DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

The lyrics used in this fic are from the song 'In a Manner of Speaking' by Nouvelle Vague. I make no claim to own the rights to these lyrics and no copyright infringement is intended.

A/N: Just a little one-shot idea that popped into my head while I was trying to sleep the other night. An uncensored version can be found at my LJ via the link in my profile, just in case anyone would prefer that.

Thanks goes, as always, to Meg, without whom I would never get around to fleshing out and finishing the random plot-bunnies that hop into my head!

In this life that we live we only make do
And the way that we feel might have to be sacrificed

So in a manner of speaking I just want to say
That just like you I should find a way
To tell you everything by saying nothing

It was with no small amount of trepidation that Harry Potter Apparated to Malfoy Manor one Saturday evening in early October. After six months of avoidance and excuses he realised that he could no longer put off returning Malfoy's wand to him, especially since he himself had had a new wand (a gift from Olivander in return for saving him from this very Manor) for over a month now.

Taking a deep breath, Harry walked up to the imposing wrought iron gates and was more than a little disconcerted when a house-elf appeared with a loud crack before he even had chance to reach them.

"Er…hello." He shuffled his feet awkwardly as he watched the creature's eyes stretch impossibly wide as they took in his scar, sighing inwardly at the realisation that even amongst magical creatures he was treated like a freak show.

Luckily the elf recovered soon enough to ask who it was that Harry wanted to see, and Harry didn't miss the slight shock that passed over the trembling little face when he announced that it was young Master Malfoy that Harry needed to see. Since Harry doubted that house-elves were aware of their schoolboy rivalry, he assumed that meant that Malfoy very rarely received visitors. Considering the fact that most of his friends were now either incarcerated or deceased, that would make sense.

Harry shook his head to dislodge those thoughts, knowing they would only trigger painful memories of his own fallen friends, and instead followed the house-elf up the winding gravel path, clearing his throat when they veered to the left instead of following the path to the front entrance.

"Master Draco is in the rose garden," the elf told him before Harry even had chance to ask, and Harry had to wonder why the prat was outside at this time. The sun had set while Harry had been having dinner with the Weasleys around an hour ago, leaving the October air even more chilly in its wake.

Harry cast a Warming Charm as he entered the rose garden, feeling more than a little disturbed at the way the garden blossomed as if it were spring, despite his eight years in the magical world that told him that by now pretty much anything was possible.

In spite of the dark Harry was still able to make out the beautiful array of colours thanks to the lamps that were stationed at intervals along the path that cut through the centre of the garden and the multi-coloured fairies that Harry could see flitting between the trees around the perimeter.

It was under one of the lamps that Malfoy was sat, his white-blond hair glinting in the light as he looked out across the garden, his profile still as pointy as Harry remembered it, and the sneer that marred his face as he finally turned to look at the approaching pair was also the same as always.

"Potter, what are you doing here?"

Harry tensed at the antagonistic tone but was distantly amused by the way the house-elf to his left made a speedy exit in the face of Malfoy's angry expression. After a deep breath he held out the hawthorn wand to Malfoy and forced himself not to rise to the bait. He'd had enough of fighting people; he just wanted to return the wand and move on with his life.

"Returning this," he answered simply and was rewarded with a perked eyebrow.

"Why?" Malfoy made no move to take the wand and Harry started to feel slightly stupid with his outstretched hand hanging between them.

"Because it's your wand."

"It's been my wand for the last six months that you've had it but this is the first time you've made any attempt to return it. Why now?"

"Because…" Harry could feel himself getting irritated already. "Because I've been busy-"

"Ah, yes, the fast-paced lifestyle of the wizarding world's Boy Hero definitely trumps the moral obligation to return stolen property."

"Stolen- what? Look, Malfoy, I didn't come here to argue. And I sincerely doubt you know anything about morality." Malfoy scoffed and rolled his eyes. "But if you wanted your wand you could have contacted me yourself, you know."

