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Harry leaned back in his seat and took a sip of his beer, looking out fondly over the crowded pub packed with most of his closest friends. It was a decidedly masculine group, being his stag do and everything, not that Harry cared all that much about tradition. But as much as he loved Hermione and Luna and his other female friends, as a whole they tended to be significantly more observant, and Harry didn't think he could have relaxed at all with their eyes upon him. He'd heard it was completely normal to experience a whole range of emotions the night before one's wedding, and the last thing he wanted was to be analysed.
Not when Harry was thinking of him.
Thankfully, most of his female friends were busy tonight with Ginny's hen do. They had no cause to be offended over being left out, although Hermione hadn't entirely been able to hide her anxiety over leaving Harry's fate in Ron's hands. It was Ron's job as Harry's best man to make sure Harry made it through the night in one piece and was ready and eager to report for duty in the morning. Ron had waved Hermione away with blasé assurances not to worry, that he had it all under control, which had done nothing to ease her concern—for good reason, as it turned out.
Harry couldn't help but smile into his glass as he thought of the bollocking Ron was sure to get tomorrow based on his current state of inebriation. He was in no state to help anybody make it through the rest of the night, not even himself. Luckily for Ron, Harry hadn't been as keen as the rest of his mates to celebrate his last night as an unmarried man by drinking himself sick; he was perfectly capable of looking after himself. He actually wanted to enjoy his wedding, and while a Hangover Potion would help take the edge off, he'd rather not deal with the hangover at all. He'd been worried his mates would turn up the peer pressure, but thankfully they were so preoccupied with using Harry's stag do as an excuse to let loose that they hadn't even noticed that the groom-to-be was still nursing his second beer.
Not that Harry wasn't having fun. The party had started hours ago with a steak dinner at one of Diagon's nicest restaurants. Harry had insisted on renting a private room and paying for it himself, much to his groomsmen's obvious distress—one of the perks of being the groom was not having to pay for a thing all night. But Harry had the money for a private room and he wasn't keen on prying eyes, so in the end he'd convinced them it was worth it. By the time they'd left the restaurant it was already well into the night, and everybody (except for Harry) was several whiskeys in and well on their way to being truly sozzled. Seamus and Dean had organised a pub crawl of sorts, so the lot of them had stopped in at the various pubs in Diagon before ending the night at The Roaring Lion as planned. Harry liked the bar well enough, but Harry had a feeling their final stop had more to do with Seamus's crush on the bartender than anything else. Not that he begrudged him that; watching Seamus's drunken attempts at flirtation had certainly proved amusing.
Harry always had a good time with his mates, and though he'd never been one for rowdy parties, seeing everybody drink and laugh together, knowing they were all there to celebrate Harry moving on to this next stage in his life… it meant more to Harry than he could say. It was strange, sometimes, thinking back on his childhood, friendless and alone, and realising how different things were for him now. As much as he loved magic, the relationships he'd formed because of it were what he really treasured.
It had been a great night, a wonderful night, and yet…
A restlessness buzzed through Harry's veins, a manic energy with an expectant edge, just begging to be burned off. His leg wouldn't stop bouncing, his eyes couldn't stop scanning the crowd, drawn towards the door every time it opened. Deep inside, Harry could acknowledge there was a little twinge of disappointment each time a stranger graced the doorway, one he tried viciously to shove down. It was foolish, and he'd already told himself not to have any expectations. Harry knew it had been a long shot, that it was unlikely he would make an appearance tonight. Honestly, Harry should be grateful that he hadn't.
Harry knew what happened whenever they were together.
Shaking his head, he pushed himself to his feet, making his way over towards where most of his friends had congregated, arms draped over one-another's shoulders as they sang along to an old wizarding ballad that Harry didn't know the words to. He couldn't help but grin as he clapped Ron on the back, leaning into the circle.
"All right, everyone, I think this is it for me. It's time for me to call it a night."
His statement was met with boos and protests, mostly incoherent.
