An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Adventures in Solitude (Are You There, Sirius? It’s Me, Draco)
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Characters: Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Portrait Sirius Black - Character, Scorpius Malfoy, Albus Severus Potter
Additional Tags: Portraits, Slow Burn, Romance, Friendship, Family, Scheming, Past Character Death, Gay Male Character, Internalized Homophobia, Background Femslash, Non-Linear Narrative, Bisexual Male Character, HP: Epilogue Compliant, Christmas, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Past Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy, Community: hd_erised
Draco is grateful to have had Sirius’ portrait to confide in all those years ago, about his sexuality and unwanted feelings for a classmate named Harry. But when he gets the portrait out of storage after twenty years, the secrets he has kept from Sirius all along come out. Secrets about Draco’s role in the war... and secrets about Harry Potter.
“I don’t think I was entirely motivated by pure concern when I spent all of sixth year stalking you,” Harry says off-handedly, as he scoops ground coffee into the cafetiere. “Perhaps I should have realized a few things from the fact that I spent more time thinking about you that year than about the girl I ended up marrying. I thought about you... a lot. Rather more than a lot.”
Draco steadies himself against the countertop and crosses his arms over his chest, trying to process what Harry’s saying. It would be easier if he could see Harry’s face, but he’s still facing away, filling the kettle with water at the sink. “I mean, I knew you were up to something, and I was obsessed with that, but I was also just generally--obsessed with you.”
Harry shuts off the tap and turns around to bring the kettle to the range next to where Draco stands, barely breathing. He fiddles with the burner and adjusts it until it’s up quite high. Draco reaches out to turn it down slightly; even in these circumstances he doesn’t want the bottom of the kettle scorched, and their fingertips brush. It’s like lighting a match.
Harry’s hand is frozen on the knob and Draco just stares at their fingers touching for a split second. Then their eyes meet and Draco starts to understand that perhaps he wasn’t just seeing what he wanted to see, but what is actually there, clear and striking in Harry’s green eyes. The air seems sucked out of the room and time suspends itself as they draw towards each other, Draco’s gaze locked on Harry’s mouth.
“I’m going to kiss you,” Harry murmurs, and closes the last fraction of distance between them.
In slow motion, their lips touch and Draco’s eyes flutter shut for a moment. Harry’s hand has grabbed his own and holds it tightly, the firmness of the grip at odds with how very softly his mouth is pressed against Draco’s. They breathe each other’s air, warm and humid, and then Harry’s tongue tentatively licks Draco’s lower lip and heat rips through him like a wildfire.
His mouth opens and Harry surges forward, sliding his tongue in and stroking Draco’s—tentatively at first, but at the contact, something within Draco breaks loose and he opens his mouth wider to give Harry more access. Kissing has never felt like this, but this is so obviously what it’s supposed to feel like that he wants to laugh out loud. His head starts to spin as Harry lets go of his hand to pull him closer with an arm around his back, pressing against him, hard and hot.
Within less than a minute, Draco is breathless and almost panicked at how aroused he is. He’s lost track of everything his tongue and lips are doing in tandem with Harry’s, he only knows that it feels instinctive and incredible and he doesn’t want it to stop, but it has to because...because it just has to. It feels too good, too much.
He pulls away, shy and fearful that he’s ruining everything. Harry’s eyes open in confusion, and then he steps back, chuckling ruefully, and Draco feels his insides rearrange. Harry is still holding onto him by the hips, but their bodies aren’t touching and their lips aren’t touching and abruptly, Draco wants to plaster himself against that taut, compact body again, drown in that mouth. He smiles at himself, and at Harry, feeling like a teenager.
“So,” Harry begins, but the kettle suddenly shrieks and they both snicker, and it seems like the best possible portent, somehow. “I was going to reel you in and ravish you some more, but it appears that your kitchen appliances are protecting your virtue. Shall I—?” He asks with an eyebrow raised, gesturing towards the kettle.
