This Long Weekend of Ours - FightFireWithFire - Harry Potter (2024)

Chapter 1: Friday: A Night at the Opera

Chapter Text

Tuesday - 5th of June 2007

Now

Harry stared up at Ron and Hermione’s front door for a long time, gathering himself. He felt as if he were stood on the precipice, preparing to leap off a cliff and hoping that there would be someone there to catch him. Finally, he took a deep breath in, and knocked on the door.

He heard the sound of feet approaching from the hallway beyond, “Coming!” Came Ron’s muffled voice.

Harry took a sharp breath in when the door opened, half expecting Ron to see his story written all over his face, but Ron only grinned at the sight of him.

“Harry! Mate! Come in, come in - how was your weekend?” Ron didn’t wait for an answer though, leading him through the cottage’s hallway towards the kitchen dining room at the back of the house, “I can tell you that mine didn’t get too much better,” he said with a chuckle, “The kids didn’t stop vomiting until about midday on Saturday, it was awful!” He flicked on the kettle and fished mugs out of the cupboard while Harry silently took a seat, his hands forming anxious fists on his lap, “Luckily neither Hermione nor I got it though. Not that you’d ever know the kids had been sick at all - you having sugar today, mate?”

Harry stumbled over his answer, “Yeah, two,”

Ron let out a low whistle, “A two sugar day? You must have had a rough weekend,” Harry chuckled weakly to himself, but Ron continued talking without waiting for any input, bustling about the kitchen, “I’ll make us some toast - I have’t actually eaten yet. Anyway - so the kids were totally fine by Sunday morning, but me and Mione’ were wrecked, and she’s got some big presentation today. So I took Hugo with me to mum’s yesterday while Rose was at nursery, and left Hermione to take care of herself and prepare without distractions. And then mum, angel that she is, said she’d take Hugo again for me today so I could sort out the house and catch up with all the house stuff and maybe fit in a nap of my own. So! I’ve got the house to myself - and admittedly a sh*t tonne of clothes washing and what not, but I don’t mind all that.

“You know,” he continued as the toast popped up out of the toaster, “I can’t believe I was dubious about this whole splitting parental leave thing, but I love it! Loads of the blokes at work complain that their kids all prefer their wives, and yeah Rosie’s a mummy’s girl, but she comes to me just as much,” he sighed happily, “Jam?”

“Please,” Harry tried to keep the nerves out of his voice.

“Anyway - so Hugo is at mum’s, Rose is at nursery, and Mione’s gonna’ pick her up on the way home, so once I’ve done all the housework (which should take me maybe three or four hours if I do it properly) I can have a massive nap! I definitely need it,” he sighed, finally turning from the counter, a rack of toast in one hand, and two mugs of tea clasped precariously in the other, “Anyway – how’s your weekend been mate? How was the show?” And he sat down opposite Harry, a warm, expectant expression on his face.

“I have no idea,” Harry answered honestly, “It was in French,”

Ron wince, “Oh - right. I didn’t know that. Was the music good at least?”

Harry nodded, and hummed, but said nothing more.

When the silence drew out between them, Ron’s brows drew up into a concerned frown.

“Are you alright mate?”

Harry nodded, sipping at his hot sweet tea, “Yeah, yeah I’m fine,” he swallowed nervously, “About this weekend, I ah… I may have done something,”

Ron’s eyes narrowed, and he said slowly, “What do you mean?”

Harry took a deep breath in, “Well…,” and the story came spilling out.

Friday - 1st of June 2007

Then

When he’d knocked on Ron and Hermione’s front door that evening, he hadn’t expected this.

“Harry?” Ron looked bleary eyed as he peered through the door, with enormous dark shadows under his eyes and what Harry was certain was vomit on his collar, “What are you doing here?” Harry was also fairly certain that Ron was still dressed in his pyjamas and judging by the way the cotton hung limply from his lanky frame, he had been for a while; Ron rubbed a tired hand across his face, “Look mate. I’m so sorry. But this just isn’t a good time. Rose and Hugo have both been up since three this morning being sick. I… to be honest I’m a little bit traumatised by the amount of vomit I’ve seen over the last thirteen hours,” his expression turned faintly haunted, and he was only jolted out of it by an escalating cacophony of despairing screams from within the house behind him, “I’ll floo you when we’re up for visitors. I’d hate for you to get anything,” he offered Harry a tired smile, and made to close the door.

“That’s fine,” Harry said very quickly, stopping him in his tracks, “but you asked me to babysit tonight, mate,” and Ron froze.

Realisation dawned.

“Oh f*ck,” Ron croaked, “Is that tonight?” More screams came from behind him, increasingly angry now.

“Yeah, mate,”

“Ron? Ron - who’s that at the door? Tell them to f*ck off! Hugo’s just vomited his entire feed on me, and I need a second pair of hands!” The unseen voice increased gradually in volume, “The way they’ve been going, Rose will be sick as well any minute now. You’d think they were coordinating it!” The door was abruptly opened further, and an unimpressed and positively harried Hermione appeared at the door. The shoulder of her of t-shirt was soaked through (in what Harry presumed was Hugo’s last feed), her jogging bottoms were similarly stained, and at some point, she had lost a sock. In her arms, Hugo wailed furiously, his tiny fists windmilling in the air and occasionally catching on her frizzy hair, but she took no notice of him. Her furious expression softened at once, “Oh- oh Harry I’m sorry for shouting, but this really isn’t a good time-,”

“I can see that - should you really swear in front of him?”

Her expression turned withering, “He’s a baby - he doesn’t speak English yet, Harry. And Rose is in her bedroom,”

Harry nodded cautiously, “Right. Anyway. I can see this is a bad time, but you guys actually asked me to be here,” he held his hands out imploringly in front of him, “So….?”

Hermione gasped, “Oh! Oh, no!” She looked suddenly as if she were about to cry, “The show’s tonight!”

Harry could understand her look of despair. They had booked the tickets for that night’s opera over twelve months earlier, when Hugo had been nothing more than a growing bean in Hermione’s stomach. They’d been on the fence about booking it in the first place, knowing that Hugo would be only six months old, but the pair of them deserved an evening to themselves. Harry had offered to babysit immediately, securing the date to his fridge and even adding it to his Auror schedule so that he wouldn’t forget. The Auror schedule had become defunct less than a month later when he’d resigned, but the post-it-note on the fridge had steered him true, and so there he was. They had even settled on the details the weekend before.

“I know love,” Ron said with a heavy sigh, “I forgot too,”

“Oh- oh but we can’t leave them like this!” Hermione positively wailed, “There’s no way we can go! This is a two-man job!” As if to illustrate her point, Hugo gave an ear-splitting cry.

“Is your mother available?” Harry offered, “I can cope with a bit of vomit, and I’m sure she can too,”

Hermione shook her head though, “It’s not a matter of availability - all Rose wants is mummy and daddy, and I could never enjoy the show knowing that they were at home being this poorly. Oh, I’m so sorry we didn’t stop you from coming over Harry,” she said suddenly, “You’ve wasted a journey,”

Harry shrugged, “It’s fine - do you guys want a hand?” He gestured to the hallway behind them, “Give you guys the opportunity to tap out?”

Ron shook his head vehemently, “No thanks mate - no offence, but we kind of need you on standby incase we both end up catching whatever this is. The worst of it’s over, but they were both being sick every thirty minutes for six hours. If we’re the same, there’s no way we can safely look after them,”

“Oh, this is just such terrible timing,” Hermione said with a sniff, “I was so looking forward to this show - oh… oh I know. Stay here Harry. Don’t go anywhere!” Hermione passed a still crying Hugo over to Ron, who accepted him without even looking in his wife’s direction. He began a well-practiced bounce and sway, and in his arms, Hugo began to gradually calm.

“Honestly mate,” Ron said, his voice hoarse, “It’s been awful. I ended up asleep on the bathroom floor with Rose at six in the morning,”

Harry winced, but Hermione returned before he could respond, “Here,” she said tearfully; in her hands were a pair of tickets that she thrust towards Harry, “You take them. Someone might as well get to enjoy the show,” she sniffed wetly, and attempted a smile, but the trembling of her lips gave her away.

Harry took them reluctantly, “Hermione… I’m not sure-,”

“Please take them,” she implored, “I couldn’t bare for them to go to waste. And you’ll have to tell me all about it - yes? I want to feel like I was there!” She tried for levity but didn’t quite manage it.

He nodded slowly, eyeing the tickets with trepidation; he’d never been inclined to see an opera before, “I… yeah. Okay Mione’ - I’ll go,”

“Okay?” She said hopefully, brightening slightly, “Thanks Harry - have a good evening,” she disappeared again, brushing away the tears that had rolled down her cheeks.

Harry hesitated, “Is she okay?”

“She’s just tired,” Ron said with a shrug, “She always gets weepy when she’s tired. And she did really want to see that show,”

Harry glanced down at the tickets in his hand, ‘The Royal Opera House’ written across the top of the ticket in shiny gold font, and ‘Carmen’ printed beneath it, “But I don’t even like opera,” he said weakly.

Ron shrugged, “Neither do I mate - the things we do for Hermione, ey?” Harry sighed and nodded; as if he would refuse the tickets when she had left crying, “Look, I need to go and get this one changed,” in his arms, Hugo fussed and grumbled but had stopped screaming at least, “Enjoy the show - yeah? I’ll see you next week,” and he disappeared as well, leaving Harry alone on the stoop of his and Hermione’s cottage.

For a moment, Harry simply looked at their brass knocker.

Well… that had been unexpected.

He considered the tickets again - he’d never been to an opera in his life! What was he meant to wear? Certainly not the jogging bottoms and cotton t-shirt he’d turned up at their door in! He’d come prepared for an evening of sharing spaghetti bolognaise with Rose and attempting to feed Hugo the blended cottage pie that Harry had made specially. He’d have to get changed - didn’t people wear tuxedos to the opera? But surely not - he knew that Ron didn’t own a tux. Maybe just a suit jacket?

He checked his watch - five. He had half an hour until the show started. f*ck! It wasn’t like Hermione to leave things this last minute. Had she really only been planning to leave the house with half an hour to spare? And five thirty seemed early for a show too. Never mind, too late now to dwell on what motherhood had done to Hermione’s opinions on punctuality. He needed to go home and change. And probably shower too.

He apparated home with a sigh, appearing in the hallway of Grimmuald place and tearing up the stairs without a second thought. He showered and changed as quickly as he could, only lingering to consider the mobile phone that Hermione had made him buy - should he take it with him? No. What was the point? He never used it anyway. He turned it off and dropped it in the drawer of his bedside table.

Twenty-five minutes later found him stood in front of the floor length mirror that had replaced the portrait of Mrs Black. He scrutinised his appearance anxiously - black trousers, a crisp white shirt, and his best bottle green suit jacket (Hermione said it brought out his eyes). That was smart enough, right? He tried desperately to flatten his still drying hair, grateful that he had shaved earlier that morning. He hesitated, looking at his glasses - they were the familiar round shape that he had always worn, but the frames were a delicate tortoise shell rather than the thin metal wires he was used to.

When he’d left the Aurors the year before, Hermione had seemed to decide he needed sprucing up. Apparently, a new wardrobe was the way forward, and that included new glasses. She hadn’t said anything, but Harry knew that she was worried he was depressed. He didn’t think he was depressed. Just… stuck. Anyway: the new glasses had come with something else new to Harry. Lenses. Should he wear them tonight? He’d promised he would try, and they were convenient, but f*ck it he liked his glasses! At this point they were a part of him.

He checked his watch, and it answered the question for him - there were only a few minutes left until the show started. There was certainly not enough time to faff around with lenses; he always ended dropping them in the sink and losing them for ten minutes anyway.

This would have to do.

He disapparated again and popped back into existence in an alley near the Royal Opera House. His belly grumbled loudly. He winced and pressed a palm to his stomach, missing the homemade spaghetti bolognaise he should have just been sitting down to share with Rose.

He marched through the crowd of London, his gaze fixed on his destination. It was only when he noticed the queue out of the main entrance where people were having their bags checked that Harry realised, he had made a mistake. He double checked his ticket.

The show didn’t start at half-five - the doors just opened. The show didn’t start till half-seven. He sighed, resigned as he joined the queue to allow an usher to check his ticket. He’d have had time to eat if he’d simply taken the time to actually read the ticket, and he contemplated leaving the queue, but he was at its front before he’d made up his mind.

“Would you like us to hold your second ticket at the box office, sir?” The usher, a spindly young man who stooped at the waist with his hands held behind his back as if he were four times his age, asked politely, “So that your guest may collect it when they arrive?”

“Uh, no - don’t worry about it,” Harry muttered awkwardly, still acclimatising himself to the sharp left turn his evening had taken, and the unexpected opulence of his surroundings. He let out a quiet breath of relief when he realised, he was fine without a tie - he’d been half prepared to transfigure one of his socks if he’d needed to.

“Of course, sir,” the usher said, the perfect picture of professionalism. Harry stepped past him and then hesitated: where should he go? “The champagne bar is to the left and up the stairs, sir,” he added helpfully.

Harry nodded gratefully, “Thanks,” he didn’t know about champagne, but he’d kill for a sandwich right now.

Harry had been to London shows before and had therefore been to several theatre bars before. They naturally varied depending on the size of the venue but could generally be relied upon to be overly busy with limited seating and extraordinarily long lines. Nothing he had experienced before could have prepared him for this bar however, and he felt increasingly out of place. He clenched his hands into a fist to avoid pulling his sleeves over his fingers like a child and hoped that no one else would notice that he didn’t belong.

The bar was… magnificent. It was an enormous hall with windows instead of walls and ceilings. Staring up through the curved ceiling, he felt as if he were in a green house or a train station perhaps. It was certainly the closest any muggle structure he had seen before had come to replicating the awe-inspiring magnificence of Hogwarts’ great hall. Though the ceiling above him wasn’t simply replicating the sky above; it was the real deal.

The bar at the hall’s centre wasn’t busy (unsurprisingly - the doors had only just opened after all), and Harry didn’t have to wait long to be served. A young woman with a ginger ponytail smiled kindly at him and approached him at once.

“What can I get for you, sir?”

“Ugh,” He glanced at the enormous selection of alcohol on the bar wall behind her; his stomach rumbled again, “Do you serve food?”

Her expression turned immediately apologetic, “We do, but unfortunately all tables must be booked ahead of time,” she gestured with an open palm to the tables in the hall behind him and the balcony walkway above them, “Do you have a reservation?” He shook his head and tried not to look too despondent - he imagined that if she’d booked a table, Hermione would have told him, “I’m sorry sir - we do have some snacks?” She gestured to the selection of crisps and sweets, which were displayed on an unnecessarily fancy stand, “But that’s the only food we serve from the bar,”

Harry opened his mouth to ask for several bags of ready-salted crisps, when a voice, familiar but unexpected, took him by surprise.

“Potter? Is that you?” Harry turned to look over his shoulder and froze.

Approaching him, a polite frown on his brow, was Draco Malfoy. He hadn’t seen the man in years, not since the trials at the end of the war when he’d been a terrified teenager stood in the dock. He’d been tried as a minor, and so had at least not been forced into irons or the dreadful Azkaban prison uniform. That had been nearing a decade ago now, and to say that the man had changed was an understatement.

He’d always stood a few inches taller than Harry, and though the gap between them hadn’t widened, he suddenly seemed exceptionally tall and regal in his baby pink, velvet suit jacket, his smart black trousers and his crisp white shirt and matching white bow tie. His hair, though cut short at the sides and around the back, was longer and coifed back stylishly at the top. Did he… did he find Malfoy attractive?

Oh. Oh, Merlin no.

Tuesday - 5th of June 2007

Now

“Oh, Merlin no,” Ron said, his mouth agape, shaking his head, a slice of toast hanging forgotten between his fingers, “You can’t have the hots for Draco Malfoy of all people, Harry,” his words dripped with disdain, “He’s a goddamn Death Eater, for Merlin’s sake! And an arrogant piece of sh*t to boot!”

Harry rolled his eyes, and clenched his jaw, “ Acquitted,” he reminded him, “He was a kid, Ron. And you know that - we both testified at his hearing,” he reminded him with an accusatory finger pointed in his direction.

Ron grimaced, “Yeah, but still - he’s a right prick. Mione’ has to work with him sometimes, and she says he’s always aloof and arrogant. You can’t be attracted to that man. I simply won’t allow it! Merlin, what were the chances that he’d be there, of all people!”

Harry sighed through his nose, and said flatly, “Do you want me to carry on with the story?”

Ron grumbled, but nodded, and gestured for him to continue.

Friday - 1st of June 2007

Then

Harry cleared his voice to cover his moment of shocked silence.

“Ah, Malfoy,” he held out a hand, hoping, when it was already too late to wipe them on his trousers, that his palms weren’t sweaty, “It’s good to see you. You’re looking well,” you are looking mighty fine.

Malfoy’s lips quirked into a small smile, polite and amicable, and he took Harry’s hand in a brief but firm handshake “As are you,” he gestured to the young woman who was waiting patiently still behind the bar, “Can I get you a drink? I certainly owe you one or two,” his tone was self-deprecating as he stepped up to the bar, but not distractingly so. It spoke of a man who wanted to recognise their contentious history whilst also not drawing them both back into it.

Harry chuckled dryly, and tried to match his casual energy, though he knew there was no way he could be as suave about it as Malfoy had been, “Only if you can stretch to a packet of crisps as well - I’m starving!”

“Oh?” The sound was short, quizzical, and pleasant, and that one small querying noise was the antithesis of everything Harry had ever known Malfoy to be, with not a sneer in sight.

“I’m not actually meant to be here,” Harry admitted, resisting the urge to pull at his collar to get himself some air, “I’m meant to be eating spaghetti bolognaise with a three-year-old right now, but she’s sick, so I’m here instead,”

Malfoy hesitated for a split second, but Harry only noticed because he had been so smooth up until that point, “Well, I actually have a table booked for dinner before the show. It’s only for one, but I can’t imagine it will be an issue to add an extra chair,” he turned enquiring raised eyebrows in the direction of the bartender.

“Of course not, sir,” she said immediately, looking anxiously to her left where a queue was slowly beginning to form, “I’m sure the hostess will be glad to accommodate you,”

“There you go. You’re welcome to join me,”

“I… I wouldn’t want to impose,” Harry said carefully. His stomach rumbled loudly as if to prove a point.

Malfoy smirked glancing down to his middle, and for a moment it was like being back at school, “Don’t be ridiculous Potter. I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t mean it. Come on,” he beckoned once with a quick curl of his fingers, and then turned and headed in the direction of the hostess’s stand.

Harry followed after he had finally managed to unglue his feet.

While he was silent, his mind was not.

What the f*ck. What the actual f*ck! This was not how he saw his evening going - not at all. Panic swirled in his gut. Without meaning to, he’d just committed himself to sharing a meal with Malfoy and potentially two hours of painful small talk before the show started. It had been years! He barely knew the man now - he might as well have been a stranger, and he couldn’t decide if that was better or worse. A meal with a stranger or a meal with an enemy. At least he’d have known how to behave around ‘Malfoy the Enemy’. But ‘Malfoy the Stranger’? He had no idea.

Harry barely listened as Malfoy spoke with the hostess, indicating towards Harry politely. Harry followed mindlessly as they were led to Malfoy’s table (which was positioned along a glass wall and overlooked the street below). He leant back in his seat to allow their server to set his place to match Malfoy’s opposite.

“Can I get you gentlemen something to drink while you look at the menu?”

Malfoy turned to Harry, clearly expecting him to order first, “Uh, just a beer - whatever you have on draft, please,”

“We have Carlsberg, Peroni, Guinness and Corona on draft, sir,”

Oh Merlin, choices - he hated choices, “Peroni will be fine, thank you,”

“And for you sir?” The server turned to Malfoy.

“The same will be fine, thank you,” Harry held in his surprise; Malfoy didn’t strike him as the sort of man to drink beer, “I have to admit, Potter, but I wouldn’t have expected you to like the opera,” Malfoy said when they were alone, opening his menu and perusing it with interest.

Harry swallowed, trying not to stare at his long fingers or the small fraction of his pale inner wrist that had been exposed as he’d lifted his arms onto the table. Oh f*ck, this was bad. He opened his own menu but could hardly make himself focus to read it.

“I don’t. Or rather, I don’t know if I do or not,” he clarified. He swallowed at the sight of the prices on the menu; he shouldn’t have been surprised he supposed. Oh well. It was only once and he could certainly afford it, “I’ve never been to the opera before. I’m really not meant to be here. I’m meant to be babysitting Rose and Hugo (Ron and Hermione’s children) but they’ve both got some kind of stomach bug. They forgot completely about this evening and didn’t tell me not to come over. And then Hermione wouldn’t let me leave without making me take their tickets,” he shrugged weakly, “I think this is more Hermione’s thing than Ron’s though, but he basically lets her have whatever she wants. And now she’s told me to tell her how it is, and so here I am,” he hesitated as something occurred to him, “I don’t know if this is a stupid question, but is this even in English?”

Malfoy hummed the negative, his grey eyes still taking in the menu in front of him, “I’m afraid not: it’s in French,” Harry’s stomach sank; he wouldn’t even know what was happening. Maybe he would be able to just enjoy it for what it was? For the music and the experience, “There are, and have been, English productions, but this isn’t one of them. How do you feel about starters?”

Harry blinked, thrown by the non-sequitur, “Pardon?”

“Starters - I quite like the sound of the canapés but I certainly don’t need to eat six. Would you like to share?” He looked up from his menu and waited for Harry to answer.

“Oh, uh,” Harry looked down to the menu in his hands, and though his eyes trailed along the words written on it, he didn’t actually take in any of it, “Yeah that would be fine,”

Malfoy nodded once and turned to the mains on the menu’s other side, “I do prefer the French version of Carmen, though, I must admit,” he continued.

Harry tried desperately to read the menu, but found he couldn’t quite get his eyes to move past the sea bass, “Yeah? How come?”

“Because I speak it,” he answered, dry but not mocking, and Harry’s stomach swooped. Of course, he spoke French. Stupid sexy Malfoy, “Though it’s more than just that - some of the original meaning is lost in any translation. In order to keep with the original rhythm and cadence, translations always have to play quite fast and loose with the language. And of course, some things like idioms simply don’t translate at all,” he folded his menu closed, clearly done with choosing, and Harry felt compelled to follow his lead. It looked like he was having sea bass, “Not that I disapprove of translating operas. In fact, I think they’re incredibly important for helping people engage with the arts,”

They were interrupted by the server returning, a tray carrying two beers balanced on his palm. They were placed precisely in front of them, “Have you decided what you’d like to eat gentlemen?”

Malfoy ordered the canapés for them both, and then his main (Harry didn’t hear what he said, his eyes too busy taking Malfoy in while he knew he wouldn’t be caught) and then turned expectantly to Harry.

“The sea bass, please,”

The server gathered their menus, and they were left alone again.

“You sound like you know a lot about opera,” Harry said, sweeping his thumb through the condensation on his glass.

Malfoy shrugged, lifting his own glass to his lips and sipping at its contents, the ends of his fingers gripping the glass carefully. The signet ring on his little finger glinted in the light. He lowered his glass and licked the foam from his top lip. Harry tried and failed not to stare.

“I enjoy music - I always have. Operas, musicals, concerts (classical or otherwise) - all of it. I’ve even enjoyed the occasional pantomime in my time,” he added with a quirk of his lips as he sat back in his seat, “As an adult though, of course. My parents would never have taken me to see one. I think my father might have shrivelled up and died at the thought of it,” he shook his head a little, his expression turning a strange blend of pained fondness for the briefest moment, “I take it that you don’t enjoy things like that, though?”

Harry shrugged, taking a swig of his own drink to think of something to say, “I like music just fine, and I’ve been to a few shows in London, but not many. I guess I was just never exposed to these kinds of things as a child so it’s all a bit new to me. And my relatives would certainly never have taken me to a pantomime,”

“Not something they enjoyed?” They paused their conversation as their starter arrived and was laid between them, “I thought pantomimes were a quintessential British muggle past time? Are there any of these you’d prefer?” He added, gesturing to the selection between them.

Harry wrinkled his nose, “Not the salmon,” Malfoy nodded, and took it without complaint; Harry mirrored him, picking his choice randomly now that the salmon was gone “And I imagine my aunt and uncle’s reaction to a pantomime would be similar to your father’s, though not perhaps for the same reason. My Uncle Vernon once went on a twenty-minute rant about how pantomime dames were ‘just a way for the liberal queers to try and indoctrinate the children’,”

Malfoy’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, “He sounds charming,”

“He was awful,” Harry agreed, “My aunt wasn’t much better. They took my cousin to other shows, but they never took me. They always left me with our neighbour, Mrs Figg,”

“Why didn’t they take you?” He picked another canapé and Harry copied him, finally managing to disengage autopilot as he acclimatised to the strange turn his evening had taken.

Harry shrugged, and tried to keep his tone light, but it was difficult with the subject matter, “Why do abusers do anything they do to their victims?” To his credit, Malfoy didn’t freeze for long, “I’m not sure there’s anyway to rationalise bullying a child but I’m sure my relatives would have tried,”

Malfoy chewed slowly, clearly mulling over his words before he swallowed and spoke, “I’m sorry,” he said carefully, “I didn’t know your childhood was like that,”

“It’s fine - s’nothing you did,” Harry chose a final canapé, “Sorry to bring down the mood. Compared to the rest of the things that happened when we were kids, my relatives are barely worth mentioning, and yet they’re probably the thing that seems to linger most. Funny isn’t it,”

“Not really,” Malfoy said carefully.

Harry smiled softly, “No, not really,”

They drank, and they ate, and their starters were replaced with their mains. Malfoy had ordered the lamb apparently.

“I have to admit,” Harry started, scraping the skin off his sea bass and squeezing his wedge of lemon over it, “this is not how I saw my evening going,”

Malfoy chuckled, low and throaty, “Nor I, though I imagine that my evening has gone less awry than yours,”

“Why did you invite me to dinner?” Harry asked curiously, his fork halfway to his mouth, “Not that I’m complaining - this is delicious,”

“You looked so sad and pathetic with your grumbling stomach, begging for a packet of crisps; how could I not?” He joked with a smirk. He turned more somber, “Though I suppose I was… curious. About you,” he paused, and Harry could practically hear him debating with himself over whether or not to say more, “I don’t know how we’ve managed to avoid one another, but I haven’t seen you since the trials, and I was wondering if our old animosity still had life left in it,”

Harry grinned slowly, “Did you want to see if I’d tell you to f*ck off?”

A surprised bark of laughter escaped Malfoy, and he shook his head as he cut the last of his lamb from the bone, “Something like that. I see Weasley occasionally, and he’s always curt but polite,”

“Weasley-Granger,” Harry corrected, eyeing his rosemary potatoes and doing the maths as to whether or not he’d be able to finish them.

“Weasley-Granger,” Malfoy agreed with a nod, “I guess I wondered what you were like now. And I really do owe you a drink,” he added seriously, “at the very least,”

Harry smiled tightly at him but redirected the conversation. He was not particular eager to rehash old war wounds when he’d just been admiring the cut of Malfoy’s jacket and the way it accentuated the broadness of his chest.

“How come you’re here on your own, by the way? Do you normally attend operas alone?”

“Ah,” Malfoy said around the broccoli in his mouth; he chewed and swallowed and said, “As it happens, I’m not actually meant to be here either. Astoria gave me her ticket - she loves attending events and shows on her own. She says it freeing,”

“Even muggle events?”

“Especially muggle events,” Malfoy stressed, setting his utensils down and picking up his pint, “She enjoys observing them - getting to understand them without risking embarrassing herself by saying the wrong thing. Neither of us are exactly close with anyone who’s familiar with muggles, so observation has been how we’ve gained most of our understanding of them. You should have seen us trying to use card to pay for the first time,” he said with a self-deprecating chuckle, “Astoria half shouted her PIN number across the restaurant and the poor server looked like he thought she’d escaped from an insane asylum!” He smiled fondly at the memory.

“Why the interest in muggles?”

“It seemed like a good way to unlearn all of the pureblood rubbish we were taught as kids,” he said frankly with a shrug, crossing his arms across his chest with his drink in hand, “It’s hard to hate people when you can’t dehumanise them. Plus, it’s a whole side of the world that we were missing out on - who wants to miss what’s right on their doorstep?”

“That’s true - I don’t really venture out into the muggle world a lot to be honest,”

“Why not?”

Harry opened his mouth to answer but hesitated. He swallowed, “I suppose I don’t really venture out into the world a lot in general,” he admitted. Malfoy’s eyes narrowed on him, and Harry rushed to hurry along the conversation, reluctant to appear weak in front of this new suave, attractive version of Malfoy, “Anyway - how come she couldn’t make it tonight?”

“There was an emergency at work,”

“Oh? I hope she’s alright?”

Malfoy hummed dismissively, “Oh, she’s fine. Apparently, there’s some scandal that’s needs stamping out between our head of the Department for International Magical Cooperation, and his counterpart in the French Ministry,” he smirked, “Astoria works in PR. She’s something of a fixer. She’s very good at her job, but I’m not sure even she’ll be able to save either minister’s marriage,” he gave a hearty chuckle and drained the rest of his drink.

Harry nodded slowly, “Just to clarify - we’re talking about Astoria, as in your ex-wife Astoria?”

Malfoy’s demeanour changed almost instantly. He stiffened, losing the previously relaxed line of his shoulders, and becoming immediately irritated. He pursed his lips and his expression tensed. His voice maintained its previous light politeness though.

“The one and only,” he cleared his throat, and shuffled in his seat, “Well. It’s been lovely chatting Potter, but I wanted to grab a programme before they sell out,” Harry blinked in surprise when he pushed his chair back and rose to his feet, readjusting his jacket, “Enjoy the show. It was nice catching up,” and he was gone, sauntering out of the hall, pausing only to speak to the nearest server to offer them his bank card.

Tuesday - 5th of June 2007

Now

“See,” Ron grumbled, “Still a prick,”

Harry rolled his eyes, finishing his slice of toast, “Really? That’s what you took from that interaction?”

“He stormed out on you!” Ron exclaimed, “After making up some bullsh*t excuse about a programme! Just for asking an innocent question! And yes, while it seems like he was otherwise not… awful,” he said reluctantly, “being ‘not awful’ is literally the least I expect from a person. I can’t believe you find that pointy faced ferret attractive,” he shuddered, “I mean - I know you have a thing for tall, broad men, but surely the fact that it’s Malfoy is enough to kibosh that in this instance?” he implored.

Harry sighed, a dreamy smile fighting its way onto his face, “You didn’t see the jacket he was wearing. Or his hair - Merlin his hair. It was all,” he tried to somehow demonstrate its sweeping shape with his hands, “It’s obvious that he looks after himself, is what I’m trying to say,”

Ron shook his head though, “You and men, I swear. You’re unbelievable! Anyway - at least you got rid of him,”

Harry hesitated, “Yeah, well…,” and he continued.

Friday - 1st of June 2007

Then

Harry felt… stupid. He glanced around, wandering if anyone had noticed that he’d just been summarily abandoned by his date. Well, no, not his date, but he imagined they looked like one. (He secretly hoped they looked like one at least, just because the idea that someone would think Malfoy might date someone who looked like Harry was an excellent boost to his ego.) He wished he’d kept his mouth shut. Astoria was clearly a sore subject for one reason or another. They’d been having such a pleasant conversation up until that point as well.

He sighed. Oh well. Nothing to be done about it. He drained what remained of his beer and flagged down the same server that Malfoy had.

“Excuse me? Could I pay the bill please?”

The server smiled pleasantly and waved him away, “Oh no,” she pointed to where Malfoy had just disappeared in his baby pink velvet jacket, “Your friend has just paid it. Can I get anything else for you, sir?”

“What? All of it?”

She nodded, “Yes, all of it. Can I help you with anything else?”

Harry stumbled over his words, “U-uh… I guess not, I suppose,” she left with another pleasantry, and Harry found himself even more confused by Malfoy’s exit.

He left in a huff but paid the entire bill? What?

Stupid sexy Malfoy.

Harry checked his watch and finding that there were thirty minutes left until the show began, he headed towards the nearest exit and then the nearest toilets.

As he emerged into the auditorium through the door described on his ticket, Harry realised immediately that Ron and Hermione had splurged and bought themselves the most expensive tickets available. No wonder Hermione was so insistent that he took them.

He smiled apologetically at the people who had stood so that he could shuffle past them towards the two vacant seats in the middle of the row.

No - not two. Three.

At least he wasn’t the last in the row to sit down.

He chose the vacant centre seat and turned his attention towards the stage. He could see directly into the orchestra pit where the musicians were tuning their instruments and practicing scales. The effect was to add a pleasant melodic hum beneath the buzz of voices in the theatre.

Behind the pit, the stage was difficult to see with the poor lighting, and what Harry thought might have been a curtain, but he could barely see it. It appeared mostly barren - just an empty swathe of floor. Would there not be a set of some kind? He really had no idea what to expect from an opera. Maybe everyone would just come out on stage and belt away at the audience?

He was peering forwards, leaning out of his seat, when he noticed that the row to his right had begun to clamber to their feet to allow through whoever would be sitting next to him. He glanced up, only to have to double take. He was being approached by a familiar platinum blonde in a familiar pink suit jacket.

Tuesday - 5th of June 2007

Now

“No,” Ron said in a groan, resting his forehead against his wooden kitchen table, “No no no no, please, Merlin no!”

