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Days Before You Came
Ten days before the end of term, the end of his Eighth and final year at Hogwarts, is when Harry realises that he probably, maybe, loves Draco Malfoy. It shouldn’t be a sudden revelation, definitely not such a shock considering the intensity of emotions he’s feeling right now, yet he can’t help but feel like this came out of nowhere and smacked him right in the face.
“Potter, you okay?” Malfoy asks; he’s perched on their table, in that dusty and unused classroom on the fourth floor.
Harry thinks his face is maybe giving away the terrified beating of his heart because Malfoy jumps off the table and comes towards him, his expression concerned.
“Potter, look at me,” Malfoy commands, his voice sharp and loud, breaking through the haze of OhmyGodIcantbeinlovewithDracoMalfoy threatening to take over his mind. “Breathe, Potter, that’s it, in and then out.”
Malfoy’s standing directly in front of him now, hands on his shoulders as he looks directly into Harry’s eyes, giving Harry a glimpse of the concern and worry hidden inside his own.
“Breathe, Potter, that’s it,” Malfoy coaches him through breathing and Harry wants to laugh because how can he be struggling to be breathe? Isn't that supposed to come naturally, a part of his existence that he doesn’t have to think about because life without it just can’t exist and that’s it.
That’s why Harry hadn’t realised this before but loving Malfoy was like breathing, it was such an intricate part of him that he hadn't noticed it even existed, that every breath he took, every thump of his heart was tied to Malfoy's existence in his life.
“Potter!” Malfoy snaps, the look on his face belaying his concern, “What’s wrong with you?”
And Harry wants to say it, say those words and let Malfoy know that he’s done with pretending like this isn’t more, because now that Harry’s aware of how he feels he doesn’t think he can let Malfoy go in ten days.
“Why don’t you call me Harry?”
Malfoy looks shocked by the question, and Harry understands that it is completely out of the blue and maybe he does want Malfoy to feel as unsettled as he feels right now. But mostly, he really wants to know.
Ever the Slytherin though, Malfoy recovers quickly, “Why don’t you call me Draco?”
Harry pauses at that, he’s never thought about it actually. It’s never occurred to him that he doesn’t call Malfoy by his first name. Maybe it’s because every time he thinks of the name Draco an image of the pointy faced eleven year old on the Hogwarts Express pops up, complete with Ron’s snort and Malfoy’s remarks about the Weasleys. Draco is the git who liked to stir up trouble and couldn’t mind his own business.
Malfoy, on the other hand, is one of the four Slytherin Eighth-years who was brave enough to return. Malfoy is the one who likes to keep to himself and who never once complained to a teacher when he was being picked on. Malfoy is the one who had looked at Harry with gratitude in his eyes when Harry had stepped in to stop those Ravenclaw Sixth Years. Malfoy is the one who offered to coach Harry in Potions.
Malfoy is the one who kissed Harry back eight months ago.
But can you love someone and still be angry with a part of them? How can he love Malfoy but still get infuriated by memories of Draco?
“I don’t know,” Harry answers honestly and he can tell his answer surprises Malfoy. “But I think,” Harry says, deciding that if he loves Malfoy he can definitely give Draco a try, “I would like to call you Draco.” The name feels heavy on his tongue, the letters rolling off while Malfoy flows smoothly. He doesn’t know yet if it’s a difference he dislikes.
Malfoy, Draco’s eyes widen at his name, making him look younger than he has in months, as if just for a moment the weight of the all the expectations on him has been lifted.
“Draco.” Harry tries again, and he’s definitely enjoying the feel of the name. “Draco.”
Draco’s looking at him with something akin to wonder on his face but he can see the lingering fear there, hiding behind the false bravado that Draco has learned to put on like a second skin.
“Draco.”
Harry’s arms go around Draco’s waist as he’s pushed up against the wall. Harry’s smiling as Draco’s hair brushes his cheek, his grip on Harry’s robes hard and unyielding. Draco moves closer until Harry can feel Draco’s breath on his lips, he can feel it when Draco whispers.
“Harry.”
(*)
Harry supposes that coming to terms with the fact that you’re in love with someone must bring some kind of spring into your step or a glow on your face because not a day later does Hermione corner him.
“Who is it?”
Harry looks up from the books he’s reading, Auror Policies in the Last Century: The Abridged Version, to prepare for his interview with Head Auror Robards in two days, “What?”
