Archive of Our Own

“Well, well, well,” Draco said, striding into the room. “Harry Potter.”

“Malfoy,” Harry managed through gritted teeth.

“What is it today, hmmm, Potter?” he flipped through the parchment he was holding in his hand. “Got stung by a Wasp curse? A monstrous artifact remove one of your fingers again? Fell for the whole ‘disappearing stair trick’?” Draco frowned and stared at the parchment. “Allergies?” he asked, looking up.

Harry nodded. “I’m allergic to aubergine.”

Draco frowned. “Potter, this is the Advanced Curses ward,” he said.

“I know,” Harry said, “but you’re the only healer I trust not to blab to the Prophet.”

“No healers should be blabbing to the Prophet, Potter,” Draco said.

“Yeah, I know,” Harry said, “but somehow the news always gets out. And I’d prefer every Tom, Dick, and Harry not know about my allergy.”

“Presumably Harry already knows about your allergy,” Draco said. “How did you accidentally come into contact with aubergine anyway?”

“I didn’t know it was in babaganoush!” Harry exclaimed.

Draco looked at him. “What is babaganoush?”

“Something apparently mainly made out of aubergines,” Harry said morosely. “I did the anti-allergy spell myself, but then Hermione insisted I come in, so here I am.”

Draco sighed and did a scanning charm, then cast a few more charms on Harry. “I’m not your personal healer,” he said.

Harry looked up at him and pouted a little. “You could be,” he said.

“Why would I be your personal healer when I already hold the esteemed and time-consuming position of Head of the Advanced Curses ward?” Draco asked.

“Because I’m charming?” Harry asked.

Draco pressed his lips together like he was trying to suppress a smile. “You are not,” he said.

“Just think about it,” Harry said, jumping up off the bed, and patting him on the arm when he passed him.

Harry and Draco’s relationship hadn’t always been so easy going. Back when Harry was just getting into cursebreaking and Draco was still an apprentice healer, he’d refused to be treated by him. It was only when a mishap during a potions field trip (the new Potions Master at Hogwarts being full of such novel concepts as ‘field trips’ -- Snape was rolling over in his grave) meant that every bed in the minor poisoning ward was occupied and, more to the point, every healer and Draco was the only one on hand to treat Harry’s bowtruckle bite (it had been a misunderstanding) and had done so not only with a complete professionalism but a gentleness that contradicted everything Harry thought he knew about Draco, did Harry’s resistance begin to ease.

As they both grew more developed in their professions they encountered each other more and more. Harry, despite his many mishaps, was becoming an accomplished cursebreaker and Draco rose steadily through the ranks of healers, winning over those who were suspicious of his Death Eater background with his hard work and obvious skill. Harry didn’t just encounter Draco whenever he needed treatment for an incident carried out while cursebreaking, but also found himself increasingly called upon by Draco to help him with patients where the curses were still active.

Despite the increased ease of their professional relationship, their relationship remained that of casual acquintances and colleagues (or doctor/ patient depending on the current situation), until one evening late in November when Harry heard a knocking at the door of Grimmauld Place.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” he called, thudding down the stairs and passing the spot where the portrait of Walburga Black used to hang. He threw open the door and stopped, gaping, when he saw Draco standing there, dressed in Muggle clothing, neat as a pin.

“Draco!” Harry exclaimed.

Draco’s eyebrows rose. “Were you expecting someone?” he asked.

“I’d ordered delivery,” Harry said. “Have you eaten? Do you like Indian food? Come in, come in.”

He pulled Draco into the house and pulled off his coat, turning to hang it in the closet. “Do you want tea?” he asked.

Draco hesitated, then shook his head. “Can we just go sit down?” he asked.

“Sure,” Harry said and led him down the hall to the sitting room where a book and a glass of whiskey were sat on a coffee table before a roaring fire. Harry sat down on the sofa and Draco sat down in an armchair.

Harry lifted the glass. “Would you like some?” he offered.

“Stop trying to feed me,” Draco whined, then quickly apologized. “Sorry, I’m just a bit on edge right now.”

Harry nodded, putting his drink down. “Sorry I kept offering you food and drink,” he said. “I still get rather nervous when people come over. Er— why did you come over?”

Draco straightened up, like he was preparing to give a speech, then seemed to give up and slumped back into the armchair.

“It’s my parents,” he said.

“Ah,” Harry said, nodding. “I’ve met your parents. They’d wind me up a bit too.”

Draco glared at him.

“More your dad than your mom,” Harry added, upon reflection. “Your mom’s a bit of alright.”

“Thank you,” Draco said, icily, “of that assessment of my mother.”

“Well,” Harry said. “What about your parents?”

“They want me to get married,” Draco said.

“Oh,” Harry said. “That’s parents for you, innit? Molly’s always harping on at me about finding someone too, making hints and the like. Just got to ignore them and press on, yeah? She means well, anyway.”

“My parents,” Draco ground out, “are planning on setting up a formal courtship for me.”

“Oh?” Harry asked. “What’s that then? One of those Pureblood things?”

Draco opened his mouth to speak, but a knock at the door interrupted him.

“Oh, that’ll be the curry,” Harry said. “Sorry, I’ll just be back in a trice. Actually, would you mind coming to the kitchen? I’m starving and you can tell me all about it while I eat.” He didn’t give Draco any time to object, just turn and ran down the hall, throwing open the door and shoving a wad of notes at the delivery man, accepting the bag in exchange.

Draco followed him down the stairs to the kitchen and sat at the table while Harry took plates and utensils and napkins out of the cupboards.

