Falling

The night was still. A grandfather clock ticked away in the sitting room of Number 12, Grimmauld Place. Moonlight filtered in through the dusty windows, revealing old, molded wallpaper, a cold, unlit fireplace, two deep green, Victorian sofas, and a glass table stained with fingerprints. 

As the clock struck midnight, the fireplace flared to life.

The green flames died down almost instantly, and in their place stood two fully grown men. They stumbled out of the fireplace, tracking ash onto the carpet. 

Draco brushed himself off. “Say what you will about Granger,” he said. “But she sure knows how to throw a party.”

Harry laughed. He shed his hoodie - Draco’s heart stuttered for a moment as his shirt rode up - and then collapsed onto one of the sofas.

“Glad you had fun,” he said.

Draco smiled. Taking out his wand, he lit up the fireplace and Summoned a cup from the kitchens. 

“Augumenti,” he said. Water poured out of the end of his wand into the glass, which he placed on the table in front of Harry. “Here. Make sure to drink plenty before you go to bed.”

Before Draco could move further away, Harry caught his hand. His fingers were warm. “You’re not leaving?” he said.

“Are you suggesting I stay the night?”

“What if I am?”

Draco raised his eyebrows. He had visited Harry at this decrepit house plenty of times since they left Hogwarts, but only for a few hours during the day. There was a strange tension between them now, every time they met up. The house empty but for the two of them, quiet but for their words and laughter, expectant, always, for more.

“I have to go,” Draco said. “Mother will be wondering where I am.”

Harry frowned. Sitting up, he pulled Draco towards him, his knees on either side of Draco’s legs. “But it’s my birthday,” he said.

Draco nodded his head towards the grandfather clock. “Not anymore,” he said. “It’s past midnight.”

Harry kissed his stomach, arms around his legs. “Let’s pretend it is, then.”

“That’s not what you said on my birthday.”

Laughing, Harry looked up at him. “You could just tell her,” he said.

Draco felt a twinge of annoyance. The night was too quiet, however, too good, to pick a fight now. He laced their fingers together. “I will,” he said.

“You promise?”

Draco smiled. “Pinky promise.”

He climbed into Harry’s lap, straddling his waist. Harry untangled their hands to slip his fingers under Draco’s shirt, warm on his stomach, his hips. They crept up his back. 

“Harry…”

“You’re free to go whenever you’d like, Draco,” he said, grinning.

Harry pushed Draco’s shirt up far enough to reveal his nipples. They were sensitive, unlike Harry’s, which Draco thought was incredibly unfair. Smiling, Harry leaned in, kissing each one. He flicked his tongue over the right one, then started sucking on it. Every now and then, he nicked it with his front teeth. 

Draco cursed. 

Harry shifted them, so that Draco lay flat on his back on the sofa, Harry hovering above him. He pulled up the end of Draco’s shirt.

“Open,” he said.

Draco opened his mouth. Harry stuffed the shirt in, leaving his stomach utterly exposed, and then he kissed Draco’s left nipple, licked it, sucked it, nicked it. Unlike Harry’s dormitory in the middle of the night, Grimmauld Place was silent but for the two of them, yet out of habit, Draco held in his moans. 

Slowly, as if savoring every pass of his lips and tongue over Draco’s overheated skin, Harry made his way down his chest, his ribs, his belly button, the edge of his trousers. There, Harry looked up at him. His green eyes glinted in the moonlight.

“Still want to leave?” he said.

Draco was drooling onto his piece of shirt. “Mmmphf,” he said.

Harry chuckled.

Draco ran his hands through Harry’s hair, trailed his fingers across his cheek. Harry caught his wrist and kissed the palm of his hand. More kisses, going up this time, up Draco’s forearm, the inside of his elbow. He lingered there, making Draco’s whole arm tingle, then moved on - up his bicep, his shoulder, the side of his neck.

Harry pulled the shirt out of Draco’s mouth and kissed him there too. Draco draped his arms around Harry’s shoulders, and he grabbed at his hair as the tip of Harry’s tongue flicked out to meet his. Draco arched into him, not bothering to keep quiet anymore.

Harry held him close in his arms.

“Draco,” he said, quietly. “Are you staying?”

Harry tasted like sweet cocktails and chocolate birthday cake. They were the same age now, twenty years old, an entirely new decade. Neither of them had made it to this age as a virgin; however, he knew Harry had never fucked a man.

He looked at Harry. Harry looked back.

They were really doing this, weren’t they?

Would he be good enough? Was a man good enough for the Chosen One? Was a death eater good enough for the Saviour of the Wizarding World?

The fire crackled in the silence. The clock ticked away the seconds and minutes, reminding Draco, again, that it was late, and only growing later.

