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“You’re joking?” Draco repeats as he stares up at Harry’s face.

Harry frowns, that wrinkle that Draco is disgustingly fond of appearing between his brows. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

If Draco squints, he can just about make out a hint of Harry’s tell-tale smirk at the corner of his mouth. Harry always smirks when he’s joking, he’d have made an awful Slytherin. It’s there on the right side of his mouth, a tiny apostrophe that causes an even tinier dimple to show in his cheek. Draco doesn’t let himself dwell on the dimple because it’s just a slippery slope.

“You’re joking,” Draco says because there’s no way Harry can mean what he’s saying. However, Draco is squinting and he’s not sure if that’s Harry’s smirk or if Draco’s just squinting hard enough that Harry’s face has blurred.

“I’m not,” Harry says, and he’s smiling now but it’s definitely because he thinks Draco is being a prat, rather than the fact this is all an elaborate piss take.

“But—” I’m never invited , Draco wants to say, but that makes him sound like a petulant child.

He is never invited on the annual Ministry holiday that Harry and his friends go on. He doesn’t mind, or at least he tells himself he doesn’t mind as he’s forced to listen to them all joke about it for the next month. He tends to avoid pub nights after that holiday.

However, things are different now. That was before he was partnered with Harry and they’d struck up a tentative friendship that had blossomed into a genuine one, and had led to Draco falling arse over tit for the git who lived.

The git who lived to be the continual bane of Draco’s life by being just as handsome and charming as Witch Weekly had always claimed he was. Harry Potter had had the nerve to be worse than Witch Weekly ’s claims of Most Handsome Wizard of the Year Five Times Running because he had had the audacity to be human - and somehow, that had made him even more attractive.

“Weasley hates me,” Draco says, clutching at straws for reasons why there’s no possible way he could have been invited. He’s not entirely sure why he’s so desperate to prove to Harry that there’s been a mistake — but he is.

“Ron doesn’t hate you,” Harry laughs, moving past Draco and dropping down at his desk with a lazy grace Draco could never pull off.

“Well, I hate him.”

“No you don’t,” Harry says, flicking through the paperwork that he hadn’t bothered to finish last night. Honestly, Harry is so infuriating with his inability to do paperwork and the way he convinces Draco to get a takeaway instead of finishing said paperwork. “You make him tea every morning and leave it on his desk.”

“I do that for you too!”

Harry glances up, and that apostrophe has spread into a full blown smile and he’s staring at Draco with the dimples and Draco really hates him sometimes. “Yeah, and you don’t hate me either.”

Draco huffs as Harry smugly picks up his tea and takes a sip. It’s still warm because Draco leaves it under a Stasis Charm, because there’s no point him making them tea if it’s going to get cold. However, he doesn’t do it because he likes Harry or Ron, he just… Alright, so Ron isn’t so bad and Draco has a few feelings for Harry, but he’s just being polite. It’s good manners is all.

“So you’re gonna come, right?” Harry asks.

Draco bites his lip and fiddles with the paperwork at his desk, because if he looks directly at Harry he knows he’ll cave. “Who else is going?”

“Usual,” Harry says, and Draco nearly snaps at him for being useless but thankfully, Harry continues before he can do so. “Me, Ron, Hermione, Seamus who’s bringing Dean, Justin, Susan, Cho who’s bringing Daphne Greengrass, and Hermione’s invited Parkinson and Zabini as well.”


“She works with Parkinson in the Law department, and I don’t know how she knows Zabini but she says she likes him.”

“Blaise is—” Draco tries to find a way to explain why anyone would like Blaise, because while Blaise is one of Draco’s closest friends, exactly why this has happened sometimes leaves Draco dumbfounded. “Blaise is Blaise,” he settles on. Harry grins at him. “That’s an awful lot of Slytherins.”

Harry shrugs, grin growing. “Turns out you lot aren’t so bad.”

“High praise from The Chosen One .”

Harry flips him off but he’s still smiling. They’ve managed to find the fine-line between banter and bullying after all these years. “It’s just a few days in a nice villa by the beach, what more could you want?”

“I have sensitive skin,” Draco sniffs, to be contrary.

Harry rolls his eyes. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you’re doing your sun cream charms.”

Draco glares at him. “What makes you think I’m coming?”

“I want you to?” Harry says, leaning forward across his desk and Draco hates whoever decided it was a good idea for partners to have their desks pushed together so that they face each other at all times. It is not good for his work ethic to have to stare at Harry’s profile with his firm jaw and straight nose — well, nearly straight, there’s a slight bump if you look closely on the left and Draco hopes that wasn’t his fault from sixth year — his plump lips, horribly messy hair and his eyes. That’s just the basic list of things Draco is forced to endure because of his position; that’s not even starting on the freckles scattered high on Harry’s cheeks if Draco squints, or the way he sucks on his pen — Harry always uses Muggle pens — rolling the pen over, pursing his lips and sometimes his tongue—

“Draco?” Harry prompts, and Draco realises he’s lost himself in Harry… again…

“Fine,” Draco says, trying to compose his face into something bordering irritation. “I’ll come on your little Ministry trip and see what all the hype is about.”

“We’re inviting you to a villa on a Greek island, stop acting like it’s a hardship,” Harry says, rolling his eyes.

Draco grudgingly accepts that perhaps he’s had worse invitations in his life.

Draco stretches out his shoulders as he stares around, taking in the lush sea and the golden sand. Ron, Harry and Seamus, having already dropped their bags, run  at full pelt towards the sea while Hermione and Dean watch them in amusement.

“What have we got ourselves in for?” Draco sighs, turning to Pansy who is smoothing down her summer dress,  white and floating around her mid-thigh. It’s very pretty, not that Draco feels the need to tell her. It’ll just make her smug.

“A chance for you to fuck Potter?” Pansy replies. She’s still staring at the sea and not even bothering to look at Draco as he splutters — what kind of best friend just blurts out someone’s crush? Not that anyone would have heard her as he, Blaise and Pansy are stood off to the side, but it's the principle of the matter. They’re not the only Slytherins here what with Daphne Greengrass, but Daphne is pressed to Cho’s side, the two of them giggling.

“I do not want that to happen,” Draco hisses.

“Sure,” Blaise deadpans, and the prick doesn’t even look like he’s suffering from the heat. Draco’s shirt is sticking to his skin, and beads of sweat are gathering across his hairline and it’s hard to focus on anything aside from the fact that Harry has stripped off his shirt and has dived into the sea. “You don’t want to fuck Potter for all he’s worth, not in the slightest.”

“Blaise!” Draco yelps, drawing attention from Hermione and Susan who give them reassuring smiles. “Can we not?”

“I literally only came so we could ensure your dick ended up in Potter’s arse,” Pansy says, inspecting her nails, “Or vice versa.”

“Agreed,” Blaise nods, “the sexual tension was putting me off my lunch.”

“How?” Draco demands.

“You could feel it all through the Ministry,” Pansy says.

“Agreed,” Blaise says again, “your longing and pining was so pathetic that it just kind of wafted throughout the entire Ministry.”

“Aren’t longing and pinning the same thing?” Draco asks, because he can’t think of anything else to say apart from stomping his foot and living up to their expectations of pathetic.

Blaise shrugs, and Draco is more than happy to let the topic go especially when Hermione calls them over to lead them to their rooms, leaving Harry and the others in the sea.

He doesn’t pine after Harry, anyway. Blaise and Pansy are just being their usual ridiculous selves. He just has… a small, unrequited and bothersome crush but it’s not bigger than what the rest of the Wizarding World feel for Harry Potter, thank you very much.

Except the rest of the Wizarding World don’t know how Harry takes his tea, or that he hums to himself when he likes a song on the Wireless. They don’t know that surprising him with takeaway on late nights makes him putty in your hands, and they certainly don’t know the best way to tease a smile from his face when he’s in a mood.

Draco winces to himself as he waves his wand at his bags so they’ll hover after him — perhaps he’s a tad gone for Harry Potter, but only a tad.

