As always, my thanks to all of you for reading and commenting, and to the usual suspects, who still know who they are. I fell off the reply wagon this week, but I'll be back on it after this update.
Some of the anecdotal details contained in this story are mine, though if you take the path to the top of Africa or into the Ngorongoro Crater, your mileage may vary. I can tell you definitively, however, that the monkeys will break into your room if you leave food out. Or possibly your grandmother's room, and you will struggle not to laugh. All fictional elements referred to herein belong to their respective owners. Harry Potter is Rowling's. No copyright infringement intended.
As it turns out, they arrive back at the hotel about the same time their friends limp in from their tour of Moshi. Red-faced and sweaty from the heat and humidity, they're still much as Draco would have expected: Hermione, full of questions and new facts, is chattering non-stop with Deo about a children's home or school or something. Ron, though slightly more subdued, is smiling as he approaches, which Draco knows to mean they are in for a lesson in some strange Muggle tradition Ron's just discovered.
And just as he suspected, Ron immediately begins to regale them with stories about the day ranging from the shops (they sell Muggle and Magical items in the same stores here), to the pain in their legs (Ron nearly fell down a flight of stairs and Hermione apparently did slide down more than one set in the manner Draco had considered for himself earlier, much to everyone's very great amusement), to what turned out to have been both a children's home and a school that they'd visited on their way back.
"Harry," Hermione says pointedly to a suddenly-very-interested-in-anything-but-this-conversation Harry at Draco's side, "you didn't tell us Wanderlust is a partner in a home for children without parents."
The sternness in her voice is completely undone by the look of complete admiration on her face. Draco knows that any vestige of anger she might have held for Harry is gone, because besides Ron, the only thing Hermione loves more than her books is a good cause.
Harry sighs, but Draco can see he's pleased at the look on Hermione's face.
"It's not uncommon for guiding companies to sponsor something locally," he says finally. "It's the least we can do for showing up here and running our businesses on their mountain. There are a lot of Muggle children in the area who have lost parents to disease, and no small number of magical ones as well." He shrugs uncomfortably. "Suppose I have a bit of a soft spot for children without parents, especially when they've not got a place like Hogwarts to go to when they're old enough. No one should go through life alone, no matter how old they are."
Draco nudges Harry softly, and when green eyes meet his, he smiles softly and whispers, "Not alone anymore," and Harry nods once and smiles back, reaching down to grasp at Draco's fingers for something that feels a bit like a request for reassurance and a bit like gratitude. Draco squeezes back, not missing Ron's mock-exasperated sigh or Hermione's wink when they both see the gesture.
"Well, it's wonderful, Harry, really it is." Hermione says. Before she can go on, Ron jumps in, telling them in great detail about the school and the classrooms and dormitories, and the little boy they met who looked at them both like they'd gone mad when they asked if magical children had different lessons than non-magical ones.
"He told us there wasn't any sense in that, because you still had to know how to read and do arithmetic whether you could do magic or not, and that cooking tastes better without magic anyway, so of course they took the same lessons. Of course, he was about seven, but I tell you, I've never felt so dressed-down by a child in my whole life!"
Draco and Harry laugh, and Ron is smiling with a bit of awe that Draco thinks is partly because he's just been given a great lesson on magic by a very small child, and partly because, after five years, he's standing in the courtyard of a hotel in Africa laughing about it with Harry Potter, who is currently holding hands with Draco Malfoy.
"Are you sure this isn't a dream?" Draco whispers playfully under his breath in Harry's ear as Ron turns to ask Hermione about what they have left to pack up.
"Doubt it," Harry whispers back, still laughing. "But if it is, it's another good one, hm?" He nudges Draco in the ribs and tightens their fingers together, and Draco nods.
Hermione wanders off to their room in search of a quick shower - this much humidity is really not kind to her hair, and Draco is trying very hard not to laugh at her in spite of himself - and the last of their things, and Harry whispers to Draco that he just has to tie up a few loose ends with Deo.
"Pint?" Ron asks Draco, gesturing to the cafe on the bottom level of the hotel, and Draco nods. A sharp-tongued waitress brings two pints and a heap of steaming, greasy chips to the table at Ron's request.
Draco eyes the plate, realising he hasn't eaten all day, and Ron laughs at him.
"Go on, mate, you look like you haven't seen food in days. Just don't tear my fingers off if I decide to have one or two, eh?"
Draco snorts but throws manners out the window in favour of shovelling the greasy potatoes ungracefully into his mouth and groaning in appreciation. Food in general and food with very little redeeming nutritional value in particular are great weaknesses of Draco's, and now that he's recovered from his bout of altitude sickness (and expended a fair bit of energy in both nocturnal and morning activities with Harry), he's determined to make up for lost time.
Ron laughs but attacks the food with equal vigour, both of them quiet for a few minutes until half the plate is gone and they're both sitting back in their chairs in the late afternoon sun, looking, Draco suspects, like a couple of fat housecats who've just found an owlery.
"So," Ron says, and Draco turns to regard him carefully, recognising the teasing tone in his voice. "You two have a nice night then? Spend the evening catching up on old times and playing chess? Chatting about the good old days back at school when you wanted to hex each other's balls off?"
Draco rolls his eyes at his friend's mocking expression. "Something like that, Weasley. Though I'll have you know I'm very glad I didn't hex his balls off, no matter how badly I might have wanted to at the time."
The satisfaction Draco gets from the horrified look on Ron's face almost makes up for being covered by a spray of ale from the drink Ron just took. As he mops at his face with the napkin in front of him, chuckling, he is struck by just how much even this must feel like a dream to Harry, who is standing not far away with Deo and watching him and Ron with no small amount of curious confusion on his face.
Though Draco knows it's all been explained and explained and explained again, the actual sight of his one-time arch-rival sharing a pint with his boyhood best mate must be about all the surreal Harry can handle at one time. He shoots the man a surreptitious smile before turning back to Ron, who is still spluttering. Draco rolls his eyes and thumps Ron on the back with a little more force than is probably needed, and Ron sits back in his chair, tears in his eyes, and pulls a face at Draco.
"Oh come on, Ron," Draco says, "you really didn't think that one through."
Ron smiles sheepishly and shrugs.
"No, I didn't, but I didn't think you'd actually take the bait. Though why on earth I didn't is really a mystery now I think on it."
Draco snorts and nods.
