Second part of a two-part one-shot. Don't start reading here.




Potter’s house was in a small village to the north of London, a place whose Apparition coordinates Draco had known ever since a sleek tawny owl brought them to him one morning several weeks ago. Draco stood in the shadow of a house across the way and stared at it for long moments. It was made of stone and covered with ivy and climbing roses, of course. The fence around it consisted of heavy stone posts, but was painted white. A wreath of holly and yew leaves hung on the door. Even the shadows it threw were bloody perfect, slanting under the spring sun like the longer shadows of midsummer.

Of course. Of course Harry Potter would live in a house like this, belonging to a perfect, untouched world where nothing evil could intrude. For a long moment, Draco considered turning and Apparating back to Hogwarts. Facing the students’ smirks and his colleagues’ sly questions would be easier than facing Potter.

But then he remembered the unicorns who wouldn’t leave him alone, and forced confidence into himself like a medicinal potion. He crossed the street, ignoring the twitching of curtains at a few neighbors’ windows, and knocked.

Potter opened the door and faced him with such a happy smile that Draco winced. But he managed at once to exchange it for a smirk that he hoped was sufficiently flirtatious.

“Good evening,” Draco said, deepening his voice in the way Potter did so well. “I decided to take you up on your invitation.”

“Yes, and I’m glad you did.” Potter grabbed his hand and drew him into the house. Draco caught a brief glimpse of a fireplace that took up half the room, wide tables covered with a mess of scrolls, and heavy furniture with clawed legs before he turned his attention back to Potter. He was here to fuck the man, not admire his house. Potter beamed at him as if he didn’t know that. “Do you want a drink?”

“You think entirely too much about drinking, and not enough about sex,” Draco said. He thought that was a line he might have said with perfect ease in his sixth year. No, his fifth. His sixth, he’d been too busy, and he’d also realized he didn’t know as much about sex as he’d believed he did when he was fifteen. He leaned forwards, pinning Potter’s shoulders to the wall. The potion vial in his pocket swung and clinked, but he doubted Potter could hear or feel it; his eyes were wide and fixed on Draco, his mouth slightly open. “I thought you wanted me,” Draco continued, and attempted to pout.

“I do.” Potter recovered enough to reach out and place his hands on Draco’s waist. Draco contained a shudder by reminding himself of what Potter had said the other day. He was still a proper Gryffindor from the sound of it, and he wouldn’t do anything absurdly painful. But it was hard to be calm when Potter’s voice had deepened again and Draco could feel the confused stirrings of arousal that would be much more pleasant if he’d come here out of free will and not out of necessity. “But I thought you’d probably want to take it slowly.”

“Why?” Draco leaned forwards and let his knee push between Potter’s open legs. He shivered slightly when he felt the line of Potter’s erection. Would it hurt when it went into him? Maybe he could top. But no, that probably wouldn’t satisfy the requirement of having one’s virginity being taken away, and he had to make sure Potter took his tonight. “When I see what I want, I can go after it as well as any Gryffindor can.”

“I haven’t been a Gryffindor for years.” Potter leaned forwards and tasted the corner of Draco’s mouth. All right, that wasn’t so bad, either, Draco thought, as he leaned his head back into the air and shivered at Potter’s touch. “But I do want you. It’s just—well, you didn’t show any sign of wanting me back until now. What changed your mind?”

“Maybe the thought of how good you’d be in bed.” Draco smirked. He could still do that, or he thought he could. “Maybe just the fact that I haven’t felt someone else’s weight on me and someone else’s cock in me in a damn long time.” He tugged impatiently at Potter’s belt and stepped back, starting to thread it out of his trousers. His hands were shaking, but if he gave them something to do, it was unlikely Potter would notice.

“Wait.”

Draco nearly groaned in frustration. Potter had caught his wrists and was holding them still, staring at him with a serious expression. Merlin, does he have to come up with obstacles at the most inconvenient times?

“What?” Draco snapped.

