#festfics

“As if you’re having that bad of a time,” Harry said, and Draco glanced at him over his shoulder before arranging the duvet neatly on the mattress.

“I’m fine,” Draco said, picking up Harry’s towel from the floor to hang on the broken bunk’s ladder. “Aside from living with an absolute troll. Nice pick for your first wand core. Was that a family heirloom?”

Harry tried to shove him, but was laughing too hard, and ended up grabbing his arm instead as he buckled forward.

“Shut up—” Harry said, and Draco huffed. “You’re so dumb.”

“Am not. What kind of wood do you want for your wand? Now I’ve managed to make something decent enough, Alder will let me pick?”

Harry gave him a little push as he released Draco’s arm, then squeezed his hands together, feeling hot.

“I dunno. Maple might be nice. Bet it tastes good.”

“Taste? We’re not eating them.”

“No, I know, but like…you know, when you hold a wand and you can taste it?”

Draco stared at him with a lifted brow, hands in his pockets.

“Potter, what in Merlin are you talking about? You’re licking them? Did you—did you lick my wand?” Harry struggled to hold in his laugh for approximately one second before he was doubled over, holding his stomach. “Shut up! That is not what I meant!”

Harry tilted onto his side as Draco pushed him, curling into a ball, laughing so hard he felt delirious. The imagery was mad either way—whether it was Draco’s real wand that he was licking or—or...his brain short-circuited as he pictured something else, and suddenly he didn’t find it funny at all anymore. He let his laugh taper off, looked up at Draco’s reddened face, his crossed arms.

“Did you?” Draco persisted.

Harry swallowed, feeling a bit sick—a bit sweaty—a bit too lost in his own mind to answer the question.

“You’re a deplorable pervert, Blaise,” said Draco, holding a clipboard under his nose. 

“Funny words from a man who’s just told me to wank off in a closet.” He tapped his wand to sign. “And you’ll send the paperwork to the club for me?” 

“Assuming your sample doesn’t come back infested, yes.” 

“I’m clean. Everyone at the club is—that’s the whole point of testing every four weeks.” 

“A month is a long time. Anything can happen. One rogue cock and the entire place goes down.” 

“Know a lot about rogue cocks, do you, Malfoy?” 

“Go fuck yourself. Literally. I’ll give you five minutes—though, knowing you, that might be a record.” 

“Would be faster if you helped me.” 

“Then, by all means, take your time,” Draco said, turning toward the door. “You’re lucky I got this job. Your mum has shagged half the Healers in this ward alone—they’d tell her all about your extracurriculars if you went to one of them.” 

“Yes, yes, I’m forever indebted to you for keeping my secrets. Not like you’re under oath or anything.” 

“If the Dark Lord decides I am needed elsewhere, who will you go to?” 

“A Muggle testing centre. I just like it this way because you look good in green. It makes providing the sample much easier.” 

The heat that built in Draco’s cheeks was against his will entirely, and he shot Blaise a glare as he opened the door. 

“See you next month, lech.” 

“That’s no way to talk to your patients. Lucky I like you mean.” 

“Aim better this time.” 

⇇ ⇉

His Mark burned halfway through lunch, and he choked down a swear, chugging his tea in the lift as he went toward the Floos. Once inside the Manor, he found Voldemort’s study, bowing low until he was noticed and addressed. 

“Anyone admitted this week with memory loss, bring them to me,” Voldemort said, and Draco stared at a crack in the marble a few feet away. 

“Yes, my Lord,” he answered. 

“Mate, you alright?” Ron asked, a shine in his eye that told Harry he was several drinks deep. “You’ve been staring at Malfoy all night. Don’t think he’s up to something, do you?” 

Harry frowned, shook his head.

“No. Just…nothing,” Harry said, and Ron leaned toward him. 

“You haven’t got a Marauder’s Map for the Ministry, do you?” 

“What? No, why?” 

“Thought I might find you lying awake tonight watching Malfoy’s tiny footsteps like you used to do in sixth year.” 

“Shut up. It’s not like he lives there, anyway,” Harry said, elbowing him away. 

Harry searched for Malfoy again, glimpsing blond hair as he disappeared around the corner, and Harry got up from his seat, then turned back, grabbing Ron by the arm.

“Don’t ask why, but I need you to distract Nott for me.” 

“Gross! I don’t want to talk to him—” 

“I’ll buy your drinks next Friday. All of them. Please?” 

