Work Text:
These powerful bills are quite strong enough to to injure anything or anyone who dares to interfere with the birds. But now as the pair sit together on their nest site, they are used to deliver the most tender of caresses. What follows may seem like duelling but actually, it is once again a kind of dancing. The sequence of movements is long and complicated. If both partners perform without mistakes and in harmony then of course comes the most intimate act of all.
-Animal Romance and Mating of the Albatross Bird | David Attenborough | BBC Studios
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The Leaky Cauldron was crowded and loud, and Harry was sorely tempted to hide under the table to get away from it all. He’d already turned down Hermione’s invitation to attend three times in the last month, and he felt guilty putting her off again. Nevertheless, he’d regretted attending almost immediately. Over their pints, Hermione poked and prodded at Harry asking about his workload, his personal life, his future plans.
He knew she meant well, but Hermione’s intensity could be overbearing and Harry was feeling a bit hen-pecked by the time Pansy slid into the booth beside Hermione, giving her a kiss.
“Ugh, I’m exhausted,” she whinged. ”What’s wrong with Harry?” Pansy spoke to Hermione, as if Harry wasn’t even there. He grimaced and nibbled sullenly at a chip.
“He’s just upset that someone is finally calling him out for not taking care of himself.”
Harry scoffed.
Pansy gave him a once over. “I mean, she’s not wrong. Look at yourself.”
“I’m just saying,” Hermione cut back in. “You need to get out of the office some. Develop a hobby, take up bird watching or something. When did you last spend time outdoors anyway?”
Harry tuned her out as she continued her criticism. She was right, his tan skin was looking decidedly sallow instead of a healthy light brown. But the weather had been so dreary lately, and with so much going on at work he just hadn’t taken any time off lately. Weekends were full helping Andromeda around the house and—
“Or what about the last time you had a good shag?” The rhetorical question snapped him out of his musing. “You’re too stressed. You should come out with Pansy and I sometime, or let us set you up with one of the blokes in Pansy’s office.”
Harry groaned. “ Please Hermione, I came out to talk with you, not to be lectured.”
“All I am saying is that if you won't take care of yourself, maybe you should find someone who will take care of you instead.” She arched a brow at him and took a sip of her drink. Harry knew she was just trying to get a rise out of him, ruffle his feathers a bit.
“Seriously, Hermione? You of all people are telling me to go find some bloke to get off with? What, is he supposed to “settle me down” or something?
Hermione only lifted a shoulder and Pansy smirked into her glass, knowing better than to get in the middle of this conversation.
“Have you even eaten today?” She changed tact.
Harry picked up another chip, biting into it and chewing aggressively.
“So that’s a no then,” she huffed. “I’m just worried about you Harry, everyone is. You’ve got to get out of the office. You’re working way too many hours and you’re going to burn yourself out. This is just like after the war and—”
“Hermione,” he said sharply. Her mouth clicked shut and Pansy put an arm around her protectively. He took a deep breath, calming himself. “I appreciate your concern, truly, but I’m fine. Work is just really busy right now. Things will settle down and then I’ll be able to take some time off, ok? These cases are too important to let sit.”
“Sure, Harry,” Hermione said. But her flat tone and disapproving eyes told Harry she believed it as little as he did.
After a few minutes of awkward silence, Pansy stepped in. “So, how about those Harpies?”
When Harry arrived at the office the next morning, he found a granola bar sitting in the middle of his desk and shook his head in disbelief. Apparently Hermione had decided to take matters into her own hands. He tossed the granola bar into his top drawer for later.
Harry was fighting the beginnings of a migraine when he remembered the granola bar tucked into his desk and realised that he hadn’t eaten anything but the single piece of toast he’d had for breakfast, which was probably why he had a migraine… He opened the drawer begrudgingly, mentally preparing himself to choke down the dry, flavourless bar. But at the first bite, he moaned in pleasure instead. It wasn’t dry at all and didn’t taste like any protein bar he’d ever tried: chocolate with a hint of cherry and little nuts throughout to give it a satisfying crunch. The label was one he wasn’t familiar with, but he made a note to buy some next time he went shopping (which wasn’t often) and while he hated to eat crow, he owed Hermione a thank you.
Harry tossed the wrapper into the bin, resisting the urge to lick his fingers, and returned his focus to his most recent case.
The next morning, Harry was secretly delighted to find two bars on his desk. One was the same as yesterday, and the other was a caramel flavour. Hermione must have interpreted his acceptance of her food as a concession (which it was) and been emboldened by it. In addition to the bars, she’d left an emerald green water bottle. True, he never drank enough water either, often downing several glasses of it when he arrived home and realised he was parched. When he was at work, he drank coffee (which did have water in it).
He was surprised by the heft when he picked it up, opening the lid to find that she’d also filled it — as if he didn’t know how to do that himself. Merlin. Maybe he really should start taking better care of himself if she was this concerned about him. She had her own life; he couldn’t have her acting like a mother hen every day.
A few days later, Harry was in the middle of reviewing a case file when an owl dropped a wrapped parcel on top of his desk. Curious, he unwrapped it. No sooner had he cut the twine than the entire parcel began to move. A white linen place mat unrolled, covering the papers he’d been reviewing, a place setting coming to rest upon it. Harry watched speechless, as a baguette sandwich thudded onto the plate — brie and grape, he discovered upon inspection. It was… excessive. And very unlike Hermione, but he supposed she could have enlisted Pansy to help. She’d probably thought the elaborate stunt was hilarious.
