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In the summer before Draco Malfoy's sixth year, he receives his soulmark.
It appears with no small pain in the middle of the night, making him cry out as he startles from sleep, clutching his hip. He checks himself in the mirror by the light of his wand, and though they blend into his skin like freckles, there's no mistaking the markers of the Leo constellation.
He doesn't have to look at a calendar to figure out who he knows that is turning sixteen today. The date is imprinted on his mind like a firebrand, leftover from his naive younger years when he thought he and the famous Harry Potter would be fast friends once they finally met.
When his own sixteenth birthday had come and gone without any changes, he'd been relieved. Soulmates were rare, but he still feared what might happen if he had one, with all the superstitions he'd heard about soulmate magic. In his mind, he pictured this person who was perfect for him, tied to him forever. It was a nice sentiment, but he knew better than to romanticize it—soulmate magic was often exploited for its sheer magical potential, which wasn't exactly the fairytale ending all the legends promised.
Now, knowing it's Potter, the whole soulmate thing is even more unbelievable. Clearly, his assumptions around what 'soulmate' means have been as wrong as his naive assumptions had been before meeting Potter. Because despite whatever destiny has in mind, his soulmate is the person who hates him most in this world. And with what Draco's signed on to do in the upcoming year, he's only going to further that opinion.
On a day that his mother is away, he finds and secrets away two books from the Manor Library that have information on soulmates. The first one covers various forms of old magic, and the further Draco reads, the more uneasy he becomes. It very nearly confirms his fears, that any magic this rooted in superstition means nothing good for anyone involved, and he stows it away without reading all of it. The second book is specifically about soulmates; it also focuses on magical advantages, but doesn't make it sound romantic by any means. Maybe that's all it means, after all. Two souls, irreparably intertwined, even if they will forever be at odds.
With no small discomfort, Draco puts the whole ordeal out of his mind, knowing that he will never be able to tell another soul.
---
Draco’s life after the war is complicated, to say the least. He spends a great deal of time making amends for past mistakes while simultaneously learning how to form unbiased opinions on the world, eager to break free of the mold his father had tried to shove him into.
By the time he settles into the Healer career path, he feels like an entirely different person from the Slytherin he once was. He's pushed through the worst years of his life, learned some hard lessons, and put the work in to make a name for himself. And through all that he's found something he truly loves—using magic to improve people's lives—and he's good at it, too.
Over the years of his training, magical medicine evolved almost too fast for most of his peers to keep up. But where they struggled, Draco found himself excelling, adapting new spells to each of his patients and working with their energy to great effect. In fact, sensing and connecting to people's life energy comes quite naturally to him, almost as if he can feel it waiting to rise to the surface.
Still, while Draco has managed to leave most of his past behind, he can't seem to get away from Harry Potter.
While he's still in training, close enough to being promoted to a full-fledged Healer without a shadow that he can taste it, who does he find in his exam room but the Boy Who Lived himself? Brilliant.
"Mr. Potter," Draco says carefully after they've both recovered from their initial few seconds of shock. Healer Paloma follows him into the room and shuts the door. Draco cuts his eyes over to her, but she's staring down at her clipboard, seemingly unfazed by the identity of tonight's patient. He finds he's able to breathe a bit easier while Paloma acts like it's just another day, and Potter is just another patient. "What brings you in this evening?"
While Potter complains about standard health checks that all Aurors have to go through, Draco studies his chart and notes the commentary from other Healers, that Potter often resists treatment unless it's serious, and prefers to stick with the simplest route. It's a fight not to roll his eyes at the observations; he could have told anyone who asked that Potter expects special treatment.
Not today, though. Draco's already been reprimanded for spending too little time with some of his patients, his competitive streak leading him to try to speed through his rounds, and he has no intention of letting the complaint stick. He's especially not going to let Potter ruin this for him.
"Take off your shoes. Lie back," Draco instructs, busying himself in the cabinets as he plans his course of action. He steps up to Potter on the mat and raises his wand, explaining, "I'm going to run a standard diagnostic spell and observe your energy. If there's anything amiss, we'll discuss it before I do anything further. You can relax; close your eyes."
"I'd rather not," Potter says, his mouth curving up into a smirk. Draco purses his lips. If Healer Paloma wasn't here, he'd have something to say back to that, and they both know it.
Draco runs the diagnostic, not surprised to see on the surface level that Potter holds far too much tension in his body. He digs a little deeper, refining his spells, ignoring Potter's steady gaze as he lets the energy paint him a picture.
"So, what d'you say, Doc? Good enough to give me the all clear to go back to work?"
Draco allows himself an eyeroll where Healer Paloma can't see. He brandishes his wand closer to Potter's chest, stopping him from sitting up. "Let's not be so hasty. I see some signatures here that worry me."
Harry huffs, looking resigned. "C'mon, Malfoy. So I've got some war wounds. I'm fine." He looks to Healer Paloma. "I don't need to go through this every time."
"Is it a 'war wound' that has you favoring the left side of your mouth when you chew?"
"In a manner of speaking," Potter says, challenging. "I grind my teeth when I have nightmares."
Draco grins, triumphant. "See? Now we're getting somewhere." Harry stares back at him, flummoxed. "The body often tells more of a story than people tend to realize. I can treat the tooth pain and the nightmares."
Now Harry rolls his eyes. Draco can see the pressure point spike his headache when he does it. There's so much he could cover here if Potter were anything like a normal patient. "I know how to make a sleeping draught, Malfoy."
"I'm sure you're very well-versed—in a standard sleeping draught. But what I'm referring to is a new discovery, helmed by Healer Bones. You may remember her younger sister from our year at Hogwarts. It's freshly done with trials and has a 99% success rate at easing people's minds in sleep. You can't get the potion or its key ingredients without a prescription." It takes Potter a moment to process this, and Draco privately preens at the consternation on his face. He fills out the prescription and continues. "I highly encourage you to give it a try. Just make sure you leave enough time for a full night's sleep when you take it—you're unlikely to wake up earlier than eight hours without major coercion."
"Isn't that dangerous? What if someone breaks into my flat?"
"That'd likely set off an alarm, if you have at least standard protections on your flat, which would constitute one of those major coercions." Draco draws on his last thread of patience, feeling it suddenly very important that Potter listen to him. "It won't keep you asleep against your will. It'll just ensure that you want to stay asleep. I've used it myself."
Potter eyes him warily, then, after a moment, takes the offered prescription. "Fine. I'll try it. Once."
Satisfied, Draco finishes his examination, making a few recommendations for physical therapy for his old injuries that he doubts Potter will listen to. But when he chances a look at Healer Paloma, she looks impressed.
---
After that, Draco becomes a full-fledged Healer, and by request or by chance, he tends to be the one Potter sees if he's injured on the job. Or—Draco supposes it's mostly Harry now, as they've become more civil with each other over the years.
"Healer Sorenzo tells me you won't put on your hospital gown," Draco says by way of greeting, calling on a now-familiar quirk of Harry's.
"If you want me to start disrobing, you'll have to buy me dinner first," Harry says, lying back on the mat with a shit-eating grin.
"Charming," Draco says. "So what is it that finally got bad enough for you to come see me today?"
Harry sighs. "Just some stupid hex. The man had no way of knowing he was aiming it at an open wound, but I'm pretty sure that's what made it so bad."
Draco doesn't point out that people normally don't go walking around with open wounds, because he knows it'd be a waste of breath. "Where?" he asks instead, brandishing his wand.
