November 4, 2005

“Harry!” Draco deposited the heavy bags on the counter and instantly realised the flat was too quiet for Harry to actually be home. There was no odd music blaring, no annoying noise coming from that ridiculous Muggle device in the living room.

Just as Draco began putting away the shopping, he heard the door open, followed by the familiar sound of keys clanging to the table and shoes being tossed aside in a slapdash fashion to be left, most likely, in the middle of the entrance hall.

“Draco?”

“In the kitchen,” Draco shouted. “I bought groceries. It’s your turn to cook.” Draco smirked at the scowl on Harry’s face as he entered the room.

“I thought you were going out with Dean tonight…” Harry scrunched up his nose. “Or is it Dan?”

“Dave. But no, we broke up.”

“Oh, sorry to hear that,” Harry said with a smile.

“I’m sure you are. I can tell you’re simply heartbroken because you liked him so much.”

Harry shuffled through the groceries until he found the chocolate digestives, ripping them open carelessly and shoving one in his mouth. “He was a jerk, and you know you can do better.”

“Oh? And I suppose Marcus is better?”

“Martin,” Harry mumbled through the biscuit, chocolate crumbs smattering his chin. “And no, he’s a complete sod. We broke up last week. Didn’t I tell you?”

Draco flicked the crumbs from Harry’s chin. “When would you have told me? You’ve been working overtime at the bloody office all week. I’ve hardly even talked to you.”

“Oh, that’s right. Well, we broke up last week.”

Draco chuckled. “So I heard. Well, it appears we are once again unattached bachelors, which means…” Draco smirked again as he handed Harry the nice plump steaks he had bought for dinner. “You’re cooking tonight.”

“Fine.” Harry shoved another biscuit into his mouth. “You got a haircut,” he said absently, stowing the steaks in the fridge until later.

Draco snorted. “Two weeks ago, good of you to notice.”

Harry grabbed what was left of the chocolate biscuits and headed towards the living room. “It looks good,” he said over his shoulder. “I like you better with short hair.”

“And, of course, that’s why I got it cut, you prick,” Draco shouted sarcastically to his retreating back. “Because I knew how much you’d like it.”


February 18, 2006

“Harry, bloody hell, must you leave your socks lying around everywhere?” Draco grouched, as he threw a pair of smelly socks into Harry’s lap. “Ervin will be here any minute and I would prefer he not think I’m a total slob.”

“Ervin? Oh, you mean the hot Hungarian Quidditch player you met last weekend? I didn’t realise he actually had a name.”

“Of course he has a name, you twit.”

“Oh, well, I’ve only heard you call him the hot Hungarian,” Harry said with a wicked grin.

“Fuck you, Potter. You’re just jealous because I met him first.”

Harry snorted. “From the sounds coming from your bedroom the other night, I might have to agree. Did you forget how to do a Silencing Charm, or was that actually for my benefit?”

Draco snarled and threw another sock, this time aiming at Harry’s face.


April 15, 2006

“Draco, where’s that bottle of Chateau Banon I bought yesterday?”

“Um, I don’t know?” Draco answered innocently.

Harry stomped into the study where Draco was busily scribbling yet another page of the potions text he was working on. “You arse, tell me you didn’t drink it.”

“Okay,” Draco said nonchalantly, without looking up. “I didn’t drink it.”

Harry smacked him in the back of the head. “Yes, you did. Fuck, that’s Bailey’s favourite. I was going to take it to dinner at his place tonight.”

“Well, you should have told me.” Draco leaned back in his chair, rubbing the back of his head. He looked up at Harry and grinned. “Of course, I probably would have drunk it anyway. It was far too good a year to waste on Billy.”

“Bailey!” Harry said emphatically as he stomped from the room shouting, “Oddbins better have another bottle or you’ll be toadstool-powder when I get back.” Draco heard keys jingle before the front door slammed shut. He sighed heavily and let this head fall to the desk. “Fucking Barty. He’s not good enough for you, Harry, and you know it,” he mumbled to himself.


June 17, 2006

“Draco! Are you awake yet? I brought breakfast from-” Harry’s mouth fell open at the sight of Draco coming down the stairs. He was dressed in a beautifully designed dress robe that matched his frosty grey eyes perfectly and his hair, which had apparently been cut once again, looked like a shimmering halo. Not that anyone would ever mistake Draco for an angel.

