The tent was too small for even one person, much less two, and Draco was tempted to go outside and deal with the rain and the cold rather than stay inside and listen to Harry’s muffled sobs. Damn Remus, what was he thinking pawning Harry off on him like this. What was he supposed to do?

“Potter,” he finally said quietly. “I’m trying to sleep, you know.”

The sobbing became more muffled, but barely. Draco huffed, his gut churning with something he had felt precious little in his life - empathy. The previous battle had been one of the worst so far. They had captured a lot of Death Eaters, but they had lost a few good wizards in the process. It was bound to happen. They’d been unbelievably lucky so far; at least that’s the way he saw it. Apparently Potter had a different viewpoint. Draco didn’t understand why Potter took the losses so hard, so personally, like each and every one was somehow his fault.

He sat up in his sleeping bag and huffed, meaning for it to sound like irritation, but it came out more constricted, almost like he was clearing his throat. Harry obviously thought he was trying to get his attention because he looked up, and in the glow of the candlelight, Draco could see his eyes shimmer with tears. Something inside Draco softened. He didn’t know why it happened, or even how it was possible, but he felt an uncontrollable urge to comfort the other man. Without a thought of how completely preposterous the idea was, he reached across the small space that separated them and pulled Harry into what could only be described as a protective embrace. Almost like a mother holding a child who’d fallen off his broom. Before he realised his momentary insanity, he was rocking Harry in his arms and whispering soothing words into his ear, brushing his tear drenched hair away from his face and pressing his own cool cheek against Harry’s forehead.

Then the really amazing thing happened. Harry didn’t yell at him; he didn’t hex him; he stopped sobbing. Once Draco’s brain caught up with the rest of his body he figured it was simply a reaction brought on purely from shock. But then Harry scooted closer and wrapped his arms around him, nuzzled his face into Draco’s collarbone and mewed like a kitten too young to leave its mother.

The mere thought of Harry Potter as a small kitten should have reminded him that he was obviously losing his mind. But instead it caused his arms to tighten and his fingers to run through Harry’s hair and his lips to brush his temple and oh, holy fuck, what was he doing? But his brain had taken a leave of absence and no longer sanctioned his actions or his mouth. “Are you alright?”

Harry nodded against his chest. “Yeah... thanks.”

Somewhere Draco imagined there was a clock ticking away the seconds until he would regain his senses, but for now there was no clock, no time, no enemies, no Death Eaters, no war. Just two unlikely companions, barely adults, trying to navigate the murky waters of fate.

“Potter?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re not going to hex me for this in the morning are you?”

Harry looked up and smiled for the first time in more weeks than Draco could remember. “I won’t if you won’t.”

When Draco awoke the next morning, he was alone. The commotion from outside the tent told him it was time to pack up, time to move again. He got up and stumbled from the tent, refusing to admit as he looked around who he was searching for. Harry was sitting next to the campfire having breakfast. He and Remus were deep in conversation, most likely planning their next move. A hummingbird had taken up residence in Draco’s chest where his heart should be, but his brain had obviously not returned to its proper place in his skull, because he wanted to go sit next to Potter and run his hands through his thick silky hair again and ask him if he was okay.

“Ah, you’re up, good,” Remus said when he noticed him. “Pack up the tent; you’ll be coming with me back to headquarters. We need to refresh our supplies and pick up more healing potions.”

Draco nodded absently but his eyes wandered away from Remus to settle on Harry who was staring at him with wide-eyed curiosity. “Okay, when will we meet back up with the team?”

“It shouldn’t take us more than a few days to gather what we need, but we should be going very soon.”

He nodded again and went back to the tent, waving his wand to pack everything up and shrink it so it would fit nicely into his knapsack. He half hoped Harry would follow him, but he didn’t. He’d just finished his task and set off to find Remus when he felt something warm touch his hand. Before he had a chance to pull his wand he was wrapped in a shimmering cloth and found himself face to face with a pair of glistening green eyes.

“Potter, what are you doing?” he asked, panic rising in him and wrapping around his throat like tendrils of invisible smoke.

Harry put a finger to his lips and tugged Draco’s hand so that they were walking away from the campsite. When they were far enough away that they wouldn’t be heard Harry stopped them both abruptly. “I don’t know when I’ll see you again, Malfoy. I won’t be at camp when you get back.”

