[fic] in the place of you and me (two ghosts standing) ; harry potter, harry/draco

[delacourtings]

in the place of you and me (two ghosts standing). harry potter. pg-13. 8931. ao3 | lj. 
draco can't recall a time he wasn't in love with harry potter. he can't imagine there ever being a time he won't be. 

for the prompt hello - adele by kikimay at hd_wireless. all the love and gratitude to s and l for their help with this. shout out to adele and taylor swift for being the queens of breakup albums and providing endless inspiration/tears. 
 

Draco hates parties. He used to love them, once upon a time. Back when he or his parents were the ones hosting them, or were esteemed guests of whoever was. They were the ones whispering about others behind their backs, laughing over their glasses of champagne. Now the whispers are always about Draco himself and no matter how he attempts to distract himself, he can feel them, like gusts of wind against his neck.

 

"Are you sure you don't want to come with me?"

 

Draco looks up in the mirror standing in front of him and his eyes meet the reflection that isn't his own.

 

Draco focuses his attention back on his cravat. "You ask me that every time and every time my answer stays the same. I'm starting to suspect you're developing memory problems."

 

Harry flops down onto the bed. "I know, I know," he sighs. "But I want you to."

 

Draco moves a few pieces of hair so that they dangle artfully over his forehead. "We've talked about this."

 

"But I don't care about my image," Harry says, voice now muffled slightly, Draco suspects because he's pushed his face into a pillow much like he does when Draco tries to wake him up in the mornings, but he doesn't bother to check and see if he's right, instead continuing to perfect his appearance. By the time he's satisfied Harry's moved back into an upright position.

 

"But I do," Draco reminds him.

 

Harry sighs again but doesn't say anything more.

 

"Who are you taking this time?" Draco asks, turning back to the mirror, fiddling with his outfit.

 

"A girl named Hannah. You'd like her. She's really nice. She was in our year at school. A Hufflepuff."

 

Draco snorts.

 

 ——————————————————

 

The party, the name of which and the reason for its existence Draco's already forgotten, is like every Ministry party: immensely dull and remarkably insufferable. To make matters worse, Draco has to watch his boyfriend as he galvanizes the room, a stranger on his arm. Harry's right, she is nice, or at least all the people she and Harry have interacted with seem to think so. She's pretty too, with pale skin and fair hair. A small part of Draco is smug that the two of them are so similar but it's overshadowed by the part that notices how easily accepted she is and how not a single person has done so much as bat an eyelash at her being on Harry's arm.

 

Draco’s normally quite good at controlling his emotions, even at these types of events, where he has to see someone other than himself plastered all over his boyfriend. He doesn’t know what it is about this girl, perhaps it’s that they’re so similar in appearance, or perhaps it has nothing to do with her at all and has everything to do with Draco being tired of having to hide but every time he spots her with Harry, his blood starts boiling. He drinks so many flutes of champagne that one of the caterers asks if he’s alright which only serves to infuriate him further. He’s staring at the two of them, long ago given up the pretense he isn’t staring, when the Hufflepuff girl stands up to leave and kisses Harry on the corner of the mouth. If Draco hadn’t had so many lessons in controlling one’s magic as a child, his glass would’ve shattered right then and there. He doesn’t even excuse himself from his table, instead he just gets up without a word, and heading right home where he makes a much needed, much stronger drink.

——————————————————
 

 

“Why’d you leave?” Harry asks when he comes home, hours later than Draco.

 

“Forgive me for not wanting to watch some trollop throw herself at my boyfriend.”

 

“She's not a trollop, Draco,” Harry says. “And she wasn't throwing herself at me. Besides, I asked you if you wanted to come with me. Repeatedly.”

 

“Yes. You always do. Despite knowing why I can't.”

 

“No.”

 

“No what?”

 

No, I don't know why you can't. I don't understand.”

 

“Of course you don't understand. Because you're Harry fucking Potter,” Draco spits out. “If you come out, majority of people will still love you. You'll still be their hero, their saviour. If I do, it's just another thing they can use against me."

 

“Okay,” Harry says, holding his hands up placatingly, “you aren't ready to go public. I understand that. But why do you insist on keeping it a secret from everyone? Your friends, your parents?”

 

Partially because he's drunk and partially because he's frustrated, and angry, and scared, and wants Harry to feel even a fraction of the pain he feels, he finds himself saying, “You don't understand what it's like! Your parents are ---”

 

“Dead,” Harry says, coldly.

 

All the blood drains from Draco’s face. He wants to apologise, say he didn't mean it, say he'd never say such a thing, say he’s drunk, but his mouth is dry and he can't seem to form words. It's as if someone’s hit him with a Tongue Twisting hex.

 

“I think I’ll sleep somewhere else tonight,” Harry says, voice like ice.

 

“Harry,” Draco finally manages but Harry’s already out the door.

 

Panic starts to build up in Draco’s chest. He’s never admitted it to Harry but he's always hated watching him leave. Every time it reminds Draco of Harry walking into the Forbidden Forest, destined to never return.

 

Draco starts to go after him but then thinks better of it. They've had arguments before, never one of this size, but Harry always comes back after he’s cooled down a bit. He’s usually the one to leave, while Draco is the one left behind. Draco has his theories as to why, mainly that Harry’s childhood was so restrictive that whenever he has the chance to escape, he does.

 

So, Draco waits.

 

Harry doesn't come back. He always comes back. He’s only ever been gone a few hours at most but this time...he doesn't come back.

 

It's been two days and he hasn't come back.

 

Draco knows when he’s being given up on. He’s seen it happen so many times before. He packs his things and gets out of there as swiftly as he possibly can.

