Harry rolls his shoulders back and his neck from side-to-side with a heavy sigh. He doesn’t really think he will ever tire of private flights, but the reality is, it’s still just that. Flying. By hour three of nine, Harry had been itching to be out of his seat, thoroughly annoying Parvati who sat next to him with his fidgeting until she asked Padma across from him to switch seats with her. Nearing the eight-and-a-half hour mark now, the tarmac of Heathrow is so close he can practically taste it and his self-control is all but gone.
“What are you reading?” He asks Padma, turning himself bodily to face her in his seat and pulling his right foot up, hugging his knee to his chest. Padma is leafing through what looks like a tabloid magazine that she had more than likely picked up on their way through the airport this morning.
“Just doing some reconnaissance,” She replies, flipping back the cover of the rag to display the front of People emblazoned with the title: INSIDE THE WEDDING OF THE CENTURY. “Did you know they spent 75,000 pounds on the wedding cake alone?”
“Only 75,000?”
“You know what? You’re right. What’s 75,000 pounds to the colonizers of half the world?”
“Do you think they’re cheaping out on Prince Cyrus’ wedding because Prince Draco is the people’s favourite?” Parvati pipes up, joining the conversation on her twin’s wavelength as per usual.
“Speaking of the dashing Prince Draco, apparently he will be going stag and that is a hot topic of discussion, let me tell you.” Padma says with a serious nod.
“Maybe all of the available highborn young women finally realized that he’s as charming as a sack of flour.” Harry offers unkindly.
“Aw,” Parvati coos, “Are you excited to see your hom*oerotic archrival soon?” Harry nearly chokes on his own tongue and he glares at Parvati indignantly.
“My what?”
“Oh please, the way the two of you glare at each other when you’re forced to be within one hundred metres of the other? It’s borderline indecent.” She co*cks her head meaningfully and Harry feels his ears growing warm as the immediate desire to argue wars within him.
It isn’t like he and Draco are all that comparable anyway. Harry is all brilliant smiles and moving motivational speeches on makeshift podiums at rallies and marches; Draco’s image is much more poised and reserved, publicist-approved interview scripts and heart-warming photo-ops with the public. Harry’s public persona is charming, charismatic and passionate while Draco’s is polite, elegant and reserved. You couldn’t have two people more diametrically opposed if you tried.
Ok, maybe it technically was a rivalry but Harry would never admit it.
“I just-” Harry slouches down in his seat, frowning at his fingers in his lap. “It’s so irritating when everyone compares us - which is all they do - because he’s just so stiff and shallow and boring. I’m actually out here fighting on a regular basis for real, tangible change. I’m actually doing something. What does he do? Sit in his palace all day sipping tea and posing for portraits?”
“Two young, handsome sons of politically powerful men? Of course they compare the two of you, Harry. That doesn’t mean you actually have to compete with him.” Padma says gently.
“I know. I don’t.” Harry mumbles sullenly, picking at a loose thread hanging from one of the rips in his jeans.
“Well, I don’t know about you two, but personally I’m looking forward to sampling some of the royal champagne at the royal reception for this royal wedding.” Parvati says, smoothly redirecting the conversation to a topic much less likely to cause Harry to sulk.
“Royal doesn’t sound like a real word anymore.” He mutters under his breath.
***
Standing in the receiving line at the reception as the newly married couple followed by Prince Draco and Lady Pansy greet the guests before them, Harry absurdly feels as though with every step that the prince takes towards him, some invisible countdown or timer is running down. He clenches and unclenches his fists at his sides, fighting the urge to fidget with the buttons on the front of his red and gold sherwani.
“You might hate me for this but Prince Draco looks like a tall drink all done up in royal regalia like that.” Padma says lowly to his right, leaning into him to be heard.
“Ugh,” Harry groans, shooting her concerned look. “Not you too! He’s not that tall. Besides, he’s only got a stick the size of the Tower of London up his arse.”
“Mm, speaking of his arse-” Harry manages to hide his grimace behind a wide, easy smile as Prince Cyrus and Lady Celeste finally reach them. They exchange polite words of greeting and congratulations before moving on and suddenly, Prince Draco is standing in front of Harry with a pinched look on his face. They look at each other silently for a tense moment before Lady Pansy’s beautifully manicured fingers grip Draco’s arm lightly.
“Harry, it’s lovely to see you,” Pansy purrs, eyes roving over Harry from head to toe appreciatively.
“The pleasure is all mine, dutchess.” He offers with a nod. “And you-” He begins, eyes sliding back to Draco only to see the prince turning away without further acknowledgement. Draco greets the twins with a polite smile and pleasantries before hastily moving on and Harry swallows the words of indignation playing on the tip of his tongue. Instead he huffs out a small scoff and hears Padma giggle quietly next to him.
He had been snubbed. Harry supposes that there is no real reason to feel as offended as he does considering his professed stance on the rivalry between himself and the prince, but he finds that he can’t make himself care any less. Who does Draco think he is? He may be the prince of England but that hardly makes him better than Harry in any real way.
“Cheer up, love, now that greetings are out of the way you can spend the rest of the reception getting systematically drunk.” Parvati says as they make their way to a table set with name cards assigning seating in luxurious golden script.
“-and I'll be starting on that right now.” Harry agrees, swiping a glass of champagne off of a passing server's tray and taking a long sip that drains half of the glass of the lightly golden, bubbling liquid in one go. The other socialites seated around their table cast disapproving looks Harry's way and he simply pastes on his most charming smile when their eyes meet his. Padma discreetly catches Harry in the ribs with her wickedly accurate (and painful) elbow and he winces, straightening up and narrowing his eyes at her.
“Behave,” She murmurs behind a polite smile directed at their table mates.
It was going to be a very long evening.
***
Harry reenters the reception hall, having just relieved himself for the third time that evening. He is most assuredly bordering on too-drunk-to-be-in-attendance-at-a-royal-wedding territory, so on his way by the bar, he snags one final drink from the bartender's outstretched hand. The guest that the bartender had been handing the brandy to makes a disgruntled noise of surprise at the sudden appearance of Harry's arm reaching around them to filch their drink, but Harry breezes away before words are exchanged and sips at the no doubt finely aged and stupidly expensive liquor, eyes scanning the room for his friends.
He spots Parvati chatting with Lady Pansy but doesn't see Padma in her sister's vicinity. Who he does see is Prince Draco standing near the front of the room, looking out at the guests with a politely interested expression on his unreadable face, playing absently with a stupid silver ring on his pinky finger. Something about how composed Draco appears, despite the fact that there is no conceivable way that he is enjoying himself at such a formal event with reporters and photographers in every available corner, irks Harry. In his slightly-too-drunk state, with little else to entertain him, he has the urge to see the prince's perfect mask crack. Harry makes a beeline for Draco, a wide, crooked grin stretching onto his face.
“Draco!” He greets the man, throwing an over-friendly arm around the prince's shoulders. Draco stiffens immediately, eyeing Harry sideways.
“Harry.” Is his mild greeting in response. “I wondered if I would have the… pleasure.”
“Please, the pleasure is all mine.” Harry says loftily, pointedly ignoring the prince’s inflection and downing the last mouthful of the brandy in one large gulp. Draco wrinkles his nose delicately, shrugging his shoulder to shake Harry's arm off of him and straightens his suit as if Harry has wrinkled his expertly pressed lines.
“That's 100-year-old Brandy,” he drawls, still regarding the rest of the room. “You're meant to sip it, you know. Have some class.”
“Thank you for the etiquette lesson, I'll keep that in mind next time I go out drinking with eighty year old men.” Harry replies, setting his empty glass on a passing server's tray.
“What do you want, Potter?” Draco asks in a long-suffering manner, still not looking at Harry. Harry bristles at his bored tone and has the urge to grab the prince and physically turn him so that he is forced to address Harry directly.
“I'm simply being polite Malfoy. Surely despite being a prince you've heard of such a thing as small talk?”
“And what makes you think that I want to take part in this ‘small talk’?” Draco counters before turning with an obviously fake smile to greet a guest who had appeared at his elbow. In his inebriated state, Harry is rapidly becoming more and more incensed with this exchange. He waits for the guest to excuse themself before continuing to prod at the prince.
“Well excuse me, Your Majesty,” He seethes in a low tone, bowing gratuitously.
“Actually, it's Your Royal Highness, Your Majesty is reserved for the king.” Draco sneers quietly, carefully maintained facade of polite boredom slipping away for a moment as he finally turns to look at Harry disdainfully.
“Oh, you're not the king? Pardon me, I assumed since you act like you're so above everyone else in attendance.” He scoffs, folding his arms across his chest. He knows he looks petulant but can't bring himself to care about anyone else in the room besides the snobbish prince in front of him. Draco takes a small step towards him and now he is looking down his nose at Harry with a haughty expression.
“I think I've had quite enough small-talk for one day. Good day to you.” He bites back, making to step away from Harry with his dismissal. Unthinkingly, Harry's hand shoots out and grips Draco's wrist a little too tightly.
“What is your problem?” He growls. Draco's eyes narrow into a glare for a split second before he casts his gaze around furtively, schooling his expression back into an unreadable mask.
“There is no problem. Now release me, you're causing a scene.” He hisses tightly, tugging his wrist in Harry's grip fruitlessly.
“Oh, I'm causing a scene?” Harry asks indignantly, tugging Draco's wrist back towards his person sharply. Draco tugs back and Harry, being far too intoxicated and already slightly off-balance, stumbles towards the prince before catching himself and yanking Draco’s wrist back towards himself with too much force. This time it's Draco who stumbles towards Harry, lifting his other hand and bracing it against Harry's chest to catch himself. The pressure of the other man's body weight unbalances Harry again and he stumbles backwards a couple of steps, hip sharply coming into contact with the table behind him that houses the massive tiered wedding cake on a slightly raised platform.
The next series of events seem to happen in slow-motion. Draco’s eyes leave his face to fall on something behind Harry that causes them to widen in alarm. Harry has enough presence of mind to turn his head just in time to see the 75,000 pound pièce de résistance of the royal wedding wobble one final time before the front legs of the table buckle and the entire thing begins to tip forwards. There is no time to do anything besides think ‘oh sh*t’ and squeeze his eyes shut before 100lbs of buttercream frosting and sponge cake topples onto him.
He is still gripping Draco's wrist tightly in his panic and as a result, pulls the prince to the floor with him as the cake comes down. Draco lands with a pained grunt, half on top of Harry and he takes a fleeting moment to appreciate that there is no possible way that the prince will retain his composure in such a predicament, before realizing that the previously buzzing reception hall has fallen absolutely silent aside from the rapid snapping of camera shutters around the room. He doesn't dare lift his eyes from the piercing grey of Draco's, even as they flame with intense anger.
“You f*cking twat.” Draco spits fiercely, aggressively pushing himself up and away from Harry. Being covered in buttercream though, the prince's (not so shiny anymore) dress shoes slip on the polished floor as they scrabble fruitlessly for purchase. Draco ends up kneeing Harry in the groin sharply as he flails, falling to the side and mercifully not landing on top of Harry this time.
Even through the pain in his crotch, Harry’s mind registers that this is the first time he has ever heard the prince swear.
***
There aren't many people who can invoke genuine fear in Harry, but his father's long-time assistant, Sirius Black, is one of them. It's not that he's afraid of Sirius, it's just that the man can be truly fearsome in his righteous anger and at this moment in time, his anger is decidedly righteous.
“Were you dropped on your head as a child?” Sirius asks as Harry sits on one of the sofas in his father's lavishly furnished office inside of the Rashtrapati Bhavan.
“If I was then that would explain a lot.” Harry attempts to joke, only to earn himself a dark look from Sirius in response.
“Oh he's making jokes, I suppose you find this situation amusing?” President James Potter asks with a considering tilt of his head.
“C’mon dad!” Harry sighs, slumping back on the sofa. “It’s not not funny. At least a little bit. Besides, how long can they really milk a silly little mishap like this?” James looks at Harry for a long moment until Harry’s palms begin to prickle with heat. James is, generally speaking, an incredibly laid back man. It takes quite a bit to get him worked up enough to lose his composure, but the clear disappointment writ on his face makes Harry feel worse than if James had simply yelled at him.
“Sirius?” James says evenly. Sirius responds by stalking over to the side of the sofa and dropping a copy of The Sun onto his lap. A picture of himself and Draco splayed out on the floor of Buckingham Palace, covered head-to-toe in frosting and surrounded by chunks of decimated wedding cake is blown up on the front cover. Draco is frozen pushing himself up from the floor, red in the face and clearly livid, while Harry is wincing heavily having just been kneed in the bollocks and moving to curl up on his side. The headline reads: “Cake-tastrophe at the Royal Wedding!”. He winces as Sirius slaps that morning’s copy of Daily Mirror down on top of the other tabloid with more force than was strictly necessary, Harry thought. The cover is splashed with almost the exact same photo from a slightly different angle with the headline: “Potter Vs. Malfoy: Harry Potter sparks the next Anglo-Indian War”.
“You were meant to represent not only me but your entire country at that wedding, Harry.” James sighs. As guilty as he feels knowing that his father’s words are the truth, Harry is vaguely annoyed that he appears to be expected to take the entirety of the blame.
“You know, he was the one who pushed me into that cake.” He says sullenly.
“It simply does not matter who pushed who, I truly hope you realize that. The result is the same: a 75,000 pound wedding cake at the royal wedding was toppled to the ground with your help.” Sirius accuses, arms folded and eyes narrowed dangerously. Harry frowns down at the tabloids in his lap, guilt finally overwhelming the weak bubble of indignation he feels. The room is quiet for a few moments and then James sighs once again, slumping back into his chair.
“You’re gonna be the death of me, kid,” He mutters before standing and circling his desk to stand in front of Harry. Harry looks up at his father and sees James’ eyes soften before he speaks again. “I’m not going to lecture you about how stupid this little stunt was, I know you understand that perfectly. That is also why I know you’ll be eager to do your part to clean up this mess you helped to make.” Harry nods in agreement, idly wondering if he was going to be asked to give interviews about how the fight with Prince Draco wasn’t what it had looked like.
“Now, I’ve got a meeting in a few minutes, so I have to run. Sirius will give you the details about the plan we’ve worked out with Buckingham Palace.” With that, James starts for the door, squeezing Harry’s shoulder on his way past the sofa.
“Wait, dad,” Harry says slightly desperately, turning to face his father as the man stops on the threshold and looks back at his son. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause any trouble.”
“I know, Harry. That’s why I trust that you’ll make things right.” James says with a familiar crooked smile before disappearing around the corner into the hallway. There is a beat of silence in which Harry continues to stare at the empty doorway as he listens to Sirius shuffling some paper around. Suddenly he is whacked upside the head with a newspaper rolled into a tube and weaponized. If it hadn’t been for the accompanying surprise and brief shock of pain, the loud, hollow bonk that rings out into the room at the contact would have been rather amusing.
“Hey!” Harry cries, throwing his arms up to protect his head from further assault and jumping up to face Sirius.
“Jamie’s always been too soft on you, so as your godfather I invoke my parental right to smack you when you do something stupid!” Sirius growls, shaking his newspaper at Harry menacingly. “You’re getting on a plane. Tonight.”
“To where?” Harry asks in confusion, dropping his arms back to his sides.
“You’re spending the weekend in London doing damage control. Get ready to get real up close and personal with His Royal Highness.” That statement makes Harry feel suddenly nervous.
“What do you mean by that?” Sirius turns to the president’s desk and plucks a paper from the corner before turning back to Harry and pinning it to his chest with the pads of his fingers.
“Prince Draco is your homework. Memorize this fact sheet so that you can answer any questions that reporters might throw at you. I want you reciting his favourite dessert and preferred brand of hair gel in your sleep.” Sirius instructs sternly. Harry frowns down at the list in his hand, eyes scanning over various facts about the prince without really absorbing the information.
“Why do I have to memorize facts about him? Does he get a sheet on me?”
“He does and let me be the first to tell you that aside from all of the activism, you are a terribly boring bloke.” Sirius reports briskly, gathering up his black leather padfolio and a couple bundles of stapled reports from James’ desk.
“Isn’t there some way we can still do damage control without having to send me to England this weekend? There’s a rally on Monday outside of the secretariat building and I was asked to speak-”
“-And you’ll be back Sunday night with plenty of time to get to your rally, so there is no getting out of this.” Sirius says smoothly, stalking towards the door. Harry trails after him, more protests on his tongue.
“I really mean it Sirius, we genuinely might kill each other! There’s no amount of damage control that could make the world forget about that-” Sirius whirls around, eyes flashing.
“You’re going back to England this weekend and you’re going to convince the world that you and the prince are close personal friends, and have been for some time.” He glowers and Harry raises his hands in front of his chest in a sign of surrender as his godfather looms nearer, seemingly growing taller in his anger. “You’re going to sit next to him for interviews and smile convincingly for paps. Anytime you hear the click of a camera shutter you are going to act like the sun shines out of his prick and you have a vitamin D deficiency. Are we clear?”
“Oh yeah? What if I throw myself off of the Qutub Minar?” Harry challenges, just because he wants Sirius to know that he isn’t agreeing to do this willingly. Sirius raises an eyebrow, corner of his mouth twitching in what Harry is pretty sure is an involuntary smile. At that minute twitch of his godfather’s lips, Harry relaxes almost immediately, dropping his hands back to his sides. He knew Sirius couldn’t stay mad at him for long, but the man would most definitely continue acting stern and disappointed until Harry did what was asked of him.
“We’ll scrape you off of the pavement and ship your remains to Heathrow in a Ziplock.” Sirius says gravely before turning back around and sweeping out the door and down the hallway. Harry stares open-mouthed after him for a moment before giving himself a sharp shake and leaving the office as well.
***
Prince Draco’s handler is not at all the stuffy Englishman that Harry had imagined him being. On the contrary, he is a tall, ruggedly handsome man of no more than 40 with sandy brown hair and an easy smile that he greets Harry’s security with. He is wearing an impeccably tailored suit with a union jack pinned to the lapel. There are thin scars on his face tracing delicate paths across his otherwise flawless skin and they only seem to heighten his attractiveness by suggesting an alluring air of mystery and danger.
“Mr. Potter, welcome back to England. I’m Remus Lupin, Prince Draco’s equerry.” He says, extending his hand. Harry takes the man’s hand and shakes it, wondering when he stepped onto the set of Young Royals.
“Good to meet you, Remus. Didn’t expect to be back so soon.” Harry asks, flashing his most disarming smile. Remus just drops his hand and turns towards the waiting cars on the tarmac. Harry has to break into a light jog for a couple of steps to catch up with the man’s long strides.
“I wish I could say the same.” He replies coolly. “We will be meeting the prince at the royal stables where a photographer has been arranged to capture the prince welcoming you back.”
“Hold on, I just flew for nine hours can’t I have a moment to freshen up before the photo ops begin?” Harry asks, slightly breathless as they come to a stop next to a black Land Rover.
“Unfortunately, the prince is a very busy man and will be unable to organize another time for this meeting today.” Without further preamble, Remus takes up the driver’s seat and Harry is left to clamber into the back of the vehicle. His security team has been given their own Land Rover, which begins to follow theirs as they leave the airport. “There is a document that you will need to read on the seat next to you. Your lawyers have already approved it so all you need to do is sign.”
Harry looks to his left to see a sheaf of papers in a plastic folder on the seat next to him. He picks it up and leafs through an extensive non-disclosure agreement that appears to prohibit everything from taking photos inside of the palace to using Draco’s personal cell phone. He whistles low as he flicks to the final page where a blank line awaits his signature of consent.
“This is… extensive.” He says hesitantly.
“It is purely routine since you'll be staying at Kensington Palace and working closely with the prince this weekend.” Remus explains easily as he guides their vehicle towards a looming stable that is more landscaped than any Harry has seen in his entire life. It’s fitting that the royal stables would look more like a farm-style bed & breakfast than a place where horses live, Harry thinks.
When they exit the vehicle, Remus motions for Harry to move towards the fence bordering an open field. He looks around, scanning the pasture for (though he is loathe to admit it) the familiar figure of Prince Draco just as the man appears astride a powerful and well-groomed chocolate brown thoroughbred. The horse slows to a trot and then stops a few feet away from the fence as Draco dismounts gracefully. A stable hand springs up and takes the reins to lead the horse back to the stables as Draco removes his helmet and approaches Remus and Harry.
“At least I won’t be the sweatiest one in the photo!” He greets Draco with a malicious grin despite the fact that the man doesn't look like he’s just been riding a horse for who knows how long. In fact, he looks intentionally tousled and sporty, garbed in his polo kit and not even shining from exercise. Harry hates how casually attractive the prince is, white-blonde hair gleaming in the sun with a light pink flush of exertion dusting his high cheekbones.
“At least I won’t be the shortest one in the photo.” Draco snips back, countering Harry’s grin with a mean smirk of his own.
“If you could shake Harry’s hand in welcome for the photo, Your Royal Highness.” Remus interrupts before Harry can bite back, motioning a royal photographer over. The photographer scurries over and raises his camera in preparation.
“If I must,” Draco sighs, pasting on a practised smile and extending his hand to Harry over the fence. Harry stares at it for a moment, debating being difficult just for the sake of it, but finally takes Draco’s outstretched hand, leaning casually on the fence and brandishing his most charming smile for the camera.
“You could look less constipated.” Draco mutters through his smile and Harry throws his head back in fake laughter.
“Go f*ck yourself, your highness.” He shoots back as the camera shutter clicks away, capturing what probably looks like friendly banter between the two of them.
“We’ve hardly the time.” Draco smirks, dropping Harry’s hand after a few more photos. “Are we finished here?” He asks, turning to Remus.
“Yes sir, if you’re ready to go I will take you both back to KP now.” Remus agrees, waving off the photographer.
***
The ride to Kensington Palace is quiet, both Draco and Harry opting to ignore the other in favour of browsing their phones in silence. When they arrive, the prince is whisked away by various assistants and Harry is shown to the guest wing to spend the rest of the evening blessedly alone.
“How’s it going so far?” Parvati asks over the tinny speaker of Harry’s phone when she video calls him that night.
“Ugh, it’s terrible. The NDA alone was so extensive that I feel like I’m going to be thrown in the dungeon for sneezing out of turn.” Harry gripes, heaving himself up onto the counter top in the guest kitchenette down the hall from his room. He swings his legs, socked heels tapping out a dull, rhythmic thud, thud, thud against the cabinets.
“Oh please, I’m pretty sure that they’d lock you in the Tower of London, not dungeons.” Parvati dismisses his concerns and turns her attention to spritzing the plants that line her windowsill with a spray bottle.
“Are you getting on with Prince Draco?” Harry makes a face at her question, but Parvati doesn’t see it or ignores it all the same. “I wish I could spend the weekend in London with a sexy prince.” She muses. Harry makes a theatrical retching noise and Parvati fixes him with her best ‘don’t-make-me-tell-you-to-be-nice’ stare.
“He’s just as insufferable as ever, Vati. He had to shake my hand for a photo earlier and he could hardly touch me.” Harry complains.
“Are you being good?”
“Enough about me, what am I missing back home?” Harry brushes the question off with a flippant wave of his hand.
“Enough about you? When do we ever talk about anything else?” Parvati jokes.
“Well considering my life is so much more interesting than anything else,” Harry agrees with a grin. “C’mon, how are the preparations for the rally coming along?”
“Oh you know, politicians are calling for peace and our volunteers are busy making signage, the usual.” She replies vaguely. “It’ll go off without a hitch as soon as you get back. But what I really wanna know is what it’s like staying at Kensington Palace!”
“It’s the same as staying at the Rashtrapati Bhavan, really. It’s just a giant, old building with a lot of rules and history.” Harry sighs, carding a hand through his hair. “I don’t think anyone has stayed in the room I was given in at least a decade, judging by the decor.”
“Are you ready for your interviews tomorrow?”
“As ready as I can be, considering Draco is the most boring and entitled git on the planet.” Harry grumbles.
