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The Hummingbird in Winter

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“Up here all by yourself, Professor Potter?”

The voice is soft and teasing. Harry smiles and leans his elbows on the parapets of the Astronomy Tower. They’re chill under his skin, but then, that’s what Warming Charms are for. “You don’t have to give me that title, Professor Malfoy. Not when I’m just the Auror who comes and demonstrates spells for the Defense classes sometimes.”

“It’s not like Clarissa deserves the title.”

“She told me that you only hate her because she turned down your offer to go on a date.”

Absolute, appalled silence behind him. Harry grins at the grey, wet grounds and then up at the sky. It looks like they’re going to get some proper snow this time, snow more like he remembers from his own winters at Hogwarts. It’s odd how, even with everything he and Ron and Hermione went through, those winters still seem to sparkle in his memory.

“I wouldn’t date her. I only like men.”

“Then maybe she’s angry because you turned her down?”

“That sounds a lot more likely. But why are we even spending our time talking about Clarissa Cornwallis anyway?”

“You brought her up. Professor.” Harry shrugs and finally turns around, to see Draco watching him from beneath long blond eyelashes that have a fine dew of rain on them. “And she’s the Defense professor. You should respect your colleagues.”

Draco peers at him, uncertain, as he often is, whether Harry is joking or not. It feels good to be the one to put him off-balance for once, but then Harry loses the fight against his grin, and Draco leans forwards to slap his shoulder.

“You absolute wanker!”

“Alas, yes,” Harry sighs, and drops his head forwards. “If we want to discuss my dating life…”

He trails off, and Draco draws in a thick, startled breath. But he doesn’t turn around and walk away, like he did the last time the conversation got this intense. He takes a step towards Harry instead, his head cocked to one side and his breath quickening. Then he reaches up and cups Harry’s chin, turning Harry’s head slowly towards him.

“You could have anyone you wanted,” Draco murmurs, as though he thinks that he’s going to startle a bird into flight by speaking louder. “And you’re waiting?”

“For you, yes.” Harry turns his head quickly to the side and kisses his fingers. Draco flinches and pulls his hand back. Harry doesn’t let it bother him. He simply stares, and Draco blinks a little and then meets his eyes. “For the one I really want.”

Draco swallows and then says, “I need to think.”

“Of course.”

Draco turns around to leave, and then pauses and adds over his shoulder, “Would you mind sending me—something? A letter, a list—something, to tell me why you’re willing to let me have you?”

“If you think of it as a one-sided possession, aren’t you going to be surprised,” Harry whispers to himself.

But Draco has vanished into the castle corridors, and honestly can’t hear him. Harry smiles and shakes his head. Well, that’s all right. It will only make the surprise all the more delicious when it comes.


“You can’t have fallen in love with my courage at the trials.”

Harry mops his forehead with his sleeve and turns around, grinning. He’s just had a brisk duel with his NEWT Defense class as he shows them how Aurors track fleeing Dark wizards, but Draco is the one who looks flushed and winded. “I didn’t say that, did I? I said I liked it. And that you stood up and admitted what you did wrong, and took your punishment like a man.” He takes a step closer. “I like men, Draco. Not boys.”

A student steps around the corner, flushes harder than Draco, squeaks, and scurries away. Harry chuckles at her back. Most students, he would feel embarrassed that they heard him speaking like that, but this is Nicole Frederickson, who won’t stop staring at him with moony eyes and wearing low-necked robes. Maybe this will finally convince her he’s beyond her reach.

Draco says slowly, “You aren’t going to turn your back on me or get bored.”

“No, I’m not.”

“That list was even longer than I’d suspected,” Draco breathes. He’s drifting towards Harry as if compelled in spite of himself, his hand reaching out to stroke the tumbled mess of Harry’s hair. Harry closes his eyes in satisfaction, with a soft moan.

“And even touching your hair turns you on. The way you said it did.” Draco pauses. Then his voice lowers. “Is that a general thing with everyone who touches it? Or is that special and just for me?”

Harry slowly opens his eyes and sincerely hopes that no more students are going to come by in the next little while. Then he says, “It happens with everyone, but I think it’s stronger with you. Because it’s you.”

Draco leans in and kisses him, a soft, fluttering brush of lips that reminds Harry of a hummingbird’s wings. Draco is like a hummingbird, he thinks deliriously as he leans forwards and fills his own hands with soft hair, beautiful and darting, always ferocious and looking out for himself and for other people too—

The kiss ends too soon for Harry’s liking. Draco draws back and licks his lips in satisfaction. Then he says, “I want to see how much you can resist me,” and saunters off. “Especially when I’m whispering lines from your list in your ear,” he adds before he turns the corner.

Harry tries to bite off his own silly expression before he goes to show the Patronus Charm to the fifth-years. Damn, this is going to be fun.


“You said that you liked the way I admitted my sins without having to take Veritaserum.”