“I don’t want this to be just about sex.” Potter spoke the words Draco knew even Hufflepuffs had trouble with, and nary a blush touched his cheeks. “I want more than that, from you, and from me. Do you only want sex? Is this going to be a case of your spending the night with me and then never appearing on my doorstep again?”

Draco’s mouth fell open.

Potter sighed. “I thought it might be. Maybe you’ve had a bit too much to drink, or maybe you wanted to see what I’d do.” He tightened his hold on Draco’s wrists. “And the truth is, I want to be more than a one-night fuck for you. I’m sorry if you need freedom to make a relationship work, but I need a bit more than that.” He smiled, but his eyes were clear and grave. “I came to terms with that when Ginny left me. She could tell I wasn’t invested in her, and she wouldn’t let me use her for sex and a safe hiding place from the world. I won’t let you use me that way, either.”

Draco shut his eyes and forbade himself to cry. Still, he did start to shake. He tried to stumble backwards, to put distance between him and Potter, but his shoulders collided with one of the heavy bookshelves, and he began to hyperventilate.

Potter had been his last chance. Where was Draco going to find someone else to fuck him before the gossip started to spread? What would happen when he taught his classes tomorrow and the unicorn showed up behind him? Who had Heinz and Lawrence been talking to tonight, especially if they were angry about Draco showing up their lack of attention during class? How—

“Draco. Draco! It’s all right.”

Potter’s arms were around his waist, but that did Draco no good at all, not when he knew those arms wouldn’t pull him close and rid him of his hated virginity. He shuddered and pulled against them, and felt the tears, shoved down and away for so long, prickle hard at the edges of his eyelids.

Then Potter twisted, and Draco found himself lying with his face in the other man’s shoulder, his ear a few inches from Potter’s mouth, and his shuddering body cradled against a firm, solid chest. Potter spoke softly into Draco’s ear. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I know you need to sit down and have some tea. Come on.”

After that, Draco simply didn’t have the strength to resist.

*

Draco had been staring into his teacup for the past quarter of an hour. Potter hadn’t tried to force him to speak. He’d sipped his own tea and sometimes studied the pattern of wet rings it left on the heavy wooden table between them, wiping his fingers through them as if he disliked perfect circles. Draco thought distractedly that the table was really too nice for them to mark this way, but it belonged to Potter, and if he wanted to do that with his own furniture, well, who was Draco to forbid him?

He’d cast a few more glances around Potter’s house, and found himself almost overwhelmed by the comfort of it. Potter had chosen things that lasted, from the bookshelves that looked as if an earthquake wouldn’t dislodge them to the granite and crystal paperweights holding open the numerous scrolls. The pictures on the walls were a, currently, empty portrait frame and a landscape that showed a dozing dragon curled around a tree covered with golden apples. Wizarding photographs of Weasleys, Longbottom, Granger, that mad Lovegood girl, and other people Draco didn’t recognize stood on every surface. He felt as if he knew more about Potter from a few minutes spent in his house than he would otherwise have had a chance of learning in five years.

Slowly, his sluggish senses stirred. He had to return to Hogwarts tomorrow to teach his classes, and he couldn’t stay here much longer, just expecting Potter to read his mind. He took a deep breath and raised his eyes. Potter looked at him, but from the side, as if he knew that a direct stare might overwhelm Draco.

“You’re going to think me stupid and selfish for coming here,” he said.

“I don’t think so,” Potter responded at once, his voice quiet. “Whatever can cause you to look that upset isn’t a minor, or a stupid, matter. And I think the last selfish action you performed was trying to hand me over to Voldemort.”

Draco clenched his hands. He had forgotten that particular piece of history that lay between them. Given that, it made even less sense that Potter would want him. He didn’t know what he’d been thinking when he came here, but it made no sense, whatever it had been.

But Potter was still waiting for an explanation, and Draco did trust him not to spread rumors about Professor Malfoy coming to him with such a strange request, mad as that was.

“I’ve been haunted by unicorns lately,” Draco whispered. “They come up and hang about my house at night, and during the day if I’m teaching any classes near the Forbidden Forest.”

“I thought unicorns preferred the touch of a woman’s hand,” Potter said.

