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It’s the crunching sound of shoes on gravel, ringing loudly in your ear, that wakes you. You grab your wand, rush to the door, sitting down in front of it. Waiting.
Friend or foe?
Only a handful of people know about this — a secluded house near the sea. So far, no unexpected owls or people have made it up here. But it’s been only a month since it happened. Two nights past the full moon, and you can still feel the pull in your bones.
London had been deafeningly loud and too smelly. Every single person had been surrounded by a cloud of scents — some pleasant, some not — and with other city odours, they built a wall of smells that had hit you with full speed.
You wanted out. No Healers, no spells, just out!
As the person draws closer to the house, there’s almost no smell. No perfume, no aftershave, and only the slightest hint of shampoo or shower gel. You immediately recognise them. Despite eight years having passed, your body reacts instinctively. The closer they come, the closer you want to be. Not just you; your inner wolf sighs contentedly for the first time.
Fuck!
“Go away,” you roar before they can knock.
This can’t be happening.
You hear the loud, shaky exhale.
“You can’t hide in there forever.”
“Bugger off! I don’t want you here.”
“No, you just didn’t expect me to come,” they state.
You know they hit the nail on the head. Of all the people to show up, you never thought Draco Malfoy would come all the way from Australia to see you here. There’d been no future for him in England; not with him at the wand’s end of so much hate. Too many attacks, people spitting insults in his face. You wanted to hate him when the letter arrived, telling him that he could start his Healer studies in Brisbane. You couldn’t. Not when he’d pleaded for you to come with him.
You hadn’t been ready.
You failed him.
He can’t see you like this. No matter how much your inner wolf snarls in disagreement, Draco is too precious, too important. He’d been an outcast before, and he’d be again if you open that door.
The soft thud as his head meets the door tells you he won’t leave.
“Leave!” you yell.
“Please. Harry, please.”
A shiver spreads all over your body. Your exhales are shaky. Since he’d left, you’d missed this the most; him saying your name with softness and affection. Nobody but Draco had ever managed to make your knees go weak and your heart swell by the simple gesture of speaking your name.
“Harry—” There’s a pause. You can hear his heart pounding fast inside his chest. “—please open the door.”
It’s a simple flick of a wand, and Draco is standing before you. He carefully shuts the door before sitting down. You close your eyes, trying for deep, calming breaths, but he’s so close now. You smell him, hear his breathing, his heart beating fast despite appearing calm and in control. Your wolf urges you to move, but you resist the craving.
In deliberate movements, he inches nearer to you, his hand almost touching yours.
“May I?”
After you nod, Draco’s hand rests atop your own. A few moments later, your fingers trail up his coat sleeve, coming to a stop where shoulder and neck meet. Your mouth is dry, unable to ask for it, but Draco gets the hint, leaning into the touch as your hand presses against his cheek.
You can’t hold back anymore. The first kiss is feral. You claim his mouth, and he lets it happen. The second is no less urgent. By the third, he’s gripping your shirt.
When the need for air becomes too strong, you break apart. “What now?” you ask.
“Depends. If you want me, I stay, and we work on it together. Or—”
“Stay.” To you, it’s a shout, but in reality, it’s barely a whisper.
A soft smile tugs on his lips.