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Sharp nails belonging to slim, pale hands raked pleasantly over the naked skin of Harry's back. A while ago, they're slipped beneath his shirt and jumper, meant to keep the February chill at bay. His company and the pleasant warmth that he made swirl through Harry's chest and stomach made them almost redundant, but nevertheless, they kept him warm and cosy.
The fire in the hearth of Draco's apartment was lit. Harry watched the flames flicker and dance with drooping eyes, his head rested on his boyfriend's chest. Its crackling was unpredictable, unlike the steady heartbeat against his ear or the regular turning of the pages as Draco was absorbed entirely in the book floating just above Harry's head.
Even so, it all formed a rhythm, broken up only by soft, pensive hums and the brush of an occasional kiss against the crown of Harry's head. Harry let himself drown in it, in this moment of serenity that, years ago, he'd never thought that he could have.
There was only one thing preventing him from falling asleep right then and there, on his boyfriend's chest, to the rhythm of their lives: With the sun already set, Harry was supposed to go home soon.
Except, lately, they'd been staying at each other's places longer and longer. A few days ago, Harry had stopped feeling the urgency altogether to leave after a lovely evening together. It was a dangerous feeling, a sign that he was getting too comfortable with something so very new, yet as much as he tried to fight it, he gave into it more with each passing day.
Draco himself had similarly begun slipping up. In the past week, Harry had stayed the night twice when he hadn't planned to, all on Draco's insistence. It's much too late and much too cold, he'd said, so stay, if you feel so inclined, as though returning home was anything more than some spoken words and a flash of green flames.
Harry could never fight the offer, said in such a way that Draco could later deny that it had been his offer all along. That, too, Harry never contested with more than a snort of laughter and an amused roll of his eyes. He'd come to know Draco too well to still fall for his silly white lies.
If he had to guess, without disturbing his rest to check the time, today would be much the same. Still, Harry refused to fall asleep, or perhaps he couldn't, a restlessness deep in his gut keeping him awake despite his drowsiness. A part of him was still alert, still waiting for a moment, for courage, for the words that he sought to bring the topic up.
At last, a sigh, and the creaking of the spine of a book as it was closed by a gentle wisp of magic. Harry glanced up, meeting Draco's smile with a smile of his one, and shuffled up to connect their mouths in a gentle kiss.
"It's late," Draco said, predictably. With the Lumos he'd cast to read his book dimmed, only the flames of the fire danced golden on one side of his face.
Harry nodded. "It is," he agreed, propping himself up on his arm so he could reach out to cradle Draco's cheek with the other. The nails raking his back stopped, instead holding him down in a firm hold, as though unwilling to let him go, despite their agreement to spend the night apart.
Draco tilted his head up, glancing back at the curtains covering the windows. Behind them lay darkness, and cold. Both of them knew that Harry wouldn't need to tread even slightly out the door to go home, yet, "At this rate, your trip home won't be very pleasant."
"Well," Harry said with a sigh. "Guess I don't have much of a choice."
The hands on his back tensed, as did a muscle in Draco's neck that hid itself once he looked back down. Draco wet his lips, gazing up at Harry deep in thought. "Would you like to stay, then?" he asked tentatively.
Harry smiled widely. Never before had Draco made such a direct offer. "Gladly."
Draco nodded and averted his eyes, towards the fireplace. The flames reflected in his eyes, and Harry, for a moment, was too transfixed to recall what had kept him so restless moments ago.
Ah, now he remembered.
"Valentine's is in a week," he said bluntly, to open the conversation. Draco blinked and glanced at him, then frowned curiously. "You know, day of love and all that."
Draco snorted. "'...and all that'," he echoed with a lopsided smile. "Sounds about right."
"What do you mean?" Harry wondered, frowning lightly.
Draco shrugged and made a dismissive sound. "I've never understood the excitement, and I'm sure you've had your fair share of poor experiences as well. And it's just a bit of a lousy day, isn't it? I don't see why we should force ourselves to participate just because we're 'meant to' for some reason."
Harry's gaze fell as he worried his bottom lip. Poor experiences... Yes, Harry supposed that he'd had quite a few, but those had all been first dates with people who, in hindsight, he didn't work with at all. Draco was different, and not just since they had officially become boyfriends a few weeks ago. Draco had always been different.
