harry waited for the blow to fall.

“I want the truth,” he hissed. Harry blinked, staring at the blonde. Malfoy’s anger seemed to be the result of hurt, now that Harry looked directly at him. He couldn’t quite understand why.

“What?” Harry couldn’t quite believe his ears. Malfoy hadn’t asked for the cloak or anything else that Harry actually owned. He had asked for…

“The truth,” he repeated. “I am going to ask you a number of questions and I expect you to answer them truthfully. That’s all.”

Harry blinked in confusion and then shook it off. He pushed back again and this time Malfoy released him. He shrugged to readjust his robes and stared, his eyes narrowed, at Malfoy.

“Fine,” he said. “Ask away.”

Malfoy leaned back against nothing and crossed his arms. He was still very close to Harry. As a result, he felt hot and sweaty and wished that Malfoy would hurry up.

“Why did you save me?” The question was somewhat shocking to Harry. Who questioned someone saving their life?

Clearly, only a paranoid Slytherin. Or a paranoid Death Eater.

Former Death Eater.

“Because you would have died,” Harry answered automatically. It seemed rather obvious. Malfoy stared evenly at him, apparently awaiting further explanation. Harry sighed and cast his gaze elsewhere. He didn’t think he would have to answer this question. He didn’t want to. “Because you didn’t deserve to die. Whatever stupid and evil things you had done, you didn’t deserve to die.” He finally looked back at Mafloy. “The only person who deserved to die was Voldemort.” He paused and then reconsidered. “And perhaps Bellatrix Lestrange.”

Malfoy’s face flashed a number of emotions that Harry couldn’t catch but, eventually, some form of acceptance settled on his features. He nodded.

“Why did you speak on my behalf, on my family’s behalf, at the trials?” Harry had expected this question. It was one he had thought on for a long time. Everyone had asked him the same thing; the Weasleys, Hermione, the Aurors, the Order, the Wizengamot… they all wanted to know why Harry would ever speak on behalf of the Malfoys.

“Just like you didn’t deserve to die,” Harry explained, more confidently this time. “You didn’t deserve to go to Azkaban. You deserved another chance. A real chance, this time. To be what you want to be.” He swallowed and glared at the goalposts behind Malfoy. “A second chance at life. You may have done stupid things and made wrong choices, but you deserved another go at it.” Harry looked back at Malfoy again and wished he hadn’t. The grey eyes were piercing and wide. He was sure Malfoy hadn’t blinked in five minutes. “You’re not evil, Malfoy.”

“Despite this,” the blonde eventually murmured. “You still think I’m suspicious enough to stalk?”

Harry flushed and glared. He tried to square his shoulders and seem more commanding but knew he was caught.

“I wasn’t stalking you,” he shot. “And… I… I don’t know. I just...” He ran his fingers raggedly through his hair and sighed deeply. “I wanted you back at Hogwarts because I wanted things to go back to normal… whatever that means now. I wanted…” He rolled his eyes. “I needed you to be around because Hogwarts isn’t normal without you.” He knew that his cheeks were red now, he felt the heat in his face, but he couldn’t figure out exactly why. “But then you were so… broken.” He chanced a glance at the Slytherin but his face revealed nothing. “You weren’t yourself. And I saw your face light up when you got the package in the post.” Why was he going on about this? Why was he revealing everything so easily? He could have tried to lie anyway. He should have. “And then you winked at me, and, well… I wanted to know what… brought you back.”

He cursed himself for his own stupid promises and his need to keep his word for everything. He cursed his own stupid honour and shifted uneasily under Malfoy’s stare. The blonde seemed to be trying to look right through him. Harry felt his stomach drop and had the inexplicable urge to touch the Slytherin.

“You,” Malfoy began, apparently trying to process the information. “You missed me insulting you?” He seemed completely blown away by the notion. Harry winced. It didn’t sound anywhere nearly as logical when he phrased it that way. Perhaps it was never logical. “You prefer me to behave arrogantly?”

Harry frowned and looked seriously at him.

“Well, it certainly doesn’t suit you to be modest.”

