Celestial Being

Everything was not fine.

If he had stopped for a single moment to think about it he would have realized that running away from his problems wouldn’t make everything fine. It was so apparent after nearly a full day in bed. He’d slept long and hard, the effect of frantic days and weeks catching up to him. Things were clearer after sleep. Even when your mind was dull and your body ached.

What had he thought he was doing? Dabbling in the affairs of princes and kings.

Draco didn’t know better than anyone else. He wasn’t careful, he must have created a new problem for every one he tried to solve. The only thing he knew what to do was say to hell with the rules. To hell with what was expected. To hell with the consequences. It had worked when the king was a tyrannical maniac, but those days were long gone even if Draco hadn’t learned to let go of causing trouble.

It was better that he left. Even if leaving didn’t stop the ache in his chest.

Grimmauld Place was too quiet. The only sound to be heard was the thrash of rain outside the windows. Weather to match his disposition. As much as he might wish it, he did not feel like he belonged with the people here any more than he had with those he’d left in the castle. He was the family of the house, and the servants wouldn’t treat him any other way. They’d flit around him like ghosts. He had no guess how long it would be until his family returned to rid the place of its haunted feeling.

He didn’t see a soul when he trudged up the long flights of stairs to his room in the servants’ quarters. He had forgotten how small it was. It was almost like he was back here for the first time after he’d first been banished from the castle. It had felt like injustice then. Now he felt it was his own fault, for not staying settled here where he belonged. He’d have to settle, now. There was no going back to the castle after he’d thrown every opportunity granted to him away.

This may be what he had chosen, but he didn’t know how to reconcile himself to what lay in front of him.

Well, he supposed he had time to figure it out. No reason to start now, when it could be just another thing put off for later.

Draco stayed long enough to pull out a change of clothes. They were old ragged things, since any clothing of note had been left back at the castle. He still felt more at home in the things he’d made for himself than court attire. He wished he could have it one way and clearly feel himself meant to be in one place or the other. He took the time to fold up his court clothes and lay them aside to be cleaned later. His hand paused when he passed over the pocket in his shirt. He tugged at the cloth tucked in it. His constellation handkerchief. It was marked now. Literally by Draco’s blood, but also by all of Draco’s memories.

Draco got to his feet. There was a small table by the head of his bed and he went to it to open its drawer. He moved a paper aside to reveal three invitations. He took those and the handkerchief with him when he left his room.

His years wandering the attic had worn paths between the piles. Wandering between them was the first thing that felt like being home. The contents of the chests stored there were his secret friends. His confidants. They’d shared their treasures when he needed them. They’d given him hope when he had none. He felt welcome when he sat down in front of the black chest. The movements of lock picking were comforting in their familiarity. He’d memorized its contents but he still felt the thrill of opening the lid and revealing his family’s history.

There, right at the top, was the bundle of celestial masks. He couldn’t help himself, he reached in to unwrap them. He wanted to see them one more time. Maybe a final time. They were beautiful, just as he remembered. He set his handkerchief and invitations down carefully in the box and picked up the mask on top, his mother’s mask of stars. It glimmered in the light of Draco’s lantern. He remembered how beautiful she smiled in that photo of the three sisters. He remembered all of her stories about magical balls and falling in love under the night sky. His chest ached for the promised fairy tale that never came.

“Draco?”

Draco startled hard enough he dropped the mask. “Oh no oh fuck.” He ignored whoever snuck up on him to scramble back into the box and make sure his mother’s mask was undamaged. He frantically twisted it around to check every angle.

“Are you alright?” The voice was louder, like the person moved closer.

Also, it finally clicked in Draco’s head who was speaking.

He nearly dropped the mask again as he twisted round to see the king. “Your majesty!” Draco shoved the mask back into the box and slammed the lid closed.

The king had gotten within a few steps of Draco without making a sound to alert Draco of his approach. He must have come straight up to the attic after arrival because his hair was still soaking wet from having been out of the rain. At least he had stopped to take off his outerwear and his shoes, perhaps because they’d been soaked through as well. It was stranger to see King Harry in stockings than it had been to see him naked.

Unbelievably, the king responded, “You said you’d call me Harry.”

Draco just shook his head in confusion. “What are you doing here?”

