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[jet-playin-around]

I'm Almost Sorry

 

“I'm sorry,” Malfoy said, one morning in early autumn.

Harry stilled his search for a spare quill and looked across the room, perplexed. “What?” he asked.

“I'm sorry,” Malfoy repeated, ducking his head. He shuffled his feet and his knuckles were turning white where he gripped the strap of his bag. “For the Remembrall, in first year.”

Now Harry was really confused. Turning to face him, fully, he crossed his arms over his chest. “Malfoy, that was ages ago.”

“Yes, well,” he sniffed, tossing his head and levelling Harry with a haughty glare. “All the same, I'm sorry.”

With that, he strode through their shared dorm, and out, hitching the bag higher on his shoulder. Harry watched him go, not terribly sure what had just happened. Spying a quill, half buried among books and parchment on his desk, he snatched it up and left, as well.

-

The next time it happened wasn't any less confusing.

He was on his way to charms, and running late. Hurrying through the corridors, Harry rounded a corner and smashed into someone going the opposite direction. He opened his mouth to apologise, but froze when he saw who it was he’d run into.

“I'm sorry,” Malfoy said, catching his balance.

“S’alright,” Harry mumbled, trying to sidestep him.

“No, Potter.” A hand shot out, blocking his path and Harry stilled. Oh, god… it wouldn’t happen again, right? “I'm sorry for the badges.”

Harry frowned, confused. “What badges?” he asked, adjusting his grip on his bag and shuffling from foot to foot. He absolutely did not want to do this.

“The badges, Potter.” Draco sighed. Glancing down, he smoothed his hands over the front of his robes, straightening them. “The ‘Potter stinks’ badges. I'm sorry I made them.”

His jaw slackening, Harry stared. He’d forgotten about those… Probably around the time Malfoy had released the “Weasley Is Our King” edition. Crossing his arms, he scowled. “You are?”

“Yes,” Malfoy said, flinching. After another moment under Harry’s incredulous gaze, he began stepping around him, cautiously. “Good day, Potter.”

Before Harry could think of a single thing to say, Malfoy was hurrying down the corridor. Turning, he wandered to his own class, lost in thought.

-

The next time, Harry was ready for it. When Malfoy sighed, setting his books aside, Harry froze, his quill hovering above his Transfiguration essay.

“I'm sorry,” he began, perched on the side of his bed.

Slowly, Harry lowered the quill and turned to face him. “For what?” he asked, studying him. His shoulders were stiff, head bowed, hands folded in his lap. He looked like a contrite child; something Harry never thought he'd associate with Draco Malfoy.

“For tugging on your broom. You should have caught the snitch, then.” Colour rose in his pale cheeks as Harry watched him.

He frowned. Second year, he remembered. Their first quidditch match. “Malfoy, that was— What are you doing?”

At the frustration Harry couldn't seem to keep from his voice, Malfoy  scowled. “I'm apologizing.” Then, he threw himself to the bed, rolling to face away from Harry.

“Malfoy, I—” But the curtains hanging on Malfoy's bed flew closed, shutting down any effort Harry would have made to continue the conversation.

He sighed, slouching back in his chair and stared blankly at his essay. Malfoy was up to something.

-

“Hermione?” Harry asked, dropping into the chair beside hers in the hushed library. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” she said absently, flipping a page of the slim volume in her hand.

“You said Malfoy apologised to you, right?”

Frowning, Hermione lowered the book and turned to meet his eyes. “Yes, he did. I got the impression he was apologising to a lot of people. Why do you ask?”

Harry shook his head. “What did he say, exactly?”

“Well,” she hummed, tapping the tip of one finger to her chin. “I don't recall, precisely. Basically, he said he was sorry for how he treated me. Why Harry? Has he said something to you?”

“Yes, but—” He scrubbed a hand through his hair, still confused. “He didn't say anything else? Maybe on another day?”

“No,” she said, slowly. “Has he apologised to you?”

“Yeah,” he answered, distracted by the thoughts swirling around in his mind. “I'm sorry, I have to go.” He needed to find Malfoy, to get to the bottom of this.

“Harry, what’s going on?” Hermione demanded, but Harry only stood, dropped a kiss to the top of her head, and wandered away.

-

He didn't find him until after dinner, but Malfoy was already in bed, curtains clamped shut, tightly. So, Harry thought about it — harder than he did for most of his classes. By the next time Malfoy apologised, he’d have a plan.

Maybe not his brightest plan, truth be told, but he was determined to see it through. If Malfoy was going to apologise, so was he. Only, he wasn’t going to apologise for silly little things; he was going to make it count.

“I’m—” Malfoy began, shifting on his stool in Potions the next day, but Harry cut him off, setting his knife beside the mugwort he was chopping.

“No, Malfoy,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

Triumph coursed through him when Malfoy’s mouth snapped shut, his eyes widening. “What?”

Harry nodded. “I’m sorry,” he said, again. “For— for, er...”

Malfoy frowned and he swallowed. What the fuck was that? He knew what he wanted to apologise for, why wouldn’t the words come?

“I’m sorry for—” he tried again, groaning when his throat closed on the sound. “For—”

“For what, Potter?” Malfoy asked, his eyes narrowing as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“For— For fuck’s sake!” he hissed.

“Okay, well…” He tapped his foot, the shiny black leather glinting with the motion. “ I’m sorry that I teased you for the way you caught the snitch, that first time.”

“Of course you are,” Harry griped, crossing his own arms, petulantly.

And then something miraculous happened. Something sparkled, for just a moment, in the depths of those icy grey eyes, and Harry could swear Malfoy’s lips twitched. Just a little. But then he was spinning on his stool to stir their potion and Harry turned back to chopping ingredients, a small smile playing across his lips.

-

“I’m sorry.”

“Excuse me?” Cold eyes lifted to meet Harry’s and the usually impassive face took on a note of confusion. “Oh, Merlin, not this again.”

Dropping his bag to the floor, Harry slid into the chair next to Malfoy. “If you can apologise, so can I,” he insisted.

“Can you? That’s not the way I remember it.”

Ignoring the barb, and the way he tilted his head, like a curious puppy, Harry propped his elbows on the library table. Malfoy was right, he hadn’t managed to get the words out. But he could. He would. Eventually, he decided.

“I’m sorry I threw mud at your head,” he said, surprised to find that his voice didn’t waver. This was harder than he’d expected.

