AN: I love these two so goddamn much. I swear I'm gonna be writing Drarry fanfic in my crone years.
Chapter 4: Bliss
Taken aback by the gentlemanly gesture, Harry had a moment of panic where he didn't quite know what to do with his arm to make sure it fit in Draco's. After some inexperienced fumbling Harry looped them together, his other hand coming to rest on his arm. He hadn't been this close to another man in far too long, he could tell, because just the scent of Draco's cologne made his knees wobbly enough to almost fall over. Thankfully, Draco had a strong grip.
"I know this area from passing through and have a destination in mind," Draco said as he led Harry from the club. The shorter man smelled like soap, and it made Draco's mouth water to be reminded just how much taller than Harry he was. "But not well enough to have located a magical tailor I approve of. We're just going to have to go with the first suitable we find," he shrugged.
"You get your clothes tailored?"
"You don't?" Draco replied, eyes widening before realizing how much sense it made. "Well, yes, I can see you don't."
"Hey!" Harry nudged his elbow against Draco's ribs.
"What? I'm simply stating facts," Draco chuckled as they stepped into the street, the sky above them dark pink with the setting sun's glow. "Now, if we had free reign of apparation I would take you to my usual place in Diagon Alley—she works wonders."
"And why can't we apparate?" Harry asked quietly.
Draco stopped walking. He stared Harry right in those beautiful green eyes of his and spoke as seriously as he ever had. "I am a Healer, Harry, in a hospital with an entire wing dedicated to apparation injuries. Most of the stories I hear, once we put the patients back together again, involve alcohol directly before apparition." It was a rare enough risk that most competent wizards did apparate whilst under the influence, but Draco had seen the one percent and heard their moans of pain firsthand.
"Huh," Harry said as they began to walk again. "I use the Floo to get most places, and I'd almost forgotten about all that."
"Yes, I am a killjoy now thanks to my profession and a delight at parties when everyone is heading home," Draco confirmed. "But I am a great ally to have when sick. I make housecalls for those deserving, and am known to make a mean beef stew. Warms you right up from the inside."
"You cook?" Harry asked, smiling at the thought of Draco tending to him on his couch with a pot on the oven. It would sure be a sight, his old rival blowing on his soup spoon and taking his temperature. Whenever he got sick now he just isolated further to chug his potions.
Draco snorted. "Of course I cook, Harry, I'm a grown adult man who lives on my own. You'll be happy to know I also insisted my parents learn to cook without the aid of house elves in France as well."
Now that was news. "Really? Lucius Malfoy, flipping his own pancakes?" Harry marveled. He'd thought about the Malfoys before, but never pictured them doing anything mundane like that.
"He prefers waffles," Draco chuckled fondly. They stopped at a crossing, waiting for the walk sign. "My mother has taken to baking, and sends me treats whenever she can."
"That's great, Draco," Harry said, staring at him so intently that he almost missed the walk signal turning on. He thought he would get used to holding Draco's arm after prolonged contact but he was still all tingly and feeling dangerously swishy.
Draco led Harry along, slowing when he needed to and when conversation demanded more eye contact. He had seen some clothing stores already but none fit his high standards as of yet. "I won't lie to you, they slip up and say prejudiced things sometimes. They're far from perfect, but they do try." Draco checked his watch. Ugh, way too much time talking about his parents when he was supposed to be showing Harry a 'night on the town'.
The next muggle clothing store would have to be good enough.
"Here," Draco said, glad to see the shop was still open for another hour on its placard. "What you have on is just fine, don't take it as a jab, but where we're going you'll need to be dressed much fancier."
Harry raised a brow. He had been the one who insisted Draco chose their course of action. Was he picking a muggle shop to prove something to Harry? "Alright, then. Lead on."
The chime of the shop door welcomed them into a warmly-lit boutique, upscale but not uninviting some of the way Draco's favorite stores looked. This would have to do. The refined older gentleman behind the counter greeted them and was about to ask if they needed anything when Draco told him just what they needed. "I'd like his measurements done and written on a card, two dressing rooms, and here is my card." Draco put down his muggle Black Card with several diamonds on it.
The gentleman could tell when he walked in the kind of money the blonde possessed, but the proof was nice, too. "Right this way, Sirs," he guided them towards the back of the shop.
"Cooking, Healing, and a credit card?" Harry whispered to Draco as they were led through racks of expensive clothing. "Next you're going to tell me you have a mobile."
Draco rolled his eyes, suppressing a smile. "I do not have a mobile, you prat," he replied with a glare that wasn't half as cutting as he wanted it to be.
"Right this way, Sir," the gentleman called Harry forth as they reached the chamber before the dressing rooms. He unwrapped his arm from Draco's and stepped forward.
The man unfurled a measuring tape and began. Draco tried his best not to look impatient. This was so much faster with magic. At least the prolonged stillness gave Draco a chance to look Harry over completely in better lighting. Yes, when those measuring tapes went tight there seemed to be quite a pretty little body under those baggy clothes.
Draco kept his eyes on Harry through the whole process, and Harry snuck glances between measurements. He knew he was being assessed, he wasn't that naïve, but he also took comfort in the fact that Draco was watching over him. Muggles were less of a trigger on Harry's anxiety for they needed a weapon to kill, but wizards had the killing blow on them at all times—a loaded gun that also did laundry.