"Perhaps. But unlike the rest of the wizarding world, Potter, I find the prospect of communicating with you and spending time in your presence nauseating."

"Is that why you look like shit now?"

Malfoy got to his feet, his grey eyes glinting with fury as he grabbed the wand from Harry's hand. "Oh, fuck you, Potter. You have no idea what it's been like for me recently. How much I've lost-"

"News flash, Malfoy." Harry interrupted before Malfoy could get started on what promised to be a pretty impressive tirade. "The world does not revolve around you. Everyone lost someone they loved in the War one way or another. Everyone is dealing with the same sort of feelings. So don't even try that one on me; I, more than anyone, know how hard the last six months have been."

For a moment Harry thought Malfoy was going to start up again but then his shoulders slumped slightly and he dropped his gaze to look at the wand between his fingers, fondling the wood almost reverently.

He sighed and went back to sitting on the bench, and Harry followed him after a minute, a part of his brain pointing out that holding on to old grudges wouldn't do anything to help rebuild the wizarding world. If there was one thing that Harry had actually agreed with from the endless number of Ministry dinners and celebratory speeches given after the final battle, it was that unity amongst the wizarding community would be the key to saving their world from any similar threats in future.

"Malfoy, I didn't come here to argue." Harry sighed when it became apparent that Malfoy himself wasn't going to reply, and when Harry actually glanced over at the other boy his head was bowed, his blond hair hanging limply around his face. Harry wondered whether Malfoy really was struggling to adapt to this new post-War world if he was allowing his poncy appearance to suffer so obviously.

"Do you," Harry started, clearing his throat uncertainly, feeling half-insane for even considering asking this question to Malfoy of all people. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

Harry couldn't honestly say he hadn't been expecting that. "Why not?"

"Because I hate you." Harry rolled his eyes, trying to summon patience from deep within himself. "And you hate me. And to pretend otherwise would be ridiculous."

"I don't hate you…" Harry frowned as he realised it was true, but in the last six months he'd come to realise a lot of things, not least that he'd built up far too much hatred in the last seven years to be healthy. "Anymore."

Malfoy looked completely shocked by the admission, the expression so unlike any Harry had ever seen on the other boy's face that it would have made Harry laugh if it hadn't been Malfoy and if Harry weren't so afraid of another verbal explosion.

"Well…" Malfoy eventually said, narrowing his eyes at Harry in consideration. "As touching as I find your sentimentality, Potter, I still hate you. So no, I don't want to talk to you. You may leave now. Don't fret, I shan't think you any less of a hero than I did before."

"Oh, come on, Malfoy." As Malfoy sighed heavily in irritation, Harry couldn't help but smirk at how entertaining it still was to taunt the other boy, even if his underlying intention was to ultimately help him. "Talking's good for the soul."

Malfoy snorted and shook his head, his long fringe falling across his eyes, and Harry hated himself for finding the irritated crinkling of the pale nose weirdly…endearing.

"I think we'd both agree that my soul is beyond redemption at this point."

"Why, did you kill someone?" Harry tried to keep his voice light but he knew Malfoy would pick up on the tense edge anyway. The git always did have a way of knowing more about Harry than Harry himself would have liked.

"You know that I didn't, Potter, so why-"

"I did." Harry ignored the non-plussed look that Malfoy gave him, realising that he was not far off from being hit with a disparaging comment pertaining to Harry's universally-acknowledged reputation as a vanquisher of Dark Lords. "So wouldn't you say that my soul is probably worse off than yours?"

"Considering exactly who it was you killed I hardly think-"

"A life is a life though, right? And I took his."

"If you expect me to be impressed by this, Potter, I'm afraid you're sorely mistaken."

"I don't." Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair, trying to get back to the point. "I just mean…Look. I did something unthinkable and I didn't know how to deal with it. But then I started talking about it and…it helped."

"I don't think you offloading your maudlin thoughts onto your precious weasel girlfriend would have quite the same effect as me offloading mine onto you."

"It wasn't Ginny." Harry shook his head, pushing away those particular thoughts. "It was Snape, actually."