“Angie said you’d be in the attic.”

“Of course I’m in the attic, but what are you doing here at Grimmauld Place?”

A drop of water had time to form at the tip of King Harry’s hair until its weight plopped it down onto his face. Draco watched it glide down the side of his brow, over the king’s cheekbone and down his chin. The whole while the king worried his lips, uncertain. “Charlie said you came here,” he said at last.

Draco huffed as only those raised with too much privilege could. The king was being unbelievably obtuse. “Am I meant to keep chasing your non-answers or will you tell me what you’re doing?”

That did it the way only Draco’s snark could. Sharp green eyes met Draco’s gray gaze and the two men stared at each other longer enough that the water drop fell further from King Harry’s chin down to his chest. The edges of the king’s lips twitched, nearly a smile, before settling back into a flat, uncertain line. “You left and… I was worried.”

Draco huffed and crossed his arms. His heart was beating fast and he told himself it was only agitation at the king’s presumptuousness. “As you can see, I’m perfectly fine.”

Draco said it to make King Harry leave but instead of leaving the king looked hard at Draco, as if a hard stare would reveal the truth of Draco’s words. Draco tried to look confident and self assured, but he was being petulant in ragged old clothes on the floor of a dusty attic failing to hide a storage chest he’d slammed shut in panic just moments before. To his credit, Draco gave it his all. He stared fierce and stubborn and the older man.

The king… well. He was wearing his practical clothes so he shoved his hands into his pants pockets and narrowed his eyes at Draco’s behavior. Then he looked away to narrow his eyes at other things, like crates. Finally he pulled his hands out of his pockets so he could rub his face. It was a familiar dance of the king not knowing what to do with Draco’s stubbornness.

The change was when the king pulled his hands away from his face and looked downward. He found a box that looked steady enough to prop himself against as he lowered himself down to the old wooden floor. He sat himself cross legged and looked back at Draco at equal height.

This was not reassuring. It was the opposite of reassuring. Draco liked to think he didn’t sound hysterical when he said, “No, you can’t sit down, you have to leave. I’m fine, so you should leave.” It was worrisome how he didn’t even believe the words he was saying.

The king did smile this time but it was grim and humorless. “I think you left because I was an asshole and you didn’t want to be near me.”

Draco squawked when he meant to laugh. “Hardly. It had nothing to do with you.”

King Harry raised his eyebrows in the universal sign of disbelief. He was more cautious with his words. “Either way, I owe you an apology. I treated you in ways you don’t deserve to be treated and I’m sorry.”

Draco wanted to stone wall the king. He was sad and self pitying and wanted the space and time to wallow. He wanted to be as obstinate and standoffish as possible until the king went away.

More than that, though, he was curious. It was his fatal flaw. One of many. He couldn’t help but say, “Sorry for what, precisely?”

“Fuck. So many things.”

“List them,” Draco demanded. He slumped back against the black chest as if to make himself comfortable. “I’ll wait.”

The king had to bite his lip to stop himself smiling, but his eyes sparkled with mirth. He leaned against the pile of boxes next to him to mirror Draco’s faux relaxation and the boxes mostly didn’t shift. “I’m sorry my first reaction is always to get angry.” He was too serious for a conversation in an attic, but Draco didn’t dare look away from the king’s solemn gaze. “You don’t deserve for me to assume the worst of you, but I do it over and over again, no matter how many times you prove you deserve better.”

“My family did try to kill you for years,” Draco said because he felt the sudden need to remind Harry that there had been a reason for his judgment.

The king ignored him. “I’m sorry I haven’t… I don’t know, Lupin would have said ‘healed’ or something.” Now the king did look away from Draco. He was staring into the distance as if he saw something other than an attic full of storage. “I’m sorry that I can’t let the war go. Not the wrongs that people did, but the feelings that are in me. Hermione calls it ‘trauma’. Sometimes I react to normal problems, every day conflict, like I need to go into battle. That is on me, and I’m sorry I ever made you feel like it was on you.”

“I mean, I probably would have killed you,” Draco said even though he didn’t know why he went there, “if I had the skill, or the opportunity, or the courage.”

That had the king’s lips quirking up again and he turned back to Draco smiling. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell how funny you were. You make jokes when you’re scared, and I kept lashing out because I thought you were mocking me.”

