Archive of Our Own ^beta

Harry blinked open his eyes, staring up at the white ceiling of the hospital wing. He groaned; not in pain, but in frustration. Couldn't he go one year without winding up in Madam Pomfrey's care? It seemed he couldn't. Why in the world had he agreed to come back to Hogwarts? He was hurt any time he was on the grounds, without fail. The reason he'd come back, of course, had been Hermione. Harry wasn't good at refusing orders when she gave him her best 'I'm disappointed in you for not doing what I think is the right thing.' face. And in Hermione's opinion, completing their educations was the right thing.

Just as working on the school's restoration all summer – instead of taking a much-needed vacation after spending months in a hellish situation hunting Horcruxes – had been the right thing.

So Harry had spent his summer doing complicated, exhaustive spellwork that cleared debris (and sent it to a sorting area where others were salvaging what could be saved), reinforced mildly damaged areas, repaired badly damaged ones, and built new what needed to be completely replaced. Harry had to admit – if only to himself – that the restoration work hadn't been as bad as all that. Less-powerful witches and wizards had been far more drained from far lesser spells than the ones Harry had worked with. But then, that was why he'd been given the assignments he'd been given. It had also been somewhat enjoyable work, given his supreme love for the school that had been his first real home.

Not even the company had been able to dampen his enjoyment of the work.

Harry hadn't been surprised when Draco Malfoy had shown up at Hogwarts, wand in hand and ready to work. Others had been, but not Harry. He had gone to Draco's trial, after all – not only to testify, but to return the Slytherin's hawthorn wand – and so he knew all about Draco's determination to reform; to prove that he was not the same scared boy he'd been during Voldemort's reign. What had surprised Harry was that Draco had been assigned to work with him on the more difficult spellwork needed to get the school back to a livable state.

Then again, Draco and Harry had always been fairly evenly matched – with Harry always coming out just that little bit further ahead than the blond – so maybe it shouldn't have surprised him as much as it did.

Draco had been wary at first, but given the way so many people had reacted to his presence Harry had figured he was entitled. As the weeks passed, though, they had begun to talk. Not just about the work, or the weather, or Quidditch, either. They had talked about their pasts – Harry's life with the Dursleys and Draco's life before Voldemort – and their futures – with Harry planning on Auror training and Draco fearing he'd have no options, even if he finished his NEWTs with flying colors, because who in their right mind would hire someone with the Dark Mark on their arm. Harry hadn't bothered to reassure Draco that that wouldn't be the case; they were too honest with each other for that sort of crap. Instead, he had just offered his support. Whatever job Draco went for, Harry would lend his voice in Draco's defense.

That was what friends were for, after all. And, strange as it seemed, they were friends, though Harry wasn't sure when exactly that had occurred.

The day Draco had told Harry he had no intention of marrying the girl Lucius had picked out for him, Harry had simply said, “Okay.” Draco had stared at him, then asked if Harry wanted to know why. Harry said why didn't matter – he supported Draco's choice regardless – but if Draco wanted to tell him, he'd listen.

After a long moment of silence, Draco had very softly stated the reason. “I'm gay.”

Harry had paused in his casting, then shrugged and flicked his wand, sending a pile of rubble to the sorting-area for others to salvage from. He had softly told Draco he didn't care who his friends loved and he thought Draco was very brave for telling him. Then Harry had told Draco that Albus Dumbledore had been gay and added that Draco shouldn't ever let anyone tell him he couldn't be someone amazing and wonderful because of his preferences, because Dumbledore had managed it just fine. Draco had cried a little, Harry had hugged him, and they had moved on to other topics of conversation.

No one seemed to understand their friendship, but Harry figured that was okay because they at least accepted it. Hermione was thrilled, since it helped promote the inter-House unity agenda she kept pushing. Harry thought Ron accepted it mostly because he didn't dare argue with Hermione about it. Regardless of the reasons, Harry was grateful; his friendship with Draco was weird enough on its own without adding outside drama. For instance, he and Draco still snarked at each other and threw insults, because that was how they related, but there was fondness and affection there now. It made this whole eighth-year thing easier to bear, having Draco as a friend rather than a rival. Partly because Harry was tired of fighting, but also because Draco was dead-clever. So when Hermione and Ron slipped off for a snog, Draco helped Harry with his homework and lent him his notes for studying.

Not even Draco's assistance could make Harry better at potions, though. Harry tried; he really, really did. But whenever he got even the tiniest bit distracted – something that happened at least every other potions class – he messed up. Which sometimes resulted in potions that were just the slightest bit off, but still passable. Other times, it resulted in horrific messes that would probably kill anyone drinking them. And sometimes, it caused fantastical explosions.

Harry figured that was why he was in the hospital wing.

The last thing he remembered was tipping the vial of pulverized sal ammoniac into the cauldron. The directions had called for three drams. Harry remembered watching the little lines on the large vial carefully, checking every few seconds, knowing he needed a little more…tip-check...a little bit more…tip-check...one more time…tip...someone had cursed loudly at the back of the room and Harry's head had turned, curiosity taking over his brain. Had he kept pouring the whole time he was looking at where Terry Boot had cut his hand on a knife? Harry thought he probably had.

There was a horrid hissing, spitting sort of sound, then searing pain, then…nothing.

That was bad. Harry sighed, then looked around. The privacy curtain was around his bed and the lights were down low, which meant it was night. Deciding against calling Madam Pomfrey, Harry closed his eyes and went back to sleep. He'd worry about any consequences in the morning.

Harry woke up to the sound of Hermione's voice outside his curtain. “He still hasn't woken up, Madam Pomfrey?” Poppy's voice answered in a murmur and Hermione spoke again. “Can't we just...peek in on him? Please?”

Harry sighed and pushed himself off the bed, deciding he'd better just soothe her quickly, then let Poppy poke and prod at him as she was likely to insist on doing. He frowned when he realized his glasses were nowhere in sight, then frowned more when it occurred to him that his vision wasn't blurry in the slightest. Was it possible for a botched Polyjuice potion to cure bad eyesight? It seemed unlikely, but Harry acknowledged that stranger things had certainly happened. Particularly in the Wizarding world, and especially to him.

Shrugging it off – but fully intending to mention it to Poppy during her exam – Harry pulled back the privacy curtain and gave Hermione his best sheepish-and-apologetic-look. “Hey.”

Hermione and Poppy turned to look at him. Hermione was giving him a very strange look and Poppy looked irate. “Mr. Malfoy. You know perfectly well that you shouldn't be up and about until I've given you a thorough exam. Back in bed!”

Harry blinked, then asked. “What did you just call me?” He dimly noted that his voice sounded wrong; softer and a little higher than usual.

Hermione and Poppy exchanged concerned looks, then Poppy said. “I called you Mr. Malfoy. That's your name. Draco Malfoy. Are you having trouble remembering things?”

“Er, no?” Harry looked between the two women, wondering if this was some sort of joke. “I remember everything fine, but I'm not Draco. Draco's blond, for one thing.”

Poppy sighed and conjured a mirror, then gestured to it. Prepared to indulge her, Harry stepped in front of the glass and gasped so hard he nearly fell over. Staring back at him from the reflective surface was the horrified face of Draco Malfoy. “What the bloody buggering fuck happened?” Harry demanded, whirling on Hermione and the Mediwitch in a panic. “Why do I look like Draco? How do we fix this?”

Hermione's eyes widened and she whispered in disbelief. “Harry?” Harry nodded and Hermione's hand flew up to cover her mouth for a long, silent moment. When she left it fall back to her side limply, she said. “Oh, no. So that means Malfoy is in your body...”

Harry blanched, then whirled around, scanning the large room quickly. His eyes landed on the curtains pulled close around another bed and he marched over, yanking them open even as Poppy protested weakly from behind him. And yes, sure enough, there on the bed was...well, him. A very unconscious him. Harry watched the rise and fall of his own chest, relieved that his body seemed okay and yet horribly uncomfortable to see it laying somewhere, away from himself.

Harry reached out, shivering a little at the sight of pale, slim fingers. Harry brushed the hair back from his – Draco's? His – forehead, marveling at the way his scar felt against fingertips that had never touched it before. “Draco?” He brushed his fingers lightly across his own forehead again, saying a little louder. “Draco? Wake up. Come on, now.”

Vibrant green eyes fluttered open, a low groan slipping past dark pink lips. Harry watched as Draco tried to focus on his face, squinting, then grabbed his glasses from the nightstand and slipped them onto his friend's face. “Sorry, those will help.”

Draco blinked up at Harry with wide green eyes, then screamed in a way Harry was horribly embarrassed about, simply because it had come from his throat. The now-brunette scrambled backwards, away from Harry, and proceeded to fall off the bed. Harry was torn between laughter and concern. Hilariously flailing limbs aside, Draco seemed to be hyperventilating which wasn’t a good thing. Harry wondered if maybe he should have let Poppy explain things to Draco before letting him see his body walking around with someone else in it.

“Honestly, Harry!” Poppy nudged him out of the way, then approached Draco slowly. “Now, Mr. Malfoy, I understand this is all very unnerving, but you’re going to need to calm down. Hysterics accomplish nothing.”

Draco sucked in a deep breath then held it, clearly trying to get himself under control. Emerald eyes were wild behind thick lenses and he was shaking all over, but he was making an effort to be calm and that was progress. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Sorry.” Harry shrugged apologetically, noting dimly that the movement felt wrong somehow.

“Why are you wearing my skin?” Draco asked in a weak, trembling voice. His right hand went up to his cheek, touching briefly before he winced. “And please tell me I’m not in yours.”

“Why?” Harry tipped his head to the side with a frown. “What’s wrong with my body? Would you prefer there were just two of you walking around, because that seems like it would be really awkward to try to explain. At least this we can try to keep...you know...under wraps.”

“Are you taking the mickey, Harry?” Draco’s look of horrified condescension did strange things to Harry’s face; he didn’t like how it looked. “You can not pass for me.”

Madam Pomfrey had apparently accepted that - body switches aside - both teens were healthy enough for the moment. Rolling her eyes at their bickering, she turned on her heel and headed back to her office. Harry figured she was going to inform Minerva of the situation and didn’t bother to protest her absence; after all, he felt fine. Instead, he focused on arguing with Draco.

“The hell I can’t.” Harry crossed his arms over his chest and arched an eyebrow at Draco. “I can handle snide and condescending easily.”

Draco snorted. “As if that’s all of my personality.” He rolled his eyes. “Let me put it this way, Harry. You are, quite simply, not gay. And I am. Rather openly, since coming out to you and then everyone else. So unless you have some secret fashion sense and flamboyant urges you’ve been subduing, you won’t be able to manage this.”

Harry narrowed his eyes in annoyance at the way Draco disparaged his acting abilities. He’d managed to convince Voldemort he was dead, hadn’t he? Surely that said something about his acting skills. They were, at the very least, better than Draco’s. “As if you could pretend to be me any better!”

“You’re joking, right?” Draco immediately rearranged his face into a positively sulky expression, which was only made more convincing by the fact that he was still sitting on the floor. “Oh, poor me! I am forever the center of attention, but no one knows me. Woe is me; my best friends have abandoned me to go shag and my only company is a Slytherin. When will my torment end?”

Harry stared at Draco in open-mouthed shock for a long minute, then ground his teeth together as he glared heatedly. “I don’t sound like that! Don’t be a prat.” When Draco simply shrugged, Harry decided to fight fire with fire (so to speak). “Fine. You can be a whiny version of me. Whatever. And I can manage to be gay enough to be you.”

Seeing the disbelief on Draco’s face, Harry squared his shoulders and dredged up his best Draco impression. “You are not wearing that. Have you gone blind overnight? Was your mirror smashed in a freak accident before you could see yourself? That color looks ghastly on you. Thank Salazar you have me here to save you from yourself. Change. Now.”

“That actually wasn’t half-bad.” Hermione’s thoughtful voice drew both boys’ attention to her previously unnoted presence. When Draco scowled at her, she shrugged. “Well, it wasn’t. Yours left something to be desired, but that’s mostly because you were being an arse instead of really trying. I think you two have been studying each other for long enough to pull this off while we work on reversing whatever caused the switch.”

“No. Absolutely not. Never going to happen.” Draco pushed himself to his feet, glaring at Hermione. “I will not have him running around pretending to be me and botching it up in the process. What if someone flirts with me and I lose the chance for a boyfriend because he’s inept at acting gay? I will not have it!”

Harry huffed in annoyance. “You’re being ridiculous. Besides, I’m in your body, right? So the whole gay thing should come naturally.” He assessed himself from across the room, studying the way Draco’s personality fit inside his skin and changed it into something other than what he saw in the mirror every day. A funny little tickle of arousal stirred in his belly and he added without much thought. “I think I’m feeling gayer already.”

Draco blinked several times, then said. “You’re a complete and utter twit. You cannot feel gayer simply because you’re in my body. My body isn’t gay, I am.”

Harry shook his head, biting back a grin at the irritation seeping into Draco’s tone; annoying his former-rival was still the most enjoyable part of day more often than not. “I disagree. I am definitely feeling gayer, and am confident I can pull this off.”

“If you’re feeling gayer, it’s got nothing to do with my body!” Draco snapped, moving closer to Harry in his fury. He itched to hex the other teen, but reminded himself sternly that doing so would only damage himself. “Especially as I don’t feel any less gay.”

“Are you saying my body is equally as gay as yours?” Harry frowned at that implication, not sure how he felt about it. “Because that’s ridiculous. I like girls.”

“I’m not saying anyone’s body is gay.” Draco pressed his fingers into his temples, trying to stave off the headache that was forming. “I’m saying I am gay, regardless of the switch. Therefore, you cannot possibly be gayer simply because you’re in my body right now. That’s patently ridiculous and more than your usual level of stupid.”

“Maybe you’re just so gay that it soaked into your cells.” Harry suggested, mostly because it was funny to watch Draco’s irritation twist his face into new expressions. “So now I’m stuck feeling all of the gay that’s surrounding me. Did you ever consider that? Because I think it’s a valid hypothesis.” Ignoring the way Draco had curled his hands into fists, he added. “In fact, I’m positive that’s what’s happening. I’ve woken up newly gay because of this whole switch and now I’ll have to explore just how gay I - which is to say, you - are.”

Draco snarled - literally snarled - before saying in a low, dangerous voice. “If you dare to pretend to be me, I swear I will convince everyone you are the biggest ponce to ever live simply by acting just as gay as I always do, while still pretending to be you. Don’t push me, Potter.”

Harry arched one eyebrow, then smirked. “Oh, I’m doing it. And you won’t be able to convince anyone I’m gay.” He rolled his eyes. “Seriously, who would believe that?”

Draco narrowed green eyes and stepped closer still, part of him relishing being taller than Harry for the first time since their fifth year. Somehow, despite Lucius’ height, Draco had wound up several inches shorter than most guys his age. “Everyone. I am going to make absolutely certain that the entire bleeding school is convinced you’re as queer as a silver snitch. No one will doubt you’re the biggest bloody ponce to grace Hogwarts’ halls.”

Harry considered the threat for a minute, then shrugged and made a decision. He could salvage his own reputation once he was back in his own body. In the meantime, he was going to have fun. And razz his friend in the process. “Second biggest, maybe.” He agreed amicably, having settled on a course of action and determined to follow through. “They’re going to think you’re the biggest.”

“Harry, you aren’t actually going to do this!” Hermione was staring between the two teenage boys with a horrified look on her face. When both boys raised their chins in stubborn determination, she groaned. “I don’t understand how you can both be this immature after everything we’ve all been through. Is this some sort of game to you two?”

“It’s not a game.” Draco said slowly, his tone thoughtful; the shrewd look seemed strangely out of place on Harry’s usually-innocent face. “A bet, perhaps. After all, there’s nothing quite like a bit of friendly wagering between mates.”

Hermione threw up her hands and glared at the both of them. “You’re insane. Both of you. I want no part of this nonsense, is that clear?”

“Sorry, Granger, but we need you.” Draco gave her a pleading look. “You’ll have to determine which of us wins and enforce the payment.”

“What’s the stakes, anyway?” Harry tipped Draco’s head to the side in a gesture that had always reminded Draco of a cat but which looked more bird-like when done in his body. “I mean, we can wager for galleons of course but considering we’re both wealthy that seems rather pointless.”

Hermione huffed in irritation. “You two can work this out on your own. I am going to go to the library and try to sort out what, exactly, happened to switch you and try to figure out how to undo it.” When Draco opened his mouth, she held up a hand to silence him. “I don’t want to hear it, Malfoy. I’ll declare a winner if you insist on going through with this farce, but beyond that I want no part in your particular brand of insanity. Excuse me.”

They watched her go, then Harry turned back and raised his eyebrow at Draco again. “So, what’s the wager for, then?”

“A lifetime of servitude.” Draco responded because...well, it was the first thing that popped into his head, really.

“That’s never happening.” Harry frowned, wracking his brain, then suggested. “How about the loser has to buy the winner’s celebratory drinks after graduation?” Everyone knew that the night of wild drinking and partying that happened upon completing one’s NEWTs could get very pricey.

Draco snorted, then said. “That’s hardly any different than wagering for galleons, you pillock. We’re trying to be creative here, remember?” When Harry just stared at him, Draco blurted out the next thing that popped into his head, which might actually have been stupider than the first. “A blowjob.”

When Harry sucked in a stunned breath, staring at Draco with comically-wide grey eyes, Draco hastened to laugh it off by adding snidely. “You did say you were feeling gay, after all.”

“You’re a right prick, did you know?” It was Harry’s turn to snort. “Okay, how about this. The loser has to streak through the Eighth Year Common Room.”

Draco’s cheeks flamed and he shook his head. “You Gryffindors are insane. Who in their right mind would agree to run bare-arsed through a room full of their peers?”

Harry laughed and shrugged. “It wouldn’t bother me, really. Between communal baths, Quidditch locker rooms, and a few wild parties...well, I don’t think my arse would shock a whole lot of people.”

“Until someone snaps a picture and your arse is plastered across the Prophet’s front page.” Draco nodded in satisfaction when all the color drained out of Harry’s face. “Yes, I rather thought so. I do approve of where your train of thought was going, though. The loser should have to do something horridly embarrassing.”

“Something between us, or something public?” Harry asked, earning him a shrug. “Okay, fine. The loser has to...declare their love for...er...” Harry tried to think of the most horrifying person he could, but he was drawing a blank because horrifying for him was very different than horrifying for Draco. “Oh bollocks, I don’t know.”

“You could declare your affection for whomever you happen to find the most distasteful.” Draco suggested, warming up to the idea. “Or else whomever the winner decides would be the most likely to have a horrified reaction.”

Harry grinned evilly; the expression looked far too at home on Draco’s face. “Yeah, okay. If I win, you’re declaring your love for Ron.”

“Ew.” Draco pulled a face, irritated when Harry’s nose didn’t cooperate when he tried to make it wrinkle up in disgust. “Fine. If I win...well, I’ll just have to think on it a bit, to make sure it’s someone properly awful. Have we got a deal?”

Harry hesitated for a long moment, then squared his shoulders and held out his hand. “Fine. Deal. The winner is the one who out-gays the other.”

Draco shook Harry’s hand, smirking. “You’re a dead man walking, Potter. You’re so far out of your league with this, I almost feel sorry for you.”

“We’ll see about that, Malfoy.” Harry’s voice was equally smug and confident, but in his head he was beginning to question his sanity. Draco had a point; Harry didn’t actually know the first thing about being gay. Shoving that thought away, Harry decided, “How hard can it be?”

Harry had to admit, he was deeply grateful the Eighth Year students had their own common room and dormitories. He wasn’t sure he could handle Slytherin House in its entirety just yet; he was still trying to adjust to Draco’s body. He was also grateful that Potions class was on Thursday. He and Draco had already missed half the day by the time they were released from the Infirmary on Friday, and they were excused from their classes for the remainder of the day as well. Not because they were unwell, but because McGonagall had agreed that keeping their switch a secret was the best course of action - she didn’t want anything disrupting the other students’ learning - and she wanted to give them a little time to adapt before throwing them in with the rest of their classmates.

So Draco had adjourned himself to the room Harry shared with Neville, and Harry had gone up to the room Draco shared with Blaise Zabini. They were supposed to go through each other’s things and familiarize themselves with each other’s clothing, and study each other’s schedules, and try to figure out how to move and speak like each other. It all sounded dreadfully boring to Harry. As he lay down on Draco’s bed, studying the canopy, he spared a few seconds to be grateful for the “two-to-a-room” rule of the Eighth Year dorms. Dealing with Zabini was going to be awkward enough; he hadn’t wanted to add anyone else to the mix. Not to mention the very idea of Draco having to room with Ron was terrifying, even if he was in Harry’s body.

Harry let his fingers move restlessly over the sheets beneath him. He’d been surprised to find Draco’s bed unmade; the blonde was such a neat-freak he’d rather imagined him making the bed as soon as he got up in the morning. Of course, if they were in a normal dorm, the house elves would have made up the bed and Draco wouldn’t have had to worry about it. The Eights, however, were expected to keep their own rooms tidy. Laundry was still done by the elves, of course, but only when placed in a hamper, and it was returned to their beds, clean and folded, but not put away (or put on the beds, in the case of sheets) for them. It was a trade-off of sorts for the freedoms (such as a lack of curfew) that they were given, since they were technically all adults.