A gun was the only muggle way Harry could really equate it, but truly wizards feared no guns. Protection spells, redirection spells, and more kept bullets away. No, a wand was unimaginably more dangerous, capable of bringing death by water, fire, madness, or the simple six-syllable killing curse.
Harry thought of his own wand in his pocket, and wondered if the man taking his measurements thought anything of it.
"Foot, please," the man requested, removing Harry's shoe so he could take measurements there, too.
"Oh, not many shoes fit me well," Harry warned, snapping out of the doom and gloom haze. His feet ached all the time, and having his shoe removed had reminded him of that. Flat arches and mangled toes from stuffing them into Dudley's old trainers as a kid had taken a toll.
Draco saw Harry slip away at some point during the measuring, but was glad to see him come back when he spoke up about the shoes. "We will find shoes that fit you," Draco promised him. If not here then at least in magic boutiques later on—was there a later on? Draco was trying not to think about how he was technically on a trial run right now. "And a suit that suits you."
"Okay, so the place we're going is suit-level fancy," Harry surmised with a slow nod. "A restaurant?"
"Better than a restaurant," Draco said and elaborated no further. "Now, what's your favorite color? And don't you dare say red, because I know it's not."
"How would you know that?" Harry scoffed.
"Am I wrong?"
"…No."
The man finished the measurements and handed the sizing card to Draco. "I can have whatever you wish brought back here in this size. It's all up here now," he indicated a wrinkled temple.
"Excellent," Draco replied cheerily before turning back to Harry. "Now, Harry, what is your favorite color?"
Harry swallowed. He was put on the spot now. "I guess I've always liked shades of purple. Lavender, especially," he answered truthfully.
A slow, steady smile pulled Draco's lips upwards. "Excellent," Draco said and this time it had a deeper, lower timber. He looked again to the man attending them. "I'd like to see your collection of silk button-downs in lighter cool colors, and the middle jacket in the window. For the trousers we'll need black, darker than the ones he has on and these should actually fit him."
"Harsh," Harry snorted. Given a task Draco was really animated, now, speaking with his hands and giving every emotion away on his face. Yes, this was the Draco Malfoy he'd seen recounting grandiose stories at the Slytherin table in their early years, indicating the size and ferocity of the creatures he described with great pomp.
"Shoes…" Draco took a moment to think and tap his pointed chin. "Black Oxfords, silk socks. While you fetch that and escort him to his dressing room, my good man, I'll shop for myself because I need a change of clothes as well." And Draco didn't trust anyone but himself with his appearance.
Damn, Draco was efficient. He really wasn't messing around when it came to making these two hours count. Harry wondered if he should speak up about this not needing to fit in the timeframe after all, but in the end he was too curious to see how Draco was going to play the rest of this to remove the restriction.
Harry stepped into a large, sealed dressing room two walls of mirror and a curtained slot for clothing to be passed through. He realized once the door shut behind him that he was meant to disrobe, because that was what people did in dressing rooms, and shifted nervously. Harry decided he would wait until some replacement clothes were passed in.
In the meantime there wasn't much to do, so he pulled out his phone to check it. 6:30 on the dot, 8:13 looming in the distance.
When let loose upon the racks of the store Draco hardly even noticed the gentleman collecting the pieces he'd requested to bring back to Harry. Draco was on the hunt for pieces that spoke to him, and he was being timed here, so he couldn't take any longer than Harry took to pick a shirt and change.
Draco gave himself options, gathering up lots of shirts and trousers himself since he knew his size well, and what cuts looked best on him.
By the time Draco returned to the dressing rooms with his selections, Harry was being handed his through the slot. "Let me know if you need assistance," Draco offered even though it likely wasn't necessary. He just wanted to remind Harry from the dressing room next door that he was still very much here and with him.
"Thanks," Harry said to the wall. He turned over the clothes in his hands and let out a small gasp when he got to the suit jacket that Draco had picked out for him. The material was the softest of satin held together with strong thread, the worth of the materials speaking for themselves in how well-constructed the garment was. The body of it was a dark blue lined with black on the inside, but what really caught his attention was the outside.
The jacket's deep blue was accented by the lavender and light pink markings that looked like brush strokes and paint daubs spread over the navy canvas. It was a loud print, and not at all the sort of thing Harry would have picked out for himself, but it included his favorite color in a way he'd never seen before. The pink was nice, too, offsetting the cool palette well.
"They didn't have anything fully lavender," Draco said from beyond the wall between them. He was busy trying on a variety of jackets with the black silken button down he'd selected out of his pile of many options. "So I did my best."
"This is really nice," Harry said as he began to disrobe, excited to see how he'd look in this now.
"Glad you like it. The pink isn't too much?"
"No, I like pink too," Harry confirmed without shame for the first time. He dropped his shirt to the floor and began trying on the silk ones Draco had selected, settling on a light purple one that was somewhere in between the shades of the lavender and rose on the jacket. "Wow, this fit is snug."
"Unused to wearing something that's actually your size?" Draco taunted.
Harry rolled his eyes but then realized Draco couldn't see that. "My size fluctuated a lot after the war. I tried to gain the weight back but it didn't really work." Harry sure hoped that muggle shopkeeper had left the area so he wouldn't hear this. When Harry said 'the war' in front of muggles they thanked him for his service in Afghanistan, and he couldn't exactly correct them without breaching the Statute of Secrecy. "I haven't shopped for new clothes in… a long while."
