Worshiped.

Harry hated his fame. He hated the way people said his name in awe. He hated that people fawned over him. He hated that people did practically everything he asked them to do without question. He hated that people put him up on a pedestal. He hated that people worshiped him.

Yes, mostly he hated all of it. The whole lot.

In the nights that followed the Hogwarts Battle, Harry was left mostly to his own devices. Everyone was having their own celebrations. Or mourning their own losses. People were reconnecting, building up new friendships, trying to mend their broken lives. And Harry was avoiding mostly everything. He'd been to the Burrow, talked to the Ministry, wandered around Hogwarts…a bit of everything, but when the sun went down, Harry headed to his home at No. 12 Grimmauld Place. The wards had been adjusted and he was the house's Secret Keeper, so Harry was left alone.

He processed the past year. He missed so much. He thought about the future - now that it was confirmed he would actually have one. Imagine that. He thought about his parents and Sirius and Dumbledore and Snape and Lupin and everyone else who had been lost or hurt. He imagined how screwed up the Wizarding World would be now - how chaotic, how knotted, how messy. He thought about the Death Eaters and what would happen to them. Some were evil to the bone, but others, he was certain, were more innocent. He hoped everyone would have a fair trial. Mostly though, Harry just cried.

And maybe it was silly for him to need to be alone to do this - hell, he had seen everyone else springing tears this week, but there was something else about people seeing their Savior crying. He still had to be strong; he still had to be brave. When in reality, he just wanted to break down, to be held, and to be taken care of.

On Saturday - a mere week since the famous battle in Scotland - Harry ventured out of his home to get some supplies from Diagon Alley. He needed potions and healing materials. He was having more nightmares than ever. And the exhaustion and tears were not helping his well being. He was being pulled in a million ways and needed simply to be left alone. He wrote his friends to tell them he'd been gone for a few days, not to worry, and denied every interview request that got owled to his house. He wasn't ready to deal with any of this yet.

He made his way to the apothecary and to Flourish And Blotts without a hitch. Most wizards and witches moved out of his way as he walked down the crowded street. They respected him - or at least feared him - enough to stay out of his way. Some offered their congratulations and thanks while reporters peppered him with questions. No one seemed particularly surprised when he didn't answer or acknowledge them. Harry ducked into Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour to get a chocolate and raspberry sundae with chopped nuts. On his way out, he ran into another patron.

"Potter."

Harry looked up.

"Malfoy."

Honestly, he was expecting everyone to be clearing their path. Turns out, he should never expect Draco Malfoy to follow along with anything normal.

"I was wondering if you.."

"Yes?" Harry said, tiredly. It was a mistake to come for ice cream. He simply wanted to be home, curled up in his bed.

Malfoy cleared his throat, "Right. I was wondering if you still had my wand?"

Harry blinked. He had forgotten completely about his wand. He had it stuffed away in a cloak pocket or his trunk, he was certain. He eyed Malfoy for a moment before doing the unthinkable.

"I do. It's at my home. If you want to go now?"

Malfoy's eyes were saucers and his normally tight jaw went slack. His usual façade crumbled under Harry's unusual answer. Clearly, he had been expecting a refusal and/or a fight for his wand. While Malfoy considered Harry's proposal, Harry amused himself by studying the Slytherin. His robes were some soft-looking grey material. They were clean and crisp, much better than the last time Harry had seem him. His hair had been trimmed and laid perfectly on his high head. Malfoy stood relaxed, but confident as always. Malfoy seemed happier and more relieved than anything else. He looked happy and at ease. Maybe he was happy the Dark Lord was gone? Who knew what went on inside of that blond head. Lost in his thoughts, Harry barely recognized Malfoy's nod. Harry followed Malfoy out to the Apparition point.

Landing on the sidewalk in front of No. 10 and No. 14 Grimmauld Place, Harry turned to Malfoy.

"No one is to know you were here."

Malfoy snorted, "Not in the habit of taking ex-Death Eaters home, then?"

Harry smiled a small awkward smile, shaking his head. Malfoy curiously watched as the sidewalk seemed to open up to reveal another house, which marker read No. 12 with a phoenix carved above.

Once inside, Harry brought his purchases to the kitchen table and put a kettle on. He told Malfoy to stay there and went upstairs to find the wand.