Harry was a little amused that the sheets on Draco’s bed were standard Hogwarts sheets. He had always sort of imagined the prissy Slytherin sleeping on silk sheets, or 1,000 thread count Egyptian cotton. It was almost disappointing. Sighing and feeling rather disillusioned, Harry dragged himself off Draco’s bed and over to the wardrobe that was nearest his bed. Draco had told him that one held his things, though he’d also said he had clothing in his trunk, as well. Harry had a feeling Draco owned far more clothing than any one person needed, but he was trying hard not to think about it too much, lest he become overwhelmed.

Harry squared his shoulders, steeling himself for whatever he might have to face in a moment, then tugged open the wardrobe. It was...actually not as bad as he’d been expecting. He didn’t see anything with lace or frills, or pink. So at least Draco’s tastes weren’t completely off the wall. In fact, as Harry flicked past several cloaks for various weather and then began looking through robes, he realized Draco’s taste in clothing was rather…conservative. He wasn’t sure why that surprised him, exactly, because he’d never really seen the other teen in anything that wasn’t completely appropriate and elegant and subdued, but he’d sort of believed Draco secretly had a wild side.

Apparently not.

Harry frowned, feeling a little disappointed, though he wasn’t sure why. He flicked through the robes again, mentally cataloguing. ‘School, school, school, dress - black, casual - black, dress - green, casual - green, dress - blue, casual - blue...’ After a minute of that, he realized Draco’s clothing was sorted by color and he had to snort and roll his eyes. He was definitely teasing Draco about that at the earliest possible opportunity.

Desperately hoping to find something a little...well, more muggle, Harry closed the wardrobe and moved to Draco’s trunk. Not quite as elaborate as Moody’s seven-compartment one had been, Draco’s had a mere five. Which was still fancier than anything Harry had ever owned, but less ostentatious than he’d been expecting. He pressed the correct latches to open the third compartment - which Draco had said held clothing - and felt his jaw drop open in shock. It was a good thing Zabini was still in class, because Harry had a feeling he looked like a complete lackwit.

He’d been right the first time. Draco did have a wild side after all.

Harry swiftly counted, then recounted, then counted a third time just to be completely sure he had counted correctly. He had. Draco Malfoy apparently owned twelve pairs of leather trousers. Two of them were a dark green, while the other ten were black. Of the black ones, one laced up the outside of each leg and two had silver rings holding the outside seam of the legs together. The other seven pairs were just normal black leather trousers. Harry glanced nervously at the rest of the contents of the compartment, then decided he simply wasn’t ready to know anything else about his former-rival-turned-friend. Closing the trunk, Harry laid back down on the bed and tried to pretend he was in his room, in his body.

It might have worked, if not for the fact that Draco’s scent - a soft vanilla with a hint of mint lacing it - permeated the bedding. Or perhaps it was simply that Harry was wearing his skin that had the scent seeming so strong. Hoping he’d grow desensitized to it in a day or two, Harry squeezed his eyes closed and willed himself into a fitful sleep.

Draco Malfoy was a lot of things; currently topping that list was terrified. His hands shook as he closed the door to Harry’s dorm room. No, not his hands. Harry’s hands. He sucked in deep breath; it shivered unevenly past trembling lips. He had managed to hold himself together through his and Harry’s conversation with the Headmistress, sorting out their classwork, homework, and exams. Considering they started on Monday, it was a real concern. Harry Potter might have a job waiting for him at the Ministry, but Draco needed his NEWTs; he needed his grades above reproach. But McGonagall had understood, of course, and had agreed to inform the staff of the current situation, allowing for proper grading throughout the ordeal.

Now, with that immediate worry taken care of, Draco felt like he was going to fall apart. He had been having such a good year, too...

For the first time in what felt like forever, he had been free. Free from his father’s oppressive rule - Lucius was busy helping the Ministry’s Department of Magical Law Enforcement catch rogue Death Eaters, in a bid to keep himself out of Azkaban. Free from his mother’s expectations of him - he had told her just before school started that he was gay, and had no intention of marrying some twittering pureblood girl just to produce an heir; it would not be happening. Free from doing precisely what everyone seemed to expect from him. Because, in the wake of the war, Draco Malfoy had somehow managed to do the one thing that was guaranteed to induce second-chance-giving-behavior from those around him.

He had befriended Harry Potter.

That, of course, had come with its own set of problems. Like the Daily Prophet running awful headlines about how Draco was surely plotting to kill the Savior, because why else would a Death Eater help rebuild Hogwarts or spend time with Harry? Never mind that Hogwarts was Draco’s home-away-from-home, or that he’d been forced into his wartime role; such things were irrelevant to the media. And, judging by the amount of hate mail he’d received over the summer, to the the general public as well. Harry rolling his eyes at the newspaper had helped soothe the worst of that sting away.

Far more painful than the hatred of a few strangers - and the reason Draco was currently a wreck - was the secret Draco had been harboring for...well, for months, really. Not that he’d ever admit that. He wasn’t sure he could pinpoint the exact moment it had happened but somewhere between trading good-natured insults, and repairing broken windows, and laughing over Daily Prophet headlines Draco Malfoy had developed a Salazar-forsaken crush on Harry Potter. It was stupid, and ridiculous, and completely hopeless...but, if he was being objective about it, not entirely unforgivable.

Because Harry had saved his life, and spoken on his behalf to the Wizengamot, and returned his wand to him when it was all over. Because Harry was funny, and strange, and oddly endearing with his awkwardness and bashfulness and somehow-still-intact naivete. Because somewhere during the months he’d been missing - off defeating the Dark Lord behind the scenes - Harry had gotten broad shoulders and muscle-tone, and grown into the glasses that had always seemed too large for his face, and found a quiet confidence that made it easy to overlook his messy hair and stupid clothes. Because when Harry smiled at him, it was like - for just a moment - Draco was the only person in the whole world.

So his crush was…understandable. Stupid, but understandable.

Draco had mistakenly assumed that when school started, Harry would go back to, if not outright hostility, at the very least ignoring him. He had been wrong. Instead, Harry flopped down onto the couch beside him and bitched about homework. Harry stole his potions notes when they were studying in the library, then poked and prodded until Draco explained them. Harry dragged Draco into group discussions with a casual ease that soon had their fellow Eights relaxing around him - and, by extension, the handful of other Slytherins who had returned. Harry had stayed his friend, which had directly led to the current predicament.

When Harry’s potion had begun to shake and glow and hiss ominously, Draco had acted without thought. The intelligent thing to do would have been to cast a containment charm around the volatile cauldron and its contents. Or, barring that, to cast a shield spell around Harry. Instead, Draco had thrown himself bodily on top of Harry, in some mindless attempt to protect the Gryffindor with his own body. It was not a Slytherin thing to do and since waking up Draco had been silently cursing all the time he’d spent with Gryffindors these past few months, because apparently their moronic tendency to fling themselves headfirst into danger was contagious.

The reason he had done so...well. That was the real problem.

Somewhere along the way, Draco Malfoy had apparently fallen in love with Harry Potter.

And now, because of that incredible foolishness, he was stuck wearing Harry’s skin. Biting his lip anxiously - ‘Harry’s lip,’ his mind supplied the traitorous thought against his will. - Draco glanced at the clock. Neville - Harry’s roommate - wouldn’t be done with classes for a couple of hours. He was supposed to take this time to look through Harry’s things and familiarize himself with the other teen’s clothes, and habits, and such. Draco had barely restrained the urge to roll his eyes when McGonagall had said as much. As if Draco didn’t know Harry after all the years they’d spent watching each other; as if he didn’t know Harry better than Harry seemed to know himself sometimes.

So instead of opening Harry’s trunk, or the wardrobe, Draco succumbed to temptation. And really, he was only human. Surely his curiosity could be forgiven, just this once...

With still-trembling fingers, Draco dropped Harry’s robes (which he hadn’t put on because they weren’t going to class, so why bother) and Harry’s bag on the floor beside the trunk labeled ‘HJP’. Then he tugged on the red-and-gold striped tie, undoing the knot in an instant. He stared at the thin strip of fabric for a few seconds, then dropped it in an untidy coil onto the nightstand. He toed off Harry’s beat-up trainers, then sat on the edge of Harry’s bed to tug off Harry’s socks. His breath was coming in short, fast bursts and he could hear his - Harry’s - heartbeat rushing in his ears, sounding impossibly loud in the otherwise-silent dorm.

Draco’s fingers fumbled over the tiny buttons on Harry’s shirt, but he finally got them all undone and shrugged it off. He dropped it onto the floor, then took several gasping breaths, trying to regain some semblance of control. His eyes were drawn to the mirror mounted on the wall, on the far side of the room between the wardrobes. Like a marionette having its strings pulled, Draco found himself rising and crossing to the silvered glass before he knew he was planning to. He blinked green eyes that were now - temporarily, anyway - his own, staring in shock at his reflection.

He had never seen Harry look quite so…disheveled. Dark pink lips were parted around shuddering lungfuls of air, and peach-toned cheeks were flushed darkly from a strange mix of nerves, guilt, and arousal. Those famous emerald eyes were dark, pupils blown wide with lust, and Draco could see fear in them as well. Which was foolish, because no one would ever know he’d done this. Whatever this was.

Draco dropped his eyes lower, then carefully brushed the very tips of his fingers over his stomach. The muscles there fluttered and clenched and Draco whimpered, his knees threatening to give out. He had just touched Harry’s stomach. True, it was technically his for the moment, but that wasn’t the point. It was still Harry’s skin; Harry’s form; Harry’s everything. A heady, dizzying sort of thrill chased itself through Draco’s blood, making him shiver. His knees threatened to buckle again as his hands settled on the button of Harry’s trousers.

Could he do it? Should he?

In the end, Draco’s inherent nature won out over the guilt clawing at his throat. His fingers opened the button, then lowered the zip. The trousers slipped off Harry’s slim hips with barely a nudge, and Draco kicked them away with barely a thought. His fingers lingered on the elastic waistband of Harry’s simple white cotton briefs. He could already see the outline of Harry’s prick - half-hard from Draco’s excitement and anticipation - pressing against the fabric, and he debated with himself for several long moments, guilt warring with desire as he fought against himself. Was what he’d already seen enough? Would going further cross a line he shouldn’t cross? Would he be able to look Harry in the eye, ever again, if he did this?

And then...would he ever forgive himself if he didn’t? Because heaven knew he’d never get another chance like this, as long as he lived.

Decision made, Draco shoved the last bit of fabric preserving Harry’s modesty down past trembling thighs. Even as he did so, his eyes squeezed shut, almost against his will. He kicked the cotton away from his feet, doing his best to control his breathing and gather his courage. He wanted to do this; he needed to do this. He had imagined Harry unclothed more times than he could count and he just had to know the reality of it; had to know if Harry measured up to his imaginings. Draco opened his eyes and locked them with Harry’s reflection.

It was easier that way. It was almost like he was looking at Harry, rather than at himself in Harry’s skin. It was almost like this was allowed.

Slowly, Draco lowered his gaze. He took in the broad stretch of Harry’s shoulders, and the lean muscles cording his arms. He licked his lips as he let his eyes move over the light dusting of coarse, dark hair on Harry’s chest. His fingertips itched to touch - again - when his eyes traced the lightly defined muscles of Harry’s stomach. Draco took a deep breath, then lowered his gaze again. His attention was riveted on the trail of dark hair that started just below Harry’s navel. He swallowed hard against the nerves, then let his gaze drift lower still.

He stared for a moment, mouth falling open in shock. Draco finally forced himself to breathe again when spots danced in front of his eyes, reminding him of his intense need for oxygen. A small part of Draco’s brain - a remnant of their years of rivalry - fumed bitterly over the injustice of it all. The rest of Draco’s mind was lost in a daze.

Harry was perfect.

Of course, Draco had expected him to be perfect, but that didn’t mean much. He’d also expected to be disappointed by the reality of the-Boy-Who-Lived. Harry was far from disappointing. Draco imagined the bitter part of his mind might be louder - more vocal - if he, himself, were an unimpressive specimen. As it was, Harry’s prick wasn’t very much longer than his own - though it was noticeably thicker - and that soothed some of his envy. Still, if life were fair - if it were balanced - then Harry’s fame and likeability and all of his stupid luck would have been balanced by a small prick. Clearly the universe favored Harry in all things.

Not that Draco was complaining. Not now that he had a chance to see that favor, in all it’s glory. Draco curled his hands into fists, blunt nails digging into palms so hard it stung, and struggled against the urge to wrap his hand around Harry’s cock. He wanted. Desperately. He wanted to know how it felt against his palm; he wanted to know the weight of it; he wanted to know what sort of touches it would take to wring a litany of delicious moans and gasps from this gorgeous body.

But for all the lines he’d crossed by stripping Harry’s body down and drinking in his fill of the sight, Draco knew he couldn’t touch.

Draco squeezed his eyes shut again, counting his breaths in an attempt to calm himself down. It did nothing to cool his blood or slow his heart, but it did help him focus his thoughts. If there was one thing he’d learned under Voldemort’s reign, it was how to control his mind. His aunt, Bella, had taught him Occlumency. It was a skill he’d mastered quickly, and which served him well. He shoved his feelings for Harry into a box and locked it away, determined to keep them separate from himself. He had to, or he’d never get through this with his sanity intact. To say nothing of his morals, questionable though they sometimes were.

Opening his eyes, Draco deliberately kept his gaze averted from the mirror. He marched over to Harry’s trunk and opened it, frowning down at the unimpressive clothing inside. Oh, that wouldn’t do. Not in the slightest. First order of business, then, was a shopping trip. If he was going to convince everyone Harry was gay - though honestly, why he was determined to do so was beyond him - then he was going to have to have better clothes to work with. Sighing, Draco grabbed up a pair of cotton sleep pants and a tee-shirt. As much as he wanted to dash off to Hogsmeade that instant, he was still drained from whatever the switch had done to them. So, really, a shopping trip was the second order of business. A nap was the first.

Slipping Harry’s pajamas on - and struggling not to cringe because, really, cotton sleep pants? Potter was such a prole - Draco pushed all thought out of his mind and climbed into the House-neutral purple-colored bed. He shoved Harry’s glasses under the pillow, alongside Harry’s wand, before closing his eyes to sleep.

Harry woke with a start when a pillow slammed into his face. “Oi! Wake up, you lazy prat. Surely you got enough sleep in the hospital wing?”

Harry’s heart was pounding in his chest as he looked wildly around the room, eyes finally focusing on - of all people - Blaise Zabini. Who was grinning at him in a cheerful way Harry was quite positive he’d never seen. The boy had always been...well, solemn, for lack of a better word. Very cool, very composed, and terribly serious. Not playful and laughing like a loon at whatever look was apparently on Harry’s - or rather, Draco’s - face. It was disconcerting, to say the least.

“Did I startle you, Dray?” Zabini’s tone was teasing, and not in the slightest apologetic. “That’s what you get for sleeping when the rest of us had to be in class. Now, come on. Up. We’re supposed to go to Hogsmeade, remember? Dinner with the whole crew, then Pansy wants to shop.”

“Oh. Er, right. Let me just...change.” Harry stumbled out of the bed, then moved blearily towards the trunk at the foot of it to choose something. Zabini was looking at him oddly, though. “What?”

“You just said er.” Zabini sounded horrified. “I have never, in the sixteen years we’ve been speaking, heard you say er. Are you feeling alright?”

Cursing silently, Harry hurried to correct his mistake. Making his tone as scathing as he could - and dredging up a memory of Draco’s haughtiest sneer the same time - Harry said. “You try having your brain scrambled by one of Harry’s epic potions fails, and see if you don’t wind up a little off.”

Zabini snorted at that, rolling his eyes. “As though you weren’t already scrambled by Potter.” Harry frowned at the other teen, wondering what the hell that meant, but Zabini kept talking. “And if you hadn’t jumped on him like a complete moron you’d have been fine. Honestly, these Gryffindors are rubbing off on you, and not in the fun sort of way.”

Harry felt his cheeks start to heat up and stared intently at the contents of the trunk, avoiding Zabini’s too-observant eyes. “Yes, well. That’s neither here nor there.” Harry gave himself a pat on the back; that had sounded suitably Draco-ish. He dared a peek at Blaise, then added. “You’re not going in your school things, are you? Please tell me you’re changing, Blaise.”

Blaise snorted again, but shoved away from the bedpost he’d been leaning against with a dismissive little wave of his hand. “Yes, yes, luv. Of course I’ll change. Merlin forbid I should offend your delicate fashion sensibilities.”

Muttering under his breath, Harry grabbed at the first things he saw that didn’t send his brain into panic-mode. Hopefully he looked acceptable. Deciding he honestly didn’t even care if he didn’t, Harry stood and began stripping. He paused when he felt eyes on him, because despite having changed in a dorm with four other boys for many years, Harry was not used to people watching him when he got undressed. He turned his head and, yes, Blaise’s golden-green eyes were definitely on him. Or rather, on Draco. Was that normal?

Clearing his throat, Harry arched an eyebrow at the other Slytherin and drawled. “Enjoying the view, Zabini?” There...that was easily played off as teasing, if this was normal, and yet discouraging enough if it wasn’t. He hoped.

Blaise grinned easily and wiggled his own eyebrows back at Harry. “Don’t I always? Don’t pretend you don’t like it when I watch. We both know you adore an audience.”

“Only when the audience is adoring.” Harry blinked when Blaise laughed. The response had rolled off his tongue without thought, as though Harry were channeling Draco. Perhaps this would be as easy as he’d claimed. “Now stop pestering me and get dressed.”

Blaise turned to his own clothes then and Harry hastily shed the rest of Draco’s school uniform. He grabbed up the clothes he’d pulled from the trunk and stepped into the charcoal-grey slacks. He bit back a groan at the way they hugged Draco’s slim form, but didn’t know why he was surprised. Draco’s clothes always fit him perfectly; they were tailored that way, after all. Harry just wasn’t used to wearing things that were so…clingy. But then, he reminded himself, this wasn’t his body, so why did it matter? Shaking his head, Harry pulled on a fitted white tee-shirt, then pulled on a super-soft emerald green sweater over it. It was, after all, cold. December in the Highlands was no joke.

“Really?” Blaise’s voice drew Harry’s attention again as he sat on Draco’s trunk to tug on black dragonhide boots. “You’re wearing the cashmere to a pub?”

Harry, however, had reached his quota of being questioned and snapped. “I’m bloody-well freezing, Blaise, and it’s warm. If it bothers you, don’t look.”

Blaise held up both hands in a submissive gesture, eyes wide. “Whoa, whoa. What’s got your knickers in a twist, Draco? I was just asking. You’re so damned protective of that sweater - always snarling about how no one better come near you with food or drink or an inked quill while you’ve got it on - that I had to ask. But please, wear it to a food fight for all I care. It’s hardly my business.”

Harry pressed his fingers against his temples, digging them in firmly, and muttered. “I’ve got a headache, that’s all. I didn’t mean to snap.”

Blaise made a sympathetic sound and Harry startled - nearly jumping out of his skin - when he felt hands in his hair. “Wh-what are you doing?” He gasped.

“Helping, you nutter.” Blaise’s low chuckle was right next to Harry’s ear, warm and unsettling. Blaise’s sure fingers carded through Draco’s hair with a familiar ease, pressing soothingly along Draco’s scalp and somehow erasing the pain building behind his eyes. “Better, luv?”

Harry nodded weakly, eyes falling shut as he arched his neck, pressing up into Blaise’s hands. “Merlin, yes.” Harry would have been embarrassed by the breathless quality of Draco’s voice, but whatever Blaise was doing felt so good that he just didn’t care. “Don’t ever stop.”

Blaise chuckled again, but his fingers only lingered a few moments longer before pulling away. Harry made a disappointed whining sound, then his eyes flew open in shock when lips brushed against his temple. “Come on, Draco. Pansy and the others will be getting impatient.”

With his heart once again pounding in his chest, Harry meekly followed Blaise from the dorm, apparently to meet their other friends. What the bleeding hell had he gotten himself into? Surely if something were going on between Draco and his roommate, he would have warned Harry? Grinding his teeth together a moment later, Harry realized that was a stupid thought. Of course Draco wouldn’t have told him. He’d have found it hilarious to let Harry stumble blindly into such a thing, the bastard.

As Blaise greeted Pansy, Theo, and a few other Slytherins, Harry pushed that thought away. He’d deal with Draco later. He had a dinner to get through.

Draco stretched himself slowly awake, humming softly in the back of his throat as he did so. He blinked open his eyes, then frowned when everything around him was blurry and unfocused. A few seconds later, realization slammed into place and Draco groaned miserably. He slid his hand under the pillow and pulled out Harry’s glasses, staring at them in stunned disbelief.

They were broken.

“Hey, Harry.” Draco’s head snapped up at Neville Longbottom’s voice, though the Gryffindor boy was nothing but a blurry blob. “What happened to your glasses?”

Draco looked down at them again, frowning. “I...” Draco stopped before saying, ‘I don’t know’ and instead mumbled. “I had them under my pillow.”

Neville laughed, then the blurry form moved closer. He came a little more into focus once he was beside Harry’s bed and Draco blinked up at him in surprise as he pulled the glasses out of Draco’s hands. “You need to stop doing that, you know. Or learn the spell to fix them yourself.”

Neville tapped his wand to the glasses and murmured a spell, then slid the frames back into Draco’s hands. “There you go.”

“Right. Thanks.” Draco slid the frames on, blinking twice as the room - and everything in it - came into sudden focus. He glanced up at the other teen, then asked. “What time is it?”

“A little before six.” Neville answered as he moved towards his own bed. “You’ve got plenty of time for dinner yet, though of course Ron’s already gone down.”

“Oh! But I have to...” Draco cut himself off, cursing his runaway tongue when Neville turned to look at him again, curiosity clear to see on his face. “Never mind.”