“Yes,” Harry corrected him delicately.

Ron raised his arms to the ceiling in a plea, “What are the chances?! What did we do to deserve this?!”

Harry chuckled weakly, and continued his story.

Chapter 2: Friday - The Bar

Chapter Text

Friday – 1^st of June 2007

Then

Malfoy spotted him first, but had wiped the resigned expression off his face just a second too late. Harry swallowed down his own discomfort.

For f*cks sake.

He would never have agreed to dinner with the man if he’d known it would leave him feeling like this - a swirling mix of embarrassed inadequacy. It wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling, but one he tried desperately to avoid. He really did need to try and sort out his self-esteem issues.

Still. He refused to show Malfoy any of this.

He offered him a weak smile, “What are the chances?”

Malfoy’s responding smile was significantly tighter as he undid his jacket with a simple flick of his fingers, “Indeed,” and he took his seat.

Harry folded his hands in his lap in an attempt to shrink further into his chair. f*ck. He should have picked the other seat. He chose not to comment on the fact that there was no programme in sight. He wasn’t surprised. It had been a thin lie.

This was ridiculous, he tried to scold himself. What did he care about Malfoy’s opinion anyway? He didn’t know the man, and up until two hours ago, he’d been nothing more than a memory of a life he’d left well behind.

Still though. This was going to be a long f*cking show. He glanced at his watch - there was still twenty minutes until it started, and then there was the interval to consider.

f*ck it.

“Look - I’m sorry if I put my foot in it earlier,” Malfoy froze beside him, “Asking about Astoria and calling her your ex-wife. I didn’t mean to cause any offence, and I’m sorry if I did. Your relationship is literally none of my business,”

Malfoy looked taken aback, and faintly embarrassed. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and pushed his fingers through his hair.

“I… there’s nothing to be sorry for,” he said finally, “I should be the one apologising. I was discourteous when you did nothing wrong. I… may have overreacted,” he admitted sheepishly, “I know that it was just a passing comment to make conversation, but it seems to be the only thing that people want to talk to me about recently, and it’s getting very old very quickly,” he said, frustration in his voice, “I’m sorry, Potter,”

Harry shrugged, the heaviness in his chest lifting, and he made a snap decision. He offered his hand, “Harry,”

Surprise flashed across Malfoy’s face, and he took the offered hand slowly, “Draco,”

“How do you feel about ‘Drake’?” Harry joked immediately.

Draco rolled his eyes and groaned, “Uh, no thank you. Pansy used to call me that at school, and I hated it,”

Harry chuckled, and they settled into a silence that was significantly more comfortable. Still, a question niggled at the back of his mind.

He hesitated, but forged ahead nonetheless, never one to learn when to keep his mouth shut, “I don’t want to press the issue - but I was under the impression that you and Astoria divorced a few years ago. Why on Earth are people harassing you about it now?”

“Yes,” Draco said with a sigh, “but she’s remarrying and now suddenly everyone wants to know whether or not I’m busy crying myself to sleep over it. I’m not, by the way,” he clarified immediately, “I am perfectly fine,”

Harry nodded slowly, and said sagely, “Ah yes. I could never possibly understand what it’s like to have a breakup brought up again, and again, and again! Even several years later, in fact,”

Draco let out an amused huff, “Yes, I suppose you would understand more than most. How is Ginevra?” He added lightly, a smile in his voice.

“Oh, she’s great! She’s just about to be announced as the new captain of the Harpies actually - but you didn’t hear that from me. The Prophet should be printing it any time soon anyway,”

Draco opened his mouth to answer, but a sudden cheering caught both of their attention.

Harry looked down to the pit and found a man, who he presumed was the conductor, working his way around the front of the auditorium and towards the musicians. He waved up at the audience as he took his position, before reaching towards the orchestra and shaking their hands.

“It’s starting,” Draco whispered in his ear as the conductor raised his hands, and the audience fell silent.

His arms floated higher, and the orchestra began in a great swell of music that had the hairs on the back of Harry’s neck standing on end. He listened in rapt attention, as silent and as focussed as the rest of the audience as the conductor’s arms danced through the air, playing the orchestra like an instrument of his own.

Harry had been so distracted watching him, that he almost didn’t notice when the stage began to reveal itself. While he hadn’t been looking, the curtain had been lifted, and soft lighting illuminated the stage beyond. It was far larger and more impressive than Harry had initially imagined, with a backdrop of burnt oranges and reds, and what looked like a real tree towards the back, and some kind of aqua duct on the opposite side.

The cast appeared on stage, stepping through the back drop. Harry shouldn’t have complained, but he wished he had seats that were nearer the front. He’d have loved to have seen their costumes up close - from a distance, they were fantastic, as if the performers had just stepped directly out of the past.

And then they started to sing.

Harry hadn’t a clue what was going on, but he wasn’t sure he would have been able to understand even if it had been sung in English. Their operatic voices were so foreign to his ears, that he didn’t manage to pick out a single individual word from the rise and fall of the melody and the blending and harmonising. Still, he was more than able to enjoy the talent and the performance for what it was. He didn’t need to know what was happening - he could ask Hermione what it was about another day.

And then he felt a subtle notice-me-not charm settle over him, and Draco leant closer, and began to whisper in his ear.

“The woman with the braid - her name is Micaëla,” he murmured, his breath puffing against Harry’s cheek, “She’s looking for a guard called Don José. The other guards are telling her he’s on the next watch and will be relieving them, but they’re trying to get her to stay with them instead,”

Harry nodded, to show that he had heard, and watched the performance with new understanding.

And so, Draco continued, whispering in Harry’s ear with brief cliff notes to keep him engaged with the story, “That’s Don José,” and, “That’s Carmen,” and, “Michaëla has brought a letter from his mother telling him that she wants him to come back home and marry Michaëla,”

When, later, Carmen was dragged on stage in chains and began dancing and singing around Don José, Draco murmured, “She’s trying to seduce him into releasing her,”

Harry snorted and said through a grin,“Yeah, I got that bit, don’t worry,” and Draco had chuckled lowly, making Harry’s stomach swoop.

It became increasingly difficult to take in what Draco was actually saying. The whisper of his voice in his ear, and the press of their shoulders together were all that Harry could think about. It was a struggle not to turn to look at the man, to watch his lips as they worked around his words, or the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallowed.

He actually did turn to stare at him when a man arrived on the stage riding an actual real life f*cking horse. Draco grinned at him, “That’s Escamillio. He’s a bullfighter and-,”

“He wants Carmen as well,” Harry finished.

“Now you’re getting it,” Draco joked quietly.

At the end of the first half, Harry stood and clapped with the rest of the audience. While he still wasn’t quite sure about the style of singing, he couldn’t deny the display of artistry that he’d just seen, or that he had enjoyed it. Though that may have had something more to do with the man sat next to him.

“Can I get you another drink?” Draco asked, buttoning up his jacket again.

“Oh, it’s defiantly my round,”

Harry made to step past him, but Draco stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, “No - let me,”

“But… you paid for dinner,” Harry said weakly.

“I paid for dinner because I owe you that at the very least. I’m getting your drink now, because I was an ass,” Draco paused, “and because I want to,” Harry swallowed, and grey eyes landed on his, “Let me buy you a drink?” Draco insisted.

Harry’s answer was stuttered and breathy, “Y-yeah… yeah, okay,”

Draco smile was slow and languid, “Champagne, okay?” Harry nodded, struggling to find his words, “Excellent. I’ll be right back,”

Harry sat back down slowly, he’s eyes fixed on the expanse of Draco’s back as he disappeared down the aisle.

What the f*ck was happening? Was… was he being flirted with? By Draco Malfoy? By Draco Malfoy?! He was pretty sure he was. Was he flirting back? He wasn’t quite sure. Should he start? The butterflies that fluttered in his stomach told him loud and clear what he wanted to do, but he couldn’t decide if that was actually a good idea. Where did it end, after all? This was still Draco Malfoy. And flirting… men… both were things he hadn’t done in a long time. Did he really want to leap back into that world with Draco Malfoy of all people?

Harry wasn’t living stuck in the past though, convinced that Draco was the villain and should be punished for all eternity for crimes he’d been coerced into committing as a child. But they did still have a past. And how did he explain this to Ron and Hermione? There was no way he could hide it from them (especially from Ron - they told each other basically everything).

f*ck it. He was getting ahead of himself. What was wrong with a little flirtation? It wasn’t hurting anyone, and Draco was actually surprisingly pleasant (in more ways than one). Yeah… yeah, he’d just… just go with the flow. That’s what he’d do. Anyway, he’d probably do something monumentally embarrassing before the end of the evening, and Draco would realise he’d wasted his time, and they’d go their separate ways. Yeah, that was what would probably happen.

Tuesday – 5^th of June 2007

Now

“Where did I go wrong?” Ron bemoaned, flicking on the kettle to make them both another cup of tea, “I know you had your slu*tty phase-,”

“Hey!” Harry barked, but Ron ignored him.

“-but I thought you’d grown out of it. Or grown enough that you knew better than to flirt with Draco f*cking Malfoy! I honestly can’t believe what I’m hearing - he’s a Death Eater!”

“He was a gentleman!” Harry defended the man in his absence, “He was polite, and charming, and he bought me dinner and drinks,”

“So! Say thank you and move on! Don’t flirt with the man! I really hope this story doesn’t end with you taking him home, Harry,” Ron said darkly, throwing teabags into their mugs.

Harry swallowed heavily.

Ron groaned, “It does, doesn’t it? For f*cks sake Harry!”

“I can leave, if you want me to,” Harry said quietly, a sick feeling swirling in his gut.

Ron’s eyes snapped to his, “What? No, I don’t want you to leave, what are you talking about?”

“Then can you sort out your f*cking tone,” Harry said flatly, “Because you’re already making me feel terrible about myself - calling me a slu*t, calling him a Death Eater when we both went to court to prove that he wasn’t - and this story is nowhere near done. I’d appreciate some support please,”

Ron looked immediately ashamed, “I… I’m sorry, Harry,” he said quietly, pushing another cup of tea towards him and sitting back down at the table, “You’re right. I’m not being a good friend. I shouldn’t have called you a slu*t - there’s nothing wrong with sleeping with whoever you want to. You know Hermione and I both believe that. I’m sorry. And,” he sighed, “I’ll stop calling Malfoy a Death Eater,”

Harry nodded, “Thank you - apology accepted,”

Ron relaxed back in his seat with a barely concealed grimace, “Go on then - let’s hear the rest of it. He was getting you champagne,”

Harry nodded, and started to speak again.

Friday – 1^st of June 2007

Then

“Here you go,” Harry hadn’t even noticed Draco’s return; he looked up to find a champagne flute being held out for him to take, “And I got us something else as well,” Draco settled into his seat and pulled from his pocket a bag of wine gums, “Though I’m not sure how well they go with champagne,”

Harry groaned in appreciation, pinning his drink between his knees and taking the offered sweets, “What should champagne be paired with then?” He offered the open bag back.

“Jellybeans,” Draco fished out a sweet and popped it into his mouth, and spoke around the confectionary, “Obviously,”

“Not caviar?”

Draco pulled a face, “Urgh, definitely not. I’ve never enjoyed caviar. At this point I’m half convinced that every person who’s eaten caviar has only ever pretended to enjoy it,”

Harry shrugged and selected his own sweet, “I wouldn’t know - I’ve never had it,”

“You’re not missing out,” Draco assured him, “Trust me. It’s not worth the money or the persistent fishy aftertaste. If you’re after high quality fish, you’d be much better served going to a sushi restaurant. There are plenty of them in London,”

“Never been to one of those either,” Harry said with a chuckle, raising his champagne flute to his lips.

“Well… I suppose I’ll have to change that,” and Harry nearly choked, but Draco had the good manners not to mention it, “How are you enjoying the show?” Though he did have a self-satisfied smirk playing around his mouth.

“The performance is amazing!” Harry said enthusiastically, desperate to distract from his near choking episode, “But I don’t like a single character,” he admitted with a laugh, “I don’t think any of them are very nice, except maybe Michäela,” he struggled to replicate the pronunciation that Draco had whispered in his ear, “but that’s because she’s barely there. And I think Carmen is being set up as the villain (I can’t quite tell with the language barrier), but I actually feel quite sorry for her,”

Draco nodded, “Yes, as do I,” but the lights dimmed before they could say much more.

Draco continued to whisper explanations in his ear, and Harry listened, but he couldn’t quite pay attention. Instead, his focus was redirected to Draco’s shoulder, which was pressed up against his own, and where the outer edge of his leg brushed against Harry’s knee. Harry kept his eyes fixed on the stage, but it was a deliberate effort. He’d much rather have turned to look at Draco and the angle of his jaw and the slope of his slim nose.

Harry wasn’t surprised when Carmen died in the end. He was sure he had missed some nuance of her character, but he didn’t see how she had quite deserved that fate.

Still, he stood and joined in the uproarious applause with the rest of the audience, stood shoulder to shoulder with Draco and trying not to think about how close they were. Out of the corner of his eye, he was half convinced that Draco was watching him rather than the company as they gave their final bows, but he wasn’t prepared to look and find out.

The auditorium began to empty, and Harry followed behind Draco as he filed out of the row and out of the theatre itself. Draco’s fingers caught briefly on his wrist to prevent a muggle from elbowing between them, so that when they left the Royal Opera House, they emerged onto the street together.

The entire walk out, Harry’s heart had been sinking in his chest. He wasn’t ready for the evening to end. He half couldn’t believe it was true, but he’d been enjoying himself with Draco, and joy had been something he’d found difficult to come by recently. He didn’t want to give it up now.

“Feel free to say no of course,” Draco said, his hands in his trouser pockets and his posture deliberately relaxed, “but did you want to go and grab a drink? There’s a bar not far from here that I’m quite fond of, if you’d like to join me?”

Butterflies fluttered in Harry’s chest. He tried to ignore them though; there was no point getting his hopes up for what could very easily just be an evening of old acquaintances catching up.

“Yeah! That sounds like a good idea to me,” he also tried not to respond too enthusiastically, but he failed spectacularly.

Draco smiled, and beckoned to him to follow, “It’s this way,”

Tuesday – 5^th of June 2007

Now

Ron sighed, his arms crossed over his chest, a weary smile on his face, “Stupid sexy Malfoy, eh?”

Harry nodded sheepishly, “Stupid sexy Malfoy,” he agreed.

Ron stood and stretched, “Do you fancy a biscuit?” Harry hummed the affirmative, and Ron pulled out the biscuit tin from his cupboard, “I have a feeling I’m going to need carbs for this. Go on then - what did you do at the bar?”

Friday – 1^st of June 2007

Then

Harry glanced at his watch as they walked; it was nearly half ten. He’d normally be getting ready for bed around about now, if only because he had nothing else to do most of the time other than sleep. It didn’t matter if he stayed out late. It wasn’t like he had work tomorrow or anyone waiting for him. The thought had him suddenly sad, but he brushed the melancholy feeling away.

The walk was a short one, and before long Draco was holding a heavy door open for him and ushering him inside. Harry expected Draco to lead them on a winding path through the bar in search of an empty table, but instead they joined a short queue to wait to be seated. He peered about the dimly let venue curiously, and though it was less opulent than the opera house they had just left, it looked just as expensive.

He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised. He might not have been the same arrogant prick he had been at school, but Draco still screamed of old money.

Spotting the sign for the toilets (and even that was fancy) Harry leant up so that Draco could hear him without shouting, “I’m just going to use the loo,”

Harry wound his way through the tables and booths, his eyes flicking around curiously to take in the bar he found himself in. He could see why Draco liked it. Though almost every table was full, and there was a low level of music playing, Harry never felt overwhelmed with it all. He usually felt heavy and almost oppressed at bars and pubs, especially muggle ones in London, which seemed to be constantly swamped by people no matter the time of day. Here though, even with all the people and the dimmed lights, he felt as if he had room to breathe.

He was unsurprised by how grand the bathroom was. It wouldn’t have looked out of place in the lobby of a five-star hotel.

After using the facilities and washing and drying his hands (with the ridiculously expensive hand towels that were stacked in neat piles in a wicker tray), Harry took a moment to gather himself. He leant against the sink basin and considered his reflection.

What was he doing? He didn’t belong there. He didn’t belong there with Draco, to be specific. Draco was many degrees out of Harry’s league, both in looks, wealth, and sophistication. Draco clearly had his life together, and Harry defiantly didn’t.

He glanced up at the sudden appearance of a pink suit, but realised immediately that it wasn’t Draco. A handsome black man with gold eyeliner and a jacket nearly the same colour as Draco’s paused briefly when their eyes met, before offering Harry a small smile and disappearing into a stall.

Harry swallowed. He was being ridiculous. They were just there for a drink and then wherever the evening took them. He was increasingly sure that the night was going to end in sex, but he’d had casual sex before. He hadn’t been in a bathroom having half a breakdown before he’d let Douglas McBride take him home. He needed to snap out of it.

He found Draco at the front of the queue when he returned, leaning casually against the podium. He smiled, languid and lazy, the moment he spotted Harry.

“I thought you’d gotten lost,” he said as Harry stepped into his side.

“No, just trying out the moisturiser in the bathroom. This place is fancy,” Harry said, “not the sort of place I’m used to,”

“Do you spend more time at the Leaky Cauldron then?”

Harry hesitated, “I don’t really spend my time anywhere,” Draco frowned, quizzical, but they were interrupted by their hostess arriving to lead them through the bar before he could say anything, “I have to admit, this isn’t where I expected to find you either,” he admitted, accepting the menu Draco offered him and settling back into the lush, dark blue velvet seat, “Out in the muggle world with a favourite muggle bar,”

“I didn’t say it was my favourite,” Draco reminded him, “And spending time in the muggle world seemed like the perfect way to try and throw off the bigotry my parents have taught me. I wanted to see the world through my own eyes rather than theirs, and that included muggles,”

“Ah, and how have you found it?”

“Illuminating,” Draco chuckled, “My father always acted as if they were somehow lesser than us - like they were stupid. But I think that, in many ways, muggles far outstrip wizards. They’ve overcome so many challenges in life and all of it without magic. If anything, what is their technology if not their own kind of magic? It’s amazing! Yes, muggles lack the power to cast even a simple cheering charm, but they’ve travelled to the moon!”

“And what do your parents think of your newfound appreciation for muggles?” Harry asked curiously, once again not even attempting to read the drinks menu in front of him.

Draco’s lips twisted shrewdly, and he shrugged, “I don’t really care what they think to be honest. My father likely hates it, but he ran away to France the moment he was released from Azkaban, and I haven’t spoken to him since. My mother is still in the country, living in the manor. She doesn’t particularly approve either, but she’s opening her own eyes in other ways so I’m not pushing her. She’s finally started speaking to her other sister again. They’ve been alienated from one another ever since Andromeda married a muggle-born a few decades ago,”

Harry nodded and hummed, giving up on the menu and setting it down to lean across the table towards Draco, “Yeah, I know. Andromeda’s grandson, Teddy, is my godson. She mentioned that they were speaking again, but she seemed quite nervous about it, so I didn’t press her for information. I don’t know if she thought I maybe wouldn’t approve,”

“Hmm, I’ve met Teddy a few times now. He’s a sweet boy. It’s a shame really - all the family we could have had if it weren’t for all this rubbish about blood,” he smiled sadly, and set his own menu down, “Teddy must be nearly ready to start Hogwarts?”

“He’s got a couple of years left, thank Merlin,” Harry said with a sigh, “I’ll miss him when he’s gone. I’ve tried my best to be as involved in his life as I can be,”

They were interrupted by the appearance of a waitress, “What can I get you gentleman?”

“Ah, I’ll have a negroni please. Harry?”

Harry had been banking on simply ordering whatever Draco ordered to save himself having to choose, but he’d tried a negroni before, and he imagined it was akin to drinking petrol.

“Uh…,” he scrambled for the menu again, and picked the first thing on the menu, “A p*rnstar martini please - but without the Prosecco,”

“Keep the Prosecco,” Draco interrupted suddenly, “I’ll have it in mine,”

The waitress nodded and disappeared back into the depths of the bar. Harry felt as if he and Draco were locked in a bubble of their own in their small, half-circle booth. He could barely hear the beat of the music beyond, but he was certain he could have heard Draco even if he were whispering.

“As you can be?”

Harry blinked, confused, “Pardon?”

“You said that you’re as involved in Teddy’s life as you can be,” Draco clarified, “What do you mean? What’s standing in your way? I heard you left the Aurors, so it can’t be your career,”

Harry instinctively froze at the mention of the Aurors but relaxed deliberately again. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, “I don’t want to impose,” he admitted reluctantly, “Teddy and Andromeda have their own lives to lead without me clinging on. I actually normally see them on Wednesday evenings for dinner, but they’ve been on holiday with your mother in Devon this week, as I’m sure you know,”

“I did know that,” Draco admitted, “I was invited actually, but I’ve been too busy,” Harry couldn’t help but feel faintly sad: he wished he’d been invited, but he could understand that Narcissa probably didn’t want to go on holiday with him, “I hate to be the one to bring up ex’s, considering that I nearly bit your head off for mentioning Astoria, but I have to ask: what happened with you and Ginny Weasley?” Draco asked carefully, “I’d have expected you two to have been married with around a dozen ginger children by now,”

“Ah,” Harry said with a chuckle, “I think a lot of people would have agreed with you straight after the war, but that one’s actually my fault - and maybe a little bit Ron’s fault. I realised that I was gay,”

“Because of her bother?!” Draco spluttered.

Harry burst into laughter, “No! No, not at all! I am not gay for Ron,” he chuckled, “He’s like my brother, too! Merlin, no. No - he was the one who confronted me about it. It was when we were living in a flat together when we were training to be Aurors and while Hermione went back to Hogwarts,” his laughter finally settled down into an amused grin, “It turns out that old Ronald is more observant than I’d ever given him credit for. He sat me down after training one day and told me that he had to ask the question because it was both of our happinesses on the line, but that he’d seen how I’d looked at certain men over the years. Bill and Cedric Diggory and Victor Krum,”

“And what did you say?” Draco asked curiously.

Harry held his tongue for the moment though as the waitress returned with their drinks. Draco took the shot glass of Prosecco that had been intended for Harry and dumped it in his own glass before stirring it with his straw. Harry wrinkled his nose: he couldn’t think of a worse drink.

“I tried to deny it of course,” he continued, “To myself and to him. I stormed out furiously and everything, and I didn’t come back for two days. I took myself off to Grimmauld place and holed up there. He was right of course,” Harry said with a shrug, “When I came home, he patted me on the back and made me a cup of tea while I had a full on break down in our flat. When I stopped crying, he helped me work out how to tell Ginny,”

“And how did she take it?”

“Quite well, to be fair,” he hesitated, and clarified, “Eventually, I mean. We hadn’t been back together very long - only a few months and she’d been in Hogwarts most of that time. She was pissed with me to begin with - sent me a Howler that went off in the middle of the training hall,” Harry grimaced, “Accused me of leading her on and what not. Luckily it echoed so much that only me and Ron really heard what it said, but I ended up having another minor breakdown again over it. I’d only just realised I was gay myself, and now I thought I’d just been outed to my entire cohort,”

“That sounds awful,” Draco said very seriously, “Did she apologise?”

“Oh yeah,” Harry said vehemently at once, “She was mortified. She never expected it to be delivered to me at work, and I think she regretted sending it almost immediately, but it was too late. She ended up getting permission from McGonagall to floo to the flat in the middle of term and we had another joint breakdown together,” he chuckled softly, “It was very cathartic. We were probably crying about more than just that to be fair, but still. Anyway, it’s all water under the bridge now. It was years and years ago - she’s one of my best friends and always will be I imagine. As much my sister as Hermione is,” he smiled fondly at the thought of her.

“Are you still not out then?” Draco asked curiously, “I had heard in the rumour mill that you might be bisexual, but not that you were gay,”

Harry snorted and rolled his eyes, “Yes, that will be because certain wizards don’t know how to keep their big mouths shut. And I’m not making some big announcement to the world, because quite frankly, it's none of their business. But I wouldn’t deny it if asked a direct question. I just don’t want to do a bloody exposé on it. I know that broadly speaking the wizarding world doesn’t care, but I’d rather not encourage the media’s interest in my life,”

A slow grin spread across Draco’s mouth, and he sipped at his drink, “What wizards are these then?”

Harry sighed, “Enough quidditch players that it’s turned into a thing apparently,”

Draco’s grin gained a flirtatious edge, “Just quidditch players?”

Harry gulped, and sipped at his own drink to wet his mouth, “No,” he cleared his throat, “I’ve been known to broaden my horizons to dragon tamers as well,”

Draco looked instantly interested and leant closer, “Dragon tamers? Oh, well now I have to know more,”

Harry’s cheeks flushed, and he found himself mirroring the action; he hesitated, the name lodging itself in his throat, “Well… Ron doesn’t know this, but I may have slept with his brother Charlie,” and he felt immediately ill at even mentioning the name. He tried to shake the feeling away - what did it matter if Draco knew? He doubted he was interested in telling anyone.

Tuesday – 5^th of June 2007

Now

“You WHAT?!” Ron cried, throwing his hands into the air, “You slept with Charlie!” He said incredulously, “When the f*ck was this?! He’s only been back in the country for a year! And he’s my brother, and I’ve barely seen him!”

Harry swallowed, “It doesn’t matter Ron,”

Ron scoffed, “It bloody does! If you’re carrying on an illicit affair with my brother, I expect to be informed about it! I just don’t understand where he’s found the time?! Mum said he’s working literally every hour under the sun - she barely sees him either-,” Ron stopped suddenly; his eyes narrowed, and he swallowed, “Please do not tell me,” he started quietly, “that my brother divorced his husband because you two had an affair,”

Harry reeled back, furious and hurt, “f*ck you,” he said hotly, “f*ck. You,”

Ron’s lips, which were pressed together in a thin line, trembled, and his shoulders slumped, “Sorry - I’m sorry. I know you wouldn’t do that, I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair of me at all. I just… when?!”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Harry snapped.

Ron swallowed, and nodded, “Yeah, yeah okay - maybe… maybe another time,” he cleared his throat, “I’m sorry. Tell me what happened next.”

Friday – 1^st of June 2007

Then

Draco snorted, “Wow. So, I wasn’t too far off the mark when I suggested you were gay for Ginny’s brother. I just got the wrong one,”

Harry grinned shyly, and emboldened by the alcohol in his system and the way that Draco leant into his space, he said, “Do you really want to talk to me about the other men I’ve slept with, when I’m out enjoying a drink with you?”

Draco’s mouth spread into a pleased smile, and Harry felt the toe of a shoe brushing against his calf, “No, I suppose not… so what did you want to talk about instead?”

“Well, I suppose we could return our conversation to our ex’s,” he said breathlessly, , “I am only joking,” he added, “You don’t have to talk about Astoria,”

Draco shrugged though, his eyes flicking down to Harry’s mouth, “It’s fine. She’s not a sore point for me or anything. She’s still one of my closet friends,”

“What went wrong then?” Harry said with a curious tilt of his head.

“Well…,” Draco started slowly, “I suppose the fact that we didn’t marry for love in the first place had something to do with it,” he admitted shrewdly, sipping his drink, “We were both just trying to get our parents off our back, and stop them from organising a less acceptable match for us. Marrying one another seemed like the fastest way to achieve that. This was before Father abandoned me and my mother entirely, and before I grew into my own person,” he clarified, “It was a good marriage though. We both got what we needed out of it: a confidant and someone to support us in the face of our families. I don’t regret marrying Astoria, even now,”

“So why did you decide to divorce? If it was all going so well,”

Draco shrugged, “It ran its course, I suppose. We both grew into people who were strong enough to stand against our family’s expectations on our own two feet. So, we split,” he let out a heavy say, “And Merlin did that cause a scandal, let me tell you!”

“I had heard some of the ruckus, but I don’t really understand why everyone was so outraged. People get divorced - it happens, but you’d have thought you two were the first people to get divorced in history!” Harry cried, leaning back in his seat and into the arm that Draco had at some point slotted behind his back. He froze momentarily at the unexpected contact but didn’t pull away.

“Purebloods don’t get divorced,” Draco said very seriously, “ My father abandoned my mother over five years ago, but neither of them would even entertain the idea of asking for a divorce - so that set tongues wagging. And then Astoria met her husband-to-be, Armand, and that started the gossip all over again,”

Harry hummed sympathetically, “I think half the problem is how close knit the wizarding world is as a community. If you’re a wizard in Britain, then you know someone who know’s someone else who know’s someone else, on and on and on until you realise that you’re loosely connected to basically every magical person in the country,”

“It’s even worse with purebloods,” Draco agreed with a scoff, “because we’ve all known one another for generations!”

“You know, I do wonder about what I missed out on,” Harry mused, “being brought up by muggles and never knowing any of my father’s family,”

“Do you still see your muggle relatives?” Draco asked cautiously.

“I see my cousin occasionally,” Harry said lightly with a half shrug, “We go for a beer a few times a year. Christmas and Easter usually - easiest way to keep track. We’re trying to be better than our parents,”

“How do you mean?”

“Well… my aunt and uncle hated my parents, and therefore they hated me,” he answered simply.

“But you’ve been with them since you were a baby!” Draco cried aghast.

Harry shrugged, “Like I said before: there’s no way to rationalise it. My cousin and I are trying to build bridges but it’s tricky with so much sour history between us, even if it wasn’t really our fault. It’s been easier since he got married - he’s got a baby on the way now. It’s something safe for us to talk about,”

“If these meetings are so uncomfortable, why do you keep seeing him?”

Harry swirled what remained of his drink contemplatively, “He’s not a bad guy, Dudley. He’s actually one of the first people I told that I was gay after Ron, Hermione and Ginny. I half expected him to be funny about it - I don’t know for certain, but I’m sure my uncle at least is hom*ophobic. But he was actually really open minded. He always asks me if I’m seeing anyone of if I have a boyfriend when I see him,”

“And what do you tell him?” Draco asked flirtatiously.

Harry grinned, “Well I don’t tell him about the quidditch players if that’s what you’re asking me,” Draco chuckled and leant closer until they were nearly nose to nose, “There’s not really anything to tell, anyway. I haven’t ever really had a proper boyfriend,” he supposed it was the truth, but it felt like a lie, “Just… people I see for a little while,”

Draco frowned lightly, “Why not?”

“I find it hard to trust people,” Harry admitted easily; it was probably the only one of his many idiosyncrasies that he was willing to admit to out loud, “I’ve been caught out before by people trying to go to the Prophet about me. Dennis Creevey works as an editor there now, and ever since then I’ve had a surprisingly positive relationship with them. He always tells me when someone’s tried to sell their story about me. It’s why I normally only see people who I know don’t want their business spread about either,” he said simply.

Draco nodded slowly, the hand behind Harry’s back stretching out cautiously and curling around his side, “I don’t want my business spread about,” he said firmly.

Harry smiled, and said softly, “I know,” and for a moment he was caught up in the lights that reflected in Draco’s pale grey eyes, “What about you then? Many boy…er, girlfriends? Both? Sorry - if you don’t mind me asking, what’s your whole… situation?”

“Bisexual,” Draco admitted easily, “But I’m quite similar to you, and don’t tend to become attached for similar reasons. And, you know,” he wrapped the knuckles of his left hand on the table, and turned resigned eyes to where his forearm was hidden beneath his jacket, “this one as well,”

Harry frowned, “Still? But… it’s been years. A decade ago. And you were exonerated!”

“People have long memories,” Draco said, suddenly sounding tired, “I can’t blame them though. The war… it was awful, and I was on the wrong side of it. Still,” he said, brightening, “it’s much better than it was. For the first six months I could barely leave the house without being spat on,”

“What?!” Harry cried, “That’s awful!”

“Eh,” Draco said with a shrug, still staring at his arm, “I had it coming. I know I was just a kid, but I can understand the anger. My family participated in some awful things,” he turned to look at Harry again, “People are entitled to their feelings,”

Harry nodded slowly, suddenly noticing that the noise level around them had begun to rise. He looked out into the bar and saw that some of the tables had been moved to create a small dance floor, and that a DJ was setting up in the corner.

“Ah - I should have mentioned, this place turns into a bit of a club around midnight,” Draco said apologetically.

Harry glanced at his watch and saw that Draco was right - it was nearly midnight. Harry turned back to Draco, and gulped at how close their faces were.

He didn’t want to stay with how loud it was becoming, but he didn’t want to say goodbye either. His heart pounded in his chest, and he opened his mouth to ask the question before he chickened out.

“Did you want to get out of here?” He licked his lips nervously, “I’ve got a bottle of wine at home that needs opening, but I can never finish one by myself,” and Draco’s eyes darkened.

He nodded at once, his grey eyes bouncing between Harry’s green pair and his lips, “Yeah,” Harry was pleased to hear the sudden hoarse quality of his voice; he wasn’t the only one effected by the other then, “Yeah, okay. Let me just go to the loo and pay the bill, okay?”

Harry nodded and didn’t bother arguing over the bill. He wasn’t quite sure what sound would come out if he opened his mouth. He watched silently as Draco slid out of the booth and disappeared in the direction of the toilets.

f*ck. Oh. Oh f*ck! He was taking Draco home. He was taking Draco Malfoy home and was almost certainly going to have sex with him. sh*t. sh*tting hell. f*ck!! Even though his heart was pounding in his chest, and he felt like he might vomit, it was out of pure anticipation rather than regret. He wanted to take Draco home, whatever that might mean. Oh f*ck.

