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Non-fluffy Advent fic, parts 21, 22, 23, 24.
Happy Christmas! Santa has been and I wrote this with stockings and a half-eaten mince pie balanced on the mantelpiece for company. I got to memory twenty-four! I'm so pleased to have got this far. I've written a little epilogue-y but that I'll post in the morning. Thank you for reading along. :)
BTW, if you're reading this with your mum in the room, don't let her peek over your shoulder. Smuttage ahead... (Also, if this matters to you, I've gone for my more switchy-tendencies. Sorry!)
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): ~2,100
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 18, 19, 20.
21.
Saturday was spent finishing the last of the Christmas shopping. Draco was working, but Harry enjoyed taking on the crowds at his own pace. The sky was clear above him, and Harry felt able to take on anything. He saved the Pensieve memory for his reward for finishing the shopping.
Harry smiled when he saw the memory that Draco had selected: they were both sitting on the floor of the sitting room, on a blanket spread with food. Draco had planned a picnic by the river but the heavy rain battering the windows had forced this change in venue.
Ripe red strawberries sat alongside delicate tartlets and a hefty pie; a lobster next to salt-edged crackers and soft cheeses. Looking at the spread, Harry saw just how sensual Draco’s food choices were: these were foods to be savoured, to be licked from fingers and kissed from mouths. He cringed then, when he saw himself swigging back his champagne, and stuffing a huge slice of pie into his mouth.
Draco didn’t seem to mind. He looked… happy. Harry loved the way that Draco’s happiness lit him from within. His smile was shy but warm, and it was all for Harry. He noticed, too, the way their hands kept returning to each other: a brush on a leg, a touch of fingers, and the odd ruffle through hair. They were so obviously connected to each other. Maybe this was what his friends had seen? Perhaps this was why they had finally grown to accept Harry and Draco as a couple.
“Harry,” Draco said.
“Mm?” Harry’s made an effort to finish his mouthful of pie.
“We are happy here, aren’t we?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“You don’t mind that you ended back here? No dreams to travel the world and try other places out?”
“Not really. And junior Aurors don’t get that much time off, anyway.”
“That’s not what I meant.” He picked up a strawberry, carefully removing the hull before taking a neat bite off the end. “Do you see… yourself,” he means us, Harry thought, “ living here forever.”
“I don’t know.” Harry shrugged. “You never really know where life will lead, do you?”
“No, I suppose not.” Draco put the rest of the strawberry aside and sighed. Watching, Harry wanted to shake the oblivious fool scoffing pie on the floor. How hadn’t he seen what Draco was really asking? He watched the memory again, hoping for some sign that he’d understood, but there was none. And then an idea began to form, and he watched it one more time. This time though, he took notes.
“What’s up with you then?” Draco asked when he got home from St Mungo’s that evening. “You’re very jumpy.”
“Oh, nothing. Just excited about Christmas, that’s all.”
Draco rolled his eyes. “I don’t care what you say, I suspect that you really are about five when it comes to Christmas.”
“Maybe,” said Harry with a grin.
22.
Draco stretched out in the kitchen, his pencil hovering above the crossword puzzle in the back of the Muggle paper they’d bought. Harry loved the little furrow of concentration between his eyebrows, and he watched Draco scratch away until Draco noticed him in the doorway. “Any idea what a ‘five-legged—”
“No point asking me, I can never understand those clues,” Harry said. “Anyway, I want to show you something.”
“Finished your little mystery task? You haven’t redecorated the tree, have you?”
“No!” Harry grinned. “If I wanted to do that, I’d wait until you were asleep.”
Harry’s knees had ached when he’d gone to bed the night before, from all the Floo calls he’d made that afternoon. But every bit of effort was worth it when Draco’s jaw dropped as he stepped into the sitting room. Along with the merry fire burning in the hearth and the Christmas tree twinkling in the corner, a red checked cloth was spread out in front of the sofa. Food spilled out from an open hamper.
“You made the picnic.” Draco turned to Harry.
“It’s exactly the same. I, er, would say that I remembered all the details perfectly, but I had your memory to help me.”
“But why?”
“Why did you choose that memory?” Harry countered. “I didn’t appreciate what you’d done.”
“I chose it because it was romantic.”
“Sit down and I’ll show you romantic.”
Draco raised an eyebrow, but sat down neatly.
This time, Harry took the time to savour the food. Small bites; tiny tastes. He offered Draco morsels with his fingers, his teeth and his tongue. He had moved onto trying to undo stiff shirt buttons when Draco shook his head and pulled away.
