A/N Okay, that dance wasn't a 'sway' but I liked it!
They were dancing under the stars on the terrace at the Manor. Well, it wasn't really starry yet; there was still a turquoise hue to the darkening early-September sky. And it was more of a 'sway' than a dance but, in Harry's mind, they were dancing under the stars.
Whitney Houston cheesily crooned softly 'I-yer-I... will always love you' in one ear because they were sharing the headphones from Draco's iPod. It was nearly enough to make one cringe but Harry didn't care, it had been a tough three days and this was exactly what he needed as he rested a cheek on Draco's shoulder and they swayed together in the deepening gloom of the nearly starry night. Whitney Houston faded into George Michael's Careless Whisper and Harry decided he really needed to have a word with Draco about his taste in muggle music, later though because now would be most inappropriate timing.
The iPod had been a surprise gift for Draco and these days he was rarely seen without it. After Draco had heard about Peanut's running blade, he became a little intrigued about muggle inventiveness, asking all sorts of questions in a rather Arthur Weasley kind of way. So, Harry decided to give Draco the iPod for Christmas eighteenth months after Draco's house arrest started, just to blow his mind. He presented it in person with written instructions about charging it and where to plug in the headphones, how to play music and fast forward or rewind or shuffle, how to upload music and make playlists.
Once more, Harry had broken through the Manor's Wards using the replica Harry-shaped keyhole. It was just before midnight on Christmas Eve, when he judiciously felt his way through, once more carefully checking that he wouldn't trigger any alarms. The Manor was in absolute darkness as he strode up the gravel driveway, a 'Muffliato' cast to mask his footsteps. He did have his invisibility cloak stuffed in his winter coat pocket but he didn't bother to wear it this time. Instead, he walked into the Manor as if he owned the place, the locked door barely causing him to pause in his stride. Once inside, he cast a soft 'Lumos' and a ball of light hovered near his head and he positively skipped up the grand staircase, along the corridor, and slipped through Draco's bedroom door, closing it softly behind him. Draco was already fast asleep (because he wasn't expecting a guest, what with house arrest and isolation and everything) and Harry thought, albeit briefly, it was almost a shame to wake him. He looked so peaceful when asleep. Nearly angelic, Harry thought, with his now shoulder-length blond hair spread messily across his pillow. Then Harry grinned wickedly because he knew Draco was no angel and he was definitely going to wake him up. He discarded his long black coat onto the floor and perched on the edge of Draco's bed next to his hip before quietly whispering his name.
Draco jumped out of his skin. 'Fuck!' he bemoaned as his heartrate hit the ceiling and pushed himself into a seated position. 'Fuck, Potter!' He scrubbed his hand through his long, unruly, bed-hair. 'What is it with you? Are you some fucking perv who likes to watch people sleep?'
Harry snorted and wryly thought only you. He pushed the thought aside even though he'd long since admitted his feelings for Draco (to Severus only, though he suspected his close friends all knew) and said, 'I thought I'd deliver your Christmas present in person and you said next time I was to wake you.'
He couldn't stop himself from reaching forward and tucking some of the long blond hair behind Draco's ear. He hurried pulled his hand away, conscious of the intimacy of such a gesture. Draco looked different with long hair and Harry wasn't entirely sure he liked it, it just wasn't 'Malfoy', but it wasn't his place to judge and, besides, the constant moan in Draco's letters that isolation meant no haircuts inevitably led to Harry feeling justified in his aversion to it too. Harry, Hermione, and Peanut tried to find him some spells but Draco didn't dare try in case something awful and irreversible happened.
A silence had fallen between them as Draco unwrapped his first Christmas present of the year. Harry watched him carefully slide a thumb beneath the particularly tacky wrapping paper that Harry had bought: it had ice-skating penguins in green hats and polar bears in red scarves skidding across twee icy ponds while robins actually repetitively tweeted 'We wish you a merry Christmas' over and over as soon as Draco touched the present...