Harry indicates his lower left calf, and Draco gasps the moment the energy signature appears. Dropping the spell, he eases Harry's trouser leg up and removes the amateur bandage to reveal a nasty-looking wound, its color changing as Draco watches. "Jesus, Potter. This happened how many days ago?"
"The hex was only yesterday. The gash was… a few days before? It seemed like it was healing on its own," he adds quickly. His tone is defensive, which is rich considering that he's a case of septic shock waiting to happen.
Of course it did. "I'm going to have to cut your trousers unless you want to take them off like a normal person."
"Go ahead and cut them. I've been meaning to replace this pair anyway."
He applies some numbing ointment before he gets to work on the hex, practically fighting with the tangled-up energy underlying the physical wound. Once he unwinds it enough to isolate the hex, it's easy work to counter it. He spends the next half hour easing the energy back to a calm state. Finally, he sees to the physical wound, sealing it up and putting a proper bandage on top.
"Wow," Harry says, sitting up and pressing his fingers to the edges of the bandage.
Draco slaps his hand away. "Don't mess with it," he admonishes. "And I'm recommending you stay out of the field for the rest of the week." He ignores Harry's indignant noise. "Clearly you can't be trusted to stay out of harm's way of your own volition. It won't kill you to sit behind a desk for a few days."
"It's just a recommendation," Harry says, crossing his arms. "I'm sure once I show my supervisor how well I've been healed, she'll let me continue."
"I'm sending word to Hermione too," Draco adds, unable to help himself.
"Oh my god," Harry groans, falling back dramatically against the mat. "How did I know that you two becoming friendly would be the worst thing that ever happened to me?"
"Harry," Draco says with a sigh, his voice softening. "I don't have to run the diagnostic spell to see it. You're exhausted."
"I have a tough job. Anyone would be tired," Harry says petulantly.
"I see people every day who are tired," Draco counters. "Very few that are truly exhausted. If you don't take care of yourself, you're going to collapse."
Harry looks pained. "Please don't mention that part to Hermione."
Draco smiles, knowing he's won. "Promise not to weasel out of my recommendation, and I'll only give the whole thing a passing mention."
"You're the worst," Harry says, but Draco knows he'll comply.
---
In a perfect world, that visit would have been the last for a long while, but in truth, Harry's visits to the hospital only become more frequent. He's getting reckless, and Draco can see him wearing thinner with every subsequent visit.
He gets called in one night to find a scorched Harry waiting for him with a sheepish expression, his clothes torn haphazardly with clear evidence of spell damage.
"Sorry to get you out of bed," Harry says.
"I don't suppose you'll use this inconvenience as a reason to put on a hospital gown for once?"
"No need," Harry says, looking more settled. "They've already cut my clothes out of your way where necessary, after all."
"You're impossible, you stubborn git" Draco says, stepping up and holding his wand at the ready. Harry moves into position, wincing, and Draco winces too as soon as he casts the diagnostic spell. Whoever did this to him meant to cut deep, and looking at the horizontal gash in Harry's shoulder, Draco can't help but think he's lucky it hadn't hit higher.
The deepest cut by far is over his hip, and as Draco moves in to study it more closely, his breath catches as he recognizes a series of dots lining Harry's skin—the Gemini constellation.
"It's not as bad as it looks," Harry insists, misinterpreting Draco's gasp.
Draco rolls his eyes and keeps working. "It's—you—I'll be the judge of that," he manages, shaking his head. He hasn't thought about it in so long, he'd half-convinced himself the mark had been false, that he'd actually had those spots all along. Seeing the complementary mark on Harry after all this time—well, it's maddening, to say the least.
He pushes the realization to the back of his mind and makes short work of Harry's wounds. Receiving them must have hurt like hell, but luckily, they're fairly easy to heal after the fact. As he bandages up the last of the cuts, he runs the diagnostic spell once more, noting all the usual signs of Harry's growing exhaustion, but nothing out of the ordinary.
"Why do you keep doing this?" Draco asks quietly, not really expecting a response.
"It's the only thing I know how to do," Harry answers, his tone weary in a way he usually hides. Draco thinks that's far from true, but Harry's in no state to hear it, not from him and certainly not right now. His mind drifts to the letter waiting on his desk back home, but can't bring himself to say anything more.
Instead, he writes to Hermione the very next morning. He bids her to keep the news secret—if anyone asks, you didn't hear this from me—but Hogwarts is in need of a new Defense Professor, and they're looking to hire someone quietly. We have a mutual acquaintance that we both know would be perfect for the position, he writes, if only he could be convinced to apply.
He sends the letter off with his other sealed reply, then makes himself some tea, wondering what a strange turn his life is about to take.
---
Draco arrives at Hogwarts one month before students are due to arrive, giving him time to get settled in the Hospital Wing and develop lesson plans for the students interested in learning more about Healing. In all his years as a student here, he never once imagined himself becoming part of the staff. And especially not having his own students, though he won't be the same as a regular Professor. More like a consultant.
It's odd, and even more so when he goes to dinner that first evening and finds himself sitting next to Neville Longbottom of all people.
"Good evening, Professor," Malfoy mumbles, feeling off-balance as he takes his seat.
"Evening," Longbottom responds, flashing him a smile and passing the bread. With hardly any prompting, Longbottom starts giving him the rundown on current affairs at Hogwarts, including an entirely unnecessary aside about Luna Lovegood, his apparent best friend, who has nothing to do with the current goings-on of Hogwarts.
"Anything I need to know about the state of the Hospital Wing? I know Madam Pomfrey's retirement was quite a last-minute decision."
"Not sure," Longbottom says, smiling at him again. "There'll be a string of something going around within the first week just like in our days, probably the sniffles. You'll want to have plenty of Pepper-Up Potion ready to go."
The sniffles, Draco repeats in his head, barely stopping himself from scoffing. "I'll be prepared."
"I'm also experimenting with growing Fluxweed in soil infused with Felix Felicis."
"Oh?" Draco asks, sitting forward, no longer feeling the desire to scoff. As Longbottom fills him in and he offers his own thoughts on the experiment, they lose track of time until they're the only ones left at the table.
He heads back to his rooms, his mind racing. He pulls parchment out of unpacked bags and starts scribbling down notes. It hadn't even occurred to him before tonight, but he'll hardly be kept busy 24/7 with students. He'll have time to experiment. Maybe this decision will have been worth it after all.
---
Harry arrives dramatically a week later during dinner, pushing open the doors to the Great Hall simultaneously with a crack of thunder and stumbling in, drenched. Typical.
Draco rolls his eyes and sits back in his chair, swirling his wine around his goblet. "Good lord. You think he plans such theatrics? It hardly seems possible, but if anyone could do it—" Draco realizes, belatedly, that Longbottom, along with most of the others at the table, are staring back at Harry in awe.
"Is Harry our new Defense Professor?" Longbottom asks as Harry approaches.
"Afraid so," Harry responds, grinning widely. He claps Longbottom on the shoulder and shoots Draco a wink. Draco scoffs and sips at his wine, willing himself to remain unaffected by Harry's clothes clinging to his skin.
Draco is, apparently, the only one who had even an inkling of Harry being the other new member of staff, if everyone's questions are anything to go by. He finishes his dinner quietly and steps away as the storm is dying down, no one giving him any notice as they pepper Harry with questions.