—————————————————— 

 

Three weeks. Three weeks without a word from or about Harry, even within the halls of the Ministry, though that’s likely Draco’s fault, he’s become even more of a recluse at work than he already was. Still, he at least used to hear a bit of gossip about Harry now and then. Lately, he's heard nothing.

 

But then a copy of The Quibbler shows up to his flat without preamble. After reading, Draco thinks it should've come with a warning or at least a complimentary bottle of Firewhisky.

 

It isn't on the cover, that holds a headline claiming a new magical creature has been found in New Zealand. Draco flips through the magazine, a few photographs catching his eye for a moment but none enough to hold his attention, at least not until he sees a photo of Harry. It’s black and white and features Harry sitting on a stool in front a plain backdrop, looking at something out of frame. Accompanying the photo, in large, blocky, white letters are the words I’M GAY.

 

A sharp pain forms in Draco’s stomach, his breath leaves his mouth in a surprised huff. It's as if everything has been knocked right out of him.

 

It hurts so much more than Draco thought possible. It aches to such an extent that Draco has to sink down onto the sofa after reading only the headline.

 

Because, if he's being honest with himself, he always thought this was a step he and Harry were going to take together. Draco would come out to his family and then he and Harry would come out to the world. By each other's side. Only now Harry's done it all on his own.

 

Draco wants to be happy for him. He truly does. He knows how much Harry hated hiding that part of himself. But it just reminds Draco that like in most things, Harry is the success story, and Draco the failure.

 

He never once allowed Harry to know of it, but Draco had this fantasy of what his and Harry's life would be like. He had imagined the type of ring he would buy Harry or Harry would buy him. He had pictured the two of them cohabitating in Grimmauld Place, at least until they were ready to start a family. Then they would relocate, to a nice house in the countryside, with a white picket fence, and a rose garden, and a dog or perhaps a cat. The whole nine yards. He had imagined endless futures with Harry. When he tries to imagine the future now, he's unable to conjure up anything.

 

It’s about a month after the article is published that he’s on a street corner in Diagon Alley that he runs, literally, into Harry. He’s with someone. A man. Said man is gorgeous - and the complete opposite of Draco in every way, all dark skin and long hair, and most importantly, unafraid and unashamed to lace his fingers with Harry's - Potter's - while walking in the middle of a crowded street, where anyone could see.

 

Harry stutters out an apology and awkwardly attempts to make introductions but Draco flees without saying a word. Because it feels as if Harry has just hit him with the Cruciatus Curse.

 

Because Draco's still in love with him. Of course he is. He can't recall a time he wasn't in love with Harry Potter. He can't imagine there ever being a time he won't be.

 

 ——————————————————

 

He tries to not let it get to him - that Harry - Potter - has moved on. But it's difficult. Extremely so. Especially when the rumour mill at work starts back up again and he hears all about the heroic tasks Harry’s performed on the job lately, or how adorable or sickening, depending on the gossiper, he and his partner are. One day Draco's unfortunate enough to hear that it's Harry and his new boyfriend’s, whatever his name is, (Draco knows, of course he knows), anniversary. It's this that sends Draco spiraling. He doesn't realise why, not until later when he lays eyes on a calendar, and realises that the reason this, more than anything else, is affecting him is because his and Harry’s anniversary was on the 22nd and Harry and his new boyfriend’s anniversary is on the 23rd. Unlike the new boyfriend, Draco never got to share this fact with anyone. He didn't get to parade around in public, showing everyone how long they'd been committed to each other. Their anniversaries were celebrated under the cover of darkness. Draco may have been the reason why but that didn't mean he enjoyed it. It was out of necessity. The Malfoy name had been tarnished enough, he couldn't mar it further.

 

——————————————————
 

He leaves work and goes straight into the first pub he finds. He doesn't know how long he’s there, or how many drinks he winds up drinking, or what secrets he confesses to the uncaring bartender. One minute he’s being escorted out of the establishment, red in the face and yelling how his lawyers will be in touch, and the next he’s in the flat he shares with Blaise and Pansy without any clue as to how he got there.

 

“Where am I?” Draco demands to know.

 

“Oh, Draco,” Pansy says, her tone not condescending but pitying which means Draco must be in a right state.

 

She leads him to the couch, only raising her eyebrows at how difficult waking is for him and not commenting on it. “Alright,” she says once he’s lying down on the sofa with his head in her lap, her fingers brushing through his hair.

 

She's overly protective of him which Draco believes is a result of years of unrequited love. He wishes it wasn't unrequited. He wishes he could love her back. He always has. Their relationship is just one more thing in the never ending list of things Draco can't do properly.

 

“Nobody,” he grunts. Pansy tugs on a strand of his hair.

 

“Potter! Happy you harpy?”

 

“Oh, Draco,” she says again, this time with more judgement in her voice.

 

“I knew you were keeping something from us but I figured they were just ugly or a Muggle. I hoped it wasn't him. Blaise was convinced though.”

 

“What is it?” She asks when Draco doesn't say anything. “What happened?”

 

“Nothing,” he mumbles into her thigh. “That's what I wish happened.”

 

“You wish nothing happened?”

 

“Yes. I wish I’d never ---” Draco sits up suddenly, eyes bright. “I can make it so nothing happened! Where's my wand?” He starts looking around frantically, exclaiming in delight when he finds it in between two couch cushions.

 

“Obl-obli-oblivi-” Pansy cuts him off before he can finish, yanking the wand out of his hands.

 

“What in the name of Merlin’s beard do you think you're doing?” Her tone is one he’s rarely heard from her, only aimed at a couple of people, and certainly never him.

 

“You're right,” he says, mistaking her anger as anger for him not following safety protocols. “You should do it.”

 

“Draco,” she says, sharply. “This isn't funny.”

 

“Are you going to do it or not?” Draco asks, exasperated that he hasn't been Obliviated already. He wants the memories, all of them, every last one concerning Harry fucking Potter, gone.