Draco almost smiled. He doubted Potter knew he was quoting Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank, who had briefly taken over the Care of Magical Creatures classes during their fourth and fifth years at Hogwarts, and who had been one of Draco’s own teachers when he decided to learn as much as he could to fit himself for the position. “They usually do,” he said. “But think about what other things unicorns are attracted to, Potter.”

“I don’t know,” Potter said, blinking at Draco. “I never bothered to learn much about them.” An embarrassed smile touched his mouth for a moment. “I should have. I wanted to date you, and magical creatures are your profession.”

Draco swallowed. “You try to understand the professions of everyone you date? You’d be a more knowledgeable wizard than Granger at that point.”

“Not everyone I date, no.” Potter leaned forwards, holding his eyes. “But I wanted to know more about you and what mattered to you. I do have some books on magical creatures. I hadn’t started them yet, because I had no idea if we’d ever sit in the same room, let alone have a conversation like this.”

Draco closed his eyes. If intimacy with and trust towards any person was possible, then Potter would be the one Draco would choose, at this point. He’d had no idea that such simple words could affect him so.

“Unicorns are attracted to virgins, Potter,” he said. “And that’s what I am.”

Silence. He opened his eyes to see Potter looking utterly surprised. He braced himself for some cutting comment about how he’d managed to go through twenty-five years without getting that problem taken care of.

“Really?” Potter breathed. “I’d thought—I mean, I’d thought you must have all sorts of offers, and not all of them could be repulsive to you.”

Draco stared at him. “What do you mean?”

“You’re beautiful,” Potter said, as if it was obvious.

Draco stared at his hands so he wouldn’t do something stupid, and muttered, “Not with my past. Not with my actions.”

Potter touched his fingers to the underside of Draco’s chin and tilted his face gently up. His eyes were brilliant with what Draco thought was pity for a moment, and he braced himself to struggle away. He got enough of that emotion in his own company.

But Potter shook his head and murmured, “People change. Actions can be made up for. And I think the future is more important than the past.” He leaned nearer, and Draco realized the brilliant emotion in his eyes was compassion. He’d stopped recognizing it when it never seemed to be directed at him.

“And you came to me,” Potter said, “because you wanted to be rid of that virginity and stop drawing attention to yourself.”

Draco nodded.

“Oh,” Potter said. His other hand rose and brushed Draco’s hair from his eyes. His smile was tender, and sorrowful. “Please listen to me, Draco.

“I could never have sex with you merely to take away your virginity.”

Draco closed his eyes. It was his misfortune, he reflected, to have found a potential lover noble enough not to spread tales about him, but also too noble to accept a night of meaningless passion as the gift Draco had meant it to be.

“Then I have no more business here,” he answered stiffly, and stood up. “I’ll simply have to take my chances with the unicorns and with the s—secret beginning to escape.” To his horror, his voice wavered. He took a sharp breath and swallowed back the sobs that might have alerted Potter to how weak he really was. “I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

He heard the creak of furniture and the swish of robes that meant Potter had risen to match him. His hands remained in place, one on Draco’s chin, one on his hair. Draco stood passively, silently willing him to let go and permit him to leave.

“You don’t understand,” Potter whispered. “I could never have sex with you right now because you don’t really want it. You don’t really like me yet. You don’t really trust me—“

“You think I don’t trust you?” Draco opened his eyes to glare, wanting to remind Potter exactly what errand he’d come on.

“Not enough,” Potter said. “Not enough for more than sex, and probably not even for that. I saw the way you shook when you touched me. I won’t force you into bed against your will, which was the reason I was going to give up talking to you at Hogwarts unless you decided for yourself that you wanted to spend time with me.” He paused, and his voice modulated, becoming so gentle that Draco couldn’t stand it. “This is about more than simple lack of opportunity for sex, isn’t it? Do you trust anyone enough to go to bed with them?”

And the question, or the tone it was asked in, or the person asking it, stabbed Draco’s defenses exactly at their weakest point.

