#pining drarry

In the following pictures, as Scorpius grew into a tireless toddler and then a small, gleeful kid, Draco still smiled. He smiled as he sat the boy on his shoulders, as he taught him to ride a child’s broom, and as he rode the funfair rides by his side, and it was clear in the way he looked at Scorpius that the boy was his whole world. 

Yet he didn’t look happy anymore. His smile reached his eyes when he looked at his son, the both of them sat across whomever had taken the picture on the ferris wheel, but at the end of the looping picture, when Draco looked away from Scorpius and down at the city through the bars, his smile faded just a second too quickly—the brightness in his eyes dwindling and giving way to a tiredness that had Harry’s brow furrowing.

At the ferres weal with Daddy, Scorpius had written underneath the picture. 

The tiredness seemed to slowly take hold of Malfoy’s eyes over the next few pictures. Ferst day of skool with Mummy, another picture read, and then the next said Hollidays in Frans with Daddy, and Harry realised Draco and Astoria were never together in the pictures anymore. Looking more closely, he noticed their ring fingers, once adorned with golden bands, were now bare, and Astoria’s own smile, once as radiant as her former husband’s, was now a frail little gesture reserved only for the moments her son looked up at her.

Harry turned the pages, and, after a couple of pictures of Scorp with Goyle’s little girl and on his own, he found an image that had his heart pounding and his breath catching.

In the picture, Scorpius sat on his dad’s shoulders and waved a small rainbow flag in the air. Draco, dressed in a Muggle band T-shirt and what looked like the beginning of tight black jeans, grinned and laughed as he waved at the camera. His eyes crinkled with pure mirth as his son screamed something and bounced on his shoulders, and Harry found himself holding his breath waiting for the loop to start over, waiting to catch the exact moment happiness washed over Draco.

On Draco’s chest, a big pride flag badge glistened under the June sun.

At the Pride Perade with Daddy, Scorpius had written. Underneath, in an attempt at a smaller handwriting, he’d added, Im verry happy when Daddy is hapy. 

The scrapbook concluded soon after, with only a couple of pictures from Scorpius’ first few weeks in year two. 

Harry’s emotions, though, far from concluding, followed him around the rest of the day, simmering, then bubbling at random times and taking Harry’s breath away. 

He’d suspected—hoped—Malfoy liked men since the beginning of the school year. From the first few weeks, he’d noticed a vague, annoying feeling of longing that lingered deep within his chest whenever Draco picked Scorpius up from school and he got to wave them goodbye, and although at first he’d blamed it on his life-long obsession with the git, the truth was those feelings had steadily grown closer to butterflies in the stomach than to mere curiosity and annoyance. 

But the confirmation that Draco was gay, alongside the beautiful, captivating, addictive joy he’d found in Draco’s eyes in that one picture at the Pride Parade, had taken Harry completely off-guard, and when he closed his eyes that night he couldn’t help but go over the images in his mind again. He couldn’t help but hug his pillow a little closer to his chest—couldn’t help but think of Draco’s smile, Draco’s eyes; Draco’s soft voice whenever he asked Scorpius how his day had been and his absent-minded wave in Harry’s direction before taking his son’s hand and walking away. As sleep slowly claimed him, he thought of Draco’s lean fingers, and his fitted robes, and the small wave his fringe made above his left eyebrow that always made Harry wonder if he twirled it with a finger when no one was looking. 

The next day, when Draco peeked around the classroom door in search of Scorpius, Harry breathed in deeply and walked his way, silently thanking all the kids saying bye to him and keeping him from having to look at Draco till he was already by his side.

“Hey,” he said, feeling giddy and only slightly foolish. 

“Hello,” Draco said, a note of mild surprise in his voice. 

Scorpius was still tidying up his materials and chatting Rose’s ear off, and Harry watched him instead of Draco when he said, “Scorpius’ scrapbook was very original. I liked it a lot. I’m assuming you helped?” 

“Was that not allowed? He told me—” 

“No, no—” Harry mentally hexed himself. Repeatedly. “I mean, yes, it was allowed. It’s just—it was funny to imagine Malfoy Manor’s regal dining table covered in glitter and purple glue as you two worked on it. That’s all.” 

Mortified by his own words, he glanced in Draco’s direction, half-expecting to find him gaping at Harry like he’d grown Erumpent ears. What he found, though, was amusement, which made Draco’s beautiful grey eyes shine in much the same way they had in some of the scrapbook pictures. Except nothing in those pictures could’ve prepared Harry for the actual sight of those joyful eyes staring right at him. 

“We did it in his room, actually,” Draco said, and then he extended a hand to take Scorpius’ ladybird schoolbag and kissed his son on the cheek. 

“Oh. Of course.”

Why couldn’t Earth just swallow him already? 

Draco’s smile widened—due to Harry’s awkwardness or Scorpius’ presence, Harry didn’t know. 

“Are we going to the park, Daddy?” Scorpius asked. “I’m reeeeeally hungry and I really want to go on the swings!” 