“Harry, he’s a prince. He’s literally entitled-” Parvati starts just as Harry tunes into the soft sound of footsteps padding down the hallway outside of the door to the kitchenette.
“Hang on, Vati. I think-” Harry starts just as the door is pushed open to reveal a soft looking Prince Draco. Harry quickly hits ‘end call’ and clicks his phone off as his eyes meet Draco’s startled grey ones. The prince has earbuds in and clearly hadn’t heard Harry talking to Parvati on his approach. Harry thinks that someone shouldn’t be allowed to look so handsome wearing only slippers, plaid pyjama bottoms and a plain grey t-shirt, but Draco manages it anyway.
“I didn’t realize you were still awake-” Draco begins, removing his earbuds and shoving them into a pocket hastily. “I was looking for Cornettos but my kitchen was out.” Harry just continues to stare at the prince, not having any earthly idea what he is going on about. Draco waits for a moment and then exhales sharply, blowing his fringe off of his forehead as he rolls his eyes. Stalking over to the fridge, he opens up the freezer and withdraws a box of ice cream cones with the brand name Cornettos embossed across the front and shows it to Harry.
“Do you often raid your guests’ kitchens in the middle of the night?” He asks, sliding down off of the counter top and folding his arms across his chest.
“Well as I said, my kitchen was out and I knew that they had stocked yours up before you arrived.” Draco explains, setting the box on the counter and looking at Harry as if waiting for permission. Harry considers denying Draco the ice cream just for the experience of denying a prince something, but in the end waves a magnanimous hand of ascent and continues to watch the other man. Draco withdraws an ice cream cone from the box and props a hip against the counter as if he has no plans to leave. “Are you prepared for tomorrow?"
“Of course I am! You’re not the only professional here, you know.” Harry bristles, resenting the insinuation that he would be unprepared for their grand apology tour.
“I didn’t mean-” Draco stops himself short, eyes narrowing. “I was simply wondering if you thought rehearsing a bit would be beneficial.”
“Oh please, watch this.” Harry moves to stand next to Draco and arranges the ice cream box and a couple of the packaged cones on the counter. Taking Draco’s hand where it rests on the edge of the counter, Harry doesn’t miss the way that the prince stiffens at the contact. He positions Draco’s hand next to the set up so that his signet ring is visible and then snaps a quick photo. “Late night ice cream with my mate, @RealPrinceDraco #jetlagsucks” He dictates as he types out the caption for the Instagram story, hits ‘post’, and then turns the screen towards Draco as the likes and comments begin pouring in.
“Look at that! 10,000 likes in 5 seconds! I usually get more on my selfies, but that’s not half bad.” Draco’s expression is blank as he regards the little glowing screen until Harry withdraws his phone and stows it back into his pocket. “The entire world will be convinced that we’re best mates tomorrow, don’t worry your posh little head about it.”
Harry punctuates his words by tearing open one of the ice cream cones and taking a rather large bite. Flashing Draco his most dazzling ice-cream-filled smile, which only grows larger at the disgusted curl of the prince’s lip in response, Harry saunters out of the kitchen.
***
After a series of excruciatingly boring and overwhelmingly fake interviews with breakfast programs and tabloid news networks, Harry and Draco are carted off to a children’s hospital to spend the afternoon in the cancer ward. When they arrive they greet the children with gifts of toys and books which, to Harry’s immense annoyance, is photographed extensively. Throughout the entire ordeal, that placid and polite smile never leaves Prince Draco’s face and Harry grows more and more irritated as the afternoon wears on. He feels terribly performative, handing a sick child a teddy bear only to hear the rapid clicking of a camera shutter right behind his head, turning every genuine moment into a royal publicity stunt.
Eventually, the photographers are escorted out of the ward and Harry finds himself relaxing as he builds LEGO towers with some of the children in a carpeted play-area. For the next hour, Harry loses himself entertaining the children who are so excited to have visitors to play with. He realizes about ten minutes before they are scheduled to leave that he hasn’t seen Draco in quite a while, so he begins winding his way through the ward back towards the entrance, peeking into open rooms and past pulled-back curtains looking for a strikingly blonde head.
As he nears the end of the ward, Harry spots the prince sitting at the bedside of an incredibly small girl who he is speaking to in a low voice. Harry pauses, eyeing the side profile of Draco that he can see from his vantage point and quietly shuffling closer to the curtain divider that is partially pulled back so that he can listen in. Draco is speaking in a voice that Harry doesn’t recognize. His words are kind and his tone is soft and even playful as he discusses the live action remake of The Little Mermaid very earnestly. Something about the scene playing out in that little room has Harry mesmerized. Draco says something, lips curling into a soft smile as the little girl giggles and Harry is struck by how unguarded and normal Draco seems just then. It’s a side of the prince that Harry has never been privy to and he can’t help but feel like he’s been missing out; as if Draco has been withholding this version of himself that might actually be genuine and sort of human.
Harry is startled out of his eavesdropping by a nurse who suddenly appears at his side.
“Alright Miss Junebug, it’s time for your medicine so unfortunately your new friend is going to have to leave,” The nurse smiles politely at the prince as he looks towards the curtain. Draco’s eyes flit to Harry next to her and Harry feels his face flush as he is caught listening in.
“No wait! Draco can stay!” The girl insists, tugging at the prince’s hand as he rises from his seat.
“Is that any way to refer to the prince, June?” The nurse tsks, bustling into the room and straightening the blanket at the foot of the bed.
“It’s alright,” Draco smiles easily, squeezing June’s hand. “I do have to go now, though. I promise I’ll come back to visit very soon, love.” June pouts as Draco turns to go, face smoothing over into his usual polite mask as he exits the room without a backwards glance at Harry. Harry falters for a moment, feeling suddenly wrong-footed in the wake of the discovery that Prince Draco can be nice and even pleasant , taking a few quick steps to catch up as he makes his way down the hall.
“I didn't know you were so good with kids.” He starts, falling into step with Draco. The prince eyes him warily, a small sigh escaping as he decides whether or not to dignify Harry’s statement with a response.
“There’s plenty you don’t know about me.” He says mildly. Their security detail falls into step behind them as they exit the ward and begin making their way out of the hospital. Harry is opening his mouth to reply when suddenly there are several loud popping noises and all hell breaks loose.
“Stay down!” A surly security guard grunts, shoving both Harry and Draco into a utility cupboard and slamming the door behind them. In the sudden darkness, Harry trips on his own feet and tumbles headfirst into Draco, fingers scrabbling uselessly at the prince’s finely pressed suit in an attempt to catch himself. All he succeeds in doing is knocking Draco to the ground underneath him and they both flounder for a moment. Harry ends up sprawled halfway over Draco’s back, foot in a mop bucket and Draco’s pointy elbow digging uncomfortably into his ribs. Draco groans under him making an aborted attempt to roll himself over before Harry’s additional weight stops him.
“We’ve got to stop ending up like this,” Harry tries to joke, deeply satisfied to see that Draco’s hand had ended up inside of a bedpan. With any luck it might even be a used bedpan.
“Maybe we would if you were less of a bumbling idiot,” Draco growls, wiggling as if he is trying to squeeze himself out from underneath Harry.
“Hey! There is no conceivable way that this is my fault!” Harry protests.
“Do you mind?” Draco hisses, purposefully driving his elbow deeper into Harry’s ribcage. “Get off of me!”
“You’re the one taking up all of the floor space!” Draco makes a frustrated noise, shoving himself up from the ground forcefully and successfully dislodging Harry from his back. Harry rolls to the side, slipping down to the floor as Draco shifts onto his side and they end up squeezed together in a weird almost-spooning position, with Draco’s back pressed to Harry’s front.
“Would you move over a little, your highness?” Harry whispers, pushing at Draco’s shoulder. “You’re a bit tall to be the little spoon.”
“Believe me, there’s nothing I would love more,” Draco grunts, pushing himself up into a sitting position against the wall as Harry shuffles as far back as he can in order to do the same. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed but we appear to be inside of a very small broom cupboard.” Draco fusses with his rumpled suit for a moment next to Harry before also slumping against the wall with a put-upon huff.
“Why is it that everytime I see you we end up in some sort of scandal or danger?” The prince asks bitterly.
“Well no one has ever made an attempt on my life, so how come the first time I go out with a royal someone tries to shoot me?” Harry counters.
“Considering how annoying you are it's a miracle no one has tried before now,” Draco mutters unkindly and Harry responds by shifting suddenly and purposely throwing his elbow into Draco’s side. The prince yelps and retaliates by throwing himself back at Harry, gripping at his shoulders and knocking them both back onto the ground. They wrestle like that for a few minutes until they are both winded and dishevelled. Instead of being annoyed that Draco had attacked him, Harry finds himself grinning stupidly into the dark as he catches his breath, more impressed by the fight he had managed to elicit from Draco than upset that his head is smarting from clocking it on the floor when he fell. So he does have some fire in him, who’d have thought?
“So… The Little Mermaid, huh? Didn’t take you for a Disney fan.” Harry says, breaking the silence that had followed the end of their scuffle. He had intended it to come out offhanded and non threatening - but, old habits - It ends up sounding accusatory.
“‘Fan’ is a bit of a stretch, but yes, I did enjoy the movie.” Draco says archly. “My little cousin wanted to see it, so I took him.”
“Little cousin, sure - y’know it’s completely fine that you’re a Disney fan, plenty of adults enjoy Disney.” Harry goads.
“Good to know that even the threat of imminent danger will not stop you from being the way that you are.” Draco says with a long suffering sigh.
“I just didn’t know that you took part in real, human things,” Harry says, amusem*nt in his voice. He can’t see more than the crack of light shining under the door and illuminating the soles of their shoes, but he can feel the warmth radiating from Draco’s body where their thighs and shoulders are pressed together. “What other things are you interested in? There’s no way Pride & Prejudice is really your favourite book.”
“Pride & Prejudice is a classic, thank you.” Draco sniffs.
“Classically boring, you swot.”
“I’d rather talk about why you dislike me so much.” Harry is momentarily surprised by the sudden change in topic and falters before answering.
“Because you’re a prat,” Harry tries. Draco snorts in response.
“So are you. Want to try again?” Harry is silent for another moment, debating the merits of answering honestly. He doesn't have enough time to come up with a convincing lie, so he opts for the truth in the end.
“Do you remember when we first met? At the London olympics?”
“Vaguely…” Draco answers after a pause. Harry shifts more to face the prince even though they can’t really see each other in the dark.
“Well allow me to remind you,” He huffs, annoyed. “I came up to you and introduced myself and you stared at me like I had three heads, looked at Remus and said ‘get me out of here’. Do you remember that?”
“Ah… You heard that.”
“Yeah, I heard that.” Harry affirms, crossing his arms across his chest, hoping that Draco can feel his glower in the dark. “And you’re missing the point entirely, which is that it was a douchey thing to say.”
“I admit I could have been kinder.” Draco concedes hesitantly. They lapse back into tense silence and Harry wonders if that’s going to be it; an anti-climactic end to their long-time feud in a dark closet at a children’s hospital. “Is that all?”
“What do you mean, ‘is that all’?” Harry asks indignantly. “You were rude to me before we had ever even had a conversation with each other!”
“I’m just wondering if there are any other defining moments in this rivalry that I’m missing.” Draco sighs.
“Well, that was… the start of it. On my end, anyway.” Harry admits. “I suppose I just grew to resent you more after the Olympics because that was also around the time that people started comparing the two of us. Everywhere I went I was hearing about how wonderful and kind you are. How you’re trying to make a difference with your mate that runs a bunch of charities when that’s all I've been doing with my life since before my dad was even made president! Everything I do to make a difference is scrutinized and picked apart by the world because I’m just some young, brown rebel trying to shout into the void while everyone looks at you like you’re prince-f*cking-charming!
“I wasn’t born into the spotlight like you were. My family has always been rather well-known in our small part of the world, but things really changed when my dad took office. You’re basically a living reminder that no matter what I do or how I do it I’ll always be compared to someone when all I really want is to see change in my country.” Harry finishes with a frustrated huff, feeling a little sick that all of that honesty had just rushed out of him while his captive audience is the prince in question. Draco is quiet for a long time.
“I can’t apologize for the rest of it, but I am sorry that I was a prick to you that day.” Draco finally speaks, voice low and even. “It’s not an excuse, but I was a prick to everyone around then. My mother had just passed away fourteen months ago and I wasn’t handling it very well. I was having a bad day and what I actually said to Remus was ‘I need to get out of here’, which is a different thing entirely-” Draco cuts himself off short and clears his throat awkwardly, no doubt realizing that his apology had begun to turn into a denial as he carried on. “-anyway, that is to say, I am sorry. I was rude to you and you didn’t deserve it.”
Now it’s Harry’s turn to be silent. He thinks about how poised and withdrawn Draco always seems in public, the tense set of his shoulders as he poses for photos or greets strangers who all but fall at his feet. Harry doesn’t know what it’s like to lose a parent, thank god, but it’s not like he works himself half to death on his social justice pursuits for the fun of it. It all began as a distraction from his home life when his parents were getting divorced. He felt useless and guilty unless he was out and physically doing good.
He can’t even begin to imagine what he would have gone through if his mother had died instead of just staying in England. He supposes that instead of leaning into being charismatic and sociable he might have been more inclined to isolation and bitterness. Harry feels for Draco’s loss and can understand not handling life-altering events in the best ways.
“I suppose I can forgive you for not being perfect just this once.” He finally says, trying to ease them back towards a lighter mood. “But this is the only chance I’m giving you!”
“How generous,” Draco says sarcastically, but Harry can hear a hint of a smile in his voice.
“You’ll come to find I’m very understanding-” Harry’s words are cut off by the cupboard door suddenly swinging open. The overhead fluorescent lighting is harsh and shocking after sitting in the dark for so long and Harry squints up at one of his security guards who is offering him a hand up from the floor.
“What happened?” He asks, taking the offered hand and being hauled to his feet.
“False alarm. Some idiot kids brought fireworks for their friend.”
***
Standing in front of the hospital as the black Land Rover idles behind him, ready to take him to the royal’s private airstrip so that he can fly home, Harry pauses in front of Draco.
“Hand me your phone,” He demands, holding his hand out towards Draco. The prince looks momentarily uncertain before he withdraws his smartphone and unlocks it, handing it over. He immediately begins to fiddle with the signet ring on his pinky finger when he withdraws his hands. Harry quickly navigates to the contacts and taps out his number, adding the heart-eyes emoji next to his name because he knows it’ll annoy Draco, and saves it.
“That’s my number,” He explains, handing Draco back his phone. “You’re expected at my New Years party in a couple months and this way we can work out any details without having to communicate through handlers. Just text me.” Draco stares at his phone blankly and Harry spares a moment to wonder how this guy has any friends.
“Right,” Draco finally says, shifting his gaze back to Harry. “Thank you.”
“And no booty calls!” Harry crows over his shoulder as he starts for the car. Draco chokes on a strangled sounding laugh.
***
Unknown Number: Why do you always lean over like that when you pose for pictures? It looks like all of your shoes are hurting you.
[View attached photo]
Unknown Number: It’s Draco, by the way.
Harry: padma said i looked nice in that photo! was she lying to me???
HRH Prince dickhe*d: No comment.
-Read 23:38, October 5th-
—
Harry doesn’t plan to text Draco back until he spots one of Padma’s discarded tabloids on her coffee table. The cover photo is of a shirtless Draco walking down the beach with some nameless brunette and the headline boasts a two page spread with exclusive photos from the prince’s romantic seaside getaway with the mystery woman. Harry flips to the spread and snaps a quick photo.
Harry: you’ve got a lot of moles, is that a result of inbreeding?
[View attached photo]
-Read 15:25, October 12th-
—
Draco’s reply comes a few days later.
HRH Prince dickhe*d: But we were ever so careful, dear!
[View attached article: Is Harry Potter going to be a father? ]
-Read 14:42, October 15th-
Harry nearly snorts chai out of his nose when a laugh bursts out of him and Parvati has to thump him on the back a few times before he stops coughing.
They begin to text back and forth like this every few days and soon the frequency increases into almost daily banter and arguments. Draco will clip a quote from an interview Harry gave and make a joke or critique it and Harry will reply with quips about the latest ribbon cutting Draco attended or how boring his shoes are.
Soon, Harry finds himself admitting that the prince is funny, in a sarcastic and overdramatic kind of way, and he actually sort of enjoys their conversations. Draco has the tendency to text when he is trapped in any sort of tedious royal obligation and in need of distraction and Harry finds himself looking for a typing bubble periodically throughout the day.
—
HRH Prince dickhe*d: Don’t let them print lies about me when I inevitably garotte myself with my tie before this meeting is over.
Harry: that bad, huh?
HRH Prince dickhe*d: If I hear Cyrus say the words “allocation of funds” again, I’m not liable for what I might do.
Harry: oof. financial meetings. those are the worst.
HRH Prince dickhe*d: I’m trying to have my inheritance from the crown put towards certain charities and outreach programs and he’s trying to convince me to just take it. My mother left me more than enough in her will, so I really don’t need it and would rather see it put into the community.
Harry: i’m kinda impressed, ngl
“Who are you texting?” Parvati’s voice right next to his ear startles Harry and he hastily shoves his phone into his pocket, whirling to face her.
“No one!” He lies. Parvati scrutinizes him for a moment, eyes narrowed. Harry feels his palms prick with sweat for some inexplicable reason.
“That wasn’t your texts-from-Sirius face.” She accuses. “You've been doing that a lot lately. Looking at your phone with a dopey smile. It’s weird.”
“You’re not talking to that English girl again, are you?” Padma asks, suddenly joining the conversation on her twin’s wavelength as per usual.
“What English girl?” Harry asks, confused.
“The ginger one from uni?” Parvati clarifies in her sister’s stead.
“Oh, no. Definitely not.” Harry shakes his head. His romance with Ginny had been short-lived, as they had broken up a few months before Harry moved back to New Delhi after his two year study abroad program ended. He has stayed in touch with some of the friends he made in London, like Ron, Hermione, Luna and Neville, but truthfully he hasn’t spoken to Ginny since.
“I will find out what you’re hiding, Harry James Potter.” Parvati threatens, looking him over judgmentally. Harry believes her.
—
Harry: i hate that tie
HRH Prince dickhe*d: What tie?
Harry: the one in that instagram you just posted
HRH Prince dickhe*d: What’s wrong with it? It’s only grey.
Harry: exactly. try patterns sometime, and stop frowning at your phone like i know you’re doing rn
HRH Prince dickhe*d: Patterns are considered a “statement.” Royals aren’t supposed to make statements with what we wear.
Harry: do it for the gram
HRH Prince dickhe*d: You are the thistle in the tender and sensitive arse crack of my life.
Harry: thanks!
—
Diwali has rapidly approached while Harry was running himself ragged interviewing local business owners about how new legislation is affecting them. James’ staff have been frantically preparing for the nearly week-long festivities scheduled to take place. Harry has, as usual, stuck his nose in where it wasn’t needed and as a result, finds himself relegated to the massive kitchens after Bhai Dooj, surrounded by heaping platters of leftover food after the final day’s feast.
He eyes the teetering stack of large takeaway containers that have been provided to him after his latest bleeding-heart pleas to reduce food waste were actually listened to, to his surprise. What he should have done is had Padma and Parvati roped in to help, but knowing Sirius and his penchant for allowing Harry to face punishment at his own hand, as a result of his own actions, he had no doubt ensured that the twins would be otherwise engaged at the end of the festival.
As he had often found himself doing over the past week when he was overwhelmed or frustrated, Harry clicks open his phone to the text messaging app and pulls up his conversation with Draco to complain.
Harry: help
Harry: i’m going to perish in glorious fashion underneath heaps of samosas and aloo bonda
HRH Prince dickhe*d: Beg pardon?
Harry: [View attached photo]
Harry sends his last message and without thinking twice, taps the call button. Draco picks up after two rings and Harry heaves a dramatic sigh in greeting.
“What did you do? Rob a banquet hall?” Is Draco’s disbelieving question in response to the photo of the counters laden with food.
“Pretty much,” Harry groans. “I complained about food going to waste to Sirius enough that he’s punishing me by letting me pack takeaway containers for the charities and outreaches to pick up tomorrow.”
“Alone?”
“I’m going to be here all night and maybe all day tomorrow too.” Harry moans, sliding down to the floor to sit against the cabinets.
“You have no one to blame but yourself, darling.” Draco dismisses, but Harry can hear the smile in his voice.
“I called you for sympathy, not for you to take the piss, mate.” He grumbles. Now Draco laughs aloud and Harry can’t help the smile that creeps onto his face at the sound.
“I apologize, let me try again; oh poor you! How could Sirius be so cruel as to saddle you with a task of your own creation?”
“You’re a terrible friend,” Harry says, smile in his voice. “What are you doing? Whatever it is, it's got to be better than my night.”
“Well I was about to try to sleep until some pillock called me at such an unseemly hour. But before that I was in bed watching BBC Earth with Freddie.”
“My god you are such an old man! What time is it there, 8pm?” Harry heaves himself up from the floor and puts his phone on speaker, setting it on the counter next to the takeaway containers. He lays out a line of six and begins scooping spoonfuls of biryani into them as he talks.
“More like ten, but so what if I try to keep a reasonable bedtime?” Draco asks, and Harry can imagine the frown creasing the little spot between the prince’s blonde brows.
“Might be the only reasonable thing about you. Who names a cat Freddie?”
“He’s named after Freddie Mercury, only one of the most impactful bisexual icons of the last century.” Draco scoffs.
“Oh. Well I suppose that’s alright, then.” Harry concedes. “But I still maintain that human names for pets are weird. Do you like Indian?”
“The people?” Draco asks sceptically, clearly not tracking with the sudden subject change. Harry snorts out a laugh.
“Our food, you berk.”
“Sometimes you sound awful English for an Indian, but yes. There’s this lovely place near Buckingham Palace owned by the sweetest Indian couple. The wife makes the most delicious vindaloo.”
“Hm,” Harry hums, going down the line and closing the lids on the now full takeaway containers before laying out another set. “You’ll have to take me there next time I’m in England. And yeah, I do. My mum is from Wales and I spent a lot of time in London as a child and during uni.”
“How did your parents end up together if your mother is in England?” Draco asks after a pause where Harry hears some shuffling around on the other end of the line. He imagines Draco in his pyjamas, probably some posh silk or satin matching set, getting comfortable in his grand king-size bed, leaning back on overstuffed feather pillows while stroking his cat next to him. He can’t help but smile at the image.
“They originally met when my mum was in Delhi for some sort of international youth conference. She and my dad hit it off and kept in touch until he moved to London to finish his PhD program a few years later. While he was there they got together and my mum ended up pregnant with me a year later.” Harry explains, moving on to a platter of gujiyas and lining them up a couple to a container. “They got married and lived in London for the first few years of my life until they realized that things weren’t working for them anymore, but they didn’t end up finalizing the divorce until I was in high school. My dad moved back to India and I went to primary school in England before moving in with my dad for high school and my first year of uni. Ended up doing a study abroad program with the University of Oxford for the last three years of my undergrad and then stayed to complete my masters in social justice before moving back.”
“Well that’s all terribly exciting,” Draco says around yawn and Harry rolls his eyes.
“You asked.” He says defensively.
“I did. And I actually meant that, it’s just past my bedtime.” Draco chuckles. They fall into momentary silence as Harry continues to work away at the leftovers. He realizes that this is the first time they’ve spoken on the phone and not simply over text and suddenly he feels slightly self-conscious. Is it weird that he had called Draco instead of just texting like usual? Is it rude that he called before thinking of the time difference between New Delhi and London?
“I can hear you thinking, Harry.” Draco breaks the silence on the tail of another yawn and Harry startles slightly at the sound of his voice breaking through his thoughts.
“Not really, just wondering why you’re wasting your precious beauty sleep answering my call.” He defers.
“I was simply wondering if you were calling for help after being buried under a heap of roti or something. I will be going to sleep now, though.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
Silence.
“Goodnight, Harry.”
