Fic: The Boys Who Lived (H/D, R)
this is for you, fandom, with much love and t00biness. and no, nothing that can possibly happen could affect my otp, of course. of course. >:D
Disclaimer: not mine, valentine.
Warning: Silly shmoopy dorky H/D. What else?
Dedication: I think I love you, HP fandom. *sniff* It's been almost a year now that I've known all of you, and burn-out, flame-wars, shipping debates, feedback wibbling and fandom politicking notwithstanding, it's been a joy, really. Here's to more where that came from, and to live-and-only-slightly-evil!Draco, of course. And of course, I -know- I love you, Harry and Draco. No matter what happens, in my heart you'll snog forever.
~~ The Boys Who Lived
"The world as we know it could be about to end-- crumble into bloody -pieces-, more like, and you're just-- just -sitting- there," Harry babbled, "naked as the day you were born!" He paused to gulp a quick breath.
"So when do I get my present?" came the fuzzy drawl. "Considering this -is- the day I was born, after all."
Harry bapped Draco on the head and glared at his oblivious, still half-asleep bedmate.
"Can't you take this seriously for one moment? For a single fucking second?" Harry was trying to be reasonable, he really was, but who could be reasonable when Draco bloody Malfoy was -looking- at them like-- well, like he was the superior, immortal being he'd always claimed he was, and not-- not--
"It's 10 am on a perfectly pleasant Saturday morning, Harry," Draco noted lightly. "Of -course- it's going to end. That's the sort of thing that happens -every- Saturday to the Boy Who Lived and his intrepid, yet much put-upon boyfriend." Draco smirked in his most infuriating manner.
"No! Don't you -understand-? You stupid git, you're not immortal, you know! You're going to -die-, don't you get it, you're going to die and--"
Harry's cheeks were beginning to turn quite a spectacular shade, enough to make a Weasley wince.
Draco smirked. "Am I...," he drawled, watching as the furious color spread to the tips of Harry's ears with a sort of morbid fascination.
"-Yes-, and then-- then-- what the fuck am I going to do with myself, have you thought about -that-, Malfoy? Have you? Or has this been too good of a source of fucking -amusement- to you?"
Draco sighed. He supposed they were going to have to go over this sooner rather than later. Again. Still, it didn't hurt to try. "Harry. Come on--" Draco said, using his most innocent, cajoling voice as he tumbled Harry back down onto the rumpled sheets, beginning to lick a trail from his collarbone to his ear, "do you really think--"
Harry tore himself away from Draco's grasp at this, sputtering. His hair was standing up in even more directions than usual, and his glare was something to behold, if only Draco hadn't beheld it so often, most recently about the very same subject. Harry was clutching the dark green sheets indignantly to his chest, looking for all the world like an affronted virgin; more specifically, of the female kind. Draco couldn't stop himself. He started laughing.
"You-- you--" Harry was shrieking by now. As was Draco-- with laughter. Harry's reactions were still lightning-quick, however, and Draco didn't know what hit him before he was sprawled, pinned efficiently to the bed by an even more irate-looking Harry. While Draco didn't fail to notice Harry's morning hard-on, he supposed this was not the best time to try dealing with it, though he couldn't help wiggling a little, making Harry gasp before his eyes narrowed once again.
"Okay. Look." Draco sighed again, closing his eyes. He supposed there was no escaping it. "As I've said before: it was one stupid bloody prophecy. You know how unreliable those are, even if it wasn't Professor Trelawney. You know yourself that there's just no -reason- for me to-- oh, I don't know-- keel over from indigestion, or walk straight into the path of an oncoming bus. And Voldemort is -dead-, Harry."
"We don't know that!" Harry muttered, his face buried in Draco's shoulder. It was hard to concentrate on the end of the world when Draco was breathing softly against his hair, solid and warm and real and digging insistently into his thigh....
"And even if it -was- the end of the world after breakfast," Draco whispered sweetly, arching to move his mouth against Harry's ear, "you'll save me, won't you, lover?" He practically purred that last word, making Harry shiver, and wonder for a fleeting moment what exactly he was so worried about, again.
