Simply Charming

Chapter 5:
Alohomora

The next day, and the day after that, and the day after that, Harry met Draco out at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. It wasn't planned; at least, not in any real sense of the word. Whenever Harry ventured out of the castle, usually in the evening when the air was beginning to cool and mist began rising from the ground, Draco was there, stark against the tree line watching his approach.

The day they had shared that trembling, clutching kiss, when Draco had curled his emotionally beaten body against his, Harry had somehow been sure of what to do. Everything made sense that day; Draco finally allowed his self-torture to shudder to a halt. Harry knew where he stood then, what he was there for. And he wanted to be there for that, for what had passed between them and for whatever was coming. It had all crystallized for him: a simple transfer of energy was all that was needed in the confusion. Harry was content to hold the Slytherin, and Draco was content to be held.

As he drew near Draco the following evening, Harry swam in a different sort of confusion. He'd done what had felt right yesterday, but today his stomach was skittering around because nothing felt right. Oh, not the part about Draco. Harry was clear at least on that. He wanted - good lord, actually wanted - to be with the Slytherin. He wanted it more than Quidditch, more than tossing the odd joke about with Ron, or chatting with Hermione. He'd gone to sleep the night before with that desire, woken with it, and battled to get through the day with it pressing on his mind. Draco was healing. At least the process had begun. But the wound was large and deep; Harry knew it had not healed overnight, though he was willing to bet that Draco had gained some headway on the sleep he'd been deprived of. Harry's head was marvelously clear for the first time in weeks, and all he wanted was to be near Draco.

Except.

What should he do now? Harry walked slowly toward the Slytherin, who was eyeing him, standing very still next to a small boulder that jutted out of the grass. He'd hoped his body would just kick in once more and tell him what was appropriate, what was necessary for this meeting, but whatever had driven him yesterday seemed to have slipped out during the night and taken a holiday. What Harry wanted to do was repeat the healing process of the day before, but the stiff stance and blank face of the other boy told him immediately that Draco would no longer simply let go and crumple into his arms to be healed. Harry needed to try something else before Draco closed himself off again completely.

Kiss him. That was a possibility, one that a part of Harry wanted very much to attempt. A kiss had started all of this, and a kiss had helped fix things the day before. But the idea made him feel awkward, and oddly shy. Why should it make me feel shy? It's not as if we've never done it before. And none of those kisses had been bad experiences. Quite the opposite. Draco was... Harry had certainly never kissed or been kissed like that before. He would be a hopeless liar if he said that he did not want to repeat the experience in the very near future. But now he was within that same tangible distance to the other boy, and Draco's eyes were fixed on him, and there was no way Harry could just lean in and...

The grey irises were alight, flicking over his face like startled birds. Wary.

Harry reached Draco's side and still his body did not galvanize him to act, as it had before, or tell him the appropriate thing to say. The Slytherin watched him silently. Harry could feel how tense the situation was, like an overstretched bubble waiting to burst. His skin tingled. All he wanted to do was give Draco every bit of strength he could spare, coax out some sort of emotional release. What he'd felt coming from the other boy while under the influence of the charm had been wonderful, even the darker emotions. To know someone so thoroughly, possibly to understand him better than he understood himself... Harry was overwhelmed that he could elicit such feelings in another person. He could see that Draco still did not trust him. His heart rebelled at the realization that what he had so subtly managed to put down the day before had flared up again. Breeding. Pride. Shame and uncertainty.

It was the closeness that did it, Harry realized. Draco needed the proof that he was not falling, needed to feel it under his fingertips, be incased by it. If he could just get Draco to let himself be touched, he was almost certain the other boy would let down his defenses again. But the Slytherin kept a very tight ship. He was standing apart from Harry now, arms crossed over his chest, not quite close enough to reach for. Far enough away to make Harry fidgety about what was going on behind his eyes.

"Are you alright?" His own voice sounded hoarse to him. Draco eyed him for a long moment and then shrugged. Harry looked around, at a loss for what else to say. Somehow, Can I hold you? seemed both incorrect and ridiculous. Laughably sweet.

Harry walked up beside Draco and saw something that looked like uneasiness flicker in his eyes. He felt sure that Draco was going to step backward, put more space between them, and he swallowed. He was not a threat to the Slytherin. There had to be a way to show him that, to get past the new barriers that had been erected.

Movement. Movement was threatening, in a way. Harry had to stay still.