“Not what, who? Who is it?” Hermione asks as she takes a seat across from Harry in the library.
Harry carefully lifts his book until it blocks out Hermione’s view of his face, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He tries to continue reading about the regulations on Veritaserum use but he can almost feel Hermione’s eyes glaring at him through the book. He gives up after a minute and almost slams it down on the table to find Hermione staring at him. “What?”
She shrugs, “I didn’t say anything.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry says, mildly scared of her smug expression.
Hermione leans back in her chair, “Okay. Then why are you so agitated?”
“I’m not,” Harry bites out, his fingers gripping onto his book tightly.
Hermione nods and pulls Harry’s book towards herself, “Okay then, do you want help studying for your interview.”
Harry looks at her, not fooled for a second that she would give up so easily and Hermione looks back at him calmly, one hand on Harry’s book. They stay like that for a minute before Harry blurts out, “It’s Draco. Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. I love him.”
Harry expects Hermione to look shocked, disgusted even considering the long, dirty history between her and Draco. What he doesn’t expect is for her to smack her palm on Harry’s book and laugh out loud.
“I knew it!” She shrieks, Harry thinks she looks just like Crookshanks does when he’s very proud of the spider he caught. Harry’s confused and it makes Hermione laugh even more, until Madam Pince comes over and throws them out of the library.
She’s still laughing as Harry pulls her towards one side of the corridor, “What do you mean by you knew it?”
Hermione makes an effort to smother her giggles, “Oh, Harry. Did you really think you could have a secret affair and Ron and I wouldn’t find out?”
“What?!” Harry splutters, his world tilting dangerously as he realises his best friends have known all along. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Hermione counters back.
“Draco didn’t want to tell anybody, he’s been trying to keep a low profile this year and being known as "the boy who shagged Harry Potter" wouldn’t exactly have helped.” Harry leans against the wall, even though he understands where Draco’s coming from, the validity of his reasons but it doesn’t make him want to declare his feelings for Draco Malfoy in the Great Hall any less. “What’s your excuse?”
Hermione leans against him, her head resting against his shoulder, “We figured you would tell us when you were ready, plus, Ron really didn’t want to believe that it is Draco Malfoy.”
“Do you think he’ll have a problem?” Harry asks her, afraid to hear the answer because he’s never considered this so far ahead.
Hermione snorts, “It's Malfoy, he’ll always have a problem. But,” she continues before Harry can interrupt, “it’s also you, so he’ll learn to deal with the problem.”
Harry hugs her then, his legs almost trembling under the sheer amount of relief he feels at the fact that his best friends know about it and support him. It’s another one of those things he hadn’t thought about, hadn’t even taken into consideration when looking at the long term picture because with Draco he had never thought they would be in it for the long haul.
Hermione rubs his back and laughs once before saying, “I can’t wait to see Ron’s face when you tell him.”
Harry groans, that is one conversation he isn’t looking forward to, even less so than the one he knows he has to have with Draco later to inform him about the two more people who know about their secret.
And so, on the eighth day before the end of his Eighth year, Harry tells his best friend that he’s in love with their one time arch enemy.
(*)
“Oh.”
They’re sitting against the wall, with Harry leaning back against the cold, hard surface while Draco is leaning against him. They’re both sweaty and panting slightly, content to lay there against the wall and bask in the warm afterglow of mutual blowjobs. Harry’s sure his legs won’t feel strong enough to support him for at least another fifteen minutes. This, this moment of time after sex, is when Draco is the most pliable, more open to suggestions and ideas. It had taken Harry a long time to figure this out but once he had, he’d taken continuous and shameless advantage of it. If Draco noticed, he never objected, though Harry thinks that might have more to do with the pleasure he derives from every activity that Harry suggests.
“Are you angry?” Harry asks, mesmerised by the sweep of Draco’s fingers over his trousers as he tries to smoothen out the wrinkles.
Draco hums, his brow furrowed, as he stares at something, clearly in thought. He shakes his head once and turns to look at Harry, confusion clear on his face, “I’m sorry, I was thinking about something. Why would I be angry?”
“That Ron and Hermione know about us, I know we’d said no telling anyone but technically they did figure it out on their own and I had noth—”
“Harry,” Draco interrupts him, one hand placed on Harry’s leg, the warmth seeping through the fabric. The first time Harry had touched Draco, he’d been surprised by how warm Draco was, how the heat from his hands seemed to burn through Harry’s clothes to brand his skin. “It would be hypocritical of me to be angry about your friends knowing when my own have known for quite a while.”