Hermione had invited him over for dinner tomorrow, and he would talk with her then. The snacks were one thing, but this was too much. He didn’t want to offend her, but he wasn’t some baby bird, unable to feed himself and needing someone else to look after his every need.
That didn’t stop him from setting aside his work and tucking into the spread, or from licking the remains of the light sauce from his fingertips when he was done.
The next morning he found a delicate crystal bowl waiting for him on his desk. It was filled with a variety of bars, an apple, and a few little chocolates. It was set right next to his water bottle, which he’d discovered was charmed to refill automatically whenever the water level was too low. It was a clever bit of magic that he hadn’t seen before — very Hermione.
When an unsolicited cheese toastie with tomato soup arrived for lunch, he had to admit that he was disappointed it would come to an end. But it was for the best. It wasn’t fair of him to impose on Hermione in this way, even if she had initiated it. Besides, he had enough snacks in his bowl to last him until next weekend at the least.
“I appreciate it, Hermione, truly I do,” he said, between bites of quiche. “But it’s really too much. I can take care of myself.”
Hermione cocked her head quizzically. “It’s just dinner Harry, it’s hardly a bother.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about.” He set his fork down and rubbed at his temples. “The lunches, the snacks, the water bottle.” Hermione and Pansy exchanged a look. “What is that charm you used on the water bottle by the way? I’ve never seen it before.”
“I… have no idea what you’re on about Harry. What lunches?” She looked back at Pansy again who shrugged a shoulder and continued picking at her food.
Harry looked between them. Hermione’s look was shifting from confusion to concern.
“But, if it wasn’t you then…”
Pansy sighed. She often sighed around Harry. “What’s this about an enchanted water bottle?”
So, Harry told them about the bizarre events of the past week and how he’d assumed that Hermione must be behind it after their argument at the pub.
“Well, maybe it’s like Hermione said.” Pansy smirked, her dinner forgotten. “Maybe someone else noticed that you were in need of a little care and attention, and decided to do something about it.” She refilled her wine and leaned back in her chair. “If you ask me, I say don't mess with a good thing. Just eat the snacks, Harry. Eat the lunch. And be grateful that someone decided to take pity and feed you, when you’re so clearly incapable of managing it on your own.”
He’d been eating food set out by some stranger for the last week! It could have been from anyone. It could have been laced with a potion for all he knew, and he’d just eaten it up without a second thought. What was he thinking? He really should have just owled Hermione instead of assuming. But he supposed Pansy was right, there was no harm in continuing now. He really liked those bars.
Harry swore, nearly spilling his coffee when he walked straight into someone walking out of his office.
“Malfoy! What are you doing here?”
Draco's cheeks turned pink. “Potter, hello.” He sounded oddly surprised to see Harry in his own office. After an awkward pause in which he smoothed his own robes anxiously, he said, “I was… just coming to get your thoughts on a project I’m working on.”
“Oh,” replied Harry, now equally surprised. “Sure, um, have a seat.” He followed Draco back into the room, taking his place behind his desk.
Draco perched on the edge of the seat, unwilling — or unable — to relax. “I’ve been considering some renovations on the manor, and wanted to see if you had any suggestions.”
“Oh, er— I don't really work with permits so…”
“No, right, of course.” His hands fidgeted anxiously. “It's just that you did so much work on Grimmauld, I thought you might have some extra insight. What’s good for the goose is good for the gander, so they say.” Draco laughed nervously.
Harry blinked at him for a moment. Draco Malfoy coming to him for advice ? No wonder the man was nervous. Harry couldn’t recall the last time they’d interacted socially. They’d seen each other at Ministry events, of course, but always been careful to avoid one another, neither wanting to chance an uncomfortable encounter.
“All right then, let’s see it,” Harry sighed, holding out his palm for the rolled pieces of parchment Draco had pulled from his sleeve. Draco handed them over, and placed his hand on the desk, fingers beating out an oddly satisfying rhythm that made Harry’s brain feel all tingly.
“I’ve been thinking of expanding the east wing, here,” he said, gesturing to the map. “I was hoping to make it warmer, more inviting, but I’m not sure about the flow with the rest of the house, aesthetically speaking.” Draco’s eyes flitted to Harry’s before darting back down to the parchment. “Art deco, bohemian, craftsman,” —Draco seemed to wince at that— “glam… Which do you like?”
“Well I don’t know it matters much what I like,” —Draco’s cheeks coloured— “but I’ve always liked things a bit more mid-century modern, with a bit of bohemian perhaps. But I don’t know whether that would work in the manor. Have you talked to Pansy? She’d probably have better ideas.”
“Sure, of course, but what do you think about colour?” Draco pressed, starting intently at him like a bird of prey.
“Er, neutrals, with maybe a splash of colour for accent. But honestly Malfoy, why are you—”
“Oh, dear, look at the time, I've got to fly! Sorry to cut our chat short,” Draco said in a rush. He snatched the parchment off the desk, and the flash of silver rings caught Harry's eye. Every finger was adorned with a thick silver band, except for the one that held his signet ring of course — had he always worn so many?
