Chapter Text
July 30, 2010
Harry
“Happy birthday, Harry,” Hermione said, hugging Harry from behind and placing a quick kiss on his cheek.
“Thanks, ‘Moine,” Harry replied, patting her arm that was wound across his shoulders, half-heartedly returning her hug. His eyes were pointed towards the door, staring at who just walked in.
Hermione followed his line of sight and sighed. “Please don’t start,” Hermione warned, taking her seat across from Harry and next to Ron. Hermione placed a fresh plate of crisps and a fresh pint in front of Ron, then gave her husband a kiss. “Hi, love.”
“What?” Harry said, feigning innocence, though he knew exactly what she was talking about. He took a swig of his pint.
Draco Malfoy had just arrived at the pub, in a crisp, dark grey Muggle suit and black oxfords. He was smoothing down his hair, fiddling with his sleeves, looking around the bar for a familiar face (probably Pansy). Harry knew Malfoy kept his hair loose and a little longer these days, the pale blond locks about shoulder length now. He looked–
Nice, Harry reckoned. Sharp. Expensive, definitely. Handsome.
At the last thought, Harry frowned into his beer. It didn’t feel right that Malfoy wore Muggle suits now. Looking like he walked right off of a Hugo Boss runway.
Malfoy finally found Pansy from the crowd, greeting him with a kiss on the cheek. She looped her arm through his and steered him toward the bar, laughing at something he said.
Harry watched the way Malfoy’s slacks clung to his legs, the effortless way he moved. Hair bouncing and somehow glinting in the dim pub lighting. Smiling widely at Pansy with his dimples showing.
If it was anyone but Malfoy, Harry would’ve been on him in a second.
Harry took a long pull from his pint.
“You’re glaring,” Ron said around a mouthful of crisps.
“Am not,” Harry said.
“No, you’re absolutely staring,” Hermione said.
“Bit like we’re in Sixth Year again, hey?” Ron said, snickering. Hermione made a noise in agreement.
“Actually,” Ginny said, dropping into the seat next to Harry. “I think Harry’s staring at Malfoy’s arse.”
“What? No! I’m, err—just keeping an eye on him.”
“Oh, for what? ” Hermione asked, exasperated. “He’s not going to hex the kegs, Harry.”
“We don’t know that,” Harry said petulantly. “Maybe he’ll hex the food.”
It definitely felt like Malfoy might have hexed him since he was over here salivating over the pointy git. (Alright, Malfoy wasn’t so pointy anymore. Still a git though—probably.)
“Old habits die hard,” Ron said, nodding sagely. Harry threw a crisp at him, and the bastard managed to catch it in his mouth. Ron laughed.
“Maybe update your habits,” Ginny suggested unhelpfully, stealing a crisp from Ron’s plate. “Neville’s been dating Pansy and he’s always working with Hermione now. He’s around all the time . Even Ron is friends with him.”
Harry made a face at Ron. “Ugh. Are you really?”
Ron shrugged. “He comes over with good pastry. Like the fancy, French kind. And good Firewhiskey. Dunno, he’s still a prat, but he’s alright now.”
“Yes, give Draco a chance, Harry,” Hermione insisted gently. “The rest of us have already.”
Harry reckoned he really was the only holdout. He’d seen Malfoy show up to roast dinner at the Burrow on Sundays every so often. Even Molly and Arthur liked him.
(When the fuck did that even happen?)
“I’ll think about it,” Harry sighed. “Look, he may have changed into bloody Hugo Boss—”
Hermione raised her eyebrow at Harry, “—Hugo Boss?”
“It looks like he’s wearing Hugo Boss anyway, or Tom Ford or some other bloody posh brand, like a wanker. He may have found Muggle clothing, but he could still be the same old git underneath,” Harry said.
Hermione crossed her arms and glared at Harry. “Just at least be civil— ”
“—I am so civil , what are you on about—”
“Don’t insult his shoes, or his hair, or his face. Please? Do it for me. For Neville. For Pansy!”
“Yeah, mate. What if Pansy quits on you?” Ron asked.