Draco opened his mouth to ask why not but the words were swallowed up when Harry’s mouth covered his. His brain, which seemed to be on permanent holiday, didn’t bother to tell him to push Harry away. His body, on the other hand, seemed to be completely and totally present because it pressed hard against Harry and his arms wrapped around him and his fingers found his hair and his tongue found the warmth of Harry’s mouth and sweet Merlin, once again his head was echoing like an empty cavern.

Harry pulled back and looked at him with a softness that again reminded Draco of that tiny kitten. “Will you promise me something, Malfoy?”

Draco was trying to analyse what promise Harry could possibly want, was trying to tap into his Slytherin reserve to come up with some barter that could be made, some promise he could ask in return, but that had apparently gone on holiday with his brain and he felt himself nod.

“When Voldemort’s dead, when this is all over, promise me you’ll come find me.”

It seemed to Draco like that would be a lifetime away, but he nodded anyway.

Harry kissed him again before sweeping the Invisibility cloak off of him and Disapparating.

Harry had left Remus a note saying he was going to find Voldemort and that they shouldn’t try to follow him. It would be six months, two weeks, and four days, before they heard from Harry Potter again. Not that Draco was counting. Not that he thought about Harry every night before he fell asleep. Not that he looked for him every morning when he got up. Because he didn’t. He had very little time to think about anything, especially one stubborn, harebrained, bespectacled git that he swore to hex into oblivion the next time he saw him. Because the thought of Harry out there on his own made him simultaneously hate him more than ever and miss him more than he would have ever imagined he could.

Draco’s brain finally returned in full force and he suddenly found himself in the position of Remus’ tactical advisor. Not a job he would have asked for, but he found it quite useful having a werewolf watching his back. During those six months, he took out his anger by fighting every battle with the ferocity of a mother dragon protecting her young. Every so often they had come across a group of Death Eaters, a few dead, but most bound up tightly and practically tied with a bow. Under Veritaserum they would testify that it had, indeed, been Harry Potter who had attacked and bound them and Draco would let out a mental sigh of relief that the man was still alive.

On what would become known as the Final Battle, Draco watched in awe, along with everyone else, as Harry and Voldemort battled for hours, both throwing hexes unknown to anyone but them. When it was all over, Voldemort lay dead in a pool of his own blood and Harry was carted off to St. Mungo’s and celebrated as a hero. In the hospital he was surrounded by his loyal Gryffindor friends who gave strict orders to the guards that no one was to be allowed in except for a select list of ‘trusted friends’. Draco sent owls, but they were never answered. He went to St. Mungo’s thinking surely Harry would ask for him, but apparently he never did, because each time he was turned away. He followed the news of Harry’s recovery in the paper, just like everyone else. He followed the stories that related details of parties and celebrations held in Harry’s honour. With every article, every word, every picture, something inside him bled.

Three months later, at the awards ceremony where Draco was due to receive an Order of Merlin, he saw Harry for the first time since the Final Battle and his brain immediately went back to whatever village it had visited before. Potterville. Draco snorted sarcastically. He watched as Harry slipped out onto a balcony alone and had to contain himself from running after him.

“Potter,” Draco said quietly as he slipped through the doors and closed them behind him with the wave of his wand.

“Malfoy,” Harry said with an indifferent tone that shredded Draco’s heart with a single word. This was why he hadn’t asked that Draco be allowed to visit when he was in St. Mungo’s. This was why Draco had not been invited to all the bloody Gryffindor victory parties. Draco’s breathing increased instantly and he berated himself for ever thinking there had been anything between them. He bit his lip hard enough to make it bleed and swivelled quickly back toward the door, stopping just before opening it. He didn’t turn to face Harry, he couldn’t, but he had made a promise, and now he had kept it. “Just remember, Potter: I kept my promise.”

Before Draco could touch the door Harry barked out a bitter laugh. “Finally, Malfoy, what took you so fucking long? Or did seeing me tonight suddenly remind you?”

The venom in Harry’s voice almost made Draco stagger. In all the years that they had fought, he’d never heard Harry speak with such hatred.