“I know you didn’t say you wanted to eat,” Harry said, “but there’s plenty, so I’ll just get a plate and things for you and if you feel like a little nibble…”

He sat down and grabbed a piece of naan, tearing off the corner of it before putting it down to spoon a pile of jasmine rice onto his plate.

“You were saying,” Harry prompted Draco, gesturing to his spoon while he ladled saag paneer on top of his rice.

Draco was staring at the food like he had never seen curry before. Finally he tore his eyes away from it and looked back up at Harry. “Uh,” he said, and then gave himself a little shake. “Courtships,” he said. “They’re… like a competition. My parents will invite a number of young women to participate and they’ll basically fight over who gets married to me.”

Harry frowned at him. “Young women?” he repeated once he’d swallowed. “I thought… Well, I was pretty sure you were gay.”

“I am gay!” Draco exclaimed, standing up and pacing back and forth across the kitchen. Harry watched him while he scooped up curry and rice with a bit of naan and shoved it in his mouth. “But she won’t listen! Just keeps telling me I’ll change my mind when I meet the right girl.”

“That’s not how it works,” Harry said, grabbing another container and dumping it onto his plate.

“Yeah,” Draco said, “and I told her that but… wow, you were really hungry, weren’t you?”

“Starving,” Harry said too hungry to care that he was talking with his mouth full. “Twenty hour shift breaking this cursed ring.”

Draco sat down again. “You said this was… curry?”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “You’ve never had it?”

Draco shook his head. “I don’t get out in Muggle London much,” he said. “I’m always afraid I’m going to pay with the wrong currency or ask something completely ridiculous.”

“Just put on an accent and they’ll think you’re a stupid tourist,” Harry advised. “That’s what I do. You want to try it? It’s really good.”

“I suppose,” Draco said, looking skeptically at the bright green of the saag paneer. He scooped a miniscule bit of rice out of the carton and dropped a dollop of curry on top of it.

“It’s weird there aren’t more ethnic foods in the wizarding world,” Harry commented, grabbing a container of chutney and scooping it onto his plate. “There are plenty wizards of different backgrounds, and it’s so much easier for us to travel than Muggles, but I haven’t yet gone to a wizarding establishment that serves anything besides English and French foods.

Draco tentatively sampled the curry and his eyes went wide. “That’s good!” he exclaimed.

“Well help yourself,” Harry said. “I always order too much because I love having leftovers.”

Draco nodded and started filling his plate.

“So your mom won’t accept you’re gay and she’s putting on this courting gameshow for you.”

“It’s not a gameshow,” Draco said. Harry was pretty sure he didn’t know what a gameshow was.

“Whatever,” Harry said. “Why did you come here to tell me about it anyway? I don’t mind or anything, but we’re not exactly friends.”

Draco look at his plate and prodded and chickpea with his fork. “I don’t have a lot of friends,” he admitted. “Just Pansy and Blaise and both of them… they wouldn’t understand. Lots of purebloods have arranged marriages. It’s considered pretty normal for couples to sleep with other people.”

“You mean purebloods cheat on their spouses?” Harry asked.

Draco shook his head. “It’s not cheating if you agree it’s okay,” he said. “That’s what Blaise and Pans have. So they wouldn’t really understand. But I don’t want that.”

“You want to be married to someone you love?”

Draco nodded.

“That seems pretty reasonable,” Harry said.

“There’s another reason,” Draco said.

“To get married?” Harry asked.

“To come here,” Draco corrected. He took a bite of food and chewed it for a moment.

Harry looked at him confused.

“There’s another reason I came here,” Draco clarified. “You asked me to be your personal healer.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, serving himself more food. “You said ‘no’.”

“I’d like to arrange a exchange of services,” Draco said. “I will be your personal healer, in addition to my regular work, mind you, so I won't be at your beck and call, but I will take appointments with you on non-curse related medical issues and in exchange, you pretend to be my boyfriend.”

Harry choked on his curry. “What?” he asked when he could talk again.

“I’ve thought about it,” Draco said. “The only way to stop my mother from carrying this nightmare out is if I’m already with someone she approves of.”

Harry narrowed his eyes at him. “Your mother can’t possibly approve of me,” he said.

“Of course she approves of you,” Draco said.

“But I’m a half-blood,” Harry said.

“You’re the heir to two family fortunes, a renown cursebreaker and the ‘Saviour of the Wizarding World’,” Draco said. “I don’t think there’s anyone she approves of more. Plus, she saved your life once so now she has maternal feelings towards you.”

Harry choked again and this time Draco pounded on his back.

“Narcissa Malfoy doesn’t have maternal feelings towards me,” Harry protested.

“She does,” Draco said. “She refers to you as ‘that dear boy’ and sends you a little present every Christmas.”

“Oh,” Harry said. “She does. She sent me a very nice box of tea last year. Honestly, I did think it was kind of strange.” He pauses for a moment. “But this fake dating thing is kind of a crazy idea.”

“I thought that at first,” Draco admitted. “But when you think about it…”

“It seems less crazy?” Harry guessed doubtfully.

“It’s not that much. We just have to spend some time together.”

“And tell everyone we’re in a relationship,” Harry said.

“Well, yeah,” Draco said. “It’s just until I figure something else out,” he said, quickly.

“I don’t like the idea of lying to my family,” Harry said.

“You could tell some people the truth,” Draco said hesitantly.

Harry shook his head. “The Weasleys are terrible at keeping secrets. Especially since Ginny’s dating Luna now. I could tell Hermione and that’s it.”

