Chapter 17
In Which We See How Love Interacts With the Spirit of Competitiveness

They woke tangled, sticky, and strangely well-rested, for all that they'd only had a bare few hours' sleep. They stumbled, giggling, into their new bathroom and spent a long, leisurely time snogging in the shower before going outside to get dressed and make sure their Quidditch gear was all ready. By mutual consent, neither of them mentioned the upcoming match, anticipation and worry fluttering through their stomachs like a swarm of moths unable to decide between two enthralling candle flames.

They arrived in the Great Hall amidst cheers and catcalls, both teams assembled and calling for the Seekers to join them. They turned and kissed rather chastely, much to the delight and occasional disgust of their audience, and then each went their own separate ways. Harry sat with the Gryffindor team, laughing and smiling through the tug in his chest that told him that Draco was right over there, nervous and excited and happy.

"I can't believe you kissed him in front of the whole school!" Ron grinned and slung an arm around Harry's shoulders as he loaded his porridge with sugar and cream. "That'll give those tossers something to think about."

"Er, which tossers?" asked Harry absently, nibbling at the concoction. He still didn't actually like porridge, but today he'd wanted something bland, heavy and grounding. His mind was already half in the skies, and his heart was beating in time to his rival's, so he thought maybe the lump in his stomach would keep some part of him focused on the earth below.

"Nevermind them, Harry, we've got yer back!" said Andrew Kirke, ruffling his hair. The Beaters had both taken Harry's relationship in stride once they'd seen how much his Quidditch had improved -- as far as they were concerned, he could be buggering a chicken, and they'd be happy if it made him a better Seeker. He knew this for a fact, because they'd said so in just those words after practice on Wednesday, much to Harry's chagrin.

"What're you talking about?" said Harry again, this time a bit more vehemently. "Why do I need you at my back?"

"There's just been some talk, is all," said Ginny rather disgustedly. "There's still a lot of prejudice about you two, despite all the good it's done for everyone. I mean, it's not exactly common even in the Wizarding world for two boys to suddenly up and start shagging, is it?"

Harry flushed, and tried to quell the slow rise of anger in his chest. "What've they been saying?" he said evenly, trying to keep calm, to keep Draco from coming over and hearing it.

"Oh, you know, the usual name-calling," said Ron dismissively. "Not very original, are they? Not big on thinking for themselves."

"Just parroting their parents, really," said Euan Abercrombie, one of the new Chasers.

Harry felt worry gnaw through him like a worm hollowing out an apple. "How do their parents know?" he said, dreading the answer. Something was nagging at his attention, and he had a feeling Draco was getting the same news where he sat.

They all looked vaguely guilty, then Ginny wordlessly slid a copy of Witch Weekly out from under her plate and over to Harry. The headline read, "The Boy Who Loved Boys?" The article was, if anything, less flattering than the headline, and the first picture was an old one of Harry hanging out with the Weasley twins, laughing good-naturedly and looking askance at the subtitle, which read, "Fred and George Weasley -- Friends or More?"

"Oh bugger," said Harry. "Their mum'll have seen this! I mean... Bloody hell."

He read through the article slowly, blood draining from his face. No one had been spared, any male Harry had ever had contact with, including the professors, was conjectured to have had some sort of inappropriate relationship with him. The crowning touch was a photo down past the fold, of Draco and Harry from their day in Hogsmeade. They looked so happy together, leaning briefly against the wall when they'd stepped aside to let a group of students past, looking for all the world like young lovers on an outing. Looking happy.

That caption read, "Draco Malfoy -- Potter's Latest Conquest?"

"So, they have no idea what's actually going on, then," said Harry firmly, setting the paper down. "I mean, obviously if they're accusing me of having shagged Snape, they're totally off their rocker. I'd've got better marks, for one thing."

"Harry, it's..." Ron glanced around nervously. "Look, no one really knows about the whole purity thing, I mean, I told the Gryffindors as soon as I saw the article, figuring you'd rather be outed as a virgin than some poncing slag." Harry blushed and nodded, and Ron plowed on, "But the thing is, no one's ever understood why you didn't drop Potions after Fifth Year, and most of us are totally in the dark about the whole Malfoy thing."

"So, you're saying that they think... they think I..." Harry tried to be offended or mortified, but he just couldn't keep from giggling at the images in his head. "With Snape? And, oh god, Flitwick?" He collapsed with laughter, which got him a lovely tickling of puzzlement from Draco that only made him laugh harder.

At the mention of Flitwick's name, eyes went wide. Ginny grabbed the paper away and began scanning the article again, and Ron looked for a moment like someone had goosed him before joining Harry in hysteria. That seemed to set the rest of them off, and soon the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team was collapsed against one another in helpless laughter, much to the bemusement of their fellow students.

