Work Text:
“Potter! No! That’s not…”
Abeona watches with wide eyes as the Harry Potter heaves a gigantic bag into the Portkey Office, while Draco Malfoy, his boyfriend (according to the Prophet, at least), flaps his arms around and scolds him.
“I don’t know why we couldn’t have just shrunk and lightened the bloody thing, we’re wizards.” Harry Potter grumbles.
His face is bright red and sweaty. He doesn’t exactly look thrilled to be approaching Abeona’s desk. Oh Merlin, they’re coming to Abeona’s desk?! Her heart starts racing and she tries to recall how to talk and act like a normal human being. She just has to do her job, that’s all. It doesn’t matter that they’re Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy and they’re rarely seen together and yet here they are together and they’re going to talk to her and— “eeek!”
…And now she’s actually squealed out loud. Smooth Abe, really smooth.
They both look up at her embarrassing sound, and Draco Malfoy bustles over to her desk and starts talking far too quickly for her overexcited brain to compute. “We’re going to Pointe-à-Pitre, Guadeloupe. I have all the relevant documentation right here.” He pushes a great stack of parchment across the desk. “Please arrange the Portkey for as soon as possible; our cruise departs in 45 minutes and it’s imperative that we are on board before it leaves.”
Abeona nods approximately thirty times, and then the words hit home and she rapidly starts trying to look at the paperwork, but her hands are shaking so much that they somehow end up all over the floor. Her face is burning up, and she’s pretty sure she’s about to both cry and die from the humiliation.
“Honestly, is it really so much to ask that they employ competent staff?” she hears Draco Malfoy snipe as she hurriedly tries to scoop everything back up. It suddenly all gathers together into a neat pile and soars back onto her desk. She rises to find Harry Potter with his wand out and an apologetic expression.
“Please excuse my boyfriend. He becomes a total dickhead when he’s got his knickers in a twist, and we’re in a bit of a rush because someone—” he raises his eyebrows at a somehow now even more irate Draco Malfoy, “—insisted we needed a very specific brand of sun potion, which of course the first three shops didn’t have in stock.” He rolls his eyes at Abeona, and she thinks she might faint. Harry Potter just spoke to her like a friend!
“So we’d really appreciate it if you could do your best to get our Portkey arranged nice and quickly, if that’d be possible. Wouldn’t we.” He elbows his boyfriend in the side, eliciting a reluctant, “yes, yes, very appreciative.”
Abeona remembers that she’s supposed to be urgently arranging the Portkey, not watching the soap opera that is Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy interacting like a couple and confirming the Prophet was correct and awww Witch Weekly was right, they do look so good together and oh Merlin the Portkey. Work Abe!
Despite being insanely flustered, Abeona manages to gather her wits just enough to fill out all the relevant forms she needs to create the Portkey. She checks the destination three times before she goes to cast the spell, because she’d never live it down if she accidentally got them stuck somewhere random.
After a couple of pressurised minutes, she has a brightly coloured beach ball in hand, and is leading the couple towards the departure space.
They’re bickering over who should carry the suitcase, Harry Potter insisting that since it’s Draco Malfoy who refuses to cast spells on it he should have to deal with it, and Draco Malfoy arguing, “what’s the point in having a big strong Auror boyfriend if he’s not going to put his muscles to good use?”
Abeona trips over herself at the talk of how muscular Harry Potter is, and suddenly the beach ball is rolling off into the distance and she’s got fifteen seconds to retrieve it and she’s pushing herself up and running and… it flies swiftly into Draco Malfoy’s waiting hand. He raises a single eyebrow at her, but his lips are twitching with amusement.
Harry Potter calls out a “thanks for all your help,” and then they (and their giant suitcase) disappear out of the Portkey office. Abeona collapses into the nearest chair with a thud.
