Disclaimer: The characters are not my own. But you know that already. Carry on.
Warnings: Slash/Pre-slash. Oneshot, H/C, fluff. Language, innuendo/implied intimacy. Takes place just after the Battle of Hogwarts.
AN: For the purposes of this story, I played around with the nature of apparition. If someone apparates while under extreme emotional distress and just wants to get away from the world for a while but has no clear destination in mind, they will be automatically sent to a particular remote island. This island is well hidden, cannot be found by muggles, and is rarely found by those in the magic population because under normal circumstances, splinching occurs when someone tries to apparate without a clear destination. It is the elements of emotional distress, combined with the need to get away but with no destination in mind at all that allows people access to the island.
"Where are we going?"
"Relax Harry. You'll love it."
"Draco…it's hard to relax when I can't see…"
"You'll see plenty in a moment."
Harry sighs, but a smile plays on his lips and Draco smirks even though his husband can't see it. The last few steps occur in comfortable silence. When Draco pulls to a stop, Harry stumbling into him a little, he immediately speaks.
"Okay, you can take the blindfold off now."
"I still don't see why you used a blindfold," Harry grumbles. "A spell would have – ohhhh!"
Both men stare at the picturesque scene in front of them, Draco's hand automatically clutching his husband's as memories wash over them like the quiet waves lapping just beyond their feet.
Harry apparated quickly, knowing he had to get away from the scene before him before he broke down completely. He'd mustered enough strength to tell his friends the whole story, but now he knew he needed to be alone. The Battle of Hogwarts had ended mere hours before, and the pain of losing so many people he'd known and loved was piercing him with every step he took. He didn't have a destination in mind, and he didn't care where he ended up; he just wanted to get away.
Draco had managed to give his parents the slip after they'd apparated back to the Manor, saying he needed a walk to clear his head. But the moment he'd left the mansion's wards he apparated; he knew it was dangerous to do so when he had no clear picture of where he wanted to go, but he didn't care. He just wanted to get away from the memories, still fresh in his mind.
"This is where we first got together." Harry's voice is breathless, amazed, and the sound softly shatters the spell of memories. "How did you ever find this place?"
"It took a lot of investigating," Draco admitted, pride seeping into his tone. "I worried I wouldn't find it in time for today."
"This is the best birthday gift you've ever given me, hon."
"I'll have to work extra hard to top this for next year then."
Draco's nuance was not lost on Harry, who grinned in response and turned so he was face to face with his lover.
"Remember what you first said to me?"
"I think it was something like….what the fuck are you doing here, Potter?"
"And I said…Fuck you, Malfoy."
"That is exactly what I'm going to do to you now."
Harry's breath hitched at Draco's words. Voice husky, eyes darkened in desire, he spoke. "Then get to it, you git."
Draco tackled Harry, their bodies crashing and tangling on the soft sand. Rolling about in familiar foreplay, Harry laughed, the noise mixing with the sound of the water and the seagulls calling overhead. After, Harry lay with Draco's warm skin pressed against his own. A reflective sort of silence enclosed them, and he knew his mind was not the only one who was recalling their first encounter.
Harry opened his eyes slowly, taking in the scene before him. He had appeared on the shores of a lake. A beach surrounded it, and tall palm trees bordered the soft white sands in a perfect portrait of calm, in contrast to his mood. He picked his way along the beach, his gaze on the sandy ground and his mind lost in thought, until a loud crack shattered the still of the silence. He turned sharply, his wand already drawn, but nearly dropped it in surprise as he recognized the boy before him.
Draco had frozen in shock upon seeing the other boy, but recovered quickly. "What the bloody fuck are you doing here, Potter?"
"Fuck you, Malfoy."
Harry stowed his wand back in his robes. Malfoy hadn't pulled his wand and Harry didn't feel like dueling. He turned his back on the blonde and continued strolling, not caring if curses hit his back; but they didn't come. Instead, he heard the soft pitter-patter of feet, walking almost in unison with him a few paces behind.
Draco didn't know what made him follow Potter, or why he didn't want to fight with the dark-haired boy. But Potter didn't seem to want to fight him, and there would be neither honor nor satisfaction in hitting him with a curse in the back anyway. So he stepped in time with the swish of Potter's soft footsteps, letting his mind fall into a blissful blank as he concentrated on the sounds around them.
Harry walked for a long time, or so it seemed. But at long last the restless energy drained from his body, leaving him exhausted, and without a warning to his silent companion, he turned towards the lake, stopping right by the water's edge, and sat down, knees tucked into his chest.
Draco nearly walked past Potter before realizing the other boy had sat down. He stopped, considering; then with a shrug, moved to sit a few feet away from the Gryffindor, mirroring his posture. Their silence continued, and it surprised Draco that it was not awkward, though he thought it should have been.
Harry could feel his breakdown coming, knew it was inevitable, and could not even care that Malfoy, of all people, would be the one to see his tears. Hugging his legs tightly, he rested his head on his knees.
Draco turned his head from the water beyond at the sound of quiet sobs. Even though common sense told him it could only be Potter, it was still a shock to see the strong, bold Gryffindor so vulnerable. Thousands of thoughts raced though his mind; finally, throwing his arms up in a gesture of surrender, he scooted over so that his body was right next to Potter's. Tentatively, his hand rose to touch Potter's shoulder; the boy stiffened at once, but Draco did not move the hand, and gradually he felt the tension leave. A rush of affection filled him, surprising Draco with its intensity; but before he could dwell on it he felt Potter lean against him. Without thinking, the blonde moved to cradle the other boy, not understanding why but knowing he wanted to comfort Potter; and for now that knowledge was enough.