He slowly dropped down beside the boulder and leaned back against it, watching Draco the entire time. The other boy looked down at him mutely. Harry felt his gaze and knew he was taking in every movement Harry made, analyzing it, committing it to memory. Weeks ago, the same scrutiny by the Slytherin had made him squirm, made him want to grab Draco and shake him, demand an answer. Now it was intriguing. It made him feel oddly comfortable, being watched like that. He wondered if Draco even knew he was doing it.

"Do you... do you want to sit down?"

The two of them stared at each other, Draco standing stiffly, Harry leaning against the rock, and the other boy made no move to join him. Harry bit his lip, his stomach flip-flopping. He felt helpless. There was something he should be doing, he knew it. Something important. A catalyst for Draco to relax again. But he had no idea what it was. And now Draco's walls were going up, and everything that had happened yesterday was fading into nothingness. A bad dream that Draco could forget about - no, was already forgetting about, and any moment he was just going to shake himself from the dream state and -

Sit... down.

The Slytherin slid to the ground a few feet away and wrapped his arms around bent knees. Harry stared, open-mouthed. He had just been steeling himself for another mad dash after the blond, thinking of the words he would have to say to keep him from leaving. Except he wasn't leaving. He wasn't touching Harry either, but he wasn't leaving. That was certainly something.

Harry felt like he was in the company of a wild animal, skittish and uncertain, ready to bolt at the first sign of danger. He did not move to touch Draco, though he wanted to. He desired to rub the hunched shoulder a few feet away from him, to knead it until the muscles loosened and Draco began opening doors into his world again. He had so many questions he wanted to ask but the Slytherin was in no state to answer them.

One did not approach skittish animals. One waited until the animal approached him. So Harry settled his patience to wait Draco out, no matter how long it took.

Several minutes passed with Harry looking alternately at the trees and at the blond head beside him. For his part, Draco stared straight ahead, not moving, not acknowledging Harry in the slightest. But he wasn't ignoring him. Draco had not forgotten his presence; his rigid posture told Harry just how aware he was of their proximity. He didn't have a way to break through onto the path he'd walked the day before and responded by locking himself into his own box until something presented itself. Harry leaned back, watching the tensed body beside him, and waited, hoping his mere presence would chip away at Draco's walls.

He had grown used to the quiet, and Draco's voice startled him. "Why are you out here?"

A million answers flitted through Harry's head. Because he wanted to talk to Draco. Because he wanted to get answers to questions. Because he'd liked that kiss. Because he didn't want Draco to hurt anymore. Because because because. The real question was Is there a reason not to be out here?

"Do you want..." Harry stopped and tried again. "Should I go?"

Draco's shoulders hitched once. He didn't turn around. He only asked again, in the exact same tone, "Why are you out here?"

The simplest answer was best, and, Harry found, also truest. He sighed and looked down. "Because you're out here."

Draco turned his head enough to look at Harry out of the corner of one eye. His profile was made of stone, the eye Harry could see hooded and considering. Harry met his glance for the briefest of seconds and looked away. He felt shy, unprotected. It was not a sensation he liked, but it made him wonder. Perhaps this was what Draco felt all the time, especially now, when he had come too far to pass off everything that had happened as a joke.

After a long, searching look, Draco took a deep breath, and moved closer. The Slytherin leaned back until he was resting against Harry's side. Harry raised his arm without thinking and looped it gently around Draco's shoulder, easing him close. The blond gave an audible sigh - of relief? Some sort of defeat? Harry wasn't sure - and relaxed against him.

And just like that, it was enough. No words needed, not today. Just being near him, feeling his back expand with each increasingly calmer breath, was filling a gap inside Harry. He let his hand fall against Draco's arm and stroked it lightly. Strengthen these ties, he thought. Don't let them unravel again like they nearly did.

When the sun set fully and the air grew too cold to be outside any longer, they hadn't spoken a single word. But Harry parted from Draco with a soft kiss on the forehead anyway and was rewarded with a startled swallow.

* * *

The next evening after dinner, Harry went back out with his cloak for warmth, not really worried about the possibility of Draco being absent. He was there, and this time he settled immediately beside Harry, their shoulders touching. Harry unfurled the cloak and laid it over both their knees. He watched Draco's pale fingers touch the fabric gingerly, fingering the Gryffindor emblem. The first half hour was just as still as the previous day had been; Harry was perfectly content to sit in silence again. Draco would speak when he needed to, and pull closer when he needed to. Harry just wanted to be there; he knew Draco would do these things in front of no other person.

