August 10, 1995
The sweet scent of cinnamon and sugar fills the air as Draco slips through the back door of the bakery. Luca stands at the counter, flour dusting his dark curls, his expression a mix of joy and wariness. He lets Draco kiss him to his relief. His lips are warm and taste like fresh bread against his and Draco can feel the tension from his conversation with his father draining out of him. As Draco moves to deepen the kiss Luca pulls away and Draco lets him with reluctance.
"You're late," Luca says, wiping his hands on his apron.
Draco shrugs, hiding his guilt with the casual gesture. A Malfoy never admits fault.
"Father insisted on a lengthy dinner discussion about my future as the Head of the Family and all the responsibilities I will need to complete as a Wizengatem member," Draco says in a bitter voice, "I came as soon as I could."
"But I thought you wanted to be an experimental potioneer and compose music? How will you have time to do that if you are having to deal with all of the Pureblood politics,"
Over the last few weeks, Draco has been educating Luca about the intricacies of Pureblood heritage and culture. It is slow going. Some things can only be understood if you are born into them.
"My wants are irrelevant in comparison to the family's needs," Draco says in a dismissive voice.
"But what if your wants are a need? How can you be happy without pursuing your own life?"
Draco sighs, this is the problem with educating outsiders on their ways, they always question things and misconstrue the simple facts of their life.
"I will be happy because I am serving my family and fulfilling my father's vision for me,"
"But…" Luca starts to say and then trails off.
"But what?" Draco asks in a harsh voice, feeling judged.
"Your parents shouldn't…" Luca says, his voice wavering.
"My parents shouldn't what, Luca?" Draco growls in a dangerous voice.
Unease mixed with disappointment flashes across Luca's face for a moment and he takes a step back, looking unsure.
"Nothing," Luca says in a hollow voice. "It's just... never mind. Did you want to try the new éclair recipe?"
Draco's irritation lingers but he pushes it back and moves closer, reaching for Luca's hand.
"I thought we could go for a walk. The weather's perfect."
Luca pulls away, gesturing to the stack of dishes. "I can't. I've got another hour of cleanup, then early prep for tomorrow."
"Can't you skip it? Just this once?" Draco presses needing the clean air to clear his head.
The more time he spends with Luca the more he realises how stifling his day-to-day life is.
"Skip it?" Luca asks looking uncomfortable. "Draco… I can't. This is how I support my family, how I'm saving for Aggie's school fees. If I skip then my father will have to pick up an extra shift at the Muse and he already did that twice this week to pay for Aggie's birthday present,"
Draco frowns in confusion.
"I could help with the fees, it's no trouble at all,"
"It's sweet of you to offer, Draco, really," Luca says looking uncomfortable, "But it would make me feel like your charity project,"
"It's not charity," Draco protests. "You're my boyfriend, I care about you. I want to help,"
For as long as I am allowed keep you that is, Draco thinks.
Luca turns away looking conflicted, his shoulders drooping. "I understand that, but the best way you can help is by talking about our differences and working to understand them. I notice you change the subject every time family comes up,"
Draco falls silent, watching Luca scrub a mixing bowl, with sluggish movements. Sees the exhaustion clear on his face and the callouses on his hands from manual labour instead of flying. The distance between them looks vast, despite the small kitchen. He feels guilty, but at times like this, he questions if it is all worth it, this constant miscommunication.
"I'm trying," Draco says softly. "It's not easy for me. Everything about this — about us — goes against everything I was taught."
Luca turns, meeting Draco's gaze.
"I know. But Draco, if this is going to work, we need to see each other. To share things. Our life, our struggles, our family. The good and the bad. Not just the parts that fit into the happy little world we've created."
Draco swallows hard.
"I want to," and it's only partially a lie, "I do. I just... I don't know how."
Luca's expression softens slightly. He reaches out, taking Draco's hand.
"Then let me show you. No more sneaking around. Come to dinner. Meet my family. See how we live."
Draco's heart races, fear and curiosity warring within him. He shouldn't his father is sure to catch on eventually, but if he says no, he could lose Luca.
"I... okay. Yes. I'll come."
As Luca smiles, squeezing his hand, Draco realizes this is just the beginning of their trials and that it will only get harder. A nagging voice in the back of his mind whispers about the risks he's taking. What if his father finds out? What if someone sees him entering a muggle neighbourhood? The consequences could be severe, not just for him, but for Luca and his family as well. Yet, as he looks into Luca's eyes, he finds himself willing to take that chance.
Draco blinks the sun from his eyes as it filters from the windows above him. His sparkling fingers hover over the ivory keys, sending tiny fractals of light around the room. He'd just settled in front of the piano after a night watching Potter twist around on his bed mumbling Draco's name, when the vision hit him.
They are getting uncomfortably intimate, these glimpses of fancy. He is sharing things with this imaginary person, this Luca, that he never thought he'd tell anyone but his mother. Though even she didn't know about his hidden desire to be a potioneer. He'd rarely admitted it to himself as far as he can remember. What makes him the most uncomfortable is the concessions he's willing to make for the muggle boy. Agreeing to meet the boy's parents? It was unheard of without a formal engagement contract being started in Pureblood culture. It made his muscles tense uncomfortably.
