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Harry was floating, he was drifting aimlessly in the eye of a snowstorm, as he stared up at the sky, drunkenly swaying in place. The soft brush of snowflakes against his face had him shivering. The quick flash of ice-cold was a welcome balm to his heated cheeks before it melted away. He closed his eyes and stuck out his tongue, eager to taste winter, the joy of the first snow sinking deep into his bones, if only he could swallow enough of it.
It was quiet outside, the revellers still going strong in the pub, but the sound was muffled by the distance and the doors between Harry and the party. He heard the snick of a lighter next to him, and he jumped a bit. He thought he had still been as alone as he had been before he closed his eyes. Moving his head that quickly towards the sound had Harry tilting slightly to the left, until he caught himself against the brick wall.
It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the additional light; the darkness behind his closed eyes still called to him. But he needed to know who had joined him out in the softly lit alley.
"Hello, Potter," Draco Malfoy addressed him, his words slightly slurred.
Harry smiled at the familiar use of his surname, the malice behind it long gone, but the pop of the "p" still amused him.
"Fancy meeting you here." Draco smirked before taking a drag of his cigarette, as if most of their friends hadn’t just vacated the pub in an uproarious fashion several minutes ago.
Harry had stayed behind to bask in the quiet, choosing to walk leisurely home alone in the newly falling snow. He had spotted the alley to the side and decided to stop to let the world cease spinning for a minute, needing the cold snap of a slight breeze and craving the taste of fresh snow upon his tongue.
"Malfoy," Harry returned the greeting affectionately, hoping he wasn’t pouring too much of his hidden attraction into his words. "I didn't know you smoked." He thanked his drunken brain for letting his curiosity take over his mouth.
“I tried it out a year or so ago. It was awful sober, but it’s delightful when you’ve been drinking as much as we have.” Draco offered Harry the cigarette, but he shook his head, then had to brace against the wall a bit more since his equilibrium was still recalibrating after his four or five shots of firewhiskey.
He couldn’t help being drawn to the red cherry of the cigarette, the spark of flame in Draco’s eyes, the only colours amidst the black and white of the alley surrounding them. Then he noticed the pull of Draco’s lips around the filter as he took another drag, the pucker as he pushed out the smoke, and suddenly Harry longed for a cigarette. Not just any cigarette, he only wanted the one that was pressed between Draco’s pink lips, to taste the ash and spit mix of the smoker in front of him.
Harry stood from the wall and plucked it out of Draco’s hands, ready to take a drag, but then Draco licked his lips, and Harry’s brain supplied that the taste may be better straight from the source, and he could think of nothing else. He dropped the cigarette in the snow. The quiet "hey!" from Draco didn't make it past Harry’s mouth as he slid his hand under Draco’s chin and sealed their lips together.
A gasp of surprise allowed Harry to immediately slide his tongue in Draco’s mouth, chasing the tang he had smelt on his breath just before they kissed. Draco tasted as Harry expected, ash and spit, but it was sweet and smoky, the sugar from Draco’s drinks coating his hot tongue. He felt Draco’s hand come up to his hip, the other sliding behind his neck as Harry pressed him back into the wall.
No matter how many moans or murmurs of his name Harry swallowed, he didn’t feel full, didn’t feel satisfied. He needed more; he needed skin-on-skin contact, love bites littering the pale expanse of Draco’s body, lingering proof that this was real, that he finally had a hold of the man he had admired for years.
Harry untucked Draco’s shirt and slid a cold hand along Draco's waistband, the skin feeling like an open flame against his palm. But he was brutally interrupted by the sudden rush of frigid air against his face. The now rapidly falling snow was no longer a balm, but a whipping burn upon his cheeks. His mind, which had been blurry with alcohol, then lust, was now spinning with loss.
"Wha...?" Harry tried to ask, the words smeared by the drag of hot breath and silky lips against his face as Draco mumbled he had to go. The words broke Harry’s heart where he stood, shattered it like glass, the broken pieces plummeting to the ground to disappear into the white blanket of snow.
*
"He kissed me, Mother," Draco exclaimed. "He fucking kissed me!"