Draco swept from the room leaving Harry flummoxed. What on earth was that? It was Malfoy’s house after all, it's not as if his opinion mattered
Odd duck . Harry shook his head and returned to work.
He’d forgotten all about Draco Malfoy and his strange questions by the time lunch arrived an hour later.
A flash of colour and movement caught Harry's eye, and he glanced up just in time to see the tail end of a black robe with a hint of turquoise disappear beyond the door frame.
He was scratching out a response to an inquiry from the DMLE when he saw it again. Harry pushed his chair back and darted to the door, but whoever it was, they were already gone.
Shaking his head at his own foolishness, Harry had just barely sat down when Draco breezed through the doorway, startling him. Draco sprawled in the chair on the other side of the desk and leaned forward, propping himself on the desk. A few silver ringed fingers pressed into the side of his cheek as he toyed with one dangling earring which drew Harry's attention to his mouth – his plush, pillowy lips. A little flutter of heat started in Harry's chest before he stamped it down.
“How do you feel about ochre?” Draco asked abruptly.
“Pardon?”
“Ochre. You know, the colour.” Malfoy clarified. Which didn’t clarify anything.
“Um, it's… fine?’
Draco pursed his lips. “Just fine? What about gold?”
Harry tossed his hands in the air in confusion. “They’re practically the same bloody colour.”
Draco's stare was filled with mock disappointment. “Really, Potter?”
Harry shrugged helplessly and Draco rolled his eyes, rising smoothly from the chair. When he turned to leave, Harry’s earlier curiosity over the mystery flash of colour was sated, as Draco’s exit revealed the thick turquoise stripe that ran from the nape of his neck to the tail of his robes — startlingly vibrant against the black.
“Malfoy.”
Draco paused in the doorway, looking over his shoulder.
“Nice robes.”
“Oh these old things?” He lifted the edge of his robe, holding it up, and the fabric fanned out and the stripe of colour grew revealing a stripe of yellow, framed in red, that had been hidden by the pleated fabric. ”Do you like them?”
“I do,” Harry admitted. “A bit flashy for my tastes.” Draco’s smile faltered and Harry found himself rushing to return it to his face. “But they look great on you! I mean you look…”
Draco waited expectantly.
“You look good,” Harry admitted with a blush on his cheek.
Malfoy preened, tossed his waterfall of blonde hair back over his shoulder and dropped the hem of his robe. The fabric swayed slightly as it settled, giving another glimpse of yellow and turquoise before Draco flounced from his office.
The itch at the back of Harry’s brain was gone now that he knew who the robes belonged to. It had been maddening to see them flit past his door all day. Now that he thought about it, Draco had been spending a lot of time in the area lately. Maybe he’d transferred departments.
Draco stopped by Harry’s office several more times before the week’s end with more oddly specific questions about the manor expansion. Instead of asking about the Grimmauld renovation, Draco wanted to know Harry’s thoughts on specific colour palettes and furniture, even his reading preferences. The whole thing left Harry baffled. He’d also learned that not only was Draco renovating the manor, but he was also building several additional properties around England and several in France. Harry had laughed, and asked what on earth Draco needed so many houses for and if he was planning to start some sort of menagerie. Draco had looked stricken, mouth working as he tried to respond, before he bolted up from the chair and flew from the office, citing an important appointment he was late to. Harry had just shaken his head, endlessly perplexed by the strange, frivolous behaviour of old money pureblood scions.
Meanwhile, the snack bowl refiled as if by magic each morning, much to Harry’s delight, and he dutifully emptied it each day before lunch appeared promptly at noon each day. Since falsely accusing Hermione of being the one who was secretly plying him with food, he had to admit that he was growing used to being pampered. Eating regularly had resulted in him being more energetic, and the brain fog that often haunted him in the afternoon had disappeared. Harry had never been good at listening to the needs of his body, but it shocked him to realise just how poor of a job he’d been doing. Hermione was right. He had been neglecting himself.
Something was different this morning — in the centre of his desk, next to his refilled snack bowl, was a flat, pink polished gemstone. Harry picked it up, curious. The smooth stone fit perfectly in his palm, his thumb comfortably fitting into the slight curve of the stone. It was cool and soothing in his hand — no rough edges or corners to catch on. It was a thoughtful gesture. He was always fidgeting with things, quills mainly, when he was thinking. The stone was pleasant and grounding. He smiled faintly and pocketed it.
It had become so routine that he’d nearly forgotten about his mysterious benefactor. He wished he knew who they were, and why they’d taken such an interest in him. There was never any sign, no notes, no letters — though Harry checked again anyway. Just the food, and now a small rock — a gift , he thought, feeling strangely warm.
Harry was still thinking about the rock and whoever had given it to him that evening as he sat on Hermione and Pansy’s couch for their regular Friday movie night. Hermione leaned into Pansy on one end while Harry sat on the other, legs curled beneath himself, watching 10 Things I Hate About You, Pansy’s favourite movie.
“What’ve you got there Harry?” Hermione asked, startling him from his thoughts. She’d spotted the rock as he flipped it from palm to palm.
“Oh, nothing really. Just this little rock that was on my desk this morning.”
Hermione bolted upright, nearly knocking the popcorn out of Pansy’s hands. Pansy swore.
“Neat! Can I see?” Hermione asked.