He took a deep breath. “What about you?” he said. He looked between Harry’s green eyes. “Are you sure?”

Harry’s just-kissed lips quirked up. “Yes,” he said. “Absolutely.”

Draco felt himself blush. He was glad for the darkness of the room. 

“I see,” he said. 

Harry kissed his forehead, his eyebrows, his nose. Sweet, lingering kisses. Draco could smell the strange cologne he’d worn for the party - a scent that reminded him of dirt, trees, and Quidditch. It suited him. 

“I’ll make you breakfast in the morning,” Harry said. 

He was smiling, soft and sweet, sweeter and softer than cake, and Draco was mesmerized by it, by him. They weren’t Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy in that moment, but simply two people, two men, who happened to greatly enjoy each others’ company, found each other greatly attractive, and wanted, desparately, to fuck each other until daylight.

“There better be pancakes,” Draco said.

Harry made chocolate chip and banana pancakes. Draco devoured each one the next morning in Harry’s dark kitchen while enduring sloppy kisses and tight embraces. He almost fell off his chair. Twice.

They lounged in Harry’s bed for the rest of the afternoon. Trading languid blowjobs and heated kisses as, outside, the day darkened with fog and rain. They talked, mostly - about nothing, about everything - the way they used to back at the Astronomy Tower.

Harry had his head in Draco’s lap. Draco ran his fingers through the black mop of hair. They were both naked, not having bothered to put their clothes back on. The freedom to do so was drastically different from Hogwarts. He felt closer to the man before him. He felt warm.

“So what’ll you tell Narcissa you were doing,” Harry said. “When you get back?”

Draco stiffened. He was quiet for a moment, then he sighed. “Perhaps I’ll never go back,” he said. “I quite like it here.”

“Yeah?” Harry grinned.

“The food is subpar, I must admit, but the service…”

Harry laughed. He sat up so he could straddle Draco in the bed. Their bare skin was flush against the other, nearly the same temperature, though Harry always ran a bit warmer. Draco wrapped his arms around Harry’s waist, pulling him close.

“You could tell her the truth,” Harry said.

Draco rolled his eyes. “I don’t feel particularly keen on being disowned today, Potter.”

Harry laughed. “Then you’d really have to move in with me.”

“Don’t you start getting any ideas.”

Draco trailed his fingers across the small of Harry’s back. He felt him shiver. The rain had picked up outside Grimmauld Place, hammering down on the rooftop, trickling down the window panes. They had lit the fireplace earlier, but the room remained cool. 

“Seriously, though,” Harry said. He stopped Draco’s wandering hands. “You’ll have to tell her at some point.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “I will.”

“Will you?”

“What about you?” Draco said. He gave him a sharp look. “You haven’t told the Weasleys yet, have you?”

Harry bit his lip. “Actually,” he said. “I was hoping to talk to you about that.”

Draco frowned. He shifted, dislodging Harry from his lap. Harry scooted back so they sat facing each other on the bed, knees barely touching. 

“Draco,” Harry said. His green eyes were trained on him, never wavering. He smiled. “I love you.”

Draco smiled back. He felt the truth of the words in his chest, like warm honey spreading slowly through his veins. He felt the ghost of Harry’s touch on his skin, the soreness that still lingered inside of him, a sweet pain. 

“And I want you to come with me when I visit the Burrow next weekend.”

Draco’s smile faded. Silence filled the space between them.

“I see,” he said.

Harry looked between his eyes. “What do you think?”

Draco stared at a spot on the bed between them. Harry’s sheets were maroon, his pillowcases gold. It was the most Gryffindor room of the house, with faded banners of Harry’s old house hung up on the walls. 

“All right,” he said.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

Harry took Draco’s hands in his own. Draco looked up at him. He couldn’t help smiling at the wide grin on Harry’s face.

“Brilliant,” he said. “You’ll love it, you know. It’s absolutely amazing, and Molly’s cooking could rival the house elves’ at Hogwarts, even…”

He went on in this vein for quite a while. Draco was content to listen, watching Harry play with his fingers.

“...and once we get back, I could meet Narcissa. I mean, we’ve met before, but not as your...”

Harry’s fingers stopped. He glanced furtively up at Draco.

“My boyfriend,” Draco said. The word hung in the air between them for a moment. It felt awkward in his mouth, as if he’d never said it out loud before.

Harry’s lips twitched. “Yeah,” he said.

Draco took his hands back. He clasped them together in his lap, staring down at them. 

“Harry…” he started, then stopped. He bit his lip. 

The rain had begun to peter out, though Draco knew the downpour would come back at some point. Birds started to chirp outside the window, glad for the reprieve. The fire crackled merrily behind him. 