But after a time, Draco moved into the same position as the evening before and began to talk. Quietly, as if not directed at Harry at all. But Harry listened, listened and leaned against the boulder, and wondered if he was supposed to respond. He decided that it wasn't required but might be welcomed, in certain cases. Harry found himself nodding along with the sound of Draco's voice, not always hearing the words.

"I could hurt you so easily, Harry."

Draco was again resting with his back against Harry's torso, head leaning on his shoulder. Harry glanced down at the fair head, startled to find that suddenly an answer was desired, that Draco was talking to him and not just at him. He had just said... Harry tightened his arms instinctively around the Slytherin's chest.

"Are you going to hurt me?" he asked softly.

Draco was silent for a long moment. "Is it even possible for me to hurt you right now?"

Harry looked away, not really seeing the tree he was staring at.

"Yes. It is."

Draco tilted his head up, eyes running over Harry's profile. "You seem so... I don't know. Untouchable. Unfazed. By everything, lately. Even me."

Harry didn't answer. Draco sighed and looked away.

"I push all of your buttons because you have so many of them. It's... a game for me. See how far I can shove you. But you don't crack like you used to. I get the feeling you don't have a breaking point anymore."

Harry swallowed. "Why do you think I can't break?"

"I don't really know. I just push and you... bend. Push back? I don't know."

"You're not a bully, Draco. Everyone thinks you are, but--"

Draco gave a wry chuckle. "I'm not a bully. If I were, I would have given up on you at least, long ago. Too little payback. Besides" -his voice turned mocking-- "I'd be using you to sort through issues with someone who was tormenting me, and there is no one."

Harry was inexplicably glad to be off the subject of himself. He began running his fingers through Draco's hair. It was feather-soft. "I always just assumed it was your dad."

An amused snort. "Yes, that would be the obvious answer, wouldn't it? My father is many things, but a bully is not one of them."

"Then... why do it at all? Your game. Pushing people."

Draco settled more comfortably against him. Harry saw his eyes drift shut and his heart gave a tiny tremor.

"Power. Making people afraid of me when I know that I won't actually do anything to hurt them. They don't know it. They have to guess, to take what they know of me, which isn't much, and try to judge what I'll do. Only I know how safe they are. That's the ultimate control."

"But you could just use real violence to reach the same ends, couldn't you?" Harry murmured a little resentfully. He shook his own head to throw his thoughts away from his own miserable childhood, and thought instead of his father and Snape. Even his father... even James Potter had not been above a little physical violence. What he had done to Snape, what Harry had seen last year in Snape's pensieve, had been violent. An invasion of sorts. As much as Harry hated the Potions master, he couldn't quite stomach the humiliation that had resulted from that event. Or the shame that it had been his father causing it.

And he'd known Draco and what he was capable of for six years.

"I've seen the 'control' violence gets you," Draco said. His voice was strained for an instant, tugging Harry's attention back. "It's not as complete, not nearly so subtle. In the end, all you have are dead people... and enemies."

Harry did not voice the name Draco was leaving so delicately unspoken. He'd seen it too, in the graveyard. Groveling Death Eaters. The malignance in Wormtail's face. He knew for an instant why Dumbledore trusted so loathsome and questionable a character as Snape. An ally by choice. Possibly the best ally one could have.

"Do you think you can kill him?"

Harry blinked. Draco was staring straight ahead. His question was not hopeful or resentful. Just inquisitive. An honest question.

"I'm supposed to, I guess."

"Hm."

"Actually, I don't know much about it at all." Harry felt Draco shift a bit at those words, wondered if maybe there were questions of his own he could get answers for at some point. Regardless of what Draco was to him, what he was becoming to him, he was still from a completely different world, one that Harry knew disturbingly little about.

"Do you think I can beat him?" he muttered.

"I have no idea."

Harry frowned at the offhand tone of the Slytherin's voice. He pursed his lips. "I'm not what you think I am."

Draco leaned his head back and looked at him, one eyebrow lifted.

"I don't think you're anything." He turned and dropped his head back onto Harry's shoulder, gazing at the sky. "You're just a boy."

Harry wondered if he should feel angry. But it was so frank, so fitting coming from Draco. He smiled faintly. "Only just."

Draco's snort of barely contained laughter made Harry smile wider.