“Oh,” Draco said. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Because the whole point of this is lying to your family,” Harry said.

“Yeah,” Draco agreed, after a moment. “I guess… I guess it wouldn’t work then.”

“Can’t you just tell your mother ‘no’?”

“She won’t listen,” Draco said.

“But, I mean, you can’t get married without your consent, can you?” Harry asked.

Draco laughed. “You were enrolled in a deadly tournament without your consent when you were fourteen.”

“Yeah, but shit like that always happens to me,” Harry said. “And I was a minor.”

“Well,” Draco said, “there are plenty of old wizarding laws that need to be changed and all of the ones surrounding the courtship rituals are included in that. My mother can enroll me without my consent until I’m fourty.”

“Fourty?” Harry choked out.

Draco nodded.

“Oh,” Harry said. “And how likely is this courtship thingy to get you married?”

“100 percent,” Draco said.

Harry sighed. “Okay,” he said.

Draco’s eyes widened. “Okay?” he repeated.

“I don’t like lying to my family, but I like the idea of you getting married without your consent even less,” Harry said. “You’re a half-decent bloke—”

“Why thank you,” Draco said primly.

Harry grinned. “Half-decent, mind you,” he said. “Your bedside manner still leaves a lot to be desired.”

“Then why do you want me to be your personal healer?” Draco asked, an eyebrow raised.

“Touché,” Harry said.

“But you’ll do it,” Draco pressed.

“Yeah, I’ll do it,” Harry said.

“Great,” Draco said. “Grand. Fantastic. Thank you.”

He dabbed at his mouth with the napkin Harry had given him.

“So what now?” Harry asked, after a brief pause where he shoved another piece of curry-covered naan in his mouth.

“Does the Prophet still hound your every move?” Draco asked.

“I try not to read it, but I assume so,” Harry said.

“We should go on a few dates then,” Draco said. “Look cozy. Enough so that they’ll take notice and write about it.”

“I suppose we’ll have to go out in Diagon Ally then,” Harry said, with a sigh, poking at his curry. “Fine, when are you free?”

Draco looked at the ceiling, presumably thinking over his schedule. “Wednesday?” he suggested.

Harry shook his head. “That’s when I have dinner with Ron and Hermione.”

“Sunday afternoon?” Draco suggested.

Harry shook his head again. “Sunday dinner at the Burrow,” he said.

“I could do Friday theoretically,” Draco said, “but I’ll be getting off a 30 hour shift Friday afternoon.”

“Are you free Saturday morning?” Harry asked. “We could go out to breakfast. Then people will think we spent the evening together. Plus I like Wizarding breakfast foods better than dinner foods.”

Draco considered him for a moment. “There’s an idea.”

“And you could come in rumpled clothes,” Harry suggested.

“I would never be seen in rumpled clothes,” Draco said. “Even if I spent the night somewhere. Potter, haven’t you heard of refreshing charms?”

Harry shrugged. “Can’t be bothered,” he said.

“You’re hopeless,” Draco said.

“You’re the one who wants to date me,” Harry said.

“Touché,” Draco said. He ate another bit of the curry. “If we’re suggesting that I spent the night, perhaps we will need to portray a certain amount of physical affection for virsimillatude.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “You mean be all touchy and feely?” he asked.

“It would drive the point home,” Draco said.

Harry considered it, then nodded. “Should we practice?” he asked.

“I assume we’re both familiar with physical affection,” Draco said. “I believe I have seen you engage in it on multiple occasions.”

“Are you still on about Luna’s wedding?” Harry demanded.

“It has unfortunately been seared into my memory,” Draco said.

“Blaise spiked the punch!” Harry exclaimed. “Just because you’re the only one who didn’t drink it...”

“Seared into my memory,” Draco repeated. “I will never wash my mind clean of the sight of you intertwined with that hunk.”

Harry laughed. “You didn’t have to look,” he said. “You could have just left. Apparated away.”

“I did apparate away,” Draco said. “Thank goodness. I don’t think I would have survived seeing you all involved in an orgy.”

Harry choked. “An orgy!? Is that what you thought happened?”

“It’s the natural conclusion of what was happening,” Draco said.

Harry laughed and shook his head. “Blaise came to his senses, realized what was happening and cast a sobering charm over everyone. Except Neville and Fred, who had already snuck away. And that’s how that relationship started.”

Draco shuttered delicately. “I hadn’t wanted to know, actually,” he said.

Harry smiled and stood, sending the dishes zipping over to the sink to wash themselves. “I meant that we’re not familiar with physical affection with each other,” he said, grabbing a bottle of wine and a pair of cups, then heading towards the sitting room, expecting Draco to follow. “I’m not sure it would be very convincing to have our first kiss in front of people who are meant to believe we’re already solidly in a relationship.”

“Oh,” Draco said, and sat down in an armchair.

“No,” Harry said, scooting over on the sofa a little. “Sit here.”

Draco eyed him and sat down.

Harry poured them both glasses of wine, then handed Draco his. After they had toasted he put his glass down and looked at Draco. “If we were in a relationship would you be sitting all the way over there?” he asked.

Draco looked at Harry and then at the half-yard of space between them. “I suppose not,” he said.

“Scoot over then,” Harry said, and lifted his arm when Draco moved close enough, lowering it on Draco’s shoulders and snuggling in against him. Draco was warm and he smelled good, but his elbow was jabbing into Harry’s side.

“You’re all pointy,” Harry complained, trying to move away from the sharp elbow.