His shoulders hunched. He spoke furiously, unable to stop himself, despite the slight warning in the back of his mind that he really wasn’t angry at Potter. “What do you think? What kind of people do you think I was around during the war, and during my time in Azkaban? Do you think I saw many intense, loving relationships there?”

Potter was silent, watching him. Waiting. Draco hurled words at him, wanting to fill that silence and make him stop. “I saw the way sex could be used as a weapon, the way trust could twist and become a trap for someone who had assumed that they could trust the other person in return. And there were whispers and glancing touches and—“ He shuddered as a memory he hadn’t thought of in years returned to him full-force. “Fenrir Greyback cornered me in the Manor once. The way he laid his hands on either side of my head and stared me in the face—the way his breath stank—“

And Potter listened. Draco kept talking. Something he said had to make Potter turn away from him in disgust. “The guards were the same way. They didn’t do anything, but they wanted to make sure I knew what they could do. And who would have cared? Who would have tried to stop them?”

“I would have,” Potter said quietly.

“You didn’t know! No one knew! No one knew what it was like there!” Draco broke free of the hold of Potter’s hands and began to pace. “They had me in solitary confinement, under spells that meant I couldn’t protest my treatment when someone came in and asked me how I was. I was completely helpless. And I’ve never stopped being helpless. I couldn’t force myself to have sex, which is such a minor thing to most people. I could never stand up to anyone after that. I went back to Hogwarts because it was a place I knew, instead of this new wizarding world I don’t know at all. And now I’ll be whispered and hissed about again, and the one thing I was good at might be taken away from me if the students start to snicker about and distrust me, and—“

Good God, he was crying, the tears running down his cheeks in thick torrents that seemed to carve paths through his skin. He turned blindly, groping for the door. He couldn’t bear for anyone to see him like this.

What he found instead was Potter’s body, as Potter seized him and held him in a tight embrace. Draco slumped forwards. This was it, he thought dimly, as the sounds of anger and distress and grief clawed their way out of his throat. This was the crown and height of his humiliation, the point when the one person who had seemed to like him for himself would realize that he wasn’t strong after all.

“You’ve never mourned, from the sound of it,” Potter whispered into his ear. “You’ve despised yourself so much for not moving past it that you neglected the actual work of moving past it.” His hand swept lightly up and down Draco’s back, then settled into soothing circles. “Please cry it out, Draco. It sounds like it’s been poisoning you for a long time.”

Draco tried to stop. But the sobs kept coming, and so did the tears. Both got worse when he thought of the memories in an attempt to make himself stop. Burdens he hadn’t known were crushing him at all were suddenly heavier than mountains.

He clung to Potter and wept his despair and his anger at the unfairness of it all, that a boy who was only sixteen years old should have been part of a war, that a boy who was only seventeen should have been witness to all the tortures and the foulness of the Death Eaters, that a boy who was only eighteen should have spent months in Azkaban.

He did tell himself that Potter had done worse things at the same age and younger ones, but for once the comparison failed to shame him. That wasn’t fair either, but for the first time, he thought Potter had probably cried and had his drunken nights in the company of friends. He hadn’t been the emotionless machine Draco had pictured, able to keep moving no matter what happened to him. His hands on Draco’s back were too experienced in comforting motions, his voice too familiar with the words Draco needed to hear.

The actions he loathed himself so much for performing, the experiences he loathed himself so much for having, passed through him at last, like a bitter, tearing desert wind, and left him bitter and worn-out and scrubbed hollow. Weak, he thought, but the word had lost its force. Everything had but the desire for sleep.

That, and that Potter had not mocked him for having emotions, for feeling these things. His relief at that was enormous, but it hovered just out of reach, not making him face it yet.

He felt himself lifted and laid on a soft surface, probably a bed. Someone planted a kiss on his forehead and stroked his palm with two fingertips. Draco sighed, a sound unblocked by thoughts of how little he deserved to make it for once, and slept.

*

Draco woke to the smells of bacon and eggs, which were oddly tempting considering he never had much of an appetite for breakfast at Hogwarts. He opened his eyes and sat up, blinking.

