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Nights are always the worst, when the castle is quiet at last, except for the sounds of sleeping bodies and the wind outside the windows. In the dark, there is nothing to distract Draco from the memories that chase his steps when the sun is bright and warm. He works hard to exhaust himself each day so he can fall asleep at night, but he wakes up too often, panting and sweaty, heart running away from things that can only hurt him now in his dreams. The problem is that the residual hurt lasts when the sun is high and the moon has gone to sleep. Every hour is a cycle of hurt and exhaustion.
Draco lies in bed after being jerked awake and stares at the curtains on his bed. The tower room he shares with Blaise is quiet. He slips between the gap in the curtain, shrugs on his dressing gown, and slides his feet into the slippers he keeps tucked under the bed. Like the ghost he feels he is, Draco creeps out of the room and down the stairs to the common room.
McGonagall put all the Eighth Years in the same wing of the castle. While the houses have different towers, they share a common room. Too many of them had taken sides, made a stand in the war, and she wants them to repair some of the damage those days have left. There are some wounds that never scar. They just seep blood indefinitely, refusing to scab over. Some things cannot be undone with forced proximity. There were some minor scuffles when the term started four weeks ago. Things have settled down and their studies keep them busy, but there is nothing to distract from the darkness at night, the wounds that the dreams flay open.
At first, Draco thinks the common room is empty, but then he sees Potter sitting on the floor, back to the wall on the far side of the fireplace. His head is thrown back, exposing the brown column of his throat. The curl of his hair looks soft in the firelight. Potter’s glasses are off and there are tracks where tears have wet his cheeks. He looks naked in a way that stabs at Draco, right between the ribs where everything is already bruised.
Draco must make a sound because Potter’s eyes open and his green eyes find Draco immediately. Potter doesn’t move or yell at him, so Draco moves.
He keeps walking until he is a few feet from Potter. “Mind if I join you?”
Potter closes his eyes again. “Go ahead.” His voice is heavy.
Draco eases himself to the floor, slowly like Potter is a deer in the Forbidden Forest who runs the moment it sees students. He watches Potter breathe, letting the rhythm soothe away the darkness that chased him to the common room. Draco watches Potter in classes and when he thinks no one is looking, but he looks different in the firelight. Draco wants to remember this version of him even though it gives kindling to something Draco has struggled to keep buried and cold.
Draco wants so many things he cannot ever have.
“I couldn’t sleep,” Potter says. “Nightmares.”
“Me too.” Draco gathers his courage and says the thing he has wanted to say to Potter since that day in the Wizengamot. “Thank you for testifying at my trial. It’s the thing that got me off in the end.” Draco’s face heats at his words, but he continues. “I didn’t deserve it and there was no reason for you to do it.”
Potter opens his eyes and turns his head to look at him. “It was the right thing to do. We were all caught up in a war we had no place fighting. I know you tried to do the right thing many times.” His mouth tilts up and his eyes remain pools of broken emeralds. “Besides, I think given the right environment, you can move out from under your family and your past to become something different. Anything you want to be. Azkaban is not the place for reform. It’s the place you send people to go crazy then die.”
Potter’s words slice open something in Draco and he gives into the burning in his hand and lays it on Potter’s knee. “I’m trying.”
“I know.”
They stay there, backs to the wall with Draco’s hand on Potter, and Draco loses track of time. Before dawn, Draco gives Potter’s knee a squeeze and gets up. He offers his hand.
“We should head back to bed. Breakfast is in two hours.”
Potter sighs and takes the offered hand. Draco helps him to his feet and blinks at their proximity and the way his hand is tingling with awareness.
“Thanks for the company,” Potter says, and Draco can feel the words on his cheek.
They part and Draco makes his way up the stairs, crawls into his bed, and gets two hours of dreamless sleep.
It becomes a routine they repeat in the darkness, like they only exist together under the light of the moon. Sometimes Draco goes down first. Sometimes Harry is already there, eyes closed, head against the wall, and throat exposed as if waiting for something to come along and bleed him of the hauntings that chase away his sleep. They don’t talk much after that first night, but Draco always moves so that his right side is pressed into Potter’s. Draco likes the warmth of the contact and the reminder that neither of them is alone.