Ron’s eyebrows lifted, a glint in his eye as he stood up from his chair and wobbled a bit before he went toward Nott. Harry lingered at a nearby table for a long moment before he went to the bathroom. He pushed the door, his heart pounding, unsure of his intentions as he rounded the stall door and nudged it open. 

Malfoy was there, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, head bowed. He looked up, timidly at first, but his expression shifted when he realised that it was Harry standing there. He straightened, arms hanging by his sides, mouth opening and shutting again. 

“Waiting for someone?” Harry asked, and he braced his forearm on the door as Malfoy tried to push it shut. 

“What is this?” Malfoy asked, his eyes going to the space behind Harry as if expecting someone to be there. “What do you want?” 

“I want to know why you’re hooking up with a prat like Theodore Nott. Have you no self-respect?”

“Self…?” Malfoy huffed, relenting his fight with the door as he stared at Harry in disbelief. “Even if that were true, it would be none of your business, would it?” 

Harry’s neck pricked, his heart skipping, eyes darting to the floor and back to Malfoy’s face as his alcohol-riddled brain tried to come up with an excuse. 

“The team is my business. It doesn’t do well for training if people start hooking up with each other.” 

“Oh? Well, I didn’t see you put up an argument about Weasley’s little bet regarding Finnegan and Thomas. Is your anti-sex clause only applicable to Slytherins?” 

“Well—that’s different. They were always that way—skirting around each other, even in school.” 

“So what? We’re all trainees. What difference does it make?” 

Harry swallowed, shrugged, glanced away again. 

“It doesn’t—I just—it doesn’t matter. They’re not doing anything and neither should you.” 

“Who said I was? Did you hear something? Did someone say something to you?” 

He had stepped closer, his shoulders set, eyes narrowed and Harry felt the urge to step back but didn’t—not wanting to allow space for Malfoy to exit the stall. 

“Nobody said anything,” Harry said quickly, and Malfoy looked back and forth between his eyes, stance not easing. 

“Then why would you think I was waiting to meet— someone in here?” 

Harry shrugged, leaned his other arm against the wall nearest, blocking Malfoy in.

“Well, I’m not blind. I…saw you come in here just after him last week.” 

“So? Can’t two people use the toilet at the same time? What are you, the piss police?” 

“As the Lead Auror in training, I don’t think it’s smart to sleep with your fellow trainees.” 

“Why don’t you go fuck yourself , if you’re so obsessed with all of it? Maybe it will keep your nose out of other people’s business,” Malfoy spat. “Can you move, or were you planning on climbing in here and seeing what all the fuss is about?” 

Harry let out a huff as Malfoy leaned back, folded his arms, rested his shoulder against the stall wall. 

“I didn’t think you and Nott were so close,” Malfoy said, lifting his chin, shaking his hair off his face. “That must be how you found out—he told you, didn’t he?” 

“What? No—I—I saw you follow him in.” 

“I don’t believe you. Why would you notice where I go? Why would anyone?” 

“I keep tabs on the whole group. It’s part of my job, isn’t it?” 

Malfoy’s mouth quirked, his eyes dropping to Harry’s shoulder, then his chest. Suddenly Harry’s collar felt too tight, chest heating uncomfortably under his gaze. 

“What I think is that you heard a rumour and came to see if it was true,” Malfoy’s eyes lingered on Harry’s belt for a long beat before he lifted his gaze again, shrugging. “I’m not as opposed as I once thought.” 

“Opposed? To what?” 

Malfoy didn’t answer, taking a step closer. 

“You’ve gotten better at duelling, you know?” Malfoy asked.

“I’m sorry…was that a compliment you just gave me? I didn’t think I’d live to see the day.” 

“Well, you’re still not that great. Just better than before.” 

Harry huffed, his heart leaping when he felt Malfoy’s fingers at his shoulder, sliding up to adjust his collar. 

“What is it you heard?” Malfoy asked, and Harry’s eyes found his mouth, unable to look away.

“Heard?” Harry whispered. 

“What did he tell you?” 

“Who?” 

“You came in here for a reason, didn’t you? What is it?” 

Harry opened his mouth, shook his head, licked his lips. 

“I…I don’t know. To see if you were waiting for him, I guess. Like he did last time.” 

“And then what?” Malfoy asked, his hand flattening on Harry’s shoulder, sliding down to his chest. 

“I didn’t think that far ahead,” Harry murmured.

“Your lack of forethoughts hasn’t changed, then.” 