"I don't know if you remember but I'm starring in a wedding tomorrow, and my lovely bride will have your balls if I'm still pissed when I show up." He gave them all significant looks. "She won't be too keen if you lot aren't looking your best, either."
Everybody seemed appropriately cowed by this statement for a brief moment before Neville pointed out that there was still a full hour left before last call. The group cheered, and Harry sighed.
"Have fun, lads. But don't say I didn't warn you."
It took another ten minutes to fully extricate himself from his effusive friends, each of them doing their best to convince him to stay for just one more drink. Thankfully, drunkenness reduced their attention spans, and eventually he managed to grab his cloak and escape into the cool evening air. He stood for a minute just outside the door with his eyes closed and his head tilted up towards the sky as he breathed in deeply. Already feeling more centred, he took a step towards home and froze.
Across the street, leaning against a streetlamp and bathed in its yellow glow, was the man Harry had been waiting for all night.
"Hello, Harry," Draco said with a ghost of a smile. Harry's breath caught. He hadn't been sure Draco was real until that moment. Hell, he still wasn't sure, not after a whole evening spent desperately wishing he'd make an appearance.
Harry stumbled closer, taking Draco in. He looked good, even better than he had two years ago, the last time Harry had seen him in person. His clothes were perfectly tailored, as always, clinging to his tall frame and emphasising the lean muscle which seemed slightly more defined. He still had his undercut, not a strand of hair out of place, but it had grown longer on top and the styling was just different enough to let Harry know that years had passed. The smile though—half-amused, half-pleased—was the same. As was the keen look in those sharp grey eyes as Draco raised one pale eyebrow.
"Aren't you going to say hello? You did invite me here, after all." There was the barest trace of nervousness beneath Draco's tone, and that, more than anything, convinced Harry this was real.
"Hello, Draco," Harry breathed, still awestruck by Draco's sudden appearance. "I didn't think you'd show."
"Neither did I. I wasn't planning on it. I only just caught a last-minute Portkey." Draco's lips twisted into a wry smile. "I'm still not sure it was a good idea, but…"
"Yeah," Harry whispered. He knew how Draco felt. It probably would have been better for everybody if Harry hadn't sent the invite, if Draco had stayed away, but Harry couldn't bring himself to regret it. It was only minutes into their reunion and Harry's entire body was already buzzing with the desire to touch, to taste, to find out all the ways Draco was different and the same.
This had been what he'd been waiting for all night. This was what Draco did to him every time.
Draco's lips quirked as if he could read Harry's thoughts, and maybe he could. He was a skilled Legilimens, true, but more importantly he knew Harry. He knew Harry better than almost anybody.
Silence hung between them, heavy with implication as they pretended not to know where this encounter was heading. Harry wondered if Draco was going to make him ask for it, if he would make Harry take on the responsibility for tonight. Harry wouldn't blame him, but it seemed Draco was feeling charitable.
"Care to come back to mine for a nightcap?" Draco asked, and to anybody who didn't know him as well as Harry, the tone would sound perfectly casual. "We can… catch up. Last time I saw you, you'd just started dating Ginevra again." He paused, and when he continued, his tone was so soft Harry almost couldn't hear him. "And now here you are, about to be married."
Harry swallowed, his mind flashing back to that weekend they'd spent together two years ago. The Auror Department had forced him to take some of his unused vacation time, and Draco had invited him to spend the weekend with him in Mykonos.
Harry never saw much of the island.
A few weeks later, he and Ginny had decided to become exclusive. To make a proper go of it.
"Harry?"
Draco's voice pulled Harry from his recollections and he was almost startled to be confronted with this older Draco, bathed in artificial lamplight, and not the naked, sun-drenched Draco from that blissful weekend.
"Yeah," Harry said. "Let's go back to yours."