"Then we'll have to change that," Draco insisted, stepping into trousers that matched his jacket in print. Yes, this was starting to look like an outfit. "Even generations ago your family was always considered New Money. Let the Old Money show you how to spend it properly."
"About that," Harry said, beginning to navigate his own way into the slim black trousers he'd been given. "I can pay for things, too. I know that's not exactly part of the fantasy but I don't want the financial burden to be entirely on you."
"Burden? Don't make me laugh," Draco said and did indeed laugh. "I make money simply by existing thanks to the investments my ancestors made. Properties, Ministry bonds, and the interest on our Vault nets me an endless stream. Not to mention my salary. The costs of rebuilding and refurbishing the Manor is covered almost entirely by my work as a Healer. Worried about the Malfoy fortune all of a sudden, are we?" Draco teased lightly.
Harry huffed. "No, I just… ah, nevermind."
Harry zipped up the trousers and looked at himself in the mirror. The way these hugged his hips made him look like an entirely different man than before, and he felt like one, too. He straightened his slouched back so that the silk shirt would be pressed to his skin without wrinkles. Now for the moment of truth.
Taking up the piece of art that was this jacket he'd been given—courtesy of the Malfoy fortune, apparently—was a moment of quiet awe. Harry worried he wouldn't be enough to pull this look off, or that he would look like a child trying on adult clothes for fun as he sometimes thought he did. He turned away from the mirror so he could look at himself only after all the adjustments.
Harry slipped his arms into the jacket and as it came up over his shoulders it fit like a glove. He looked down at himself after straightening it out, fiddling with the jacket buttons a bit before deciding to close the top two.
He turned around and hoped for the best.
"How's everything fitting?" Draco inquired as he looped on a belt with an ornate golden buckle.
Harry could hardly believe what he was seeing in the mirror. This man was refined, and intriguing, and somehow it was still him. He turned in the mirror, admiring the brush strokes on the back of his jacket. "It's… beautiful," Harry said but felt the word 'beautiful' came up short. "It's, I mean, I would have never selected it myself but that's my own small thinking, I think. This is spiffing." 'Spiffing' wasn't much better either but Harry was trying.
In his dressing room Draco paused in his trying on of clothes, hands coming to rest over his heart. "Spiffing, eh?" Draco grinned. "Well, I can hardly wait to see it." He finished buttoning his jacket. "Be sure to put on the shoes and socks, too, and then I'll show you what I've picked out."
"Yeah," Harry nodded, setting to putting those on next.
Draco emerged first from the dressing rooms to the little parlor that led to them. He was confident he looked damn good, but he was anxious to see Harry's reaction nonetheless. For himself Draco had gone with a classic look, green jacket and pants on a black shirt. The jacket and trousers were of a matching emerald sheen, almost blue in some lights. He'd gone with a bold black and white shoe, shined to the nines.
"Come out whenever you're ready," Draco said, adjusting his belt buckle and fixing his hair.
It took Harry a long moment before he was even ready to consider coming out. He looked himself over one last time in the mirror before turning on his heel to the door. Unlatching it, he stepped out with eyes cast low.
The first thing Harry saw was a pair of black and white dress shoes that made him smile. Shoes had never really made him smile before, but knowing it was Draco Malfoy wearing such trendy spats tickled him in an unexpected way. Things only got better as he looked up. Draco was a dream in green, harkening back to the house color of his youth to make him look all the more powerful and imposing.
It was a good thing Harry seemed to be focusing on Draco's clothes—and smiling, Merlin how handsome he looked when he smiled—because Draco's jaw had almost dropped to the floor upon seeing Harry. Draco knew he'd picked out a great outfit, yes, but this was on a different level. These garments actually fit Harry, fabric gripping and caressing him soft and sweet as a lover. It made Draco's mouth water.
"Wow," Draco breathed out, an exhale of delight. "You look incredible."
"I could say the same of you," Harry replied, shifting his weight between his shoes. They gave him some room to move around in, thankfully. "I will, I mean. Say the same of you. You look great."
"See how having your measurements does you wonders? Ah, let me fix something…" Draco stepped forward to adjust Harry's jacket lapels. "Then it seems we're ready for where I want to take you," he declared, noting with some smugness how thin Harry's breath went when he simply touched his clothing.
"And where is that?"
"You'll see." Draco released his lapels and turned around to call for the gentleman shopkeep. "We'll take all of this to go," he informed him and motioned to the card at the register so they could be rung up. When the man wasn't looking Draco opened a charmed bag so Harry could put his old clothes in with Draco's, the bag sealing so it was only the size of Draco's palm. He would hold onto this for now, fully intending to return it though he hoped Harry would take his advice for the future and stop wearing guesses off the rack when he had the answer in front of him.
"Have a lovely evening, Sirs," the gentleman wished them and Draco slipped him a hundred on the counter. Before he could thank them Draco waved Harry on, taking the receipt without looking at the total and tossing it in the bin by the door on the way out.
Harry could have sworn he heard this proper English gentleman swear with how surprised he was by the tip as the door closed behind them.
"If you will," Draco offered Harry his arm again in the fresh air, the sky now dark and the streetlights burning bright.
"I will," Harry confirmed with great cheer, and took Draco's arm with greater ease this time around.
"Now, before we get where I'm taking you I should make some further inquiries," Draco went on, steering Harry around a corner and heading North.
"I was last tested in January for my yearly physical, and everything came back negative," Harry responded quickly.