Neville blinked, then shrugged. “Okay. If you want to go back to sleep, I can bring you up something when I eat. Or you can always hit the kitchens later.”

Draco silently cursed the fact that - unlike Harry - he did not know where the kitchens were, and seriously considered taking Neville up on his offer. Because right now, Harry was having a companionable dinner with Draco’s friends, then going shopping with Pansy, and he was stuck going downstairs and watching Weasley stuff his face while Granger made cow eyes at him. Which he really didn’t want to do, at all.

In the end, it was the prospect of seeing his friends - even if he wouldn’t be able to join them - that made Draco’s decision for him. He needed to pick up new clothes for Harry anyway; he might as well get started on that endeavor right away. So Draco grudgingly dressed in the snuggest pair of jeans he could find - which were still deplorably loose, if you asked him - and a simple black tee-shirt topped off with a knit sweater. The sweater was a little bulky, but it was a lovely shade of Slytherin green and quite soft, as though it had been worn and washed many times. It wasn’t precisely high-fashion, but it was far better than most of Harry’s clothing.

Ignoring the way Neville was glancing at him in between turning pages in his book, Draco tugged on Harry’s winter boots and grabbed his heavy cloak from its hook. Then, knowing he had to say something, Draco forced a smile for his temporary roommate. “I’m just going to pop over to the Three Broomsticks, then hit a shop or two in the village. I need to pick a few things up.”

“Okay. Have fun.” Neville turned back to his reading and Draco silently thanks Merlin that Gryffindors were such trusting folks, at least when it came to one of their own.

The trek through the snow was no fun at all, but Draco figured it would be worth it. If nothing else, he’d have something decent to wear. Deciding food was the top priority - though it wasn’t an easy decision - Draco headed straight for the pub. Though the fare there was nothing to write home about, it was a staple among students and Draco was rather fond of it. Draco fully intended to go inside, order the beef stew, eat until his stomach stopped rumbling, and then head out to the shops. Instead, he walked inside and saw red.

Or, more accurately, he saw green.

Without thought, Draco stormed furiously over to the Slytherin group and bit out from between clenched teeth. “What. Are. You. Wearing.”

Harry looked up and raised one eyebrow, which only served to infuriate Draco further because, dammit, that was his look on his face and he did not appreciate it being used against him. Then Harry opened his mouth and drawled. “They’re called clothes, Harry. Surely you’ve heard of them? You are wearing some, after all. A rather deplorable set, mind you, but still.”

Draco ground his teeth together, then hissed. “We need to talk. Now.”

Harry had the intelligence to look wary, but he excused himself from the others with a few words and an eyeroll in Draco’s direction. Draco curled Harry’s hands into fists and reminded himself that breaking his own nose would be a terribly stupid thing to do. Then he dragged Harry over to an unoccupied booth on the far side of the restaurant from the Slytherins and pointed. He glared until Harry sat, then seated himself across from him.

“Of all the things in my vast wardrobe, why are you wearing that?” Draco demanded as soon as they were both sitting. “That is my favorite sweater and it’s delicate, dammit. If anything spills on it, I swear to Salazar...”

“Oi, calm down!” Harry laughed, rolling grey eyes when he realized why Draco was so pissed off. “I cast Impervius on it after Blaise mentioned how protective you are of the bloody thing. I only wore it because it’s warm, and the color reminded me of my favorite sweater. Which you happen to be wearing, actually.”

Draco made a face, clearly still unhappy, and Harry sighed before glancing over at the Slytherins. After a moment, he asked. “Do you want to join us? I’m sure you miss your friends. This won’t be the same as hanging out with them, obviously, but it’s better than nothing.”

Draco hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Yes. I’d like that. But I doubt they’ll be thrilled about having Harry Potter in their midst.”

“They’ll get over it.” They both stood, then Harry paused. “Oh, question. What, exactly, is going on between you and Blaise Zabini?”

Draco couldn’t stop the smirk that curved his lips. “Nothing, Harry. Blaise is simply an affectionate person, as am I. Flirt back, tease, give casual touches and you’ll be fine.”

Harry frowned as they slowly wound their way across the crowded pub, then muttered. “You never touch me.”

Draco stopped in his tracks and looked at Harry, startled. “I...what?” When Harry just blinked at him, Draco said slowly. “I honestly thought you’d punch me in the face if I ever tried that sort of thing with you. Blaise and I have known each other since we were in nappies. It’s second nature for us. You, on the other hand...”

“Have a lot of awful history with you.” Harry finished and Draco wondered if he was imagining the hint of bitterness in his tone, or if it was just that his voice made Harry’s words sound different than they would have otherwise. “I know that. I guess I just thought we were finally past all that.”

The two halves of Draco warred for a long moment. The demanding, selfish part of him screamed for him to accept this olive branch; to soak up any affectionate touch Harry might offer him, regardless of reason or meaning. The part comprised primarily of his self-preservation instinct cautioned him not to let himself get crushed because of his eager need for Harry’s love. The result was that - to anyone watching - Harry Potter was gaping at Draco Malfoy, at a dead stand-still, in the middle of the Three Broomsticks, for no easily discernable reason. Oops.

Finally shaking off the conflicting thoughts, Draco managed a small smile. “Very well, Harry. If you think we’re past all of that, then why not. I will do my level best to give you the same level of affection I give my other friends.”

Harry rolled his eyes, but he was smiling back. “Good. Now, can we go eat? I’m starving.”

Draco nodded and followed Harry over to the table, feeling better than he had in a very long time.

Harry stifled a sigh as Pansy dragged everyone into another shop. This had seemed like fun, for the first twenty minutes or so. Pansy - and two other Slytherin girls in their year, Daphne Greengrass and Georgina Runcorn - tried on a wide variety of clothes, preening with each new outfit. While Harry didn’t know much about fashion, he had fully intended to enjoy the girls prancing about in a wide variety of flattering clothing. Instead, he had found himself bored in short order. Not even the sight of the three girls - who were all at least passably pretty - in short skirts and shirts that barely covered their curves was enough to hold his attention.

He made the occasional comment - a simple “yes” or “absolutely not” based on Draco’s expressions - but beyond that, Harry mostly ignored the whole process. He hoped his inattention wasn’t raising any flags, but so far it didn’t seem to be. Partly because Draco - in Harry’s body - was just vocal enough to draw the girls’ attention. At first, they’d been skeptical of his commentary, but they’d soon decided he apparently knew more than they’d ever guessed and were lapping up his words like they were sacred.

Harry had mostly tuned the whole situation out when a wolf-whistle from Blaise drew his attention. An instant after turning his head - barely even curious - Harry’s jaw hit the floor. He straightened away from the wall he’d been leaning against, taking two steps forward before he realized what he was doing and forced himself to stop. Harry knew his expression had to be giving away a million things he’d never imagined having to worry about, but he couldn’t seem to care. Because...well, because Draco was gorgeous.

It didn’t matter that it was his own face and form he was staring at, because the look - the clothes, the expression on his face, the way he was holding himself - was all Draco. It was a bit dysphoric, seeing himself and Draco at the same time, but Harry couldn’t complain about the result.

Draco had done something to his glasses, making the frames thinner, and turning the black plastic to silver wire. He’d also adjusted the shape of the lenses - making them less circular and a bit more like ovals - and while Harry had always thought his face looked weird without his iconic glasses, this was actually not awful. Harry’s Quidditch-toned legs were hugged by dark blue denim. A dark grey tee-shirt clinging to his torso, with a long-sleeved black button-up over it. The sleeves were rolled halfway up Harry’s forearms, and none of the buttons were done, and Harry had a feeling it was made of silk of all things, but he had to admit it looked...nice. Harry had somehow gotten used to seeing himself as the scrawny boy who lived in a cupboard under the stairs, but now it was clear that his shoulders were broad and his chest had filled out and lean muscle corded his arms in a way he’d never been aware of. Except for the fact that James had been a good four inches taller than Harry’s own 5’8”, Harry thought he looked rather like his father had in Snape’s memories.

That comparison was aided by the way Draco had tousled Harry’s hair; he looked like he’d just gone for a fly on a particularly windy day.

Draco was blushing a little, which Harry thought was appropriate. He would certainly blush if he’d been dressed that way. But the sparkle in those green eyes - the light that clearly said he was pleased with how he looked and the attention he was receiving - was very much Draco, as was the cocky way he was standing with one hand on a hip and an arrogant tilt to his head. It was almost like looking into a funhouse mirror, or seeing an altogether different version of yourself somehow. Harry wondered if twins ever felt this way; seeing their body doing things it would never do if they were in control, and being torn between liking and hating it.

Though Harry supposed twins never felt the disconcerting flare of arousal he was experiencing, just at the moment. Harry knew, of course, that he had occasionally noticed how fit another boy was - because hadn’t he admired Cedric, and Oliver Wood, and even (to a small degree) Ron’s older brothers, Bill and Charlie - but this was different. This wasn’t an absent minded thought or a passing notice; this was the very real desire to cross the fifteen feet separating them and snog himself breathless, knowing Draco Malfoy was the one piloting his skin. Had these sorts of thoughts always been lurking there, just under the surface of everything he’d been dealing with since entering the Wizarding world? Or had he been right about this switch affecting him? Perhaps he really was channeling some of Draco’s personality - a residual trace of the other boy, locked into this form - and that was where this was coming from. Or perhaps it was just Draco who could take his thoughts from ‘passing notice’ to ‘action’ mode.

Whatever the cause was, Harry decided he had no reason to fight against it. After all, he was - for all intents and purposes - a very gay Draco Malfoy, at least for the time being. Besides, Harry also had a bet to win.

“Who would have guessed?” Harry said, in a passable imitation of Draco’s cultured drawl. “You clean up rather well, Harry.”

Draco grinned and the devious look on his face had Harry bracing himself for whatever the Slytherin was going to say. “I’m glad you think so. Personally, I’ve always thought you’d look pretty attractive yourself if you’d relax and take the stick out of your arse.”

Harry blinked, because holy shit that had sounded very much like something he would say and yet those words had never even crossed his mind before, especially not in relation to Draco who was rather animated and dramatic and ridiculous, rather than stuffy. After a few seconds, Harry blurted out the first thing that popped into his head. “I would, but I rather enjoy things up my arse, so it seems like it would be counterintuitive to do.”

Draco threw back his head and laughed - a deep, from-the-gut laugh that warmed something in Harry’s chest to have caused - then said. “Yes, I’d imagine it would. Still, I seem to be managing quite well, so maybe you should give it a try.”

And there, just like that, the gauntlet was thrown down. Everyone present froze, staring at “Harry Potter” who had, in a very real way, just declared himself gay. Harry, for his part, wondered if he ought to be more horrified or perhaps angry, but all he felt was amusement and a very real desire to win the damned bet. Harry glanced around at how Blaise, Pansy, Daphne, Georgina, and Theo were all staring in stunned silence and made a quick decision. He’d have to blow past Draco’s revelation with something completely outrageous, or risk giving Draco a drastic head start on this whole thing.

“Clearly you don’t enjoy it quite as much as I do.” Harry did his best to make his tone dismissive, adding a casual flick of his fingers as though brushing off the other teen’s words. “I suppose that’s hardly your fault, of course. Perhaps you just haven’t found the right man to properly satisfy you.”

Draco blinked, then somehow managed to leer - in the most obscene manner Harry had ever seen, which was saying something given he’d seen a drunken Seamus more than a few times - as he responded cheekily. “Are you offering to satisfy me, Malfoy?”

Harry snorted, then rolled his eyes. “As if I’d lower myself to that. Sorry to burst your bubble, Potter, but I don’t consort with those who are just testing this sort of thing out.” A challenge sparking in his eyes, Harry added daringly. “It takes a very specific sort of man to handle me in all of my fabulousness, and I’m sorry but you don’t quite make the grade. You just aren’t gay enough.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed and he grinned in a dangerous way; it made Harry realize for the first time just how evil his face could look. No wonder people sometimes seemed afraid of him, if his face was capable of that. “Oh, we’ll just see about that, won’t we? I have a feeling I’m gayer than you could’ve ever dreamed possible.”

Harry laughed, then shook his head. “So you say, Harry, but I’ll believe it when I see it. I still don’t think you can keep up with me.” Then, deciding he needed to make an exit while he could, Harry turned to the other Slytherins and declared imperiously. “I’m rather tired of this expedition, so I think I’ll head back to the castle. Anyone care to join me?”

The girls demurred, but Theo and Blaise shared a look before nodding. Harry had a feeling he’d be getting the third degree the whole walk back, but it was better than the alternative. He didn’t know how much more bantering he could take.

Draco watched him go, still cozied up to the girls, and Harry managed a sassy wink as he walked away. He didn’t bother trying to analyse - or tamp down - the fluttery feeling he got when Draco returned it with a jaunty wave and a heart-stopping grin. This bet might be the death of him - especially combined with their current body-swap - but damn, it would be a fun way to go.

Draco wasn’t sure what Harry had been doing, but after Friday evening’s outing with the Slytherins he had hidden himself in Harry’s room. It wasn’t that he’d had trouble pretending to be Harry - because he hadn’t, not at all; it had come quite naturally to him, as strange as that was. It was more that he wasn’t quite comfortable with what he was doing. True, Harry had agreed to the bet knowing full well Draco was going to try to convince people he was gay, but...

Maybe it was seeing the looks on his friends’ faces. Maybe it was the way Pansy, Daphne, and Georgina expressed so much surprise before accepting it. Maybe it was just that so many things already weighed on Draco’s conscience and he couldn’t handle even this small bit of extra guilt. Whatever the case, he couldn’t take it and had retreated to Harry’s room - relying on Hermione and Neville to bring him food - to reassess the wager. He refused to refer to it as hiding. He wasn’t hiding. He was just...thinking, alone, away from everyone. Which was, after all, the best way to think.

Monday, however, was the first day of midterm exams and Draco couldn’t hide any longer. So he grudgingly dressed in Harry’s school robes - complete with the god-awful red and gold striped tie he was coming to loathe - and headed down to the Great Hall for breakfast.

It was a testament to Draco’s distraction that he didn’t notice it right away. He was so focused on reminding himself to act like Harry - to sit with Hermione and Ron and the others in their little group - that he didn’t even glance at the Slytherin table for the first few minutes. It was the murmurs around him - and all of the pointing and staring - that finally had Draco looking over. His eyes scanned the table for his distinctive platinum hair, jaw dropping when he finally spotted it.

“What in the name of Merlin is wrong with him?” He hissed, before he could really think about it. His eyes narrowed at Harry, who had caught him looking and winked of all things. ‘That bastard!’

Harry had used something - spell or potion, Draco wasn’t sure which - to grow out his hair. Draco’s hair was now well past his shoulders. It was campy enough to irritate Draco, because being gay didn’t mean he wanted long, flowing hair. Draco liked his hair just long enough to fall into his eyes, thank you very much. But it also set him off because he didn’t like looking like his bloody father. Of course, Lucius Malfoy had never worn glittering butterfly barrettes in his hair. Harry must have borrowed them from one of the girls, though Draco couldn’t remember any of them wearing something so absurd.

The twin silver and blue hair ornaments were enchanted so their wings fluttered every so often, drawing everyone’s eyes back to the atrocious things. Draco sighed, admitting to himself that they weren’t actually atrocious. They were lovely hair ornaments. He just hated that they were holding his abnormally long hair back from his face. Draco had had every intention of telling Harry he wanted to call off the wager; that it felt wrong and he no longer wanted any part of it. Staring at those barrettes, though, something in his brain snapped.

If Harry wanted a war, Draco would oblige.

At dinner on Monday, Harry stared across the Great Hall in amused horror. Half of him wanted to shriek in outrage; the other half wanted to laugh until he couldn’t breathe. The end result was that he just gaped at Draco, who was seated at the Gryffindor table, looking very comfortable in Harry’s skin, acting like he wasn’t tipping the whole world up on its edge with his audacity. Harry wasn’t sure what Draco had done with his glasses - if he had used the spell that temporarily fixed eyesight, or if he’d found Harry’s hidden stash of contacts - but the thin silver frames Draco had worn all day were no where in sight. Neither was Harry’s school uniform.

Draco was sitting there, wearing clothes Harry wouldn’t have been caught dead in. Which wasn’t to say they looked bad on him. They didn’t, at all. They just...weren’t his normal style. Draco had on black jeans so tight they looked like he’d painted them on. His feet were encased in dark green dragonhide ankle boots, which had just the slightest bit of a heel. His shirt, though...his shirt was what had Harry wanted to laugh, more than anything else.

Draco looked like a bloody pirate. The shirt was a white button-up, with ruffles. Actual ruffles. There was a lovely little waterfall of them at his throat, and more at his wrists, and it should have looked completely absurd. Poncy as all get out, of course, but also absurd. Ridiculous. A joke.

Except, of course, Draco was somehow pulling it off. He had lined Harry’s too-green eyes with black, making them stand out even across the room and he’d tousled Harry’s hair in that artful way again. And the shirt somehow worked with the rest of it. Harry wasn’t sure he would have recognized himself, really, because he looked dark and dangerous and incredibly sexy. Part of that, Harry knew, was the easy way Draco moved in his skin - all grace and fluidity and sophistication - but part of it was him. Part of it was the way the clothes fit his well-muscled frame, and the way his eyes sparkled, and the faintest hint of a dimple in one cheek when he grinned. True, Draco’s emotions and personality were adding their own twist to his features, but Harry figured he could pull off the look Draco had going on well enough himself, if he ever wanted to.

The Gryffindors seemed enthralled with the changes that had overcome “Harry Potter”. Except Hermione, of course. She just looked exasperated. Ron seemed baffled - Harry watched as the redhead tried to question Draco and Draco seemed to laugh him off, but not meanly - but he didn’t seem angry, which Harry was grateful for. He didn’t want to have to repair a fight when the switch was over.

Pushing Draco out of his mind for the moment, Harry turned his attention back to his food as he began to plot. If Draco thought a campy outfit was going to be enough to win him this fight, he was in for a rude awakening. Harry was the son of a Marauder; he would not be outdone.

The rest of the week (in between their midterm exams, which were exhaustingly brutal) dissolved into all out war rather amusingly. Harry kept Draco’s hair long, and proceeded to style it (with the help of first year Hufflepuff girls, from the looks of it) in increasingly feminine ways. The twin pigtails (tied with green ribbons and studded with sparkly silver clip-on flowers) that Harry wore on Friday were by far the worst; Draco nearly had a stroke seeing them. At dinner, Harry was also wearing a pair of Draco’s leather trousers and a sparkly green top that Draco knew for a fact belong to Pansy. In an unbiased way, Draco had to admit he looked rather attractive, if a bit too much like a girl for his tastes, but that was not the point. The point was, Harry was a prick and Draco would not stand for this.

For his part, Draco was wearing another pair of skin-tight jeans and the same dragonhide boots. He had on a skin-tight black tee-shirt, with a short-sleeved button-up over it. The unbuttoned overshirt was a deep green that shimmered from silvery, to emerald, to black, and back again every time he moved. It looked rather fetching with Harry’s eyes - especially with those pesky glasses traded out for the contacts Draco wished the Gryffindor would actually wear. Draco had actually lined Harry’s wide eyes with black again, making them stand out even more.

The Slytherin was trying to decide what he outrageous thing he could do when it happened. Dessert was on the table - puddings, cakes, assorted fruit with clotted cream for dipping - and Harry had picked up a banana. He had peeled it slowly, chattering pleasantly to Pansy and Blaise, while Draco watched surreptitiously from across the room. Ron was asking him something - Draco thought he heard the word party but he wasn’t really listening - and he jumped in surprise when Draco made a horrified screeching sound out of nowhere.

Harry-bloody-Potter had just slid the entire banana into his mouth. Several Slytherins had watched him do it, too, and even now were whispering among themselves about it. Draco’s face was bright red, he was sure of it, especially when Harry locked gazes with him before slowly sliding the banana back past pink lips, revealing its length one torturous inch at a time. When his mouth was once again available, Harry smirked at Draco and raised one eyebrow, as though saying ‘Your move.’

Furious - Because really now, there was no call for lewd displays in public! - Draco cast his eyes around the students nearest to him. Then, in a voice far louder than necessary given they were only a few seats apart, Draco declared rather loudly and with fake surprise. “Hey Seamus, how is it I’ve never noticed what a fit bloke you are before now?”

There was a long moment of silence, where everyone who had heard turned to stare at him in shock - this including people from the Ravenclaw table as well as Gryffindors - then Seamus’ cheeks turned pink and he grinned. “Dunno, Harry. I think I’ve always been pretty damned cute.”

As whispers spread across the Hall, Draco saw Harry scowling at the Slytherin table and decided to press it a little further. “Well, it might have taken me a bit, but I’m noticing now.”

Seamus laughed, then said fondly. “That’s sweet, Harry, but you know I’m dating Dean.”

“Too right.” Dean muttered from beside the Irish boy, though he was smiling at Harry and didn’t seem at all put out or jealous. “Not that I can blame you for looking. Seamus is gorgeous.”

Deciding he had to push the advantage while he had it - and really, Harry deserved whatever he dished out after that obscene food moment - Draco shot a charming smile at his classmates and said. “I noticed you’re rather fit, too, Dean.” Then he winked at them both.

There was a sudden commotion at the Slytherin table as Harry apparently knocked an entire pitcher of pumpkin juice over, spilling the liquid everywhere and causing several people to jump from their seats to avoid soaked laps. He didn’t even have the grace to look embarrassed; he was just glaring at Draco. Not that Draco was surprised. He had just hit on two of Harry’s friends simultaneously. But their little wager had no rules or limits, so Draco felt he was well within his rights to do so.

