"Sorry's Not Good Enough"

Thinking about Harry growing up hearing ‘Sorry’s not good enough’ and just learning it’s pointless to apologise, as it’s just spat back in your face anyway. 

Thinking about him really struggling to apologise to people, and mainly doing so by buying people gifts or making reconciliation gestures of some kind. 

Thinking of him building a relationship with Draco, who, for all his family’s faults, always taught him the importance of apologising to the people you love.

Thinking about Draco getting more and more frustrated when, no matter what, Harry doesn’t outright apologise for things. He changes his behaviour, sure, but it still stings and reinforces old stereotypes — the golden boy, too high and mighty to consider how a lowly ex-death eater feels. And what stings more is that everytime they fight, Draco makes sure to apologise to Harry. 

Thinking about it all coming to a head after they have a stupid fight about something that doesn’t even matter, and Draco’s still a little too amped-up. When he apologises and Harry graciously accepts, saying it’s okay, Draco just sighs, the spark of annoyance reigniting in his chest instantly. Thinking about Harry just flinching, trying to shrug it off, appease Draco in some way, whilst fighting off the shame his Aunt and Uncle drowned him in as a child. Thinking about everything ramping all the way back up until they’re both yelling at each other again, and Draco just leaves, screaming about how he knew Saint Potter could never truly value a death eater as a friend. 

Thinking about Harry destroying his house until all he could do was curl into a ball and sob. 

"I Have a Room Here"

Thanks to @stargazing-enby for the screaming, @rei382 for the alpha, and @annanother-thing for the beta!

2.5k words. TW: Minor panic attacks. Draco has anxiety.

“I have a room here,” he blurts out. 

He’s in the hallway, making his way out of the building when he sees him entering. Sees his eyes widen in recognition. Sees his carefully constructed world set to crumble around him. 

 “I— I mean I live here. Now. I’m not here illegally, or doing anything dodgy. While I'm—” His leg jigs. “I— I have a room here and I like it and I can't move, please don't make me.”

He frowns, and it's almost convincing, almost makes him believe he's not just a lion lying in the grass, waiting to pounce.

“I'm not here to make you leave. I have a room here too. I moved in last week. Ask the landlord.” He regards Draco for a moment. “I couldn’t make you move if I wanted to, Draco.” He pauses, as though for effect. Draco’s skin crawls. “And I would never want to do that.”

He knows it's a lie, that it’s just a matter of time, but he nods and scarpers anyway, door slamming too loudly behind him.

“Oh.” Draco claps a hand to his mouth, heart pounding when emerald eyes land on him. 

“No, wait—” he calls, and Draco curses the way his entire body freezes. 

“You don’t have to leave. Just— come and do your laundry. I’m almost done anyway.”

He can’t keep from chewing his cheek whilst loading the machine. And then his change won’t fit in the slot. And then the air, too humid and sweet and dizzying, starts to close in around him.

“Er, Malfoy—”

“Shut up.”

He can feel him staring, can imagine the self-righteous look, can hear the taunt in his voice. 

“I just—”

“No.”

His eyes sting, his fists clench, and the stupid coin keeps hitting the steel slot.

“Please, can I—?”

“Just leave.”

He’s wailing and he knows it, but a moment later there’s a sigh and slow footsteps recede, and he finally takes a shaky breath. 

On the next try, the coin clunks into the machine. 

Hurt/comfort. Unresolved ending. Pining. Inspired by vibes. Unbeta'd.

He barely registers the car drawing up to the kerb. The scuffed trainers padding softly towards him through the rain. There might be a voice. Then again, there might not. They have a habit of appearing when he really wants them to, but the air around him usually remains empty.

He jumps when solid warmth lands on his shoulder.

He hasn’t been able to find his voice in hours, choked by the weight in his chest, but words aren’t needed when those eyes, so rich, so gentle, find his. They command his muscles to move, and after hours clenched, they do. It’s almost unfair that his body obeys him more than it does himself. 

He’s dripping water everywhere, shaking it off with each shiver, but the worn seat he falls into doesn't mind, and the tender touch to his cheek assuages all guilt. Then the engine thrums to life, and he loses himself in the swaying movements.

It should occur to him to question how he’s always found, even when he doesn’t know where he is himself. But with careful drying and warming charms caressing his skin, he’s just grateful he appeared. 