Harry grunted. Yeah, he would be fucked if Pansy quit as his assistant. His charities would all burn to the ground. God, he probably wouldn’t even know what clothes to wear or where his keys were, to be honest.
“And anyway, Draco’s very clever,” Hermione continued. “He’s one of the best solicitors at the Ministry. A bit prickly, but he has a breadth of knowledge and I would not be able to pass half the bills I’ve been able to without him. And the kids love him.”
“Right.” Harry took another swig of his pint. He has heard Rose talk about Uncle Malfish from time to time, or about Teddy’s cousin Draco .
Across the room, Malfoy leaned casually against the bar, waiting on his drink (Harry presumed). Harry did not notice Malfoy’s arse peaking out just underneath his suit jacket, looking like it was stretching the fabric of his slacks. Harry did not think about what it might feel like to grab said arse.
No. Harry was definitely not thinking about that. Absolutely not. Harry scowled harder and took a long pull of his beer, as if he could drown the thoughts of Malfoy being fit before it took root.
“Come on, mate,” Ron said, leaning across and patting Harry on the shoulder. “It’s Neville’s birthday. Be an adult.”
“It’s my birthday, too,” Harry said sullenly. “Why are you on Team Malfoy?”
“I told you, he’s won my stomach with his fancy French pastries,” Ron said with a laugh. “But no. I’m actually on Team Hermione, and whatever she says goes,” Ron shrugged. Traitor.
“Sorry, Harry,” Hermione said, not sounding sorry at all. Pair of traitors.
Neville appeared at their table then. He leaned over Harry and clasped a hand on his shoulder. “Happy birthday, mate. What are we on about?”
“Cheers, Nev, happy birthday to you, too,” Harry patted Neville’s hand.
“Harry won’t stop staring at Malfoy’s arse,” Ginny said. Harry made to shove at her again, but Ginny dodged it by sliding into the seat next to her, away from Harry.
“Am not,” Harry grunted. “I just think Malfoy—”
“I’m what?” a smooth voice drawled behind him.
Harry closed his mouth abruptly. Malfoy had strolled over next to Neville, Pansy still linked to his arm. Malfoy’s fingers were curled delicately around a glass of white wine. Of course he’d be drinking wine, the posh prat. “You, erm,” Harry tried replying, but was having trouble coming up with a lie.
“Happy birthday,” Pansy said, reaching down to give Harry a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you for being the best boss around, darling.”
“Cheers, Pans,” Harry said. “Literally don’t know how I can function without you.”
“I know,” Pansy said with a wink.
“Malfoy!” Ginny said brightly. “Come sit next to me.” She patted the seat next to her. Which was really the seat next to Harry. Harry sent her a glare. Malfoy smiled at her and actually took the seat. Next to Harry.
Harry held his breath but couldn’t stop himself from catching a whiff of Malfoy’s cologne. Fuck’s sake. Malfoy not only looked like he walked straight out of a Hugo Boss runway, he smelled like it, too.
“We were talking about how you’ve been helping me draft the Magical Creatures Workplace Accommodation Act,” Hermione answered smoothly.
“Oh?” Malfoy said, body now angling towards Harry. Harry’s knee felt hot where Malfoy’s knee was touching it. “And what did you think about that, Potter?”
Harry drew his leg away from Malfoy quickly. “Suppose it’s nice,” he said, clearing his throat, “Good to see you’ve found a way to make yourself useful, Malfoy.”
“Well, cheers for that, Potter,” Malfoy said, clinking his glass to Harry’s pint. “That didn’t at all sound like someone had a wand pointed at your head.”
“Actually, Harry called you sweet ,” Ginny lied from Malfoy’s other side.
Ron snorted into his pint. Hermione hid her smile behind her glass of wine.
Harry shot Ginny a murderous look. “Did not.”
“‘Sweet,’” Malfoy repeated, savouring the word like it was a good vintage. He shifted in his seat, bumping Harry’s knee again. Harry didn’t bother moving away this time. “Another compliment! Should I be worried?”
Harry snorted, but still felt a flush creep up the back of his neck. “It’s my birthday,” he explained, “I’m feeling magnanimous. Reckon you should be flattered.”
