Stuck With You / drarry

If Every Day Could Be Like This

That evening, the two of them went out to eat to the same restaurant as the previous night. Even though it was Sunday evening, the night life had not slowed down the slightest: people were out, strolling through the streets of the small Italian town, eating and drinking, laughing. When Harry and Draco stepped into the little trattoria, Mister Bianchi gave them a knowing smile, and sat them down near the window this time, lighting the candle between them. Glasses of red wine appeared in front of them in no time, and Harry could feel the numbing sensation of blood rushing through his limbs after the first few sips. He knew he shouldn't drink on an empty stomach. When their orders came, Harry half devoured his pizza – he was quite sure he could have it for every meal, every day, that's how delicious it was.

Draco was asking Harry about his work, and mouth full, he told him about Kingsley's most recent desperate measures to get re-elected as the Minister. I mean, I'm the head of the department for Merlin's sakes! You don't think I'd have to go around asking for permission on everything.Listening to himself be so indignant, Harry agreed with Evergrey in that this little holiday might do him good. He needed some distance from the Ministry and from his job. He needed distance from the seemingly endless stream of permission slips in and out of his office, and he needed distance from his ever-stretching loneliness.

In return, and in part to change the subject, Harry inquired about the day-to-day of running a potions shop, and Malfoy told him about his continuing research on what he should stock, reading books about rare potions, making the orders, working with the customers. It wasn't 'rocket science', as uncle Vernon always put it, but Harry could've listened Draco talk about different species of magical fungi for hours. Maybe it was just him, but he couldn't shake the thought that Draco would make an excellent Potions Master. He knew better than to bring it up again, though.

After dinner, they quickly Apparated back to Malfoy's place, because the man had been resting his hand on Harry's thigh the way one does when they're ready to go somewhere private and shag each other's brains out. So, that's what they did, Harry on top this time. It was brilliant. Malfoy on his back, so beautiful with his golden hair spread out onto the pillow and his chest red from breathing so rough; his red cock resting on his white tan line, pulsating as Harry kept a steady rhythm with his hips, holding Malfoy's other leg up with his arm, kissing his shin sloppily. The dark, hot night was filled only with their occasional moans and heavy breathing. Harry never wanted to stop shagging Malfoy, it was different every time, always so fucking fantastic.

When they were laying on the bed, sweaty limbs intertwined, Malfoy told Harry he wanted to take the job at Hogwarts, but was too reluctant to return to the place to make up his mind. Apparently, McGonagall was still keeping the position open for him, even if it was the beginning of July already. He said he'd started to reconsider it after telling Harry about it in the pub all those months ago. Harry squeezed his hand, but didn't say anything. He couldn't force Malfoy into something he didn't want to do.

"What's your favourite memory of Hogwarts?" Harry asked after a while. Maybe Draco could do with some good thoughts about the place, there must have been some nice ones, right? Even though Harry was afraid for his life half the time, Hogwarts had still given him the happiest memories of his life: the first Christmas morning at the school, when Molly Weasley had sent him a jumper, his first present Christmas present ever, Harry remembered being so absolutely flabbergasted and grateful at the gesture he could've cried. Another happy one was catching the snitch in his first ever Quidditch game, even though his broom had been bewitched by Quirrel. He had had his first kiss at the school, with Cho. Surely Malfoy would have had pleasant memories as well.

"My favourite memory?" the man echoed, and chewed his lip in thought, staring at the ceiling. The two were more or less tangled up on the bed, their legs intertwined and their arms either under the other or somewhere in between. "Off the top of my head, probably when I got into the Quidditch team," Draco replied after a moment, "and when Weasley got so fucked off about it that he tried to jinx me to vomit slugs, but then hesomehow ended up doing it, really freaked me out when I saw it." Harry grimaced to himself recalling back to them sitting in Hagrid's hut, Ron vomiting slugs into a wooden barrel.