---

Harry felt centred, excited, ready, and he knew that Draco felt the same. The sky was calling him, that little patch of blue that he could see at the end of the tunnel as they stood, waiting with bated breath for Madame Hooch to call them out. He launched himself in a soaring rush, circling around with the rest of the team, impatient for things to begin so he could go higher, faster, higher.

Draco was right there with him, in green and black and silver gilt, impatience beating at his chest like a trapped bird waiting to get out, get done, just fly. They barely heard the opening words spoken as they circled above their teams like a strange compass, Harry always directly opposite Draco, climbing slowly upwards until it barely registered that people were cheering, and the balls had been released.

Harry found that place inside him already waiting and went there, pulled Draco with him, and they both opened their attention out and out and out, to the sky and the wind and the kids in the stands, the bludgers and quaffle and always, always looking for the telltale sparkling of the golden snitch. He vaguely registered that some Slytherins were holding a rude banner up for his inspection, barely noticed as someone scored, and scored again. These things weren't important, weren't him, or Draco, or the snitch.

They did a dance of feints and rushes, loops and laps and odd little dips. They didn't so much mirror one another as complement, taking the spill of adrenaline and feeding it back and forth like heady wine passed between open mouths. It was a little like being drunk, and he was almost painfully aware each time his heart contracted, pushing more of the excitement into his blood. The game flowed on and on below them, but all he cared about was the sky, his love, and that telltale glitter of gold.

He dove straight up just for the sheer joy of it, felt Draco's chest surge and saw him diving down, down, spiralling towards the other players just for the rush of the acceleration. He saw a play happen, but was too far up to hear what it was, just something with green-clad players and Ron. He saw Ron get hit by a bludger and spiral out of control, dove down to find him, help him somehow, but a wild surge of excitement in his chest pulled him away.

He changed his dive until his broom was pointing in the same direction as that pulsing arrow in his chest, picked up speed until the world was a blur around him. His eyes had caught the snitch as soon as he'd turned, his dive more clean and straight than Draco's climb, no players in the way at all just him and empty air. They were headed straight for one another, angling to crash quite spectacularly unless one of them pulled back.

He dove into a wall of sound, the cheering around him constant, the air filling up with taunts and encouragements, wordless cries of excitement and even someone singing under their breath. The snitch was hovering right near the stands, waiting patiently under the banner declaiming, "Potter is a Pillow-Biting Ponce!" He stretched his hand out, already beginning to correct so that he'd only bump rather hard into the green-and-silver canvas instead of slamming into it at breakneck speed. Draco's arm was there, too, hand in his field of vision and they ended up tangled together in a breath-stealing rush of limbs and brooms.

When he opened his eyes, he saw their hands curled tight together, Draco's over his, the snitch firmly snuggled in Harry's palm. They were hovering a few feet above the ground, and Madam Hooch was already on her way over, whistle blowing. "Now," she said sternly as they began disentangling themselves, "Who got it?"

They held up still-entwined hands, then Draco unfolded his to show Harry's clenched fist. Harry opened his hand to show the snitch, fluttering nervously against his palm. "Gryffindor, then," she said, flying off.

Much to Harry's shock, he heard Seamus' familiar voice saying bemusedly, "Gryffindor has come away with the snitch, but that only puts them at 160! In a stunning upset, Slytherin, with 180 points, is the winner!"

He looked down at the snitch in his palm, and Draco's shining grin, and couldn't even feel bad. He hadn't been paying attention to the game, not really, but he'd definitely have to give Ron a great deal of crap for letting 18 bloody goals through while he wasn't looking. Still, the students were cheering, as it seemed a double victory -- the snitch for Gryffindor, but the game and Cup to Slytherin. Their teammates finally pulled them apart, snitch still clutched loosely in his fingers as they carried him to the locker room.

"I can't believe you caught it when we were so far down!" complained Ron good-naturedly. "Of course, I still can't believe I took two bludgers and only have a sprained shoulder to show for it."

"'Two?" said Harry, stunned. The game had felt so short to him, but then, his head hadn't really been down with the team this time. "Ouch."

"Yeah, sorry 'bout that, Ron," said Jack, giving him a slap on his good shoulder. "Bit of rotten luck, that."

"We were bloody awful!" wailed Natalie MacDonald, one of the two younger Chasers. "I can't believe we only got in one goal! Their new Keeper's sodding brilliant." Her voice held a combination of admiration and disgust, "And Crabbe and Goyle are vicious Beaters, no offence, guys."

The Gryffindor Beaters waved her off. "At least you got the snitch, Harry, so no one can say that you weren't doing your best. Those last two goals happened while you were diving for it, after Ron took his second hit, so it really was a close game."