Draco is studying after dinner one night, forcing himself to finish up the parchment for Potions. It’s mindless work for Draco so he always leaves it to the last minute. Transfiguration and Charms take more concentration, so he completes those first before he gets too tired. Potter comes into the common room and Draco watches him out of the corner of his eyes, head down to hide his regard. His heart speeds up when Potter makes a beeline for the table where Draco is sitting, Granger and Weasley on his heels.
Potter drops his armful of books on the table and flops down next to Draco with a sigh. “You’re doing Potions now? Brilliant. It’s the only thing I have left for tomorrow.”
Draco leans back and blinks at Potter, who has not spoken to him outside of their evening vigils other than a nod of acknowledgment, then looks at Weasley and Granger who look as shocked as Draco.
Granger recovers first. “I told you not to leave it till the last, Harry.” She sits down and sends a small smile Draco’s way.
Weasley hesitates a moment longer then he sits with a sigh. “Malfoy, Harry says you’re a whiz at potions. I have a question about that last series on uncommon healing potions.”
Granger turns to Weasley, frowning. “Ron, you need to figure it out for yourself.”
“But I just need some extra help. I’m much better at spellwork than potions.” Weasley crosses his arms.
Draco has seen Weasley’s spellwork and he is quite good, if understated. “What’s your question?”
Weasley’s face breaks into a beaming smile. He turns his head to stick his tongue out at Granger, who rolls her eyes, before shoving a parchment towards Draco. “I’ve been trying to figure out what I did wrong in class. My potion wasn’t as strong as it was meant to be.”
Draco sees the problem immediately. “You sliced the elfroot diagonally instead of lengthwise.”
Weasley groans. “This is why I hate potions. Too bloody picky about every bloody thing.” Weasley takes the parchment and starts changing his notes. He looks up, smiling broadly. “Thanks, mate. Harry was right. You are a bit of a genius.”
Draco shifts to look at Potter with an eyebrow raised. “Genius?”
Potter’s cheeks darken and something swoops in Draco’s stomach. Potter slides his foot over to Draco’s and presses their feet together under the table. Draco’s entire leg melts into the contact. Potter winks at him and goes back to work.
Thirty minutes later, Luna drifts over, Neville on her heels. She sits delicately next to Draco and gives him a soft smile. “Hi, Draco. It’s nice to see you here with Harry tonight. You shouldn’t be alone all the time.”
Neville’s face stays serious but he sits down and buries his head in a Herbology book. There isn’t much talking. They work in companionable silence, punctuated by questions when one of them gets stuck or needs some advice. It’s nice in a way that Draco did not expect, and all the time there is Potter next to him, touching him in small ways and making it hard for Draco to think beyond those touchpoints.
Draco gets folded into Potter’s orbit after that and soon enough, the rest of the Eighth Years follow, as if Draco getting brought into Potter’s inner circle was some kind of catalyst. The evenings after dinner become large group study sessions with books, papers, and people spread everywhere and everyone chatting and helping each other. Weekend afternoons are spent playing pick-up Quidditch, since all of them were banned from House teams. It should have been hard, after everything, but they are all broken in different ways and their pieces fit together, even if the edges are still jagged. Some of the darkness that chases all of them eases as the days go by.
It’s an oasis they all lean into, knowing that this is temporary, and that the world outside of Hogwarts is still reeling and scrabbling to recover. Draco tries to forget life outside of Hogwarts exists at all, but every Sunday he receives a letter from his mother and the world crashes through the bubble he’s made for himself. Sunday nights are the worst and he barely tries to sleep at all before he goes down to the common room to sit.
Potter starts talking to Draco during the nights they sit up together and Draco watches him. He adores the way Potter’s lips quirk up when he looks at Draco. Potter talks and Draco aches with want and keeps all of that hidden away even though it eats at him, one painful bite at a time.
Draco wakes shaking and barely able to breathe. The moon is brighter than it was when he went to sleep and when Draco looks through the window, he sees why. It snowed in the handful of hours he’s been asleep. The night is brighter as the moonlight reflects off the new snow. Draco presses his forehead against the cold glass, letting it relive the heat of his forehead.
He makes his way down the stairs to the common room, a journey he could do with his eyes closed now for the number of times he’s gone down in the dark. The fire is still crackling and Potter is slumped against the wall with his head resting on his knees. His breathing is slow and deep. It isn’t the first time Potter has fallen asleep curled and awkward on the floor. Draco knows Potter will wake up stiff and cold so he sighs and nudges Potter awake.
“Up you go then. Don’t sleep there.”
Potter blinks owlishly at Draco and Draco melts. He offers Potter his hand. “Come lay on the couch at least.”