Malfoy stared for a moment and then his face split into a grin and he laughed. Harry was so shocked by it that he actually stepped back into the wall. Malfoy laughed harder and then shook his head at Harry.

“You’re mad, Potter,” he concluded. Harry frowned more deeply.

“I am not,” he answered.

“You must be,” the blonde replied. “You’ve always hated me and the way I acted. Now, when I’ve stopped acting that way, you decide that you preferred the version of me you hated.” He laughed again. “What is it? Harder to loathe me when I’m not poking fun at you?”

Harry very nearly answered in the affirmative before he caught himself.

“I don’t hate you, Malfoy,” Harry informed him. “Not anymore.” Malfoy visibly stopped laughing. The smile faded slightly.

“You still haven’t quite explained why you keep staring at me,” he drawled by way of question. He tilted his head and advanced on Harry. Harry swallowed and tried to stare him down, his face hot.

“I- I believe I did,” Harry stammered slightly. The sensation that he was prey returned to him. Malfoy shook his head.

“You explained why you followed me here,” he admitted. He was dangerously close to Harry now and Harry couldn’t breathe. “You didn’t explain why you’ve been watching me since the start of term.”

Fuck.

Harry scrambled for a reason.

“I’ve—I wondered why you were so quiet,” Harry tried. His throat felt very dry all of a sudden. Malfoy leaned in. “I just wanted you to go back to normal.”

Malfoy shook his head again and then his mouth was next to Harry’s ear. Harry could feel hot breath ghosting over his neck. He shivered involuntarily.

“I don’t think so, Potter,” he breathed. Harry wanted to push Malfoy away and leave, but his traitorous body was frozen in place. “I think it was simpler than that.” His chest was almost pressed to Harry’s now and Harry could smell him. Apples, soap and leather. “I think you want me, Potter.”

“N-n-…” Harry tried to say, but then Malfoy’s lips brushed against his ear and his hands were against Harry’s sides, running lightly up and down his body. Harry couldn’t actually say the word and was rather shocked when his breathing hitched.

“Don’t lie, Potter,” Malfoy whispered. “Remember your word.” Harry gritted his teeth and tried to muster up his strength and determination to push Malfoy away. Just then, however, Malfoy’s hand trailed up his chest and moved around his neck to cup his head. His fingertips entwined in his hair and Malfoy’s face reappeared in front of his own. “Does it feel good when I touch you?”

The question was loaded and part of Harry’s mind –the sane part, he wagered –wanted to scream no and demand that Malfoy stop what he was doing. The rest of Harry’s mind, however, was apparently in control and reeled when Malfoy’s ran his other hand down Harry’s front and then around to his thigh, inching towards his bum.

“Nngh,” Harry said, unsure of what that was supposed to mean. Malfoy looked bemused and leaned his head in closer, his lips only millimetres from Harry’s but still far enough that they wouldn’t touch.

“Clarity, Potter,” Malfoy breathed. Harry gasped and inhaled the words. He shivered involuntarily and his hands pressed against the wall, unable to do anything more useful.

Like pull Malfoy closer.

NO.

“Tell me what you want,” the Slytherin demanded. Harry knew that, in that moment, what he wanted more than anything else was for Malfoy to close the distance between their mouths. No matter how this defied logic, it was what he wanted. His lips parted, perhaps in an effort to speak, perhaps in an effort to breathe, but Malfoy needed no other invitation.

He pressed himself flush against Harry and their lips met. Slow at first, Malfoy’s mouth moved insistently against his and quickly the kiss sped up. Harry gasped into the embrace and felt Malfoy’s tongue slide over his lips before pressing further. He made a noise that he suspected was a moan when his tongue met Malfoy’s and they clashed, fighting for dominance in everything.

Malfoy kissed him with more urgency the longer it went on. He pushed Harry hard against the wall, his thumb rubbing steadily along Harry’s jaw line as Malfoy angled his head the way he wanted. The Slytherin’s other hand reached around and grabbed Harry’s arse. He gasped in surprise and only managed to further inhale Malfoy’s kiss.

