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The shivering shadows of the wavy, willow branches faded into the pale skin of a seemingly careless student of the newly back Slytherins. Draco's hair was shining like molten gold in the burning late summer sunshine, and the tranquility that washed over him with the faint breeze and playful splashes of the Great Lake would calm his mind if it weren't for a sudden figure that appeared in the way of his sun.
Even before he had time to groan, to rub his eyes, to glare at the imbecile that wasted their time by bothering him, and ask what the fuck they wanted, Potter's annoying voice appeared all over Draco. Surprisingly, it seemed somewhat deflated, tired, missing its usual challenging tone that would always accompany the daring sparkle in Potter's eyes whenever they faced each other.
Draco couldn't say he wouldn't have expected something of that sort to happen if he gave a thought to the topic. Unfortunately, since it would have been much a more amusing thought than the ones that occupied Draco's mind that summer, he was far too busy with the more serious topics than a petty rivalry and insignificant feelings he might or might not have had for the Saviour.
Truly, he couldn't imagine that Potter bore him more thoughts than the other way around. After all, the Prophet had been full of noble causes and ridiculous lengths Potter had gone through this past summer to keep his title as the Golden Boy. Draco had no doubts that it was all because of that ludicrous 'hero-complex' but even if one had the urge to save humanity 25/8, it had to be incredibly tiring, right?
Maybe that's why Potter sounded like he hadn't slept in a month...
Or perhaps, he really hadn't slept in a month; Draco knows very well how many hours can be lost when one finds out that the soulmark on one's shoulders will forever be something shameful. Potter's eighteenth birthday had been just a pinch over a month ago, after all, and although all the tabloids and wireless networks had their hands in speculations about the tattoo of the infamous Harry Potter, Draco was sure no one managed to guess the identity of his soulmate.
He was certain that if someone had figured it out, Draco wouldn't be able to just sit here by the lake, alive, and now, semi-alone.
He took his time to sigh, deciding that a groan was really, too dramatic of an option here, in this bothersome situation, and finally, after what seemed like hours to Harry, Draco opened his eyes, squinting at the Boy Who Lived Twice. (On an unrelated note, but perhaps related, after all, it wasn't such a bad sight...)
"I'm sorry, what did you say?", Draco drawled. He was positive that with the eye-roll like Potter's, a person could see the very front of their brain.
"I asked," Potter repeated, his words falling out hard and with corners as if he was talking to a child. "Are we going to talk about it?"
"I would say my opinion on the topic but I have no idea what the ominous 'it' of this subject is," he raised an eyebrow and then leaned back against the tree trunk, relaxing into the drowsy state he had previously been in. "Sorry. Bye."
"Malfoy, you know what I'm talking about." It was a firm sort of sentence that would soon build into an annoyed tone. Potter spoke the words forcefully, through his teeth as if scared that someone might catch onto his idea of the 'it', but really it was highly unlikely. Draco resisted his smirk; it sure was fun - riling Potter up - now that there were no deadly conditions hanging all over their lives.
"Do I?", now he smirked and Harry could swear that with the relaxed manner of his posture and the closed eyes of his, he never looked more snobbish. "Do I know it, Potter?"
"I bet my ass you do."
"Oh, that's a bad decision, Potty. I could become the richest man in the Wizarding and Muggle world if I started to sell that ass of yours I would win. Of course, that would be unethical of me. You're lucky I'm a changed man. So, no. I don't know."
"That means we're not going to talk about the fact that I have a thestral wings all over my back with your fucking initials under them?" Potter's tone was ice cold and the smile of Draco's face faltered for a moment. He blinked, looking up and then frowned with a grin. There was such uncertainty in his look that there was no chance Potter couldn't have missed it.
Draco would later realize that his hesitations had gone on for far too long to even appear close to anything of subtle nature. He spoke, then, his words hurried and clumsy, slipping on the edge. "Can't you see how ridiculous you sound, Potter?"
