Chapter Text
Harry fidgeted with his fork, his train of thought interrupted when Ron elbowed him in the ribs—not too gently. He looked up, blinking at him.
“What?”
“Are you even listening?” Ron asked, frowning and looking suspicious.
“Yeah,” Harry nodded, even though he hadn’t caught a single word Ron had said. “’Course.”
Thankfully, Ron didn’t press the matter, simply continuing to eat his breakfast.
“So, as I was saying, I have to meet Hermione in the library today, and I think you should come, too. When it comes to Potions, you’re hopeless. I have to agree with Hermione on this one, mate…”
He rambled on, his mouth full of toast, but Harry had already stopped listening again. His mind was preoccupied with something else, his thoughts circling back to what he’d seen last night.
He still wasn’t sure how he should feel about what he’d witnessed, but he knew exactly how he’d felt at the time—shocked, confused, and, if he was being honest with himself, aroused. No matter how much it bewildered and pained him to admit to himself, what he’d seen had affected him deeply, though he wasn’t entirely sure why.
Perhaps it was only because of his recent revelation—that he liked men as well as women, if not more—that it felt normal to be aroused by what he’d seen. But even so, that didn’t explain the peculiar sensation—something like jealousy—that had consumed him when he stood there, witnessing the scene.
But it made no sense. It couldn’t have been jealousy. Harry couldn’t be jealous of Malfoy, and he certainly wasn’t jealous of Nott—that much, he was sure of.
Still, no matter how he tried to rationalise it or push the thoughts away, the fact remained—Harry couldn’t stop thinking about it. He couldn’t shake the image from his mind: Malfoy standing behind a desk in the dimly lit room, between Nott’s spread thighs, his trousers and pants pooled around his ankles, his long fingers gripping the other boy’s hips tightly.
His white-blond hair had been damp, clinging to his high forehead, his lips parted, the bottom one caught between his teeth. His chest had been heaving, pale skin glistening with sweat. Harry couldn’t stop replaying the way Malfoy had moved—the fast, rhythmic motion of his thrusts, the sound of his deep, uneven breathing...
Harry swallowed hard, blinking, before looking up from his plate and, without really meaning to, glancing over at the Slytherin table. Malfoy had always been easy to spot with his white-blond hair and... well, his Malfoyness. Harry also knew exactly where Malfoy liked to sit this year—at the far end of the table, in the corner, between Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini, as though he were trying to draw as little attention to himself as possible.
As soon as Harry glanced at him, he found Malfoy already staring in his direction. His grey eyes widened, and he quickly looked down, focusing intently on his plate, his brows furrowed and his forehead creased. Harry didn’t look away, keeping his gaze fixed on him, and noticed the faintest flush of colour blooming on Malfoy’s pale cheeks.
“Mate, you alright?”
Harry turned his head to find Ron staring at him with a questioning look, his eyes narrowed.
“You haven’t touched your food,” Ron said, gesturing towards Harry’s plate.
“Oh, yeah. I’m fine,” Harry nodded, glancing down at his breakfast. “I’m just not hungry. You can have it if you want.”
Ron hesitated for a moment, then nodded and reached for his fork.
“I’ll take the cake, then.”
“Sure. I haven’t touched it.”
Ron stabbed his fork into Harry’s slice of cake and transferred it to his own plate.
Harry turned his head again to glance at the Slytherin table and found Malfoy looking at him once more. The moment their eyes met, Malfoy quickly averted his gaze and turned to Parkinson, who was speaking to him quietly. Harry noticed that Malfoy’s frown hadn’t disappeared.
***
“Are you going to tell anyone?”
Harry halted and turned to look at him. Malfoy was clutching his books tightly to his chest, his knuckles white, a deep frown etched across his face. His lips were pressed into a thin line, and his eyes were fixed on some spot over Harry’s shoulder.
“What?”
Malfoy glanced down briefly before finally meeting Harry’s gaze, and Harry caught the way his throat bobbed. Malfoy appeared to be clenching his jaw tightly.
“Are you going to tell anyone what you saw?” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper.
“I—No,” Harry said, shaking his head slightly. “Why would I—No.”