Harry held out his arm, offering it up for Side-Along since he wasn't sure where Draco was currently staying. He'd sold the Manor not long after the war, buying a large and stylish flat in the city instead. Harry had spent a lot of time in that flat, once upon a time, but last he'd heard, Draco was renting it out. He'd got the news second-hand through some Ministry gossip, and the whole thing had hit him harder than he'd expected, knowing how much that flat had meant to Draco. It had driven home the fact that they were really over, that Draco was gone and had no plans to come back to England any time soon. Harry had always known they wouldn't last, but change was always difficult. When they'd got together not long after the war, both of them angry and broken, their relationship felt like some bizarre act of rebellion. Against what, Harry still wasn't sure—Harry hadn't been under any delusions that he and Draco would be riding off into the sunset together. He hadn't hooked up with Draco in search of his happily ever after, but he never could have expected how deeply Draco would bury himself beneath Harry's skin.
It had been six years since their passionate, tumultuous year together, and Draco had spent most of the time since they'd parted travelling the world. Unlike Harry, Draco wasn't desperate to put down roots, to plant himself firm and deep in local soil. His family had been doing that for generations, to nobody's benefit, and Draco had done everything he could to hack himself free from the gnarled branches. Harry wanted to resent Draco for it, but that would hardly be fair. It wasn't Draco's fault that he couldn't be what Harry needed, and Harry wasn't sure if he'd have loved Draco the same if he was. For better or worse, Harry loved Draco as he was, not as Harry sometimes wished he could be.
Draco took Harry's arm, his grip firm and sure, locking into Harry like a long-missing puzzle piece. Harry took a deep breath and something settled inside him at the familiar scent of Draco's ridiculously expensive, custom-made cologne. Harry didn't know enough about the subtleties of fragrances to name the different notes, but the faintest whiff of the woodsy, floral scent was enough to make Harry's dick twitch. He fought the urge to lean in close and bury his nose against Draco's neck—his judgement wasn't gone enough for that, not yet—but something must have shone through his expression, because Draco's eyes flashed with heat. For a moment, Harry thought Draco would kiss him, right there in the street. It would be madness, though madder still was the fact that Harry would have let him. Hell, he wanted it, his heart leaping at the thought. It was stupid and reckless, but that pretty much summed up his and Draco's relationship in a nutshell.
Apparently one of them still had a hold of their senses because Draco pulled back, shaking his head as if to clear it before the squeeze of Apparition took hold.
They Apparated into the middle of an expensive hotel suite, Draco's arms holding him steady when Harry inevitably stumbled. Draco's hands lingered on Harry's waist for a moment longer than entirely necessary before he stepped away, turning towards a selection of alcohol in the corner of the room.
"Whiskey ginger?" Draco asked as he busied himself making Harry a drink. There was a time when he would have just made one and brought it over, well-aware it was Harry's drink of choice. The fact that he'd taken the time to confirm was an acknowledgement of how much time had passed, allowing for the possibility that Harry's preferences had changed, that Draco no longer knew Harry as well as he once did. As it turned out, it was still Harry's favourite; six years, and some things hadn't changed at all.
"Yes, please," Harry said, settling himself on the plush sofa. Draco handed him his glass, his own drink clear with a slice of lime—a gin and tonic, no doubt—and hesitated just a moment before joining Harry on the sofa. They weren't touching, but they were certainly sitting closer than Harry generally did with any of his mates.
"So, what have you been up to for the past few months?" Harry asked as he took a sip of his perfectly made drink. "You said you were just about to leave Tanzania in your last letter, but that was a few months ago."
For all that their relationship had been unstable and volatile, their parting had been shockingly amicable. They'd loved each other in their own way—Harry didn't think they'd ever stopped—but they'd both realised that they weren't good together. They didn't want the same things, and trying to make their relationship work was making them both miserable. So Harry had encouraged Draco to take the Curse-Breaker promotion he'd been offered at Gringotts, the one that would involve him all but leaving England for good as he travelled to the various countries he'd be working in. They'd spent the night before he'd left for his first assignment in Japan fucking each other goodbye. Harry had gone with him to the Portkey station, and they'd shared one final, toe-curling kiss before a worn-out jumper had whisked Draco away, and Harry had gone back to an eerily silent flat.
