#muggle!draco

“Air-con?” Harry’s voice is rough, almost jolting in the near silence of the car. Time moves like syrup around Draco’s tongue, the slow stretch of an afternoon fading into evening, a day that never seemed to end. He swallows against the dryness in his throat.

“I’m good,” he says. The air-con never worked anyway, only scorching heat from plastic vents. The sky melts into shades of orange all around him. Draco props his hand on the window, twists his feet so they’re positioned under his legs. “Sprite?”

The bottle is practically empty, a small pool of liquid where he tilted the plastic towards Harry. They’d stopped at a gas station nearly two hours ago - the bottle is the only thing left now, along with a handful of crumpled silvery wrappers.

Harry shakes his head. Shadows from the clouds cast patterns across his face, tinted with the light of the dying sun. “Nah.”

“You’re going to regret it,” Draco says. Harry spares him the briefest glance, one finger drumming absently on the wheel. “We have two hours left. You’ll crash.”

Harry makes a face, scrunched up eyes and down turned lips. “You drink it. Asshole.”

Draco laughs, tilting his head back and swallowes the last of it. It’s warm and flat, sugar sticking to his teeth. He runs his tongue over his lips and looks back towards Harry. “Don’t blame me when you drive us over the edge of a cliff.”

Harry grins. “How could I? You’re here, aren’t you?”

The click of the turn signal. The colours of the sky. The hum of the radio, near forgotten in the heat, forlorn notes and drifting voices.

- Pansy, U know what we should do ?! - No, what? - Dig a hole in the park and name it “Love” - Why? - So we can watch people fall in love - This is why we are BFF !!! Meet u at the park :)

~

This is how it started.

It started with a sunset, like most stories do, a rusted ladder and a roof and the sun lighting up the sky in streaks of gold. It started with the summer after graduation, the fragile moment between growing up and letting go, the wind in his face and in his hair. It started with Draco leaning back, hands braced on the chilly concrete behind him, legs dangling over the edge.

“Let's go on a trip,” he said, and sometimes Harry thinks he’ll never forget the smooth roll of his voice.

They’ve been friends for years now, ever since Draco appeared at swim practice one day and was promptly yelled at for being five minutes late. Harry’s shared highs and lows with him - morning practices and midnight ferry rides, shaving in the bathroom before a meet, the echo of the pool doors opening at 5am on a Saturday morning. He’s seen Draco laugh after practice in the hot tub, hold back tears after missing the standards by a millisecond, smile after breaking the club record a month after.

“Where?” Harry asked and Draco laughed.

“Somewhere. Anywhere. A road trip.”

If Harry closes his eyes he can almost imagine it. Suitcases in the back, windows halfway rolled down. An endless expanse of asphalt, stretching out into the distance.

Harry smiled, hard enough that his face hurt, hard enough that he forgot about the pain in his chest.

I want to write one with the whole gang! Someone remind me!

~

“There’s too many of them.”

Harry bitterly wonders how many times he’s said those exact words in his lifetime, the final proclamation of defeat. He stares out into the streets, all abandoned cars and rusted lamposts, the lightbulbs long burnt out amongst the charred remains of buildings. The concrete is stained with blood, the air smelling of iron and smoke and dust.

He’s exhausted, but Harry’s too wired to sleep. The sound of them still filled the air - the stumbling of broken limbs, the low moaning and the gurgling. He never managed to figure out how the zombies managed to track their prey - whether it was by scent or by sound or simply by some sort of natural instinct. He’s not sure if he wanted to know.

Harry leans his head against the wall. They’d managed to hold themselves up in some abandoned office building, the windows long gone and the balconies open to the air. It was a convenient place to pick off zombies - clear lines of sight and open floor plans - but he knew it wouldn’t be enough.

There’s too many of them.

He clenches his teeth, looking down at his hands. They’re covered in blisters, the skin torn off his knuckles. His forearms looked unusually pale in the dim light, the tracery of his veins clear underneath the flesh. It’s been too long since he’s eaten. He supposed it didn’t matter now.

