Non-fluffy advent, parts 18, 19, 20.
Dec. 24th, 2013 08:52 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
omi_ohmyHappy Christmas Eve! <3
I stayed up far too late last night. I wrapped presents, then wrote this at 4am. Today is going to be fueled by caffeine and adrenaline. Anyway, enjoy this little update, and there will be another one tonight. I'm still determined to finish this on time! (ish)
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): ~740
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 15, 16 & 17
18, 19, 20.
The top of the tree brushed the ceiling, and it tapered neatly from its base up. Harry hated to admit it, but Draco had picked the perfect tree.
“It’ll do.”
Draco rolled his eyes. “I went to three places and looked at hundreds of trees. You would have bought the first one you saw.”
“I would not. Although I probably would have got it from the first place I went to.”
“And that’s where you are an amateur."
Once the tree was gleaming with gold and white and red, Harry settled down to watch the next memory. He watched as they moved into their first place together: a large flat down by the river. Bare brick walls and high ceilings; the flat had felt like a fresh start. Their meagre belongings had barely filled a corner of it. And so had they – even at Christmas it still felt half empty. In the memory he watched though, it was still all new hope and pressing each other up against sleek white kitchen cabinets for celebratory sex.
The next day, Draco was working again and Harry got home first. He cooked, and while he waited for Draco to get home, he watched the next memory. They walked through Grimmauld Place together, and for the first time he could see the same words on both their lips: home. Draco’s face was stuck in a permanent smile as his hands traced over wooden carvings and brass door knobs: you could take the boy out of the pure-blooded mansion, but you couldn’t take the mansion out of the boy. Somehow, Grimmauld place had been the perfect marriage between the parts of their past they wanted to hold onto: Draco’s traditions, and Harry’s brief moment of family and hope with Sirius.
When Draco got home they walked through the house, adding garlands of ivy and to the stairs as they went.
Harry had to work late on Friday, but when he got home the house was still dark. His hand ached from writing, but report into Muggle techniques was finished. Harry had left it, neatly bound, on Robards desk. The man himself was nowhere to be seen, and Harry suspected that he wouldn’t see him again until well after Christmas. He didn’t care though: at least the blasted thing was done.
The draw of the Pensieve was strong. Which memory would Draco have chosen for Harry to watch next? Harry settled down in front of the fire, and pulled out the next phial.
Laughter filled the room, and Teddy bounded over the back of the sofa.
“Careful!” Draco leapt up. “This isn’t a playground.”
“I know,” said Teddy. “But Uncle Harry said I could.”
“Oh, did he now?” Draco folded his arms. “And what else did Uncle Harry say?”
Teddy counted them off on his fingers as his hair flickered between green and orange. “I can eat icecream, and stay up late, and tomorrow he’s going to take me flying!”
Harry grinned. He and Teddy had perfected the art of pissing Draco off with this routine. It didn’t work quite so well now that Teddy was a teenager. Or rather, he had found a routine all of his own to annoy the both of them.
When the memory finished, Harry stared into the fire for a while. He missed Teddy, but he’d be around over Christmas, and the house would be full of chat and the heavy fall of feet running up and down the stairs again. Sometimes, he wondered what it would have been like to have a family of his own. He had always imagined himself with a brood, but it had never happened.
“What are you doing, sitting in the dark?”
Harry looked up. “I lit the fire.”
“I wanted to talk to you, about all of this,” Draco nodded at the box of phials, “but I’m too tired tonight.”
“Takeaway?”
“Excellent thinking.”
As Harry rose to fetch a menu, Draco stopped him. “I do think we need to talk more. There’s still so much—”
“I know,” Harry said. He wanted to talk about children and home and what it meant, to be here in this house with Draco. The realisation shocked him: he’d been avoiding sensitive subjects for so long. “I… I think I can, now.”
Had he been scared? Of what? Losing Draco, or breaking him somehow. But now Harry could see that they needed this. And that perhaps Draco wasn’t something he could break, anyway.
