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It all began with a letter.

Draco was pouring himself his second cup of morning tea as the tawny owl landed gracefully on the open windowsill of his tiny cottage.

“Hello,” Draco muttered, gently plucking the yellowy scroll from the owl’s leg. “Who might you be?”

Draco retrieved a handful of pellets from a small ceramic pot he kept by the window and held them out in front of the owl’s beak. Eagerly his little guest bent down, and Draco let the owl eat from his hand as he stroked its soft brown and white feathers. Once the owl had eaten its fill, it sat perched on the sill cleaning its wings, and Draco watched it for a moment, sipping his tea.

“You’re a pretty thing, aren’t you?” Draco muttered softly.

Ordinarily, Draco didn’t receive mail at his quaint cottage on the outskirts of Diagon Alley. In fact, he couldn’t immediately think of anyone who would send him mail via an owl he did not recognize. 

Pansy had a large grey barn owl, and Mother would only send him letters through Artemis, the Malfoy family’s snowy owl. Greg almost never sent him mail, and since he didn’t own an owl at all, Draco assumed this letter was not from him. Occasionally Blaise would send him news from his home in France, but he always used the muggle mailing system, thinking it was quite the amusing joke. Draco presumed that Blaise had finally relented to using owl post again, and Draco had begun unscrolling the letter before he hesitated. 

There was, after all, the distinct possibility that a stranger had once again discovered his address and found a way through his intricate mail warding system, and it gave Draco pause for caution. It wouldn’t be the first time he had received hate mail; in the months following the war, he had received dozens of rather nasty letters blaming him for his role in things. Draco knew he deserved it and always forced himself to read each word. 

After opening a particularly vitriolic one, however, which had been accompanied by a cursed Galleon that Draco had noticed too late, he had wound up in St. Mungo’s for nearly a week. 

His mother had immediately seen to it that Draco received only safe mail from then on, implementing a complex piece of magic that filtered through his mail for him: friendly mail could come through, and antagonizing mail was returned to the sender. He did not regret the system, though it made him a little sad to discover how few correspondents remained. 

The strange owl hooted at him from the windowsill as if to urge him on, and Draco looked down warily at the letter on the table. 

Grimacing to himself, Draco sat down at his small kitchen table and finally let his curiosity get the better of him, opening the letter slowly and carefully. He unrolled the paper and glanced at the signature at the bottom. 

His eyes widened. Quickly he began to read.

Malfoy,

This is   How are   I know you’re   I really don’t know how to start this letter, except to say that it has probably   been a long time coming. I know you probably don’t want to   were not expecting to hear from me, so I will try to keep it brief. Not my forte, but here goes nothing.

Four years ago I took the liberty of   was held captive at your massive house   stole   borrowed your wand when I was, shall we say, in a bind. I have since repaired my own wand, and I was hoping to return yours to you at long last. I know I probably should have done so when I saw you at your trial three years ago, but the opportunity just never seemed to present itself.   You weren’t allowed a non-Ministry-issued wand anyway   I didn’t want to make it awkward. Or something like that…

I don’t know, Malfoy, I just want to return your wand to you, alright? Don’t make it weird. Will you meet me at the Leaky Cauldron for a drink? Tomorrow night? Eight ish? 

See you then, I hope. Sort of.

-Harry Potter

Draco reread the letter three more times before quickly taking a piece of parchment, ink and quill from a drawer in the kitchen. He willed his hand to stop shaking as he dipped his quill in the ink, but before he placed it to the parchment, he paused once more.

Potter was right: Draco was indeed not expecting to hear from him. A hundred emotions flowed through him, surprise, of course, being the first. He reluctantly admitted to himself that excitement was a very close second. 

Draco forced himself to take a calming breath as he remembered the way he had observed Potter in school. Everything he did, everything he said, every mannerism, every habit. Draco’s friends had all quickly grown tired of what they called his “Potter Obsession,” but Draco could not help himself. Something about Potter had always drawn him in. 

Attraction, perhaps, was a large part of it; Potter had always been fit, and Draco had long since stopped denying it. But it was something else for Draco. Something magnetic, something deep in his core. He knew the feeling intimately, but he had never been able to name it.

The prospect of seeing Potter again was second only to the thrill he felt at potentially having his old wand back in his hand. He remembered the day he lost it like it was yesterday. He could so easily picture Potter with his distorted face kneeling before him, begging Draco with his eyes not to give him away. He could read every emotion in those pleading eyes with ease. He knew Potter so well that he swore he could almost hear his thoughts. 

He remembered the way Potter had ripped his wand from his hand and escaped into the night once again. He remembered the way he thought of Potter’s green eyes for comfort as the chilling screams of the Dark Lord echoed through the Manor all night. He remembered it all.

The Ministry-approved wand that Draco had been assigned during his two-year probation was one with incredibly limited power, and it had always felt uncomfortable in his hand. He had gotten used to doing things the muggle way since his trial, only using his wand when absolutely necessary. Even after his probationary period had ended last year and Draco had been allowed to purchase a wand of his own again, Draco found himself using it very little, most especially because it had never been quite the same as his first.

He had never in a million years expected Potter to return his old wand to him, however. He had assumed that the wand had been destroyed, or perhaps kept safe in some kind of war archive. Now faced with the possibility of possessing it again, he found that he did miss it. 

Decision made, Draco placed his quill to the parchment and began writing.

Dear Potter,

I would greatly appreciate the return of my wand and so shall meet you at the suggested place and time. Please note that I have fed your owl. (There’s a lesson in brevity for you, Potter, not that you will ever learn.)

I see, too, that your penmanship has not improved since our school days, but I can’t say that I’m surprised. 

Sincerely,

Draco Malfoy

PS: May I presume that you will be buying the first round, as you have so rudely deprived me of my wand for four years? You know, in the spirit of not making things awkward?

Draco reread the letter several times and decided it would do. He attached the scroll to the owl’s leg and watched it fly away far into the morning sky. He quickly got ready for work, realizing that he was running behind schedule now.

Would Potter respond? Draco tried to ignore the fact that he wanted to read another letter from Potter, tried to pretend that he wouldn’t be thinking about it all day. 

Fortunately, the same tawny owl returned just as he was about to leave the house, and Draco eagerly dove at the attached scrawl, unrolling it with shaking fingers.

Malfoy,

I see you’re still a pompous ponce from our school days, too, but there’s no way that I’m surprised about that, either.

I’ll see you at the Leaky tomorrow at eight then, and you can   you certainly owe   Fine, first round’s on me. Not enough that I saved your life multiple times or anything.

Anyways, I forgot to tell you I’ll be glamored, as I still can’t seem to leave my damn house without drawing a crowd, let alone have drinks at the pub on a Friday evening. I’ll even wear a green shirt, in your honor. 

Thanks for feeding Ariadne. See you tomorrow.

-Harry

Draco found himself smirking as he read the letter, and then promptly considering the hard truth that it was the first time he had smirked in far too long. Potter, as always, seemed to draw the whole spectrum of emotions out of him. He fought off the unexpected urge to write back again, despite having several things he was suddenly dying to say, because he really needed to leave now. Best to wait until tomorrow, then.

Draco could hardly wait.

*

Slipping through the doors the next evening at precisely 7:59, Draco nervously glanced around the crowded pub looking for Potter, doubting that he would be on time as promised. He immediately spotted him, however, despite the glamor charm, sitting unassumingly at a corner table on the far side of the pub. He was wearing green as promised, albeit in the form of a tattered Weird Sisters t-shirt. 

But Draco forced himself to acknowledge the fact that the green shirt alone hadn’t given Potter away. He had recognized immediately the exact way Potter was slouched over his firewhiskey, the way he rested his left foot on the barstool and let the right one dangle freely, and most especially by the mop of black curls that he had mysteriously chosen to leave unglamored. Merlin knew why; the hair would be the first thing Draco would want to change if he were Potter. Aside from maybe those god-awful glasses, of course. 

Draco noticed then that the pair he normally wore were not on Potter’s unrecognizable face now; rather, a fairly stylish pair sat on a longer nose and covered his strange brown eyes.

Draco cleared his throat and took a deep breath before sauntering over to Potter’s table, fists clenched tightly. 

“Good evening,” he drawled, pulling out the stool across from Potter’s. 

“Oh, sorry, I’m actually meeting someone,” Potter said with a friendly smile.

For a moment Draco had quite forgotten that he had changed his appearance himself. He shouldn’t be surprised that Potter didn’t recognize him on mannerisms alone, in the same way that Draco recognized Potter. After all, Potter hadn’t been the one obsessively taking note of Draco for years. 

But he had to admit it stung a little all the same, knowing that Potter didn’t immediately hear his posh drawl, for example, or spot the way his mouth drew down at the corners. It was further proof of Harry’s total lack of interest in him. Or perhaps Draco had just changed in the last few years. Everyone he knew seemed to think so.

“It’s me, Potter,” Draco muttered, removing his blazer and draping it gracefully across his low-backed barstool. “You’re not the only one who can’t leave the house without being attacked, though perhaps in different ways.”

“Oh,” Potter said. “Malfoy.”

He nodded once as he sat down. “Good evening,” he repeated.

“Hi,” Potter replied.

They were silent for a moment when Draco noticed that a glass of firewhiskey sat before him. He fought back a smirk and unclenched his fist to pick it up. 

“Cheers, Potter,” he said, downing the glass in one. “Shall I go ahead and get the next round now? You know, to give us something to do whilst we sit here in the awkwardness that we so wanted to avoid?”

Potter lifted his eyebrows but nodded wordlessly. Draco stood and walked over to the bar, trying to collect his thoughts and calm his suddenly racing heart. 

He tried to tell himself that it wasn’t a big deal. This was just Potter; nothing to be nervous about. Only a childhood enemy trying to do him a favor. A childhood enemy who also happened to be the only reason (several times over) that Draco was alive today.

But it was more than that. It was the dreadful awareness of Potter--the way he had always taken up constant residence in his mind--that was now brought to the forefront. Potter was someone that Draco could never really forget completely, given their history, and he’d always accepted that. But over the last four years, he had become just an abstract idea, a large but distant part of Draco’s past. To see him in the flesh again, glamor or not, was jarring. 

“What can I get you?” the barkeep asked in a bored voice. 

“Two butterbeers, please,” Draco said, figuring that it was better to stick to a weaker drink and remain at least reasonably sober for this meeting. On second thought, perhaps more liquor would make it all go down easier. 

Before the barkeep could turn around, Draco blurted out, “Fuck it, make that two firewhiskeys. Please.”

Once Draco had received and paid for the drinks, he walked back through the pub and saw that Potter was watching him do so, tilting his head to the side as was often his wont. Draco tried to ignore the thrill creeping up the back of his neck and held Potter’s gaze as he gracefully meandered through the crowd.

Draco set the firewhiskeys on the slightly sticky table and sat down again. Without thinking he held his glass aloft for Potter to clink, a gesture he would do with anyone and so thought nothing of. Potter’s eyebrows once again flew upward, a look that didn’t quite have the same effect when he was wearing this face. Nonetheless, Potter raised his glass and tapped it against Draco’s. 

“Cheers,” they muttered in sync, their eyes meeting for a second too long before they each took a long sip of their drinks. 

Draco stared intently into the remaining liquid after he set the glass down, not sure what to say now and feeling more than a little on edge.

“How did you know it was me?” Potter said, breaking their silence.

Draco looked up at him and raised one of his eyebrows. “Really? With that mop of hair?”

Potter snorted and looked off to the side, dejectedly taking another sip of firewhiskey. “It never changes. Even with a glamor charm.”

“Really?” Draco asked, interested. “Why not?”

Potter shrugged. “Couldn’t tell you. Always been its own entity, I suppose.”

Draco felt himself smirking and consciously told himself to stop. “Indeed.”

“I guess if my hair gives me away so easily, I should consider a hat next time I leave the house,” Potter said. 

“Potter, you should consider a hat regardless,” Draco countered. 

To his surprise, Potter laughed aloud at this instead of firing off a frustrated retort, and Draco felt a hundred snitches suddenly swooping in his stomach. 

“Prat,” Potter grumbled, but it was delivered with a smile and carried no venom. Draco slowly took another sip of his firewhiskey and watched Potter, something he had done without thinking since he was a child. 

“It wasn’t just your hair, though,” Draco said, regretting saying it as soon as it was out of his mouth. 

“No?” Potter said, tilting his head to the side again in that same familiar way. He felt oddly nostalgic seeing it again. He found he had missed it.

Draco decided that two firewhiskeys were just enough to make him plunge forward with honesty. In for a knut, in for a galleon, he supposed. 

“You have some very telling mannerisms,” he said, leaning back slightly and observing Potter over his glass.

Potter tilted his head further. “Like what?”

Draco gestured at Potter’s head with his glass, trying not to grin. “Like that. The way you tilt your head to the side when you’re talking.”

Potter immediately righted his head and looked down at the table. “A lot of people do that.”

“True,” Draco conceded. “But you do it in a specific way. And with your hair, it’s… well, it’s hard to miss.”

“Well, I’m crap at disguising myself, then, I guess,” Potter grumbled. 

“You’re crap at a lot of things, Potter,” Draco agreed. 

“And you’re still a knob,” Potter said, shaking his head at him. 

Draco couldn’t help the smirk sitting on his face. “I’m a knob who’s apparently been observing you far too closely and for far too long.”

Potter stared at him and, tellingly, his head tilted to the side once again. Draco might’ve smiled, if he hadn’t felt so awkward about what he had just said.

“Observing me?” Potter asked. Of course he would push the point.

“Yes, observing you,” Draco admitted, watching as Potter took a sip of his drink. “I hated you and I wanted to use anything I could against you.”

“Well you certainly did use a lot of things against me.” Potter looked down at the table again.

“Oh and you didn’t do the same?” Draco asked, affronted. 

Potter snorted and drained the last of his firewhiskey. “I think I need another drink if we’re going to go down this road.”

“I’ll take a butterbeer this time, thanks,” Draco said as Potter stood up. 

Potter only glared at him as he walked away. Draco tried to wipe the smile off his face but he couldn’t help himself. 

Once Potter had gone, Draco turned around and watched him walk up to the bar. He still walked the same, that casual, unassuming lope that Draco would know anywhere. Draco didn’t pull his eyes away the whole time he was ordering, telling himself that it was merely a force of habit to never have his back to Potter. 

He was dressed casually, no surprise there, but his jeans were sort of nice, all things considered. They certainly fit him well, at least. The t-shirt itself was ghastly, but the color almost matched his eyes.

Finally Potter turned back around from the bar and Draco swiftly turned away until he returned to the table, setting two butterbeers down. 

“I’m not sure why we always hated each other so much, to be honest,” Potter said without segue, sliding back into his bar stool. “How can two eleven year old boys hate each other so suddenly and so strongly?”

Draco smirked at him. “Don’t you remember, Potter? I offered my friendship and you rejected me? Tale as old as time, and what have you.”

Draco knew he wouldn’t be so cavalier with his words if he hadn’t just consumed two strong drinks in a few minutes. He had always had a low tolerance for alcohol and was grateful Potter had listened to his request for butterbeer. Strong enough to take the edge off, but a much lower alcohol content. Yes, this was much safer.

Potter held up his butterbeer and he and Draco clinked again, without thinking. 

“Cheers,” they both said.

“What do you mean, friendship?” Potter continued after a sip. “You told me, in front of our whole year, that you thought you were better than everyone, and everyone else was basically thestral shit on your heel.”

“Well, I don’t think I phrased it in quite such a poetic way,” Draco snorted. 

“Close enough,” Potter said, shrugging as if it was a closed matter. He took another sip of his drink. 

“If I remember correctly,” Draco continued, “that wasn’t the first time we spoke, either.”

Potter looked at the table again, and Draco could tell he remembered as well. 

“That first time, at Madam Malkin’s,” Draco pushed. “You seemed inclined to hate me from the very first moment.”

“Well, yeah!” Potter scoffed. “You were so arrogant, even then. I would have been terrified that everyone in the wizarding world was like that, if I hadn’t met Hagrid first. Hagrid, who you so rudely called a savage, by the way.”

“Well he is a bit of an oaf, Potter,” Draco argued, and Potter rolled his eyes in response. “Honestly I was a bit afraid of him, if you must know. The fact that he was with you, and I could already tell you were leery of me… I don’t know, I felt oddly panicked that you didn’t like me, and I wanted everyone to like me.”

Harry stared at him, incredulous. 

“I was admittedly a little prat with a lot of deeply ingrained insecurities, alright?” Draco murmured.

Draco knew he had said too much, and he refused to meet Potter’s eyes. Instead he looked around the pub and noticed that it was getting more crowded. Draco ordinarily hated crowds and avoided them at all costs. He desperately wanted to crawl out of his skin and leave, but instead he had willingly surrounded himself with all these people, people he knew would not have left him alone had he been unglamored. He could remember a few less than pleasant instances in public places that he wished he could forget, and he’d quickly learned, as a result, that it was best to avoid going out in public as Draco Malfoy. 

Draco knew that to most of wizardkind, he would always be nothing more than a universally hated Death Eater. He accepted it, but being reminded of it was disheartening. 

At least Potter was treating him… well, if not kindly, then at least civilly. In fact, Draco realized that he hadn’t clenched his fists once in the last ten minutes, despite the crowds.

Draco looked at Potter then and noticed in horror that he had lifted his wand. Draco instinctively reached for his wand as well, but then he heard Potter mutter a privacy spell, and then a silencing charm. And then, without warning, Potter pointed his wand at himself and removed his glamor charm. 

Suddenly, there sat the real Potter before him. He looked much the same as ever--lightning bolt scar, awful glasses, warm brown skin, disarmingly green eyes. Draco knew his face backwards and forwards and always had. 

But Potter had changed subtly in the three years since Draco had seen him at his trial, in a way that would likely go unnoticed by a casual observer. But when it came to Harry Potter, a casual observer Draco was not. 

There were new things to look at now, new and fascinating things: the very faint worry lines in the corners of his eyes, the stubble on his face that wasn’t terribly far away from becoming a beard, the way he looked older in a way Draco couldn’t exactly pinpoint. Harry had always been good looking, that much was undeniable, if in a slightly boyish way. But now he was… classically handsome. Dignified, almost. Masculine. His boyhood nemesis was a man.

Draco couldn’t look away.

Potter shrugged, shifting slightly under Draco’s undisguised scrutiny. “We’re in a bubble now, just you and I. No one can see us, if you want to take yours off too.”

Draco chose to ignore the shiver he felt at those words and silently pointed his wand at the top of his head, removing his own glamor charm before he could second guess himself. He watched as Harry not-so-subtly looked him over, and he tried not to feel awkward. 

Draco had certainly never been ashamed of his looks, but after seeing how utterly striking Harry had become in the last few years, he felt a little self-conscious of what he’d always considered his rather feminine appearance. 

He’d always felt that his pointy features and fair complexion made him more pretty than handsome. It was something he never thought or cared much about one way or the other, but seeing the way Potter’s eyes raked over him made him suddenly very aware of it. He was desperate to know what Potter thought of him, whether he liked what he saw, whether his face had changed, whether Potter noticed. Draco felt oddly naked sitting there under Potter’s intense stare, and he felt himself blushing. Potter licked his lips and Draco felt inexplicably a bit lecherous.

Harry met his eyes then, and the gaze lingered for a moment or two too long. Draco refused to be the first to break it.

Eventually Potter did, reaching for his butterbeer and taking a long swig.

“And then you wanted me to shake your hand,” Potter continued, as if they had never paused their conversation. “In front of everyone, all haughty and proud, as if it was a done deal. Like I owed you something.”

“I was a spoiled child!” Draco argued. “I did feel as if you owed me something! I’m a Malfoy, for Merlin’s sake. I was raised to think that everyone should want to be friends with me. And when you didn’t, I saw it as your failing, not mine.”

Potter tilted his head once again, observing Draco with an unguarded glance that Draco felt he was shrinking under. 

“I suppose that’s true,” Potter said finally. 

“What is?”

“You were raised that way,” he said softly. “And you were just a child.”

Draco shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He hadn’t expected Potter to agree with him. “Well… yes.”

“And do you still feel that way?” Harry asked, running his thumb across the neck of his butterbeer bottle in a way that Draco found quite distracting. “That people should want to be friends with you, that you’re better than others?”

“Of course I don’t, Potter!” Draco spat out. “I meant what I said at my trial. The things my family stood for became abhorrent to me as soon as I was old enough to understand better. That wasn’t a lie I told just to keep me out of Azkaban, despite what the general public may have believed.”

Potter’s face softened and he nodded. “I believe you.”

Draco released a breath. “Good.”

“Although, even children have some control over their behavior,” Potter muttered into his butterbeer. “Despite how they were raised.”

Draco thought he sounded rather bitter, and he felt his defenses go back up. 

“Well, that’s easy for you to say, Saint Potter,” he spat. “Undoubtedly your precious muggle family worshipped the ground you walked on.”

Potter stared at the table for a moment longer but didn’t reply. Draco took a few swigs of his drink in an attempt to calm himself.

“You insulted Ron,” Harry said petulantly a moment later. “You essentially called him shabby.”

“Weasley is shabby, Potter,” Draco rolled his eyes. “And I stand by anything I may have said to that effect.”

“Well you shouldn’t have said it!” he said, louder than he seemed to want to. He glanced around the pub but then seemed to belatedly remember that he had set up a silencing charm.

“I’m glad to see you’re finally accepting Weasley’s shabbiness, almost a decade later,” Draco smirked. 

“Weasley--RON--is not shabby!” Potter leaned forward in his stool, glaring at Draco, who found himself chuckling at Potter’s familiar aggravation. “Stop laughing at me, you git!”

“Relax, Potter.” Draco kept chuckling. “I won’t tell him what you said.”

“I never said…” Potter started, but then just huffed out a groan. It made Draco feel wonderfully nostalgic and he couldn’t stop smiling. “You’re putting words in my mouth. You always put words in my mouth.”

“You’re just so easy to rile up,” Draco said. 

“Only around you,” Potter grumbled. “It’s been this way for ten bloody years. No one else gets to me the way you do, and I don’t understand why.”

“No?” Draco pressed ahead rather than wait for an answer. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, you always rile me up as well.”

Potter looked incredulous. “Actually you seem rather relaxed around me.”

“Perhaps now,” Draco agreed, though it wasn’t quite the truth. “But you got under my skin every time I saw you, back at Hogwarts.”

“Yeah,” Potter nodded. “So why is that?”

“Because you didn’t shake my hand.” Draco didn’t mean to say it, but here we were.

“What?” Potter scoffed. 

