Chapter Text
Draco booked a Portkey to Barcelona for New Year's Eve. Emile was throwing a party, as promised, though it would be nothing like Pansy's. Emile's parties were louder, wilder, and someone always ended up breaking a lamp, kissing someone else's date, or stealing wine from the corner shop before dawn. Draco worried he might be getting too old for that nonsense, but he couldn't bear to spend the evening alone in his flat; not when he knew Harry was out there looking for someone to kiss.
Draco bought a new suit for the occasion. It wasn't often he shopped off the rack, but time was short, and he needed something flash. It was deep green, silk, and so utterly predictable. Harry would have laughed his arse off about it, which was half the reason Draco bought it. The other half was because it made his legs look a mile long and flattered all his best features when paired with a crisp white shirt.
The Paris Portkey Point was in chaos by nine o'clock on New Year's Eve. Witches and wizards in fancy dresses, sequins, silk, and glitter flitted everywhere, grabbing a quick trip to the next big party. A large group of British travellers caught Draco's attention. They couldn't have been a day over twenty, but they were all so glamorous in their dishevelled drunkenness, arms thrown around the shoulders of their friends as they laughed and shouted.
Draco experienced an unexpected pang between his ribs. Pansy was probably dripping in diamonds and getting so drunk on champagne she'd be screeching. And Draco would bet Blaise was flouncing about in purple silk, prattling on about Muggle entrepreneurial spirit. And gods, what would Lovegood wear for such an occasion? Would Hermione have to sit and watch Weasley get sloshed and sing Auld Lang Syne? Because that sounded like something he might do. And then there was Harry. Would he be waiting for Draco?
What the bloody hell was he doing? Draco didn't want to go to Spain. He didn't want to spend the final moments of the year drinking to forget that as soon as the clock struck midnight, Harry would give up on him. Harry would find someone else to chase and, Merlin, just the thought of it had the jealousy burning hot and vicious beneath Draco's skin.
But Draco couldn't go to London. That would be mad. What did he expect to do? Waltz right in, grab Harry by those lovely curls that twisted at the nape of his neck and kiss him? Because if he did that, there would be nowhere left to hide, and he'd be at Harry's mercy. Harry would have a choice: take him or leave him.
Yes, it was definitely mad. But what was madder? Exposing himself to the world, or losing Harry forever?
Draco's heel tapped restlessly as he chewed his cheek, eyes darting over the groups of party-ready travellers.
"Oh, f*ck it all," he said with a final growl and got to his feet.
Draco shoved through the crowds to get to the counter, where an exhausted looking witch sorted through a box of junk that made up the evening's Portkeys.
"I need a Portkey to London. Immediately," Draco said, tone clipped and authoritative as he leaned forward, palms flat on the counter.
She barely glanced up from the telephone shaped like a banana — its cord tangled up with a tyre iron. "Sorry. That lot's got the last one." She extracted the tyre iron and shot a spell at the banana phone. She tossed it behind her into a teetering heap of seemingly random items.
Draco followed the tilt of her chin to the glamorous and drunken group he'd just admired.
sh*t.
It was illegal. Very illegal. But perhaps the Head Auror had some pull in the Department of Magical Transportation? And Pansy would bail him out if he got caught, wouldn't she?
Draco smoothed a hand through his hair and painted his face with his most charming smile. Chin held high, he strode up to the group.
"Evening," he said, dropping his voice an octave as he addressed a young woman in a glittering shift. "I'm sorry to bother you. But I have a favour to ask. It's an emergency, I'm afraid."
The girl's eyes widened as she scanned Draco from the shiny tips of his shoes to the tousle of his hair. Two dots of colour appeared on her cheeks. Perfect.
"What do you need?" she asked.
"This is very embarrassing," Draco said, leaning in. "But, you see, the love of my life is in London, and this is the last Portkey to the UK tonight. If I don't get there, it's all over. He'll find someone else, and that will be the end of it."
This drew the attention of two of her friends, whose eyes lit on Draco, and they began whispering.
The girl in the sequin shift absolutely melted, her hand pressed against her chest. "That's so romantic! Do you want to come with us? We don't mind!" Her friends nodded enthusiastically.
"If it wouldn't be too much trouble," Draco replied with a courteous bow.
"Alright, five seconds, London!" the distracted witch at the counter shouted across the room.
The girls bundled him in next to them, obscuring him from view.
"You're too kind," Draco purred.
"So, what's your sweetie's name?" another girl asked.
Draco smiled at her. "Harry Potter."
Her slackened expression of shock was the last thing Draco saw before landing firmly on British soil.
****
It was ten thirty in London, and Draco struggled to hail a cab. The Apparition Points were far too busy, and walking was out of the question as it had begun to snow. Draco's dress shoes were no good on slick pavement, and he refused to risk ruining his trousers by falling on his arse.