Harry did not know how long they sat there, and he did not care; he did not even care that the arms around him belonged to Malfoy. All that mattered was the feel of another's touch, soothing and comforting, and that the tears that fell were draining him, slowly, of his grief, his anger, his guilt.
Sometime in the last few hours, they had changed positions, and now Potter lay across Draco's chest, the blonde's arms holding him close. The darkness that folded them was lit by only the full moon shining brightly. Draco knew some part of him should feel fear – what if a werewolf found them? – but he could not force himself to care very much. Instead his thoughts focused on the sleeping boy he held. He had never felt this way about Potter before: protective, and, dare he admit, affectionate. Hell, he'd never even felt this way for anyone, save perhaps his parents; but even that wasn't quite accurate. The feeling curling in the pit of his stomach now was unlike anything he'd ever experienced, yet instinctively he knew what it was, though knowing and accepting such a thing were vastly different. Impulsively, his fingers stroked Potter's arm. The lips under the mess of jet black hair curved upwards in sleep, and Draco decided in that moment that labels didn't matter; complications didn't matter; it just was. Closing his eyes, he drifted off to sleep.
Harry woke slowly, his senses returning to him in small increments before a jolt of memory rushed through his brain and he opened his eyes. He found himself staring at a pale face, eyes closed in sleep, face smooth and calm, the messy blonde hair, normally pristine, now littered with clumps of sand. Harry's heart gave a jump as he studied the boy. He could feel Malfoy's arms around him, and his breathing sped up. He shook his head to clear it; although he had known such emotion before, he didn't understand why he felt it now, for this boy who had been his biggest rival since that day on the Hogwarts Express all those years ago. Finally deciding he didn't care about why, just that it was, he buried his face into Malfoy's neck and drifted off once more.
Draco awoke to light just starting to sweep upwards in the sky. He could feel Potter still pressed against him, though his head seemed to have changed position sometime during the night; hot breath tickled his neck, causing Draco's toes to curl in unexpected warmth. He barely had any time to catch his breath, however; he could feel Potter beginning to stir. He could sense the exact moment when the other boy woke, but he did not speak, and neither did Draco.
Harry lay there, wide awake, his senses awash with tension of a kind he hadn't experienced for a very long time. He knew the other boy was awake, but could not bring himself to say anything, too afraid of what he wanted to say. For a long time, Harry waged a mental war; but finally, the Gryffindor in him won. Slowly, deliberately, he rubbed his nose into Malfoy's soft skin. He heard a caught breath, then a slight moan, so quiet he only scarcely picked up on it; but he had heard it, and it encouraged him. Breathing shallowly, heart hammering in his chest, Harry softly kissed Malfoy's neck. The Slytherin moaned again, louder this time, and this gave Harry enough nerve to look up into Malfoy's face. The blonde boy's eyes were closed, arousal etched clearly in every line of his face. Harry's heart stuttered, and then he was leaning down to press his lips on the other boy's mouth.
Time stopped when Draco felt Potter's lips touch his own. He didn't know why this was happening, and didn't care. He responded on instinct, eagerly, parting his lips in reply; perhaps emboldened by this, Potter hungrily attacked his mouth, tongue now impatiently flicking about.
How long they made out, Harry didn't know. But an eternity later, he felt Draco pull back.
"Harry. What is this?"
"I don't know." Harry answered honestly, unsure of what to say. "But does it really matter?"
"It does to me. Is this just a Vegas thing?"
"What?"
"You know." There was impatience in Draco's tone. "The muggle thing. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas."
"How do you know about that?" Harry was dumbstruck.
"I took muggle studies in secret. Taught myself. But that's beside the point."
Harry sighed. "I don't know, Draco."
Draco visibly started.
"What?" Harry questioned.
"You said my name."
"Yeah, I suppose I did. So? You did too."
"Oh." Draco was quiet a moment before shaking his head. "I don't know why I'm questioning you. I don't have any idea what I want, if I want anything."
"All I want right now," Harry said carefully, "is to forget. That's the only thing I'm sure of."
Draco's eyes caught Harry's. "That's all I know right now too."
"Then why bother with logistics?"
Draco didn't answer, but pulled Harry back down into another kiss. Their lips clashed vigorously, almost desperately.
It might have been minutes or hours or days later, but this time Harry pulled back.
"Draco…"
Draco understood in an instant; Harry's tone was clear. In answer he brought his hands to Harry's waist, slipping his fingers underneath the shirt to feel the soft, slightly sweaty skin beneath the cloth. He heard Harry's breath hitch, and encouraged by the sound, pulled the shirt over Harry's head, revealing a bare chest.
Harry's desire made him bold, and he reached up to tug at Draco's shirt, gratified when the other boy obliged him by allowing him to pull it off.
"Earth to Harry…" Draco's teasing tone pulled Harry out of memory lane. Blinking, he gave a slight yawn.
"Blimy, who knew memories could be so strong!"
Draco smirked. "And where has your mind been?" His tone told Harry this question was rhetorical.
"Draco…."
Draco heard the raw need in Harry's voice and for a moment, he was seventeen again, looking at a broken and self-conscious teenage raven-haired boy. Feeling a strong sense of déjà vu, he answered the unasked question in the same way he did over two decades ago.
~fin~