When Harry looked back up, he only just missed the flash of something on Draco's face before it was replaced by flippant neutrality. "Don't you agree?" he asked with the slightest furrow of his brows.
"Er, yeah," Harry said quickly, biting back the stab of rejection. Draco was right. Valentine's Day had always been a bit dumb, with all its flourish and fanfare, not to mention the mount of gifts from admirers that he found on his desk every year. How stupid of him to have even brought it up. Of course they wouldn't participate in something so—so lousy.
"Should we tuck in for the day?" Draco asked softly, drawing Harry's attention back to him, to his soft smile and the fire in the hearth flickering on his face.
"Sounds good," Harry said and leant in for one more kiss.
⋆୨♡୧⋆
Valentine's Day always brought with it the worst cases.
Minutes after the start of his shift, Harry was called out to an argument that had got out of hand, over laundry, and the reasons didn't get much more interesting than that. For a day designated to love, the amount of arguments and break-ups that needed Auror intervention and mediation was absurd.
Each case was a drag. It was always the same set of arguments and sentiments, just remixed to suit the types of people and relationships. 'He cheated!' 'She got pregnant behind my back!' 'He gifted me jewellery I'm allergic to!' 'She tried to poison me with chocolates; I'm lactose intolerant!' 'His dog keeps attacking my cat!' 'Her cat clawed at me this morning!'
Merlin, you'd think they'd never had a real problem in their lives, the way they went on about the most minor inconveniences that, more importantly, had nothing to do with actual Auror work!
Worst of all were the couples he passed by everywhere he went. On every stretch of public grass, there was at least one blanket laid out, its occupants absorbed completely in each other to the point of neglecting the food they'd brought.
They'd invaded the streets, and the restaurants, and the shops. There was nowhere for Harry to go to avoid the gaudy displays of public affection performed by the least subtle people he'd ever seen.
With every happy couple he had the displeasure of running into, Harry was bombarded with images of him and Draco in their stead, having picnics, walking the streets hand-in-hand, going out for dinner, buying each other something nice... It was dumb, and lousy, and, for fuck's sake, Harry wasn't upset that he wasn't participating. That would be ridiculous.
By the time Harry had finally returned to his desk after a very long day of dealing with everyone's bullshit, he was sick and tired of anything to do with this wretched day. Just like every year, there was a large pile of gifts waiting for him. Harry threw it all to the ground with a flick of his wand, anger flaring.
Fucking admirers. He'd been working with the Aurors for a decade, yet every year without fail, he returned to mount after mount of gifts. No one took the hint when he vanished or torched or simply discarded them, not even his good-for-nothing colleagues who, conveniently, never helped him out either.
All they ever did was hand out shitty, homemade biscuits or chocolates and deck the office in red and pink frills, each year with varying levels of intensity. This year was one of the worst yet; Harry could hardly move between rooms without having to sway or duck to avoid needless decorations.
It was ludicrous, and absurd, and—
Just then, another interdepartmental memo flew in and gracefully unfolded itself before floating down atop the small pile on the corner of Harry's desk. Harry perked up at the moss green stamp and eagerly reached for it, carelessly ignoring the older memos, several of which had been there since the night before.
A moss green stamp meant that it came from the potions lab, Draco's department.
As Harry looked over the memo, his mood sank, though it had been foolishly high to begin with. The memo was a request from Mr. Buckley, Draco's secretary, for formal permission to allow their newly developed potion into circulation amongst the Aurors.
Harry wasn't sure why it had been sent his way—he usually didn't handle jobs like these unless it was urgent and Robards was unavailable—but it was clearly addressed to him. He'd ask Draco about it tonight to make sure; he'd never known Buckley to make a mistake like this.
With a heavy sigh, Harry reached down and unlocked the bottom drawer of his desk. For cases like these, a special ink and quill was required for the signature to be valid. It was a bullshit policy. Harry had maintained that opinion even after Draco's lengthy rant from a few weeks ago with which Draco had passionately tried to change his mind.
As he reached down blindly, his hand first touched something soft. Frowning, Harry pulled the object out and, with one glance at the white, fluffy thing, tossed it onto his desk in dismissal. Dumb Valentine's Day with its dumb admirers sneaking their dumb gifts into places that they weren't even authorised to be in...