He checked his traveling cloak's pockets and came up empty. He moved to the next room to search through his trunk. Harry pulled it across the dusty floor and propped the lid open. Instantly he forgot what he was searching for as his eyes sought out the photo album Hagrid had gifted him. He sat down, blowing up dust as his jean clad bottom hit the ground. His eyes stung already and he was certain it wasn't because of the dust.

Harry heard the whistling of the kettle downstairs, but he couldn't move. His eyes were already trained on a picture of the Order of the Phoenix from before the first war. His parents stood next to Lupin, Sirius, and Peter. They all smiled and waved, looking happy and at ease. Harry remembered thinking this same thing about Malfoy at the Ice Cream Parlour.

Harry must have sat their crying and looking through his pictures for a long while because the light had shifted through the windows, coming to lay across his lap in squares.

"Potter. The tea's ready."

Oh. Malfoy. Harry had forgotten he was here. He wiped his eyes. He knew he looked like a mess - red eyes, snot running down his face, dusty clothes - but he headed downstairs.

"I can't find it. Sorry. I know it's around here somewhere."

"Oh." Malfoy poured himself a cup of tea and pushed the kettle towards Harry. He sighed and sat down and had tea with Draco Malfoy. His life was already unusual, what's one more mental afternoon?

"So you're having problem's sleeping?"

Harry's eyes narrowed. "What?"

"All of the potion ingredients and books you bought deal with sleep and dream problems…" He waved his hands to indicate Harry's unpacked bags. Had Malfoy unpacked them? Was he snooping around? Harry looked around the kitchen and everything seemed to still be in place.

"Can't handle all of the fans? Long fall off of your pedestal?" Malfoy snorted.

"I've hardly left my house. I know you won't believe me, but I hate it all."

"The Boy-Who-Lived? You don't like the attention?"

"I don't deserve it. I don't want to be worshiped."

"You don't like being worshiped?" He sounded incredibly surprised.

"Not at all."

An awkward silence fell over the room. Harry got himself another cup of tea, wondering what Malfoy wanted him to say.

"I could help." Harry stared at Malfoy the moment the words had left the blond's mouth.

"I know you're pants at potions, Potter." Malfoy drawled, as if this would answer all of the questions in Harry's mind.

"Er, okay." What? He was supposed to say no! He was supposed to claim he didn't need help.

"What's the problem? Can't sleep? Or nightmares?"

Why was he being so…normal? Surely the past week couldn't have reformed someone so vile as Draco Malfoy. Yet, Harry had invited him into his secret home - which he had been denying his friends access. And he hadn't given Harry up to his Aunt at the Manor. The lack of sleep, nutrition, and general healing left Harry's brain addled. He would accept the help now and question it later. He simply couldn't care anymore.

Meeting Malfoy's eyes, "The nightmares interrupt everything. I'll be asleep for minutes but it will feel like hours of torture. I can't will them to stop."

Malfoy nodded along in understanding. "Me too."

"Oh?"

Looking uncomfortable, he shifted around in his chair, "Sure. I…uh, I saw things in the Manor that I wish I could oblivate."

"I'm sorry. I get why…well, I know that you had to do what you had to do."

"I did it for my family. Nothing else." Malfoy met Harry's eyes evenly.

"So what now?"

"Now, I move on, I try to learn from it all, and get my own life." He shrugged, as if it was all so easy.

"Right."

"The future should be easy…in comparison to our pasts."

"True. If I could shake this tension and get some sleep, that is. Otherwise I might just die of exhaustion."

Malfoy just smiled - it was halfway between a smirk and a sneer, but it somehow showed a little teeth - over his teacup.

This was an oddly comforting conversation, despite the topic. When Harry had momentarily brought the subject up to Hermione and Ron they had stated that they hadn't had any trouble sleeping or dreaming at all. He had felt like a freak and dropped the subject quickly. It was nice to be with someone else who had been effected as he had. Even if it was Draco Malfoy. The boy was sitting here sharing tea with his biggest school rival. How odd. Even stranger was that Malfoy looked ordinary in his home. Yes, he was technically a Black so this was his ancestral home, but it was Harry's and suited his tastes. The kitchen was in blues and greys and yellows. And Draco Malfoy for all of his pureblood glory, was leaning back at a kitchen table full of mismatched chairs, drinking out of a cup-and-saucer that didn't go together, in his robes that possibly cost more than Harry's whole wardrobe.