“I am mocking you,” Draco insisted because Harry was not getting it. “I mock you constantly, you make it easy.”

King Harry flexed his fingers like maybe there was something he wanted to do with his hands. Like reach out for Draco’s. “I’m sorry I took you for granted. I, um, I’ve been thinking. About everything.” He cleared his throat. He fidgeted. “I think I just assumed that because I was a king, and you were… in a different position, you would just accept a proposal. I didn’t actually think about what you might want, or give you a chance to say it. Or listen, when you chose to share.”

Draco couldn’t pretend to be nonchalant anymore. He sat up and pulled his legs up against his chest. The king was being so ridiculous. King Harry might have been an asshole and a brute, but Draco hadn’t meant it when he’d insisted the King debase himself. It was too much, like it was exaggerated or made up. Draco felt more than ever the need to convince King Harry to stop spinning these tall tales. He simply didn’t understand the truth and Draco needed to make him. “I’m too stupid to know what’s good for me.” Draco spoke so softly the king had to lean closer to hear. “Of course you would expect me to do the reasonable thing. I just make stupid, stubborn, selfish choices. I don’t know how to stop.”

“God, Draco.” This time the king did shuffle closer to him. He didn’t reach out and touch Draco but it was a near thing. He was close enough that Draco could feel the heat of him. He could nearly feel the moisture of the rain still on the king’s skin. “You are so far from selfish I worry that you give too much of yourself away. You sure as hell do too much for me, and I haven’t done a thing to earn it. I’m sorry I never give anything back.”

“You like, fought a whole war, right? All I ever did was throw parties and bully people. I wasn’t even good at the little work I was given. I ignored half my lessons, my tutors despaired for my future. My own father didn’t bother to give me any responsibilities, because he must have known how useless I was. I couldn’t even… I couldn’t even… I saw him, you know? King Voldermort. I saw what he did and I didn’t…”

Then there were arms around Draco because the king finally closed the distance between them. He squeezed Draco tight against him, and Draco put up with the damp clothing and water droplets because underneath it Harry was warm and solid and it felt good to be embraced. Draco might have been taller than the King, but he could still lean forward and tuck himself against the king’s shoulder and simply breathe in the smell of him. It was so very dangerous, letting himself feel comfort from this man, who didn’t seem to realize that things could never work between them.

The king rubbed his fingers over the nape of Draco’s neck and, despite himself, Draco relaxed against him and sighed. “I don’t know why you’re here, Harry.” It didn’t feel so much like overstepping to use his name. It felt like he had to, to show he was sincere.

“No one has ever made me feel like you do,” Harry said.

“Angry?”

Draco could feel Harry’s amused huff before he answered, “Like the war doesn’t define me.”

It was undignified to snort and Draco would insist he hadn’t. “You’re being ridiculous. I don’t know what to say when you’re ridiculous.”

“Aren’t you going to mock me?” Harry asked.

“I’m trying to come up with something, but it’s hard to mock someone when they’re sad. It just makes you mean.”

“And you’re not mean.” Somehow Harry’s arms wrapped more securely around Draco. “I’m sorry it took me so long to realize.”

Draco tried half heartedly to pull away but Harry wasn’t having it and Draco quickly gave up. “You’re being ridiculous,” he said again instead.

“In case you can’t tell, I don’t care.” He sounded like he meant it. Like maybe he would be ridiculous as long as it took to make his point.

Draco shrugged to make enough space that he could pull just far away to look up and meet Harry’s eyes. “What is it that you want?” He hated that he sounded strained. How was it he could summon courage and bravado for every hair brained scheme he had, but couldn’t keep his voice steady for this one conversation with Harry?

“I want,” Harry paused as if, even with all his time spent thinking, he hadn’t put time into finishing how to finish the sentence. “I want a chance to have something with you.”

“What?” Draco said, because he didn’t know how not to push.

Thankfully the king didn’t say something trite like “anything.” Draco wouldn’t have believed it if he had. Instead, Harry said, “Something real.”