"You did talk though, right?" Ron's voice is more hesitant now, and Draco isn't sure if it's because he's afraid that Draco will say that no, they didn't talk, they shagged each other silly all night and all morning and had no time to talk (which, if he's honest, isn't as far from the truth as it might be), or if he's afraid they did, and that none of them will like the outcome.
"Yes, Ron, we did find a few spare moments to exchange pleasantries, discuss the weather, ask for the temperature in the shower to be adjusted, things like that," Draco says casually, though he threw in that last only after making sure Ron's glass was set firmly on the table.
Ron glares. "That's not what I-"
"Meant, yes, I know." Draco smiles. "Yes, we talked. No, I'm not telling you everything that was said, I think you three have proved you don't need me to act as go-between any longer and besides, a good deal of it is none of your business unless Harry decides otherwise. But as far as what you're really asking, yes, he's coming back with us, although I don't know for how long, and he's not giving this place up so don't even ask."
The last bit comes out in more of a defensive rush than Draco intends, and Ron smirks. "For a man who didn't want to come on this trip to begin with, Draco, you've become rather attached to this place."
Draco glances at the mountain looming through the clouds over the courtyard, then at Harry. "Yes," he says quietly, "I suppose I have."
He turns back to Ron, who is smiling happily at the unexpected news. He glances from Harry to Draco and back again with a disconcerting look that reminds Draco of one of those overly-dramatic father figures in one of Ron's Muggle television programmes whose children have just chosen good over evil, thus ending the weekly storyline. Still, Draco supposes he can't blame the man; in spite of everything - the strength of his relationship with Hermione, his unlikely friendship with Draco himself, a job he excels at simply because he's good, not because he's Harry Potter's mate - Draco knows Ron's missed Harry the most. Or the version of Harry that left, anyway, because Draco's certain he'll have the market cornered on missing this Harry if he's so much as gone to work too long once they get back.
Gods, he really is turning into a Hufflepuff.
"I'm glad for you," Ron says, and Draco looks at him with surprise.
"For me?" Draco says, a little incredulous. "Merlin, Weasley, after all that time we spent looking, you're entitled to be a little glad for yourself you know."
Ron smiles and sits back in his chair, taking a long pull from his glass as he regards Draco. "Oh, I am, really. I'm looking forward to getting to know him again. I mean, I know him, obviously, but you said yourself a good many things have changed since he left."
Draco looks at his friend fondly. It's not that he doesn't know that Ron is smarter than most people give him credit for, more that he's impressed at both Ron's ability to look forward instead of holding a grudge, and that he's not bothered by the possibility that his friend might be someone different from the boy who slipped out of Grimmauld Place five years ago.
Then again, he chides himself, if Ron Weasley couldn't embrace change in people, they would most assuredly not be sitting here having this conversation.
"No, I'm glad for you, Malfoy, because it's about bloody time you got to have a little bit of happiness in your life too. And don't you start that oh, Weasel, you're being a sentimental sod, I'm more than content with my piles of galleons and my plants and my dirt and all those ridiculous men I date for three weeks before I send them packing because they aren't Harry Potter. I know you better than all that, mate, and you know it."
Ron looks so smug that Draco considers hexing him for just a second before he bursts out laughing.
"I don't know that I'd have put it quite like that," he gasps through his chuckles. "But I'll concede the point. Although I did not send them all packing after three weeks!" His attempts at indignation are a complete failure, partly because Ron is still mostly right, and partly because he can't stop laughing at Ron's impression of his haughty tone, which was both spot on and so pretentious Draco can hardly stand it.
"Oh, right, my mistake. That last bloke lasted what, six weeks? Two months?" Draco pulls a face at him. "Terry, was that his name? The one with the dark hair and glasses?" Ron looks pointedly at Harry and cackles.
"Oh fine, just shut it, would you? I was content though, you know that well enough too." Ron nods, still smirking. Draco sighs. "Oh you know I was. Bloody hell, Ron, no one knows me as well as you two anymore, not Blaise or Pansy or even my own mother, and for some reason that's been, well, less of a problem than I might have expected it to be." Draco huffs, and Ron laughs again, looking impressively smug for a Weasley.
"But I'll graciously accept that you're pleased for me, because frankly I'm rather pleased for myself for the moment, although I really have no idea how this is all going to work out. Then again, if you'd asked me five years ago if spending a year traipsing all over Europe with you and Hermione searching for Harry Potter would work out, I would have laughed myself to death." Draco shrugs. "So what do I know anyway?"
Ron stands and claps Draco on the back. "Well, I am pleased for you, either way. And so's Hermione, although she's probably going to hug you and give you some speech about everyone deserving to find someone and leave out the part where I mocked you in favour of some sappy advice, so be warned."
Draco laughs and watches Ron head off in the direction of his room to help Hermione finish packing as Harry approaches the table.
"I take it you told him then," Harry says as he takes Ron's seat and sets about eating the rest of the chips on the plate with almost as much enthusiasm as Draco had shown.
"He asked," Draco says, shrugging. "I didn't see the harm in telling him, although I suppose I should have let you do it."
"No, I'm glad you did, actually," Harry says. "Seems he's happy enough about it, but that doesn't mean I wasn't still a little worried. I know, I know, when did the Boy Who Lived turn into such a coward, right?"
He sighs and Draco reaches across the table to pluck a chip from his fingers. "Harry, you're going to have to cut them a break too, you know? This is new for them as well, but it'll be easier if you just trust that they do care instead of all three of you dancing around it, because you're all making me rather dizzy, but also because they're your friends, even after all this time. Have a little faith."
"Listen to you," Harry says, shaking his head, "you know, if you keep saying things like that, the Sorting Hat's liable to come find you and throw you right out of Slytherin on your arse."
Draco laughs. "Quite the contrary, actually. They're my friends. They're your friends. You and I are...well, we're whatever we are," Harry snorts at him, "and it is in my best interest for everyone to just get along as quickly as possible so as not to further interrupt my life."
"I retract my statement, you're practically Salazar himself," Harry says rolling his eyes. "Oh boy, here it comes."
Harry's eyes have gone wide, and Draco turns to look over his shoulder at what's set Harry on edge and he half-groans, half-laughs. Hermione is limping out the doorway to their room, eyes wild and face positively beaming.
