An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
The Boy Who Lived Next Door
RuArcher (Coriesocks) @coriesocks
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Characters: Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter
Additional Tags: art dealer Draco Malfoy, shopkeeper Harry Potter, tiny dog, Diagon Alley, Reunions, Enemies to Lovers, to enemies again, Then lovers, Misunderstandings, Realisation of feelings, refusal of feelings, sentient portrait, draco being a sassy knobhead, harry being super fit, no sleeves no masters, Art, Music, bacon sandwiches, Kissing, Coffee, apple turnovers, Anal Sex, Happy Ending, Past Relationship(s), Drinking, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Bacon, Getting Back Together
Summary:
The last time Draco Malfoy saw Harry Potter, Draco was bent over a desk in an empty classroom, begging for more. Right before Harry walked out of his life for good. Which was fine. It’d been fifteen years and Draco was obviously over him, thank you very much. He had a nice life and a successful art gallery and no space for noisy neighbours (having sex) or tiny dogs (slobbering) or Harry’s unreasonably muscular arms (wow, where did they come from). If only Harry would just, like, leave him alone... or something.
“Are you just going to sit there picking at the label of your bottle all night?” Harry asked eventually.
Draco looked down at his hands, aghast. How dare they betray his unease.
“You invited me here. The onus of entertainment falls on your shoulders, surely.”
Harry made an exasperated sound. “I was actually hoping for some kind of apology, you know, since you tried to take control of my business.”
“I don’t see why you’re getting so upset.” Draco rolled his eyes. This was better. He could deal with Harry being a bit stroppy. At least he knew where he stood now. “It was a promise made in the heat of the moment. I wasn’t trying to take control. That’s just how things work in business.”
“For fuck’s sake Draco. You’re so selfish! Do you ever think of anything beyond yourself and your own needs? I’ve tried—Merlin, save me, I’ve tried so hard—to be your friend, to move on, and you’ve been nothing but a massive shit. I don’t know why I ever thought things might be different between us this time. You still only ever think of yourself!”
“I’m selfish? You’re the one that fucked off the second things got a little difficult,” Draco snapped, Harry’s words striking him harder than he thought they would have, opening wounds he’d thought long healed. “You just left! You left me, you left your friends, you left the fucking country!”
“I…” Harry gawked at him, his mouth hanging open in a way that would have been humorous if Draco wasn’t so riled up. “Fuck you, Draco. Seriously. You dumped me. I didn’t owe you anything. I still don’t.”
“I never— I… I didn’t dump you. I told you I had to get married—which you knew, by the way. You’re the one who got pissy about it and left mid-shag. You’re the one you didn’t even try to convince me to… to…”
“To what? You didn’t exactly act like you wanted convincing of anything. You had it all worked out; keeping me on the side while you played happy families with your wife. Didn’t you ever once stop to consider what I wanted?”
“I was always thinking about what you wanted!” Draco shouted. Harry blinked at him and Draco had to close his eyes. He took a breath, willed his voice to remain steady. “If I really was as selfish as you say, I would have kept you all to myself, but that never could have happened, not back then, and not without a fight.”
“Because… because you’re you and I’m me. I needed to rebuild the Malfoy name, secure my legacy, make a future for myself when everyone had already written me off, and I could hardly do that as the man who… who turned the Savior queer. I mean, for fuck’s sake, you weren’t even out, Harry. You knew how people would have reacted if they found out about us, so you were just as keen to keep it quiet as I was,” he finished weakly, knowing it was a shitty excuse even as he said it.
“So it’s all my fault?” Harry glared at him, body was stiff, his wand hand clenching at his side. He looked ready to hex someone and Draco cast a cautious glance around the room to check for signs of him losing control of his magic. He didn’t fancy being decapitated by any stray vinyl. “I wanted a proper relationship,” Harry continued, his voice quiet, trembling. “I wanted hand-holding in the corridors and cuddling in the common room, Hogsmeade dates and being able to call you my boyfriend. I wanted what everyone else got to do with their boyfriends and girlfriends, but I kept everything secret for you. I hid an important part of myself because it was what you wanted, hoping that if I showed you we were worth it, if I could get you to like me as much as I liked you, then maybe we’d get a chance to do things properly. And then you repaid me by telling me you wanted me to stay your dirty little secret. This is on you.”