“Do the maths, Potter. It’s like I’ve already said. I grew up hearing all about the Boy Who Lived. I was excited to meet him, to be friends with him, to be popular along with him. As I’ve said, I wanted to be friends with you. Of course, my reasons were self-serving, as usual, but I still wanted that. And you hated me, almost instantly. Imagine the hit to a spoiled prat’s self-esteem, which was already embarrassingly low, I might add.”

Potter stared and said nothing, until he muttered, “You didn’t know I was Harry Potter in Madam Malkin’s.”

Draco lowered his head to cede the point. “True. But I did know that you were a Hogwarts student, about my age, that I had never met, and I wanted to talk to you because I thought it would be nice to try my hand at meeting a friend that my father hadn’t introduced me to at birth, for once. You, however, seemed rather disinclined to talk to me.”

Potter continued to stare.

Finally, after several seconds of uncomfortably staring at each other, Potter blurted out, “You set a snake on me when we were twelve!”

“You sliced me open in sixth year!” Draco countered. 

“Yeah, after you tried to Crucio me!” Potter said stubbornly. “And you broke my nose!”

“Your friends all hexed me after fourth year!” Draco continued, feeling anything but relaxed now. “In front of my friends!”

“You deserved it!”

“Oh, obviously,” Draco said sarcastically. “Any fourteen year old deserves to be attacked five against one.”

“One?!” Harry spat. “You had Crabbe and Goyle there!”

“Fine, five on three, so much better!” Draco said. “I was humiliated!”

Potter looked as if he had several more comments to add, but he merely frowned at Draco and they stared at each other again, breathing heavily. Draco was nearly getting used to all the staring, or he would be, if he could just stop being utterly enthralled by just how bright Potter’s eyes were. It was beginning to disturb him.

Suddenly Potter held his hand out. 

Draco stared at it. “What, Potter?”

“Start over?”

Draco raised an eyebrow skeptically. “What, erase ten years of hatred and viciousness from our history?”

Potter rolled his eyes. “Sure.”

“But who will I hold in such low regard from now on?”

“Still me, I imagine,” Harry said. Draco snorted out a laugh and Potter gave him a reluctant grin.

“Look, Malfoy,” Potter said. “We’ve been through a lot the last few years. Both of us. And I don’t know about you, but I no longer have the time or the energy for enemies.”

Draco stared at Potter’s hand, still held up for him to shake. He was right, of course. They had been through a lot. Too much, really. And as much as he hated admitting it to himself, Draco didn’t want to count Harry among the overwhelming number of people who hated him. But he simply wasn’t sure if it was possible for them to move on from the sheer magnitude of what they had done to each other. Agreeing not to be enemies didn’t just cancel out the fact that they used to be.

“We will never be even,” Draco murmured. 

“What do you mean?” Potter furrowed his brow.

“I mean… I owe you too much,” Draco said in a low, shaky voice. “You pulled me onto your broom in the fiendfyre… you didn’t have to. You spoke at my trial. You didn’t have to. And, truth be told, you’re just an inherently better person than I am. Saint Potter will always lord over Death Eater Malfoy. It’s the way of things, Potter. It just is. I think even you must acknowledge that.”

The way Potter looked at him… it made Draco feel as if he was about to cry, and he hated the feeling. But at the same time, he felt oddly alright with being vulnerable around Harry, though he couldn’t say why.

And Potter still hadn’t lowered his hand. 

“How about this, then,” Potter said softly. “We have a shitty history. We both did some really horrible things to each other. Why don’t we just acknowledge that that all happened, and… move forward. Not erase the past, but sort of… stop looking at it. Stop letting it dictate our present. Deal?”

Draco looked at him and felt almost fond of Potter’s naive optimism; it was just so very Potter of him. He wondered how likely it was that he would even see Harry again after tonight, and he felt a little sad about the slim odds. What would be the harm in agreeing to this now, if that was the case? 

With a deep sigh, Draco finally said, “Deal.”

Draco allowed himself to shake Potter’s hand at last. He chose not to notice how happy Potter looked because of it. He chose not to notice that he felt the same way. 

“You did slice me open, though,” Draco muttered. 

Potter burst out laughing, and Draco smiled broadly without telling himself to. He hated how much he liked making Potter laugh. 

“Cheers, Malfoy!” Potter stood up again and glamored himself once more, and for a moment Draco was worried that he was about to leave. He was even more worried that he didn’t want him to leave. 

But Harry just said, “Another butterbeer then?”

“It’s my turn--”

“Don’t worry about it, Ferret.” His voice came out like warm syrup and Draco felt every part of him shiver in tandem. Harry purposely nudged him, shoulder to shoulder, as he passed by him to the bar. Draco wished he could stop smiling. He wished he could ignore the heat in his arm at Potter’s friendly touch. 

As usual, Draco felt his gaze follow Potter’s movements as he made his way once more to the bar. He watched as Harry leaned casually up against the bar, resting on his elbows and making friendly conversation with the older witch beside him while the barkeep served another customer. Draco knew he was looking at Potter’s arse, but he found he didn’t much care. The alcohol must be affecting him. 

After Harry had placed his order, and the barkeep had turned to retrieve the drinks, Draco watched, alarmed, as Harry abruptly turned around and met his eyes across the bar. He’d been caught staring and oh bugger, Harry was grinning at him with that unusual face, his head tilting to the side again. 

Draco didn’t break the eye contact, and this time neither did Harry. He felt the bustling pub suddenly go oddly quiet and hazy, almost as if everything surrounding Harry had turned into a soft, abstract painting. Draco felt warmth spread up over him from his toes to the top of his head, and he knew he was smiling back, and he suddenly had to look away. 

He turned back around and faced straight ahead, placing a hand over his chest in a fruitless attempt to calm his suddenly racing heartbeat. What on earth? Surely Potter could not still have this effect on him. Surely it must be the drink. 

Draco shook his head slightly and took a few more deep breaths, and a few more deep swigs.

Potter set another butterbeer before him a minute later, joining him under the privacy spells, and immediately undid his glamor again. Fortunately he didn’t say a word about their long-distance staring contest.

“It didn’t scar, did it?” Harry asked, once again picking up their conversation as if there had been no interruption. Harry was trying to be casual in asking, but Draco could see the guilt in his face, and for some odd reason, Draco didn’t particularly feel like making him feel worse about it.

“Little bit,” he said, a gross understatement, before finishing the last of his first butterbeer and picking up the new one. He didn’t remember anyone ever asking him that question before.

Potter pretended to make himself comfortable on his stool and held his drink up again for Draco to cheers, which he did. 

After they both took a long sip, Potter wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and then sighed.

“Malfoy…” He rubbed the back of his neck, which he had always done when he was uncomfortable. Draco smiled to himself at the familiar gesture, which looked normal now that Potter had his own face back.

“Potter?” he prompted. 

Potter sighed again. “I’m sorry.”

Truth be told, Draco had expected some kind of apology this evening, since this was Saint Potter they were talking about. But he still felt rather speechless all the same.

Potter continued. “I’m sorry for…slicing you open. I’m sorry for rejecting your friendship. And I’m sorry you have scars because of me. This is no excuse, but I had no idea what that spell did when I cast it.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Only you would cast a spell without knowing what it did.”

“Yeah, well, I’m a Gryffindor.”

“You are at that,” Draco muttered. 

Harry looked down at his bottle and fiddled with the label nervously. Draco felt himself smile; it felt lovely.

“It’s water under the bridge, Potter.” 

And then Potter looked up and gave him a gloriously understated little half-smile. Draco felt himself grow just a little weak at the knees.

“Besides,” Draco said, fighting to regain his equilibrium. “The scars are rather sexy, I’ve been told.”

Potter snorted. “Oh really.”

Draco leaned back on his stool and smiled lazily. “Oh really.”

Potter licked his lips in a way that Draco would’ve missed had he not been staring at his mouth already. Potter had very nice lips, really. 

“Well I’m happy to have unknowingly assisted you in your romantic life, Malfoy.” He rolled his eyes, but he didn’t look happy. He looked vaguely annoyed, and a little pink. 

“Indeed. There’s something mysterious and rebellious about a man covered in scars,” Draco continued. “Drives the boys wild.”

Harry spluttered over his butterbeer and stared at Draco with wide eyes. 

“Oh,” he said.

Draco narrowed his gaze in confusion for only a second, but then realized in sudden horror what he had just unwittingly confessed to Potter. 

Draco scrambled to look and sound casual. “Come now, Potter, surely you knew that I was gay? I certainly thought the whole school did, anyway.”

This was a blatant lie; Draco had only told Pansy, Greg, Vincent and Blaise in sixth year, and they had miraculously kept it under wraps for the remainder of their time at Hogwarts. At times Draco did feel as if most of the school knew just by looking at him, but apparently at least one unobservant Gryffindor student had been fooled. 

“I didn’t know, actually,” Potter muttered, scowling a little. He took a sip of his butterbeer.

“I suppose that changes things, then?” Draco said rather bitterly. He pushed down a sudden lump in his throat. 

Potter looked up from his drink and furrowed his brow again. “Why would that change things?”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “Well… you don’t seem particularly thrilled by the idea.”

Potter snorted. “I couldn’t care less who you sleep with, Malfoy.”

Why did that not make him feel better?

“Right,” he said, not entirely sure what to say. He took a consolatory swig of butterbeer.

“Did the whole school really know you were gay?” Potter said. He sounded truly shocked. 

“Well, no,” Draco admitted. “I never ‘came out’ in the traditional sense, I suppose. There were always more important things to worry about, as you can imagine. But I never really made a point of hiding it, either. It never really made much difference to me, to be quite honest, so I didn’t see why it should matter to anyone else either.”

“Hmm,” Potter said, his head tilted. “That seems fair.”

“Although, it’s not exactly a matter of public record, either, so I would appreciate your discretion.”

“Of course,” Harry said immediately. “I would never do that, Malfoy.” 

“I didn’t think you would. But I thought I would say it, nonetheless.”

A moment of silence passed. And then another. Harry took several long swigs of his drink. 

Suddenly Draco smacked his bottle down on the table.

“Will you please just tell me what you’re thinking and have done with it?” Draco spouted, sounding very agitated even to his own ears. “If this is going to be an issue I would rather know now.”

“No!” Potter said, leaning forward and staring directly into Draco’s eyes. He felt himself squirm but could not look away. 

“No what?” he asked quietly.

“No, I’m sorry, no. No, it’s not an issue at all,” Potter said, and Draco could hear the sincerity in his voice. Potter reached across the table and for a moment Draco thought he might be reaching for his hand. “I’m…”

Draco looked up and narrowed his eyes at Potter again. “You’re…?”

Potter sighed. “Look, can we get out of here?”

Draco’s eyebrows shot up. “What?”

Potter was already standing and pulling something out of a tattered navy blue rucksack on the floor that Draco hadn’t noticed before. “I know people can’t see or hear us, but I feel like I’m being watched anyway, and I don’t want to have this conversation here.” 

Potter shrugged a black zip-up jumper over his shoulders and downed the last of his butterbeer before shrinking his rucksack and slipping it into the back pocket of his beat up slim jeans. He looked at Draco, who hadn’t moved. 

“We’ve been here less than an hour, Potter,” Draco said.

“Please?” Potter said, looking up at him, and Draco felt a sense of dread knowing he could never, ever say no to those green eyes. 

“Fine,” he said quickly, pulling on his blazer and draining the last half of his drink. 

Before he could blink, Potter was flinging a blanket-like cloak around both of their shoulders, and Draco heard a gasp of surprise coming from his own lips. He knew that this had to be Potter’s famed Invisibility Cloak, but he resisted the impulse to ask. He looked down at his hand instead and felt his stomach lurch--he was indeed invisible.

Potter snorted beside him and gently nudged Draco to lead the way out of the pub. He tried to tell himself he was imagining the feel of Potter’s body heat underneath the thin cloak, but it was impossible not to feel something when Potter was standing so close to him. And his scent… so delicious was it that Draco leaned slightly further into Potter and tried to inhale subtly.

Draco imagined that throwing his cloak over a date was one of many successful moves that Potter could have used to get laid, if he hadn’t been shackled to the Weaslette. Not that he and Potter were on a date. Not that Draco wanted Potter to try and pull him. Not that Draco was thinking that way at all. Potter wasn’t gay, and he had a girlfriend regardless.

Honestly, this was why Draco didn’t drink. 

Once they had exited the pub, Potter immediately scooted forward beside Draco and wordlessly led them down the crowded street of Diagon Alley. Draco chose not to ask where he was being led, because what did it matter, really? They remained close together underneath the cloak, their arms bumping up against each other as they walked. 

Draco was feeling warm and happy as he beheld his surroundings on this warm early-June evening. Despite living fairly close by, he couldn’t remember the last time he had simply strolled down the road and enjoyed the atmosphere. 

He and Potter walked in silence for a few minutes, inconveniently going against the grain, as most people were heading towards the pub that he and Harry had just exited. Draco noticed the throngs thinning the further they walked down the streets, however, eventually trickling down from bustling crowds to groups and couples to the odd straggler, until finally he and Harry were quite alone on one of the side roads some distance away from the Leaky Cauldron. It was still fairly early, but the sun was drifting lower in the sky, and Draco felt a peaceful hum in his belly that was altogether pleasant. Probably the alcohol. Definitely the alcohol.

Finally Potter yanked the cloak off their shoulders and he cast another set of privacy spells over the two of them. Draco ran a hand over his hair to make sure it was still impeccable after the friction of the cloak.

Potter chuckled suddenly from beside him as they walked further down the quiet street. “You know, now that I know you’re gay, I really don’t know how I missed it.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Draco said gruffly.

Potter rolled his eyes as he shoved the cloak in his pocket. “Don’t get your wand in a knot. I just mean there are… signs.”

“Is that supposed to sound less offensive?” Draco said haughtily.

Potter grinned at him. “I’m not trying to be offensive.”

“Ah, and isn’t that the way most offensive sentences begin.” 

Potter just breathed out a quiet laugh, so Draco pressed him. 

“What signs?” he asked, feeling oddly nervous to hear the answer.

“Nothing major,” he replied evasively. 

“Spill it, Potter,” Draco spat out.

Potter laughed again, throwing his head back. Draco was mesmerized by his throat, watching his Adam’s apple bobbing as he laughed. He tried very hard not to think to himself that Potter’s laugh was attractive. 

“Alright,” he said. “Well, the way you talk, mostly.”

“The way I talk?”

“Yeah,” Potter said gently, a smile still on his lips. “You talk very, erm… fancy.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Refusing to speak like a philistine hardly makes me gay, Potter.”

Potter laughed again, this time looking over at Draco as he did so. Draco stared back, and for the first time he realized he was smiling again, smiling back at Potter as if they were both enjoying themselves. 

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing, just…”

“A sign,” Draco supplied. 

“Right,” Potter agreed. “I mean, not a lot of people talk so…”

“Fancy?” Draco again supplied. 

“Right,” he agreed again. “And, like… proper. You enunciate every word. Almost like everything you say is poetry. It’s nice to listen to, really.”

Draco ignored the snitches in his stomach again and sighed in mock consternation. “Alright, then. What else?”

Harry smiled over at him. “Your clothes.”

Draco automatically looked down at his smart black trousers, grey blazer and fitted white dress shirt, but everything appeared to be in order. 

“And what’s wrong with my clothes, Potter?” he asked, more than a little defensive. Certainly he tended to dress a little more formal than most people, but he quite liked looking sharp every day.

Harry held his hands up as if to deflect the question. “Absolutely nothing, actually. You dress very nicely.”

Draco glared at him and tried not to feel smug at the compliment. “I know I do.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Yes, well. Another sign.”

“Well, for future reference,” Draco muttered, “straight boys should certainly not talk about the ‘signs’ of being gay, particularly when they’re so very stereotypical. It’s very offensive, Potter, even though I know you didn’t mean it that way.”

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “It’s just… I’m actually not…”

“You could learn a thing or two from us gays, Potter,” Draco cut him off, wanting to change the subject. “You dress as if you’re about to leap on a broomstick and take flight.”

Harry reluctantly grinned rather than becoming defensive at the insult. “I usually am.”

“Or perhaps start packing away some band’s equipment and following them on the road like some 1970s American trucker.”

Harry chuckled and shook his head. “Whatever that means.”

Something about Harry’s calm demeanor made Draco feel even more ruffled, as if to make up the difference. They had always gotten to each other; why were they suddenly acting so very...normal? It made Draco feel vaguely anxious. Stupid Potter and his stupid grubby clothing that made him look like a bad boy, stupid Potter who somehow carried the look off better than Draco wanted to admit. Draco realized he was staring at Harry’s body and pulled his eyes away.

“I think you like my clothes,” Harry said, and Draco snorted. “I think you envy my casual, boyish charm.”

Draco couldn’t help himself; he laughed aloud at this statement. He could feel Harry’s eyes on him as he shook his head. 

“I see you’re just as delusional as ever, Potter.”

“I'm not delusional,” Potter said with a grin. “You wish you could pull off this look.”

“On the contrary,” Draco said. “I’m quite content not to be dressed as if I’m perpetually on my way to a Quidditch match.”

Harry was quiet for a moment. Draco watched him slip his hands inside the pockets of his jumper.

“Are we friends now?” Harry asked suddenly.

Draco looked over at him cautiously, but Potter was staring at the ground, looking angry with himself for asking. Draco smiled.

“I think, bizarrely, we might just be,” he responded. 

Harry looked over at him and nodded. “It is bizarre. I really did hate you.”

Draco chuckled. “I really did hate you too, Potter.”

“Not anymore?”

“Now I can tolerate you,” Draco said. “If I have enough alcohol in me.”

A slow smile spread over Harry’s face, and Draco had to tell himself to stop looking again. 

“Well, I asked… I mean I asked if we were friends… and I asked if we could leave the pub… Kind of because of what we were talking about earlier. And honestly it’s why I felt maybe a little too comfortable talking about those stereotypes… I mean it’s all for the same reason...”

Draco ignored his nonsense and simply watched as he rubbed the back of his neck once again.

“Potter, if you think we’re suddenly close enough for me to be able to somehow decipher what on earth you’re saying, you are sorely mistaken.”

Harry snorted, but he sounded nervous to Draco. 

“Well, not a lot of people know this, and I might be an idiot for trusting you with the information…”

“You are an idiot, Potter,” Draco interjected.

“...since we’ve been friends for all of an hour, but… I’m not exactly straight either.”

Draco stopped dead. Potter’s words echoed in his head, but he had no response at the ready. He was well and truly in shock. 

Harry had taken two steps before he noticed Draco had stopped walking, and he turned around to stare at Draco uncertainly. 

“You’re… you’re gay?” Draco asked, completely taken aback and fumbling for words. “But… the Weaslette…”

Potter shook his head. “I’m bisexual.”

Draco just stared, astonished. He had not been expecting that, either, but it seemed to make a little more sense as he rolled it around in his shocked mind. He felt himself nodding almost unconsciously, just looking into Potter’s slightly wary green eyes.

“And Ginny and I broke up last year,” Harry said, rubbing his neck again, and Draco was reeling all over again with this new fact. “Just after Halloween. It was in the Prophet, embarrassingly enough. I thought maybe… well, I assumed everyone kind of knew.”

“I don’t read that tripe, Potter.” It was the only thing Draco could reasonably manage to say. Potter was bisexual. Potter was interested in women… and men. Potter was no longer with the Weasel’s sister. Draco was speechless at the sudden onslaught of revelations. He felt his head spinning and wished he was sober. And sitting down. He took a deep breath.

“I thought you two were meant to be together,” Draco said a few moments later, as he forced his shaking legs to propel him forward again. “Get married young, have several redheaded children with green eyes, and the like.”

“Yeah,” Potter said, sounding wistful. “I think everyone thought that. Even me, most of the time.”

“So what changed?” Draco felt reasonably less jittery about pursuing the breakup line of conversation and leaving the question of Potter’s sexuality behind them, at least until he could process it alone. 

“I guess… well, I guess I must’ve changed. And so did she, in a lot of ways, I suppose,” Potter sounded as if he hadn’t bothered to ask himself these questions before. He sounded as if he was looking for answers even as he was giving them. “We fell into it, even though it was never really… right. And as time went on it became even less right.”

Draco let the information sit with him for a moment. He had watched Potter enough at Hogwarts to have seen him with her. They had looked happy enough, but to Draco, it seemed as if Potter was mostly happy just to be doing something normal for once, content to have found himself in a regular relationship, with a regular girl. Draco never saw anything much deeper in it (though he acknowledged that he may have been projecting just a little), but the whole wizarding world seemed to want them to be together forever. A fairytale romance for the ages.

“We’re still friends, of course.”

Of course. Potter would never be anything less than noble, even after a break up. It was just so very… Gryffindor. 

“In the end it was her who left,” he continued. Draco hadn’t expected that. 

“What happened?” he asked, very interested and not bothering to pretend not to be. “I mean, what was the final straw in her decision to leave?”

Harry shrugged. “It’s dumb.”

“Tell me,” he said, dying to know now.

Harry chuckled. “Well, we had just been playing Quidditch, and she got off her broom and tripped a little, and she dropped the quaffle she’d been holding. So I bent over and picked it up for her and asked if she was alright. And she just gave me this piercing look, and after like a full minute, she finally just said, ‘Harry, I need to be with someone who will let me pick up my own quaffle.’”

Draco couldn’t help the snort that escaped, but Harry was laughing along with him. “Like I said, it’s dumb.”

“Breaking up through a sports analogy,” Draco said. “Why does that not surprise me?”

Harry laughed. “Well, I understood her point, anyway. She does need her independence, and I…”

“And you need someone who wants you to pick up their quaffle,” Draco concluded for him. “You need to be needed. You need someone who needs you.”

Harry gave him a funny look. “I suppose.”

Draco wasn’t sure why, but he felt slightly embarrassed, as if he had just revealed too much. Harry finally looked ahead as they continued walking on.

“Anyway, it’s like I said, we both knew it wasn’t working. She wanted to see what else was out there, see the world, find her independence. All the usual reasons people break up at our age, I imagine. And I was happy to let her go. Truly, it was for the best.

“She moved to France a few months ago,” he continued. “She’d been looking for a change of scenery, as I said. I know she’ll be happy, anyway.”

Draco nodded, still processing. “And what about you?”

Harry looked at him, confused. “What about me?”

Draco snorted and rolled his eyes. “Will you be happy?”

Potter looked as if no one had asked him that before. “I don’t know.”

Draco sighed. “It’s all so very Harry Potter of you.”

“What does that mean?” Harry asked, defensive. Draco was almost glad to see him riled up; things had gotten too comfortable.

“You were so quick to let her go, without really considering your own future. I mean, you knew it wasn’t right, but you stayed. You waited for her to leave, because then you knew, at least, that she was happy, because it was her decision. You’re so quick to let others’ happiness come before yours. It’s part of your savior complex. It’s why you pick up other people’s quaffles, as it were.”

