I'm Beginning to See the Light (an Eight Drarry Nights Story)

by Phoebe_Delia

Summary:

Harry and Draco are friends. Good friends. And Harry's totally fine with that. Sure, he has a crush on Draco, and even loves him, but it's not a big deal. It's totally normal. Certainly, he can get through a week at Grimmauld Place with Draco while they watch Teddy together during Hanukkah.

Harry's not screwed.

It'll be fine.

Notes:

I'm switching things up for this year's Eight Drarry Nights. Instead of taking prompts, I've got my first multi-chap! There's so much fluff and pining and little to no angst.

Big big thanks to my lovely Rowan for all the help and encouragement. I love you so so much.

Happy Hanukkah everyone!

Chapter 1

“What do you think, Potter? Should we order pizza?” Draco’s smirk is mischievous and knowing as Teddy jumps around them in a circle, chanting “Pizza! Pizza! Pizza! Pizza!”

So Harry says, “As long as it’s not from that new place in Diagon.” That elicits cheers from Teddy, and a laugh from Draco, which Harry thinks is a good enough start to the week.

It was Andromeda’s doing, this arrangement. Draco and Harry—independently, and then together once they became friends—spent years offering to babysit Teddy for longer than an afternoon. But Andy declined each time, waving a hand and saying, “Don’t you worry about it.”

Turns out, all it took was Alain—sweet, caring and dashing Alain with his silver hair and gentle hands—to sweep her off her feet.

“He’s lovely,” and even Andy’s tone was blushing. “With Teddy, of course, and— and with me.”

So when Alain gifted her with a week’s vacation for the holidays, Harry and Draco joined forces once more. This time, she didn’t even pretend to put up a fight.

“Why don’t you both stay here?” Andromeda offered. “There’s plenty of space, too, if you want to have guests. It’s been ages since this house has seen any real fun.” Then, quieter, and looking directly at Harry, she said, “Just in time for Hanukkah, too. I believe Remus’ menorah is in the back closet.”

A few days later, and here they are, eating pizza on paper plates in the dining room in Grimmauld Place. Harry’s mind strays to Sirius, and then Remus, and he thinks they’d approve.

They light the candles after dinner. Draco watches Harry and Teddy with a silent, curious scrutiny that leaves Harry stammering in his explanation of the menorah, and the shamash. He murmurs the prayer, too self-conscious to sing, and forces himself to focus on lighting and placing the candles properly. He doesn’t make eye contact, but he catches Draco’s small, encouraging smile that makes his stomach flip.

Teddy stares, entranced, at the two flickering candles. “Why can’t we light the others?”

“Because it’s the first night, remember? We light the shamash, and then we use that to light the others. That’s why there are two candles, even though it’s just the first night.”

Teddy nods. “Can I light them tomorrow?”

Draco chuckles a bit, speaking for the first time since Harry set the menorah on the table. “Best leave that to Harry, Edward.”

“Draco’s right,” Harry says, briefly meeting Draco’s eyes across the table before grinning at Teddy and winking. “But there’s one thing left to do tonight.”

Teddy’s face lights up. “Presents?”

He forgets all about wanting to light candles once he’s unwrapped his gifts: a toy snitch from Draco and licorice wands from Harry. They watch him play for a while before ushering him to bed with promises of plenty of playtime tomorrow. They ply him with bedtime stories and hugs, and soon enough they’re in the hallway, leaving Teddy to sleep through the night.

“So,” Draco asks, voice low. “Do you have to get to the pub now?”

Harry shakes his head. “We’re closed for the holiday.”

Draco hums and quirks an eyebrow. He starts to walk down the hall toward the staircase. “Good for you.”

“Shut up,” Harry chuckles as he follows. “I’m not that bad.”

“Says the man who literally lives above his own workplace.”

“The flat was available!” Harry flushes. “Can you blame me for not wanting a long commute to my own bloody bar?”

Draco holds up placating hands. “I suppose I can’t.” Then, as they walk down the stairs, he asks, “Did you give yourself the week off, then?”

“I gave the staff the week off.”

“Does that include you?”

“Depends.”

“On?”

Harry grins. “If you annoy me enough that I’ve no choice but to go to work in order to escape you.”

“Git.” Draco bumps him with his shoulder, but he’s fighting a smile, and Harry’s stomach swoops.

When they reach the bottom of the stairs, Draco says, “So. You don’t have to work. I’m finished with my semester. What do you want to do now?”

Harry shrugs. “We could call it a night. Are you tired?” He aims for casual, he really does, but he’s eager to keep talking. He already feels the week slipping away, though it’s hardly started.

Draco shakes his head. “I think I want a drink. Care to join me?”

Harry does. They help themselves to the wet bar near the kitchen and settle in the living room, Draco spread out on the couch and Harry on a recliner. Soon, they’re both red-cheeked and tipsy, laughing, and something in Harry loosens.

Draco sips his firewhiskey, sighs, and says, apropos of nothing, “Merlin, I used to be such a wanker.” Then, his face splits into a wide grin at the ceiling, and he starts to laugh.

It’s so infectious, Harry can’t help but crack a smile. “What?”

Draco shakes his head. “Nothing. It’s just. It’s surreal, isn’t it?”

“What is?”

“This,” Draco says briefly turning his head and gesturing between them. “Who’d have thought?”

Harry tries and fails to fight a flush. Draco does this, sometimes. Brings up their past so casually. It used to put Harry on edge, but now, it feels like a reward they both earned.

They had each apologized, after the war; Harry, for nearly killing him, and Draco for, well, everything else. A couple of letters sent by Owl, and seven years of animosity were put to bed. He’s sure neither of them expected to exchange more than occasional pleasantries after that.

Teddy made the biggest difference. The first few years of attending birthday parties, holidays, and other milestones made it easier to be around one another without tension. Then, once Harry opened Marauders Mug, it became routine to see Hermione, Draco and their fellow Healer trainees taking up his biggest table on Friday nights. Harry mixed drinks, poured shots with a polite smile, and commended himself on keeping the staring to a minimum.

That is, until Hermione finally snapped, dragged him into his own stock room, and told him to “Stop glaring at Draco.” Harry just sputtered, not knowing which to protest first—the glaring accusation or the fact that Malfoy was somehow now Draco—but he fell quiet at the look on Hermione’s face.

“This isn’t sixth year,” She huffed. “It’s time to grow up.”

Since then, Harry’s made all kinds of discoveries about Draco. He’s wickedly funny. He wears black or navy trousers and white button-down shirts under his robes, and he rolls up his sleeves when he comes to the pub. He’s kept his Seeker reflexes, which Harry learned when Draco quickly caught a shot glass before it fell off a table. He tugs on his hair when he’s stressed. He has a dimple on his left cheek when he grins, and Harry spends an entire tipsy night wondering what it would feel like to press his lips there.

All of this, of course, causes Harry to make a few discoveries about himself, too. Ones he lets himself feel but can’t bring himself to admit.

Now, Draco grins crookedly at him, dimple and all, his glass of firewhiskey dangling in his grip. “I’m glad we don’t hate each other anymore, Potter.” He raises his glass, stretching his arm across the coffee table between them.

And the words are at the back of Harry's throat, making their way to the tip of his tongue, begging to fall where they may.

Instead, he picks up his own drink and meets Draco’s glass halfway with a soft clink. “Cheers.”

Chapter 2

Parking is a bit of a squeeze, but Harry’s able to find a spot for his Rover among the cars of Muggle families who apparently had the same idea of how to spend the day. It’s freezing, which Harry’d hoped would mean a smaller crowd, but at least Teddy will have plenty of other kids to play with. He shifts the car into park and listens to Draco grumbling again about one of the drivers they’d passed on the way. Harry knows better than to point it out, but Draco has come a long way from refusing to sit in “that death trap” to now sneering at drivers who forget to use their indicator. 

Teddy’s the first one out of the car, bouncing and antsy and looking over his shoulder at the sound of laughter from the other children. “Can I go?” He looks between Harry and Draco with wide, pleading eyes once they’re out of the car. 

Harry glances at Draco, who shrugs, so Harry nods. “Go on ahead, but stay where we can see you, alright?”

Teddy nods quickly and then takes off, rushing toward the playground. 