Muttering to himself, Harry laid out the official inkwell and quill next to the parchment and made to sign it. He paused with his quill hovering above the parchment, his dallying allowing a drop of ink to drip from the tip as realisation set it. How the fuck had a gift snuck past his locking charms?
Harry dropped the quill back into the inkwell and picked up the gift he'd carelessly tossed aside. It was some animal about the size of his hand on a keyring, alongside a small roll of parchment. Harry frowned down at it as he turned it over.
At first glance, Harry had thought that the white, fluffy animal was a dog, or perhaps a cat, possibly holding onto a heart with some vague, impersonal phrase.
On closer inspection, it seemed more like... a ferret?
Who would gift him a ferret as a keychain?
Bemused, Harry reached out for the note and unrolled the parchment. At the familiar handwriting, he paused, his heart in his throat as he began to read the carefully penned letter:
Harry,
For some reason, you care about today. I didn't realise at first because, as I've said before, I don't see the point. To me, today is a day like any other, just one with a fancy name because people need a reason to celebrate.
To get to the point: I saw this thing in a shop yesterday and thought of you. Well, I thought of me, technically, but that made me think of you. It's nothing special, but this day isn't either. I hope you care for it as much as you care about today, in your own way.
With that out of the way, here is a formal invitation to dinner tonight. At my place, since I'm afraid all decent restaurants have been booked full since a week ago. Don't pick me up, and don't come over before seven.
Yours,
Draco
For the first time since he'd woken up on this rare, solitary morning, Harry grinned widely and uncontrollably. He carefully detached the note from the keychain, then turned the stuffed ferret over once more so he could take a closer look at it.
It really wasn't anything special, just a cute, white, fluffy ferret attached to a plain keyring, yet it sent Harry's heart aflutter, just like the first time he'd kissed Draco, on New Year's. The fireworks were there, too, this time ricocheting as a happy memory through Harry's chest as he cradled the small ferret in his hands.
Harry could see the resemblance between Draco and the ferret, largely because its fur was white and its face adorable, but it was there nonetheless. Without hesitation, Harry fished out the keyring with his and Draco's house keys and attached the ferret to it. The keys were more sentimental these days, an artefact from before they could freely Floo to each other's homes, but Harry knew of no better place to put it.
For another couple of seconds, Harry stared down happily at the ferret keychain before putting it away and instead turning back to the note that Draco had written. He read it again, his grin at the point where it was beginning to hurt, yet the happy flutters in Harry's chest started anew as he read over Draco's flippant but kind words.
Harry knew that he meant them kinder than he had written them, if just a smidgen, and it was entertaining in its own way. Only Draco could ask someone to dinner so bluntly that, if you didn't know him, you could mistakenly assume that it had been written under duress.
Dinner... They had dinner together often—most nights, really. Yet this time, how Draco had written it made it feel special. It sounded like Draco was preparing some sort of a surprise for him, since he wouldn't even let Harry pick him up after work like had become custom for them.
With a sigh that was almost dreamy, Harry put the parchment to the side under a careful protection charm. He had another hour of work to slog through, but he didn't feel so down and listless anymore. Instead, he was over the moon with excitement.
Oh, he couldn't wait until he saw Draco again.
⋆୨♡୧⋆
He hadn't prepared a gift.
Harry had been seconds away from Flooing to Draco's apartment, Floo powder actively escaping his closed fist and falling to the floor, when he'd remembered his struggles of the week before.
After learning about Draco's clear dislike of Valentine's Day, Harry hadn't had the heart to get him anything. He'd passed by so many great gifts because even considering giving them to Draco had made him feel sick and ridiculed.
Yet now that Draco had given him a cute gift and invited him over for dinner, he was to show up empty-handed?
Harry frowned down at the dusting of Floo powder on the floor beneath him. Their appointed time had come, and chances were, his food was already going cold. Did he have anything decent on hand to give Draco? Even if it was something small and temporary...?
With a cursive glance around the room, Harry sighed. Showing up without a gift was horrible, but he could make it up to him. On the other hand, Draco would for sure be upset with him if he arrived late.