They shared the task of reading through the books Harry acquired, marking passages, and discussing their options. They picked two potions to brew, but neither would be ready until the following night. Malfoy set up the cauldrons and began brewing, while Harry read out passages form the final book. This tome suggested relaxation techniques and reflexology as a easy cure for sleep problems.

Snorting, Harry read, " '…sometimes wizards will find that it is as easy as taking a nice long bath, enjoying a massage or a hug, and sleeping in a cool, dark room.' "

"Its not that I don't think that would work, but it seems rather simplistic, no?"

Harry blinked up at him. Really? A hug will help him feel better? That is what the book was suggesting.

"Uh. I suppose it would work. All of those things are relaxing…"

"Hug me."

"What?"

"Hug me." Malfoy held his arms out, facing Harry.

"Right. I think you've gone mental."

"No. Seriously. If you feel better after a hug, then maybe it'll work."

"That's some sound logic." Harry rolled his eyes.

"Hug. Me. Prat."

Harry looked at him as if he was certifiable. And he very well might have been. But still, Harry stepped forward and wound his arms around Malfoys waist and gave him a slight squeeze before trying to dislodge his arms. Malfoy, on the other hand, trapped Harry against him, his head wedging in near Harry's shoulder and held on with a pleasant pressure.

"Hmmph."

"Shut up, Potter. You know this is nice."

Harry's arms wiggled back around Draco's middle and he relaxed into the hug. It did feel nice. He had to admit that much. It was warm and tight. Draco smelled like cedar and bergamot and money - no, Harry would never be able to explain how Draco smelt rich, but he did nonetheless. His robes were even softer than they looked and Harry wished he was wearing something soft so that Draco could feel enveloped in a cloud like he did. Harry's eyes closed and he sighed. Yes, this was very nice.

"Harry."

Wait, when did Draco start calling him Harry? Wait, when did he start calling Malfoy by his first name? Probably, he reasoned, when he started enjoying hugging the brat.

Harry tilted his body back, leaving his arms still snaked around the boy.

"Yes?"

"Can I…" Draco whispered.

"Can you what?" he whispered back. He had no idea why they were being so quiet. They were all alone in this secret house. No matter the reason, it felt right. He couldn't explain anything about the moment, but it all felt right.

"Kiss you." He ended the sentence not like a question, but a statement. It was a warning. If Harry didn't wanted this, he should get out now. Did Harry want this? He hadn't had much luck kissing in the past, but that was only with girls. Maybe it would be different with a boy? Did he even like boys? Harry didn't know how to answer any of these questions. He tilted his head up slightly.

That was all the answer Draco needed.

His mouth came down upon Harry's to claim him. It was a sweet, soft pressure that made Harry's eyes flutter shut and his arms wrap tighter around Draco. Draco moaned slightly under the pressure of Harry's lips, the kiss becoming harder and more passionate by the second. Harry slipped his tongue against Draco's lips. Draco tasted sweet like sugar quills or fairy floss, but also like the tea they had had and maybe mint, like his ice cream from earlier. He couldn't explain the taste, but he knew he would never forget it. It was intoxicating. He explored his mouth, counting his teeth, running up over the roof of his mouth, down by his lips. Draco shivered and groaned. Draco's hands came up to hold Harry's neck, winding into his messy brown hair. They were entangled in every way possible; their bodies were pressed together so tightly as if they other would disappear or float away if not held down. Harry sighed as the boy pulled back from the kiss. His body was vibrating. He felt like he was on fire. He wanted more. More of this feeling, more kisses, more tastes of Draco, more, more, more…

"Bedroom," he hissed.

Untying themselves, Harry dragged Draco up the first flight of stairs and into his room. They tumbled onto the bed, Draco flinging Harry's cloak onto the footboard. They kissed and frotted, neither knowing exactly what all of this was, but needed the friction and passion no matter the reasons.

Draco's robe and then his luxe sweater joined the pile of clothing on the footboard. Harry's shirt and jeans made a messy pile on the floor. Shoes were toed off and socks whipped around, falling noiselessly to the floor. Draco's trousers added to the heaps. And then they stared.

