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Draco loved his sad little life. He really did. It was brilliant not having a boyfriend. It was brilliant not having even a resemblance of a social life.

His dreary flat in a questionable part of London was charming, thank you very much.

His job as a crime scene cleaner was thrilling. And so fulfilling. It wasn’t as if he’d tried to become an Auror and had been rejected. It wasn’t as if he still yearned to be a proper member of the DMLE. Oh, no, no.

Draco was happy, you see. Perfectly happy.

Too bad Harry Potter, of all people, decided to go off and get himself killed, and somehow managed to ruin Draco’s sad little life along the way.

It was an average Tuesday afternoon when Draco learned Potter had been murdered.

Draco had been called to a rotting old industrial warehouse on the edge of the Thames. There was a crime scene he needed to clean up. An urgent one.

The warehouse had several small rooms that surrounded a big room of cavernous tin and lofty support beams.

“Merlin, this is a lot of blood,” Draco murmured.

“It was five against one,” sniffled one Auror. “Potter fought bravely until the very end.”

Uncomfortable, Draco shuffled his feet. It was strange to find himself living in a world that had no Harry Potter.

“Where’s his body?” Draco asked roughly.

The Auror pointed past a mountain of blood-splattered boxes. “Over there in the corner. The funny thing is the baddies are virtually in pieces but Potter doesn’t have a scratch on him.”

Draco’s eyes widened. “Are we sure he’s even dead, you imbecile?!” He rushed to the corner and came to a sliding stop when he encountered Potter’s body.

Draco sank to his knees before the unmoving man, his heart in his throat. He touched Potter’s cheek and found it ice-cold. “Oh,” he whispered. “He really is dead.”

“Of course he is!” said the Auror, who had followed him over.

Draco stared and stared at the face before him. Potter’s impossibly green eyes were cracked open, their countenance utterly flat and expressionless.

Something in Draco’s chest squeezed.

Harry Potter had defeated the Dark Lord, for Merlin’s sake! How had he gone out like this?

Behind him, the Auror sighed. “As a reminder, we need this entire place cleaned up within the hour. We can only keep quiet about Potter’s death for so long.”

Draco dragged his gaze away from Potter to look at the stupid Auror. “What exactly happened here? Why the secrecy?”

The Auror straightened. “I don’t believe that’s any of your business.”

Draco gritted his teeth and turned away. From his bag, he pulled out his cleaning tools, and got to work.

These stupid bastards are lucky I’m efficient, Draco thought as he directed several magicked Hoovers at once. Several cleaners should have been hired for this job, but of course they expected Draco to do it all by himself.

As he worked, he tried not to linger over the fact that Potter still lay cold and unmoving in the corner. The Ministry’s morgue transporter had yet to arrive.

“Get it together,” Draco muttered to himself. He had hated Potter, so why did it matter if he was now dead?

At the end of the hour, Draco had successfully cleaned up the cavernous room, making sure even the littlest spot of blood was gone. He was good, real good, because even if a sneaky journalist tried to cast a Detection Spell on the room, Draco’s magical work would still remain imperceptible.

And speaking of journalists … They were beginning to swarm outside, one crack! of Apparition after another.

Draco glanced at the corner and found it empty. They had finally collected Potter’s body. He was finally gone. Forever.

Unable to help himself, Draco wandered over to the corner. There was glinting on the floor. It was a watch. A stupid sporty Muggle one.

Draco crouched and picked it up. He felt an immediate zap go through his palm. A little surge of energy. Strange …

“You better get out of here,” said his best mate, Mr Auror.

Draco was still staring down at the watch. “I will, I will.”

“Those sods outside are bound to break in at any moment. You don’t want to be here when they do.”

“Right.” Draco stood and casually pocketed the watch. Remarkably, Mr Auror didn’t comment on it.

Draco made sure all his tools were back in his bag, then he put his wand in the air, turned, and Disapparated.

Goodbye, Potter, he thought as he spiralled away.

That night, Draco was restless. He felt watched.

Draco paced his tiny flat, back and forth, back and forth, the floorboards creaking beneath his socks. He was thinking about whisky. And Potter.

He had a bottle of the good Elven stuff in his cupboard. If he drank enough of it, he would stop seeing Potter laid out on the concrete floor of that rotting industrial room. He would stop thinking about how dead his eyes had looked. The green had already been clouding over a bit.

His eyes had not merely looked dead. They were dead.

Draco shuddered.

Right. Whisky.

Draco poured himself a shot. Then another. In only a few minutes, he was feeling more relaxed. His throat burned but the warmth spreading through his belly was quite nice.

After the day he had, he deserved a treat. He Summoned a bag of toffee popcorn from his cupboard, then sauntered to the settee, where he threw himself over the cushions.

Without raising his head, he Summoned the graphic novel he was currently reading. It was Muggle. There was just something about the art in them. The colourful scenes contained such visceral emotions. They were just lines on a page, not even moving, but they still touched him deeply.

Draco owned a horde of these types of books, and they had become his deep dark secret.

For nearly an hour, Draco munched on his popcorn and read his novel, the book Spelled to hover in front of his face. He let himself laugh and gasp and sigh. Sometimes he looked at the art so closely that his pointed nose nearly brushed the page.

Something flickered in the corner of his eye. He turned his head abruptly, knocking the book away. It took his brain another second to compute what he had just seen. He thought … he thought he’d seen someone standing there, but that was mad, wasn’t it?

Unsettled but undeterred, he shrugged and pulled his book closer again. He continued to read, or attempt to. Now, his mind kept straying to Potter.

Oh, Potter. Potter. Draco had hated him for so long, hated him, hated him …

For some stupid reason, Draco felt himself begin to get choked up. The tears stung in his eyes.

Potter had deserved so much better. He’d deserved to be happy. Married with a hot wife and two screaming brats. He’d deserved stability, especially after everything the Dark Lord had put him through.

Draco felt empty knowing that Potter no longer—

A stack of books on his one table toppled to the floor. Draco sprang to his feet.

“What the fuck!”

Draco twisted around, his eyes cutting to every shadowy corner. He flicked his wand, turning on all the lights in the room.

There was no one else there, even though it felt as if there was. He was being watched. His skin crawled with the sensation.

Invisibility was a definite option in the magical world, so Draco, while still feeling like an idiot, yelled, “Whoever you are, cut it out!”

His voice sounded thin and frightened in the quiet room. It was embarrassing.

Annoyed at himself, Draco sent his novel scurrying back to the table, along with the ones that had fallen. He turned tail and escaped to the bathroom. He was going to get ready for bed.

Hopefully some sleep would clear his mind.

In the bathroom, he cleaned his teeth and washed his face, then had a nice long piss. He did this with the door wide open, all the lights in the room and hallway turned on.

Keeping his gaze down, he rushed to his bedroom, the back of his neck tingling. He was doing all that he could do to convince himself that he wasn’t afraid.

Something caught in his pocket as he tore off his trousers. Frowning, he reached inside and pulled out Potter’s sports watch. The face of it was cracked and smudged, but its digital clock was still clicking.

Draco stared at the blinking numbers. Muggle technology always mesmerised him.

There was more movement at the edge of his vision, a flickering of a shadow. He froze for a moment, his heart thumping. He waited to see if the movement continued, but it didn’t.

