Work Text:
The Inn
There had been a time, just after the battle at Hogwarts, when Harry had felt a modicum of secret vindication in that fact that Draco had gotten a taste of what several bad choices and unconditional father worship had earned him. But now that Harry was getting a first-hand look at the effects of Azkaban on his former enemy, even a shred of righteous satisfaction felt inappropriate. Prison life had stripped away more than just one year of Draco's life; it had taken the glow from his skin as well as most of the colour from his hair, leaving it prematurely grey-white.
Harry didn't even try to meet his eyes.
"And furthermore, a mandatory curfew will be enforced at the approved premises. You are required to report to your assigned member of the Probationary Service by no later than eleven every evening, and again at seven the following morning for a minimum period of one year. Do you understand these terms as read, Mr Malfoy?" the plump, balding stranger behind the podium asked, peering at Draco over tiny square glasses.
"No."
It was clear from the gasping reaction of the room, that Draco had been the first one to ever give that answer. The man blinked, as if truly seeing Malfoy for the first time, and then cleared his throat, looking as if he was searching for the correct Ministry response to 'no'.
"What seems to be the problem?"
Draco took a slow breath in, and wrapped his long fingers around the ends of his chair arms.
"Is approved premises a flowery way of saying I'll be spending my nights back in Azkaban?"
"Certainly not," the man huffed, pulling nervously at his ceremonial robes. "You will be given the address of your evening residence as well as the name of the officer you will be reporting to as soon as we conclude this discussion. However, you must either contest or accept the terms before any other action can be made this morning."
Harry glimpsed at Narcissa from his hidden seat in the back corner. At a slight nod from her, Draco sat up straighter and addressed the man. "I accept."
Harry collected his things and slipped out the back door before anyone got the bright idea to ask his opinion of the hearing.
~*~
It was well past breakfast and the tea had gone cold. Draco skimmed through the newest edition of The Daily Prophet twice, and yet he continued to be uninterested in moving from his spot at the table, and the letter from his mother—most likely an invitation to visit—remained safely in his pocket. He'd find the energy to open it later.
He was three weeks into his probation, but this was the first time he'd managed to venture farther into the 'house' than his bedroom, and the tiny office on the second floor for his daily check-ins with Officer Potter. Readjusting to a semi-independent way of life was harder to embrace than he thought would be the case, but a solid year of prison routine was embedded in his mind and body. Even with the crushing weight of Azkaban gone, his body still woke him at six every morning so the guards wouldn't feel the need to give him a helping hand, he flinched regularly when his meals arrived in the corridor, and had spent the bulk of the first week crouched in the furthest corner of his bedroom— far away from the door.
Draco absently flipped a page and continued to lose himself in thoughts of what life held for him now that he was the overlooked middle child of criminals—nearly free and wandless—with all the advantages of an unqualified young wizard.
The kitchen door suddenly swung open, bringing Potter and his armload of clean dishes into the room. He set them on the table and nodded in greeting.
Draco surveyed the stack in front of him. "Don't you have a House Elf for that?"
Harry shrugged. "Good to see you out of your room. Deciding what to do today?"
"It's not required that I leave during free hours. I've read the agreement," Draco answered crisply, proud that he still managed to sound superior to Potter, regardless of being largely at his mercy—legally speaking.
"Just making conversation," Harry said, as the hutch helpfully opened its doors to receive the crockery.
As far as an authority figure with the full ability to send Draco back to prison, Potter didn't so much miss the mark as bypass it altogether—creating his own jumbled version of an overworked Prefect/concierge.
Draco was debating rereading an article documenting the rise and fall of Harrow stone powder popularity when a boy with blond, short spiked hair, bright blue eyes, and an over-burdened satchel bounced through the swinging door and beamed at Potter. Draco had seen him briefly at breakfast when he had blurred into the room, grabbed a banana and a crumpet, and exited just as suddenly. It was that kind of unexpected movement that kept Draco holed up in his room for the most part, but if he wanted to reach his goal of acquiring employment within sixty days, he had to learn to tolerate the little tornado as well at the rest of the assembly of characters Potter's 'Inn' contained.
Other than the boy, he'd seen a fat middle-aged man with a perspiration problem, a very pregnant young woman, who seemed to be able to navigate the house while staring only at the floor, a verbose and skinny ghost named Roy, and three androgynous adolescents with hooded jumpers. He assumed there were others, but he wasn't in a great hurry to meet any of them.
Harry ruffled the boy's hair, produced a sandwich and an apple from the air, and waved goodbye as the whirlwind grabbed the food, and retreated, making the door 'fwop, fwop, fwop' as it swung in his wake, giving Draco little glimpses of the spotless kitchen.
"Miles," Harry said, indicating the door.
"What's a child doing in a Probation Hostel?"
"Oh, well, his grandparents tried to raise him after his parents were killed by…" Harry let the sentence fall, but after a quick pause, and a change of expression, he continued. "They're too old to keep up with a busy seven-year old, and the orphanages are full, so he's here until a spot opens up, or until a family steps up to take him in. He's a really great kid. He's gone through a lot, but he doesn't seem bitter or angry. He's only been here for a month, though, so it's hard to tell how he's really doing."
Harry spelled the kitchen door open and floated several tea cups into the dining room as he prattled on. "He goes to the Muggle school in the village, then comes back here every evening. I try to find something fun to keep him busy on the weekends, but I know friends his own age would be a better…"
"Why did you take a position with the Probationary Service?" Draco asked suddenly, tired of hearing about Potter's orphan.
"I took the training and passed," Harry said with a slight shrug.
"Obviously, but I would have thought the great Chosen One would have loftier goals, or possibly none at all. Destroying the Dark Lord must have been financially profitable—so what did you do with the gold the Ministry threw at you?"
"Tried to give it all back," Harry confessed with a shy smile. Draco rolled his eyes. "When that didn't work, I got a job I thought would be worthwhile, bought this old Inn, fixed it up a bit, and then offered it to the Ministry as extra housing. They offered to pay for the upkeep and such, and I make sure people who need a bed and a meal have one."
"Why bother? You saved a good deal of Britain; most people would be of the opinion that you've done your good deed."
Harry turned away, raising his wand to eye level. Draco's reflexes had him twitching to reach for his own, but he refrained from moving, knowing full well his wand-pocket would be empty for another five months, or until Potter declared him 'safe' enough to have it back. Harry flicked the wand once at the tower of plates on the table, and the china silently flew back to its proper cupboard or shelf.