'Nice paper,' Draco sneered without venom.
'I found it especially for you, seeing as you complained about my previous lack of effort.'
'Polar bears and penguins inhabit the opposite poles.'
'And that's what you take umbrage with?'
They caught eyes and smiled. No mention was made of hats and scarves or non-polar birds singing actual words. Instead, Draco waved the scrunched-up paper across his room into the open fireplace and cast an 'Incendio' at it.
Harry gasped and clutched his heart, 'those poor robins.' He sighed as if heartbroken and Draco's smile widened and his eyes twinkled in far too a mischievous way for Harry to find comfortable.
Draco's reaction when he put the earbuds in and pressed 'Play' for the first time was priceless and worth every sickle Harry had forked out on the iPod. Harry would never forget the shock on his face. Not that Harry had helped the amalgamated look of surprise, bewilderment, horror, and fear that battled across his features because the first song Harry made him listen to was Led Zeppelin's Immigrant Song. The look turned to one of wonder and Draco was immediately hooked. He also flung his arms around Harry and kissed him, on the lips, catching them both by surprise and left them slightly faltering in embarrassment. Before Draco could withdraw to the other side of the bed, Harry grabbed his upper arms to hold him and both men remained sitting on the bed facing each other, rather close, watching each other cautiously, questioningly, as their chests heaved in anticipation. It was as if every sense was magnified five-thousand times. Harry could see dark flecks of blue amongst the grey of Draco's irises; he could smell Draco's minty toothpaste and his fading aftershave; he could feel Draco's slender biceps under his fingertips through his fine silk pyjamas; he could hear the fuzzy beat of music from the headphones that Draco had slowly removed; and he could taste Draco's lips on his. Harry felt like he was struggling to breath. He knew he wanted this, more than anything in the world, he just hadn't expected Draco to show any overt signs that he felt the same. His heart was thumping wildly and his pulse racing and he swore he could feel it beating in his groin. He tentatively let go and reached up to gently cup Draco's face, his thumb grazing over Draco's pale cheek, his eyes drifting to Draco's lips as he watched the other man lick them nervously. He heard Draco's breath hitch and the blond man didn't wait for Harry to draw him closer. Their lips crashed together with all the swelling passion of the past eight years, fervently, frantically, searchingly.
The iPod fell to one side, temporarily forgotten, as Draco leant back, pulling Harry with him.
That was, until Narcissa barged into the room still wrapping her dressing gown around her, her signature hair tumbling messily around her shoulders. 'I thought I could hear voices...' she said with worry before she stopped in her tracks to take in Harry Potter lying on top of her son in a somewhat passionate embrace. '...oh!'
'Ah...' said Harry and he promptly let go of Draco, leapt to the other side of the bed as if scolded, and then Disapparated out of the room back to just outside the Manor. He did, after all, have a Ward to restore. Then he remembered he'd forgotten about the food hamper in his pocket and left his coat behind so he Apparated straight back, looked at a rather pale Draco and shocked Narcissa, swiped up the coat from the floor, took the hamper from its pocket, resized it, and pushed it into Narcissa's arms, saying 'that's for you ... and Merry Christmas to you both' with a big grin on his face and a slight bow. He then winked at Draco, said 'Owl me' while inexplicably making the universal muggle sign for 'phone me' with his thumb to his ear and his little finger to his mouth, and Disapparated back to outside the manor again where he did repair the Ward before he went home with a rather inane smile on his face.
The next morning, Hermes delivered a note which said, Well, that was awkward, you bastard!
Harry apologised and he said, Sorry, won't happen again. He felt awful, all elation falling away to an uncomfortable guilt-ridden lump in his stomach that he's mis-read the entire situation. That was, until Hermes reappeared and he read Draco's reply: To be clear, I certainly hope it will. Just don't leave me to deal with my mother alone next time, you coward! It's made for a hideously awkward Christmas lunch.
Harry smiled and the sick feeling fell away.