“Did you get croissants from Gloriette’s again?” Draco asked with a smile. “Oh, Harry, you read my mind! I’ve been dying for these.” He rummaged through the kitchen drawer for utensils, took the plate Harry handed him, cut a small piece and speared it gracefully with his fork.

Harry knew it was irrational to feel envious of a fork, but when Draco put it into his mouth and wrapped those thin, luscious, pink lips around it, closing his eyes as if in ecstasy at the taste, Harry wished for nothing more than to be the tiny silver object. “You’re dressed awfully nice for so early on a Saturday morning.”

“Mm, wedding. Jake’s sister, or cousin, or something or other,” Draco said absently.

Harry’s envy of the fork turned into outright jealousy and he once again felt that familiar growl in his chest. The one that had started out as a tiny snarl, but had been growing stronger and more insistent over the last few weeks.

“I didn’t think you ‘did’ weddings.”

“I don’t ‘do’ Weasley weddings, Harry, besides,” Draco added, waging his eyebrows, “he said he’d make it worth my while later.”

Nothing Jack could possible do would be worth you, Draco. Harry thought with an audible huff.

Draco looked at him in askance. “What’s got into you lately? You’ve been downright grumpy.”

“I have not,” Harry said defensively. “I’ve just been… oh, never mind. Have fun at the wedding, I’m going to take a shower.” A very cold shower, he added silently.

Harry trotted up the stairs, leaving Draco to wonder once again, what he’d said to make Harry angry.


July 6, 2006

“Harry?” Draco shouted as he walked through the door. One would think this routine would be old by now, but it seemed to be more comforting than anything else in Draco’s life. He always knew he could count on this. That no matter how many relationships he ruined, he always had Harry to come home to. Somewhere along the line he had realised what that meant, but he was damned if he would admit it and scare Harry away. Better to have him as a friend, than not have him at all.

“Upstairs!”

He bounded the stairs two at a time and stopped dead in the doorway of Harry’s bedroom. “You’re packing,” Draco said, barely containing the panic in his voice. Had he finally pissed Harry off enough to make him leave? He had thought they were getting on better of late. He had tried to stop bitching so much about Harry’s annoying messiness. He’d even put in an effort to be nice to the Weasel like Harry had asked, although he did have to admit he was failing miserably.

“Mmm, fucking Ministry has decided I need to go to Paris to meet with the French Muggle-Wizard relations ambassador. Can’t bloody wait until the conference next month.”

“Oh.” Draco let out a sigh of relief loud enough to make Harry look up and he coughed trying to cover it. “So,” he said, clearing his throat. “How long will you be gone?”

“A week, maybe two. It’d be easier if I actually spoke French. Translation Charms will only get me so far, and the French Ambassador is an arse. I know he speaks English, but refuses to do so around me.” Harry suddenly looked up and his eyes twinkled. “You speak French, don’t you?”

“Of course I speak French, Potter. What self-respecting pureblood doesn’t?”

Harry abandoned his packing and sat on the edge of the bed, eyeing Draco. “Come with me.”

“What?”

“Come with me, to Paris. You can help during the meetings with the ambassador, and then you can show me France in the evenings. Come on, Draco, it’d be fun.”

“I have my work, you know.”

“Bring it. There’ll be loads of time to work on it. I’m meeting with other people while I’m there that are perfectly willing to speak English. I’ll only need your help with the Ambassador.” Draco didn’t respond, so Harry tried a different angle. “Please, Draco. You’ve not been on holiday in ages. It’d be fun.”

“What about Adam?”

“Aden. What about him?”

“Harry, I doubt your boyfriend would appreciate--”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

Draco raised an eyebrow in mock disbelief. “You’ve been dating for over a month.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Harry repeated sullenly. “And even if he were, you’re still my flatmate, right?”

Draco grinned, inexplicably happy at Harry’s comment. He shrugged casually, feeling anything but. “So, when do we leave?”

Harry bounced from the bed and hugged Draco, startling him into speechlessness. “Thank you,” Harry said quietly. “You won’t regret it.”

Draco patted Harry’s back uncomfortably, thinking he most certainly would, but not in the way Harry meant. He went to his room to pack, swearing to himself about what a stupid, stupid idea this was. How on Earth could he spend a week, possibly two, with Harry, in one of the most romantic cities in the world, and still keep his sanity?


July 22, 2006

Draco dumped his bags in the entrance hall and proceeded directly to the living room sofa, plopping down unceremoniously and sighing. “Merlin, it’s good to be home.”

