#dracotops17

“I don’t go for that much.” Potter pulls a face, a shadow crossing his features. “Not my thing.” “Really?” Draco stares at Potter. “Not hankering after a wife and a couple of little Potters running around a small house in the countryside?” Potter winces, shaking his head. “Not exactly, no.” “So there’s no one keeping that bed of yours warm at night?” Draco eats another olive, watching the way heat rises in Potter’s neck and colours his cheeks. Something about this discussion is making Potter decidedly uncomfortable and Draco’s prepared to admit he’s rather enjoying it. “How disappointing. I thought you might be the type to have a scandalous secret love life.” “You did?” Potter’s eyes widen and he focuses on Draco with an intensity that sends Draco’s heart tripping in his chest. “What makes you think that?” “Because it’s far more interesting to speculate about leather and sex dungeons that to accept you really are just painfully vanilla.” Draco shrugs. He’s not sure why he’s so invested in Potter’s love life. It probably is boring. Not that Draco cares.

“Are you interested in Charlie?” “Define interested.” Draco watches Harry closely trying to work out what’s going on in his mind. “I wouldn’t say no to a tumble if he was back in the country for long enough and wanted to meet up. Why?” “I don’t know.” Harry does a strange half shrug and he looks gloomy. “Do you want him all for yourself, Potter?” Draco tries not to bristle. Potter looks up, meeting Draco’s gaze head on. “Not him, no.” Draco’s heart quickens and he clears his throat. Damn Harry. “It’s a bit too soon for declaring your undying, don’t you think?” “I don’t know how to do any of this.” Harry puts his mug down and shifts a little so he’s facing Draco, his arm stretched across the back of the sofa. “I don’t know how to do any of this with you.” “Sex?” Draco raises an eyebrow at Harry. “I can probably walk you through the basics if you like.” He makes it sound oh so casual, but the way Harry’s lips twitch at the corner makes him think he hasn’t quite succeeded. Truthfully the idea of showing Harry the kind of long, sweaty first time he won’t forget about in a hurry makes Draco’s heart race. “That’s very kind of you, Malfoy. Thanks.” Harry’s definitely smiling now, his voice low and teasing. It does funny things to Draco’s insides and he has to try to bite back a smile of his own. “I’m a delight,” Draco agrees.

"Mother loves birds—she had a huge book about them, and she would read me passages every night before bed when I was younger.” “Really?” Draco sees Potter from the corner of his eye as he turns his head to glance at Draco. Draco resists the urge to turn and face him fully, instead keeping his gaze fixed on the sky. “Your mother doesn’t seem like the type.” “The type to enjoy bird watching? What qualifies a person to be the type to have a hobby?” “I don’t know,” Potter mumbles. “I guess it makes sense. You did have all those peacocks.” “Ugh, not the peacocks,” Draco groans. “I hated those things, they were terribly mean.” “Did they insult your hair? It was pretty awful when you used to slick it back.” “Oh shut it, Potter.” Draco can’t help the small smile that creeps across his face.

"I still don’t know how to do it,” Harry whispers. “I don’t know how to be with you.” His hands are shaking and he twists them in his lap. “And you think I know how to be with you?” Draco rolls his eyes. He takes another drag on his cigarette to steady his thoughts. If Potter’s going to break up with him before they even start, he deserves the nicotine. The acrid scent of the cigarette clears his head and he takes another slow drag. “I spent my time after the war in the Janus Thickey ward or having meaningless flings with too many strangers to count. What do I know about being in this situation?” “What situation’s that?” Harry gives Draco a look. “I thought this was just a Friday night shag to you, Malfoy.” Draco glares at him. “You did not.” “It’s what you said.” Harry shrugs. “Come on. You’re not as stupid as I like to pretend you are.”

“Are you two a couple?” she looks at them, her eyes wide and serious and Harry’s heart jumps. “No!” He shouts. Fuck this is embarrassing. He runs his hand through his hair and looks at his friends as they wait for him to explain. Right… an explanation. He needs to explain what him and Malfoy are doing, “We’re just… what did you say, Malfoy?” “I said–” “Fuck buddies! That’s it!” Harry nods vigorously. Yes. That’s what they are. Fuck buddies. Absolutely not a couple. Not even a little bit. Harry ignores the twist in his stomach at the thought. Probably just because of the embarrassment. Something in his chest tells him it’s not, but that something can fuck off. Hermione and Ron stare at him, glancing at Malfoy and then at each other. Ron’s mouth is open, no sound coming from him, for once in his life. Harry searches for Malfoy’s hand with his and finds it clamped with the other one. Hermione leans back in her chair, frowning, her eyes thoughtful. That’s never a good sign. Ron coughs, clearly gaining composure and frowns. “Fuck buddies?” he asks, his voice a little cracked. “Yeah… buddies who fuck.” Harry frowns at him. It isn’t a very complicated term to understand. Ron releases his pint, rubbing his eyes. “Thanks for the vocabulary lesson, Harry. That’s exactly the part of this I was having problems with,” he sighs, his voice dripping sarcasm.

“What was it like; growing up knowing you’d probably be sorted into Slytherin?” he asks, not really sure if he should. It’s a period of their lives that they’ve never talked about before, not really. They’ve hashed out what happened at school, what happened during the war, what happened afterwards. But they’ve never talked about their childhoods. “Fuck, you’re chatty tonight…” Malfoy grumbles and Harry grimaces to himself. He shouldn’t have brought it up. “Sorry,” he mumbles. The air hangs between them, heavy and awkward. Harry knows that Malfoy has his eyes open, without having to look at him. His breathing isn’t as heavy as when he’s falling asleep. Harry feels his lips twitch at the memory of Malfoy falling asleep on the sofa for those few months he lived with Harry. Except it had been a little different then. He’d been gaunt, unhappy, exhausted from Auror training and looking for a flat. He looks better now. Stronger. Less pointy, still chiselled. “It was… difficult,” Malfoy’s voice is so quiet Harry thinks maybe he misheard, “Not at the time, but as I got older. By the time I was at Hogwarts I realised that the worst thing I could do in my father’s eyes was disappoint him. And…” he swallows, his voice cracking slightly, “And I really didn’t want to disappoint him. There was a lot of pressure. And as you know, I didn’t deal with that very well.” He tries to make his voice light at the end, but Harry knows him so he reaches over and takes Malfoy’s hand with his, prepared for it to be snatched away. It isn’t. “At least you knew you were loved,” Harry murmurs, the skin on the back of his neck tingling, his insides squirming uncomfortably. He was loved, but maybe it wasn’t the best thing in the world to be loved by Lucius Malfoy. “Hmm…” Malfoy doesn’t sound sure and Harry’s heart feels like it’s cracking. He coughs, forcing the tears back, his eyes stinging from them. “I… uh… I didn’t have that.” For once in their life it’s not a competition. Harry wants Malfoy to know. Wants to tell him. He wants to tell him everything, about the Dursleys and the cupboard and the school and the accidental magic and his parents. Everything. Everything that only Ron and Hermione know. “Pressure?” Malfoy asks. “Love.”

Draco Tops Harry Quote Reveals!

“It’s new.” “Because I’m a man?” Harry shakes his head and his cheeks flush. “I never really did that with witches either. Ginny was more like a sister, we went to Quidditch matches together and big family events. We didn't get dressed up and go out for a posh bottle of something together on a Saturday night. Since her, you’re the only person I’ve wanted to snog in a very long time. I told you, I don’t really do any of this.” “I see.” Draco rakes his eyes over Harry, giving him a smirk. “You want to snog me?” “You’re infuriating,” Harry mutters. “So I also want to punch you, sometimes.”