He follows Hermione into the huge villa, admiring its white walls and the infinity pool that overlooks the beach. It's a luxury that as a teenager he wouldn’t have expected of Harry’s lot, but he supposes they’re celebrities now. Harry, Ron and Hermione all get sent free stuff, and he wouldn’t be surprised if they were given the villa too for the few days.

However, Harry had told Draco the reason they were coming here was because of the assurance that the press wouldn’t be able to find them. A few days of relaxation without having to worry about their pictures and antics ending up in the paper.

Draco doesn’t envy Harry. He always used to, but he’d been a pretty stupid kid. He sees now the way it gets to Harry, the constant way people demand too much of him; so Draco tries to ensure that he never looks at Harry as The Saviour or The Chosen One or even The Boy Who Lived Twice, because as remarkable as all these things are, they’re not what makes Harry Harry .

His room is nice as well, with white curtains that frame large doors that open out to a balcony overlooking the sea. Draco can’t quite resist wandering over to explore. The air is sweet and he can feel the stress of the Ministry slip away from him — he wonders how many strings Harry’s lot had to pull in order to all sneak away at once, but he’s not going to complain. He doubts it wasHarry, he’d work himself to death if people didn’t stop him.

Draco tilts his face up, letting the sun’s rays hit him as he breathes out - because this trip is going to be just fine and he’s spent the last few days panicking for nothing. He probably didn’t need to buy an entirely new wardrobe for the trip either, but it had made him feel better at the time.

“And this is your room, Harry,” Hermione’s voice meets Draco’s ears over the sound of the sea and he freezes, fingers tightening on the railing of the balcony.

“Cool,” Harry says, “Who else is in here with me?”

Draco wonders if now is the appropriate time to jump over the railing.

“Draco,” Hermione says simply, as if she isn’t currently ruining Draco’s life.

“What?” Harry splutters, and Draco decides if he’s not going to throw himself from the balcony it’s probably time to face the music. He steps back into the room, unsure if he’s sweating because he’s being asked to share a bed with Harry Potter or because it’s so hot. He concludes it’s probably both.

“Sorry,” Draco says smoothly, channeling his best Slytherin voice. “There seems to have been a mistake.”

“There’s not,” Hermione says brightly, “I’ve worked out all the rooms and it makes sense for you two to share?”

“How?” Draco asks, his polite tone threatening to slip. He tries not to look at Harry for too long, because he is stood there shirtless and wet and not making Draco’s life any easier.

“Well,” Hermione begins, and Draco casts a quick look at Harry who is rubbing his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger as he always does when nervous. “Obviously Ron and I are sharing, and so are Dean and Seamus, and Daphne and Cho,” Hermione goes on, ticking off names on her fingers, “Then for the single ones there’s Pansy and Susan because they’re both girls, which leaves you two, and Blaise and Justin.”

“Why can’t I share with Blaise?” Draco protests.

“Because Harry and Justin use to date,” Hermione says.

Draco’s head spins around to Harry who is deliberately staring at the floor. “You did?!” His voice comes out higher than he would have liked it.

“I guess,” Harry says, refusing to meet Draco’s eyes as he shuffles his feet. “We’re friends now though.”

“If they’re friends, why can’t they share?” Draco says, even though he’s not sure he wants Harry sharing with his ex.

“Because just because they’re friends doesn’t mean they should be sharing a double bed—”

“—Everyone’s shagged everyone here! What does it matter?!” Draco protests weakly, and Hermione gives him a look that suggests she has not shagged everyone here, please and thank you very much.

“Anyway Justin and Blaise work together so they make logical sense as do you and Harry,” Hermione continues as if he didn’t speak.

Draco isn’t sure anything about this made logical sense but he knows Hermione well enough from pub nights that when her face takes on that expression — there is no arguing with her.

Harry runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back off his forehead. He’s stood there with his shirt clutched in his hand and his damp shorts clinging to his legs leaving very little to Draco’s imagination — not that Draco needed to imagine much after Auror training — those showers hadn’t helped Draco’s… crush… Why couldn’t Harry just use a drying charm instead of standing there wet and attractive looking?

“I promise I’m not that bad to share a bed with,” Harry teases, smiling enough that Draco can see his dimples.

This is going to be awful , Draco thinks to himself as he says, “I guess I’ll be the judge of that.”

Whatever other qualms Draco has with Harry’s existence, he will admit that Harry is an excellent cook, and that the same can be said for Ron. Draco has no intention of telling either of them this, but that doesn’t stop him from helping himself to another portion of what Ron had (quite painfully) dubbed Ron’s Special Sausages . It was Draco’s personal opinion that no one — aside from perhaps Hermione — wanted to put Ron’s special sausage in their mouths. No one.

“Draco, be a darl, and pass the wine,” Pansy says, and Draco’s not sure she needs anymore as her lippy is smeared around her glass and her eyes are bright. However, never let it be said Draco Malfoy denies his friends, he thinks, passing her the bottle anyway.

“Draco darl,” Harry mocks, giggling, his chin propped up on his hand as he stares at Draco across the table. He’s already caught the sun today and there’s a flush of colour across his cheeks that the wine is only amplifying.

Draco’s stomach twists and he looks away. He’s unsure how he’s expected to share a bed with Harry, how he’s meant to lie there in the crisp white sheets and not touch. Of course, he can refrain from touching because Harry doesn’t want him back… Draco just wishes Harry would want him back.

The day had been torture to say the least. Draco hadn’t quite anticipated how much the sight of Harry shirtless would affect him, which was foolish of him. Harry’s shoulders and broad chest were distracting enough on a day to day basis with the Auror robes stretching across them — why Harry couldn’t buy new Auror robes that would fit him properly Draco didn’t know, all the rest of his clothes were too baggy after all — but the sight of Harry shirtless with the sun glinting off his tanned, wet chest, and his dark hair curling at the ends, just above his ears… was almost too much for Draco to endure. Draco had wanted to lick the salty water off Harry’s chest, wanted to tangle his hands in the wet hair, wanted—

“Draco,” Pansy prompts and Draco realises that he has absolutely no idea what anyone has been saying — at least he had managed to refrain from staring at Harry.

“Too much wine?” Harry teases, saving Draco from having to ask what the fuck they’d been talking about.

“I’ve always been able to handle my drink.”

“I have some pretty vivid memories of you that suggest otherwise.”

“You’re one to talk about being a lightweight, Potter.”

“I never said you were a lightweight,” Harry laughs, “I just don’t think you know your limit.”

“Now you’re definitely being hypocritical.”

“Hypocritical,” Harry mimics, his voice slow and lazy with drink and the heat, “That’s a big word.”

“Five whole syllables,” Draco agrees, hoping he’s right. He’s either right or Harry doesn’t care to check, because Harry just grins at him. Draco could lose himself forever in Harry’s smile. He wants to kiss that dimple, trace his fingernail across it as Harry smiles at him. It’s hard when Harry looks at him like that — his eyes burning in the glow of the lights around them — because just for a moment, Harry looks at Draco like he’s his entire world.

“Should have been a Ravenclaw.”

“I’m a Slytherin to the core,” Draco replies, relishing how Harry laughs at that now instead of sneering. Treasuring the fact Harry no longer views that as a bad thing.

Seamus bangs his fist on the table, shattering the moment as Harry’s eyes move from Draco to where Ron and Seamus are sat, both of their cheeks flushed with wine, Seamus’s teeth stained red. Draco runs his tongue over his teeth.

“It’s time to begin the drinking games,” Seamus announces.

“I’m suddenly a teenager again,” Justin sighs, and Draco can’t believe Harry dated that boring prat… even if Draco had been thinking the same thing.

“We spent too much time fighting arseholes to appreciate drinking games enough as teenagers,” Ron says, “we’re just making up for lost time.”

Draco’s breath catches in his throat, because he’s apologised for the war but he can never actually move past it, and he can never make up for what he did — not truly. He does what he can with his work, by supporting Hermione’s campaigns, by giving his money to the right people — and by this he means the ones that deserve it, not the ones that will further his social standing — but it’s always there lurking, just like the faded mark on his arm. At twenty-two, the mark has faded from blood red to a faint pink, and Draco hopes that one day it will be little more than a scar. He twists the sleeve of his shirt, a stifled silence falling across the table as they remember who is here with them now.