“‘Magnanimous!’” Malfoy whistled. “Quite the vocabulary coming from you, Potter. It only took Hermione two decades to finally rub some intelligence into you.”
Harry ignored him. “Consider this my good deed of the year. Being nice to you.”
“Only the one?” Malfoy drawled. “You must be exhausted. ”
Pansy cackled from behind them.
Harry, determined not to be flustered by Malfoy of all people, leaned back in his own seat and said, “I’d pace myself if I were you, Malfoy. Don’t want you getting the wrong idea and thinking we’re friends.”
Malfoy smiled widely. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Potter. I’d rather hex myself.”
“Promises, promises.”
Ginny snorted into her pint. “Merlin, you lot are exhausting. Just snog and spare us.”
Harry choked on his beer. “What—”
Malfoy also made a choking noise, but didn’t say anything.
“I’m going to get a top up,” Harry said, standing abruptly, even though he still had about a quarter of his pint left.
“I’ll go with you,” Neville said. “D’you want your usual, Pans?”
“Yes, darling,” Pansy gave him a kiss on the cheek then went around the table to sit next to Hermione.
“Grab me one, too, mate,” Ron said, tapping at his empty glass.
Harry gave Ron a quick nod.
“Running away already?” Malfoy asked, voice light but smirking.
“Need another pint if I’m to be sitting next to you.”
“Of course,” Malfoy said. “Wouldn’t want you to wear yourself out, what with all the effort it must take to be so… magnanimous.”
Harry rolled his eyes and decided to bite his tongue. He stalked off towards the bar, neck and cheeks burning.
Behind him, he heard Ginny giggle, “This is better than telly.”
Two more pints later, Harry’s had a good buzz going and he was feeling a bit hot–a mix of the alcohol, it being summer, and the surprising turnout at this party. He wasn’t sure who everyone was and how he knew them.
He was standing at the bar and had just taken a shot with Seamus and Dean, who were pressing him into doing another one.
“One more shot, one more shot,” Seamus and Dean were chanting, palms pounding on the table.
“No, no,” Harry laughed, thinking that he didn’t want to cross into the smashed threshold just yet. “Think I need a quick breather.”
The two booed at Harry as he slipped away from them. Harry pushed open the back door and stumbled out the back garden. The cool air hit Harry’s flushed cheeks gratefully, and he closed his eyes, dragging in a deep breath. The back garden smelled like spilled beer, honeysuckle, and… grass?
Hmm—was someone smoking a spliff?
He opened his eyes, then noticed there were actually three people sharing a spliff, sitting at the far table in the corner. Neville, with Pansy in his lap, was blowing out smoke as he reached across the table to hand Malfoy the spliff.
Neville spotted him first. “Harry!” he called, waving at Harry. “Want some?”
Harry walked up to them. Pansy kicked back the seat next to them and motioned for Harry to sit. “Aren’t you an Auror, and isn’t this illegal?” Harry asked, as he took the seat.
“I’m off duty,” Neville shrugged, grinning. “And you’re no longer an Auror, so you can’t arrest us.”
“I could report you.”
“You wouldn’t dare ruin our birthdays,” Neville said, making Harry laugh.
“Oh, Merlin,” Pansy said giggling. “I just realized—you’re sharing a joint on your joint birthday.”
“That was so lame, Pans,” Harry said, laughing.
Malfoy tapped Harry on the shoulder and offered him the joint. Harry hesitated for a moment, then took it, dragging a short, awkward hit before handing it back. Harry hacked a lung almost immediately.
“Didn’t expect you to be such a newbie at this,” Malfoy said, amusement curling around every word.
Harry flipped him the bird. “Sod off—it’s been a while.”
“Be nice to Harry, darling, it’s his birthday, too,” Pansy said, absentmindedly petting Neville’s hair.
“Technically,” Malfoy said, flicking ash off the end of the joint, “it’s Neville’s birthday today. Potter’s isn’t until tomorrow.”
Harry glanced at his watch. “Which is, like, three hours from now.”
“Which means I can still be mean for three more hours.”
Harry couldn’t help barking out a quick laugh, kicking Malfoy in the shin.