Malfoy studied his face for a few tense, silent seconds, his brows still furrowed. Then, he offered a small nod and stepped away from Harry. But before he could leave, Harry reached out and grabbed him by the arm.
Malfoy froze mid-step and slowly turned around, his gaze dropping to Harry’s hand on his arm.
“Potter?”
“I—er,” Harry cleared his throat and quickly released Malfoy’s arm. Malfoy was still clutching his books against his chest as if they were a shield. Harry glanced around the corridor to ensure no one was eavesdropping, then leaned in slightly, meeting Malfoy’s sharp grey eyes.
“Listen, I need to, er…” Harry faltered, unsure of what he was trying to say. He wasn’t even sure why he had stopped Malfoy in the first place, but the urge to say something—to address it—was overwhelming. If he didn’t, he felt like he might lose his mind. He couldn’t stop replaying what he’d seen—it was burned into his thoughts—and the relentless questions it raised refused to be silenced.
He also knew that Malfoy was probably the last person he should be talking to about this, but who else could he possibly approach?
“I have to…”
When Harry trailed off, Malfoy tilted his head slightly, a questioning expression crossing his pale features.
“What, Potter?” he asked quietly, his voice tinged with confusion and a trace of nervousness.
Harry met Malfoy’s gaze again, the intensity of his grey eyes making his heart speed up. He let out a quiet sigh and braced himself. He could do this. If it didn’t work out, he’d deal with the consequences later—the Gryffindor way.
“I think I need to talk to you,” Harry said, his voice steady despite the storm of uncertainty swirling in his chest.
Malfoy’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, and he blinked at Harry, his expression frozen for several long seconds.
“You… think you need to talk to me,” Malfoy repeated in a whisper, his tone sceptical, laced with confusion.
“Yes,” Harry replied firmly, nodding once.
Malfoy frowned, his eyes narrowing with suspicion, as if trying to decipher Harry’s motives. He opened his mouth, but before he could reply, Harry stepped closer, closing the gap between them, and said softly, “I really do.”
Harry took a deep breath, accidentally inhaling a lungful of Malfoy’s scent, and immediately regretted getting too close. He blinked and swallowed, suddenly feeling slightly light-headed.
“Meet me in that abandoned classroom tonight, after dinner,” he whispered.
Malfoy’s lips parted slightly, his expression flashing with hesitation. He shook his head faintly, the beginnings of a protest forming. Harry could see it in his eyes—whatever he was about to say would be a firm no.
But Harry didn’t let him—he leaned in even closer, his breath brushing against Malfoy’s ear.
“Please,” Harry whispered.
He leaned back again, meeting Malfoy’s eyes hesitantly, finding him frowning, his expression confused. Harry couldn’t blame him; this was confusing, even for him. This was the first time they’d spoken since Malfoy’s trial, and since Harry had returned his wand. But Harry also knew, somehow, that he had to do this. There was a chance he might regret it later, but, well, Harry had always been impulsive, and there was a restless feeling in his chest that he couldn’t shake. He needed to talk to someone about this—someone who had experienced what Harry was feeling, someone who knew what they were doing.
Malfoy parted his lips but didn’t reply, and Harry nodded before walking away, not giving him the chance to answer, fearing Malfoy would say no.
***
When the door cracked open, Harry’s heart sped up in his chest. Malfoy slowly entered the classroom, glancing around before closing the door behind him. Then he noticed Harry leaning against the dusty desk and took a few cautious steps towards him. Harry straightened up and began fidgeting with his hands, suddenly nervous.
“So?” Malfoy said with a small shake of his head. “What did you want to talk about, Potter?”
Harry swallowed and braced himself. He could do this. He’d done much more unpleasant things—things that had required far more bravery than this. Harry took a deep breath and let it out through his nose.
“I—I needed to ask you something.”
Malfoy remained silent, his gaze fixed on Harry. Harry could see his frown even in the dim light of the room.
“You see, the—the thing is... I’ve recently discovered some... er... things about myself, but I haven’t had the chance to talk to anyone about it.”
