Title; Hogsmeade Trip
Summary; Harry supposed he should thank Ron and Hermione for their shameless relationship; they drove him out on a cold winters day, and straight into Draco Malfoy's open arms.
Authors Notes; Don't you just hate it when two friends are shamelessly all over each other? I do. It makes for awkward, one-sided conversation. So this is a story to help couples gain awareness that if you snog in front of your best friend, your friend is going to leave you for someone else. So be warned. :D This is also shamelessly fluffy.
"Would you two stop eating each others faces off?" Harry asked exasperatedly.
Ron held up a finger, still groping Hermione's face with his lips. With a disgusted groan, Harry turned away from them. It had been four months since the end of the war, and they were still going at each other like rabid, lust-filled dogs. To be honest, it disgusted Harry. They weren't doing anything they couldn't do in private.
Out of the smoky window of the Three Broomsticks, Harry caught sight of a familiar head of blond hair walking past, wrapped up in thick clothes to keep the winter air out. Ignoring the sounds of Ron and Hermione's eager groans of satisfaction came easier now, as if Draco Malfoy was a human silencing charm. Harry kept his eyes on Draco's form. Not that he suspected that Draco was up to something suspicious; ever since he'd spoken for Draco and Narcissa in their trial, Harry had become obsessed with him again—the good kind of obsessed. Not the "I'm going to figure out what you're doing, by watching your every move" kind of obsessed.
Glancing at Ron and Hermione, Harry came to a quick decision; he wouldn't be missed. Mumbling some half-assed excuse that got him a thumbs up from Ron and a hum from Hermione, Harry stood up and left the warm tavern, drawing his clothes around him tighter as the wind assaulted his warm body.
If Draco hadn't have been wearing darker colours, Harry was sure he would have lost him in the snow. Draco's white blond hair and pale complexion would have easily camouflaged him in this weather. Shivering in the cold, Harry hunched his shoulders and started running after him.
He must have looked a sight, running through the town like someone was chasing after him. He garnered a few confused looks as he passed, but other than that they didn't do much. He figured they thought he was off to do something heroic, and didn't want the responsibility of stopping him from saving a life on their shoulders. On most days he would have thought their looks and opinions eye-roll worthy, but now as he chased after Draco, he found them quite amusing.
But I'm not here to save Draco, because he's tough enough to save himself, Harry thought as the air froze in his lungs. Right now I think I'm chasing after him to save myself.
"Even after all this time," said Draco once Harry was around two feet away from him. He didn't turn around, "you still follow me around. If I didn't know any better, Potter, I'd say that you find me an interesting person. Not that I'm going to disagree with you there. But I suggest you take more time to consider how you're going to jump me without my noticing."
"How did you know I was coming?" Harry asked, breathless, the back of his throat stinging as the cold air affected it, too.
"Besides that black mop you call hair? Well, I'm sure that even a deaf person could hear you. Not to mention you run like you're trying to make the world break in half." By Draco's standards, his comebacks weren't very good. After the war, he'd lost his touch with his sarcastic side with Harry, and he knew it. "So, what is it that you want? I'm pretty sure that you've got better things to do than following me around while I do my shopping."
"Not really," said Harry with a careless shrug, falling in step with Draco, burying his hands in his pockets. "I just left the Three Broomsticks. Ron and Hermione were practically all over each other, and let me tell you, it's not a sight I want to see."
Draco grimaced. "I guess being war hero's gives them a sense of entitlement to take their sexcapades to public places." He glanced at Harry, and frowned. "As a matter of fact, where's that Weasley chick? You're the war hero, I would have suspected that you'd jump on her the moment Voldemort hit the ground."
"And here I thought you had a better opinion of me than that," said Harry sarcastically, though he was grinning all the same. "Nah, after the war … my opinion just changed, you know? All I wanted back then was to have a wife and family—believe me, I still want a family, it's just—"
"You're not sure about the wife thing," Draco filled in. Harry nodded. "Ah, well. You're not the only one, Potter. The war changed a lot of peoples opinions, mine included. So how did the Weasley girl take it? She's been obsessed with you for years, quite frankly I'm surprised she let you live."
Harry laughed, which surprised even him; he hadn't laughed like that in ages, not even Ron and Hermione could bring out that kind of laugh anymore, and he was vaguely surprised that Draco could. Then again, Draco was capable of bringing out any and every emotion in him.
"Well, Ginny wasn't happy with me at first. She kept thinking that she had to change something in order for me to take her back, she just didn't realise she had … well, all the wrong bits," said Harry. For a second he wondered why he was talking to Draco about this anyway, but he dismissed it. There wasn't much Draco could do with the information anyway; if he did try to spread it around, his reputation was so destroyed that no one would believe him. "It took her about a week, then she just got used to it. We're not on the friendliest of terms now."
Pulling his silver and green scarf tighter around his neck like he was aiming for strangulation, Draco nodded his head like he understood. But he really didn't. What had Harry seen in Ginny that first time round? Having Voldemort on his back must have fucked with Harry's head big time. If Harry had wanted a girlfriend, there were plenty other of fish in the sea—and even cuter ones, to boot. Draco was glad he'd never invested much time in understanding Gryffindors.
"So, what about you?" Harry asked. "It's been four months … Has anything happened to you at all?"
Draco shot him a sharp look. "Besides the trials, and the fact that people are still after my blood?" he asked, and Harry cringed. "No."