They were in the main sitting room, with a small fire burning in the fireplace. He had just poured tea for himself and his mother. Draco had been running the memories of the previous night through his head on repeat, analysing everything and trying to figure out why Harry bloody Potter would suddenly decide to snog him in the snow, in an alleyway, while they were both thoroughly intoxicated.
"Who kissed you, Draco dear?" Narcissa asked, taking a sip of her morning tea.
"Potter did," Draco said, a little calmer, but the hurt was still clear in his voice.
Draco had barely had the sense or strength to pull away from Harry before it had become any more than a snog. If it hadn’t been for Harry’s cold hand on his bare skin, Draco wasn’t sure he would have pulled away. He had wanted so badly for Harry to feel him all over; to want him. But there had been a lot of drinking that night and neither of them had been in their right mind. What had Harry been thinking?
"Well, isn’t that a good thing?" Narcissa asked, rightfully confused. "Have you not been incessant about how you have wanted to pursue Harry for years, but his signals have always been hot and cold. Does him kissing you not prove that he would like to pursue you too?"
"No, Mother, you don’t understand," Draco explained. "He was inebriated. We both were."
Narcissa took another sip of her tea. "Ah, I see. That does complicate things a little."
"A little! It complicates things a lot. I don’t know whether he kissed me because of the alcohol or because he actually has feelings for me."
"Why not ask him?" Narcissa suggested.
"I can’t just ask him," Draco protested.
"Why ever not? Have you two not become friends? Surely you can be civil enough to discuss the incident."
"It’s not that simple, Mother." Draco sighed and finally took a sip of his own tea.
"It seems simple enough to me. I don’t understand why you are making it complicated when it does not need to be."
"I think you are forgetting that he is the Saviour of the Wizarding World and I was a…" Draco looked down at his forearm."
"Yes, you were," Narcissa said softly. "But that is in the past and you have changed. You need to give yourself a chance to be happy, Draco."
"But what if he meant nothing by it? What if it was just the alcohol and I was just the person he happened upon when he had an itch to scratch?"
"And what if it meant everything to him? What if the alcohol was the reason he had the courage to kiss you?"
Draco had thought of this possibility, but he kept coming to the same conclusion.
"I’ve worked too hard to become just a friend to him. I can’t lose that on a chance; on some drunken snog. I can’t, Mother. I just can’t." Draco was holding back tears, willing himself not to cry. He had been resigned to never have his feelings returned. He had finally been comfortable with that reality and had been ready to move on. Then Harry had to go and ruin everything, like always.
"Alright, Draco. I won’t push the subject with you," Narcissa said. "I just hate to see you hurting."
"Thank you, Mother," Draco said. "And please don’t tell Father."
Narcissa smiled at her son. "I know better than to tell your father about such matters."
*
The tall blond figure disappeared in the drizzle. Draco walked perhaps a bit too quickly, his long back looked a bit too stiff. Something was wrong.
They had often met here in Diagon Alley. They had gone for a cup of tea at least once a week. But not since the party in the Leaky Cauldron, not since they'd been standing against the brick wall in the alley – smoking. Harry had been soooo drunk! He recalled a hazy sense of closeness, he recalled the kiss, oh yes, he'd never forget kissing Draco Malfoy. But then things got dizzy. His mind refused to provide any memory of what came next, apart from an icy cold.
But something must have happened because since that night Draco refused to talk to him. He refused to meet, wouldn't answer Harry's firecalls, he refused to even look Harry straight in the eye. And speaking of straight – that they were both men couldn't be the issue. Everyone knew Draco Malfoy was gay, and Harry's spectacular coming-out had been on the front page of the Daily Prophet for weeks.
Harry lifted his head into the rain that came gushing over the pavement. That bloody kiss. It had been days but he still remembered the taste of snowflakes on his lips. The taste of ash and spit, of the smoky sweetness of Draco's mouth.
Harry had been so sure that Draco liked him. They had become friends, hadn't they? An odd friendship, for sure, what with their past, but a solid feeling Harry had never doubted. It kept him going when the Auror Department became too much: the thought of Draco who believed in his work and who thought that Harry, in a couple of years, would make the best Head Auror in Wizarding history.