Draco stood when it became clear Potter's silence was as good as a dismissal. He didn't expect the near-whisper he heard as he left the room.
"Some people need saving more than once."
The pregnant girl turned the corner, dropping her gaze when she saw Draco. She muttered something that sounded like 'Harry?', so he replied with 'dining room' before ducking around her without another word. On the stairs, he heard Potter greeting the girl warmly, with a gentle, 'All right, Penny?'
Draco returned to his room, undressed, and climbed back under the covers. He was fully aware of the time, but didn't care. He was suddenly too tired to deal with what was left of the day.
~*~
Harry pulled the husk from the last ear of corn and set it in the nearly overflowing pot before levitating it back into the kitchen without him. He always liked to have more food prepared than was necessary since travelers and backpackers often stumbled upon the Inn, and at the mention of a home-cooked meal, predictably started drooling.
He stared at the pile of husks at his feet. He usually spelled them off the corn—made a game of it with Miles, but tonight he needed to have something for his hands to do while he watched the late autumn shadows lengthen and tried to ignore the guilt of turning Ron and Hermione down for yet another visit. This time he'd even taken the coward's way out and sent an owl instead of answering Hermione's request for him to Floo-call. He wanted to see them, he did, but he just couldn't find the energy to endure an entire night's worth of their company. They were doing great, finally engaged and giving Molly something to fuss over, but spending time with a radiating couple, as much as he loved them both, resulted in making him spend far too much time contemplating his own lonely existence behind the privacy of his bedroom door, surrounded by his memories and a generous amount of Firewhiskey .
"I'd wager Trelawney would See something horrible in your husk mountain," Draco drawled over his shoulder.
Harry gave a weak laugh despite not really wanting any company, but he found himself responding anyway. "Yes, cursed corn. I should have seen the warning signs."
"Don't flog yourself over it. Perhaps it was just evil to begin with; how could you have known?"
Harry felt the brush of Draco's light cloak as he walked down the stairs to take a seat on the garden bench. He still looked as if were on his way to some sort of illness—nearly as pale and drawn as the day he'd been released from Azkaban. The hollowness was gone from his eyes, but Harry still felt uncomfortable looking at him.
Even with the Dementors gone, Harry imagined prison would have been hard on an eighteen year old. Harry'd been there, advocated for as many as he could, but the best he could manage to get out of the new Minister was a shortened sentence for Narcissa, with the condition that she remain under her sister's supervision for the next five years, and early probation for Draco and Stan Shunpike. He was too late to do anything for Lucius, but it would have been more than a stretch for Harry to find the desire needed to help the man who had made his bed with the Dark Lord well before Harry and Draco were even born.
Some wounds ran deeper than he cared to admit.
Ron had given him a hard time about intervening for the Malfoys, and Harry was slow to tell him the reason behind his actions, but eventually Hermione said a few words about compassion—or something—and Ron had let it drop for the most part.
Harry looked up and found Draco looking at him—through him—eyes half-focused. Half asleep, maybe Harry thought to himself. He looked exhausted. "How was your day?" he asked on instinct.
Draco sat up slightly, but it didn't improve the defeat behind his eyes. "Magnificent. Turned down for every job I inquired after, discovered a Malfoy can no longer open any kind of account at Gringotts, and a young girl actually spat on me with her mother's blessing. Who knows what new joys tomorrow will bring?"
Harry waved his wand absently at the husk pile which burst into a controlled burn. Another flick, and the ashes vanished. " I'm sorry. It'll take people a while to forget." He lowered his voice. "If it helps, I get spit on too, now and then."
Draco's eyebrows raised, and his face formed an expression that looked to Harry like it might be either surprise or doubt.
Harry shrugged. "Mostly for the deaths that happened after I left school. Some people believe I went into hiding—that I ran from my 'job'. They didn't even know if I was the stupid Chosen One or not, but they still wanted me out there in the streets, swinging a sword and flying Ministry colours or something."
Draco gave a crooked smile. "I wouldn't be surprised if that had been one of Creevey's fantasies. I believe he thought you were a god—a lesser deity, of course—but a god nonethe…"
Harry was on his feet, through the kitchen and out the front door before he realised he had run straight into his favourite rose bush. The thorns were as unforgiving on the way out as in, but Harry knew he could heal them in a heartbeat. The memory of Colin's body slowly being carried past him on the night of the final battle took longer to fade.
~*~
Draco locked up the Apothecary with the rusty key he'd been given, pulled his cloak closer to guard against the sharp December wind and mechanically followed the maze of alleys and roads that would put him back onto the lane that led back home—or to the Inn, anyway.
He pulled his scarf higher to cover his frozen cheeks, and summoned up a memory from earlier in the day. A young boy in the shop asked him his job title, and the owner had answered 'Potions assistant and inventory clerk' before Draco could open his mouth. That's not what he would have told the lad himself, but it was accurate enough he supposed. It wasn't a job he would have considered before the war, but then again his priorities and perspectives had undergone a bit of an adjustment since then.
It had been a busy day and he was more than ready for a hot bath, a filling meal and some time in the soft chair by the fire that everyone in the house had come to accept as his, but first, he needed to quicken his pace if he wanted to arrive before Miles got his eager little hands on the pudding.
It started snowing gently as Draco made his way around the last turn in the lane, and he spared a smile for the golden glow of the Inn's windows in the distance. The smile disappeared at the sound of pebbles crunching behind him.
"Nice night for a stroll, isn't it, Malfoy?"
He hurried his steps a fraction, but not enough to be perceptible to his pursuer. "Good evening, Nott. How's your father?"
Nott hissed dangerously. Draco stiffened at the unmistakeable swish of a wand being drawn, helpless to do anything except ball his fists and glance quickly down the lane, looking for a quick means of escape.
"Where's your hero, Malfoy? Where's your precious Officer Potter? Probably baking some nice biscuits for the two of you to share. I've heard you've created a cozy little life for yourself," he snapped.
Draco glanced over his shoulder. "It's hardly a holiday," he forced out, thinking wildly of anything to keep Nott talking, get a few steps closer to the safety of the Inn before Theo remembered how to use his wand. The outline for the house was visible, and soon they would be within shouting distance.
"Well, it's far better than the rest of my family got, isn't it, Malfoy? You sold us all out to sleep at Potter's feet!" He bellowed his accusations into the bitter wind.