That Harry wasn’t expecting.
“Since when?”
Draco shrugs, “Two weeks? Five Months? Since we started? I don’t know. They only informed me of their knowledge about this matter last week.”
Harry leans his head back against the wall, wincing against the cold seeping into his skin but he can live with it, enjoy it even, because it brings into sharp relief the warmth of Draco’s body against his.
“Unbelievable.”
“What can I say?” Draco waves his wand to fix Harry’s hair and clothes, “Slytherins and Gryffindors always are too nosy for their own good.”
(*)
Six days before the end of his Eighth year is when Harry realises that he doesn’t know how Draco feels about him. They haven’t talked about it, ever, not even in the start when it was nothing but frantic rubbing against each other in darkened corridors and empty classrooms.
He doesn’t think it’s possible that he’s the only one who noticed the changing dynamic in their relationship, which, until not too long ago, was nothing but that of mutual benefit. But then, it’s Draco, who some days seems so cut off from the world around him that Harry thinks it’s completely possible that Draco never even noticed that anything changed.
He brings it up to Hermione, glad that he can talk about this to someone now.
“If it were someone else I would suggest just talking about it but, well, it’s Malfoy. And if that in itself isn’t difficult enough, he’s also a Slytherin.”
Harry nods, already aware of all these factors and their restrictions. “What do I do?”
“I don’t think I’m going to help you with this.” Hermione says, nodding once as if to highlight her point and going back to her book.
Harry stares at her. “Hermione,” he whines, pulling at the book. “You can’t choose this as the moment to not give me romantic advice!”
Hermione pulls her book back and holds onto it tightly, “I can and I am. Harry,” she adds, taking in Harry’s morose expression, “you and Malfoy, it’s not something I can get in the middle of because it’s always been the two of you. This is for you to work out on your own because you know Malfoy, you get him and I can’t even pretend to understand half of how he works.”
Harry frowns. “You’re making him sound like he’s different from all of us.”
“In a way, he is,” Hermione says, frowning thoughtfully, “and that’s not necessarily a bad thing. The point is, though, that I don’t know how the two of you work together so I can’t be the one to tell you how to approach this. That’s up to you.”
Harry slumps down in his armchair; he’d been so sure that he would get a proper solution from Hermione and he wouldn’t have to think himself. But the more he thinks about it the more he accepts that Hermione is right, she doesn’t know Draco. She doesn’t know what DracoandHarry is, so how can she help him with what to do next?
“I will say this, though,” she says, bringing Harry out of his deep reverie, “think like a Gryffindor. Apparently Slytherins are attracted to that.”
Harry laughs, ideas already popping into his head. While a Slytherin would go about this the roundabout way, Harry was going to just lay all his cards on the table and pray that Draco doesn’t swipe them away.
(*)
Five days before the end of his Eighth year, Harry takes a trip out of Hogwarts. He’s gone for somewhere around four hours and only Ron and Hermione know where he went. All Draco knows is that Harry had some work in London and that’s the way Harry prefers it for now. There’s no point in a surprise if Draco already knows what’s happening; though a huge part of Harry is scared that the surprise will backfire on him.
He knows it’s a big risk, had known it while he was sending the Owl off with the letter, URGENT! stamped bright red across the envelope. But if the end of this year is going to bring with it the end of everything else, then Harry wants it to go out with a bang. There’s no point in trying unless he gives it his best shot, he’s taken Hermione’s advice to heart – the Gryffindor way of being direct and putting everything out in the open was the way to go.
“Where were you today?” Draco corners him later outside the Great Hall.
Harry’s just entered the castle, he’s panting from the walk until the castle gates. “Out.”
“I know that.” Draco scowls, his arms crossed across his chest. “Out where?”
Harry shrugs, he hasn’t eaten anything since the morning and the smell coming from the Great Hall is distracting. “London. I had some work. Have you eaten? I’m starving.”
Draco stares at him, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. Harry stands straight, aware of the scrutiny he’s under; he makes no effort to hide the large envelope in his hands but he knows Draco would never openly display his curiosity enough to ask Harry what it is.
Finally Draco moves, he nods his head and says, “I have. You go eat, I’ll see you later.”
Harry watches him leave, his shoulders strong and unwavering, in sharp contrast to the memory Harry has of a bathroom and mistakes.
