Work Text:
Surveying himself in the full-length mirror, Harry throws up his hands with a frustrated sound.
“Come on then.” His tone is mock resigned as he looks up and meets the watching grey eyes.
Smirking, Draco strolls up behind him, voice mockingly sing-song, “Can do wandless magic like it is nothing but hasn’t mastered a cravat charm," It is said as if to the world at large, greatly put upon, but nevertheless his hands reach over Harry's shoulders.
“And you know approximately...ninety-nine? Yet you still tie by hand.” Harry watches Draco’s fingers deftly flick one end of the fabric over the other.
“Some things are worth doing by hand, Potter.” He arches an eyebrow suggestively.
Harry sniggers, “Filthy bastard.” Draco just smiles as he smoothes the knot down. “Why haven’t you done the chunky one?”
Draco rolls his eyes. “And have everyone wonder who has polyjuiced as you? A decent four-in-hand is about halfway believable.”
Turning slowly in his arms, Harry tries to keep his tone light, “I could just tell them who tied it.” It is still enough to make Draco flinch.
“Harry. Please. Not now.”
“When’s good for you then?” Harry's voice sharpens. “It’s been nearly six months, should we schedule it in for our first anniversary, perhaps?”
Body tense, Draco attempts to deflect Harry back to the task at hand, urges him not to be tardy.
“Right. I'll just go and watch my friends declare their love in public then.” The way Harry drops his forehead to Draco’s takes away some of the sting.
After he leaves Draco sits on the bed. Smoothes out the covers.
He knows he isn’t brave. Or at least only in extremis. To save Mother’s life. To give Harry mere minutes grace to escape.
But this? This is different. This is trusting in himself. Trusting that Harry’s promises are real. Unconditional. Trusting that they will weather the vagaries of time and scrutiny. That Draco opening this up isn't the decision that takes from Harry. Takes his friends, his family. Respect.
He only wants to give. Harry’s already lost too much.
******
He hears the Floo flare. “About bloody time! It was your idea to celebrate our six month anniversary, the least you could do was finish on time."
Draco continues to grouse as he moves through, stopping only when faced with Granger. Harry shielded his Floo some time ago, Draco’s the only one with free access. She’s frozen in shock at the sight of him, but there's something else there too.
"No." His voice sounds ragged. Harry’s Floo opens in an emergency for his next-of-kin. "No."
She lets out a sudden laugh. "Of course. The Black ring he’s wearing isn’t Sirius’ is it?" He'd be impressed with how quickly she adapts, if he wasn't so scared. He's shaking.
"Breathe. He’s alive. I came for clothes. Although, I suppose really you should...?"
******
St Mungo's is busy. Word has spread. Interspersed with visitors and patients, reporters roam between the Floos and emergency rooms. They coalesce around Granger and himself as they cross the floor, Harry's monogrammed overnight bag in Draco's hand. The porter on the door shows reluctance, but Granger's clipped insistence that he 'Let Mr Potter's partner through with his belongings' eases the way. It is the only statement the clamouring press receive.
Beyond, in relative calm, Granger stills him with a hand to his arm.
"It's not...he...he's going to need you. Can you do that for him? I think I need to hear you say it, Malfoy."
He's never felt so sure of anything. He wishes it wasn’t this situation which had forced him to see it. But he knows now it is worth it, to be the one allowed to be here, in moments like this. He pauses, hand on the door of the room, nods his head.
"I've got him, Granger."