He sucked in a stunned breath when Harry’s chin came up stubbornly; that didn’t bode well. Draco had been on the receiving end of Harry’s temper often enough to recognize the motion. The Gryffindor turned, grabbed Blaise - who yelped in surprise - and planted a kiss firmly on his lips. Draco was standing in an instant, face bright red, glaring across the room at Harry, who looked annoyingly smug. Blaise, to his credit, was looking between the two of them with a confused expression. Draco mentally applauded his best friend for realizing something was amiss; for knowing Draco did not think of him that way and would certainly never snog him in the Great Hall, of all places.

Before he had really thought things through, Draco was shouting across the room. “Hey, Draco, I don’t think Zabini was into it!”

Harry glared right back, yelling as well. “Well you’re the one who just got rejected by two people at the same time! Though honestly, I’m not surprised. Perhaps you’re looking a bit outside your league?”

Draco narrowed his eyes. It didn’t quite matter that Harry was technically insulting himself, because the implication that anyone was out of his league rubbed Draco the wrong way. Context was irrelevant to his smarting pride. “You’re one to talk. Do you even have a league? I could get someone way fitter than you could!”

“You wish!” Harry scanned the Great Hall quickly, for once not even noticing the many sets of eyes on him. “I...I could get anyone in here I wanted. I could get...” He scanned the tables again, then settled on a Ravenclaw boy from their year. “I could get Terry Boot, if I wanted!”

Draco scowled, because Terry was rather fit, and he was looking over at the Slytherin table with a blush and a hint of interest on his face. Slamming his hands onto the table - which served to gain everyone’s attention again, as well as knocking several goblets over - Draco shouted back. “I could get Roger Malone!”

Every head swiveled to the Hufflepuff table, where a very handsome boy looked up in shock and said, “What? Who, me?” Draco nodded imperiously, adding a charming smile, and Roger blinked in surprise before grinning back. “Wow, that’s very flattering, Harry. You really think I’m fit?”

Before Draco could reply, Harry was shouting again, grey eyes narrowed dangerously. “Well, I could get Justin Finch-Fletchley!”

Heads swiveled back to the Hufflepuff table, and Draco tipped his head thoughtfully for a moment. It wasn’t that Draco had never noticed Justin before, because of course he had - somehow, his mousey brown hair and golden-brown eyes looked very nice rather than boring as they did on some folks and everyone knew Justin was rather wealthy (even if he was a Muggleborn) because he’d been set to go to Eton before finding out about Hogwarts - but Draco had never really looked at him like that. Now, seeing Justin with the sort of bashful smile you’d expect from a Hufflepuff - and seeing that he was giving a pleased little smile to who he thought was Draco Malfoy - he couldn’t help thinking about it. Just for a moment, because he couldn’t let Harry win this fight they were in, but long enough to make him wonder if maybe the reason he didn’t have a boyfriend was because he’d been too busy mooning over Harry to give anyone else a fair shake.

Deciding he needed to up the ante - and really draw attention to himself - Draco stepped up onto the bench he’d been sitting on and pointed at the Ravenclaw table. “I could get Michael Corner!”

There was a pause - Draco was beginning to wonder if perhaps the staff was in shock because this was not normal dinnertime behavior - then Ron said loudly. “Uh, Harry? I’m pretty sure Michael is straight because he dated Ginny.”

“Actually, I’m bi!” Michael yelled back from Ravenclaw’s table, winking at Harry. “And if I wasn’t dating someone, I’d certainly go on a date with you, Harry!”

“Nobody cares!” Harry snapped, even as he climbed onto the Slytherin table despite the students sitting near him protesting his actions. “I could get date with...with...” After a moment of struggling, Harry declared. “With Anthony Goldstein!”

“Too right you could!” Came the cheerful reply from Ravenclaw’s table. “Want to go with me to the Christmas party, then?”

“He most certainly does not!” Draco snapped, stepping onto Gryffindor’s table so he could get a better view of the Ravenclaw boy and properly glare at him. “Stay out of our conversation, Goldstein, this doesn’t concern you!”

Then, deciding he was going to go one step further - because apparently naming random people was not working - Draco declared. “I could get a date with Zacharias Smith!”

Harry gasped, then hollered. “You don’t even like him!”

“More importantly, I don’t like him!” Zach shouted, jumping up from his seat at the Hufflepuff table, glaring heatedly between the two boys, who were still standing on the tables. “Not to mention I’m straight. Leave me out of your nonsense, Potter!”

“That is enough!”

Draco winced at the sound of Headmistress McGonagall’s sharp voice ringing through the Great Hall. He had completely forgotten about the teachers, and really, why had it taken them so long to step in? He glanced over to see that - despite how strict her voice had been - McGonagall looked like she was on the verge of laughing. So did many of the other professors. Draco scowled. This was hardly amusing; this was very serious business!

When everyone was looking at her, McGonagall composed herself and said sternly. “You will both get down from the tables this instant and cease shouting across the room. If you cannot control yourselves, you will be forced to eat your meals sitting at the staff table, on either side of me, so that I can control you. Is that clear?”

Harry and Draco answered in unison. “Yes, Headmistress. Sorry, Headmistress.”

They glared at each other as they climbed down off the tables. Harry was dragged off by the Slytherins, while Draco brushed the Gryffindors’ concerns off easily. “It’s nothing. Just me and Draco having a little friendly competition is all.”

Hermione had huffed and rolled her eyes, but everyone else had seemed to accept his words at face-value. Draco went back to his dinner in silence; his mind was on the Christmas party Anthony Goldstein had brought up. There were so many possibilities a party presented that a normal day at Hogwarts just did not...

Harry had never realized how damnably nosy Slytherins were. Pansy seemed willing to accept his excuses about ‘one-upping Harry Potter’ but Blaise was another matter. Harry admitted - if only to himself - that kissing the other boy had probably been a huge mistake. It was apparently very out of character for Draco and Harry had regretted it almost immediately, but there had been no taking it back once it was done. Thankfully, it was Pansy’s help Harry required for the Christmas party, not Blaise’s. Though it hadn’t been easy avoiding his roommate for the better part of a week, he didn’t have to worry about it anymore. He was going to win this thing at the party or die trying.

Now it was December 24th, and Harry was in the room Pansy shared with Georgina Runcorn, and he was placing himself in their - hopefully - capable hands. He closed his eyes as they fussed over his hair and face, and let them dress him like a child with a Barbie doll, and did his best to ignore the running commentary they felt the need to have going. Finally, they were done. Pansy ushered Harry over to the mirror, bouncing on the balls of her feet like a child on a sugar rush. Georgina’s cheeks were flushed and her blue eyes sparkled as she watched eagerly, awaiting his reaction to their efforts.

Harry sucked in a bracing breath and looked at his reflection. Then he sucked in another breath - sharper this time; startled - as he struggled to keep his body from reacting. Draco looked…amazing. Harry had deliberately given the girls free-reign, telling them only that he wanted to be dressed as effeminately as possible, even going so far as to approve of heels and a skirt in addition to make-up. But somehow, despite his slight build and feminine hair and what he was wearing, Draco’s body was still distinctly male and the juxtaposition was maddeningly arousing to Harry. Pushing the desire - and the confusion that accompanied it - aside, Harry instead analyzed what the girls had done.

Draco’s feet were encased in emerald-green ankle boots, which had a three inch heel. They weren’t terribly high, really - Pansy’s black pumps had at least two inches more on them - but they were making Harry feel a bit wobbly. He hoped he’d adjust quickly. If nothing else, they made him a bit taller. Draco was a very petite boy - despite Lucius Malfoy’s height - and was probably a fully six inches shorter than Harry. The shoes would help close that distance, which Harry approved of, even if he made a fool of himself walking in them. They laced up the front - past his ankle - which at least gave him a little bit of stability.

The girls had slid him into a pair of thigh-high stockings. They were dark green and white stripes, and they reminded Harry a bit of candy canes. They were, if nothing else, suitably festive for a Christmas party. The tight black skirt Georgina had lent him - Pansy was a bit too curvy around the hips for her skirts to fit Draco’s slim body - stopped a daring few inches above his knees. Harry might have blushed if it weren’t for the sheer overskirt that fell in loose waves to just past his knees in the front, and nearly to his ankles in the back. It provided a false sense of modesty, anyway.

A white mesh shirt - long-sleeved, but off-the-shoulder - hugged Draco’s narrow waist and slender chest, as though it had been sewn onto Harry. Emphasizing the slight build further was an emerald green halter top. It had a faux-suit collar framing a glittering ‘V’ of fabric that, on any female, would have drawn attention to cleavage. On Draco’s body, it drew attention to the fact that there were no feminine curves to be found. Somehow, the female clothing made his male form glaringly obvious; skirt and heels or not, no one would mistake Draco Malfoy for a girl.

The girls had slicked something a soft, shimmery pink over his lips. His eyes were defined with a slim line of black and a soft, glittery green smudged onto the lids. The most surprising thing - to Harry - was what the girls had done to his hair. It no longer fell past his shoulders, but had been sheared off. At the back, it barely kissed against the nape of Draco’s neck. Then it got gradually longer, until at the front it brushed the bottom of his jaw. The result was that the platinum locks framed his sharp face, while baring the elegant line of his neck - especially from the back. Harry had to admit, it was a very flattering look. The warmth in his belly was a testament to that.

Swallowing hard, Harry nodded his approval. Pansy grinned, but Georgina seemed uncertain. “You’re really going to the party like that, Draco? I mean...what’s everyone going to say?”

Harry blinked, then shrugged. “Does it matter what they might say? It can’t be the worst they’ve ever said about me. Anyway, I think I look fantastic. Anyone who doesn’t like it doesn’t have to look.”

Pansy nodded enthusiastically, giving her own cheekbone-length hair a careless flick with her fingers in a gesture that managed to convey both disdain and dismissal at once. “Exactly! It’s not as though most of them do more than tolerate us Slytherins as it is, especially me and Draco, so who cares if they get themselves into a tizzy over how he’s dressed? I say to hell with the lot of them, if they can’t appreciate how fit Draco looks.”

With Georgina’s doubts quieted - though not quelled, if her expression was anything to go by - Harry and Pansy led the way downstairs to the Eights’ common room. Any student in fifth year or higher had been invited to the party, while all those in fourth year or below were having their own party in the Room of Requirement. McGonagall had agreed this was a good way to foster inter-House unity during the holiday season. A lot of students had returned home, but all of those remaining seemed to be crowded into the common room. Harry was annoyed; the sheer number of people was making it hard for him to spot Draco. Especially since he didn’t have that distinctive platinum hair to guide him.

When Harry finally spotted the Slytherin, his jaw dropped. He had never looked that good. Draco had done the tousled-thing with his hair again, and his eyes were surrounded by a sooty sort of dark grey smudging that somehow made them look wider and greener than they ever had. Harry wasn’t sure why, but the thin silver frames Draco had stopped wearing after that first weekend were perched on his nose again, making him look scholarly and dangerous at the same time. It was an interesting combination, to say the very least.

Draco’s shirt was a short-sleeved black mesh, which stopped around Harry’s trim waist, and showed off a fair bit of Harry’s peach-toned skin and the muscles he’d cultivated over the summer, during the restoration. But what had Harry’s heart thundering in his ears - and his jaw on the floor - was the trousers Draco was wearing. They were black, and leather, and so snug they might have been painted onto him. The outside seams weren’t stitched together, but instead were held together by a series of small silver rings that bared even more skin. When Draco turned to say something to a classmate, Harry couldn’t help staring at his own bum.

It wasn’t a part of his body he normally looked at. In truth, it wasn’t a part of himself he’d ever really considered as being particularly attractive, though he’d occasionally gotten a compliment on it. Since those usually came from people trying to get into his bed, Harry had mostly discounted the words. Now he wasn’t so sure. Because the way his backside looked in those leather trousers - especially when Draco shifted his frame, cocking one hip and settling a hand on it with a total attitude at whomever he was addressing - was nothing short of phenomenal.

Harry thought absently that maybe he needed to see someone about these apparent narcissistic tendencies. Surely it couldn’t be healthy to be so attracted to yourself? As Blaise appeared and dragged him off to play some sort of game - Harry hadn’t caught what it was called - he pushed the troubling thoughts away. He was here to have fun, and to win a bet. Everything else could wait.

Draco reluctantly allowed Ron and Ginny Weasley to drag him over to where a loose circle of students was gathering on the floor. He stepped over an Age-Line - which would keep out those who weren’t yet of-age to be drinking - and let the two redheads pull him down to sit on the floor. He watched with little interest as shot glasses were set in front of everyone; several bottles of alcohol were spelled to automatically fill the glasses whenever someone took a drink. His attention was only drawn from his silent musings - which were nothing particularly riveting, in any case - when Ginny handed him a potion vial. He looked at it, then turned to stare at her in confusion.

“Why are you handing me Veritaserum?” He asked, knowing instantly what the scentless, clear liquid was. “What are we doing?”

“We’re playing a drinking game.” Ginny explained, rolling her eyes. “Ron and I already told you that. If you’d been paying attention, you’d know that a condition for playing is that we each have to take a single drop of Veritaserum, to keep everyone honest.”

Sighing, Draco used the dropper to put a single drop of the stuff onto his tongue, then he passed the bottle to Ron. Settling back into his silent contemplation of his shot glass, Draco wondered absently what they were going to be playing. His wandering eyes were drawn to Seamus when he cleared his throat, drawing the attention of everyone in the circle.

“Okay, so we’re going to play “Never Have I Ever” which is a drinking game I’m guessing at least a few of you know.” Seamus grinned around the circle, earning several laughs and nods of agreement. “For those who’ve never played, it’s simple and the Veritaserum makes it easier. We go around the circle, each person saying something they’ve never done, and everyone who’s done it takes a shot. There’s a nifty spell on this area for safety reasons, and when your blood alcohol level reaches a certain point you’ll be nudged back out of the circle.”

When everyone stopped grumbling, Seamus said. “Now that that’s all settled, I suppose I’d best start things off.” He seemed to think for a moment, then said cheekily. “Never have I ever...gone down on a girl.” The emphasis on the last part of his statement had several people snickering.

There were several more snickers - and a few bawdy comments - as people around the circle reached for their shot glasses. Blaise’s voice drew Draco’s attention; he hadn’t even realized any of his friends were playing. “Who the bloody hell did you go down on, Dray?”

Draco’s eyes widened in shock as he watched Harry - wearing his skin - set his glass down in front of himself with a shrug. “None of your business.”

“But...but you’re gay!” Blaise protested, still gaping at Harry in shock. “When the hell did this happen? I don’t understand!”

Harry huffed and rolled his eyes. “What, you think I just settled right into my sexuality or something? I went through a bit of a denial phase, so what?” He looked pointedly at Dean, who was sitting next to Seamus, and said. “Can we continue, please?”

Dean shrugged, then said. “Never have I ever danced on a table drunk.”

Draco sighed and took a drink, though his attention wasn’t really on the game. He was thinking about Harry’s casual dismissal of Blaise’s question. Who had Harry been with? The girl-Weasley who was sitting right beside Draco? Hermione Granger, before she’d been with Weasley? Or perhaps just one of his many adoring fans? It irked Draco fiercely, not knowing.

He wasn’t paying much attention to the game - which was continuing on around him - and his hand didn’t seem inclined to move towards his glass so he didn’t really care. His head snapped up when a Hufflepuff girl said shyly. “Never have I ever had sex.”

He couldn’t help looking over at Harry, who was once again tossing a shot back like it was nothing. Draco felt blood rush to his face, for several reasons. One, because he hadn’t taken a drink and now it looked like Harry was a virgin, rather than himself, and dear god Blaise was glaring at Harry now which was not a good thing. And two, because Harry had had sex and that was the most infuriating thing Draco had ever found out. Especially because Draco couldn’t shake it from his mind; because he was cursed with a vivid imagination and was now picturing various girls writhing beneath Harry Potter, and he was jealous and hurt and angry, dammit.

Scowling, Draco watched Harry as the next person spoke. “Never have I ever shagged a friend.”

Something tight in Draco’s chest loosened a little when Harry didn’t drink, because at least that ruled out Hermione and Ginny. Which helped erase several horrid pictures from his brain, even if there were still an awful lot to choose from. The next question didn’t help any; apparently people were starting to develop a pattern to the statements.

“Never have I ever shagged a stranger!” That it was Pansy speaking around a giggle did not make Draco any happier about the whole thing.

“Whoops.” Harry laughed a little as he downed another shot; his face was rather red and Draco had a feeling he was a fair bit past tipsy already. Unsurprising, given the number of shots he’d downed in such a short time, but still annoying.

Draco, for his part, wasn’t even feeling a pleasant buzz. Maybe if he was, he wouldn’t have to try so hard not to scream at the Gryffindor slut wearing his skin and ruining his reputation. Draco made it through two more questions - both about sex; both of which had Harry drinking - before he couldn’t take it anymore. He shoved to his feet and stormed off, ignoring Ron and Ginny’s half-hearted protests. He had no interest in sticking around while Harry revealed all the sordid details of his private life.

It only took a couple of minutes for Harry to follow Draco out of the circle; he’d have followed faster, but the alcohol had him feeling a little fuzzy and he hadn’t noticed the Slytherin’s departure right away. A few people protested Harry’s leaving - mostly because he was so interesting - but he ignored them in favor of finding Draco. When he did finally find the other teen, Draco was sprawled across a sofa, looking rather dangerous and a bit hedonistic given the drink he had in one hand and the fag dangling from the fingers of the other. Harry frowned at the glowing red tip of the cigarette, because he didn’t quite approve of smoking, but he didn’t say anything as he sat down on the coffee table in front of Draco’s sprawled form.

“Why’d you take off?” Harry asked softly, watching with interest the way his lips looked as they wrapped around the filter; the way his cheeks hollowed as Draco breathed in deeply. “Weren’t you enjoying the game?”

Draco sat up abruptly, his drink splashing carelessly over his fingers as he narrowed his eyes at Harry before blowing a stream of blue-grey smoke in Harry’s face. “I most certainly was not enjoying it!” His voice was a low, rasping hiss that had Harry shivering, though he didn’t know why. “Thanks to you and your copious shot-drinking, do you have any idea what people think of me now?”

Harry frowned, then shrugged. “I dunno. That you’re experienced?” A pleased little smirk curved his mouth upwards as he added. “Actually, after that question about threesomes, and the one about giving your partner multiple orgasms, they probably think you’re a sex god.”

“You utter prat.” Harry’s smile slipped away when Draco glared heatedly at him; he didn’t understand why the other teen was angry, but he didn’t like it. “They think I’m a slut. Do you understand what you’ve done? You have completely ruined my reputation!”

“You’d rather they think you’re a virgin?” Harry asked, puzzled. The boys in his dorm had always seemed to puff up when talking about sexual exploits; wasn’t that normal? To want everyone to think you were having sex - lots of it?

“Yes, because I am a virgin!” Draco slammed his glass down next to Harry’s hip, taking a shaky drag from his cigarette before blowing another stream of smoke into Harry’s face with a cross look. “You have them all thinking I’m some sort of...of pervert. A depraved sex maniac or what-have-you.”

Harry frowned, absently waving the smoke away from his face. His brain was a bit muddled, but he had a feeling Draco had just insulted him. “I’m not a pervert, or a...a sex maniac. I just...wanted a bit of fun after dying and winning a war and all of that rot. What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing, if you’re the bloody Savior, I suppose.” Draco flicked his still-lit fag into the air, a slight wrist motion Vanishing it into non-being before it could land on anything. “No one’s going to call you on some indiscretions. I, on the other hand, am not as lucky. My reputation must be spotless; above reproach. I cannot have you besmirching it!”

“That’s ridiculous.” Harry rolled his eyes, dismissing Draco’s whining as nothing more than his typical melodramatic behavior. “No one cares if you’ve slept with thirty people or a hundred or whatever. If anything, they’re impressed by the idea that you have.”

“You are a horrid person.” Draco snapped, curling his hands into fists and letting the sting of blunt nails against palms center him as he fought against tears - angry tears, of course, because he was not crying over something Harry Potter had said, thank you very much. “You have no consideration for my reputation, and you’re a complete whore.”

Harry may have been well on his way to being totally pissed, but he could still pick out an insult when he heard one. “I’m not a whore.” He bit out, his own temper rising. “You’re just...just a...a prude.”

Someone cleared their throat, drawing both boys’ attention before Draco could respond. It was Roger Malone. “Sorry to interrupt, but I’ve just been playing Truth-or-Dare, and I got dared to come and snog Harry, so...”

Draco blinked in surprise, then shot Harry a very nasty look, saying. “We’ll just see who’s a prude then, won’t we?”

Before Harry could even begin to process that comment, Draco had stood and pulled the Hufflepuff boy into a kiss. Draco tangled Harry’s hands in soft brown hair, pulling the taller teen’s mouth down to his with a soft growl. Roger didn’t hesitate; he wrapped his arms around Draco’s waist and parted his lips, kissing Draco deeply. Harry watched in horror as Draco pressed himself closer to the Hufflepuff. He sucked in a sharp breath - stunned into immobility - as he caught glimpses of tongue between their joined mouths.

Harry felt hot and cold at the same time. It was as though he’d swallowed a ball of ice and chased it with a mouthful of Fiendfyre; like the angry flames were trying to melt the icy dread sitting so heavily in his stomach. His hands curled into fists, his eyes narrowed, and his breathing grew ragged. He wanted to drag Roger away from Draco and punch him, right in his pretty face. He wanted to drag Draco away, to...to yell at him, to shake him senseless, to make him see that kissing Roger was absolutely not an okay thing to be doing. Which was absurd, because Draco could kiss whomever he wanted to, really. Harry tried to convince himself it was because Draco was currently borrowing his face, but when he pictured Roger with Draco-Draco, it didn’t help; if anything, the idea of the Hufflepuff’s hands anywhere near Draco’s pristine-self was even more infuriating.

