Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Draco vanished the last pizza box from the kitchen with a sigh of relief. When Harry had suggested moving into Number 12 after graduation — A gap year Muggles calls it. We’ll just… take time to be young. Say yes. It’ll be no fun without you. — it hadn’t taken much to convince Draco. After all, how hard could it be sharing a house with your three best friends, your childhood crush, and his six closest friends?

Honestly, it hadn’t been as hard as he thought it’d be. As he trudged up the stairs to the living room, Draco began to think it would have been easier if it’d only lasted one year. Instead, 12 became a catch-all house, a safe place to land for anybody that needed it. He had to admit it wasn’t exactly a bad thing, it just — well, it didn’t help him get over his crush on Harry. Neither did the parties that kept being thrown. He’d learned the hard way he couldn’t get too drunk or too high around Harry. When Draco’s inhibitions lowered, so did his ability to not act stupid. And Harry Potter had been bringing out the stupid in Draco since they were eleven.

In the living room, Nirvana blared from the wireless on the mantle, and dark, moody lights throbbed to the beat. As Kurt Cobain sang about some heart box, at least forty of their closest friends danced along, arms waving in the air. No, living here wasn’t as hard as he thought it’d be, but watching Harry dance with yet another person who wasn’t Draco was. He looked like a daydream with his curls clinging to his neck and his eyeliner smeared. Sometime during the night, he’d lost the flannel he’d been wearing, leaving Harry wearing only his sweat-damp undershirt and denims that had no earthly right to be that tight. Forget daydream, Draco thought, he looks like sin.

“Hey,” Blaise whisper shouted in his ear. He smelled like cherry vodka but it was a nice break from the bitter, musky odor of Dean’s bong. The music changed, the beat picking up, and Blaise pressed into his space. “Come on! It’s been ages since you’ve had fun, babes. Relax…” Draco rolled his eyes, but let his friend pull him out into the crowd. He dropped his head back on Blaise’s shoulder and moved with the beat. Draco didn’t know how long he spent dancing in Blaise’s arms, but it was long enough that he was sticky with sweat and that his feet hurt. Opening his eyes, Draco met Harry’s stare. Impulsively, he stuck out his tongue. Harry quirked an eyebrow and mouthed, “Blaise? Really?”

Draco snorted. As if he had any right to judge Draco for having a little fun. Not when Harry had one hand tucked in a new guy’s back pocket and the other in his waistband. Ignoring the death glare being sent in his direction, Draco tugged on Blaise’s hand, “Let’s get out of here, ya?” They didn’t make it to the hall before Blaise was all over him. Hand threaded through his hair, lips roaming his neck, his other hand unbuttoning Draco’s shirt. As soon as they were out of the living room, Blaise pulled back laughing, “Hope he enjoyed the show. Come on, I got some Snowy Owl Moss upstairs.”

When they reached the fourth floor, Blaise led him into one of the extra guest bedrooms. Theo, Pansy, and Neville were already on the bed, legs tangled, passing a Thai stick around. Draco toed off his boots before transfiguring an extra pillow into another mattress. Pansy produced another stick from somewhere — Draco really didn’t want to know where — and he flopped down next to Blaise. They passed the moss back and forth until the sounds from the bed became too loud to ignore any longer.

“You know,” Blase groaned. “I’d forgotten how gross they are.”

Draco propped himself up on his elbows, “Try sharing a room with her. I woke up the other night to these sounds. Spit roast via floo is not the alarm I had set.”

Blaise rolled off the bed, laughing so hard he choked, “You can’t be serious?!”

“Unfortunately. I’m the most single I’ve ever been and my roommate can’t not get laid.”

“You need to get laid.”

"What I really need,” Draco said, in between inhales, “is a new roommate.”

“Why not both?” Blaise was suddenly serious. “I need to move out of the villa and you need to forget that twerp downstairs…”

He had a point. Not about moving out of the villa. That was just stupid. Hell, Draco would move in there if Mrs. Zabini would let him. It was nicer than all of the Malfoy properties, including the chateau in France. Those sheets… Ok, he was getting distracted. A new roommate would be nice. And Blaise was… taking off his shirt?

“What are you doing?”

“I just thought I could remind you how good we were together,” Blaise dragged him closer. “You know if we had been together.” Somewhere the countdown to the new year started, but Draco was too focused on his shirt getting unbuttoned.

Ten, nine, eight…

“You know they say whatever you’re doing when the clock strikes midnight is what you do all year.”

...seven, six, five...

“If I say yes, will you bring your sheets with you?”

Blaise leaned forward, nose bumping Dracos, “Babes, I’ll bring them even if you say no.”

...four, three…

“Yes.”

...two…

Fuzzy from the Snowy Owl Moss and giddy about his new sheets, Draco pressed forward, closing the space between them. The kiss was soft, sweet. It was hot chocolate after a snowball fight, the perfect cup of tea.

...one…

The door slammed open, startling a squeak out of Draco. Blaise took the opportunity to slip his tongue in Draco’s mouth, deepening the kiss. Draco forgot all about the door and the squeak and the three on the bed to focus instead on the feel of Blaise’s hands on his hips. When he finally pulled away, Blaise smirked down at him, “Yes?”

Laughing, Draco mimicked, “Yes.”

A throat cleared impatiently and Draco was abruptly reminded of the slamming door. Like a kneazle that got the flobberworm, Blaise looked altogether too pleased with himself. Shooting a shit-eating grin at whoever was in the door, Blaise rolled off of Draco, making no effort to hide just exactly how much he had been enjoying their kiss. He winked at Draco as he sat up and began to shrug his shirt back on, “Happy New Year, Harry Potter.”

Chapter Text

“I thought he was with Pansy,” Harry mumbled into his pillow, ignoring the way his breath made the pillowcase damp and sticky. “All these years, I thought they were a them.” He was wallowing. He knew it. He just didn’t know how not to. This wasn’t the way he wanted to find out Draco was interested in men. Harry had been holding out hope for some sort of magical moment in the garden, stargazing or some shit. Draco would take his hand and trace different constellations while Harry got lost in his eyes until Draco realized that Harry wasn’t listening one bit. He’d blush and stammer and turn that delicious shade of pink he got before Harry would softly, gently kiss away his nerves as he ran his fingers through his hair. It had to be as soft as it looked. And then they’d —

Thunk.

A pillow bounced off his head, interrupting what was arguably the best part of his fantasy. Raising up, he saw Remus above him, pillow poised for a second swing, looking far too much like Hermione when he admitted to skipping work. “If I have to hear one more time how you’re going to accost that poor boy, a pillow will be the least of your worries.” 

Oh, Merlin. That had been out loud? He was definitely still high. And maybe a little drunk. Harry knew better than to combine whatever was in Dean’s bong with whatever was in George’s flask, but he’d been so determined to forget Blaise’s hands gripping Draco’s hips that he’d broken his own rule. 

“Leave him be, Moons.” Harry grinned up at Sirius, happy to have somebody on his side. “It’s not his fault he’s completely oblivious. You know he gets that from Jamie.” He dropped his head back into the pillow. At least it didn’t make fun of him. Harry felt his godfather join him on the rug, the hand on his back more admonishing than comforting. “You just need to talk to him.”

“Oh, sure. That’d go great. ‘Hey Draco, noticed you might be gay when your friend’s tongue was down your throat. Think maybe I can put my hands on your body next?’ Foolproof, Pads. Completely foolproof.” Harry shrugged the hand off his back and rolled over, pulling a face when the room spun. “Ugh. Worst. Party. Ever.”

Thunk.

“What the fuck?”

Remus shrugged, “Slipped. Seems to happen when you’re being a brat.”

“I’m being a brat? I’m not the one smacking everybody with a—” 

Thunk.

“Seriously?!”

“No, I’m Remusly.”

Harry took a stabilizing breath before launching himself at the older man. Remus was still quick on his feet thanks to his monthly midnight jaunts, but Harry had youth on his side. They wrestled, scrambling around the den, knocking the desk askew and breaking three lamps before Harry finally to pinned Remus down. “You are not funny,” Harry managed, chest heaving.

“No,” Remus admitted. “But my husband is!”

Harry opened his mouth to retort just as his wand vibrated. He rolled off of Remus and flopped on his back. He was late. He was very late. Somewhere across London, the 4th Annual Number 12 New Year’s Meeting was starting. Draco would be forcefully ushering everybody into the library to finalize room arrangements for the year. He should go. He should. Really. He was supposed to help run the meetings, but the thought of watching Blaise watch Draco for hours was too much. His stomach churned, the leftover naan he had for breakfast trying valiantly to make a reappearance. He’d stay here. The den was warm and his uncles wouldn’t care even if he just spent the day whining on the floor. It was better this way. But… if he stayed, he wouldn’t get to watch Draco make the chore chart. Harry smiled unconsciously. Ravenclaw had been a good house for Draco; he took charts and responsibilities so seriously. Last year he’d enlisted house elves and had them demonstrate the proper way to do each chore. Watching Ron learn how to empty the crumb tray in the toaster as a tiny elf squeaked instructions had been his Patronus memory for several months. 

“I have to go,” Harry climbed to his feet and quickly repaired the lamps and righted the rest of the furniture. He floo’d straight to his room, thankful again for the nepotism that got him the best bedroom suite. Scrubbing a hand through his hair, he headed to the en suite to shower. He was already late, what was another fifteen minutes? 

Fifteen minutes turned into twenty which turned into forty and by the time Harry pushed open the door to the library, only Draco was left. He stood in front of a floating chart, meticulously color coding the tiny squares. A delighted laugh bubbled out before Harry could stop it. At least he got to see Draco and his ridiculous chart today. 

Draco whipped around, dropping his wand. “You scared the fuck out of me, Potter.”

“Oh,” Harry moved closer, never taking his eyes off Draco’s face. “It’s back to Potter now?”

“You’re lucky I’m talking to you,” Draco muttered, jutting his hip out and propping his hand on it. His shirt slid off his shoulder, exposing his collarbone and the smattering of freckles there. Harry crept closer. His heartbeat was so loud, he just knew Draco could hear it. Harry didn’t care. This was his chance. Maybe if he just explained… what? He’d been half in love with him since he moved back from France all posh and crass at the time? That he knew given a chance he would fall completely in love with him? That he would kick everybody out or get his own flat or whatever Draco wanted? “Are you even listening to me?”