He pushes all thoughts of the visions away and presses down on the F major key, its flat note steadying him. The rich scent of wood and polish fills his nostrils, evoking bittersweet memories of the Manor's music room, unused and gathering dust. Lily had made it abundantly clear since his little outburst in the plant store that the piano on the second landing was his to use whenever he wanted. He had sneered at her at the time, declaring boldly that he would never play it, but now with all his siblings out hunting he finds himself drawn to it.
A lifetime of conditioning makes his hands hesitate, hovering just above the keys. The voice of his father echoes in his mind, reminding him that Malfoys do not lower themselves to common entertainment. Draco glances around furtively, half-expecting to be caught in this moment of weakness.
Unbidden, a memory surfaces: the Great Hall at Hogwarts, filled with the sounds of chatter and laughter. A Hufflepuff boy, Justin Finch-Fletchley, sitting at a conjured piano, fingers dancing across the keys. Draco remembers the sneer that twisted his own lips, the cruel laughter of Crabbe and Goyle as they mocked the performance. "Look at the little monkey dance," he had drawled, loud enough for nearby tables to hear. The hurt in Justin's eyes, the abrupt end to the music – it all comes back with startling clarity.
Draco shakes off the memory, his jaw clenching. 'This is different,' he reassures himself, straightening his posture. 'This is merely an intellectual exercise in musical theory and composition. Nothing more.' But even as he thinks it, Draco knows he's lying to himself.
It's been months since he played last but it doesn't seem to matter as his fingers finally make contact with the keys, the cool ivory both foreign and familiar against his skin. He begins to play and is immediately startled by the speed and precision of his movements. His vampire physicality allows his fingers to fly across the keys at inhuman speed, producing a complexity of sound he'd never achieved in his human life.
He plays Swan Lake, an album he found in the vampire's extensive music collection after discovering the book he read is based on a ballet. A ballet that made Regulus Black and later Potter famous for their performances in it. Draco smiles as he thinks about Potter and the sweet smile he wore on his face right before Draco left him. He thinks of Harry - no, Potter - and his graceful performances on stage from the videos he saw online. Had Potter felt this same rush of freedom, of pure expression? The thought both irritates and intrigues him, much like the boy himself.
The contemplative mood of the song shifts as Draco finds his fingers moving of their own accord, trying to capture the gentle yet tense feeling that washes over him when he watches Potter sleep, when he hears Potter murmur his name, when Potter cries out for Sirius in his sleep. The guilty somberness Draco feels knowing what Potter sees is reality, not a dream.
As he plays, the music seems to take on a life of its own, evoking emotions he's been trying to suppress. The tenderness, the confusion, the unexpected joy - all of it pours from his fingers into the keys. It's as if the music is the only magic left to him now, a new form of expression to replace the wand he can no longer use.
Fighting against the ingrained disgust at 'dirtying his hands' with such a pursuit, he picks up a blank notebook and a muggle pen lying on the bench next to him and starts writing down the notes he plays, crossing out some and keeping others. The freedom to create whatever he wants is intoxicating, so different from the strict, approved melodies he was allowed to hear growing up. He feels a warmth growing in his gut, a feeling so foreign yet addictive that it momentarily overrides his shame.
He missed this, and for once he didn't have to worry about being ready to jump up and pretend he was simply reading about Pureblood customs in case his parents appeared in the floo. As a vampire, time feels different - more fluid, less pressing. He loses himself in the music, barely noticing as minutes stretch into hours.
Too absorbed in his task to notice his surroundings, he doesn't even hear as his family filters in from their hunt or that the music flowing from his fingers speaks of hesitancy, a willingness to keep one's distance, to watch and observe, as something grows hidden underneath, something that will derail all his carefully laid plans and will refuse to be stopped.
The morning of the beach trip Harry allows himself to feel a small ray of hope as he sees weak sunlight shining through his window. Maybe just maybe it won't rain today. Harry's luck holds out as he pulls into the parking lot of Ron's dad's sports store, parking his Firebolt near Hermione's bug. He says hello to his friends as they climb into the back of Lee's truck with Fred, George and Neville. When they pull into the park they go off to find Ginny. She sits with a group of other members of The Balsam, laughing around a green and blue fire.
Ginny, with her vibrant black and red hair flowing in the wind, approaches Harry and pulls him down onto a log next to her. Ron blushes as he sits on a log next to Hermione and leans close to her. Fred and George make kissy faces at him when Hermione's back is turned and Ron gives them the finger. Ginny pulls him into a warm hug, the familiar scent of cedar and pine washing over him and whispers,
"It's good to see you, Harry.
"Harry, Ron, Hermione meet, Parvati, Seamus, and Lavender," Ginny announces to Harry's friends.
"It's nice to see you again" Ron says with an awkward wave.
It takes a few minutes of stilted conversation but soon both groups are talking like they've been friends for years.
"Harry was so sweet, he invited Draco, but he couldn't make it." Hermione chimes in.
Parvati's face goes dark as she looks at Harry, her face full of disapproval.
"The Cullen's don't come here,"
Harry feels a rush of cold go down his spine and he curls in on himself as a chilly wind blows through him. Hermione pulls the conversation towards the differences in their curriculum seeming jealous of their ability to cover more nuanced aspects of history than their prehistoric lesson plans allow them.
