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It’s easier than Harry thinks it should be to forgive Malfoy. Malfoy’s shoulders sag in relief, and he leans against the wall of the corridor.
And really, if they’ve come this far, why not go farther? “Do you think we can be friends?” Harry asks, studying Malfoy’s eyes. For once, they’re not squinted in anger--they’re wide open, grey and (he admits) lovely.
“Oh boy, friends with the great Harry Potter,” Malfoy says, and something in his tone makes Harry start cracking up.
Malfoy pulls a face at him. “I’m not that funny,” he raises his eyebrows.
“Only the best for Draco the Redeemed,” Harry laughs. “Really, though. Friends?”
He holds out his hand. Draco reaches forward to clasp it. His hand is soft, grip firmer than Harry had expected. They shake, and then he starts to let go.
But then the glowing starts to happen.
Their hands are... glowing? What the fuck? Harry squints at them, hoping that it isn’t some sort of potion reaction. He glances up at Draco, who has a look of shock on his face.
“Do you know what this is?” Harry asks, because he spies recognition in the other man’s eyes. Draco starts nodding before he even finishes the question.
“It’s... a bond. We’re... mates. Soul mates. It can happen after your 17th birthday. Magic.” His sentences are stilted, and he can’t seem to take his eyes off of their gently clasped palms.
A wealth of emotions happen all at once, and Harry barely has any time to even consider the idea before Draco is breaking into an open, brilliant smile. It catches Harry off guard even more than the idea of bonding did, because he has never seen Draco smile like this.
And... this open, free expression transforms Draco. Harry doesn’t know if it’s because of the magic or the happiness, but something really beautiful has been done with the person in front of him.
“You’re... happy about this, then?” Harry asks, wondering why.
“Happy? I’m fucking thrilled, Harry,” Draco says, finally letting go of his hand. The glowing fades; his palm is sweaty, but Draco is still talking. “Every magical child is told stories about this. It’s rare,” he says, gesticulating wildly with his hands. “Mates are perfect for each other, down to the magical signature. It means... it means we’ll be happy, for the rest of our life, if we’re together,” Draco’s voice quiets to a whisper, smile wide as ever.
“So, we... are obligated, then? By this bond?” Harry wants to know. He almost wants to be angry, because his life has been pushed and prodded and forced into a single direction by the surrounding circumstances for as long as he can remember. But he can’t find it in himself. Draco’s smile is still bright, and honestly, being content for the rest of his life doesn’t sound like a bad thing.
“No... we’re not obligated to do anything. We could walk away, now, and have normal lives. Or we could have a completely platonic relationship and still be happy around each other. You know. Don’t feel like...” and his smile fades. “Don’t feel like you have to do anything about it.”
Harry’s heart seizes at seeing that wonderful, elated persona disappear. “I--I want to. Be happy. With you, because apparently, you’re supposed to make me happy,” he says, and bites his lip. He feels suddenly awkward to be staring at Draco’s face, so he drops his eyes to the floor.
“God, Thank you,” Draco says, and Harry doesn’t even have time to look before Draco’s slender arms are wrapping around his body, his blond head coming to rest on Harry’s shoulder. Startled, he does what’s most natural and slips his arms around Draco’s waist.
“You’re... welcome.” Harry is momentarily breathless because Draco’s touch feels soothing and burning at the same time, and he can smell the citrus in Draco’s shampoo.
“I was worried, that you wouldn’t want to… because it’s me…” Draco murmured. He turns his head, and now Harry can feel warm breath on his neck. It’s intoxicating.
“So... do you want to be... friends, then?” Draco asks, not letting go just yet. Harry is starting to feel lightheaded, but he can’t bring himself to mind that Draco is still holding him.
“I want... if it’s as you say, and the bond is just an indicator, then I want us to carry on normally. So, friends, and then if something else happens, then it does,” Harry decides. He still has questions, but apparently he has more than enough time to ask them.