“No,” Harry answered truthfully. “I’m trying you just - you distract me…” He trailed off, certain that if he kept talking he would muck it all up. “Why Blaise?”

Draco backed away, putting oceans of space between them, and dropped onto the sofa. “So, we’re doing this now? Is this because of last night?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know? Maybe.”

“Right,” he snorted softly. “Is this really what you want to ask me?”

“Yes. No.” Harry sighed, ducking around the chart to pick up Draco’s wand. “But I don’t think I’m ready for the conversation I want.”

“That’s oddly insightful,” Draco bit his bottom lip, mouth working as if he had more to say. Instead, he just sighed dramatically and tossed an arm over his eyes. “Better be careful, wouldn’t want that to stick.”

Harry slowly sat at the other end of the sofa before lifting Draco’s feet and pulling them into his lap. He was wearing Harry’s Christmas socks Molly had knitted him last year. It was uncomfortably intimate and he realized that while he might not be ready for that conversation, he was more than ready for where it might lead. Shaking his head, he pretended he never noticed the socks, “Ha. Ha. Ha. Bet you think you’re funny.”

“No,” Draco grinned wickedly. “But my mom does.”

Chapter Text

The past few months had been awkward. Like, getting the sex talk from your mom in front of your boyfriend awkward. But Draco had managed to survive both and he’d survive today too if Harry would just put his damn shirt back on. There was no legitimate reason why he had to be half-naked to decorate for Christmas. And no legitimate reason why Draco had picked the living room to study. But some things you didn’t need a reason for and watching somebody that fit was one of those things… even if it was only going to make life that much, uh, harder for Draco in the long run. 

“Oh! You’ve got the best view in the house,” Blaise whispered, dropping unexpectedly into Draco’s lap. He pushed the textbooks out of the way before wiggling in an attempt to get comfortable. His eyes lit up and he leered. Draco knew he’d been found out. Frantically he thought about Neville covered in that Blatblurg pus last summer. Ugh. Draco almost gagged at the memory. You could smell that shit meters away. It was like House Elf shit blended with Buckbeak’s regurgitated chicken and then left in the sun to fester. Good. This was definitely working. Only not for long because Neville was hot as hell and far too fit even when he was dripping in thick purple goop. He’d looked like live porn sloughing it off. Merlin, now he was thinking about fucking porn. Out of the corner of his eye, Draco watched as Harry dropped to his knees and leaned forward to press his chest against the floor to reach under the tree. The joggers pulled tighter across his arse as his hips raised just slightly. Harry looked like he was spread out just for him. And Draco was definitely going to Hell for staring this much. He groaned softly, prompting a giggle from Blaise. “Bebes, is that a Yule log in your pants, or are you just happy to see me?”

Draco ignored Blaise in favor of watching Harry reach further under the tree, ass bouncing slightly as he wiggled after whatever had rolled under there. It looked like the beginning of one of those low-budget muggle movies Blaise rented sometimes. Squeezing his eyes shut, he whined, “I need a drink.” 

“You know,” Harry said, turning slightly, eyes just visible over his shoulder. “I’m about to make hot chocolate. Um, unless you want something a little harder.”

“I don’t think Draco could handle anything harder!” Blaise waggled his eyebrows suggestively. Draco dropped his head back, frustration warring with the fondness he felt for his friend. Frustration won out when Blaise laughed so hard his beer sloshed all over Draco’s hoodie. “And here I alre—” Draco slapped a hand over Blaise’s mouth, suddenly certain he did not want Harry hearing whatever the brat was trying to say.

Harry looked between the two of them but didn’t comment. Draco sent a silent prayer to Circe that Harry hadn’t realized just why Blaise thought that was so funny. “I’m almost done.” Harry smiled, pushing back on his heels, and Draco flushed, determinedly not thinking of just how close he was to being almost done, too. “But if you two have plans…” He trailed off before wiggling back under the tree.

“No,” Blaise pulled away from Draco and winked. “We’ve got no plans. In fact, I actually have plans elsewhere so I’ll just be - uh, leaving now. See you tonight, dragon.” Not even bothering to check and see if Harry was still under the tree, Blaise mouthed ‘Fuck him’ before skipping into the hall. Draco heard the front door slam shut and sighed in relief. He loved Blaise - really - and he owed him more than he could repay in this lifetime, but sometimes Draco really wished he’d just shut the fuck up. But without Blaise as a buffer, an awkward silence settled back over them.

“You don’t have to do that,” Draco mumbled after a moment before pulling his estate planning textbook back into his lap. “Make me a drink, I mean. It’s… I don’t want… it’s…” He trailed off, uncertain how to explain he didn’t want Harry to feel obligated. Draco had barely cracked his book when Harry scuttled out from under the branches, a small broom ornament triumphantly held above his head. And damn, as much as Draco wanted to not be into Harry Freaking Potter, he was totally screwed. The mess of curls atop his head was dotted with stray pine needles, dust bunnies clung to his joggers, but what really took the cake was the glitter stuck to his bare chest. If the tourist bar Theo had taken him to in Los Vegas had a domestic night, well Harry was sure to be a crowd favorite. 

“I found it!” Draco laughed, unsure it was the obviousness of that statement or the ludicrous situation he was picturing that prompted it. His laughter slowly died when Harry started his way and by the time Harry had propped his allergen-covered body on the arm of his chair, Draco forgot why he’d been laughing. “Hey,” Harry whispered, a small smile playing at his lips.

“Hey yourself.”

Harry picked a few of the larger dust bunnies off his thigh before he gave up and murmured a simple spell to clean them - and himself - of the holiday debris. Draco pressed his lips together, willing himself not to comment on the frustratingly sexy and carefree way he’s used wandless magic. It was probably genetic (ta ever so, Lucius), but Draco was unreasonably attracted to power. It’d been one of the reasons he’d first developed a crush on Harry. He’d made the Gryffindor quidditch team his second year and caught the snitch in every game he’d played - that year and every year since. Nobody, not even Hermione, knew why he’d refused to go pro after graduation. Too bad, really. He would have done one hell of a rookie calendar spread.

“Hey,” Harry repeated, brows furrowed. “You look like you’re thinking rather hard. I bet some hot chocolate would fix that.”

“Yea?”

“No doubt.”

Draco huffed a laugh. He was so cute it hurt. “Well, in that case, I guess I don’t have a choice. Perhaps you could lead the way?”

Harry popped up so fast he slipped a little. A giggle escaped as he righted himself, “Got me falling for you already.” Draco froze, unsure if he had heard correctly. If it meant anything if he had. If… if he should say something. But Harry beat him to it, “Marshmallows or squirty cream?”

“Um, both?”

“Good choice. Ron used to take Hermione to this cafe that made towering layers of squirty cream and marshmallows. I tagged along once; it was incredible...”

Draco wiggled the band of his sleep pants straight before shucking his beer-stained hoodie. Harry trailed off and Draco was forcefully reminded that he had pulled on one of Pansy’s shirts this morning. There was no going back now, however, so Draco ignored the air cooling his lower abdomen and pretended like it was perfectly normal for him to be wearing a violently pink crop top at two in the afternoon. “The kitchen I presume?”

“Oh no, no, no.” Harry laughed. “You don’t get off that easily. What are you wearing? And why are you wearing it?”

Draco looked down at the wavy hem brushing his belly button ring and realized he had to be as pink as the stupid shirt in question. “Laundry day. It’s festive”

“It’s sparkly.”

“It’s a reindeer.”

“A sparkly reindeer.”Draco heaved a sigh and turned on his heel, “Can we just please have that hot chocolate now?” As he started down the stairs, he swore he heard Harry whisper soft but I like it .

Chapter Text

“His navel is pierced, Ron. His navel. As in his belly button. Right there in the middle of his torso–”

“I know,” Ron interrupted. He snagged one of Kevin’s chips to chuck at Harry. “And so should you. We all go to the beach every summer.”

Harry opened his mouth and then snapped it shut. Merlin, Ron was right. They did go to the beach every year and Draco was always there in some absurdly short pair of trunks. They made his legs look enticingly long. The light dusting of golden hair on his thighs always caught Harry’s eyes. Last summer he wore a pair of Slytherin green trunks in Ibiza, Harry had glimpsed the tip of a tattoo sneaking out on Draco’s left hip. He’d spent the entire day trying and failing to not stare. But Harry had never noticed the belly ring. Why hadn’t he noticed? “Why haven’t I noticed?” He repeated aloud, ignoring the eye rolls from around the table.

“Dunno mate, it’s kind of hard to miss.” The lecherous look Neville traded with Pansy looked out of place, but if the gossip was to be believed, Neville could be a lech when he wanted. Harry once again sent a silent ‘thank you’ to the Sorting Hat for not putting him in the same house as Nev. From what Draco had said, it had been a revolving door of students and the occasional older sibling. For a house with a reputation of being bookworms, the Ravenclaws he knew were rowdier than anybody in Gryffindor.

“Speak of the Devil and he shall appear,” Kevin muttered into his pint. Harry rolled his eyes. Kevin had never been Draco’s biggest fan, but he’d gotten more hostile the last couple of years. Harry didn’t even think they’d exchanged more than a handful of hellos since first year. It was strange. Kevin looked over Harry's shoulder, “Malfoy.” 

“Entwhistle.” Draco sounded mildly annoyed but squished into the booth next to Harry anyway. He bumped his shoulder into Harry’s a few times, a smirk playing at his lips. “Residents of 12 and friends. I intrude upon pub night—” 

“We invited you, wanker,” Ron interrupted, laughing. 

“—to bring good tidings and news of a return long-awaited!” Draco paused, looking around to make sure everybody was paying attention before continuing, “Our beloved Hermione shall return to us… drum roll, please…” Pansy and Neville rhythmically smacked the table. “...Friday!” Harry laughed as the table broke out in excited chatter. Hermione had been in the states working for sixteen months and they all missed her terribly. Her crush on Ron was the reason their friend groups started mingling back at school, but she quickly became the glue that held them all together, even after their relationship fizzled out.

Harry was turning to ask Draco for specifics on Hermione’s arrival when Kevin’s foot bumped his, “Thanks for letting me move into the house, Harry.”