Strong fingers were kneading his bum and suddenly Harry’s hands found something better to do than hold up the wall. He was fisting Malfoy’s robes as he had intended to before, but wasn’t pushing him away. He was pulling Malfoy into himself and kissing him back with just as much ferocity as he was being given.

Harry’s hand eventually found it’s way up into Malfoy’s soft, blond hair. He carded his fingers through it, reveling in the silkiness of it. His heart was not so much beating as it was banging against his chest, drowning out everything but the kiss. He wondered deftly how he had never been kissed this way before. He wondered why kissing Cho or Ginny had never been this passionate or needy. He wondered how Malfoy could know just how to kiss him so that everything else in the world disappeared in a flash. He wondered how Malfoy knew that Harry wanted him this much when Harry, himself, had not known.

But he knew now and he needed it.

The Slytherin’s hand pressed firmly against Harry’s bum and forced their hips together. Harry realized, then, that he was painfully hard and that Malfoy was apparently just as excited as he was. Their erections ground together through their layers of clothing and even that felt amazing to Harry.

Malfoy’s body shifted and Harry felt him press his leg between Harry’s legs, forcing them apart and grinding his thigh into Harry’s cock. Harry moaned suddenly and Malfoy pulled his talented mouth away, pinning Harry in place but no longer kissing him. Harry frowned at this. He would much prefer it if Malfoy continued to kiss him. Much.

He opened his mouth to ask but his words were stolen by the look on the blonde’s face. His lips were slightly swollen and very red and shiny from their kiss. His cheeks were flushed and his hair was mussed from Harry’s fingers. Harry decided that he very much liked the ‘well-snogged’ look on Draco Malfoy. Very much, indeed.

Malfoy’s eyes, however, were molten and searching. They were clouded with lust but still sharp enough to be aware. He shifted his leg slightly so that it rubbed over Harry’s cock and Harry found himself moaning rather wantonly. Malfoy smirked at him and Harry wanted to pull him back into a kiss so that they could both be smug.

“Tell me the truth now, Potter,” he said, his words husky with want. He licked his lips and Harry’s eyes followed his tongue. “Do. You. Want me?”

“Yes,” Harry growled before he could even consider the question. When he thought about it later, he realized that he didn’t need to. His answer would have been the same regardless.

Malfoy pressed their bodies together again and his lips were tantalizingly close to Harry’s mouth again.

“Then you’ll have me,” he mouthed before kissing Harry again. Harry didn’t have time to think on the words before he was being pulled away from the wall and into the change rooms. The door shut behind them and Harry felt himself pressed back against the cool metal of the lockers.

Malfoy rutted against him, grinding their hips together as he pillaged Harry’s mouth with his tongue. Heat washed over every inch of Harry’s body as the Slytherin held him and ground against him. He was vaguely aware that he was moaning in an almost constant stream, but didn’t care. Malfoy’s erection was pressing hard against his own and it felt good and that was all that mattered just then.

Soon Malfoy’s hands had found their way into Harry’s robes and underneath the hem of his Gryffindor jumper. The rough leather of the fingerless Quidditch gloves scratched at his skin, but Harry was more concerned with the lines of fire that Malfoy was drawing on his flesh with his soft, uncovered fingertips. Harry gasped when Malfoy tweaked his nipples and used Harry’s shock to deepen the kiss further –if it was possible. Harry’s hands raked down the back of Malfoy’s robes, unable to find purchase through the layers of clothing. He unconsciously bucked his hips forward as he sucked on Malfoy’s tongue.

Then the blonde pulled his mouth away from Harry’s and started drawing a molten hot trail down the side of his jaw and along his neck. He sucked and nibbled at the skin, leaving bright red blotches in his wake. Harry gasped a moan when Malfoy bit particularly hard and a jolt of pleasure coursed through him.

“Fuck,” he breathed and he felt Malfoy smile against his neck.

Apparently taking the word as a request, Malfoy’s hands found their way down to Harry’s trousers and deftly unbuckled his belt. Some part of Harry’s mind wasn’t entirely sure about this part, but his body was only too willing to cooperate with the Slytherin. In fact, his own hands found their way down Malfoy’s back, into his robes and to the waist of his trousers. He fought to undo the blonde’s trousers as quickly as his own were being torn open but Malfoy was faster.