Harry scowled at him resentfully, rolling away from Draco and swinging his legs over the side of the bed, sitting with his back turned. "I couldn't protect Ginny, or Ron, or Sirius-- what makes you think--"
Draco rolled his eyes, throwing one slim, elegant arm across them dramatically. "It's been ages--"
"Three years."
"Three years since the war and everything is -still- life and death to you, Potter! So what! So what if life gets difficult again-- don't tell me you wouldn't enjoy it."
Harry's back stiffened, his fingers fisting in the sheets at the edge of the bed. "That is -just- the sort of.... No, I wouldn't enjoy it. I wouldn't enjoy losing you, believe it or not. And don't you -sigh-, like I'm being ridiculous and overreacting. You don't know. You don't know what could happen."
"Exactly. I don't know, and neither do you, and there's nothing we can do about it for now, so we may as well fuck like rabbits instead," Draco said, with the air of one who'd just made a stunning, foolproof logical argument. Still, he refrained from actually touching Harry, knowing it was likely to get him hexed even now, and he really didn't feel like playing dirty this early in the morning.
"Your father--"
"My father, my father-- my God, Potter, I never thought the day would come when you'd mention my dear departed father more than me!" Draco was actually beginning to work himself into a temper now, and he felt a slight bit of relief. It was rather draining, battling Harry's stubborn bouts of anxiety and pessimism with only unreliable good humor at his command.
"Your dear bloody departed father made quite sure I -couldn't- stop mentioning him. Everyone knows a wizard's dying prophecy, especially one about close blood kin, has extremely high chances of coming true. Even Dumbledore couldn't come up with anything to contradict that," Harry went on, as if Draco hadn't spoken.
"All he said was that on my twenty-first birthday, life as I know it will be over-- give or take a few enigmatic references to ravens, blood links and historical precedent. Harry... you could say that about -anyone's- twenty-first birthday. Get a bloody grip, would you?"
Harry whipped around, twisting his upper torso to glare at his still-prone boyfriend, unable to keep his eyes from softening as he took in the glowing pale skin and the outrageous, familiar curl to the other's mouth.
"Argh!" He thrust the heel of his palm against his eyes, groaning loudly as he rubbed at them, knocking his glasses askew. "I give up! You're going to be the death of me, Malfoy."
"Don't be so melodramatic, Harry, it doesn't suit you. Plus, isn't this all about -you- being the death of -me-? Or have I got that part confused again?" Draco asked innocently.
"I'll show you death," he said in that growl that made Draco's whole body thrum with anticipation and his eyes threaten to close already. He'd much rather be snogged breathless and shagged rotten than have pointless talks about their impending doom any day of the week, but especially Saturday. Especially considering it was his birthday and he hadn't even gotten in one lousy shag yet.
True to form, Harry wasted no time in tackling the unresisting blond in a sudden, fierce movement.
Draco wasn't quite ready for that, after all. He made a high-pitched startled noise and went still under him. Harry had him pinned again, both of them breathing shallowly, their eyes blazing with something that couldn't be adequately described merely as anger or lust or even sheer adrenaline.
"I want you," Harry growled, his voice rough with barely-suppressed emotion. Draco drew in a shaky breath, his arms going around to wrap tightly about Harry's shoulders, squeezing convulsively, all thought flown the second their bodies made contact. "-Alive-."
Harry's teeth were set against Draco's skin, testing it but not really moving to bite. He just breathed harshly, savoring the tangy taste of sweat and the hints of sweetness prickling his tongue as it probed in slow, focused circles. Draco moaned, and Harry's chest constricted, because he simply could not imagine living without this. Even imagining it made his heart race so fast it felt like it would burst from his chest and his vision go black with red sparks everywhere. There was still so much he wanted to -do-, so much they hadn't even begun together. Draco still hadn't told him he loved him.
He didn't even know what he was doing as he bit and licked his way down the other's chest, growling incoherent things against salty skin, raking his teeth heedlessly across a sensitive nipple. Draco whimpered, bucking underneath him, and Harry only wanted to bite harder, go faster, and forget everything but the burning immediacy between them.