Draco did his best not to laugh. "That is, ah, not what I was going to ask, but that is good to hear. I was last tested a month ago and was also negative. And you know, you really should be having general examinations twice a year, it's a better cadence."
Harry was now doing his best to not look at Draco, head turned bashfully away. That was really presumptuous, wasn't it? Dammit. "Sorry," he said quickly.
"No, don't be," Draco reassured him.
"What were you actually going to ask?"
"I was inquiring about possible food allergies."
"Oh, that's—well, I was far off, okay," Harry said, still not recovered from his embarrassment but at least able to smile about it now. He could hardly stop smiling with how close he and Draco were, how dressed up they were—together. Their outfits hardly matched but they were easily spotted as a pair. People who walked by them gave them a wide berth, and Harry was trying not to dissect what their stares meant. "No allergies. I'll eat just about anything, too."
Merlin, Harry looked like a million galleons in this getup. Draco had outdone himself. "Excellent," he chirped, head held high. "And as for your glasses, is your sight actually as awful as I always teased you for?" Draco hoped they could get on with joking about that sort of thing.
"Yes," Harry allowed with only a little squeeze of Draco's arm in retaliation. "I'm near-sighted. The closer the better, really. Things start to go blurry about an arm's length away without my lenses. Please don't tell me you're going to try and do that thing in movies where the guy takes off the girl's glasses to make her prettier."
Draco made a face. "What in the hell are you talking about? You're plenty pretty already, Harry, and you have to know I don't watch movies. I only ask so I know for future reference." Draco did watch some moves, but wasn't about to admit to that just yet.
"Well, how am I supposed to know with your muggle money and shopping in muggle stores? I'm really proud of you, you know." Draco had seemed annoyed by the slow pace of shopping without magic but he'd been perfectly pleasant to that older gentleman. Harry shouldn't be surprised, Draco likely had to develop a bedside manner for his profession.
"You are such a ponce," Draco shot back because he honestly didn't know how to react to a statement like that. Harry Potter, proud of him? It read like a joke. "Cloying as ever, some things never change." He gave Harry a smile at the end of that jab, eyes locking with his. Those spectacles of his, old-fashioned as they were, were deeply endearing to Draco.
Harry rolled his eyes in return. "Snarky as ever to cover up the vulnerability. Yeah, some things don't change."
"Right for the jugular," Draco hissed, pretending to be wounded. "Now, something I believe I correctly recall from those years we spent in that musty castle is that you have a sweet tooth. You always went for the pastries and cakes first. What was it—? Treacle tarts. Your favorite, yes?"
"And here I thought I was the one watching you," Harry snorted. "But that bit about red not being my favorite color back in the store, that's not as impressive as me actually knowing for a fact your favorite color is and always has been green."
Draco pursed his lips trying not to smile. "Oh? And what makes you say that?"
"Oh, come on, it's the truth and we both know it. You loved sporting your colors for Quidditch especially."
"You are correct, though you had an advantage given that you saw me in it most days," Draco relented, looking down to his own emerald suit, some parts of it catching the streetlamps and glowing as they walked by them. "I love green. At the best of times I loved being in the Slytherin commonroom during the day when they light shone through the lake. One of the parlors I will decorate in homage to the emerald couches I spent so much time on. The way the floorplan is set up for the next years of construction has lots of parlors, so I might as well make them themed. I had to cut my parents off from adding any more during the planning phases."
A recreation of his commonroom, why had Harry never thought about that in decorating his own flats in the past and present? He missed couches, and the pillows, too. He'd never had many pillows at Privet Drive. "That's a lot of parlors for one man." It wasn't as if Lucius or Narcissa would ever step inside of it again.
Draco smiled distantly. "It is. I plan to host grand parties to fill it."
They walked in silence with both men fretting that it was lasting too long. They walked down the street together, and Harry did notice a glare or two thrown their way. Harry had walked in public with men before, and more than once people had gotten confrontational. At least these were muggles, probably, though the concentration of wizards in London was high. Without Tom Riddle looming over their shoulders everyone had gotten a little freer, everyone except Harry.
"Only a little bit away now," Draco assured Harry after they crossed another street. Dare he look for a clock? No, he chose to keep his eyes on Harry's instead. Green was his favorite and Harry wore it so well. Thick, black eyelashes blinked behind his glasses, revealing a warm trove of emerald each time.
Harry nodded. What to say in return? He wanted to keep Draco's interest on him like this; it was so warm. "Lovely night," Harry said lamely for a lack of things to say.
"It is," Draco agreed, sensing Harry's eagerness to keep speaking. "It's nearly May, and soon it will be summer. I've always loved summers even though my skin is never prepared for it. I burn in minutes flat—you're a lucky one."
"I have my father's genes to thank for that," Harry nodded of his darker skin. Lily Evans had been white as snow, but the Potter family had ancestry across continents. "But even then I've never really liked summer. I suppose I never got over the connotation that when summer came it meant leaving the castle. For all the peril I faced at Hogwarts I always felt safer there than with the Dursleys."
Draco nodded as he processed that. "Didn't get along well with your Aunt and Uncle?"
"That's the understatement of the century," Harry huffed out a laugh. He often forgot that people weren't aware of his childhood situation. "I reminded them of why my mother died, and it made them unduly cruel towards me. Dudley got everything, and I was left the scraps. I would shop for them, cook for them, clean for them, sleep in a cupboard under the stairs—"
"What!" Draco exclaimed.