And even if Harry was wrong. Even if Draco didn't like him as much as Harry liked him – how could one drunken kiss be the reason Draco was no longer speaking to him?
But just now Harry had been standing in the middle of Diagon Alley and Draco had just passed him by, without even a wave or a wink.
Harry tried to penetrate the drizzle but Draco was gone. The store fronts stood dripping in the foggy light. Over in front of Quality Quidditch Supplies, an old hag was selling stuffed cabbage rolls to a witch with a purple hat. Harry felt water run down his face, the dismal rain. He brushed the drops away and turned towards the Leaky. Something had gone horribly wrong between him and Draco.
"Harry!" The witch with the purple hat waved and walked toward him. Bright red hair was peeking out from underneath her hat.
"Mrs Weasley!" Harry ran to pick up the two huge bags at Mrs Weasley's side. "Let me help you."
"Thank you, dear." She gave him a quick smile. "But you know I can move any amounts of bags with my famous Levitation Charm."
After all these years, Harry still sometimes forgot he was a wizard, and Mrs Weasley a formidable witch. He dropped the heavy bags, or he meant to put them down on the ground, but they hovered a bit above the rainswept pavement.
"How are you, dear?" Out of nowhere Mrs Weasley procured a huge purple handkerchief. "There. You're drenched."
"Oh." Harry quickly rubbed the handkerchief over his face and wiped his glasses. "Thank you." Hopefully Mrs Weasley hadn't seen him crying in the middle of Diagon Alley.
"Can I invite you to The Burrow, dear? We'll have a spot of tea, just you and me. Nothing a spot of tea can't cure. You can stay for supper, too. We're having red cabbage rolls and bread dumplings." She gestured towards the bags.
Well. Mrs Weasley had seen him crying. In the Weasley family, a spot of tea was practically code for we need to have a talk.
"Mrs Weasl–"
"Molly." She turned to him, and with that movement came the warm scent of anise, of cabbage and something else that Harry only ever smelled in The Burrow – it smelled comfortable and cosy. "I keep telling you, Harry, it's Molly. You are like a son to me, no matter that you'll never be my son-in-law. And even if I..." She quickly raised her hands. "Aren't we friends? You'd call a friend by their first name, wouldn't you?"
He would. He had been calling Malfoy Draco for more than a year now.
Mrs Weas... Molly was right and she had told him; numerous times. But Harry forgot. Or maybe he still felt guilty about breaking up with Ginny. Ginny – who was playing for the Harpies and training in Sicily this winter. Just yesterday they firecalled, and Ginny had looked sun-tanned, bright and happy. There was no need for Harry to feel guilty.
"Er, I'd love to have tea with you, Mol-"
"Splendid! Now, I hate to Apparate with all that baggage. We better use the Floo." Molly tucked her arm under Harry's, she snapped her fingers, and the two bags floated leisurely before them towards the Leaky, which had the nearest public fireplace. "And now tell me: Did I not just see that poor Malfoy boy run away from you? You two didn't have another fight, did you?"
"We didn't fight." Harry tried to keep up with Molly's long strides. Of course she'd seen Malfoy. There was no hiding anything from this woman – Harry suspected there would have never been much he could have hidden from his mum, either. "Draco won't even talk to me." He sighed.
"I see." The left bag looked a bit too interested in a lone suitcase standing at a shop entrance, and Molly gave it a slight nudge. "I was under the impression that you and that poor boy had become quite close."
"We have. Er, perhaps..." Harry hesitated. Something about Molly's presence at his side made Harry's mouth say things his brain would have never told her. "Perhaps too close. I don't know. Maybe it's only me who feels like this. Since that kiss..." At that moment, Harry's brain provided the fact that he was talking to Mrs Weasley, and his mouth shut up. A wave of heat flooded his face, and he quickly herded the rebellious bag into line.
But Molly was unfazed. "Ron told me all about the kiss. A couple of nights ago, wasn't it? After the party in the Leaky Cauldron?"