Anger swelled within Draco at Nott's words, and he momentarily ignored the urge to run. Instead, he spun, resentment propelling him forward, advancing on his former classmate with determination, not caring that he was the one without a weapon.
"Choose your words carefully, Nott," Draco said dangerously. He took the momentary look of surprise on Theodore's face as an opening. "I did what I had to do, and so did you!" Draco glared down at him, tilting his head so the moonlight threw the edges and hollows of his face into stark contrast. "Talk to me once you've spent a year in Azkaban," he whispered harshly. "Until then, get out of my way."
White-hot fury burned behind Nott's eyes, and Draco could do nothing more than brace himself once he saw the slashing movement of the wand, heard the familiar Curse, and felt icy chill collide with burning heat as his clothes and chest were ripped apart.
~*~
Harry waited impatiently until midnight, pacing from the front door to the Floo in the sitting room for any sign or word from Draco. He grabbed a fistful of black powder and threw it against the back of the fireplace, inwardly cursing about being forced to follow Ministry protocol that required he wait an entire hour after breach of curfew before alerting the Aurors on duty.
He relayed the situation, possibly in a harsher tone than required, then collapsed exhausted back onto the sofa. His head fell back, and he pondered what to do next while watching the movement of the shadows on the ceiling. He couldn't get a proper hold on what he was feeling, but a mixture of annoyance, apprehension and anxiety churned around, making his body tense and his head ache behind his eyes. Thousands of scenarios played through his mind—everything from Draco dead in an alley somewhere, to some grand escape plan that involved Narcissa, a Portkey, and a new wand.
A faint rustling noise from outside caught his attention. He sat up and listened. When it came again, a pained moan accompanied it. Harry rushed to the door, wand in hand.
For a moment he could do nothing but stare—so much blood.
~*~
The sofa was warm and supportive enough, but Potter's voice kept pulling him from sleep with annoying questions, demands, and repetitive Floo-calls.
I know how to seal the cuts, but they won't stop bleeding, so either tell me how, or send me a Healer to… Yes, I know who his father was! That has nothing to do with…Miles, bring more towels! Why is Penny crying?
A sweaty hand coving his…
Malfoy—Draco, try to stay awake. Someone's coming.
The warm flannel running over his skin felt sensational, as did Potter's fingers as he guided it, The comforting heat from the fireplace reached out to him, snaking orange, red and yellow tongues along the carpeting and over the furniture, and he was content to watch through watery eyes from his make-shift bed without concern.
Perhaps he'd been given a pain-killing potion already. He vaguely remembered Potter coaxing him to drink something a few minutes ago—hours…
Kingsley! Sorry about the time. Malfoy said something about being attacked by Theodore Nott. I thought he was in custody?
A blanket: rough but comfortable.
He nearly bled to death on the front steps! Come and see for yourself, the trail goes halfway back to the village! And I'm not cleaning it up until a proper investigation's been done! I'm sorry, but—no he couldn't have! I don't care what Nott's claiming, there's no way Draco could have attacked first! He's been without his wand for…
Draco's eyelids were too heavy to open, but he felt no panic when his body became weightless and floated from the warmth of the sitting room into the cool air of the corridor, up the dark, narrow stairwell, and was finally settled gently onto his prepared bed. He had every right to be suspicious, or at least blurrily cautious, considering the night he'd had, but he could also feel Potter by his side: adjusting the pillows under his head, pulling the covers up, and extinguishing the lamp. He didn't need eyes to tell him Potter was settling in for a long night in the chair next to the bed. He tried to vocalise his gratitude for the rescue while at the same time fighting the urge to protest the continued confiscation of his wand, but it came out halfway between a whimper and a pained moan.
When Harry's hand slid towards his, over the covers, Draco hoped the squeeze he gave would communicate his gratitude at least. The wand discussion could wait until the potions wore off.
~*~
Harry rested his head on the hand that was holding Draco's. Two hours had lapsed since the faint squeeze, but he didn't want to reclaim his fingers just yet. He was grateful for the quiet of the late hour and the safe darkness of the room, but it made keeping his eyes open almost impossible.
It had been nothing short of a circus, and Harry was ashamed to admit that he'd been quite short with everyone. Dealing with endless questions from the Aurors had taken a lot out of him. Every inquiry and proper procedure seemed to take twice as long. He shouted until medical care was promised, and then relaxed slightly, thankful that Draco's blood was once again contained where it should be, and no longer pouring out onto the road, carpet and sofa. But in exchange, the Inn had temporarily become a remote wing of St Mungo's. Four different healers had been through the Floo, as well as the childbirth specialist for Penny's 'false-alarm' early contractions, and the hospital's potions expert (with three apprentices in tow), delivering the newest version of Dreamless Sleep containing an additive that would hopefully deal with the tremors and fever Draco's body didn't want to surrender.
Back in the quiet of Draco's room, a shiver ran along Harry's shoulders as he recalled the last time Draco had been hit with Sectumsempra. At least he recognised it on sight, had seen it before, and knew what to tell the healers. He blamed himself for never learning the healing incantation to counteract the damage, and silently cursed himself for causing the first set of faint scars slashed across Draco's blemished chest.
He lifted his head, set the lamp to a soft glow and pulled back the covers a fraction, letting his eyes inspect the zigzag of fresh pink over pearly white. He let his gaze slide the sweep of Draco's long neck, over his fire-flushed cheeks to the nearly transparent eyelashes and higher still, to the silver fringe that lay swept aside from his forehead.
Something warm and new flared to life inside him at the sight, colouring Harry's own cheeks and sending his mind into a fast spin.
There was no denying it—his feelings for Malfoy were not as uncomplicated as he first thought. The guilt and regret were there along with some residual dislike, but there was something else underneath—maybe several other feelings that refused to be defined.
Giving his mind something else less confusing to think about, he looked away from Malfoy to the contents of the bedside table. The Healer had said to apply the dittany balm in the morning, but since the sky was already showing signs of emerging from the dark, Harry opened the stout jar, dipped his fingers into the salve, and traced a slippery path along the freshest of the bumpy scars under his fingertips, well aware that his distraction attempt was failing spectacularly.
Malfoy's chest vibrated with a deep moan. Harry pulled his hand back quickly, startled out of his thoughts by the sound, searching Draco's face to make sure he was still asleep. He stared without embarrassment at Draco's slightly parted lips. He stood suddenly, but managed a weary smile as his mind supplied him with an image of Draco, awake and wetting those same lips, eyes open, watching Harry just as intently.