They find an empty bench far from the Muggle parents where they can keep an eye on Teddy. Harry casts a surreptitious spell to clean the bench before they sit down. He stops short of a warming charm, only because he doesn’t want to arouse suspicion; it has nothing to do with how Draco sits closer to him in the cold.

“How did you know about this place?” Draco asks. His cheeks are already rosy.

“My cousin liked to come here, growing up.” 

A shadow passes briefly over Draco’s face. Harry had told Draco about the Dursleys during one of their late-night talks while Harry closed down the pub. Draco was ready to hunt them down himself before Harry talked him out of it.

“I’m fine now,” Harry had said. “I promise.”

“You’re damn right,” Draco had insisted, his eyes wide and a bit bloodshot. “You’re going to be sickeningly happy for the rest of your fucking life, do you hear me?”

They haven’t discussed it since. But it’s moments like those that Harry treasures, and loathes, for all the reckless hope they bring. 

Now, he shoves the feeling down and tilts his head up to the sky. The sun is trying its best to peek through the clouds, but the day is cold, gray, and overcast. Maybe he shouldn’t like it; maybe he should be griping about the chill and wishing for summer like everyone else. But he doesn’t. He smiles. 

Draco shivers, and then, seeing Harry’s content expression, snickers. “I’ll never understand this.” He gestures a gloved hand at Harry’s outfit: trainers, worn jeans, and a jumper. “How are you not freezing?”

Harry looks at Draco; at his posh black overcoat, the maroon scarf wrapped around his face and neck, the thick wool trousers. He shrugs. “I like winter.”

Draco huffs, and it forms a small fog in the air that dissipates almost as quickly. He mutters something under his breath that sounds like, “Absolutely mad.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “It’s not that bad.”

“You say that now, but don’t come crying to me when you catch a cold.”

Harry puts a hand on his chest, mock offended. “What? You wouldn’t want my germs?” He leans toward Draco, closing his eyes, pursing his lips obscenely and making kissing noises. Draco yelps, batting his arms to push Harry away.

Harry sits back in his own space, grinning while his heart races. Draco tries to scowl, but it turns into a smile, and despite the chill, Harry’s suddenly warm.

When dusk eventually settles over them, they usher a pouting Teddy back to the car. Despite claiming he isn’t tired, Teddy’s half asleep by the time Harry pulls onto the freeway. Harry sees him in the rearview mirror, eyes closed and head bobbing lightly against the headrest with the car’s movements.

It’s not long before they hit traffic, but Harry supposes that’s what they get for driving through Muggle London during rush hour. He sighs. “We might be here a while.”

Draco scoffs. “Of course.” He folds his arms across his chest.

Irritation, hot and sharp and familiar, cuts through Harry. “Not like it’s my fault,” he snaps, resolutely keeping his eyes on the road. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Draco whirl around and open his mouth as if to fire back. He feels Draco’s searching gaze, but whatever he sees must make him retreat. Draco looks back out the window and mumbles as if he’s talking to the traffic itself, “No, I suppose it’s not.” 

The car in front of them inches forward, and Harry follows. He can’t see far enough in front of them to tell if there’s been an accident. He taps his thumb against the steering wheel, just for something to do, while Draco keeps quiet and Teddy naps in the backseat. 

It’s awkward, which Harry hates. Hates the kind of conflict that’s too small to require apologies but big enough to create distance. The car in front rolls forward again, and so does Harry, and more long seconds pass. Finally, he gives up and reaches for the wireless. He slowly turns up the volume, keeping a careful eye on Teddy through the rearview mirror to make sure he doesn’t wake up. 

He reaches a volume barely high enough to recognize the song, and when he does, he wishes he could make it louder, let it fill the car and his mind until there’s nothing else. His fingers even twitch on the button, but one more look back at Teddy’s peaceful expression is enough to stop him. He sighs and places his hand back on the steering wheel.

Draco, though, rolls his eyes and drawls, “You’re a wizard, Harry.” He takes his wand and, with a swish, the front seat is sealed in its own soundproof bubble.

Harry looks at him, a bit slack-jawed, and Draco stows his wand and waves a hand. “Go on. I know you want to.”

“You’re a genius,” Harry breathes, immediately reaching over to turn up the music. 

There's a boy I know, he's the one I dream of
Looks into my eyes, takes me to the clouds above, mmm-hmm
Oh, I lose control, can't seem to get enough, uh-huh
When I wake from dreaming, tell me, is it really love?

Traffic starts clearing up, finally, and Harry suddenly wishes it would slow down again. The sun is making its first, brief appearance of the day, already sinking behind the clouds and into nightfall. The Rover’s headlights can only show about a hundred meters at a time, and it all feels like an endless road stretching before them. 

Even Draco is more relaxed. He’s quiet, but he never asks Harry to change the station or gripes about the volume. Teddy’s still asleep and undisturbed in the back. It’s all so peaceful and easy that Harry wonders if it could stay like this forever if he just keeps driving.

When they enter the neighborhood, Harry whispers, “What do you think about sandwiches tonight? I think we ought to get him into bed not long after we get home.”

Draco’s eyes flick up to Teddy’s reflection in the rearview mirror, and he nods. “Agreed.”

Teddy stirs when they pull into the driveway. He yawns and rubs at his eyes with his fists, and Harry’s chest squeezes a bit. 

Harry turns off the wireless and Draco takes down the silencing spell. “Welcome home,” he says as he twists around to look at Teddy in the back seat. “Let’s get you some dinner, hm?”

They eat, and afterward, they light the menorah for the second night. Harry handles the candles with a steadier hand than the previous evening, and Teddy and Draco both seem just as captivated. 

Teddy’s still tired, despite the excitement of opening presents, which makes bedtime relatively easy. It’s not long before Harry and Draco are in the living room, watching the telly Andromeda let Harry set up a few years back. 

“What was that song we listened to?” Draco asks during a commercial break. 

“Which one?”

“The first one.”

“Oh,” Harry’s eyebrows crease. “How Will I Know? By Whitney Houston?”

“Right,” Draco nods. “I liked it.”

Harry smiles. “Yeah? Well. There’s more you might like. If you’re interested.”

Their eyes meet, and Harry's heart starts thumping like it's threatening to escape through his ribs. Draco’s gaze is soft and intent.

“I’m interested.”

Chapter 3

Notes:

This chapter is unbeta'ed so any typos or mistakes are on me!

Dust covers the entire attic like snow. Harry looks around and spares a thought for Ron when he sees cobwebs in nearly every corner. Still, he maneuvers around the cluttered space with only a Lumos lighting the way, trying to keep his footsteps light and quiet while Draco and Teddy sleep in the rooms below.

Harry shoves down a small surge of guilt at the mess. There’s so much stuff that needs sorting, and he knows Andy can’t make it up the ladder on her own. Pictures and letters and journals—artifacts of precious lives lost—just sitting there in old, worn boxes. He swallows against a lump in his throat. He hates the idea that Teddy will grow up knowing his parents the way Harry did his own; from other people’s photos and half-forgotten memories. Teddy’s heard quite a lot of it already. When he’s older, Harry will tell him everything he knows. 

But today, Harry’s in the attic on a different mission. He finds it tucked away in the corner, and he has to blow the dust off the top, but it looks to be in working condition otherwise.

Perfect.

---

“Is that a record player?” Draco asks later when he comes down to breakfast, gesturing at the turntable set up in the living room. 

Harry, standing at the hob with his back to the kitchen table, suppresses a chuckle. “It is.” He scrapes off the last serving of eggs onto a plate and turns to hand it to Draco. “Today, Draco Malfoy, I’m going to change your life.”

Draco’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “Oh? And how, pray tell, do you plan to do that?”

After breakfast, Harry starts with ABBA, letting the record play while they clean up. He sees Draco bop his head along to When I Kissed the Teacher, but when Dancing Queen comes on next, he knows he has Draco hooked, and Teddy is spinning around the room with his hands in the air. He plays it again, upon request. And again. And again.

When they finish the album, they’re all panting and sweaty and smiling. Draco’s eyes are wide and happy, and he’s saying something, and Harry should probably pay attention instead of just staring at his moving lips. 

“…play more? Other favorites? If you want to, of course.” Draco flushes now, and Harry’s cheeks are starting to hurt from smiling.