Malfoy straightened his spine and crossed his arms. “You should be,” he sneered, lifting his chin to look down his nose at Harry.

He grinned. This was the Malfoy he knew and- “Well, I am.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

-

“I’m sorry,” Malfoy hissed, leaning over the aisle in History of Magic to whisper his latest apology.

Harry lifted his head and blinked, myopically. “Wha-?”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, rapping a knuckle on Harry’s desk. “For that trick, the Dementor thing.”

“Oh, okay.” Nodding absently, he lowered his head back onto his folded arms, wanting nothing more than to return to his dozing. “Thanks, Draco.”

Malfoy sputtered for a moment, staring at him, before sitting up and returning his attention to where Binns was droning away, at the front of the room. Chuckling quietly, Harry closed his eyes and smiled.

-

“Draco!” Harry called, jogging to catch him up as they headed to the greenhouses.

“I told you to stop calling me that, Potter,” Draco frowned, shifting his bag to pull his cloak tighter against the stiff breeze. “What do you want?”

“To say I’m sorry,” Harry grinned. This was becoming fun, he had to admit. “Only, I couldn’t think of anything to apologise for, so— oof!”

The elbow in his side was a new element and Harry laughed when Draco continued walking, as if nothing had happened.

“Okay, okay,” he said, bracing himself for the confession he had planned for this encounter. “I’m sorry that I snuck into the Slytherin dorms—”

“You what ?” Draco screeched, grinding to a halt and staring at Harry as if he’d grown another head.

“—with Ron, in second year. Okay, be seein’ you!”

And he tore down the sloping lawn, toward the greenhouse and safety, his laughter ringing through the grounds of Hogwarts when Draco shouted after him.   

“Potter! Potter, get back here you coward!”

-

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh?” Harry asked, looking up when Draco slapped his palms down on the library table, leaning forward to whisper his apology. “Whatever for?”

“Oh, shut it, Potter.” Keeping his hands in place, he lowered himself into the chair beside Harry’s. “I’m sorry I— Fuck.”

Sobering, Harry turned to face him. “What is it?”

Draco sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I’m sorry that I—”

He was struggling, and Harry found he desperately wanted to know what he was going to say, but… “Draco,” he murmured, laying one hand over his. “It's okay, you don't have to—”

“Yes I do.” He took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. “I'm sorry that I broke your nose. I— I don't know what I was—”

Harry shook his head, a small smile forming on his face. That wasn't what he'd been expecting, but it was certainly getting closer. “I forgive you.”

“What?”

Harry didn't know why he said it; he never had, before. But, this apology felt… real. “I forgive you, Draco,” he said again, squeezing the hand beneath his.

Draco swallowed, staring at his hand with a strange look on his face. Suddenly self-conscious, Harry pulled it away and cleared his throat.

“Could you, er… Could you help me with this essay for Potions?” he asked, dragging his book closer and flipping through the pages, nervously.

“Yes, of course.”

-

Draco threw himself to his bed, groaning. “Why did you make me do that?” he whinged, pulling his pillow over his face.

Harry giggled, the alcohol in his veins asserting its dominance over him. Not that he minded, especially after watching Draco stand on his head, in the middle of the eighth year common room.

He wasn't able to hold it but, for a bit, his long, slender legs were so straight, so steady. Harry was captivated. He couldn't even imagine what it would be like to have that kind of balance. But, after a moment or two, his shirt tail slipped from the waistband of his trousers, throwing him off.

“That was absurd!” he moaned from under his pillow.

“No,” Harry corrected, swaying a little as he jabbed a finger in Draco's direction, trying to will his face into a serious expression. “That was hot, s’what it was.”

Draco removed the pillow, rising slowly into a sitting position. “Hot, Potter?” he asked, incredulous.

“Well, yeah. Don't y’think?” Stumbling across the room, he dropped himself to the bed. He gazed up at Draco, propping himself on one elbow. “Your legs are so long and your, you know…”

Draco turned and crossed his legs, still staring at Harry with what looked like confusion. There was a little line between his eyebrows and his lips were turned down at the corners.

“Potter,” he asked, hesitantly.” Are— are you gay?”

Laughing, Harry flopped to his back, staring up at the Slytherin green canopy of Draco's four poster. “S’pose that’d make sense,” he said. “I mean, I think I still like girls, but I haven't liked one in a while… No’ since Gin.”

“Ah, bisexual, then,” Draco nodded.

“Maybe,” he mumbled. His eyes were starting to close, but Harry didn't want to sleep. This felt important, somehow. Shifting just his head, he looked up at Draco, his stomach twisting when he found him gnawing on his bottom lip. “What about you? Are you finally going to marry Parkinson, after school?”

“Pansy?” Draco's nose wrinkled and Harry sniggered. “Not likely, Potter. I'm supposed to meet with the Greengrass family to discuss marrying Astoria—”

“Daphne’s kid sister?” Harry wasn't sure how he knew that, but Draco nodded, so he let it go.

“Mother won't force me to, of course. But, you know, ‘produce an heir, settle down, get married.’ Being a pureblood comes with certain responsibilities.”

Harry giggled. “Well, the order seems a bit unconvershon'l,” he quipped, pleased when Draco smirked and slapped his arm, lightly. “Isn't that what you want, though?” he asked, oblivious to the bitterness in his voice. “To have a li’l Malfoy Jr. wreaking havoc on a whole new generation of half-bloods and muggle-borns at Hogwarts?”

Draco cringed. “I don't want that. I mean, kids: yes, but…” Lowering his eyes, he plucked at a loose thread on his comforter. “You know… There are ways I could have children, without a woman…”

That lovely flush he was rapidly becoming obsessed with coloured Draco's cheeks, but Harry snorted. “Adoption doesn't ‘zactly ‘continue the Malfoy line,’ though, does it?” he said, lifting one finger as if indicating some deep wisdom.

“What?” Draco frowned, again. “No, Potter, I mea— Never mind. The point is, I’d rather not involve a woman, if I don’t have to.”

“Oh,” Harry said, then, “ Ohhhh! You don’t fancy women?” Although it was a question, he was rather proud of himself for working out Draco’s meaning, so didn’t give him time to answer. Rearing up — too fast, really — he leaned toward him, leering more than he might have, any other time. “So, do you wanna—”

Draco lifted a hand to Harry’s shoulder and shoved, knocking him back to the bed. This time, he stayed there, his head spinning. “Fuck off, Potter, you’re drunk. You think I’d fool around with you, in this state? I’d rather not add ‘sexual molestation of the Savior’ to my list of offenses.”