Harry huffed. “Wow, I didn’t realize you knew me so well, Malfoy.”

“I’ve been watching you incessantly for a decade, Potter,” he said. “I know you better than you think.”

“And yet you had no idea I was bisexual,” he said, grinning despite himself. “Somehow that one slipped under your radar.”

“Whatever, Potter,” he spat out. “You didn’t realize I was gay either.”

“True, and I’m sure I watched you just as much as you watched me.”

Draco looked over to see he was rubbing his neck again. “You did?"

Harry didn’t say anything. 

“You watched me?” he prodded. 

Harry groaned. “Don’t, Malfoy. I hated you, just as you hated me. I wanted to keep my enemies close, as it were.”

“Huh.” Draco smirked. “Right.”

“What?”

“What, what?” Draco asked innocently.

“What are you not saying there?”

“What I’m not saying is that you like men...”

“And women.”

“...and you watched me. And you like my clothes.” Draco grinned to disguise his very earnest investment in this conversation. “It all points to the fact that you hopelessly fancied me.”

Harry laughed. “Don’t flatter yourself, Malfoy."

“And after all, who could blame you?” he continued. He straightened the lapel of his jacket. 

“Yeah, what was that you were saying earlier about a lack of self-confidence?”

Draco laughed and Harry joined in. He met Harry’s eyes for a moment too long. 

“It’s weird,” Harry said, “us hanging out and not being horrible to each other.”

“A bit,” Draco agreed. “Not complaining, are you?”

“Not complaining,” he said. “Am I keeping you from something or do you want to keep walking?”

“We can keep walking,” Draco said slowly. “Or… Do you want to have another drink at mine?”

Harry looked over at him with surprise. 

“Not like that, Potter,” he said quickly, though he wasn’t sure he hadn’t, in fact, meant it like that. The alcohol was taking him to places he didn’t recognize. “I mean I worked all day and these aren’t exactly walking shoes, so I can probably handle another half hour before falling over from a crippling blister. Plus I don’t live too far from here. Close enough to walk. If you want. Up to you.”

Harry looked like he knew just what it had taken Draco to ask, so he smiled and nodded energetically. “Love to. Lead the way.”

“Alright,” Draco said, pretending that this wasn’t a big deal to him. He turned down the street and walked slowly, mentally considering the state of his home. He knew, at least, that it was clean, as it always was. But he also knew it was a vast departure from Malfoy Manor, and he was nervous to see what Harry’s reaction to it would be.

“What do you do for work then?” Harry asked him.  “You’re obviously on your feet all day, or else you wouldn’t be complaining about walking like an old man.”

“We’re the same age, Potter, and as I said, these are good shoes.”

“I can’t imagine you wearing anything but good shoes, Malfoy.”

“Yes, well, you should try it some time,” he said, pointedly staring at Harry’s dirty Converse. 

“Hey, I like these shoes,” Harry said defensively. 

“Yes, I suppose Converse are a classic.”

Harry snorted. “Ponce.”

Draco rolled his eyes, smiling. “I work as a teacher’s assistant in a primary school near here, to answer your question.”

Harry looked surprised at that. “A muggle school?”

“Yes. Does that surprise you?”

“Well, yeah, honestly.”

“Yes, well, as you can imagine, the opportunities for work in the wizarding world are few and far between for a Death Eater.”

“Former Death Eater,” Harry muttered. 

“Former, yes,” Draco conceded with a smile. “Acquitted and free. Thanks to you, of course.”

Harry looked uncomfortably at his shoes. 

“But try telling that to the shop owners, Healers, professors, potioneers, basically everyone in our world who either laughed in my face or spat in it when I tried to ask for work.” Draco knew he sounded bitter, but he couldn’t help himself.

Harry was looking at him now, pity and horror and something else evident in that disarming emerald gaze. 

“Don’t look at me like that, Potter,” Draco said almost sadly. “I made some unforgivable decisions and I am now reaping the consequences of them, acquittal or not. I can accept that.”

“That’s not fair,” Harry muttered.

Draco chuckled at the very characteristic response. “No, perhaps it isn’t fair. But it is the way the world works, as we’ve seen.”

Suddenly Draco felt Harry’s hand on his wrist as he stopped him. 

“Draco,” Harry said, an intensity in his eyes that almost scared him. “It isn’t fair. It isn’t fair and I’m very sorry for what you have to deal with.”

Draco felt himself shiver at Harry’s gentle touch on his wrist, at the look on Harry’s face, at the way his name sounded rolling off Harry’s tongue… and at his genuine words.

Draco smiled at him. “No need to get all Gryffindor about it.”

Harry glared at him and turned to keep walking. “I’m just saying.”

Draco placed a hand briefly on Potter’s shoulder to stop him, but when Harry looked over at him he quickly pulled it back again. 

“Thank you, Potter... Harry. Thank you for saying that. But I’m the one who’s sorry. The things I did…” Draco shuddered. “It keeps me up at night. I’m so sorry for all the shit I did...and I am happy to repay the world for those things as long as I have to. I deserve this.”

Harry looked slightly disgusted for a moment. “You don’t.”

Draco smiled sadly. “The entirety of our world may disagree with you there.”

“Well to hell with them,” Harry muttered, sounding a little petty to Draco’s ears. “I say you paid your price and then some.”

Draco had to admit that there were times when he felt wholly buried by his own self-loathing, and in those dark moments, he couldn’t imagine a single soul on earth not hating him just as much as he hated himself. It was nice, now, to hear that Potter, of all people--Potter, who had seen him at his very worst, time and time again--was capable of defending him. It made him feel... lighter somehow. Not quite fixed, but maybe not quite so broken either.

“I’m glad you think so, Potter,” he said, leading them to walk further. “But it’s not all bad. I love my work. And I’m good at it. It gives me a purpose. And muggle children--muggles in general really--they don’t seem to mind the tattoo so much. One of my students named the skull Herman.”

Draco chuckled to himself and kept chattering when Potter didn’t stop him. “Bobby Friers is his name; a bit of a clown, but rather lovable. Sort of reminds me of your Weasel, back in the day. Minus the lovable, of course.”

Draco grinned over at Potter, who just stared at him as if he had no idea who this person in front of him was. And maybe he didn’t, not anymore. 

But Draco couldn’t help the warm thought that trickled over him now: that maybe, after all that they’d been through, Potter knew him better than most. And for once in his life, he felt hopeful that maybe someday he wouldn’t have to feel ashamed of that.

“Ron’s come up twice now,” Harry said after a few moments. “If I didn’t know better, I would say you fancied him.”

Draco couldn’t help but burst out laughing. He could feel Harry’s smile on him. 

“Alas, bumbling gingers are definitely the antithesis of my type,” Draco said, still chuckling. 

“What is your type, then?” Harry asked. Draco tried to tell himself he imagined the eagerness in Potter’s voice.

“That is a rather personal question, Potter.”

“Yes, and we haven’t asked any of those this evening,” Harry said sarcastically.

Draco eyed him guardedly. “My type is male.”

“Come on,” Harry prodded. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

Draco felt those familiar snitches in his throat. Really, they were taking over his entire body. It would never do.

“Ask me again later, if you still want to know,” Draco heard himself say, having no idea where it had come from.

Harry let out a “grr” under his breath and Draco’s heart stuttered. Another swift subject change, then.

“How is my boyfriend Weasley these days anyway?” Draco asked. 

Harry snorted. “You’re right, that is weird.”

“Indubitably,” Draco agreed, shuddering.

“You talk like a Victorian prince, I swear,” Harry said. 

Draco drew his chin up. “I take that as the highest of compliments, Potter."

“You would,” he said, elbowing Draco playfully. 

Draco wanted to nudge him back, more than he cared to admit, so he settled for rolling his eyes instead. 

“Your boyfriend’s fine,” Harry said. “He’s been helping George with the shop since we left school.”

“The joke shop, right?” Draco inquired. “The one we just passed on Diagon Alley?”

“The very same,” Harry nodded. “Ron’s actually got a good mind for business. George is more in charge of the creative aspect--inventing, marketing, that sort of thing--but Ron’s a genius with bookkeeping and finances and all the technical, upkeepy stuff that George is pants at.”

“That is surprising,” Draco said. 

“Why surprising?” Harry asked suspiciously.

“I don’t mean that in an insulting way,” Draco said, placating him. “The Weasel, showing an aptitude for anything…I mean, the fact that he’s good at…No, there’s really no way for this not to sound insulting.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “You know you really are a knob sometimes, Malfoy."

Draco smiled. “Well, good for Weasley.”

“Hey, that almost sounded sincere,” Harry said, a grudging smile playing on his lips. 

“It was,” Draco said truthfully. 

“Are you sure you aren’t harboring some latent feelings?” Harry teased.

“Make me vomit, Potter,” Draco said. “And what about Granger?”

“Hermione’s great,” Harry said, smiling. “She’s working under some important Ministry official; it’s a pretty high-up apprenticeship. To hear her talk about it, I swear she’s in line to take over the woman’s job, sooner than later. Well, she’s going to take over the world eventually anyway, but that’s no surprise to anyone.”

Draco smiled. 

“They’re crazy in love, of course,” Harry said fondly. “She and Ron. Only took them seven years, but they have the rest of their lives to make up for lost time, I suppose.”

Draco studied him for a moment. “It’s nice, the way your face lights up when you talk about them.”

He refused to let himself feel embarrassed about saying that, because it was so true. Draco had always known Harry was fiercely loyal to his friends, and he had been envious of it many times, including now. Draco wanted to be the reason Harry’s face lit up.

“I love them,” Harry said bluntly, with a shrug. 

Draco could not honestly say that any of his friends would say the same of himself, or at least they wouldn’t admit it so openly. The thought made him sad.

“It’s a little different now, though,” Harry admitted after a moment.

“How so?” 

“I mean I was always sort of the odd man out, so to speak,” Harry mumbled. “But now that they’re a real couple, that feeling is magnified. A lot, at times.”

“Oh, is the boy wonder feeling left out?” Draco snorted.

Harry sighed. “You know, we were getting along so well, and then suddenly you just had to go and Malfoy it up, didn’t you?”

Draco felt a little guilty, but not enough to apologize. 

“Look, I just think that perhaps getting a little distance from your lackeys can only help you in the long run,” he continued. “You three were all attached at the hip for years. Now that they’re coupled off, and your ex-Weaslette has left the country, perhaps now is the perfect time for you to let yourself grow and enjoy life and find out what else you love.”

There was a long pause. Draco could see that Harry was pondering his words. 

“That’s a very insightful thought, Malfoy,” Harry mumbled.

“Thank you,” Draco said pompously. 

“What about your friends then?” Harry asked after another moment. “How’s Goyle?”

“Gregory is fine,” Draco said. “He works at the Nimbus factory in Edinburgh.”

“I can see that, actually,” Harry said. “Does he come home to visit often?”

“Not terribly often. Most of our kind have left England, or live amongst the muggles, like I do. Blaise and Pansy have both moved away to France.”

“Seems like the thing to do lately,” Harry said.

“Indeed.”

“Must be lonely, having all your friends move away."

“Or die,” Draco muttered. 

Harry rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s pretty morbid of you.”

“It’s just the facts, Potter,” Draco said bitterly. “We all lost something in the war, not just the good guys.”

There was a long pause. Draco glanced at Harry and saw that he was staring at the ground in front of him. 

“I’m sorry about Crabbe,” Harry said gently. “You were joined at the hip yourselves.”

“Yes, well,” Draco said. 

Hashing out the war was not something Draco wanted to do. Not right now, anyway. He wanted to rekindle the spark of hope that he had felt just a few minutes earlier. He wanted Potter to smile at him again.

A full minute passed before Draco finally spoke. 

“Look, Potter,” he said. “It’s like you said back at the pub: A lot of shit happened. To both of us. But we can choose to stop looking at it. We can acknowledge it, and move forward.”

Harry smiled at him. “Yes, we can.”

Draco paused. “But before we do that, I suppose I should formally thank you for defending me at my trial three years ago.”

Harry grinned. “Sorry, was that it then? Your formal thanks?”

“Shut up, Potter,” Draco snorted. He stared straight ahead and took a deep breath. He could say it again; he had said it earlier. But this time felt heavier. 

It was just two words, but to Draco, they were two painfully insufficient words, ones that could never repay what he knew he owed. But somehow, he also knew they would be enough for Potter. “Thank you.”

A moment passed and then Draco felt Harry nudge him. Draco looked over to see one of Harry’s beguiling half-smiles, and his heart started beating faster.

“Any time, Ferret.” 

They walked the last couple minutes in silence, each lost in their own thoughts, until Draco stopped in front of his little cottage style home. “Here we are.”

Harry looked up at the house. “You live here?”

“I live here,” he said, trying to see the house from Harry’s perspective. 

It was tiny, to be sure, not a whole lot bigger than the average garden shed, but it was well kept, if Draco did say so himself. The brick exterior was warm and quaint, and dozens of red and purple flowers blossomed delicately in the baskets he had hung from the two front window sills. He had also planted a small but stately birch tree in the front yard upon his purchase of the house. He hadn’t expected to take a liking to gardening, but he found it was a calming and diverting experience, and he took great delight in seeing things grow under his care.

“Surprised?” Draco asked, amused by Harry’s slightly gaping mouth. 

“Very,” he replied, grinning. “It has a slightly Hufflepuff feel to it.”

“Bite your tongue!” Draco scolded, smacking at his arm lightly. Harry laughed.

Draco led them up the cobbled front path and unlocked the door with a quick spell. Promptly he scanned the room and, to his relief, saw nothing that would invite any obvious criticism from Harry. Aside from being, as he had already stated, vaguely Hufflepuff.

The room housed a dove-grey two-person sofa as well as a snuggly white armchair, sandwiching a little antique walnut coffee table between them. Draco had just managed to wedge an oversized walnut bookcase against one wall, which contained an impressive collection of works that his mother had managed to save from the Manor’s library, amongst a few of his other treasured possessions.

A tiny stone fireplace in the center of the far wall was the room’s crowning glory, and Draco looked forward to lighting a fire each evening once it became cold enough. A fluffy grey and white rug sat in front of the cozy hearth. Draco had spent hours on that rug, staring into a blazing fire and getting lost in thought.

The foyer was hardly big enough to accommodate the two of them, and Harry was entirely too close for his liking, so Draco swiftly sidled over a bit as he watched Harry survey his sitting room.

“Let me take your jacket,” Draco said abruptly. 

Harry looked at him with a slight grin. “What, no house elf?”

“I can’t quite afford one on a TA’s salary, Potter,” he spat out, slightly affronted. 

Harry looked contrite as he shrugged out of his jumper. “Right, sorry. Joking.”

Draco told himself to calm down, as he knew it was nerves that had caused that reaction. He took Potter’s sweater and turned to hang it up on the wall hook ahead. He couldn’t help but glance at the way the sleeves of Potter’s t-shirt rode up to reveal deeply tanned biceps, well muscled from years of Quidditch and Auror training. Draco cleared his throat. 

“Go on,” he said, “take a seat, make yourself comfortable. I’ll grab us a beer.”

“Hey, where’s your loo?” Harry asked.

“Down the hall, only door on the right.”

He glanced at Harry before he left the room and noticed Harry looked a little nervous as well. Draco was happy to have a moment alone to collect himself.

When he walked through the doorway just off the sitting room and into the kitchen, Draco steadied himself against the countertop and blew out a shaky breath. He wondered how on earth he and Harry had gone from total enmity to sharing beers in his flat in a matter of hours, but he admitted that this was a welcome departure from his life lately. Everything about this evening was unexpected, but not outrightly bad, either, not by any stretch. Maybe it was even a little bit good. He could hardly say. Too much alcohol in his system.

Draco pulled two bottles of muggle beer from his fridge and mentally shook off his nerves, telling himself that this was just Potter, a boy he had known nearly half his life. If Potter didn’t like him as he was, stormed out of the house and never spoke to him again, what did it matter? He had seen the idiot twice in four years, for pity’s sake. He could certainly survive if they never saw each other again after tonight. He may be dreaming of green eyes and stubble for a little while, but that was hardly a terrible price to pay.

With that extremely discomfiting pep talk, and a few deep breaths, Draco reentered the sitting room.

Harry was already back in the room, standing in front of the bookcase, perusing Draco’s library. He looked over when Draco entered the room.

“I really like your house,” Harry said with a friendly smile.

“Thank you, Potter.”

Draco handed him his bottle and they cheersed automatically before taking a sip, ill-advised though it may be.

“Didn’t figure you for a Newcastle man,” Harry said. 

“Is there something wrong with my beer, Potter?” Draco said, on edge and clearly prepared to read hostility in any and all of Potter’s words. 

But Harry just smiled. “Relax, Malfoy. I love Newcastle.”

They each took another awkward sip, and then Harry set his bottle on the coffee table.

“I’ll be right back,” Draco said and left the room swiftly. He went to the loo himself, partly because he needed a wee but mostly because he felt as if he was about to jump out of his skin. He had no idea why he was suddenly so nervous. Most likely it was the fact that Potter was in his home, in his space, and it was… alarming, to say the least.

Draco finished off in the bathroom and walked back to where Potter was still standing by the bookcase.

“Hey, before I forget again, here’s your wand back,” Harry said, digging it out of the side pocket of his regrown rucksack, which he had hung on the coat hook alongside his jumper while Draco had been occupied. 

He handed the wand to a surprised Draco, who breathed out an elated laugh. He’d nearly forgotten the whole reason he had met with Potter in the first place. 

“Oh my,” Draco muttered, hungrily taking it from Potter and setting his own bottle beside Potter’s on the coffee table. He stared at his beautiful hawthorn wand for a full twenty seconds before excitedly levitating objects at random with an easy swish and flick. This old familiar wand was vastly better than his new wand--and leaps and bounds ahead of his ministry wand--and he felt giddy with the power he felt coursing through his arm. 

He aimed his wand at the radio, which turned on immediately to a preset muggle rock station. Ordinarily it took Draco at least two tries. He couldn’t help himself; he turned a boisterous grin at Harry.

Harry remained standing, smiling in a rather befuddled way at Draco.

“Do excuse my childishness, Potter,” Draco said, staring affectionately at his wand. “But I never thought I would see it again.”

“Childishness is fine by me, Malfoy,” Harry said, smirking.

Something about the teasing challenge in Harry’s voice fiercely reminded Draco of the adolescent duels, idiotically risky flying, and scathing insults of years past, but somehow the memories no longer carried any sting with them. Draco didn’t dwell on what that meant, however. Instead, he followed the sudden (and likely alcohol-influenced) impulse to playfully point his wand at Harry with a smile, earlier nerves forgotten at the happiness of holding his own wand again. Harry held his hands up and raised his eyebrows, a grin playing on his face as well.

“Hey, you didn’t invite me here to kill me, did you?” He asked it as a joke, but Draco knew there must still be some residual suspicion there, and rather than let it bother him, he only laughed. Goodness, it felt spectacular to be holding his wand again. 

“Not tonight, Potter,” Draco said. “And I thought I told you to take a seat.”

He cast a quick spell at Harry which caused him to stumble back into the armchair behind him in a comfortably seated position. Harry looked up at him in surprise, but he was now grinning broadly. 

“Bossy,” Harry murmured, picking up his beer from the coffee table without letting his eyes leave Draco’s face. Draco noticed that he licked his lips before he took a sip.

“I’m a Slytherin,” Draco said by way of explanation, taking a seat on the couch across from Potter and secretly hating himself for not having the foresight to force Potter into sitting beside him instead. Not that he wanted to be closer to Potter. It was just… well, yes, sod it, he wanted to be closer to Potter.

“You are at that,” Potter agreed. 

Draco stared at the wand in his hand. “It’s strange to think... This wand defeated the Dark Lord.”

“It’s a good wand.” Harry shrugged. He leaned back in the chair and flung an ankle up to rest on his knee. Draco liked how at home he looked there, on his chair, drinking his beer. It felt nice. 

“I suppose it was you, more than the wand,” Draco said hesitantly, crossing his legs demurely. “Though I will never admit to that in civilized society."

Harry laughed. “And I’m not civilized society?”

“Hardly,” Draco chuckled. “Few Gryffindors are.”

“Then it might shock you to know that I was almost sorted into Slytherin.”

Draco snorted in a rather undignified way. “Sure, Potter.”

Potter nodded. “Sadly it is the truth. The Sorting Hat debated on which of the two houses I would be better suited to, but in the end I begged it not to put me in Slytherin. I guess he let me have my way.”

Draco stared at him. “You’re seriously telling me we could’ve been housemates for seven years?”

“Scary, isn’t it?”

“Indeed,” Draco said, secretly wishing it had gone differently. “I guess we dodged an AK there.”

“Oh, I dunno,” Harry said. “I think it could’ve been interesting.”

“Interesting?”

“Yeah. Everything might’ve been different. For both of us."

“What do you mean?” Draco asked, though he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer. His mouth had suddenly gone dry.

But Harry just shrugged and glanced around the room. Draco took a sip of his beer and tried to ignore the growing fluttering in his gut. Yes, must be the drinks. He had always been a lightweight.

One of Draco’s favorite songs came on the radio just then, and he cursed to himself, knowing it would now always remind him of Harry.

“I love this song,” he said grudgingly, at the exact same moment Harry did. 

Draco looked up, surprised, into Harry’s equally shocked eyes.

“You know Pearl Jam?” Harry said, at the precise moment Draco said, “You like Pearl Jam?”

And then they both said, “Yes,” and laughed. 

“I can’t believe you know a muggle band,” Harry said, rubbing the stubble on his chin. 

“I essentially live in the muggle world now, Potter,” Draco said, staring at Harry’s hand. “But I am surprised that you have decent taste in music.”

“I have impeccable taste in music, Malfoy,” Harry scoffed.

“I suppose I must acknowledge the possibility of that, now that I know you like Pearl Jam,” Draco said. “Ten is one of my favorite albums of all time.”

“Ah, but do you own it?” Harry challenged. 

Draco rolled his eyes and pointed his wand at the closed bottom cupboard of his bookcase. The cupboard door hinged open and the album in question flew out, hovering in front of Harry for a moment before Draco sent it neatly back into its home and closed the door once again. 

Harry merely nodded in concession, grinning. “I stand corrected.”

“Have you seen that live performance of this, the one at--” Draco began.

“MTV Unplugged? Yeah, of course,” Harry said enthusiastically. “It’s incredible. The emotion in his face, like he’s in pain… and his voice, it’s so raw and…”

“Honest, and gritty,” Draco agreed vehemently. “You can really feel everything he’s singing. It makes me cry.”