Since that point, Harry had only visited the Manor a number of times, generally on Christmas eve and the night before Draco's birthday (because they were both exceedingly worried about the Ministry finding out) and Narcissa always made it a point of practice not to barge into her son's bedroom late at night, just in case she saw more than she really wanted to ever see.
'You're starting to relax, at last,' Draco whispered as Westlife began their rather tinny cover of Abba's I Have a Dream through the iPod's earpiece.
'Merlin, Draco. Some of your music choices are shite. Will you please skip this song?' Harry grumbled. 'Otherwise it'll all be undone.'
'I happen to like Westlife,' but Draco obliged and Luther Vandross serenaded them instead. They danced on.
It had been a gruelling three days, not because of Harry's work, although Robards's had given his standard grouse about Harry's PR absences. No, it had been a three-day-long photoshoot but even Robards couldn't really complain about this one because it was for the St Mungo's 2002 charity calendar.
St Mungo's had released their first calendar for 1999 in a bid to raise money for the wounded from the war and some young bright spark had come up with the idea of asking various St Mungo's healers and medi-witches to pose for each month's photos. That lead on to various Unspeakables posing for the 2000 calendar and then Aurors for the 2001 calendar. What Harry had never understood was why Ron got to stand in a particularly cool way, looking challengingly into the camera lens, wearing his Auror uniform and with his hands in his pockets. He was all coolness, and handsomeness, and authority. It said 'Auror', but it also said 'I'm a really nice guy and you can approach me with your problems and I will solve them' in a friendly-neighbourhood-hero kinda way. Ron was Mr October. His photo was also chosen for the front cover of the calendar. It wasn't that Harry was jealous of that. No, the Problem™ was that Ron got to keep all his clothes on whereas Harry, aka Mr February, was kneeling back on his heels amidst artfully wrinkled black satin sheets on a four-poster bed in just a pair of dragon-hide trousers (which weren't even the standard issue Auror uniform ones). He was holding a Kneazle kitten, for some inexplicable reason, in the crook of his arm and, apparently, he looked sultry with a thumb hooked through the beltloop of the trousers as he stared down the camera lens. To add injury to insult, there were pink heart-shaped cushions on the bed which he was certain they'd added in afterwards and he was also fairly certain they photoshopped in rather more definition around his abs. At the time of shooting, Harry had been reassured that all the other Aurors were in similar poses. It was a blatant lie, Cho Chang was definitely not asked to pose topless or holding a kitten, though Blaise had, at least, been photographed with his shirt undone to reveal a smooth and very toned dark torso. In Harry's humble opinion of these matters, it was definitely Blaise who looked sultry out of the two of them whereas he thought he looked constipated and the poor kitten looked terrified.
Draco and Peanut had had hysterics over that one. In fact, so had most of the Aurors, the rest of the Ministry, the Weasleys, and all Harry's other friends and acquaintances. And Snape... Harry was mortified. Unfortunately, or fortunately (depending on which side of the coin you're on), the photograph then made its way into the press and the calendar sold out within twenty-four hours, so another print run was produced, which also sold out in twenty-four hours. Harry didn't leave the house for the entirety of the previous September. And then, in October, Witch Weekly polled it as the favourite photograph of the year. Then another print run was done for the Christmas market so the image just didn't go away. However, St Mungo's made an inordinate amount of money from it and promptly asked if Harry would mind doing an exclusive 2002 'Harry Potter' calendar for them. He felt he couldn't say 'no' because it was for charity. Besides, he decided it would make a fabulous Christmas present for the Dursleys.
