A love story

Gerry had been the one to introduce the happy couple, but it was decided Draco would go to their wedding. Draco’s whole breakup had been like that. Three years of what he thought would be the rest of his life, ended more or less amicably. Gerry generously insisting Draco shouldn’t lose friends just because he and Gerry weren’t in love. Not, “fell out of love,” but simply weren’t. Like Gerry had never been. They kept insisting Draco hadn’t been, either.

Draco fidgeted with the name card he’d picked up from the reception table. “Draco Lucius Malfoy” in beautiful, curling script. Strangers to either side of him. His seat had been reassigned, clearly. Gerry would have sat with their old teammates from back when they played for the Holyhead Harpies. It wouldn’t have made any sense to have left Draco there on his own. So he was cast out to the far corner of the room. His back to the head table. A spare seat left empty for a spare part like Draco.

Not that Draco wasn’t happy to come. Of course he was happy. So happy he had to blow his nose in his handkerchief again, because he was still sniffling after the ceremony. He hadn’t known he was the sort to cry at a wedding. He hadn’t been, when he was little. He’d just been a horrible proud little brat of a boy who sneered at everyone who didn’t warrant as nice a pew as the Malfoy’s did for the ceremony. Truly, what an ass.

Now, Draco was emotional. It was how the light hit the brides as they entered the chapel from either side of the room. The smiles that lit up their faces when they first saw each other. They were so, so in love, and Draco’s heart ached for it. He hated to be emotional. He got all jumpy and flustered then couldn’t even manage to blow his nose quietly during the vows. How he had run out of the room the moment it wouldn’t be completely rude, thankful he’d gotten there late enough he was forced to take a seat in the back near the door.

A long, slender arm draped over Draco’s shoulders and a wisp of a man leaned all his weight on Draco. “They’ve put us at the slush table, haven’t they,” Thomas whined. Thomas was always whining. It aided his unlikableness, which might be why he had low enough standards to accept Draco as his best friend. Not that there wasn’t reason for Thomas to whine. He’d RSVP’d timely as anything, and there was even a table just for Ali’s colleagues in the MMAO. It was that, while Ali found Thomas delightful, she knew it wasn’t a universal feeling and to keep the peace at work she’d shoved him off elsewhere.

Draco admired Ali’s pragmatism. He also admired her brilliance with an electricus charm and her sharp wand work. Which somehow made its way to admiring her sharp wit. Then there was nothing left then to be fast friends. Which, of course, was why Draco was at the wedding. Gerry and Ginny had only been colleagues. Gerry couldn’t have possibly held that above Draco’s friendship.

Draco had never matched Gerry’s generosity and never wanted to. Maybe that’s why Gerry didn’t love him.

Draco rapidly blinked his puffy, itchy eyes until the emotions were held at bay. He forced out a cheeky smile. “Buck up, didn’t you say Ali sat you next to a fit bloke you could pull?”

Thomas sighed and slumped further onto his friend. He hadn’t cried a wink during the ceremony and even now looked like the idea of pulling someone would be tedious. Which was ridiculous. Thomas loved the sort of no-strings shag you can get at a wedding more than most anyone. Probably he was grumpy because his on-again/off-again office romance brought a date. Said romance and said date were seated at the MMOA table, not shucked off to the corner. Maybe said date was the reason there wasn’t room for Thomas or Draco at the nice table.

“Go on then,” Draco tried to be cheerful. “See who it is.”

With absolutely no grace and nearly as little enthusiasm, Thomas pushed up to his feet and trudged around the table, reading name cards as he went. He had too expressive of a face. It’s how everyone at work always knew what he was thinking. A bad thing, when mostly he was thinking they were dim, mage-born nitwits. Draco was the first to frown on blood purity, but he found it funny how Thomas held his muggle roots up above his peers anytime they couldn’t use something as simple as a toaster. That’s why Thomas put up with Draco at first. Well, he put up with Draco at first because he thought Draco might be a no-strings attached shag, but when that didn’t happen he kept Draco around because Draco knew what a light switch was and didn’t get confused when Thomas explained his mum was an electrician. “Never knew a mage-born could assemble ikea furniture,” he’d once said to Draco snobbishly, the way a pureblood might remark, “Who knew a muggle born could de-gnome a garden.” It was terribly rude, but Draco found it funny.

Gerry had never found it funny, when Draco had Thomas visit. Maybe that’s why Gerry didn’t love him.

Somehow Thomas’s eyebrows went all the way up to his hair, and the man’s hairline was receding. He grimaced so wide and severe his face looked like a sad clown. Draco’s best guest was the name card in front of him, the man Ali thought he could shag, was an even more disastrous ex Thomas didn’t want to encounter. That wasn’t it, though. With wide, panicked eyes Draco held up the card. “It’s Alecto Carrow!” he hissed.

Well, Draco had to grimace at that. Alecto was, quite frankly, awful. So, so awful. Exactly as awful as everyone feared someone let out of Azkaban during that whole debacle five years ago might be. Thomas was younger than Draco, all of Draco’s friends were either younger or older, but Thomas wasn’t so young that his time in Hogwarts avoided overlap with Draco entirely. Which meant he’d once been a muggle born wizard in Alecto Carrows’ muggle studies class. Which, honestly, Thomas’s life was fairly sheltered so that might have been one of the worst parts of it.

“What is she doing here?” Thomas’ voice had grown both louder and squeaky.

Draco cleared his throat to find his calm. “I think, she, um, isn’t Ali short for Alecto? It’s a family name.”

Thomas went white as a sheet. He put Alecto’s name card down and stomped two seats further where he found his own. He held it up triumphantly. “Switch with me!” he demanded.

Draco wouldn’t have. He really wouldn’t have. Thomas wasn’t the sort of friend who never asked for anything. He asked for everything. Constantly. And Draco indulged enough that now he could have stood his ground. But Thomas was his friend, and Alectro was awful. Most awful to muggle borns, which meant Thomas was on very good footing to insist two seats away wasn’t far enough. So Draco gave in.

As Draco picked up his nametag and trudged around the table Thomas picked up the name card that had sat between his place and Alecto’s. “We should probably move this poor bloke over. Alecto probably likes you and your inbred blood better.”

Draco was just about to argue that all parts of what Thomas said was complete, ungrateful shit, but he had finally reached Thomas and was able to read the card Thomas was holding.

Harry James Potter, in a beautiful, swirling script.

They’d fucking sat Alecto next to Harry. No doubt Ginny’s idea of a sick joke because the only reason Alecto could be here at all was Harry got her out of prison.

Draco didn’t even have time to try to back out with the suggestion that Thomas really didn’t want to give up a chance at pulling Harry Potter before Thomas turned tail and fled. For the best. Draco worried Thomas might have reconsidered. Which would have…

Look, Draco was very good friends with Thomas and was much better than him at keeping secrets, but Thomas knew all of Draco’s looks, and Draco somehow found it supportive how Thomas would needle him when he was nervous or uncertain until Draco spilled everything. Which meant that after Thomas slept with Harry, which he would do because he could put aside his dickheadishness for his, well, dick, he’d see instantly something was wrong. Then he’d wear Draco down until the truth came out. And if you’re thinking Thomas would be sympathetic and consoling then you do not know the man one bit. He’d be a complete pillock and would never let it go they’d finally slept with the same person. Sure, sure, he’d calm down in time and say something suitably scathing about Harry, but Draco didn’t want that, either. He didn’t want to compare notes about how Harry was in bed, and he absolutely did not want to be in a position where he was defending Harry. Since these last few years Harry had always been rather nice, and Draco would feel he had to.

“Draco?”

Oh dear it was him. Not that there was a problem with it being him. Draco was just reflecting on how nice he was, which was much better than the other person he’d apparently be sitting next to. Draco had enough time to conjure up a polite smile before he had to turn. “Hello, Harry.” Draco was proud of himself for sounding warm.

