The grounds were dripping in sunshine, meaning Draco almost left for about the seventh time since they'd arrived. Everyone was going to be here, with weather like this.
Fortunately, Harry was holding his hand, oblivious to Draco's turmoil. They were here because Harry rarely noticed Draco's turmoil surrounding Hogwarts. His gormless positivity was part of why Draco loved him, though, and he could try to lean into it now.
Harry, who was so happy, dragged Draco first towards the lake, then the Quidditch pitch, gleeful about everything.
“Huh,” Harry muttered as they got close to the stands. “It's so weird that they rebuilt the tower things in the same place, huh?”
“The tower things?” Draco asked, following Harry's gaze. “Wait…the staircases?”
Harry looked at him, genuine confusion etched on his face. “They're stairs? All of them?”
“How do you not know that?”
“I dunno,” Harry shrugged. “I went to like six games the whole time I was in school and we always sat with the team. I climbed over the benches to get to where they were sitting.”
Draco sighed, exasperated. “Fucking…Gryffindor. Come on.”
Draco dragged Harry by the hand onto the pitch, past the canvas flap, and up several flights of rickety stairs. He gestured to the top row of the stands. Harry followed him into the open air with a smirk and the truth hit him.
“You bastard. You knew they were stairs.”
“Obviously. You just looked so scared.” He shrugged. “Now, I have my Draco back. And we're all alone.”
The wind whipped around them, early spring of Scotland as unforgiving as ever. Draco pushed into Harry's side until he wrapped him in his arms.
“It's all going to be okay, love. It's all over. It's just you, just me, just a reunion.”
“Yeah, like it was always just Quidditch?”
Harry laughed, pulling Draco tighter and turning him into a kiss.
“Silly Malfoy,” he said, resting their foreheads together. “It's never just Quidditch.”