I’m going mental, he thought.

Draco turned away and set the watch on his bedside table. Determined to keep his wits, Draco changed into some pyjama bottoms and got into bed. He pulled his duvet all the way up past his nose. He closed his eyes and tried not to dwell on his fear.

Draco was being tremendously silly, letting his imagination get carried away. There was no reason for someone invisible to be in his flat. And he definitely wasn’t special enough to have a ghost pick him for a haunt.

Gritting his teeth, he rolled onto his side, put a pillow over his head, and forced himself to go to sleep.

The day’s exhaustion caught up to him, and surprisingly, he was unconscious in a matter of minutes.

On his bedside table, the watch continued to tick second by second, minute by minute. At one point, about two hours after Draco fell asleep, something jostled the watch as if it were trying to pick it up.

Draco dreamed of Harry Potter, but of course he did.

Potter was beautiful. He had always thought so. He had just been too much of a coward to acknowledge it, even to himself.

They were in bed together, naked, and Potter sighed and squirmed as Draco kissed virtually every inch of his gorgeous body.

“You are delicious," Draco murmured, one hand tugging Potter’s needy erection as his tongue tasted a sensitive spot behind his ear.

“Please, oh, please—”

“Merlin, how I love hearing you beg.”

Potter laughed hotly. Draco did, too. Intimacy was so easy between them.

Draco moved further down so he could taste his navel, then the inside of his strong thigh.

“God, more.”

Draco was now licking the inside of his thigh, up and down. “Ask me nicely, Harry.”

Potter shuddered and arched, and his perfect cock jerked. “More, please. Oh, please. Put your mouth on my prick. Oh, please, please, please.” His voice was worn thin with need.

“Fuck,” Draco moaned, because this was all he had wanted, ever since he was eleven years old: Harry Potter submitting to him.

Draco took him into his mouth, sucking with relish. He took his time licking around the head, then licking down the shaft. Harry moaned and squirmed, and tried to thrust, but Draco held down his hips.

Then, Draco found himself inside Potter, his arse so tight and wet and needy. Draco held him down as he fucked him, over and over, just having his way with him. Potter cried and whimpered, utterly surrendering.

Potter wrapped his arms around him and pulled him closer. Voice ragged, he whispered, “It could be like this, Draco. Forever, forever. If only you saved me.”

Draco woke up on the verge of coming. His duvet was twisted around his ankles, his chest slicked with sweat. He was panting.

Not opening his eyes, Draco kicked out of his trousers, releasing his incredibly hard cock. He got a hand around himself and tugged quickly, not wanting to lose the feeling of being inside Potter.

Fuck, his dream had felt so good. The sex had been brilliant, so brilliant, but the warm companionship had felt even better.

After only a few strokes, Draco was coming, and he cried out, tears springing to his eyes. The orgasm was overwhelming and lonely and not enough.

It was just his sick, twisted luck that he would have such an intense, revealing dream about someone who was dead.

Draco had to take full advantage of this moment. He might never dream about Potter again.

Draco Summoned his fleshlight to him and stumbled into the bathroom. He liked fucking his fleshlight in front of the mirror, the harsh lights putting every inch of his body on display. It made the experience feel more real.

The owner of the flat was probably a bit of a pervert or a narcissist, for he’d installed a big mirror above the busted up vanity.

Draco was also a bit of a perverted narcissist, because he’d installed a mount for his sex toy in front of that mirror, where he could see every thrust.

Quickly, quickly, Draco lubed himself up and eased his cock into the toy. God, it felt good. Real good. Almost as good as his dream …

Draco stared at himself as he fucked the toy, his eyes glazed over, the colour high on his face. He imagined Potter seeing him like this, the view making him hot and desperate.

Draco bit his lip and fucked harder, harder. He closed his eyes, just remembering what it’d felt like. Potter had whimpered for him.

Merlin, Merlin—

Then Draco opened his eyes again, moaning, utterly lost to the fantasy in his head. He looked up into the mirror and saw Potter, who was just standing there, mouth open, eyes wide.

“Harry,” Draco moaned, wanting him, wanting him.

The Potter in the mirror spoke: “Oh my god.” His voice sounded so close, so real. Too real.

Draco pulled out and whipped around. His cock was dripping and nearly pointing up, but all thoughts of coming were momentarily wiped from his head.

Potter stood before him. And it wasn’t just his imagination.

Shock had replaced the desire in Potter’s expression. “Can you see me?”

“Yes, I can. Are you really here?”

“Yes.” Then: “I’m not dead, Malfoy. You’ve got to help me.”

“Oh, fuck, fuck.” Draco wrapped a hand around himself, stroking quickly. His orgasm rushed over him, overtaking him. His semen went everywhere, dripping on the floor, his cock pulsing in his grasp.

“Holy shite,” Potter gasped.

Draco went to his knees, too overcome to stand.

A few minutes later, Draco sat in his lounge, clothes back on, a cup of tea in his hand. “I dreamed about you,” he growled, now so, so embarrassed.

Potter was in the other chair, legs crossed in front of him. “I’ve been trying to get your attention since I found myself trapped in this flat with you.”

“You’re trapped?"

A shrug. “Yeah, it appears that way. I can’t leave.”

“Have you tried the bloody front door?”

Potter gave him an annoyed look. Draco met his annoyance with a glare.

“You were spying on me, you weirdo.”

Potter flushed hotly. “No, I wasn’t!”

“Oh, yes, you were. I thought I was perfectly alone. What I was doing was private. You had no business seeing that!”

Now Potter looked a bit bashful. “I couldn’t leave! I was trying to get you to see me, to realise I was trapped in here with you. I didn’t mean to—to—”

Merlin, Draco loved seeing him squirming. He had a difficult time trying not to smirk.

Wanting to further torture him, Draco leaned in and said, “You liked what you saw, didn’t you?” His voice came out rougher than he intended.

Potter’s blush was red and blotchy against his brown skin. Truth be told, it was rather attractive. “I reckon I did,” Potter muttered, gaze down.

Draco straightened up. He hadn’t expected Potter to answer honestly. There was an awkward little stretch of silence before he said, “You said you aren’t dead, but I saw your body. I saw it.”

Potter was frowning. “I don’t have my body anymore, it’s true. I can go through walls and stuff … just not through any of the external walls of this flat. It’s so damn frustrating.”

“What do you mean you don’t have a body?”

Sighing, Potter stood and went over to the wall. Looking at Draco, he shoved his arm through the wall. It went through as if the wall was just air.

“Merlin!” Draco stumbled over to Potter. He grabbed him by the shoulders, expecting his hands to go right through his shirt, but no—Potter felt firm and warm beneath his palms. He felt alive.

“You’ve got to help me,” Potter said quietly.

Draco smoothed his hands down Potter’s shoulders, then over his chest. He felt Potter’s heart thudding rapidly. “I thought you were dead,” he answered, voice just as quiet.

“Perhaps I am, but just confused … I’m like Nearly Headless Nick before he accepted he was dead, just roaming about Hogwarts in denial …”

“No, no,” Draco said, too stricken by the idea to hide his feelings. “I can touch you, Potter. And you feel warm and alive and—”

“Perhaps we’re both going mental.”