He waits until he's in his room with the door sufficiently locked and warded behind him to let himself acknowledge the rush of feeling washing over him. Merlin, it was one thing to see Harry on occasion in his exam room, with a clear and present goal to keep his mind occupied. Plus, Harry was usually injured, which tended to dampen his charm and looks. Draco hadn't anticipated what it might be like for them to both join the Hogwarts staff. At least he wouldn't usually be dripping wet, Christ.
He triple-checks his wards before he eases back on his bed, letting his eyes flutter shut and his hand slide between his legs. He gasps at that first bit of friction over his cock, even through his clothes—fuck, he's more turned on than he realized. He summons lube from its shadowed hiding spot and shoves at his waistband, just enough to free his cock.
It wasn't just that Harry's clothes fit him well—he looked good, better than Draco's seen him in months. Well-rested, happy, with his usual charm firmly in place. It's fucking annoying, how good he looked. And the way he smiled at Draco, as if he were happy to see him—it's too fucking much.
He's got to get himself under control, he knows, but right now all he can think about is that warm smirk on Harry's lips and the slide of his own hand over his cock. Maybe if he gets it out of his system he'll be able to move past it. So he lets himself fantasize, imagining pushing his cock forward to part those smirking lips, Harry opening for him hungrily and sucking him down.
"Oh fuck," Draco moans, tightening his grip and fucking up into his fist, imagining it's Harry's mouth. Harry would look so good between his legs, green eyes sparkling up at Draco as he takes his cock.
He comes with the image in his mind of Harry flushed and turned on, all from sucking Draco off. His eyes flick open and he stares at the ceiling for several long moments, before uttering a loud, "Fuck."
---
Despite a rocky start (at least internally), Draco quickly eases into working with Harry—and Longbottom, and the rest of the staff, even though there was some awkwardness working alongside the professors who had taught him. Who had seen him at his worst. But in the day-to-day, he doesn't see much of them, mostly sticking to the Hospital Wing and working on his own projects.
It should come as no surprise, though it does a bit, that he forms an early rivalry with Harry.
He tends to all students who come to see him in the Hospital Wing without question, but it doesn't take long for him to notice a pattern. Quite a lot of the students needing attention have two things in common—first, that their injuries are simple, some that they could potentially mend themselves and even more that their Professor could handle, and second, that they are there as a result of something that happened in one of Professor Potter's classes.
"What in Merlin's name are you doing to your students, Potter?" Draco finally asks one day, after all the students have cleared out of Harry's classroom. He closes the door behind him with his wand and fixes Harry with a glare.
"Healer Malfoy—hello, how nice of you to come all this way," Harry says, coming around to the front of his desk and perching on the edge, shit-eating grin in place. "My students are just fine, thank you for asking."
Draco rolls his eyes. "Perhaps today, in a stunning show of restraint on your part. I see students as a result of your classes more often than every other class and leisure activity combined. So I'll ask again, what the fuck are you doing?"
He's exaggerating slightly, and given the simple nature of most of the injuries, it's not all that dire—but still concerning enough to put Harry on the spot.
Harry huffs. "I know I may be putting them through more practical applications than most Defense professors in the history of this school, but I have my reasons. Reading about defense theory in a book does fuck-all if you have to defend yourself in the real world."
"So, what? You're hurling curses at unsuspecting third years?"
"Of course not," Harry says. His expression turns sheepish. "They're hurling curses at each other. Don't look at me like that, we were in dueling club our second year."
"Yes, and remind me how well that went," Draco counters. "That also doesn't explain why I'm seeing students for nosebleeds and pulled muscles. I know you know how to treat those types of injuries, or I would have seen you far more often in my previous job."
"Ah," Harry says. Draco feels a surge of triumph as the guilt shows on Harry's face. "Well, to be honest, I thought it might help you."
"Help me? To spend my day performing minor spells on students that they could just as easily learn to do themselves?" Granted, he often shows them said spells, which has prevented repeat visits for the same injuries, but he's not giving Harry that satisfaction right now.
"It's stupid. I just—I overheard a group of Ravenclaws who were talking shit, and I couldn't help thinking of the rumor mill when we were students, and—you know. I just figured if they actually received treatment, they wouldn't have cause to drum up wild theories about your reason for being here." He flashes Draco a cool look. "It wouldn't hurt you to have a reputation of, dare I say, being likeable."
Draco rocks back on his heel, surprised. He doesn't know whether the revelation makes him angry or touched. Both, certainly, and anger is currently winning out. Through gritted teeth, he says, "I can take care of myself."
"I know you can. I told you it was stupid. It's not like I specifically thought, okay, today they'll practice shield charms, and I'll be sure not to check that they've got a good base of education before I let them throw curses at each other. It just sort of happened."
"And yet it keeps happening."
Harry wipes a hand over his face, his cool facade dropping. "I know." Draco lets that hang in the air, noting the tension in Harry's shoulders. If Harry would let him, he could work out the rough energy there; provide him some relief from whatever pain he's carrying. But the longer he thinks of it, the more heat rises to his cheeks. He's about to break the silence when Harry finally continues, "Fuck, Draco. Isn't it obvious? I have no idea what I'm doing."
That's twice that Harry's surprised him beyond words today. After taking a minute to school his expression, he says, "I'm surprised to hear you admit it."
"I didn't think I was qualified to take the job to begin with, but—" he sighs, "I did need the change. It's not like we had many shining examples of leadership in this role, especially year by year. I don't know what to teach seventh years! They know as much as I do."
Okay, well at least he's not the only one exaggerating here today. "If that's true, they should have never let you become an Auror."
"No, probably not," Harry says with a chuckle, and that's how Draco knows he's serious.
"Look, are you perfect at Defense? Fuck no. If you were, I'd only have ever seen you for yearly physicals. But you must have been decent, or had near-perfect partners, or you'd have been in my exam room every day."
"True," Harry says, some of his bravado coming back. "Merlin knows I'd never have lived it down if I came to see you for a truly wanker mistake."
"Think of how your students must feel. I know you think you're doing me a favor by sending them to me, but they're not as grateful for the help as you think. They're as embarrassed by their mistakes as you would be."
Harry frowns. "Good point," he says, a bit begrudgingly.
A pleased thrill shoots through him, and Draco bites the inside of his cheek, unsure how much he'll regret the suggestion he's about to make. "If it means I get a break each day to focus on getting actual productive work done instead of tending to small, nonsensical injuries, I suppose I could help you with your lesson plans. Maybe some practice sessions and a sounding board will help you figure out what's challenging enough or too dangerous for each year."
"Because you know so much better?" Harry says, but Draco recognizes his tone. He often heard it just before Harry deigned to take his offered prescription or admitted he'd consider Draco's medical advice.
"I know how to get you out of your head, whether you want to admit it or not."
He might be imagining it, but Harry's cheeks seem pinker than they were a moment before. "Ugh, you're the worst. But two heads are probably better than one, and I've been making Hermione mental asking for her advice."
"Good lord. Leave the woman alone, hasn't she had enough from you over the years?"
"If she's willing to put up with you after 'all these years', I daresay I don't need to worry."
Draco heads toward the door, shaking his head and suppressing a laugh. "I'll be here after dinner tomorrow evening. Try to have some idea of a lesson plan prepared."
As he heads back to his room, he tries not to obsess over everything that just happened. He's helping out a colleague; nothing more.
---
Their practice sessions quickly become something of a routine, with Harry getting some satisfaction at aiming spells Draco's way, and Draco getting the immense satisfaction of correcting his technique or setting him on a different course. It could have easily been a waste of time, if they were as stubborn with each other as they'd been as students, but Harry seems to genuinely care about Draco's opinion, and Draco genuinely wants to give it.