That made Draco gulp. He felt stripped bare and naked at the suggestion. It was terrifying to even consider. More terrifying still to explain why, because he was afraid it wasn’t possible and Harry could never give him anything real at all. Draco could barely force out the words, “You treated me differently when I wore a mask.” A mantra that had trapped itself in his heart. A truth that had soured every other interaction he’d had with Harry since.

“I know,” Harry said. A simple acknowledgement that was the first step to easing the knot in Draco’s stomach. Draco had been afraid Harry would deny it. “I get the feeling you don’t actually want me to string on the apologies, but I could.”

Draco shook his head. Harry was right, he didn’t want to hear more apologies. They wouldn’t do much more than make him feel uncomfortable and if they went on too long Draco would probably just get suspicious or self-deprecating. He didn’t want that. The problem was, he didn’t know what he wanted. Harry had come all this way to sit before him and ask for something, and Draco didn’t know if he wanted to give it. He didn’t know if he was capable.

Well, he was probably capable. Somehow he had organically built friendships with any number of people and he’d grown to trust and love them with all his heart. He was capable of doing it. There was just something in the way here. He couldn’t tell exactly what it was. Was it Draco wanting something different, or Draco being too scared to try for what he wanted?

He tried to parse through everything but he wasn’t ready. He had escaped to the countryside to hide in his family’s home away from all his problems because he wasn’t ready to face them. He wasn’t ready for them, him, to have followed Draco here. He didn’t know what to say. He desperately wanted to know what to say. He wanted to be able to give Harry back the same honesty and vulnerability Harry was offering him. He just didn’t know if he could do it.

“You’ll never treat me like you treated the man in the mask,” Draco said, because he had to say something, so why not say the thing he was most afraid of?

Harry reached out and cupped Draco’s face in his hand. “Draco, you can’t really want me to.” He dropped his hand and dipped his own head so he didn’t have to look at Draco. “Those parties, they weren’t real. It was a fantasy. This escape, where I could pretend to be someone I wasn’t. And it just happened that each time I went to one I saw this beautiful man, and I could pretend for a while that I was a different person who could just be liked for who he was instead of the fact he was king. I think I wanted to be someone different so bad I just kept making up… stories, I guess? Like stories with fairy tale endings where I got the beautiful man who made everything easier and then my problems would go away.”

“You get a true love's kiss and then turn into a pauper instead of a king?”

Harry smiled. “Why not?”

Draco shrugged. “I want the fairy tale.” He always had and he thought he always would.

They were so close, with their legs still touching and either of them could have wrapped their arms back around the other. Harry set his hands on Draco’s knees instead, rubbing gently against them. Possibly the touch comforted Harry, he certainly kept reaching out. “I’m here, right? I’m here, and I’m saying sorry, and I’m asking for a chance. This isn’t another marriage proposal to please other people. It’s me asking you for a chance to see if we’re right for one another. Maybe find our happily ever after.”

Draco’s heart soared and his heart ached and he chewed on his lip nervously because his hope and his fear couldn’t reach consensus. This could be a fairy tale ending. He could say yes. He could lean forward and kiss Harry and give in to the warmth and comfort the other man clearly longed to give him and receive in return.

Only, Harry had asked for something real. He couldn’t build a relationship if he started it with secret resentments he was too afraid to share. “You never got angry at me, when I wore the mask. You weren’t cruel.”

Draco had seen a lot in Harry’s green eyes. Anger, mostly, but also joy, and, on the more exciting days, arousal. He’d never seen him look so sad. He didn’t hide it this time, though. He was brave enough to face Draco head on. “It isn’t what it looks like. I didn’t like the masquerade man better.”

“Didn’t you?” Draco asked.

Harry was making a sad grim smile as if he thought something tragically funny. “It would be easier if I did. You’d understand why, and I could spend the rest of my life proving to you how sorry I was.”

Draco bristled. “Like I’d let you!”

Harry laughed at the younger man’s antics, but he also pulled his hands away. The loss of warmth was harsher than Draco could have imagined. Harry ran both hands through his hair, pulling the damp strands up at odd angles and ensuring they’d dry crooked.

“I’m an angry person, Draco. I get angry at everyone. You just didn’t stick around in a mask long enough for it to be directed at you.” His smile was all sad again. “Like I said, none of it was real.”

Neither man spoke and the silence gave plenty of time for Harry’s words to sink in until finally Draco said, “That’s really sad.”