Ginny's gaze is filled with a mixture of excitement and nostalgia as she gestures towards the vast expanse of La Push Beach ahead of them.
"Come on, Harry. I can't wait to show you around," Ginny says eagerly, her eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief.
Harry follows Ginny along the sandy shore, the rhythmic sound of crashing waves causing him unease, but he tries to push it to the back of his mind.
"What did Pavarti mean, by 'The Cullens don't come here?" he asks.
"Oh, that?" Ginny says with a nervous laugh.
Harry nods and smiles at her to ease her tension.
"Well, it's has something to do with the origin story of my people."
"I'd love to hear it," Harry says trying not to sound too eager.
"Alright," Ginny says with a smile.
As they walk, Ginny recounts the fascinating origin story of the Equoni Aninoquisi, and their encounters with the mysterious "pale faces."
Listening intently, Harry is captivated by Ginny's storytelling, weaving a tale about ancient monsters disguised as people who preyed on her tribe. She explains how her people eventually made a treaty with a particular group of pale faces because supposedly they didn't hunt humans, though it made them no less dangerous. The sun sets casting a golden hue over their faces, as Ginny's voice trails off and they descend into silence.
"Wait?" Harry asks confused after a few minutes, "How could they be the Cullen's if it happened a long time ago?"
Ginny leans forward into his face and says in a spooky voice,
"Unless they don't age."
She laughs at Harry's expression of horror.
"Impressed?" she asks with a grin.
"Yes, I found it very informative."
Ginny smiles.
"Come on Harry, lets get back to the others," Ginny says, grabbing his hand and pulling him along behind her.
Harry follows her, knowing he has a lot to think about.
Harry joins the group again, but his mind is consumed with thoughts of the mysterious Cullens. As they part ways for the night, Harry bids everyone goodbye and retreats to his room, unable to shake off the unsettling feeling that has settled in the pit of his stomach.
Once alone in his room, Harry paces back and forth, his thoughts swirling with images of immortal beings and ancient myths. Unable to resist the lure of knowledge, he settles down in front of his computer and delves into a whirlwind of late-night research.
Hours pass as Harry immerses himself in articles, folklore, and legends. His heart races as he uncovers dark and unsettling tales that make his blood run cold. He reads about Lamashtu, a malevolent demon who preys on infants, and Revenants, undead beings seeking revenge from the living. The stories of striges, vampiric creatures that feed on human blood, send a chill down his spine. And when he stumbles upon the legend of Lilith, a seductive entity known for her beauty and thirst for blood, Harry's hands tremble involuntarily. She looks so much like Luna, that Harry finds it hard to look away.
As the night wears on, Harry's mind becomes a battleground of rationality and fear. The creatures that he has researched match certain aspects of what Ginny mentioned-cold skin, immortality, beauty, and blood-drinking but none he reads about fully align with all of the characteristics.
With trembling fingers, Harry continues his search, desperate for answers that seem to dance just out of reach. The enigma of the Cullens hangs heavy over him. Could they truly be something so beyond human comprehension?
Images of pale, cold-skinned figures with unearthly beauty linger in his mind like a haunting nightmare. Every time he closes his eyes, their piercing red gazes bore into him, sending shivers down his spine. Paranoia makes the scent of blood seem to permeate the air around him, as though its insidious touch has leaked into the fabric of reality itself. With a trembling hand, he pulls the covers over his head, knowing he is being childish but being comforted by the gesture anyway.
Harry glances around at the graveyard that surrounds him. Most of the headstones are worn down to smooth stone surfaces, the names that adorned them long forgotten by the living. An old graveyard he thinks, as he walks further through the headstones, reading off the few readable names, hoping to find a clue to determine his location. An odd sense of foreboding is building in his gut, but no recognition follows the feeling. He hears the sound of pounding footsteps up ahead and frowns as Ron and Hermione jet towards him.
"I'm so sorry, Harry!" Hermione babbles, "We should have listened to you."
"You were right, mate!" Ron cries.
"I was right about what?" Harry asks in frantic confusion as a shaking Hermione leans into Ron.
"Draco…he is a Death Eater." Ron chokes out.
Terror races through Harry's veins at those words and Hermione lifts up her tear-streaked eyes to meet his.
"Run," she whispers in a soft voice as she and Ron take off.
Harry wants to follow them, every nerve in his body screams to get away but he walks on, drawn to a giant cauldron at the center of the graveyard. One of the few graves with the full name and date printed on it looms tall with a grim reaper-like statue next to it. Harry reads the name, Tom Riddle, as shudders rack through his body. He remembers bonds and a knife….
"Harry, run! He's coming! You have to get out of here." Ginny screams appearing behind him.
Harry looks at her in confusion feeling like she just broke him from a daze, or maybe a memory.
"Harry! Please, he's almost here. It's not safe for you." Ginny insists in a desperate voice, yanking on his hand.
"Harry," a new voice croons, playing hell with his entire system.
"No Har-"
Ginny's shouts are cut off with a yelp as she falls to the floor convulsing.
"Ginny!" Harry cries as red hair covers her body and her features morph into those of a red-furred wolf.