Malfoy scoffed as he pushed a lock of hair behind his ear. "You and Snape? Talking? I don't believe it."

"Believe it or not, whatever. It's still the truth."

"Come on, Potter. Everyone knows you never had a cosy relationship with Snape when he was alive and I doubt the man wants to spend his afterlife conversing with you, of all people. So explain it to me."

Harry looked over to find Malfoy had finally deigned to glance at him, obviously trying to contain his curiosity.

"After the final battle all people wanted to do was talk to me, ask me how I was coping, ask if I needed anything. I got so fed up of it after a while that one day I just walked out of the Burrow and ended up at Hogwarts. I don't even know why I chose to go there; I don't even think I did choose to consciously. Whatever. Either way I decided to go to the Head's office, intending to talk to Dumbledore but he was off somewhere else and so I was left with Snape."

"And what, you had a riotous old chit-chat about the good old days?" Malfoy shook his head and turned away once more to look out over the rose garden. Harry followed his line of sight, watching as a fairy popped up from between two rose buds to make her friend jump.

"Of course not. He insulted me, I bit back at him. Same as always."

"And this helped you how?" Malfoy's lips were pursed, quirked to the side, his scepticism evident.

"Because he was the only one I'd spoken to in weeks that didn't treat me any differently than before the final battle. With everyone else it was like I was a completely different person; the press made me out to be some kind of all-powerful hero, my friends treated me like I was going to fall apart any minute. I wasn't either. Talking to Snape made me feel…myself again, I guess."

"I'm sure he'll be thrilled to know he's helped you so much, Potter." Malfoy smirked and even Harry had to laugh. It was true, after all. Despite all he had done to help Harry over the years, Snape still held no small amount of resentment for Harry's father that still bubbled over when talking to Harry himself.

"Either way, I think that's it. I think maybe you have to talk to someone who doesn't give a shit and whose opinion of you you don't really care about if you're gonna get back to feeling yourself again."

"Oh, Potter, now I'm hurt." Malfoy turned to Harry with wide, grey eyes and an over-exaggerated pout that did less to aggravate Harry and more to make him question the real reason he hadn't wanted to get back with Ginny after the War was over. "I thought heroes were meant to care about everyone."

"You know what I mean." Harry rolled his eyes, if only to stop himself staring at the other boy's lips any longer.

"It still won't work, Potter." Malfoy yawned and stretched his arms above his head, pocketing his wand afterwards, and curled his hands together in his lap. "Just stop trying to save everyone, will you? After eight years it gets rather tiresome to behold."

"It's not about 'saving everyone' I just thought-"

"Potter, shut up."

Harry snapped his mouth shut and turned away from Malfoy, glaring at the fairy currently trying to pluck a deep red rose petal from one of the bushes nearest the path. Harry felt a sick sort of satisfaction when the fairy pulled too hard and shot backwards from the force, somersaulting through the air. At least he wasn't alone in failing miserably at an attempt to do something.

"Oh, for goodness sake!" Malfoy suddenly burst out, slapping his hands on the wooden bench either side of his thighs. "If you're going to sit there looking like I just fed your pet Crup to a Basilisk…"

Malfoy sighed and pulled a lock of hair behind his right ear that had dislodged itself with his movements. "Sooty!" he called out imperiously, and when the dishevelled little house-elf appeared he ordered two glasses of scotch, which Harry frowned at, wondering if this is when Malfoy would finally try and kill him.

"Don't look at me like that," Malfoy said when the elf returned minutes later with the two snifters in hand. "I'm giving in, Potter. You win. I'll talk to you about my feelings. But if you expect me to be able to do it without alcohol in my system you're sadly mistaken."

Harry took the proffered glass and held it between his hands, nodding at Malfoy, who raised his own glass in mock-salute and took a deep drink. There was silence for a few minutes before Malfoy finally seemed to gather enough resolve to open up.

