@ihopeyoubothstaysafefromharm My dearest Joy, I am going to have to find a way to write this without tearing up. But also, if I do, that's between me and my laptop.
I cannot believe it's been a year. All of us have contributed to fandom in our own ways, but you, my love, have made this a better place and a better fandom just by being here. With your talent and mind, of course, but most of all your heart. Your heart is in everything you do. You have inspired me to be a better creator and person. I love you so much. Thank you for sharing yourself with us; it is an honor to know you.
Now, mushy stuff aside, I have written this ficlet for you to celebrate this most special occasion. I very much hope you enjoy it. It is based on "To Be Alone With You" by Sufjan Stevens. cw: break up make up; hopeful and implied happy ending.
Draco turned over in bed, legs tangled with the sheets. He wanted to sleep, damn it. It was pouring rain outside, which was prime sleeping weather for Draco. It was too early for Mrs. Pattersworth to be knocking on his door, anyhow. It was time the woman learned boundaries, no matter how delicious her apple tartlets tasted.
Thunk thunk thunk thunk thunk!
Draco groaned, but resolutely burrowed himself into his bed, keeping his eyes shut. Whoever this audacious interloper was—they could bloody well come back later.
Thunk thunk thunk "MALFOY OPEN THE DOOR!"
"Fucking—!" Draco exclaimed and clenched the sheets in his fist. With a frustrated sigh, he opened his heavy eyes and dragged himself out of bed, shivering as the cold air hit his bed-warmed skin. Scowling, he snatched his dressing gown from the antique chair in the living room and knotted it securely around his body before he approached the door, where someone was still knocking quite loudly.
With an indignant growl, Draco opened the door, a sharp "What!" dying on his lips at the sight of Harry Potter standing in front of him.
"Er, hello," Harry said, suddenly sheepish.
Draco didn't have much of a response, just then. He was in too much shock to do much else other than stare at the other man. Potter was dripping wet, absolutely soaked. His leather jacket was clinging to his arms, his white t-shirt sodden underneath. His hair was matted and sticking to his forehead, and he shivered.
"Come in," Draco sighed, "Mrs. Pattersworth will throw a fit if I let you drip out in the hallway."
Harry frowned. "Who's Mrs. Pattersworth?" He asked while he walked inside, letting Draco shut the door behind him.
"My landlord," Draco replied. "But the much more pressing question is, what the hell are you doing here?"
Harry's eyes turned big, bright and determined. "I'm here for you."
Draco let out an incredulous laugh. "You couldn't send a letter?"
"I don't have an Owl, and Muggle mail to America is slow."
"The Ministry has Owls, you know," Draco raised an eyebrow. "As does, likely, everyone else in your life."
Harry shrugged. "I just had to see you. Apparating was the only way."
Draco gaped. "You seriously Apparated here? Merlin, that's got to be at least 20 stops! Why not use a portkey?"
Harry looked sheepish again. "The office was closed when I tried to get one."
"Right, because you had to come here at—what time is it?" Draco looked at the clock and laughed in disbelief. "Three in the morning. Of course."
Harry glanced at the clock and winced. "In my defense, I forgot about the time difference."
"Right," Draco rolled his eyes. "Because in your incredibly diligent plan to Apparate across the fucking planet just to see me, I'm quite certain the time difference is the biggest issue at hand. Not, perhaps, the fact your wife might be wondering where you are?"
Harry's jaw hardened. "I didn't leave my wife, Draco. She's not my wife."
Draco snorted. "I distinctly remember being quite unable to avoid Prophet headlines about the 'Chosen One's Chosen One' during my last two days in London."
Harry sighed. "A lot's happened since you left."
"Oh?" Draco raised an eyebrow. "Do tell, and cast a drying charm on yourself while you do, if you don't mind."
Harry flushed and dutifully cast the spell. "We tried, Ginny and I. But it didn't work out. We gave it a little over a year before we realized we weren't 17 and terrified anymore. And we figured out that we can't give each other what we each want."
Draco crossed his arms. "You finally know what you want, then?"
"And what would that be?"
Draco stared at him for a moment, silent, letting the word ring in the air between them.
Harry let out a noise between a laugh and a scoff. "You can't be that surprised, Malfoy. I Apparated, like, twenty times and ran ten blocks in the rain to get here."
Draco frowned. "My flat is two blocks from the Apparation point."
Harry glanced away. "I got lost."
"The streets are numbered, you know," Draco smirked. "How'd you get so lost? And—wait, how did you know where I live? Stalking me again?" Draco narrowed his eyes.
Harry huffed. "When you mailed me back the records I gave you, I saved the return address."
Draco blinked. "I can't decide if that's creepy or romantic."
Harry gave him a small smile. "Can we go with romantic?"
Draco started to smile despite himself. "If we must—but Harry, that doesn't change anything."
Harry looked at Draco straight on. "I don't want to change the past, Draco. I want to give us a better future. I don't regret marrying Ginny."
Draco snorted. "How romantic," he deadpanned.
Harry looked slightly exasperated. "It's true! I would make a different choice if I could go back in time with what I know now, but I don't regret it. It wasn't wasted time. I loved her, just not the way I should have," Harry said. "Not the way I love you."
Draco swallowed. "Loved."
"You meant—the way you loved me," he said, his voice slightly hoarse. "You said—"
"'Love you.' Yeah, I do," Harry said. "I still love you."
Draco let out a long breath and just looked at Harry in complete awe before realization washed over him. An incredulous laugh bubbled up and escaped his chest. He grinned, and then laughed again.
Harry raised his eyebrows. "What?"
Draco snorted. "I've gone mad. There's no way this is real. I must actually be dreaming. Of course I am," he chuckled. "This is exactly the kind of fantastical dream my subconscious would cook up." He looked at Harry and shrugged. "You're not real. None of this is."
It was Harry's turn to laugh. "I know it's a bit insane, but this is happening, Draco. This isn't a dream."
Draco rolled his eyes. "You think I'm going to fall for that one?"
Harry's face fell. "How can I convince you? How can I show you I'm serious? That this is real?"
Draco studied him for a moment; his earnest expression, his disheveled clothes and hair—worse than usual—and his pleading eyes.
Draco sighed. "Be here in the morning," he said finally. "Come on. It's late and I need sleep—assuming I'm not currently in a deep and bizarre slumber—and so do you, from the looks of you."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Really?"
"Yes, Potter, you can sleep in my bed with me. Just sleeping. And if—when you're not next to me in the morning when I wake up, I'll know I'm right."
Harry stepped forward and laced their fingers together—Draco noticed Potter's hand feeling surprisingly warm and solid for being a figment of his imagination—and grinned. "And I'll be so glad to prove you wrong."
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