The car rumbles to a stop, and he prays he’ll get another night like the last. He knows he’ll get a shower, some food, and a safe bed. He always has since this began. But last time— his eyes slip closed, stomach flipping giddily. Last time, he didn’t leave. Last time, when the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, and the trembles didn’t stop, the bed beside him had dipped, and delicious heat had hovered just out of reach, before a cautious hand was laid in the centre of his back.

He hadn’t been able to hold back the soft noise he’d made in the back of his throat. Nor had he been able to resist melting, his name springing to his tongue in plea. He'd almost wept as arms had curled around him. Cradled him close. 

The heartbeat, steady and strong neath his cheek, had lulled him to sleep too quickly, and he was sure he’d wake alone. Yet he was roused by gentle fingers tangling in his hair. Sleep-warm skin wrapped around him still. 

Falling into those gorgeous eyes, he’d almost kissed him.

Now, stumbling on still-frozen feet, his soft encouragements sending spirals of warmth through his tummy, he fights not to lace their fingers together. To lean in to his chest. It’s not a battle he’ll win much longer if he keeps smoothing his damp hair back from his face like that.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, hm?” he murmurs, that gorgeous, kind smile twinkling in his eyes as he lays another lingering touch to his temple. 

Can I keep you? He longs to ask.

Muggle, no Voldemort, no Hogwarts AU, where Harry’s still an orphan (and well off), and Draco’s parents are unavailable due to house arrest/prison/being in a different country due to nefarious dealings in the past. RATED E for sex mentions.

Serendipity

Hurt/Comfort, divorced!grumpy!Harry lol. Thanks to @thebooktopus for the speedy beta! Any mistakes are my own :)

Even unconscious, Malfoy's infuriating. 

Harry doesn't know how long he's lain there, awake in the stupid hotel room he’s somehow wound up sharing with Draco Malfoy—ex-nemesis, widower, and prat—but each ridicuously calm breath across the 'respectful distance' Malfoy's left between them has his jaw clenching. 

This was exactly why he hadn’t wanted to come to this idiotic parent’s retreat in the first place. It’s a complete waste of his time, everyone was vying for the scoop on his divorce, and he knew something would go wrong. But Ginny was away with the team, and Lily had given him her best puppy-dog eyes, so he hadn't had a choice. And now he was sentenced to listening to Malfoy sleep, trying to ignore the rock-hard yet lumpy mattress digging into his back.

Alcohol, Harry decides when Malfoy lets out yet another contented sigh, and he seriously considers kicking the bastard. I need alcohol.

Scraping a hand down his face, he starts to reach for his glasses, but then Malfoy gives a sleepy hum, and an odd pressure settles in the centre of his back.

It has to be a hand—and Malfoy's hand, at that. Which would explain why it's warm. And soft, somehow, even through Harry’s old t-shirt, as it rests between his shoulder blades. Probably because he turned over in his sleep. Which means Harry should ignore it and carry on doing what he was doing. But try as he might to refocus on finding his glasses, his mind refuses to cooperate. 

It's tingling. The skin on his back where Malfoy's hand is. It's tingling. And growing warm. But not the normal, sweat-warm sensation from another person's contact. A gentle, glowing warmth that's making things happen in Harry’s chest. 

It spreads, bubbles, and slowly, the hotel room fades until he's there. In an armchair with Ginny in his lap whilst she runs a hand through his hair. There, at Ron and Hermione's, with Ron’s arm around his shoulders, just because. There, with the kids on the sofa, the boys on either side and Lily on his lap, all snuggling close at the end of a long day of fun. 

Just— held.

He hadn’t realised how much he’d missed it.

Unbidden, tears prick in his eyes, and he swallows down the urge to press back against Malfoy's hand, to splay it open, firm and tender—or better, to turn over feigning sleep and roll into his arms—so he can pretend, just for a night, that he's wanted. Treasured. Then heat wraps around him from behind.

“M—Malfoy?” he gasps, pale limbs covering his as a hand nestles itself on his chest. But only soft, even breaths answer.

He shouldn’t melt. Shouldn’t inch closer and mould his body to Malfoy’s. Shouldn’t twine his dark fingers with slender pale ones. And he definitely shouldn’t have hot tears streaking down his face. But when Malfoy gives another tiny hum and snuffles in his hair, Harry all but whimpers.

Just for tonight, he promises, clinging tighter to Malfoy. Just this once. 