Potter slides his palm against Draco’s and Draco tries to ignore the feel of Potter’s wand callouses against his own. Potter’s feet shuffle as Draco drags him over the large couch across from the fire. Draco can’t help the small sound of surprise as Potter pushes him onto the couch.
“If I’m sleeping, so are you,” Potter says in a determined voice.
Draco is rendered mute and doesn't protest as Potter arranges him on the couch, then lays down with his back curled into Draco’s chest. Potter pulls Draco’s arm around to his front, clasps it in his hands, and sighs.
Draco’s heart is beating painfully in his chest. He thinks surely it will keep Potter awake, but Potter goes right back to sleep, as if this is not the most intimate thing he’s ever done. Draco’s entire body is aware of every place Potter’s body is touching. Aware of the way Potter feels vulnerable and warm. Aware of the way Potter’s chest feels under the hand that the other man is holding tightly. Aware that Potter trusts him enough to let Draco curl around his body as he sleeps. It has been a long time since anyone trusted Draco, since he was this close to anyone.
Draco’s eyes burn and he blinks rapidly. He swallows down the hope that rises up in him. He falls asleep knowing hope is not for him, but wanting it to be.
The sun is a hint of orange in the sky when they both wake.
“Thank you. That’s the best sleep I’ve had in ages.” Potter’s voice - No, Draco corrects. Harry’s voice. He can hardly keep calling him Potter in his head after last night. - Harry’s voice is roughed with sleep.
“Me too.” Draco breathes in and tightens his arms briefly before easing his hold.
Harry stretches, full-bodied and legs shaking with the effort of waking. Draco gathers the memory of Harry against him into a box to savor more when he is alone.
Harry sits up, swings his legs over the side of the couch, and lays his hand over Draco’s calf. Harry squeezes his hand, letting the pressure stay for a handful of heartbeats before getting up. Draco watches as Harry shambles to the stairs that lead up to the Gryffindor’s dormitory. Harry pauses, lays his palm flat against the archway, and turns back. Green eyes meet Draco’s and a smile plays over Harry’s lips.
Draco lays on the couch until he hears other people getting up. Harry’s smile plays in a loop in his mind and a warm feeling settles in his heart. He thought his heart would never be this warm.
That day, Harry acts like he always does, making space for Draco next to him when they’re in a group, sharing solutions for the spellwork they’ve been given, and beating him soundly at Wizard’s Chess. Everything is the same as the day before except now Draco knows. He knows what Harry’s body feels like against his and everything feels different. Like a battery at full charge.
Draco gauges his new friends’ reactions to what he thinks is a palpable difference between him and Harry, but no one notices. No one except Hermione who keeps giving him thoughtful looks. Draco thinks maybe it should bother him that someone knows he has what may be a one sided relationship with the center of their circle, but he finds he doesn’t care. If any of them asked what he was thinking he would tell them, without reservation, that he thinks he might be falling in love with Harry Potter.
No one asks and there is no need for Draco to confess to anything.
When Draco wakes, jerked from sleep by serpentine eyes that chased him over dead bodies in the cold mansion he grew up in, he is almost reluctant to go down to the common room. He knows Harry will be there when he arrives or that he will come eventually, and Draco is not sure what happens next. He knows what he wants to happen next, but he doesn't know if he has the courage for it.
Draco slides his feet into slippers and goes down the stairs.
Harry is sitting before the fire on the floor. He looks up as Draco approaches and Draco’s entire body catches. Harry is beautiful in the firelight and Draco does not stop to think.
He folds himself into a spot on the floor next to Harry, threads his fingers through the other man’s hair as he cups the back of his head, and brings Harry’s lips to his own in a feather-light kiss. Draco breaks the contact, but keeps his hands tangled in the soft curls at the back of Harry’s head.
Harry’s eyes dip down to Draco’s lips then back up to his eyes. He swallows and smiles, the light from the expression blinding Draco. Harry reaches up and cups Draco’s cheek and leans back into Draco to return the kiss.
This time, Draco feels Harry’s tongue slide over the seam of his mouth and he opens up with a groan and hope. Harry worships him through the kiss, which is both gentle and insistent, and Draco flings himself completely into the sensation.
When Harry pulls back, he uses his other hand to trace Draco’s cheekbone. “I have wanted to do that for ages.”
“I’ve wanted you to do that for ages.”