“Goodnight, Draco.”
Neither of them hang up immediately and Harry wonders why he feels that he should say something more, so he opts for: “You can end the call anytime now.”
“I was… Your fingers work, don’t they?” Draco asks in a lofty tone after faltering on whatever he was going to say at first.
“I have chutney on my hands.” Harry says, grinning.
“Whatever. Goodbye.” Draco huffs and then the call disconnects with a click.
***
Christmas passes in a blur of festive lights and travel, as Harry, James and James’ partner, Regulus, fly to England to spend it with Lily. Lily and James had split amicably, so they both try to organize the big holidays together as often as possible so that Harry can spend it with both parents. By New Years, Harry, Padma and Parvati have planned their seasonal NYE bash to be both bigger and better than it ever has been in years past. The three of them always get permission from James to host it at a sprawling country house that he owns on the outskirts of Windsor.
‘Country house’ is a bit of a misnomer, Harry thinks. The house itself is an imposing grey-stone manor house with enough bedrooms to house at least a dozen people and an entire L-shaped wing leading into the back gardens for entertaining guests. That wing is dedicated to what is essentially an event hall that opens up into the finely manicured gardens which host understated cobblestone paths that wind through imposing hedgerows and bushes that bloom with lilac and honeysuckle all throughout the spring and summertime.
The event hall and back gardens have been done up with silver and gold, a dance floor set up and alcohol and hors d'oeuvres stockpiled for the night. Harry had decided to lean into the fact that gold complements his darker skin tone beautifully when he was choosing his outfit for the night.
ATTN: will be wearing black and gold silk shirt tonight. pls do not try to steal my shine. you will fail and i will be embarrassed for you.
Draco texts back seconds later.
Aw, cute. I’ll tell Pansy the dress code for tonight is “commoner”.
Harry sticks his tongue out at his phone screen when he reads the message and opts not to dignify it with a response. When he arrives at the party later, he is privately pleased to see heads turn and eyes sweep appreciatively up and down his body. He knows he’s one of the hosts and that many guests would be looking for that reason alone, but he also can’t pretend that he doesn’t look good in a silk black and gold Versace button down, left unbuttoned a cheeky amount, paired with slim fit pressed black trousers and a pair of patent leather black and gold high top trainers.
Part of the reason that Harry enjoys New Years so much is because it's the one time in the year that he is guaranteed to be able to catch up with some of his closest friends from uni. Ron, Hermione and Harry had been nearly inseparable during their time at Oxford and though they don’t get to see each other as often anymore, Harry loves that when they do get together they can pick up where they left off regardless of how long it’s been.
“Oi, Harry!” Ron’s booming voice immediately draws Harry’s attention and he spots his tall, redheaded friend weaving through the sea of people towards him with Hermione in tow. “It’s good to see you, mate!”
“Oh Harry, we’ve missed you!” Hermione cries as they reach him and proceed to crush him into a tight hug between them.
“I missed you too!” Harry laughs, doing his best to return the hug with his arms pinned to his sides. “You guys look great.”
“You do too, though Harry, do you need me to mend the buttons on the top of your shirt? You know, I can see most of your chest-” Hermione immediately teases, stepping back a bit and co*cking her head to the side consideringly.
“Lay off him, ‘Mione, you know he’s looking to pull tonight.” Ron shoots Harry a wink and Hermione giggles, trying unsuccessfully to hide it by clearing her throat.
“I literally just got here,” Harry groans. “Do you both have to start in on me already?”
“Oh come now, Harry, we’ve missed you terribly.” Hermione laughs, looping her arm through his and tugging him further into the party.
“Let’s get you a drink and see how long it takes before you’re undoing another button!” Ron snickers, falling into step on Harry’s other side.
They start the night with a nice, middle-shelf whiskey and do a little catching up in the warmly lit gardens before heading to the dancefloor for a couple of songs. When Ron decides that they are in need of a round of shots, they wind up running into Seamus and Dean, who they also went to uni with, at the bar. Immediately afterwards, Seamus drags Hermione a few feet away to dance when Gasolina comes on. Harry is sipping at a fresh drink and watching Hermione almost doubled over in laughter at Seamus’ ridiculous gyrating dance moves when Ron pulls his attention back by mentioning Draco.
“I know we haven't seen each other in a few months but you didn’t have to go replacing me with the prince of England!” Ron bumps their shoulders together and gulps down another mouthful of whisky before starting in on his line of questioning. “What’s that all about, anyway? I thought you both hated each other? Is it a PR thing?”
“My dad organized a damage control grand tour with the palace after the cake disaster,” Harry grins. “It was excruciating.”
“I knew it! He’s too posh to be friends with the likes of you.” Dean laughs.
“Oh no, Harry and the prince really are becoming quite close ,” Parvati suddenly appears at Harry’s elbow as she seems to have an affinity for doing at the worst possible moments. He nearly sloshes his drink over the bar in his surprise. “Speaking of Prince Draco, incoming!”
Harry had been beginning to wonder when Draco would finally arrive and it only takes seconds for him to locate his strikingly blonde hair despite the crowd that had grown twice as big since Harry’s own arrival. It’s the first time Harry has seen Draco in person since the press tour and the hundreds of text messages and late-night calls that came shortly after. It almost feels like he’s meeting a new person and he’s slightly taken aback by the excited thrill that goes through him at the sight of a small but genuine smile on the prince’s famously beautiful face directed right at him.
“No f*cking way.” Harry hears Ron say quietly, but he’s too busy stepping forwards to meet Draco with an overfriendly hug.
“I see you took my fashion advice!” Harry says, stepping back and gesturing to Draco’s narrow-cut light blue tie embellished with delicate shiny silver embroidery. The rest of his outfit is pretty standard, a simple grey suit and shiny black shoes, but the blue of his tie perfectly complements the swirling grey-blue of his eyes, causing them to appear less icy than Harry remembers. Or maybe he has simply had enough whiskey to become poetic about the colour of Draco’s eyes. Who knows.
“Don’t let Pansy hear you trying to take all of the credit. She insisted on choosing my tie for me tonight.” Draco says, and his voice is different than Harry remembers. Smooth like expensive velvet, clear and curling down his spine like a cool trickle of water. Harry is definitely drunk. “Harry, allow me to introduce you to my best mate, Blaise Zabini.”
Draco gestures to the tall man who has stepped up beside him and Harry momentarily doesn’t have words to describe how handsome Blaise is. Clad in a gold embellished silk bomber jacket and dripping with opulent jewellery, Blaise’s smooth dark skin glows in a warm, almost ethereal way. The easy smile he greets Harry with is perfectly white and somehow makes him even more handsome.
“It’s good to meet you, Harry. I’ve heard so much about you.” He says in a rich baritone, extending an immaculately manicured hand to shake. Several of his fingernails are painted gold as well. When his attention is redirected to Parvati, his eyes grow brighter, his grin spreading. “May I just say that you, Miss Patil, are one of the most exquisite women I have ever seen in my life and I would like to procure for you the most lavish drink in this establishment.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere.” Parvati says, smiling indulgently and holding her hand out. Blaise immediately takes it and presses his lips to the back of her hand before leading Parvati towards the bar to do exactly as he had said he would. Harry’s gaze follows them for a moment before lighting back on Draco just in time to catch his eyes sliding from Harry’s scandalously exposed chest and gold cuban link back up to his face.
“I guess I should have been more worried about Blaise stealing the spotlight tonight.” Harry muses.
“‘Subtle’ and ‘understated’ are not words that exist in that man’s vernacular.” Draco rolls his eyes. Harry laughs, loud and open, and Draco watches, smile growing to a grin.
“Come on,” Harry says. “I’m already two whiskey’s and a round of shots in. You’ve got to catch up.”
If Harry thought heads were turning when he arrived, he hadn’t been prepared for the attention he was getting now that he was standing shoulder to shoulder with the prince of England at the bar, knocking back another shot. He finds that he isn’t bothered in the slightest by the open staring of the people around them as he presses a drink into Draco’s hand and leans in to speak over the music.
“Let me introduce you to my friends from uni!” Draco nods, watching Harry’s lips as he speaks. Harry turns, grabbing Ron by the shoulder and tugging him around to face them. Hermione peers around her boyfriend’s tall figure and her eyes widen a little when she spots who Harry is standing next to. “This is Ron and Hermione. They’re some of my best mates in the whole world.”
“Er, it’s good to meet you, Your Royal Highness.” Hermione says, smiling nervously.
“Please, call me Draco.” Draco says, offering a hand to Ron and smiling that polite, practised smile that Harry knows is reserved for members of the public. He finds himself silently thanking the gods that he gets to see real smiles from Draco now.
“So Draco, Harry hasn’t really mentioned how the two of you became friends.” Ron says. Harry can hear the edge of a challenge in his voice and he wonders if Draco is picking up on the underlying test in his words.
“Oh, did he not mention being locked in a dark cupboard with me when our security thought someone brought a gun to the children’s hospital?” Draco asks in a casual tone. “It turns out a perceived attempt on your lives can bring people together.”
Harry laughs at the look of shock that crosses Ron’s face and Draco is clearly enjoying it as well, if his satisfied smirk is anything to go by. Harry finds that he is enjoying the presence of Draco at his side immensely as he proceeds to introduce him to Seamus and Dean. There’s dancing and mingling and another round of introductions when Pansy and Padma find their way over to the bar eventually as well.
Harry has finished his third drink- or is it his fourth? When he is cornered by a girl from some American pop-rock band near the dancefloor. He somehow agrees to dance with her and finds her back pressed to his front as she grinds on him to Mi Gente with abandon. He’s having a pretty good time but keeps catching Draco watching him from the bar where he had stayed to chat with Hermione as he sips at his drink, which Harry is pleased to see hasn’t been empty for more than a moment since he arrived. He didn’t know that eye contact from across a room while dancing intimately with another person could be so charged. With what, Harry is far too sozzled to discern, but it makes a warm heat erupt in his sternum each time it happens. When the song ends he slips away in the crowd and makes a beeline back to Draco and his friends. His blonde hair like a beacon in a churning sea of bodies.
“You don’t dance?” He asks, sliding up to the bar next to Draco, their shoulders pressed together.
“No, I do,” Draco says tightly, clearly unsure of what to do with his hands. Harry finds it oddly endearing and- wow, he’s definitely pretty drunk. “It’s just, ballroom lessons didn’t exactly cover this.”
“It’s all in the hips! You’ve got to loosen up,” Harry says, turning and gripping Draco by the hips in demonstration. The prince immediately stiffens under his touch and Harry shakes his head lightly. “That is the exact opposite of what I just said. Like this, watch me.” He shimmies his hips a little to the song that is currently playing and Draco grips his drink for dear life.
“Oh, I am.” He mutters, eyes raking down Harry’s body and back up. Suddenly the song fades into the trumpet of Paint the Town Red and Harry whoops, grabbing at Parvati’s shoulder just as she is passing by.
“Vati! Vati! We have to show Draco how it’s done, come on!” He yells, seizing Draco by his elbow and Dragging him onto the dancefloor behind Parvati. “You have to dance!”
Parvati grabs Harry, pulling him away from Draco as they reach the dancefloor and immediately begins shimmying and grinding with him as the crowd jumps around them. Harry shouts the lyrics and Parvati cackles as Draco openly gawks at them.
“Did she just say ‘I put good dick all in my kidneys’?”
Harry is breathless with the joy of it all, Parvati moving in tandem with him, people jumping and grinding around them, sweat pricking at his brow as he shows off his best moves knowing that Draco is watching. His face is confused and his posture couldn’t be more stiff and uncomfortable and it’s hilarious . Eventually he begins bopping his head along to the music and Harry cheers, pointing and gyrating his hips in Draco’s direction as Parvati takes up position at his back, hands on his waist and a hand pressing between his shoulder blades to encourage him to bend forwards slightly and grind back on her. He does, laughing wildly.
The music continues and Parvati drifts away to dance with Blaise as the night wears on. Draco’s willingness to dance directly correlates with Harry’s proximity and encouraging hands, and Harry finds himself inordinately distracted by the way Draco’s long, elegant fingers look wrapped around the neck of a champagne bottle and the way his lips curl around the mouth of it when he abandons his glass later on in the night.
Soon, it is one minute to the new year and the crowd presses in on all sides as the countdown begins. Harry slings an arm around Draco’s shoulders on one side and Hermione on the other as they all call out the numbers projected onto the large digital clock above the DJ platform.
“3… 2… 1… HAPPY NEW YEAR!”
Harry cheers loudly, eyes locked with Draco’s only inches away from his face. Rosy pink is dusted high across his cheekbones and his eyes sparkle brightly. Harry is momentarily entranced by the gleaming quicksilver reflected back at him before Padma throws her arms around his neck and pulls him into a crushing kiss before releasing him and spinning to kiss Pansy behind her. Harry is tugged into a couple of other pecks from Seamus and Dean each, then catches Parvati as she flings herself into his arms for a wet smack.
He is laughing and celebrating with everyone else when a flash of white in his peripheral vision draws his attention just in time to see Draco slipping away towards the garden. He calls his name a couple of times, voice being drowned out by the crowd around him. He tries to follow, being jostled around and grabbed as he pushes his way through the guests with difficulty towards the doors.
Eventually he successfully extricates himself from the crowd and steps out into the cool night air. His eyes scan his immediate surroundings and when they don’t catch on Draco, he starts down one of the softly illuminated paths that wend their way through the hedgerows. When he reaches the stone fountain in the centre of the garden he finds Draco standing in front of it with his back to Harry, staring up at the winter stars as his breath puffs into the air in small clouds. Harry approaches quietly and stops about a foot away from him, watching his unmoving profile.
“Hey, what are you doing out here?” His voice feels too loud in the quiet of the night, but Draco doesn't startle as if he had been expecting company.
“Looking for orion.” He sighs, shoulders curled inwards a bit against the cold.
“You must be really f*cking bored of the commoners to be out here staring at a winter sky.” Harry chuckles, stepping up next to him and wrapping his arms around himself.
“Not bored,” Draco mumbles, looking at Harry sideways. “Why are you out here? Don’t you have adoring guests to beguile?”
“They're busy being beguiled by Blaise and Pansy, I think.” Harry muses with a soft smile. “So if you're not bored, why are you out here?” He tries again.
“Needed some air.” Draco shrugs with one shoulder before bringing the champagne bottle that Harry hadn’t noticed still clutched loosely in his fingers up to his mouth for a swig. He holds it out in offering and Harry accepts it, their fingers brushing warmly for a moment.
“You’re not much of a party person, are you?” Harry asks, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Draco’s lip curls in a telltale sign that he wants to comment on Harry’s manners, but instead, he looks back up at the stars. His hands come up as he begins to fiddle with his signet ring.
“Not really. Sometimes it gets to be… a bit much.” He admits. Harry studies his side profile quietly. Draco’s sharp jawline and high cheekbones that cast shadows on his face in certain light. His soft pink mouth pressed into a tight line and patrician nose leading up to slightly furrowed eyebrows, so pale they look silver. His hair shines under the cold light of the moon and Harry’s alcohol addled brain supplies the word beautiful to sum it all up. He shuffles slightly closer until their shoulders are pressed together and then looks up at the sky himself.
Others feeding off of Harry’s energy has never been a problem for him, but he can understand that Draco, with such a reserved nature, might need support on nights like tonight. It’s no doubt a large benefit to have a best friend as charismatic and magnetic as Blaise Zabini.
“Do you ever think about who you might be without the titles and expectations?” Draco’s voice is subdued but thoughtful and Harry glances at him out of the corner of his eye as he answers.
“I imagine I’d be largely the same as I am now.” He answers honestly. “Still involved in social justice and fighting the good fight as much as possible.” Draco nods but doesn’t say anything and Harry bumps their shoulders together gently. “What about you?”
“I’d be a writer. Or a composer.” He says after a moment. “Live in France and date who I wanted.”
“Oh please,” Harry scoffs lightly. “Because it’s so hard for a prince to get a date.”
“You’d be surprised.” Draco says dryly, dropping his chin down and shaking his head lightly. Harry turns to face him and rolls his eyes.
“You have the most eligible bachelorettes falling at your feet. No offence, but what more could you possibly want?”
“The options I’d like…” Draco smiles ruefully, a sharp twist of his lips that looks more like a grimace than amusem*nt. “They hardly seem like options at all.”
Harry blinks. “What?”
“I’m saying that there are people who might… interest me,” Draco starts, fumbling through his words pointedly as if he’s trying to communicate something sensical. “But I can’t really pursue them. At least, not in my position.”
Is Draco more drunk than Harry thought? Why are they suddenly speaking in riddles when a moment ago Harry thought they were communicating in clear English?
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You don’t?”
“None whatsoever.”
“At all?”
“Not the faintest clue.”
Draco’s face contorts in frustration and he huffs out an exasperated breath, casting his eyes skyward as if the answer he is searching for is written in the stars. “Christ, you’re as thick as it gets.” He mutters before grabbing Harry’s face in both hands and kissing him squarely on the mouth.
Harry is momentarily too shocked to register what is happening. His sauced brain valiantly tries to catch up, whirring frantically to life long enough to create the thought ‘Draco is kissing me’ before short circuiting entirely. Draco’s lips are soft and warm and move oh so gently but firmly over Harry’s. He feels the entreating swipe of the tip of Draco’s tongue over the seam of his lips and opens them slightly in response, finally managing to get his own lips to hesitantly respond. Their tongues touch, hot and sweet with champagne for a moment, but then Draco is pulling away and dropping his hands back to his sides, a wide-eyed, panicked look on his face.
They are both silent, staring at each other, and then Draco hastily stutters out a curse and part of an apology before spinning on his heel and fleeing back into the hedgerows towards the party.
Harry stares after him, gobsmacked. His lips tingle faintly at the memory of the kiss.
***
Harry has been pacing up and down the twins’ living room for the better part of a half an hour, trying to work up the courage to admit what’s been plaguing his mind for the past week. Parvati is pretending not to watch him over the top of her phone screen as she scrolls through her news feed. He cards his fingers through his hair for the umpteenth time, knowing that it is sticking up even more wildly than it usually does and not caring in the slightest. Exhaling a noisy breath through his nose, he suddenly stops short and turns to face her.
“You can ask. I know you’re dying to ask.” He grumbles, pushing his glasses up onto his forehead and scrubbing at his face.
“Not that I’m not enjoying watching you wear holes in my carpet,” She starts seriously, lowering her phone to her lap and clicking the screen off. “But is there a reason that you look like you want to crawl out of your skin?”
Harry sighs and drops down onto the ottoman in front of the sofa. “I need your help.”
“Did you do something illegal or just stupid?”
“Neither!” He exclaims indignantly, glaring at Parvati’s sly smirk. “Something happened on New Years.”
“Oh? Do tell.” She says, lifting an eyebrow in interest and situating herself more comfortably on the sofa.
“Draco sort of…” Harry pauses, holding his breath for a second and then lets the words out all at once on the exhale. “Dracosortofkissedme.”
“I knew it!” Parvati crows, clapping her hands together and bouncing on the cushion a little. “Oh Pads is gonna be so mad! She owes me-”
“Hold on, what do you mean you knew it?” Harry stutters, face growing warm. Parvati fixes him with a pointed look and Harry just stares back dumbly.
“Oh please, the long-distance text flirting? You’ve been acting like a school girl with a pash ever since you got back from England in September.”
“I have not!”
“Are you also going to deny that you spent the entirety of New Years glued to each other?”
“Glued to- Vati, I didn’t even know he was gay! ” Harry cries, tugging at his hair.
“You seriously expect me to believe that you had no idea?” Parvati asks, narrowing her eyes suspiciously at him. Harry feels like a trick is being played on him.
How was he supposed to know that Draco is gay? It’s not like it has ever come up in conversation and that’s something far too personal to simply ask when you’re just getting to know someone. Not to mention “-he's always going out with girls! He was in Italy with one last week! ”
Parvati rolls her eyes and crosses her arms, leaning back casually in the corner of the sofa, angled towards him. “Please, you know what a beard is. Does he even talk about any of these girls on those many long and incredibly engaging and apparently hilarious phone calls that the two of you have multiple times a week?”
“Well, no but-” Harry’s mouth opens and closes a few times as words escape him. His mind is in overdrive, connecting piece after piece of his and Draco’s relationship over the past few months. “But I’m not even…” He trails off and Parvati looks at him weirdly.
“You’ve been wanting him to dick you down for ages .” As she says this, Padma enters through the front door and freezes in her tracks, tuning into the conversation.
“Woah-” Parvati snickers at her sister’s sudden appearance. “Are we finally having an intervention about Harry’s pash on the prince?” Padma asks, stepping out of the way to close the door behind her and toeing off her shoes without looking away from the pair of them.
“Did everyone know about this except me?” Harry asks, desperation in his voice. The twins share an alarmed look and Parvati curses.
“sh*t, sorry Harry, I thought you knew. I didn’t mean to tell you or anything.” Parvati says with genuine concern as her sister joins her on the sofa across from Harry.
“Have you never considered that you’re attracted to men before now?” Padma asks kindly. Harry shakes his head slowly, swallowing hard.
“It’s not the liking men part I’m stuck on,” He says slowly. “It’s the liking Draco part.” Now the twins exchange slightly amused looks and Padma settles in more comfortably. “We were enemies until a couple of months ago! And then he kissed me! Out of nowhere!” Harry frets.
“Ooh, he kissed you?” Padma says interestedly. “Was it good? Was there tongue? Did you like it?”
“Hypothetically speaking, if I did … kind of… like it,” Harry says haltingly, scratching at the back of his neck. “What would you say that might… mean?”
“Oh babe, welcome to the club.” Padma smiles, biting her cheek.
The room is quiet for a moment and Harry allows the revelations of the past couple of minutes to really sink in. He is bisexual. It’s not too much of a stretch for Harry to wrap his head around being bisexual. He had definitely had some less than heterosexual experiences in university that still feature in his mental wank material from time to time.
And then he thinks of Draco and- oh .
He thinks of Draco and something twists in his chest, like the stretch of a muscle he has been neglecting for too long. He thinks of Draco’s voice, warm and low over the phone as he lays in bed at night. He thinks of Draco’s laugh, loud and unguarded when it’s just the two of them sharing a joke. He thinks of the way their shoulders press together, sturdy and sure. Anchoring themselves to each other in a sea of people. How the room seems to narrow down to a single focal point when Harry is pinned by that silver gaze.
“Okay,” Harry says slowly, finally focusing back on his friends. “So what do I do now? He’s been ignoring me for almost two weeks.”
“You’ll have to see him next week for that State dinner he’s supposed to attend here. Talk to him then.” Parvati suggests.
“What if he regrets it? What if it was just a drunken mistake?” Harry asks nervously, his knee bouncing up and down.
“Harry,” Padma says seriously, grasping his hands and holding them on his knees, forcing him to stop moving. “He likes you. He’s probably just freaking out. Let him have until the dinner and then just talk to him.”
***
Harry tugs his cuffs straight for the tenth time and smoothes his hands down the front of his emerald green brocade bandhgala nervously. Fiddling with the buttons at his neck and glancing around the room to ensure that everything is perfect once again. He is waiting for a member of security to bring Prince Draco from the reception hall to the private room down the hall that Harry is waiting in.
He had waited for Draco’s arrival anxiously and watched him pose for photos and greet his father from the far side of the room with rapt attention. Draco hadn’t looked his way, but Harry’s eyes traced the tense set of his shoulders and noted the tight set of his jaw when he wasn’t smiling politely. Draco was just as nervous as Harry felt and he tried to convince himself that it was an anticipatory nervousness as opposed to a regretful and awkward nervousness.
He still has no idea what he is going to say when Draco finally arrives and his stomach is squirming. He paces a couple of steps forwards and turns to pace back when the door finally clicks open. Whirling around to face the newcomer, Harry’s heart stutters at the sight of Draco watching him warily as he quietly closes the door behind himself.