And if Draco squeezes Harry gently when he finally starts to fall asleep, scheming as to how to orchestrate future serendipitous events, that’s nobody’s business but his own.

'I Almost Lost You'

CW: Mentions of canononical death, and panic due to that

No.

His body lies there, limp, lifeless, and he cackles. Draco barely has time to draw breath before he’s screaming.

“Hey, Draco, gorgeous, wake up, it’s a bad dream,” a distant voice murmurs, and hands claw at him, shake him. He howls harder. “It’s okay, Draco, I promise, just wake up.”

But it’s not. Nothing’s okay. He’s dead—Harry Potter is dead—and it’s this fact that swallows his screams with sobs.

“I’m right here, gorgeous,” the voice croons above babbles he didn’t realise he was making. “Open your eyes. I’m right here.” 

Fingers caress his cheeks, try to wipe them dry, and though his mind whispers they must be lying, slowly, the quiet murmurs coax his eyes open. 

He’s a mirage—a gorgeous, breath-taking mirage, all dark skin, emerald eyes, and disastrous, untamable hair. But when trembling hands reach for his scar, the mole just before his right ear, and the dimple in his chin, they find nothing but solid warmth. Draco’s breath stutters again. 

“Hey—oomph,” Harry breathes, as Draco surges forward, claiming Harry’s lips with his.

“I almost—almost lost you,” he pants, tangling his hands in Harry’s hair and sucking, licking, nipping desperately at Harry’s mouth. “It was like—like the end of the world.”

“But I’m here, gorgeous,” Harry says, drawing his arms around him, holding him together as Draco threatens to shake apart. “I chose to come back, and I always will.”

Harry covers his whine with a long, unhurried kiss, licking further into his mouth with reverent brushes of his tongue, until the band around Draco’s chest starts to loosen. Until he sags into Harry’s embrace. 

“Better?” Harry murmurs against his lips. Draco exhales slowly and presses their foreheads together, fingers still clenched in Harry’s mane.

“A bit.”

They stay like that, Draco clutching Harry’s hair, Harry holding him close, for as long as it takes for Draco’s heart to slow to a normal rhythm, and for his breathing to start to deepen. Harry squeezes him then, and draws him closer still, slotting their bodies together under the covers. Draco can only nuzzle closer. 

“I love you, gorgeous,” Harry says. “And I’ll always come back.” 

Fingers curling into Harry’s chest hair, Draco nods. “I love you too.”Turning his nose into Harry’s neck, he takes a deep breath of woodland air, and let’s the steady boom-boom, boom-boom, boom-boom of Harry’s heart lull him to sleep once more.

I'm editing old fics of mine and this one changed so much it needed to be reposted lol. Hope you enjoy! Also on AO3

Me Too

Harry finds him in the kitchen, elbow deep in bubbles.

“Hey,” he murmurs, setting down the half-eaten bowl of crisps he was carrying. “What are you doing?”

A perfectly sculpted eyebrow quirks. 

“As someone raised by muggles, I would have thought you’d recognise someone washing up, Potter,” Draco says, placing a bubble-ridden glass on the draining board. 

Harry huffs, grabbing the tea towel and swotting him one. “You know what I mean.”

Draco shrugs, now scrubbing a pizza tray. “You kindly hosted the evening—albeit, a rather Gryffindork infested one”— Harry swots him again— “and I thought it best to allow the Floo queue to diminish before attempting to return home.”

“So you decided to clean my kitchen?” Harry’s eyebrows make a bid for his hairline.

“Some of us have standards, Potter.” Draco sniffs in mock disdain, though a rosy hue colours his cheeks and he stiffens. “If you’re really that opposed to common decorum, however, I’ll be on my wa—”

“No—” Harry catches his soapy hands before they can reach the towel. The warmth from the water rolls off his skin, and Harry suppresses a shiver as stormy grey eyes flick to his. “I mean. I—I like that you stayed.” 

Slowly, shy smile teases at soft, pink lips.

“Me too.”

Finally decided I liked this enough to post it lol. Thanks to @stargazing-enby for the beta <3

To Sleep

Just a little angsty, hurt/comfort drabble. TW: PTSD. Thanks to @stargazing-enby for the help and cheerleading and @rei382 for the beta :D <3

“What do you want, Potter?”

