Drarry Oneshots 2

Cascade

Top!Harry

Bottom!Draco

Summary: Harry wants to touch, and Draco wants to be touched. If only they could figure it out.

Author: Avonne (on ao3)

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The hawthorn wand thrums in Harry's hand when he reaches the compartment he's been looking for. He rubs his thumb over its dark surface until the magic prickles under his skin.

Deep breath.

Something in him rebels against every step he takes towards Draco, and it tastes like fear. Ridiculous, isn't it? After all that he's been through. Giving up the wand that saved his life is the one thing that leaves him terrified. It's frustrating. Ginny says it's impossible to control it when something triggers his... problems, but he tries anyway. He walks inside.

The murky green scenery speeds past the train under a grey sky, and Draco sits slumped by the window, watching it pass. Escaping from behind his ear, silky hair tumbles down to tickle his jaw. His fringe is one smooth wave to soften his sharp angles. He's alone, but Parkinson's handbag is on the seat across from him and the smell of her expensive perfume lingers in the air.

"Back already?" Draco turns with a smile that fades from his face when his eyes land on Harry. In his deep blue sweater, he reminds Harry of fading stars and the night sky, and the gentleness of that image is disturbing. Malfoys shouldn't be associated with such pure thoughts, he's sure.

"Hi." Harry croaks, willing himself not to have a flashback to that moment in Malfoy Manor, the last time he held Draco's gaze without either of them breaking the spell.

Draco's spine straightens. "Potter."

"I've come to give this back." Harry forces through clenched teeth. He holds out the wand. Sweat beads in the fist he keeps in his pocket. "The Ministry wanted to display it in a museum or something, but I thought - well, it's yours." He finishes lamely.

Draco looks lost. "It does belong in a museum." The light in his eyes dulls to match the dirty raindrops rolling down the window. "I have a new wand. It's not the same, but..."

"Come on. It's yours." Harry repeats, despite the possessive beast trashing in his heart.

Draco considers him for another moment, then takes it. When his neat fingers wrap around the wood and graze Harry's palm, the wand deserts Harry in a shock of static current that stings Harry's skin. Draco snatches his hand back as if it burned.

"All right." Harry mumbles, staggering from that ghost of a touch, then turns on his heels. The pounding in his ears almost drowns out Draco's tentative words.

"Thank you."

The loss of that wand is an acute pain in Harry's chest. He misses having it there when he needs to touch something different. His Mind Healer suspects he's longing for the hum of another person's magical core, but Harry doesn't think about her theory because the last time he considered what it means, that he's missing the horcrux, he transformed one acre of wheat into flour in a burst of accidental magic. Ginny's presence was the lifeline that helped him through the rest of the summer after that realization. But she's not his girlfriend, and Harry can't keep burdening her with his incessant needs, so he tries to contend with touching his friends and watching the wand from afar.

It's only a matter of time though that watching the wand becomes watching Draco, and that's when a whole new set of problems start.

If he's bored or tired, Draco props his head up with his left hand, the heel just under his jaw and his slim fingers curled against his cheek. Once in a while, he slips the tip of his pinky between his lips until he realizes what he's doing and pulls it out. A single pockmark mars the skin under his left eye. He hides it with make-up charms, but one morning, Harry catches a glimpse of him without them and he almost laughs. It's refreshing to find an imperfection in Draco's polished facade, even if it just makes Harry want him all the more.