As soon as they arrive in Guadeloupe, Draco is hit by a wave of heat so strong it feels like someone has mistaken him for a kettle and cast a boiling charm at him. His winter robes are entirely inappropriate for the warmth of the sunny Caribbean island, and his eyes are assaulted by bright sunshine of an intensity that’s rarely seen in London, especially in January.
Draco glances around at his surroundings. The place is bustling, there are people rushing past him left, right and centre, but there is one thing that Draco had been expecting that is very obviously missing from the scene: a cruise ship, something Harry had assured him would be like a seaborn city. Surely that meant it should be big enough to be visible?
“Potter.” Draco is beginning to panic. “Potter!” he says louder, but is still ignored as the imbecile continues to smile, his face turned to the sun in a way that makes him look almost godly, but now is not the time to look godly, it’s the time to find and board a damn boat! “Potter! That dim-witted Portkey Official must have sent us to the wrong place.”
“Huh?” Harry eloquently replies, finally paying some attention to Draco.
“The ship, Potter. Where is the ship?” He takes time to enunciate every syllable, hoping the intelligence he knows Harry is hiding somewhere deep inside his brain will make an appearance if he does.
Harry looks confused. It’s not a good sign. And then he gestures vaguely at a tall, white wall a few metres away. “Uh, there?” He’s scratching the back of his neck in that awful endearing way, the way which makes Draco want to melt and hold him and never let go. It’s incredibly infuriating how such tiny things can create surges in the affection Draco feels for the man, and it’s also very distracting. It makes him want to forgive him for his stupidity.
“That’s a wall, Potter,” he starts, pointing towards it and giving it a good look as he gesticulates, “that’s not a…” Draco tails off.
Harry’s lips quirk up into an amused, fond smirk. “Not a ship, you say?”
Draco can’t decide if he wants to slap or snog that stupid smugness off his face. How dare Harry be right! It goes against all rules of the universe, it’s like a Niffler who doesn’t try to steal shiny things.
“Yes, alright Potter. Very clever. I was under the impression that ships looked like boats, but I will concede that this thing does appear to be floating.”
Harry still looks as if he’d just won the Quidditch Cup, and Draco is growing more hot and bothered by the second.
It appears that Harry has grown a tiny morcel of self-preservation, because when he sees the dangerous flash in Draco’s eye, he wipes the grin from his face and begins to drag the suitcase away from them. “Sign over there says boarding. Come on, the ship should have air-con.”
Draco doesn’t know what “air-com,” is, but he follows Harry nevertheless.
“I thought you said this was supposed to be a luxury boat trip, not a floating prison! Where’s the rest of the room?”
Harry sighs and pushes the suitcase into the room, then closes the door behind them. He’s trying his best not to hold Draco’s attitude against him and to remind himself of what his therapist has said so many times; it’s not Draco’s fault that Harry grew up dreaming of a room this big, Draco can’t be blamed for having had different life experiences. Harry knows his therapist is right, but it still stings to hear such a harsh, quick dismissal from the man who somehow stole his heart with barbs and wit.
Harry looks around the room for himself. It isn’t massive, but it’s got a comfy looking king size bed with crisp white sheets, and there’s a couple of armchairs with a little table between them, and a small window that looks out to sea. To Harry, it’s a nice, cosy place where he can sleep beside his boyfriend. He can’t see how anyone would ever want or need anything more than that. It’s just a shame that the boyfriend in question is far harder to please than Harry.
“Look, the room is just for sleeping and… you know. And the bed looks comfy so. Yeah.” Harry wishes he could be suave and smooth, rather than stumbling over his words and blushing profusely every time he attempts to even talk around the subject of sex.
“Yeah? The bed looks comfy?” Draco has one eyebrow raised and a sly smile across his face. “Harry James Potter, are you coming on to me right now?” he teases, and he leans forwards to plant a soft kiss on Harry’s lips. “You’re so adorable when you’re coy and flustered like this.”
“I’m adorable?” Harry asks, pulling away from the kiss in disbelief.