“I wouldn’t be offended…”  Harry insisted, giggling again. He lifted one heavy arm to finger at the hem of Draco’s shirt. “Honest.”

“You’re hilarious, Potter,” Draco intoned, swatting his hand away. “No.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, defensively, and something finally clicked in Harry's whiskey soaked brain. He was on a roll when he was pissed, he thought. He was on a pissed roll. Haha. Wait, no. Draco. Draco was being defensive. Well, his arms were.

“The scars…” Harry mumbled, finally putting it together, and Draco froze. “Snape said it wouldn’t scar…”

“Yes, well… There wasn’t enough dittany, so—”

“Dra—” Harry began, but his tongue felt thick and he could feel his eyes drooping. Still, he tried again. “Draco. I’m s’rry.” With what strength he could muster, he rolled to his side and curled himself around Draco’s legs, lying his head on one sharp knee. “I din’t mean to. Din’t know what would hap’n… Don’ hate me…”

Smiling fondly at the small, slurred voice, Draco laid a hand on Harry’s head, stroking the wild hair. “I know, Harry. I forgive you.”

-

Harry woke slowly. The herd of elephants stampeding through his skull was the first thing he registered, followed quickly by the roiling of his stomach. Groaning, he rolled to his back… and immediately regretted the decision. One hand flew to his mouth and he threw the other arm over his eyes. God, why did he do this to himself?

A soft, sleepy murmur drifted through the pounding in his ears, and Harry frowned. Through the pain, he felt something — someone — shift against his side and froze. Oh, please Merlin, tell me I didn’t go to bed with someone, last night. The murmur sounded again, and the body beside his stretched, arms bumping him as they reached toward the headboard.

Shit. What did he do last night? He was still clothed, so it couldn’t have been that bad…

“Merlin, just kill me!” came Draco’s voice and Harry felt his stomach drop.

Double shit!

“Harry, can you—”

Harry? Fuck, what did they do?

Flinching, Harry lowered his arm, prising his eyes open. Rumpled blond hair, mere inches from his nose, greeted him, and the arse he’d been desperately trying to ignore for weeks was pressed hard against his hip.

“Draco?” he croaked. “Fuck, what did—”

“Please, Potter, spare me the baffled regrets and pass me the bloody hangover potion.”

“What?”

“Top drawer,” he groaned, waving a hand toward Harry’s other side. “For the love of all that is sacred in this godforsaken world, give me the—”

“Jesus, relax,” Harry grumbled.

Turning over further, he rooted around in the drawer, pulling out two phials and passing one to Draco before uncorking and gulping the other down. He sighed as his headache dulled and stomach settled.

“Fuck.”

“You wish,” Draco sniggered and Harry whipped his head around to face him.

Okay, still too soon for that… He brought one hand up to massage his temple, but pressed on, anyway. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Chuckling, Draco threw his hands over his head, writhing in a way that had Harry’s mouth going dry and his trousers tightening. “‘Please Draco!’” he cried. “‘I want you, I need you!’”

The blood drained from Harry’s face and his stomach resumed its roiling. “I didn’t. Please, tell me I didn’t?”

“Oh, you were all over me,” Draco smirked, winking as he sat up.

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” Groaning, Harry covered his eyes again, this time out of shame. “I’m surprised you didn’t kick me out of…” He trailed off, peeking through his fingers and angling his head to look at the sea of green surrounding him. “Wait. Why am I in your bed?”

“Because you fell asleep on my lap, blubbering like an idiot—”

“ Fuck!” he groaned, again.

“Potter,” Draco said, heaving a sigh and nudging at Harry’s shoulder. “We didn’t do anything. Well, you did make a pass at me, but only just.”

Lowering his hands once he was sure he understood, Harry glared at him. “You're a bastard.”

“Well,” Draco laughed before his tone turned mock serious. “That would certainly be an interesting turn of eve— Harry, no!”

Shrieking, he tried to dive away, but he wasn’t quick enough; Harry's sudden lunge landed him half over Draco's lap. Settling himself firmly between flailing legs, Harry wrapped his arms around him. He pressed his face against Draco's stomach, the wrinkled fabric warm on his skin, and dug his fingers into the exposed ribcage. Draco intensified his struggles, twisting at the waist in an attempt to break free, his hands gripping Harry's hair and tugging, hard.

“Stop it!” he squealed. “Unhand me, you brute!” His laughter echoed around the room, bouncing off the stone walls, and Harry thought he had never heard anything so wonderful. “Harry! Harry, please! I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry !”

Stilling, Harry craned his neck to see Draco's face. “For what?” he asked, smirking.

“For—” he began, then sobered.

Harry was almost sorry he asked. The happy light left his eyes and Draco tilted his head back, baring the creamy length of his throat.

“For everything, Harry,” he said. “I know that I don't deserve to be forgiven, but I'm sorry. I'm so, so sor—” he broke off on a sob and Harry shifted his weight to his knees, straddling Draco's legs.

“I'm sorry, Draco. I should have tried to help you. I saw what was happening, but I thought—”

“Harry, you saved my life.” Draco’s eyes lowered to meet his, the smoky grey so warm, Harry wondered how he ever thought they were cold. “I made your life hell, I made all the wrong choices, but you saved me, anyway.”

Watching those eyes, Harry lifted his hands to frame Draco's face. He brushed his thumbs over the sharp cheekbones and his mouth fell open on a silent gasp when Draco leaned into the touch, tilting his head to rub his cheek against Harry's hand.

Then Draco laughed. “Potter, if you don't fucking kiss me, I swear to Merlin, I'm going to—”

But Harry never found out what he would have done. Grinning, he lowered his lips to Draco's, cutting him off and sinking into the kiss — the first of many. It wasn't hard to admit, not now, that this is how he wanted to wake up for the rest of his life. Draco's warmth surrounding him, his lips welcoming him, the scent of him, the sound of him.

Everything. He wanted it, all. And it started here.

-

“I'm sorry, baby,” Harry whispered. The slim, silver band glinted on his hand as he stroked it over the sweaty brow of the man he loved. His husband, lying in his bed at St. Mungo’s, his breathing laboured. “I'm so sorry.”

“Potter, shut the fuck up,” Draco croaked. “If you say that one more time, I will hurt you.”