Draco was ready to start subtly casting spells to get the attention of one of the little black cabs because, bloody hell, how did Muggles do this, when one came screeching to a stop in front of him. He huffed out a breath of relief and tucked himself into the warm interior. He gave Pansy's Kensington address to the cabbie, who grunted in response.
Draco didn't care for automobiles. He'd been in a few before — cabs, cars, and one horrible ride on a bus because Emile said it was part of the experience — but he hated being jostled around in traffic. The stop-and-go made his stomach churn, and the back seats of cabs always smelled odd. But Draco found that if he kept his eyes on the world outside the window, he could probably make it as far as Chelsea before he got sick.
The mobile in Draco's pocket dinged.
Draco wiggled it from his tight trousers and glanced at the screen.
Harry.
Draco still didn't quite have the hang of the mobile, but he practised his typing by texting back and forth with Emile and Lilian, until Emile began sending him raunchy photos 'by accident', and Lilian told him that he was no longer allowed to text her orders from the back room.
Draco hadn't heard from Harry since the conversation on Christmas Eve.
His thumb hovered over the icon of the envelope as he chewed his lip. He opened the message.
This party is stupidly glamorous. You'd love it. You're missing out.
Draco grinned. Prove it, he typed.
The photo in Harry's reply was a little grainy and blurry, but the light in Pansy's townhouse appeared soft and golden, practically sparkling. That meant Pansy splurged on the fairies, the show-off. Draco squinted at the image and thought he could see Pansy in a shimmery gold number, and Hermione next to her in a deep red that complimented her beautifully. There were other people there too, though Draco couldn't make them out — decked in finery, happy and in motion.
Tell me you didn't show up in denim, Draco sent back.
The cab slammed to a halt, and Draco hissed as his head smacked against the seat back.
"Sorry, mate," the cabbie grumbled. "Looks like we've got a wreck up ahead. Can't get around."
"I'll get out here," Draco said. He fished a handful of crisp Muggle pounds and flung them over the seat at the driver before stepping out of the cab into the whip sharp air. He sucked in a deep breath to soothe his stomach as he wound himself in warming charms. The Muggles sometimes stared when he didn't wear a coat, but Draco's suit was far too elegant to be covered.
Draco strode briskly in the direction of Pansy's townhouse, checking the watch on his wrist as he went. He'd wasted nearly thirty minutes in that bloody cab. He was running out of time. Draco supposed he could just tell Harry he was on his way, but he desperately wanted to see the look on his face when Draco arrived. Something told Draco that look would mean everything.
Harry was never particularly good at schooling his expressions. When happy, he beamed. When angry, steam practically poured from his ears. And Draco needed to know what Harry thought when he saw him. Would he show surprise? Relief? Disappointment? Or, gods, indifference? Did he already have his eyes set on someone else in that room? Someone tucked into the circle of his arm, laughing at his stupid jokes, keeping his drink full.
A scowl was forming on Draco's face when the phone in his pocket dinged again. He opened it without thinking, and the photo attached had Draco stumbling over the kerb and nearly landing face-first in fresh snow.
It was Harry, standing in front of the mirror behind Pansy's bar, in a suit. And not just any suit, a gorgeous suit — black velvet with a white shirt, unbuttoned to his sternum. He had one hand tucked into his trouser pocket and the other wrapped around his phone, pointed at the mirror. The mobile obscured most of his face, but his hair was a gloriously tousled mess, and he wore that signature crooked smirk, the one featured in every single one of Draco's fantasies since he was fourteen.
Draco picked up his pace.
It wasn't long before he could see the row of uniform Kensington townhouses with their white facades, black trim, and short iron fences.
His phone chimed again, and when Draco looked down at the screen, he smirked.
It was a picture of Emile with one arm around a dashing man with sandy hair, laying a sloppy kiss on the sharp cheekbone of another.
Say hi to Harry for me. I expect details. LOTS of details. Bonne année! Bisous!
By the looks of it, Emile wasn't waiting on Draco. Hell, he probably suspected all along Draco wouldn't make it. He so often knew what Draco needed before Draco did himself.
At last, Draco jogged up the steps to Pansy's townhouse, raised his fist to knock, then hesitated. He could hear the commotion from outside — the blaring music, raucous shouts, the chorus of laughter. Either Pansy forgot the Silencing charm, or the party was just that loud. Draco huffed a laugh as he dropped his hand. He turned the knob and opened the door.
Draco was hit by a wall of sound and warmth. The room beyond was sparkling. Fairies danced across the ceiling, and Pansy's chandelier cast glittering golden light around the room. The furniture had been pushed against the walls, where people heaped atop them, laughing with drinks in hand. The floor, left wide open, was filled with clusters of people dancing, arms thrown around each other, swaying, jumping, and spinning beneath the shimmering lights.
Draco spun when he heard a squeal of joy just in time for Pansy to come flying into his arms in a cloud of expensive perfume.
"Draco, you came!" she said, breathless as she released her vice grip around his neck, lowering both stilettos back to the floor. She held his face between her hands and kissed each of his cheeks as Draco blushed and tried to stifle his smile. Pansy could be overly effusive after too much to drink, and if the scent of champagne on her breath was any indication, she was already at least four glasses deep.