Harry was also always forgetting how insane that sounded to outsiders. "I got my own room later, but mostly because the guest room had a lock on it and they could seal me in."
"Wait, they had a guest room the whole time and still made you sleep under the stairs?" Draco demanded, a hot rage rising in his throat. Did they know who he was?
"Yeah," Harry shrugged. That cutting look in Draco's eyes was quite something when he knew he wasn't the target. "I mean, they did get charmed by Albus when they signed up to take care of me. It bound our blood and ownership of my fate until I came of age. They hated magic and really, really did not appreciate that."
"Dumbledore did that? And the muggles made you sleep in a cupboard? It wasn't your fault that the old man did that. That has to be quite illegal, keeping you like you're a bottle of jam! I don't know muggle law that well, but if a child patient ever informed me they were being forced under some stairs I would send to the Ministry at once." How had no one helped Harry as a boy? Even If they didn't know he was fated to save them all he was still a child, and children were to be protected.
"I never really saw doctors," Harry shrugged. "Or much of anyone. I didn't have friends, or many teachers in school I could trust. Dudley was a menace when he was younger, too, having told all the other kids in town I was a weirdo. He mellowed out around our sixth year but by then I wasn't even staying with them. Dudley grew out of the homophobia, too, thankfully."
"And your Aunt and Uncle?"
Harry laughed bitterly. "I told them after the war, visited them to let them know they weren't in danger anymore and it came out in an argument. They were cross as ever, started demanding I tell them every 'sinful' thought I had so they might take me to our church. Thankfully Dudley stepped in, told them they were being backwards. Never thought he'd come to my defense after all the years he teased me for having a 'secret boyfriend' at school that I definitely did not have."
Harry used to think of Draco as a more-refined Dudley because he only saw the other two children, as a child, as bullies. As he grew up he found that bullying was something a person did because they felt powerless—not who they were. It was all a game to Dudley, tossing slurs and dunking on his weird gay cousin who he was forced to monitor. But something had changed in Dudley's eyes. It crept in over time and then was fully present when Harry returned to their safehouse victorious from having literally saved the world: respect.
As much as he liked to hide it away, Harry also saw that turn in Draco. Draco recognized his magical power first as one of the only things he was taught how to respect, and now he was seeing beyond that power to the man wielding it.
"The Dursleys never really understood the gravity of the situation with Riddle until I phrased it plainly: all muggles made to serve or die, the battle deciding that coming up right now. Self-preservation took over. Needless to say I don't talk to any of them much anymore," Harry finished on his sad tales of abuse at Privet Drive. It was a downer, and he didn't want to kill the mood.
After fourth year the nightmares about Cedric became unbearable. He would mutter his name in his sleep, his older and deeply unrealistic crush who had been killed right in front of him, and Dudley would tell all his crew his cousin was having gay wet dreams right in his house—how disgusting! Harry would weep for hours and then in his sleep about the things they would say, too. Kids could be so cruel.
Dudley and he were cool now by way of some awkward bro-talk that was excruciating in the moment but at least gave closure. Petunia and Vernon were getting quite old, and the curse of being their only true son was falling on Dudley to care for them. That was punishment enough for any misdeeds he may have committed as a child.
Draco, on the other hand, was fully prepared to hex the mood and all the Dursleys if necessary. "Those bastards," he hissed. "Stifling your magic and your sexual orientation—and forcing you to work for them!"
"They definitely hated the magic more than the gay thing," Harry recalled. "It was funny how closely they fit Tom Riddle's propaganda of what ignorant muggles are like. They were the perfect stereotype, hating everything they didn't understand."
A chill ran up Draco's spine at how casually Harry referred to the Dark Lord. Lord Voldemort, the Most Powerful Dark Wizard of All Time, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, You-Know-Who, His Lordship and Heir to this Pure World Order, was christened 'Tom'. Well, he wasn't lord of anything anymore, Draco reinforced to himself as a mantra. In the years directly after the war his paranoia had run wild, making him think Voldemort was around every corner he might turn come to punish him for his betrayal of the Death Eaters.
The intensity lessened as time went on, but still Draco had night terrors about those pale hands holding him down so Nagini could feast. "Tom Riddle," Draco said out loud. "It's so strange to hear him called that." If anyone dare spoke the name Voldemort had been given before his 'ascension' the madman would kill the speaker on the spot.
"He was just a man," Harry reminded Draco and himself because Draco did not hold the market majority on Voldemort nightmares. Sometimes Harry put off sleeping until the last second out of fear he might experience that terror again. "And I figure I can call him anything I want considering I killed him."
Now that made Draco laugh a sharp, unexpected laugh. "I'll allow it. You've earned that cockiness, yes, that is true." And thank Merlin, thank all the stars in the sky that Harry had succeeded in doing so entirely, all horcruxes destroyed, even the one inside of him.
"We don't have to talk about this if you don't want to, you know. I have no idea what it was like for you. We were just kids."
"No, it's fine, I just—I keep forgetting he actually had a name," Draco said quickly to assure Harry that this topic of conversation was not forbidden between them. Ignoring the dead fascist elephant in the room haunting them both wouldn't do anyone any good. "I heard they stopped teaching Amortentia in Potions classes at all the major wizarding schools because of what you said about how love potions made him the way he was."
Harry nodded—that had been a point of pride for him, some actual social change. "They don't sell them at joke shops anymore, either." Weasley's Wizard Wheezes had thrown a party where they destroyed all the bottles in their stock. "So I suppose we were the last class of Hogwarts students to learn it."