“You can hurt me,” he insisted. “I deserve it. I'll never put you through that, again. Ow! Fuck, Draco!” Jerking away and rubbing his arm where Draco's stinging hex hit him, Harry frowned. “I'm serious! That was awful!”

“That was wonderful, Harry, and you are absolutely putting me through it, again.” His voice was soft, all his energy drained. Harry had never seen him so beautiful. “Where is he?” Draco asked, his eyelids drooping.

“Right here,” a nurse said, stepping through the open door of the hospital room. “He's awake and fussy. Thought it would be a good time to bring him back to his daddies.”

Overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of the love coursing through him, Harry could only stare as the nurse passed Draco the small bundle of dark hair and blankets. Carefully, Draco settled their son in his arms, beaming up at Harry. After fifteen horrifying hours, he came into the world, screaming. Seven pounds, five ounces, ten fingers and toes. He was perfect.

“Do you want to say hello to your daddy, James?” Draco was cooing.

Taking his cue, Harry shuffled closer and stroked one finger through the downy hair. “Hello, James. God, Draco, he's so beautiful,” he whispered, and Draco sniggered.

“Are you sure you won't be putting me through this, again?” he asked.

“Well,” Harry sighed, his heart swelling. “I suppose, if it's not too much trouble…”

“Good,” Draco snorted, lifting his chin in a silent request.

Grinning, Harry sat beside him, wiggling his bum to make room, wrapped one arm around his little family, and dropped a kiss to Draco's lips. Soon, he'd have to let the world in. Ron and Hermione, all the other Weasleys, Draco's mother and aunt, Teddy… Everyone he loved was waiting but, for now, forever, this was Harry's whole world.

“I love you,” he murmured. Resting his cheek on Draco's mussed hair, he settled in to stare at the life they made, together, for as long as he could.

“I'm almost sorry,” Draco teased, tilting his head back to look up at Harry through shining eyes. “I love you, too.”

The End

[slytherco]

Codenames

Harry: All right, from now on, we will be using code names. You can address me as Eagle One. Ginny, code name -- Been There, Done That.

Ginny: *fond eyeroll*

Harry: Draco is -- Currently Doing That.

Draco and Harry: *high five*

Harry: Seamus is -- It Happened Once in a Dream-

Seamus: *wink*

Harry: Luna, code name -- If I Had To Pick a Ravenclaw.

Luna: *bright smile*

Harry: Ron is -- Eagle Two.

Ron: Oh thank God.

[23ster]

Pansy: Have you ever realized how Draco has the worst memory except for when it comes to remembering things about Potter?

Blaise: What do you mean?

Pansy, yelling from across the common room: Hey Draco! What did you have for breakfast this morning?

Draco, while scoffing: Hell if I know. Why?

Pansy: No reason. By the way, do you remember that sweater Potter wore last month? The one with the-

Draco: With the giant yellow 'H' on it that was knitted by the weasel's mother? Or the black striped one he got for his birthday two years ago? Or the one with-

*half an hour later*

Blaise: How the bloody hell is he still talking?!

Pansy: I don't know but make it stop!

[jet-playin-around]

I'm Almost Sorry

 

“I'm sorry,” Malfoy said, one morning in early autumn.

Harry stilled his search for a spare quill and looked across the room, perplexed. “What?” he asked.

“I'm sorry,” Malfoy repeated, ducking his head. He shuffled his feet and his knuckles were turning white where he gripped the strap of his bag. “For the Remembrall, in first year.”

Now Harry was really confused. Turning to face him, fully, he crossed his arms over his chest. “Malfoy, that was ages ago.”

“Yes, well,” he sniffed, tossing his head and levelling Harry with a haughty glare. “All the same, I'm sorry.”

With that, he strode through their shared dorm, and out, hitching the bag higher on his shoulder. Harry watched him go, not terribly sure what had just happened. Spying a quill, half buried among books and parchment on his desk, he snatched it up and left, as well.

-

The next time it happened wasn't any less confusing.

He was on his way to charms, and running late. Hurrying through the corridors, Harry rounded a corner and smashed into someone going the opposite direction. He opened his mouth to apologise, but froze when he saw who it was he’d run into.

“I'm sorry,” Malfoy said, catching his balance.

“S’alright,” Harry mumbled, trying to sidestep him.

“No, Potter.” A hand shot out, blocking his path and Harry stilled. Oh, god… it wouldn’t happen again, right? “I'm sorry for the badges.”

Harry frowned, confused. “What badges?” he asked, adjusting his grip on his bag and shuffling from foot to foot. He absolutely did not want to do this.

“The badges, Potter.” Draco sighed. Glancing down, he smoothed his hands over the front of his robes, straightening them. “The ‘Potter stinks’ badges. I'm sorry I made them.”

His jaw slackening, Harry stared. He’d forgotten about those… Probably around the time Malfoy had released the “Weasley Is Our King” edition. Crossing his arms, he scowled. “You are?”

“Yes,” Malfoy said, flinching. After another moment under Harry’s incredulous gaze, he began stepping around him, cautiously. “Good day, Potter.”

Before Harry could think of a single thing to say, Malfoy was hurrying down the corridor. Turning, he wandered to his own class, lost in thought.

-

The next time, Harry was ready for it. When Malfoy sighed, setting his books aside, Harry froze, his quill hovering above his Transfiguration essay.

“I'm sorry,” he began, perched on the side of his bed.

Slowly, Harry lowered the quill and turned to face him. “For what?” he asked, studying him. His shoulders were stiff, head bowed, hands folded in his lap. He looked like a contrite child; something Harry never thought he'd associate with Draco Malfoy.

“For tugging on your broom. You should have caught the snitch, then.” Colour rose in his pale cheeks as Harry watched him.

He frowned. Second year, he remembered. Their first quidditch match. “Malfoy, that was— What are you doing?”

At the frustration Harry couldn't seem to keep from his voice, Malfoy  scowled. “I'm apologizing.” Then, he threw himself to the bed, rolling to face away from Harry.

“Malfoy, I—” But the curtains hanging on Malfoy's bed flew closed, shutting down any effort Harry would have made to continue the conversation.

He sighed, slouching back in his chair and stared blankly at his essay. Malfoy was up to something.

-

“Hermione?” Harry asked, dropping into the chair beside hers in the hushed library. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” she said absently, flipping a page of the slim volume in her hand.

“You said Malfoy apologised to you, right?”

