Tea and No Sympathy

Chapter 10

And as evening falls, they hide from the Muggle park-keepers and stay on after the park's closed, lying in the fading sunshine in the long grass near the Chinese pagoda, and Harry rolls over to face Draco and kisses him.

It's wonderful, and yet . . . this time, it doesn't feel right. Draco loves Harry. And they've already kissed, but Harry doesn't know that they've already kissed, and all of a sudden it's unbearable. Draco can't stand the thought that he should have to keep doing this, day after day, falling harder and deeper in love with Harry but never having that returned.

And since he has nothing to lose except his dignity, and he feels like he barely has that any more where Harry is concerned, he cracks – and, lying in the grass, with Harry's arms around him, he tells him about the time loop.

Harry frowns at him, sitting up, and Draco's not sure if he believes him or not – though whether that's because the entire premise is ludicrous, or because he thinks Draco's a complete idiot for what he's done, Draco can't tell. He thinks that if Harry did believe him, he wouldn't still be sitting there - he'd already be off, to tackle the problem head on, because that's the sort of brave, stupid fucker he is. Oh god, he loves him.

But Draco's so frustrated – and what the fuck does it matter, anyway, when Harry won't remember this the next day? – that he keeps on talking, despite Harry's evidence scepticism. He struggles up, to be on the same eye level as Harry, and his words coming out aching with honesty. "Every day I fall even harder in love with you. And you never remember! Will never fucking remember."

Harry's flushed, and he can't seem to settle, shifting on the ground, his hands wandering restlessly to fiddle with his shirt cuff, scratch his nose, the back of his neck, pick invisible fluff off his trouser leg, pluck a blade of grass. "Have you never considered though—" he says, and he stops, the words so thick in his mouth that it seems he can't go on.

"What?" Draco snaps, because it seems to him that he's considered everything, and may have an eternity of endless, pointless repetition in which to consider it some more.

"That – that," Harry fumbles. He swallows hard and seems to pull himself together. Calm settles across his features, and he sits up straight, hands flat on his knees.

Draco gazes at him helplessly, overwhelmed and taken aback by just how much he loves him.

"That while you're falling in love, I might have been in love with you all along?"

Draco's heart stops, and almost breaks. He has to get out of this sodding time loop, he has to, so he can hear Harry say that, and see him mean it, and know that the next day they'll both remember it, and the day after, and the day after that.

"Oh god," he says, and he kisses Harry, and it's desperate and fierce, and they lie together in the long grass and kiss and kiss and kiss, and rub their bodies together, and it doesn't even seem embarrassing when he comes without even taking his trousers off, because Harry's orgasm follows right behind him.

"What shall I do?" he asks as they lie in each other's arms.

Harry tells him what should have been obvious all along. Draco needs to get Hermione Granger on the case. What else?

^^^^^

Draco sits in Harry's kitchen and tries to look plausible. He's on one side of Harry's kitchen table, and on the other side, lined up like some sort of domestic jury, are Granger, Weasley and . . . and Harry.

The fact that Harry's on the side against him again, even if it's just a fucking kitchen table, makes Draco feel sick.

That morning, as soon as time reset, he got dressed as usual, picked up his owl as usual – as he does every day now, without fail, whether it's early in the morning or in the evening as the shop is closing – and Apparated to Harry's street as usual.