"Sorry I'm late, darling," Draco said, squeezing her hand as he scanned the crowd. "Got the last Portkey out of Paris. Practically had to hitchhike here."
"Oh, you poor thing. Come, come. Let's get you a drink. Luna! Look who's here!" Pansy shrieked at Lovegood, who was filling champagne flutes positioned on a floating silver tray.
"Hello, Draco," she said when they approached, pouring the golden liquid from the bottle right to the rim of the glass, where it quivered, threatening to spill over.
"Lovegood, you look stunning," Draco said, taken aback.
Lovegood's gown — and it was a gown — was a voluminous thing in midnight blue, threaded through with stripes of silver thread.
"Thank you! I love the New Year. Can't have too much glitter." She shifted her hips, swishing the skirt side to side so it caught the light and sparkled like a disco ball, spraying crystal patterns across the floor and over the walls. Draco's mouth fell open.
"Isn't it something?" Pansy asked, plucking one of the overfilled champagne glasses from the tray and handed it to Draco.
"Indeed," he agreed. He darted out his tongue to capture the drops of liquid that spilt over the brim of the glass, eyes flicking up and skittering over the party guests only to land on a bright green pair already fixed on him. Draco's heart stuttered to a halt in his chest.
Harry lounged on the arm of Pansy's jewel-toned sofa across the room, one foot flat on the ground, the other hanging casually in the air, a beer bottle dangling between his fingers. He looked loose, and lovely, and completely bloody gobsmacked. He stared back at Draco, lips tipping to one side in a lopsided grin.
Draco took a sip of his drink to hide the width of his own smile.
Harry's attention was drawn away as he leaned down to listen to something Hermione whispered into his ear from her seat on the sofa next to him. But his eyes slipped back up to Draco again and again.
Pansy was still talking, though Draco hadn't heard a word of it. Fortunately, she had yet to notice Draco's focus diverted elsewhere, and carried on about the decorations, the guest list, and where she had found her dress — a very tiny gold number that shimmered and shifted like dragon scales. Lovegood, on the other hand, watched him with a small, secret smile on her face.
When Pansy transferred her monologuing to a couple who'd wandered up for a glass of champagne, Lovegood turned to Draco.
"We're so glad you decided to come back. I knew you would."
"Did you?"
She nodded, and Draco hung his head, chuckling.
"Then you knew before I did," he admitted.
"Sometimes you have to travel the wrong direction for a while before you realise you're lost." Draco lowered his glass, blinking in surprise. "But that's alright, because it's never too late to turn around, though it might take a little longer to find your way again."
Lovegood tipped to the side, resting a chin on Pansy's shoulder. Pansy wrapped a hand around Lovegood's waist and dropped a red lipstick kiss on her cheek, then carried on chattering away.
"Will you excuse me?" Draco said, but it came out choked.
Lovegood smiled as Draco backed away.
Draco didn't beeline for Harry, though it pained him. He tried to keep his pace meandering and casual, but he kept his eyes on Harry with every step closer that he took. He greeted Greg, who introduced Draco to his new girlfriend. He received a slap on the back from Blaise, accepted a hug from Hannah, and a handshake from Longbottom, who stood at her side.
Harry didn't move an inch from his perch. He simply watched Draco make his way slowly across the room with dark eyes and a knowing smile. Draco hoped that by the time he got there, he would know what to say, would know what to expect, but then he was only a few paces away, and Harry was there, waiting.
But before Draco reached him, a blockade in a flattering shade of red diverted his path. Hermione stared him straight in the eye, shoulders raised and jaw tight, as if prepared for a fight. But then the air in her puffed chest rushed from her all at once.
"Go on, then," she said, with a resigned shake of her head. She stepped aside to loop her arm around Weasley's outstretched elbow and followed him to the terrace.
And then Harry was there, sitting right in front of him, looking up at Draco with one eyebrow raised.
"Took you long enough," Harry said.
Draco sniffed. "Do you know how hard it is to get a Portkey overseas on New Year's Eve?"
"I meant getting across the room, you arse," Harry said with a snort. He shook his head and pushed to his feet so he was nearly nose to nose with Draco. He reached out a hand and ran the lapel of Draco's jacket between his fingers. "That's quite a suit."
"Just something I had lying around," Draco replied, then smirked. "Do you like it?"
Harry nodded. "It's very… you." His fingers smoothed down the fabric of the jacket all the way to the single button done at Draco's waist. Then, he dropped his hand and looked back up into Draco's eyes.
"And what about you?" Draco asked, tilting his chin towards Harry. "I'd say this is quite the improvement on the usual jeans and t-shirt."
"I happen to know you like my t-shirts."
"It's what's in them that I like." Draco had to fix his eyes on the perfectly fitted shoulder seam of Harry's jacket to get those words out, but when he glanced back at Harry's face, it was to see his brows twitch inward, smile wavering, for only a moment. But then it returned in full force — nearly blinding.