Of course, when he saw the angle of the sunlight through unfamiliar windows, he panicked. He had less than an hour to go teach his classes, and his robes were wrinkled from sleeping in them. He needed to shower, and change, and eat something so his stomach wouldn’t rumble in the middle of class—that was unprofessional—and then review the information for the final lesson on sphinxes he would be imparting today—

“Draco, Draco! Calm down.”

He blinked and let his brain catch up with his body, and then realized that he’d lunged off the bed on which he’d slept and towards the door, and tripped over an end table. Potter had caught him before he could spill to the ground, and he gently helped Draco back to sit down on the edge of the bed. His eyes were bright with concern.

“I’ve already owled McGonagall and told her you won’t be there this morning.”

“But—you can’t do that,” Draco said, catching his breath in distress. “If I do one thing wrong, she’ll have the parents and the governors pressuring her to sack me, and—“

Potter’s fingers began to move, rubbing his wrists and the backs of his hands in soothing motions. Draco swallowed and watched his hands for long moments, because once again the compassion was back in Potter’s eyes, and once again he had the feeling that he didn’t deserve it.

“One reason McGonagall will accept your taking the day off,” Potter said gently, “is because you don’t make a regular habit of this. In fact, she worries about you. You never take a day off, you never act grumpy or unprofessional or angry about the stupid antics that your students get up to in your classes. She thinks you’re allowed some emotional expression, you know, Draco, and she’s worried that you’ve stifled it because you’re afraid you’ll lose your job if you don’t.”

“Did I give you permission to call me by my first name?” Draco muttered, but his voice wasn’t as pointed as he would have liked. The motions of Potter’s fingers were simply too soothing.

Potter ignored him. “You’re not in that much danger, you know? Most of your students adore you. The ones who don’t like you are the ones who don’t like work. You’ve improved the teaching of Care of Magical Creatures enormously. More of your students use that knowledge in their careers after Hogwarts now, and more of them choose jobs that demand the knowledge, which wasn’t happening when Hagrid taught.” Potter’s smile turned rueful. “I love Hagrid, but he isn’t a very good teacher. He cared about the creatures too much and the students not enough.

“But you aren’t on the verge of getting sacked. McGonagall cares about you. Most of your colleagues would be your friends if you let them, but you’re so worried that you’ll do something wrong you drive them away.”

“I—that can’t be right,” Draco said. “Most of them worked at Hogwarts when I was a student. They knew what I was like. And Slughorn still sneers at me every morning,” he added, thinking he might need hard evidence.

“Slughorn isn’t everyone.” Potter had adopted a similar circling motion for both hands now, and Draco found himself calming down in spite of the loud warnings from the back of his mind that Potter must be lying. The Headmistress wouldn’t make exceptions like this for her professors, especially the youngest, and she wouldn’t encourage them to be lazy layabouts. “I think he’s jealous of you, actually. His life hasn’t worked out the way he wanted it to after the war. Hardly anyone sends him rich presents anymore. Meanwhile, you keep right on working and never showing discontent.” Potter smiled. “He wishes that he had an ounce of your stoicism.”

“McGonagall told you all this, I suppose,” Draco said, and tried to make his voice acid with skepticism, but it didn’t work. Too much of him wanted to believe every word Potter was saying.

“Yes, she did,” Potter said, unabashed. “She noticed my interest in you before I could properly articulate it myself, and she told me some of the obstacles that would lie in my way. Specifically, how you’d never ceased punishing yourself for crimes that the majority of the world has forgotten about or thinks were understandable.” He leaned forwards, and Draco felt like a rabbit paralyzed by the gaze of a snake.

“Draco,” Potter whispered, “you were a child. Because the Wizengamot chose to punish you, because it was full of ignorant idiots—“ Potter’s voice was trembling with anger “—is no reason to think the rest of the wizarding world feels the same way. Yes, there are still some people who would love nothing more than to make trouble for you. But there are people who would love nothing more than to make trouble for me. I haven’t hidden in my house and let that fear take over my life.”