The sessions don't just benefit Harry, either. There were a lot of areas of Draco's education that were seriously lax, and it's not until one of these nights in Harry's classroom that Draco casts his very first corporeal Patronus.
It takes the greater part of an evening, both of them growing more frustrated and snippy with each other. "You have to think of something truly happy," Harry says for what seems to be the thousandth time.
"I know that," Draco snaps. "It's not exactly easy to focus with you breathing down my neck."
"If you had a Dementor breathing down your neck you wouldn't exactly have time to complain." Harry sighs and scrubs at his face. It makes Draco angry just to see it; it's not as if Harry's really doing anything here except complaining at him. "Look, the first time I tried this, the memories I focused on were completely off-base. On my first attempt I thought about the first time I rode a broomstick."
Draco laughs. He'd been so young his first time on a broom that the memory of it is so distant as to be a mere wisp of thought. It certainly wouldn't qualify as something 'truly' happy.
"I know, it's weak. But it was a time I was happy. The difference, I think…" He trails off, staring into the middle distance, and Draco feels his anger beginning to fade. "The memories that work for me are ones that I find hard to define. Maybe not the content of the memory, but the emotion. It doesn't have to make sense, you just have to feel it."
Draco gives himself a minute to think it over, twirling his wand between his fingers. He's been using a lot of childhood memories, laughing with friends, spending time with his mother. All times when he'd felt happy in the moment. But those memories are so complicated now, tainted with the sourness of resentment for how he'd been raised, how it had held him back. He should be focusing on his current happiness.
"I'll try once more," Draco says, but Harry has already stepped back to give him space. He closes his eyes and lets the memory wash over him of the first time he'd been given the opportunity to manipulate life energy, how nervous he'd been but excited too, knowing that regardless of the outcome, something great was about to happen. He parts his lips and firmly states, "Expecto Patronum," shaping out the spell with his wand. With a rush, a bolt of energy moves through his body and out in a white flash through his wand, forming into an ethereal beast before his eyes.
Draco watches in fascination as the medium-sized cat prowls around the room, moving with purpose. He's never seen one in person, but he recognizes the creature instantly; his Patronus is an ocelot.
"She's beautiful," Harry breathes, and Draco turns to him with no small surprise. Their eyes catch, and Draco feels a pulse of heat in his chest as they share a smile, equal parts triumphant and proud. He returns his gaze to his Patronus, who approaches him and rubs up against his legs, filling him with a hopeful feeling. He reaches down to pet her, and she tilts her head into the touch briefly before fading away.
"Well done," Harry says, nearly making Draco jump at his sudden proximity. "Next I'll teach you how to send messages with your Patronus, but I think we've earned ourselves a break. Tea?"
Draco agrees, and with no small surprise, finds himself following Harry to his rooms. As they get settled, Harry muses on his progress with his classes.
"I still feel like I'm bumbling through, most days, but I can see the students improving. Just yesterday, Anabelle Mayleaf mastered the Imperturbable Charm, despite how much she struggled with simpler spells at the start of term. I do actually feel like I'm making a difference."
"It's a little less harrowing than your last job," Draco says, and Harry immediately barks out a laugh.
"You could say that." Harry narrows his eyes then, studying him obviously. "That day, the last time I saw you before Hogwarts. When you asked me why I kept at it. Did you know then? About this position?"
"I penned my acceptance of the onsite Healer position the very next morning," he admits, which is answer enough.
Harry sits back, his look still calculating. "So Hermione didn't find out about it from work."
"No."
Harry grins. "So you do think I'm suited for the job."
"Let's not go that far," Draco says, biting back a smile. "I just didn't want another Lockhart situation, especially not while I'm on staff."
It goes unspoken, but there's a definite shift after that. There's no doubt in his mind that Harry considers him a friend.
---
Draco was content to go on the rest of his life forgetting about the whole ridiculous soulmate thing, but then Tracy Vandernox had to step into the picture.
Tracy is a seventh year Gryffindor that has always had too much respect for Harry, in his opinion. The only time Draco has dealt with her in person has been when she came for a Pepper-Up Potion and a reapplication of her allergy spell, and she seemed sharp enough that Draco had given her some tips on how to avoid the need for the spell in the future.
Little did he know she'd soon be his undoing.
Harry brings it up during one of their practice sessions, as they casually shield against more and more ridiculous spells that the other throws. Draco doesn't think much of it at first; one of Professor Potter's teacher's pets came to him for advice, what a surprise. It's when Harry adds, "She thinks she has a soulmark," that Draco falters and almost lets himself get hit with an amateurish clothes-changing spell.
Draco forces his expression into one of mild disdain. "Soulmates? Don't tell me you believe all that."
"It's the first I've heard of it, but that's not all that surprising. If soulmates exist, they must be rare. And she seems pretty well convinced; I just have no idea how she thinks I can help her. I thought you might have more insight, what with your pureblood upbringing."
"I may have a book that your student would be interested in," Draco admits reluctantly, regretting his words even as he says them. "I could owl it to her."
"Merlin, no, don't let her know I've told you. Give it to me, and I'll pass it on."
"Fine," Draco says with a sigh. He lowers his wand. "I'll have it for you at breakfast tomorrow."
"Are we done already?" Harry says, his tone oddly worried. "It's still early."
"We're just practicing nonsense at this point," Draco points out. "I think I'll turn in. I have some notes from Longbottom to catch up on from his Felix experiment."
"Right."
"Unless there was something else?" Draco asks, studying Harry, who seems suddenly awkward.
"Of course not," Harry says with a weird laugh. "Shove off. I'll see you in the morning."
As Harry leaves before Draco gets a chance to, he has to wonder what the fuck just happened.
---
Of course, of course Harry doesn't just hand over the book—the nicer one from the Manor Library—he has to read it for himself first. Which has led Draco to this horrible conversation, where Harry has pulled him aside in the middle of the day and is excitedly telling him that he thinks he has a soulmark.
"It appeared on my sixteenth birthday; I'd almost forgotten. So I guess that means my soulmate is older than me?"
Bollocks. It really didn't take long for Harry to buy into this. "You've known about soulmates for less than 24 hours and you're already convinced you have one. Why am I not surprised?" he says coolly.
Harry raises his eyebrows. "Have you read the book you lent me? I'm not making it up, Draco, the book clearly states—"
"The book is very old and full of pureblood lore. It could be interesting, sure, but I would hardly take it as definitive truth."
"I don't know, Draco, I have a pretty strong feeling about this."
Draco swallows, his sense of panic rising. "Alright, then. Say you're right, and you do have a soulmate. What are the odds that you'll ever even meet her?"
"Them."
"Excuse me?"
"My soulmate. They may not be female," Harry explains simply.
"Right," Draco says dismissively, wishing he had avoided that particular revelation. As if he doesn't have enough on his mind. "My point is, they could be anyone. They could live anywhere, they might even be a Muggle. How would you go about finding them?"
Harry chews on his lip, Draco's words seeming to get to him. "I suppose I should be more level-headed about this than my student," he says with a wry laugh. Though Harry seems disappointed, Draco can't help a sigh of relief as he seems to accept that he'll never meet his soulmate. He may not survive it if Harry decides to ask more questions.
---
Naturally, Harry decides to ask more questions.