Draco reached out a hand to brush his thumb across the crest of Harry's cheekbone. He pulled his hand back to inspect his fingertip. "Is that glitter?"
Harry shrugged. "Luna insisted. She picked the suit too."
"I'm not sure about the accessorising, but the rest is dashing. Well done, Lovegood."
"Yeah, well, I told her I was aiming for a kiss."
"I think Pansy would rip your bollocks off if you tried to kiss Lovegood," Draco said gesturing towards the pair, in silvery blue and shining gold, dancing and spilling champagne all over the floor as they spun.
Harry chuckled. "Yeah, I wasn't talking about Luna."
"Alright then, who are your top candidates? Perhaps I can offer some guidance."
Harry hummed and tilted his head. "Lee Jordan looks nice in a suit. And Michael Corner's been making eyes at me all night." Harry glanced at someone over Draco's shoulder and waved.
Draco spun around to see Corner blushing furiously. He slapped Harry's hand out of the air with a scowl, and Harry laughed.
"But now you're here," Harry said. He lifted his gaze back to Draco, calculating and perhaps the slightest bit shy. It was enough to make Draco's stomach jump in anticipation.
"I'm here." Draco tipped forward, only too ready to fall into him, but Harry held him back with a hand at his chest.
"Going to stick around?"
"Haven't anywhere else to be," Draco said.
Harry's eyes flicked between Draco's own, searching his face, then he nodded. "That's good enough for me." He took a step back, looping a hand around Draco's wrist and tugging gently. "Come on. I think I promised you a chance to experience my horrible dancing."
Draco's growl rumbled in his chest. "That's not all I was promised," he said, but followed as Harry turned.
Harry shot him a smile over his shoulder and pulled Draco into the crowd.
****
Draco didn't get a chance to see any horrible dancing, but instead followed Harry to the bar, where Draco traded the champagne for gin, and Harry nursed his beer. They chatted with Hannah and Longbottom, who were both so relaxed and happy around Harry — laughing and teasing him about his most recent advertising campaign in Witch Broomstick, something shirtless and sexy, and bloody hell, Draco would need a subscription to half the publications in London if Harry kept it up.
Soon after, Weasley found them and flung an arm around Harry's shoulder, leaning into him hiccoughing to describe the action from their mutual bust at the LGA to a captive audience. He even acted out Draco throwing the gas bomb into the air, including gratuitous sound effects and an obnoxious imitation of Draco's accent. But everyone laughed and cheered as Weasley slapped Draco on the back hard enough to make him stumble.
Weasley was ready to launch into another long and animated epic when Harry tugged on Draco's belt loop and tipped his head towards the open door to the terrace. Draco followed him outside.
The terrace was mercifully empty, and Draco sucked in a cleansing lungful of the freezing air.
Harry settled in a lazy slouch against the railing facing Draco and grinned.
"Ron will be on that train until 'Mione diverts the tracks. And I can only stand it so long."
"Mm, yes. Must be very difficult listening to people expound upon your bravery and many virtues all the time," Draco said, moving to stand in the space between Harry's spread knees.
"You have no idea." He tipped his head back to look up at Draco, letting him loom as Harry tucked two fingers into the slash of Draco's trouser pocket. Draco would swear he could feel the heat of Harry’s hand through the fabric.
It was freezing out, and Harry's cheeks were tinged with the loveliest shade of flushed red. Draco could hardly even feel the chill, because every inch of him felt on fire.
Draco had spent what seemed like ages at Harry's side that night, trailing him around the room, listening to his friends, watching the way people adored him — and not some false version of Harry either. Not the scowling, brooding Head Auror, or the slouching reluctant Saviour with eyes averted. No, the real Harry, the one who laughed loud and smiled easily.
Harry's friends were always touching him. Always had an arm around his shoulders, a hand at his wrist, tousling his hair and tugging his collar. And Harry only blushed and donned that crooked, beguiling smirk, and it took all of Draco's willpower not to smack their hands away and wrap himself around Harry, because he couldn't bloody stand it.
But he did stand it. He had to. Because that was what it felt like to be at Harry's side. Draco had never really done it before. It was, without a doubt, the thing Draco feared more than anything in the world. More than death, sickness, or poverty. If he couldn't do this, then he'd certainly lose Harry forever. He'd lose him before he even had the chance to have him.
It was the strangest thing, because while everyone fawned over Harry, Harry hovered close to Draco. He kept one point of connection with Draco at all times — a hand at the small of his back, at his elbow, or an arm pressed against his side. And people noticed, because people noticed everything Harry Potter did. Draco kept waiting for the moment when Harry would realise that everyone could see and withdraw. But he didn't. He just left his hand wherever it landed, while Draco quietly died a little.
