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“There are certain traditions my mother kept around the holidays.” His voice was stiff and glassy, emotion refracted through it like the icicle. “I would—” Draco put one gloved fist to his mouth. His voice hadn’t broken so much as it had snapped off. “I’d like to continue them, if possible.”
After three weeks and four days of dating, Draco asks Harry to stay for the holidays. Harry agrees.
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Bookmark Notes:
This writer writes lovely things.
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Bookmark Notes:
Drarry. Après la guerre. Draco est devenu orphelin et supporte mal la mort de sa mère. Il sort depuis peu avec Harry. Il l'invite à séjourner au Manoir pour revivre les traditions de Noël de Narcissa.
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26,
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“No, Potter. I don’t want space.”
Harry blinked. “What?”
“I would like you to come home with me. To—to stay with me. Through the holidays.” Draco had gone a furious scarlet, his voice cool as ever. “I realise it’s too early in the—it’s far too much of a leap, in terms of—”
“I thought you were breaking up with me,” Harry blurted. “I’d much rather go to yours. With you. Stay—I would stay. You want me to stay the month?”
Poor dears, both of them think the other is going to leave.
But neither Harry nor Draco are going anywhere the other isn't ❤️“I’d love to go with you.” Harry stepped forward, intending to take Draco’s hand. Instead, he found himself walking into Draco’s arms. He found Draco turning, Apparating them both away from the pub. He found Draco taking him home.
Draco whirled around, both hands going to his chest. His face was streaked with tears, face flushed. His expression went stony, but tears still leaked out. “Don’t look,” he said.
“At what?”
“At me. Give me a moment. A sodding moment.”
Harry ignored this and went into the kitchen. The island was strewn with bowls. Three trays of gingerbread rested on the countertops. Two more were balanced on the kitchen table.
“Stop. I never—!” Draco kept both hands to his chest as Harry approached. “I said don’t look at me, Potter. I wasn’t finished. I was going to send an owl. I’m not—”
He stopped speaking when Harry folded his arms around him.
Draco was a bit taller, so it wasn’t quite the enveloping embrace Harry wanted to give, but he’d have to sit down for that.“There,” Harry said. “I’m not looking at you.”
It broke Harry’s heart, the way Draco cried. Completely silent. He wanted to know who’d taught him to do that. Wanted to punch that person, in fact. But he suspected it might have been Lucius Malfoy, who could not be punched from beyond the grave.
Draco looked down at the book, then down at the floor. “This is—well. This is unacceptable. This is—” He straightened, Harry’s hands still on his shoulders. “You’ll want to go now, I imagine. This isn’t what you want for the holidays.”
“Is that what you think?” Harry asked, gently as he could.
Draco gave him a terse nod.Harry patted his shoulders. “I think you’d better show me that spell.”
Draco crouched in front of him and put a hand on both his knees. “Look at me.”
Harry’s eyes came to his. “It’s my bloody job.”
“Potter, everything about you says that it is not your bloody job. It might be what you were hired to do, yes, but you know it isn’t right. I simply won’t have it.”
“Who are you to say? Robards is going to be furious. Ron and Blaise—”
“Hear me when I say that I don’t give a whit what any of them think or feel about this. You’re not going. I won’t let you. I will send your letter of resignation myself, if I must.”
I love Draco in his grief and when he's at his best, and I love how they take care of each other, and I love the whirlwind ending most of all ❤️
“My turn, then.”
Draco blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“I’m the Boy Who Lived. The Chosen One. I have a permanent scar on my forehead, and everyone knows. There’s no where we can go in the wizarding world that people won’t know. You’ll have to be prepared for people asking ridiculous questions and wanting me to sign pieces of parchment and being unbelievably bloody rude and they’ll always be staring at us.”
Harry watched Draco absorb this. The corner of his mouth quirked up. “Staring at…us.”
“Yeah. You’d be doing me a favour, honestly. Everyone would be too distracted by you. They wouldn’t notice me.”
Draco’s face froze. “Because I was a Death Eater.”
“Because you’re gorgeous. I can hardly stop looking at you.”
But Draco had also noticed Harry during their very first year at Hogwarts. He had noticed how Harry had looked at everything the way he looked at the stars in the garden—wide eyes, an innocence about him, a longing.
He was desperate to protect that. Bloody foolish. He was Draco Malfoy. Harry was Harry Potter. He was the last person on earth who could protect Harry from anything.
But he wouldn’t mind trying.
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