“Ow, Potter!” Malfoy smacked him in the arm, though Harry didn’t feel any strength behind the hit. “I thought we were way past brawling.”
“Yeah, and yet you just hit me, too, dickhead.”
“You started it.”
“Boys,” Pansy cut in warningly, though she was smiling. Neville laughed. She swung her legs off of Neville’s lap and stood, smoothing down her skirt. “Right,” she said, pulling on Neville’s hand. “Darling, I fancy another drink.”
“Alright,” Neville said.
Pansy cleared her throat, pulling Neville’s hand harder.
“What if they kill each other?” Neville asked, looking between Harry and Malfoy.
“If Harry knows any better, he will not harm a single hair on Draco’s head,” Pansy said. “Isn’t that right, Harry?”
Harry scoffed at her. “I won’t do anything if Malfoy won’t do anything.”
“I’m an angel,” Malfoy said, smiling almost innocently.
Neville stood up then. “Okay,” he said, then looked at the both of them pointedly. In his best Auror Longbottom voice, he continued, “Please don’t kill each other.”
“They’ll be fine,” Pansy said, dragging Neville away. She waved at Harry and Draco before they headed in.
Harry frowned at them, then shifted awkwardly in his chair, very much aware that he was sitting next to Malfoy again. Alone. He cleared his throat. “So,” he said eloquently.
“So,” Malfoy echoed.
“Nice night for a smoke.”
“Yeah.” Malfoy handed him the spliff again. Harry took it and inhaled better this time.
A few moments of silence, with Harry and Malfoy each taking turns dragging hits from the spliff. At Malfoy’s last drag, Harry realized it was now down to the stub. Malfoy made a displeased noise, then vanished the remainder. “That’s that, then.”
Harry thought about what Hermione said about being nice to Malfoy. It was true everyone else was friends with him now, except for Harry. With Harry’s mind foggy from the weed, and no longer feeling inhibitions–thanks to the alcohol—he decided he should maybe get to know Malfoy.
“So, how’s life, Malfoy?” asked Harry.
“What?” Malfoy said, confused. Harry gave him a look over. He realized Malfoy had taken off his suit jacket, taken off his tie, and had undone a couple buttons on his shirt. Harry could peep a hint of collarbone. Wow, his skin looked milky from the moonlight.
“Just wondering how your life’s been. Haven’t really spoken to you,” Harry paused, thinking. “Well—haven’t really spoken to you ever .”
Malfoy stared at him, then crossed his legs. “It’s fine.”
“Hermione mentioned you’re, like, a proper solicitor now? You like working with her?”
“Yes,” Malfoy replied, speech a little slow. Maybe from the weed. “I focus on civil cases. I represent the Ministry. I consult Hermione on the bills she writes, if she needs me. She’s a great colleague.”
“I feel like I see you at their house more often than ‘occasionally.’”
“Fine, half of my week is working on Hermione’s bills, sure,” Malfoy relented, rolling his eyes.
“What d’you do for fun?”
Malfoy laughed. “What is this, 21 questions?”
“Why not,” Harry shrugged. “Don’t really know you, Malfoy. Everyone else seems to, though.”
“That’s fair,” Malfoy nodded, then waved a hand for Harry to proceed. “Go ahead with your questions, then.”
Harry shifted his seat to face Malfoy, and pulled Malfoy’s chair closer to him with his foot. Malfoy made a surprised sound, but didn’t look like he objected. “So, what d’you do for fun?”
“I read,” Malfoy replied cheekily.
Harry snorted. “Boring.”
“I drink,” Malfoy said, smirking. “Better?”
“Everyone drinks.”
“Not everyone. Luna’s sober. Well—except for the weed. She does smoke quite a bit.”
“Everyone but Luna, then.”
Malfoy looked unimpressed, but still had a little smile on his face. “Fine. I like to draw. Paint some, as well.”
“I seem to recall those stupid drawings you’ve done of me in school. And the Weasley is Our King pins. Suppose it tracks you’ve got a creative bone in you.”
“Yes, quite.”
“What do you draw?”
“Portraits of people. Still life. Buildings, plants, maybe little critters.” Malfoy shrugged. “Whatever looks beautiful and catches my fancy at the moment.”