And suddenly, it was as if they had no time at all-- no time for preparation, for soft words or for gentle touches, and this was all there was, this burning urgency to -feel- the other as deeply as humanly possible. Harry knew Draco could feel it too, knew it was always just below the surface for both of them, barely caged and contained at the best of times. It had always been like this-- it always felt like the sun was going tumble out of the sky if they truly loosed this wild craving, and it had never really mattered.
So Harry did the only thing he could, and rode it out, his hips pumping frantically against Draco's own, voice rising and falling in hoarse pleas and curses he wasn't aware of making, just as he wasn't aware of anything but the driving, desperate need for some sort of release for all the unleashed chaos in him.
When Harry came, it was in a white-hot flash, his mouth open in a frozen rictus against Draco's. His hips were grinding in spasms as he spurted against the other's flexing thighs, and Draco's teeth left crimson marks on his lower lip even as Draco swallowed his screams.
~~
It was with a distant sense of surprise that he felt the swiftly cooling liquid sliding against his own stomach as he lay across Draco, dead to the world in most respects. Harry winced a little, feeling too bonelessly good to summon up any actual remorse, but he was glad nonetheless, and only partly because this meant Draco wasn't about to flip him over and fuck him raw before either of them had gotten their breath back. Instead, Draco was purring in that sexy, sated way that made always made Harry nuzzle him and lose all sense of reality in a dizzying wash of pure happiness.
"Loveyou," he mumbled against Draco's neck, chewing slightly at the pale, sticky skin.
"Yeah, I know," Draco mumbled back, quite gently except for that inevitable hint of smugness.
"Prat," he mouthed, unable to summon even an iota of feeling to back it up but pleased at the opportunity to tease. Even though it was true, of course.
"And proud." Draco had long ago realized that answering taunts with taunts was getting him nowhere with Harry and that it was much more gratifying to simply be everything Harry accused him of being, and still be better. The warm, fuzzy feeling of having the last word had never really palled.
"Evil prat," Harry whispered eventually, after a light doze during which he didn't say or think or move much at all.
"I'm only slightly evil," Draco replied with his usual prompt fastidiousness. "It doesn't actually count until you're about one and a half times more evil than me."
"That was until fifth year, Malfoy. Everything went to hell in fifth year. And for all we know, we're still -in- hell," Harry added darkly.
Choosing to ignore that last comment, Draco smiled widely, always happy to be reminded of the good old days, when he struck fear and loathing into the hearts of many. Unlike these days, when most people didn't know him from the next over-dressed queen, strutting his stuff in the middle of London. "Yes well. House-elf harassment aside, I've been -good- this year, haven't I, Harry?"
"I don't think hexing Ron the first time he came to visit and leering at Hermione's arse every time her back's turned counts as an improvement."
Harry was trying to sound stern and failing, mostly because living with Draco had made him much, much more easily amused by these things. It was distressing in a theoretical sort of way, but really, it was a survival technique as much as anything.
"Minor details, all. The point is: I'm pure as a spring rose. For all intents and purposes."
Harry just looked at him.
"Okay, maybe not. But you see, my death would lack meaning. It would lack grandeur. It would lack... that certain spice of satisfaction, don't you think?" Harry snorted. He knew Draco wasn't this naïve-- no one was, anymore-- but he still itched to wax bitter about how many had died pointlessly. "Besides, I'm much more interesting this way. And if the world stopped existing to make Malfoys interesting, well then, God or whoever could just retire his croquet balls and go take a nap, don't you think?"
"Now you're just getting weird," Harry said, refusing to budge more than he already had, especially since he was beginning to feel more and more like this was a silly conversation from start to finish. Not that he'd ever admit that; or at least, not until tomorrow.
"Also, you love me," Draco said, his tone reminiscent of a casual remark about the weather.
"I, um-- well-- yes, but--" Harry sputtered, still not entirely used to Draco's mercurial shifts of subject.
"But nothing. You love me, correct?"
Harry's eyes narrowed suspiciously. It was just like Draco to use something like that in an argument. "Yeah, so?"
"So, isn't that enough, so? What other protection is there?"
Harry just blinked at him. "Since when did you turn into such a sap, Malfoy?"