Not that he shouldn’t have been warm. He and Harry were friends. Well, they were friendly. Well, they always said hello when they ran into each other, which they did from time to time the way two people in adjacent social circles might. They’d brush past each other at some birthday party or fundraiser, Draco and Gerry, Harry and whoever he was dating that month, and exchange enough pleasantries that they somehow always knew what each other were up to these days without ever making the time to actually connect.

Oh god, Harry was doing that smile. That lopsided grin of his when he was actually amused. The one that reached his eyes so Draco knew he wasn’t faking. It looked as good on him as the honest to god suit he’d not only put on, but kept tidy for hours. He wore a bloody tie. It had green flying harpies on it, and as silly as it was it matched his sparkling eyes.

“Which are you, my ‘special treat’,” he actually made the quotations with his fingers, “or the consolation?” Harry asked.

Draco’s eyes crinkled in befuddlement. “What now?” he asked.

Harry was pulling out his chair and taking his seat as he explained. “Ginny said she got me a special treat, and Ali said she made sure there was a consolation,” he drawled.

It made sense for Draco to sit down with Harry as he said, “Neither?” Other people had already found the table, and like guests throughout the room folks were sitting and preparing for the banquet. It also made it easier to point out the name card on Draco’s other side as he offered an explanation. “I suppose your consolation was my muggle born friend who didn’t want to be near her, and I was volunteered up to seat swap until it worked out in both your favors.”

Harry only needed the briefest glance at the name card to understand. He let slip a brief scowl, but recovered quickly with a bigger, if less sincere, smile for Draco. “Our hero,” he joked, but it sounded honest.

People looked better at a wedding. They tried harder or those looking were more generous because the whole world was filled up with emotions and love. Or maybe Draco was just a sucker for honesty, and it softened the edges of forced smiles. It left Draco feeling twisted and conflicted because while he didn’t mind that Harry was a good looking bloke, he didn’t want to be noticing. Draco had wanted to be here sitting next to Gerry, who didn’t love him.

“How’s Amon?” Draco blurted.

Harry recovered from the wince less gracefully than he had his scowl. “Fine. I hear he’s fine.”

Oh, right. That made sense. If Harry was still with Amon then Amon would likely be here. Maybe that’s the real reason Harry was shoved off to the slush table. It’s where they sat RSVP’d pairs knocked down to one.

“Sorry, I hadn’t heard,” Draco attempted an apology.

Harry half shrugged as if to say it didn’t matter, but his frown was solid and he was looking down at the salad plate that had appeared magically in front of him instead of at Draco. It was a nice enough salad. Fresh greens, apples and grapes. It didn’t look like Harry was actually seeing it. Draco picked up his own fork to futz about with his own salad, which tasted tangy and sweet. He would be enjoying it if Harry wasn’t sitting so glumly beside him.

It was nerves, bad nerves Draco truly should have restrained, that led Draco to blurting out again, “Bad timing, with Witch Weekly, then.” His friends insisted it was charming how he blurted things out. They praised him for coming out of his shell after all these years. And it had taken years. Draco wanted to trust them because they were his friends, but it was hard when he knew he was swapping holding his anxiety inside with shoving his foot in his mouth given half the opportunity.

Harry stopped pouting at his salad to pout dead eyed at Draco. “What’s that?”

“Er, the cover?” tried Draco.

Harry heaved a too heavy sigh and leaned back in his chair. “Don’t tell me. It’s of the two of us, isn’t it?”

Draco fidgeted with his fork. This is why his friends were wrong and he should keep his mouth shut. “Have you not seen it then?”

“Never read the news,” Harry admitted.

“Never?”

He shook his head ruefully. “Nah, not worth it. But tonight I’m surrounded by a hundred people who will treat Witch Weekly like gospel, so why don’t you tell me what I’m in for.”

“Er,” said Draco, before lying, “I didn’t read the article.”

Harry’s lopsided grin called bullshit, but he didn’t vocalize it. Just picked up his fork and shoved an unwieldy pile of greens into his mouth. He wasn’t going to keep tidy if he went on chewing like a mule, but perhaps he’d given up on caring. Oh fuck, Draco found it endearing. Which was silly, because Draco had always found Gerry’s tidy table manners to be alluring. They would eat everything in tiny, neat bites, controlling their plate as easily as they controlled a quidditch pitch. Oh gosh, Draco’s stomach was churning now.

“It was better than my write up, at least,” Draco said, halfway needing to distract himself and halfway wanting to be reassuring, even if he wasn’t particularly good at either.

Harry gnawed his salad down enough to swallow. “What you’d get written up for?”

Draco nibbled on his salad leaf to drag out his time before speaking again. How exactly to explain… “There was an article on recently single wix, people back on the market, that sort of thing.”

Harry coughed on a grape. “Merlin, did you know they called me for that? Two weeks ago, asked if Amon and I had split yet so they could list me again.” Harry was fuming. So angry he probably wasn’t thinking about who he was sharing this story with. “Said they just figured since we’d been together four months it was probably close to ending.” Harry didn’t expand and Draco didn’t ask if that had been before or after the breakup. A pause followed long enough for Harry to put two and two together about what Draco had said. “Wait, you and Gerry…” he just let it trail off, uncertain of how to navigate a tactless question.

Draco sat up a little straighter and pulled on a mild smile. Gerry had called it his polite face, just like Draco had labeled Harry’s smile, once. Gerry hadn’t liked that Draco hid his pain behind a polite mask. Maybe that’s why Gerry hadn’t loved him.

“A while ago now,” Draco said, even though it hadn’t been that long. It had been July 23rd. Barely a month. Perfectly timed with their transfer to Puddlemere United, and the clear statement that Draco wasn’t to go with them. Only Draco didn’t say all that, because when he went into specifics people started to look worried and he didn’t want Harry worrying about him.

“Alright,” Harry said it gently. All the anger had drained away and left what looked suspiciously like sympathy. His eyes got all sharp and intense even as his lips softened. He tried to cut through the emotion by making light. “And Witch Weekly wrote you up as eligibly heartbroken?”

Draco cleared his throat and looked anywhere else. Which was a mistake, because it meant he looked up and couldn’t help but having his eye caught by Thomas all but waving his hands about to get Draco’s attention. Once Draco saw him, Thomas began nodding pointedly towards Harry and mouthing “That’s HARRY POTTER.” Somehow you could tell it was all caps. He nodded more emphatically. “HARRY! POTTER!” It looked like Thomas hadn’t realized what he was doing when he swapped places afterall, and if his round awestruck eyes were anything to go by he would have braved a Carrow to be the one sitting next to Harry, turning on the charm and being eager to help him through his heartbreak.

No thank you, no.

Draco immediately looked back to Harry before he could notice anything amiss. Harry was still staring all gentle and focused. Focused enough he must have seen Draco look at someone else. Which meant Harry would inevitably look himself to see who it was. Oh hell. The first thing he could think to say that would keep Harry from looking around himself was, “The magazine wrote up Gerry. Gerry called me first to ask if it would be alright if they sat for the interview, and promised that Witch Weekly would say something nice about me, too.”

There was Harry’s grimace again, but in sympathy to Draco. And completely focused on Draco next to him. “Right. Promising.”

“It was fine,” Draco insisted, loyally. He didn’t mean to besmirch Gerry.

“Was it though?” For some reason Harry was pushing on this. Probably related to his deep seeded distrust of the media.

It put Draco on the defensive. He hated being on the defensive. He said too much. Showed his hand too early. “Yes, of course it was. Gerry made sure the magazine wrote a nice blurb about what a wonderful man I was and how much they hoped I found the right person who could love me the way I deserved to be loved.”

Not Gerry, though, who Draco had thought loved him. Gerry had made it clear that they didn’t, and they didn’t want to settle for less than love. They thought both they and Draco were worthy of more.

Oh gosh, Draco’s cheeks were getting red again. His eyes were itchy. His fingers twitched to pull out his handkerchief but it already had snot and ew, gross, disgusting. Harry pulled out the cloth towel under his cutlery and handed it to Draco, who took it only because the alternative was to start sniffing as hard as he could to keep in the snot.