Harry leans back in his chair at the high table so that he can hear Draco’s whisper better. At the moment, Minerva is making the boring speech that he thinks Headmasters and Headmistresses are contractually obligated to give, about how she hopes that the students will enjoy the winter holidays and won’t forget to do their homework. Dumbledore might have made a shorter one, but at least Minerva’s is understandable.

“I did say that.”

“Interesting choice of word, sins. As though I committed some great crime when I was a teenager?”

Harry doesn’t want to take it too seriously, doesn’t want to rip the delicacy of the fabric that flutters between them and makes this pursuit so intriguing. He doesn’t want Draco able to feel unlike a hummingbird. He just tilts his head and murmurs, “As though you took them seriously and repented of them. I know you did.”

Draco pauses and draws back. Harry almost thinks that he’ll wait until dinner is over, that someone frowned at him or otherwise made him think they shouldn’t be speaking to each other.

But Draco reaches out with his hand instead of words. His fingers glance lightly over Harry’s shoulder, over the modified Auror robe that Harry wears when demonstrating spells.

“Thank you. For taking me seriously, and for knowing my repentance was serious.”

Harry inclines his head, although he wants to ask who hadn’t taken it seriously and who he needed to hurt. Light, light and warm.

“You’re welcome.”


“I didn’t know you were going to decorate, Harry.”

Harry laughs as he opens the door to his temporary quarters for Draco. “Well, I have to admit that I didn’t feel comfortable decorating in other parts of Hogwarts. It’s not as though I live here full-time. But my own quarters are another matter.”

Draco steps through the door, his eyebrows rising higher and higher. The rooms are small and off the new Defense classroom on the sixth floor, and they were plain stone when Minerva first gave them to Harry. But Harry has fairy lights in gold and scarlet and silver and green hanging from the ceiling, glittering, and transforming the walls into festive garlands. He also put up a tree in the corner after a lot of consideration, and it’s the biggest pine he could fit in here. House-elves help him water it. Its branches gleam with conjured snow that Harry replaces each day, and the gifts underneath it slide and fall over every time he walks past.

“Who are the gifts for?” Draco asked with casualness he and Harry both know is pretended, although Harry assumes remarking on that won’t be appreciated.

“Some of them for you, if this works out.” Harry reaches out and neatly plucks the bottle of wine from Draco’s fingers as he nearly drops it. “But most of them for me.”

“Why give gifts to yourself?”

“Because, after the childhood I had, I deserve them.” Harry puts the wine carefully on a table out of the way and steps up to wrap his arms around Draco’s waist, gazing into his eyes. “I only deserve the best,” he intones before he kisses Draco.

Draco gapes under his lips as if he didn’t expect Harry to say that, and Harry takes advantage, gently stroking his tongue alongside Draco’s and sharing the taste of sweetness and triumph. Then Draco almost grabs his shoulders and forces him back against the wall next to the tree. Harry stumbles but catches himself, laughing a little at the way Draco’s staring into his eyes, the way his fingers clench on Harry’s shoulders.

“It’s not funny,” Draco hisses as he draws back. “You do deserve the best.” He pauses for a second, his hands flexing as if he’s holding something else in imagination. Harry kisses him again to pull him back, but Draco shakes his head and says gently, “Stop that. And I deserve the best, too.”

“Which means…?”

“That I’ll just have to show you how wonderful life can be with a Malfoy.”

Harry’s laughter breaks off as Draco kisses him again, slow and predatory, and flicks his tongue out at Harry’s bottom lip. By then, Harry is hard enough that it’s nearly painful when Draco reaches down and grips him gently by the cock.

But as distracted and as in-pain as he is, Harry still manages to flick a Silencing Charm at the door. The last thing he wants is students intruding, the way some did the other night when they heard Harry swearing after some of the fairy lights he’d Levitated dropped onto his head.

Draco blinks at him, and then smiles. When he sinks to his knees, Harry stares down at him and says, “Holy fuck, Christmas is really early this year.”

Draco laughs, and the minute or so while he works Harry’s robes open and lowers his pants and puts his mouth on Harry blurs. Then Harry’s tossing his head back in bliss, and not even trying to reach his hand out to catch hold of Draco. He just has to stand there, back flexing against the wall, and think of the heat and the wetness drowning him and accept that it’s Draco, and he’s dangerously near throbbing and coming already.

He does manage to force his eyes open before that happens, clenching his hands into fists. He looks down into grey eyes, and remembers the way they looked after his trial, and how Draco gathered up his life and went forwards with it, and never flinched that time when Harry saw someone literally spit on him in Diagon Alley, and simply made his way and stopped caring about what people said about it—

And he comes, as much from the memories as the throat and tongue working him now. Draco seems to sigh in satisfaction as he swallows, which is certainly a new experience. Then he stands back up and runs his fingers down Harry’s throat, around his collarbones, and under his robes until Harry’s the one who’s sighing.

“I know you have a bedroom,” Draco says, voice as soft on Harry’s skin as poured wine. “Can you wait long enough to get there? Or shall we do something about my erection here?”