 

“No,” Pansy replies. “And you shouldn't be wanting to do it either. Now stay there while I go make you some tea.”

 

Draco crosses his arms petulantly.

 

Pansy comes back with a steaming cup and keeps a careful eye on him as he drinks it silently. Before he knows it, he's sound asleep.

—————————————————— 

 

Draco stands outside the cafe for fifteen minutes before he actually goes in. He doesn’t know what Potter is playing at, sending him an owl out of the blue, five years after their breakup, asking to meet up again, and at a Muggle cafe no less. Curiosity, and the fact that Draco hasn’t stopped thinking about their breakup since it happened, win out in the end and he finds himself sitting across the table from the man he once thought was the love his life. He still thinks that but not everyone gets to end up with their soulmate. Not everyone gets a happy ending. Draco’s always known he wouldn’t.

 

"So, what's it been?” Harry asks once they’ve ordered their drinks. “Four, five years?"

 

"About," Draco says, not saying he remembers the exact day Harry walked out the door or that he knows the precise number of days it's been since.

 

“How are you?”

 

“Good. And you?”

 

"Good, good. What are you doing these days?"

 

Draco eyes him oddly. "I'm the head of the Department for Muggle-Born Civil Liberties."

 

Harry frowns. "You're still working at the Ministry? You've been there this whole time?"

 

"Yes, I believe I just said that, Potter. I see your IQ has started to decline even further over the years."

 

Harry narrows his eyes. "I just never ran into you so I assumed you had moved on. We used to run into each other all the time."

 

Draco laughs. "You think all of those meetings were happenstance? I orchestrated them."

 

"What? Really?"

 

Draco nods. "Every last one."

 

"Huh." Harry says, mulling this over. A sly grin starts to form on his face, immediately making Draco wary.

 

"What?"

 

"Nothing," Harry says, attempting to smooth out his expression but unable to hide his amusement. "Just seems like a lot of trouble just to talk to me is all."

 

Warmth begins flooding Draco's face and he knows his cheeks are broadcasting to Harry and everyone else in the vicinity what he's feeling in that moment.

 

"Yes," Draco clears his throat. "Well. It's possible I may have been harbouring some..." Draco coughs. "Romantic inclinations towards you that I was not then aware of."

 

Harry grins. "You liked me."

 

"Merlin, Potter, are we twelve?"

 

The grin on Harry's face doesn't falter for even a second. It appears to grow, despite it seemingly already taking up the entirety of his face.

 

"Admit it. You liked me. You had a crush on me. You went out of your way just to briefly pass by me in the halls,” Harry says haughtily.

 

"Merlin, alright, I admit it, just stop talking."

 

Harry leans back in his chair, looking smug.

 

The pair of them are quiet for a moment but it's the first time this evening the silence hasn't felt almost unbearably uncomfortable.

 

"How is it?" Harry asks. "Working for...sorry, what was it again?"

 

"Just as good a listener as ever, aren't you?"

 

Harry has the decency to look sheepish. "Sorry."

 

Draco waves him off. "'S alright. It's fine. Better."

 

Harry tilts his head, looking genuinely interested and not at all like he usually looked whenever Draco saw him with the Ministry bureaucrats.

 

Draco sighs. "It wasn't that great when I first started. No one believed I actually wanted to be there. It was as if they thought I thought it was still the Muggle-Born Registration Department from Umbridge's day, and I was there because I wanted to send a bunch of Muggle-borns off to Azkaban." Draco subconsciously tugs at his sleeve.

 

Harry reaches out, as if to place his hand on Draco's arm, but then pulls back, seeming to think better of it.

 

"I had to work three times as hard as everyone else just to get the same amount of respect that the laziest people in the office did."

 

Harry smiled sadly. "If Ginny were here she'd say now you know a fraction of what it feels like to be a woman."

 

"Oh,” A bitter taste arises at the mention of the girl's name. “Are you two...?" Draco trails off, unable to finish the question himself.

 

"God, no," Harry replies and Draco is overcome with relief and he hates himself for feeling that way. "No, she and Luna have been together for about three years now."

 

"Really?" Draco asks. "Weasley and Lovegood?"

 

"Yeah," says Harry. "Ginny just proposed. They're getting married in July. Luna wanted a summer wedding."

 

"Huh." Draco turns this newfound information around in his head. "It makes sense. The two of them."

 

"It does," Harry tilts his head in agreement. "I don't know why none of us saw it earlier."

 

"Well, Lovegood probably did."

 

Harry laughs, not one of his polite laughs, but a real one, where he tosses his head back and exposes his neck. It still makes Draco feel stupidly fond. He's glad Harry's not looking at him because he's certain his face is giving every last thing he still feels about Harry away.

 

"She still sends me copies of The Quibbler, did you know?"

 

Harry smiles hearing this. "Sounds like her."

 

"I'm surprised I didn't see anything about her and Weasley's impending nuptials in there."

 

"You actually read it?" Harry asks, shocked.

 

"Of course. She goes through the trouble of sending them to me. The least I can do is read them,” Draco leans forward, looks around as if he’s about to divulge a secret, and lowers his voice to a whisper. “This may shock you but I even send her thank you notes."

 

Harry shakes his head, mouth still open in surprise, but he looks pleased.

 

"And nah, by the way," Harry states after taking a sip his drink. "Luna doesn't really publish personal stuff in there."

 

A wrinkle appears in the middle of Draco's forehead, right above his nose. "That's odd. I seem to remember a rather personal piece about you being in there once."

 

Harry breaks the eye contact they've been holding, reaches up to scratch at the back of his neck. "Yeah, she really just did that as a favor for me. I didn't want to go to The Prophet. They were always such dicks to me, you know?"

