Nantucket Sleighride
Draco’s eyes fluttered open. He stretched out, luxuriating. White cotton sheets tangled around him, but they were all that kept the light ocean breeze at bay from his bare skin. This tiny Cape house had quickly cemented itself in his heart, even though it was the smallest residence he had ever stayed in before (excluding dormitories). There were only two other rooms besides the bedroom Draco currently occupied, a sliding door out onto a sundrenched patio just across from him.
He and Tiago had started coming to the house in Waquoit Bay every weekend since Draco began teaching lower-level Charms classes at Ilvermorny. He was enchanted by the shingled house with its dark roof and cardinal red door, mirroring the other houses in the community. A key aspect though was its location, just a ten-minute walk through the dunes to the water. The Bay was more of an inlet, so the water stayed fairly calm, but the warm sea breeze filled up Draco’s lungs like no other place had before.
Most of Waquoit Bay had easy access to salt water and a beach, protected, like Ilvermorny, from nosy no-majs by heavy unplottable wards and charms to steer them away. The little town thrived as a getaway for students and faculty of the school and would fill up with American wizards whenever one of numerous sporting events were held on campus. The small shops and bars reaped a pretty reward whenever there was a quidditch match, a quodpot game, a broom race, or a dueling tournament.
As much as Draco enjoyed the bustle of the streets in times of high traffic, it was blissful to escape to the solitude of the house and its private beach. There were no teens hunting him down to ask questions about the strength of using gebo as a rune base over uruz. No girls, or the occasional boy, blushing and giggling at his accent. Just quiet contentment with fleeting bursts of pleasure.
One of those moments filled his chest when he saw Tiago sneak in from the patio.
“Coming to ravish me in my sleep?” Draco growled, his voice gravely from sleep as he affected a vulnerable pose.
Tiago jumped at the voice. His guarded look turned lascivious, and he ran his gaze appreciatively over the blonde boy sprawled on the bed. “How could I resist kitten?” Tiago rasped.
Immediately Draco scrunched his face and turned his head away, all thoughts of games leaving him. “You know I hate when you call me that,” he snipped.
Tiago laughed, coming to rest by Draco’s side and kissed an exposed shoulder. “But you see, kitten, when I call you that you get this adorable expression like a disgruntled kitten.”
“Ugh,” Draco cried, his horrified face recoiling from the other man. “That does it,” he said, pushing Tiago away. grasping for his wand on the bedside table.
“No, no, no,” the tanned wizard laughed. “No hexing today.” He pulled back Draco by the leg and settled over him, his chest resting his full weight on Draco. With his arms pinned down, Draco struggled uselessly before giving up with a huff. Still smiling, Tiago bent down and began peppering his face with kisses until he was smiling back in exasperation.
The two of them had been together for almost a year. Having been Draco’s official guide on his U.S. tour, Tiago could still be found hanging around the former Slytherin even after his duties had ended. Eventually Draco threw up his hands and said, “Good grief, if you are going to be here all the time, you may as well ask me out!”
That was all it took, the bright and outgoing Californian filling up Draco’s chilly heart until they were practically living together. When Draco wrote to the administration at Ilvermorny inquiring about an adjunct professor position, Tiago put in for a transfer to work in the Sports Coordination department. Draco always had a secret preference for sleeping in a bed with another body, and this truly became one of the happiest he had been.
The school itself was incredible. Tiago had taken him the first time, apparating them both out to Massachusetts in the middle of a cranberry bog. When Draco cocked a questioning eyebrow at him, Tiago silently pointed into the mist and seemingly walked into the floating red fruit. Following, Draco soon felt the familiar stinging warmth of magic inlaid around the illusion and opened his eyes to find himself on a wooden causeway that snaked through the bog to a small copse of oaks.
Under the large leaves was a broad stone archway with the school crest engraved on it. Draco bit his lip anxiously. He could see buildings on the other side, but nerves suddenly struck him, and he couldn’t shift from his place.
Coming up beside him, Tiago stuck a thumb over his shoulder with a smirk. “You know rumor always was that there were inferi in there, waiting to be summoned to defend the school from scourers.”
A shiver went through Draco. “I did not need to know that,” he murmured. Sensing his unease a touch too late, Tiago grimaced and made an apologetic gesture. Not wanting to dwell on it, Draco continued through the arch, his giddy anticipation muted. Anxious to dispel the pall cast on the conversation, Tiago rushed ahead, bubbling up stories about hazing rituals gone wrong and favorite classes. Draco eventually relaxed, laughing at his boyfriend’s antics and took in the campus.
“It’s so big . . .” is all Draco could say, open-mouthed, as the tour continued from building to building. The houses each had four dormitories arranged in squares with a designated quad between them where students would sit out in the sun or have fires. The sports complex in particular was massive, multiple stadiums and fields spread out so that game days would allow thousands of spectators to mingle between them.