Had Harry gone too far? A glance down showed an unmistakable bulge of interest from Draco.
“Wait. I think that we should watch the next memory first.”
“Now? Bloody hell Draco, do we really have to?”
“Yes.”
“It’s not going to be fight, is it? Or another guilt trip—”
“You’ll like it, I promise.”
They settled the Pensieve between them on the floor. Draco’s hand slid under Harry’s t-shirt, and he ran it along Harry’s back. Desire flickered through Harry, and he leaned closer to Draco.
“The memory first,” Draco said, but his fingers continued to move across Harry’s skin. He pulled Harry toward him, so that his breath tickled Harry’s ear as he whispered, “It’ll be worth it.” Harry shivered, and poured the memory in.
The golden light of a summer’s sunset filled their bedroom. Harry and Draco were both naked on the bed, and the sight made Harry’s breath catch.
Harry was on his back, while Draco moved with thrusts that changed the shape of his behind, creating dips and rises.
“I love your arse,” Harry murmured.
Draco’s fingers curled around Harry’s side. “And I love yours. Especially when I’m all bound up in that heat, and moving,” he nodded at the two men on bed, “like that.”
The only sounds in the room after that were Harry’s rather shaky breaths as he watched, and the gentle thwack of skin on skin, along with the quiet grunts that escaped the Harry and Draco on the bed. Draco’s hair caught the light, like the golden stubble of a field. Harry was absolutely transfixed by the sight.
His hand reached to move his painfully squeezed erection, but Draco pulled his arm away. “Wait,” he whispered. “Just watch.”
Harry’s world narrowed down to the throbbing in his trousers, the hand on his back, and every movement in front of him. He saw the way that Draco touched him: the tenderness with which he brushed Harry’s hair away from his eyes. He watched as Harry reached up to grab Draco for a messy, hungry kiss. He groaned himself as they moved on the bed so that Draco could wrap his long fingers around Harry’s red, hard cock. When Harry came, and then Draco, Harry was near to coming himself. Draco’s hand had stopped moving on his back. He glanced over and saw parted lips and widened eyes, cheeks, hot and flushed. Draco’s head turned, and he met Harry’s eyes.
Neither noticed the memory fade, as they were both too busy tearing – actually ripping in the case of Harry’s trousers – the clothes off each other. Harry inhaled sharply as cool air finally washed over his aching cock, and he pulled Draco down the floor. They kissed, hard and sharp.
“Fuck me,” Draco said, and Harry could barely see as he nodded and brought a hand to Draco’s arse.
“So fucking lovely, your arse.” He squeezed, his fingers relishing the feel of Draco beneath him. “You’re so…” He kissed Draco.
The fire crackled, casting a glow across their skin. The food was forgotten as Harry tried to show Draco how much he needed him. Loved him. As Draco’s lips moved in senseless words across Harry’s skin, he realised that Draco understood.
23.
Harry ached most pleasantly when he woke up the next morning. From his stiff knee, to the rawness of his knees and the tenderness of his arse, it was all worth it and Harry rather hoped that Draco had a similar set of reminders of their afternoon and night together.
He left Draco snoring softly and crept downstairs to rustle up some breakfast and coffee. He stopped though, outside the door to the sitting room. When he stepped inside, he was greeted by the most hideous mess. Harry sighed: there was a downside to having energetic sex within range of an array of suggestive foods. A couple of sweeps of his wand put most of the room to rights.
The Pensieve was still on the floor, and Harry carefully placed it back up on the coffee table. He returned the memory from the day before back in the phial, the silver mist indicating nothing of the memory itself. As he placed the phial back in the wooden box, Harry’s hand brushed the next memory. He might as well….
Harry was working. His head was bent over his desk, rolls of parchment and piles of reports around him. Why had Draco chosen this memory? But then Harry saw him. Draco was sitting on the other side of the room, a book in his hands. He wasn’t reading though. He was watching Harry himself, and his face was an open book of warmth and affection. Laced with a little concern, but seeing Harry’s frown and tightly held shoulders, that was understandable. The look on Draco’s face reminded Harry of another memory – of Draco watching Harry across the Great Hall.
Love. It had always been love. Harry had known this for a long time, of course, but to see it like this… There were no strings. No ifs or buts.
Harry ran back up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He woke Draco, and kissed him gently on the lips.
Draco yawned and stretched. “This better be a reasonable time of day. Did you get up extra specially early to watch another memory?”