Stupid sexy Malfoy.

“Excuse me?”

Harry jumped at the sudden voice and found a man leaning against the edge of the booth. He blinked, taking a moment to recognise him: it was the black man from the toilets, though his eyeliner sparkled less spectacularly without the glaring lights above.

“Yes?”

The man smiled, loose and inviting, and glanced over his shoulder, “I know you’re probably going home with Mister Blonde-Supermodel over there, but if things don’t work out between you two,” he pushed a piece of paper across the table towards him, “here’s my number,” he winked, and pulled away, but not before giving Harry a searching look up and down, “My name’s Aaron!”

Harry couldn’t seem to get his mouth to work, looking down between the piece of paper and Aaron’s gradually diminishing back. He’d never been given someone’s number like that before. He considered the green suit jacket that Hermione had picked out for him - maybe she’d been right about his wardrobe after all.

“Who was that?”

Harry jumped again. Draco had returned and was peering curiously over his shoulder at where Aaron had disappeared into the crowd, “No one,” Harry said honestly, considering the man’s number with interest, “Just some guy wanting to give me his number,”

“Oh?” Draco said lightly, turning back to him with an easy, sultry smile, “Well, it’s a good job I got there first, isn’t it?”

Harry nodded, practically deafened by his hammering heart.

He did feel faintly guilty about leaving the number behind, but he didn’t regret it even a little bit.

“Where too now?” Draco asked as they stepped out into the evening air again, the world becoming suddenly quieter as they left the pounding music behind.

“I live just a little way away from Kings Cross. We could apparate, get the tube, or walk,”

Draco hummed, “I don’t like apparating after drinking, and I don’t think I have the patience to walk,” he took Harry’s hand in his without hesitation, and Harry found himself being led along towards the nearest tube station.

They were late enough in the evening to have missed the rush on the Piccadilly line, but the train carriage was still busy as it always was in central London. Draco didn’t even attempt to find them a seat, instead choosing to stand.

With their backs pressed against the walls of the carriage, they stood facing one another in the train’s door, their feet slotted together. Harry didn’t try to avoid Draco’s eye contact.

They finally stepped onto the square of Grimmauld Place just before the clock struck midnight.

Tuesday – 5^th of June 2007

Now

“So…,” Ron said at length, “I have to admit. I do wish you’d gone home with that muggle instead, but… Malfoy actually seems… decent. Certainly not what I expected. And I feel almost compelled to write to him apologising for calling him a Death Eater,” he added shrewdly, “I didn’t realise people were spitting on him,”

“Neither did I,” Harry agreed.

Ron smiled reluctantly, “Go on then. What happened when you took him home?”

Chapter 3: Saturday - Gandalf

Chapter Text

Saturday – 2^nd of June 2007

Then

The door to Number twelve Grimmauld place closed with a click and was locked with another.

The coat hooks by the door lowered, and beckoned invitingly, practically enticing Harry and Draco to shrug their jackets from their shoulders and hang them up. Draco undid his white bowtie as well, folding it carefully and hiding it in his inner pocket. While Draco bent to loosen his laces, Harry simply toed his shoes off, though he did set them smartly side-by-side by the door. He’d put them away later.

He couldn’t help but wonder if he’d made a mistake. It had all been so easy talking with Draco at the bar with the rest of the world as a buffer between them. But now? Alone and in Harry’s home, he wasn’t quite so sure what to do with himself. It was ridiculous really. He’d brought men home before and he’d know exactly what to do with himself (and them) but with Draco?

Though that had been a long time ago now. Years even. f*ck.

“This is the old Black house, isn’t it?” Draco asked curiously, stepping further into the hallway and glancing around.

“Yeah,” Harry followed behind him, “My godfather left it to me. I spent most of my down time while we were in training doing it up,”

“It’s nice! Not at all what I expected from a home that belonged to such a dark pureblood family,” Draco commented, briefly pausing to check his appearance in the mirror and straighten his hair.

Harry snorted, “Yeah well, it took a lot of work to get it this way,” Harry eyed the airy, homely hallway. Where wallpaper had once been barely hanging on by the skin of its teeth, freshly plastered and painted walls now existed. And the staircase that had been foreboding and intimidating he had had fully reworked by a carpenter, changing the dark wood for something lighter and the ancient spindly bannisters for something more modern. Where Harry should have felt pride though, he felt only apathy, “It was a lot of hard work, but I feel like I’m finally happy with it. I think it finally feels like a home now, rather than a love letter to all things Slytherin and dark magic,” he joked - Draco didn’t need to know that, no matter what Harry did, the place always felt unfinished. He ushered Draco towards the stairway, “The living room is on the first floor to your left, you can’t miss it. I’ll just grab us a drink - any preferences?”

“What wine do you have?”

“Red or white,” Harry said flatly.

Draco rolled his eyes, and muttered under his breath, but so that Harry could hear him, “You heathen. Red will do,” he winked, a grin creeping onto his lips, and he turned to pad up the stairs, peering about the walls with interest and lingering on some of the photos that Harry had hanging in frames on the walls.

Harry took his time in the kitchen, working the cork out of a fresh bottle of merlot by hand and pouring them both a glass. His hands didn’t shake, but he certainly felt unsteady.

He’d knowingly brought Draco Malfoy home for sex, and he still wasn’t quite sure what to do with that decision. He hadn’t changed his mind (the fluttering of his heart told him that) he’d just never felt so jittery over bringing someone home before. What would they say to one another in the morning? Would they say anything at all? Or would Draco simply roll out of bed, slip his jacket on and leave with a fond farewell. And that was if Draco would even stay till the morning.

f*ck.

Stupid sexy Malfoy!!

It was becoming like a mantra, and it only felt truer every time he thought it. When he knew he couldn’t stay in the kitchen any longer without Draco asking questions, he ventured upstairs to the living room.

He found that Draco had seated himself on the sofa and was eyeing the TV with interest. He smiled immediately upon seeing Harry though and accepted the glass of wine with a grateful nod. He pressed his nose into the glass and inhaled deeply, before sipping at its contents and giving an approving hum.

“Hmm, not bad! I was half expecting vinegar,” he said, teasing lightly, “Merlot if I’m not mistaken?”

Harry rolled his eyes with a smile as he sat down on the other end of the sofa. Their legs seemed to naturally gravitate towards one another, destroying the space that had been between them, “Are you a wine connoisseur as well now?”

“Hmm, no, but I do know a good thing when I see it,” he turned a meaningful look in Harry’s direction, and Harry fought to remain unflustered, “That’s a television, right?” He asked curiously, “I’ve been thinking about getting one fitted in my own sitting room, but I haven’t gotten round it. I’m not quite sure how to go about it without making a complete tit of myself,” he admitted self-deprecatingly.

“You should get one,” Harry encouraged him, “Love a bit of telly. It’s an easy way to pass the evening when you just want a bit of mindless entertainment,”

“Is that what you would have been doing this evening? If you hadn’t been unexpectedly at the opera? Watching the telly?”

Harry hummed, “Yeah, probably. Or reading a book,”

“What kind of books do you like?” Draco asked curiously, leaning closer.

“Trashy romance ones,” Harry said with a faintly embarrassed smile, “If they don’t involve at least one tragic misunderstanding, then I don’t want to know. And I know they’re probably not the most intellectually stimulating things out there, but they’re what I like. They’re good for a bit of escapism,”

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Draco said, surprisingly serious, “You know, I get quite annoyed when people look down on other’s hobbies just because they’re not considered intellectual or they’re ‘uncool’ or unsuitable somehow. Though, I do recognise the irony of me saying that, considering that that’s exactly the sort of thing I’d have done as a teenager,”

“What’s your embarrassing hobby then?”

“Embroidery,” Draco answered at once.

“Really?” Harry asked, faintly bewildered by the answer.

“Really,” Draco said with a faint grin, “I’m not joking. But I don’t mean like small flowers or patterns or whatever jumps into your mind when I say embroidery. I mean like portraits. I have one that I’ve done of my cat that I’m particularly proud of,” he said smugly, sipping at his wine.

“You have a cat?” And now Harry was the one leaning closer, intrigued.

“I do - an enormous great fluffy white thing called Gandalf. He was mine and Astoria’s, but I was always his favourite, so I got him in the divorce,” Draco said sounding pleased, “He’s a great lovable idiot who’s deaf in at least one ear,”

“At least one?”

“Hmm, just when I’ve decided he’s totally deaf, he’ll respond to his name, or to the sound of his food being opened early. It could all just be coincidence,” Draco admitted, “but I’m half convinced he’s secretly having me on. Do you not have a pet?” Draco peered around as if expected some creature to suddenly appear.

Harry sighed and said wistfully, “I’d love a pet, and I have plenty of time for one now, but I just can’t,” he hesitated, “This might sound ridiculous, but my owl died suddenly during the war when I was least expecting it, and I never really got over it. The idea of having another pet and knowing they’d die before I did just sounds awful. I don’t know if I could do it again. But having a pet that would outlive me sounds equally cruel - what if no one would look after them the way I did when I died? Overall, pets just bring out an existential crisis in me,”

Draco hummed sympathetically, turning nearly completely and leaning on his elbow on the back of the sofa, “I understand completely - I love my cat more than is probably rational. He was the only thing I was fully prepared to fight Astoria over when we got divorced. He’s my little furry baby,” he hesitated, biting his lip, “I actually have a photo of him in my wallet,”

“You do not,” Harry said flatly.

Draco grinned a little, “I do,”

“Well. I need to see that immediately,”

Draco chuckled, draining his glass of wine and setting it down to fish his wallet from his pocket. He flicked it open to reveal a small picture of a snowy white cat sitting on an armchair, lazily grooming himself. Occasionally, he glanced up to offer the camera a withering glare, before continuing with his bath.

“Well, that’s adorable,” Harry admitted, trying very hard not to think about how close he and Draco were now sat to one another.

“He is,” Draco agreed fondly.

Tuesday – 5^th of June

Now

“f*ck me,” Ron said in disbelief, “Malfoy is a massive f*cking nerd!”

Harry grinned reluctantly, nodding, “He really is,”

“Malfoy embroiders portraits of his cat who he has a picture of in his wallet!”

“He does,”

“f*ck! I think I’m attracted to Malfoy as well now,”

And Harry burst into laughter.

Saturday – 2^nd of June

Then

Harry’s eyes flicked down to Draco’s lips. In his chest, his heart stuttered, and his stomach fluttered. He forced his eyes to the empty glass Draco had placed on the coffee table, “Do you want a refill?”

He practically sprinted from the room when Draco nodded.

In the kitchen, Harry stood silently berating himself as he refilled their glasses. He was such a f*cking coward. Acting like a virgin who had never been kissed before. He should just go back up there and sit in Draco’s f*cking lap or something. They were both obviously on the same page. No one went back to someone’s house for a friendly chat at midnight for f*ck’s sake.

“So, this is the kitchen?”

Harry jumped and nearly dropped the wine bottle in his hand; Draco had followed him downstairs and was wandering through the kitchen between the counters and the table, his hands in his pockets as he looked about curiously.

“Yeah,” Harry cleared his hoarse voice, “Completely redone of course,” Draco wandered closer, “You alright?” Harry fought to keep his hands steady, practically trembling with anticipation.

Draco hummed, “Just being nosey,” he said lightly. He was suddenly stepping closer, pressing his front flush to Harry’s back and resting his hands at his waist. Harry’s voice caught in his throat, and he shuddered in anticipation when Draco murmured in his ear, “I have to ask: did you really just invite me home with you to finish that bottle of wine, or was it a euphemism for something else?”

Harry sighed in pleasure, pressing his back into Draco’s chest and his arse to Draco’s groin; his sudden boldness, and the hitched noise in Draco’s breathing unglued his mouth and he was able to speak, “Both?”

Draco chuckled and took Harry to bed.

The next morning-

Tuesday – 5^th of June 2007

Now

“Woah!” Ron cried, holding his hands up, “Woah! The f*ck was that! Did you just fade to black on me?” An accusing finger was pointed at Harry.

Harry hesitated, “Well, yeah, I assumed you wouldn’t want to hear-,”

“Oh, ho no, Harry,” Ron said with a laugh, “We do not assume in this household. To assume is to make an ass out of you and me. I want the details. All the details,”

Harry eyed him reluctantly, “I mean… are you sure?”

“Harry Harry Harry… do you not remember your sexcapade years? Where we would dissect your every single hook up because I had major blue-balls while Hermione was at Hogwarts, and you had entire quidditch teams traipsing through our flat? I had details then,” he slapped the table, “I want details now,” with the other hand, he slapped the table again, “I’m not being funny Harry - and I am placing absolutely no blame at Hermione’s doorstep here - but we have only had sex three times since Hugo was born. And I get it! I do! Hermione is tired, I am tired - I don’t even want sex half the time. I want sleep, that’s what I want. Sleep, and to go to bed without vomit in my hair. And so, I’m afraid it falls to you, my friend. I must live vicariously through you,” he pressed his hands together, as if in a prayer, “I hope you understand,”

Harry snorted, “That’s fine and all, but other than this encounter, there’s not much to live through,”

“Than I shall take what I can get,”

“Also, I hate to repeat myself, but I feel compelled to bring attention to your supposed heterosexuality,” Harry said with a chuckle, “Most straight men aren’t interested in the details of hom*osexual sex,”

Ron waved him away, “We’ve spoken about this Harry - straight, or bisexual, it doesn’t matter. I am functionally Hermione-sexual and I shall never sleep with another person again. What does it matter to put a label on it now?”

Harry shrugged, “I mean, it doesn’t matter so long as it doesn’t matter to you, but it’s okay if it does matter as well. I’m here for you buddy,”

Ron stretched a hand out across the table, and squeezed his wrist, “I’m here for you too mate,” he said warmly, “Now. Details!”

Saturday – 2^nd of June 2007

Then

Harry sighed in pleasure, pressing his back into Draco’s chest and his arse to Draco’s groin; his sudden boldness, and the hitched noise in Draco’s breathing unglued his mouth and he was able to speak, “Both?”

Draco chuckled, his hand coming up to pull Harry’s collar apart so that he could press his mouth to Harry’s throat. Harry groaned at the feeling of Draco sucking lightly at his pulse point, encouraging him onwards when his hands ran firmly down Harry’s sides to untuck his shirt and press his palms to Harry’s skin.

“Is this okay?” he whispered into Harry’s neck, laying kisses in a line from Harry’s ear down to his shoulder.

“Yes,” Harry murmured, tipping his head back against Draco’s shoulder, “Yes,” he said more firmly when Draco’s hand found his belt and began to undo the buckle.

“Tell me what you like,”

Harry turned awkwardly to catch Draco’s mouth in a kiss that was hot and wet, twisting uncomfortably in his need to seal their lips together more firmly. Draco met him with the same energy, chasing Harry’s tongue back into his mouth until the kiss devolved into something fierce and filthy, his hands constantly roaming over Harry’s stomach and chest and dipping occasionally beneath the edge of his trousers.

“You,” Harry gasped into his mouth, arching his back, “I like you,”

Draco chuckled dark and low in his ear, pulling its lobe into his mouth and grazing his teeth against it, “That’s good. I like you too. But I meant more, what do you like in bed?” His hands, that had been roaming Harry’s chest hungrily, suddenly relocated. He palmed Harry’s arse firmly, the edge of his hand pressing between his cheeks, “Do you like this?” a whimper was the only answer Harry could manage, and a frantic nodding; Draco’s other hand worked its way to his front and Harry found himself trapped, not knowing which touch to chase, “What about this?” Harry settled on pressing back against the behind him, shivering at the pressure, “Do you like it?”

“Yes,” Harry whispered, the word drawn out and sibilant.

The hand tracing the shape of Harry’s hardness through his trousers disappeared and clasped his jaw, pulling Harry’s face back to Draco’s in another filthy kiss. It didn’t last long though. Draco separated them suddenly, though a slither of saliva hung between them.

“What would you say,” his voice husky with want, “if I wanted you to keep facing the counter while I got down on my knees behind you?”

A whine escaped Harry’s throat without his permission, “I’d say yes please,” Draco chuckled softly in his ear, “Please, please…,”

“Well, when you ask so nicely,” Harry felt Draco’s smile pressed into his neck, “Do you mind a little magical assistance?” Harry shuddered and moaned out his consent as Draco’s hand disappeared beneath the waistband of his trousers. Draco whispered a familiar spell, and an even more familiar tingling sensation shot up Harry’s back.

And then Draco was gone. Harry had only the briefest moment to feel bereft of his touch before Draco was back, his hands hooked in Harry’s trousers and boxers and tugging them down. Glancing over his shoulder, he found Draco on his knees, his grey eyes practically black with want and a flush high on his cheeks. His eyes met Harry’s.

“Okay?”

“Yeah… please…,”

He briefly caught sight of a pleased grin on Draco’s face, but then Draco was pulling his hips back, encouraging him to bend at the waist. He’d known it was coming, but he was still taken by surprise when he felt his cheeks being pressed apart, and hot breath on his hole. Hot breath was replaced by the sure press of Draco’s tongue, and for a moment, Harry forgot how to breathe.

Tuesday – 5^th of June 2007

Now

“Oh my God!” Ron cried, nearly flinging his drink over his shoulder, “My God Harry!!”

“What?!” Harry cried, “You said you wanted details!”

Ron spluttered, “Yeah! I wanted details! But excuse me if I’m taken off guard by Malfoy going from kissing you to abruptly tonguing your arseh -!” He was cut off by a cardboard coaster pinging off his forehead.

“YOU WANTED DETAILS!”

Ron rubbed a hand over his head, “I do want details!” He said, “I still want details! You just took me by surprise,”

Harry scowled at him, “Do you want me to carry on?” He said tartly.

Ron nodded but didn’t seem quite able to look at him yet.

Saturday – 2^nd of June 2007

Then

It was a struggle to stay on his feet. He was sure that Draco could feel the trembling of his legs; he could practically feel the smugness emanating from him. He couldn’t begrudge him of it though. He was good - his tongue constantly stroking against his hole and occasionally probing inside of him. He was really good.

Harry battled between the need to lean on the kitchen counter to steady himself, and the desire to touch Draco. In the end, he found a happy medium, resting on his forearm while he stretched back to hold onto to the long strands of hair on top of Draco’s head. He’d been a moaning and whimpering mess since the first touch of Draco’s tongue, and so he almost didn’t hear the soft groan that Draco made when Harry wound his fingers through his hair. It took Harry a moment to process. He tightened his grip experimentally, and Draco made the noise again. Interesting.

Harry didn’t have a chance to try it again though. Draco was suddenly pulling away and standing, bringing Harry’s trousers with him. He was flush at his back again, grinding into Harry’s arse and sighing in pleasure in his ear. He stopped for a moment though, reaching past Harry for the glass of wine on the side. He took a large mouthful and pressed the edge of the glass to Harry’s lips. Draco watched him intently as he swallowed. He pushed their mouths together eagerly, as if he were chasing the wine that Harry had just drunk.

They separated with a gasp.

“Can I take you to bed?” Draco rasped urgently, pulling Harry’s hips back into his clothed hardness, “Please, let me take you to bed,” he near pleaded.

“Yes!” It was the only word Harry could choke out.

Harry grabbed him by the hand and abandoned the wine entirely. Harry had never been more annoyed by his decision to make the master bedroom on the third floor his bedroom, rather than those on the second. Though he’d never needed to get there quite so urgently before. Draco was quick on his heels, the hand that wasn’t fixed in Harry’s reaching out to touch him at every available opportunity.

Harry closed his bedroom door behind them with a click, and practically threw himself at Draco. Draco responded with just as much passion, his hands coming up to Harry’s shirt buttons immediately and undoing them blindly as they kissed.

“I want,” Harry gasped in between their kisses, trying to undo Draco’s shirt with his own shaking hands, “I want!”

“Tell me,” Draco murmured against his mouth, pushing his shirt from his shoulders and pressing their chests together, “What do you want?”

“I want you inside me,” Harry whined, “Want you to f*ck me - please!”

And for the first time, Draco seemed truly undone, swallowing heavily and nodding shakily, “Yes, yes, anything you want, yes,”

It became a sudden scramble to undress, but their efforts were hampered somewhat by their reluctance to separate. Finally, they were naked, their fronts plastered together, and their arms wound round one another. Harry couldn’t quite believe that he was doing this - that the naked body stood flush with his own was Draco Malfoy of all people. That the hard co*ck pressed up against his belonged to Draco Malfoy.

The knowledge had him shuddering in anticipation.

Harry encouraged him towards the bed. He ended up on his front, his chest pressed into the mattress, up on his knees trying not to quiver too obviously. He gasped into the duvet when Draco pressed his tongue into his hole again, mouthing hungrily at Harry’s body until Harry was panting and begging.

“Please,” Harry slurred, feeling suddenly drunk on arousal, “Please, f*ck me… want you too,”

Draco pulled away, and Harry felt another equally familiar spell that left him feeling abruptly open and wet. He felt a cautious finger pressing inside him, and he realised that at some point he had screwed his eyes shut. He opened them to find that Draco was leaning right over him, covering him with his body, and that the hand that wasn’t currently working him open was pressed into the mattress by his head. Harry reached for him, clasping his fingers around his wrist and peering up his arm until he found Draco’s eyes. Draco was watching him, his eyes practically blazing, his mouth wet and shining.

“Is this okay?”

Harry couldn’t help his whimper; he squeezed Draco’s wrist and pressed back against the fingers inside of him, “Please!”

Draco swallowed, and nodded.

Harry’s eyes were fixed on the arm by his head, watching it tremble as Draco pushed inside of him. Harry had always been vocal in bed, and today was no different, gasping and moaning with Draco’s every movement and holding onto Draco’s arm for dear life. When it came to sex, this was the bit that Harry liked best. The first few minutes where his body was adjusting around the co*ck inside him, and everything was almost too much to bear. He didn’t like it to hurt - he knew that was some people’s thing, but it wasn’t his. He just liked it to stretch.

Above him, Draco had sunk lower, resting on his forearm now so that his body cloaked Harry’s. The change in angle had Harry’s breath stuttering in his chest, and he let out a surprised cry high in his throat when he felt Draco’s hand close around his co*ck to stroke him in time with his thrusts. Harry didn’t last long, the dual sensation of being f*cked and touched tipping him over the edge. He moaned into Draco’s arm, holding onto him for dear life as his org*sm hooked its claws into him, pinning him in place as pleasure ripped its way through him.

The hand on Harry’s co*ck released him just before the touch tipped over the edge into too much.

“Can I come on you?” Draco murmured in his ear, his thrusts slowing until he came to a stop inside of Harry.

“Can come inside me if you want,” Harry half slurred into the bed, peering up at Draco above him through a squinted singular eye.

Draco hesitated, “You sure?”

Harry hummed sleepily, “S’long as you're not all day ‘bout it,”

Draco let out an amused huff, “That’s not going to be a problem. I want to see your face,” he said suddenly, pulling out carefully and working Harry round and onto his back and spreading his legs wide, his hands pressed into Harry’s inner thighs to keep him that way.

Harry groaned when Draco pushed back inside, arching his back and stretching out to grab desperately for the headboard above, but it was out of reach.

“f*ck,” Draco gasped from above him, “Have you always been this beautiful?” The question took Harry off guard, but Draco didn’t wait for an answer, his hips thrusting determinedly and making his voice tremble as he spoke, “We should have done this at school. I’d much rather of had you riding me than fighting me. Can you imagine it? You bending over a desk and letting me have you? Oh, f*ck that feels good,” Draco gasped.

“You’re gonna’ have to stop talking before you awaken something in me,” Harry slurred, dazed, his face turned into his arm.

Draco let out an amused huff, “Oh- oh f*ck I’m coming,” he screwed his eyes shut, his thrusts becoming suddenly harder and more erratic until he stilled and released the breath he had been holding.

They hissed as one when Draco pulled out. Harry felt fluid leaking out of him and trailing a path down the crease of his thigh, but he was in no mind to do anything about it. He found himself dazed, floating on air as if in a dream. He thought Draco asked a question about bathrooms, and he gestured vaguely in the direction of the one across the hall, but that was all he could manage.

He realised when Draco returned, that he’d cleaned them both up at some point and Harry no longer felt sticky. He peered up blearily at Draco and the hand he held out towards Harry. He was holding a glass of water.

Harry sighed gratefully, sitting himself up against the headboard and draining the glass in one. Draco, who had sat next to him, filled the glass again with a quick spell.

For a moment they simply sat together, their legs crossed and stretched out in front of them, passing the glass of water between themselves. When the glass was drained, and Draco waved him away, Harry twisted to set it down on the side table. Upon his return, Draco captured his mouth in a surprise kiss, cradling his cheek in his hand and holding him close.

Harry hummed in satisfaction as they separated, and murmured against his lips, “You’ll stay?”

Draco nodded, pushing his fingers through his hair and considering Harry through sleepy eyes, “If you’ll have me,”

“Hmm, maybe in the morning - I’m a little sore right now,” Harry said lightly; Draco scoffed and laughed at him, kissing his lips again, “I’ve got a spare toothbrush and some pyjamas you can borrow,”

Later, after they’d changed and brushed their teeth, it felt only natural for Harry to shuffle back into Draco’s chest and close a hand over the arm that Draco had draped over his waist.

Tuesday – 5^th of June 2007

Now

“You know,” Ron said simply, “I really think you might be right about this bisexual thing,”

Harry grinned, “You want to f*ck him too,”

Ron sniffed, “In theory only,” he insisted.

Harry chuckled.

Saturday – 2^nd of June 2007

Then

When Harry woke, he was disorientated and confused by the arm around him for the briefest moment, and then he remembered.

Draco was still asleep, cuddled up to his back, his face buried in his neck.

Still in the process of waking up, Harry considered his situation. He contemplated becoming alarmed and freaking out - with the alcohol well and truly burnt out of his system, he didn’t have any of the boldness that had accompanied it. In the end, he decided on not freaking out. Or rather, he decided to hold back the freak out for later, when he’d had the time to properly assess whether or not one was required. They were adults now, after all. Not simply ‘Potter’ and ‘Malfoy’ from school. He was sure they would be able to part amicably at the very least.

In his search for a decision as to what to do instead of panicking, he decided to veer in the complete opposite direction. He would simply continue in the dynamic they had established the night before when Harry had been on his back with Draco’s co*ck in his arse.

f*ck it. What was the worst that could happen?

And so, before he could change his mind, he turned in Draco’s arms. He encouraged him over onto his back so that Harry could cuddle up to him on his chest. As had been partly Harry’s design, the action roused Draco from sleep. Much to Harry’s relief, he simply sighed, gazed down at Harry through squinting eyes, and stroked a hand through his hair.

“Morning,” he murmured, his voice rough from sleep.

“Morning,” Harry whispered back, yawning and stretching before deciding in for a penny, in for a pound, and half climbing on top of Draco to embrace him properly.

Draco chuckled beneath him, “I take it that you’re a cuddler then,”

“Is that a problem?” Harry said petulantly.

“No, not at all, just let me…,” he lifted up a little, reorganising them so that Draco’s arms were around him fully and they were both more comfortable. They were practically nose to nose, dozing in between meeting one another’s eyes and exchanging small smiles. Harry found himself infinitely grateful for how cool his house was in the summer - he’d have hated to give this up just because they were both half sweating to death.

Finally, Draco sighed, “This is lovely and all, but unfortunately I do have to get home to check on my cat,”

Harry nodded against him, but couldn’t help but feel disappointed, “Oh, right. Yeah,”

“Do you want to come with me?” Draco asked very quickly before Harry could pull away to let him up, “We could get breakfast after maybe?”

Harry grinned slow and warm, “Yeah - yeah, that would be really nice. What time is it anyway?” Draco cast a silent tempus, and the time appeared above them: it was nearly ten, “Might be more like brunch at this rate though,”

Draco shrugged under him, “That’s fine,”

“Why don’t we have a shower first?”

Draco licked his lips, “Together?” He asked lightly.

“Well. I wouldn’t say no,” Harry teased lightly, “I’m certainly not sore anymore,”

Draco flushed immediately, his pupils dilating with arousal.

Harry dragged him out of bed towards the shower in the bathroom opposite his room. Precarious though it was, it was unbelievably hot when Draco simply hooked one of Harry’s legs over his arm and worked himself inside of him while they stood face to face under the spray. Harry had to call it quits after only a short while though, when cramp had his toes curling for all the wrong reasons.

“Fuuuck f*ckf*ck,” he hissed, tapping the arm that was holding his leg up frantically, “Cramp - need you to put my leg down,” Draco released him and joined in his efforts to massage the cramp out of his thigh while he nosed at Harry’s forehead, “Surely I’m not old enough to be getting cramp during sex,” he grumbled.

Draco hummed against him, “You’re probably dehydrated,” he murmured against him, “Big glass of water for you at breakfast. Is it getting better?” When Harry sighed with relief and nodded, he said, “Good - turn around,”

Harry turned without complaint, resting on his forearms on the tiles and spreading his feet. He heard Draco swear under his breath from behind him. He turned to look over his shoulder, half expecting to find Draco staring at the sight of him, legs spread, willing and waiting. Instead, Draco was glaring up at the shower head that was now spraying nearly directly into his face and attempting to wrestle it to point in a less inconvenient direction. It was amusing enough that Harry wasn’t too disappointed to find that Draco wasn’t swearing at the sight of him.

Still.

He could change that.

He sighed, resting more fully on his chest and reaching back to press his own fingers inside himself. He closed his eyes, letting his mouth drop open and groaning as he pumped them in and out at a lazy pace.

Behind him, he heard Draco’s breath hitch, “f*ck. Enjoying yourself, are you?”

Harry peered back at him and found Draco watching him through dark eyes and stroking himself in time with the movement of Harry’s hand; Harry deliberately added a third finger, “You were busy,” he said simply.

Draco shuddered and carefully pulled Harry’s hand away, replacing his fingers with his own co*ck, “Not busy anymore,” he near growled in Harry’s ear, his thrusts suddenly harsh, making Harry cry out, “f*ck. Were you this hot at school? I think I’d remember it if you were. Maybe that’s why I hated you so much. Because I wanted to f*ck you so bad but knew that I couldn’t,”

“You can f*ck me now,” Harry’s voice shook slightly with the punishing pace Draco had begun, “As hard as you want,”

“Can you come just from getting f*cked?” Draco asked in his ear, licking the water from his skin.

Harry hummed into the wall, feeling almost drunk, “Sometimes. Not often. More easily with a vibrator. Don’t let it bruise your ego if you can’t make me come with your co*ck alone,”

Draco chuckled against him, a hand reaching round to hold Harry; Harry couldn’t contain his high whimper, “Merlin. Is that how you masturbat*? With a toy inside of you?” Harry could barely speak, nodding against the tiles, “Sweet Circe – do you know how I’m going to be wanking from now on? To the thought of you on your hands and knees f*cking yourself. And don’t worry about my ego,” he added, his voice going husky, “It’s taken a big enough boost as it is, just from knowing that you like having my co*ck inside of you,” his voice seemed to abruptly run out, and Harry could tell by the sudden urgency with which Draco was stroking him, and the jerking of his hips that he was coming. Harry followed not soon after, his come painting the tiles in front of him.

They stayed together or a long moment, Harry panting against the wall and clenching experimentally around the softening co*ck inside of him, and Draco breathing against his skin.

“If you’re trying to make me hard again, it’s not going to work,” Draco muttered; he hesitated, “I don’t think,” he gave an experimental thrust, then hissed, “Yeah – no. Sorry. Maybe later,” and he pulled out gingerly, “I can finger you if you want to come again though?”

Harry shuddered and shook his head, “Nah – I could probably go again, but I’m starving, and I want to meet your cat,”

They finished their shower in between exchanging lazy kisses.

Tuesday – 5^th of June 2007

Now

“What’s that face for?” Harry asked, a knowing grin threatening to take over his face.

Ron hummed, his coffee cup help just below his lips as he stared into the middle distance, “Just… just reassessing,”

”Reassessing what?”

”How attractive I find Draco Malfoy. He’s certainly gaining points that’s for sure. Where do you get your sex toys from by the way?”

Harry blinked in surprise, “Uh, why?”

”Hmm, just something to talk to Hermione about…,” he trailed off thoughtfully, “Anyway. Carry on!”

S aturday – 2^nd of June 2007

Then

Later, Draco worked some new kind of magic in straightening out his clothes, so that he almost looked like he was heading out in a completely fresh outfit, rather than one that Harry had torn off him the night before.

“Did you want to floo?” Harry asked, gesturing to the kitchen behind him.

Draco shook his head though, “Better not - it scares the sh*t out of the cat, and it always makes me feel sick. I live not that far from here actually - I’m in Islington. Apparate though? I’m starving,”

Harry agreed easily, his own stomach complaining angrily, and he hooked his arm through Draco’s to side along with him.

They appeared in between two brick houses. Harry turned curiously and saw behind him a slither of what seemed at first glance to be a deep garden of pure grass. But it wasn’t towards the garden that Draco directed them, but through the tall black gate that closed the garden off from prying eyes. Harry followed him, peering about curiously at the face of Draco’s house.

In a shallow, fenced off front garden were two enormous trees, one on either side of the path that lead towards Draco’s black front door. Behind each tree was another window, the entire height of the wall, though Harry couldn’t see through them for the privacy blinds in front of them.

