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Harry felt like he should have wanted to go back to Hogwarts. Even worse, he knew he should go back there. But he just couldn’t convince himself, not even with Hermione and Ginny returning. Then again, Ron wasn’t going back either, and he didn’t even feel guilty about it, not even after Hermione talked to him about the importance of learning and getting the best possible results in their NEWTs. He got a bit of yelling too, but Hermione directed most of it at Ron, leaving Harry to deal with an angry and sad Ginny, who wanted him to go back.

But there they were on the first of September at King’s Cross station, saying their goodbyes and waving after the Hogwarts Express before apparating back to Grimmauld Place. Ron had no intentions of spending the year at the Burrow; it was too far away from London, and he wanted to help George out at Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes in Diagon Alley. He also admitted that he couldn’t really deal with his parents’ grief, and Harry was more than happy to offer him accommodation, not only because Ron was his best mate, but because he really needed the company. Grimmauld Place might have looked a lot less gloomy since they renovated it, spending all June and most of July sorting and chucking out old furniture and artefacts, knocking down some of the walls (this being the only way of getting rid of the horrible yelling portrait of Sirius’ mother), and painting the rest in brighter shades. The house was still way too big for one person.

Soon, having turned Hogwarts down, Harry found himself obliged to decide on what he wanted to do with his life, or at least the foreseeable future. Of course, everyone expected him to become an Auror; it seemed like the most obvious choice. But despite admittedly being interested in the job back in their fifth year, he wasn’t sure anymore if he wanted to go along with it. He might have defeated Voldemort, but was that really what he was destined to do all his life? Hunt down dark wizards?

He decided on meeting with Kingsley to discuss further possibilities. After getting detailed information about all the jobs he recommended to Harry, and spending three days straight going through the descriptions, forms, and books he got, he was sure he would either want to become an Unspeakable or a Curse-breaker. He would have been happy to dive back into his books and papers to choose one of the two jobs. However, Ron was already complaining about the whole house being littered with papers; how Harry did nothing except sit on the couch, read and compare, and read and compare. So Harry decided to give himself some time to consider his choice, meanwhile enjoying his freedom.

“Do you seriously want to be an Unspeakable?” Ron asked, his mouth full. This was the only part of the last few days he was enjoying, the takeaway they had every evening. “You can never shut up about what you are doing. Do you really think you could go without telling anyone anything about your job?”

“Probably not,” Harry shrugged, picking up another slice of pizza. “Though I guess I’ll have to, and it will be worth it.”

“C’mon, Curse-breaking seems much more interesting. I’d go with that without hesitation.”

“Well then, why don’t you? And let me become who I want to be?” Harry snapped. He ate the last bit of pizza and wiped his hands. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that, I’m tired,” he apologized as soon as he realized Ron said nothing that should have angered him. He rubbed his eyes.

“Hardly surprising, you barely slept these past few days, mate, seriously. Just forget about this job thing for a while, it isn’t going to do you any good. Besides, it’s not like you have to start work instantly; you have enough money to live happily for the rest of your life.”

“I did sleep last night,” Harry protested, deciding not to comment on the money part, as what Ron said was true, he did have a vault full of money. His friend didn’t, and even though he offered to help them, they never accepted it. What he also didn’t mention was that even though he did get a bit of sleep, he kept waking up from nightmares, and if it hadn’t been for the coffee he had every two hours, he would have nodded off halfway through the day. The nightmares, and pretty much everything else connected to the war, were one of those topics they avoided. It sometimes resulted in uncomfortable silences, and Harry agreed that it was better this way.

“I wonder who else from our year is going back to school,” Ron said, changing the topic. “I know Neville decided to do the Auror training. And Seamus isn’t going back either, he said something about opening some pub in Diagon.”

“I think I heard Dean was going back.”

“Oh yeah, I heard that too. And Padma and Parvati. I don’t know about anyone else though.”

“Me neither. I only know that most of the Slytherins aren’t returning, a lot of them got house arrests with their parents and stuff like that.”

“Malfoy?”

“House arrest, in France. But I think he will be taking NEWTs.”

“He deserves to rot in Azkaban with his father,” Ron scowled.

“He isn’t that bad. I mean, he did save my life once,” Harry said, though he didn’t sound too sure about it. He might not have despised him as much as he did before, but it was still Malfoy.

“Yeah, and then you saved his, so don’t get any funny ideas of owing him or anything,” Ron told him, making Harry grin. Ron knew him more than anyone else. He did feel like he owed Malfoy, a bit at least, but he guessed that speaking in his favor at the trials made them equal.

“Alright,” Harry laughed. He vanished the empty pizza boxes and stood up, yawning. “I’m tired, let’s pack it in for the day.”

“I second that,” Ron stood up as well, and the two friends made their way upstairs to their bedrooms, Ron in one of the guest ones, Harry sleeping in Sirius’s old room.

Days passed. Harry visited Kingsley once again, then spent another day reading before eventually deciding on Curse-breaking, which seemed ideal for him except for one small thing: he needed an Exceeds Expectations in Potions. Which was impossible, to say the least, with his skill and knowledge. So he went to the Ministry again, and consulted with several people before agreeing to let them find him a tutor.

He ended up spending a week doing whatever he wanted before he got any news on the matter. He visited Ron and George; he went to Muggle London; he started repainting Sirius’s old motorbike that Arthur fixed for him, leaving the finishing touches for Harry. He also sat around at home, waiting for Ginny’s face to appear in the fireplace, so she could tell him about school, and he could tell her how much he missed her. He also thought about who would be chosen as his tutor. Was it going to be some weird old Potions master like Slughorn or someone distant and cold, but really talented and intelligent like Snape, or maybe just someone of his age, who was better at the subject than him? The Ministry owl arrived on Friday, with the name and address of his tutor. But something was wrong; the address was somewhere in France. And the name was Draco Lucius Malfoy.

“Are you kidding me? Malfoy?” Ron asked, horrified when he read through the letter Harry shoved into his face as soon as he got home that evening. “Don’t tell me there isn’t anyone else in the whole wizarding world who could help you in Potions. Why did they have to choose that git?”

“I have no idea,” Harry sighed. “But it’s not just that. Why France? Why can’t it be someone here in London? I don’t speak French, I don’t know anyone there, it just doesn’t make any sense.”

“Can’t you ask the Ministry to find you someone else?”

“Already tried. But apparently Malfoy is the best solution, as we know each other, and we would both benefit from it.”

“Both benefit from it?! How would you both benefit from it? What would Malfoy benefit from it? You are lucky to actually learn something if you don’t get killed, but how can he benefit from it?”

“Search me,” Harry rolled his eyes.

“When are you leaving?”

“I have a Portkey for next Wednesday.”

“Wednesday? But that’s less than a week!”

“I know, but I guess I’ll just have to do it, no matter what.”

“This sucks, mate.”

“I know. If I don’t get an O after this, I swear I’ll be using some Unforgivables on some people.”

The next few days passed quickly, way too quickly in Harry’s opinion, and soon he found himself at the Ministry, looking at the corkscrew on the table, his belongings in his pocket, all shrunken.

“Here goes nothing,” he muttered, before taking hold of the charmed corkscrew, and letting it transport him in only a few seconds to his destination: a little French town.

From what he saw on his walk to the Malfoys’ place (Kingsley thought it would be safer for him to arrive outside the town for whatever reason), he thought it could have been England; the small cottages were no different from those they had back there. The one Malfoy and Narcissa were living in was just like the others, a simple Muggle
Narcissa greeted him when he arrived, looking as pale and tired as ever, and much to Harry’s surprise, wearing a simple blouse and jeans—something he never thought he’d see her in. She showed him around the house before retreating to the living room, where she was sorting through some papers. She told him that Malfoy was in his room and that he should make himself comfortable in his bedroom. Harry thanked her and did as she suggested, unpacking and quickly Flooing Ron and Ginny before lying down, hoping for a decent night’s sleep. He needed all the energy he could muster to face Malfoy the next day and would have felt extremely embarrassed if he had woken up screaming from his nightmares like he sometimes did. Then again, a simple Muffliato charm should do for the latter.

The next day, he woke up feeling surprisingly fresh and well-rested. That didn't mean he was ready to study Potions. With Malfoy. In France. When he could have been at home, spending time with his friends or just enjoying his freedom.

But then he reminded himself he needed this to get the job he wanted, so, gritting his teeth, he headed downstairs to where Narcissa said the lab was, where his old nemesis was already waiting for him.

"Malfoy," he greeted him, sitting down at the table and looking around. The walls were filled with shelves of books and tiny bottles, each of them full of liquids of different colours, labeled neatly. The workspace, however, was empty except for two cauldrons and a copy of a simple Potions schoolbook. Harry's eyes shifted towards Malfoy, who looked pretty much the same as he did the last time Harry saw him, apart from his white-blonde hair being longer, the strands escaping his elegant hairstyle. He also seemed much thinner, Harry noticed. He must have lost at least twenty pounds; it made the boy's features much sharper and more angled than they were before.

"Potter," he nodded, restraining himself from scowling, sitting down opposite Harry. "So, I’ve heard the Chosen One may not be as perfect as everyone thought. Problems with Potions? Seriously?"

"Shut up, Malfoy!" Harry snapped. He wasn’t expecting any different, but it still angered him that the other boy was already getting under his skin.

"Whatever, Potter." Malfoy shrugged. "But then don’t expect to get anything better than a D." He smirked.

"Fine," Harry said angrily. "Just shut up about other things and let’s get on with it. I get it, I won’t pass the stupid exam without the help of perfect Draco Malfoy, who is the best Ministry-recommended tutor in the whole Wizarding world, but we’d make better progress if you actually started explaining things," he snarled.

For a moment, Harry thought this would be the end and Malfoy would stalk out. But after glaring at each other, the blonde broke the eye contact and opened the course book without any further ado and started explaining everything, starting from the very basics. Harry soon found that, even though he would never admit it to anyone else, Malfoy was a good teacher. He cleared up some things Harry previously didn't understand, and apart from the snarky comments, he was almost patient. Well, he did snap and start shouting and swearing when Harry messed up a potion even after trying several times, but still, he was way better than what Harry had expected.

Soon they developed a daily routine which consisted of going down to have breakfast on their own, avoiding each other; having a short theoretical lesson in the morning; having lunch on their own; a longer practical lesson in the afternoon; spending time on their own; then having dinner on their own, except for when Narcissa insisted that they should sit together, which usually resulted in glares and uncomfortable silences.

But Harry was definitely improving at Potions, and after all, that was what mattered. As two weeks passed and October was drawing nearer, Harry found himself tired of arguing with Malfoy, and the other boy must have felt the same way because all of a sudden the nasty remarks were gone, and they were actually capable of spending time in one room without wanting to kill one another. This was definitely an improvement. Malfoy would actually compliment him if he did something right, and Harry would smile at him. They didn’t try so hard to avoid each other in the time between the lessons but actually greeted each other and sometimes even stopped to have short conversations. Nothing too serious or deep, only little things, but this was already much better. Harry realized that Malfoy’s company was actually quite alright sometimes, now that they weren’t constantly arguing.

Weeks passed, and Harry was getting used to living there, and as now he felt more comfortable around the Malfoys, he decided it was time to change some things. He started going for walks around the town and the countryside. He spent a bit more time with Malfoy; they stayed in the lab every so often after the lessons and just talked. One evening, Harry even asked Narcissa if he could cook something. They had been eating takeaway pretty much every day, and Harry didn’t mind it, but after over a month, he had to admit it was getting a little repetitive, and he was craving a home-made meal.

Narcissa was surprised but happy to let Harry work in the kitchen, so after making a quick supply run to the shop around the corner to get all the ingredients he needed for the curry, his favourite dish, he occupied the kitchen.

As he started heating the oil and chopping up the onions, the unmistakable smell of cooking filled his nose. He realized how much he missed it. Cooking was one of those things the Dursleys made him do, but he didn’t really mind it when he was making food for himself or his friends, and after seven years at Hogwarts without cooking, he enjoyed experimenting with all kinds of recipes that he learned from Muggle cookbooks.

He had started dicing the meat when he grew aware of someone watching him. As he looked up, he saw Malfoy standing in the doorway, watching him.

"You know, it’s not too polite to stare," he said, smirking at the boy. "And do try to be more secretive if you want to look at me." He added, grinning as he saw Malfoy blush, which was definitely something he hadn’t expected to see. Ever.

But now that he did, he couldn't stop laughing, making the blonde boy blush even harder. His normally pale face was a deep shade of red. "You should see your face now!" he choked out, holding onto the counter as he tried to calm down, suppressing the laughter that was bubbling in his stomach.

Malfoy just stood by the door, glaring at him, his face still flushed. "I’m just messing with you, no need to plan my death," he said with a shy grin as he finally stopped laughing and went back to chopping the meat, but still kept one eye on the other boy.

"I wasn’t. I never did. Plan your death, I mean," Malfoy said quietly.

Harry looked up and saw that the boy's face was serious. Harry swallowed thickly and nodded, not knowing what to say, so he just kept staring at him, green eyes locked onto the pair of grey ones. "So, do you want me to show you how to cook?" Harry broke the silence, moving to one side so Malfoy had his space at the counter, offering the boy a little smile.

The blonde boy hesitated, running one hand through his hair and chewing on his bottom lip, which caught Harry’s attention for some reason he couldn’t explain. He looked away, embarrassed, afraid of being caught staring. Malfoy made his way over to the counter. Harry carried on cutting up the meat, giving the other boy smaller tasks, explaining why he did things the way he did, and within half an hour, the spicy scent of the simmering curry filled the room.

After tidying up, Harry sat down on one of the chairs, fanning himself with a piece of newspaper that was laying on the dining table, his gaze fluttering to the other boy, who was pouring himself a glass of water before leaning back onto the counter, flushed, but this time from the heat of the cooking. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone, his hair messy and curly from the vapour, making the lines of his face look softer. Harry didn't even know why he thought of that, shaking his head. He stood up and started setting the table.

"So where did you learn how to cook?" Malfoy asked him, his tone genuinely curious, something Harry still wasn’t completely used to.

"The Dursleys, you know, my foster parents made me cook for them, so I had to, but I actually always enjoyed it a bit," he shrugged.

"They made you cook for them?" Malfoy asked, sounding horrified.

"That wasn’t the worst part. I had to do all the cleaning too. I could never go anywhere. I had to pretend that I didn’t exist whenever they had guests over, and I lived in the broom closet until I was eleven."

"You lived in the broom closet?!" The blonde boy echoed, his voice raised.

Harry nodded. "That’s even worse than how we used to treat our house-elves. At least they had proper bedrooms." Harry just shrugged again and went to serve the dinner without a word. He didn’t understand why Malfoy was so shocked by how the Dursleys had treated him, or why he cared at all.

Dinner passed quietly, apart from Narcissa complimenting Harry on the curry, but otherwise, they ate in silence. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence; it was just strange. He noticed Malfoy looking at him a few times, but he always looked away when Harry caught him staring.

When they finished eating, Harry did the washing up by magic, not wanting to spend the rest of the evening scrubbing pans, something Draco watched almost in awe, telling Harry his wand was taken by the Ministry, and how he missed using magic, how strange doing everything manually was.

They carried on talking and walked up the stairs together, but when they stopped on the landing, instead of parting ways, Malfoy asked Harry whether he could explain Muggle technology to him, and Harry was happy to do that, so he followed the other boy into his bedroom. He was surprised to see that the room wasn’t much different from the one he was staying in, except for having more books and other bits of things. But the walls were plain white, the bed wasn’t the posh four-poster he was expecting, and it wasn’t covered in Slytherin green sheets with silver lining. It was just a simple bedroom.

"What were you expecting, Potter?" Draco smirked, and Harry realized he must have been staring in shock. "This isn’t Malfoy Manor."

"I don’t know. I just thought it would be more like you."

"More like me? And what’s that like?"

"Well, definitely not this," Harry said, gesturing around the room.

"Oh, and you know me so well that you are positive that I loved Malfoy Manor and now couldn’t stand living somewhere that wasn’t green and grey and silver and black and full of snake patterns?" Draco snorted.

"That’s not what I… oh, never mind," Harry rolled his eyes, already feeling irritated with Malfoy, but also himself for thinking that they could actually spend time together properly without things like this. He was on the verge of walking back to his own bedroom when he noticed that Malfoy wasn’t glaring at him; he was smirking. Harry sighed and flopped down onto the bed next to the boy and started telling him how toasters and TVs and computers worked.

He actually enjoyed it more than he thought he would, and he was surprised to see that Malfoy wasn’t being difficult but genuinely curious and interested. He listened to Harry’s explanations without interrupting, only showering him with questions afterwards, a fascinated smile spreading over his face. Harry thought that Malfoy was much nicer this way: smiling, friendly, patient, and interested in an almost childlike way.

They made this a regular thing, often preparing breakfast or dinner together and spending hours before bed discussing Muggle topics, occasionally delving into other subjects. Harry realized he was starting to enjoy Malfoy’s company.

Harry was also improving in Potions; he could now brew quite a few decent ones, and Malfoy seemed almost proud of him. However, disaster struck when he accidentally burned down their cauldron. Draco responded with silent treatment, avoiding Harry after a heated argument about responsibility and recklessness.

After a day of ignoring each other, they called a truce and resumed their activities together. It was during this time that Harry realized how much time they spent together. He found himself calling Ron, Hermione, and Ginny less and less, feeling guilty as he reached out to the girls late one evening. Hermione praised his progress in Potions, stressing its importance and encouraging him to keep going. She then left Harry to chat privately with Ginny. They mostly discussed school and how much they missed each other. Ginny expressed her longing to see Harry properly, face to face, and teased him with suggestive words, leaving him in a state of arousal. Too embarrassed to relieve himself with Malfoy just on the other side of a thin wall, Harry pondered what it would be like when they were both home. Would they marry right away? Would they have children? These thoughts scared him a bit; while Ron and Hermione planned to marry and move in together after Hermione graduated, Harry wasn’t sure if he was ready to settle down and become a father.

He found himself in the lab again, as he often did lately, trying to practice and brew some Dreamless Sleep potion for himself, but failing. He hoped for a decent night’s sleep without nightmares, though they were less frequent now. When they did occur, they were worse than ever, causing him to wake up screaming and struggle to return to sleep, leaving him stressed and irritable all day. He dreaded the thought of Malfoy hearing him scream; he was embarrassed enough by the nightmares. One night, however, he felt unfamiliar firm hands shaking him awake, a voice soothingly telling him to breathe, assuring him it was only a dream. When Harry calmed down enough, he was handed a vial of Dreamless Sleep potion. He was incredibly thankful, despite his extreme embarrassment. Malfoy had given him Dreamless Sleep, and that was all that mattered. He slept until 1 PM the next day, feeling much better upon waking, aside from lingering sadness and anger from the nightmare, which he had grown accustomed to. He didn’t want to get out of bed; he wanted to stay there and vanish, to slip into nonexistence. These feelings were most intense after nightmares but occasionally surfaced on ordinary days when he contemplated what it would have been like to remain dead. Some people would have missed him, but with the Horcrux inside him destroyed, the world no longer needed him. It didn’t hurt at all, just as Sirius had said; he felt nothing. Death didn’t really feel like anything. Yet, he returned, though he often wondered if he should have.

Deciding to tell Malfoy he wasn’t in the mood to study, Harry searched for him in his bedroom, the lab, and everywhere else he could think of, finally discovering him in the kitchen. There stood Malfoy, cooking something at the stove that smelled incredible—cinnamon mixed with apples and something sweet.

"Hi," Harry said quietly, stopping in the doorway.

"Hey," Malfoy looked up, greeting him. "You look like shit," he remarked bluntly.

Harry snorted; he didn’t need Malfoy to tell him that. He felt awful.

"I’m making you food. Sit."

"What?" Harry looked up at him, shocked and unsure if he heard him correctly. Malfoy was making him breakfast—for him. How did this even happen? And why?

"Can’t you ever just do one thing you’re asked?" Draco asked, rolling his eyes. "Are you really that much of a rebel?" He chuckled softly. His voice was softer than usual, and Harry couldn't understand why. He continued to stare at the blonde boy in complete shock until Draco let out another soft chuckle, telling him to stop staring at him with his mouth open. Harry felt his cheeks grow warm with embarrassment and mumbled something incomprehensible. Dropping his gaze to the table, he fiddled with the spoon, running his hand through his messy hair, not bothering to comb it as he had planned to return to bed. He felt Malfoy's eyes on him. When Harry turned his head to meet the blonde boy's gaze, Draco looked away. Sitting down opposite Harry, he handed him his breakfast and a cup of coffee, while he himself drank tea.

They sat in silence, Draco watching Harry eat.

"We don’t have to study today," Draco said, breaking the silence.

Harry nodded, still confused by the boy’s kindness, and continued eating. As he finished, he watched Draco sip his tea, gazing out of the window. Harry thought Draco looked different, though he couldn’t quite pinpoint the change. The only noticeable difference was his messier hair, but that couldn't account for the substantial change. There was something different about his entire face—all of his features. Most notably, his eyes. They were no longer cold and distant but almost soft. Harry watched his eyes fixed on the garden outside, the window's shape reflected in the silver greyness.

The practically white eyelashes around his eyes, his pale, porcelain-like skin, the sharpness of his nose, the pinkness of his lips, which for once weren’t frowning, his perfect jawline, and the way his shoulder-length hair fell onto his shoulders. Harry thought he was beautiful. He felt strange, having such a thought, but as he continued to look at the boy, he couldn’t deny it. He also noticed his heart hammering in his chest. He tore his gaze away from the boy and looked back down at the table. What was wrong with him? Why was he finding Malfoy attractive?

He swallowed hard, allowing himself another glance at the boy. He noticed the longing in his eyes and the sadness on his face and realized Malfoy must miss being outdoors. Of course, he must miss being outside! He had been under house arrest for over a year. Harry couldn't stop thinking about how terrible it must be not to be able to go out. Within a minute, an idea popped into his mind. He stood up abruptly and told Malfoy he’d be back in a sec.

Rushing up to the bedroom, he called Kingsley on the Floo, begging him to allow Malfoy to leave the house with him. He explained what a great teacher Malfoy was and how he trusted him. He hadn’t realized all of this before saying it out loud, but it was true. He trusted Malfoy, especially after he gave Harry Dreamless Sleep and made him breakfast. Malfoy deserved something good. Harry was pleased with himself when Kingsley permitted him to open the doors and go somewhere with Malfoy. He promised to look out for the blonde and to be careful, which Harry assured him he would be. Quickly packing a few things, he rushed back down to the kitchen.

Malfoy looked up startled as Harry re-entered the kitchen, his expression soon turning to shock when Harry told him to get up because they were going out.

"What do you mean, ‘out’?" Malfoy asked, looking at Harry in confusion.

"I talked to Kingsley," Harry shrugged casually, already making his way to the door, unlocking it, and casting several counter spells to allow Draco to leave as well. The blonde boy followed him, still shocked and surprised. As he stepped outside and inhaled the fresh air, feeling the breeze tug at his hair, he closed his eyes and let a smile spread across his face. Gosh, how he had missed this. Harry stood looking at him, smiling, thinking how Malfoy looked with strands of blonde hair flowing around his face. No. He wasn’t gorgeous, Harry thought, feeling angry with himself, as if his thoughts were betraying him.

"There’s a beach a few miles from here," Draco spoke up.

"Are you suggesting we go there?" Harry asked, snapping out of his thoughts.

"I thought that was obvious," Draco smirked, and Harry grinned at him as they set off. They walked in silence until Draco spoke again. "Thanks for taking me out," he said quietly. Harry looked up at him. "And everything," Draco continued. "Testifying for my mother. Saving my life in that room."

Harry didn’t say anything for a few moments. The situation was so strange; Malfoy sounded so honest and vulnerable, and he just didn’t quite know what to say.

"I did what I thought had to be done," he said finally. "And… I never thought you deserved Azkaban." He added after a pause, avoiding Malfoy’s eyes. "You saved me too, at the Manor."

"I should have done more," the blonde boy whispered. "I was a coward. I still am. I should have helped." The words spilled out of Draco, barely louder than the wind whistling in their ears. If Harry hadn’t seen his lips moving, he wouldn’t have believed that he heard what he heard. He watched the boy’s face, noticing the way his eyes were shining, tears flooding them. "I deserved all they planned for me at the trial. You should have left me there, but I guess you can’t stop yourself from saving people’s lives, even if you hate them," he said with a sad smile on his face. Harry found it heart-wrenching. He swallowed thickly, once again at a loss for words. He wanted to tell him that it wasn’t true, that he didn’t deserve to be punished, that he didn’t hate him. He wanted to squeeze his hand and tell him it was okay. But he kept quiet and carried on walking.

Neither of them said anything for the rest of the way to the beach. It was quite a long walk; they both stopped to catch their breath as they arrived at the cliff’s end, where carved steps led down to the beach. Harry had been going out for strolls around the area, but he felt a little exhausted after the walk, and Draco, who had been indoors for ages, was clutching his side. But it was definitely worth it.

The view was beautiful. The sun was just starting to set, painting the sky pink and orange, the warm light reflecting on the water’s surface, the white cliffs and the pale sand making the picture perfect. It was breezy, just enough to ripple the ocean’s surface and catch in their hair.

They made their way down to the beach. Harry spread out the blankets he brought with him before sitting down, with Malfoy following suit. They sat, watching the sky together.

"I miss Sirius," Harry suddenly blurted out, not knowing why he said it, immediately regretting it.

"Your godfather?" Malfoy asked, not looking at him, playing with a stick he found in the sand. Harry nodded and lay back on the blanket.

"He and Remus were the only people who made me feel like—" He took a sharp intake of breath. "—like I still had a piece of my parents with me," he sighed. He didn’t know why he was telling Malfoy this, but he couldn't stop himself. As the blonde boy seemed genuinely curious, Harry continued talking, telling him about third year, how he met Sirius, Peter Pettigrew, the Marauders Map, the Order of the Phoenix, and everything Sirius had told him about his parents. Malfoy listened intently, asking questions every so often, careful not to cross boundaries.

"I’m sorry they aren’t around anymore," Malfoy simply said when Harry stopped talking. He tilted his head to the side, studying Malfoy’s face, but he couldn't see anything except honesty, sadness, and something that almost looked like affection. He felt like crying, but he didn't want to cry in front of the other boy. He knew he should feel angry; after all, if Malfoy hadn’t let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts, if his father hadn’t been at the Department of Mysteries, Sirius and Remus might still be alive. But there were too many 'ifs'. Harry considered asking Malfoy about his intentions or something, but he chose to remain silent.

"I’m going swimming," he announced after lying around for a while. He stood up, already taking his shirt off.

"Are you crazy? It must be freezing down there!" Draco exclaimed, sitting up.

"Yeah, sure, minus two hundred," Harry chuckled. "Chill, Malfoy." Harry rolled his eyes, removing his jeans as well and making his way to the water, ignoring the feeling of the other boy’s eyes on him.

"Come back here, you prat. I don't fancy being blamed for your death. It’s dark and cold, and you might drown. We can come back here tomorrow, and then you can do whatever you want," Malfoy called after him, making Harry laugh.

"If you're so worried, come with me," he snorted, stepping into the water, leaning down and splashing it over his body before continuing to walk deeper into the water. He was knee-deep when Malfoy caught up with him, stopping at the water's edge. Harry went in even deeper, looking back and grinning at Malfoy.

"You better take that shirt off if you want to rescue me when I drown."

The blonde boy just stood there shaking his head as Harry carried on. The water was now up to his shoulders. He couldn't help but laugh as he looked at the fully clothed Malfoy standing on the beach, and suddenly an idea crossed his mind. What if he faked drowning? Would Malfoy really rush to rescue him? He grinned in anticipation before going in a bit deeper, pretending to drown, yelling for help. Sure enough, within seconds, the blonde was beside him, his hands around Harry’s waist.

"You idiot," Malfoy said angrily, letting go of Harry when the brunette burst out laughing.

"And you said I’m the one with a saving people's lives problem," Harry choked out, still shaking from laughter, clutching his stomach.

"You’re such an imbecile! We could have both lost our footing! I thought you were really drowning," he sneered, splashing Harry with water. Harry retaliated immediately, splashing him back, both laughing madly. They splashed each other, trying to escape, making their way back to the beach.

"Scared?" Harry asked with a raised eyebrow as they reached dry land, still breathless from laughter, clutching each other.

"You wish," Draco smirked, chasing Harry back to the blankets. He ended up on top of Harry, kneeling between the boy’s legs, holding his hands down above his head. "Feeling defeated, Potter? Did I just defeat the Great Harry Potter?"

"As if I’d let you," Harry said, wrapping his legs around Malfoy's waist. He toppled Draco over, straddling him with a triumphant grin, which died down as soon as their eyes met. Until now, Harry didn’t quite realize how close they were; only a few inches separated their faces. He started to feel uncomfortable and dropped his gaze. But that only made things worse, as he found himself staring at Malfoy’s chest, his white shirt sticking to his body, the wetness making it almost see-through, revealing the boy’s lean muscles and hardened nipples. Harry blushed. What was wrong with him? It was the third time that day that he found the boy extremely attractive.

"Potter…" Malfoy spoke up, sounding a little embarrassed as he shifted underneath him. Harry didn't get it for a moment, then he realized he had an unmistakable hardness in his pants, pressing against the blonde boy’s thigh.

"Shit, I’m sorry, I just…" he stammered, standing up as fast as he could.

"Stop, it’s okay. It’s a normal reaction, I guess. I mean, you’ve been away from your girlfriend, and…" Malfoy trailed off, leaving the sentence unfinished, avoiding looking at Harry, who was also avoiding looking anywhere near the other boy. "Let’s go home. Or do you want me to go and you can just stay here, think of your lovely girlfriend, jerk off, and meet me back at the house," Draco said, gathering their things. His words made Harry blush even harder.

"I… I’ll be alright," Harry managed to say. Malfoy snorted.

"For Merlin’s sake, just stay here and follow me back when you—" "Fuck, just take care of yourself, Potter!" With that said, Malfoy turned his back to Harry.

"You’re wet. You’ll catch a cold," Harry said desperately, not wanting to make the situation any more awkward, although he probably already had.

"Well then cast a drying charm on me, will you?!" Malfoy snapped. "You are the one with a wand, you arse!" He rolled his eyes and let out an annoyed huff. "If you're so concerned about my health, then do it," he said sharply, and Harry obeyed. As soon as he did, the blonde-haired boy turned around and rushed off without saying another word. What was wrong with him? Why did he get so prickly about all of this?!

He left Harry there on the beach. Alone. With a bulge in his pants. Still painfully pressing against his trousers.

He tried to think of Ginny, really, but he couldn’t help it. His thoughts drifted back to earlier that day: Malfoy’s hair flowing in the breeze, and Harry remembered how much he wanted to run his hands through it. The closeness of the boy made his body shiver. His angular face, his soft silver eyes, his flat yet arousing chest… Merlin, he felt like he could melt away just thinking about him, however weird and guilty he felt about not thinking of Ginny. What the fresh hell? Malfoy was a boy! Harry wasn't gay, for crying out loud! How the hell was he getting off to thoughts of Malfoy?

The next few days passed in their usual routine: making breakfast together, Potions theory, lunch together, brewing, dinner together, and talking about Muggle things until bedtime. Neither of them mentioned the day at the beach, and Harry was thankful for that. But he couldn’t stop thinking back to that day and what it felt like to be that close to Malfoy. He kept replaying it, often getting distracted by just looking at Malfoy or listening to the way he talked about Potions with such enthusiasm, or the excitement on his face when he showed Harry a book on Muggle things, explaining how he finally understood how something worked. And then it dawned on him: he was growing more and more attracted to him.

It wasn’t just Malfoy's looks that made Harry want to press the other boy against the wall and snog him senseless—though he didn’t deny how Malfoy's soft platinum hair and silver eyes drove him crazy—it was his whole personality. The way Malfoy was kind to Harry now, always, but still teased him. Harry would tease back, and sometimes it felt almost like they were flirting. Or how patient and serious he could be as a teacher. Or how clever and intelligent he was, almost like Hermione, but in a different way. Or how he enjoyed simple things like walking into the garden when the sun was shining, finding a new book among his mother’s belongings to read, or a nice meal they made together. How honest he could be sometimes. How passionate he would get talking about something important. How similar his sense of humour was to Harry’s. He felt like they could be friends, actual friends who would stay in contact and have fun together even when they weren’t locked up in a small cottage in France studying Potions. But real friends. And maybe even more, because Harry wanted to touch him again, to feel his soft skin or silky hair. Malfoy was driving Harry crazy, and he couldn’t do anything about it.

After another week or so, Draco told him that he was doing well enough to pass his NEWTs easily, and they decided to go back to the beach before Christmas. They spent the whole day there, taking a basket of food, swimming a bit because the water was much colder now, talking, laughing, talking some more—about school, their childhoods, Quidditch, anything that came to mind. Harry couldn't imagine his life without the blonde boy by now. He thought about how hard it would be to leave this guy. How difficult it would be to say goodbye to all their memories, forget everything they had accomplished, and of course, try to ignore the whole attraction thing. Harry didn't even know if, maybe, if he allowed himself to do what his mind—and other parts of his body—told him to do, would he discover something about himself. He found his mind drifting to this idea while he stared at the blonde boy looking up at the sky.

As the sky grew darker, covered in thousands of sparkling spots, bright and shining like diamonds scattered across the night, they lay back on their blankets. Malfoy started pointing out constellations to Harry, saving his favourite one—the dragon—for last. His voice was proud as he told the boy next to him which one it was, and Harry found it adorable. He returned the boy’s smirk with a grin of his own. Their eyes met for longer than they ever had before. It was like they were looking into each other's souls, finally seeing the real version of the person they never got the chance to know better. Harry wanted to kiss Malfoy. He wanted to throw his arms around the boy and press their lips together. But he didn't. Whether it was because he was scared of what would happen if he did or scared of what he would become if he made this move, Harry turned his face toward the ground. The moment was ruined.

Sometime after staying quiet for a while, they started to talk about more serious things. Malfoy told Harry how he didn’t want to kill Dumbledore, how he only realized then that his parents were wrong
, and how all he wanted before was to make his father proud. He explained how he did everything afterward just to prevent Voldemort from killing his parents, how terrible it was to let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts, but how he felt he had no other choice. He spoke about what it was like to live at Malfoy Manor with the Dark Lord, and how he often wanted to apparate somewhere unfamiliar, away from expectations, war, pain, and suffering. He admitted feeling like a coward but never acting to change it.

Harry saw tears shining on Malfoy's cheeks in the moonlight as he finished his story. Without thinking, he wrapped his arm around the boy, pulling him close. Malfoy instantly pulled back, as if Harry's touch burned him. He mumbled something about not wanting pity, knowing he was a coward and a bad person, but expressing a desire to change. Harry didn’t know what to say, so he just sat beside him.

Later, they lay down on their blankets and fell asleep next to each other under the starry sky. When Harry woke up to the first rays of sunshine warming his skin, he found himself wrapped in Draco's arms, their bodies pressed together. He savoured the warmth emanating from Draco's body. Oh, how much he wanted to stay here forever, to breathe this air, go for long walks, talk to Draco, discover himself, and escape the stress of England and its people. But he couldn't. He felt obligated to be the man everyone expected him to be. He couldn't just disappear and stay here with Draco. It would be madness. Besides, he had friends in England, a girlfriend—likely soon to be his wife. He wanted a family and a fulfilling job, one that would make him feel more human than just the Saviour of the Wizarding World. He had to go back home, no matter how much his heart begged him to stay and lose himself in the unknown, something that felt impossible and abnormal, as exciting as it was scary. Reluctantly, Harry carefully extricated himself from under the blanket and Draco's arms, ensuring he didn't wake the other boy. With a deep sigh, he conjured a piece of parchment and a quill, then began writing a letter.

Harry wasn’t the best with words, especially when saying goodbye. Writing it all down helped; he could say things he could never say face-to-face. He thanked Draco, promising to talk to Kingsley and find a way for him to return to England. At least, that's what Harry hoped. If he couldn't stay here, he wanted to hold onto this unexpected friendship in any way he could. He wrote about waiting for Draco and wanting to see him when he returned to the Wizarding World, where Harry would be. Harry realized how much he would miss Draco—his smile, his sharp comments, their lessons together, their walks to the beach at midnight or in the morning, their inside jokes, their conversations, Draco's eyes that had become everything Harry could think about—just Draco Malfoy in general, still the same git but trying to be better.

