Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Draco/Harry, past Draco/Astoria and Harry/Ginny, background Ron/Hermione, James Sirius/Teddy
Word Count: ~2,600/21,000
Content/Warnings: past relationship, wanking, sexual fantasy, anal fingering, anal sex, tattoos
Summary: Twenty-five years later, Harry and Draco find their way back to one another.
Read on AO3
Harry sighed and rubbed at his eyes as he crossed the Gringotts lobby towards freedom. He hated making visits to the bank.
It had been nearly thirty years since the end of the war and the unfortunate incident with Gryffindor's sword...and the break-in...and the dragon. Thirty long years that only reinforced the notion that, when it came to goblins, time did not heal any wounds, let alone ones as grievous as the ones Harry had committed for the good of wizarding kind.
Hermione was always quick to point out that the goblins were well within their rights to hold a grudge, given the history of oppression and persecution they'd faced from wizards, but it was still damned inconvenient whenever Harry needed to withdraw money. During his marriage, it had been habit for Ginny to manage their finances, as any interaction with a goblin on Harry's part was bound to net them some kind of mysteriously irrefutable fee. Managing his Gringotts account for himself again was one of the many things he was not looking forward to now that he and Ginny had split.
Their divorce was actually what had led him there that day. The dividing of vaults and assets was something that had to be done in person, to ensure everything was above board. Harry was lucky that everything had ended amicably between him and Ginny, as the day had progressed relatively quickly. Still, it had been a dreary and draining experience, and Harry was glad to be well shot of it.
He was thinking about how long he'd have to stay at work to make up for taking the morning off as he stepped out into the warm spring day. The sun was blinding after the darkness of Gringotts, and he blinked the spots out of his eyes as he strode down the steps...right into a warm, solid body.
"I'm sorry," Harry said, reaching out to steady the arm that wobbled in front of his downcast eyes. The muscle was firm beneath his fingers, hard and defined beneath the clearly fine material of the slate grey robes. Harry could tell the robes were well-made. He lifted his eyes to the gentleman's face with a smile, intent on paying him a compliment on his garb to help smooth over any potentially ruffled feathers from Harry nearly ploughing him over.
His brain told him who was in front of him before his eyes even finished processing the glow of silvery blond hair. Draco Malfoy. The words died on his lips.
Draco's mouth twitched, though whether he was suppressing a smile or a frown, Harry couldn't be sure. "Hello, Potter."
"Uh, hi, Malfoy." Harry took a deep breath, trying to regain some of his equilibrium. He waved a hand between them. "Sorry about that."
This time, a small smile managed to steal across Draco's face. "That's alright, no harm done. Besides, I seem to remember a time when running into you was just par for the course."
His tone was much warmer than it had been that last time they'd spoken, and Harry's insides trembled at the little sliver of intimacy Draco's words conjured. "I—err—what brings you to Gringotts?"
"I came to withdraw some money. Scorpius's birthday is coming up, and he's been eying a new gold cauldron for his Healer work."
"Oh, yes, I remember Al mentioning something about a party he's throwing for Scorpius at their flat. How old will he be now, twenty-one?"
Draco nodded, his expression brightening and opening up at the mention of his son. "Yes, twenty-one next month. Time does seem to fly by, doesn't it?"
"Yes, it does," Harry agreed, softly. Albus would also be turning twenty-one later that year, in April. He almost couldn't believe it. It seemed like just yesterday Albus was giggling madly atop Harry's shoulders as Harry conjured up silly shapes in coloured smoke.
"What brings you here?"
"To Gringotts. I seem to remember you having a certain aversion to working with our acquisitive friends."
Harry made a face, even as he thrilled that Draco remembered such a particular detail. "I'm not the one with the aversion. They're the ones that can't stand me. Unfortunately it couldn't be avoided today. I had to come to officially split mine and Gin's vaults."
Draco's eyes lit with understanding. "Ah, yes, I remember going through that when Astoria and I filed papers." He paused, before continuing, his voice soft with sympathy. "My condolences on your divorce. I know how difficult it can be, going through such a large adjustment."
Harry flashed a wry smile. "I appreciate that. It's certainly taken some time to adjust to the new order of things, but it's all for the best. It was a long time coming."