“So you could do me?”
Malfoy’s mouth quirked. He gave Harry a look over before responding. “I could . Doesn’t mean I will.”
Harry laughed, flush creeping back on his face at Malfoy’s gaze, and realized how his question may have sounded a little flirty. He slapped Malfoy lightly in the leg. “Oi—”
“Maybe I’ll show you sometime.”
“Yeah?” Harry grinned. “Have the others seen your drawings?”
“I painted that portrait of the Burrow on top of Hermione and Ronald’s fireplace.”
Harry’s mouth fell open. “Fuck, that was you? That one’s bloody beautiful.”
“Oh.” Malfoy preened. “Thanks.” He fiddled with the cuff of his undone sleeve. “What about you, Potter?”
Harry steepled his fingers on the table in thought for a moment, then said, “I do a bit of boxing.”
“Boxing?”
“You know—” Harry mimed some punches. “Like, a Muggle gym. Gloves, punching bags, the whole thing.”
“Of course you’d pick something where you get to hit things legally, now that you’re no longer an Auror.”
“Exactly. I like working out in general, though.”
Malfoy eyed him up and down, “I can tell.”
Harry felt heated under Malfoy’s gaze. “Yeah, erm—good bit of stress relief, that.” Harry shifted, letting his leg brush against Malfoy’s under the table–lightly. Accidentally. (Maybe on purpose.) (To Harry’s delight, Malfoy didn’t move away.)
“And what else, Potter?” Malfoy said, pointing at Harry. “What else do you do for fun? Besides scowling at me across crowded rooms?”
Harry laughed, shrugging. “Dunno. Fly sometimes. Play quidditch on the weekend with the lads. Seamus and I taught the others how to play footie, so sometimes we play that, too. Help George at the shop now and again. Babysit Teddy for Andie.”
“Footie?” Malfoy frowned. “Oh, Muggle game, yeah? The one where you kick that black and white ball around?”
“Yeah, something like that.” Harry paused, then nudged Malfoy with his leg. “Could teach you sometime, too. If you want.”
“Hmm, I’ll think about it.” Malfoy tucked his hair behind his ears, and Harry noticed with delight that Malfoy’s ears and cheeks were a little pink. “Aren’t those footie players normally… smaller? You’re rather large for football.”
Harry shrugged. “Yeah, I’d say I’m probably better suited for rugby.”
“What’s rugby?”
“Different Muggle game. Also has a ball that you kick sometimes. You get to use your hands, though. And ,” Harry added with a wink, “you get to tackle blokes and roll around in the grass.”
“How romantic,” Malfoy said drily.
“It’s fun. Just a lot of rules. Footie’s easier to grasp for wizards.”
“I’d argue that the amount of rules for Quidditch is nothing to sniff at.”
Harry laughed, “That’s true. Maybe I will teach the lads a bit of rugby. Do you want to come play when we do?”
Malfoy looked down at himself. “With this body? No.”
Malfoy was quite lithe—though he didn’t look quite so frail that the wind would blow him away. (And his arse looked fantastic in his trousers today, so clearly Malfoy must do some kind of exercise.)
“You can come watch, then.”
“Maybe.”
There was a pause in the conversation, then Draco said, “I think your life sounds utterly dull and domestic, Potter.”
“Yours doesn’t sound exactly like an adventure, either. Drinking and drawing your day away. Yelling at poor wizards in courtrooms. Apparently trying to steal my best friends with poncy French pastries.”
Malfoy’s lips quirked. “I’m sorry your best friends are so easily swayed by their stomachs.”
“Yeah, sure ,” Harry laughed again, starting to feel quite loopy now that the weed was hitting him. Maybe also from the attention he was getting from Malfoy. Harry wasn’t used to such a civil conversation with him, but he was starting to really like it. Harry supposed the others were right—Malfoy was alright, these days.
“What about your love life?” Harry asked without thinking.
Malfoy looked surprised, but he answered, “Dreadfully single. With no prospects.”
Harry honestly found that unlikely. Malfoy was… quite something to look at. And a very successful solicitor, apparently. He decided not to comment on it, though. (For fear that Malfoy thought Harry was coming onto him.)