The sound of footsteps makes him tense up, one hand flying to the knife at his side. He relaxes though at the sound of a low whistle, Draco’s blond head popping up from the huge hole in the floor, clambering over the rubble. Harry moves to make space for him on the narrow balcony, the sky turning beautiful shades of twilight blue and vivid red.

He quickly scans Draco for the usual - bites, scratches, cuts. He can tell Draco’s doing the same to him, the never-ending catalogue of all their wounds, each taking a toll on their already bruised bodies. Draco opens his hand - there’s a half-melted chocolate bar, the package dusty and the foil warped.

“Here,” he says. “Found it in one of the abandoned cars.”

Harry’s mouth waters. He looks at Draco, though, the way his collarbones stuck out from underneath the torn jacket he worn, the bones in his wrist so prominent underneath the pale skin. Harry bites his lip then shakes his head.

“You have it. I’m not hungry.”

“Bullshit. Have some.”

Harry shakes his head again. “You need it more then me.”

Draco merely rips the package open, snapping off half the melted bar and handing it to Harry. “What does it matter? They’re coming.”

The chocolate tastes like ash in his mouth. “How long?”

Draco looks down, at the ruined city thousands of meters below them. “Sunrise at the latest.”

Harry stares up then, at the stars in the night sky, the moon round and full against the darkness, so close he could almost touch it. He grits his teeth, remembering all the nights out in the forests, the campfires and the storms and that final, desperate hope. Follow the North Star.

“We could run,” he offers. “Siphon off some gas from the abandoned cars. Steal a motorcycle. We could outrun them.”

Draco smiles, something hollow and empty. “And go where?”

“Anywhere. Away from the city, away from people. Zombies can’t come if there are no people to infect.”

He feels the brush of Draco’s fingers against his, so impossibly soft despite everything. “You know we can’t do that. There not enough time.”

Harry just swallows, hard. It’s desperation, so thick he can taste it, coating his lips and his teeth, dragging him down like an anchor beneath the surface of the waves. It’s the frantic claws of a dying man, the last push before everything went dark.

He tries for a laugh, the sound hollow and grating. “I guess this is it then.”

Draco digs his fingers into Harry’s arm, hard enough that it hurt. It’s all the hidden things - the life Before and the life After, all the shared food and bandaged wounds and freezing nights spent huddled up against each other for warmth. It’s saving each other, over and over again, countless bullets and countless slash marks and all the times they would have died alone. It’s the kisses, hesitant again first, growing stronger as the world burned around them and there was nothing left to lose.

Draco holds his arms out; he’s carrying a roll of bandages, the linen ghostly white in the darkness of the building. Harry silently gives him his arm - they always wrapped their limbs in bandages before a fight, a last-ditch attempt to stop the zombies from biting down. He watches as Draco carefully rolls the cloth over and under his arm, pulling it tight against the pale skin.

Draco pulls the knot tight and then it’s Harry’s turn. He wordlessly accepts the roll, moving to stare down at Draco’s arm. He brushes the skin there and Draco shivers; with a small noise he pulls Harry against him.

There’s a deep scar on Draco’s back; Harry remembers when he got it, almost a year ago, near the beginning of the virus. They had made the mistake of sheltering in an unstable building, the support beams exposed and the rock crumbling. All it had taken was a swarm of zombies chasing them and the whole structure had collapsed, Draco throwing himself on top of Harry as the world went dark. He remembers the sound Draco had made as the metal tore at his skin, how his fingers bit into Harry’s as he sewed him up later that night. A lifetime of memories and it was all over anyways, another pair of boys to add to the list of the living dead.

“I’m glad,” Draco says; he’s shaking, with all that terror of knowing one was about to die. “I’m glad it’s - that it’s with you.”

Harry closes his eyes, tries to imprint the memory inside his head; the smooth concrete walls and the glow of the sun over the horizon and Draco, like a fallen angel in the depths of hell, beautiful in the way that only something so tragically mortal could be beautiful.

