Work Text:
Sometimes, Harry thought, a stupid idea is just plain stupid. And allowing his friends, who were all paired up, to coerce him into joining them at the Beltane Festival struck him as just that — a ridiculously stupid idea. Yet here he was, standing outside the main apparition point, staring at a bonfire bigger than any he'd seen on Guy Fawkes Day, and wondering what he was going to do with himself when they all went off and joined in the fertility rites.
Harry sucked his lower lip between his teeth. Why hadn't he answered Dawlish's plea for Aurors to work overtime or stayed home, curled up in front of his own private fire. Hermione might even have let him get away with that last, if he'd waited a couple more days before breaking up with Terry.
"Come on," Ginny yelled and grabbed Harry's hand. Lee Jordan grinned at him from her other side.
Luna took his other hand and smiled at him. A toss of her head had her dragon and phoenix earrings shooting illusionary flames that wreathed through her hair. "It's time, Harry," she said. "Just remember to hold on tight and listen."
Blaise, who held Luna's other hand, snorted with laughter and kissed her exuberantly.
Still trying to work out what Luna's dreamily vague pronouncement meant, Harry didn't resist as his friends dragged him towards the crowd gathered around the giant bonfire. Whatever else his friends were saying got lost beneath the crackling of flames, the thudding of feet against the earth, and the almost incomprehensible sounds made by hundreds of people talking, laughing, and singing.
As soon as his hands were released, Ron shoved a mug into one of them. Harry clasped it automatically and folded both hands around the warm stoneware. The rich scents of honey, apples, and spices were glorious, briefly overcoming the bitter, ash-laden smoke from the fire.
"Try this, mate. Mead'll help. I promise." Ron winked at Harry. "Just remember what I said, yeah? Nothing that happens here will come back to haunt you," he leered over at where Hermione was talking with Lee and Ginny, "unless you want it to."
Harry rubbed his side where Ron had dug an elbow into his ribs and watched his friends disappear into the crowd. So much for their promises to take him round and show him what was what. He shrugged and sipped his mead. He made a face and then sipped it again. After the third mouthful, the sweet drink finally started to taste all right. And, after that, it only got better and better.
A couple staggered past him, giggling and groping each other. Harry stepped out of their way and right into a group of five who seemed to be together. They swarmed around him, hands touching, lips inviting. He shook his head, and they released him back into the crowd with a fresh mug of mead.
Where the hell were Ron and the others and how could they have just abandoned him like this? Just because he was the only one in their group who wasn't attached, didn't give them the right to leave him on his own like this. Harry gritted his teeth and stood on tiptoe, but couldn't see anyone he recognised through the swirls of smoke and strangers.
Dropping back down, Harry decided that the safest place had to be away from the flames, away from the crowds. He handed the mug to a guy in a mini-dress, who tossed back the contents and then reached for Harry's crotch. Clenching his fists, Harry turned his back on the guy and made for the tree line, fighting the urge to lash out and protect himself as he was pushed, shoved, yanked, turned around, and fondled by reaching, grabbing, demanding hands.
Too much, he thought. Too bloody much. He should have listened to his instincts and stayed home again, instead of letting Ron and Hermione talk him into coming out here.
Almost at the edge, where the crowds were thin enough that Harry could actually see sanctuary, someone bumped into him and sent him sprawling onto his knees. Twigs, branches, and stones dug through his jeans and into his hands. An odd cracking sound reverberated through his skull.
"Why, Potter," came a sneering drawl that he hadn't heard in at least five years, "I didn't know you cared enough to beg."
Of all the people... it just had to be him, didn't it? Harry groaned. His luck was never going to change. At least his wand hadn't gone flying when he fell.
"Stay down there long enough and I might even take pity on you."
"Shut it, Malfoy. Just... just don't, all right?" Harry pushed himself back until he was sitting on his heels. Slightly dazed and wobbly, he dusted the dirt and debris off his hands. A sudden, sharp pain had him reaching for the side of his head.