“Harry,” Draco starts tightly, squaring his shoulders, his hands coming together in front of him to spin his signet ring around on his pinky finger. If it weren’t for this nervous habit he would otherwise appear cold and inscrutable. “I know I owe you an explanation-”
“Stop talking.” Harry says, crossing to him in two large strides. Draco’s eyes widen with panic for a moment and then Harry grips him by the arms and crashes their mouths together clumsily.
Draco makes a surprised noise in his throat and lurches backwards and away reflexively. His expression is one of pure shock and he stutters out a weak ‘wha-’. Harry has a split second to wonder if he has made an awkward situation worse and then Draco is lurching forwards again, grabbing Harry by the face and kissing him hard.
This kiss couldn’t be more different from the one on new years. For starters, Harry is an active participant this time. There is also a lot more tongue and teeth. They kiss each other desperately, Harry’s hands scrabbling against Draco’s back and Draco’s hands carding through Harry’s hair over and over. Draco begins to walk Harry backwards until his back bumps the wall and then they are snogging underneath a photo of the prime minister. One of Draco’s legs slot between Harry’s and they gasp into each other’s mouths at the friction against their growing arousal.
Harry bites down on Draco’s bottom lip harshly and then soothes his tongue over it, earning a stifled moan from Draco and a twitch of his hips that has Harry biting back a groan of his own. They kiss with an intensity and fervour wrought from years of tension and competition. A fire is burning behind Harry's ribs, licking down his spine and coursing through his veins as they move together. Draco’s head falls to the side, jaw slack, and Harry immediately takes the opportunity to ravish the long lines of Draco’s neck. He tastes delicious , sharp and clean; he smells of something vaguely floral and woody and Harry inhales deeply, committing it to memory. He licks over the chords of Draco’s throat, kissing and sucking lightly at the juncture of his neck, trying not to leave marks. Draco whines quietly, writhing against him, the sound going straight to Harry’s co*ck.
Hooking a calf behind Harry’s knee, Draco ruts against him desperately. Harry’s hand drops to Draco’s thigh, feeling the muscles bunching and releasing with every flex of their hips. His head is abruptly yanked back and his mouth detaches from Draco’s neck only to be immediately recaptured by the prince’s mouth once again. Their tongues slide together and they fall into a heated rhythm as they wreck each other’s suits. Draco is gripping the back of his neck firmly, nails digging in in a way that sends sparks down Harry’s spine.
“Time’s up!” One of Harry’s security guard’s voices filters through the door and they freeze, breathing heavily as they break apart. Harry’s hips twitch one more time, involuntarily, into Draco’s and the prince swears quietly.
“They’ll be serving dinner soon.” Draco says weakly, falling back slightly, hands dropping from Harry’s hair to straighten and smooth his own hair and suit. Harry attempts the same, silently thanking the gods that his hair normally has that ‘just shagged’ look about it.
“I’m going to die.” He groans.
“Not before I get you in my mouth.” Draco says seriously. Harry’s co*ck throbs. He takes a shaky breath and pushes off of the wall as Draco steps towards the door.
“Okay, yeah, okay so here’s the plan.” Draco pauses and turns back partially, lifting an eyebrow and waiting for Harry to continue. “You are going to stay far, far away from me tonight or I might be tempted to do something I would regret doing in front of some very important people.”
“Brilliant plan.”
“I’m not finished.”
“Of course you’re not.” Harry steps up to Draco, grabbing him by the tie near the knot and pulls him in until his breath is ghosting over Draco’s lips. Draco’s eyes go unfocused and drop to Harry’s mouth.
“And later tonight, at eleven o’clock, you are going to come to my room on the third floor where I am going to do some very bad things to you.”
“ Please .” Is the shivery sigh that escapes Draco’s kiss swollen lips and Harry grins wickedly, releasing the prince’s tie and breezing past him and out of the door.
***
Harry is going round the bend.
It’s 10:52 and he’s leaning against the back of his sofa, staring at his closed bedroom door, unmoving. His toe taps out a staccato tempo onto the carpet and he chews at the inside of his cheek.
He’s already shed his bandhgala and unbuttoned the top three buttons of his shirt underneath. He doesn’t want to appear overeager, but he’s tempted to send Draco a text to ensure that he hasn’t ghosted him again.
And it’s not even eleven yet.
At precisely 10:55 there is a quiet knock on his door and Harry is across the room in an instant, previous notions about not appearing overeager forgotten. He all but yanks the door open to reveal Draco, whose eyes instantly darken, raking down Harry’s body.
The next moment, Draco’s hands are on him, moving fast, making Harry shiver as they smooth down his ribs and over the swell of his arse hungrily and his lips ravish Harry’s mouth dizzyingly. Harry forces his fingers to work and unbuttons Draco’s suit, pushing it off of his shoulders carelessly. Draco begins to walk him backwards and he grips Draco’s tie, winding it once around his fist. When his thighs hit the back of the sofa, he perches on the edge with Draco between his legs as the prince deftly undoes the remaining buttons on his shirt.
Long, elegant fingers card through Harry’s hair, nails scraping over his scalp and sending shivers cascading down his spine. Draco’s other hand skims up his bare chest, fingers fanning over his throat and applying slight pressure, immediately sending a jolt of arousal to Harry’s co*ck. Breaking the kiss, Draco pulls inches away. The smirk combined with the hunger in his eyes, pupils blown wide, makes Harry burn.
“How do you want to do this?” Draco’s voice is low and breathy. Harry feels like he is standing on the edge of a sheer cliff with nothing but a gaping chasm beyond. But he isn’t afraid. On the contrary, his blood is racing with a hunger he’s unsure that he’s ever experienced before now.
“On the sofa.” Harry says, voice rough. Draco looks at him intensely for a moment, fingers tightening on Harry’s throat before relaxing and stepping away. Harry doesn't move beyond shrugging his shirt off, standing up and turning to watch Draco round the sofa and lower himself down onto it, eye contact unbreaking. The air is fraught with tension and Harry imagines that he can feel the fuzz of electricity sparking over his skin when he shivers in arousal.
He allows himself to truly look at Draco as he rounds the sofa and stands over the man for a moment. He’s not sure he’s ever allowed himself to fully appreciate how attractive Draco is. The long lines of his legs, his lean torso being steadily revealed as he undoes his own buttons under Harry’s hungry gaze, lightly toned chest no doubt thanks to a combination of polo training and good genes. Harry’s eyes continue their journey upwards and stop when they lock with Draco’s sharp, cloudy stare.
“You’ve been ignoring me for weeks ,” Harry starts, voice low and steady as he finally lowers his body onto the sofa, slotting between Draco’s knees and smoothing the palm that he isn’t using to prop himself up, up Draco’s abs and around the curve of his waist. “You went out with a girl .”
“I’m gay ,” Draco says flatly, fingers coming up to tweak one of Harry’s nipples. Harry sucks in a sharp breath and lowers his hips flush against Draco’s, grinding slowly. “And I thought you might murder me for kissing you.”
“Then why did you do it?”
“Because I had a feeling you wouldn’t,” Draco’s hand curls around the back of Harry’s neck and pulls him down into another kiss. Softer this time. When they break apart, Draco finishes his thought. “-but then I saw you with Parvati and I just…”
Draco’s gaze is fierce and possessive and Harry can’t believe how good it feels to have that attention trained on him. “...I was drunk and impulsive and tired of waiting for you to give me an answer.”
“Oh my gods,” Harry says, unable to stop the crooked grin overtaking his face. “You were jealous. You want me.”
Draco moves suddenly, pushing himself up on one hand and circling the other around Harry’s hips, one of his legs hooking over the back of Harry’s and pressing their bodies flush together. “Yes, you preening arse. I’ve wanted you long enough that I won’t have you tease me for another f*cking second.” Draco hisses, eyes blazing and- oh wow. Being on the receiving end of Draco’s royal authority is a serious f*cking turn-on, as it happens.
“I’m going to suck your co*ck, so lie down.” Draco commands. Harry swallows thickly and complies. Draco positions himself over Harry’s legs and makes quick work of his belt and flies. Harry is breathing heavily, eyes hooded as he watches and harder than he’s ever been in his life. He closes his eyes to collect himself and feels Draco’s hand close around his prick and stroke him firmly a couple of times. After one more steadying breath, Harry opens his eyes just in time to watch Draco’s elegant royal mouth drool a long line of saliva over his fist. Harry nearly comes right then.
“ f*ck- you’re just so- ugh, the most insufferable bastard - on the, f*ck, on the planet- ”
“Do you ever stop talking?” Draco asks. “Or should I give your mouth something to do?” His thumb is rubbing circles over Harry’s glans and it’s all Harry can do to keep himself from coming undone prematurely.
He thumps his head back into the pillows and groans long and low as Draco’s mouth puffs warm breath over his co*ckhead. Draco’s lips close around the head and he sucks lightly, swirling his tongue while his hand strokes up and down the length. He bobs his head up and down a few times before going lower and taking the full length of Harry into his mouth to the root. Harry gasps and moans quietly, tangling his fingers into the fine, smooth strands of Draco’s hair to ground himself. Draco hums in appreciation as Harry tugs lightly and begins moving in a steady rhythm.
“Wait,” Harry gasps after only a couple minutes of this, pulling Draco’s head to a stop with a fist at the back of his head. Draco looks at him curiously, hand stilling and mouth coming off of Harry’s prick with an obscene slurp. “If you keep doing that, I’m gonna come.” He manages after a couple of breaths.
“That’s rather the point.” Draco says hoarsely, smirk back in place.
“Not before I see you naked.” Draco pretends to consider this for a moment before giving his co*ck another couple of strokes and then drawing back, standing up from the sofa.
“Take your trousers off.” Draco instructs, tugging the tails of his mostly unbuttoned shirt out of the waistband of his trousers. He watches Harry with a dark gaze as he pushes his undone trousers down his legs with his pants and kicks them off obediently. Draco’s eyes rake down the length of his fully exposed body and strange sort of nervousness roils in Harry’s stomach. Draco takes off his own shirt and drapes it over the armchair adjacent.
Harry knows what comes next. He’s aware of the general concept and has, admittedly, seen it in practice in p*rn. He’s looked at a few diagrams and figures he can probably sort the rest out himself, but he’s never done anything like this before. Well, anything like this with another man, anyway. A couple of drunken wanks with mates from uni hardly compare to the incredibly sober and incredibly intentional experience he is having with Draco now.
Draco removes his trousers, pants and socks, laying each of them over the armchair as well and then stands facing Harry for appraisal. Harry swallows hard as his eyes fall to Draco’s rigid co*ck jutting away from his body and bobbing with every movement, the pink head peeking out of stretched foreskin and glistening with precum.
How Harry could ever have thought he was straight is beyond him.
“Come here.” He says roughly, pushing himself into more of a sitting position. Draco climbs onto his lap and they both moan as their co*cks slide together, hot and achingly hard. Harry circles his arm around Draco’s waist and kisses him hungrily. Draco’s hands smooth over his shoulders and his nails rake lightly up his back, making him shiver. They grind together more firmly and Harry gasps as his co*ck jerks, spurting precome down the length of both him and Draco.
The symphony of sensations coursing through Harry is near overwhelming and he can’t stop the ragged moan that tears from his throat when Draco’s fingers close around both of their pricks, pressing them together and spreading their precome over the lengths. He begins to work them quickly and purposefully as he sucks at Harry’s bottom lip and licks into his mouth. Harry is rocking up into Draco’s fist, trying to focus on chasing every little sound that escapes the prince back down his throat to prolong his impending org*sm.
“I’m going to come.” He gasps, teetering on the edge.
“Come for me, Harry.” Draco breathes into his mouth. It’s Draco’s words that tip him over the edge and send his org*sm ripping through him, striping ropes of come between them. The slickness of Draco’s fist around their co*cks increases and Harry doesn’t have the presence of mind to be embarrassed by how loudly he moans, eyes fluttering shut as his muscles tense. Draco follows a moment later, head dropping to Harry’s shoulder and breath stuttering as his strokes become irregular. Harry closes his own fist around Draco’s and continues stroking them through his org*sm, even as his own prick is rapidly becoming oversensitive.
After a couple more seconds Draco’s body goes limp atop him and Harry relaxes back into the cushions, loosening his fist. When the uncomfortable stickiness between then forces Draco up and off of him, Harry stands and retrieves a damp hand towel to clean up the mess.
“You said you’ve wanted me for a while.” Harry starts, wiping the come off of Draco’s chest as the prince watches him, face pink and body sated. “How long is ‘a while’?”
“Maybe I just said that to get you to stop teasing.” Draco says. Harry quirks an eyebrow up with a challenging tilt of his head in a perfect imitation of the prince, earning himself an eye roll. “Since the Olympics.”
“Wow, you had a lot going on that night.”
“You have no idea.” Draco mutters, taking the towel from Harry and finishing himself. He begins redressing and Harry follows suit, opting to replace his pants and trousers, but leaving his shirt where it had been discarded on the floor. When Draco is mostly redressed, tie hanging loosely around his neck and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, he sits down next to Harry.
They sit there in silence for a moment, Draco staring into the fireplace on the wall across from them and Harry watching the prince’s profile. His lips are the prettiest pink and he has the faintest of bruises appearing just below his undone collar on his clavicle. Harry wants to eat him.
“Hey,” Harry says softly, reaching out to poke Draco’s shoulder. “Don’t freak out.”
“I’m not freaking out .” Draco replies, enunciating the words. Harry scoots closer, pressing their shoulders together.
“This was fun. You had fun, right?”
“Of course,” Draco agrees, offering a small smile.
“Great. So, we can do this again? Anytime you want.” Harry says. Draco nods slowly, beginning to twist his signet ring as he searches for words.
“I’d like that. It’s just-” He presses his lips together, eyes straying from Harry’s face again and back to the fire. “-It has to be completely casual, of course-”
“-of course-”
“-I can’t afford to have you falling in love with me.” Harry processes these words for a moment before huffing out an incredulous laugh.
“Get over yourself, your royal highness !” He shoves at Draco’s shoulder lightly and Draco smirks.
“Just to be completely clear. We’ll have to be very discreet.”
“You have my word.” Harry says solemnly, drawing an ‘x’ over his heart. Draco kisses him softly and Harry melts into it for a moment before another thought bubbles up and he pulls away. “I’m bisexual.”
Draco looks at him oddly and then nods slowly, lips pursing in thought. “Okay… Good to know.”
“I’ve just never really said it before…” Harry offers sheepishly. Draco’s face softens and he kisses Harry again.
“Thank you for telling me.” He says quietly. Harry nods and cards his fingers through his hair as Draco stands and does up the last couple of buttons on his shirt. “I should go.”
“Yeah, okay.” Harry agrees reluctantly, rising from the sofa. Draco starts for the door before pausing and turning back to Harry with a pensive look on his face. “There’s this charity polo match next weekend.” He says hesitantly, twisting his ring again. Harry waits for a moment before responding.
“That’s nice. What are they fundraising for?” He wonders if Draco is going to ask him to donate.
“The children’s cancer ward we visited when you were in London.” Draco answers. “I was wondering if you’d like to come as my guest?”
“Yeah, that sounds great.” Harry agrees immediately, nodding his head. He hopes his eagerness to see Draco again so soon isn’t off putting, but judging by the playful glint in the prince’s eye, he’d say he’s not the only one eager for a repeat performance of tonight.
Draco’s shoulders relax and his hands drop back to his sides. “Good. So, I’ll see you next weekend, then?” He asks as Harry trails after him towards the door.
“Absolutely.” Draco turns to face him once more when they reach the door, hand resting on the knob. Harry watches him intently, unsure of what he should do next. Are you allowed to kiss your friends-with-benefits goodbye? He really really wants to kiss Draco goodbye. An amused smirk once again curls Draco’s lips and Harry’s eyes track the path of the pink tip of the prince’s tongue, darting out to wet his bottom lip.
“You can kiss me goodnight, Harry. I just had your co*ck in my mouth, for f*ck’s sake.”
Harry doesn't respond, just accepts the invitation and kisses Draco one more time before watching him disappear down the hallway.
***
“You’re doing what ?” Padma asks over the phone.
“Invitation only charity polo match. In California.” Harry replies, retrieving his suitcase from the baggage claim and starting towards the exit and the taxi line at the front of LAX. It’s Friday afternoon and he has just landed in Los Angeles and is headed to the Coachella Valley to spend the night in a hotel before the polo match tomorrow morning. “I had Sirius free up my schedule for the whole weekend.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but you traded one charity engagement where you would be on the streets, working with the actual people in the way that you love so much, for another where you have to wear a suit and tie and rub elbows with posh, rich people?” Padma asks, exasperated. “Harry, you spent the past week hovering over Parvati and I as we organized this thing only to cancel at the last second?”
“You guys don’t need me! I was just getting in the way! You said so yourself!”
“ Yes , when you insisted on micromanaging everything that Vati and I had completely handled!” Padma exclaims. Harry rests the phone between his shoulder and ear as he approaches the curb, switching his luggage to his other hand and waving for the attention of a taxi driver.
“Well you two have everything completely handled!”
“Harry, what are you really doing in California?” Padma sighs. Harry passes his luggage to the driver and climbs into the back of the taxi as the man loads it into the boot.
“I was invited by Draco.” He admits. “The palace wants me there.”
“Mm, so this is just you keeping up your geopolitical public relations ruse with the prince.”
“Exactly.” Harry agrees, buckling his seatbelt and giving directions to his hotel to the driver. They pull away from the curb and Harry relaxes back into his seat.
“You don’t have to keep this up, you know. People are writing fanfictions about you and Draco-”
“What? Really?” Harry asks, surprised but also oddly intrigued.
“Yes really ,” Padma says. “Vati sent me one the other day.”
“Was it any good?”
“Was it any g- Harry! That’s not the point! Why are you doing this?” Padma asks, impatience bleeding through the phone.
“Draco invited me, and-” He sighs, shrugging even though he knows Padma can’t tell. “-and I guess he’s not as bad as I thought he was. He’s actually pretty okay.” The line is silent for a moment.
“You like him.” Padma says, matter-of-factly. Harry says nothing, which effectively confirms the statement. “Are you sure this is a good idea, Harry? He’s the Prince of England .”
“Thank you Pads, I had completely forgotten that totally inconsequential, tiny little fact about him.” Harry says dryly. “Listen, we both agreed that this would be completely casual and who's better at being discreet than a closeted prince?” Padma sighs reluctantly.
“As long as you know what you’re doing.” She concedes. Her weary tone might be more concerning if Harry cared about anything besides Draco’s mouth right about now.
Saturday morning comes impossibly fast and Harry finds himself in his J. Crew best at the Eldorado Polo Club, wondering what the hell he’s gotten himself into. It’s apparent to him after only a couple of minutes surrounded by polo spectators with finely starched collars and opulent jewellery that this is not his crowd. The woman in front of him is wearing a massive hat with what looks like an entire stuffed pigeon on it. He was not prepared for this.
When the match starts and Draco enters the field on horseback, nothing could possibly tear Harry’s attention away from the figure that the prince cuts. Draco on horseback is nothing new. Draco kitted out in full polo gear - the sleeves of his fitted shirt capped right at the bulge of his biceps, the snug white trousers tucked into tall leather boots, the intricately buckled leather knee padding, the leather gloves - it should be boring. Harry’s seen it all before.
But Draco urging his horse across the field with the power of his thighs, his arse bouncing in the saddle, the way his muscles stretch and flex as he swings - It’s having more of an effect on Harry than he had anticipated. Sweat pricks his palms and under his collar as he shifts in his seat, eyes fixed with rapt attention.
The worst part is, Draco is good . Harry doesn't pretend to fully understand the intricacies of the sport, but he’s always been turned on by competence. Draco plays polo with the same poise and grace that he has in everyday life. It’s easy to look at those tight trousers and conjure up images of the pale, supple skin underneath the flexing fabric. To remember the way that it felt when he was between Draco’s thighs as they flexed. Harry swallows hard and slips a finger under his collar, tugging it away from the skin to let a little fresh air ghost over his heated throat.
Harry wants. Oh gods, he wants so badly.
As soon as the match is over, Harry is up and heading for the stables to find him. His fingers itch with the knowledge that every step brings his body closer to Draco’s. Long, lean legs, a round, pert arse encased in complimentary tight white trousers. Why does Draco have to look so impossibly good while playing such a silly sport? This is why Harry hated him for so long, he’s just so damn fit-
Harry rounds a corner and nearly runs straight into Draco coming from the other direction. The prince’s expression is momentarily surprised, but when he sees who it is that nearly bowled him over, it relaxes into a knowing smirk.
“Oh, hello. Did you enjoy the match?” Draco asks casually, leaning against the corner of the stable and crossing his arms.
“It was…” Harry allows himself to take in the sight of Draco in his stupid polo kit up close for the first time and licks his lips. “Enlightening.”
“Right. I’m sure it was.” Draco smirks. Harry doesn't know if he wants to snog him or brain him with his polo mallet.
“Don’t you, erm, have something to show me?” He asks, eyes boring into Draco’s. Draco looks intrigued but continues to watch Harry calculatingly. “Somewhere private?”
“What, now?” Draco arches an eyebrow and pointedly sweeps his gaze over the rich people and photographers milling about around them.
“Well I’m flying back to India tonight, so I’m not sure when else you want to show it to me.” Harry says impatiently. Draco pretends to think this over for a moment before straightening up and stepping away from the stable.
“Right. This way, then.” He beckons, leading Harry into the maze of people and stables to the the back of one of them and through a small door. They are now in a small, windowless room attached to the stables. It smells like leather and polish and the walls are covered with saddles, bridles, riding crops and reigns. Harry looks around for a moment, taking in his surroundings, brows furrowed. Draco whips a thick leather strap off of one of the hooks and Harry’s knees nearly give out.
“What?” The prince asks innocently, amusem*nt in his voice as he approaches Harry. Harry swallows, mouth suddenly dry. “It’s called a tack room.” He says offhandedly, passing Harry and using the strap to bind the door shut behind them. He turns around and smiles sweetly at Harry, leaning back against the door and Harry is done waiting.
He drops to his knees in front of Draco and immediately begins undoing his belt buckle and tugging at the fastenings of his trousers. “ Gods , do you even know what you look like?” He glares, tugging the waistband of Draco’s polo trousers down to reveal a half-hard bulge tenting the front of the prince’s pants. He sits back on his heels and makes a show of looking Draco over disgustedly. Draco straightens a little, eyes wide, and begins to reach for one of his knee pads hesitantly.
“Should I-”
“No! Christ, no.” Harry growls, gripping Draco by the hips and pushing him roughly back into the door and holding him in place. “Leave it on.” He reaches for the elastic waistband of Draco’s pants, mouthing over his bulge and groaning when Draco shivers and his co*ck swells at the ministrations.
Tugging the elastic down, Harry’s mouth floods with saliva at the sight of the pretty pink head peeking out of the foreskin and leaving wetness against the soft flesh of Draco’s hip. Harry leans in and bites down hard on Draco’s hip, body thrumming with arousal as Draco cries out and his hips jerk involuntarily. He soothes his tongue over the spot and then licks over the remaining precome as he takes Draco into his hand.
“I’ve never, erm, done this before.” He explains, looking up through his eyelashes at Draco’s flushed face. Draco’s fingers trace over his jaw lightly and he gives a small nod.
“That’s okay.”
“Just- tell me if I suck?”
“I think that’s rather the point.” Draco smirks and Harry has an overwhelming urge to wipe it off of his face, so he does his best to do just that.
“Oh f*ck,” Draco mumbles as Harry sucks the head of his co*ck into his mouth. “ Oh f*ck .” He says again, this time with feeling, as Harry takes him into his mouth as deep as he can, stopping when the spongy head bumps the back of his throat and makes him want to gag. Harry begins working his hands in tandem with his mouth, stroking Draco and tugging lightly at his bollocks as he sets a steady rhythm.
He glances back up at Draco and it’s almost too much. The prince is watching him, transfixed. His face is flushed and his lips parted and wet. All the dressings of aristocracy gone, laid wide open for Harry. His gaze is blown dark and hazy, his fingers gently trace Harry’s cheekbone and jaw while the others card soothingly through Harry’s hair.
