Harry had ducked back into the room to grab the blanket from yesterday and his invisibility cloak, stuffing them and his textbook in his bag on the off chance he'd need them. Yesterday's frost seemed to have been the last of the season; when Harry stepped outside, the sun was warm and welcoming, and the breeze was playful rather than freezing. He began the trek around the castle towards what he rather pathetically thought of as "their spot," trying not to squirm at being quite so early.
He rounded the corner and saw a figure standing just inside the edge of the forest, grey and black clothing blending with the trees. Only the shock of blond hair gave away that there was even anyone there, and a glint of silver off the hand he could see wrapped around the handle of a familiar picnic basket. Harry felt that idiot grin returning as he picked up the pace, striding towards Draco with something akin to confidence.
Draco didn't turn as he approached, so Harry dropped his bag on the ground and came up behind him, wrapping one arm around his slender waist. Draco stiffened, and Harry held his breath as the seconds ticked by. He relaxed slowly, muscle by muscle, eyes forward.
"You're early," said Draco finally, turning a smile on him when he dropped his head to Draco's shoulder.
"You're earlier," said Harry, and Draco slid his arm around Harry's shoulders, pulling him into a comfortable embrace.
Draco turned to look back at the forest, and Harry looked with him. "It's so beautiful, but so dangerous," said Draco tentatively, hand straying to toy with the short-cropped hair at the back of Harry's head.
Harry resisted the urge to purr, revelling in the near caress, letting a contented silence fall around them. He slid his hand lower, stretching until his fingers found the sharp edge of Draco's hip beneath the edge of his sweater. He rubbed it lightly, teasing at the inner edge and contemplating the complex weave of branch and leaf, brush and blossom. Draco's fingers curled into the longer hair, running through it in a manner that was part soothing, part arousing. They stayed that way for long minutes until Harry finally said, "Sounds like you."
Draco laughed, pulling away, fingers trailing across the back of Harry's neck as though reluctant to leave. "Flattery will get you only so far, Harry."
Harry shrugged. "I'll take what I can get."
Draco laughed again, then set down the basket and pulled out a picnic blanket in a deep forest green. It had a fringe of green and silver at two ends, and was thick enough to almost be a carpet. He shook it out and put it down in almost the precise spot of yesterday's picnic, and Harry retrieved his bag and joined Draco on the blanket. "Hot or cold?" he asked, rummaging through the basket.
"Er..." said Harry brightly. "Cold?"
Draco nodded and produced a flask of pumpkin juice, charmed to stay full and chilled much as the cocoa had been yesterday. Two goblets with the Hogwarts crest followed it, and then a lidded silver tray. He also drew out a small book, obviously worn with age and much reading. Figures gambolled across the faded cover, looking for all the world like a couple of pudgy little dragons. When he looked back up at Harry, his eyes were open and vulnerable, and his cheeks were slightly pink.
"I, er..." Draco said, uncharacteristically awkward. "The spice cake made me think... Everyone I know read this when they were little, but you didn't live in a wizarding family. And, er, anyway, I brought fairy cakes!" He lifted the lid with a flourish, revealing half a dozen of the small cakes fairly bulging with cream, the little cake wings practically hovering on top of the white mounds.
Harry grinned, delighted. "I rarely got fairy cakes as a kid, Dudley always got my share."
Draco grinned back, then whispered, "Ala," and the wings began to flap gently, sending up little clouds of white sugar. Harry restrained himself from clapping, although the fluttering seemed to extend to his chest.
"Draco, I-" he began, but Draco held up a hand to stop him.
"If you say something sappy and Gryffindorish, I shall take it very amiss. I would prefer this bout of misplaced nostalgia go as unremarked-upon as possible." His cheeks were a delicate rose, the flush creeping up his ears and down into the high neck of his robes.
"I was just going to say that I'd prefer tea to juice, if you have it," said Harry, reaching for a cake. If Draco wanted to pretend this was just two friends on an ordinary outing, then Harry would oblige him as best he could. He tried not to be amused that Draco had obviously begun mimicking Snape when unsure, instead of his father.