But here, on Pansy's balcony, it was just the two of them. After spending so much time alone with Harry, it was strange that Draco suddenly wasn't sure how to act. He raised a hesitant hand that hovered in the air between them, and when Harry grinned up at him, he allowed it to settle at Harry's temple. He smoothed a curl behind his ear and let his hand rest there, cradling Harry's skull.
Draco dipped his head so their lips were a mere breath away, but Harry pressed a hand against his chest, stilling him.
"Wait," he said.
"Bloody hell, Harry, how much longer?" Draco sighed. Because this was all he'd wanted to do since he stepped foot in Pansy's flat. All he wanted to do since he landed in Paris. Bloody hell, it was all he'd wanted to do for as long as he could remember.
Harry smiled at that, and then Draco heard it: shouted from inside the party, from balconies all across the neighbourhood, from the streets below, from all over London.
10…
9…
8..
Harry's eyes fluttered shut. And Draco waited until five before he grabbed Harry by the face with both hands and kissed him.
He heard Harry's amused huff of breath out his nose, felt it melt into a soft groan as Harry parted his lips. That first brush of Harry's tongue against his own had sparks exploding behind Draco's eyelids. It wasn't until Draco pulled back for a breath that he realised they were bursting in the sky too — crackling sprays of gold and red and green dancing across the black of night, the glittering sparks raining down over the city.
"Well. That was properly romantic," Harry said with a chuckle.
"Shut up," Draco told him, and kissed him again.
Harry threw an arm around Draco's neck as he straightened, their chests pressed together as Harry chased after Draco's tongue. He nipped at his lip as Draco licked that bloody gorgeous smile right off Harry's smug face.
He could have stood there forever, kissing Harry in the cold and the dark, but the sound of the fireworks started to draw the party guests from inside. Half a second before the terrace door swung open and people started spilling onto the patio, Harry fisted a hand in the front of Draco's jacket and shoved him into a shadowed alcove around the side of the balcony, hidden from view. Draco went easily and, once ensconced in darkness, pinned Harry against the wall and kissed him bloody stupid.
Draco held Harry there in the cage of his arms, his palms flat against the wall on either side of Harry's head to keep himself standing. Harry had one hand tangled in Draco's hair, the other curled possessively around his neck, as he licked between Draco’s lips and sucked his tongue until Draco's pulse thrummed in his ears.
From across the patio, Draco heard Weasley shout, "Where the hell is Harry? He ought to see this!"
Harry hummed and whispered the incantation for a notice-me-not charm against Draco's mouth, then with a kittenish lick to Draco's bottom lip, carried on kissing him.
Draco groaned and pressed the entire length of his body against Harry's. Gods, he was so bloody warm, and Draco was certain he'd never need a warming charm again if he could just keep Harry close enough to ward off the chill. Harry slipped a thigh between Draco's legs, gasping into their kiss when he felt Draco's interest resting hot and heavy against him. Draco shifted his hips, dragging his already half-hard co*ck against the firm muscle of Harry's thigh and f*ck, it felt so good. Draco pulled back just far enough to catch his breath, but Harry kept their hips aligned with a tug at the waistband of Draco's trousers.
They were both breathing heavily, and when Draco opened his eyes again, it was to see snowflakes settling in Harry's mess of dark hair. The world came to life around them then, and Draco could hear the squeals of party guests on the patio as they scurried back into the warmth of the house. Draco twisted slightly, peering around the edge of the wall to catch Pansy teetering inside on her high heels and in her tiny dress, followed by Hannah and Neville, each clutching empty glasses of champagne, arms around each other's waists. Lovegood remained outside, the glitter in her gown reflecting on the falling snow as she chased the flakes with her tongue. Hermione laughed when Weasley attempted to jam a slushy handful of snow down the back of Finnegan's jacket.
Harry gave Draco's collar a sharp tug, dragging him back into their shadowed corner.
"Come home with me," he said, eyes still fixed on Draco's mouth.
"Mm, I was hoping you'd ask, else I'd be stuck on Pansy's sofa in my suit with the rest of the masses too sloshed to Apparate home."
Harry drew away to look in Draco's eyes. "Coming here was a bit of a last minute decision then?"
Draco felt immediately foolish, because he hadn't meant to tell Harry that. But Harry wasn't shoving him away yet. He was standing there, still as stone, waiting. So Draco pushed back the hair that had fallen over Harry's forehead, gaze drawn to his mouth, which was pink and slick and, f*ck. Draco wanted him. Needed him. Couldn't f*ck this up.
"I'll admit it took me a little longer to find my way than it should have. But you wouldn't believe what I had to do to get here. I broke laws, Potter. At least three that I can think of."
Harry's face split into a smirk. "That's not the sort of thing you ought to tell the Head Auror."
"Think you can pull some strings for me, Harry? Keep me out of jail for a night? I'll make it worth your while." He shot Harry his wickedest leer and watched Harry's grin grow toothy as his cheeks flushed.
"And what makes you think I accept bribes?"
"Experience."