“We are, darling.” He ruffled his son’s hair. “Bye, Mr Potter,” he added, flashing that dizzying smile back at Harry and almost making him sway on the spot. “It’s been nice chatting with you.” 

“Bye, Mr Potter!” Scorpius bellowed, taking his dad’s hand and starting to walk away. 

“See you tomorrow,” Harry called back, feeling all kinds of awkward and woozy and dumb.

Draco looked back at him and, with what Harry could swear was a quick wink that was definitely paired with a smirk, he said, “Till tomorrow.”

Harry shook his head, eyes still fixed on the kettle. 

“Not on purpose.” His words came out strained, and he cursed himself inwardly. Why did he even care? It wasn’t like Draco’s personal life was any of his business. Sharing a flat didn’t make them friends, now did it? No matter how much Harry had grown to enjoy having the git around all the time, and watching him fall asleep while they watched telly together at night, and getting to see Draco’s tousled hair in the mornings—

Draco sighed—a slow, heavy sound—and leaned against the counter beside him. Harry did look up at him then, and the maelstrom of emotion probably still all over his face came to an abrupt halt when he realised Draco was holding back a giggle.

“I’m not engaged, Potter,” he said, grin widening. “You look really upset at the idea, though. It’s a cute look on you.”

Draco’s mirth was beautiful, and so, so good at softening Harry from inside out. Still, Harry crossed his arms over his chest with an indignant huff, grumbling, “Sod off, I thought you were keeping an engagement from me!” When Draco only laughed at him, he added, “Why on Earth do your parents think you’re engaged, then?” 

“I’ll tell you,” Draco said through another giggle, “but don’t murder me. I’m the best Auror partner you’ll ever have.”

Harry just raised his eyebrows at him—curiosity and concern mixing with a subtle hint of betrayal that refused to fade away just yet.

“My parents are…very traditional,” Draco started.

“I’d gathered that much, thank you.”

“Shut up, you giant prick. The thing is, they firmly believe people must live with their parents or on their own until they marry. Sharing a living space with anyone other than your spouse is…improper to them. I’m sure I don’t need to go into detail as to why.”

“You really don’t,” Harry said, grimacing. 

“So when I told them I was moving in with you temporarily, I sort of…kind of…had to tell them we were engaged, and the only reason I was moving in with you before getting married was that we wanted to wait until the pandemic was over to have a big wedding with all our loved ones.”

To Harry’s credit, he didn’t drop the mug full of piping hot coffee all over himself.

He did gape at Draco for a good three seconds, though.

“Your parents think we’re engaged?”

“That’s what I said, yes.” Draco had the decency to look sheepish, at least. “If it’s any consolation, they also trust me to remain chaste until my wedding night, so they don’t think you and I have—”

“Oh my god.”

“I would never, anyway. They raised me well.”

“Stop. Shut up.” Harry rested the mug on the kitchen table—sat heavily on a chair, gaze unfocused. “But didn’t you explain—”

“I did explain to them I was moving in with you because we work together and it’s safest to have you as the only person in my bubble so I don’t put them at risk, yes. They argued I had enough money to rent a place for myself, and I panicked and told them you and I had plans to marry anyway, so it wasn’t all that bad, since they trust me to wait until my wedding night to—” 

“Yeah, yes, got it.” Harry pressed his eyes closed, desperately trying to will images of a virginal Draco Malfoy draped over a white king-sized bed from his mind. “Were you planning on telling me any of this? You’ve been here for weeks…” 

“I was, of course.” 

Harry side-eyed him.

“It’s just—I guess…I was waiting for the right time to tell you, and it never really came up. And don’t give me that look! Remember how long it took you to tell me you weren’t dating Ginny anymore?” 

“That’s different!” Harry said. 

“Potter, you let me send both of you a Christmas card as though you were a couple and replied to it with her because it felt too awkward to tell me you’d broken up!” 

Harry took a sip of his coffee to avoid Draco’s gaze. 

“That may be true,” he muttered eventually, when he looked up at Draco again and found him still looking expectantly at him. “But this involves me directly. I mean, what if I’d answered a Floo call from them while you were in the bathroom and they’d brought up the engagement?” 

“Excuse you, I never schedule anything at bathroom hours!” 

“I...don’t want to know what that means.” Would it be too much for him to bury his face in his arms and fall right back asleep? “What are we going to do now?” 

“We wait until lockdown is over and pretend we’ve broken up and are no longer engaged, of course.” 

“What, so your parents hate me forever?” Harry asked. “No, thank you!”

“What do you mean, no thank you? The alternative, in case you hadn’t noticed, is to marry me, Potter!” 

“You’re making my year start with a headache,” Harry groaned. “I hope you’re happy.” 

“Very much so, actually,” Draco said. “Because you will pretend you’re my fiancé over Floo, won’t you? My parents have been asking to talk with you directly, and if it doesn’t happen soon, they’re going to start thinking you’re a bad husband…” 

“Fiancé! I mean—flatmate. Colleague. Ugh. Fine. Fine. I’ll do it,” he said when Draco just pouted dolefully. He couldn’t resist those puppy eyes, dammit. “But I’ll be cursing you to hell and back in my mind the entire time.” 