“I’m sorry, I am being horrible company right now,” Draco mumbled into the cloth before blowing his nose. “I can’t believe I keep bringing up our exes, when we’re here at a wedding,”

Harry shrugged. “It was that or the weather.”

Which somehow had Draco laughing these half choked little hiccup sounds into the napkin. How odd. Harry was being kind. Something unlodged in Draco’s throat. A tightness eased from his shoulders. He glanced again at Harry, who was smiling wryly down at the remaining bits of his salad. He had a good smile. He was using it more than he used to.

“Awful weather,” Draco offered.

Harry’s lips quirked up further. “The worst. The brides were rained out of the garden photoshoot.”

And just like that, it was easy. They could talk about the pitfalls of a summer rain. The small joys of rainbows. The conversation reset into small talk that at another time would be dull and off putting, but now felt like a refuge. Two men talking around the edges of their lives through their soup and entrees.

Speeches came. The captain of the Harpies with too many broom puns. Ali’s sister with her amateur poetry. Arthur Weasley breaking down in tears because he couldn’t believe his youngest child was finally tying the knot. A sniffle, to Draco’s side. He turned and Harry was wiping away tears, being just as big of a sap as Draco. Draco turned sharply before Harry could catch him looking, but maybe Harry saw his smile.

Then toasts. So many toasts. There was an effective charm refilling the glasses and maybe Draco would have minded if his heart wasn’t in the celebration. By the time the meal ended the whole table was giggly from champagne. Thank Merlin Alecto never showed, so it was just Draco bordered by an empty chair, and Harry Potter. Harry was making a game of saying the most banal statements with a straight face and watching for Draco to crack into a smile. This table cloth is quite yellow. We are on the dessert course. This fork is very small. Things like that. Nonsense little comments that were ridiculous but continued the ruse of conversation. Only the last one had Draco breaking, because of course Harry didn’t know what a pastry fork was and Draco couldn’t help but launch into an immediate explanation of table settings. It should have been mind numbing and resented, but Harry grinned and leaned forward to ask increasingly ridiculous questions. The game changed entirely to driving Draco mad through deliberate misunderstandings. Only Draco wasn’t driven mad. He was relieved that a conversation could be so easy.

It shouldn’t have made the night at all enjoyable, except for all the ways it did. Something nibbled in the back of Draco’s mind. Something Harry had once said. Maybe about spending time together, not unpacking things. Draco pondered that, trying to reach back in his memory to that conversation and what all it had meant. Of course, the moment Draco gave him time to think he was comparing everything to Gerry. Gerry, with their big blue eyes staring deeply into Draco’s as they shared all their deepest hopes and wishes and emotions. The way Draco’s stomach used to flutter as he felt safe to share his dreams as well.

Gerry had such big dreams, and Draco such little ones. Maybe that’s why Gerry hadn’t loved him.

As he pondered he stared blankly forward before he caught himself looking right at Thomas, who once again was angling for his attention.

Once Thomas caught Draco’s gaze he pursed his lips and cocked an eyebrow as the really gifted were able to do. The expression said, “Really, Draco?” as well as any words. It was an asshole move because of course the response was an immediate spike of anxiety in Draco. It was hard to pinpoint exactly why. Probably it was a sudden reminder that Draco and Harry had a history and the fear Thomas knew what it was. But no, no. Somehow in all the chaos it had never gotten out what had happened between them. Draco certainly didn’t tell people. Thomas was just upset because… well… Draco had a second spike of anxiety. Thomas was glaring fairly hard. Hard enough to make a point. Draco stared back all perplexed until Thomas’ meaning lined up in his head.

Oh no. Had he been flirting? Was this flirting with Harry Potter? Was Thomas upset because Ali had tried to set him up with the famous and exceptionally fit Harry Potter and it looked like Draco was stepping in to pull Harry himself? That absolutely was the completely wrong interpretation of what was happening, but Draco couldn’t shout that across the table to let Thomas know.

Suddenly Draco sat up ramrod straight. He didn’t know what to do with his hands. They were sweaty and awkward and he couldn’t decide if he should grip the edge of the table or clasp them together in his lap. Gerry had been so good with Draco’s anxiety. They would wrap Draco up in their arms, and no matter how much Draco wanted it they’d never say they loved him.

“You alright there, Draco?” Harry asked warily. He could tell, then. Draco was a mess.

The best Draco could do was that false, polite smile. “Yes, yes, of course.” God he sounded awful. Harry had to tell. It was the opposite of how he’d sounded not a minute ago while they were playing their games. Possibly flirting, if Thomas was right. Draco had the sudden realization that Harry might have thought so, too. He blamed the following terror as he considered it on what he said next. “Ali thought since you were sad over your breakup that our friend Thomas would be able to pull you tonight. I’m sure Thomas would still go for it, if you were sad and lonely and wanted a hook up.” This was possibly the most horrible way to make it clear you were not personally interested in shagging someone.

There was a pause too long from Harry. He hadn’t pulled back, physically, but his eyes seemed the bad sort of dark and there were new found edges in his expression. “Is that so.” He sounded calm. Deceptively calm. Draco didn’t say anything. He settled for clasping his hands together on his lap, out of sight. That was the best choice, obviously. Harry’s eyes flickered over him, assessing. Judging, probably. Draco was right to hide as much of his mess as he could.

Maybe Harry had been flirting, too, and he was offended. Or maybe he hadn’t been, and Draco was just being weird and awful. Draco was so good at being weird and awful. Gerry had never known what to do, then, when they couldn’t intercede. Maybe that was why they hadn’t loved him.

Finally, agonizingly slow, Harry said, “Aren’t you sad and lonely, too? Who’d Ali set you up to shag.” Another question that sounded like a statement. An especially pointed one.

“Um,” Draco said. He wasn’t sure exactly what Harry meant by that. “Um.” Harry was still looking all intent. Draco wished he would have pulled back physically so that there would be more space and more air to breath. It was such a silly question. Ali didn’t think of Draco that way. Of course, she did think he was sad and lonely, she told him so all the time, even before Gerry broke up with him come to think of it. Draco gulped. Harry never read the newspapers, but Draco knew Ali did. And it’s not like she believed what they said about Harry, not when Ginny wouldn’t. However they did talk quite a lot about everyone he dated, and had a lot of pictures with him being affectionate with other men. She’d made the same assumption as Draco was sure many others had. Harry was easy. He’d date anyone. Probably shag anyone. Which was fairly easy for Draco to believe, too, because, well. Harry had shagged him. “Um.” he said again.

“That was too much, wasn’t it?” Harry asked.

“Um,” Draco said again. He knew he had words. He had so many words. He said stupid words all the time, but right now he couldn’t even find those.

Harry sighed then turned to the table so he could hide his face in his hands. He took a very deep breath then let it all out very, very slow. Then he lifted his head back up and turned back to Draco. This smile was a strange one. Not the sort Draco could recall ever seeing Harry wear. It was soft and perhaps exceptionally kind. “I’m sorry. I can be such an asshole. You’re not sad and lonely.”

“No, I am,” Draco corrected, because he could find words when he really shouldn’t.

Only, Harry laughed like it was funny instead of ridiculous. “Alright, we’re both sad and lonely,” he said. “But you know I don’t just go around shagging people because I’m sad, right?”

It was probably a bad idea, but Draco had enjoyed hearing Harry’s laugh so he asked, “Is it because you’re lonely?”

Harry did laugh. It was a little shocked but not unpleasant. “Yeah, yeah, that’s it,” he said as he exaggerated an eyeroll. “Seriously, though, I’m not just sleeping with people for emotional support.” He sounded like this was important to him. Like, it was important to him that Draco understand.

Draco did want to understand, which unfortunately meant he blurted out, “then why do you have a new boyfriend every month?”

This time Harry’s laugh was loud. “Merlin, to think you used to be quiet. Were you always holding in questions like that?”