“I completely agree,” Pansy says, her chin tilted up, her eyes defiant, “anyone got a game suggestion?”

“Truth or dare?” Cho says.

Pansy’s nose wrinkles. “Now we are playing at teenagers again.”

“Can’t face the heat?” Seamus asks.

“Oh I can take it,” Pansy says, leaning back and inspecting her nails, “I’m just worried for your little sensitive sensibilities.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ron asks, leaning forward.

Pansy exchanges a look with Blaise, who isn’t quite smiling but there’s a challenge in the set of his mouth. The pair of them look over at Draco who smirks back at them, eyes flicking to Daphne who laughs before he shrugs to the rest of the group. “You’re playing with Slytherins now.”

“I’m terrified,” Harry says, and Draco feels a thrill shoot up him as he meets Harry’s eyes again. They’re magnetizing and electrifying.

“You should be,” Draco teases.

“Bring it,” Harry mouths as Dean takes control of the game, asking Pansy who she would fuck, bond and avoid out of Harry, Ron and Seamus. Pansy merely replies she’d fuck Harry, bond Ron and avoid Seamus before turning to ask Hermione a question. Draco settles into his seat, an amused smile curling up his mouth as he watches them all.

He can’t quite believe they’ve ended up here after everything they all endured.

He feels a foot nudge his and glances up to see Harry watching him. Draco nudges Harry back, trying not to find the feeling of Harry’s bare skin too thrilling.

“Is the first night always like this?” Draco murmurs, leaning across the table so Harry can hear him without distracting anyone else from the lap dance Susan is giving Hermione as Ron eggs them on.

Harry’s foot brushes his again, rubbing against the side of Draco’s foot and Draco tries to keep his breathing normal. Harry nods, unaware of what he’s doing to Draco’s insides with his drunken foot stroking. “Yeah, everyone’s always desperate to blow off steam.”

“Mother always said people get more drunk in the heat.”

“That too, probably,” Harry laughs, his foot resting atop of Draco’s. It’s so carelessly intimate that it leaves Draco’s heart pounding.

“Malfoy!” Ron says, Harry’s foot disappearing leaving Draco longing for his touch again. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” Draco says, ignoring Harry’s groan of boring .

“Who in the room do you most want to fuck?”

“Dare,” Draco says, not letting his eyes flicker over to Harry for even a second, he keeps them trained of Ron’s face.

“I thought you Slytherins could handle anything,” Justin laughs, and Draco hates him for so many reasons.

Pansy scoffs. “We can, the question was just a shit one.”

“Fine,” Ron says indignantly. “I dare you to kiss the person you think is most attractive in this room.”

Draco forces his eyes to sweep across the room in contemplation — as if he even has to think about this. As if his mind hasn’t gone straight to Harry’s jaw, Harry’s messy hair, Harry’s eyes, Harry’s everything. He probably needed to drink less wine.

“Ron,” Hermione tuts, “you can’t force people to kiss.”

“He’s kissing the person he wants to kiss!”

“The person has to consent and if they don’t it could be humiliating,” Hermione says.

“Does everyone here consent to being kissed by Malfoy?” Ron asks.

“Half of us are in relationships?” Dean says, and Draco's pretty sure that is his subtle way of saying he doesn’t want to kiss Draco. The feeling is mutual because while Dean Thomas was an extremely good looking guy, he isn’t Harry.

“Fine,” Ron sighs, “Malfoy, I dare you to kiss the person you’re most attracted to in the room who is also single and consenting to the kiss.”

“This is the actual worst game of truth or dare I’ve ever played,” Pansy mutters, and Draco wants to agree because he doesn’t know what he is supposed to do now.

And then Harry’s foot brushes his and Draco finally looks at him. Harry’s staring at him an encouraging smile on his face, and Merlin is Draco just supposed to kiss him? Harry’s seemingly consented, he didn’t protest to Ron…

“Get on with it,” Blaise drawls, ever the supporting friend.

Draco gets to his feet, flipping Blaise off and trying to look like he doesn’t care. “You’re all too ugly for me really, but I suppose if I had to pick…” he pretends to stare around, eyes lingering on Justin just long enough to make him nervous — as if blond had ever been Draco’s type. He meets Harry’s eyes and he’s blushing, but he’s been red all day from the heat — Malfoy skin does not agree with the sun — so hopefully no one will realise that he’s blushing. “Potter, you’ll have to do.”

Harry’s eyebrows shoot up and he laughs, but it sounds brittle. Draco should have just kissed Blaise, it would have served Blaise right for being a prat, and he’d kissed Blaise before. Yes, Blaise would have been the logical option, because now he’s standing on the other side of the table, staring at Harry who has just about managed to rearrange his face from an expression of shock to one of challenge. Draco wants to kiss him so badly, but at the same time he doesn’t want this to be their first kiss.

Draco has imagined their first kiss in a multitude of different ways but it was never forced, it was never supposed to be a joke. It was supposed to be—

“Oh my Merlin!” Pansy cries, starting Draco out of his thought process. “Look!”

Draco spins around, to where Pansy’s pointing, his head feeling groggy.

“What?” Cho asks.

“Dolphins!” Pansy says, pushing her chair back, the plastic screeching against the stone. “I saw dolphins!”

“Dolphins?!” Dean says his face lighting up, and just like that they’re all running down to the sea and Draco knows Pansy did it for him.

“Dolphins,” Harry echos, his hands in his pockets and Draco almost let’s himself believe that Harry looks disappointed that they didn’t kiss.

Draco laughs, trying to defuse the tension. He runs his hands through his hair and shrugs. “Dolphins.”

“I’ve never seen a dolphin.”

“Neither,” Draco says, and he has a feeling that they’re not about to see any either. He rocks back on his feet — he’s not used to feeling lost for words around Harry, but their near kiss is hanging heavy in the air. Harry’s eyes are weighing on him and Draco can’t bring himself to deal with it all so he turns and quickly follows the others towards the sea for a midnight swim, because it’s better than facing the truth. It’s easier than facing the truth.

He avoids Harry for a bit as they splash about in the sea.

It feels surreal to be lying on his back, floating, water lapping at his sides as he stares up at the stars. He’s on a Greek island with Harry Potter and his friends. He could have kissed Harry Potter if he’d just moved a bit faster, been a little more decisive. He knows he didn’t really want to kiss Harry, he didn’t really want their first kiss to be that… but the thought of kissing Harry is a nice one.

He imagines Harry’s lips would be firm, and his mouth would taste of the sweet wine they’d been drinking. He wants their first kiss to be slow, that’s his favourite fantasy. He likes the hot and heavy ones too, but his favourite is the soft one. Harry’s hands cupping his face as Draco tangles his fingers through that messy hair — he wouldn’t mind it being such a mess if he was the cause of it — and then the two of them leaning in. They’d both pause just before and Draco would let his eyes take in Harry’s scattered freckles and his bright eyes, and then Harry would smile and that dimple would show and that would give Draco all the confidence he needs to—

Draco splutters as water hits his face, wrinkling his nose at the salty taste in his mouth. “Why?” He groans, letting his feet drop down, barely brushing the ground as he turns to see Harry grinning at him. “Why are you like this?”

Harry shrugs. “Wanted to know why you were floating out here away from anyone.”

I was indulging in my favourite past time, which is to fantasise about kissing you .

“Why couldn’t you have just asked?” Draco asks, his eyes catching on the way Harry’s shirt clings to his skin.

Harry shrugs again and Draco laughs. “This seemed more fun.”

“Or you’re just that desperate for my company.”

“Yep, that’s it, that whole twenty minutes I spent away from you was too much for me to bear.”

“It’s okay, Harry,” Draco says, Harry’s name slow and sweet in his mouth. “I understand, I’m very sought after.”

“Thank you,” Harry’s smile is dopey from the wine, and Draco wishes it was dopey from attraction. “I don’t know what I’d do if you weren't so considerate.”