Draco looked at Potter, just looked at him. Potter was gorgeous, he really was. Draco had always known this. When he was younger, the knowledge had royally pissed him off, but now … after that dream …

Draco turned away. No, he couldn’t kiss Potter. The thought was prosperous, wasn’t it? He could be a ghost.

“Malfoy …” Potter touched him on the shoulder, and his hand felt so fucking good. It had been a long time since Malfoy had felt the touch of another person.

“You can’t be dead,” Draco said, shuddering.

“I really don’t think I am.”

“Seeing you unmoving like that … seeing your corpse …” Another shudder. “You didn’t deserve to go out like that.”

“I’m glad you think I deserve a better death.” There was a smile in Potter’s voice.

Draco turned around again, his movement abrupt. What if this was only temporary? What if they lost the ability to touch one another? What if—

Draco reached out and kissed him.

“Oh,” Potter gasped against his mouth.

“Sorry,” he muttered, not going far. “I don’t even know if you fancy blokes.”

Potter’s hands slid down his back. His touch was very shy. “I do like them.”

“I dreamed that I was fucking you,” Draco whispered, his lips caressing Potter’s. “Merlin, I hate you so much, but that sensation … I can’t get it out of my head.”

“Do you really still hate me? I don’t think people kiss the ones they hate …”

“I do.”

Draco wrapped his arms around Potter and dragged him into a proper snog. Potter clung to him and moaned into his mouth.

Burying a hand in his soft, unruly hair, Draco tipped his head back, utterly taking over the kiss. Potter submitted to him just like he had in the dream, moaning and arching. He opened his mouth for Draco, letting him in, and their tongues stroked against each other, hot and wet.

Draco was so fucking hard. It was embarrassing how hard he’d got for Potter.

I could shag him right here, right now, Draco thought secretively. He imagined throwing Potter to the floor and just having his way with him. Potter said he couldn’t leave, too. Draco could keep him here for as long as he wished … using him …

Suddenly, Draco stopped kissing him and stepped back. They were both breathing hard. Potter looked utterly dazed.

“Wow,” Potter murmured, his fingers touching his lips.

Draco sat down in one of his chairs. He couldn’t let himself get carried away by his own sick fantasies. Potter needed him.

Potter sat down as well, face flushed. He gave Draco a hesitant smile.

“What were you doing in that warehouse?” Draco asked.

“Oh, um.”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “Don’t you dare lie to me, Potter.”

“It’s confidential!”

“Is confidentiality really what we need to be worrying about? You are a literal ghost.”

Now it was Potter’s turn to glare. “Like we already established, I don’t know if I’m a ghost or not. And neither do you.”

“I saw your body!”

“You need to get in touch with Hermione. She knows why I was in that warehouse—and she could help us.”

“No!” Draco thundered.

“What?”

“I haven’t spoken to Granger in years. YEARS! And you want me to—what? Just show up on her doorstep and beg her to help me?”

Potter looked very confused. “Um … yeah? That’s the problem?”

Draco crossed his arms. “I’m not doing it.”

Potter’s mouth fell open. When he finally managed to speak, he sputtered, “What—? Are you mad? She could help both of us! She’s brilliant—”

“If she’s so brilliant, why didn’t you choose to haunt her?”

“I didn’t choose anything!”

“I’m not doing it,” he repeated stubbornly.

“You would rather go it alone, potentially endangering my life, than ask my best friend for help?”

“I’m capable, too!”

“Yes, I understand that, but Hermione—”

“I’m not going to involve her, Potter!”

“Fine,” Potter said coolly, sitting back in his chair. He crossed his arms and looked away.

Draco was relieved. “Brilliant. Okay, now that we are on the same page, let’s come up with our next step.”

“I already gave you a next step.”

“Another next step, then.”

Potter didn’t say anything. Nor did he look at him.

Draco sighed. “Are you giving me the silent treatment now?”

No answer.

Draco got up and took himself off to bed. It was still the middle of the night. He expected Potter to call out to him, but Potter remained silent.

Draco was not contacting Hermione Granger. Absolutely not.

The next morning, Draco woke up, half-expecting the previous night’s events to be just a dream. Yawning, he walked out to his lounge and found Potter sitting on the settee and flipping through one of his graphic novels.

It hadn’t been a dream.

“What are you doing?” Draco screeched.

Potter jumped. “Oh. Um. Reading?”

Draco rushed forward and yanked the book from his hands. “Those are private, damn you.”

Potter blinked at him. “Sorry … I didn’t know.”

Glaring, still half-awake, Draco shoved the book back onto the table. He had no idea what to say to Potter, so he moved to the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea. Potter trailed after him.

“So,” Potter said, as the kettle boiled, “have you decided to ask Hermione for her help?”

“No,” he growled.

Even from across the room, Draco sensed Potter’s demeanour change.

“Oh,” came Potter’s cold reply. Then: “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure!”

Potter walked out.

Still seething, Draco made his cup of tea, then took his time buttering himself some toast. He didn’t have a kitchen table, so he had to return to the lounge to sit and eat. Potter didn’t acknowledge his presence again.

Draco relished eating his toast and drinking his tea, pretending not to give a shit about the ghostly man fuming in his corner.

“I have to report to the Ministry today,” Draco said after he was done with his breakfast.

Potter didn’t acknowledge he’d spoken.

“I’m telling you this because I know you can’t leave this flat. You better not ruin any of my belongings, or take revenge in some silly prank, or else I won’t bother to help you.”

His face turned away, Potter gritted his teeth, his jaw pulsing. It did something to Draco to see him so annoyed.

It was stupid, so stupid, but Draco just wanted to cross the room, take Potter into his arms, and kiss him silly. He wanted to kiss him and kiss him until he broke Potter’s resolve. He bet it wouldn’t take long, oh no.

Draco rose and went to the bathroom. He needed to have a shower and get ready for his rendezvous with the DMLE.

Draco had selected his flat due to its proximity to the Ministry. It meant he had to live in a crummy area of London, surrounded by Muggles, but it was worth the convenience. Apparating was tough on his back.

It was a cool autumn morning as Draco strode down the pavement. He was in a thin black coat that fell almost to his ankles. He enjoyed wearing it because, while the coat was Muggle, the length still reminded him of robes.

As he walked, he thought about Potter. He hadn’t seen him when he left and he suspected Potter was now hiding from him in protest.

Draco didn’t care. He would rather die than ask Hermione Granger for help. And it wasn’t because of her blood status, no, no. It was because … well … It was because he owed Granger an apology. Many of them.

It made him ashamed.

Draco was lost in thought, the cool breeze ruffling his hair, when he felt a warmth at his back, as if someone was leaning too close to him.

“Boo,” Potter whispered into his ear.

Shrieking, Draco jumped nearly a metre into the air. The disturbance caused several Muggles around to stop and stare.

Behind him, Potter chuckled loudly. He virtually cackled.

Draco twisted around. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he cried.

Potter just continued to laugh.

“Wait a minute … How were you able to leave my flat? I thought you were stuck?”

Potter sobered up a bit. “I thought I was stuck, too, but it seems like I can go where you go.”

