A/N: I've been missing Drarry more than words can say. Every Whofly word I write screams at me like a Howler: WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS WHERE ARE HARRY AND DRACO WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU FOR MERLIN'S SAKE GO WRITE DRARRY
Which would have been fine had I an idea.
Then, in the middle of rereading My Own Worst Enemy by Cheryl Dyson, a crystal clear picture appeared in my mind, and I dropped everything to write this. I know it's short and not the epics you're used to, but I do have Whofly and, y'know, real life.
Without further ado (beyond promising further Drarry ASAP), I present:
A Fleeting Touch
Graduation day.
It hardly seemed real. After the war Harry had come back to Hogwarts for an eighth year to get the N.E.W.T.s he'd need for a job, mostly at Hermione's insistence. Kingsley had offered him the job straight out, but Hermione said that would be cheating, nepotistic, and generally unbecoming. It wasn't only her; he felt unfinished. He had devoted seven years to Hogwarts, war included, and to leave without a diploma seemed to cheapen both his time there and the school itself.
And so he had finished. Professor McGonagall was now Headmistress McGonagall. The Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was an extremely smart and competent witch called Amelia Whisp who was coming back next year, thus breaking the curse. The castle had started the year with closed off corridors and wings but, by the end of the year, was fully restored. The grass was green, the sky was blue, time marched along.
It was after graduation, really; the ceremony was over, the chairs had vanished, and everyone was milling around, eating from the buffet, and making promises to keep in touch. They were also fending off the parents and family who had arrived for the occasion, as teenagers always did.
Harry spent this time alone, sitting under a tree by the lake. He had received congratulations from the Weasleys and several of the professors, but it wasn't the same. He was far from the only graduate to have missing family, but as far as he could tell, he was the only one with no family whatsoever.
Being alone at this moment wasn't his first choice. It left him to contemplate the year, and he found it impossible to edit out the parts he usually ignored. Tried to ignore, really, but now it didn't matter because the year was flooding back and he couldn't do anything to stop it.
The returning eighth years roomed together in a previously abandoned tower, and in the interests of inter-house bonding (and, unspoken but even more true, uniting the wizard world so there would be no repeats of the war), Harry had been roomed with Draco Malfoy—who was still Malfoy then. This had been too ironic to bear, the idea that Harry should be uniting with Draco going so far as to make him tear up. Once. Only once. The first few weeks had been hell, though the screaming, curse-filled fights had helped for a while, but after they had set fire to the room for the third time, necessitating McGonagall to restore their quarters for the third time, they calmed down.
Harry spent the rest of the month avoiding Malfoy. Harry honestly had no idea if Malfoy was ignoring him as well; he spent most of his time out of the Tower, trying to convince himself that he was an idiot and he needed to stop and it was only going to get worse from here on out if he didn't get a handle on the situation.
All true, and all unhelpful.
In October they started acknowledging each other's presence. At first Harry thought things might change, that maybe there was hope, but was a brief nod really any reason to think that? They didn't even talk, except on the 31st. Malfoy had wished him a Happy Halloween, and Harry had managed to choke out a reply.
Actual speech started in November. Again Harry was hopeful, and again he had no reason to be. "Morning, Potter."; "Nice weather we're having."; "The Bigonville Bombers are looking good this year."; none of that was cause for excitement. December started the same before turning into legitimized optimism.
They had the Tower to themselves for the holidays, and the first few days were spent once again setting fire to each other's curtains. Fifty points taken from each house calmed them down again.
Christmas came with not only civility but presents. Harry had apparated back to Grimmauld Place last Hogsmeade, almost certainly breaking several hundred rules, and had brought back an old book on potions for Draco. The book meant nothing to him, so he could always brush it off as trying to get rid of clutter if Draco made a fuss. Instead he had returned the gesture with a golden snitch emblazoned with the Gryffindor crest. Harry had nearly cried, and his heart had nearly jumped out of his chest. Any gift at all would have been a fabulous present; one with this much thought was nearly unbelievable. He kept it on his bedside table, which made Draco roll his eyes, though he read the book Harry had brought him unapologetically, so Harry wasn't sure what the point of the teasing was.