Harry snorted. “No it doesn’t.”

“It does so,” Draco said haughtily, a little hurt. “What, a Death Eater is not allowed to cry at a beautiful piece of music?”

“Former,” Harry said in a somewhat angry voice. “And I know you can cry, I’ve seen you cry before.”

“Yes,” Draco said, the memories rushing in like a shrill wind. “I suppose you have.”

He took another swig. Harry followed suit.

“I shouldn’t have brought that up,” Harry said softly after a moment. “And I didn’t mean to make you feel bad about crying. But yes, it does surprise me. A lot of things have surprised me tonight, Malfoy.”

Draco took another sip to delay answering. 

“Yes. Well.” 

It was all he could manage, because he knew precisely how surprising this evening had been. Harry himself hadn’t exactly surprised him, although the bisexuality/breakup confessions were admittedly a little shocking. But in his character, his mannerisms, and his expressions, Harry was just as he always had been. The familiarity of him made Draco feel strangely comfortable in his own skin. It was as if Harry had always fit seamlessly into his life somehow, whether they be enemies, rivals, or reluctant friends. Having Harry back in his life now felt more normal than not.

That being said, it was the circumstances which surprised Draco so much. He, a (former) Death Eater, having a beer with Harry fucking Potter. And not only were they not killing each other, but they were actually enjoying each other’s company. Draco was, at least. 

“This is weird,” Draco said. 

“So weird,” Harry agreed. 

“And also not weird,” Draco countered. 

“Not weird in the slightest, really,” Harry agreed.

“I think I’m a bit pissed,” he said, then chuckled a little at the truth of it. 

Harry laughed at him, delight on his face. “Are you?”

“A little,” Draco admitted. “I don’t usually drink.”

“No?” Harry took a long swig of his beer, just watching Draco.

“No, it makes me think of things I’d rather not think of,” Draco admitted without considering it. “I only have Newcastle because it was left over from my birthday party last week.”

“Your birthday was last week?” Harry said, his face lighting up.

“Don’t worry about it, Potter,” Draco said, rolling his eyes. 

“Well happy birthday, Malfoy!” he exclaimed, holding up his beer in a toast. 

Draco merely groaned. Harry laughed. They looked at each other for a moment.

“Okay, I’ll let it go,” Harry said.

“Thank you,” he replied with an exasperated shake of his head.

“So you said it makes you think of things… things like… war things?” Harry asked.

“War things?” Draco snickered. “I think you may be getting drunk as well. But yes. War things.”

“I think about war things all the time,” Harry admitted. “I can’t always help it.”

“No, I suppose not,” Draco sighed. “War is a lot for anyone to handle, but it must be near impossible for a teenager who carried the fate of the entire wizarding world on his shoulders.”

Harry smiled sadly at him. “I could almost say the same about you.”

Draco sighed again. “Well, at least you were on the right side.”

“You were a child,” Harry stated.

“So were you,” Draco said disconsolately. 

“Everything always has to be a competition with us, doesn’t it?” Harry groaned at him with a grin. 

Draco’s focus zeroed in on the word ‘us.’

“Apparently,” Draco agreed. “But you seem to win more often than not.”

“It’s the Gryffindor determination,” Harry joked. 

Draco snorted again. Really, alcohol turned him into quite the barbarian. “Gryffindor stubbornness, more like.”

“Call it what you want, Malfoy,” Harry said. “There’s a reason you never beat me to the snitch, you know.”

“Oh come now, Potter,” Draco huffed. “Are we really going to descend to that level of immaturity again?”

“Of course we are,” Harry said, laughing.

“You are an arsehole."

Harry laughed out loud and Draco had to smile back at him. 

“You have to admit it was kind of fun, though,” Harry said.

“What was?”

“The rivalry,” Harry clarified. “You and me, bitter opponents, and all that. I’ll deny ever saying this, not least because it makes me sound ridiculously arrogant, but you were the only real competition for me on the pitch.”

“Was I?” Draco said delightedly. 

Harry chuckled. “You were.”

“I did nearly beat you once or twice,” Draco said proudly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry muttered. “Nearly.”

“I agree with what you’re saying, actually,” Draco said. “Something about being your rival always had a way of making me feel sort of… alive.”

Harry hit him with a disarmingly soft gaze. “I know what you mean.”

“Yes, I’m sure you do,” Draco said, shifting in his seat. “Now let me tumble into my drunken stupor alone, if you won’t join me there.”

Harry laughed. “You are getting pissed. But I’m pretty used to drinking--not to mention that I easily outweigh your skinny arse--and can therefore handle my alcohol much better than you. I’m barely tipsy yet.”

“Better catch up then,” Draco said, boldly chugging the remaining half of his beer. To neither one’s surprise, Harry accepted his challenge and chugged right along with him.

Harry stood up when his beer was finished and took the two steps across the room to where Draco was sitting. He patiently waited for Draco to finish as well, raising an eyebrow teasingly. When Draco was done, he held the empty bottle out to Harry’s outstretched hand.

“Thank you,” Draco said pompously. “I would love another, yes.”

Harry grinned. “Are you sure?”

“It will be a cold day in hell when a Gryffindor out-drinks a Slytherin, Potter.”

Draco leaned back and crossed his legs again as he looked at Harry looking at him. There was something blooming in those green eyes, something primal that Draco couldn’t name. A swooping feeling in his stomach made him immensely glad to be sitting down. Suddenly he felt like he had just been dropped from a great height.

“Maybe only one more though,” Draco said, embarrassed when it came out as barely more than a whisper. 

Harry gave him that heart-stopping half smile again, but he wordlessly left the sitting room, moving about the place and into the kitchen as if he owned it rather than Draco. Draco couldn’t decide if he was angry about that or ecstatic. 

Harry returned a moment later with only one bottle. He handed Draco the beer, the bottlecap already removed, and then, to Draco’s dismay, took a seat beside him on the small couch. Draco felt his entire body stiffen at the proximity, but he forced himself to take a sip of the beer and tried to appear unbothered by the fact that he could smell Harry’s mouth-watering scent. He still couldn’t put his finger on it; certainly it had to be cologne, but it was a soft smell, almost... clean. Fresh. Absolutely bewitching.

He took another long swig and then set his beer down on the coffee table. He was suddenly quite sure that he had had enough for the evening. 

“What’s enough?” Harry said from beside him. Had he said that out loud?

“Oh,” Draco said, looking over at Harry, who was just right there, so close, such green eyes. “Enough beer.”

Harry chuckled and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his denim-clad knees, pulling off the relaxed look in a way that Draco could never hope to manage. 

“Why don’t you let me finish that one for you then,” he said. Then he leaned forward further, forearm skimming Draco’s knee as he grabbed the beer from the coffee table. 

Draco felt as though he had been confunded as Harry took a swig from the beer bottle. His eyes never left Draco’s, and Draco could hardly breathe. He physically could not look away. He felt like his body had turned to jelly. Merlin help him if he tried to stand up now, because he knew he would fall flat on his arse.

Harry set the beer on the coffee table slowly, somehow (purposely?) grazing his arm a second time over Draco’s knee, and still maintained eye contact. 

A moment later, Harry finally broke his gaze away and released a shaky breath. 

“I wish I knew what you were thinking right now,” Harry said gruffly but quietly, pushing his hair back from his face. And oh, if it wasn’t the sexiest thing Draco had ever seen.

Draco heard himself make a strange squeaking noise and he wanted to die. His head was spinning, the snitches inside him swimming in a belly full of liquor and nerves and, dammit, arousal. He cleared his throat in a valiant attempt at disguising the embarrassing noise he had let loose, but alas, it was already out there, floating between them.

“I’m fairly certain you don’t, Potter,” Draco said in a barely audible voice. He could feel himself being pulled in closer, leaning towards Harry as if they were magnets of opposite poles.

“Why is that?” Harry was whispering as well. He looked back up at Draco. If it wasn’t in Draco’s imagination, Harry’s face was moving closer as well. Or was it just his own?

“Because… I’m…” Draco fiddled with his wand, just to distract himself, to keep his hands busy, to expel a fraction of the energy that was surging through his veins at full speed. It was making his ears ring, this intense feeling. His stomach… he didn’t think he could stand the feeling…

But then… suddenly…

“Merlin, I think I’m going to be sick!” he yelled.

Draco clutched his mouth with one hand and his stomach with the other, hurling himself up from the couch and rocketing to the bathroom just down the hallway. He slammed the door shut and practically dove to the toilet, dropping to his knees on the cold floor. 

Leaning over the bowl just in time, and before he could even think, he vomited violently into the toilet, mentally (and physically) groaning with humiliation.

If Draco had wanted to die before, it was nothing, nothing at all to how he felt now. Harry bloody Potter was sitting on his couch, and he was bloody handsome, and he was fairly certain they were bloody flirting, and now Draco had just…

Oh bugger. He had really just cocked it all up, hadn’t he. He wished for all the world that he could be swallowed up into the floor and never heard from again.

There was a soft knock on the door a few minutes later. “Draco?”

Because of course Potter would check on him. Of course Potter would see him at his absolute worst, as he always had. Of course Potter wouldn’t leave him to rot on the bathroom floor, clutching the toilet for dear life. Of course Potter would use his given name at a time like this, and of course it would sound like a siren’s song on his lips.

Draco groaned pitifully. “Oh Merlin, go away, Potter.”

There was a pause. “Are you alright?”

“My worst enemy just witnessed me sicking up after a grand total of five drinks, Potter,” he muttered, half hoping Potter would not hear him. “Of course I’m not alright.”

“We’re not enemies anymore, remember?”

“That’s the part you focus on? Get your priorities in order, you sodding imbecile!”

He heard Harry shifting outside the door. “Will you let me in?”

“For the love of--no I will not let you in! What kind of a question is that?!"

“It’s a normal question, I reckon.”

“It is not a normal question for anyone on this earth but you, you overly heroic, interfering, ridiculous man!”

To Draco’s surprise, a loud laugh barreled through the door. 

“Is this funny to you, Potter?” Draco indignantly sat up and pushed himself away from the toilet, wiping his mouth unsteadily with a piece of loo roll.

“Downright hilarious, actually,” came the reply, peppered with uncontrolled giggles.

“Fuck off, Potter,” Draco mumbled, but with very little heat behind it. In a small way, Potter’s silly giggle was helping to distract him from the slowly ebbing nausea in his stomach. And perhaps exacerbating it, in a different way…

He slowly stood up and leaned weakly over the sink, washing his hands, rinsing his mouth and swallowing a few sips of water while he waited for Potter’s laughter to finally die down. He cast a cleaning charm on his mouth and groaned in quiet shame.

Draco stared at his reflection in the mirror and felt a sudden wave of utter hopelessness washing over him. So, this was it, then. This was the end of their extremely short-lived friendship. Harry had witnessed him losing control of his bodily functions, he would tell everyone he knew, and Draco would become an even bigger social pariah than he already was. If it wasn’t all so pathetically absurd, Draco might have sat back down on the bathroom floor and had himself a good long cry. The only silver lining here was that Draco had thrown up most of the alcohol he had consumed and he now felt reasonably more coherent. 

“Draco,” Potter said through the door. He sounded very close, as if he was leaning right up against it and speaking through the crack in the side. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I was laughing--maybe I’m more pissed than I thought--but I promise I’m done now.”

Draco rolled his eyes and splashed his face with cold water. It helped immensely. 

“Did I or did I not tell you to kindly fuck off, Potter?” 

“You did,” came the reply. “Well, not kindly, but…”

“Then why are you still here?”

There was a long pause. Then, as Draco patted his face dry with a crisp white towel, he heard Harry sigh. 

“Because, to be frank, I don’t really want to leave.”

Draco paused and looked at the closed door in silence for a moment. 

“And why is that?”

There was another long pause. Draco was holding his breath, terrified, elated, nervous. 

“Because… because I’m enjoying spending time with you.”

Draco nodded to himself. It wasn’t an earth-shattering response, but it was… well, quite nice, all things considered. Potter enjoyed spending time with him, then. Draco had been fairly sure it wasn’t one-sided, but it was nice to have it confirmed all the same. 

“Draco?” Potter said tentatively. “Will you come out?”

He supposed he had to eventually, at any rate. Draco looked in the mirror once again and tried to fix his hair into something passable. He was only moderately successful, but he figured it didn’t really matter now, given the circumstances. 

“Have you passed out in there?” Harry asked, sounding more than a little worried. 

Draco snorted. “I’m conscious. Back away, I’m coming out now.”

He took a deep breath and slowly pulled the door open. Harry stood there, looking up at him with bemused concern.

“Alright,” Draco muttered. “Get it all out now.”

Harry bit his lip. “Shouldn’t I have been saying that to you about five minutes ago…”

Draco pinched his wand arm, hard.

“Ouch!” Harry said through his laughter. “Okay, come on, you really set me up for that.”

“Unintentionally, I assure you,” Draco muttered under his breath as he walked, dignified as he could in such a situation, into the kitchen. Harry followed him like an eager puppy. 

“Are you okay, though, really?”

Draco sighed and filled his kettle from the sink. “I’m fine, Potter. Everything intact. But for my ego, perhaps.”

Harry smiled gently at him, but it was less teasing and more… something. “I really am sorry for laughing.”

Draco snorted. “Perfectly understandable; it was a laughable situation. Malfoy the lightweight Death Eater, puking his guts out in front of the chosen one.”

“Former Death Eater.” Harry smiled when Draco rolled his eyes at him. Harry leaned against the counter as Draco put the kettle on the stovetop. “And technically I didn’t actually see you sicking up. Just… running for the bathroom.”

“Yes, small miracles, and what not.”

Harry moved away from the counter and suddenly came to stand right beside Draco. He placed a warm and solid hand on the small of Draco’s back and the world seemed suddenly concentrated in that touch.

“Really, are you sure you’re alright?” Harry asked quietly, with such compassion that Draco nearly burst into tears.

He felt the snitches yet again, only they had migrated and were now ricocheting to and fro throughout his entire body. He placed a steadying hand on the counter beside the stovetop, leaning back into Harry’s touch without even consciously thinking about it. It felt so warm, so steady, so reassuring against him. 

“Yes, I’m fine, Harry, I promise,” Draco said quietly, closing his eyes and leaning his head forward. This man would take him under, he knew it.

Harry quickly pulled his hand away and Draco yearned for the touch again, felt starved for it. To distract himself from the loss, Draco opened the drawer in front of him to grab two spoons. When he turned around he expected Harry to be staring at him, but to his surprise, Harry was opening and closing his cupboards. 

“What are you doing, Potter?”

“Oh, I was looking for your teacups,” he replied. “Ah, here we are.”

Draco watched, oddly mesmerized, as Harry took out two of Draco’s large, clear glass mugs from the cupboard and set them on the counter beside his small tea service tray. Harry then walked over to Draco, took the spoons from his hand, placed them inside the teacups, and spelled all the dishware onto the tray, setting it down on the counter beside the kettle. Draco wanted to make a snide remark about Harry making himself at home, but it died in his throat, because he found that he really didn’t mind so much, having Harry taking over his space. He may even go so far as to say he liked it.

“Will you sit, please?” Harry said. “You still look a little pale… More than usual, I mean. Let me finish the tea.”

Almost numbly, Draco took the three steps to the kitchen table and mindlessly fiddled with the clean grey place mat in front of him as Harry worked his way around the tiny kitchen like he owned the place. Draco couldn’t stop watching him as he cast spells in that slightly blundering but confident way that he always had. 

It was like watching a dance--no, something much less graceful--like a sport, Draco decided. Watching Harry do magic was like watching a sport. The goal was the result, not the process. It was straightforward and gruff; less stylistic and more practical. It was the opposite of how Draco did magic, and he found himself endlessly interested in every movement Potter made. He could watch him make tea forever.

He was reminded vaguely of when Harry had picked up the quaffle for the Weasley girl. Draco thought he would’ve quite liked it if Harry had picked up his quaffle, but he found he quite liked it when Harry made him tea, too. 

“There,” Harry said finally, smiling at Draco as he hovered the tea tray slowly to the table. “Watch your hands."

Draco moved his hands off the table and onto his lap. He stared blatantly as Harry sat down across from him and ran his hands through his thick mop of unruly black hair. They waited for the tea to steep in silence. Draco took a mug and poured his usual splash of milk in just to busy himself, still feeling a bit dazzled by Harry.

“Alright, talk to me, then,” Harry said. “You went awfully quiet. Did you puke up your voice box in there as well?”

Draco snorted. “Oh that is hilarious, Potter.”

“You know, you’ve called me Harry twice now,” he said gently. “You can keep doing that if you like.”

Draco swallowed. “I’m not certain I would like.”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up again. “Why not?”

“Because,” Draco said quietly. “It feels sort of… intimate.”

He hadn’t meant to look up at Harry through hooded eyes as he said the word, but he realized after the fact, as Harry swallowed audibly and licked his lips, that that was precisely what he had done. 

Draco felt his face grow warm as he looked down and tried to focus on the slow curl of steam coming from the spout of the teapot. 

“Besides,” he said softly, “I quite like the feeling of ‘Potter’ on my tongue.”

And that, too, was precisely the wrong thing to say, he realized once again too late. His face burned quite hot now, and, looking up to see that Potter’s eyes flashed bright and darted to Draco’s mouth, he decided another swift subject change was in order.

“What would you like me to talk about then?” To his horror, his voice sounded rather raspy. 

Much to his chagrin, Harry’s did also, when he replied, “Oh I don’t know.” Harry cleared his throat. “Er… the weather. Quidditch. The state of the union.”

Harry sounded rather dazed. Draco felt rather dazed as well. 

“Well, the weather has been rather lovely. Rather less rain than we’re used to in the spring months, I’d say.”

“You would latch onto the least interesting subject I suggested, wouldn’t you.”

“Yes, I felt as if the moment called for it,” Draco said, chiding himself for continually letting these rather telling comments fly from his mouth without a moment’s hesitation. Speaking before thinking was decidedly abnormal for him, but it seemed impossible to control it around Harry. 

And for Merlin’s sake, he wished Harry would stop staring at his mouth.

“Meaning?”

Draco busied himself once more by lifting the teapot and filling Harry’s empty cup. “Meaning, we’ve covered some fairly intense topics this evening, Potter. Discussing the weather is the next logical step, I imagine.”

Harry let out a low growl and Draco had to steady his hand before he filled his own teacup. 

“I hate talking about the weather,” Harry grumbled. “Makes me think of my Aunt Petunia.”

“You suggested it,” Draco countered. 

“Well you didn’t have to run with it,” Harry said, irritated. 

“Oh, have I pissed off the great Harry Potter?” Draco asked, delighted, adding a spoonful of sugar to his teacup. “In that case, yes, I believe we are in for a glorious summer…”

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Harry said, biting back a grin. 

“I would wager a mild July, followed by a warmer August.” Draco added another spoonful. “Perhaps a late-summer heat wave to usher in September?” 

Harry let out the laugh he was clearly holding in and Draco felt himself smile back at him. 

“You’re still a prat, you know,” Harry said. To Draco it almost sounded fond. 

“I am well aware of that, Potter.”

Harry looked at him and took a sip of his tea after blowing on it for a moment. “This is good.”

“You take it black, then?” Draco asked, absentmindedly. 

“Yeah,” Harry nodded.

“Freak.”

Harry chuckled and kept looking at him. “Two sugars and one milk, you are the freak.”

Draco smiled, oddly flattered that Potter was still seemingly in the habit of observing him and had thus noticed how he had prepared his tea. 

“I’m surprised you don’t take sugar,” Draco said, deciding that small talk may, in fact, be the best way to go now. “Weren’t you always quite the animal come dessert time back at school?”

Harry cocked his head to the side once again. “You really did observe me closely, didn’t you?"

It wasn’t the first time they seemed to be having similar thoughts this evening, and Draco thought it was a little bit thrilling.

“As if anyone could miss the way you stuffed your face like an utter savage,” Draco said. 

Harry leaned far back in his chair and closed his eyes. “Ah, I miss the food at Hogwarts."

Draco stared at his neck without even bothering to hide it. “Yes, it was quite good.”

“Quite good is an understatement,” Harry said. “Remember those homemade cauldron cakes? A full English every morning… mmm. And the treacle tart, ohhh Merlin, yes.”

“Indeed, try not to have an orgasm at my table, Potter.”

Harry looked back up at him with a childish grin on his face and then he laughed. In truth Draco was probably closer to an orgasm than Harry, just hearing those sinful moans he was making. Good grief.

“So, you mentioned an Aunt Petunia?” he asked by way of yet another necessary subject change.

Draco watched in fascination as Harry’s face almost immediately clouded over. 

“Oh,” Draco said softly. “I’d gathered you weren’t fond of her, but your face says that’s an understatement.”

“Yeah, not fond at all."

Draco raised his eyebrows. “No pressure, but this promises to be a far more interesting topic than the weather, if you’d like to talk about it.”

Harry forced a smile. 

“Or we can avoid her,” Draco said gently. “Though I can’t imagine how bad a lady with a flower name could be.”

Harry looked at him questioningly.

“My mother is named after a flower,” Draco clarified.

“Really? Narcissa is a flower?” Harry said, sufficiently distracted. “Hmm. So is mine.”

“That’s right, Lily; I knew that. My aunts are as well.”

“Same, obviously--Petunia.” Harry shook his head. “And no, she’s certainly not my favorite person.”

“Is she the one you lived with, growing up?” Draco asked, wading into the topic tentatively.

“She is, yes.” Harry sipped his tea and said no more.

“Was your uncle any better, then?”

Draco could tell this was also an unfavorable topic for Potter. His dislike was written plainly on his face. “Not especially.”

“Well I’m sorry to hear that, then,” Draco said, unsure what else to say. He couldn’t imagine growing up feeling uneasy around both of his guardians. Despite his rocky relationship with his father, Draco had at least always had his mother to lean on and confide in. 

“You and your mother are close,” Harry stated, seemingly reading his thoughts again. 

“Yes,” Draco said. “She has always been a sort of anchor for me. I’ve never once doubted her unwavering love for me.”

“You’re lucky,” Harry muttered. 

“I am lucky,” Draco agreed. “But your mother died to save you. That seems like unwavering love to me.”

Harry nodded, mulling that over. Draco sipped his tea in silence for a moment.

“Doesn’t it feel like we have quite a lot in common sometimes?” Harry asked quietly after a pause.

“Sometimes, yes.” Draco said noncommittally and took another sip of his tea. 

“I didn’t know Narcissa was a type of flower,” Harry said again absentmindedly as he thumbed the rim of his teacup. “Or Bellatrix. Or Andromeda, for that matter.”

“How do you know my Aunt Andromeda’s name?” Draco asked curiously.

