1000 Days of Harry Potter

Day 1000

⚠ A/N: This chapter contains sexual content. Nothing too explicit, but enough that I wanted to give a heads up to those who are sensitive to that. 

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Draco is rudely awoken by pounding at his door.

Wondering who could possibly be knocking at this hour, he makes his way downstairs and opens the door to stare blankly at Harry, who hasn't actually knocked on his front door in years.

Unlike Draco, Harry is fully dressed, strangely formally dressed for him, in the white button-down Draco gave him last year for Christmas and fitted black trousers. He has the sleeves rolled up, softening the look.

Draco runs a hand through his hair self-consciously, painfully aware that he's still wearing pyjamas.

"Can I come in?" Harry asks.

"Of course," Draco steps back to let him into the foyer, then shuts the door behind him. "Harry, what are you...?"

"I can't do this anymore, Draco."

"You can't do...what?"

"Pretend I'm not in love with you."

"What?"

"I'm in love with you, Draco, and I can't keep—" Harry's voice breaks. "I thought I could, but then you kissed me yesterday, and I—it hurts, Draco. I'm so in love with you, it hurts being around you and acting like I'm not. I want to—"

"Why didn't you just tell me all of that yesterday?" Draco doesn't mean for it to sound as accusatory as it does.

"Sorry," Harry's nose crinkles in a wince. "Sorry. I, er, panicked. Stupid of me, I know. I just..." Harry steps closer, reaches out to brush his thumb over Draco's cheek, his hand shaking. "Have you ever wanted something so badly, wanted it so much you thought the wanting might just kill you, and then it's right there, close enough to touch, and you realize you might actually get it, but it's just...too good, too perfect, to be real?" Draco nods slowly. "You...you're like that to me."

"I've wanted you like that, too," Draco chokes out, and Harry closes his eyes, a pained expression crossing his features. "I've wanted—"

"I thought..." Harry swallows hard. "I thought you'd moved on. I didn't dare hope..."

"I tried," Draco laughs weakly. "Merlin, I tried. But you're..." He shakes his head and forces himself to look Harry in the eye, "Everything," he says, repeating Harry's drunken words from so long ago.

Harry's answering smile is brilliant. He moves in even closer, sliding a warm hand behind Draco's neck to pull him down, tilting his own face up, and pulling him into a kiss. Draco practically melts into it, hands landing on Harry's waist to draw him in, then sliding up his back. The kiss starts out soft and sweet, then slips into something deeper. Harry tastes like mint toothpaste, and he moans against his mouth when Draco's hands slide into his hair, the ever-present spark between them igniting and flaring to life.

Harry still kisses like there's nothing else in the world, nothing else that matters except the way his mouth moves against Draco's, the hot slide of their tongues as they kiss with abandon, both grateful to finally be allowed—hands clutching at hair and running over clothing. Harry presses Draco up against the front door, sliding his hands up the front of his pyjama top to run over his waist, over his stomach, and Draco pulls away, panting.

"Wait."

He takes a bewildered-looking Harry by the hand and pulls him into the sitting room.

"Draco, what are you...?"

Draco sits on the sofa, then turns to lie down on his back, lifting one hand over his head and looking up at Harry. "Finish what you started, Potter," he says, voice rough, watching with satisfaction as Harry's eyes flash in recognition.

Moving deliberately, agonizingly, slowly, he tugs his glasses off and folds them up, setting them on the end table. He kneels on the edge of the sofa and swings a leg over to straddle him, the fingers of his right hand coming up to tangle with Draco's.