"Still, I'm sorry we lost," said Ron sadly. "I mean, what a bloody awesome finish that would have been, eh? Getting the cup by the space of a heartbeat. I was shocked when Madam Hooch had to go check and see which of you'd actually caught it!"

They all nodded, grinning, and Harry let their enthusiasm warm him. Draco had a similar sort of mixed excitement and chagrin, for the opposite reasons, and Harry felt that now-familiar tugging telling him that what they both really wanted was just to be together. Which wouldn't actually get to happen for hours, because the one thing Harry wasn't about to do with his, er, whatever Draco was, was go to the Slytherin victory party.

---

Harry could feel Draco's mood changing throughout the night, a steady downward tug from elation to annoyance that he was pretty sure he could explain. Between the rude banner and Draco's failure to catch the snitch, the party was probably not the friendliest place for him to be. Harry tried to send a wave of comfort, having left the Gryffindor common room as quickly as possible himself for rather similar reasons. He was now curled up in their bed wearing a set of Draco's silk pyjamas, drinking tea and studying for next week's ordeal: NEWTs.

He wasn't taking as many as some, but they weren't called Nastily Exhausting for nothing. At least it got him out of exams in the related classes. Snape was making all his Advanced Potions students take the NEWT in lieu of an exam, but the rest of the teachers, realizing that not every student was actually taking NEWTs, made it optional. Harry was taking four out of some misplaced Hermione-instilled masochism: Potions, of course, and DADA, plus Charms and Transfigurations.

Draco was taking Potions, Ancient Runes and Charms, so Harry was rather unsuccessfully trying to study his Transfigurations while he waited. The downward spiral of Draco's emotions was distracting, like having a damp towel sitting on his chest that went from pleasantly warm to lukewarm to distractingly chilly and finally just uncomfortably heavy and cold. He was relieved when he could finally set the book aside as the feelings -- and Draco with them -- drew closer, begging for a reprieve.

Harry tidied the room with a wave of his wand, lit the candles with a muttered charm and pulled out one of his hidden boxes of chocolates, raspberry truffles he'd ordered from Honeydukes just yesterday. The owl had delivered them this morning during the last odd bits of breakfast, and he'd cajoled a house elf into stashing them in his wardrobe for him on his way to the pitch. He figured either way he'd want them, as consolation or congratulation, never expecting they'd serve as both at once.

He also took a moment to prepare himself, amused at the curiosity he sparked in Draco as he did so, making his own mood go furtive and decidedly sexual. He elected to leave the pyjamas off, instead sitting on the very middle of the bed, with the bow-bedecked chocolates over his other welcoming gift to Draco. Draco burst in a few seconds later, face dark with irritation, and broke into a slow grin like dawn.

"Much better than a party," he said softly, crawling over the bed to kiss Harry like he was the chocolate and the filling had to be licked out of every crevice of his mouth. Harry didn't mind in the least, leaning back and letting himself be ravished.

"Silencio," said Draco softly with a flick of his wand, and the room grew quiet, muffled. Harry grinned his understanding, then let his grin go wicked as he set the box aside and flipped them over.

Draco didn't struggle, in fact he helped undress himself, but he seemed almost confused and afraid when Harry wouldn't let him do anything afterwards, pushing his hands away and trying to get him to lie down. Instead, Harry shook his head and mouthed, "Let me." After a long, tense moment, Draco nodded, and went limp and passive, almost as though he was going to sleep on top of the covers.

Harry took note of the anxiety lurking in his eyes, and spent a long time just kissing Draco, trying to put his mind at ease. Draco's mouth was stiff at first, almost as bad as their first kiss, but Harry knew how to make it warm and pliant again. He grabbed the box and tore off the ribbons, tying them around his own erection with a grin that made Draco giggle, then pulled a single truffle out of the gold packaging. Draco's eyes went wide and hungry, and Harry grinned.

He bit off the truffle, smearing the chocolate liberally over his mouth. This time, when he leaned in for a kiss, Draco's lips met his eagerly, tongue flicking out to lick at the tangy sweetness. The silence was eerie, not even their breathing audible, and yet he could still hear the beat of their hearts in his mind, could feel the magic begin to seep out of its hiding place and spill into his veins. Draco grew hard and began to thrust his hips upwards, crumpling the bow soundlessly between their bodies.

Harry pulled back and bit into the truffle again, letting the chocolate dissolve into a sweet syrup on his tongue before returning for another deep kiss. Draco repeated his earlier performance, which made something warm and happy rise up in Harry's chest at the thought that he was equally delicious to Draco with or without chocolate. When he pulled back this time, Draco looked glazed and sated, no trace of the earlier nervousness remaining.