Draco wouldn’t meet Harry’s eyes. He squeezed his hands harder together under the table and shrugged. Harry leaned over and bumped Draco’s shoulder with his own. Draco blinked and looked up to see Harry’s kind smile again. It was so strange. Draco’s friends liked that he would talk more, but they also weren’t shy about telling him he could be rude. Gerry would sigh and shake their head once they were back home together. Then they’d say, “Honestly, Draco,” and ask Draco to be more considerate. If Draco got tongue tied afterwards they’d sigh again and wrap Draco up in their arms. It had felt so nice, but Draco realized now it hadn’t been forgiveness.

“Sorry, I know it’s rude,” Draco muttered.

Harry shrugged and bumped Draco’s shoulder again. “I don’t mind,” he said.

Draco shifted his feet. It felt safe because no one could see him do it. “It is rude, though.”

Harry leaned over like he was whispering a secret. He smelled of champaign and a rich, earthy cologne. “I’m so fucking rude, Draco. Seriously, it’s fine.”

Draco couldn’t help but giggle as he pushed Harry away. “You’re ridiculous.”

Harry was grinning now, showing all his teeth. The smile reached his eye and they sparkled. It made Draco forget what they’d been talking about until Harry unceremoniously answered his actual question. “I don’t have a boyfriend every month, but I do date a lot. In part it’s because I like sex, but mostly it’s because while casual sex is fine I’d rather like to find someone to stick it out with for the long haul. Just looking for the right bloke.”

For some reason this reminded Draco that Thomas had thought they were flirting. At that exact same moment Draco became aware that he probably smelt a bit like champagne. Because he’d had a lot of champagne. Maybe that was why he’d been so loose lipped and inarticulate. He couldn’t decide what to be just now, loose lipped or inarticulate. It was Harry’s voice in his head saying how Harry liked sex. It had Draco thinking about sex and feeling all tingly.

The feeling crashed when long, slender arms were tossed around Draco from behind. “Draco, darling! Can you believe this party? Splendid, completely splendid!” Thomas had been drinking, too, and he was done minding himself across the table. Draco tried to shrug Thomas off, but Thomas used his shifting to slump further around Draco. “Can you believe Ali’s married? It was beautiful! I cried like a baby, didn’t I?” he hadn’t, but Draco didn’t dare correct him.

“Thomas, get off you’re smooshing me,” Draco said instead.

“I’m just so happy! Aren’t you happy? I love weddings,” Thomas insisted. He shifted a bit but didn’t release Draco.

Draco pushed harder. “You big oaf, get off of me.” He wasn’t big, but he could wrap himself around a man like an octopus.

Surprisingly, Thomas de-octopied himself and got off. He heaved himself up with a put upon sigh and the saddest puppy expression. “Fiiine, be that way,” he grumbled. Then he turned to Harry, who had watched the whole thing. Thomas adopted a surprised expression, as if he hadn’t known Harry had been there the whole time. “Draco, who’s your friend? Is he the sort of man who just can’t help but love love?”

It was no use, Draco knew better than to try to get in Thomas’s way. He waved at each man and begrudgingly made the introductions. “Thomas, this is Harry, Harry this is Thomas.”

It was almost a relief, letting Thomas step in. Draco was all muddled inside. He didn’t want to be tingling over the thought of sex, or calculating how many days it had been since he last had sex because, while Gerry had broken up with Draco on July 23 it had been months before that when they’d last had sex. When was it, exactly? April? May? Draco was still trying to remember as Thomas flirted shamelessly with Harry, gradually shifting from leaning on Draco to standing in what must have been Harry’s personal space.

Then Harry said, “What do you think, Draco?” at precisely the moment Draco realized he hadn’t been listening. It must have shown on his face because Harry’s lips quirked up again and he repeated. “Want to go dance?”

Draco glanced between Harry’s amusement and Thomas’ clear frustration. “All three of us?” he asked. It was more of a guess, really.

He’d guessed wrong, by Thomas’ darkened expression, but Harry’s lips just twitched slightly before he said, “Sure.” Then he was standing and reaching out a hand. Without fully realizing what he was doing, Draco took it and let Harry pull him to his feet. Then they were really quite close to each other, still holding hands.

Thomas actually threw up his own, empty, hands. “I’m not going to be your third wheel, Draco, I already have Marshall if I’m into that.” He hardly waited for Draco to stutter out a non response before Thomas was stomping over to the MMOA table to presumably be Marshall’s third wheel.

Harry tugged on Draco’s hand even as Draco watched Thomas go. Draco was walking after Harry before he realized they were actually going to do it.

Which is how Draco ended up on the dance floor, surrounded by friends and coworkers, as well as strangers who were mostly older wix who might have taken potions just so they could be that spry at a wedding. It was a bit dimmer by the dance floor so that the bursts of magical rainbows lit up the dancers to the beat of the music. It wasn’t club music, with its fast beat and heavy bass. Harry and Draco didn’t grind against each other as they once had, all those years ago. It also wasn’t classical, with clear steps and perfect posture, as Draco and Gerry would do at the fundraising balls they attended. This DJ played only the catchest, cheesiest pop mixed with the sappiest, gooiest love songs. Weird Sisters and Celestina Warbeck mixed with muggle favorites like Bruno Mars and ABBA. Draco was thankful he’d had a bit to drink because it made him just loose enough to jump and wiggle with what was definitely a nerdy crowd of bureaucrats. Harry did, too, breaking out what may have been an alarming number of retro muggle dance moves that Draco had only seen in talk show specials he used to watch on the telly. Draco laughed each time. Loud and uninhibited. Then Harry did his toothy grin and his eyes sparkled.

They danced until they were sweaty. When they stepped aside for the slow dance Harry took off his suit jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves. Draco drank a glass of water, not staring at Harry’s exposed skin.

They danced more. Thomas had made it to the dance floor, sans Marshall and his date, and because Draco felt buoyant he grabbed Thomas’ arms and made his friend dance with him. Thomas’ resistance was weak and quickly abandoned. The two men jumped and bounced and belted out along with suggestive lyrics about riding boomsticks in the moonlight, singing to each other just as much as they did to the grannies next to them who may or may not have realized the song was about sex.

Sex. A thought that shot tingles through Draco again, and had his eyes searching for Harry. It was such a silly impulse. Except, there Harry was, closeby dancing joyously to decades old pop while his sweat soaked shirt clung to him and reminded Draco of exactly what lay underneath the clothing. It was such a bad idea. But Draco was sad and lonely, and Ali hadn’t bothered to set him up with anyone.

The music shifted as Draco stepped back into Harry’s space. Another slow song filled with lyrics about slow kisses and falling in love.

“Wanna get out of here?” Draco asked before he could lose his nerve.

Harry didn’t seem to register the question, right up until he did. His smile didn’t falter but his eyes went sharp. He glanced at Draco, then at all the couples around them pairing up to sway to the love song.

“Sure,” Harry said, but the word was drawn out like maybe he wasn’t actually certain. That was his only hesitation, though. It was Harry who took Draco’s hand and walked him off the dance floor. Neither man looked at the people around them as they kept walking. They were in the hallway, nearly to the wall of fireplaces connected to the floo, before Harry spoke again. “Where were you thinking?”

Uncertainty threatened to crash down on Draco. He licked his lips nervously and swallowed. “Probably not back to mine. I had to move back into the flat with Greg and Tish.” He was too nervous to laugh at the admission even though he had found it funny when he’d needed somewhere to go after his breakup.

Draco glanced at Harry and saw him staring back, dark and intent. Harry’s eyes were darting over Draco’s face, trying to read him. He must have seen what he was looking for. “We could go back to mine?” It was a different sort of admission. A confirmation that both men were offering the same thing.

“Yeah, let’s do that,” Draco said, his voice remarkably steady.

Harry’s lips quirked up once more. “Alright,” his voice was steady, too.

