What I'm Missing (Drarry)

Chapter Three

Draco swallowed slowly and wondered how exactly circumstances had led to this. He cast a nervous glance at the entrance to the prefect's bathroom, but it remained shut.

"Are you sure no one's going to come in?" he asked again.

"Yep," Potter said, shrugging off his robe and starting to undo the buttons on his shirt. "I checked the map. There are no seventh years nearby - or eighth years who might have bullied their way to the password."

"Map?"

Potter paused and looked up at him with a grin. "Nevermind. I'll show you some other time." He undid the last button and dropped his shirt off his shoulders.

Draco gasped softly, unable to help himself. He had seen Potter shirtless before, passing by the Gryffindor change rooms after Quidditch, glancing in and looking away quickly. But it was somehow different, having the boy - man - stand before him, his gaze steady.

Having permission to look felt far more intimate.

Potter's lips quirked into the smile that was becoming worryingly familiar to Draco. It was enough to shock him back to the present and he shook his head with a frown.

"Where are they?" he asked, looking at Potter's unmarked torso in confusion.

In answer, Potter turned around.

"Bull shit! " Draco swore. "There's no way you did them on your back ."

Potter laughed - a rich laugh that sent tingles down Draco's spine. "You think I should have done them on my front? Where's the challenge in that?"

"Fucking Gryffindors," Draco muttered, taking a tentative step forward so that he could see the tattoos clearer.

Potter's body was covered in a rich tapestry of flame. Fiendfyre licked its way over his shoulder and down his side, winding its way around Harry's back and creeping down below his jeans.

Draco reached out tentatively and paused.

"You can touch it," Harry said quietly, apparently sensing Draco's movement.

Draco took a deep breath and moved his hand forward, running his fingers gently over Potter's skin. The fire rippled beneath his touch.

Potter's fists clenched quickly and then relaxed. Draco wondered if Potter could feel the tattoo. He knew that when the dragon moved it tickled slightly. Would fire tickle, or would it burn?

Draco felt something warm beneath his fingers. He frowned and leaned closer, his face mere inches from Potter's back. "There's something hidden in the flames," he said curiously.

"Mmm," Potter murmured, but didn't elaborate.

Draco frowned - typical Potter, feeding off drama. He traced the tips of his fingers over the warm patch, running them in circles through the flame. It began to dance quicker, and he felt Potter stiffen slightly, tense.

Draco saw movement. A hint of blue in the flames. He smiled triumphantly and opened his mouth to tell Potter he could see something, maybe a jewel.

Suddenly, the flames parted. Draco's jaw dropped as a phoenix appeared beneath the fire. As he watched, the phoenix preened before tilting its head curiously up at him.

"She's woken up, hasn't she?" Potter asked quietly. "I can feel her."

"You drew this?" Draco managed at last, his voice a whisper.

Potter turned around and Draco was forced to stand back up straight so they were face to face again.

"I'll let you in on a secret," he admitted. "I drew her on my stomach, but she likes it better back there. I think she likes to watch out for me. Phoenixes are quite protective."

"Why Fiendfyre?" Draco asked. In the long moments it took for Potter to respond, he realised that he was holding his breath, waiting for the answer.

Potter's gaze was steady when he finally spoke. "Because I like what it reminds me of."

"What does it remind you of?" Draco couldn't look away, no matter how much he wanted to.

"Second chances." Harry's voice was gentle. "Hope. Blinding obsession." He paused, some unidentifiable emotion in his eyes. "You."

Draco felt the room fall away around him until there was nothing left but Potter, staring at him like he was the only thing that mattered.

"Me," he repeated dumbly. "Why would-"

Potter stepped forward, closing the distance between them until they were so close Draco could feel Potter's minty breath on his own lips. He shivered as Potter paused, his eyes dropping for the briefest of seconds to Draco's mouth.

"I'm not sure if this is welcome," Potter admittedly quietly, waiting.

Draco realised that Potter wasn't going to move any closer unless Draco asked him to. The knowledge struck him like a blow. How often had anybody ever asked him permission when it was something they wanted?

"It's welcome," he said, his voice breaking.

Potter smiled, that same familiar smile. Draco knew with a sinking feeling that he would never be able to get enough of that smile. Draco closed his eyes.

Potter's lips met his, warm like the echo of Fiendfyre, and Draco melted.