He shook his head and blamed his thoughts on the long night.
With one more check to make sure Draco was breathing normally, Harry righted the blankets, and plodded back to his own room for what was likely to be a very short rest.
~*~
Draco stretched his arms lazily over his head after it became impossible to ignore the light but insistent knock at the door. "All right, I'm awake, Potter," he growled, slightly disappointed by the dry rasp of his voice.
The door swung slowly inward, but instead of the mess of black hair and sheepish expression Draco had been expecting, a rounded belly, followed by its owner, wobbled into the room. She looked up at him briefly, then looked away just as quickly. Draco hoped she hadn't seen his expectant glance into the hallway behind her. He sat up, hastily pulling the covers with him, inwardly holding at bay the odd feeling of disappointment that had sparked when it was clear she was the only one who would be making an appearance.
"Harry's cooking breakfast," she offered in way of explanation, shuffling around a pair of shoes.
He looked out the frosted window beside him and squinted at the bright winter's day. "Did he get any rest?" He asked, immediately wondering where the question had come from.
She rocked slightly from side to side at the end of his bed. "A bit, but it's Friday now. You've been out for a few days. Your mum and aunt are going to visit later, if you're feeling up to…"
"Friday? He asked, looking down at his latticed chest. Even though the fresh marks had been expertly healed, and would fade like the first set, it was still more damage than he ever wanted to carry around. "I seem to be healed, and I'm feeling well enough…"
She wrapped her fingers over the baseboard and spoke to her knuckles. "Now, but you were nearly dead when Harry found you, and then there was some confusion about moving you, or having the Healers come here. I don't know the full of it, but you lost so much blood, and the Healers said you needed time to recover. The replenishing potion only does so much before your body needs to take over—that's what one of them said, anyway."
"Still, twenty-four hours is usually sufficient to…"
"Umm, I'm not sure if I'm supposed to tell you the rest," she confessed, looking over her shoulder to the half-opened door.
He lowered his voice, curiosity getting the better of him. "What is it?"
She turned back to him, holding his gaze for the first time, and Draco was struck by her beautiful eyes, thinking it was shame that she constantly kept them hidden. "You got an infection," she whispered. "They didn't even notice at first, because the bleeding had stopped, and that was the main concern. But then…" Draco watched the colour creep slowly up her neck and find a new home on her bright cheeks. Her hands moved from the footboard to rub over her substantial stomach. "Well, I sort of thought the baby was coming that night, but it was just—he was fine, but it was distracting, so maybe that's why they didn't catch your problem right away. I'm sorry—I mean I feel like it was my…" She closed her eyes and took a breath. "Let's just say Harry's been a mess since your attack, and I hate causing him any—what I'm trying to say is that there are several people who're relieved that you're awake and healthy now."
"Oh, well…" He paused when no more words were forthcoming. He didn't know what he could possibly say after her confession.
The pause lengthened into something weighty and extensive, but neither one seemed ready to break it. Draco was giving serious thought to how much this stranger seemed to care about his recovery, but what weighed most heavily on his mind were her words about Potter's—Harry's—mental well being, and how it seemed to be improving with Draco's own health.
Penny made a little 'oh!' noise, as if she had just remembered something. "He wanted you to have this as soon as possible." She thrust his own wand toward him, and it was a moment before his hand realised it should receive the offering.
The wood warmed and glowed momentarily for him, and he was amazed at how much better he felt just to have it back where it obviously belonged. He summoned a glass of water for his dry mouth, and felt a thrill when the goblet flew from the dresser top to his waiting hand. Nearly two years he had gone without, and he'd never admit it aloud, but he had missed the feeling of magic moving through him—missed it more than he was willing to let on in front of a near stranger, and had been more than a little concerned that magic would be reluctant come when he called it. He took a drink to cover for his long pause.
"Harry asked me to keep it safe until you needed it back."
Water sprayed from Draco's mouth. The girl only smiled and handed him a handkerchief.
He swept his eyes her stomach, and then back to her face, all the while remembering the soft way Potter always spoke to her. He replayed her words about the Harry's concern being torn between Draco's own slashed open body and the assumed arrival of the baby. He stared down at the bump again and watched as her hand slid across it as if to block his gaze.
"I always thought he'd end up with the Weasley girl," he said, vocalising his thoughts bluntly.
Her brow wrinkled. "What? Who, Harry?"
"That's not his child?" He asked, pointing unnecessarily at the bump under her dressing gown.
"No." She smiled and pointed her index finger to the baby. "This is the reason I live here, the reason Harry took me in, but not because it's his."
Draco was somewhere between relieved and bemused. "Explain."
"I got pregnant under—unfortunate circumstances, that's what my parents called it anyway, so when I wouldn't allow the healers to terminate my baby, we ran away."
Draco tried to be delicate, but his curiosity got the better of him. "May I ask what the unfortun…"
"I fell in love with a Muggle—Jacob. We wanted to wait, try to bring my parents around the idea, but he was sick, and we just ran out of time. Harry took us in and even paid for the best care, but…" She paused, turning unfocused eyes to the window. "He died," she whispered. "Cancer." Draco gave a shallow nod. "But he'll be remembered. I have our baby, my gift from the man I loved."
"I'm very sorry," Draco offered sincerely. She seemed far too young to be a runaway, an expecting mother, and a widow. He tried to let his sincerity show over the shock he could still feel on his features. "I should know better than to assume anything about women. It's the one subject that continues to baffle me. I apologise."
"It's all right," she whispered, continuing the caressing circles over her belly. After a quiet few minutes, she looked up and gave him a smile he knew he didn't deserve. "Harry gave me your wand because he was afraid someone might try to steal it while you were here, and he thought the last place they would look would be my room."
"Ah, good reasoning."
"And as for the baby, I'd love for him to have a step-daddy one day, but Harry won't be filling that place," she said with a little laugh. "He's agreed to be the Godfather, though."
"Godfather Potter, and a substitute father for Miles. I'm surprised he hasn't found a wife and adopted the lot of you."
Her parting smile made Draco wonder for a moment what kind of brother he would have made, had he been given the opportunity. She made her way to the door, but then turned back to him just before leaving. "Between you and me, I think Harry just might be as baffled by women as you are."
The door clicked shut.
Draco finished his water, and then curled up under the blankets once more. The warm sun felt wonderful on his face, and the possibility of Potter and he having something else in common, other than damaged pasts and a wicked competitive streak, gave him a lot to consider. He decided he could think better with his eyes closed and his head comfortably snuggled into his pillow.
