“Do you think anyone is going to find us?” Draco sounded as petulant as ever.

“Don’t be thick, Malfoy, of course they will. When we don’t show up in the Great Hall for tea, someone will notice.”

“Hmmm.”

“You don’t sound convinced. Don’t you want to get out of here?” Harry asked. They had become trapped in part of the lower section of the castle whilst helping to search out unprotected or damaged areas in need of re-warding. Unfortunately, neither boy had realised the amount of damage to this part of the hallway until a non-load-bearing wall and two suits of armour had collapsed nearly on top of them.

“Potter, you’ve just said you’ve still got my wand in your dorm, your own wand is on the other side of this pile of stone, and I’m probably dying from this injury to my leg; of course I want to get out.”

“Malfoy, you’re not dying, you’re perfectly fine.”

“How do you know, Healer Potter? I might be going into shock as we speak. My parents will be very cross with you if I die when there was even a remote chance of you being able to save me—”

“Again.”

“—and you didn’t,” Draco finished, ignoring Harry’s comment.

Although fairly certain that Draco’s last outburst was said facetiously, Harry decided to play along. “Stop being so melodramatic.”

“And I’m sure we’re running out of air,” Draco said.

“You’re still moaning, so there’s no chance of that. I’ll start to panic when you stop whinging,” Harry countered.

“Potter, honestly, my leg is terribly sore. And it’s still bleeding.”

Harry rolled his eyes. Playing the injury card again.“Bloody hell, Malfoy. It’s just a scratch!”

“That is not a scratch, Potter. I’ve been wounded, perhaps mortally,” Draco said.

How he could declare that with a completely straight face, Harry didn’t know. Exasperated, Harry reached up and pulled off his hoodie. Underneath he wore a plain t-shirt. He thrust out his arm under Draco’s nose and directed his attention to the area where his forearm met his elbow. “See that? That’s a scratch. And what you’ve got looks no worse.”

“Hardly. And you can’t possibly compare my injury with what is obviously a wound you sustained when telling your little girlfriend you prefer her brother over her.”

“Shut up, Malfoy! For your information, I got this in fourth year when my arm was cut open in order to use my blood to raise Voldemort.”

Draco cringed at the use of the name.

“And I don’t fancy Ron,” Harry added.

Draco was ready. “I never said you did. But there’s so many Weasleys, I figure you’d just want to work your way through them all.”

“As if you wouldn’t!” Harry spat back.

“Ugh, Potter. Like I’d touch any of them!” Draco shuddered to press the point.

“I bet you’d touch Charlie,” Harry teased.

Draco sneered. “Potter, I would never even think — wait—” the sneer slipped just a little. “Is Charlie the one who was here with the dragons during that very same fourth year?”

“Yup,” Harry said, smiling.

Draco wouldn’t take the bait, but Harry knew he had him. “Whatever, Potter,” Draco said, turning away.

“Ha! I knew it! You fancied him too!”

“Too? Aha!” Draco pounced on Harry’s inadvertent admission.

“I’ve got nothing to hide. Even Ron knows I like him.”

“That’s just weird, Potter.” Draco’s sneer reappeared.

Harry lost his focus for a moment. “I bet he’s got some nice scars...”

Draco narrowed his eyes and cocked his head to the side. “Potter, you’re starting to scare me.”

“Shut it, Malfoy. I was just going to say that I reckon he’s got some proper scars. Not like that little thing.” Harry indicated the oozing red line across Draco’s calf where it could be seen through his torn trousers.

“I’ll have you know, I’ve got bigger ones than any stupid dragon tamer,” Draco said adamantly.

Harry burst out laughing. “I bet you say that to all the sailors, Malfoy.”

“What? Bugger off, Potter! How about this?” He pulled up the right sleeve of his blue button-down shirt.

“I don’t see anything,” Harry said, squinting.

“Are you blind, Potter? There!” Draco jabbed at his arm with his left index finger.

“I see a freckle,” said Harry, testing Draco’s capacity for frustration.

Draco’s face reddened. “You take that back this instant!” he shouted.

“What are you, six years old? I’m not going to take anything back.” It was amusing to see that Draco still retained some of his more endearing pre-war personality traits.