His traitorous brain decided it had been gone long enough and Draco whirled to face Harry with a bit of venom of his own. “What took me so long?” he spat. “I’ll tell your arrogant arse what took me so long. Your bloody friends who didn’t seem to think you wanted to see me when you were at St. Mungo’s because you didn’t bother to ask for me. Your guards that hovered around you wherever you went and wouldn’t let me close enough to even look at you; the owl’s you never returned, and the parties I never got invited to, because obviously, Potter, we’re not friends.” He turned so quickly he almost lost his balance and slammed the door open making a noise loud enough for Granger to look up and come running. He didn’t wait for the backlash; he Apparated away without another word.

Once back at the Manor he threw himself onto his bed and cried for the first time since he was sixteen. He hated himself at that very moment. Hated that he had let Harry fucking Potter of all people, get under his skin, and into his blood, and into his bones, and every fibre of muscle and every organ and it all ached because Harry was being ripped out and he felt like he was being torn to shreds in the process.

“Finny, go away,” he said when he heard the door to his bedroom open. “I don’t need anything. Just go away.”

“I’m sorry, Draco.”

He jerked his head up so quickly he smacked it on the headboard, but he didn’t think that was the only reason his head was swimming.

Harry was climbing on the bed with him, pulling his head into his lap to inspect it. “It’s bleeding. Here, let me fix it.” Harry pulled out his wand and whispered a healing charm, before releasing Draco’s head. “There, that should feel better.”

Draco looked up at Harry. His head felt better but the rest of him still ached. “What are you doing here?” he asked, pulling away from Harry’s grip.

“I’m sorry, Draco. I didn’t know they wouldn’t let you in to see me, I just thought you didn’t come. And I didn’t get your owls, they were being screened, and I didn’t know you weren’t invited to those parties; I thought everyone who fought was invited.” Harry was talking so fast Draco was having trouble actually understanding what he was saying. “I thought you’d forgotten. I thought you didn’t want to see me.”

The hummingbird was back in Draco’s chest and his brain had gone AWOL again so he just stared at Harry, wide-eyed and confused.

“Draco, say something, please.”

His eyes were starting to look moist with tears and they glimmered just like they had that night in the tent and for the first time ever, Draco noticed how very green they really were.

“Why did you want me to find you?” Draco asked, and even he was surprised to hear how his voice dripped with emotion.

Harry launched onto him, grabbing his face and running his fingers through his hair and kissing him. Kissing him more passionately than he had before, more passionately than anyone ever had before. “That’s why,” Harry said, his face only inches away from Draco’s. “I wanted that to be the first thing I did after I killed Voldemort, because that’s why I did it, Draco. I knew I couldn’t have a life until he was dead, and I’d never wanted to have a life more than I did that night, in that tent, with you.”

When Draco realised what Harry was saying, his body started putting itself back together. He didn’t ache anymore, because Harry was here with him. Wanted to be here with him.

“Harry, how did you get into my house?”

“Uhm...” Harry looked down sheepishly.

“Did you hurt Finny?” Draco asked with a mixture of concern and astonishment. “He wouldn’t have let you in without my permission.”

“He wasn’t going to, but I... oh, hell, I put the Imperius on him so he’d show me where you were... I’m sorry, Draco. I had to find you. I had to explain why I was so hateful, I--”

Draco’s lips were on Harry’s and Draco was pulling him down onto the bed, on top of him, running his hands under the hem of Harry’s shirt, and Harry forgot he was supposed to feel guilty, because he was here and Draco was here and his brain seemed to have escaped his head because he couldn’t think about anything except for how soft Draco’s lips were and how warm his hands were and how he smelled like freedom and tasted like happiness and oh, God, how he’d wanted this for months and thought he’d lost it forever. “Draco, I want to...”

“I know. Shut up, and get on with it.”

Harry tugged at Draco’s robes and popped buttons from his shirt in his rush to find beautiful pale skin, but once he found it the world slowed down and he took his time, tasting and exploring every line and every dimple. The little noises Draco made only added fuel to the fire and Harry made it his personal mission to see how many different noises he could elicit before Draco begged.

Draco never did beg. He was just as bossy during sex as he was in everything else, but Harry found that he really didn’t mind, because Draco was telling him exactly what he wanted. And what he wanted was Harry.

~Fin~