He nearly ripped Harry’s trousers open and then drew his fingers down the hard bulge that was partially freed. Harry’s fingers stilled immediately as he let our a low growl that he didn’t quite recognize as his own. He had never been touched by another person before, let alone a man. The experience was completely brilliant and he told himself that he would need to repeat it regularly.

“Do you like that, Potter?” Malfoy’s smooth voice asked him. Harry groaned as the fingers pressed more insistently against him, through his pants. Malfoy’s lips were against his, speaking into his mouth. “Do you want more?”

“Fuck, yes,” he answered breathlessly. He needed Malfoy to touch him more, to keep touching him. Harry whimpered slightly, to his own embarrassment, when he felt Malfoy yank his trousers and pants down roughly to reveal his cock. He swallowed and opened his eyes reluctantly. Everything had gone quiet and he worried that Malfoy was about to laugh at him, or do something else that did not involve touching Harry.

The Slytherin’s face could only be described as hungry. A hunger similar to the one Harry had spied there earlier was clear in his eyes, except that this one was so much stronger. He licked his lips and looked at Harry, the same mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

He kept Harry in place with one hand on his chest and then, to Harry’s complete amazement, he sank slowly to his knees so that his face was roughly level with Harry’s length. Harry opened his mouth to ask what he was doing but Malfoy’s smirk grew and he leaned in, his mouth slightly open. Harry found that the words died on his tongue and the Slytherin breathed hotly against his engorged prick. Harry whimpered rather loudly that time and didn’t care.

He stared down at the blonde, who was looking smugly up at him. He tilted his head to the side and nuzzled very gently against Harry’s cock. A chorus of thrills ran over Harry’s body with the light touches and then, quite without warning –though, really, there had been –Malfoy ran his tongue along the length in one, broad stripe.

“Holy fucking –” Harry started before Malfoy tsked at him and opened his mouth again, pulling the head of Harry’s erection into his mouth and sucking sinfully as he pulled back and his lips trailed over the wet skin. He looked as though he was sucking on a lollipop.

The Slytherin lapped slowly at the slit, tonguing it and tasting the little beads of precum leaking from it. Harry was sure he was about to die. He had to be. His entire body had become useless and the image of Draco Malfoy tonguing his cock was the hottest thing he had ever seen. Ever.

He must be completely mad and on the verge of death.

Malfoy’s eyes were boring into Harry’s before he looked back at the cock he had been sucking. He licked his lip against and considered it. He seemed quite torn between wanting to consume the prick and moving away from it. Harry nearly exploded from the lack of sensations he suddenly felt.

“M-Malfoy,” Harry said, though he wasn’t sure to what end. He just knew he wanted Malfoy to touch him again. The blonde looked up at him with a wicked smirk and got back to his feet. Harry whined at his decision but then Malfoy’s mouth was on his again. He tasted different and Harry knew it was his own flavour he was tasting on Malfoy’s tongue. The thought of it was not nearly as unpleasant as it should have been. He rather liked to think that Malfoy would have Harry’s flavour on his tongue forever.

I’ll make sure he does.

Harry groaned deeply when Malfoy wrapped one of his gloved hands around Harry’s aching cock. The leather was almost painful but Malfoy’s nimble fingers soothed the awkward sensations and massaged precisely where they should. Harry found himself bucking unreservedly into Malfoy’s hand before the other hand grasped his hips and stopped him.

“Down, Potter,” the blonde whispered bemusedly. Harry might have flushed if all his blood hadn’t abandoned his body in favour of one location in particular. He tried to retort but then realized that Malfoy had meant the order literally. He felt himself pushed down onto the bench and turned sideways. Suddenly, Malfoy was on top of him, pressing into him and leaning between Harry’s legs.

He pulled back suddenly and sat back, busying himself with Harry’s boots. The Slytherin tugged them off and then yanked his trousers and pants off so that Harry was lying, half-naked beneath him. He surveyed the image and Harry writhed under his eyes.