"I always knew she was a bitch," the sweet voice mutters.
Harry's head whips around, his eyes meeting with a striking creature that sprawls back against the headstone. Harry freezes at the demonic red eyes that contrast the being's halo of angelic white hair and milky smooth skin. The being's robes fan out like powerful ash-colored wings making him look like one of Lucifer's fallen angels poised to snatch up lost souls. Another figure comes from around the headstone carrying a moving bundle and an intricate carving knife. He reminds Harry of a rat, keeping his head low to the ground and his shifty eyes averted. Harry winces as pain shoots through his forehead, just looking at the bundle.
"Lord Draco, I brought the knife." the man says in a pathetic voice, bowing forward and holding the blade out in offering.
"No, need Wormtail. I have everything I require," the angel says sharp fangs descending from his mouth.
The angel gives him an ethereal smile as he beckons in a feather-light voice, "Come here, Harry,"
Harry freezes as he feels all of his senses attuned to that perfect treble bell sound. He takes a step forward in a daze. A growl reverberates behind him and Ginny launches herself at Draco. Harry screams but he's not sure which one he fears for more, the wolf or his angel.
Draco throws the wolf into a nearby tree with a sickening thud, the trunk cracking down the middle from the pressure. The wolf slides down in a boneless sprawl and refuses to get up, no matter how much Harry urges her to.
"Is she dead?" Harry asks the angel in a pathetic small voice.
Draco sneers, beckoning him forward with an outstretched hand.
"Trust me if I wanted her dead she would be. Now come here unless you would like me to change my mind."
Harry feels the force of the command as he moves within the angel's reach, not a thought in his head to fight it. The angel's heavenly glowing hand snaps out and grabs his wrist in a punishing grasp, twisting it around so it reaches his mouth. As Harry struggles against the grip, Draco's fingers continue to push down until he feels his bone creak.
"Draco that hurts," Harry whimpers, suddenly remembering the name.
Draco's other arm circles his waist pulling Harry's back flush with his chest, his fingers spread out against Harry's stomach. Harry flinches as a cold wet tongue strokes his sensitive skin and sharp scraping teeth glide along his pulsing veins in gentle movements. Draco's sculpted lips follow his tongue and teeth, brushing and sucking the skin until Harry's blood feels boiling. The strange sensation must be melting his brain because a moan slips out of his mouth and Harry starts to feel white-hot pleasure pool in his gut. Draco purrs as Harry starts to grind against him, his arms tightening around him, bringing them closer together. The rat man, Wormtail, eyes the display nervously, worrying his lip between his teeth.
"Lord Draco…is that necessary."
"Shut up Wormtail," Draco growls.
Harry, lost in his haze, doesn't notice as masked-robed figures start to emerge from behind the gravestone forming a circle around them. After a few more minutes of this a cold voice full of contempt cuts in,
"The Dark Lord awaits, son, you don't have time to play with your…dinner."
Draco sighs his cool breath caressing Harry's wrist as he pulls his lips away. Without warning Draco's fangs slash back down opening a deep flowing cut, across the skin his angel just worshipped.
"Ahhh! Draco that hurts! No stop! Draco please!" Harry shrieks.
His pleas land on deaf ears as Draco drags him over to the cauldron, holding his wrist over it. His eyes were cold and empty, his grip like stone.
"Draco?" Harry whimpers, in a hopeless voice, hot tears rushing down his face and blurring his vision.
Harry falls silent, accepting his fate when Draco fails yet again to answer. Rivers of blood stream out Harry's wrist and into the cauldron coating the bottom in a garish pool. When Harry begins to feel weak and sways on his feet, Draco pulls his wrist to his mouth and lapping at the cut and soothing the pain. Through the numbness that settles over Harry, he sees that Draco healed it. The ice in his angel's eyes thaws as he looks at Harry's pale snot covered form. He takes several steps back drawing Harry's shaking body against his and cupping the back of Harry's head with his hand as Harry sobs into his chest.
"Shh, sweetheart, I've got you. We're alive. We will always be together. I promise I won't let you go. Shh.," his angel murmurs into Harry's ear, rocking him gently in his cool arms.
Harry wakes up choking on his tears, a strange cold feeling lingering in his limbs as if he'd been covered in snow. He swears the scent of apples and spearmint lingers in the air.
The weeks pass in a flurry and Harry is forced to say goodbye to Sirius and Remus who came home for Christmas so they could spend it with him as the holiday season ends. January brings snow and each day turns into a white blur of icy cold and wind. With the change of the season, the gossip about Collin and Harry dies down, but Cedric never talks to Harry again and he is unable to continue ballet. It makes Harry sad, but he is unsure what to do about the situation without making it worse. Draco provides more than enough of a distraction in any case. They do a strange dance around each other neither one wanting to break the standoff of bring back up the topic of Draco's strange abilities. They fall into a temporary holding pattern that Harry knows will only last for so long. Throughout it all Draco still sits with Harry's friends at lunch and even seems to win Fred over, though the interested gleam in Fred's eye is still visible when he looks at Harry. Harry also keeps up his end of the bargain and allows Draco to play doctor on him. It's really not too bad and they always go to Alberforth's for dinner afterwards so it's no real loss to Harry. Rosmerta dotes on Draco and they team up to make sure that Harry always finishes his plate and finds room for dessert. Draco and Aberforth talk business which Draco displays an exceptional amount of knowledge in for one so young. Strangely Aberforth doesn't seem so surprised.