“Brilliant,” Draco grumbled. Then he realised people were still staring and he was talking to himself. He continued his journey to the Ministry, this time practically stomping on the pavement.

In the atrium of the Ministry, Draco had to hand over his wand for inspection, then be magically frisked several times. Even though he was a semi-official employee of the DMLE, he was still a former Death Eater, and therefore no one could fully trust him.

As he was searched, he kept his gaze averted, but he did catch how Potter stood to the side and watched, a small frown turning down his mouth.

Once it was all done, Draco Transfigured his outfit into robes. It wouldn’t do to parade about the Ministry in Muggle clothes. After all, he wasn’t Harry Potter.

As they rode the lift down to the DMLE, Potter whispered, “They shouldn’t treat you like that, you know.”

They were alone so Draco growled, “Piss off,” with as much venom as he could muster.

The Department of Magical Law Enforcement was a hive buzzing with activity. Tons and tons of people worked for the department, and truth be told, they really needed a bigger space. Draco felt a bit bad seeing them all crammed into their little cubicles.

Draco approached Miss Riggs, the old hag who was the secretary for Robards. “I’ve got an appointment,” he said, not even trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice.

Riggs raised one icy eyebrow at him. “Oh?”

“Yes, oh. I did a job yesterday and I want to get paid!”

Then, annoyingly, Miss Riggs’ eyes filled with tears. She lowered her voice as she said, “Were you there when Harry Potter passed?”

Blimey, Draco thought, but he didn’t let his expression slip. “I haven’t a clue what you mean, especially since that’s confidential and we would both get sacked for talking about it.”

“Both?” She grinned smugly. “Only you.” Before Draco could answer, Miss Riggs swished her wand, and the door behind her popped open. “Robards will see you now.”

Draco gave her a stony glare and marched into the office.

“Shut the door,” Robards growled from behind his desk, which was piled with a mountain of paperwork.

Draco shut the door and sat down.

Robards took a moment to just stare darkly at Draco. He was not in a good mood today. “You did good work yesterday,” he finally said.

Draco studied his fingernails. “I thought so, especially since I was given just an hour to clean everything up.”

“It was an emergency.”

“So, I suppose Potter really is dead?”

Robards blinked several times, obviously trying not to show emotion. “Yes, he is. He was a good man, too. It’s a tragedy. It was a tragedy when he left the Aurors … and now he’s gone.”

“What was he doing there anyway?”

“That’s none of your business.”

Behind Robards, Potter held up a piece of parchment that read: DON’T YOU DARE.

Draco leaned forward in his chair. “You say that Potter left the Aurors, but that was no average crime scene. A duel had taken place. And what the hell had Potter been doing in that old warehouse if he hadn’t been working?”

“I haven’t a clue,” Robards growled.

Another parchment: STOP.

Draco didn’t stop. “You know what I think? I think Potter was still working for the DMLE, but in a different capacity—”

A hard wad of parchment hit Draco in the face.

“What the hell—” Robards twisted in his chair, but of course, he didn’t see Potter. “Where did that come from?”

Draco rubbed at his cheek. “I think I’m being haunted.”

“What?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Then Potter held up another message: ASK HERMIONE FOR HELP OR ELSE.

Draco rolled his eyes. He didn’t give in to threats. No, he mouthed, then gave Potter a smirk.

Robards stared at him. “You’re acting a bit mental, lad.”

Another wad of parchment hit Draco in the face, then another. Draco and Robards jumped to their feet.

“Stop that!” Draco yelled.

“Who are you talking to?” Robards cried.

Laughing, Potter picked up an entire stack of paperwork and held it over Robards’ head.

“Go to Hermione’s office now, or I’ll do it—” Somehow Robards couldn't hear Potter.

“NO!” Draco yelled.

Potter dropped the stack. Robards roared and twisted away, but Potter advanced on him.

“Malfoy, stop this right now!” Robards said, stumbling over parchment. “This is all very important and can’t be disorganised like this!”

“You’ve got filing cabinets for a reason!” Potter laughed, enjoying himself entirely too much as he continued to hurl paperwork at both of them.

“I’m not doing it!” Unable to think clearly, Draco opened the door and fled. He ran all the way to the Ministry canteen.

Draco sat in his uncomfortable chair, head down, as he attempted to gather his thoughts and slow his thundering heartbeat. Potter joined him at the table, not saying anything. Draco didn’t acknowledge his presence.

Draco hated being in the Ministry. He felt as if everyone was staring at him, which most were. He felt as if he couldn’t breathe while in here. And now he was sitting in its bloody canteen.

“I’m being a bit of a prick, I know,” Potter said.

Draco didn’t respond.

“I don’t want to be a prick, but you are leaving me no other choice. I’m powerless without your help.”

Sighing, Draco rubbed at his face with two hands. He peeked around through his fingers. No one seemed to be watching, for now. Still, he barely moved his lips when he whispered, “Piss off.”

Potter leaned in, doing his best to be menacing. “I’ll haunt you, Malfoy. Forever. I’ll be your own personal poltergeist.”

Growling, Draco stood up. “Stop it!” He forgot to be quiet or unassuming, and of course, he had attracted attention. He stalked from the canteen with not an inkling as to where he was going.

Potter chased after him. “Malfoy!” he yelled for Draco’s ears only.

Draco quickened his steps, but Potter used his stupid ghost powers to speed forward, catching up to him.

“Wait,” Potter said, somehow out of breath.

Draco intentionally turned into a lonely alcove. Then: “What do you want?” he hissed.

“You know what I want.”

“Merlin, let it go!”

“No! I’m telling you she could help us, if only you stopped being so damn stubborn.”

“It’s the day after her best mate died!” Draco yelled, throwing his arms up in the air. “Why in the world would Granger even be at work?”

“You obviously don’t know her.”

“I DON’T!” Draco’s voice echoed, reaching the corridor. A wizard walked past, gave him a nervous look, and quickened away. Draco pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering angrily to himself.

“Please, Malfoy?” Potter said hopefully. “Just pop down to her office and see. Just see.”

“FINE!” Fuming, Draco stalked from the alcove. He headed for the lifts without a clue where Granger’s office was.

“Hermione’s office is on the fourth level,” Potter said, voice close to his ear. “Just a little bit further down than here.”

Ignoring him, Draco stepped into the lift and stabbed at the button. Flying memos fluttered above his head. Potter slipped in right before the doors shut.

The ride was short, and soon Draco was striding down a semi-busy corridor. He was in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.

Luckily for him, Draco found Granger’s office without much effort. Unluckily for him, her door was wide open, and she stood behind her desk, looking over some parchment and talking to a witch who appeared to be an underling.

Granger looked up and her eyes went comically wide. “Malfoy?”

“Um,” he said, freezing.

“Do you need to speak to me?”

“Um.” Draco gulped. “Yes, I believe so.”

“You believe so?”

Potter gave him a little shove and Draco stumbled into the office. Draco righted himself and smoothed his robes back into place.

“I’ll find you later to continue our conversation, Williams,” Granger said to the witch, who nodded and left the room, closing the door behind her.

Suddenly Draco was alone with Hermione Granger. Stupidly, he felt his knees threaten to quake.

She blinked at him, waiting for him to speak first. Her eyes were puffy. It was obvious she had been crying, and a lot.