And that had been that.
They'd stayed in touch over the years, through letters and the occasional explosive weekend together. Harry found his feelings for Draco so much easier to manage with countries and oceans between them, and sometimes he even convinced himself he'd inflated them in his memory, that there was no way Draco Malfoy truly had such a hold on him. Of course, those delusions always faded when faced with the man himself. All Draco had to do was walk into a room and Harry's heart began to pound. Even now, it didn't matter that Harry was with Ginny, that he was getting married tomorrow, or that he was truly, genuinely happy about it.
And he was happy about it. He loved Ginny, and he was excited to start his life with her. They wanted the same things from their futures, had similar outlooks and values. They would make an excellent team, would make each other happy. Marrying her was the right choice, but it didn't stop him from loving Draco, too. It didn't stop Harry from wanting him. His love for Ginny was different from the love he felt for Draco, more steady and stable, the kind of love you could build off. The way he felt about Draco, the chaotic, turbulent, roller-coaster ride of dizzying highs and lawless lows… he'd never felt that way about anybody else. Most days, he was certain that was a good thing. It wasn't healthy, wasn't sane. The human body wasn't meant to sustain that kind of feeling. Draco was an addiction Harry couldn't quite seem to quit.
So it was a good thing Draco was so rarely in England, that his work with Gringotts kept him constantly travelling, living in another country for an extended period of time until his work was done and he was off onto his next project. History would indicate that Harry didn't know how to be around Draco while keeping his hands to himself. Even now, with both palms wrapped awkwardly around his glass tumbler, Harry's fingers itched with the urge to reach out. They both knew they worked better as friends, but it was so much easier to keep things platonic when they were apart. When they were together, that line began to wash away, a line in the sand eroded by the constant waves of their unsuppressable desire. It was fading now, and it wouldn't be long until it disappeared entirely, as if it were never there at all.
Draco told Harry about his latest adventures in Namibia while Harry drank his whiskey ginger, and the knowledge of where this was all leading to crackled in the air around them. Harry's hand was shaking, he wanted it so badly. The ice cubes rattled in his now-empty tumbler until Draco reached out and wrapped his hand around Harry's, pressing Harry's fingers firmly against the cold, wet glass.
Harry met Draco's gaze, his throat dry and his heart beating like mad. Draco's eyes were dark and as hungry as Harry felt, and Harry couldn't bear it any longer. Now that he'd had a taste of Draco's fingers on him, all he wanted was more.
"Draco," Harry whispered, and that was all he needed to say.
The glass in their twined hands disappeared with a pop of wandless, wordless magic and Draco tugged Harry in for a deep, desperate kiss. Harry fell into him, sliding his fingers through hair that was just as fine and soft as he remembered. Nobody kissed like Draco, with such a single-minded passion that never failed to overwhelm every one of Harry's senses. It had been two years and somehow Draco still tasted the same, still felt the same, impossible and intoxicating in his familiarity. They'd spent most of their time together shagging in every conceivable manner until they knew one another's bodies better than their own, and it was clear Draco hadn't forgotten a thing. His hands slid under Harry's jumper and stroked along his lower back in the way that always drove Harry wild. All this time, and Draco still knew exactly how to make Harry shudder with just a touch.
Not that Harry was surprised. Sex hadn't ever been an issue when it came to him and Draco. Harry had experienced his share of lovers since he and Draco had officially parted ways, and though he'd had some great shags since then, sex with Draco was on another level entirely. If he was being honest about it, the best sex of his life had always been with Draco. But you couldn't build a lasting relationship on amazing sex alone. Harry needed more than that. He needed stability, commitment, and Draco… Draco needed to be free.
In the end, neither of them had been capable of giving the other what they truly needed.