“You’re all squirmy,” Draco rejoined and shrugged Harry’s arm off his shoulders and threw his own arm over Harry’s.

“When you’re in a relationship this feels really great, but right now it’s just awkward,” Harry said.

“Because you’re doing it because it’s natural not because you think you need to fool Prophet reporters,” Draco said. “And anyway, I’ve never spent a lot of time sitting like this.”

“What about when you’re watching telly?” Harry asked.

Draco sniffed. “I’ve never watched telly in my life,” he said.

Harry smirked. “You want to?” he asked, dislodging himself from Draco so he could grab the remote from the side table.

“Not particularly,” Draco said, but Harry turned on the telly anyway, flicking through channels until he found something that seemed suitably garish and horrifying. As he suspected Draco was soon deeply engaged in the drama, loudly voicing his opinions when anyone did something he found reprehensible, which was constantly.

“Potter,” he said, when the episode had ended. Harry muted the commercials and discovered that they were cuddled together now in a way that was so much more comfortable he’d fallen half-asleep.

“Hmm?” Harry asked.

“Was that all real?” Draco asked. His head was resting on Harry’s chest and this close Harry could see how long his blonde eyelashes were.

“They pretend it’s real but it’s really like half-real and half-fake. Like everything real is exaggerated.”

“Oh,” Draco said. “I kind of hate it, but I kind of love it.”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “That’s what it’s there for.”

“Can we watch another?” Draco asked and Harry nodded and turned the sound back on.

Draco stayed too late because that’s what always happens when a friend comes over for curry and trashy telly and Harry ended up falling asleep to the sound of Draco’s scornful remarks, only waking up to Draco carefully nudging his shoulder.

“Potter,” Draco was saying. “Potter.”

“Hmm?” Harry asked, blinking up at him.

“I’ve got to go,” Draco said. “I’ve got a shift in five bloody hours.”

“Okay,” Harry said and without thinking reached up and grabbed the back of Draco’s head and pulled him in for a soft kiss.

A moment later he remembered that he and Draco weren’t actually dating and he let go.

“Sorry,” he said. “Muscle memory or something.”

“You kiss everyone you watch telly with?” Draco asked, sounding more amused than offended.

“Uh, no,” Harry said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Only the fit ones.”

Draco huffed out a laugh. “It’s okay,” he said. “We needed to practice, right?” and he bent down and kissed Harry again, his mouth so warm and soft that when he straightened up Harry felt bereft. “See you on Saturday morning then? Say 9 o’clock? I’ll meet you here.”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

He kept thinking about that kiss— those two kisses— and found himself so distracted he nearly accidentally cursed himself (which was not how he wanted to see Draco next). Finally he managed to force himself to stay focused on his work, pushing all thoughts of the kiss, of the upcoming date, of what he was going to say to the Weasleys when the news of his new relationship was splashed across the Prophet, to the back of his mind so he could avoid appearing in St Mungos with a hand mauled by a cursed typewriter or skin slowly turning into rotting banana peel.

On Wednesday he flood over to Ron and Hermione’s with the promised dessert, a box of cannolis from his favorite pastry shop in Horizont Alley, and a decision that he had rethought ten times by the time Rose was tucked safe into bed.

Hermione poured them small glasses of her favorite mead and then looked at Harry expectantly.

“What?” Harry demanded.

“What’s got you all worked up?” she asked.

“Oh,” Harry said. “Uh, I’ve got something to tell you.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows.

“I’m, uh, dating someone. It’s been a few weeks, actually.”

Hermione looked impressed. “That’s the first time you didn’t make me come over and select your first date clothes for you,” she said.

“I’m thirty,” Harry said. “Guess I figured it was time I learned to dress myself.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow.

“Anyway, it wasn’t exactly like that,” Harry said.

“Exactly like what?” Ron asked, pouring himself more mead.

“You’re supposed to sip it,” Hermione told him. “Savour the experience.”

Ron looked at the mead dubiously.

Harry ran a hand through his hair. “Wasn’t like ‘first date’, ‘second date’, kind of thing. I uh, well he just ended up coming over and having curry and watching crap telly with me and things just kind of… uh… happened.”

“Oh, that sounds lovely,” Hermione said. “You always got so anxious over those dates. I guess we know him then?”

Harry nodded. He could feel his face growing hot. “Yeah, it’s, er, Draco Malfoy.”

Ron and Hermione exchanged a look. “Huh,” Hermione said.

“Who won the pool?” Ron asked.

“Oh,” Hermione said and pulled out her phone, thumbing through to a document. “Luna. It was almost up to a hundred galleons too.”

Ron whistled. “Too bad that,” he said. “Coulda built that garden shed we were talking about. Mate, what do you think about keeping mum about it for… how long?”

“Four months and ten days,” Hermione said.

“Er… what?” Harry asked.

“We had a betting pool,” Hermione said, putting her phone away.

“What?” Harry repeated.

“When you and Malfoy were going to get together,” Ron said.

Harry blinked. “You want?”

“It was obvious it was going to happen sooner or later,” Ron said.

“It was?” Harry asked.

“We’ve seen how you two look at each other,” Hermione said.

“Oh and that incident at Luna’s wedding,” Ron said.

“Oh yeah,” Hermione said. “He was practically green with envy when he saw you making out with that hunk…”

“He has a name,” Harry muttered. “Who was in on this pool?”

“Oh, everyone,” Hermione said, taking out her phone again. “Hmmm… let’s see. Every Weasley but Percy, Dean, Lavender, Luna, Alfred, Blaise, McGregor-—”

“Wait, who’s McGregor?” Harry asked.

