A collection of short Drarry moments about their fluffy friendship. Each story builds towards the epiphany in the two oblivious young men that their growing friendship means far more than they realise. Each moment stands alone, unless otherwise stat...
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The hotel-room door is opened by an unassuming woman in black. One might not think anything of her, except this is the infamous 'Peanut'. To get to Harry Potter, one has to go through Peanut. She's his gatekeeper, PA, friend, maybe bodyguard, maybe ex-Auror. No one is quite sure of her full role; perhaps only Harry himself knows the actual answer to that. What we know, in press-circles, is that one does not mess with Peanut. Apart from anything, she has a prosthetic blade and it commands respect.
She waves me towards a sofa and knocks on a door which adjoins to a bedroom, then she merges into the background.
Like Peanut, Harry wears black but he's barefoot and his hair is its usual chaos. It's noticeable that he has a wand-holster strapped to his leg.
Mr Potter,' I stand to greet him.
'Please call me Harry,' he waves formalities away. He's clearly relaxed, smiling easily.
He's the epitome of politeness as he offers me a cup of tea. He waits, knowing the questions I want to ask. Since the 'Kiss-Cam' incident, the press has been going wild. The day after, all news of England winning their qualifying match was knocked onto the second page as photo after photo of Harry and Draco Malfoy kissing dominated the broadsheets. Everyone has been clamouring to get to him. I have been granted the honour.
'Why me?' I ask.
He studies me with intense emerald-green eyes, there is a hint of forest green too. 'Because I like how you write. There's an honesty in your words and I believe you'll report without bias.'
Admittedly, I'm flattered. 'You have a problem with bias in the press?'
His eyes harden briefly. We both know the answer to that question, about how he was treated during and after the Tri-Wizard Tournament, through school, the hounding after the war, people trying to get him to whore himself for their own profit. 'Ask something else...' he says bluntly.
He is no longer a naïve eighteen-year-old desperate to please everyone. And, if this is friendly, I wonder how criminals feel under his interrogation.
'Can we talk about your work?' I suggest. Rumour is he's destined to take over from Head-Auror Gawain Robards when he retires. At twenty-three, he already has his own department, a team of elite Aurors but not much is known beyond that. 'How did your department start?'
He smiles readily, relaxed again. 'We had a particularly strong intake the year I joined the Corps. We grew from there. My department deals with particularly difficult cases but I can't discuss them.'
'Is it true that you got Draco Malfoy into the Training Corps?'
He purses his lips briefly, 'not exactly. I just suggested that he should be given a chance, especially since he saved my life.'
That particular incident during the war is well covered so I don't ask. But he's given me the opening I need. 'It appears you've given him more than a chance.'
Smiling, he says, 'I realise that those who knew of our rivalry at school may be surprised. Draco didn't have much choice back then, any more than I did, our paths were chosen for us. He made the brave decision to change and challenge the assumptions. I decided not to be one of those who continued to judge. We put the past behind us back in our eighth year. In many ways we helped each other through the trauma of the war.'
I can see the fondness in his eyes, they have softened as he talks about his friend.
'And now?' I ask.
'We have been in a relationship for nearly a year,' he says. 'We haven't hidden it, we just haven't shouted about it either.'
A year! It shows the devotion this man induces in those close to him because no one's run to the press with this news.
He seems to know what I'm thinking. 'I'm very fortunate with the friends I have. Their loyalty's important to me, they're my family.' He lets out a bark of laughter, 'though, apparently they were rather frustrated with my obliviousness at school. I suppose my relationship with Draco is unconventional in that sense.'
There are rumours they have lived together for years; that Harry's highly-Warded and secretly-located house is something of a commune for his very close friends from school.
I say, 'there's been an assumption you're heterosexual.'
He frowns briefly, 'one thing that my job has taught me is that assumptions are dangerous and often inaccurate. I don't like labels. As far as I'm concerned, I love Draco and that's all that matters. He's a loving, caring, passionate man, and he's been here for me for the past few years.'
That love is clear in his eyes but I take a deep breath, knowing my next question will cause trouble, 'people might suggest he's cast an Imperius on you...'
Harry's eyes flash dangerously. They really are very expressive. Peanut has stepped forward out of the shadows and I hear movement in the bedroom. 'I can easily throw off an Imperius,' he says coldly.
I nod. 'Yes, I'd heard as much, besides, "Kiss-Cams" pick up on the chemistry between two people, they wouldn't work if you were cursed.'
He smiles again and the palpable tension dissipates. 'Yes, I suppose you're right. Would you like more tea?' he offers as he pours himself another. Peanut has merged into the background again and whomever is in the bedroom is still again, I assume it's Draco but I don't ask. The Malfoy heir is equally as elusive as Harry.
'Perhaps,' I suggest. 'Some photos?' I know he hates the camera but I still have to think of our readers.
He stays with his bare feet, lounging idly on his chair as I snap away. He may not look like a hero but it's noticeable he has a presence, a magnetism. It's also clear that he's humble, loving, and, after being with him for a short while, it's understandable why he is surrounded by such loyal friends.