They flooed to Potter Cottage. A cozy place with the fireplace right into a large open space that held the kitchen on one side and the living room on the other. Terribly modern, but also it was clearly the heart of the house. A place for gatherings.

It felt smaller than it was because the lights were dim. Even when Harry cast a spell to turn on a lamp in the kitchen. The light didn’t reach all the corners. Harry walked to the kitchen to open the refrigerator door. “Do you want something to drink?” he asked as he peered in. The refrigerator light shone bright on him, illuminating the lines of his face in profile. He was a very good looking man.

Draco let himself think about just how good looking Harry was and made sure not to let his mind wonder. Now was not the time for comparisons. Now was the time for… what exactly? Harry was glancing up at him now, pointing to bottles in the door of the fridge. Different options. Milk, juice, alcohol. Only, Draco was fairly certain he was near enough to completely sober by now and he rather preferred it that way. So he said no thank you and Harry shut the door.

Harry looked good in the dimness, too. It blurred his edges, made it hard to read his expression. It almost hid his fidgeting. Not quite, though. No, Draco could see just fine as Harry shoved his hands into his suit trouser pockets and rocked on the balls of his feet. Harry didn’t say anything. Didn’t ask any questions. Didn’t pretend this was anything but what it was, but also didn’t do anything to make what it was happen.

That was different. Draco was… well. Not passive. Even with Harry, all those years ago, he hadn’t passively waited for sex to happen. He had yearned for it and made his yearning known. Like with Gerry. Gerry was beautiful, and Draco never stopped himself from looking. Never stopped himself from wanting and let the want be known. Draco would stare at the line of Gerry. Would admire the flash of tanned skin peaking out above their collar. Sinewy wrists built to expertly grip broom handles, or other things. Gerry could feel Draco’s eyes until they drew Gerry’s eyes to Draco and then Draco would tease with lustful smiles and Gerry would come to Draco’s bed. There had been nothing passive in how Draco gave into Gerry’s every desire.

Draco couldn’t think of smiling now, but his gaze must have been lustful. Harry had sweated through his white dress shirt. It clung to him. With the jacket off, Draco could see the strength in his shoulders, the curve of his ass. Harry was beautiful as ever, and just steps away from Draco. Draco’s fingers twitched to touch him.

Harry didn’t come, though. Draco could see him staring. The shadows hid what yearning might have been on Harry’s face, but they couldn’t hide the taunt line of Harry’s body. He was pulled so thin and looked ready to snap. Only he didn’t snap. He held himself back, just looking out at Draco, waiting for who knew what to happen.

There was no mistaking the yearning, though. Draco realized he had seen it before. Harry had held himself this way in that tiny safehouse they’d shared while he tried so hard not to stare at Draco, who wouldn’t look back. He’d been stiff and taunt when Draco had come to him, fresh from prison. Azkaban had left Draco worse for wear, but Harry might as well not have seen how it had torn Draco down. His eyes had been filled with what Draco now knew was longing. Draco wondered whether, if Harry would move just half a step into the light, if Harry would see that longing again. His heart ached to see it. His chest pounded with the mystery of it all.

Draco tried so hard not to think about how Gerry hadn’t wanted him, and how badly he needed for someone to want him. It was wrong, so incredibly wrong, to be thinking of that right now, while he was in another man’s house, waiting in the near dark for that man to take him to bed.

Harry wasn’t taking him, though. He hadn’t pulled his hands out of his pockets. Hadn’t taken that half step into the light. Draco could see him staring, but couldn’t see his face. Time was dragging on. It had been too long since either man had moved. Too long since they had spoken. What was Harry waiting for?

What was Draco waiting for?

It was so fucking terrifying for Draco to take that first step. It felt like putting himself so much further out there than it had when Draco applied for the ministry job. It hadn’t mattered that Draco knew he was good at charms and was clever enough to figure out an entry level position meant for 18 year olds fresh out of school. Draco had been convinced he would fail, and all the people would be just waiting for him to fail and they would gloat as they threw him out of the ministry through a public toilet. To this day, it was still sometimes hard to show up and believe he had earned his place. To believe he had friends. To believe he wasn’t one wrong step away from being carted off to prison for the rest of his life. It was so hard to take any step at all, when the slightest error in judgment would ruin you.

He took a second step. Harry wasn’t so far away now. His form solidified a bit from proximity. Draco was close enough that Harry’s eyes were more than just a heated gaze tracking his movements. It felt like Harry’s gaze was a physical touch on Draco’s skin. This must be what it’s like, to be yearned for. To be wanted. Impossible, of course, for that want to be more than skin deep. Gerry had never… Harry had never…

Draco stepped closer still, running away from his thoughts and his memories of all the ways his past relationships were superficial failures. He wished he had more history. He wished he had a great love story to compare everything to so he could look at what he was doing now and see how it was so very different. It did feel different, though. Not that it meant something, because it didn’t. But also it wasn’t meaningless. It didn’t have to be his heart bursting with love for another being for it to mean something. He was bursting some other way. Bursting from loneliness, from sadness, from the aching desire to feel another person close to him and to be felt in return. Draco could look at his past and see all the ways he’d been desperate to be wanted, and all the ways he gave in to whoever showed him the slightest sign that he mattered. Maybe he hadn’t loved Gerry, either, but he had been so content with another person wanting him enough. Just enough to stay.

He took a final step, stepping in close enough to be nearly touching. Close enough to be in Harry’s space. Close enough to see Harry’s mouth part and his tongue flicker out over his bottom lip. Close enough to fill the air warm between their bodies. To feel the air charge as they held the space between them, not touching.

What was Harry waiting for?

And he was waiting. Clearly he’d been waiting. He wore his desire so clear on his face, clear even in the dimness that was no refuge from what Harry clearly felt. Harry was breathing heavy but the air didn’t calm him. His hands were clenched in his pockets, his trousers a protective barrier stopping him from reaching out to touch.

Draco had been brave. He’d taken the first step. He’d risked disaster and rejection to come this far, but couldn’t go further if Harry wouldn’t.

“What are you waiting for?” Draco breathed out in a deep rasp of breath that fluttered over Harry’s skin and made him shiver.

Harry leaned forward, his lips towards Draco, then yanked himself back with a gasp and a sigh and his own raspy chuckle that was all self deprecating nerves. Harry had to close his eyes a moment to block the sight of Draco out, but it didn’t steady him. It made him lean forward again towards Draco’s warmth. The groan Harry made when he pulled back again stirred everything in Draco’s groin and if Harry wasn’t so clearly holding himself back Draco would have reached out right then, his nerves be damned.

“Draco,” it was more groan than words and Draco bit back an answering groan. They were so close now. So nearly touching. Harry held his ground, not closing that final inch. “I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

“What?” Draco asked, because the statement was madness. “What on Earth do you mean?”

Harry was still gazing at Draco like he wanted to lick the sweat off Draco’s skin and it was mind fucking Draco to have to exchange words while they could be kissing. Or fucking.

“I know this is a hard time for you. You’re in a vulnerable state,” Harry said it like he was reading out of a fucking self help book, but somehow even with his bedroom eyes fixated on Draco’s lips he managed to sound sincere.

Draco was loath to take a step back but he stood up straight so he no longer leaned into Harry’s heat. “Do you mean how I crossed the room to proposition you, something that makes me feel very vulnerable, which is why I never fucking do it? Ever. Can you remember one time I asked you for sex, Harry?”

Harry was looking Draco in the eyes now, all deep and soul searching. “You said you were sad. You just got out of a relationship. I don’t want you to regret…” he found himself at a loss for words. Draco longed to hear how the sentence would have ended. He wanted so much for Harry to finish the words, and reveal what must be his own vulnerability. Instead of speaking Harry held his jaw clenched tight, as if he could physically restrain the words and the feelings that went with them. Shadows danced in his eyes, like past memories of things Harry regretted himself.

“It’s just sex, Harry,” Draco said. “A no-strings attached shag.”