He was halfway through wanking himself off when Harry burst through his door. He gasped, flattened his cock against his stomach as Harry landed on the bed, elbow narrowly missing his hip as he propped himself up and grinned. 

“Happy Birthday to the worst housemate a guy could ask for,” Harry said, his ribcage crushing his cock to his heaving stomach. “You look flushed. Heat on too high?” 

“No, just—warm sleeper—” Draco murmured, using his other hand to hold the duvet tight, making sure Harry couldn’t yank it off him. “Since when don’t you knock?” 

“Since we have plans! And you’re late! Come on, there’s cake. Well—there will be. You know how cross Hermione gets when we’re late.” 

“Can’t I sleep in on my own birthday? I didn’t even want to do anything.” 

“Too bad. People care about you, thought you’d be used to it by now. Get dressed! No time for breakfast anymore,” Harry said as he got up, leaving the door open as he left. 

It was better to be an owl, Harry thought, as he watched Hogsmeade pass underneath him, wings stretching wide, wind catching. He could go anywhere and nobody recognised him. There were no strangers to thank him—no friends to stare at him and ask what was wrong when everything was wrong, but he couldn’t say that or they’d worry. As an owl, he couldn’t say anything, and that suited him just fine. 

He looked up and saw Hogwarts castle, collapsing his wings to dive lower, making a loop around, coasting over the surface of the Black Lake and letting the wind take him up to the highest point of the astronomy tower. He perched there and looked down, ruffling his feathers, watching students as they crossed the courtyard on their way to classes. After preening himself, and hunting a few mice that lingered on the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest, he went to the owlry at sunset. 

The other owls stayed away from him. They’d evacuate whatever perch Harry chose for the night. If they had any thoughts at all, Harry was sure they knew there was something off about him—that he wasn’t like they were, and part of him wished his animagus had taken the shape of a less intelligent species. If he were a dog, for example, he was sure that he could find a pack to accept him. Then, at least, he wouldn’t be lonely in both human and animal form. 

Once the nocturnal owls cleared out, the other diurnal owls slept on the other side of the owlry from him each night, and were gone when woke up in the morning. Not one of them had ever shared their food, or preened his feathers, or done anything that the other owl friends would do. He ruffled his feathers to interrupt his thought, letting his instincts clear his mind, the edge of hunger in his stomach telling him to hunt. 

He decided to go further, toward the woods in Hogsmeade village, finding the spot where he knew mice dwelled behind a restaurant, where food scraps would be thrown. He perched on top of the roof, watching, waiting, his mind blank aside from when he’d catch a bit of movement and zero in, searching for a mouse or squirrel he could snatch up. Entirely still, he waited, hardly blinking. When a juicy-looking mouse scurried toward the building, Harry swooped, grabbed it with his talons and flew into the woods. 

He’d found a nice patch of earth to enjoy his meal, near some flowers. There was a footpath nearby, and Harry watched people pass by from the brush as he let his meal digest a bit before flying. He was watching a little girl as she ran toward her parent, stretching up for their hand, just old enough to walk. The parent picked her up, out of Harry’s eye-line, and only then did Harry hear the soft patter of paws from behind him. He turned just in time to see the face of the fox as it lunged to attack him, its pointy teeth ripping into his chest, clamping his wing, lifting him from the ground as Harry’s other wing outstretched, trying to get away. 

"What row is it? How far must I climb?” Draco asked.

“This says row seventy-nine. We’re on…” Harry leaned over the railing, reading the sign. “Fifty-three.” 

Draco groaned loudly as he continued up. 

“You’re welcome for getting such good seats,” Harry called. 

“At what cost? I could go into cardiac arrest, you know? You’d think they’d come up with some sort of lift system. This is absurd, having to climb our way to the top.” 

“Maybe you could quit the aurors and dedicate your life to lift-installation in sports arenas.” 

“I would, but nobody else would be able to put up with my git of a partner. They’d beg me to return.” 

“As if!” Harry said, jabbing a knuckle into his ribs, making Malfoy run up the next several steps to get away from him. “It’s a wonder you haven’t been killed in an on-the-job accident.”

“I’m too clever to be killed by some low-life criminal.” 

“Not by a criminal—by me.” 

“Well, that wouldn’t be an accident, now would it? You’d have about a decade and a half of pre-meditation, at least. You’d never get away with it.” 

“That’s the only reason I haven’t done it.” 

“Maybe you could try in the winter when things get slow. It could be fun. What level are we on now?” 