Sometimes Harry wanted to regret their time together. He wanted to hate the way Draco had burrowed his way so deeply into Harry's heart when they'd been doomed from the start to go their separate ways. But just because he and Draco weren't meant to end up together didn't mean that their relationship was meaningless, and Harry wouldn't trade it for anything, messiness and heartbreak included. They'd come together under less-than-ideal circumstances for even less noble reasons, but somehow the two of them had managed to create something beautiful. None of their mates had understood why they got together in the first place, and even now Harry knew his friends were baffled and a bit annoyed at their continued friendship. He'd never managed to find the perfect combination of words that would make his mates truly understand, though not for lack of trying. Harry had learned more about himself and what he wanted out of life during his time with Draco than in any other relationship he'd ever had. Being with Draco had changed Harry, had helped shape him in ways he never could have predicted, and even though Draco hadn't been his forever-partner, Harry wouldn't change a moment of their time together.
Draco pressed Harry down into the sofa, his body warm and hard as it settled over him. Harry bucked up against Draco, his palms sliding across Draco's back, frantically gripping every bit he could get his hands on. He felt eager and desperate, like a teenage virgin about to get off for the very first time. Draco kissed his way along Harry's jaw, licking at his throat before nibbling on Harry's earlobe and making Harry's cock twitch.
"What do you want?" Draco asked, his voice rougher than a Beater's calloused palms.
Harry shivered. It should have filled him with excitement, all the glorious possibilities, but his heart was pounding more with anxiety than anticipation. There was too much to choose from, which might not have been an issue if it weren't for the sinking suspicion that this would probably be the last time Harry ever had Draco like this. As hard as Harry had been trying not to think about it, things would change after tomorrow, once Harry became a married man. They'd seen each other more than half-a-dozen times in the six years since they'd split, and during all but one of them, Harry had been involved with somebody else, steadfastly searching for the person who would give him what Draco couldn't. Harry had known it was wrong, a betrayal of sorts, but it didn't feel wrong, not the way it would have if Harry had gone out and pulled a random person to fuck at a club. Draco was different, even if Harry knew his partners wouldn't see it that way.
Which was why he never told them.
It wasn't as if Draco was the reason why any of those relationships failed, in the end. Harry knew where he and Draco stood, and they might have a connection that defied explanation, but Harry wasn't holding onto hope that Draco would change his mind, and Draco didn't expect him to spend forever pining.
Harry hadn't planned on finding his way back to Ginny. She'd been his teenage sweetheart, and they were both so very different from the children they'd been back then. But maybe that was why they worked so well together now. They'd found themselves, and then they'd found their way back to each other, and Harry was excited to continue building a life and a home with her. He knew marriage wouldn't materially change anything about their relationship and what they meant to one another, but he couldn't deny that formally committing himself to Ginny forever changed something in his head. Harry hadn't ever felt guilty about being with Draco, not even when he should have, and he wouldn't regret tonight, either.
He knew that would change after tomorrow.
When Harry didn't answer, Draco pulled back to look him in the eyes. He seemed to understand whatever he saw there, the way he always did. His expression softened, a flicker of sadness in his own eyes for just a moment.
"I want to take care of you," Draco said, leaning forward to ghost the words across Harry's mouth. "I want to touch every inch of you tonight until you're a trembling mess." His lips brushed against Harry's cheek on their way to his ear. He grazed against the whorl of it, making Harry shudder as he whispered, "Is that all right?"
Harry nodded, his throat dry, and then they were Disapparating, appearing with a jolt onto the middle of a large, plush bed. Harry didn't recognise the room, but it was decorated in a similar vein to the sitting room they'd just been in, which meant Draco was so desperate for Harry he'd Apparated them across the suite instead of wasting the twenty seconds it would have taken for them to walk instead. That probably shouldn't have made Harry as hot as it did, but Draco always seemed to have that effect on him.