Harry stopped dead in his tracks. "Bloody ...!" Ron had what? "Mrs Weas... Molly, you shouldn't believe everything that Ron tells you. He couldn't have seen anything." Or could he? There had been nobody else in the alley when Harry had kissed Draco. When Draco had kissed him back. It had been just the two of them in the snow and the cigarette smoke. He was – almost – certain.
"Oh Harry." Molly was chuckling. "I know my son. Ron has quite the imagination. But he's very dependable whenever kisses are involved – especially kisses between his best friend and that poor boy. You might not remember because, Ron tells me, you were quite inebriated. But he took you home when he found you in that tiny alleyway at the side of the Leaky, quite out of your mind and well, I think wankered was the word Ron used."
"Er..." Harry nudged the left bag so hard it tumbled into its companion. Bloody traitor Ron. "Sorry," he mumbled.
"No need to apologise." Molly pulled him a bit closer towards her side. "So you snogged that poor boy. What happened then?"
Harry was inwardly cringing so badly but he knew Molly meant well. She was one of the few people genuinely interested in his love life. Not to sell all the juicy and not-so-juicy details to the Prophet but because she cared. All of the Weasleys cared.
"You know, he's neither poor nor a boy," he mumbled.
"He sure isn't." Molly nudged him as if he was one of her bags. "What's the problem then?"
"I'm buggered if I know." Harry's mouth was speaking again before his brain kicked in. "Sorry, I meant, er, I have no clue."
"I figured."
"I have no clue what happened. The kiss was..." So much more than a kiss. The soft, smooth skin underneath Draco's shirt, the heat of his flesh underneath the waistband, the obvious erection pressing against Harry's own. "Er... it was wonderful. But I must have misunderstood. We, er, kissed, and then he left. Just... I don't think he, er... likes me that way. Or... I must be a really bad kisser."
The bags had reached the Leaky's entrance and lingered dutifully on the steps.
"Now," Molly said, ushering the bags into the pub, "Charlie told me all about how you kiss. I don't think that's the problem, dear."
Harry almost fell, stumbling up the steps. "Bloody ...!" Charlie had what? "Molly, you really shouldn't believe everything Charlie tells you." He hadn't even known Molly knew Charlie was gay, much less that Charlie, the bloody traitor, had told his mum about their short, sweet fling in Romania.
But again Molly just chuckled. "I know my sons, Harry. And that means I know you. So – you're not a bad kisser. And I am quite certain that Malfoy boy would do anything to snog you again."
"Didn't feel like it when he ran away from me. What makes you think so?"
"Female intuition." Molly smugly shoved the bags towards the fireplace. She nodded to Tom who waved back, and she grabbed a handful of Floo powder from the ash-tray on the mantlepiece. "Also, the poor boy's tear-stricken face when he fled past me."
Draco was crying? "But... but I thought he was angry with me.”
“We’ll talk more over tea.” Molly directed Harry and the bags into the fireplace and threw the Floo powder into the fire. “The Burrow.”
*
Draco always underestimated how busy his shop would be at the end of the year. No matter how much he stocked up and brewed to the point of exhaustion, it never seemed to be enough. Business-wise, Draco selling out of certain potions was a fantastic thing, but schedule-wise and sleep-wise, not the best.
It was to the point that his mother was popping in every few days to make sure he was taking care of himself. He finally put his foot down when she recruited Pansy to check in on him. The bint had annoyingly shooed all of his customers out and shut down the shop for a gab and sip. Far be it from him to deny a gossip session with hot tea – or cold alcohol – and even hotter drama, but doing so while he was on the clock was inexcusable.
It was nearly closing time when Draco heard a commotion from the door, the bell above it ringing like a warning from the front of the shop. He sighed as he turned from restocking the shelves with Boil Cure and Calming Drought, after finally making it back around to the beginning of the alphabet. He froze when he was faced with the unexpected face of one pink-cheeked, smiling Molly Weasley and not the pinched, worried face of his mother he had been expecting.
"Hello, Mrs Weasley. What can I help you with today?" Draco asked politely as he placed the last bottle on the shelf.
"Oh, Draco," Mrs Weasley tittered, flapping a hand at him. "I’ve told you to call me Molly, dear. Now, I need some more of that brilliant fertiliser additive for the garden so I can get rid of those pesky gnomes. Oh! Do you have anything that can help a ghoul's broken heart? Our attic ghoul has been moping, rather like a certain someone else these days."
