Rating: NC-17 for language and sex.
Word Count: 11,364
Summary: This is what happens when you spend all of your time trying to save the world and never bother to see what you're saving. Inspired by vegans, philosophy, mothers, docks, and hopes and dreams.
Author's Notes: Prompt: cross-dressing, UST, exhibitionism, voyeurism, wall-sex, control issues, jealousy, ties. I think got the others, but I couldn't figure out how to get the control issues in. Sorry. :( Much love and ♥ to my beta, V, and much other love and ♥ to legomymalfoy for being understanding.
(With inspiration from DH Lawrence's Sons and Lovers)
Harry picked Draco up at eight.
The M-LED display flashed and chirped: "Malfoy! About to start whinging!"
"You can personalize it, you know," Harry explained. "I've been fucking around with it all afternoon."
"And that's what you put for me?" Draco was, understandably, scandalized. "I don't whinge!"
"You do," Harry said. "Sometimes."
"Yeah—sometimes, maybe, but I wasn't about to just then!"
"But you are now," Harry said. His eyebrows were high.
"But it didn't know that!"
"How do you know?"
"I just know."
There was a silence. "Where are we going?" Draco asked.
"I don’t know."
"I don't want to go out," Draco lamented, staring out the windscreen. "Let's just get some take-away and go back to your place, yeah?"
"Really?" Harry asked. "I didn't really want to deal with the crowds, either, but I sort of wanted to drive the car."
"You got to pick me up," Draco offered.
"But not pick you up," Harry grinned.
Draco flushed, pursed his lips and adjusted his robes over his legs. The silk slip dress he was wearing was bunching up uncomfortably, but it was probably a problem with his cock reacting to Harry's low voice and not any defect with the silk.
"So let's go to the quay," Draco said. Sometimes they had lunch on one of the docks that the muggles had somehow missed during their renovations when they visited London proper, and even though it was dirty and smelled a bit, Draco had always liked it.
"You always complain when we go there," Harry said, but he was smiling and already turning the car in that direction.
Draco shrugged. "That's what I do."
So they drove to London, ignoring all sorts of muggle laws, and Harry let the top down again. There was a twenty-four hour curry-shop open, but nothing was vegan-friendly, so they just ended up getting flat-bread from a corner-store and eating it on the docks. The dampness of the wood seeped through Draco's trousers—which Harry made him wear when they went to muggle places—but that was okay.
"I wish there were ducks," Harry mumbled. They were sitting side by side, arms draped over their drawn up knees, hands occasionally brushing when they both went to grab a piece of bread at the same time. Harry's tie was hanging between his legs and getting wet from the dock.
"Why?" Draco asked. Harry was warm next to him, and he couldn't help leaning a little closer. Not close enough to touch because that would be too much, but closer just the same.
He could see Harry giving him a withering look in the light reflecting from the Thames. "To feed them, stupid."
"Ducks can find their own food," Draco said. He took a bite of the flatbread and gestured vaguely in front of them. "There's all sorts of fish in there."
"Yeah, but…" Harry trailed off, probably going into another one of existential inner diatribes. He ate his flatbread carelessly, every now and then tossing bits of it into the water and looking extraordinarily pleased when something unseen snatched it.
Draco loved watching him when he was like this—idealistic and separate from the world. Harry was such a dreamer and to Draco, who didn't know how to be anything but pragmatic, it was like stepping inside someone else's pensieve.
He wondered if his mother had ever had thoughts like Harry did. If she ever wondered about the nature of the world in relation to one person like Harry did or wanted to save things just because they were beautiful.
And then Draco wondered if he only missed her because she had been beautiful. Or if he was only drawn to Harry because he was beautiful. Or if he was becoming more of a dreamer because Harry influenced people just by being around.
"Let's go home," Draco said many minutes later.
Harry hummed thoughtfully, finished off his piece of bread and then stood. "Alright," he said.
When they ended up at Harry's flat, Draco didn't even pause to wonder if that was what he had meant when he said 'home'. He didn't have to; home was wherever Harry was, and when he fell onto the couch, he was asleep within minutes. It didn't seem near as uncomfortable as it usually did.