“Considerate, big word,” Draco mocks Harry like Harry mocked him earlier.

“I’m very smart,” Harry’s voice is slurred and Draco has a feeling Harry needs to sleep. Draco can always tell when Harry’s eyes become hooded and his head falls forward, that he’s close to dropping off.

Draco moves forward, looping an arm around Harry’s waist to keep him propped up as he moves them toward the shallower water. “I never said you weren’t.”

“You used to,” Harry murmurs, collapsing against Draco’s body, and Draco’s glad for the hours Robards makes them spend in the gym so that he can support Harry.

Draco hums, Harry’s stubble scraping his neck as Harry nuzzles into Draco’s neck. The prat’s always an affectionate drunk. “I used to say a lot of things that weren’t right.”

“You did,” Harry says, and his lips are against Draco’s neck and Draco does his best not to implode at the overload of sensations. “But you don’t anymore, you’re good now.”

Draco’s heart swells as he heaves Harry out of the water, Harry partially wrapped around him like an octopus. Draco doesn’t care to protest.

“Harry alright there, Malfoy?” Ron calls from where he’s sat on the sand, an arm around Hermione’s shoulders.

“Yeah,” Draco calls back, “He’s just drunk too much, but I’ll take him to bed.”

Ron snickers at that, and Draco tries not to think anything of it because Hermione just gives him a thankful smile.

Draco carries Harry back up to the villa and into the room, leaving the cries of their friends behind them. Draco doesn’t mind, he only came on this trip because Harry asked him to anyway… Harry, who is currently nuzzling Draco’s neck, and at one point  Draco could have sworn he felt Harry’s tongue flicker out against his skin — at which point Draco had nearly dropped Harry down the stairs in shock.

“I’m so glad you came,” Harry whispers once Draco has helped him undress and get into bed. He looks incredible lying there on the white sheets, and he’s sprawled so that Draco has to curl up into a ball on his side of the bed because he doesn’t want to touch Harry.

“Me too,” he whispers back because speaking any louder seems like it would be breaking something in someway.

“No, you don’t understand,” Harry slurs, turning to face Draco. He doesn’t say anything else.

“No, I don’t.”

Harry sighs, his eyes fluttering shut. “I wish you would.”

Draco wants to reach out and brush Harry’s hair off his face, but he doesn’t dare because he can tell Harry’s fallen asleep. He looks so young when he sleeps, as if finally, the stress of the war and everything else he’s been through in his life can escape him. Draco doesn’t know much about Harry’s life before Hogwarts, but what he’s heard… what he’s heard makes his blood run cold.

Draco only wants the best for him now; he can hardly imagine that he once didn’t live wanting Harry to be happy. It’s why he doesn’t dare make that move because he knows their Auror partnership — their friendship — means something to Harry, and Draco isn’t going to be the one to ruin it.

Draco arches up into Harry’s touch, letting out a moan as Harry’s grip tightens on his hip. He feels like his entire body is burning up, his skin aflame everywhere Harry touches.

“Please,” Draco begs, because Harry is teasing him, dragging his mouth across Draco’s neck, letting his teeth scrape the sensitive skin.

“Please what?” Harry says, his voice breathy because he’s just as affected by this as Draco is. He wants this just as much.

“Please,” Draco repeats, because he wants everything. He wants Harry to give him everything and if he doesn’t have it now he’s going to combust, but he can’t because he can’t die because he can’t die before he knows what it’s like to have Harry Potter. “Harry, please.”

“Draco,” Harry murmurs, his hands cupping Draco’s face and Draco sees love in his eyes and starts, his eyes flying open because it’s a dream. Draco lies there, trying to control his breathing, because he just had a sex dream about the man lying beside him. Luckily, Harry still seems to be asleep.

Draco shifts, his boxers straining from his hard on. He feels discontent and empty now that he knows that the dream was just that — a dream. He doesn’t let himself look at Harry as he slides out of bed and pads over to the shower, doesn’t let his eyes linger on the one he wants so much that it hurts.

He should have known that coming here was a bad idea — all it’s doing is fueling this ridiculous crush of his, and leaving him high and dry.

He tilts his head back, letting the cold water wash over him, because there is no way he is wanking with Harry asleep in the bed next door. It would be weird and invasive and Harry is his friend.

His stupidly hot friend who Draco wants to sleep with… and be in a long term committed relationship with.

It’s that that is the real kick in the teeth. Draco could deal with it if all he wanted from Harry was a shag, but he knows that’s not what he wants. He could never be satisfied only having Harry once.

No-one could be satisfied only having Harry once, he’s too intoxicating for that. There’s so much to him that Draco can’t keep away. He’s never been able to keep away from Harry.

Once Draco has managed to calm his libdo, he climbs out of the shower and pulls on his swim trunks. Harry’s awoken by this time, so Draco leaves their room and heads down to the kitchen where he can hear the sound of people chatting and laughing.

In the clean, white kitchen, he finds Ron and Harry with their heads bent murmuring to each other as they prepare breakfast. Draco pauses and tries to listen in, but Daphne walks into the kitchen followed by Hermione and Blaise and greets him, causing Harry to jump back from Ron like he’s scalded.

“Hi,” Draco says.

“Hi,” Harry echoes, “Urh, thanks for last night.”

“Yes, we’re very appreciative you didn’t let Harry drown in the sea,” Hermione says, shooting Harry a firm look.

Harry rubs the back of his neck with a sheepish smile. He’s shirtless in just his pink swim trunks, and there’s a trail of dark hair leading up from the lining of the swim trunks to his belly button, and Draco tries not to get distracted by it.

“I may have got a little drunk,” Harry says, waving his hand as a green mug floats over towards Draco. Draco accepts it, cupping his hands around the mug and breathing in the heavy scent of coffee. “Thank you,” Harry mouths.

Draco smiles because Harry knows how he takes his coffee in the morning, and maybe it shouldn’t mean so much to him but it does.

“I just didn’t want to have to go to the effort of finding a new partner if you drowned,” Draco shrugs, taking a sip of his coffee. It’s the perfect temperature as if it’s been under a stasis charm.

“Nothing to do with the fact you may actually like having me around?”

“Nope,” Draco says, and Harry grins at him. “It’s purely convenience.”

“Oh, of course,” Harry drawls, waving his hand and causing the knife on the counter to start chopping the fruit.

Ooooh I’m Harry Potter and I aced Wandless magic ,” Ron mimics.

“He’s such a show off,” Draco agrees, smile flickering as Ron gives him a strange look.

“Right, that’s it — none of you are having breakfast,” Harry says, pointing at them all. Draco glances away from Ron quickly, not liking the intensity of his gaze and the questioning heaviness to it. Something Draco has learnt from working with Ron Weasley is that he can be painfully observant when he wants to be and Draco has no intention of being caught out on his crush.

Draco drains the rest of his coffee and moves over towards the sink to place it down. Blaise strikes up a conversation in the background about everyone’s plans for the day.

“Urm, Draco,” Harry says, and Draco turns, jolting when he realises how close to him Harry is.

“Yes?” Draco says.

Harry runs a hand through his hair, and Draco resists the urge to reach out and smooth it back down. Harry looks like there’s a birds nest atop of his head, and he is the most ridiculous human being Draco has ever laid eyes on, but that doesn’t stop Draco’s heart clutching.

“Genuinely thanks,” Harry says, “and I’m sorry if I said anything weird, I was extremely out of it.”

“You had a hangover potion?” Draco asks, because he can’t demand that Harry explains exactly what he meant by the fact Draco didn’t understand. He didn’t understand then and he doesn’t understand now. He hasn’t let himself think of that all morning, of what exactly Harry had meant, because he’ll over think it and the next thing that will happen is he’ll either drive himself crazy or accidentally convince himself that Harry might harbour feelings for him — either way its a bad idea.

Harry nods. “Hermione brought a load,” he shifts, shoulder brushing Draco’s.

“Always prepared,” Draco says because he has to say something.

“Yeah,” Harry says, swallowing. A silence weighs between them and Draco isn’t used to this — things are supposed to be easy between them. He wonders if Harry is remembering that they nearly kissed last night too. “So, you got any plans today?”

