---

---

If he was anyone else, he might have been frightened by the wizard shoving him against the wall with little care of damaging him. Sure, it jarred his shoulder blades, knocked his head back harshly, but Draco couldn't stop staring at Harrys eyes. The emerald was darker now, a color that would have suited the walls of the Slytherin common room. It was mesmerizing and powerful and Draco fucking loved it. Maybe it was the years he'd spent in green and silver, or maybe it was because that was the exact shade Harry's eyes turned when he wanted to make sure Draco knew who he belonged to.

Draco was fine with that, he loved it. Possessive Harry was always an undercurrent in their relationship, but it took a low to draw him out of his shell this much. Alway when Draco was hurting, or when someone threatened them...Skeeter for instance, that had been one of the first nights Draco had witnessed with side of Potter. Or perhaps when he discovered his scar...

His shirt was the first to go and he would have forced Harrys off as well if he could move his arms to tug at the fabric. But Harry's entire body was pressed against him deliciously, forcing his legs apart against the wall, thigh pressed again him, torso against scratchy wooly sweater, hands tracing burning lines across his skin, neck pulled to the side as his mouth kissed a line up Draco's pale skin.

"Fuck you," Yes, fuck me, Draco wanted to reply. But Harry was grinding his teeth along his jugular, and his words failed him for a moment, "Why didn't you tell me it'd gotten this bad? I ask you every fucking day."

"I didn't want-" He inhaled, Harry's hand and traveled below his trousers and discovered he wasn't wearing any boxers. He'd dressed too quickly and truthfully didn't want to dirty another pair today, and now he was happy that he forgone the extra clothing. Anything to get some naked quicker, and Harry seemed to want to draw this out tantalizingly slowly, "I didn't want to worry you. I can handle it myself"

---

---

"I didn't want-"

Harry felt infinitely better the moment he could get his hands on Draco. The left was curled around his hip, blunt nails digging into soft skin, the right down his pants, long fingers wrapped around hardening flesh. He loved it, and he needed it. He needed hot, sweaty, and real. He needed the physical marks on Draco's body that reminded him they were real.

He needed to work out this fucking anger.

"I didn't want to worry you. I can handle it myself"

"I never said you couldn't," Harry growled out, and before Draco could say anything about it he had their mouths together again, shoving his tongue down Draco's throat, because he needed it too fucking much. He couldn't get close enough, no matter how hard he tried, his nails scraping against skin as it moved from Draco's hip to his back to try to force them together even more.

He knew who his lover was, and Draco Malfoy was not weak. He didn't need someone to fight his battles for him. But this. This had been a step too far. This had been too much for Harry just as it had been too much for Draco.

He pulled away from him and it almost made him dizzy to take a step back before he was jerking off his shirt, his glasses getting caught up in the buttons somewhere and crashing across the room. Then he had Draco's wrist in his hands, and they were both falling against his bed. His bed. Not Draco's. He stayed sitting long enough to get rid of Draco's stupid pants, and then harsh green eyes were falling onto his face. "Don't keep something like this from me again. Don't you dare."

He took just a moment to drink in Draco's body, to really make sure he was okay, and then his right hand was moving up Draco's left arm, his palm covering the mark there. The mark he had grown used to, but now only served to remind him..."Back to your Master, Death Eater"

He looked up and ran his fingers possessively through Draco's blonde hair, shook his head before he leaned down for another bruising, biting, kiss. "Fuck you," he muttered again, and there was too much emotion in it. Too much "I love you" under it. Too much "I would have hurt someone for you." And Harry couldn't take it. He just couldn't.

Draco meant too much to him.

---

---

Draco wouldn't describe their night as romantic. When Harry got this way- all domineering and 'fuck you' and raking nails, it felt more like they were letting all emotions pour out of them in a singular, bruising display of sex. They fucked, ripped at each other, ended up rolling off the bed and didn't give a shit to right their position. They walls were sound proof, so they didn't need to worry about keeping it down for the rest of the dormitory.

While Harry was possessive and needed to make sure that Draco was alright and present, Draco released all his pent up frustration over his constant treatment at Hogwarts. He'd kept it from Harry, something he knew was going to eventually come back to bite him, but he hadn't wanted to drag him into it....Potter had been so happy with how things had been going. He knew what happened tonight with the snake would forever smear the black stain of distrust across the rest of the eight years and it pissed Draco off that he was the cause.

He didn't need to be worried about, although he knew there was no way Harry would ever agree to that.

They were up for hours, ended up taking another shower and then going for another round against the steaming tiles. Maybe they both knew they wouldn't sleep till they'd been completely worn out, or maybe they knew there was no getting to sleep unless they expelled all this pent up energy. Either way, Draco was sure it was well into the morning before he separated himself from Harry's sweaty body and put some space between them on the ruffled bed.