Harry groaned his frustration and inched even further back from Draco. “No shit.” For the first time that day he sounded hurt.

Draco wanted to say that came out wrong, or he didn’t mean it. He also wanted to move forward back into Harry’s space. Parts of them that had been touching were now damp in a way that drew in the cold. Reminder after reminder that being held by Harry had felt better. It reminded him of being back at the equinox balls, when they sat close and it didn’t have to be that complicated. Except for all the times it was. It reminded Draco how every chance he’d had to come clean was a chance he took to hide further, and how so many resentments had built up over that time while he magically wanted everything to change without ever having to face what had happened for himself. There was no fairy tale ending here.

That didn’t mean he didn’t want what Harry was asking for. He couldn’t say what he wanted. Maybe just to find out whatever “real” meant and do Harry the service of saying it aloud so they both knew what Draco could offer back. Maybe if Draco managed to do that Harry would still look sad and he’d get angry, but it would be feelings Draco had earned honestly. They’d be feelings both men could recover from, if that’s what was needed.

Because Draco could end things now. He could say no and walk away. It would hurt, but… well, mostly it would hurt. He’d get over it, like he got over losing a war, his father, his wealth, and his status. Which, of course, meant he wouldn’t ever get over it at all.

Because even if Harry was frustrating, or got angry, or thought the worst of Draco, he was also so much more. He was the man who rolled in the dirt with children, who was creative and silly when given a chance, and who would sacrifice everything for the people he loved. He also was a man who said sorry, kind of a lot, because even if it would be better if he just stopped making mistakes, he also never stopped trying to be better. He could realize when he was wrong, and get past his pride to see the best in Draco in the end.

Draco’s heart was beating hard in his chest because he knew there was something real there. There had to be something real there. There had to be something he wanted that he could say with confidence and maybe, finally, they could move past their baggage and create a new, better, brighter future, or whatever they say in those stories with happy endings.

The only thing holding Draco back was fear. Long, lingering fear. Fear from all that baggage that they’d never unpacked.

He didn’t want to talk about it. There was no comfortable conversation here. No easy way through one. Draco reminded himself that Harry had traveled all the way here in a rain storm to lay himself bare and that must have been harder than Draco admitting he was scared. So Draco had to do it. He had to lay his fears out there. He had to see what would happen.

“How can I know that you won’t, you know, get angry and do something, like, slam me up against a wall? Or cut me open?”

Harry actually flinched away from the question. The strain of the conversation was getting to him and he lashed out in defensiveness. “I never cut you open.” Such a bad deflection. It was clear Harry knew it as soon as he said it because his face reddened with shame and he wouldn’t meet Draco’s eyes.

Which in this moment may have been for the best, because Draco’s eyes were wide in shock and his skin was too pale. He almost lashed out himself to correct the king, but paused when a devastating realization hit. Harry didn’t remember attacking Draco. Draco had been no one to him, just a body to cut down. And Draco had never let Harry see the marks. Draco had thought if he’d done so it would have given him away. That it wouldn’t have was a special sort of pain.

The silence was stretching too long. It was agonizing.

“I never,” Harry tried to break the silence but lost the words before he could finish speaking. He gulped. When he spoke again the words were shaky. “I never hurt someone on our side.”

“Our side,” Draco said, trying out the words. They sat uneasy in his stomach under all his scars. “Your side,” he tried next, to see if it felt more honest.

“You’re on my side, Draco.” Harry said it like he wanted it to be true. Like he was asking Draco if it could be. Like he still wanted something with Draco. If they could find something real.

Draco couldn’t let the past go. “What if you’re angry, and I push you, and you forget, and there’s no one there to stop you.”

Harry could hear and see the fear in Draco and perhaps that’s what he needed to settle his own nerves. “I won’t forget.”

“But what if--”

“Draco, you literally threw yourself in front of a poisoned dagger to save me,” Harry sounded unbelievably firm. “All my friends like you better than me. You’re Teddy’s favorite person. And if that somehow wasn’t enough, you won’t stop concocting elaborate schemes to try to make my life better. I… you… you’re… you’re one of the best things in my life.”

