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Non-flufly advent, parts 15, 16 & 17.
I will see how much I can get done tomorrow - maybe up to part 20? We'll see. I'll try to post tomorrow and on Christmas day. I am still clinging to my hope that it will be finished by then.
In other news, I lost my hat today. I would be sad, but it was only a hat and now I have an excuse to knit another one.
Summary: Harry has almost forgotten what it is to be happy in love and life, until Draco gives him twenty-four chances to remember.
Word count (this part): ~1,450
Rating: NC-17.
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended
<<Parts 12,13,14
15, 16.
“We don't have to go in,” Harry said, his hand resting on the heavy wooden door.
Draco squared his shoulders. “We do.” He glanced over at Harry. “I want to. I... I can't be part of your life if we can't see your friends.”
As Harry's eyes adjusted to the relative darkness of the interior of the Leaky Cauldron, he made out the familiar yet startingly young-looking shapes of his friends. None of them had thought themselves especially carefree after the war, and yet Harry could see the lack of worries hanging on their shoulders.
Without work deadlines or endless sleepless nights with babies, a sparkle lurked in Ron's eyes, and Hermione chatted brightly, light-hearted and free. Luna, though… Harry couldn’t tell if she’d got less free or more so with age. Time had brought a comfort to her, and that was missing as she laughed and spun in Seamus’s arms. The laughter and the chatter stopped as they all caught sight of Harry and Draco.
Harry watched his younger self slip an arm around Draco's middle, oh so casually signalling their togetherness. It hadn't been about ownership or showing off though: Harry had been trying to steady Draco, who had been trembling like a Flutterby bush.
“Malfoy,” Ron said, his pint glass halfway to his mouth. Hermione elbowed him. “I mean, Draco.”
“Harry tells us that you two are shagging now,” Luna Lovegood said. “And there's no use trying to kick me, Hermione. You can't reach me from there.”
Draco's face grew paler than normal, while Harry's blushed red.
Harry could see the panic cross Draco’s face. “Draco’s going to buy you all a drink,” Harry said. “And then we’re going to get a few things sorted.”
He couldn’t believe he’d faced his friends like this. Poor Draco. Harry’s introduction to Draco’s friends had been far gentler. A quiet morning coffee with a chain-smoking Pansy, and a gentle if stilted lunch at Malfoy Manor.
Harry had an inkling what the next memory would be. With a sigh, he poured it out. As expected, the warmth of the Burrow enveloped him. He tried to see Molly through Draco’s eyes. She talked and fussed and hugged, and he could see Draco shrink back. Thankfully she didn’t ask about anyone’s cock or mention shagging, but Harry could see the thought in the little glances she exchanged with Arthur, and the mid-conversation silences and changes of subject matter.
Harry’s chest squeezed uncomfortably as he saw the lengths his friends and family had gone to, for his sake, in their attempts to accept Draco. And he saw how much each awkward conversation and strained apology had cost Draco.
Did Draco resent him for it? Was this why he’d shown Harry these memories? Harry didn’t know.
At lunch the next day, Harry snuck off to find Pansy. He smiled as she sipped some hideous green smoothie, which he was fairly certain it contained some kind of health grass. She certainly didn't smoke anymore: now she was the first to hiss at anyone wafting smoke to close to her.
“What do you want, Potty?”
She always had a charming name ready for him. “I don’t suppose Draco’s told you about his little project?”
“The memory thing? Yes.” Concern flitted across her face. “You are watching them, aren’t you, like he wants you to?”
“Of course I am.”
“Only…” She sighed. “He’s fragile at the moment.”
“His hours have been terrib—“
“I’m not talking about his hours, and you know it.”
Harry looked away from her. Pansy was always so fierce. She’d long since stopped apologising for her past actions; she was always moving forward. “He showed me a memory, of when he told you about us.”
“Ah yes.” Pansy sat back in her chair and sipped at her drink. “I remember. He was so hopelessly smitten with you. And he wouldn’t even tell me any of the gory details! I knew then that I’d lost him.”