This year the bright young marketing spark suggested that Harry held a snake in one of the images and he'd spent a hideous final afternoon wrestling said snake into some apparently seductive poses. He didn't know if the snake was meant to be seducing him or vice versa but if either were actually true, he was pretty sure Mione would soon be raising a whole new book on Animal Rights in Photography legislation. His only entertainment had been he and the snake had been able to converse in Parseltongue throughout the entire shoot and had mercilessly taken the piss out of the whole proceedings. At least this year he'd been prepared for the apparent required lack of clothing and had been working on his physique a bit more so that the abs were definitely all his. He was, however, mightily uncomfortable with this image of him as some sexual being to be objectified in this way and, once finished, he Apparated straight to the Manor and hid in the orchard in an absolute sulk until Draco came and found him with a bottle of wine in one hand and two glasses in the other.
'I'm in a good mind to blow bloody Abbott out of the water and stay tonight,' Harry muttered into Draco's neck as they danced.
'I wish you could.'
'I could always play with the Wards, to see whether the old keyhole still exists.' It wasn't that they knew if the old one had been discovered, but when Draco's and Narcissa's parole details had changed, the Ministry had changed the Wards on the Manor. Although it meant that the Harry could visit as often as he wanted within the allocated hours, as soon as curfew hit, the Wards would sense him and ring alarms with Draco's parole team. It wasn't worth the risk.
'Any joy with the solicitors?' Draco asked quietly.
'It's all quiet at the moment. I think there's unease that they're saying no to me but also shouldn't be favouring me too. If word gets out either way, it's going to cause them all kinds of shit.'
'Do you think you ought to withdraw the appeal? I have enough negative opinions of me without the press blaming me for getting special treatment. They're already suggesting that I've put you under an Imperius.'
'And we all know that I can shake an Imperius off without trouble, so shhh!' Harry lifted his head and looked into Draco's pale grey eyes; the insecurity clear in them. They made him think of the stormy moonlit oceans. He cupped his face, his fingers running into Draco's hair and pulled him towards him so he could kiss Draco firmly.
Harry knew now that Draco was, indeed, deeply insecure, despite all the strutting around and sneering, despite all the bluster and chest-puffing, despite the fancy image and the insistence on leading and being 'the superior masculine one'. Despite all the haughty and arrogant bolstering of their school days.
Harry wondered if there was anyone in the world who didn't have the odd insecurity or hang up about something. Everyone in the Auror office was absolutely paranoid, sometimes it was like working in a room full of constantly vigilant chocolate frogs (everyone tended to be a bit jumpy and draw their wands at the slightest untoward noise). Even Gin, who seemed so fearsome on the Quidditch pitch, had confided in Harry their fears about new talent coming through each season and being dropped from the team. Gin started writing a column for The Prophet's sport edition to try to carve an alternative career path for when the metaphorical twigs fell out of their Quidditch broom and, even then, Gin continuously worried about being good enough. Yes, all those people who looked like they had their shit together, well, Harry decided everyone was hiding a demon or two.
He and Draco had ended up having a week-long debate via letter about 'how screwed up was Voldemort and was it all abandonment issues?' At first Draco expressed that Harry had lost it and the war had obviously got to him and, no, Voldemort was obviously just a psychopathic monomaniac.
Harry had written: It's a viable and serious reason for his behaviour. There is plenty of muggle therapy research into the symptoms, causes, and treatment of abandonment issues. It would make sense considering he was conceived under a love potion, his father refused to have anything to do with him and his mother died when he was young.
Draco replied: But you aren't a psychopathic monomaniac, surely you went through a similar ordeal (without the love potion, I assume). And I'll interject here and apologise for the unsympathetic comments I directed towards you in our formative years regarding your parents.
Harry didn't agree: But we all react to our circumstances differently and all I'm saying is that, even though we don't agree with what Riddle became and did, there are justifiable reasons for his behaviour that deserve a certain amount of understanding and sympathy. And, just because I'm not trying to rule the world and destroy all those who stand in my way, doesn't mean I'm not as fucked as the next man. You know I have a short fuse and a dreadful temper, though I'm getting better at controlling it. And I'm bloody hopeless when it comes to expressing my emotions and feelings, but I'm trying to be braver. And yes, I'm hugely insecure, especially when it comes to relationships, I'm immensely scared of opening up to someone to find they're using me and I'm also terrified of losing anyone I get close to, it's happened too often in my life. And then Rita Skeeter sure did a good number on me at school and it doesn't help that Raphael went and sold his story to the press, it makes me very wary of people. But half the battle is recognising the issues.