"Oh for Merlin's sake, Harry, you knew she'd do this when she found out. Don't make her walk any further than she has to, she looks like she'll fall over any second!" Draco laughs and tugs on Harry's arm from across the table to pull him from his chair.
Harry reddens but does as Draco suggests, walking a little awkwardly towards Hermione as she limp-runs in their direction but still shortening her walk considerably, and losing all the awkwardness when she throws her arms around his neck with a yelp. Draco grins as he watches, knowing full well that Harry will start to turn just a little red in the face in a minute or two unless Hermione loosens her grip, but also that she's not likely to do that now that Harry's put his own arms around her back with what appears to be nearly as much enthusiasm.
"Finally," he murmurs under his breath, relief washing over him at visible confirmation that maybe they'll all move on from this somehow. He swallows that damned lump that's rising in his throat again, though he takes small comfort in noting that Ron's eyes are a little shiny as well, even from halfway across the courtyard. And when they separate, he notices tears on Hermione's cheeks and even dampness on Harry's, so perhaps at least if he's going to turn into such a sap, he's in good company.
Bloody Gryffindors, he thinks good-naturedly as he stands with some effort and limps to the join the little gathering. By the time he crosses the courtyard, Hermione has relinquished her grip on Harry and is beaming as Ron claps him on the shoulder with a grin. Not wanting to intrude too much, because he's had his moment with Harry over this already, he stands at Harry's side and presses a hand against the small of Harry's back that goes unnoticed by his friends. But Harry leans ever so slightly into his touch and Draco sees the hint of a smile quirk his lips as he answers some question of Ron's that Draco doesn't really hear.
What a normal little scene they make, really, four young people just down from the mountain to any casual observer's eye. But not to Draco's eye, and he finds himself wishing for that pensieve again. Gods, this is what they hoped for every day for so long that Draco has a hard time remembering what it was like not to wonder where Harry was. And now Harry's here, and he's more than Draco could have wished for on his best day, and Hermione is beaming and Ron is smiling the smile he almost never uses anymore, and Draco wants to freeze the whole little moment for safekeeping.
Still, he knows he's not the only one thinking that way, as he watches Hermione blink back tears and Ron's smile grow even bigger as Harry talks about some wretched-sounding rock wall they can climb on some mountain in the Scottish Highlands, and he can't help but laugh.
After a few more animated bursts of conversation about how pleased everyone will be to see you, Harry, and you won't believe how much has changed, anda few other things Draco still isn't quite registering through the pleased contentedness he's feeling, they agree to set off at Harry's suggestion that they will want to see the lodge they're going to before the sun sets. In a brief moment of Guide Harry authority, which Draco thinks might sound a little like overprotectiveness but likes just the same, Harry insists on bringing them all by side-along, because, "you're all exhausted and can barely stand, and none of you has the least idea where we're going."
Draco elects to stay behind, watching in amusement as a protesting Hermione and a far more willing Ron disappear with Harry in a loud crack, followed by a slightly quieter one when Harry reappears to his right. Draco is looking up at the mountain, bathed, as it was the night before, in the softening light of late afternoon. The glacial snow glistens and shimmers, giving the mountain an oddly magical look that makes Draco smile. Harry steps to stand behind him, wrapping warm arms around his waist and linking his fingers across the flat of Draco's belly. Draco feels Harry's breath on his jaw as a chin comes to rest softly on his shoulder, and he leans back into the embrace with a sigh.
"We'll come back before we leave," Harry says. "You'll see it again."
"So will you," Draco whispers back and twines his own fingers through Harry's. "And not just before we leave."
Harry nods, but his breath catches at Draco's words, and Draco knows Harry's harbouring the fear that somehow he'll be saying goodbye to this place for good.
"I want you to come home, Harry," he says, voice still quiet, "we all do. But I know as well as you do that you belong down here, and I won't be the reason you leave this behind for good. Not after all you've given here, and all this place has given you."
Harry tightens his arm around Draco's waist and tilts his head to bury his face in the crook of Draco's neck. Draco turns in his arms, not without some effort as he twists against Harry's grip until he finally is looking into Harry's face. The worry has come and gone, he thinks, but Harry still lets his eyes flick past Draco and up at the mountain, and Draco smiles in spite of himself.
"We're coming back, Harry, all right?" He says it firmly, but his voice is soft. "There's nothing to plant in the dead of winter in London, so if you'll have me, I'll come putter around your house doing Merlin knows what while you haul clients up there, because I'm serious about you coming back. You can't be the only one giving something up to make this work, or it just plain won't work."
Harry is staring at him, eyes wide, smile threatening to split his face.
"You'll do that? You'll leave everything behind and come back here with me?" He breathes the questions, delighted surprise mixing with disbelief on his face, and Draco's responding laugh is half-chuckle, half-sob, the curlsmolder feeling twisting at his heart in a new way that's still painful, but in the sweetest way imaginable.
"Gods, Harry," he whispers, not trusting his voice to remain steady. "I'd pitch it all now and learn to roast coffee at your house if I thought it would work, and believe me, there's a very big part of me that thinks it just might. But there's my mother, and Ron and Hermione, and I do have a life in London, one I'm rather proud of after everything that's happened, and I'd like to share it with you for a little while."
The words are out before Draco can stop them, and he feels himself blushing under yet another confession he hadn't meant to offer. But it's true, he supposes, and there's no sense in keeping it from Harry, not in the shadow of the mountain whose magic he will forever be indebted to for bringing him to this moment. He does have a life in London, a very nice life with a good job and more than enough money and friends he's still not sure he deserves but who make him want to be the kind of person who does, and he really is content. But in the past few days, he's discovered something far better than content, and knows it's Harry that's at the heart of the new feeling, but he thinks that the effect this place has on Harry makes a great deal of difference as well.
He finally drags his eyes up to meet Harry's, and the look of pure joy on his face is enough to erase Draco's embarrassment at his unwitting confession, because once again he knows that whether or not he's said the right thing, he's managed to find the best thing for just this moment. Harry puts his hands on either side of Draco's face, sliding thumbs over Draco's cheeks softly before pressing their lips together. Draco melts into the kiss, and he feels Harry do the same, each pouring gratitude and hope and possibility into every flick of tongues and slide of lips, and Draco wonders if he'll ever just kiss anyone again without feeling everything in every caress.
He hopes not.
"They'll be wondering what happened to us," Harry breathes as they break apart. Draco chuckles.