"I haven't slept since…I don't even remember." Malfoy expelled a harsh puff of breath and rubbed at his face. "I wasn't sleeping particularly well last year as it was, what with our illustrious house guests holding court at all hours of the day and night."

Malfoy shook his hair back and Harry studied his face, noticing for the first time since he'd arrived that Malfoy looked a lot pastier than normal. There were no bags around his eyes but Harry was certain that was only because the other boy had Glamoured it so.

"But now I don't even know if I do sleep anymore. I mean, I must do, obviously, but it never feels like I have the next day. And then after a while everything starts to seem really…unreal. I can hardly even tell if I'm awake or asleep anymore except for the fact that when I'm awake I don't feel so terrified."

Malfoy shrugged depreciatingly and finished off the scotch in his glass, calling for Sooty to bring him another, but then he changed his mind and told the elf to bring him the bottle instead.

"So what, you drink yourself into a stupor until you pass out?" Harry wasn't a big drinker, excusing the few Butterbeers he indulged in with Ron while watching a Quidditch match, and Malfoy's behaviour seemed reckless even to him.

"No, Potter, I already told you: the alcohol is so I can deal with talking to you." Malfoy poured himself another measure of scotch and set the bottle down on the floor beside him. "Nothing I do helps with the insomnia. At first I thought it was the Manor, you know?"

Harry followed Malfoy's gaze to the grandiose building behind them, watching as the leaves of the ivy climbing across the side of the Manor rippled in the wind.

"So I moved out."

"What?" Harry couldn't understand what Malfoy was still doing here if he'd apparently left home.

"I couldn't take it anymore so I moved into the summerhouse instead. No one had been in there for years so I thought it would sort out the nightmares I'd been having of the Manor itself."

"The summerhouse?"

Malfoy nodded and pointed his finger along the path that cut through the rose garden but Harry couldn't see anything. When he gestured as such, Malfoy sighed and moved closer to his side, pointing again to the gap between the oak trees that stood like entrance pillars to the rose garden.

"You see?"

Harry squinted and thought he could make out the lights of a house in the distance, but no summerhouse to speak of. "No."

"For goodness sake, Potter, it's the only bloody thing in the field with lights on I don't see how you can miss it!"

"What?" Harry turned his head, disconcerted by how close Malfoy actually was to his face. "But that's an actual house."

"Your point?"

"I'm sorry, I thought when you said 'summerhouse' you meant a summerhouse and not an actual house."

"But that is a summer house. It's a house we use in the summer. My mother and I used to go there when Father had business that prevented us from going away for the summer."

"Right," Harry said as he took a swig of his scotch, realising now that he would probably need it, especially with the proximity of Malfoy's face (and the rest of his body pressed against Harry's side) making Harry's stomach feel uneasy.

"Either way it didn't work." Malfoy sighed and moved back to where he had been sat before to pick up his glass again, and Harry cast another Warming Charm around himself in an attempt to dislodge the cold feeling that he felt when Malfoy's touch was taken away.

"Oh," Harry said awkwardly, not really knowing whether Malfoy wanted some kind of reassurance and hating himself for even thinking that their talking would ever be a good idea.

"I still have insomnia and now my mother is suffering because I've left her all alone in that huge house. She hasn't been coping anyway since my father left and now I've just made it worse." Malfoy rubbed at his face once more and Harry couldn't stop the hand that came to rest on the other boy's shoulder in sympathy; he may have never known his real mother, but he knew well enough from his interactions with Molly since Fred had died how it felt to care so deeply for the well-being of your mother figure. He knew it was even worse when you blamed yourself for their suffering.

"You did what you had to do," he offered, letting his hand press a little more firmly against Malfoy's woollen cloak.

"That's all I've ever done." Malfoy sighed and pulled his hands away from his face to look at Harry openly. "It's never quite worked out for me the way it has for you." He moved his glance from Harry's face to Harry's hand on his shoulder, a pale eyebrow arching in question.

Harry felt himself blush and took his hand back, setting it in his lap with his other hand clasped around it. "I don't know if I'd say everything had worked out okay for me either," he admitted.