Harry stretched out his legs, wiggling his feet. “Same here, unfortunately.”
“Oh? Thought you would have a line of witches out the door and you were just going down the list.”
Harry shrugged, looking up at the stars. “Dunno. I guess no one’s really caught my eye in a while.”
“Maybe you’re not looking hard enough.”
“Maybe,” Harry said, glancing over at Malfoy. Malfoy’s eyes were steady on his, and for a moment, the quiet between them buzzed like static. “And, er—it’s witches and wizards, actually.”
“Oh?” Malfoy asked, voice light but eyes sharp.
“You must not read the Prophet,” Harry said wryly.
“Ugh, I would never read that rag.”
Harry smiled, adjusting his glasses, and for a moment, neither of them said anything. The silence wasn’t awkward, though—it settled over them like a blanket, warm and easy.
Then somehow, the conversation just kept going.
One topic bled into the next, like ink spreading in water. They debated the best takeaway in London (Harry was surprised to hear that Malfoy ate in Muggle London all the time ), discovered a mutual hatred of celery, and spent a ridiculous amount of time arguing over which Hogwarts ghosts were the most annoying.
At some point, Malfoy conjured another bottle from somewhere, and they took turns taking swigs from the bottle. Harry wasn’t sure when he’d ended up sitting sideways in his chair, knee brushing against Malfoy’s.
Eventually, the back door burst open, spilling light and noise from the pub into the garden. Ginny’s voice rang out. “Harry! It’s past midnight! Seamus says it’s time for your actual birthday shots!”
Harry jumped in surprise, cut off mid rant about the joys of squats, to which Malfoy was actually agreeing to. (Was that why his arse looked so good in his trousers? It wasn’t just good genes?)
“Oh, fuck,” he said. Glancing down at his watch, his eyebrows raised. “Can’t believe it’s been three hours already.”
“Wow,” Malfoy said, laughing in disbelief. “How the fuck did that happen?”
“Dunno,” Harry said, then he groaned, running a hand over his face. “I’m going to get absolutely smashed in there if Seamus is in charge of the shots.”
Malfoy pushed at Harry’s chair with his foot. “Well, go on, then. You can’t not do your birthday shots.”
Harry stood up, feeling a little wobbly. Instinctively, he reached for the table to steady himself. Seemingly without thinking, Malfoy reached out and grabbed his arm to try to steady him.
Their eyes caught and Harry felt something sparking in the space between them. Harry’s mouth went dry.
“Er—thanks, Malfoy,” Harry stuttered.
“Careful, birthday boy,” Malfoy said, voice low. “Wouldn’t want you breaking anything before you turn ancient.”
Harry laughed, snapping out of–whatever that was. He felt the flush burning hot along his neck, and realized it wasn’t due to alcohol this time. He took a few steps backward toward the door. “Technically, you’re older than me.”
Malfoy waved a hand at him dismissively. “Semantics.”
Harry put a hand against the door, pausing. “Coming back inside?”
Malfoy shook his head, still lounging in his chair. “Think I’ll enjoy the peace out here a bit longer before I brave your gaggle of Weasleys. I’ll find you later.”
“Alright.” Harry shrugged at him. He cleared his throat. “It was, err–nice talking to you, Malfoy.”
“It actually was,” Malfoy said, smiling at him, looking soft and a bit rumpled in the moonlight with his bloodshot eyes and undone shirt. Harry didn’t really feel like going back inside to get more pissed.
“I’ll be there in a bit, I promise,” Malfoy said.
Harry nodded, smiling at him, then ducked inside.
Harry was in the best mood. Going back inside for birthday shots was the best idea. Sure, his head was swimming now, and he might be a shot or two away from going blackout. But he had an arm slung around Ron, and they were laughing because Seamus said he wanted to “try something” with a cocktail and ended up setting the cocktail on fire, which resulted in his eyebrows getting singed off, and an unfortunate burn mark on the bar counter.
It was funny because the barman (Alex? Phil? Harry forgot his name) was mad, but couldn’t stop laughing at Seamus because of what George did.