“I wanted to explore the island a bit, but I think Blaise and Pansy just want to sunbathe.”

“I’ll come with you,” Harry says.

“Really?” Draco asks.

Harry nods again. “Yeah, I want to check it out, and personally sunbathing has never been my thing.”

“That’s because you can’t stay still for more than one minute,” Draco says.

Harry holds up his hands and laughs. “Guilty.”

Draco rolls his eyes, leaning over and stealing a piece of fruit from the chopping board and popping the piece of mango into his mouth before Harry can protest.

Harry nudges him with his hip, and Draco tries to lean around him for another piece of mango but Harry stops him, grabbing hold of Draco’s wrist and glowering at him in jest.

“Wait for everyone else,” Harry says, his grip on Draco’s wrist gentle.

“But I’m hungry,” Draco pouts, “Please.”

“Puppy eyes don’t work on me, and you’re crap at them anyway,” Harry hasn’t let go of his wrist and his thumb is rubbing at the sensitive skin there. Draco tries not to shiver at the sensation.

“Please,” Draco tries again.


“Fine,” Draco huffs, not lowering his hand because then Harry might let go. He doesn’t want to let go. “When do you want to leave?”


“To go look about,” Draco says, unable to stop his own mouth curving up in a mirror smile of Harry’s.

“Oh, yeah,” Harry laughs, “I can go whenever you’re ready.”

“After breakfast?”

“Sounds good,” Harry says.

Draco nods, his smile flickering when Harry seems to realise he’s still holding Draco’s wrist and let's go with an apologetic smile.

Draco wishes that Harry would take his hand, not caring that Draco’s own fingers are sticky from the fruit and entwine their fingers. He’d lean over and kiss him lazily, tasting the mango on Draco’s tongue and their friends would tease him, but they wouldn’t mind.

Instead, Harry steps back, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth before turning to Ron and joining back into the conversation Ron is having with Daphne, Blaise and Hermione.

Draco’s gaze lingers on the back of Harry’s head before he is jolted out of admiring the lazy cowlicks, and casual curls by Blaise drawling:


Draco glances at Blaise who is shooting him a knowing look, and Draco promptly grabs another piece of mango before walking out of the kitchen muttering his excuses. He refuses to identify the look on Blaise’s face because Draco can see that underneath the mocking smile, there had been something else. There had been pity.

Draco isn’t sure he’ll ever get over how blue the sea is as it washes over the cragged rocks. They are a long way away from the golden beaches surrounding their villa — the other side of the island even, but Draco likes the roughness of this place.

He likes the way that Harry wanders about the rocks, bending down to inspect the unusual dips and dents, his rough fingers tracing the patterns the sea has carved into the stone.

Harry’s hair is even wilder now because the wind and the salt has battered it, causing it to stick up like he’s just been vigorously fucked. Harry had stripped his shirt off a while back, and it is currently balanced atop of his backpack away from the sea. Draco’s still dubious that the wind isn’t going to carry it away, but Harry had given him an easy grin when Draco had voiced his complaints so Draco let it slide.

Draco peers over the edge of the rock he’s on, watching the sea swirl below him. It’s humbling he finds, places like this. It reminds him that he’s just a tiny blip in the spectrum of time, and all he can do is his best. It’s all he does now, he tries his best.


Draco stumbles, but Harry’s arms are wrapped around him, firm and strong and Draco lets himself lean back against Harry’s chest.

“Arsehole,” he grumbles, squeezing Harry’s arms. Harry’s forearms are tanned and there are freckles and moles dotted about, covered by a fine layer of dark hair. “I could have died.”

“I’d never have let you die,” Harry teases, and Draco remembers the feeling of burning fire and clinging onto Harry’s body for dear life. His mind whispers of that time in sixth year, but Draco doesn’t let himself dwell on it. Harry hadn’t meant to slice him open.

“I’m going to remind you of that the next time you lead us into a life or death mission.”

He doesn’t need to see Harry to know he’s rolling his eyes — he wonders if Harry’s aware they’re almost embracing on the rock’s edge. He wonders why Harry hasn’t let go — he’s not complaining.

“You don’t need to follow me.”

“As if I’d leave you,” Draco huffs. Part of him wants to turn and face Harry, the other part of him doesn’t dare disrupt this fragile embrace. “You wouldn’t last five minutes without me.”

“We make a good team,” Harry murmurs, resting his chin atop of Draco’s shoulder and informing Draco that he knows that they’re still embracing.

“Who’d have thought,” Draco says, because the whole thing is ridiculous. There is no logic to him and Harry.

Harry shrugs, his lips so close to brushing Draco’s ear that Draco shivers. “Who cares what people think.”

Me, Draco wants to say, wants to tell Harry that he cares so desperately what everyone thinks that sometimes it feels like the weight of it will drown him. It’s why he’s so afraid of his tentative feelings for Harry because Harry is the wizarding world's Golden Boy, he is their Saviour — and they would never forgive him for having anything to do with Draco.

Draco is marked by his past and he is long past accepting it.

It doesn’t matter because Harry doesn’t like him like that anyway.

“Who cares,” Draco echos for little else to say.

“Want to swim?” Harry asks, moving away from Draco, his hands brushing Draco’s sides.

“Sure,” Draco says because he can’t say no to Harry, not really.

Draco strips off his shirt before following Harry down to one of the lower rock ledges and diving in after him. Jumping off rocks isn’t really his style, but there’s something about Harry cheering him on from below that makes him feel like he can do anything, also the intoxicating smile Harry gives him when he emerges from the sea makes it all worth it.

Draco’s limbs are tired by the time he pulls himself out of the water and onto one of the flat rocks that is warmed by the sun’s heat. He doesn’t say anything but smiles as Harry lies down beside him with a soft grunt — perhaps they hadn’t needed to have raced so hard against each other, but Draco doesn’t regret it.

He turns to Harry to find Harry already staring at him, his dark hair already curling and his shoulders pink from the sun. His eyes are bright and bottle green without his glasses and Draco wants to lick the water that’s pooling in his collar bones.

“I’m glad you came,” Harry says, one corner of his mouth curling up to reveal his dimple. It’s the same thing he’d said last night when he was drunk.

“Me too,” Draco says, his mouth dry because Harry is staring at him, really staring at him. Harry looks like he’s about to say more, but he won’t and Draco wants to beg him to, to throw himself at Harry’s feet and plead that he say whatever is on his mind.

Does he know how Draco feels about him? Draco can’t go on living on this tightrope.

“Harry,” Draco says before wishing he didn’t.

You’re supposed to be the brave one , Draco wants to cry.

He doesn’t have to because Harry reaches over, his finger tips skimming across Draco’s arm.

“Draco,” Harry says and it sounds almost reverent. Draco is sure that he’s swallowed too much seawater because there is no way Harry could sound like that saying his name.

Kiss me .

“Draco,” Harry repeats, and Draco has to be dreaming because… because this is the stuff of his dreams.

“Oi, Harry!”

Draco nearly falls off the rock at the sound of Ron Weasley’s voice, and turns to find a fucking Patronus dog staring at him. The dog seems to be laughing, as if it knows what it interrupted.

“Basically, we’re going out for dins tonight, and Hermione wants you both to head back to ensure you’ll be ready in time. See ya.”

Draco has never hated a Patronus so much in his life, and when he turns he sees Harry now sitting up, his arms resting on his knees, his stomach soft. Draco loves Harry’s body at all angles.

Loves .

“Should we get back then?” Harry asks, and Draco knows the moment is shattered.

“Sure,” he replies because there is nothing else he can say.

Draco tips his head back, letting the vodka chase down his throat and tries not to gag. The stuff is bloody disgusting, but he plans on being rip-roaring drunk if he’s going to endure a night of watching Harry dance. He’s going to need to be rip-roaring drunk if he’s going to survive this holiday — only three days, two nights left he reminds himself, and the second night is nearly over.