Harry shifted in the bed. He brought up his knees, wrapping his arms around them.

“You’re not telling her,” he said. His voice was quiet. “Are you?”

Draco’s hands were turning pink. He didn’t dare look up to see Harry’s expression.

“I can’t,” he said.

“Why not?”

Draco exhaled sharply. “Do we have to talk about this now?” he said.

“Why, do you have someplace to be?”

Draco looked up at him, scowling. “Can’t you just drop it for once, Potter?”

“I just don’t get it.” Harry ran a hand through his hair. “Why don’t you want her to know?”

“About the fact that her only son and heir is gay? Hm, I wonder.”

Harry sighed. “I know it’s hard,” he said. “I was scared to tell other people about you too, but it worked out in the end. Besides, she’s your mother. She’ll understand.”

In the old days, Draco would have pointed out that Harry didn’t have a mother, so he couldn’t possibly know what it’s like to be in Draco’s current position. Harry raised his eyebrows, as if he knew what was going through Draco’s mind. A brief clip of muggle music reached them as a car raced past.

Draco looked back down at his lap.

“Harry,” he said. “There’s something you should know.”

Harry said nothing. Draco licked his lips. They were dry, his mouth was dry too, as if something had, suddenly, sucked all of the moisture from the air. The rain carried on out the windows in a light drizzle.

“I’ve a meeting with the Greengrasses tomorrow,” he said.

Harry was silent for a moment. “All right,” he said, slowly. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

Draco took a deep breath.

“My father’s dead,” he said. “It’s just my mother and I, and we’ve both been working hard to build up our reputation since the war ended. We’ve donated to charities, we’ve offered public apologies, we’ve created funds for orphaned children -”

“Yeah, I know all of that,” Harry said. Draco didn’t have to look to know he was frowning.

He gritted his teeth. “All of that to say, the Malfoy name is only just starting to mean something again. But there’s only so much we can do on our own. We need the Greengrasses’ support to keep going on like this, and so we’ve decided to meet tomorrow to discuss our options.”

A pause.

“I don’t understand,” Harry said.

Draco looked up at Harry, at his ridiculously messy hair and naked body scattered with marks from his mouth. He felt heavy, as if he’d swallowed a large stone. 

“The engagement,” he said. “We’re going to decide tomorrow if it’s still advantageous for Astoria and I to get married, and if so, when.”

Silence. Harry was gaping at him, like a troll. He’d told Draco before about his troll of an uncle, about his aunt and Dudley. Perhaps he learned how to gape like that from them.

“You didn’t think to mention this to me before?”

“I’m telling you now.”

Harry laughed, a high, strangled sound. 

“All right,” he said. “We’ll hide you away. Your mum can’t marry you off like that, not if you’re not there. Can she?”

Draco stared at him. The look in his eyes was fierce. Protective. He was reminded, suddenly, of Hogwarts, the day his father died in Azkaban, the night Harry found him up in the Astronomy Tower and sat down next to him, an arm around his shoulder, silent as Draco cried.

“I have to go to the meeting,” he said.

“What? Why?”

Draco’s throat was dry now too. He could barely speak. “I have to do what’s best for my family.”

“What do you mean?” Harry frowned. “What if they say you’ll have to marry?”

“Then I’ll get married.”

Harry stared at him. The protective light in his eyes had gone. “What?” he said.

“It has to be this way.” Draco felt a strange pressure behind his eyes. A familiar one. He blinked rapidly. “My mother and I, we’re doing all we can, but I can’t even get a job. There are shops in Diagon Alley I can’t go to, because of who I am, what I’ve done. I have to think about my children, Harry, and their children…”

“Are you…” Harry swallowed, visibly. “I don’t understand.”

“I have to restore the Malfoy name,” Draco said. “Our reputation. Marrying Astoria might be the only way.”

Harry’s bottom lip was trembling, his eyes shining. “Draco, are you breaking up with me?” he said.

Draco felt something wet drop onto his hands. Surprised, he reached up and gingerly touched his own cheek. He was crying.

He took a deep breath. “We don’t have to. I’ve asked around some, and there are married men who maintain…extramarital relationships-”

“No.” Harry’s eyes were red too, though Draco wasn’t sure if that was from anger. “I won’t do that.”

“Harry.” 

Draco’s voice broke. He was crying in earnest now, but he didn’t care. He felt weak, vulnerable, as if he were back in the Room of Requirement, flames surrounding him every which way, waiting, desperately, for Harry to save him. 

“Please,” he said.

“No!” Harry laughed, bitterly. “Are you daft? I’m not - how could you even ask me something like that?”