"I'm sorry if that offended you—"
"Since when do you care what offends me?" Draco asked, his tone as cutting as the look in his eye. If Harry didn't know better, he would have thought that Draco was looking through his skin and into the person that lay beneath all that. "Look, just because you stood up for me at my and my mother's trial doesn't wipe away all that bad blood between us. Yes, we were stupid kids, but that rivalry of ours almost got me killed. If you're looking for a decent conversation, go back to your friends."
"I didn't know what that spell did," Harry whispered, shaking his head as if his main purpose was to detach it from his shoulders. Feeling the prickle of tears in his eyes, remembering that he'd almost taken a life that day in Myrtle's bathroom, he turned his head away so Draco couldn't see him trying to regather his emotions. "If I had known what that spell did, I never would have used it. You never deserved to die that kind of death."
"Hey, what can I say?" said Draco with a shrug, holding his gloved hands out to emphasise the action. "I just have a way of getting people to try and kill me somehow, whether they were my friends or not."
Harry remembered the Fiendfyre, and damn it he wanted to cry again. What if he'd done things differently? It seemed that after he denied Draco his friendship at age eleven, things had gotten much harder than it needed to be. What if he had accepted that hand all those years ago? He could have saved a lot of people pain, especially himself and Draco.
Back then, it had been nothing but a stupid rivalry. But Draco had grown up since then, and he'd made plenty of mistakes because he had no one to rely on; his parents were relying on him with their lives, his friends had Death Eater parents. And the one time Harry could have stopped all the agony for everyone, he'd slashed open Draco's chest by accident and ruined his chances at rescuing Draco—who was the one person that year that had truly needed rescuing.
"Don't cry," Draco whispered. He wanted to reach out and comfort him, but the lack of comfort he'd received over his childhood stopped him; he didn't know how to comfort someone.
He could see the suppressed emotion clearly, and a searing pain shot across his chest, right along the Sectumsempra scar as he realised he'd been the one to cause it. Despite the Dark Mark on his arm that would have put the notion in peoples' heads that he was a hardened criminal, Draco was a very emotional person when he allowed his defences to drop, and the one thing he hated most was to see people crying in front of him.
With those two words, however, a sob burst from Harry's lips, shattering all his defences.
"God, everything has been so screwed up," Harry choked, wiping viciously at his eyes. Draco wouldn't have been surprised if he tore the skin off that way. In an attempt to help, though he felt extremely uncomfortable doing so, Draco put a hand on Harry's arm. "I wish I could … could go back and d-do things differently!"
Without warning, Harry practically threw himself into Draco's arms, their heads nearly clashing as the abrupt gesture took Draco off guard, causing him to spasm oddly in surprise. Nevertheless, he caught Harry in his arms, and allowed Harry to wrap him up in a possessive bear-hug. Call Draco crazy, but he felt as though he'd finally come home.
"I'm sorry for everything, Draco," Harry whispered thickly, his voice muffled by Draco's jumper, but Draco heard him as plain as day. "I know those words can't make up for everything, but damn it, I wish they could." He lifted his head, his blotchy red face inches from Draco's own pale face, their noses barely brushing up. "I don't know about you, Draco, but I really want us to start again. We could be great friends you know … and I think we're more alike than you realise."
Placing a hand to Harry's cheek, Draco smiled and wiped away the tears gathering beneath his eyelashes.
"I don't want us to be friends," he whispered.
Harry barely had time to feel upset about the denial of friendship, when Draco's soft lips brushed against his in a rather awkward kiss. He pulled back to get a glimpse of Harry's stunned face, chuckled, then went back in for a much deeper, meaningful kiss. Harry responded this time, and very eagerly, Draco had to add.
"How long ..." Harry couldn't finish the rest of that intended question when they parted. He was too shocked for words. A nice fiery tingle in the pit of his stomach warmed him up like fire.
"After all this time," Draco realised, shaking his head. "Third year, Harry, third year."
This time, it was an embarrassed blush that sat comfortably on Harry's cheeks. He ducked his head down, his forehead resting on Draco's shoulder. Yeah, they could have been a lot more a lot sooner if he had been capable of reading between the lines. But this seemed strangely perfect, standing in the late November snow wrapped up in Draco's embrace. In his heart of hearts, he knew then that he wanted nothing to change anymore; things had played out the perfectly. The pieces of the enigma filled in, showing exactly how things were supposed to be.
"Well," said Harry after a couple of minutes worth of silence. He met Draco's gaze head-on, smiling. "I have a lot to make up for, don't I?"
"Yes, you do," Draco agreed. "Especially for ruining my shopping day. But … you do look my size. I'm sure playing my guinea pig isn't a bad way to start making up for things." He took Harry by the hand, grinning at the horrified look on Harry's face. "Think of it this way; the more clothes you try out, the better chance you have of getting me out of these ones."
With that in mind, Harry followed Draco to the nearest shop gladly, hand in hand.
Even if someone has done something wrong in their lives, it doesn't mean that they are beyond hope. Anyone can atone for their wrongdoings. That cold day in November, Harry learned that there was more to life than black and white. There was also a shade of grey, much like the colour of Draco's eyes. No one was past forgiveness … Unless you were Voldemort and his very loyal Death Eaters. Then, Harry supposed, you could go straight to hell and stay there and burn for eternity. And wasn't burning the worst way to go?
Speaking of burning, Harry and Draco burned holes into the mattress in the Room of Requirement that night with the heat of their passion.
Okay, so maybe burning wasn't all that bad.