“I know,” Draco said bitterly, turning his head away. “That’s because you’re so much better and more courageous than I am—“

“Stop it!” Potter squeezed his hands. “I was going to say, I haven’t hidden in my house since the first year after the war. I did it then. I was traumatized by dying and then coming back to life again. I was convinced no one could really understand my pain. I rejected invitations to see my friends and appear at any public functions. Sometimes I screamed at the walls, because there was no one around to answer, and I can’t tell you how many vases I smashed and how many nights I spent drunk.

“But I dragged myself through it gradually. I came to see that it didn’t really matter why I’d survived, which was a question I longed for an answer to at first, only that I had. And then I started thinking of all the good I could do with my life.”

Potter’s voice softened and warmed like melted butter. “You have a head start on me. You didn’t hide away, at least not from everyone, and you found a good job that would let you teach people. Now you need to do the thing I found easiest: forgive yourself, and realize not everyone in the world who speaks lies against you knows what they’re talking about.” He tensed for a moment as if he would like to lean forwards and kiss Draco on the cheek, but he managed to hold back from doing so.

And it’s not because he doesn’t desire me, Draco thought as he stared into those green eyes. But he wants this to proceed at my pace, and he’s probably vain enough to want me to choose him, instead of having sex with him out of gratitude. Or to get rid of my virginity.

“What if I can’t do that?” he found himself asking. “What if I need help? I fled Hogwarts at the mere suggestion anyone else knew I was a virgin. What if I find it harder to forgive myself?”

“Then I’ll help you,” Potter answered at once. “And I think McGonagall would, too, but I’m selfish enough to want to have you to myself the majority of the time.” He grinned and slung an arm around Draco’s waist, but still didn’t pull him closer, as if he thought that might violate a part of Draco’s self-imposed isolation. “And I’ll tell anything you want to know about how I did it.”

Draco stared at him. He doubted Potter was thinking about the offer the way Draco had interpreted it, but then, Potter had never been a Slytherin. And despite what he’d said, House traits were a lingering part of the soul.

Potter had just offered Draco a weapon to hold to his throat, in return for the weapon Draco’s confession had given him. Draco could sell half the things Potter had told him to the Daily Prophet in exchange for enough money to live on for the rest of his days. And there was still greater interest in the Savior than a former Death Eater. No matter how paranoid he was concerning what people might say about him, Draco knew that.

Potter had shown that he trusted him.

Draco could not reconcile that with the notion that Potter was so far above Draco he would never deign to look at him.

So—his notion that Potter was so far above him might be wrong. No, must be wrong. Draco blinked a little and curled his fingers into the collar of Potter’s robe. Potter simply stared at him with hope and compassion and gentleness in his eyes, and Draco felt as if he were falling for a moment, overwhelmed and dizzied by the fact that the Savior of the Wizarding World trusted him.

“There’s still the problem of my virginity,” he said.

“About that,” Potter said. His hand rose hesitantly from Draco’s shoulder to his hair. When Draco didn’t object, he stroked a few locks of hair back from his ears, looking insanely satisfied with himself. “I’ve finally started reading through those books on magical creatures I should have looked at before this. I’ve learned something that might surprise you.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “I’ve researched unicorns myself, Potter. I doubt you could have learned anything I didn’t.”

“Well, did you learn why they’re drawn to virgins in the first place?”

“Because they’re creatures of beauty and innocence,” Draco snapped, and then laughed bitterly. “In my case, I know it must be sexual innocence, because even you can’t consider me guiltless of all the crimes I committed during the war.”

“I don’t,” Potter said. “What I consider exists is not a blameless past, but the ability to apologize and atone.” His fingers spread out for a moment, framing Draco’s brow and jaw. “But I think you should pay attention to the other part of that statement.”

Draco snorted. “The beauty part?” It was surprisingly freeing to be sarcastic around someone again. He hadn’t dared to say a word to his students often in case they complained to their parents. “Tell me that you don’t find me ferret-like anymore, and I’ll laugh at you.”