>>parts 21, 22, 23, 24.
I stayed up far too late last night. I wrapped presents, then wrote this at 4am. Today is going to be fueled by caffeine and adrenaline. Anyway, enjoy this little update, and there will be another one tonight. I'm still determined to finish this on time! (ish)
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): ~740
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 15, 16 & 17
18, 19, 20.
The top of the tree brushed the ceiling, and it tapered neatly from its base up. Harry hated to admit it, but Draco had picked the perfect tree.
“It’ll do.”
Draco rolled his eyes. “I went to three places and looked at hundreds of trees. You would have bought the first one you saw.”
“I would not. Although I probably would have got it from the first place I went to.”
“And that’s where you are an amateur."
Once the tree was gleaming with gold and white and red, Harry settled down to watch the next memory. He watched as they moved into their first place together: a large flat down by the river. Bare brick walls and high ceilings; the flat had felt like a fresh start. Their meagre belongings had barely filled a corner of it. And so had they – even at Christmas it still felt half empty. In the memory he watched though, it was still all new hope and pressing each other up against sleek white kitchen cabinets for celebratory sex.
The next day, Draco was working again and Harry got home first. He cooked, and while he waited for Draco to get home, he watched the next memory. They walked through Grimmauld Place together, and for the first time he could see the same words on both their lips: home. Draco’s face was stuck in a permanent smile as his hands traced over wooden carvings and brass door knobs: you could take the boy out of the pure-blooded mansion, but you couldn’t take the mansion out of the boy. Somehow, Grimmauld place had been the perfect marriage between the parts of their past they wanted to hold onto: Draco’s traditions, and Harry’s brief moment of family and hope with Sirius.
When Draco got home they walked through the house, adding garlands of ivy and to the stairs as they went.
Harry had to work late on Friday, but when he got home the house was still dark. His hand ached from writing, but report into Muggle techniques was finished. Harry had left it, neatly bound, on Robards desk. The man himself was nowhere to be seen, and Harry suspected that he wouldn’t see him again until well after Christmas. He didn’t care though: at least the blasted thing was done.
The draw of the Pensieve was strong. Which memory would Draco have chosen for Harry to watch next? Harry settled down in front of the fire, and pulled out the next phial.
Laughter filled the room, and Teddy bounded over the back of the sofa.
“Careful!” Draco leapt up. “This isn’t a playground.”
“I know,” said Teddy. “But Uncle Harry said I could.”
“Oh, did he now?” Draco folded his arms. “And what else did Uncle Harry say?”
Teddy counted them off on his fingers as his hair flickered between green and orange. “I can eat icecream, and stay up late, and tomorrow he’s going to take me flying!”
Harry grinned. He and Teddy had perfected the art of pissing Draco off with this routine. It didn’t work quite so well now that Teddy was a teenager. Or rather, he had found a routine all of his own to annoy the both of them.
When the memory finished, Harry stared into the fire for a while. He missed Teddy, but he’d be around over Christmas, and the house would be full of chat and the heavy fall of feet running up and down the stairs again. Sometimes, he wondered what it would have been like to have a family of his own. He had always imagined himself with a brood, but it had never happened.
“What are you doing, sitting in the dark?”
Harry looked up. “I lit the fire.”
“I wanted to talk to you, about all of this,” Draco nodded at the box of phials, “but I’m too tired tonight.”
“Takeaway?”
“Excellent thinking.”
As Harry rose to fetch a menu, Draco stopped him. “I do think we need to talk more. There’s still so much—”
“I know,” Harry said. He wanted to talk about children and home and what it meant, to be here in this house with Draco. The realisation shocked him: he’d been avoiding sensitive subjects for so long. “I… I think I can, now.”
Had he been scared? Of what? Losing Draco, or breaking him somehow. But now Harry could see that they needed this. And that perhaps Draco wasn’t something he could break, anyway.
>>parts 21, 22, 23, 24.