 

"Mmm," Draco says, noncommittally.

 

"With Luna, I was in control. She'd never misquote me or make up something altogether in an attempt to drive sales."

 

Draco, always one to be uncomfortable in times of extreme emotion, immediately changes the conversation to safer topics like Quidditch and the banality of Ministry paperwork. They stay for hours, chatting, never again straying from the topics Draco has deemed safe, until one of the employees comes up to the table saying that they’re closing in five minutes.

 

"Listen," Harry stars as they start gathering their things. “Ron and Hermione are hosting a brunch this weekend. Why don't you come?"

 

"I don't know about that..."

 

"Come on, you can finally thank Luna for all those copies of The Quibbler in person."

 

Trust Potter to use the one trait his mother had forced upon him (manners, his image and its reflection on the family name) that's stronger than the characteristic inherited from his father (stubbornness). Draco sighs. "I'll consider it."

 

"Brilliant," Harry beams, his eyes lighting up and changing slightly to an even more attractive shade of green. "I'll owl you."

 

——————————————————
 

Harry does owl him, though not until a few days later. The letter simply reads:

 

Malfoy,

If you do decide to come to brunch (Sunday, 11:00 A.M.), here's the address. Hope to see you there.

Harry

 

Draco knows he shouldn't go or he should at least pretend like he's not going to but as everyone sans Harry seems to know, Harry is his weak spot.

 

 ——————————————————

 

He shows up at the address Harry had written in his letter, a bottle of champagne and a fruit basket in hand. He stands on the front porch, trying to pluck up the courage to go in. The house is quaint, charming, and rustic, located just inside Reading. Draco's admiring the house's architectural properties when the front door swings open and Harry appears, looking as if he came right out of the dreams Draco's been having about him for years. He's wearing jeans, and a nice red sweatshirt, his hair is in disarray, as always, and his glasses are slightly crooked. His shoes are off and he's wearing socks, but the right one has a hole in it, causing the tip of Harry's big toe to peek through. The image is so domestic, and vulnerable, that it makes Draco's heart physically ache.

 

"You didn't have to bring anything."

 

Draco looks horrified at this suggestion. "And show up empty handed? Potter, your lack of etiquette is truly appalling."

 

Harry rolls his eyes and gestures for Draco to follow him inside.

 

Harry leads him into the kitchen which is a madhouse. Granger’s at the stove scrambling a mountain of eggs in the largest skillet Draco has ever seen, Weasley’s on the back patio grilling sausages, Thomas is supervising Finnigan as he makes toast, and Lovegood is humming as she twirls in circles around the other Weasley who’s dishing out beans onto plates. There's a hectic energy about the place but there’s a cozy, warm, sluggish, Sunday feel to it too. Draco imagines it's what the Gryffindor common room must have been like. So different to that of the Slytherin common room.

 

Lovegood is the one to notice him first, exclaiming “Draco!” and throwing her arms around him in a longer than necessary hug.

 

“Love-Luna,” Draco says awkwardly.

 

“Have you been getting the copies of The Quibbler? I was worried the Urcascreems may have gotten to them." Draco assures her he's received them all, and is in the middle of thanking her when Finnigan exclaims, "Oi! Malfoy!"

 

“Have you been watching the game?” Thomas asks.

 

“The game?” Draco says.

 

Finnigan groans. “You're killing me, mate.”

 

Thomas nods his head toward Granger. “Hermione won't let us watch during meals,” he offers in explanation.

 

“Oh, hush, you two, it's not like I don't know you keep sneaking out on the patio because Ron’s listening to it on the radio out there.”

 

Finnigan gasps dramatically, raising a hand to his heart. “I would never!”

 

“Uh huh,” Granger says, disbelievingly, “keep lying and all of you will be on dish duty.”

 

Finnigan and Thomas start talking loudly and over each other, discussing the proper length to toast bread and what exactly is the perfect butter to jam ratio.

 

Granger carries a plate bigger than Draco’s head loaded with eggs on over to the table. She wipes her hands off on her jeans and then greets Draco. “Hi, Draco. Glad you could make it. Harry wasn't sure you'd be able to.”

 

Draco notices that Harry gives Granger a look and she sends one back at him but he can't decipher what either of the looks mean.

 

“Thanks for having me,” Draco says. “Oh,” he says, belatedly realising he still has the champagne and fruit basket in hand. “These are for you.”

 

Granger smiles, “That's very kind of you, Draco, but you didn't need to bring anything.”

 

Draco wants to ask if Muggles just don't take etiquette lessons but he already feels like he's on thin ice with everyone in the room. They're all being so open and accepting, it's a bit eerie.

 

“You two can go sit in the lounge if you like. We’ve got everything handled here.”

 

Draco doesn't believe that, seeing as how Thomas is trying to stop Finnigan from sticking a fork into the toaster, but he knows a thinly veiled instruction when he hears one and he’s resolved to be on his best behaviour.

 

Harry follows him into the lounge but excuses himself to the loo the second Draco sits down on the sofa. He inspects the room while he waits. It's a mixture of the kind of clean and organised interior design he’d expect from the likes of Granger and the types of tacky knickknacks he’d expect from Weasley. He’s considering getting up and getting a closer look at the photos on the mantle when a small girl with bouncy red curls and a smattering of freckles walks into the room.

 

Once spotting Draco she walks until she's just a few feet in front of him, tilts her head, studies him for a moment, and says, "Who are you?"

 

"I'm Draco," Draco says hesitantly, looking at the empty doorway and desperately wishing Harry would come back already. "What's your name?"

 

The child straightens her posture, looking exactly what he would expect Granger offspring to look like.

 

“Rose Granger-Weasley," she says. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

 

Rose points to where his short sleeve has ridden up his forearm slightly, revealing a portion of the Dark Mark. "What's that?"