Pansy and Hermione’s home was littered with a collection of rocks and gems, though most were unpolished — Hermione always insisted she preferred them more natural. She’d started collecting them in Hogwarts, picking them up at Muggle shops whenever she went on vacation with her parents. The purchases started to become more extravagant as her expendable income grew post-graduation, though even those purchases paled in comparison to Pansy’s gifts when they’d just started dating. Hermione had feigned outrage of course, but every gift was displayed prominently in their home.
Harry passed her the cool stone.
“Rose quartz. This is lovely, Harry. Look darling.” Hermione rubbed a thumb across the rock, much as Harry had earlier that day, and held it up for Pansy to see.
Pansy’s eyes lit up.“Well isn’t that interesting…” She grinned wickedly at Harry and took the rock from Hermione’s fingers.
“What?” he said, confused.
“The food, I can ignore as you were obviously malnourished,” Pansy continued, eyeing him up and down as he squawked in outrage. “But now this ?” She tutted, shaking her head in mock sympathy.
Harry’s brow furrowed in confusion.
“You don’t know what a gift of rose quartz means, do you?”
He raised his eyebrows and waited for her to go on.
Pansy sighed. “Potter, you really are hopeless. Rose quartz is linked with your heart. It symbolises peace, harmony, passion and” —her eyes went to Harry’s meaningfully— “love.”
“Oh come off it. A rock left to you by a stranger is hardly a declaration of love.” Harry blushed red despite himself, catching the gemstone as Pansy tossed it back to him.
Hermione laughed. “Oh stop having a go, Pans,” she said, swatting playfully at her. “He’s embarrassed.”
“I’m serious,” Pansy said matter-of-factly before returning her attention to the movie. “These sorts of things are very important in pureblood culture. Someone’s got their eye on you. Have for some time if I had to guess.”
“A rock ?“ Harry asked incredulously.
“Hold on, is that why—” Hermione’s eyes widened in realisation.
“I mean, you can’t just come out and say it,” Pansy huffed, eyes glued to the screen.
“Pansy I—” Hermione tried to continue, only to be cut off again.
“Shhh! This is my favourite part,” Pansy insisted, and stuffed a few pieces of popcorn between Hermione’s lips to silence her.
Harry sighed, he wasn't going to get anything more from Pansy on the topic tonight. Hermione watched him with a thoughtful expression on her face.
He tried to focus on the movie, but his mind was spinning. Could someone really be courting him? No Pansy was probably having a go. She wasn’t usually a trickster, unlike Ginny, but this was just too absurd to believe. Who gave rocks as courting gifts? Sure, Pansy had, but that was different, Hermione loved rocks. And even if purebloods did give rocks as courting gifts (which he highly doubted), it wasn’t the case here.
It was impossible.
Laughable.
Right?
When Malfoy appeared in Harry’s doorway on Monday morning, he was dressed even more elaborately than before. The silk robes moved with him like water, enhancing his already graceful movements until he seemed to be floating across the room. Though the majority of the robe was a simple ebony, a shocking cardinal red fabric cinched his waist and tied in the back with a draping bow that trailed on the floor, creating a formal look. The neckline was decidedly deeper than traditionally cut robes and Harry’s attention was captured by the blood-red garnet dangling from a silver chain in the middle of Draco’s chest. He couldn't look away, admiring how the garnet contrasted with his pale skin. His gaze wandered the delicate line of his collarbone, the hollow of his throat… Harry swallowed and snapped his eyes back up to Malfoy’s, catching on the red double winged cat-eye liner. Malfoy was always dressed well, but this was something else entirely, and it was driving Harry to distraction.
“Are you going somewhere after this?” Harry blurted like an idiot.
“Why, whatever do you mean Harry?” Draco arched an eyebrow at him — as if this was a normal everyday look — and pulled his long hair over his shoulder, absently braiding a small section.
“You look really good.” Draco smirked as Harry spluttered, “I mean, you’re really dressed up is all.”
Draco looked down at his clothes as if checking Harry’s accusation. “Oh these old things?” Draco said teasingly. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Harry blushed red when Draco fluttered his eyelashes at him.
“I mean… It’s just… You’re—” Draco’s amused smile grew as Harry stumbled over his words, desperately trying to find a way out of the conversation.
Mercifully, Draco put him out of his misery. “Anyway, Blaise and I are playing a game of Quidditch after work today and I thought you might want to come by the manor.” Harry, not having recovered his ability to form rational thoughts, said nothing. “You do still play, don’t you?”
“You still play?” Harry winced, silently berating himself for his uselessness.
“Of course Potter, this body doesn’t maintain itself after all.” Draco flashed him a coy smile.
Harry blushed again, as an image of a very naked Draco Malfoy flitted through his head. He blamed his recent dry streak for his runaway imagination. He was quite fit, and with all that skin on display, the silky robes would be so easy to part, all he’d need to do was tug on that red belt and... Fuck ! He tried his best to bury those thoughts deep and tried (unsuccessfully) to banish the image.
“Right. Of course. What time?” Harry asked, slightly strangled.
“Six?” Draco offered nonchalantly, inspecting his black lacquered nails.
Harry nodded. “Brill.” Single-word responses were probably best.
Draco stood, tossing his hair over his shoulder and turning smoothly towards the door. The way the heavy silk hugged the curve of Malfoy’s arse was absolutely sinful, and Harry felt a fresh wave of arousal wash over him.