“This is home,” Draco said with a shrewd smile, pulling his wand from his pocket rather than a key (for the door had no keyhole or letter box; only a large octagonal brass doorknob in its centre, and a half circle of stained glass above it) and opening the door with a swish. Harry trailed after him into the hallway.

Curiosity burned in his gut. A u-shaped staircase was positioned dead ahead, and off to its side was a door that Harry was sure lead deeper into the part of the house that made up the alley way they had been stood in. On either side of the front door were rooms to which the windows he had seen belonged, and he had half a mind to hurry Draco along so that he could investigate them.

Draco gestured to the door to their left, “The sitting room is through there - feel free to make yourself at home. I just need to change and find the cat and then we can be on our way,”

Harry nodded distractedly, “I hope you know that I’m about to take this as an opportunity to snoop,” Harry warned him.

Draco chuckled, “I’d have expected nothing else. You are pretty famous for sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong after all,”

Harry rolled his eyes, “Har har, very funny, now f*ck off and get ready will you. You’re not the only one who’s hungry remember,”

Had someone asked him to describe Draco Malfoy’s sitting room before yesterday evening, he’d have imagined a sterile space full of expensive antiques and the finest furniture available. He’d have imagined a space that looked as if it wasn’t intended to be lived in, only admired and scrutinised. That was not the room he found though - instead, he found a room that he felt more accurately reflected the Draco Malfoy he had met at the Royal Opera House in a pink, velvet suit jacket planning on enjoying an evening meal on his own.

For one, while the bottom halves of the walls were covered in white wooden panels, the top half was covered in bright yellow wallpaper with toucans and leopards and birds of paradise on it. It wasn’t muggle wallpaper though - the effect was subtle, but occasionally the animals turned to look at him, or a bird fluttered its wings as if shaking off the morning dew.

Though the closed blinds kept out the light from the front of the house, the intricately carved french doors to the back of the room provided more than enough sunlight to illuminate the forest green sofa that was pressed up against the wall, facing what used to be a fireplace once upon a time. On either side of the old fireplace breast were enormous floor to ceiling bookcases, filled with books and trinkets and ornaments. Harry smiled at the sight of a golden snitch placed upon a pedestal, and the Slytherin signet ring and tie pin placed carefully next to it.

It was not this that caught Harry’s attention, but the view beyond the french doors. He stepped carefully around a mahogany coffee table to peer through the windows and into the enormous garden beyond. This was more than a simple lawn.

Trees and bushes acted almost as a disguise, giving the appearance of a garden that simultaneously ended only ten feet from the door, but also went on forever and ever. It was a lovely garden, and clearly well maintained, though Harry had a feeling that it wasn’t by Draco. He didn’t seem like the gardening type, but then he hadn’t seemed like the embroidery type either.

Which reminded him - where was the portrait he claimed to have done of his cat? He peered about the walls but could see nothing. He ventured back into the hallway, just in time to see Draco coming down the stairs again, an enormous white fluffy cat with blue eyes in his arms.

“Ah - I see you found him then?” Harry said curiously, leaning against the bannister as he waited for Draco to descend. The cat watched him nervously, his head turning to follow him as Draco made his way down the stairs.

“Indeed - he was asleep on my bed to nobody’s surprise,” Draco smiled fondly down at the cat in his arms, coming to a stop next to Harry.

Harry reached out a careful hand to the suspicious cat, allowing Gandalf to sniff his fingertips. Eventually, he very reluctantly pressed the side of his face into Harry’s hand in an obvious demand for attention. Harry carefully scratched at the underside of his chin.

“Well aren’t you beautiful,” he crooned, “I was just coming to see if I could find the portrait your daddy said he made of you,” Draco coughed a little, and cleared his throat, “What?” Harry asked curiously, “Do you like me calling you daddy?” He tried for an exaggerated sultry tone with a grin and wink.

Tuesday – 5^th of June 2007

Now

“My God Potter! Since when have you had game?” Ron cried with a laugh.

“Hey! How do you think I managed to bring all those men home with me?” Harry protested, “Believe it or not I didn’t just walk into bars full of quidditch players and have them accidentally fall into my crotch!”

“Are you sure? It wouldn’t have surprised me - the receptionists at the office used to call you ‘the pretty one’, and I know that Cormac had a thing for you as well,”

Harry wrinkled his nose, “Cormac. Eww,”

Ron nodded in agreement, “My sentiments exactly.”

Saturday – 2^nd of June 2007

Then

Draco flushed bright red, and Harry tried not to be too pleased with himself. Draco had been right the night before; he’d have much preferred this dynamic when they were at school.

Draco cleared his throat again, “Uh - it’s not that,” oh ho Harry had strong suspicions that it was a little bit that, “It’s just… this is embarrassing, but I may or may not refer to myself as his dad. Astoria did as well, but it's probably more humiliating that I do it when it’s just me and him,” he admitted in a mumble.

Harry grinned, wide and amused, “That’s adorable! Who knew that Draco Malfoy was secretly a big softy,”

Draco shifted with a faintly embarrassed smile, and placed Gandalf on the ground when he started to struggle in his arms, “The portraits through here,” he muttered, directing Harry to the room opposite the one he’d been previously nosing around in.

Harry would have described the room as a study, and its design was just as bright and eclectic as the sitting room, with burnt orange and red wallpaper, in which a design was created in the negative space that looked to be a tropical forrest of some kind. Hanging above a grand writing desk was the object that Harry had come to see though.

He had to admit, it was pretty fantastic. Harry leant closer, whistling low as he inspected the level of detail that Draco had managed to achieve just with thread alone. Harry could see each individual hair and whisker, and he’d managed to capture even the depth of colour in Gandalf’s icy blue eyes.

“This is amazing, Draco!” Harry said enthusiastically, “How on earth did you do it? I mean - your cat is all white for Merlin’s sake. How did you make his fur seem so textured and so vibrant?”

Draco sidled up next to him, his hands in his pockets, “I took a photo of him - a muggle one, I mean - and used it to create a grid that I then copied onto fabric, and then I used the photo and the grid to sketch out his portrait in pencil, and then found myself about twenty different shades of white and grey thread. It was quite an undertaking. Took me weeks to get it just right,”

“This is honestly fantastic Draco - you’ve got a real skill,” Harry said seriously, leaning back from the portrait to look to Draco at his side.

Draco shrugged modestly, “It’s taken time to learn. He’s named after a wizard in a muggle fantasy book - if you prefer romance novels then I don’t imagine you’ve read it. It’s called The Lord of the Rings,”

Harry couldn’t help but grin, fairly confident that he was about to blow the other man’s mind, “No, I haven’t read them. But I have watched the films,”

The effect was instantaneous; Draco froze, and said flatly, “What?”

“They adapted them into films a few years ago. I can’t say how they compare to the books, obviously, but they’re pretty well celebrated. I liked them at least. You know what a film is right?

“It’s a thing you watch on the TV like a play but recorded,” Draco parroted immediately, and Harry wondered how long ago he had learnt and memorised that explanation, “Do you have them?”

Harry couldn’t help but chuckle at his faintly urgent tone, “Yeah, I do. Did you want to come to mine to watch one after brunch?” Adrenalin thrilled through Harry’s chest; he hadn’t quite meant to say that, but he couldn’t regret the invitation so long as Draco didn’t turn him down, “They’re very long though,” he warned him, “Several hours each. Easily as long as the opera last night,”

Draco hesitated, then asked carefully, “Would you want to do that?”

Harry nodded, “Yeah, if you like. Maybe we could go for brunch, then walk back to mine and watch the film and have dinner. We can get snacks on the walk home - I know a little corner shop near mine,”

Draco’s mouth spread slowly into an excited grin, “Yeah!” He cleared his throat, and continued more casually (though Harry wasn’t fooled for a moment), “Uh, yeah, okay. That sounds like a plan,”

Tuesday – 5^th of June 2007

Now

“He’s a nerd, Harry,” Ron said, sounding faint, “He’s a complete nerd. What the f*ck. He’s an actual nerd. Cat, embroidery, Lord of the Rings. What the f*ck?!”

“A sexy nerd,” Harry clarified.

“He’s HERMIONE!” Ron cried like a revelation, “My GOD! No wonder I want to f*ck him! It’s because he reminds me of my wife!”

Harry burst into laughter, and it was several minutes before he could talk again

Chapter 4: Saturday - Four times in a day

Chapter Text

Saturday – 2^nd of June 2007

Then

Harry picked the restaurant for their extremely late breakfast - though it was more of a café than a restaurant. It was a small, private little place tucked down a side street that thrived off word of mouth rather than footfall. Harry didn’t even know if it had a name - if it did, he had certainly never seen it.

It was perfectly positioned in between the Ministry and Grimmauld Place, and so Harry’s feet routinely brought him there after night shifts when he was starving but needed that little bit of extra time to separate his mind from the work before he went home. He’d only been there a few times since he’d resigned but stepping across the threshold had Harry resolving to come more frequently.

The café’s only server was a middle-aged woman who reminded him strongly of Mrs Weasley - she practically exuded a motherly air, and she certainly treated Harry like a nephew who needed fattening up. While some of the other staff wore name badges, she didn’t, and so Harry had never learnt her name, and she had never given it.

“Morning,” she greeted brusquely as they seated themselves at the only available table (though there were only six to choose from to begin with), “What can I get for you?” She pulled a notebook from her tabard and clicked her pen against it.

Draco looked faintly bewildered, and it occurred to Harry that this venue was nothing like the places that they had spent time in previously. It was a struggle not to feel suddenly embarrassed by his choice.

When Draco continued to look faintly terrified, Harry ordered for them both, “Uh, two large coffee’s and two full English’s please,”

She nodded, not even bothering to write down their order. She pointed her pen threateningly at Harry, “Extra toast for you, and you better eat it,” she shook her head as she turned away, “You always look like a stiff breeze could take you out,” she muttered.

Harry waited until she was out of ear shot to cast a subtle privacy charm - anything more in such a small space would have had the other patrons climbing up the walls to escape under the magic’s influence, “Are you alright?” He asked quietly.

Draco swallowed, and straightened the cuffs of his shirt, “I’m perfectly fine,” he said primly, but the uncomfortable look in his eye gave him away.

Harry sighed, his heart sinking; it was a struggle to make eye contact with the man and he found himself staring at his own fingers as they picked at a sticker on the table, “Sorry. I shouldn’t have brought you here. We can go if you want?” He muttered.

“Go?”

“Yeah,”

“Why would we go?” Draco asked carefully, finally stopping his constant fidgeting.

“You look like you think this place is going to give you head lice, Draco,” Harry snapped without meaning to, “I know it’s not as fancy as the bar last night, but they serve good food, they honestly do,” a hand suddenly covered his, saving the sticker he had half worked off the table, and he looked up to find Draco looking positively mortified.

“There has been a misunderstanding,” he said firmly, “There is absolutely nothing wrong with this establishment. The fault lies with me,” he pressed a palm to his chest, then flicked his eyes nervously around the small café, “It’s just…,” he hesitated, “It’s easy to disappear in big venues. To have my ignorance of muggle things go unnoticed. If there’s a hall full of a hundred people, no one’s going to notice the weirdo in the corner who can’t figure out how to use the ticket barrier or something. Things like that… they get noticed in small places,” he admitted grimly.

“It’s okay to not know things,” Harry said slowly.

Draco offered him a shrewd smile, “It’s difficult though - when you’ve gone from knowing everything about your world and your culture, to suddenly be dropped in one that seems so similar but is actually so different. Plus, it doesn’t help that Malfoy’s have a crippling fear of social humiliation,” he added dryly, “I blame my mother. She once fainted because the wrong-coloured napkins were delivered before a party,”

“She did not,” Harry said with a scoff.

“No, she didn’t,” Draco admitted with a grin, “But she was very focussed on us being proper, and on me not embarrassing the family. I guess it’s kind of stuck with me to an irrational degree. I don’t want to stand out for all the wrong reasons. I’ve done enough of that already I think,” he pulled his hand from Harry’s and rubbed absentmindedly at his left forearm.

“I think I understand,” Draco flashed him a smile, “We can still go if you like? I don’t want you to be uncomfortable,”

Draco shook his head though, “No, it’s fine. Besides, I’ve got you with me to steer me right. Make sure I don’t cause a scene,”

“Here we are,” Harry jumped at the sudden voice behind him, “Two large coffee’s, two English breakfasts, and extra toast,” this time, the server pointed her pen in Draco’s direction, “The toast is for him - you hear? He needs it more than you,” and she was gone again.

Draco looked faintly outraged, “I’m sorry, but did she just call me fat?!”

Harry chuckled, stirring sugar into his coffee, “No - she’s calling me skinny,”

Draco considered him for a moment, “I mean, yes you’re certainly slim, but I wouldn’t have said unhealthily so,” he said still sounding unhappy as he cut into his sausages.

“Ah, well… I found this place because it’s in between my walk from the Ministry to home,” he pointed out the window, “Just behind there is a park, and if you walk to the other side of it you get to Grimmauld Place. I used to come here every morning after a night shift so that I could wind down. Get out of my own head. You know,” Draco listened with rapt attention, chewing slowly, “Anyway, towards the end, just before I decided to quit… well. Let’s just say I wasn’t looking my best,” it was an understatement. He’d looked practically sickly even to his own shuttered eyes.

“Is that why you left?” Draco asked carefully.

Harry nodded, but said nothing more, using the fact that his mouth was full to shield himself from a conversation he didn’t want to have. When he had swallowed, he redirected them, “I have to ask - what is it you do for work? Or is your fancy house in the middle of London from money you inherited as a Malfoy?”

“Hmm - that’s a topic of controversy actually. This breakfast is surprisingly good,” he added, pulling the fat from his bacon.

“Told you it was,” Harry said smugly, “and why was it controversial?”

“Well because the deposit came from Astoria’s dowery,”

Harry scoffed, “A dowery? Is that actually still a thing?”

Draco hummed, sipping at his coffee, “It is indeed, believe it or not. So, we used the dowery for the deposit, but then we both have exceptionally well-paying jobs, and so we had paid off the mortgage after only a few years. Astoria works in PR as a kind of fixer. She’s the witch you want to call when you’re trying to head off a scandal. She’s half the reason that we appear so infrequently in the papers,”

“Scandals like ministers having affairs you mean?” Harry said, remembering their conversation from the day before.

Draco pointed his knife at him with grin, “Exactly,”

“And what do you do?”

“I work with Gringotts and growing their overseas investments - they’re doing exceptionally well incase you were wondering. I worked first as a Gringotts employee, but now I mainly freelance. I still work for Gringotts, and they’re my biggest singular customer, but I also work advising private witches and wizards how to best invest their gold. I work under the company name ‘Plutus Investments’,”

“Wait,” Harry said suddenly, “Hang on. That name rings a bell - I swear I’ve got a leaflet for your company sitting around somewhere in my house,”

Draco hummed around the food in his mouth; he swallowed, “You probably do,” he agreed, “It’s bank policy to send any customers with a certain amount of liquid assets information about managing and maximising those assets. Anyway - so Astoria and I paid off the house, and then when we divorced, we had as much gold as the property was worth at that time, and I didn’t want to move. So, Astoria took the liquid assets, and I kept the house,”

“All of the liquid assets?”

Draco chuckled, “Oh yeah - for a month or two I had all of about ten galleons to my name, other than the house, but it was worth it. Astoria basically carried on paying the bills and feeding me until I got paid again,”

“I’m still not seeing why your house is a topic of controversy,” Harry admitted, loading his fork up with beans and bacon.

“Ah. Well. Astoria’s family demanded the dowry back when we divorced, and I barely had enough to feed myself, and Astoria was determined not to give them a knut. As the divorce was mutual, they weren’t technically entitled to anything, but you can imagine how it strained her relationship with her parents. Not that it wasn’t already strained,” he added, “Hence why she agreed to our half sham marriage in the first place,”

“Fair enough, I suppose,” Harry said with a shrug, “So long as you two were square and happy, everyone else can go jump,”

“That was Astoria’s attitude as well, but the divorce and dowry dispute has still blacklisted us amongst certain circles of elite pureblood society,” he rolled his eyes, “Not that either of us care. They’ll be fully excommunicating Astoria anyway, the moment she marries Armand,”

“Who’s this Armand then?” Harry asked curiously, leaning closer.

Draco sighed heavily, “Armand is the ruggedly handsome half-blood French wizard she met eighteen months ago while she was putting out a fire about some business mogul’s illegitimate children or something like that, I don’t know, it’s hard to keep track of her work. Anyway: he’s really very nice. A complete gentleman and absolutely perfect for her. But! Half-blood. And so, her parents hate him and are getting ready to disown her,”

“That’s awful,” Harry muttered into his coffee cup as he took a sip, “I can’t imagine disowning a child because of something like that,”

The conversation lulled for a moment as they both finished the food on their plate, leaving only the rack of extra toast between them. Draco eyed it with interest, glancing over Harry’s shoulder for the waitress, “Do you think she’ll kick off if I have some toast?”

Harry laughed and pushed the rack towards him, taking his own slice, “We can always order more,”

Draco muttered something under his breath that Harry didn’t hear, before clearing his voice and asking, “So do you want kids then?”

Harry hummed and nodded, “Yeah. In an ideal world. I really want them to be honest, but,” he shrugged with one shoulder, “I need to find someone to have them with first,” he paused as he chewed on his toast, “And by that,” he clarified, pointing at Draco with his slice of toast, “I don’t mean I’m out on the hunt just looking for someone to make my baby daddy or something. I mean, I want a partner with whom having children would enhance our pre-existing relationship rather than simply being the sole point of it,”

Draco chuckled, “I know what you meant - don’t worry. I’d quite like children as well. If anything, I was relieved when Astoria asked for a divorce, because I knew I’d never be able to have a family with her. Not only because children really aren’t for her, but because I couldn’t imagine bringing a child into a marriage like ours,” he grimaced slightly, “It wasn’t loveless by any means - in fact, I imagine we loved each other much more than many couples who are still married do. But it was never destined to last,”

“I understand,” Harry abandoned his last dry crust and relaxed back in his seat, “I want what Ron and Hermione have, but that might be asking a bit much from the world. They’re so sickeningly in love that it’s a bit disgusting to be honest,” he smiled fondly at the thought of them, “I wonder if the kids are still vomiting all over the house,”

“I see Granger occasionally,” Draco commented, “I have to liaise with the legal department quite frequently to ensure I’m abiding by the laws around insider trading and the such like - to ensure that Gringotts aren’t manipulating the markets etcetera, which the goblins have been known to do,” he paused, draining the rest of his coffee, “I have to admit - it’s been significantly more difficult seeing her, than you, which I wouldn’t have banked on,”

Harry frowned and quirked his head to one side, “What do you mean?”

“I… this isn’t a criticism of her in anyway, but relations are understandably strained at times. But with you… well. I mean - I’ve f*cked you twice in the last twenty-four-hours and I’m strongly considering asking if you’ll let me do it again,”

Harry nearly choked on his coffee, spluttering and pounding on his chest while Draco smirked at him from across the table, “f*ck me!” He gasped.

“Yes, that’s the general idea,” Draco said mildly.

“Draco!”

Draco laughed, shaking his head fondly and considering the empty plates in front of them, “Are you finished? Shall we go on that walk that you mentioned? And I believe you mentioned snacks as well,”

Still coughing a little, Harry sent Draco a withering glare across the table, but nodded and made to fish his wallet out of his pocket; Draco waved him away though, “It’s cash only,” he said before Draco could stand.

Draco froze for a moment, looking briefly pained, “I’m not very good with their paper money,” he admitted.

“It’s fine, I’ll pay,”

“No,” Draco said firmly, “I want to pay. I’ll just… cope I suppose. And learn,”

Harry tried to protest again, but Draco was already halfway to the till and pulling a fifty-pound note from his wallet. Their waitress looked at him like he’d lost his mind and shook her head. Draco tried again with a twenty, and deposited the change he received in the near empty tip jar on the counter.

“You know you don’t have to pay for everything,” Harry said as they stepped out onto the street and made their way towards the park.

Draco shrugged, his hands in his pockets, “I like paying,” he said lightly.

“Why?”

“I always have. It was a right blow to my pride when Astoria had to pay for everything after the divorce. I like - and I know this is going to sound ridiculously patriarchal - but I liked providing for her. And as I’ve already proven, I have somewhat expensive tastes, and I don’t like to put the pressure of affording that onto someone else,”

“Okay… if you’re sure,” Harry said feeling faintly uncomfortable.

“I’m sure,” Draco said firmly, “Unless… you don’t want me too?” He phrased it as a question, his tone turning suddenly uncertain, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t just presume that you’re okay with me paying,”

“It’s not that,” Harry said with a shrug, “I guess I’m just painfully self-reliant. Not used to letting people do things for me. Easier to do it myself. I’m less likely to be disappointed that way if I just don’t expect anything from anyone,” the park was an enormous swath of green to one side of the path, and an equally large body of water on the other. Waterfowl pottered about, harassing small children for the bags of bread in their hands.

Draco nodded, “That’s… quite sad,”

Harry offered him a tight smile, his chest feeling suddenly heavy, “I know,”

”I get the impression that you don’t like to bother others. Is that what holds you back from spending more time with Teddy?”

Harry kept his eyes fixed ahead of him, “Something like that,”

Draco got the hint immediately, and dropped it.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, a slow idling pace that had their shoulders brushing up against one another. Harry had half a mind to reach for the other’s hand, but he didn’t. Despite the fact that he’d had the other man inside of him earlier that same day, it somehow felt like a step too far. A step away from one-night stand and into actual legitimate date.

“So…,” Draco started carefully, disrupting the quiet between them, “I’ve told you about my work. I… I can’t pretend to not know that you stepped down from the Aurors last year, but I’d be interested in hearing the story from the horse's mouth, so to say. You took everyone by surprise with that decision,” Harry hesitated, his mouth freezing half open. He didn’t talk about this. He barely spoke to Ron about it, and he hadn’t been expecting quite so direct a question on the subject either, though perhaps he should have been, considering Draco’s previous question about Teddy, “I’m sorry if I’ve over stepped,” Draco said cautiously when he remained silent, “I… I don’t want to pry. We don’t have to talk about it if you would prefer not to,”

Harry swallowed, practically gulping as he fought to find his words, “Sorry. Sorry it’s just… I don’t talk about this as a rule. I…,” Harry pressed his lips together and watched as a small child pelted a swan in the face with an entire loaf of bread, “I quit… I quit because…,”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Draco said softly, nudging their shoulders together.

“I have to tell someone eventually though, right?” Harry said, peering up into Draco’s soft grey eyes, “I can’t keep walking around acting like that part of my life didn’t happen, or that it isn’t over,” he licked his lips, and something about the open quality of Draco’s expression prompted him to keep talking, “I quit because of my mental health, but that feels like a huge understatement. I quit because it was f*cking me up massively,” he clenched his hands into fists in his pockets, “It was… it was fine to begin with,” he muttered, “When we were all still riding on the high of having destroyed Voldemort. But then the high ran out, and only the horror remained. I was having nightmares constantly, and anxiety attacks almost daily. Some days, the only thing I ate was the breakfast I had on the way home at that café. I hid it quite well - other than the weight loss.

“It all came to a head randomly really. Ron and Hermione had invited me round to announce that they were expecting Hugo and I just…,” he let out a slow breath, “I just fell apart. I felt awful. They’d just told me this amazing news and there I was hyperventilating, crying and near catatonic on the floor,” he swallowed; he… he hadn’t meant to say quite that much, “I went off with stress, and then quit a few weeks later,” he finished quietly.

Draco was quiet for a long moment, simply walking side by side with Harry through the park, their arms brushing. Though Harry didn’t feel as if he were struggling to find something to say, but rather choosing his words carefully.

“I saw a mind healer for a year after the war, you know?” Draco said softly.

Harry blinked up at him, surprised, “Really?”

Draco nodded slowly, “I did - almost immediately afterwards actually. When I was acquitted, it was the first thing my mother did - finding me someone to speak to. We ended up having to go to France to find someone that would take me as a patient at that time. It was worth it though. It helped a lot. Did you ever consider seeing one?”

Harry couldn’t hold in the snort that escaped him, “I did,” he said flatly, “Immediately after the war as well. And they tried to sell my story to the papers,”

“That’s despicable!” Draco said harshly, “That’s disgusting! Tell me they don’t have a licence to practice anymore,”

“They don’t,” Harry reassured him, “It was actually the Prophet who told me what he was trying to do, and them who reported him to the board. Though I think it was less because they’d grown anything close to integrity, but rather that they wanted me on side. Their reputation wasn’t exactly great after peddling all of Voldemort’s propaganda after all,”

“Have you ever thought about trying to see someone now? There’s no shame in it,” Draco said, and Harry found himself almost grateful for his firm tone. He was so used to gentle pity it made him feel sick, “My mother used to tell me that I wouldn’t feel ashamed about going to a healer if I broke my arm, so why would I feel ashamed for going to see a healer for my mental health,”

“That’s very wise,” Harry agreed, “but… to be honest, that first healer has kind of ruined me for telling people anything. Even the people I love. Not about this at least. I tell Ron pretty much everything - every single detail of my life - but I can barely bring myself to talk to him about this,”

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Draco said slowly, “then why are you telling me?”

Harry’s eyes snapped to his, “I… uh,” f*ck. Why was he telling Draco again?

“You can tell me,” Draco assured him, “Nothing you say will pass my lips, I swear it. I just wondered,”

Harry stuttered his answer, “I- I… I don’t know. Not really. I guess… I guess-,” he stopped, and tried again, “You know I’ve known you as long as I’ve known Ron and Hermione? Longer even, by a few weeks. You probably know me as well as they do, in your own way. But with you…,” he shrugged, “You hated me for years. What does it really matter if you hate me now? Not that I want you to hate me,” he clarified, “I was kind of hoping you sort of liked me. But I mean with you, there’s no pressure to be okay…,” he trailed off, his sentence ending but not sounding finished.

“I do know you,” Draco agreed, “but not as well as I should have. If had, I never would have hated you, I don’t think,” Draco knocked their shoulders together, a grin playing about his lips, “I’m glad you quit. I am sorry it got that bad though,”

“So am I,” Harry agreed.

Tuesday – 5^th of June 2007

Now

Ron looked as if he were trying very hard to hold back tears, “You know,” he said thickly, “you don’t have to pretend to be okay with us either, right?” He sniffed wetly, “Me and Hermione want to know when you’re not okay, so that we can help you. We love you. We both do - so much,” he reached out a hand to take Harry’s in his, “So much,”

Harry had to hold back his own tears, nodding, “I know you do,”

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to be any particular way,” Ron said fiercely, “I want you to be you. Whether you’re laughing or crying or being a total weirdo. I love you, man. If your crying, I want to know, so I can try and help. And if I can’t help, then I’ll just cry with you,”

Harry sniffed, and tried to say okay, but no sound came out.

Saturday – 2^nd of June 2007

Then

“So, what do you do with your time now then? No that you don’t work,”

Harry shrugged, and hedged around the answer, most of it going unsaid in his effort to make it sound less pathetic, “Not a lot,” I don’t do anything some days, “Just filling my time where I can,” on the days I can get out of bed without crying, “Visiting people. Gardening. Redecorating the house,” I’ve been doing a lot better the last few months, but I don’t know if it’ll last, “I learnt to bake. I got pretty good at making lemon meringue pie,” What if it all goes away just when I think I’m finally fine? “Ron say’s its better than Mrs Weasley’s,” I’m desperate to be useful to the people I love, “but he isn’t brave enough to say it in front of her just yet,” I can’t be a nuisance if I’m useful.

“And are you happy?”

The question was simple, but the answer was not, “I’m happier,” Harry clarified, “but I don’t know if that quantifies as simply ‘happy’ yet. I keep thinking maybe I need to find a new job - some new purpose. I feel like I’ve always had a purpose,”

“Maybe your purpose is to just be happy,” Draco said with a shrug, “Ever think of that? Is this making you happy? Walking through a park with me?”

Harry smiled to himself, and nodded, “It does,” he glanced shyly up at Draco, “To be honest, this is the happiest I’ve felt in a long time. And I’m not saying I’m some misery walking around moping and complaining usually, but this feeling of contentment is… uncommon for me,”

Draco hummed next to him, pleased, “Good,” and he carefully reached for the hand Harry had hidden in his pocket; Harry reacted after a split-second delay, pulling his hand free and threading his fingers through Draco’s, “I’m enjoying myself as well,”

They fell quiet as they exited the park and approached the shop. Draco winced at its small size, “Come on,” Harry said, squeezing his fingers, “It’ll be fine,”

“So, you say,” Draco said darkly, “and then the next thing you know you’re being question by security because you’ve been staring at the powdered potato for too long and they think you’re trying to steal something,”

Harry let out a bark of laughter, “What? Were you enamoured with Smash or something?”

“I was reading the back!” Draco complained, “I couldn’t understand how you could just add water to powder and get potatoes! It sounded more like something our lot would have come up with. And then I looked at the shop’s own brand as well, and apparently, I was there long enough to become suspicious. No one notices these things in the bigger shops, I’m telling you,”

Harry snorted, “Come on - there’s not much debate to be had over Haribo,”

They weren’t in the shop long, though Draco did become briefly distracted by the ‘freshly baked’ section, “How can it be freshly baked?” He’d muttered, glancing about, “Where on Earth are they hiding the ovens?!”

They left holding hands, a bag full of snacks hanging from Draco’s fingertips.

“I have to admit,” he said as they resumed their walk, “I’ve been struggling somewhat with the concept of ‘happiness’ myself,”

“Oh?” Harry said with a concerned frown, “How so?”

“I know that Astoria and I divorcing was for the best, but it does still feel like a failure,” Draco admitted, “I know my father certainly sees it as such. The man hasn’t spoken to me in… Merlin, years now! But he still made a point of writing to me directly after the divorce, and he didn’t even mention it. All he had to say was how disappointed he was in me over how we’d handled the dowry,”

“Because you didn’t pay it back?”

“Ah, well,” he smirked lightly, “We may have gone one step further. We donated the dowry amount to charities for war reparations in our parents' names,” he snorted, “It made the papers and everything: ‘Mafloy’s and Greengrass’s Lead the Way in Mending Bridges’. He was not happy,” the smile slowly fell from Draco’s face, “It’s hard,” he said softly, “I still love him, but don’t like him at all. I… I never said it before, but I am sorry about all the jokes I ever made about you being an orphan. I am legitimately horrified when I think back to it - at how cruel I was as a child. I’d be distraught if any child of mine said such horrible things. I understand if you can’t accept my apology,” he said seriously.

Harry waved his apology away though, “Don’t be silly - I’m not holding you accountable for things you said when we were children. You were awful, but you shouldn’t be punished for it for the rest of your life. Otherwise, what’s the point in growing and learning? I should probably apologise too, actually,”

Draco scoffed, “What in Merlin’s name for? For not simply lying down and letting me bully you relentlessly?”

Harry swallowed, and shook his head, “No. For the girls’ bathroom,”

“I don’t think you need to apologise for that either,” he said quietly.

“What?” Harry cried, “Of course I do!”

“I was about to crucio you Harry - I should thank you for stopping me,”

Harry fell silent, not quite sure what to say to that. After a moment, he said, “Well. Either way. I am sorry. I didn’t know what that spell would do, I promise you,”

“I knew what mine did,” Draco answered darkly.

Not for the first time in his life, Harry longed for a time turner to undo the conversation they had just had, regret swimming in his gut. He half expected Draco to shake his hand free as they walked silently towards Harry’s home, but he didn’t. If anything, he squeezed it tighter as he stroked the back of Harry’s hand with his thumb.

Harry held his breath, then said, “I’m sorry!” At exactly the same time, Draco said the same thing. They exchanged sheepish smiles as they stepped onto Grimmauld Place’s square.

“We’re ridiculous,” Draco said with a chuckle, and Harry murmured his fond agreement. They entered Harry’s house in comfortable silence, abandoning their shoes downstairs and hurrying up to the living room.

While Harry attempted to set up his DVD player, Draco turned the case for the Lord of the Rings over in his hands, peering at the cover with interest.

“So… I’m guessing this man in the middle is meant to be Frodo?” He said hesitantly.

Harry glanced briefly over his shoulder and found Draco tapping on Elijah Wood’s face, “Uh, yeah,” he said distractedly, turning back to his DVD player and stabbing the buttons on the remote determinedly. He really needed a new one - it had been a pain in the arse since the day he bought it.

“But this man looks like a teenager!” Draco cried, faintly outraged, “Frodo is meant to be in his fifties! And yes, I know that the ring affected how he aged, and that as a rule Hobbit’s age differently to men, but still!”

Harry sighed in relief when he finally made the DVD player and his telly cooperate with one another. He pushed himself up to his feet and headed over to the sofa, “Draco, please, I have no idea what you’re talking about, but you’re going to need to make some allowances, or this is going to be a very long, very annoying film for the both of us,”

Draco scowled petulantly, still staring down at the cover; he tilted his head to the side, clearly contemplating something, “You know,” he said slowly, “this guy looks quite a bit like you,”

Harry scoffed, “Oh shove off, no he doesn’t,”

“He does,” Draco insisted, “You’re not as pale, but you’ve got the same enormous eyes,”

“His eyes are blue,” Harry said dryly, “Mine are, quite famously at this point, green,”

“Which is why you’re prettier,” Draco said firmly, and Harry laughed at him, shaking his head to cover his own discomfort with the compliment; Draco opened his arms, and shuffled back against the sofa “Cuddle?” Harry consented happily, tucking himself under Draco’s arm and into his side, and pressing play.