Rolling up his blanket and placing it back in the basket along with all the other scattered items, Harry placed the letter on top. He looked down at Draco below him, leaned in, and pressed a soft kiss onto his cheek, feeling the soft skin beneath his lips and savouring the scent he would never forget. A warm tear trickled down his cheek unnoticed. Shaking himself from the trance, Harry got to his feet and headed back to Malfoy's house, then into town to catch his Portkey back to London. Before leaving, he took one last look at Draco sleeping peacefully on the beach. Harry felt a pang in his chest. If he never saw this idiot again, he wasn't sure if he would ever feel as understood and complete as he did in Draco's presence. He could only hope for the best.

Chapter Text

Harry woke up from his two, or perhaps three, hour-long sleep. His eyes felt heavy, and every time he tried blinking, they hurt as if his eyelids were made out of sandpaper. He stretched his arms above his head and looked to the right side of his bed. Ginny’s flaming red hair was falling down her pillow, covering almost her whole face. Harry tucked some strands behind her ear and admired her for a minute. She was beautiful, and she was his. Well, Harry wasn’t actually sure if he could say that. Maybe Ginny didn’t want to be someone’s possession, even his. Though she did say “I love you” last night when they were having sex, and if that’s not a declaration of belonging to someone, Harry didn't know what was.

“Good morning,” he whispered into Ginny’s ear after kissing her on the cheek.

She murmured something into her pillow, but a soft, little smile appeared on her face. Harry leaned down to catch her lips and planted a kiss on her mouth. “Some people want to sleep, you know?” she said in a sleepy voice. Harry snorted and closed the distance between them again. Ginny eventually began responding to the kisses herself, and they ended up having a morning make-out session. Harry was beneath her as she lay on top of him, burying her face in Harry's neck and giggling. They were interrupted by heavy knocking on the door.

“Just a moment!” Harry screamed, startled by the sudden interference. Ginny got off him quickly, and Harry rolled his eyes. He was beginning to lose himself again, putting all his problems away. Sadly, life goes on, and he couldn’t just lie here with his girlfriend all day, kissing her and making love until they both were so tired that they would fall asleep.

“Ron, is that you!? I swear to Merlin, if it’s another stupid thing you want from us–” Ginny was cut off by her brother’s rather awkward but still firm voice.

“Oh, do shut up, Ginny! I just need Harry.”

“What for?” Harry asked, standing up and getting closer to the door so he could hear his best friend better.

“Well– Harry?” Ron began and continued right after Harry said, "Yeah?"

“There is... um– There is someone looking for you downstairs.” Harry froze for a moment. Who could be looking for him on his day off from training? Was there some urgent situation that needed his help at the Ministry?

“It’s... Draco. Draco Malfoy, to be specific.” Harry’s heart began palpitating. He felt like he could not take a breath, but at the same time, he thought he might start hyperventilating. He hadn’t seen Draco for five months and hadn’t heard from him in a long time, nearly two hundred and seventy-five days, but it’s not like Harry was counting. The last time he had seen him was only when he rushed to St. Mungo’s in his dark grey robes. Harry hadn’t had time to go after him as he was already late to his training. They hadn’t talked since Draco sent him a letter that broke Harry’s heart. In the letter, Draco thanked Harry for the time they spent together and for all the things Harry had taught him about the Muggle world. He said he appreciated Harry’s good intentions of helping him, but he couldn't accept the offer of keeping in contact with Harry; he did not explain why. He also said that he and Harry could never be friends as whatever their relationship during tutoring time was, it was just a forced interaction. He tried to explain in very elaborate words that even if they did share “friendly moments,” it was just playing civil and being polite. They had to get along because there was no one else around but them. Harry cried when he read the letter, even if he's afraid to admit it to himself, roughly a year ago. He wrote back to Draco, telling him that they could start again, have a fresh start, build a friendship here in England; he told Draco that it would mean a lot to him if he agreed, he told him he needed a friend like him. The response from Draco never came. Harry waited for it for three fucking months, but there was no sight of Draco anywhere. Harry was angry with himself for feeling the need to be around the blonde, for caring too much, for trying so hard. He accidentally, well maybe not so accidentally, burned down one of his bedroom curtains when he was at his worst, having sleepless nights. And if he did sleep, he was having nightmares or he dreamed of Draco lying on the beach and caressing Harry’s face, looking at him with his grey eyes, full of love and joy. At one point, Harry was sure he had developed a crush on Malfoy. He knew that it was crazy, but he just couldn’t get Draco out of his mind. Fuck, Harry was even considering telling Ginny that he thinks that the time apart from each other made him realize a few things about himself and that he needed to sort out his life alone. Shit. He was so damn stupid. SO STUPID. And now he was glad that he hadn't broken up with his girlfriend. That would only cause him a double heartbreak and make him feel a lot lonelier than he already was.

"Harry? Are you alright?" Ginny’s soft voice pulled him out of his thoughts. He hadn't even noticed that he wasn't breathing properly. "Do you need help? You need to breathe, Harry." She looked worried as she lightly touched his cheek. Harry tried to steady his breathing, but it took him quite a while.

"I’m fine," Harry stated, trying to act as if he wasn’t going to break down crying any minute. But he wasn’t fine. He was furious. He was hurt, and his heart was beating so fast that Harry was surprised it hadn't escaped his chest.

"Are you guys okay?! Harry, are you alright? What should I do about Malfoy downstairs?! Mate, why is he even here?! Like what happened between you two?" Ron’s muffled voice sounded both concerned and confused.

"Wait with him downstairs, Harry'll be fine!" Ginny raised her voice, not taking her eyes off Harry.

"Are you sure?" Ron asked.

"Yes, I’m definitely sure, Ron. Now, go before I hex you," the red-haired girl replied. Harry heard Ron running down the stairs.

"What is it, Harry? Why is Malfoy looking for you? Are you two... What’s going on?" Ginny asked, putting her hand on Harry’s shoulder. It was comforting.

Harry looked at her, trying to find words that would make the answer, but it was a losing battle. Ginny didn’t know about the time he spent with Malfoy; no one did, not even Ron, not even Hermione. Harry thought it was too private to share. He wanted to have something, a memory, that belonged just to himself. He needed to keep it a secret. Even if he was willing to tell his friends and Ginny about it, they would just make awful assumptions about what his time in France with Malfoy meant or did to him. They all hated Draco. He didn’t blame them. He did as well, until he got to see that there was more to the blonde than what he assumed.

"Harry?" Ginny looked even more worried than before.

"I-" Harry took a deep breath. "I have to go... I have to see him. Just... Stay here, okay?" He rushed to his closet to pick up the first pair of jeans and a t-shirt he found. Even if he was angry at Draco for ending whatever this was between them, he still longed to see him, to know why he never wrote back, why he had done all this. He needed answers.

"I want to go with you. You look like you need support," Ginny offered again, but Harry was already fixing his hair in the mirror and spraying deodorant under his armpits. He washed late at night when Ginny was already sleeping, so he didn’t smell like sweat and sex.

"No. I’m going alone." He took his wand from his nightstand and put it into his jeans pocket. He avoided looking at Ginny and opened the door. "Don’t come with me. Please. I’m sure I can handle it myself." The truth was, he didn’t know if he could handle it, even with Ginny’s or Ron’s support. Harry stepped out of his bedroom and shut the door behind him. He took a few last deep breaths, muttered "you can do it" to himself, and ran downstairs, feeling his emotions building up in his chest. He felt sweat on his forehead. It was too hot in here. Too damn hot for Harry’s liking.

When he got downstairs, he went up to his front door where he heard Ron’s angry voice rising. At first, he couldn’t believe his eyes. Draco stood beside Ron, glaring at him with his arms crossed as Ron spat at him. He still didn't seem real to Harry. This whole situation didn't seem real.

"Why are you even here? No one wants you here, most certainly not Ha- Oh, Harry, there you are," Ron stopped when he saw Harry. Harry couldn’t spare him a glance as his eyes were fixed on Draco from the moment they landed on him. Draco wore light grey, well-fitted trousers and a white velvet chemise. His long, silver-blonde hair fell across his face. He almost smiled at the sight of Harry, but he must have decided against it when he saw Harry’s expression.

"What are you doing here?" Harry said through clenched teeth. All the emotions from the night he received Draco’s letter flooded back, and it only took one glance at the blonde.

"Can we talk?" Draco asked in a low voice, still holding his chin up as if it were just a normal conversation, as if they had never stopped talking to each other. His eyes were fixed on Harry the whole time.

"We have nothing to talk about," Harry snapped. There was silence between them. They stared at each other as if trying to read each other’s minds. They were having a battle, or what one might call a pre-battle stare-off. Ron stayed quiet.

"Ron, go upstairs. I need to get rid of him, and I’ll be back in a minute," Harry said, not looking away from Draco. Malfoy raised an eyebrow at that.

"But–" Ron protested.

"Go," Harry said more firmly. At these words, Ron sighed and strode off upstairs.

Harry took a few steps forward to be closer to Malfoy, though not too close; he wanted to keep a distance between them.

"So–" Draco began. "Can we talk now that Weasley is away?" Draco clasped his hands around his waist. His face remained steady and unchanged. He looked as gorgeous as ever, Harry noticed, and immediately pushed this thought away. He hated himself for noticing that and not thinking about the quickest way to get rid of the boy.

"Go away!" Harry spat. He wanted to cry. "And NO, we can’t talk. You had your chance to talk, you wasted it. Now go!" Harry yelled, though it sounded more like a hurt lion; his voice was breaking. His heart hadn’t settled since he left his room. He wanted to be left alone and never see Draco again.

"Harry, listen–" Draco stepped closer to Harry and tried to grab his wrist. Harry took a step back.

"Let me explain," Draco pleaded. It was so unlike Draco to do things like this, to say things like this, to be this vulnerable.

"No, Draco, you had your fucking chance. You had one job, ONE FUCKING JOB, and you NEVER wrote back! Never," Harry felt like everything around them was shaking, and he felt dizzy.

"Let me explain. Give me one more chance, okay? If you won't like what I have to say, you can leave," Draco almost begged, and Harry had never seen him like this. It looked so unreal.

"No."

"But–"

"No!" Harry shouted. "You had eight fucking months to get back to me, and you never even tried to contact me!" He was on fire now. He felt so angry that he wanted to break something. "If you cared– If you wanted to– if– If you wanted to talk to me, you would have found me earlier." They exchanged looks. Something in Draco's eyes didn't seem right. Harry couldn't recognize what it was. They felt different than they did before. "Did something happen, and now you need my help? Am I only needed by you if you want something from me? To take advantage of me?! Ha?!" Draco looked as if something was stuck in his throat.

"I would never do this. Cut the crap, Harry, and let me fucking explain everything. You don’t know the whole story, so kindly shut up, please." Harry might have imagined it, but he heard Malfoy’s voice break. "Please, Harry, I need to explain why I didn't write back. You need to trust me on that one."

What was he on about? Harry didn’t want to listen to Draco’s made-up sob stories; he simply did not have time for this shit. "If you trust me even a little, you’ll apparate with me and let me show—let me explain everything." Harry didn't want to trust Draco, but the truth was—he did. It would have been impossible to look away from Draco’s shining eyes and say "no" when he looked and sounded so serious. Draco extended his hand towards Harry. The hell with it, Harry thought, and took Draco’s hand. They were gone within seconds.

—————————-

When Harry regained his footing and opened his eyes, he looked around. He was standing in a light beige room with a grey sofa and a glass coffee table in front of it. Right beside the medium-sized window were two bookshelves filled with books. Harry sized Draco up with his eyes and then asked, "Where are we?" He tried to keep his voice neutral, but the words came out full of anger.

"My place," Draco informed, flicking off nonexistent dust from his coat.

"Meaning?" Harry clenched his hands into fists.

Draco sighed heavily. "Meaning, my place—a building where people sleep, eat, take showers, shag. It has bedrooms, toilets, and other furniture."

"I know what a house or a flat is, you arse." It was hard for Harry not to lose his temper at this moment. He shook his head and tried to look anywhere but at Draco. "What I meant was, is it yours? What city are we in? Are you living al— you know what?! Just answer those questions for fuck's sake!" he raised his voice.

"It's mine, Potter. Calm down, take a seat, and I'll be right back." The sudden change in his voice confused Harry. Just a few seconds ago, Draco was acting like a puppy begging for forgiveness, and now he was acting as if this were an ordinary day and as if Harry were the one acting weird. Draco took off his coat and hung it on the hanger beside the bookshelves.

"Oh, so we're back to Potter now, aren't we? I'm not spending any more time here than necessary, so get to the point." Harry almost screamed. He was hurt and didn't want to be here; he didn't want to sit here and listen to Draco's attempts at explaining whatever he wanted to explain. He'd be much better off not knowing where Draco was, sitting in his favorite armchair at Grimmauld Place, eating cake and laughing with Ron over some stupid shit, maybe snogging Ginny again. "I don't want to calm down! I want you to act like the adult that you are and tell me the truth, don't beat around the bush," he stated, feeling his eyes water. He looked down to hide it.

Draco stepped closer to Harry and put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Harry," Draco whispered into his ear. Harry felt chills running down his neck immediately. Draco's breath was warm against him, and if Harry were stupid, he would wrap his arms around Draco and pull him into a never-ending hug. But Harry wasn't stupid; he wasn't going to forgive Draco for what he had done just because he was pretty and his whispers made Harry want to snog him. AGAIN, WHAT THE BLOODY HELL WAS WRONG WITH HIM?!

It seemed like Draco didn't know what to say because he hadn't continued whatever he was on about for quite some time. Harry put his hand to his eyes to wipe away any tears that might have appeared on his face.

"You were the only person I needed at the time," Harry finally uttered, his eyes beginning to water again. He did not dare look at the other boy; it was too painful. "I needed you, and you weren't there," he repeated, breaking down. He slid down to his knees, and Draco followed right after him. "I needed a friend like you. I needed someone who would make this shitty world bearable, someone who understood me." He couldn't stop the words from coming out of his mouth. The silence between them stretched. Harry felt like he wanted to be invisible, to hide somewhere away from here, away from Draco, and cry. All these unknown emotions he was experiencing felt like knives hammering into his heart. Harry didn't want this.
He felt a soft, but solid hand on his cheek. Draco lifted Harry's chin up so that their eyes met.

"I'm sorry," the blonde's eyes were sad and full of worry.

"No, you're not," Harry grunted and took Draco's hand away from his face.

"Yes, I am!" Draco's voice seemed to rise. Harry couldn't read his expression. Was it anger? Annoyance? Maybe a sincere look? Maybe Harry would have known each and every one of Draco's expressions by now if only Draco had written back to him. "I wanted to write back, but I said everything I needed to say in my first letter." Draco was now standing up, leaving Harry curled up on the floor and looking up at him. "You have plenty of good friends, I'm not saying I like them, but—what I mean is," he paused and took a few deep breaths, "you don't need me. You told yourself you do, and somehow you believed it."

Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing. He stood up and moved closer to Draco. There were only centimetres separating them. He could feel Draco's warm breath on his face again.

"Who are you to tell me that?!" Harry lost it. He was now screaming. "You're not me. You can't tell me what I need or what I don't need!"

"We spent a few months together, we were there alone; it's easy to develop friendly feelings toward the other person," Draco said as if stating facts. It was bullshit. "FRIENDLY FEELINGS” ? Harry wasn't sure he would call them that.

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" Harry put his hands on his head near his forehead and started pacing around the room. "You'd be a liar if you said that you hadn't felt anything! You'd be a liar if you said that you didn't want to continue seeing me." Draco was standing still, not looking affected by the words Harry was throwing at him. "Go on! Tell me you hadn't felt anything. I don't need your sorry arse if you're going to keep acting like a child." He went up to Draco again. This time the boy returned his gaze, his chin lifted up and his mouth in a slight grimace. Then Draco's eyes shifted from Harry to every other direction. "Look at me. Tell me you didn't want to—" He hadn't finished. He didn't know how he would have finished it. His voice was getting quieter and quieter for no reason. Their eyes met once more. Draco stayed silent. "Forget it." Harry turned around, but Draco caught his wrist and turned Harry so that he was facing him again.

"I can't. Okay?! I can't say that I didn't want to get to know you better. I can't say that I didn't want to spend more time with you. Merlin, fuck!" Draco hid behind his hands. Harry was watching him intensely; his heart was banging inside his chest. "I needed a friend too, but I decided that we would both be better off apart. Besides, I told you that—"

"That we could never be friends, I know," Harry interrupted. "I know this damn letter word by word. Shit! You know that it's bullshit! I told you that we could have a fresh start, that we could become friends without being forced to be in each other's company by others."

"You are Harry Potter, the Saviour of the Wizarding World if not the Muggle World as well. You are a good person, everyone loves you, men want to be you, women want to shag you; people will transfigure themselves into a carpet just to make sure the Boy Who Lived Twice won't get his boots and clothes dirty." Draco sounded defensive. "I'm Draco Malfoy, the Death Eater whom everyone hates. People spit on me, tell me that it would be much better if I just killed myself or if I was killed by the Dark Lord—Voldemort. For the longest time, they didn't want to believe that I've changed, that I was trying to change. No one wants to be friends with me."

Harry felt startled; he wasn't sure how to respond. On one hand, he was still angry with Draco because that wasn't a good explanation for why he didn't write back to Harry, but on the other hand, Harry felt a terrible contraction tightening around his stomach; he felt sorry for the boy in front of him. "I could have helped you. I could have done something to protect you from this." Harry didn't know why he was saying that, why he changed his voice, and why he still cared for the git.

"Merlin! Fuck! Harry, that's exactly what I didn't need. I didn't, and still don't, need your protection. I'm not another damsel in distress who, after your heroic act, will jump your bones! I'm me, and I wanted to do things by myself. I never had a chance to do this, and you know it. I always had my father do shit for me." Draco's eyes were watering, but he didn't allow them to appear on his face. "I needed time to find out what I could do to get out of that damn house, but I wanted to do it myself. I needed to feel like I could do that. That I could change." Harry let out a gasp and without thinking much, he put his arms around Draco. The other boy froze, but when Harry started combing the back of Draco's hair with his hand, he relaxed into the hug. It was nice, their warm bodies against each other, the sound and feel of their thumping hearts. Harry wanted to cry again.

"I missed you," Harry whispered into the crook of Draco's neck. He was surprised by his own actions and words. Who would have thought that Harry Potter would be holding Draco Malfoy in his arms and whispering sappy things into his neck? What was wrong with him?

"You didn't even let me finish my explanation," Draco said, trying hard to sound hurt, but Harry could feel a little smile forming on his face.

"You're not forgiven. Yet. But I really needed to... um, check if you were real." Harry Potter, you are a loser and you have terrible excuses. Just tell him you wanted a hug. WHAT A BABY. "I need something to drink," he informed Draco as he lifted his head to face the blonde.

"Then let go of me, idiot. I can't make you breakfast and tea if you're all over me." Harry felt his cheeks go red; that had to be his normal reaction to Draco since the day they went to the beach together. He stepped away from Draco and smiled lightly, but then remembered he was supposed to be angry with him. "You're not good at faking how you feel, so just smile if you'd like to." If it was possible for Harry to get any more pink spots under his eyes, it definitely happened. "I'm going to the kitchen. Stay here, and by 'stay here' I mean 'stay here.'" He smirked. It was crazy how the atmosphere between them shifted from angry tension to exchanged smiles. Harry decided to go along with it. Maybe it would make sense in a while. And by "it," Harry meant all of his reactions to Draco. For now, he was too tired of arguing with Draco to think more about what was actually happening between them both.

When Draco left the room, Harry sat down on the sofa and tried to grasp what just happened. He heard boiling water and the sound of cutlery being moved around. Somehow, Harry knew everything was going to be fine, or at least okay, bearable. They needed to talk more, he and Draco. Harry wasn't going to let this go easily, but a new faith was starting to grow within him.

Chapter Text

Harry found himself sitting in Draco’s kitchen, the Prophet open in his lap, absentmindedly flipping through it while watching the blonde boy make dinner from the corner of his eye.

A month had passed, and having dinner together every Thursday was something Harry insisted they should do. Despite Draco's protests that Harry should spend time with his "proper friends," he didn’t send Harry away when he apparated into his flat one week after their first conversation. Instead, Draco invited him in, smiling and looking a little flustered at the same time. Harry didn’t feel bad about inviting himself to someone else’s place for dinner. After a few uncomfortable silences and some slightly more comfortable but short conversations, Draco didn’t seem to mind either. He poured them both a glass of firewhiskey and led the way into his kitchen. He let Harry rummage through the contents of his fridge in hope of finding something useful (which he didn’t, so they ended up eating take-away). From then on, Draco always went shopping beforehand and carefully picked the nicest vegetables and bought the best meat so he could impress Harry with the meals he made, or just have fun cooking together.

At first, it had been weird, with neither of them wanting to do small talk or mention France. Then Draco started telling Harry about a potion he was working on with some colleagues, and Harry told him about going back to Hogwarts and taking his NEWTs there. The conversation carried on in a natural way, aided by another glass of firewhiskey.

The next week was a little less weird, but still pretty awkward. Being together and talking felt much less forced, with neither of them avoiding certain topics or keeping quiet. They just talked about whatever came to mind. This time Draco was actually expecting Harry, spending an extra four hours tidying up and making sure everything was perfect, though he couldn’t quite explain why he felt it necessary. He prepared a perfect dinner and was wearing spotless, freshly ironed dark grey trousers with a white button-down, making him look incredibly stiff and overdressed next to Harry, who just flopped down in one of the chairs next to the dinner table, wearing a pair of old jeans and a faded t-shirt, his hair the usual bird's nest compared to Draco’s slick locks.

As the fourth week approached, Harry was acting as natural as ever. Draco didn’t feel like he needed to impress him in every way he could anymore, or at least he hid it very well. He allowed himself a little more comfort, wearing a simple black t-shirt and a pair of baggy sweatpants, his hair tied back in a loose ponytail, some shorter strands escaping every so often, which he would tuck back behind his ear. Harry sat at the table, his gaze flicking up every time he caught Draco doing it, but quickly looking back down at the newspaper when he realized he was staring.

By this time, they were finally comfortable in each other’s company. Harry acted like he was at home, his feet propped up on another chair, laughing at the way Draco panicked when he dripped tomato sauce down his chest, ignoring the blonde boy telling him this was the exact reason why he needed an apron, which Harry naturally made fun of when he put it on. It felt good. Almost natural. Almost like they were friends (which Harry insisted they were; they just had to get to know each other better).

“I’m gonna go take a piss,” Harry announced, standing up and dropping the newspaper onto the table.

“That’s a little bit more information than I needed, but go right ahead.”

Harry just snorted at Draco’s response, leaving the kitchen. He surprised even himself by how used to being at Draco’s place he was. After all, it had only been the fifth time, and he never arrived earlier than five or left later than eleven. He already felt uncomfortable thinking about explaining himself to Ginny, but he didn’t feel extraneous anymore as he crossed the front room towards the bathroom, stopping to pick up a wooden carved model of a duck from the floor. He had no idea where Draco got it from, but he knew it belonged on the mantelpiece. This was just one of those little things he’d do that would surprise Draco, along with knowing where to put the pot of tarragon leaves after making dinner or fetching a random piece of cutlery they had forgotten before Draco even asked him to get it, and knowing exactly where to find it.

It wasn’t just those kinds of little things; it was the little things in their conversations as well. Knowing what the other meant even before they could express themselves properly or feeling when the topic they were talking about was becoming a little uncomfortable for the other, and changing it.

It came as a bit of a shock to both of them how quickly they became comfortable in each other’s company, but especially to Harry, who might have been the happiest he had been in a while. He still was unsure about his feelings towards Draco and this thing they had. The feeling of ambiguity always appeared as soon as he got home. He never lied; he always told Ginny he enjoyed himself, but as the words tumbled out of his mouth, he felt guilty, uncertain whether he should enjoy himself with Draco, the Draco Malfoy they all knew. So usually he would just add something along the lines of ‘but I missed you and I’m happy to be home’ and he would capture his girlfriend’s lips in a kiss before she could say anything, afraid of hearing something he didn’t want to.

“Soo, I was thinking-” Harry started as soon as he regained his footing after apparating into Draco’s living room.

“Well, that’s a surprise,” Draco butted in with a smirk. Harry shot him a glare but couldn’t stop the corners of his mouth from going up a little.

“If you actually let me finish what I was about to say-”

“No one’s stopping you,” Draco interrupted again.

“Can’t you just shut up for a moment?” Harry huffed, flopping down on the sofa next to the blonde boy.

“I probably can. If you ask me nicely enough,” Draco teased.

Harry rolled his eyes at Draco’s words and the mischievous grin on his face. He picked up a book from the coffee table and opened it, deliberately not looking at Draco. The book was actually really boring; he still couldn’t understand how things like paleobotany fascinated the other boy so much that he had a book about it.

“I’m not talking to you,” Harry informed Draco, who didn’t seem too affected by Harry pretending to ignore him and was just sitting reading another book.

“Yes, I noticed,” Draco sniggered, turning the page.

“Oh, fuck it. I’m not good at this,” Harry groaned, giving up and slamming the book down on the couch. “How do you understand any of this? You know what? I don’t even want to know; I bet you would just start to go on about it in a Hermione-ish way, and I still wouldn’t understand why you find it interesting.”

Draco just rolled his eyes. “Anyway, what I actually wanted to say was that we could do something different next week, like go out or something.”

“Getting bored of being stuck in a four-room flat with me?” Draco raised an eyebrow.

“That’s not what I meant. I just-” Harry shrugged. “I don’t know. I like this, but I just thought… I thought it would be nice to go to a bar or shopping or something like that.”

“Sure,” Draco smirked.

“Oh, forget it,” Harry sighed and shook his head.

“No, I’m serious. Let’s go.”

“Really?” Harry raised his eyebrow. He wasn’t expecting Draco to agree so quickly, but he was pleased. “How about next week, Thursday as usual, 11 am?”

“Sounds good to me. Don't be late,” Draco smiled.

“Am I ever late?” Harry faked being hurt. Draco just gave him a "how am I still hanging out with this idiot" look and shook his head.

“Great, okay, it’s a date,” Harry grinned. Quickly after that, he realized what he had just said. His cheeks were turning warmer and warmer every second. “I mean, it’s not a date like a date date, but-”

“I’m perfectly aware of what that expression means, Potter,” Draco scoffed. Harry bit down on his tongue to stop himself from babbling and looked away from Draco, who looked a bit angry, feeling embarrassed.

A few more slightly uncomfortable minutes passed, but quickly they got back into their usual routine and enjoyed the evening before saying their goodbyes. The week rolled by, and it was Thursday again, and Harry found himself walking side by side with Draco in Muggle London towards their destination.

After hours spent at the science museum, both boys’ legs were hurting almost as much as if they had just finished a good two-hour run, and their knees refused to cooperate with them. Harry and Draco ended up sitting down on a bench just outside the building, overlooking the surrounding garden, comfortably leaning back but keeping a little distance between them.

Harry felt like he was going to literally die from hunger; they had been walking around with no food and took no breaks between looking at the different exhibitions, continuously walking through the countless halls of the museum. But it was great. Draco was a bit scared of being surrounded by Muggles at first, but as soon as they started looking at the exhibits and chatting, he calmed down and loosened up, starting to comment on every little thing he found interesting about people passing by them. Sometimes he did this a bit too loudly, so Harry had to lightly hit him on the arm with his elbow every so often and give him his best “what the fuck are you doing?!” eyes. Draco didn’t seem too bothered or concerned; he just brushed away a few strands of his silver-blonde hair from his face and sighed deeply.

“What? She looks like she fell into a birthday cake, then somehow managed to murder someone in cold blood,” Harry tried his best to keep his face straight, but the description was so accurate that he had to cover his mouth to muffle an outburst of laughter. Draco was right; the thin lady he was talking about was wearing a white latex dress with a design of clouds of different colors printed on it, the bottom decorated with dark red splashes that looked an awful lot like blood stains. She looked furious, following her supposed husband, glaring at him as if she was going to murder him.

The rest of their visit was full of Draco exclaiming, “Merlin balls! How is this even possible?” or being left speechless. At some point, he even left Harry alone just so he could read more about whatever had caught his attention, while Harry carried on, not as fascinated by the technology he grew up with as Draco, who had never before seen things like this. Harry panicked when he looked away from an old dress robe and noticed Draco wasn’t beside him anymore. He spent a good fifteen minutes trying to find him, eventually discovering him in front of a display of various cell phones, reading the description below. Draco’s eyes were opening wider and wider with every word he read, shining with interest and rapture. It was a truly beautiful image, Harry thought; Draco looked his best when he was fascinated by something, and a little smile appeared on his face.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” Draco said when he finally noticed that Harry was standing next to him. “You never told me there were so many different types of these. It’s weird how they went from being a banana-shaped thing to a brick that you can only type numbers to smaller bricks with a screen.” Harry had his arms crossed, but he was smiling at the blond.

“I was looking for you,” Harry moved closer to Draco. “I thought you—” He wasn’t able to finish his sentence because Draco interrupted him with a cheeky grin on his face. “Died? Was murdered by all those Muggles? Well, that would actually be possible—but no. As you can see, I’m well, and there’s no need for you to act like my mum.” Harry just rolled his eyes. “I didn’t know where you were, that’s all,” he said, settling on a defensive tone. Draco smirked, shaking his head, but he didn’t leave his side again.

“For how long are you going to pretend that you’re not hungry?” Draco asked after sitting on the bench in silence for some time, which made Harry snap out of his thoughts and back to reality. “I’ve been hearing your stomach screaming for food since we got to the last exposition.” He turned to Harry so that they were face to face, smoothing his white velvet shirt with one hand.

“Alright,” Harry groaned and stood up. He knew he wouldn’t last much longer without food. “Get up, I’m taking you to one of my favorite places here. It’s still in Muggle London, but that’s even better, right?” Draco studied Harry’s face and bit the inside of his cheek.

“Is it really that good?” He questioned. Harry nodded. “A quiet place without annoying kids screaming and throwing food everywhere?”

“Yes, it’s quite a kid-less place; you’ll like it,” Harry promised. “It’s not such a well-known place, so it won’t be crowded either.” At this, the corners of Draco’s mouth twitched, a smile of relief spreading on his face. He stood up, and suddenly he was really close to Harry, there was barely an inch or two separating them. It was too close; apparently, personal space was a myth to Draco. Harry felt his cheeks getting warmer for no other reason than that he could feel Draco’s hot breath on him. It felt weird; he wasn’t sure if he could ever get used to being this close to him. Even his stomach seemed to forget about the hunger and felt more like it was being tied in ropes that were being pulled from one end to another. It must be his problem with being close to people; he didn’t like being in crowded rooms or small spaces where people were touching their bodies to his. Yeah, that must be it. The lack of personal space, right? Nothing more.

“It’s not like Draco is a girl that I like, and I lose my breath every time we talk. Although, he is impossibly handsome, especially with his hair pulled back just by hand, no hair gel, and wearing those tight black trousers. I know I’m attracted to some men, or rather I think they’re fit and I appreciate their bodies, but that’s it. However, I can’t help but notice the fact that Draco is extremely fit and is looking at me with such passion. Sure, maybe when we first met after the war, I was a little confused about liking him in more than a friendly way, but it was only because we were alone there and I missed Ginny, right? True, he’s attractive, smart, has my sense of humor, and the ability to calm me down without words, but he’s still a boy. Or a man. I’m attracted to girls; I’ve never looked at men the way I look at women—Draco is the only exception. I can’t be gay if I think I want to snog only one man, right? Maybe that’s it; maybe I just like Draco as a friend and think he’s attractive, quite intimidating, and extremely hard to quit, like a drug. You get more addicted with every smell, touch, and look. Every word sits in your memory for longer than you could remember whatever your girlfriend told you to do this morning. Yeah, maybe I have a problem.”

“So, are you going to side-along me, or do we have to walk there on our feet, which are pretty much dead?” Harry shook his head to collect his thoughts, realizing he had been standing there, staring at Draco.

“Yeah, I… errr, yes.”

“Yes, we’re apparating, or yes, we’re walking until we die on the street?” The smile was still on Draco’s face, cheeky as ever, eyes locked onto Harry’s.

“You’re asking too many questions,” Harry stepped back, swallowing thickly, and exhaling after having held his breath without noticing. He didn’t have a chance to calm himself down because within seconds, he was being pulled by his wrist to an empty alley. “What the hell, Draco?!” He gasped when they came to a halt in the middle of the deserted street, away from the noise of people getting in or out of the museum.

“I’m quite hungry, and you wouldn’t stop staring at me like…” Draco trailed off.

"Like I wanted to kiss you." Harry unconsciously finished the sentence and almost choked on his own saliva. “Anyway, would you be so kind and show me the way to this amazing, kid-less restaurant?” Draco’s voice was annoyed but surprisingly soft, which was almost a contradiction, but it was one of those Draco-things only he managed. They were standing close again, so close that their noses were almost touching, Harry’s back against the brick wall, meaning he couldn’t back away. He pushed himself away from the wall, taking Draco’s forearm, and without a word, he apparated them to a small Italian restaurant in the suburbs of London.

The restaurant was indeed quiet, no children, and only a few couples having lunch, apart from the pair of boys. Harry ordered an extra-sized pizza with pretty much all possible toppings, while Draco chose a plate of smoked haddock Florentine and a bottle of wine, as he knew Harry had no idea what to choose from the endless list, settling with the most expensive white wine after reassuring Harry that he would pay for the dinner. Harry grudgingly agreed, but only because he had paid for the coffee they had earlier and the postcards, booklets, and souvenirs they bought at the museum shop.

They ate in silence, Draco only stopping to comment on Harry’s terrible table manners, who just rolled his eyes, not bothering to pause in wolfing down his serving. He only spoke again when he finished, remarking how he couldn’t understand how Draco still had half a plateful. But this time, it was the blonde boy who answered merely with a roll of his eyes. As Harry continued to watch Draco eat—cutting everything into tiny pieces, wiping his mouth after every second mouthful—he wasn’t surprised Draco was taking twice as long. Of course, he had noticed this before; Draco was always a slow but extremely tidy and meticulous eater. Now that they were in public, he seemed to care even more, stiffly adhering to what he thought was the polite and correct way, even though he was just as hungry as Harry, and no one was watching them.

Deciding to spend the rest of the afternoon in Muggle London as well, after sharing the bottle of wine and staying to have coffee and dessert as well, they left the restaurant happy and with full stomachs. Harry suddenly felt guilty for spending the whole day with Draco, but then he realized Ginny wouldn’t even be at home, she'd be at Quidditch practice. But before he could start feeling guilty again, remembering he hadn’t told Ginny when he’d be home or anything, Draco asked him where they were actually headed. Harry forgot about Ginny again, dragging the blonde boy with him as he made his way towards the closest underground stop, explaining why exactly they had to visit Piccadilly Circus and Bond Street. Draco didn’t even complain, especially not after he bought himself a new suit with a matching tie in one of the shops they went to, in which Harry thought he looked incredibly attractive, even though he didn’t say so, simply nodding when Draco told him he was buying it.

When the crowd began to be too much for both of them, they found a small cafeteria in one of the backstreets where they sat and talked until the sun went down. Neither noticed how dark and late it had gotten before they stepped out onto the streets again.

Neither of them felt like walking anymore; the afternoon had been more than enough. So after finding a peaceful spot away from the crowds and joining hands, they disapparated together, leaving Muggle London behind and landing in front of Grimmauld Place 12.

“So… um—” Harry started after they stood in silence for what seemed like hours. He realized he was still clutching Draco’s hand and quickly let go, feeling embarrassed. He tried avoiding Draco’s gaze, who was again standing way too close to him. Not way too close in the way that he didn’t like it, but way too close in the way that he liked it too much, which was confusing and made him uncomfortable. So he stepped back, rocking back and forth on his heels.

“So?” Draco asked with a small smile. Harry just shook his head, not knowing how he wanted to continue or if he even wanted to continue. Did Draco want him to do something? What was he waiting for? He couldn't possibly be wanting Harry to... no. The blonde boy didn’t react; he just kept staring at Harry, his face unreadable, his eyes locked onto Harry’s, gaze somehow sharp and soft at the same time—another one of those Draco-things. Harry felt like he wanted to run away to someplace where Draco’s grey eyes couldn’t follow him, but at the same time, he wanted to step closer and surrender to Draco’s look and his own feelings.