Not right away, though. A few weeks pass by, and Draco starts to relax, thinking that the whole soulmate business is behind them. But then one night, Harry seems snippier than usual. All of Draco's usual rejoinders are falling flat, and Harry seems closed off to anything resembling normal conversation.
"Who pissed in your pumpkin juice?" Draco finally says, exasperated.
"I'm curious," Harry says, pulling out a book as if he were waiting for an opening, "have you heard of this spell?" He doesn't hold out the book, just traces his finger down a page and continues, "Supposedly it dates back millenia. When cast successfully, it will help you find your soulmate, manifesting a red string between the two of you. It doesn't last long, and if they're too far away, the string could be faint or even invisible." He looks up into Draco's eyes, his gaze piercing. "Either way, sounds like a good way to prove your theory, right? Find out if they truly are so impossible to find."
"Harry, come on. You're just going to try some spell you found in a book? Need I remind you that hasn't always gone well for you in the past."
"That's why I want you here," Harry insists, holding his wand out, looking fierce. Draco's ears start to ring. "You're the level-headed one—and a Healer. It's perfect for you to be here, in case something goes wrong."
Draco raises his wand too, shaking his head vehemently. "It's not a good idea—"
"I think it is," Harry says firmly, eyes flicking down to the page.
Harry nods and opens his mouth. Draco shouts "Expelliarmus!" at the same time that Harry cuts sideways, shielding the spell, keeping his wand in hand, the buzz of strong magic visceral in the air as it sends them both staggering back from each other.
Harry goes still, his gaze triumphant as he lowers his wand. "I already cast it," he says rigidly, his jaw tight. "Last night, while you were sleeping. Anybody else sleeping in the Hospital Wing last night?"
Draco swallows, lowering his wand as the implications catch up with him. He casts desperately in his mind for something, some excuse, but none are forthcoming. "No," he finally concedes.
"How long have you known?"
"I knew what the mark was when it appeared," Draco admits.
Harry flinches. "Fucking hell," he murmurs, pushing his glasses up to press his thumb and forefinger against his eyes.
"We were sixteen, Harry. Try to remember what we were like back then."
Harry laughs sarcastically. "Oh, I remember. Trust that I'm grateful to have been spared the news back then, when you were at the peak of your hatred."
Draco bites back a defense—he'd never hated Harry, not really, but the emotions didn't matter when the actions had all been there. They've long since gotten past that, or so he thought.
As if reading his mind—god, that better not be a feature—Harry goes on, "We've been past that for a long time. So what's your excuse for after the war? Once we were in each other's circles again? Hell, when I point-blank asked you about soulmates?"
Draco pulls himself to his full height, withdrawing into himself, using Occlumency just in case. "It doesn't mean anything," he says coolly. "You have this grand idea in your head, but you're wrong. Just because they call it soulmates doesn't mean it's anything more than a magical tie between two people. Our fates are intertwined, sure. Explains why I can't seem to escape you."
Harry rolls his eyes. "That's one possibility that your book listed. But I've been branching out my research."
Draco shakes his head. "You can read as many books as you like, it doesn't change the obvious truth."
"Oh, I forgot, you're always right about everything."
"Good, glad you finally caught on."
"How'd that work out for sixteen-year-old Draco?"
"Fuck off. You know that was different."
"Is it? Apparently sixteen-year-old Draco's decisions have been informing the present, after all."
Draco grits his teeth and counts to ten. "At what point would you have preferred to be blindsided by some superstitious nonsense with someone who you, up until recently, barely tolerated?"
"Oh, is that how I feel about you? I never knew."
"Don't be ridiculous," Draco spits. This is why he didn't want a soulmate in the first place. Too many assumptions. What does this even mean between them? Doesn't Harry feel boxed in? Because Draco sure as hell does right now.
They stare at each other for several long moments, Draco's mind a whirl of anger and desperation. He can't read Harry's expression. "You know, it wouldn't be 'soulmates' if it didn't go both ways," Harry says, speaking as if he's talking to a toddler.
"I'm done with this conversation," Draco says, then strides off for the door.
"Great. Run away. Always suited you."
Draco flicks him off over his shoulder as he storms off. Harry shouts something else after him, but he doesn't try to decipher it.
---
After their argument, Draco doesn't see Harry for a while. Most of Draco's meals are spent in the Great Hall with Longbottom, with no sign or mention of Harry. He's sure Longbottom must know something is up, as Harry is so often there with them, doing most of the talking, but he doesn't call attention to it. Draco is privately glad to see that whatever hissy fit Harry's throwing, he hasn't been talking him down to their colleagues. He happily chats about the current state of his research and puts any other emotional nonsense out of his mind.
He would have been content to keep things this way for the rest of term, but one late night, a fifth year Gryffindor shows up at the Hospital Wing with a nasty injury, and Draco needs help. He gets the student stabilized and closes his eyes, focusing hard on the last time he'd been able to joke easily with Harry, feeling the brush of his fingers as he laughed bodily at something Draco had said—and, "Expecto Patronum!" The ocelot bounds off with his message, hopefully to retrieve help.
There's never really any doubt in his mind that Harry will come, but he still feels a rush of relief when he darts into the Hospital Wing.
"Oh, Merlin. It's Howard Griggs," Harry mumbles, scrubbing at his forehead.
"Look at me. I need you to focus. Do you know the stabilization charm?"
"Aren't you already doing—?"
"Harry. I need you to maintain the stabilization charm so I can work. Do you know it?"
"Yes, I—yes."
"It will need to be a heavy one. He was bleeding heavily when he arrived."
Harry concentrates and casts the charm, providing Draco with some much-needed relief as he lets up on his own charm. He shakes his fingers out before he casts the diagnostic spell, having his fears confirmed as he sees multiple internal injuries. He can fix them, but he needs to be precise.
"Potion damage," he mumbles, extracting any remnants of the potion first and vanishing it with Evanesco, then getting to work on healing his throat.
"This is bad, Draco," comes Harry's fretful voice. "You should have sent for McGonagall. Or at least a more senior level staff member."
"You're managing just fine, as long as you don't get distracted," Draco says absently, his eyes and mind focused on his task. Griggs got here quickly, thankfully, so the potion hasn't hit much of his digestive tract yet.
Harry's still worried. "We should send word—"
"Potter," Draco interrupts, his eyes snapping up. "Students come to me with injuries like this because they know I will treat them first and ask questions later. My magic is stronger with you here, and I know I can handle this if you could bring yourself to shut your mouth and focus on the stasis charm."
Harry does shut his mouth, but not without a firm glare. That's fine; Draco can work with a silent glare. He tries not to worry about the admission of his magic being stronger; surely Harry has noticed it too.
It takes a while, and Draco is sweating heavily by the time he's undone the most caustic damage, but he feels confident enough for Harry to lift his spell. Harry goes to fetch some water as Draco collapses in the chair next to the bed, waiting for Griggs to wake up.
"You handled that well," Harry says quietly as they wait together. "I would have been a mess."
"You were a mess," Draco murmurs, spotting Harry's smile out of the corner of his eye. They lapse into a comfortable silence, just breathing together.
Griggs eventually comes to consciousness with a gasp, startling Draco and Harry from their silent reverie. They share a wordless look, and then Harry steps away, pulling the curtain closed behind him.
After a short interlude of Draco calming Griggs down enough for him to be coherent, he puts together the story of what happened.
"Please don't tell the Headmistress," Griggs begs every other sentence, tears flowing. "If my parents find out, they're sure to pull me out of school."
