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Book in hand, Draco let himself fall into the cushions of the broad, well-used and extremely comfortable sofa of Grimmauld Place’s front room. He pulled his feet up, wriggled his toes, and with a content smile, he stretched, sank back into the covers, and opened his book―The Modern Gay Wizard.
Leafing past the foreword, Draco skipped straight to the first chapter. With both eyes focused on the book, he leant forward and reaching for his teacup, he wrapped his long fingers loosely, elegantly around the mug, and brought it up to his lips.
Inhaling deeply, Draco briefly closed his eyes to savour the intoxicating uniqueness of delicate floral notes blended with the very characteristic freshness of perfectly steeped tea leaves and bergamot along with warm aromas of sandalwood and amber. The lime juice, he’d drizzled into the tea, added a pleasant zest, and taking a few small sips, Draco nodded in approval.
Teacup still in hand, and feeling sublimely relaxed, Draco turned his attention back to the book in his lap. A moment later, he was lost, swept away by the author’s comically entertaining writing. By page two, he chuckled softly under his breath but laughed out loud upon reaching the next paragraph.
Halfway through the first chapter, and less than twenty minutes after he’d started reading, the front door slammed with such venom that Draco jumped nearly half a mile out of his skin. He somehow managed to avoid spilling his tea all over his new book and crotch. Decidedly disgruntled, Draco set the mug firmly down on top of the coaster on the small wooden coffee table beside him, letting go of the handle just as The Menace Who Lived To Catapult Him Into An Early Grave―also known as Harry Potter―appeared in the doorway.
“Remind me again why I decided to accept your offer of living together?” he snarled, fixing Potter with a venomous glare.
It had the desired effect.
Well, almost.
Potter paused for several seconds, frowned, then shook his head as if to shrug off Draco’s icy scowl.
He stalked into the room with heavy footsteps, and all but thrust today’s edition of Witch Weekly at Draco.
Giving Potter a thoroughly dirty look, Draco, with a level of trained nonchalance, placed his snake-shaped silver bookmark inside his book. It was only after snapping it closed, and putting it down on the coffee table, that he moved to pick up Wizarding Britain’s most notorious tabloid. The glossy front cover depicted a moving picture of Potter, in his full Auror uniform, with his scarlet ropes intimidatingly billowing behind him.
Draco struggled to keep the smirk off his face.
He looked up and arched a questioning eyebrow at Potter.
“What’s got your wand all up in a twist? You’re on the front page of that rag every other week.”
Potter growled.
“Read the headline.”
Draco glanced down at the magazine.
This time, he absolutely didn’t manage to hide his amusement.
Snorting, he laughed out loud, then thrust his hand out to wandlessly block the Stinging Hex, Potter had cast non-verbally.
“Ten years, Potter, and you still think you can get away with that? Please, grow up,” he drawled, feigning a yawn to show Potter exactly how unimpressed he was.
To further make his point, he inspected his perfectly manicured fingernails, then took another glance at the cover of Witch Weekly and chuckled.
Potter grumbled under his breath and defiantly crossed his arms over his chest.
He bore a truly murderous expression, and sharp silver daggers glinted in his emerald-green eyes.
Draco merely smirked.
“It’s not like you to get upset over a being the centre of attention, Harry.”
Potter stomped his feet.
“I’m not gay.”
He huffed out an annoyed breath and pursed his lips.
Draco grinned.
“You aren’t, are you now?” he teased.
Potter narrowed his eyes, turning them into tiny slits.
“No need to get all defensive about it, Potter.”
“I’m not gay!”
Draco arched an eyebrow at his Auror partner of ten years, housemate of four, and arch-nemesis-turned-best-friend. Potter’s insistence was almost adorable, although Draco knew better than to tell Potter that. He did value his life.
“I didn’t write the article, why are you telling me this.”
Potter mumbled something entirely incomprehensible, and walking over to the sofa, he plunked himself down. Draco had just about enough time to move his legs, and disgruntled, he kicked the side of Potter’s thigh. Not hard enough to seriously hurt Potter, but firmly enough to express his annoyance. Then, he obstinately placed his feet in Potter’s lap. Potter turned his head sideways and glared at him.
“It’s all your fault, you know.”
Draco laughed.
“Mine?” he asked. “Why?”
“You and your flamboyant gayness! Of course, they think I’m gay.”