But then Draco suddenly said, “Night, Scarhead,” turned around, and disapparated without sparing him another glance, which Harry found more unnerving than Draco being close to him, although he couldn’t tell why. Whatever it was, it made Harry incapable or just not wanting to move, or rather face Ginny for another few minutes. So he just stood on the pavement, watching the streetlight flickering and the odd leaf tumbling from the trees on the other side before sighing and entering his home.

“There you are, mate!” Ron called as soon as he locked the door behind him, sticking his ginger head out from the kitchen. Harry immediately regretted leaving his peaceful spot in the street in the fresh air, without having to talk to anyone. He forced a smile and walked over to the kitchen. “Are you hungry? Ginny, Hermione, and I already ate, but there are some leftovers if you want something.”

“Nah, I’m good,” Harry shook his head. The smell from the kitchen was actually inviting, which meant Ron must have made it, because even though he was really lazy most of the time, he did take after Molly and could make really delicious meals when Harry wasn’t home or couldn’t be bothered. Harry could still feel the satisfying weight of lunch and cake, and then the other cake he had with coffee in his stomach, accompanied by another, much less comfortable weight, which Harry was sure had nothing to do with the pizza or the cakes he ate.

“Had a nice day?” Ron asked, moving around the kitchen, putting the dirty plates into the sink and casting a quick spell on them to clean them before settling back onto his chair.

“I guess. I did,” Harry still didn’t feel too comfortable talking about how he enjoyed Draco’s company, because he knew his friends had no idea what he was like now and hadn’t forgiven him for his past yet. But he understood that and didn’t want to push. “Is Gin already upstairs?” Ron nodded. “Well then I think I’ll just head up, talk to you tomorrow, g’night,” Harry mumbled before leaving the kitchen and walking up the carpet-clad staircase to their bedroom.

Ginny was indeed there, sitting in bed, still wearing her outside clothes, pieces of paper filled with sketches of Quidditch strategies and attack formations spread out around her, only noticing Harry when he closed the door behind him.

“Hey,” Harry smiled, kicking off his shoes before sitting down beside her on the bed and pulling her in for a kiss. Oh, it felt so wrong, so wrong, but Harry wasn't keen on thinking about the reason why.

“You were out late,” Ginny remarked, resting her head on Harry’s shoulder.

“Um, yeah,” Harry felt himself tense up. “Sorry. I thought I’d be home earlier, but we went to this museum, and then…” he trailed off. He felt like he was making excuses, and he didn’t like it at all. He also didn't feel like sharing too much of his time with Draco. It was something just for him and the other boy.

“It’s okay,” his girlfriend said with a soft smile, reaching over and lacing her fingers through Harry’s. He wanted to say that it wasn’t okay, but instead he just nodded, closing his eyes and pulling Ginny closer, burying his face into her neck, inhaling her fresh and flowery scent, trying to clear his mind of everything else.

It seemed to work, and they chatted about Quidditch and other things for the rest of the evening before going to bed. Apart from a sudden urge to tell Ginny how happy he was that Draco enjoyed the muggle museum, and how lovely lunch was, and how nice it was to look around all those shops in Bond Street, when she asked him about his day, he settled with telling her about the exhibitions, how London was overcrowded, the ugly dress of the woman they saw, a nice car he saw, and everything else that didn’t involve mentioning Draco.

Ginny was happy with his reply and told him about her practice. Then she switched off the lights and snuggled up to him. Harry flung his arm around her, letting his tiredness take over as soon as they pulled the covers up, Ginny’s goodnight kiss still lingering on his lips. It felt nice, it felt like this was the way it should be, and he felt guilty for ever thinking that it wasn’t, but he pushed that back to his subconscious as he drifted off. The steady rise and fall of Ginny’s chest as she fell asleep calmed him down.

The next morning greeted them with warm sunshine that flooded the room, falling onto them, the light making Ginny’s ginger hair shine like the finest copper. Harry thought it was beautiful. After rubbing his eyes, he started combing his fingers through the fine strands. Suddenly, he found himself thinking of what Draco’s hair felt like and how it looked in the sun. He thought of Draco's smile and his laugh that Harry always wanted to be the reason for. He thought of Draco's grey eyes that turned silver whenever he was joyous or emotional; they would go deep, dark grey every time Draco was furious or hurt. Harry thought of his somewhat pointy features and face that some people may consider unattractive, but Harry always blushed when he got caught staring at him.

No. This wasn't the time to think about Draco. He shook his head and went back to playing with Ginny’s hair, smoothing it out of her face before leaning in and placing soft kisses all over her face and down her neck. 'GET HIM OUT OF YOUR HEAD. GET HIM OUT. OUT.'

Within moments, Ginny woke up, but Harry didn’t stop. His kisses trailed lower and lower, and as Ginny didn’t object at all, they ended up making love—a sweet tangle of red hair and white sheets, the feeling of body on body. It felt good. It felt right. It wasn’t exciting, it wasn’t thrilling, but it felt like something he knew well, and that’s what Harry needed.

They sat in bed for another hour, just cuddling and mumbling sweet nothings to each other, content with being together, not wanting to go back into reality—getting ready for another day of training for both of them, curse-breaking for Harry and Quidditch for Ginny. But at the end, when they heard that Hermione was leaving already, they knew they had to get up. So, after a quick shower and breakfast and a goodbye-kiss, they parted ways.

Chapter Text

"So, what are you planning for your holidays?" Ron asked, flopping down on the couch, butterbeer in his hand. It was one of those nights when Ginny and Hermione were out with Luna and various other friends, leaving the house to the boys. They usually went pubbing on Friday nights, but tonight they decided to stay indoors, cook dinner together, drink butterbeer and firewhiskey, and watch football. Ron wasn't initially keen on football, but he was starting to understand and appreciate it, separate from Quidditch.

Now that Harry had hinted at going on holiday with Ginny in October, Ron wanted to know all the details. He had always cared about their relationship, which Harry found a bit uncomfortable at times, but he had gotten used to it.

"I don’t know, we’ll figure it out. It’s not like we have to do something big. We can just go for walks, visit places, and enjoy being together," Harry shrugged. He cared more about the company than the destination. If he enjoyed spending time with someone, even sitting in a cafeteria would be great. He wasn't fond of crowded places or reading about things he already knew and wasn't interested in.

"When are you leaving?"

"Two weeks from Monday."

"Do you think I should take Hermione somewhere too? I mean not somewhere expensive, just somewhere in the country or something."

"If you’d like to. I suppose it’s a nice thing to do."

"You suppose?"

"Yeah. You know I’ve never been on a proper holiday. I just thought it would be good before Ginny starts training more seriously and I start working. Just to get away, you know." Harry didn't know how the idea popped into his head; it was one of those sudden impulses. After finding an advertisement about trips to Spain, he booked tickets and a hotel without further ado.

"But do you think Hermione would like it?"

"I’m sure she would. For Merlin’s sake, she’s working at the Ministry and she’s already stressed out about doing everything perfectly. I think a little break would do her good."

"But is she the holiday-type girl?"

Ron looked worried, but Harry couldn’t help snorting at this. "Holiday-type girl? Honestly, Ron. Just take her to some old library, a museum, and for nice walks around the city, and she’ll be over the moon."

"Okay. Yeah, I guess she’d like that. Er… thanks mate."

Harry just nodded, lost in his thoughts. They sat in silence for a bit, sipping their butterbeers. Ron seemed caught up in contemplating how to ask Hermione where she wanted to go. Harry noticed that Ron was still really insecure about their relationship, even though they had been together for almost two years and engaged for three months. But they were happy, and that’s what mattered. Harry was happy with Ginny. Or at least he was happy to be with Ginny, and he wanted to prove it to her.

It’s not that she was angry with him, but she seemed to keep her distance and often did things alone. Harry knew it was his fault for not spending enough time with her. But he was positive they could work it out.

"Are you getting engaged sometime?" Ron suddenly asked.

"I… what?" Harry wasn’t expecting that. He didn’t quite know why, after all his friends were already engaged, and he and Ginny had been together even longer, despite not seeing much of each other during the war. "I- I mean I don’t know when or anything, but yes. I think. Yes."

"No rush, I was just wondering," Ron shrugged.

"Yeah," Harry muttered, setting his empty butterbeer bottle aside and pouring himself some firewhiskey, suddenly feeling like he needed it. He couldn’t explain why the thought had scared him the way it did. He knew he was going to get engaged to Ginny, marry her, and they would have children. It was his future, and he knew it and wanted it. Maybe it was just that he hadn’t quite imagined getting married so young.

"Any plans for the next two weeks?" Ron’s words snapped him out of his daze, and he was thankful for it.

"You mean apart from finishing my training and starting to study for the November exam so I can finally start as a curse-breaker from the new year? No."

"I mean, no spending whole days wandering around London with Malfoy?" Ron teased, making Harry tense up.

"That happened once. Last week. I haven’t even talked to him since," he huffed. It was true. He decided he needed some time away from Draco, even though their weekly Thursday outings were friendly. Somehow, it was too much, and he wanted to concentrate on other things, like his curse-breaking training and being with Ginny.

"Miss him?" Ron raised an eyebrow, grinning. Harry scowled at him and topped his glass up with more firewhiskey. He didn’t want to have this conversation, and he definitely wasn’t going to admit that, in fact, he did miss Draco. In a totally platonic way, of course. Draco was nice company, and this past week he had spent Thursday evening indoors, reading and cooking on his own, which felt a bit boring compared to their usual outings. But that’s all it was. In the end, the day was alright because Neville came over after dinner.

Fortunately, Ron dropped the topic, and they carried on talking about various things. They ended up so drunk that they laughed at everything, especially some Muggle show Harry found after the football match ended (Manchester United won, but Ron seemed too drunk to care, even though they were his favourite team), before passing out.

In the next two weeks, things went back to the way they were in the summer. Ginny was friendly again, and Harry spent all his spare minutes with her, apart from when he was with Ron or Hermione. After talking to Hermione for a whole afternoon about ‘feelings’, the thought of proposing to Ginny didn’t seem scary at all. He knew he wanted to do it soon. This time made him realize that they already were his family, and getting married would only formalize it. But what mattered most was that they loved each other, which they did. Engagement was just the next natural step.

As the sun rose on Monday morning, Harry and Ginny said their goodbyes. After Apparating to Portsmouth, they took the ferry to Bilbao, then Apparated again to Madrid, arriving at their hotel at sundown. Both of them were tired from the long boat journey, so they decided to spend the evening in the hotel room, only walking down to have dinner at the hotel’s own restaurant, leaving all the sightseeing for the next day.

The week passed quickly. It was full of colours and heat, museums and parks, restaurants and shops—a completely new and thrilling experience for both of them. They enjoyed visiting places, tasting the food and wine, listening to music, or just listening to people talking in a language they didn’t understand but found interesting. They enjoyed sitting in parks in the sunshine, eating fresh fruit and listening to nearby street musicians. They enjoyed walking around in the balmy evenings, hand in hand, the air cooler than in the daytime and carrying the scent of flowers. They enjoyed visiting monuments and taking silly photos of each other in front of them. But most of all, they enjoyed being together. It felt so natural, so perfect. Harry wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. Seeing Ginny so happy filled his heart with warmth, and he decided he wasn’t going to wait any longer; he would buy an engagement ring as soon as they returned to London.

"What is it?" Ginny asked with a smile, looking up at him from packing her suitcase, noticing that Harry had stopped and was looking out of the window with an excited grin.

"You’ll see," Harry assured Ginny before going back to packing. Neither of them were morning people, so it was best to pack in the evening before going out for one last night in the city. Harry quickly threw his clothes into his suitcase, left space for his wash bag, and placed the presents he had bought for their friends in the souvenir shop they visited the previous day. They bought pens, magnets, pendants, notebooks, and all kinds of bits, along with loads of postcards. They sent off a postcard to Ron and Hermione, one to Luna, one to Neville and Hannah, and one to Molly and Arthur. Harry almost wrote one for Draco but tore it up and chucked it into the rubbish bin instead. He had wanted to send something to Draco and even tried writing a letter, but after scrapping at least ten versions, he gave up. He managed to write the postcard, apologizing for not telling Draco he would be away for a week and apologizing in general for disappearing for exactly a month, and telling him about their trip. Just before they headed out to the post office, Harry lost his nerve and chickened out. But he did buy Draco a small pendant in the souvenir shop, though he was pretty sure he would never give it to him.

After having Monday off and spending the long weekend alone with books, Draco woke up early on Tuesday, as he always did on workdays. This was something that came naturally to him; he never had trouble with early mornings, not even at Hogwarts. He was always the first one awake in their dorm, even without setting an alarm. He went straight to the shower and was clean and dressed in his Healer robes exactly twenty-three minutes later.

At seven forty, he sat at his kitchen table eating a hummus sandwich with two slices of tomato on top. Chickpea spread was one of those things he had gotten used to over the summer and something he enjoyed eating with vegetables and other healthier options. It was a huge change from the grand meals he grew up with at the Manor and at Hogwarts. It was much better than a full English breakfast or a sandwich with cheese or meat; it tasted nicer and made him feel fuller for longer. Sometimes he didn’t have much time for a well-rounded lunch or dinner; his work tended to be extremely time-consuming. There were always patients who required care at unexpected times, which meant some days Draco had to grab whatever he packed beforehand as a snack and run down the hallway to help someone.

Dealing with hunger wasn’t his strong suit, although he always managed to do his best at healing. It was interacting with others that was difficult for him. He wasn't one to trust someone without really knowing them, and he could be impatient. But even though he was trying his best, he decided it was better to be a good physical help than a good companion. One can save lives; the other, not so much.

As he sat at the breakfast table, finishing his meal and absentmindedly stirring his tea while gazing out of the window, he couldn’t help but think back to his weekend, the afternoons after work, the previous weekend, and so on, and how rarely he had company. Dealing with his problems alone wasn’t what bothered him; it was knowing that he had no one to talk to that he missed. He missed looking forward to Thursday afternoons, and whether he admitted it or not, he missed Harry's company. Since parting ways over a month ago after their day out in London, Harry hadn’t given any sign of being alive. He hadn’t stopped by Draco’s flat as he used to. He hadn’t even written to him. Draco had gotten used to having Harry around, talking to him, cooking, laughing—just the feeling of being with someone.

However much he wanted to, Draco decided against owling Harry. He didn’t want to make a fool of himself and seem like he depended on being in contact with “The Great Saviour”. If Potter didn’t want to contact him, it meant that he probably got bored with him and was too much of a coward to admit it. Which didn't surprise Draco; he had always expected Harry to leave after some time. It’s not like they were anything else but enemies-turned-people in the same place who tolerated each other-turned-people enjoying each other's company-turned somewhat friends. If Harry decided Draco wasn’t worth his time anymore, then so be it. Draco wasn’t going to be the one to Apparate in front of Potter’s doorstep and beg him to hang out.

But this didn't mean that it hurt any less. There was a time when Draco really thought he and Potter had a chance of becoming good friends. He even thought that at some point Harry wanted more than friendship, but that couldn't have been possible; Harry was a straight man. He could never want more than a friendly relationship. The bloke probably didn’t know what he was doing half of the time; he was awkward with other people too. That would explain why he acted weird around Draco most of the time. Though, it still doesn’t explain what happened right before he left France. What happened on the beach.

Draco was awake when Potter touched his lips to Draco’s cheek and kissed it lightly. Draco felt shivers running down his spine and his stomach did a weird twist. The whole situation left Draco confused, happy, and sad at the same time. All his theories about Potter’s feelings towards Draco, the ones that indicated that Harry was attracted to Draco, made even more sense after that. He actually believed it at the time. But Potter had a girlfriend and loved her, right? He never talked about her when they were hanging out, but Draco just assumed it was out of politeness. He probably never spoke about their meetings to his girlfriend either.

Then again, why would he? He was straight. And Draco wasn't. He had been attracted to men since his fifth year at Hogwarts. He never got to explore his sexuality because right after that year, a certain monster moved into his house, giving him a mission that left him no spare time. Naturally, this didn’t stop him from thinking about other boys at Hogwarts, fantasizing about them, but he never got further than the odd bit of kissing and groping with someone he didn't even know.

And one of these boys he sometimes fantasized about was none other than Harry, whom he found highly attractive in a strange way. So, when he was left alone with Harry in France and had to spend time with him, which led to the two of them getting to know each other better, he developed feelings for him—feelings he didn't know before. He liked being around Harry; he loved his smile, his laugh, his sense of humor, and the way he held himself up. He admired Harry for what he went through and how he was still able to act like he was just a normal guy. He admired how Harry could put on a brave face even when Draco knew the other boy was scared deep down inside. He admired how Harry always smiled when people stopped him on the streets, crying and screaming in joy at the sight of him. Harry hated it, he told Draco so, but even if he hadn't, it was obvious once they got out of the public eye. He looked tired and annoyed, closing his eyes and rubbing his temples and sighing. But he never complained, and he would cheer up quickly. He talked a lot, telling Draco about Quidditch results or asking him about his day and work right after. He made sure that Draco felt like he was important to him, or so Draco thought then.

But now, his days without Potter were filled with additional shifts at work, more Muggle books, potion making, and bottles of firewhiskey. It became a routine, a way not to think of Harry Freaking Potter, who left Draco without any note or any explanation as to what this whole thing between them was, what their meetings had meant. But Draco accepted it; there was no way he could change it. His pride and his courage always got in the way. He assumed this was Harry's way of getting back at him for not contacting him after the boy left France, which seemed fair but just as bad. All Draco could do was acknowledge it, accept it, and try not to think about it, focusing instead on the workday lying ahead.

Diagon Alley was empty compared to its usual crowd of wizards and witches, which made Draco smile as he made his way past the shops. His gaze fluttered from shop window to shop window, enjoying the silence and peace. He wasn’t a fan of sweaty bodies of all kinds rubbing against him, and he couldn't stand all the noise people made, making him internally scream, "Can everybody be quiet for at least an hour?" Was it really that hard? His head always ached by the time he got to work. The chattering and laughing of the people would often still be ringing in his head when he started working, unnerving him on a daily basis. It wasn't just those things that made him want to hide from society and never come back; it was also people who knew who he was—people who without thinking knew he was a Malfoy, Lucius's son. Draco didn't blame them for that; he did look like his father, even more now with his long silver-blond hair. People spat on him or made loud comments directed at him specifically that were more than just rude; people loathed him. No one cared to look at one of the interviews he had done before he was hired at St. Mungo's. No one cared about his whole story, neither his apology. No one cared about the person he had become, the slightly new Draco Malfoy he was trying to be. No one, well no one except the boy who decided he didn't want to have anything to do with Draco anymore. So yeah, he had no one who would trust him or want him as a friend.

Now that it was November and people were less willing to go outside for shopping, kids were still at school, working hard, studying for their exams, and the streets of that popular alley were free of everything that annoyed Draco. Well, almost everything.

Most people hated this kind of weather—gloomy, rainy, and somewhat depressing—but Draco loved it. Not only because it meant snuggling up in front of his fireplace at home and reading all the books he bought (one of the main things he liked about cold weather), but he also liked how the air smelled after rain. He enjoyed how the autumn wind caressed his cheeks while he walked down the pavement. He liked how the trees looked garnished in yellow, orange, and red leaves. He relished the scent of freshly cooked warm meals and the aroma of pumpkin and spices wafting from different houses or restaurants he passed by, making him want to melt right there and then.

But as Draco turned the corner towards St. Mungo’s, he heard high-pitched female voices talking rapidly in a style and tone that irritated him. He sighed. It seemed like not everyone despised the weather after all, and there was zero chance of him getting to work in peace. He turned his head to see where the sounds were coming from and spotted a pair of young witches on the other side of the street, possibly in their twenties. One of them clutched a folded newspaper in her hands and held onto the other witch, who was jumping up and down in excitement.

“She’s such a lucky girl!” the witch with the newspaper shrieked.

"So lucky!” the other one echoed in awe. “Does it say when will the wedding take place?”

“I don’t think so, but look!” The girl with dirty blond hair pointed to something inside the paper she was holding. “I bet he must have paid a fortune for that!” She gasped. “And there is her name engraved on the ring!” Now both girls screamed, smiling at each other.

“I wish I was her; I bet I could make him feel good,” the brunette said with a dreamy sigh. “Last week’s Witch Weekly said he likes bossy girls in bed. I can do that.” She grinned, and Draco thought she looked almost evil.

“Oh, you horny witch!” the other girl snorted and poked her friend’s shoulder.

“What can I say? And it’s not like you haven’t moaned his name when you were using your new gadg-”

“Shhh! Someone can hear you!” the blonde witch shushed her, quickly glancing around, not even noticing Draco.

“So?” the brunette shrugged.

“I guess you are right; it doesn't really matter. No one but that Ginny Weasley will be having him exclusively to herself.” Draco felt like his heart missed a beat, and he froze. The witches kept on chattering, but he didn't even hear them anymore; his head was spinning, and he was on the verge of getting sick. Of course, he had guessed who the witches were talking about, but hearing that last sentence out loud, like that was the final straw. His knees gave in, and he had to hold onto the bench next to him. Harry Potter was getting married. He was getting married to Ginny Weasley. And of course, the prat would get her a ring with her name engraved on it. And of course, everyone knew about it. And of course, this was how he had to find out.

After steadying his breath, he got himself together, ignoring the odd looks from the witches, and staggered back in the direction he came from, calling in sick as soon as he got home, proceeding to flop down on his couch with a bottle of firewhisky in his hand.

“Why are you sad?” a girl’s voice echoed through the room. Draco, absorbed in making a potion for her, didn't even bother to turn around, knowing that he had to concentrate and be careful; he couldn't mess up this solution. It was a medicine for the brain damage his patient suffered. She arrived at St. Mungo’s two weeks ago with a rod inside her head that had cut through her skull. She was unconscious for a week, and the St. Mungo's staff wasn't even sure if she'd wake up. Draco and other healers, like Susan Bones, tried to remove it without causing any more damage, but it wasn't easy. The whole process took the group of five healers, including Draco, five long hours. In the last forty minutes of casting protection spells and preparing medication, they managed to extract the rod. At one point, Apolline’s pulse stopped, but luckily one of the male healers, whose name Draco could never remember, was quick with a spell that helped keep her alive.

A week had passed since Apolline woke up, crying uncontrollably the moment she opened her eyes. She wanted to get up and run away, but luckily her legs weren't working as well as she had expected, so she didn't get any further than sitting up. She had suffered a car crash, and her whole lower body was crushed by the seat in front of her, leaving her unable to feel her legs, which made her cry even more. Fortunately, Susan was patrolling the corridors just as Apolline woke up, so she looked after the girl, calming her down, and explaining what had happened. Draco noticed that his colleague was good with kids. He had no idea what she said, as he only watched them from a distance, but Apolline soon stopped crying and looked calmer, almost happy. Draco, on the other hand, wasn't sure what to do or say. He had never been good at comforting people, especially when he wasn't calm himself. So, he just handed the girl the medicines she had to take and left her bedside, carrying on with his job.

It had been a week since he found out about Harry getting married. After staying home for two days in an angry and drunken haze, he realized he couldn't keep this going. He got himself together and occupied himself with working hard, even after hours. He might have sent some letters to Blaise or Theo; he couldn't remember. He didn't get any answers back, but maybe it was for the best.

Draco had been assigned as Apolline’s personal healer, seeing as he made quite good progress in his work. He was able to prepare appropriate medication and work with the girl on the therapy she required. He wasn't as emotional as some of his colleagues, which helped a lot. He wasn't affected by the girl's mood swings and knew how to handle her in a firm but professional way. They even became sort of friends. They talked when Draco was in a good mood; he told her stories about his days at Hogwarts, omitting some delicate topics, of course. They played games, but most of their time was spent arguing during therapy sessions.

“Why are you so inquisitive?” Draco sighed and faced Apolline, who was sitting on her bed and playing with her hands. For a thirteen-year-old girl, she had an extremely adult-looking face, which sometimes scared Draco. It reminded him of the way his mother looked at him when she knew he wasn't telling her something. But was he really supposed to tell his young patient all about his personal life and why he was feeling like a piece of shit lately? No.

“You look upset today; you haven’t spoken to me since you came here.” Apolline’s hand went to her remaining, short, brown hair, touching it in a manner that suggested she was checking if she still had it.

“I’m just tired,” he sighed. "You don’t need to worry about me.” Draco moved closer to Apolline’s bed and handed her the potion. “Drink.”

She looked at him with slightly squinted eyes and a smirk playing on her mouth. “No,” she shook her head. “You tell me—whaaaa—you tell me what’s stomping on your head and I’ll drink it then.” Draco understood what she meant but still looked at her with confusion. “Did I mess it up? I knew something wasn’t right with that sentence, let me-”

“Don’t swear, young lady!” Draco snapped, cutting her off.

“ ‘Young lady’?” Apolline snorted and grinned. “Anyways, you always swear, others do too, so why can’t I?” She crossed her arms and straightened herself on the bed.

Draco tried not to swear in front of patients, but one or two times a simple “fuck” slipped out of his mouth. “Well, I’m an adult and you are a teenage girl. It’s not polite for a lady like you to swear. When I was your age, it wasn't even allowed to say ‘bloody hell,’ so just deal with not being allowed to say those words.” He knew it was an overdone and awful response, but he went with it anyway. “Now, stop your shenanigans and drink your potion.” He handed her the phial again.

She still had her arms crossed and made a “y-y” noise indicating that she wasn’t going to obey. “Very well, then lay here in pain and don’t even try to get better and cure your body and mind.” He placed the phial on the bedside table and walked away.

“That’s not fair!” Apolline growled. “I always tell you if something is wrong with me.”

“Well, you are obligated to tell me if something is not okay with you.” Draco packed his other phials into his silver briefcase.

“It's still not fair!” There was definite anger in her eyes; her brows were close to one another, and the grimace she was wearing made her pretty face scrunch up. “You once said that friends are the people who tell each other if something is not right. I believed you.” She looked like she was about to cry and buried her face in her hands.

"Apolline—" Draco stepped closer to her bed. “I’m an adult, and sometimes we, adults, don’t want to talk about certain things. I just had a bad night, or rather a week. I’m sure I’ll be fine if I eat something and sleep. Not telling you how I feel doesn't mean that we’re not friends.” He wasn't keen on telling anyone about his feelings, especially those involving one specific person; he just wasn't. It was too painful and unprofessional. He smiled at the girl. “Drink your potion.”

“Are you sure about that? ‘Coz you know I—I—we play games and we talk and you help me a lot, so I thought we were friends.” She looked up, her pale, sea-green eyes shining.

“I’m sure. Now, if you don’t drink it now, don’t even think I’ll come tomorrow for our weekly game of... how do you call it? Undo? Or was it Ono?” Draco started putting on his coat.

“It’s called ‘Uno,’ you dummy.” She laughed and uncorked the phial in her hand. She downed it in one take. Draco smiled at her, said his goodbyes, and left the room.

In the corridor, he met Mr. Sullivan, who could always be found there. Mr. Sullivan was old and had dementia, and he was one of the favorites of most healers; he was completely harmless and always friendly. But that wasn't something Draco wanted now. He desperately wanted to be at home. Alone.

“Oh, Draco, what a surprise!” The elderly man pulled Draco into surely the most body-crushing hug. “How nice to see you!” He lifted Draco off the floor, squeezing him so tight he could hardly breathe.

“Yhm- um,” was all Draco was able to get out.

“Oh, right.” Mr. Sullivan said and put Draco back on the floor. “I’m sorry, I got a bit excited.” He looked embarrassed.

“It’s okay.” Draco coughed a few times until he could breathe again. “Where are you going?”

“To my mum, of course! She’s making pumpkin pie today; I wouldn’t want to miss it. You fancy coming with me? I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you.” He invited Draco with a wide grin. He would "visit his mum" at least five times a week and always felt inclined to bring a healer or another patient or anyone he found with him. Usually, it was just a trip to one of the further rooms away from his, where the wards wouldn't allow him to pass. The healers would escort him back to his own room from there. Apart from the one time they found him in the reception area, telling some visitors he didn't even know about his mum and how he was a visitor himself, he never caused any trouble. He usually was very kind and fun to be around. Draco sometimes found himself feeling sorry for him; he could not imagine himself losing his memory, although maybe it would cure him to forget all the bad things he has ever done, the things he replayed in his mind or dreams over and over.

“I’d love to, but you see, I have a lot to do at home. I wouldn’t want to leave my potions unattended.” He usually played along; he didn’t have the heart to straight up tell the man that his mum was long dead, and he was still in St. Mungo’s as a patient, not a visitor to his granddaughter.

“Of course. Maybe next time.” He patted Draco’s shoulder.

“Maybe next time,” Draco echoed and walked away, informing one of the healers about Mr. Sullivan’s trip, then he walked out of the Hospital building.

Chapter Text

Harry couldn’t help but wonder how strange and complex the whole concept of time was, how it seemed to pass at different speeds depending on what was happening.

He also couldn’t help but wonder why autumn always got him nostalgic, and how that one specific season brought so many of his hidden emotions to the surface—melancholy, anger, love, fear, anxiety, guilt, and loneliness.

This was exactly why he wasn’t even shocked when he bumped into Draco, leaving his comfortable armchair in the back of Flourish and Blotts where he had been sitting for the large part of the day, before deciding on purchasing the copy of Muggle poetry he found himself enjoying. He made his way towards the counter to pay for it.

“Potter! What the fuck?” The blonde boy exclaimed, dropping two of the books he was holding.

“Draco...” He automatically bent down and picked up the fallen items from the floor and gave them back to the boy, eyeing him. “You look terrible,” he said. Draco had huge purple marks under his eyes and seemed pale and thin, way too thin. His jawline was more defined, his cheeks shrunken, and his hands looked almost like just skin and bones. Harry’s heart ached from seeing him like this, even though he couldn’t quite explain why.

The two of them hadn’t seen each other in ages, almost two months. It felt like forever, like the time they went to London together was just some old, faded memory, and they were nothing more than two strangers. Harry knew this was mostly his fault; he was the one who cut Draco off, never told him he was going on holiday, never sent that postcard and letter from Spain, and never contacted him after he got home, which was two weeks ago. Harry hardly even noticed those two weeks passing; as he thought back, he could hardly recall what he did. Obviously, he spent time with Ginny. He accompanied Hermione to the library one day. He took up going for strolls in the November wind and even rain, taking in the sight of the masses huddled together under thick coats and robes, faces dull and tired, the light coming from the shop windows promising comfort and warmth, and the last golden leaves falling from the trees a sign of the end of something. He actually enjoyed all of this; it made him feel alive. He might have also felt unusually emotional and melancholy, but he felt alive, walking down Diagon Alley every day, the heat of his warming charms keeping him comfortable, and his thoughts keeping him on his toes, which was something he desperately needed. He had been feeling restless, and soon found that the bookshop was one of the best places for relaxing, one of the best places for letting go of all of the things he felt and stepping out of the routine of the usual day for a bit at least. It wasn’t that he minded the way his life was going; he liked waking up beside Ginny, making tea and breakfast with Hermione, preparing for finally becoming a Cursebreaker from January. It was more the fact that the days seemed to slip by without anything significant happening, and he missed that. These were those moments when he wondered about time, about how days could just pass and pass without even noticing, and then suddenly something happening that made you snap out of the daze. And it had been this something, this significant happening he had been searching for every time he walked down the streets, but it didn’t seem to come until this very day. Because running into Draco was definitely significant, though Harry wasn’t sure whether it was significant in a good way or a bad way.

He definitely missed Draco’s company and thought it would be nice to catch up and go back to meeting every so often, and he was definitely glad because at least this was something different, as it didn’t happen every day, but it was also confusing. Those very emotions that were now on the surface felt like they had been amplified, mixing with his memories of the past year, the two of them together in France, talking and making potions and going for walks in the fresh autumn weather.

And now here they were again, together in the fresh autumn weather, and Harry was lost for words, not knowing whether it would be better to just apologize to Draco or pretend that nothing had happened and invite him around to his place or something. Harry also wanted to find out why Draco looked like he did. He did not want the boy to be a wreck of a human; he missed seeing Draco smile and laugh. He missed the support and understanding they gave each other. Harry felt a bit torn between the past and the present. He wasn't sure what exactly he was feeling.

Draco looked angry, and even though Harry wasn’t the best at reading other people’s emotions, he was pretty sure it wasn’t just because he knocked his books out of his hands.

“Thank you,” Draco snarled. “Coming from you I could just take that as a compliment. You really do look dashing on this beautiful Wednesday afternoon.”

Harry just rolled his eyes. He knew he didn’t look great, possibly incredibly sleepy, and he knew his hair was a mess, but he stopped bothering about it. He had to admit that the jumper he was wearing was slightly peculiar, but that was only because it was a hand-knitted gift from Luna, who was probably the only person who thought lime green, purple, bright yellow, orange, pink, and dark blue stripes looked good together.

“That’s not what I meant,” Harry said after a pause. Draco just shook his head. Harry sighed, and they just stayed like that, awkwardly standing in front of each other, their glances meeting every so often before one of them looked away. Draco was clinging onto his books like his life depended on them, picking invisible pieces of fluff or dirt from his robes with his other hand, nibbling on his lower lip. Harry found it difficult to look away from the little repeating movement, simultaneously mesmerizing him and making him want to yell at Draco to stop it because it was distracting and irritating. But he didn’t; he just kept quiet and watched the perfect white teeth sink into the pink flesh, looking away whenever he felt Draco might notice him looking, before turning his attention back to the boy’s lips, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other, wanting to say something but not knowing where to start.

“Are you quite done staring, Potter? If I look as terrible as you claim, maybe you should find someone else to look at, maybe your fiancée, as she seems to be good enough for you,” Draco snapped.

“What?” Harry felt his jaw drop. “What’s this got to do with Ginny?”

“Oh, I don’t know, but you sure enough don’t seem to understand.”

“What the hell was that supposed to mean?” Harry asked, looking confused. He wasn’t kidding; he had no idea what Draco was talking about.

“Be patient, maybe you’ll figure it out when you will be living in your perfect countryside home with your perfect ginger wife and five perfect ginger kids running around you.”

“Five kids? Ah... Do I really look like the type who would want five kids to you?”

“I don’t really know what type you look like to me anymore. Definitely not the type who one trusts not to disappear suddenly.” Draco pressed his lips together, rolled them to the inside of his mouth, and closed his eyes as if regretting saying this. He wished he could have bit back that last part; it was really a little too much than what he had wanted to say. Harry hated himself for realizing how much he actually missed the blonde.

“I—” Harry started, but then closed his mouth. Then he opened it again, wanting to continue, but he couldn't. Draco snorted.

“It’s alright, Potter, you don’t need to make excuses,” the blonde boy sneered. “Now if you'll excuse me—” He pushed past Harry and shoved the books he bought into a bag he took from his pocket, making his way out of the shop in a hurry.

Harry stood there agape for a moment, looking down at the poetry book he wanted to buy. Without further thinking, he placed it on top of the closest shelf and dashed to the door, immediately finding himself in the usual afternoon crowd, shoving past the slow walkers in hope of catching a glimpse of the platinum blonde hair or the black-clad figure of Draco. He wasn't going to let this end like this. He felt guilty about being a bit selfish; he needed Draco back in his life, but he knew he hurt the boy and shouldn't be asking him to take Harry back.

It seemed like it was his lucky day because soon he did spot him, right as the boy slowed his pace, seemingly not too keen on ending their encounter either, assuming Harry would have caught up with him by now if he had bothered to follow. Harry did bother, and soon he stood next to Draco, after picking up his pace and pushing a few other people out of his way.

“Wait, Draco!” he called. The blonde boy came to a halt and turned around to face Harry, merely raising his eyebrow.

“Look, I’m sorry. I really am. I know I fucked up and that I was an asshole, but if you don’t hate me too much... would you want to grab some coffee with me sometime?”

“At least you're correct about one thing, I do hate you,” Draco said, but his lips twitched up, and Harry could tell that Draco wouldn’t decline the offer.

“Sure,” Harry smirked. Draco just shook his head, but he couldn’t keep a sheepish smile off his face. “Are you free today? I need to get a bit of shopping done, but you could come around and we could make lunch together; the others won’t be home until the evening.”