Harry thought a peace offering was in order. It was in no way a ploy to get closer to Draco—who had decided the giving of gifts warranted first names—and purely out of a desire to be civil. He had gone with a Canary Cream, so he could always call it a prank if Draco took it less-than-ideally. Instead Draco had merely ranted about getting feathers all over everything before getting that gleam in his eye and slipping Harry an aging potion. They had spent the rest of the night plucking out feathers and twirling long beards.
Harmless pranks, potions, and curses had followed, but always undercut with apologies for the not-harmless-at-all pranks, potions, and curses that used to plague their relationship. Harry was absolutely positive that was true and not in his head, and confirmed over their first chess game when Harry apologized for Sectumsempra and Draco had brushed it off by saying no worse than the Canary Cream, and reminding him he had gotten his revenge with the Swelling Solution the previous day.
Chess became a regular part of life, as did Exploding Snaps and very cold Seekers Games that caused them to warm up by the fire, wrapped in separate blankets, while the red slowly faded from Draco's cheeks and Harry attempted to keep his heart beating.
Harry was a wreck on New Year's Eve, wondering if he could sneak a kiss. The answer was no, but maybe…maybe he could.
He didn't. He and Draco were sitting on the couch together, and when the chime went off they had toasted, clinked glasses, and taken a sip of champagne. When Harry turned to Draco to see if he might be receptive, he wasn't even looking at him, instead watching the movements of the bubbles in his drink.
The morning of January first Harry stayed in bed for a long time, putting off the inevitable. He was convinced, absolutely certain, that his relationship with Draco would disintegrate as soon as their housemates returned and other people saw their friendship. But it hadn't, and the weekend before classes started up again was a little awkward but otherwise the same as always. Harry's friends didn't take to Draco and the Slytherins certainly didn't spend time with Harry, but no curses were thrown, and he and Draco had still squeezed in a chess game.
The first weekend in February was exhilaratingly heartbreaking. They had stayed up very late the night before studying for a test, and Draco was still in their room when Harry woke. He was in the middle of changing, in fact, and Harry watched incredulously as Draco dropped the towel wrapped around his waist and started going through his dresser. It took a moment for Harry to realize this wasn't the start of a wet dream, because then Draco wouldn't be pulling on pants and slacks, and after that he had spent a long time contemplating the fact that he had seen Draco's cock, and Draco had been entirely unbothered by the encounter. Harry had faked indifference as his heart plummeted; Draco sounded quite sincere when he had shrugged it off, and that left little room for encouraging thoughts.
On Valentine's Day Draco gave Harry a card. For a blindingly brief second he was deliriously happy, but it had just been an enchanted piece of paper that followed Harry around all day singing: "Roses are red, violets are blue, we don't fight anymore, I still won't bone you." It was depressing and left Harry wondering if he had been more obvious than he meant to, or if this was Draco's way of trying to get Harry to bring up the subject because he secretly was interested in him.
The questions went unanswered.
March was filled with couples bonding. Ron and Hermione and Blaise and Pansy were both too absorbed with each other to spend much time with anyone else, leaving Harry and Draco to themselves, reminiscent of break. Mid-month Harry had realized with a startling lurch that Draco was his best friend. Once again hope bubbled up.
April bolstered said hope. It was mostly filled with studying for the N.E.W.T.s, but Harry and Draco generally paired off and went to study by themselves. There was a lot of asking why from their friends, including suspicions that Harry really wished he could confirm, but Draco always gave a blasé answer as they left the common room. That was good; studying together in unfrequented hallways and empty classrooms rather than the library was even better. Practically speaking, Harry got help in potions he seriously benefitted from in exchange for tutoring Draco in Transfigurations. It seemed after the ferret incident, he had ignored the class as much as possible.
In May they were forced to join forces with the rest of the class. If any eighth year failed any N.E.W.T. it would be too embarrassing to live with.