“You may not use that word ‘freckle’ in my presence, then,” Draco said imperiously.

“Okay, it’s a blemish,” Harry said, trying very hard to hide the grin which was threatening to spread across his face. This was too easy.

Draco shoved Harry angrily with both hands and nearly toppled over himself. “Just look at it, Potter.”

Harry inspected the long thin scratch along Draco’s right forearm which the other boy had been indicating all along.

“What the hell, Malfoy? That’s been healed; it’s hardly anything!” Harry could guess where this conversation was headed.

“I almost died at the time, Potter, and it was your fault,” Draco harrumphed.

“If you’re talking about Buckbeak I’m going to laugh in your face for the next two hours, Malfoy!” Harry said.

“That monster nearly had my arm off, Potter!”

“It was a scratch, Malfoy. Like the one you have now,” Harry assured him, knowing full well Draco couldn’t ignore the physical evidence, no matter how hard he tried.

“Like you’d know the difference.”

“What’s this then?” Harry raised a hand and pulled his fringe away. “That’s more than a scratch. And it burned like hell when Voldemort was alive.”

Draco didn’t flinch as sharply as he had before when Harry uttered the name, but he shuddered slightly. Then he pulled up the left sleeve of his own shirt. “And I suppose you’ll tell me this is a scratch, too,” he said, subdued, as if talking too loudly about the scars Voldemort had left on them might somehow revive the monster.

Draco no longer carried the Dark Mark; no living Death Eater did. Once Voldemort was gone, the Marks had burned away, just as they had burned when branded into the wearer, but this time leaving a pale ugly scar which no amount of magic or non-magic medicine was able to erase.

“Can — can I touch it?” Harry asked tentatively, reaching out a hand.

“I suppose so,” Draco conceded.

Harry cautiously drew his fingers over the taut white lines burned into the flesh of Draco’s forearm. Draco closed his eyes and Harry felt him blow out a long breath against his cheek as he leaned across Draco’s body.

“Did it hurt?” Harry asked quietly, his hand still on Draco’s skin. He felt the sudden urge to lean down and kiss the marred flesh. What the hell?

“Yes,” Draco said simply, without the usual histrionics. “Both times.”

Harry sat back, blinking. This was getting weird. And arousing.

“Did yours?” Draco nodded at Harry’s forehead.

“I don’t remember,” Harry said.

Draco scooted forward carefully, mindful of his sore leg. “Can I —” He hesitated.

“Sure,” Harry said and bent forward so Draco could push the fringe of dark hair back from his forehead. Harry held his breath. Having Draco’s fingers in his hair felt good. Too good.

Draco’s other hand reached up and gently traced the famous scar.

“Is it fading?” Draco asked.

“I think so,” Harry said. “But it’s still embedded as deeply as it ever was. I don’t think I’ll ever be rid of it completely.” He slowly reached up and caught Draco’s hand in his own. Draco’s fingers left Harry’s hair and he returned the free hand to his lap.

“I was always jealous of that,” Draco admitted quietly without looking at him. “I thought you wore it like some sort of badge, you know, to get attention.”

“I never—” Harry started, but Draco looked up directly at his face.

“I know that now, Potter.”

They lapsed into silence for a moment, Harry still holding Draco’s hand, neither of them acknowledging the fact.

“Will you show me your other ones?” Harry said at last, afraid and yet strangely not afraid of Draco’s answer.

“You mean the ones you gave me?” Draco asked quietly.

“Yes,” Harry said, nervously rubbing his thumb across the back of Draco’s hand.

“If you want,” the other boy replied. Draco reached for the buttons of his shirt with his free hand, but Harry stopped him.

“Wait, I — I’ll do it,” Harry whispered. This is definitely crazy, he thought. He released Draco’s hand and his trembling fingers went to work on the small buttons of Draco’s shirt. What am I doing? he asked himself, bending forward slightly hoping to keep his heated face from Draco’s sight. Why is it that these marks so compelling? God, his skin is so beautiful...