~*~
Harry came fully awake at the wail of the alarm. He'd slept in his clothes, so he was ready and moving toward the door—wand in hand—by the time Miles sleepily stumbled into his room.
"Harry, it's…"
"I know. Go wake Draco—we'll need him."
Moments later in the sitting room, Harry was directing the entire house like one of those animated long-armed conductors he'd seen in some children's program on the telly—complete with baton. His wand arm flew in all directions, summoning towels, water, pillows, ice, pain potions and the largest bottle of Firewhiskey the cellar had to offer. His voice had gone rough from continual operation of the Floo, and constantly having to shout to Draco, Miles and the parade of Healers over Penny's distressing screams. Worst of all was the throbbing pain in his left hand, where he was certain Penny had broken at least two of his fingers in her iron grip.
But through all the bedlam and din, Harry finally heard the one sound that managed to bring the twirling room to a standstill.
The baby was crying—short little gasps for air, and then the sound came again, new and sharp on the air. Harry had never seen a newborn before. He was so tiny, wet, shiny—perfect. Harry had been so caught up in the chaos of the delivery that he suddenly felt the weight of what had just happened right before his eyes.
He had seen his share of death, they all had, but now he sat speechless, witnessing new life, amazed at what Penny had accomplished.
Draco smiled wearily and pushed his sweat-soaked hair out of his eyes. Harry barely even heard the heard Healer as he stood up with the writhing little bundle.
"It's a boy!" The man bent low over the converted sofa to show Penny her son.
She touched the sticky cheek with trembling fingers. "Jacob," she sighed, finally surrendering to the pull of the late hour and the tranquillizing effect of the potions designed to ease the pain of delivery. Her heavy eyelids closed, and her head sunk deep into the collection of pillows Draco had arranged behind her.
The following minutes passed in a blur as the wands and hands of the Healers flew in all directions: cleaning, weighing, measuring and dressing, until the baby was finally calm and quiet enough to surrender to the snugness of the warm blanket wrapped around him. In the next moment an assistant Healer was handing the bundle to a very surprised Draco, who tried to give him back the instant the soft fabric touched his fingertips.
"I've never—I don't want to hurt him…"
Harry chuckled under his breath until another assistant rapped him on the shoulder, demanding she be allowed to look at Harry's swollen and discoloured fingers. He cried out involuntarily when the bones realigned themselves. It felt worse than when Penny had first broken them.
Draco hissed at the girl to be careful, and then made some very obvious hints that since the sun was nearly up, it was time for everyone who wasn't a resident to leave. He sat in his favourite armchair, pulled the baby a little closer and watched the exodus as Harry thanked the girl, flexed his healed fingers, and shooed a sleepy Miles back up the stairs to bed, thanking him for being a great assistant.
When he finally had a moment to look back at the sitting room, a smile crept across his lips at the heart-warming sight of Penny on the sofa, and beside her Draco and the baby in the over-stuffed chair—all sleeping peacefully.
~*~
Draco glanced one more time through the window at the dismal rain. Thirty days straight. Depressing, yet understandable for April. He locked the shop from the inside, and then Apparated straight to the front-door of the inn, thankful he'd only need to endure the pelting drops for the few seconds it took him to get the door open.
"Draco's home!" Miles called out to the house in general, swinging around the base of the stairs, and propelling his body toward the dining room. "Better hurry. Harry made lamb pie for my birthday!" he added before disappearing around the corner.
Draco chuckled to himself. He wasn't sure when it had happened—probably shortly after Jacob was born—that Miles' speed and energy no longer put him on edge, and in fact had become a source of amusement, just another addition to his daily routine at the Inn, along with muffled baby cries and the smell of Harry's cooking, which tonight, was sinfully tempting. But as he made his way to the table, he noticed that Harry's seat was empty—his plate clean.
Penny looked up from nursing Jacob—yet another thing Draco had to get used to at the dinner table—and mentioned something about Harry having to take a Floo call just as dinner was being served. Since no one else seemed to be waiting, Draco gratefully served himself a large portion and enjoyed the contentment that only hot food on a cold, dreary day can give.
After several minutes, and still no sign of Harry, Draco began wondering who had the nerve to be calling during a birthday dinner.
"Only one piece left. Maybe I should take it up to him," Penny said, mostly to herself, trying to balance the baby while reaching for the large spoon. "Looks like he's going to be a while."
"I'll do it," Draco offered, running his fingers over Jacob's soft hair before filling Harry's plate.
He didn't know anything about babies, but after witnessing the birth, sharing a house with one for several months, and seeing how people changed whenever Jacob was around, Draco knew he'd be lying if he denied how much one baby's presence had brightened his own life.
Several minutes later, he was standing in the corridor outside Harry's office with the last of the lamb pie. The door was cracked open, but by the tone of Harry's voice, Draco had the feeling that a distraction might not be welcome. He was torn. The choice was taken away from him as Harry ended the call with a near-violent 'Goodbye!', and swivelled around in his chair until his fuming gaze met Draco's through the slightly open door. His face seemed to pale instantly, despite his proximity to the fireplace.
"Oh, God. How much did you hear?" Harry panted, as if he'd been running up the stairs all evening.
Draco entered, and set the food on top of several scattered papers when no clear desk-top could be found. "Just 'goodbye'," he said, going numb. It was obvious Harry had been talking about him, or his reaction wouldn't have been… He turned around, eyes focused on the hallway, mind already preparing him for the safety of the dark corner behind his bed.
"No, wait," he said quickly, and Draco could hear the scrape of the chair as Harry stood. "That didn't come out right. Stay, please."
Draco kept his eyes on the door. Only two or three more steps and he'd be in the hallway. Seventeen more steps would take him to his room. When it became clear his body was refusing to move him anywhere, the numbers vanished from his mind, and he said the first thing he could think of.
"Your pie's getting…" Fingers touched his elbow.
"It can wait," Harry said, suddenly too close.
Draco finally managed to look at him. Those damn green eyes were pleading I'm sorry. Please, trust me., but Harry's mouth was moving, saying something different.
"That was Robards," Harry said, leading them both back to the desk. "With your term here coming to a close, some people are taking a renewed interest in your case."
"I still have another 3 months," Draco said, taking a seat.
"Yeah, but Nott's mother has gained some support lately in her 'Draco Malfoy is dangerous' campaign, and…"
An eyebrow quirked upwards of its own accord. "There's a campaign?"