Instead of eating the last of the truffle, Harry traced it over one of the scars on Draco's chest, roughly smudging the silvery line with brown. Draco's eyes went wide, but he stayed limp and obedient as Harry traced over his chest and stomach, arms and hips, going through two more truffles before he finished with Draco's legs. He fed the last bite directly to his lover, letting him lick the melted sweetness off his fingers before bending to his new task.

Draco arched, mouth opening in what might have been a gasp as Harry's tongue traced over one of the lines. The scar was smooth under his tongue as it had been many times before, this morning, last night. It was different now, though, following the line instead of steadfastly ignoring it, forcing them both to acknowledge that Draco's past was a part of who he was now. The lack of sound sharpened this new sense he had of Draco's emotions, and he felt the cold echoes of pain, eased them with a balm of love and understanding.

Harry knew about loss, about living as a child in a world where the adults who held your life in their hands didn't love you enough, or at all. He'd never been violated the way Draco had, but he had the scar on his hand that attested to his endurance of deliberate cruelty, less obvious than the one on his forehead but no less real. He put that empathy into his mouth and let it spill out, not in words, but feelings, tracing lines of kindness and desire and affection over skin that once knew only pain and disappointment.

There was some other, subtler magic going on that Harry couldn't place, but he didn't worry too much as he licked every scar he could find, even pausing to delve deeply into Draco's belly button, making his stomach flutter as he giggled soundlessly. Some of the scars wrapped around towards Draco's back, and Harry followed those as far as he could reach, promising silently to finish when he got to the other side.

He traced down, finding the scars from Quidditch and other childhood mishaps mixed in with Lucius' strange symbols, crossing over them and interfering with whatever magic Harry could feel tingling between them. He was beginning to worry about just what was going on here, that he should have left this for another night, but he felt a strong pull to finish anyway. He traced down Draco's legs, sucking at his ankles, licking along the bottom of one foot where the long tail of a rune curled around, trying not to think about how much that must have hurt.

He tried to replace the old pain with fresh pleasure, to built a new memory for the marks in Draco's mind. He knew he couldn't ever erase the past, but he could try to transmute the consequences in the present as best he could. He slid his hands up and gently rolled Draco over, then began licking up his calves, tracing this time without the aid of candy. His tongue slid around Draco's hip to complete the unfinished rune there, went up along his ribs and down his spine.

Draco was breathing fast, spikes of panic and desire keeping Harry centred and careful. Harry stroked his free hand over Draco's flank soothingly, tracing the back of his neck and over his shoulders, down his arms and sucking on the spidery tracing between two fingers that was obviously some innocuous childhood injury. The magic now crawled over them in electric tingles, and didn't seem to like that Harry paid equal attention to other, older and newer scars.

Harry had saved the best and worst for last, going down over Draco's side to join up with the scars on his ass, finally taking that spiderwebbed path down into his cleft. He'd been longing to do this since Draco had done it to him that first night, exploring Draco's secret places and seeing just how far in the trailing scars went. The first one he chose went straight to the centre of him, and Harry licked fearlessly in and over the oddly rough pucker, savouring the dark flavor.

Draco's panic had all but gone, replaced by a wash of desire as Harry circled around the inviting opening. He dipped his tongue inside and got a wash of lust, both Draco's and his own, driving him to thrust deeper. The magic was eager now, trying to draw him out to finish the last few lines, but something in Harry knew that he didn't want to activate whatever sleeping magic he'd awakened. Instead, he pulled away entirely, grabbing blindly for a truffle and biting down. The familiar flavor grounded him, and he crawled up Draco's body for a deep, slow kiss.

He rolled Draco over again and straddled him, his own body still slick and ready from his hasty preparations. Draco's eyes were dark and wild as Harry sank down on his cock, taking him in despite the almost hypnotic call of those last few secret scars. It was a strange pull, trying to get them to stop the act that was now so natural, but Harry had experience with this sort of thing, and it was far gentler than Moody's Imperius. He sunk himself in the pleasure of Draco's cock, Draco's hands and lips and the beat of their hearts, and ignored the compulsion.

Other things built instead, the hot wash of the potion's magic disrupting the ant-crawl of the compulsion, the sparkle of impending release making them both pale. He could feel Draco, already on the knife's edge of desire and pulling Harry along with him, and Harry canted his hips and tightened his body just so. Draco's hand wrapped around Harry's length and gave a single long stroke made rough by the ribbons still looped around it, and they both went over the edge. Light exploded golden behind Harry's eyelids, and he felt his breath torn away.

When he came to seconds later, Draco's eyes were riveted on something over Harry's shoulder, and wide with fear.