“Eager much?” Draco grinned, his eyes lit up with what Harry assumed was joy. It was almost like the boy was admitting that he missed Harry too. It was only a teasing grin, but Harry couldn’t suppress the flood of joy he felt. He wasn’t too keen on admitting it, but he had missed the bastard.

“Fine, if you are busy, next week is good for me,” Harry scoffed. Draco let out a short laugh and grabbed Harry’s arm, dragging him back in the direction they came from. “Hey! Draco! What the hell?”

Draco didn’t say a word until they arrived at Flourish and Blotts and he had picked up the copy of poetry Harry had chosen but left there. He placed it on the counter while digging into his pockets for some cash.

“You can't be seriously doing it. I can’t accept this; I’m paying for it.”

“Potter, don’t be stupid. You’ve bought me stuff before. This is only a book,” Draco scoffed.

“It isn’t ONLY a book. It’s a great book; you should read it.”

“Merlin, Potter, why do you always have to be so difficult? You know very well what I meant,” the blonde boy sighed and passed a few coins to the witch behind the counter who was watching the two of them bickering with great interest.

“But...” Harry started again, but Draco shushed him, shoving the book into his hand.

“No buts. There you go. Read it, enjoy it. And if you are so keen on me reading it, lend it to me. It actually does look like a good piece of literature. I’m surprised you would choose something like it. Granger’s influence?” He asked with a pretend polite smile.

“Sod off, Malfoy,” Harry muttered, looking at the book in his hands, smoothing his right hand over the cover.

“Back to Malfoy and Potter, are we?”

“You started it,” Harry retorted.

“Well, you were the one who disappeared. Are you seriously telling me you expected a warm welcome?” Draco said in a doubtful voice, raising his eyebrow and running a hand through his locks, which now were even longer, reaching behind his shoulders.

“I told you I was sorry, okay? I wanted to write a letter but I never sent it, and when we got back, I kind of forgot, and then I thought you would hate me if I just showed up out of nowhere.” He felt embarrassed saying this, but he couldn’t help the words tumbling out of his mouth.

“Now I'm definitely sure I hate you,” Draco assured him with a grin, giving him a light push towards the door. “And I will hate you even more if we don’t get moving, because if you haven’t noticed, we stopped in the middle of the bookshop and people are looking.”

“I don’t care.” Harry shrugged but led the way out of the shop.

“How can you not care?” Draco searched for Harry's eyes. Harry knew the boy was paranoid about being around other wizards and witches; he remembered Draco's stories about people treating him like some of the strict pureblood families used to treat their house elves.

“Gotten used to it, I guess. I mean, I have to admit, it can be really irritating, but I don’t give a damn about what they say in the papers or what people whisper behind my back. I know who I am and what I want, and I don’t care about other people’s opinions. Hell, I care if they see me with you. I want to be here with you, and if people can't understand that, it's their problem, not mine." Harry shocked himself with his words; he wasn't planning on the confession sounding somewhat sappy.

“Don’t you now?” Draco had an amused smile on his face. “What happened to you in this past month or so that made you so mature?”

“Me? Mature? That’s something I never thought you’d say about me.” Harry shook his head, laughing.

“There are a lot of things you would have never thought I’d say about you,” Draco muttered.

“What?” Harry turned to him with a puzzled look on his face, halting.

“Nothing.” The blonde boy quickly said, before glancing around. They were standing right in front of the market, which was one of those places Draco appreciated but could never spend more than half an hour in. It was noisy and colorful and packed with old witches, most of whom were slow walkers, which irritated him to no extent. “You said you needed to do some shopping,” he said, nodding towards the arcade.

“Oh. Yes. I forgot.” Harry said, and started walking towards the stalls, with Draco following him after a dramatic eye roll.

Soon (not soon enough for Draco, who was already fed up with the whole day and cursed himself for agreeing to go to Harry’s place for the day instead of settling for another date when he could actually prepare for what awaited him) they were stocked up with fruit and vegetables and fish and mushrooms and an expensive bottle of wine Draco chose and Harry insisted on paying for, heading in the direction of Grimmauld Place 12.

“Have you actually ever been inside?” Harry asked as they stood in front of the house that emerged from between numbers 11 and 13.

“Why would have I?” Draco gave him an odd look.

“I don’t know, I mean it is the Black ancestral home, I just assumed...” Harry trailed off. Then he remembered one time Draco came here; it was when they hadn't seen each other for a while and they both missed each other dearly but also were furious with one another. He gasped, remembering the memory of their night in Draco's flat. “You are on the family tree though, you know.” He tried to brush the whole conversation off.

Draco stayed silent for a while, and Harry was starting to feel slightly uncomfortable; he wasn’t even sure why. He had basically started to feel at home at the other boy’s flat. Why was it so different for them to spend time at Harry’s place? Well, of course, sharing the house with other people was one of the factors, but as neither Ron and Hermione nor Ginny was home, it didn’t really matter.

He showed Draco around the house, barely saying anything about any of the rooms, and ushered him towards the main living room, hoping that it would feel less weird once they were sitting down and comfortable, maybe even opening the wine they bought or having some butterbeer or something.

But even when they were in the living room, Harry cross-legged at one end of the sofa, Draco stiffly sitting at the other end, it was awkward. The whole situation, and Harry had no idea why. Sure, he hadn’t seen the other boy for a while, and sure, it’s always a little awkward when you visit someone for the first time, but it wasn’t just that.

“Care to tell me about your holiday or at least something, Potter? Because if you continue to sit staring at the fireplace any longer, I’ll just go home. You don’t need company for that.” This broke Harry’s trail of thoughts, and he looked up in shock, not understanding what had just happened.

Draco had been like before: they laughed, they teased each other, but now that they got back to Harry’s place, he was acting as distant as ever, which was making Harry burn on the inside. Draco always managed to do that, even with one look, one word, one touch.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

“With me?!” Draco echoed with a sarcastic laugh. “Nothing’s wrong with me, thank you very much. I think you are the one who should sit down and think about what’s wrong with them and sort out their priorities.”

“My priorities?! What the hell are you on about, Malfoy?” He saw the blonde boy wince at his surname again, and Harry almost regretted using it, but then he looked into his cold grey eyes and his emotionless face, and he decided he deserved it.

“Oh sorry, I forgot you were the Golden boy and you were perfect and the whole fucking world revolves around you. I’m sorry I dared to point out that you are an enormous arse, Potter. And it was a mistake to ever think you weren’t.”

“What’s wrong with you?” Harry was shouting now, desperate and furious.

“Nothing,” Draco snapped. “I’ll just be on my way. Enjoy yourself with your poetry and your quality wine just so you don’t feel lonely before the Weasley-girl comes home,” he spat, and without waiting any longer, he Disapparated, leaving Harry standing next to the couch, staring into the empty space in front of him, gaping.

What the hell was this all about? Harry felt anger pumping through his veins, but he also couldn’t help but feel sad and guilty. He thought he just got Draco back, but it seemed like it wasn’t going to be as easy as he hoped. Yes, the boy was making him lose his calm, but Harry wasn't going to give up on the git.

Naturally, after calming down (and reluctantly, but heeding Draco’s advice, drank half of the wine, straight out of the bottle), the first thing he did was to try and Floo to the boy’s flat, but he seemed to have put wards up, and Harry simply couldn’t get through. So he tried Apparating into his flat, but that didn’t work either. Harry couldn’t help but wonder how the heck Draco knew all of these protective spells, and why he felt it necessary to use them to block out him.

The last thing he tried before giving up for the day was Apparating to his doorstep and ringing the doorbell for what seemed like forever, but he got no reply, so he Apparated back home, only to find Ginny had already arrived.

“Hey, Gin,” he greeted her with a smile and pulled her in for a hug.

“Where were you? I thought you’d be home because I saw all your stuff, but...?”

“I, um...” For some reason, Harry didn’t feel like explaining all about Draco. Especially as he didn’t quite understand what was going on, which would definitely make explaining a little harder. “I was out shopping earlier and I just dumped the stuff, but then I needed to get some fresh air, so I popped out. It seems like I timed it just right,” he said, smiling at his fiancée. It was a little forced and fake, but Ginny didn’t seem to notice. She just kissed him on the cheek before carrying on putting the stuff away in the kitchen and chattering about her day. Harry tried to listen, he really did, but he couldn’t stop thinking about why Draco had acted so weird and how he could talk to him. Get him back.

He spent most of the weekend trying to figure out how to contact Draco, as he tried to Floo and Apparate to his flat both days, and he even sent a letter to him (which was actually a piece of cardboard from an old cornflakes box he found and scribbled a few words about how he didn’t understand what the fuck all of this was and that he was sorry and that they should talk), but as he expected, he got no reply. So after waiting another couple of days, he decided he’d visit the boy at St. Mungo’s.

Of course, he had to ask a nurse to tell Draco he was there and wanted to talk, because they wouldn’t let him in any further than the visitation area. And of course, he wasn’t even surprised when the nurse told him that Draco was busy and had a tight schedule all day, so he just gritted his teeth and went home.

When Draco was told by one of the nurses for Merlin-knows-which-time that Harry Potter was waiting for him, asking about him again, he felt his blood boiling.

Then again, what was he supposed to say? He had been avoiding Harry since their ‘incident,’ as he referred to that certain Friday afternoon when he thought of it, and he had really hoped the boy would give up after realizing that he wasn’t going to answer or let him into his flat. But he didn’t need much time to figure out that Harry’s irritating tenacity was as strong as ever, and he wouldn’t leave him be.

But he expected him to at least show up after work or something, not just come barging into the hospital, sending someone to fetch Draco for him like he fucking owned the place and the nurses weren’t more than servants and message bearers.

This wasn’t actually the thing that made Draco so angry about the whole situation. It was more the fact that he dropped the vial of expensive medication he had in his hand when the nurse told him Harry Potter was waiting for him; spilling it over his robes and the floor, leaving green marks that didn’t seem to completely fade even after a thorough Scourgify. And maybe also the fact that now that they met again, he couldn’t help but think about the boy, almost day and night, angry both with himself and Harry, but mostly himself for letting the boy get to him like this.

From then on, every single day for a week, there would be a nurse coming to find him, saying that Harry was waiting for him, and he would always tell her the same thing: he was busy. In fact, he was. He had been making progress with Appoline and working with a new patient who was assigned to him, an old wizard suffering from the long-lasting effects of a strange old curse. But this wasn’t the only reason he didn’t ever go down to see Harry. Actually, this wasn’t the reason at all. If he had wanted to see the boy, he could have gone down during his lunch break or any time between his patrols. But the truth was that he didn’t want to. At all. Well, that wasn’t true either, because part of him wanted nothing more than to be with Harry, but he was still angry with him, and broken by trusting someone and starting to depend on them and letting them hurt him by leaving. This was something new for him. Draco had always thought he was good at keeping his distance from people, not getting attached to anyone for his own good.

And then all of a sudden, the visits stopped. There was no nurse looking for him, and when he walked down to the visitation area, there was no Harry waiting for him, and this made him feel even worse, if that was possible. The boy had given up on him, just because he had been sulking, and now he didn’t even bother to look for him. Great!

He removed the wards from his flat, but Harry didn’t come.

He spent his lunch hours in the visitation area, but there was no sign of the boy.

He went to Flourish and Blotts every afternoon after work, sitting in the armchair opposite to Harry’s favorite one for hours, waiting for him to show up, but he was nowhere to be seen, and not just in the bookstore, but in any of the other shops, or in the streets, and not even in the newspapers. There hadn’t been any big announcement about the Boy Who Lived for ages now, and though Draco normally hated those articles, most of them going on about what a beautiful couple Harry and Ginny would be, and guessing when their wedding will be or when they will have children and how many, now he wished he would come across even the dumbest article that was ever written if that meant he found out what was going on with the boy.

After a week, he just gave up, no longer searching for him, no longer scanning the crowd on his way to work and back home for the familiar mop of messy dark hair, as he knew he wouldn’t see it.

Or at least that’s what he thought, up until the first of December came, and there was an owl waiting for him at St. Mungo’s, squawking impatiently, a rather big parcel tied to its foot. He eased the bird of its burden, giving the rectangular package wrapped in simple brown wrapping paper a quizzical look before opening it.

Inside lay a letter, messy and rushed, parts of it scribbled over, and the whole piece of parchment covered in blotches of ink, making some parts impossible to read.

Underneath was a book, a collection of Muggle poetry, a yellow note hanging out on the side, marking a poem.

“Wilfred Owen - Exposure

Our brains ache, in the merciless iced east winds that knive us . . .
Wearied we keep awake because the night is silent . . .
Low drooping flares confuse our memory of the salient . . .
Worried by silence, sentries whisper, curious, nervous,
But nothing happens.
Watching, we hear the mad gusts tugging on the wire,
Like twitching agonies of men among its brambles.
Northward, incessantly, the flickering gunnery rumbles,
Far off, like a dull rumour of some other war.
What are we doing here?
The poignant misery of dawn begins to grow . . .
We only know war lasts, rain soaks, and clouds sag stormy.
Dawn massing in the east her melancholy army
Attacks once more in ranks on shivering ranks of grey,
But nothing happens.
Sudden successive flights of bullets streak the silence.
Less deadly than the air that shudders black with snow,
With sidelong flowing flakes that flock, pause, and renew,
We watch them wandering up and down the wind's nonchalance,
But nothing happens.
Pale flakes with fingering stealth come feeling for our faces—
We cringe in holes, back on forgotten dreams, and stare, snow-dazed,
Deep into grassier ditches. So we drowse, sun-dozed,
Littered with blossoms trickling where the blackbird fusses.
—Is it that we are dying?
Slowly our ghosts drag home: glimpsing the sunk fires, glozed
With crusted dark-red jewels; crickets jingle there;
For hours the innocent mice rejoice: the house is theirs;
Shutters and doors, all closed: on us the doors are closed,—
We turn back to our dying.
Since we believe not otherwise can kind fires burn;
Now ever suns smile true on child, or field, or fruit.
For God's invincible spring our love is made afraid;
Therefore, not loath, we lie out here; therefore were born,
For love of God seems dying.
Tonight, this frost will fasten on this mud and us,
Shrivelling many hands, and puckering foreheads crisp.
The burying-party, picks and shovels in shaking grasp,
Pause over half-known faces. All their eyes are ice,
But nothing happens.”

The yellow note said, “I have no idea why I wanted to show you this poem, but I do, because I like it, and I hope you like it too. I said I would lend the book to you, and now you have it, you can even keep it if you don’t mind my notes next to the ones I liked, and even if you do mind them, please don’t give me a lecture about writing in books, I already had to listen to it once from Hermione. ~ Harry”

And this was how and why Draco found himself curled up on his sofa, reading Muggle poetry all afternoon, tutting or sniggering at Harry’s little notes, but enjoying the poems, the way such simple words combined could result in something so powerful, something he could never do. He might have always appreciated literature, but he wasn’t good with words, with expressing himself. He knew Harry wasn’t either, so he hoped the boy didn’t mind that he sent the book back after having marked his own favorite poems, accompanied by a note saying that he agreed that they should meet.

Days passed, and soon it was Saturday afternoon, the very day they had agreed to meet up, and Harry should have felt nervous—he had for some time now—but he didn’t.

Maybe it was the first snow of the winter, the tiny white flakes falling onto his thick robes and in his hair, melting in seconds, their perfect structure dissolving to nothing. Maybe it was the excited crowd in Diagon Alley, the witches and wizards excited about Christmas shopping. But most of all it was the fact that when he entered the café where they decided to meet, Draco was already there, his face slightly nervous, but his lips curled into an amused smile as he sat flipping through the menu, glancing at the door every so often, no traces of his previous coldness and anger, and Harry was sure everything was going to be alright.

He closed the door of the cozy coffee shop, making the overhead wind chimes tinkle, causing the blonde boy to look up at him. Harry shot him a slightly nervous grin, and slid into the seat opposite the other boy, ridding himself of his robes.

They sat in silence, apart from Draco ordering them a cappuccino from the waiter who had been hovering around the table for a while, until they received the two cups of freshly made coffee. Harry took a sip of his, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and leant back, forcing himself to look up from the tablecloth which he had been examining for the past minutes.

“Listen, Draco...” he started. He cleared his throat. “I know I’m terrible with words and I don’t really know how else to put this, but I’m sorry.” He stopped for a second, and sighed. “I know I messed up, real bad, and I don’t even have a proper excuse for avoiding you, it just happened. But I have regretted it, and I am sorry, and I never actually meant to do this to you, you don’t deserve it, I really enjoyed spending time with you and I have missed it. And I know it’s kind of an immature way to handle this but it worked before, and anyway now we are equal as you disappeared for quite a while after I came back from France, so truce?”

Draco had been watching Harry with his usual emotionless face, except for the tiny smile playing at his lips, a mere twitch, something a stranger wouldn’t even notice when looking at his expression. But Harry wasn’t a stranger, and he wasn’t stupid either, even though he sometimes acted like he was. Judging by the other boy’s confidence, he had been sure that Draco was open to calling truce even before he had walked into the café. And he hadn’t been wrong.

“How long have you been rehearsing this speech?” Draco asked with a smirk.

“I didn’t. I improvised.” Harry huffed.

“Sure you did.”

“I’m telling you I did.”

“And I know you are lying.”

“I’m not.”

“Yes you are.”

“No I’m not. I may have given it a bit of thought, just so I gathered what I wanted to say, but I definitely didn’t rehearse it. Can you really imagine me spending so much time of my day on anything to do with you?” Harry snorted. Draco let out a short laugh.

“I can, and I know it is true.” Harry just huffed again, but Draco knew he wasn’t even really annoyed. “Fine, truce?” He asked, giving up.

“Truce.” Harry grinned, extending his hand over the table. Draco took it and shook it. Holding onto the other boy’s hand, which was still cold from the weather outside, a little longer than necessary, he noticed how natural it felt, how well their hands fit together. It felt like coming home. After this thought, Harry shook his head to himself, and let go of Draco’s hand, dropping his own onto the table, going for his cup of coffee, which had cooled down a bit by then, and downing more than half of it with one gulp.
And suddenly everything was alright.

They carried on pretty much from where they left off. Draco told Harry about his work, Harry told him how impatiently he was waiting for the new year to start so that he could start working as a Cursebreaker, and how he enjoyed Spain and thought Draco would like it apart from the crowds. Draco invited him around to his place after their third cup of coffee and they made dinner together the way they used to. It felt right. No, in fact, it was more than right; it was great. Harry felt relaxed and giddy with happiness (and maybe firewhiskey) and Draco was talkative and smiling, the usual stiffness in his posture gone when they were in public. He was more than happy to sit sprawled across his sofa with Harry after finishing their meal. Harry also kept giving Draco a look the boy couldn’t quite recognize. He was almost sure Harry never looked at him like this. Was it joy? Maybe it was interest in what Draco was talking about? Whatever it was, it made Draco’s heart skip a beat faster and he couldn’t help but feel a bit sad as he knew Harry would never feel anything more than sympathy towards him.

Sure, there were a few short silences, but they weren’t uncomfortable. And sure, there were a few unsaid things, but Draco thought that was for the better. And sure, it took some time for Harry to snap back into reality when he realized that the other boy’s hand was right behind his head on the back of the sofa, grazing his neck every time he shifted in his seat, sending electric tingles down his spine. And sure, Draco stood up abruptly saying that he needed a refill when Harry told him Ginny and he were getting married in the second week of December and he wanted Draco to come. But it was indeed more than alright. It was the usual feeling of them being together, the usual teasing, the usual warm smiles, the usual insults that didn’t carry any weight and were more jokes than anything else, and the usual glances at each other when they thought the other wasn’t looking.

But this didn't mean that when Harry started talking about his and Ginny’s wedding, Draco didn't immediately feel sick. He sprinted to the kitchen, where he rested his hands on the edge of the sink and tried to slow down his breathing as his eyes began to water. Harry was making him feel things that he didn’t want to feel towards the boy who was getting married. The boy who was straight (well, at least Harry must have thought he was) and Draco had no chance of getting together with. The thought of Harry wanting Draco to come to the wedding made him want to throw his glass of wine onto the wall and scream, but he had to refrain himself. He couldn't lose his cool. He had to come to the wedding, and he wanted to. For Harry.

Spending time with each other seemed natural as soon as they got back to the place they were earlier on, and they found themselves meeting even more regularly, every second or third day. Whether it was just staying at Draco’s place, talking and cooking, or going for a walk through Diagon Alley, popping into some shops just to look around, going to the market together, Draco putting up with the crowd, which didn’t seem as difficult as it used to, now that Harry was by his side, or anything else they thought of doing. Except for visiting 12 Grimmauld Place again. Harry couldn’t quite explain why; he couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable at the thought of being there with Draco. It felt wrong for some reason, but Draco didn’t seem to mind, so he tried not to think too much of it. He sure was happy enough being at the other boy’s flat, only going back to his place late at night.

Harry knew this couldn’t go on like this forever. He would soon be busy with planning his and Ginny’s wedding, and they would be spending more time together as his fiancée would start training in the mornings instead of the afternoons and evenings, realizing she was never home before ten, Harry not even mentioning that he wasn’t either.

Draco had become his little secret, something only the two of them knew about, and of course, anyone else who saw them around. Because people did notice the odd pair of them, mostly just staring at them in shock, sometimes asking Harry if he was alright, or if Draco was making him do something he didn’t want to do (these questions seemed to fluster Harry more; he never understood how Draco could just give a short, dismissive, and sarcastic answer before clutching Harry’s arm and pulling him away. Harry always felt like he was seconds away from hexing the questioner’s balls off for assuming all kinds of things about Draco). Once someone even asked them whether they were going out. This question flustered the two boys equally for some reason. It was just one of their usual rounds at the market, shopping for dinner, and a young witch found them in an especially domestic moment. Draco held an eggplant in his hand and made a funny comment about it, which caused Harry to double over with laughter, clutching the blonde boy’s arm, who was laughing himself and simultaneously trying to snatch their shopping list from Harry’s hand. The question took them by surprise. Harry sobered up quickly, letting go of Draco’s hand, and choking on his own aspirations. He stopped laughing, and Draco turned bright red, busying himself with looking at the piece of parchment he finally seized from Harry’s hand, leaving Harry to answer the question. Gryffindor mumbled something about “not knowing where the witch got the idea,” but it couldn’t have been too convincing, because the ebony-haired woman shot them a knowing glance before leaving them in a confident stride, only looking back to wink at them. Neither of them ever mentioned this again, Harry angry with himself for being so affected by the situation, Draco knowing that it would only raise questions he would rather not answer.

But all was well, and that was what mattered, even if it meant people thought they were going out, and that Harry had to lie about where he was going when he sneaked off to buy Draco a Christmas present, as he still didn’t want to tell Ginny about being friends with him again, even though he wasn’t quite sure why.

Chapter Text

Soon, Draco and Harry were spending most of their free time together, doing whatever they thought of, whether it was cooking, talking, going to museums or spots Harry had never had time to visit, or Harry introducing Draco to new Muggle things. They enjoyed it thoroughly.

When Harry suggested that he and Draco make a bet on who was better at sports, both wizarding and Muggle ones, Draco was more than happy to agree. They started with an easy one—bowling. The blond was disgusted when he saw that he had to wear rented shoes, so instead, he just transfigured his own fancy boots to more suitable ones. When Harry didn’t bother to do the same, Draco just flicked his wand, and in a matter of seconds, Harry had unusual black shoes with silver decorative plant veins on.

“I’m not risking the opportunity of you getting some weird bacteria on your feet that could potentially transfer through your body and give you an infection that could later on contaminate me,” Draco said.

“Thinking about touching my body, are you?” Harry teased, laughing hard and at the same time making Draco's cheeks turn rose pink.

“Oh, please, who isn’t?” Draco drawled, walking over to their bowling station, acting as if Harry's comment did not affect him whatsoever. With his hands on his hips, he examined the setup for the game. “Do tell me again, am I supposed to throw this ball towards those there?” he pointed to the pins.

“Yep, that’s pretty much it. Don’t get your hopes up, though; you could never win the first time you’re playing this.” Harry started picking up balls, trying to determine which one fit him best. He had been bowling a few times with Ron, Dean, and Neville the past year, and soon they got extremely addicted to it. By the fifth time, they got very competitive, almost like they were with Quidditch (well, except for Neville, he was there just for fun). So, Harry was pretty good at bowling and was sure he was going to win.

“Try me, Potter.” Draco moved closer to Harry and raised his eyebrow in challenge. “I’m a quick learner.”

In his first few attempts, Draco missed every pin, and Harry laughed at all of those occasions, remembering his opponent’s words, “Malfoys never lose.” He eventually had to stop because Draco was getting better and better, and in half an hour, Harry was losing by a hundred and fifteen points. The urge to win was burning inside him. It was a good kind of fire, the kind that he felt whenever he played a Quidditch match against Slytherin, just without actual hatred. All he wanted to do was win, to see the blond’s face when he lost. This fire felt right; it was what he needed now. Something other than wedding planning to occupy his mind.

“So, how is everything going with your training?” They had taken a break to get something to drink and were sitting on two sofas facing each other. Harry had his legs stretched towards Draco’s. He was drinking soda and studying the blond’s hair that was falling to his forehead, and for some reason, not sticking to it the way his own hair was. He wondered whether Draco was using some kind of potion to eliminate sweat. Was that why he didn’t have wet stains under his arms either? He decided he would ask him about it later. He hated that he always sweated so badly during activities, that he looked like a cat taken out of water. He needed whatever Draco was using. What did he use on his hair anyway? No one is born with that silvery blond hair. Do wizards use hair dye?

“Are you dozing off? Why do I even try?” Harry had to snap back from his thoughts and look at the boy in front of him, really look at him. Draco let out a sigh. “Oh, finally got your attention. It’s like you’re in your own Wonderland and you’re beginning to get mad.” He ran one hand through his hair, combing it backwards, his other arm placed on the back of the sofa behind his head.

“What?” Harry sat up straight. Did he really just miss whatever the boy said to him because he was thinking about Draco's hair? No. He was trying to figure out how they were the way they were. Yes, that’s exactly what he did. Draco stood up, finished the drink he had in his hand, and in a matter of seconds, the empty glass vanished from his hand.

“I asked you how your training is going, but you kept staring into the distance like someone on crack.” Harry didn’t know if he should be offended or not, but he quickly resigned from doing so when Draco snorted softly and a little smile appeared on his face. Harry couldn’t help but roll his eyes and smile back.

“My training has been going great. I can even cast fifteen different detecting charms now.”

“Show off.”

“It’s not like I’m the one who just vanished his glass with non-verbal magic.” Harry enjoyed this back-and-forth between them. The eye contact they held made it even more enjoyable. He always had so much fun with Draco. Thinking about it, he could actually say that he felt a bit like he was in his own Wonderland. No one here, except Draco and a couple of the employees, knew who he was, and they didn't really care. They knew him as the crazy guy who managed to spill Coke all over himself when he was bringing drinks to his friends. Harry liked that. He felt relaxed wherever he was with Draco, felt like he could be himself, be open about things that were troubling him, and he would get an understanding look and, if he was lucky, a story from Draco that would make him feel better. Draco was not only his friend but also his escape from reality and all the things that were going on in his life—escape from Ginny's serious looks when she was trying to get some information about his nightmares or sad face out of him. He was Harry's escape from Hermione's worried looks and countless leaflets that advertised good mind healers or books about mental health, or just her wanting to talk. He loved Hermione, and he usually talked to her about a lot of things that were on his mind. She understood him best; she was with him through good and bad. But Harry found himself not wanting to share certain things with her.

A, he was afraid of her getting even more protective of him, treating him as a hurt puppy, or making him go to all of those mind healer visits; B, he just didn't feel like it. It was weird. They knew each other for so long and shared so many experiences, yet Harry thought that she wouldn't understand some things as well as Draco would. It was crazy, but every time Harry shared a piece of him with Draco, he got something back—not pity, but an honest opinion on the matter, maybe a pint, someone that understood some aspects of his logic and some of his fears better than anyone else, a distraction, very rarely a warm body to hold at night, and most importantly, a piece of Draco back. He was so different in handling Harry's moods than anyone else, yet so perfect, as if it was his job. Draco was Harry's shield from everything bad surrounding him.

“Oh, please, muggles are blind. I used to be afraid of doing magic in front of them, but since I accidentally used Reparo next to a teenager in a bookshop and she told me I was a cool 'magician’—” Draco made quotation marks with his hands in the air. “—I stopped caring. People take me as a muggle who can do tricks, can you believe? So no matter what I do, we’re safe.” He walked down to the bowling track and picked up one of the balls, holding it close to his chest. “Are we still playing, or are you admitting defeat to the invincible Malfoy power?”

If Harry didn’t know better, he would have said that the look Draco gave him was flirtatious, but it couldn't have been; he was just challenging him.

“You wish.” Harry marched to the track, took one of the greenish balls, and threw it at the pins so hard that he hit all of them.

“That was a bit dramatic,” Draco teased.

"Tell me again that I'm dramatic when you start one of your 'I’ll die, Harry!' rants while lying on the floor in your living room. It usually happens before your work on Wednesday, when you know you'll have to deal with Lindsay, Emily, and Marcus by yourself,” Draco growled at him.

“Anyway, it's your turn, Mr. 'I’m the best at every game because of my genes.'” Harry leaned on the wall behind him and watched Draco, trying to challenge the boy. Draco reacted immediately, which made Harry smile widely, and he bit down on his lower lip. The blond hit eight pins; he would have hit nine—the ninth pin shook for a second but stayed still in the end. The fear of losing to Harry wasn't really visible on Draco’s face, but his stiff shoulders and the way he was biting the inside of his cheek gave away his true feelings.

They kept playing for another hour, doing their best to outdo each other, teasing, laughing, and deciding on what punishment the loser would get after the game. Draco ended up winning by ten points—TEN STUPID POINTS. Harry was so close to winning, but then Draco hit all of the pins and LITERALLY patted himself on the back, saying, 'You did amazing, Draco, I’m so proud of you,' and Harry couldn't help but double over with laughter despite the shock of losing.

Later that night, Harry had to wear fake rabbit ears and a nose to the Chinese restaurant they were heading to. He received many funny looks from people on the streets and inside the restaurant. He felt his face heating up more as the minutes went by, and every time he had to explain to the few kids that asked, that he in fact had an accident at his job and those items had stuck to his face and head. Draco tried to muffle his laughter with his hand but failed when a little girl asked Harry if he was one of 'Humpty-Dumpty’s assistants'. Draco held his hand on his stomach and laughed hysterically to the point where his eyes filled with tears.

“Are you quite done yet?” Harry asked bluntly, glaring at Draco and putting a forkful of spicy noodles in his mouth.

“This is—” Draco covered his mouth again, his cheeks filled with air and his eyes shut. Harry kept reaching for more food on his plate, which made the situation bearable. "This is the best day of my life. I have to win more often.” Harry had rarely seen Draco so happy and vibrant; it was quite a beautiful sight. He never smiled like that back at Hogwarts. Harry wanted to keep this expression on Draco's face forever.

Harry shook his head in annoyance but smiled. “I’m never letting you win again.” Draco took a bite of his noodles and watched Harry with intensity. “I’m going to make you regret ever winning and making up this horrendous punishment.”

“You mean, if you win. Don’t be so sure that you can win the broom race. I’ve been training since last year, and I’ve gotten even better than I was back at Hogwarts,” Draco said, chewing his food.

“You’re being hopeful, Draco. I had time for some practice too.”

“Then we’ll see who is best on Friday.”

Next week, Draco won the broom race indeed but decided to make Harry cook while Draco read “Beauty and The Beast” aloud, making comments every now and then on how 'impossible and illogical' those characters were and how Belle could have just made a rope out of her sheets, broken the window, stolen the horse, and escaped home. Harry liked having Draco rant about Muggle books and being the smartass he was. It made him smile while he cooked pumpkin soup and baked brownies that Draco loved to death. It was almost like they lived together, almost like they were... Harry stopped breathing for a moment in realization of where his mind went. It wasn’t just that. Draco was standing behind him, looking over his shoulder.

“Did you add parsley and basil?” Harry inhaled deeply for no reason other than he wasn’t expecting Draco to show up so close to him.

“Of course, I did. I’m a good cook, remember?” He turned his head towards the boy behind him. They looked at each other for a longer second; Draco’s eyes traveled down to Harry’s lips, and he momentarily stepped back from Harry before Harry could react or think anything. He opened one of the cupboards and buried his head there, sifting through the spices. Harry looked down at the pot, embarrassed, and started stirring the soup like his life depended on it. The situation was awkward—SO AWKWARD. Harry didn’t even know how to interpret it. Why did Draco look at his lips? And why did he get all weird about it? There were so many questions and no answers.

None of them said a word for a few seconds. Harry decided to break the silence. “Did you find what you were looking for to make the soup better?” Why was his voice so shaky, damn it?!

Draco turned back to Harry but avoided looking directly into his eyes.

“Yes, you never remember to add smoked paprika. It makes food tastier.” He rushed to the pot and stood beside Harry, though not touching him, which for some reason upset Harry a bit. He had gotten used to Draco being comfortable with some physical contact when they hung out. Now that it was missing, he worried if the bond between them had just broken.

“You’re right,” Harry said absentmindedly. “I’ll be back in a minute.” Without waiting for a response, he rushed to the bathroom. When he got there, he uncorked the cold water and splashed some on his face. He did that several times. Why was he so hot?! Why did Draco make him feel like this? This was crazy. He was going mad. He didn’t have feelings for Draco. He just didn’t. Well, at least not like 'love' ones; he liked him, but he liked him as a FRIEND. Or did he? His heart wouldn’t stop racing. Oh God, he was going insane. Or maybe Draco was the one who was the problem. Maybe Draco just felt lonely, and knowing that Harry had someone and Draco didn’t, he craved sexual… intimacy. No matter with whom. He might be frustrated. Right, yes, that has to be it. Draco is just lonely and wants what Harry has with Ginny. The tension fell from Harry’s shoulders, and he felt his heartbeat slowing down.

“Draco,” Harry said as soon as he approached the kitchen where Draco stood over the boiling pots, his eyes fixed on the swirling liquid.

“Leave it, Potter,” he murmured, not looking at Harry. He seemed sad. Harry was sure he was right; the other boy just needed a woman in his life.

“Listen to me and no, don’t say a word until I’m done,” he said when the blond turned his face towards him and opened his mouth. Draco's eyes went wide, and he set down the wooden spoon with which he was stirring the soup. “I know what seems to be the problem here.”

“Potter, just let it go.” Draco’s voice was serious but shaky.

“I told you not to interrupt me.” Harry marched towards Draco, but the boy moved away from him. “I know why you’re like that.” Harry tried to speak as softly as he could to keep the blond in the room.

“You do?” Draco inhaled sharply.

“You’re just lonely and you crave attention from a woman. Before you say anything, I’ll help you find one.” Harry smiled to reassure his friend of his words.

“No, you don’t—”

“Of course I know; you’re jealous of my relationship with Ginny. I have something that you don’t, and you simply want it. It’s a normal human reaction, I mean, to be jealous and sad.”

“No, I’m not, Harry—” Draco was frustrated; Harry could see it on his face. He picked up the spoon again, holding it in his hand so tightly that his knuckles went white.

“It’s okay to feel that way.”

“HARRY!” Harry instantly looked Draco in the eyes. It was rare for the boy to raise his voice. “You’re wrong, and I don’t need a woman, which you seem to assume is a fact. I don’t know why you thought of that, but I simply got interested in your… in your lips because they are blue.” He sounded very convincing and not at all like he was just trying to finish this conversation. “Did you even notice that when you went to the toilet, or are you that blind? And with your glasses on?” Harry touched his lips, pulled on the bottom lip with his fingers, and looked down; sadly, he couldn’t see anything but the inside of his mouth. He rushed to the toilet. Fuck. His lips really were blue; how did he not see that before? Well, that at least explained the awkward situation and why Draco stared at his lips. They both might have just misread each other. Harry came back to the kitchen where Draco was sitting at the table with two bowls of steaming soup waiting to be eaten.

“Do you believe me now?” Draco asked without venom. Harry nodded and sat in the chair in front of a bowl of soup.

“How did you not notice it earlier?”

“The bigger question is, how did you not notice?” Draco snorted. “Anyway, I might have been too busy reading the book. And you stood with your back to me.” Draco responded quickly, almost as if it was the answer to a test that he knew because he had memorized it word for word.