A sudden camera flash snapped everyone out of the moment.

Roger and Draco broke apart, looking around in surprise before smiling shyly at each other. Roger pressed a quick peck to Draco’s cheek before heading back to the Truth-or-Dare game and Draco watched him go with a funny, glazed look in his eyes. Harry was glaring around, trying to spot the person who’d been snapping photos, without luck. When Draco gave a pleased little sigh, sentimentally touching the tips of two fingers to his kiss-swollen lips, the frayed threads of Harry’s control snapped.

He grabbed up the glass Draco had been sipping out of earlier and threw it right into Draco’s face. While the Slytherin sputtered and gaped at him, Harry leaned down and hissed dangerously. “If you ever kiss someone while wearing my face again, I will make you regret it.”

Then, before he could do anything else that might get him into trouble, Harry turned on his heel and vanished into the crowd, heading up to Draco’s dorm. He had no desire to mingle anymore; he just wasn’t in a very holiday sort of mood.

And though Harry didn’t know it, Draco went to Harry’s own dorm only moments later. Partly to wash the alcohol off himself, but mostly to ponder several things - the kiss from Roger, the way people now thought he was a slut, and Harry’s unexpected anger being the forerunners.

Harry had long-since stopped reading the Daily Prophet. It rarely had anything important in it, and even when it did the facts were always twisted. So Draco didn’t pay much attention when the paper was delivered to those around him, because Harry never got one and it would be supremely out of character for him to read it. Since it was Christmas morning, Draco was actually having a bit of a sulk, and he didn’t notice when the whispers started around him. He and Harry had agreed not to touch each others presents unless the person they were really for was there. Which meant Draco had not only not gotten his gifts, he hadn’t even gotten to open Harry’s. And he’d had to wave off Harry’s friends’ questions about why he hadn’t opened anything yet. None of which made for a very good morning.

It wasn’t until Harry slammed a paper down next to Draco’s place - causing him to jump nearly out of his skin - that he realized something was amiss. He looked up, a snarl on his lips over the rude disruption, to find nearly everyone was staring at him. Clearly, he had missed something. He glanced down at the paper, but it was folded in half and Harry’s hand was splayed across it so he could only see the corner of a photo-set and a few letters of the headline. It wasn’t enough for him to have any idea what was going on, though.

He looked up at Harry and said sweetly. “Happy Christmas, Draco. Something I can do for you?”

“We need to talk.” Harry bit out from between clenched teeth, clearly fuming. “In private. Now.”

Draco frowned, but pushed away from the table with a sigh because something was definitely off and he wasn’t going to find out what by needling Harry in the Great Hall. “Of course. Lead the way, then.”

Harry turned on his heel and stalked off, with Draco trailing quietly behind. They didn’t go far; Harry walked into the first classroom they passed, casting a series of locking and privacy charms at the door the second Draco closed it behind himself. Then, he threw the paper at Draco’s face and sat down on a desk, arms crossed over his chest, glare in place. Rolling his eyes - Because really, people thought he was the dramatic one? - Draco picked up the scattered pages of the paper, shuffling them around until he found the front page. He blinked in surprise, then pressed his lips firmly together in an attempt to stifle a smile.

“If your lips so much as twitch, Malfoy, I swear to Merlin...” The threat in Harry’s voice was very real, but it did nothing to quell Draco’s amusement.

Clearing his throat, Draco said solemnly. “Of course, Harry. I wouldn’t dream of laughing. After all, what could possibly be funny about this?”

Draco held up the paper, keeping his face exaggeratedly serious as the headline glared at Harry with large, black letters. ‘Harry Potter: The-Boy-Who-Snogs-...BOYS?!’ - A Rita Skeeter Exclusive

Beneath that were twin photos - one was ‘Harry’ wearing the frilly, pirate-looking shirt from the previous week, lounging in the Eights’ common room, reading a book and looking very relaxed. He was sprawled in a black leather armchair, with one foot slung carelessly over the arm and the other on the floor; the thin silver frames were perched on his nose as his eyes skimmed over the pages in front of him. The dangling foot swung a little back and forth and, just before the photo reset, ‘Harry’ turned a page in the book, but it was relatively boring as far as pictures went. Draco hadn’t even noticed someone taking his picture, but then, why would he have? Unlike Harry, he didn’t have an aversion to attention.

The second picture was a bit more incriminating; it was from the party the night before. It started with ‘Harry’ sliding his hands into Roger Malone’s hair, and ended with the two of them pressed together from thigh to chest, arms around each other, kissing heatedly. The photo did not show that the kiss hadn’t last much longer than the minute-long loop they had pictured. It also didn’t show ‘Draco’ flinging a drink at ‘Harry’ and storming off, which the Slytherin was rather grateful for. Harry had already done a fair bit of damage to his reputation; he didn’t need it compounded with photographic evidence of a complete lapse in decorum.

Honestly, the article was the same sort of tripe Rita Skeeter always posted, and which anyone with a brain had learned to take with a rather large grain of salt. The only truly damning thing was the photo, of course, but really what did it matter? A good portion of the school had seen it in-person, after all, and Harry had known Draco was going to try to convince people he was gay, so why was in such a snit? It hardly mattered what complete strangers thought, after all, and who else would give the Prophet any sense of credibility at all?

Harry was scowling at him, though, like this was the end of the world as he knew it. “Did you read the article, Draco?”

“Did it look like I read it?” Draco asked, exasperated. When Harry just stared at him, he huffed. “Of course I didn’t. How could I have read it in the thirty seconds I was looking at it? You’re being completely absurd. Besides, it’s just a gossip article by Skeeter. No one takes her seriously.”

“Says the bloke who used to whisper in her ear, and who’s never had her write about him!” Harry snapped back, hopping off the desk to pace in his fury. His face was terribly red against Draco’s blonde hair; it didn’t look at all healthy and Draco hoped he wouldn’t pass out. “People do believe her, all the time, and now she’s written this and I’m never going to hear the end of it!”

“Oh, so what?” Draco groused, turning the paper back around and skimming the rest of the article. “This isn’t even that bad. ‘It is possible Our Savior is just experimenting...’ Even Skeeter doesn’t fully believe you’re gay.” Draco couldn’t help sounding put-out by that fact; he had a bet on the line, after all.

He read down a little further, then snorted before reading aloud. “The illustrious Harry Potter was also involved in an incident earlier in the week, involving another openly-homosexual student. The two reportedly argued about which boy was the fittest in their year...” Draco made a noise of disgust. “We were not arguing about who was fittest; we were arguing about who could date the fittest bloke. I swear, she needs to fact-check better. This is rubbish.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, my whole life is being dragged through the papers and you’re worried about fact-checking? You are so self-centered!” Harry shouted, ripping the paper from Draco’s hands and setting it on fire with a quick Incendio.

“Oh, well done, Harry.” Draco rolled his eyes. “Very good. That’s that problem sorted then, isn’t it?” He shook his head in annoyance, having reached the end of his patience. “Honestly, what did you hope to accomplish by shouting at me? I can’t undo the kiss, and I can’t undo Skeeter’s article.”

There was a long, pregnant pause, then Draco asked softly. “Would you like to call off the wager? If we were to make everything public - the switch, the bet, all of it - perhaps she could be convinced to print a retraction? Surely a schoolboy prank - of sorts - is less-damaging to your reputation than being outed, or so I would imagine.”

Harry shook his head. “That’s not...no. No, I don’t...” Harry groaned, then sank down to the floor, a pout forming on Draco’s full lips - it looked rather more petulant on Draco’s face than it would have on Harry’s. “It’s not so much that I care what people think, as it is that I hate them thinking they’ve got a right to an opinion in the first place. When Seamus came out, it wasn’t in the paper. When he and Dean started dating, no one batted an eye. Bloody hell, even when you came out it wasn’t in the paper! But because it’s me they’ve got to all put in their two knuts and I hate it.”

Oh. Draco felt a little guilty, because he’d never really thought of it like that before. But honestly, the very idea of the paper reporting on his homosexuality was enough to make him feel a little sick; his stomach twisted unpleasantly as he thought about it. Not because Draco was hiding it - because he wasn’t, at all; even his parents knew - but simply because he didn’t like the idea of his personal life being dissected by strangers. No wonder Harry was so upset.

“Well, I can’t do much about people, unfortunately.” Draco said softly. “But maybe I can help take your mind off of them? Why don’t we go open our presents, while our friends are busy stuffing their faces? I know that presents always cheer me up...”

“That’s because you have a mercenary little heart, Draco.” Harry was smiling a bit, though, and his tone was teasing. “Alright, then. Presents. Come on.”

Relieved to have diffused Harry’s temper so successfully, Draco happily followed the Gryffindor back to their common room. Harry ran up to Draco’s dorm to grab the Slytherin’s presents, while Draco headed up to Harry’s dorm to wait. They would open their gifts there, be suitably cheered up, and then go about their holiday like the whole blasted party had never happened. Everything was going to be just fine, Draco was sure of it.

Everything was not fine.

All weekend, Harry was bombarded with mail. Or rather, Draco was bombarded with mail. Though, in the interest of accuracy, it was more truthful to say Hogwarts was bombarded with mail. Howlers shrieked through the school at all hours, and letters poured in constantly. Nearly all of the Eights who had stayed for the holidays were kind enough to help sort through the mail, including the Slytherins, so Harry got the dubious pleasure - torture, really - of reading through some of it. Draco seemed to see the toll the mail was taking on Harry, because he turned burning the letters into a sort of game.

He also kept a small stack of them - a stack which grew a little bit bigger each day, though it was nowhere near the number of letters they’d burned. The stack Draco insisted on keeping - though Harry insisted they didn’t need to - were the letters that expressed support for Harry. While it was true that they were few and far between, each one warmed a small part of Harry. As much as he hated people having any sort of opinion about his life, it was nice to know that not everyone was sitting in their house judging him. Some people thought he was brave for being open, and expressed their continued support and gratitude for his actions during the war. It still rubbed him the wrong way, but it was better than the hatred and disgust pouring off the other letters.

By the time New Year’s Eve rolled around, Harry was sick of all the letters. He didn’t understand how he was still getting more mail. Surely everyone who’d read the Prophet had already sent him a letter? He was beginning to suspect that people were sending him letters every day. He didn’t understand why people felt so strongly about someone they’d never met, or how they had enough time on their hands to send excessive amounts of hate-mail, but it was driving him barmy. He now thoroughly hated the sight of owls, and a bright red envelope was enough to have an instant headache forming behind his eyes. He didn’t know how Draco was handling the whole thing with such grace, but he envied the Slytherin his poise.

“How is this not riling you up?” Harry asked Draco on Thursday evening; they were alone in Draco’s dorm room, sorting through more mail.

Most of the Eights were gathered in the common room, preparing to count down the New Year together, with the help of more alcohol. Given the disaster that the Christmas Party had turned into, Harry and Draco had decided it wasn’t worth joining in. Draco looked up from the letter he’d been reading - the only sign of wear being a slight furrowing of his brow - to blink questioningly at Harry.

“Why in the world would I be riled up over a bunch of nonsense?” He nudged Harry with his foot, saying softly. “They don’t matter, you know. Even if you run into some of them on the street, who cares? Your friends support you. Everyone else can go suck an egg.”

Harry sighed, then shrugged. “I just don’t understand how you can be so calm. I just want to...punch a wall or something.”

“Too much energy.” Draco declared, rolling his eyes. “You need to expend some of that.” His eyes watched Harry’s agitated pacing for a moment, then he added. “In a way more productive than pacing, I think. Come on. Let’s go.”

“Go where?” Harry asked, watching with interest as Draco walked over to his trunk and opened one of the sections. When he pulled out a small box and his broom, Harry’s eyes widened. “You want to go flying? Draco, it’s already dark out. And it’s cold. And it might snow.”

“So what?” Draco quirked an eyebrow at Harry, who had to smile a little at the way it looked on his face; it wasn’t nearly as impressive. “Look, I’ve got a fantastic set of layered Quidditch robes - black, not my House colors, so don’t make that face you prat - and I’m sure you’ve got a set, too, because it’s the sort of thing you’d actually be bothered to spend money on, correct?”

Harry hesitated for a moment, but he had to admit that Draco was right. He did have a layered winter set of Quidditch robes - also in neutral black. “Okay, fine, I do. But it’s still dark out.”

“The pitch has lights.” Draco said with an eyeroll. “They put them in during the restoration, in case a game runs late and also to make rain-matches and practices easier. I already know the spell to activate them, because I like flying alone. It’s not a problem.”

Out of excuses, Harry huffed and took the robes Draco was holding out to him. “Fine. I’m guessing you can find my robes and broom?” When Draco nodded, Harry jerked his chin towards the door. “Go on and get ready, then. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

Draco strolled off, whistling cheerfully, and Harry swiftly changed into the Quidditch things. Once he was dressed, he took a moment to look over Draco’s broom. He was a little miffed to realize Draco had bought himself a Fiendfyre; Harry had bought himself one as well. They were considered the best broom on the market, and he’d been planning to insist on flying his own broom so Draco wouldn’t have an edge, but now it didn’t matter. Why that annoyed him, he didn’t know. Of course Draco bought himself the best broom; he loved Quidditch and flying just as much as Harry, after all. He should have expected as much.

Shaking his head at himself, Harry grabbed a change of clothes, then went down the stairs. He waved to Blaise and Pansy - both of whom narrowed their eyes at him - but walked straight over to Draco. The Slytherin was smiling at him, very slightly, and Harry wasn’t sure why. There was something…warm behind his eyes. It had Harry’s pulse quickening, just a bit. Harry stubbornly put it down to the prospect of flying again. Draco may have been making use of the pitch, but Harry hadn’t been. He had tried, once, but a crowd had followed him and the many eyes had taken the joy right out of it. He hadn’t stayed in the air for more than a few minutes before calling it quits. Hermione had suggested he just ignore them - if he let people watch him without reacting, they’d eventually grow bored - but he couldn’t do it. So he’d tucked his broom away and done his best to pretend he didn’t miss it.

When they got to the pitch, they dropped their extra clothes in the locker room before heading out to the pitch where Draco lit the new lights. They weren’t quite like Muggle lights, but they weren’t like firelight or torches, either. Harry thought they were almost like someone had caught a Lumos in a jar and mounted it. Draco explained that it was a relatively new spell - it wasn’t commonly used yet, but he had a feeling it would catch on quickly. Harry had to agree. The gloomy classrooms - especially the Potions classroom - would be much easier to work in if they were lit with this spell, rather than with torches.

“Ever played a Seekers’ game?” Draco asked, holding up the Snitch he’d pulled out of the little box he’d shown Harry earlier. When Harry shook his head, Draco explained. “It’s about as simple as you’d expect it to be. First one to the Snitch wins. No other balls or players to distract us. Just you, me, and this lovely golden ball. Think you can handle it?”

Harry laughed, feeling the heated rush of competition pumping through his veins. “Oh yeah. Let’s do this.”

Draco and Harry mounted their brooms, then Draco released the Snitch. Three seconds later, they were both in the air. For a minute or two, the cold night air stung Harry’s cheeks. Then, the thrill of the flight and the desperate desire to catch the Snitch overruled everything else. Harry leaned low over the broom, zipping around the pitch in quick circles, eyes peeled. He barely noticed Draco, even when they passed within a few feet of each other, so intense was his focus.

When Draco suddenly streaked past, it took Harry a moment to realize he’d spotted the Snitch. Cursing under his breath, Harry dived after him. He gained swiftly - Draco’s slight build was a bonus here - and they were soon neck-and-neck. Harry leaned further over the broom handle, arm outstretched, reaching towards the fluttering golden speck that was just out of range. He strained forwards, the broom beneath him vibrating slightly as he pushed it to its limit, stretched his arm as far as it would go.

A triumphant shout from beside him had Harry’s mouth falling open in shock. Draco pulled up - Harry was right behind him - with the Snitch held firmly in his grasp. He was whooping and hollering and generally making a fuss, and Harry couldn’t help laughing. The sheer joy on Draco’s face - on his face - was mesmerizing. Harry didn’t know if he had ever looked that happy before. Draco’s joy had a smile stretching his face, his cheeks were glowing, and his eyes were bright and sparkling. He looked incredibly beautiful.

In a fantastic mood - despite having not caught the Snitch - Harry called out. “Oi, Malfoy! Best out of three, then?”

Draco flew a quick loop - over, then under Harry - then stopped to hover just in front of him, still grinning. “You’re on, Potter. And you’re going down.”

He released the Snitch he’d only just caught and both teens zoomed after it a second later, their laughter tossed around by the icy winter wind.

When Draco touched down, the Snitch once again in his hand, he was laughing delightedly. He had caught it. Twice. Harry had tried to coax him into a best-of-five after Draco caught it the second time, but they’d already been flying for two hours and the Slytherin couldn’t feel his toes, or his nose, or the tips of his fingers. So it seemed prudent to take the victory he had and call it a night. Harry was grumbling good-naturedly behind him as they headed for the locker room. Draco shot a quiet spell at the lights, shutting them off, just as they entered the locker room.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so happy.” Harry’s voice teased from behind him as they leaned their brooms against some of the lockers. “Did you really want to beat me that badly?”

“Maybe.” Draco replied. He was grateful for the cold wind, because his cheeks were already flushed; Harry wouldn’t be able to tell he was blushing. “It’s just nice to have won for once.”

“Don’t say it like that.” Harry chided as he began undoing the straps for his arm guards. “You’ve caught the Snitch plenty.”

“Yes, but never against you.” Draco didn’t sound bitter about it, but that was partly because he finally had beaten Harry. “Honestly, I’m beginning to think you had a bit of an unfair advantage.”

Harry had stripped down completely now and wound a towel around his waist; he was about to walk to the showers when Draco’s words stopped him in his tracks. “What are you talking about?”

Draco smirked, leaning back against the lockers. He was wearing nothing but a towel as well and knew they should shower and head back the castle - it was a getting late, even if the Eights didn’t technically have a curfew - but he was having too much fun to rush. “I’m talking about your form, of course. It’s clearly this body that keeps beating me, not your skill, or you’d have won today as well.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Harry laughed, rolling his eyes. “You’ve got the better build for Seeking. You’re lighter than me, and built slimmer. I’m just out of practice is all.”

“Nope, not buying it.” Draco sing-songed, still grinning. He lightly ran his hands over his collarbones, then let the tips of his fingers drift teasingly down his chest. “It’s clearly this body of yours that’s got all the talent. Maybe I should keep it...”

There was a tense pause that had Draco looking over at Harry. The Gryffindor was staring at him with a strange look on his face. Straightening away from the lockers, Draco said hesitantly. “Harry, you know I’m joking, right?”

“Joking...” Harry murmured, taking a step closer, that strange look still painting his face. Draco had never seen that particular expression on his own face before, so he wasn’t quite sure what it meant. “Joking about keeping my body...”

“H-harry, I...”

The rest of Draco’s words died on his tongue as Harry stepped closer still, until their chests were touching each time they breathed. Green eyes locked with silver, and Draco swallowed hard. Why was Harry so close? Draco’s next breath shivered unevenly past his lips. It was strange, having his own face staring up at him, disquieting expression aside. His mouth felt dry, and his heart thundered loudly in his ears. His breath came quick and uneven, and Draco was a bit mortified to realize he was actually shaking, though he wasn’t sure why. What was happening?

Seconds later - though to Draco it felt like far longer - he had his answer.

Harry wasn’t quite sure what he was doing, or why. But there was something about Draco, touching his body - even if Harry wasn’t wearing it just then - that had his pulse quickening. Heat raced through his blood, urging him closer to the other teen. Harry looked up at his own face, but all he could see was Draco’s personality behind it. Draco’s tongue darted out, moistening his lips, and Harry growled low in his throat before leaning forward. He felt Draco start against him, but pressed closer anyway. He slid their mouths together, a little surprised at how well they fit against each other.

Harry had never really given much thought to what it would be like to kiss another bloke; not until this whole blasted switch had happened, anyway. But there was something about seeing Draco in his skin that had Harry’s body roaring to life. He let his tongue dart out, tasting Draco’s lower lip. His hand came up to curve against Draco’s cheek as he tried to coax the Slytherin into opening his mouth; into letting him in.

“Stop!” The word sounded like it was being wrenched from Draco’s throat; it sounded painful. The Slytherin twisted his face away and Harry was stunned to see tears forming in green eyes. “I...I don’t know what....what game you’re playing...but...but don’t. Please, Harry. Don’t.”

“I...” Harry eased back a step, looking at the way Draco was holding himself; like he might shatter or shake apart from his trembling. Harry’s mind raced, frantically trying to understand the other teen’s reaction. “Draco. I’m not playing a game.”

Draco let out a sharp bark of laughter. “Right. So you’ve, what? Just decided to switch from shagging random birds to snogging blokes out of nowhere? I’m not interested in being your little experiment, Potter, is that clear?”

“I’m not experimenting!” Harry protested heatedly. When Draco threw him a disbelieving look, Harry’s temper rose swiftly. “Don’t do that, Draco. Don’t try to make this something stupid; something worthless. I don’t know why, but I like you, okay? I like talking with you, and teasing you, and watching you. I always have, really. I also like watching you while you’re wearing my skin, and I know that sounds horribly egotistical of me, but I’ve never been attracted to myself before. It’s...it’s not me, I don’t think, that I’m attracted to. It’s just...that you’re being me. That you’re twisting my face and body around your personality and it’s...arousing.”

