It is what it says, all Drarry. I decided to pull together several of my short stories into a collection of One Shots (it makes more sense to do it this way) so this was originally 'Dragon Moon Café', but now includes '25', 'Bloody Malfoy', 'In the...
A/N This is the second part to 'Private Dancer' (the title might be a bit of a giveaway) as requested by @masked-lady. I wasn't intending to do a second part (that actually turned in three parts) but had half this idea kicking around in my head for ages and it all tied together.
WARNING: There is a very brief but open conversation about suicide later in this part (relating to the year six incident in the boys' bathroom). Please don't read if you'll find this triggering. I have put *** on each side but I'm not sure the conversation will flow without the section.
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A gust of Autumn wind rattled the door to the icecream parlour and Draco glanced down at the clock on his phone again as he clutched it tightly under the table against his thigh.
5.31pm.
He knew that Harry's phone would beep in about two minutes as soon as he reached the Atrium of the Ministry to signify unread text messages waiting for him. Harry had told him that there was no reception elsewhere in the Ministry but he always welcomed those beeps as he left work. They were an audible signal the he was properly leaving for the day. Since then, Draco had made it his life's mission to ensure there was always a message waiting for Harry, even if it was just something brief or a photograph or even just a silly video, normally of himself in his younger years being a complete drama queen. And there was a lot of evidence of that. There had been a phase after the war when old Slytherin acquaintances liked to send him clips, normally with unkind intent, but he didn't care about such things because of the entertainment they provided when used correctly...
Draco could imagine Harry so undoubtedly, so visibly, striding with unforgiveable purpose through the dark-tiled space and past the hideous central sculpture in the Atrium. He visualised Harry wearing his black beanie and in his black Auror uniform, fishing in the deep pockets of his long black coat for his phone and that messy tangle of earphones too so he could shut out the world and ignore anyone who tried to talk to him. He could envisage Harry's purpose distracted by the ring tone of his phone, his movements almost clumsy in his hurry; a strange mix of the boy from school who could be so hapless and vulnerable at times and then so determined and resilient at others; the boy... man who brought down Voldemort with sheer grit and resolve. The man Draco had nearly broken after everything he'd been through and Draco couldn't forgive himself for that.
He envisaged Harry, his Harry, with his eyes widening slightly, the green darkening fractionally, because the first message was a selfie from the morning: Draco with mussed-up hair and wearing leather trousers and a tailored white shirt; the top three buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up to reveal hints of his tattoos. The shirt was hitched up slightly, just revealing a hint of smooth flat stomach and, more importantly, more purposely, the flash of thin red satin at his hips; a new G-string he'd bought especially for today. He had wanted to wear an outfit he felt rebellious in and that humoured him, even though no one else but him or Harry would know. Even though he'd be uncomfortable and would probably start squirming as it rode upwards in an unfortunate fashion.
He imagined Harry's eyes lingering on that hint of red, darkening further as he stifled a low throaty groan that could almost be described as a growl.
However, Draco knew Harry's look would quickly change to concern at the second message he sent while sat on the train to London. It simply said: Me on the inside... Followed by:
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