When Draco got into one of the classrooms he would be teaching in, he found himself repeating the phrase. The room was more like an amphitheater, the desks rising in rings around what would be his lectern.
“You think I can get you to say that later?” Tiago winked at Draco, who promptly blushed and tried to play it off as exasperated. Perhaps he could start using a different expression.
Now though, with Tiago sprawled across him in his exceedingly comfortable bed, Draco was tempted to bring out that old chestnut. He playfully wriggled out of his grip and ran his hand down to Tiago’s waistband, his eyelids heavy with want.
In a flash, Tiago was pulling away, sitting up on the side of the bed the guards up behind his eyes again. Draco half consciously followed him, wrapping the sheet around him to partially mask the hurt he felt at being rejected. After what had been a very fulfilling and athletic relationship between the two of them, Tiago hadn’t initiated anything in more than a week.
“Is something wrong?” Draco whispered. Tiago just sighed and ran his hand through his hair. He stood up abruptly, began to walk away from the bed, then turned and marched right back at Draco. Draco’s heart pounded in his chest as his clearly agitated boyfriend struggled to articulate his fitfulness.
“Draco, I . . .” he started, before making a wounded noise and clenching his hands into fists and pushing them up into his dark hair. He visibly collected himself, pushed out a steady breath, dropped his hands and flatly delivered the fait accompli. “Draco, I’m leaving. I’m sorry.”
Blood rushed to Draco’s head, his pulse beating so loudly he felt like his skull would burst from the pressure. Breaths suddenly seemed harder to take in, his hands crushing the sheets around him. Yet there he stood. The man who Draco had loved for more than a year, the one who only seconds before was calling him by a pet name and lining his face with kisses, watching as the blonde slowly came apart.
“What? Why?” Draco finally choked out.
Brown eyes barely pinched with concern, but otherwise the tan features of the American were blank. “I’ve been reassigned, I won’t be at Ilvermorny come the end of the month.”
Draco shot up from his reclined state, suddenly desperate to put on more clothes. He rifled through a chest looking for a shirt, unable to look at that granite mask. “Where are you going? And why can’t I go with you?” The pain in his voice nearly overwhelmed him, the words forced out through hiccups he was barely containing.
“Draco.” There was a touch of concern now, no doubt at the pathetic figure he cut. “I never should have let it go on this long.”
Betrayed grey eyes met apologetic but resigned brown ones. “What is that supposed to mean?” Draco demanded, spots appearing on the edge of his vision. “You realize ‘this long’ is a year, don’t you? And what does being reassigned have to do with us?!”
“Stop,” Tiago replied forcefully, combativeness taking control of his voice. “My reassignment has to do with us because most of my work is not sports regulation.”
Draco’s world reeled. Those words ran in a loop in his head, over and over. Not sports regulation. He panted trying to process this frankly absurd statement. The man he had known for over a year, who shepherded his life in the U.S., not sports regulation. Who introduced him to so many of the best parts of his new existence here, his chance to start over, not what he said he was. He backed up as far as he could from the partner-turned-stranger, back digging into the top of the dresser. No words were conjured as they faced off across the bedroom, the pain in Draco’s chest like a physical wound dragging him into oblivion.
Tiago tilted his head, gaze flicking between Draco’s face and the position of his hands. “You didn’t think MACUSA would let a former Death Eater wander around unsupervised,” he stated evenly.
Draco snarled, whipping his wand off the dresser only to be confronted by another pointed back at him. “Drawing a weapon on a federal agent? Not the smartest move, not with that tattoo on your arm,” Tiago warned, but with a wariness that spoke of his cautious respect for Draco’s skill. After all, he had been around enough to gage its level.
But Draco was too unbalanced to possibly emerge victorious in a duel right now, particularly against someone who knew how he thought. Slowly, the rational portion of his brain fought through the fog of duplicity and stayed his hand. “Get out!” he spat.
Tiago was still for a moment, keeping his wand trained on Draco. Apparently, deciding he better follow that order, he started backing out of the room not lowering his wand, not removing his gaze. As he reached the doorframe, he shrugged faintly. “Draco . . .”
“Don’t!” the blonde barked, blinking back tears. The brunet didn’t move, and Draco’s tears started to obscure his vision, the weight on his heart too much to bear. Gradually as his focus wavered, the eyes looking back at him started to shine green, the dark hair became shaggier, wild and unkempt, covering a forehead, covering perhaps something more . . .
Draco awoke with a start, a gasp ripping out of his throat. His heart fluttering, he almost didn’t recognize where he had woken. The fire was down to glowing coals, but it was still his Fairgate. Pressing his palms against his eye sockets, he groaned. It’s been years since I’ve seen Potter, how is it he’s showing up in my dreams?