Irritant Relief

Irritant Relief.

Harry was irritated.

It seemed to be his permanent state these days. Not even Hermione and Ron, the freshly doe-eyed lovers with bruised lips and guilty faces, could lift him from his dull stupor. They seemed to think he didn't know about them but nearly every night he lay awake, seething with anger whilst he heard Ron sneaking out of the dormitory to go to the Astronomy Tower. Ron never noticed Harry's sad face or pouting mouth anymore. Harry would be surprised if Ron did notice and he did care.

"Sorry, Harry, you know how it has to be. I don't feel that way anymore," Ron had explained one day, almost three months ago. Harry remembered the conversation vividly and trembled with fury and sad realisation every time he thought back on it.

For a few blissful weeks it had been nothing but Ron and Harry. They understood each other more than anything in the world and the fresh, raw hurt that had scarred Ron after he had split from his long-term, Lavender, had left him vulnerable and open. Harry had seized the opportunity to tell him what he felt, how he lay awake night after night trying to avoid the feelings scraping from deep within.

Ron's blue eyes had grown wide and understanding and as Harry's green eyes had pricked with held-back tears, he had put his arms around his best friend in a swift motion of comprehension. Harry had recoiled. After a jumbled apology and a few seconds of silence that seemed to Harry hours of hell, their mouths had been clumsily bumping against each other as they become conscious of the fact that they felt good together.

At first when Ron realised he wanted Hermione and no one else, Harry had been so cut up and miserable he didn't go to lessons but lay in bed all day, thinking of nothing but Ron's soft lips and his bright, pleading eyes as Harry had turned him away. Ron had never said which girl in the school had stolen him from Harry but Harry knew straight away it was Hermione.

Now, exactly three months and four days since Ron had left him alone, Harry felt nothing but annoyance. How could he have been so stupid as to think it was a fairytale romance that would last forever? He and Ron had gone back to being friends. And Hermione... Well, Harry knew deep down that it wasn't her fault Ron didn't want him any longer but he resented her as much as he could without hurting Ron.

Ron thought Harry didn't care anymore. He didn't wonder why Harry had not even got the heart to torment Malfoy anymore. Instead of unleashing fury on Malfoy, Harry fumed under his calm surface, a bubbling anger that could not be caged. Harry sometimes wondered when he would burst.

Harry grabbed his broomstick and headed out of the changing room, where he had sat pondering his feelings for over an hour. He had taken to flying a lot more now since he could no longer while away the hours gazing into Ron's eyes, kissing his mouth, touching his face, letting him win at chess.

"Fancy a game?"

Harry turned. He had not realised there was someone else with him. Suddenly a shiver ran down his spine.

It was Malfoy.

He was half-naked.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I was just getting changed, saw you and thought you'd want to be beaten, Potter."

Harry laughed before he saw that the Slytherin was serious.

"Um, why not? I mean, give it your best try."

Malfoy looked genuinely surprised at this pleasant response. "Why are you being nice? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Harry said.

A little too quickly.

"Sure. Why don't you tell me whilst I'm kicking your ass?"

Harry hesitated. "Why are you being so nice?"

"Stop avoiding my questions, Potter."

"That's more like the real you, now."

"Shut up. I was being civil because you're no fun anymore. You just ignore me rather than give me something to aim for."

"What do you know?" Harry retorted, his annoyance flooding back. It was only then that he noticed that it had gone for a brief moment. He swung a leg over his Firebolt and pushed off the ground, feeling a sense of relaxation flooding over him. "Come on, show me your best."

"What, without my shirt?"

"Fine, if you want to chicken out..."

"Whatever," Malfoy replied. He snatched up his broom and hopped on before swiftly joining Harry in the air. Harry zoomed away onto the Quidditch pitch, leaving Malfoy hovering by the changing rooms.

"What are we exactly playing?" Harry shouted back to him before doing a backward roll. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Malfoy speeding towards him and Harry darted away just in time.