Draco grimaced, looking as if he'd swallowed something rotten. "A sap, Potter? A -sap-? Look who's talking, Merlin! The things I have to put up with, honestly." Harry rolled his eyes and Draco smirked.
"Hermione's rubbing off on you at last, isn't she," he said, laughing.
Draco actually sputtered at that. "How dare you, Potter! Here I am, trying to be nice-- understanding, loving even. And what do I get for my trouble? Unfounded slander! See if I ever say anything nice to you again." He huffed, looking rather fetching as he always did when pouting for effect. Not that Harry would admit that even under tickle-torture.
"Ha. That'll be the day." Harry paused, considering. "You know, I think living with a 'nice' Draco Malfoy may be just the thing to throw me over the edge and straight into St. Mungo's, actually...."
Draco made a moue of distaste. "You wanted to hear it, so I said it: that simple. All in the interest of insuring that wasn't our last shag for who knows how long. And, it's my bloody birthday, I'm feeling magnanimous in the anticipation of lavish gifts."
"Who says--"
"And anyway," Draco interrupted, pretending he couldn't see the guilty look on Harry's face for Harry's own good, "you need me. You're the Boy Who Lived Twice, and you need me to stick around to make your life as hellish as possible so that you don't get too comfortable, you know. It's the order of things."
Harry scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "Yeah, and just yesterday "the order of things" meant Malfoys didn't get out of bed on Fridays," he said testily, but the left corner of his lips curved just a little.
"Oh, stuff it. I'm not going anywhere, you prat. You'll just have to get used to it."
They were sitting cross-legged, facing each other and looking into each other's eyes as if they hadn't had the chance to for months, maybe even years. The sun was at its highest point in the sky, but the day was cool and the breeze coming through the French doors was uncharacteristically subdued for June.
"We'll live, Harry," Draco said, his voice softened, certain, making the small hairs on Harry's arms stand up.
"We will?" he breathed.
Their fingers wound together, their chests rising and falling slowly. Harry inhaled, letting Draco's natural scent sink deeper into his own skin, smooth across his jagged edges. In this moment, there was nothing else but them, and they were just like they had always been-- three years later, and it felt like three days. They were ready.
"We will."
Disclaimer: not mine, valentine.
Warning: Silly shmoopy dorky H/D. What else?
Dedication: I think I love you, HP fandom. *sniff* It's been almost a year now that I've known all of you, and burn-out, flame-wars, shipping debates, feedback wibbling and fandom politicking notwithstanding, it's been a joy, really. Here's to more where that came from, and to live-and-only-slightly-evil!Draco, of course. And of course, I -know- I love you, Harry and Draco. No matter what happens, in my heart you'll snog forever.
~~ The Boys Who Lived
"The world as we know it could be about to end-- crumble into bloody -pieces-, more like, and you're just-- just -sitting- there," Harry babbled, "naked as the day you were born!" He paused to gulp a quick breath.
"So when do I get my present?" came the fuzzy drawl. "Considering this -is- the day I was born, after all."
Harry bapped Draco on the head and glared at his oblivious, still half-asleep bedmate.
"Can't you take this seriously for one moment? For a single fucking second?" Harry was trying to be reasonable, he really was, but who could be reasonable when Draco bloody Malfoy was -looking- at them like-- well, like he was the superior, immortal being he'd always claimed he was, and not-- not--
"It's 10 am on a perfectly pleasant Saturday morning, Harry," Draco noted lightly. "Of -course- it's going to end. That's the sort of thing that happens -every- Saturday to the Boy Who Lived and his intrepid, yet much put-upon boyfriend." Draco smirked in his most infuriating manner.
"No! Don't you -understand-? You stupid git, you're not immortal, you know! You're going to -die-, don't you get it, you're going to die and--"
Harry's cheeks were beginning to turn quite a spectacular shade, enough to make a Weasley wince.
Draco smirked. "Am I...," he drawled, watching as the furious color spread to the tips of Harry's ears with a sort of morbid fascination.
"-Yes-, and then-- then-- what the fuck am I going to do with myself, have you thought about -that-, Malfoy? Have you? Or has this been too good of a source of fucking -amusement- to you?"