Frowning, Hermione lowered the book and turned to meet his eyes. “Yes, he did. I got the impression he was apologising to a lot of people. Why do you ask?”

Harry shook his head. “What did he say, exactly?”

“Well,” she hummed, tapping the tip of one finger to her chin. “I don't recall, precisely. Basically, he said he was sorry for how he treated me. Why Harry? Has he said something to you?”

“Yes, but—” He scrubbed a hand through his hair, still confused. “He didn't say anything else? Maybe on another day?”

“No,” she said, slowly. “Has he apologised to you?”

“Yeah,” he answered, distracted by the thoughts swirling around in his mind. “I'm sorry, I have to go.” He needed to find Malfoy, to get to the bottom of this.

“Harry, what’s going on?” Hermione demanded, but Harry only stood, dropped a kiss to the top of her head, and wandered away.

-

He didn't find him until after dinner, but Malfoy was already in bed, curtains clamped shut, tightly. So, Harry thought about it — harder than he did for most of his classes. By the next time Malfoy apologised, he’d have a plan.

Maybe not his brightest plan, truth be told, but he was determined to see it through. If Malfoy was going to apologise, so was he. Only, he wasn’t going to apologise for silly little things; he was going to make it count.

“I’m—” Malfoy began, shifting on his stool in Potions the next day, but Harry cut him off, setting his knife beside the mugwort he was chopping.

“No, Malfoy,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

Triumph coursed through him when Malfoy’s mouth snapped shut, his eyes widening. “What?”

Harry nodded. “I’m sorry,” he said, again. “For— for, er...”

Malfoy frowned and he swallowed. What the fuck was that? He knew what he wanted to apologise for, why wouldn’t the words come?

“I’m sorry for—” he tried again, groaning when his throat closed on the sound. “For—”

“For what, Potter?” Malfoy asked, his eyes narrowing as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“For— For fuck’s sake!” he hissed.

“Okay, well…” He tapped his foot, the shiny black leather glinting with the motion. “ I’m sorry that I teased you for the way you caught the snitch, that first time.”

“Of course you are,” Harry griped, crossing his own arms, petulantly.

And then something miraculous happened. Something sparkled, for just a moment, in the depths of those icy grey eyes, and Harry could swear Malfoy’s lips twitched. Just a little. But then he was spinning on his stool to stir their potion and Harry turned back to chopping ingredients, a small smile playing across his lips.

-

“I’m sorry.”

“Excuse me?” Cold eyes lifted to meet Harry’s and the usually impassive face took on a note of confusion. “Oh, Merlin, not this again.”

Dropping his bag to the floor, Harry slid into the chair next to Malfoy. “If you can apologise, so can I,” he insisted.

“Can you? That’s not the way I remember it.”

Ignoring the barb, and the way he tilted his head, like a curious puppy, Harry propped his elbows on the library table. Malfoy was right, he hadn’t managed to get the words out. But he could. He would. Eventually, he decided.

“I’m sorry I threw mud at your head,” he said, surprised to find that his voice didn’t waver. This was harder than he’d expected.

Malfoy straightened his spine and crossed his arms. “You should be,” he sneered, lifting his chin to look down his nose at Harry.

He grinned. This was the Malfoy he knew and- “Well, I am.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

-

“I’m sorry,” Malfoy hissed, leaning over the aisle in History of Magic to whisper his latest apology.

Harry lifted his head and blinked, myopically. “Wha-?”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, rapping a knuckle on Harry’s desk. “For that trick, the Dementor thing.”

“Oh, okay.” Nodding absently, he lowered his head back onto his folded arms, wanting nothing more than to return to his dozing. “Thanks, Draco.”

Malfoy sputtered for a moment, staring at him, before sitting up and returning his attention to where Binns was droning away, at the front of the room. Chuckling quietly, Harry closed his eyes and smiled.

-

“Draco!” Harry called, jogging to catch him up as they headed to the greenhouses.

“I told you to stop calling me that, Potter,” Draco frowned, shifting his bag to pull his cloak tighter against the stiff breeze. “What do you want?”

“To say I’m sorry,” Harry grinned. This was becoming fun, he had to admit. “Only, I couldn’t think of anything to apologise for, so— oof!”

The elbow in his side was a new element and Harry laughed when Draco continued walking, as if nothing had happened.

“Okay, okay,” he said, bracing himself for the confession he had planned for this encounter. “I’m sorry that I snuck into the Slytherin dorms—”

“You what ?” Draco screeched, grinding to a halt and staring at Harry as if he’d grown another head.

“—with Ron, in second year. Okay, be seein’ you!”

And he tore down the sloping lawn, toward the greenhouse and safety, his laughter ringing through the grounds of Hogwarts when Draco shouted after him.   

“Potter! Potter, get back here you coward!”

-

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh?” Harry asked, looking up when Draco slapped his palms down on the library table, leaning forward to whisper his apology. “Whatever for?”

“Oh, shut it, Potter.” Keeping his hands in place, he lowered himself into the chair beside Harry’s. “I’m sorry I— Fuck.”

Sobering, Harry turned to face him. “What is it?”

Draco sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I’m sorry that I—”

He was struggling, and Harry found he desperately wanted to know what he was going to say, but… “Draco,” he murmured, laying one hand over his. “It's okay, you don't have to—”

“Yes I do.” He took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. “I'm sorry that I broke your nose. I— I don't know what I was—”

Harry shook his head, a small smile forming on his face. That wasn't what he'd been expecting, but it was certainly getting closer. “I forgive you.”

“What?”

Harry didn't know why he said it; he never had, before. But, this apology felt… real. “I forgive you, Draco,” he said again, squeezing the hand beneath his.

Draco swallowed, staring at his hand with a strange look on his face. Suddenly self-conscious, Harry pulled it away and cleared his throat.

“Could you, er… Could you help me with this essay for Potions?” he asked, dragging his book closer and flipping through the pages, nervously.

“Yes, of course.”

-

Draco threw himself to his bed, groaning. “Why did you make me do that?” he whinged, pulling his pillow over his face.

Harry giggled, the alcohol in his veins asserting its dominance over him. Not that he minded, especially after watching Draco stand on his head, in the middle of the eighth year common room.

He wasn't able to hold it but, for a bit, his long, slender legs were so straight, so steady. Harry was captivated. He couldn't even imagine what it would be like to have that kind of balance. But, after a moment or two, his shirt tail slipped from the waistband of his trousers, throwing him off.