Tomorrow, Harry promised himself, and called out Draco's address.
Over the years, travelling by Floo had become second nature. It was still a little uncomfortable, but so was Apparition, especially since it was pouring outside.
A short moment later, Harry exited Draco's fireplace with only a slight stumble. He perked up at soft humming coming from the kitchen and, grinning, went to greet his boyfriend, brushing some soot off of himself as he went.
"Happy Valentine's," Harry said in greeting, leaning against the doorway between the living room and kitchen.
Draco huffed a laugh and glanced up from meticulously plating their meals with the same care as on their very first date. It looked exquisite, and both the sight and scent had Harry's mouth watering. Draco, too, had outdone himself, wearing sleek black robes with silver hems and buttons. One of his nicer ones. Harry felt almost inadequate in his red jumper and grey trousers.
"Yeah, sure, happy Valentine's," Draco greeted back with an exasperated roll of his eyes, but they sparkled with clear amusement, and the corners of his mouth were curved in a small, happy smile. "I still don't see why you like this day."
Harry shrugged. "Like you said—it's a reason to celebrate—and I like celebrating our relationship." As he walked up to Draco, he took out the ferret keychain and smiled down at it. "Thank you, by the way," he said, reaching for the small of Draco's back as he placed a kiss in thanks on his cheek. "It's as cute as you."
Draco raised an eyebrow, his cheeks flushed a contradictory pink. "Oh, sorry, I did mean for it to look cute, but I must have messed up somewhere."
Harry laughed and propped his chin up on Draco's shoulder. "Funny," he said, knocking their heads together. "Are you saying you made this yourself?"
At that, Draco's cheeks flushed darker, to an impressive shade of pink. His eyes widened slightly, and he stammered, "What, no? How would I even do that?"
Entirely unconvinced, Harry shook his head with a laugh. "I'm sorry I didn't get you anything," he said. "I didn't have time today, but I'll make it up to you tomorrow."
Draco gave him a smile. "I don't need anything," he dismissed Harry's offer as he returned to their food, but not before guiding Harry's arms around his waist.
With a flick of his wrist, Harry floated the ferret atop a clean spot on the counters and made it sit up and watch them with its cute, beady eyes. "I still want to get you something," he insisted. "I can't be the only one accepting gifts."
Draco sighed deeply. "It's fine, Harry, really. I don't care for this like you do." Despite his words, Draco's eyes were crinkled with his smile, one much wider and more persistent than Harry was used to them at normal dinners.
"Even so..."
"Harry," Draco warned, turning his head to catch Harry's mouth in a kiss. Harry leant into it, cradling Draco's cheek with his hand. The kiss was heavenly, as always, and stirred something deep in Harry's chest, as well as a little lower in his body.
When they broke apart, he pivoted, "How about I show you a good night, then?"
Draco laughed breathily. "Fine, but dinner first."
Harry nodded and grinned at him. "It looks incredible."
Draco flushed. "Thank you," he said lightly, giving Harry the utmost adorable smile.
⋆୨♡୧⋆
Draco awoke with the early morning lethargy that was usual after a terrific night of fun, but nevertheless exceedingly pleasant. His muscles groaned when he stretched his arms above his head, the whimpered sound giving just as much relief as it fell from his lips.
The only thing missing was a warm body at his side, drawing him back into a deep, comfortable sleep. As it was, there was nothing to stop him from slowly waking up and reacquainting himself with the world around him.
A proud smile played on his lips as he relaxed back onto the pillows, last night beyond their tiring activities coming back to him in a burst of warmth.
He knew that it had been a good idea to give into Harry's peculiarities, though an entire night of work to transfigure a stuffed cat into a ferret was... No, it had totally been worth it, if only for that awestruck look on Harry's face and the happy lilt in his voice whenever he'd spoken that night.
In fact, Draco would do it all over again, as long as it made Harry happy. Yes, as long as it got Harry to grin and laugh like that again, he'd spend the rest of his life transfiguring dumb stuffed animals into other, equally dumb stuffed animals.
Salazar, he was so done for... and worst of all, he didn't even care.
He didn't care that he'd spent hours upon hours transfiguring a tiny stuffed cat into a tiny stuffed ferret, working painstakingly to get every little detail just right, and all of it with a bloody smile on his face.