He looses a shuddering breath. He can hear them now, getting louder, the shuffling of a thousand bodies, a teeming crowd of blood and bones and decaying flesh. He wonders bitterly how it came down to this - a destroyed earth and the last stand of two boys, standing shoulder to shoulder as the sun rose around them.

“We’re gonna fight?” he whispers, heart breaking into a thousand pieces.

Beach House

When Harry pulls up in the driveway, Draco is ready. He sprints towards the car, wrenching open the door and flinging himself inside, his bag awkwardly crammed up against his knees. “Go go go go,” he pants, jamming his feet into his shoes. “Drive!”

To his credit, Harry doesn’t question him, merely guns the engine and speeds off, Draco’s house fading into the distance. With a grunt, Draco shoves his bag underneath his seat, managing to get his feet up so he could tie his shoelaces. He knows he probably looks horrendous, like he’s just walked through a cyclone, but he really doesn’t care.

Beside him, Harry raises an eyebrow. “You’re in a hurry.”

Draco grunts. “Parents.”

“Oh.” Harry looks over, one hand finding Draco’s. “You good?”

“Yeah.” Draco shrugs. “Assholes as usual. The usual shit. ‘You can’t be an artist! Why don’t you try football?’ Blah blah blah blah.”

Harry frowns. “You sure you’re okay - “

“I’m fine.” Draco gives him a small smile. “It’s summer. They can’t stop me. Besides, I’ve been looking forwards to this for weeks.”

Harry looks like he’s about to press the point, but Draco hastily changes the subject. “Who are we picking up first? Pansy?”

“Nah.” Harry takes a sharp left, trees and houses wizzing by the windows. “Blaise. Cause Pansy takes forever to get ready. We’ll grab him, then pick her up on the way to the beach.” He pauses. “Actually, you should probably text her now. Tell her I’ll be over in ten.”

Draco nods, digging his phone out of his pocket. Picking u up. Be at ur house in 10.

K, came Pansy’s reply, and Draco grins. “No way she’ll be out in 10.”

“When is she ever?” Harry rolls his eyes. “I swear, how long does it take her to put on her fucking eyeshadow for God’s sakes?”

Draco laughs, leaning back in his chair. It was late afternoon, sunlight streaming through the windows, making everything seem golden. The air was warm, smelling like leaves and plants and growing things, the sky clear above him. It was the perfect day, and Draco feels himself itch for his sketch pad.

“What are you thinking about?”

Draco looks over, his brows raised. “Sorry?”

Harry laughs. “You have your ‘I’m thinking’ face on.”

“I do not have an ‘I’m thinking’ face - “

Harry nods. “Yep. Your eyes go all dreamy and glassy and you bite your lip like this - “

Draco flips him off, and Harry smirks. “Fine tosser. I’m thinking about how bloody hot your car is.”

Harry frowns. “Yeah, I can’t get the bloody roof to open for some reason.” He bangs the console with his fist. “Damn thing is stuck.”

“Your car is a piece of junk.” Draco pokes at the buttons, grimacing at the cracking noise they made as he pressed them. “I’m surprised it’s gotten you this far.”

“Asshole,” Harry says. “I happen to be the only one of us who can drive - “

“Gays can’t drive.” Draco gives him a wink. “And you’re bi, so don’t even.”

Harry rolls his eyes, but remains silent as they pull up at Blaise’s house. “Call him will you?”

Draco sighs, raising his phone. He dials Blaise, fiddling with the handle of the door as he did. “Oi - “

“Yes yes, I see the car. Calm your tits, Malfoy.”

“Screw off,” Draco says, hanging up. He shrugs. “Should be out soon.”

The door opens, Blaise strutting down the driveway. He was dressed perfectly as usual, and Draco sighs as he rolls down the window. “Hey Zabini. Going to a fashion show?”

“Fuck off,” Blaise mumbles. He throws himself in the backseat, kicking his legs up behind the chair. “Least I don’t look like I crawled out of the dumpster.”

