The Sleeping Beauty Curse

Chapter 13

When Harry woke up, he was a bit puzzled to find he appeared to be lying mostly naked on some grass. He was wearing his glasses and his bathrobe, which was only loosely fastened at the waist. He did a quick exploratory grope for his wand, but couldn't feel it beside him. Where was he? He was on his Quidditch pitch, he quickly realised, recognising the distant, ornately-painted ceiling of famous Quidditch victories from years past. There was a heavy, warm weight curled up against him, and Harry decided not to move another muscle, because clearly something embarrassing lay in store for him. His head hurt, and his mouth felt dry and furry. Despite the headache, though, Harry felt surprisingly well rested. Like he'd slept better than he had in weeks.

He had slept better than he had in weeks.

"Draco, wake up!" Harry said in excitement, and gave Draco's shoulder a shake. "You didn't have a nightmare!"

Draco snorted and didn't move. "I did have a nightmare," he said, into Harry's shoulder. "I had a nightmare that I woke up half-naked in a field, next to Harry Potter. I'm hoping that if I lie still, it will soon be over."

Draco was half-naked, too. Harry glanced over at him, to see that Draco was only wearing a pair of jogging bottoms. Harry's jogging bottoms.

"Why are we here, anyway?" Harry asked the ceiling, trying not to blush. He could remember the flying. He could remember the drinking. He could remember – God, he could remember – the showering. But he couldn't remember much else after.

Harry was suddenly gripped by a nameless dread, which he found that he could, very quickly, name. They'd . . . together. In the shower. They hadn't accidentally completed the bond, had they? He felt light-headed and slightly sick. It hadn't even occurred to him at the time. He'd been too caught up in the moment, caught up in the demands of his cock, caught up in Draco.

"I can't remember exactly," Draco mumbled against him. "I'm sure it was your bright idea though. I expect we came back here after showering for a bit of nude Quidditch. It seems the sort of lewd thing we could expect from a man with hundreds of erotic conquests." Draco rolled away from him and sat up, blinking hard and scrubbing his hands through his bird's nest hair. He looked dishevelled, and soft, and . . . thank fuck, Harry thought, reaching for his magic and finding he couldn't do anything, they hadn't completed the bond, after all.

"What?" Draco asked, suspicious. "You look like you just lost a sickle and found a galleon."

Harry reran what Draco had said in his head. "I don't have hundreds of erotic conquests!" he protested.

Draco's lips quirked. "It was you who boasted of all your experience, if you'll recall." He looked down at himself and shuddered. "Why am I wearing your hideous Muggle trousers," he said piteously. "Why."

"I didn't boast!" Harry protested, feeling a vague, embarrassing memory resurface. "I just – I wanted to make it clear I'm not some blushing virgin!"

Draco's face did something complicated. "Heaven forbid the great Harry Potter would be a virgin," he said politely.

"Well, I'm not," Harry said. "I've slept with . . ." He hesitated, wondering why he was sharing this information with Draco. Wondering why he wanted to share this information with Draco. "I dunno – five people?" he said.

"You 'dunno'?" Draco raised an eyebrow.

Harry didn't know how an eyebrow could look scathing, but it did. He could feel himself flush. "I had a few one-night stands," he said. "You know how it is."

"Indeed," Draco said sarcastically, and looked away.

Harry wished he hadn't said anything. The thing with sharing confidences was that it only counted as sharing confidences if more than one person was talking. Otherwise, it was just an embarrassing confession. "Well, shall we, er, go and get ready?" he asked, moving to wrap his robe more securely around him.