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Draco found it when he was cleaning out the attic. It was sitting in an old wooden chest in the back. It was a short, but heavy rectangular device with a large circular platform and a thin stick attached.
"Harry?" Draco called, frowning at the...thing in his hands.
He heard footsteps before Harry stuck his head into the room. "Yes, love? Everything alright?"
"Yes, but what's this?" Draco gestured to the object.
Harry's eyes fell on it and then widened. "Oh," he said. "Right."
"What is it?"
"That's a record player," Harry explained, coming closer to look at it with Draco. "It's a Muggle device. It was Sirius's."
"What does it do?"
"It, er. Plays records. You know? Like a vinyl record?"
Draco shook his head, and Harry smiled. "Let me show you," he said, stepping past Draco to look through a pile Draco hadn't gotten to yet. Harry frowned in concentration, flipping through a stack of some square, thin things Draco hadn't ever seen before.
"Got it!" Harry grinned, pulling out one item in the stack. Draco's eyebrows went up at the image of four men with long hair, their faces shadowed.
Harry walked back over, reached into what Draco now saw was a flap, and pulled out something circular, thin, stark-black. "This is called a record," Harry explained. "When I put it on the player and set it up properly, it'll play music."
"Oh," Draco said with awe, watching as Harry carefully put the record onto the player, turned the device on, and lifted the stick to settle it onto the record. "What are you going to play?"
Harry grinned. "You'll see. Just listen."
Draco fixed his eyes on the record player as the speakers flared to life with the first sounds of the song.
'Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy? Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality. Open your eyes, look up to the skies and see.'
Harry suddenly made a fist and brought it under his mouth like a microphone, mouthing the words. 'I'm just a poor boy, I need no sympathy. Because I'm easy come, easy go. Little high, little low.'
Draco watched in amusement as Harry spun around and continued his silent song. 'Any way the wind blows doesn't really matter to me. To me.'
Something in Draco's chest tightened. "Harry," he whispered. "What is this?"
"Shh," Harry whispered back. "I'll stop dancing. You just listen."
By the time the song ended, Draco had tears in his eyes, and he saw the same when he looked at Harry.
"What do you think?" Harry asked, his voice soft.
Draco let out a long breath. "That was...Play it again."
They spent hours in the attic, foregoing cleaning up for the rest of the night. They danced around and sang the lyrics at the top of their lungs, with Draco asking Harry to play the song over and over again, which Harry was only too willing to oblige. Draco stumbled over the words at first, but by the end of the night, he was matching Harry word for word and note for note.
When they were finally out of breath, and Draco had a near-pounding headache, they both flopped onto the ground, limbs spread out like starfish.
Harry reached over and laced their fingers together. "Tomorrow," he said, "I'll play you ABBA."