"I just finished a new batch of the fertiliser additive, but I haven’t been able to restock the shelves yet, so let me go grab that from the back. I’ll see if I have any remaining Ghoul-b-good as well."
Draco turned and practically ran to the back, hoping to avoid the topic he knew Mrs Weasley wanted to talk to him about: Harry. A certain "someone" had to be code for a particular messy-haired, green-eyed individual, otherwise Mrs Weasley would not be stopping in one hour before closing on a Friday night. He knew this visit was just a flimsy excuse to come talk to him because last time Mrs Weasley was here, Draco had given her enough additive to rid the garden of gnomes for six months, and it had barely been three.
He stood in the back for an extra minute or two, taking deep breaths and praying to Merlin that her bleeding heart didn’t extend to Harry’s love life, that they wouldn’t be discussing the drunken kiss ad nauseam. He really hoped that she just overused the additive, so he duplicated another set of instructions for her.
“Thank you, Draco. I’m so glad I was able to catch you. I was afraid you’d be closing early for the coming snowstorm, and I have a few more gifts to buy before it starts.”
"Not yet, Mrs Weasley. I still have some brews simmering in the back that I have to finish before I close up shop for the day. Now, let me ring you up." Draco moved behind the counter to the till, but Mrs Weasley cut him off. She gently placed her hand on his arm, his skin warming underneath her palm. He had been so cold lately, ever since that night in the alley, ankle deep in newly fallen snow and tongue wrapped around Harry’s equally warm one.
"Do you and Narcissa have plans for the holiday? Please don’t tell me you’ll be brewing the entire time. You know, I haven’t seen your mother in so long, we would love for you both to join us–"
"No!" Draco cringed at his unnecessary volume and then cleared his throat before answering again. "No, thank you, Mrs Weasley. I appreciate the invitation, but I will be spending the holiday in France."
Draco knew he couldn’t go to the Burrow, knew he couldn’t avoid the hoard of nosy redheads while attempting to keep himself in check around Harry. The feeling of Harry’s mouth against Draco’s kept invading his mind, his sweet moans of pleasure echoed in the silence when he was alone, and he was still mourning the loss of their friendship. He couldn’t face Harry, not now, maybe not ever. He had to move on, let things be, save his heart before it was broken by the one man he never thought could break it, the man he never thought he had a chance with.
"Oh, that’s too bad. I know Harry was really looking forward to seeing you."
Draco’s head snapped up at Mrs Weasley’s words.
"He was?" Draco asked tentatively, hope bubbling in his chest.
"Of course he was! But that’s alright, dear, I’ll talk to him. You have a lovely time in France, and do send your mother my best. I hope you both enjoy your nice holiday away."
Mrs Weasley waved as she left the shop, her parcels following her as she trotted happily out the door. Draco took a deep breath and let it out slowly in what he assumed was relief, but it stuck in his chest like a bad cold, heavy and wet. He held his tears back and crushed his hope down into a little Potter-shaped box, tossing the key away before recentring himself. He had a shop to restock and customers to attend to; he didn't have time to think of the way Harry said his name when they kissed, like Draco was the only cure to his sinful affliction.
*
"Draco, when were you going to tell me that we were spending Christmas in France?"
Draco had just walked into the dining room after his long day in the shop and his mother had asked the question without even looking up from setting the table for their dinner. He had known the lie he had told to Mrs Weasley had the potential to come back and bite him, but he hadn’t expected it to be this quick.
"Well… I…" he hesitated and finally settled on, "We’re not." He was hoping against hope she wouldn’t press the matter. He really just wanted to forget it all.
"I know we are not," his mother stated, finally looking up from her task. "I happened upon Molly Weasley in Flourish and Blotts not long ago and she suggested we catch up after our family returns from spending the holiday in France. I went along with it, but would you care to explain why she had that impression?”
"How do you know it was me who gave her that impression?"
"Come now, Draco. I saw the items from your store in her bag and she mentioned you specifically." Narcissa was looking at him knowingly, so he knew he wasn’t wriggling his way out of this one.