Draco took his time peeling the clothes off Harry's body. It was a process that should have been awkward and cumbersome since they were lying down and couldn't stop kissing, but Harry was too busy luxuriating in Draco's presence to notice anything so trivial as buttons and sleeves. He did notice when he was finally naked, though, sprawled out beneath Draco on the hotel's expensive bed sheets. Draco's gaze was reverent as it swept over Harry's body, as if committing every last inch of him to memory. Harry ignored the way his stomach swooped at that thought and reached for Draco, pulling him down so they could kiss once more. Harry arched beneath him, enjoying the scratch and rasp of Draco's robes against his bare skin until a burst of Draco's magic Vanished his own clothes entirely, leaving him deliciously naked.
Harry ran his hands down Draco's back, smooth and so much broader than it looked in his smartly tailored robes. Harry had always had a strange fascination with Draco's shoulder blades, sharp and bony and covered with pale, unblemished skin. He couldn't see them from this angle but he could feel the winged protuberance, and he groped and stroked as Draco began kissing his way down Harry's sternum.
Draco stopped at Harry's left nipple, but the detour was brief—Harry didn't have particularly sensitive nipples, unlike Draco who could almost come from a bit of nipple play alone. Harry had other erogenous zones though, and Draco didn't waste much time before he was licking his way down to Harry's lower belly, his fingertips dancing along Harry's inner thighs as he sucked and stroked. Harry's erection bobbed and twitched towards Draco's mouth in a blatant invitation, and Draco flashed him a wicked smirk before giving them both what they so desperately wanted.
For all that Harry loved the idea of sucking cock, he'd always found the practice to be somewhat less pleasant. His gag reflex was disappointingly strong, and he'd never been able to swallow more than a mouthful before choking, and not in the sexy way. Draco hadn't ever minded—it was difficult for him to come from a blowjob alone, anyway—asserting that he loved giving head enough for the both of them. It wasn't just hyperbole; he really did love it, had always swallowed Harry's cock with a level of skill and honest enthusiasm that Harry hadn't ever experienced with any of his other partners. It was pure magic, feeling Draco's mouth on him, all wet heat and soft suction. Unlike Harry, Draco didn't seem to have a gag reflex at all, and Harry had often thought that Draco's throat squeezing and swallowing around the head of his dick was probably as close to heaven on earth as one could get.
Slick fingers rubbed circles against Harry's perineum, making his legs twitch as they moved slowly towards his arsehole. He spread his legs a bit wider, arching to give Draco easier access. Harry loved getting fingered, especially because it was so often a prelude to getting fucked, which he loved even more. His orgasms were always so much more intense when he was clenching down on something hard and thick, and Draco knew exactly how best to fuck Harry so that he practically blacked out with pleasure.
Two fingers pressed inside him, thick and unyielding as they curled and stroked right over his prostate. Draco's fingers were larger and more confident than Ginny's were the last time she'd done this for him, but Harry had no doubt she'd catch on quickly. She'd certainly seemed quite enthusiastic about fucking him, if a little tentative as she figured out the mechanics of the strap-on. It had been good, brilliant, and Harry was confident it would get even better with time, the way it had with Draco. But for now, Harry allowed himself to revel in the insistent push of Draco's digits inside him, the way they twisted and spread, opening Harry up and preparing him for Draco's cock.
Draco's mouth slid off Harry's erection, and Harry shivered at the sudden shock of air against his wet dick. But he didn't have long to linger on the sensation, because Draco's large, strong hands were lifting his arse up off the mattress, making space so that Draco's mouth could start licking at his relaxed hole.
"Fuck," Harry moaned, one hand tugging uselessly at the bed sheets while the other slid through Draco's silky hair, urging him closer. Draco had always possessed a wicked tongue, and though Harry had grown to love his sharp and biting humour, this had always been Harry's favourite use of it.
"Salazar, you're desperate for it, aren't you?" Draco growled against his arsehole as he licked and nipped at Harry's cheeks. "Shall I keep going, or are you ready for my cock now?"
"God, you bastard," Harry groaned, tugging at Draco's hair. "Just get up here and fuck me."