"We have class in a few hours" He mumbled against the sweaty sheets, not bothering to lift his head to face Harry, "And we are fucking going to class, so don't start off again on that"

At some point in the night Draco had brought it back up, ended up with a clawed hand around his throat and dangerous eyes glaring down at him. Harry wanted to hide out, ignore everyone, go back to their old routine of bunkering themselves away from everyone. While Draco loved the idea (and would love to point out that it was Harry's idea to leave their old hovel) he also hated that hiding away meant his tormentors had succeeded. Maybe he had too much pride, maybe this was his father showing through, but Draco would rather die then let anyone know that they succeeded in getting under his skin.

---

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Sex that night was like fighting: demanding, bruising, pushing at each other full force. It wasn't angry so much as desperate though, and he was sure they both got what they needed out of it, one way or another. When Harry finally fell asleep, he was thankful that at least he'd worn himself out enough that he didn't dream, because he was sure after walking in on that incident that his nightmares were going to be particularly mean to him.

By morning, Draco's words about class are looping around his head like it's the first time he'd heard them: "And we are fucking going to class, so don't start off again on that"

Every bone in his body is yelling at him to fight about it. Wrap his hand around Draco's throat, spell his wrists to the wall, keep him there and tell him that he didn't give a rats arse, they were not going. But with a fresh mind he can see the flaw in his own logic. If the roles were flipped, there would be no way in hell Harry would skip class. For him, it was stubbornness...for Draco, pride. Different brands of poison, but they go down the same way.

So he's not happy about it, but he gets up when their alarms wake them, runs his hands through his hair and stretches out his aching body. It takes him a good five minutes to find his glasses, and even then it's only because Draco huffs out of dark amusement and throws them in his general direction.

They get ready in silence, and Harry watches Draco's shoulders slowly relax the longer they go without talking about it. Harry sighs when they're both ready, hands his tie over to Draco because he's just on the edge of frustrated and can't really deal with it at the moment. Draco rolls his eyes in a way that could be fond, does it for him, and then Harry does the honor of using a concealing charm on the mess he made of Draco's neck. "I'm going first," he says, and Draco doesn't stop him.

They always wake up on the late side of breakfast, so the crowd in the common room is thin, but it still feels like too many people freeze the second he enters the room. Goldstien is suddenly through the door in a second flat, Ernie drops all his books, and Padma looks very weary as she inches just the slightest bit farther away from him.

"Morning," he says, softly. The chandelier is still missing, as is an arm chair or two. Harry wonders if they'd been damaged too much to repair, or just banished because no one wanted to deal with the mess. Slowly, the world goes back into motion, but his skin kind of itches and all he really wants to do is go back to Draco.

He catches sight of Hermione next, who is usually one of the first ones gone so he knows she waited for him. Neville crosses her path on his own way out, and he stops to talk to her, so Harry makes to move across the room. It's only then that he catches a sight of blue robes against all the purple, and his eyebrows go up.

"Luna?" She's standing by the door with a present smile on her face, and as far as he can tell is having a wonderful conversation with the fig plant. She turns around a little too quickly, but her grin is perfect when she sees him.

"Hello Harry!"

"What are you doing in here?" he asks, because although they get a few seventh year visitors, it's fairly rare in the morning.

"I was wondering if Malfoy would walk me to breakfast," she answers, large eyes blinking up at him. "I have something I want to pick his brain about, you see?"

If possible, Harry's eyebrows go higher, because it doesn't seem like she knows anything about the night before, but if she didn't... He glances sharply at Hermione, who shrugs theatrically, the way she always seemed to when anything involved Luna. "Yes, well, alright then. I think he'll...be out soon."

"Okay." Luna smiles again. "I'll wait. I was having a lovely chat with Newton anyway."

"Newton?" Harry asks.

"Why, the fig, of course."

"Of course," he replies, and finds himself smiling despite everything. "I'll see you at breakfast then?" she waves him off, and he readjusts his hold on his bag strap then finally makes his way to Hermione and Neville.

"Harry," Hermione says gently, and he hates that tone. Has come to call it her Post-War tone, usually reserved for days he was feeling particularly stressed. "How are you?"

"Fine, 'Mione," he grits out, and hopes his expression does a good job of saying talking about it will only make things worse.

Neville shifts his weight uncomfortably, shoots a look at the dorm as a whole, then leans in closer to ask, "How's Malfoy?"

"Fine," Harry replies, biting down the possessiveness that wants to climb to the surface. Mine is what he really wants to say. "Actually...I wanted to talk to you about...that."

Neville looks a little surprised, but he nods all the same. "Walk to breakfast together?"

"As long as you don't mind taking the long way," Harry answers.

Neville shakes his head, and they leave together with Hermione trailing behind him, and Harry takes in a deep breath to convince himself letting one more person in on their secret is a good idea.