“Why do I have blue lips?” Something still wasn’t making sense.

“It’s cold outside. We were out for more than an hour; your lips turn different colors in that weather.” That made sense. “Can we eat now? I’m starving, and I bet you are too.” They ate their food and managed to switch the subject to new Quidditch teams being formed after the new year. Then they talked about some other books Draco had read in the past few days, discussing scenes Draco thought could be improved. It was nice, cozy, and Harry didn’t want the night to end. He wanted to stay and keep talking to Draco. He didn’t want to go home; not even the thought of Ginny waiting for him in bed made him feel differently.

“Thank you, Harry. The soup and the brownies were really nice,” Draco said as they cleaned up. Harry had to stop doing the dishes to look up at Draco. He had a sincere smile on his face. “You are an amazing cook.”

“You helped me with the soup,” Harry blurted out, mostly because he didn’t know what to say.

“Can’t you just take the compliment?”

“Okay, thank you; you happy?”

“Yes.” Draco grinned at him.

Harry was happy now that he and Draco started hanging out more. The blonde began to regain his strength; the colors were back on his no longer pale face. He still looked underweight, but he was getting better, and that's what mattered. Draco also smiled and laughed a lot more than he used to before, which warmed Harry's heart.

“Aren’t you supposed to be back home?” Draco said after a while and took a bite of his half-finished brownie, then licked the fork clean. Harry knew it was a cue for him to go, but he didn’t want to go. He felt warmth in his stomach and the sweet taste of chocolate goodness on his lips. He wanted to stay for a few more minutes, okay, maybe hours. He had no responsibilities here, and he could just be himself; he wasn’t surrounded by people constantly telling him what he should do and treating him like he was made of glass. Draco treated him like a human; he called him out on his bullshit and talked to him about subjects he actually wanted to talk about. Time spent with Draco always made him feel… almost free, even when they went out. They rarely chose wizard spots to hang out, so Harry wasn't oppressed by people. He would have never thought that he would feel relaxed and happy in Draco Malfoy’s company, but now that he did, he couldn’t stop wanting to stay in this bubble for as long as he could. It was a weird feeling, yet somehow it started to become very natural to feel that way.

“Are you tired of me?” Harry wiped his hand on a dishcloth, walked to Draco, and looked down at him.

“Yes, I actually need some space away from you and your tiring personality,” Draco flicked away a strand of hair from his eyes in a diva-like gesture.

“Alright, then. You will never see me again, Mr. Malfoy.” Harry tried to sound serious, but he knew he couldn't keep a wide smile off his face. Draco’s eyes shined as the boy bit his bottom lip and gave Harry a questioning look.

“Oh, Mr. Potter, you won’t be missed, I assure you.” He stood up so that they were facing each other, engaging in an eye battle before they both burst out laughing.

“I’m leaving.” Harry put one hand on Draco's shoulder and was surprised the boy didn’t pull away. “But I’m going to beat you at the Seeker's game very soon.”

“Sure you will.” Draco inhaled. Harry was about to turn back and Apparate, but then Draco spoke again. “I meant what I said before, it was a really nice day, thank you.” The words made Harry want to touch the boy again, maybe even hug him. They’ve never hugged before; well, they did sleep next to each other, spooning, but they didn't hug constantly; it wasn't something they did.

But the boy’s tone was so full of emotion; the words were sincere.

“You’re welcome. I had an amazing time as well, I always do with you.” He couldn’t help himself; he just said it and waited for a response. Draco’s eyes burned into his, and Harry suddenly couldn’t breathe. He panicked and Disapparated from Draco’s flat.

When he stepped into his house, he was greeted by angry looks from Hermione and Ginny. What just happened with Draco already made him want to go to bed and rethink everything, but THIS! Dealing with two scary women was even worse.

“Where were you?!” Ginny exploded, walking up to him. “Harry, we were worried!” She searched for his eyes. He couldn’t look her straight in the eyes; he wasn’t sure if it was because he was stressed out, or because all he could see now were silver eyes filling up with joy, and he couldn’t risk getting lost in them now.

“Harry? Is everything alright? Did something happen?” A light hand laid on his arm; it wasn’t Ginny’s. It was warm and reassuring; Hermione was almost always able to calm him down and help him out, but sometimes she went a bit too far with taking care of him. Harry could handle himself. Yes, he still had times when he wasn’t feeling his best, times when all he wanted to do was to scream and cry, times when he thought that it would have been much better if he had decided to stay dead during the war, times when he had self-doubt. But he was handling himself the best he could, and his training was going well as proof of that. He was capable of casting more protective and detecting spells, so he could protect himself and save people from dangerous curses. He still was haunted by nightmares, but weren’t they all? He wasn’t the only one who lost loved ones. He wasn’t the only one who was left broken. WHY DID THEY TREAT HIM LIKE SOMEHOW HE WAS MORE BROKEN?! WHY?!

“Met up with Neville and Seamus for drinks, forgot to tell you, I’m sorry, won’t happen again.” He murmured, still not looking at his fiancée and his friend. He had to lie; they didn’t know that he and Draco kept meeting up. He stopped talking about him to them. Harry thought that them hanging out irritated Ginny; he knew it irritated Ron, purely because he didn’t understand why Harry would do so, but Ginny… he wanted to make her feel like she was his priority. He also knew how his fiancée felt about the blond.

“Oh.” Ginny sighed. That’s when Harry gathered the courage to look at the woman in front of him. “That’s fine then.” She was nervous and angry; Harry could see it, though her face softened, and she gave him a slight smile. “Just tell me next time, okay?” Harry nodded slowly. The girl cupped his jaw with her hand and captured Harry’s lips in a gentle, long kiss. He felt nothing; that’s why he didn’t respond to it. WHY DIDN’T HE FEEL SOMETHING?! He should have felt something. It was Ginny. GINNY - his soon-to-be wife, and he felt nothing when she kissed him. NOTHING. He needed to go to sleep. He was way too tired to think about it now. He excused himself, reassuring Hermione that he was fine and he’ll feel better tomorrow. He went to the bathroom, showered, put on his boxers and a night shirt, and went to bed, not waiting for Ginny to come; he fell asleep. She wouldn't be happy about Harry having more fun with Draco than he did with her; she surely wouldn't.

Days spent with Harry were some of the most joyous moments of Draco’s life. Since they decided to call a truce, they had been meeting up almost every day. They couldn’t get enough of each other. Draco smiled more; he was more optimistic than ever and more energetic than he had been in years. It was all because of the brunette’s presence and the easy way their new friendship was developing. Every meeting felt like stepping out of the persona that Draco was putting out every day; he no longer wore his composed face. He laughed, allowed himself to show more emotions than he would with anyone else. His shoulders felt weightless; he could be his true self without the need to put on a show for people to like him.

Not only did that make Draco feel his best, but also the fact that the boy who was spending time with him knew him so well, knew his good and bad sides, yet still decided to treat Draco like a normal human being. They both were aware of their past; they just didn’t talk about it if there wasn’t a good reason to do so. They chose to live in the present, to start a new life. Draco did apologize to Harry for his behavior back at Hogwarts and during the war countless times, and Harry had told him 'We're fine now, Draco. I've forgiven you a long time ago.'

Draco was grateful that Harry never brought up the times before and during the war; they both knew what happened. They told each other almost everything when they were in France. Oh, France, if he could only go back in time and do something, anything, that would make a difference of how their last morning there looked like. But then again, what could he have done? It’s not like things would have been perfectly fine and not weird at all if Draco decided to open his eyes when Harry kissed his cheek. He would have probably been speechless, incapable of forming any sensible words, and Harry would probably have been embarrassed and confused; he would have probably said that meant nothing and that their whole friendship was a mistake. That would have hurt Draco way more than pretending it never happened. He wasn’t ready to hear the denial, even if he knew that some part of Harry regretted it; or maybe he just didn’t remember that kiss. Why would he? He is straight and has a fiancée. Harry would never kiss Draco willingly; he must have been under some kind of weird influence.

The Golden Boy never left Draco’s mind; he was there when they were together, he was there when they were apart, when Draco was working, when he was making his food late at night, when he was falling asleep, when he was waking up. His thoughts wandered to Harry one way or another, and Draco hated himself for that. Falling for your ex-rival turned friend, engaged, straight man wasn’t the best thing to do. Unfortunately, the more time Draco spent with Harry, the harder it was not to do so. He was brilliant; they shared the same interests and always became happier around each other. They knew each other’s body language; they knew how to act around each other, how to make the other feel better. There were moments that confused Draco, the moments when there would be this undeniable tension between them, when they held eye contact for a little bit too long for it to feel casual.
---

“Draco!” Harry screamed, Apparating into Draco’s living room, dressed in a dark gray, puffy jacket.

“There’s no need for screaming that loud.” Draco closed the distance between them.

“Maybe I wouldn’t have to scream if we weren’t running late.” Harry took one step forward. “…and if I knew you were just here, being lazy.” Draco rolled his eyes at the comment but snorted and smiled at his friend.

“Maybe I would be ready if you had invited me earlier than ten minutes ago.” Now they were both grinning.

“Okay, alright, mister 'I don’t do spontaneous meetings'.” The dark-haired boy playfully pushed Draco’s shoulder with his hand.

“You know I don’t like spontaneous meetings.” He summoned his coat and the rest of his warm clothes. “I didn’t have time to get ready, and besides…” Draco put a black scarf around his neck. “…I could have been doing something.” He tried to look pretentious, but Harry just gave him a 'seriously?' kind of look. “Okay, I wasn’t busy, happy?”

“Yes, actually, it feels pretty good to be right.” A huge smile appeared on the other boy’s face. “Now, are you ready?” They were about to head off to the amusement park. Harry bought them tickets without even asking Draco if he was busy first. This was another thing about Harry; he liked being spontaneous and taking Draco to all kinds of Muggle places by surprise. He pushed Draco’s boundaries like no one ever did.

He looked excited as he stood there in front of Draco, waiting with a smile on his face. Draco took a deep breath.

“I am, although I don’t know if I’m properly dressed. I don’t remember you mentioning any dress code.”

“There is none; you can go there looking your gorgeous self, just like that, and everybody will admire you.” It was a simple sentence, but it made Draco feel warm inside, and he had to look away from the brunette to avoid eye contact.

“Yeah, right. Let’s go then. I hope I won’t regret this.” Draco, still focusing on the wall behind Harry, held out his arm towards the boy.

“The worst thing that will happen is that you’ll have fun, which I know must be scary.” Harry sang theatrically.

“Ha, ha, very funny.” Draco finally had to look at the other boy's emerald green eyes. When Harry held his gaze, Draco took the boy’s hand as quickly as he could to mask how affected he was by simple eye contact. “Are you taking us there, or are we not running late like you said earlier?” Harry clenched Draco’s hand in his, and they were gone.

When they stepped into the event area, they were greeted with a booming noise of people either having fun or screaming in terror. Draco looked at all the attractions as they walked through the amusement park. There were really high tracks in the air with vehicles on them carrying multiple seats; they went all the way up and then plummeted down. All the people riding it were screaming. Draco swallowed heavily. He did just fine with heights; he played Quidditch, he had to, but this machine was out of his control, and that's what made it scary. There was a ride called the 'Ferris wheel'; Harry explained how it and every other machine worked, but refused to tell him what it felt like to be on them. Later on, he admitted that it was actually his first time here.

They went on a few rides; Harry had to challenge Draco to do so because when he saw people getting sick on the rides, Draco immediately wanted to Apparate home. There was no way he was getting embarrassed in front of others, or especially Harry. The ride that went up and then had a sudden fall was so terrifying that Draco had to hold onto the barriers that kept him safe very tightly. Though what took his breath away was not the fall alone but a gentle hand on his own, squeezing it and giving Draco a mini heart attack. The gesture alone left Draco speechless for a long time after they got off the ride.

After that, they decided to take a bit of a break, just walking around, drinking soda, and eating candy floss. As the late afternoon drew closer, the crowd grew bigger, with whole families and their kids arriving back from school. At one point, Draco noticed that Harry was breathing very quickly, then taking really deep breaths, and starting the whole process again. Draco took the brunette’s hands in his, which took a lot of courage, and tried his best to calm Harry down. It must have been the crowd; Draco didn’t feel good himself, but he figured it would be a bigger disaster if they both had a panic attack rather than just Harry. The fear of being seen so vulnerable was stronger than his anxiety. He had to be the composed one.

“Harry, listen, you need to start breathing normally. I’m going to take you away from here, but you have to calm down first.” He tried his best to sound as soft and quiet as he could. Harry didn’t respond; his breathing became even faster. His face turned towards Draco, but he wasn't really looking at him, and his whole body was shaking. Draco’s heart was going to escape his chest if he didn’t do something quickly. Harry might pass out; he knew that from his own experience. He dragged the boy to the nearest spot without any people.

“Harry, please,” he whispered, so that only Harry could hear him. “Breathe with me, okay? Look at me and breathe with me.” He didn’t want to do it, but he had to; he touched Harry’s cheek and then his chin so that the boy would focus on him and him alone. When he got his attention, Harry was trying to say something, but only gasps escaped his mouth. “Harry, you’re fine. I’m taking you away from here, okay? You need to calm down so you won’t get injured or Merlin knows what.” He started to breathe deeply, counting the breaths in and out to show Harry how it worked, and then proceeded to look into Harry's eyes, encouraging the boy to mirror the exercise. He held Harry’s hands and mindlessly started drawing circles with his thumb on one of them. He repeated the breathing technique until Harry started to breathe with him at the same tempo. He Apparated them to his flat as soon as Harry looked a bit better.

——

“Thank you,” Harry said later when they were sitting on the sofa and drinking chamomile tea.

“That's alright; you’d have done the same for me if I were in your place.” He observed Harry, looking up from his newspaper. The whole page was filled with 'cute', coupley pictures of Harry and Weasley-girl, predictions about their wedding, and letters from famous tailors who volunteered to sew the wedding dress and the suit. Most of the ideas were awful; they had absolutely no taste in fashion! Who would want to wear a fiery red dress with real lion’s hair on it? Even the Weasleys had standards. Besides, the happy couple wasn’t going to pick any of those fashion designers’ projects, for all Draco knew. Harry told him Weasley’s mother is doing all the wedding work.

“Any new scandals about me?” The other boy’s voice made him look in his direction.

“No, just people wanting to kiss your ass.”

“Nothing new then.”

They sat in silence until Harry blurted out, “They want me to become an Auror.”

“Pardon?” Draco responded, without a clue what Harry was saying.

“The Ministry,” the boy specified. “They want me to become an Auror. They said I’ll be much better there than in the Curse-Breaking department.” It was not unusual for Harry to talk a lot about his problems, but he never made himself the center of attention; he always listened to Draco rant for hours about his patients, co-workers, or something he didn't understand or wasn’t passionate about.

“Come again.”

“Robards himself came to me yesterday and offered a brief Auror training so I can become one as quickly as possible. They are still chasing some dark wizards and they need my help. I didn’t know what to say.” He sighed deeply, and his hands fell heavily into his lap. “I just... I mean - what was I supposed to tell him? That I’m not really interested in that? That I don’t want to save people anymore, that I don’t want to risk my life like that? Maybe I would have done that before I saw how manipulative they were and how they could screw me and people close to me over.” Draco put down his magazine and moved to sit beside Harry.

“Please tell me you didn’t accept the offer, because if you did, then I will be convinced that you are an awful decision-maker and a total twat.”

They’ve been here already. It was not the first time Harry mentioned that the Ministry wanted to make him a pawn in their game. They needed Harry’s fame and talent in their department. Harry usually got what he wanted; he could be assertive and intimidating if he wanted to, and with Draco's help, he knew how to word himself better to succeed. But now that the Ministry told him that if he declined their offer, they would reconsider Hermione's position at the Department of Law, Harry started to panic. He didn't want to be the reason his friend lost her job. They could probably fire Ron as well and maybe even do something to Ginny. If the Ministry knew Harry was hanging out with Draco, they would probably redo his trial from years ago and plead him guilty; Harry knew they were capable of doing so, or even worse. He didn't want to risk anyone's life.

“I didn’t!” He looked like a hurt puppy with his frown like that. “But that’s not the point,” he rested his cup of tea on the table. He started rubbing his hands together. “They said that if I won’t go with their plan, then—”

“This is bollocks, Harry! I thought you would stand up for yourself; you of all people can do that much.”

“And I did!” Harry got up from the couch, a furious and resigned expression on his face.

“Did you?” Draco got up too; he wasn’t going to speak to the boy from the couch.

“Of course I did! I told them that I’m not getting into this mess, I left the details and personal feelings out of it, but I said no.” He was pacing around the room now. Draco watched the boy pull on his green jumper in frustration. It was making Draco's head hurt.

“So what seems to be the problem?” He rubbed his temples. “And please stop circling the room.” Harry did. “Is the problem the guilt you feel? You think you should join them to save innocent lives?” Harry’s eyes said it all. Draco was right. “Haven’t you done that enough in a war and before that?!” Now Draco was getting angry. The Ministry had been pressuring Harry for years now, and he, with his Gryffindor lion heart, was blaming himself for doing what he wanted in life.

“They said that even if I pass the Curse-Breaking training, they won’t give me the job in the field.” His voice was shaking. It clearly meant a lot to him not to have a desk job, and Draco understood that; he wouldn’t have liked that either. The brunette ran his hands through his hair and pushed them back. His hair was longer now, almost like back in fourth year, falling behind his ear and a little messy. He was utterly attractive even now, frustrated, with dark circles under his eyes, his glasses slightly lopsided to the right, and his sweater creased. How could anyone resist this man? Draco knew he couldn’t. He was getting so close to Harry, and it was becoming impossible not to think about them being together and domestic with each other. He wanted to have Harry for himself, to keep him close whenever things went bad at work, whenever he couldn't sleep, when he was being too serious and killing the happy mood, when he woke up, when he was happy or just making food. He wanted to spend all his life with Harry by his side. They thought each other so much, gave each other so much comfort, and made each other happy. If Harry wasn't engaged and was interested in men, maybe then they would have had a chance of being in a relationship, and a loving one. Draco knew there was something between them, but either Harry wasn't telling him that because of his fiancée or because he truly didn't know he was attracted to men. The uncertainty was killing Draco. His crush was getting worse; his heart was aching with a fire that he never experienced. If he could, he would choose to feel nothing at all, so he could never get hurt by his own emotions.

“You have to get out of there. What other choice do you see? I know it’s totally your decision, and it only depends on you if you want to listen to my advice and your own heart and get this over with. I hate seeing you like this; all it does is make you grumpy and less fun to be around, especially when you come here and throw hexes at my wall. It depresses me, and I don’t need more depressing stuff in my life.” Draco felt a little guilty about making it sound like it was about him, but he hoped it would have some effect on the other boy as Harry always seemed concerned about his well-being.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do.” Harry murmured, sitting back down and taking his cup in his hands. Draco used a non-verbal spell to quickly heat up Harry’s tea without the boy noticing. He was too stressed out to care what Draco was doing. A little smile appeared on his face when the warm liquid touched his lips, and Draco smiled at that sight.

They spent the rest of the night reading books on separate couches.

——

“What’s wrong?” Ginny’s concerned voice snapped Harry out of his thoughts about how miserable (and drunk) he felt, how awful his training was, and how all he wanted to do was cry, maybe curl up on Draco's sofa with more alcohol, listening to Draco's soft voice reading yet another muggle book and leaving funny comments from time to time. Sadly, he was sitting in his kitchen with a bottle of firewhiskey, trying to drink his sadness away.

“Nothing.” He muttered, more to the bottle than to his fiancée’s face. He couldn’t bring himself to care. He didn’t feel like talking to Ginny about all of this. He couldn’t form sentences; his tongue was twisting and his head was pulsing. Apart from that, he knew she wouldn’t understand him and would try to make him feel better by telling him what she thought he wanted to hear, not what he needed to hear.

“Why are you so cold towards me these days?” She raised her voice, adopting a more accusing tone. "Yesterday you didn't even come to bed; you fell asleep on the couch. And last Friday, you canceled our dinner date. You never want to talk about the wedding planning; you seem like you don't even want it to happen anymore. All I got from you this morning was 'gotta go', a kiss on the head, and not even a 'thank you' for making you breakfast. On top of it all, you never share your feelings with me, and I'm here to help you, Harry." Harry looked up at her. He did feel guilty about all the things she mentioned, but at the same time, he thought she was being a bit too harsh on him.

Ginny's lip trembled, but she stayed composed in the midst of the whole situation. “Is it because of Malfoy? I know you're seeing him again; I'm not blind or stupid. What did he do to you? I bet he’s telling you to break things off with me; he wants you all to himself.” Harry gasped; he was drunk, but not too drunk to understand what she was saying. Ginny was furious, though her expression didn’t fully show it; it was only in her eyes and raised eyebrows that Harry could see the hurt and anger.

“What?!” Harry opened his eyes wide in shock. He swallowed thickly. “I—Are... We—What?!” Harry couldn’t form any kind of coherent response. “Of course not!” His breathing began to quicken. Ginny gave him an odd look that he couldn’t decipher. She threw a piece of paper on the table so that Harry could see its contents. He immediately glanced at it. He took a deep breath again. There, in front of him, was a moving photo of Draco pulling Harry closer to himself with an amused smile on his face, both of them giggling. The blush on both of their cheeks was clearly visible as they looked away from each other.

It was the day they had an ice skating competition. Harry suddenly didn’t know how to breathe. He didn’t know they were being watched back then. He didn’t think the reporters were following him even to muggle parts of London. He remembered that day; it was about two weeks ago. He and Draco had tried some new ice cream flavors from their favorite spot, went home to get warm, cooked vegetarian lasagna, talked about new Quidditch teams, drank some mulled wine, shared stories from their first year at Hogwarts, and laughed a lot. They ended up falling asleep by the fire, apart from each other, but after Draco woke up screaming from a terrible nightmare involving fire, Harry had taken him into his arms, put out the fire, and led Draco to his room where they fell asleep holding onto each other, which no longer felt weird. This day made Harry experience so many emotions at once, yet it was also one of his favorite days ever.

Harry felt anger building up in him. He wanted to cry; he wanted to scream. His meeting with the blonde boy was supposed to be a private moment between just him and Draco. No one else’s. Harry hated being famous. He hated it passionately, especially today. “Draco has done nothing wrong!” He screamed, unintentionally. Ginny had no right to accuse Draco of such things; Harry had told her a million times about Draco becoming one of his best friends and how much he had changed. “And I’m allowed not to tell you things I don’t want to share with you.”

Judging by Ginny’s expression, she hadn’t seen that coming. Harry stood up, ready to apparate away from here. He wanted to be alone, somewhere where he didn’t have to deal with the red-haired woman glaring at him.

“We’re getting married for Merlin's sake!” Ginny shouted, her eyes beginning to water. “We’re getting married, and you don’t trust me!” She stood up too. Now they were both glaring at each other, the kitchen table serving as a safe space between them. "I thought everything was going well; I thought you loved me. Everything was like a fairy tale, until you suddenly became almost repellent towards me.”

“That’s not true! You just don’t like Draco, and you’re making things up!” Harry took a few steps back and brought the whiskey bottle to his mouth to take another gulp of it. "And 'a fairy tale,' Ginny? My life is not a fairy tale and it will never be one! If you expected to marry a prince charming or a hero, then you chose the wrong guy." He felt his throat burning and another warm sensation spreading through his whole body as he took another shot of the alcohol in his hand. He began to have trouble standing straight; his legs felt like jelly.

“I have my reasons to hate Malfoy, and you of all people should understand that!” Ginny snapped. “I didn't expect my life to be a bloody fairy tale, Harry; it's an expression! I meant that we were doing so well; we were so in love... well, I was, am still.” With a flick of her wand, Ginny managed to snap the bottle from Harry’s hands. Her eyes filled with tears.

“What the fuc-” Harry started, but he didn’t get the chance to finish because Ginny continued to shout at him.

“You spend all of your free time with him! Don't you? Every time you said you were meeting up with Seamus, Neville, or Dean, or telling me that your training would be finishing late at night, you were with him." She was smart, Harry had to give her that. "Maybe you should marry him instead of me! If he’s so precious to you, more trustworthy than I am, the woman you decided to propose to, then go ahead!” She threw the whiskey bottle out of the window, hearing it crash on the concrete of the yard. Now that Ginny found out about him and Draco and was incredibly rude about it, he couldn't take it anymore.

Harry apparated to the one place he wanted to be—Draco’s flat. He felt dizzy as he landed, collapsing fully on the floor of Draco’s living room. His head felt heavier with each attempt to stand up.

“H-Harry!” Draco’s terrified voice reached Harry’s ears. "You bloody idiot, what have you done?" Harry couldn’t understand any words after that; he heard beeping in his ears and the loud thumping of his heart. He felt himself being lifted and sat down somewhere soft. His eyes remained closed; the room was too bright for his liking. Surprisingly, the lights dimmed slightly, prompting Harry to open his eyes. He saw a fuzzy image of Draco on his knees. Harry blinked a few times to see him clearer. Draco’s face showed a mixture of worry and concentration. He was holding one of Harry’s arms, which was dripping in blood. How had he not felt that? Draco had his wand poised over the cuts, murmuring spells that Harry did not recognize. The blood vanished, leaving Harry’s arm with only a few visible cuts that began to close and turn lighter, resembling healing burns. Harry’s headache worsened, causing him to shut his eyes and let out a growl.

“Drink that,” Draco commanded, placing a small, cold object in Harry’s hand as he finished healing. Sensing Harry was awake, Harry closed his hand around it—it was a phial with some potion. “Harry.” A soft voice reached his ears as a light hand landed on his back. “You’ll feel way better, just drink it.” There was something comforting in Draco’s touch, something that made Harry trust him with the potion. Harry opened his eyes and looked at Draco’s face, which was in front of him. They stayed silent. Harry glanced at the phial in his hand. Draco met his gaze and nodded slightly. Harry uncorked the bottle, put it to his lips, and drank. His body immediately responded: his headache eased, his dizziness faded, and his muscles regained strength.

“Better?” Draco withdrew his hand from Harry’s back, and Harry already missed its presence.

“Yeah,” Harry whispered. Draco didn’t look away from Harry for a moment. He appeared sad but relieved, shoulders relaxing as he rolled down the sleeves of his dark blue nightgown.

“What happened?” Draco’s voice retained its softness since Harry had apparated. Harry wasn’t sure he wanted to talk about it, especially with Draco. Right now, he just wanted to be near him.

“If you don’t want to talk, then…” Harry hesitated.

“NO! I-I just... I don’t know.” Harry let his hands fall between his legs. He looked around the room and realized it wasn’t the room he remembered from Draco’s flat. It had a wooden desk and chair, several art pieces on the gray wall, many cupboards, and a desk with a cauldron. Harry was sitting on a comfortable sofa in the corner of the room, and Draco was right in front of him, still crouched on his knees.

“It’s fine. The guest room is…” Draco paused, his tone slightly disappointed that Harry wasn’t sharing his story of the night, of why he was such a mess. “Just tell me if you need anything.” Draco gave him a small smile, but Harry felt his chest tighten. Draco looked so sad; it pained Harry to see him like that. He reached out for Draco’s wrist and pulled him towards himself. Shock registered on Draco’s face; he didn’t say anything, just stared at Harry with a puzzled look.

“Tell me what happened.” Harry’s voice was softer now, convinced that if Draco was feeling gloomy, he must have a good reason for it. He remembered how happy Draco had been just last week when they went ice skating together.

“Go to sleep, Harry. I’m sure you’ve had a worse day than I have.”

“But…” Harry tightened his grip on Draco’s hand.

“Go to sleep, Harry.” Draco’s tone turned more commanding. He tried to pull away, but Harry wasn’t letting go anytime soon. He couldn’t sleep knowing something terrible had happened to Draco. He wouldn’t be able to rest well if Draco had done everything to help him, and Harry hadn’t even tried to return the favor.

“Draco…” Harry stood up, hoping to be taken more seriously. “I can see you’re hurting.” Draco’s face remained impassive.

“It’s nothing. You’re more sensitive now; it’s one of the effects of the potion.” Draco withdrew his hand and stepped back. “I’m going back to my bedroom. If you need water or tea, you know where to find them.” He turned to leave. Harry sighed but let him exit the room, following soon after, walking to the guest room and getting under the warm covers.

No matter how hard he tried, Harry couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned, searching for a comfortable position, but none seemed to help. He was afraid to close his eyes, not wanting to encounter nightmares or question his existence and life choices. Amidst the mess of his life, his brain played tricks on him, blurring the line between reality and imagination. He grew increasingly confused and frustrated with his emotions toward Draco and men in general.

Over the past week, he had found himself looking at men—different men—on the streets, in the Ministry, trying to gauge if any of them sparked his interest, if he could ever be physically attracted to men. He recalled staring at a slender, brown-haired man who worked at a coffee shop in the city center. Initially, Harry had thought him attractive, but when the man removed his apron, revealing well-defined muscles straining against his shirt, lean yet strong arms, and a breathtaking smile, Harry couldn’t tear his gaze away. Another time, he caught himself staring at a tall, blonde man in the park. He was of average build, with the bluest eyes Harry had ever seen—like a stormy sea, captivating and deep. Harry found himself so engrossed that he missed the man asking for directions to a nearby gay bar. When he finally gathered himself to respond, the man winked and flashed him a smile, causing Harry’s cheeks to flush. These feelings were new and confusing; he didn’t know what to make of them. One thing he was certain of: he still loved Ginny. He found Draco incredibly attractive and wanted to spend all his time with him. And he knew that certain men made him blush. That wasn’t much to go on—how could he make sense of it all? He didn’t have the energy to dwell on it, yet the curiosity gnawed at him. Finding the answer to one problem might at least ease his stress about that aspect of his life.

Finally, after what felt like ages of lying awake and pondering, Harry fell asleep.

——

Harry woke up screaming. Images of Remus falling into a hole in the ground, to be devoured by killer wolves, still flashed in his head. He saw little Teddy trying to hold onto his dark-haired mom, their hands slipping from each other, and Tonks falling through the hole after Remus. Tears streamed down Harry’s cheeks as he repeated, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," like a mantra under his breath. He shut his eyes and covered his face with the blanket. Time seemed to either stop or stretch on endlessly; Harry couldn’t tell. All he felt was overwhelming sadness and anger building up inside him to an extreme. His chest felt like it was being pricked by thousands of invisible needles, and his entire body was heavy, as though weighed down by stones. He couldn’t move. He only snapped out of his grief when he felt strong arms around him—one around his waist and the other gently caressing the back of his head. It felt warm and comforting. Harry surrendered to the solace Draco offered. He lifted his head from the covers and saw Draco holding him in his arms. Harry never would have imagined sleeping in Malfoy's flat and finding comfort in Draco—Draco freaking Malfoy. It was unexpected to see the usually composed blonde being even more sensitive than usual. Sure, they had fallen asleep holding each other countless times by now, but it had never been this deliberate.

Harry began to calm his breathing and grasped Draco’s arm, squeezing it. Draco responded immediately, locking eyes with Harry. His eyes were red and teary. Harry only now realized how warm Draco’s body was and how much he was trembling.

"Dr-D-Draco," Harry stammered, shaking himself.

"No," Draco whispered tearfully. It was unusual to see Draco like this—so vulnerable, except for their sixth year in the bathroom and a few times in France. Harry looked Draco over. The boy was clad in a burgundy silk nightgown, likely wearing nothing underneath as part of his chest was visible, even though the lights were dim, and Harry couldn’t see much. Maybe it was for the best, as it made him feel uneasy. Part of him desperately wanted to comfort Draco, while the other couldn’t stop imagining what his body looked like under the thin clothing. Was it as pale as the rest of his body? As slim and muscled as Harry imagined? Would seeing it arouse him as much as a girl's body had? Harry hated himself for these thoughts now, when he was supposed to act like a decent human being. But he couldn’t help his curiosity.

“I don’t want to talk,” Draco mumbled, burying his face in the crook of Harry’s neck. Harry suddenly felt warmth and a strange, exhilarating feeling in his stomach. He wanted to hold Draco and never let go, to shield him and assure him that he’d make all the bad things disappear. He wanted to do more than sit there and be useless.

“Draco, please, talk to me,” Harry whispered into Draco’s ear. He tried to push his own problems aside, but he was still shaken by his dream and the lingering guilt. The man in his arms made it harder to think. No one had ever made him feel the way Draco did—angry, sad, and happy all at once. Harry hated it.

“Just let me stay with you.” Harry felt Draco’s hot breath on his neck, sending shivers down his body. He shifted in place; his body no longer felt like stone. Without much thought, he wrapped his arms around Draco and shifted so they could both lie down. He had never felt such closeness with anyone, not even Ginny, his almost-wife—they had kissed, made love, and shared everything. Yet Draco made Harry feel more than he could express in words. He felt understood and less alone in this mess. He snuggled closer to Draco, even though it didn’t feel casual or wise; something inside him told him it was right, so he did it. Acting on impulse was one of his specialties.

They both breathed heavily, clinging to each other without any thought of letting go. Harry didn’t even realize when he fell asleep with Draco’s tear-stained face on his chest, the scent of Draco’s skin in his nostrils—manly with a fruity hint, Harry thought it suited Draco well—and the sensation of almost their entire bodies touching. It was the best way to fall asleep.

Chapter Text

Harry wasn’t proud of it, but the next morning he just slipped out of Draco’s flat before the other boy woke up. He didn’t know what was happening between them and how to deal with it, and he definitely didn’t want to go back to Grimmauld Place to face Ginny, so there was only one place to go: the flat Ron and Hermione were renting since they moved out from Sirius’ old place where all of them were living together since the war.

It was still early when he got there, but luckily Hermione was awake and making breakfast as he arrived, so he joined her and Ron, who woke up later for the meal, without saying a word apart from muttering the odd ‘thank you’ when Hermione poured him some more coffee and Ron handed him the eggs. He tried his best not to look up, pretending to be focused on his food, but he couldn’t help but notice the worried glances between his friends. Hermione tried to make conversation a few times, but Ron was too busy eating to give a reply beyond a shrug or a nod, and Harry was hardly in the mood to talk.

“If you could just tell us what’s wrong …” Hermione said softly. Harry sighed. He knew he would have to say something eventually, but he didn’t know what to say. He definitely didn’t want his friends to feel sorry for him. “Is it something to do with Ginny? I talked to her on the Floo this morning, and she didn’t seem too happy…”

“We had an argument last night,” Harry muttered. He really didn’t want to talk about this. Especially with not only Hermione, but Ginny’s very own brother.

“About what?” Ron asked through a mouthful of ham. Hermione gave him a frown.

“It’s nothing,” he lied. What could he say? Ron just shrugged, but Hermione was still looking at him with that look Harry knew all too well, and he knew he’d have to talk to her properly before he left.

“She said something about you not sleeping at home…” Hermione mentioned carefully. Harry shook his head and leaned back in his chair. He didn’t like where this was headed.

“Blimey, Harry, you aren’t cheating on my sister, are you?”

“God, no!” Harry responded immediately, seeing Ron’s shocked face. Well, he didn’t really cheat on Ginny, did he? Sleeping in someone else’s arms isn’t cheating. They didn’t even kiss. Why was he even thinking about kissing Draco? Well, to be fair, he's been thinking about it for a while now; he couldn't stop himself. “I just couldn’t stay there, so I went over to Draco’s place and spent the night there.” He admitted as he was sure now that Hermione talked to Ginny, she already knew about Harry still hanging out with the blonde.

“You slept at Malfoy’s place?” Ron looked horrified, and even Hermione looked appalled, even though she was hiding it pretty well.

“It isn’t as bad as it sounds,” Harry muttered, regretting mentioning it at all.

“I dunno, it sounds pretty bad to me,” Ron said, pretending to vomit. Hermione frowned at him again, but Harry knew she wasn’t too keen on the idea either.

“I know you don’t like him and I understand it, but he’s changed a lot and we’re friends. I told you that many times. I needed a place to stay, so I went over to his flat, that’s all. We only slept, that's all.” Harry was getting agitated.

“What do you mean you only slept? What else would you do? You aren’t even gay, Harry! And who would want to have sex with Malfoy? Ew.” Ron pulled a disgusted face. Harry looked away, feeling blush creeping up his cheeks. He knew one person who at least thought about it a few times. He couldn’t help but remember the flash of Draco’s pale chest, the way the other boy’s nightgown hung on his frame, the grip of his hands, the scent of his skin and hair… He had to stop thinking about it. He didn't want to admit to himself something he was too scared of. He just wasn't. The thought of being honest about all the feelings he has been feeling for the past two or so years made him want to jump off a cliff.