Harry closed his eyes, almost brief enough it could have been a blink only it looked weighted. When they opened the shadows were gone, hidden and guarded. “Is that what you want from me, a no-strings attached shag?” His voice was soft but there was no vulnerability left in it.

Draco had the sudden thought that maybe he was the one taking advantage. He wavered. “We don’t have to, I don’t want to if you don’t want-”

Only he didn’t have the chance to finish, because Harry was kissing him. Kissing away the end of the sentence like Harry couldn’t bear to hear it.

Harry kept his mouth closed as they brushed over Draco’s, igniting the sensitive skin on Draco’s lips and hinting of more. It was all heat, from Draco’s lips to his toes. Harry’s body had leaned in, and Draco could finally feel their chests pressed together, with Harry leaning forward into Draco’s slightly taller frame, eager for the connection.

Draco might have shuddered from the sensations. But it was good. Great. Draco let himself trust that Harry knew what he wanted, let himself bask in the feeling of being what someone wanted. He leaned forward and grasped at Harry’s shoulders and neck to pull him in closer. Draco’s mouth parted slightly to allow his tongue to flick out and taste Harry’s skin.

This time Harry’s groan held nothing back. His mouth opened, his tongue chasing Draco’s, ready to taste and twirl between their mouths. Harry might have ripped something as he yanked his hands out of his pockets but it didn’t matter because then his hands were there, gripping at Draco’s waist, reaching around Draco to cup his buttocks. When Draco nipped at Harry’s lower lip Harry’s fingers squeezed and pulled Draco in to grind their bodies together. Draco could feel Harry’s want and so dug his fingers into Harry’s hair and pulled him in for an even harder kiss until they were all teeth and gasps and grinding hips. Everything needed to ignite the senses and dull the mind.

Gerry didn’t kiss like this. They didn’t yank Draco’s clothes open or scratch nails down Draco’s pale flesh and leave trails on Draco’s skin. Oh god. They didn’t mark Draco with their teeth. Fuck. Harry couldn’t get enough of Draco and it was almost enough to make Draco forget about how he wanted anyone else to touch him.

They’d been moving, Draco realized. Harry had walked Draco backwards a bit, towards something. A glance confirmed it was a couch. A nice couch. Large, accommodating. Still… “Where’s your bed?” Draco whispered into Harry’s ear because he knew Harry would shiver so sweetly from the soft kiss of lips and breath against his ear, or maybe just the promise of the words.

“Yes,” Harry said. An eager answer to a different question. As if Draco had asked for Harry to change the plans and Harry was thrilled for the chance to do so. It nearly ached when Harry pulled away from Draco, even if it was just to grasp Draco’s hand to guide him towards the bedroom. Harry did so almost walking backwards so that he didn’t have to look away from Draco as he walked. Draco found new appreciation for the dimness. Harry would be hard pressed to see his blush.

They walked down a hallway to find the bedroom and suddenly Draco was back in Harry’s arms. Harry pulled Draco into a string of soft, almost sweet kisses that kept Draco occupied while Harry’s hands made quick work of undoing the buttons holding Draco’s trousers up. Harry was gently sucking on Draco’s lip when he was able to push Draco’s trousers down off his hips and then slip a hand inside Draco’s pants to wrap firmly around Draco’s cock and stroke. Harry deepened the kisses into Draco’s groans. Then his hand wrapped around Draco’s bum to trail fingertips down Draco’s backside, leaning into Draco until fingers could reach their target. Harry rubbed gently against Draco’s hole and swallowed down Draco’s whimper as easily as he had the groans. Harry’s voice was all gruffness as he asked, “Can I?” Draco found he’d lost his words but he could nod vigorously and that was enough.

Harry pushed Draco back and the bed was right there to catch him. Right there to lay on while Harry yanked his trousers and pants off the rest of the way. At some point Draco had already lost his other clothing. Was there a trail of discarded items leading back to the bedroom? He didn’t care. Not when Harry silently, wandlessly summoned a bottle of lube and tossed it on the bed next to Draco before striping himself down to nothing but tanned skin, firm muscles, and his glorious cock. Draco’s own cock twitched in excitement when Harry climbed onto the bed. It would have been easier if Draco turned onto his stomach, but he didn’t want to. He wanted to watch Harry pick up the lube and squeeze a generous amount onto his fingers. He wanted to watch Harry realize Draco got off on staring. He wanted to see the sly curve of Harry’s smile.

Harry scooted closer to Draco so he could more easily lift one of Draco’s legs and prop Draco’s ankle up on his shoulder. Normally a position like this would make Draco uneasy and anxious, but Harry didn’t break eye contact with Draco and the heat in his gaze burned away Draco’s self consciousness. Harry looked like he wanted to eat Draco up, and if Draco didn’t want Harry’s cock in him so bad he might have stopped everything to beg for Harry’s mouth instead. Might have demanded Harry keep staring with that sex god look while he sucked Draco down as far as he could go.

The first breach was tight, but Harry didn’t stop to give Draco time to adjust. Maybe Harry remembered how Draco liked to take it. Rough and desperate. He used that first finger to fuck Draco hard until Draco arched into it and fucked back. Then he added more. Each finger on this side of painful with no mercy given. Draco had learned to be loud with Gerry. Gerry had liked hearing all of Draco’s pleasure. Draco gave those sounds to Harry now, and watched as Harry grew more wild with lust from Draco’s gasps and moans.

Draco was ready enough when Harry pulled his fingers out, especially because he liked it when it burned a little going in. Gerry had never been comfortable hurting Draco in bed, but Harry knew Draco could take it. Or maybe Harry just wanted it as much as Draco did. Maybe he couldn’t wait even a second longer before pulling Draco’s second leg up onto his other shoulder and bending Draco in half so Harry could line up and shove it in. Draco arched up into it, shoving his ass up to take it all. Harry was a mess of groans and lube-slick fingers trying to grasp at Draco’s hips while building a fierce rhythm of thrusts that pounded relentlessly into Draco.

“Yes, god, Draco,” he moaned, filling Draco up with pleasure. “Merlin, you’re amazing, you’re perfect.” and Draco moaned, too. It was too awkward an angle to kiss but Draco tried because he wanted every thing Harry could give him all at once. Harry seemed to know and tongue fucked Draco’s mouth as best he could while pounding into him.

Draco was too far gone to compare this to how Gerry fucked, and that was perfect.

They probably should have taken the time to shove a pillow under Draco’s hips. Just something for some lift, to improve the angle. They hadn’t been thinking, and they still weren’t, but it didn’t matter. Harry could hold Draco where he wanted him, where he needed him, and Draco could feel Harry’s whole body flexing so he could have Draco exactly how he wanted him. It must have been a strain, it was a strain on Draco to meet Harry as good as he gave, but Harry didn’t let the strain slow him. He stared at Draco like a parched man who’d finally seen water and gripped bruises into Draco, not letting go. Maybe they should have paused to readjust, let Draco flip over to an easier angle, but Harry didn’t. He clearly didn’t want to. They were getting off at staring at each other. Their gazes saying things Draco couldn’t understand but he could feel held meaning and left him warm and gooey inside even as the sex left him blazing.

It was so fucking good and Draco was so fucking close and Harry kept hitting that special spot that sparked explosive pleasure and Draco’s toes were curling and he finally threw his head back, breaking eye contact because he had to close his eyes and howl his pleasure. The orgasm that tore through him blanked his mind so completely he couldn’t say just what he did or said in that moment. It must have been good, he must have clenched down on Harry, because when he came to Harry was bending over him again, stretching Draco’s legs further than was comfortable, and gulping big breaths of air as he came down from his own orgasmic high.

They were sticky and awkward and beautiful. Draco looped his arms around Harry’s neck and tried to pull him down further. Draco would have liked Harry to have been too brain dead to have the foresight to pull out of his ass first and release Draco’s aching legs, but Harry clearly could still think. And in the end it was for the best, because when Harry let himself fall into Draco’s arms Draco could enjoy it with the pleasant ache of fantastic sex and was comfortable enough that he could drift in post orgasm bliss.