“Yeah! Please, Harry?” Teddy looks like he hasn’t broken a sweat, and Harry feels a rush of affection and pride and a kernel of envy at watching one of Teddy’s childhood memories form in real time.

Harry walks to the record player and carefully looks through the stack of albums. “There’s plenty more where that came from.”

---

Morning fades into afternoon, and Harry’s surprised when the Floo flares up. Hermione’s head appears through the flames. 

“Hello! Can we come through for an impromptu playdate?” Hermione’s grin is wide even through the flames. Harry can see Ron behind her, holding Rose’s hand. 

Draco snorts from behind Harry. “For the kids, or for us?”

Hermione shrugs. “Both.”

Harry steps aside to let them step in through the fireplace. Hermione holds a grocery bag she says will make “the best lemonade you’ve ever had.” Ron and Rose come through next. Ron has a white paper box tucked under his arm. “We also brought these. Suf…” He furrows his brow and lets go of Rose’s hand to take the box in both hands. “Suf-gin…”

“Sufganiyot, love,” Hermione smiles and kisses Ron’s cheek. She puts the bag down on the coffee table, takes the box from him, and turns to Draco, who peers at the box curiously. 

Hermione opens the lid so he can see the treats. “They’re jelly donuts. A Hanukkah tradition,” she explains, the end of the word nearly lost by delighted squeals from Teddy and Rose when they lock eyes and greet each other with a crushing hug.  

Soon, the kids are flying around the backyard on toy brooms, giggling as they look for the snitch. Ron ropes Draco into a game of Wizard’s Chess, so Harry and Hermione let them have the kitchen table and sit on the patio to watch the kids. 

She asks how things are going, and Harry has to smile around a bite of a sufganiyah at how maternal she sounds. He tells her about the last few days, how much fun Teddy’s been having, and his latest discovery about Draco. 

“You know he’d never heard Muggle music before? Well,” Harry waves a hand, “he’s heard some classical music, apparently. But that doesn’t count.”

Hermione laughs. “I think Bach and Beethoven would like to have a word.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “I mean, yes. Technically. But that’s not the point. Merlin, even Ron’s heard some Muggle pop songs! It makes sense, of course, but still! I got to play him Queen, ‘Mione. Queen!” Harry shakes his head and says, almost to himself, “Who hasn’t heard Queen?”

“A lot of people in the Wizarding World, probably."

“Well. It ought to be part of the Muggle Studies curriculum.”

“McGonagall will get right on that, I’m sure.” Hermione chuckles. Then she turns slightly to face the kids and asks, “So. Any new…developments I should be aware of?”

Harry’s eyebrows crease. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, nothing.” 

Hermione is good at a lot of things, Harry thinks, but subtlety isn’t one of them. He rolls his eyes. “Just ask me whatever it is you’re clearly thinking about because I haven’t the faintest.”

Hermione sets down her glass of lemonade, leans forward, and nearly whispers, “Have you told him yet?”

“Told who what?”

She groans. “Harry, give it up. I know.”

Harry feels his hackles rise. “Maybe I would know what the hell you’re talking about if you would stop being so bloody cryptic!”
 
Hermione glares at him. “You. And Draco.”

Harry feels the blood drain from his face. “What about him?” 

“Oh, I dunno, maybe the fact that you’re in love with him?” 

“No I’m not.” His own voice sounds so faint to his ears. 

“Oh, love.” Hermione softens, her face pinched in concern. She reaches across the table and puts her hand over his. “I’m sorry. I’ve gone about this all wrong. I thought you knew.”

And Harry feels the fight, the defensiveness, leave him all at once. He just sighs into the relief, and the risk, of voicing it aloud. “I do. I mean, I know. I’ve known. I just sort of hoped no one else did.”

She smiles, a bit sheepish. “Sorry?”

Harry laughs a bit shakily. He turns his palm up, wraps his fingers around hers, and squeezes her hand lightly. “No, you’re not.”

“Well,” she tilts her head. “I am sorry for how I approached the subject. But seriously, are you going to tell him?”

Harry groans. “I don’t know, ‘Mione. I can’t—” his stomach tightens at the thought. He rests his elbows on the table and puts his head in his hands, palms over his eyes.  “I can’t risk losing him. And there's no way he feels the same.”

Hermione purses her lips. “You might be surprised.”

Harry freezes. Then his palms nearly smack the table with how fast he moves to grip the edge. He leans forward conspiratorially and keeps his voice low. “Do you know something?” Then, his blood runs cold and he whispers, “Wait, does he know?” 

“He doesn’t know a thing, as far as I’m aware.” Hermione looks Harry in the eye, and her shoulders sag a bit. “Truthfully, Harry, I haven’t pried, with him. But I see how he looks at you. How he talks to you—and about you.” She shrugs. “Something to think about.” 

Ron and Hermione stay for dinner, and Harry orders takeaway from a Chinese restaurant. Harry notices Draco fiddling with his chopsticks, and without thinking he reaches over to help. Draco’s fingers are warm beneath his own as he forms a proper grip on the utensils. Draco murmurs his thanks, and the tops of his ears turn red. Harry steadfastly ignores his own burning cheeks and the very knowing look Hermione sends his way, the traitor. Ron, bless him, doesn't say anything. Harry decides to chalk it up to his friend's fierce loyalty, and not how absorbed he is in his carton of fried rice.

After dinner, Harry feels less insecure about singing the prayers with Hermione there to lend her voice. Harry’s grateful his non-Jewish friends are so happy to celebrate with him, but it’s nice to have someone there who knows the words, and what they mean. Teddy loves his presents: the DVD from Harry and a potions kit from Draco.

Hermione and Ron reassure Rose her present is at home, and that seems to be incentive enough for neither kid to complain at the end of the night.

“Have you made latkes yet?” Hermione asks as they walk back to the Floo.

Harry shakes his head. “Not yet. We haven’t been grocery shopping in a few days.”

“What’s a latke?” Teddy asks, tilting his head. 

Rose pipes up. “It’s a small potato pancake. Sort of like a hash brown.”

Teddy’s eyes go wide. “Oooh, that sounds yummy.”

“They are,” Harry agrees. “We can make them this week, if you’d like.”

Teddy pumps his fists in the air. “Yes!” Harry chuckles. 

“Yes, yes, it’s very exciting,” Draco steps forward and puts an arm on Teddy’s shoulder. “Let’s say goodbye to our guests, Teddy.”

They all exchange hugs and parting words. Hermione is the last to step through. Looking at Harry, she asks, “Do you have a good recipe for latkes? I can send you mine, if you’d like.”

Harry smiles. “That’d be great. Thanks.”

“Of course,” she nods, taking Floo powder into her fist. “I’m glad to, if it would make you happy, Harry. You deserve it.”

He can practically hear Draco raise his eyebrows. “Thanks, ‘Mione,” Harry says through a forced smile. “Have a good evening!” 

Hermione winks, and Harry wonders if his burning cheeks can help him melt into the carpet. Then, mercifully, she leaves in a burst of green flames. Then Teddy, sweet and lovely and perfectly oblivious Teddy, takes their attention by asking if they can watch Ratatouille tonight. 

“It’s getting late, love,” Draco puts a hand on Teddy’s shoulder. “But we can tomorrow.” 

Teddy frowns, but he nods. “Okay. Fine.” Then, his face brightens. “And can we make popcorn?”

Draco laughs. “Sure.” His eyes flick up to meet Harry’s, briefly, and then he looks back at Teddy. “But only if you win…”

Teddy’s eyes widen. “Win what?”

“A race to get ready for bed! I bet you can’t beat me up the stairs!”

Teddy squeals and hurries up the stairs, with Draco following several steps behind. Harry watches them go, bewildered and amused.

Draco is two steps up the staircase when he pauses to smirk at Harry over his shoulder. “Coming, Potter?”

And Harry doesn't see something sultry and eager in Draco's expression. He doesn't. It's playful, and nothing more, and it's definitely not 'Something to think about.'

Hermione's wrong, he decides. She has to be.

Harry plasters on a grin and starts up the stairs. “Right behind you, Malfoy.”

Chapter 4

Notes:

If you haven't seen Friends yet, so sorry! This chapter contains spoilers for how the show ends. It also contains my very biased take on Ross, which is that he sucks.

It’s raining. Storming, really; slate gray skies, cracking lightning, and thunder that echoes in one’s bones with no signs of letting up anytime soon.