“It’s no problem, mate. The holidays are better together.” Harry tried to turn his attention back to Draco. He’d kept his shoulder pressed against Harry’s this entire time and there was no way he wasn’t going to take advantage of that.

But Kevin had other plans. “Nev said everybody room shares. Think I could bunk with you?”

Draco coughed suddenly. Harry thought he must be choking on the mini candy cane he’d just sucked into his mouth. Everybody knew you weren’t supposed to just stick the entire thing in. He banged on Draco’s back. “You, uh, you all good?” Draco nodded, eyes locked on his. He was wearing green eyeliner today — almost the same color as those shorts from Ibiza — and it brought out the purple in Draco’s eyes. Everybody always said they were grey, but they weren’t. Not really. Sometimes they were stormy sky blue. Sometimes they were murky lake blue. Sometimes they were washed out purple, like a sun-bleached lilac, like now. Harry realized he probably didn’t need to still be hitting Draco’s back, so he switched to wide, soothing circles. “You should really be more careful.” 

Draco recovered quickly, lips turning up in a smug smile, “I don’t really mind choking that much.” The saucy wink he punctuated the innuendo with left Harry speechless. 

Lucky for him, Kevin knew just how to fill the momentary silence, “So, that room…?”

“Uh, um, I don’t think… that’s to say…” Harry stuttered.

Ron came to his rescue, “Actually, Harry never has a roommate. You’ll be in with me.”

Chapter Text

Blaise swept into the library, black velvet robes billowing dramatically behind him. His heeled boots clicked softly as he hurried over to Draco. “Babes, fashion emergency.”

“The shoes are perfect,” Draco reassured him after a quick once over. “High enough to get your point across but not so high that you could be labeled a trollop. But I’m sure your mother will hate them.” Traditionally — and Mandala Zabini was nothing if not traditional — a heel should not be higher than two inches. But Blaise was known for pushing boundaries at family functions.

“Would you like to accompany me? I would be- that is, I could- I mean, I wouldn’t mind you being my plus one,” Blaise picked an invisible piece of lint off his shoulder. They both knew the robes were imbued with a variety of charms that would prevent lint from sticking to them. But it gave Blaise a reason to not meet his eyes. 

Draco felt more than heard the conversation die around them. He knew Pansy would understand the implications of the question, but judging by the way they were looking between Draco and Blaise with interest, Ron and Neville had also picked up on the unspoken question in the question. Harry looked mildly confused. His family, despite being upper crust, did things very differently. Draco hadn’t realized Blaise was interested in him like that . There had been no indication. They’d been flirty, touchy, and— admittedly messed around with some frequency— but they had been clear in the beginning it wasn’t anything serious. Blaise knew how he felt about Harry. And yet, here he stood the most nervous Draco had seen him since the TwiWizard Tournament when he’d asked Drumstrang’s keeper to a dungeon party. 

“I…” Draco trailed off, uncertain how to handle this. If he’d asked in private, Draco could have explained, been clearer about his reasons. Instead, he would have to attempt to be circumspect. Hermione claimed he wasn’t as good at it as he thought he was, but what did she know? Draco shot a meaningful look in Harry’s direction before continuing, “I think we both know how that would end.”

For a split second, Blaise looked crushed, but he quickly recovered. “You won’t get to meet Potential Husband Number Nine. He’s an American.”

“No!” Pansy laughed. “She’s always had such good taste.”

“He has fifteen Swiss vaults and estates in six countries.” Blaise tossed a lazy stinging hex at Pansy.

“Has he got a son?” Neville quipped, wagging his eyebrows suggestively.

Blaise leered, “He’s about to. Care to relive sixth year?”

They all laughed. Draco was relieved that turning Blaise down hadn’t turned into a thing. Kevin asked about the party and Blaise took the opportunity to regale them with stories from the last two “meet the new beau” parties his mother had thrown before flooing off. 

“I didn’t expect that,” Pansy said as soon as the flames in the fireplace died down. “It seemed genuine.”

“Ok, but why must everybody I don’t want want me while the person I do want doesn’t want me?” Draco flopped sideways, accidentally rolling off the couch. Maybe he had one too many at the pub. Maybe he had one too many after they got back. Either way, he suddenly realized he was drunker than he'd thought. “I’m doomed! Destined to be alone.”

Ron snorted, “At least people are interested in you. I couldn’t get laid if my life depended on it. Tried to pull at the last party and she told me I reminded her of her brother. And then made out with mine.”

“Theo’s out of town this week,” Neville winked at them. “If either of you would like to join, Pansy and I have an open spot.”

Draco looked at Ron and they both immediately started gagging. “Nah, mate,” Ron managed. “I’m not even sure if I should say ‘thank you’ for the offer.”

“Be rude not to,” Draco mused. They shared a look before chorusing, “Thank you for the offer of sex.”

Everybody went back to what they were doing when Blaise had disrupted the calm evening, except for Harry. He left his spot by the fire and joined Draco on the rug. Draco tugged gently on his shirt hem, drawing his attention away from the book in his lap. “You ready for tomorrow?”

“Are you?” Harry grinned and his glasses slipped a bit down his nose. 

Draco cautiously reached out, and when Harry didn’t say anything to stop him, pushed his glasses back where they belonged. “You know, these are nice, but I miss the ones you had in school.”

Harry huffed a laugh, touching the spot where Draco’s hands had been. “Those were my dad’s old glasses. Hermione said these wire ones are more in style.”

“Oh, they are,” Draco reassured him. “But the clunky ones were more you.”

“Am I clunky?”

“Anything but,” Draco whispered, memorizing the way Harry flushed softly.

Chapter Text

“I think it’s more than a crush,” Harry whispered, setting his tea down gently. He waited for Ron to say something, but he just kept flipping the pancakes. “He’s just… he’s so him.”

Ron took the finished pancakes off the griddle before turning around. He crossed his arms, a pensive look on his face. The silver scars spiraling his arms stood out amidst the heavy smattering of freckles. “I think if you’re serious about him, you need to stop fucking around. All he sees is you with a different person every weekend, every pub night, every party. He’s not going to believe you if you don’t.”

“You think?”

“Would you?”

No. No, if Draco had pulled a new guy three times that week and then confessed that he was head over heels for him, Harry wouldn’t take him seriously at all. “When you put it like that…”

He trailed off as Pansy padded into the kitchen, makeup smeared down the right side of her face, pillow creases on the left. She looked a right mess. It was endearing, seeing the softer side of Pansy. She was usually all sharp edges and barbs. Pansy snagged a piece of bacon before hopping on the counter, “Can’t sleep either?”

“Nah,” Ron started cutting up oranges. “Lover Boy over there is having a crisis. He can’t sleep so he is not letting me sleep.”

“Hey! You offered to make me breakfast.”

“Yes, in the morning. It isn’t morning.”

“It is somewhere.”

“Easy boys,” she said, snagging another piece of bacon. “I just came down here to get some tea. Draco can’t sleep either.”

Harry perked up, “Draco can’t sleep either?”

“Is there an echo in here? He’s taking advantage of having his room all to himself to pine and whine and, for some reason, I needed to be up for that.”

“I can take him tea.” Harry volunteered, leaping up from the table. “I don’t mind.” He prepared a tea tray with the gold-rimmed tea set Luna had bought in Amsterdam last year when she went looking for a rare breed of Snoprgflops with Ginny. He added the chocolate croissants Molly had sent over the day before and a few mini lemon tarts. He dumped six spoonfuls of sugar into one cup before adding the tiniest amount of milk possible. Draco had the biggest sweet tooth Harry had ever seen on a grown adult, but maybe a late-night sugar binge is what he needed. 

Harry climbed the stairs,  idly wondering why Draco couldn’t sleep. He thought it might have something to do with whatever had happened between him and Blaise earlier. Harry couldn’t make heads nor tails of that. Ron said it had something to do with Blaise asking Draco out but Draco not being interested, which really made no sense. They certainly seemed cozy enough all the time, but Blaise kept dropping hints that made it seem like Draco was single. And now he wanted to date Draco? Nev said Harry should just ask Draco but fuck if he could barely string a coherent sentence together when talking to him about normal shit, let alone the jealousy he felt over an unrequited crush.

Draco’s door was ajar, so Harry slipped in without knocking. Draco sat propped up against one leg of the piano, flipping through sheet music. He was humming something Harry didn’t recognize, his toes bobbing up and down to a beat only he could hear. He was wearing Harry’s Christmas socks again. It still made Harry uncomfortable, but he realized now it was because he wanted to see Draco in his clothes all the time. Which made the fact he was wearing Blaise’s sweater sting that much more. “Hey you,” Harry said softly, an attempt not to startle Draco. 

Draco looked up, eyes blinking in confusion, “Pansy was supposed to bring me tea.”

“Is it ok that it’s me instead?” 

“Always.” Draco’s answering smile took Harry’s breath away. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Nope.” Harry popped the ‘P’ like Draco used to when he was younger, just to keep the smile on Draco’s face. He placed the tray gently on the floor and sat beside Draco. “For you,” he pushed the sugary tea into Draco’s hands. “Thought maybe it might help with, you know, whatever it is keeping you up.”

Draco took a greedy sip, “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

“I didn’t know you played.” Harry bumped his head against the side of the piano.

“Well, Potter,” He popped the ‘P’ extra hard, causing Harry to snort into his tea. “There’s so much you don’t know about me. Like my favorite book-”

“Dorian Gray.”

“-my favorite movie-”

“Casablanca.”

“-or what I do for work.”

“Got me on that one. I do know that you used to work with Hermione.” Harry watched as Draco picked through the lemon tarts, discarding a few for some perceived imperfections before finally deciding which one he wanted first. “But I’ve never seen anything you’ve done.”

Draco shrugged, the sweater slipping down to reveal the sharp jut of his collarbone, the slope of his shoulder. Harry wanted to trace it, to memorize it, but he settled for the glimpse he was given. The silence seemed to stretch forever, broken only now and again by Draco refilling his cup or munching on a treat. It was comfortable, relaxing. Harry had always known noise, always been responsible for creating most of that noise. But growing up in the hodge-podge found family unit his parents created and with three brothers and one sister, his home was never really that quiet. Once he became friends with Ron, the noise only grew. He wouldn’t trade it for anything, but it had taken all year to get used to these quiet moments he stole here and there with Draco and to not feel the constant need to fill the silence.