Draco had probably only been asleep for half an hour when he woke up again, back already aching from Harry's stupid couch, but not bothering him as much as it would've. He stood and stretched, considered a comfort charm, and wondered why he'd never thought to cast one on the couch before.
He was just rummaging through the couch cushions for his wand when he heard something, knowing immediately that it had been the cause for him waking.
Harry usually fell asleep after Draco, so it was not uncommon to hear the shower running as he drifted off or Harry shuffling papers, but this was different. This was new. This was something he was quite sure he'd never heard before.
Draco had no idea why he was walking so quietly. It wasn't like Harry was being attacked, as he could take care of himself, and anyone would be stupid to attack him. Harry had no secrets from him, so it wasn't like he was trying to sneak up—to catch him unawares. But he was walking quietly up the hall just the same, wand laying forgotten somewhere near the bottom of the couch.
The sound was louder as Draco neared the bathroom door, but quiet just the same. If he had been asleep, Draco never would have heard it. Through the door, he could hear Harry, and then—oh, he knew exactly what Harry was doing.
Harry's breath filtered through the wood of the door in harsh, muffled pants, and the sound—now that Draco knew what it was—echoed through the flat like tiny explosions. His heartbeat sped up so unexpectedly that he was sure Harry would be able to hear it on the other side.
What was he doing? He asked himself that even as his fingers closed around the doorknob—knowing that he shouldn't do this and that he would regret it, but unaware to assimilate that knowledge at the time.
That's when he heard his name—whispered breathily and quietly just like Harry always spoke but so much more quietly. Draco opened the door.
Steam poured out from the tiny bathroom, and once it had, Draco saw him: hair wet and dripping from his shower and leaning back against the tiles with his left hand wrapped around his cock and his right hand grabbing at his hair.
He'd seen Harry naked thousands of times before—wandering around his flat or drunk and stupid at one of Finnigan's parties—but he'd never seen him like this. Wet and dripping and head thrown back. Panting, whimpering softly.
Draco couldn't help the way his eyes travelled over Harry's chest, following the coarse black hair that led from his navel to…
Harry's hand was moving quickly up and down his shaft and it was so hot that Draco thought, for a brief moment, that he might come from it. Harry breathed his named again, and Draco whimpered, not able to stop himself. It was all too much—knowing that Harry thought about him the way that he thought about Harry.
Harry's eyes slitted open slowly and he panted, staring at him. Draco couldn't look away from his face, even though he knew that Harry was still fucking his hand right in front of him. He was so fucking turned on that he couldn't move at all. Then Harry threw his head back again, moaning Draco's name and coming all over the floor.
Watching, Draco pressed his palm against his cock and shuddered, trying to keep himself from falling to the floor. He couldn't take this anymore. He had to touch Harry. Had to feel him and be felt. Had to show Harry that he wanted him, too, and that he understood him.
Draco moved to kiss him, thinking—knowing, god, yes, finally—that something was going to come of all this. He leaned in, eyes closing, anticipating the feel of Harry's hot mouth on his, and how it would contrast with the coldness of his tongue where all the blood had circulated away from when he came.
He was close enough to feel Harry's breath when he pushed him away with a soft, sorry, "No, Draco."
Draco froze, still close enough to feel Harry's breath, but too close to recognize the war of emotions crossing Harry's face.
"What?" Draco asked, blinking with confusion and, he was ashamed to admit even to himself, hurt. "Why not?"
"We can't," Harry said, shaking his head. He didn't seem at all bothered with his state of undress or his come splattered all across the tiles, but he wouldn't look at Draco just the same. And it was a strange thing; Harry always looked at him. Even when Draco didn't want him to—sometimes especially when Draco didn't want him to.
"Why?" Draco repeated.
Harry gestured uselessly between them. "I'd never be able to compete," he whispered. "I'd never even stand a chance."
"Against who?" Draco demanded in a deadly voice. "Who've I ever fucked more than once since you've known me?" He sneered, defence mechanisms kicking in, and added, "You're the one who's thrown lovers around like owl treats.
"If it's not Zacharias Smith, then it's Charlie Weasley or Seamus sodding Finnigan! All of them tow-headed little snots, when you could have me."