“I’m trying to be realistic!” Draco said. “Where did you think this was going, anyway? It’s not as if we could get married or have children -”

“We’ll figure it out!”

“Figure it out?” Draco wiped more tears from his eyes. He scoffed. “Great, why didn’t I think of that?”

Harry glared. He got out of the bed, and he started pacing. For a few seconds, a few heartbeats, he said nothing at all.

“It’s the only way,” Draco said, into the silence. “Believe me, I’ve thought about this over and over, but I just can’t see how else to stay together.”

Harry shook his head. “Why do we have to even think about that sort of stuff now?” he said. “We’ve only just left Hogwarts!”

“Perhaps you’ve the luxury of putting off that sort of stuff.” Draco watched as Harry moved up and down the room, pulling at his hair. “I don’t.”

“But we’ve never even talking about any of this!” Harry stopped to look at him, mouth set in a grim line. 

“Fine,” Draco said. He crossed his legs on the bed. “Let’s talk about it, shall we? Tell me, Harry, do you know anything about wizarding politics?” 

Harry scowled. “No,” he said.

“The Sacred Twenty-Eight?”

“No.” 

“Do you know how we’d get married? Have a family? Carry on our family names?”

“I don’t know, but-”

“I can’t set my life around I don’t know, Harry.” Draco felt his tears, burning hot in the corners of his eyes, down his cheeks. “I can’t.”

Harry glared at him.

“What, so you’re giving up?” he said. 

“I’m not giving up!” Draco said. “If you’d just think about it. I’d only be married for political reasons anyway-”

“I said I’m not doing that!”

“Then what do you want me to do?”

“How about you don’t marry someone else, for starters?”

“I don’t have a choice!”

“Yes, you do!” Harry threw up his arms. “You always have a choice, Draco, you’re just too fucking blind to see it!”

“What are my choices, then?” Draco felt himself shaking. “I run off with you? Abandon my mother? Abandon my family?”

“I could talk to her, make her see-”

“What would that change? I still can’t get a room at the Leaky Cauldron because I’ve got this on fucking my arm!”

Draco brandished his left forearm. Harry flinched. The Dark Mark lay between them, stark against his pale skin. Harry looked at Draco, met his eyes.

“I can help,” he said. “If we go public, if people knew we were together...”

Draco sighed. Always the hero.

“I don’t need your charity, Potter,” he said.

“Oh, but it’s okay when it’s coming from the Greengrasses?”

“That’s different.”

Harry rolled his eyes, but Draco continued.

“Besides, you think they’ll just magically forget my family was on the wrong side of the war?” He sneered. “Or will they think that evil little Draco Malfoy bewitched the Chosen One? Used a love potion, perhaps?”

Harry exhaled sharply. He gave Draco a look that clearly said he’d made a low blow.

“They won’t think that,” he said.

“You did.”

“That was different!”

“It wasn’t!” Draco clambered off the bed. He trembled as he stood. “I thought you of all people would understand! Sirius Black and countless others, they were all arrested just for being in the wrong place at the wrong time - what do you think they’d do if they caught wind that a death eater might’ve hoodwinked the Saviour of the Wizarding World?”

Harry waved him off. “That was back then,” he said. “It’s different now.”

“Is it?” Draco curled his hands into fists. “My mother and I considered leaving the country, did you know that? We can’t even leave our Manor here without someone trying to get back at us for the things my father and I did during the war, not that I can blame them…”

Harry opened his mouth at this, but Draco spoke over him.

“Point is, the war isn’t over, Harry!” he said. “Not for me, not for them, not for any of us!”

Just the previous night, Harry had woken Draco up, a wand in his face in the middle of the night. Harry’s green eyes had been dazed, yet oddly focused, his shirt soaked in sweat. It had taken ages for the both of them to calm down enough to fall back asleep.

The sky had darkened outside the window. Draco wasn’t sure whether it was still the afternoon. Somewhere in London, thunder rumbled. A car alarm blared into the sudden silence.

“You should go,” Harry said.

Draco stood still for a moment. The sheets were all over the place on the bed, they hadn’t bothered to tidy the room up after. Everywhere was warm, too warm, yet cold at the same time. 

“Fine,” he spat out.

He searched for his clothes. Collecting them from random places on the floor, he put them back on. He walked out of the room, down the stairs, back to the sitting room. He grabbed a handful of Floo powder from the bowl on the mantelpiece. Throwing it into the fireplace, he rattled off his address, stepped in, and left.

The next day, he met with the Greengrasses, and both parties deemed an engagement between him and Astoria as beneficial. Draco, hand shaking, sent a letter to Harry that night, informing him of the decision. 

He never received a reply.