“I miss it,” Draco finally said as he turned to face Harry. “The work I did with Hermione. It was fun and- and challenging, but I quit and now I wonder if it’s too late to start again.”

Harry reached out, resting his hands on Draco’s ankles. “You’re stunning. You’re smart. And I’ve never known you to back down from a challenge. If you want to get back into modeling, you can.”

Draco pulled a face, ‘Thanks, I think?”

“You’re welcome. Now come on,” Harry tugged on his foot. “The sun will be up soon. We need to get to bed.” At Draco’s raised eyebrow, Harry amended, “Ok, not we as in we but we separately.”

“Pity that.”

Harry almost let himself believe that Draco meant it. 

Chapter Text

“Where’s Kevin?” Ron yelled over the noise. 

Draco shrugged. He didn’t care if Entwhistle showed or not. But Harry would, so Draco asked Ron to find him before checking to make sure they had enough refreshments out. Secret Santa Day was one of the few gatherings they had each year that didn’t revolve around too loud music, cheap pizza, and expensive liquor. Today they indulge in Christmas cookies, their favorite bakes, and apple cider. Somebody had brought eggnog and sweetbreads. It was homey and reminded Draco of their holiday festivities in the Ravenclaw tower. 

“Almost ready?” Harry pressed a glass of cider into his hand. Ever since Harry had made him hot chocolate last week, he’d been consistently sharing drinks and sweets with him. It was endearing and not at all helping Draco work through his crush. He knew Harry was a giving, generous person. But sometimes it felt like more. Like right now, when Harry pressed into his space and traced his fingers down his spine. It made it hard to concentrate on the words coming out of his mouth. 

“Come again?”

He tossed his head back, eyes lighting up as he laughed. “I asked if Hermione was still included.”

“Oh,” Draco tried to act like he wasn’t turning redder by the minute, but he could feel the heat spreading up his chest, over his neck, and across his cheeks. Harry’s fingers were dangerously low, skimming the top of his jeans. Just a little lower and they’d slip under his shirt. “Yes. Milli will be drawing for her.”

“So as soon as Blaise gets here then?”

“And Ron is hunting down Entwhistle.”

“You can call him Kevin; he lives here.” Draco shrugged and internally rolled his eyes. He found himself shrugging more and more around Harry, the fear of Harry not liking him if he said what was on his mind too great. “I know you two don’t get along, but I don’t know why.”

“Kevin wants the same thing our Dragon does and Draco’s always been a bit overprotective,” Millicent cut in, reaching around them for a gingersnap. 

Draco hissed in annoyance, but Harry laughed again. “Bet he didn’t share his toys well either.”

“Oh, never” Blaise winked, squeezing himself in between Milli and the drink table. “Asked his daddy to buy him two of everything so when we came over he wouldn’t have to share.”

“It seemed logical,” Draco sniffed, acutely aware that Blaise had clocked Harry’s hand on his back. His friend raised an eyebrow but thankfully didn’t comment. Draco was worried about things being awkward between them after yesterday. This probably wouldn’t help. “Why should I not get to play with my favorite toy simply because Mother wanted to have tea with Beatrice or Mandala?”

“Oh, how the other half lives,” Blaise whined, pretending to pout.

Milli elbowed him, “As if you didn’t have a set of travel toys for play dates.”

“Travel toys?” Harry asked, pulling away from Draco.

Milli raised an eyebrow, but Draco had caught it, too. Harry had pulled away as soon as Entwhistle had walked in. Draco tilted his head and Millicent shrugged as she answered Harry, “A toy box with an expansion charm that had an extra set of toys so our dearest Blaise was never without his favorites.”

“Just how spoiled were you guys?” Harry looked between the three friends.

Blaise answered for everybody, “Enough that we know the dangers of it. But Kevin is here so we can get started.” They split up. Milli dropped on the floor by Luna’s feet, Harry headed over to the empty seat between Entwhistle and Ron, while Blaise led Draco to the front of the room.

Standing in front of the fireplace, Draco looked at the group squished into their living room. The first year they did Secret Santa, it had just been the original house members: Ron, Harry, Draco, Hermione, Pansy, Neville, George, Theo, Harry’s cousin Dudley. Oliver Wood, and Millicent. Hermione suggested it to help break the ice in the house and it had been a hit. They’d been doing it every year since but had expanded it to include close friends and not just the people currently living in 12. Draco nodded to Blaise who shot pink sparks into the air. 

When everybody had settled down, Draco cleared his throat gently, “Thank you all for coming! For those new faces in the crowd, I’ll briefly explain how this works. There are two colors of paper — the green one is for gifts and the red one is for experiences — you’ll have twenty minutes to put your name on the paper of your choosing. After picking a bowl, you are free to mingle and enjoy the snack table. When the bell chimes, we’ll get back into this sad attempt at a circle and draw names. And gather back here on the 26th to exchange presents!”

“As for the particulars,” Blaise stepped forward. “On your slip of paper, you need to write your name and a few lesser-known facts about you. For example, if I were Draco, I would write ‘Draco Malfoy: loves socks, bakes bread, and always wanted a kitten.’ There is no price cut off, but remember it’s the thought that counts and how well the gift suits the person.”

“Any questions?” Draco asked, looking around the room.

“I’ve got one,” Dudley raised his hand. “Why a kitten?”

The room laughed as Draco flushed. “Draw my name and I’ll tell you. Now,” he tried not to look as flustered as he felt. “If there aren’t any actual questions, get on with it.”

Everybody rushed to their feet simultaneously. There were several writing stations set up around the room, complete with scraps of paper and those ingenious mechanical pencils Dudley had introduced him to when he’d still lived in the house. Lines were rapidly forming at them. Draco went to the nearest one and got behind Oliver Rivers and Padma Patil.

“Are you guys having a party tonight?” Padma asked. “I missed the last two.”

“I know we’re having one Saturday when Hermione gets back,” Draco shrugged. “But I’m not sure about tonight.”

“Does that mean you're free tonight?” Oliver smiled up at him, and Draco couldn’t help but notice once again how gorgeous he was— objectively speaking, of course. The light tan he was sporting set off his dark blonde hair and blue eyes perfectly. When he ran a hand through his waves, Draco wondered how it would feel if he did it. 

“I—“

“Actually, no,” Harry butted in, frowning. “He isn’t. We have a party tonight.”

The line shuffled forward, and Oliver ended up next to Draco. “Then I’ll see you here, tonight?”

Draco started to say no when Entwhistle joined them, wrapping an arm around Harry’s waist before dropping his head on his shoulder. Draco looked over Oliver’s shoulder at them, a knot growing in the pit of his stomach when Harry just rested his head on top of Entwhistle’s. “Absolutely.” He didn’t miss how Harry’s eyes widened at his enthusiastic response, but Draco didn’t care.

When a spot at the table cleared up, Draco slotted in. Grabbing a piece of red paper, he quickly wrote Draco Malfoy — loves knit socks, sunrises, body art, and stars. Crumpling it into a ball, he tossed it into the bowl. Harry was waiting for him when he turned around. “Spying on me, Potter?”

“You're going to the party with Oliver?” 

Draco looked pointedly to where their newest housemate was still wrapped around him, “Does It matter?” Harry started to answer, but Draco stopped him with a raised hand. “No, I don’t care.” Draco walked away, determinedly not looking back to see if Harry was watching him.

Chapter Text

Harry grabbed another beer, eyes roaming the dancing mass in the middle of the room. He hadn’t seen Draco since earlier that afternoon when they’d all drawn their Secret Santa names. Harry had tried to talk to him after it finished, but he’d disappeared. When he checked his room, he found Blaise making out with Padma, but no sign of Draco. 

But true to his bluff, he’d organized a last-minute party. He’d had Dudley invite all of his rugby mates and texted everybody they went to school with before he asked Blaise to supply the booze. Ginny had invited all her Quidditch mates, and Charlie was holding court by the fireplace, talking to a handful of dragon tamers and auror trainees. It was one of the biggest parties they’d had all year, and it was all out of spite. But it was all worth it because Oliver was currently tangled up with the flanker from Dud’s team, and it wasn’t Draco. 

Fuck, he was being an asshole.

Kevin came out of nowhere and wrapped his arms around his waist, chest pressed to Harry’s back. “Hey,” he whispered, warm breath ghosting Harry’s cheek. “Want to get out of here?”

Harry twisted his head in an effort to see Kevin and met Draco’s eyes. He was standing in the door to the living room, coat half shrugged off, eyes locked on Harry. His lips pressed together in a tight line, and he shrugged his coat back on. Harry watched him turn and head down the hall, presumably back outside. “Yeah,” Harry whispered. “I think I do.” 

Kevin reached for his hand, but Harry pulled his arm away. “Actually, I think I’m going to get some air.” Kevin made to follow him, but Harry shook his head. “I just… I need some alone time.” 

Harry pushed through the crowd, ignoring the people trying to talk to him. If luck was on his side, Draco had opted to walk and not apparate somewhere else. He didn’t have a coat hanging by the door, so he grabbed the one closest to him and pulled it on. It smelled of wood smoke and pine needles. He smiled involuntarily. Ron must’ve been at the Burrow earlier; it smelled exactly like their living room during the holidays. He buried his nose in the collar and pushed the front door open, bracing himself for the cold rush of air that… didn’t come? Confused, Harry looked around, “Just…how?”

“Snape was right, you aren’t very observant.” He looked down. Draco was smushed against the stoop, an unlit cigarette dangling from his fingers. “It’s a hot air bubble. To keep me warm.”

“You know,” Harry said, dropping down beside him. “You could come inside. It’s warm there.” Draco snorted. Harry suppressed a smile. He found it outrageously adorable when he did it. “I’m serious.”

“No, you’re Harry.” 

“So you don’t want to come inside. What do you want?”

Draco twisted to face him, “So many things that are out of my reach.” Draco fidgeted, peeling apart the ciggy. ”What about you?”

Harry worried his lip. I want to kiss that frown away. I want to take you home for the holidays. I want to see you smile. “A walk?”

“I think we can do that,” Draco smiled so hard his eyes crinkled. 

Pushing up to his feet, Harry held out his hand to pull Draco to his feet. Pressing his luck, he didn’t let go as they went down the stairs. Instead, he threaded his fingers through Draco’s and determinedly did not meet his eyes. “You’re missing a chance to hang out with Oliver.” Harry tried not to sound jealous, but judging by the elbow Draco bumped him with, he was not successful. 