Harry hated storms as a child. From the cupboard under the stairs, he had no way of watching for lighting; of knowing when to brace himself for the thunder that followed. He’d hide under the covers of his tiny makeshift bed, fearful and unsure if the house was shaking or if it was just him, and pray the staircase wouldn’t collapse from above.

Now, though, he enjoys a good storm. It’s a cliche, but he likes curling up on the couch with a good book and a cup of tea, watching the downpour from the dry, peaceful refuge of his flat.

Teddy, on the other hand, trembles with every flash and grumble from the sky. It doesn’t help matters that everything echoes in Grimmauld Place, which can be startling on the sunniest of days.

It also means none of them wants to go to the grocery store, so they postpone their plan to make latkes. “But that’s small potatoes, now,” Harry jokes, grinning proudly at Draco, who sighs and says, “Merlin give me strength.”

Hermione sends the recipe, as promised. She includes a separate piece of parchment, folded, with a note written in her neat script; Just think about it.

Like he isn’t. Like he hasn’t for years.

Harry snaps his fingers and watches the note vanish.

Teddy startles at another round of thunder, which is enough to pull Harry from his thoughts. He sits Teddy in front of the telly, pops Ratatouille into the DVD player, and goes to the kitchen to start the popcorn.

Draco walks in moments after him, leaning against the kitchen island while Harry puts the bag in the microwave. He huffs. “Popcorn and no water to drink? Honestly, Potter.” He reaches into a cabinet and retrieves three glasses.

“Thanks,” Harry mutters, his eyes trained on the microwave. Every crevice is clean, and it still has the plastic 'Remove Before Use' sticker over the keypad. If it were anyone else, Harry'd think she never used it, but her aptitude for cleaning spells keeps it looking like new.

After a few moments popping sounds start, coming rapidly from the microwave. Harry listens for them to start slowing down to a few seconds apart.

“Yesterday was fun,” Draco says, tapping his wand against the glasses to fill them with water.

“You always have fun when you beat Ron at chess.”

“It’s hilarious,” Draco snickers. “He hates losing.”

Harry raises an eyebrow. “So do you.”

Draco sniffs. “I am a graceful loser, on the rare occasion it happens.”

Harry snorts at that, and says, “I remember our Quidditch days a little differently.” The popping is slowing down, so Harry stops the microwave and retrieves the steaming bag. “Hand me a bowl, will you?”

Draco hums and reaches into another cabinet to retrieve a bowl, but when Harry reaches for it, he lifts it above Harry’s head with a sharp grin. “I’m certain I won more games than you.”

“No, you didn’t. And give me the bowl.” Harry swipes at it again, but Draco holds it higher, just out of his reach.

“Not yet. We at least tied, Potter.”

“Malfoy,” Harry says with a laugh, “can’t we argue about this while I put the popcorn in the bowl?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

Harry raises an eyebrow. “Teddy’s waiting, you know.”

Draco purses his lips. “I think there’s only one way to settle this.”

“You give me the bowl so we can go watch the movie?”

“Seeker’s game. You and me.”

Harry laughs incredulously. “Are you serious?”

“As your godfather.”

“Wha— I—” Harry laughs again, surprised and not a little amused. “Okay. When?”

Draco waves a hand; the one not currently holding the bowl out of Harry’s reach. “Some day this week will suffice, I’m sure.”

Harry huffs. “Fine. Now will you give me the bowl?”

Draco smiles beatifically and bats his eyelashes. “All you had to do was ask.” He places the bowl on the counter next to them. Then, he charms the glasses of water to follow behind him and walks away to join Teddy in the living room.

“You know,” Harry says to Draco’s retreating back. “If you wanted to play a Seeker’s game, you could’ve just asked. Like a normal person.”

Draco stops at the door, his fingers wrapped around the handle. He looks over his shoulder, and Harry can see the edge of his smirk. “But where’s the fun in that?”

---

The storm continues, on and off, for the rest of the day. Harry knows ordering takeaway for another night isn’t the most mature decision he could make. But the wind is picking up again with another lightning strike and clap of thunder. Teddy flinches, and Harry decides maturity can fuck off.

So they get spaghetti and meatballs from Harry’s go-to Italian place, and Draco even agrees to eat in front of the telly. Teddy is all smiles for the first time all day, and Harry feels oddly accomplished.

Later, he and Draco are washing up while Teddy watches cartoons. As Harry scrubs at a plate, he says, “Funny, how doing something sort of immature can make you feel so..” He trails off, suddenly unable to find the right word.

“Adult?” Draco offers. Their eyes meet, and Draco’s are piercing. Knowing.

“Yeah,” Harry nods. “Something like that.”

When they light the candles, Teddy picks his favorite colors and stares wide-eyed as they flicker and drip wax. Then he tears into his presents with enthusiasm; Sticky Trainers from Harry and an Extendable Ear from Draco. He grins, throwing his arms around Harry’s neck, followed by Draco’s, and squeals, “Thank you!”

“You’re welcome, love,” Harry pats his back. “Tomorrow, we’ll make latkes.”

Teddy lets out a “Yaaayyy!” that rings in Harry’s ears for a long while after, but he finds he doesn’t really mind.

It takes a while to get Teddy settled into bed, but they manage, and Harry and Draco find themselves next to each other on the couch. There’s a Friends rerun on the telly, and Draco watches curiously while Harry smiles and huffs a laugh at the jokes every now and then.

After a couple of episodes, Draco points at the screen. “Who’s she again?”

“That’s Rachel,” Harry says. “The man she’s arguing with is Ross.”

Draco frowns. “I thought they were a couple?”

Harry’s lips twitch. “They are, at this point.”

“They don’t seem to like each other very much right now.” Draco tilts his head, still staring at the screen.

Harry shrugs. “They’re sort of on-again-off-again.”

“How does it end?”

“You sure you want me to tell you? What if you want to watch it?”

Draco waves a hand. “I want to know.”

Harry takes a breath. “They end up together.”

“Is that a good thing?”

Harry considers this. “Depends who you ask, I guess. I liked it the first time I watched, but when I watched it again I realized Ross is sort of an arse.”

Draco shifts so he sits cross-legged on the couch, facing Harry. “Why?”

Harry snorts. “How long do you have?”

Draco rolls his eyes. “Tell me.”

So Harry does. He manages to explain 10 seasons’ worth of drama as succinctly as he can. By the end, Draco is slack-jawed and incredulous.

“Well,” he huffs. “That’s bonkers.”

A short, sharp laugh bursts from Harry’s chest. “Yes, it’s rather toxic.”

Draco crosses his arms and glares at the telly. “Rachel deserves better.”

Harry nods. “She does. She reminds me of you, a little, actually.”

The words are out before he can stop them, and Draco’s looking at him again, and he can feel the blush returning with a vengeance.

“How so?”

“Erm,” Harry begins, eloquently. “Well. She grows up sort of, um…privileged.”

Draco’s lips quirk into a smile. “It’s alright, you can say spoiled.”

Harry laughs again, his nerves easing for just a moment. “Alright. Well. She does. Grow up spoiled, I mean. And she can be a little mean, sometimes, when she’s young. But her family wants her to live a life she doesn’t want, so she leaves.” Harry smiles and thinks of Rachel, soaked from the rain and running through the coffee shop in her wedding dress. 

“Then what?”

“She works her way up and becomes really successful. She’s got flaws, like they all do, but she’s got a good heart. Good intentions.” Harry chuckles, “Plus, everyone’s a little bit in lo—”

He cuts himself off. Clears his throat. Wills his blush to subside. “Everyone cares about her, I mean.”

Draco’s staring, his expression is unreadable. It’s silent for a long, excruciating hour. Or minute. Or second. Harry doesn’t know. He wants to say something, but he doesn’t know what would come out of his mouth if he speaks first. So he waits.

“That’s nice,” Draco finally says, voice just above a whisper. “Good. That she has people who care about her.”

“She does.” Harry’s throat is tight. “A lot.”

They’re both quiet for another long moment; the only sound in the room is the telly playing on a low volume. Harry considers changing the subject—to Teddy, to other Muggle shows, anything. And then—

“Who does she belong with, then?” Draco asks. “If not Ross.”

Harry doesn’t know if they’re talking about the show, or if they ever were.