Draco’s squeezes him tighter for a millisecond, then pulls away. “I’m so... happy. Merlin, Harry, I’ve dreamed of finding soulmate. Everyone does. And it rather makes sense that it’s you, doesn’t it? After everything. The bond is smart, it waits until you’re of age to manifest because younger wizards aren’t mature enough.” Harry can tell Draco is nervous, because his gestures are a little shaky and he’s rambling a bit. “It was the perfect timing, too. I was really quite relieved that you forgave me... for everything. I’ve forgiven you too, of course. And now we’re friends, I suppose, and... I always wanted to be your friend when we were younger, do you remember?”
Harry only realizes that he’s been staring at Draco’s lips for the entire speech when Draco stops talking. They’re a light shade of pink, pillowy, and he keeps licking them, the red of his tongue just peeping out.
A lump forms in his throat. Harry feels heady, imbued with a new and fantastic piece of knowledge. He’s always wanted to be loved unconditionally--he’s received some of that love through Hermione and the Weasleys. But the idea of being loved so intensely in a romantic way, even just the idea that it might happen, makes him feel giddy and wonderful.
“I want to kiss you,” he admits, even though he has just said that he wants their relationship to flow naturally. But there’s never been anything natural about their relationship, anyhow, so he feels that he’s allowed some artistic license in his decisions.
“You do? Good,” Draco says, and that smile is back. Harry’s heart thuds loud and clear, and he takes a tiny step forward.
Draco closes the gap, putting one hand on Harry’s shoulder and using his other to tilt Harry’s chin in the proper direction. Harry’s eyes flutter shut, because the sensory input is simply too much for him to handle. If simply having his face touched by Draco is this wonderful, then this kiss is going to be—
He leans forward, and then Draco’s lips are touching his. It’s like every kiss he’s ever had, but more, because Draco seems to know exactly how to twist his lips against Harry’s in just the right way. They break apart, kiss again, again, and Harry’s arms slip around Draco’s waist. He never wants this to stop.
They pull away to breathe, just for a moment, then go to kiss again, except this time they bump noses first. Harry feels Draco smiling against his lips, and a bubble of laughter escapes from his mouth.
And then Draco takes the opportunity to slip his tongue between Harry’s open lips, and Harry decides that he could make out with Draco for the rest of his life. Draco’s tongue is soft and delicate, but not hesitant--he moves it against Harry’s quite insistently until Harry presses his tongue toward Draco in response.
He’s getting hard, he knows. Draco can probably feel him, but he doesn’t mind; he thinks he can feel Draco hardening against his hip, as well. He’s kissing Draco. He’s getting turned on by Draco. Never had he expected... this.
Weightless. He feels weightless, held to the ground only by Draco’s long fingers and slender arms.
They’re both leaning against the wall for support. Finally, they have to pull away and catch their breath. Draco is looking at him with an expression that is almost fond. Harry thinks he likes that.
“Fuck, Harry, if I had known that kissing you would feel like that, I would have done it a long time ago,” Draco chuckles. Harry finds himself admiring this new side of Draco, one that laughs and smiles and kisses Harry.
He nods, too overcome by happiness to speak.
Then, a familiar smirk appears on Draco’s face. It’s slightly changed, because it has happiness behind it instead of enmity. “You want me,” he lowers his voice, flicking his eyes down to Harry’s crotch.
Harry flushes and nods, but then directs his eyes to the slight bulge he can see in Draco’s trousers. Draco grins.
“Yes. I want you,” his eyebrows raise. But then, his expression softens. “Not now, though. We have loads of time, and you said you wanted to do this slowly.”
Harry grins, finally finding his voice again. “I think I might be open to suggestions.”
Draco snorts, and then, just as suddenly as last time, wraps his arms around Harry. “I feel like the luckiest person in the world right now,” he whispers in Harry’s ear.
“I don’t think so,” Harry shifts to return the embrace, Draco feeling warm and firm in his arms. “That would be me.”