Merlin, what was wrong with him today? He readjusted himself in his trousers and tried unsuccessfully to focus on the paperwork in front of him.
The vision of Malfoy’s red eyeliner and exposed chest was still haunting him by the time he left the office. He was still thinking of it as he quickly changed at Grimmauld Place. Draco’s closet must be beautiful and colourful compared to his. His own clothing choice, a fitted band tee and joggers, was only slightly influenced by the fact that he knew the shirt would ride up a bit as he flew, and the thought of Draco’s eyes on him was oddly thrilling. Checking himself once over in the mirror, he nodded to himself and Apparated to Malfoy Manor.
Harry wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but was surprised to discover he wasn’t bothered by the sight of the manor. But as it was, he simply admired the gardens as his feet crunched on the gravel path approaching the gates. He couldn't recall much from the night he’d been dragged from the woods by Snatchers. He wondered if renovating the drawing room was part of Draco’s plans. As soon as Harry crossed on the manor grounds, Draco Apparated to the gates to greet him. Draco’s hair was up in a high ponytail, and he was wearing a loose teal crop top and black leggings (of all things). Harry nearly swallowed his tongue at seeing his lithe body so exposed.
“So glad you could come, Harry,” Draco said, playing with the ends of his ponytail. “Blaise ended up cancelling, and I hate flying alone. The pitch is this way.”
Harry’d been counting on Blaise’s presence as a buffer, and after his runaway imagination this afternoon, being alone with Draco made his skin feel too tight. When Draco turned with a swish of his hips, Harry found himself distracted once again by the indecently tight material practically painted onto his legs.
Madam Hooch. Dragons burning off my eyebrows. Hagrid. Snape kissing McGonagall. Birds pecking my eyes out. Harry tried to focus on anything other than Draco’s arse as he walked behind him. With his flimsy joggers (which he was regretting), his arousal would be embarrassingly obvious.
When they arrived at the pitch, Harry was quite proud of himself for having accomplished the feat of mental gymnastics. As long as he looked at the back of Draco’s head, the teasing view from his periphery was mostly tolerable.
Harry unshrunk his broom, which he’d stored in his pocket and Draco began doing something with his hair.
“It’d be a disaster if I left it down for flying,” Draco said, by way of explanation. “It’ll only take a minute.”
Harry couldn’t imagine anything ever tangling such silken strands. His hair looked so soft, falling like a sheet down his back when he let it loose. Harry was mesmerised by the complex, yet practised, movement of Draco's delicate fingers weaving strands of hair back and forth, while holding others out of the way. The dexterity required… Harry marvelled and tried not to think of what else the graceful, talented fingers might be able to do.
Harry swallowed hard, mentally shaking himself as Draco tied the complicated braid with a piece of leather and bent down to retrieve his broom. A sight that Harry quickly jerked his eyes away from, striding past Draco and onto the pitch.
Draco produced a golden snitch, holding it out to Harry in his palm. “Seeker’s game?” he asked with mischief in his eyes.
“Alright,” Harry agreed, mounting his broom and shooting into the sky grateful for the cool air and space as Draco released the snitch.
They circled the pitch in counter-sync to one another. Harry did his best to keep his eyes on their surroundings, searching for the snitch, and not on Draco leaning over his broom — or his arse in those bloody leggings.
When they swept past each other, Draco changed his trajectory. Instead of passing metres below, he swooped upward, quickly rolling to his side as he brushed past Harry. The tail of his braid whipped against his cheek, leaving it stinging. Harry huffed a laugh, rolling his eyes to himself as he kept flying. Show off.
Harry tried feinting several times, but Draco didn’t react to any of them. After several loops around the pitch with Draco passing close enough to graze Harry each time, Draco suddenly turned, cutting an impossibly sharp angle to come up alongside Harry. At first, Harry thought Draco had seen the snitch, but he wasn’t rushing towards anything. He was simply mirroring Harry’s broom movements.
Their shoulders and thighs pressed together as Draco leaned in, following Harry every time he moved. Harry’s skin heated at the feel of Draco’s hot skin through the fabric. Thoroughly distracted by sensation, he nearly missed Draco catching the snitch as it flew right under Harry’s nose.
“I’m not about to let you win this time, Potter,” he taunted.
Harry was ruffled and turned on. He was at a loss of what to do. Draco hadn’t done or said anything to express interest in Harry outright and they hadn’t been close during school. Draco had always had a flair for the dramatic — maybe this is how he was with all his friends.
He imagined Pansy’s arched brow as she silently judged him. The way Draco was looking at him was difficult to ignore.
“The weather’s changing.” Draco’s cheeks were flushed from the wind and stray wisps of hair had escaped his braid. “Let’s call it a day. I’ll make us a cuppa to warm up.”
Flying off before Harry could argue, Harry had no choice but to follow. A gentle rain was falling by the time they landed and Draco offered his hand to Harry for a Side-Along. Harry took it without hesitation and a bolt of electricity zipped through his body that had nothing to do with the impending rainstorm.
Draco didn't let go of his hand, tugging him down the hall. “I want to show you something first,” Draco explained.
When they reached the end of the hall, Draco gestured Harry forward to open the door, hovering behind him. Harry stepped into the space, recognisable from the designs Draco had asked him about, and gasped. It was beautiful. Light and airy, while managing to be distinctly homey. He’d passed other redorated rooms and those had been more modern: beautiful but cold. But not this; this space was warm and inviting. He was overwhelmed by a desire to drop down into one of the pouffes scattered about the living room, tired from Quidditch.