“She’s Sirius’ cousin. And Tonks’ mum,” Harry said. “Your cousin Tonks, I suppose.”

“That’s right, Nymphadora,” Draco nodded. “She married Professor Lupin.”

Harry nodded. “You know she hated that name.”

“Nymphadora?”

“Yes.”

“Oh,” Draco said. He looked at the table. “Sometimes it’s odd to think that I have a cousin, really. Well. Had.”

Harry met his eyes for a moment. “You know they had a son, right?”

Draco nodded. “I’d heard.”

“I take it you haven’t met him?”

“No,” Draco said, suddenly ashamed of that fact. 

“And Tonks?” Harry asked, sipping his tea. “You weren’t close?”

“Well, considering my lovely family disinherited, disowned, and entirely shunned my Aunt Andromeda for simply marrying a muggleborn, you can imagine they weren’t terribly keen to let Nym… Tonks and I become the closest of cousins. I never even met her.”

Harry tilted his head at Draco again. “I’m sorry."

Draco nodded awkwardly. “So am I, I guess, if I think about it.”

“Tonks was a really cool girl,” Harry said with a smile. “Always running into things, always making light of every situation.”

Draco smiled faintly. Harry wiggled in his seat for a moment.

“Their son… Teddy Lupin, that is. He’s… well, I’m assuming you heard that I’m his--”

“Godfather, yes,” Draco said. “Congratulations.”

“He’s a funny little kid,” Harry said, smiling fondly into his tea. “He always has a different hair color when I see him.”

“I’d heard that she… that Tonks was a metamorphmagus. That’s interesting, that he is too.” Draco smiled, lost in the wistful and rather depressing thoughts of all the fun he could’ve had playing with her as a child. 

“Yeah. He’s a really good kid. Your aunt looks after him, for the most part,” Harry said slowly. “But I try to have him over every second weekend, or more, whenever I can.”

“That’s awfully heroic of you, Potter,” Draco said, unsure where he was going with this.

“Don’t be an arse, I was just going to ask you if you wanted to meet him, one day, when he’s over.”

Draco paused and turned the idea over in his mind. Even aside from the fairly exciting prospect of meeting his young second cousin, and perhaps of someday repairing the broken relationship between his mother and her sister, there was also the simple fact that Potter had just invited him to his house, at a future date. Draco wasn’t sure what to make of it, but he figured the snitches once again taking up residence in his throat could only mean it was a good thing. 

“Yes,” he finally said. “Yes, I think I would like that.”

Harry graced him with one of those adorable--yes, Draco allowed himself to use the word in his head because it was undeniably true--half smiles. Draco felt himself smiling back.

“Good,” Potter said softly, and then he took another sip of his tea. 

Draco stood up suddenly. “Come, let’s go into the sitting room again, it’s far more comfortable.”

Harry stood and picked up both his and Draco’s teacups before Draco could do so himself. 

“Thanks, Potter,” he said, tossing a grin over his shoulder. “I’ll be right in, do you want something to nosh on? I’m afraid I don’t have anything comparable to the orgasmic treacle tart from days of yore.”

Harry chuckled as he shuffled carefully into the sitting room, teacups in hand. “You talk like such a ponce. Yeah, surprise me.”

The odd reality of their situation hit him once again after Harry left the room. Draco didn’t allow himself to question this bizarre situation any more than he already had this evening, because for the most part, he felt very at peace with how the chips seemed to be falling into place (aside from the vomit incident, of course). 

Draco couldn’t honestly say that he felt lucky very often, but this, tonight, this had to be a stroke of luck. The boy he had been so obsessed with in school was in his house, drinking his tea, talking about the weather and aunts and Pearl Jam, and Draco couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so… well, happy. Even the word itself felt foreign to him.

He fished through his sparse cupboards and found a half-eaten packet of crisps, as well as a tin of store-bought biscuits. Based on what he had observed at Hogwarts, Draco knew Potter had a sweet tooth.

“Crisps or biscuits?” he called out to Harry in the sitting room, wanting to test his theory. 

“I said surprise me!” Harry replied. “But obviously biscuits, what kind of question is that?”

Draco smiled to himself and dumped the biscuits onto a serving dish unceremoniously. Then he hastily grabbed a small stack of napkins, admitting to himself that he was eager to get back to talking with Harry. The thought still made him shake his head in complete bewilderment, but it felt a little less alien to him now. Because of course he wanted to talk to Harry. Even as enemies, Draco had longed to talk to Harry. Now that he was finally getting his wish, he dare not question it. 

As he reentered the sitting room, Draco arranged the biscuits neatly on the plate with his wand. He saw that Harry was seated comfortably on the couch, one arm flung over the backrest and his ankle resting casually on his knee, as it was before. 

Well, it was now or never, he thought. Draco took a deep, calming breath before boldly sitting beside Harry. He set the plate of biscuits down before him and tried to get comfortable. It was difficult when he could still smell Harry’s delectable cologne, still feel the heat coming off his body like steam on sun-cooked pavement. 

Chancing a glance at Harry, Draco saw that he was already reaching for a biscuit. “Did you make these?”

Draco snorted. “Hardly.”

“You don’t bake?” Harry took a bite and Draco rolled his eyes. 

“Use a napkin, you bloody heathen,” Draco said, grabbing one and placing it thoughtlessly into Harry’s hand, curling Harry’s fingers around the napkin as if he was a child. Draco was embarrassed by this oddly possessive display, but when he looked up at Harry, he was smiling like a sunrise. 

“Thanks,” Harry said. “These are good.”

“Sainsbury’s thanks you,” Draco said dryly, helping himself to a biscuit and pointedly eying Harry as he placed it on top of a napkin first, then broke off a tiny piece before popping it elegantly in his mouth. 

Harry was looking at him with a strange look in his eye. 

Draco finished chewing the bite slowly and swallowed before answering. “Why are you looking at me like that, Potter?”

Harry shook his head and reached for his tea as he shoved the remaining half of his biscuit into his mouth. “I’m trying to picture you shopping at Sainsbury’s.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Everyone in Britain shops at Sainsbury’s, Potter.”

“Every muggle in Britain,” he amended pointedly.

“Yes, well. As I’ve said, I practically live as a muggle these days.”

“Yes, well,” said Harry in such a silly impersonation of Draco that it made him grin. “I think muggle life suits you really well.”

Draco swallowed another bite of his biscuit, still smiling. “I think I would have to agree with you.”

“And now you’re agreeing with me. This night is so weird,” Harry said through a mouthful of chewed biscuit. 

“Honestly,” Draco muttered. “Have you ever even heard the word manners?”

Harry grinned at him, mercifully with his mouth closed, and picked up his tea cup and another biscuit. 

“So if you don’t bake, do you cook?” Harry asked as he shoved another large bite in his mouth.

Draco lifted his chin proudly. “I cook.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. 

“Not well,” Draco admitted. 

Harry laughed. Draco smiled at the sound. 

“It’s kind of impressive that you can cook at all, though, Draco,” Harry said. The back of Draco’s neck tingled at the casual use of his name. “I mean, I assume you never had to when you were growing up.”

“Of course not,” Draco said somewhat bitterly. “We had house elves for that.”

Harry looked up at him as he sipped his tea. “Didn’t you like growing up with house elves?”

Draco considered the question for a moment before answering. “I did, at the time. They made it possible for me to remain my naturally spoiled self, which I was glad for, then. Not so glad for now, when I have to feed myself.”

Harry smiled kindly. 

“I’m sure you never had to cook for yourself either, though,” Draco said. “Even if you didn’t like your aunt and uncle, I imagine they still spoiled you rotten.”

Harry looked at him and Draco saw an unexplained sort of sadness in his green eyes. 

Harry sighed, and Draco felt a lurch in his stomach. He’d gone and said the wrong thing. He’d done that so many times this evening, but Harry had always seemed to like his off-the-cuff comments, until now. Draco was shocked by the force of the unpleasantness he felt, knowing he had upset Potter. 

“My apologies, Potter,” Draco murmured, and he found that he really meant it. “I suppose I keep teasing you about being spoiled simply because it makes me feel slightly better about being spoiled myself. I apologize if I’ve hit a sore spot.”

Harry looked up at him, a nerve twitching in his jaw, but didn’t say anything.

“I’m sorry,” Draco said softly, staring at Harry’s face and willing him to smile again. 

Harry set down his tea cup and his biscuit and paused. 

“The reason I don’t like my aunt and uncle is because they abused me as a child,” Harry said bluntly, staring at Draco as if to gauge his reaction. 

It was the last thing Draco had expected. He had no words, so he just kept staring at Harry’s emerald eyes. He could feel his knuckles go white around the handle of his mug.

Harry continued in an uncharacteristically emotionless voice. “I think they resented having to take care of me because they never really had any choice in the matter. That’s really all I can come up with. Aside from the fact that I’m a wizard, of course. They detested anything that they didn’t see as ‘normal.’” 

He sighed. “But anyways, long story short is that they treated me...poorly. They starved me, and verbally abused me, and hit me fairly often, or at least Uncle Vernon did. And my cousin was quite the terror as well, although that’s a different sort of abuse, I reckon. They made me do most of the housework--all the cooking, most of the cleaning, yard work. And I slept in a cupboard under the stairs until I was nearly twelve.”

Draco felt the bile rising in his throat and scrambled to find equilibrium, let alone something to say that would undo even a breath of the pain Harry must have gone through. But Draco, as usual, could not muster up a single right thing to say.

“A cupboard...?” he muttered stupidly.

Harry nodded. “A cupboard.”

“Starved?”

“Starved.”

They stared at each other. 

“I’m sure it goes without saying, but I’d rather no one know about any of this,” Harry said softly. “Ron and Hermione know. The Weasleys know some of it. And now so do you.”

Harry leaned over and picked up his teacup nonchalantly, as if he hadn’t just shattered Draco’s world into pieces.

All through school, he had pictured Harry growing up in a loving household with family who would praise his every accomplishment, no matter how insignificant, praise him simply because he was Harry Potter. The truth of the matter was as different as it could have been. How had he never known, never guessed? For all his observation of Potter, somehow this had entirely escaped Draco’s notice.

“I don’t know what to say, Potter,” Draco finally said in a shaky voice, feeling weak and useless, hating himself for not having an endless trove of comforting words for Harry.

Harry valiantly smiled at him. “That may be a first.”

“Don’t you dare try and joke right now!” Draco shouted suddenly, surprised at the overwhelming emotion in his voice. He felt a deep, vitriolic hatred for these strangers. “How can they have gotten away with any of this? How did no one stop them? You’re Harry bloody Potter!”

Harry fixed him with surprised green eyes. “I don’t know.”

“Well it’s bullshit, Potter!” Draco couldn’t even be bothered to lower his voice, even though he knew he was being dramatic and probably going about this in entirely the wrong way. “It’s bullshit that no one stopped this. You really mean to tell me that everyone failed to notice that you were being starved and beaten and locked in a bloody cupboard under the stairs like you weren’t the savior of the bloody universe?”

With the gut-wrenching realization that he was one of the ones who had apparently failed to notice, Draco carelessly flung his teacup onto the coffee table, sloshing hot tea all over its surface, and angrily stood up, pacing the room and running his hands through his hair in frustration. 

To his utter shock, Harry was smiling when he looked over. “Wipe that fucking smile off your face, Potter! Don’t gloss over this, don’t act like it’s normal. And don’t let them make you feel as if you deserved one single day of that hell, because you bloody didn’t. And for pity’s sake, don’t try and make me feel better right now, because I can see it in your damn heroic face that you want to! I should rot in hell for the things I said to you from the first day we met. How on earth could you ever get over any of the things you’ve gone through? Potter, your entire bloody life has been shit!”

Harry snorted and Draco had to fight the urge to lunge at him. 

“Potter!” he screeched. 

“I’m sorry, Draco, but you’re having a meltdown and that was a funny thing to say, okay?” Harry was grinning. “Ignore my face.”

“Oh, like I could ever ignore that face!”

Bugger, that was another wrong thing to say, and he’d cocked it up again. He could feel his face burning, and he looked at Harry. But Harry’s face shone bright with something that Draco was afraid to name.

Draco forced himself to take a few deep breaths. 

“Look, I won’t try and make you feel better,” Harry said, holding his hands up in surrender as if he was trying to talk a crazy person off a ledge. “The past is past, my situation sucked, and...I really appreciate both your very flirtatious comment about my face, and the sentiment of your overly dramatic Slytherin ire.”

Draco heard himself squeak in protest. Harry clapped a hand over his mouth to stop himself from laughing, but Draco saw that his eyes were twinkling.

“I won’t say another word,” he finally managed to say through his fingers. “Let’s just...move on, okay?”

Draco just looked at him. Harry lowered his hand.

“Will you sit down now, please?” Harry asked gently.

Draco wordlessly sat down and picked up his wand, vanishing the spilled tea from the coffee table. When the surface was dry and Draco could no longer avoid Harry’s eyes, he slowly shifted in his seat, turning his body to the side so that he was sitting cross-legged on the couch, completely facing Harry.

“Harry,” he began, realizing only after the fact that he had said it. The name alone seemed to be the right thing to say, though, because Harry turned and smiled at him. It was a different smile, a soft smile that melted away any words Draco may have had.

“Thank you for not pitying me,” Harry said, rubbing the back of his neck.

Draco looked down at his hands, folded in his lap. “I do pity you, Potter. It makes me sick, the things those people did to you. I feel completely helpless and I am positively seething and I want to kill them and eviscerate every single bad thing you ever had to go through from birth until now. But, alright, I will respect your wish to move on.”

Harry didn’t stop smiling at Draco. He looked at Draco like he was the answer to every question.

“You’ve changed, Draco."

Draco nodded. “I suppose we both have.”

Harry shook his head. “I don’t know if I have changed all that much, actually. For better and for worse. But you… You’re really... “

“Different?” Draco supplied. 

Harry nodded. “Different, in a really good way, where it counts. But you’re still very much Draco, in all the other ways.”

Draco smiled at him tentatively. “Very much Draco?”

Harry snorted. “Very, very much so, yes.”

“How do you mean?” Draco steepled his hands and rested them pensively on his chin.

Harry laughed at him, which was all Draco wanted right then. He didn’t want Harry to feel anything less than wonderful. He wanted to be the one to fix Harry, to heal him, to save him. The very idea that he could feel that way about Harry Potter was terrifying and humiliating and maddening, but he wouldn’t lie to himself anymore: he truly felt that way. He wanted to smile at Harry and laugh with Harry and talk to Harry until neither of them had any words left, and then he wanted to kiss him.

The thought shot into his head without pause, but Draco knew it was another honest and true thought, because it felt so at home and completely right in his mind. He wanted to kiss Harry. Wanted to do more than kiss Harry, if he was totally honest. Somehow, in the course of just one evening, Draco had fallen into something very significant with his former enemy. Denying it would be foolish, at this point.

“Well,” Harry began, “you still talk fancy. You’re still a sarcastic little git. You still use more styling potion in your hair than anyone I’ve ever known. You still smirk at me sometimes. You’re still ghostly pale and skinny and you walk like you’re doing us all a favor.”

Draco laughed, flattered and sort of insulted but all in all a little pleased. He felt himself blushing.

“I guess I mean that you’re still a ponce,” Harry summarized, sipping his tea cheekily. 

Draco snickered. “Once a ponce, always a ponce, Potter.”

Harry chuckled. “You said you like calling me Potter.”

Draco nodded. “I do.”

“I kind of like it, as well,” he admitted, leaning back against the couch and lifting an arm over his head, fiddling with his hair absentmindedly. Draco tried not to stare at the muscles in his arms again, but it was impossible. He tried to shift his gaze to Harry’s ridiculous hair instead, but that was scarcely less distracting. 

“It feels familiar, when you call me Potter,” Harry continued. “But I also really, really like hearing you call me Harry.”

“Do you?” Draco asked quietly.

“I do,” Harry responded. He smiled over at Draco, whose heart skipped a beat.

“Why?”

Harry shrugged. “It’s my given name, I like hearing it. I think it’s because I didn’t hear much of it until I went to Hogwarts; I was always ‘boy’ or ‘you’ or sometimes something a little worse than that.”

Draco nodded tensely and pushed down the feelings of murderous anger, for Harry’s sake. 

“And I just really like how you say it,” Harry said shyly.

Draco felt his own face growing warm again. He admitted to himself that he quite liked saying Harry’s name, as well. It dripped off his tongue like honey. It was delicious. 

“Like a ponce?” Draco said, smiling up at him.

Harry laughed softly. “Something like that.”

Draco had to look away from that lovely stubbled face before he lost all sense of decorum. “Harry then.”

There was a long pause, the radio still playing softly in the background, and Draco once again fiddled with his wand, feeling Harry’s eyes on him. Suddenly he was a ball of nerves.

“Hey,” Harry said softly. 

Draco looked up at him expectantly.

“Yes?” he said, his voice coming out gruff.

“Thanks for saying all that.” Harry rubbed the back of his neck again, staring at his knees. “Earlier.”

“Exactly which part of ‘earlier’ are we talking about?” Draco teased.

“You know what I’m talking about, you wanker.”

“Oh, you mean my overly dramatic Slytherin ire?” Draco let an embarrassing giggle escape his lips. 

Harry’s answering smile was worth the humiliation, and then some. “That’s right."

Draco smiled at him in return.

“Well, we Slytherins are not exactly famed for the way we handle our emotions,” Draco said, leaning his elbows on his knees and folding his hands under his chin. “Anger is an acceptable outlet, in most cases.”

Harry snorted and took one more sip, draining the contents of his tea cup. “Oh, yes. Anger is always appropriate.”

“Indeed,” Draco said, plucking up his courage and choosing to speak unguardedly. “When thanked, for instance, it’s always best to simply make a joke instead of telling the person that they are most sincerely welcome, and that said person deserves to be defended with all the Slytherin ire on earth.”

Harry gave him a warm look and Draco almost swooned.

“That’s ridiculous,” Harry said softly, his eyes looking rather glazed. 

“Well, I suppose I’m ridiculous, then.”

“You are,” Harry said, nodding. “Absolutely.”

“Perhaps,” he acknowledged. “But I also have many more favorable qualities.”

Harry gave a low, sexy laugh. “And what are some of those more favorable qualities, Draco Malfoy?”

“Well, since you asked,” Draco muttered, ignoring the snitches once again. “I am highly intelligent. Well dressed. Impeccable manners…”

“Modest, not at all arrogant…”

“Resilient. Independent,” Draco continued, enjoying himself. “Exemplary quidditch player. Classically handsome.”

Harry laughed. “Am I really supposed to believe that you ever had poor self-esteem?”

Draco laughed along with him. “And the great Harry Potter is one to talk?”

“I don’t think I ever said I had low self-esteem, Malfoy,” Harry argued. “Just a shitty upbringing."

“Alright, tell me a few of your favorable qualities, then, and we’ll see how highly you think of yourself.”

Harry grumbled to himself. 

“Sorry, Potter, I didn’t quite catch that?”

“I said I don’t know what my favorable qualities are, you prat.”

“Sure you do,” Draco said. “I can think of a dozen off the top of my head.”

Harry raised his eyebrow, pleasantly surprised. 

“Oh come off it, it’s not that hard,” Draco said, rolling his eyes. “Just name three.”

“Okay,” Harry said reluctantly. “Erm, I’m good at quidditch.”

“No, you can’t use any of mine.”

“Why not?”

“Because that’s cheating.”

“How is that cheating?”

“It’s obviously cheating, Potter, just think of three of your own.”

“Well, I’m…” Harry paused, thinking hard. 

Draco had always thought that Potter had an ego the size of a planet, but he was forced to admit he was wrong, now that Harry could not come up with even three things he liked about himself. Draco felt unbearably sad for him.

“I’ll give you a framework, then,” Draco said, coming to his aid. “One physical trait, one personality trait, and one skill.”

“Hmm,” Harry said. “Okay. Physical. I guess my eyes are kind of an interesting color.”

Draco snorted loudly. “Fine. Continue.”

“Why are you snorting at me?” Harry grumbled, pouting at him. Draco found it incredibly sweet.

“Your eyes are obviously interesting, that’s all,” he said. Understatement of the century. “Now a personality trait.”

“I feel like I’m in therapy or something,” Harry muttered. 

“Not such a bad idea, perhaps,” Draco said with a smirk. “Go on, Potter, just one.”

“Okay, I’m quite brave, I suppose.”

“Good,” Draco said, nodding. “And lastly, a skill you possess. Something a little less obvious than flying, if you please.”

“Cooking,” Harry said simply. “And baking. I have culinary skills, I guess.”

“There, not so hard, was it?” Draco smiled at him.

Harry shrugged, looking maybe just a little proud of himself. “Can we stop talking about me now, please?”

“It’s very telling that you can’t speak highly of yourself, Potter,” Draco said. “But yes, I’ll allow the topic change.”

“Good, because there’s something I’ve been meaning to say for the last half hour,” Harry said, looking at Draco intensely.

“And what’s that?” Draco said, his heart immediately racing.

“You should teach me how to style my hair.”

Draco huffed out a laugh, unaware that he had been holding his breath. “Oh I should, should I?”

“Yes, you really should,” Harry replied, grinning. “Your hair is very nice. Plus I’ve been told I should consider a hat permanently.” 

Draco laughed. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said softly. Without even thinking, he reached over and ran a white hand through Potter’s thick black hair. “Now that I’m really looking at it, I think it’s actually rather lovely just as it is.”

Harry swallowed thickly, his wide eyes glued to Draco’s. Draco pulled his hand away quickly and folded his hands in his lap again, heart racing. Why on earth had he done that? And how on earth was Potter’s hair so bloody soft?!

Suddenly Harry flopped up and down clumsily as he rearranged himself so that he was sitting the same way Draco was, cross-legged and facing him. They were suddenly face to face, knees touching each other, just enough to be aware of. Draco looked up at him and their eyes locked.

Draco felt his mouth go dry, not for the first time that night. He automatically reached for the wand in his lap like a talisman against the heat and magnetism he felt coming from Harry’s skin. Being this close to Harry scared him, really and truly scared him. His hands began to quiver.

Shakily, Draco picked up his empty teacup and hastily spelled it full of water. Taking a long swig of it, which went down like a handful of marbles in his throat, Draco tapped a finger against the teacup nervously. 

“You seem kind of jumpy, Draco,” Harry said. 

“Oh you don’t say, Potter!” he spit out, once again slamming his tea cup onto the coffee table and immediately cursing himself for another dramatic reaction. 

“Why?” Harry asked innocently. “Do I make you jumpy?”

“You most certainly do not!”

Harry grinned at him. “You know, you’re kind of cute when you’re nervous.”