"What did yours smell like?" Draco couldn't help but ask. "I saw you sniffing the cauldron like you were trying to get high on it."
"Ha, maybe I was." Sixth year had been a lot. "It smelled of treacle tarts, wooden broomstick handle, and a sort of lavender smell, flowery but also vanilla. Why, what did you smell?"
Draco's thoughts immediately went to the lavender-vanilla shampoo and conditioner he brewed for himself. A coincidence, surely, he told himself to stop his heartbeat from getting any faster. "Fresh chocolate cake baking," Draco recalled fondly of his own. "The smell of the Malfoy gardens before they all withered away from Vold—Tom's presence." So strange to say out loud. "And a delightful, almost soapy mulberry."
"I love mulberry," Harry agreed. It was the sort of soap he used, when he was feeling good enough to go out and buy his soap at a store other than the market on the corner of the street he could visit without speaking to more than two people the entire trip.
Neither man, too nervous and frazzled from the mere action of walking arm-and-arm, could put two and two together. Hogwarts didn't focus much on math, and Harry always resented them for not having comprehensive sex-ed.
"Here we are," Draco announced in front of an unassuming apartment complex.
"This is what we needed suits for?" Harry couldn't help but snark.
"Oh, hush. You'll see in a moment."
Harry allowed Draco to lead him to the door, looking around the place for signs of anything that might indicate magical concealment. There was nothing.
Draco pressed the buzzer for flat 2A.
"Password?" came a thick Scottish accent through the speaker.
"Bliss," Draco replied.
"Your usual table is available, Mr. Malfoy, would you like it prepared for ascension?"
"If you would for my guest and I, yes."
"Come right up."
The door to the complex opened. "This way," he said to Harry.
Harry felt sweat form on the back of his neck. Where were they going? Was this one of those strange parties that Draco had mentioned earlier? Oh, no, Harry was not ready for that sort of thing. "Um, Draco," Harry began as they started the climb up the dingy staircase. This did not seem at all to be at the cleanliness standards that Draco Malfoy had displayed earlier in Hogwarts and likely had been amplified by his profession.
"You'll see," Draco insisted, picking up on the twinge of fear in Harry's voice.
They reached 2A in no time at all. Harry was trying to trust Draco on this but he really hadn't said much about their destination, and things were looking sketchier by the minute.
Draco knocked rhythmically on the flat door and a slot slid open with two eyes peering out. They widened in recognition and the slot closed. Harry heard several mechanisms unlocking on the door and felt for his wand with his free hand just to reassure himself it was there.
When the door opened Harry was expecting an interior similar to the dusty brownstone the main hallway was in, and was deeply, pleasantly surprised.
The flat seemed almost to be glowing and Harry had to blink to adjust to it. White floors and white walls with gold lacquer detailing shone brilliantly under bright, stylish lights hung from the ceiling that looked like dandelion puffs. The windows were covered in white panels with massive fountains in front of them—was that chocolate?
"Welcome, Mr. Malfoy and Guest," the Scottish man from before greeted them. He was dressed in a fine-pressed tuxedo uniform with a cloth hanging over his arm as if he were a waiter. Was he a waiter? "Welcome to Heaven."
"Words I'll never hear from anyone but you, hm?" Draco joked, indicating it was time for them to walk into the flat. "Let's ascend, then."
Harry looked over the Scotsman's shoulder to see just what he was getting into and his eyes found—fancy golden buffet tables? He couldn't tell what was in them at this distance.
"Is it your first time experiencing bliss with us, Sir?" asked the attendant.
"Uh," Harry replied, eyes wide.
"It is Mr. Potter's first time, yes," Draco spoke for him. Was this too much? Was this too weird and theatrical for Harry? Should he have chosen somewhere else?
"Right this way then, please."
Harry stepped forward with Draco and the door sealed behind them, golden locks resealed with a speed that made Harry nervous. Once inside the light was less blinding and his eyes began to adjust. There was artwork on the wall, some of scoops of ice cream and others of molten cakes. What was this place?
They reached a marble table with two ornate dining chairs—all right next to a massive chocolate fountain. "This is my favorite table," Draco explained to Harry. He released his arm and stepped behind a dining chair, pulling one out and indicating for Harry to sit on it.
Quite the gentleman. Harry's eyes were still darting around the room—several more buffet tables, several other patrons laughing over what looked like menus, more attendants, too. He took his seat looking a bit panicked.
"Harry," Draco said as he sat in the chair across from him. "What is going on in your head right now? I can see smoke coming out of your ears."
"I—I don't know what this place is," Harry answered, still trying to parse all the chic decorations and how everyone here was indeed wearing a suit or a gown.
"This is Heaven," spoke the Scotsman, handing out two leather-bound booklets—menus after all. "London's premiere secret sweets shop. Are you ready to experience bliss?"
Harry blinked. Was this one of those themed dining things? So it wasn't a BDSM thing? Harry couldn't tell if he was relieved or disappointed.
"Menus won't be necessary," Draco said, handing his back. "We'll be having one of everything."
"Of course, Mr. Malfoy."
"I'd still like to look it over," Harry insisted when the man reached for his, clinging to it like a child.
"Of course, Mr. Potter. I will inform your server of your selection and return to my place at the door. Please, enjoy."
And then it was just the two of them again.
"What," Harry said as soon as they were alone. "Is this place?"