"You're alive, aren't you?"

"So are you."

"In a fashion, perhaps." Malfoy just stared at him unwaveringly for a few long moments and Harry took a moment to shake himself into answering.

"You are and you should be grateful for it. Some weren't even that lucky." Harry's throat constricted towards the end but he managed to get the words out all the same.

"I know that." Malfoy sounded more grief-stricken than angry, and Harry was prompted by his brain to remember that Malfoy had seen one of his best friends die right before his eyes in the Room of Requirement, and he immediately regretted his own sanctimonious comment. After all, even he hadn't been forced to witness something as awful as that. Every day he was more and more grateful that Ron and Hermione had made it through unscathed.

"I'm sorry," he ground out, not entirely sure whether he was apologising for the comment or for Malfoy's loss.

"Yeah, well. We made the wrong choice, didn't we?" Malfoy parroted the words used by the Wizengamot so frequently in the Death Eater trials that succeeded the War. Malfoy himself had managed to get off with two years' of surveillance by the Auror department and a hefty fine thanks to the memories Harry had submitted to the Ministry as testimony. (He had not attended any of the trials himself out of unwillingness to deal with the media circus that would be there.)

"Your heart was in the right place." Harry set down his now-empty glass on the floor and looked across at the blond, wondering why he was trying to help him justify his actions in the War considering the damage they had done.

When Malfoy turned to face him with melancholy eyes Harry remembered the frightened boy on the Astronomy tower the year before, the one who had lowered his wand, who didn't want to kill, and he realised Malfoy had been forced into his role almost as much as Harry had been pushed into his.

"Don't give me that Gryffindor bullshit," Malfoy said as he reached for Harry's glass to refill it. "I was an idiot. I honestly thought being a Death Eater was going to solve everything; my father wouldn't be in Azkaban anymore, my mother would be safe…Granger wouldn't be around to beat me at Potions."

Harry tensed at the last one, but the wry, almost apologetic smile on Malfoy's face suggested Malfoy didn't really believe that anymore.

"Don't get me wrong, I still think pure-blood traditions need to be protected. And I'm not about to invite Thomas for a pint down the pub as if we're bosom buds. But anyone with half a brain knew you were going to win in the end. And according to Mother the Dark Lord didn't even care about the pure-blood issue later on; he was just obsessed with you." Malfoy made a weird nose then, which Harry eventually recognised as laughter.

"What?"

"What is it about you, Potter?" Malfoy asked, a bemused expression on his pale face. "Why is everyone so obsessed with you?"

Harry fidgeted uncomfortably, unsure how to answer that when he'd been asking himself the same question for years. "I don't know," he replied eventually, carding a hand through his hair. "Anyway, it's not everyone. You said yourself that you don't care about the 'Boy Hero' shit. So there's at least one person who's not obsessed."

Harry laughed humourlessly and shook his head, but Malfoy just continued to stare at him, the bemused expression now replaced with an altogether more serious look.

"I don't care about that, no," he started, speaking slowly as if trying to think carefully about what he was about to say. "But we both know I've always been…drawn to you." Malfoy took a drink of his (third?) scotch, and Harry looked down at his own half-full glass as he thought about that.

"I don't-"

"Come off it, Potter. Every year for the first five years at Hogwarts I picked fights with you on purpose. I followed you and your little friends around to try and get dirt on you which would get you in trouble."

"And that always worked so well."

"The point is," Malfoy spoke over Harry. "That I was obsessed, in a way. Maybe not the way everyone else is but there's still something that draws people to you."

"Maybe you were then, but you're not now, right?" Harry frowned, unsure about what he really wanted the answer to be.

"I'm still sat here, so I'd say I am."

"What's that meant to mean?"

"I mean I'm supposed to hate you, Potter, and yet here I am sat drinking and talking with you as if we're old friends." Malfoy took a deep breath before continuing. "You came to return my wand, and I should have just taken it and left it at that. God knows if it had been Weasley or Granger or even Longbottom I would have done, and if any of them had asked me to talk I would have told them to go fuck themselves and made Sooty show them out."