Harry whirled on the sand, clutching his wand so hard the wood bit into his palm. The weak moonlight barely illuminated a silhouette—Malfoy’s, if his senses were to be trusted.

“Well?” Malfoy spat. Harry blinked, shivering at the venom in his voice. “What the fuck do you want?”

“Er—”

His breath caught in his throat, trapped by Malfoy’s silent, seething anger. By his own numbness. Agony.

“To sleep.”

The words tumbled out of their own volition, unknown to him until it was too late. But as they hung heavily between them, he couldn’t find it in him to care. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d given an honest answer; had forgotten what it was to breathe.

“Oh.” Malfoy audibly frowned. Harry shifted, eyeing him for a moment.

“What do you want?”

Malfoy’s stormy eyes met his, challenging him, assessing him. Then, with a flicker of defeat, his gaze dropped to the lake.

“To sleep.”

An owl glided low and silent over the shimmering water, and Harry watched it for a minute. When the heaviness in his chest made his knees quake, he sank down beside him, ignoring the cold dampness seeping through his clothes, the flicker of warmth from Malfoy’s knee next to his.

“Does it help? Being out here?” he murmured.

Malfoy paused, then shrugged half-heartedly.

Harry sighed. “Thought so.”

The wind sighed over his neck, like the breath of a ghostly train from King’s Cross, and he fell further into the sand, the cold that had plagued him since that night, until he could almost see the eerie light once more. Then something solid touched his shoulder. He gasped.

“Sorry!” Malfoy spluttered, so real, and close, and warm it made him dizzy. “I—I didn’t—”

“I—I know,” Harry breathed, hoping Malfoy heard the ‘wait’, ‘come back’ and ‘stay’ that wouldn’t come out.

“I— I just—”

Harry nodded, his hand finding Malfoy’s. “I know.”

Malfoy swallowed, eyes searching his, then, biting his lip, lay his head on Harry’s shoulder again. Tightness began to unfurl in Harry’s chest.

“Does this help? Sitting like this?” Malfoy whispered, tense and strained after a glorious minute.

“Mmm,” Harry hummed, nuzzling deeper into soft, silky hair.

Malfoy sighed, uncoiling against him.

“Me too.”

Hope you enjoyed <3 reblogs are always appreciated.

Singleness and Sickness

I was struck by single parent drarry vibes and... here we are. Sickfic. Thanks to @rockmarina for all the incredible help! Also on AO3

The floo chimed at precisely 14:27, and if he hadn’t been so preoccupied preventing a human pile-up in his living room, Harry would have jumped for joy.

It was Saturday. A day of no school. A day for family. A day—theoretically—for lie-ins. But, as with every other Saturday since Albus had begun school, within only a few hours, his youngest son had crept up on him—this time whilst he was using the little boys room; he’d almost missed the toilet he'd jumped so badly—and lamented the fact he missed his best friend, bottom lip dangerously aquiver. So, once again, Harry had been forced to call Malfoy to ask if Scorpius could come to tea. He really should start pre-arranging these things. But thankfully, at long last, Scorpius was arriving, meaning Harry could finally stop worrying Albus was accidentally going to set James’ head on fire… Like he'd done last time...

The green flames had barely receded before Albus had surged forward and grabbed the hand of the still dizzy Mini-Malfoy.

“Hi Mr Harry!” Scorpius chirped, barely sparing Harry a glance as Albus dragged him away. “Thank you for having me! And thanks Papa, see you later!”

“Honestly,” Harry smirked, shaking his head as the pair scurried away. “You’d have thought they’d been apart for a month, not 17 hours.”

“It's eighteen, actually,” Malfoy muttered so quietly he was barely audible.

“Oh, of course, how silly of me. That extra hour makes all the difference.”

“It does, Potter,” Malfoy sighed, a bone-weary exhausted sound that was nothing like the sarcastic remark he’d usually make.

“What’s up with you?” Harry rounded on him. “Oh my god, Malfoy, you look like hell! What are you doing here?”

“I’b fide,” he rasped, watery eyes shuttering closed as he pinched the bridge of his ruby nose.

“Sure. And I’m tall and blonde. Sit down, for heaven’s sake, you look like you’re about to keel over.”

“It’s just a cold, Potter,” Malfoy protested, shuffling towards the sofa all the same. “I just deed sobe Pepper-up add I’ll be right as raid id do tibe—ohhh.” He all but crumpled into the sofa.