 

Draco clears his throat. "Er - a tattoo."

 

"What's a tattoo?"

 

Draco frowns, tugs at his sleeve."It's like...like a sticker."

 

"Do you have to put in on every day? Does your Mummy help you? Mummy helps me with my hair in the morning. Daddy used to do it but Mummy would get mad. She said he made my hair look hide-hideo-...said he made my hair look ugly."

 

"Er, no. This...sticker never comes off."

 

Rose finally looks up from where she's been watching the mark. "Never?" She whispers, eyes as big as saucers, childlike wonder readily apparent in them.

 

Draco nods. "Never."

 

"Wow," Rose mouths. Suddenly she straightens, running toward the kitchen, shouting, "Mummy, I want a tattoo!"

 

“Woah, there!” Harry says, wrapping one arm around Rose and stopping her from careening into his shins. “Slow down. What’s the hurry?”

 

“Uncle Harry,” Rose says, very seriously, looking up at Harry. “I want a tattoo.”

 

Harry raises his eyebrows. “A tattoo?” He asks, crouching down so he's at Rose’s eye level. “What do you know about tattoos, huh?”

 

“He,” Rose says, pointing an accusing finger at Draco, “has a tattoo. He says they're just like stickers only they never fall off and you don't even have to get your Mummy to help put them on.”

 

Harry looks at Draco over Rose’s head. “Does he now?” Harry catches Draco’s eye and grins. Draco’s heart leaps in his chest.

 

“You know what’s the difference between you and him though?” Harry asks.

 

Rose studies him for a few seconds, then turns back to Harry. “He has hair like Father Christmas?”

 

Draco has to take a little offense at that. His hair is a few shades lighter than the average blond but it isn't white. Draco narrows his eyes at Harry who’s biting his lip to keep from laughing.

 

“Yes,” he agrees, “but you know what else?”

 

“What?” Rose asks.

 

“He’s a grownup!”

 

“I’m a grownup!” Rose insists, scrunching up her nose.

 

“Oh, you are, are you?” Harry asks. “You're a grownup?” He starts tickling her sides, making her shriek in delight.

 

“Uncle Harry!” She squeals, running away from him, causing Harry to chase after her while still on his knees.

 

Draco’s mouth starts to dry up as he watches them. Because he can still picture this. Even after all these years, can still see Harry being the perfect father for their children. He still wants it. More than anything. He has to turn away from the pair eventually because there's nothing quite as painful as watching something you desire so much, knowing that you will never ever be able to have it.

——————————————————
 

Draco was hesitant when Harry first asked him to join him and his friends for their weekly club night and it's clear now that he was right to be. He should've just went with his first instinct and declined the invitation. But Harry had turned those eyes on him, all green and sparkling, and who could blame Draco for succumbing.

 

The night started off relatively fine albeit a bit awkward. Harry stayed by his side for the first hour or two. He was quite literally by his side, their thighs pressed together, Harry’s breath across his face whenever he leaned in to whisper something to Draco over the loud music. It was like a personalised form of torture solely for him. Somewhere a deity was laughing at him, he was sure of it. But it’s been a few hours now, and Harry has gone out onto the dance floor, into throngs of people all too willing to dance with him. Majority of Harry’s friends are dancing too, leaving Draco alone with only Weasley for company. Not that Draco’s much company, mooning over Harry as he charms every person he comes into contact with.

 

Draco can feel Weasley eyeing him but he isn't able to discern exactly what the emotion in his eyes is.

 

“You don't get to look at him like that anymore, you know,” Weasley says, turning away to look toward the dance floor where Harry’s laughing, twirling Luna around so that the skirt of her dress is nothing but a blur of yellow around her knees.

 

“I know.” He doesn't know if it's the alcohol or the self-pity or the melancholy or being able to actually talk about it for once but he finds himself saying, “It seems I can't help it.”

 

Weasley eyes him again and then, because he has always been much more intuitive than people give him credit for, he averts his eyes and casually states, “He bought a ring, you know.”

 

Draco turns to face him so quickly he gets a crick in his neck.

 

“Back when you two were together.”

 

He shrugs at Draco’s incredulous expression. “Just saying.”

 

They remain at their table for a few more seconds of silence before Weasley sighs, standing up and stretching, claiming the wife is calling. Draco watches as he lumbers over to the dance floor and into Granger’s awaiting arms. His dance moves leave something to be desired; they vaguely remind of a Muggle dance Harry had told him of once. The poultry dance or something similar in name. In any other circumstance it would be funny.

 

But there's a lump in Draco’s throat as he watches Granger rest her head on Weasley’s chest, watches the female Weasley press a kiss to Lovegood’s cheek, sees Thomas laughing into the crook of Finnigan’s neck. All the while he can feel the imaginary weight of a ring on his finger. Draco downs the rest of his drink.

 

It seems to be the night for everyone to make their opinions on Draco’s love life known for not thirty minutes after Weasley accosts him, his sister appears in the seat next to Draco, swiping his drink despite Draco's protests.

 

“Not that you need it," she says, “but you have my blessing.”

 

Draco raises an eyebrow. “Pardon?”

 

“You and Harry. You're good together. We all see it.”

 

“Er - thanks,” Draco replies awkwardly. He turns to look at Harry on the dance floor. “But that ship sailed a long time ago.”

 

“I don't think that's true,” Ginny shrugs, “Besides, the ship can always turn back around."

 

“Careful,” Draco warns, “you're starting to sound to like your fiancée.”

 

Ginny beams. “Thank you.”

 

“Not sure I meant that as a compliment,” Draco says truthfully.

 

“I know. But I'm choosing to take it as one. Otherwise, I’d have to hex you and that would ruin a perfectly nice evening.”