George tried to be helpful with a “hair regrowth” potion—which ended up regrowing Seamus’ eyebrows at an extreme rate, and they now looked like his eyebrows were its own sentient creature, and he was really starting to look like Cousin It from the Addams Family. Harry thought Seamus should’ve known better than to accept anything from George , of all people.
“Have you guys seen the Addams Family?” Harry managed to ask between laughing.
“Who’s that? They part of the Sacred 28?” Ron asked.
“No, Muggle thing–nevermind,” Harry said. He figured Seamus would know, but Hermione had materialized with scissors and was trying to trim his eyebrows, and obviously Seamus was preoccupied.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of blond, so he turned and saw Malfoy take a drink from Pansy and head towards a booth in the back corner.
“Oi, Malfoy!” Harry shouted, forgetting the bar was really loud because Malfoy kept on going.
“It’s loud in here, mate,” Ron explained helpfully.
“Right,” Harry agreed. He patted Ron on the back and stumbled his way over to Malfoy.
“Fuck, Potter,” Malfoy was laughing at him as Harry threw himself into the booth next to Malfoy. “How many shots before you called it quits?”
“Dunno…” Harry thought about it. He tried counting on his hand, and decided it was probably four. He held up four fingers then reconsidered and added a fifth.
“Merlin,” Malfoy tutted. He took a sip of his drink.
“What’re you drinking, then?” Harry pointed at Malfoy’s half empty drink with his chin.
“Some fruity cocktail that Pansy no longer wanted,” Malfoy replied. “She said, ‘darling, you look much too sober, let’s fix that. Take mine,’ and then she left me to go snog Neville somewhere.”
“Any good?”
“Honestly?” Malfoy took a dainty sip. “It’s pretty good.”
“Let me try,” Harry said and grabbed Malfoy’s wrist with one hand, and the drink in another. He held Malfoy’s gaze as he drank. It tasted exactly like what he imagined Pansy would drink–it was a little fizzy, the alcohol was strong , and it wasn’t too sweet. A little lemon-y. It actually seemed like something Malfoy would drink, too.
Harry handed the drink back to Malfoy but didn’t let his wrist go.
Malfoy didn’t blink–Harry thought Malfoy’s grey eyes looked luminous even in the dim lighting of the bar. “What’s the verdict?”
“Verdict?” Harry’s eyes flitted to Malfoy’s lips for half a second–they were shiny from the drink. Malfoy’s tongue darted out to lick them.
“The drink, Potter. It’s good, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Harry said. Eyes now stuck on Malfoy’s lips because he licked it. “S’good.”
Malfoy’s wrist was so warm where Harry was holding it. Harry was feeling really warm, and fuzzy, and good . Maybe too good, because Harry blurted out: “Have I ever told you I think you’re really pretty?”
Malfoy laughed. “No. Can blokes even be pretty?”
“Reckon you’re the exception.”
Malfoy went to place the drink on the table, causing Harry’s hand to let go of Malfoy’s wrist. Harry’s hand fell on his lap, and he sorely missed Malfoy’s warmth.
“You miss my warmth? I’m still here, you idiot.”
Did he say that part out loud?
“Yes, you did.”
“Oops,” Harry said, and then placed a hand on Malfoy’s knee. Malfoy looked down at Harry’s hand.
“Would it be really stupid of me to ask if I could kiss you right now?” Harry asked bravely.
Malfoy looked back at him and stared for one endless, painful second. Then he nodded once, quick and jerky.
“Yeah,” Malfoy replied, sounding a little breathless. “Sure.”
“Yeah?” Harry asked again, leaning into Malfoy slowly.
“Yes, Pot—”
Harry cut him off, pressing his mouth against Malfoy’s. It was light and a little hesitant at first, then Malfoy pressed a little closer, and it was like the floodgates opened. Harry reached up to cup Malfoy’s jaw, angling Malfoy’s face so he could kiss him deeper.
Malfoy’s lips were so soft and fuller than Harry had expected. He could get used to doing this. Malfoy reached up and grabbed Harry’s shirt and hauled him closer.