He tightens his grip on the envelope, if he has his way; Draco’s shoulders will never have to bow down under the weight of world ever again.
(*)
It takes him two more trips to get everything finalised, he comes back to find the castle’s occupants preparing for the end of year feast, the year when Hogwarts' first and only Eighth Year shall pass out. It’s as if the castle itself is unaware of whether this is a moment to celebrate, the batch that came out undefeated, every single one of them a hero in their way, or to mourn the loss of all those who didn’t get a chance to experience this.
Harry refuses to dwell on it, even though some days he can feel the pain creeping up on him unexpectedly. Anything can trigger it — a glint seen out of the corners of his eyes might remind of half-moon spectacles, his Patronus reminds him of how long eternity can last. He can feel the emotional tidal wave threatening to sweep him away until he’s drowning and a breath of air seems like an unattainable dream. He’s been there, spent weeks and months after the Final Battle coming to terms with the loss caused by one man’s inability to feel.
But as comforting as it would be to let go, Harry as more to lose now, he has more to fight for and that’s enough.
By the time there’s only two days left for the year to end, Harry has almost everything in his plan ready. There’s only one thing left, the legendary Gryffindor bravery seems to have abandoned him at the last moment.
“What are you waiting for?” Ron asks him when he finds Harry slumped in an armchair in the common room, staring moodily into the fire.
Harry sighs and shakes his head. “I can’t do it, Ron. What if it all blows up in my face? The chances of which are really high.”
Ron looks down at him, his face set into that determined frown that usually means he’s going to defeat Harry’s arse in chess. “Get up.”
Harry shakes his head.
Ron sets down his bag on the table and pushes up the sleeves of his robes.
“Harry, get up.”
Harry frowns and shakes his head again, “No, I don’t want t— Argh!!”
Ron grabs a hold of Harry’s robes and hauls him out of the armchair, taking advantage of the element of surprise. He straightens Harry’s robes and looks him in the eyes, “You’re going to change into better robes, wash your face and go see Malfoy. You defeated the Dark Lord, you fought a dragon in your fourth year and you faced a Basilisk. I guarantee you that Malfoy is not even half as scary as either one of those things.”
Harry swallows, his throat feels dry and scratchy, “What if he says no?”
“Then I’ll kick his arse.” Ron says simply, as if no other option ever existed.
(*)
One day before the end of his Eighth year, Harry sends a note to Draco asking him to meet him in their classroom.
Harry’s nervous, his palms are sweaty, but he’s also determined. He’s sure of what he feels and he knows that whether positive or negative, he’ll be leaving this classroom tonight knowing for sure what Draco feels about him.
Draco’s five minutes early, he always is and he seems surprised to see Harry there already because Harry is never on time. Harry sees him pause at the door and take in Harry’s appearance. He knows Draco can read everything – the tense line of his shoulders, the nervous expression on his face and the jittery bouncing of his leg. Draco’s brows draw together in a frown and he takes a cautious step into the room.
“Harry, what’s wrong?” Draco asks, walking slowly towards Harry.
Harry can’t help but smile at hearing Draco say his name; he doesn’t think he can ever get tired of hearing that. Harry clears his throat and tries to make his leg stop bouncing. “Nothing, just, I wanted to talk to you about something.”
Draco looks at Harry, waiting for him to continue. Harry opens his mouth once, twice, tries to say something but he can’t seem to get words out. If he wasn’t in this situation right now he’d probably find it funny that he can walk knowingly to his death but he can’t make himself talk to Draco about his feelings. Except, laughing is furthest thing from Harry’s brain right now; all he is focusing on is the loud thudding of his heart, overcoming all other sounds and emotions. He’s pretty sure even Draco can hear the way his heart is beating.
“And?” Draco asks, waiting for Harry to say whatever he wants to. Harry tries again before giving up and pushing the envelope towards Draco, gesturing for him to take it.
Draco looks at the innocuous package and then looks back at Harry. He picks it up cautiously, like it might explode at any moment and hurt him. Harry almost laughs then; the only person who stands a chance of getting hurt is Harry. So much for putting all my cards on the table, he thinks, cursing Hermione, think like a Gryffindor, she said!
