Chapter Text
Before long, it was a habit—waking up in the middle of the night, climbing into Harry’s bed, getting up early in the morning so no one would suspect anything, ignoring each other during the day. And so it went by for about a month, a month full of nighttime comfort and more peaceful sleeps than Draco had had in years.
One night, Draco was having a particularly bad dream, a dream about his closest friends in his earlier years at Hogwarts, and the things that Crabbe had done to him.
Things he never wanted to relive, things he had thought he had pushed down so they would never bother him again, but here they were, here he was, trapped under the man’s strong, muscular arms as Crabbe leered down at him, Lily, who of course back then was Gregory watching, shielding her eyes. She didn’t want this any more than Draco did, and yet, and yet, and yet. Crabbe pressed his dick to Draco’s hole, to the hole he never asked for, the hole he never wanted, the hole that set him apart from other boys.
“You never told us you were a chick,” he said, and Draco flinched, trying desperately to get away, away, away from him.
“I’m not!” he tried to say, but his voice wasn’t working, and then Crabbe forced his way inside Draco, ignoring the boy’s scream of pain.
Draco called out, to Crabbe, to Lily, to anyone who would hear and come help him, but no one did, and Crabbe continued roughly fucking him, shoving his way inside, and despite Draco’s hatred of this, this situation, he found his body giving in, no longer resisting, which made him feel sick.
Draco had blacked out then, and this time around, he simply woke up, breathing heavily.
“Ha-Harry,” he said, his voice weak, hesitating partway through the word before pushing through.
“Yeah, Draco?” came Harry’s voice, and Draco felt a burst of gratitude that he was awake. “Had another bad dream?” guessed the dark-haired boy.
Draco didn’t answer, instead simply crawling in with Harry. Once Draco was pressed against his chest, Harry spoke.
“Do you want to talk about it?” At first, Draco shook his head, but then…
“Well, it wasn’t—it wasn’t He Who Must Not Be Named this time.”
“Voldemort,” corrected Harry, then, seeing Draco flinch, continued more softly. “That’s good. What was it instead?”
Draco felt tears coming to his eyes. “Crabbe,” he choked out. He knew Harry had hated Crabbe, and honestly, he couldn’t blame him.
“I’m sorry he died,” Harry said softly, but stopped when Draco shook his head more urgently.
“No, don’t be. I’m not.”
Harry shifted so Draco could see his face, and his expression was puzzled. “What do you mean? Why not?”
Draco sniffled, pressing himself against Harry again, and mumbled, “It wasn’t a good dream.”
“Sorry?” asked Harry. Draco took a deep breath, then repeated himself.
“It wasn’t a good dream. It was… well, er…” He hesitated. “He tried to fuck me.”
Harry didn’t seem to understand Draco’s words for a moment, but then he gasped, and Draco knew he had gotten it. “Fuck, I—I’m so sorry, Draco, I can’t believe he would do that.”
He held Draco tighter again, and the two stayed that way for a while, just two young men against the world. After a while, Draco’s heartbeat finally slowed.
“So,” Harry said, jokingly. “You’re not a virgin then, I guess.”
Draco laughed, and it was a broken laugh, but the kind of broken laugh that comes from a person who’s beginning to heal. “No.” With any other person, Draco would have left it there, but this was Harry Potter, and for some reason, he simply couldn’t. “Are you?” he asked playfully.
“Interested?” asked Harry, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. It looked so ridiculous that Draco burst out in laughter. “You know,” continued Harry, “this would look a little bit weird if anyone were to see us cuddling like this.”
“You wanna go farther?” asked Draco. He wanted this, he wanted this too.
Harry didn’t say anything, just leaned forward until Draco could feel his breath on his own lips, a question, an invitation. Draco closed the distance between them as an answer.
Harry’s lips tasted like Butterbeer and treacle tart and paradise, and Draco felt himself melt into them. He moaned as Harry parted his lips slightly, nipping Draco’s bottom lip and sticking his tongue out to taste Draco. Their tongues bumped, sending a jolt of electricity straight to Draco’s core.
Something was pressing against his leg, and when he broke apart from Harry to look down, he saw Harry’s arousal showing.
“Someone’s excited,” he giggled. Harry blushed, wiggling slightly as if he was maybe trying to hide it, but Draco kissed him and Harry relaxed again.
Harry reached under Draco’s shirt, and Draco helped him take it off.
“Shit,” said Harry. “Shit, I can’t see you.”
He scrabbled for his glasses. Draco reached to the bedside table, grabbing them for him.
“Thanks.” Harry looked down at Draco’s chest, bound tightly with tape. “You got injured or something?” Draco gave a non-comital grunt, hoping Harry wouldn’t ask more questions.
He didn’t. Instead, Draco felt Harry beginning to remove his own shirt, revealing a muscular chest and a six-pack.
“Shit,” said Draco, looking him up and down.
“Like what you see?” asked Harry playfully, shimmying out of his sleeping boxers. He guided Draco’s hand down to his dick, which was already hard. Draco moaned. Harry reached for Draco’s pants, and although Draco felt a twinge of anxiety, he let it happen.
Harry pulled down Draco’s pants, then gasped. “You’re… you’re trans?”
Draco burst into tears. Here it came again. “You’re a chick?” “But you don’t look like a girl!” “I can’t believe you lied!” “I can’t believe I get to fuck a girl!” Girl girl girl girl girl girl girl girl girl girl girl girl girl girl girl girl girl girl girl girl—
Harry wrapped his arms around Draco. “Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay,” he whispered. “I just didn’t know.”
Draco looked at him, eyes still filled with tears. “You don’t think I’m a girl?”
“Do you feel like a girl?” asked Harry. Draco shook his head. “Then you aren’t.”
“Thanks,” mumbled Draco. He was so grateful. They sat in those feelings for a moment before Harry smiled mischievously.
“Now,” he said. “Where were we?”