Draco smiles sweetly, the picture of innocence. “Yes, you’re adorable. It’s simply the truth.”
Harry huffs out a laugh. “Great. Adorable. Exactly how every man wants to be described by their partner.” He takes another step away from Draco, running a hand through his hair. “Let’s just go and explore the rest of the ship, shall we?”
They wander down the corridor past dozens of doors to other rooms, but thankfully Draco doesn’t make any more prison analogies. He’s still too busy thinking of ways to describe Harry.
“So if you don’t like adorable, what about cute? Am I allowed to call you cute?”
They reach a more open area, and Harry leads them up a flight of stairs. “No. I’m not cute.”
Draco lets out an ‘awww’ noise. “I beg to differ!”
At the top of the stairs, they turn left and come to a swimming pool with water that glistens blue as it gently ripples. Harry sucks in a breath; he can’t wait to dive into the cool water.
“What is this? Do Muggles have communal baths? That’s disgusting.” Draco’s voice cuts through Harry’s excitement like a derogatory knife.
“No. This is a swimming pool. You swim in it,” Harry says, but he’s already moving on as Draco makes another comment about Muggles, hygiene, and lakes.
Close by, they find a beach themed bar serving multicoloured cocktails with umbrellas and novelty straws poking out of them. Draco’s nose wrinkles as he points at a pair of women drinking something lurid pink through straws in the shape of flamingos. “What on earth are those women doing? Why are they kissing animal beaks?”
Harry has to grab his hand and pull it down, then usher them quickly away as the whole bar turns to stare at them. “Draco! You can’t just say stuff like that so loudly!” He directs them through another door, already resigned to Draco hating whatever is on the other side of it. “They were straws. Narrow tubes you suck on one end, so you can drink the liquid from the other end.”
The room they’ve just entered is a casino, and Draco’s lewd comment about better things to suck is cut off as he takes in all of the flashing lights and card tables. “Ah, so we’ve reached the doomy gloomy depths of the ship where no sunlight can get in. Wonderful.” Draco’s sarcastic drawl makes Harry want to punch him, but instead he decides to simply ignore his boyfriend from now on.
Harry’s plan to simply tune out Draco’s voice has mixed effects. They’ve continued their exploration through a dining area and a couple of shops before Harry finally snaps, which he thinks is a fair achievement, considering how determined Draco seems to ruin the holiday. He swivels around and begins to stalk angrily back to their room, not turning back to see if Mr Whingebag is following him.
In the silence of the walk back to the room, the anger exploding inside Harry’s head has time to dampen into much quieter flames of disappointment and sadness. By the time he’s opening the door, he’s no longer raring for a fight. He lets Draco know that he should enter the room with a tilt of the head, and then follows him inside.
As soon as the door clicks shut, Harry blows out a breath and simply says, “Draco, please.” He steps forward to stand directly in front of Draco, forcing him to meet his eye. “I know that you’re feeling overwhelmed right now, that it’s hard for you to be surrounded by so many Muggles,” he keeps his voice calm, and tries not to sound too much like he’s begging, even though that’s exactly what he’s been reduced to doing, “but I also know that the reason it’s hard is because you’re afraid of messing up and saying something wrong in front of them.” Draco’s averting his gaze now, so Harry cups his cheek and softly says, “Draco, babe, you’ve come so far and I’m so proud of you.”
Draco still doesn’t say anything. His eyes are dark grey and unreadable, so Harry ploughs on with his speech in the vain hope it won’t mess everything up.
“Maybe it’s stupid, but I just wanted our first holiday together to be something new for both of us. You’re so well travelled, you’ve been everywhere already... without me.” Draco opens his mouth, but Harry continues before he can speak, only this time it’s him avoiding eye contact. “And, well, I know it’s ridiculous, but I’ve always wanted to go on a cruise, ever since…” Harry sits on the bed and tells his knees yet another sad story from his pathetic childhood. “When I was about eight, Kerry from school went on a cruise in the Easter holidays, and she showed the class all these photos and wouldn’t shut up about it for weeks.”