“I don’t know, look at the blasted sign yourself,” Harry said, breathing hard, dragging himself up by the railing, trying to take the effort of climbing off of his legs. His eyes caught on a sign as they passed by, and he groaned. “Sixty-one.” 

“Circe’s tits, Potter, you’re going to have to carry me. I can’t make another eighteen flights.” 

“I’m not carrying you, dickhead. You can stop if you want, but I’m getting this over with.” 

At the next landing, Draco slumped against a railing, head tilted back, resting on his elbows. Harry glanced at his throat as he passed by, head ducked as he started up the next flight, breathing hard as he carried up several more flights and then stopped, clung to the railing, wiped sweat from his brow. His lungs ached—his thighs burned—his shirt was sticking to his back. 

“I always knew you were pathetic, Potter,” Draco said from behind him, and Harry lifted his head, looking at him as he passed by, his face red from exertion. 

“You gave up first!” Harry bellowed, following up after him, hand on his chest as he struggled to breathe. 

“Yes, but I recovered quicker,” Draco said, his steps slow and heavy. “I’ve got better stamina—always have.” 

“Go fuck a broomstick, Malfoy,” Harry murmured as he jogged up the flight ahead, seeing there were three more flights left. 

He could hear Draco keeping pace behind him, ignoring the fatigue in his legs, the burning of his lungs, the rasp of his throat as he drew in breath and reached the seventy-ninth row. He tried not to seem too relieved, looking down at his ticket, wiping sweat from his eyes to read their seat number and then the signage, turning left. He dragged the sleeve of his shirt across his face to dry it, trying to get control of his breathing before they found their seats. 

Squeezing past the other people in the front row, he sat down and rubbed his hands on his knees, looking up as Draco passed in front of him and collapsed beside him. 

“I hate you so much,” Draco gasped, his hair clinging to his forehead. 

“We’re exactly on the centre line. These are great seats. Stop complaining.” 

“I taste blood.” 

“Wow,” Harry said as he approached, looking at Draco like he were wearing his nicest suit and not a simple sweater and jeans. “So this is you on a weekend, hm?” 

Draco looked down at himself to make sure he was wearing what he thought he was. Then, he looked at Harry—his t-shirt, strong arms, apron tied at his neck. 

“Yes,” Draco responded eventually, and for some reason, Harry laughed. 

“What’ll it be?” 

“I trust you,” Draco said, then flushed. “I mean—whatever—anything—” 

“Sure,” Harry said, his smile easy—calm. “On me, today.” 

“Please, let me,” Draco said, card already in hand. “Really, there’s no need. Don’t they take it from your paycheque?” 

Harry grinned, then tamed it, nodded a bit. 

“Alright. How about I buy you one and you buy me one?” 

Draco nodded, and Harry took out his wallet, reached to tap his own card to the reader, then rang up another drink, gesturing for Draco to do the same. He moved to the end of the table, wondering if Harry would drink his now or wait until his shift had ended. Two cups with his name were set in front of him, then someone beside him grabbed one of his cups, and Draco’s eyes trailed it as they lifted it to their mouth and drank. 

It was strange, the difference between three feet and a few inches. Draco had never noticed before. Now, he could see Harry’s eyelashes—the chain of a necklace under the collar of his t-shirt—smell his sweet cologne even through the richness of fresh-ground coffee. He was so real. 

“Won’t you get in trouble?” Draco asked, noticing the absence of his apron—or rather, the outline of his chest muscles that he could now see without it. 

“They can stand twenty minutes without me, surely. We’re not busy. Care to sit?” 

Draco looked toward the tables, then the bar near the window. 

“I’ve…never had time before.” 

Harry went to the bar, pulled out one of the stools and gestured to it. Draco realised he hadn’t followed and immediately stepped forward, then had to go back for his drink, smoothed a hand over his hair to hide his blush as he sat down. He squinted as he looked out the window, having never been here when it was so bright.

Draco saw their knees were an inch apart and didn’t dare move, holding his cup so firmly the sides bowed. 

“How do you like yours?” Harry asked, and Draco tore his eyes away from Harry’s leg as he sipped his drink. 

“Raspberry?”

“We can swap, if you don’t like it. I have toffee. You like that one.” 

Draco hummed, shook his head. 

“It’s alright. Might prefer the non-fruity flavours a bit more, though.” 

“Here,” Harry said, taking the lid off his. “I’ll take yours.” 

“I’ve already had some. It has my…germs and…things...” 

Harry smiled.