More Than a Memory

2

It started at Ron and Hermione's New Year's Eve party, kicking off 2001, although Harry doesn't remember much of that night.

Looking back, from the way his vision went glittery around the edges, he suspects the punch was spiked with fairy dust. To be honest, Harry had been too sozzled at that point to notice or care.

What he does remember comes back in snippets.

He sits beside Malfoy, who is perched on the edge of the sofa, looking around nervously.

"Malfoy, hey! Your hair!"

"Yes?" Draco answers stiffly, watching Harry warily.

"It's blue."

"It's teal," Draco sniffs, flinching away when Harry reaches out to touch. Harry drops his hand. "Are you drunk, Potter?"

"Lil' bit. 'S pretty."

"What?"

"Your hair. Teal. I like it."

"You...you do?"

"Can I touch it?"

Draco nods, and, now with permission, Harry reaches out and brushes his fingers through the bright strands. "'S soft, too."

Draco drinks from a cup filled with the same suspicious blue punch Harry had drunk before.

"I dyed it to surprise Teddy."

"I know, he told me. He loved it."

"He likes to change his hair to match mine, I thought he might like it if someone matched him for a change."

"That's nice, Malfoy. You're really nice."

"Take that back this instant, Potter."

They grin at each other.

They talk. And talk and talk and talk. Hours go by. The party goes on around them, but they stay on the sofa, talking.

Midnight passes, and after that most everyone goes home. Ron and Hermione head upstairs to bed, kissing and giggling as they go, barely acknowledging that Harry and Draco are still there.

Harry starts losing track of the conversation, focusing instead on how soft Malfoy's mouth looks.

He discovers that it is as soft as it looks.

They snog feverishly on the sofa.

Against a wall.

Stumble upstairs to the guest bedroom and lock the door.

Harry peels Draco's tight black denims off. His shirt. He stares at the scars on his chest and apologizes profusely, over and over.

Draco snaps at him to shut the fuck up and get on with it...

Harry remembers waking up the next morning with the worst hangover of his life, Draco breathing deeply beside him, the smooth, pale skin of his back facing Harry, his unmistakable teal hair splayed over the pillow.

"Merlin's fucking arse," Harry groans, running his hands over his face. "What the fuck?"

"Mmmf," Draco whines. He starts to turn over. The back of his hand hits Harry's bare chest, and he freezes. He slowly turns his head to look at him, his eyes going wide.

"Potter?!" He scrambles up into a sitting position, pulling the sheet up over himself as if Harry hasn't already seen it all. "What the fuck?"

"I...I don't know," Harry shakes his head, cursing himself for it when the pain increases. "I don't know what the fuck happened last night."

"We fucked," Draco says incredulously, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his hand. "Salazar's fucking...we fucked!"

Harry nods. "Er, yeah."

"My head feels like it's exploding," Draco's voice is shaky. "And I think I might vomit."

"Oh." Harry can't help feeling a bit hurt. Surely it hadn't been that bad?

Draco stares blankly at him for a long moment, then bursts out laughing. "Not because—because of the hangover, Potter you idiot, not because we—"

Harry feels the heat rising in his face. "Right."

Harry focuses his energy and wandlessly summons two vials of hangover potion from the bathroom cabinet with a flick of his wrist. He sits up to catch them and hands one over, drinking the vile-tasting orange liquid as quickly as possible.

Instant relief. His head clears and his stomach stops churning. The potion has a strange, almost pleasant aftertaste after the initial nastiness, like orange cream.

He watches Draco.

Draco stares at him for a long moment, eyes inscrutable, before pulling out the cork and downing his own potion. He coughs. "It was pretty damn fantastic, actually, from what I can remember." He blushes, pale cheekbones going pink. "You're more fit than I expected, under those horrible, ill-fitting clothes you wear."

"Auror corps," Harry mumbles, as Draco's eyes travel over his chest. He's aware of the changes to his body since he started the intense Auror physical training regimens, but in an oblique way. He doesn't give it much thought, and it still surprises him when someone comments on it.

"Very fit," Draco winks.

Harry's stomach flips. What...what exactly is happening, here?

"You're not bad yourself."

Draco's smile is wide and mischievous. "That's an understatement and you know it."

"Yes," Harry nods, finally catching up with the change in atmosphere, with the context that Draco is flirting with him. "You're beautiful."

They're naked in bed together, and Draco is flirting with him, and Harry has no idea how to deal with that, but he thinks he might...like it.

"I know." Draco grins. He stretches his arms over his head and sends Harry a lazy smile.

"So, what are we going to do now, Potter?" he asks. "Pretend it never happened? Awkwardly avoid each other for another three years after just barely starting to get along? Or..." his grey eyes glitter. "We could have a go sober and see how we feel after that?"

Harry swallows. Summons every ounce of his Gryffindor courage in him. "Option number three?"

Draco's eyes flash. He licks and then bites his lower lip. He didn't expect that answer, but he likes it. He leans in. "You never cease to surprise me, Potter."

"Scared, Malfoy?" Harry asks, brushing their lips together.

"You wish." 

✦ ✦ ✦

Aiden stares at Harry as he finishes his story. "I can't believe that turned into an actual relationship."

Harry shrugs. "I can't either, sometimes. It took us a while to admit that that was what we wanted, but we got there."

"Until he left."

Harry turns those vivid green eyes on him, and Aiden feels a strange tension in the air, as if Harry's anger is a real, tangible thing.

"I'm sorry," he puts his hands up. "I didn't mean to—"

"No," Harry sighs. "You're right, he did. It just...still hurts."

The weird tension dissipates.

"I should go," Harry says. He gets out of the bed and starts gathering and pulling on his clothes.

Aiden finds himself intrigued.

"We could, er, do this again? If you want my number?"

"Yeah," Harry says absently, "absolutely."