Harry smiled wearily. "That's just what I'm calling it." He eyed the food Draco brought him, and pulled the plate closer. "Thanks for this, I'm starving."
"Seemed a shame for the chef to miss out," Draco said with a little nod.
Harry's smile widened, but then his fork stopped its descent, as if he'd just remembered there was something more important than hot gravy and pastry. He looked up, suddenly serious again.
"Did you know Nott's sentence was read this morning?"
"No, I—there wasn't anything in the papers," Draco admitted.
"Closed council, but I thought you might have heard." Draco just shook his head, and waited out the long pause until Harry continued. "He's getting the Kiss."
"For attacking me?" Draco asked, not too sure if he thought the punishment was just or excessive.
Harry shook his head and absentmindedly poked the tines of his fork through the pie crust. "No, still ten years in Azkaban for that, but new evidence was uncovered that links him to the six Muggle murders his father got the Kiss for."
Draco leant forward in his chair, but otherwise tried to hide his shock. "But that would mean they either committed the crimes together, or he set his father up, and to be honest, I never thought he was that clever."
"Or, maybe Nott Senior took the fall to save his son." Harry shrugged and finally squished the carrot he'd been chasing around his plate.
Fed up with watching this blatant abuse of good food, Draco stole the fork, loaded it up properly, and shoved it towards Harry, who was staring at him with the look of someone who'd just had a cold beverage upended in his lap.
Draco waved the fork in front of Harry's lips. "Eat," was all he said, and yet it was enough to encourage Harry to open his mouth to receive the offering. Draco's hand shook when Harry closed his eyes and hummed in appreciation.
There was a moment of awkwardness when Harry's eyes snapped open, and they both seemed to realise the mood in the room had changed drastically. By the time Draco handed back the fork and settled again into his chair, the moment had passed.
"So Theo's mum thinks I'm responsible somehow?" Draco offered, trying to remain professional, despite his body's instance that it would like to encourage Harry to make that sound again.
"Not really," he said, taking another bite. "I think she's devastated because she's lost her husband, and it looks as if her son is next. She's looking for someone to blame, and you're it."
Draco waited until Harry finished another mouthful before asking, "How bad is it?"
Harry summoned a glass of milk, drained it, and then answered. "Slander, mostly, but Robards has suggested that you take a leave from your job, and be moved to a new residence, at least until this blows over."
Draco felt himself leaning forward again at the news. "And what did you tell him?"
"I said that we had no proof that you were in any further danger, and that you deserved to have a say in…" Harry paused, and gave a grim smile. "But that got the reaction I knew it would."
Draco laughed under his breath. "He turned purple and called me 'property of the Ministry'?"
Harry gave him a crooked smile. "Something like that, yeah, so I reminded him that the council had made me your overseeing officer with the right to deny your transfer until I'd at least spoken to you, then I closed the call before he could protest any more."
"Thank you," Draco said softly. What was more, he meant it. He doubted if there were a handful of people left who'd risk their careers for him. "I'd rather stay here, but if there is an attack, you have a house-full of dependents to protect. It would make more sense to just have me removed until the probationary period expires."
"I'd rather have the Aurors come around to check our security, and improve it if necessary. That way you could still be here with us, but you wouldn't be able to leave the grounds until the end of July."
Draco took notice of the way Harry quickly found something on his desk to pull his attention from Draco's amused expression.
"And why is it again that you don't want to ship me off?" he asked, trying to keep his voice as neutral as possible to put Harry at ease.
Harry looked up once more and tilted his head slightly. "I just have a feeling Robards' version of 'safe' is what you feared it might be—that day at your probation hearing. I don't want to take the chance that you'd be sent…"
Draco's heart went cold at the thought of another three months within the unforgiving walls of Azkaban.
"Thank you," he said once more, feeling the weight of what Harry had spared him. He studied the man on the other side of the desk with new eyes, and was pleased to discover he now admired so much more than just his stunning eyes and a body that seemed to call out to Draco's own. He'd known there was something annoyingly admirable about Potter's bottomless heart and rescue reflex, and yet he'd refused to fully acknowledge it until their time together was almost gone. The thought of his freedom suddenly pulled Draco's mind away from Harry, and reminded him to think of survival. "What about my job? I'd leave it in an instant, but it's my only source of income, and part of my terms. If I resign…"
"I think I have a solution for that too," Harry said, laughing quietly when Draco's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Would you be interested in a position that involved estate management?"
"I might." Draco acquired the fork once more, and speared the bit of potato he'd seen Harry eying. After Harry had stopped laughing, Draco finished his bite and asked, "Who's the employer?"
"Me. I'm having a hard time managing all of the paperwork, keeping the Inn running, and finding enough time to still do my job. And to be honest, I'm pants when it comes to finance. I still don't know what to charge the…what?" he asked suspiciously when he noticed Draco's amused grin, and the slight shake of his head.
"You don't even try to play the hero, do you? It's like you're a magnet for injustice."
At once, Draco felt uneasy at how quickly the smile has slid off of Harry's lips. A thin, tight line replaced it, making Draco inwardly curse himself for not thinking before opening his mouth.
"I—I just don't like to see people being treated unfairly, and the Ministry can't see past their…" Harry swivelled his chair back to the fireplace, so Draco couldn't see his face anymore, only the drumming fingers on the leather chair-arms. "If you don't want to take the job, I understand, but I just thought…"
Draco stood, walked around the desk, and stilled Harry's fidgeting fingers with his own. Harry stopped his babbling, but forgot to shut his mouth. Draco gave two quick pats to the top of Harry's hand, scooped up the empty plate and gave Harry a warm smile, taking a small bit of pleasure from the bewildered look Harry still wore.
"You're very odd, Potter. I accept the new job. Thank you."
Harry blinked, and seemed to come back to himself, although his eyes remained wide with wonder.
"You're welcome," he said quietly, looking relieved.
"I'm due to start handing out Miles' presents. You'll come join us in the sitting room?"
"Of course," Harry said to his desk, shuffling a few papers. "I'll be down in a few minutes."
And with that, Draco took his cue and walked the few steps back to the hall, feeling Harry's eyes follow him until he turned the corner.
~*~
They both stared in shock at the dining room—set up for a romantic dinner complete with candles, soft music in the air, and two obvious chairs—and then down to the invitation cards in each of their hands.