Harry laughed. Draco slapped a hand over his mouth to quiet him, because he wasn't ready to be caught just yet, but moved it out of the way to kiss him. It was so easy to lose himself when kissing Harry. Draco was certain he could do it forever and never get bored, if given the chance. But Harry was pushing at his chest with a hand again.
Harry ducked out of the brackets of Draco's arms, and Draco tried not to shiver at the sudden loss of his heat. "I'm going to say goodbye. Meet me at the front?"
Draco nodded, slow and dazed. Potter grinned and scooped up a handful of the snow collected on the ground, wadded it into a loose ball, then dashed around the corner of the alcove to chuck it at the back of Weasley's head.
"Mate!" Weasley shouted, as he spun around wildly. Harry threw an arm around Weasley's neck and dragged him inside, laughing.
Draco watched them go with a strange fondness, though the edges were tinged with a familiar jealousy. He stepped from the shadows, only to be caught by Hermione and Lovegood.
"We'll be seeing you, Draco," Hermione said, sipping her seltzer water as Luna charmed the snowflakes to charge colours in the air in front of her.
Draco ducked his head in a nod and stole back inside without another word. Because he couldn't be sure of that, could he? In truth, Draco hadn't planned past kissing Harry at midnight, and if all things went well, following Harry home. He hadn't the foggiest idea what came after that. His purposeful stride towards the front door tripped only a little at that thought, but he shook it off. Because who was he kidding? He knew what he wanted. At least another night. Perhaps a week, a year. Forever sounded alright too. But he'd start with a night.
Draco found Pansy inside pouring another round of champagne for her guests, then tipping the bottle to her lips to polish off the last of it.
"Pans, darling, I'm heading out," he said into her ear, a hand at her waist.
She turned, lowering the bottle. "Not back to Paris, I hope."
"Not yet. I have a stop to make first." He waggled his eyebrows, and she slapped his chest, fingers lingering on his lapel and tugging lightly.
"I promised you a fabulous party if you came back, didn't I?" she said.
"And you certainly delivered." He ducked and kissed her cheek, which was flushed from the alcohol and tight from all the smiling.
The smile on Pansy's face flickered. "Don't leave without saying goodbye this time."
"Of course not," Draco promised.
Pansy tightened her grip on Draco's jacket, the fabric crinkling in her fist as her eyebrows drew together for only a moment, clinging to him. But then her expression cleared, and she released her hold, smoothing the wrinkle in the silk with her palm.
"Happy New Year, darling. Don't do anything stupid," she said as Draco drew back.
"I don't know, Pans," Draco said, falling back a few steps. "I think I'm due for a little stupid."
She grinned at him, raising the bottle of champagne. He winked at her and melted into the crowd.
****
Harry was waiting for him at the front door, receiving a hearty slap on the back from Dean Thomas, when he caught sight of Draco. Harry licked his lips as Thomas moved away with a wave.
Harry had thrown his leather jacket over the velvet suit, and Draco couldn't help himself when he stepped up and buried his face in Harry's neck.
"This f*cking jacket," he growled with a nip at the hollow of Harry's exposed throat.
"What, don't you like it?"
"Not exactly how I'd put it."
Harry chuckled and opened the door, dragging Draco over the threshold and into the brilliant cold and freshly fallen snow.
"I've had too much champagne to Apparate," Draco said, straightening. "Shall we get a taxi? I've been practising."
Harry smirked and, with an odd little flick of his wrist, the motorbike helmet materialised in his hand. Then he slipped the wand from his sleeve and pointed it at one of the frozen boxwoods alongside Pansy's steps. It shimmered like oil on water to reveal Harry's bike, black and shining in the streetlights.
"You're joking," Draco said flatly, one eyebrow raised.
"Scared?"
"Yes! Have you met you? You're not exactly known for your propensity towards caution, Potter."
The words had barely slipped from Draco's tongue before Harry had a hand fisted in his collar. He dragged Draco down so they were nose-to-nose. "Harry," he growled.
Draco's lips twitched. "What?"
"Call me Harry. And get on the damn bike." He released Draco's collar abruptly and shoved the helmet against Draco's chest.
"It's snowing," Draco protested as Harry turned and walked the bike onto the street.
"Only a little."
"The roads will be slick."
"Don't need them, remember?"
"You've been drinking."
"Hardly."
Draco crossed his arms over his chest, petulant. "And what if I flat out refuse?"
Harry shrugged and threw a leg over the seat, settling his elbows on the handlebars. "Then I guess I'll see you around."
Harry straightened and kicked the engine to life with one foot, covering Draco's exasperated growl with the roar of the engine. Draco still wasn't keen on Muggle transportation, certainly not the type that flew, or was piloted by insane tossers like Harry Potter.
Harry looked at him with one eyebrow co*cked, waiting. The snow fell lightly, landing in his hair, the streetlights casting him in a halo of soft, golden light. He was gorgeous. And who the hell was Draco kidding? He was so in love with him, not even a flying motorbike could keep him away.