“Like what you see?” Harry said huskily, wondering where the bravado had come from. Malfoy tilted his head and caught his lower lip between his teeth.

“It’ll do,” he answered with a chuckle. Harry glared and leaned his head back in what he hoped was a seductive pose.

“I notice you’re still clothed,” he said almost conversationally. He eyes the bulge in Malfoy’s trousers. “What’s the matter? Afraid to show me yours now you’ve seen mine?”

Malfoy quirked a brown and then licked his teeth before moving back to give Harry a better view. He pulled off the belt entirely and unfastened his trousers. Harry’s hungry eyes watched his every move, his breath coming in short gasps. Malfoy pulled down his trousers and pants just enough to reveal his own throbbing cock. He made an incomprehensible noise at the sight of it.

Harry wondered why he was completely unbothered by the sight of it. Surely the image of Malfoy’s erection should have seemed somewhat threatening to him. But it didn’t.

In fact, Harry was possessed with the sudden urge to touch it, taste it and know precisely what it felt like –

“You’re drooling, Potter,” Malfoy informed him triumphantly. Harry closed his mouth and forced himself to look into those silver eyes again. “Pleased?”

“It’ll do,” he mocked before Malfoy was on top of him again, pushing him into the wooden bench and grinding their naked erections together. Skin on skin was exquisite and Harry reformulated his previous decision to include naked erections. Yes.

Malfoy’s hand grasped both of their shafts together and began to pump them against one another. The leather of the glove was rubbing him raw but Harry arched into every thrust anyway, needing to maintain and prolong the feeling of Malfoy’s cock on his own.

The blonde pulled back abruptly and Harry tightened his hands around his waist, under his Slytherin jumper, as though warning him that he was not allowed to go anywhere. Malfoy cocked his eyebrows and continued to pump their shafts, though his rhythm slowed to the point of torture. He brought his other hand to his mouth and caught the fastening of his glove between his teeth. Tugging violently, Malfoy tore open his glove and flung it off. There was a distant smack that informed Harry it had hit the opposite lockers but he didn’t care to look. Malfoy’s naked hand held his full attention. He released both their cocks and Harry frowned, groaning and reaching down to take up his job. Malfoy swatted his hand away and shook his head.

He pulled out his wand and muttered something into his open palm before placing his wand down again and wrapping his gloved hand back around Harry’s cock. But only his.

The other hand seemed to be covered in sticky liquid but before Harry could say anything, he felt two slick fingers drawing a line down behind his balls and around his hole. He gasped and moaned and then one finger pushed slowly inside. The burning sensation was mild at first, thanks to the lubrication, but Harry was so shocked by the sudden breach that he cried out.

Malfoy’s lips were against his cheek, his jaw, then whispering soothing words into his ear. He fisted Malfoy’s robes through his jumper and held him close, afraid to move or do anything at all. He relaxed slightly as the finger probed in deeper first, then slid out again. When Harry started getting used to the feeling, he felt another finger push in as well. The burn became more pronounced by the Slytherin continued to pump his shaft and whisper to him, alternating between sucking and kissing his jaw and face. Then another finger and Harry cried out again.

Malfoy stretched him and moved in him, hooking his fingers and trying to soothe the burn. Eventually, he relaxed enough and Malfoy pulled out his fingers. Harry sighed but bemoaned the loss. It was just getting good

The blonde propped himself up and placed himself carefully between Harry’s spread legs. Harry looked up at him, his eyes glazed with lust and fluttering from the new sensations. Malfoy smiled almost pleasantly before Harry felt something thick and hard press against his entrance.

“This is going to hurt a bit,” Malfoy informed him. Then he pushed inside and Harry actually screamed. Or, he thought he did. His throat felt hoarse from a scream. He wasn’t sure.

“Fuck!” he did cry out as Malfoy pushed very slowly into him. His cock was slick but it still hurt. The blonde’s un-gloved hand reached up to draw soothing circles over Harry’s chest.