 

Yes, Draco thinks as he watches an attractive man slide up behind Harry and Harry lean into him, perfectly nice.

 

“Excuse me,” he says, once he's unable to watch Harry and the stranger anymore, and flees to the bar.

 

As he’s waiting for the bartender to give anyone other than the redhead he’s flirting with any attention, Lovegood appears. It takes everything in him not to sigh out loud.

 

“You have an opinion about me and Harry too I suppose?”

 

Lovegood tilts her head, pondering for a moment. “I think you belong together. In whatever way you allow yourselves to.”

 

She's gone before Draco can even begin to ask her what in the name of Merlin's beard that means.

——————————————————
 

Most of Potter’s clan’s get together seem to revolve around food. The next shindig he’s invited to is dinner at Thomas and Finnigan’s place. Unlike at Granger and Weasley’s, take away seems to be the plan for sustenance. Draco isn’t sure how they ever agree on anything though. So far he’s counted one vote for pizza, one for Chinese, one for Thai, one for Indian, and one for Nandos (really, Finnigan?). Games, of both the Muggle and the wizarding sort, seem to be on the agenda as well, if the numerous boxes on the coffee table are anything to go by.

 

Desperate for a reprieve from the arguing, Draco wanders into the kitchen in search of a glass of water and finds Granger cleaning Thomas and Finnigan’s dishes. He hesitates for a moment, then joins her. He’s always liked cleaning. The repetitive actions are soothing and it’s better than listening to Weasley and Finnigan argue over the qualities of different ingredients anyhow.

 

He and Granger wash the dishes in comfortable silence for a few minutes before Granger suddenly says, “You’re good for him.”

 

Draco wants to snort and ask how she would know but that would be unbecoming. She seems to read his mind anyway.

 

“I know we weren’t aware of your relationship when it was still ongoing,” she says, turning her attention back to the dishes. She starts washing them by hand, the Muggle way, but Draco doesn’t comment, just follows her lead. “But we were there when it ended. We saw the change in him. We didn’t know why at the time. We had our hypotheses but all we really knew was that one day he was the happiest we’d seen him in a long while and the next…” Granger looks over at him and frowns. He doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with his cleansing technique but she must because she tells him he’s on drying duty from now on.

 

“It was like fifth year all over again,” she continues. “Not nearly as bad, of course, but we could tell he was unhappy. He got better after a while, especially once the article came out. And when he started dating again.” Granger’s eyes flit to Harry, where he’s sat with Dean and Seamus in the living room, and then back to Draco.

 

“Don’t tell him I said this,” she threatens, “but he hasn’t been nearly as happy with any of his recent partners as he was when he was with you.”

 

“You’ll have to forgive me, Granger, if I don’t take your word for it but from what I’ve heard it’s logistics, not emotions, that are your specialty,” Draco says, expecting her to get angry and storm off, demanding he be expelled from their social circle. A part of him wants her to. It would make everything so much easier for him if she did. But she just laughs.

 

“Ron and Harry aren’t exactly experts in the emotions department either. We’re all a bit of a mess, truthfully.”

 

“I’m starting to think the three of you defeated Voldemort through stubbornness and sheer force of will.”

 

Granger nods seriously. “Oh, that was definitely a factor.”
 

——————————————————

 

Months have passed since Harry sent him that first owl out of nowhere, months in which he and Harry have fallen right back into their old patterns. Only now their banter doesn't result in the release of pent up tension from hiding how much they want, need, each other from the outside world. It takes Draco longer than Harry to adjust. Harry's used to adjusting Draco thinks.

 

Whereas Harry is almost exactly the same, unflinching in his certainty, whether he should be or not, Draco is more hesitant. Harry never backs down from a somewhat vitriolic retort towards one of Draco's opinions he doesn't agree with. But Draco finds himself biting his tongue at first, talking in trepidation, terrified that his emotions will get the better of him and he'll wind up losing Harry once more.

 

He does a good job of hiding it, he thinks, but Harry quickly disproves that when he confronts him after the third time he's backed out of an argument, never saying Harry was right, exactly, but genuinely considering Harry's point of view. He thinks Harry's a bit drunk when he does it because instead of saying, "I'm not going to leave if you don't agree with me, you know," he says, "I'm not going to leave you if you disagree with me, you know." Harry had to have been drunk. Either that or Draco has an overactive imagination, one that inserts words and feelings and implications where they shouldn't be. It's probably the latter. His mother always said he'd been a bit of a problem child and didn't most problem children have overactive imaginations?

——————————————————

 

After that, Draco's world starts to achieve relative normality. That is until all of Harry's friends conspire against him. He wouldn't hesitate to call himself and Harry friends, now, though it aches down to his bones every time he has to tell someone that, knowing it's all they'll ever be. But he wouldn't consider Harry's friends his friends as well. They're more than acquaintances, sure, but...but they aren't friends. Draco still refers to most of them by their last names. They're friendly, he decides. Draco regularly attends their club nights, both the ones Harry is at and the ones he isn't, in order not to arouse suspicion.

 

He’s even invited Pansy and Blaise to come along, but Pansy said that was a closet full of boggarts she wasn't even close to being ready to open yet and Blaise said he would rather have a Dementor suck the life out of him through his dick than set foot in the shoddy club they went to. Draco didn't think it was shoddy. And really, Harry thought Draco was the one with impossibly high standards.

 

Draco's opinions of Harry's friends are ever improving; he's inexplicably fond of Lovegood and he finds the fairer Weasley quite funny when he isn't being unrightfully jealous of her, but he's still not too keen on Finnigan. He makes him jumpy. It's probably all the fires. He has half a mind to revert that opinion though when one night, as he and Harry are waiting for the rest of the group to arrive, the owls, and the one mobile message from Thomas, start coming in one by one. Lovegood and Weasley's condolences come first, though they're less condolences and more Lovegood rambling on for a good page and a half and Weasley adding in at the bottom, Have you ever planned a wedding, Harry? We don't have time for club nights! We'll be back when Mum isn't shoving flowers up my arse.