“That was absurd!” he moaned from under his pillow.

“No,” Harry corrected, swaying a little as he jabbed a finger in Draco's direction, trying to will his face into a serious expression. “That was hot, s’what it was.”

Draco removed the pillow, rising slowly into a sitting position. “Hot, Potter?” he asked, incredulous.

“Well, yeah. Don't y’think?” Stumbling across the room, he dropped himself to the bed. He gazed up at Draco, propping himself on one elbow. “Your legs are so long and your, you know…”

Draco turned and crossed his legs, still staring at Harry with what looked like confusion. There was a little line between his eyebrows and his lips were turned down at the corners.

“Potter,” he asked, hesitantly.” Are— are you gay?”

Laughing, Harry flopped to his back, staring up at the Slytherin green canopy of Draco's four poster. “S’pose that’d make sense,” he said. “I mean, I think I still like girls, but I haven't liked one in a while… No’ since Gin.”

“Ah, bisexual, then,” Draco nodded.

“Maybe,” he mumbled. His eyes were starting to close, but Harry didn't want to sleep. This felt important, somehow. Shifting just his head, he looked up at Draco, his stomach twisting when he found him gnawing on his bottom lip. “What about you? Are you finally going to marry Parkinson, after school?”

“Pansy?” Draco's nose wrinkled and Harry sniggered. “Not likely, Potter. I'm supposed to meet with the Greengrass family to discuss marrying Astoria—”

“Daphne’s kid sister?” Harry wasn't sure how he knew that, but Draco nodded, so he let it go.

“Mother won't force me to, of course. But, you know, ‘produce an heir, settle down, get married.’ Being a pureblood comes with certain responsibilities.”

Harry giggled. “Well, the order seems a bit unconvershon'l,” he quipped, pleased when Draco smirked and slapped his arm, lightly. “Isn't that what you want, though?” he asked, oblivious to the bitterness in his voice. “To have a li’l Malfoy Jr. wreaking havoc on a whole new generation of half-bloods and muggle-borns at Hogwarts?”

Draco cringed. “I don't want that. I mean, kids: yes, but…” Lowering his eyes, he plucked at a loose thread on his comforter. “You know… There are ways I could have children, without a woman…”

That lovely flush he was rapidly becoming obsessed with coloured Draco's cheeks, but Harry snorted. “Adoption doesn't ‘zactly ‘continue the Malfoy line,’ though, does it?” he said, lifting one finger as if indicating some deep wisdom.

“What?” Draco frowned, again. “No, Potter, I mea— Never mind. The point is, I’d rather not involve a woman, if I don’t have to.”

“Oh,” Harry said, then, “ Ohhhh! You don’t fancy women?” Although it was a question, he was rather proud of himself for working out Draco’s meaning, so didn’t give him time to answer. Rearing up — too fast, really — he leaned toward him, leering more than he might have, any other time. “So, do you wanna—”

Draco lifted a hand to Harry’s shoulder and shoved, knocking him back to the bed. This time, he stayed there, his head spinning. “Fuck off, Potter, you’re drunk. You think I’d fool around with you, in this state? I’d rather not add ‘sexual molestation of the Savior’ to my list of offenses.”

“I wouldn’t be offended…”  Harry insisted, giggling again. He lifted one heavy arm to finger at the hem of Draco’s shirt. “Honest.”

“You’re hilarious, Potter,” Draco intoned, swatting his hand away. “No.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, defensively, and something finally clicked in Harry's whiskey soaked brain. He was on a roll when he was pissed, he thought. He was on a pissed roll. Haha. Wait, no. Draco. Draco was being defensive. Well, his arms were.

“The scars…” Harry mumbled, finally putting it together, and Draco froze. “Snape said it wouldn’t scar…”

“Yes, well… There wasn’t enough dittany, so—”

“Dra—” Harry began, but his tongue felt thick and he could feel his eyes drooping. Still, he tried again. “Draco. I’m s’rry.” With what strength he could muster, he rolled to his side and curled himself around Draco’s legs, lying his head on one sharp knee. “I din’t mean to. Din’t know what would hap’n… Don’ hate me…”

Smiling fondly at the small, slurred voice, Draco laid a hand on Harry’s head, stroking the wild hair. “I know, Harry. I forgive you.”

-

Harry woke slowly. The herd of elephants stampeding through his skull was the first thing he registered, followed quickly by the roiling of his stomach. Groaning, he rolled to his back… and immediately regretted the decision. One hand flew to his mouth and he threw the other arm over his eyes. God, why did he do this to himself?

A soft, sleepy murmur drifted through the pounding in his ears, and Harry frowned. Through the pain, he felt something — someone — shift against his side and froze. Oh, please Merlin, tell me I didn’t go to bed with someone, last night. The murmur sounded again, and the body beside his stretched, arms bumping him as they reached toward the headboard.

Shit. What did he do last night? He was still clothed, so it couldn’t have been that bad…

“Merlin, just kill me!” came Draco’s voice and Harry felt his stomach drop.

Double shit!

“Harry, can you—”

Harry? Fuck, what did they do?

Flinching, Harry lowered his arm, prising his eyes open. Rumpled blond hair, mere inches from his nose, greeted him, and the arse he’d been desperately trying to ignore for weeks was pressed hard against his hip.

“Draco?” he croaked. “Fuck, what did—”

“Please, Potter, spare me the baffled regrets and pass me the bloody hangover potion.”

“What?”

“Top drawer,” he groaned, waving a hand toward Harry’s other side. “For the love of all that is sacred in this godforsaken world, give me the—”

“Jesus, relax,” Harry grumbled.

Turning over further, he rooted around in the drawer, pulling out two phials and passing one to Draco before uncorking and gulping the other down. He sighed as his headache dulled and stomach settled.

“Fuck.”

“You wish,” Draco sniggered and Harry whipped his head around to face him.

Okay, still too soon for that… He brought one hand up to massage his temple, but pressed on, anyway. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Chuckling, Draco threw his hands over his head, writhing in a way that had Harry’s mouth going dry and his trousers tightening. “‘Please Draco!’” he cried. “‘I want you, I need you!’”

The blood drained from Harry’s face and his stomach resumed its roiling. “I didn’t. Please, tell me I didn’t?”

“Oh, you were all over me,” Draco smirked, winking as he sat up.

