Chapter Text
Harry awoke in the unfamiliar room as abruptly and absolutely as if someone had yelled in his ear. He lay stock-still. His heart raced.
He found his wand under his pillow. “Homenum revelio.”
Someone was just outside.
He felt utterly spent. The bedroom was fragrant from a vase of lavender, and there was the unmistakable smell of sex.
What the fuck?
He put on his glasses, and found a note written in elegant script on the bedside table:
3rd August 2013
Harry,
I’m home today (it’s Saturday). Remember to read your notebook or to speak with Astoria in the hall before finding me.
I promise things will make more sense after lunchtime.
Know that I adore you,
D
He stared around at the vast room, purple sheets, the antique four-poster bed.
A sketch of Malfoy labelled 'FRIEND' fell out as he opened the notebook. He flicked through it, stunned.
Draco Malfoy was his boyfriend. He was apparently mates with Malfoy’s mum. They were in the North of France. He peered at a photograph of a boy who had leaves for hair (Teddy?) with their sons—staying at a hotel nearby.
He sank his toes into the navy-blue carpet, and discovered some underwear and jogging bottoms in the wardrobe.
Some parchment stuck to the wardrobe door read:
Wand? Cloak? Left a note to say where you’re going?
He tiptoed out into the hallway where a candelabra flickered into flame.
“Morning.”
Harry whirled around to see a painting of a lady leaning on her palm, her eyebrows raised in amusement.
“Astoria,” Harry said.
She nodded reassuringly.
“Have we met?”
Astoria gave him a what-do-you-think look.
“Am I in love with Draco Malfoy?”
Her expression did not change.
“Right,” he said, running his hand through his hair. It was weirdly long. “Shit. Okay.”
“Don’t panic,” she said. “Be courteous to him. He understands you don’t remember.”
“Okay…” Harry said. “Is it weird for you? Cos Malfoy was your husband?”
“A bit! Yeah. But I am a portrait, Harry. Just… take care of him, make sure he’s all right.”
He wasn’t sure how he knew, but he felt he could trust this woman. “I’ll er… see you, then.”
Though his stomach growled in hunger, he went back into the bedroom.
“Homenum revelio,” he muttered.
The person was still there. It had to be Malfoy.
With a deep breath, he gripped his wand and swung open the floor-to-ceiling shutters. He gawked at hundreds of sunflowers hanging their heads, some of which had been beheaded, and bees feasted on lavender. At his touch, the glass door creaked open.
A few feet away, Malfoy sat on a bench, wearing a dressing gown embroidered with sleeping dragons. He peered at Harry, grey eyes narrowed. Harry thought he looked more wary than worried, and if he was bothered by Harry’s wand pointing at him, he didn’t say anything. His hair flopped into his eyes and he had a cigarette in his mouth, a coffee on the arm of the seat, and held a copy of Living Rough: Housekeeping Without a House-Elf.
Harry approached the bench, conscious he was still topless, and neither of them spoke.
“Can I join you?” Harry asked, stomach fluttering. Something was very wrong with his brain.
Malfoy nodded and wordlessly lit another cigarette and passed it to him.
A fluffy grey cat took up an entire third of the bench, so Harry had to sit down just inches from Draco so as not to disturb it.
“Err…” Harry trailed off promptly at the realisation that they’d had sex last night. “It’s a nice day.”
Malfoy’s eyes crinkled at the corners and his lips twitched in an unsure smile. “I know.”
Harry was hyperaware of the meagre distance between them, and looked resolutely ahead, cigarette in hand. He didn’t even know he smoked.
“I remember writing a note… that if I was taken to hospital, I’d prefer you to be my Healer.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Malfoy swallow and draw a heavy drag of his cigarette.
“It’s good you recall that,” he said at long last.
Trying for humour, Harry gestured at the flowers. “When I wrote it, this isn’t exactly what I meant!”
Two spots of colour appeared high on his pale cheeks. At that moment, Harry came to the rapid conclusion that he had an enormous crush on Draco Malfoy and wanted to touch him.
“So…” Harry started, without a plan. “You’re my boyfriend.”
“Yes.”
“And we’re not enemies.”
“Not presently.”
“Would it…” Harry wished with all his might that he had a hole to jump into. Or a book he could read about kissing boys. “… Could I kiss you? Would that be all right?”
Draco smirked. Harry hated him approximately one per cent.
“I suppose that would be agreeable. Assuming you’re any good at it.”
“Tosser.” Nevertheless, he swivelled in his seat. With every ounce of courage he had, Harry plucked the cigarette from Draco’s lips and stubbed it out.
Draco’s eyes were grey and warm, and fluttered closed at the touch of Harry’s hand cupping his cheek.
He looked tired. Perhaps he didn’t get much sleep.
His lips were gentle against Harry’s; his mouth tasted of coffee and sweet smoke. Harry’s heart sang like a bird’s. Oh God.
They parted, and Draco draped his arm over Harry’s bare shoulders.
“What do you reckon? Am I any good?”
Draco smiled into Harry’s cheek. “Non-declarative memory, Harry.”
He decided he liked how Draco said ‘Harry’, as though it were honey on his lips.
“What?”
“Never mind.”
Harry curled his arm around Draco’s waist to pull him closer. “Do I like living here?”
“Yeah,” Draco said, brushing his lips to Harry’s forehead, “you do.”