“The new cashier at WWW,” Ron said.

“You’re all really invested in my love life,” Harry said after a moment of not being able to think of anything else to say.

Hermione shrugged. “Something to do,” she said.

“How long has this been going on?” Harry demanded.

“The pool?” Ron asked. “Or us thinking you and Malfoy wanted to snog?”

“Either,” Harry said.

“The first since June of two years ago,” Hermione said. “That was when Ginny had her birthday party and the two of you played a seeker’s game for hours in the pouring rain because both of you refused to cede first. We spent the whole time talking about what idiots the two of you were and the pool just naturally came out of it. The first was—” she looked at Ron, “what do you think? Sixth year?”

“Sixth year?” Harry exclaimed. “When I was convinced he was a Death Eater and he was up to something?!”

“You were just a little too obsessed with him,” Ron said. “You used to stay up hours just staring at his name on your map.”

“He was up to something!” Harry cried. “He was trying to kill Dumbledore! He let Death Eaters into Hogwarts!”

“Hey you’re the one currently snogging him,” Ron said. “Don’t get mad at us for seeing it coming.”

“I did not have a thing for him sixth year,” Harry muttered. “He was so thin and exhausted looking.”

“That’s not the kind of remark that’s gonna convince us,” Ron said. “Anyway, water under the bridge, mate. It’s going well then?”

It took a moment for Harry to remember what they were talking about. “Yeah,” he said, finally. “Yeah, it’s going well.” He remembered how comfortable it had been cuddling Draco the night before, how natural the kiss was. “We’re going to see each other Friday night. I just wanted to warn you— we’ve been keeping a pretty tight lid on it because, you know, the Prophet. But we’re not going to be descreet any longer.”

Hermione’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re only telling us to be polite?” she asked.

Harry shifted uncomfortably. “I guess,” he said. “And, uh, maybe invite him over for dinner next week?” he added just so he didn’t feel like a total tosser. “If he’s free— I didn’t ask him. He’s pretty busy. It’s actually hard for us to find times to hang out sometimes.”

“Of course he’s welcome,” Hermione said, seeing a bit appeased. It was the right choice, Harry saw, though now he was nervous about how Draco was going to take the news that they’d all be dining together. And not even in public!

It was Saturday morning that it hit him that Hermione was right. Not about him having wanted to snog Draco sixth year. That was just absurd. He’d stomped on his nose! He’d tried to crucio him! (Maybe he wanted to snog Draco now, but that was neither here nor there).

No, she was right in that she always chose his first date clothes for him, often dragging him out to the shops when he didn’t have anything she thought suited.

What am I going to wear on Saturday? he fretted. It wasn’t technically a first date but in a lot of ways it was and Draco was always very stylish, even in his healers robes and his hair was always very intentional looking.

Harry shook himself. He wasn’t going to start drifting off, thinking about how well Draco’s clothes fit him. Instead he rummaged through the closet until, in a fit of panic and anxiety, he just threw on the last outfit he’d worn to a rather disastrous date with a Hufflepuff, buttoning the last button just in time to hear Draco coming through the floo.

He braced himself and then trooped downstairs, surprised to see Draco dressed causally in soft jeans and a thin sweater.

“Potter,” Draco began and then blinked at thim. “Potter, what are you wearing?”

Harry looked down at himself. “Clothes?” he hazarded.

“You look like you’re going on a date,” Draco said.

“Er… aren’t we?”

“Haven’t you ever had brunch after spending the night with someone?” Draco asked.

Harry had never particularly been a brunch person. “Er… I guess,” he said.

“And did you dress like that?” Draco asked. He sounded more amused than mean.

“No,” Harry said. He sighed. “I don’t know how to dress,” he admitted.

Draco snorted. “I knew that,” he said, “lets go get you sorted out.”

He spent some time shifting through Harry’s clothes until finally throwing some on the bed, a pair of soft black corderoys and a grey werewolf rights t-shirt.

“Thank,” Harry said, hesitating a moment before undressing. Draco had seen him naked before, after all. Of course, that was when his intestines had been turned into a snake, so Draco hadn’t had a lot of time for oogling.

When he was dressed he looked up to see Draco inspecting the books on a shelf. “Eclectic collection you have here,” he said, smiling at Harry. Harry looked at his hair, as carefully arranged as usual, and frowned.

“Shouldn’t you look more…” Harry trailed off.

“More what?” Draco asked, eyes narrowed.

“More freshly fucked,” Harry said, feeling his face heating up.

“Oh,” Draco said. He flushed as well, color rising high in his cheeks. “Are you suggesting that we…?” he glanced at the bed.

“No!” Harry exclaimed. “I mean, maybe we should just snog for a while first? For versimilitude.”

“Versimulitude,” Draco repeated.

Harry nodded. “We don’t have to—” he began, but Draco had already put the book he’d been holding down and cross the room to him, putting one cool hand on Harry’s hot cheek and leaning down and snogging him. His lips were surprisingly soft and he licked into Harry’s mouth, then caught his lower lip between both of his own and teased it for a moment before dropping a series of light teasing kisses on Harry’s mouth until Harry made an embarrassing noise and grabbing the back of Draco’s neck pulled him in and pushed their mouths together, everything slick and hot, until he pulled away, panting.

Draco was panting too and his eyes were wide and his mouth red and his hair was no longer in its careful style.

“You look more like it now,” Harry said, his voice husky. He swallowed. “Ready to go?”