Draco takes his time opening the envelope and taking out the parchment inside, Harry watches him closely as he reads, taking note of every tiny little movement that’s an insight into how Draco is feeling. There’s the twitching of his fingers, which means he’s nervous, there’s the furrowing of his brow, just enough to make lines appear on his forehead, which means he’s confused; Harry absorbs everything, aware of how this might possibly be the last time he’ll get to see Draco this way if things don’t work out.
It takes Draco about five minutes to go through the entire thing, his eyes moving from left to right as he carefully takes in every word. Finally, Draco puts the parchment back in the envelope and places it back on the table. Harry waits for Draco to say something, his heart clenching with every second that passes in silence. When Draco does look up though, it’s not with pity or the awkward look of having to let someone down gently. Draco looks furious.
“You fucking coward.” Draco sneers, moving half a step towards Harry before moving back. “You couldn’t have just told me to my face?”
Harry blinks. He’s too thrown off by the sudden change in Draco to make sense of anything. He was prepared for either of two outcomes – Draco would say yes and they would live happily ever after OR Draco would say no and Harry would find solace in the bottom of a bottle of Firewhisky.
This, this anger, overpowering and too much like the Draco before the war, was something Harry wasn’t ready for.
“What are you talking about?” Harry shouts back, years of facing an angry Draco Malfoy have ingrained in him an automatic defensive mode, matching Draco’s anger word for word. Even though he’s not angry, he’s confused but he’s far from being angry.
Draco moves even further back, his fists clenched tightly as if he’s stopping himself from reaching out and touching Harry. “Don’t you dare act all coy now. You could have just told me, straight to my face like the fucking Gryffindor you are!”
Harry gets off the table and steps towards Draco. “Draco, I really don’t —”
“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” Draco asks, blinking furiously. He continues without waiting for Harry to answer, “You got selected. You’re an Auror and I had to find out from Granger and now this.” He points to the envelope, looking like he wants to tear it into a million little pieces, he takes a deep, shuddering breath and moves towards the door before Harry can stop him. He turns at the last minute and says, “If you wanted to end things you could have just been honest, Harry.” Draco’s gone before Harry can comprehend what he said.
For a long while after Draco left, Harry sits in that room alone, wondering why they had been having two entirely different conversations when Harry hadn’t said anything.
(*)
Twelve hours before the end of his Eighth year at Hogwarts, Harry gets cornered by Pansy near the dungeons. He’d spent the past hour trying to get into the Slytherin common room and talk to Draco but no one had come out, or gone into the room and he had no way of getting the password. Finally, when he’d almost given up and had started making his way up the stairs to the Great Hall, Parkinson had called him from behind.
“Oi, Potter, you got a minute?” Parkinson orders, more than asks, but Harry’s already hurrying towards her. The only reason Parkinson would want to talk to him would be because of Draco and this moment Harry’s willing to talk to anybody.
Harry’s too busy thinking of ways he can convince Parkinson to help him fix this which is why he doesn’t notice the fist rushing towards him until it was too late. Pain sparked bright on his face, making him stumble back onto the wall. For a minute there is stunned silence, Harry’s got a hand on his face, wincing at the pain while Parkinson is staring at him with a triumphant look.
Before Harry can start shouting, and maybe even cursing, Parkinson primly informs him, “That’s for breaking my best friend’s heart. And also not being man enough to do it to his face.”
Harry blinks, he’s trying to mentally retrace his steps from that empty classroom to the dungeons. He’s pretty sure he took a wrong turn somewhere and entered an alternate dimension where Parkinson just punched him and he’s also hurt Draco in some way.
“I’m sorry, but what the fuck are you talking about?” Harry asks with a hint of steel in his voice, though he’s careful to stay an arm’s distance from her.
Parkinson folds her arms across her chest and glares at him, “If you were going to break up with Draco, you could have done it to his face without sneaking around behind his back and acting like a coward.”
“Right,” Harry starts, holding up his hand so that she doesn’t interrupt him, “who said anything about breaking up? I haven’t broken up with Draco! Why would I do that? I love that idiot.”
Harry snaps his mouth shut immediately. He can’t believe he just blurted that out to Parkinson, when he hasn’t had a chance to say those words to Draco yet!
“Umm,” Harry stammers, feeling his face heat up even further, “I mean, I don’t know what you’re talking about but I think Draco’s mistaken because I didn’t even get a chance to speak much and he just started ranting and then stormed out of the room and, yeah.” He finishes lamely, aware of the way Parkinson’s looking at him, her head slightly tilted to the left as he scrutinises him.