"Fine." Draco sighed. He pulled a chair out and sat down. He needed to rest his feet after being on them for over twelve hours. "Mrs Weasley came into the shop late this afternoon and she invited us to The Burrow for Christmas. I panicked and told her we couldn’t because we would be in France.”
"I see you are trying to avoid Harry then," his mother said, staring at him pointedly.
"How did you come to that conclusion?” Draco exclaimed. "You’re not using Legilimens on me, are you?”
His mother gave him a knowing smirk. "Oh, Draco dear, I don’t need to use Legilimens to deduce that. Why else would Molly invite you to her home for Christmas, if not for Harry? He is like a son to her, after all."
"Fine, I concede."
"Knowing that, I still don’t understand why you are going out of your way to avoid Potter. If I have learned anything about Molly it is that she will go to some interesting lengths for her children’s happiness."
Draco thought back to the end of his conversation with Molly. "She did mention Harry before she left. She said that he was looking forward to seeing me."
"Which is to my point that you have been worrying for nothing."
"But him looking forward to seeing me doesn’t mean anything, Mother."
"Nonsense, Draco. It means Harry kissing you was not on some whim and you need to stop acting like it is the end of the world, when you clearly have it all wrong."
"I do not clearly have it all wrong," Draco said, standing up out of frustration. "You don’t think that that hadn’t crossed my mind. But it is all speculation and it is more likely that Harry would simply like me to be there as a friend and nothing more."
"I still stand by what I said the other day, you need to ask him," Narcissa finished as Lucius entered the room."
"What do you need to ask who?" Lucius enquired.
"Nothing to worry yourself about, my darling. I was just trying to get Draco to talk to his connections about something in my garden, but it would seem I may need to take matters into my own hands," Narcissa explained without skipping a beat and looking at Draco.
"Ah, your garden. Yes, best you deal with that, sweetheart. Draco has enough on his plate with his shop."
"Yes, Mother, I do," Draco said pointedly and sat back down as his father took his seat at the table.
"You are right, my darling." Narcissa was smiling at Lucius and Draco in turn. "I shall deal with it myself."
*
Harry had not expected to be standing in front of Malfoy Manor on Christmas Eve. It had been quite surprising to receive Narcissa Malfoy's request that he personally attend to the discovery of a suspected Dark object that had been found buried in Narcissa's rose garden.
It was unusual for him to attend routine call outs such as this and when he had suggested that one of the lower-ranking Aurors attend instead, the Department had received a response from Narcissa insisting that it must be Harry Potter as their family did not trust anyone else to take the case for fear of prejudice. Harry had been unable to argue with that reasoning so here he was, waiting.
Narcissa had informed the Department that Harry would be met at the Manor’s gate at ten o’clock in the morning. The thought had crossed his mind that the someone meeting him may be Draco, but he quickly dismissed the notation as he knew Draco had a shop to run and he reminded himself that Draco had been avoiding him. Still as he stood outside the gate waiting for someone to let him in, Harry couldn’t help but hope Draco might be the one to greet him.
It wasn’t too long before he noticed a figure in a black hood cloak walking towards the gate. Watching them, Harry’s heart sank as he knew it wasn’t Draco. While he couldn’t determine the build from under the cloak, he could tell the height and the way they walked wasn’t the same as Draco’s.
The figure stopped a couple of feet before the gate, raised their arm and the gate opened. Harry entered and the gate closed behind him. Without saying a word, the figure turned and led the way down the path and into the Manor’s entrance hall before finally removing their hood.
"Nice to see you again, Narcissa," Harry greeted her.
Keeping her cloak on, Narcissa finally faced him. "It is good to see you again too, Harry. I wasn’t sure you would come after the Auror Department’s initial response to my request."
"Well, I certainly understand your reservations about another Auror handling this, given the Malfoy history. But I can assure you that any one of the Aurors would handle the case without prejudice. Anyway, shall we get on with what I am here for?"
"That we shall," Narcissa agreed.
Harry made to remove his cloak but Narcissa interrupted him. "Oh, please, keep it on. I’ll take you out to the garden to the object."
"Okay then. Lead the way."