“It’s been a long time,” she said.

He cleared his throat. “Yes.”

She frowned. “Is there something the matter? Is a centaur pestering you? I work in their division, you know. As an advocate and a case manager.”

“You’ve been crying,” he blurted out.

This made her eyes fill with fresh tears. She gulped back emotion. “Yes, well. I’m sure you’ve heard about Harry, haven’t you?”

“Yeah.” Draco swayed a bit.

“It’s all been so terrible since I found out.” She gave him a tearful smile. “I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Oh, Hermione,” Potter said, voice coming from somewhere behind him. He sounded as if he were in pain.

“No, of course not,” Draco said, nearly whispering. He was still swaying. There was a proper chance he would faint.

Granger gave him a bit of a knowing look. “Is that why you’ve dropped by? To talk about Harry?”

“No. Yes.” Draco took a step forward, then hesitated.

“I didn’t know you knew him all that well.”

“I didn’t … but … Still, he didn’t deserve to die so young.”

Granger burst into tears, her shoulders shaking.

“Hermione,” Potter moaned, utterly in agony.

Not thinking, Draco stumbled forward, around the desk. He took Granger into his arms and held her close. She cried into his chest.

“I’m sorry,” she sniffled.

He kept his arms around her. “It’s all right.”

“I really shouldn’t be crying like this.”

Draco didn’t say anything. After all he’d done, it felt good to be able to help her in some way.

Still sniffling, Granger pulled away. She smiled up at him, brown eyes still filled with tears. “Wow,” she laughed. “You smell really nice.”

He felt his face heat.

Granger turned away. She studied some paperwork on her desk.

Draco hadn’t a clue what to say.

“Tell her,” Potter said in his ear. “Ask her for help!”

Draco shook his head. How was he supposed to tell her? She would think he was mental. She would probably call St Mungo’s emergency services on him.

Cursing, Potter surged forward, and a bit of him went through her desk in his haste. “HERMIONE!” he yelled, voice breaking. “IT’S ME! IT’S ME! I’M NOT DEAD. PLEASE—I’m not dead.”

Draco winced. He hurt for him. He really did. Potter was a prick, but he didn’t deserve to be in this situation, not one bit.

So what if Granger thought he was a tad mental? He could still get her help if only he was subtle with the way he went about it …

Taking a deep breath, Draco said, “I’m being haunted.”

Granger looked up and through Potter. “What?”

Draco managed to laugh. The sound was very hollow. “I’m being haunted and I need help to get rid of the ghost.”

“The ghost?”

“Hermione, it’s me! I’m the ghost!” Potter cried.

Draco almost told him to shut up. Instead, he continued: “Do you know anyone who can help with a haunting? And someone who can keep a secret?”

Granger frowned again. “Why does it need to be a secret?”

Draco managed to roll his eyes. “Because being haunted is embarrassing.”

A smile lifted the corners of Granger’s mouth. It was a nice change after her tears. “Do you remember Parvati Patil?”

“Yes …”

“And I’m sure you remember Professor Trelawney, don’t you?”

“Of course.”

“They own a Divination business together, believe it or not. And they have proven themselves experts in speaking to the dead.”

Draco blinked at her. “What?”

Granger smiled again. “Barmy, I know. But I did a brief stint as a ghost consultant for this department and their reputation is well-known.”

“Do you know where I can find them?”

“Yes, I have their address. I will write down the coordinates for you.”

Draco turned his head to look at Potter. He expected to find him aghast, but Potter’s expression was serious, intense. A bright determination gleamed in his eyes.

It must have felt good to finally be on the road to a solution.

Back at his flat, Draco had to sit quietly for a long time. He drank a few cups of tea. When he looked up at the clock, he found over an hour had passed.

Potter lounged on the settee, waiting patiently. “We are going to ask Trelawney for help, aren’t we?”

Draco was reluctant to speak. It took him a few moments to find his words. “Yes … If you trust her. If you trust the both of them.”

Shrugging, Potter said, “I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

Draco thought about Granger crying in his arms, and Potter’s voice breaking as he insisted, I’m not dead! The memory of it made him wince again.

“I could do more than a bit of research. Try to figure out a solution that way.”

Potter just looked at him. “What if my body starts to decompose?”

Draco remembered what he’d looked like laid out on the hard concrete floor of the warehouse. “Perhaps you’re already decomposing.”

“I don’t think I am. Not yet.”

Panic twisted his stomach. “We’ll go find Trelawney and Parvati tomorrow. And if they can’t help, I—I promise I will find another way. I promise, Potter.”

Later, Draco made himself a sad, little dinner, and ate it nervously while staring out his window. The Muggle street was very drab beyond the glass.

Potter sat on the settee and watched him.

Once Draco was done, he cleaned his plate and fork, and went to sit beside him. It hurt to look at Potter.

“I want to know what you were doing in that warehouse.”

Potter sat up straighter. “Why?”

“Did it occur to you that this wasn’t an accident? That perhaps someone did this to you intentionally?”

Frowning, Potter said, “I don’t think anyone did this intentionally. You weren’t there. The duelling was incredible.”

“Why were you duelling people?”

Potter stared at him. “What?”

“Why, Potter?”

He was suddenly on his feet and pacing. “I wish you’d call me Harry.”

“Don’t change the subject.”

Potter stopped mid-pace. He was staring down at Draco again. It was obvious he was trying to decide if he could trust him or not.

Annoyed, Draco snorted and crossed his arms. “You expect me to save your life but you can’t tell me what you were up to in that warehouse?”

“I’m a hitwizard.”

Draco blinked at him.

“Do you know what that is?”

“Of course I know what that is!” Draco shook his head. “You kill people?”

“Yes. The bad ones.”

Draco just continued to shake his head. It was unbelievable. Incomprehensible.

“I spent a few years working as an Auror, but I’m sure you already know that. It was fine, I suppose, but after facing down Voldemort, I wanted a bigger challenge.”

“A bigger challenge …”

Potter’s face went rigid. “Are you really judging me for eliminating evil people? They hurt others!”

I hurt others once, Draco thought.

Sighing, Draco let all the tension drain from his body. “It doesn’t matter,” he said, because it didn’t. “I’m glad there’s less bad people out there harming others, really. I just … I just don’t like the idea of you putting yourself in danger like that.”

Potter’s expression went very tender. “Oh.”

“I’m going to have myself a shower then go to bed.”

Heat entered Potter’s gaze. “Okay.”

After his shower, Draco lay on his bed, an arm draped over his eyes. The day had been brutal. The mattress dipped as Potter slid in beside him.

“What are you doing?” Draco murmured, not lifting his arm.

There was silence, then Potter muttered, “I was hoping … I was hoping you’d kiss me again.”

Now Draco lifted his arm. He squinted at Potter. He wanted to yell at him to fuck off, but the truth was Potter looked rather good. And they were in bed together.

Draco rolled on top of him. He continued to squint at him. “Do you think you deserve a kiss from me?” His words were slow, seductive. Teasing.

Potter’s mouth dropped open. And his gorgeous, gorgeous eyes widened almost innocently. “Y—yeah?” he whispered.

Humming, Draco brushed his lips against Potter’s. It made Potter shudder.

“You were very, very naughty today.”