When he glanced up at Malfoy, he was still frozen in his spot, a few feet away from Harry, his gaze intense and focused on him. Harry took another deep breath and decided to just say it—there was no point in beating around the bush.
“I’ve realised that I might be into…” Harry shook his head before correcting himself, his heart beating faster than usual as he spoke softly and carefully. “I am into blokes. But I’ve never actually, er... done anything about it. Yet. So I was wondering, maybe you could, I don’t know... It’s just, you’re the only bloke I know who’s...”
Harry glanced up at Malfoy, noticing his frown had deepened. He looked like a statue— a very confused, suspicious-looking statue— frozen and silent.
“You know…” Harry said, then raised his hand to rub at his neck. “I was just wondering if you’d maybe be willing to, I don’t know… teach me how it works and—”
Malfoy turned around so sharply that Harry flinched. He took a few quick steps towards the door, but before he could reach for the handle, Harry stepped forward and grabbed him by the arm. Malfoy froze.
“What are you doing?” Harry asked, eyes wide.
Malfoy took a deep, shaky breath before turning to look at him, his face tense—jaw clenched, eyebrows furrowed, forehead creased.
“This is not funny, Potter!” he hissed through gritted teeth, pulling his arm roughly from Harry’s grip. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, but I have no desire to—”
“Hey, hey!” Harry interrupted, shaking his head. “I’m not playing at anything, Malfoy. I asked you to come here because I needed your help.”
Malfoy’s face twisted into a painful expression, something between a sneer and disbelief, and he let out a bitter snort.
“You can’t be serious, Potter! Just because you walked in on me last night doesn’t mean you’ve got the right to make a joke of this,” he said, his voice low, his jaw clenched.
“I’m not joking, you git. I’ve told you, I need your help. I have questions,” Harry replied, frowning. “I’m telling the truth.”
Malfoy studied him in silence for a few seconds, his expression unchanged, before letting out a long sigh.
“So, you’re telling me that all of a sudden, you’re… gay, Potter?” he asked, his voice tight and strained.
“I’m not… gay, per se,” Harry said softly, then shook his head slightly. “I liked girls too, but—”
Malfoy shut his eyes, sighing again. As Harry glanced up, he could tell he was struggling to maintain his composure.
“But I also like blokes, alright? More than I like girls, I think… It’s the truth, and I’ve never told anyone before. I don’t really know how any of this works, but I’m sure—I’m sure that I like blokes, okay?” Harry rushed, suddenly realising how awful this whole idea was. Why had he ever believed, even for a moment, that Draco Malfoy would want to help him with anything, especially considering all he’d ever done was annoy and fight him?
There was a long pause, and when Harry dared to look up at him again, he found Malfoy staring at him intensely.
“You’re…” Malfoy licked his lips and hesitated before speaking again, quietly. “So, you’re telling me you’re bisexual?”
“Whatever, I—” Harry shook his head slightly. “I guess, yes.”
“And… and you need my help with what, exactly?” Malfoy asked slowly, his frown softening just a little.
“I—” Harry sighed, raising a hand to rub the back of his neck again. He knew he probably looked awkward, but it was too late to back down now. He had to say what he’d asked Malfoy here for.
“I thought that maybe we could… you know… You could explain how things work, and we could…”
Harry swallowed and glanced up at Malfoy, who was still looking at him, his face unreadable. Harry knew he was probably blushing, which was ridiculous, but he forced himself to meet Malfoy’s eyes anyway.
“Explain?” Malfoy asked, his eyebrows raised in confusion. “Explain what?”
“I don’t know, everything? I—” Harry ran his fingers through his hair, and Malfoy’s eyes followed the movement. He sighed and added, “I mean, I know the basics, of course, but… that’s it.”
Harry met Malfoy’s gaze again and found him staring without even blinking. Malfoy cleared his throat softly before asking,
“And what makes you think I won’t run off to the Daily Prophet with your little secret right away, Potter?”
“You won’t,” Harry said softly, shaking his head slightly. He noticed Malfoy’s eyebrows rise.
“I won’t?”
Harry held his gaze, speaking quietly. “You won’t, because you’re not that kind of person. Not anymore. I know you.”