* * *

The next night was colder, and Harry wrapped them both in his cloak. Draco never seemed to bring his own cloak outside. Harry always found him walking slowly, distantly, arms wrapped around himself, skin goose-pimply from the chill twilight air. His white button-down shirt, rolled up at the sleeves and fluttering loosely at his waist, was clearly inadequate to the task of keeping his thin form warm. Harry never asked, just hastened to sit and pull Draco into his lap, hissing inwardly at the iciness of the body against his own. He meant to say something every time he draped the edges of his cloak over them. Meant to ask why he insisted on freezing himself whenever he heard Draco sigh into the warmth of his own body. But the question always felt untouchable then. Something he had no business knowing.

It took him a few moments to feel Draco's body warming on this night. The other boy was shivering slightly against Harry's chest. Harry encircled his waist carefully, anxious to transfer his heat into the body before him. He didn't want Draco to be cold anymore. He didn't want him to do this anymore.

Tonight, Draco was quieter than before. There was no thoughtful staring into the woods or picking about at Harry's cloak as he was wont to do. Harry felt tense, as if the air were thicker than usual. He wanted to speak, to break the silence apart, but it hushed him every time he tried to open his mouth, and the longer it lasted the more it seemed to build upon itself, until Harry had no idea what he could possibly say to end it. He had the sense that Draco would speak at any moment, but... Draco was frowning at his hand where it lay curled against his thigh. He seemed to be contemplating something.

"What do you... worry about?"

Harry gave a start, and a weak burst of laughter flew from him. It sounded so funny.

"What don't I worry about?" he murmured, smiling bitterly.

Draco turned his head to look at Harry in such a way that the humor evaporated from his thoughts. Wariness in those eyes, but a certain quizzical glint underneath. Curiosity, from Draco, and it made Harry turn in on himself. He realized that what he'd said in jest... was the truth.

Harry had been worrying himself to pieces these last few weeks. He hadn't slept or eaten much at all. Every nerve was constantly on edge until the charm effectively sucked it all from him for a few grateful moments. When he had ended the incantation, he'd felt a brief respite from the thoughts that plagued him.

But Harry also suddenly saw that what he'd been worried about was devoid of his usual anxieties.

Voldemort. Sirius. The war. Somehow... and he really could not fathom how... they'd been overshadowed. Pushed to the side. Draco's casting of the charm had given him a new focus and had slowly pulled him from where he wallowed deep in his mind. He'd worried alright, but over Draco's odd behavior, not over his own thready future for once.

It felt nice.

"I guess... I hadn't really been worrying about much of anything for a while. Except you."

Draco smiled eerily, turning away. "You weren't worried about me, though."

"No," Harry said truthfully. "I was more worried about what you were doing and why. Until recently."

Draco was silent at that, a bit more rigid than he'd been before. Harry tightened his arms around his chest and bent his face to his shoulder. He wanted to kiss Draco, but they hadn't done that since the day Harry had stopped him from running.

"I guess I worry about dying."

Draco remained silent. Harry knew he was supposed to say more, that Draco was waiting for it, but he had just stepped off the edge into a realm he was very uncomfortable with. He didn't even talk to Hermione and Ron about this. The only person he would ever have considered telling, the one who might have been able to understand... had been killed.

"You'd never know it was happening," came an answering whisper.

Harry jerked his head up at Draco's words. He frowned, trying to pull himself out of his thoughts and into this reality. The images of Bellatrix cackling, of Lucius - Lucius Malfoy - approaching him with an expression that spelled death lingered, intertwining with Draco's voice.

"I suppose," Harry muttered, gritting his teeth against the flood of angry remorse. He shook himself and straightened his shoulders, unable to keep the frustration from his voice. "Well, what do you worry about, then?"

This time it was Draco's turn to tense. For a moment, Harry thought he wasn't going to answer. But then...

"My father."

Harry blinked. The image of Lucius' sneering face careened back into his mind, thudding into his chest. "Your father?"

"And my mother." Draco exhaled through his nose. "I don't so much worry about myself dying as I worry about them doing it."

"But..." Harry felt his anger rising again, and tried to quell it. But it was flooding his mind, snarling along with the elder Malfoy, turning his thoughts on themselves. This was Draco, he tried to remind himself, not Lucius. But still there remained that light-headed drunk feeling, as if his words were about to spill forth in no particular order. "But they aren't in any danger!"

Draco frowned at him. "How would you know?"