"If you are honest with me about what happened, and we can make a plan so that it doesn't happen again, I see no need to tell the Headmistress," Draco assures him.
With a little more coaxing, Griggs miserably admits to trying to brew the Quandary Potion on his own, and then sampling the end result without supervision.
"So you were using the Potions Lab without Professor Edie's knowledge or permission?" Draco prompts carefully.
"I tried to ask, but she was busy, and I'm having so much trouble with my classes. I thought the potion would help."
The potion in question would be more likely to help him make better decisions, like spending his time studying with his peers instead of brewing secret potions, but Draco figures he doesn't need to impart that lesson just yet.
"I know I shouldn't have done it. Even if I hadn't bollocksed up the instructions, I had to use a bunch of Tamara's potions stores, and I didn't tell her either. I was desperate. But I promise not to do it again, please don't tell—"
Draco raises his hand to quell the plea for the dozenth time. "Tell me what you intend to do to fix what you've done today."
"I'll replace Tamara's ingredients—I already have an order out, I just got impatient and she already had what I needed. And—er, well, I'll apologize for taking them without asking."
"And for your Professor?"
Griggs's eyes widen. "Do I have to—?"
"Yes, Griggs, you should let Professor Edie know you used the lab after hours without permission. Unless you'd rather I tell her—?" he asks, making it clear he would be less solicitous in his telling.
"No! I'll do it, just—do I have to tell her what I was brewing?"
"It wouldn't be a bad idea, you know. If you had agreed to a chaperone, they probably could have caught that the potion was burning too hot when you added the bubotuber pus. I suspect that's what caused such a strong reaction."
"I don't think Professor Edie likes me very much, is all," Griggs says, fiddling with the sheet on his bed.
"Let her know that she can speak with me about this incident if she has any concerns. And in the future, if you need to brew a potion, secure a chaperone. Any Professor will do, including myself, provided I'm available."
"Really?" Griggs says, darting his gaze to where Harry is clearly lurking nearby.
"Yes, even Professor Potter. I'm sure he'd be happy to help," Draco assures him, pleased when he hears a small noise of consternation from through the curtain. "I see no reason to report this to the Headmistress, but I am taking twenty points from Gryffindor. As long as I have your word that you will take greater precautions in the future, for your own safety and others'."
After many repeated assurances, Draco offers Griggs a sleeping draught, and within minutes he's sleeping soundly.
Draco pulls the curtain back, and he and Harry share a long, weighted look. "Why don't I make us some tea," Draco offers, and soon they're ducking out of the main Hospital Wing toward his rooms.
"I've gotta say," Harry begins once they're settled, "I wouldn't have expected such discretion from you. Thought you'd be sending word to McGonagall straight off."
Draco snorts. "A lot has changed since our school days. Why do you think my request to ease up on your students came from me and not from the Headmistress?"
Harry looks stricken. "That would not have been a fun conversation."
"No." Draco smiles. "I imagine it wouldn't."
They sip their tea in what seems to be a comfortable silence for a while, but Draco can feel the other shoe about to drop. Eventually, Harry takes a deep breath in, and Draco braces himself.
"So you think our magic is stronger together."
"It definitely is. Even our disarming/shield combination shouldn't have been so powerful."
Harry nods, staring into space. "But why now? Why not when we were sixteen?"
"I don't know," Draco admits. He's been trying not to think about it.
"Maybe we both had to know. I would say we both had to accept it, but you clearly haven't, so."
Draco rolls his eyes. "Statements like that definitely rule out some sort of maturity threshold."
"Ah, yes, because you're the epitome of maturity. Remind me, who was it that stormed out of our last conversation?"
Draco stands, taking both of their mugs so that he can pour more tea. To his surprise, Harry stands too, following him to his kitchenette.
"Potter, what are you doing?" he asks when he turns to find him standing so close.
Harry smirks. "Ah, so we're back to Potter now?"
Draco swallows, his throat having gone dry. "Just trying to be professional, Professor."
Harry takes a step forward, putting himself irrefutably in Draco's space.
"Sod off," Draco says, shoving him, but Harry's as immovable as he is stubborn.
"Tell me you don't want this and I will," Harry says, his voice barely above a whisper, standing close enough for Draco to feel his body heat.
"Shut the fuck up," Draco says, and crashes their lips together.
Draco has kissed a fair few blokes in his day, most of them enthusiastic, so it's immediately apparent that something more is going on here. He hardly has time to clock it, though, before they're moaning into each other, clutching at one another's robes and pulling each other close.
Harry's body is firm and responsive against his, every shift they make against each other drawing a gasp. Draco can hardly think as his nose pushes painfully against the bottom rim of Harry's glasses; he just wants him closer.
Harry tears himself away from the kiss first, panting hard, still clutching at Draco's robes as he takes a step back. They stare at each other, gazes heated, as they wait for their hearts to calm. "Erm, that was—"
"Yes," Draco agrees, releasing his grip and lowering his hands to shake out his fingers. "Probably best if we don't have a repeat performance," he says, leaving the mugs and returning to his chair. He sinks down, exhaustion threatening to overwhelm him.
"You are impossible," Harry says, exasperated. He takes his seat across from Draco, shooting him an angry look. "So even after that, you're going to deny it."
"There's nothing to deny," Draco says primly. He levels Harry with his most reasonable expression. "Haven't we both had enough of magic and legacy predetermining our lives?"
"Yes," Harry admits, "but this is the first time it means I can possibly have something I actually want." Draco shakes his head, but Harry barrels on. "You may be right, the whole soulmate thing may mean our lives are 'intertwined'. It might not be emotional at all. But— I think it is. It is for me."
Draco pinches the bridge of his nose. He can feel a headache coming on. "You don't know what you're saying. You did a spell that told you I was your soulmate and now you're suddenly feeling all these things? Soulmate magic is old magic, and as with most other old magic, it's based on a lot of antiquated beliefs and a fucked-up understanding of how magic works. So try not to be a Gryffindor about this and base the rest of your life on it."
Harry rolls his eyes. "So you're back to telling me how I feel, then? Honestly Draco, you're running out of tricks." He pushes to his feet, adjusting his robes. "It's late; I should be getting back. I'm going to lend you the book Hermione found on soulmates; Tracy returned it to me yesterday. Read it or don't. But you might learn something."
Draco watches him go and tries not to feel like he's lost yet another argument.
---
The next morning, Draco gives Griggs a quick exam and lets him go free after another round of assurances that he'll be more mindful in the future. He shows up to breakfast just in time to find Harry leaving, which is something of a relief until Harry hands him a book and frowns at him. Draco would have rather he just ignored him.
Shortly after his afternoon lecture with his Healing students, an owl arrives with a letter from Hermione. He fully intends to put it with the others, unread, but her tawny owl is insistent, pecking at his hands and refusing to let up.
Sighing, he opens the letter, knowing that the beast will not relent. Sure enough, the first thing Hermione mentions in the letter is how she instructed Artemis to pester him until he reads this letter and replies. He pinches the bridge of his nose and gives the owl a quelling look, but Artemis ignores him, preening her feathers.
Hermione keeps it short, letting him know in just a few words that she has recent updates from Harry and wants to have a talk, specifically in the form of a floo call this evening. Ron is meeting Harry at the Hog's Head, so we'll both be free of distractions. Draco scoffs at that. He has more going on in his life than Harry bloody Potter. He doesn't especially want to spend his evening talking about his feelings—or justifying his own behavior—but at the same time, it would be nice to talk to someone about this who isn't intimately involved. Hermione has a level head; perhaps she'll even be on his side.