Draco surprised him by laughing. “You’re really something, aren’t you?” he said.

It wasn’t a long walk from Harry’s flat in the wizarding buildings off of Griffin Street to the cafe in Horizont Alley and the whole time Harry was hyperaware of people looking at the two of them. They holded hands and tried to keep up a conversation as if they were in their own little world, though it was difficult when he kept catching people staring. They always stare, he tried to remind himself. Draco squeezed his hand and he looked up at him and smiled.

That was the picture that made it to the cover of the Prophet the next day, Harry and Draco looking relaxed and happy in the morning sunlight, holding hands and smiling at each other.

Harry Potter’s New Flame? the headline read. Inside there were more pictures. Harry and Draco smiling over their coffee and crapes. Harry and Draco holding hands on the table in the restaurant, Draco rubbing his thumb over Harry’s knuckles. Harry and Draco kissing goodbye.

“Well, we certainly made a splash,” he muttered, forcing himself to put the paper down so he could go get ready to go over to the Burrow.

“Harry!” Molly greeted him with an engulfing hug. “You didn’t bring your young man?” she looked around, like Harry might have been hiding him.

“Er,” Harry said.

“Mum, it’s too soon for him to be dragging Draco over here,” Ginny butted in. “He wouldn’t want to scare the poor boy off, after all.”

“Scare him off?” Molly demanded, her hands on her hips. Harry couldn’t tell if she was annoyed or amused.

Ginny grinned. “We can be a bit… overwhelming,” she said. She sniffed dramatically. “Is something burning?”

“What?” Molly asked, suddenly alarmed and sprinted for the kitchen.

“That was so transparent,” Harry said.

“Works everytime,” Ginny said, leading him outside, then turning to him, an excited look on her face. “So?” she asked.

“So what?”

“So… dish!”

Harry looked at her.

“About you and Malfoy, you twat!” Ginny said. “How did you two, you know? Did one of you finally get the balls to do something?”

“Er… did you also think I had a thing for Malfoy?”

Ginny looked at him confused. “You do have a thing for Malfoy.”

Harry was about to protest when he remembered he was supposed to be dating Malfoy. “Uh, yeah,” he said. “But it’s not like I wanted to get in his pants in sixth year.”

She still looked confused. “No,” she said, slowly. “You wanted to get in my pants sixth year.”

“Er, yeah,” he said. “I’m just saying that it’s kind of new but everyone is acting like it’s not. There’s even like a betting pool and everything. That’s kind of… not cool.”

Ginny opened her mouth and then closed it again and blushed. “Yeah,” she said. “I can see that.”

“You were in on it!” Harry exclaimed.

“Well yeah,” Ginny said. “Sorry about that. Look, Harry, we just want you to be happy, and the two of you are kind of perfect together.”

“Oh,” Harry said. He scratched the back of his neck. “You really think so?”

Ginny nodded and smiled. “Yeah,” she said.

Harry felt a warmth grow in his stomach and then he had to remember it wasn’t real.

They were supposed to go out again on Tuesday, but Draco was unexpectedly called into work and so the next time Harry saw him was at Ron and Hermione’s. (They’d meant to get together early, but Harry had been working on a particularly difficult curse and had been physically unable to put it down without blowing up the whole place, so he’d had to ask his assistant to owl Draco).

When he got there, Rose was regaling Draco with a long and involved story about something her kindergarten class had gotten up to and Draco was doing a very good job of humoring her. He smiled at Harry and Harry’s heart did a flippity thing.

Ron pressed a beer into his hand and Harry sat next to him. “Where’s Hermione?” Harry asked.

“She wanted to make dinner,” Ron said.

“Oh no,” Harry said.

“Luckily for us she admitted defeat and went to get takeaway,” Ron said.

“Phew,” Harry said.

“No, what did Sarah say?” Draco asked, very engaged in Rose’s story.

“Sarah said… Sarah said… it was a butterfly!” Rose cried and started laughing so hard she fell over onto the rug.

Draco looked down at her with a bemused smile, then looked at Ron.

“I have no idea, mate,” Ron said. “She’s been telling that story for a week and every time I get even more confused.”

Draco laughed lightly and that funny feeling in Harry’s chest only intensified.

He got up from where he’d been kneeling beside Rose and sat next to Harry, then kissed him on the cheek.

“Ewww,” Rose said, still panting from her laughing fit.

Draco looked at her, gave her a devious smile, then licked Harry’s cheek.

“Ewww!” Harry exclaimed. “Ugh, why?”

Rose burst out laughing again while Harry used his sleeve to scrub the wetness off his face.

He saw Ron smirking out of the corner of his eye.

“I’ll get you back for that, Malfoy,” he told Draco.

“Yeah?” Draco asked, raising his eyebrows. “How?”

Without breaking eye contact, Harry grabbed at Draco’s waist, tickling him.

Draco squealed and then clapped his hand over his mouth, his face turning bright red. Harry and Ron broke down laughing.

“You have it coming to you now, Potter,” he threatened, and reached out for Harry.

“Try to keep it PG,” Hermione reminded him. She was standing in the doorway, still in her coat, looking amused and Draco blushed an even deeper shade of red and pulled back, sitting on the edge of the sofa like he was prim and proper.

Harry waved his hand in front of his face and tried to stop laughing.

Draco patted him on the back a little too hard. “Just wait until we’re alone,” he said, in a husky voice that made Harry shiver. He wiped his eyes.

“Mr Malfoy, you’re not supposed to touch people without their permission,” Rose said, solemnly.