Draco snorted doubtfully and pulled an entire tea service out of the basket, which Harry didn't quite think was physically possible. This being the wizarding world and all, however, he was willing to let it go. "Sugar and cream?" Draco asked, pouring two cups.
"Lots," said Harry. He'd somehow managed to inherit a sweet tooth, probably from being denied any as a child. He accepted the brimming cup and saucer, then sipped carefully. It was sweet and creamy, but the tea still came through strongly. It tasted of flowers and vanilla and a little bit like bergamot, and he made a happy little mmm noise that brought the flush back to Draco's cheeks.
Draco set the basket aside and stretched out on his stomach, raising up on his elbows to snag a fairy cake. Harry admired the way his legs looked in the soft black pants a bit like the ones he'd given Harry, tucked into low boots of supple black leather. A loose-knit sweater fell down to his thighs, touchable cotton in a grey several shades darker than his eyes. He had a black high-collared shirt on underneath in what looked like silk, three winking ebony buttons holding it closed at the throat.
Harry had also left robes behind, in favour of old, faded blue jeans spelled skintight. He had on his usual ratty sneakers, but he'd unearthed a white dress shirt to wear under the emerald-green sweater he'd found in the bottom of his trunk. It had been big enough for a blanket when he'd gotten it, so he'd never worn it despite the fact that he'd long suspected it would look good on him. He'd shoved up the sleeves and then rolled up the shirtsleeves to hold everything in place, leaving the top button of the collar undone.
"What'd you bring, anyway, Harry?" asked Draco, indicating Harry's school bag with a toss of his head.
"Well, I was early, so I brought the blanket and my Potions book." Harry decided not to mention the invisibility cloak just yet. "I'd like to be able to pass my NEWT in it, but I seem to be deluding myself," he added ruefully.
Harry took a bite of his cake, getting icing sugar on his nose from the wings. The flavor seemed familiar, like a distant childhood memory of happiness he'd never really had. Draco made a noise that sounded suspiciously like suppressed laughter. Harry ignored him in favour of devouring the sweet bite by delicious bite, pleasantly surprised to find a small dollop of blueberry preserves hiding under the cream.
Draco was already on his third cake, somehow managing to stay impeccable despite the gentle motion. "Are yours raspberry?" asked Harry, curious.
"Yep," said Draco, closing his eyes and biting in with that same expression of rapture from last night. Harry was touched that he'd remembered, and cut off that line of thought before it went any further. He did not need to be remembering the rest of that evening, Draco's mouth on his fingers, his face rubbing against Harry's in the mirror.
Harry concentrated on the different scents and flavours, trying to memorize it for future reference. He had one cake left, still flapping somewhat forlornly on the tray, when the cup was empty. He crawled over to the tea service rather than disturb Draco, who seemed to have been sent into a transcendental state by the raspberry filling. He refilled his cup and liberally doctored it, only to find Draco's empty cup magically appearing at his side.
"Two sugars, lots of cream," said Draco, eyes still closed. Harry snickered and complied, setting the full cup within easy reach.
He sat back, admiring the curve of Draco's calves, the sway of his back, working his way up to the cap of hair that seemed pale gold in this light and nearly silver at other times. He was mentally tracing the high cheek bones and pondering his last fairy cake when Draco's eyes opened lazily. "Book?"
Harry smiled. "Sure." He drained his tea and tried to remember the spell to still the cake, unwilling to try and concentrate with little puffs of sugar floating on the breeze. "Ala," he whispered, and the flutter stilled. He covered it up with the lid and set it next to the tea service with his cup. "For later," he explained.
Draco grinned. "I never was very good at hoarding, myself. I could always get more if I threw an impressive enough tantrum."