Harry also finds himself gaining weight with Draco giving him his lunch and inviting Harry and his friends for dinner after school at a local restaurant more often than not. Ginny even joins them if she is able to and she and Draco become fast friends, both seeming to enjoy teasing Harry. Harry feels bad that Draco spends so much money on him and his friends but when Harry brings it up, Draco always waves him off, saying his family has enough for small luxuries like this. Harry gives up and admits to himself that it seems to do Draco good to hang out with someone other than his family. Despite it all Draco refuses to call him Harry and still seems uncomfortable on the first day of school when Harry calls him Draco as if no time has passed for him.
Early on a February morning Harry, sees Hermione and Draco in the library, heads huddling over books, smiles on both their faces. It makes him uneasy because he knows that Ron likes Hermione though he still hasn't worked up the courage to ask her out. He puts it out of his mind though knowing Draco will respect his friend. The next morning he spots a silver Volvo parked in Madam Puddifoot's Coffee House on his way to school. He suddenly feels a caffeine craving and pulls in. He tries to order a black coffee, but the barista frowns at him.
"We are only serving drinks from our heart collection today," she says.
"Umm…why?" Harry asks, confused.
"It's Valentine's Day."
Harry's eyes bug and he looks around, taking in the pink, white and red heart-shaped decorations and wonders how time passed so fast. He glances at the menu she pointed at and picks one at random.
"An Amortentia Latte…I guess."
"Good choice," she says, giving him a sly smile.
"Are you that desperate, Swan?" a voice behind him sneers.
Draco, Harry thinks, his heart beating out of his chest. He smiles as he turns around. His smile grows as he takes in Draco's outfit. He wears a tight blush pink cable knit sweater with silver hearts sewn into the weave and tight black jeans. Glittery pink eyeshadow coats his lids emphasizing his gold eyes, and matching his pale pink dyed hair. A single heart-shaped silver earring hangs from one ear. Black combat boots finish the look and add a touch of masculinity to the ensemble.
"I lost a bet to Blaise, the punishment was he got to dress me in Pansy's clothes. I guess I should be thankful it wasn't Luna's or I would be wearing heart shaped radish earrings." Draco mutters, taking in Harry's expression.
"I like Luna's earrings." Harry says feeling a spike of defensiveness for Draco's sister.
Draco's face transforms into a soft smile that Harry sees more and more of.
"I know, she told me,"
To stop the fluttering in his heart, he asks "What did you mean, when you asked if I am that desperate?"
Draco's expression drops away and he says with a disparaging look.
"Amortentia is the most powerful love potion in the world according to myths, only someone who wants to send out the message that they are desperately searching for love would order it."
Harry goes pink wondering if that's why the barista smiled at him. He shakes his head in refusal. Draco is just making something up to mess with him.
"So? It's not like the other options were any better,"
"You didn't want to try Espresso of Envy or Broken Hearts Brew?" Draco asks with a smirk, "You certainly leave a lot of those in your wake.
"Haha," Harry says thinking of the poor freshmen who had somehow not heard about Harry's desire to stay single and asked him out yesterday.
She had cried when he turned him down and Draco and Ginny wouldn't let him hear the end of it. He looks around the cafe and is surprised when he spot Hermione, who sits in the far corner of the with her head stuffed in a book and earbuds in her ears. She looks dressed up and pretty, like one would for a date in a red knitted sweater with a large gold heart on it and pink lip gloss. Harry wants to go over and say hello, but he knows from experience that she is lost to the world right now. Harry spies Draco's messenger bag slung over the chair across from her and raises his eyebrows.
"What are you two doing here?"
"Hermione and I are here for a date."
"Date?" Harry says in surprise, not expecting that.
"You know what a date is, right Swan? When two people elect to spend time together-"
"I know what a date is, Draco." Harry sputters.
"Amortentia for Harry," the barista calls out, placing a milky pink drink swirled with edible silver glitter on the counter.
Everyone in the small cafe swivels their heads around and stares at Harry, their eyes growing big as they recognize him. Excited whispers break out of all of the tables with none too subtle glances in his direction. Harry feels his face turning red as he pulls up the hood of his jacket attempting to hide his face. During Harry's distraction Draco rushes forward and grabs the drink shoving the end of the pink straw into his mouth.
"Hey what are you doing?" Harry demands, reaching unsuccessfully for his drink.
Draco takes a large gulp, his eyes never leaving Harry's. Harry watches in fascination as Draco's Adam apple bobs up and down, before he forces his eyes away. Draco screws up his face and scowls, as he shoves the drink at Harry. He hisses,
" Nice pick Swan, now if you'll excuse me I have a date to get back to,"
Harry frowns, trying to understand Draco's stranger than usual behavior as he watches him walk away. On his way out he grabs another straw, knowing he has no intention of actually using it.
Twenty date rejections later, Harry, sits in front of his computer and reads mouth agape, that Amortentia is in fact a real myth and the spit of the chosen paramour is the catalyst that makes the potion work.