Harry wasn’t sure why he was so certain Malfoy wouldn’t leak the story to the papers, but he hoped—and felt—that he was right.
Malfoy’s eyebrows rose even higher, his forehead creasing, and his lips parted slightly.
“You... know me,” Malfoy repeated flatly after a few seconds of silence, his eyes intensely fixed on Harry, who willed himself not to break eye contact, trying to appear more confident and calm than he actually felt.
After a moment, Malfoy stepped away from the door and approached the desk, leaning against it and crossing his arms over his chest.
“So, what is it you want to know, exactly, Potter?”
Harry took a quiet, steadying breath and slowly approached the desk beside Malfoy, leaning his hip against it while facing the other boy.
“Have you always known you were...?”
Malfoy glanced at him before lowering his head and answering quietly, “Yes, basically.”
Harry nodded in acknowledgement.
“And when did you first...?” He trailed off, unsure of how to finish the sentence.
Malfoy turned his head to look at him, squinting.
“So, you called me here to talk about my experience, or is it your nonexistent one you want to discuss, Potter?”
Harry avoided Malfoy’s gaze and cleared his throat softly, crossing his arms over his chest. “I just want to know, that’s all,” he whispered.
Malfoy straightened up and took a slow, deliberate step towards Harry, then another, and another, before stopping right in front of him. Harry slowly looked up.
“You haven’t done anything with another bloke before?” Malfoy asked, his voice quiet.
Harry shook his head.
“Then how can you be sure you’re into blokes at all?”
Malfoy’s voice was calm, and he looked much more composed than he had when they first started this conversation. His arms were still crossed over his chest, but he seemed more at ease now.
“I—I just know.”
“You just know a lot of things, don’t you, Potter?”
Harry met his eyes and held his gaze without replying. Malfoy cleared his throat softly and sighed.
“Have you at least thought about it, then?”
Harry nodded.
“What did you think about, exactly?”
Harry felt like he was the one supposed to be asking the questions, yet he couldn’t seem to stop himself from replying all the same.
“I thought about doing it with another bloke, imagined it in my head while I—” He trailed off, and Malfoy licked his lips. Harry tried not to stare at his mouth and instead met his eyes.
“It? What ‘it’, Potter?” Malfoy asked.
Harry shook his head slightly, opening his mouth to say he didn’t quite see the point of Malfoy asking this. But instead, something else entirely slipped out.
“I mean… things,” he muttered, mentally scolding himself and rolling his eyes at his own awkwardness.
“Things,” Malfoy repeated, then hummed, nodding slightly. Harry could see the familiar hint of sarcasm creeping onto his face. Malfoy turned away and began walking slowly towards the door.
“Where are you going?” Harry asked, alarmed.
Malfoy turned back to face him, slowly. “You’re wasting my time, Potter. You’re not asking anything, and you’re not even answering my questions. So how am I supposed to figure out what you want to know, exactly?”
“I—” Harry closed his mouth, swallowed, then licked his lips and sighed. “You can just tell me what you’ve done, can’t you?”
“What I’ve done?” Malfoy echoed, holding Harry’s gaze for a few silent seconds before nodding and speaking in that posh voice of his. “Fine, Potter. I’ll tell you what I’ve done. I’ve done it all. Hand jobs, blow jobs, giving and receiving. I’ve fucked blokes, and I’ve been fucked myself.”
Harry’s throat went dry. The words conjured up a sudden image—Malfoy again in that classroom, trousers and pants shoved down, his blissed-out expression as he thrust his hips. Harry swallowed hard, heat curling low in his stomach. He fought to keep his reaction hidden, nodding as though what Malfoy had said hadn’t shaken him.
“That’s… That’s, er—yeah…”
Malfoy kept staring at him, his face unreadable. Harry nodded again, then stopped himself, realising how awkward he must look, standing there nodding like an idiot. He cleared his throat softly, then finally forced the words out, his heartbeat quickening.
“Can you teach me?”
Malfoy’s eyebrows shot up, his eyes widening in surprise. “T-teach you?” he stammered, his voice pitching higher than usual.