“Soooooo,” Pansy drawls, appearing beside Draco, panting from dancing with Blaise. Blaise appears beside her a second later, a sheen of sweat on his forehead and upper lip that brings Draco a petty delight.

“So?” Draco says, staring at the bottom of his shot glass like it holds the answers to his questions.

“You and Potter,” Blaise says, nudging Draco.

Draco scowls and places his shot glass back on the bar before he does something like hurl it at the wall. “What about us?”

“Don’t play stupid, it’s unattractive,” Pansy says, tsking. “What happened on your little exploration today?”

“Did you explore each other?” Blaise leers.

“We explored, we went swimming and then we got summoned home so we could join the rest of you to go out for supper.”

“You sound bitter?” Pansy says.

“What makes you say that?”

“The fact you have a face of a lemon,” Blaise says.

Draco wishes neither of them were there, that is until Blaise signals the bar man to bring them over a round of tequila shots. He does his shot, tries not to throw up the vile taste and returns to watching Harry dance with Seamus and Cho, his face contorted with longing.

Harry’s an awful dancer — he doesn’t have enough control of his arms and legs, and he flails about out of rhythm. However, there’s something hypnotising about it, the smile on his face and the way he’s never dancing for an audience. He’s dancing because he’s happy with his friends.

“You should make him jealous,” Pansy says. “Go find a hot guy to grind on until Potter can’t but be overcome with jealousy, and go over and kiss you.”

Draco considers it before shaking his head. “I don’t want to make him jealous.” I just want him to want me .

“You know what you’ve got to do then,” Blaise says, linking his arm with Draco’s and shooting Pansy a conspirator's smirk, Pansy takes his other arm, “You’ve got to just go dance with him.”

“What?” Draco squeaks before his best friends are dragging him away from the bar and over to where the rest of the group are dancing.

Draco catches Harry’s eye, and he lets out a breath as Harry’s face lights up. Blaise gives Draco a not-so-gentle shove, and Draco finds himself stumbling over to where Harry catches him.

“Hi,” Harry mouths, slow from the alcohol and his mouth curling into a lopsided grin.

“Hi,” Draco mouths back, tilting his head back and staring up at the flashing lights above him. He feels himself start to move to the cheery beat of the rhythm, it’s a Muggle song that he doesn’t know but it's repetitive enough that by the chorus he feels like he’s grown up dancing to the song.

He glances back and finds Harry’s eyes on him, heavy and heated. It’s bloody hot in the club Draco will admit, his shirt is stuck to his skin and he’s sweating. Everyone’s sweating, and Harry’s in a goofy patterned shirt that Ron had given him to wear. Draco wants to tear it off him for more reason than one.

Draco’s smile grows to mirror Harry’s as they dance, jumping about, gradually moving closer to each other until they’re only a whisper away and it would be the easiest thing in the world for Draco to reach out and place his hands on Harry’s hips, pull him until their bodies are flush together, moving in sync and then to lean in and kiss him. In his fantasy it’s just the two of them and they wouldn’t have to worry about what their friends would say, they’d just learn each other’s bodies until they knew each other wholly.

“Want to go outside?” Harry asks, and Draco is powerless to resist as Harry takes his hand, leading them both through the heavy bodies of the rest of the club until they’re waiting outside in the small Greek town. Draco was surprised they had a club at all, though he supposes it’s more of a large bar with a decent dance floor.

“So?” Draco says, turning to Harry, his breath catching when he realises how close Harry is. “Harry.”

“Draco,” Harry says, his mouth open, and his eyes glazed over as he stares at Draco. “Please.”


“I want to kiss you,” Harry whispers, “So fucking desperately and I need to know you want me to.”

Draco steps back on impulse because Harry wants to… Harry Potter… Harry… his Harry, wants to kiss him.


“You,” Harry nods, “I’ve been thinking about it ever since last night.”

Last night . When Draco had been going to kiss Harry.

“Tell me this isn’t a game to you, Harry,” Draco says, and part of him isn’t sure why he’s still speaking instead of letting Harry snog him senseless, but the semi-sensible part of him knows that he needs to know this.

The way he feels about Harry is deeper than just a casual hookup. He could never be happy with fucking Harry and walking away, he wants more. He should be happy with any scraps Harry will give him, but that isn’t how he is. Draco wants all of it.

“A game?” Harry frowns.

“Do you like me?” Draco says, the word falling from his alcohol loosened tongue and the second they hit the warm Greek air, Draco wants to shove them back in his mouth. He sounds like a bloody second year.

Draco turns, but he can’t get very far because Harry’s caught his wrist, wrapping his fingers around it.

“Draco,” Harry says, and Draco notices Harry’s tongue is stained green from the alcopops they’d been drinking. “I have wanted this for longer than I can remember.”

“Oh,” is all Draco can say, turning fully back to face Harry. Harry’s glasses glint in the bright lights and Draco tracks the movement of his Adam’s apple as he swallows. “So,” Draco says, unsure what to do now that the moment he has been waiting for is here.

“So,” Harry echoes, smiling as his hands skim up Draco’s arms before resting over his shoulders, wrapping around his neck, as he pulls their bodies together. Harry is firm and broad against him, and the feeling is better than anything Draco had imagined.

However, the feeling of Harry’s body against his had nothing on the feeling of Harry’s mouth against his. Harry’s lips brushing his own, before pulling back a tentative question in his eyes that Draco answers by leaning forward and claiming Harry’s lips.

When Draco had imagined kissing Harry drunk it had always been frantic, it had involved the two of them shoving each other up against walls as they kissed with too much teeth and an overwhelming desperation. It had not been this questioning kiss as Draco brings his hands up to cradle Harry’s face, to ground himself, to let himself know it was real.

He had not imagined Harry’s lips being firm yet gentle. He had not imagined the question of is this okay? in every one of Harry’s touches, from knotting in his hands in Draco’s hair, to dragging his hands down Draco’s back to rest on his arse.

Draco opens his mouth eagerly at the feeling of Harry’s tongue against his lips, letting Harry lick into his mouth. Draco thinks for one second that he’s going to die of bliss before recovering and giving as good as he was getting, because there was no way he was going to let his kiss with Harry Potter be subpar in the slightest.

Harry pulls back eventually for air leaving Draco chasing his mouth.

“We should go back inside,” Harry says, but the sting of his words is softened by the fact his hands are now resting on Draco’s hips, squeezing gently. He also doesn’t look like he wants to go back inside in the slightest.

“Really?” Draco says, trying to hide his disappointment.

Harry laughs. “Maybe in a bit,” and then he leans back in to kiss Draco again.

Harry’s gone again by the time Draco wakes up, so Draco takes the moment to stare at the ceiling. He’s still in his boxers, and his head is fuzzy but he remembers tumbling back into the room with Harry, kissing desperately to make up for the time lost from the Portkey back to the villa with their friends — they’d agreed not to tell anyone yet for convenience.

Not much else had happened as they’d laid there, kissing and slowly exploring each other’s bodies with their hands. Draco had been too drunk to get properly hard, and Harry had dozed off pretty quickly. It was for the best, Draco now thought — he didn’t want his first time with Harry to be drunk.

Harry’s early rising is both a blessing and a curse, because on the one hand it had eradicated all awkwardness on that part, but on the other hand it left Draco with absolutely no idea of what to do. Is he supposed to acknowledge last night, or just pretend it never happened?

Eventually, Draco rolls out of bed and pulls on his swimming trunks, trudging downstairs and trying to think of what he’s supposed to do about the whole thing.

He’s not given a chance to speak to Harry straight away because once again, Harry and Ron are cooking surrounded by Cho and Daphne, sleepily pressed together, and Pansy and Susan who are painting each others nails.

Harry passes Draco his coffee and a hangover potion with a small smile that tells Draco they’re okay. It just doesn’t answer any other of Draco’s burning questions — are they just supposed to pretend it never happened? He doesn’t think he can pretend it didn’t happen.

Draco had always been awful at hiding his emotions until he’d been forced to learn when the Dark Lord moved into his house, but this… he doesn’t think he can hide this.