“Do you like it?” Draco asked almost shyly, stepping from behind him and nervously fidgeting with his hair again.
“It’s amazing,” Harry answered honestly, looking around the room again in appreciation. “If I could design my perfect space, I think this would be it. It must have been a lot of work.”
Draco let out a sigh and his shoulders relaxed. A broad relieved smile overtook his face. “It was. I’m so glad you like it.”
Draco’s tone made Harry pause, puzzle pieces connecting together. A sudden niggling question wormed its way into his consciousness. “Draco, why did you bring me here? To this room.”
He looked suddenly uncomfortable and the tension that had been building between them fizzled as Draco took a small step back, stammering out an explanation. “Well you looked at my original designs, so I thought you might want to see them.” He wouldn’t meet Harry’s eyes.
“It’s very different from the rest of the manor,” Harry continued, suspicion creeping into his voice. “Are you redecorating everything to this style?”
“Er, maybe?” Draco said it like a question, still refusing to make eye contact.
Harry didn’t know what was going on, but Draco was clearly evading his questions, refusing to give him a straight answer. He felt a strange pull towards Draco and combined with the strangeness of the situation, it made him uneasy.
“Right. I should probably go.” Harry began walking backwards slowly. “See you at work sometime?”
“Right. See you at work.” Draco looked utterly crestfallen, nibbling his lip and twisting his hands as Harry turned to leave.
Harry Floo’d straight to Hermoine and Pansy’s flat, finding Pansy in the kitchen making a cup of tea.
“Merlin, Harry, sit down and have a cuppa. You look like you could use it.” Pansy laughed, and began preparing another cup. Harry had always been bad at hiding his emotions.
He flopped onto the couch, leaning his head back and closing his eyes to think. He liked Draco. He did. But this odd behaviour confused him, made him wonder what Draco was playing at and whether he was interested in him in the same way. On top of that, he still had the Mystery Person leaving little gifts on his desk. Whoever it was, he felt like he owed them something, somehow, something instinctual in him felt like a physical relationship with Draco was a betrayal. Which was ridiculous since he’d never asked for the gifts in the first place! His head was spinning. It had been one weird event after another lately and his emotions were all over the place.
The cushion dipped as Pansy sat down next to him. “Do I need to call Hermione? She’s at work for a bit longer yet.”
“No, it’s nothing like that.” Harry turned towards Pansy, accepting the tea from her gratefully, inhaling the minty steam and exhaling some of his stress. Pansy folded her legs beneath her, sipping her tea and waited.
Harry sighed before launching into a retelling of his day. “So, I was just at Malfoy Manor…” he began.
“Harry.” Pansy finally interrupted his rambling exploitation. “He’s courting you.”
“He’s… what ?”
“He’s been into you for ages. I’m just glad he finally did something about it.”
“Pans, no. Sure he’s been a little flirty, but it’s mostly just been weird. I don’t know what to think.”
Rolling her eyes, Pansy stood and plucked one of the books from the built-ins along the wall.
“You’re going to want to read this. You can skip to page 57.” She tossed him the leather bound tome gold inlay decorating the feathers embossed onto the cover. “From what you’ve just told me, he’s bypassed a few steps. But if he’s building houses for you it’s pretty serious.”
“Building houses?!” Harry spluttered.
“I’m going to open a bottle of wine…” She trailed off, leaving Harry gaping as he stared down at the book in his hands, opening it to the marked page: Chapter 4: Signalling and the Art of the Chase . On the opposite page was a picture of several different rocks listing their meanings, including one he recognized. Rose quartz.
By the time Hermione arrived home several hours later, Harry was nearing the end of the book and Pansy was opening a second bottle of wine.
“Hello Harry, what are you…” She trailed off, clearly recognizing the text. “Oh… Oh no.” She tried to stifle her laugh, covering her mouth with her hand.
“It’s not funny, Hermione!” Harry’s cheeks grew red again.
Pansy handed Hermione a glass of wine. “I mean. It’s kind of funny though, isn’t it? You two are completely hopeless. I don’t know why you didn’t just tell me about this earlier. I mean honestly Harry, you didn’t think to mention the outfits?”
“I’m sorry Harry,” Hermione said, mirth still evident in her tone. “I just assumed Ron had told you.” Harry just glared.
“Don’t worry Harry. Hermione was just as clueless as you.”
“Hardly!” Hermione protested, swatting at Pansy playfully. “Once I realised you’re all practically just birds, it was easy! I mean honestly, who came up with these rituals?” Pansy shoved her back lightly before tugging her close by a belt loop and kissing her protests away.
Harry returned to his book shaking his head. It was ridiculous. But it did explain a lot. Still, Harry had a lot to sort through before he decided how he felt about the whole fiasco.
The next morning, Harry knocked lightly on Malfoy’s office door. He was in more subdued colours today, something that Harry now knew the meaning of. Against his instincts, Draco was trying to give Harry space.
The hopeful look in his eyes when he saw it was Harry soothed his nerves. “So, it seems like perhaps I’ve been misunderstanding you…”
“Well of course it was me, Harry! Merlin, I thought you knew, but this certainly explains a few things. I thought you were just playing coy.”