Potter’s lashes fluttered. “Yeah.”

“I do believe you deserve to be punished.”

“Oh my god.”

Draco captured his lips in a deep, deep kiss. He moved his lips over Potter’s, utterly commanding him. He stroked his tongue against his, over and over. Then he took his tongue into his mouth and sucked it.

Potter moaned needily.

Fucking hell, I’m snogging a ghost, Draco thought.

Still, he continued to kiss him. Their hips began to rock together. Draco moaned. He could feel Potter getting hard for him.

“Oh please,” Potter whispered.

“Naughty, naughty boy,” Draco whispered back.

Potter gasped and squirmed, needing so much more. Draco growled and pinned him harder to the bed.

The sexual chemistry between them was remarkable. It was making Draco’s head spin.

This was Harry Potter beneath him, and Draco used to hate him, hate him … At one point, Draco had wanted him dead … Oh, the irony.

“I could fuck you right now.”

“Please, please.”

“I could,” Draco murmured, brushing kisses against Potter’s lips, then his cheek and his jaw. “I could put my fingers in you—my tongue. I could get you so wet for me …”

“God, Draco.”

“I would make sure you were dripping, utterly dripping, before I sank my hard, throbbing cock into your—”

Potter gasped loudly and bucked up. Draco felt how stiff he was against his rough Muggle trousers. He couldn’t believe how a hitwizard could be so submissive.

Draco smirked down at him. “But I don’t think I will … Not after you spent the day haunting me.” He rolled to his feet.

Potter lunged for him, crying, “No, don’t go!”

Still smirking, Draco walked out, leaving Potter flushed and aroused on the bed.

The next morning, Draco woke up to Potter curled around him, both beneath the warm duvet. It was so strange how Potter was corporal but not. A bit of the duvet went through him, but Draco was able to dance his fingertips lightly up and down his arm.

Potter murmured and snuggled closer.

He kills people, Draco thought, staring down at the sleeping ghost in his arms. For some reason, Draco found it very hot to have such a powerful—and dangerous—man snuggling up to him.

For several minutes, Draco just enjoyed holding Potter, his thoughts drifting lazily. Then he remembered their task for today—his task—and got out of bed.

Potter blinked up at him sleepily. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“Mind what?”

Potter rubbed his eyes and muffled a yawn. “Me. Sleeping in bed with you.”

“I’m surprised you can even sleep,” Draco said, leaving it at that. He stole away to the bathroom.

Later, as Draco and Potter were preparing to leave his flat, Draco thought about the watch on his bedside table and grabbed it. Then he met Potter in the lounge and they left.

The day outside was cool and sunny, and it felt nice to have Potter strolling beside him. It almost felt normal, as if they were just boyfriends in love enjoying the nice air.

After a bit of walking, Draco pulled Potter into an alcove, inspected the coordinates Granger had given him, and then Apparated them both away.

They landed outside a shop that had a neon sign blinking in its window: Psychic.

Potter squinted around, his lovely hair blowing in the breeze. “This neighbourhood’s Muggle.”

Draco scratched his chin. “Yeah.”

“What a strange place for Trelawney and Parvati to work.”

“Yeah.”

Draco opened the door and stepped inside. He was greeted by the intense but pleasant scent of incense and a room so dark it looked like a cave. A single tasseled lamp sat on the small wooden counter. Its yellowy light only illuminated a few inches.

“Good morning,” came a dreamy voice.

Draco turned and found Parvati standing there wearing a very long shawl. She was a lot shorter than he remembered.

She blinked at him. “Malfoy?”

“Ah, yes.” He cleared his throat. “Hello.”

She looked him up and down. “When did you get fit?”

“Pardon?”

“Nevermind.” She went up to the counter and flipped open a large book. “Do you have an appointment?”

“Um, no.”

“That’s unfortunate, quite unfortunate …”

Draco summoned his inner Lucius Malfoy. “How much?” he asked coolly.

Parvati raised an eyebrow, giving him an appraising look. “Two hundred Galleons.”

Draco nearly gagged. He didn’t have that kind of money!

“Say yes,” Potter whispered in his ear. “I can pay for it.”

You’re a damn ghost, Draco thought, annoyed.

Parvati perked up. She seemed to hear Potter’s voice. “Do we have a deal?”

“Yes.”

Parvati took him (and Potter) into a back room. In the centre of the room sat Trelawney. She was on a large blanket on the floor, legs crossed, an army of lighted candles surrounding her. The air smelled heavily of roses.

“Darling,” Trelawney said, smiling up at Parvati. Parvati crossed the room, leaned down, and gave her a deep kiss. With tongue.

Well then, Draco thought.

“That’s … something,” Harry murmured in his ear.

Trelawney snapped to attention. “Who’s there?”

Parvati clung to her and carded her fingers through her greying locks. “I heard it too, my love. Malfoy’s got a friend.”

Trelawney squinted through the gloom. “He’s not a ghost. Not a typical one. I can almost see him.”

Draco moved closer. “That’s why I’m here. I’ve got me a haunting. It’s been a headache. I need help to stop it.”

“Who is it?” Parvati said.

Draco hesitated to answer. He shifted his feet as the two women stared at him.

“Nevermind,” Trelawney said. “We don’t need to know that information, not yet at least.” She rearranged herself on the blanket and held out both of her hands. Parvati sat down and took the right one.

Draco stared in confusion. “Do you want me to join you—?”

“No, I want him to join us,” Trelawney said, eyes now closed. “Sit down and take my hand, Visitor. Don’t be shy.”

Trelawney and Parvati began to hum, as if to summon Potter. Potter gave Draco an amused look and walked over to the blanket. He sat down heavily and took her hand. Interestingly, he was able to touch her just like he could touch Draco.

Trelawney gasped. So did Parvati.

“Harry!” Parvati said, nearly shrieking. Her eyes were closed, too. “I can see you now.”

Potter was blushing. “Hi.”

“Oh, thank Merlin it’s you! I couldn’t believe it when I heard the news of your passing.”

“Can you help me get my body back? I don’t know where it is, unfortunately. Probably the Ministry morgue …”

“It doesn't matter its location, dear,” Trelawney said soothingly. “All you will need to do is summon it back.”

“But how?”

“There is an object or a person who is tying you to the mortal world,” Trelawney said.

Potter looked at Draco. “I think it’s a person,” he murmured.

Shaking his head, Draco retrieved the watch from his pocket. “There’s also this …”

“My watch!”

“It could be both an object and a person,” Parvati said. “Do you fear time, Harry?”

“Uh … I dunno.”

Parvati leaned closer to Potter, eyes remaining closed, a knowing smile curling her lips. “Are you in love with Malfoy?”

Potter looked at Draco. “Not before … but I certainly thought about him a lot.”

Draco felt his face warm up.

“And now?” Trelawney asked gently.

“And now … now I’m hoping Malfoy will ask me to be his boyfriend. Once this is all over, of course.”

Trelawney and Parvati both went aww. Draco shifted again, his face now very hot. He was pleased and embarrassed and more than a little aroused.

“There is a ritual you can do,” Trelawney continued. “You must be outside, on the earth. You must encircle you and what binds you to this world with a substance you love.”

Potter laughed. “Does treacle count?”