“I’m not sure whether my flamboyant gayness is a compliment or an insult, but I’m gonna go with the former because the latter would mean hexing you to the moon.”
Potter rolled his eyes.
“Like you would.”
“Don’t tempt me. And, may I just say, if you spent less time ogling various behinds, all belonging to the male gender mind, then perhaps rags such as Witch Weekly mightn’t be so tempted to goad you into coming out.”
“I’ve nothing to come out about.”
Potter uncrossed his arms and pushed Draco’s legs off his lap.
Draco simply put them right back and digging his heel into the inside of Potter’s thigh, he made it perfectly clear that he wasn’t about to budge.
“Sure, of course, you don’t, Potter.”
“Malfoy, you’re incorrigible.”
Draco laughed.
“Careful with those big words. Gryffindorks such as yourself can only handle the contents of a thesaurus in small doses.”
“Tell me again why I offered to share Grimmauld Place with you?”
“You were probably delusional.”
Potter huffed.
“I hate to say it, but you’re quite right.”
Draco smirked.
“I’m always right, darling.”
The term of endearment earnt him a hard and unforgiving glare from Potter.
“Cut it out already, Malfoy.”
“You know, Potter, I really think you ought to at least consider swinging my way.”
Potter thrust his hand out as if to cast a wandless spell, but seemingly changed his mind at the last second and curled his fingers up tightly, then gritted his teeth.
“I’m not gay, thank you very much,” he snarled, then looked away.
Draco followed his gaze with his own.
It lingered on the cover of the book he’d been reading.
“Your Hogwarts romance with the Weaselette was a disaster, and your subsequent marriage proposal was an act of pure madness. That fling with Antoinette from the French Ministry very nearly ended in an international incident―”
“―yes, and according to you, oh great one, I ought to be eternally grateful to you for the sensitive and tactful way you talked her down.”
“Well, yes, but we’ll let that one slide. Just for today, though. I’ll make sure to make a point of holding it over your head at least twice tomorrow.”
Potter huffed and dragging his eyes away from the book, he looked at Draco.
“Some friend you are.”
Draco laughed.
“The best, I assure you, and deep down you know it too, you’re just too much of a closeted Gryffindork to admit it. But, one day, one day, you will. I have faith in you.”
Draco didn’t miss the minute smile that ghosted around the edge of Potter’s mouth, but instead of pointing it out, he deviously savoured it all for himself and sitting up, he placed his hand on top of Potter’s bare forearm.
“Let’s not forget the complete cock-up you made of the series of dates I arranged for you, or the fact that you’ve just been nominated Britain’s Most Eligible Bachelor for the fourth year running.”
“I bet the contents of my Gringotts’ vault that you’re paying The Prophet to keep me at the top of the list.”
Draco burst out laughing, throwing his head back as he did so.
“Oh, Potter, even I’m not that much of a snake.”
“Says the snake,” Potter grumbled.
“Snake or not, you’ve got to admit that I’m handsome,” Draco taunted, changing his tune.
Potter whipped his head around.
“I’m not gay!” he snapped with a livid expression, cheeks lightly pinked, eyes narrowed, and lips pursed tightly in annoyance.
“Fine, OK, you’re not gay, but you do have a certain preference for the male gender.”
“We’re not talking about this. I was drunk! Piss drunk!”
“Not drunk enough to not remember; therefore, you can’t go claiming it wasn’t deliberate.”
“You baited me; it was a bloody challenge.”
Draco chuckled.
“Perhaps, but you could have just walked away. Instead, you full-on snogged my face off.”
Potter opened his mouth as if to object something, then simply closed it again. Draco let him shove his legs away, then watched him stalk out of the room and down the corridor towards the cellar kitchen where he forcefully pushed a chair out of the way and slammed several kitchen cupboards.
With a sigh, Draco bid goodbye to a peaceful afternoon, and clambering off the sofa, he threw his hands up in exasperation and followed Potter. He stopped in the doorway to the kitchen. Leaning against the frame, he shoved his hands into his jeans and crossed one ankle over the other.
“You know it bloody well doesn’t matter whether you are or aren’t, don’t you? Nobody cares. Least of all I.”
Potter paused.
His hand remained closed around a coffee mug, which he’d just taken out of a cupboard, but he didn’t turn around or say anything.
Draco smiled.
“Why does it matter so much to you?” he asked, deliberately softening his voice.