Harry laughed. “I can’t act to save my life.”
“So, if you had known…” Draco leaned in, lowering his voice.
Now that Harry understood the reasons for his odd behaviour and knew that he’d been the one sweetly caring for Harry for the last few months, he felt much more at ease. He’d tossed and turned all night thinking about it, but ultimately realised this was something he wanted with Draco. Creating a space in his house for him (because clearly Draco had rebuilt the wing with Harry in mind) still felt extreme, but was certainly better than unsolicited dick pics to express interest.
“Yesterday would have ended… differently.” Harry bit his lip and watched as Draco’s pupils dilated.
“Oh really,” Draco responded with a wicked light in his eyes as he leaned forward over Harry's desk.
“Yes, and we’re at work,” he said to remind both of them. Draco sank back into his chair. “Can we talk about this later?”
“Sure.” Draco played with his hair again, suddenly shy. “So, it’s alright if I court you?”
“I mean, I don’t see why we can’t just date, but whatever makes you comfortable, Draco.”
“Come over to mine for dinner?”
“I’d love to.” Harry leaned awkwardly across the desk to peck Draco on the cheek before practically running out of Draco’s office. If he stayed in his office any longer he wouldn’t be able to resist sitting in Draco’s lap and skipping work altogether. To say he was looking forward to tonight would be an understatement. Now that he’d sorted his emotions and understood Draco’s odd behaviour, he was eager to explore the clear spark between them.
Draco’s hair was braided into an elaborate pouffe, which made Harry smirk — knowing it was all for him.
“I shouldn’t have assumed,” Draco sighed. “But you are just so… magical… that I forget you didn’t grow up in our world. When did you realise that I was courting you?”
“Oh you know… Pansy. I told her that you were being dodgy, and she knew right away.”
Draco huffed a laugh. “Dodgy,” he muttered under his breath. “Of course she did.”
“And, she gave me a book… I read it.”
“Did you?” Draco’s cheeks coloured and he coughed into his hand. “Well I guess you know everything then, don’t you.”
“I can’t believe you built a new wing of your house for me. You do realise how insane it is.”
“I am sure it seems that way to you. But I’ll admit, I may have come on a little… strong.
“A little,” Harry admitted, “but I like it.”
Draco’s eyes sparked and Harry’s stomach flipped as a little thrill ran through him. After reading the book, he understood why his emotions had felt so much bigger than usual. The magic of the courting rituals heightened his natural emotions. If he hadn’t been interested in Draco, it would have driven him away, but because he was already attracted to him, it had pulled them closer and driven him spare.
Draco watched Harry, twisting the stem of his wine glass in thought. “It's different for Pansy, you know. Her parents disinherited her. She followed some of the courting steps out of a desire to do right by Hermione because of her upbringing. But Pansy was able to pick and choose, leaving out certain… more traditional elements. But for heirs it’s different. It's like there’s an itch under my skin, urging me forward. Driving me to find my—” Draco cut himself off and took a deep breath to calm himself. “I ignored it for as long as I could but it’s always been worse around you, pushing me towards you. I’ve known for ages.”
Harry hadn’t known that — maybe it was in the first section that Pansy had him skip over. “Like a soul bond?”
Draco fluttered his hands in a noncommittal gesture. “Not quite, as you know soul bonds have never been proven. But it is ancient magic. No one really understands how it works, or why.” He shrugged then looked hesitantly up at Harry. “I’ve been wanting to do… other things. Other parts of the courting ritual, but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“Draco, I’m here aren’t I? I know what this is and I’m not leaving. I read a whole book and everything.” Harry was rewarded by a laugh from Draco before he grew serious again.
“Can I sing to you?” Draco finally blurted out. Pink coloured his cheeks as he avoided Harry’s eyes.
Harry was speechless for a moment. Ok, maybe he hadn’t read the entire book, it was rather long after all and he wasn’t known for being meticulous.
“Right now?”
“If that’s all right. I don’t know why, but it's been something I’ve wanted to do all week. It’s hard to resist breaking into a musical number every time I’m around you.”
Harry laughed.
“It’s not a lark! It’s bloody inconvenient,” Draco complained.
Harry laughed harder and Draco grinned. “It is kind of funny.”
“Are you going to let me serenade you or not, my dove.” Draco said softly, his voice taking on a tone Harry hadn’t heard before. It quieted Harry’s mirth, the air between them soft and intense all at once.
“Can we go to your room?” Harry asked, licking his lips nervously.
Draco nodded and took his hand, leading him through the manor and into a wing that Harry hadn’t seen before. Draco didn’t release his hand until he pushed Harry to sit in the settee and strode to stand before the windows. He looked at Harry, taking a deep breath like he was about to begin. Harry watched in fascination, but Draco exhaled suddenly, his focus broken.
“Stop that,” Draco snapped.
“What?”
“Stop… looking at me like that.” Draco scowled.
“Like what?” Harry laughed.
“Ugh, Never mind. Just… sit there.” He turned away from Harry. It was quiet for a long time. Harry was about to tell Draco that it was alright, that he didn’t need to sing to him, when Draco’s voice filled the air.
People had always whispered that the Malfoys had Veela blood, but now he wondered if Draco could be part Siren. Harry had never heard anything so beautiful — so clear and stirring. He couldn’t move. Could hardly breathe.