"Draco?" Harry asks as Draco carefully inserts a needle into his arm, his eyes strangely tense as always.
"Harry, look at me," Draco commands in a firm voice, drawing Harry's eyes away from the blood flowing through the plastic tube and the smell in the air.
Draco had laughed when Harry explained that was why he almost fainted that day in class. They had been doing this for so long that Harry didn't mind. Harry playing Draco's reluctant patient and Draco his doctor. After of course he signed a large number of consent forms, that Draco's mother drew up for him, since Draco wasn't licensed to do this. Though he was better than most of the nurses that took his vitals in the past, always incredibly gentle as he put the needle in. Harry usually barely felt a pinch. It was doing something to ease Harry's fears of the doctors office and allowed him access to pain medication he never had with the Dursley's. Harry wasn't certain what it was doing for Draco, but he seemed happier as of late. Through trial and error they discovered the only way Harry got through the weekly drawing of the blood was for Harry to stare deep into Draco's eyes. It almost put him into a sort of trance and he forgot all about the blood smell drifting through the air.
"Yes, Harry?" Draco asks as he puts the vials away.
"What?" Harry asks still dazed from Draco warm eyes.
"You asked me a question?" Draco says with a patient expression.
"Oh, yes right. Umm…Are you interested in Hermione?"
Draco quirks his brow.
"Why?"
"Well on Valentines day you said that you were on a date. Then Ron saw you two talking to each other in the hallway after AP Psych. He said that you guys looked very….friendly."
"So?"
"Well….Ron likes Hermione so it would be bad form to go after her."
"Why?"
"Well….Ron's my friend and you're-"
" Not his friend,"
Draco maintained the stubborn argument that despite spending all of his lunch periods and most of his free time with Harry's friends that he didn't consider himself part of the group, nor did he want to be included.
"I know . I was just going to say that we are classmates and that comes with a certain level of comradery, "
A snort.
"If you say so," Draco says, "Now shirt off, swe-Swan"
Harry grumbles but does as requested, exposing his chest to the cold hospital air. Immediately goosebumps rise up along his skin. Harry fights back a flinch as Draco's cool latex-gloved fingers smear bruise paste on the place where Dudley kicked him in the stomach after tripping him on the stairs. He is glad Draco never asks him where he gets the bruises because then he would have to say that he got them from motorbike stunts which would only be part of the truth and he doesn't want to lie to him. Draco grimaces as he notices,
"I asked them to turn up the heat, but it would appear that they didn't listen to me," Draco growls, "Despite my father being the best doctor here and my family's many donations,"
Harry raises his eyebrows at Draco in disdain, "Just because you have talent and money doesn't mean people should bow down at your feet,"
Draco's face softens as rubs burn cream on the spot where Harry accidentally burnt himself taking a pan out of the oven without a oven mitt, "Yes, but you think they would listen to me because it's a good idea and they care about the comfort of all their staff and patients,"
"Sure," Harry says in a doubtful voice.
"Oh hush, you, or this will take longer," Draco grumbles.
When Draco motions for him Harry to put his shirt back on he sighs in relief, even if Dudley's cast-offs aren't terribly thick or fashionable it's warmer than his Phoniex clothes and better than nothing at all. He jumps in surprise when something heavy settles around his shoulders and sees with surprise that it's Draco's winter jacket. Draco's scent fills his mouth and Harry has to stop himself from burying his nose in the fabric and breathing deeply.
"You looked cold," Draco says as way of explanation, looking awkward.
"Oh, thank you," Harry says pulling the jacket tighter around him as he slips off the cushioned table, "I will give it back once we get to your car,"
Draco doesn't respond for a moment and then in a tight voice he says, "You can keep it…if you want,"
Harry stares at him with wide eyes.
"Draco I couldn-"
Draco cuts him off, "It's so last season, I was going to throw it away anyways, so it's either you or the bin,"
Harry's mouth falls open in surprise, he's never seen Draco wear it before and he all but takes notes of Draco's every outfit, but he nods, grateful for Draco's unexpected gesture. Before he can fully process the situation, Draco is striding purposefully towards him with a determined expression. He presses a thick green hat with a large H on the front onto Harry's head.
"Let me see your hands, Swan," Draco demands, his voice sharp.
Confused but obedient, Harry extends his hands towards Draco. Without hesitation, Draco shoves thick warm gloves onto his hands. The outside is made of intricately woven green fabric, and a large H is stitched on the top of each glove. The insides are lined with soft fur, providing the ultimate warmth and comfort. Harry wonders where Draco got these gloves from because the material feels strange and luxurious. As he looks at the gloves adorning his hands, he can't help but feel touched by Draco's thoughtfulness and care for him.
"Are these so last season too?" Harry asks in a joking voice.
Draco doesn't laugh like he expects, if possible he looks even more uncomfortable.
"They are a late Christmas present from Luna and I," he says, "The materials finally came in so she was able to make them,"
"Oh wow, thank you! I love them," he says looking at the Hs on them with new meaning.
For some reason, it brings a warm nostalgic feeling in his heart to see the first initial of his name sewed on his clothes.
"Dinner?" Draco asks holding out his hand in invitation.
"But I didn't get you anything," Harry says suddenly filled with a sense of guilt.