"Miles?" Harry called over his shoulder, but the boy had already whirred out of sight, and was giggling his way up the stairs. Harry turned back, his face flushed, although Draco could tell he was trying hard to stay composed.
"What does yours say?" He asked Harry, nodding to the card.
"It's an invitation for a goodbye—your one year anniversary with us. Yours?"
He held it up, and found himself grinning at Miles and Penny's feeble attempt at matchmaking. "Surprise birthday party for Harry."
Harry smiled with embarrassment. "Well, I'm surprised."
Draco looked back at the cozy, but empty room. "Dismal turnout for both events, it seems. We must not be as popular as we thought."
At that, Harry burst out laughing, transforming into the Gryffindor Draco knew was lurking under the surface. He presented his elbow and asked, "Care to accompany me to dinner? Might as well see what they've cooked up."
Draco accepted, feeling silly and elated simultaneously. What a difference a year made.
~*~
Harry sat down hard on his bed—lower than he remembered it, or maybe the bottle of wine had finally gone to his head. He hadn't felt this disoriented in a long time: hands sweaty, heart pounding, mind spinning, and—most wonderfully disturbing of all—body tingling.
Dinner had been perfect.
It had felt strange at first to be set up, even if it had been by two people he adored, and even if he already knew it was hopeless to deny the attraction that had been growing steadily between himself and Draco for quite some time, but as the meal progressed, and the wine was consumed, their surface conversations kept diving deeper until the inevitable subject of relationships was breeched.
"There's something I've been meaning to ask, and now that we've absorbed a good deal of the wine, I think this would be the safest time to ask it."
Harry set down his glass, convinced that Draco was going to bring up something revealing or uncomfortable. He was slightly thrown off when Draco asked why Ron and Hermione never came around.
"Grown apart?" he asked casually.
"Not exactly," Harry answered honestly, brushing at a few bread crumbs on the table cloth. "At first, I was giving them space, letting them be a couple without me hanging on, you know? Then they started in about Ginny being back from her training and wanting to see me and—well, I just…"
"Couldn't tell them you're gay?"
Harry paused, unsure if he was being teased, but when he saw only genuine interest and concern behind Draco's smoky eyes, he took another sip from his glass and tried to smile. "Something like that. It's daft, I know Hermione wouldn't care, but Ron and Ginny, they want…they've been the only family I've ever really known until now, and I think they're hoping I'd make it official by—well, it's complicated."
Draco stretched his legs out under the table. "Are you sure they don't know? They are your best friends, maybe they're reaching out for other reasons."
Harry shrugged. "Maybe." There was a short pause, and Harry took advantage of it to watch the way the candlelight danced over Draco's silver hair, making the strands shimmer. "What about you?" Harry asked, looking for a way to turn the spotlight away from his own failing social life. "You were pretty quiet about your time at the shop. For all I know you had a secret admirer who snuck behind the counter when nobody was looking." Harry only blushed after his brain had caught up with his mouth and began registering the unfiltered words that had tumbled out.
"Are you insinuating I was anything but professional at my place of employ, or are you jealous because I didn't share?"
Draco's smirk was Harry's undoing.
He made a gagging, gurgling noise, trying to defend himself while attempting to swallow the last of his wine. Draco let out a hearty laugh, and the room seemed to grow even warmer.
Harry fell back on his bed, Draco's parting words in the hall outside his bedroom door lingering as he grinned stupidly up at the dark canopy:
Thank you for dinner. I was pleasantly surprised.
By the time Harry comprehended the soft press of lips to his cheek, Draco had given him a playful push into his room, and then sauntered down the hall to his own.
"Happy birthday, Harry," he whispered to himself.
The soft knock on his door, and Miles whispering his name through the key-hole, brought an end to what Harry was hoping would be a very steamy dream about what might have happened if Draco had followed him into his room, instead of being a gentleman.
"Did you like your party?" Miles asked, as soon as Harry cracked open the door.
He ruffled the short blond spikes. "Yes. Everything was wonderful, thank you." Miles beamed sleepily up at him. "Although you're way too clever for eight years old."
"Did it work? Is Draco going to stay?" He asked with an eagerness that made him nearly vibrate in the spot.
Harry paused, realising that was one topic that hadn't even come up at dinner. "We didn't get around to taking about it, but he hasn't said anything about leaving his job, so I'm sure we'll see a lot of him. Go to bed now, breakfast will be here before you know it." He affectionately turned Miles by the shoulders, and ushered him into the hallway.
"Good night," Miles whispered, and then turned to wrap Harry's waist in a firm hug. Harry returned it, kissed the messy head of hair, and whispered, "Thanks for the party. Best birthday ever. Now get to bed before I turn the ghosts loose in your room."
"Okay, Harry." Miles pulled away, still wearing a big smile that shone with pride, and padded down the hall to his room, the one next to Penny's.
Back in his own room, Harry stripped down to his boxers on his way to the small private bathroom. He looked at himself in the mirror as he brushed his teeth. He was happy—happier than he'd been in a long time, and yet Miles' words wouldn't leave him.
Is Draco going to stay?
He heard a sound as he was rinsing out his mouth, but the running water obscured whatever it was. He turned off the tap, walked back into his room and listened until he heard it again. Soft knocking. He moved to the door and turned the knob.
"Miles, that's it," he teased, pulling the door open. "I'm finding the noisiest ghost we have in the attic and…" Harry snapped his mouth shut. Draco was there. Close, and leaning closer, wearing a look Harry recognised as seduction in a heartbeat. He also became painfully aware that his own worn boxers were doing very little to hide his body's appreciation of Draco's reappearance.
"Is it really your birthday?" Draco asked in a near-whisper, distracting Harry from his discomfort.
Harry could only nod, but in doing so, his eyes were free to explore his unexpected guest for a brief moment. Draco's shirt collar was open, his belt was missing, and bare toes peeked out from the bottom of his trousers. The only word Harry's mind could offer him was delicious.
Still feeling slightly light-headed from the wine, Harry suddenly had a sobering thought, but he wanted to choose his words carefully so Draco wouldn't run. He wanted what was being offered so much he was nearly shaking.
"Do you—are you still feeling the wine?"
Draco moved even closer, until Harry felt a puff of breath over his ear. "I'm feeling warm, uninhibited. You?"
"Oh, yeah," Harry whispered with a slight shudder, tilting his head until Draco's lips brushed over the shell of his ear. He felt it everywhere.