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” Groaning, Harry covered his eyes again, this time out of shame. “I’m surprised you didn’t kick me out of…” He trailed off, peeking through his fingers and angling his head to look at the sea of green surrounding him. “Wait. Why am I in your bed?”

“Because you fell asleep on my lap, blubbering like an idiot—”

“ Fuck!” he groaned, again.

“Potter,” Draco said, heaving a sigh and nudging at Harry’s shoulder. “We didn’t do anything. Well, you did make a pass at me, but only just.”

Lowering his hands once he was sure he understood, Harry glared at him. “You're a bastard.”

“Well,” Draco laughed before his tone turned mock serious. “That would certainly be an interesting turn of eve— Harry, no!”

Shrieking, he tried to dive away, but he wasn’t quick enough; Harry's sudden lunge landed him half over Draco's lap. Settling himself firmly between flailing legs, Harry wrapped his arms around him. He pressed his face against Draco's stomach, the wrinkled fabric warm on his skin, and dug his fingers into the exposed ribcage. Draco intensified his struggles, twisting at the waist in an attempt to break free, his hands gripping Harry's hair and tugging, hard.

“Stop it!” he squealed. “Unhand me, you brute!” His laughter echoed around the room, bouncing off the stone walls, and Harry thought he had never heard anything so wonderful. “Harry! Harry, please! I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry !”

Stilling, Harry craned his neck to see Draco's face. “For what?” he asked, smirking.

“For—” he began, then sobered.

Harry was almost sorry he asked. The happy light left his eyes and Draco tilted his head back, baring the creamy length of his throat.

“For everything, Harry,” he said. “I know that I don't deserve to be forgiven, but I'm sorry. I'm so, so sor—” he broke off on a sob and Harry shifted his weight to his knees, straddling Draco's legs.

“I'm sorry, Draco. I should have tried to help you. I saw what was happening, but I thought—”

“Harry, you saved my life.” Draco’s eyes lowered to meet his, the smoky grey so warm, Harry wondered how he ever thought they were cold. “I made your life hell, I made all the wrong choices, but you saved me, anyway.”

Watching those eyes, Harry lifted his hands to frame Draco's face. He brushed his thumbs over the sharp cheekbones and his mouth fell open on a silent gasp when Draco leaned into the touch, tilting his head to rub his cheek against Harry's hand.

Then Draco laughed. “Potter, if you don't fucking kiss me, I swear to Merlin, I'm going to—”

But Harry never found out what he would have done. Grinning, he lowered his lips to Draco's, cutting him off and sinking into the kiss — the first of many. It wasn't hard to admit, not now, that this is how he wanted to wake up for the rest of his life. Draco's warmth surrounding him, his lips welcoming him, the scent of him, the sound of him.

Everything. He wanted it, all. And it started here.

-

“I'm sorry, baby,” Harry whispered. The slim, silver band glinted on his hand as he stroked it over the sweaty brow of the man he loved. His husband, lying in his bed at St. Mungo’s, his breathing laboured. “I'm so sorry.”

“Potter, shut the fuck up,” Draco croaked. “If you say that one more time, I will hurt you.”

“You can hurt me,” he insisted. “I deserve it. I'll never put you through that, again. Ow! Fuck, Draco!” Jerking away and rubbing his arm where Draco's stinging hex hit him, Harry frowned. “I'm serious! That was awful!”

“That was wonderful, Harry, and you are absolutely putting me through it, again.” His voice was soft, all his energy drained. Harry had never seen him so beautiful. “Where is he?” Draco asked, his eyelids drooping.

“Right here,” a nurse said, stepping through the open door of the hospital room. “He's awake and fussy. Thought it would be a good time to bring him back to his daddies.”

Overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of the love coursing through him, Harry could only stare as the nurse passed Draco the small bundle of dark hair and blankets. Carefully, Draco settled their son in his arms, beaming up at Harry. After fifteen horrifying hours, he came into the world, screaming. Seven pounds, five ounces, ten fingers and toes. He was perfect.

“Do you want to say hello to your daddy, James?” Draco was cooing.

Taking his cue, Harry shuffled closer and stroked one finger through the downy hair. “Hello, James. God, Draco, he's so beautiful,” he whispered, and Draco sniggered.

“Are you sure you won't be putting me through this, again?” he asked.

“Well,” Harry sighed, his heart swelling. “I suppose, if it's not too much trouble…”

“Good,” Draco snorted, lifting his chin in a silent request.

Grinning, Harry sat beside him, wiggling his bum to make room, wrapped one arm around his little family, and dropped a kiss to Draco's lips. Soon, he'd have to let the world in. Ron and Hermione, all the other Weasleys, Draco's mother and aunt, Teddy… Everyone he loved was waiting but, for now, forever, this was Harry's whole world.

“I love you,” he murmured. Resting his cheek on Draco's mussed hair, he settled in to stare at the life they made, together, for as long as he could.

“I'm almost sorry,” Draco teased, tilting his head back to look up at Harry through shining eyes. “I love you, too.”

The End

[fleurmoon]

ron: if i were a gardener, i would put our "two-lips" together

hermione: *blushes*

harry: *turns to draco* why aren't we like that?

draco: because if i was a gardener, you'd be my hoe

harry: that's why

[ciscogade]

Belgian Truffles

“If we go get chocolates, d’ya think the reporters following us will say we’re making a mockery of those lost in the war?”

Harry snorted. “Nah, they’re going to say I’ve got a secret romance, and that I’m snogging someone who will fix my hero trauma with love. Bet I’ll be getting married next week.”

Ron elbowed him and grinned. A block behind them, three — no, four — very conspicuous people tried to eavesdrop inconspicuously.

“Don’t be ridiculous, boys,” Hermione sighed, leaning into the way Ron fingers threaded through her curls. “They’re not that creative. All the articles will be something about me letting my weight slip.”

They had turned off Diagon and down Brightcrow Alley, full of shops newly built on the rubble of a major attack during the war. Harry hadn’t been there when it had happened — he and Ron and Hermione were in a tent somewhere pretending they had a clue to what they were doing. But everyone had adamantly rebuilt everything in the last two months, using the spiffiest spells to make things shiny and solid and safe, so that the whole Wizarding world could pretend they were all okay. Harry couldn’t really begrudge them, so he let himself go out for day trips in Diagon while the really daring journalists ducked in and out of view. It was fine. Harry was fine pretending along with everyone else.