“That’s right, Malfoy,” Harry said, sticking his tongue out at Draco.

“Uncle Harry, you did it too,” Rose chided him.

“Sometimes people already have permission to touch each other,” Hermione said, “so they don’t have to get permission each and every time. Like how your daddy and I kiss each other without asking permission, and how you’re okay with us hugging you without asking every time.”

“Oh,” Rose said, her eyes wide. “So it’s okay for Mr Malfoy to lick Uncle Harry?”

Draco laughed, Harry blushed, and Hermione looked like she didn’t know what to say.

“Yes, I think so,” Ron cut in.

“It’s time for dinner,” Hermione said. “Go wash your hands.”

“Yay, Chinese food!” Rose cried and ran to the loo.

They flooed back to Harry’s both a little tipsy, full up on Chinese food and a tart Draco brought because he’d apparently been raised with manners (Harry had bitten back the impulse to ask why those manners didn’t include not killing and torturing people because that would have changed the mood real fast).

Harry sank down onto the sofa and Draco sat down beside him so close that their hips brushed, and leaned back and closed his eyes. “Harry,” he said.

“Yeah?” Harry asked, looking over at him lazily.

“Your friends are fun,” Draco said.

“Of course they are, you berk,” Harry said. “They’re my friends. What else are they going to be?”

Draco hummed. “Harry,” he said.

“Yeah?” Harry asked.

“You’re fun too.”

Harry grinned. “You’re pretty fun yourself, you posh wanker,” he said.

Draco opened his eyes and turned towards him. “Harry,” he said and he was so close now that Harry felt like all the air was being sucked out of him.

“Yeah?” Harry whispered.

“Can I kiss you?” Draco asked.

Harry nodded and a moment later Draco’s lips were on his, soft and warm and wet and Harry gasped and pressed up into it, into Draco’s tongue in his mouth and Draco’s hand on his shoulder and he felt suddenly like he’d been thirsty all his life and was finally, finally, getting something to drink.

He moaned or Draco moaned and then Draco was pushing him down and lying on top of him, arms bracketing Harry’s head, and Harry was pushing up into him and Draco was sucking on the side of his neck and he was craning to reach the delicate shell of Draco’s ear with his tongue and Merlin it was so good he didn’t want it to stop. Could they just live like this, all tangled together? It was worth considering.

They made out until they started yawning and then just laid there, drowsy and contented for a long time, Draco a comfortable, heavy weight on top of Harry, until finally he shifted a little and kissed Harry on the cheek.

“If I don’t go I’ll fall asleep here,” he murmured.

“That’s okay,” Harry said.

Draco laughed and Harry could feel the laugh vibrating in his chest.

“I’ve got to get to work early,” he said, ”otherwise I’d consider it.”

He kissed Harry on the lips, soft and sweet, then started to shift.

“No,” Harry whined, and tightened his arms around Draco.

Draco laughed again and wrestled himself out of Harry’s grip. He leaned down and kissed Harry again and again.

“I’ll see you on Friday,” he whispered and Harry nodded, still lying on the couch.

Draco kissed him again. “Don’t fall asleep here,” he said. “It’s bad for your back. You have to listen to me, I’m your personal healer.” He pulled at Harry until he sat up, then stood, then straightened his robes. “Merlin, Harry, you’ve made a mess of me.”

Harry blinked at him. “You started it,” he said, and then kissed Draco again.

“I have to go,” Draco said, kissing him and then kissing him.

“Mmmm,” Harry said, and leaned against Draco, putting his head on his shoulder.

“I like you half-asleep,” Draco murmured, his hand rubbing the back of Harry’s neck. “You’re like a cat.”

“I hope you don’t go around kissing cats,” Harry said.

Draco huffed out a laugh. “No,” he said. He kissed Harry again, then stepped away, holding Harry by the shoulders so he wouldn’t fall over.

Harry trailed him to the door, let himself be kissed one more time, then watched Draco leave, feeling the ripple when Draco stepped through the wards. He leaned against the door. Merlin that had been… Merlin, he’d just spent hours snogging Draco Malfoy. He could feel his mind buzzing anxiously, all the thoughts of ‘what did it mean?’ but he pushed them aside, tried to focus on how good he felt, how good it had felt. He sighed and scrubbed his face, smarting with stubble-burn, and went to bed.

“So how’s it going with you and Draco?” Hemione asked on Friday when she’d managed to escape the Ministry for long enough to join him for lunch.

Harry blushed, thinking of the makeout session they’d had on Wednesday.

He leaned forward. “Hermione,” he said, “can I tell you something? Only you can’t tell Ron.”

Hermione sighed. “Because Ron will inadvertently let it slip, I know. I don’t know how he became such a huge gossip— he managed to keep all those secrets when we were in school together.”

Harry shrugged. “The stakes were higher, I guess,” he said.

“I promise not to tell him,” Hermione said, leaning forward and casting a silencing charm around their table. “What’s up?”

So Harry told her the whole story, about Draco asking him to fake date, about accidentally kissing him after watching telly, about the heavy snogging session on the couch. “I just don’t know if we’re still fake dating or if we’re real dating now,” he said.

Hermione put her hand on his and he realized he’d torn his napkin into tiny bits. “I think you know what I’m going to say,” she said.

He nodded. “I have to talk to him about it,” he said.

Hermione smiled. “I know it’s hard.”

Harry laughed. “You know nothing of the sort! You’ve been with Ron for like a million years!”