Many awkward moments of silence later, Parkinson nods and speaks up, “I believe you.”
“Uh, what?” Harry asks, wondering for the hundredth time why Slytherins like being so vague.
Parkinson sighs irritably and she reminds Harry of Draco so much in that one moment, with that expression of, “Why are you so slow?” Maybe it really is a Slytherin thing.
“I believe that you love Draco.” She says slowly and clearly, as if talking to a child.
Harry feels the heat spread to his neck, “Okay. Thanks?”
“You should be thankful,” she links her arm through Harry’s, ignoring his wince, and leads him down the corridor, “because it means that I’m now going to help you fix things.”
(*)
Harry paces instead the classroom as he waits with his head bent low as he stares at his footprints on the dusty floor. Parkinson had said she would send Draco up there in thirty minutes and it’s been longer than that. If there’s one thing he knows for sure is that Pansy Parkinson is insanely protective over Draco and if she believes Harry to be good for him then she’ll make sure that Draco comes to see him.
He rubs his face in frustration and then winces when his bruise throbs painfully. He turns to start pacing again and stops short when sees Draco standing at the door. He looks tired, with his hair mussed and falling over his face, and he has his hands buried in his pockets.
“Hey,” Harry starts, controlling himself from walking up to Draco and wrapping him up in a hug. They need to talk this out first; he’s not making the same mistake again. “How are you?”
Draco shrugs; he hesitates but then finally walks into the room, closing the door behind him. “Pansy said you had something to say.”
“Yeah,” Harry says, ignoring Draco’s cool tone, he just needs to explain things and they’ll be fine. He hopes so. “Do you want to take a seat? I have quite a few things to say.”
Draco stares at him and remains standing, making Harry fidget before he nods and continues, “Right. So, I just want to make this clear from the get go because I can’t stand the thought of you being hurt for no reason. I’m not breaking up with you. That wasn’t my intention and I don’t know why you felt that way, but I’m hoping we can talk and sort this out.”
For the first time since he entered the room Draco looks hopeful, he leans forward slightly as Harry talks. “I know I should have explained things more carefully maybe that day but I was just so terrified of your answer that I couldn’t think. It’s because,” Harry curses and runs a hand through his hair before going for it, “I love you, Draco. I don’t know since when, I don’t know why I’m just noticing it but I love you and the thought of leaving Hogwarts without telling you that or knowing how you feel has been killing me.”
Harry risks glancing in Draco’s direction, afraid of what he might find; he almost laughs at the shocked expression on Draco’s face, like he just heard the last thing he was expecting to hear. Harry lets Draco recover, aware of his own heart beating faster as he waits for Draco to say something. Harry’s gone back to staring at his footprints when he hears Draco walking, the sound coming closer rather than moving towards the door and it gives him enough hope to lift his head and find himself looking right into Draco’s eyes.
“I’m still angry at you, but there’s something I need to do first,” Draco says, before leaning in and kissing Harry, who melts into the embrace and almost sobs with relief at getting to feel this again. Harry whines when Draco takes a step back, wanting to make up for lost time until he remembers that there’s still other things he needs to say.
Draco beats him to it, though, “Why didn’t you tell me about the Aurors?”
“I wanted to wait until I had everything planned out, until I knew for sure that I could tell you how I felt.”
“And your way of doing so was by showing me that?” Draco points at the envelope on the table.
Harry nods sheepishly, aware that he might have gone a little overboard but he was, and still is, in desperate need of concrete proof that things between them wouldn’t change after Hogwarts. “Hermione told me to think like a Gryffindor, so I thought a grand gesture was the way to go.”
Draco laughs then, bright and loudly, “And you thought buying a flat was the way to do it?”
“It’s for us.” Harry states simply, enjoying the look of recognition dawning on Draco’s face.
“Oh.” Draco breathes, looking towards the envelope with something akin to joy on his face. “I thought— there was just your name on it and — ” Draco trails off, blushing as he looks at Harry.
“I know what you thought and it’s not my fault, Slytherins and Gryffindors really are too curious for their own good.” Harry remarks as he enjoys the feel of Draco in his arms again and tries not to think too much about the fact that Draco hasn’t said anything about Harry’s proclamation of his love.
Then Draco puts his fears to rest by leaning in towards Harry and whispering in his ear.
And so, with only one hour left before the ending of their Eighth Year at Hogwarts, Draco tells Harry that he loves him too.
(*)