"Stop." The sharpness in Malfoy's voice was in direct contrast to the gentleness of the hands that caught Harry's. "Your hands are filthy. You don't want to touch an open wound with them, believe me."
Malfoy's face wasn't twisted with disgust as Harry had expected. Instead, he looked almost calm, professional, and completely unconcerned about kneeling in the dirt in his pale-grey robes, nor particularly bothered that his white-blond ponytail was dragging on the ground. Which probably shouldn't really have been a surprise, Harry thought. Last he heard from Lee, Malfoy was doing well in his last year in St Mungo's Trainee Healer programme.
Then Malfoy pulled out his wand and Harry flinched.
"For Merlin's sake, Potter. You'd think you'd never had anyone point a wand at you before."
"Opposite problem, actually." Harry shook his head and immediately regretted it. The world spun, his head throbbed, and his belly churned.
Malfoy's hand closed more tightly over Harry's, as if he knew exactly what had happened. Harry held on with both of his hands, only letting go when the dizziness and urge to sick up all over the place died away.
"I know it's difficult for you, but keep still," Malfoy muttered. "This may be minor but it's still a head wound. And you can't afford to let a single brain cell get away."
One long hand spread across the side of Harry's head, tilting it. Harry closed his eyes as a murmured spell tingled across his scalp. "Just talk to me. No offence, but I like to know what people are doing to me."
"Fine," Malfoy huffed. "I'll even use words that you can understand. Appearances to the contrary, your head is not harder than that rock." He pointed to a boulder off to one side. "I've just confirmed that the wound is nothing more than a simple cut." Malfoy cast three more spells in succession. "And that was me cleaning, disinfecting, and healing it. There is, however, nothing I can do about your hair. Its condition seems to be terminal."
"Thanks." Harry snorted with laughter. "For the healing and the diagnosis."
Malfoy went to stand up, and then dove to one side, catching Harry around the waist, dragging him along the ground. He let go of Harry as if he'd been scalded and then rolled to his feet. "Damn tourists," Malfoy yelled after the group of drunks who had almost trampled them. "No respect for the traditions."
"Aren't they supposed to be carousing around the bonfire?"
"Bel-fire," Malfoy corrected. "And there's more to this night than getting drunk and fucking. Not that that lot cares."
Scooting backward, Harry rested against a tree, pulled his knees under his jumper, and cradled his aching head in his hands. Hermione had given him three books and harangued him for a couple of hours on Beltane traditions before letting him leave the house. He didn't need another lecture from Draco bloody Malfoy on Bel-fire etiquette.
"Here." A phial was thrust in Harry's face.
"What?"
"It's for the pain. And don't try to claim you don't have any."
"Thanks." Harry gulped the foul tasting potion and banished the phial.
"Does that mean you trust me, Potter?" Malfoy sneered. "Were you so sure I told the truth about that potion?"
Dull anger surged through Harry. What was Malfoy on about? The man was a Healer, and Healers didn't play around like that. They had that oath thing.
"Guess I was mistaken," Malfoy said. He pivoted on one foot and strode off a few feet, dropping down onto a green and black rug with matching pillows. He leant backwards slightly, resting his weight on his hands, stretched out his legs, crossed them at the ankles, and glared at anyone who so much as glanced his way.
Harry sighed. Somehow, without saying a word, he'd stuck a spanner in the works again. Although maybe the fact that Malfoy hadn't hexed him before flouncing off was an improvement. Then again, if the night didn't improve, Harry might just throw a few hexes too. And not just at Malfoy. His so-called friends had earned a few of their own.
***
Harry chewed his lip and, yet again, forced himself not to look around and see what was Malfoy was up to. That strange noise coming from his direction didn't sound like anything Harry had ever heard before. Certainly not like sex - which he could hear from the other direction. A quick peek over his shoulder revealed that Malfoy had sat up and was idly twirling a ribbon of flashing lights. Maybe that was making the noise?