"You can buy dinner tonight Swan," Draco promises.
"Okay," Harry says in a hesitant voice, as he slips his gloved hand into Draco's, reminding himself that he doesn't want this to be a date.
"I never asked how visiting your godfather over Winter break was," Draco says, his golden eyes glowing in the flickering candlelight.
Harry's hand trembles as he brings the roll halfway to his mouth, unable to tear his gaze away from Draco. The way the light caresses his features, highlighting every hollow and curve, makes him almost ethereal. Harry's heart races. He can't deny that Draco is undeniably attractive - like a god-made flesh. But admitting it doesn't mean he is attracted to him... does it?
"Yes, Sirius was thrilled to see me," Harry manages, forcing himself to focus. "We rode our bikes together for hours until Remus scolded us to come in. The weather was nice as well. I missed the heat and the lack of rain." His eyes are drawn to the windows where the rain batters against the glass panes, threatening to turn to ice.
Draco frowns at that, but tries to hide it by taking a large gulp of his drink - the same one Rosmerta brings him every time he sat down. Harry notices he never actually seems to eat or drink much of anything else, yet he looks more filled out than Harry could dream to look.
"Do you approve of Remus dating your godfather?" Draco asks in an arch voice, one perfect eyebrow raised.
Harry raises his eyebrows in return, surprised by the question.
"Well, it's not really any of my business who my godfather dates," he replies, fidgeting with his napkin.
Draco shrugs his shoulders, his frown deepening. A strand of his platinum hair falls across his forehead, and Harry has to resist the urge to reach out and brush it back.
"Do you think your godfather would give you leeway in whoever you choose to date?" Draco asks, a strange look entering his eyes. Is that... hope?
Harry swallows hard. "Well, I am eighteen. He hasn't really voiced an opinion on who I was dating since I was fifteen and about to go on my first date."
He remembers how Sirius had handed him a fifty and instructed him to buy Cho's popcorn and to be home by midnight. It had been the most money any adult had given Harry up to that point, and he had a hard time making himself spend it and not hoard it for emergencies.
"No one too scary, right?" Draco asks with a smirk, leaning forward slightly.
The movement causes the fabric of his sheer grey undershirt to shift, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of his marble-like skin.
Harry snorts, trying to imagine himself with someone Sirius considers scary. They would probably wear pressed tweed jackets and dress slacks and leave their house ten minutes early for plans in case of traffic.
"Of course," he says with a confused smile.
"Do you think that I could be scary?" Draco asks, his perfect white teeth glinting in the low light of the restaurant.
There is something almost predatory in his gaze now, and Harry feels a shiver run down his spine - not entirely from fear.
Harry scoffs, leaning back in his chair and examining Draco with a critical eye. He is dressed impeccably, donning a bell-sleeved grey almost sheer undershirt that reveals glimpses of his toned chest and arms. A shimmery silver waistcoat hugs his torso, accentuating his lean form, and perfectly pressed slacks cover his long legs. His 'cloak' - as Harry calls it because he can't come up with any other words for the strange loose jacket-like thing that drapes over Draco like a sheet - hangs on the back of his chair. He looks like a young medieval Lord examining his kingdom, waiting for a servant to hand-feed him grapes.
"Maybe to some people," Harry says at last, thinking of Sirius and how he might react to someone so... put together.
Too put together, almost.
"Are you scared of me?" Draco asks, leaning further across the table until he is all but sprawling across it.
The ice in his empty cup clinks softly.
"No," Harry says in a hesitant voice, his heart beating so fast he is sure Draco must be able to hear it.
He notices other diners stealing glances at their table, whispering behind their hands. Harry fights against the urge to hunch down in his seat, he wishes it wasn't always like this when they were together. But with his fame and Draco's beauty, they always draw every eye in any room.
Draco's smirk widens, but before Harry can explain that he isn't scared of Draco per se, but the way that he makes him feel , Rosmerta sets Harry's food in front of him.
The tantalizing aroma of his meal momentarily distracts Harry, but he can't shake the intensity of Draco's gaze, or the way it makes his skin tingle with a mixture of anticipation and something he isn't quite ready to name.
"More drinks for the happy couple?" she asks, her eyes twinkling as she glances between them.
Harry feels his cheeks flush.
"We're not—" he begins, but Rosmerta cuts him off with a gentle laugh.
"Oh, don't be coy, Harry," Rosmerta chimes in with a playful wink, "I've seen the way you two look at each other. It's about time Forks had a proper romance to gossip about!"
Harry feels his cheeks burn, ducking his head to focus intently on cutting his steak. "It's not... we're not..."
"Now, now," Rosmerta continues, clearly enjoying herself. "There's no need to be shy. Draco here would be a much better catch than that Malcolm fellow if you ask me."
Draco's eyebrows shoot up, genuine curiosity sparking in his golden eyes.
"Malcolm? Who's Malcolm?"
Harry groans internally, wishing he could sink into the floor. But Draco's gaze is intense, expectant, and he finds himself answering despite his reluctance.
"It was... a while ago," Harry begins hesitantly, "When I was studying ballet with the Paris Ballet Company. Malcolm was a violinist – award-winning. We dated for a bit, but..."
He trails off, unsure how to continue.