"Somehow I doubt they'll be wondering," Draco says, and Harry laughs. "I imagine they'll have a fairly good guess at what's kept us, in fact. But we should probably go just the same."
Harry presses one last kiss to Draco's lips, and then Draco feels the familiar disorienting pull as they Apparate away, the bright glow of the sunlight shining on the peak of Harry's mountain dancing behind Draco's eyelids as he shuts his eyes against the sensation.
When he opens them again, Draco has to work to keep his jaw from dropping open. They're standing in the center of a large, open room not unlike the living room in Harry's house outside Moshi, only much larger. The panoramic windows and paneled screens that line the outside of the room in a semi-circular shape give way to a balcony lined with chairs and chaises and small tables, several of which are occupied by other visitors. More chairs, not unlike the worn leather one in Harry's house, sit in clusters inside around a large, crackling fireplace that serves as the centerpiece of the lodge's lobby and rises up into the vaulted ceiling. One side of the space is occupied by the lodge's restaurant, and Draco's mouth waters at the smells wafting from the open kitchen that's on display in the middle of the tables of diners.
But the view beyond the balcony is what's stopped Draco in his tracks; the railing gives way to what looks like a very long drop down the side of the cliff face the lodge is built into and opens to a vast, lush, green plain far below. It's lined all the way around by an impressive ring of hills and mountains and cliffs that give him a fairly good impression of the one the building he's standing in is perched upon. He can see where the crater floor below is dotted by herds of the different animals they've come here to see, their shadows casting dark spots in the orange light of the late afternoon.
Ron and Hermione are walking away from an unassuming desk in the back corner of the lobby and, upon spotting them, change course to meet them, amusement evident on both their faces.
"We took the liberty of checking you in," Hermione says, holding out a packet containing what Draco assumes is his room key and barely suppressing a grin as she takes in the sight of him still standing tangled in Harry's arms.
Draco blushes slightly but doesn't step away, not quite ready to break contact with Harry after their words in the courtyard. He won't deny that the landscape laid out before them in the Ngorongoro Crater is stunning, but there's a piece of him that's already missing the looming presence of Harry's mountain, and he doesn't think he's alone in that feeling.
As if reading his mind, he feels Harry's fingers tighten around the hem of his shirt at his side, and he smiles, pressing his body a little bit closer to Harry's side in a gesture he knows his friends won't see. He reaches out to take the packet from Hermione with murmured thanks, looking around to get his bearings.
"The rooms are actually more like little huts on the perimeter of the crater," Hermione says as they walk outside the lodge and down a planked walkway.
His friends turn into one of the strikingly-hut-like structures built into the hill farthest away from the lodge, pointing Draco and Harry to the next one with a wave and a promise to meet inside for supper in an hour and a poorly-hidden giggle from Hermione as Ron pulls her through the door and closes it firmly behind them. Draco rolls his eyes and Harry chuckles as they stroll to their own room, slowing their walk to look over the walkway's railing into the crater in the setting sun. Draco can't bite back a smile as Harry reaches out to wrap their fingers together, and he realises that maybe for the first time in his life in the face of open affection from another man, he doesn't want to.
"Come on," Harry says after a few minutes, pushing away from the rail and pulling Draco by the hand through the door of their room.
The room is no less spectacular than either the lodge or the view beyond it, with its own private balcony nestled on the far side of the hut and another wall of open screens like the one at Harry's house. Most of the room itself is taken up by a rather luxurious-looking bed with more pillows than Draco thinks even Harry could need and covered by an elegantly-draped, gauzy net that's meant to keep the bugs away. On the far end of the room is a door that opens into a bathroom that's larger than any even in Malfoy Manor, the centerpiece of which is a claw-footed bathtub big enough for more people than Draco ever needs to share a bath with that's pushed up against its own window overlooking the crater.
"Not half bad, hm?" Harry says, coming to stand behind Draco at one of the screened panels after settling their belongings into a cupboard from where they'd been set just inside the door to "keep the monkeys away from their things." Evidently, some of the local fauna have no compunction about visiting unoccupied rooms and appropriating anything left out in plain sight.
Draco hums his approval as he stares out at the fiery sky and sunlit plains, then sighs as he feels Harry's arms slide around his waist again. This time though, they slide under the hem of his shirt, and Harry presses his mouth against Draco's neck softly, dragging his tongue slowly up the side of his throat to his ear and then nipping at Draco's earlobe with his teeth. Draco's hum turns to a whine as Harry trails his fingers over his belly in circling, ticklish caresses, and he tilts his head to expose more skin for Harry's lips even as every touch is already driving him half-mad with arousal.
He's not the only one, he realises with pleasure, as he feels Harry's erection pressing against his arse through their trousers, and he pushes his hips back intentionally, drawing a groan from Harry. Unable to resist any longer, he twists in Harry's grip so they're facing one another, drawing his arms around Harry's back and pulling their bodies together.
Something about the look in Harry's eyes, dancing like the green sparks in a Floo, coupled with significance of the day, of the words they exchanged that morning in Harry's bed and later in the courtyard in the shadow of the mountain makes him stop, breathing hard.
"You're really coming with me," he breathes, overcome by a tightness in his chest and the urge to grin until his face hurts.
Harry smiles, his face soft, and he lifts a hand to Draco's face and runs his thumb slowly across Draco's own smile, tracing his upturned lips softly.
"We're really coming back here," Harry says softly, and Draco nods without hesitation, a little in awe at how easy the choice is to twine their lives together after such a short period of time.
Then again, it hasn't really been so short, not really.
And then, because Draco thinks he's spent enough time in his life wanting to kiss Harry Potter and not nearly enough time actually doing so yet, he kisses Harry soundly, sliding his tongue against Harry's and delighting in the feel of their lips moving together. They shuffle away from the window, lips still pressed together, as Draco gently pushes Harry back towards the bed. Harry's hands are still beneath Draco's shirt, palms moving over his waist and sliding up his back, then back down to grab at the hem and pull the shirt over Draco's head in one fluid motion before tearing off his own, only breaking their kiss for a breath.