“I...what?” Draco was staring at him, a bit dumbly, blinking rather rapidly. “Did you really just say you want me?” When Harry nodded, Draco said. “But...you’re straight.”

Harry shrugged, because he’d honestly given up trying to figure himself out several days earlier. “I am, normally, yeah. But you’re...I dunno. You’re the exception, I suppose. I’m not gay, so much as I am gay for you. I don’t want any other bloke. I never have. Just you.”

Draco made a funny sort of sound - like a strangled little whimper - and launched himself at Harry. Harry grunted in surprise as he was slammed into the lockers, then he moaned as Draco’s mouth crashed into his. He parted his lips quickly and Draco licked his way into his mouth an instant later. Harry’s hands reached up, tangling in dark hair and using it to force their mouths even closer. He sucked on the tongue invading his mouth eagerly, writhing against the tall, lean body pressing tightly against him. He whined softly when Draco’s mouth separated from his, then hissed in pleasure when lips found his throat.

Harry arched his back, his hands dropping down to claw eagerly at Draco’s shoulders as his neck was devoured by the Slytherin. “Yesss...” He hissed, his eyes closing as his words dissolved into a sibilant mess of obscenities and filth.

“Harry...” Draco lifted his head slowly, staring down at the Gryffindor in shock. “Did...did you just speak Parseltongue?”

“What? Did I?” Harry felt his cheeks flame and he bit his lip nervously. “Is that...bad? I didn’t mean to. I can try not to do it again...”

“Hmmm? Oh. No, it’s not bad.” Draco huffed out a slight laugh, rolling his eyes. “Actually, I always thought it was sort of sexy when you did that. But Harry...you spoke Parseltongue.”

When Harry just stared up at him, confused, Draco said. “If you were in my body, you wouldn’t be able to do that. Which means we didn’t switch bodies.”

Harry looked down at himself, then back up at Draco, and raised an eyebrow. “I’m going to have to disagree with you there, Draco.”

Draco laughed again, leaning down and resting his forehead against Harry’s. “You idiot. We were working with Polyjuice, remember? We must have just...turned into each other is all. Which is good, because it should wear off on its own eventually. Or...” Draco straightened up, a brilliant grin splitting his face. “Or we can take the antidote! There’s a potion that strips Polyjuice away...”

“Oh.” Harry knew that that was a good thing - that it had to be a good thing - but couldn’t help feeling a bit regretful. “Do...do we have to do that now?”

Draco blinked down at him, then a slow smirk slid onto his face. “Thinking with your cock, are we, Potter? Don’t want me out of your skin until you’ve had a chance to play?”

Harry’s cheeks flushed with dark color, but he raised his chin defiantly. “Something like that, yeah. Is that a problem for you, Malfoy?”

Draco laughed, shaking his head. “No, I don’t think so. Just the opposite, in fact.”

A sly look slid onto Draco’s face, twisting Harry’s features into something dangerous and making the Gryffindor shiver at the prospect of whatever that look might mean. “Come on, Harry. Showers.” The purred words had Harry shivering again, and he obeyed without hesitation.

When Draco yanked the towel off to hang on a hook before stepping under one of many showerheads, Harry had no idea why his mouth went dry and his palms began to sweat. That was his body, after all; his face and form. He had seen them plenty before. Why was it suddenly different, just because Draco was wearing it? Harry didn’t know, but the fact remained that it was. He hung his own towel on a nearby hook and moved to follow the Slytherin, who was fiddling with the water temperature; steam was beginning to twist through the air, making everything seem hot and close.

Draco turned and held up a hand, bringing Harry to a sudden stop. “What?” He asked, uncertainty creeping into his voice. “Did...did I do something wrong?”

“No.” Draco smirked and nodded towards the shower directly across from him. “But you are sweaty and a bit ripe. Wash up.”

Harry hesitated for a moment, then sighed and moved to the showerhead Draco had indicated without arguing. If Draco wanted him clean, he would oblige. He had just ducked his head under the stream of water, letting the pounding heat relax his sore muscles, when he heard it. He froze, eyes going wide even as his ears strained. And yes, the sound repeated: a low, breathless moan, coming from behind him. The sound had Harry’s belly clenching even as his heart raced.

Harry turned his head slowly, looking over his shoulder at the shower across the way. Water streamed over broad shoulders, tiny rivulets making glistening tracks down a muscled chest and flat stomach. It was still odd, watching himself while knowing it was someone else, but Harry pushed the dysphoria down and focused on the fact that - weirdness aside - Draco-fucking-Malfoy was touching his body and moaning like a whore.

Harry watched muscles shift and flex under wet skin. He watched his own face, and neck, and chest color with arousal. Harry watched his hand glide smoothly over his own cock, which was hard and flushed and leaking. Harry’s eyes flicked rapidly between the hand on his cock and the look on his face as Draco gave into the pleasure. Dark hair was plastered to his head, heavy with water, and his head was thrown back as his hand continued to move. Harry watched his own kiss-swollen lips part around another moan; watched as Draco leaned his body back against the cool tile as his knees threatened to buckle.

Maybe it shouldn’t have been hot - maybe it should have felt weird, or creepy, or wrong - but all Harry could think was that Draco was learning; was figuring out things about Harry’s body that no one except Harry really knew. One night stands didn’t exactly lend themselves to studying the person you were with, after all. And true, he wasn’t actually a part of the process, but Draco was figuring out what made Harry hot; what made him melt; what made him weak. And later, when they were themselves again, Draco would still know all of those things. It was a heady thought.

Before he even knew what he was planning, Harry was across the showers and standing right in front of Draco. The Slytherin took a second to notice him, lost as he was in his own actions, and his eyes were a bit unfocused when he finally opened them. “Can I help you with something?”

Harry’s lips twitched, because he thought the words were meant to sound caustic and snide but Draco fell far short and landed somewhere close to breathless instead. “Actually, I was going to offer my assistance.”

Draco blinked, then let his hand drop to his side as he shot Harry a sultry look from under long lashes. “I suppose, if you insist...”

“I do.” Harry nodded eagerly, not caring how it looked to Draco. A small part of his mind reminded him that Draco had already called him a slut, a whore, and a pervert but Harry pushed it aside.

Regardless of those comments, Draco was a virgin and he’d still kissed Harry; he’d still wanked in front of Harry; he was still saying yes. So Harry was going to grab onto whatever the Slytherin was offering and savour it, for everything it was worth. So he didn’t hesitate to do exactly what he wanted, dropping to his knees on the hard tile floor a second after gaining Draco’s consent. Draco sucked in a sharp breath, leaning just a little bit more heavily against the wall, and Harry looked up at him. His face said everything he was afraid to voice; asked permission one last time, even knowing it would damn-near kill him if Draco said no. Harry had to be sure; he had to know that Draco was sure.

“I...” Draco’s tone was still breathless. His face was uncertain for a long moment, then resolve crept in and he nodded; it was short and sharp and jerky, but it was a yes.

That was all Harry needed.

He dove in, without hesitation. One hand curled lightly around the middle of Draco’s - his - cock, then stroked slowly down the length to settle firmly around the base. He leaned in, mouth slightly open, and pressed his lips to the crown in a soft kiss. Harry’s eyes fluttered shut as he slowly parted his lips and let the first inch slip into his mouth. He made a small hum of approval as he slid his tongue across the flesh stretching his lips, tasting the salty-slick essence gathered there. The taste mingled with the water that was still streaming over them both, and Harry didn’t even care that it was himself he was tasting because his cock was in Draco’s mouth. Not in the traditional sense, true, but in a very real way.

Harry made another soft humming sound, and the vibration had Draco’s hips jerking forward as a groan was torn from his lips. Harry obligingly opened his mouth wider, welcoming Draco’s thrusts. Harry savored the solid weight of a cock on his tongue; the faint ache in his jaw as his mouth stretched wide around it; the taste slicking his mouth every time he hollowed his cheeks around it. Harry opened his eyes and watched with interest as Draco’s hands slammed into the tile, scrabbling for purchase on the smooth, wet surface as his hips stuttered forward in an uneven cadence.

Harry curled his own hands into fists on top of his thighs, determined to ignore the fact that he was hard and aching as well. He focused all of his attention on Draco; on pleasing him. Rather than moving his head, Harry let Draco do the work. Every thrust of Draco’s hips brought with it a delicious slide of silky skin across his tongue. Each time Draco’s body slumped back against the wall, leaving just the head in Harry’s mouth, he sucked in a deep breath and swiped his tongue across the slick flesh. Harry savored the salty-tang that was equal parts himself and Draco’s desire each time it spread across his tongue, growing steadily more desperate for the moment Draco would finish.

With that thought in mind, Harry sucked harder. Draco made a strangled sound above him and thrust hard, forcing the head of his cock against the back of Harry’s throat. Harry’s eyes widened in surprise as his throat spasmed, and he swallowed a bit desperately, trying to quell the urge to gag. It occurred to him once again - a few seconds too late - that Draco was a virgin. Gay or not, Draco’s throat was no more used to this sort of thing than Harry’s own would have been. The swallowing helped, though, and it seemed to please Draco as well; the Slytherin made a keening sound that had Harry’s cock twitching in sympathy.

As Harry stared up the length of his own body, at his own face twisted in pleasure, he couldn’t help whimpering slightly. Draco groaned, thrusting again, and Harry watched as the stomach inches from his face flinched before sucking in. Harry’s eyes widened slightly, because he knew his body and he knew what that meant. He locked his eyes on the other teen's face, hollowed his cheeks, swallowed once, and watched as Draco shattered. The Slytherin threw his head back, baring the long line of Harry's throat, and screamed. Draco shook from head to toe as his release swept over him like a tidal wave, tossing him around and then dragging him under in a matter of seconds.

Harry did his best to swallow Draco’s release down, but didn’t quite manage it. He pulled back, gasping a little, and some of it wound up on his lips and cheek. His lips were swollen, his face was flushed with desire, and his chin was shiny; slick with his own saliva. His jaw ached, and his mouth tasted funny, and his throat was a little bit sore. None of that mattered; Harry barely even noticed anything other than the way Draco was sliding limply down the wall, looking utterly sated.

Draco blinked open too-green eyes, which were soft and heavy-lidded, and a sweet smile curved his lips as he murmured. “You’re amazing.”

Harry stared into his own eyes, bright with Draco’s awareness, and slicked his tongue over his abused lower lip absentmindedly. He squeezed his eyes shut as the taste - himself, but also somehow Draco - brought back everything that had just happened. His whole body jerked and shuddered, pleasure rushing through him in a dizzying wave. His orgasm was practically ripped from him, without a single touch to his cock, and it was glorious. His vision greyed a bit around the edges and he felt weak; like all of the strength in his body was being swept down the drain by the pounding spray, along with his release. He would have been embarrassed if he hadn’t felt so wonderful.

When he blinked open his eyes, he was surprised to find himself curled up in Draco’s arms. The Slytherin was pressing soft kisses into his hair and humming softly, a silly little smile curving his lips. When he noticed Harry looking up at him, he asked. “Is it always like that?”

Harry laughed - a short, sharp bark of sound - and shook his head. “No. No, absolutely not. It’s never been like that.” Harry reached up and tangled his fingers in dark hair, dragging Draco down into an upside-down kiss before murmuring. “I’m keeping you, you know.”

Draco huffed his own laugh into Harry’s mouth, then lifted his head to smirk down at Harry. “Who said I’d allow that?” When Harry simply grinned back, Draco rolled his eyes and swatted teasingly at Harry’s thigh. “Come on, then. Let’s get ourselves back to ourselves. We can talk about us after.”

And though Harry wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about switching back - because what if everything was ruined once they were themselves again - he nodded and climbed to his feet. He was a Gryffindor, after all. He would get through this.

Draco stared at the vial of bluish-grey liquid that McGonagall had just handed him. He wanted his own skin back. He had pushed for Harry to hurry as they’d dressed, and again as they’d walked through the castle. He had demanded the Headmistress contact the Ministry for two doses of the antidote post haste and he had waited with an impatiently-tapping foot until it had arrived. Now that it was in his hand, however, he wasn’t sure he wanted to drink it. Which was absurd, because of course he wanted to drink it. Draco wanted to be himself again, and to have Harry be himself again, so the two of them could figure out what the hell they were going to be to each other.

The crippling fear that Harry would change his mind when he was looking into grey eyes instead of green was irrational and unfounded. For all of the taunting about egotistical behavior and self-centeredness that Draco had done over the years, he knew that Harry wasn’t a narcissist. If he said he wanted Draco, then Draco believed him and he believed it had nothing to do with what he looked like at the moment but rather with who he was - who he’d become since the war ended. He and Harry had been getting to know each other since May; surely he could trust that the Gryffindor understood exactly what he was getting himself into.

Steeling himself, Draco uncorked the vial and downed the potion like it was a particularly foul shot. He shuddered at the taste, struggling against the urge to vomit. The pain started a moment later; it was like someone was peeling his skin off, all at once. Thankfully, it didn’t last long. The scream building in his throat had no time to escape before the pain had passed, leaving him shaking and breathless but otherwise fine.

He looked over at Harry, who was squinting at him with those famous emerald eyes, and sighed. He reached into the pocket of his robe - Harry’s robe - and pulled out the sleek silver frames. He held them out to Harry, offering softly. “I can change them back, if you prefer...”

Harry hesitated, then stepped closer. He took the glasses, sliding them onto his face before he answered just as quietly. “It’s alright. I like them.”

He held out Draco’s robe to him, reaching for his own - draped over a chair where Draco had put it - with his other hand. He shivered a little even as he shrugged it on; standing in a drafty office in one’s pants and undershirt in the middle of winter was not pleasant. “So...your dorm or mine?”

“Yours.” Draco answered, eyes on the floor as he pulled his robe over his head. “Longbottom is far less nosey than Blaise.”

A hand was suddenly gripping Draco’s chin, pulling his face up. Draco’s eyes widened as Harry ducked his head down, pressing their lips together in a brief but firm kiss. He was suddenly very grateful the Headmistress had left them alone after giving them the potion; since they’d had to strip down to their underthings (being such different sizes), she had felt it best to give them their privacy. When Harry lifted his head a moment later, they were both blushing.

“We need to talk.” Harry said. “But I want you to know, right now, that I haven’t changed my mind. I like you, Draco. A lot. Okay?”

Draco nodded, because his tongue felt thick and heavy in his mouth and he wasn’t sure he could speak, and allowed Harry to take his hand and lead him from the Headmistress’ office. His heart felt lighter than it had just moments earlier. Harry still wanted him; everything else was just details.

When they had slipped through the crowd of Eights - most of whom were too busy celebrating to even notice them - and settled themselves in Harry’s room, Draco couldn’t help the rush of anxiety that swept over him. He twisted his fingers restlessly together, watching Harry from the corner of his eye and barely breathing. He didn’t know what to say, though there were plenty of thoughts whipping around in his head. Too many, really, for him to latch onto just one and start discussing it. There were so many reasons why this was a bad idea; so many reasons they should both just walk away and pretend none of this had ever happened. Part of Draco wanted to suggest that, if only to save himself the heartache he was sure to experience when this inevitably fell apart, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to be the one to destroy the possibility. Because until one of them spoke - until they both agreed that this was insane and they shouldn’t even try - there was still hope.

In the end, Harry spoke first. “Are we really doing this, then? Giving us a shot, I mean...” Draco looked up, uncertainty painted across his pale, pointed face and Harry added. “I want to, but if you don’t...if you’ve changed your mind...”

When Harry trailed off, Draco sighed, hands still twisting nervously on his lap. “Harry, I...” He paused for a moment, lost for words, then whispered. “You have to know how bad of an idea this is. When the papers get wind of it...it’s going to be awful. You know what they’ll say, don’t you?”

“That I’m gay.” Harry shrugged, looking unconcerned. “They’re already saying that though, aren’t they, so what difference does it make?”

“No, they’ll say that I’ve bewitched you.” Draco retorted, voice a little sharp because he needed Harry to understand that this wasn’t a game; that people would think the absolute worst. “That I’ve given you a love potion, or put you under Imperius, or bound you with Dark Magic. They’ll say you’ve been tricked by me; that I’ve got you wrapped around my fingers. That you’ve gone Dark. They’ll say whatever they want, and it will likely all be horrid.”

Harry seemed to consider this, falling still and silent for several long moments, then he shrugged again and said. “They can, I suppose. And you’re probably right that they will, but what does it matter? I know that’s not the case, and so do you, and so will the people who matter to us. If there’s anything the past week has taught me, it’s that it makes no difference what people say or think. I can’t spend my life tiptoeing around the whole world and their opinions.

“I can’t make them all happy, Draco.” Harry’s eyes were bright, glittering jewels as they locked with Draco’s; his expression was almost painfully earnest. “I don’t even want to anymore. I can’t make them happy, but I can be happy. With you, if you’ll let me.”

Draco’s teeth worried his lower lip for a moment, then he said. “There will be more hate mail. It’ll be like this week, only worse because I’ll be getting it, too, and we probably won’t have a lovely little stack of supportive letters to bolster us this time.”

“Maybe not, but we’ll have each other.” Harry countered. He reached out, closing one hand around Draco’s still-tangled fingers and giving a light squeeze. “You’re the one who told me to ignore what strangers had to say. How did you put it?” Harry’s lips twitched up in amusement. “Oh yes, they can go suck an egg, I believe was your phrasing. So fine; let them talk. I don’t care.”

When Draco didn’t speak, Harry’s expression shifted to one of worry and he asked in a low voice, sounding a bit like he’d just had a devastating revelation. “Is this about the publicity? I know you got a little taste of it this week, with the switch, and...Draco, is it too much pressure? If you aren’t willing to live that way - in the spotlight all of the time - I won’t blame you. I know how hard it is, obviously, and how much it sucks.”

Draco felt a sort of fond exasperation flow through him, and he couldn’t help rolling his eyes at the brunette. “You’re joking, right? Harry, I’m about a billion times better at handling reporters and publicity that you are. If anything, that’s another reason for me to be with you. Clearly, you need my assistance with this.”

Harry grinned, relief plain in his voice. “So you’ll stay? With me, I mean. Like, we’re going to tell people and be...official?”

“If that’s what you want.” Draco agreed, unable to keep from grinning when the brunette flopped back onto the mattress, then dragged Draco down with him, pulling the blonde into his arms. “I’ll take that as a yes, then. Did you want to tell everyone tonight? We can go join the party, if you want....”

Harry shook his head, resting his chin against Draco’s hair when the blonde curled up half on top of him, his head resting just above Harry’s heart. “No. I don’t want to start the New Year with anyone but you, Draco. We can tell them tomorrow.”

Draco hummed in agreement, then flicked his wrist at Harry’s bed curtains. They yanked themselves shut and Draco yawned, snuggling closer to Harry’s chest. “Mmmm...okay, Harry. Wake me when it’s almost midnight?”

“Sure.” Harry agreed easily, pressing a light kiss to Draco’s soft hair. He set an alarm as Draco drifted off to sleep, just in case. It was a good thing, too, because Draco’s soft, even breathing lulled the Gryffindor into slumber only minutes later.

Harry woke up to near-darkness. A faint glow peeked through a gap in the bed curtains, but otherwise it was dark. The sound of Neville’s snore’s was absent, so clearly the other boy wasn’t in his bed yet, but the soft sound of someone breathing was barely audible. Harry flicked his wand to top the quiet beeping that had woken him up - the alarm he’d set earlier - and slowly tugged the bed curtains further open, letting moonlight stream across the bed.

It painted itself across Draco’s face, and Harry had to admit that the other boy was beautiful. It was a bit of a funny thing, thinking of another bloke as beautiful, but the word fit. Draco’s face was all sharp angles and points, but it worked somehow. He’d outgrown the ferrety cast to his features, though he hadn’t softened in appearance at all. His cheekbones were high, his lashes pale golden curls resting lightly against that snowy skin. His eyebrows were surprisingly dark, given how fair the rest of him was, but they somehow suited his face as well. His lips - a soft, pale pink - were parted slightly as he slept; Draco Malfoy breathed softly through his mouth and didn’t snore. Which was a good thing, though Harry would have enjoyed teasing Draco if he had.

Harry slid one hand under his pillow and retrieved his wand, softly murmuring a spell that stripped Draco of his undershirt and boxers; his robes had been shed before they’d laid down. The moonlight shone over Draco’s slim form, illuminating his perfection. His pale skin shimmering in the soft light, like he'd been painted in diamond dust and starlight, beckoned Harry to touch. He reached out, his own fair skin still shades darker than Draco's, and stroked his fingers slowly down Draco's chest and stomach. Draco murmured softly in his sleep, shifting restlessly as Harry’s fingers ghosted over the blonde’s navel, then lower still.

Harry’s fingers lightly petted the soft golden-blonde curls for a moment, watching with interest as Draco’s cock twitched and began to fill. Draco stirred, pale lashes fluttering and his blonde head shifting from side-to-side on Harry’s pillow. Harry let his fingers drift back up, moving lightly over the sparse trail of fine, white-blonde hair that led from Draco’s navel to the darker curls beneath it. Draco’s eyes fluttered again, then blinked open even as a soft sigh slipped from his lips. He stared at Harry for a moment, confusion making his eyebrows draw together, then memory returned and he sucked in a stunned breath.

“H-harry...” Draco managed the word with just the faintest catch, eyes wide as they stared at the brunette kneeling beside his left hip. “What are you doing?”