It was so easy to let his mind embrace peace. Draco didn’t question Harry’s warm arms, or the hands combing his hair, or the kiss on his forehead. He just basked in it until he drifted off to sleep.
-

Draco kept his panic very small when he woke up. It was hardly panic at all. Just a tight clawing feeling in his chest and a struggle to breathe. Was it because he woke up in a strange place, in a nest of feather soft blankets with warm sunlight spilling in from the windows? Or was it because he woke up alone?

There was no brief moment of confusion over where he was. Obviously this was Harry’s room, Harry’s bed. Obviously Harry wasn’t in it. Just an empty patch where he clearly had slept. Draco dared to stretch out a shaky hand and feel the sheets. They were still warm. As if Harry had just left and it was his absence that had woken Draco.

Draco burrowed further into the bedding. He pulled a sheet up and over his head so he could cower in shadows. This couldn’t be good for his attempts to get air, and he probably should do something before he got too light headed, but mostly he needed a private moment where he could panic just a little and the panic risked growing too big if Harry came back and found Draco in the throws of it.

This was fine. This was absolutely fine. It had just been so long since Draco got laid and he let himself get too comfortable afterwards and fell asleep instead of politely going home. It didn’t mean anything, that he fell asleep. And it didn’t mean anything, that Harry wasn’t here when he woke up. And it didn’t mean anything, that he could feel Harry on every part of his body, whether he stretched out and shifted or lay perfectly still. Scratches stung. Muscles ached. His ass… Draco shifted again to feel how hard he took it the night before and he knew he must be blushing over his face and all the way down his chest from the memory of it.

This was fine. They’d had sex. Amazing sex. They’d done it before. The sex had always been amazing. Harry had always known exactly how to give Draco what he needed in bed. This time should be better, even, because they both knew what they were getting going in. No strings attached sex. No half hidden lies. No one taking advantage of the other. Nothing to panic over. No reason not to be able to breathe.

Harry’s side of the bed was cold before Draco’s body remembered how to function. Draco felt silly after it passed, as he often did. With medication and therapy he hardly ever had panic attacks anymore, and while he intellectually knew better it didn’t stop him from feeling even worse now when he couldn’t hold them all at bay. Like, he knew it was wrong but he felt that since most of them were gone it should be easier to stomp them out completely. If only he was better, did better, could be good enough.

Draco squeezed his eyes shut and refused to think about all the ways Gerry worked to support him through his anxiety, because he didn’t want to question if his anxiety was why Gerry ultimately couldn’t love him. Probably Draco shouldn’t think like that, because it was rude and untrue and Gerry deserved better.

Turns out fucking another person and waking up in his bed wasn’t what it took to drown thoughts of Gerry out of Draco’s mind. Not at all. Draco did try not to remember what it had been like to wake up next to Gerry. Yet he could not hold off the stab of loneliness as he remembered how it felt when Gerry would wake up early and wrap Draco up in their arms.

Harry wasn’t even here. Small mercies, because Draco didn’t have to compare whether waking up next to Harry would be better or worse. Draco didn’t like those small moments of comparisons. He didn’t think Harry deserved to be under such constant scrutiny. It made Draco wish he had found someone else at the wedding to shack up with. Someone with less baggage, who Draco could walk out on with an awkward goodbye and only a reasonable amount of stress because there always had to be some stress in Draco’s world.

It was fine. There was no reason Draco couldn’t say an awkward goodbye to Harry and leave, if he even saw Harry on the way out, since Harry wasn’t even here. Draco got up before he could talk himself out of it and did his best to get dressed. It was hard to do, since most his clothes weren’t here.

Bugger. Draco was going to need to walk half naked into the main room of the house.

Draco could hear Harry before he saw him. Harry must be in the main room, moving something that clanged and cooking something that sizzled. Something smelled good. Faint scents of vanilla and cinnamon wafted by, and the strong smell of bacon.

Merlin, Harry had gotten out of bed to cook. Why did that set Draco’s nerves back on edge?

Draco might only have a puny store of bravery but he mustered all that was available to him to step into that room. He thought he knew what to expect, but he hadn’t really. The whole space was transformed in the morning light into a large welcoming den, with too many alluring chairs that encouraged you to sit down and stay awhile.

And then Harry. He’d put on bagging boxer shorts and a ragged T-shirt that hung loosely off his frame. It should have made him look frumpy, especially his wild hair tufted out in all directions. Except Draco remembered running his hand through that hair, and yanking it into those wild shapes. His eyes weren’t drawn to the holes in the shirt, but rather the way the low neckline let Draco see speckled love bites along Harry’s collar. Harry hadn’t healed them. Then again, Draco hadn’t healed the fingerprint bruises that peeked out above his low-hanging trousers.

Draco didn’t make a sound, he hardly breathed, but Harry still looked up and caught him staring. That sly grin once again crossed Harry’s face as he looked Draco, still shirtless, top to bottom, before Harry turned back to his task of opening a contraption and pulling a perfectly cooked waffle out. “If you’d waited a few minutes more we could have done breakfast in bed,” Harry said casually, as if home cooked meals in bed could be casual.

Draco couldn’t help but gulp. This was… he didn’t know what. His eyes cast about for his shirt. His shoes. Anything. “I was just leaving,” he managed to say.

Harry didn’t look up from the kitchen. He’d pulled out a package of strawberries and was cutting them into bite sized pieces and depositing those pieces in a bowl. He’d made too much for two people. More than enough that he could have filled two plates long ago and brought them back to his bedroom for breakfast. His busyness was the only sign something was amiss. Certainly nothing in his voice gave him away when he asked, “You’re not hungry?”

That was an out Draco could take. No, he wasn’t hungry. His stomach was twisted in knots and he didn’t want any of the delicious smelling food filling the kitchen. Harry should invite over a whole host of guests to eat through that breakfast. Maybe Harry could make eye contact with them, since he wouldn’t do so with Draco. Draco spotted his shirt and started to put it on. “You didn’t need to go to all this trouble,” he said, his eyes focused on the buttons he was fastening.

Harry didn’t say anything demissive, like it wasn’t any trouble or he’d do it for anyone. Instead he started moving dishes to a small table nestled in a nook filled with windows. “There’s coffee, I could get you a to-go cup.”

Maybe it wasn’t the detail Draco should get held up on, but Harry didn’t drink coffee. That, and Draco couldn’t find his socks. He’d assumed they’d be out here because that’s where his shoes were, but maybe they were back in Harry’s bedroom and Draco had missed them amongst Harry’s own discarded clothing. He had to either go sockless, return to Harry’s room to look for them, or avoid the issue by saying yes, sure, he would take the coffee Harry had clearly made only for him.

He took the coffee. It was cheap and from a can, and Harry had made a whole pot of it in his muggle coffee maker. Draco couldn’t bear the thought of actually taking one of Harry’s travel mugs, because no matter what Harry said Draco knew he’d feel awful not returning it. So his new choices were to tell Harry he wouldn’t take to-go coffee because it was too awkward to have to make time in the future to return the cup and revisit this whole experience face-to-face, or pretend he wasn’t a nervous wreck and drink a mug of coffee here like a sensible person.

So Draco filled a mug of coffee and sat down in the cozy breakfast nook across from Harry, who was spreading butter in each ridge of his waffle, but not carefully enough that the flavor would be evenly distributed. Draco’s fingers twitched with the urge to do it for him. How the fuck did Thomas pull off no-strings sex, this was a nightmare.

The coffee was fine. Not as good as Harry’s tea, because Harry kept quality tea. Not as good as the breakfast, which was a high class buffet of options that could have been served at the Malfoy table in Draco’s youth. It was coffee though, which Harry clearly only kept for guests, and for some reason Harry had gone through the trouble of preparing absolutely everything he could possibly have on hand for breakfast.

Plus, Harry still wasn’t looking at him. He’d moved on to spreading jam on toast with a thoroughness Draco knew Harry actually didn’t care about. Perhaps it was just something to do with his hands. Somewhere to focus.