The first touch of skin-on-skin as they press their bare chests back together feels like the crackling air of a well-cast spell, and the catch of Draco's breath mingles with Harry's sigh in a raspy sound that makes Draco shiver. He slides his hands up to cup Harry's face, then curling his fingers into that tangle of hair with a tug, needing to pull Harry somehow even closer. He thinks maybe Harry is feeling the same way as he feels strong fingertips digging into the muscles in his back as they tumble into the softness of the mattress and mounds of pillows in the bed.
Harry rolls them with ease that would otherwise have made Draco glare at him, but as he looks down into Harry's flushed face against the white pillowcases, he can think of nothing more than how badly he wants, and how amazingly easy this has become in just a few days. Harry quirks a smile as he looks back up at him, then arches his back, thrusting his hips up against Draco's in a slow, deliberate, maddening movement that draws another whine from Draco that he punctuates with a deep, searing kiss.
Pulling Harry so they face one another on their sides, Draco drags fumbling fingers over the buttons on Harry's trousers, only vaguely registering Harry mumbling something against his lips before suddenly finding his fingers running over bare skin instead.
He pulls back for a moment, trying not to laugh.
"You just vanished our trousers?" He asks breathlessly, looking into Harry's face.
Harry shrugs a little sheepishly and kisses Draco again, slow and sweet this time, stealing the last bit of breath Draco had left in him.
"I didn't want to wait any longer," he says softly, tangling his legs with Draco's in a way that slides their cocks together and makes Draco hiss appreciatively.
"Then don't," Draco whispers before kissing Harry again and rolling onto his back, pulling Harry with him as much with his lips at Harry's neck as with his hands. He runs his tongue over the still-visible bite at the base of his throat as if to soothe it further as Harry links their fingers together and presses them into the pillows over Draco's head.
They stay that way for what seems like an eternity, backs arching and hips flexing, whimpering and cursing into one another's mouths as they kiss and nip and Draco thinks he may go mad with his need to touch himself or Harry or both. He wills himself not to struggle against the grip of Harry's fingers, though he does revel in the press of their palms and the strain he feels in Harry's wrists and forearms against his, instead pushing up into Harry with an urgency that makes him moan with every roll of his hips.
Their kisses reflect the urgency, and Draco feels the delicious sting of Harry's teeth against his lips more than once, knowing he's responding the same way before Harry finally releases Draco's fingers, though he keeps a grip on Draco's left arm long enough to pull away from Draco's lips and drag his tongue across Draco's marked skin. He still can't decide if it's the intimacy of the gesture or the sensitivity of his skin or the erotic sense of this is so wrong it's right that goes along with the Saviour of the Wizarding World licking hot, wet stripes across the Dark Mark, but his eyes roll back in his head and he chokes out a cry as he watches Harry's mouth against his arm.
Harry flicks his eyes up to meet Draco's and the lust reflected back at him causes the already fraying strands of his control to snap. He slides both feet from where they're tangled with Harry's in the sheets to place them flat against the mattress, knees pulled up and spread apart on either side of Harry's hips in a motion that says everything Harry needs to hear without a word.
Harry groans and slides against Draco, making both their breaths catch before whispering a Summoning charm against Draco's mouth that sends the familiar stoppered bottle flying into Harry's outstretched hand. Draco reaches out to clasp at the bottle or the hand that's holding it, he's not sure, just needing to somehow say yes please now that yes, and Harry smiles and sits back, pouring the shiny-slick contents of the bottle over his fingers. He flicks his eyes over Draco's rapidly-rising chest and flushed skin and erect cock before sliding them back up to lock on Draco's in a gaze so intense that Draco has to fight the urge to break it before that damnable lump rises up in his throat again. But he doesn't, because he knows he probably will never be able to look away from those eyes again, and he's still staring into them when he feels the cool, slippery glide of fingers teasing his entrance, and he gasps and arches into the touch.
Harry is still watching him, taking in every move and arch and whimper as he slowly slides a finger inside and strokes his own cock. Draco writhes against first one finger, and then two, and Harry twists and slides and stretches and adds a third as Draco pushes back against him, silently begging for more Harry now please.
He watches Harry watching him, torn between the desire he can barely contain to touch and kiss and lick every inch of Harry's body and the need to keep his eyes glued to the overwhelmingly arousing sight above him, a flush creeping down Harry's lean, muscled torso and his tongue flicking over dry, parted lips as he stares back down at Draco.
At long last desire wins out though, and Draco rasps between clenched teeth, still arching against Harry's fingers, "Harry, please." He hisses and gasps against a twist and the feeling of Harry's mouth grazing the skin on the inside of his thigh. "Don't...don't want to wait any longer."
The echo of Harry's earlier words has the effect Draco hoped for, and Harry slides his fingers away to pour the remaining contents of the bottle over his palm and then returns to stroke the shiny oil over his cock. Draco watches with as much interest as Harry showed moments before, swiping his tongue over his bottom lip in anticipation and feeling his breath catch as he feels Harry press against him and begin to slowly slide inside. Just as he did on the mountain, Harry watches Draco's every reaction, pushing in further only when Draco urges him on with a nod or a whispered, "more, gods Harry, more," and stilling with every gasping breath until Draco feels Harry's hips pressed flush against his arse.
He reaches up a hand to trail his fingers over every inch of Harry's chest he can reach and cants his hips up against Harry's cock.
"Move, Harry," he whispers when he thinks he can't take anymore waiting, "fuck, please move."
Harry sighs shakily and slides slowly out and back in again. Draco can see the threads of self-control in his face beginning to fray, and the slippery grip of his fingers on Draco's knees is just as telling. Draco rolls his hips again and groans at the pleasurable friction and the dull burn that might be painful if it wasn't for the promise it brings with it. Harry is biting down hard on his bottom lip, eyelids fluttering with every thrust, but he holds Draco's gaze.
Draco's breathing is ragged and raspy and punctuated with whispers of encouragement, begging Harry for more, harder, faster, because every movement of Harry's hips brings sparks behind Draco's eyes, driving him closer to an edge he never wants to reach and yet can't wait to tumble over. He twists his fingers in the soft, white cotton beneath him, arching and writhing beneath Harry's stare and resisting the urge to take his cock in his hand because he knows he'll be gone in a matter of seconds if he does.
He feels the rhythm of Harry's hips become erratic, and the sounds of skin slapping together and shakily-gasped breaths grow louder and more desperate. Harry slides still-gripping fingers down from Draco's knee over his thigh and then up to press a hot, sweaty palm over Draco's belly and up against the lines on Draco's chest. The tenderness of the motion makes Draco's heart beat even faster, and he's sure Harry can feel it against his palm, and he arches again to push Harry deeper inside, seeing stars as he does so and fighting to keep his eyes from rolling back in his head, determined not to break eye contact.