June was…difficult was the word Harry chose to use, today included. The N.E.W.T.s were miserable, as was planning for their entire lives.Hermione and Ron were too wrapped up in couple-plans to offer much help, so Harry mostly discussed it with Draco, whose father had cut him off until he proved he could manage on his own. None of Draco's other friends were faced with the withdrawal of their pureblood fortunes, so he turned to Harry for advice on living "below his means." They talked about sharing an apartment, which nearly caused Harry to pass out, but a decision was never made. Harry was going to live in Grimmauld Place until he found somewhere cheap, and Draco seemed in denial about the situation. Harry had less-than-charitable thoughts about Draco becoming stranded and having no choice but to move in with him, but knowing Draco he'd pull some stunt at the last minute and somehow manage to afford the most expensive flat in London.
Due to N.E.W.T.s, Harry missed Draco's birthday. The following weekend he had taken him to Hogsmeade, gotten him a cupcake, A Wizards Guide to Household Spells (which took a lot of insisting that even useful gifts counted as gifts), and eventually a bag of Honeydukes candy to placate him. There were other things he wanted to give him, but none of them were appropriate. Unless they were. But Harry didn't want to bring it up on his birthday.
The eighth years all passed, and a very long, very loud, very alcoholic party occurred on the last weekend of term. Harry and Draco spent quite a bit of time sitting in a corner of the common room passing a bottle of Firewhiskey back and forth, talking about nothing that registered. They were pressed up against each other, side to side, and Harry kept wondering if being drunk was an appropriate excuse to kiss Draco.
By the time he was sober enough to decide it probably would have been, the moment had passed.
That had been several days ago, and ever since Harry had been trying to work up the courage to do something. Anything. Ask if they were getting a flat together. Make sure they had lunch once a week at work, no matter how difficult the Auror training program, or how secretive the Department of Mysteries, were. Grab him and kiss him silly.
The lake sparkled in the afternoon sun. The Giant Squid was floating on its back, sunning itself. A pleasant breeze blew by, keeping the graduation robes from being stifling.
A year of lusting after Draco. A year of being head over heels in love with him. A year of living together.
A year of absolutely nothing.
…saying he had only been in love with Draco for a year was a ridiculous lie, but Harry ignored that.
What was harder to ignore was that the year was over.
Draco almost definitely wasn't living with him. The train taking them to King's Cross left in an hour and Draco hadn't brought up housing since—when, exactly? Maybe since they were drunk. That would explain why Harry had no memory of it. But still, surely they would have talked since then.
Harry was no longer sure if he could fall asleep in a room that didn't contain Draco Malfoy.
A drain somewhere around his diaphragm started leaking. Sucking, really, pulling down his happiness and excitement for life and spewing up depression over Draco like a backed up loo.
"And why, pray tell, is the Golden Boy hiding, thus missing his precious graduation? No doubt there's little he'd rather do that talk to reporters just dying to get a picture of him in a cap and gown."
Harry couldn't help smiling. "Same reason you've ducked away from your parents, I'd imagine."
Draco sat next to him, knees bumping. "I highly doubt that."
Harry raised an eyebrow, fully looking at him. Just as beautiful as always, simultaneously inviting and off-limits. "All right ferret, go on. What're you doing here?"
Draco looked conflicted, not an expression Harry was used to seeing on him. "We never did get around to talking about a flat."
Harry's stomach clenched. "Er, no, guess we didn't."
"I—" He was stammering, and that was strange enough to make Harry worry.
"Go on, out with it," he said, trying for mild annoyance. "If you've found a place or are just sick of living with me, say so. It's not like we're bound together or can't get another flatmate."
Draco winced. "No, it's not like that. Living with you would be fine, that's not the problem."
Harry's heart was pounding. "Your father, then? Doesn't want you living with a Golden Gryffindor?"
"Well no, I imagine he doesn't, but it was his decision to withdraw all decision-making powers, so he could hardly stop me." Draco fiddled with the hem of his gown.
"What is it then?" Harry asked, getting more and more agitated.
"You fancy me, don't you?"
Harry stopped. Breathing, thinking, heart beating, everything. He couldn't answer because his mouth had ceased taking orders.
Draco sighed. "I thought so. I don't know how long, and at first that was the farthest thing from my mind, but you… It's the way you look at me, even now when you're lost for words. I could give other reasons, but this is hard enough as it is, and I can't stand hurting you any more than I've got to."
