Everything fades into nothing. The cameras clicking are just dull background noise; the flashes nowhere near as bright as the magic and emotion pulsing through Harry’s body into Draco’s. He clutches Harry’s hair because he’s certainly not going to make it look like Harry’s in control of this kiss, even when he’s all force and recklessness. If Harry’s going to come out to the world, Draco’s going to make sure they see the Harry that makes his body hot all over. He’s going to make sure they see the push and pull between them and how it arrives at something equal – something perfectly aligned despite all the factors working against them. He kisses Harry as Harry likes to be kissed, his hand tangled in his hair and the other wrapped firmly around Harry’s waist. He kisses him with possessive jealousy and with too many hours of unspoken I missed yous. He kisses Harry until he tastes like warm raindrops and they have water dripping from their noses and he doesn’t even care. He just wants to kiss Harry breathless and let him know that however much Harry wants this, Draco’s pretty sure he wants it more. They break apart and Harry’s voice is ragged which pleases Draco no end. “Malfoy?” Even with the press nearby, Harry’s whisper is only for Draco. “Yes, Potter?” “I think the press might know we’re together, now.” Draco rolls his eyes and nudges Harry towards the pub while the press trail behind. “Let’s have a drink before I get my Portkey. Please try to remember I’m only doing this for my promotion.”

What do you want?” Harry repeated, planting his legs stubbornly in the middle of the doorway, so he couldn't step out of the way and let Malfoy in. “I want to talk to you.” “Maybe I don't want to talk to you.” There was that whiff of the playground, again. Harry reminded himself that he was not a child. He could talk like an adult any time he wanted to. Malfoy lowered his voice. There was a husky edge to it, just like the singer on the radio. “I want to ask… what type are you, Potter?” “What?” Malfoy's eyes flicked all over Harry’s face. “You said you're not the one night stand type. So what type are you?” Harry's mouth was dry. “I don't know.” There was not even a trace of humour on Malfoy's face. He looked as if this was far too serious. “Do you want to find out?”

“Do you remember the Dementor costume he talked poor Goyle into wearing with him in third year?” “Yeah?” Harry said, clapping a hand over Draco’s mouth when Draco tried to interrupt again. Draco bit him. Harry stuck his finger up Draco’s nose in retaliation. Pansy blinked. “I feel like I just got an uncomfortably close look at what sex between the two of you must be like.”

“You’re fucking weird,” Derek breathed against him. “Has anyone ever told you that?” “You can talk.” Harry laughed. “Since when does fighting translate to sex?” Harry felt Derek grin against his lips. “Feeling frisky, are we, Potter?” Harry froze. Those words, and the way Derek had said them. Harry pulled back. “You sounded like Malfoy just then,” he said with a frown. Derek’s eyes widened, making him look more shocked than Harry would have expected. “What?” he stammered. “Why would I sound like Draco?”

You’re so fucking peculiar,” Draco says. He takes another soothing sip of his coffee. “Don’t you have Weasleys you can drink tea with?” “Always.” Potter puts the kettle on with a flick of his wand and retrieves one of Draco’s mugs. He eyes it and holds it up, eyebrow arched. “Mrs Harry Potter?” Theo. Draco’s going to Crucio him when he next sees him. “A gift,” he replies, his voice tight. “An unwanted gift. Theo thinks he’s a fucking comedian.” “I see.” Potter’s grin spreads across his face and he waves the mug at Draco again. “Tea?”

“Do you think Luna is right about the rest?” he asks. “That we should simply fuck each other and finalise the bond?” Draco pulls back enough to tilt his head, raise one eyebrow, and Harry laughs out loud. “That we were always heading here.” Again he lifts his hips as emphasis, but he also twists his hands in Draco’s grasp, manages to tangle their fingers together so that he is holding as much as he is being held. He loves the way Draco’s gaze darkens, seems unguarded in the face of his question, and Harry wants to keep him off-balance. “I think she’s right,” Harry tells him, the words rushing free. “I think we’ve always been tangled up in each other somehow, but we couldn’t see it, not with a war between us. And now—now I’m falling for you, and sometimes it hurts. Not like the bond hurts, not exactly, but somewhat the same. Because I keep expecting you to find the answer and then it’ll be gone. And you’ll be done with me and I’m not done with you.” Draco goes very still, and Harry worries that he’s gone too far. He can feel each unsteady breath, the ghost of warmth against his skin as Draco leans down close and brushes his lips, soft and quiet and chaste. “I don’t think I’ll ever be done with you,” Draco whispers against his lips, and Harry groans with want and need.

“Move. You’re smothering me.” Potter huffed something that could have been a laugh. “Arse.” “Not drunk enough to let you at my arse, Potter. I do have standards, you know.” Potter pulled away enough to give a flat look. “So glad I could be an adequate drunken mistake.” Draco patted him on the shoulder. “It’s alright. Everyone has to start somewhere.” Potter laughed. “Arsehole.” Draco just grinned.

“Speaking of not being a very good Auror... how did I end up in here?” “The vampires, remember?” Harry said. “You worked out where they were hiding in some sort of evil-heir way and then rushed off by yourself -- ” “Oh. Yes. I remember,” Draco muttered. “No need to further explain how utterly unimpressive I was. The defeating the vampires in slick Auror fashion did not go to plan.” Harry’s heart clenched in his chest. Draco had wanted to impress him? “You were very heroic,” he said. “Promise. I thought all the rushing in, wand blazing, was most Gryffindor-like.” “I did not rush in wand blazing!” Draco snapped. “I sneaked sneakily in, which was most Slytherin-like.”