Even from where he was stood, Draco could tell that Potter was trying to hide the fact that his hand trembled. He decided to pretend that he hadn’t noticed.
“It doesn’t matter.”
Potter spoke quietly, mumbling the words rather than parting his lips properly to accentuate each word. Draco had to strain his ears to hear him properly.
Draco swallowed a sigh.
He pushed himself away from the doorframe and walked into the room.
Once he’d reached Potter, he placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed lightly.
“It obviously does,” he said, “tell me why?”
Potter shook his head.
“No. I don’t want to talk about it. Just leave.”
“You know that I can’t do that, Harry.”
“Draco, please.”
“You tell me everything, tell me that too.”
“No.”
Potter sounded a lot less adamant than he had before and the tone of his voice told Draco that he had as good as managed to wear Potter down. He wasn’t about to push, though, and instead of insisting, he tried to remove his hand from Potter’s shoulder. It didn’t exactly come as a surprise to Draco when Potter’s Seeker-influenced Auror skills kicked in, and within the duration of a second, his hand left the coffee mug on the worktop in front of him. It landed on top of Draco’s hand and squeezed.
Draco relaxed his hand. He didn’t pull away but left it right where it was, allowing the warmth of his palm to seep through the thin fabric of Potter’s shirt. He felt the tremor that surged through Potter, causing him to briefly tense up.
Potter turned his head sideways, but instead of shifting so that he could properly turn around, he averted his eyes and stared down at the empty coffee mug in front of him.
Silence settled over the room.
Several minutes passed, and Draco tried his hardest not to focus on the constant ticking of the kitchen clock.
Instead, he concentrated on his breathing.
A few more minutes passed by.
“I don’t want to be put into a box.”
It was nothing more but a hushed whisper, but Draco heard Potter’s confession loud and clear. It tugged on his heartstrings, and he pressed his lips tightly together to trap a sigh.
“Nobody is putting you in a box.”
“They are.”
“And it matters why?”
Potter sighed, and in response to it, Draco couldn’t help but squeeze Potter’s shoulder firmly. Potter responded with a firm grasp of his hand and Draco chuckled softly under his breath.
“I’m not going anywhere, relax, and let them talk. You’ve been rather good at that for the past twelve years. They’ve got nothing else to talk about and news about the Golden Boy, even made-up ones, always sell papers, you know that.”
“It’s not made up though.”
Draco smirked.
“Don’t you think I don’t know that already? I’m OK with pretending though. Happy to keep doing it until you’re OK with not pretending anymore. Merlin knows I’ve got experience.”
This time, Potter turned around and looked at him.
Draco smiled.
“Hey there,” he whispered.
“Hey.”
Having lost most of its vexation and stubbornness, Potter’s voice was now soft with a husky edge to it, and Draco tried his hardest to act as if it didn’t affect him.
“You think I’m an idiot, don’t you?”
Draco chuckled.
“Yes, but not for that reason.”
“Gee, thanks, some friend you are.”
“Some friend I am, indeed.”
Potter rolled his eyes.
“Thanks.”
Draco smiled.
“For what? Goading you into coming out to me?”
“Didn’t you already know?”
“For about a decade and a half. So, no need to get all worked up about it.”
“Liar.”
“Occasionally, not about that, though.”
Draco poked his tongue out.
“It really is OK, you know, I like you anyway.”
“Like me, how?”
Draco titled his head sideways and smirked.
“Figure it out for yourself, Potter. I can’t give you all the answers.”
Potter stuck out his bottom lip in a pout and laughing, Draco gently whacked him over the head.
“If you’re making coffee, I want some too,” he said.
Potter grinned.
“I thought you were drinking tea and perusing gay literature.”
“Thanks to you, the tea is now cold, and I’m no longer in the mood for the book. I’d much rather read up on all the gossip Witch Weekly is printing about you.”
Potter rolled his eyes.
“You can’t go five seconds without mocking me, can you?”
Draco laughed.
“I can. I just don’t want to.”
“Now, get on with it and make us that coffee, or else.”
Potter arched an eyebrow at him.
“Or else what?” he asked.
Draco winked.
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he teased, then, and without a word of warning, he walked off, leaving a wholly baffled Harry Potter behind to figure things out for himself.
He’ll probably need some help, or else it’ll take him another ten years to work out that I fancy the pants off him, Draco thought, and with an exasperated shake of his head, he returned to the front room and sat on the sofa.