“I thought I might as well watch today’s. But it’s not that early. You’re just a lazy layabout.”
“I’m just worn out.” A slow smile curved over Draco’s lips, and he closed his eyes. “Although it was worth it.”
“Love,” Harry said. “It’s always been love.”
“Yes, I know,” said Draco.
“No,” said Harry. “I mean… I know that you loved me, right at the beginning. What I mean is… it’s always been love for me too.”
“Oh.” Draco opened his eyes. “Either get back into bed or make me breakfast.”
After a very late breakfast – something else had come up first – Harry and Draco sat down and talked. Really talked.
That night, when Draco went into work to cover someone else’s shift, Harry finished wrapping the last few presents while the wind howled outside. Harry barely noticed it, as he replayed his favourite of the Pensieve memories in his mind.
24.
The next day – Christmas Eve – Harry woke to find Draco beside him. He left Draco to sleep, and went downstairs to with a spring in his step. When Hermione’s face appeared in the sitting-room Floo, Harry was rather glad that she hadn’t tried to get through earlier in the week. He couldn’t remember if he’d actually locked the Floo the day of the picnic, or not.
Blushing slightly, he answered her with a cheery, “Hi.”
“You look pleased with yourself.”
“It’s Christmas, and I don’t need to work for a week. Of course I’m happy.”
Hermione scowled. “Well, I’m glad it’s so relaxing for you.”
Harry laughed. “You’re the one who offered to have it at yours this year. I know all about rushing around to get everything ready.”
“Not with children underfoot.”
“Can I help?”
“Well…” Hermione sighed. “Can you make the bread sauce? I don’t know what I’m doing, and Ron’s not much better.”
“No problem.”
“Thanks. And Harry…”
“Yes?”
“You are looking happy.”
“Its’ Draco.” Harry smiled, and glanced up to the ceiling. “He… he makes me happy.”
“The memories worked then?”
Harry nodded. “They worked.”
When Draco woke up, they watched the last memory together. It was just one of their lazy Sundays in the memory: Harry and Draco in the kitchen, cooking and bickering and reading the papers. But it was perfect.
Harry put the last phial back into the box. His fingers brushed over all twenty-four stoppers. “Thank you,” he said. “For giving me all these reasons to remember… to see… us.”
Draco’s eyes were bright as he smiled back at Harry. “I see you.”
“And I see you.”
Everything was going to be fine.
>>epilogue
BTW, if you're reading this with your mum in the room, don't let her peek over your shoulder. Smuttage ahead... (Also, if this matters to you, I've gone for my more switchy-tendencies. Sorry!)
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): ~2,100
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 18, 19, 20.
21.
Saturday was spent finishing the last of the Christmas shopping. Draco was working, but Harry enjoyed taking on the crowds at his own pace. The sky was clear above him, and Harry felt able to take on anything. He saved the Pensieve memory for his reward for finishing the shopping.
Harry smiled when he saw the memory that Draco had selected: they were both sitting on the floor of the sitting room, on a blanket spread with food. Draco had planned a picnic by the river but the heavy rain battering the windows had forced this change in venue.
Ripe red strawberries sat alongside delicate tartlets and a hefty pie; a lobster next to salt-edged crackers and soft cheeses. Looking at the spread, Harry saw just how sensual Draco’s food choices were: these were foods to be savoured, to be licked from fingers and kissed from mouths. He cringed then, when he saw himself swigging back his champagne, and stuffing a huge slice of pie into his mouth.
Draco didn’t seem to mind. He looked… happy. Harry loved the way that Draco’s happiness lit him from within. His smile was shy but warm, and it was all for Harry. He noticed, too, the way their hands kept returning to each other: a brush on a leg, a touch of fingers, and the odd ruffle through hair. They were so obviously connected to each other. Maybe this was what his friends had seen? Perhaps this was why they had finally grown to accept Harry and Draco as a couple.
“Harry,” Draco said.
“Mm?” Harry’s made an effort to finish his mouthful of pie.
“We are happy here, aren’t we?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“You don’t mind that you ended back here? No dreams to travel the world and try other places out?”
“Not really. And junior Aurors don’t get that much time off, anyway.”
“That’s not what I meant.” He picked up a strawberry, carefully removing the hull before taking a neat bite off the end. “Do you see… yourself,” he means us, Harry thought, “ living here forever.”
“I don’t know.” Harry shrugged. “You never really know where life will lead, do you?”