“Cute!” Draco scoffed loudly, violently shoving down the snitches, which were now threatening to fly right out of his throat and all about the room. “I am not cute!”

Harry kept smiling at him, and then he placed a hand on top of Draco’s knee. “I think you are.”

Draco stared at him, mouth gaping, feeling positively scorched by the simple touch of Harry’s hand on his knee. Suddenly it was all too much. Harry was too close. He couldn’t handle this. 

For the second time in only a few minutes, Draco shot up out of his seat as if someone had hexed him and paced the small expanse of living room floor once, twice, three times. He stopped dead and looked at the bemused Potter. 

“It’s getting late,” Draco heard himself say. 

Harry’s eyebrows shot up. 

“Oh,” he said. 

Draco expected to be called out for avoiding his emotions with more Slytherin ire, or at least for Harry to question why he was suddenly being not-so-subtly nudged out the door. But Harry took the hint far quicker than Draco had thought he would and stood up rather awkwardly. 

“Yes, it is. Yeah, I guess I should be going, then. Let me just...”

Draco stared at Harry as Harry picked up his wand and spelled the plate of biscuits and the two teacups to the kitchen, once again acting as if he owned the place. Draco decided now that he didn’t hate that after all. Not even slightly. Potter felt like a piece of his furniture somehow. An old, broken-in, beat-up leather armchair that Draco wanted to snuggle into and never get up again. So why did he keep pushing Harry away, right when it seemed as if he wanted to come closer?

Wordlessly, Draco followed Harry to his own kitchen and stood in the doorway while Harry walked towards the sink. He watched as Harry placed all the dirty dishes in it, and hovered the leftover biscuits neatly into the tin that Draco had left open on the counter. 

Draco thought once again of Harry picking up Ginny’s quaffle, but this time the thought made him want to start sobbing. 

Suddenly Harry looked up and noticed the look on Draco’s face. He must have realized that he was stalling. 

“Sorry,” he muttered, looking uncomfortable. “I don’t know why I’m cleaning up. Maybe it’s because I just feel, oddly, very at home in your house.”

‘Or maybe it’s because you need to pick up my quaffle for me,’ Draco desperately wanted to say. ‘And maybe I really, really want you to.’ 

Draco really hated himself in that moment, hated himself for always failing to say the important things, for not making Harry feel special and wanted even though he was. Draco shook his head. Harry wasn’t the only one who could benefit from therapy.

Draco watched then, unsurprised, as Harry wiped the crumbs from his hands onto his jeans. A few hours ago Draco would have rolled his eyes, and his inner Malfoy still wanted to in a way. But now he found it so painfully endearing that all he wanted to do was walk over and take Harry’s hands in his own and lick each crumb away. 

“I guess I’ll be going, then,” Harry said, mustering up a gallant smile that Draco knew he didn’t deserve. 

Harry walked towards the doorway to the sitting room, the doorway that Draco was still standing in, pausing to wait for Draco to clear the way. Draco remained frozen where he was and placed his hand gently in the middle of Harry’s chest. 

Harry looked up at Draco, astonishment in his face. Draco felt as if his hand had just caught fire. 

“Don’t leave yet,” Draco muttered, staring at his hand on Harry’s chest. 

“What?”

“I don’t want you to leave.” His voice sounded peculiar even to his own ears.

Draco could feel Harry’s heartbeat picking up speed beneath his fingers, and he thought he might burst open with the sheer ecstasy of that observation. 

“You said it was getting late,” Harry pointed out. Draco shuddered at the timbre of his voice, low and rough. 

“I did, yes.”

“But you don’t want me to leave?”

“No.”

“Then why did you imply that you did?”

“Because you scare the shit out of me, Potter.” It was the truth, but Draco was still embarrassed to have said it.

Harry lifted his hand and gently touched it to Draco’s, the one still on Harry’s chest. Draco felt his fingers predictably go up in flames, and so he yanked them away from Potter’s chest as quickly as possible. He turned, embarrassed, and retreated back into the sitting room. He felt Harry following close behind him. 

“Draco?” Harry prodded. “Talk.”

Draco clutched at his hair in frustration. “I can’t talk.”

“You can,” Harry said gently. “We’ve been talking for hours.”

“That’s the problem, Potter.”

“It’s a problem?” Harry asked, looking faintly hurt and more than a little confused. 

“Please sit down, Potter,” he muttered. “I told you I don’t want you to leave.”

“Draco…”

Draco’s nerves finally spilled over and he growled, shoving Potter backwards until he was sitting on the sofa once again, a look of surprise and bafflement on his face. And maybe a little bit of arousal, but Draco was sure he was imagining that.

“What--”

“Sit there and listen, Potter, and I’ll talk, if you want me to.”

Harry let out a nervous laugh and ran his hands through his hair. “I have no idea what you’re doing, Draco.”

“Nor do I,” Draco said, pacing the floor again. “That’s precisely the issue here, as a matter of fact. You wrote me a letter asking to give me back my wand, we met up at a pub and saw each other for the first time in three years, and only a few hours later, I find myself completely and totally...out of my element.”

Harry looked up at him, his eyes softening marginally but still looking bemused. “Okay? And that’s a bad thing?”

Draco paced, trying to follow his thoughts, but all he could think was, I want to kiss Potter. I want Potter in my bed. I want Potter in my house and my life and my head until we both die. 

Draco stopped for a moment and closed his eyes and forced himself to take a few deep breaths. He needed to regain a little self-control, a little equilibrium. He counted to five. 

When he opened his eyes again, Harry was standing in front of him, and he had his hand over his mouth, once again looking like he was barely stifling a laugh.

“Really, Potter?” Draco shouted. “Laughing at me? Again!?”

Harry burst out laughing. “Remember how I said you look cute when you’re nervous? I amend the statement to: You look cute but slightly unhinged when you’re nervous.”

Draco let forth a loud shrieking sound, which seemed to surprise both of them. 

“Will you shut your stupid Gryffindor face and just kiss me already?!”

Draco threw himself at Harry before he could say anything or even think, and their lips met. Harry let out a small noise of shock before he was responding to Draco enthusiastically, wrapping his arms firmly around Draco’s middle as Draco’s hands crept up into Harry’s curls, of their own volition. 

Draco lost himself for a moment in the brand new feel of Harry’s mouth. He tasted tea and biscuits in their kiss, and it made tears spring to his eyes, because even though this was a first, Harry tasted like home. 

Not only did Harry taste and feel completely brilliant, but Harry was… Harry was a perpetual fire, and Draco was burning up in him. This kiss was unlike anything Draco had ever imagined possible. It felt like a thousand spells going off at once. It felt… bloody perfect. 

Draco felt Harry pulling his body in closer even as they slowly broke the kiss off. When Draco pulled his lips away from Harry’s, he opened his eyes and was instantly lost in a pool of shocking green. An embarrassing whimper escaped his lips. 

Harry let out his own moan at the same time. Their arms were wrapped around each other, bodies pressed tight together, breathing heavily. 

“Woah,” Harry whispered, his green eyes flitting down to stare at Draco’s lips. 

Draco breathed out a shocked laugh. “Indeed.”

Their breathing mingled heavily between them, each of them alternating between staring at each other’s eyes and staring at each other’s mouths. 

“Erm…” fell from Harry’s mouth. Draco licked his lips. 

“Yes, exactly,” Draco muttered, grinning. 

Harry huffed in what sounded like an attempt at a laugh, but really only served to turn Draco on even further. Harry kissed him again. Draco’s every atom tingled. Kissing Potter was like kissing a live wire, almost too much.

Draco gently nudged Harry backwards after too short a kiss, and Harry took the hint again, breaking away and taking a small step back. Draco’s hands left Harry’s hair and rested instead on Harry’s shoulders. Draco let himself absorb the feeling of the hard muscle under his fingers, and the way Harry was still clutching his middle like he was a life preserver. They stared at each other, still breathing heavily.

“That was…” Draco whispered.

“Yes, it was,” Harry agreed, nodding. 

“That was… what, exactly?” Draco said in a daze.

“That was… unexpected?” Harry ventured.

“Yes.”

“But not really unexpected."

“No.”

“And… good.”

“Very good,” Draco amended. 

A smile lit up Harry’s face. “I’m glad we agree.”

Harry leaned in slowly, but Draco instinctively pulled his head away even as Harry was leaning towards him. 

Harry pulled back and looked in Draco’s eyes, his face questioning. 

Draco’s hands had drifted downward, now settled against Harry’s hard chest, holding him at not-quite-arm’s length. 

“Harry,” he whispered. 

Harry’s eyes drifted closed for a moment, drinking in the sound of his name like water on a hot day. He stepped into Draco’s space again, as if being pulled by an invisible string. Harry’s forehead leaned forward and came to rest against Draco’s. 

“Draco?” he whispered in response. 

Draco bit his lip as Harry’s green eyes looked up again and met his own. He felt his heart stutter along with his resolve. 

“I want to do that again,” Draco felt himself whisper.

Harry grinned. “Then why did you pull away, you prat? Because I really, really want to do it again, too.”

Draco felt pained, so unsure what to do, so deeply, deeply afraid. He wanted this, he wanted Harry, in every way, in his bones. But this was all so fast, and he was so… inexperienced. Not only was he still a virgin, but he hadn’t even gone any further than snogging a boy. Potter could bag a new boy--or girl--every night if he so desired. And Draco didn’t want to be just another one of the Great Harry Potter’s conquests. 

He tried to think of a way to say all that without sounding insulting, but it was impossible to form any coherent thoughts at all when he could taste Harry’s breath on his tongue, feel Harry in his pores. 

Harry leaned in once again at Draco’s silence, and Draco forced himself to pull out of Harry’s tight embrace. It felt like leaving the warm hearth of a fireplace in a frozen room. 

Harry let out a somewhat frustrated groan and took a full step back, shifting on his feet. He ran a hand through his hair and looked up at Draco.

“I’m sorry…” Draco whispered.

“Draco, your mixed signals could give anyone whiplash.”

Draco bit his lip and rubbed a hand over his forehead. “I know. I’m really awful, I know.”

Harry groaned again, but softer this time. “You’re not awful.”

Draco just looked at him, still trying and failing to come up with a logical explanation as to why on earth he was still pushing the idiot away when he wanted so desperately to pull him closer.

“Would it help if I left?” Harry said gently. 

“No,” Draco said quickly and emphatically. “Well, maybe, but no, I don’t want you to leave.”

Harry let out one last sigh of frustration and flopped himself down onto Draco’s fluffy white armchair. “Then will you please just tell me what the hell is going through that gorgeous blonde head of yours before I run mad?”

Draco wasn’t too confused to let the compliment settle on him like a fresh spring rain, calming and delighting him at once. He felt a shy smile creep onto his face.

“Gorgeous?”

Harry growled, actually growled at him. “Draco.”

Chastened, and more than a little aroused, Draco took another step back and forced himself to stop looking at Harry. He slowly sat down on the edge of the couch and folded his hands in his lap, crossing one ankle behind the other. 

“Let me see if I can explain this,” Draco said. 

Harry leaned back and got comfortable in the chair as he gestured with his hand for Draco to continue. “Please do.”

“I want to kiss you,” Draco said. “Very much.”

Harry took his head in his hands and groaned again, looking utterly pained. “But?”

“But a few hours ago I hated you,” Draco said. 

“You didn’t hate me a few hours ago.”

“Yes, I did.”

“You only thought you hated me,” Harry said almost smugly.

“Same difference, Potter.”

Harry sighed in frustration. “Alright, so you hated me a few hours ago. What does that matter?”

“It matters,” Draco said. 

“Why?”

“Because… this is happening very quickly. And I don’t know if… I don’t know exactly how I feel about that, I suppose.”

Harry looked up at him incredulously. “Are we really about to have the relationship talk right now?”

Draco raised his chin, trying to look dignified. “Well, what if I want to?”

“Want to what?” Harry asked. 

“Talk about it first,” Draco said. 

“Talk about what, exactly?” Harry asked. 

“About… you know.”

Harry shook his head. “What?”

“You know what, Potter!” Draco wanted to pull his hair out in frustration. 

“Sex?” Harry said casually. “Or a relationship?”

“Well, both, I imagine,” Draco murmured, nervously twisting his hands in his lap. 

“Alright,” Harry said. 

“Alright, what?”

“Alright, let’s talk about it.”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “You want to talk about it?”

“You want to talk about it,” Harry clarified. “I’m merely trying to follow your wavy lines running about all over the place.”

Draco sighed. “You’re right.”

Harry lifted his eyebrows. “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you say that to me, Malfoy.”

Draco chuckled. “Don’t get used to it, Potter.”

Harry smiled at him. Despite all of this, Harry was still smiling at him. It gave Draco strength. 

“Harry,” Draco began, noting the way Harry’s eyes softened immediately upon hearing his name. “I don’t need to talk about anything like that. All I want to say is that I want to take my time with you, because this feels like more than a one-night thing to me.”

Harry looked at him strangely and gestured for him to continue. 

Draco shook his head. “That’s about it, really.”

“And what makes you think that I see this as a one-night thing?” Harry asked. His voice was very quiet. "You kissed me, for crying out loud.”

“Oh. Erm…” 

Now that Draco thought about it, Harry hadn’t really given any indication that he would take off running the morning after, or anything close to that. Draco had just assumed the worst, because… well, because…

“Because you’re Harry bloody Potter, for Merlin’s sake,” he spat out. 

Harry furrowed his brow. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re the most famous wizard in the world!” Draco said, exasperated. “Every witch and wizard in the country wants to sleep with you; you could have literally anyone you want. Why on earth would you ever stick around once you’ve bedded the Death Eater?”

“Former!” Harry shouted, and it took Draco so much by surprise that he promptly forgot what else he had wanted to say. He shrank back a little against the couch.

Harry was clutching at his hair again, and Draco just sat there, watching him. 

“Sorry,” Harry muttered. “But I don’t like it when you get so down on yourself, and call yourself something you’re not. You’re not a Death Eater anymore and you’re not awful and you don’t deserve to be treated poorly for the rest of your life just because you made some stupid mistakes in your past. Okay?”

Draco just nodded at him, speechless. 

“Look, Draco,” Harry said, meeting his eyes. “We don’t have to have sex tonight. Or ever, if it’s not what you want. I’m certainly not expecting anything. Believe it or not, I didn’t write you that letter as some plot to get you into bed with me, and… well, honestly, it kind of sucks that you think I’m just looking to shag you.”

Draco lowered his head, slightly ashamed that he’d assumed the worst of Potter. He should certainly know better by now.

“But whatever this is,” Harry continued softly, “it was never going to just be a one-and-done for me. You mean more to me than that now, and I know this is all so, so, so weird, and out of the blue, and fast, because yes, we did sort of hate each other a few hours ago. But… that was a few hours ago. Things change. Things can change, that much, even in just a few hours. And they have.”

Draco just kept looking at him. He had no idea what he could possibly say. His whole psyche was in tatters.

“Well, they have for me, anyway,” Harry grumbled. “I suppose I should go, now that I’ve said my piece and can officially die from humiliation.”

He stood and walked to the door, and just before he grabbed his rucksack, Draco stood up as well. 

“Wait.”

Harry sighed. “Yes?” he said warily.

“Things changed for me, too,” Draco said, so quietly that he was surprised Harry heard him, but he must have, because he turned to slowly face him again. 

“They did?” Harry said. 

“They did.”

Harry nodded but didn’t move. “Alright? And?”

Draco wasn’t sure how to say what he was feeling, because as eloquent a speaker as Potter told him he was, when it really counted, sometimes Draco still failed to find the words. 

Harry threw his hands up in frustration. “Draco, I swear to Merlin…”

“Yes, okay!? Things changed for me!” Draco exclaimed. “I don’t know what else to say!”

“Well think of something!” Harry barked.

“I don’t know! I don’t bloody know, Potter, alright! Because the moment I look at you, all hell breaks loose in my brain and all my words fly out my ears and all I can see is your damn green eyes and I lose absolutely all control and it terrifies me! No one has ever come close to having this power over me, aside from a psychopath, and it’s been just a few fucking hours, Potter! Hours! You can’t control my emotions this effectively in a few hours, I won’t bloody let you, you fucking stupid arse!”

And with that, Draco spun on his heel, stomped into the kitchen, flung open the back door, and trod down the short pathway into his tiny garden. He kept walking until he was at the very end of the yard, with nowhere to go but headlong into the hedgerow.

Draco numbly stared over the short hedge into the darkness of the night and realized with a huff that Potter had just driven him out of his own house. It was further evidence of the amount of power Potter had over him, and he hated it, hated it, hated it…

Every word he had said to Potter was true. And he hated it.

Draco suddenly felt as if he might faint. He quickly stepped back over to the wooden bench he had purchased last summer, which faced the small but bountiful rose bush that was the pride and joy of his garden, and sank onto it. He folded his legs up under him, pulling his knees up to his chin, and wrapped his arms around his legs, hugging himself. 

He knew Harry had gone by now, and he couldn’t bring himself to go back inside and see nothing but his empty house. And Harry somehow belonged in that house now. He could feel it in his very core. Yet, once again, his fear had dictated the course of his actions, something he had always vowed, without success, to change about himself. Perhaps cocking things up was one of the many things that were so 'very much Draco’ of him, as Harry had said. Harry had always had the mark of him, after all.

Before Draco knew it, he realized he was crying. 

And this was exactly what he hadn’t wanted. Potter coming into his house, making himself comfortable, and then leaving, and Draco all the while sitting in his fear, and being left. 

The chill and quiet of the night helped to still his mind some, and he knew he had to face the truth that he could see so clearly now. Potter was right: things had changed immeasurably for them in just a few wonderful, beautiful, surprising hours. Draco knew, without any doubt, that this would never just be a one-night thing. It would never be a one-week thing, either, or even a one-year thing. There was too much between them now, and perhaps there always had been. It was always going to be an earth-shattering, painful, glorious tornado with Potter. It could never be anything less. And Draco didn’t think he wanted it any other way.

“Would it help if I talked, then?” 

Draco didn’t want to turn around and see Harry behind him, and he certainly didn’t want Harry to see the tears on his face. He tried to wipe them away discreetly but he knew he was far too obvious for that, so he just decided to be Draco and be obvious, pride be damned. He wiped his hands across his face and sniffled dramatically. 

“Yes,” he said, sounding like a petulant child. 

“You’re very moody,” Harry said with fondness. 

“Fuck off, Potter,” Draco mumbled. 

He felt Harry sit down very close beside him on the small bench. 

“I’m sorry,” Harry said gently. 

Draco looked at him, baffled. “What on earth do you have to be sorry for?”

Harry shrugged. “It seemed like the right thing to say.”

Draco burst out laughing. “You really are a huge arsehole, Harry Potter.”

Harry was staring at him, that maddening half smile playing on his face. 

“I’m sorry if I made you feel pressured in any way,” Harry said, so compassionately that it made Draco feel like crying all over again. “Please believe that I never intended to make you feel that way.”

Draco groaned. “Why is it, Potter, that you can muster up the words when it really counts, despite being a blithering idiot at every other moment?”

Harry shrugged again. “It’s how I am.”

Draco sighed. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

Harry nudged Draco’s shoulder gently. “And you’re sort of the opposite. No one can make words sound sexier than you can, until you really need to say something, and then it all comes out in rambles.”

“Yes, well, it’s how I am,” Draco repeated Harry’s phrase back to him petulantly, wisely choosing to ignore the ‘sexy’ comment.

Harry smiled at him. “I like how you are.”

Draco rolled his eyes to keep himself from swooning.

“I’m afraid we’re just a couple of messed up blokes, Malfoy,” Harry said with a sigh. “But I don’t mind my own failings so much, when you’re around. You make me feel better about myself. About everything, really.”

Draco thought that was a bloody wonderful thing to say, but he would never tell Harry that.

“And we complement each other, yes?” Harry continued.

Draco stared at his hands and bit back a grin. “I suppose.” 

“I’m a blithering idiot, as you said, and you’re proper and polite. I leap first, you look. I’m brown and you’re paper white.”

Draco snorted. “Very eloquent, Potter.”

Harry rested his knee against Draco’s, and he felt the familiar heat, the fluttering of snitches all through his body.

“I’ve decided we’re not going to have sex tonight,” Harry said suddenly.

Draco looked over at him, surprised. Harry chuckled at the face he must have been making. 

“What?” Draco said. 

“Well, you obviously haven’t a clue what you really want, and I think when it comes to sex, or most things, really, if it isn’t an emphatic yes, then it should be an emphatic no. So I’m putting my foot down and drawing a line that says no shagging tonight. Deal?”

Draco snorted. “Far be it from me to cross a line drawn by the great Harry Potter.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “It’s still a wonder to me that I want to have sex with you at all, Malfoy.”

Draco felt himself blushing. Harry wanted to have sex with him? He had guessed as much, but it was nice to have it said aloud. Harry wanted to have sex with him.

“Yes, you raging prat, I do,” Harry said, once again answering Draco’s thoughts. Draco smiled at him, and Harry smiled back. 

“But,” he continued, “not tonight. As I said. So.”

“I see your lack of proper English has returned in full force,” Draco muttered. 

“Back to normal, then,” Harry said.

“So my words are sexy again?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “I really believe that no one in this world thinks more highly of himself than you do.”

“You’re the one who said it, Potter,” Draco countered, “and you can’t take back any of the lovely things you’ve said tonight. They’re all out there now.”

“Lovely?” Harry said, raising his eyebrows with a teasing smile. “You think my words are lovely?”

Draco forced himself not to smile back. “Well you think mine are sexy, so I suppose we’re even.”

“So you think I’m lovely,” Harry said, grinning.

Draco rolled his eyes. “I don’t know what to say to that, Potter.”

“Right, after all, this is one of those moments when you should absolutely be using your words, so of course you can muster up none.” Harry nudged him again. 

His words were gentle, teasing, but they cut Draco to the quick. Harry was right. Draco owed him some lovely words, because Harry had given him more than a few this evening. More than that, he wanted Harry to hear them. He wanted to speak when it really mattered, for once in his damn life.

Drawing from his meager supply of courage, Draco silently took one of Harry’s hands in his own. It felt rough, a little dry, but warm, so warm in his. He looked up into Harry’s eyes and saw that Harry was already looking at him, surprise etched on his handsome face. Draco forced himself to swallow his fear. For Harry. 

“You make me feel nervous,” Draco began, quietly. “I was afraid of the things I was starting to feel already, because it hit me so forcefully, and this is all totally out of nowhere. And, yes, it made me afraid, because I’m entirely powerless against you, Harry. That’s why I was acting so erratic in there. Because you make me feel as if I have no control, and that’s… That’s a feeling that I don’t handle well.”