“That’s it, just like that.” Draco breathes. Harry sucks him fast and dirty, spurred on by the occasional stifled moan and words of praise dropping from Draco’s lips. The sound that the prince makes when he comes down Harry’s throat is one of the most exquisite things Harry has ever heard and he moans around Draco, co*ck throbbing painfully against the fly of his trousers. Seconds later, Draco is hauling Harry up by his shirt and kissing him hard, the taste of his spunk mingling between them.
He pushes Harry down onto a bench and makes quick work of his belt and zipper, unhesitatingly delving a hand into Harry’s trousers and pulling his throbbing prick free. Harry can’t tell if Draco sucks him off for minutes or hours, but before he knows it, his org*sm is ripping through him as Draco holds his hips down with bruising fingers.
“That was,” Harry is breathing heavily, thoroughly wrecked, slumped forward with his forehead against Draco’s shoulder.
“Worth flying to California and sitting through a polo match?” Draco asks, fingers playing with the baby hairs at the back of Harry’s neck.
“Big time.” Harry laughs breathlessly.
After a few moments of collecting themselves and ensuring that all traces of evidence are gone, they slip out of the tack room and rejoin the crowds of people moving towards the parking lot.
“I don’t suppose you’ll be in London anytime soon?” Draco asks casually as he strolls next to Harry.
“Not if I can help it.” Harry replies cheekily.
“I can have you thrown in the dungeons for contempt against the crown.” Draco threatens.
“Don’t threaten me with a good time.” Harry shoots back, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. Draco laughs, shaking his head and coming to a stop as they reach the gate near where Harry’s car waits. “I’ll see you soon, yeah?”
Draco nods, a soft smile on his lips as he watches Harry head for the car.
***
Paris?
H <[emailprotected]>
To: Draco
His Royal Highness Prince Draco of Who Cares,
Don’t make me learn your actual title.
Are you going to be at that Paris fundraiser for rainforest conservation this weekend?
Harry
First Son of Your Former Colony
***
Re: Paris?
Draco <[emailprotected]>
To: H
Harry, First Son of Disrespecting the Monarchy,
First, you should know how terribly inappropriate it is for you to intentionally botch my title. I could have you made up into a royal settee cushion for that kind of lèse-majesté. Fortunately for you, I do not think you would compliment my sitting room decor.
Secondly, no. I will not be attending the Paris fundraiser, sadly; I have a previous engagement. You shall have to find someone else to accost in a cloakroom.
Regards,
His Royal Highness Prince Draco of Wales
***
Re: Paris?
H <[emailprotected]>
To: Draco
Huge Raging Headache Prince Draco of Whatever,
It is amazing you can sit down to write emails with that gigantic royal stick up your arse. I seem to remember you really enjoying being “accosted”.
Everyone there is going to be boring anyway. What are you doing?
Harry
First Son of Hating Fundraisers
***
Re: Paris?
Draco <[emailprotected]>
To: H
Harry, First Son of Shirking Responsibilities,
A royal stick is formally known as a “sceptre”.
I’ve been sent to a summit in Amsterdam to act as if I know anything about wind power. Primarily, I’ll be getting lectured by old men and posing for photos with windmills. The monarchy has decided we care about sustainable energy, apparently - or at least that we want to appear to. An utter romp.
Re: fundraiser guests, I thought you said I was boring?
Regards,
Harangued Royal Highness
***
Re: Paris?
H <[emailprotected]>
To: Draco
Horrible Revolting Heir,
It’s recently come to my attention you're not quite as boring as I thought. Sometimes. Namely when you’re doing that thing with your tongue.
Harry
First Son of Questionable Late Night Emails
***
Re: Paris?
Draco <[emailprotected]>
To: H
Harry, First Son of Inappropriately Timed Emails When I’m in Early Morning Meetings,
Are you trying to get fresh with me?
Regards,
Handsome Royal Heretic
***
Re: Paris?
H <[emailprotected]>
To: Draco
His Royal Horniness,
If I were trying to get fresh with you, you would know it.
For example: I’ve been thinking about your mouth on me all week, and I was hoping I’d see you in Paris so I could put it to use.
I was also thinking you might know how to pick French cheeses. Not my area of expertise.
Harry
First Son of Cheese Shopping and blowj*bs
***
Re: Paris?
Draco <[emailprotected]>
To: H
Harry, First Son of Making Me Spill My Tea in Said Early Morning Meeting,
I hate you. Will try to get out of Germany.
x
***
Draco does get out of Germany and over the next couple of months, they take turns shirking responsibilities and rearranging their schedules in order to jet off to wherever the other is for clandestine rendezvous. They spend a few nights together and Harry learns that Draco sleeps curled up on his side, spine poking out in sharp little bumps that are actually soft when Harry reaches out to touch them.
Between hooking up abroad, they send emails back and forth. Draco has begun putting every ounce of his literature degree to use, writing prose about the colour of Harry’s eyes and the deftness of his fingers. Harry has started reading poetry in search of stanzas that put to words the complicated feelings that Draco evokes in him. He knows that things are rapidly moving away from casual and into complicated in the feelings department, but Harry couldn’t stop himself now if he tried. He feels like he’s on a runaway carriage but is more swept up in the excitement of it all than worrying about the impending crash at the end of the line.
They’ve brought a few people into their tight little bubble of knowing , but only the absolutely essential individuals, like Parvati, Padma, Blaise and Pansy. It turns out it’s a lot easier to cover their tracks when more people than just the pair of them know what they are up to.
As a result, Harry feels as though he’s gotten more time (or perhaps less interrupted time) to really get to know Draco. He knows how he likes to spend his free time reading or playing the piano. He’s learned that Draco is allergic to rabbits and that his horse is named Jean Jacket. He’s also learned to better read Draco’s moods both in person and over the phone.
“It is simply none of your business, so I don’t know why you insist on nagging me about it.” Draco’s voice is clipped and his words clearly enunciated over the line and Harry is quiet for a moment.
“Are you alright? You sound stressed.” He asks gently, stretching out on his bed and putting the phone on speaker next to his head.
“Yes, I’m fine.” Draco replies quickly. Harry remains silent for a moment more until there is a small sigh on the other end of the line. “It’s just family stuff. Nothing really.”
“You know, this arrangement we have,” Harry starts slowly, scratching his chest as he thinks about the words he is saying. “We’re friends before anything else. You can talk to me about anything. I won’t judge. I won’t even say anything if you just want someone to listen.”
“I’m not really…” Draco’s words are hesitant. “I’m not good at talking about myself sometimes.”
“Well I wasn’t very good at blowj*bs when I first started, but we all have to learn to grow somehow.”
“Wasn’t ?” Draco asks, smirk in his voice.
“Are you saying I’m still not good at blowj*bs?” Harry huffs indignantly.
“No, of course not.” Draco laughs. “It was just that first one. But what you may have lacked in skill you certainly made up for in enthusiasm.”
“I don’t remember you complaining.” Harry challenges.
“Well I had only been fantasizing about it for ages -”
“See? You just told me that.” Harry points out, eyes tracking a tiny black speck that is moving across the vaulted ceiling of his bedroom.
“That’s hardly the same thing.” Draco sighs. “I don’t suppose you keep up with any British tabloids?”
“Can’t say I do.” Harry agrees.
“Well, that’s probably a good thing. Everything they write is pure rubbish anyway.”
“I’m guessing that means that they wrote something about you recently?” Harry presses. Draco is silent for a moment and Harry waits patiently.
“Not me.” He says quietly. “Do you know how Pansy came to be adopted by my parents?”
“Um, her parents died in some accident, didn’t they? I assume they were close friends of your family before then.”
“When I was around four years old, Pansy came to live with us. It wasn’t until we were about thirteen that I found out what really happened. Her father, the Duke of Cambridge, had a drinking problem. He had purchased a new car and suggested that he and the Dutchess go out for a drive in it. At first, security tried to stop him, but he promised not to go beyond the perimeter of their property. He drove the two of them straight into the pond and they sunk so far into the mud that by the time the car was pulled out and rescuers got into it, both of them had drowned.”
“That’s… horrible.” Harry says quietly. Draco sighs again.
“The circ*mstances of their deaths eventually got out, and once it was announced that my parents had offered to adopt their orphaned daughter - who had been a regular playmate of mine and visited the palace with her mother multiple times a week, mind - the speculation began. Not only about their deaths, but also everything that had led up to them. Rumours that Pansy was the illegitimate child of the Dutchess and Prince Lucius. A bastard. That her father had drunken himself into a stupor and then purposefully committed murder suicide when he found out the truth.”
“sh*t.”
“Yeah. The tabloids have been reporting on some ‘newly uncovered evidence’ all week. It’s all bullsh*t, this supposed ‘evidence’ is a disgraced, attention seeking actual bastard son of a cheating viscount or something.” Draco huffs.
“And Pansy? Is she not taking it well?”
“Pansy is fine.” Draco dismisses. “This type of thing never usually gets to her.”
“But you’re bothered. Because you care about her.”
“I… yes.”
“I know how you feel. Last summer I nearly punched a guy at Glastonbury for grabbing Vati’s arse. We grew up together too. They were my next-door neighbours when I moved in with my dad and they came abroad with me when I went to uni and moved to New Delhi with me when I came back. They’re the closest thing I have to sisters.”
“But you didn’t.” Draco says, then clarifies. “Punch the guy.”
“Pads had already dumped her beer over his head and then Vati kneed him in the bollocks.” Harry explains with a shrug that he knows Draco can’t see.
Draco laughs, full and open. “They never do need us, do they?”
“Not really, no.” Harry agrees with a smile, flipping over onto his stomach and tugging a pillow down to rest his head atop his arms. “What does...” Harry hesitates before asking his question, not wanting to be insensitive. “Do the rumors bother your father?”
Draco is quiet for a while “Mother was absolutely taken with Pansy when she came to live with us. She had always wanted a daughter and now she had one. Besides the obvious shadow it cast over the public perception of the royal family, the only thing my father cared about was that my mother knew it wasn’t true. When she died he retreated to his rooms and hardly ever came out. Cyrus stepped up to be the ‘man of the family’, I pushed everyone away and Pansy stopped caring about pretty much everything.
“She started going out. The less time she spent at the palace the less she had to think about how she had lost a second mother. She started being papped with stranger after stranger, drunk and stumbling from club to club into the early hours of the morning. One night she called me from one of those clubs and asked me to come pick her up. She had never done that before. I got there and found her high as a kite in the back alleyway. She couldn’t stand on her own and I just lost it. I sat down next to her and cried and told her that she wasn’t allowed to kill herself because mother was gone and I was gay and I didn’t know what to do.
“That was how I came out to her. I got her back to the palace and spent the night with her sicking up and apologizing through tears. I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone about all of that. I mean, Blaise was there for most of it, so I didn’t really have to tell him, but he knows, and-” Draco clears his throat awkwardly. “Anyway, I don’t think I’ve ever said this many words out loud in a row in my entire life, so please feel free to put me out of my misery any time now.”
“I’m glad you told me.” Harry says, hoping he is saying the right thing. “Do you feel any better for having said it?”
“I suppose so. Thank you for listening.” Draco says quietly.
They continue to talk about Draco’s mother and Harry shares a bit about his own. They swap stories about growing up back and forth and Harry finds himself walking aimlessly around his room into the early hours of the morning, listening to Draco laugh and talk about how he and Pansy used to sneak out of the palace for joyrides around the English countryside.
Harry hears about the depression that Draco had suffered after his mother passed away. How occasionally he still struggled with dark moods and deep sadness. He shares his own struggles with anxiety ever since he was young and his constant battle with imposter syndrome as he works to make society more equitable for all. They talk for so long that Harry has to plug his phone in before the battery dies. He closes his eyes and imagines Draco sitting on the bed next to him, telling him his secrets and worries in person. Only inches of space between them.
“I miss you.” Harry blurts out before he can stop himself. He immediately regrets it and cringes in anticipation of Draco’s reply or worse, his lack thereof, but the rejection never comes.
“I miss you too.”
***
Harry isn’t sure when exactly Blaise came to know about his and Draco’s entanglement , but he imagines that Draco had to come up with something on New Years when he was forced to flee the party so suddenly. Draco spends a lot of time with Blaise, jetting around the world on various philanthropic and humanitarian missions with the Zabini Foundation, so Harry is unsurprised when it’s Blaise who answers his facetime call at ten in the morning London time.
“Harry, darling.” Blaise purrs as greeting. “How lovely for you to give your auntie Blaise a ring on this magnificent Sunday morning!” He is wearing round purple mirror lens sunglasses that reflect the image of Harry’s grinning face back at him. Blaise has bleached his short hair as white as Draco’s and his skin is as flawless as usual, glowing under the morning sunlight.
“Hey Blaise. What are you guys up to?” Harry asks.
“Oh, just out for a lovely little drive in the countryside. Enjoying all that God’s green earth has to offer. Sun on our faces, wind in our hair-”
“-and cattle sh*tting upwind.” Blaise tilts the phone over and Draco comes into frame behind the wheel of a sporty little convertible. He flutters the fingers of one hand and tilts a smirk over at the camera for a second. “Hello dear.”
“Since it’s apparent that I’ve been forgotten in the backseat,” Pansy’s voice floats over from off-camera. “Good morning, Harry darling.” Blaise tilts the phone again, this time towards the backseat to reveal Lady Pansy with a hand on her head to secure her wide-brimmed sun hat and wearing large, glossy black sunglasses, sipping on a light purple bubble tea.
“We could never forget about you, Pans.” Blaise laughs warmly.
“So you’re all just out for a drive, then?” Harry asks, shifting his position on the sofa so that his legs are stretched out and he can lean on the arm.
“And to get boba, of course.” Pansy says, slurping noisily.
“Of course.” Harry chuckles.
“We’re spending the weekend in Wales.” Draco says, the camera turning to face him again.
“Tell him the name of the house we’re staying at.” Blaise says.
“Llwynywermod.” Draco says with a half smile.
“One more time.” Pansy says.
“Llwynywermod. ” Draco says slowly.
Harry groans. “Christ.”
“I was hoping you two would start talking dirty.” Blaise says. “Please, do go on.”
“I don’t think you could keep up.” Harry laughs.
“Are you sure, darling?” Blaise purrs, turning the camera back to himself. “What if I put my co-”
“Blaise,” Comes Draco’s exasperated voice and a hand with signet ring on the pinky comes into view to clamp over Blaise’s mouth. “I beg you to not. Harry, don’t encourage him, he’ll feel the need to prove that there is absolutely nothing he cannot do.” Pansy’s laughter is ringing out and Harry is laughing right along with her.
“So what are your plans for the day?” Harry manages after composing himself. Blaise frees his mouth by licking Draco’s palm and Draco quickly pulls his hand out of frame with a disgruntled ‘eugh’.
“Frolic naked in the hills, frighten the townsfolk, return to the house for the usual: tea, biscuits, casting ourselves upon the Thighmaster of love to moan about the Patil-Potter siblings, which has become tragically one-sided since Draco took up with you. It used to be all bottles of cognac and shared malaise and ‘When will they notice us’-”
“Don’t tell him that!” Draco hisses hand coming into frame for a second as he blindly swipes for his phone, only for Blaise to pass it back to Pansy quick as can be.
“Oh you should have seen Draco, it was positively pathetic!” Pansy giggles.
“-and now I just ask Draco, ‘What is your secret?’ And he says, ‘I insult Harry all the time and that seems to work’.” Blaise continues, impervious to Draco’s indignant squawking.
“That won’t work on Vati.” Harry says.
“Let me get a pen-”
“Harry, please tell me you’ve called for some actual reason so that we can get to that immediately.” Draco pleads.
“I have, actually,” Harry agrees, suddenly remembering the purpose of this call. “I wanted to invite all three of you to my mother’s villa in Italy in August. Padma, Parvati and I usually go every year and there’s more than enough space for all of us.”
“That sounds magnifico, darling!” Blaise agrees immediately.
“Wouldn’t that be lovely, Draco?” Pansy says, turning the phone to face the front of the car.
“Yes, absolutely.” Draco says, head nodding.
“Does this mean we’ll get to meet mummy Potter?” Blaise asks, turning to look at Draco and hooking his eyebrow suggestively.
“Mummy Evans, actually. But yeah, she’ll be there.” Harry says, fixated on the tip of Draco’s left ear that has turned a tantalizing shade of pink.
“Wonderful! I, for one, am positively gagging for August now.” Pansy says, handing the phone back up to Blaise.
“Now Harry, dear, tell us all about this women’s rights protest the lovely twins have been planning all month.” Blaise says, adjusting his sunglasses and grinning warmly at the camera.
***
In June, Harry is jetting off to New York for fashion week with the twins and Sirius. Draco will be there and Harry is praying to all of the gods that somehow, someway they will be able to sneak off together for a couple of hours. It has been several weeks since they’ve been able to see each other. There aren’t enough hours in the day for Harry to find a pretence to fly to Paris or London on a weekday, and no matter how much the world enjoys their public friendship, they’re running out of plausible excuses to be seen together.
“Have you run a cost-benefit analysis on this?” Sirius is saying into his phone upon takeoff. “Because you know I’m right, and these assets can be transferred at anytime if you disagree. Yes... I know... Okay. That’s what I thought.” A long pause, then, under his breath, “Love you too.”
“Um,” Harry says when he’s hung up. “Something you’d like to share with the class?”
Sirius doesn't even look up from his phone. “Yes, that was my boyfriend, and no, you may not ask me any further questions about him.”
“How could you possibly have a boyfriend we don’t know about?” Padma asks, setting her pen down, interest piqued.
“Is this like a ‘Russian supermodel boyfriend’ thing? Does he ‘go to a different school’?” Harry asks with gratuitous air quotes.
“You really are determined to get shoved out of an emergency hatch one of these days, aren't you?” Sirius asks, still seemingly unbothered. “It’s long distance, but not like that. No more questions.”
“We can’t ask him questions, but we can discuss, so: Who do we think Sirius is dating?” Parvati asks conspiratorially. They suggest various eligible bachelors they know of and rank them from most to least likely for a full forty five minutes. Sirius merely reads his book and taps away at his phone screen with an amused smile on his face.
The fashion shows are phenomenal and Harry and the twins meet up with Draco, Pansy and Blaise at a slightly-sh*tty karaoke bar decked out in more neon than Harry has ever seen. The six of them squeeze into a round booth and the bartender supplies them with their first round of shots.
“Is this vodka?” Draco asks, squinting down at the clear liquid in the shot glass in front of him.
“Yep.” Parvati confirms, to which Pansy and Blaise both break out into fits of giggles.
“What?” Harry asks.
“Oh, I haven’t had vodka since uni,” Draco says lightly. “It tends to make me, erm-”
“Flamboyant?” Blaise offers. “Uninhibited? Randy?"
“Fun?” Pansy suggests.
“Excuse you. I am loads of fun all the time! I am a delight!”
“Hello, excuse me, can we get another round of these?” Harry calls to the bartender with a sh*t-eating grin. Pansy shrieks in laughter, Draco flips him two fingers and it all goes fuzzy and warm shortly thereafter.
Draco is pressed against his side, Padma on the other and Harry’s face hurts from smiling. He isn’t sure when or how it happens, but soon Parvati and Padma are up on the stage, dueting Wannabe by the Spice Girls and doing a hilariously choreographed dance in sync. Their table is cheering and dancing along and when the song ends, Blaise takes up the stage and belts out a flawless rendition of I Touch Myself by the Divinyls that has the entire bar on their feet. Harry looks over in awe at Draco, who just laughs and shrugs.
“I told you, there’s nothing he can’t do.” He shouts over the noise.
Parvati is watching the entire performance with her hands clapped over her mouth and she leans over to her sister and drunkenly yells “Oh no , he’s… so… hot…”
“I know, babe!” Pansy yells back from Padma’s other side.
“I want to put my fingers in his mouth…” Parvati moans helplessly. Pansy and Padma devolve into laughter and Harry grins, throwing back another shot that has appeared in front of him at some point. Blaise’s performance winds down and the bar bursts into wild applause and cheering. Harry’s legs spread a little wider, his thigh pressing against Draco’s under the table as he slips his phone out of his pocket.
wanna do something stupid?
He watches Draco pull his own phone out, grin and arch a brow over at him.
What could be more stupid than this?
Draco’s mouth drops open into a small ‘o’ of glassy-eyed, drunken arousal at Harry’s reply a moment later. Harry grins and leans back into the booth, making a show of wrapping his lips around the neck of his beer bottle. Draco looks like he’s about to eat him alive, a dusky blush high on his cheekbones and he clears his throat, tearing his eyes away as Blaise rejoins them at the table.
“Right, well, I’ll just – pop to the loo.” He offers, standing hastily and fixing Harry with a hard stare before turning to go.
The rest of the group are preoccupied with Blaise, so Harry waits until the count of ten before standing and following. He finds Draco leaning against the sinks, arms folded.
“You are an absolute menace, Harry Potter.”
“You love it.” Harry grins, boxing Draco in with his arms on either side of his hips and leaning in until their noses are nearly touching. Draco holds out for a half a second before his gaze flicks down to Harry’s lips and he gives in with a quiet growl.
Their lips meet, hot and urgent and Harry’s hands find their way to Draco’s hips, pulling him in closer as Draco’s arms wrap around his neck. Draco’s tongue tastes like beer and his knee slips between Harry’s legs. Harry groans into his mouth, rutting up against Draco’s thigh for a moment before hooking his fingers into Draco’s belt loops and backing them up into a stall.
“You know this is still not convincing me to sing, right?” Draco asks breathlessly, head falling back and thumping softly against the wall of the cubicle. Harry chuckles and begins mouthing along his throat.
“You really think it’s a good idea to present me with a challenge, love?” Draco makes a low sound of arousal in the back of his throat and Harry makes quick work of his belt buckle before dropping to his knees and taking Draco’s length into his mouth.
The floor is cold and vaguely sticky, which Harry would find absolutely disgusting if he were sober and sucking off anyone besides Draco in the bathroom of this bar. The little sighs and groans of pleasure escaping Draco’s lips as he watches Harry with hooded eyes make the slight discomfort worth it, though. His hips twitch and stutter desperately in little aborted movements as he tries to remain still. He comes down Harry’s throat with a whimper, fingers twisting harshly into Harry’s hair in a way that makes his eyes roll back.
Twenty minutes and two more rounds later, Draco is in front of a screaming crowd, absolutely butchering a rendition of Don’t Stop Me Now by Queen while Blaise sings backup and Pansy throws fake roses at his feet. Harry does not know where the roses came from and he imagines that asking at this point would get him nowhere. He also wouldn’t be able to hear the answer because he has been screaming with the twins at the tops of their lungs for a full two minutes.
“I’m gonna make a supersonic man outta you!” Draco sings, pointing at Harry in front of the stage. Their eyes lock for a moment that seems to extend and Harry feels like his heart is so full it could burst. He’s being pulled side to side by the twins who each have an arm thrown over his shoulders and he sways with them helplessly, breathless and entranced by the way the light shines off of Draco’s hair.
Draco stands in a wide stance, pointer finger extended as he sings directly to Harry, and then his gaze, hazy and hot, flicks upwards. “Don’t stop me, don’t stop me, don’t stop me!” He sings to the ceiling, pointer finger drawing an arc upwards. His face is alight with a wild sort of joy and he’s so beautiful it hurts. And he realizes all at once.
“Hey, hey, hey!” The entire bar yells back.
Harry is so in love he could die.
By the end of the performance, there is a standing ovation waiting for Draco. Blaise ruffles his hair as they hop down off of the stage together and steers him back to the booth, pressing him in against Harry’s side.