They grin stupidly at each other for a moment, before they surge forward to connect again. This time it’s grasping and desperate. Draco swallows down every choking moan Harry makes like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. He pushes Harry to the floor, reveling in the feel of Harry underneath him. Harry is hard planes of toned muscle straining against Draco and every friction point radiates heat.
When they break apart, Draco leans his forehead against Harry’s, both of them heaving air even as their bodies zing with electricity and need.
“I’m sorry,” Harry says, his voice broken and ragged.
Everything in Draco stills and Harry lifts Draco’s head with his hands. “No, Draco, not for this, not for this thing between us. I’m sorry if that was too much, too fast, but all I’ve been able to think about for weeks was kissing you and after last night…” Harry trails off in the face of Draco’s silence.
It hurts, slices through him worse than the Sectumsempra whose marks he still carries. It hurts that Harry would feel the need to ever apologize for anything to Draco.
“Harry, you should never apologize for that.”
Harry relaxes under him and, still cupping Draco’s face as Draco holds himself above him, Harry whispers, “Draco.”
“Harry.”
There are many other things they could say, but their names are enough of a promise that they spend the rest of the night curled together on the couch again. Content, safe, and charged in a way they weren’t before. They fall asleep in a tangle of arms and legs, facing each other, with smiles on their faces.
~~~
They pass the weeks leading up to the winter break sneaking around the castle, hands grasping, and bodies straining against each other until they find release in dark corners, in a hidden bedroom the Room of Requirement makes, and in the locked prefects’ bathroom. That one was especially memorable because the tub there is huge and more than enough for two.
The day before Draco is set to leave for home, he waits for Harry in their usual spot, an alcove that is hidden unless you walk into it and around a corner. Draco is dreading going home to his grieving mother, an absent father, and rooms whose memories still haunt his dreams. Too much evil resided in that house for Draco to ever be comfortable there. His parents bowed to something that was wrong because of obligation, choosing reputation over their son and doing the right thing. It took Draco spending time with the rest of the Eighth Years to see that making the right decision does not always mean doing what is best for you. In fact, often, it does not.
Harry bounds around the corner and gathers Draco into his arms to kiss him. Draco returns the greeting with enthusiasm and it is some time before they pause enough to talk.
“I’m leaving for home tomorrow.” Draco tries to get control of his voice. Harry still makes his voice quaver.
“I know. I’m leaving for Grimmauld. Ron, Hermione, Neville, and Luna are coming for a few days until Ron and I go to the Burrow.” Harry’s hands are resting on Draco’s hips and he swoops his eyes down. “Would you like to come? With us? With me?”
Draco audibly swallows. “With you, with you?”
They have told no one about the change in their relationship. By some mutual agreement, they don’t mention it. If they happen to touch more in public, that is the only indication they give. The only one who’s noticed is Hermione. Perhaps Luna. If Draco goes with Harry, with Harry , to his house, they would likely have to confess up to a few things. Perhaps, even a very many things. Draco would have to, in the very least, tell his mother he was going to spend some time with Harry as a friend. The one good thing about Harry’s parents being dead, he will never disappoint them to their faces. You cannot disappoint a ghost.
The content of her last letter replays in a shrill voice in his head and he winces. “I do not think that is wise.”
Harry’s shoulders turn inward and Draco wishes, fervently, that he could harness some of Harry’s bravery and give a different answer. “Of course you can’t. Your mother.”
Draco pushes Harry against the wall and kisses him breathless, trying to communicate his desperation and regret. Telling Harry how much he wants to say yes.
When Harry leaves the next day, Draco doesn’t go to the station to see them off and he is too much of a coward to give Harry the present he’s been hiding in his room for five weeks.
~~~
The first week home is worse than Draco imagined. The dread he had about seeing his mother, despondent for his father and bitter at the stripping of everything but their main estate and name, was a portent of a truthful future of what amounts to a miserable holiday stretching before him. His mother has always been proud of the Malfoy and Black name. Now, they are both dust in the Wizarding world and she has no other currency.
The memories in the walls of Malfoy Manor are exactly as Draco remembers them when they had been happening to him and around him. His father and his harsh way of moulding his only son, his mother’s quiet acceptance of the treatment, Voldemort taking over to rage and kill people, and a lifetime of wishing he was elsewhere but finding himself here. Some things never change.
