“I have this—dream,” Harry started, mouth so dry he had to stop, swallow a little helplessly. Draco’s grey eyes, expectant: “Never mind.”
“What? Come on, spit it out.”
A shove to his shoulder. “You’re silly. And it’s your turn, so, you have to tell me anyway.”
With a lopsided grin and his chest all fluttering, “You’ll laugh.”
“I never laugh. It’s one of the core Malfoy Values: no speaking while chewing, always pace instead of run, and under no circumstances, do not laugh.”
Harry rolled his eyes, feeling lightheaded with it. Draco’s feet tucked under his thigh, leaning against the arm of Harry’s sofa like he belongs there, like there’s no place else he could be. Happiness was a warm trickle running in his belly, this soft thing he was scared to move for fear of disturbing.
Still, breathed in, felt his chest go wide. Made himself open his mouth. “It’s—when we’re older. And we’ve been, erm, together, for a while. Your hair’s gone all white,” (“excuse you!”), “all silver, I mean, and we’re, y’know, old. And we have this garden.”
Braved a look up. Draco’s face was alight, something so tender it robbed Harry of words, of air. Taking his hand, overcome.
“A garden,” Draco said, not a whisper but something close. “That sounds lovely.”
“And we—let it grow wild. With trees and weeds and flowers. And every morning, if the weather’s nice, we go outside and have our tea there.”
Draco’s fingers squeezed his. “We could have a porch with a roof. So we’re not entirely weather-dependant.”
Not saying, there are charms to repel the rain, or, we live in Britain, for crying out loud. Serious, so seriously looking into Harry’s eyes, like he could see it too, like he wanted this.
“And—I don’t know. Maybe a bird feeder or a pond. And we sit very quietly in the mornings and wait for the animals, birds or frogs or squirrels or foxes. And we’re old, and, happy? That’s… it’s silly.”
“You’re silly,” Draco said again, shaking his head with his eyebrows arched and fond. “The silliest creature of all. Harry, this isn’t a dream. We’ll have all this.”
“How—” swallowing, swallowing, “how can you say that. We’ve only been… we’re so new at this. And life can, we know it can.”
Draco shook his head, brought Harry’s hand up for a kiss. “I know,” he said, “because I’ll do whatever it fucking takes, Potter, to give you exactly this. The garden and the birds and the foxes. The life you want, all of it, exactly it. Do you have any idea how rotten I’ll spoil you?”
“Stop—” shoulders up, trying to scramble away from his kisses, but the Draco-attack was relentless and dauntless and climbing all over him on the sofa, nibbling his cheek, the edge of his nose, his eyebrow, “Draco, ha, fuck, stop!”
“Never,” with a tone so certain and so deep Harry believed it immediately, started laughing, wiping his face. “Harry, I will never stop. Get that in your gorgeous little head right now: I will never, ever stop, and I’ll make sure that you’re happy, that you’re so happy, that you’re well and bloody delirious till the end of time, do you hear me?”
“Okay!” yelling, helpless, “okay, okay, I hear you. Now get off, you menace, you’re crushing me and it’s far too hot and.” Taking Draco’s face in his hands, steadying it through the blurriness. “You ridiculous creature,” with so much affection it was battering his insides, it was painful.
“I’m the ridiculous one,” Draco huffed. “You’re sitting here thinking I’ll let you go without a single dream you can name. Harry…”
“Okay,” laughing, still helpless. “I got it. You’ll take care of me.”
His thumb traced Draco’s jawline, rested against his pink bottom lip. “You’ll give me my garden,” he said carefully.
“With the birdfeeder and the pond.”
“And the tea, and the porch.” And forever, Harry didn’t say.
And forever, Draco smiled. “All of it.”
“Fine. You… fine. I guess I’ll just have to take it and be happy.”
“Now, that sounds like a plan,” Draco smirked, leaning into his palm. “Can we kiss already, or are you still hell-bent on being a sap?”
“I’m the—you perfect, ridiculous creature,” crushing their faces together and shaking with it. “If I recall correctly, now it’s your turn, and I won’t let you try and skip it with slyness and trickery.”
“Trickery,” Draco’s eyes rolled, so close it was only the one grey blob.
Harry couldn’t breathe. “Shut up. Shut up and tell me. You think you’re the only one who… if you’ll make me happy I’ll make you bloody—ecstatic.”
“Always a competition with that man,” but he sighed, a soft thing, and leaned his forehead against Harry’s. “You want to know? You really want to know?”
“Well.” Blinked, the movement a gentle tap on Harry’s cheeks. “I have this dream. When we’re older. And we have a garden, and we drink a lot of tea, and you’re so, so, so happy.”
“Come—here,” weakly, “with your fucking, ugh, just kiss me, please,” and Draco did, fire-wild, roasting hot and just as bright.
Harry didn’t know how to tell him he was, already. Happy. So he kissed him, and kissed him, and hoped it was enough.
(Flufftober day 7. Find the soft AO3 collection here).