Harry looked at his friend, startled, when Ron spoke again, only to find his friend staring at him with wide eyes. “You didn’t, did you?”

“Didn’t what?”

“Sleep with him. Like, you know…” Ron trailed off and made an eyebrow move that could only indicate one thing. Harry’s jaw dropped. Why was Ron contemplating whether he had or would want to have sex with Draco? Was Harry even more blinded by his own fear than Ron was oblivious to certain stuff?

“No, of course I didn’t!” But I thought about it, Harry's mind added. He was getting more stressed out about finally saying what has been hiding in his mind for a long time. He didn't want to come clean even to himself, especially to himself. He knew it would only make all of his problems grow bigger and he did not need that to happen. He pushed away all the thoughts that were indicating THIS ONE THING.

“Thank Merlin.” His best friend exhaled, digging into his breakfast again. Harry had only eaten half of his plateful, but he didn’t feel like eating any more. This whole situation was making him feel so uncomfortable. He was in love with Ginny and was getting married to her. They were planning to send out the invitations within a week. Seriously, what was wrong with him? He should be happy, he was getting what he had always wanted: family, love. He would have kids, and hopefully he would be a good father. He was getting everything he ever dreamed of, with who he had been with and who he had wanted for years now, he was getting married to the girl who had been an amazing friend to him for ages, someone who he could talk to and play Quidditch with and enjoy himself with, someone who had a lovely family he was almost already a part of. Yet something wasn’t right. Well, a lot of things weren't. Everything was going fucking terrible. Harry just couldn't unpack the content of his mind right now; he would most certainly break down and wouldn't know what to do about the events that would approach after that.

He wanted everything to go as planned. He would go home, apologize to Ginny, send the invitations out, go to the robe fittings to the Burrow, check on the menu and the decoration and the guest list, and finally get married. Then he would spend the Christmas holidays with Ginny, just the two of them, cozy at home, enjoying their days as newlyweds. They would have a New Year’s Eve reunion party with all their friends, and he’d finally start work in January after months of training. It would all be alright. It had to be. He will get over THIS THING with Draco, he will. He was way too scared of his feelings towards the boy. Ginny should be able to take Harry's mind off the blonde; Harry just needed to marry her and start sleeping with her again. That had to put him back in the right mind.

——————————-

“Don’t mind Ron, he’s just being childish.” Hermione’s voice caused Harry to snap out of his thoughts.

“It’s okay,” he said with a forced smile. Hermione sighed. Her relationship with Ron was great, but still very much like it was at Hogwarts, her correcting him and telling him off for things he said and did, almost acting like a second mother to him a lot of the time.

“No, it’s not. I’m serious, Harry, I can see that something’s bothering you, and I wanted to talk to you properly without making a joke out of everything. What is it?”

“I’m alright, I swear, Hermione. Thank you for being concerned, but you don’t need to worry about me. Yes, we had an argument with Ginny, but I’ll go home after this and apologize to her, and we’ll be fine. I’m fine.” He could tell he hadn’t fully convinced her, but she gave him a smile and changed the topic, and Harry was glad to think about something else.

Ron left for work a bit later, but Harry stayed for another few hours, listening to everything Hermione had to say about work and books she was reading and plans she had, and how excited she was about going on a holiday with Ron, and telling Hermione about the wedding plans and how he was looking forward to starting his job next year.

He left before lunchtime, heading back to Grimmauld Place, picking up some of Ginny’s favorite takeaway on the way, along with a bunch of flowers. They were going to sort this out with Ginny. They had to. One can’t just cancel a wedding less than a month before it, can they? And he didn’t want to cancel it, right? Things were just seeming a little less charming than other days, but that didn’t mean he had to bail out on his fiancée.

As Harry got home, he noticed another pair of shoes in the hallway, a pair of bright yellow converses with flowers painted all over them which could only belong to one person, so that meant Ginny wasn’t alone. The door of their bedroom was ajar, and indeed, the two girls were sitting there, Luna braiding Ginny’s hair and listening to a funny story the redhead was telling her. Harry awkwardly stopped in his doorway. It was his home, but he felt strange interrupting them, and he didn’t quite know what to say to his soon-to-be wife.

“Go on if you'd like, but we aren’t alone anymore.” Luna said to Ginny without even turning around, and to be honest, Harry wasn’t even surprised. Somehow the blonde always seemed to know where he was, what he was doing, and how he was feeling, which he had kind of gotten used to, but it still made him a little uncomfortable sometimes. Ginny looked back at him over the top of her shoulder. Her face was unreadable, she didn’t look angry, but maybe she was just concealing it well, even though Harry knew that wasn’t his fiancée’s forte.

“Nice flowers,” Luna added with a smile as she passed Harry. He gave her a nervous smile and entered the bedroom, sitting down on the couch facing Ginny.

“Look…” he started, stammering for the moment, then paused, pinching his nose. He should have gone through what he wanted to say. “You know I’m not good at this, Gin, and I’m sorry about it. But all I really want to say is that I’m sorry and I should have talked to you properly, I should have been here for you. I’m probably the worst boyfriend or fiancée ever, but I love you, and I really want this to work. We just need to both be a little more patient and discuss things, and it’s going to be alright. I want it to be alright. This should be our month, I don’t want to spend it fighting about petty things. I want us to be happy.”

“Harry…” Ginny sighed. “I love you too, and you know it, and there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you. But please, just talk to me, alright? You can tell me what’s wrong, you need to get used to this. I know you went without having anyone to talk to about your feelings for most of your life, but I’m here for you. And I want it to work too.” She gave him a warm smile.

Harry felt relieved and laid the flowers on the couch, standing up and greeting Ginny with open arms, pulling her close to himself and burying his face in her red hair that was shining in the sunlight pouring in through the window. They were going to be okay. Everything was going to be okay.

———-

As it happened, nothing was okay. They had two other rows just that week, one again about Harry ‘hiding his feelings’ as Ginny put it, and another one about whether inviting Draco was a good idea. Ginny ended up tearing the invitation in half but Harry sent it anyway after he cast a reparo on it.

Then there were the fittings which should have been fun, after all Harry had been spending almost all of his holidays at the Weasley house for years now, but Molly kept asking him about what he would want to name his children with Ginny, and even though he was mostly happy about the wedding and becoming part of the Weasley family, the thought of having kids, especially lots of kids scared him, and the Weasley matriarch seemed quite keen on the thought. But at least she made them beautiful wedding robes, or at least Harry was pleased with what he got, and Hermione fell in love with Ginny’s dress, which made Molly promise to make her a similar one for her own wedding.

Of course this wasn’t all, they had to work on planning the decorations (thank Merlin Luna was happy to help with that), the music (Ginny wanted Harry to get the Weird Sisters to play live, saying that he should use his fame for something, but he hated doing that, it was bad enough to put up with everyone giving him special treatment every day, he didn’t want to take advantage of it, and he especially didn’t want any of it on his wedding day, so they ended up inviting some local band Dean knew which the redhead girl was grumpy about), the food (of course Molly already had the whole menu planned, but she kept changing things, and people kept popping up promising to bring some cake and munchies), they worried about the weather coming up with the best way to use heating and waterproofing charms, and pretty much everything else that one could worry about, and Harry had quite had enough of worrying.

It was only the 10th which meant they still had ten more days, everything was perfectly planned, but Ginny and Molly and even Hermione kept finding mistakes in the plans, things they wanted to change for better, last minute invitations were sent, and when for once they weren’t worrying about anything, Ginny was getting flowers and all kinds of unnecessary accessories for their wedding night, and Molly was obsessing over soon having new ginger babies in the family (unless of course they inherited Harry’s dark hair). And Harry was tired of it. He just wanted to go at least half a day without talking about the wedding, and fortunately he had just the friend for that.
——————-

“Wow, this was the best day I’ve had in weeks now,” Harry exclaimed, leaning back on the sofa. It really was. Draco and he went out to a muggle restaurant the blond had found, and they had a delicious meal. Afterwards, they spent hours just strolling down the streets of outer muggle London, talking, both of them enjoying being away from the noise and the crowds before retreating to Draco’s flat.

“Wedding not going as planned?” Draco asked with a raised eyebrow. They avoided the topic most of the day; the blond seemed a little uncomfortable talking about it, and Harry was more than glad to forget about it for as long as he could.

“Depends on what you count as going as planned.” Harry groaned. “Yes, everything is going the way Ginny and Molly want, and we are Apparating to Shell Cottage every day to check whether everything is okay, so yeah, it’s going as planned. Apparently, it will be the most beautiful wedding ever, and it’s going to be perfect—the perfect hero of the perfect wizarding world marrying his perfect wife before going off and making lots of perfect ginger hero-babies, or at least that’s what we are expected to do according to Molly. But also yes, it’s a fucking mess and I’m so tired of all of it I just want to get done with it.”

“I’m sure it will go well, and once it’s over and you don’t need to worry about anything, you two will be happy,” Draco said carefully, giving the brunette a forced smile. He didn’t really know what else to say. He could hardly say ‘just cancel the wedding already and break up with the stupid Weasley girl,’ could he? But it was paining him. Not only the fact that Harry was getting married, but the fact that the boy wasn’t happy about it. Draco wanted him to be happy. Even if that meant that he was marrying Ginny.

“Yeah, I guess…” Harry didn’t sound too convinced, but Draco didn’t think much of it. He was just stressed. Even if the boy was attracted to men, he could never love Draco. Besides, he was just a few days away from marrying the love of his life (according to the Daily Prophet, at least), why wouldn’t he be happy? He might worry and be tired of all the planning, but that was only temporary, and everything would be fine. Of course, everything being fine for Harry and Ginny meant nothing would be fine for Draco, but he was used to that.

“Do you have any more of that firewhiskey?”

“Do you really think that’s a good idea?” Draco asked with a raised eyebrow. Harry had downed quite a few shots throughout the afternoon, and he wasn’t drunk yet, but he was definitely tipsy, and it was probably a good time to stop drinking. Draco himself only had a couple of glasses of wine; he drank it more for the taste, and he hated it when he couldn’t control himself, so he always paid attention to stopping in time. Well, almost always...

“Of course it is,” Harry contested, and stood up, or rather tried to stand up, ending up stumbling and grabbing the blond boy’s shoulder to hold himself up and steady himself before making his way to the kitchen to get the bottle of alcohol. Draco just shook his head and helped the boy sit back down, as he seemed way too dizzy to control his steps and stay in balance. The brunette downed more than half of what was left in the bottle in one go before Draco could snatch it from him. “Hey! Give it back!”

“Harry, that’s more than enough for today, you are getting drunk. Alcohol solves nothing and you’ll just end up with a nice hangover. Anyway, you need to get home safe and without Ginny getting too pissed at you.”

“Fuck Ginny,” Harry hiccupped. Draco’s eyes widened. He could never tell whether alcohol made people say the truth or utter bullshit as their brain wasn’t functioning properly, but whichever this was, it came as a shock to him. Maybe it wasn’t only the stress of the wedding. Maybe their relationship wasn’t really working, and that’s why Harry kept showing up after rows and at weird times because something was off. Maybe it wasn’t just the usual bickering and arguing of a couple getting married. “Dra-” Harry hiccupped again. “Dra…c…o… fuck I can’t speak,” he slurred. The blond boy pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn’t like where this was headed. “I’m going to call you Dray, okay?” Harry announced. “Hey, that rhymed!”

“Harry, you need to get your shit together, okay?” Draco said, cutting him off. “I’m going to make you a potion that will sober you up real quick, and then you can go home. Stay here, I’ll be back in a sec, it doesn’t take long to make.”

“No, don’t go away!” Harry protested as Draco stood up, reaching out and clutching the blond boy’s hand.

“Fine,” Draco said with a sigh, and sat back onto the couch. How could he say no to those eyes? Harry seemed content with this, but his hand remained on top of Draco’s, their fingers intertwined.

“Hey, can I stay for the night?” Harry asked after a few minutes of silence.

“No. No way, Harry, that wouldn’t be a good idea.”

“Why?”

“It just wouldn’t,” Draco said in a tight voice. “You are going home. I’m going to get you some coffee and some water, that should help a bit if you don’t want the potion.”

“Don’t go.”

“I’m only going to the kitchen, Harry, okay? I’ll be back in a minute.” He pulled his hand away and stood up, walking over to the kitchen after staring at the brunette for a few seconds, wondering whether he was alright.

He poured some water for Harry and started making some coffee, staring out of the window into the darkness of the night while it brewed. No, a drunk, touchy-feely Harry spending the night definitely wasn’t a good idea. He would fix him a drink and send him home by Floo. Apparating wasn’t safe enough; there was no way Harry could apparate even to the next room without splinching himself.

When Draco returned to the living room, a glass of water and a steaming cup of coffee in his hands, he found Harry asleep on the couch. Sighing, he put the drinks down in front of the boy, deciding to let him sleep for half an hour or so in the hope that it would help, and retreated to the armchair in the corner of the room with a book in his hand.

Harry indeed was a little better when he woke up later that evening. He was still drunk and dizzy and speaking rubbish, but he let Draco feed him some food, and he drank his water, and he was okay with going home, even though he did ask whether he could stay over again. But the answer was still no, so he stepped into the fireplace with a handful of Floo powder and a grimace on his face, mumbling something about not wanting to go home before calling out ‘Grimmauld Place 12’ and disappearing in the flash of green flames.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Ginny screamed as soon as Harry retrieved his footing (meaning he slumped against the wall before he could topple over), stepping or rather stumbling out of the fireplace.

“What?” Harry slurred. He didn’t think anything was wrong. Well, nothing apart from the fact that he didn’t really want to be home with Ginny, and he had to do his best to fight down the urge of stepping back into the fireplace and going back to Draco’s place.

“Seriously, Harry-” Ginny seemed to be lost for words. “I swear, I just can’t. You really need to stop this, it isn’t okay.”

“Stop what?”

“YOU KNOW VERY WELL WHAT!” Ginny shouted. “Seeing Malfoy. And getting drunk. I think he’s a bad influence, and you really need to quit alcohol. Merlin, I thought I knew the man I was marrying.”

“You don’t have to, you know.” I have someone else I want to spend all my days with.

“What do you mean?” The redhead’s voice was cold as ice. Harry still wasn’t 100% sure of his surroundings and what his fiancée thought the problem was or anything, but he knew something was off. Something was really off. So he just walked out of the living room, mumbling something about feeling tired and going to bed, and headed upstairs towards their shared bedroom, staggering up the stairs.

The next morning arrived with rain and a terrible headache for Harry, along with silent treatment from his fiancée. Harry guessed he deserved it.

A few hours later, after he got himself together, took some hangover potion, and even the rain had stopped falling, Ginny still hadn’t spared him even a fleeting glimpse that day.

“Gin, can we talk, please? I’m sorry if I said or did something… but I swear I don’t remember what happened. Please. Just talk to me!” He pleaded as soon as Ginny got off the Floo with Hermione. She had avoided him all morning; she got up before he did, made breakfast but had already finished eating by the time Harry arrived downstairs and was busy doing the washing up. After that, she went out to do the shopping, then she had a bath, then she sat around reading her book, not looking up even when Harry was talking to her, before disappearing to talk to Hermione.

“What?” Ginny asked, turning around, pretending that she didn’t hear Harry’s words. “Were you saying…?”

“Ginny, could you just please stop pretending like you can’t hear what I’m saying?” Harry asked, raising his voice. “We’re getting married, for Merlin’s sake. We can’t go on like this, not talking about problems.”

“Oh, are we now?” Ginny snorted, rolling her eyes, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“What?” Harry asked, confused. “Of course, we are… what do you even mean?”

“You don’t remember anything from last night?”

“What? What’s that got to do with anything?” Harry couldn’t understand what was going on.

“Just answer the question.” Ginny’s tone was cold as ice again.

“I-” Harry stammered. “I don’t know. I remember being at Draco’s. And coming home. And falling over on my way to the bedroom.” This wasn’t the complete truth, though he wasn’t lying either. He did remember having a sort-of-row with Ginny, but not what it was about. He also remembered not wanting to come home, but staying at Draco’s place. He had to admit, he wouldn’t have minded if he had chosen to act on the latter; at least he would probably be home still instead of having this uncomfortable conversation. Home. When did Draco's place become 'home' in his mind?

“Convenient.” Ginny said, rolling her eyes.

“What do you mean ‘convenient’? What’s convenient about it? I was drunk, Gin, what were you expecting?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe you not to be drunk and talk bullshit?!” She stormed out of the room. Or rather would have stormed, if Harry hadn’t caught her arm. “Let me go!”

“No. Not until you tell me what the fuck is wrong with you!” Harry shouted. “Look, I’m sorry if I said something, I was drunk, I didn’t mean it, but please just tell me, let me apologize and we can forget about this whole thing! There’s no need for you to be difficult!”

“I’m the one being difficult?” Ginny let out a short, disbelieving laugh.

“Yes! If you could just tell me…”

“Just forget about it.” Ginny said, rolling her eyes, shoving Harry off, freeing her arm, and walking out. Harry just sighed and sat back on the couch. Nine more days until the wedding. He had nine days to make it up to Ginny for whatever he said, and he didn’t have a clue where to start.

But in the end, it worked out. Ginny seemed to have forgotten about the conflict, and Harry really did his best not to instigate arguments and avoid whiskey, and his fiancée was a little more patient and open. Of course, this didn’t mean they didn’t have rows every second day, but at least they were talking. And Harry tried hard to turn every thought of Draco, or thought of going over to the boy, into make-out sessions with Ginny that led to bed. Harry wished he could say it worked and he didn't imagine a lean, flat-chested body, silver blond hair, and grey eyes whenever he had sex with his fiancée.

There was a specific one time when he just couldn't lie to himself anymore. He was lying in bed at five in the morning, not being able to sleep after the night of fun with Ginny. He was thinking about how both Draco and Ginny made him feel and how he reacted to them. One of them was definitely standing out from the other as he remembered Hermione's words, while she was talking about Ron: "It's the way he makes me feel, you know, I can feel it in my whole body. It's like sparks, even after all these years I still feel the same teenage joy when I kiss him, or look at him. He annoys me, but I love him. We make each other better people. I can't imagine sharing my life with anyone but him. We went through too much shit together, we just get each other."

Harry came to a few realizations: he definitely wasn't straight, he was in love with the idea of Ginny, not her, and most importantly, he fancied Draco Malfoy. He really did. All of him. It scared Harry; he finally came clean to himself and it indeed ruined everything that was about to happen.

Harry was afraid of this revelation. He simply could not be… and with DRACO? Everyone expected him to marry Ginny; he himself even expected that from himself. He had to go along with the wedding for reasons. He needed this marriage. It would get better after the wedding. He'd fall in love with Ginny and he would get Draco out of his head. It would work.

Harry cried that morning and decided to visit Seamus, who occupied Harry with showing him new drinks at his pub and feeding Harry some of his experimental food. It wasn't bad, to Harry's surprise; it actually tasted pretty darn good. He even asked for more of the tasty creamy pasta with mushrooms, vegetables, and vegetarian sausage. Food always seemed to lift up Harry's mood—food and alcohol.

He spent the whole day helping Seamus out in the pub, hanging out with him, talking about life, until Dean Apparated in front of them, walked over to Seamus, and planted a kiss on his lips. It made both Harry and Seamus blush, for different reasons of course. Harry didn't know they were together; he didn't know they were gay. Actually, Dean explained to Harry that he was bisexual, which meant that he was attracted to both men and women. He said that smiling lovingly at Seamus and adding, "but of course, my heart belongs to this beautiful man," which again, made Seamus blush and roll his eyes. Harry felt like he shouldn't be looking at them; it was way too intimate. They were both so in love, Harry felt like a third wheel. He was happy for them though.

That whole situation made Harry think, and after a longer talk with both of his friends, he came to the conclusion that he felt the same as Dean. Both boys congratulated him and told him they knew this all along, saying they could see the way he was looking at Cedric back in the fourth year, which made Harry growl at them. He did not share his feelings towards Draco as he didn't see any sense in it. He was getting married to Ginny, and he was planning on falling in love with her anyway.

The next few days, Harry spent helping with last-minute wedding preparations. He tried to make Ginny and himself happy. He believed they would get to the point where both of them would be madly in love. They had to.

**********

The day of the wedding was a beautiful day, even Draco agreed on this, despite loathing everything else about it.

It might have been the second half of December, but the sun was shining, and simple fur-lined coats or robes were enough to keep the cold out. Even if someone was cold, the heating charms held, and the tent was warm and cozy, packed with food, candles, and people chattering excitedly.

Shell Cottage itself was off the premises for the time before the wedding, as it was where Ginny was getting prepared in the company of her mother, her best man, Ron, and the two bridesmaids, her best friends, Hermione and Luna, who were more than happy to help her with her dress, flowers, and all the other girly things.

Harry was greeting the guests in the company of Dean and Seamus before retreating to talk to Draco when he noticed the blond arrive and got tired of small talk with people from Hogwarts he hardly knew, Ministry people, and Ginny’s teammates.

“I see you are enjoying yourself, aren’t you?” Harry asked with a grin as he approached Draco, who was standing alone, watching the waves of the sea, nursing a glass of Firewhisky in his hand. Draco let out a short laugh and turned around to see Harry. The brunette was already in his wedding robes, which were simple black with a hem embroidered in silver with constellations, hand done by Molly. Underneath, he was wearing a plain white shirt and a bowtie. His hair was messy, but just in the way that made it look perfect without looking scruffy or unkempt. And it wasn’t only his hair—he looked perfect all in all.

“You look good,” Draco said, with a shy grin, doing his best to tear his gaze away from the brunette, quickly downing the rest of his whisky.

“Thanks,” Harry said with a slight blush. “Ron told me I looked like a poofter, but I actually really like these robes.”

“You are marrying his sister for Merlin’s sake,” Draco said, choking on his breath. “How could you be gay? Besides, how can clothes define your sexuality?”

Harry just shrugged. He remembered the night at Seamus's pub and his realization there. He may not be gay, but he was definitely not straight. He was still a bit insecure and scared about it, but seeing the love coming from Dean and Seamus, he felt better about his feelings. He just knew he couldn't allow his feelings towards Draco to develop further. Draco was looking at him with wide eyes, but he ignored it. This wasn’t a path he wanted to follow, or at least he knew he shouldn’t.

“You look good too,” he said with a smile before changing the topic to something less uncomfortable. And it was true. Draco was dressed in a midnight blue shirt with black robes, which looked good on him, highlighting his pale skin and hair. But that was none of Harry’s concern and he knew that. He would be seeing Ginny in less than an hour, who was going to look beautiful, and he was going to marry her, and nothing else mattered.

Ginny indeed was beautiful, and the whole wedding was beautiful. She looked amazing in her dress, which was cream-colored at the top and dark blue, almost black at the bottom (almost like the color of Draco’s shirt, Harry thought), where it was embroidered with constellations just like Harry’s robes.

It was dark outside, and it got colder, but the heating charms held. The inside of the tent was decorated beautifully; Luna did an amazing job with the flowers and the fairy lights. It looked magical, almost unrealistically beautiful. The crowd was quiet while they said their vows and cheered at the right times, and Hermione was the one to catch Ginny’s bouquet, making both her and Ron blush scarlet and Molly and the rest of the people who knew them cheer even louder. The band they invited was great, the food was amazing, and they were having a lovely time. Mostly, at least. Harry started to become a little uncomfortable when people went up to Ginny and started asking her about what it was like to be married to the ‘Chosen One’ and how she achieved everything possible now that she married the hero and savior of the wizarding world.

After a while, he couldn’t stand it any longer. He excused himself, stood up from the dinner table, and walked outside the tent, wrapped in one of the blankets Molly brought for anyone who was cold.

The night was still, and the sounds coming from the tent seemed so faint it was almost unreal. He kept glancing down at his ring finger to remind himself that this was actually happening.

Hermione joined him after a while, also wrapped in a blanket. She stopped next to Harry, resting her head on his shoulder.

“What does it feel like to be a married man?” she whispered.

“I don’t know. It feels the same, to be honest.”

“Are you happy?”

“Yes,” Harry said simply. He was, momentarily at least, now that he wasn’t surrounded by his friends and admirers and wasn’t having an argument with Ginny. But he didn’t want to destroy the moment.

“That’s the main thing,” Hermione said with a smile, and she squeezed Harry’s hand.

“Oi! Chosen One! You are expected to be inside, don’t leave your wife to deal with all that shit on her own!”

Harry tensed immediately, and Hermione noticed, giving him a worried glance, before turning to Ron, who walked up to them, putting his arm around Hermione.

“I miss this, you know,” Hermione spoke up after standing like that for a while. “Being together like this, just the three of us.”

“Yeah, especially here at Shell Cottage. I keep thinking about the last time we were here,” Ron said. Harry just nodded and swallowed thickly. He visited Dobby’s grave before they set up the tent and everything, and he didn’t mind that they held the wedding here. But standing by the sea, he couldn’t help but think back to when they left from there, with Griphook and Hermione as Bellatrix, and arrived back from Malfoy Manor, landing in the water, and how he held the little body of the elf who had helped them so much, until the very last minute. And he wasn’t able to save him. Hermione must have known what he was thinking, because she squeezed his hand again. Harry gave her a forced smile and returned his gaze to the slow beating of the waves.

After a while, Harry went back into the tent, and made small talk with everyone who came up to him, and even gave a few autographs. Even though he hated it, he ate another few plates of food even though he wasn’t exactly hungry, and he pretended to be excited about the presents he and Ginny got, most of which were terrible—some ugly pieces of chinaware and other bits like that.

Later, they moved the tables out of the way and served more cocktails and other alcoholic drinks. The band started playing harder, and everyone started dancing. Harry danced with Ginny, of course, but then with Hermione, and Ron, and Molly, and Fleur, and Luna. He fooled around a bit with Seamus and Dean, who were pretty drunk already and just ended up snogging, so Harry left them to it. He said goodbye to some of the older guests from the Ministry and Hogwarts who were a bit over enjoying alcohol and music, Kingsley and McGonagall for example, amongst others.

After they left, Harry wandered around a bit on his own. Ginny was dancing with her father and her brothers, and Harry was happy enough to be off the dance floor to join them. So he went looking for Draco, who he hadn’t seen since a little after the ceremony itself, and he was beginning to worry about him. He hoped he had just gone home early, and nobody seemed to have seen him, so he guessed this was the case. But he wished Draco had at least told him he was leaving.

As the night progressed, more and more people left or were sleeping on the couches and benches, knocked out by way too much alcohol. By the time 1 a.m. passed, it was only the Hogwarts gang who were up and dancing, minus the few couples who were off snogging or doing Merlin knows what somewhere.

Harry was actually enjoying himself a lot. The pressure of the wedding had gone away; it didn’t even feel like a wedding anymore, more like a Hogwarts reunion party. And he didn’t care if anyone called him childish or immature for it—he enjoyed it much better than the thought of being a mature and responsible husband and soon-to-be father.

It was way past 2 a.m. when the rest of the Weasley family left, leaving only Ginny behind. She suddenly seemed keen to get rid of the other guests as well, telling Harry to send them away while she ‘prepared for the night,’ as she put it, and left for the bedroom in the cottage, telling Harry to join her as soon as he could.

Harry didn’t really want to end the party, if he had to be honest, but he said his goodbyes all the same. There were still some people in a deep drunken sleep he couldn’t even wake up to send them home, so he just cast another heating charm in the tent and left them there, as he didn’t have a better idea. He moved some furniture around, packed the leftover food away, put their wedding gifts into boxes, and folded the blankets up.

Just when he thought there wasn’t anything else that he could use as an excuse for not going back to Ginny, he noticed the blue light of a Lumos spell in the distance. He followed it, and after a few minutes of walking, found that it led to the place where Dobby was buried. The spell was cast by a very familiar wand in the hand of a very familiar wizard, who had an empty bottle of whiskey in his other hand and was totally wasted.

“Draco?” he asked quietly. The blond didn’t budge. He repeated his name louder, again and again, growing increasingly worried until the boy lifted his head and looked at him with glassy silver eyes. “Oh Merlin, how much did you have to drink?” Harry asked, kneeling down beside him.

“Harrrryy,” the blond slurred. Harry shook his head and sighed, sitting down next to the boy. Even though he was worried about him, he had to fight back a smile. He had never seen Draco like this, this drunk, this fallen apart, and with his guards let down this much.

“It’s me, Draco,” he whispered.

“You’re here,” Draco mumbled.

“Yes, I’m here,” Harry said. “Where were you? I was worried about you!” He absentmindedly lifted his hand and ran his fingers through Draco’s hair, smoothing it out of the other boy’s face, and it was just as soft as he remembered. His hand lingered, touching Draco’s cheek, which felt hot. “Are you okay? Do you have a fever? Your skin is really hot," he said, growing worried again, putting his hand over Draco’s forehead, which was also pretty warm, but he wasn’t sure whether he was actually unwell or it was just the alcohol working on him.

“I’m hot,” Draco muttered, and dropping the bottle he was holding onto until now, he lifted his hand and tugged at his tie, but he couldn’t manage, so he dropped his hand again. Harry didn’t even pause for a second before letting go of the boy’s forehead and undoing his tie, and the top few buttons of his shirt, trying to ignore the way the blond sucked in a sharp breath and what his skin felt like under his hands.

“Better,” Draco said with a lopsided grin; he didn’t seem to have full control over his features. He was really, really, really drunk.

“Good.” Harry gave him a smile. “I’m going to look after you, okay? We’ll wait for you to sober up a bit, and then we can go back to the tent or somewhere, and I’ll get you something to eat and drink. You need to wash all of this shit out of your body, alright?”

Draco just nodded, but his eyes were closing, and his head lolled sideways, and Harry had to catch him to prevent him from falling over. This way, the blond didn’t end up slumped against Dobby’s grave and half on the ground, but resting his head in Harry’s lap. And Harry didn’t even mind it, though it wasn’t too comfortable, and he was a bit cold, though the heat Draco’s body was radiating was helping.

They just stayed like that for a while. Harry let Draco sleep, and he just sat there, thinking, and trying his best not to look at the boy sleeping in his lap. Even if he did find him beautiful with his hair all spread out around his head like a halo, and his face so peaceful, it was kind of creepy to stare at someone while they were sleeping. Then again, looking at Draco like this, warmed his heart and reminded him how much he felt for him, how much he wanted to stay with him. Forever.

The night sky was clear and full of stars. Harry could make out some of the more common constellations, some of which he recognized from the embroidery on his robes.

The situation reminded him of the time he spent in France with Draco, when they spent the night on the beach, and Draco showed him the constellations, including his very own, the dragon, which he found just above the horizon, shining brightly.

He didn’t like this thought, because that last night on the beach was the end of one of the best few months of his life, and he dearly hoped that it wouldn’t ever happen again. His life was such a mess, he couldn’t afford to lose Draco right now. He didn't actually know if he should act on his desire for the boy and just let himself be free, free of the fear and expectations, or if he should just stay with what he had with Ginny. He knew one thing: he didn't want to spend his life without Draco in it.

Half an hour passed, or it might have been more. Harry had completely lost track of time. He was fine just sitting there, with Draco sleeping in his arms, the crisp air of the silent night surrounding them.

Unfortunately, the silence didn’t seem to last forever, because soon Harry saw Ginny storming out of Shell Cottage, dressed in only a thin nightgown, yelling Harry’s name, which didn’t only startle Harry, but woke Draco up.

“Shit,” the blond boy cursed under his breath as he sat up. He was still a little wobbly, but he seemed to have sobered up real quick.

“Yeah, shit,” Harry agreed with a sigh. He really didn’t need this. He clasped his hands on Draco's shoulder; he didn't want anything to happen to him. He knew Ginny could hurt him.

“WHAT THE BLOODY HELL ARE YOU DOING, HARRY? I’VE BEEN WAITING FOR YOU FOR AN HOUR, IT’S OUR FUCKING WEDDING NIGHT! WHY ARE YOU LOUNGING AROUND WITH MALFOY OF ALL PEOPLE ON DOBBY’S FUCKING GRAVE?” she yelled, when she noticed the boys. Harry couldn’t help but burst out laughing, even though there should have been nothing funny about the situation. The way Ginny had worded it, he found it hilarious, and Draco followed suit.

“What the fuck is this funny?”

“I’m sorry, Gin,” Harry said, trying to hold his laughter back.

“You are sorry? That’s all you're going to say?” She was clearly mad at him, probably even madder than she had ever been.

“What do you want me to say?” He felt Draco's body shake and slid his hand on to the boy's.

“Well maybe for example a good reason for why you are spending OUR wedding night with this git!?”

“It’s—” Harry started, but he stopped. Was he really going to say it’s not what it looks like? What did it look like? And what was it? “I’m sorry, Draco was unwell so I wanted to stay with him.”

“Oh, how fucking noble of you,” Ginny spat.

“Well what the fuck were you expecting? You went around all evening going on about how fucking proud you are that you are marrying the savior of the wizarding world and how lovely it is that I help so many people. You know what? If you are really proud of this, shut the fuck up when I’m trying to be there for a friend!” He squeezed Draco's hand. He didn't know if it was because he was that angry or because he wanted to reassure Draco and himself that they were going to be fine.

“Are you now? Well alright, go back to your friend and I’ll just spend our wedding night alone, okay? I guess I should be so thankful for getting married to the savior that I should be content with that, right?”

“You are the one who seems to be so fucking keen on all of that savior bullshit, you should know,” Harry snarled. He really didn’t want to have this argument, but there was nothing he could have done. He was just so tired of the way Ginny had been treating him not only in the past month but pretty much always. He kept believing that it would go away, that she would see him as a boy or man in his own right, not as her hero, but it never changed. He began losing hope for himself ever falling in love with her.

Ginny just stood agape, staring at him for maybe even a whole minute, before she ran off without another word.

“Shit,” Harry said, burying his face in his hands.

“Shit indeed,” Draco said, and patted his back sympathetically.

“I really fucked up, didn’t I?” Harry asked, looking up.

“Well, it might have been better to leave all of this for another day… I mean it was your wedding just a few hours ago after all.”

“Fuck that,” Harry muttered. He stood up and stretched. “Don’t you want to head back to the tent? I’m freezing, and I don’t think Ginny will bother us anymore. She seems quite pissed off.”

“Can’t imagine why.” Draco snorted, and tried to follow Harry, but stumbled, and landed back on his bum. “Shit, I’m not sober enough for this.”

“Come on.” Harry bent down, put his arm around Draco’s waist, and started dragging the boy with him. It was easier than he had thought, the only time he had half-carried half-helped someone like this was the time he had to take Dudley home after the dementor attack back in his fifth year, and Dudley was much bigger and fatter than Draco was. Then again, he didn’t really care whether it was comfortable for Dudley, he just wanted to get him home, but he wanted to be careful with Draco.

Once they got back to the tent, Harry chucked all the pillows and blankets he found onto one of the couches they had dragged outside for the guests with Arthur, and he flopped down on it, waiting for Draco to join him.

"Are you sure it wouldn’t be better if I went home?" the blond boy asked him.

"Are you kidding? Ginny isn’t likely to forgive me anytime soon, and even if she would, I-” he stopped for a second considering what to say. Should he tell Draco that he didn’t really want to have sex with his wife? Or that he enjoyed his company way more than he did hers? “Just stay, okay?”

“Sure.” Draco smiled and sat down beside Harry.

"I’m sorry you had to hear that row." Harry spoke up after a while. "Ginny and I… well, it hasn’t been really working these days. Weeks. Whatever."

“It’s okay. I mean it’s not okay in the sense that you shouldn’t just let this happen. You two are married now, you should sort your shit out. But there’s no need to apologize to me for it.”

“It’s just that…” Harry sighed. He was being childish, he just needed to shut up. “Just forget it, I’m being stupid.”

“No, you aren’t. Having feelings, even if they are controversial, or seem wrong, isn’t stupid. You know what’s stupid? Hiding them and ignoring them.” Draco might have convinced Harry, but he knew he was hardly the right man to speak. If someone out of the two of them was hiding his emotions, it was him. Harry might not have been the best at talking about feelings, because he was always too careful about not hurting others, but he wore his feelings on his sleeve most of the time, anyone could tell what was wrong with him.

