For @drarrymicrofic prompt: “Bet” wc 467 // @poljupci - beta lord almighty, thank you.
They had agreed to stop on a Sunday.
It happened in the middle of a heated argument that started with Harry suggesting a trip to a Muggle cinema, and ended with Draco pointing out—sharply—that they could be seen.
God forbid the Wizarding World discovered that Draco Malfoy, former Death Eater turned Reformed Potions Master, and Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived, were together. Think of the children.
Four weeks later, after several half-hearted attempts at moving on—mostly involving too many drinks and not enough sleep—Draco realised he’s ruined. Properly, irrevocably besotted.
So he turns up on the doorstep of Grimmauld Place with his hands shoved deep into his pockets and his heart trying to beat its way out of his chest.Â
It’s raining, because of course it is.
Harry opens the door barefoot and bleary-eyed, hair a mess, pyjama shirt hanging loose.
“Did you forget you’re a wizard?” Harry asks, eyeing the soaked state of one Draco Malfoy. “You could—” He lifts his hand, miming an umbrella charm.
“Are you going to let me in?” Draco asks instead.
Harry hesitates. Then glances back into the house, considering the weight of the choice. “Why are you here, Draco? You made your feelings about us very clear—”
“I’m not—” Draco stops. Tries again. “I can’t do this.”
Harry’s shoulders tense as he folds his arms. “I thought that was the point.”
“So did I.” Draco lets out a short, humourless laugh. “Turns out I’m rubbish at it.”
The silence that follows is thick and familiar and unbearable.
“Being with me—properly—has consequences,” Draco says finally. “You understand that, right?”
“It won’t be quiet.”
“It’ll be a mess. For both of us.”
“And I’m not sure,” Draco adds softly, “that you deserve that.”
Harry steps forward, wand already in hand. With a flick, the rain stops touching them.
“You don’t get to decide what I deserve or not,” Harry says.
“No.” Harry’s voice breaks. “Draco, I love you. Fuck the Prophet. Fuck what anyone else thinks. What do you want?”
Draco blinks, breath stuttering. He isn’t sure if the wetness on his face is rain or tears—it hardly matters. It’s the first time Harry has said it.
“I love you too,” Draco says back, helplessly.
Harry’s smile is immediate and unguarded and fucking real.
“So where does this put us then?” he says. “ Because I’m in. I’m all in on this.”
“All in?” Draco repeats, disbelief curling tight in his chest. Because why would he believe in such a bet when his youth had been gambled away so carelessly?
Harry steps closer, close enough that Draco can feel the warmth of him.
“I’m all in on us,” Harry says fondly. “You bloody idiot.”
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