Author: Viridescence
Source: Archive of Our Own
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A Szerelem Labirintusa
* * *
“Love is an attempt at penetrating another being, but it can only succeed if the surrender is mutual.”
—Octavio Paz, The Labyrinth of Solitude (1950)
* * *
A short staccato of knuckles sounded on Draco’s office door.
“Come in, Potter,” he called, not looking up from his task.
Harry opened the door and leant on the frame. “How did you know it was me?” he asked, his lips tugging upward.
Draco smirked as he rifled through the papers on his desk. “No one else knocks like that,” he said. It was true, but more than that, he could smell Potter whenever he was within about ten metres. Not that he’d ever admit that, though. He took a deep breath, passing it off as an annoyed sigh. Yes, salt and warmth and fresh autumn air—Harry.
“You about ready to go?” Potter eyed him for a moment, then chuckled. “For once I’m ready before you are.” He nudged his bag with his foot.
Draco glared at him through the fringe of his hair. “I’m sure it’s only because you’ve just tossed your things willy-nilly into your bag in hopes of beating me,” Draco sneered. “Don’t ask me for any anti-wrinkle charms, you uncivilised baboon.”
Potter threw his head back and laughed, exposing a long expanse of throat and a handsome Adam’s Apple. Tease, Draco thought, and rubbed his tongue over his canines.
“You’d help me regardless, because I’m your partner at this conference, and Merlin forbid anyone with you look less than stunning.” Potter’s eyes were doing that damned twinkling thing he’d somehow inherited from Dumbledore. Only on Harry, it was maddeningly sexy, even more so since he’d stopped wearing glasses, and because it happened so infrequently. Potter no longer wore his heart on his sleeve like he had at school—he’d become more serious and reserved during the war. Harry only seemed to relax around his closest friends, and sometimes around Draco. They weren’t exactly friends, but ever since they were teamed together during the war, they’d been friendly, if not close, and they worked well with each other.
Draco particularly relished the moments when Harry was unguarded and open. It made his chest ache pleasantly.
“Yes, well, one must have standards,” Draco sniffed. “Ah, here it is!” He placed the parchment he’d been looking for in his briefcase and snapped it shut. Standing to gather his cloak and suitcase, he gave Harry a more thorough examination. Potter really did look very nice, in a fine black wool travelling cloak over navy formal robes.
“Do you approve, oh fashionable one?” Harry smirked.
“Eh… you’ll do,” Draco teased.
Potter snorted. “Snob.”
“Plebeian,” Draco retorted.
Harry grinned broadly. Draco shivered. “Shall we go now?” he asked.
Harry picked up his bag and stepped into the hallway. “They have our Portkey ready in the Travel Office,” he said.
Two flights of stairs later, he and Potter were standing on the Portkey pad, both clutching a book titled, Budapest: Thermal Waters. Smart idea, Draco mused, to use a tourist guide for their destination as their Portkey.
“So, are you ready for this?” Harry asked softly as they waited for the Portkey to activate. “You’ve put a lot into this conference. Do you think it will go well?”