“I don’t mind,” Draco whispered it so quietly Harry almost missed it. He continued louder, “This is one of my favorite parts of the holiday season is this: the snow-covered street, the fairy lights on the trees, the crisp air.”

Looking down at where their fingers were still wrapped around each other, Harry whispered, “This might be one of my favorite parts of the holiday, too.”

Chapter Text

“Hermione showed me how to use her camera this morning,” Harry half-shouted, but if Draco had to guess from how close his mouth was to his ear, Harry was trying very hard to whisper. But he was maybe four glasses past being able to whisper. It shouldn’t be cute. It shouldn’t be. Except that it was, especially when Pansy shushed them and Harry responded by snuggling closer to Draco. 

As Harry’s nose bumped the shell of his ear, Draco found himself trying to burn this moment into his memory. The movie night was in honor of Hermione being home — finally — so he really should be cuddling her, but a wine-drunk Harry Potter after their snowy walk the night before was irresistible.  Harry was still trying to explain what he had photographed when Ginny started pelting them with popcorn. “Fucking hell, Potter. Shut up or leave!” There was no way Draco was trading Harry’s attention for the worst Christmas movie ever, so he grabbed Harry’s wrist and pulled him out into the hall. It took all of his self-control not to smirk at Entwhistle when he huffed at them. Ron said the git had been pissy that Harry had ditched him to hang out with Draco last night. And that had almost made up for the fact that Draco still had to see his face. Harry stuck his tongue out at everybody just as they made it around the corner. The two of them collapsed together, shaking with laughter.

“I thought for sure she was going to hex us,” Harry mumbled into his hair. 

Draco bumped his temple against Harry’s forehead, “No shit.” Draco wasn’t sure how long they stood like that, but he knew it would never be long enough. One of Harry’s arms was wrapped around his waist, the other draped across his chest, fingers toying with the pocket on his tee. 

“Can I show you the pictures now?”

“Sure, baby.” The endearment rolled off his tongue by accident, but Harry didn’t comment. He just slipped his hand into Draco’s and pulled him up the stairs. Harry’s thumb made lazy circles on his wrist. He sucked in a sharp breath. He didn’t know what Harry was playing these last few days, but he almost didn’t care. It felt like they might be going somewhere and it was fucking with his head. Harry stopped in front of his room. Draco paused; he’d never been in Harry’s room. This felt like a thing. 

Harry gnawed on his bottom lip, “This ok?”

Draco shrugged, eyes locked on Harry’s. 

“What about this?” Harry backed him up against the door, capturing his other hand.

Draco’s breath stuttered, but he managed a nod.

“And,” Harry whispered, nose brushing his. “This?”

He nodded again, eyes searching Harry’s. “What are we doing?”

Pansy’s voice broke whatever spell they were under, “Blocking the hallway?” Harry giggled, dropping his head onto Draco’s shoulder. Draco glared at Pansy. Of course, she had to intervene. Of fucking course. “I’m sorry,” she mouthed. Draco rolled his eyes but allowed a small smile to slip out. She waved her hands as she passed, “Carry on, kids. Do everything I would do!”

The last bit was called over her shoulder as she headed down the stairs, and it prompted Harry’s giggles to grow into a full-blown laugh. He pulled back, dropping Draco’s hands, “Ready to see those photos?” 

It turned out Harry had taken several photos of Blaise passed out in the kitchen. The first photo looped as Ginny stuck a piece of bacon in his ear, the second featured a blueberry to the nose, and the rest were a series of Blaise waking up covered in breakfast fruit. It was hilarious. Harry spread them out on his dresser, but after a quick look at them, Draco started to sneak peeks at Harry’s room. He hadn’t been in it before, despite living at 12 for several years. It was painted a bright white with a hodgepodge of mismatched pastel furniture crowding it. The desk and dresser were sky blue, but the stool in front of the desk and the bedside table were both white. An overstuffed pale yellow chair sat by the fire, complete with an ottoman and blanket that looked suspiciously warm. The bed was a soft pink with piles of white bedding and far too many pillows to count. 

Harry clocked him inspecting the room and grimaced, “I know it’s unusual, but it… it makes me happy.”

“I love it.” And Draco did. It was happy and fun and exactly the opposite of any room he had ever been in growing up. “Everything looks so comfortable.” And neat. Draco had always thought that Harry’s room would be cluttered, filled with mementos and such from his life. And it was, just not in the half-hoarder way he’s always imagined. A photo of Harry and his parents sat on the mantle next to a photo of him with his siblings, one with his uncles, and one of him and Draco from their Hogwarts graduation. He’d forgotten about that. He walked over and picked it up. They’d been standing with Ron and Hermione when they got pulled away for photos with the Weasley’s. Harry and Draco had been left standing there, and Andromeda had snapped the picture. Draco had assumed it had never been developed, but it had been here the entire time. “You kept this?”

Harry was flushed an impressive maroon, “I- uh, well, yea?”

“I like that,” he shot Harry a smile. Harry’s answering smile made Draco warm all over.

Chapter Text

There was a party raging at his house and yet Harry was the left piece of bread in a Draco sandwich, Hermione the right where she was squished on the other side, and there was absolutely no other place he’d rather be than squeezed into this booth at McDonald’s opposite Ron, Blaise, and Kevin. Harry was trying to focus on his salty chips, but his hand kept drifting over to Draco’s knee. Every time he would brush a light circle just above his knee cap, Draco would turn just a bit pinker. It was intoxicating. Harry brushed his nose along the shell of Draco’s ear, “You’re bloody brilliant.” He shouldn’t have, Harry knew better. They hadn’t talked about what - if anything - they were, but the hand holding and the near kisses and the cuddles were going to his head. It felt like for the first time, dating Draco was within reach and Harry was having a hard time being discreet. “Thanks for bringing me along.”

Draco bumped Harry’s head with his, “Thanks for coming.”

“As if I’d have said no,” Harry laughed, pulling back to eat his nuggets. Draco looped his arm with Hermione’s and started up the stairs, tossing a smile back over his shoulder just for Harry. “Coming, Potter?” No, Harry would have followed Draco almost anywhere but finding out it was only two tube stops had been sort of a relief. Parties were one thing, but traipsing all over London at 3 am wasn’t his usual scene.

Kevin bumped his toes against Harry’s, drawing his attention back to the present. “It was nice to be invited.” Harry exchanged a look with Ron. Kevin hadn’t been invited unless you count inviting himself when Draco had gone to collect Blaise and Ron… which he apparently did. “I feel like we haven’t spent much time together. Maybe we should change that? Tomorrow we could—” 

He felt Draco stiffen and dropped a reassuring hand back to his knee. Hermione must’ve picked up on the tension because she took that opportunity to drop a bomb on the group. “Draco, I got you an interview with The Mngmt.”

“How?” Kevin was sufficiently distracted from Harry, although he kept his boot pressed against Harry’s trainer. “You know him?”

“Her,” Hermione said dismissively. “I work for her. Draco used to.” Kevin look suitably impressed. Ron and Blaise were both looking at Draco with enough concern to give Harry pause. He hadn’t really been friends with Draco when he modeled, but maybe it hadn’t been a good experience. Draco just shrugged. Harry turned back to Hermione as she continued, “Draco started when he was fifteen. He actually got me my interview. Dubai summer of ‘96 was our first job.”

Almost against his will, Draco smiled, “It was your first international portkey. Fuck, you were a mess. Almost cost us the job.”

“And then we missed the tour at Qaṣr Al-Waṭan because you took so long fixing your hair,” Hermione tossed a ketchup packet at Draco. He dodged and it bounced off Harry’s head.  “But I still had the best time. We should go back this summer.”

“Was that the summer he insisted on wearing it in waves?” Blaise snorted.

Ron joined in, flashing half-chewed food as he laughed, “Yes! Used to take him over an hour to do it with magic.” Draco mumbled something unintelligible, his head now in his hands. “We can’t hear you…”

“I said,” Draco glared at each of them in turn. “I looked pretty.”

Blaise pulled out his mobile and scrolled, “That you did.” He held up his phone, a photo, presumably from that summer, filling the screen. He passed it around the group. Harry was the last to get a look. Draco was precariously balanced out the door of a sports car, his near waist-length wavy curls tangled in the breeze as his arms reached toward the sky. “I’d forgotten how long your hair used to be.” Draco used to wear it braided or twisted up in a bun for class. Harry used to lose time daydreaming about what it looked like down. And now he knew. Enthralled, he leaned closer, memorizing everything from the carefree expression on Draco’s face to the pale yellow nail polish on his fingers until Blaise took his phone back. Harry’s phone beeped just as Blaise was putting his away. Sliding it out of his jacket, Harry chuckled. Blaise had sent it to him with three winking emojis. 

The conversation moved on as the group started discussing hairstyles past that they either really loved or really hated. Ron fondly remembered his attempt at growing out “boy band hair” while Blaise reminisced over his afro from third year. While Hermione was gesturing wildly, entertaining them with a story of a blonde wig gone wrong last month, Draco turned to Harry, “What are you doing tomorrow?”

“Well,” Harry paused to suck down the last of his shake. “Unfortunately not sleeping in. I have family dinner tomorrow.” Draco nodded slowly, shifting to get more comfortable. It dawned on Harry that maybe… maybe Draco had been asking for a reason. “What are you doing?”

Draco shrugged as Hermione pushed him out of the booth, “Me? Hmm, oh nothing. I don’t really have plans.”  It wasn’t until Harry was in bed two hours later, watching the snow drift across the garden that he realized Draco had been definitely been asking him what he was doing for a reason.

Well, fuck.

Chapter Text

“Make me pancakes,” Blaise mumbled into his neck, morning breath leaving a too-warm, damp patch behind. “I want pancakes.”

Draco fumbled for his watch and groaned. “Fucking hell, babe. Do you know what time it is? Go back to sleep.” When he’d agreed to be Blaise’s roommate, he expected to share a bed. He hadn’t expected to get woken up with sour whiskey burger breath a mere two hours after finally falling asleep. 

“No,” Blaise bit Draco’s neck a little too hard. “I want pancakes.”

“And I want to go back to sleep.”