Harry snorted, knowing full well that Malfoy would have done exactly that.

"But with you…I just can't help myself, I guess." Malfoy shrugged and swirled what was left of the scotch in his glass.

"Oh," Harry said, not really knowing how he was meant to respond.

"But then," Malfoy started, draining his glass and turning his body to face Harry. "I think maybe that works both ways."

"What?" Harry pulled his eyes away from the hollow of Malfoy's throat where his gaze had been lingering to look into his eyes instead.

Malfoy just smirked and moved closer to Harry, not close enough for them to be touching again, but enough that Harry instinctively moved in the opposite direction.

"I'm talking about your stalking, Potter," he said, his head cocked to the side, still smirking at Harry. "In sixth year?"

"I was not stalking you. I was just-"

"What?"

"I thought you were up to something," Harry gritted out. "And I was right."

"But why were you the one who had to investigate?"

"Because," Harry shot back immediately, but had no reason to go with it. At least not one that wouldn't corroborate Malfoy's little theory. The longer the silence went on, the wider Malfoy's smirk became. He moved forward again, and Harry slid back, feeling the arm of the bench digging into his back.

"I'm right, am I not?" Malfoy's thigh was pressed against Harry's, and Harry swallowed heavily.

"I'm not attracted to you, Malfoy."

"Liar."

"I am not a-"

Suddenly Malfoy's lips were on Harry's, demanding and insistent, and Harry couldn't even think to protest or push him away because Malfoy's hand had come to rest on his thigh and Harry was just so fed up of fighting that he just gave into it. He opened his mouth and moaned when he felt Malfoy's tongue swirl against his, raising his hand to cup the back of the other boy's head as he deepened the kiss.

On some level he knew that this was crazy. He knew that this was Malfoy and Malfoy was a boy and he'd only ever kissed girls, had only ever wanted to kiss girls, but this was so much better than any kiss he'd had with Cho or Ginny, especially when Malfoy's hand slid back up towards Harry's groin and suddenly it was just too intense and Harry had to pull away, his chest heaving.

Malfoy's lips were moist and red, his eyes bright with an emotion that Harry had never seen there before. Harry's hand was still cupping the back of Malfoy's head and he curled his fingers slightly, smiling as Malfoy jerked instinctively at the sensation.

"Potter," he admonished breathlessly, but Harry could see the minute upward curve to the corners of his mouth.

"Sorry." Harry grinned, but did it again anyway, wincing as Malfoy shoved him back into the bench arm.

"No, you're not."

"Well I am now!" Harry complained as he rubbed his back. He might have felt more irritated but for the fact that Malfoy was smiling properly for the first time since…well, since Harry had ever known him, and without really considering it he raised his free hand towards Malfoy's cheek.

Before he reached the skin, however, Malfoy caught Harry's hand in his and pulled it down.

"We can't do this here. This bench is in direct view of the East Wing." At Harry's blank look, Malfoy elaborated. "Where my mother resides. I doubt she would approve of…whatever we're doing."

"Your mother likes me."

"She does?" Harry doubted Malfoy could have laced those two words with any more doubt even if he'd tried.

"Well, she saved my life."

"I'm sure she did it for entirely selfish reasons. It doesn't mean she likes you necessarily."

Harry rolled his eyes and glanced back at the Manor before turning once more to Malfoy. "You know, you really are a dick."

"Oh, I know." Malfoy smirked as he rose to his feet, starting in the direction of the summer house.

Harry waited a minute to see if he would be invited to go with him, but when Malfoy added nothing further, he decided to just follow him anyway, and jogged to catch up with the blond.

By the time they reached the summerhouse, a two-storey thatch house with a cute little chimney puffing out a steady stream of smoke, it was just starting to rain, and Harry was glad to get inside after sitting on the bench for so long. Before he had chance to enjoy the genuine warmth of the house, though, Malfoy was on him, pushing him against the wooden panelled door and ravaging his mouth.