The Slytherin slid back out and then in further, repeating the process and moving deeper into Harry every time. Harry was panting hard and trembling, now digging his fingers into Malfoy’s back. The blonde’s jaw was clenched and his brows were knitted win concentration as he moved.

“It’ll get better,” he told Harry softly. Harry wanted to ask when but then Malfoy sheathed himself fully into Harry and hit something that was positively delightful.

“Oh my fuck, Draco!” Harry cried out without thinking. Malfoy stilled briefly, panting hard.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he breathed over Harry, groaning as he did. Malfoy took a moment and then started moving again, slowly at first, then more powerfully, thrusting into Harry and hitting that same thing every time. Harry didn’t know how he did it or what he was doing but he did not want him to stop.

Malfoy was still tugging on Harry’s cock, trying to keep time with his thrusts but unable to. His movements were somewhat off so that Harry was given no reprieve from the overwhelming sensations that coursed through him. He arched and cried out, sure that he was drawing blood on Malfoy’s back.

“Fuck, Draco, ahh,” he moaned, wrapping his legs around Malfoy’s waist, pulling him in deeper. The burning was still present and Harry felt as though he was being ripped apart but he didn’t care at all. He was so close now, so fucking close.

“Nngh, soon,” Malfoy answered pressing his chest to Harry’s, his lips parted and mouthing against Harry’s neck. Harry felt burning something pool in his belly before he couldn’t hold it anymore.

“Draco, nngh, gonna –” Harry managed before he felt his orgasm tear through him and white streams shot out from him, spilling over his and Malfoy’s bodies. Harry’s entire body clenched through his climax and Harry heard Draco moan.

He wasn’t sure what he had cried out, but Draco tensed and shook and Harry felt hot spurts filling him around Draco’s cock. The blonde tried to hold himself up but couldn’t quite manage and eventually collapsed on top of Harry.

Harry was only vaguely aware that Malfoy had become Draco as he wrapped his arms around the blonde and held him close. He didn’t want him to get up. He didn’t want him to move at all.

And they didn’t move at all, for at least ten minutes. After ten minutes, however, Draco stirred and pushed himself up, sitting between Harry’s legs and untangling their bodies. Harry couldn’t quite fight the disappointment that rushed through him but he tried to push himself to a sitting position as well. It was not easy. Nor was it without pain.

He hadn’t anticipated that.

Draco pulled off his other glove and tossed it to the floor but, other than that, made no effort to change or fasten his trousers. He simply sat, staring at Harry. Harry winced as he moved but said nothing and simply stared back at Draco.

“Er,” he eventually said, unsure of what was supposed to happen now. He half expected Draco to throw him an insult and stomp off with a supremely smug look on his face at having shagged the Chosen One.

“Are you going to hex me now?” Draco asked abruptly. He seemed rather surprised by his own question if the pink tinge on his cheeks was anything to go by.

“Should I?” Harry asked with a bit of a grin. He fiddled with the fastenings on his own gloves before pulling them off. “Does that get you off? Because if so, do let me know. I’m quite willing.”

Draco’s eyes flashed and he seemed mildly disturbed by Harry for a moment before his signature smirk was back.

“Harry Potter,” he drawled. “Chosen One and Straight-as-an-Arrow Saviour, is willing to get me off?”

“I believe I just did,” he pointed out helpfully. Draco turned to him and frowned momentarily.

“Yes, but I thought you would come to your senses and artfully pretend it was all a mistake,” he explained, deadpanned. “Going on about how you’re not a poof, you just like cock but that doesn’t mean anything at all.” A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I was counting on it, actually.”

“Why?” Harry asked before he could stop himself. He had a sinking feeling. Draco’s smile won and he snickered.

“So I could prove you wrong, of course,” he explained. “I’m very persuasive.”

Harry laughed and shook his head.

“Pity,” he said. “Because I’ve known I prefer blokes for a good couple months now.” He shot Draco a mischievous look. “The only issue I had was dealing with my attraction to you.”

Draco stared at him. His tongue darted out to wet his lips.

“You… how long?” Draco asked. Harry was aware that their previous agreement was still standing and that, technically, he owed Draco the truth. He bit his lip.