“Hey!” Draco says. “That’s not nice to say Harry looks like he’s crawled out of the dumpster!”

Harry swats him, and he laughs. “We can’t all be models like you, Blaise.”

“True,” Blaise mutters as Harry pulls out of the driveway. “I’m one of a kind.”

Harry snorts. “Why, so humble today Blaise.”

“I’m always humble.” Blaise kicks Draco’s seat. “We getting Pansy?”

Draco nods. “I told her we were coming in 10.”

“No fucking way she’s going to be out in 10.” Blaise scoffs. “This is Pansy we’re talking about.”

“I texted her 30 minutes ago so...” Draco trails off. “Hopefully she’s out.”

“It’s so fucking hot in here.” Blaise bangs his head on the window. “Where’s the air con?”

Harry jabs at the controls again. “Useless thing is broken. I can’t roll the roof down.”

“Fuck.” Blaise kicks the back of Draco’s seat again. “It’s too hot.”

“That’s because I’m in the car,” mutters Draco, and Harry laughs.

They pull up at Pansy’s house after 10 minutes, Draco texting her again. We’re here.

Blaise snorts. Get ur fat ass out here pans.

10 minutes, she writes back, and Harry groans. “10 minutes. It’s always 10 minutes. Last time she said that - “

“Waiting in the car for 1 fucking hour.” Blaise scowls at his phone. “Can we leave without her?”

“I wish,” mutters Draco, and Harry sighs. “Okay. We give her 15 minutes.”

25 minutes later, Pansy breezed out, carrying a huge bag in her hands. “Hey guys,” she chirps, sliding into the car next to Blaise. “Ready for our 5 days of epic fun?”

Harry groans. “Don’t call it that.”

“Oh I’m sorry,” Pansy snaps. “I was going to call it out 4-way orgy, but I decided not to.”

“Thank God,” Blaise mutters, and Pansy flips him off. She rolls her eyes. “Why is it so bloody hot in here?”

“Roof won’t roll down,” Harry says. “The button won’t press.”

Pansy leans over, jamming her finger into the controls. “That won’t work - “ Draco starts, then stops as she slams her fist against the dashboard. “Pans, you’ll break the fucking car...”

“Zip it Malfoy,” Pansy replies, slamming her hand against it again. With a self-satisfied smirk, she sits back down, raising her eyebrows as the roof slowly buzzed open. “Kiss my ass.”

“Already tried that. Turned me off girls permanently,” Blaise mutters. Pansy huffs. “My ass is extraordinary. There’s this one girl named Granger who I’ve been getting on with, and I swear she can suck me off - “

Harry bangs the steering wheel, the horn going off with a loud honk. “I actually know Hermione and I’d prefer if we don’t talk about her sucking you off Pans?”

Pansy winks, sticking her bottom lip out. “Fine. Be like that.”

Draco just sighs, placing his feet on the dashboard. The wind was fierce, now that the roof of the car was down, whipping his hair around his face. He glances over at Harry, his dark hair and green eyes, the lines of his jaw and his fingers wrapped around the steering wheel. The familiar itch takes over, charcoal and ink on paper, and Draco’s remainder of 1 year ago.

Sitting on the roof, hiding from his parents, sketchbooks filled with drawings of the boy with green eyes. Hundreds of them, sketches and paintings and watercolors, because even then Draco couldn’t stop himself.

He’s jolted out of his thoughts by Harry again. “Thinking about me?”

Draco turns away, hoping Harry couldn’t see his blush. “Thinking about art school, actually. Or applying for it.”

“Parents still won’t let you?” Blaise asks, and Draco lets out a bitter laugh. “As if they would ever let me. Manipulative bastards, both of them.”

“Assholes,” Harry mutters, and Draco shrugs. “Whatever. That’s not the issue.” He takes a deep breath, staring up at the sky, willing the tears not to flow, for his eyes to stay dry. “They want me gone. They say I’m hanging out with the wrong people, that they are corrupting me into thinking I want to be an artist. They want....” He falters. “They want to send me to some bloody school in Norway.”