It is the nights that take Draco by surprise. Alone in his room, surrounded by things that used to bring him comfort, he is lacking the one thing that brings him peace. Harry. Now, when he wakes, with his heart pounding and fear in his throat, Harry is not a few steps away to comfort him. There is no opportunity to share a smile or whisper jokes over their potions work. There is nothing comforting here in the place he grew up.
Draco lives with his regret that his refusal of Harry’s offer will make Harry rethink their relationship. If Draco cannot even confess feelings of any nature for Harry, why would Harry wait for him. Draco spends the nights tangled with fear - both of the nightmares that dog him and that his refusal has strangled the new and growing thing between him and Harry.
Draco has been home for four days when an owl glides into the sitting room during tea, an envelope in its talons. Draco doesn't bother to look up. There isn’t anyone who would be writing to him. The owl lands in front of him, nudges the letter next to his teacup and saucer then stands eyeing him expectantly. That’s when Draco looks at the owl.
The owl is a Long Eared female giving him an impatient look that reminds him of Hermione before she rolls her eyes at them. It’s Harry’s owl.
Draco snatches up the letter and tears it open.
I know you already said no, but I want to ask again. The house is filled but seems empty without you. How are your nights? Mine are not the same without you. We are still at Grimmauld Place if you change your mind.
H
P.S. If you decide not to come, I’ll understand. Don’t get it into your head that I won’t. I’ll be disappointed, but I’ll understand. If you decide not to come, I’ll send along your gift with Gerty.
“What is it dear?” His mother’s voice breaks through Draco’s second reading of the letter.
Draco looks at the owl. “Let me write a reply.”
The owl hoots and flaps over to the owl stand in the corner of the room to wait. Draco pulls a biscuit from his plate and hands it to the owl before going over to the writing desk in the corner. He sits down and scribbles out a note.
My nights are terrible and the days are not much better. I should have said yes the first time. I’m on my way. Hopefully, tonight will be better. See you soon.
D
Draco ties the small piece of parchment to the owl’s leg and sends it on it’s way. Draco takes a breath and turns to his mother.
“I’ve been invited to spend the holiday with some friends. I’ll be back for Christmas day and I’ll stay for the rest of the holiday here.” Draco braces himself.
His mother smiles. “That’s wonderful, darling. Give Astoria and her family my greetings.”
“I’m not going to see Astoria. I haven’t heard from the Greengrasses in ages. Daphne and Astoria didn’t come back to Hogwarts.”
“Who are you going to see? That lovely Pansy Parkinson? I heard that she and Blaise have gotten close this year.”
Draco straightens and looks his mother in the eye so there is no mistake that he is not ashamed of what he is about to admit to his mother. “I’m going to see Harry Potter.”
“Harry Potter.” It’s not a question the way she says it. It sounds more like a statement of betrayal.
Draco nods and moves to sit next to his mother. “I’ve been invited to Grimmauld Place. My school friends,” he emphasizes the word friends, “are all there and I would like to go.”
“Your school friends. Harry Potter is your friend now?”
Draco takes her hand in his and makes a decision. “We’re more than friends, actually. I think I may be in love with him.” It’s the first time he has named, out loud or otherwise, the crackling electricity he feels around Harry and the quiet way he leans towards the other man in every situation.
His mother blinks at him and her lips press together, but she says nothing.
Draco plows forward. “This past term at school has been different than before. I’ve made different friends, better friends, and I want to go spend some time with them.”
“Alright, dear. You go to your friends and I will go visit your father.” She doesn’t comment on Draco’s confession. She will either ignore it completely or ruminate over it while they are apart and have a conversation about when he returns for Christmas.
Draco packs his traveling bag, placing the silver wrapped package he bought for Harry on top. He kisses his mother goodbye and apparates off the land he grew up in to the place he is growing to. A moment before the door opens, Draco realizes that he should have brought presents for everyone. He formulates a different plan and doesn’t have to fake the smile that breaks over his face when Harry opens the door.
Harry doesn’t bother saying hello. He grabs Draco by the hips and drags him in for a proper kiss.
“Have the decency to snog him inside the doorway, mate,” Ron calls from inside the house.
Harry smiles against Draco’s lips. “I’m glad you came.”
Draco is pulled inside and enveloped by his friends who seem genuinely happy to see him. He’s never been in the midst of a group of people so pleased by his presence. It puts him slightly off kilter until he realizes he’s just as happy to see them.