The bed dips as Draco sits down beside Harry.
“And I would lay in my cupboard at night, and I’d dream and wish that one day, maybe someone would love me enough to take me on a cruise like that.”
“Harry, look at me.” Draco says, as he trails his hands up and down Harry’s arms, making him turn towards him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realise how much this meant to you. But I’m here, I’m here because you asked me to be here, Harry.” Draco huffs out a quiet laugh. “Merlin knows I’d have said yes to a holiday shovelling dragon faeces, if you’d asked,”
Harry tries to laugh, but his eyes are filled with tears and his throat choked with emotion, so all that comes out is an odd noise.
“I know I like to make a fuss, and I’m sorry I’ve not been enthusiastic about any of this, but I promise that from now on, I’m going to put my everything into making this the best bloody holiday in history. OK?”
Nodding, Harry leans in to meet Draco’s lips in a kiss. When they break apart, Draco is softly brushing his thumbs across Harry’s cheeks. “And dear Merlin, those Muggles who made you feel like you didn’t deserve all the love the world has to offer and more had better hope I never meet them.”
One last Portkey is due to arrive, and then Abeona will be free for the evening. Her husband promised that he’d make curry with chapattis for tea, and she’s hoping that he’ll make the aubergine one. The incoming Portkey alarm sounds, and aubergines are wiped from her mind as the 19.21 Portkey from Miami appears.
Abeona’s mouth drops open at the sight before her. Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy are literally snogging in the middle of the arrivals hall. She sucks in a shocked breath, and promptly chokes on it. By the time she’s recovered, the men are walking towards her hand in hand.
“Are you alright there… Abeona, does that say?” Harry Potter asks, and Abe momentarily loses the ability to think of words, so all she can do is give a shaky nod.
Draco Malfoy is smirking at her, glancing to his boyfriend and then back to Abeona. “Aren’t you the same Official as the way out - the one who got our Portkey arranged so quickly?”
Abe manages to mumble a few words to the effect of, “just doing my job, it’s no problem,” which seems to have been coherent enough because Draco Malfoy is nodding once, decisively, and rooting through his pockets. He reaches out to give Abeona at least one Galleon, but Harry Potter catches his arm mid-way. “She’s a Ministry Official, tipping counts as bribery, remember?”
Draco Malfoy rolls his eyes and drops his hand. “Bloody Granger and her admittedly necessary new laws. I’d still like to thank you though… how does a photo with Harry Pot-head sound?” he asks, and Abeona feels like she’s just taken a sharp upturn on her broom. A photo with Harry Potter himself? All her friends will die of jealousy!
Harry Potter is groaning, his head on Draco Malfoy’s shoulder. “I’m going to have to write to Amy and Ben and yell at them some more for teaching you that phrase. You’re never going to forget it, are you?”
“Nope, you’ll always be a pot-head to me!” he says, voice full of glee.
“Alright then Dracoco-pops, are you going to take this photo then?” Harry Potter retorts, moving around to stand beside Abeona while his boyfriend makes a string of complaints that inexplicably seem to relate to breakfast.
The camera flashes, and the couple promise to send the photo as soon as it’s been developed. Abeona manages to complete all the required paperwork despite her fingers shaking with adrenaline, excitement and nerves, and before long she’s sending them off on their way.
As she packs up her things ready to head home herself, she can hear the conversation they’re having as they walk towards the exit.
“So, we’re back.”
“We are indeed.”
“We survived our first holiday together.”
“And we didn’t even murder each other once!”
“High five for that!”
The sound of hands meeting mid-air rings through the room.
“We might just make it as a couple, after all.”
“Do you know, I think there’s actually a chance you’re right.”
“Me? Right? Are you…”
The words fade out of Abeona’s earshot as she watches them leave the Portkey office arm in arm, their suitcase floating dangerously behind them.