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Harry rolls over to find still warm sheets but not the solid (albeit scarred) chest of his boyfriend. The groan he lets out is really more of a whine and Draco laughs from where he’s standing, in front of the wardrobe. He thought today was both of their days off.
“Some of us have day jobs, Potter.”
“I have a day job.”
“Well some of us don’t work for ourselves.”
“Draco,” Harry says quite seriously, “you do work for yourself.”
“Harry,” Draco says just as serious, “ I am a man of the people.”
“You’re a reclusive potions master,” says Harry, leveling him with an unimpressed glare before falling flat back onto the bed. He sticks a hand under his pillow for his wand before casting a tempus. “Merlin’s bollocks — It’s not even 8 yet. We have the day off. Just come back to bed.” He rubs the rapidly cooling side of the bed pleadingly, his voice still practically a whine. Draco smiles as he turns around and makes his way closer.
“I really can’t,” the blond says, placing a kiss on his forehead, just next to his scar. “I have a large order getting picked up on Friday so I have to go grab a few more ingredients I didn’t realize I was low on. My portkey leaves in less than an hour.”
“Will you be back for dinner or are you gonna eat while you’re out?” Harry asks throwing his legs over the side of the bed and pulling Draco to stand between them, laying his own head on the blond’s clothed stomach.
“If you want to cook, I can wait ‘til I come home.” He’s running a hand through Harry’s messy bedhead and he can’t help but lean further into the attention.
“Do you know how long that’ll be?”
“Before midnight, I promise.”
Harry looks up at him with narrowed eyes and Draco chuckles before bending over to press a kiss to his lips. They share a few more lingering pecks before Draco is pulling away, walking out of their room and into the kitchen.
The walls down the hall and into the living room are mostly bare besides a few muggle art pieces that are hung sporadically around the place. They had found most of them when they had bought their couch. The rug is a Malfoy heirloom. Everything else had already been there, par the bookshelf which they had bought and assembled by hand, to Draco’s displeasure. Neither of them had the mental health to hang up pictures of lost loved ones. Not yet. That's why they had moved from Number 12.
“Fix me a cuppa?” Harry calls from the room hopefully.
“Fix your own, I’m making coffee,” Draco calls back, but later when Harry finds a jumper to throw on his bare chest, there is a steaming cup of tea sitting on the table across from his boyfriend. He kisses him on the cheek before sitting down and wrapping his hands around the warm mug.
“Ron and ‘Mione are coming over today,” says the darker man to no one in particular. He turns his tone back to Draco. “Do we still have some chocolate biscuits?”
“No.”
“We just bought them last week!”
“Let me clarify. Though there are some in the cabinet for those of us who live here , no, we do not have enough chocolate biscuits for Weasley to scarf down over afternoon tea.”
“I’ll buy more biscuits.”
“Oh, sure you will,” Draco says teasingly, rolling his eyes before finishing his coffee, standing and kissing Harry on the cheek. He’s at the door in two quick strides, pulling on his coat on and wrapping a scarf around his neck. He pats his pockets before nodding to himself. “I really have to go. I have my phone if you need me.”
“Love you,” Harry calls after him just as the door opens. He hears it close then there is the distinct sound of stomping.
“Goddammit, Potter,” says Draco coming back and kissing Harry on the mouth this time. Whispering a sweet: I love you too. He pulls away again with a softer smile. “But I really have to go. I’ll be back. Have fun with your friends today.”
The door closes again and Harry can’t stop smiling.
-- §- -
There’s two mugs in the sink of their London flat and a cabinet full of powdered erumphants horn when Harry opens the door for Hermione and Ron to come in. They do this sometimes, flat visits. He was at their house on Tuesday so here they are returning the favor Monday for lunch. He’s set out the ginger biscuits with a smile, because he knows the chocolate ones are actually Draco's favorite.
Ron enters the house with a hug and a firm pat on the back before hanging his and Hermione’s coats on the rack and moving over to one of the armchairs flanking the couch, a ginger biscuit already in his hand. Hermione is smiling at Harry, talking faster than he thinks he can keep up, but he's used to it after a moment.