Within a few minutes of the call, it's evident that she is not on his side.
"I don't know why everyone is so interested in who I fancy," Draco says, exasperated. "No one ever cared in our school days."
"I knew it," Hermione says triumphantly. "You've always had feelings for him, haven't you?"
Draco tsks. He shouldn't have let himself get worked up. "I wouldn't say always."
"Don't split hairs, Draco. What's holding you back?"
"Oh, come on. Don't tell me you're for this too. Soulmates aren't real, Hermione. Not the way people define them now."
Hermione remains silent, studying him through the fire. "Fine. Let's forget about the whole soulmate business for a moment—if Harry were expressing interest right now without all that, would you be having such a crisis over it?"
"It doesn't matter. Even if he swears up and down that it isn't about the bond, he has know way of truly knowing. Old magic is like that; it's manipulative. And if he figured out somewhere down the road that it was the bond making him feel that way, he would never forgive me. And honestly, I may never forgive myself. I'm done buying into life decisions determined by someone other than myself."
Hermione nods, seeming to take him seriously. "All good points. But here's another data point to consider: what if I told you Harry was interested in you before this whole soulmate business came to light?"
"Don't be ridiculous," Draco states, his heart starting to race.
"If anyone asks, you didn't hear this from me," Hermione begins, her eyes sparkling, "but Harry has been interested in you for quite some time. I suspected it for a long while, but it was irrefutable during his Auror days. We always knew when he'd been to see you for Healing, because he wouldn't shut up about it." Draco bites the inside of his mouth, wanting to argue, but also wanting to hear what else she has to say. "And then, near the start of your shared tenure as Hogwarts staff, he came to me for advice. That was the first time he admitted it. He was thinking of asking you out, but he wasn't sure how to go about it."
Draco clutches the arms of his chair, feeling light-headed. "What did you tell him?"
"The same thing I'm telling you now. Stop getting in your own way and go after what you want."
---
So he reads the stupid book. Unlike the two books he found when he was sixteen, this one puts more of a focus on the emotional, romantic, and even sexual aspects of a bond. Draco is ready to dismiss it all, but then he gets to the chapter on magical power.
According to the book—and Draco plans to check the references, as well—the bond doesn't solidify until both parties are aware and open to it. Soulmates become marked when the younger of the two turns sixteen, but even if they're dating at the time or in the future, they may never become bonded. The connection must be deeper than just interest or attraction. The idea makes Draco's pulse jump under his skin, as he starts to let himself believe that he might not be alone in his feelings.
---
Which is why Draco finds himself, two nights after Griggs and the Hospital Wing incident, knocking on Harry's door.
"What are you doing here?" Harry asks coolly, leaning against the doorframe.
Draco raises his eyebrows. "I'm here for our practice session. We normally meet on Thursdays, do we not?"
Harry appears somewhat bemused, but he steps back and allows Draco inside. "We don't normally have butterbeer during practice sessions," Harry points out, nodding to Draco's hands.
"Think of it as a peace offering," he says, handing over the six pack. "I read your book. It certainly took a different tone from mine."
Harry snorts. "No arguments there." He pops open two bottles of butterbeer and hands one back to Draco.
Draco sighs. "As much as it pains me to admit it, I suppose we need to talk." Harry raises his eyebrows, waving a hand between them as if to say, so talk. "I realize I've made some… assumptions. Some of them potentially unfair. And I realize I've left you no choice but to make assumptions about me." He takes a long pull of butterbeer, wishing he had thought to bring something stronger. "I'll start simple. I'm interested in you, and if I'd had any notion that interest was returned before this whole soulmate business started up, I would have done something about it."
Harry chokes on his butterbeer, which is satisfying in its own way, and distracts from Draco's irregular heartbeat. "Only you would see soulmates as a reason not to date someone you fancy," Harry accuses between coughs. "I suppose I have to talk about my feelings now?"
"It would be nice not to be in this alone, yes."
"Fine. I've… struggled with my attraction to you since we were students," Harry admits, "though I wouldn't have admitted that's what it was at the time. And it's only gotten worse since we started seeing more of each other."
Draco smirks. "Always nice to hear someone describe their attraction to me as if it were some unfortunate illness."
"Thought I'd return the favor," Harry says with a laugh. "I didn't— expect to feel this way. The attraction, I could handle. It was when you helped me realize how much I actually hated being an Auror, that I actually had potential for something else, that I knew I was in trouble. And then you helped me get this job, which I love. The fact that you understood—that you cared—meant a lot to me."
Draco swallows down the urge to downplay his involvement. He had cared. He hadn't let himself think about why. He takes a fortifying breath. Harry has laid his cards on the table; he can do the same. "For me the turning point was when you started to take me seriously. I know you didn't have much regard for the other Healers." Harry scrubs a hand through his hair, endearingly sheepish. "But I tried not to give it much consideration—at the time, I'd thought you'd sooner face the Dark Lord again than go on a date with me."
Harry barks out a laugh with a certain nervousness in it that eases Draco's own energy. "So is that what we're doing? Dating?"
Draco rolls his eyes. "I'll take you to dinner in Hogsmeade on Saturday. We can worry about what to call it after that."
"Do I get a say in this?" Harry asks, grinning. "Yeah, alright. Dinner sounds good." He pulls his wand from his pocket and gives it a twirl. "Were we actually going to duel? Because I could use the practice. My students may be more clever than I anticipated."
Draco sets his drink aside and pulls out his wand with a flourish. "Of course. Clearly your head doesn't stay on straight without my help."
With that, Harry strikes with a tickling hex, which Draco easily deflects. They fall into it easily, as if they haven't had a long break, and the buzz of magical energy seems almost tangible. It's not until Draco laughs and counters Harry's latest attempt with a stinging hex that things falter.
Harry doesn't even try to deflect the hex, and it hits him square in the thigh. "Ow, fuck," Harry says, hopping on one foot and stumbling back into a table.
"Oh, for the love of— I couldn't have telegraphed that more if I tried."
"Well I'm sorry," Harry bites back, sitting back against the table, clutching at his leg. "You're fucking distracting."
It's apparent as soon as Draco steps forward that the spell hit harder than it should have. He calls forth the energy simmering under Harry's skin and works at it, finding it easier to manipulate with his fingers than his wand.
As he works to soothe the sting, Harry's breath catches. "Draco…" comes the distant, breathless voice, but Draco pushes it to the back of his mind while his own heart races.
He massages the energy until it's a brilliant white, and then he eases it back down toward Harry's body with a cupped palm until he makes contact with Harry's thigh. A bolt of heat shoots through him at the contact, stoking the low simmer of arousal he'd ignored while he worked, and he looks up to find Harry's hungry gaze staring back at him.
Draco's not sure who moves first, but suddenly they're on each other, mouths hot and slick, hands grabbing at each other's clothes to pull their bodies flush. When Harry's lips part on a moan, Draco snakes his tongue inside, savoring the taste of him. It's so much better, so much more than their kiss of just two days ago, when Draco hadn't let himself believe that Harry felt the same. He feels pleasantly drunk on the feeling of Harry, pressed close and just as desperate.
Draco doesn't know how long they stay like that, getting lost in the kiss, but his reverie is broken when Harry grabs at his ass and pulls him closer, letting Draco feel that Harry's just as hard as he is.