“But I was in love with him for like a million and three years and if either of us had just talked about it…”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “That would have saved me a lot of stress, I can tell you that. Like when you got mad he didn’t ask you to the Yule Ball. You could have asked him.”

“I should have asked him. It’s funny I was all set on being a strong independent woman but I was still brainwashed by the patriarchy.”

Harry patted her hand consolingly, “it’s hard to get the patriarchy out of your head,” he said.

“And it’s hard to be brave and actually talk about your feeling instead of just letting things happen,” she said, turning the tables on him.

“Oh we’re talking about me again,” Harry said. “Joy.”

Hermione laughed. “You’re the one who brought it up. Harry, you’ve never been good at just sitting back and letting things happen, so don’t do it in this case. It seems like you’ve got some pretty solid evidence that he actually likes you, so just bite the bullet. Before your date tonight tell him you really like him and ask him if you could real date instead of fake date. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“He hates me for asking and never talks to me again?” Harry asked.

“Don’t be an idiot. He snogged you for two hours. He’s not going to hate you for asking him if he wants to date. The worst that could happen is that he turns you down and you go back to being friends.”

Harry nodded. “But that would mean no more snogging,” he said. “Wereas if I just don’t say anything we’ll probably snog again.”

Hermione gave him a look and he nodded. “Right,” he said. “If I ask him and he says yes that means even more snogging, right? So it’s a gamble.”

“Most things are,” Hermione said. She dismantled the silencing spell and gestured for the waitress. “I think we’ve earned ourselves some cake, don’t you think?”

Harry had changed his mind— and his clothes— half a dozen times before Draco arrived, flooing in cool as a cucumber, not a speck of ash on him.

He turned and smiled at Harry and Harry’s guts did a little writhing in return. “Hey,” he said, trying to keep his returning smile from looking strained, but feeling like he was fucking it up.

Draco’s eyes flickered along his body. Harry was wearing his most fashionable robes, the ones Hermione had bought him last year. Were they still fashionable? Did he look stupid? He tried to push the panic down. I’m a Gryffindor, he reminded himself. I’m brave.

“Can we,” Harry began. He gestured to the sofa where, they’d snogged two days before.

“We have dinner reservations,” Draco said, with a little confused frown. It was adorable. Oh Merlin.

“Just five minutes,” Harry said. “I… er… I wanted to talk to you.”

Draco’s frown deepened, but he nodded and sat down. “Okay,” he said.

Harry sat down beside him, facing him, and swallowed. He reached over and took Draco’s hand. It was elegant, like the rest of him, wand calluses on the insides of his fingers, a writing callus on the side of his middle finger.

“Harry,” Draco said, softly, “what is it?”

“I… er… “ He swallowed. “I was wondering if you wanted to, uh, date me for real,” Harry said. “Instead of fake date,” he elaborated. “Because I really like you and I like snogging you and you’re really fit and uh…” He felt himself get knocked over and suddenly Draco was pinning him, was sliding their mouths together and then kissing him.

“Merlin, Harry,” he murmured into Harry’s mouth. “I thought you were breaking up with me.”

“I can’t break up with you,” Harry said. “You’re too good at snogging.”

Draco kissed him again.

“That’s a yes then?” Harry asked.

“Yes,” Draco said. He kissed him. “Yes, I want to date you. Cerce, Harry, I’ve had the hots for you forever.”

“Our friends had a betting pool for when we’d get together,” Harry panted.

“Those tossers,” Draco said, not sounding at all offended. “Oh bugger.” He sat up. “We’re going to be late.”

“We could just order in,” Harry suggested, sitting up as well.

“But we’re supposed to be seen in public,” Draco said. “So we can fool my mother.”

Harry laughed. “So we have to act like we’re still fake-dating to convince your mum we’re real-dating?”

Draco smiled. “We can continue this later,” he said and kissed Harry then stood. He touched Harry’s mouth. “At least we look the part,” he said.

Harry laughed, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I probably look a mess,” he said.

“You always look a mess,” Draco said, fondly.

“Wanker,” Harry said, and went to the mirror to straighten his robes and tidy his hair. “Are you ready to go?” he asked, turning back to Draco, unsurprised to see that he’d somehow managed to get looking perfect again.

Draco smiled and held out his arm.

Later, when they were walking back to Grimmauld place, Draco said “Harry, there’s something you need to know.”

“Hmm?” Harry asked, stopping and looking up at him.

“As your boyfriend,” Draco said, and Harry felt a little thrill shoot through him at the word. Boyfriend! “it would be unethical of me to treat you as a healer.”

“Oh buggar,” Harry said. “I did all this just to get a personal healer. Perhaps we could go back to fake dating then?”

Draco snorted. “Tosser,” he said. “I can recommend someone to you,” he said, “who I’m pretty sure will keep confidentiality.”

“Thanks,” Harry said. “You’re going to have to make it up to me though.”

“How?” Draco asked with a smirk, as if he knew what Harry was going to say.

“We could go back to Grimmauld Place and play doctor,” Harry suggested, waggling his eyebrows.

“I guess that wouldn’t be too much of a hardship,” Draco said, his smirk slipping into a smile.

Harry wrapped his arms around him. “Are you sure?” he asked.

Draco nodded seriously. “If that’s what it takes to make it up to you, I’m willing to endure it.” His lips twitched with the effort of keeping the smile off his face.

“Git,” Harry said, letting him go and pushing him lightly away.

Draco grabbed him from behind. “Your git,” he said, and Harry laughed and turned in his arms and kissed him.

“My git,” he agreed. “Now come on.”