Draco leans in, his expression unreadable. "But?"
Harry sighs. "His father didn't approve. Of Malcolm dating men, I mean. He wanted Malcolm to focus on his classical music career. I... I encouraged Malcolm to be true to himself, and to explore playing the violin for popular music like he wanted. It caused a lot of tension."
"I see," Draco says, his voice carefully neutral. "And what happened?"
Harry shrugs, pushing a piece of smoked venison around his plate.
"What usually happens, I guess. Malcolm chose his family's expectations over... well, over me. Over himself, really."
Rosmerta clicks her tongue sympathetically. "Well, that's his loss, isn't it? And all the more reason why you two should—"
"Rosmerta!" Harry interrupts, mortified. "Please, can we just... can we change the subject?"
Draco's lips quirk into a small smile. "Of course. Though I must say, I find myself rather curious about your ballet days now, Swan. Perhaps you could show me a few moves sometime?"
Harry looks up, caught between embarrassment and a strange flutter in his chest at Draco's teasing tone.
"I... maybe. If you're lucky."
Draco's smile widens, and for a moment, the rest of the diner seems to fade away.
"Do you think they can do it?" Rosmerta asks, her eyes pinched with worry.
Aberforth stays silent as he watches the couple through the glass hole in the kitchen door. The way Draco's eyes softens when he thinks that Harry isn't looking, the way that Harry keeps stealing glances at Draco with a small smile playing on his lips, the way their hands keep brushing against each other as they walk out of the restaurant.
"It's hard to say. I don't want to get her hopes up only to have them let down," he says in a tired voice.
"But Ginny-"
"Is still Albus's daughter. Loyalty to family must always come first,"
Aberforth says the line with a bitter resentment, as if he no longer believes such a statement.
"Only time will tell, for now all we can do is observe and wait,"
"Just imagine how amazing Dracula would have been if Van Helsing had been a badass woman," Ginny says in excitement, as she lays down the Dracula book she had been skimming.
"But Van Helsing is a man," Ron says with an arched eyebrow.
"So? We change stories all the time," Ginny argues, "Just look at Cinderella. In the original the step sisters cut off their toes and when they tried on the shoe it filled with blood,"
Ron gives her a nausea look, "That's disgusting, I'm so glad we aren't related."
"Oh if you think that's gross, at the end Cinderella's feathery friends peck the stepsisters eyes out. I think it's a fitting punishment for how they treated her throughout the story," Ginny says with a devilish smile.
"Mione! Make her stop!" Ron whines.
"Hermione agrees with me!" Ginny says in a condescending voice, That's why she hasn't saved you yet."
"What just because she is a female?" Ron asks confused.
Hermione groans and drops the Chemistry book that she was reading on the library table with a thud.
"I don't even want to know what either of you were talking about, as I can already tell that it isn't related to school," Hermione says with a glare, "Please just go somewhere else so I can have some peace and take Harry with you,"
Harry's head shoots up out of his own Chemistry textbook, in indignation.
"Hey! I didn't even say anything," he says.
"Harry you've been reading the same page for the last ten minutes," Hermione says with an exasperated sigh, "Just take a short break, walk around the block or go to some shops, but we didn't come all the way to Port Angeles's better stocked library for you to fall asleep,"
He follows Ginny and Ron out of the library and onto the main strip his eyes taking in the unfamiliar town. Harry eyes the storefronts as he follows a skipping Ginny and a sour-faced Ron along the main strip.
"I can't believe she kicked us out, this was going to be my moment when I finally asked her out," Ron grumbles.
"Ron, oh dear brother that's thankfully not mine, you were most certainly not, or you would have picked a better time than when Herm was nose deep in a book,"
"It's scary when her full attention is on you though," Ron complains, "I was hoping that she would be a little distracted and wouldn't realize what she was saying when she said yes,"
Ginny gives Ron a dull look, "How noble of you," she deadpans.
"Hey, I think I am going to check out that book shop," Harry says as he spots the shop name he looked up when they made the plans to come up here.
Ginny groans, "But we just left a place full of books, don't you want to go somewhere else?"
"There's a book that I want to buy that isn't at Forks and Blotts," he says with a shrug.
"Come on Ron, I see a Harley Davidson store, I need a new three pocket batwing fairing pouch, "Ginny says, dragging a reluctant Ron to the store, "We will catch up with you later, Harry,"
Ron sends a pleading look at Harry before he disappears into the crowd and Harry resists the urge to chuckle. He is glad that all of his friends get along. He worried that they wouldn't and is pleasantly surprised by Ginny and Ron's sibling dynamic and that Hermione seems to appreciate having another girl in the group. A few minutes later Harry leaves the store disappointed and empty handed. The shop owner says they haven't stocked that book in years and that the only place he could think of that may stock it is a store owned by a member of Ginny's tribe about a twenty minute walk from here.
A part of Harry knows it would be a good idea to ask Ginny and Ron to come with him, but he feels bad about asking them to come and make Ginny to look at more books. If Harry texts them where he is going Ginny will insist on coming with him or following him. So instead he decides to go to the new bookshop quickly and then pretend he was at the first one the entire time when he meets back up with them.
He is sure nothing bad could happen to him in such a small amount of time…