"Oh, come on. Your dad is one of the top Death Eaters in Voldemort's ranks. It's not as if Voldemort would kill him. Not when he's this weak."

Draco's frown was turning into a glare. "As much as you may think you know, Potter, you don't know Voldemort."

Harry glared back at the Slytherin. "I saw him there. Your father. He was there last year and the year before. He nearly killed me and my friends."

The look on Draco's face told Harry that he was treading dangerous ground. A scowl marred the Slytherin's pale features, coldly calculating, furious under the surface. But Harry had been there, facing down Lucius' wand, and he hadn't really been able to talk about it to anyone. And now Draco was here, and he'd asked what he worried about, as if he didn't know, and Harry simply could not believe that Draco didn't see what was going on. Harry's life was a living hell and a lot of it was because of the man that the boy in front of him called 'father'. "How can you not see what he is? I'm surprised you want to go back home to that every summer, especially now!"

Draco's eyes flashed.

"Is that it? I'm supposed to hate my father?" His voice was angry now, the all-too-familiar smirk rising again. He pulled back. His irises were dark and roiling, face twisted. "I'm a Slytherin, therefore I'm supposed to have an unsatisfactory family life?"

Harry just looked at him and raised an eyebrow. Draco's eyes narrowed suddenly.

"Or maybe it's because I'm a Malfoy, is that it? You bloody Gryffindors are all the same. I suppose you think we thrive on hatred. My father gives me what he can, I take it and run, and when I have children of my own, I'll just pass it along to them? It'll be all they know and all that they need. Allow me to let you in on a little secret, Potter, I happen to have a father who cares for me, in more than just the way a master cares about a servant! Maybe it's a bit difficult for you to wrap your superior, righteous Gryffindor mind around the idea, but Slytherins have families as well. Families that love them!"

Harry's throat constricted and he found himself glaring at Draco. His voice hissed from his lips. "Well, I'm sorry. But I really wouldn't know about that, would I?"

A shadow crossed Draco's expression and he blinked. For a long moment his eyes roved over Harry's face. Harry felt his skin flushing under the scrutiny. He wanted to push Draco away suddenly. He didn't want to get into this, but damn it, he had led them right to it, hadn't he? He knew Draco was going to ask, knew he would pry at it until Harry broke. Then the Slytherin would see how wrong he was about Harry breaking, and he fervently didn't want Draco to be wrong about that. He didn't want Draco's pity, or his questions, not Draco's, and it struck him as horribly humorous that he didn't mind digging into the other's psyche but would rather die than answer the same inquiries about himself. It was too late, however. Questions were coming, an obvious lack of understanding and possible taunting, a preservation of distance, and it was his own fault. He waited, holding his breath.

"That's true, isn't it."

Harry's mouth fell open before he could stop it. He stared at Draco. Draco simply quirked an eyebrow and frowned thoughtfully. "I guess you wouldn't know then."

He leaned back against Harry without another word, staring pensively into the darkening forest. Harry ended that evening in silence. It began as a befuddled silence, but it gradually began to tell him that there would be no questions from Draco on that subject. That maybe, like Harry himself, Draco would wait for him to come forward.

* * *

"Why, Draco?" he asked one day when they were sitting side by side instead of holding each other. He'd been avoiding the question, uncertain whether Draco would answer it, but it edged its way out, encouraged by the miniscule distance between them now as they sat against the rock. During the times he was holding Draco, it was suddenly too personal a question. But now his curiosity was given room to grow again. Not so curious of why Draco had kissed him as much as would Draco even bother trying to answer?

The Slytherin turned steady eyes on him and Harry immediately wished he were in physical contact with the other boy again. At least then he could be sure of his presence. All of a sudden it seemed so easy for the blond to slip away from him. And truthfully, Harry didn't want to know the answer. Knowing would bring the memory of that first tentative touch out of his mind and into the real world where it could be chopped to bits.

Draco dropped his gaze to a piece of grass he was twisting between his fingers. Contemplated it. "I don't remember exactly why. I know what drove me... just..."

"I know what drove you," Harry said quietly. Draco lifted his head.

"No... no, the charm... what you felt..." He sighed. "That was more of the why. The part I can't figure out."

"Then why the charm at all?"

"I just wanted everything to be clear again." Draco sighed and glowered at the ground. Harry bit his lip, afraid to break into his private thoughts, afraid they would scatter and take Draco with them.