For a few seconds, neither of them moved, frozen in the moment, content to enjoy the invisible line between them that had just been erased, and prepare themselves for the next step. Harry was only slightly surprised that he was the one who moved first, taking Draco's elbow and leading him into the room. Draco followed silently, taking his eyes away from Harry only long enough to make sure the door was shut properly.
With a few whispered words from Harry, the fireplace in the corner crackled with instant, cheery flames, and the bed turned itself down.
Draco smirked, running his hands over Harry's bare shoulders. "Impressive. Done this before?"
"What, the spell, or dragging a man into my room?"
Harry willed his hands to stay steady, as he raised them to Draco's shirt buttons, pausing to grip the fabric when Draco's caresses turned into a firm massage. It was brilliant, as if Draco's fingers were erasing months of pressure he's been storing for no good reason. Harry couldn't remember the last time anyone had touched him that way, as if they truly wanted to.
"And not just any man, a former criminal," Draco continued quietly. "Your ward."
"You're the first," Harry admitted, closing his eyes and letting his head roll back as Draco's fingers continued to kneed the base of his neck. "But you're not my ward anymore." He opened his eyes when Draco's hands paused. "It's past midnight. You're a free man."
"Free," Draco echoed in a hushed voice nearly cancelled out by the crackling firewood.
And then they were kissing.
It was passionate, unsteady, and Harry's glasses got in the way. Draco removed them, and kissed him once more. It felt wonderful and tasted like wine, but Harry knew he must be rubbish when Draco stopped again. But instead of giving voice to Harry's insecurities, Draco stepped impossibly closer, bringing their bodies together.
Harry moaned deep in the back of his throat, and willed his arms to move. He pushed Draco's shirt open, and introduced himself to the welcoming skin underneath. His brain was too overwhelmed with arousal to properly interpret Draco's gasp, but when he felt the uneven rise of a scar under his tongue, he stopped and looked up with guilt written all over his expression.
"Draco, I'm—I've always wanted to tell…"
"Shh," he hushed, kissing Harry's scar in turn. "Before we continue, I need to ask you something."
Harry got his breathing under control and nodded, although he thought Draco could probably hear his heart pounding. But when he looked closer, Draco was the one looking ill and uneasy. He sat down on the edge of the bed. Harry joined him, but there was distance between them now.
Draco looked down at his fingers resting limply in his lap. "After what I—after what happened on the tower, why did you defend me? Why did you save my life? Why did you care what happened to me or my mother when you could have easily said the word, and we would have been locked up forever, or even Kissed like the others?"
"I was there," Harry confessed, glad of the chance to finally tell Draco at last, even if the timing wasn't ideal. "Dumbledore offered you a chance, and I watched you lower your wand. He knew that you'd—he knew, and I trusted him."
Nodding as he listened, one hand reached tentatively for Harry's and squeezed it gently. When he spoke, Harry heard the emotion trying to break through, but Draco took his time and seemed to think on every word before forming it.
"When they pulled me out of my cell, I thought that was it—that they were taking me to the Dementors. Then they cleaned me up, walked me into the probation hearing and I saw my mother. I knew you must have had something to do with it. Thank you."
Harry turned until he met Draco's gaze and told him softly about what had happened in the forest, about the moment that won the war. "So it wasn't all me. She saved my life to save yours—and, I think, because she wanted him to pay."
Draco choked out a short laugh. "Yes, mothers are like that."
He crawled up the bed, silently pulled Harry with him, and settled back against the pillows. And as if they had done it every day for a year, Harry accepted the invitation and stretched out, allowing Draco's arms to surround him.
"So, after all of that, it would hardly be just to hold a few scars against you," Draco said into the dark, messy hair under his lips.
Harry entwined their fingers over his chest, and took in a slow breath, trying to savour the moment for as long as it lasted. "Miles asked me if you were going to stay."
"Oh? And what did you tell him?"
Harry looked up, taking a moment to enjoy the view of Draco in his bed, silver hair and pink skin caressed by the firelight. "That we'd still see you around, since you haven't given me a resignation letter yet."
"And if I left tomorrow?"
Harry looked away. "We'd understand if you did," he said, rubbing a thumb absentmindedly over the backs of Draco's long fingers. "This is better than Azkaban, but it's not your own home, and not very private."
Draco released Harry's hands and shifted around until he was kneeling over him, his face half-hidden in shadow. He lowered his head slightly, and his bright eyes came into view. Harry's heart took up its noisy drumming once more, but he didn't know what to do with the rest of his body. It didn't seem capable of movement. He couldn't do anything except stare back, trying to will their bodies to connect, breaking the tension that held them apart.
"And if I stayed?" Draco asked casually, although the fingers of his right hand were on the move, drifting slowly over Harry's flushed chest.
He said the first thing that jumped into his cloudy mind. "I know Miles and Penny would think they're getting Christmas in July." The sentence ended with a sharp intake of breath, followed by a long moan as Draco pushed down, slowly sliding his legs down the outside of Harry's thighs until all space between their lower bodies vanished. Harry's fingers rushed to the top button of Draco's trousers, but a warm hand stopped him. Their eyes met.
"What about my former Probation officer?" What would he do?" he asked, all teasing gone from his tone as he stared down at Harry.
Harry couldn't help it, his breaths were coming short and sharp. His body screamed with the injustice of moving so slow, when all it really wanted was to be pressed to Draco's skin, but his mind broke through long enough to give Draco an answer. "He'd probably ask you out to more dinners, and pull you into his room more often." Harry almost swore when Draco's body moved away a fraction as he pulled himself up on an elbow.
"And what if your friends find out?"
Harry returned the solemn gaze, untangled his fingers from the trousers and traced them over Draco's lips instead. "They'll have to get used to it, won't they?"
Draco kissed the fingertips. "You'd tell them?"
Harry nodded. "Yeah, I would, I will. I'm sick of secrets—and I miss them," he added, quietly. "It's time."
"Well," Draco began, shifting closer, the playful undertones returning. "It sounds as if Penny and Miles will have another opportunity to plan a dinner party."
Harry slid his hand into silver strands and gently pulled Draco closer still. "Does that mean you'll stay?" Draco responded with a shift of his hips that called every nerve in Harry's body to attention. He groaned without shame.
Draco pulled himself free of his shirt, and was back in Harry's arms before his skin had a chance to cool. "Only if we can shut up and get back to what we were doing."
"About damn time," Harry agreed, kissing Draco hungrily, his body finally getting its way.
Neither one of them noticed the soft giggles coming from the keyhole.
~*~