“Bet Harry’s already up…”

Draco snapped, wiggling out of his friend’s arms, “Blaise Somsak Zabini, you kn—”

“What I know is,” Blaise met his gaze defiantly, “you’re wasting time in bed with me when you could be wooing him.”

“And making you pancakes.” Draco reminded him flatly. 

Blaise rubbed a hand down his chest. “A win-win, naturally.” Draco watched as Blaise languidly stretched out, various muscles rippling. He was so fit. It’d be so much easier if Draco could fall for Blaise. He already knew about the worst bits of Draco, and Draco could tell him what he really used to do for work, and they got along brilliantly. Both of their mothers would be thrilled. But no, Draco had to go and fall for Hogwart’s golden boy. Blaise caught him staring and somehow picked up on his train of thought, “He’ll be good for you, Draco. He’ll be good to you .”

“You aren’t upset about all this?” Draco fumbled around for his joggers and started to get dressed. 

Blaise shrugged, “Would I prefer it if it were me you wanted? Of course. But you’ve been my best friend since ever and if this makes you happy, I’m happy. Then again… I’d be happier with pancakes.”

Draco tossed a stinging hex at him before ducking into the hallway. “I’m going, I’m going!”

As he jogged down the stairs, Draco was pleased to see that somebody had cleaned the house after the party had finally ended. Milli and Pansy had been on Pick-Up Patrol, and their attempt usually left a lot to be desired. Draco saw why everything was so clean when he made it to the kitchen - Harry was cleaning. 

“You’re up early,” Draco said, laughing when he startled Harry, and he dropped the stack of pizza boxes he was holding. 

Harry stuck his tongue out, “Haven’t slept actually.” Draco hummed in response as he started pulling ingredients for pancakes from the pantry. Only Harry could still look fit as fuck with no sleep and a hangover. It was so unfair. It was only when Harry laughed, cheeks stained pink, that Draco realized he might have let that it slip out. “Fit as fuck, eh?” Harry took the bowl from his hands and placed it on the counter. “You know why I couldn’t sleep?”

Draco just shrugged, not trusting his brain or his mouth at the moment. 

“I couldn’t sleep because I realized that I completely fucked up yesterday.” Harry hopped up on the counter next to the batter bowl. “It occurred to me, right as I was about to drift off, that you were going to ask me to do something with you today. I couldn’t sleep after that. It’s hard to sleep when you’re a bit worried you’ve ruined your chance.” 

Draco pushed himself up to join Harry on the counter before picking up the bowl to continue mixing the pancakes. “I don’t think you’ve ruined anything.”

“What if I ask you to come with me?” 

And that innocuous question is how Draco found himself following Hermione and Harry up the walk to Number 1023 Godrics Hollow that afternoon. Smoothing down the front of his coat for the hundredth time since the apparition point, he cast a discreet antiwrinkle charm over the three of them. Hermione flipped him the bird behind her back, but Draco, being on his best behavior, ignored it. He wasn’t sure why he was so nervous. He’d met Harry’s family before. He’d gone to school with his siblings, kissed his brother (and sister), and his godfather was Draco’s cousin… but none of it really mattered. Today, he was coming to Sunday dinner as the guy who liked Harry - the guy Harry liked. It was different. Today he had a good impression to make.

That was the plan until Harry opened the door and Hermione promptly ducked, leaving an unsuspecting Draco to be hit in the face with a water balloon. “Arse fuckers!”

It was really hard to come back from yelling that into a relatively quiet room. 

“Just some of us,” Sirius quipped, and the room exploded into laughter. Draco felt immediate relief knowing it was going to be a thing, but not a thing. Picking up on some of his anxiety, Harry trailed his fingers down Draco’s arm, “Relax. They know you. And most of them like you more than me.” A drying charm came from the same direction the water balloon had, along with a muffled, “It was meant for Harry.” If Draco had to guess, Remus was behind both of them. 

Hermione headed into the living room, but Draco followed Harry into the kitchen, where his mother was roasting vegetables and his sister was making her jollof rice. His sister-in-law was busy frying up chicken in the corner. The mix of smells made his mouth water immediately. “Mrs. Potter,” he smiled, pulling the vase of flowers and the whiskey bottle he’d brought onto the counter. “Thank you for inviting me.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “You’re making me look bad.”

“Did I mention he didn’t invite me until after I started making breakfast this morning?” Draco widened his eyes innocently and then muttered under his breath, “Now I’m making you look bad.”

Dahlia placed a stasis charm on her rice and joined Fadimata at the chicken, “Don’t worry, Draco. Our Harry needs no help looking bad!”   

“Ok, ok,” Harry laughed, pulling Draco back out of the kitchen. “That’s enough of that. We’re going for a walk.”

“Don’t be too long,” Lilly called after them. “Dinner will be at seven sharp.”

Harry waved a hand in acknowledgment before ducking out the door. They walked toward the center of the town in silence. The small village was blanketed with snow, and holiday decorations hung from wrought iron lamp posts. It looked like something off the Christmas cards his father’s secretaries would send out each year. “You know,” Draco whispered, a little worried about disturbing the peace even though several groups of merry holiday goers were crowding parts of the street. “I can see why you’d love the holidays… growing up here. It’s very Hallmark movie meets Santa’s Village.” 

“It was the best,” Harry agreed. “Especially when everybody was younger. Dad would take us sledding and we’d build snowmen and Moony would come over for snowball fights. It’s all different now that Thomas is married and Dahlia is engaged, and James and Paul think they’re getting too old for some of the holiday traditions. I guess I just thought we’d continue to do them forever. Dad and Pads still meet up with Moony to have gingerbread competitions. I thought we’d be like them.”

Draco bumped his shoulder, “That’s what Hermione and Ron are for, silly. You don’t see Sirius and Reg meeting for snowball fights and I know your mom and her sister aren’t close enough for that. That’s what best friends are for.” They paused while Harry bought some roasted nuts from a stall. He pressed them into Draco’s hand, and he had to wonder when Harry started learning so much about him. Popping one into his mouth, he changed the subject. “We never did any of that growing up. Lucius wouldn’t dream of letting anybody do anything so common.” 

“So what did you do for the holidays?” Harry lazily cast a warming charm on them as the snow started to fall.

“Oh you know, formal dinners, masquerade balls, sneaking into the greenhouse to get high… the same things we did all year.”

“Nothing special for the holidays?”

“After Lucius, um, after Paris, Blaise, Hermione, and I would have movie nights at her house. Her mom would make us hot cocoa and we’d make a blanket fort in their living room.”

“So everything changed after Paris?”

Draco didn't want to talk about this. Not here, not ever, so he kept his answer short, “Everything.”

“Oh, turn here,” Harry pulled him down a side street, dropping the subject. “This is what I wanted to show you.”

They stopped in front of a captivating two-story stone cottage that sat back far enough from the curb to have a fair-sized front yard. High, arched windows were nestled in ivy and Draco could see what looked like the beginnings of a trellis arch off to the side. “Oh, Harry, it’s gorgeous.”

“It’s mine.”

“What?” Draco felt the world - his world - tilt. “You’re leaving 12? Do we have to leave 12?” They were his family now. He knew eventually he’d have to leave and move on and grow up and not share a bed with his best friend and not always be surrounded by everybody but, for whatever childish reason, he didn’t think it would be soon. He didn’t even realize he was shaking until Harry pulled him in for a hug, “Shhhh, nobody is going anywhere yet. OK? Shhhh, it’s ok.” They stayed that way until their warming charm started to wear off and Harry pulled away to refresh it.

“If we aren’t being kicked out, what’s it for?”

“It’s for in a year or two. I’m fixing it up. I had to replace the roof and redo some of the stonework already. I planted the ivy in last spring.”

“Last spring?”

“Oh,” Harry rocked side to side. “I, uh, I’ve had it for three years. I got it when I was…”

“Dating Krum?”

“...thinking about joining the aurors. Wait. You think I bought it for Viktor?”

Draco shrugged, “Couples do that sort of thing.”

“I know,” Harry bit his lip uncertainly. “That’s why I wanted to show it to you.”

Chapter Text

“...and then he just walked off!” Harry stopped pacing to look over at his friends, all squished together on the couch. When the rest of the house had cleared out for school or work or wherever (really, nobody would tell him where Draco went) Harry had immediately called them to determine what the fuck was going on with Draco. And now, after hearing how romantic Harry had been, they were sure to take his side. 

Hermione had her lips pursed, Seamus looked more confused than at the OWLs, and even Luna looked less than amused, but it was Pansy who spoke up. “You’re some kind of stupid. You know that, Potter?”

“What the fuck did I do?” Harry deflected the pillow Hermione threw at him. “I took him home and then—”

“And then proceeded to act like you weren’t sucking face with random people just last week,” Hermione muttered. She clearly thought he couldn’t hear it because she then raised her voice. “Look, you can't go from zero to sixty with Draco. He’s like a—”

Luna’s arm shot up, “—baby goat!” 

“—a baby goat,” Hermione finished, rolling her eyes. “He startles easily.”

“There are these goats that faint when you scream at them,” Seamus interjected. “Reckon it might be something like that, mate.”

Hermione rolled her eyes again - seemed to be her new favorite hobby - but she laughed a little anyway, “Exactly.”

Harry did a very impressive (if he did say so himself) duck and roll to avoid the second pillow that was coming his way before popping up into a low stance, ready to fight. “Hermione Jean Granger, you’re writing checks your ass can’t cash.” 

Hermione launched herself from the couch, nailed an unexpected leap across the small table, and tackled him. She quickly flipped him over on his stomach, pressed a knee to his lower back, and pinned his hands above his head. “Who can’t cash what?”

He wiggled to the best of his ability, kicking his feet as much as he could, but he still couldn’t unseat her. Raising his voice to be heard over the floo roaring to life, Harry begged, “Let me tap out. Please? Please? Let me tap out.”

Ron’s beat-up red Converse came into view along with a pair of slightly scuffed banana yellow Doc Martins. Ron’s foot nudged his shoulder roughly, “Think you’ve shown him, Mione. Maybe let him go.”

Hermione briefly leaned farther forward, pressing her weight down a little bit to make her point, and lowered her head to his. Her breath smelled like popcorn and lemonade when she whispered, “You get one more chance before I make sure you never hurt him again.”