The Slytherin grimaced. "Nothing was making sense to me. I thought perhaps it would... unmuddle a bit, if I just let something out."

Harry frowned, confused. Surely, he understood the craziness of Draco's emotions at the time. But...

Draco looked away across the grounds. "A lot of the time when I can't get my mind around something - a problem, an assignment, whatever it is... it's because it's all too clouded. Mixed up in my brain."

Harry glanced down at Draco's hands. By now the piece of grass was coming apart, threading into little green fibers. Draco continued to speak softly. "It feels like tentacles twisting around each other. Circular. You can't solve anything without everything being solved first. Sometimes I have to push something out and then all the tangles fall away."

"You had too much. Tangled?"

Draco narrowed his eyes, lips rising in a sneer. "You were a problem I couldn't do anything with. I wanted you gone."

Harry watched him. "And did it? Unmuddle things?"

Draco snapped his head up and met Harry's eyes, barely bottled mirth twingeing at his face. "That's a rather inane question, Harry. You were there."

Harry smiled to himself. It was somehow very intriguing, very... warming to know that he was Draco Malfoy's unsolvable problem. His hopeless tangle. Draco stared at him, raised an eyebrow, and snorted. He turned back to his crushed blade of grass.

"I had to get your attention. Because I couldn't get my own for long enough to figure anything out."

Suddenly, Draco turned around, on his knees in front of Harry, his face a weird mask of amusement and self-condemnation.

"But I don't talk to you, do I? I get your attention this muddled, mixed-up way instead."

He leaned in and touched his lips to Harry's. Harry's body froze, hand poised in mid-air, trembling just inches from the soft, white cheek. His chest swelled suddenly with the realization that he had been wanting this, needing it, and here it was, Draco reaching out of his own accord, and he couldn't even move to respond. His mind was still wrapping itself around that failure when Draco pulled back with a defeated smile. Harry sucked in air.

"You..." Blast it, he could move again, now that Draco was no longer kissing him. Harry fought the urge to touch his own mouth. To recapture the sensation in his fingers. "You have my attention."

Draco frowned and shook his head once, a single jerk. When he looked up, he was smiling mirthlessly. "You've had mine for a while now. Regardless of what I wanted."

His voice was tainted with sarcasm and anger, but Harry could tell that neither was directed at him. He felt the other boy leaning closer, and wanted to pull him in. Soothe whatever confusion was rattling around in his head. He resisted it, because Draco had to come to him. He had to want to heal.

Parted lips inches from his face, tentative breaths dusting over his skin. "Stolen my attention, really. Not how it's supposed to be."

Draco's mouth found his again, and this time Harry just let himself go. He laced his fingers through Draco's fine blond hair and relished the heat pulsing off the body in front of him. He wondered about the taste, whether or not it was natural. Like honey, but... not. He let his mouth be explored, he explored just a little bit in return, and gradually realized that Draco had shifted, was pressed up against him, an arm around his waist, hand clasping his shirt, and that they had been kissing for several minutes.

He pulled back, sensing belatedly that he'd had his way in, that Draco had given up the battle in those moments. Just a tiny reprieve, and now walls were rising again. But Harry couldn't feel anything yet except for that slow searching kiss. Sweet tasting. He'd never tasted anything quite like Draco's mouth. Sweeter every time because he wanted it now. Craved it. He wondered if maybe he should be worried about the intensity of that desire, but then raised his eyes to Draco's and knew that he couldn't be; Draco was already worrying about it for both of them.

He touched the Slytherin's cheek, traced his thumb along the sharp jaw, and followed its path with eyes too concerned to fully meet Draco's.

"Why are you so afraid?" he whispered. "Didn't you feel anything? When I cast the charm on you."

Draco's eyes flickered. "I'm not sure what I felt."

Harry knew what he'd felt because he was no longer fighting it anymore. But Draco... Draco fought every inch of the way. For him, the fight was feeling. Being alive.

"Let it go. You can, you know."

Draco smirked distractedly, but the expression was muted by the way his gaze locked on Harry's. "No. I can't."

He broke his gaze abruptly and turned, relaxing back against Harry in what had become their most comforting position. The Gryffindor wrapped a gentle arm around his chest. After a moment, he felt feather-light touches as Draco brushed fingers over his skin.

His voice came so softly Harry almost missed it. "Not yet."

* * *

"You kiss well, Harry."