“You know, when you sound like you’re having an orgasm from just sitting down, it slightly undermines your claims, Malfoy,” Harry said, raising an eyebrow to the pathetic excuse for a glare being shot his way.

Summer Nights

This was my entry for the June drarry discord drabble challenge! Thanks @rockmarina for the comments and beta. Any errors are my own. Also on AO3!

Summer nights have always been so freeing—like a slow, sure exhale after a day of panting for breath. Lying in the lush grass, with gentle, blooming buttercups tickling skin, and stars aglimmer overhead, the world seems so sleepy, yet alive. Singing a tune forgotten by most.

There—as they always do—smiles shared freely as the sun come easily. There, hands rest, always close enough to touch, yet never brushing, teasing their heartbeats instead. And there, everything’s soft, sweet, and safe.

That’s why it slips out. The ‘I love doing this’. The ‘I’m glad you’re here’. The ‘I wish we could do this forever’. Too candid words that would never—should never—be uttered from those lips.

Every time, hope—warm, forbidden—blossoms as a shallow gasp leaves him more breathless than before. And every time, words vy to dance on the breeze. Words like ‘gay’, and ‘love’, and ‘you’. Words that would ruin everything he’d fought so hard to gain.

Still, summer nights have always been so freeing. So when the hush falls, the tension drains, and those emerald eyes sparkle, eventually, insolently, the words sigh free. Blaming his burning cheeks on the moon’s heat, he fights to drop his gaze but can’t. Caught.

Until that hand grasps his.

Until that grin glows.

And once more, he's safe beneath the stars.

Catching You

Written for the prompt 'Caught' from @drarrymicrofic, again, just a bit late lol. 50 words exactly until the bonus bits lol.

“A-HA!”

“Merlin's pants, Potter, what are you doing?”

“Catching you.”

“Catching me?”

“Uh-huh. Catching you.”

“Because...?”

“Because I can.”

“... Did anyone ever tell you that you’re completely insufferable?”

“A pointy git may have mentioned it once or twice.”

“Pointy gi—?! Unhand me, you lout!”

“Not until you kiss me.”

“... Fine.”

Bonus:

“Stop looking so smug, you prick.”

“Stop enjoying being kissed so much.”

No Longer Forbidden

An absolute eon ago, @drarrymicrofic prompted Forbidden and I had this idea. Hope you enjoy ♥️

He doesn’t realise, at first, how in the minutes, hours, days between, everything feels a bit more… distant. How though he laughs, loud and full as ever, the warmth that usually claims him fades. Hollows. Like when the sun hides behind clouds. Nor how his shoulders creep, inch by inch, to a new, higher resting place. Or that his smile tightens. Stretches. A rubber band pulled, slowly, methodically to its limit. He doesn’t notice, even as it waxes from a trickle to a flood, how the hunger grows, inured to it’s call.

But he does.

His eyes roll, his brow quirks, and insults mutter, but suddenly, they're there. Hands. Arms. Lips. Pressing against his forehead, snaking around his waist, banishing every cloud from the sky so that he can breathe again.

Somehow, they always stay, always hold him in place even as he moves him towards the nearest surface—sofa or bed—flicking on the TV or Wireless as he does so, engagements and plans be damned. On his lap, forehead cradled in the nook of his graceful neck, warmth wells once more, and with every new, fresh breath, flowers bloom, heralding the next chapter of his life. A life with touch no longer forbidden.

We Began

The Drarry Discord Drabble Challenge in March prompted "Please" and I wrote something but didn't like it enough to post, so I edited it and.. this happened! Thanks to @rockmarina for the beta!

TW: Angst, post-war depression, grief, dark themes, wound mention but no detail

People know we began during the quiet of the common room, late at night, when the rest of the world snored and we ran from screams instead. And on the Astronomy Tower, breathless under the beauty of the stars, under the weight of our choices. People know we noticed each other’s nightmares, our similarities. But they assume we just knew immediately. We didn’t. We were too busy running. From what, you ask?

Them.

The government pricks drafting children to do their job. The ‘pioneers’ recruiting names and Galleons for 'good causes'. And worst of all, the vultures, dead set on turning grief into a front-page. They lurked around every corner, then pounced. Glaring. Spitting. Clawing at our hands, our sanity, each demand echoing louder and louder and louder, until it was all we could do to breathe.

