#erised 2016

“You never actually said if you wanted to see me back then,” Harry said, jogging to keep up. “I didn’t mind your presence,” Draco said. “So you did want to see me,” Harry surmised. “I said I didn’t mind—” “Yeah, but people like you always beat around the puffskein like that.” “People like me?” said Draco, still walking very quickly. Harry shrugged. He was fine with a brisk pace. “I didn’t want to say ‘Slytherins’ because I’m thirty years old, but I meant Slytherins.” “Of course you did,” Draco sighed. “I’m glad we got this sorted,” Harry said. “I really liked getting you off last night, and so far I like going on a date with you, and I’m really into the idea of getting off with you again tonight, solving the Mers’ problems, and telling Minister Murdoch to go fuck himself while standing next to you in a sharp suit.” “Have you really planned out the rest of our lives together, Potter?” Draco did not sound particularly enthused. “I figured I had to be the one to do it, if it was going to get done,” Harry agreed. “You know how you people are.” “Merlin,” Draco said to the sky. “I beg you. Save me. I promise to be good.”

Draco wasn't sure he should say anything more, either, but he did anyway. 'I loved my wife. Properly loved her. She was my reason to get up most days. And I will still see her every day in Scorpius's eyes and in my work, and in the way I remember to listen to people now, before I decide what I think about them. 'But the thing is, one of the reasons that she could love me was you. Because you taught me there was always the possibility of grace. That you could make terrible mistakes, but that no single moment defines us, just the choices we make, day after day. You were always with me, in the way that she will always be with me. But I would really like the chance to see if we could actually be, and not just have you as a life lesson.' Harry dropped the wand and cloak. One of his hands caught Draco's arm and the other slid through his hair to pull their faces together. The kiss was clumsy at first, and eager, and right, and over far too soon, though it was probably just as well because he really needed to have a pulse for this sort of thing. Draco could feel the smiles on their faces even before they moved back a little, foreheads still resting against each other. 'It's been a while,' Harry said. 'I'll need to practice.' 'We can arrange a schedule,' Draco told him, pushing messy hair back behind Harry's ear. 'Intensive workshops. I'll tutor you.'

“Oh, mate. Malfoy. Really? You’re sure about this? I mean… I know this is stating the obvious, but he’s a bloke.” “I had noticed that, actually, Ron, but thanks for pointing it out.” “No, I don’t mean it in a bad way, I just mean… you never went for blokes before. But, Harry, he’s not just a bloke.” Ron gave Harry a pleading look. “He’s a git.” “You’re saying that, but have you spent any time with him lately?” Harry frowned. “You’ll have to take my word for it.” “You’re telling me he’s not a git any more? Not at all?” “Oh, for fuck’s sake…” Harry glared at Ron. “He is still a bit of a git. OK?” Ron jerked his chin upwards smugly. “Knew it.” “Maybe I like gits.” Harry settled back on the pillows and shut his eyes. “Did you think of that?”

“All right, so we're all familiar with the rules of dueling, aren't we?” Zabini then called from the middle of the room. “The lieutenants have already attempted a last negotiation,” he paused a moment and gave a respectful nod to Ron, “but it was, as I'm sure our witnesses suspected, for naught. Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy’s disagreement remains firmly in place.” “And just so we're all sure,” Ginny called, “that disagreement is what exactly?” Zabini rolled his eyes. “Name something and they have probably disagreed over it, honestly.” “Right, of course,” Ginny replied, “but specifically this time, what are they dueling over?” “Oh hush you,” Zabini admonished. “Let us have this.” “Right, it's nothing,” Ginny said, and then turned to address the group at large. “They’re dueling over absolutely nothing, people!” “We’re all aware,” MacDougal responded. “An’ it’s more fun that way, innit?”

“Hello, Mrs Black,” said Hermione. Mrs Black glared at Hermione until Harry prodded her oil-based arm with his finger. “Good afternoon to you, Mrs Weasley, you hideous troll,” Mrs Black said stiffly. “You’re looking well.” Hermione’s face tightened. “It’s Granger again, Mrs Black.” Mrs Black pretended not to be interested. “Oh? Finally rid yourself of that lowborn scoundrel? Did he ask you to work? ...Ohh… I see. Did he not live up to his vulgar promises in the marriage bed—?” Hermione’s face turned as red as her pantsuit. “It was my fault,” she admitted, uncharacteristically quiet. Mrs Black, Slytherin as she had once been, noticed the wound immediately. Given the industrial strength Cheering Charm that had been applied to her canvas twelve years ago, she only prodded at it a bit. “It’s your Muggle blood, dear. You can’t be too hard on yourself.” Hermione laughed, startled. “Thank you, Mrs Black. You always say… things. And it helps. Sometimes.”

"For the moment, you're, for all intents and purposes, celibate, Draco. It worries me. No one should be carrying as much pent-up sexual frustration as you are. You're practically vibrating with the need to be fucked." "Don't be vulgar." Draco knows he sounds like his mother, and he's slightly horrified. He covers by crossing one leg over the other and swallowing half his wine in one gulp. "All I'm saying is that you ought to have jumped him, in my opinion." Blaise eyes Draco in a way he finds quite uncomfortable. "Look, you've been obsessed with the twat since first year. The entirety of our school days were spent with the whole common room having to endure your rants about how terrible Potter was--from his inability to do magic properly to his ridiculous fancying of gingers to how bloody frightful his hair was, which point I will concede to you. You'd think the man could find a decent barber now--" "Or a tailor," Draco says. "I've told him appearance is important--" "Merlin's balls, just fuck him already." Blaise runs a hand over his close cropped hair. "Go up to his flat, strip yourself, and get down to it. Put us all out of our misery.

Potter,” Draco finally said. Harry gave him his full attention. “Potter…” Draco said again. “Yes?” “Why do you do everything in your life completely arse-backwards?” “I’m not sure what you—?” “Really, Potter!” Draco snapped. “You spent eight sodding years wanting to fuck me and never once sent a clue, and then you decided, Merlin forbid, you actually liked me, and then choose to scarper for three sodding years. And then, after being reunited with me for less than a week in the fucking United States of Arseholes, you hump me on a kitchen table without so much as a by your leave! Do you not see anything wrong with this? Does anything about that sound abnormal to you?” “Your accent sounds abnormal to me!” a passing Muggle teen yelled. Draco turned to give him a withering look. “Fuck off, Muggle.” The Muggle and his teen friends cackled, though in a confused manner, and Draco returned to Harry. “He thought you were a mugger, bro!” one teen laughed. Draco pursed his lips. “Careful, Tyler!” the Muggle’s friend said. “He might hump you on a kitchen table!” “That was the other one, Lyndon! That one’s just going to get humped on the table!” Draco’s eyes were so narrowed Harry wasn’t entirely sure he could still see. “Muggles are the worst, huh?” Harry said, sympathetically.

Harry made a tiny sound, draped himself over Draco, and kissed him thoroughly. “I’ve been wanting this with you so long,” he gasped. “Like, twelve years long.” Draco laughed breathily. “Liar. You’ve never been that patient.”