Harry has released his lower lip from between his teeth and is muttering under his breath, whispering streams of gibberish that Draco strains to hear, because he wants to remember everything about Harry in this moment. The insane mop of dark hair falling over his sweat-sheened, handsome face, the furrow between his eyes that for once has nothing to do with worry and everything to do with clinging to the last vestiges of control, the flick of his tongue over parted lips as he babbles with each thrust, all of it, because it's all because of Draco, and he never wants to let it go.
Unable to control his need any longer, he unwinds the fingers of one hand from the sheets and grips at the forearm of the hand Harry has pressed to his chest, gently urging it lower until he feels Harry's palm slide over the head of his cock and down its length with maddening slowness before he wraps his fingers around Draco and begins to stroke. Harry flicks his eyes away from Draco's for just a second, looking down at his hand around Draco's cock and Draco's fingers gripping his wrist and he whimpers.
His eyes fly back up to meet Draco's as he pants, "Don't...want to wait...any longer."
The words are as beautiful now as they were moments before, filling Draco with lust and ecstasy and something else as he watches Harry fall apart over him, body beginning to shudder as he thrusts and strokes.
"Then don't," Draco gasps out and arches up against Harry's hand, feeling his own muscles spasm and shudder as he comes. Harry cries out brokenly and follows Draco's orgasm with his own, still looking down with wide, dilated eyes and dragging Draco's release from his cock with fingers that are holding onto Draco like a lifeline.
Harry pants and shivers, jerkily thrusting as he rides out his orgasm, eyes still open and trained on Draco, and Draco feels raw and bare in a way that transcends their nakedness. Harry stills, panting and sagging against Draco's knees and loosening his grip on Draco's cock. Draco realises he's still clutching Harry's wrist and pries his fingers away to slide them shakily up his arm and shoulder to rest against his cheek in a request for the comforting gesture he knows Harry will offer without thought. Harry presses into Draco's palm, still gasping, and then turns his head as Draco knew he would, first licking and then kissing the offered hand.
Draco hums contentedly, blinking against the haze settling over him, then sighs as Harry finally slumps down into the pillows next to him. They both shiver as Harry whispers a cleaning spell before laying his head against Draco's chest and draping warm limbs over Draco's. Another spell drags the covers over them as the air in the room breezes over the sweat coating each of them.
Draco laughs lazily. "We're supposed to meet Hermione and Ron for dinner, not fall asleep." Even as the words escape his lips he feels the pull of a post-sex nap wash over him.
"Mmmmm," Harry murmurs and presses a kiss to Draco's sternum. "They're grown-ups, they can manage to order a proper meal without us, don't you think?"
"That's debatable," Draco snorts, stretching, but there's no malice in his voice. In truth, there's nothing he'd like better than to stay right here, curled up with Harry until morning. Although his stomach has other ideas apparently, and it lets out a particularly spectacular growl.
Harry chuckles, his breath tickling Draco's skin.
"Pity. You know, I imagine the restaurant here delivers. We wouldn't even have to get dressed..."
Draco swats at Harry's shoulder. "Tease."
At that precise moment, the Muggle telephone next to the bed trills loudly, and Draco glares at it, startled.
"You have to answer it to make it stop doing that, Draco," Harry says, then yelps as Draco flicks a finger against his ear lobe.
Draco fumbles blindly at the table next to the bed, unwilling in spite of his renewed teasing to displace Harry, because this is another thing Draco has already added to his I could get used to this list.
"Yes?" Draco barks into the receiver when he finally finds it and lifts it to his ear.
"Listen mate," Ron's voice floats into his ear, and Draco cringes as he hears Hermione giggling in the background. At least Harry has the decency to chuckle quietly, not quite recovered from laughing at Draco's flailing reaches that knocked everything else from the bed table in his efforts to answer the call. "If it's not too much trouble, we're, um, feeling a bit tired. Alright with you if we just meet for breakfast in the morning?"
Draco rolls his eyes and smiles. Apparently their friends are similarly preoccupied, and though he shudders a bit as he always does at the thought, mostly out of habit to get under their skin when they're around, he can't say he minds in the slightest. In fact, as he feels Harry's lips lazily grazing one of his nipples, he can't even find a witty retort.
"Fine, Weasley," he says, trying to keep his voice even in spite of the lovely, ticklish feeling from Harry's tongue on his skin. "See you at breakfast."
He's about to yank the receiver hard enough to disconnect the telephone completely when Harry reaches up to take it from his hand. Disappointed as he is when Harry lifts his head after one last lick over the peaked flesh on his chest, Draco can't bring himself to complain much when Harry starts speaking into the receiver with requests for enough food and wine to sustain them for a week - not that Draco minds, since he's both famished and perfectly happy to stay here for that long.
Harry stretches as he replaces the receiver and rolls onto his back.
"If they aren't dressing for supper, I don't see why we should," he says. "I do love it when a plan falls into place without any effort on my part." He grins at Draco as he lifts his arms over his head and arches in a motion that puts Draco in mind of a cat stretching before a fire. He runs a finger across a jutting hipbone and up over Harry's belly and chest and neck before touching it gently to Harry's lips. Harry nips at it with a shiver, and Draco smirks at the trail of gooseflesh his touch leaves in its wake.
"How very Slytherin of you," Draco says, and Harry hums, still stretching.
"Mmmm, I suppose the Sorting Hat might change its mind about me too if it could see me now," he says and sits up.
"If it's all the same to you, Harry, I'd just as soon no one from school or anywhere else on earth could see you right now." Draco says, watching Harry swing his legs off the bed and stand.
Harry turns and looks at Draco, a wounded expression creeping over his face. Draco rolls his eyes as much at his own stupid choice of words as at Harry's sensitivity.
"That's not what I meant, you needn't get all in a twist," Draco says, though he tries to keep his tone gentle. He isn't trying to pick a fight, and he still has to remind himself he hasn't been trading barbs with Harry for five years.
"I simply meant I'd rather no one else sees you like this," he gestures at Harry's naked body, taking an extra moment to flick appreciative eyes over the man in front of him. Harry is beautiful, and he isn't sharing. "I've changed a lot since we last knew one another, but I still don't share what's mine."