Harry looked down in surprise and felt a laugh break free of his lungs. It felt good to be able to laugh again. "What do you-- I mean... half of the times I've kissed you it was the result of you surprising me into... well, I didn't move."

Draco shifted a bit. He was stretched out on his back in the grass, head resting in Harry's lap. "Still."

It was all Draco said, but Harry wanted him to say more. He hadn't kissed all that many people. He didn't feel he was particularly good at it, though he had definitely improved since the incident with Cho Chang in his fifth year. Even he knew enough about it to figure that out. He suspected that Draco had kissed many more people than he ever had. Draco was good at it. He knew just how to use his tongue to caress his mouth, to ease his lips open. Harry found it so easy to just follow, allow himself to be guided. But now he wanted to prove Draco right. Not to Draco; he already seemed to believe it anyway. But to himself.

Before he could think about it, he bent his head to Draco's, raising him with his hands until their lips met. Draco gave a slight start that turned into a shiver, and then went still. Except for his mouth. And one hand, which snaked up to cup the back of Harry's neck, pulling him gently down. Harry took the lead this time, as he had the day Draco had tried to run, and felt his companion respond slowly, dreamily, as if he wanted to stretch it out. Harry was only too happy to comply. He closed his eyes and dipped his head, giving him more access to Draco's mouth, felt the other boy breathe out softly, and realized he had just stumbled across a method of kissing that he hadn't tried before. From above... Somehow they were closer. Maybe they weren't, but it felt more intimate to Harry. As if he could breathe through Draco's mouth... no, as if he didn't even need air at all anymore.

Draco's fingers lazily played with the short hair above his neck, and Harry shivered at the feeling. He should be scared by this. Draco was obviously more experienced, knew exactly what to do. But for some reason he couldn't bring himself to be nervous. Something about the way Draco touched him, the way his tongue moved so slowly, eyes dipping shut like a sleeper's... it wasn't the way a demanding person moved. Oh, Draco was demanding; Harry had no misconceptions about his character. But in this, at least, he was waiting. Allowing Harry to initiate everything. He wondered if that was for his sake, and then remembered the way Draco had looked after their previous kisses and knew the Slytherin did it as much for himself as for Harry.

Draco's eyes were still shut when Harry gently ended the kiss, and Harry had time to look at his long eyelashes. Black, so dark under the light hair that drifted over his eyes. The blond licked his lips once, sluggishly, and his eyes fluttered open.

"Yes," he murmured, almost to himself. "Something about the way you..."

Harry locked eyes with him. He knew that something. Felt it whenever Draco uncovered a detail about himself that Harry hadn't known before. He'd felt it fluttering under the charm. This was a risk, one Draco had taken unknowingly, and Harry realized he had taken it as well.

Trust.

It was missing from his other encounters and had obviously been missing from Draco's as well because he didn't seem to recognize it for what it was. But it was familiar to Harry because of Ron and Hermione, in a somewhat different context. Someone you could tell things to, try things with, and not worry about being pushed away. Harry had barely said a thing about himself to Draco, but he felt as though he'd already told him his most carefully guarded secrets. In a way, the charm had done it for him. But there were some things Harry could still choose to give and keep.

"What are we doing, Draco?"

Draco watched him through half-lidded eyes. His elbow was cocked, head cradled in his hand against Harry's legs. Harry could feel knuckles flex. "I'm not sure."

Harry stroked his fingers through smooth, golden hair, letting it wisp over his palm. "Would you mind if... if we..."

Draco shook his head slowly, steadily, never once breaking eye contact. "I'm selfish, Harry. I want more of this. Whatever it is."

"Selfish." Harry smiled slightly. "For a minute there, I forgot you were a Malfoy."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "No, you didn't. You always knew."

Harry nodded dreamily. He was right. He bent his head to Draco's once more and gave him a light kiss, tiny, on the lips, then felt it returned and prolonged with new, teasing fervor. He realized Draco knew how to kiss in ways he hadn't yet demonstrated. Dangerous. Harry did know. Draco was a Malfoy. He was all that the name entailed, and a few things it didn't. Several of those things, Harry would have to throw out for good. But he wanted more of this one.

Draco laced his fingers through Harry's so gently he almost didn't feel it. But they were there, just the same. Harry sighed against Draco's mouth and set about trying to remember every detail. Draco didn't know it, but he was fashioning a new way for Harry to break.

For some reason, it did not bother Harry that he was helping him to do so.

~FIN~