Pretending it hadn’t been two months since he had died and then stopped being dead.

“Right then,” said Ron. “Shall we make it a bet? We’ll go get chocolates, and whoever gets an article written about them wins five Galleons.”

“I say Ron and I should get ten if they write about us,” Hermione cut in. “Sorry, Harry, but you’ve got an unfair advantage.”

Harry knew he’d regret it but he shrugged and said, “I’ll take that bet, just to see what you two will do to drag all the attention from me. C’mon, there’s the new place, Selwyn’s.”

They got close to the big blue and pink shop on the corner, on exhibit beneath a sparkling sign: Selwyn’s Sweets and Chocolatiers. Hermione was pestering Ron into taking History of Magic when they go back for Eighth Year in the fall, but Harry stopped listening when he saw who was standing outside the shop.

Draco Malfoy.

Draco Malfoy was there, staring down a scandalized shop keeper.

“Please,” he could hear Draco’s voice as they got closer, steady, but tight. Strained. “I will cause no trouble. I would just like to purchase a box of caramel truffles for my mother.”

“Your existence at my shop door is causing me trouble,” the owner, Selwyn probably, snapped. “You know exactly what you’re doing, tainting my shop with your Death Eater presence, whatever you claim about sweets for your mother. Merlin, the sooner the Malfoy name gets purged from the Sacred Twenty-Eight, the better.”

All three of them were close enough now to see how Draco was standing, like a coiled spring, like a weather-worn statue. “Please. Just let me buy one box of chocolates. You can’t discriminate against me because of my blood status. There have been laws passed against it.”

It was Hermione who got those laws passed. In June, less than a week after the trials — the ones where both Harry and Luna testified on Draco’s behalf.

The public loved the idea of non-discrimination laws after everything that happened in the war, but it wasn’t until later, in private, that Hermione told him how she really wanted the laws in place more to help people like Draco than people like her. Harry didn’t really get what she meant.

Until now.

“Who said I was discriminating?” Selwyn sneered. “Didn’t you know? It’s Couples Day at my shop. Only loving couples are allowed in to look at the wares. It’s a shame that you’re here alone. And, giving your stunning marriageability, I fear you may never be able to enter the shop… on Couples Day.”

Harry didn’t know why he acted. Even though, deep down, he knew exactly why.

“Hello, love,” he said, stepping forward and wrapping an arm around Draco’s shoulder. “Sorry we’re so late. Hermione got distracted by some books at Flourish and Blotts. Hope there’s still time for our date?”

Keep reading

[breadyyyy]

I guess It’s true then... 🤷‍♀️

[23ster]

[protea-drarry-shit]

Draco, next to Harry: we have a question.

Harry: we mean it in no offense.

Draco: but is there anyone here who’s straight?

Seamus, on dean’s lap: nope.

Pansy, reading with Hermione: I thought we got over the straight phase?

Ron: I don’t think I’m ever going to be straight again if it means Blaise spoiling me like this.

*Ginny and Luna kissing in the background*

Theo, holding hands with Neville: yeah, no.

*Parvati and Lavender cuddling*

*Oliver trying and failing to take a book away from Percy*

Harry: that’s good.

Draco: the homophobes are definately outnumbered.

Blaise: are you starting a queer army now?

Harry and Draco, obviously lying: no-

[fujixia]

🌈

[fantasticfables]

The first time that they kiss is over a hospital bed, and it doesn’t count, because Draco is on duty and potter is on painkillers, and honestly, potter, this is the third time you’re here this week, it’s only wednesday, but Potter laughs and says with that lopsided grin, it’s not my fault dark wizards don’t take vacations, and Draco says, but healers do! what did I ever do to deserve having you as my patient? and Potter laughs and drags draco forward to plant a clumsy kiss on the corner of his mouth and slumps on the bed again, and it’s fine, because Harry is high on meds and Draco could pretend this never happened if he tried hard enough, but Harry is letting Draco bandage him up and he’s still grinning and Draco has to force himself to take his eyes away from brilliant green.

The second time that they kiss, it’s Christmas, in Ginny’s homecoming party, after a wildly successful quidditch season. Draco knows it was a bad idea to be here when he steps through with Pasny and Blaise to see Potter laughing with Ronald, and more so because all people present are couples and it’s just Potter who’s left for Draco to spend the evening with and wouldn’t small talk just be lovely? but then Potter’s eyes light up when he sees Draco, and he says, Aha, good, you’re here. fancy a seeker’s game, one on one? and Draco should say no, but says yes and maybe when Harry catches the snitch Draco doesn’t feel beaten, he feels alive and it’s entirely Potter’s fault. so he swooshes his broom to Potter, and kisses him square on the lips, and Potter laughs and kisses him and laughs again as he says, maybe you should have kept that kiss until midnight, and Draco says, oh, I’m sorry, is the number of kisses between us finite? how many do we have left? and this time when Harry laughs, it’s bright and more heady than any number of times Draco’s caught the snitch.

The eighth time that they kiss, Draco’s lost a patient. he can’t take St. Mango’s white and bare walls, and even the thought of being alone in his flat nauseats him, so he closes his eyes and when he opens them he’s in front of Grimmauld Place, and when Harry opens the door, his small smile vanishes and Draco suddenly regrets coming here, but Harry asks what happened? and Draco says I lost someone, and understanding flashes dark in Harry’s eyes, and he drags Draco inside, let’s him sit on his sofa and gives him tea and kisses him between sips as if he needs Draco as much as Draco needs him, and that thought is absurd, but it’s nice and Draco lets comfort settle deep on his bones.

The fifteenth time they kiss, Harry is moving around in the Grimmauld Place kitchen, Kreacher is moaning about wrong cooking etiquette, and Draco is sat on the kitchen counter, swinging his legs and eating little trinkets idly. he yells comments at Harry to do random things - he doesn’t know what the random things would do, in the context of cooking, but it’s fun to watch Harry alternate between grinning and looking distraught. Harry gets tired of it, eventually, and decides to shut Draco up with his mouth, and he tastes like chocolate and cinnamon and I love you, Draco thinks, but all he says is you got flour in my hair and Harry laughs, snaking his hand in Draco’s hair more thoroughly.

[idiotsincorporated]

[zurka]

yes i’m dummy dumm dumb and i did it again

[eufonius]

[ginkirikirikiri]

[daddiesdrarryy]

This meme doesn’t need a caption anymore

[breadyyyy]

“Yes”