Harry snickered, and Draco gave him a dangerous look, which just made him snicker again. He raised one eyebrow, and Harry burst out laughing. Draco crossed his arms over his chest and did his best to look affronted, a difficult task with his eyes twinkling with suppressed mirth. Harry calmed himself down enough to say, "Not you, Draco," before dissolving into giggles again.
Draco held the haughty pose for about four heartbeats before dissolving into quiet sniggering. They both laughed themselves breathless, and Harry briefly considered telling Draco how much more he'd laughed in the last few days before deciding that if he didn't know by now, he probably didn't want to. He ended up flat on his back on the blanket, feet by the tea set and head pillowed on his bag as he stared breathlessly into the cerulean sky.
Draco snagged the book, then laid down with his head on Harry's stomach. Harry just tucked his hands behind his head and made sure he could see the illustrations. There were definitely two chubby little dragons frolicking on the cover, underneath the title, Playtime for Draco.
He let himself drift a bit as Draco opened it and began reading in soft, youthful tones. The dragons in the pictures acted out each scene right along with his voice, and Harry had a vision of a much younger Draco reading this book out loud to himself. He seemed to savour the words, and he even did voices for the dialog, as though he'd done it a thousand times. When he was done, he closed the book and laid it on his stomach, folding his hands over it and closing his eyes.
Harry realized that at some point his hand had gone from behind his head to tangle in Draco's hair, but he wasn't about to stop until Draco objected. The hair was as soft as it looked, heavy and sun-warmed. Harry was surprised to find that for once, he was touching Draco and not thinking of anything but how good it felt to be close to someone like this. His very lack of a reaction gave him hope that maybe he'd be able to just be Draco's friend, to transmute his desire into moments like these.
He and Draco walked into dinner together, having dropped the basket off with the frantic house-elves and put Harry's bag in Draco's room. As they'd approached the door, still blanketed in their friendly silence, Draco had suddenly said, "I can help you, you know."
"Er, what?" had been Harry's confused reply.
"With Potions. Tonight. I can help."
"Oh, that. Thanks," said Harry, and that had been that.
Now they were faced with an entire hall full of curious faces, even the teachers looking on in wonder as Draco gave Harry's arm a friendly pat before they separated to sit at their respective house tables. Harry wolfed his food, barely noticing when Ron and Hermione sat flanking him, eager to get away from all the prying eyes and whispering gossip.
"Are you sure this is wise?" hissed Hermione, following his rapt gaze to where Draco was eating slightly faster than his usual languorous pace.
Harry looked over at her and then nodded once, authoritatively. Her brow creased even further.
"It seems like tempting fate, to me," she whispered, obviously disgruntled.
"Did you find anything else out?" Harry asked, suddenly worried that there might be something really wrong, something new.
"Not really," she replied. "Just that this particular potion was considered to be almost neutral magic, but got outlawed with the rest, just to be safe. It's why Snape was allowed to mention it in class at all, because it's not a compulsion, it just... shifts your perception."
"Well, then I'm safe, right?" He glanced over at Draco, who seemed to be getting irritated with a small, ratlike girl on his left. "I mean, really, we need all the interhouse loyalty we can get, and he and I mending our ways can only foster that."
Hermione wrinkled her nose, and then said exasperatedly, "Ron, you explain it to him!"
"I dunno, Hermione, I think he's right. The war is coming, and we all know it, and the Slytherins are the front line right now. You saw those two we pulled off the gates."
She stopped him, holding up a hand and shuddering. "Fine, fine. But I mean it about being careful. Subtle magics are often the most dangerous."
Her very significant look reminded him of the many things Voldemort had tried over the years to get to him, and he nodded once, slowly. "You're right, of course, I'm being a git. But at the same time, I think he deserves a real chance."
They all three let their eyes drift over to the Slytherin table, where Draco had his head bent over a scribbled roll of parchment in the hands of a third-year housemate. Harry's heart did a little hop when he ruffled the boy's hair before sending him back to his seat. It was obvious even from here that the boy was thanking Draco profusely for something, and once again Harry wondered just how wrong they'd all been when it came to Draco Malfoy. The real question was, was this kinder, gentler Draco the real person, or just a new, disarming mask?