“Well, I certainly don’t want to be laughed at,” Potter said gravely, and went on before Draco could question him. “I have a copy of a small book by Newt Scamander that wasn’t widely published. Of course, he sent me a copy when I asked, though I like to think that has more to do with my being Luna’s friend than because I’m famous—“

“Luna?” Draco interrupted. “Lovegood? What does he have to do with her?”

“Luna married Scamander’s grandson,” Potter said, showing no sign of irritation that Draco had interrupted, and continued. “The book is called The Role of the Unicorn in Wizarding History, and it interprets that statement about beauty and innocence in new ways. Unicorns are drawn to beauty, but, as Scamander points out, that doesn’t make sense. Why in the world should a unicorn think a human is beautiful?”

“Is this going to turn into a lecture about bestiality?” Draco asked suspiciously. “Because if I have to give you the same lecture I gave my NEWT class when they started asking leading questions about goats and hippogriffs—“

Potter burst out laughing. Draco was astonished how the sound comforted him, given that before this he’d always heard it in mocking contexts, or at best from a distance, whilst he could only grind his teeth together and wish that Potter would laugh that way with him.

And now he is.

The world does change.

“The answer,” Potter continued, “is that unicorns aren’t drawn to human beauty. They’re drawn to human perceptions of beauty. They can feel emotions and hear the soul, which is how they know which people are safe to approach. Young unmarried girls are often considered beautiful and innocent by many people, so unicorns tend to be drawn to them.” He leaned forwards until his proximity made Draco’s eyes cross and his breath was raking gently across Draco’s jaw, turning his skin prickly and sensitive. “Think, Draco. You’re still a virgin, and you’ve taught at Hogwarts for three years now. Why would unicorns only start being drawn to you now?”

Draco swallowed. Potter’s closeness was doing odd things to his brain. Draco had never considered that the scent of hair and sweat was as potent as bicorn horn. “I—don’t know,” he managed to say. “But everything about my life has gone wrong in the last few years, so I thought it was simply my bad luck.”

“Not everything was wrong,” Potter said. “Your job at Hogwarts, for example. But unicorns only started coming near you when I looked at you one day and decided you were beautiful. They could feel my perception of your beauty. The virginity probably didn’t hurt, but they would have left you alone if it was only that.” He smiled sheepishly. “After I read Scamander’s book, I thought back and realized that McGonagall had first commented on a unicorn being so near Hogwarts on the very Friday when I consciously took notice of you. So, in a way, it was my fault. I’m sorry.”

Draco shoved back until he could see Potter . “Your fault,” he said flatly.

Potter nodded.

Just like in school.

“But you’re sorry for it.”

Potter nodded.

That never happened in school.

And in a moment of blinding clarity that Draco knew would never be repeated, he could see the continuity of the past with the present, and how people might largely be the same in soul and life experience but still emerge changed, and how someone could commit stupid mistakes and still expect to be forgiven for them—the way that Potter was gazing at him now, obviously expecting to be forgiven for the way he’d messed Draco’s life up and nearly revealed his virginity to the entire school.

Because he had changed too, Draco did not reach out and shake Potter, or punch him in the mouth as his schoolboy self would have done. Instead, he shook his head, made a disgusted sound, and said, “I might let you make it up to me if you give me unburned breakfast.”

Potter nodded eagerly. A few days ago, Draco would have thought the gesture was condescending. A few years ago, he would have thought it pathetic.

Both those people bled into who he was right now, but he was neither of them.

Draco said, with a commanding tone that he would have flinched at the thought of using only yesterday, “And if you come to Hogwarts more often, so that I can actually have lunch with you when I’m not rushing from class to class.”

Potter smiled at him like someone offered a second chance.

*

“—think unicorns are always near him because—“

“You had something to say about unicorns, Mr. Heinz?” Draco turned smartly on one heel to confront his troublesome student, who had spent half the class so far complaining about how much homework they were receiving and had finally turned to speculations on Draco’s life. Draco was not inclined to stop the idiot’s speculations on Slughorn. The man could defend himself well enough. Now, when Heinz’s tongue turned to him, McGonagall, or anyone else who didn’t deserve the slanders he wanted to spread, Draco would intervene.