Harry looks around at all of them. Blaise with his beatific smile and white-blonde hair contrasting his dark skin. The curve of Pansy’s waist and her alluring, feline smirk as she sucks on the rind of a lime. Padma’s long legs, one of which is propped up on the table and the other thrown over one of Pansy’s thighs where her skirt has ridden up. Parvati leaning against Blaise with her thick, shiny hair draping over his shoulder and her collar bones with a smattering of sparkles across them catching the low light. And Draco, flushed and lean and elegant, thrown wide open, his face turned towards Harry with a careless happiness and unguarded softness.
Harry turns to Padma and slurs, “Bisexuality is truly a rich and complex tapestry.” She screams with laughter and Harry smiles widely as he feels Draco’s hand settle lightly on his thigh under the table.
Most of the next couple of hours disappear in a blur. They end up in the back of a limo; Harry remembers Draco practically draped over his lap and Padma shouting into her phone, and also directly into his ear, “Yes, just deliver it to the hotel lobby. Yes, the lobby, we’ll be there in 5 minutes. No, no, someone will meet you there to pay for the food. – Shut the f*ck up Blaise and Vati, I can’t hear anything! – Yes, it was two junior chicken combos, one big mac…” There’s the arrival at the hotel and the six of them spilling into one of the three suites booked for them on the top floor with bags of McDonald’s takeaway and drunken giggling while Padma tries to shush them.
After they eat, Pansy assigns rooms, ushering Parvati and Padma into one suite and assigning Blaise the sofa in the other room where she claims the king-sized bed for herself.
“I trust you two can handle yourselves?” She says to Draco and Harry on her way out the door, a playful smirk playing at her lips.
“Yes Pans, we shall behave in a manner befitting of the crown.” Draco enunciates seriously.
“Don’t be a tosser.” She says to him, quickly kissing them both on the cheeks before disappearing around the corner.
Harry closes the door behind her and Draco’s arms immediately loop around his waist as the latch clicks. He noses at the curls at the base of Harry’s neck, his breath sending shivers down Harry’s spine with every exhale. They stumble rather blindly over to the bed, shedding clothes carelessly along the way and tumble into it tangled in each other.
“I believe I owe you a fantastic org*sm, now.” Draco mumbles into his lips, fingers skimming lightly over Harry’s ribs, making him shiver.
“You do, do you?” He replies breathlessly.
“You are an absolute fiend, but you most definitely deserve remuneration for that little stunt at the bar.” Draco says, pushing a hand into Harry’s hair and tugging lightly. “What can I do to make it good for you? Talk about women's rights during the act? Is there a particular era that really gets you hot?”
“I hate you.” Harry laughs against Draco’s smirk. He kisses him, long and deep, and feels their bodies relax into each other. They begin to move together, grinding against each other with torturous slowness and Harry is savouring every moment of it.
“I do have one idea,” Draco murmurs. His thighs come up to wrap around Harry’s hips – those strong, horseback riding muscled thighs – and he gently presses his heels into the base of Harry’s spine. “Make love to me, Harry.” Draco whispers into his ear.
Harry stills, his breath hitching. “Y-yeah. Absolutely.” He stutters, eyes opening to meet Draco’s blown so wide that only a ring of silver is left of the iris. “Are you sure?”
“I know you haven’t,” Draco says quietly. “But I have. I can show you how.”
“I’m familiar with the mechanics,” Harry chuckles nervously and Draco tilts him a soft smile. “But you want me to m-make love to you?”
“If you want to.”
“Yes, gods yeah, I do.” Harry gasps as Draco pushes his hips up into his and they both moan. Draco’s hand fumbles blindly for his open shaving kit on the bedside table and he somehow manages to withdraw a small bottle of lube from within. He presses the bottle into Harry’s hand and kisses him softly.
Harry pops the lid open with his fingernail and swallows hard. “Right, so I’ll just start with one-” Draco shuts him up by sucking two of his fingers into his mouth. Harry’s mind fuzzes out to a distant buzz as his world narrows to the single point connecting him to Draco. Pink lips sucking his fingers to the knuckle, a soft tongue sliding warm and wet around the digits. Harry releases a shaky breath, watching Draco’s white-blonde lashes fan over his cheeks as he blinks slowly up at him.
His fingers withdraw from Draco’s mouth with an indecent slurp and Harry spares a moment to coat his fingers in lube and wrap his hand around both of them, stroking them together a few times before his fingers skim further down. He gently rubs the tip of his slick index finger against the tight furl of muscle and Draco sighs, arching into the sensation. He presses his finger into the first knuckle and then pauses, watching Draco’s face closely for discomfort.
Draco’s eyes are closed but aside from a twitch of his eyebrows as Harry pressed in, he looks utterly relaxed. A lazy smile crawls onto his face as Harry watches. “It’ll take more than that to get me ready for- ah ,” Harry takes the hint and pushes in deeper, cutting Draco off short and earning himself another sigh of approval. He slowly works Draco open one finger at a time until he has gotten up to three, and then begins to marvel at the fact that he’s about to be inside of this beautiful man underneath him.
Harry’s co*ck throbs painfully and he shifts so that he can find some friction against Draco’s leg for a moment and when his fingers push back in, Draco writhes and moans at the new angle. Harry attempts to rub over the same spot again and is rewarded with more pretty sounds falling from Draco’s lips. He thinks he could come like this, will if he’s not careful, when Draco’s fingers close around his wrist.
“I’m ready.” He says, voice thick. Harry is only able to manage a nod, the images in front of him rendering him incapable of speech. He withdraws his fingers, drips more lube into his palm and takes himself in hand, pressing the head of his co*ck against Draco’s entrance. He begins to push in slowly and they both gasp as his co*ckhead pops past the tight ring of muscle. Draco’s brows knit and he bites at his bottom lip as Harry waits for him to to relax, and when he does he offers a tiny nod and Harry works himself in all the way with shallow little thrusts.
Fully seated inside of Draco’s impossible heat, Harry breathes shakily and squeezes his eyes shut. He feels so close to Draco its intoxicating and he knows he won’t last long after so much anticipation. Draco’s heels dig gently into his back, urging him to move, so Harry does. He rolls his hips in slow, deep thrusts at first until they are both panting and Draco’s fingernails are scrabbling at his shoulders and back as he utters little encouragements of ‘yes’ and ‘please’.
Harry licks and sucks at Draco’s throat as his movements become faster, harder, and Draco gasps and moans his approval. Harry palms at Draco’s arse, grips his thighs and presses bruises into his hips, feeling his org*sm building with every snap of his hips. Draco closes a hand around his leaking co*ck, and Harry closes his own over top, stroking in tandem. He can feel it when Draco is about to come, his grip in Harry’s loosening and his movements becoming more staccato. Harry strokes him through it and watches Draco’s face in awe as it goes slack in ecstasy. Draco’s muscles clench and spasm around him, and Harry is wholly unprepared for the way it feels to be held so tightly as his org*sm is ripped out of him.
Afterward, he comes back to himself slowly. First his extremities, then the rest of him, draped over top of Draco, sticky and sweaty and sated. Draco pushes at his shoulder, and Harry takes the hint, slipping off onto his side with a hand pressed to Draco’s chest.
“That was… wow.” Harry manages, finding his voice at last. Draco chuckles, carding a hand through Harry’s messy curls.
“Eloquent as ever.” He says, but Harry knows he agrees. Eventually they separate long enough to clean themselves up and then they spend a while arguing and making out over who has to sleep in the wet spot before they eventually fall asleep around four in the morning.
***
The next time the six of them find themselves together, they are zipping down the Italian coast in a sporty little retro convertible that seats three in the front and three in the back, on their way to the Villa that James had given to Lily in the settlement.
The villa is perched on a small clifface that cascades down to a private strip of shoreline that hugs a crescent shaped cove. It had been a summer getaway for Harry for as long as he could remember. His father had purchased it as a place to holiday as a family at first, and then it unofficially became an escape for Lily when she wanted to get away with Harry to a place that would be afforded a little more privacy. Harry had spent nearly as much time here as he had home during the summertime when he was small.
Parvati had claimed control of the music when they picked everyone else up from the private airstrip and is now arguing with Blaise over the most iconic pop songs of summer 2000 as Brittney Spears blares out of the speakers. Blaise has just launched into a pretty impressive off-the-cuff thesis about why My Boo by Usher deserves the top ranking, while Pansy plaits Padma’s hair and Draco suns himself seemingly without a care in the world.
Lily Evans is waiting for them to arrive, lounging in the sun by the pool wearing a large, floppy sun hat and sipping some sort of brightly coloured co*cktail. She waves as Harry’s head appears around the corner and he can’t help the massive grin that breaks onto his face at the sight of her.
“Mum!” He exclaims, throwing his arms around her. Lily laughs lightly, rubbing circles into his back as he squeezes her tightly. When he finally releases her, she compulsively smoothes his hair and tucks some of the longer curls behind his ear, only for them to spring back into place as soon as she finishes.
“Why did your father have to give you his hair?” She says fondly, holding Harry at arms length and looking him up and down.
“Mum, I want to introduce you to my friends,” Harry says, circling an arm around her and turning to face the others. “You already know Pads and Vati, this is Pansy,”
“How do you do?” Pansy asks with a practised smile.
“Blaise,” Harry gestures at Blaise, who treats Lily to one of his dazzling, million-watt smiles, and then Harry’s gaze falls on Draco. Draco is holding himself stiffly, ramrod straight and positively radiating nerves. Harry offers him a comforting smile, which he returns with tight lips. “And this is Draco.”
“Ah, so this is the prince I’ve heard so much about,” Lily says with a knowing smile as she extends her hand. “It’s good to meet you, Your Royal Highness.”
“Just Draco is fine Ms. Evans, thank you.” Draco replies, taking her hand and smiling nervously.
“Well in that case, you can call me Lily.” She replies easily. “Now, I’m sure you’re all hungry after travelling so far. What do you say to a late lunch and early daiquiris?”
“Well I say, let the party begin!” Parvati cheers, hugging Lily tightly. “We miss you back home, there aren’t nearly enough women in Harry’s life that encourage him to day drink!”
“I think between you and Pads there is still more than enough encouragement.” Harry jokes, falling into step with Draco as their little group trails after them into the villa. He nudges Draco with his elbow, catching his attention. “Are you alright?”
Draco smiles for real in response and Harry feels some tension leech out of his body at the sight. “Of course. Your mother seems lovely.”
“She is.” Harry beams proudly, watching as the others settle in at the island bar top and his mother, a whirlwind of fiery red hair and sun-kissed freckles, sets to work whipping up daiquiris for everyone.
They eat and drink and laugh out by the pool all afternoon. Between swimming and tanning, they play some 2-on-2 footie and wind down for the night with books, board games and gossip. Harry falls asleep that night tired and content, arms wrapped around Draco and he marvels at the fact that he’s allowed to have this the entire weekend.
The next morning, Harry wakes to an empty bed. He wanders out to the kitchen, yawning and scrubbing the sleep from his eyes. Draco had apparently gotten up before him and was out in the morning sun, reading a book on the hammock. Harry watches him for a few moments, a soft smile on his face as he admires how relaxed and unguarded Draco is here.
“Could I get some help making breakfast?” His mother’s voice pulls his attention and Harry looks over to find her leaning in the doorframe, watching him watch Draco.
“Sure.” He agrees, joining her in the kitchen. They set to work prepping ingredients for a fry-up and Harry is lulled into a peaceful rhythm when Lily speaks again.
“So how long have you been seeing him?” Harry freezes and looks up, dumbstruck, to see Lily already looking at him.
“Who? I’m not seeing-” He pauses mid-lie as his mother’s lips quirk up into a knowing smile.
“I changed your nappies for years, Harry. I like to think I can tell when my little boy is in love.” Harry sets the knife down and looks back towards the window that provides a view of the back corner of the yard where the hammock is situated with a small sigh.
“Is it really that obvious?”
“To me. Probably not to everyone else, though.” She confirms, returning to the bowl of strawberries she had just washed. “So, how long?”
“Somewhere close to seven months.”
“Does your father know?”
“Not yet…” Harry grimaces, returning to his chopping. “I just- I’m not sure what to tell him.”
“He won’t care that you’re bisexual,” She says and then pauses, looking at Harry consideringly. “Pansexual?”
“Bisexual is fine, mom.” Harry laughs.
“Okay, I just want you to know that it doesn’t matter to me and it won’t matter to him either. You’re still our Harry.” She shrugs, brushing a strand of long red hair that has escaped her braid behind her ear and turning to warm up the stove.
“I know, it’s not that. We just don’t really talk about stuff like this. I’m not sure how to approach it.” He admits, walking the cutting board over to her and placing it on the counter next to the cook top. Lily hums in acknowledgement and adds some oil to the pan. “I haven’t even told Draco that- that-”
“That you love him?” Harry nods sheepishly, leaning back on the counter and rubbing his neck.
“I don’t know if he feels the same. What if he’s not there yet and it freaks him out?”
“Well you won’t know until you ask him, will you?” Lily says simply, cracking an egg into the pan. The liquid hisses and spits and Harry watches the white slowly turn opaque. “It’s not like you to be so worried about the consequences of being honest. What’s different about this?”
“I don’t know, mum. I’m just used to honesty being the only option, I guess. When it comes to equity and justice, if you try to soften the message or wait for people’s reactions to it then you undermine the impact.” Harry reasons, carding his fingers through his hair as he thinks. “I suppose I’m just worried about what kind of impact this honesty could have.”
Lily tilts a gentle smile at Harry. “You don’t see the way he looks at you when he thinks no one is paying attention.” She says softly. Harry swallows and looks away.
“Just how I wanted to spend my weekend away, getting relationship advice from my mum.” Harry forces a chuckle and Lily rolls her eyes, swatting at his shoulder and shooing him away from the stove so that she can continue cooking breakfast in peace.
Harry exits the villa and makes his way over to the hammock, strung between two oak trees and dappled with intermittent shade from the branches. Draco notices his approach and closes his book, resting it on his stomach with his finger between the pages.
“Good morning, pet.” Draco laughs lightly and lifts his arms as Harry climbs on top of him and tucks his face into the crook of his neck without preamble. Draco begins to read again, now with the book propped on Harry’s back and they are quiet for a few minutes.
“Mum asked about you.” Harry says eventually, voice muffled into Draco’s shoulder.
Draco slowly lowers his book face down onto Harry’s back and takes a small breath before replying in a conversational tone. “Oh?”
“She asked me how long we’ve been together. I hadn’t said anything to her yet.”
“I suppose you didn’t inherit your lack of observational skills from her, then.” Draco muses and Harry pinches him in the ribs. He makes an indignant noise and tries to squirm away, but Harry’s weight has him pinned fast. He presses Draco’s shoulders down into the hammock and sits up, looking down at him with a fond smile, and he wonders if his mother is right. If it really is so obvious how he feels about Draco to the people that know him best.
“This isn’t a lovers' getaway, lads. Save that for the bedroom.” Pansy calls, picking her way across the lawn towards them with three long-stemmed champagne flutes filled with orange liquid balanced between her immaculately manicured fingers. Harry eases the pressure on Draco’s shoulders so that he can sit up. “I made mimosas.”
“Pansy, darling, how I do adore going on holiday with you.” Draco says delightedly, accepting one of the glasses.
“Is your plan to be drunk all weekend?” Harry teases, accepting his own glass and taking a sip.
“Please,” Pansy sniffs. “The plan is to not be hungover at all this weekend.” Harry can’t argue with that logic, so he raises his glass and Pansy gently clinks hers against his with a wink. Draco snorts into his glass and tries to cover it with a sip.
“Now come Monday-”
“-We will deal with Monday’s problems.” Pansy declares, cutting Draco off. “Shall we go to the beach today?”
“Yeah, we can bring lunch.” Harry agrees, balancing his mimosa precariously as he clambers off of the hammock. “Right now though, I’m hoping breakfast is ready.”
They all have breakfast together and agree to spend the afternoon at the beach, so sometime around noon, they don their swimming attire and traipse down the steps built in the side of the rock face to the secluded cove at the bottom. The day is filled with beach volleyball, swimming and after adequate convincing from Harry and Parvati, the construction of a giant sandcastle. When it is finally completed, Lily takes a picture of the six of them with it. Parvati is on Blaise’s shoulders behind it, Pansy and Padma next to it and Harry and Draco lying on their sides in front of it.
After dinner they start a fire in the ornate brazier on the patio and Blaise unearths an acoustic guitar that James had left at some point, so he entertains them with a mellow soundtrack featuring a lot of Ed Sheeran and Hozier. Lily is the first to excuse herself and retire to bed, followed eventually by everyone except for Harry and Draco.
Harry is thinking about what his mother had said to him that morning as he watches Draco poke at the dying coals of the fire. He figures that confessing to Draco can go one of two ways; first, he can accept it and possibly even admit that he feels the same, or second, he can entirely reject it and end their relationship there and then. Harry thinks he can live with either outcome, though the first would be massively preferable to the second. It’s the not knowing that is driving him mad, afterall. It’s getting to the point where he has to stop himself from blurting it out multiple times a day, so it won’t be long before Draco finds out regardless.
“I think that’s just about it for the coals. Shall we go in?” Draco says, breaking the silence of the night.
“Fancy a swim?” Harry asks instead. Draco looks surprised for a moment and seems to be considering the fact that it’s nearly one in the morning, but then he shrugs.
“Sure, why not.” They carefully pick their way down the steps back to the beach with lights from their phones to guide their way. Harry strides straight for the water, shucking his shirt, shorts and pants. He walks backwards into the surf, watching Draco expectantly, arms spread wide. Draco sheds his outer layers and hesitates when he comes to his pants, looking around as if anyone else would be on their private beach at one o’clock in the morning.
“Come on, Prince Prissy Pants!” Harry jeers, now in up to his knees and wobbling as the sand shifts under his feet. Draco flips him two fingers and then sheds his pants, wading into the surf as Harry laughs.
They chase each other around in the shallows, splashing and shoving and then race down to the sandy bottom in deeper waters and back up into the moonlight, all grasping hands and thrown elbows. Harry finally manages to catch Draco around the waist and he holds him fast, sliding his wet mouth over the thudding pulse of Draco’s throat. He wants to stay tangled up in him forever. He wants to match the freckles on Draco’s skin to the stars above them and make him name the constellations.
“Hey.” He says, his lips a breath’s space away from Draco’s. He watches a drop of water roll down Draco’s perfect nose and disappear into the corner of his perfect mouth.
“Hi.” Draco says back, and Harry thinks, I love you.
“I’m glad you came this weekend. I know we have to go back to the real world tomorrow, but this weekend has been one of the best I’ve had in a long time.”
“Yeah?” Draco says softly, lips curving gently, fondly.
“Yeah,” Harry affirms, tracing the wet pads of his fingers along Draco’s jaw. His eyes glitter silver under the moonlight and Harry wants all of this for as long as possible. “You know what I’m thinking about right now?”
“What?”
“I’m thinking about coming back here next year with you again. Sitting under the moon talking until neither of us can keep our eyes open.”
“That sounds nice,” Draco says, smoothing wet hair away from Harry’s face. “A year is a long time from now.”
“It is, but I know I’ll still feel the same a year from now. Think about it, babe. I’ll cook idli and sambar in the mornings and we’ll swim all day and never put clothes on and make out on the pool deck. I’ll take you into town in the evenings for fancy wine and dinner and it won’t even matter if the locals see us.”
“Well, it will matter, you know. It will always matter.” Harry pulls back to find Draco’s expression indecipherable. Draco is looking at him, scrutinizing his face and cataloguing the bald emotion he finds there, and Harry knows that his feelings must be laid wide open under the cool moonlight. Draco’s eyes seem to harden and his expression remains unreadable as he speaks again. “Where are you going with this, Harry?”
Harry knows that this is the moment he has been waiting for. An open invitation to speak his feelings aloud and he takes a deep breath, praying for the words to come.
“I’ve always planned for the future. Or, more accurately, I’ve always been someone who bases his present choices on what sort of an impact they might make on the future. I’ve always figured that if my intentions are good and my actions match my beliefs, then regardless of what happens in the short-term, it’ll all work out for the benefit of everyone around me.” Harry takes another breath. “Recently, I’ve been trying to focus more on the present, specifically my present with you. Maybe I should start trying to take it day by day and just… feel what I feel.”
Draco doesn’t say anything. The water ripples quietly around them as Harry slides his hands up to hold Draco’s face in both palms, tracing his cheekbones with the pads of his thumbs. The night is still alive around them, insects chirping and water lapping, but it’s all faded into background noise. Harry can’t hear anything but his heartbeat in his ears.
“Draco, I-” Abruptly Draco shifts, ducking beneath the surface of the water and out of Harry’s arms before he can say anything further. Harry scans the surface of the water feeling wrongfooted. Draco pops up several feet closer to shore, wading into the shallows, hair sticking to his forehead and Harry feels breathless at the loss.
He makes his way back to shore slowly, watching as Draco pulls on his clothes again and wondering where to go from here.
“Christ, I’m being eaten alive by these mosquitoes.” Draco grumbles, waving his hands around his head and slapping at his bare arms. “I'm going to catch an exotic plague.”
“I’m… sorry?” Harry asks, uncertain, as he reaches for his own clothing.
“I just mean to say, you know, Cyrus is the heir and I’m the spare, and if that uptight bastard has a heart attack at thirty-four and I’ve got malaria, wither the spare?”
Harry laughs weakly, but he’s got the distinct feeling of something being pulled out of his hands before he can fully grasp it. Draco’s tone has gone light, clipped, distant. His media training voice.
“At any rate, I’m knackered.” Draco is saying now, turning and starting for the steps back up to the villa, damp skin turning his tee shirt dark in places. “If it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll go to bed.”
Harry doesn’t know what to say, so he just watches Draco disappear into the darkness with a ringing in his ears. Something is wrong and he knows it, but for once in his life, Harry is too afraid to push back. He carefully picks his way back up to the villa, maybe five or fifteen minutes later, wondering if it will be possible to turn this around and have an honest conversation with Draco, but when he gets back to their room, Draco is already curled up in bed, blanket tucked under his chin, breathing slow and even.
In the morning, Draco is gone. Harry wakes to find the other half of his bed empty and throws the covers back, shooting out of his room to find the house quiet and still. As if no one else had ever been there. He finds the note on the kitchen counter in Draco’s neat script.
Harry,
We had to leave early for a family matter. Private security came and collected us this morning. Didn’t want to wake you.
Thank you for everything.
DM
It’s the last message Draco sends him.
***
Harry sends five texts the first day. Three the second. By day four, none. He has spent too much of his life talking to not know the signs when someone doesn't want to hear from him anymore.
He busies himself around the Rashtrapati Bhavan, running errands for Sirius and forcing himself to only check his phone once every two hours. A few times, he gets wrapped up in a task and realizes that he hasn’t checked in hours, only to be hit by a desperate sort of disappointment when there is never a reply.
He thought he was reckless before, but he understands now; not acknowledging the severity of his feelings was the only thing keeping him from losing himself in this completely, and he’s gone, a lovesick disaster.
With no work left to distract him, he paces the hallways of the residence restlessly, brushing off his father’s staff’s weary looks and Sirius’ irritated questioning until the only recourse is to lock himself in his bedroom. He tortures himself reading through email after lovesick email and sleeps fitfully, dreaming several times of white-blonde hair wrapped around his fingers.
On the seventh day, he rolls out of bed, exhausted but set on finally facing his friends and accepting their sympathy and comfort. He pulls on a pair of crumpled jeans from the floor and pauses when his fingers brush a folded up piece of paper in one of the pockets. It’s stationary from the hotel they had all stayed at during fashion week. A memory of the night that solidified everything for Harry. That rearranged his heart and his life to fit Draco neatly into the vacated space.
Dear Thisbe,
I wish there weren’t a wall.
Love, Pyramus
The words are written in Draco’s flawless script, and Harry’s heart races. He lunges for his phone on the bedside table, nearly dropping it in his haste. The search tells him that Pyramus and Thisbe were lovers in a Greek myth, the children of rival families, forbidden to be together. Their only way to speak to each other was through a thin crack in the wall between them.