At that moment it appeared as if Harry is going to lower his body, sit far too close to Draco for his likings. It seemed like he was preparing to have a heartfelt conversation about love and friendship and honesty. His soft, almost begging, "Draco...", only confirmed Malfoy's suspicions.
He jumped to his feet and pulled his bag onto his shoulders a touch bit too fast. A book or two and a piece of parchment spilt over the edge of the bag and Draco cursed both the old fastenings and Potter for ruining his calm afternoon. Picking up his books, he took a deep breath, heavily aware of the curious eyes which were a constant reminder of Potter's fame. Onlookers were everywhere, undoubtedly holding onto each drip of their conversation like spiders, crawlers on the tiniest pieces of rotten tread.
"We both know that talking about it will simply make it overly complicated," Draco told him, his voice nothing but a rational, calm pattern of syllables. But with the look that followed, he also cut off any chance of further argument. He turned to walk away but a gentle, barely there, pull of his sleeve stopped him in his tracks once again. "What do you want?"
Potter took a ragged breath and then, as his shoulders shrugged and a pleading look appeared in the glimmer of his eyes, he extended his hand, his fingers waiting intently for Draco's reaction. "Truce."
.o0o.
It began as a crumbling path under their feet because truce was one thing. Draco could do truce, alright? He could do the stiff nods in the hallways and couch sharing in the middle of the night when neither of them could sleep, he could stand all the awkward morning conversation Potter persisted on and he could do all the stupid banter his friends dragged him into during the meals with their favourite Eight Years. He could do that without a sweet on his brow and as easy as swishing a wand.
The thing was, the truce which Potter had so idly imagined was something so ridiculous that it seemed someone got drunk, took scissors, cut up the definition of truce, glued it back upside-down, gave it to the Giant Squid for brunch and then tried to put it back into the dictionary.
It was pure rudeness of Potter to expect him to chat until three in the morning, to shower in their joined bathrooms, to talk about war during their quiet nights in front of the fireplace and worst of all, and that was the thing which tipped off the glass of pumpkin juice, Potter expected Draco to show him his mark.
"I'm sorry, what?", Draco's words jolted from his bed just as his body when Potter casually mentioned his curiosities about the mark. The question fell so easily from his lips one could imagine he asked to borrow some toothpaste.
"Oh, come on... It's not like you can hide it forever. If you could show your friends, you can surely show me, right?", Potter lifted his brows and there was an eerie thing about him floating in the air. He seemed so relaxed, so unbothered... Draco could see the way his eyes twitched to the side, though. He would bet his life that Potter was about to shit his pants from nervousness.
"I didn't show it to anybody, Potter. No one knows."
"Oh."
"Yeah... 'Oh'," Draco scoffed, rolled his eyes and laid back onto his pile of pillows that rested neatly on his bed. He grabbed his Transfiguration textbook and continued to read on the chapter they were supposed to write an essay about. "And even if I did, you can't compare yourself to my friends."
"Why not?" Harry asked tentatively, knowing this could go in two entirely different directions.
"We're far different than friends, Potter." Draco tried to laugh but it came out more like a cough than a snort he attempted to do. He decided to shut his mouth, wait until Potter moved his gorgeous ass out of their dorms and then go write that stupid essay.
Potter didn't do quite the thing Draco would have wanted him to do. Instead of turning and going to find a place to sulk, he came closer to Draco and sat on the very edge of his bed. Potter's bed, Draco knew very well, was two and a half feet away from Draco's, which meant there was barely three feet of space between them. Potter leaned forward, putting his head onto his hands and his elbows onto his knees. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours."
It was an offer that was inevitable ever since the day Draco had seen the huge antlers sprouting over his shoulders while in the shower on his eighteenth birthday. His answer was baked and ready to serve. "No, thank you. I have no interest in seeing it."
"You can't afford to lie with a nose like yours, Draco," Harry snorted then and began to unbutton his shirt.
"Stop that! I don't want to see it," Draco snapped and pushed his book barely a few inches from his face so every point of his vision was covered by text. He then added, "And I'm not lying. And also, don't call me Draco."