"It's a little gimmicky, I know," Draco prefaced. "But you won't find anywhere better for your sweet tooth. The chefs here are world-class, and the location a well-kept secret amongst the London muggle elite. I ordered us one of everything so we can sample their whole menu and see what you like best."
Harry cast his eyes down at the menu. He noted right away that there was no pricing information which usually meant everything was so expensive and exclusive they simply expected the clientele not to care. The headers of the menu were quite promising, though. Cakes and Cupcakes, Frozen Treats, Specialty Teas, Cookies and Pastries… Harry licked his lips.
"This all sounds great," Harry said, eyes scanning for his favorites.
Draco's eyes went to his watch. 7:30pm—a little more than a half hour left until he saw what Harry really thought. Harry was quite sober by now, not even having gotten that drunk in the first place. Draco was just being careful. How ridiculous would it be if Harry lived through war unmaimed and was harmed by pink lemon drops interfering with apparation? "Their kitchen works quickly, which works with our timer," Draco reminded Harry gently.
"Oh, we really don't have to do that, Draco," Harry relented, blushing under Draco's gaze once more to be essentially admitting his enjoyment.
"Oh, but we do," Draco replied firmer, eyes narrowing. Harry sat up straighter. "I am deathly serious about my timers, Harry Potter. Time waits for no man."
"Timers?" Harry asked almost rhetorically because he wasn't expecting Draco to answer him.
"There are so many things you can do with a simple stopwatch." Draco's voice went lower, smoother. "See how long things last, run drills, measure time between activities."
Harry swallowed. "Wasn't really thinking of it like that, but I can see the appeal," he spoke up. It definitely wasn't anger he was feeling looking at Draco's neck now, but the heat was as intense. Harry set down his menu. Draco had done quite well on foot with two hours. The fact that he knew about silly muggle places like this and frequented them now made Harry smile. What he'd seen of Draco Malfoy before this day was but a chrysalis, and now he was witnessing the flourishing of the butterfly.
Harry was spellbound, not by any work of magic but by Draco's commandeering of what had actually been one of the best first dates of his life, if it could be called that at all. It sure felt like it with everyone here either looking like close friends or on a date. Did Draco bring dates here, or did he come to this table to eat sweets alone?
Their first 'course' came out on a massive golden platter carried by a woman in the same tuxedo has the doorman had worn. There were marshmallow cupcakes topped high with golden frosting, and rich vanilla ice cream with flakes of something sparkly in it. Little jelly-filled pastries that Harry couldn't identify caught his eye most of all, and fidgeted with his hands when they were placed on the tabletop between them.
"Please, take whatever you want," Draco insisted. "Nothing is too extravagant a request. Your enjoyment is the only measure of worth here."
Harry's hands and toes tingled now. He swallowed, and started piling up the pastries and more on his plate. Draco took that as his signal to begin his feast, preoccupied with some little chocolate truffles shaped like mice with slices of nut for ears.
The first bite Harry took of the mystery pastry was a revelation. He hummed loudly, almost a moan if he hadn't held back at the end of it. "Strawberry—delicious! And so flaky," Harry exclaimed before swallowing. "What are the little golden beads in the center, though?"
"Sugar covered in gold-leaf, most likely," Draco guessed.
Harry paused in the middle of his next bite for a moment. Only after thinking and chewing it over did he realize. "As in, gold, gold?" he squeaked.
Draco smirked. "Yes, gold-gold. Anything below 24 karat is unsuitable for the digestive track so it has to be high-quality," he informed Harry quite factually. It was also true that beyond helping people, Healer Malfoy loved his job as it allowed him to know all of this information about the body making himself feel quite superior in conversation. It was the little joys in life to treasure, Draco had found as grew older. "'Heaven' uses gold-leaf and other edible luxuries in their products."
"I'm eating gold, like, the metal gold?" Harry asked again, eyes blown wide.
"Yes, Harry," Draco laughed. "How does it taste?"
Harry curiously picked up a cookie with flakes on it. He bit in, experiencing a snickerdoodle that might indeed be divine. It took a few more bites with how focused Harry was on this perfect snack that he forgot to press his tongue against the flakes especially.
"It tastes like… nothing," Harry concluded with a bit of shock. "Nothing."
"Yes, it doesn't taste like much of anything at all."
"I can't even imagine how much you're paying for me to taste nothing," Harry marveled, almost horrified in light of his humble roots. "And I am grateful, really Draco, because these sweets are top-shelf, but… why?"
After swallowing his last bite of cupcake Draco allowed himself to laugh. "The Golden Boy had never even eaten gold—what a tragedy. I did it to right that wrong," Draco answered cheekily.
Their waitress came back and consolidated plates, putting out thick slices of red velvet and cheesecake next to classic chocolate-chip cookies. Draco helped himself immediately, and Harry followed suit as tea cups were refilled with hot, sweet brews.
"There are things you should experience," Draco went on once she was out of earshot again, dunking a chocolate-chip cookie into the chocolate fountain. "Now that you have the freedom and the means to, don't you think it's time?"
"It just seems… I dunno, a little frivolous."
"Don't you think you've earned frivolity?" Draco pressed stronger this time, leaning forward like he had in the bar. "Don't you think you deserve it?"
Harry ate another fleck of gold in the cheesecake, chocolate shavings rounding out the palette scrumptiously. He would have smiled at the taste but now his brow was furrowed thinking of what Draco was asking him. "I don't know," Harry answered weakly, returning to ravage the rest of the cheesecake in pursuit of truths.