He senses Harry stiffening in the seat next to his fingers going white on the steering wheel. He winces, looking down, anywhere but Harry’s face. Behind him, Pansy swears. “Shit. Fucking Norway?”

“Fucking Norway,” Draco replied, and Pansy swears again. “What the hell?”

“Bastards.” Blaise shakes his head. “What a load of goddamn bastards.”

“When?” Harry’s voice is quiet, and it makes Draco want to cry. He swallows, hard. “Start of next year. This is supposed to be my last summer.”

“Do you want to go to Norway?” Harry’s deadly serious, fingers white-knuckled on the wheel. His biting his lip, peeling away at the flesh with his teeth, blood starting to well at the cracks and Draco shakes his head. “No. God no, I don’t want to go. I don’t want to leave you guys.”

“I can kill them.” Pansy locks eyes with him. “I could kill them. You could come and live with me.”

Draco laughs, his eyes filling up with tears. He blinks them away rapidly, coughing to clear his throat. “Thanks for the offer, Pans. I... I don’t really want to talk about it any more.”

Blaise nods. “Yeah. We’ll enjoy these 5 days. Figure the rest out later.”

Harry gives a tiny nod, one hand reaching out to grasp Draco’s. “Right. Let’s enjoy the beach first.”

“The beach,” Pansy grumbles. “All this sand up your crevices.”

“Lovely, Pans,” Blaise mutters, and despite himself, Draco laughs.

They finally pull in to a small cottage, on a cliff overlooking the waves. Harry parks the car, climbs out. “We’re here!”

“Finally,” Pansy chirps. She stands, stretches her arms above her head, then winks. “Okay. I’ll unpack?”

“Nah.” Harry shakes his head. “I’ll bring everything in. You two make food or something.”

“Sounds fair,” Blaise says, grabbing the bag with all the groceries. He stalks up to the door, yelling over his shoulder, “Where are the goddamn keys?”

Draco finds them in Harry’s bag, tossing them to Blaise, who winks as he unlocks the door. He and Pansy skip inside, kicking it shut behind them.

Draco takes a deep breath. He can hear the waves, crashing over each other, rolling and tumbling and mixing into the sand. The wind pulls at his skin, soft tendrils on his face and he grimaces. “Harry - “

Harry just shakes his head, grabbing him and shoving him against the door of the car, presses his mouth to Draco’s.

They stay like that for ages, Draco’s hands on Harry’s waist, the edge of the handle digging into his hip. The sound of the ocean fills his head, deep and distant, his lips moving against Harry’s.

They’ve done this so many times that they knew each other perfectly, knew every line and fold, every movement before they started. Draco lets his head fall back, his mouth open, drowning in the emerald sea of Harry’s eyes.

When they pull apart, they are both panting, Draco licking his swollen lips. He raises an eyebrow at Harry. “What was that for?”

Harry looks down. “I - “

“You tell me what you’re thinking, and I’ll tell you what I’m thinking.” The words fall out of Draco’s mouth in a clumsy heap. He winces. “I mean. If you want to...”

Harry just sighs. “I’m thinking that I don’t want you to go. To Norway, I mean. I’m thinking that it’s far and cold and I’ll be so fucking lonely and I know you will too. I’m thinking that 10 months is a goddamn long time to be away from you, and that I don’t know how I’ll survive not being able to see your face. I’m thinking that I’ll miss you, from your smart ass comments to your drawings.” He runs his hands through his hair. “What about you?”

He wishes he could draw it, show what he meant on a piece of paper. Eyes and embraces and falling stars, chocolate and marshmallows, the fizz of soda on your tongue. Wind and hands and lips on your hair, a hundreds kisses to hide the bruises, all the trappings of a simple summer together. Ink, two boys together, so close their shadows merged into one, blood dripping from hands onto a concrete floor.

He looks up. “I wish I could draw it. What I’m thinking, I mean.”

“What are you thinking,” Harry asks. “What are you thinking?”

This is SO bad lol, but whatevs.