"Damn." Harry heard Draco curse. He grinned and floated back towards the blonde boy who was flushed and breathing heavily. Malfoy's pale hand was resting on his toned stomach and- Why had Harry noticed this? He looked away quickly and noticed his heart was beating very hard and it didn't seem to be because of the flying. "We're playing tag, Potter. I'm it."

Instantly, Harry dashed away from Malfoy and in his speed he flipped over once again. By the time he realised what was happening, he was hanging from his broom by one hand. Malfoy laughed, but it wasn't cold and mirthless. He seemed to be genuinely having a good time.

"What the hell were you trying to do, Potter?"

"Something impossible¹," Harry panted, struggling to catch the other end of his Firebolt with his left hand whilst his right held on precariously. Malfoy grinned again and Harry glared at him. "A little help please?"

At first, a look of blank innocence crossed Malfoy's face and Harry desperately hoped Malfoy wasn't going to leave him dangling in mid-air. But, Malfoy swooped forwards and offered him a hand. Amidst the clumsiness of getting back on his broom and recomposing himself, Harry remembered vaguely something about Malfoy's stomach and his soft, pale skin. Malfoy swung his broom around so he was almost inches from Harry and smiled nastily.

"You're it." Then he swept away from Harry. For a second, Harry wandered what he had meant. Then, he remembered the game and lunged for Malfoy.

"Come back here, Draco, you bastard!"

Both boys stopped cold in mid-air.

"What did you call me?" Draco asked in amazement. Harry, too, wondered how Malfoy had suddenly become Draco. He became aware that they were floating gently towards each other on some strange breeze. He had an idea and pretended to look as if he was thinking about it. When he was near enough, he shrugged and spun his broom so the tail hit Draco full in the chest.

"You're it!" he shouted but was broken off as he saw Draco, caught off his guard, plunging to earth. There were three cuts on his chest from the rough twig-ends of Harry's broom, one of which was bleeding profusely, but Harry failed to noticed as he dived downwards as fast as he could manage.

Draco's body thudded into the ground and his eyes closed, his figure spread-eagled on the grass. A split-second later, Harry landed on the grass next to him and tumbled off his broom to kneel by the limp form.

"Draco," Harry murmured softly. "Are you alright?"

One pale blue eye opened and a wide smile spread across the blond boy's face as he pushed Harry back. Harry, surprised, felt nothing but a weight pressing into his upper thighs. His eyes widened with shock and horror: Draco was straddling him.

Harry swallowed hard and looked up, shading his eyes from the sun.

"I'm fine. This," Draco said, grabbing Harry's right hand and pressing it against his bleeding stomach, "is not though."

Harry inhaled sharply. Shivers were running up and down his spine and the hair rose on his arms. Draco's skin was soft and delicate against his own and he felt a heavy mist settle over his mind. Draco had sounded annoyed. Funnily enough, Harry felt not a trace of irritation, but he was blissfully calm.

Draco let go of Harry's hand but it stayed where it was. The Slytherin looked curiously at Harry's face and then his eyes widened in surprise.

"Oh, Merlin. You're- you're-" he searched for the right words.

"Happy," Harry finished. Draco looked amused for a second.

"Not quite what I was going to say."

"Well, no, I suppose not. I'm not really happy," Harry spilled. Then he opened his eyes and looked weakly at Draco who was eyeing him suspiciously. Draco stood up laboriously and wandered back to his broom. He stooped and picked it up before turning back to Harry.

"So..." he started unsurely. "Tell me what's wrong?"

"Not here," Harry said, pushing himself upright and getting up. "It's too hot."

And he was right. There was little wind in the air and the only breezes that passed were warm and offered no comfort. Even the luscious green grass was starting to look parched. Harry also thought that if they could find somewhere shaded to talk, he wouldn't feel so exposed.

He laughed inwardly, how could he not feel exposed? Was he seriously considering confiding his deepest, most painful secret to Draco Malfoy?

But, then again, why not? Draco seemed legitimately concerned and if he went telling people, who would most of the members of Hogwarts believe? Harry, The Boy Who Lived, a trustworthy student, or Draco, Slytherin with a father infamous for killing and torturing Muggles?