They walked in silence as Narcissa led him through the Manor, out through the conservatory and into the rose garden at the rear of the Manor. As soon as they were outside, she said, "It is near the back corner," as she gestured to one of the paths to their left. Harry followed slightly behind her on the narrow path.
"I really do need to thank you for attending personally though," Narcissa said as she continued to lead the way.
"I’m just doing my job." Harry wasn’t sure how else to respond.
"I’ve heard you and Draco have become close friends."
"Well… we…" Harry stumbled on his words because he wasn’t sure that they even were friends anymore, given recent events.
"Draco talks about you quite often and he seems happier since you became friends."
"Oh… well I’m glad to hear that. I’ve been really enjoying spending time with him." The words were out of Harry’s mouth before he truly registered what he was saying and who he was saying it to. It reminded him of how he had blurted things out to Molly, though he didn’t understand why it was happening with Narcissa Malfoy. It was not as though they were close. Was it their mothering nature?
"I know Draco cherishes your time together, too." Narcissa gave him a warm smile.
Harry wondered what Draco had told his mother to make her believe that and whether he had told her anything about their kiss or that he had been avoiding Harry. "We haven’t had much time together lately."
“I did notice Draco has been spending more time in his shop. Especially since that night he came home inebriated from that little friend's party last week.”
Harry was starting to get the feeling Narcissa knew more than she was letting on. “Well, it is one of the busiest times of year for most shops.”
They had reached the corner of the garden where branches of climbing roses had been trained to grow over a metal arch and there was a stone bench underneath.
Narcissa turned to face him. "You were highly intoxicated at that party too."
Those were not the words he had expected to come out of Narcissa’s mouth. "Well… everyone was. What has this got to do with the Dark object you found?"
Narcissa shook her head. "Draco's hiding because he is too scared of what happened after the party."
"So he told you then?"
She answered his question with one of her own. "What are your intentions with my son?"
"Mother!"
Harry practically stumbled in his haste to turn around. Because there, hidden among the snow-covered rose bushes, was the very person that he could not stop thinking about.
*
Draco could not help the way his eyes flitted to his mother. Narcissa was standing tall in the garden, a glint in her eyes.
He glared at her, sure now that her casual suggestion for him to 'come and test his new Rose Tincture' that morning was all a ruse.
Then he turned to Harry.
Harry, who was standing unsure in the snow, a flush growing on his cheeks, looked lovelier than ever.
"I’m so sorry, Harry," Draco said quickly. "You don’t have to answer that. I know you… you had just had too much to drink that evening."
Oh, and then Harry was flushing deeper, no doubt remembering their kiss that night.
The way that Harry had pressed him against the wall, despite Draco’s half-murmured protests, and then how Draco could do nothing but return Harry’s kiss. The two of them lost in their own world until the startlingly cold touch of Harry’s hand had brought him to his senses.
But rather than agreeing, Harry slid onto the stone bench under the winding arch, his eyes downcast.
Draco looked around quickly for his mother, but she had melted out of sight, leaving just him and Harry in the rose garden.
Oh, how very devious of her…
Draco cleared his throat. "Honestly, Harry," he said hurriedly, "I know we were both just drunk. Obviously, I lost control a bit and should have stopped things sooner–"
"You should have stopped things?" Harry interrupted. He was now looking up at Draco with an anguished expression. "I’m the one who’s completely ruined our friendship, because I gave in to what I wanted in a moment of weakness."
In a… a moment of weakness? What he wanted?!
Draco was still recovering from that enormous revelation when Harry continued.
"Obviously, when Mrs Weas... I mean Molly, told me you were going to France for Christmas, I knew it was my fault. I’m so sorry, Draco. Do you think you could find it in you to forgive me and go back to being friends? I promise, I’ll keep my feelings to myself."
And then Harry was looking at him in earnest, and suddenly everything rearranged itself in Draco’s mind.
All those nights of him and Harry talking about Harry’s Auror work, just the two of them.
The compassionate look in Harry’s eyes when news broke about Draco being gay. And later on, when Harry was outed, the two of them had spent the night burning copies of the Daily Prophet together and had fallen asleep on Harry’s couch.