Prompt: A new nextdoor neighbour/roommate keeps singing very badly at all hours of the night. Must include the word "earsplitting" - Minimum: 450 words - Maximum: 1150 words.

~

“By god, it’s horrible,” Blaise mumbles.

Draco nods. They were stretched out on the sofa, halfway through Infinity War when the singing started.

Every single damn night. High and horrible and screeching, so bad that Draco wanted to knock himself out. Rock music, or some sort, echoing out from Harry Freaking Potter’s room. The singing seemed to reverberate all throughout the small dorm room that he shared with Blaise.

He winces. “By god, it’s everywhere. How is it everywhere?”

Blaise shrugs. “Pipes? Maybe they are singing in the shower, and it’s going through the pipes?”

Draco glares at him. “Who sings in the bloody shower for 2 goddamn hours?”

Blaise just rolls his eyes, snatching the popcorn bucket out of Draco’s hand.

He coughs. “I don’t know. But it’s driving me mad.”

“Agreed.” Blaise sighs. Draco kicks the carpet with his foot. “Pansy?” he asks.

Blaise gives a small, determined nod. “Pansy.”

~

“So.” Pansy purses her lips. “You want me to do what?”

Draco scowls at her over his coffee. “It’s goddamn awful Pans. You have no idea.”

“It’s horrible,” Blaise agrees, sitting down next to them. He dumps sugar and cream into his coffee, stirring it with the stick and Pansy frowns. “That’s your fifth cup?”

“No sleep,” Draco says, and Blaise nods. “Seriously, Pans, it’s agonizing. Horrible.”

Pansy rolls her eyes. “Can’t be that bad.”

“Try hearing it,” Draco mutters and Pansy straightens in her seat. “Are you insinuating something?”

Blaise frowns. He knocks back his coffee. “From Harry Potter’s room, of all places.”

Pansy smirks. “Harry Potter? That’s the guy Draco likes right?”

“Oh stop it.” Draco flushes, staring into his coffee. Pansy smiles at him, and he glares. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?” Pansy says, innocently.

“The look.” He shakes his head. “Fine. Come over tonight. Just listen to how bad it is.”

“Ooh, a sleepover.” Pansy shrugs. “Okay. I’ll come. But if you guys start banging, I’m out.”

~

The knock on the door sends them all flying up.

They’re all bleary-eyed, hair messy. The music had started about an hour ago, and it hadn’t stopped since.

“It sounds like someone is getting bloody murdered,” Pansy mutters. “Told you so,” Draco says. She hits him with a pillow.

With a sigh, Blaise stands, going over to unlock the door. “I swear, if it’s you Greg…” He trails off, at the sight of Theo standing on the other side. “‘Sup Theo?”

“The bloody music,” Theo growls. “It’s so damn loud in my place.” He steps into the room and winces. “Fuck. Not much better here either.”

“I’m going to kill them,” Pansy mutters. Blaise glares at her. “You haven’t even been in here for a night yet. Imagine this. Every night.”

“Ear splitting,” Theo mutters.

Draco sighs. “Look, can someone just...stop it?”

“Great idea, Draco.” Blaise winks. “You do it.”

He glares at him. “No! I’m not going to Harry’s room!”

“Voted!” Pansy calls from the couch. Theo nods. “C’mon Draco! You get to talk to your crush, and the music stops!.”

Draco swears. “I hate you all,” he grumbles, kicking the door open.

The screaming gets louder and louder as he moves down the hallway. It seems to be coming from a door to the left, trickling out from underneath the cracks, and Draco bangs on it. “Yo!”

There’s no answer, and Draco curses. He kicks the bottom with his foot, making it rattle in it’s frame. “Hello?”

He hears footsteps, the sound of the door being unlocked. A head full of red hair pokes through, Ron Weasley’s freckled face frowning down at him. “Why you banging on our door for, Malfoy?”

“What the hell?” Draco throws his hands up. “The bloody screaming.”

Weasley rolls his eyes, yelling over his shoulder. “Harry! Get your ass over here.”