Harry nodded, suddenly feeling as though he’d lost the ability to speak. His heart was pounding, and his palms felt clammy. Malfoy stared at him, a tangle of emotions flickering across his face—none of which Harry could quite decipher. Then, slowly, Malfoy stepped closer, stopping barely a metre away.
“How do you imagine me teaching you all that, exactly, Potter?” he asked slowly, his voice now barely a whisper.
Harry shrugged slightly and shook his head, then spoke, praying his voice would sound even and calm.
“You’re the one who’s done it all. You should know better than I do.”
Malfoy’s eyes narrowed, flicking quickly over Harry’s entire body before returning to his face.
“You…” Malfoy closed his mouth, swallowing audibly. Then he parted his lips again and took another slow step towards him. Harry wanted to look away, but for some reason, he couldn’t. He hadn’t even planned to say all this, because, after all, this was still Malfoy. No matter how much he might have changed after the war, Harry would still be a fool to trust him. But then again, he’d already trusted him—trusted him with his secret, something even Ron and Hermione didn’t know. Now, he was asking him to teach him things. Perhaps Harry had lost his mind after the war, because standing here in front of Malfoy, saying all this, Harry didn’t feel like he was making a terrible mistake at all. And he should, shouldn’t he? But he didn’t.
“Why haven’t you asked Theo?” Malfoy asked softly, his face now an unreadable mask again. “He’s bisexual. Oh, you might’ve noticed last night…” He trailed off with a small smirk on his lips, and Harry felt that unexplainable knot of jealousy—or anger—or whatever it was—twisting uncomfortably in his stomach.
“I don’t know him that well,” Harry replied quickly, with a small shrug.
“Oh, right,” Malfoy nodded slightly, sarcasm evident in his tone, then returned his eyes to Harry again. “But you know me.”
Harry didn’t agree or deny it, but simply stared back at him, unwilling to break eye contact, as though it were a challenge. Perhaps it was. After a few moments of silence, Malfoy let out a long sigh, licked his lips, and nodded.
“Fine, Potter. When shall I teach you?”
“Now,” Harry said, his heart starting to race again. The word slipped from his lips before he could even stop to consider what it meant exactly.
Malfoy suddenly looked taken aback, hesitant, but quickly seemed to recollect himself, smoothing his features back into a neutral expression. Harry had always found it hard to read Malfoy’s face, but now, he thought he saw something like nervousness, judging by the way his throat bobbed and how his hands trembled slightly by his sides.
Malfoy cleared his throat softly after a brief moment of silence and took another step closer. He was so near now that Harry could feel his scent—citrus, wood, green apples—with a hint of something crisp and masculine. Malfoy smelled green. Staring into Harry’s eyes, Malfoy let out a shaky exhale, and Harry felt his warm, soft breath against his cheek. Slowly, Malfoy tilted his head until Harry felt a hot gust of air against his neck. Harry barely suppressed a shudder when Malfoy’s warm, soft lips ghosted over the sensitive skin.
Frozen, throat dry and heart racing, fists clenched, Harry stood still as Malfoy’s lips lightly brushed his pulse point. Malfoy seemed hesitant, even wary, as though he expected Harry to flinch, punch him, or reach for his wand to hex him at any moment. But Harry wasn’t going to do any of that. He remained silent and motionless, and that must have encouraged Malfoy, because then Harry felt his lips finally press against his neck. Harry let out a soft breath and closed his eyes.
Then, suddenly, he felt a gentle touch on his chest—Malfoy’s long, pale fingers slowly tracing down his stomach before freezing there. Malfoy pressed another open-mouthed kiss to Harry’s neck, and Harry tilted his head to give him better access. He heard and felt the other boy’s shaky exhale against his skin, along with the sound of him swallowing.
“Still haven’t changed your mind?” Malfoy’s voice was barely a whisper, low and raspy, and Harry quickly shook his head, unable to speak with his dry throat and his heartbeat pounding in his ears.