Silence lingered between them once more, and Draco could hear his own heartbeat in his ears with how close to the wire this might be on time. The courses were coming out at acceptable speeds, ice cream scoops next. It was hard to speak with mouths so full so they went quiet once more.
Halfway between the next round of shortbread Draco had to say something.
"Harry, the net worth of good you have done in this world is undeniable. Not every second has to be that, though, you don't have to devote your life to others," Draco pushed, his shoe slowly moving towards Harry's beneath the table. "You aren't betraying a past you, or lost loved one by living your life as you see fit today."
Occupied with chewing on some cannoli's that had been placed down when he wasn't even looking, Harry used a full mouth as his excuse to keep quiet long enough to think. It was so hard to think Draco looking at him like that—like he really and actually cared. His velvety voice, the smell of baked goods, every sense of Harry's overwhelmed with the most saccharine of stimuli.
He finished chewing and locked his eyes on Draco's. "And you'll be the one to provide that, is that what you're implying?" Harry questioned. They had no more than fifteen minutes left at this point, and Harry's stomach was moving towards full. They could only really take a bite out of each dish now between the both of them, and Harry felt immediately guilty for asking and for eating.
"I'm not implying anything. This has been a lovely evening, Harry, nearly three hours now and we haven't even blindly attacked one another. I can make claims about your favorite things but I cannot claim to know your mind. I could never truly in such a short time. I do not imply, but I wonder. I told you, you give me ideas."
"Like this idea?" Harry asked of all the sweets they'd laid waste to in front of them.
"And a few others," Draco nodded.
Harry was going to ask to hear about them when the waitress returned with two final bowls.
"Now, to cross the rainbow on your return home," she recited as she placed rainbow sherbet down as their final dessert. "Thank you both for experiencing your bliss with us tonight, Sirs."
After slipping her his credit card Draco returned his full attention to Harry. "Well, are you ready to cross the rainbow, Harry?" Draco motioned with his spoon, a sherbet-eating grin on as he dug in.
"I think, horrifyingly, I am," Harry said. He was so full, but how could he resist this cheesy themed nonsense? For a moment they were away from the world, in an apartment with covered windows that no one suspected held such wonders. And all without magic, too. Muggles could be so brilliant in working with what they had.
Harry sampled his first bite and made a content noise as it melted in his mouth.
"I don't mind tasting the rainbow, either," Harry said and went for more. It took him a moment to realize his own accidental double-entendre.
"Quite the flirt, aren't you, Harry?" Draco replied in his most gentle of teasing, which for most was still pretty strong. "What is to be done about that?"
Draco's words set an earthquake beneath Harry's feet. Fuck, he was so hot, and he was leaning in even closer now. "I'm sure you'll think of something," Harry replied trying not to sound as hoarse as he was. He went for his tea next trying to soothe his dry throat as all air has escaped him to hear Draco speak to him this way. Draco had to know how this was affecting him.
The waitress returned with Draco's card. "We hope you join us again soon, Sirs and please, bask in the clouds with us as long as you please this evening."
"Thank you," Harry said to her because he was not at all sure how to play along with the storyline this placed had cooked up.
"Yes, thank you, excellent as always," Draco nodded as well and signed the receipt with a massive tip, leaving it on the edge of the table for her to collect once they'd left. "Well, Harry, it seems we're welcome as long as we like. Please, sit back, enjoy your tea." These last few minutes of their allotted time would be uninterrupted by outside distractions.
Harry was so tempted to look at his phone that his hands actually itched for it. No, no, he had to let this play out naturally. Why had Draco been so kind and gotten his expectations so high? That was never good. He sipped more tea but couldn't sit back. "Thank you for showing me this place, really. And this suit—I mean, I don't think I've ever looked better and you have to know how rare it is for me to compliment myself like that."
"Unfortunately I'm beginning to have some idea of it," Draco nodded with his knowing smile. "You are very welcome, Harry. To think you were the one I spent these past few days daydreaming of—'H', a submissive seeking solace. You are a vision in your new suit." Draco's eyes followed the seams of the jacket around Harry's arms, wondering how they would feel to hold. "Any Daddy would be lucky to call you his." What was he getting himself into?
Wanting things he couldn't have was something Draco always felt on principle, but this urge was sheer madness.
Draco's gaze warmed Harry's whole chest up again, tingles spreading out from the center to hear Draco say that oh-so-forbidden and heart-stopping five-letter word. His posh accent made it sound so unbelievably hot. "You daydreamed of me?" was all Harry could manage, face red but turned upwards smiling so hard it hurt.
"Long hours at St. Mungo's allow my mind to wander, and I wandered over to you. I will admit my shock and horror at first but I couldn't be happier that 'H' is you, and that you're you, Harry," Draco admitted with some pain. Sincerity was a risky move in a world like this.
"I am, too," Harry followed up quickly. "I'm glad you're you, too. Seeing you like this—"
A chime went off, like the sound of a churchbell shrunk down with magic. Was that what Draco had in his watch? Harry looked to Draco a bit horrified. Had he messed this whole thing up? Was it all going to end?
"What now?" Harry asked, voice thinner than before, afraid to lose this feeling.
"Well, Harry, I believe that is entirely up to you. Now that I am sure you're sober as the day you were born I am open to hearing all about your ideas, too."
"Draco?"
"…Yes?"
"Show me the guest bedroom."