#endgame drarry

Please recommend me a new coffee au,

Sighing, Nev set his empty glass down and began to wind his way through the crowd towards the Floobank, before his path was blocked by Pansy Parkinson, and obviously there was no skirting a gang of drunk Slytherins who wanted to dance. Nev shrugged and allowed his body to slide into the rhythm, the dark pulse of the bass propelling him straight into the centre of the group and also straight into a writhing and sweat-soaked Draco Malfoy. Malfoy was unearthly in the shifting lights, uncharacteristically rumpled, with his head thrown back and arms bared and a slice of stomach (that Neville suddenly really wanted to lick) gleaming above the waistband of his jeans.

It wasn’t like Nev fancied him, really – he was still Malfoy after all, and more often than not a colossal dickhead - but Nev had eyes. Malfoy was fit as fuck and clearly on something judging by his blown-out pupils. He was dancing slowly, watching Neville watching him, and his blissed-out smile sharpened a little as he moved closer and slid his thigh in between both of Nev’s. When Neville took him by the waist and spun him, Malfoy turned as sweetly and cleanly as a key in a lock to fit himself back to chest against Neville. He moved easily in the circle of Neville’s arms, and though he looked like an angel, up close he felt supple and heat-slick and real. Nev had just shut his eyes and allowed himself to slide an arm across Malfoy’s stomach, when he felt the fizz and crackle of magic wash over him.

He opened his eyes, Malfoy still held firm against him, and saw Harry standing in front of them. He must have moved fast, judging by the bewildered look on the face of the guy who was still standing, blinking, at the bar. Harry’s face was relaxed and his hands were in his pockets as he rocked a little on the balls of his feet, but his magic was a ferocious blast of heat and electricity around the three of them. He nodded politely in greeting at Malfoy, and Malfoy was tense as a strung bow under Nev’s arm as he sneered, “Potter”. Which was weird really, because Harry and Malfoy were friends now – best friends, probably, and had been for so long that people had forgotten that it should be strange. And they were colleagues, having started up their own international curse-breaking service, and they went away on work trips together and ate dinner together and Harry had been best man at Malfoy’s wedding, for Merlin’s sake. Neville had just seen them earlier that evening, laughing and scuffling and muttering in each other’s ears at the bar as they steadily worked their way through four Jaegerbombs each.

But now Harry’s eyes were too bright and cool as he asked Malfoy, “Astoria not out tonight, then?”. Which was weird too because Astoria was never there, it was well-known that her marriage to Malfoy was one of mutual convenience in order to keep the entail going on Malfoy Manor.

“Fuck off, Potter. Astoria knows how this works - as does Longbottom, apparently." But even as he said it, Malfoy was twisting out of Neville’s grasp and shouldering Harry out of his way to get back to the Slytherins. Harry watched him go, gaze carefully blank, before turning back to Neville and raising his eyebrows. And all of a sudden, with a fierce rush of joy coursing through him, Nev realised that Harry was jealous, and he could only swallow and nod as the fire of Harry’s magic drew him in and gathered him up. He wants me, he thought, as the club disappeared and they fell with a crack into Harry’s bedroom in Grimmauld Place.

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