Harry grabs Draco’s hand and pulls him up the stairs. “There’s an empty room here for you,” he waves at an open doorway, then takes a step closer to Draco. “You can stay in my room, if you’d rather.”
Draco closes the space between them. “I’m tired of sleeping alone.”
Harry’s smile is blinding.
That night, Draco orders a huge meal to be delivered, plus extra things for the next few days - his contribution in lieu of gifts. They eat, drink, and laugh until late in the night. By the time Draco and Harry stumble up the stairs, Draco is buoyed along by the emotions he’s been riding on all day. It’s the only explanation for what he does next.
They are tangled in bed, too tired to do anything other than kiss, when Draco says, “I love you.”
Harry rolls over and Draco thinks he is escaping the bed, but then the lamp on the bedside table turns on. Harry rolls back to him, green eyes crinkled with the soft smile he’s sending Draco’s way. Draco is encouraged by the smile but Harry’s increased silence grows the knot of worry in his gut.
Harry lifts a hand and cups the side of Draco’s face. “I’ve loved you for ages, but I didn’t think you were ready to hear it. I watch you at school. Sometimes you get his look on your face like you can’t believe you are with all of us. Then you blink and I see guilt and fear on your face and I know it’s because you don’t think you deserve to be with us. To be with me. You deserve to be happy and have things that make you happy.”
Harry closes the space and ghosts his lips over Draco’s. “You’re a better person than your past, Draco.”
Something loosens in Draco’s chest and he releases a breath. He can feel the shift inside him, a kernel of hope nestled amidst this new love he has somehow gained.
Harry kisses him a little more forcefully. “I’m glad you came. I understand why you said no, but I’m glad you’re here now. I talked to Molly and you’re welcome at the Burrow for Christmas if you want to prolong the visit and avoid the lecture waiting for you at home.”
Draco can’t believe that invitation is genuine even if everything else Harry has said tonight is. “I promised mother I would come back for Christmas day.”
“We have a rather fun and homey New Year’s if you’d like to join us for that,” Harry presses.
“I think I’d like that very much.”
~~~
Draco lays Harry’s gift on his pillow on Christmas Eve. When they go to bed, it’s the first thing Harry sees.
“May I?” Harry’s eyes are sparkling.
“Please do.” Draco can’t help the nervous fluttering of his heart.
Harry tears through the silver paper and opens the box inside. He lifts a blue cloth-bound book gilded with black and gold foil. “ Stories of Dreams and Romance for Witches and Wizards of All Ages ,” Harry reads. He flips open the book and Draco holds his breath. Harry reads the words Draco wrote there five weeks ago. “I hope we can read these together on nights that are filled with more romance and dreams than nightmares. If I haven’t found the courage to tell you yet, I love you.”
Harry looks up from the book, blinking rapidly, before launching himself at Draco. Draco catches him, laughing and returning Harry’s strong embrace.
“You’re such a romantic sap. I love you too. Thank you.” Harry reaches under the bed and hands Draco a large package wrapped in blue paper with a white bow. “It’s not romantic, but I wanted you to have these.”
Draco slides a finger along the tape on the side and unwraps the end crease with care.
Harry groans. “Don’t be a prat and open it slow on purpose.”
Draco looks up, raising his eyebrows. “This is how I open gifts, Potter. ”
“Proceed then, Malfoy. ” Harry crosses his arms and smiles at Draco.
Draco takes his time opening the gift, enjoying Harry shifting from foot to foot and taking miniscule steps forward with each crease Draco unfolds. The paper is covering a wooden box that reveals a pair of soft leather boots with sturdy soles. The craftsmanship is exquisite, the stitches hand done instead of spell-worked. On the outside heel of each boot are the small initials DM.
“Harry, these are beautiful.” Draco runs his fingers over the leather.
Harry crowds him and points to the lace holes. “If you tap either one in this order,” Harry taps the third, second, and bottom lace hole, “a pouch appears at the top that holds potions. You’re brilliant at potions, Draco. I know these are more defensive than decorative, but if I’m ever in a fight again, I want you by my side and you should be prepared.”
Draco sets the box down and pulls Harry to him, one hand sliding to the small of his back and one to the back of his head. Harry opens for him immediately and Draco takes everything Harry offers. Draco’s kiss makes all kinds of promises he fully intends on keeping.
Draco pulls back and grins at Harry. “I will stay by your side for as long as you’ll have me, even when we’re old and grey and still staying up half the night together.”
“I can’t think of anything else I want more.”