artwork based on a small scene of @green-lesbeean’s drarry fic 💚 be sure to check out her ao3 when she publishes it! it’s currently in the works
Draco sat sideways on his broom, high up in the sky, looking at the moon in the tranquility and stillness of night. Both hands on his broom, resting widely on either side of his legs. Barely a sound to be heard. Harry had walked out of Hogwarts castle to find Malfoy, and stopped to look up at him from far below him where he stood. His still, sharp silhouette seemed almost soft now with how it floated calmly in the faint night breeze, dark against the brightness of the moon. Harry looked to his broom. He pulled it under his thighs by the handle, sitting sideways on it as Draco did on his own. He lifted his feet exploratively off the ground and felt the handle pull him upwards and to the side in a smooth motion.
He reached Malfoy and sat beside him, to his right. Draco felt the gentle whisper of wind circling near him as Harry brought himself close to him. He felt his heart beat a little louder, but didn’t take his eyes off the moon. “What are you thinking about?” Harry attempted, trying to hide his anxiety. Draco tried to remain calm, think of what to say. “I guess… The future.”
Harry’s innate inability to stay still was amplified now, of all times: perhaps because of the internal fluttering in his chest, his broom lulled him gently around Draco’s rock-still one without him even realising. It was as if the wind had enveloped the wood and was now having fun flowing smoothly in every direction pointing to Draco. Like his beloved broom knew what its holder wanted, and was poking fun at him.
The very ends of their broomsticks bumped into each other once, and it was as if they did. It made Draco clear his throat inaudibly; Harry breathed through his mouth softly. They tried not to look at each other, pretending they hadn’t registered the small sound of polished wood clacking against itself. A few moments passed before Harry thought back to that moment at Hogwarts’ entrance, a few days before. When Harry had nearly tackled Malfoy after fearing for his life. Their hands met again in Harry’s head - that silent, unspoken confession that had had Harry staring up into the ceiling of his room, rolling over and turning in his bed and trying to realise that Malfoy felt the same.
It nearly made Harry crack and smile. It gave him enough courage to very carefully move so his broom slid a little below Draco’s legs, until their thighs were nearly touching. He tried to be subtle, and Draco tried to pretend not to look at Harry: his attentive eyes captured and followed Harry’s lap without his head moving an inch, undetected by him. He promptly lifted his broomstick a little higher where his hand rested, before Harry could fully reach him, so it would graze Harry’s lower back and not his arse. Not that Draco wasn’t… drawn to it, but this wasn’t the time yet - and he imagined Harry hadn’t intended to have Draco’s hand touch it. Harry’s hand had been evicted from the broomstick by Harry himself in favor of him floating closer to Malfoy, and was now resting awkwardly on his left thigh.
Draco nearly masterfully concealed his feelings, having learnt to do so throughout his life. Not much transpired as he saw Harry’s barely swinging legs through the corner of his eye. Though he couldn’t - perhaps didn’t care so much to - prevent the small smirk that grew on him. Harry dared to look at Draco. He had always secretly preferred the moon to the sun: quiet, comforting, bright even in the dark - and most of all, it never left him alone. And now there was an immense, all-enveloping moon right in front of them, bright enough to make the sun pale, but all Harry could gather that from was how the light glistened on Malfoy’s face, his skin. How his hair looked like it was made from the moon itself. Shiny and soft, her reflection sliding up and down the strands, and it was nearly blinding. How he wanted to touch it. A few moments passed before Harry could reply. “Is it hard? To picture?”
Draco’s throat halted at the question. He exhaled as he began to think. He kept watching the moon, and in it he saw himself with Potter, next year, studying Potions in his room. Kissing in Potter’s. Maybe meeting and befriending each other’s friends (if they managed). He could see himself finding his patronus. He could see Potter meeting his mother, or the two of them going somewhere far from here. Somewhere they could take a break - just him and Harry. Maybe in that house Potter’s uncle left him when he died. And he could see them touching - maybe in bed, and- no. He wasn’t going to get hard in front of Potter right now. What kind of bloody response would that be?
Some time had passed. Harry wondered if maybe he asked the wrong question. “Malfoy…?” “Sorry - uhm…” Harry stared curiously at him. He’d never seen Malfoy zone out before, much less daydream (judging from the serene look on his face). “No. Not really, Potter.” And to Draco, it did feel like a dream. How was that going to… actually happen? But he supposed it could. It very well could. It just felt surreal. New, too good to be true.