Draco jammed the helmet over his head, mourning the demise of his hairstyle, and snapped the buckle under his chin. Harry bit his lip and watched as Draco threw a leg over and settled gingerly behind him. Draco scooted forward to press himself flat against the warmth of Harry's back and wrapped both arms tightly around his waist. He propped his feet on the little pegs and buried his nose into the shoulder of Harry's jacket. He was suddenly drowning in the scent of leather, whisky, and honeyed tea. It was masculine and warm and so damned familiar that Draco felt transported through time, to a hundred nights wrapped up in Harry, and a thousand more spent remembering them.
He tightened his fists into the front of Harry's jacket just in time for the bike to lurch forward and nearly send Draco sprawling back onto the pavement. Draco was certain he'd left his stomach fifty paces behind as the bike sped down the street. They were definitely going far too fast as they whipped past a car ambling slowly through the snow-covered streets, past pedestrians who didn't even glance up as a motorbike skidded by them, mere inches away.
Harry's wrist twitched on the handlebar, and the bike kicked up a gear, speeding ever faster. The wind bit into Draco's face, and he darted a hand up and slammed the visor shut to keep his eyes from streaming and his nose from freezing off. Harry seemed entirely unaffected, on the other hand. Draco was torn between thinking that he was either using more of that sneaky wandless magic he was prone to or perhaps he was just a mad bastard who didn't give a damn.
They took one more corner at a lean. The road ahead of them stretched straight and narrow, ending in a large brick wall that housed a row of flats. Draco's grip tightened on Harry's jacket, because Harry was speeding up again. Draco squeezed his eyes shut as they barrelled towards the wall, forcing himself to trust that Harry wasn't going to splatter them across the brick, when Harry kicked a lever with his foot, and the bike shot upwards into thin air with a jolt.
They barely cleared the top of the building, the tyres skimming the snow that collected on the peak of the roof and, with the hand that wasn't clutching Harry in a bloody death grip, he reached up and gave him a light smack upside the head, because honestly. Harry did that on purpose, just to be a dick.
Draco felt Harry's laugh rumbling in his chest beneath Draco's palms.
The bike climbed into the sky, the frosted roofs jutting below them, close enough that Draco could still see people in the streets, running through the snow, drunk and joyful in parkas and party dresses. He saw cars navigating the slick roads, the warm glow from the restaurant windows, and the curling cigarette smoke from the alleyways behind pubs.
But when he looked up, it was into a blanket of white. The clouds hung low and fat, dusting everything in crystal snowflakes. Draco couldn't see the moon or any stars, but the bright dove grey of the clouds and the reflection on the snow below almost made it seem like daylight.
Draco slipped his icy fingers beneath Harry's jacket to press into the cotton of his shirt, between the leather and velvet — warm. Harry's head turned to where Draco was tucked against his neck, and he tilted it back to knock lightly against the helmet. Draco just held him tighter.
Soon, Harry angled the bike down towards a neighbourhood of short buildings and narrow lanes. They picked up speed as they got closer to the ground, and once again, fear lurched in Draco's gut. They were going far too fast to land properly, but when Draco squeezed Harry around the middle, he received no more response than the revving of the engine.
The ground was mere inches below them. Draco shut his eyes and braced for impact. As soon as the tyres hit the pavement, Draco's centre of gravity was flung backwards, knocking the wind out of him. Harry didn't slow down and took the turn at the end of the lane too fast. But instead of spinning out, the wheels did an odd sort of floating as they swung around the bend and came skidding to a stop right in front of Grimmauld Place.
Harry killed the engine with another kick of his boot and Draco gasped his first breath since hitting the ground. He released his death grip on Harry's waist, ripped the helmet from his head, and tossed it to the sidewalk. The silence rang in his ears as Draco stumbled from the back of the bike. He had to stand with his hands on his knees and his eyes squeezed shut for a solid ten seconds to get his lungs to start working properly again.
When he glanced up, it was to see Harry grinning at him, arms crossed over his chest, and his arse resting against the side of the bike.
"You're a bloody lunatic," Draco said.
"Oh c'mon" Harry said with a roll of his eyes. "It was fun!"
"For you, maybe." Draco straightened with a final steadying breath.
Harry huffed a laugh and took a step forward. He waved his hand, and the bike disappeared. "Definitely for me."
Draco trailed after Harry as he released the wards, and Number Twelve slid into place.
"Bet you get off on it, mad bastard," Draco grumbled.
Harry turned, still walking backwards towards the house, and gave his co*ck a squeeze over his trousers, shooting Draco a crooked grin.
"Animal." Draco said, but chased after him anyway.
Harry paused with one hand on the doorknob. Draco crowded in behind him, desperately seeking his warmth, but Harry held him back.
"If you walk through this door, Draco…" He hesitated, his brows drawn down and eyes fixed somewhere in the middle of Draco's chest.
"If I walk through this door…" Draco prompted. "Then what?"
Harry raised his eyes. "Then you stay the night. And be there when I wake up in the morning."