 

I think you'd look lovely with flowers on your arse, Ginny. The next line reads, followed by Luna, sweetie, not now and it's at this point Draco realises they must've used a transcription spell instead of writing it themselves.

 

Draco looks up from where he's pressed up against Harry in order to read the letter and finds him, Merlin, Draco can't believe he's about to say this, blushing rather adorably.

 

"Well," Harry coughs awkwardly and Draco can't help but laugh, his reaction only getting louder when Harry joins in with him.

 

Next comes a message from a very stressed Granger, and one from a mostly confident and relaxed Weasley who writes not to worry, he'll find a way to cool her down. Draco could've lived his entire life without that mental image.

 

Thomas sends word via something Harry tells him is a mobile phone, to which Draco replies that he knows, he works with Muggleborns. This makes Harry blush which results in Draco staring much longer than he should at the red on Harry's neck, remembering how far that flush goes down.

 

When Harry reminds him that it's the middle of the school year so Longbottom and Hannah Abbott are out too, Draco starts to grow suspicious. Surely, Potter finds it dubious that all of his friends happen to cancel on the same night, right? It appears not for Harry just smiles at him, with that simple, stupid, smile that gets Draco every goddamn time and asks, "Shall we?"

 

It's hours and multiple drinks later when Draco has the epitome that he is well and truly fucked.

 

Harry has always been so much more open with his affection than Draco. It must be a learned behaviour from the Weasleys. Draco knows Harry didn't get it from his aunt and uncle, the despicable human beings. If you could call them that. Draco considered that too tame a term for the likes of them.

 

Draco's witnessed Harry drunk, though sadly not very often, and he's seen how affectionate he can be, pressing kisses all over his ex girlfriend's cheeks, clinging onto said ex's brother and refusing to let go, situating himself snugly in between Thomas and Finnigan. He's seen this side of Harry before but he's never experienced the full effect of all of that affection being focused solely on him.

 

Harry's thigh pressed up against his own, their shoulders so close together Draco has a difficult time picking up his drink without elbowing Harry. At one point Harry leans forward and Draco is both alarmed and electrified at the thought of Harry leaning in to kiss him but Harry just blinks at him and then continues reaching for the napkins on Draco's side of the table.

 

As Harry's going to sit back down he pauses in front of Draco again and whispers, "You have freckles." He gently places his fingers along the marks under Draco's eyes. Draco can't take this anymore. It feels too much like what they used to have. He'll take Harry home and tomorrow he'll come up with a plausible reason as to why they can't see each other anymore. He thought he could handle it but it hurts too much. He's tired of hurting.

 

"C'mon," Draco says thickly, putting a hand on Harry's elbow and leading him out. "Let's get you home."

——————————————————
 

It’s strange being in Grimmauld Place again. So much of their relationship occurred inside these walls. Practically all of it. It's mostly the same as Draco remembers it being except for a few things he doesn't recognise and he tries to push away the thought that these items are things his other exes have left behind.

 

"We should play a game,” Harry says once the two of them are settled in the living area with glasses of water.

 

"A game?" Draco asks dubiously, sitting down next to Harry on the sofa. He doesn't sit right beside him but he doesn't sit at the opposite end either.

 

"Yeah. It'll be fun."

 

"I doubt that but go ahead, Potter. Explain your game."

 

"It will be! And I'm calling it confessions."

 

"Confessions?" Draco asks, dread building up in his stomach.

 

"Yes. For each sip of water we take, we have to confess something. You go first."

 

"What? Why do I have to go first? It's your game, you go first."

 

"Alright, Merlin, I'll go first."

 

Harry ponders for a moment before saying, "I kept your scarf.”

 

“You - you what?” Draco asks, choking on a laugh. He was expecting so much worse.

 

“You had this scarf," Harry says. "It was blue and grey, matched your eyes? You left it behind. I kept it hidden in my sock drawer. I don’t know who I was hiding it from but...it smelled like you. Sometimes I would just take it out and smell it, can you believe that?" He looks at Draco as he says this, with a smile that has Draco giving him what he just knows is the softest expression he's capable of making.

 

"But after awhile it didn’t smell like you anymore.”

 

Draco doesn't know what to say to that.

 

"You’ve no idea how many times I almost wrote you. Granger would kill me if she knew how many forests I destroyed with the amount of letters I burned."

 

Harry laughs at that and Draco focuses on the sound instead of what he's just admitted to.

 

His laughter fades out after a moment, much to Draco's dismay, but his eyes are still shining and focused on Draco, so he can't complain too much.

 

"I never understood what happened with us," Harry says, not taking his eyes away from Draco. It takes everything in him not to flinch.

 

His heart, the little of it he has left, all the other pieces given away to people who don't even realize they possess them, leaps into his throat.

 

He looks down at his hands.

 

"I started to resent you. You didn't deserve that," he admits quietly.

 

"You didn't deserve me pressuring you."

 

"We've both gotten our share of things we don't deserve," Draco says, smiling at Harry somewhat bitterly. Harry sends the same sardonic smile back.

 

"I thought about Obliviating myself," Draco says, despite it not being his turn. The game aspect of whatever they're doing has disappeared anyway.

 

He hears Harry's gasp, a pained "Draco."

 

"It was only for a moment and don't worry, it wasn't your fault, you egomaniac. Not really."

 

He can tell Harry narrows his eyes just by the tone of his voice as he says, "That's not the part I was worried about."