Harry lifted his hands to twine in Malfoy's soft hair, pulling him away so that he could suck and bite instead at the pale neck. Malfoy groaned and arched his neck as he put his hands on Harry's hips to steady himself while Harry continued his trail of nips and kisses along the expanse of skin.

After a few moments Malfoy recaptured Harry's lips and moved his hands from Harry's hips to his belt, undoing the silver buckle and unbuttoning the jeans in order to slip his hand inside and into Harry's boxers.

When Malfoy's (cold) hand finally wrapped around Harry's burgeoning erection, Harry gasped at the sensation and dropped his head back against the door, a distant part of his mind yelling that he shouldn't feel so aroused considering this was Malfoy who was touching him, but the overriding part of his brain was telling him to just enjoy the sensation while he could.

He closed his eyes as Malfoy slowly jerked him off, but he forced them open again when he felt something decidedly un-hand-like against the sensitive skin. When he opened them, he realised Malfoy was no longer at eye-level, and that meant…

"Oh, God," Harry gasped out as he took in the sight of Malfoy, Draco Malfoy, heir of a noble, pure-blood family, obnoxious, conceited, poncy Draco Malfoy, on his knees doing something that he clearly had experience in doing.

Malfoy bobbed his head in smooth, rhythmic movements in a way that Ginny had never really managed to master and Harry felt like his entire being had become centred on the warmth flooding his lower regions.

Harry pulled his gaze down to watch Malfoy, and when his eyes met the stormy grey pair below he knew that he was going to come even without the tell-tale heat that pooled in the pit of his stomach.

"Malfoy," he gasped out, either in warning or appreciation he wasn't certain, but Malfoy didn't halt his actions either way and for some reason that thought was enough to spark Harry's climax.

Malfoy for his part had managed to swallow the vast majority of Harry's come, but a small amount had managed to escape his puffy pink lips and dribble down to his chin, which combined with his mussed blond hair and lust-darkened eyes gave him an altogether thoroughly debauched look.

Harry used what remaining energy he had in his limbs to move his hand to the other boy's chin, where he wiped away the come with his thumb. He was just about to wipe it on his jeans when Malfoy's pale fingers curled around his wrist and pulled his hand back to his mouth so that he could lick it from Harry's thumb, his grey eyes half-lidded and locked with Harry's own, and Harry felt sure that if it were possible he could have come again just from watching that.

Harry grabbed Malfoy's collar and pulled him back up to his feet so that he could try to articulate what he was feeling with a passionate kiss that was rough and messy and yet strangely perfect in that moment. Malfoy's body was pressed against his and Harry gasped when he felt Malfoy's erection hard and insistent against his hip.

Harry broke away from the kiss and looked into Malfoy's eyes, seeing the glint of arousal within and knowing that he should reciprocate. The thing was, though, that Harry was nowhere near as experienced with boys as Malfoy himself seemed to be. Harry's sexual exploits boiled down to one night of sex with Ginny on the eve of Bill and Fleur's wedding and a number of sporadic meetings with her at the end of sixth year that amounted to nothing more than foreplay. He had no idea if he was even any good at this kind of thing.

Before he could say any of that, though, Malfoy was kissing him again, softer than before but with no less intensity, and his hands rubbed along Harry's arms until they met his hands. When the two met, Malfoy linked their fingers and pulled Harry away from the door and over to the white sofa in what Harry took to be the living room of the summer house.

Malfoy sat first and pulled Harry down next to him before he resumed their kiss, his right hand leaving Harry's to wrap long, pale fingers in the thick, black tresses of Harry's hair. As Harry leaned into the caress, Malfoy moved his other hand, which was still locked with Harry's, to his groin, where he pressed their joined hands against the hardness straining at the fabric of his smart grey trousers.