Harry was quiet beside him, but he ran his rough thumb over Draco’s hand and pulled their joined hands into his lap. Draco had no objections to that.

“I want to have sex with you, too, for the record.” Draco forced himself to say the words out loud, and he found that they sounded less terrifying once they were out of his head and dancing in the space between him and Harry. “Emphatically.”

Harry snorted beside him. “Don’t try to influence me now, Malfoy. I’ve drawn my line.”

Draco smiled and followed the sudden impulse to lean his head onto Harry’s shoulder. It felt warm, hard, reassuring under him, and it wasn’t more than a few seconds before he felt Harry’s head on top of his own.

“Thank you for saying all that, Draco,” Harry said. “You can always say anything to me, you know.”

“I frequently do, Potter,” Draco snickered. “In fact, you seem to pull things out of me even if I don’t want them said.”

“Why don’t you want them said?” Harry asked. “I love your words.”

Draco felt a rush of pleasure at the word love.

“Because it’s only been a few hours, as we keep pointing out.”

“Technically it’s been ten years,” Harry countered. “Don’t forget that we’ve both been taking notes on each other for half our lives. Maybe this isn’t quite as new as it might seem.”

Draco supposed that was the truth. Harry had been a big part of his world for half his life. The idea felt warm in his head.

“I want you to know that I’ll probably always be like this,” Draco said after a minute of silence. 

“Like what?” Harry murmured softly. 

“Unable to say how I really feel.”

“Well it’s nice to know that you can manage it when forced,” Harry said. He squeezed Draco’s hand to let him know he was teasing again. 

Draco relished the feeling that Harry knew him so well as to know that teasing was the exact right thing to do at this moment. He was starting to really believe that Harry knew him better than most people, and he suddenly wanted to spend hours testing that theory.

“Your turn, then,” Draco said, his mind made up. 

“My turn?”

“I’d like a few more of your lovely words, if you please,” he said. 

Harry snorted out a laugh. “I have no problem showering you with lovely words, Draco Malfoy, because you’re lovely. You deserve to be praised. You’re smarter than just about anyone I know; you’ve been through hell and allowed it to help you grow as a person; you’re good at fighting with me; you’re sarcastic and maddening and mean and it’s undeniably sexy. You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. You smell glorious. And I want to be around you. And it scares me too, just so you know.”

Draco couldn’t exactly formulate any intelligible words at the moment, so he just let it all slowly seep into his core. He heard the chirping of crickets in the distance and he inhaled Harry’s now-familiar scent.

“Oh,” he finally managed. 

Harry chuckled. “There he is.”

“Can I try again then?”

“Be my guest.”

“Erm,” Draco started, chewing on his lip for a moment. “Oh, here’s something.”

“Let’s have it.”

“Kissing you was…”

Draco paused, not sure if there was a word in any language that could accurately say what kissing Harry was. 

“I’m waiting, Malfoy.”

“I know,” he said. “But I can’t come up with a good enough adjective.”

Harry pulled his head away abruptly, and Draco did the same, looking up at him in confusion. But Harry looked positively delighted. 

“Draco, you’re getting better. That was a very good line.”

Draco raised his chin in the air haughtily. “I know.”

Harry suddenly clutched Draco’s chin and turned Draco’s face to his own. Draco raised his eyebrows. 

“Why am I being manhandled, Potter?” He knew his voice failed to disguise exactly how much he loved it.

“Because I want to manhandle you. In every way. Preferably until neither of us can walk anymore,” Harry growled, low and seductive, looking hungrily at Draco’s mouth.

The blood drained from Draco’s face and rushed into other parts of his body, and he swallowed. “Oh?”

Harry merely grinned and let go of Draco’s chin. “But not tonight.”

Draco exhaled in frustration. “You’re a bloody tease, you know that, Potter?”

“Ha!” Harry yelled.

“Yes, yes, alright, I’m the tease.” 

“And how,” Harry laughed. 

“It’s not my fault,” Draco muttered in a petty voice. 

“No, nothing is your fault, is it, you Slytherin.”

Harry stood up suddenly and started walking towards the house. Draco watched him take a few steps, and then Harry held his hand out and called out over his shoulder, “Stop staring at my arse and come inside, I started a fire.”

Draco scrambled to his feet, sure from his head to his toes that he would always follow Harry anywhere he asked him to go. The thought was slightly less frightening now, but Draco couldn’t say why.

He wordlessly took Harry’s proffered hand and they walked back into the house. Draco walked through the kitchen while Harry shut the back door behind him. 

“Go get warm by the fire,” Harry said with a smile. “I’ll get us something to drink.”

Draco nodded and started to walk into the sitting room as Harry walked toward the fridge. 

Draco felt warm deep in his belly, safe, secure, at ease. It was a new feeling, one that he happily put on like a worn-in old jumper and snuggled into. And it was because of Harry. Harry made him feel like he was not broken, not beyond hope, not worthless. Harry made him feel like he was treasured and beloved. 

Draco suddenly stopped dead where he stood, the force of how he felt hitting him like a brick to the temple. And if he couldn’t tell Harry how he felt, then he needed to show him, and he needed to show him right this second. He turned around and walked silently back into the kitchen.

“Reckon you can handle another beer?” Harry called, his head in the fridge, perfect denim-clad arse in the air, not aware that Draco was walking up behind him.

When Draco didn’t reply, Harry straightened up and turned around, two bottles of Newcastle in hand. “Dra--” he started to call, before seeing Draco there in front of him. Harry’s eyebrows lifted as he slowly closed the fridge door. 

“Hi,” Harry said, smiling jovially.

Draco took the bottles from him and set them determinedly on the counter, ignoring any residual nerves. He took Harry’s hands in his, cold now from the beer, and pulled him backwards, the two of them stepping in sync like a waltz until Draco felt his lower back hit up against the countertop behind him. Harry stood facing him, questions written all over his face. There was a foot of space between them, which would never do, and Draco pulled Harry gently towards his body. Harry’s breathing began to shorten, and Draco’s did as well. Having him so near, and feeling the warmth of his body, felt so right and so easy that Draco hardly felt the fear at all anymore. 

When Harry’s chest was almost flush against his, Draco let go of his hands and snaked his arms around Harry’s neck, hugging him even closer. Harry let a small ‘mmm’ escape his lips as he wound his own arms snug against Draco’s back, and Draco drank in the sound. 

“See, Potter?” Draco whispered. “Words aren’t always necessary.”

“Shut up,” came the muffled reply, breathed against Draco’s ear. 

Draco shivered even as he smiled, and he nestled his head further into the crook of Harry’s neck. Harry responded by burying his face in Draco’s hair. He felt Harry breathe in, slow and deep, inhaling the scent like a drug, and then exhaling in a deliciously slow quiver.

The sound of it thrashed into Draco like a lightning bolt. He let his body take over, planting small kisses on Harry’s shoulder, on his neck, on the skin behind his ear. He let his tongue dart out and skim the shell of Harry’s ear, pushing his hips outward and feeling Harry, terrifically stiff against him. One of Draco’s hands twisted through Harry’s hair and the other tightened its grasp on Harry’s neck and shoulders, wanting him to come even closer still. Harry took the hint immediately and pulled Draco by the waist, tight against his body, and Draco gasped sharply when Harry rutted his hardness against Draco’s thigh. 

“Oh,” Draco breathed out as Harry’s arms fell lower, resting on his arse and pulling even tighter. 

Draco heard and felt Harry’s heavy breathing against his neck, felt his own leaving his mouth, and he could honestly say that he could die at this moment and regret absolutely nothing. Harry was all over him, every inch of him, consuming his thoughts, and it was exactly as it should be. 

“I thought I told you we weren’t having sex tonight,” Harry groaned into Draco’s ear, and he almost came from that alone. Even as he said it, Harry rutted his erection up against Draco’s. The world blurred around him as Draco moaned in delight.

“We’re not,” Draco agreed in a shaky voice, though he didn’t really want to agree anymore. He let his words flow heedlessly out of him. “But I love feeling you against me like this. I want your body against mine so you can feel what you do to me, how much I want you.”

Harry groaned again, this time skimming his lips against Draco’s neck and licking a long, thin line up to his ear. 

“You’ll be the death of me,” Harry whispered in his ear before biting the lobe. 

Draco heard the high-pitched whimper fall from his own mouth and was powerless to stop it. He felt himself melt against Harry, their cocks still rubbing deliciously against each other beneath their clothing. 

“Don’t stop,” Draco heard himself say, in a throaty whisper, barely aware of what he was saying as he kept pushing his hardness up against Harry. 

“I’ll never stop,” Harry whispered back. 

Draco moaned into Harry’s neck and then pulled away just enough to kiss him again. Draco drowned in the kiss, lost himself in the intoxicating taste of Harry. Their tongues hungrily thrashed against one another, their hips finding a rhythm as they rocked together, and Draco was hardly even conscious of the embarrassing sounds he knew he was making. He could feel a spot of precum blooming on the outside of his trousers.

Suddenly Draco felt Harry’s hands on his belt and pulled his lips away. 

“What are you doing?” he asked in a raspy voice. 

“We’re not having sex,” Harry murmured into his lips. “But I want to jerk you off. I fucking need to.”

Draco groaned and leaned his head back, Harry’s mouth kissing and licking and sucking all over his neck. 

“Is that okay?” Harry breathed into his ear.

“Oh Harry,” Draco moaned, “yes... fuck...”

Draco tilted his head down again, watching Harry’s dexterous fingers as they quickly opened the flies of his own jeans. His erection was tenting his pants, and Draco’s was still painfully hard in his trousers. The kitchen counter was digging into his back and he knew it would leave a mark, to join the ones Harry had been leaving all over his neck already, but it made him feel marvellously wanton.

“Draco…” Harry breathed into his mouth before capturing Draco’s bottom lip between his teeth. “I need to…”

Draco moaned again. “Harry… yes, Harry, jerk me off. Jerk us both off.”

Harry let out a strangled sound and fumbled to unbuckle Draco’s trousers as they kissed messily, out of control. Draco helped him along, his need for Harry consuming him. Finally they had undone his belt and the zipper of his trousers and Harry pulled both his and Draco’s rock hard cocks from their pants. 

“Draco,” Harry slurred into his neck, “are you sure…?”

“Fucking jerk me off, Potter, I’m begging you,” Draco grunted out, and Harry’s hand was on his cock, wrapped around him in a tight and glorious grasp. 

Draco yelled out, louder than he meant to, but he couldn’t stop it. Without consciously thinking about it, Draco took hold of Harry’s cock as well, stroking and rubbing clumsily and eagerly. The sounds Harry was making in his ear were enough to drive Draco to insanity, and he knew he was being equally barbaric, and he loved it, and he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t fucking stop.

Draco ran his thumb over the tip of Harry’s cock and used the precum to lubricate himself and Harry. He wanted more, wanted to make Harry even harder for him, wanted to see if it was even possible. He grabbed his wand from his back pocket and hastily shot a lubricating spell at his own hand, slicking up Harry’s cock first and then his own, before dropping his wand to the floor. 

“Ah, Draco…” Harry groaned into his shoulder, his head falling heavy against him, teeth biting into his collarbone. 

They furiously stroked each other, the sound of their slippery cocks making Draco practically mad with lust. Suddenly Harry took both of them in his hand, rubbing them at the same time. Draco nearly screamed. He was close, so close to coming. He had never been so hard in his life.

“I won’t last…” Harry grunted, panting.

“Fuck, I don’t care, Harry, I won’t either… I want you to come, I’m going to, too…” Draco hardly registered saying these things; all he could think about was the feeling of Harry against him, Harry’s breath on his neck, Harry’s slick sweat on his face, Harry’s cock nestled against his, both of them leaking and rock hard, Harry’s fingers wrapped around them both, Harry everywhere…

Before Draco could stop it, he released a primal, strangled yell as he felt himself come, shooting harder than he thought he could, onto Harry’s hand, his cock, his green t-shirt. He felt in utter ecstasy, as if he left his body, barely hearing Harry’s own guttural groan as he came only a few seconds later. The feel of it splashing against Draco's skin made him shiver all over.

Draco breathed in and out, quickly, so quickly, and gradually felt himself rejoining his body. He had draped his arms loosely around Harry’s shoulders without telling himself to, his fingers laced together behind Harry’s neck. He opened his eyes and straightened his head to see that Harry was staring at him, an indefinable look on his face. Perhaps it was something like wonder.

“Holy shit,” Harry whispered, grasping him tightly, leaning heavily against Draco’s body. 

Draco could only breathe out something like a laugh, feeling almost hysterically euphoric, his legs feeling like water.

“Potter, I can barely hold myself up right now, let alone you,” Draco said, his voice coming out soft and warm. 

“Oh,” Harry muttered, chuckling in a breathless kind of way. “Sorry.”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” Draco murmured.

Harry slowly pushed himself back off of Draco and ran a hand through his own hair while he reached into his back pocket. Draco watched, still dazed, while Harry cast a wordless cleaning spell over them. 

Harry looked up at Draco shyly as he tucked his wand back in his pocket, then he grinned, and he moved in for a kiss, a lazy, sloppy, seemingly never-ending one. Draco couldn’t get enough of him. He wanted to fuse himself to Harry so they could never leave each other’s sides. Every kiss felt like coming home.

Finally Harry pulled his lips away from Draco’s and took a long look at him. 

“Fuck,” Harry whispered, pushing a lock of hair from Draco’s forehead. “You look absolutely debauched.”

Draco laughed. “I feel it, I assure you.”

Draco gently pushed Harry further away and tucked himself back inside his trousers, watching Harry do the same. It was a strangely erotic visual, and when they were done, they both instantly leaned in for another kiss, this one starting out rough and then gradually turning into the gentlest one yet, a whisper of lips against lips. Draco felt as if he was on a cloud. He felt light. He felt perfect.

“Sitting room?” Harry murmured against his lips.

Draco hummed in response and Harry pulled him by both hands into the sitting room, not letting his eyes leave Draco’s face the whole way there. Draco laughed when they bumped up against the door frame, and Harry smiled before he kissed him again.

Harry stopped in front of the couch and flopped down, yanking off his glasses and flinging them onto the coffee table. He pulled Draco on top of him and in for another kiss. Draco adjusted his weight so that he was kneeling, straddling Harry’s hips, and then he leaned back slightly so he was sitting comfortably against the tops of Harry’s thighs. They laced their hands together, letting them hover somewhere around Harry’s ears. 

Draco couldn’t help himself; he laughed his way through the kiss, and Potter joined in after a moment. 

Finally they gave up and broke away, laughing at seemingly nothing for a moment. Draco had never felt so overjoyed before. Harry filled him with light.

“Fuck, I can’t move,” Harry said a moment later, as he kept laughing. 

“Well you pulled me onto you!” Draco replied, physically unable to wipe the smile off his face, trying to shift off of Harry.

“No,” Harry said through his own wide grin, moving his hips and lifting his leg up for a moment to prevent Draco from moving. “Not because of you, you weigh half a stone. Don’t move.”

“Oh, I see, you can’t move because you’re so positively worn out by the sexual prowess of yours truly?” 

“Beautiful, arrogant, prick, I swear,” Harry laughed. “Kiss me again.”

Draco was more than happy to obey. He and Harry kissed for a moment, this time blissfully sweet and unhurried. When Draco pulled away, he looked down at Harry, but Harry kept his eyes closed, a smile still on his lips. Draco’s gaze was frozen on that face, so overcome by his feelings that he almost couldn’t breathe. 

“Stop that,” Draco whispered.

“Hmm?” Harry opened his eyes halfway, the bright green peering lazily out at Draco, easy grin fixed in place. Without his glasses, Harry’s eyes were almost staggeringly arresting.

“You’re so handsome it makes my heart hurt,” Draco said before he could allow himself to think about it. He leaned in and kissed Harry before he could respond. 

Harry sighed into Draco’s mouth and brushed his tongue against Draco’s. Draco eagerly returned the favor, running his tongue in a circle over Potter’s once, twice, three times. 

Harry pulled away with a groan. “If you keep kissing me like that, I’ll get hard again.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing, Potter,” Draco said, but he stopped kissing Harry all the same. Instead, he skated his lips across Harry’s cheek, up his temple, and back across his forehead. He ran his tongue over each inch until, without noticing, he was licking the lightning bolt scar on Harry’s forehead. He could feel the bump of scar tissue beneath his tongue, ragged and rough, and he found that he loved the feel of it. 

Harry had grown quite still beneath him, so Draco forced himself to stop, pulling away to look at Harry. His green eyes looked inexplicably lost. 

“Harry?” Draco asked, brushing a hand through Harry’s slightly sweaty black hair. “I’m sorry, should I not have done that?”

“No,” Harry said, “you can do that.”

Draco tried to read his face but he couldn’t, and he felt himself tense up as a result. “Sorry,” he murmured again, trying to pull himself off Harry’s lap again.

Harry lowered his hands to Draco’s hips. “Would you stop trying to get off me, you prat? I like you on top of me.”

“I feel as if I made you uncomfortable,” Draco said. “I don’t want you to feel that way.”

Harry smiled up at him, Draco’s favorite half-smile, and then brushed his knuckles along Draco’s jaw. 

“It made me uncomfortable in a good way,” Harry said softly, resting his hand against Draco’s cheek. Draco leaned into it and kept looking into Harry’s eyes, unsure. 

“No one’s ever licked my scar before,” Harry said, before laughing. “It was nice.”

Draco felt slightly embarrassed now. “I won’t do it again.”

“Draco,” Harry said gently. “I’m laughing because I’m happy. I’m not laughing at you.”

Draco sniffed haughtily. 

Harry looked as if he was pondering things deeply. He took his hand off of Draco’s face and absentmindedly played with Draco’s hair instead.

“People tend to treat my scar like it’s… I dunno, off limits or something, tainted somehow. No one ever even touches it, but you licked it, like it’s just something normal, another nondescript part of me. It felt very, very nice. I promise. You can definitely do it again.”

Draco kissed him swiftly. “Alright, Harry.”

Harry leaned forward and nibbled at his chin. “You’re sort of perfect, I think.”

Draco snorted. “Don’t go all Hufflepuff on me now, Potter.”

Harry chuckled and kissed Draco’s neck. Draco reached around to pull Harry’s wand from his back pocket and waved it at the kitchen, summoning the forgotten beers from the counter. 

“Yes, go ahead and feel free to use my wand, sweetheart,” Harry teased, smiling broadly as the bottles flew into the sitting room and into Draco’s hands.

Draco rolled his eyes. He found that he rather liked being called sweetheart, even if it was used in a teasing manner. 

“Well, mine’s still in the kitchen, darling,” he teased back. 

Yes, that sounded very nice on his tongue.

“Oh, I’m not complaining,” Harry said. “Kind of hot, really.”

Draco chuckled. “You’re mental.”

He opened one of the beers and handed it to Harry, then opened his own. They clinked bottles, said cheers, and smiled at each other as they took the first swig. As soon as they finished that, Draco hovered the beers onto the coffee table with Harry’s wand and they kissed again. Draco truly couldn’t help himself. Harry was a magnet and he was powerless. 

After a minute or two of glorious snogging, Draco pulled his lips away. He took a handful of Harry’s hair in his fingers and tugged gently. “You might kill me, Potter.”

Harry’s grin only got bigger. “Get off me, I need a wee.”

Draco smirked. “How classy of you.”

But he shifted off of Harry while Harry gently helped lift his hips so that Draco was sitting on the couch. Harry grabbed his glasses and shoved them back on his face. Then he leaned over Draco and placed a hand on each side of the couch beside Draco’s head, trapping him there. Harry gave him a quick peck, and then a second one. 

He pulled away and looked Draco deep in the eye, his face only inches away. “When I get back you can lick my scar some more.”

Draco would have been embarrassed by the shit-eating grin on his face if he hadn’t felt so ridiculously, immeasurably happy. Harry walked out of the room and Draco felt his entire body unclench, his head scrambling to catch up with the rest of him. What on earth had happened to him? Well, he knew the answer to that. He’d been Pottered.

Suddenly the sheer force of the facts hit him like a bludger to the head. 

He just made out with Harry Potter. 

He had rubbed Harry Potter’s cock.

He had made Harry Potter come.

Oh, fuck!

Draco once again forced himself to count to five and take a deep breath. He was losing grip and he realized that he needed to regain some equilibrium before he spun out of control again. He had known from the beginning that he couldn’t think clearly when Potter was around him; he never had been able to. When it came to Harry, he was completely and utterly helpless. He felt as if he was on a runaway train that kept gaining speed.

He quickly pushed himself up from the couch, fetched his wand from the kitchen floor, grabbed his beer off the coffee table and migrated to the armchair. There, now Potter would be a few feet away at least. It might help.

A mellow song Draco had never heard played from the radio, which was still on. He listened to it for a moment and let himself just breathe in time to the slow melody. It was comforting. For the first time Draco noticed that Harry had indeed started a fire, and the room was toasty and cozy. Draco pulled his legs up underneath him and chugged half his beer in one go, feeling reasonably more clear-headed.

Harry came back into the living room. 

“Oh this is a great song too,” he muttered, and then he frowned at Draco. “What are you doing over there?”

“I need the distance, Potter,” Draco said, taking another swig. “You cloud my logic.”

Harry flopped onto the couch and grinned. “Is it wrong that I feel a little proud of that fact?”

“Yes,” Draco said. “It’s downright Slytherin of you.”

“Turns you on, does it?” Harry swigged his beer as well. 

“More than I could possibly tell you,” Draco said, nodding. 

Harry laughed. “Well this is fine, I can admire you just as easily from a distance.”

Draco growled into his beer. “Must you say things like that, Potter?”

“Yes, I must.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t think people tell you enough.”

“Tell me what?”

“That you’re exquisite.”

Draco stared at him. 

“I need a wee now,” Draco said, standing up. 

“Hey,” Harry said, standing up and taking a step towards him as he passed by.

“No, no,” Draco said, holding his hand up. “Distance, please, Potter.”

“Are you okay?” Harry asked, placing a hand on Draco’s arm.

“I’m fine,” Draco said, unaware if it was true or not. He pecked Harry on the cheek to placate him a little. “I just need a wee, so if you’ll excuse me…”

He walked to the bathroom as quickly as his legs could take him. Draco let his mind wander as he relieved himself.

What was wrong with him? Why did Potter make him feel so erratic? In a matter of hours he had experienced more emotions than he had in the past three years put together; his head was spinning with them, and he didn’t know what to do anymore. All he knew was that, though distance was probably the wisest choice, he didn’t want distance. He wanted Harry beside him, on top of him, underneath him, inside him. Draco still couldn’t fathom how he could feel so strongly about his former enemy in a matter of hours. It made him feel intoxicated. 