When Malfoy moaned, it went straight to Harry’s prick, and Harry took the opportunity to slide his tongue in and lick into Malfoy’s mouth. Fuck, Malfoy tasted so good . Like the drink, the spliff, and something else distinctly Malfoy.
Harry’s glasses were jammed awkwardly into his nose, completely fogged up, his head was swimming and he was having trouble counting time. He wasn’t sure how long they had been snogging for. At some point, Harry had pushed the table back (or maybe the booth?) to make room for hauling Malfoy onto his lap. Malfoy went with it, pliant in Harry’s arms, knees bracketing Harry’s hips. Malfoy ground down on Harry with a low moan.
Harry rutted up into him without thinking, chasing some of that friction, hands gripping and kneading Malfoy’s (surprisingly ample?) arse. The friction was so bloody good. Harry felt mindless–mouth, hands, arms, lap full of Malfoy.
Malfoy’s hand clutching Harry’s neck felt so hot –the other one was tangled in Harry’s hair. Harry pulled Malfoy’s shirt from where it was tucked into his pants, and trailed a hand up Malfoy’s back. Malfoy’s skin was so hot here, too, and unbelievably soft.
Before Harry knew it, he was getting close to coming. Fuck, he was about to come in his pants like a fucking teenager. Fuck it, Harry thought. Malfoy felt way too good. He gripped Malfoy’s arse tighter, guiding him to grind down on Harry’s ridiculous boner harder.
And then Harry felt it–his whole body shuddered, tingling all the way to his toes. “Oh fuck,” Harry said aloud into Malfoy’s mouth, feeling the dampness in his pants.
Malfoy was still moving above him, and Harry kissed him back lazily. Harry let him because, while he was starting to feel sensitive, Malfoy’s body on his felt even better. At some point, Malfoy’s hips stuttered, and his movements halted slowly. Malfoy pulled back to look at Harry’s face.
“Wow, Malfoy,” Harry said, feeling like he must look kind of stupid, grinning up at Malfoy, who looked a little blurry on account of his fogged up glasses. He was fully in his post-orgasm high now. Malfoy’s hair was mussed, his shirt rumpled, his lips swollen. He looked wrecked. Harry couldn’t imagine what he must look like right now.
Malfoy stared back down at him for a moment, before he scrambled off of Harry and out of the booth.
“No, come back,” Harry whined, missing Malfoy’s body on his.
“I—I have to go,” Malfoy stammered, looking wide-eyed.
Harry’s stomach flipped. Something didn’t feel right. He straightened and made to get out of the booth but his whole body still felt like jelly. “Wait, Malfoy,” he said.
Malfoy held up a hand and shook his head. “No, Potter, it’s—alright,” he said, words stilted. “I’ll, er. I’ll see you later. Happy birthday.” Then Malfoy ran out the front door.
Harry stared after him dumbly, then looked back at the empty booth. He was somehow still half hard. And he was so sticky.
Ron appeared at that moment. “Did you scare Malfoy off, mate?”
“I—maybe? Dunno,” Harry responded, frowning. “I’m not sure what happened.”
“Saw you snogging,” Ron said and he slid into the booth opposite Harry. “Gross, but I can’t say I haven’t seen that one coming since Sixth Year.”
“Ha bloody ha.” Harry groaned. “I may have fucked it.”
“What did you say?”
“I didn’t say anything,” Harry said, dropping his forehead on the sticky table and groaning miserably into the wood.
“Hard to believe,” Ron disagreed, the wanker.
“Malfoy’s actually alright,” Harry said into the table.
“I told you,” Ron said.
“And he’s got a nice arse.”
“Okay, I didn’t need to hear that.”
Harry raised his head. “D’you think he’d talk to me again?”
Ron took a drink from his pint. He shrugged. “Maybe. Bribe him with something shiny.”
Harry sat up a little straighter, eyes narrowing with purpose. “Shiny,” he echoed, mostly to himself. “Shiny, I can do.”
Ron squinted at him. “You’ve got that look.”
“What look?”
“That ‘I’m obsessed with Draco Malfoy’ look,” Ron said. “Oh wait. You’ve been this way since First Year. So this is just your regular face.”
Harry flipped him the bird.