Dad Says (Harry X Draco)

Chapter 9

Harry woke up with a pounding headache and a foul taste in his mouth.

Draco was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at him.

"Drink this," he said, and passed Harry a hangover antidote. Harry knocked it back and collapsed into the pillows as he felt the potion burn the alcohol out of him. After a few minutes, his headache had ebbed away, and he merely felt tired.

He opened his eyes. Draco was only wearing boxers.

"Fuck," said Harry. "We shagged."

"Tried to."

"Fuck."

Harry had been almost black-out drunk, but hangover potions prevented memory lost. He remembered everything. The curling dread that had stirred in him the night before seemed to have stretched and grown while he slept, and now he understood.

Draco was looking at him with sympathy.

"It was just a shag, Potter."

But it hadn't been. That was the problem. Harry Potter was allowed to fuck a Death Eater, that was probably appropriate, even. Shag the enemy into submission.

Harry Potter wasn't supposed to have giggling, impotent, shameless sex with a Death Eater. He wasn't supposed to have fucking Midnight Breakfast with Draco bloody Malfoy.

He wasn't sure why it mattered, when before it hadn't. He just knew it did. He was Harry Potter. He was supposed to be with Ginny Weasley. He was supposed to be a wonderful friend, a noble person, a hardworking, productive member of society, Sleeping with Draco Malfoy was an abject failure of the heroic ideal. It went against everything that was expected of him. It was a Bad Idea.

"We were drunk," said Draco. If he had sounded bored or casual, Harry would have known he was hurt. But Draco's eyes were soft, concerned. It was as if he knew what Harry was thinking.

"We can't be together," said Harry.

"I know," said Draco. "I would never expect that of you."

"We shouldn't have"

"It was just a shag. A drunken mistake. Don't overthink it."

"I'm---- and you're---"

He knew that Draco knew what he meant, because he shoved his left arm quickly behind his back, so that Harry couldn't see his Dark Mark.

"Trust me, I know," he said. He was still being so understanding. Which made Harry want to kiss him. Which wasn't allowed.

"Christ, Malfoy, would you put on some fucking clothes already?"

Now he had hurt his feelings. Draco dressed with quick, deliberate movements. Harry watched him from the bed as Draco covered up the parts of him that made him untouchable. Those scars on his chest. The mark on his arm. Scars like an enemy uniform, marking him out as the opposition event when he was naked. Especially when he was naked.

Harry threw his own clothes on.

"It was just a shag," he said.

"Yes," said Draco, his voice clipped and precise.

"A drunken mistake."

"Yes"

"It won't happen again."

"No," said Draco.

"We can't be together," said Harry. Why did he say it again? Did he expect Draco to disagree? To fight him on it? He knew Draco wouldn't. Draco didn't ask for things easily.

Draco didn't say anything, in fact. He watched Harry with his politest expression.

"I'm going," said Harry. Draco inclined his head and led him to the fireplace, handed him the pot of floo powder.