He sits on his bed in a daze, staring unseeing at the crumpled note. Eventually, the lines blur together and Harry doesn’t realize that there are tears brimming his eyes until one falls onto the page and the ink begins to run. A knock sounds on his door an indeterminate amount of time later but Harry doesn't answer, hoping that whoever it is will take the hint and go away.
“Harry?” James’ voice filters through the door.
“I’m fine, dad.” Harry calls out hoarsely.
The door opens and James steps into the room, closing it behind him. He watches Harry for a moment, before crossing to the bed and sitting down next to Harry. They sit in silence, shoulders pressed together for long minutes where Harry sniffles pathetically and tucks the note away under his pillow.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” His father asks gently.
Harry shrugs one shoulder but doesn’t look at him. “I was getting there. Who told you?”
“The twins are worried about you.” James says simply. Harry nods. He really shouldn’t have ignored their texts and calls in favour of moping all week long, they deserve better than that.
“Are you angry?” He asks in a small voice.
James looks at him, eyes soft. “You know, Regulus and I were a stupid idea too. He’s the brother of my best friend, who also happens to be one of my employees. It was impossible to know what sort of a reaction the public would have to their president coming out as bisexual and in love with a man. We both took a leap of faith and there isn’t a day that I regret that choice.”
“It’s too late for that, dad. He won’t talk to me.” Harry sighs, carding a hand through his hair.
“Does he know that you’re serious?”
“I think he has an idea, and that’s why he won’t talk to me.” He insists, blowing a curl off of his forehead with an exasperated puff of air.
“Maybe he’s afraid.” James says simply.
“I know he’s afraid, I just don’t know how to convince him that this is worth any backlash we’ll receive.”
“That’s not something you can convince him of, Harry. He has to make that choice for himself.”
“I think he’s made his choice.”
“Are you certain? Has he told you that he doesn't want to be with you anymore? That he doesn’t think it’s worth it?” Harry finally looks at his father, wondering if he appears as wrecked as he feels. What good would telling Draco now do?
“Well, no, but-”
“Then ask him.”
“He won’t answer my calls!”
“Then go to him. Look him in the eyes and tell him that you think it’s worth it. That you’ll fight for him, even when he makes it difficult.” James holds his gaze steadily and Harry feels the first flicker of hope in days at the determination he sees there.
He surges forwards and throws his arms around his father. “Thank you, dad. I’ll go talk to him. Today.” He says thickly into James' shoulder.
***
It’s dark and pouring rain when he lands in London around nine in the evening. He is thoroughly soaked when he climbs out of the car inside the back gates of Kensington Palace. It appears that someone has radioed for Remus, because he is standing at the door to Draco’s apartments in an impeccable grey peacoat, dry and unmoved under a black umbrella.
“Mr. Potter,” He says. “What a treat.”
Harry has not got the damn patience for this. “Move, Remus.”
“Mr. Black called ahead to warn me that you were on the way.” He says. “As you might have guessed by the ease with which you were able to get through our gates. We thought it best to let you kick up a fuss somewhere more private.”
“I need to see Draco.”
Remus smiles, looking as if he might be genuinely enjoying watching an angry and shivering Harry being slowly waterlogged. “You’re aware that it is quite late, and it is well within my power to have security remove you. No member of the royal family has invited you into the palace. The prince does not wish to be disturbed.”
“f*cking– Draco!” Harry sidesteps Remus, casting his gaze upwards towards Draco’s bedroom windows. “Draco, you bastard!” He yells, squinting his eyes against the raindrops pelting his face.
“You are causing a scene,” Remus says placidly.
“Oh yeah?” Harry says loudly. “How about I just keep yelling and see which of the papers shows up first!” He turns back to the windows, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Draco, Your Royal f*cking Highness!”
“For Christ’s sake, Harry, What are you doing?”
Harry freezes, his mouth open around another shout, to see Draco standing in the doorway behind Remus, barefoot and soft-looking in sleep clothes.
“Tell him to let me in.” He says, dropping his arms.
Draco pinches the bridge of his nose with a sigh. “It’s fine. He can come in.”
“Thank you,” He says, pointedly looking at Remus, who doesn’t seem to care at all if he dies of hypothermia on the steps of Kensington Palace. He sloshes into the palace after them and is then forced to continue to follow Draco, who hasn’t stopped to speak to him, up the grand staircase towards his rooms.
“What the hell, Draco.” He yells after him, dripping as aggressively as he can along the way. He hopes he ruins a rug. “You ghost me for a week, make me stand in the rain like a brown Andrew Lincoln and now you still won’t talk to me. I can see why your ancestors had to marry their f*cking cousins!”
“I’d rather not do this where we might be overheard.” Draco says shortly, taking a left on the landing.
Harry stomps after him, following him into his bedroom. “Do what, Draco?” He demands as Draco shuts the door behind him. “What would you rather not be overheard?”
“This conversation.” Draco says, finally turning to face him. His shoulders are set tensely, in a way that Harry hasn’t seen in months. The skin under his eyes is smudged with shadows and he looks weary underneath the composed front he is trying to put forth. “I’m going to let you say what you have to say, and then I’d like you to leave.”
“What’s going on, Draco? A week ago we were happy and then you disappear without saying a word? If this is over I at least deserve to know why!” Draco says nothing and overwhelming feelings of anger, confusion, hurt, swell in Harry’s throat. He feels like he might cry and that only serves to make him more angry. “Last week you were telling me how much you missed me and how nervous you were to meet my f*cking mum and that’s it? I can’t just shut this off like you do!”
Something sharp flashes across Draco's face and he looks away, pacing towards the elaborately carved fireplace across the room. “You think I don’t care as much as you do?”
“You’re sure as hell not acting like it!”
“I honestly don’t have the time to explain to you all of the ways you’re wrong-”
“Jesus, could you stop being a frigid arsehole for five f*cking seconds?”
“I’m so glad you flew all the way here just to insult me-”
“I f*cking love you, okay?” Harry half yells, beyond caring. Draco goes very still, the wind and rain lashing against the windows the only noise to break the heavy silence. Harry watches him swallow, a muscle in his jaw twitching. His skin feels like it is buzzing and he couldn’t stop now if he tried. “I swear, you don’t make it f*cking easy, but I’m in love with you.”
A small clink breaks the stifling quiet as Draco sets his signet ring down on the mantle. He clutches his now bare hand to his chest, the flickering firelight painting his face in dramatic shadow. “Do you have any idea what that means?” He finally asks quietly.
“Of course I do-”
“Harry, please,” Draco’s voice breaks and he finally turns to Harry looking wretched and miserable. “Don’t. This is why. This is the entire reason that I can’t do this and you know that, so please, don’t make me say it.”
“You’re not even going to try to be happy?” Harry asks helplessly.
“I’ve been trying to be happy my entire bloody life. My birthright is a country, not happiness.”
Harry draws the soggy note out of his pocket, I wish there weren’t a wall, and throws it at Draco viciously. He watches him pick it up. “What was that supposed to mean, then?”
Draco stares down at his words from months ago, mouth set in an unhappy line. “Harry, Thisbe and Pyramus both die at the end.”
Harry fumes. “So, what? Was this never going to be anything real to you?”
Draco finally snaps.
“You really are a complete idiot if you believe that,” He hisses, note balled in his fist. “When have I ever, since the first moment I touched you, pretended to be anything less than in love with you? Are you so f*cking self-absorbed as to think this is about you and whether or not I love you, rather than the fact that I’m an heir to the f*cking throne? You at least have the option to choose a life away from the public eventually, but I will live and die in these palaces and in this family, so don’t you dare come to me and question if I love you when it’s the one thing that could bloody well ruin everything.” He spits fiercely.
Harry is speechless, rooted to the spot. Draco isn’t looking at him, but at some fixed place on the wall next to him, tugging his own hair in exasperation.
“It was never supposed to be an issue,” He goes on voice hoarse and shaking as he begins pacing in front of the fireplace. “I thought I could have some part of you, and just never say it, and you’d never have to know, and one day you’d get tired of me and leave because I’m-” He stops short, sweeping one shaking hand in front of him in the air in a helpless sort of gesture. “I never thought I’d be standing here faced with a choice that I cannot make, because I never… I never imagined you would love me back.”
“Well, I do.” Harry says quietly. “And you can choose.”
“I’m not like you, Harry!” Draco exclaims angrily, whirling to face him. “I can’t afford to be reckless! I wasn’t raised by a loving and supportive family like you were! I have centuries of history bearing down on my shoulders. My life is the crown and yours is politics and I will not trade one prison for another. I can love you, and want you, and still not want that life. I’m allowed, all right? And it doesn’t make me a liar; it makes me a man with some infinitesimal shred of self-preservation, and you do not get to come in here and call me a coward for it.”
“I would never call you a coward.” Harry says softly, fighting the urge to reach out for Draco by balling his fists at his sides.
Draco blinks and takes a steadying breath. “Yes, well, the point stands.”
Harry takes a frustrated breath. “You think I want your life? Or Celeste’s? A gilded f*cking cage? Barely allowed to speak in public, let alone have a goddamn opinion-”
“Then what are we doing here? Why are we fighting if the lives we lead are so incompatible?”
“Because you don’t want that either!” Harry insists, finally take a step towards Draco. “You told me yourself! You hate it.”
“Don’t tell me what I want.” Draco says, voice hard. “You’ve no idea what it’s like for me.”
The silence is heavy around them as they stare angrily at each other. Harry can see his window of opportunity closing in the hard set of Draco’s jaw, and feels himself deflate.
“Fine.” He says wearily. “I’ll leave.”
“Good.”
“I’ll leave,” Harry says, taking a steeling breath. “If you can look me in the eyes and tell me that you honestly want me to go.”
Draco’s eyes slide shut and his brow furrows in a pained expression. “Don’t make me.” He pleads quietly. Harry takes a couple steps closer until he can reach out and touch Draco, but he doesn’t.
“It is the only way you’ll get rid of me, because I wouldn’t have come here if I thought there was no chance of holding onto the happiness that I have found with you.” If he’s getting his heart broken tonight, then he’s sure as hell going to make Draco do it right. “I’ll get back on that plane and leave you alone, and you can sit up here in your tower and protect your heart for the rest of your days. Just tell me to leave.”
“f*ck you.” Draco spits, eyes snapping open and flaring angrily. He grabs a handful of the front of Harry’s shirt and hauls him in close, and Harry knows that he is going to love this stubborn git forever.
“Tell me,” He whispers, a ghost of a smile around his lips. “To leave.”
Draco shoves him backwards against a wall and Harry feels before he registers Draco’s lips on his, desperate and angry and wild. The coppery taste of blood blooms on his tongue and Harry opens up to it, pushes into it. Draco’s hands tug at Harry’s hair and push at his shoulder and they all but grapple along the wall, until they reach the bed. Draco shoves him down onto it and Harry stares up at the gorgeous, broken man above him.
Harry would give anything to know what’s going through that infuriating head of his, and then he realizes with a start, that Draco is crying. Silent tears paint shiny trails down his flushed cheeks and Harry swallows hard. He doesn’t know if this is supposed to be some sort of reconciliation or if it’s just one final goodbye, but either way, he doesn’t want to go home without having it.
“Draco,” Harry says quietly, holding an arm out in invitation.
He f*cks Draco slow and deep, as if it is the last time because it very well could be. They both come down gasping and shivering, eyelashes wet and in unbearable love. Even if they both have to pretend to forget in the morning, at least it matters for one night.
Much later, Draco comes back to himself with his face pressed against Harry’s chest and Harry tries to memorize every detail down to how his lashes fan across his cheeks and the pink flush that spreads up his chest all the way to the tips of his ears. When he opens his eyes they are shiny and rimmed with pink, but his expression is finally one of peace, for the first time all evening.
“Can I take you somewhere?” He asks suddenly.
“What, now?” Harry asks, surprised.
“We’ll have to sneak out of the palace, of course, but I know just the thing to distract Remus.” There’s a dangerous glint in Draco’s eyes and Harry laughs nervously.
“I wont get locked in the Tower of London if we get caught, will I?”
“Oh please, the crown uses much more contemporary means of castigation nowadays,” Draco scoffs, waving a hand flippantly, which does nothing to assuage Harry’s fears. “Unless, of course, you’re scared?” He says with a challenging lift of an eyebrow.
And that’s all it takes. Harry is a simple man; there are two things that can spur him to immediate action: injustices being committed in the name of progress or prejudice, and Draco issuing him a challenge.
Thankfully the rain had let up at some point, so they are only in danger of dripping eaves as they sneak out the back of Kensington and into the damp night clad in hoodies and hats. At some point before their departure, Draco had arranged a distraction with Pansy, and she covers their escape by causing a noisy disturbance at the front of the palace to draw Remus and any security detail away.
Once beyond the palace grounds, Draco leads Harry through the quiet streets of London at two in the morning. He rapidly looses track of how many corners they turn and streets they cross, but eventually they come to a nondescript grey door in the side of a tall, red-brick building.
“Funny thing about being a prince,” Draco says, pulling a keyring with dozens of keys out of his hoodie. “People will give you keys to just about anything if you ask nicely.” He smirks at the dumb expression of astonishment on Harry’s face as he selects a key and fits it into the lock.
Draco tugs Harry through the door and into a wide, dark plaza. They break into a run across the open courtyard and towards the sturdy Victorian facade of the Victoria and Albert Museum, and Harry thinks, Oh. Draco has a key to the V&A.
Draco leads Harry through the darkened rooms of stolen art, past Greek sculptures and glittering jewelry with sure steps. His strides are long and confident and Harry can tell just how at ease he is in the museum. “Do you do this a lot?” He asks.
Draco smiles. “It’s, ah, sort of my little secret. When I was young my mother used to bring me here in the early mornings, before the museum opened for the day. She wanted me to have a sense of the arts, I suppose, but mostly history.”
They come to a stop in front of a wooden sculpture of a tiger devouring an English soldier in royal regalia. “Tipu’s Tiger. My mother used to say that the tiger is eating the soldier because because my great-great-great-great-great granddad stole this from India. She said ‘I think we should give it back, but your grandfather says no.’” Harry watches Draco’s face from the side, cataloguing the furrow of his brow and the way he worries his bottom lip between his teeth as he thinks.
He takes up Harry’s hand and they’re off again, running through echoing galleries and into the Cast Courts where sculptures and busts rise stoically around them. Draco stops them in front of Michelangelo’s David.
“Now I like to come here at night, mostly.” He says, looking up at the David. “Sometimes I think I keep coming because no matter how many places I’ve been or people I’ve met or books I’ve read, this place is proof that I’ll never learn it all. It’s humbling to look at massive pieces like Trajan’s Column or the Portico de la Gloria, and think about how every tiny piece has been put together with so much intention. Everything is like that. Everything has meaning, significance. Everything is a story, never finished. Isn’t it incredible? And the archives, God, I could spend hours in the archives, they- mmph.”
He’s cut off mid-sentence because Harry has gripped him by the shoulder and turned him bodily into a bruising kiss. He cradles Draco’s neck and links their hands together, squeezing.
Draco blinks his eyes open slowly when they finally break apart. “What was that for?” He asks.
“I just really love you.” Harry breathes against his mouth, feeling full to bursting with the truth of that simple statement and the freedom to say it. Draco kisses him softly, tenderly, and it’s a confession of his own.
“You know, it’s a bit ironic, me, the cursed gay heir, standing here in the Victoria and Albert museum, considering how much she loved those sodomy laws.” Draco smirks, circling his arms around Harry’s waist. “Actually, you know King James I was gay?”
“Openly?” Harry asks curiously. Draco nods, a playful smile on his lips.
“His most beloved was a man named George Villiers. ‘The handsomest-bodied man in all of England’. James was completely bestotted with him and everyone knew. This French poet, de Viau, wrote a poem about it.” He pauses and clears his throat before reciting: “‘One man f*cks Monsieur le Grand, another f*cks the Comte de Tonnerre, and it is well known that the King of England f*cks the Duke of Buckingham’.” Harry must be looking at him strangely because Draco huffs out a laugh and adds, “Well, it rhymes in French. Anyway, did you know that the King James translation of the Bible exists because the Church of England was so displeased with James for flaunting his relationship with Villiers that he had to commission the translation to appease them?”
Harry laughs incredulously. “No way.”
“He stood in front of the Privy Council and said, ‘Christ had John, and I have George’.”
“English history is truly fascinating.” Harry says, shaking his head lightly. They had begun to gently sway in each other’s arms without realizing, and a rueful smile steals across Draco’s face when he notices.
“When I was younger, I used to have this very elaborate idea of taking someone I loved here. And he would love it as much as I did. We would walk the galleries together and slow dance among the statues. Just a… daft pubescent fantasy.”
Harry really looks at Draco, taking in the soft dip of his upper lip, the warm emotion filling his gaze, which is directed steadily at Harry as if there is nothing more important in the world. His chest feels too tight for speech, so instead, he reaches into his pocket and withdraws his phone, thumbing through Spotify until Heaven by Bryan Adams begins to play at a low volume through the speaker.
Harry sets the phone on the marble base of the David and returns his attention to Draco to see an expression of pure love and adoration on his face. He’s sure his own mirrors the same as they begin to sway with intention now. At some point, Draco rests his head on Harry’s shoulder and Harry is lost in the press of their bodies and the shift of the fabric of the hoodie under his fingers as he runs his hands up and down Draco’s back.
“Please, be patient with me and I promise I will try and be brave for us.” Draco says quietly. “Because when they write the history of my life, I want it to include you,” Picking his head up from Harry’s shoulder, he gazes into his eyes as he speaks. “And my love for you.”
“History, huh?” Harry says with a tilt of his head, smiling crookedly. He brings one of Draco’s hands up to his mouth and kisses the knob of his knuckle. “Bet we could make some.”
***
Draco charters a private plane to get him home, and Harry is only slightly dreading the dressing down that the twins will have waiting for him as soon as he steps onto the tarmac. The wind whips his hair across his forehead when they are standing on the airstrip saying goodbye. Draco is fiddling with his signet ring and looking slightly lost, so Harry reaches for his hands and takes a step closer, but not so close as to be obvious.
“Hey,” He says softly. “I can wait as long as you need.”
Draco’s eyes find his and he takes one of Harry’s hands, pressing something hard and heavy into it. “I want you to know that I’m all in. One hundred percent.”
He releases Harry’s hand and there sitting in his palm, is the silver signet ring that Draco always wears.
“Huh?” Harry’s eyes flash up to search Draco’s face to find him smiling softly. “I can’t take-”
“Hold on to it for me?” Draco asks. “It’s a heavy burden sometimes and this way you can have a piece of me, until you can have all of me again.”
Harry’s throat feels tight again and he pulls Draco into a crushing hug. “I really love you.” He says fiercely.
When he gets home, he receives the expected scolding from the twins, but then he fills them in on everything from Draco ghosting him to their goodbye at the airstrip and soon they’re all gushing over it and re-examining every key moment. That night, Harry strings Draco’s ring onto a cord and ties it around his neck where it will rest just above his heart until he can slip it back onto Draco’s finger one day.
***
He’s been back home for exactly sixty-four hours when it happens.
He and the twins have commandeered his father’s office for the ample floor space it provides and are sprawled out with maps of the city and fat sharpie markers to draw out the most likely route for the upcoming march against marital sexual assault when Sirius walks in sipping from a tall coffee mug.
“Oh my gods, Siri, what is that?” Padma gapes up at him from the floor. Parvati and Harry look up in time to see Sirius glance at his newly adorned ring finger and shrug nonchalantly.
“I had the weekend off.”
“You had the weekend off, so you got engaged?” Parvati squeals.
“Can you tell us who you’re dating now?” Harry pleads, pushing himself up from the floor to get a closer look at the ring. Glittering little diamonds cluster around a fat red ruby inlaid in the gold band.
“Nice try, but no. You don’t get to say anything to me about secret relationships, sweetheart.” Sirius says breezily, adjusting the dark sunglasses that he had not taken off upon entering the building.
“Fair point,” Harry concedes, placing his hands on his hips and stretching his back out now that he is standing up for the first time in an hour.
“Now all of you rugrats need to clear out, Jamie has several consecutive meetings here in forty-five minutes and you’ve made a mess of the place.” Sirius says, depositing his coffee and a stack of memos onto James’ desk and pulling off his sunglasses before taking his phone out to send some messages.
“Wait, before we go can you take a look at this aid proposal and petition we drafted last week?” Parvati asks, brushing through various loose papers spread out in front of her for one in particular. “We assumed that the council would expect-”
“Oh f*ck.” Sirius is frozen, staring at his phone screen and everyone takes pause.
“Uh, everything alright?” Harry asks. Sirius doesn’t answer right away, and then all of their phones start going crazy.
And Harry’s world implodes for the second time in the same week.
He retrieves his own phone from the floor and reads the news headline that had just popped up around the same time that a dozen or so text messages flooded in. BBC News: Leaked Surveillance Footage from V&A Shows Prince Draco with Clandestine Lover – And You’ll Never Guess Who It Is!
“sh*t. No way.” Padma says from somewhere behind him, but blood is rushing too loudly in Harry’s ears for him to register anything other than the frantic beating of his own heart. He scrolls past headline after headline from tabloids and reputable news sources alike, all some variation of the same breaking news.
Rivals to Lovers?: Read Prince Draco and Harry Potter’s Intimate Emails from the Past Year and Decide for Yourself
Breaking News: Photos and Emails Reveal Secret Relationship Between the Indian President’s Son and Prince of England
People are Losing their Minds over Prince Draco & Harry Potter Romance – Click to Read More
The Bromance to Romance Pipeline: Is Queer the New Black? Prince Draco and Harry Potter Queering the English Monarchy
Harry is light headed and feels gentle hands guide him down onto one of the sofas and then remove his phone from his shaking hand. Hysterical laughter bubbles up in his throat and he chokes it off with a sob as Parvati holds one of his hands and Padma rubs his back.
“Okay, first thing’s first, communication lockdown.” Sirius says, all business. Someone has given him Harry’s phone, but he can’t be upset about it because right now the device is lighting up like Diwali with unwanted calls and texts. “None of you are to speak to the press.”
“The emails? How did they get the emails?” Parvati is asking and Harry doesn’t care. His mind has drifted off to Kensington Palace and Draco holed up in his bedroom there, grey eyes stormy with fear, breathing coming shallow and quick, desperately alone, and he thinks he might throw up.
“Draco- I need to call Draco-” He stutters, ears ringing.
“No you do not, not until we figure out who leaked those emails from our private server.” Sirius says grimly. The door to the office swings open and James strides in, eyes locked on Harry.
“Would everyone leave us?” He commands, using his presidential voice.
“Jamie, we need to get on top of this-” Sirius starts.
“I said everyone, Sirius please. Can I have a moment with my son?” When they are finally alone, James sits on the sofa next to Harry and puts his arm around his shoulders. Harry leans into his father feeling numb. “Are you okay?”
“I’m worried about Draco.” He says.
“But what about you? Are you okay?”
“I-” To his horror, Harry hears something shake in his voice and swallows hard as his eyes burn. “I don’t know. I just got him back and we haven’t even spoken about when or how we wanted to go public. I’m afraid to lose him.”
“Is he the one?” James asks simply. Emotion swells in Harry’s chest as he thinks about how far he and Draco have come. From rivals for no good reason to risky hookups in tack rooms, to love confessions in the pouring rain, Harry wouldn’t change a single thing about how they’ve gotten here, and now, in a single moment, it could all be undone.
“He is.” He affirms with a quiet certainty. Even if he has to break back into Kensington Palace, he will not be letting Draco go without a fight.
James grins slowly, that crooked grin that looks just like Harry’s own, boyish and reckless but comforting in its familiarity. “Then we’ll do this together.”
Sirius and the twins come back into the room ready to launch into crisis mode. They spend the next eight hours doing damage control; sending out memos to James’ staff so that everyone has an approved response to give if cornered by the press, drafting a statement to release as soon as someone from Buckingham Palace gets back to them, and in combination with the twins and James’ speech writer, preparing a speech for Harry to give at an emergency press conference already scheduled for that evening.