“Someone who makes her happy.”

They go to bed not long after the episode ends. Harry goes to his bedroom and lets Draco have the bathroom to himself. He already feels flayed open by their conversation; he’s not sure his heart can take it if they stand side by side, talking as they move through their nighttime routines, and then sleep in separate beds.

At one point, he hears footsteps approach and stop at the door between his room and their shared bathroom. There’s a pause, and a deep sigh. Then, the footsteps retreat and fade behind the soft click of a closing door.

Later, under the covers, Harry tosses and turns, refusing to Just think about it. But, when he finally falls asleep, he can’t help but dream.

Chapter 5

Notes:

Hey yall! Just a quick content warning on this one for a small panic attack. Also, this chapter is unbeta'ed so any mistakes here are all me!

Enjoy! We're halfway there!

“We’re making latkes tonight, right?” Teddy asks at breakfast, looking between Harry and Draco expectantly.

“We sure can,” Harry says. Then, to Draco, he adds, “There’s a Muggle shop not too far from the apparition point. That alright with you?”

Draco wrinkles his nose. “But Magical stores are so much more efficient.”

Harry sighs. “Yes, but—” he cuts himself off, eyeing Teddy, who is absorbed in pushing the scrambled eggs around on his plate rather than eating them. “Later,” he murmurs under his breath.

‘Later’ comes when they’re getting ready for the day. Harry, having mostly recovered from the previous night’s conversation, is back in the bathroom. They stand at their sinks side by side and, miraculously, it doesn’t feel awkward.

“So, why a Muggle store?” Draco asks while studying his own face in the mirror. Their eyes meet in the reflection, and Harry realizes he’s staring. Again.

So much for not being awkward. Harry quickly averts his eyes and pretends he’s trying to shape his untamable hair, running his fingers through the thick strands. “I don’t want to risk running into any Prophet reporters if I’ve got Teddy with me. It’s easier to stick to Muggle areas.” He pauses and looks over at Draco, this time on purpose. “If you want, though, you and Teddy can stay home and I can go get the ingredients myself. Or I can stay home and give you a list. Or—”

Draco holds up a hand. “Potter. It’s fine. You’re right. Let’s go to the Muggle store.”

Harry blinks. Then tries, and fails, to suppress his smile. “What was that? I didn’t quite hear.”

Draco rolls his eyes. “I’m not saying it again.” He walks out of the room and calls over his shoulder, “But nice try!”

Shopping is easy enough. Harry has to explain what chicken schmaltz is—“fat to cook them in”—and gets the other ingredients; potatoes, onions, matzo meal, and eggs. Plus, “Hmm, applesauce or sour cream?” To which Draco raises his eyebrows in surprise and says, “Applesauce? With potatoes?” And that makes Harry’s decision. “We’re getting both.” 

He picks up the other ingredients he needs for dinner; chicken, vegetables, pasta. He also spots a small package of dreidels and a bag of gelt, and he adds them to the basket, much to Teddy’s excitement and Draco’s curiosity. 

Harry pays at the register, smiling at the cashier who helps pack the bags. As soon as they leave through the sliding doors, Draco starts chattering on, peppering him with questions about Muggle credit cards and currency. Teddy holds Draco’s hand on the other side and, instead of walking, jumps forward with his feet together like he’s playing hopscotch.

Harry answers Draco’s questions as best he can, but he takes a moment to scan the crowd of shoppers, a habit learned during the war. Nothing’s out of the ordinary; he imagines they’re picking up that extra package of butter or pint of milk. There’s hustle and bustle, but Harry feels like part of it all, rather than at the center of it.

Suddenly, there’s a click. And a flash.

It happens again; click, flash, from several feet away. It causes the Muggles to give the source a wide berth, frowning and walking around the disturbance, which gives Harry a better view.

It’s a man he’s never seen before; short, stocky, dressed in Muggle clothes, and pointing a Muggle camera straight at him. And Harry can see the back of the man’s badge—attached to his jacket—The Daily Prophet.

Harry drops the bags. He doesn’t have his wand, but his magic rises, ready and waiting at his fingertips. It’s warm on his skin, like he’s standing too close to a fire. The magic roars in his ears and jerks at the worn thread of his self-restraint; like a provoked dog tied to a tree, snarling and surging forward and gnashing its teeth.

Then, everything is Draco. Draco’s hand around his clenched fist. Draco’s protective arm around Teddy’s waist. Draco’s whisper in Harry’s ear, running through his blood like a Calming Draught; “Don’t. It’s not worth it. It’s alright. You’re alright.”

Harry waits. His chest expands as he breathes. His magic retreats, but it stays close to the surface of his skin. He keeps his gaze trained on the man, cataloging every detail he can. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Draco bending down and saying something to Teddy, who nods, but Harry doesn’t hear it.  

The man lifts his camera again, and Harry can see the corner of his smug, predatory smirk. Click. Flash. Harry’s magic jolts, nearly escapes, but Draco’s there, again. Soothing. “Shh. You’re alright.”

Harry wants to leave. Wants to make their way through the crowd and pass the man, maybe shoot him a dirty look that’ll surely end up on the front page, or even knock the camera out of his hands. But Draco’s touch grounds him to the spot, along with the fact that he doesn’t know what his magic will do if he moves closer to its target.

The crowd of shoppers grows, obscuring Harry’s view of the man. When it clears, the man is gone, like he disapparated without a sound. Harry’s panic starts to subside, and he realizes his heart is racing. Closing his eyes, he tries to calm down; to remember its normal rhythm. Buh-bum. Buh-bum.

Buh-bum.

Buh-bum.

Dra-co.

Dra-co.

“Harry?”

Harry’s eyes fly open, and Draco’s standing in front of him, face pinched in concern and eyes roaming his face. “You’re shaking,” Draco murmurs. “It should stop soon.” He takes Harry’s wrist and presses two fingers to his pulse point.

It’s too much; too close to what he wants and isn’t allowed to have. Harry jerks his hand away. “I’m fine. Thanks,” he mumbles. Something like hurt flashes on Draco’s face, but it clears as quickly as it comes. Before Draco can get another word in, Harry picks up the bags he dropped and starts walking briskly to the apparition point. “Let’s just go home.”

---

The house is quiet for a long while. Harry’s magic, still roused and anxious, puts the groceries away with just a wave of his hand. He doesn’t stop to make sure it ends up in its proper place, he just walks straight toward the stairs. His magic is even less patient, though, and before he realizes what’s happening he hears a pop and lands, stomach first, on his bed.

The adrenaline leaves him in a rush, leaving exhaustion in its wake. Harry closes his eyes and thinks of nothing.

He doesn’t know if he actually sleeps, or how long it lasts. But a loud, sharp knock at his door jerks him back to consciousness.

Draco’s voice is slightly muffled behind the door, but his message is loud and clear. “You promised you’d make latkes, Potter. Get your arse up.”

Harry waits until he hears the footsteps retreat from his door. He rises from the bed with a grunt, yawns, and rubs at his eyes.

When he opens his door, he can hear music playing from downstairs. It’s just a bass beat, faint from the top of the stairs, but it grows louder as he gets closer. Recognition hits him in the middle of a step, and he very nearly stumbles, but he feels a smile tugging at his lips as he hurries the rest of the way.

Draco’s in the kitchen with the record player on. His brow is creased as he studies Hermione’s recipe like it's a potions textbook. Teddy is dancing around—jumping, really—to the music. And Harry smiles. 

He summons an apron and ties it around his waist. “Let’s get started.”

They follow the recipe step by step until, after shredding, squeezing, mixing and seasoning, they have their mixture ready to mold into latkes and fry. Harry shows Draco and Teddy how to form the small, domed patties in their hands; “It can be a bit messy,” Harry says, holding up his own example. “They just have to stay together in the pan.”

Soon, they’re sitting down to eat, and Harry watches Draco take his first bite of a latke. Draco’s eyes flutter shut, and he lets out the softest, happiest little moan, and Harry’s thoughts turn to static for the rest of the meal. 

---

It occurs to Harry later that night, as he washes his face next to Draco, that they still haven’t talked about it.

“Hey, um,” he starts, and he nearly loses his train of thought when Draco looks at him with bright, curious eyes in the mirror. “I wanted to say thank you.”

“What for?”