Until the Hobbits arrived in Rivendell, Harry had been convinced that he’d made a terrible mistake. Draco kept up an almost continuous commentary, describing how the film compared to the books. He’d been particularly outraged at the omission of a character called ‘Tom Bombadil’ and had squawked in horror when Arwen had come to rescue Frodo rather than whoever had done so in the book. It was only when Draco had gasped at the sight of Rivendell, and said, “This is amazing!” That Harry realised Draco was having the time of his life. He had near screamed when Gollum had briefly appeared, and sighed wistfully at the telly anytime Arwen was on screen.

“You have to admit, even as a gay man, that she’s beautiful,” he’d tilted his head in consideration, “Actually… I’d say you look more like her than Frodo,”

Harry scoffed and slapped his chest, “Oh, shut up - we’ve established that you don’t need to flatter me to get me to sleep with you, so you don’t need to start now,”

Draco gasped, “I would never!” He denied, catching Harry’s chin and turning his face to his and stealing a kiss, “You’re as beautiful as Lúthien,” he said seriously, kissing him again.

Harry chuckled, uncomfortable now, and freed his face from Draco’s grasp, “I don’t know who that is, Draco,”

Draco let him go, looking faintly confused. He didn’t complain though when Harry buried himself into his chest for the rest of the film.

“That was fantastic,” Draco said enthusiastically as the credits rolled several hours later, “Can we watch the next one?”

Harry hesitated, “I hate to piss on your parade, but I’d really rather not watch all three movies in one day,” Draco wilted somewhat, “…we could watch them tomorrow? If you’re not busy?”

Draco nodded eagerly, only to freeze, “f*ck. Maybe I should get a television!” He said excitedly, practically rubbing his hands together, “But how do I get one installed? I wouldn’t even know where to start,”

“I could help you if you like,” Harry offered, “I don’t know everything there is to know, but I could certainly point you in the right direction, and wall-mount it for you too,”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to inconvenience you,”

“I’m sure,”

Draco grinned, checking his watch, only for his face to fall, “Ah. It’s getting on towards super time,” he said, sounding disappointed.

The idea of Draco leaving had Harry’s heart clenching in his chest, “I could cook for you if you like? I’m very good, I promise,”

Draco looked like he wanted nothing more than to agree, but instead he said regretfully, “I’m really sorry, but I really can’t stop over and leave Gandalf all alone again. He’s surprisingly needy for such an aloof cat,”

Harry licked his lips, and said carefully, half expecting to be knocked back, “I could cook at yours?”

“That would be amazing, but I have literally no food in the house,”

Harry opened his mouth, a workaround on the tip of his tongue, but he stopped. What if Draco was just politely trying to say goodbye, and Harry was there essentially begging for his company? The thought left him feeling faintly unwell. He didn’t want to be a bother. He nodded with a tight smile, and said, “Okay. I understand,” and Harry expected Draco to express his regrets, and stand to leave. But he didn’t.

“Do you have the stuff here? Could you bring it with you?” Draco said, an enquiring tilt to his head.

“I… yeah, I do,”

“Well, shall we do that?” Relief flooded Harry’s chest, and he nodded silently, not quite able to find the words, “Great!” Now it was Draco’s turn to hesitate, “Did you want to bring a change of clothes?”

Half an hour later found Harry crossing the threshold of Draco’s house once more, a duffel bag over one shoulder while Draco carried in a bag of groceries.

“Leave your bag at the bottom of the stairs, we can take it up later. The kitchen is this way,”

Draco really wasn’t joking when he said he had nothing in. Flicking curiously through the cupboards and the pantry, Harry could maybe have made them cheese on toast with the food he found, but not much else.

The kitchen was smaller than Harry had expected - much smaller. It connected to the entrance hall via the door by the stairs and continued directly onto a small dining room. He imagined the kitchen was around the same square footage, but it appeared significantly smaller with the dark wood cabinets that took up most of the space, and the enormous green oven in their middle that matched the dark green tiles. The pantry wasn’t actually in the kitchen at all, but was instead situated in the small, barely there corridor that connected the kitchen both to the dining room, as well as to an additional door out onto the patio.

It was homely, and Harry loved it.

“Am I going to get in the way?” Draco said, hovering in the doorway between the kitchen and the pantry, “I know it’s not a very big kitchen. Barney always shouts at me to get out,” he said sheepishly.

“Barney?” Harry said blankly, “As in the purple dinosaur?”

Draco looked at him like he’d grown a second head, “No - as in my house-elf. It’s short for Barnabas. Who the hell is Barney the purple dinosaur?”

“It’s a children’s TV character,” Harry explained distractedly at he unloaded the bag of the ingredients he’d brought with him: everything he could possibly need to make them spaghetti bolognaise, “You have a house-elf?”

“Ah, sort of? He’s one of mothers, but she says there’s not enough work to do at the manor anymore, so he takes care of my house as well. To be honest I think she’s just worried about me,”

“Where is he now then?” Harry asked curiously, peering about and half expecting a crazed house-elf to appear from a secret cupboard. The thought had him missing Kreacher - he’d been a good house-elf in the end.

“At the manor. He only comes here once a week to clean and sort out the garden for me. He does a large chunk of my cooking for me as well, when I’m not eating out on clients' money,” he admitted.

Harry investigated the cupboard, finding Draco’s pots and pans and selecting the ones he needed, “So you don’t know anything about cooking?” Well, it was a good job he’d brought cooking oil he thought wryly, finding not even a drop.

Draco shook his head, “I’m afraid not, beyond following very clear instructions. One of my many downfalls I’m afraid. When did you learn?”

“My aunt made me cook all the time as a kid,” Draco’s expression soured, “I got good very quickly because I had to. If I cooked something she didn’t like, she’d throw it away, and then cook something new for the rest of the family but not for me,”

“That’s f*cking despicable, Harry,” Draco said harshly, “Why on Earth were you kept with these people?”

“I know,” Harry agreed softly with a shrug, portioning out dried spaghetti and dropping it into a pan for later, “I try not to think about it anymore. I try not to let them have any hold over my life - I try not to give them that power,” Harry sorted the vegetables he’d brought with them into an orderly line, and began to chop, staring with the carrots and ending with the celery, “When Ron and I lived together, I made myself cook us every single meal we ate until the thought of cooking stopped making me feel like I was going to be sick with anxiety,” Draco stepped cautiously closer as he worked, as if he were worried Harry might start yelling at him to get out, “I made breakfast, and packed lunches, and then dinner and desert, until I stopped associating it with Petunia shouting at me, and instead connected it with Ron and Hermione appreciating my cooking,” He flashed Draco a smile, and found he was being listened to intently, “So now cooking is something I enjoy, rather than something I hate. It feels like reclaiming it for myself,”

“I’m sorry your childhood was so awful,” Draco said softly, stepping seamlessly out of the way when Harry reached for a pan, adding oil and lighting the stove with a murmured spell, “Did no one know what was happening then?”

“Dumbledore did,” Harry said softly, tipping the chopped vegetables from the chopping board into the frying pan; he turned to organise the spices he’d haphazardly stuffed into his bag, too eager to get going to look through them carefully before they’d left. He couldn’t find the chilli - damn. He really hoped he’d brought the Worcestershire sauce though. It was never the same without it.

“Did you just say that Dumbledore did?” Draco said, his voice painfully steady.

“One of my neighbours, Mrs Figg, the one that they left me with all the time. She was a squib and a member of the Order. She reported on me to him. I can’t see how he couldn’t have known,” Harry said with a shrug, sighing in relief when he found the bottle he was looking for; he could cope without the chilli, but not without this, “It’s another thing I try not to think about,” Harry said dryly, turning to stir the vegetables he had chopped, “Hermione got really angry about it a few years ago - said he was a despicable man who shouldn’t be remembered as a hero when he’d actively facilitated child abuse,”

“And what did you say?” Draco said carefully, stepping to Harry’s other side to better see what he was doing.

“I told her to leave it alone. I told her I already had complicated enough feelings about him and my childhood without other people weighing in on it as well. That biography that Skeeter wrote before the war was bad enough. I didn’t want to dredge it all up again and throw my own name into the mix as well,” he said with a grimace.

“I can understand that - I suppose there has to be a cut-off point where you let things go to protect yourself. Did Granger leave it alone?”

“Hmm, pretty quickly. I think Ron spoke to her. She can get quite hot headed about these things,”

“I’m sure she can,” Draco muttered, “I remember her right hook,”

Harry chuckled, “She apologised, and we left it alone,”

“They sound like good friends,” Draco said softly.

Harry hummed fondly, “They are. They’re my family. I love them, and they love me - oh!” Harry jumped at the feeling of something brushing up against him and looked down to see Gandalf winding his way around his legs.

Draco let out an amused huff, dipping down to hoist the white cat into his arms, “Nosey thing,” he said, pressing a kiss to his cheek, “He likes to watch,” he explained with a shrug.

Harry grinned and turned back to the pan with a shake of his head. He reached round Draco for the minced beef, cutting the packet open with his knife and tipping the contents into the pan. Behind him, Draco stood quietly. Too quietly.

“I can hear you thinking from here,” Harry said lightly.

“I… don’t want to overstep,” he said slowly.

“Ask me anyway,”

“Is it difficult? That they’re married to each other. That they have their own family now,”

Harry swallowed, forcing himself to keep stirring the beef about the pan, watching it brown. He tried to answer twice before he actually managed to open his mouth, “Yes. It is,” he forced out, flexing his fingers around the wooden spoon in his hand, “There was an adjustment period, that’s for sure. Especially when they moved out together and I was left alone, but I’ve gotten used to it. And they make a special effort as well though… though it just makes me feel pitied more than anything,” he admitted, his tone faintly bitter.

“They don’t,” Draco said at once, “I may not know them well, but I know for certain they don’t pity you,” in his arms, Gandalf mewled as if in agreement, leaning out of Draco’s arms to inspect the steam that was rising from the pan, “I… I’m sorry to bring it up again. But it sounds like you feel like you’re a bother to people. I refuse to believe that the Granger and Weasley I knew from school would ever think of you like that,”

“I know,” Harry said softly, “But it feels that way sometimes. They both set aside time so that we can hang out one on one - me and Hermione and me and Ron. It’s… hard. I try my best not to let it show though. I don’t want them to feel guilty for moving on and growing when I feel kind of stuck in the mud,”

“Like how you didn’t tell them about how working for the Aurors was making you feel?” Harry simply looked at him and said nothing, reaching passed him for the tinned tomatoes and the tomato purée. What was there to say? “… I’m sorry. That was unintentionally judgemental and not my place to say,”

“It wasn’t,” Harry murmured, forgoing the tin opener and simply using magic to empty the chopped tomatoes into the pan; they landed with a sizzle, “but you’re not wrong,” he added the tomato purée by eye, rolling down the metal tube, and then stirring.

Draco caught his hand before he could reach for the Worcestershire sauce, and waited until Harry was looking at him to say more clearly, “I’m sorry, Harry,”

Harry looked from the cat in his arms, to the hand around his wrist, up to his face; he nodded, “You’re forgiven,” Draco’s shoulders visibly relaxed, “Pass the sauce, will you?”

Draco smiled faintly, and passed it to him, “Do you think seeing them with their family is partly why you want one?”

“I suppose,” Harry agreed with a shrug, “But it’s not the only reason. I’ve wanted one since I was five and I saw Connor Lane being picked up by his father and swung through the air. I’ve wanted one since I was twelve and I visited the Burrow for the first time and saw Ron’s family for myself. I want people who love me. And I know I have that already but… I want people who are mine, do you know what I mean? I want to be able to say my son, or my daughter, or my husband. Not just - here are the friends who are my family but also are their own family. I’ve never told Ron and Hermione this either. It would just upset them,”

Tuesday – 5^th of June 2007

Now

“We don’t pity you,” Ron said fiercely, his hand fixed around Harry’s again, “Malfoy’s right. We absolutely do not pity you and you are not a bother. We just want you to be happy,”

“I know,” Harry whispered, “I know you do. The things in my head aren’t always rational, and I know that. It’s just…,” he trailed off, then shrugged, “It’s just a thing I deal with,”

“All the time?” Ron said, sounding as if he were about to cry.

“Not all the time,” Harry assured him, “but a lot,”

“Why don’t you say anything?”

“Because what’s the point,” Harry shrugged, “I know it’s in my head. It’s just a voice. And most of the time I can ignore it but sometimes… sometimes it gets a bit much,”

“Well - when it gets to that point? I want you to tell us. Will you do that? Tell us, so me and Hermione can hold you between us and tell that voice to f*ck right off,” he said hotly, “We don’t pity you, we love you. Yes, Mione and I are married, but that doesn’t mean we love you any less. We love you just as fiercely as we love each other, it’s just a different kind of love. You get that, right?”

Harry nodded, a single tear escaping and rolling down his cheek, “I get that. I love you guys too,”

Ron squeezed his fingers and stroked his thumb across the back of his hand. Harry took a deep steadying breath and began to speak again.

Saturday – 2^nd of June 2007

Then

Draco hummed, but didn’t comment, “I think part of my own motivation for having a family is wanting to break the cycle my father perpetuated. I wouldn’t describe him or my mother as abusive, but they were certainly distant. I knew that they loved me, but they weren’t loving. I want to be loving,” he said firmly, “I want to have children who know they can cry and make mistakes and that I’ll still love them. It took the Dark Lord trying to murder everyone for me to actually, properly recognise how much my parents loved me. How sad is that? Though, I suppose at least I had parents,” he said, almost apologetically.

“Don’t do that,” Harry said with a shake of his head, grabbing spices at random and adding them liberally to the pan, “This isn’t a measure of who had it worse. You’re allowed to be sad about your own childhood, Draco, without comparing it to mine,”

“I suppose so,” Draco agreed mildly, “What are you doing by the way?”

“Hmm?” Harry said, in the middle of adding dried oregano to the pan.

“You’re just randomly adding things to it,” Draco accused him.

Harry grinned over his shoulder, “It’s called intuition,”

Draco scoffed, dropping Gandalf to the ground when he began to squirm, “It’s called bullsh*t more like,”

Harry pointed his wooden spoon threateningly at him, “Just you wait and see,”

Ten minutes later, sat at the dining table, Draco said, “Well. I stand corrected. This is excellent!”

Harry chuckled and said in a sing-song voice, “I told you so,”

“I always wanted to learn to cook you know,” Draco said sadly, “But my father refused to let the house-elves teach me. He told me it was servants’ work, and not for me. The same with a lot of other things as well - I could have anything I wanted as a child, but I knew from a young age that some things I could never have,”

“Like what?” Harry asked, swirling spaghetti against a spoon.

“Like a job that my father hadn’t decided for me. Or friends my father hadn’t picked out for me. No girlfriends or boyfriends - not official ones anyway. I could sleep with who I liked, so long as I didn’t get them pregnant, and so long as it didn’t get me arrested,” Draco sneered, “My father cared less about me hurting someone, and more about me being caught doing so. My mother was less callous - much less so, but even she made sure I knew not to start accidentally making bastards,” Draco shook his head, sitting back from the table, “I love them. I love them both, even now. But they’re just…,” he sighed, “I don’t know what they are. It’s difficult to love someone but think they’re so wrong about so many things,”

“I’m sorry that your relationship with them is so strained,” Harry said sincerely, “But you said your mother was getting better?”

Draco nodded vehemently, “Much better,” he stressed, “I think seeing her sister again is what changed things. Seeing what she’d given up all for blood purity. It’s sad really. This really is excellent by the way,” he pointed at what little remained of his dinner, “What’s your secret?”

Harry snorted, “Throwing out the failed attempts,”

Draco chuckled, “Does this mean you’re making me desert as well?”

Harry turned a baleful look in his direction, “Do you have anything to make desert with?”

“Well…,” Draco said slowly, “I could always ask Barney to bring stuff over? And stuff for breakfast tomorrow, if you like?” He added casually, pretending not to stare at Harry, clearly looking for his reaction as he cleaned his plate.

Harry grinned slowly at him, “Yeah, alright then.”

An hour later, and they were sat side by side on the floor with their backs pressed up against the kitchen wall, staring at the orange glow of the green oven’s interior light and waiting for the apple pie Harry had made to finish baking. Gandalf was stretched out across them where their legs were pressed together, so that they couldn’t separate without dumping the poor cat on the cold kitchen tiles.

“Not lemon meringue pie?” Draco said sounding faintly disappointed.

“Nah - can’t be arsed with making meringue. You get what you get. Beggars can’t be choosers. Did Barney bring custard, or am I going to be making that from scratch too?”

The look that Draco gave him was faintly amazed, “You can make your own custard?!”

Harry laughed at him, “I’m hoping not today! Please tell me you have some,”

Reluctantly, Draco nodded, “Yeah, we do. In a carton,”

Harry shook his head in amusem*nt, turning to look down at the cat between them and stroking a hand through his fur, “He’s a sweet cat, isn’t he,” he said warmly, “Is he a house cat?”

Draco shrugged, “Kind of. There’s a cat flap in the door in the pantry, but I have the garden charmed so that he can’t go any further than the property boundaries. It would break my heart if he were hit by a car. He’s such a sweet cat - excellent company. He doesn’t even bring in mice, just the occasional leaf,”

“Leaves?” Harry said with a laugh.

“He’s an excellent hunter,” Draco said solemnly.

Harry chuckled, shaking his head and grinning just as the timer on the kitchen counter pinged, “Come on - we need to get this pie out,”

With the pie out of the oven, Harry found himself having to slap Draco’s hand away when he reached to try and break off a bit of the crust, “Leave it alone - it’s far too hot. Do you have a cooling rack?” Draco stared at him blankly; Harry rolled his eyes, and improvised, fishing the rack from the grill pan out and leaving the pie on top of it surrounded by a stasis charm and a ward to keep it safe from Gandalf, “It’s going to be a while before it’s cool enough to eat. What do you want to do in the meantime?”

Draco sidled closer to him, pressing his body flush against Harry’s and dropping a kiss to his neck, “I can think of something,”

Harry felt very much as if he were reliving the teenage years he had missed out on, reclined on Draco’s sofa with the man lying on top of him, his mouth attached to Harry’s neck and his hand down the front of his trousers. He’d even put music on to join the sounds of their breathy moans. Harry groaned in disappointment when Draco sat up and pulled away, but he needn’t have done.

“Sit on the sofa,” Draco said breathlessly, the longer parts of his hair mused and half in his eyes, “And take your trousers off,”

Draco didn’t say much else for a while, sucking Harry down like his life depended on it and pressing his fingers into Harry’s hole rubbing against Harry’s inner walls. With his eyes screwed shut and his head resting back against the sofa, Harry found himself hoping that Draco’s cat really was deaf what with all of the noises coming out of his mouth. He couldn’t help it though, arching against the fingers inside him to get them to touch him in just the right spot and chasing the feeling of Draco’s mouth around him.

“Feels so good…,” he found himself murmuring to the ceiling.

Draco pulled off with an almost obscene wet sound, “Can I f*ck you again?” He said breathlessly, “I won’t take long,”

Harry pulled his legs up immediately, “I’m hoping you won’t be too fast,” he said with a laugh.

Draco grinned down at him, his cheeks flushed bright red as he pulled his fingers free to take his co*ck in hand and ease it inside of Harry. He screwed his eyes shut, the arm that was braced by Harry’s head trembling faintly as he pressed in, “f*ck,” he said suddenly, his eyes springing open, “Sorry. This really isn’t going to last long,”

Harry just moaned and tilted his head back, spreading his legs as wide as he could in an obvious invitation. He cried out involuntarily at the sudden strength of Draco’s thrusts, and the feet of the sofa beneath him screeched against the hard wood floor. His next cry was captured by Draco’s mouth as he sealed their lips together in a fierce kiss, blending both their moans into one until Draco shuddered and came to a sudden stop.

Harry gasped against his lips, his legs trembling from the position he held them in. Draco pulled out abruptly, dropping Harry’s legs to his shoulders and replacing his co*ck with his fingers as he swallowed Harry down again. It was if he was trying to make up for his own short performance by giving the best blowj*b of his life, and Harry wasn’t complaining. He followed soon after, clamping down on the fingers inside of him and coming in Draco’s mouth unexpectedly.

“S-sorry,” he stuttered, gasping and panting, “S-sorry, I didn’t expect to come so fast. I should have warned you,”

Draco shook his head though, swallowing and wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, “It’s fine - I would have preferred a warning, but it’s probably my own fault,” he dropped a kiss to Harry’s thigh, working his hands up his sides to grasp at Harry’s waist, “You okay?”

Harry nodded, still panting, “That was amazing,” he said honestly.

Draco grinned up at him, his fringe having flopped in front of his face; he kissed Harry’s thigh again, “Good. For me too. Now - come on,” he smacked Harry’s outer thigh lightly, “I want a different slice of your pie now,”

Harry burst into laughter, “You corny motherf*cker!”

They ate their pie in the kitchen, reclining back against the counters stood opposite one another. Gandalf was sat on the side as well while Draco held out a finger for him to lick custard from. He jumped down though when it was obvious that Draco wasn’t going to give him anymore.

“So,” Draco said, swallowing a mouthful of pie, “I meant to ask: do you exclusively bottom?”

Harry shrugged, “It is a preference, but I like topping as well. I like bottoming for more than just someone being inside of me. It’s more the overall experience. I like being held down and covered with someone else’s body and having them make me feel good. Like: doggy style where your partner is just rigidly upright and not touching you doesn’t do it for me, you know? I like topping, but I don’t really like taking control in the bedroom, and those things rarely seem to go together for some reason,” he shrugged, “It’s fine. I’d rather bottom every time than have to be the one calling the shots,”

“You don’t like being in charge?”

Harry shook his head, “Not really. In charge of myself? Yes. In charge of others? Eh, no; especially not in the bedroom. You?”

“Well,” Draco said with an interested hum, “I’m the same actually, only the other way around. I enjoy bottoming occasionally, but only if I’m in control. I like watching someone’s face as they take only what I’m willing to give them. You understand?”

Harry grinned slowly, sucking the last of the custard off his spoon, “I think I can work with that,”

Draco eyed him up and down, and said cautiously, “Now? Already?”

Harry shrugged, deliberately nonchalant, and chucked his spoon into the sink, “If you think you can go again so soon. I understand if you’re not quite that virile though - we are getting older after all,” he spluttered in alarm when the empty bowl suddenly disappeared and was replaced with Draco’s hand as he pulled him out of the kitchen and towards the hallway and the stairs, “Sorry - but did you just completely banish those bowls?”

“Shut up, Harry,” Draco said airily.

“That’s not very economical,”

“Shut up, Harry!”

Harry had stopped complaining by the time Draco had pinned him to his bed, a hand in the centre of his chest while Draco used the other to hold Harry’s co*ck in place and carefully guide him into his body. Draco let out a satisfied hiss as his arse pressed flush against Harry’s thighs, but Harry found he couldn’t make a single sound. Sitting in Harry’s lap, Draco reached for Harry’s hands and lifted them above his head to cling onto the bars of his headboard.

“Is it okay if I tie you there?” Draco gasped out, grinding his pelvis against Harry’s.

Harry nodded jerkily, moaning against the sensation, feeling as if his whole body was being unwound, “Puffskeins,” he groaned out.

Draco nodded down at him, shifting to grab his wand, “Safe word?”

“Uh hu - oh, f*ck me, Merlin’s tit*,”

Draco chuckled, binding Harry’s wrists with a flick of his wand. He leant down and pressed their mouths together in a long filthy kiss, and said against Harry’s lips, “Puffskeins it is,” and he began to move.

Tuesday – 5^th of June 2007

Now

“I cannot believe you had sex with Malfoy four times in one day,” Ron said, chortling around the sandwiches he had made for them, “Four times!”

Harry frowned, confused, “Four times? What? No! Three times!”

Ron shook his head, swallowing his sandwich, “Nuh uh - you had sex just after midnight, then in the morning, then after dinner, and then after pie as well. You dog you!” He threw his head back and cackled.

Harry paused and checked his maths.

Huh.

Four times in one day.

Merlin.

Chapter 5: Sunday - John Lewis

Chapter Text

Sunday – 3^rd of June 2007

Then

Harry was asleep, and then just as suddenly, he was wide awake. He froze, recognising immediately that he was in an unfamiliar room. Adrenaline thrilled through him and his heart pounded in his chest at a slight movement ahead of him. He had just been about to lurch up to snatch out for his glasses, when a curious fury face loomed into view.

Ah. Gandalf. And it all came flooding back.

Behind him, Draco was more or less lying half on top of him, pinning him in place and breathing heavily in his ear. His arms were tucked around Harry’s waist, holding him possessively close as if he were afraid, he might try and escape. Without his glasses on, Harry couldn’t see much of the bedroom they were in, but it wouldn’t have much mattered if he had been able to, what with the white cat that was stood directly in front of his face obscuring the view.

Gandalf leant down, snuffling his face in Harry’s and letting out a petulant meow. Draco twitched, but otherwise slept on.

Harry reached out blindly for his wand and found it on a side table by the bed. He cast tempus and squinted to make out the numbers that hovered in the air: seven am. Gandalf was probably hungry.

Harry deliberated for a moment over what to do, feeling once again as if he were staying over at The Burrow for the first time and, having woken before the rest of the family, wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself.

Gandalf mewled insistently, leaning forwards to lick the tip of Harry’s nose and making Harry’s mind up for him.

Getting out of bed was an ordeal. It turned out that a sleeping Draco was practically a limpet, clinging desperately to Harry and mumbling a protest when he finally slipped away. Draco wasn’t bereft for long though, and he quickly turned over to face the other way, releasing a soft snoring sound.

Harry shook his head, and tried not to think too hard about the warm fond feeling that flooded his chest. He felt for his glasses, slipped them onto his nose, and followed the cat who had been waiting patiently for him.

Gandalf trotted ahead of him, pausing occasionally to peer back over his shoulder to ensure that Harry was following, before leading Harry closer and closer to his goal.

They ended up in the small space that connected the pantry, the dining room, the kitchen and the door to the patio. Gandalf sat patiently in front of the pantry door, before tipping his head back, fixing Harry with his large blue eyes, and letting out a plaintive meow.

Opening the pantry door, Harry found what he was after immediately, though he had somehow overlooked it the night before. Tins of cat food (a muggle brand but an obviously pricey one) were stacked neatly in one corner, and an ornate dish sat next to them.

Not knowing how much to feed him, but equally not wanting to be woken again, Harry hedged his bets and grabbed two tins. Once his bowl had been filled and set down on the mat in the corner, Gandalf ignored Harry completely, and Harry took the opportunity to snoop.

Though it was only a light snooping.

He leant over the threshold of the dining room, refusing to step even a toe into the room, and inspected it curiously. He hadn’t looked around it much the night before, too focussed on watching Draco enjoy his meal. Compared to the bright yellow sitting room and the burnt orange study, it was positively tame, painted in soft sky blues with a circular beach wood dining table. Hanging on the wall though was an enormous portrait of a tiger, and Harry knew that if he looked closer, he would find thread rather than paint.

Draco really was talented.

He was jolted back to reality by the sound of the cat flap opening and closing. Peering through the back door’s window, he watched as Gandalf plonked himself in the middle of the grass to enjoy the rising sun. He ruined the effect by lifting a leg past his head and dipping his head down to lick his arse.

Lovely.

Harry struggled to suppress a yawn - time to go back to bed.

Draco stirred as he climbed back under the covers. He lifted his head to squint up at Harry.

“Where’d you go?” He muttered, lifting an arm, the obvious intention being for Harry to snuggle in closer. Harry couldn’t refuse him.

“To feed Gandalf. I hope that’s okay?”

Draco hummed happily in his ear, his eyes closed as he wound his arms around Harry and held on tight, “He won’t let you leave if you keep that up,” he warned, a massive yawn splitting his mouth wide apart, “and neither will I,” and he fell promptly back to sleep.

Harry though, was wide awake. Draco’s words rolled around in his head, teasing and tormenting him. They were words reminiscent of something he’d heard before. He’d believed them then, but he wasn’t fool enough to believe them now. The memory of heart break clenched in his gut, and it took him a long time to achieve anything approaching sleep again.

Finally, when he could no longer ignore the bright light that crept around Draco’s cream curtains and the heat that came with it, Harry climbed out of bed for the second time that day.

He wasn’t up out of bed alone for long though.

With his stomach grumbling, Harry had been quick to sort through the breakfast items that Barney had delivered the previous evening (the elf was nothing like Barney the purple dinosaur; he was several magnitudes more sinister) and soon had bacon and sausages sizzling in a pan. This attracted not only Gandalf in from the garden, but it also enticed Draco out of bed.

He shuddered at the feeling of hands winding around his waist and working their way under his shirt. Draco sighed in his ear and pressed his lips to Harry’s neck, “That smells delicious,” he murmured into Harry’s skin, inhaling deeply.

“It won’t be done for a few more minutes yet,” Harry warned him.

Draco chuckled though, crossing his arms around Harry’s front to hug him close, “I wasn’t talking about the food - you smell amazing. You smell like me,” he said sounding ridiculously smug.

Harry’s back prickled uncomfortably though, reminded of what Draco had said earlier that morning, “Yes, well, you can’t eat me though,” he pointed out.

Draco nipped at his ear lobe playfully, “I know, but in my defence, I did try very hard to last night,” he glanced round at Gandalf, who watched them through unimpressed eyes by the kitchen door, “I suppose I should probably feed you first though,”

Harry frowned in confusion, twisting around to look at Draco, “What? But I’ve already fed him,”

“Have you?”

“Yeah - this morning, don’t you remember me getting out of bed?”

Draco yawned and ducked down to rub his forehead into Harry’s back, “Nope!” He said with a pop, “Gandalf is never going to let you go though, if you keep getting up early to feed him,” he hummed happily under his breath, but said nothing more.

The twisting in Harry’s gut relaxed. Draco had been asleep still when they’d spoken before. He didn’t remember what he’d said. Reluctant hope reared its head - if he had still been asleep, then his words had slipped out without him meaning them to, and that made all the difference as far as Harry was concerned. It meant that maybe… maybe he’d meant them.

“Instead of getting a job, I think you should just become my personal chef,” Draco said very seriously, hooking his chin over Harry’s shoulder.

Harry let out a bark of laughter, “Not a chance - will you grab the plates?” Draco did as he was asked, though not without grumbling unhappily at having to abandon Harry’s side, “Did you still want to go to the shops after breakfast?” He leant back to squint at the small clock that was half obscured by the extractor fan, “They’ll be opening soon,”

“The shops?” Draco said, confused.

“Yeah - you said you wanted to buy a telly, remember? I was gonna’ help you set it up,”

Recognition flashed in Draco’s eyes, “Ah! Yes! And then Lord of the Rings. Will I be able to watch ordinary muggle television as well?” He asked curiously, picking up the slice of bacon that Harry had added to his plate and eating it from his fingers.

“Ah, uh… I don’t suppose you know if you have an aerial?” Draco frowned, “A metal thing on top of your house?”

“Oh! Is that what that is?”

“Yeah - it receives signals so that you can watch tv. Do you know where the port is?” Draco only looked at him, and so Harry sighed, snatched the last bit of bacon from his fingers, and went to investigate.

Finding it was both more and less difficult than Harry expected. It was exactly where he thought it might be: in the sitting room, low to the floor next to what had once been a fireplace. Unfortunately, it was also completely tucked behind one of Draco’s bookcases, and it took a careful windgardium leviosa to hover the bookcase a few inches and shift it over enough to access it.

He returned, triumphant, to find that Draco had set the table for them. Gandalf had joined them, sitting patiently in his own chair and licking bacon fat from Draco’s fingers.

“Found it. It’s in the sitting room so we should be able to get whatever you buy on the wall without much difficulty. Do you have tools?” Draco shook his head looking faintly guilty, “It’s fine, we can use mine. Where’s your actual fireplace by the way?” He asked curiously, seating himself, scratching Gandalf behind the ears and then tucking into his breakfast.

Draco pointed to the closed door in the dining room, “Through there. I keep the door closed so that if I ever do use it, I don’t need to worry about giving this one a heart attack. Plus, my piano and guitars and the such are in there - I’d rather keep Gandalf away from them,”

“You play instruments?”

“I do,” Draco said with a single nod, “Not much anymore though. I used to play for Astoria. Just isn’t the same playing only for me,”

“Kind of like cooking just for yourself,”

“Exactly,” Draco fell silent, drinking deeply from his coffee cup; Harry could practically hear his mind whirring, “I could play for you if you like?” He offered carefully.

Harry smiled, wide and surprised, his heart fluttering at the prospect and feeling himself falling further and further into a word he found very difficult to say, “Really? I’d like that,”

Draco smiled back, slow and fond: he felt a socked toe brushing up against his calf, “You’re so pretty when you smile like that,” Harry flushed, his eyes snapping back to his breakfast as he shifted uneasily; Draco chuckled in amusem*nt, “You really don’t take compliments well, do you?” His smile fell slowly from his face when Harry pushed himself to his feet, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Just finished eating - we’ll want to head off soon. It’ll take a few hours to get all this sorted I imagine,” he said to his plate, not quite able to make eye contact.