Harry nearly forgot his mission when he felt Draco’s fingers in his hair again. Rather than look up at the other boy, Harry concentrated on his goal — to see, to touch the terrible yet alluring result of a careless and desperate act.

Draco’s shirt parted and Harry slowly leaned across to reach into the space left open by the two halves of the material. As Draco’s fingers plunged further into his hair, Harry gently laid his open palm against Draco’s chest. Draco leaned into his hand, just as Harry leaned into Draco’s.

“Potter?” Draco whispered.

Harry finally looked up into the other boy’s grey eyes.

“What?” Harry asked.

“You’re leaning on my sore leg.” Draco said, not breaking eye-contact.

“Oh god, sorry,” Harry hastily shifted sideways, his cheeks reddening even more. “Are you —”

“Potter,” Draco said, pulling Harry toward him by his hair.

“What?” Harry’s eyes watered as Draco manoeuvred him around by his follicles.

“Shut up.”

“Er...okay,” Harry said. He reached out and grasped Draco’s shoulders, which served to take his mind off the stinging in his scalp from where Draco held him fast. Then he closed the distance between their faces.

Boys’ lips shouldn’t be so soft, was Harry’s first coherent thought. The combination of pumpkin juice and liquorice in another person’s mouth shouldn’t taste so good, was his last, as Draco’s tongue slid tentatively against his.

And with that, Harry lost his battle with self-control and collapsed across Draco, pressing the other boy back onto his elbows.

“Ow, ow, ow, Pawffrr!” Draco tried to say with his tongue firmly held between Harry’s lips.

Harry quickly sat up, completely disoriented and suddenly embarrassed. Without Harry’s hands to support him, Draco fell back and clunked his head heavily against the stone floor.

“Ow.” Draco remained where he was, supine against the cold stone. Harry stretched out beside him. “Potter?”

Harry turned onto his side and raised himself up onto his elbow. Draco’s eyes stared up at the vaulted ceiling. Slowly and carefully, Harry began tracing the scars on Draco’s chest with the fingers of his other hand. “Huh?”

“Do you think it’s possible for us to do anything together without injuring each other?”

Harry stifled a snort of laughter and looked at Draco’s flushed face, then reached for his hooded jacket. He balled it up and placed it under Draco’s head. His smile faded as he brought his mouth to Draco’s once again, lips barely touching, but tongues reaching out to meet one another. Short, soft kisses were exchanged, as if each were testing the resistance of the other not to give in to a more reckless and messy pursuit. Competing, even in this.

Harry continued stroking Draco’s chest languidly, his hand trailing across scarred flesh, smooth flesh, a firm nipple. Draco placed a hand against Harry’s back and it mirrored Harry’s stroking.

Neither boy moved, as yet, with any more intent other than exploration. The soft and unhurried kisses continued, still little more than the briefest brush of lips and the hesitant touching of tongues.

Then Harry’s hand found its way to the bulge which had appeared in Draco’s trousers, and he gently rubbed it. Stretching himself further out alongside the blond boy, Harry shifted the position of his head and ran his tongue along the scars on Draco’s chest.

In no time, Draco’s hips were pushing up against Harry’s hand, finally grasping it with his own and pressing Harry’s palm hard against his body. Harry’s rhythm increased and soon Draco was panting into Harry’s hair, his other hand clutching at Harry’s t-shirt.

Draco’s panting caused his chest to rise and fall more rapidly and Harry had to lean in to keep his lips and tongue connected to the other boy’s skin. His body now sprawled across Draco’s as he tasted, kissed and stroked, with Draco quickly losing all control beneath him.

With a small cry, Draco tensed and Harry raised his head to watch the pale face; Draco yanked at his fistful of Harry’s shirt as he came, warm fluid spurting into his clothing under Harry’s hand, still trapped below Draco’s own.

Harry leaned up and kissed him again as Draco wound down. “God, that was hot,” Harry said without thinking when they came up for air.

Draco blushed, but clearly he enjoyed the compliment nonetheless. “Yeah. And now it’s uncomfortable.” He squirmed until Harry grabbed him around the waist and pulled Draco against him once again.

“Yes it is,” he whispered and rocked against Draco’s thigh.