“For earlier. When I was—when we were at the supermarket. And I—sort of panicked. You helped me calm down.” He chuckles. “Probably kept me from breaking the Statute.”

Draco cracks a smile. “We can’t have the Savior attacking a Prophet reporter in the middle of a Muggle area, can we?”

Harry scowls. “No, but I still want to know how they found me. And—I swear to Merlin if I see you and Teddy on the front page under some lurid headline about me—” 

And Draco’s there. Again. Filling Harry’s field of vision. Taking his hands and rubbing small circles on the inside of his wrists. “It would be fine,” he says, pitching his voice low and soothing. “I’m no stranger to the Prophet’s bullshit, and if Teddy is mentioned we’ll deal with it.”

Harry had been too angry, too frightened, to really feel anything else back at the supermarket. But now, alone with Draco in this no man’s land between their rooms, Harry wants. 

And in a way, Harry has him. Towering over Harry like a skyscraper blocking the sun—except that Draco is the sun, hot and blinding and vital. He has him right where he wants him, and he wants—he wants—

Draco releases Harry’s wrists. Clears his throat. Steps back and smiles a little ruefully. “We should, ah, get some sleep. Good night, Harry.”

Harry forces the words from his throat. “Good night." He watches Draco go; watches him walk to his own room and close the door. 

With nothing left to do, Harry goes to bed. 

Chapter 6

Notes:

:)

Thank you to Rowan for looking over this!

“I think we should have a party,” Draco says.

Harry blinks. He pauses scrubbing the dishes after breakfast. “You do?”

“Well, Andromeda said we should have guests over.” Draco shrugs. “If we keep it small, I see no reason why we can’t. Besides, tomorrow is New Year’s.” And he smirks, dimple and all, and Harry’s done for.

Andy herself, it turns out, is just as enthusiastic about the idea. “Oh, yes! What a lovely idea.” Her grin is brighter than the flames in the Floo. “Draco, dear, I wonder if your mother would be available to watch Teddy that evening? Let me give her a ring.”

Narcissa agrees, of course, and several years ago Harry might’ve been shocked. No one saw her in public for two years after Lucius was sentenced and then died in Azkaban, but that changed as she and Andromeda grew closer. Since then, she and Harry have maintained a pleasant, cordial relationship. They greet one another with polite nods at the occasional social event that sees their worlds colliding. He’s watched, from a distance, as she became the mother, sister, and aunt she was always meant to be.  

Teddy, of course, is ecstatic to get to spend a night at “Aunt Cissy’s house!” Harry’s amused, but he can’t help but wonder what it’s like to see Malfoy Manor as just someone’s house; he doubts he ever will, but he hopes Teddy always does.

That afternoon, when they sit down to start planning, Harry’s doubtful they’ll get it done in time. But Draco waves a hand like he’s shooing away his concerns.

“This isn’t a Ministry Gala, Potter. Let’s just get fish and chips, and enough champagne to drown a Hippogriff, and no one will care.”

Harry can only stare, mouth agape. “Who are you and what have you done with Draco Malfoy?”

Draco sniffs imperiously, but his cheeks are tinged red. “I can, contrary to popular belief, be 'chill’ whenever I wish.”

That sends Harry into a laughing fit. Draco glares at him for a long minute, but Harry catches his lip twitching into a small smile.

It takes the rest of the day, but in the end Harry’s surprised it comes together as quickly and easily as it does. What starts as a tiny gathering at Grimmauld Place morphs into a slightly larger party at Harry’s pub, but they can make it work. All of their guests say yes within hours of sending the invites. It’s easier, he supposes, now that their friend groups have slowly merged into mostly Gryffindor-Slytherin couples.

“Pansy and Ginevra—yes. Neville and Blaise—yes. Granger and Weasley—yes. Luna and Millicent—yes.  Thomas and Finnegan said yes and—” Draco snorts, turning the letter to show Harry the parchment covered in doodles of dicks. “Finnegan was kind enough to use the invitation to…practice his art, I suppose.”

They’re finished by dinner time, but too tired to cook, so they opt for takeaway. Harry lights the candles after they eat and realizes, while Teddy opens his gifts, he’s only got two more nights of this. The wax drips, the candles get shorter, and a small part of Harry hopes for a miracle.

Teddy, however, doesn’t seem to worry about much beyond what’s happening in front of him. Now, that includes looking curiously through his gift from Draco; a book on constellations.

“Bring this with you to Aunt Cissy’s tomorrow night,” Draco says. “She’ll use a special charm for seeing the stars up close at night, no matter the weather.”

Harry raises his eyebrows. “I’d like to see that.”

Surprise crosses Draco’s face for just an instant, and then he nods. “I’ll show you.”

Together, they go through the motions of putting Teddy to bed. Harry feels Draco’s eyes on him, more than usual, and when he meets his eyes, Draco doesn’t glance away or pretend it was an accident. He holds his gaze, even smiles; like they have time. Like he’s not dreading tomorrow or the day after. Like the candles aren’t burning downstairs.

Draco’s soft smile turns into a mischievous, excited grin when they leave Teddy’s room. Harry eyes him in suspicion, but he’s already mentally agreed to whatever’s making Draco look at him like that.

“I have a surprise.” Draco reaches into his pocket and pulls out a snitch.

Harry’s suspicion turns to blatant surprise. “What—now? Here?”

“The backyard is big enough. And I’m sure there are extra brooms in the attic.” And then he smirks—damn that dimple—and goes for the kill. “Scared, Potter?”

And Harry can’t argue with that if he wanted to. “You wish.”

---

If Harry thought the last few days had been the best kind of torture, he was wrong.

This—flying around with Draco, watching his grace and ease on a broom, the old, familiar competitive spark reigniting between them after several years lying dormant; it’s nostalgic and brand new all at once, and his chest aches.

Harry wins the first game, and he thinks that’s the height of satisfaction—until Draco wins the next one. And the look of wonder and pride on his face, the pure joy in his laugh; Harry wants to bottle it up; would lose every Seeker’s game for the rest of his life if it means Draco is always that happy.

 They get too tired to keep playing after a while, but by some silent agreement, they stay in the sky. Their brooms inch closer and closer as they talk, until they’re sitting next to each other, hovering in the air.  

Harry doesn’t know how late it is. He could cast a Tempus. But he won’t; he doesn’t care. Time doesn’t matter, up here, with Draco.

Draco, who pulls his wand and says, “Let me show you that constellation charm. It’ll be even better up here. Revelare Caelum.”

The few clouds in the sky dissipate, revealing bright, twinkling stars. Harry blinks rapidly, trying to adjust his eyes.

“Wow,” he croaks.

“I know.” Draco’s voice is low next to him. “Here’s what we’re looking at…”

Draco explains the major constellations, one by one, and the mythology behind them. Harry does his best to take it in; he really does. But Draco looks—almost ethereal. He’s glowing. His cheeks are flushed, his hands moving rapidly, and he’s smiling.  The light from the stars reflects in his eyes, and Harry absolutely cannot take it anymore.

His lips land on Draco’s cheek, barely an inch from his lips. Draco stops his rant and looks at Harry with wide, unreadable eyes.
  
Dread, cold and terrifying, starts creeping in. Harry starts to apologize, to take it back to pass it off as a joke, to—

“You missed.”

The words—whatever they were going to be—die on Harry’s tongue. “What?”

Draco’s lips quirk up, and a spark of hope ignites in Harry’s chest. “You missed,” Draco says again, bringing their brooms closer so they’re sharing the same air. He presses a kiss to Harry’s cheek. “Now we’re even, at least.”

Harry’s heart is pounding. He wants to bring his fingertips up to the tingling skin Draco’s lips left in their wake, but he hesitates. “Can I…” he trails off, eyes fixated on Draco’s mouth.

“Tomorrow,” Draco whispers. “If you meant it. Kiss me again tomorrow, properly. At midnight. When you’ve thought about it. And your head isn’t quite literally in the clouds.”

Harry smiles. He reaches over, taking Draco’s trembling hand in his own. Something instinctual and brave surges inside him, and Harry clings to the feeling like a lifeline. He presses a kiss to Draco’s knuckles. “I’ll mean it tomorrow.” Another kiss, now on his forearm. “And the day after that.” Pulls him closer and kisses his bicep. “And the day after that.” Kisses his shoulder. He lifts his head, and their lips are inches apart. “I’ve thought about this for ages. I’ll wait as long as you want, Draco, but I’ll always mean it.”