Harry tried to decipher the emotion in Draco's eyes, but their depths were hidden to him. He wondered if Draco was thinking of that day in his office, if the possibilities drove him as mad as they were driving Harry.
"Listen, Draco, I'm glad I ran into you. I—I've been wanting to talk to you."
Draco face had closed off again, and Harry felt like he was teetering on the edge of a precipice as he replied, "Yes. I know what you said before, that we can't be friends, but I think you're wrong."
"Yes, I do. I know we can be friends. We were friends once, no matter what you may have told yourself. I understand why we couldn't have continued to see each other back then, but things are different now." Harry wiped his sweaty palms against his robes and hoped that Draco would find his earnestness refreshing, rather than off putting. "James talks about you all the time, you know. He thinks the world of you, and I—I want to get to know you again."
Draco fidgeted, his expression creased with reluctance and indecision. It was clear that he wasn't entirely convinced, but he wouldn't be hesitating if there wasn't a small part of him that wanted to take Harry up on his offer. Harry pressed his advantage.
"Please? We could go out for lunch, like we did in the beginning. There's this Greek place one of the deputy heads at work told me about last week that I've been meaning to try it. I'd love some company."
A soft and almost reluctant smile slid across Draco's face, bringing out the unfairly attractive lines at the corners of his eyes. "You and your food," he murmured in a tone Harry would almost call fond. It sent pinpricks of yearning skittering across Harry's skin.
"Not everything changes, you know. Will you go with me?"
Draco paused a long moment. "As friends?"
Harry's heart flipped. "For now."
Draco opened his mouth. Closed it. His pearly white teeth ran over the pink of his bottom lip, before, "Alright."
The word looked like it had been pulled from Draco almost against his will, and his expression showed clear doubt that he'd made the right decision. Still, Harry would take it, reluctant or not. He beamed, and Draco sighed in response. Even that little huff of breath made Harry's heart leap in exhalation. He had a way in.
"Next Thursday." Draco commanded, as if trying to regain some measure of control of a situation that had clearly gotten away from him. "Owl me the restaurant name."
"I will. It was good bumping into you, Draco."
Draco stared at him for a moment, his expression still hard to read, but somehow softer than it had been at the beginning of their conversation.
"It was nice seeing you, too...Harry."
Bumping into Draco at Gringotts had filled Harry with a nervous sort of energy constantly humming beneath his skin. He could mostly ignore it at work, when he was busy in meetings, or doing paperwork, or mentoring various Aurors in his department. It was when he got home and his mind was free to roam that was the issue.
To distract himself, Harry got started on something he'd been putting off for months—cleaning up Grimmauld Place. He scrubbed the house from top to bottom, using every domestic spell that Molly had taught him over the years to make his new home shine. As he worked through the rooms, he kept a floating list of items and furniture that he needed to buy or replace. He wondered if it might be worth hiring a decorator, but ultimately discarded the idea. Harry might not be a genius when it came to colour schemes and knickknacks, but he did alright, and he didn't want to live in a house that somebody else had designed and put together. He wanted it to feel like a home—like his home.
He paused at the door to the courtyard, staring pensively at the dead and dry patch of earth off to the side where his old vegetable garden used to live. It had been years since he'd thought about his brief, long-ago hobby. He'd been so excited about it when he'd first started growing things, watching life bloom under his patient hands. If he closed his eyes, he could almost remember the taste of his first home-grown tomato, the bright, juicy tang of it bursting on his tongue.
It was bittersweet, seeing the remains of his little garden and recalling a different time. Harry had attempted a garden at the new house with Ginny, after they'd first been married, but he hadn't managed to last past a season. The life of a newlywed, combined with increasing responsibilities at work, meant that he'd had less time to toil away in the dirt. There was also a small, secret part of him that couldn't help but irrationally connect the pastime with Draco. It was a little ridiculous, as Draco hadn't ever even really set foot in Harry's garden. But Harry had just started working on his first garden when he started seeing Draco, and once they started seeing one another, Harry had spent many an hour working in the courtyard trying not to think about whatever the hell he was doing with Draco and all the reasons it was a very bad idea. How funny that now of all times, while trying to distract himself from thoughts of Draco once again, he would find himself here once more, contemplating the possibility of revitalising that old patch of earth. It was a possibility, but one to consider another day.