There’s a load of grumbling, then suddenly someone’s head peaked over the edge of the door.

He was tall, messy hair and emerald eyes, glasses askew on his face. Draco had the strangest urge to straighten them and he coughs. “What the hell mate?”

Harry blinks up at him. “Sorry?”

“The fucking music!” He gestures with his hands. “It’s everywhere! All over the damn hall!”

“Oh.” Harry frowns. “Really?”

“Yes!” Draco swallows, hard. He blinks a few times. Damn it. Harry was hot.

The door creaks open a few more inches, and with a jolt Draco realizes that Harry was shirtless, a towel wrapped around his waist. He backs away. “Sorry, were you two - “

Harry gives him a grumpy look. “I was showering,” he says pointedly. “Had my Bluetooth speakers and everything.”

“Oh.” Draco clears his throat. “Pretty fucking loud speakers.”

Harry glares at him. “Didn’t realize they went through the pipes.”

“Okay.” Damn it, he was staring. He clears his throat again. “So, can you...turn it off?”

Harry looks at him for a second, then slams the door shut. Draco lets out a breath, turning to leave.

As he did, he heard Ron’s voice filter out. “See mate? Told you it would work! He was bound to come over, with all the music and look! Now you can ask him out!”

~okay, so apparently my super crappy drarry sick muggle au somehow was actually decent. so, this is my attempt at part 2. again, sorry if this is bad or anything - I really can’t do fluff!!~

Tagging: (just people who seemed interested in it in Part 1) @stevecarlsbergstolemycookies @shelbylpierson @slytherwitches @princessofweirdos @thatmadwomaninthelibrary @scarheaded-ferret @blackpinkdolan

~

He was honestly getting tired of Harry’s fussing.

Two days, shut up in the house, lying in bed as Harry brought him tea and toast and generally spoiled him. He wasn’t allowed out of bed, wasn’t allowed to do anything but sit in bed and stare at the ceiling, while Harry played on his phone.

It was driving Draco crazy, having Harry this close, and yet so far.

It was small things - the careful way he stirred the sugar into Draco’s tea (four tablespoons and a splash of milk), the sunlight gleaming in his hair as he adjusted the blinds, the feeling of his wrist against Draco’s face as he checked his temperature. He wished he had his sketch pad, wished he was good enough to translate this feeling into something tangible.

Draco scowls at the heat in his cheeks. It’s the fever, he tells himself. It’s the fever.

He almost sighs with relief when he hears the door open, Harry’s steady footsteps filling the room. Draco props himself up on unsteady elbows, rolling his eyes as Harry sets the tray down and rushes over to slide pillows underneath him. “For the last fucking time, Potter. I’m okay.”

Harry just shrugs, adding liberal amounts of sugar to Draco’s tea. “Who says I’m doing this for you? I’m getting paid for this, doorknob.”

Draco glares down at the mug proffered to him. “Tea? Again? Why?”

Harry smiles, holding the mug out until Draco takes it, his fingers brushing against Draco’s. “Because. When you’re sick, you lose a lot of fluids. You need to keep hydrated, otherwise it’s harder to recover.”

Draco groans. “Who told you that?”

Harry shrugs. “Fucking Wikipedia.”

Draco arches his eyebrow, letting the warmth of the tea seep into his chilled fingers. “You’re fucking Wikipedia?”

“Is that jealousy I detect?”

With an eye roll, Draco sips the tea, the sweetness overcoming the budding headache. He stretches, his back cracking, warm and comfortable in his bed, as Harry lets his gaze fall over his room.

It’s very messy. Pads of paper lying on the ground, paint and watercolor stacked on boxes, pencils and things of ink on top of crumpled sweaters and socks. Harry sighs, rubbing the back of his neck (Draco trying not to peak at the small sliver of skin where his shirt rode up) “I would clean this up but - “

“Yeah.” With a smile, Draco places the empty mug on his nightstand. “That’s like...third date territory. We might as well be dating.”