“You didn’t lose him.”
“I did.” She gave a wry smile. “He’s all yours, you know. He has been, for years.”
17.
When Harry came home that evening, to another freshly cooked meal – not a hint of burned bacon in sight – he couldn’t quite shake the feeling of nothing quite fitting. Everything seemed… unsettled. All these memories were bringing up questions and thoughts that Harry didn’t quite know what to do with.
“I was thinking, I don’t have anything else to do tomorrow. I could get us a tree.”
Harry looked up from his notes for Robards. The bastard wasn’t going to give him any extra time and there was so much information to collate.
“But we normally go together.”
“I think that I can choose a tree without your help.”
“That’s not the point, and you know it.”
“We’ve normally got one by now, but you slept all of Saturday. I’m off tomorrow, so I’ll get us one then.”
“What, and decorate it without me?”
“Harry, what are you, five? You can survive one year without decorating the tree yourself. And I might do a good job. You never know.”
“I didn’t get to decorate a tree when I was five. You know that. In fact, you’ve been there almost every year that I have had a tree of my own. Just because you grew up in that huge mansion with a six-foot tree every year—”
“I know you had a shitty childhood! But that was then and this is now. Oh, honestly.” Draco ran his hand through his hair. “And I never got to decorate a tree as a child, either. The house-elves did it. I’m not going through all of this again. It’s growing old.” He stood, knocking some of Harry’s papers in the process.
“Draco, don’t walk off now.”
“Just do me a favour and watch today’s memory.”
Harry Summoned the papers on the floor. He almost rose to follow Draco, but he didn’t want to fight, or carry on fighting, or even have a lengthy heart-to-heart about how messed up both of their childhoods were.
He wrote a few more sentences on his parchment, barely paying any attention to the words. Ink splattered and the nib of his quill broke, and Harry swore. Stupid Draco. He stared at the mess of his work, and pushed it away, suspecting that any attempt to fix it would just make it worse. Instead, he looked over at the Pensieve.
The memory was thin and wispy as it poured out, and yet it seemed to take longer than the others. Harry knew that was probably not true, but he was pissed off with Draco.
They were shouting at each other. It didn’t take Harry long to work out what they were arguing about.
“I don’t want to go for lunch with your father! That man is odious.”
“But he’s my father,” said Draco. “And it’s his birthday. I can’t simply ignore him.”
“Why not?”
“It would hurt my mother’s feelings, for one.”
“You’re so fucking…” Harry broke off in exasperation. He huffed out some air. “Why do you have to be right on this one?”
Draco sighed. “And why do you have to be right, too? My father is odious.”
“But…”
“But my mother isn’t.”
“I know.” Harry shook his head. “Fine, I’ll go, but don’t expect me to talk to him, or be nice.”
“You could be the wittiest and most well-mannered man alive; I still think my father would dislike you.”
“Well, I am shagging his one and only son with my huge cock.”
“I should never have left you alone with Pansy.”
Harry moved closer to Draco. “How are we ever going to manage? We’re so different. There’s so much history between us.”
“It’ll be easy,” Draco said.
“You call this easy?”
Draco mouthed the words ‘lots of shagging’ and Harry laughed. The memory faded away. Harry shook his head. Lots of shagging had helped, but maybe they should have talked more, too.
Harry found Draco sitting in bed, reading a book.
“So, the house-elves decorated your trees?”
“With hundreds of candles they spent ages lighting every day. I wasn’t allowed anywhere near it.”
“Sorry to get so upset about the tree. Do I… do I hog the decorations every year?”
Draco patted the bed beside him, and Harry came to sit with him. “Pretty much. But I don’t mind: your face lights up so prettily.”
“Prettily?”
“Yes.”
“You can get the tree and decorate it if you want.”
“I’ll get it, but wait for you to decorate it.”
“Deal.”