Draco finished in the loo and crossed the sitting room to his armchair without looking at Potter. Draco reached for his beer and noticed a glass of water beside it, which Harry must have summoned for him. Something about it made his heart stutter. He looked up to see that Harry was looking at him as he thought of dropped quaffles. 

“What’s the matter, Draco?”

“Nothing, Potter.” It felt like the truth.

“Really nothing? Or something you don’t want to talk about?”

Draco paused. 

Harry sighed. “Please just tell me?”

“I’m just trying to process everything,” Draco said honestly. “It still boggles my mind, all of this. I mean, you just jerked me off in my kitchen, for Merlin’s sake.”

A slow grin formed on Harry’s face. “And you returned the favor.”

“Yes, but it happened a few minutes after you told me we wouldn’t have sex,” Draco said. “I’m certainly not complaining, it was incredible and I wanted it too. It’s just… it’s worrisome, the things you do to me, Potter.”

Harry was still smiling. “You’re getting good at telling me how you feel, you know.”

“I’m a quick learner,” Draco said smugly, picking up his glass of water and shooting it back. 

“Oh, that was sexy,” Harry said. 

“What was?” Draco said, setting the empty glass on the coffee table. 

Harry rubbed the back of his neck. “The way you threw back your water.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Honestly, the things you find attractive… And now do you see what I mean? We can’t even have a conversation without it turning sexual.”

Harry shrugged. “We talk about non-sexual things too.”

“Well, let’s try that again.”

“Alright,” Harry agreed. He moved his body and laid back on the couch so that he was on his back, his arm behind his head, staring into the fire. “See, I won’t even look at you. A sacrifice I’m sure I’ll never recover from, but I’ll try my best.”

Draco grinned to himself and watched Harry with affection, watched the muscles in his arm, watched the easy confidence he exuded in his relaxed pose. 

“What are we doing, Potter?” he asked softly.

Harry smiled into the fire. “We’re falling for each other.”

Draco felt himself melt, staring at Harry’s body, Harry’s hair, Harry’s small, contented smile. He was right, and Draco knew it. They were falling for each other, hard and fast. Why did Draco ever bother to resist? There was absolutely nothing he could do to stop this. He decided from that moment on, as he watched Harry’s chest rise and fall, that perhaps just letting it happen was the best option anyway.

“Don’t you think?” Harry asked. Draco let himself see and remember the nervous insecurity on Harry’s face, so unusual was the look on him. 

“Yes,” Draco agreed. “We are.”

Harry nodded, looking slightly relieved.

“You can look at me, Potter,” Draco chuckled. 

“Thank god,” Harry said, tossing himself onto his side so he was lying down and facing Draco, an affable grin lighting up his face and ah, Draco was lost.

“You really are quite angelic looking, Malfoy,” Harry said, the half smile a common occurrence now. 

“I’m hardly angelic, Potter,” Draco murmured. 

“Well, I did say ‘looking,’” Harry teased. 

“My mistake,” Draco said, rolling his eyes. 

“But I think you’re pretty great,” Harry said. 

“You’ve really become incredibly Hufflepuffian in your old age.”

“What can I say, you bring out my inner badger.” Harry snickered.

“Heaven help me,” Draco muttered.

“You never gave me a tour of your house, by the way,” Harry said out of nowhere. Draco really liked that he did that sometimes, as if he was saying each thought as it came to him, without filter. It made Draco feel like he was reading Harry’s mind.

“You seem to know it like the back of your hand already,” he replied.

Harry shrugged. “I just feel really comfortable in this place.”

“Yes, I can tell,” Draco said, gesturing with an amused smirk at Harry’s extremely relaxed position on his couch.

Harry laughed. “Does my poor manners offend you?”

“Do,” Draco corrected. 

“Oh bollocks, are you one of those grammar weirdos?” Harry asked, smiling.

“Adhering to the rules of proper grammar hardly makes me a weirdo, Potter,” Draco said smugly.

“You’re going to hate me,” Harry said. “Grammar is not my strong suit.”

“Well, it’s like you said earlier; we complement each other.”

Harry laughed. “Yes, you’re a genius and I’m barmy, is that it?”

“Your words, not mine.” Draco took a prim sip of his beer.

“You’re always going to be a giant tosser, aren’t you?” Harry didn’t seem too bothered by this, though. 

“Always,” Draco conceded. “Best run for the hills now.”

“I think I’ll stick around, actually,” Harry said. 

Draco smiled at him, warmed by the sweet comment.

“Well, to answer your earlier remark, you’ve basically seen the house already, aside from a very tiny bedroom the next room over,” Draco said, crossing one leg over the other. “I’m essentially living in a garden shed.”

“I know,” Harry said, “it’s brilliant.”

Draco snorted. “It’s quite the departure from the way I grew up, I know. But yes, I rather like it as well.”

“Do you miss the Manor?” Harry asked tentatively.

“No,” Draco said. He took a swig of beer.

“I see,” Harry said gently. 

Draco sighed. He supposed he should try and be open with Harry in the same way Harry had repeatedly been open with him. 

“That place... Well, it’s complicated.”

Draco cursed himself at the pathetic attempt at transparency, but Harry just kept looking at him. 

He took another deep breath and tried again. “I grew up there, and of course there are fond memories, and I cherish those. I was the centre of my parents’ universe. I could do no wrong in their eyes. Sometimes my mother would sneak up behind me and give me a hug and kiss the top of my head until I laughed. My father taught me to fly a broom and then practiced with me when I made the quidditch team. I always knew that I was loved. And that house contained all those memories for me, all those feelings.”

Harry smiled at him, silently urging him to continue.

“But for every sweet memory, there are ten more that demonstrate so clearly why I became such an insecure, insufferable twat in school,” Draco said bitterly. “Those moments when my father would grow impatient with me for not grasping the broom handle properly, or when I was reprimanded for picking up something that our house elf had dropped on the floor, or when I was told not to hug my mother back, because it was improper for a boy to be so demonstrative. Merlin help me if I ever failed to show adequate pride in our pureblood status, or questioned why I should give a rat’s arse about upholding the family name.”

Draco stared into the fire and wondered why he had never spoken these things aloud before, and why he felt so at ease speaking about them now.

“Unfortunately, after that, the memories I had there continued to deteriorate from sweet to bittersweet to something rather uglier. I’m sure you can deduce approximately when that happened."

Harry nodded to himself as Draco took another swig of beer. “I think I can hazard a guess.”

“Having him there, Harry, having him take over our home, torture people, force me to torture them as well… you can’t imagine what it was like.” 

There was a long pause, and Draco tried his hardest to just breathe and focus on the way the flames danced in the fireplace. 

“I’m so sorry, Draco,” Harry said softly. 

“Yes,” Draco said. “Well.”

After another long pause, Harry said, “I’m glad you feel like you can talk to me about it.”

“I’m glad you’re not afraid to listen.”

Harry smiled. “Complementary, once again."

“I guess I mean to say, thank you for listening, Harry.”

He smiled again. “Of course. I’m always here to listen, Draco. To anything you want to say. Especially when you end it with my name.”

Draco decided that he was done talking about his childhood now… and also that Harry’s little half-smile was truly going to drive him off the deep end sooner than later.

“Well, then... jerking off together was fun. Harry,” Draco said.

Harry laughed loudly. “Good segue. And so much for not talking about sex.”

“I’m just saying,” Draco said, lifting his chin with a smile. 

“Yes, it was fun,” Harry said softly. He paused. “I’ve never actually done that with a man before.”

Draco raised his eyebrows. “Really?” He almost admitted that he hadn’t either, but Harry shook his head and continued talking before he could muster up the courage.

“I’ve not dated much, to be honest. Ginny was my first real relationship. My only real relationship, I reckon.”

“Did you…” Draco blushed. “I mean, I assume you two were sexually active.”

“Yes, we were.”

Draco felt a perverse desire to ask him to elaborate, but at the same time, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know any details. But Harry continued. 

“And then after we broke up I dated one other girl right after her, Candace was her name. Just a short-lived thing, but I quickly found out she… wasn’t really… well, in it for the right reasons, let’s just put it that way.”

“What do you mean?” Draco asked curiously.

“Well… We slept together exactly twice, but apparently that was enough to warrant giving Witch Weekly a few very telling comments about me, and our sex life, most of which were blatantly made up.”

“Wow,” Draco muttered. “That’s awful.”

“It was pretty awful, yeah.” Harry chuckled to himself. “The worst part was that when I flooed her to ask about it she denied that she had said anything. I foolishly believed her, until she gave a full-blown interview the next day about how I was stalking and harassing her. She used a couple direct quotes that made me look a little less than gracious, so at least that was proof that the comments were actually from her this time, if somehow she was being honest when she said the first ones weren’t.”

“Damn,” Draco muttered. 

“Indeed.” Harry chuckled again. “I’m definitely not broken up about it anymore, but needless to say it took me a couple months to warm up to dating again.”

“I’ll say.” Draco shook his head. “So you’ve never dated a bloke then,” he inferred. 

“I have,” Harry said, “but just casual dates. People Ron and Hermione knew from work, people I could trust not to blab to Witch Weekly this time, fortunately. But never more than just one or two dates, and it never led to anything physical, aside from the odd brief snog. The last date I went on was with a bloke, though. Maybe two weeks ago. He was fit.”

“Why would you feel the need to tell me that, Potter?”

Harry chuckled. “Because he looked like you. The whole time I was out with him I was thinking about you, and then I couldn’t stop thinking about you, so that’s what made me write to you. Giving you your wand back was really just a convenient excuse to get to see you, honestly.”

Draco could feel his face light up. “Really?”

Harry laughed. “Yes. Really, though, he did resemble you a lot. Less beautiful than you, of course.”

Draco smiled shyly at him. 

“I have a type, it seems,” Harry continued. “At least when it comes to blokes. For some reason I’m less picky when it comes to girls.”

“Interesting,” Draco said, grinning. “So your male type is fit, poncey blondes, then.”

Harry laughed again. “So it seems.” He smiled at Draco. Draco smiled back. As if he had stopped.

“Alright, let’s hear yours, then,” Harry said.

“My type?"

“Oh I definitely still want to hear your type,” Harry said, “but let’s start with your relationships and sexual history, shall we?”

Draco leaned back in the armchair and took another swig of beer. 

“Uh-oh,” Harry said. “That bad?”

Draco chuckled. He paused and looked cautiously at Harry. 

“Well, as far as relationship history…” Draco looked up at him timidly. “I’ve never really been with anyone. I’ve gone on two dates in my life, to be honest, neither of whom were very interested in anything serious with a Death Eater… former or not. And you’re the first person with whom I’ve really done anything physical, beyond kissing.”

Draco could see the surprise on Harry’s face. “I am?”

Draco nodded. “You are.”

“Huh.”

There was a short pause. “Well, tell me what you think about that.” Draco was nervous to hear the answer.

Harry considered his response. “I’m alright with it. I’m actually sort of selfishly happy about it. And I’m more than a little curious about who you’ve snogged now, but you don’t need to tell me if you don’t want to. And I guess on the whole I’m just more than a little surprised.”

“Because?”

“Because you’re basically a living work of art,” Harry said, as if it was obvious. “And since you’ve really never had any kind of overtly sexual experience with anyone before, then what you did in the kitchen is somehow even more impressive than I already thought. Plus, honestly, I can’t fathom how you’ve gone twenty-one years without someone snapping you up, because you’re pretty damn ideal, in my opinion.”

Draco smiled at him. “Why are you so nice to me, Potter?”

“Because you deserve it,” he said, grinning softly. 

Suddenly Harry was simply too far away, and remarks like these deserved a reward, Draco thought. Draco didn’t allow himself to hesitate; he stood up and walked over to the couch. He registered the pleasant surprise on Harry’s face, but Harry turned over so that he was on his back again, propped himself up on his elbows, and stared questioningly at Draco. 

Draco said nothing, but he laid himself down on top of Harry, tucking his hands in on top of Harry’s chest, weaving his legs between Harry’s, and resting his head in his new favorite spot in the crook of Harry’s neck. Harry was everywhere again, just like he ought to be.

Harry let out a long hum and leaned back off his elbows again, resting his hands on Draco’s back. “Yes, this is where you should be.”

Draco was momentarily surprised that Harry had once again said what he had just thought himself, but then, perhaps it wasn’t that surprising at all. He allowed himself to just lie there on Harry, his smile a permanent fixture on his face.

“I’m a little surprised that you’re a cuddler, Malfoy, but I have to say I’m really, really happy about it,” Harry murmured a minute later.

“Good,” Draco replied, nuzzling in closer.

“I like finding things out about you.”

“Yes, you’re quite the sap,” Draco teased. 

Harry laughed and Draco could feel it blow through his hair. 

“Everything about you is irresistible,” Draco heard himself say. 

Harry didn’t reply, but he moved one arm a little tighter around Draco’s back and let his other hand finger Draco’s hair. They laid like that for several minutes, quietly letting the fire and the radio lull them. Draco felt the beat of Harry’s heart against his head, and it made him feel like they were one person.

“Now you have to tell me your type,” Harry finally said. 

Draco snorted. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Hey, I told you mine!” 

“Please,” Draco said. “I’ve known for years that I was precisely your type.”

Harry swatted his arse gently. 

“Careful, Potter,” Draco mumbled. 

“Tell me,” Harry prodded. 

Draco paused. 

“Please?”

“Well, first let’s flesh out my relationship history, because you should know that I did kiss Pansy in fourth year.” He started chuckling.

“Parkinson? No!”

“Yes,” Draco said, hardly believing it himself all these years later. “Let’s call it a failed experiment that served no purpose but to act as further proof of my homosexuality.”

“Ah, I love how you talk,” Harry laughed. Draco laughed with him because there was just nothing else to be done. “Tell me about this kiss.”

“It was at the Yule Ball,” Draco said. “Pansy had always shown interest, and I was a confused but randy teenager, so when she went in for the kill, I just went along with it.”

“And it wasn’t a love connection?”

Draco snorted. “It felt like kissing... my arm... but somehow worse? I can still see the face she made when I pulled away.”

“What face?”

“Just pure horror.” Draco laughed out loud. “Merlin, it’s funny to me now, but it was rather traumatizing for both parties at the time. She realized her lifelong crush was officially fruitless, and I realized I would never kiss another woman for the rest of my life.”

Harry chuckled. He was still lazily fingering Draco’s hair.

“Anyways, the only other physical experience I’ve had was a fairly steamy makeout session with one Ravi Hewitt. I was in sixth year, he was in seventh. He found out I was gay, or guessed it maybe. So he took a chance and cornered me in the locker room after a Quidditch practice and kissed me. And how could I resist such bravery?”

“Is he the one who told you your scars were sexy?”

Draco lifted his head and rested his chin on Potter’s chest. “You remembered that, did you?” He smiled softly at Harry. 

Harry shrugged. “I’m a bit of a jealous guy.”

Draco smiled. “I kind of like that, Potter.”

Harry smiled back. “So, was he?”

“No, Ravi was before the scars.” Draco said. “That was just some random bloke who saw me with my shirt off at a pickup Quidditch match Blaise organized last year.”

“I see,” Harry said. 

Draco laid his head back down on Harry’s chest. “That bloke may have even gotten somewhere with me, had he not gone off on a tangent about how I owed him a blow job, as some kind of reparation for the damages I’d caused in the war, or something like that.”

“What?”

“It’s fine,” Draco said. “I get those kinds of comments fairly often, if I venture into the wizarding world undisguised. Maybe they’re not always of a sexual nature, but still.”

“How is that fine?” Harry sounded quite dangerous. 

“It’s fine, Potter,” Draco said firmly, trying to calm him with his voice. “People are knobs sometimes. At any rate, I seldom go out in the magical world at all, much less without a glamor.”

Harry didn’t say anything for a full minute. Draco could feel the tension radiating off of him, so he nuzzled his head in as close to Harry’s neck as it could get and kissed it a few times. He really did smell wonderful.

“I don’t know how you can be so calm about it,” Harry finally muttered. “Every time you bring up the shitty reality of your situation, you sound so resigned to it all.”

“There’s not much else I can do,” Draco said. 

“Well I hate it,” Harry growled. “I don’t want anyone to say anything mean to you, ever.”

Draco smiled. “That’s because you are rather lovely, Harry.”

Harry let out a breath but said nothing.

“Would it help if I told you my type now?” Draco ventured, rubbing his fingers softly on Harry’s t-shirt clad chest. 

“I think it might,” Harry muttered. 

Draco chuckled. “It’s not exactly a secret now, I suppose, but I like fit Quidditch players. Muscular, but not too big. Bold, but sweet. And dark. Definitely dark.”

Harry exhaled deeply and wrapped both arms tightly around Draco’s waist. “Do I fit the bill then?” His voice sounded a little calmer now.

Draco snorted. “Obviously.”

“You think I’m fit?”

“You are fit, Potter.”

“And muscular?”

“Stop fishing for compliments, it’s very unbecoming.”

Harry laughed. “Well thank you.”

“And until a few hours ago, I was unaware that I have a very strong penchant for bright green eyes and untamable black hair.”

“Mmm,” Harry murmured happily. “I can’t say as I agree with you on any of that, but I am happy you feel that way.”

“No?” Draco said, smiling and nuzzling into Harry’s neck again.

“I’m into skinny blondes with angelic faces, as it seems,” Harry muttered, dragging his fingers softly over Draco’s back, up and down. “The paler the better.”

Draco laughed. “I’m glad to hear it, Potter.”

“But I do agree with you on the fit Quidditch player bit,” Harry continued. 

“I’m a fit Quidditch player,” Draco said proudly.

Harry snorted. “Such a modest one, too.”

“I don’t think you like your blokes modest,” Draco said. 

“Well, you’re right about that,” Harry agreed, moving one hand into Draco’s hair once again and leaving the other to roam Draco’s back. “I’ve always liked arrogant, pompous prats.”

Draco and Harry laid together in silence for a few more minutes. Draco felt warm and sleepy and perfectly happy.

“I wonder why we never hooked up at Hogwarts?” Draco wondered out loud after a while. 

Harry laughed. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am serious, Potter,” Draco said, a little affronted. “We obviously had some latent attraction to each other, even then.”

“Did we?” Harry asked. “You don’t think that happened much more recently? Like a few hours ago?”

Draco realized he had just essentially admitted to fancying Potter in school. Bugger, if he wasn’t just a champion at cocking things up. 

“Draco?” Harry said, after a pause. 

“Yes?” 

“Were you attracted to me at Hogwarts?”

“Certainly not, Potter,” Draco said, “and I’m insulted by the suggestion.”

Harry didn’t respond, and Draco thought he might get off easy. No such luck.

“Draco Malfoy,” Harry murmured. “You fancied me?”

“I did not,” Draco grumbled. 

“Merlin, you totally fancied me!” Harry laughed. “I don’t know how I missed it, for all my obsessive watching of you.”

“Shut up, Potter,” Draco mumbled into Harry’s chest. “I was young and foolish.”

“This is adorable,” Harry said softly, a smile in his voice.

“Oh don’t go and read too much into this, I beg of you,” Draco said, exasperated. “I was a confused queer teenager and you were the most fanciable boy in school. You could’ve looked like a foot and I probably still would’ve wanted to snog you, simply because you were the Chosen One.”

“You wanted to snog me?” Harry chuckled. 

“Stop it,” Draco muttered. 

“What did you like about me?” Harry said, laughter in his voice.

“Potter…” Draco said warningly. 

“Was it my dashing good looks? My unparalleled flying skills? My mystery?”

Draco couldn’t help but laugh. “Your mystery? You have a lot of attributes, Potter, but mystery is certainly not one of them. Nor, apparently, is humility.”

Harry laughed along with him. 

Draco decided to pluck up the courage and use his words again. He waded in slowly.

“I can’t place exactly what it was that drew you to me then,” Draco said softly. “It was a lot of things, I imagine.”

“Well, if I’m totally honest, I suppose I did have a little thing for you, as well, though I probably wasn’t even aware that it was attraction. You were my type, after all.”

Draco smiled. “Obviously.”

Harry tugged on his hair a little before planting a kiss on the top of his head. “Angel,” he whispered.

Draco took a deep breath. He needed to tell Harry what he was feeling again. It felt scary, but not as scary as it had before. 

“Perhaps…,” he began, his voice shaking nervously. “Perhaps I can try to tell you what draws you to me now. If you promise not to laugh at me too hard.”

There was a long pause. 

Harry whispered, “Okay.”

Draco counted to five in his head and then decided to just let it all out. This was Harry, his Harry. He was safe here.

“It’s still a lot of things,” Draco began, so softly it was almost a whisper. “Like… How your hair can’t change, even with a glamor. And how you dress like an adolescent, so casual... but not only do you somehow make it look incredibly sexy, it also makes me feel so secure around you, like you’re not judging me. Your eyes… well, it’s a given, obviously, how beautiful they are. But they make me feel… damn, they make me feel things.”

Draco was warming up to this now, and Harry was still silent, so he continued. 

“You’re disarmingly kind, to literally everyone, even if they feel like they don’t deserve it, especially then. You’re all the things everyone knows about already: brave, strong, courageous. You’re so noble, Harry. You’re so unfailingly good, despite the hell you’ve gone through. You’re such a remarkably heroic person, and the entire world knows that. But when I’m with you, and you turn those qualities towards me... Merlin, I feel like the only person in the entire world who you want to be a hero for. You make me feel so special. So… safe, and warm, and… cherished. And I… Well. You’re remarkable.”

When Harry still didn’t say anything, Draco just kept talking. “I’m even glad that you went out with that stupid bloke who made you think of me, because I want you to think of me. I want to be in your head, all the time. It’s very stupid, but it’s true. I want to be everything to you. Because you really feel like everything to me. You’re everything to me, Harry, already.”

Harry’s hands had stilled on Draco’s back. It was silent for a long moment, so long that Draco was suddenly a little afraid that he had put Harry to sleep.

“Harry?” he whispered.

“Draco,” Harry whispered back. He paused. “I’m falling in love with you.”

Draco felt the world stop for a moment, then two, then three... and then just as suddenly, it whirred back to life, shimmering with light and energy and possibility. Everything in him shifted, clicked into place, became quiet and blaringly loud at the same time. He was in love with Harry. He was always going to be in love with Harry. 

“Me too.”

They laid like that for what might have been hours, or years, or mere moments. Draco didn’t care about anything that might be happening outside of this warm cocoon that contained just he and Harry and their very promising future together. He was in love, and that was all there was to it.

“I’m falling asleep,” Draco murmured a while later. 

“Me too,” came Harry’s response. 

“Don’t leave,” he whispered. 

Harry kissed his head so softly it felt like a promise. “I’ll never leave.”

It was the last thing Draco heard before drifting off to sleep.

***