"This way," Harry mumbles, pulling him back toward his bedroom. They make slow progress, never parting from each other for more than a second or two, both of them shedding clothes as they go.
"You always said I'd have to buy you dinner first," Draco says, trying to gain back some breath as Harry yanks his trousers off, working on his own at the same time.
"It's on the books. Still counts," Harry says, moving back in, shoving his glasses on top of his head so he can move in close.
Everywhere that Harry touches him sends a surge of want coursing through Draco's body. "Harry," he hisses from clenched teeth as Harry grabs at his hips, bringing their cocks together with only the thin barrier of their pants between them. He's not going to last, not with Harry's breathy little moans as he moves against him and the musky scent of Harry's sweat filling his head. It's unreal how good it feels, rubbing up against each other like a couple of uncontrollable teenagers.
"Touch me," Harry pleads, panting over Draco's neck as he presses lingering kisses there.
Draco reaches inside his briefs, and a moment after his fingers circle the base of Harry's dick and give a firm stroke, Harry is crying out, writhing against him and coming over his fist. "Oh fuck," Harry says shakily, clutching at Draco as he strokes him through it, his own desire churning in his belly.
"That was— Here, let me show you," Harry breathes, straightening and sliding his hand over Draco's abs, slipping past his waistband and leaving a trail of burning heat behind.
Draco nearly chokes as Harry takes his cock in hand, a shock of desire wracking his body so strongly that his knees nearly give out. "Yeah, yeah," he says desperately as he fucks up into Harry's fist, and his orgasm slams into him, every inch of his body lighting up with pleasure as Harry keeps touching him, murmuring encouragingly.
"Holy fuck," Draco says, slumping, and Harry laughs.
"Yeah. We didn't even make it to the bed," he says, and they both turn, staring at the mattress not even two feet away.
Draco laughs along with him, and extricates himself long enough to retrieve his wand, spelling the both of them clean (enough for now, at least—he'll be washing these boxer briefs with care later). He lets Harry pull him onto the bed, the both of them still calming down from the intensity of what just happened. "The books didn't mention anything about this," Draco says, because if he had any doubt about this being related to their soul bond, it would be dispelled by the tingling that remains in his hip where his mark resides.
Harry's fingers brush over his own hip in wonder. "Maybe we're reading the wrong books."
Harry's eyes catch his, and Draco can almost guess what he's about to say. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours," he says, waggling his eyebrows.
Draco rolls his eyes, fond, as he pushes off his boxer briefs. The nondescript freckles seem to stand out more now, but that might be his imagination. Harry follows suit, and Draco can make out the familiar shape of the Gemini constellation against his dark skin.
Harry reaches out, his fingers brushing over Draco's mark, and then he's shifting forward to brush his lips there, sending a wave of utter contentment washing over Draco. "Oh," he says as something settles in his chest.
"I feel it too," Harry says, reaching for Draco's hand and placing it over his mark. The steady feeling remains as the two of them grin at each other like idiots.
Harry's tongue darts out to wet his lips, and Draco watches the movement, thinking of all the times he's wanted to kiss him over the years. Facing each other down during a Quidditch match, Harry's first carefully-worded admission that Draco's advice was immensely helpful, the triumphant look they'd shared when Draco cast his first corporeal Patronus. He doesn't need an excuse, he realizes, and he pitches forward to capture Harry's lips in a fierce kiss. Harry pushes back against him, biting Draco's lower lip and drawing forth a sound almost like a growl from him.
It's not long before Draco can feel himself getting hard again. He rolls over on top of Harry grinding down against him as they moan appreciatively into each other.
"I want to taste you," Draco says, his voice coming out rough. Harry falls back against his pillow with a whine as Draco gets a hand on his dick, moving down the bed and kneeling between Harry's legs.
He presses a kiss to one thigh, and then the other, running his hand teasingly light over Harry's cock. As he moves in, Harry sits up on his elbows, pulling his glasses back down over his eyes, and Draco decides to give him a show. He licks up the shaft slowly, savoring the quivers in Harry's thighs and how he's already leaking at the tip. Part of him hopes the loss of stamina is only temporary, but right now he loves how easily Harry is falling apart for him. He flicks his eyes up to catch Harry's before he draws his cock into his mouth and hollows his cheeks, making Harry fall back against his pillow again.
Before he can work up to a rhythm, Harry is sitting up again, pushing at his shoulders. "Stop, stop," Harry says, breathless. "Turn over."
Harry does a weird twisting motion with his hands that makes no sense. "What, this angle isn't good enough for you?" Draco snipes, thrown off by the sudden halt.
"Don't be difficult. I want to suck you too, c'mon."
Draco huffs even as the idea makes his cock twitch. He moves reluctantly but makes Harry move too, the two of them bickering through their irrefutable arousal. Draco expects it's only fueling things.
It's heavenly once they find the right position, the heaviness of Harry's cock on his tongue as Harry swallows him down. Contrary to his earlier suspicions, this does not seem to be Harry's first time sucking cock. Heat pools in his belly as he fights the urge to thrust into the perfect, wet heat of Harry's mouth.
He doubles his efforts then, suddenly needing to make Harry come before he does. He takes him in deep, teasing a finger back over his rim. Harry's moan vibrates against his cock, nearly making him lose focus, and Harry seems to get more intent on his task as well.
Draco is fairly certain they're both fighting to get each other off first, but at this point, he hardly cares. He moves over Harry's cock as thoroughly as he wants Harry to move over his, and crests over the edge as he feels Harry come hot against his tongue.
One more cleaning charm later, they flop back against the pillows, thoroughly spent. Draco is so blissed out that he can't even remember who actually came first, or bring himself to care.
Harry's hand flutters down onto his hip as he plasters himself against Draco's side. "You're a cuddler, then?" Draco asks, curling his arm around Harry's back.
"Don't pretend you're not," Harry murmurs, sated.
They lapse into a warm silence that stretches so long that Draco suspects Harry has fallen asleep. But then he speaks up, his voice muffled against Draco's shoulder. "You're thinking too loudly."
"Stop listening, then," Draco says, grateful that Legilimency is not an aspect of the soul bond.
"Just say it out loud so we can both get some rest," Harry says. When he shifts to meet Draco's gaze, he looks serious, and genuinely interested.
That alone leads him to admit, "I'm still not entirely comfortable with the whole soulmate concept. I don't like some pureblood superstition deciding my fate. I had hoped I was past all that."
Harry sits up fully, and for a second Draco fears he's made a mistake. But Harry responds with more passion than anger. "D'you think I would be on board with this if it felt like some pureblood bullshit? We're choosing this. And we can still choose differently. We're certainly going to fight; I'd be disappointed if we didn't." Draco chuckles, secretly happy to hear it. "I don't feel beholden to you because of any magic or marks. Right now I want this. I want you. And if some weird magic enhances the experience, then I can't really complain."
Draco thinks it over while Harry interlocks their fingers together, settling back in next to him. Harry's got a point—perhaps for the first time in his life. The bond feels more like a perk than an obligation. His own desire for Harry has ebbed and flowed over the time they've known each other, feeling as natural as any other attraction, entirely unlike any of the darker forms of old magic that make him feel uneasy. And of all people, he trusts Harry to know dark magic when he sees it, or doesn't.
"Note the date and time, because you're not going to hear this often. I think you're right," Draco says, pleased when Harry laughs out loud. "Soulmate or not, I want to be with you. Fuck fate."
"Fuck fate," Harry agrees, grinning, and pulls him into another thorough kiss.