Another Sort of SunlightWord count:
The eighth years go swimming in the lake. Harry wants Draco to join them.Warnings:
The boys belong to JKR, even though I’m often much nicer to them than she is.Author’s Notes:
This was written for this week’s sortinghatdrabs
. The pairing was Harry/Draco
(YAY!) and the prompt was scars – we all have them
. And I won! I did better than I ever have vote-wise, actually – YAY OTP!
Harry Potter was shirtless, and Draco thought he might faint.
The heatwave was like nothing they’d known. Apparently it was because of the Dementors’ disappearance: the fog was being burnt away as joy expanded in grief’s place. Hogwarts was having a summer school, and Scotland had turned out to provide no respite from the heat.
Draco went outside to study: Pansy and Theo had already gone and he didn’t want to be alone in the dungeons. Only now everybody was stripping off their shirts, Transfiguring their trousers, and in Pansy’s case throwing her skirt at Neville’s head. They headed for the lake en masse, playing and splashing and giggling in the shallows.
Draco stayed on the shore with his book. He could feel himself flushing but he wasn’t going to swim. He wasn’t even going to unbutton his cuffs.
He couldn’t bear to.
Brilliant, and now Potter had left the water. His shaggy hair was sopping and beads of water were trickling down his bare chest. Draco was going to have a stroke.
“Malfoy? Aren’t you going to come and swim?”
Potter’s face creased. “At least take your shirt off – ”
“Scars,” Draco got out. He was horrifyingly close to tears.
“We all have them,” Potter said, his voice low and affectionate. Like he was talking to a first-year who was afraid of the water.
“Not like mine,” Draco snarled.
Potter paused, his green eyes pensive now. Draco glanced away.
“No one will bother you, I swear. You can’t be that scared.”
Oh yes he could, but those intense green eyes were on him and Draco couldn’t take the heat. He stripped everything off but his boxers, Transfigured them into trunks and headed for the water.
Everyone was staring. Draco felt his throat tighten, but he refused to try to shield himself from their eyes. It wouldn’t work anyway; the Mark and the Sectumsempra scars and the dotted burnmarks from Voldemort’s punishments covered too much of his torso.
He felt marked: his pallid, damaged body wasn’t like everyone else’s, with their tans and brief marks of bravery.
But Potter was looking at him with bright eyes that focussed on his face instead of sweeping his body in sordid curiosity, and Draco wanted to play.
He leapt forward into the water, shouting with the shock of the cold, and swam.
Almost immediately, Potter ducked him.
Draco came up spluttering and outraged. Potter was laughing.
He ducked Potter. It turned into a waterfight as they sent it into each other’s faces and wrestled each other underwater. Potter’s body was slick and strong, and Draco was going to completely humiliate himself but he felt too wonderful to care.
He kissed Potter. Potter tasted of lake water and shock and Draco was burning with humiliation. He pulled back, horrified, only –
Potter said, “no, wait,” and kissed Draco. It was like diving into clear water, cool and clear and golden: another sort of sunlight.
Something that would last through the winter.