Harry leant his head against Draco’s shoulder. Even without the shagging, he was beginning to think that maybe Draco was right. Maybe they could be okay.
>>Parts 18, 19, 20.
In other news, I lost my hat today. I would be sad, but it was only a hat and now I have an excuse to knit another one.
Summary: Harry has almost forgotten what it is to be happy in love and life, until Draco gives him twenty-four chances to remember.
Word count (this part): ~1,450
Rating: NC-17.
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended
<<Parts 12,13,14
15, 16.
“We don't have to go in,” Harry said, his hand resting on the heavy wooden door.
Draco squared his shoulders. “We do.” He glanced over at Harry. “I want to. I... I can't be part of your life if we can't see your friends.”
As Harry's eyes adjusted to the relative darkness of the interior of the Leaky Cauldron, he made out the familiar yet startingly young-looking shapes of his friends. None of them had thought themselves especially carefree after the war, and yet Harry could see the lack of worries hanging on their shoulders.
Without work deadlines or endless sleepless nights with babies, a sparkle lurked in Ron's eyes, and Hermione chatted brightly, light-hearted and free. Luna, though… Harry couldn’t tell if she’d got less free or more so with age. Time had brought a comfort to her, and that was missing as she laughed and spun in Seamus’s arms. The laughter and the chatter stopped as they all caught sight of Harry and Draco.
Harry watched his younger self slip an arm around Draco's middle, oh so casually signalling their togetherness. It hadn't been about ownership or showing off though: Harry had been trying to steady Draco, who had been trembling like a Flutterby bush.
“Malfoy,” Ron said, his pint glass halfway to his mouth. Hermione elbowed him. “I mean, Draco.”
“Harry tells us that you two are shagging now,” Luna Lovegood said. “And there's no use trying to kick me, Hermione. You can't reach me from there.”
Draco's face grew paler than normal, while Harry's blushed red.
Harry could see the panic cross Draco’s face. “Draco’s going to buy you all a drink,” Harry said. “And then we’re going to get a few things sorted.”
He couldn’t believe he’d faced his friends like this. Poor Draco. Harry’s introduction to Draco’s friends had been far gentler. A quiet morning coffee with a chain-smoking Pansy, and a gentle if stilted lunch at Malfoy Manor.
Harry had an inkling what the next memory would be. With a sigh, he poured it out. As expected, the warmth of the Burrow enveloped him. He tried to see Molly through Draco’s eyes. She talked and fussed and hugged, and he could see Draco shrink back. Thankfully she didn’t ask about anyone’s cock or mention shagging, but Harry could see the thought in the little glances she exchanged with Arthur, and the mid-conversation silences and changes of subject matter.
Harry’s chest squeezed uncomfortably as he saw the lengths his friends and family had gone to, for his sake, in their attempts to accept Draco. And he saw how much each awkward conversation and strained apology had cost Draco.
Did Draco resent him for it? Was this why he’d shown Harry these memories? Harry didn’t know.
At lunch the next day, Harry snuck off to find Pansy. He smiled as she sipped some hideous green smoothie, which he was fairly certain it contained some kind of health grass. She certainly didn't smoke anymore: now she was the first to hiss at anyone wafting smoke to close to her.
“What do you want, Potty?”
She always had a charming name ready for him. “I don’t suppose Draco’s told you about his little project?”
“The memory thing? Yes.” Concern flitted across her face. “You are watching them, aren’t you, like he wants you to?”
“Of course I am.”
“Only…” She sighed. “He’s fragile at the moment.”
“His hours have been terrib—“
“I’m not talking about his hours, and you know it.”
Harry looked away from her. Pansy was always so fierce. She’d long since stopped apologising for her past actions; she was always moving forward. “He showed me a memory, of when he told you about us.”
“Ah yes.” Pansy sat back in her chair and sipped at her drink. “I remember. He was so hopelessly smitten with you. And he wouldn’t even tell me any of the gory details! I knew then that I’d lost him.”
“You didn’t lose him.”