“Is it nice?” Draco willingly let a tiny grin show on his lips. “Yes. I like it.” Before Harry could finally ask him what was in that future, Malfoy turned to him: “what about you?”
Harry was caught off-guard, like he had other plans and directions to take this, and now he had to redirect. He looked ahead and started to think.
He pictured it: away from all the ruins and blood of the battlefield. Or, not away, necessarily; it didn’t have to be - but without any of the wreckage. He could see himself in Gryffindor common room, sitting next to Malfoy and their friends, laughing and smiling and- fuck. He was smiling right now. He bit his lip when he caught himself. Playing quidditch with Malfoy and barely tolerating his boastful comments about Slytherin’s performance when they won. But also… lying close to him. Maybe in bed. Their hands could be touching. And Harry’s head could be on Malfoy’s shoulder. He’d really like to feel Draco’s hair on his skin. It had always looked so soft. They could be kissing. Touching. Harry breathed at the image created in his head, of them tangled around each other. Not that he hadn’t seen this countless times now when he wanked. But now it was possible. It was… Frankly probable. He closed his mouth. What was the question even again? Right. Was it hard to picture.
“No… No, it’s not hard.” Harry courageously turned back to Malfoy. “Why don’t you share some of it with the class, then, Potter?” No. He was going to ask that question. “Why don’t you do that, Malfoy? Since you’re so brave, and all.” Except Harry thought Malfoy was one of the bravest wizards he’d ever met - maybe the bravest. Draco struggled hard to keep a smirk from forming with satisfaction on his lips. He loved this. He loved being able to entertain their usual snarky banter. The playful teasing that had always been there - even when it wasn’t so playful. “I thought you were the chosen one, Potter.” He marked Potter’s name meanly, and by now their faux contemptuous exchanges had turned into a way to express near affection, a seeking for closeness. And now a way to express an attempt to initiate intimacy - emotional or physical, to whatever degree.
“Am I? Until proven otherwise, the arsehole is dead. I haven’t got much to be chosen for, now.” “What logic is that, Potter?” It sounded like Malfoy was trying to get his spit everywhere every time he said his name. “And I asked you first.” Malfoy dealt the final blow. Well, I thought about asking you first, you prick. But of course, I can’t tell you that.
Harry sighed, accepting his defeat. “Well…” His heart began to thump. “You know…” It was hard to look at Malfoy right now. How does he… Tell him? How does he explain it? It was obvious what they were both picturing, but how would he actually… say it, somehow? He thought about kissing him - too much. Or, well, not, but he didn’t have the guts for it. He looked for Malfoy’s hands. One was way too far from him, and the other he could feel grazing against his back. Maybe if he… Harry breathed through his nose as he turned slightly towards Malfoy on his broom, just until their feet met. Their knees tapped against each other, too, without Harry planning it.
He kept looking at Malfoy the entire time, studied how his eyes darted up and down Harry’s face, and how there might be a red tinge across his cheeks - but it was hard to tell under the moonlight. Draco didn’t know what to say. He attempted to remain as still as possible as Potter’s knees bumped into his. “Yes?”
Harry was about to attempt something crazy. “We could… play quidditch,” his compulsory breathing through parted lips betrayed him. His mouth was all dried up. Draco really wanted to kiss Harry. To touch him. He looked…- Draco’s lips nearly opened so he could breathe through his mouth. He carefully slid his hand further down Potter’s broom, aware that Potter could feel it against his back, and halted it when the only thing separating it from Potter’s own was the tiniest, softest ghost of wind. Harry shook his head faintly, trying to hush his breathing and keep listing things, somehow. “Study…” He couldn’t take his eyes off Draco’s lips.
Was Potter about to kiss him? Draco’s heart skipped a beat and then pounded two at a time. “Anything else?” Harry’s lips opened and closed again. “Yes.” His broom whooshed cheerfully around Malfoy again (without Harry’s approval), right where Malfoy’s hand was behind his own. Their hands finally brushed, and Harry nearly flinched. His pinkie trembled as it ventured out to seek Malfoy’s skin. A thumb hooked itself around it. Harry let out the tiniest involuntary hum, and now he was even more embarrassed. Draco struggled even more to stay still upon hearing him.
Malfoy’s thumb was surprisingly warm. Draco breathed mentally. In a feat of superlative courage, his hand left his broomstick for Harry’s, in hopes to encourage him. “Like what?”