Harry spent another exhausting hour cleaning out the kitchen cupboards, before glancing at the clock and realising that he should probably head to bed. Though he should definitely wash up first.
The water in the shower was deliciously hot, the pressure massaging out the lingering aches and pains that came from giving the house such a vigorous scrub-down. He felt himself grow hard as he lingered under the spray, the energy that had been coursing through him all too willing to lend itself to other pursuits. Harry took his cock in hand, bracing himself against the shower wall and closing his eyes. He imagined kissing somebody rough and hard, large hands squeezing his hips, a fuzzy, faceless bloke dragging his teeth along Harry's lip. It didn't take long for a face to emerge from the mist, sharp and elegant, ringed with a dripping halo of familiar flaxen hair. Who was Harry kidding? It was silly of him to pretend he was going to get off while thinking of anybody but Draco.
Harry took a deep breath, and this time called to mind a memory—not a fantasy.
They were in this very shower. Draco had been winning Puddlemere a lot of games, and the Prophet had written an extremely complimentary piece on him that hadn't even mentioned his involvement in the war. He'd been in a euphoric mood, and Harry could still remember the swoop in his stomach at the unbridled pride and satisfaction on Draco's face, the way his smile turned purposeful and intent when he'd turned it onto Harry.
It was right around the time when Harry was beginning to realise that his feelings for Draco weren't as casual as he'd been pretending, and something about the way Draco had looked that night—fierce and triumphant and invincible—had terrified Harry. He'd felt heat and longing sweep through his veins, rich and dark, and Harry had known that there was no way he'd make it out unscathed. Harry had made some excuse about a shower and rushed upstairs, hoping to get some space from this magnetic, electric Draco.
Of course, it hadn't worked out quite how Harry had planned.
Draco had followed him into the shower, pressing him back against the cool tiles as the water cascaded over their skin. Harry had been powerless to resist, had given up without a whisper of resistance as Draco turned him to face the wall. Draco's strong, broom-calloused fingers had circled his wrists, bringing Harry's hands up to wrap around the top edge of the magically-reinforced shower door. He remembered the cool bite of the metal beneath his palms as Draco had slid into him. And then it had been burn and stretch and blinding pleasure, Draco's wet body plastered all along his back as Draco fucked him slow and hard against the glass door.
Harry's breath sped up as he remembered the way Draco's hand had felt wrapped around Harry's cock, so much more satisfying than his own. Curious, Harry's other hand slid back to dip between his cheeks and rub against his hole. Tingles of pleasure radiated out from his rim as he dipped the tip inside, imagining it was Draco's finger instead of his own. Were Draco's fingers thicker now? Were they still rough and calloused, or had they become soft and smooth now that he'd retired? Harry wanked more frantically as he tried to picture Draco's cock, frustrated that the memory of it had become hazy over the years. Did it look the same? Would it feel the same?
Harry would be so much tighter now—it had been years since he'd had anything up his arse. They'd have to go slow, really take their time with it. Draco would need to spend ages opening Harry up with his fingers and lips and tongue. They weren't as young and flexible as they used to be, either. The thought of shagging over sofa arms and kitchen tables wasn't nearly as appealing as the thought of Draco taking him on Harry's big, comfortable bed, their bodies moving together with slow and sure purpose.
Molten hot pleasure swirled at the base of his spine as he pictured Draco's silver eyes flashing above him, lust-bright and joyous. Harry came. He let out a little cry as he emptied against the tiles, trembling with the force of his orgasm as thick white droplets dripped down the wall. Harry was still shaking as he got out of the shower and started getting ready for bed, the force of his memories from his and Draco's past mixing with the uncertainty of their tentative future.
Despite his long day of work, several hours of rigorous cleaning, and a truly satisfying wank, it was a long time before Harry fell asleep that night.
It had been a long damn while since Harry had lost sleep thinking about Draco Malfoy, but Harry had a feeling this night wouldn't be the last.