“No, I suppose not.” Draco put the rest of the strawberry aside and sighed. Watching, Harry wanted to shake the oblivious fool scoffing pie on the floor. How hadn’t he seen what Draco was really asking? He watched the memory again, hoping for some sign that he’d understood, but there was none. And then an idea began to form, and he watched it one more time. This time though, he took notes.
“What’s up with you then?” Draco asked when he got home from St Mungo’s that evening. “You’re very jumpy.”
“Oh, nothing. Just excited about Christmas, that’s all.”
Draco rolled his eyes. “I don’t care what you say, I suspect that you really are about five when it comes to Christmas.”
“Maybe,” said Harry with a grin.
22.
Draco stretched out in the kitchen, his pencil hovering above the crossword puzzle in the back of the Muggle paper they’d bought. Harry loved the little furrow of concentration between his eyebrows, and he watched Draco scratch away until Draco noticed him in the doorway. “Any idea what a ‘five-legged—”
“No point asking me, I can never understand those clues,” Harry said. “Anyway, I want to show you something.”
“Finished your little mystery task? You haven’t redecorated the tree, have you?”
“No!” Harry grinned. “If I wanted to do that, I’d wait until you were asleep.”
Harry’s knees had ached when he’d gone to bed the night before, from all the Floo calls he’d made that afternoon. But every bit of effort was worth it when Draco’s jaw dropped as he stepped into the sitting room. Along with the merry fire burning in the hearth and the Christmas tree twinkling in the corner, a red checked cloth was spread out in front of the sofa. Food spilled out from an open hamper.
“You made the picnic.” Draco turned to Harry.
“It’s exactly the same. I, er, would say that I remembered all the details perfectly, but I had your memory to help me.”
“But why?”
“Why did you choose that memory?” Harry countered. “I didn’t appreciate what you’d done.”
“I chose it because it was romantic.”
“Sit down and I’ll show you romantic.”
Draco raised an eyebrow, but sat down neatly.
This time, Harry took the time to savour the food. Small bites; tiny tastes. He offered Draco morsels with his fingers, his teeth and his tongue. He had moved onto trying to undo stiff shirt buttons when Draco shook his head and pulled away.
Had Harry gone too far? A glance down showed an unmistakable bulge of interest from Draco.
“Wait. I think that we should watch the next memory first.”
“Now? Bloody hell Draco, do we really have to?”
“Yes.”
“It’s not going to be fight, is it? Or another guilt trip—”
“You’ll like it, I promise.”
They settled the Pensieve between them on the floor. Draco’s hand slid under Harry’s t-shirt, and he ran it along Harry’s back. Desire flickered through Harry, and he leaned closer to Draco.
“The memory first,” Draco said, but his fingers continued to move across Harry’s skin. He pulled Harry toward him, so that his breath tickled Harry’s ear as he whispered, “It’ll be worth it.” Harry shivered, and poured the memory in.
The golden light of a summer’s sunset filled their bedroom. Harry and Draco were both naked on the bed, and the sight made Harry’s breath catch.
Harry was on his back, while Draco moved with thrusts that changed the shape of his behind, creating dips and rises.
“I love your arse,” Harry murmured.
Draco’s fingers curled around Harry’s side. “And I love yours. Especially when I’m all bound up in that heat, and moving,” he nodded at the two men on bed, “like that.”
The only sounds in the room after that were Harry’s rather shaky breaths as he watched, and the gentle thwack of skin on skin, along with the quiet grunts that escaped the Harry and Draco on the bed. Draco’s hair caught the light, like the golden stubble of a field. Harry was absolutely transfixed by the sight.
His hand reached to move his painfully squeezed erection, but Draco pulled his arm away. “Wait,” he whispered. “Just watch.”
Harry’s world narrowed down to the throbbing in his trousers, the hand on his back, and every movement in front of him. He saw the way that Draco touched him: the tenderness with which he brushed Harry’s hair away from his eyes. He watched as Harry reached up to grab Draco for a messy, hungry kiss. He groaned himself as they moved on the bed so that Draco could wrap his long fingers around Harry’s red, hard cock. When Harry came, and then Draco, Harry was near to coming himself. Draco’s hand had stopped moving on his back. He glanced over and saw parted lips and widened eyes, cheeks, hot and flushed. Draco’s head turned, and he met Harry’s eyes.
Neither noticed the memory fade, as they were both too busy tearing – actually ripping in the case of Harry’s trousers – the clothes off each other. Harry inhaled sharply as cool air finally washed over his aching cock, and he pulled Draco down the floor. They kissed, hard and sharp.