“Okay… if you’re sure,” Draco said warily, following him into the kitchen with his own empty plate, “Can I treat you to dinner later? To say thank you for your help,”

“If you like,” Harry said mildly, brushing his fingertips across the back of Draco’s hand to try and show without saying the words, that they were fine, “I’m honestly happy to, though,”

Draco suddenly caught his hand, pulling him closer and pressing their lips together. Harry sighed into him unconsciously, lifting up onto his tip toes to seal their lips together more securely. He felt a palm pressing into the small of his back and drawing him closer. When they separated, Draco didn’t let him go, and so they stood embracing with their foreheads bowed together.

“What was that for?” Harry whispered.

Draco shrugged, dropped a kiss on his forehead, and said, “Making up for lost time, I suppose. Shower before we go? Maybe not together or I won’t be able to keep my hands to myself,” he winked and stepped past Harry to drop his plate in the sink.

Harry’s heart thudded and his mind raced as he stood underneath the spray in Draco’s rainfall shower.

f*ck.

What was he doing? What the actual f*ck was he doing? Playing house with Draco Malfoy? This was slowly tipping out of the realms of an extended one-night stand and landing squarely in a nearly three-day love affair. He felt almost giddy with it, a combination of excitement and anxiety. But what was he meant to do when it was over? This long weekend?

f*ck!

He didn’t do this. He didn’t do staying all day and night and making plans for dinner. He hadn’t since-

He clamped down on the thought immediately, and scrubbed at himself furiously as if it would cleanse his mind as well.

He emerged from the bathroom in the thick, terry-cloth bathrobe that Draco had lent him, still pink from the shower, his hair drying haphazardly on his head, and his glasses half covered in steam.

He nearly ran straight into Draco, and warmth filled his heart at the sight of him. He was dressed in casual muggle attire; soft beige corduroy trousers and a light pink shirt that wouldn’t have looked out of place at the beach.

Draco smiled at him, wide and pleased and shaking his head slightly. He let out a small laugh and dipped closer to press a kiss to the end of Harry’s nose, “Merlin - you are ridiculously cute,” and he ducked past him before Harry could answer, “Come on. We’re losing daylight!”

Harry watched him practically skip down the stairs and disappear into the hallway below. For the first time in nearly seven years, Harry thought he might know what it felt like to be loved by someone.

“So, where are we going?” Draco asked later, pulling a jacket on and leading the way to the space between his house and his neighbour’s so that they could disapparate, “I’ll have to follow your lead - I know very little about muggle shopping, and even less about their technology,”

“Well,” Harry said slowly, “I thought about Curry’s first, but then I thought that might not be quite your kind of place,”

Draco frowned in confusion, “I don’t mind a curry, but I thought we were eating later?”

Harry chuckled at him, “No, Curry’s sells electronics. Computers and tellys and washing machines. But I thought of somewhere better. Somewhere that, if you haven’t already discovered it, might blow your little mind,”

Draco looked at him dubiously, but wound his arm through Harry’s nonetheless, “Well, I’m in your capable hands I suppose.”

Tuesday – 5^th of June 2007

Now

“Don’t look at me like that,” Harry said warily, running a finger down the stem of his wine glass. Ron had given up on tea, declaring that alcohol was needed for the rest of Harry’s story.

Ron pursed his lips, “Look at you like what?”

Harry sighed, “Like you see right through me,”

“You have feelings for him,” Ron said simply; Harry said nothing, “I can tell, but Harry… you’ve only really known him a few days,”

“I know,”

“People can pretend to be charming for just a few days,”

“I know!” Harry snapped, “Trust me, I know,” he turned to stare out of the french windows to the patio and garden beyond, “I know,” he repeated more quietly, “He just…,” he stopped and tried again, “He made me feel…,” he shook his head, “It doesn’t matter. We’ll talk about this later,”

Ron frowned in confusion, “Later?”

Harry took a steadying breath and said more firmly, “Later.”

Sunday – 3^rd of June 2007

Then

“So… who the hell is John Lewis?” Draco asked curiously, peering up at the words on the front of the Oxford Street store.

Harry chuckled to himself, “Oh, you’ll see. Come on,”

Draco only seemed confused though when they stepped into the enormous shop, “I thought you said they sold electronics? These are clothes,”

“John Lewis is a department store - they sell almost everything. Clothes, furniture, house items, perfumes, makeup - they have a few café’s as well, I think - and…” he strode forwards to the sign on the pillar in front of the escalators, and tapped on the large number three, “electronics,” he peered back over his shoulder at Draco and watched eagerly as the penny slowly dropped, and Draco’s eyes widened in amazement, “You said you preferred big shops - is this big enough?”

Draco calmed his expression, but he still had an excited glint in his eye when he reached out to grab Harry’s hand to drag him along. Harry wasn’t surprised when, instead of going straight to the third floor, Draco chose to drag them towards the men’s clothing.

They didn’t make it to the electronics section for nearly two hours.

When Draco realised the true scale of the store, with its six floors and numerous entrances and exits, he seemed almost compelled to look at practically everything.

They lingered around the perfume counters for half an hour alone, while Draco tried scent after scent, not resting until he had found the one that Harry thought suited him best. And then he had tried to repeat the process for Harry, but had bowed out graciously when Harry had given a polite, but firm no.

They rode the escalators just for fun three times, and Harry couldn’t help but grin along, buoyed by the other man’s genuine excitement. They had almost made it to the part of the shop that sold televisions, but Draco became first distracted by their audio section, and then even more thoroughly distracted by their display of mobile phones.

Tuesday – 5^th of June 2007

Now

“You know,” Ron said at length, “I’m starting to think that Malfoy, Hermione, and my father would get on like a house on fire,”

“It was very cute,” Harry said fondly, “He was having such a good time just running around the muggle shop going wild. I bet it would have made his father go grey,”

Ron grumbled his agreement, draining what remained in his wine glass.

Sunday – 3^rd of June 2007

Then

“Do you have a ‘mobeel phone’?” Draco asked curiously, working a phone in his hand, flipping it open and closed with interest, and then moving along to a different model that had an enormous keyboard that was revealed by sliding the screen up, “Why does it need all these letters? I thought you just needed numbers?”

“It’s a ‘mobile phone’ and yes, Hermione got it for me, but I don’t really use it. The keyboard is for texting - typing up little messages and sending them. Ron and Hermione use theirs all the time - they even managed to persuade the rest of the family to at least get a landline. Said it was an excellent way for them to all keep in contact. It was especially useful when Charlie lived in Romania,”

Draco looked round, “Does he not live in Romania now?”

Harry swallowed down the feelings that threatened to work up his throat, “No,” he said simply.

Draco moved on easily, “Why don’t you use your mobile phone?”

Harry shrugged, shaking the tension out of his hand, “You can just call it a mobile or a phone, and I don’t like being that contactable. I… I like that small bit of space between me and the rest of the world,”

“Even the Granger-Weasley’s?”

Harry felt pinned in place by the man’s grey eyes, “Sometimes,” he shifted uncomfortably and glanced down at his watch, “I’m not trying to rush you, but we’re getting on for three o’clock, and the shops don’t tend to stay open very late on a Sunday,”

Draco straightened, nodding seriously, “After you,”

With lights glaring and screens flashing and enormous signs offering money off and interest free finance over four years, Draco looked positively overwhelmed for a split second as they emerged onto the third floor. And then a sales assistant approached him, and he leapt into action.

Harry lost track of their conversation very quickly, too busy admiring Draco and his look of intense focus as he listened to the sales assistant (a man as tall as Draco but significantly musclier with a top knot and a small badge on his chest read that ‘Oliver’ - overall, he was not what Harry expected from someone who sold televisions for a living). Occasionally Draco would turn to Harry, and say very seriously, “What do you think?”

And Harry would shrug and say, “I honestly have no idea,” eventually, Harry followed it up with, “We can attach a DVD player, right?”

And Oliver shrugged and said, “You can attach a DVD player to all of our models,”

“Excellent - we’re watching The Lord of the Rings,” Draco said, a hint of anticipation in his voice.

The sales assistant brightened, “Oh! Could I perhaps recommend a sound system? It’s just fantastic during the battle of Helms Deep! It’s like the arrows are flying past you!” Which sparked another conversation about speakers and subwoofers that lost Harry almost immediately, but Draco seemed very interested.

Eventually, Harry had to interrupt, “Not to be a kill joy, but it’s past four and we still need to wall mount whatever you buy, and we need to eat as well,”

Draco snapped his head to Oliver, “I’ll take everything we discussed - including the speakers,”

“Excellent sir!” The sales assistant said enthusiastically, “Would you like your purchase delivered? We can set a date now if you like,”

Draco wilted, “Set a date?”

Harry sighed and stepped forwards, “It’s fine - we’ll take it all now and catch a taxi out front,”

Getting everything out to the front took two trips: one for the tv (carried between them) and another for the sound system that Draco had been persuaded (with little difficulty) to buy.

“So… are we taking all of this out of sight and shrinking it then?” Draco asked slowly while Harry peered about for the sight of a familiar orange light on the front of a black cab.

Harry shook his head, “Afraid not. We can’t make them lighter either. The magic interferes with the electronics. Trust me, I’ve destroyed more than one telly trying. And the cardboard packaging is too permeable to apply the spells to as well - the magic just leaks through it. It’s fine; I saw plenty of taxis when we were walking in. One will be along soon,”

“But I promised you dinner,” Draco said, an anxious edge creeping into his voice.

Harry straightened upon spotting a taxi, and started attempting to wave it down, “It’s fine Draco - it was going to be tight anyway. How about we get a takeaway instead?” he watched, dismayed as the taxi sailed passed him, paying him no mind, “Bloody taxis,” he muttered under his breath, “There’s a Chinese not far from yours. I’ve never tried it but I’m sure it’ll be fine; we can watch while we eat,”

“I’ve never had a takeaway before,” Draco said, sounding faintly nervous.

“Well be prepared for an education,” Harry stuck his hand up determinedly at the sight of another taxi, waving it around and starting to feel faintly foolish.

A sudden, sharp whistle had him flinching and spinning around, a hand pressed to his hammering heart; Draco smiled smugly at him as the taxi began to turn in their direction. His face fell at the expression on Harry’s face though, “Sorry - are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, forcing his voice out at more than the gasp that seemed to be available to him, “Yeah, just-,” he swallowed, and allowed his hand to fall, “Don’t do well with loud unexpected noises,”

Draco frowned, “From the war?”

“And being an Auror,” he confirmed with a nod, turning to pull the taxi door open and pile their purchases inside, “Sorry - I hide it quite well but I’m a bit of a mess really,” he admitted shrewdly, downplaying the reality of his issues in the hope that Draco would take his comment at face value.

“You’re not a mess - you’re just human,” Draco said quietly, his words recited in such a way that Harry was sure he was repeating something he had heard someone else say. Perhaps the mind healer he had spoken about. Either way, Harry pretended that he hadn’t heard his soft comment, and Draco didn’t repeat himself.

Stepping back over Draco’s threshold, Harry was sure this was about to become an exercise in frustration.

“f*ck - I forgot my tools. And the film too. Do you mind if I use your floo?”

Draco nodded distractedly, waving him in the direction of the kitchen while he dragged his many purchases towards the sitting room: Gandalf watched them both curiously through the bannisters.

Harry wasn’t gone long (most of his time was spent lingering in Draco’s music room and admiring his baby piano) but by the time he had returned, Draco’s sitting room was positively an explosion of cardboard and bubble-wrap. He looked up at Harry’s arrival, and where Harry anticipated an expression of overwhelmed trepidation, he instead found one of wide-eyed eagerness. He did however, gesture to all of packaging and say:

“Is this really necessary?”

Dropping his small small bag on the side, Harry shrugged, and said, “You’d be pissed if it arrived broken,” he pointed out, “Just vanish it - it’s fine,”

And then, where Harry expected frustration, he found only earnest excitement and burning curiosity. He’d been prepared for frayed tempers and for them to snip and snipe at one another until the tv was on the wall, and they were walking grumpily towards the nearest Chinese. He was… pleasantly surprised.

Draco seemed to take everything in stride.

“Why are you tapping the wall?” He’d asked, Harry’s hammer clutched in between his hands, prepared to help however he could.

“I’m looking for the struts - otherwise I’ll just rip your wall down with the weight of the telly,”

“What does this do?” He asked curiously, turning Harry’s spirit level this way and that and watching the bubble move.

“It’s so I can get it all level. You don’t want a wonky telly, do you?”

“What does this d- ARGH!” Draco jumped and nearly dropped Harry’s drill when, upon pressing its trigger, it whirred into life. Gandalf, who had been sat spectating from the windowsill, watched on serenely, lending weight to Draco’s suggestion that he was deaf.

Harry had only sighed fondly, “It’ll make a hole in the wall for me to drill into. Please don’t drop it,”

“What are these plastic things for?”

“They’re wall-plugs. They give the screws extra support so they don’t get pulled out of the wall,”

“Can’t you do this with magic?” Draco asked curiously later, handing Harry screws as he secured the wall mount and the shelf that came with it.

“Probably,” Harry said with a shrug, “but I never have. This is how I redecorated all of Grimmauld place,”

“What - all of it?” Draco exclaimed, “But… but that house must have at least six bedrooms!”

Harry hummed, accepting the last screw, “Indeed, and the hallways and the staircases and the kitchen and the dining room and three bathrooms - it took a long time. I had help with some bits, like reworking the staircases, but I did the rest,”

“That’s amazing Harry,” Draco said earnestly, “Really? All of it?”

“Yup,” Harry said with a pop, stepping back from the wall to assess his work, “The plastering, the plumbing, the wiring, the floors, the walls - all of it. It was worth it. I’m moving onto the garden now, I could probably do with some advice from your green fingered house-elf,” he joked with a smile, surprised by the serene feeling in his chest, “Anyway - what do you think?”

He’d expected to be wound up to high heaven by this point. He always was when he tried to do things like this with other people about. Ron would try and help, only to get frustrated and throw his toys out of the pram when he messed up, and Hermione was overly critical, going around and correcting Harry’s work silently in a way that just made him feel judged and useless. But he didn’t. He felt light and airy, but not in the faintly numb way he normally did after dedicating himself to work like this, but rather in a way that he would hesitantly describe as almost… happy.

“Looks great! So now what?”

Harry sighed and turned to the speakers, “Now we need to figure out where to put those,”

In the end, connecting everything up took less time than Harry had expected, and after an hour (during which he also had to clamber up into Draco’s loft to try and figure out why the aerial wasn’t working) the tv was on the wall, surrounded by the multiple speakers that Draco had bought, and the only thing left to do was connect up the DVD player, only-

“Draco - this is a blue-ray player,” Harry pointed out hesitantly.

“Is there a difference?” Draco asked anxiously, peering over his shoulder at the box in Harry’s hands “The salesman said it would be fine,”

Harry gnawed on his lips, “Let’s connect it up,” he decided, “Maybe they run DVD’s as well? Worst comes to worse, I’ll pop back and get my DVD player, it’ll be fine,” when, upon putting the disk in the blue-ray player, the film's title menu popped up, Harry sighed in relief, “It works!” He cried triumphantly, turning to find Draco on the sofa opening a final box that he hadn’t noticed, “What’s that? Did we miss a speaker?”

Another one?!

Draco turned the box to face him, “I got a mobile!” He crowed triumphantly; he turned the box back to face himself and admired it, his expression pleased and excited, “Oliver gave me a…. Uh… what did he call it? A pay-as-you-use sum card?”

“Pay-as-you-go SIM card,” Harry corrected.

Draco snapped his fingers, “That’s it! Anyway, he said that until I knew how much I was going to be using it, it wasn’t worth getting one on contract just yet - whatever that means - and that if I went back, they’d be getting some brand-new model in with no buttons and just a screen that you touch!” As he had been speaking, Draco had been unpacking his phone, a small black thing the size of his palm with an ungodly number of buttons, “He said it was made by some fruit company? Uh… Peach? No… no, Apple!” He cried triumphantly, “That’s right. We’ll see though. Just seemed like something I could get really wrong - how do I turn this on?”

“There should be a button to hold down,” Harry stepped closer and sat down next to him on the sofa, “but you need to put the SIM in first. Here - let me,”

Together, through fumbling fingers and thumbs, each trying their best to help the other and ultimately just causing more problems for themselves, they eventually had the phone turned on and functional. Staring down at the phone’s screen, Draco looked unreasonably pleased.

“What are you going to do with it?” Harry asked curiously.

“I have no idea,” Draco said, not sounding put out even the slightest; he turned faintly shy, “I suppose I need to have someone’s number first…,”

Harry chuckled and took the hint immediately. He took the phone from Draco’s hand and added himself as a contact - even though he didn’t use his phone, he had still dutifully memorised his own phone number. He hesitated before handing it back though, “Does this have credit on it?”

Draco nodded, “He said he added uh… a ‘tenner’ onto it for me. Is that enough?”

Harry shrugged, pressing the green button on the phone and holding it to his ear, “More than enough for this, yeah,” he waited until he heard the phone begin to ring, and then hung up, knowing there would be no answer; he passed the phone back, “There. Now, when I check my phone, I’ll know that the last missed call was from you and I can save your number as well,”

Draco glanced between Harry and the phone, grinning, “This is brilliant. Today has been brilliant. And yesterday, and the evening before,” his grey eyes turned to Harry, practically burning through him, “All of it has. This…,” he let out a single chuckle, his gaze wandering around the room as if he could see imprints of Harry all around him, “This long weekend of ours,” he turned suddenly back to Harry, and whispered, “Will you stay again?”

It was easy to nod; he didn’t want to leave, but the idea of being turfed out early in the morning when Draco had to leave for work made his heart clench just the same, “Yeah. Yeah course. Who’s going to make you breakfast if I don’t?” Draco smiled, wide and pleased, and leant closer to press their lips together.

Harry smiled into the kiss, and said against him, his words muffled by Draco’s mouth, “Come on - we need to go and get food. I can’t wait till after the film. I’m starving and its ridiculously long,”

Draco agreed with hum, pulling back to say, “Merlin, you’re gorgeous,” before jumping up to find his shoes, “Come on then - introduce me to muggle takeaway then!”

Harry watched him, frozen to the sofa for a moment, before he too found his feet. Stepping out of Draco’s front door, Draco didn’t hesitate in snatching Harry’s hand out of the air to hold it tightly in his. Harry led the way, a particular place in mind that was only a short walk away.

“You know,” he said mildly as their hands swung between them, “There are longer versions of the films,”

“What?” Draco said sharply, immediately interested.

“Yeah - extended editions full of scenes that were cut from the theatrical release. I think each one is something like four hours long,”

“And why are we not watching those ones?” Draco cried, aghast.

“Because I don’t own them,” Harry said with a laugh, “Why don’t you buy them? Maybe you can get them on blu-ray as well?”

“But where would I get them from?”

“Uh, HMV I guess? Or maybe order it online?”

“Online?” Draco said, looking thoroughly confused.

“Maybe the internet is a step to far,” Harry said, agreeing with the expression on Draco’s face, “I don’t even really know how to use it. I always go to Hermione first - she’s the one who keeps saying how wonderful and useful it is, but I guess I’m just too used to magic at this point. I’ve spent more than half my life away from the muggle world now. It’s all changed so much since I was part of it properly,”

“I’ve noticed that it seems to change faster than the wizarding world,”

“It does - but then they’re equally slow to catch up on things wizards have had sorted out for years,”

Draco made a noise of agreement, and they enjoyed the rest of their walk in a comfortable silence, their hands swinging between them, the setting sun making Draco’s hair appear almost white. As the Chinese takeaway Harry had in mind came into view, Draco hummed nervously next to him.

“I’ve never eaten from this establishment,” Draco warned him, “It could be absolutely terrible,” he eyed the bright orange sign over the building’s windows with distrust.

Harry chuckled, “It’ll be fine - I don’t know what you’re worrying about! So long as we don’t get food poisoning that is, of course,” Draco made a noise of outrage, but Harry ignored him, flashing a grin over his shoulder as he dragged him by his hand into the building.

The takeaway was tiny; in the customer area, there was only enough room for the counter, a short bench wedged against the wall, and a wilting potted plant. Behind the counter was a young man who appeared to be of Chinese descent, with a black beanie pulled low over his head, and piercings in his eyebrow and lip. He smiled politely at them, and then froze at the sight of their joined hands.

“I uh- ahem, hello! Good evening, may- may I ah- can I help you?” He stumbled over his words, looking for all the world as if he wanted nothing more but for the floor to open up and swallow him whole. Harry was mildly concerned that there was going to be a problem, when he noticed the rainbow badge pinned to the middle of his beanie.

“Good evening,” Draco said smoothly, stepping closer and peering curiously up at the menu on the wall; the boy practically swooned, and Harry couldn’t blame him. Draco was very swoon worthy, “I’m afraid I’ve never visited this restaurant before - is there anything you would recommend?”

The boy gulped, “I uh - the chicken balls and special curry are both good,” his eyes flicked anxiously to Harry, as if remembering that he was there.

Harry only smiled kindly - he wasn’t about to hate on an eighteen-year-old for eyeing up his… his what exactly? He ignored the twisting in his gut, “We’ll take both, and chips, and the crispy beef, and the duck in plum sauce and… and prawn crackers,”

“It already comes with a bag of prawn crackers,” the boy near whispered, his eyes darting between Harry and Draco as if he weren’t quite sure who to look at.

“We’ll have extra,” said Harry, while Draco pulled cash from his wallet (looking the whole time as if he were worried it might bite him).

The boy gulped, and nodded, “Your order will be ready in about fifteen minutes,” and he disappeared through the curtain behind him and his voice (now speaking in what Harry guessed was Cantonese) floated back towards them.

Draco pulled him down by his side on the bench, and leant into him, “So…,” he started slowly, “what do you want to do tomorrow?”

Harry frowned at him, “Tomorrow? But… aren’t you working? I figured you were going to turf me out in the morning,”

“No - it’s my birthday on Tuesday so I’ve taken the week off,”

“It’s your birthday?! Why didn’t you say anything?” Harry exclaimed throwing his hands in the air, “We should be celebrating it!”

“I am,” Draco said with a shrug, “I’m not going to work,” he said as if it were obvious.

Harry scowled at him, “What do you want to do tomorrow? It’s your birthday this week, after all,”

“Well… we could watch the last Lord of the Rings,”

Harry laughed, “Oh! And now it all comes out - you don’t want to spend time with me. You’re just using me for my DVD collection!”

“No! I’m very interested in seeing you!” Draco denied with a grin, “But… yes. Watching the Lord of the Rings sounds like an excellent birthday present,”

Harry scoffed, “Yeah… alright then. Are you really not doing anything nice for your birthday?”

Draco leered at him, his hand coming round to squeeze at his waist, “I’ve been doing something very nice all weekend I think you’ll find,” Harry threw his head back and laughed, pushing at Draco’s chest, “And hopefully I’ll get lucky again tonight,”

“Well,” Harry said, chuckling, “it is your birthday. How could I say no?”

Draco grinned and pressed their mouths together in a warm, chaste kiss. They split apart abruptly when, who Harry could only describe as a short, Chinese grandmother, burst out of the kitchen. Harry half expected to be scolded, but instead she gestured enthusiastically at them with a hand that was clasped around the wrist of the young man who had been behind the counter.

She dragged the boy around the counter with her, and he looked as if he just wanted to die. Pushing, who Harry presumed was her grandson, forward, she spoke in rapid fire Cantonese, pointing from the boy to Harry and Draco, then to the bag of Chinese food he was carrying.

“My- my grandmother wants me to tell you that we’re very supportive of LGBT customers,” the boy mumbled, staring down at the ground, his shoulders gradually working their way up his neck as if he were transforming into a tortoise, “and she hopes you come again. She gave you extra dips and spring rolls for free. I’m so sorry she’s making a scene,” he said suddenly while his grandmother prodded him determinedly, “I only came out a few weeks ago and my parents weren’t exactly okay with it. She’s just trying to support me,” he scowled lightly at his grandmother and tried to push her hands away.

Draco responded graciously as he accepted their bag of food, “It’s fine - don’t worry at all. It’s lovely that she’s looking after you like this,” the boy gained a shy smile, and Harry could practically see stars sparkling in his eyes as he stared up at Draco, “I am sorry to hear about your parents,” he said sympathetically, “I can empathise with the pain of a strained relationship with one’s family,”

“Really?” Said the boy, practically leaning in; he turned an interested look in Harry’s direction, clearly interested in his story, and Harry hunted for something motivational to say.

He shrugged, and said, “Orphan,” then scrambled to say more at the boy’s mortified expression, “but we find our own family sometimes in this life. I’m glad you have your grandmother.”

Tuesday – 5^th of June 2007

Now

Ron burst into laughter, nearly choking on the mouthful of wine in his mouth and hurrying to banish the red liquid before it could stain his dining table, “Oh my god, Harry,” he spluttered, “The poor boy just wanted to commiserate over coming out stories, and you told him you were an orphan!! What is wrong with you?!”

“I didn’t mean to!” Harry cried, “It was an accident! I didn’t know what to say!”

Ron continued chortling, “You’re a liability Potter, I swear. Can’t take you anywhere!”

Chapter 6: Sunday - Charlie Weasley

Chapter Text

Sunday – 3rd of June 2007

Then

They left the takeaway only after having a litre bottle of Pepsi pressed into their arms as well. Draco held his hand a little more securely on their walk back, as if the encounter had solidified in him the need to eliminate any confusion for onlookers as to the nature of their entanglement.

“So…,” Harry said at length as he shook off the unusual and strangely sweet encounter, “tell me: what are you doing for your birthday?”

Draco shrugged, “Not too much more than what I’ve already done. I’m going to see mother on Tuesday morning, and then I think we’re going to have lunch with Andromeda and Teddy, but that’s about it. Just another year older,” he said with a long-suffering sigh.

Harry whistled lowly, “I know what you mean - twenty-seven is just so old,”

Draco scoffed and squeezed his hand, “Oh shut up - and when do you turn twenty-seven then? A month or so?”

“Nearly two,” Harry corrected him, “So you like younger men, do you?”

Harry let out a yelp of surprise when Draco abruptly pinned him against a wall, nearly squishing their food between them, “I like you,” he corrected, kissing him passionately. He only let go when Harry let out a murmur of complaint at the food that was beginning to burn his stomach.

Watching the second Lord of the Rings was an experience much like watching the first one, except that Draco was somehow even more enthusiastic. He cheered the march of the Ents as if it were a quidditch match, and hissed under his breath whenever Saruman came on screen. He still bemoaned scenes that deviated from the books, in particular letting out a cry of outrage when the elves joined the battle of Helms Deep, but it didn’t stop him from being deeply horrified at one of the elves’ deaths.

“But he was so pretty,” he bemoaned, “Why are all the men in this film so bloody pretty? Are you sure the director isn’t gay?”

“It does have that blonde woman as Galadriel,” Harry reminded him, “And don’t forget Arwen,”

Draco sighed happily to himself, “I keep forgetting about her. She really does remind me of you,”

Harry scoffed around one of the last prawn crackers, “Oh shut up,”

“Really - I mean it! You’ve got the same kind of ethereal beauty to you. Maybe it’s the eyes?”

Harry’s jaw tightened, “I get it - can we watch the film now?”

Draco hesitated, clearly contemplating pressing the issue, but he nodded and turned back to the screen. His arm around Harry tightened, pulling him closer as if he were worried Harry might try and put space between them. As the credits rolled, Harry was essentially lying completely on top of Draco and cuddled into his chest.

Draco sighed happily when the screen went black, “That was brilliant,” he said honestly, “Better than the first one. And Gollum is terrifying! I can’t believe it’s all made by computers,” Harry hummed sleepily into his chest, but they were both distracted by a sudden petulant meow, and their eyes snapped as one to the snowy white cat who was sat in the middle of the room and staring up at them with accusing eyes; Draco swore softly, “f*ck - late for your dinner, am I? How shall you ever forgive me?”

Harry laughed and followed him into the kitchen, snatching up their empty food boxes as he went to chuck them in the bin while Draco fed Gandalf. With the cat satisfied, Draco leant their hips together, and pressed his nose into Harry’s neck.

“Hmm… do you want to have a bath together? Not necessarily for sex just… I want to make you feel good,”

Later, when Harry was sat on the toilet in only a bathrobe, and Draco stood peering furiously into the slowly filling tub, Draco said grumpily, “I’m not sure I thought this through,” and Harry burst into laughter at his petulant expression.

It felt like an eternity, but in reality it was only ten minutes or so before they were both carefully submerging themselves into opposite ends of the bath, giggling furiously as great swathes of water spilled over the tubs edge and soaked the floor below, “Whoops,” Draco said mildly, snatching out a hand to grab his wand and banish the water, “I apparently did not consider the amount of water we would displace,”

Harry only chuckled, and threw a sponge at his head, earning himself an indignant yelp.

Harry found himself incredibly fond of Draco’s tub. Claw footed and a white porcelain material, it stood alone in the middle of the bathroom. It was large enough that they could almost fit comfortably in it together, and deep enough so that they were both fully submerged with several inches of bath to spare. It’s best-selling point though, as far as Harry was concerned, was that the taps were situated along the baths edge in the middle, so that neither of them had to make do with having them sticking into their back.

Once they’d had a cursory wash, Draco had been quick to pull Harry’s leg into his lap in order to dig his thumbs firmly into the arch of his foot. Harry could have fallen asleep like it, but he was determined to remember this experience. This feeling of being pampered and cared for. It wasn’t something he experienced often - not anymore.

With Draco undressed in front of him, and with more lights on than he’d had available to him before, Harry used the opportunity to appreciate his naked form. He spotted the silver scars immediately with the spotlights overhead, and it was a struggle to keep his eyes off of them, and not to say anything.

“Stop it,” Draco said mildly, trailing his nails up Harry’s leg, “Don’t say it,”

Harry swallowed, and said, “Say what?”

Draco looked at him through knowing eyes, “You know what. It’s fine. It was years ago,”

Harry sighed and rested back in the bath; now his eyes found the faded dark mark that peaked out just above the water as Draco moved his hand up and down Harry’s leg, “I am sorry about that one though,” Draco followed his gaze to his left forearm, “Can’t someone get rid of it for you?”

Draco shrugged and shook his head, “No, but it’s fine. I wouldn’t get rid of it even if I could,”

“Why not?” Harry asked carefully.

“It’s a reminder. A reminder to do better,”

Draco had said that the bath wasn’t for sex, but when his hand began creeping higher and higher up Harry’s leg, Harry didn’t stop him; he simply made more space. They were both panting and hard by the time Draco had leant over him so that he could kiss his neck and rub their co*cks together.

When the bath had drained, and they were satisfactorily dry, they retired to Draco’s bedroom. They ended up with Draco on his back and Harry sitting in his lap. Though the position was reminiscent of the night before, the atmosphere was anything but. Last night they had been f*cking, but this? This was not that.

Harry lifted his hips with a groan, before settling himself back down and feeling the satisfying stretch of Draco’s co*ck inside of him. Beneath him, Draco let out a responding sigh, his hands on Harry’s waist, following him rather than guiding him. Harry’s co*ck stood neglected between them, jutting out and pointing up to the ceiling, but Harry didn’t want Draco to touch it. He wanted this to last.

“f*ck,” Draco gasped, his still drying hair plastered to his forehead, “ f*ck . You’re so beautiful like this,” Harry’s hips stuttered, and he bit his lips, but not in pleasure, “I could watch you do this all day and never get bored. f*ck. Your eyes and your mouth - so f*cking pretty. And the way your collar bones dip down into your chest. You’re a work of art. So beautiful -,”

“Stop,” Harry said softly, pressing his fingers to Draco’s lips, “Please. Stop calling me that,”

Flushed and aroused, Draco only nodded; he sat up smoothly, pulling Harry against him and licking at the collar bones he had just been waxing poetically about, “Okay,” he gasped, nudging himself deeper into Harry, “Okay I won’t. Won’t do anything you don’t want me to,”

Harry felt a hand pressing down behind him to touch at where they were joined. The feeling of Draco readjusting, flexing his legs so he could drive up into Harry even with him being sat upright, was enough to distract him from the building feelings of trepidation. He let his head drop back, sighing and timing his rise and fall to work with Draco rather than against him.

Draco was still murmuring into his throat, sounding almost drunk, but most of his words were muffled, “f*ck… good… so good… you feel so good… so close… so close!” Draco leant up to catch Harry’s mouth in a kiss.

Draco wasn’t the only one. The dual sensation of his co*ck trapped between their bodies and Draco inside of him was pushing Harry closer and closer to the edge. He wouldn’t last. He knew he wouldn’t, but he was still surprised by the org*sm that suddenly began to unfurl, starting somewhere deep inside him with the nudging of Draco’s co*ck and spreading outwards. It felt like stepping into the warm bath again. Harry worked a hand between them to stroke himself, panting into Draco’s mouth desperately. Beneath him, Draco yelped and suddenly stilled, hissing through his teeth, and pulling away to press his forehead into Harry’s sternum.

For a moment, they simply sat still together, Draco softening inside of him as they regained their breath. They separated slowly, carefully, Draco pulling free and pressing an apologetic kiss to his chest. Harry collapsed over, positively boneless. Draco chuckled, and stroked his cheek, before disappearing with the creek of floorboards beneath his feet.

Flat on his back, his eyes closed, Harry hummed happily when he felt the mess that was on his stomach and leaking out of him vanish. He lifted his head only to sip gingerly at the glass of water that Draco had handed to him, before leaving the glass on the side table and resuming his supine position on the bed. He felt Draco settle down next to him and felt eyes on his face.

