Draco: Fuck The Police.

Draco: Fuck the police.

Auror Harry: I am the police.

Draco, already taking his clothes off: Oh, I know.

Draco, drunkenly points his finger at Harry: That's my-my boyfriend everyone!

Harry: Husband Draco, I'm your husband.

Draco, in tears: HUSBAND! E-Even better!

im just trying to figure out how to draw them

aftermath

“I can’t do it,” Harry overhears as he walks past the downstairs bathroom. “Not tonight, Pans, I can’t—”

“It’s tonight or never,” comes Pansy’s muffled reply from behind the tightly closed door. “Just stand next to him during the countdown and then get it over with. It’ll only take two seconds tops.”

“I don’t want to get it over with. I don’t— that’s not the point.”

“Oh, grow a pair, Draco. What are you so afraid of?”

Harry keeps walking, not sure if he wants to hear the answer.

__

No one kisses Harry at midnight. The room explodes, cheers erupting, hands slapping shoulders, noisemakers going off. Next to him, Hermione and Ron embrace, foreheads pressed together, lips pulled back over their teeth in wide, excited smiles. 

“Happy New Year,” they giggle to each other, and Harry’s happy for them. Really. He just can’t help but wonder when they filled the gap that used to belong to him with moments like that. Moments belonging only to them, even in the middle of a crowded room.

Someone’s arm comes around Harry’s shoulder — Ginny, he thinks hazily — but she doesn’t kiss him, either. She just laughs into his ear, drunken and merry. “It’s gonna be a good one, Harry,” she says, rosé on her breath. “I can feel it.”

__

The last empty champagne flute clinks as he disposes it into the sink, not bothering to rinse it out. He’ll do it tomorrow, maybe, when his head isn’t buzzing and his fingers have steadied. The house is dim and warm, strewn with paper plates and plastic noisemakers, little bits of stray glitter cresting the countertops. 

“Oh,” Harry says when he pads into his living room and comes upon a half-asleep Draco Malfoy sprawled on his couch, party hat skewed. “You’re still here.”

“Mm,” Draco hums sleepily, rolling on his side. His hair is mussed up and frizzy, cheeks tinted pink with alcohol. “D’you mind? I don’t think I can Apparate.”

“No,” Harry says, feeling fuzzy. “No, I don’t mind. I have a guest room upstairs.”

“Here’s fine,” Draco replies through a yawn, patting the worn velvet couch. 

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. Have any spare blankets?”

“Yeah— yeah of course. Hang on.” Harry stumbles into the hallway to grab an extra afghan from the linen closet, choosing a green one that Luna knitted for him a few years back. By the time he returns, Draco’s eyes have closed, cheek pressed against the arm of the couch.

Harry suppresses a tired smile and drapes the afghan over him, trying not to fixate on the way Draco’s toes tuck into the cushion cracks and his fingers curl into loose fists. “Thank you,” Draco mumbles softly.

“No problem.” Harry keeps his voice low. “Wake me if you need anything else, yeah? My bedroom is—”

“Top of the stairs,” Draco interrupts. “I know. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Harry’s about to straighten up and turn away when a warm hand slips out from under the afghan and grabs his wrist, keeping him in place. 

“Hang on,” Draco murmurs before propping himself up on one elbow and tugging Harry down to meet him in the middle, noses bumping, lips landing together clumsily. Harry’s not even sure what’s happening until it’s over and Draco is pulling back again, taking his supple warmth with him. “Meant to do that earlier, after the countdown thing. You know.”

“Yeah,” Harry says, unable to stop the gentle, amused smile from tugging at his mouth. “Right. Why didn’t you?”

“Too chicken,” Draco says, but Harry can tell he’s drifting off, eyes sliding closed.

“Happy New Year, Draco,” he whispers, and then the house is quiet once again, leaving only the slow embers to keep Harry company in the small darkness of the morning. 

ron: i dare you to kiss the next person that walks in

harry: ron, i’m not in the mood for your games, i’m trying to defeat voldemort here

draco: *walks in*

harry: welp, rules are rules

Harry: That was my sarcastic voice.

Draco: it sounds a lot like your regular voice.

Harry: I've been told that.