She climbed off, and Harry contemplated rolling over, but that would require more energy than he had after being attacked so ruthlessly. Instead, he just went limp, rejoicing in the fact that he could once again feel his wrists. He let the chatter of his friends wash over him. These days, when his friends gathered in spaces slightly too small for their number, were the best. Like clockwork, Pansy texted the rest of the house. Ginny and Luna left to get sodas and pizzas from the muggle place down the block while Ron headed to Blockbuster for Die Hard. Why wouldn’t he just buy it? Harry didn’t know. He had a sneaking suspicion that he liked going to Blockbuster because of the night girl that works there when she isn’t at uni. Not that Ron would admit it. 

“Hey, you,” the banana boots disappeared from view and were replaced with Draco’s head. Harry pressed up to his knees, noticing that Draco was now in a similar position. “Wanna—”

“I like your boots,” Harry interrupted. “Are they new?”

“Is that what you really want to ask me?”

Harry laughed, “For once, yes.”

“Not new, but new to me. Hermione found them at a shop in Queens.” Draco looks pleased, like all he wanted in the world was borderline offensively yellow boots. Fucking Circe, he’s cute as shit.

“I’m sorry for the other day.” Harry rushed the words out, half afraid that he wouldn’t get another chance. 

Draco reached out like he was going to touch him, but stopped. Instead, he pushed to his feet and headed out of the room, pausing only briefly at the door, as if waiting for Harry to follow. He scrambled to his feet and practically ran after Draco. You make your own chances, Remus told him once after sixth year, and he was finally going to do just that. He caught a flash of yellow disappearing up the stairs and took them two at a time. He finally caught up to Draco just as he was pushing open the door to the attic. Neither of them said anything, just stared at each other for a long moment. Harry watched emotions flash across his face before Draco wiped it blank, eyes suddenly void.

“Fucking fine!” Draco suddenly looked furious as he tossed up his hands in defeat. One complicated twist of his wand and a spell Harry couldn’t make out, and the attic door slid back, and a simple flight of stairs descended. Draco motioned for Harry to go first and pulled the stairs up after him. “I’m sorry doesn’t make it go away.”

Harry couldn’t make out his face in the dark, but he was banking on Draco not being too pissed off. “It doesn’t. I should have realized what it seemed like from your perspective. Pansy tells me I’ve been a bit of an arse.”

“Hmm, she isn’t wrong.” Draco laughed bitterly. “Roof?”

He shrugged. “I’ve never been out there.” Draco looked surprised, so Harry elaborated, “I haven’t really explored the house. I’ve never been up here either.”

“There’s a ton of fun stuff from your Sirius. So many old flannels and leather jackets. A lot of school books and films, some developed and undeveloped. But my favorite thing,” Draco reached up and uncovered a large painting on the wall. “Is this! It’s an original Camille Pissarro. It looks like it might be a companion piece to his The Boulevard Montmarte at Night .”

Harry only briefly glanced at the painting, vowing to have it moved to Draco’s room as soon as possible, before getting caught up in the art that was an enthralled Draco Malfoy. Lips parted, eyes wide with wonder… he had looked the same the first time he cast a Patronus.

Chapter Text

“Darling, it’s tradition.” His mother punctuated her sentence with a disdainful look at the main living room. He tried to picture it from her perspective and held back a groan. If the hypersexual bongs weren’t bad enough, the bowl of condoms still out from last night's party might be. The naked polaroids of Seamus, Dean, Ginny, and Luna taped to the mantle definitely would have caused her to roll her eyes if she were the type of woman to show that much distaste publicly. 

“Mother,” he started, pausing until she turned away from the Polaroids to face him, “I’ve not been for years. It’s no longer my tradition.” He tried not to fidget under her scrutiny, but as the moment dragged on and on, he could feel himself itching to move. Draco pressed his toes forcefully into the bottom of his shoes, keeping his face passive. He’d been doing it since he was a child; it was a great way to keep the appearance of being unbothered and still give in to the urge to move.

His mother spared a glance for his docs, eyes tightening slightly at their color (the scuffed sky blue leather was too garish for her taste), but she showed no other signs of annoyance. He knew from experience not to show more annoyance than she did; otherwise, the chance of him getting his way was nonexistent. She opened her mouth to offer a rebuttal but was interrupted by Blaise’s untimely arrival.

“Baby, Potter is wondering if you wanted to-to…Oh, bloody fuck. Oh, um, I mean, my sincerest apologies, Mrs. Malfoy.” Blaise skidded to a stop, mouth gaping comically. He clenched his towel tighter around his waist, knuckles white from the force. “Please forgive my intrusion. I was unaware Draco was expecting company.”

In the long moment that followed, Draco watched Blaise shift awkwardly, feet scuffing the edge of the rug. Water dripped from his locs down his chest and arms, leaving various tiny puddles by his toes. Draco couldn’t help but smirk and shrug when Blaise looked to him for help. He should know better than that by now. Draco would take any opportunity to have Narcissa’s unhappiness deflected from him. Blaise widened his eyes, a silent plea to intervene, but Draco just shook his head. A damp, half-naked Blaise confronted with a pissed-off Narcissa? Christmas came early this year. 

“Narcissa, please.” His mother responded, levitating a throw from the couch. She plucked it from the air as she crossed the room to stand before Blaise. He ran a hand across his chest, pinkening from towel to hairline. Narcissa held Blaise’s stare and slowly transfigured the throw into a rather attractive robe before draping it across his shoulders. “If you can call your mother by her first name, you can certainly call me by mine.”

“Yes, ma’am. I mean, Mrs. Malfoy. I mean, uh, Narcissa.”

His mother raised a severely unamused eyebrow. “Hmmm. Will you be going with us tonight?”

If anything, Blaise looked more terrified. “I’d be delighted. Thank you for the invitation. What an, uh, honor Mrs. Malfoy. I mean, um, N-N-Narcissa.”

If looks could kill, Draco would have peeled the skin off of Blaise in one look. He wasn’t even sure he would miss him at this point because the look his mother shot him was all too bloody smug. Draco knew he’d lose the fight, but thought he would get to plead his case. Apparently not. Fucking Blaise and his damn stuttering.

“Draco will give you the details. Until then, my boys, behave.” The way she over-enunciated, behave and looked pointedly at the condoms caused Blaise to turn and just walk out of the room. Draco started to rise, but she waved him back down. “Sit, sit. I can find my way out.” 

He spent the next several hours hiding in his room, composing a new piece on the piano, and the room magically darkened. Blaise came in somewhere around hour three with tea for Draco and curled up on the bed to read while he played. Draco could feel himself relax as the hours went on, taking comfort in the tried and true interaction. Hermione slipped in just as he was shutting the lid on the piano. “Ah, divine timing.” He climbed off the bench and pulled her into a hug. “You need to help pick an outfit Narcissa won’t despise.”

“She’ll have your head on a platter if she finds out you call her that.” Hermione climbed into bed with Blaise, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “What’s the occasion?”

“Ugh, cookie decorating… family style. Allegedly, she’s moved it to Andromeda’s this year. I guess Teddy and Ella are now old enough to enjoy the holidays.” Draco plopped on Blaise’s other side. “Lucky for me, she invited Blaise along.”

The bed shook with Hermione’s laughter. “Oh, my boys! You’ll have such a grand time. Make sure you wear those sweaters she got for the two of you in Tropea. If you do, she might forgive you your fit of petulance earlier.”

Draco dropped his head to Blaise’s chest, relaxing as he drew soft circles on Draco’s back, and Hermione’s fingers combed through his hair. “I just thought when Lucius disowned me that family traditions were something I was done with. I’m supposed to be done with them.” He knew he was pouting, but it couldn’t be helped.

“Yes, but,” Blaise whispered back, “your mother didn’t disown you.”

“It sometimes felt like it.” Draco knew it wasn’t fair. There was a lot his mother didn’t know when she distanced herself from him — a lot she still didn’t know, if he were honest with himself — but she was still his mother, and mothers were supposed to support their children. 

Hermione awkwardly hugged them both. “You can talk to her.”

“You can talk to Harry,” Blaise added, squeezing them tightly. 

Draco pulled out the hug. Everything was a bit overwhelming at the moment, but maybe talking it out with his friends was just what he needed to make sense of it all. “I can’t talk to him, guys. I can’t. I try, and the most asinine things come out of my mouth. He tried to tell me he liked me and I fucking threw a fit! He tried to apologize, and I went all Antique Roadshow on him!” Draco tossed his hands in the air as he dramatically slid to the floor. “Maybe I should just fuck him and let him get it out of his system? I could handle my crush when it wasn’t reciprocated.”

“How do you know that would get it out of his system?” Blaise stepped gingerly over him, moving to the wardrobe to start getting ready.

“Oh, please!” Draco snorted. “He hasn’t been with the same person more than once since school unless you count when he accidentally slept with Maria twice because she dyed her hair and he didn’t recognize her.”

Blaise tossed a sweater, fresh pants, and trousers for Draco on the bed. He then started shucking his clothes. “Maybe he’s been secretly pining away for his fit as fuck housemate and that’s why he can’t commit.”

Coughing to cover up her laugh, Hermione hopped off the bed and headed for the door. “From your mouth to God’s ears!”

She pulled open the door just as Blaise kicked off his pants, revealing a very stunned looking Harry Potter with his hand poised to knock. Blaise waved jauntily, completely unfazed. He pulled on pants with dancing candy canes before slipping on deep green trousers. Hermione vainly tried to distract Harry, asking him all sorts of questions about his day, but he was staring daggers at Blaise. 

Blaise cast a lazy tempus. “Seventeen minutes until we need to leave. Twenty-five if you want to be classically late.”

Draco didn’t even spare him a glance, eyes trained on Harry’s face. “Thirty and she’ll be happy I showed.”

“Tsk, tsk,” Hermione pulled Blaise out of the room, calling back over her shoulder, “Fifteen or I’ll come to get you myself.”

“So, um,” Draco began, acutely aware of the sudden silence, “hi?”

Chapter Text

Harry stood outside Andromeda’s quaint cabin nestled along the outer edge of Keswick and pouted.

It was irrational and childish, but he couldn't find a fuck to give at the moment because just on the other side of the window, Draco and Blaise were leaning against each other, admiring the tree Ella and Teddy had spent all week decorating. They looked like the perfect holiday card with their matching sweaters. 

So Harry pouted. 