“Shhh...” Harry said, a mischievous smile curving his lips. “Just...let me touch you. Please?”

Draco nodded, falling still and silent in an instant; Harry had a feeling he was holding his breath in anticipation of what might come. Harry’s fingers curled around his wand again, repeating the spell he’d used on Draco to strip himself. Draco’s breath caught in his throat, his eyes widening even more as they moved over Harry restlessly. Harry tried to imagine what Draco was thinking; what he was feeling. Harry was rather fit, with well-muscled arms and well-defined abs, and a small trail of dark hair leading down from his navel. His cock was already hard, jutting out proudly, but Harry wasn’t embarrassed in the slightest. Draco’s were hardly the first eyes that had been on his cock, after all.

Harry shifted his weight, swinging one leg over Draco’s body so that he was sitting on Draco’s thighs, his weight resting lightly as he did his best not to spook the Slytherin. Something about Draco’s expression told Harry he was a bit skittish, especially since they were skin-to-skin now; Harry reminded himself that Draco was a virgin and did his best to go slowly. He reached out and slid his fingers under Draco’s head, tangling them in soft hair, his knuckles resting against the base of Draco’s neck. Draco made a desperate little sound in the back of his throat as Harry used the gentle grip on his hair to tug the smaller teen’s mouth up to his. Harry couldn’t help smirking against those full lips before diving in.

Harry licked his way into Draco’s mouth, devouring him the way he’d wanted to since... well, since he wasn’t sure when, really, but probably far longer than he was really willing to admit, or even really consider. As Harry savored the taste of the Slytherin - soft and sweet and smooth, like coconut and vanilla and something else Harry couldn’t name - Draco made another soft sound. He reach up, carefully sliding his hands over Harry’s bare skin, his fingers dancing over Harry’s sides in a hesitant caress. Harry separated their mouths just long enough to take a breath before sealing them together again; anymore time apart was unbearable.

The kiss was rough and possessive; all teeth and tongues. Harry’s free hand shifted, dragging down Draco’s side, causing the blonde to arch up mindlessly into the touch. He broke the kiss and made a punched-out sort of noise as Harry’s hand stroked teasingly over his skin again. Harry grinned, all teeth and wicked intent, then pressed his lips to the smooth skin of Draco’s neck. Pushing the thought that this was oddly surreal - being with another bloke for the first time - out of his mind, Harry focused on the fact that it was Draco and pressed a series of open-mouthed kisses to the Slytherin’s throat.

Draco’s voice was breathless, and lower than Harry had ever heard it; it was devoid of the velvet softness it normally held, instead all gravel and growl. “Please... Harry, please, I want more...”

Harry groaned at those words, his lips finding Draco’s collarbone, teeth marking the skin with more force than he’d initially intended. But Draco moaned and shivered rather than protesting. Draco’s hands flew up, clutching at Harry’s shoulders. His nails bit into tender flesh, but Harry didn’t mind. As Harry’s tongue laved at the abused skin - almost but not quite apologetically - Draco’s nails dragged over Harry’s shoulders, then slid lightly up his neck to fist in black hair, pressing the taller teen's mouth even closer to his skin. Harry happily obliged, his mouth still eagerly sucking bruises into the pale skin of Draco’s throat and shoulder. Draco whined, hips bucking up of their own accord as Harry sucked right where his shoulder met his collarbone.

Harry used his nose to nudge lightly under Draco’s jaw, making his head tip back. Draco gasped softly as Harry’s teeth scraped over his Adam’s apple, then he whimpered again when a wicked tongue lapped at the hollow of his throat. His head pressed back into the mattress, grey eyes squeezed tightly shut as he did his best to still his hips. Harry smiled against Draco’s skin in amusement, though not unkindly; he remembered what it had felt like to fall apart with someone else for the first time.

Harry lifted his head, letting his gaze roam over the blonde’s chest. There, glaringly obvious in the stark moonlight which had banished all the shadows on the bed, were faint silvery lines crisscrossing their way over pale skin. Harry had seen them, of course, during the time they’d been wearing each other’s skin, but it was a bit different to have them laid out beneath him. He had caused those; had permanently marked Draco just as much as Voldemort had. It was a strange thought; one that was equal parts disconcerting and arousing. Harry wondered if he ought to apologize; if Draco would accept the words if he offered them. Deciding actions had always spoken louder, Harry leaned down and brushed his lips tenderly over the longest mark.

It slashed viciously across the center of Draco’s slender chest at an angle, intersecting with other - shorter - scars along the way. One seemed dangerously close to Draco’s heart and Harry brushed his lips over that one next. His lips tingled faintly, his magic reaching out to the residue in the scarred skin. These were curse-scars; magic written in flesh by Harry’s own wand, and Harry’s magic recognized as much. As Harry used the tip of his tongue to follow the lines of each individual scar, Draco moaned and sighed beneath him. Harry tasted the longest scar again, feeling it spark beneath his tongue. He moaned as he fought against the still-growing desire to bite; to claim.

Finally, knowing he needed to be slow and careful to avoid scaring Draco, Harry moved himself out of temptation's reach. The first thing Harry did was shift his mouth to the other scar marring Draco’s pristine flesh - the scar Harry knew for a fact that Draco hated; the Dark Mark. While the ugly black lines of the skull and serpent were no longer visible, there was heavy scarring in its place. Harry’s tongue slid soothingly over the part of his skin that dipped inward; Draco shivered under him, his face turned away though Harry tried to catch his gaze. After pressing a forceful kiss to the indentation where he knew the skull’s mouth had once resided, Harry let his tongue trace over the faint silvery lines that covered the skin where the rest of the Dark Mark had been. Harry knew he ought to hate this blemish - in truth, the latent magic in the scar was stinging his mouth in a less-than-pleasant way - but he found he couldn’t. It was a tangible reminder that Voldemort was gone; that Harry had won and it really was over. For that reminder alone, Harry would forever adore the scar.

When he felt he’d suitably proved his point - which was that he found no part of Draco ugly, not even that part - Harry shifted his mouth once more. Pressing his lips to Draco’s flat stomach, Harry viciously shoved his magic down; it was easier without that damnable scar pulsing under his lips, clouding his head. By the time Harry did that, Draco was panting softly. Harry loved the taste of Draco’s skin; salt and soap and some flavor that was an extension of the texture of Draco’s silken skin under his tongue.

Harry’s tongue darted out in small, quick flicks as he shifted lower and lower on Draco’s abdomen. When he reached the bottom of Draco’s breastbone, Harry nipped softly. His fingers danced down Draco’s side, curling around his waist, his thumb sweeping over Draco’s hipbone. Harry shifted his weight, gently nudging his way between Draco’s thighs. For a moment the blonde went rigid beneath him, leg tensing and resisting Harry’s attempt to move them, then he took a deep breath and relaxed, seeming to melt into the mattress under him. He even went so far as to draw one slender leg up alongside Harry’s hip, whimpering a little at the way his erection pressed into Harry’s belly.

Harry loved the way Draco reacted. The smaller teen was so completely responsive; more so than anyone Harry had ever been with before; part of him wondered if it was because Draco was a bloke, or if it was simply because he was Draco. Harry let his eyes lock on Draco’s face as his thumb swept over Draco’s hipbone again, delighting in the way Draco’s eyelashes fluttered and his mouth went slack around a sound of pleasure. It was heady and intoxicating. It made Harry want to see how Draco would react to other things; to everything.

Harry lifted himself up onto his knees, ignoring the whine of disapproval the blonde let out as he shifted away from Draco’s erection. Shifting backwards slightly, Harry let his lips move even lower. Draco gasped and squirmed under him and Harry smiled against Draco’s skin. Harry shifted backwards again and licked the top of Draco’s abs teasingly. Draco whimpered loudly, his stomach clenching and unclenching under the Gryffindor’s mouth. Harry watched the way Draco’s stomach muscles rippled and twitched under his skin as his tongue traced the lines faintly defining the muscles. With a heated look up at Draco’s face, Harry shifted his mouth to Draco’s navel and flicked his tongue into it. Draco hissed and arched his back, fisting his hands in the bedclothes. Harry let his tongue dart in and out of the indentation several times, loving the way Draco gasped and writhed. Then he nipped the bottom edge, tugging lightly. Draco’s whole body shuddered and he keened softly.

Harry’s cock throbbed in response. He couldn’t help feeling a little thrill of power at the way Draco responded to him. Maybe he didn’t have any experience with other men, and maybe he didn’t have a clue what he was doing, but Draco had no experience at all and seemed to love everything Harry did. And that was more than enough to bolster Harry’s ego. Besides, he had already done this bit once before. He used his tongue to memorize Draco’s stomach, delighting each time the muscles shifted under him. He listened as Draco’s breathing changed from deep and even to harsh, shallow pants.

Then, feeling decidedly wicked, Harry let his mouth drift a little lower. His tongue followed the line of hair down from Draco’s navel even as his fingers drifted lower, stroking lightly over the silky skin of Draco’s inner thighs. He shifted his mouth to the side and scraped his teeth over one of Draco’s hipbones. Harry stared hungrily at Draco's cock, which was a little bit shorter and thinner than his own, but still quite lovely. He slowly let his fingers drift higher again, finally stroking lightly around the base of Draco’s erection. Harry had seen Draco’s form many times over the past few weeks, and felt the heated press of Draco’s arousal against his belly just minutes earlier, but this was the first time he had been able to touch, because wanking while in someone else’s body had just seemed wrong. Draco’s flesh was hot beneath his fingers, soft skin stretched over heated steel.

Harry’s hand slid teasingly up the shaft, curling loosely around the middle, making Draco’s breathing deepen. Harry stroked downwards slightly, drawing the foreskin back and revealing the shiny, pink head. A single drop of fluid beaded on the tip, glistening temptingly. Harry leaned in and dragged the flat of his tongue over it, lapping up the liquid gathered there and savoring the salty-sweet taste that was pure Draco. Seconds later, slim fingers tangled in Harry’s dark hair and pulled hard, dragging the brunette up his body and into a drugging kiss.

When Draco’s grip loosened at last, allowing Harry to pull back for much-needed air, Harry couldn’t help but huff a laugh against Draco’s kiss-swollen lips. “Like that, love?” He asked, the endearment slipping out without his permission. He knew it was a bit soon to be calling Draco that, but the word fell from his lips without thought.

Draco nodded frantically, then keened again when Harry suddenly wrapped his arms around Draco’s waist and rolled to the side, taking the Slytherin with him. In the end, Harry was the one lying on his back, with the grey-eyed man above him. “H-Harry, please...” Draco was panting heavily, pupils blown wide with lust, staring down at Harry with a want that bordered on desperation.

“Shhh...” Harry murmured soothingly, gently settling Draco’s weight on him; urging the other teen to straddle his hips. Harry groaned at the press of that firm ass against his neglected cock, then said in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. “Do whatever feels right.”

Draco nodded, though pearly teeth sank nervously into his lower lip; his inexperience was getting the better of him and that was one thing Harry definitely did not want. Harry’s hands curled tightly around Draco’s hips, thumbs stroking tantalizingly over his hipbones, causing the Slytherin’s eyes to flutter shut even as his head fell back. Cautiously, Draco’s hips rocked and Harry groaned again, arching up into the sweet pressure and friction. Harry’s hands drifted up Draco’s sides, sitting up just a little as he pressed one palm just below Draco's shoulder blades, bringing the blonde closer so he could reach the Slytherin’s tempting mouth. Draco eagerly sank into the kiss, his arms winding around Harry’s shoulders as he pressed himself closer.

As Harry licked his way back into Draco's sweet mouth, his hand slid up, between the Slytherin's shoulder blades, still pressing firmly. Draco's spine arched sharply, his hips thrusting down with surprising force as a wrecked moan slipped from his lips. Harry jerked back, startled by the force of Draco’s reaction. Seeing the pleasure on Draco’s face, Harry eagerly dug his fingers harder into the apparently-sensitive skin at the top of Draco’s spine, just where his hairline began. Harry’s own hips rutted up against the blonde when the teen let out another equally wrecked sound, shuddering against Harry even as his nails dug into Harry’s shoulder blades again. He had no idea why Draco was reacting the way he was to such a simple touch, but it was intoxicating to pull such an enthusiastic reaction from his partner. The fact that it was the haughty Draco Malfoy only made it better.

Suddenly, one of Draco's hands was sliding between their bodies as he shifted backwards, onto Harry's thighs. Green eyes opened, a question already forming on his tongue. It died when Draco's fingers curled around Harry's cock, his lips pressing damp, eager kisses along Harry's jaw as he murmured. “Want you, so much, Harry...you’ve no idea how long I’ve...please... oh, please, Harry...”

“Yesss...” Harry practically hissed the word at the sound of Draco begging; he had to fight against the instinct to continue in Parseltongue. Draco had said he thought it was sexy, but Harry wanted to make sure Draco understood every word he was saying even as he rolled Draco over so he was once again above the blonde.

“I want to fuck you, Draco. Can I?” Harry pressed his lips to Draco’s jaw, whispering pleadingly. “Please let me, love. I promise you’ll like it...”

Draco lay, panting, against rumpled white bed sheets and a deep blue comforter, which formed the perfect backdrop for his coloring. His white-blonde hair fanned out against the dark material beneath his head, looking almost like a shining halo in the moonlight. Draco's pale skin was flushed, not merely across his cheeks but down his neck and across his shoulders as well, and he was covered in goosebumps. Spread out beneath Harry the way he was, Draco was all slender limbs and faint muscle tone and sharp, pointed angles. He was beautiful.

Draco’s bird-like chest was heaving as he panted, staring up at Harry with wide eyes; Harry tried to read the emotion in them and found desire but also something he was hoping was merely nerves, rather than outright fear. Draco’s petal-pink lips were slightly parted, forming a little ‘O’ as he breathed heavily through his mouth. Harry silently vowed to do everything he could to make this perfect for Draco. He shifted backwards on his hands and knees, still nestled between Draco’s legs, slowly nudging them further apart as he moved. Harry ran both his palms up creamy, trembling thighs, spreading them even wider. He looked at Draco’s erection and couldn’t help licking his lips, remembering the taste. It was beautiful, flushed a dark pink and leaking, with the head just peeking out of the foreskin.

Without hesitation - and thanking his innate Gryffindor-ish-ness for his ability to power through new experiences - Harry reached out and wrapped strong, calloused fingers around it, gently pulling the foreskin back. Then he leaned down and swiped his tongue over the head again; this got easier every time he did it, especially with the way Draco reacted. The blonde made a high, keening whine in the back of his throat; this was all still new to Draco and Harry couldn’t blame him for his unguarded reactions. In truth, he loved them. Harry wrapped his lips around the head and sucked firmly. Draco writhed, twisting his hands in the sheets beneath him and arching his back sharply. Loving how Draco’s sweet taste was marred only by a hint of salt - it was far less bitter than his own had been - Harry happily laved his tongue over Draco’s cock, sucking greedily. The Slytherin reacted with total abandon and it nearly overwhelmed Harry.

After only a few moments of sucking and licking, Harry lifted his mouth off Draco’s cock; he had a list a mile long of things he wanted to do to the Slytherin and he was going to do as much of it as possible before the night was over. Not because they didn’t have time, but simply because he didn’t know how he’d ever lived without touching Draco this way and he didn’t want to wait any longer now that he’d finally realized how much he wanted...no, needed this. So Harry moved his mouth a bit lower, gently laving Draco's sack for a moment while savoring the quiet sounds of pleasure Draco couldn’t seem to help making.

Then Harry lifted himself up and nudged lightly at Draco’s right hip. “Turn over, Draco. Get on your hands and knees for me, pet.” Harry rasped the demand with more force than he’d really intended, something primitive and nearly-feral rising up inside him.

For a split-second, Harry worried his tone would frighten Draco - who still had a skittish sort of look in his eyes that not even pleasure seemed capable of fully drowning out - but Draco didn’t hesitate. Almost instantly, he was kneeling on Harry’s bed. Then, to Harry’s surprise, Draco even took it a step further than he’d been commanded to. He dropped his weight from his palms to his forearms, so his ass was up in the air, presented to the Gryffindor kneeling behind him. Harry growled, ignoring the way Draco's lips curved into his trademark smirk as he glanced back at the brunette over his shoulder. He shifted his knees further apart and lowered his head until it was resting on his arms, then arched his back, still grinning rather smugly. Harry didn’t even care; he just sucked in a sharp breath at the way Draco so willingly exposed himself to him and thanked Merlin for it.

Draco let out a soft whimper when Harry palmed the pert curve of his ass. The soft sound had heat pooling low in Harry's belly. His hands kneaded softly for a moment, then gave a firm squeeze; Draco’s ass was truly a thing of beauty. Then Harry spread him completely open, causing Draco to let out a soft, vaguely-horrified sounding squeak. Harry paused, his hands still keeping Draco spread open to his view, but the blonde didn’t protest. Harry watched in delight as Draco simply pressed his burning cheeks more firmly against his arms, panting heavily; the Slytherin was clearly embarrassed, but he wasn’t backing down. So Harry gave in to a lewd temptation, leaning down and giving one long, slow lick from the base of Draco's balls straight up to his tailbone. Another squeak of surprise - this one a bit louder - slipped past Draco’s lips.

A soft chuckle had a warm burst of air ghosting over the now-damp skin and Draco squeezed his eyes tightly shut, letting out a soft whine. “Shhh...” Harry’s voice was a deep, husky rumble. He brushed his lips lightly over the small of Draco’s back - right between the bewitching dimples the blonde had - before he continued. “I just couldn’t help myself. I don’t know why, but I want to devour you in every way possible. I’ve never felt this way before.”

Draco was silent, uttering neither protest nor encouragement, so Harry used the very tip of his tongue to trace the line of flesh between Draco’s balls and his entrance. A wicked grin curved his lips upwards when the other teen let out another strangled squeak that wasn't quite a protest. “Problem?”

Draco pressed his face more firmly into his arm, whining softly, his whole body tensing up. “You... you’re not going to...” His voice wavered; he sounded uncertain but not necessarily unwilling.

“Oh, I definitely am, so long as you’ll let me.” Harry chuckled, ducking his head again and dragging his tongue across Draco’s rosy pucker.

Draco made a keening sort of moan and instinctively shied away from the hot, wet touch.Harry was bigger and stronger, though, and he’d been halfway expecting that reaction; even girls sometimes shied away from that first press of tongue, especially if they weren’t used to it. Harry hadn’t expected Draco to be any different, and had curled his palms around Draco’s hips. He was holding Draco tightly, keeping his lover's ass where he wanted it. When Draco stilled again, breathing heavily, Harry dragged his tongue over him again, slow and teasing. Another strange, choked sort of noise delighted Harry but he wanted Draco to completely let go; to scream.

Harry swallowed back a low moan as he eagerly pressed his tongue more firmly against the most intimate portion of Draco’s body. Draco keened, high and needy, as that sinful tongue flicked rapidly against the edges of his hole, patiently coaxing the tight ring of muscle to relax. He pressed his face more firmly into his arm, canting his hips back wantonly. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck...' That word echoed repeatedly through Harry’s mind, erasing everything else; he couldn’t think straight anymore once he felt Draco push back against his mouth. In that moment, if someone had held a wand to his throat and asked his name, Harry’s answer would have been a firm, resounding 'fuck.' Nothing existed beyond Draco’s body opening to the firm press of his tongue.

Thrilled with the reaction he was getting, Harry eagerly used his tongue and saliva to loosen and slick Draco's entrance. He delighted in the taste and scent of the Slytherin, especially knowing he was the only one to ever do this to Draco; to touch him this way. Harry pressed his tongue deeper into Draco's tight body, intent on licking every inch of the other teen he could, both inside and out. Harry withdrew his tongue from Draco's body, then sealed his lips around Draco's entrance and sucked. The blonde was reduced to squirming uselessly against Harry's restraining grip, repeatedly clenching his hands around the sheets. As Harry sucked and licked and tongued Draco’s hole as though he were passionately kissing the Slytherin's mouth, Draco slowly fell to pieces beneath him. Lips, tongue, and a hint of teeth combined to drive them both right to the edge as Harry savored every broken sound he wrung from Draco's lips. It was slick and hot and more than a little obscene, and Harry loved it as he’d loved little else; loved reducing Draco to an incoherent mess beneath him. He also loved the taste of Draco's most private area: sharp and musky and perfect. He could tell from the way Draco was beginning to tighten around his tongue that the blonde was close, though, so he pulled back a moment later. Draco cried out, making another of the high, keening sounds that Harry was steadily becoming addicted to, and pressed his ass back, needy and desperate.

Harry groaned and leaned over the curve of Draco's body, nuzzling his cheek until Draco finally understood, turning his head so their lips could meet. If the way he sucked Harry’s tongue into his mouth was anything to go by, Draco didn’t seem to mind the taste of himself on Harry’s tongue. He kissed Harry heatedly and Harry kissed back with a need he couldn't begin to explain. It was as though all he cared about was tracing and memorizing the line of Draco's teeth, and the taste of the inside his cheeks, and the faint ridges on the roof of his mouth. He licked at Draco's tongue and lips like he would die if he didn’t; like this was all he needed in the world; like he couldn’t ever get enough. Harry sucked on Draco's lower lip, then bit down hard enough to drag a quiet whimper from Draco before sliding his tongue back into that lovely mouth.

Harry's mouth shifted away from Draco's, tongue and teeth slowly tasting their way down Draco's elegant throat. He reached past Draco's head, fingers scrambling under the pillow for his wand, curling his fingers eagerly around the wooden grip. Harry's fingers clenched so tightly around the wand in his hands that his knuckles were white. He barely noticed, heatedly muttering the spell that would conjure what they needed to continue this. The second his fingers were coated and slippery, Harry tossed the wand to the side and slipped his hand between their bodies. He was so eager he didn’t even realize the spell didn’t immediately stop, lube dripping onto the sheets beside them for several moments, unnoticed.