"It's your name, isn't it? What else should I call you?"
Draco pushed the book down just enough so Potter could see his eye roll and (un)fortunately, for him to see Potter's abs. That was a sight worth seeing. And don't get anything wrong, it's not like Draco hadn't taken a peek, here and there, in their showers back in school, after all those Quidditch matches, but this was a chest of a young man and not of a boy, not anymore.
"Like what you see yet?", Potter now smirked and Draco realized that Potter smirking was both extremely hot and also very annoying when it was on his expanse. Also, he was blushing which only made the whole thing entirely better. Great. Truly magnificent. The book was pushed back onto his face. Apparently, his face-hiding techniques were not as great as he would have liked because he caught a glimpse of fabric falling onto the floor between their beds and then a foot, as Harry stood up to sit the other way around.
He was now facing the bathroom doors and his back was turned right towards Draco. "I won't sit here forever and I know you want to see it," Potter said, his voice suddenly serious and calm. "I want you to see it, Draco. Please."
Draco wanted to sigh, to fake his boredom and all the effort it took to pay Potter even a second of attention but as soon as the book flopped against the soft blue bedding of his bed, his breath hitched and he lost all the main abilities of a human being.
He stared at the translucent blue which covered Harry's olive skin, blooming in acres and acres of stretched sparkles and what seemed like stars etched into the perfect pair of thestral wings. They covered Harry's shoulder blades and the entirety of his back and Draco wondered if they moved like his antlers sometimes do when he reaches to tentatively touch the design.
"Please say something," Potter chuckled nervously, his shoulders tensing up and his hand twitching to reach for his discarded shirt.
"I'm sorry," Draco whispered and then added, "I'm sorry you have to have all of this on your shoulders..."
Harry turned slowly and his fingers were surprisingly cold when then gently raised Draco's chin. There were tingles tapping along Draco's spine and it felt as if the stars from Harry's shoulders were now dancing across his skin. "Shut up," Harry whispered, oh so softly, softer than his touch, softer than the moonlight. He was smiling a small, shy smile. "I love every second of it."
"Liar." One word barely whispered hung in the air as Draco's breath hitched and then... they were falling, falling...
His fingers buried deep in Harry's hair and Harry's breath hot on his lips as they kissed, slowly, endlessly, in a blur of dimmed lights and soft gasps. The cushions were suddenly soft like clouds, softer than they had been without Harry's body over Draco's and they were there. The silence was comfortable.
There were sparkles in their eyes as they looked into each other's souls and then Harry kissed him once more, hard and demanding and Draco couldn't help but moan. He could feel his pants getting tighter and he knew that it would be magical, better than anything else. He moved his lips to the soft skin of Harry's neck and pressed kisses and blooming, red spots, the truth of his feelings.
Harry's hand cupped his cheek, then and pulled him onto the left until they were laying on their sides, breathless and still. "Show me," Harry asked. "Show me our destiny."
Draco's fingers were shaking as he unbuttoned the first few buttons and soon, Harry's hands covered his own and Draco let him do the work for him. The soft fabric was pulled from his shoulders and he stood naked before the Boy Who Lived Twice, completely vulnerable.
Harry's eyes were glued to the line that cut across his chest but he said nothing, the subjects twirling in his mind too heavy for such a delicate piece of time. He sat up and Draco turned to show him the knots of intricate detail that went into a perfect set of antlers. There were vines covering them, and small blue flowers blooming over his shoulder blades.
"May I touch you?" The question came uncertainty, nervously, so unlike Potter's usual demeanor. Draco chuckled and nodded. "Be my guest."
Draco felt his heart skip a beat as Harry's fingers dug into his skin and started tracing the patterns of the mark over and over and over again until the touch disappeared and Harry pulled him down, onto the bed against him. Draco turned around and they kissed, slowly, tender brushes of lips one against the other. Draco's cheeks were wet - he didn't even realize he'd started crying until Harry pulled him into a hug and he curled against the warmth of Harry's chest.
He could hear his heartbeat. And it was enough.