He didn't care that he'd embarrassed himself in front of Bucks by practically begging him to expedite the request and send it to Harry Potter—Yes, Harry Potter, Robards is... otherwise occupied. No! Don't ask Margaret, just send it—
He didn't care that Harry had actually made him enjoy such a silly day as Valentine's with his smiles and loving touches. Not in a million years would Draco have imagined that anyone could raise his opinion of something so ultimately pointless.
All he had cared about was... them. Their entwined lives, their relationship, their love.
Fuck, this was embarrassing. So why did it feel so good?
Draco rolled over onto his stomach and buried his face in his pillow to stifle the bubbly laugh that came over him. It still smelt faintly of Harry, and before he could stop himself, he inhaled deeply. The exhale was practically a sigh, a small, pleased sound as Draco allowed himself to bathe in this happy feeling fluttering in his stomach and chest.
After a couple of minutes spent in similar fashion, Draco convinced himself to get up, too lonesome in an empty bed the morning after a lovely night in excellent company. He pulled on no more than some pants and a shirt, relying on the apartment's charms to keep him warm, and set out in search of his early bird of a boyfriend.
The bathroom was empty, as was the living room. Draco had almost started wondering whether Harry had already left, which would have been such a shame and quite rude, when he heard a sound in the kitchen, the smell of something sweet wafting from beneath the door.
Chuckling to himself, Draco entered the kitchen to quite the picture.
Harry's head shot up, his form still bowed over the breakfast table and the stack of pancakes laid out on it that looked utterly delectable. His eyes were wide, panicked. Draco tilted his head with a curious frown and approached him. Harry appeared caught in the act, but what act could—Oh, Salazar. This fucking man.
At Draco's seat lay a plate surrounded by chocolates in the shape of hearts. The plate was mostly empty, save for some messy, practically unreadable writing in a red syrupy liquid that, frankly, looked more like blood than a delicacy. That explained the mess on the kitchen counters.
Despite how ridiculous it all was, Draco felt annoyingly charmed. He turned to Harry's panicked look with a small laugh and pulled him in for a kiss. "Good morning," he said softly against Harry's lips, watching his embarrassed flush make way for an abashed smile.
"Morning," Harry greeted back, eyes flickering to the scene on the table. "I wasn't expecting you up yet."
"I can see that," Draco teased him, then leant in the whisper in Harry's ear, "Might be because I had no one to wake up to."
Harry laughed. "Sorry," he apologised, sweetly nuzzling Draco's hair. "I was a bit preoccupied."
Draco hummed. "Thank you," he said genuinely. "It looks great. The pancakes and chocolates, at least."
"Thanks," Harry said with a snort. "I hope it tastes better than it looks."
Draco pulled back so Harry could see it when he rolled his eyes at him. "Don't sell yourself short," he chastised him playfully, bumping their noses together. "You've always had a knack for making great food."
Harry grinned widely and gestured towards the table. "Dig in, then. You won't mind if I nab some, will you? I'm starving."
Draco shook his head as he stepped out of Harry's embrace. "Suit yourself," he assured him, taking a seat. Even from this angle, the legibility of the writing was... something. "So," he started once Harry had sat down next to him, "What's the crime scene supposed to spell out, dearest Auror of mine?"
Harry's laugh was a mix between flattered, abashed, and embarrassed. Draco watched amused as his cheeks flushed. "Something generic," he dismissed with a shy smile. "I'm not very creative when I'm in a rush."
"I see." Draco hummed. "Then I'll just imagine that this endearing scribble was your attempt at declaring your hatred for a day as dumb as Valentine's."
That time, Harry's laugh was bright and full, his head thrown back with it. "You can't fool me, Draco," he said, grinning his gorgeous grin. "I know you enjoyed yourself."
Draco let out an impartial sound and shrugged. "It wasn't the worst," he acquiesced, glancing up to see Harry's grin widen even more before dropping his gaze back down with a pesky flush. "At least you had fun." That was all that mattered, after all.
"I did," Harry agreed softly. The sound of an object whizzing towards them made Draco look up. He found his creation on the table in front of them, propped up by Harry's magic, and smiled.