If all their passion before was like a magnet, pulling them together without reason, then their nakedness was seemingly the opposite. Neither boy moved, although their hands itched to reach out and touch each other. They simply stood there, in Harry's small bedroom, panting and wanting and staring. Harry hadn't imagined another boy could look so delicious and beautiful before him, in only his pants. His eyes stretched over Draco's collar bone, past the faint scars crossing over his chest, to his toned stomach, to his hips that had Harry's hands clawing aimlessly at the air, and down his long, strong legs. Even his feet were beautiful. He glowed like an angel in the soft light of the bedroom and Harry thought he might have really died in battle because this had to be heaven. Once his eyes made way back up to Draco's face, he noticed that Draco had been studying him, too. He wondered what Draco saw when he looked at him. Did he see someone handsome? Beautiful, even? Or was he disappointed to find what Harry's robes covered.

"You're gorgeous." Draco's voice was rough, husky.

Harry blushed and smiled. "You're beautiful."

Suddenly, the magnet returned and Draco pushed Harry back onto the bed, moaning his name.

Draco's lips and tongue and hands were everywhere all at once. He kept looking down at Harry, saying his name. His eyes dark, looking like he could devour Harry on the spot. Harry couldn't do anything else but moan and writhe, pant and thrust, shake and sigh. His blood was on fire as it moved from his limbs to his groin. He was hard already and all of these kisses and lick were making him delirious. He felt like he was about to come undone at the seams and he hasn't even been touched there yet. He could come without even being touched, with all the wonderful looks and caresses and kisses Draco was giving him.

"I want to worship you."

Harry can hardly register the words before Draco's mouth latched onto his neck. He tilts he head away to give him more purchase. Harry knew he hated being worshiped - he didn't ask to be the Savior, The-Boy-Who-Lived, or whatever, after all - but being in this small room with Draco Malfoy nothing else seemed like a better idea. If he had any doubts about this moment, they were washed away with Draco's words.

"Mmm. Draco."

His hands roamed Harry's body, circling every muscle, easing their tensions, making Harry melt against the pillows. His hands clutched Draco's biceps and he was sure he'd leave a bruise, but he was beyond thinking, instead he is just feeling. Draco's touch felt so reverent. Harry couldn't imagine how Draco could feel this way about him, but it is there, conveyed in each of his movements. His lips find Draco, stealing his breath away, causing his body to crash against Harry's chest. And then there is simply the friction of skin on skin, the sheen of sweat between them, and the tantalizing noises coming from deep inside of Draco's chest.

And then Harry is whimpering, Draco leaving soft red marks along his neck and shoulders. His tongue is twirling over every mark, bite, and kiss. His mouth trails over his chest, nipping and sucking and licking every bit. He will remember every muscle and every scar. He has traced every part before moving downward, over his stomach and into his navel. Harry is wet with the warm licks and his eyes are burning as he watches Draco slide his thumbs into the elastic of his pants, sliding them down towards his feet. His eyes never leave Harry. When there is no clothing blocking his view, Draco glazes at him. He licks him lips and Harry's hip buck unintentionally.

"Please."

Draco's tongue traces him, eliciting a roar from the brunette. Its torture, but its lovely. He wants it to end - he wants to come - but at the same time he would do anything to have this feeling forever. It's like he's floating. Harry's eyes are rolling back, his back in arching. His hands weave into Draco's hair. Draco's hands are making circles at his hips, holding them flat against the mattress. His tongue is twirling, his throat humming, and fingers circling him. Harry is drowning. The caresses become harsher, more urgent, and one of Draco's hands on Harry's hip slides off to reach inside its owner's boxers, matching his sucking in tempo. Then, all at once, it is both sweet and furious and wonderful and hard and fast and sensual and sexual and…oh god, it's heaven. Draco Malfoy's mouth is heaven.

His body is boneless and weak, his eyes are glossed over and half lidded, filled with unexplainable tears. It's all too much. It's been wonderful and glorious, but he doesn't deserve this worship - Draco's words -this kindness, this attention, this love. He had wanted to break down, to be held, and to be taken care of. So, for once, he had gotten exactly what he wished for.

Then he felt a pair of warm arms coming around his body, pulling him back towards Draco's chest. They're both crying now and neither can explain it, but they don't really need to be able to explain it. It just is. Then, Draco is whispering lovely, sweet things into Harry's ear. They lay like this for a long time, melting into each other. Neither can explain what happened this afternoon, but maybe that is for the best. There have been too many explanations for Harry lately, too many reasons, too much logic, and not enough letting go, not enough feeling.

"Draco?"

"Hmm?"

"You're right. Maybe I like being worshiped."

AN: Thanks for reading! Please check out my other stories and review! :)