Draco opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, Harry shook his head and silenced him with one hand lifted. "You don't have to promise more than that. I get it. Just… the night. And the morning. Okay?"
"Harry…"
"Say it. I need to hear you say it."
Draco curled his fingers around the hand pressed against his chest. "I'll stay the night. I'll be there in the morning. Now open the door."
Harry studied him for a moment in the same way Draco had seen him do a dozen times before. His bright eyes danced across Draco's face, cataloguing every twitch, looking for some proof that what Draco told him was the truth.
That searching gaze used to unnerve Draco, made him feel exposed. He had once worried that Harry would see something he didn't want him to see, would peer right past Draco's carefully articulated veneer and know that he was in love with him. But now, Draco hoped he could see. Hoped that something in Draco's eyes would say what he wasn't sure his words could. And that was that he would certainly be there in the morning. That he would stay until Harry kicked him out. As terrified as Draco was that it would happen sooner rather than later, he had to try.
Draco needed to find out what Harry looked like in the mornings — preferably without any shouting. He wanted to know if he drank coffee or only tea, how he took his eggs, and if his shower was big enough for two. Draco wanted to set his Ferragamo wingtips right alongside Harry's damned combat boots, place his cup next to Harry's in the sink, and insert himself into all the little places in Harry's life that had room for him. Because Draco had more than enough room for Harry.
In fact, it was suddenly, cursedly, painfully clear that Draco's life was nothing but wide open spaces, blank pages waiting to be filled in. He'd never allowed anyone to insert themselves, because those vast swathes of blankness were already spoken for — all of Draco's empty spaces belonged to Harry. They had always been Harry's.
Draco couldn't say that aloud. Not here, in front of Harry's home, with the snow falling around them, in the wee hours of the New Year. It would be too much, too soon, too bloody heavy a weight to carry over the threshold. But Draco allowed his mask to slip just enough and hoped that Harry would read what was written plainly on his face, and that was: tonight, the morning, and forever, if you'll have me.
The movement of Harry's gaze stilled, no longer searching, and he nodded, his mouth lifting at one corner. It wasn't the co*cky smirk that usually had Draco's trousers at his ankles in seconds, nor the toothy one he wore around his friends. It was soft, a little unsure and so… new. So Draco did the only thing he could. He kissed it right off Harry’s face.
With a turn of the knob, Harry's door swung open behind him and they went stumbling over the threshold.
And directly into the f*cking troll foot umbrella stand.
Harry yelped, tumbling backwards and thrusting out a hand, clutching at Draco's arm, pulling him down with him.
They hit the floor with a thud, Harry first, right on his back, and Draco sprawled atop him, hissing in pain.
"f*ck," Harry whimpered.
Draco lifted his head, propping himself on one elbow and twisting around to give the damned umbrella stand a nasty look, because Draco was starting to think the thing was sentient and hoped it sensed his ire.
"I swear, I Vanished that thing two days ago," Harry groaned as Draco rolled off him, rubbing at his bruised forearm.
"Have you tried putting in the bins?" Draco asked.
Harry turned his head to the side to glare at Draco. "Gods, you really do think I'm an idiot."
"Please, Potter. It isn't as if I've been completely transparent about the fact."
"Of course I've tried the bins. The thing is attached to me. What can I say." Harry threw out a hand, patting the floor, only to return it to the air holding a massive sword. "Bloody hell." He chucked it aside.
"Gods, Potter, is there anyone or anything on this earth that isn't in love with you? Merlin," Draco groaned.
Draco barely spat the words out before he had a lap full of Harry Potter. Potter rolled deftly and, with alarming swiftness from his starfish position on the floor, settled himself over Draco's hips, one hand planted on either side of Draco's head. He hovered over Draco, looming over him, hair falling across his face and eyes blazing.
"I don't know, is there?"
Draco hesitated, sucking a lip between his teeth. Then he sighed. He lifted a hand and curled it around the back of Harry's neck. "I'm afraid not."
Harry's throat bobbed as he swallowed. "You're sure about that?"
"Alas, it might be the only thing I've ever been sure about."
Harry's eyebrows twitched, his mouth wobbled, and Draco could feel the way the area rug behind his head crumpled in Harry's fists.
Draco was certain Harry meant to say something, because he opened his mouth, then licked his lips once, still parted and taking in air. And then they were crushed against Draco's, the fists moved to his hair, tugging almost painfully. But Draco didn't mind. He flung an arm around Harry's neck and kissed him back because what the hell else could he do? It was all he ever wanted, anyway.
It was a long time before they peeled themselves off the floor, kicked aside the stupid umbrella stand and bloody sword, and tripped up the stairs to Harry's bedroom.
Harry didn't have to worry about Draco staying until morning, because when dawn crested, blinding against the blanket of fresh snow, Harry was still buried deep in Draco's body, clinging to each other as they had all night.
But Draco didn't care. Who needed sleep? Not when everything he'd ever dreamed of was right bloody there.