Draco’s eyes are shining, and hungry, and Harry feels a surge of want roll through him like a tidal wave. He doesn’t hide it this time, and he's rewarded when Draco’s cheeks flush satisfyingly.

“We should head back down,” Draco whispers. With that, he turns and flies back down to the backyard.

Harry watches him go, and then follows shortly after; suddenly, he can’t until tomorrow.

Chapter 7

Harry tries not to think about it.

Teddy serves as a good buffer in the morning. The three of them get through breakfast easily enough, but Harry is, to put it mildly, struggling a bit.

Does he look at Draco? Does he not look at him? Does he, at any point, casually say, “These eggs are good. Hey, by the way, I’m looking forward to kissing you at midnight and then possibly discussing how our relationship will change as a result. Would you please pass the jam?”

And then there are the casual, accidental touches. Harry’d thought it was hard sharing a space with Draco when he believed his crush was one-sided; now that he knows Draco could feel the same way, it’s so much better, and yet so much worse.

It was easier, before, to pretend it meant nothing when their fingers brushed, or their eyes met. But now, everything feels significant. Charged. There’s a heat in Draco’s eyes that hasn’t been there, or that Harry hasn’t noticed, because he can feel his gaze hot and greedy on his skin. It’s exhilarating, and torturous, to know it’s happening and to not be able to do anything about it…yet.

And when Teddy leaves with Narcissa in the afternoon, and the house goes quiet, Harry feels like he can hear his heart race with every breath. They bring the supplies and decorations to the pub to start setting up for the party, and Draco breaks the silence to suggest putting on the wireless.  Harry nearly sags with relief at having something—anything—fill the air; cut the tension.

It works, at first. It’s one of those Muggle stations that plays music from the last few decades. They make it a couple of hours without awkwardness, both focused on their tasks and only politely talking about logistics. The DJ plays Britney, Queen, Green Day, and Usher. And then—

“This one goes out to all of you waiting for your sign to make a move on that special someone. The year’s almost up! Make the most of it with this tune from REO Speedwagon.”

After the first few notes, panic rushes through Harry. His hand twitches, nearly reaching for his wand to turn it off, or change the station. But then again, maybe he’s overreacting. Maybe the song is only significant if he makes it so. After all, Draco’s likely never heard it before and won’t be paying attention to the lyrics. Harry relaxes a little. It’ll be fine. Things have been going well; best not to disrupt that.

I can't fight this feeling any longer.
And yet I'm still afraid to let it flow.
What started out as friendship has grown stronger.
I only wish I had the strength to let it show.

Shit. Harry can feel his cheeks heating. He forgot how deeply, painfully accurate this song is for him; for them. He chances a glance at Draco, who is staring at the wireless, frozen. He forces his eyes away before Draco can feel him looking.

Harry turns back to his task, which was setting out the last-minute decorations. He’d impulsively grabbed the dreidels and gelt on his way out the door, so he puts a dreidel and a big handful of gelt at each table. He moves slowly, taking his time, waiting for the song to end before the task does in hopes he can avoid just standing there while REO Speedwagon pours his heart out over the wireless.

Draco, for his part, also moves slowly, but it appears to be for a different reason. He’s setting out the food they’d picked up: fish and chips under a stasis spell, biscuits, and other snacks. But he’s hardly moving, eyes still fixed on the wireless like he’s trying to see if the lyrics will start floating in the air.

The song progresses, and it only feels like it’s getting worse. Harry wants to laugh at “And it always seems that I'm followin' you, girl” and he thinks he actually hears Draco nearly choke on his own tongue. He breathes through it; even starts counting out equal piles of gelt for each table to buy time.

Then finally—mercifully—it reaches the end.

And if I have to crawl upon the floor.
Come crashing through your door.
Baby, I can't fight this feeling anymore.

The outro is the longest 15 seconds of Harry’s life. And when the DJ tosses to break, he wants to cry with relief; he’s never been so happy to hear a car ad.

---

Their friends start arriving soon after, and the party is in full swing. Some people even start small games of dreidel, and Harry explains the rules. “Each side has a different Hebrew letter. You take turns spinning it and get different results depending on where it lands. Gimel means you win. Nun means you get nothing. Shin means you’ve got to put a piece of gelt in the pile. Hey means you get half the pile.”

“Be careful, though,” Hermione interjects. “Gimel and Nun look similar, but Gimel has a little tail on the end, see?” She points to the small mark on the dreidel.

“May I see?” Draco asks. Hermione hands him the dreidel she’s holding, and he looks at it closely before handing it back to her. “Good to know.” He meets Harry’s gaze and holds it. Harry shivers.

The party goes on well enough. He manages to keep a hold on his self-control, which isn’t helped by Hermione’s knowing glances and Draco’s dancing—Merlin help him. Harry doesn’t touch the champagne; wants to be sober for…whatever happens. It seems Draco does the same; Harry only sees him with a lemonade, and it makes him equal parts terrified and hopeful.

When there are just five minutes until midnight, their friends are all outside behind the pub, having set up privacy wards and silencing charms. Harry stays back, claiming he needs the loo, but really he starts picking up the mess, just for something to do. Something other than standing there, staring, thinking, imagining—

“You alright in here?”

Draco.

Harry turns. Gives him a small smile. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He wipes down the bar counter more aggressively than he has to. “Why aren’t you out at the party?”

Draco raises an eyebrow. “I could ask you the same.”
 
Harry shrugs. Puts the towel to the side and leans over the bar with his palms down on the surface. “I wanted to get ahead on cleaning.”

“That’s…unlike you.”

Harry wants to come up with something witty. Wants to deflect, or pretend to be offended, or something. But instead—

“Truth be told, I needed a distraction.”

“Oh?” Draco tries to sound innocent, but his lips twitch. “From what?”

Harry gives him a flat look. “You know what.”

Draco gives in, then, laughing a little. “I admit, I’ve been a bit…on edge today.”

“Yeah,” Harry huffs. Smiles. “It’s been…”

“Distracting?”

“Yes.”

“Exhilarating?”

“Yes, you wanker.”

Draco grins. “You’re not alone, you know.”

“I sure hope not,” Harry mutters, though his heart skips a beat. “I’ve been flustered all bloody day. Can we talk about this now? Please?”

“We can, but—” Draco casts a Tempus. One minute until midnight. “I believe we have a deal to fulfill first.”

Harry sucks in a breath. “Well, come here, then.”

Draco smirks. He walks around the back of the bar, but he stays a few feet away. “Care to make it interesting?”

Harry feels his heart rate pick up. “How?”

Draco picks up a dreidel that had been lying on the counter, turning it to show Nun. “If it lands here, we go to bed.”

Harry tries not to let his disappointment show. “Alright.”

Draco twists it again. Shin. “If it lands here,” his eyes drop to Harry’s lips, “I’ll kiss you.”

Harry’s throat goes dry.

Twist. Hey. “If it lands here—”

“I’ll kiss you.” Harry feels bolder, now, inching forward into Draco’s space.

Twist. Gimel.

Neither of them speaks for a long moment, but Harry hears everything Draco says in his heated look. He shivers, and the ghost of a smirk passes over Draco’s lips. Harry casts his eyes away, down—anywhere but that smolder directed at him.

“What happens if it lands on Gimel,” Harry barely whispers.

Draco gently lifts Harry’s chin back up until their eyes meet again.

“We go to bed.”

Harry’s heart thrums as he plucks the dreidel from Draco’s fingers. He crowds in closer and pushes Draco up against the counter, bringing their waists flush, jeans against fitted trousers. He places the tip of the dreidel on the countertop and holds it there, pinching the stem between his pointer finger and thumb. Then, he moves his fingers like a snap and releases the dreidel with a slight flick of his wrist.

At first, he can only make out the sound of his own heavy breathing, and the dreidel spinning on the wood. Then, distantly, he hears their friends counting down the seconds to midnight.

“Ten! Nine! Eight!”

Pink. Draco’s lips are so, so pink, like a blush, and for all Harry’s stared at them, he’s still mesmerized by seeing them up close. So close.

“Seven! Six! Five!”