“You have to remember,” Harry found himself saying, hoping that Draco would. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you from the start of sixth year. It was always about you. Everything.” His throat tightened and felt dry. Draco’s face darkened. “But I had a war to worry about… Nothing was about attraction then. Not really. It wasn’t important.” He looked aside when Draco’s eyebrows furrowed. “And then the war… I felt so angry about what Voldemort was making you do. Then at your trial… I needed to save you, to keep you out of Azkaban. I had to bring you back to Hogwarts and I didn’t know exactly why.” He forced himself to look back at Draco, to meet his gaze, because Harry Potter never cowered from anything. “When I saw you on the train, healthy and calm, with no worries in your eyes… then I wanted you. I wanted you to look at me and insult me so I could explain away my heart beating in my ears.” Draco was staring intently at him, his lips slightly parted. Harry was dimly aware of the closing distance between them.

Draco was suddenly flush up against him, A very small smile played on his lips but his eyes were wide and sharp.

“You do realize what you’re saying, don’t you?” he asked quietly. Harry noted the suspicious omission of his surname. Harry swallowed. Draco turned him, cupping his face with one hand. “I told you earlier. Slytherins play for keeps.” He pulled Harry into a bruising kiss before leaning their foreheads together and smirking. “You’re mine now.”

Harry might have been offended at the idea of belonging to anyone if he hadn’t been so dazed by the kiss and the fact that Draco wasn’t laughing at him or cursing him.

“Yours,” Harry whispered, pressing his lips to Draco’s again. “Mine.”

Draco laughed and pulled away slightly to watch his own hand travel down Harry’s body, as though appraising his new treasure.

“I guess I didn’t need the Snitch,” he murmured to himself. Harry blinked and his fingers wrapped around Draco’s wrist. He tilted his head to catch Draco’s eye.

“Who sent you the Practice Snitch?” he asked, a little harshly. He hadn’t intended it to sound so angry but it had. Draco didn’t pull away. He only looked bemused. Harry frowned.

“Pansy sent it,” he explained silkily. “She said it was a late birthday gift. Very late.” He sifted his fingers through Harry’s hair, trying to calm him. “Her family no longer wanted to associate with mine after the war. She apologized and told me that her new boyfriend gave her the Snitch when she asked for it.”

“And she gave it to you,” Harry said, knowing that there was a sting of jealousy in his words. He didn’t care. His grasp around Draco’s wrist tightened.

“She said that she hoped it would he me catch what I’ve always been after,” he explained quietly before pressing his lips to Harry’s mouth.

Harry’s mind called up the image of Draco winking at him before leaving the Hall. His invitation to practice together, the mischievous glint in his eye.

“You’ve been planning this!” Harry gasped, amazed. “You… you’ve been after me? Always?”

Draco smirked and cocked his head.

“Have I?” he asked, feigning surprise. He looked Harry over and smiled. “You’re filthy, Potter. How did you manage to get so very sweaty?”

Harry gave him a dark look and ran his hand over Draco’s thigh, pleased with his new discoveries.

“Some complete git assaulted me,” he shot back playfully. “He was raving mad about me.”

“Really?” Draco asked, amused. “And you allowed this? It must have been enjoyable. Are you planning on allowing further assaults?”

Harry snickered and shrugged.

“I suppose it was passable,” he hummed, loving the look of skepticism on Draco’s face. “But I don’t think I should encourage him.”

Draco looked cool now and got to his feet, standing directly in front of Harry, his trousers still undone and revealing his steadily hardening cock.

“Pity,” he answered. “We’ll, I’m off to the showers now. You can do as you please.”

He strolled into the showers, dropping his robes and pulling off his jumper to reveal the same, creamy skin of his back that Harry had admired earlier. Harry watched him go, licking his lips. In a moment, he shed his robes and jumper and nearly ran into the showers.

It was definitely not going to be anything close to normal that year at Hogwarts. It was only then that Harry realized that he wouldn’t have it any other way.

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A/N: Reviews? I will give you love? *hearts*