The Houses Competition (or THC)
House: Gryfindor
Class: Potions
Category: Drabble
Prompt(s) chosen: [Character] Draco Malfoy
Word Count: 610
The Last Word
It was a failing of his that Draco could never allow anyone to have the last word. Maybe it came from his childhood. Overbearing father, domineering mother, et cetera, et cetera. But the fact remained that now, twenty-three and by all counts a man grown, he should really know better.
And yet, here he was again, picking fights and needing that last word.
The difference was that now, there were better ways to end arguments than punching each other out. Or, and he blushed to remember it, broom races. The things young men would do to prove their manhood were, and always would be, ridiculous. Well, and there were better ways now, weren't there?
He stood up and followed Harry out of the living room, up the stairs and into their bedroom, where he found him sitting on the side of the bed with his head in his hands.
He had a momentary urge to continue the battle, but then he saw the weary set of his husband's shoulders and paused.
Instead, he stepped into the room and sat on the bed next to Harry, putting his arm over those weary shoulders and pulling him close.
"Okay," he said quietly. "I'm not saying yes, but…we can talk about it again. Okay?"
Harry raised his head and glanced at him from the corner of his eye.
"You mean argue about it, don't you?" he asked.
"No," Draco said. "I mean talk. I don't understand it but this is obviously important to you, so…let me make you dinner. And then, afterwards, we'll sit down and we'll talk like the adults we allegedly are. Because if it's important to you, and I can't believe I'm saying this, I sound so sappy it's ridiculous, but if it's important to you, it's important to me too."
Harry huffed a laugh and leaned against him, and it hurt so beautifully in Draco's chest that Harry was finally this easy with him. Physical affection had always been tricky for him in a way that Draco, whose parents were pretty terrible people in general but winners in the parental stakes, had never really understood. So it meant a great deal to him that Harry was willing to be with him this way, was willing to accept comfort and touch even when they were at odds. And if he never saw the man he loved flinch when he moved too fast, it would be too fucking soon.
"I guess you've given up on trying to argue me to death, so you're just going to poison me instead?" Harry asked with a small sly grin, and it always amazed Draco that nobody apparently knew what an absolute sassmaster Harry was.
"Hush, you," Draco said. "I can cook!"
Well, the Chinese down the block could cook, and that was honestly good enough for Draco. And for Harry too, because he reached up to lay a kiss on Draco's jaw and pulled him into a sideways half-hug.
"Just go call the Chinese, okay?" he said with a grin.
And Draco brushed a kiss over his husband's messy hair and went downstairs to summon food. And he knew that the subject was not yet resolved – Harry wanted children, and Draco was fairly sure that he didn't. But they were adults, and they loved each other, and they would work it out. And honestly, Draco thought suddenly, if giving in on the idea of an anklebiter or two made Harry happy, and gave Draco another pair of green eyes to love…well, maybe it would be okay after all. And maybe, just maybe, Draco didn't need the last word. Just this once.