Draco sighed. He supposed they were going to have to go over this sooner rather than later. Again. Still, it didn't hurt to try. "Harry. Come on--" Draco said, using his most innocent, cajoling voice as he tumbled Harry back down onto the rumpled sheets, beginning to lick a trail from his collarbone to his ear, "do you really think--"
Harry tore himself away from Draco's grasp at this, sputtering. His hair was standing up in even more directions than usual, and his glare was something to behold, if only Draco hadn't beheld it so often, most recently about the very same subject. Harry was clutching the dark green sheets indignantly to his chest, looking for all the world like an affronted virgin; more specifically, of the female kind. Draco couldn't stop himself. He started laughing.
"You-- you--" Harry was shrieking by now. As was Draco-- with laughter. Harry's reactions were still lightning-quick, however, and Draco didn't know what hit him before he was sprawled, pinned efficiently to the bed by an even more irate-looking Harry. While Draco didn't fail to notice Harry's morning hard-on, he supposed this was not the best time to try dealing with it, though he couldn't help wiggling a little, making Harry gasp before his eyes narrowed once again.
"Okay. Look." Draco sighed again, closing his eyes. He supposed there was no escaping it. "As I've said before: it was one stupid bloody prophecy. You know how unreliable those are, even if it wasn't Professor Trelawney. You know yourself that there's just no -reason- for me to-- oh, I don't know-- keel over from indigestion, or walk straight into the path of an oncoming bus. And Voldemort is -dead-, Harry."
"We don't know that!" Harry muttered, his face buried in Draco's shoulder. It was hard to concentrate on the end of the world when Draco was breathing softly against his hair, solid and warm and real and digging insistently into his thigh....
"And even if it -was- the end of the world after breakfast," Draco whispered sweetly, arching to move his mouth against Harry's ear, "you'll save me, won't you, lover?" He practically purred that last word, making Harry shiver, and wonder for a fleeting moment what exactly he was so worried about, again.
Harry scowled at him resentfully, rolling away from Draco and swinging his legs over the side of the bed, sitting with his back turned. "I couldn't protect Ginny, or Ron, or Sirius-- what makes you think--"
Draco rolled his eyes, throwing one slim, elegant arm across them dramatically. "It's been ages--"
"Three years."
"Three years since the war and everything is -still- life and death to you, Potter! So what! So what if life gets difficult again-- don't tell me you wouldn't enjoy it."
Harry's back stiffened, his fingers fisting in the sheets at the edge of the bed. "That is -just- the sort of.... No, I wouldn't enjoy it. I wouldn't enjoy losing you, believe it or not. And don't you -sigh-, like I'm being ridiculous and overreacting. You don't know. You don't know what could happen."
"Exactly. I don't know, and neither do you, and there's nothing we can do about it for now, so we may as well fuck like rabbits instead," Draco said, with the air of one who'd just made a stunning, foolproof logical argument. Still, he refrained from actually touching Harry, knowing it was likely to get him hexed even now, and he really didn't feel like playing dirty this early in the morning.
"Your father--"
"My father, my father-- my God, Potter, I never thought the day would come when you'd mention my dear departed father more than me!" Draco was actually beginning to work himself into a temper now, and he felt a slight bit of relief. It was rather draining, battling Harry's stubborn bouts of anxiety and pessimism with only unreliable good humor at his command.
"Your dear bloody departed father made quite sure I -couldn't- stop mentioning him. Everyone knows a wizard's dying prophecy, especially one about close blood kin, has extremely high chances of coming true. Even Dumbledore couldn't come up with anything to contradict that," Harry went on, as if Draco hadn't spoken.
"All he said was that on my twenty-first birthday, life as I know it will be over-- give or take a few enigmatic references to ravens, blood links and historical precedent. Harry... you could say that about -anyone's- twenty-first birthday. Get a bloody grip, would you?"
Harry whipped around, twisting his upper torso to glare at his still-prone boyfriend, unable to keep his eyes from softening as he took in the glowing pale skin and the outrageous, familiar curl to the other's mouth.
"Argh!" He thrust the heel of his palm against his eyes, groaning loudly as he rubbed at them, knocking his glasses askew. "I give up! You're going to be the death of me, Malfoy."