Harry plopped down next to him and agreed. “It was fun though, wasn’t it?”

Draco was leaning his head back on the sofa, and rolled it sideways to look in Harry’s direction. He was facing Draco, his elbow propped on the back of the sofa with his chin in his hand. The light was reflecting in his eyes and he looked like one of those beautiful statues one might see adorning a famous fountain in Rome. Draco smiled sleepily. “Yes, Harry, it was fun. Thanks for inviting me.” Draco closed his eyes and imagined for the hundredth time that Harry leaned over and kissed him.

“Oh, shite, I have to owl Aden. I promised I would as soon as I got back.”

Well fuck, Draco thought. So much for fantasies.

“Okay, I’m going to bed, I’m beat. See you in the morning.” Draco trudged up the stairs feeling more bereft than ever. He had known it was a bad idea, but fuck, they’d had fun.

They’d viewed Paris from the Eiffel Tower, picnicked on the grounds of the fabulous Chateau de Versailles and spent hours lost in the Louvre museum. They’d enjoyed sitting at the "terrasse" of the little café near their hotel, watching as people hurried about. And when he had shared stories about his visits to Paris as a child, Harry had smiled at him in a way he’d never done before. One night, after watching the sunset from the South Tower of Notre-Dame, they had walked to the Pont-Neuf and sat on the stone benches watching the river Seine flow serenely beneath them until dawn. They had talked about life and love, hopes and dreams, things that Draco had never dared talk to anyone about. If there was a Galleon in his vault for every time he’d wished Harry would kiss him, he’d have doubled his wealth in just the first week.

And fuck, sharing a hotel room with Harry sleeping in a bed only three feet away was heaven and hell all at once. Lying awake, listening to him breathe and whimper and fucking moan in his sleep every night. He’d never wanked so much in his entire life.

Then Harry had talked him into visiting Cap d’Agde’s ‘village naturiste’ and damned if the vision of Harry stark naked on the beach wouldn’t haunt him for the rest of his life. He was sure he’d never look at another man without comparing him to the perfection that was Harry Potter. Fuck. He was fucked, unfortunately, only in the figurative sense.

He lay awake staring at the ceiling, knowing that as soon as he fell asleep, the dreams would come. The dreams of Harry draped around him, inside him, loving him. He hated the dreams almost as much as he treasured them.


August 9, 2006

“Did these come from Josh?” Harry asked curiously when he saw the large vase of flowers on the dinning room table.

“Jude.”

“Lilies? You’re allergic to lilies.”

“So?” Draco said sullenly between sniffles. “It’s the thought that counts.”

Harry reached into the flowers and pulled out the little card. “Just to let you know I’m thinking of you, Dray.” He couldn’t contain his laughter. “Draco, the last person to call you Dray barely escaped with his bits still attached.”

“Yes, well…” Draco huffed and sat rigidly at the dinning room table, glaring at the offending weeds. “Harry, I go through boyfriends like candy floss. Maybe I’m just too finicky.”

Harry had to clinch his teeth to keep from blurting out something completely inappropriate. Instead he took the vase from the table and moved it into the spare bedroom so Draco could breathe without sniffling. When he returned, he sat next to Draco and handed him a box of tissues. “First of all, you’re not finicky, you have standards, and that’s to be applauded. Secondly, when have you ever just settled for anything? Draco, you deserve--” Harry stopped abruptly. You deserve someone who knows you. Someone who knows your favourite flower is the Lady’s Slipper, who knows you despise pet names and would rather throw yourself to a dragon than be called Dray. Someone who knows what you like to eat and your favourite wine and your favourite restaurants and how to make you the perfect cup of tea. Someone who knows what it means when you chew on your quill, who knows you take hot baths when you’re nervous and… me, Draco. You need someone like me.

The animal inside him screamed and clawed and gnashed his teeth, but Harry refused to give in to it. “Fine, Draco. If you want to settle, then settle. But you deserve better.” Harry stomped to the entrance hall, grabbed his keys, and slammed the door behind him.


August 31, 2006

Harry was surprised to hear music playing when he walked through the door. Granted, it was classical music, not exactly to his taste, but the only time Draco played music was when he was in a really good mood. He shrugged his travelling bag off his shoulder and entered the living room to find Draco lying on the sofa with his eyes closed, an expensive crystal flute in one hand and a half empty bottle of Dom Perignon champagne in the other. He looked so peaceful and for the hundredth time, Harry noticed how absolutely beautiful he was. How he could date all those losers, Harry would never understand.