“You are right… It’s just-” he started again. “I hate it that Ginny thinks about me like this hero. Sometimes it feels like she doesn’t even know me. I tell her every day, that I hate being famous, and I didn’t choose to be the chosen one, it just happened, and there I was eleven, and I had no choice but to spend my next seven fucking years chasing down a dark wizard and killing him, dying in the process. Not because I wanted to. I did it because I had to, but I’m just so tired of all of that by now… I don’t want to get special treatment for being who I am. I just want to be me. Just Harry.” He suddenly felt really small. “I’m sorry, I know I sound miserable and ungrateful…”

“You don’t.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Hey. Just shut up for a second, will you?” Harry nodded, and let Draco take his right hand into his. “You don’t sound stupid or ungrateful or anything. You sound like a man who has a shitty wife and deserves better. You sound like anyone who has a problem and wants to talk about it and solve it. You know why? Because that’s what you are. I don’t give a shit about who you are, I’m way over caring about you being Harry Potter. It might have seemed cool when I was eleven and I wanted to become friends with you, but now that I’m actually here, I couldn’t care less. You are just like anyone else, apart from the fact that you have a good heart, and you have a right to feel down and be unhappy. You don’t need to even try and live up to this hero image. It’s your choice.”

“I-” Harry felt lost for words. He wanted to kiss Draco, he wanted to do it really badly. He knew he was being sappy, but nobody ever said anything like this to him.

“It’s okay” Draco grinned at him, lightening up the mood. “Come on, let’s dance.”

“I’m useless” Harry insisted, but he let Draco drag him onto the parquet, and didn’t even resist when the blond put on some quiet music, and started dancing to it. Soon Harry fell into rhythm as well, but he let the other boy lead.

“Come on, relax. Just stop thinking for a second. Then you can go back and apologize to your wife for shouting at her, but tell her that you don’t like the way she treats you. You’ll talk it over, and you can start your life as a happy married couple.” Draco was glad Harry didn’t notice the bitterness in his voice, the brunette was too busy trying not to trip over his own feet, and just nodded, before he told the other boy to shut up and dance, he would worry about Ginny later.

They danced until the record stopped, and even then, they didn’t really want to let go of each other. Or at least Harry didn’t want to let go of Draco, he couldn’t tell what the other boy was thinking, but the blond didn’t seem too keen on leaving either, for which Harry was more than grateful for. It was magical, not like any dance he had with anyone before. It was special.

The closeness of Draco was intoxicating, it was almost worse than that night they slept together at Draco’s place, or at least just as bad. They were both panting but grinning widely when they finished dancing, both of them covered in a fine sheen of sweat, and Harry couldn’t help but think that it wasn’t disgusting at all, it actually looked pretty hot on Draco, the way his long, pale exposed neck glistened in the candlelight. His eyes were sparkling, he wasn’t really drunk anymore, but the alcohol was still there, and his whole face seemed to glow with his smile. Harry hated admitting it, but he looked gorgeous. And it wasn’t only his body, it was his whole self. The way he grinned at Harry. The way he spoke. What his body felt like under the brunette’s hand, the way his muscles tensed and loosened, his delicate frame, broad shoulders, and flat chest… it was driving Harry crazy. He felt drunk with giddiness, even though he had only had a few glasses of wine at the start of the evening, but he knew it wasn’t the wine, it was Draco. And he knew that it was wrong.
He had just gotten married, and his wife was waiting for him upstairs. But he just couldn’t care less; he wanted to put the arguing off for as long as he could. It was much better when he was with Draco; he didn’t need to pretend to be anyone or anything he wasn’t. He could just enjoy himself.

This was how they ended up on the sofa again, their limbs intertwined. And as both of them were too tired to even move, this was how and why they ended up falling asleep together: Draco’s head on Harry’s shoulder, Harry’s legs in Draco’s lap, and his arm half around the other boy’s torso. But they didn’t even notice; they just fell asleep and slept like that until the next morning, and for once, neither of them had a nightmare at all.

They both dreamed about dancing together until they couldn't help themselves anymore and gave in to their feelings. Soft and loving kisses were putting smiles on both of their faces as they continued dreaming. Sadly, the cold reality was waiting for them in the morning.

Naturally, Harry tried to apologize to Ginny and tell her he was sorry, but he knew he was a few hours too late and had slept in a little too intimate position with Draco to be surprised by the fact that his wife wasn’t having any of it.

And naturally, Draco left as soon as Ginny started screaming when she found them in the morning, which Harry understood. He really did, but he wasn’t sure he could cope alone.

He didn’t even know what he could say in his defense.

Hell, he didn’t even know whether he was right defending himself.

But whatever the case was, Ginny was giving Harry the silent treatment again, and Draco wasn’t answering the Floo or his owls. So Harry had no one to talk to. He just spent his mornings sleeping as late as he could to avoid Ginny, then making lunch which he ate on his own. He left a portion out for his wife which she ate sulking, but only when she thought Harry wasn’t looking. Then he would spend the afternoon flying around on his broomstick, which kind of cleared his head but also gave him a cold, so he decided to spend the rest of the holidays indoors.

Hermione and Ron Flooed a few times, but Harry hardly spoke to them. He didn’t know what to tell them. He didn’t know how much Ginny had told them, but Ron didn’t look too friendly, and Hermione just seemed confused and sad about the fact that their relationship wasn’t working.

They were invited to the Burrow for Christmas lunch, but Harry declined, telling Molly he was unwell. Ginny seized the opportunity without further ado and left early ‘to help with the preparations’, leaving Harry alone in their home.

Which was the reason why he ended up Apparating to Draco’s flat once he realized the wards weren’t up anymore, a bottle of whiskey and a wrapped present in his hand on Christmas Eve. Draco didn’t even ask him anything; he just opened the bottle and poured a tall one for both of them before sitting down on the couch and gesturing for Harry to follow him, which Harry did. He immediately knew that popping over to Draco’s place was the best choice he had made in the last few days, among so many wrong ones.

Well, it might not have been the right choice. That would have been trying to make it up to Ginny, but he gave up on that days ago, pretty much the day after their wedding. But this was the choice that made him the happiest, and he was content with that for the time being.

Chapter Text

After his third or fourth glass of wine, Harry was definitely starting to feel the effects of the alcohol. He was bubbly, happy, and was hugging Draco and putting his heavy head on the boy’s shoulder. He felt comfortable and maybe a bit out of his mind, but then again, Draco made him feel like this even without the alcohol controlling his mind.

The blond said something, but Harry didn’t catch it as he was inhaling the scent of said boy. He smelled so nice, just... so nice, so sweet yet with a hint of bitterness, just like his personality.

“You’re clingy when you’re drunk, get off me,” Draco’s calm and fake annoyed voice made Harry turn his head towards his friend.

“You love it.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.” Harry clenched his arms tighter around Draco. Draco pushed him off, which wasn’t really hard since Harry was drunk. He swayed back and forth, almost falling onto Draco’s lap, but kept his eyes open while lying there.

“You are a total disaster. Go home.”

“Okay, rude.” Harry laughed and moved away. “I want to stay. Besides, you didn’t give me my Christmas present.”

Draco handed him a glass of water. “That’s a pretty crappy gift in my opinion.”

Harry found it hard to form sentences and not to fall asleep. He suddenly felt warm hands on both sides of his waist. They felt so good there, so comforting, Harry wanted them to stay. They moved up to his armpits.

“Sit up.”

“Mphms.” Harry let out a breath.

“Sit up, or at least help me out, you’re bloody heavy.” Draco tried to lift Harry up; he struggled for some time, but eventually got Harry to sit up straight.

“At this point, I’m just gonna give you a potion that’s going to sober you up.” The blond accioed the phial and handed it to him. Harry looked at Draco; the boy was already drinking his portion. Clearly, whatever Draco wanted to give Harry meant a lot to him; he wouldn’t make him sober up for a dumb reason.

Harry opened the phial and drank the whole content of it. It tasted different than the one he usually drank; it was sweeter, tasted less like dirty socks. The liquid went down his throat, and his head began to clear up, his cheeks no longer burned, and he stopped feeling dizzy and sleepy. He looked at Draco again. He was sitting in the corner of the couch, one arm on its armrest, the other hand holding a mug with steaming liquid. Draco’s black shirt was undone at the front, which allowed Harry to see a bit of the boy’s milky skin.

The blond stood up and exited the room. He wasn’t back until a few minutes later, which Harry spent watching his fingers and playing with them; it was the only way to keep himself from thoughts about Ginny, his friends, and the huge amount of guilt and anger he felt inside.

Draco came back with a neatly wrapped, pastel blue-wrapped rectangle-shaped object in his hands. He came up to Harry and handed it to him. Harry took it and laid it on his lap, looked back at Draco, not sure what he should say. The boy’s facial expression told him that he was nervous; he kept avoiding Harry’s eyes and was drawing little circles with his fingers on his other hand. Harry dropped his gaze on the gift.

“It’s nothing big. I didn’t know what to get you. At first, I went for something expensive that you might like, but then—” Draco trailed off. He looked at his hands and back at Harry, catching his eyes. “—but then I remembered a conversation I had with someone.” He stopped to take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Anyways, I thought if I got you something more than just a pricey thing, you’d appreciate it more.”

The curiosity of what hid under the pastel blue wrapping was eating Harry up. If Draco wasn’t staring at him with his intense gaze, with those grey, almost silvery eyes, he would tear the decorative paper and see what was hiding. “Oh, open it.” Draco drawled, sounding both anxious and annoyed.

Harry nodded and started gently pulling on the paper so that he wouldn’t annoy Draco, behaving like an eight-year-old child opening a gift from Santa. The room was already quiet, aside from both Harry and Draco’s breathings, but it went even quieter when Harry fully unwrapped the gift. His heart started beating even faster when he examined the object in his hands. It was a photo album; the date on it said “1976-1980”. That could only mean one thing.

“Draco—” There was tightness in Harry’s stomach, and his voice sounded weak in his ears. He looked at Draco, who was now sitting on the floor, on his knees, so that their heads were at the same level. “How…” Harry found himself lost for words. He was suddenly overwhelmed by sadness and a lot of feelings he couldn’t describe. He didn’t even open the album, but he knew what was inside; he knew what to expect.

“Don’t.” Draco responded steadily. “Open it.” He sounded softer; Harry could still hear a hint of anxiousness in his tone.

Harry obeyed. His eyes started to water. Sirius was staring at him from the photo, not the Sirius Harry remembered, but a much younger, happier version of him. Almost like the one that Harry saw in Snape’s memory. He was wearing his Gryffindor robe, standing in front of the lake, grinning from ear to ear and posing like some kind of model. His hair was a little longer and darker than the Sirius Harry had to say goodbye to. In a second, from behind the frame, the other boy unmistakably James Potter, ran towards the dark-haired Gryffindor and knocked him over by hugging him. They were both lying on the floor and laughing.

Harry felt tears coming down his cheeks. He wiped them carefully with his hand. He looked at the scene for a while before he turned the page. The next photo featured young Remus and Harry’s mom with books in their hands, sitting down and leaning on a tree. Up in the air on their brooms were Sirius and Harry’s dad. His godfather was hanging upside down from it and was closer to the tree, but his dad seemed to be practicing flying. He was flying incredibly quickly through the air; it looked incredible; he was made for it. No wonder he was so popular back then.

The next page showed just his parents in what seemed to be the Gryffindor common room. They were sitting on the couch by the fire; his mom was lying on his dad’s laps, wrapped in a blanket, she seemed to be asleep. His dad was caressing her hair.

This time Harry could not stop the hot tears running down his cheeks. He didn’t dare look at Draco; he almost forgot the boy was there.

He turned the page again. This time he held his breath. He wasn’t expecting that. Remus and Sirius were asleep, cuddled up to each other in a bed. They were incredibly close, too close. Sirius’s arms were wrapped around the brown-haired boy, whose face was hidden in the crook of Harry’s godfather’s neck. They looked calm; both of their chests were slowly rising up and then down. Harry looked closer. Even their legs were intertwined. They looked like lovers, not friends.

Harry suddenly was reminded of the way he and Draco used to fall asleep. It must have looked like that, but— Harry raised his head to meet Draco’s gaze that was searching for any kind of reaction, response from Harry. Harry’s heart might have stopped or started beating really fast; Harry wasn’t sure.

“The album is beautiful,” was all Harry was able to whisper before he put the gift away and hid his face in his hands. He didn’t want to cry in front of the boy again, but at the same time, he wanted to wrap his arms around him, kiss him senseless, and never stop holding him; that scared him. He was burning with unwanted, or rather unexpected, unknown emotions. Well, actually, if he thought about it, he had been falling for Draco ever since France; he could not deny it. When Harry wasn’t thinking about his crappy Ministry of Magic situation or his relationship with Ginny, or other rather depressing stuff, he was thinking about Draco. What the blond did at that moment, how he felt, was he thinking of Harry too; he even was making plans for their next meeting.

“It’s really not a big deal. I wanted you to have something that you can hold on to since—” Draco paused for a moment, looking like he was searching for the right words. “—since everything that happened to you.”

Harry didn’t know what to say, so he did what he did best in these kinds of situations. “Dance with me,” he offered his hand to the boy in front of him.

“What?” Draco’s confused look was even more adorable when Harry took his hand in his. Draco gasped. “What on Merlin’s bea—”

“Dance with me, please.” Harry pulled Draco up by his hand. The boy blinked at him about a million times.

“Why on earth would you think I would want to do that?” He tried to keep up his “I don’t care about this/I don’t have any emotions” tone, but Harry could see right through him.

“If I remember correctly, you pretty much enjoyed the last time we did it. And you were the one that suggested it.” He smiled at Draco cheekily and got rewarded with an eye roll. “Aaaaand right now I want to dance with you. Why would you say NO to the Saviour of the Wizarding World?” Harry went for a dramatic voice, emphasizing the last words. Draco put space between them by extending his forearms.

“Please stop. I don’t want to dance; you’re not even a good dancer, let alone a person who has good rhythm. Besides, there is no music, and I cannot dance without music.” It was Harry’s time to roll his eyes.

“Well, if not having music is such a huge problem for you—”

“I said NO!” Draco turned away from Harry. The room went quiet, again. Harry wasn’t sure why Draco even raised his voice a bit and made such a huge deal about dancing with Harry. Could it be that Draco was scared of him? Did he see straight through Harry and knew that he may or may not be gay, and now he wants to stay away from him? No. He wouldn’t then dance with Harry at the first place at Harry’s wedding. WHY WAS EVERYTHING SO CONFUSING? WHY COULDN'T DRACO JUST BE MORE OPEN LIKE HE USED TO BACK IN FRANCE?!

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.” Draco lowered his voice. “I’m just not in the mood for it, that’s all. Can we just—do something else?” His gaze went back to Harry, but he still wasn’t looking him in the eyes.

“Sure, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to push you into anything you wouldn’t like.” He did feel bad. He really did. He cared for things like that. If Draco wasn’t feeling comfortable with this, Harry would never do it. “Do you want to watch a movie then? You know, the muggle moving pictures with the sound, that tell the story. And since you bought a TV we can watch it.”

“I remember what they are.” Draco's smile returned to his face. “What would you recommend?” Harry also brightened up and felt like a huge stone fell from his chest.

“I don’t know, hmm, maybe this new animated movie Toy Story? I heard muggles love it, it has been getting more and more good reviews, I know you bought it on DVD because I saw your stack of muggle movies on your shelf.”

“Very well, then. You know I’ll only watch it if it’s good. I don’t have time for nonsense.”

They ended up relaxing on the couch and watching the movie they picked out. They both laughed out loud way too many times because they found some lines incredibly sexual and couldn’t resist acknowledging them. The movie by itself was pretty funny too, though. Draco couldn’t stop commenting on the toys' poor life choices and explaining how they could have done their mission better, and Harry kept telling him that if they had done it, the movie would have ended after fifteen minutes. Sometimes movies make no sense just for the sake of the plot. They both also got quiet towards the end; neither of them said a word. Harry knew that they were just afraid of crying because of the kids' movie.

Draco and Harry ended up on the floor where they earlier laid down some fluffy blankets. They would be lying there, their bodies close to each other, but not quite touching; in the total darkness, if it weren’t for the streak of golden-orange light coming through the window. Harry caught himself smiling at the picture of them both like this. Draco seemed relaxed for once; he almost never allowed himself to do just that. It was like he lived in constant fear of not living life correctly, like there were certain rules he needed to follow and if he didn’t, he would be burned alive.

“You know, my parents never read to me to sleep,” Draco said in a sleepy voice, keeping his head glued to the ceiling.

“What?” Harry decided not to look in the blond’s direction; he knew that would only make Draco stop whatever he was on about.

“I had to learn how to read myself, well—” he took a breath. “—actually, my parents probably hired someone to teach me that, I can’t remember.” Harry felt his friend’s body move beside him; their toes touched for a second. It made Harry look at Draco. Their connection didn’t last long, but made Harry more aware of what was happening. It wasn’t the first time Draco opened up about his childhood, but it was the first time he did this without Harry going first. He just wanted to share something, a piece of him with Harry.

“My father was always quite busy; I haven’t seen him often. He wasn’t the best at whatever fathers are supposed to do. My mom usually played with me and taught me how to behave like a gentleman. My father, he was the one who wanted me to know my worth, wanted me to act like I’m superior to those who have—” There it was again, the silence. Harry looked at Draco’s face. Even though the light only allowed him to see half of it, he could see the struggle on the boy’s face. He was about to help his friend out and say the word he was looking for, but he decided to wait. It was a good choice because Draco continued very slowly and carefully. “—superior to muggle-borns and half-bloods.” He exhaled. “I know we talked about it already, and I know I told you that I am sorry and I know that I could just stop listening to them and be on a good side, but I still feel like I should have done more.”

“Draco…” Harry said so quietly that it was almost a whisper. He didn’t get the chance to finish his speech though; he wasn’t even sure what he would have said if he did have a chance.

“No. I’m bringing this up only because once you told me that you wished I and your friends tried to get along with each other. So, since there is still Christmas, my second present for you is the apology that I should have sent sooner.” Draco was staring at the ceiling again. Harry moved closer to him so that their elbows were touching. Harry was laying on his side, staring into the former Slytherin’s face, and the said Slytherin was on his back with his forearms under his head.
Harry’s mind wasn’t entirely sure what Draco did, but his curiosity rose.

“I sent Granger and Weasley, not the girl Weasley, letters.”

“What did you write there?” Harry couldn’t help himself but to ask.

“An apology.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed.” The atmosphere in the room switched from serious to more open to jokes, and with that, the brunette could finally breathe. Draco chuckled.

“It’s a personal letter; you should know better than anyone that privacy is a very important thing. If your friends want to share them with you, they will.” They both stared at each other with their best “I’m serious” looks, but failed not long after when they started laughing. They ended up being way closer to each other than they were before; Draco’s chest was practically touching Harry’s now that they both were laying on their sides. Harry could feel the other boy’s warm breath on his face. He felt his own body warming up and his belly getting tight like every time he had no idea what to do during the war or his Hogwarts days and had only a few seconds to decide on his next move. His eyes burned into Draco’s, which he could now see clearly as the light from the window brightened.

"Remember when I told you about my aunt and uncle and how they used to treat me?" Harry decided to share a bit of himself with Draco again.

"Do I remember? If I didn't, I wouldn't still have a list of ways to hunt them down and pay for what they've done to you." Draco huffed. Harry smiled widely.

"What?"

"You heard me."

"You're a psycho." Harry laughed. "Anyways, one time they starved me for way too long and Ron's mom and Hermione had to send me food so I could survive. It was mainly sweets, but how could I say 'no' to literally anything?" Harry sighed as he remembered those awful days and the terrible pain in his stomach. He put his head on Draco's shoulders and smiled, feeling the comfort already. "I think that might be the reason why I like cooking a lot now."

"That's awful, Harry." Draco genuinely sounded sad, at least he sounded like it.

"I'm fine now." Harry tried to lift the mood, already feeling bad sharing this and making himself look like a victim. Harry switched to another topic quickly. He told Draco how in third year he and Hermione used a time turner to rescue Buckbeak, which made Draco scowl, but he also admitted that he felt bad about being such a prick that year; Harry rewarded him with a shoulder squeeze. Then Harry told Draco about the time he and Ron flew to Hogwarts on Ron's dad's car and how they were both scared shitless. When he got to the part when the Whomping Willow was beating their asses and damaging the car and Ron's wand, Draco was laughing out loud and holding onto his belly. Harry didn't know why all that was so funny, but he laughed with Draco.

“Will you tell me more about little Malfoy’s adventures and dreams?” Harry tried his best not to look at his friend’s rose-pink lips, which he knew haunted him in his dreams.

“Only if you’ll deserve it.” Draco’s voice became breathless.

It was an impulse, like a button, a command that made Harry make his next move. He closed his eyes and leaned forward towards Draco. He was about to kiss Draco FREAKING Malfoy. He wanted to kiss Draco Malfoy!!! His heart was beating like his clock alarm whenever it was seven in the morning. He felt his chest shrinking and his hands shaking.

Harry grabbed what he could only assume to be Draco’s neck and brought it closer to his face; it was surprisingly easy, almost as if Draco wanted it to happen. Like Draco wanted to kiss Harry as much as Harry wanted to kiss him. His head was full of questions and emotions that he didn’t want to give a second thought right now; all he wanted now was to get lost in Draco, his scent that was inviting him to sink his lips into every part of the boy’s body.

He felt soft and warm breath on his face but couldn’t hear anything other than his heartbeat. He opened his mouth and as he was about to catch Draco’s lips, the boy he was holding whispered “Don’t.” Harry opened his eyes and looked directly into Malfoy’s ones; they were full of pain. Why were they full of pain?! What did he do wrong? Maybe Draco didn’t actually want him and was just feeling lonely? Or what if all of this was just a sick joke? What if Draco was only friends with him to get to this point through lies and pretending to care for him, so that now he can humiliate him? He couldn’t have done that, could he? No, Harry saw his eyes; he was fairly certain he saw the truth; pain and remorse inside them.

“Please.” Harry stayed in his place, staring into Draco’s hurt eyes, which were telling him to never look at the boy again or else he would regret it.

“You don’t want to do that.” The blonde’s voice wasn’t hateful; it was soft.

“What if I do?” Harry wasn’t ready to let that go now that he decided to trust his impulse again.

“You may think you do, but all you need is time, and you need to spend that time with your wife. You’re lonely and scared of the new life, but you’ll see sooner or later that you’re happy with it.” The boy gently took Harry’s hand off his neck, stood up, and started fixing his hair.

“But—” Harry rushed to stand next to Draco. “You don’t understand.”

“Yes, I do!” Draco shouted, which made Harry shiver. He hadn’t heard Draco scream in such a long time. “I do understand. Harry, you’re lost right now—”

“You wanted this too.” Harry couldn’t stand listening to Draco saying all of this, acting like he knew what was best for Harry. He didn’t know shit! None of them dared to speak; they both searched each other’s eyes. Harry stepped closer to his friend. “I know you wanted this as much as I did.” Still no response and an unreadable face, which made Harry furious. “Say something!” He clenched his fists. Draco was unbelievable. The bastard was blocking Harry from seeing his real emotions. They were doing so well, DAMN IT!

“Potter, honestly, please, just let it go, okay? Can we just forget about it and act like this… never happened?” Harry wasn’t going to stand there and agree to this; what if they could work things out? What if that was best for Harry? What if the universe was putting Draco and him together? What if trying things out with Draco was going to improve both of their lives? He had to find out; he had to find a way to convince Draco to at least talk this through. He had to.

“Can we just talk this through? You don’t have to stress about it. Besides, you don’t know what I want and how I feel. I might not be the best at talking about my feelings, but I’ll try. Please, give me a chance to tell you how I feel.”

“It’s the best for both of us if you don’t.” Draco murmured. “I tried giving you the way out of it, but you are fucking stubborn.” As he said that, he pointed his wand directly at Harry. He twisted his wrist and began saying “Obli-”

“Fucking Hell!” Harry cursed and held both of Draco’s hands down before the boy got the chance to finish the spell. “You’re sick! You think you can fix everything with magic, but guess what?! You can’t! You can’t fix your feelings with magic! That’s not how the world works.” Harry’s voice trembled. He didn’t know what exactly his feelings toward Malfoy were, but he knew that whatever they were, he wasn’t the only one feeling them.
Draco’s expression changed from angry to a more inviting one, the one Harry hated; he couldn’t read that one even if he tried very hard.

“Okay.” The blonde sighed. “I’ll talk about it with you, just give me a moment, okay? I have to think about it and make something to drink.” His voice suddenly got softer and more serious. He was giving Harry a chance to talk things through. Harry’s life might be changing today! He smiled out of excitement.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes.” Draco smiled a little, though Harry could sense that he was either stressed out or sad, and he left Harry alone in the room while he went to the kitchen.

He was left with only his thoughts right now. What was he going to say to Draco? He wasn’t even sure how exactly he felt. Was he in love? No. Or was he? NO. Maybe he had somewhat strong feelings toward Draco that weren’t entirely friendly. Maybe he just wanted to kiss him but stay friends? Maybe he was just curious about what it's like to be kissed by Draco? They can work it out, they really can. If they discover that they want to be more than friends, let it be it. Future Harry will have to worry about it. But what about Ginny then? God, that was the biggest problem. It’s not like Harry and her had the best relationship; some could even call it toxic. They haven’t started their marriage right; Harry knew it was partly his fault. Ginny wasn’t a saint either; she wouldn’t let Harry be who he wanted to be or do what he wanted to do. Couples were supposed to better each other, right? Harry couldn’t say that about himself and Ginny.

He had to talk to Draco first, and then he would have to think about how to handle the Ginny aspect of this whole mess. Right now, all that mattered was figuring out how he felt about Draco and how Draco felt about him. That couldn’t be so hard.

He was going crazy waiting for his friend to come; he got really stressed out, to the point he started peeling off the label of the water bottle like his life depended on it. Soon enough, he heard the kettle wheezing and the water being poured into the cups. He felt his chest tightening once again. He swallowed. Draco came out of the kitchen with two steaming mugs of tea. Harry suddenly lost the ability to speak.

—————

As soon as Draco entered the kitchen, he searched for the only thing that seemed like it could save this damn situation with Harry—a potion that made people forget only a certain amount of minutes depending on how much of a situation you didn’t want someone to remember. He could use Obliviate, but it was much more dangerous, and Harry could always stop him again. He had to be sneaky and put the potion inside Harry’s tea. He hated himself for this, but he just couldn’t go through with this conversation. Even if they worked things out and Harry said he wanted Draco, he knew it wasn’t going to last. He also couldn’t be the reason Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley broke things off. He couldn’t be hated by the Wizarding World even more than he was now. And why would Harry even want to kiss him? Bigger question, why would he want to talk about feelings? Why would he want to be with Draco? He would never be good enough for Potter. Maybe Harry was just lost and terrified of his new life. That’s it, nothing more.

He poured ten drops of his potion into Harry’s cup, immediately feeling guilty for what he was about to do. But hey, he was doing it for the greater good. He couldn’t let Harry just disappear out of his life if things didn’t work out eventually, if anything big came out of their talk.

The potion would make Harry forget all things that happened roughly twenty minutes ago. He had to do it, even though he knew that all that Harry said was true, he had feelings for the boy. He knew that Harry was lost, he needed someone to take care of him, someone to hold him in their arms, someone who would understand him, someone who wasn’t a ginger girl that Potter married. Even if Harry wasn’t as straight as Draco thought him to be, he was sure that if he and Harry became a thing, nothing good would come out of it. Harry would realize that he hates Draco and Draco would end up having his heart broken. Potter would go back to dating Weasley or another woman who could give him what he always wanted—something that Draco could never give him: family, kids, love. He wasn’t able to get pregnant, he didn’t know how to love another person, he wasn’t even sure if his feelings toward Harry were something he could call “love.” It didn’t matter anymore; he was going along with his plan. He couldn’t risk losing Harry as a friend. He was going to suffer, but he decided to convince Potter to go back to Weaslette, but also keep him as a friend. He just wanted to know Harry like he never got to know anybody else; he wanted to hang out with him. He knew he would end up falling for the boy even more, but some things needed sacrifice.

He poured the tea into the mugs; the yellow one was his and the blue one was Harry’s with the potion inside. He noticed his hands shaking. “Oh, get over yourself, Draco,” he whispered to himself and closed his eyes for a minute. Counting from ten to one usually helped him out in stressful situations. After doing that and taking a few deep breaths, he walked to the living room. Harry was sitting on the couch with his legs to his chest, basically hugging them to it.

Draco sat down and handed Harry the mug. Now all he had to do was try and make conversation while the brunette drank all his tea. He would only forget their previous conversation and the… awkward THING, only if he drank all of it.

“Do you—” Harry started, his voice noticeably shaky. His messy hair was falling into his forehead, but he quickly brushed it away with his hand. Draco hated himself even more now that he noticed how genuine Harry looked. Maybe they could actually work things out? NO. They could never be together. Damn, but Harry was so good for him, so good. Draco had never had a friend like him, maybe except for Pansy and Blaise, who disappeared after the war. He could share everything with this boy; he could just be himself without being judged for his past. He enjoyed Harry’s company, and he also thought him to be one of the most attractive people ever. Right now, he even had difficulty not staring at him. Harry always looked good no matter what he wore or what state or mood he was in. Draco would never admit that out loud, of course. He looked especially beautiful now; he had his neat, warm, gray sweater on and black skinny jeans. His cheeks were a slightly pinkish shade, and his green eyes were shining because of the light that was reflecting in his eyes. Draco could stare into them all day, and he would never get bored of doing so; he would gladly write an essay about how just they made him fall for the boy. But he wasn’t a sap or one of Potter’s fan girls.

“Listen, Draco—” Harry tried again. “I would never in my life think that I would ever be friends with you.” He was mainly looking at his hands, but then he lifted his head and looked into Draco’s eyes. “I don’t know how I really feel, well, I don’t—I mean… I know, somewhat, but... All I want to say is that, I guess I developed some, eh, feelings for you.” It was hard for Draco not to move closer to the boy and just listen to what he actually felt, but he knew he couldn’t do that. Fortunately, Harry reached for the drink that Draco had purposely charmed not to be steaming hot, so it would be easier for Harry to drink it faster. He drank quite a bit of it. “I don’t know if you feel exactly the same, but I think—” Harry was shaking badly, and some part of Draco wanted to think his plan through, take the cup from Harry, and just hold him in his arms, kiss him, and tell him how he felt, so he didn’t have to look at Harry like this. “I think I want to give us—I mean, would you want to try—no, fuck.” The boy shook his head and hid it in his hands. “I’m not good at this. I don’t even remember what I wanted to say. What did I just say?” He looked confused when he lifted his head and started looking straight like he was hypnotized. The potion was already working. Good. Draco handed Harry his cup, and the boy took it from him mindlessly and drank more of it. Draco felt a heavy feeling in his chest. Harry drank almost the whole cup, but as it turned out, it was enough to make him confused even more. “What did you say? What did I just say? What were we talking about?” He asked Draco. The damage was done. Whatever idea of wanting to be with Draco or just kissing him, Harry had, was gone now.

“You were telling me about your adventures at Hogwarts in second year.” He quickly made up a lie.

“Was I? Can’t remember any of it.” Harry said and laughed quietly. “I must be really tired then.” At that, he yawned and rubbed his eyes with his fists. “Would you be offended if I just went to sleep?”

“No, go ahead, I’m tired too. I’m going to sleep after I drink my tea.” He tried to hide his sadness and guilt behind a soft smile. He stood up and was going to go to his room to occupy himself with work papers and maybe he would make another potion.

“Draco?” Harry also stood up and searched for Draco’s eyes.

“Yeah?”

“Can you... stay with me?” His scared face and quiet voice made Draco’s heart hurt.

“Um… Why? Did something happen?” He forgot about his plan of leaving Harry for a moment. He was worried for Harry. If his potion had done something bad to him, Draco would never forgive himself.

“I just... I don’t want to be alone, okay?” Draco could tell that admitting that pained Harry; he was embarrassed by it. He couldn’t just leave the boy here alone because he wasn’t sure about the side effects of the potion and he wanted to give Harry some comfort.

“I’ll stay.” He sighed and touched Harry’s arm. “I’ll stay.”

They ended up sleeping in the guest room which became Harry’s room over the months. Sleeping next to each other wasn’t that foreign anymore; they woke up in each other’s arms a few times whenever one of them couldn’t sleep, but this night it was just awkward for Draco. He couldn’t look at this simple thing the same anymore, not after Harry’s confession. Of course, Harry still thought it didn’t mean anything, but Draco couldn’t help but stress about it.

“Have I ever told you about how I sneaked into the Slytherin dormitory?” They were laying face to face but keeping a distance from each other in the darkness of the room.

Draco opened his eyes. Harry was staring at him, but he couldn’t see anything more than that; it was too dark, maybe for good.

“You what?!” He said in a lower voice.

“I sneaked into your dormitory to talk to you.” Harry laughed. It was such a beautiful sound; Draco wanted to keep it with him inside some jar so whenever he felt sad, he could open it up and listen to it.

“And I haven’t noticed? Somehow I don’t believe that. I would definitely know if you did that.”

“Wanna bet?”

“Oh, you want to bet on it, now I’m scared.” Draco pretended to be scared.

“Oh stop it, you git.” Harry playfully, lightly pushed Draco under the covers. Shivers went down Draco’s body. Fuck, even the smallest touch did that to him. What did he get get himself into? Maybe his plan wasn’t going to be that easy. “Do you want to hear the story or not?”

“Weren’t you soooooo tired that all you wanted to do was go to sleep?” Draco teased.

“I changed my mind. So do you want to listen to it or do you want to ruin your only chance of hearing that?” Draco could just imagine Harry rolling his eyes and smiling widely as he said that.

“Oh no! What will I do if I don't hear this story? You’re right! Go on then.” He allowed himself a laugh, a real one, the one that Harry was the cause of.

“Even though you said it sarcastically, I know you’re dying to hear that story, so I’ll do you a favor and just tell you.” Harry proceeded to tell Draco how he, Granger, and Weasley made a Polyjuice Potion in second year because they wanted to know who the real heir of Slytherin was, and how they thought that Draco knew it. They had to basically make Crabbe and Goyle unconscious to turn into them and then find Draco, so that they could enter the dormitory.

“So wait... When Crabbe and Goyle were asking me all those stupid questions... it wasn’t them, it was you and Weasley?”

“Yep, pretty much.”

“I knew something was wrong with those two! They were way too inquisitive than they usually are, um… were.” Draco remembered that one of his friends was no longer alive. It’s not like they were his best friends, but they spent almost all their childhood together and he grew to like them, even though they didn’t understand him and he didn’t understand them. He missed Crabbe, he really did.

“You okay?” Harry’s hand reached his under the covers.

“Yes, why wouldn’t I be?” Draco responded quickly and took his hand out of Harry’s as if it burned him.

“I thought you might be a little sad after me mentioning—”

“I’m fine, really. Tell me then, you said the three of you made the potion, so what happened to Granger?” Harry immediately laughed but tried to stop himself.

“Well—” He laughed again. “I shouldn’t laugh, I really shouldn’t.”

“Don’t keep me waiting then, I want to laugh too. If Granger did something even somewhat wrong, I want to hear about it.” Draco promised.

“Okay, I know. So, well, when Ron and I got Crabbe and Goyle’s hair, Hermione was supposed to take Millicent’s hair into her potion, but—” Draco could hear a muffled laugh again. “Apparently, Millicent had some cat hair on her uniform, so…”

“Nooooo.” Draco could see where this was going.

“Yes.”

“Nooooo.” He repeated as he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Yes, and she had to wait for us in the bathroom and then went to the hospital wing. Luckily, Pomfrey cured her quickly. Hermione still looks at me and Ron as if she wanted to kill us whenever we mention this accident.” Now Draco was trying to muffle his laugh.

“To be completely fair, you had a brilliant idea with the Polyjuice, and you were just twelve! That’s impressive. I suppose Granger did all the work, but still, if the plan was yours I have to say, you’re brilliant.”

“Yeah, it was totally my idea.” They both laughed. After that, they shared some other stories with each other, like the one when Pansy and Draco dressed up as Trelawney and Flitwick and did impressions of them in front of the whole Slytherin common room. Draco also told Harry about the times that he spent on making “Potter stinks” badges and how he made like a million of them before he ended up with the results he wanted.