Opening his own eyes, he was surprised to see how dark it had become. Had he fallen asleep? Or had he simply not noticed the setting sun and creeping shadows. Turning his head to look at Draco, he could only just make out his silhouette in the dark, and perhaps the reflection of the remaining light in his eyes.

“Can I ask you something without upsetting you?” Draco asked quietly, his voice barely above a whisper in the soft darkness of his bedroom.

Harry swallowed, “You can try,” he replied, just as softly.

“I’ve noticed that you don’t like being called beautiful,” Harry stiffened without meaning to, “but you don’t mind other compliments. You don’t mind me complimenting your food, or the job you did with mounting the television for me. But if I call you pretty or gorgeous, you seem really uncomfortable. Why?”

Harry’s throat worked in a silent battle, half of him fighting to speak and the other part of him fighting to hold his words back. In the end, it took so long for him to answer, that Draco started speaking again.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he said gently, a knuckle stroking down Harry’s arm, “not if you don’t want to. Do you want me to just stop complimenting your appearance?”

Harry at least managed to open his mouth this time, but still, two conflicting answers kept his voice confined. In the end, he worked around his sudden muteness, by simply not answering the question, “I’ve never spoken about this,” he whispered, turning his head to stare up at the ceiling above, “Not to anyone,”

“You can tell me, if you want to,” Draco invited, his hand still stroking him in soothing motions.

Harry swallowed, a lump high in his throat, “There… there was a guy. Shortly after me and Ginny split - just before Christmas when I was training to be an Auror and me and Ron lived together, and while Hermione was still at Hogwarts. He used to call me beautiful. And pretty. And gorgeous, and handsome, and lovely and every word you can think of. It… it didn’t end well,”

“Why haven’t you spoken about this with anyone?” Draco asked curiously.

“Because he told me not too,” Harry said flatly.

Draco’s response was slow to come, “Ah,” the sound was careful, “Who was he? If you don’t mind telling me,”

Harry gulped, the name sitting on the tip of his tongue and waiting to fall out, a name he had practically trained himself not to say, but he’d already proven that there was something about Draco that rendered his barriers non-existent, “Charlie,” he let out a shaking breath, “Charlie Weasley,”

“What happened?”

Old feelings stirred in Harry’s chest, shame and loneliness. He didn’t bother trying to shield them. It never worked anymore anyway. He opened his mouth, and everything came spilling out, “He came back to England before Christmas that first year after the war. He came to help George with the shop - and to stop him from falling apart without Fred.

“On the weekends, Ron would go and see Hermione. They’d rent a room in Hogsmeade and spend it together, which left me at a loose end, so I’d go and help George as well, and we just started… we started . He told me he just wanted it to stay between us and… and I thought: who am I to complain about someone wanting to keep their privacy? I didn’t want people in my business either. He was just asking for discretion, that was all. It was fine.

“He was clear about what it was from the beginning. We weren’t in a relationship, and he was only on a six-month sabbatical. He’d be going back to Romania in April. We were just having fun. But he was… he was just so …,” Harry half choked on a sob, tears streaming unchecked into his ears, “He was just so f*cking nice . He treated me like we were in a relationship. He was lovely, and he took care of me, and we spent whole weekends together just enjoying one another’s company when we weren’t helping George. George never noticed - too wrapped up in his grief, and who could blame him? Charlie was…,” he let out a humourless chuckle, “He was my first everything really. Other than a few kisses, I’d never done anything with anyone.

“And… and I know he said we weren’t in a relationship, and we were just having fun but… but of course I caught feelings for him. I was barely eighteen for f*cks sake, and he was twenty-six, and just so f*cking handsome. And yes, he was older than me, but all I could think of was Bill and Fleur - they had a similar age gap, and they’d worked out. And he was just so good to me. I was in love with him before the New Year, and I was convinced he felt the same, but just wasn’t ready to say it. And then it got to March, and he started talking about a dragon reserve opening up in the highlands. About how he was thinking about coming back after tying up loose ends in Romania. About how he wanted to be close to his family and be close to me too.

“So…,” Harry let out a small hiccup, and squeezed the fingers that had curled around his, “So April comes, and he goes back to Romania. But he promised to write - he told me he was applying to the reservation in Scotland and that when he came back, we’d tell his family everything. And he did write for a month or so, with updates as to his application process and how much he was missing me. And then he stopped writing. He ignored my letters. After a month of being ignored, I was on the verge of getting myself an international portkey and going to confront him, when Ron received a letter from him informing him that he was… that he was getting married,” a bitter laugh escaped him, “Apparently, he’d split up with his long-term boyfriend before returning to Britain during the war, and they’d reconnected when he went back. They were getting married in six weeks, and Ron and Hermione were invited. I was not.

“Molly was furious . I… I overheard her talking to Ron. She’d demanded an explanation from Charlie as to why I wasn’t invited. She told him I was as much a part of the family as any of his brothers or Ginny, and he told her… he told her…,” Harry pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, as if it would calm the trembling of his jaw as feelings he’d suppressed for years flooded out of him along with the story he’d never given a voice to before, “He told her, that while the rest of the family were close with me, that he barely knew me. That I was just his kid brother’s friend, and he barely had the numbers for Hermione as it was.

“I was… I was devastated . But it wasn’t just about him. I’d been… been so utterly convinced that I finally had a person who had chosen me. A person who wouldn’t leave. A person who was mine. And he’d told his mother that I was no one and I meant nothing . And… and even though he’d said that… I still couldn’t pinpoint the moment when I’d stopped meaning something to him. I couldn’t find a moment where I thought, looking back, that he’d been insincere. So, either: he had been sincere, and it hadn’t mattered. Or he’d been lying, and I still couldn’t tell, so how could I ever trust someone again?” He felt Draco shifting closer to rest his lips on Harry’s shoulder, but Harry couldn’t look away from the ceiling.

“I’ve never had someone who was my person,” Harry whispered, “My parents were dead. Ron and Hermione had each other. I had Sirius for a little while, and then he died. And Remus died. And I’d thought I was someone that mattered to Dumbledore, only for him to die, and for me to find out I was knowingly being raised for slaughter by him. So even though I was admittedly heartbroken, it wasn’t that that really f*cked with my head.

“I think I’d have probably not been so affected by it now. Now that I’m older and, believe it or not, in a better place mentally. But I was eighteen and pretending that I wasn’t desperately traumatised by the war, and I had no one to talk to about it, because I’d promised him, I wouldn’t tell anyone. And what was the point in saying anything now anyway? He was gone and getting married and wasn’t coming back.

“So, I started sleeping around. Trying to feel something, I think. Something that wasn’t pain. Ron called them my ‘sexcapade’ years - when all three of us were living together while Ron and Hermione saved up for a house. I figured out pretty quickly that other moderately well-known wizards were the way forward - quidditch players and the occasional musician or performer. They’d f*ck me and keep their mouths shut about it, and they were all so wrapped up in their flashy careers that none of them were bothered that I didn’t want more than sex from them. The longest I stayed with anyone was Oliver Wood - he was nice,” Harry admitted quietly, “Kind and generous. And then he joined a team in Australia, and we said our farewells. It all only lasted as long as Ron and Hermione lived with me to be honest. When they moved out I just kind of… stopped. Invested my time in my work instead, and you know how well that turned out.

“And then, just over a year ago or so, he wrote to me again,” Harry grimaced into his hand, wiping the tears from his face furiously, “He was getting divorced,” he said coldly, “and he was moving back to Britain. It was an entire essay about how he’d made a mistake. About how he’d regretted leaving all those years ago. That he should have stayed with me, but that he’d gotten cold feet because of how much he loved me, and how he understood if I didn’t forgive him, but that he was desperate to apologise. That he missed me. That he and his husband had split partly because Charlie couldn’t stop thinking about me and my ‘ beautiful eyes’ ,” disdain dripped from his every word, “He called me ‘the one that got away’. And all those feelings of despair, and inadequacy, and abandonment came flooding back, and the occlumency shields I’d been using to protect myself from them gave way,”

“Was this around the time that Ron and Hermione announced they were expecting Hugo?” Draco asked gently, speaking for the first time since Harry had started his tale of heartbreak and woe. Harry nodded silently, knowing he didn’t need to expand for Draco to connect the dots, “Did you write back?”

“Yes,” Harry said, his voice suddenly hard and his tears long forgotten, “I told him that, if he was prepared to tell his family absolutely everything that had happened between us, every scandalous detail and every lie, that I’d meet with him,”

Draco was silent for a moment, “Did you mean it?”

Harry shook his head slowly, “No,” he whispered into the dark, “I didn’t, and don’t, want anything to do with him. My breakdown in front of Ron and Hermione might have been triggered by his letter and my occlumency shields giving way, but it had nothing to do with him ,” he said softly, “I didn’t want to hear what he had to say. I’d already learnt that I couldn’t trust him. I might not be as clever as Hermione, but I am a quick learner. I wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice,” he paused, and said, his voice resigned, “My occlumency shields still don’t work quite the same,”

“Did he write back?”

Harry snorted, “Yeah - some long, never-ending drivel about how he didn’t want to bring up the past and how he wanted to look to the future blah blah blah,” he shook his head, “I wrote back and told him that if I ever heard from him again, I’d tell his family everything myself. Unsurprisingly, I haven’t heard from him since, and we’ve managed to avoid each other at family functions. Or rather, he’s actively avoiding me. I’m not the one with something to hide. It’s just…,” he swallowed, admitting something out loud that he struggled to even admit to himself, “It’s hard because part of me understands why he did what he did. He was traumatised by the war as well, and he really was so good to me during those six months… it was just a shame how it all ended. Maybe he really was a nice guy who made a mistake. I can’t really know what was going on in his head after all,” he sighed to himself, “I don’t know. I don’t know what’s the truth, and what’s me just being desperate to believe that I wasn’t wrong all those years ago, and… and that he had loved me once,” he finished, abruptly running out of steam and words, “It - all of it - it’s just left me kind of broken,”

Next to him, Draco moved. Arms came around him carefully, rolling and pulling him until he was pressed flush up against Draco’s chest, and hands rubbed soothingly up and down, starting at the nape of his neck and ending in the dip of his lower back. He felt lips press themselves against his brow. He heard Draco sigh in his ear, a low soothing hum. He smelt his own scent mingled in with Draco’s, clean and warm and inviting, and he felt his hammering heart began to calm. He practically melted against the other man.

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” Draco whispered into his hair, “but vases break - not people. You might be a little dented and bent out of shape, but you’re not broken. There’s nothing wrong with you. And Harry? Nice guys don’t have six-month affairs with eighteen-year-olds and forbid them from telling anyone, regardless of whether or not he regrets it now,”

Harry nodded into his chest, “I know,” he whispered back.

Draco re-asked the question that had started it all, “Do you want me to stop calling you beautiful?”

Harry’s lips refused to open. The word had him back in the flat he, Ron and Hermione had shared, reading the wedding invitation that had been addressed to Ron and Hermione alone. But he wasn’t there now. He was with Draco, and the idea of never hearing that word pass Draco’s lips again made his heart clench.

“Listen,” Draco started, “How about this: either I can stop calling you beautiful until you say otherwise, or you can try and reclaim it. The way you did with cooking. And I’ll call you beautiful until it stops making you feel sick and starts making you feel happy. It’s up to you, and you can always change your mind. What do you think?”

It was the idea that Draco might stick around long enough for Harry to destroy his associations with the word that had him nodding his head into his chest, and saying, “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

Tuesday – 5thof June 2007

Now

Ron had cast some kind of silencing charm on the house before he had stepped out into the garden, but in his state of distraction, it hadn’t stuck. Harry could hear him, shouting at the top of his lungs down the phone. Harry didn’t need to be a genius to guess who Ron had phoned after storming furiously out of the house.

“HE WAS EIGHTEEN!”

Harry watched him numbly from the kitchen table. They’d moved back to tea, and a fresh cup was burning into the palm of his hand. He’d expected Ron to be upset, but he hadn’t quite expected this. He didn’t regret telling him though. He was done with keeping secrets that had been pushed on him as a teenager.

He still didn’t know how he felt about Charlie, but he didn’t feel guilty for this. For telling his own truth for only the second time in eight years.

Ron roared something down the phone, but all Harry could make out was, “ YOU WERE HURT?! HE WAS HURT!” The rest of it being smothered by the faulty spell and the french windows. Ron lashed out, kicking a toy quaffle as hard as he could, and not even noticing that he had managed to kick it directly into one of the toy quidditch hoops at the end of the garden.

He found himself half wishing that Gandalf were there - he’d feel better about all of this if the silly white cat were in his lap accepting pets.

“THEN WHY DID YOU KEEP IT A SECRET?!”

He was tempted to go and find one of Rose’s cuddly toys. He knew she kept the lion he’d bought her for Christmas in the living room. Just something to hold onto that wasn’t the mug that was currently half scolding him.

“YES, I’M TELLING MUM! f*ck YOU! ‘AM I TELLING MUM?’ - I DON’T EVEN THINK I KNOW YOU ANYMORE!”

Ron didn’t throw his phone on the ground when he hung up, but it was a near thing. He drew his arm back and everything before apparently thinking better of it and letting his hand hang heavily by his side. For a long moment, all Harry could see was the back of Ron’s head as he stared out into the garden, breathing heavily as he tried to get ahold of himself.

Harry tried and failed not to flinch when Ron threw the french doors open, and near slammed them behind him.

Ron caught the reaction and lost the furious twisting of his face immediately. Suddenly, he looked as if he wanted to cry. He sat down heavily in the chair opposite Harry’s and simply looked at him.

“I-,” the word came out half choked, and Ron blinked as if surprised by the sound he himself had made, and the way that it had broken the silence between them, “I... Harry. I’m so sorry,”

“What?” Harry said, confused, and finally letting go of the cup that had been steadily burning his hand, “Why are you sorry?”

“Because - this, all of this - it was right under my nose, and I didn’t see any of it,” the anguish in Ron’s voice had Harry gulping back his own tears.

“Because I hid it from you,”

“Because he told you to!” Ron barked, pointing furiously to the garden as if Charlie himself had been stood in it minutes earlier, “But that… that’s not what I mean. When we lived together - I used to make jokes all the time about the amount of men you were seeing. I’d make jokes about you putting your own quidditch team together, and other flippant bullsh*t.

“Hermione was worried, you know. But I told her that there was nothing wrong with you seeing who you wanted to, and there wasn’t, but… but really, I think I was just being wilfully ignorant. I was so wrapped up in my own life and being relieved that I’d gotten it back now that the war was over, that I never stopped to see what was so glaringly obvious: that you were in pain, and not telling anyone. I’m so sorry , Harry. I- I hope you can forgive me,”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” Harry said easily, “You didn’t do anything wrong,”

“I did. I didn’t open my f*cking eyes. I just… and I’m not blaming you at all, but I just wish you’d told me,”

Harry sniffed wetly, catching the tear that had tried to escape out of his left eye before it could fall, “I know, I just… I thought that the secrecy was temporary. In my head I kept comparing us to Fleur and Bill. The age difference was the same, and Bill had told your parents about her. And they were happy, and married, and talking about children,”

“I think that actually might be why Charlie was so determined to keep you guys quiet,” Ron said darkly, “I never really understood exactly why mum didn’t like Fleur to begin with, but me and her sat down and spoke about it a few years ago. She said she liked Fleur just fine, but that she was worried by how young she was. She was worried that Fleur was leaping into something she wasn’t ready for, and that Bill was so enamoured with her that he couldn’t see that maybe he was leading them both down a path that would hurt them in the end. And I have to admit Harry - we’re both around the same age as Bill and Charlie were, and I can’t imagine dating an eighteen-year-old. Can you?” He said incredulously.

Harry’s mind immediately jumped to the teenager who had served him and Draco Chinese food, and he shook his head, and said softly, “No,”

“Exactly! Like, I know that Bill and Fleur have worked out and they obviously love one another, but I totally see where mum was coming from. And… and I’m not being funny Harry, and I don’t want to infantilise you, but Fleur was closer to twenty, than you were to nineteen, and Fleur came from a family where she knew she was loved unconditionally and she had people to fall back on, and Fleur hadn’t just come out of a war when she met and fell in love with Bill. You and Fleur… I wouldn’t say you were comparable in these scenarios,”

Harry felt his bottom lip tremble against his will, and he caught another tear before it could fall, “No, I suppose not,”

“And Charlie should have known better,” Ron said, his voice suddenly hard, “I can’t believe I’m about to agree with Draco Malfoy - but I do agree with him. Good men don’t ask you to keep them a secret. A good man would want to tell the world how much they loved you. And a good man wouldn’t then lie to his family, and tell them you meant nothing to him just before he married someone else, to… to… disguise the truth,”

“He’s your brother , Ron,” Harry tried to protest.

Ron spoke over him though, “And he f*cked up. Massively. He hurt you and he hurt Luca as well. Neither of you deserved that,”

“He’s your brother,” Harry muttered again.

His eyes snapped to Ron’s, surprised when his hand was pulled roughly into Ron’s; blue eyes stared intensely into his, “No. You’re my brother, Harry,” he said harshly, “Yes, me and Charlie share parents - we’re brothers because we were born that way. But you’re my brother with a capital B. I picked you Harry. And I will keep on picking you every day for the rest of my life. Charlie’s my brother by an accident of birth, but I chose you. You’re my brother, and I love you,”

Harry didn’t try to catch the tears that fell this time. He let his lips tremble, trying his best to work them into a smile, “I love you, too. You’re my brother too,”

Ron nodded, squeezing his fingers and holding on until he seemed sure that Harry didn’t need holding together any longer. He let their hands separate, and reached for his tea, “Come on then. Your stories not over. Tell me about Monday with Malfoy,”

Harry chuckled and resumed his tale.

Chapter 7: Monday - Lùthien

Chapter Text

Monday – 4th of June 2007

Then

Harry opened his eyes to a still dark room. He was warm, and comfortable, and so near sleep that his limbs felt as if they were weighed down, anchored to the soft mattress beneath him. Draco was pressed up flush against his back. An arm rested heavily around his waist, and he felt another one behind his head, the edge of Draco’s elbow just grazing against his hair. Two legs were entangled in his, so that Draco was effectively lying half on top of him and breathing softly into the back of his neck.

Blinking, trying to figure out what was going on, it took a rustling of the covers for Harry to realise what had woken him.

Peering down his body, he saw the blurry outline of a furry feline figure. A tail popped up, casting a shadow in the moonlight, and he heard a little chirp.

Yawning, Harry cast tempus and squinted up at the numbers above him: three am. Maybe feeding Gandalf the day before had been a mistake.

But then Gandalf was carefully padding over him, climbing gracefully over the small hills his and Draco’s legs had made beneath the covers, and settling in the V of Harry’s legs. The white cat’s purrs were ridiculously loud as he pawed at the bedding, kneading as if he were kneading for his life. And then he turned, and settled, and the purring stopped.

Behind him, Draco yawned, muttered something in his sleep, and destroyed the few millimetres that had separated them with a grumble. Harry smiled and closed his eyes, and drifted back off to sleep.

Harry half woke again several hours later, though he was dozing heavily enough that opening his eyes didn’t even occur to him. The mattress was moving - dipping and then bouncing back up again. Without really meaning to, he let out a low moan as the covers were pulled down and his skin was exposed to the slight chill in the room.

Someone shushed him, and he felt lips pressed to his shoulder before the duvet was pulled back up again.

“Shh go back to sleep - it’s early,” there was a meow - incessant and near howling: a clear demand, “Yes, yes - I’m coming, I’m coming,” he heard bare feet padding across the room, and then the sound of claws scratching at wood before a door opened and closed with a gentle click.

Harry must have fallen right back to sleep again, because no sooner had the door closed then it was being opened again.

He peered blearily up at the approaching blur that was Draco shrugging off his light blue dressing gown and climbing back into bed. A handsome face with fond grey eyes loomed into view.

A hand stroked through Harry’s hair, and Draco whispered, “Morning beautiful,” and Harry forgot how the word was meant to make him feel.

Instead, all he felt was warm and contented, “Time is it?” he said through a yawn, pulling Draco closer and burying his face in the warm hollow of his neck so that all he could smell was Draco.

Strong hands rubbed his back and stoked his hair, “Just after seven. Let’s go back to sleep for a bit longer,”

Harry didn’t agree, he simply did as he was told.

When Harry awoke for the final time that morning, and actually woke up properly, he found that Draco was already wide awake.

He lifted his head up groggily, his ear hot and sweaty from resting on Draco’s arm, and twisted around to see that Draco was lying flat on his back and acting as a human pillow for not only Harry, but Gandalf as well. The cat was sat perched on his chest, all four paws tucked beneath his body so that he more resembled a great furry loaf of bread than a cat, a pleased expression on his face as he enjoyed Draco’s obedient scratching of his chin.

Harry yawned and began to turnover, “Time is it?” He murmured, resting his head on Draco’s shoulder so that he was positively nose to nose with the squinting cat on his chest. He reached out a finger to scratch behind Gandalf’s ear and under his jaw, and the cat leant into his touch.

“About ten,” Draco said back to him, just as softly, “Did you sleep okay?”

Harry nodded against him, a yawn splitting his mouth wide open as he stretched himself into wakefulness, “Yeah. Gandalf woke me about three getting into bed with us, but that’s all,”

“Did he?” Draco said sounding surprised, “Huh,”

“What?”

“He never did that with Astoria and I - before we started sleeping in separate bedrooms I mean,”

“Did he not? Did she not get up early to feed him? Maybe that’s the difference,” Harry joked.

Draco hummed and said, “Maybe,” but added nothing else, “What did you want to do today?”

Harry hesitated, “I thought you wanted to watch the last Lord of the Rings film?”

Draco scrunched up his nose, and waved the suggestion away with the arm that was pinned beneath Harry, “Later on, yeah. What do you want to do now, I mean?”

Harry swallowed back the feelings that the word ‘later’ inspired.

Later.

Later .

It was like a swinging pendulum clock in his head. When was later? And would later be when Draco finally sent him off with a kiss and a fond farewell?

He ignored his own anxious inner monologue, “Well… what do you want to do? There’re a million things we could do - we could go to Diagon Alley? Or go flying?”

Draco wrinkled his nose and shook his head, “No, all of those things are things I could do any day. I want to do something with you that’s a bit different. Something less wizard and more muggle,”

“I swear you’re just using me as your muggle tour guide,” Harry joked.

Draco chuckled beneath him, “No, not at all! It’s just… being with you. You make me feel brave,” he admitted, “Brave enough to try out all the things I’ve been thinking about doing but haven’t plucked up the courage to attempt. The things I’m worried people would laugh at me for,” Draco twisted his head to peer down at him, “and maybe you would laugh too, but I get the feeling you’d be laughing with me and not at me,”

Harry grinned up at him, slow and warm, “I’d be doing both,” he assured him, humour in his voice.

Draco rolled his eyes, but he didn’t seem offended, “Yes alright - you’d laugh at me and with me too.”

Tuesday – 5th of June 2007

Now

Ron grimaced above his cup of tea, “Oh no,”

Harry frowned in concern, “Oh no, what?”

Ron looked like he might vomit, “I think… I think I like Draco Malfoy,”

Harry grinned, slow and warm, and agreed, “He is surprisingly likeable, I have to agree,”

Ron shuddered, and waved him on, “Carry on, carry on.”

Monday – 4th of June 2007

Then

“So, what is this thing that you want to do?” Harry prodded him further, stroking a hand down Gandalf’s back, “This thing you’ve wanted to do but haven’t had the courage to do - class it as my birthday present to you,”

Draco was quiet for a long while, one hand stroking Harry’s arm and the other stroking Gandalf’s head, “I… I’ve always wanted to go to one of those muggle museums,” he admitted in a whisper, “The ones about history,”

Harry hesitated, “I don’t mean to be facetious Draco, but pretty much all museums are about a history of some kind. Which one do you mean?”

“There’s one I’ve seen a sign for on the tube sometimes - it always has this enormous skeleton as a background. Of a dinosaur, I think. The uh… the something history museum?”

“The Natural History Museum,” Harry answered at once, “Do you want to go?”

“Can we?” Draco asked, his voice painfully small and eager all in one, “Is it full of dinosaurs? I’ve always wanted to see one - a skeleton of one I mean - but my father would never take me somewhere like that. I asked once, before I knew better, and he went off on some rant about foolish muggles displaying dragon bones and thinking they’ve discovered some ancient extinct species,” Draco scoffed, his disdain for his father clear, “I mean he’s not totally wrong. Some of the bones muggles have got their hands on are from dragons, but not all of them!” He let out a small oof when Gandalf, having decided he’d had enough pampering for one day, leapt from his chest and disappeared out of the room.

“I’ve never been either,” Harry murmured against him, “My aunt and uncle would never pay for me to go when we had a school trip. I mean - the entry is free, but they wouldn’t even cough up the money to pay for me to get the coach. So, I got left at school all alone with a dinner lady,” Draco hummed sympathetically, pressing a kiss into his hair, “You know - up until 2002, they had a real unicorn horn on display there,”

Wide eyes turned to him curiously, “Did they really? How do you know that then?”

Harry chuckled, burrowing closer and flinging his arm around Draco’s waist now that there was no cat to share with, “Because I was part of the team assigned to confiscate and replace it. Not very Auror like work I know, but they needed someone with experience in reconnaissance. It was displayed as the underdeveloped horn of a narwhal. They’ve had it since the nineteen thirties we think, but obviously that was around the time of World War Two and when Grindlewald was at large, so no one gave a sh*t if the muggles had managed to find themselves an actual unicorn horn. And then it was kind of forgotten until a muggleborn was taking his family around the museum and recognised it for what it was. It sparked an inquiry and everything, and now the Ministry’s policy is that there needs to be a witch or wizard planted amongst the muggles who work there at all times to filter out all of the natural magical artefacts they find,”

“There are more!?” Draco exclaimed.

“Oh yeah! They found an erumpant horn a few years ago. We had to call in a bomb scare to get the place properly evacuated while we went in to remove it,” Harry said, feeling unreasonably fond of the memory. It was one of only a few times over the years that he’d found his job genuinely exciting rather than mildly terrifying.

“Merlin - that could have ended poorly,”

“I know,” Harry said with a snort, “I’ve seen the damage one of those things can do,”

“Have you? When?”

“During the war,” Harry said softly, “At the Lovegood’s. Xenophilius had called the Death Eater’s on us to try and trade me for Luna. He tried to stun me to stop me escaping, but he hit the horn instead and blew up his entire house,”

Draco’s fingers threaded through his hair soothingly, his little finger trailing down the edge of his ear and making him shudder, “I still see Luna, you know? We go out for coffee whenever she’s in the country. I think…,” he took a sharp breath in and swallowed suddenly, “I think seeing her in my home, being held prisoner, is what really convinced me that my parents had dragged me onto the wrong side of the war. Not my father going to Azkaban, or the Dark Lord branding me, or forcing me to torture people, or telling me to kill-,” he stopped abruptly, and swallowed again, “Never mind,” he muttered, though Harry knew what he’d been about to say, “It was her. Seeing this girl, I’d been to school with who had never hurt anything or anyone and knowing that she was my captive, and I was her captor. It made me feel sick. It was then that I knew that I was walking down the path to being someone truly evil. Not just a schoolboy bully but the sort of person other people coward from. And when I was younger, I thought I’d revel in that kind of power, but now that it was in my hands I just…” he shook his head, and repeated himself softly, “I just felt sick,”

Harry pushed himself up, scrambling to sit and lean over him; Draco peered up at him, something pained and vulnerable in his expression, as if he were preparing himself for Harry’s condemnation.

Harry stroked his cheek with the back of his knuckles, his eyes searching between Draco’s wide, grey pair, and drinking him in, “You’re not evil,” he whispered, “You weren’t then - even at your worst - and you aren’t now,” a single tear trailed down the side of Draco’s face, and Harry caught it with his thumb before it could become lost in his hair, “I’ve always wanted to ask you: when they captured us and brought us to the manor. You knew it was me. Why didn’t you tell them?”

“I… before this weekend, I’d have told you it was because I didn’t want him to win. But the truth is, it’s because I didn’t want you to die ,” he stuttered over the word, as if even uttering it caused him pain.

Harry surged forward, capturing his mouth in a fierce kiss and cradling the back of his head in his hands. Draco responded with the same strength of feeling, dragging Harry into him and holding him tightly to his chest.

“This is ridiculous,” Draco groaned into his mouth, “Completely ridiculous,”

“What is?” Harry said distractedly in between kisses.

“I’ve had you so many times - we must have had sex half a dozen times or more - and all it takes is a kiss for me to want you again,”

Harry laughed in a huff against him, reaching down to feel the truth of the matter through the other man’s pyjama bottoms, “You can have me again, if you want?”

Draco shuddered, pressing eagerly into the hand that was simply holding him through his clothes, “Please - yes… please. Want you so bad ,” when Harry made to shimmy his way down Draco’s body, Draco acted frantically to work his pyjamas down below his waist so that when Harry reached his target, there was nothing in his way to stop him from taking Draco into his mouth.

For a moment, Draco held his breath above him, barely daring to breath. And then he opened his mouth, and apparently couldn’t stop himself from verbalising every single thought that popped into his head.

“Merlin your mouth is so hot and wet - it’s like a furnace on me. Feels so good… Merlin. f*ck !” He heard Draco groan and shift and realised that Draco was peering down his body to watch, “You’re so pretty like this - I mean, you’re so pretty anyway - but f*ck you’re extra pretty right now. f*ckf*ckf*ck!” He heard a soft thud which he interpreted as Draco dropping his head back on the pillow to moan up to the ceiling above, “f*ck. So beautiful . That’s the first thing I thought at that bar, when you were standing there in that f*cking green jacket. I thought - f*ck is that him? And then you turned around and Merlin - your eyes! It was like looking at someone from another world. You’re just so gorgeous. Not going to be able to read the Simarillion without thinking of you. Any… ah…. f*ck! Anytime I read about Lúthien I’m going to imagine her with your eyes and your hair- ah! M-Merlin! f*ck !”

Harry had no idea what Draco was talking about, but it didn’t stop him from taking himself in hand and stroking himself in time with the bobbing of his own head. Above him, Draco was still talking, crooning words of appreciation in between gasps and groans and obscure references to elves and something called the Noldor that Harry didn’t understand. He groaned though when long fingers threaded through his hair, curling to grip and tugging just the slightest amount before letting him go.

The sensation, when combined with his own frantically working hand, was enough to tip him over the edge. He pulled off of Draco to gasp into his hip, his toes curled and muscles tensing as his org*sm washed over him.

Now, with nothing to distract him, he redoubled his efforts.

Focussed as he was, Harry was only vaguely aware of the repeated, gasped warnings from Draco that he was about to come. He spluttered a little at the bitter fluid that film his mouth unexpectedly, but he didn’t pull off, swallowing it down until Draco was encouraging him away from his spent co*ck, and up towards his chest.

Draco caught his mouth immediately, their tongues touching and stroking against one another. Draco pulled away with a sigh, murmuring “Can taste myself on you,” against his lips.

They exchanged kisses for Harry didn’t know how much longer; slow gentle ones, some no more than a mere brushing of their lips as if they were afraid one would end up being their last. One of them would be, Harry knew. Sometime today most likely, he’d kiss Draco for the last time and would have to go back to his lonely, barely fulfilled life at Grimmauld place, staring at the walls he’d ripped down and rebuilt, wondering if it was too soon to do it all again without worrying someone.

Harry separated them with a pop and smiled tightly down into Draco’s dazed eyes.

f*ck.

How was he going to give this up?

“Come on,” he said brightly, covering the clenching in his chest in the only way he knew how: by pretending it didn’t exist, “let’s get going. Shower?”

They showered together to save time, but as Harry expected, they spent more time kissing than washing.

Draco chuckled in his ear, his tongue lapping at the shower water on his neck, “Are you hard again?”

Harry snorted and pushed him away, “Yeah, but I imagine it’ll take a stupid amount of time to come so don’t bother. I thought you wanted to see the dinosaur bones?”

“But what about your bone?” Draco leered at him.

“Well,” Harry said flatly, turning off the water, “If I was worried about my erection before, I’m certainly not anymore,” Draco only laughed at him, and Harry couldn’t suppress the amused upwards tilt of his lips.

The journey on the tube plus the walk was nearly forty minutes, and Harry half expected Draco to grimace and request that they apparate instead. He didn’t though. Harry wasn’t really surprised anymore at this point by the almost visceral pleasure that Draco seemed to take from riding the tube. He winced at the sound of the carriage’s screaming wheels on the tracks, but he never lost the satisfied expression that played about his lips. He pulled Harry along to the vacant seats in the carriage's middle, flashing an apologetic smile at the muggles who shifted their legs to let them pass, and tucking Harry under his arm.

“Do you get the tube much?” Harry asked curiously, shouting slightly over the noise.

“If I have the time,” Draco admitted, “I never really like apparating, convenient as it is. But I like the opportunity to watch the muggles that you see on the tube. Plus, no matter how out of place I might feel, there’s always a muggle doing something ten times stranger than me, and no one even looks up,”

Harry let out a bark of laughter, a memory stirring in him, “You know - the first time I ever got the tube was with Hagrid when he took me to get my school supplies. I can tell you now: people looked up when Hagrid sat next to them,”

“Was that the first time we met then? At Madam Malkin’s?”

