Dad Says (Harry X Draco)

Chapter 8

"You know the drill, Potter," said Draco into his ear. "Tell me the hottest guy you see, and I'll make sure he goes home with you."

Harry hadn't been this drunk since those first few months after the war, when he would crawl into his bathtub every night after the trials and drink till he passed out.

"You," he said.

Draco looked at him. Harry remembered watching him torture Rowle, Remembered his face appearing in the window of Hagrid's cabin in first year, and knowing they had to get Norbit away immediately, because Draco Malfoy was trouble. He was always trouble.

Draco leant tentatively forwards, and their lips touched. Harry chased after the kiss. It was gentler than Harry had imagined it would be, and he realised he had imagined it a long time ago, long before he ran into Draco and Scorpius in Diagon Alley. He had imagined it the night after he almost killed Draco in sixth year, and after the Battle of Hogwarts when he thought of the fiendfyre. Maybe he hadn't noticed imagining it, but he had. This was an old desire. This was a reawakening.

Harry apparated them back to Draco's flat.

"Potter, you crazy fucker, you could have splinched us!"

"Shut up."

Harry pushed Draco backwards towards the bedroom. He'd never been in it before. It was little and shabby. Draco had grown up in a manor house with servants, remembered Harry. Draco grew up believing he would be rich all his life.

Draco fell backwards onto the bed.

"Harry," he said, propping himself up on his elbows.

"Budge over," said Harry, climbing next to him. Draco moved so that there was space for Harry, but Harry had by that time realised he didn't need space. He straddled Draco and kissed him.

"Harry," said Draco again.

"What," said Harry. He wasn't sure he could handle a conversation.

"You're drunk,"

"So are you."

"Yes," said Draco. "We're very drunk. This is a bad idea."

Harry pulled away.

"Do you want to stop?"

Draco shook his head violently.

"Then it's not a bad idea," said Harry.

The room spun around them as they undressed each other. Everything was blurry and time moved strangely: Harry couldn't tell what was going on, really. Draco seemed confused too. They kept laughing.

"This is such a bad idea," Draco said, over and over, but he didn't stop. His skin was soft and damp and overwhelming. Harry focused on the bits of Draco that were undamaged. He kissed his way up the pure white of Draco's neck.

He did not look at the scars on Draco's chest. The mark on his arm.

It wasn't sex like anything Harry had had before. It was conflicting and inexplicable. Draco Malfoy wasn't just a person, he was an accumulation of memories and feelings that Harry knew he would never untangle. Draco was everything Harry hated and wanted, and he was his friend, and his enemy, and he was irrepressibly handsome, and he was unhappy, and Harry wanted to love him back to wholeness, and there were so many different versions of him that Harry couldn't understand him, would never know him completely, all over, the way he wanted to.

From the way Draco was looking at him, Harry knew he felt the same. He knew Draco was just as mystified by this turn of events as Harry was. Not just the sex: the friendship. The survival. The fact that they were there at all, that they hadn't both been killed as teenagers, possibly by each other.

"Draco," said eventually. "This feels amazing, but I don't think I can finish."

"Thank God," said Draco. "Me neither."

Harry pulled out and collapsed on top of him.

"I'm so fucking drunk." said Draco.

"I think I'm going to throw up." said Harry.

"Don't you fucking dare."

They caught each other's eye and burst into peels of helpless laughter. Draco actually cried with mirth. Harry didn't think he'd ever laughed so hard.

"We didn't eat dinner," he said, when they'd calmed down..

"Because you suggested the pub!" said Draco.

"Yeah, because you love the pub. You were upset."

"We can't not eat every time I'm unhappy. We'd starve."

Harry kissed him. Had they made a mistake? There was a nasty feeling growing in the pit of his stomach. Something ominous. This is a bad idea.

"Do you like pancakes?" asked Draco.

Harry frowned.

"We can't have pancakes. It's night time."

Draco pried himself loose from Harry's grasp and pulled on a pair of boxers.

"You've never had Midnight Breakfast?" he asked.

"What the fuck is Midnight Breakfast?"

Draco shook his head sorrowfully.

"I'm sorry about your parents." he said, and stumbled out of the bedroom.

"Malfoy!" shouted Harry. "What the fuck?"

"Stop lazing about and help me!" said Draco from the kitchen. Harry swore under his breath. pulled on his boxers, and joined Draco in the kitchen.

Draco made chocolate chip pancakes and bacon and eggs. He poured Harry a glass of orange juice and set the rickety IKEA table with placemats and cloth napkins.

"Midnight Breakfast," he said proudly.

Harry fell upon his food with enthusiasm, and Draco did not comment on his table manners.

"My mum used to make Midnight Breakfast when bad things happened." said Draco, when they were done.

Dread roiled in Harry's stomach.

"Did a bad thing just happen?" he asked. Draco's eyes were wide and unreadable.

"I don't know,"

They fell asleep in Draco's bed, the sheets tangled around their legs, their limbs overlapping in odd, amicable ways. It wasn't really cuddling. It was hard to say what it was, thought Harry. He slept uneasily, with a sense of foreboding.

To be continued...