Mrs Weasley asking, "Do you have anything that can help a ghoul's broken heart?"
And Harry, that night in the alley, who had kissed Draco like he needed him, like any second spent apart was too much to bear.
Draco sat down next to Harry on the bench, his heart pounding. "Go back to being friends? No… I don’t think so."
Harry turned to face him, gripping Draco’s hands. "Please, Draco. I need you in my life."
Draco couldn’t help a fond laugh. "Oh, Harry. I mean, I don’t think I could ever go back to being just friends. Not when… I want so much more."
"You do?" Harry asked in a low voice, his eyes searching.
"Of course I do," Draco said. He glanced down at his fingers intertwined with Harry’s, before looking back at Harry. "I’m sorry for running away. I was convinced that your actions were just because of the alcohol, and that you would want nothing more to do with me after that."
"I can hardly see how that’s possible," Harry said softly. "I’ve fancied you for years."
Draco was very glad he was sitting down. "Years?"
Harry gave him a small smile. "You don’t know how difficult it’s been, resisting the urge to kiss you."
"Well, I reckon I’ve had some idea," Draco said, his mind already returning to Harry’s kiss. "I know I was waiting just as long."
And then they were leaning in together, snow falling gently around them, and their lips met in a perfect kiss. There was no taste of Firewhiskey, or muddled thoughts, or half-formed questions; just Harry, Harry, Harry. And it was even better than before. Draco wanted more. Deepening the kiss, delighting in the way Harry responded immediately, and how he murmured, "Draco," when Draco drew away.
But that was only for Draco to whisper, "Is the, er, invitation still open to come to The Burrow for Christmas?"
Harry was already smiling, even as he asked, "What about France?"
Draco couldn’t resist a little smirk. "Well, who says I can’t bring you there with me for the New Year?"
Harry answered with a kiss, and they only broke apart when the snow fell harder, holding each other’s hands as they raced back to the beckoning hall of the Manor.
*
"Ah, finally," Narcissa said, twitching back the curtain. "You’d better go, Molly. I fear the boys would be furious if they saw you here."
Molly set down her teacup and rose instantly to her feet. "Of course, Narcissa. And do accompany Draco to The Burrow tomorrow. Arthur and I would so love to have you there."
"I fear…" Narcissa said delicately. "Lucius is… not able to join me."
Molly now had a wistful expression. "Well… if in the future he changes his mind, he would also be welcome."
Narcissa walked Molly to the Floo, just managing to ensure she was whisked away before Harry and Draco returned to the hall. They both immediately dropped their hands, Draco clearing his throat and moving to stand a respectable distance apart, but Narcissa caught the way their eyes darted back to each other as she turned around to hide a smile.
"I am so sorry, Harry," Narcissa said, as she walked back to the window, "that there was in fact no cursed artifact there. I must have been mixed up with what my husband had told me previously."
"No matter, Mrs Malfoy," Harry said respectfully. "I just don’t know what I’ll tell the Aurors, for why I’ve, er, been here so long."
"If I may say so," Narcissa said, turning around, "perhaps you shouldn’t worry about that. I’m sure your talents would be appreciated in many places. And not just the Auror Department."
Harry paused before saying quietly, "That… that is very generous of you."
"Oh, you don’t have to believe me," Narcissa said idly, as she straightened a non-existent ruffle on her dress. "But if Minerva McGonagall were ever to say anything, hear her out, is all I would say."
And she surely would approach Harry, Narcissa thought to herself. The Malfoys were no longer on the Board of Governors, but Narcissa still knew where to hear gossip, after all…
Draco cleared his throat. "Mother, I may have to change our plans for our visit to, er, France tomorrow. I have just had an invitation to attend the Weasleys, and I’m sure that you would agree that it is the height of disgrace to decline such an invitation."
"Naturally," Narcissa murmured at once. "Do not worry, Draco. I understand entirely. Well, I had better head off to check on lunch. Please excuse me, and good day to you, Harry."
They said their good-byes, and Narcissa hustled off to the kitchen in a swish of fabric.
Her son and the man of his dreams?
It was looking like a very Merry Christmas, indeed.
fin