Chapter Twenty Four

Sunday 13 September 1997

Harry

I take my mate, who is still crying softly into my shoulder, upstairs to his dorm, remembering which one it is from this morning. I didn't get a good look at it earlier, distracted by Draco, but now my eyes are immediately drawn to his bed.

I know it's his because it's not a bed, not really. It's a nest. And for some inexplicable reason, just the sight of it leaves me breathless. I don't know why; it's clearly imperfect- rushed and unfinished. It's the vague shape of a nest and filled only with school supplied bedsheets, pillows, and a duvet. But it's my mate's nest, and it's all I can do not to crawl into it and stay their forever.

Do it Harry, please, nest-

But a chocked sob flying out of Draco's mouth makes me turn away, focusing again on the love of my life.

"What's wrong, sweetheart? Talk to me."

"Please, don't look at it, I forgot, I'm sorry, I'll make it better, I just need time-" For a moment I'm confused, then I realise he's referring to the nest. It must be like... I don't know. I guess I'll never know. Because a nest is who a submissive is, it shows who they are, what they like, who they love. A nest reveals more about a sub than almost anything, and having someone as important as a mate see one that is unfinished must be mortifying.

"It's fine, I know it's unfinished, love, I'm not paying attention to it, I promise. It's alright."

But, nest?

Just wait a while longer, Eli. Let him finish. Then we can spend a forever in it.

"You're not looking?"

"No, I've already forgotten. I'll only look properly when you're finished, okay?" He breathes a sigh of relief. "There you go, you're so good for me, Draco." He keens, subconsciously rubbing his cheek across my scent gland. Pre-marking me. I practically melt. But then I remember-

"This wasn't what was wrong in the common room. What happened then?" He stops abruptly, lifting his head so I can see his widened eyes as he remembers.

"I worried Blaise and the others, made them feel bad. It was stupid and selfish and I'm really really sorry." I frown. It wasn't selfish, it was fear and sadness. Those are different things.

"When you flew away, did you intend to stay out all day?"

"N-no, I was going to come back."

"And did you know it would worry them?"

"No..."

"And did you want to go?"

"No, I thought you wanted me to. I- I wanted to stay with you."

"Then that's the opposite of selfish, my love. You were doing what you thought I wanted, and you didn't mean to hurt anyone. That's selfless, Draco."

"Oh."

"And even if it was, you've apologised. You realised your mistake, and you won't do it again, right?"

"No, of course not!"

"Then you've done absolutely nothing wrong."

"Really? You're not mad?"

"Not in the slightest. Now, I think we need to clean up. Lead the way?" Draco nods, and I put him down, but keep my hand in his. I can't bare to stop touching him. Even the thought of it is agonising.

He shows me to the dorm's en-suite, and I shut and lock the door behind us so there's no interruptions. The bathroom is much bigger than our one up in Gryffindor, but my eyes are instantly drawn to the bath, which looks like a slightly smaller version of the one in the prefects' bathroom.

I silently lead my mate to the edge of the bath and turn the water on, then turn back to Draco. It hits me again just how stunning he is; platinum hair slightly messy from lying outside, porcelain skin dirty and flushed, head ducked and eyes fixed on the floor. His clothes - not that he's wearing much, only slacks - are especially worse for wear, ripped and stained with mud and blood.

"You okay?" I murmur, not wanting to disrupt the comfortable quiet. He nods, eyes flicking up to meet mine. I slowly move my hands across pale, scarred skin, until they rest on his hips, keeping my eyes on his. He flushes red, not meeting my eyes, so I press my lips to the scar on his shoulder, inhaling his scent as I do. You whine in my head.

"So pretty," I murmur against his skin. "Such a good boy for me." I feel him shiver against me as he falls into my embrace. I move my hands in between us to the buttons of his trousers. "Can I take these off?" He stiffens, only slightly, like he's trying not to, but enough that I notice. "There's a reason I ask, Draco. I care about what you want, so tell me. I won't if you don't want me to." He remains still and quiet, before I add, "Talk to me, mate mine."

"Just trousers, please?"

"Of course. Thank you, Draco, so good for me."

He's so pretty when he blushes like that.

Quickly, so he doesn't focus on it too much, I take off his trousers, then shed his cloak from around my shoulders. I step into the now almost-full bath, reaching out a hand to him, we he takes blushing, and steps after me. I sit down, pulling him into my lap. He presses his face into my chest, and I can feel the heat of his blush.

I start cleaning him, wiping away the dirt and blood clinging to his skin. I do so as slowly as possible, savouring the feeling of my mate in my lap and his skin under mine.

I wash his hair and wings too, threading my fingers through soft tufts and feathers, massaging soap suds into his scalp and wing bones and savouring the quiet whines and - Merlin help me - moans he makes as I do.

I regretfully finish eventually, spinning him around on my lap so he's facing me. I stroke his cheek gently where the scar is. I hope it won't remain, but know it likely will. He doesn't know that though, and leans into the touch, closing his eyes. I take the opportunity to let my eyes wonder his body. And fuck, if I thought he was beautiful before, it was nothing compared to how he looks dripping wet and almost naked above me, skin and hair so clean they're practically sparkling, face nuzzling into my palm.

It takes a few seconds for Draco to realise I've finished, and when he does he blinks his eyes open, smiling shyly at me. I feel the affection like a physical ache in my chest.

"So gorgeous," I murmur. "What's on your mind, gorgeous? Talk to me."

"Your turn." Oh.

His hands are on my chest.

His hands are on my chest, then my shoulders.

His hands are on my chest, then my shoulders and back and arms and legs and dear Merlin I never want them to be anywhere else.

Draco's hands, I realise, must have been personally crafted by any and all deities in existence. They are thin and delicate and so, so pale. His fingers are long and glide through air and water like they're dancing. The tips of his fingers are soft like feathers and smooth like stone and warm like a dwindling fireplace. I did not realise hands had the power to take my breath away until my mate's were running over my bare skin.

Those hands take the flannel from my own, which look like beggar's hands compared to his, and start running that over my body instead, washing away the grime and blood. Then, like I did him, his hands - hands like an angel's, hands like heaven itself - start washing my hair.

I have literally been boneless before. Or at least, one of my arms has been. I thought I knew what the word meant. But I realise, as I fall against my mate, I had no idea.

If I'm being honest, I don't think I had much of an idea about anything.

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