Harry sounded so certain the Draco didn’t know how to take it. Draco’s eyes were big again, all wide in surprise. He felt nearly light headed. “Oh,” Draco said.

“This might be too much to put on you in one day. I can see you’re nervous, and you probably need time to-”

“No,” Draco interrupted. “I mean, yes. I mean, no I don’t need time. Yes, let’s…” he licked his lips because they were dry and he was nervous and he needed one last beat to be certain before he said, “take a chance at having something.”

Harry paused a moment to look hard at Draco. Draco looked back, still wide-eyed, but not uncertain. “Something?” The question was tinged with hope.

“Anything,” Draco said. Which was stupid because he couldn’t possibly mean it and he’d never let Harry get away with something so excessive and ridiculous. He just felt… like something had been lifted off him. Like the world was open to possibilities.

Harry’s lips were quirked up in that small smile and his eyes shone like brilliant emeralds. “Anything?” he asked.

“Well,” Draco said because he felt caught out in his own eagerness, “not marriage. Obviously.”

“Obviously.” Harry’s eyes truly twinkled. He looked happy.

“Time,” Draco said. “We’ll spend time together.”

“I’d like to spend time with you.” Harry sounded so incredibly sincere it made Draco’s stomach flutter. Probably because Draco actually believed him. He finally believed Harry would give Draco time and maybe he didn’t wish Draco was someone else.

“Yeah,” Draco breathed out the word. He wanted to spend time with Harry, who was imperfect but was trying. Harry, who thought Draco was one of the best things in his life.

Harry looked like he had a million questions and was holding them all in except for, “Anything else?”

“Um,” Draco said because he hadn’t thought this through. He had lurched, because it’s what he always did. He jumped straight in without thinking. Only, he had thought about this. He’d thought quite a lot. He’d been worried and afraid and he had shared it, at least the parts that mattered. He did want to try whatever this would be, but he wanted to do it right, like it meant something. He was still nervous and on edge, but after squeezing out one fear at a time he had heard enough. Harry would likely always be a sad grump, but that wasn’t all there was to him. Draco would always carry scars, and one day he’d probably talk about them, but more importantly… Draco believed Harry. Something had shifted in Harry’s world view, and Draco wasn’t the obligation he’d shoved off on an advisor, who Harry always had to be suspicious of. He was Draco. Family, lover, friend.

Draco realized he needed to know Harry was coming into this just as openly. He didn’t want to discover Harry had hidden his own resentments, only to see them fester.

“Do you have anything you’re worried about, with me?” Draco asked. “I need to know now. We have to be honest, for this to be real.”

To his credit, Harry gave it thought before answering. “You have to stay out of foreign affairs. Probably also domestic affairs. You can be helpful, but…” he trailed off because he clearly couldn’t find the exact words to say what a mess Draco could be.

“What if you get yourself into a mess?” Draco tactfully did not say “again.”

Harry looked at Draco like he knew what Draco had chosen not to say. “Then you talk to Hermione, or Andromeda, or me. That’s it. No going to George, or, heaven forbid, Percy.”

“Percy is probably never going to talk to me about affairs of state again,” Draco lamented. “He’d find it so unprofessional.”

“That is Percy’s finest quality,” Harry drawled. “But seriously, if we’re going to… there has to be separation between us and my responsibilities as king.”

Draco thought of all the ways he’d caused trouble for Harry and his friends by sticking his nose into things, and all the time sticking his nose in was needed. “I can still talk to you, though, if I’m worried?”

“I don’t know how I’d stop you.” Harry didn’t sound sad about it, and that was enough for now.

Draco smiled and leaned forward just a bit to be closer to Harry. “So, time together. You work on all that anger and healing trauma. I show reasonable levels of respect for all the hard work and careful plans you and your advisors are doing for the kingdom.”

Harry very nearly rolled his eyes, but held it in. “Anything else?” he asked.

And while this felt silly and too close to a business transaction, Draco wasn’t sure if he’d ever have a better chance to say it so he said it now. “Exclusivity.”

“What now?” Harry asked.

The nerves came back but Draco shouldered on. “This isn’t going to be like… well, I want to be clear. We’re exclusive. No kissing other boys.”

It was Harry’s turn to look surprised, just for a moment. Then his eyes darkened and a sly grin spread across his face. “I’d be happy to exclusively be kissing you.”