Then Draco started moving. The dance was nearly hypnotic. Little prancing hops, graceful twirls where Draco bent backwards, in a delicate arch that had Harry wishing he could touch him. He was wearing one of those pleated robes again, the sleeves and skirt spreading far wider than Harry thought possible, revealing an array of colours that were strikingly different but beautifully complimentary at the same time.
Harry felt it then, a stirring in his core, different from the lust that was also growing by the second as he watched Draco’s body weave in the last few rays of sunlight, voice sweeter than any songbird. There was something tugging, an instinct, pulling him towards this man. Urging him to watch, to touch, to stay — it was raw and primal, the oldest of magics enhancing his own urges; Draco’s. This time, understanding what was happening, he let it sweep him away.
Draco danced closer, staying just out of reach as he flitted from side to side. Harry leaned back into the couch, spreading his legs wide in invitation. Draco stepped between them and leaned forward, neck extended as his head tipped back twisting side to side as he raised his arms, enveloping them in the billowy sleeves. He still hadn’t touched Harry, and though Harry longed to touch him, to pull him into his lap, Draco was still singing, and he didn’t want to ruin this for him. Harry kept his hands at his side as his breathing grew shallow.
Draco sank down to the floor before slowly standing up. Beneath the robes, Harry couldn’t make out Draco’s figure, but it didn’t seem to matter. Harry pressed a hand to his aching cock trying to provide some sort of relief and Draco’s eyes were predatory as he followed the movement.
He crawled atop Harry, one knee on either side of his hips, hitching his robes up as he did. Harry finally allowed himself to run his hands up and down Draco’s sides as he gyrated above Harry’s lap. Their chests brushed together, but Draco still didn’t lower himself and Harry focused on staying still.
Draco’s restraint was extraordinary. Harry’s was not. He was panting, letting his head drop back as he squeezed his eyes closed, unable to stop his hands from running lightly along Draco’s body. It was too much and he couldn’t help himself. Harry reached between them, under the skirt of Draco’s robes. The song faltered as Harry ghosted his finger against Draco’s soft inner thigh.
When Draco didn’t stop him, Harry grew bolder. Maybe he was supposed to interrupt this after all. He continued upward, pressing his hand to the front of Draco’s briefs. The song broke off as Draco practically fell forward to kiss Harry, bucking his hips into Harry’s hand.
Harry’s other arm wrapped itself around Draco’s waist tugging them together and ground up against Draco’s hard cock, groaning into the kiss.
His skin felt like it was burning and Harry broke away to take a breath, before trailing kisses down Draco’s throat.
“So. Fucking. Beautiful,” he said, pressing kisses to creamy skin between each word. “Let me see you,” he begged, tugging at Draco’s elaborate robes.
In a wingbeat, Draco vanished the robes, leaving him in a pair of tight briefs and another fucking crop top. Harry groaned, running his hands along Draco’s stomach and dipping his fingers teasingly below Draco's waistband.
Draco whimpered. “Harry,” he gasped. Gooseflesh ran down Harry’s arms and he gripped Draco tighter, standing to walk them to the bed.
He laid Draco on the bed gently, crawling atop him and dropping kisses to every inch of skin he could reach until Draco’s insistent tugging on his hair forced their lips together again. Harry pressed Draco into the mattress, their bodies moving together as one until the only thing in the world that made sense was the feel of Draco’s body under his.
Draco slipped from the bed sometime later, returning with a cheeseboard and fruits. Harry reached for a bite but Draco slapped his hand away and insisted on feeding Harry himself. Harry leaned back against the pillows, feeling warm and sleepy.
“That was… intense.” It was an inadequate way to describe what had happened. Harry had slept with enough people to know the difference between good and bad sex, but this had been nearly incomparable.
Draco hummed. “Yes, I can feel it. The magic is satisfied apparently. It’s different for everyone but I’d heard that sometimes it can be… transcendent?” Clearly Draco couldn’t find the right word either.
“So what does that mean? That the magic is satisfied?”
“I don’t know really,” Draco said, setting down the cheeseboard and snuggling back next to him “If this was a typical courtship we’d have already been married before…” He trailed off gesturing back and forth between them.
“Before you fucked me stupid?”
“Yes, that.” Draco bit his lip and it took immense willpower for Harry not to bite it back. “The whole ‘building thing’ is usually done as part of a formal proposal, so I think the magic thinks that there’s a similar type of commitment between us. It’s probably why it was so difficult for me to be away from you the last few weeks.” Draco pursed his lips thoughtfully before quickly jerking upright. “But of course I don’t expect you to—”
Harry silenced him with a kiss, pressing him back into the mattress. “Do you want me to stay, Draco?”
Draco searched his face, and Harry could see the hesitation and fear in his eyes. “Yes,” he whispered desperately. The longing in that one word was enough to wrench Harry’s heart out of his chest, if it hadn’t already belonged to Draco.
Harry kissed him again softly. “Then I’ll stay,” he murmured against his lips, nuzzling against him and holding him close.
“Besides,” Harry added after a few minutes. “We should probably do that a few more times just to make sure the magic gets the hint, don’t you think?” He rolled his hips against Draco’s thigh to demonstrate his point.
“Oh, absolutely.” Draco grinned, winding his hands into Harry’s hair and pulling him into a kiss.