He braces for self-doubt to start creeping in. For a voice in his head to tell him he doesn’t deserve this. Or he can’t have it. Or it’ll never work.

The voice never comes.

“Four! Three! Two!”

One of them surges forward. Maybe they both do. All Harry knows is their lips crashing together in a near-frenzy. Biting, pulling, licking, sucking, tasting. Everything he can think to do; everything he’s ever wanted to do. The dreidel stops, probably. Or maybe it doesn’t; maybe it keeps spinning. Spinning, spinning, spinning, the way Harry wants to exist in the span of this breath, this kiss; forever.

Harry doesn’t know they’ve apparated, mid-kiss, until they land on his bed with a thump. He should probably think more about the fact that his magic seems to take him wherever it wants to, even without his conscious thought, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t want to care about anything other than this; Draco, writhing underneath him, warm and solid and real.

On lonely nights before this, when he let himself feel and want to his broken heart’s content, Harry imagined sex with Draco would be a competition. Who can undress the other the fastest? Who can cause the other to make more noise? Who can last longer?

And maybe, if they’d done this years ago, it would’ve been that way. Maybe if they’d fallen into bed together right after the war, it would have been under the guise of a fight. "I bet I can make you come in your pants, Potter." "You wish, Malfoy."

But this, tonight, becomes slow and savoring the moment they fall onto the bed. Harry’s hands tremble as he removes Draco’s clothes, one button at a time. Draco doesn’t rush him or bat his fingers out of the way; he watches, with a heaving chest and hooded eyes, and lets Harry see and touch and taste. Fireworks are bursting outside, but he doesn't even think to look away from this; from Draco falling apart under his touch, in his bed.

“Merlin, I need—I want—” whatever Draco says is lost to a sharp breath and a short moan as Harry presses light, teasing kisses down his chest.

Harry’s hands go to steady his hips. “What? What do you want?”

Draco, panting, lifts his head from the pillow to pin Harry with wild eyes. “I want you. I want everything, Harry. Everything.”

“I’m yours,” he whispers, a bit overwhelmed, continuing the trail of kisses down down down. “I’m all yours.”

Later, when they’re sleepy and sated and in one another’s arms, Draco nuzzles into Harry’s chest and mumbles, “Happy New Year, Harry,” before falling asleep.

Heart bursting, Harry presses a kiss to Draco’s temple. “Happy New Year,” he whispers, and for the first time in a while, he thinks it will be.

Chapter 8

Notes:

And that's a wrap, folks! Thank you so so much if you've followed along. Another big thanks to my darling Rowan for all their help; I could not have done this without you.

Happy New Year and Happy Hanukkah!

Harry wakes to sunlight streaming through his gauze curtains. He’s been meaning to replace them, having woken up with the sun one too many times after a long night working the bar. Now, though, he’s grateful for the light. Otherwise, he might not believe the sight in front of him. 

Draco’s face, relaxed while he sleeps peacefully, is easily the most beautiful thing Harry’s ever seen. He can’t stop staring at the marks he left with his tongue and teeth and fingers, standing out in stark relief against pale skin. He wants to trace them and hear echoes of the sounds Draco made when he left them. He wants to watch them shift with each stretch of Draco’s skin as he moves and breathes and smiles, entirely Harry’s.

He wants to hold Draco’s sleep-warm body in his arms and simply exist, in this space, together. 

Something prickles in Harry’s chest; like the few seconds after he decides to go for a Wronski Feint, but right before takes the dive. This is either the start, or the end, he knows. There’s no going back. 

He’s startled by a tap tap tap at his window; Hermione’s Owl, Pallas, cocks her head in a look of curiosity that reminds Harry of her owner. He glances back at Draco to make sure he’s still sleeping; then, Harry rises from the bed, slow and careful, to retrieve the rolled-up stack of parchment in Pallas’ talons. 

Harry gives Pallas a treat from a jar he keeps by the window and accepts what he recognizes to be a newspaper. Before she flies off, Pallas lets out a loud hoot, causing Harry to wince and look back at the bed. He sees Draco start to stir, and he closes the window with a resigned sigh.

“Wassit?” Draco grumbles, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes. 

Harry’s heart clenches. He comes back to bed, newspaper in hand. “Sorry. I tried not to wake you, but Hermione sent something, and her Owl has no concept of having a lie in, apparently.”

“Bloody Pallas,” Draco grumbles, but he’s smiling. “What’d she send?”

Harry unfolds the paper. It’s a copy of the Daily Prophet, and Hermione’s attached a note. 

I’m sorry to put a damper on your New Year, but I thought you’d want to know sooner rather than later. The good news is, I think you’d have a case if you wish to take legal action. It might not have been legal to use a Wizarding camera in a Muggle area. Say the word and I’ll look into it straight away.  

Love, Hermione

P.S. Don’t think I didn’t notice you and Draco were conspicuously absent after midnight. I expect details, Harry. Details! 

Harry removes the note to read the headline, and his heart stops. 

Has the Chosen One Chosen Someone? Potter Spotted with Malfoy Heir in Muggle London

Below the headline is a picture of them outside the supermarket. Harry remembers the moment. Draco next to him, speaking low and excited in his ear; Teddy on Draco’s other side, looking around at the crowd in awe. It’s a moving picture, Harry realizes; Prophet reporters must have gotten new cameras without the telltale purple smoke to look inconspicuous in the Muggle world. Harry watches his picture-self laugh, while picture-Draco’s grin widens, over and over and over. 

He skims the article. It’s poorly written and highly speculative, of course, but there’s no mention of Teddy, to his relief. 

Harry should be angry. He told himself he would be, if these photos were ever published. But he isn’t. He’s actually sort of giddy and relieved. 

And that, in itself, is not a little terrifying. 

Draco rests his chin on Harry’s shoulder, taking it all in. Harry tries to see his face in his peripheral vision. It’s blurry, of course, but Draco feels calm. Curious, if anything. 

After several long moments, Harry says. “So. Thoughts?”

He feels Draco shrug. “It depends.”

“On?”

“Whether or not they’re telling the truth.”

Harry doesn’t want to give up the warmth of Draco’s chest pressed against his back, or his mouth so close to Harry’s neck, but he pulls away gently so they can face each other. “I-yes. They are. What, er what about you?”

“What do you think?” Draco smirks, and Harry knows what he’s thinking; he feels the memory like legilimency. 

Wild gray eyes. Kiss-bitten red lips parted and panting. “I want you. I want everything, Harry. Everything.”

Harry pushes the paper off the bed and onto the floor, climbing over Draco to straddle him. “I loathe them, but they’re not wrong, the wankers.” he mutters, bending down to press kisses into his marks on Draco’s neck. “Fuck the Prophet.” 

Draco lets out a pleased hum, arching into Harry and running his fingers up and down Harry’s back. “Fuck me instead.”

Harry grips his hips and lets out a low, grumbling growl. Draco shivers. 

He smirks against Draco’s neck. “That’s a much better idea.” 

---

They spend the rest of the afternoon in bed; talking, dozing, waking up, and then reaching for each other again. Andromeda Floo calls, later, having returned from her trip. She smirks when she sees them together; Harry in a dressing gown and Draco in one of Harry’s shirts.

“Teddy says he had a blast with you both,” she grins. “And I can see you two had your own fun.”

Draco turns red. Harry, despite his own blushing cheeks, takes his hand and squeezes. He grins at Andy through the Floo. “We did.”

By the time the sun starts to set, they’re both hungry enough that Harry ventures downstairs to fetch them a snack. He presses a chaste kiss to Draco’s lips. “Don’t go anywhere.”   

Draco gives him a crinkle-eyed smile. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
  
The bar is a mess, but it’s nothing some cleaning spells won’t fix. Draco’s promised to help tomorrow if Harry spends the rest of today “making up for lost time,” and Harry was more than glad to make that deal. 

He looks in the refrigerator and finds enough leftovers from the party to make two decent meals. Levitating the plates behind himself, he exits the kitchen and goes behind the bar in search of a special bottle of wine he’s been saving. He grabs the bottle and two glasses and turns to leave—but stops in his tracks. 

The dreidel is still on the ground, forgotten after he and Draco took fate into their own hands. Curious, he bends down for a closer look.

Gimel.

Harry smiles, puts the dreidel in his pocket, and goes upstairs. 

Notes:

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