His mouth goes dry as soon as the last words leave his lips. Merlin, he thinks as his heart starts to pound again, why does he have such an effect on me?
Harry turns back so he's staring down at Draco on the bed, eyes wide. "Yours, Draco?" He whispers the words and Draco wants to hex himself. Harry slides one knee and then the other up onto the bed so he's kneeling over Draco where he sits. "Is that what I am?"
Unable to breathe, Draco can only stare up into Harry's face for a long minute before he finds his voice, doing all he can to hold it steady in spite of his nerves. There's no going back now, he supposes, so there's nothing for it but to press on.
"Only if you want to be," Draco says quietly, and it's all he can do not to drop Harry's gaze. If he thought Harry's eyes intense during sex, he doesn't have words for the fire in them now.
"Do you want me to be?" Harry asks, matching Draco's quiet tone and shuffling closer.
Draco picks up Harry's palm from his side and presses it to his lips, grounding himself in the familiar, comforting gesture before he whispers, "Yes."
Harry nods once and then ducks his head to steal what little breath Draco has in him with a hot, slow, wet kiss full of whimpers and moans. Harry's fingers wind through Draco's hair to press their lips more tightly together before he pulls away and drags his hands down Draco's cheeks.
"Good," he pants as he sits back on his heels, still perched above Draco. He smiles and Draco's chest unclenches, and happiness washes over the places that were only seconds before taut and raw with fear. "That's what I want, too."
Draco grins up at him, knowing he looks so bloody happy that he thinks the Sorting Hat might give him the boot once it finished with Harry if it was here. Harry snorts through his own smile.
"Leave it to me to get something like that out of you because I took a bit of snark the wrong way." He says, and Draco laughs with him.
"Indeed. Leave it to me to say something like that to cover up something thoughtless." They both laugh again, this time chuckling against one another's parted lips as they kiss again.
No one says I'm sorry, and yet Draco thinks that might have been one of the best apologies he's ever been a part of. It's good to be reminded that he and Harry have a lot to learn about one another, and even better to realise they're both invested enough to do just that.
A knock at the door signals the arrival of supper, and Draco looks down at himself and Harry, both still completely naked, then back up at Harry with a smirk. Harry rolls his eyes and yanks the sheet from where it's tucked into the bottom of the mattress and drapes it around his waist, leaving Draco uncovered on the bed as he moves to the door. Draco snorts and scrambles inelegantly from the bed to the bathroom in search of a towel or something to hide behind at the same moment Harry opens the door to the very great surprise of the unsuspecting waiter.
"You can come out now," Harry says a few minutes later, letting the door close and bringing the spicy, steamy smell of their food into the room in waves that make Draco's mouth water.
When he peeks out from around the bathroom door - because he half-expects to still see the poor man who'd brought their tray - his mouth waters for a different reason. Harry is sprawled back across the bed, his sheet discarded, surrounded by food that he has begun eating in a manner that makes Draco uncertain if he wants the food or if he'd prefer to just skip to dessert. He wastes no time crossing the room to slide across the rumpled sheets to Harry's side. Harry smirks, knowing full well the impact he's having on Draco, then holds out a bite of whatever he's eating in fingers he's bathed in a steaming bowl of water on the tray, leaving his skin smelling of lemons behind the spice of the bite he holds out.
Despite his weaknesses for both good sex and good food, Draco has rarely been interested in mixing the two, so he's a little surprised at the strength of his body's reaction to Harry's overtly wanton gesture. That said, even he can't deny his need to eat as he plucks the bit from Harry's fingers with his teeth and fairly groans at the flavor. He can almost ignore the very handsome, very naked Harry Potter sitting with his thigh pressed against his own, except that the same Harry Potter seems to find great amusement in watching Draco eat like he hasn't seen food in a week.
"Why do you insist upon watching everything I put in my mouth, Potter?" He snaps, catching Harry smiling at him as he scoops up a bite of some sort of spicy leafy vegetable, then mentally slaps himself for the stupidity of that statement as well, though for different reasons.
"I rather like watching you put things in your mouth, Malfoy," Harry says, the familiar sound of their surnames making both snicker.
It seems nothing is the same anymore, when even the old habits meant to wound do nothing more than bring out teasing smiles. Draco lets out a long-suffering sigh for effect.
"Yes, I'm certain you do, but if you don't stop watching me eat, I might never let you watch me put anything else in my mouth again." He flicks his eyes over Harry's naked body to drive his point home and is rewarded with a flush for his trouble, though Harry's face remains amused.
"Somehow I think that's a threat you'd have a hard time carrying out, Malfoy," he says smiling and returning his attention to his supper.
Harry still watches Draco eat, and Draco still pulls faces and emits heavy sighs he doesn't really mean, and they laugh easily as they methodically work through plate after plate of spiced meats and steamed vegetables and Draco realises just how hungry he's been all day. When at last he's had his fill and Harry has stopped eating altogether in favour of just watching Draco, he leans back against the headboard for a moment, eyes closed, savouring the lingering tastes on his tongue.
"I used to watch you eat all the time," Harry says, and Draco knows he's talking about their sixth year at Hogwarts when Harry watched everything Draco did and Draco knew it. "Shame I never found it quite so attractive then. Might have saved us a good deal of trouble, hm?"
Harry trails fingers over Draco's scars in a gesture that's becoming as familiar as the kisses to his palms and the licks to the ink-darkened skin on his forearm, but there is no apology in the touch this time, merely speculation.
"I imagine if one of us had tried to get anywhere near this," Draco gestures between them with an arched eyebrow and a meaningful glance down at Harry's naked torso that draws a chuckle from Harry, "he'd have ended up hexed into oblivion."
"Pity," Harry says, nodding his agreement as he stands and groans and puts out a hand to help Draco up. "Imagine just how much easier it all might have been if we were too distracted to be concerned with hexes and schemes, hm? Then again, if I'd had you here," he pulls Draco against him so their bodies are flush and their lips are nearly touching, "I might never have left to search for the Horcruxes or defeated Voldemort."
Draco snorts and nips at Harry's bottom lip with his teeth. "I don't think I'm as distracting as all that. But I can't say I'd have minded spending all that time hiding away with you instead of...well, instead of being where I was."