“Yes!” Parvati said. “Anything counts!”

“Shall we go outside right now and do it?” Potter said excitedly, his ghostly face lit up.

Draco’s heart was beating very fast. “What about Granger? Don’t you care for her, too?”

Frowning, Potter nodded. “And Ron.”

“We can ask them to join us … to make sure the ritual is successful …”

Potter was still frowning. “Let’s try it with just Hermione. I might prefer staying dead rather than asking Ron and Hermione to be in the same room together.”

“I don’t understand,” Draco said.

“Oh, you didn’t know they divorced last year?” Parvati butted in.

Draco gave an annoyed shrug. “My life doesn’t revolve around Gryffindors.”

“Yet,” Trelawney coughed.

Draco was now glaring at all three of them. Laughing, Potter got to his feet.

“I wonder if Hermione’s home … Let’s go now and just see. She has a lovely garden that would be perfect for this ritual.”

“All right,” Draco said, gulping. He looked at the women. "Remember to send him the bill."

Granger lived in a charming cottage by the sea. Draco was terribly jealous of it. The Manor was in ruins and his London flat was shite, and he had always loved the sound of crashing waves.

To make matters worse, the sun was shining as well.

Lucky bint, he found himself thinking, but then he felt guilty. He shouldn’t be calling Granger such names even in his own mind.

Not letting himself dwell on the task in front of him, he marched up to her charming white door and knocked.

Several seconds passed without any response. He didn’t know if he wanted Granger to answer or not. Beside him, Potter shifted restlessly.

Then the door opened, and Granger appeared. She had been in the middle of a cry.

“Oh,” she said, blinking tearfully up at him. “Malfoy.”

“May I come in?” he asked awkwardly.

Pink entered her cheeks. “Oh, um. Yes, of course.” She opened the door wider.

In her cosy lounge, she invited Draco to sit down. “Would you like some tea? I also have a few fizzy drinks.”

He shook his head. He was trembling he was so nervous. “Granger,” he said, holding his hands and trying not to wring them.

She laughed hollowly. “I didn’t know you knew where I lived.”

“I didn’t.” He gulped. “The truth is I was led here.”

“What do you mean?”

“Hermione,” Potter said, voice thick with emotion. “I’m here, I’m here.”

Draco teeth were nearly chattering. “Granger … I need your help. I … I went to go see Trelawney and Patil like you suggested.”

“But?”

“It’s Potter.”

Fresh tears filled her brown eyes. “What?”

“He’s here, Granger. He’s standing right beside me.”

She took a step back. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that I’m being haunted by him! And we need your help!” Draco’s voice came out harsh and angry.

“This is too cruel, Malfoy. Even for you.”

Draco plunged his hand into pocket and yanked out the ritual spell Trelawney and Parvati had given him. He shoved the parchment into Granger’s hand. “We need to perform this in your garden. Also, do you have treacle?”

“What?”

“Treacle, Granger. Do you have some?”

She didn’t answer as she read the spell. Licking her lips, she glanced up at him. “This is powerful magic.”

“Yes.”

“It’s also dangerous.”

Draco nodded, though he hadn’t let himself think about the danger of it. “Uh huh.”

Now Granger stared around almost fearfully. “And you’re saying Harry’s here? He can see me?”

“I CAN, HERMIONE!” Potter shouted.

Draco winced. “Please … will you help me cast it? I want to get this over with.”

She nodded and took out her wand. A moment later, a little tin of Lyles Black Treacle came soaring from her kitchen. She grabbed it out of the air. “All right, let’s go outside.”

Potter had been right—Granger did have a lovely garden.

“You can see the sea,” Draco said in amazement.

Granger squinted at the horizon. “Just barely.” Then she looked down and squinted at the parchment.

“I’ve also got Potter’s watch,” Draco said, showing it to her.

“Ah,” she said. “Ginny gave that to him one Christmas.”

Draco did his best to ignore a fresh wave of jealousy. “Right. Well, let’s include it anyway.”

“Good idea,” Granger said.

Draco set down the watch on the grass, then stood beside it. Granger frowned at him.

“Do you think it’s wise to join the ritual circle? Didn’t Harry hate you?”

“He chose to haunt me, didn’t he?”

She nodded and began to draw a wavering circle around Draco and the watch with the black, sticky syrup.

Potter watched nervously, his eyes very wide. “I’m open to asking any of the people in my life to join the circle. I just want my body back. Hell, let’s even ring up my Cousin Dudley. I’ve grown quite fond of him recently.”

Draco shook his head. He wanted to tell Potter to hush.

When Granger was done, she set down the tin and stepped into the circle. “All right, let’s hold hands. And Harry, if you’re here, please hold Malfoy’s hand. Or, at least try to.”

Standing around the watch, Draco grasped Granger’s small hand in his, then let Potter take his hand. Granger reached her arm out to complete the circle, her fingers curling as if they were wrapped around Potter’s.

Then they began to chant:

Libera Corpus

Reduc Eum

Libera Corpus

Reduc Eum

Redi Ad Vitam

Redi Ad Vitam

Potter gasped as if in pain. His hand began to shake in Draco’s. Draco didn’t let himself stop chanting. Slowly, the watch rose up into the air. Granger gasped around the word Libera but she continued the chant as well.

The watch moved toward Potter. He watched it approach with wide eyes.

He’s beautiful, Draco thought, feeling so tender on the inside. All he wanted was for Potter to be happy. All he wanted was for him to be alive.

Then the watch found its way to Potter’s wrist, snapping in place. There was a pop and a bright flash of light, like the bulb on an old-fashioned camera exploding, and a powerful surge of energy broke them apart.

Granger cried out and fell back. Draco landed on his arse, too.

Potter remained standing. He flexed his arms in front of him. He no longer looked ghostly. He looked real. Substantial.

“Harry,” Granger gasped, crawling back to her feet. She threw herself into his arms, sobbing. “Oh, Harry, Harry …”

Potter cried too as he held her. He buried his face against her hair. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Draco remained on the ground and turned his face away, letting them have privacy. He listened to the distant sound of crashing waves as hot tears slid down his cheeks. Oh, the relief.

Draco had left Granger and Potter at the cottage by the sea. Potter had much to catch her up on and Draco was exhausted. He just wanted his bed.

Now it was the evening, and he lounged on his settee, trying to read. His mind kept straying to Potter. Potter hadn’t even said thank you, and now—now he might never come back. Perhaps he was done with Draco now that his ghostly form wasn’t bonded to him.

Growling, Draco shoved his book away and stood. He needed to stop thinking about the stupid Scarhead and just get over it—

There was a knock on his door.

Frowning, Draco strode across his small lounge to answer it. He blinked. Potter stood on the other side of the threshold. He was wearing casual trousers and a threadbare shirt. Behind his glasses, his eyes were very bright.

“Hi,” he said shyly.

Draco gulped. “Hello.”

They stared at one another for an embarrassingly long time. Then Draco realised what he was doing and quickly straightened to his full height.

Clearing his throat, Draco said, “Please come in.”

Grinning, Potter slipped past him. Potter stood by the settee, hands in his pockets. “You were reading,” he said.

Draco was so busy checking him out that he nearly didn’t answer. “Yeah, I was,” he said roughly.