Standing in the Potions classroom, alone with Draco Malfoy, Harry was reminded of a thousand different moments. The room was dark and empty, just a few candles lighting the station they'd commandeered for their work. "All right," said Draco, Harry's text in his lap, "What next?"
They were making one of the potions that was almost guaranteed to go on the NEWTs, Draco patiently explaining to Harry the things he didn't understand. Occasionally he'd even begin to wax passionate about the reasons why the arrowroot had to go in before the chopped bloodworms, or why it had to be dug up only during the New Moon. Harry was not only beginning to remember once again why he'd signed up for yet another year of Snape, but starting to see the real reason Snape and Draco got along so well.
"Er," said Harry, looking at the ingredients before him. He'd added this, and that... that was last, and that wasn't even in the potion, Draco had just wanted to make sure he could tell it from... "Tadpole tails?"
"Good, now do you know why?" asked Draco as Harry plopped them all into the thick, bubbling goo.
"Nope," said Harry cheerfully. He smiled to himself, carefully chopping the next few ingredients up and weighing them out as Draco launched into another tirade about associative magic.
***
They stayed up until after midnight, lying on their stomachs in Draco's bed, poring over one of Draco's old herbals. When Draco had made a comment concerning Harry's imminent detention for violating curfew yet again, Harry had just winked and said, "Naah, I've got a secret."
At one point, Harry noticed they'd scooted close enough that their entire bodies were touching, from shoulder to knee. Draco had his feet crossed at the ankle, almost hanging over the edge of the bed, but Harry's were up behind him, swinging gently back and forth. He'd looked over at some random comment and had the sharp urge to kiss the sharp curve of Draco's jaw, to see if his lips still tasted of that last blueberry fairy cake they'd shared only an hour ago.
He turned back to the herbal, abruptly aware of the line of heat along his side where they touched. His breathing had quickened, and things were starting to stir down below. "So," said Draco, noticing that he'd stopped reading to stare off into space. "What's this secret?"
Draco had asked at random intervals since Harry had brought it up, and this time was no different as Harry smiled and said, "You'll see."
Except this time, Draco rolled over onto his side, taking away his heat and making Harry shiver ever so slightly. "Last chance to tell," he said warningly, but Harry was too distracted to heed it, trying instead to quell the rush of feeling making his blood sing.
He almost fell out of bed when Draco pounced, agile hands finding his ribs and tickling him mercilessly. He laughed and wriggled and squirmed and tickled right back, all to no avail. In the end, he curled into a ball and begged for Draco to stop. "Tell me, or I'll break out the big guns," said Draco, towering on his knees where he was straddling Harry's legs to hold them still.
"Fine, fine," said Harry, still breathless. "Let me up and I'll show you."
Draco had glared, but moved, making it obvious with his every motion that he was doing so reluctantly. Harry snagged his book bag off the floor and dug under the blanket until he encountered the familiar cool fabric of his invisibility cloak. He stood up, then drew it out of the bag and threw it around his shoulders with a flourish worthy of, well, a Malfoy.
Draco let out a long, low whistle. "Where did a boy like you get a thing like that?" he asked, his tone almost flirtatious.
Harry pulled the cloak off again, smoothing the fabric through his hands absently. "It was my dad's," he said quietly.
"Ace," said Draco, leaning back on the bed and looking disturbingly sexy, his normally immaculate clothing and hair dishevelled from their tussle. Harry bit his lip, looking down at the cloth in his hands, trying not to let his thoughts show on his flushed face. Draco straightened his clothes and then rolled back into position on the bed, patting the space next to him. "Come on, we're almost done with this chapter. Then you can sneak back to your beloved Gryffindors."
Harry climbed back in, scooting close and wondering why he was suddenly curious what life might have been like if he'd been in Slytherin all these years.