 

"I knew it was too dangerous. I tried to convince Pansy once, while we were drunk, but she refused.” Draco can't seem to stop talking.

 

“I’ll have to thank her then," Harry says. Draco smiles at the thought.

 

"I’d hold off on that. She’s not a big fan of you.”

 

“Like she was before,” Harry laughs.

 

"It’s worse now.”

 

"I can imagine."

 

Draco cracks a small smile but it doesn't reach his eyes.

 

"I'm better now," he states. "I even came out to my Mum."

 

Draco feels the weight of Harry's hand on his arm. He's yet to look at anything other than what's directly in front of him.

 

"How did it go?" Harry asks softly.

 

"I'm still a Malfoy, if that's what you mean."

 

"She loves you," Harry says, sounding sure of it.

 

"I think you knew that before I did."

 

At Harry's confused expression he elaborates. "She told me what happened between the two of you. In the Forbidden Forest."

 

"She'd do anything for you, I think."

 

"She basically said as much. Maybe not in so many words."

 

"Yeah, you Malfoys sure talk a lot for people who really hardly ever saying anything."

 

"Oh, shut up," Draco says but it's fond.

 

"I would've waited, you know. I would've waited forever for you."

 

Draco whips his head around to look at Harry but he's too shocked to speak.

 

"I realised that once you were gone. It was better than having you in secret that not having you at all."

 

"Potter," Draco says, voice cracking.

 

"I have another confession," Harry says, sliding closer to Draco with every word. "I'm not as drunk as you think. I started drinking water after my second beer."

 

"To find an excuse to touch you," Harry answers Draco's unspoken question. He runs a hand through his hair, laughs. Draco doesn't think he's ever wanted as much as he does right now.

 

"Potter," Draco says, voice an octave deeper than usual. "Get over here."

 

"I know I said I'm not drunk but I'm not in the mood for a duel right now. If you're gonna hex me can you just wait till the morning?"

 

"Harry," Draco says and Draco can see when the realisation hits him, his eyes turning a shade darker. Harry scrambles over to him and up into his lap, crushing their mouths together. It's hard and desperate and is filled with years of pining and heartache and it's perfect. It's absolutely perfect. He pulls back to say as much, or, something less gushing but equally positive but Harry beats him to it, saying, "Merlin, I've missed you."

 

"You too," Draco says in between kissing Harry again. "So much."

 

Harry makes a noise at that and shifts in Draco's lap to get closer to him, which reveals a certain part of Draco's anatomy. Draco blushes as Harry pulls away but Harry glances down and rasps, "Bedroom. Now," and then Draco's blushing for an entirely different reason.

 

They spend the next half hour reacquainting themselves with each other's bodies, Harry's lips on his neck, his teeth on the inside of Harry's thigh. But he keeps pulling away to look at the sight in front of him. So many nights he's spent imagining being able to touch this body again and now he finally, finally, is.

 

"What? What is it?" Harry asks. His hair is a mess, of course, and his cheeks are flushed, and he's looking at Draco like he's the only thing in the world that matters and a part of Draco that he didn't even realise was empty is full again.

 

"Nothing," he says, shaking his head, leaning in to and pressing a swift kiss to Harry's lips. It's just that he's happy. In a way he never thought he would be. It feels like sparks should be shooting from his fingertips or roses should be springing from his hair. It doesn't feel real.

 

"It is."

 

"What?" Draco asks, Harry's voice pulling him out of his head.

 

"This. It's happening. It's real. That's what you were thinking about wasn't it?"

 

"I love you," Draco says, unable to hold it any longer. "I never stopped."

 

Harry smiles softly.

 

"Same."

 

Draco hits him with a pillow. He doesn't stop until Harry repositions them so that Draco's underneath him. He leans in slowly, stops with his mouth mere centimetres from Draco's, and says, "I love you too."

——————————————————
 

Draco waves his wand, sighing in frustration as a cowlick refuses to behave no matter how many beauty spells he tries. He tosses his wand onto the bed, giving up on magic and going in with his hands. It doesn't help.

 

“We’re going to be late,” Harry says, picking up Draco’s wand and fixing Draco's hair with a swift flick.

 

Draco lets out a frustrated noise. “Why is it you can't control your own hair but you can effortlessly fix mine?”

 

Harry shrugs, “I’m the Chosen One?”

 

Draco glares at him. Harry just grins back.

 

“Come on,” Harry says, grabbing Draco’s wrist and ushering him out of the bedroom. “Let’s go.”

 

“Alright, I’m coming, Merlin, you don't need to manhandle me.”

 

Harry raises an eyebrow. “I think we both know this is far from me manhandling you.”

 

Draco blushes. “Shut up,” he commands but he latched onto Harry’s arm and lets him Apparate them out of the house.

 

They land a little ways outside the venue and Draco doesn't immediately let go of his hold on Harry’s arm, causing Harry to look at him.

 

“Alright?”

 

“I’m fine, Potter,” Draco insists. There are a crowd of reporters and photographers outside the wedding venue which Draco guesses is to be expected with Weasley being a Quidditch star. Unlike in previous years, though, Draco doesn't freeze at the sight of them. Harry slides Draco’s hand down so it's interlocked with his own.

 

“You sure?” He asks and then when he sees the annoyed expression on Draco’s face adds, “This’ll probably end up in the papers y’know. I’m quite famous.”

 

Draco rolls his eyes. “Don’t be so full of yourself, Potter.”

 

“Besides,” he says, pulling Harry along until they’re in plain view of the photographers. “I’m used to people gossiping about me. I’m just glad this time it’ll be about something I’m not ashamed of.”

 

He places his arms around Harry’s waist, bringing him in closer and closer, until there’s no space left between them, and kisses him, not caring about the gasps of the reporters and the flashes of the cameras or people’s perceptions of him in the slightest.