Draco didn’t know what to say. He’d wanted all those things too—so, so badly. His heart ached with all the opportunities he’d missed because he was too much of a fucking coward to take a chance. He’d been so brainwashed by his upbringing, he’d thought the only thing he could do to restore his reputation, the Malfoy reputation, was to continue with the plan his father had drilled into him since he was small. And maybe there’d been another way. If Harry had only said these things at the time… would he have done anything different? Could it have actually worked? The beer in his stomach soured and churned. He felt sick he—
His spiralling thoughts were interrupted by a rhythmic banging, horribly familiar and wholly unexpected since the person he’d assumed was the source of that noise was currently pacing the room like a cantankerous lion.
Harry snapped his head around, drawn out of his sulk. “No? What the hell, Draco. Did you listen to a word I just said?”
“There must be someone here,” Draco muttered. He got up, ignoring Harry, and strode out into the hall, pushing open the door to Harry’s bedroom, fully prepared to encounter one (or more) people in a compromising position. Had Harry invited him around for some kind of sex party? Only, the instant the door swung open, he realised it wasn’t a bedroom but a kitchen. A fairly uninspired one at that. What was a kitchen doing here?
“It’s a kitchen,” Draco said redundantly.
“What are you on? What did you think you’d find?” Harry peered over Draco’s shoulder. He sounded pissed off—probably worried Draco was about to stumble into his secret sex dungeon.
Draco cocked his head to the side, listening intently. The sound was definitely coming from this room, but it was clearly devoid of copulating people so where… He zeroed in on the rattling appliance in the corner, against the wall which Draco’s bed backed on to.
“Jesus fuck, Draco. Are you having a breakdown? Should I call someone?”
“It was a washing machine!” He laughed, the sound hysterical even to his own ears, so Circe only knew what he sounded like to Harry. Stumbling back onto the landing he thrust open the other doors: a bathroom, a study, and then, behind the final door, opposite the kitchen and as far away from the wall adjoining Draco’s flat it was possible to get, was Harry’s bedroom.
Just to make absolutely sure he wasn’t being deceived, Draco bent down and checked under the bed, but by this point, wasn’t really surprised to find it devoid of cowering sex-party goers.
“Okay. I’m Flooing Pansy,” Harry said, sounding almost frightened. “Or Blaise. Or Hermione. Fuck it. I’m Flooing everyone. You must have been drugged or something. Did you accept any food from a stranger? Any weird looking drinks?”
Draco rounded on him. Harry had gone from anger to concern so quickly that Draco was almost certain what he was about to do wouldn’t be taken the wrong way. Everything Harry had done over the last few months took on a new slant now he knew Harry wasn’t pounding someone into his mattress every other night. Draco grabbed him by the shoulders, feeling muscles tighten beneath his hands. “Shut up. Just… stop talking, you—”
He closed the distance between them and captured Harry’s lips in a kiss before he could talk himself out of it. Seconds stretched on for an age, but then he felt Harry shift, tilting his head and parting his lips and deepening the kiss.
It was… it was like being eighteen again, but not. Gone was the rashness, the overconfidence, the need to take take take as quickly as they could because who knew when they’d get another chance. Harry’s cheeks were rougher, the stubble he now favoured scratching against Draco’s clean-shaven jaw, but his lips were still soft, and the way they fitted with Draco’s was so heart-wrenchingly familiar, it was like coming home.
They pulled apart, just a fraction, and Draco let out a shaky breath as Harry’s hands crept up his sides and wrapped around his back; a soft, uncertain embrace he hadn’t even realised he missed.
Harry leant back and looked up at him, his eyes slightly glazed, his lips shining. “You, uh, you really like washing machines then?”
Draco stared at him, confused, until, “Oh, fuck off.” He laughed, shaking his head slightly and Harry grinned at him, amusement dancing in his eyes. Merlin, he was beautiful. Draco wanted to kiss him again, wanted to never stop kissing him now they’d done it again.