“Wait a minute, where did you get a photo of me?”

“What do you mean? It was like the easiest thing ever! Newspaper.”

“Right.”

“But if you were thinking I was that obsessed with you… you’re actually right, I craved your attention. I wanted you to notice me. I wanted you to remember me, to acknowledge me, even if it was in a bad way, you know. You can believe me or not, but I actually wanted to be your friend once, when we first met, but you had to choose Weasley over me.”

“Oi! That’s all on you.” Harry moved closer to Draco.

“No, not entirely. I tried to make conversation with you the best I could. I mean, you weren’t dressed... eh... like a pureblood or even a wizard, so I think my wanting to be friends with you was kind of, you know, quite serious. And I didn’t even know you were Harry Potter.”

“That’s true. I never thought of it that way.” Harry sounded like he was thinking. “But then again, you were a rich prat who bragged about his father and offended my new friend.”

“Fair enough. So how would you describe me now?”

“Let me think, hmm— Good cook, somewhat nice, bearable, less pratty, but still a huge idiot.”

“That’s all I get? ‘Bearable’? Really?” Harry laughed and collapsed in Draco’s arms, which for some unknown reason opened up to the warm body.

“That’s all you get.” Harry murmured into Draco’s chest. Draco couldn’t hold himself and held the boy in his arms. “Except, maybe I’ll give you some points for your looks; that improved over the years.”

“Oh, Harry, I was always that beautiful. I was born gorgeous.”

“Sure you were.” Harry said in a sleepy voice. Draco snorted. In no time, Harry settled right into Draco’s arms, and just like that, he fell asleep. After Draco calmed his heartbeat down, he pulled Harry closer to himself and, surrounded by the warmth of both of their bodies, he fell asleep.

Chapter Text

Draco woke up to loud banging on his door. He rubbed his eyes, glanced at Harry who was still clinging tightly to him. Oh, how Draco wanted to stay here and just hold Harry; he would take all he could if he would never get a chance to be with the boy.

“Let go, Harry. Whoever it is won’t stop knocking on my door.” Harry sighed but obeyed. Draco stood up and felt the cold air coming from the open window on his half-bare legs. The night was chilly but let the clear air into the room, helping Draco sleep better, knowing that he was not going to boil to death.

He walked up to the door, unlocked it, and swung them open. There stood Susan, one of his healer colleagues, who happened to also live in the same building as Draco. She looked absolutely terrible: her brown hair was tied up in a messy bun soaked wet from the rain outside. Her healer robes lazily hung from her shoulders, and she had a worried expression.

“Susan.” Draco gave her a questioning look and hugged himself to keep warm, though it did nothing to be fair.

“Draco, I need you back at St. Mungo’s with me. Apolline is in a terrible state. She is uncontrollably vomiting, her lungs aren’t—” Susan kept talking, but Draco cut her off, leaving her standing in front of his door. He didn’t need much information; if anything happened to Apolline, he would never forgive himself. He couldn’t allow her to die. He just couldn’t.

He entered his room and quickly threw on his robes. Various spells and procedures raced through his head as he packed his potions into a briefcase. He heard two voices approaching his room.

“—no, I’m not good at those kinds of spells, Harry. If I could do this alone, I would never have come here. I know what I’m doing, but with that girl…” Susan didn’t finish.

“I get it.” Harry’s voice was sleepy and hoarse.

“Why are you even here? I would never think you two—” She trailed off, probably searching for the right words. “—I mean, I thought you were married to Ginny.” Even in his rush, Draco and Harry’s eyes met as Draco turned to face his company. Harry wore nothing but a light t-shirt and a pair of boxers; his hair was even messier than usual. Draco himself was technically in a similar state, wearing pants, but not looking like he was ready for work. Susan definitely thought Harry was either cheating on Ginny or… Draco didn’t know what, but it wasn’t good. What mattered right now was Apolline. He’d deal with Harry’s issues some other day. Harry stared intensely into Draco’s eyes, which Draco didn’t appreciate.

“We’re not...doing anything together. Besides, Harry was just leaving. Poor bloke got drunk and ended up outside my flat. I’m not a monster, so I took him in.” Draco didn’t want this situation to escalate or rumors to spread, especially not with Susan, whom he didn’t trust as much as others. He didn’t look at Harry and continued packing his essential stuff.

“Cut the crap, Draco,” Harry said in an annoyed voice.

“No, not again, Harry. I don’t have time for this.” Draco gestured dismissively at Harry.

“You didn’t seem like you wanted to get rid of me twenty minutes ago.”

“I. DON’T. HAVE. TIME. FOR. THIS. What part of this sentence don’t you understand?”

“I don’t understand how you could give me a forgetting potion in my tea. I’m not as stupid as you thought!” Draco opened his mouth slightly in disbelief. How? How did Harry... How did he know? Then it hit him; Harry must have pretended all night to be under the influence of the potion. And that meant… Draco’s head was spinning.

“I can’t.” Draco said, grabbing his stuff and Disapparating out of the house as quickly as he could.

———-

ShitshitshitshitSHIT. Draco walked through the St. Mungo’s hallways towards Apolline’s room. This wasn’t happening. Draco had everything under absolute control, he had a plan, it was working, and now everything fell apart. What was he supposed to do now? Now that Harry remembered their almost kiss and all that was said. Why would he act like the potion worked? And how the hell did he know Draco added it to Harry’s cup? And how on Merlin’s beard did he manage to drink it and not forget everything? And if he knew Draco wanted him to forget everything, why wasn’t he angry? Why was he still acting so sweet? There were so many questions and no answers.

Draco reached Apolline’s room. He had to put on his working mask. He had to be professional here and push all of his personal feelings away. Apolline was being held by one of the older healers in their arms, sobbing and screaming from the pain. Draco rushed to her bed.

“Step aside,” he ordered the healer. She moved away, and Draco touched Apolline’s arm. She turned her head towards him and embraced him around the neck. He wasn’t expecting that and it took him a few seconds to recover from his shock. He held her in his arms. She looked so broken. She was covered in sweat, with visible veins on her face, arms, and shoulders. It looked like nothing Draco had seen before. Her heart was beating very fast and she was clinging to Draco hard. It broke his heart.

“I’m here,” he uttered. “I’m going to help you, okay?” She didn’t respond; instead, she just cried more. “You have to sit down.” His arms were shaking. He didn’t know what to do. He sat Apolline down on the hospital bed. “Tell me what is hurting you. Don’t cry, Draco. YOU CAN’T.”

“My legs,” Apolline cried.

“How does it feel? What kind of pain is it?” Draco kneeled down to be at eye level with the girl.

“It hurts, Draco.” Her head fell into her lap and she started shaking even more. Draco wasn’t going to get any more information out of her. Why was he doing this all alone? Damn it!

He pointed his wand at her and whispered the incantation that put her to sleep. “I’m sorry, Apolline. It’s for the best now.” He couldn’t do anything with her shaking so much and crying; he would accomplish nothing.

When the girl stopped moving, Draco laid her down on the bed. He opened his briefcase and began searching for the right potions to ease the pain she was feeling even in her sleep. He found the light purple phial, opened the girl’s mouth, and poured the contents down her throat. Apolline’s body loosened up and Draco took a deep breath. Now all that was left to do was research. He needed to find the illness that matched the symptoms Apolline was showing. He had two hours before the girl awoke, and who knew what would happen. Draco couldn’t risk her life with any spells that could only make everything worse. He took out his books that he had brought with him, sat down on the chair beside the girl’s bed, and started flipping through the pages.

It took him an extremely long time to find what he was looking for, but fortunately, he knew all the spells listed as antidotes to Apolline’s disease, and he had all the potions that were supposed to cure her in the long run. The whole procedure would take at least a week, but according to the book, she would get better with each passing day.

Draco prepared all the potions as instructed by the book and started mixing some of them, not leaving out even one detail. He spilled quite a lot of one of his treasured possessions because his hands were shaking so badly, but he couldn’t stop to calm himself down. When he finally managed to complete all the instructions and cast a few spells on Apolline, he started to read more about this strange disease. It was a disease that attacked people’s blood and infected it with a virus that resulted from using too much of a certain potion. Draco had never used it, which caught his interest but also made him feel sick. He didn’t allow anyone else to take care of Apolline; he knew her best and had always managed to help her recover from whatever she was suffering from.

Draco sat in the darkness of the room, panicking. If anybody found out about this, he might be framed for attempted murder. He couldn’t let this happen. He wasn’t ready to lose his job and go to Azkaban. He couldn’t lose Apolline. She had to live, and no one could care for her as well as he did.

Draco’s breathing grew faster and faster. That’s when he felt a familiar hand on his shoulder. It was Harry. He was kneeling on the ground in front of Draco, staring at him with those big green eyes, now full of worry.

“Draco,” he whispered. Draco’s heart almost stopped. “Breathe. Please. You need to breathe.” Harry took Draco’s hand in his and squeezed it.

“I’m going to Azkaban. They’re going to kill me. They’re going to kill me.”

“What are you talking about?” Harry asked, sounding lost.

“I have to go. I can’t stay here. I can’t. I have to take her with me. I have to go.” Draco repeated it like a mantra, not even looking at Harry.

“What are you talking about? Who would send you to Azkaban and why? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I can’t let her die. I can’t. She’ll die if I don’t take her away.” Draco’s whole body was shaking and he couldn’t calm himself down.

“LOOK AT ME!” Harry raised his voice and tugged on Draco’s hand, then moved his hand to Draco’s cheek. Draco was forced to look Harry in the eyes. He stopped breathing.

“Tell me what’s happening. I can help you with whatever this is, but you need to tell me what’s happening.” Harry’s voice softened. Draco just shook his head rapidly.

“Please, we’ll go through it together. I don’t care how serious it is. I—I’m in…” Harry was standing between Draco’s open legs, still holding Draco’s face, but now his other hand moved to Draco’s other cheek. Draco couldn’t breathe at all.

“I—” Harry seemed lost for words. That’s probably why he leaned closer to Draco and softly kissed his lips. Harry’s lips were warm, yet chapped. It was just a peck, but it left Draco speechless. He blinked in disbelief. What on Merlin was happening?! Something told him to pull Harry closer and connect their lips again. He didn’t do it. He wanted to cry. He didn’t know what to do. It was just too much to unpack and discuss. Draco didn’t want to deal with it.

“Good, at least I got you to stop hyperventilating.” Harry’s breath ghosted over Draco’s mouth. After staring at each other for quite a while, Harry said, “If you’re waiting for me to say that we shouldn’t be doing this… I’m not going to say it.” He bit his lower lip and studied Draco’s face. “I’ve been thinking a lot, and, uh, I’m not good at this stuff, but I like you, okay? Well, I like you more than I was supposed to.” Harry sounded frustrated with what he was saying. He put his hand to his forehead. “What I meant is that…” He paused, held his breath, then exhaled slowly. “I don’t want to be with Ginny anymore. She doesn’t make me happy. You, on the other hand—” He looked annoyed with himself, but met Draco’s eyes.

“How can you feel that way about me?” Draco’s voice broke; he almost choked on the last words. “I’ve done so many bad things to you, your friends… And yes, I’ve changed, but I’m still the same person. I still have the Dark Mark on my arm! We almost killed each other at Hogwarts! I’ll get annoyed if you leave a mess around or move my books. I still have my messed up mind with me. I’ll never fully repay you or anyone for what I’ve done. I’ll never be able to fully get rid of… I still cling to some of the rules I grew up with.” Draco spoke quickly, unsure of what was happening or how to handle the situation. “I may have poisoned my own patient, even if it wasn’t my intention. I’m a bad person, Harry. I could never love anyone. I don’t know how to love a person. I can’t give you what you want. I’m not the right person for you. You can’t be sure about those feelings. You can’t. You can’t.”

Harry put his forehead against Draco’s and closed his eyes.

“You’re doing your best, Draco. I sure am still angry at some things that you’ve done. I hated you for years, I hated your whole family. But you, unlike your relatives, are trying to be a better person, and that’s why I decided to give you a second chance. I don't care about your stupid mark! You're so much more than that! And YES, we’ve been through our ups and downs, you annoy the hell out of me sometimes, but you never fail to put a smile on my face, help me in my hardest of times. Even talking nonsense with you is enjoyable, and I feel—feel like you and I—" He stopped to open his eyes and caress Draco’s cheek. “I think that you have a brilliant mind. It was you who helped me pass my exams. Maybe during our times at Hogwarts I’d doubt you, I’d probably think that you did a lot of bad things, but now I know how much you care for Apolline and your other patients. I don’t know exactly what you think you did, but I know you wouldn’t spend hours here playing cards with people who lost their memories, you wouldn’t listen to stories about dead people who others think are alive, you wouldn’t stay up all night preparing potions for a person you wanted dead.”

“You can’t be sure of that,” Draco brushed Harry off.

“Shhhh. I’ve felt something for you ever since France. I was just too much of a coward to do something about it. I was scared and way too stupid to act on my feelings, but that doesn’t mean they weren’t there. Yes, I got along with the wedding, I don’t know why, well, I do, but—Draco, I want to spend my life with you, not with Ginny. You know when I realized that?” Draco shook his head. “I was watching you sleep tonight. I was about to leave you and go back to Gin, but I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. You make me feel free. You make me feel alive. You make me feel safe, and you understand me. I know you don’t think we would ever work out, but we’ve spent so much time around each other; I’ve started calling your flat home. It took me a long time to realize that home wasn’t a place, but a person— you.” Their mouths were so close now they both felt each other’s warm breaths on their lips and could hear each other’s beating hearts. Draco was so tired and so full of love for the other boy. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He felt tears covering his cheeks. He felt embarrassed. “I sound silly, don’t I?”

“No,” Draco whispered back and closed the gap between them. Once his lips touched Harry’s, he was gone. He got lost in Harry. What surprised Draco even more was the fact that Harry didn’t even wait for an invitation; he just kissed Draco back. They started off with soft, sweet kisses that took both of their breaths away and quickened their heartbeats. Then it turned into more hot, open-mouthed and eager kisses. It was brilliant. It was magical. Both of them couldn’t keep smiles off their faces. Draco couldn’t stop the tears dripping from his eyes. He really thought no one could love him, but after what Harry said, he was sure they were already somewhat like a couple, just without the kissing and having sex part. Merlin, Harry’s lips felt so damn good on his; he wanted to kiss them forever. And Harry’s tongue caressing inside Draco’s mouth was making Draco lose his mind; he wanted to do more, he wanted to feel all of Harry, feel him against his bare skin, know Harry’s whole body better than he knew his own. He never thought that kisses could heal, but Harry’s definitely did. He felt so warm. So aroused. Then he remembered where they were and why he was here.

“Fuck,” Harry exhaled against Draco’s lips and tried to connect their mouths together again, but Draco held him back.

“We’re in the infirmary, next to the patient. I’m the healer; someone could walk in on us,” Draco said, not really wanting to stop their make-out session either.

“I don’t care. I’ve been waiting for this for too long.” Harry kissed Draco again, and the blond couldn’t hold him back; he opened his mouth wider, which encouraged Harry to deepen the kiss and sit on Draco’s lap. Touching more of Harry’s body, even through the material of both of their pants, made the Slytherin moan. “Say you want me,” Harry gasped. “Please.” He used his thumb to wipe away the still-wet spots on Draco’s cheeks. “Say—”

“How can I not want you? Can you feel what I’m feeling?” Draco might have been referring to both his emotions and a certain bulge in his pants.

“You’re ruining the moment,” Harry teased, brushing his lips over Draco’s.

“I want you, Harry. I want you so much I’m letting you do all this.” He was rewarded with the sweetest, softest kiss he had ever received. It melted all his insides. They opened their eyes and stared at each other for a long moment, both grinning from ear to ear.

“I’ve never felt like this before. I never…” Harry moaned when Draco moved beneath him. “You drive me crazy.” He took Draco’s hand in his own. He was blushing really hard; Draco was sure he was too, probably even harder because his cheeks were burning.

“Draco…?” They were so occupied by staring at each other that a sudden, quiet voice made them jump. The voice belonged to Apolline, who had just woken up and was searching for Draco in the darkness of the room.

“I’m here. I’m here.” He delicately pushed Harry off his lap and rushed to Apolline’s side. He cast a Lumos and noticed that Harry did too. The room lit up in a calming light blue. He gave Harry a thankful smile. “How are you feeling?”

“Is that Harry Potter?!” She screamed with excitement, seeming to have regained her strength, as she took one look at Harry. Fair enough, Draco thought.

“It is, and he’s heard so much about you.” Harry stepped beside Draco to see Apolline. Draco looked at him with admiration. This man was everything good in this world. Draco still couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that this man wanted him. It was crazy.

“You did?! I’ve read so much about you and Draco. He sometimes tells me a little bit about you. He doesn’t like to, though.” She lowered her voice and a smile appeared on her face. “I think he might have a crush on you,” she whispered. “He always blushes so hard when I mention you.” Draco was blushing incredibly hard now. He hid his face behind his palms.

He heard Harry’s small laughter.

“Does he? I wouldn’t have guessed.”

“Please, stop,” Draco murmured.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Harry sat on Appoline’s bed. She nodded excitedly. She seemed to feel fine. That’s all that Draco cared about. “I like him too. I like him a lot. But I think he’s a total prat. He left one of his friends at his door and totally ignored her, can you believe that?”

“Honestly, she’s not even my—” Draco started.

“Oh, he’s awful!” Appoline sighed. “He never allows me to curse, even if he does it. He cheats in UNO, he always corrects people, and he acts like he’s sooooo clever.”

“Oi! I’m still here. It hurts,” Draco tried to sound resentful, but he couldn’t stop the smile on his face when Harry grabbed his hand. It seemed like he couldn’t keep his hands off Draco. “Besides, I never cheated at any game, Polly,” he rolled his eyes. “And we talked about bad words.” Harry and Appoline looked at each other and laughed. “How are you, Appoline?” Draco slipped his hand out of Harry’s. “I need to examine you. Do you feel any pain? Is your head hurting?”

“I’m okay, Draco. Really, I can’t feel any pain. And LOOK! The veins are gone!” She cheered. They really were gone. Maybe Draco wasn’t going to go to Azkaban.

“I can see that, but you need to be treated for this disease, okay? I’ll help you with your recovery as I always do. You’re going to be okay. I’ll make sure you’re taken care of—” Draco started to wander around the room, looking for his briefcase. He was supposed to give one more potion to the girl before she fell asleep again; he needed to brew it though. He decided to do this in the room; he had everything he needed there. Also, Harry could not be trusted with his mouth around kids, or anyone else.

Harry and Appoline kept on chatting about Harry and what amazing things he had done. He sounded a bit awkward hearing Appoline being so invested in Harry’s story. She also asked him about Granger and Weasley, and then Weslette.

“Um, yeah, I got married, but it’s really complicated right now.” Harry sounded upset; Draco could hear it in his voice, without even looking at him.

“Is it because you like Draco?” Appoline seemed not to realize it was a bad question. She never did; she always said whatever was on her mind.

Harry, surprisingly, decided to be honest with her as well. “Yeah, exactly. I more than like him.”

“You can just break up with your wife, right? Then you and Draco could be together.” That got Draco’s attention. He knew Harry wanted to leave Ginny; he had said that to Draco, well, not exactly, but that’s what he meant by saying he wanted to be with Draco and not her.

Harry looked at Draco and smiled slightly. “Right. You’re right. You’re a smart girl.” He turned back to the girl on the bed.

The rest of the night passed with Harry telling Appoline about his days at Hogwarts and his adventures. Draco made the potion, and after giving it to Appoline and watching her fall asleep, he and Harry had a long talk about their future. Harry said that he was going to talk to Ginny as soon as he could, and he would ask her to move out. Draco was so happy; he couldn’t believe it was happening. He still was not really sure about all of this; he didn’t know if their relationship would last or if Harry would decide that he didn’t want Draco anymore. But he decided to push his worries away and live in the moment, which Harry suggested he do.

“You said so many good things about me, and I—I wanted to tell you that you make me a better person and you’re driving me absolutely crazy.” That’s all Draco could say. It still earned him a long snog from his, HIS, not everyone else’s, Harry. For now.

—————

Harry’s talk with Ginny wasn’t really pleasant, since Harry didn’t really know what to say. He had been worrying about it the whole day after he and Draco got out of St. Mungo’s. He had written the whole apology to his still-wife a thousand times, yet nothing felt right. Everything he wrote sounded selfish, silly, and just WRONG. In the end, he decided just to go to Ginny with a clear mind and a ‘good luck’ kiss from Draco.

He apologized to Ginny about their wedding, their wedding night, just going along with the wedding. He explained to her that he still loved her as a friend and never meant to fall for Draco. He told her he never cheated on her, at least not physically. He didn’t count the night at St. Mungo’s. He didn’t want to break Ginny’s heart anymore. He felt bad for hurting her. But they weren’t working, they both knew it. Ginny just wasn’t ready to accept it yet. She thought they could work on it. They had tried that before, it didn’t work. Their relationship only hurt them both, and Draco, he healed them.

Ginny screamed, she hexed Harry in anger, and then dropped on the floor crying. She hid her face in her hands and told Harry not to touch her.

“What does he have that I don’t?” Ginny wiped her nose with the end of her sleeve.

“It’s not only about that, Ginny, you know it.” Harry was quite terrified of her, that’s why he tried speaking softer. His arm burned from the hex she threw at him, and he didn’t want a repetition of that.

“Is it because the sex is better?” She wouldn’t stop.

“We never—It’s none of your business, Gin. Not now at least. Besides, I told you I never cheated on you!” Harry was getting defensive. He tried to stay calm and soft, seeing as he was the villain in this story, but Ginny was just so DAMN STUBBORN.

“Okay, so you were never even attracted to me for starters, you’re gay?”

“No, I don’t—Ginny, I’m not gay. I like both girls and guys, but you’re missing the point.”

“So you were attracted to me, but Malfoy just has a magic cock, or what?” Harry gasped at that question. He was already so tired of fighting with her.

“A magic … What?” Harry shook his head. “As I said, I never planned to fall for him, okay? He makes me a better person, he knows how to take care of me, and he’s way beyond caring that I’m Harry freakin’ Potter; he makes me feel free. When I’m with him, I can feel all the things that Hermione described when she was talking about Ron. I always wanted to feel that, I’m sorry it wasn’t with you. I can’t control my feelings. We’ve been happy, Ginny, but we were also incredibly unhappy with each other. I need to do what I want to do with my life, escape the pressure, and be with someone who won’t tell me what to do—well, mostly, someone who will see me for who I am, not who they want me to be.”

Ginny stayed quiet. “Go to Malfoy then! I’ll be out of the house by tomorrow, give me at least this.” Harry was about to say that it’s totally okay and she can have as long as she needed to move out, but she spoke over him. “And don’t talk to me again. I don’t want to see you anymore. You’ve hurt me, Harry, with all those hateful things you said. I can’t say I forgive you. For now. I’m sure I’ll be fine; it’s not like you’re impossible to get over. Go!” She took her glass full of orange juice into her hand and downed it all. Harry Disapparated as soon as he saw her hurt and angry look.

The next awful talk Harry had to go through was the one with Ron and Hermione. Explaining his situation to them was even worse. They just didn’t understand why Harry wanted to be with Draco and why he left Ginny for him. They did get Draco’s apology letters though; they proved to be helpful during this talk. Ron, of course, was defensive of his sister and angry at Harry for breaking her heart, but then he sat next to Harry and actually tried to understand him. He only did it because Harry almost started crying when Ron said that he wasn’t sure they could be friends anymore. Ron was a softie inside and he was Harry’s best friend after all; they had gone through so much together. Yes, Ginny was Ron’s sister, but both Harry and he couldn’t imagine living without each other by their side.

“I kinda knew you and Ginny weren’t working out,” he admitted after Harry couldn’t say a word. He was lost for them. “I just thought you could work it out, mate. I wanted us to be a proper family, you know? Ever since Mione and I got together, I had this picture of us four in my head. I wanted our children to be cousins and I wanted them to be best mates, like we are.” Harry felt so guilty, he knew he shouldn’t. He was changing his life for his own good, finally doing something for himself, not for others, yet he still felt like he was letting everyone down.

“I’m sorry, Ron. I wasn’t happy with Gin. We tried to be happy, and maybe we were for some time, but I was never in love with her. I thought that after years I finally would be, but I just—I love her, I always will, she’s brilliant, but she’s not the one for me.” There was silence between them for a while. Hermione was sitting in front of them, trying not to get into this intimate moment they were having. She was the one that reacted with, “Oh, Harry, I’ve known for quite a while; your wedding only confirmed my suspicions.” There wasn’t anger in her voice, just understanding and sadness. “I—I kind of saw you both dancing together when everyone left; well, I forgot my purse in the tent and when I walked back to get it … I—I’m sorry, Harry.” She looked uncomfortable. “I saw the way you looked at him; I’ve never seen you this focused on one person. Your eyes were practically gleaming, and you wouldn’t stop staring into his eyes…” She hugged Harry. “It’s clear you love him and he loves you too; I hate to say this, but I think you and he can finally find happiness together. Neither you nor Ginny deserved a miserable marriage. I know she loves you very much and has loved you for quite a long time, but I know you want two different things. I can see it. I know how terrified your job makes you feel; if you joined the Aurors. I know you don’t want children yet and I know you thought you were doing the right thing when you married her, but Harry … you were not happy. You never looked at her the way you look at Malfoy. If he makes you happy, then I’ll support you through it. I’m glad you stopped prioritizing others’ happiness over yours. You’ve done enough of that.” She was so supportive, yet still not sure if she could forgive Draco for what he had done to her and Ron, what his family had done. She was brilliant; she said she’d try her best if Harry asks Draco to come over for dinner at her and Ron’s house. Harry could never ask for a better friend.

“Does Malfoy really make you happy?” Ron finally said when Hermione went to the kitchen to bring some canned Muggle beer for all of them.

“Yes, very,” Harry said quietly, like it was something forbidden to say, but he smiled.

“To be fair, Hermione is right; you looked a little miserable with my sister.”

“Well, I was. I mean, she helped me a lot through the first year after the war, but we mainly, you know…” It was uncomfortable to talk about it with Ron. “Had sex to forget about everything. I wasn’t feeling comfortable sharing all my thoughts and dreams with her. She never saw me as just me, like you and Mione.”

“Fair.” Ron sighed. “I hope you apologized to her though and handled the situation well.”

“I tried…”

“She hexed you, didn’t she?”

“Yep.”

“Tea from Valerian helps with the healing process if it scarred.” Harry looked at Ron with scared eyes. “Oh, come on, you know she hexed me a lot of times! A few times she hit me harder than she anticipated and I ended up bleeding, not a big deal.” Harry put his arm around his mate and patted him on the shoulder.

“Harry, I hope you know that no matter what happens next, Weasleys will always be your family. I will always support you. Ginny will find someone else to love her. I’m sure she will.”

“As for Malfoy, I don’t know why he means so much to you…but Harry,” Ron said when he caught Harry’s eyes, “if he makes you happy, then I will be happy for you. You should be together. Merlin, I never thought I’d tell you to be with Malfoy, but there we go.” Harry smiled at him; it was the first smile he put on that day. “I’m still mad at you for still going along with the wedding when you obviously felt something for Malfoy.”

Harry finally spoke. “You know I’m quite oblivious to some stuff, it involves my feelings too.”

“You actually are. I’ve gotten better at this. I mean, I was always better at this than you.”

“Oi!”

“Mate.” Ron looked at him with his best ‘seriously’ look.

“Oh, okay.”

By the time they switched to another subject, Hermione brought the beers and some hard pretzels. They spent the night, just the three of them like they used to, and they had a good time. They played some cards and got a little bit tipsy. It had been a while since they spent quality time together. It felt so good.

When Harry was leaving via the Floo network, he promised his friends to bring Draco once he got his divorce sorted out and was ready for it. They said their goodbyes, and Harry headed to Draco’s flat. Draco was already sleeping when Harry entered the room. He looked so peaceful, more than ever; his silver-blond hair was spread on his white pillow, and the light from the window cast a gentle glow on his exposed back. Harry took off his clothes, leaving just his boxers on, and slipped under the covers. He kissed Draco’s back—it was something new. They hadn’t gone beyond kissing on the mouth (and maybe chests) and touching each other literally everywhere, albeit sadly still through the material of their clothes. Harry was afraid of taking any further steps; he didn’t know what Draco was comfortable with, and he didn’t know how to proceed sexually with a man. He was quite embarrassed about it, but he knew he wanted to do more. He also wanted to impress Draco and make him feel good.

The first time Harry saw Draco without his shirt off was when they got into bed the previous night. He gasped and made a non-human noise when he saw Draco's Sectumsempra scars. He started apologizing to Draco and running his fingers over them. He felt horrible that he was responsible for those scars, and most importantly, he had almost killed Draco. He kissed every single scar, not caring about Draco being grumpy about it and telling him not to do so, and that he was a huge sap. Draco also told Harry that it's all good, they're even, and that they should forget about those things and move on. They were finally together, and they were supposed to enjoy it rather than going back AGAIN to apologizing to each other and feeling sorry. Even if Draco hated that Harry felt bad for his scars, he let himself be kissed and caressed. They both loved kissing each other now that they could do it whenever they felt like it.

Draco shifted in bed, and without saying anything, he turned to his side and pulled Harry to himself. They fell asleep in each other’s arms as a couple for the first time.

Harry knew that they would have to work on their relationship, and he knew they would have their ups and downs, but he was happy about this. He wanted to experience the good, the bad, the sad, the happy, the sexual, and sweet moments with Draco. He wanted to give them a try and finally feel how it was to be happy and in love with the person he was with. He knew they would make each other better and that they would support each other through everything. They had to try; if they didn’t, they would probably die regretting that they didn’t.

Chapter Text

~ 3 years after Draco and Harry got together ~

“Harry, what the hell!?” Draco screamed from the bathroom.

“What?!” Harry was getting dressed in their bedroom, putting on his favorite burgundy shirt with white and gray lily print, which happened to be Draco’s favorite too.

“What in Merlin’s name have you done to my shampoo?! You know I have sensitive hair!” Harry didn’t need to ask what Draco was talking about as his boyfriend stormed into the room, half-naked, with weird white paste in his hair. Harry couldn’t suppress a laugh.

“Care to explain?”

“Is it a new trend?” Harry clutched his belly, laughing hard. Draco looked ridiculous, his face a mix of anger and embarrassment. Harry knew how much Draco cared about his hair, but he had no idea what the paste was. He got closer to Draco and sniffed his hair, surprised he wasn't pushed back, and touched the substance in the blonde's hair. “Oh, Dray, you didn’t tell me you were making pancakes in the shower. I didn’t even know you could do that.” Harry laughed even harder. Draco glared at him, but also touched his hair to grab some of the pancake batter from it, examined it, and closed his eyes, shaking his head slowly from side to side.

“It’s all your fault. You put your food into jars that remind you again, and my hair products were meant for them.” Harry did the only thing that always worked on Draco, kissing him on the lips. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Potter.”

“Wanna bet?” Harry moved his lips to Draco’s exposed neck and started pressing little kisses there. Draco was already breathing faster. Harry knew how to calm him down, especially when Draco was about to start yet another stupid fight.

“Okay, stop.” Draco pushed Harry away. Harry offered him a huge grin, which said ‘I got you’. Draco cleaned up his hair with a flick of his wand. “No more putting pancake batter in the jars.” He pulled Harry by his shirt and kissed him passionately. It had been three years, and Draco still took his breath away.

Draco and Harry moved to France two years ago, to the exact house where they had fallen in love. They wanted to get away from England for a while after Harry told the Ministry they didn’t deserve to work with him and exposed them in the papers for not doing their job right. Originally planning to stay a few months, they decided to settle there permanently. Life had never been better for them: no press, no crazy fans, no annoying people, no societal pressure—just fewer problems. They also started their own business, a restaurant open to both Muggles and wizards, though only Muggle-borns or those with connections to wizards visited. Harry and Draco had become skilled cooks and bakers, with thousands of their own recipes, many of which became customer favorites—like Harry’s vegetarian lasagna with red peppers and creamy portobello mushrooms, or Draco’s raspberry and mango tart. The restaurant was located in Fourcés, Midi-Pyrénées, a small town with beautiful tree-shaded green spaces. The architecture, featuring half-timbered houses, was stunning and built by talented and open-minded people. Summers were divine; Harry and Draco loved offering outdoor seating so patrons could enjoy fresh air and admire the town and lovely plants around. There were abundant markets and local entertainment, so they never got bored and ventured out whenever they had free time. Everyone in town was kind and almost everyone knew each other; of course, occasionally they’d get a grumpy customer who was dragged there, but usually the atmosphere was calming and inviting. Harry was the happiest he had ever been, with Draco by his side and doing what he loved. They actually lived in St. Enogat, but took a portkey every day to work—it worked well for them so far.

They grew closer, almost broke up five times, spent more than satisfying nights together, invited Ron and Hermione, and eventually the Weasleys, to their house and served them their dishes. Once or twice, even the Hogwarts gang, including Dean, Seamus, Parvati, Neville, and Luna, came over. Some of Draco’s old friends, like Zabini and Pansy, reconnected with him and became friends with Harry as well. Initially strange, they turned out to be legitimate people. Harry loved their friend group and always enjoyed their company. He and Draco spent time apart and hung out with their friends separately. Draco even hung out with Ginny and set her up with Pansy, which was the weirdest thing ever, yet they matched so well and were happy together. Harry and Ginny became good friends, getting along much better as friends than they had as a couple. Ron and Hermione were expecting a child next year, and Harry decided to be the best godfather he could, apparating to Hermione once or twice a week to check on her and spend time with his friends. Dean and Seamus also became close to Harry and Draco, meeting monthly in London at the other’s pub to discuss Quidditch or business. They usually ended up exchanging baking techniques or overly personal information about their sex lives, but that was Draco and Seamus. Harry loved his life.

He didn’t know that today he was going to become even happier.

Draco took Harry out to their beach. After swimming for a while and eating some snacks, they lay next to each other under a night sky covered in millions of stars. Draco cleared his throat nervously and sat up. Harry could feel the tension in the air. They had lain on their blankets in complete silence for too long for everything to be fine.

Draco was shaking as he reached into their beach basket and pulled out something small. He wouldn’t turn to face Harry, clutching the object in his hand while twirling his other fingers. Harry sat up and touched Draco’s shoulder.

“Everything okay, Dray?”

Draco took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Finally, he turned to face Harry and cast several spells around them, bathing the beach in dim yellow and white light. Harry swallowed hard. He knew whatever Draco was about to say was important; otherwise, he wouldn’t have lit up the beach like this.

“Harry…” Another deep breath. They locked eyes, facing each other intensely. “You know how much I love and admire you.” No, no, no, no, no. This wasn’t supposed to happen now. Harry wasn’t expecting this until May, when he planned to do it. Harry’s breath caught in his throat. “You are my everything. Ever since my mother died, you’ve been my rock. Well, you’ve been my rock ever since we started meeting up after coming back from here for the first time, but—I’ve never had someone like you beside me, aside from my mother. You’re even better. You give me your love, you give me comfort, you make me want to live and keep going. I wouldn’t have been able to accomplish a lot of things if it wasn’t for you.” Harry was shaking now too. He exhaled and grabbed Draco’s hand, his eyes beginning to water. “I can’t imagine spending the rest of my life with anyone else but you. Harry, I love you very much.” Draco released Harry's hand and revealed a small silver box with gold engraving on it. He opened it, revealing a beautiful silver ring in the shape of a dragon and a lion entwined together. Harry looked up at his boyfriend. “Will you do me the honour of marrying me?” Harry was already in Draco’s arms, sobbing tears of happiness and a whirlwind of emotions.

“Of course it’s a YES, you idiot! I’m crazy about you! How could I say ‘no’?” Harry didn’t give Draco a chance to respond, connecting their lips in the most passionate kiss they ever shared. He didn’t stop kissing Draco even when they fell back, laying on top of each other, Draco protesting and moaning into his mouth.

“You have absolutely no manners when it comes to serious things,” Draco breathed when Harry finally released his lips. Despite his words, he was smiling broadly.

“I love you,” Harry whispered softly, kissing Draco again before slipping the ring onto his finger. It fit perfectly. Harry found himself in tears once more as Draco pulled him into his arms, brushing their noses together.

“I love you too.”