"Don't be so melodramatic, Harry, it doesn't suit you. Plus, isn't this all about -you- being the death of -me-? Or have I got that part confused again?" Draco asked innocently.
"I'll show you death," he said in that growl that made Draco's whole body thrum with anticipation and his eyes threaten to close already. He'd much rather be snogged breathless and shagged rotten than have pointless talks about their impending doom any day of the week, but especially Saturday. Especially considering it was his birthday and he hadn't even gotten in one lousy shag yet.
True to form, Harry wasted no time in tackling the unresisting blond in a sudden, fierce movement.
Draco wasn't quite ready for that, after all. He made a high-pitched startled noise and went still under him. Harry had him pinned again, both of them breathing shallowly, their eyes blazing with something that couldn't be adequately described merely as anger or lust or even sheer adrenaline.
"I want you," Harry growled, his voice rough with barely-suppressed emotion. Draco drew in a shaky breath, his arms going around to wrap tightly about Harry's shoulders, squeezing convulsively, all thought flown the second their bodies made contact. "-Alive-."
Harry's teeth were set against Draco's skin, testing it but not really moving to bite. He just breathed harshly, savoring the tangy taste of sweat and the hints of sweetness prickling his tongue as it probed in slow, focused circles. Draco moaned, and Harry's chest constricted, because he simply could not imagine living without this. Even imagining it made his heart race so fast it felt like it would burst from his chest and his vision go black with red sparks everywhere. There was still so much he wanted to -do-, so much they hadn't even begun together. Draco still hadn't told him he loved him.
He didn't even know what he was doing as he bit and licked his way down the other's chest, growling incoherent things against salty skin, raking his teeth heedlessly across a sensitive nipple. Draco whimpered, bucking underneath him, and Harry only wanted to bite harder, go faster, and forget everything but the burning immediacy between them.
And suddenly, it was as if they had no time at all-- no time for preparation, for soft words or for gentle touches, and this was all there was, this burning urgency to -feel- the other as deeply as humanly possible. Harry knew Draco could feel it too, knew it was always just below the surface for both of them, barely caged and contained at the best of times. It had always been like this-- it always felt like the sun was going tumble out of the sky if they truly loosed this wild craving, and it had never really mattered.
So Harry did the only thing he could, and rode it out, his hips pumping frantically against Draco's own, voice rising and falling in hoarse pleas and curses he wasn't aware of making, just as he wasn't aware of anything but the driving, desperate need for some sort of release for all the unleashed chaos in him.
When Harry came, it was in a white-hot flash, his mouth open in a frozen rictus against Draco's. His hips were grinding in spasms as he spurted against the other's flexing thighs, and Draco's teeth left crimson marks on his lower lip even as Draco swallowed his screams.
~~
It was with a distant sense of surprise that he felt the swiftly cooling liquid sliding against his own stomach as he lay across Draco, dead to the world in most respects. Harry winced a little, feeling too bonelessly good to summon up any actual remorse, but he was glad nonetheless, and only partly because this meant Draco wasn't about to flip him over and fuck him raw before either of them had gotten their breath back. Instead, Draco was purring in that sexy, sated way that made always made Harry nuzzle him and lose all sense of reality in a dizzying wash of pure happiness.
"Loveyou," he mumbled against Draco's neck, chewing slightly at the pale, sticky skin.
"Yeah, I know," Draco mumbled back, quite gently except for that inevitable hint of smugness.
"Prat," he mouthed, unable to summon even an iota of feeling to back it up but pleased at the opportunity to tease. Even though it was true, of course.
"And proud." Draco had long ago realized that answering taunts with taunts was getting him nowhere with Harry and that it was much more gratifying to simply be everything Harry accused him of being, and still be better. The warm, fuzzy feeling of having the last word had never really palled.
"Evil prat," Harry whispered eventually, after a light doze during which he didn't say or think or move much at all.
"I'm only slightly evil," Draco replied with his usual prompt fastidiousness. "It doesn't actually count until you're about one and a half times more evil than me."