However, he takes his coffee and the hangover potion with a smile before heading outside and joining Hermione and Justin in conversation sat on the terrace, watching Dean and Seamus stroll along the beach. Blaise, the prat, is still asleep.

Draco doesn’t have much of a chance to speak to Harry until well into the afternoon when he thinks he’s about to explode from Harry’s lingering touches and heated looks. At one point Harry had pressed a kiss to the back of Draco’s neck in such an intimate manner that Draco had forgotten how to breathe, and by the time he’d regained the ability to, Harry had been long gone.

Draco stares into his freshly squeezed orange juice and sighs because he can, and no-one else is there to hear him be dramatic. They’re all outside enjoying the sun, but Draco has had to retreat indoors. The sun and Malfoy skin have never mixed particularly well, which is why while everyone else is showing signs of a tan, Draco is pink. Pink, sweaty and confused about Harry Potter.

He’s been better.

Draco takes that back as he feels strong arms sliding around his waist, and Harry’s hair tickling his face as Harry rests his head on Draco’s shoulder.

“Hey,” Harry murmurs, lips brushing Draco’s neck.

“Hey,” Draco says, arching his neck to allow Harry better access.

“It’s been torture all day,” Harry says, his fingers stroking Draco’s sides, “watching you lying there in the sun.”

“Really?” Draco says, his breath hitching. He feels Harry smile against his skin.

“Yeah,” Harry says, “I’ve been wanting to do this all day.”

Why didn’t you ? Draco wants to ask, but he doesn’t dare, instead he settles for, “Harry—”

And he means to keep speaking, but Harry spins him round and pulls him in for another searing kiss. Draco, like the walking cliche he is becoming, melts against Harry’s body.

Harry pulls back, entwining their fingers — his fingers calloused from Quidditch and his job (also a lack of respect for hand cream) — and Draco smiles at the casual intimacy before closing the gap.

He kisses Harry harder, and without any alcohol in his bloodstream, his dick takes no time at all to come to attention. Draco would be embarrassed, but he can feel Harry’s own erection pressing against his thigh. Draco moans into Harry’s mouth, clinging onto Harry’s hips because he worries that if anything else, he’ll collapse.

Eventually, they step back breathless.

“Sorry,” Harry laughs, “I’ve been wanting to do that all day.”

“Don’t apologise,” Draco says, bumping Harry with his foot. Harry nudges him back and they laugh. “So,” Draco says because he has so many questions.

“So?” Harry’s eyebrows raise.

What are we? What is this? It all sounds so juvenile in Draco’s head.

“Oi, mate, have you seen the volleyball?” Seamus’s loud voice has Harry stepping back casually, leaving Draco leaning against the counter.

Seamus steps into the kitchen, his cheeks flushed and that same red tinge staining his chest. Draco reckons Seamus could work on his sun protection spells, and also his timing on when to enter rooms.

He turns back to his juice as Seamus drags Harry back outside to play with them, and tries to pretend it doesn’t hurt him that Harry wants to hide from their friends.

He knows its logical, they don’t even know what they’re doing yet and dragging people into the equation would make everything more difficult, however… however, Draco can’t say it doesn’t sting. It feels like a rejection.

He sips on his juice. He’d told himself that he wouldn’t take the scraps Harry offers him and he means it. He wants everything from Harry, he just isn’t sure that having tasted Harry once he’ll ever be able to walk away.

Draco waves his wand, causing a cleaning charm to settle over the dishes. It’s their final night here and it’s finally his turn to clean the dishes. Pansy is meant to be helping him, but she’s snuck off to bed already. Everyone but him has gone to bed now, and if he’s being honest, he’s downstairs hiding from Harry.

The thought of climbing into bed despite their snog earlier is almost too much for Draco to bear so he’s taking his time, stacking the dishes the manual way — he’s drawn the line at actually washing the dishes though. He pours himself a glass of water, looking around the kitchen for something else to do.


Draco places his glass on the counter before looking over to where Harry is stood on the bottom step, leaning against the wall. He’s in his boxers, and the dim lighting of the kitchen highlights his sharp jaw and softens his expression. He looks unsure as he shuffles his feet before stepping down into the living area, padding across the floor to Draco.

Draco doesn’t say anything, letting his eyes wander up Harry’s legs, taking in the firm muscles and dark hair. His eyes continue their journey up Harry’s chest to his face.

He hates how out of control Harry makes him feel, these feelings too vast for Draco to tame.

“Draco,” Harry repeats.

I’m scared .

“Harry,” Draco says, tracing his hands up Harry’s sides. Harry’s chewing on his bottom lip, and Draco is drowning in it all. He doesn’t know if this night is all he has left with Harry, if this summer experimentation ends when they get home.

Draco has prided himself on knowing what’s going on in Harry’s head since they’d become Auror partners, but now he feels like he knows nothing.

“You coming to bed?” Harry says, before pulling a face, “that wasn’t meant to be such an innuendo.”

“So you don’t want me in bed?”

“You know I want you in bed,” Harry says, rolling his eyes. “But I meant to sleep.” Harry’s hands are on Draco now and his voice is becoming more husky with every word he says, “however, if you want to not sleep, I won’t protest.”

“And what do you mean by not sleep?”

“Anything you want.”

Anything .

Draco’s breathing is ragged and they haven’t even kissed, but he’s not embarrassed because Harry is the same. Harry’s staring at him, his eyes piercing enough to swallow Draco whole.

Control. All Draco wants is control.

Draco sinks to his knees, sliding his hands up Harry’s thighs and Harry is staring at him with clear reverence in his eyes now.

“You don’t have to,” Harry croaks, his voice hitching as Draco’s fingers curl in the waistband of his boxers. “I—”

“—Do you want me to?”

“Want you to?” Harry’s eyes are wide and Draco smiles as he leans forward, pressing a kiss to Harry’s inner thigh. Harry’s hands cup Draco’s face, tracing the harsh lines, his fingers resting on Draco’s lips.

“Suck you off, is that what you’d like?”

“Only if you want to!” Harry says.

Draco sucks one of Harry’s fingers into his mouth, maintaining eye contact and smirking as Harry swears. He doesn’t know what’s going on between him and Harry, but he knows how to do this. He lets Harry’s finger slip from his mouth before answering:

“I want to.”

He’s been thinking about this for so long, and so when he pulls down Harry’s boxers, part of him expects to see the world’s most perfect cock. However, Harry’s cock is no different to any other Draco has seen — it’s thick and heavy in Draco’s hand, and Draco smiles at its utter ordinariness.

He doesn’t take much more time admiring it as he leans in and licks a wet stripe up it, pressing his tongue into the slit before swirling his tongue around the head. He’s only had a glass or two of wine tonight, but he feels drunk on Harry’s moans as Harry’s hands knot themselves in Draco’s hair.

Draco continues working Harry’s cock over with his tongue, before finally taking the whole thing in his mouth and squeezing on Harry’s hips, encouraging him to thrust.

“Fuck,” Harry moans, his hips rocking forward, gently at first until he starts to work up a rhythm. Draco can feel the saliva run down his chin as Harry fucks his mouth, and whenever Draco gags, Harry’s grip on his hair loosens, allowing Draco to pull off and catch his breath, wanking Harry off as he does so. It’s sloppy and messy, but the look on Harry’s face is better than anything Draco has ever seen.

Harry comes with a guttural moan, that Draco hopes everyone else in the villa hears because he made Harry make that noise. Draco swallows as much of Harry’s come as he can before leaning back, wiping a hand across his mouth and panting as he stares up at Harry.

Harry helps him to his feet, and Draco winces as his knees crack, but the pain is soon forgotten as Harry pulls him in for a desperate kiss. Draco feels a rush of magic and staggers back as Harry side-alongs him into their room, wandless.

“Fuck me, that’s hot,” Draco gasps, Harry’s stubble scraping his neck. They’ll both have stubble burn from this.

“What is?”

“You, you’re so powerful,” Draco is panting as Harry pushes him down onto the bed and climbs over him.

“Oh,” Harry says, pausing before grinning, “Guess so.”

“Fucking prat.”

“Speaking of fucking, do you want to fuck me?”