Draco’s grin was definitely not worth the sacrifice. 

***

“Harry! What a delight to finally be able to talk to you. Draco says you’ve been busy with work matters lately.” 

“Y-Yeah, it’s been chaos,” Harry said, resisting the urge to glare at Draco and hoping Narcissa couldn’t see the puzzle sitting on the coffee table or the stack of movies by the sofa through the Floo. “I’m really glad to see you, too.” Fuck, that’d sounded awfully awkward. “Happy new year, by the way—let’s hope it’s a better one.” 

“Oh, I’m sure it will be. The year an offspring gets married is always among the best of a mother’s life.”

“Right. Of course.” Add ‘upsetting Narcissa terribly’ to the list of reasons to curse Draco. 

“And I imagine it will be an even happier year for you two, especially if a future heir is in the picture by the end of it!” 

ADD ‘ALMOST CHOKING TO DEATH ON MY SALIVA’ TO THE LIST OF REASONS TO—

“Mother, please, I think it’s a little bit to early for that—” 

“I know, I know, sorry.” She didn’t sound sorry at all. “I’m just really excited for you, my Draco. You’ve wanted this for so long…”

Harry’s heart skipped a beat. 

“Harry, you are one very lucky man, I hope you know that,” Narcissa went on, oblivious to the look Harry and Draco were sharing—the colour drained from Draco’s cheeks, a breath caught in Harry’s lungs. “I do hope you will be taking the Malfoy name, too! It would be an honour to have you as a part of our family tree…”

She went on about the Sacred Twenty-eight for what seemed like forever, and Harry was only vaguely aware of Draco interrupting her with the excuse they had to get back to work and ending the call after a round of good-byes. 

For a moment, they both stared into the faceless flames. 

“You’re not going to buy it if I tell you I really do need to get back to work, right?” Draco said after a moment, voice low. 

“You know the answer to that.” 

Draco huffed. 

“Well, then, go ahead and ask what you want to ask. Don’t make me suffer for longer than necessary.” 

Harry sneaked a glance in Draco’s direction. Unlike a few moments before, his face was a dark shade of red, hand clutching the edge of the carpet, knees drawn close to his chest. 

“I don’t want to ask if you don’t want to tell me,” Harry murmured, looking back into the flames. 

“It’s not like I can Obliviate you,” Draco retorted. “You heard what you heard.”

Harry nodded. 

“That you’ve wanted me for a very long time.”

Draco didn’t reply. 

Harry glanced at Draco’s hand again, now playing nervously with the fringe of the carpet, and, after a moment of hesitation that faded with his next exhale, he reached out and rested his hand on it. Draco’s fingers stilled under his touch, and Draco’s eyes found his—wide, scared, vulnerable. 

He dared run the tips of his fingers over Draco’s knuckles, and his own breath caught when he heard Draco’s hitch. 

“Draco…” Harry started, not knowing what he was even going to say. “The past few weeks have been… they’ve been—”

“Don’t,” Draco said, voice strained. “Don’t. Just—” He looked away again. “Just tell me you just want to be colleagues and be done with it, please.” 

“Maybe that’s not what I want.” He slipped his fingers between Draco’s soft own; squeezed them gently. “Maybe what I want isn’t so different from what you want. You don’t know what’s going on inside my mind. You have no idea what the past few weeks have meant to me.” 

Draco didn’t move under his touch—didn’t seem to move at all, except for the quick, uneven rise and fall of his chest. When he talked, the words came out quickly, in a whisper, as though he was terrified to hear himself say them.

“What are you saying, Potter?”

“What I’m saying is I want more of this. More puzzles, and movies, and more of your way-too-salty chicken soup, and more evenings and mornings by your side. I’m saying I hadn’t realised until very recently how much I want more of you, Draco. But I do. Merlin, I do.” 

A sound somewhere between a whine and a choked cackle came out of Draco’s throat.

“You sound like I’ve actually proposed to you, you idiot,” he groaned. Harry rolled his eyes at him, squeezed his fingers yet again.

“I’m being serious!” he said, unable to hold back a laugh. “Don’t laugh at me!”

“I’m not! I’m just—this whole situation, it’s…”

“I know,” Harry murmured. “But it doesn’t have to be. Things don’t have to be so different now. I mean, we already work together and we’ve been having movie nights every Saturday for, what, three years now? And now we live under the same roof, we cook meals together, we fall asleep together on the couch…Merlin. We’re already like a married couple, aren’t we?” Harry said, horrified. “No wonder your parents bought the engagement story!”

“Wait till I tell you they were actually surprised it hadn’t happened sooner…”

Harry buried his face in his knees to stifle a groan.

“Come on,” he said after a moment, and stood up still holding on to Draco’s hand. “Let’s make some lunch and pretend like this wasn’t the most embarrassing conversation we’ve ever had.”