They'd closed the book an hour ago, and were now lying on their sides, facing one another with barely a foot of space between them. Harry had repeatedly squashed the urge to play footsie, to lean in for a kiss, to roll over and pin Draco down and just grind until they both were breathless, and, hopefully, rather damp about the crotch. Instead, he concentrated very, er, well, very hard on not giving any of his bad thoughts away.
Eventually, silence fell, and they just lay there while the candles burned down, both staring into things the other couldn't see. "So, Harry, you say you're still pure as the driven snow," asked Draco, voice low and full of something Harry couldn't, or wouldn't, identify. "What exactly does that mean?"
"I'm almost positive you're familiar with the standards for virginity, Draco," said Harry crossly. He'd been entertaining a lovely fantasy of Draco shattering all those standards with him, and felt a bit like a child with his hand caught in the cookie jar.
"Well, yes, I'm pretty sure it means you've not fucked or been fucked, but I want to know... just how pure are you?" He leaned in, closing the gap between them ever so slightly, then reached over and laid a hand on Harry's hip.
Harry bit his lip and pretended to be considering the question while he worked to keep his breathing under control. Fortunately the red in his cheeks could easily be explained by the subject matter. "I've kissed a couple of girls. Um, no boys, though."
"Kissed, or snogged?" asked Draco, scooting closer. Harry swallowed.
"Er, what's the difference?" he asked, nervous. His sweater wasn't long or thick enough that Draco wouldn't immediately find out that Harry's thoughts had been less than pure, were he to get much closer.
"Kissing is just, y'know, a quick peck. Snogging is long, drawn out, with tongues and possibly marks left in interesting places." Draco's breath was hot and slightly sour, and Harry wanted to find what kinds of places he'd leave marks.
"Oh, just kissing, then," said Harry. "What about you?"
Draco flushed, but he seemed to realize that turnabout was, in fact, fair play. "I've done a bit of snogging, both boys and girls, in my time. I've, er, shagged a boy or two. Even made the mistake of shagging Pansy once," he gave an expressive shudder. "I am definitely not straight."
Harry tried not to, but he couldn't help it. He laughed. Draco's echoing laugh was edged with hysteria, as though he'd expected a different reaction, or a different question. Harry ended up with a hand on Draco's shoulder to steady himself, leaning in, head down, feeling Draco's breath on his ear. They were leaning drunkenly together, one hip and thigh touching, but the others still far apart enough to keep Harry's dirty little secret.
"So, no unicorn's tears for you, then," said Harry softly, and that set them off again. This time, Harry rolled onto his back, having been hit with a very strong urge to press his body into Draco's like they'd been glued. Draco curled up next to him, head on Harry's arm, hand on his stomach, one foot tangled with Harry's leg.
"How did you decide you weren't straight, Harry?" he asked softly, fingers plucking at Harry's sweater.
Harry blushed, and his pants gave a bit of an obvious twitch. "Er, well, I... I took your suggestion and, er, tested people out." He gave a flick of his wrist that got a snicker out of Draco.
"No longer relying on dreams?" Draco asked, his voice sounding far too innocent.
"I'm sure Dobby will be disappointed," said Harry, which broke them both. Harry's stomach hurt by the time they were done laughing, and he found himself cradling a gently panting Draco.
His body was far too interested in the situation, and he was starting to quietly panic. He was seventeen, and there was only so sodding much self-control that could be expected of him, and Draco's fingers straying up under the edge of his sweater was just about the last straw. "Draco?" he squeaked, then cleared his throat. "I should, er... It's late."
Draco looked up at him with heavy-lidded eyes, blinking slowly. "Yes, I suppose it is."
Harry braved a quick hug, which Draco responded to by burying his face in Harry's chest and gripping his hip rather alarmingly. When they parted, Harry was at least gratified to see that they were both looking a bit glazed. All this talk of snogging, and he wasn't the only one getting a bit distracted. "You know, Harry, I don't think we're enemies anymore," said Draco softly as Harry scooted off the bed.
Harry smiled gently. "That's what I've been saying all along."
