Drarry One Shots

Park Benches

Ok let's start this off with some real cute fluff, yeah?

Harry was basically an old man in a twenty-year-old body.

I mean, let's face it - designing park benches (and muggle ones at that) isn't exactly a "youthful occupation."

But hey, if it makes Harry happy, he can do whatever he wants.

After the war, Harry had left England, going to Africa for a year as a bit of a vacation. (And to study their unique magic that they store in vibranium indefinitely) He just wanted to get as far away from the Ministry of Magic, the Daily Prophet, and his memories as possible.

So, he escaped to Africa.

But eventually, he longed to see the familiar faces of his friends, so he returned.

When he got back, he had to start looking for a job. Not that he needed it (with his personal vaults and the standing offer from the Ministry for basically everything from houses to cauldrons), but only for Harry's need for structure.

Left alone at home for hours and hours and hours, Harry went insane. Like actually insane. Like Shrieking-Shack-everyone-stay-away-for-years insane.

But at the same time, any mention of becoming anything from an Auror to a janitor at the Ministry of Magic made Harry become lightheaded and hyperventilate.

Thus, park benches.

Harry loved them.

Their simple elegance balanced with functionality, their versatility, their commonality. Harry loved taking an ordinary park bench and transforming it into something so much more.

Did he use magic?

Yes. (but shh, he works for Muggles)

But the result was wonderful. Park benches so comfortable, even old geezers with bad hips claim Harry's benches as their favorites. Crying toddlers settle down and eat their veggies during picnics. Exhausted runners find their second winds.

Harry's manager doesn't know how he does it (obviously), but he isn't complaining.

He only knows one other person who can design park benches as well as Harry.

Draco Malfoy.

*Harry's POV*

Today I'm scheduled to repair a bench in Waithe Park, one of my favorite places to work.

The peacefulness of the park mingled with the sounds of the city make it feel like a breath of fresh air in my busy life.

As I bike over there, I look on my phone to see who I'm scheduled to work with. (Dangerous, I know.)

I tilt my phone so the sun's glare won't blind me and see Draco Malfoy next to my name.

In my shock, I turn too fast and almost fly off my bike. What? I think, I haven't seen him in years!

I quickly get to the park, seeing a familiar blond head shining in the sun, leaning against the bike rack.

I wobble my way over, not wanting to go too fast and make it seem like I'm in a rush to get away from the (surprisingly handsome) man who makes my stomach flop.

Just as I was about to reach the bike rack, I teeter and fall off, knocking myself straight into Draco.

Strong arms seize my waist, halting my fall and making my skin sear with electricity.

"Oof."

"S-sorry."

"Wha- Harry?"

"Um, yes?"

"What are you doing here?"

"Well, I'm under the impression that I'm here to fix a park bench."

"Omg, so am I! Where's your partner?"

"..."

"Oh. Oh!"

I watch his silvery blue eyes brighten when he realizes that we work together.

"Didn't you check the schedule?"

"No..."

We head over toward the bench, one of the legs twisted and sticking out from where some idiot landscaper hit it with a lawnmower.

Since it is Draco, I just wave  my wand and it instantly repairs itself.

I collapse down on the bench, sinking into it's unreasonably soft and comfortable wood.

"Whoo! I need to take a break after all that work!"

Draco rolls his eyes and plops down next to me, his thigh ever so gently nudging against mine.

*Time Skip*

It's been hours.

We've been sitting on the bench for hours.

We've watched all sorts of people go by, from old ladies walking hand in hand to intensely muscled joggers to one runaway toddler (quickly caught by none other than Draco and returned to its red-faced, panting mother).

Now, the sky is painting itself with red and golden hues, silhouetting the city skyline and the trees that surround us.

Draco is retelling a story from Hogwarts, something to do with a Dirgible Plum, but I can't focus.

My attention is on his lips.

He turns toward me, a genuine laugh on his lips, and leans in to lightly smack my shoulder.

I, being Harry, interpret this wrong.

I lean in at the same time and press my lips against his smiling ones.

As soon as they touch, he pulls away in surprise.

I turn away.

I feel a hand on my jaw.

I turn back, only to have my lips captured by Draco's incredibly soft ones.

The sun throws its golden light on us and silhouettes us against the gorgeous sunset.

We don't even see it.