It wasn’t like it was his first time today being irrational and childish. No, that came earlier when he intentionally eavesdropped on Draco and his friends and heard Blaise hit the nail on the head with his speculation. And when Draco had looked up at him, cheeks redder than a Weasley’s hair, he squeaked out a very soft hi before Harry turned and fled. He regretted it immediately, but how do you make a comeback from running away like Fang in the forest?

So while pouting didn’t make it better, it was what he would do. 

He was six warming charms deep when Hermione found him. The noise from the cabin had long died down, replaced with a contented murmur of voices and the occasional laugh. Hermione nudged him with her foot. “Trying to decide if you should go inside or back home?”

“Trying to decide what the point is.”

“Hhmmm, that’s almost exactly what Draco said,” she pulled a cig from behind her ear and lit it with a tap of her finger. Hermione was one of the most powerful witches he’d ever heard of, but Harry often forgot because she never used it. She pitched her voice low, a shockingly good imitation of Draco pouring out as she puffed away. “What’s the point, Hermione? He’s just playing games with me.” She tapped the cig off, narrowly missing him with the ash. 

Harry ignores her and changes the subject, unwilling to look harder at what she said. Not right now, not when he’s still pissy with Draco. “I picked him for the Secret Santa exchange. He said he likes socks. He’s always stealing the ones Molly makes for me. Yeah?” She doesn’t answer, so he continues, “Thinking about getting her to make him a fuck ton.”

“Jesus, Mary, and Judas! You're fucking dense. He likes them  because they’re yours.” She tosses the cig on the ground and heads toward the door, tossing an annoyed “dumbasses” over her shoulder as the door slams shut.

Chapter Text

“I’m only faking when I get it right,” Draco sang along with the radio, feeling neglected and alone as he worked on making a late breakfast. He wasn’t alone (Literally, Hermione and Blaise were right there. Or figuratively, if he were honest with himself), but he’d never really been able to shake the depressive episodes that plagued his childhood. These days, they were few and far between, but he was three days into what was shaping up to be a rather mediocre episode. Not that he was upset about it being mediocre. He didn’t miss breaking into tears at the slightest provocation or being unreasonably bitchy for no reason. But this general apathy wasn’t a walk in the park, either. He should have just stayed in bed today. 

“We could go to Bond Street,” Blaise offered lazily as he made his fourth mimosa. “Or Mayfair? I know they say retail therapy isn’t the way…”

Hermione picked up where he trailed off, “But you refuse to go to real therapy since you quit working for her.”

Draco hummed noncommittally, sipping from the mimosa Blaise had floated his way. It would be nice to get out of the house. Harry had been everywhere since cookie night with Andromeda: digging through the attic, playing darts with Blaise when Draco was reading in the living room, poring over photo albums with Hermione when he sought refuge in the library. But despite being everywhere Draco went for the last three days, Harry hadn’t spoken a single word to him. It was enough to drive Draco batty and wasn’t helping with the neglected feelings.

As if summoned by Draco’s thoughts, Harry popped his head into the kitchen. “Please tell me those are apple cinnamon crepes. I can smell them all the way up in my room.”

“And apple pie mimosas,” Blaise raised a glass jubilantly, adding a little shimmy.

“Would it be a… I mean,” he stumbled over his words, shifting awkwardly. 

“I don’t know,” Hermione interjected, cutting Harry off with a glare. “Do you know what the point of all this is yet, Potter?”

Watching the exchange with interest, Draco finished garnishing the crepes and slowly walked everything over to the table. He was waiting for Harry to answer or Hermione to elaborate, but they just stared at each other. Marlow, his therapist — could he still call her his therapist if they hadn’t spoken in years? — would find this exchange fascinating. She always loved it when Draco would allow his memories to be watched in session. Something about watching body language and seeing the exchange firsthand. It had helped, though. What would Marlow say about all of this? Probably that he was spending too much time talking to himself in his head and not enough time fixing whatever soured his mood. Humph. What did she know?

Blaise started loading his plate eagerly, piling on berries, crepes, eggs, and bacon until it looked more like something Ron would make. He shoveled it in, moaning in appreciation. “Babe, you’re going to make some bloke very happy one day. Sure you don’t want it to be me?” 

“Can we go to Westfield instead?” Draco ignored Blaise. Like he’d be making breakfast every day for his husband or whatever. Please. “I haven’t been in ages.”

“Ok,” Hermione murmured. Draco couldn’t be sure if it was to him or not. “We’ll go shopping, and Harry can come.”

And Harry can come.

That matter-of-fact declaration was how Draco found himself staring at a larger-than-life version of himself frolicking in the snow, bits only covered by a thick red silk bow. Holy Merlin, Marx, and Mary. This should not be happening. He shot that campaign three years ago. Three years. It shouldn’t even have seen the light of day, let alone London. 

“Did she tell you?” Hermione bumped their shoulders together. 

He shook his head, hair falling in his eyes. “I haven’t spoken with her since I quit. Did she tell you?”

“‘Nah, she never tells me where my work goes. It’s not the point of it all, is it?”

Blaise came up and squeezed between them. “Wasn’t that in Crete?”

“Spiez,” Draco mumbled, too busy wondering why he didn’t wear red more. “They edited out my tattoos! Stup—”

“What are we all looking at…” Harry joined them, mouth full of pretzels. “It’s, ah, oh…”

Draco had never been more thankful for his indifferent mood. One day very soon, maybe even tomorrow, he was going to be horrified by this. But right now… well, he mostly was annoyed he hadn’t known it was here. 

“You should call her.” Blaise was firm. “I know you’re bored to tears trying to be a solicitor.”

“Maybe. But first,” Draco grinned up at him. “I need to see what red lingerie they have in stock.”

Chapter Text

The rest of the shopping trip passed in a blur for Harry as he tried not to fixate on crisp cherry red bows and alabaster skin. Even looking in Draco’s direction threatened the fit of denims. Merlin, he was so incredibly fucked. And not how he wanted to be.

He wanted to be fucked up against the old antique mirror in the library, face pressed to the glass, with a hand in his hair. He wanted to be tied in place with that damn red silk. He wanted Draco to stuff his mouth full of that bloody Slytherin scarf he insists on wearing. He wanted—

“Wait, what?” He tuned back into the conversation around him, certain that he’d missed something. That was confirmed by Blaise’s laughter and the many shoppers turning to see what could be funny enough to make a grown man have such an outburst. Draco’s face was carefully blank, but Hermione was smirking dangerously.

“Yes or no, Potter?”

He looked to Draco for some clue, but he avoided his eyes. Blaise frantically shook his head no. Only an idiot would pick what Blaise wanted. Shrugging, Harry smiled. “Yes.”

Draco’s eyes widened. Blaise pumped his fist in the air. Hermione smiled at him properly for the first time in days. All at once, he realized he’d been tricked by Blaise and underestimated by Hermione. And that he had absolutely no idea what he’d just agreed to.

Chapter Text

Harry threaded his hand through Draco’s hair and yanked his head back. Harry sucked one bruise after another down his throat. The sound that escaped his mouth is obscene. Draco would be embarrassed if he couldn’t feel that Harry was equally affected. Harry moved down to Draco’s chest, sucking his nipples until he’s a writhing mess. 

“Good boy. Merlin, you’re so good for me…” Harry trailed off, gently scraping his teeth down Draco’s ribs.

Draco reached his hand into Harry’s pants and —

Abruptly woke up. 

Fuck. He’s face down in his bed, hips rolling, as he vainly tries to seek friction. 

“Uh,” Harry’s voice is rough. “Hi?”

Of course. Of course, it had to be Harry. Jesus, if Draco embarrassed himself in front of him anymore, he might just take an AK. Pulling the covers over his head, Draco ignored Harry’s existence. Surely he would go the fuck away eventually. Instead, the bed beside him dipped, and the blanket was tugged down to reveal Harry’s smiling face.

“Hey, don’t be embarrassed. We all have them. Sometimes we even have them about you.”

Ignoring that, Draco asked, “Is there a reason you woke me?”

“You need to pack!”

“Why?”

”Uh, because you and your friends are dragging me along on an impromptu trip to America? Because I’m not going unless you go?”

“Well,” Draco huffed. “You can stop worrying your pretty little head about it, Potter. I packed yesterday.”

“You can help me?”

“Oh,” Draco said softly, climbing to his knees and leaning over Harry. “I think I can help you with more than that.”

Draco almost laughed at the choked sound Harry made.

“In fact, I think I can help you right now.” Harry turned a delicious shade of pink when Draco grasped his hips and leaned in close, whispering into his ear. “I can help you get out of my room.”

Giggling, Draco flopped down on the bed. Ah! Harry’s face! Merlin, he looked so confused. Served him right after rudely waking Draco up. 

“I – you – ugh!” Harry pushed off the bed, dramatically stomping out of his room.

Draco locked the door behind him, hand already shoved down his pants. That sound… on top of Draco’s dream? Real wank bank stuff. 

When Draco finally made it downstairs after a repeat performance in the shower, he expected to find chaos. He isn’t disappointed.

“F - U - C - K - Y - O - U!” Pansy yelled from where she sat on Blaise’s shoulder, waving a pride flag. 

Ron was physically fighting Neville for a pack of cookies, Mils was shooting stinging hexes at them, and Hermione was videoing it. At first glance, Harry seemed to be behaving. A second glance proved Draco wrong. Harry was charming Theo’s glasses to do something. It wouldn’t be anything helpful. From somewhere downstairs Dudley was yelling about the lack of vodka.

“It’s fucking ten in the morning,” Draco yelled down the stairs.”Get a –”

Draco trailed off as Entwhistle joined Harry on the couch, packed bag at his feet. Oh hell no. Draco did not sign up to watch Kevin throw himself at Harry. It was only a matter of time before Harry took him up on it. Draco was the only non-straight person he knew who hadn’t slept with Harry Potter. It wasn’t like he was a whore. Harry just enjoyed the physical things in life. 

And Draco wasn’t going to let that be him anymore… unless Harry could commit to something. Which meant it was fine, totally fucking fine, that Harry moved on to somebody else.

It didnt mean he had to be happy it was fucking Entwhistle. 

It definitely didn’t mean he had to be happy that it would happen right in front of him while they were all shoved together in whatever tiny ass cabin Hermione booked for the week.