Harry looked into Draco’s eyes. Can I do this? Draco felt his cheeks heat as he squeezed Harry’s hand in response. It felt rather small, still - and sweaty.
Harry felt how Malfoy’s hand enveloped around his. It felt good. Somehow, he brought his free hand from his own thigh to Malfoy’s knee, and Harry swore he could see his eyes seal the slightest bit. He couldn’t believe he was doing this. Couldn’t believe Malfoy wanted this. Trembling, he brought his palm to touch Draco’s cheek, and he wanted to cry. This felt so right, like he’d been searching for this way too long without even knowing. There was a warmth coming from Draco’s jawline that made Harry need to grip his broom harder. A softness to his skin that made Harry want to kiss it, take it into his lips. Breathe it. Grip Draco’s hair. Draco watched as Harry placed his hot palm on his cheek, right above his jawline, and he nearly felt himself swoop away with the wind. He nearly closed his eyes. His lips almost parted - his body wanted to lean into it, to tilt his head so Harry’s fingers would reach more of him. He looked beautiful.
Harry swallowed hard. His right hand regretfully slid out from under Malfoy’s to prop Harry closer to him. His chest was rising and falling visibly now. Draco heard it - wanted to feel it against his face. Harry’s breathing. Please. Harry leaned over. Draco’s broom shifted ever so slightly with his anticipation. His eyes slowly sealed almost fully. Harry extended his back, his fingers lifted off his broom. He leaned in closer to finally close the gap, and - whoosh. Harry groaned loudly in surprise, almost a yell, as his arse slipped off the very edge of his broomstick (now unanchored by both hands) and tried to grip anything he could with any of his extremities; then air. He saw Draco’s eyes widen as he fell.
FUCK. Draco’s eyes shot open. His left hand was in front of him and he was riding his broom straight down in a nosedive before he could blink again. He cut violently through the wind, at the same time took his wand out and flicked it without looking: “arresto momentum!” and Potter’s broom was frozen floating mid-air. Draco saw Harry’s eyes widen below him. Draco’s right hand wrapped itself violently around Harry’s elbow, fingers squeezing into the boney back of it and knuckles white with the strength of his grip. Harry’s right hand was around Draco’s own elbow before he could blink. Their forearms pressed into each other, their tendons flexing. Draco breathed a short sigh of relief upon looking into Harry’s still eyes again. His fingers tightened and twisted around the wood with effort as he lifted Harry towards himself from his forearm. He groaned and gritted his teeth, veins popping out across his skin. Thank god Potter was light. He strained as he threw Potter onto his broom and instinctively into his arms, without thinking.
He realised right after that this was no real danger - yes, it would’ve granted Potter a broken bone (or more) and a few nights in the hospital wing, but it was no life threat. Draco was now so used to seeing Harry in life-or-death situations, constantly in danger, that his first instinct was to panic. And now he’d pulled Harry into a hug over something like this, when they’d never even hugged once in their lives just a few days ago. Yes, their relationship had just changed drastically on that day, but Merlin.
Draco caught his breath. “Stop- doing that, Potter!” He pulled away from him, cheeks heated, still gripping Potter’s elbow hard enough for it to hurt. But Harry wouldn’t say a word. “Stop doing what?!” “Stop looking like you’re about to die every three days!” Harry caught his breath. He couldn’t believe he just fucking fell off his broom while trying to kiss Malfoy. He couldn’t believe Malfoy had to catch him, from the sole strength of his forearm. The embarrassment had likely spread past his face, and Harry was aching for his invisibility cloak right now. He stopped to watch Malfoy, his shouting still ringing in his ears. He sensed worry in the sound of it, in the way he’d looked at him.
“I’m sorry-” he panted, “I forgot about the broom when I was moving,” he winced at Draco’s grip on his elbow without meaning to. Draco let it go like he just became aware of his hold on it. He stared at it, so red he was sure there would be bruises on it tomorrow. He pondered for a few moments. “Did I hurt you?” He asked Harry, somehow not looking away despite the difficulty of his current displaying of his feelings. Harry shook his head, and there was a tinge of reassurance in his voice. “I’m fine.”
Silence spread between them - the kind that was tense, electrically charged. The muscles around their eyebrows slowly unclenched, opening a path for softness again. “HARRY!” Ron shouted in the distance.