“ — nd I was appalled. Then Zebediah Lloyd, of all people, came up and tried to tell me that I didn't know anything about House Elf rights. Like I haven't been studying creature rights since Hogwarts. Like I'm not head of the bloody Rights of Non-Wizards branch of the ministry. Me ,” she says again emphatically and Harry snorts.
“I bet you gave him an earful,” he says an entertained smile on his face.
“You bet she did,” says Ron finding it just as funny as Harry. “She reached into her bag and pulled out bloody badges and brochures and she was smacking him around with’em.”
“I did not ‘smack him around’,” she says, but she's blushing.
“May as well have,” Ron brushes it off with a proud grin. He points at Harry with another biscuit between his fingers and Harry reaches over to snag one for himself. “You should have came to the office this morning, mate. It was brilliant.”
“I’ll be in the office tomorrow. I had an official day off, and all that. I’ve been working out in the shed today. I had a new idea for combining woods for wands,” he says as he shakes his head in thought. “I know holly and hawthorn work well enough. I was thinking maybe birch and purple heart next... I’ve been experimenting all day.” Harry looks over at the clock and almost looks shocked to see it’s quarter past. He stands up, moving towards the kitchen. “I made that soup you really like, ‘Mione.” He looks back at her. “You know, the one with the squash?”
“You didn't have to do that, mate,” Ron says, as he and Hermione come over to sit at the breakfast island.
“It's really not a big deal. I was making some for dinner anyway. There's some cottage pie in the oven too.” He shrugs with a small self-deprecating smile. “It's the first time I've cooked dinner in ‘bout a month. We usually just pick something up together ‘cause he works days and I'm working nights. Plus it's raining, I wanted to make something warm.”
“You know, Harry,” starts Hermione, “you've been with this person for almost 5 years and we still know nothing about him, bar the fact that the chocolate biscuits are his favorite so Ron shouldn't eat them all when we come by. Are you ever going to tell us anything about him?”
“What?” says Harry confused. “I talk about him all the time.” He freezes as he tries to run over the last few conversations he's had with his friends. “Don't I?”
When Ron sends him a sad smile and shakes his head he thinks that maybe that isn't the best sign. He busies himself with fixing them bowls of soup and turning the kettle on.
“Well...uh, he’s a potions master,” Harry finds himself saying as he hands the bowls over. In his head, he’s still trying to rerun old conversations. “He does private potion orders, makes me potions, stuff like that. He gets really excited about it and he’ll come home and start telling me all about it and— well most of what he says goes right over my head, yeah? So I tell him. I’m like: ‘Love, I've no idea what you're saying’ and he laughs and he’ll explain it differently, but his face just lights up when he talks about it.” He shrugs, looking away from his friends when the kettle goes off. He takes down the mugs then Hermione is beside him, opening cabinets to search for tea and comes back down with what looks like instant but he grabs her hand before she can actually do anything with it.
“Harry James Potter, I can fix us all a cup of tea. You don't have to do everything.”
“Oh, no, ‘Mione, I know that. Really. It's just-- that's not tea. It's powdered... something horn. He says it has to stay in a dank place so he stuffed it in the back of the cabinet. I don't even-- what does dank even mean ?” he asks with furrowed eyebrows as he takes the canister from her and returns it to the cabinet, handing her a jar of instant tea bags.
“It means dark and moist,” says a new voice as the front door closes. He hadn't even noticed the lock clicking. “Generally cold.”
“Might as well sit them outside then, yeah?” Harry says not even turning around as he starts fixing another bowl of soup. “You eating now or you want to change first?”
“I’m going to get out of these wet clothes, if it doesn't bother you too terribly,” Draco says sarcastically and Harry snorts as he turns around a spoonful of soup almost to his mouth.
“You look like a soaked kneazle.”
“I feel like a soaked kneazle.”
“You could always — ” Harry starts, waving a hand.
“Emergencies only,” Draco says resolutely and steps into the kitchen to steal a kiss and a spoon of Harry's soup before nodding at Hermione and Ron. “Granger. Weasley.”
“You're leaking all over the flat!” Harry calls after him jokingly.
“Eat your soup and leave me alone, Potter,” Draco calls back, muffled as he pulls off his clothes and heads to the bathroom in their bedroom for a shower.
The room is quiet, but Harry doesn't notice how tense his friends seem to be as they watch him leaning contentedly back against the counter eating his soup. Hermione is standing stock still in the corner of his kitchen, a tight grip on one of Harry’s mugs as the steam billows under her chin.