Harry was working again. He wished he wasn't. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said, which was stupid given his earlier silence.
Draco took his hand, and sparks shot up his arm. His fingers were long and smooth, cool, and felt so right in his.
Obviously Draco didn't agree.
"Harry, please," he said softly. "Let's just—just do this and move on. What point is there in drawing it out and upsetting the both of us?"
Harry swallowed. He realized he was close to tears. "Fine," he said hollowly. "I fancy you. You don't fancy me. End of discussion."
Draco looked pained. "Please don't be upset. It's not you, it's nothing you've done or I've done, I just don't… feel that way."
Harry didn't know how to answer that. "Yeah, all right. Not living together then, I assume?"
Draco shook his head. "It wouldn't be fair to you. I do want to live with you, I'd much rather you than anyone else, but knowing that I'm making you miserable—I can't do that to you."
Harry couldn't deny the truth in his words, only that he thought it a fair trade, misery for seeing Draco all the time. He couldn't say that though, not without sounding pathetic, and he thought, against all odds, he hadn't crossed that line yet.
Draco was still holding his hand. It was torture.
"Still friends though, yeah?" he asked. If Draco was gone completely… No. he couldn't go there, didn't know how to.
Draco smiled, looking relieved. Harry hated him. It was so easy to be relieved when it wasn't your heart breaking. "Of course. I could never let you go. I don't know what I'd do without you."
That was funny in a bizarre, horrendous sort of way.
Harry tried to remember how to think, how to find his voice. "Okay, well. I don't see why anything has to change, then," he said. "Just two mates hanging out, right? Lunch at work, drinks at a pub, the usual."
Draco's smile widened. "Absolutely. I was so worried you'd—well I don't know, you've always been a step above everyone else, I really didn't know what to expect."
No doubt everything Harry was going through at this particular moment, only without the calm façade to hide behind. A trick he'd learned from Draco, of course. "For what it's worth, I'd rather I didn't—y'know."
Draco squeezed his hand. "And I'd rather I did. You deserve someone better than me anyway, I'd only drag you down. The Boy Who Lived Twice dating a Death Eater? You hate publicity as it is; I doubt you could live through that."
Harry had considered this at great length, and decided he didn't give a flying fuck. Being with Draco was worth everything. He forced a laugh. "Yeah, probably. I'll find myself some nice, upstanding bloke, maybe a Quidditch player, has to be someone photogenic, and—and…" And what, exactly? Fake it because he could never love someone other than Draco? "And live out the rest of my days as the Golden Boy." He wrinkled his nose in feigned disgust. "Hurt even to say it."
Draco laughed, and oh his laugh was beautiful. "And I'll marry a seedy traitor and turn into Snape, mourning over the love that could have been."
You're damned right it could have! Harry screamed in his head. That's my job, growing old and bitter without you. Don't even pretend you know what that's like!
"Or you'll find someone from the Department of Mysteries and I'll never talk to you and your mysterious, secretive self ever again," Harry said with a grin. "Can't talk about work, can't talk about your marriage—we'll discuss the weather and Quidditch over tea and strumpets."
Draco laughed again, and all concern had faded from his face. Harry hated him again.
"I promise I'll tell you a secret if you promise not to run to the paper," Draco replied, his perfect teasing half-smile taking over the laughter. "I do know how you love spilling secrets."
"Oh, absolutely," Harry said. "Especially to the press." He cast a Tempus. One last train ride with Draco, and then—
He cut himself off. "It's twenty of. We should probably head towards Hogsmeade."
Draco pulled Harry to his feet as they started the walk, letting go of his hands entirely once he was upright. Harry wondered if that was the last time he'd touch him. His thoughts flashed to the day he'd seen him naked, stomach wrenching at all the touching he would never do.
"Last train ride, eh?" Harry mused. He couldn't think of anything to say.
Draco looked pained again. "Actually, I'm apparating out from Hogsmeade. I need to meet the movers at five o'clock sharp, and I doubt we'd pull into King's Cross before seven at the earliest."