In fact, until Draco, Harry hadn't had another relationship with anyone after Raphael. Harry'd fallen hard for the tousled-haired mousey-blond who looked like one of his namesake's paintings of an angel. It was Harry's first relationship with a man and he came away from the experience feeling incredibly exposed after the relationship was picked apart by Raphael in the press. Their relationship had only been a few months after the war and Harry had been left feeling foolish for believing that anyone would want to be with him for other than his fame. It didn't break the knowledge that he knew it was right to be with another man, it's just he was extremely reticent about making himself so vulnerable with someone again.
He studiously ignored how much he told Draco in person or their letters and the fact that it felt very, well, normal and right to talk to him about anything and everything. Merlin, it didn't bear thinking about if Draco were to take his letters to the press or publish them in a book.
It was after that first visit at night-time when he saw Draco asleep, when he realised how utterly gorgeous the man was and when he realised, that yes, he was actually in love with Draco, that his own insecurities had reared again. He realised his feelings had grown out of the letters they wrote and the knowledge of their past flipped into a whole new meaning. He wondered why he'd never seen it at school. Maybe he was utterly oblivious after all, but then again, he had been quite distracted what with one thing and another.
And now?
Now he was paranoid that he would lose Draco. That they would be forced apart by circumstance. That he was in this far deeper than Draco. They hadn't, for whatever reason, discussed their feelings or expressed any kind of love for each other, although Harry knew full well that he loved Draco, with all his heart.
'Has it been bad?' Harry murmured a little later as they rested their foreheads against each other. 'Are you getting letters or worse?'
'Just the usual,' Draco shrugged. 'Maybe a bit more since The Tango and The Kiss hit the newspapers.'
'What do you mean more?' Harry pulled away, worried.
'Just bad-mouthing and the like. The occasional hex sent via Owl, Howlers, the like...'
'Why didn't you tell me?' Harry's temper was flaring.
'Because it's nothing new,' Draco shrugged again. 'I've been receiving this sort of hate ever since my court case was publicised and people gathered I was a fully-fledged and signed up Death-eater.'
'Fuck!'
'Harry, it's pointless losing your temper over it. You can't convince everyone.'
'I can bloody-well try. I don't want my boyfriend being on the receiving end of hate mail. And I'm going to teach you how to read magical signatures for hexes, jinxes, and curses.'
'Okay,' Draco said quietly.
'I'll drop the appeal too, if you want. Perhaps it was rather impetuous. Severus does like to remind me that it's my biggest fault.'
'I don't want you to drop it, I just think it might be better, for the both us, while people get used to the idea. It's only for another few months and we've managed this long.'
'Okay, I'll let Peanut know tomorrow. I'll also go home like a good boy. Severus will no doubt be wondering where I am and wanting to work on the next thing.'
'What are you working on at the moment?'
'Portkeys, I think. We were having a theoretical discussion about whether Portkeys are similar to Cursed items and whether it's possible to pick up on the spell and the intended destination. Mione's got me a collection of items, including one Portkey, I'm going to start blind investigating and testing.'
'You realise I'm slightly jealous of what you do?'
'I can try to teach you...'
'I have enough on, especially since I've signed up for the Masters. Did I tell you I want to specialise in the Italian Renaissance?'
'A Master of Art History... I'm proud of you already.'
'I've yet to formally receive my Undergraduate Degree. The graduation ceremony is in November, will you come?'
'I wouldn't miss it for the world. Now, are you going to take me upstairs before I have to leave or do I ravage you here on the terrace?'
'Ahh... well, mother is out... but due to return before curfew hours, so we'd best exercise some discretion.'
Harry took Draco's hand and lead him through the terrace doors and upstairs.
*****