He smiles, because he doesn't want to hear the apology he knows is on the tip Harry's tongue and he hopes that his smile will silence it. That was a lifetime ago for Draco, for all of them, and he doesn't blame Harry for a moment of the year he was little more than a prisoner in his own childhood home. He doesn't blame anyone, not anymore. The only people responsible are dead or in Azkaban, punishments Draco knows they deserved and doesn't grieve for.
"Besides," he says, "I was a rotten prat at school, and I very likely would have arsed the whole thing up before we even had a chance."
The smile Draco was waiting for creeps across Harry's lips. "I won't argue with that," Harry says. "Though I'd have made a go of cocking things up myself. I was a bit of a stalker. Might have been a bit suffocating after a while, hm?"
Draco laughs. "See, it's best that we didn't end up together at school. Those two little tossers would have made a spectacular mess of everything before they knew what hit them."
"Mmmm," Harry agrees and presses his lips to Draco's. "Want to go try out that tub? I think it's plenty big enough for the both of us, and I could do with a soak."
Draco's own muscles are weary, still tired and sore from the lingering effects of the climb compounded by an ache he wouldn't give up for anything that he can attribute entirely to time very well spent with Harry. He nods gratefully and follows Harry into the spacious bathroom, looking with great anticipation at the tub Harry is begins to fill with steaming hot water. Or maybe with more than just anticipation, because Harry quirks an eyebrow at him and laughs.
"I see the mountain has increased your appreciation for hot water, hm?" He says, watching Draco perch on the side of the tub.
He feels like a child waiting for a present, he's so giddy, but he tries to moderate his expression.
"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," he says, trying to suppress a smile. "Good hygiene is very important, Harry, despite what you Gryffindors might think. I know you never learned to use a comb, but surely you all bathed at least once a month."
Harry pulls a face at him, but Draco is overcome by just how good the hot water feels as it slips over his skin when he slides into the tub. He groans and lets his head fall back against the cool porcelain, relishing the steam and warmth. At least for a moment, until he feels a spray of water shoot up in his face and he opens one dripping eye to glare at Harry.
"What?" Harry says smirking. "If you keep making those sounds I'm going to get an inferiority complex. The Boy Who Lived outperformed by a tub full of hot water. How will I ever live it down?"
Draco snorts, supposing that perhaps he might have been a little dramatic, but he is a Malfoy, even if he's a changed one. "You'll just have to work harder, won't you?" He asks, and Harry smiles.
"I'm sure I have a trick or two you haven't seen yet, Malfoy," he says as he slides into the tub, and Draco notes the quiet sigh of satisfaction that escapes his lips with smugness.
Dramatic indeed. Really.
He huffs, then promptly forgets why as Harry slides to lean back against Draco's chest, arms around Draco's bent knees to lever himself against the slippery floor of the tub. There is something about the way Harry fits there that makes Draco's heart twist, and he slides his arms down to trail wet fingers over Harry's chest.
Harry tips his head back onto Draco's shoulder, humming quietly at Draco's absent caresses, and they sit in relative silence for a while, allowing the warmth and comfort of the water and the company and the day's revelations to wash away all the talking and thinking and worrying of recent days.
"I do own a comb, you know," Harry says suddenly, and Draco has to drag himself from a steam- and Harry-induced stupor to register his words.
"Ah, and there it is, your great secret is out. I can see the headlines now. Saviour of Wizarding World's Deepest Secret Exposed: He DOES own a comb!"
Harry flicks more water at his face, earning a splash back from Draco for his trouble.
"I just meant I do own one, it just," he reaches up to drag a hand through already-wild hair sheepishly, "doesn't really do much good. But if it bothers you..."
Draco chuckles, lifting his own hand to smooth over Harry's hair and pressing a kiss to the side of his head.
"After all these years, you still haven't figured out that sometimes I just like to say things to wind you up, have you?" Harry snorts, but Draco feels him relax his body back into Draco's a bit farther.
He's amused, he thinks, at Harry's endearing insecurity over something that really doesn't matter a bit, and the offer to - well, Draco doesn't know what Harry thinks he can do about this mess. He may have defeated the most powerful evil wizard of their time, but he's not sure that means Harry could tame the bird's nest on his head. Then again, it's a part of him, and Draco's not sure he'd want it tamed.
"Besides," he murmurs, still stroking soft, dark hair idly, "it suits you."
Harry's laughter is soft and genuine, and his smile is pleased, and Draco can't help the small surge of something that he feels at the knowledge that that laughter and that smile is for him.
"You know, I could get used to this version of you that says nice things to me even if you do say them right after you say something to try to get under my skin," Harry says, reaching through the water to wrap his fingers around Draco's and lifting their twined hands to study them in the steam.
"Merlin, Harry, I'm not twelve anymore you know," Draco says. "I suppose if I'd known then what I know now, I might have spent less time trying to hex you. Or insult you." He smirks. "Then again, perhaps not. It isn't as though you had plaits in your hair to pull or a skirt to flip up, and at twelve I didn't know any other way to tell someone I liked them, did I?"
"Malfoy, if you don't stop picturing me in a skirt right this second, I'll teach you a hex or two even you Slytherin lot didn't know about!" Harry's words are threatening, but his tone is shaking with amusement.
Harry digs an elbow into Draco's ribs and he yelps, but it doesn't stop his chuckling, and he feels Harry's body shaking right along with him. He wraps his arms tightly around Harry now, burying his nose in the steamy, soft skin at the crook of his neck and breathes in slowly, smile still playing across his lips.
"I've learned a thing or two in five years," he murmurs. "There are people I never managed a kind word for, and now I won't get that chance. I don't mean to live that way any longer."
Harry reaches dripping fingers up to drag through Draco's hair, tipping his head to bring their lips together in a kiss that is somehow a better salve for the raw, emotional wounds from days long past that Draco thinks may never heal than any consolation or comforting word he's ever received. When Harry pulls away, keeping his hand in Draco's hair so their eyes are locked, he's still smiling, and Draco is still feeling that something at yet another smile that is all his.
"Just don't stop trying to wind me up altogether, or I'll think there's something wrong with you." Harry says, and Draco flicks more water in his face, though their proximity means he gets himself almost as much and they splutter and laugh and kiss again, Harry's arms wrapping awkwardly back around Draco's neck to pull him close, and there is nothing about this that Draco doesn't plan to get very used to indeed.