Draco hadn’t actually been thinking about kissing, not until Harry said it. Then suddenly he couldn’t stop thinking about it. He couldn’t stop thinking about other things, like how warm Harry’s body had been and what it would feel like to strip those wet clothes off him and lick up raindrops with his tongue.

Maybe if he were wiser he’d pause there and finish the conversation. Talk through all the anythings and what their wants and needs were to feel safe and whole in this something they wanted to build a relationship off of.

Draco wasn’t wise. He was eager and he was cold and he was lonely, and Harry was right there. Right. There. And Harry clearly wanted Draco. Draco was one of the best things in his life. So Draco lurched forward with all his energy. He flung his arms around the other man, who wasn’t braced to catch him so both of them toppled a little. They hit a stack of boxes and perhaps it swayed but it didn’t fall, which meant Draco was able to urgently and immediately start kissing.

Harry moaned against Draco. He shifted under the younger man to make space so they could lie together on top of each other, Draco straddling Harry. They focused mostly on the kissing, with teeth nipping at lips and tongues eagerly exploring. They had done this before, but never like this. It may have been up in a dusty attic, but it felt open and free.

Draco ground against Harry, chasing his own lust and feeling Harry’s in turn. He wanted more. He wanted to feel everything. Draco reached down between their bodies to untie the clothes between them, but Harry intercepted Draco’s hands and laced their fingers together. He used Draco’s hands to pull him back in towards Harry so that the older man could kiss him again. Slow kisses interspaced with nuzzling that warmed Draco on the inside even if he didn’t understand why it was happening.

The next time Draco tried to take things further Draco started at Harry’s ear. He nibbled on the edges and licked the moisture away from the skin just to feel Harry shiver under him. Draco nosed along Harry’s skin, tickling his neck before kissing it. Then biting it. Harry arched underneath him and groaned and Draco sucked hard on his neck so that he could see himself on Harry’s skin in the morning. Draco kissed further down. Biting at the skin, kissing the shoulder, licking the clavicle. He reached his hands under Harry’s shirt and brushed his fingertips over Harry’s hips, teasing him with sensation. Harry grabbed Draco’s wrists before he could go further and pull the shirt off.

Draco paused. He pulled one hand away so he could push himself up and look at Harry. “Am I doing something wrong?”

Harry didn’t look like anything was wrong. His lips were kiss bruised and his eyes were blown wide with lust. His body was strung tight and there was no hiding how hard he was under Draco. He was nearly panting with desire. He shook his head to confirm it wasn’t Draco. “I, um, I just… this isn’t just about sex. Not for me. Not with you.”

Draco bit back his first instinct to say, “obviously” with as much sarcasm as he could muster. They’d had a whole conversation about all the other things it was about. Draco realized that had been for him. Harry had done that for him, so he would be comfortable. This action, this withholding, meant something to Harry that wasn’t obvious to him the way it was to Draco. It was Harry trying to show how much he cared. It was Harry seeing Draco more than just another one of his pretty boys.

So Draco crawled off Harry and laid down beside him. It was awkward because the space was tight and parts of Draco really didn’t want to lose out on being up close to a gorgeous man, but it was also okay. It let Draco take Harry’s face in his hand, and wrap the other hand up in Harry’s hair, and pull him in close for the softest sweetest kisses Draco could offer.

Time together and kisses. That’s what they had promised, and it was more than Draco had thought possible. It was everything he needed.

Later, Harry would ask Draco what he was even doing in the attic, and Draco would muster the courage to be more vulnerable and open than he had been even in their conversation. Draco would show Harry the black chest, and explain everything it meant.

Later, the men would leave the attic. They’d stay together in Draco’s little room in the servants quarters and Harry didn’t complain at all about how small it was when Draco finally stayed with him for an entire evening. Harry would hold him the whole time, warm and close.

Later, the storm would end and the family would come, worried about Draco and Harry, only to find them safe and calm and happy.

Later, they would spend time together, talking, reading, kissing, more than kissing, with friends, with family, shouting and yelling, in happiness and disagreement.

Later, they’d figure out if it was for now or for forever. But that was a long time away, and right now giving something a chance was enough.