"That was until fifth year, Malfoy. Everything went to hell in fifth year. And for all we know, we're still -in- hell," Harry added darkly.
Choosing to ignore that last comment, Draco smiled widely, always happy to be reminded of the good old days, when he struck fear and loathing into the hearts of many. Unlike these days, when most people didn't know him from the next over-dressed queen, strutting his stuff in the middle of London. "Yes well. House-elf harassment aside, I've been -good- this year, haven't I, Harry?"
"I don't think hexing Ron the first time he came to visit and leering at Hermione's arse every time her back's turned counts as an improvement."
Harry was trying to sound stern and failing, mostly because living with Draco had made him much, much more easily amused by these things. It was distressing in a theoretical sort of way, but really, it was a survival technique as much as anything.
"Minor details, all. The point is: I'm pure as a spring rose. For all intents and purposes."
Harry just looked at him.
"Okay, maybe not. But you see, my death would lack meaning. It would lack grandeur. It would lack... that certain spice of satisfaction, don't you think?" Harry snorted. He knew Draco wasn't this naïve-- no one was, anymore-- but he still itched to wax bitter about how many had died pointlessly. "Besides, I'm much more interesting this way. And if the world stopped existing to make Malfoys interesting, well then, God or whoever could just retire his croquet balls and go take a nap, don't you think?"
"Now you're just getting weird," Harry said, refusing to budge more than he already had, especially since he was beginning to feel more and more like this was a silly conversation from start to finish. Not that he'd ever admit that; or at least, not until tomorrow.
"Also, you love me," Draco said, his tone reminiscent of a casual remark about the weather.
"I, um-- well-- yes, but--" Harry sputtered, still not entirely used to Draco's mercurial shifts of subject.
"But nothing. You love me, correct?"
Harry's eyes narrowed suspiciously. It was just like Draco to use something like that in an argument. "Yeah, so?"
"So, isn't that enough, so? What other protection is there?"
Harry just blinked at him. "Since when did you turn into such a sap, Malfoy?"
Draco grimaced, looking as if he'd swallowed something rotten. "A sap, Potter? A -sap-? Look who's talking, Merlin! The things I have to put up with, honestly." Harry rolled his eyes and Draco smirked.
"Hermione's rubbing off on you at last, isn't she," he said, laughing.
Draco actually sputtered at that. "How dare you, Potter! Here I am, trying to be nice-- understanding, loving even. And what do I get for my trouble? Unfounded slander! See if I ever say anything nice to you again." He huffed, looking rather fetching as he always did when pouting for effect. Not that Harry would admit that even under tickle-torture.
"Ha. That'll be the day." Harry paused, considering. "You know, I think living with a 'nice' Draco Malfoy may be just the thing to throw me over the edge and straight into St. Mungo's, actually...."
Draco made a moue of distaste. "You wanted to hear it, so I said it: that simple. All in the interest of insuring that wasn't our last shag for who knows how long. And, it's my bloody birthday, I'm feeling magnanimous in the anticipation of lavish gifts."
"Who says--"
"And anyway," Draco interrupted, pretending he couldn't see the guilty look on Harry's face for Harry's own good, "you need me. You're the Boy Who Lived Twice, and you need me to stick around to make your life as hellish as possible so that you don't get too comfortable, you know. It's the order of things."
Harry scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "Yeah, and just yesterday "the order of things" meant Malfoys didn't get out of bed on Fridays," he said testily, but the left corner of his lips curved just a little.
"Oh, stuff it. I'm not going anywhere, you prat. You'll just have to get used to it."
They were sitting cross-legged, facing each other and looking into each other's eyes as if they hadn't had the chance to for months, maybe even years. The sun was at its highest point in the sky, but the day was cool and the breeze coming through the French doors was uncharacteristically subdued for June.
"We'll live, Harry," Draco said, his voice softened, certain, making the small hairs on Harry's arms stand up.
"We will?" he breathed.
Their fingers wound together, their chests rising and falling slowly. Harry inhaled, letting Draco's natural scent sink deeper into his own skin, smooth across his jagged edges. In this moment, there was nothing else but them, and they were just like they had always been-- three years later, and it felt like three days. They were ready.
"We will."