"Oh. My. God. I know you. Or at least I know who you are." The girl bounced in front of Harry, blond plaits flying, giggling madly. "I told my friend Sally," she turned and beckoned at someone behind her, "I said, that's Harry Potter. But she didn't believe me. She said Harry Potter wouldn't be alone at Beltane."
"Umm..," Harry said, trying not to reach up and flatten his fringe over his scar. Or get up and run away - with the luck he was having that night, he'd impale himself on a branch.
"This is my friend, Sally," the girl continued, apparently not noticing that Harry hadn't responded. "We share everything, you know. And, if you're really Harry Potter, and I just know that you are, then we'd be happy to share you..."
"No." Harry tried for firm and gentle. "I appreciate the offer but..."
"...and it would be so much fun for all of us. We did this with Viktor Krum last year. I'm sure you know the Quidditch player, don't you? Anyway, he was brilliant and you're just so much better looking than he is..."
Harry stopped listening, but she didn't stop talking and talking and...
"There you are."
Harry had never been so glad to hear Malfoy's voice in his entire life.
Malfoy dropped onto the ground next to Harry and put his arm around Harry's shoulders. "Are you going to introduce me to your new friends, darling?"
"Actually, I don't..." Harry began.
The girl said, "Oh, you... you're... but I was sure that you..."
"C'mon Bets. You've embarrassed yourself enough for one night." Sally pulled on the girl's arm and hauled her back into the crowd.
The warm weight of Malfoy's arm fell away, leaving Harry feeling more alone and chilled than he had before. "Thanks, Malfoy," he muttered and then wrapped his arms around his legs, trying to eke a little more warmth out of his jumper.
"I wouldn't wish that brainless bint on my worst enemy," Malfoy said. "And you haven't been that since at least Fifth Year."
"Glad to know I rated at some point," Harry found a smile from somewhere.
Malfoy smirked at him.
They sat quietly for a few minutes. As they watched, a group of dancers lit wooden torches from a smaller fire off to the side, then paired up and formed a line. Waving their flaming torches in figures of eight and other shapes, the dancers snaked in and out of the crowd. When the dancers began to chant, the fiery streaks left by the torches transformed into shapes. Phoenixes and dragons. Basilisks and chimaeras. Beasts with fangs and claws. Winged and serpentine.
"Gorgeous," Harry breathed.
Malfoy screamed. A thin, piteous sound that was barely audible over the crowd noise.
Harry turned.
Half upright, Malfoy was balanced on the balls of his feet. One hand clutched at the air. The other was raised, claw-like, above his head, reaching for the sky. His grey eyes were wide-open, pupils blown, following the path of a flaming chimaera. "C...Crabbe," he moaned "Oh Merlin, Vincent, what did you do?"
"Malfoy!" Harry yelled, but got no response.
Then the other man's nerve-destroying, hoarse cry cut off abruptly, even though he kept staring at that damned, fiery creature.
At least those beasts weren't created out of Fiendfyre... and with that thought, Harry knew what had happened and how to handle this. He stood up and grasped Malfoy's hand. "I've got you."
Malfoy's thin fingers gripped so tightly they bit into Harry's wrist. Harry hauled him to his feet, sighing with relief when Malfoy's arms went around his waist and his head buried itself into Harry's neck. It shouldn't feel so familiar and reassuring, Harry thought. Especially not like this.
"C'mon," Harry replied, slipping an arm around Malfoy's waist and drawing his trembling body into Harry's side. "Let's go."
Malfoy didn't raise his head or attempt to look where they were going as Harry guided him, stumbling and tripping over roots and debris, deeper into the trees and away from the dancers and the Bel-fire. Luckily for them, Harry thought, they were almost the same height.
When the only thing visible behind them was a red-orange glow, Harry halted. He transfigured some fallen leaves into blankets and pillows and gently lowered Malfoy, kneeling down himself when Malfoy refused to let go. Draping one of the blankets around them, Harry held the other man close and rubbed a hand up and down his back. "We're safe, Malfoy. Away from the fire."