It’s meant to be an offhand comment, but Harry flushes and looks down. Draco curses, his insides shriveling up. He had hidden that part of himself for so long, the only secret that his parents did not know, and here he was, vomiting out all of his wishes to Harry. He shakes his head, cursing himself. “Oh, shit, sorry Harry, I - “

Harry interrupts him, pulling out a random sketchbook. “Can I see?”

Draco feels like he’s on the edge of a cliff, staring down into emerald green waters as the waves beat against the shore. It’s oddly intimate, letting Harry see his drawings, almost like handing Harry the key to his mind and letting him rummage through. Harry hesitates, quickly setting the book down. “Oh. Sorry. I-I mean I don’t have too, I was just...curious.”

Draco takes a deep breath and jumps. “It’s fine. You can look.” He winces. “They’re...um. They’re pretty crappy. Some of them, anyways.”

Harry just glances at him, green eyes meeting silver. “How could I think that anything you do is crappy?”

It’s as if he’s swallowed something. A lump appears in his throat, suffocating him, as Draco forces a tiny smile. It’s lost, though, as Harry sits next to him, crossing his legs underneath him, and opens the sketchbook.

The first page is nothing, just a few splotches of ink and a streak of charcoal. The pages are yellowed, slightly wrinkled, as Harry flips the page.

It’s mainly sketches, a bottle, a champagne glass, broken glass and the night sky. There are other things too - intertwined hands and fingers through hair and bodies pressed together, all spines and legs and necks.

Harry stops on one page, a small drawing of two people kissing. It’s blurry, a smear of lead, but it’s obvious that they’re two boys, dark hair mixing with light, against a wall, snow coming down in buckets around them. “When did...when did you draw this?”

Draco shrugs. “Don’t know. Can’t be bothered to put a date.”

He swallows, hard, trying to gauge Harry’s reaction. His face is set, teeth worrying at his lip, and Draco’s heart leaps into his throat. Please, let him be okay, don’t make him go, please let him be okay.

The silence stretches, thick and heavy, like strings of golden syrup on a hot day. He tastes blood in his mouth, and realizes that he’s bitten through his cheek, copper filling his mouth, and Draco curses. “You know.”

Harry looks up. “Know what?”

Draco sighs. “Oh, don’t bullshit me Harry. You know what...what I feel. Anyone who looks at this knows what I feel.”

Harry’s voice is too light, too careful. “What exactly do you feel?”

“I...” Draco closes his eyes. “Goddamn it. I’m not good with words, Harry. If I could just draw it - “

He feels a pencil being pressed into his hand, Harry’s face still emotionless. “Then draw it, Draco.”

So he does.

It’s small things, dozens of sketches. Mugs of tea, sugar spread over the table, splotches of milk and jam and cream. An empty house, the silence that presses down, the disapproval and the glares. Rooftops, nights spent talking and laughing. He draws the sunset, the first time they met, and the sunrise, the first time they actually stopped to talk. He draws a narrow bed, a dark haired boy next to a light haired boy, and he draws the way their hands touch. He draws laughter and contentment, swear words intertwined like fingers, and he draws a pair of silver eyes, catching onto a pair of green ones. An entire page of this, small details, his entire heart spilled out in lead on paper.

Draco holds his breath as he hands the paper to Harry. “This. This is what I feel.”

There’s silence again, agonizing and unending, and then Harry sighs, puts the paper down and kisses Draco.

It’s a soft kiss, a brushing of lips, Harry’s fingers coming up to tangle in Draco’s hair. It’s light, careful, spider silk in the wind, and Draco is smiling against Harry’s lips as he kisses him again and again, sunlight spilling down on them.

When they finally break apart, Harry’s eyes are wide, his hands brushing over his own lips. “I never thought....”

Draco shakes his head. “Me neither.”

Harry smiles. “I thought you were straight.”

Draco raises an eyebrow, unable to keep the grin off his face. “I always knew you were gay.”

Harry whacks him with a pillow, laughing, as Draco pulls him down again into another kiss. “Next time, I’m drawing this.”