Draco laughed and let himself be pulled up, settling between Harry's legs and kissing him, wet and filthy. Harry arched his back and wrapped his legs around Draco's slim hips, wriggling until he felt the wet, fleshy tip of Draco's cock nudge between his cheeks.
"So bloody eager," Draco said against Harry's lips, smiling as he reached down and grabbed hold of his cock, rubbing himself against Harry's rim.
"Yeah, and?" Harry replied, his eyes flashing in challenge as he bit down lightly on Draco's lower lip and tugged. "What are you going to do about it?"
Draco looked reluctantly charmed as his hips twitched and he pressed inside, and Harry's body grew tight at the sudden fullness. Draco was thicker and longer than the dildo he'd last been fucked with, and it took a moment for him to adjust, for his body to remember how to accommodate such a stretch. But gradually his clenching muscles eased up, the burn fading into something hot and pleasurable. He slid his hands down Draco's back to his arse and squeezed, pulling him in, and Draco took the hint and began to thrust.
Once Draco started fucking him, he was like a man possessed, his lips and tongue devouring Harry as his cock lit Harry up from the inside. It had been years since Harry last had Draco in his arms and he took full advantage now, wrapping himself around Draco as tightly as he could as they made love. And it was making love, what they were doing, their bodies entwined in an intimate embrace. This thing between them that flared too bright and too hot to hold onto forever without getting burned—Harry knew that it was love, even if it wasn't the kind of love that meant they'd be together, in the end. There was more than one kind, and just because it didn't always last or wasn't the type of love that held up under the pressures of life, it didn't mean it wasn't important, that it wasn't special.
Harry lost track of how long they rocked together, Draco's cock plunging inside of him, stoking Harry's pleasure until it exploded into a fiery burst of bliss. He felt Draco shudder and come inside of him not long after, but Harry was too lost in the aftermath to do much more than cling to him and gasp for breath.
Harry always craved touch, and never moreso than after sex, and he continued holding on to Draco even as he slowly eased out of Harry's body and settled next to Harry on the bed. They were plastered together, their sweat-slick bodies still entwined, Harry's head nestled into the crook of Draco's neck. And yet, Harry already felt Draco's absence keenly, his arse throbbing and heart aching.
"Are you coming tomorrow?" Harry asked into the quiet. Harry had insisted on sending Draco an invitation to the wedding, though he never expected him to actually show. Ginny hadn't been happy about it—Draco was Harry's ex, after all, not to mention an ex-Death Eater—but Harry hadn't budged. Nobody had ever understood Harry and Draco's relationship, and they hadn't bothered to hide their relief when it ended, but Harry wasn't going to pretend it hadn't happened just to make them all more comfortable. Draco was one of his best friends; things might be messy and complicated between them, and he'd fully understand if Draco didn't want to be there, but Harry would be damned if he didn't offer him the option.
"I"—Draco hesitated, and Harry knew what his next words would be before he continued—"I don't think that would be a good idea."
"Are you sure?" Harry asked, not sure whether he actually wanted to change Draco's mind or not. "You did come all this way."
"Yes, I did," Draco said softly, running his fingers through Harry's hair. "I was too selfish to give up an opportunity to have this with you one last time." Harry's stomach clenched unpleasantly, and he burrowed more firmly against Draco's side. Draco squeezed him tightly.
"I've already booked a return Portkey for tomorrow morning," Draco continued, pausing to press a kiss against the top of Harry's head. "I'm… I'm so happy for you, Harry, truly. I don't know Ginevra well, but from what you've shared in your letters, she seems like a good match. I know how much you've wanted this, and I'd love to be there with you tomorrow, celebrating your happiness."
"But…?"
Draco huffed an amused laugh. "But tomorrow is about you and Ginny and your future together, and I'm not a part of that. I can't be. I'm your past, and that doesn't mean what we have—what we had—isn't important, but me being there tomorrow would complicate things, I think. I know your wife-to-be wouldn't like it, and I don't want to come between you, especially not on your wedding day."