“Hermione told me to make sure to thank you.”

Draco stared into his eyes. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

More silence. Something hot and intense throbbed between them. Something needy.

Taking a hesitant step forward, Draco said, “How would you like to thank me, Potter?”

The other man slowly lowered to his knees. “Like this?”

“Oh my god.” Draco grabbed him and pulled him to his feet. He kissed Potter desperately, hands twisting his shirt. Potter kissed him back, clinging as well.

Then Draco began to speak, and he had no control over it: “God, God. You’re alive. Alive, alive, alive …”

“I am,” Potter murmured, sounding tearful. “And all because of you.”

“I was so afraid that … Merlin.”

“It’s all right,” Potter said softly. “I’m here.”

Draco kissed him again, this time his lips moving gently, so gently, as if Potter was tremendously breakable. “It was terrible when I saw your body in that warehouse. So, so terrible. I thought I hated you but I couldn’t bear the thought of you being gone.”

“Oh, Draco.”

Draco grabbed his hands and dragged him toward the bedroom. “Please tell me you want this.”

“Fuck, I want it. You have no idea. Since ever I saw you fucking that toy … Jesus, Draco …”

Draco had to laugh. It was very cute when Potter sounded Muggle.

Then they were in his bedroom, with his unmade bed. Where they had snuggled.

Draco dragged him into another deep kiss. Potter tasted like treacle. It made Draco moan.

“Please,” Potter whispered.

“Merlin, I love hearing you beg.”

Potter’s hands grabbed at him greedily. “Please, please.”

Draco helped ease him out of his clothes. He pressed his lips to his ear: “I want to put my tongue in you.”

“Do it.”

Growling, Draco shoved Potter down onto his stomach. He was naked now and on full display. “Fuck,” Draco groaned as his slid his hands down his warm, warm back. Potter was very strong, his muscles jumping beneath his palms.

Potter widened his thighs eagerly. “You can do anything you want to me.”

“Good.” Draco parted him so he could see his arsehole. It looked pink and delicate. It looked so, so tight. Feeling lightheaded, Draco dragged his tongue over that hole, tasting him. Potter shoved his face into a pillow and moaned. Draco moaned too as he ate him messily.

Potter tasted like soap. He had planned for this.

I think I love him, Draco thought as his tongue sought out his bollocks, licking them from behind. Perhaps I’ve always loved him.

Draco took his time eating him out. He wanted Potter wet and stretched for him. He got his tongue inside, the tip encountering the taste of soap and salt. Moaning, Potter squirmed and squeezed around his tongue, and it made Draco throb for him.

“Please, I want more,” Potter murmured, lifting his head.

Draco crawled onto the bed with him, forcing his thighs further apart to make room for himself. He shoved down his pants and trousers, his cock springing free. His head was already so fucking wet.

“You want me to fuck you, hm?”

“Yes!” Potter said, shuddering. “I want you to fuck me like you fucked that toy.”

Draco caressed his hands up and down Potter’s sides, enjoying the hard lines of his body. “I was thinking about you as I did.”

“I thought I heard you moaning my name.”

Draco growled at the memory. Potter hadn’t asked for his permission to watch. “You make me want to punish you. Punish this little hole.” His palm came down hard on Potter’s right cheek.

“GOD!”

“Punish you, punish you … But no, no. I want you too much. I need you too much. Oh, Har—” He stopped himself.

“Please.”

Draco cast a lube spell and slicked up his shaft. Then he pressed his swollen head to Potter’s hole, sinking in so slowly. He groaned as if in agony. It just felt so, so good. Potter was like a furnace on the inside, and his arse squeezed around his cock, almost fighting the penetration.

Whimpering, Potter utterly submitted to the penetration, his thighs spreading, his back arching into it.

When Draco bottomed out, he couldn’t focus his eyes. He felt his blood pounding everywhere. At the base of his cock, in the tips of his fingers as they bit into Potter’s hips. In his aching, aching balls.

Draco sucked in a deep breath. This was all he’d ever wanted.

“Draco,” Potter whined. “Please fuck me. Please, please. Jesus, I need it. I need you. I’ve always needed you. Please make me feel real. Please. I just want to feel real. I want to feel my body again.”

Shuddering, he pulled out and pushed back in. He had to go slow, for his own sake. He couldn’t ejaculate too quickly. He wanted to make this last.

Then, baring his teeth, Draco pounded into him. Potter buried his face into the pillow and sobbed.

Draco was blabbering again, barely knowing what he was saying. “Such a big powerful man. A hitwizard. Always fighting and fighting. Always protecting. Oh, but you just want to feel safe, don’t you? Just want to feel taken.”

Potter cried out.

“I’m taking you right now. Right now. Do you feel my balls slapping against your arse? Do you? I feel it. I feel every inch of you. Every perfect inch. You want to feel real? Yeah? Then I’m going to make you come for me.”

Draco pulled him up into a kneeling position and wrapped an arm around his throat, forcing Potter to arch his neck, his back. He ground into him, over and over, making damn sure to hit his prostate.

Potter sobbed again, tears trailing down his cheeks. Draco kissed his open mouth, tasting the salt of his emotion. Then he reached down and stroked his needy, needy prick.

“You’re dripping for me,” Draco whispered.

“Yes!”

“And you’re about to come, aren’t you?”

Potter nodded tearfully.

“Do you feel me throbbing deep in your arse? Yes? Do you feel how I’m stretching you? How thick I am for you?”

Potter nodded again.

“Good, good. I want you to feel the soft duvet against your legs, and the hot, sticky sweat lining your body.” He tightened his arm over his throat. “I want you to feel how I’m controlling your breath just a little, how it makes your lungs work just a little harder.” He kissed Potter’s temple, then his cheek, then his jaw. “I want you to feel my warm lips against your skin, and each one of my kisses. And I want you to feel my tight hand around your cock, stroking you and stroking you. Now I want you to come. I want you to feel your orgasm in your throbbing bollocks, making your shaft so fucking hard. I want you to feel your spunk shooting from your tip. Do it, love. Come for me.”

A bone-deep shudder went through Potter. Then his cock began to empty itself, hot semen dripping over Draco’s knuckles.

Moaning, Draco wanked him through his orgasm, barely hanging on as Potter squeezed around him.

Potter barely made a sound as he came, his mouth open on a silent scream.

Draco shoved him down, unable to last. He pounded into him almost viciously. Potter was so fucking pliable beneath him.

“Harry,” he cried softly as his own orgasm washed over him. The pleasure seemed to go on forever. It felt as if he would never stop thrusting.

When it was all over, Draco slumped over Potter’s back, both of them panting for breath. He remained inside him for as long as he could. When he grew too soft, he groaned and slid over onto his back next to Potter.

Potter grinned sleepily at him. He took Draco’s hand in his, kissing each of his knuckles. “Thank you,” he murmured.

Draco just blinked at him, knowing his gaze was very soft.

“I would be dead if it wasn’t for you.”

“Hush.”

Potter bit his lip. Then he leaned close and whispered, “I think it was you who tied me to this world, no one else.”

Now smiling, Draco cupped his cheek. “Harry,” he murmured so softly, then leaned in for a kiss.

He was so glad that Harry Potter was alive.