Draco smirked at Harry’s discomfort. “Now what, Potter?” he asked.

Harry’s rocking increased in pressure and he gasped into Draco’s ear. “Now I really want to come, Malfoy. All over your chest.” He lifted his gaze and watched as Draco’s smirk disappeared to be replaced first by an expression of shock and then by one of lurid fascination.

“Gods, Potter,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “You really are twisted, aren’t you?”

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Harry said, sitting up and throwing a leg over Draco’s waist. “It’s not my fault that you’re the sexiest bloke I’ve ever known.” Harry was getting so desperate for relief, he nearly finished himself off against Draco’s probably oversensitive groin.

Draco stopped him from doing so by placing his hands on Harry’s hips and holding him fast. “Easy, Potter,” he said, his silver eyes darkening. Harry looked down at him, lusty and not a little frustrated. “Take off your shirt,” Draco commanded.

Harry smiled and pulled his t-shirt over his head. He leaned down and gave Draco a sloppy kiss, then sat back up and hurriedly unbuttoned his jeans.

The moment he finished, one of Draco’s hands found its way into Harry’s pants. Harry gasped and threw back his head with a loud groan. “Fuck, Malfoy...”

“Me? The sexiest bloke you know?” Draco said conversationally. “Not Charlie Weasley, then?” He idly stroked Harry’s cock.

The tempo which Draco set was too slow and Harry made his displeasure known by thrusting his hips forward and back at a quicker pace. “Please,” he gasped.

With that, Draco reached out with his other hand and grasped Harry by the wrist. He released Harry’s cock and pulled Harry’s hand down to take its place. “Take over, Potter. I want to watch.” He lay back and clasped his hands together behind his head (which still lay on Harry’s hoodie), looking, for all the world, like he was relaxing on a sofa in his common room.

Half an hour ago, Harry might have died of embarrassment, but by now he wasn’t in the least bothered by the fact that Draco was watching him wank on top of him. If anything, it had the opposite effect.

Draco upped the ante. He removed an arm from behind his head and began lazily stroking his chest. “I bet Charlie doesn’t have scars like these,” he purred.

Harry had to fight not to lose it. “Bloody hell.” He threw himself forward, bracing himself above Draco with his left hand as the other quickened its pace up and down on his cock.

Draco’s fingertips brushed over his own scars and pale nipples. “But you didn’t give these to him, did you? Just to me. Just me, Harry.”

It was the use of his given name that tipped Harry over the edge. He gratefully released a strangled moan and fell forward across Draco’s body, semen pumping out of him, between them, and onto Draco’s chest and shoulders.

Harry barely managed to hold himself up, chest heaving, sweaty fringe threatening to add to the fluid already spilt, as Draco reached down and retrieved Harry’s t-shirt. Whilst Harry caught his breath, Draco used the shirt to wipe the cooling semen off of himself. It was only when he haphazardly discarded it that Harry noticed what he’d used.

“Oi, that’s my shirt,” he mumbled, wondering if Draco would mind if he collapsed on top of him. Concluding that he would, Harry sat up, still breathing heavily, but smiling despite his tone.

“You got come on mine,” Draco indicated his own stained shirt. “I think it’s only fair that I use yours for the same purpose.”

“Give me back my hoodie, then.” Harry leaned forward and reached out to where it lay beneath Draco’s blond head.

Draco grasped Harry by the shoulders and clasped him to his body. Harry, losing his balance, slumped on top of him. “I think I’ll keep it for awhile,” Draco said in satisfaction. “You’ll be warm enough like this.” He wrapped his arms around Harry.

Harry agreed for the time being and made himself more comfortable, one leg sliding between Draco’s and resting his head in the crook of Draco’s shoulder.

“Mind my leg, Potter,” Draco warned as he lazily began running his fingers up and down Harry’s back.

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Harry said, grinning into Draco’s hair.

Draco’s hand strayed to Harry’s shoulder blade where he discovered another wound, this one long and deep. “Oh, what’s this? Has someone else had their claws in you?” Draco lightly caressed the scar.

“Yes,” said Harry sourly. “Crookshanks — Hermione’s bloody cat.”

End