For the rest of the day he is not allowed to contact Draco, and when he gets his phone back later that evening, his calls and texts go unanswered. The twins remain by his side through it all, whispering words of encouragement and touching him gently to ground him when his mind is threatening to spiral under the pressure of it all.
At eight o’clock that evening, Harry is waiting in the wings of the stage set up for the press conference, vibrating with nerves. He clutches his statement tightly and scans the words over and over again as reporters and members of the press are seated in the room beyond to hear what he has to say.
When he steps in front of the podium, the room is silent except for the rustling of papers and the snapping of camera shutters. He looks out at all of the strangers gathered, waiting with mics and recorders to capture his every word and takes a steadying breath.
“Good evening. As I’m sure you’re all aware, early this morning it came out that Prince Draco and I have been romantically involved for most of the past year. I am a firm believer that every queer person has the right to choose when and how to come out on their own terms. Unfortunately, that option was taken away from Draco and I, so I am coming to you all today to set things right.
“I am in a relationship with and deeply in love with His Royal Highness, Prince Draco of Wales. We have spent the past year getting to know each other and it was a surprise to me when I realised just how deeply my feelings for the prince went. We have struggled everyday with the reality of what our relationship might mean for both of our countries and futures, but no one has the power to control who they fall in love with.
“I have spent most of my adulthood fighting for equal rights and the liberation of women, children and the LGBTQ+ community, amongst others. It is never okay to force someone out of the closet and into the spotlight when the risks associated with public outing can be unpredictable and severe. I am fortunate enough to be fully supported by my fantastic family and some wonderful friends, but not everyone is so lucky.
“To whomever it was that leaked those photos and emails of some of our most private moments, I need you to know that your attempt to shame and punish us for who we are and who we love will not work. Though my chance to come out on my own terms was decided for me, I am proud to confirm to you all today that I am bisexual and in love with the most wonderful man I have ever met.
“President James Potter’s administration is working diligently to uncover who caused the media leak and how they gained access to private email servers, but in the meantime, we ask for your support and patience as we work through the reality of this serious breach of privacy. Thank you.”
The room erupts with chatter and shouted questions, but Harry ignores it all and exits the stage quickly. The twins surround him in a crushing hug, telling him how proud they are of him and how wonderful the speech was as they are bundled back to James’ office by security.
Once shut safely inside of the office, Harry flops heavily onto the sofa, exhausted. He hasn’t eaten anything since breakfast, too anxious to be able to stomach the thought of food for the majority of the day. Now that he has done everything he possibly can on his end though, his stomach is finally protesting the lack of sustenance and it rumbles loudly in the quiet of the room.
“Hungry?” Padma asks, offering him one of the wrapped sandwiches that some staffer had brought them a couple of hours ago. Harry gratefully accepts it and starts eating as Sirius flips through TV channels until he finds a replay of Harry’s press conference on CNN. They all watch it back and Harry has to admit, it sounds really good. He looks tired but determined as he speaks, his passion at the wrongness of the situation apparent even in replay.
“You did good, kid.” Sirius says, patting Harry’s shoulder as he passes behind the sofa and takes up James’ empty chair, kicking his feet up on the corner of the desk.
“Do you think Draco saw it?” Harry asks, fiddling with the sandwich wrapper absently. “I could almost feel him watching. I hope he liked what I said.”
The twins exchange a look and Sirius stares blankly at Harry as he continues. “I’m just so worried about him. He nearly broke up with me when I tried to confess that I’m in love with him, I can’t even imagine how he’s feeling now. I just wish I could talk to him-”
“For f*ck’s sake,” Sirius groans, looking to the ceiling. The twins giggle at his outburst and Harry looks at him in confusion. “Am I the only capable person around here?” He grumbles, dropping his feet back to the floor and sitting up. He taps at his phone screen for a moment and then presses the phone to his ear, glowering at Harry all the while.
“Who are you calling?” He asks.
“Lupin.”
“What makes you think he’ll answer?”
“It’s his personal line.” Sirius says impatiently and Harry gapes at him wide-eyed.
“You have his personal line and haven’t used it until now?” He asks disbelievingly.
“Shut up.” Sirius snaps, and then, “Remus. I know I promised only to use this number in an emergency, well turns out this is that emergency. We’ll be on a plane to London within the next hour, so I need a car waiting to bring us to the palace when we land. We will meet with the king and whoever the f*ck else we have to meet to sort this thing out, or so help me God, I will personally make your bollocks into earrings.” He pauses, presumably to listen to Remus agree because Harry can’t imagine him doing anything else upon threat of castration. “Now, I need you to march your skinny, perfect little arse over to Draco and put him on the phone or you will never see me naked again… I thought you might see it my way, yes, we’ll hold.”
Sirius lowers the phone from his ear and steadily meets all six pairs of eyes trained on him in utter shock. “What?” He asks innocently, holding the phone out for Harry.
“Remus Lupin? You’re engaged to Prince Draco’s equerry?” Padma squeals.
“When did you-? How did this-? Gods , will you fill us in on this now?” Parvati begs.
“I knew you cared!” Harry crows happily, accepting the phone and lifting it to his ear.
“I’m just tired of your whinging-” Is all Harry hears of the denial because on the other end of the line there are some faint shuffling sounds and then Draco’s voice uttering a hesitant ‘hello?’
“Baby,” He breathes, heart squeezing painfully at the uncertainty in Draco’s tone.
“Harry,” Draco sighs in relief. “Are you okay?”
“I’m hanging in there,” He says, blinking rapidly to stave off the traitorous tears that have been threatening him all day. “Are you alright?”
“No, not really.” Draco says in a small voice and Harry would give just about anything to be there with him right now. “I saw your press conference. I’ve never been more proud to be your boyfriend.” He says, hint of a smile in his voice.
“I’m always proud to be your boyfriend,” Harry replies, ignoring Parvati as she mimes gagging. “I’m sorry this happened.”
“I’m not.” Draco says, surprisingly. “Not sorry that everyone knows, anyway. Could have gone about it in a better fashion, but it’s a relief that it’s out there now.”
“How is your family taking the news?” Draco doesn’t answer for a moment and Harry worries his lip between his teeth as he waits.
“Pansy hasn’t left my side since it happened and she won’t let Cyrus into the room after he came in to yell at me about it this morning. Father hasn’t come out of his rooms yet and part of me wonders if grandfather is just going to try to ignore it all and pretend I don’t exist for the next ten years.”
“Kiss Pans for me and tell her I’m grateful that she’s been looking out for you. I’ll be there before you know it.” He promises.
“Just hurry. Please.”
***
When they arrive at the palace, Harry and Sirius are hustled off to the private residences, which have apparently been on lockdown for the last forty-eight hours, according to a very sour Lady Pansy. After a couple of hours, Sirius and Remus’ forces combined manage to secure them a meeting with the king the next morning. Harry spends the evening holed up with Draco and Pansy and a bottle of cognac in the music room, trying to distract his classically trained boyfriend by requesting he play some of the most mundane top fifty pop songs he can think of on piano.
After a particularly complex rendition of Green Light by Lorde, during which Pansy does her best impression of the singer’s tell-tale inflections and has Harry gripping his sides from laughter, Draco joins them on the sofa, laying with head in Pansy’s lap and legs thrown across Harry’s. He closes his eyes as Pansy begins to stroke his hair soothingly and Harry takes the opportunity to examine the tired circles and worry lines that have appeared on his beautiful face over the past couple of days.
“Draco and I watched your press conference.” Pansy says quietly while looking at Draco with a soft expression. “It was beautifully worded.”
“Thank you.” Harry says.
“He’ll never admit it, but it made him cry.” She stage whispers.
“We watched it in the guest wing! Those rooms are all so dusty unless we have visitors.” Draco protests, frowning.
“Oh yes, the dust, of course.” Pansy agrees, rolling her eyes.
Harry is smiling as he listens to their exchange and he realizes that this is the first time he’s felt at peace since the media leak. Within the music room, closed away from the outside world, they have managed to create a safe haven away from the storm raging beyond the four walls. He gives himself permission to push the fear and worry away for as long as they remain in this room; allowing himself a reprieve from it all for just a moment.
Later that night when they have all retired to their rooms, Harry finds that he can no longer pretend that everything is alright. He wants so desperately to put on a brave face and be an anchor for Draco, but as he’s standing in front of the window, looking out into the night, his hands begin to shake and he can’t deny it any longer. A moment later Draco’s arms circle around him, pulling him close and he turns so that he can wrap his arms around Draco as well.
“I’m sorry,” The words fall unbidden from Harry’s lips, earnestly, miserably, muffled against Draco’s shoulder. “This is my fault. I’m so sorry. I’m so so sorry.”
“Stop it,” Draco hushes him, petting his hair softly and tracing soothing circles in his back. “Stop apologizing. You’ve done nothing wrong and I’m not sorry for a thing.”
Harry laughs wetly and straightens up, scrubbing his damp eyes. “I’m supposed to be the one who charges to the rescue here, you’re supposed to be the one in need of comfort.”
“I think we’re both in need of a little comfort right now.” Draco says softly, fingers playing absently with the signet ring that Harry now wears around his neck.
“Let’s go to bed.” Harry says, taking Draco’s hand in his and leading him over to the bed. He strips down to his pants and then reaches for Draco’s clothes when he makes no moves to remove them himself.
“I haven’t slept in two days,” Draco says, as Harry works his shirt buttons open and slips the fabric off of his shoulders. He raises his arms so that Harry can tug his undershirt over his head and his hair ends up fluffed up adorably, which Harry decides not to point out so that he won’t feel the urge to fix it. “Tomorrow we’re meeting with the King, so I sincerely doubt I’ll be able to sleep at all tonight either.”
“There are other things we can do besides sleep.” Harry suggests cheekily.
“Yes, you’ll make a rather fit distraction, I should think.” Draco smirks, stepping out of his trousers and crawling into the bed, holding the covers back for Harry to join him.
They don’t get up to any ‘distracting’ in the end, because after snogging for a while, Draco dozes off against Harry’s chest. Harry watches him sleep for a while, appreciating how relaxed and at peace Draco looks, and then he is waking up to bright sunlight streaming in through the open curtains with no idea when he fell asleep.
Draco wakes slowly, no trace of the anxiety and stress of the day before as they lay in bed together. Harry watches it slowly reemerge as they circle each other, getting dressed for their meeting with the King. By the time they are walking towards the meeting room, Draco is practically vibrating with nerves. He grips Harry’s hand tightly, palm clammy and full of restless energy.
Pansy is waiting for them outside of the meeting room looking grim as they approach.
“Cyrus is already in there and isn’t he just a pleasure today?” She warns.
“Isn’t he always.” Draco mutters, dropping Harry’s hand and straightening his tie unnecessarily. “Right then, let’s get this over with.”
Draco leads the way into the room and Harry follows him to his seat, taking the one on his right while Pansy takes the one next to Prince Cyrus on the opposite side of the table.
Prince Cyrus is the picture of aristocratic disdain, all but looking down his nose at Draco across from him. His pale blonde hair and steely grey eyes match Draco’s, but the resemblance stops there. Where Draco’s patrician bone structure makes him appear lithe and elegant, it makes Cyrus appear severe and callous. His hair is much longer than Draco’s, more like their father's, and pulled back into a thin ponytail that hangs down to the middle of his back. He sits ramrod straight in his stiff-backed chair with his hands folded on the table, utterly composed and supercilious.
“You would be wise to agree to whatever grandfather says, little brother.” He says coldly. Harry instantly dislikes him. “You’ve made enough of a mess of things as it is.”
Harry feels Draco stiffen next to him. “Excuse me?” He says sharply.
“You acting like a spoiled child who can have whatever he wants is what got us all into this mess.” Cyrus goes on. “Or do you deny that you’ve put the public image of the entire royal family at risk with this little… dalliance.” He says the word dalliance with a sneer directed right at Harry.
“It’s not a dalliance, Cyrus.” Draco seethes. “I love him.”
“Oh you love him, do you?” Prince Cyrus laughs cruelly. “What exactly do you intend to do? Marry him? Make him the Dutchess of Cambridge? The son of the President of India, fourth in line to be Queen?”
“I’ll f*cking abdicate, I don’t care!” Draco says, voice rising.
“You wouldn’t dare,” Cyrus spits, narrowing his eyes. “You have a duty to this country, Draco. I don’t care if you think you’re gay. I care that you’ve made this choice, with him-” Here his eyes cut sharply to Harry, who balls his hands into fists under the table, digging his nails into his palms to keep from calling Cyrus all manner of derogatory things. “-someone who puts a great big target on your back. How you could be so naive and selfish and stupid as to think this wouldn’t entirely screw us all!”
“I knew, Cyrus. Christ.” Draco says, strain in his voice. “I knew it could ruin everything. I was terrified of exactly this. But how was I to know this would happen? How?”
“As I said, naive,” Cyrus says, sitting back in his chair. “This is the life we live, Draco. You’ve always known it. I’ve tried to tell you. I wanted to be a good brother to you, but you won’t bloody listen. It’s time to remember your place in this family. Be a man. Stand up and take responsibility. Fix this. For once in your life, don’t be a coward.”
Draco flinches like he's been physically slapped, and suddenly, Harry understands. He can see it, how Draco was broken down over the years. It’s always been there, maybe not always explicitly, but always implied. Remember your place.
“I’m not a coward,” Draco says, a bitter defiance in his tone as he glares back at his brother. “I’ve spent long enough allowing you and grandfather and the weight of the entire damn world to keep me pinned. I won’t do it anymore. You can take your sense of duty and decorum and shove it up your arse, Cyrus. I’m finished.”
The atmosphere is tense, both princes coiled and ready to strike at any moment. Thankfully, the moment is diffused by the arrival of Prince Lucius. He sweeps into the room looking rather imposing for a hermit, Harry thinks, but his face instantly softens when he sees Draco.
“My dragon,” he murmurs as Draco rises to meet him for a hug.
“Father,” Draco says and Harry doesn’t think he’s imagining the slightly wounded tinge of fear in his voice. The fear of someone who is wondering if it is safe to accept the love offered to him, and wanting desperately to take it regardless. “This is Harry, my boyfriend.”
Lucius turns to Harry, and he’s honestly not sure what to expect, but he just extends a hand with an accepting nod.
“Pansy has told me what you’ve done for my son,” He says, expression unreadable. “Thank you.”
Harry shakes his hand and catches Pansy’s eye over Lucius’ shoulder. She shoots him a wink and a small smile and Harry can only imagine the come-to-Jesus talk she must have given him before they got to Buckingham Palace. Lucius greets his other son with a nod and takes his seat at the end of the table, patting Pansy’s hand atop the table in acknowledgement.
“What are you going to say to him?” Draco asks his father.
Lucius sighs with a light shake of his head. “Your grandfather will not be moved by emotion, so I suppose I’ll try to appeal to him with a political strategy.”
Draco blinks. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I’m on your side, Dragon. You want to tell the truth, don’t you?” He asks, point-blank.
“I- Yeah, I do.” Draco agrees. A flicker of hope rises in Harry and he sees the same light rising behind Draco’s eyes.
“Then we can try.”
King Abraxas marches into the room wearing a stony expression and the air shifts abruptly. Harry could swear the temperature drops as he takes his seat at the head of the table opposite his son. A royal attendant scurries over with a teapot and pours into the pristine china laid out in front of the king and silence hangs heavily as he fixes his tea methodically, making them wait. He stirs his tea slowly and finally sets the little silver teaspoon on the saucer with a clink.
“I had a visit earlier this year from the President of China. You’ll forgive me if the name escapes me. But he told me the most fascinating story about how technology has advanced greatly in different areas to suit these modern times. Did you know, one can manipulate photographs and documents to make it appear as if the most inconceivable things are real? All one might need is a computer and a simple program. One’s eyes could hardly detect a difference.”
The room is so silent that Harry hardly dare breathe. He feels Draco’s sweaty hand clamp tightly around his under the table and holds on to him just as tightly.
“According to the president, any number of lies can be manufactured and disseminated. One could, say, create files that never existed and plant them somewhere easy to find. None of it real. I wonder, Draco,” King Abraxas says, finally looking at Draco. “I wonder if you think any of this could be to blame for these recent, most unseemly reports.”
The offer is right there on the table, begging to be grasped. Keep ignoring it. Pretend it was all a lie. Make it all go away.
Draco sets his jaw. “It’s real. All of it.” He says. The king’s face moves through a series of complicated expressions until it seems to settle on a disdainful frown.
“Very well. In that case,” His icy gaze shifts to Harry now and he suppresses a shiver of dread. “Harry Potter. Had I known you were involved with my grandson, I would have insisted upon a more formal first meeting.”
“Gran-”
“Be quiet, Draco.”
Lucius speaks up then. “Father-”
The king holds up one wizened hand to silence him. “I thought we had been humiliated enough in the papers when speculation was running rampant over Pansy’s parentage. And I made myself clear, Draco, years ago, that if you were drawn in unnatural directions, appropriate measures could be taken. Why you have chosen to undermine the hard work I’ve done to maintain the crown’s standing is beyond me, and why you seem set on disrupting my efforts to restore it by demanding I summit with some… boy ” – Here the king’s detached disdain morphs momentarily into a sneer, under which Harry can hear epithets for everything from his race to his sexuality – “when you were told to await orders, is truly a mystery. Clearly you have taken leave of your senses. My position remains unchanged. Your role in this family is to perpetuate our bloodline and maintain a traditional royal image. I simply cannot allow anything else.”
Draco is looking down at the table, eyes distant and Harry can practically feel the anger rolling off of Lucius in waves. The hair on his arms stands on end and he swallows hard, thumb rubbing circles into the back of Draco’s hand, as much to soothe himself as it is to soothe Draco.
“Father,” Lucius says evenly. “Do you not think we ought to at least have a discussion about alternate options?”
The king’s head turns slowly. “And what options might those be, Lucius?”
“Well, I think there’s something to be said for coming clean. It could save us a great deal of face to treat it not as a scandal, but as an intrusion upon the privacy of the family and the victimization of a young man in love.” He suggests reasonably. “We could integrate it into our narrative and reclaim the dignity of it. Make Mr. Potter an official suitor.”
King Abraxas is silent for a long moment. “I see. So your suggestion is to allow him to choose this life?”
“It is the only life for him that will be honest.” Lucius says firmly.
The king presses his lips together thinly, a grim expression on his face. “Draco,” he says, returning to him. “Wouldn’t you have a more pleasant go of it without all of these unnecessary complications? You know we have the resources to find a wife for you and compensate her handsomely. You understand that I’m only trying to protect you. I know it seems important to you know, but you really must think of the future-”
“Stop it!” Draco bursts out. The room is silent, all eyes trained on Draco who looks pale and just as shocked by his outburst as everyone else feels. “I’m as much a part of this family as all of you are and I deserve to be happy too.” He says hoarsely. He is gripping Harry’s hand so tightly that his fingers are beginning to go numb, but Harry couldn’t care less at that moment.
“Nobody is saying that you don’t deserve to be happy,” Cyrus cuts in. “First love makes everyone mad. It’s foolish to throw away your future based on one hormonal decision made when you were barely in your twenties.”
Draco fixes Cyrus with a hard look. “I have been gay as a maypole since the day I came out of mother, Cyrus.” He says seriously.
In the silence that follows, Harry has to bite down hard on the inside of his cheek to suppress the urge to laugh hysterically.
“Well,” King Abraxas says eventually after a long sip of tea. “Even if you’re willing to submit to the flogging in the papers, it doesn’t erase the stipulations of your birthright. You are to produce heirs.”
“We can still do that-” Harry blurts out, unthinkingly. Draco’s eyes flash with warning as he looks at him sharply.
“Mr. Potter, I don’t recall giving you permission to speak in my presence. Allow me to disabuse you of the notion that your contribution to this conversation is in any way welcome.” Harry shrinks in his seat and the king continues. “We can entertain hypotheticals, but the fact of the matter is that anything but maintaining the royal image is out of the question. The country simply will not accept a prince of his proclivities. I am sorry, Draco, but to them it’s perverse.”
“Perverse to them or perverse to you?” Lucius challenges testily.
“I have been serving this country for fifty-two years, Lucius. I believe I know its heart by now-”
“Oh, will you all shut up for a moment?” Pansy says, shocking the room to silence. She turns a tablet that she had been typing away on to face the table. “Look.”
It’s a news report from the BBC. The sound is off but the scrolling text at the bottom reads: WORLDWIDE SUPPORT POURS IN FOR PRINCE DRACO AND HARRY POTTER. Images from all over the world fill the screen, cut together in a video slideshow of rallies and banners from New York to India broadcasting love and support for the two of them.
Harry’s throat feels tight and he tries to swallow around it, but he can’t. He looks up to see Draco looking back at him, mouth open in a soft ‘o’, eyes wet. Lady Pansy stands and crosses the room to the tall windows on the opposite wall.
“Pansy, don’t-” the king starts, but he’s too late. Pansy has thrown back the heavy curtains to reveal a burst of colour that pushes the air out of the room. Just beyond the front gates of Buckingham Palace stands a massive crowd of people with banners, signs, Indian flags, Union Jacks, and pride flags streaming above their heads. They fill the pavement and press against the gates, chanting and screaming soundlessly thanks to the apparent soundproofing of the meeting room.
Draco drifts over to the balcony doors, as if in a trance, and Harry slowly rises to follow him, transfixed by the amazement writ clearly across Draco’s face. They stand side by side and gaze out over the crowd in awe. Harry takes Draco’s hand and they look at each other, daring to hope.
“Draco,” King Abraxas says, a tinge of urgency colouring his voice. “Are you sure this is what you want? If you go out there, there will be no undoing this.”
“Christ, I hope not.” Draco says, eyes boring into Harry’s with an intensity that threatens to steal his breath. “I love you.” He says quietly, just for Harry to hear.
“I love you too.” Harry says, squeezing Draco’s hand once. “Let’s do this.”
When they step out onto the balcony together, the noise grows tenfold and Harry is overwhelmed by the gravity of the situation. As they wave towards the crowd, Harry thinks, this is it . Despite how hard and terrifying the journey was to get here, this is where Harry always wants to be.
Standing next to the one he loves, proud of who he is and the future that is taking shape before his very eyes.
***
“Criminalize marital rape! Criminalize marital rape! ” Harry chants with the crowd that surrounds him at the march against marital sexual assault a month later. As he moves with the crowd through the streets of New Delhi, he thinks that the city feels different, though he knows it hasn’t changed. Not really. It’s him who has changed.
He looks to his right and his chest fills with warmth at the sight of Draco marching next to him, wearing a shirt that displays the Tupac lyrics “ I wonder why we take from our women, why we rape our women, do we hate our women?” with streaks of pink paint across his cheekbones.
Blaise and Pansy had come for the march as well, saying that Harry and the twins weren't the only feminists in their little group. They had lost track of their friends in the crowd a long time ago, despite the vibrant pink that Blaise had coloured his hair for the occasion. They are nearing the end of the route and Harry can see the entrance to the park that marks the final meeting place. He links his fingers with Draco’s and pushes his way to the edge of the crowd as everyone begins to break up into smaller clusters to enter the park.
“This turnout is incredible.” He says to Draco as they stand to the side of the flow of people, under the shade of a tree.
“It really is.” Draco agrees, smiling warmly at Harry.
“I’m glad you came.” Harry says, kissing Draco lightly and marvelling at how amazing it feels to be able to do it so casually now. Looking at Draco now, Harry can’t see any trace of the repressed, anxious and weary man that he had been only one year ago. Now, Draco looks genuinely happy, finally at peace and allowed to be who he is openly.
Harry slips the cord that he had strung the signet ring onto so many months ago, over his head. He takes the ring, feeling Draco watching him and slips it back onto Draco’s pinky finger.
“We did it.” He says quietly, hoping that Draco will understand this gesture for what it is: A promise.
Draco circles his arms around Harry’s neck and leans into him, kissing him sweetly, lingering. “Yeah, we did.”
END.