“I can wait,” Harry says back, and reaches down to grip and tease Draco just lightly enough that he doesn’t come. “After all, I was just relieved. But if you can’t…”

Draco has to take Harry’s hand away from him before he can walk, and even then, he’s sort of awkward. Harry doesn’t bother to hold in his dark chuckle as he follows. There’s no one here who’ll be unnerved by it.

Draco’s back straightens as he listens. Harry smiles. He never thought being with Draco would give him a measure of freedom.

But it does.


Draco only raises an eyebrow once at the fairy lights decorating the bedroom ceiling, and then turns around and kisses Harry passionately enough that Harry gasps. He spills Harry onto the bed and follows him down, still kissing.

Harry hates that he has to pull away to undress Draco and get undressed himself, but it’s worth it when he sees Draco gaping at his chest.

“I knew you were fit,” Draco says, his hand straying over Harry’s muscles as if compelled. “I didn’t know you were perfect.”

“I do try,” Harry says, and gazes at Draco’s tapering chest and slender hips and pale skin with admiration as he gets rid of the cloth blocking his view. “And you’re not so far behind me, yourself.”

The words that once would have provoked some attempt to hex him only make Draco laugh now. He faces Harry and flexes a little, so that his cock bobs. “Perfect enough for you?”

“Oh, yes.” Harry grabs his wand and whips it around in a motion he knows well, casting nonverbally, and gasps in spite of himself when his entrance loosens and lubrication starts trickling down it. “Come on. Ready.”

“Why can you cast that spell nonverbally?”

Harry looks up, then snorts in spite of himself at the way Draco is glaring. “Not because I have a lot of lovers, if that’s what you’re asking. Because I like to play with myself when no one else is available.”

Draco seems more confident as he crawls onto the bed and watches Harry place his wand out of the way, but still a bit suspicious. “That happens a lot.”

“Someone suitable isn’t available very often,” Harry says, and decides he’s tired of this discussion. He raises his hips, spreads his legs, and does his own motion of flexing at Draco.

That shuts him up. He does cast another lubrication spell on his cock before he slides gently in, but Harry doesn’t mind that. It’ll make it all the slicker, all the more pleasurable, and while he’ll want some roughness later, there’s nothing wrong with a gentle first time.

As long as it’s fast.

He gasps aloud as Draco finds the right spot on the first thrust, sometimes that happens, not often, it doesn’t matter right now, and he begins fucking himself at the same time as Draco is fucking him. There’s a confused, complicated motion all over the sheets, sliding and rustling, and then Harry bumps against a pillow and can hang on. He gasps aloud at the expression on Draco’s face.

And then laughs.

“You think this is fucking easy?” Draco pants, hanging over him as he thrusts and grunts and his hair bounces around and hits him on the chin, which was what made Harry laugh in the first place. “It’s not. Not fucking easy. You—should know that.”

“Is it easy fucking?”

“You have too much comprehension right now,” Draco says, and begins driving Harry up into ecstasy with steadier thrusts. It seems his goal is to make Harry come again.

Harry could tell him that doesn’t happen, or at least not all that often. But it seems his instincts about Draco being the right person to do this with were not only loud but also correct. Harry groans as he feels his cock fill, and begins matching Draco as hard as he can, which means about once every other thrust. It’s an awkward angle to be in, which is how he defends himself to his imaginary critics.

But then the imaginary critics have to shut up. Because damn if Draco isn’t driving him higher, and higher, and higher.

And he’s beautiful, face side-lit by the fire. Hair bouncing off his chin. Eyes gleaming softly as he stares down at Harry. Hips surging with such speed and power Harry knows he’ll be sore all over tomorrow, and welcomes it.

When he comes, it feels just as good as the rest of it does. Harry reaches up and claws at his hips, and Draco bites his lip and resorts to his wand. It amuses Harry, for a second, that he has the energy to cast a spell but not just to stroke Harry to completion.

Then the amusement fades into light and sound and motion, and pleasure. Harry wails unselfconsciously as he spends, and Draco flops down beside him and closes his eyes as if basking in that wail.

They lie in silence for long enough that Harry thinks Draco is going to sleep, but Draco does stir and says casually, “By the way, I wanted to make one thing clear.”

“Hmmm?” Harry opens one eye. Honestly, he wants to go to sleep. But Draco is important enough that he’ll hold that off.

“No more flirting with anyone else or spreading rumors that someone is dating you for your own amusement and watching the Daily Prophet run in circles trying to locate them,” Draco says. His tone is casual, but the hand he presses into Harry’s hip is not. “You’re mine.”

Harry smiles a little. “You didn’t think watching them run in circles is funny?”

“Of course it is. But you have to be willing to name yourself mine.”

Harry leans up and kisses him. “I never intended anything else.”

“Good.” Draco falls down beside him, closes his eyes, and is gone into unconsciousness in seconds.

Harry spends a moment marveling over Draco’s quietude beside him, the exact opposite of the fluttering energy he shows when he’s awake, and then closes his own eyes. He has the man he wanted, the darting hummingbird willingly come to his hand.

He doesn’t think he’s been so happy in his life.

He falls asleep with his hand on Draco’s cheek.

The End.