Harry made to break the kiss again but Malfoy simply moved with him, his lips refusing to break the connection, and Harry eventually relented, deciding that after everything else that had happened that night, trusting Malfoy was relatively sensible.

Harry made a small sound of discontent as Malfoy removed the hand from Harry's hair, but understood when he felt it come between their bodies to undo the buttons of Malfoy's trousers. Only when they were fully undone did Malfoy finally break away, his warm breath still ghosting over Harry's lips in an echo of their kiss. He looked into Harry's eyes as he once more pulled their still-connected hands to his groin, but this time Harry allowed it.

Their hands slipped inside Malfoy's (silk) boxers and Harry watched as Malfoy's eyes fluttered shut as their skin met.

"Please," Malfoy whispered, the word barely more than a gasp but Harry heard it as loudly as if he had bellowed it from the top of the Astronomy tower.

Malfoy unlinked their fingers to wrap his own around his erection, and after a moment of summoning his legendary Gryffindor courage, Harry did the same, causing the blond to moan lightly and bury his head against Harry's neck.

Malfoy moved his hand first, but Harry soon followed suit, deciding that apart from the angle it was hardly any different from getting himself off. Malfoy whimpered and thrusted his hips, and Harry smiled at the thought that maybe he wasn't that bad at this after all.

Harry used his free hand to take hold of Malfoy's chin and guide him back to face him, capturing his lips once more as the two of them moved their hands together. Every now and then Malfoy would pull away to gasp when Harry's hand moved in a particular way, but they mostly managed to continue their kiss, their tongues twirling languorously around each other, as they brought Malfoy to orgasm.

Harry felt as if he should say something afterwards, but he had no idea what could be said to your erstwhile nemesis in such a situation, especially when you had enjoyed yourself so much that it left you rather breathless.

Before he could think of anything, though, Malfoy pulled his wand from his pocket to cast a Cleaning Charm in his boxers and over Harry before flopping backwards onto the sofa beneath them and throwing his arm across his face.

"Thanks," Harry said as he moved to re-fasten his jeans.

"Well, I don't want you messing up my sofa. You have no idea how difficult it is to clean." Malfoy's voice was faint and heavy with exhaustion, and Harry sensed it wouldn't be long before he actually fell asleep. Harry wondered whether that comment meant he was being invited to stay or not. He was just about to ask for clarification when Malfoy's hand reached out to grab Harry's shirt and pull him down against his chest.

"Sleep, Potter," was all he said, shuffling slightly to the side to accommodate Harry with enough space to lie comfortably, and extinguished the lights of the living room with a wave of his wand.

Harry watched as Malfoy's face, illuminated by moonlight from the window, relaxed gradually, giving way to sleep, his breath evening out after a short while. He couldn't help but wonder why he didn't feel more disconcerted by the fact that he was lying here with Draco Malfoy as if they were lovers. Maybe they were lovers now, and the fact that even that thought didn't disturb him the way he thought it would have not one day before was enough to convince Harry that he had finally gone mad.

He sighed and rubbed at his eyes, trying to sort out the thoughts whirling in his head. A voice that sounded weirdly like Ron told him that he should be thinking about Ginny, should be feeling some measure of guilt for what had happened here. But he couldn't. He and Ginny were over, they had been for a while, and even if the rest of the Weasleys were still in denial about it, convinced that they would soon come to their senses, Harry and Ginny both knew that they weren't getting back together. After working in such close proximity with Neville last year, Ginny was now pursuing a relationship with him, and Harry couldn't say they didn't suit each other much better than he and Ginny ever had.

Looking back down at the blond beneath him, Harry wondered if maybe there was a reason his relationships with girls were such disasters. As a yawn overcame him, though, Harry decided he would leave that kind of thinking for another time. For now, he just took off his glasses and set them on the floor before settling in on the sofa, enjoying the warmth of Malfoy's body pressed against his, and fell asleep.

That night was the first night in months that Harry managed to sleep all the way through without nightmares.

Draco too.

In a manner of speaking I don't understand…
But the way that I feel about you is beyond words

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