When Harry's fingers, shiny and slick, pressed behind Draco's balls, the blonde keened and arched his back, hips canting eagerly. “Do it.” He demanded, the words rumbling out with a force Harry hadn’t expected but which went straight to his aching cock. There was something almost unbearably hot about a bossy, demanding Draco; it was somehow hotter than begging would have been.

Unable to resist, Harry pressed forward with two fingers. Draco cried out, his head turning to the side, teeth clamping down around a pillow in a desperate attempt to remain quiet; the last thing they needed was a well-meaning classmate hearing him shout and coming to check on them. Draco’s hands clenched around a bunched up portion of blanket, fingers flexing, digging in and releasing the fabric in rapid succession. Harry was panting, shoulders hunched forward, green eyes locked on where his fingers were pressing into Draco. He pushed in deeper, breath hitching in his chest when Draco cried out again and pushed back eagerly onto his fingers. Draco was hot and tight around him, bucking and arching back into him and making muffled sounds around the pillow; Harry had never seen anything more erotic than Draco fucking himself on his fingers.

Draco moaned, low and ragged, as Harry's fingers pressed deeper still, his back arching almost impossibly far as Harry found his prostate. His mouth released the pillow, words spilling out. “Oh! Yes, I... ah, fuck...” He whined again, unable to stop the needy, desperate sound. “There! Fuck, Harry...”

Draco cried out sharply as Harry added another finger and gave a little twist of his wrist, pressing against Draco's prostate again. His fingers moving in and out of the smaller man, stretching him slowly but surely. Draco was shivering and writhing under him and Harry was consumed with need. It had never been like this with anyone else, and Harry wondered again if it was because Draco was male, or because he was Draco. He dragged his tongue wetly over Draco's shoulder - tasting sweat and soap and skin - then let his teeth mark the flesh he’d just tasted. It wasn’t gentle or considerate or careful, and the way Draco's body jerked beneath him and tightened around his fingers said that Draco didn’t mind. This was hot and fast and brutal; skin and sweat and teeth and nails and pressure. This was necessary. Not like food or water or sleep, which were needs of a gentler sort, but like air. A greedy, grasping, desperate sort of need that was consuming them both with devastating speed. A clawing, pleading, demanding sort of need. The sort of need that burned through everything else, leaving nothing but ash in its wake. And for once, Harry wanted to burn.

“What do you want?” Harry murmured, his tongue tracing the curve of Draco's ear; his breath was hot against the damp skin. “Tell me.”

Draco answered immediately, his desires spilling from his lips in an utterly wrecked voice. “You, Harry. I need you inside me. I need you to take me, stretch me, fill me...please, Harry, fuck me...need your cock, please, I can’t wait…please...”

Harry didn’t hesitate; he pulled his fingers out of Draco and curled one of his hands around Draco's slim hip. He ignored the mournful sound Draco made in favor of using the remaining oil on his fingers to slick his cock;Draco wouldn’t be empty for long. Harry's hand stayed between their bodies, curled loosely around the base of his own cock, guiding it to Draco's slick, open hole. Harry pressed himself against Draco, his cock sliding teasingly along the crack for a moment before settling perfectly against Draco's entrance. The Slytherin pressed back eagerly.

“Fuck, you’re gagging for it...” Harry hissed, desire thickening his words; he hissed something out in Parseltongue that had Draco shivering beneath him. Harry couldn’t be bothered to translate the obscene words into English; not with Draco ready to be fucked occupying every part of his mind.

He pushed forward, the head of his cock slipping through the tight ring of muscle, stretching Draco open even further than Harry's fingers had managed to do. Tight heat closed around the head of his cock and Harry didn’t stop; didn’t pause to give Draco time to adjust - he couldn't. He just kept pushing forward, sinking slowly into the tight, grasping heat of Draco's body. Draco didn’t just let Harry in, either; his body seemed to pull him in. It was as though the smaller teen was designed to take Harry's cock; like he’d been built for the express purpose of having Harry fuck him. In a matter of moments, he was balls-deep inside Draco. As Harry finally bottomed out, Draco moaned into the mattress, panting heavily and unable to remain silent. Not that he’d been silent much at all, but Harry was not complaining; he loved how vocal Draco had proven to be.

“Draco, love...” Harry set his teeth to Draco's neck, right where it met the top of his spine, his hips jerking as Draco's body rippled and spasmed around his cock. “Fuck, you’re so tight...” It wasn’t surprising, of course, because Draco was only just-barely not a virgin anymore, but Harry couldn’t help saying the words; they were nearly reverent in their praise.

Caught up in a heated daze of lust, Harry turned his head, pressing his mouth to the sweat-soaked skin of Draco's shoulder blade. He sucked a bit of skin into his mouth, worrying it with his teeth until he was sure it would bruise; marking the blonde as his, and his alone. His hips began to move – a slow pull back, then a steady push in that had Draco whining and begging. “More...please, Harry, faster...harder!”

Never one to disappoint, Harry sped up his thrusts, both hands gripping Draco's hips as he straightened up behind Draco's kneeling form to get a better angle. It didn't take him long to find a rhythm that worked for both of them, Draco's continued sounds of encouragement letting him know when he was doing something right. Harry kept kissing Draco; he couldn’t seem to stop. He scattered kisses over Draco's shoulders and neck and jaw. He brushed his lips softly over any bit of Draco's skin he could reach, a mindless craving for any bit of intimacy he could steal. Part of the reason Harry had fallen into mindless sex post-war was this; this consuming desire he had for human contact; for affection. That Draco would be the only one sating that need from then-on was something Harry felt confident he could get used to with ease.

Draco finally tensed beneath him, his body tightening around Harry and sticky-wet-heat painting the sheets beneath him—and fuck, how could Draco possibly get any snugger around him, because Merlin’s-saggy-knickers, he’d already been so tight—and he screamed. Harry only got to hear the start of it, because Draco immediately turned his head and shoved his hand into his mouth, muffling the rest of the sound in a way that Harry hated, and it made him feel happy and floaty and sort of blissed out. He had made Draco scream that way, which was amazing on so many different levels. He vowed he’d do it again when they could have a bit more of a guarantee of privacy, so that he could hear the whole thing.

Draco’s body tightening around him dragged Harry over the edge as well, mere seconds behind his new lover. Harry pressed his lips to Draco's throat, just below his ear, and thrust shallowly. Once, twice... that was all it took before he was spilling himself inside of the only person he’d ever loved. The only one he would ever love; he was sure of that now. Harry screamed the words over and over in his mind as he came, jaw clenched tight against the urge to shout them out loud; it wouldn’t do to scare Draco away so early into things. When he collapsed on top of Draco a moment later, Harry paused for only a second before rolling to the side and pulling Draco close, silently treasuring the solid weight of him in his arms even as he flicked a spell at the curtains to drag them shut once more; the moonlight had served its purpose for the night.

Draco sighed softly, sounding content and sleepy again as he murmured. “Happy New Year, Harry. You know, since we started the year together, we’re meant to spend it together as well...”

Harry grinned, pressing a kiss to soft blonde hair before whispering back. “Happy New Year, Draco. I can’t think of anyone I’d rather spend it with.”

Within minutes, both boys were sleeping soundly, wrapped snugly around each other.

Draco was ripped from a sound sleep - the best he’d had in a very long time - by a shaft of sunlight stabbing his eyes and an ear-splitting scream followed by the sound of someone making very juvenile retching sounds assailing his ears. He opened one eye, then promptly closed it again. He didn’t know what time it was, but whatever the clock said, it was far too damned early for him to be dealing with this. Harry was a solid wall of heat and pressure alongside him, and his soft snore said the brunette hadn’t been bothered by the shouting. Well, that wasn’t going to do at all. If he was suffering, so would Harry.

Draco buried his face in the pillow before kicking Harry rather harder than he would have if he hadn’t been so annoyed. When Harry groaned, Draco mumbled as loudly as he could. “Potter, your friend is being an utter prat. Deal with him so I can sleep.”

Harry’s arm settled across Draco’s lower back and a kiss was pressed sleepily to Draco’s shoulder before he said. “Wha’s’at, love?”

Draco sighed, then turned to scowl over his shoulder at his lover, who looked far too adorable while sleep-rumpled. “I said, your friend is being a prat while I’m trying to sleep. Fix it.”

“My...what?” Harry sat up suddenly, turning to see that he and Draco were not alone in the room, nor were the curtains still pulled shut around the bed. Instead, Neville was sitting on his bed - looking terribly amused - while Ron leaned against one of Neville’s bed posts, looking disgusted and still making the occasional gagging noise. “Oh. Damn.”

Draco turned his head again, opening one eye to glare balefully at his boyfriend. “That had better be a ‘Damn, now I can’t shag Draco because I’ve got to deal with this.’ sort of damn, and not a ‘Damn, now people know I’m shagging a former-Death Eater.’ sort of damn, or I’ll quite probably hex you and you’ll not be shagging me any longer.”

Harry rolled his eyes, but soothingly patted Draco’s thigh through the thin sheet covering the blonde from his hips to his knees. “Of course I meant the first one. Now let me deal with Ron, please.”

Draco sighed and closed his eyes again, though he wasn’t actually planning on going back to sleep; he’d given up on that hope when he’d seen the redhead’s horrified face. Instead, he listened as Harry talked to his friend. “It’s not what you think, Ron. Really.”

“So you haven’t finally realized you’ve been obsessed with Malfoy since we were kids?” Draco had to smile at Neville putting his two knuts in. “Because I wasn’t too surprised to see him here.”

“How can you be so calm about this?” Ron’s voice was equal parts annoyance and horrified. “He has Malfoy in your room! He is shagging Malfoy.” There was a pause, then Ron added. “Harry, I thought you were straight.”

That garnered Draco’s attention a bit and he turned his head just enough to peek out at the goings-on of the room. Neville caught his eye and smiled, but didn’t call him out on it. “Ron, I’m not gay. I just...like Draco, is all. I don’t...does it really need a label? Can’t I just like him and like girls?”

“Well, but...so you’re bi?” Ron asked, face screwed up in concentration; Draco wondered why Granger liked someone capable of making such stupid faces.

“No. I just like Draco.” Draco felt Harry shift beside him and could tell the Gryffindor was shrugging. “I don’t look at other blokes that way. I like girls. And Draco.”

“I don’t understand.” Ron sighed, then moved over to sit down next to Harry; he was a little closer to Draco than he’d have liked, but he refrained from shifting away out of politeness. “Why Malfoy? I mean, what’s so special about the pointy git?”

Harry laughed, and Draco reached behind himself to swat at the other teen without looking. Harry caught his wrist, pressed a kiss to the tips of his fingers, then said to Ron. “I couldn’t explain it if I tried, Ron. But I like him. He makes me happy. Can you deal with it?”

Ron sighed again, and Draco tipped his head to look at him; Ron looked a bit put-out but he didn’t seem angry or upset. “Course I can deal with it, Harry. You’re my best mate.” He glanced at Draco, and added softly. “I don’t get it, but if you make Harry’s happy then I’ll manage.”

Draco grinned because...well, because it was nice to know that Harry’s friend was going to stick by him through this. A small part of Draco had worried that if Harry was forced to choose between him and his friends, that his friends would win. He couldn’t help being relieved that it wouldn’t come to that.

“Could I ask you favor, Malfoy?” Ron’s tone had gone thoughtful and he was looking at Draco assessingly, which was a bit unnerving. “You’re handy with Charms, aren’t you?”

“I am, yes.” Draco answered cautiously, not quite sure where Ron was heading with this. “Why? Do you need help with an assignment?”

“No, nothing like that.” Ron said seriously. “But I saw a bit more of both of you than I’d really prefer when I popped in this morning, so could you Obliviate me? Or maybe just Scourgify my brain...”

Harry started laughing first, though Ron and Neville followed him into hysterics a few seconds later. As Draco looked around at the Gryffindor boys laughing like loons, it occurred to him that they were all quite mad. A smile curved his lips up, because at least it seemed to be a benign sort of madness. Not to mention, he was rather fond of the sound of Harry’s laugh. If they hadn’t all been quite so loud, the gathered group might have realized they were going to have company a bit sooner - as they might have heard footsteps on the stairs - and then Harry and Draco could have possibly thrown clothes on. Or Ron and Neville could have headed off the new arrivals before they’d reached the room. As it was, there was nothing to be done for it.

“Well, this is a welcome surprise.” Hermione’s voice broke into the collective amusement. “I’m assuming you two figured out the answer to the potion problem at last?”

Nearly everyone stared at Hermione in confusion, but Draco’s temper spiked quickly. He pushed himself up to sitting and demanded sharply. “When did you figure it out, Granger?”

Hermione shrugged, looking nonplussed. “Oh, a day or two after it happened.” When Draco’s face turned red and he glared at her, she scowled back. “Don’t you dare get pissy with me, Draco. I’d have told you if the two of you hadn’t been acting like such idiots. Half the school could tell you were in love with each other but you were no closer to sorting things out than you had been at eleven, except that you were finally being civil. I thought the accident might give you a chance to work through it.”

“Wait, you knew how to change us back?” Harry sounded hurt; Draco was still furious. “Why didn’t you just talk to me about Draco?”

“Oh, yes, because that would’ve worked.” Hermione rolled her eyes, folding her arms under her chest and giving Harry an exasperated look. “I tried telling you that I thought Draco had feelings for you, but you never listened.”

“Well done, Granger.” Pansy agreed, speaking for the first time since entering the room. Beside her, Blaise nodded in agreement. “Honestly, I didn’t quite believe you when you said this was what we’d likely find up here, but I’m glad you were right. Draco’s moping about, mooning over Potter, was getting to be a mite annoying.”

“Just a mite?” Blaise snorted. “Try horrendously annoying. I swear, I was about ready to tie him to his bed starkers and then lock Harry in the room with him in the hopes of getting this mess sorted. At least it didn’t come to that.”

Draco considered this for a moment, then said. “I think we need new friends.”

Harry sighed and pulled a pouting Draco into his arms as the others laughed. He pressed a kiss to Draco’s hair and murmured. “You’re okay with this? You’ll stay?”

Again, Draco considered it. He thought about walking away - from the drama, the spotlight, the potential backlash, and even how much it would hurt if they tried this and it didn’t work - and then he thought about staying. He imagined anniversaries, and Christmases, and birthdays. He pictured getting a flat together, and kissing each other goodbye before work, and lunch dates. He envisioned dancing with Harry at Granger and Weasley’s inevitable wedding, and waking up to Harry’s too-green eyes every day, and going grocery shopping where he would whinge about the poor quality of the tomatoes and Harry would suggest - for the three hundredth time - that Draco just grow his own if he was so displeased with the ones the store sold. For a long, silent stretch of time, Draco weighed the possibility of heartbreak against the hope he had for their future.

In the end, hope won. As it always did.

“Yes, Harry. I’ll stay.”

Draco huffed in annoyance at the thundering sound of feet on the stairs. He shoved away from his desk, slammed open the door to his study, and roared. “I cannot work with your racket!”

Five sets of wide eyes stared up at him; five sets of tiny feet stopped moving as though suddenly stuck to the floor; five sets of lungs paused mid-breath. Draco sighed, then scrubbed his hands over his face as he reigned in his temper. “I’m sorry. I oughtn’t to have shouted at you all. Could you please go play in the gardens? Just for an hour or two, while I finish my paperwork. Please.”

Five shared looks, then the oldest of the group and therefore their leader - Draco’s own cousin and Harry’s godson, Teddy, who was eight - spoke up. “But, it’s raining, Draco. That’s why we’re playing inside. Harry said we had to.”

Draco looked behind himself, at the windows of his study, and sure enough rain was pouring down outside the glass panes. ‘Damn.’ Defeated, Draco’s shoulders slumped. “I don’t suppose there’s a quiet sort of activity you lot could occupy yourselves with?”

“I suppose I can put on a film.” Teddy admitted, though he looked a bit disappointed at the prospect of something so dreadfully calm.

Before Draco could thank him, one of the other little brats - the second oldest, who trailed behind Teddy in age by a year and a half - tossed her long, strawberry-blonde hair and pleaded. “Please watch with us, Uncle Draco! S'il vous plaît assez avec le sucre sur le dessus...”

Draco sighed, rubbing wearily at his temples; Victoire Weasley - daughter of Bill and Fleur - was damned-near impossible to refuse when she turned the force of her pretty blue eyes on someone and she wasn’t quite seven yet; she would be a terror as a teenager, he was sure. Her French just made her more endearing. “Very well, then. Just...give me five minutes, please. Go and ask Harry to help you get popcorn and drinks and I’ll be out shortly.”

Teddy and Victoire eagerly led the other three little brats - Victoire’s younger sister Dominique, Percy Weasley’s daughter Molly, and George Weasley’s daughter Roxanne - towards the kitchen. Draco glanced at the mounting piles of paperwork on his desk and accepted it as a lost cause; he’d get nothing done with the brats inside and well he knew it. So he flicked his wand, sorting everything into its necessary piles, and then gave up for the day. He grumbled all the way to the kitchen, questioning once again why he’d agreed to allow the various Weasley sprogs to invade their home three days a week. Teddy wasn’t so bad by himself, and he was over quite a lot - and had been for years - but the others...well, it was a recipe for disaster to have them all in one place. Draco was certain he had gone insane.

He walked down the hall, still muttering to himself, then moved down the stone steps into the kitchen, where Harry was arranging drinks on a tray. He turned and beamed at Draco when he entered the room, saying. “The kids said we’re watching a movie. I thought you were working?”

“I’ve surrendered. It’s impossible to work with children here.” Draco admitted dryly, mock-scowling at the chattering mass of humanity that surrounded Harry. When Harry looked stricken, Draco sighed and crossed the room to press a kiss to his husband’s cheek, murmuring. “It’s fine, darling. I’ve not changed my mind about it.”

Harry handed the drink tray to Teddy and a giant bowl of popcorn to Victoire, then shooed them out of the room to go and pick a film. When they were all out of earshot, Harry dragged Draco to the table looking worried. “Draco, if you can’t work...if this is going to be an issue...”

“It’s not.” Draco cut Harry off, placing two fingers against the former-Gryffindor’s lips to quiet him. “I was going to tell you after I’d worked out the details and spoken to my boss, but I suppose it doesn’t make much difference. I’m going to take a year off.”

“What?” Harry’s jaw was very-nearly resting on the floor. “But...but you love your work! I mean, I know I tease you about how working at Gringotts - in accounting of all things - must be dead boring, but Draco, you love it.”

“I do.” Draco agreed, a small smile curving his lips upwards. “Very much, in fact. I love you more, though, and I love them beyond words. Certainly beyond work. So I’ll be taking a year off, which I’m more than entitled to do under the new laws or I wouldn’t be near so calm about it. They can’t fire me for it, Harry, so my job will be waiting afterwards. And we’ve certainly got the money.”

Harry nodded, still a bit uncertain, and whispered. “When?”

“Oh, I want the first year, Harry.” Draco rolled his eyes, because his husband really was dense sometimes but it was rather endearing. “The whole of it, really. So my paid-leave starts next month, and I get four months of that, and then I’ll take a year after that unpaid.”

Harry took a trembling breath, then reached out to cup Draco’s face in his hands, staring into grey eyes searchingly. “You really want this, love? I mean, really?”

Draco couldn’t help laughing. He leaned in and pressed a firm kiss to Harry’s lips, then murmured against them. “Bit late to reconsider at this point, isn’t it? But yes, Harry. I really want this.”

Harry’s hands dropped down, resting his palms flush against the curve of Draco’s ever-growing belly. “I can’t believe we’re doing this...”

“That’s because they aren’t using your bladder as a teddybear.” Draco teased, laughing at the apologetic look on Harry’s face. “Oh, relax, would you? I don’t mind, really. I’m a bit inconvenienced that it’s twins, of all things, because one would have been hard enough, and I’m already huge, and in another four months I’ll look like a bloody beached whale, but I don’t mind. Truly.”

Harry nodded, stroking his hands over Draco’s belly again, smiling when he felt them kick out against his palms. Vega and Altair - the tentative names he and Harry had chosen - were strong and healthy and growing fast. Soon enough, Harry would have them in his arms, which Draco knew he longed for. Which was why Draco had signed up for the testing phase of the potion that had been developed to allow men to carry children; he had known how desperately his husband wanted a family of his own and he’d been determined to provide it. In truth, he was as eager for the babies to be born as Harry was.

Harry had been spending his free time renovating their home - number twelve Grimmauld Place - which had been overhauled after they’d graduated but was still in need of work. There hadn’t been much of a rush after the initial improvements, though there certainly was now. Draco laid his hands on top of Harry’s, loving the warm light in those green eyes as they locked gazes. The twins moved beneath their hands; beneath Draco’s skin. It was a perfect moment.

Suddenly, Teddy’s voice cut through the air. “Harry! Draco! We picked a movie!”

Harry laughed, leaning in to rest his forehead against Draco’s for a moment; his grin was so large it looked like it might be hurting his cheeks. “Private time’s up, I suppose. Ready?”

“Of course.” Draco agreed as he watched Harry rise, then let the other man haul him to his feet.

And he really was ready: for a movie with the children of his former-enemies, for time off from the job he loved, for the twins to be born. Mostly, he was ready for next chapter in his and Harry’s book; the next part of their Happily-Ever-After.

And to think, it had all started with a spilled potion...