We fled there, to the common room and the astronomy tower, the room of requirement and the Great Lake, so in the dark, our anger could blaze. So in the cold, our burns could be soothed. And so in the quiet, our minds could roar. We fled there, but we didn’t just know, because it didn’t start with blearly appraising looks, or barbed words hitting too close to home. It didn't start with any words at all. Rather, it began with truces brokered by a single, exhausted glance, followed by hours of barely seeing one another—barely seeing anything at all. All we knew were the flashes of memories spinning before us, the gaping, seeping of our wounds, and the silence deafened by voiceless wails.

All we knew, when our eyes met, was a refuge from cries of ‘please’.

Reblogs are appreciated ♥️

Sleepy Lies

Written for the April drabble challenge. Thanks to @rockmarina for the beta and help :D light angst, hurt comfort.

“What do you want, Potter?”

Harry swallowed, focusing on the flecks of paint on the thin doorframe, shiny in the moonlight. A soft wind teased them easily from the wood as rumbles of engines failed to drown the pounding of his heart.

“I—” He shivered. Stopped. Dropped his gaze to Malfoy’s bare feet. His toes were curled against the chilly breeze.

“Words, Potter, if you please.” Malfoy crossed his arms over his thick hoody, though his voice was softer now, permitting.

“To sleep,” he mumbled; pleaded.

“And I suppose there isn’t a bed at The Burrow, your godfather’s, or any of the Gryffindor haunts to spare?”

The eyebrow quirked, and Harry winced, swayed. But then there was a sigh, a hand gripping his wrist, tugging, and his feet were tripping into warmth. His breath stuttered.

“It’s the springs,” he stammered, as Malfoy pulled him towards a creaking bed.

“Springs?”

“Mattress springs.” He fell into Malfoy as he lay down and dragged Harry with him. “They’re too hard.”

“And mine aren’t?” Malfoy scoffed, tangling fingers in Harry’s hair and wrapping an arm around his waist.

Nuzzling closer, Harry merely hummed against Malfoy's skin.

The Revelation

It didn’t make sense.

He’d known. Since he’d been a kid. He’d seen it—experienced it—every damn day. A label had no right to bother him now. Yet still, a steel claw clutched his heart. 

“I don’t know how Dumbledore could have thought it was a good idea,” Hermione seethed, knuckles around her wine glass whitening. “McGonagall must have been outraged!” 

“Er, well, he said—”

“It’s messed up, mate,” Ron shook his head, signalling to the barman for another round as Luna nodded dreamily. 

“I know, but—”

“And who knows what would have happened without us rescuing you in second year.” 

“Look, could we just—?”

“I’m still pissed you won’t tell me where they live,” Ginny added, fingers curling into a fist. “I’d really like to—”

“Look, it’s over now, okay? It was shit, but I never have to see them again now, so it’s fine, let’s just move on.” Raking a hand through his hair, Harry quickly took a swig of his butterbeer, stubbornly ignoring the eyes of a certain blond-haired prat who’d been oddly silent throughout the whole conversation.

“But—”

“NO!” 

Quiet fell in the pub. Hermione flinched. Ron examined the table. Still, sharp grey eyes weighed on him. 

“I—I need to use the loo.”

First Time for Everything

He was giving up. That was all there was to it. As another hex hit his back, making his knees buckle, Draco made up his mind: he was done. Staggering back to his feet, he grabbed his wand, certain Azkaban would be worth it. But before he could even draw breath, a jinx flew over his shoulder.

“Flipindo!”

As though hit by an invisible Erumpent, the group was thrown back, landing on top of one another with a collective ‘thud’. Whirling around, Draco found himself eye level with the wand that vanquished Voldemort.

"Don't you have something better to do? The war’s over. Fuck off!" Potter yelled as the students gingerly righted themselves with many a groan and venomous glare. Potter glared right back. 

With a final baring of teeth, the group slouched off in the other direction, and the pounding of Draco’s heart slowed. But when a swish of retreating robes caught his attention, it leapt to his throat once more. 

“Potter!” he blurted, arm moving of it’s own accord and grasping his hand. An eyebrow above intense emerald eyes quirked in question. Draco’s breath stuttered.

“Um, t—thanks.” 

Slowly, a smirk lifted Potter’s lips.

“I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you say that, Malfoy.” 

Heart quickening, Draco risked smiling back.

“Don’t get used to it.”

Also on AO3