Eventually Malfoy stopped shaking and raised his head. As soon as he saw Harry and realised how close they were, he scooted backwards. "What. The. Fuck. Just. Happened?"
"Hermione calls them flashbacks," Harry said. "You were remembering the Fiendfyre in the Room of Requirement, I think. Assuming I'm right and it was seeing those flaming creatures that set you off."
"Shit." Malfoy raked his fingers through his hair, yanking hanks of it out of his ponytail. Spots of colour marred the pale skin of his cheekbones.
Harry made a face... and a decision. "Look, Malfoy. It happens, all right."
"Not to me."
"Yeah, well you were lucky then. I used to get them all the time, the first couple of years after the war."
"Well, I'm not you." Malfoy looked almost feral, with his face half-veiled by his dishevelled long hair.
"And I, for one, am seriously happy about that." Harry grinned.
"Prat."
"Git."
"Wanker."
"Tosser."
Malfoy snorted. "What are we? Eleven again?"
"Nah. We'd have hexed each other by now if we were."
"Point." Malfoy mounded most of the pillows and lay back. "I don't suppose you brought food to this," he looked around, "exceptionally rustic retreat."
"Malfoy... you... are... too... much." Harry laughed. And laughed and laughed, until he was rolling on the ground, holding his stomach.
When he stopped, Malfoy was watching him, a smile twitching his lips, amusement gleaming in his eyes. "You're barmy, Potter. A complete nutter."
"At least I have fun."
"Which is why you were all by yourself, hiding away from the fire."
"Pot, kettle," Harry responded.
"I'm not alone now," Malfoy patted the blanket next to him.
"But we don't like each other."
"Perhaps we could try getting to know each other before we decide that." Malfoy rolled gracefully to a sitting position and held out his hand. "Hi, I'm Draco."
Harry stared at the hand for a moment, then smiled. Reaching out and shaking it, he said, "Harry."
Instead of letting go, Draco pulled Harry off balance and into his lap. "Nice to meet you, Harry," he purred.
"Erm," Harry managed. And then all he knew were the softness of Draco's lips on his and Draco's tongue pushing into his mouth, twining with his own. A hand curled around the nape of his neck, and Harry brought his arms up and hugged Draco to him.
The solid tension of Draco's body felt good. So amazingly good, and yet it wasn't enough. Harry squirmed until they were lying on their sides. Legs intertwined. Face to face, chest to chest, and — god — cock pressing against cock. So hot, even through all the layers of cloth that separated them.
Harry raised the hand that wasn't trapped beneath them and released the rest of Draco's hair from the leather tie. He ran his hands through the soft length, wrapped it around his fingers, and held on.
A twist of Draco's hips sent shockwaves racing through Harry's body. Then they were rocking against each other. Nothing existed for Harry except the feeling of Draco's tongue fucking his mouth, the friction of Draco's oh-so-hard cock against his own. Harry undulated against Draco, pushing their hips closer. Urgency filled him as they moved. Harder. Faster.
Until he was paralysed by an orgasm that shook his entire body.
By the time Harry's breathing returned to normal, Draco had rearranged them beneath the blankets with Harry curled into Draco's side.
He muttered a complaint that even he couldn't make sense of and re-settled his head under Draco's chin.
Clearly understanding what Harry had wanted, Draco enfolded Harry in his arms and nuzzled his tangled black hair.
"Mmmm," Harry murmured. Then he remembered and jerked upwards, staring at Draco. "What we just did? Was that a Beltane thing?"
"Do you want to walk away in the morning? Leave it here?" Draco asked. His face hardened, closed up as he waited for a response.
Harry considered. It would be so easy to do that. Life would be so much simpler for both of them. But, Harry thought, he'd never had much luck with the easy road. Taking a deep breath, he said, "Not unless you want to."
To Harry's unutterable relief, Draco responded by drawing him back into his arms and kissing him solidly. "What do you think?"