“Harry, are you alright?” Draco asked before he could think better of it.

Harry did glance at Draco then, eyes wide and startled. Then he flashed a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “Never better.” Draco supposed it was nice to have proof that this wasn’t for his job. Harry wasn’t with the aurors, of course, but Draco hadn’t ever lost the nagging voice in his mind wondering how Harry might be manipulating the truth to manipulate him. It was so much reassuring to know Harry could just lie like a normal person.

Draco tried to be gentle. “You seem to have gone a bit extreme with the breakfast spread.”

Harry blinked one long heavy blink. “Didn’t know what you’d like,” he explained, and Draco supposed that may have been one of the half-truths rearing its head.

“I imagine you know I wouldn’t like half a dozen people’s worth of waffles and bacon.”

Harry looked back down at his stuffed plate. He actually took a minute to think before speaking and Draco gave him time. “I guess I thought this morning might be weird and I wanted to do something to…” he waved his hands instead of finishing the sentence.

It was actually reassuring to know Harry might have had his own little panic. Not that there was a reasons or Harry to panic over anything. At least, Draco hadn’t thought there would be. Certainly in the past Harry hadn’t given one fig about the moment after sex being awkward. In fact, he’d been very, very good at saying goodbye and not looking back. Draco probably couldn’t have corned him into a nook with a table spread of delicious breakfast. Draco flexed his fingers around his mug, considering. “The coffee’s nice,” he said finally, because he wanted to make an effort to show Harry that his little panic had been okay, and it seemed safe and non committal.

This time Harry’s smile was smaller but it felt more real. “You don’t have to stay and drink it. I won’t mind if you just, you know, leave.”

There was a mountain of food surrounding them that made Draco question that, but he could see Harry was of two minds about this. The intellectual brain and the feelings one. Draco probably should have taken the second out Harry had handed him, but he didn’t want to leave feelings frayed. “You’re not taking back this tin can coffee, Harry. It’s delightfully mediocre and I intend to drink every drop.”

Harry’s smile twitched larger still, but he hid it behind the bite of waffle he finally bothered to take. It was as ferociously messy as Harry’d been at dinner last night, and once again Draco held back the urge to intervene. He didn’t, though. He let Harry be Harry as he ate his sticky food and got syrup in places it didn’t belong. Draco relaxed back into his chair and wrapped both hands around his mug of coffee. He sipped it peacefully as he stared out the large windows into a small, well-loved garden. There was no small panic to be had, just peaceful contentment.

It lasted until Draco finished his coffee and got to his feet. He’d determined he could live without his socks, he had other pairs. Harry got to his feet with Draco with an air of formality that the situation did not warrant. Especially since Harry was still trying to wipe syrup off his face and fingers with a napkin. Harry looked like he couldn’t decide if he should offer Draco a handshake or a hug and in the end did neither. “Have a good life, Draco,” he said instead.

Draco laughed. This was weird, but in a lighthearted funny way. “Have a good life? Are we never going to see each other again?”

Harry half shrugged. “We’ll talk at other people’s parties. But we won’t…”

“Sleep together?” Draco finished for him.

Surprisingly, Harry shook his head. “Not that. I mean, yes that, obviously, but also it won’t be like last night. With the talking. You’ll move on with your life, and every few months you’ll say hello, and that will be that.” He didn’t say it like it was a bad thing, just a certain one.

Draco couldn’t say why he was rankled by Harry’s words. “Is that what you want then, never to actually talk again?”

Harry shook his head harder. “It’s not whether I want it, it’s just… like, maybe last night was closure. Maybe we just needed an ending to move on.”

“I had quite moved on, Harry.” Draco’s tone was sharp and veering towards dangerous. He could feel his pulse pick up under his skin.

Harry groaned the not sexy kind of groan and ran his hands through his hair to make the not sexy kind of bedhead. Words burst out of him. “I’m sorry. I’m saying this all wrong. I just mean that you’re clearly going through a lot. You’re not over Gerry, and I was just there at the right time to peak your interest. There’s nothing wrong with that, two consenting adults can have a night of fun, but I get it was just a night. It didn’t mean anything to you. And one day you’ll get over Gerry, and then you’ll find someone else, and you know what Gerry was right, you deserve that. You deserve to be loved, Draco, and when that happens I’m going to be so damn happy for you.” He said it with more emotion than Draco had heard from Harry in years.

Draco found his throat was suddenly dry and his eyes were once again itchy. “That’s… that…” he’d lost his words again like a complete mess of a human. Draco forced a swallow to clear his throat and focused on what he needed to say. “That doesn’t mean we won’t talk. You can’t just completely decide we’ll never be friends, or be in each other’s lives. Maybe there will be another wedding in year and this can happen again. Was it so horrible that you’re swearing me off for good?” Draco wasn’t fooling himself into thinking he didn’t sound pathetic, but that was because he was quite aware he was pathetic. It was just Harry had wanted him, damnit, and Gerry didn’t. It felt like a slap in the face for Harry to take it back.

Harry looked a little pulled apart himself. “Draco,” he beathed it out like Draco’s name held meaning in and of itself. “None of this is simple. You know, I mean I know so I think you also must, but you haven’t forgiven me, have you?” he didn’t wait for Draco to answer which was good because Draco didn’t know what he could have said. “I don’t expect you to ever forgive me. I was awful to you. There’s nothing I can do to change that. But, I have to forgive myself. I have to make a life for myself, that’s actually for me. You deserve all the good things in the world that were kept from you, that I was part of keeping from you. You’re going to get it. You’re going to find love and be loved, I know it.” He paused long enough to meet Draco’s eyes and stare at him as long as it took for Draco to feel the seriousness of Harry’s sentiment. Then he continued, just as seriously. “It’s easier to think other people deserve that then you deserve that. But I’m trying to believe in myself. I’m trying to believe I can be a person I’m proud of, and a person who deserves love. And that’s what I’m going to be looking for.” He gestured between Draco and himself. “This here? As it stands? That’s not it. And if I chase after this I know I’m just going to end up heartbroken.”

It was too much all at once and Draco couldn’t see how all the feelings Harry was finally sharing could possibly be the truth hiding under his skin this whole time. However, Draco did remember how Harry had kissed him rather than hear Draco suggest that Harry didn’t want what Draco was offering. Even now, Draco could see the yearning on Harry’s face, same as he’d seen time and time again. Maybe it was a yearning for Draco, but also Harry was right that it was a yearning for something Draco couldn’t give.

Hell, Draco’s face was itchy and hot and he couldn’t hold back a sudden sniffle. Harry had to fish around for a non-syrupy napkin, but he found a clean one and offered it out so Draco could blow his nose. Draco had to time out his laughter around blowing out snot. He couldn’t name what was funny but he had to laugh. He glanced up again at Harry, who was still staring earnestly back at Draco. The laughter died on Draco’s lips and he was left with a tight chest and shaky hands clutching a used napkin.

“Do you really think I can find someone who loves me?” Draco asked.

“Absolutely.” Harry’d never sounded so certain.

Draco gulped. “Do you promise?” It was such a silly, useless question but Draco felt silly and useless in this moment and didn’t know where else to find reassurance.

This time Harry did step forward. He wrapped Draco up in his arms and held him close for too long and not long enough. Draco tucked his face into Harry’s neck and breathed in the smell of comfort and certainty. Once again there was no hesitation when Harry spoke. “I promise.”

Harry pulled back. He hesitated for just a moment, with one hand cupping Draco’s neck. He could have as easily leaned back in to kiss as to pull away. After a beat Harry did lean in and gently kissed Draco’s forehead. “Have a good life, Draco,” he repeated.

Draco’s eyes fluttered shut. He was holding Draco’s arms and gripped them just for a moment, then he two released them and stepped back. “Have a good life, Harry.” It sounded like goodbye, but this time there was no fear of it. Draco smiled as reassuringly to Harry as Harry had for him, before he walked away.