Draco is pretty sure he stops breathing as he stares up into Harry’s earnest eyes.

“I mean, I can fuck you if you want, and I’d love to, but right now, I really want you to fuck me,” the tips of Harry’s fingers trace the outline of Draco’s cock through his trousers.

Draco nods because he has forgotten how to form words at the thought of… the thought of fucking Harry. He doesn't have the willpower to say no anymore, to tell Harry that he only wants it if it means that they’ll be something, because Draco is a liar and a coward. He will never be happy with Harry Potter’s scraps, but he’ll always take them anyway.

“Is that a yes?” Harry teases, folding his glasses onto the side table.

Draco reaches up, and flips them over using an Auror maneuver and smiling as Harry grins up at him. “That’s a yes.”

Draco leans down and kisses Harry, and Harry makes short work of stripping Draco’s clothes from his body until they’re both naked and writhing against each other.

Harry raises his hand, and Draco pauses a question on his lips when a plastic bottle smacks into Harry’s hand, and Harry hands it to Draco with a smug smile.

The git, had just wandlessly and silently summoned the lube.

“Cast a Cleaning Charm,” Draco murmurs, pressing a kiss to Harry’s hip, his already hard again cock, bobbing in front of Draco’s face.

“Done,” Harry whispers, and honestly his magic is going to kill Draco.

Draco pours a generous amount of lube onto his fingers, running one of his fingers around Harry’s hole before inserting it slowly, working Harry open until he’s ready for another.

Every emotion flickers across Harry’s face, and so Draco knows exactly what to watch for, knowing when to slow his fingers and when he’s hit the right spot as Harry keens off the bed.

Eventually, Harry is ready and Draco casts the protection spells before lining himself up and sliding in. He goes slowly, watching Harry’s face until he is fully in when he has to take a moment, to stop himself coming like a sixteen year old virgin.

“Fuck,” Draco groans as Harry shifts his hips.

This is utterly deliberate, they are both sober. They both want this, and whatever happens when they get back to England, they will always have Greece. This will always have happened, him and Harry joined as one in the most physically intimate of ways.

“Fuck me,” Harry whispers, hooking his legs behind Draco and his mouth falling open as Draco begins to move.

He is the most erotic thing Draco has ever seen, lying out on the bed below, his face scrunched as Draco fucks him. Neither of them last long as they build up a rhythm, Draco driving his hips forward and Harry pushing back to meet him.

“Harry,” Draco moans as he comes, burying his head in the crook of Harry’s neck. He can feel Harry coming around him, Draco’s hand working his cock. When they’re done they lie there silent for a while before Draco slowly slides out of Harry, and Harry casts another easy cleaning spell.

“I’ll fuck you next time,” Harry teases, his eyes fluttering shut as he falls asleep, his breathing soft in Draco’s ear.

Draco wraps his arms around Harry, holding him close and falls asleep with the promise of next time echoing in his ears

Draco stares around his flat and hates it for not being a Greek villa, hates it for being empty, and hates it for having no memories of Harry.

They’d taken a Portkey back to Hermione and Ron’s, where Harry had said goodbye to Draco with a lingering hug - and that was it. No talk of the future, no promise of them being anything more than Auror partners again.

“See you tomorrow,” Harry had laughed, leaving Draco to envision them sat at their Auror desks as if nothing had changed.

Didn’t Harry understand everything had changed now?

“I’ll fuck you next time.” Harry had said next time.

Draco moves towards the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea, because he’s English and it might make him feel better.

It probably won’t, but Draco is trying to be vaguely optimistic.

There’s a letter from Blaise on his table that had arrived within five minutes of him walking through the door, and he’s already blocked three floo calls from Pansy. He doesn’t want to have to tell them that they got their wishes, Draco fucked Harry Potter, and now he’s left with only the lingering memories.

He wrinkles his nose as he flicks his wand at the kettle. He’s being dramatic and he knows it, it’s just… he’d really let himself believe that Harry had wanted more too.

Draco pulls out a tea bag and drops it into his cup, before pouring the boiling water over it. His old Nurse-Elf used to insist that a cup of tea fixed everything, Draco doesn’t want to remember what he’d made her go do after his father was arrested. Tea didn’t fix everything, but in this moment it gives him something to do.

The sound of a knock at the door has Draco groaning because honest to Merlin, can’t Pansy and Blaise tell that he doesn’t want to talk? Surely the fact that he’s locked his floo suggests that he has absolutely no interest in contact with anyone?


Draco’s cup nearly slips from his fingers as he registers Harry’s voice.


Harry’s here.

Draco doesn’t let his heart fill with hope as he sets down his tea and walks slowly towards the door. Harry could be here to tell Draco that while the last couple of days had been fun, that’s all they were and now they were back at work and it was over.

Draco would try refrain from hurling his brewing tea at Harry’s head if that is the case.

“Draco,” Harry says a third time when Draco opens the door, but there’s an easy smile on his face.

“Yes?” Draco says, leaning against the door frame so Harry can’t come in.

Harry goes to step forward before pausing, a crease forming between his brows that Draco hates. He wants to smooth it away.

“Can I come in?” Harry says, and Draco debates saying no but then they have to have this conversation in the hallway, and he’s not quite ready for Nosy Norman next door to hear the ins and outs of his relationship with The Saviour . Norman makes a fantastic chocolate tart, but he’s also a bigger busybody than Draco’s mother.

Draco steps away from the door frame and walks into the flat, allowing Harry to follow him.

They both hover in the centre of Draco’s sitting room, and Draco bites his lip to stop himself blurting out anything stupid.

“Are you okay?” Harry says, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Draco shrugs. “I don’t know, depends.”

“On what?”

Draco had long since retracted the previous statements of his youth that alluded to the fact Harry Potter was a fucking idiot, but he is starting to believe he may have been right all along.

Draco shrugs again, and Harry huffs.

“I can’t read your mind, you know.”

“So you’re not all powerful,” Draco muses to be a twat, and it works.

“Fucking hell Draco, what’s wrong?” Harry snaps, and Draco sighs because he doesn’t want to make Harry angry. “I can’t do anything, if I don’t know what the problem is,” Harry reaches over for Draco’s hand, running his calloused fingers across Draco’s skin. Draco meets Harry’s eyes, “Please.”

“What are you doing?” Draco croaks out, as Harry entwines their fingers, pulling Draco closer.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Draco had wanted to be stoic, but that isn’t him, “I mean with me, what’s happening between you and me?”

“I don’t know,” Harry admits.

They stand in silence, but it’s not too heavy before Harry’s thumb is stroking the side of Draco’s hand.

“I’d like to figure it out,” Harry says eventually, “Figure out what this could be.”

“We’re risking our jobs if it goes badly.”

“We could just transfer partners?” Harry says. Draco doesn’t want another partner. “I’d hate that though.”


Harry nods. “But I’d hate walking away from this just because it might be risky.”

Draco lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, and smiles. “Gryffindors.” Harry grins at him, the first easy genuine smile since he’d walked into Draco’s flat.

I couldn’t walk away from you if I tried is what Draco ought to say, but he doesn’t. He tries to though, because Harry’s being honest and this won’t work if they both keep their words to themselves.

“I don’t just want a fuck,” Draco says, “I want more than that.”

“Me too,” Harry says, “I’ve never been one for casual shags.”

“I don’t want to be your secret either.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…. I mean I want to tell our friends about us.”

Harry’s grin grows, and Draco’s fingers brush the dimple that he’s been wanting to touch for so long now. Harry’s gorgeous, and Draco gets to touch him. It’s no longer just a fantasy, it's finally more than just a longing dream.

“Me too,” Harry says, reaching out and cupping Draco’s face, and Draco leans his cheek into the touch. “I think we’ll work, you know.”

“We’ve a tendency for defying the odds, you and I,” Draco says, leaning in and brushing his lips against Harry’s. His mind flits to his now ruined cup of tea. “Do you have anywhere to be or would you like to stay for a while? I can make us both some tea?”

Harry smiles, and it’s all for Draco. “I’ll stay as long as you’ll have me.”