“I did.” She gave a wry smile. “He’s all yours, you know. He has been, for years.”
17.
When Harry came home that evening, to another freshly cooked meal – not a hint of burned bacon in sight – he couldn’t quite shake the feeling of nothing quite fitting. Everything seemed… unsettled. All these memories were bringing up questions and thoughts that Harry didn’t quite know what to do with.
“I was thinking, I don’t have anything else to do tomorrow. I could get us a tree.”
Harry looked up from his notes for Robards. The bastard wasn’t going to give him any extra time and there was so much information to collate.
“But we normally go together.”
“I think that I can choose a tree without your help.”
“That’s not the point, and you know it.”
“We’ve normally got one by now, but you slept all of Saturday. I’m off tomorrow, so I’ll get us one then.”
“What, and decorate it without me?”
“Harry, what are you, five? You can survive one year without decorating the tree yourself. And I might do a good job. You never know.”
“I didn’t get to decorate a tree when I was five. You know that. In fact, you’ve been there almost every year that I have had a tree of my own. Just because you grew up in that huge mansion with a six-foot tree every year—”
“I know you had a shitty childhood! But that was then and this is now. Oh, honestly.” Draco ran his hand through his hair. “And I never got to decorate a tree as a child, either. The house-elves did it. I’m not going through all of this again. It’s growing old.” He stood, knocking some of Harry’s papers in the process.
“Draco, don’t walk off now.”
“Just do me a favour and watch today’s memory.”
Harry Summoned the papers on the floor. He almost rose to follow Draco, but he didn’t want to fight, or carry on fighting, or even have a lengthy heart-to-heart about how messed up both of their childhoods were.
He wrote a few more sentences on his parchment, barely paying any attention to the words. Ink splattered and the nib of his quill broke, and Harry swore. Stupid Draco. He stared at the mess of his work, and pushed it away, suspecting that any attempt to fix it would just make it worse. Instead, he looked over at the Pensieve.
The memory was thin and wispy as it poured out, and yet it seemed to take longer than the others. Harry knew that was probably not true, but he was pissed off with Draco.
They were shouting at each other. It didn’t take Harry long to work out what they were arguing about.
“I don’t want to go for lunch with your father! That man is odious.”
“But he’s my father,” said Draco. “And it’s his birthday. I can’t simply ignore him.”
“Why not?”
“It would hurt my mother’s feelings, for one.”
“You’re so fucking…” Harry broke off in exasperation. He huffed out some air. “Why do you have to be right on this one?”
Draco sighed. “And why do you have to be right, too? My father is odious.”
“But…”
“But my mother isn’t.”
“I know.” Harry shook his head. “Fine, I’ll go, but don’t expect me to talk to him, or be nice.”
“You could be the wittiest and most well-mannered man alive; I still think my father would dislike you.”
“Well, I am shagging his one and only son with my huge cock.”
“I should never have left you alone with Pansy.”
Harry moved closer to Draco. “How are we ever going to manage? We’re so different. There’s so much history between us.”
“It’ll be easy,” Draco said.
“You call this easy?”
Draco mouthed the words ‘lots of shagging’ and Harry laughed. The memory faded away. Harry shook his head. Lots of shagging had helped, but maybe they should have talked more, too.
Harry found Draco sitting in bed, reading a book.
“So, the house-elves decorated your trees?”
“With hundreds of candles they spent ages lighting every day. I wasn’t allowed anywhere near it.”
“Sorry to get so upset about the tree. Do I… do I hog the decorations every year?”
Draco patted the bed beside him, and Harry came to sit with him. “Pretty much. But I don’t mind: your face lights up so prettily.”
“Prettily?”
“Yes.”
“You can get the tree and decorate it if you want.”
“I’ll get it, but wait for you to decorate it.”
“Deal.”
Harry leant his head against Draco’s shoulder. Even without the shagging, he was beginning to think that maybe Draco was right. Maybe they could be okay.
>>Parts 18, 19, 20.