Harry nearly burst into tears. This was it, then. A fifteen minute walk. "You've got a flat already?"
"Yeah, Mother went behind Father's back and pulled some strings," Draco replied, either missing or ignoring Harry's tone. "Not the best flat building in London, but I could certainly do worse. You're still staying at Grimmauld Place until you find somewhere else, yeah?"
"Yup," Harry said hollowly. "Maybe for a bit longer, depending on how Auror Training pays."
Draco gave him a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry. I know you hate it there."
Harry shrugged. "It'll be fine. I'm used to it." And you're doing a lot worse than that, he added silently.
The rest of the walk was spent in a companionable silence on Draco's end while Harry sank further and further into emptiness as he replayed Draco's words. Draco walked him to the train station, where a few other wizards were loitering about, Ron and Hermione included. Harry supposed he would sit with them; it seemed like a good time to get reacquainted with his friends.
Draco took his hands, both of them, and Harry met his eyes. He'd never seen such beautiful eyes before Draco's. He'd spent so long imagining them, dark with lust, squeezed close as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over him, loving and exhausted afterwards.
Something must have shown on his face, because Draco looked sympathetic again.
"We're okay?" he asked. "You're sure?"
Harry forced a smile. "Yeah, 'course. Can't wait to show off that fancy Quidditch player husband."
Draco smiled back, looking utterly unconvinced. "And I you the mysterious bloke from Mysteries." He looked further into Harry's eyes, who had to force himself not to squirm. "Is there anything I can do for you? Anything to make your eyes sparkle?"
Harry's heart clenched. He'd always been more obvious than he'd like. "No, I'm fine," he said. "I just—need a minute, y'know?"
Draco nodded. "Yes, of course. I'll owl once I'm settled in so you can come over and see the place."
Harry nodded. "Sounds good. You know my Floo password."
"I'd speak it now if it wouldn't get me killed," Draco said with a smile.
"Not you," Harry countered. "You'd get hexed while everyone else in Hogsmeade had their mind erased."
Draco shook his head, tsking. "Always paranoid, you are." He pulled Harry into a hug that nearly destroyed him. "That owl is a promise," he whispered, lips by Harry's ear. "Not something people say to each other just before they fall out of touch. By the weekend we'll be having drinks at my place."
"Yeah, course," Harry said automatically, breathing in Draco's scent. They'd never be this close again, he wasn't about to let something as important as musky vanilla slip from his mind. "I'll see you soon."
Draco pulled away, keeping Harry in his arms, studying him again. "Very." He glanced at the clock. "I've really got to run. Movers and all."
Harry nodded, attempting to step away and finding himself still trapped in Draco's arms. He smiled mischievously or miserably, he wasn't sure. "You've got to let go, then. A problem with not sharing a flat; you can't hold me hostage."
Draco smiled sadly. "No, I can't."
And suddenly his hands were on Harry's face and his lips on his, impossibly smooth and tasting of vanilla, pressing gently but firmly, and Harry supposed this was supposed to help but he couldn't imagine anything worse. He kissed him back for the sake of decorum, sliding one hand through impossibly silky hair and resting the other on his hip.
It could always be this way, a voice whispered.
But of course it wasn't.
Draco broke away, wiping his thumb across Harry's cheek, looking utterly miserable.
"Please don't cry," he whispered. "If you cry, I'll cry, and then we'll both look like hell. Always got to stay presentable in the public eye."
Good thing I'm going home to an empty house, then, Harry thought bitterly. He managed a wry smile.
"Sorry. Last day of school and all."
Draco nodded, accepting the lie for what it was. "Quite emotional. See you soon, my friend." He squeezed Harry's hand before letting go and apparating away.
Harry stood rooted to the spot.
He could still smell vanilla. He'd leave after the scent faded; if he missed the train he could apparate to King's Cross and pick up his luggage, blaming his absence on losing track of time.
For now he smelled vanilla, let the feel of Draco's hand on his continue to tingle, and memorized the kiss. It was the perfect kiss, as fleeting and pitying as it was. Harry hadn't been okay, not even approaching it, but the kiss destroyed him.
And, he thought bitterly, Draco's probably already forgotten it.
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