Harry nodded, his shoulder jostling into Draco with the rocking of the carriage, “My relatives - I’d been getting my Hogwarts letters delivered to the house and they went from trying to ignore them to running away from them. We ended up in a little shack on a rock in the middle of the sea, and Hagrid arrived on my birthday to deliver my letter,” he smiled, fond and bitter both at the memory, “It was insane, really. Vernon pulled out a shot gun, and Hagrid told me who I actually was. I’d lived my whole life believing that my parents had died in a car crash, and being told that my father was an unemployed alcoholic, and my mother was a freak,”

“And they still sent you back,” Draco said flatly.

Harry nodded, and changed the topic, “So you’ve been on the tube - ever been on a bus?” Draco grimaced and nodded, “How about a plane?”

Draco practically balked, “No, and I have no desire to, thank you. Big metal tubes in the sky - ridiculous. How do they even stay up?!”

Harry chuckled, winding his arm around Draco’s and taking his hand, “Hermione explained it to me and Ron once. It’s all physics. Air pressure and thrust and such like. I think I understood it better than Ron,”

“Have you been on one then?” Draco asked curiously.

“Yeah,” Harry said with a sad smile, “Twice. Once to Australia with Ron and Hermione to find her parents, and then once back to the UK,”

“Why did you fly?” Draco said with a frown, “Are there not portkeys?”

Harry hesitated, “This was literally just after the war had ended. Internationally, Britain was still considered an unstable state. Technically, a civil war had overthrown our ‘legitimate’ government, and it would take another six months for the international wizarding community to recognise that Voldemort’s government had been installed in an illegal, undemocratic coop. Legal international portkeys were practically impossible to obtain at that time. So, we went the muggle way instead,”

“So Granger’s parents live in Australia then?”

“Yes, and no,” Draco’s expression took on a quizzical element, “Before the war started properly, after Dumbledore had died but before the Ministry fell, Hermione wiped their memories and made them relocate there. She knew that she’d be on the run with me, helping me to try and take him down. She knew they were at risk of being targeted to draw her out, so she hid them instead,” Harry swallowed heavily, practically seeing Hermione’s anguished expression all over again, “It was too late though,” he said softly, “She couldn’t undo the enchantment. It had settled in place. She still speaks to them, though. She… she introduced herself to them while we were there and, I guess they must instinctively know who she is, because they took to her like ducks to water. Told her before we left that they’d always wanted a daughter, and would love it if she kept in touch, and to let them know if she ever went back so they could meet up. She cried the whole plane journey home,” he offered Draco a said smile, “They email her weekly,”

“That’s awful,” Draco said quietly, his voice nearly disappearing in the din of the carriage.

“It is,” Harry agreed with a sigh, “Ron and Hermione… they’re my family, you know? We’re not just friends. Hermione’s the sister I never had, and Ron… Ron calls me the brother he chose, which means a lot coming from a man with so many siblings, and who’s always struggled with them outshining him in some way. I love them. I wouldn’t see anything separate us - not for anything, not ever,”

Draco nodded sombrely, “I understand. You’ve been through a lot together,”

Harry’s chest tightened, “We have,” he said, his words half choked.

Draco pressed a kiss to his forehead, and they sat in a comfortable silence for the rest of the ride.

Harry could barely keep up with Draco and his long legs in their walk to the museum - the man was practically racing in his eagerness. It took Harry scowling and linking their arms together to get the man to stop trying to run away. Draco sent him an apologetic smile, and Harry could practically see him calculating how quickly he could walk without dragging Harry along behind him.

Stepping into the main hall of the museum, Draco simply stood and stared up at the enormous dinosaur on display for an almost concerning amount of time. No one paid him any mind though - tourists were too busy taking photos of themselves in front of the display or scrambling towards the back of the hall to use the facilities or peering with interest at the other exhibits on display around them. A group of schoolchildren, perhaps ten and eleven years old wearing high-vis jackets followed their anxious teachers through the hall, whooping and laughing and pointing up in wonder at the dinosaur's enormous neck.

Finally, Draco said in a hushed voice, “I can’t believe that this isn’t a magical beast,” he looked abruptly to Harry at his side, “This is insane! Bigger than any dragon! I can’t believe my father thought that this was just some dragon that the muggles had misidentified - how would this thing even fly?! Look at the size of its legs! You have to give it to muggles - that they found this creature and managed to piece it together,” he shook his head in disbelief, “It’s fantastic!”

“To be fair,” Harry said at length, leaning into Draco’s side, “In your father’s defence - there’s no way for us to know if this was or wasn’t a magical beast. We’ve only got fossilised bones to go off after all. Either way, I don’t think it matters. It’s just as amazing,”

Draco nodded fervently next to him, “Oh yes, absolutely - are these bones real then? I mean - I know the animal was real - but the bones. Are they the real thing?”

Harry hesitated, worried he was about to ruin the experience for Draco, “I think they’re plaster casts of real bones. The actual bones are kept somewhere else to preserve them and protect them from damage,”

Draco wilted slightly, but brushed it off quickly, “That makes sense, I suppose. I want to see more,” he said abruptly.

Harry chuckled at him, “Yeah, alright - I think there’s a dinosaur exhibition. Shall we get a map?”

It was like being at John Lewis all over again, except, if it were possible, Draco was even more enthusiastic. Using a pen that he borrowed from a member of staff, he took the map and circled the areas he was most interested in seeing, and crossed out the few areas he had no interest in (Harry couldn’t blame him - he wasn’t particularly interested in going to look at rocks either).

They spent a long-time walking around the dinosaur exhibition, debating between them how likely any of the creatures on display were to have actually been magical in nature.

“But then, where do we define magic as having begun?” Harry pointed out, “These creatures existed millions and millions of years before humans - before witches and wizards. Maybe magic didn’t exist then,”

“Or,” Draco countered, staring up with wonder at the teeth of the T-Rex that loomed above him, “Perhaps, all those years ago, magic existed within everything. Maybe these creatures existed before the world was divided into magic and mundane. Perhaps everything was a little bit magical back then. There’s nothing to say that the existence of magic began with humans, after all,”

“I’ve never really thought about the origins of magic,” Harry admitted, leaning over the barriers other side to admire the great fossil on display in a rock below, “I’ve always kind of figured that magic has always been around, but that humans were the first to harness it. Though which humans. hom*o sapiens? hom*o erectus?”

Draco snorted, “ Erectus ,”

Harry rolled his eyes, “You goofy idiot - shut up,”

Draco only grinned though, “You make a good point,” he agreed, “My understanding has been that there’s no way to know,” he shrugged, “Muggles have uh… what’s it called? Carbon dating?”

Harry shrugged as they wandered to the next item on display - fossilised teeth and claws with a tactile display next to it, “I don’t really know. Not very in touch with muggles, remember,”

“Well, anyway, my understanding is that muggles use this ‘carbon dating’ to figure out how old things are. Witches and wizards who are interested in the topic of the origins of magic, have used their work to try and use a similar technique to date the oldest magical item in existence, but they gave up very quickly,”

“Why?” Harry asked curiously.

“Well - they found that the further they went back into prehistory, the more magic they found. A human skeleton from a thousand years ago could be reliably identified as magic or nonmagic. But once you get back into the Bronze Age, basically everything is saturated in magic. The point of debate is whether or not things simply accumulate magic over time, or if the world really was that much more magical before the Bronze Age,”

“Huh,” Harry said, pausing to look up at Draco, “That’s really interesting,”

“It is,” Draco agreed, “It’s the sort of work I wanted to go into as a child,” he admitted with a sad smile, “I found it all so interesting. I thought my father would as well - what could be a better career for a pureblood that investigating the origins of magic?”

“He disagreed though?” Harry guessed as they made space for the party of school children who had arrived, and wandered deeper into the exhibit.

“He did,” Draco said with a sigh, “At the time he told me it wasn’t a career suitable for a Malfoy. But on reflection, I think he objected to the investigation into the origin of magic at all. I think he was worried that it would degrade the notion of ‘pureblood’. If you look back far enough, after all, we all shared a single common ancestor,”

“Have you ever thought about getting into it now?” Harry asked curiously.

“I have - I even investigated it. Spoke to the Magical College of Archeology and Anthropology about it. They suggested, however, that any potential discoveries of mine might be tarnished by my name, and my family's reputation for staunch blood purity. If someone like me came out and said ‘this was wizard A and all pureblood’s can trace their origin to him or her’, then it could be perceived as me pushing an agenda of some kind. You understand?”

Harry nodded, and squeezed his hand, “I’m sorry, Draco,” but Draco only shrugged, and lead them out of the exhibit.

Tuesday – 5th of June 2007

Now

“What this time?” Harry said with a sigh when Ron let out a dramatic groan.

“I… I think Hermione would like him as well,” he tipped his head back and looked as if he wanted to cry, “Oh, Merlin. What has the world come to?!”

Harry only laughed at him.

Monday – 4th of June 2007

Then

They took a break in the café, having not had breakfast and being very late in their lunch. They shared a pizza with garlic bread and split a pot of strawberries and cream between them. Harry found himself flushing furiously when Draco swiped a droplet of cream from his chin and popped his thumb into his mouth to lick it off. Draco only grinned though and returned to his own portion of their strawberries.

Afterwards, Draco dragged him by the hand in between display cases full from top to bottom of taxidermy, a faintly disgusted expression on his face.

“I never understood taxidermy,” he muttered, “My grandmother used to have two gnomes who had been displayed as if they were waltzing above her hearth. It was bizarre,”

“I think it’s important,” Harry disagreed, “In this setting, at least. Reminding us of the animals that have become extinct. Making sure they aren’t forgotten,”

Draco hummed, noncommittal, then froze as they came upon a case that contained a multitude of birds, “Is… is that a diricawl?” He said cautiously.

Harry sighed, “Yeah,” he said, defeated, “It is. The Ministry know’s it's here,” Harry assured him, “No point taking it though. Muggles call it a Dodo and think that it’s extinct. We’d have to wipe the memories of half the world and doctor who know’s how many books to make them all forget about it. Easier to just leave it alone,”

Draco wrinkled his nose, “They didn’t do a very good job - why is it so dull?”

Harry chuckled, “It’s the beast’s magic that makes it so bright in life. It’s not their fault. Come on - there’s still loads more to see,”

They were there for several hours more, their hands swinging between them as they peered in at display cases and read information plaques. Harry found it difficult to concentrate though. Draco kept glancing at his watch. Were they on a count down? He supposed they must have been. A count down till when Draco sent Harry packing and they never saw one another again.

Was that really how all of this would end though?

Harry supposed it must be. They’d had a wonderful weekend together, but that was all it was. A four-day whirlwind that had his heart racing in his chest but… but that was all. In a few hours, Draco would shake his hand and say ‘Have a nice life - I hope you stop being such a mess’ and then that would be it.

And Harry couldn’t blame him for it. They didn’t know one another, not really, and they had over a decade's worth of history standing between them. And then there was Ron and Hermione to consider - they’d no doubt be horrified by the turn his weekend had taken. That he’d had a four-day affair with Draco Malfoy of all people. How could he explain it to them?

No that it mattered. There would be nothing to explain. It was just sex. Sex and… and this feeling that burnt in his chest. A feeling his guarded heart hadn’t come close to since Charlie.

f*ck .

They grabbed dinner on the way home - a readymade lasagne that came in a plastic box but that the label assured Harry, could be put in the oven. Draco had wrinkled his nose at the sight of it, but shrugged and agreed with Harry that he too couldn’t be bothered to wait for Harry to make one from scratch (because there was no way that Draco would be able too).

Back home (no: back at Draco’s home) with the lasagne in the oven, and a white cat curled in his lap, Harry sat back in the armchair in the corner of Draco’s music room, and listened while Draco played the piano. He could have cried. It was all so perfect. He didn’t want to leave - he didn’t want to give this up - but how could he possibly stay?

It was insane!! This entire weekend had been insane.

Draco didn’t complain about the ready meal and scoffed his portion in between trying not to burn his mouth. When he was done, he said, “It was good for something so convenient, but you’d have made it better,”

Harry shook his head fondly and followed Draco into the living room to watch the final Lord of the Rings. For a moment though, he couldn’t press play on the remote, knowing that that little button would start the count down to the end. Three hours or so, and then he’d be slipping his shoes on, patting Gandalf on the head, and leaving for the last time, never to return.

He swallowed. He pressed play, and he allowed Draco to draw him into his arms without complaint.

Three hours passed in a blink. One second, Merry and Pippin were being retrieved from Isengard, and then the next an entire crowd of people were bowing to all four Hobbits. Harry didn’t comment on the sniffles he could hear coming from Draco above him as Frodo sailed for the Grey Havens, but he did stroke a hand up and down his arm and held him closer.

The credits played. The screen turned black, and with the evening's late hour, and the lack of lights, they were plunged into darkness. Harry closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, memorising Draco’s scent. Then he asked a question that had been niggling at him - but he asked it more to extend their time together than because he truly cared about the answer.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Hmm?”

“…You keep comparing me to someone. A character from this, I think, but she doesn’t actually appear in the films, and I doubt I missed her considering there’s only three female characters in this entire thing. Lúthien. Who is she?”

Beneath him, Draco stilled. And then he was slowly sitting them both up so that they were sat side by side on the sofa, and all that Harry could truly see of him was the moonlight reflected in his eyes, “She’s a character from the Silmarillion - a series of books written in the same universe, but they’re not actually completed particularly. She’s… she’s an ancestor of Arwen. She’s described as the fairest elf maiden to have ever lived, but she chose to forsake her immortality to live and die with her mortal husband,” he heard Draco swallow, “But… her character was actually something of an author insert,”

“What do you mean?” Harry said, his voice coming as a whisper.

“I mean that Tolkien, the muggle author, wrote her as a representation of his actual wife. It’s romantic, don’t you think?” He asked quietly, “That he wrote her into immortality, when the character she’s represented by gave up her immortality to die with the man she loved?”

Harry’s breath came as a shudder, understanding immediately. That Draco had been calling him beautiful in his own private way, just using a different word - a name, that he knew Harry wouldn’t understand. He’d said it not to flatter, but because he meant it, “It’s very romantic,” Harry agreed, but his words were half stolen in a kiss.

Draco separated them with a small gasp, “Stay,” he whispered against Harry’s lips, “ Stay - one more night. Please stay,”

Harry was nodding immediately, leaning closer to kiss Draco again, “I’ll stay,”

They made love slowly, and passionately. Draco in between his legs, pressing into him again and again while he mouthed at Harry’s neck, whispering words in french that Harry couldn’t understand and chasing them with kisses and soft bites and licks. It was an unhurried coupling, and one that had Harry fighting back tears.

It felt like a goodbye.

When they finished, Draco parted from him only enough to pull out and whisper a cleansing spell before drawing Harry back into his chest. They didn’t say goodnight, Harry simply fell asleep to the sensation of fingers running through his hair.

Chapter 8: Tuesday - Then and Now

Chapter Text

Tuesday - 5th of June 2007

Then

For the first time since staying with Draco, Harry was awoken by an alarm. He felt Draco groan and stir behind him. He swallowed back the lump in his throat.

“I’m sorry to set an alarm so early,” Draco murmured into his shoulder, “but I told mother I’d meet her at nine, and I need a shower first… join me?”

Harry nodded, saying nothing, and allowing Draco to lead him to the bathroom by his hand.

They stood under the spray together for a long time, their arms wound around one another, touching and exchanging chaste kisses. By the time they parted, Harry felt as if his he were burning from the inside out.

Harry dried himself only enough to be able to dress without his clothes getting caught on his damp skin. This meant that he was dressed long before Draco, and could shimmy back onto the bed to sit and watch as Draco completed his morning routine. Moisturising his face and drying his hair, running just enough product through it that the longer portion on top of his head would stay where he put it. He dressed more smartly than he had the rest of the weekend - and more overtly wizard as well. A robe around his shoulders that could have been mistake for a light summer coat by a passing muggle who didn’t look too closely.

It felt like a closing door, and not for the first time, Harry regretted that his occlumency shields were no longer able to protect him from his own feelings. In the end, he had to rely on good old fashioned stoicism to stop himself from crying.

He didn’t want to leave. He wanted to stay just where he was. But he knew he couldn’t.

Having pulled his shoes on, Draco straightened and turned to him, a strained smile on his mouth.

“Ready? I just need to feed Gandalf, and then I’m good to go,”

Harry nodded, but still said nothing.

Gandalf rubbed up against Harry’s legs while Draco sorted out his breakfast, leaving streaks of white in his path up Harry’s trousers. Harry looked at the strands of fur mournfully - there’d be no more of this either. No more demanding cat and doting cat-dad. He’d be all alone again in his too big house with nothing and no one to speak to.

This long weekend had been a mistake, he thought, his heart sinking in his chest. He had almost forgotten what he was missing out on but now he’d have to live with that refreshed knowledge until he forgot all over again. Tears threatened, but he held them back, ducking down instead to scratch at Gandalf’s head. The cat gazed up at him through his bright blue eyes, and Harry wished he had some way to tell him goodbye in a way he would understand.

Gandalf didn’t look around at the sound of Draco putting his food bowl on the ground (maybe he was deaf after all), and it took Draco nudging him to get his attention.

Finally, with them both dressed, Harry’s bag packed, and the cat fed, Draco led them both to the gap between his house and his neighbours.

They stood, simply looking at one another.

And then Draco suddenly began to speak, his words rushed and tripping and desperate in all the ways that Harry remained silent to avoid. Maybe he really did make Draco feel brave.

“Listen- I… I know this has been a weird weekend long affair thing. I- I don’t even know what I would call it actually. It’s not a one night stand, and I don’t know if I’d call it a date either,” he huffed out a nervous trembling laugh, “but either way, all I know is that I don’t want it to end.

“When I saw you at that opera, I half couldn’t believe that it was you - you were just so bloody gorgeous in that stupid green jacket. And then I asked you to dinner without really thinking, but you were just so easy to talk to. When you asked me to come home with you I thought it would be just one night of passion but then… lying there in your bed with you in my arms,” he swallowed heavily, “I knew one night could never be enough. So I’ve been kind of dragging it out I suppose - just one more night and one more kiss and then that would be it. But I don’t want that to be it.

“The fact of the matter is Harry - you’re f*cking wonderful,” he said it with a near disbelieving huff of laughter, “Inside and out. You’re funny and clever and kind and you give off this air like you could do anything. Like you’d look at a task and say ‘well how hard could it be?’ and just get it done and it’s ridiculously attractive.

“I get the impression, though, that you think you’re not worth anything, or that you’re just a thorn in everyone’s side. Even if you never want to see me again, I just hope you know how categorically untrue that is. Quite frankly, I think you deserve the world. This weekend, you made me feel like I could be me. The real me. Not the me that I show to everyone else, but the me who enjoys nerdy muggle things and embroidery. I can only hope I made you feel as good about yourself as you made me feel.

“So,” Draco took in a deep shuddering breath, “So I want to see you again, if you want to see me. I desperately want to see you again, actually. But I know that there are plenty of good reasons why you might not want to see me . Who I am, who my family are, and my past, my reputation (which would certainly tarnish yours). It’s just… I just… I want this to be more than just a birthday weekend fling.

“I want to go out for dinner, and wander around muggle shops with you, and go to muggle museums, and- and,” he let out a laugh, “I want to watch the extended versions of the Lord of the Rings with you. I want to hold your hand, and kiss you, and have morning sex, and afternoon sex, and sex just before bed.

“And I know you think you’re damaged goods,” Draco snapped out a hand to take his, and Harry nearly dropped the bag over his shoulder in his daze, “or that you’re broken. But Harry: even if you were this broken vase that you envision, lying on the ground in a million tiny pieces, I would still want you. You and all your broken parts, even if you never managed to put yourself back together quite the same way again.

“Now: I’m not saying I’m in love with you,” Draco let out a half hysterical laugh, as if it would do anything to cover the half-truth Harry could hear in his voice, “because after four days, that would be just insane,” his lips trembled, “But if you gave me just four more, then I know I would be on my knees for you, giving up everything I’ve ever known just for the chance for us to be together. I can’t give you the world, but if you let me I’d try my best to every single day.

“If you don’t feel the same at all, then please tell me right now so that I can stop making a total fool of myself,” he help his breath, as if expected Harry to jump in there and then; when he didn’t, he continued more slowly, his voice trembling, “But… but if you think you might, then… I’d ask you to just think about it. Give it a week or something, to mull it over. Take longer if you want - that’s fine. I can wait.

“I’m afraid you see,” he admitted with a weak smile, “Afraid that you’ll dive in without thinking about all the drawbacks that would come with dating me. The notoriety. The absolute nightmare my father would be. But… but mostly what your friends will think about it all. They’re so important to you - I can’t imagine doing something to drive any kind of wedge between you. I can completely understand you choosing them over me, I really can, and if you did it now then I would cope. I’d get over you, eventually. Probably. But that’s my problem, not yours. But… but if you dove straight in, and then changed your mind a few months down the line, I… I think it would break my heart,” he attempted with difficulty to maintain his smile despite the tears that were threatening to escape, “And again, I’d recover, but I’d rather spare myself more pain in this life, if that’s at all possible. Is that okay?”

Harry couldn’t speak. He nodded dumbly, and Draco visibly relaxed. His smile came more easily.

“Good… that’s good… you have my number?” Draco half joked.

Harry nodded again, “Yeah,” his voice came out as a hoarse croak.

“Good. Good,” he hesitated, then brought Harry’s hand to his mouth to press a kiss to its back, “Write to me? Or call me? Or hell, just turn up on my door step - okay?”

“Okay,” Harry said, his voice still a croak.

Draco released him, smiled, stepped back, and disapperated with a crack, leaving Harry alone.

Harry moved as if in a daze.

He didn’t bother with apparating. He had absolutely no confidence that he wouldn’t splinch himself into a million pieces.

Instead he walked home, a slow exhausted trudge. He glanced up, his heart clenching in his chest, as he walked past the Chinese takeaway they’d gotten food from. His eyes caught on the vacant bench in the window, and he could practically see the ghost of him and Draco, cuddled up and laughing together.

He looked away quickly, and carried on the journey home.

Pushing his way into number twelve Grimmauld place, Harry dropped his bag with a thud. His eyes dropped to the smart shoes he had lined up by the door, and then lifted to the green jacket that he had hung up on Friday evening. He turned his gaze to the hall and the house beyond, and he felt nothing.

He walked like a zombie through the house, mindless and directionless until he found himself in the living room looking down at the sofa where he and Draco had been days before. He turned and left the room, making his way up the stairs to the bedroom.

The room still smelt faintly of sex - the scent boxed in by the door he had closed behind him. He threw the windows open, and sat heavily on the still unmade bed. It had been a happier bed when Draco had been in it.

His eyes found the bedside table. He hesitated, then leant closer and pulled the drawer open. His phone, its screen dark, stared up at him. He swallowed and pulled it into his chest. He held down its power button, and watched as the screen flickered into life. As the phone booted up, all Harry could hear was his own shaky breathing.

Finally, the phone buzzed, and an alert popped up.

‘1 missed call’ .

He unlocked the phone, and flicked through the menu, until Draco’s new number was staring up at him. Silent, and not thinking about what he was doing, he clicked ‘Save as new contact’. He typed carefully, pressing the number three once.

Seeing Draco again. It would be insane.

He pressed the seven three times.

They could never possibly work. What with Draco’s family, and his friends.

He pressed the number two once, then he paused and waited for the line to stop flashing.

It had just been a fling. A long weekend. A step out of reality and into a dream that couldn’t be.

He pressed the number two three more times.

He wished that it could be though. That that could be his life. Happy and working his way towards being in love.

Finally, he pressed the number six three times.

Draco’s name stared up to him, and a ringing echoed in his ears.

He paused, then pressed save.

He contemplated chucking the phone back in the drawer and sliding it shut, tucking both it, and the dream that was Draco Malfoy away forever.

He hadn’t even said Happy Birthday.

A single tear dropped from his eye onto the screen below.

f*ck.

He was racing down the stairs a split second later, and throwing his front door open. On his step, he steadied his breath, closed his eyes and focussed. He disapperated with a crack.

Tuesday - 5th of June 2007

Now

“And then…,” Harry started, his voice trembling, “and then I came here,”

Ron just looked at him, his gaze intense and focussed, the tea in his cup having long since gone cold.

Harry gulped, and he started speaking, “The thing is… I… before this weekend. I never really thought about whether or not I was happy. I was kind of distantly aware of the fact that I felt kind of empty inside, but I tried not to think about it. But now… I…,” he swallowed heavily and pretended that he wasn’t crying, “After this weekend - after spending four days with Draco - it made be realise not only just how unhappy I’ve been, but how painfully lonely that I am.

“Being with him… I just-,” his voice caught in his throat, “It made me realise what I’m missing from my life. That spark of joy. And he-,” he choked out a laugh, “he makes me feel amazing , and desirable, and beautiful and he’s just…,” he found himself grinning through his tears, “He’s just so f*cking goofy! I thought he was this stuck up, aloof, arsehole, and in some ways I’m sure he still is. But I don’t think that’s the real him - I think that’s the person he hides behind to keep himself safe.

“The Draco Malfoy I met this weekend, loves his cat, embroiders, plays piano, has an encyclopaedic knowledge of the Lord of the Rings and he… he makes me laugh. He makes me feel special. Like he’s there just for me, and I’m all that he can see. And as someone who spends a lot of his time not particularly liking himself, he actually made me feel like I was worth something.

“This isn’t a complaint, I swear it isn’t,” Harry sniffed and mopped away the tears that were dripping off the end of his chin, “But you and Hermione… you can just tell you have that special something. And as a person on the outside looking in… it just magnifies my own lacking. Sometimes- sometimes I feel like some ugly f*cking parrot watching two lovebirds cuddled up together, who just happen to have been kind enough to share a cage with me. And I know,” he said when Ron looked like he was going interrupt, “I know that’s not how you guys think of me, I know that. But it doesn’t change how I think of myself sometimes. With Draco though… I feel like… like …!” He could hardly say it out loud.

Harry swallowed heavily, “The thing is,” he said in a near whisper, “is that he’s not wrong when he says there are things that stand in our way. But I don’t give a f*ck about his father or his reputation - the only thing I care about is you guys. And I can’t go forward with this if you guys say no.

“Because he’s right. There is history between us all, and so much of it is full of terror and pain and heartbreak that I wouldn’t blame you guys if your answer was no. In fact, I feel guilty for even asking. But I have to ask. Because,” emotion had his throat in a vice like grip, trapping his words somewhere in the middle of his throat, “Because I’m not in love with him. That would be- be r-ridiculous. But I could be. I can feel it building,” he pressed a hand to his chest, “right here.”

“If you and Hermione say no though, then I’d understand. But I need you to say it now. If I fell in love with him, and then had to break it off… Draco might be able to recover,” he sniffed, wiping his eyes roughly with the back of his wrist, “but I really don’t think that I would. I just… I feel like he could be my person. The Hermione to my Ron,” he let out a wet chuckle, “The Aragon to my Arwen,” he said it as a joke, but it had him crying in earnest.

He almost didn’t see when Ron pushed himself to feet, but he certainly felt it when Ron manhandled him out of the chair and drew him into a fierce embrace. Harry half laughed half sobbed into his shoulder clinging back just as tightly. He felt Ron lift him briefly off the ground, holding him in the air and squeezing him even tighter.

“Hello! We’re home!” Harry heard the sound of the front door closing, and heels clacking against the hardwood floor; he made to peer round, but Ron wouldn’t let him go, “What a day! You’ll never belie- Ronald ,” Hermione’s voice turned suddenly dangerous, “Is that the full washing basket I see at the top of the stairs?” The clicking heels changed tone as they moved from the wooden floor, to the kitchen tiles, “Oh! Harry!”

Finally, Ron put him down, brushing his own tears from his face; Harry smiled wetly over his shoulder and found a confused Hermione in the kitchen door, Rose held on her hip, “Hi Mione’ - sorry. I think the washing is my fault,”

Hermione froze at the sight of his face; she closed her mouth, and set Rose carefully on the ground, “Rosie - would you big a good girl and go and play in the living room for mummy? I’ll bring you a snack in a minute,” Rose disappeared obediently, swaying slightly and clearly exhausted from her day at nursery, “What on earth is going on?” Her brow was drawn up concern, and she made to cross the kitchen towards them, but Ron stopped her with a raised hand.

“Just a minute,” he said, his voice remarkably steady considering his own tears; he turned Harry bodily so that they were stood facing one another, “The answer is yes,” he said firmly, “ Absolutely yes. Do you hear me? f*ck! I think I want to date him too! And Hermione agrees,”

“I’m sorry - date who? And what do I agree to?” Hermione took a cautious step forward, but was halted by Ron spinning Harry to face her.

A finger was abruptly pointed to Harry’s face, “Look,” Ron shook his hand a little for emphasis, “Look at this face. Just look at this little, half heart broken, little face,”

“You said little twice,” Hermione muttered.

“Look at it!” Ron said over the top of her, “Now: I’ll tell you the whole story later, but for now, just look at his face,”

“I am looking!” Hermione cried, half incredulous half bemused.

“Good. Harry would like our blessing to date Draco Malfoy,”

Hermione froze, “What?” She said, though she sounded only confused.

“Just trust me. I’ll tell you everything when Rosie’s gone to bed - oh sh*t , I still need to get Hugo,” Ron’s expression became suddenly anxious, but he waved away his own worry, “Never mind, mum won’t mind - anyway! Long story short, they met at the opera on Friday, and basically spent the entire weekend together, and Harry’s just told me the whole story, and my answer is yes. No,” Ron clarified, “my answer is a resounding yes. And once you understand, I know that yours will be too,”

For a long moment, Hermione simply looked between them, her eyes flicking from Ron’s determined expression, to the trembling of Harry’s lip. She took a deep breath in and pursed her lips, “Are you… are you sure Harry? I mean… he’s Draco Malfoy,” she stressed.

Harry hiccuped slightly, “Yes, I’m sure - I’m sure,” he turned an imploring look towards Ron.

“Mione’ - he’s you,” Hermione blinked in confusion, “Just - you have to believe me, but somehow, Draco Malfoy is strange blend of you and dad and it’s just as confusing for me as it is for you. Trust me. Trust Harry . The answer is yes,”

Finally, after a silence that made Harry want to be sick, Hermione’s shoulders relaxed, though she still look worried; she nodded, “Okay… okay then. I trust you,” she pointed a threatening finger in his direction, “But you better tell him that I’m still perfectly capable of punching him in the face if I have to. And you remember that too. If he hurts a single hair on your head he’ll have us to contend with,”

Harry nodded, grinning through his tears, but unable to give any kind of answer because Ron was suddenly shaking him in excitement, “Yes! She said yes !! Well what are you waiting for?! You need to go and see him!”

“ Now ?!” Harry cried incredulously, “Will you stop shaking me!!”

“Yes, now! It’s his birthday isn’t it?! What’s the point in waiting! You need to get a birthday present too, don’t forget,”

Harry laughed, overwhelmed tears still escaping his eyes as he slapped Ron’s hands away, “f*cking stop shaking me you dick! What would I even get him?”

Ron scoffed, “It’s obvious isn’t it? Hermione - what time does HVP close?”

“You mean HMV?” Said Hermione, looking even more confused.

“Yes!”

Harry stared up at the front of Draco’s house, his heart racing in his chest. His feet felt as if they had been welded to the pavement below, and even though it would take only ten steps to bring him to Draco’s front door, even that short distance felt insurmountable. Gripped between his fingers, his knuckles having gone pale with the strength of his anxious grip, was a plastic bag.

f*ck.

Maybe he should have wrapped it first.

f*ck it. Too later now.

His eyes flicked from the window of the sitting room, to the window of the study. Their blinds had been pulled open, and Harry half expected to see Draco bustling about inside. That was if Draco was even home. Harry checked his watch quickly - it was well after six. Surely he wouldn’t still be out with his mother and aunt? He’d said they were going out for lunch.

Well, he thought with a gulp, there was only one way to find out.

The garden gate creaked lightly under his touch, swinging out of his way as he forced himself step by step closer to the large, black front door. The handle in its centre practically dared him to try and gain entry.

Well. There was no point waiting.

Harry held his breath, and he knocked.

For a long moment, nothing happened. And then, out of the corner of his eye he saw movement.

Gandalf had jumped onto the windowsill, and was peering out curiously at him. Huh - maybe he wasn’t deaf after all. Harry wasn’t sure if the cat recognised him, but he saw his mouth open into what he was sure was a demanding meow for attention.

Harry looked sharply at the door, but there was no movement.

He swallowed and tried again, and this time he could faintly hear Gandalf’s angry mewling cry through the door. Still, the door remained closed.

Harry’s heart began to sink. Draco must not have been home. That… that was fine. He’d write. Arrange a date - perhaps the weekend.

Harry had been just about to step away from the door, when he heard feet approaching from the other side, and his stomach tried its very best to lodge itself in his throat. He watched, eyes wide and terrified as the door was opened to reveal a guarded Draco on the other side.

Draco’s expression relaxed at once at the sight of him, “Harry? What are you doing here?” Resignation and hopefulness warred for supremacy on Draco’s face, as if he couldn’t quite decide why Harry had come.

Without meaning to, Harry half thrust the bag in his hands into Draco’s gut; Draco accepted it with a slight oof, “They… they didn’t have it on blu-ray. I’m sorry…,”

Draco carefully opened the bag, his fingers trembling as he pulled out the box set within. For a moment, he simply looked at the extended edition of the Lord of the Rings trilogy in his hands. Then wide hopeful eyes snapped to Harry.

“Happy Birthday, Draco.”