“I—“ The boy’s cheeks flushed, and he glared defiantly at his professor. “I just think it’s a bit odd that they’re so often around you, sir.”

Draco turned. Sure enough, a unicorn was edging slowly towards them across the field from the Forest, dazzlingly white and gold and silver against the green. Now that he no longer had to worry so much about losing control of his classes, Draco found himself enjoying the sight of their beauty.

Which is only matched by my own, he thought, and held out his hand. The unicorn, who might be the same one he had thrown a rock at once, paused thoughtfully before it trotted up to him, but it trotted up all the same. As it came closer, Draco saw that it lacked the goat-like beard that would have marked a male, and smirked.

“Tell me, Mr. Heinz,” he said, as the unicorn’s breath brushed his palm and a shining horn nudged up along his arm, “is this creature a male or a female?”

Heinz folded his arms and glared. “ I don’t know.”

Draco raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t know, sir.”

“Female,” Draco said. “That should have been easy enough to tell.” He heard Ombrid laugh. “And what happens if you kill a unicorn for its blood?”

“I don’t know, sir.” Heinz’s head was lowered, the expression on his face mutinous as he stared at his trainers.

“You are cursed for life, because killing a unicorn is a sin,” said Draco. “And can you touch a unicorn, Mr. Heinz?”

“Girls can,” said the boy. He looked up, the flush on his cheeks deep and red. “And virgin men.”

The class went silent. Draco only smiled slowly and said, “You are wrong on at least two counts, Mr. Heinz. Although adult unicorns prefer the touch of women, foals will let anyone of any sex approach them. And if they are drawn only to virgins—why, you should be able to come forwards and put your hand on the neck of this one easily enough.”

The class began to snicker, with Lawrence’s snicker the loudest, though he had been whispering with Heinz only a moment before. The Ravenclaw boy tossed him a betrayed glance and edged closer, one hand reaching out.

The unicorn held still until Heinz had almost touched her mane, and then she tossed her head, snorted in disgust, and whirled away. One hind hoof tossed up a clod of dirt that hit Heinz squarely on the cheek. Draco didn’t believe for a moment that the unicorn’s aim was a coincidence.

“Well,” Draco said, “it seems you are wrong again. Unicorns are drawn not to true virginity, but to the perception of beauty or innocence.” He stared straight into Heinz’s eyes for a moment, delivering a silent warning, before he said, “Ten points from Ravenclaw for talking in class, Mr. Heinz, and detention with Filch, as this is not your first offense.”

The boy looked as if he were on the verge of stomping his foot, but Draco caught his eye and stared sternly, and he looked away again, with a sullen mutter of agreement. Draco turned back to his class and caught a few intimidated glances before they looked at the ground. Well, good. He had been too easy on them so far, especially considering that this group would take their OWLS in a few weeks. He had to prepare them.

A shadow passed overhead. Draco tilted his head back and recognized Harry on a broom with a picnic basket behind him. He gave Draco a pointed look and nodded towards the Quidditch pitch. Draco began to smile.

“Class is dismissed early,” he announced, to a chorus of cheers. “Don’t forget the two-foot essay on Jarveys due on Tuesday. Or on unicorns, in your case, Mr. Heinz,” he added, making a few more people snicker before the students dispersed, excitedly chattering about what they were going to do with their extra half-hour of free time.

Only a week ago, Draco thought as he followed Harry’s circling and swooping figure with his eyes, he wouldn’t have dared dismiss the class ahead of time, in case someone thought of him as weak. And he certainly wouldn’t have dared assign detention to Heinz or take points from Ravenclaw, because all it would take was one complaint to lose him his position here.

Or so he’d thought.

Perceptions of truth aren’t always the same as truth.

The unicorn’s horn brushed along his arm again. Draco absently stroked her neck, estimating Harry’s landing place with his eyes, and then began heading in that direction. The unicorn followed with a soft sound like muffled bells as her hooves rose and fell in the thick grass.

Well, why not? Draco thought, glancing back at her. I’m sure Harry brought enough food for three. He always has more than enough for everyone.

End.