“Fuck me,” Draco said, and Harry could barely see as he nodded and brought a hand to Draco’s arse.
“So fucking lovely, your arse.” He squeezed, his fingers relishing the feel of Draco beneath him. “You’re so…” He kissed Draco.
The fire crackled, casting a glow across their skin. The food was forgotten as Harry tried to show Draco how much he needed him. Loved him. As Draco’s lips moved in senseless words across Harry’s skin, he realised that Draco understood.
23.
Harry ached most pleasantly when he woke up the next morning. From his stiff knee, to the rawness of his knees and the tenderness of his arse, it was all worth it and Harry rather hoped that Draco had a similar set of reminders of their afternoon and night together.
He left Draco snoring softly and crept downstairs to rustle up some breakfast and coffee. He stopped though, outside the door to the sitting room. When he stepped inside, he was greeted by the most hideous mess. Harry sighed: there was a downside to having energetic sex within range of an array of suggestive foods. A couple of sweeps of his wand put most of the room to rights.
The Pensieve was still on the floor, and Harry carefully placed it back up on the coffee table. He returned the memory from the day before back in the phial, the silver mist indicating nothing of the memory itself. As he placed the phial back in the wooden box, Harry’s hand brushed the next memory. He might as well….
Harry was working. His head was bent over his desk, rolls of parchment and piles of reports around him. Why had Draco chosen this memory? But then Harry saw him. Draco was sitting on the other side of the room, a book in his hands. He wasn’t reading though. He was watching Harry himself, and his face was an open book of warmth and affection. Laced with a little concern, but seeing Harry’s frown and tightly held shoulders, that was understandable. The look on Draco’s face reminded Harry of another memory – of Draco watching Harry across the Great Hall.
Love. It had always been love. Harry had known this for a long time, of course, but to see it like this… There were no strings. No ifs or buts.
Harry ran back up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He woke Draco, and kissed him gently on the lips.
Draco yawned and stretched. “This better be a reasonable time of day. Did you get up extra specially early to watch another memory?”
“I thought I might as well watch today’s. But it’s not that early. You’re just a lazy layabout.”
“I’m just worn out.” A slow smile curved over Draco’s lips, and he closed his eyes. “Although it was worth it.”
“Love,” Harry said. “It’s always been love.”
“Yes, I know,” said Draco.
“No,” said Harry. “I mean… I know that you loved me, right at the beginning. What I mean is… it’s always been love for me too.”
“Oh.” Draco opened his eyes. “Either get back into bed or make me breakfast.”
After a very late breakfast – something else had come up first – Harry and Draco sat down and talked. Really talked.
That night, when Draco went into work to cover someone else’s shift, Harry finished wrapping the last few presents while the wind howled outside. Harry barely noticed it, as he replayed his favourite of the Pensieve memories in his mind.
24.
The next day – Christmas Eve – Harry woke to find Draco beside him. He left Draco to sleep, and went downstairs to with a spring in his step. When Hermione’s face appeared in the sitting-room Floo, Harry was rather glad that she hadn’t tried to get through earlier in the week. He couldn’t remember if he’d actually locked the Floo the day of the picnic, or not.
Blushing slightly, he answered her with a cheery, “Hi.”
“You look pleased with yourself.”
“It’s Christmas, and I don’t need to work for a week. Of course I’m happy.”
Hermione scowled. “Well, I’m glad it’s so relaxing for you.”
Harry laughed. “You’re the one who offered to have it at yours this year. I know all about rushing around to get everything ready.”
“Not with children underfoot.”
“Can I help?”
“Well…” Hermione sighed. “Can you make the bread sauce? I don’t know what I’m doing, and Ron’s not much better.”
“No problem.”
“Thanks. And Harry…”
“Yes?”
“You are looking happy.”
“Its’ Draco.” Harry smiled, and glanced up to the ceiling. “He… he makes me happy.”
“The memories worked then?”
Harry nodded. “They worked.”
When Draco woke up, they watched the last memory together. It was just one of their lazy Sundays in the memory: Harry and Draco in the kitchen, cooking and bickering and reading the papers. But it was perfect.
Harry put the last phial back into the box. His fingers brushed over all twenty-four stoppers. “Thank you,” he said. “For giving me all these reasons to remember… to see… us.”
Draco’s eyes were bright as he smiled back at Harry. “I see you.”
“And I see you.”
Everything was going to be fine.
>>epilogue
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