“Where do you think he was?” Harry asks them with a bit of excitement as if this was all some big guessing game. “It couldn't have been too far, yeah? ‘Cause he still got rained out. He left before nine this morning. It's barely one.”
Harry looks up for the first time since his boyfriend has walked in and notices his friends are looking at him with mixed expressions of shock and confusion which in turn, makes him shocked and confused.
“What? You think he's been farther?” When they still don't say anything he stops. “Why're we looking at me like that?” He sits his bowl down on the counter and crosses his arms defensively and the quiet sound of the shower running in the background makes it easier for his hackles not to raise too high. Ron is the first to speak and it's as much of a statement as it is a question.
“You're with Malfoy?”
“Er...yeah,” Harry says just as confused.
“Then — Well, he’s the bloke you've been with for the last five years?”
“Yes…” Harry says again, getting more uncomfortable by the minute. His friends still look weirded out and he huffs an angry breath. “What's with the faces? If you both have something to say, I wish you would just say it .”
Hermione, ever the brave friend, cleared her throat before speaking. Her voice was calm and rational when she asked: “How exactly would you like for us to react to this?”
“React to what?” Harry pinches the bridge of his nose when they give each other a look, before looking at both of his friends tiredly. “How ‘bout we all assume I know nothing about what's going on right now and go from there, alright?”
“We didn't — I mean, you never— we weren't aware you were dating Malfoy.”
“You...weren't?”
“You never really say anything directly about him unless we ask and there's no pictures or anything…” Hermione says softly, trying not to send him toppling off the edge of guilt.
“George was starting to think you were just lying about having a boyfriend,” Ron puts in unhelpfully. “We told him that we’ve been over here, but he said we were just lying for you, ya know?”
“What— why didn't you say anything?” Harry asks pitifully. “I thought you all knew. I thought— oh Merlin.” He puts his head in his hands and he hears the door to their bedroom open again, the sounds of Draco padding down the hallway loud in his head.
“You alright, love?” Draco asks as he finally enters from the hall, walking first over to the living room then mumbling out an offended ginger biscuits? “Did you break him?” he asks Hermione and Ron when Harry still hasn't answered, but they're both looking at him as if they've seen a ghost.
“I'm an idiot,” Harry wheezes.
“Well, yes,” Draco agrees.
“They didn't know we were together,” Harry continues by way of explanation. “I never talk about you. I thought I did. I feel like I'm always talking about how good you are to me, but—”
“Blaise and Pansy don't know either,” Draco says with a shrug. “I just thought we worked better when it was just us. No expectations to be someone we aren't. Nice call on the bookshelf though, because now they think I'm dating a nice muggle woman.”
“Draco, dear, please understand me when I say that you’re the gayest bloke I have ever met.”
Draco snorts a laugh when he shoves him, but wraps his arms around Harry's waist and pulls him in for a hug anyway.
“Tell that to Pansy.”
“Next time you go for lunch, I will. Gladly.”
“Speaking of lunch, I've disrupted yours, haven't I?”
“Just a little, but it's not a big deal.”
“Yes it is, Harry, you cooked and everything. I’ll just take a bowl and go read in the room or something,” says Draco already ladling himself a bowl of the creamy soup. “Enjoy your company.” He kisses Harry on the cheek and starts to walk out with his bowl.
“Draco,” Hermione calls out, though it looks to have surprised her too. “Stay out here with us. We should catch up, right? Ron and I know how happy you make Harry and well—” she nudges the redhead who was happy to just eat his soup in peace.
“Yeah, Malfoy,” Ron agrees after a moment, a genuine smile on his face. “Grab a seat. You’ve been with Harry for ages and this is our first time properly meeting you. We have to do our job embarrassing him, yeah?”
“You're doing a stellar job already, mate,” Harry says pouting.
“Brilliant.”
“I assure you, Potter, you do a great job of that on your own,” Draco says with a small grin, but there's a nervous look in his eyes as he takes a seat at the table instead of at the bar with Harry's friends. Harry shoots him a look that says you don't have to do this , but Draco shakes his head and makes nice with Harry's friends and honestly, the ravenette falls a little more in love.