Malfoy nibbled on Harry’s neck, and this time, Harry couldn’t suppress a shudder. He didn’t even care that Malfoy had surely noticed it, because the next thing he felt was Malfoy’s palm pressing against his already half-hard cock. Harry let out a deep, shaky breath and unintentionally rolled his hips forward, causing Malfoy’s fingers to tighten around him. He bit down on Harry’s neck, and Harry moaned, unable to stifle the sound. He didn’t even have time to feel embarrassed because, suddenly, Malfoy reached for his belt, unbuckling it and then pulling down his trousers and boxers. He did it so quickly that Harry could only manage to blink, his mind dazed and his entire body feeling hot. Then, Malfoy’s left hand found Harry’s hair, and that touch felt almost as good as Malfoy’s long, soft fingers wrapping around Harry’s cock.
Harry felt as though he could pass out, overwhelmed by Malfoy’s scent all around him, the soft press of his lips against his neck, the gentle caress of his fingers through Harry’s hair, and the tight grip of his fist around Harry’s cock.
Malfoy didn’t speak, didn’t make a sound; he simply kept pressing soft kisses to Harry’s neck as he finally gave Harry’s now fully erect cock a slow stroke.
Harry moaned softly, grinding against him, hearing and feeling Malfoy’s breath hitch against his skin.
Harry’s hands, which had been clenched into fists by his sides, finally lifted. One settled on Malfoy’s left arm, while the other slid to grip his hip. Malfoy didn’t falter, seemingly encouraged by the contact—though Harry wasn’t certain, he could never be sure what Malfoy was truly thinking. Harry’s breath grew uneven, his chest rising and falling faster now, almost in a pant. Malfoy’s lips continued to trail gentle, open-mouthed kisses along the line of Harry’s neck, his right hand beginning to move faster.
Harry’s fingers tightened on Malfoy’s hip as he let his head drop forward onto his shoulder. Malfoy licked and nibbled at his neck, and Harry began to thrust into his hand, panting and struggling to stifle the soft sounds threatening to escape his throat.
“Potter…” Malfoy breathed against his neck. It was so quiet that Harry might have missed it if he weren’t so close, his own heartbeat pounding loudly in his ears. He kept his forehead pressed against Malfoy’s shoulder while the other boy stroked him, now tighter and faster. Then, Harry felt the heat coil low in his stomach. He knew exactly what it meant, and he also knew it was embarrassingly fast—and surreal, because this was Malfoy. But it felt so right, so brilliant, that Harry didn’t care about anything else. He thrust into Malfoy’s hand, unable to restrain himself, his grip tightening even more on the other boy’s hip.
“Fuck…” Harry shuddered, letting out a rough, throaty sound, and came all over Malfoy’s fist, who kept stroking him through his orgasm.
Malfoy finally pulled his hand away from Harry’s cock, just as Harry let out a soft whine at the overstimulation. He slowly drew his lips away from Harry’s throat and stepped back. When Malfoy looked up, his expression was dazed—his eyes glassy and unfocused, his lips reddened, and his cheeks and neck flushed. Harry noticed Malfoy’s chest rising and falling heavily. He met his gaze and held it, still panting.
They stayed like that for a few silent moments before Malfoy broke eye contact, swallowing visibly and drawing in a shaky breath. He cleared his throat softly and ran his clean hand through his hair, the other still covered in Harry’s come.
“Well,” Malfoy said, his voice raspy. Harry thought he suddenly looked nervous and uncomfortable, but then his expression shifted slowly into something else—something more composed and familiar. Malfoy took a slow step back, glancing down at Harry’s softened cock before meeting Harry’s eyes briefly, only to look away again.
“Can I go now, or do you have any more questions for me tonight?”
Harry opened his mouth but had no idea what to say, so he closed it again, reaching for his trousers and boxers, which were still hanging around his thighs, his hands trembling slightly.
Malfoy took another step back, his gaze flicking from the floor to Harry and back again.
“See you around, Potter,” he said before turning and walking towards the door. Harry wanted to stop him, to say something, but he still felt dizzy and disoriented. Before he could think of anything to say, Malfoy left the classroom, closing the door softly behind him. Harry remained, staring at the door, his mind a complete haze, his heart still pounding harder than usual.