"But…" Harry wanted to say that he wanted Draco there tomorrow, and that Ginny would get over it, but he supposed that was rather Draco's point. Harry had known it was foolish to invite Draco in the first place, but to not do so had felt like sending a message he wasn't sure he wanted to send. Draco not attending was the smart choice for all involved, but it still made Harry's chest ache not to have one of the most important people in his life not be there.
Draco smiled at him, soft and a little sad, and Harry's eyes began to sting. "I am happy for you, Harry. But it's a bittersweet kind of happiness. I want this for you, I want you to have everything you've ever wanted, but that doesn't mean I want to watch."
"So this is it?" Harry asked, his hands shaking. "Am I even going to see you again?"
Draco hesitated. "We'll still write to one another. I've always loved your letters."
"That doesn't answer my question."
"No, it doesn't." Draco ran a hand through his hair, seeming lost and unsure. "I don't know, Harry. I want to say of course we'll see each other again, but it's not that simple, is it?" Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Draco quelled him with a sharp glance. "Don't lie, Harry, not to yourself, and not to me. We don't exactly have a great track record of keeping our hands to ourselves when we're together, and we both know that everything changes tomorrow when you say I do."
Harry bit his lip and reluctantly nodded. Hadn't he just been thinking the same thing?
"I don't want to be the one who makes you break your vows. Not because I particularly care about them—you know how I feel about marriage—but because I know you do." Draco's eyes grew shiny as he looked down at him. "I don't want to be something you regret."
There wasn't anything Harry could say to that, so Harry leaned up and kissed Draco instead. It was a slow, searching kiss, and Harry knew they were both committing this moment to memory, savouring their last few kisses.
"I should probably head back home," Harry said with equal parts resolve and reluctance when they finally broke apart. "I'll want to be in my bed when the wake-up party arrives tomorrow morning."
"Yes, that sounds smart." Draco's hands clung for just a moment before letting Harry climb off the bed to rummage around for his scattered clothes.
Draco watched silently as Harry got dressed, his gaze a familiar caress Harry wasn't quite ready to live without. But that was the trade-off for Harry finally getting what he'd always wanted. He had to give up Draco.
He struggled with pulling on his shirt and cloak, and by the time he was finished, Draco was standing in front of him. He was, unfortunately, no longer entirely naked, having managed to pull on a pair of tight, black briefs that made his fair skin glow in the dim light. Harry's fingers itched once more with the urge to reach out and touch, and his eyes widened when Draco did so first.
Draco had never been one for physical affection outside of sex. Hugs were rare, and rarer still were hugs that Draco initiated, so Harry wasn't about to complain. He let Draco pull him close, breathing in that musky floral scent, trying not to let himself think about the fact that this might be the last time he'd smell it.
Hugging Ginny always felt like home, her embrace warm and comforting, their bodies slotting together so easily as she held him close. It was different with Draco, with all his hard bones and sharp edges, a manic sort of energy vibrating beneath his skin. Harry always imagined it was like hugging a wild animal. You might be grateful that they'd let you in so close, but you could never fully relax, wondering if at any moment they might snap and go for your throat. That was sort of what it had been like, loving Draco, who viewed marriage and settling down as a type of domestication. He saw commitments as a cage, had vowed to never again bind himself to another, not even in marriage. Draco wanted to be free to live life completely unencumbered, and though Harry couldn't understand the appeal, didn't see how somebody could possibly be happy without the attachments Harry so desperately craved, he respected Draco enough to trust that he knew his own mind. Harry wanted Draco to be happy, even if meant letting him go.
"I think it's time for me to leave," Harry said after several minutes of them standing there, holding one another in the lamplight.
"Yes," Draco said quietly, his voice thick. He held on for several moments more before taking a deep breath and pulling away, his eyes wet as he met Harry's gaze.
"I'll miss you," he said simply, the truth of it ringing through the room
"Yeah," Harry replied through the tightness in his throat, his eyes stinging. "I'll miss you, too."