Harry felt willing to take his chances. He only saw one major problem: he was beginning to realise how attracted he felt to-

"Harry!"

Draco had used his first name. Now Harry felt even more connected to the boy that he had previously loathed for over six years.

"What?"

"Over there." Draco pointed. Harry wondered why he had spoken in a whisper. He followed Draco's astonished gaze.

A couple were sitting under the tree a few hundred yards away. They appeared to be having a picnic; this did not surprise Harry as the day was beautiful and the troubles of the school were no more. The girl had long, dark brown hair and this was all Harry could tell of her. But the boy... His head was tipped back in bliss as the girl rested her head on his chest. Harry didn't need to see the fiery red hair or the gently curved shoulders to know who it was.

He had kissed and stroked that jaw line enough to know whom it belonged to. Tears stung and kicked into his eyes and he turned and fled, leaving Draco standing alone.

He came to a stop ten minutes later. He didn't know where he was except for it was in the Forbidden Forest. But he didn't care. He sat down against the thick trunk of a leafy tree and buried his face in his hands, not weeping, but praying for all the memories of Ron to go away. For a few minutes that afternoon he had forgotten his hurt and sadness. Now, the pain had returned and it felt worse than ever.

Now Draco knew. Harry wandered how long Draco had laughed for after realising who the causer and object of Harry's obsession and misery was.

A single tear slid over Harry's cheek that was flushed from the running and he slammed his fist into the ground angrily. There was a horrible crunch as he crushed a sharp sapling under his hopelessness and when he raised his fist, there was a spot of blood. He watched it grow bigger before lowering his mouth to his hand and licking the blood away, gently pressing his lips to the sore skin.

A rustling up ahead told him he was not alone.

Draco stopped in the clearing, just as Harry had done. Harry didn't look up, but he turned away embarrassment flickering in his eyes before he had turned. Draco's eyes were full of pity as he moved towards Harry, not sure of what to do.

"It's Ron, isn't it?" he asked softly. Tears sprung to Harry's eyes this time for two different reasons: Draco definitely knew and probably couldn't wait to get back inside to tell everyone of Potter's sexual orientation, but he had used Ron's first name and said it so gently it was as if Harry had uttered it himself, back in the days when the red-head had still cared. He felt a rush of gratitude towards Draco.

"Yes." His whisper cracked and he bowed his head. No one could know how hard it was to answer that question.

"Well, he can't be worth it if he's with that Mudblood-"

Harry's temper flared and he stood up rapidly. Ron had hurt him more than anyone ever could yet he would defend his two friends until he was dead.

"He's-" Harry faltered. He set his jaw determinedly. "He's worth everything and you can never tell me different," he said defiantly. Draco looked surprised and sad at the same time. Harry noticed in the far recesses of his mind that Draco's stomach was still bleeding. "Sorry," he said gruffly.

"For what?" the Slytherin asked, sounding alarmed.

"Your stomach."

"It's fine. You're worse off."

"I don't need telling that," Harry muttered, sinking down to his knees on the muddy earth. His annoyance was flooding back. Draco moved forward and knelt in front of him.

"What I was going to say," he began. "Is that- that he can't be worth it if he's with Granger instead of you."

And as Harry looked up he felt Draco moving closer to him, their bodies touching hesitantly at first. Then, as Draco's cool, soft lips touched against Harry's, Harry realised exactly why he was sad and what he needed. In a split-second, they were clinging together, Harry's lips scorching hot against Draco's, their eyelashes brushing each other's cheeks.

In a great shivering sob, Harry collapsed against the other boy. Draco breathed out slowly and carefully. What had he just done? He felt Harry's weight lift and looked at him. Harry's eyes were no longer brimming with tears but with hope, confusion and... Draco was most confused by how young Harry looked. Before he could think about it, Harry had captured his lips once again in a stifling and fervent kiss that touched him deep inside and Draco felt his entire being shudder as, with a soft moan, Harry's mouth opened under his.

He had spent so many nights questioning his constant feelings but now all he could tell was that he and Harry were right together and from now onwards, with no one else.