“What’s the occasion?” he asked quietly.

Draco cracked one eye open and smiled. “It’s been accepted. The board voted unanimously. A whole new generation of brainless Hogwarts students will study potions from the text written by the renowned Potions master and author, Draco Malfoy.” He reached over and picked up another glass, already full of champagne, and handed it to Harry. “Care to help me celebrate?”

Harry beamed as he took the glass and sat on the floor next to the sofa. “I knew they’d accept it, congratulations.”

When Draco smiled warmly at him, something in his expression made Harry’s heart race.

“How was the conference?” Draco asked softly.

Too softly, Harry mused. “It was…” he swallowed hard and seemed to lose his train of thought. Draco was watching him, looking at him with an unfamiliar gleam in his eyes and suddenly Harry couldn’t breathe. He knew if he didn’t move away he would say something, do something, he would regret, but he couldn’t move. The look in Draco’s eyes had him stupefied.

“It was boring,” he finally managed to say. “Boring diplomats talking about boring rules. Is it my turn to cook tonight?”

Draco shook his head. “No, we’re going out tonight to celebrate.”

Harry managed to drag his eyes away from Draco’s long enough to take a sip of champagne, or at least what should have been a sip. He ended up chucking practically the whole glass.

“Slow down, Harry. It’s Dom Perignon, not tequila,” Draco said as he laughed.

Harry felt a blush tint his cheeks and it was enough to snap him out of whatever had muddled his mind. He stood up abruptly, not looking at Draco for fear of… something. “So where are we going? Are we meeting Leon?”

Draco snorted. “Lewis. No.”

Harry rummaged around the drinks cabinet, feeling sure he needed something stronger than champagne at the moment. “Why not?” he asked, feeling a surge of happiness run through him. “I thought he would want to help you celebrate.”

Draco stood, and in two smooth strides he was next to Harry, grabbing his trembling hands. “Because, Harry,” Draco said silkily, moving much too close for Harry’s comfort. Harry unconsciously moved backward, but Draco was staring at him with that look and before he realised it, his back clunked hard against the wall. “Because, why?” he asked in a whisper.

“Because I don’t want to celebrate with him, Harry, I want to celebrate with you. I’ve always wanted to celebrate with you.” Then Draco’s lips were on his and Harry’s eyes closed of their own accord and he was wrapping his arms around Draco, pulling him closer. Too close and yet not close enough. He could smell Draco’s hair and taste his breath. Could feel the hot skin against his own, feel his hard body, so hard and it was too much and not enough and he never wanted to open his eyes, for fear it would all disappear, but he knew he had to or he would regret it.

“Draco,” he whispered, and it was part question and part plea. “What are we…?”

Draco pulled back and looked at Harry, face flushed, eyes bright, blood-red lips shimmering with wetness, and God, he was perfect. “What we should have done a long time ago,” Draco said, voice husky and needy.

And finally, finally, Harry let himself believe it was real. Without hesitation, he captured Draco’s lips again; his body pressing back against Draco’s pushing them away from the wall until they fell in a tangled heap onto the sofa. Shirts and trousers were discarded quickly and gracelessly until Draco lay naked underneath him, his skin warm and pale, his muscles tensed with excitement and anticipation, his lips gentle everywhere they touched. And, Merlin, he’d done this hundreds of times with dozens of men, but never had it felt this good, this right. The physical pleasure was beyond amazing, but that was the least of it. The idea that this was Draco, under him, letting him, surrounding him, begging him… he increased the pace and reached for Draco’s cock matching the rhythm until he felt the boiling in his gut and he was gasping and Draco was coming and all he could think was that he wanted to do this a thousand more times, but never with anyone else.

He collapsed on top of Draco, scooting to the side so he didn’t crush him, and lay there for hours, or minutes, or days, buggered if he could tell, but he knew he wasn’t going to move until Draco asked him to. Finally Draco wiggled underneath him and Harry rolled to his side, and saw that Draco was staring up at him with questioning eyes. What questions they were asking, Harry wasn’t sure. ‘Is this okay? Are we okay? What happens next?’ Those were all questions running through Harry’s mind, but he knew he would never be able to ask them. Instead he ran his fingers through Draco’s hair and mumbled, “I really do like your hair short.”

Draco draped a long, slender leg over Harry’s and nuzzled into his neck, leaving a line of kisses along his throat. When he finally stopped he pulled Harry closer and whispered, “I know.”

~Fin~