He couldn't help what he was saying, not really. He was hurt—ashamed that Harry would reject him even after coming with his name on his lips. Harry flinched at each name, and that, Draco thought, was odd. Harry had never been the type of person to be ashamed of anything he did.
"A tow-headed little snot?" Harry sneered back at him, finally gathering himself enough to respond. He reached down, grabbed his trousers and pulled them on.
"Why not me?" Draco growled, so fucking embarrassed that he didn't know how else to react. "Why? I know you better than any of those tossers ever did, and it was never me."
Harry, strangely, stared at him like a deer caught in headlights. Draco could see the fight leaving him, seeping out of his pore and landing somewhere, probably in all the come on the tiles. His shoulders slumped pathetically as he replied.
"I haven't been with anyone in over two years, Draco," he said wearily, and maybe pointedly as well.
"And," Harry continued in his low, quiet voice, "It has been you. It was always you, but I can't compete. I never could."
"Compete with whom?" Draco hissed. He was already tired of all of this fucking circuitous bullshitting. And the embarrassment. And the arousal. And the culmination of years of desire.
"Your mother," Harry said quietly, but defiantly. Almost cruelly, his green eyes flickered down to the bracelets littering Draco's wrists, up to his neck where his mother's favourite choker was, then off to the side at the tiles on the wall.
Draco scoffed because he was afraid that if he did anything else it would end with both of them bloody and unconscious on the toilet floor. "You don't want me because I wear my mother's clothes? You're ashamed of me, aren't you? Why are you even friends with me then? Is it pity?"
"Don't be daft," Harry said, eyes flicking back to him angrily, "I don't give a shit what you do, Draco. Crossdressing?" he said sarcastically, "Fine. Whatever. But don't do it because you miss your mum. Do it for yourself. Narcissa Malfoy's dead, and she doesn't give a shit whether or not anyone's wearing her fucking posh frock."
Harry pushed past him.
Draco watched Harry storm off from his own flat feeling like he was seeing it from someone else's perspective, and then wondered how many fucking perspectives he would have before he went mad from it all. Harry took the floo, but even though he snarled the address of Granger's flat loud enough for Draco to hear, Draco still wasn't sure where Harry was going.
Fuck, he hated unintentional philosophy.
It was true that Draco was a bit strapped—for a Malfoy, anyway—but he wasn't so strapped that he couldn't afford to have a few things he wanted. It was only that the things he wanted were things he couldn't possibly have.
Waking up in the morning with clean hair was disconcerting. Draco buried his head under his blanket and waited for Harry to start swearing, but it never came and the coffee-maker never crashed to the floor. He stretched, arms sliding under his pillow and frowned when his fingers brushed over silky fabric.
It had, in fact, been so long since he'd slept in his own bed that he had forgotten that his mother's nightdress was still under his pillow. Draco pulled the fabric out, watched as it slinked and slunk against the morning sunlight, and wondered how, if he loved his mother so much, he could have forgotten about this just because he'd been spending most nights on Potter's couch.
Granger floo-called several hours later, bitching, of course, and wanting to know just what the hell Draco had done to Harry. He was startled, realizing that Harry had not betrayed his secrets to her, and simply stood there, staring stupidly at her floating head.
"What did you do to Harry, Malfoy?" Granger repeated through gritted teeth. Draco didn't think he'd ever seen her grit her teeth before.
"He didn't tell you what happened?" Draco hedged.
Granger snarled, fumbled behind her, and then Draco was dodging a book. "What happened, Malfoy?" she repeated. "Did something happen when you went to fetch the unicorn?"
"No," Draco said slowly. "We couldn't find it, though."
Granger rolled her eyes. "I'm aware of that. Otherwise, Harry would have been nagging me to find a proper herd for it to join."
"Harry could've found a herd for it himself," Draco said indignantly. Honestly, did she think he was useless? Harry could do all sorts of things. Much more so than Granger could, at any rate.
"He could've, yes," Granger admitted, "but he would've rather spent the time eating take-away, getting drunk, and watching telly with you."
Draco scoffed. "He'd rather save the world."
Granger's eyes narrowed. "He already has, Malfoy."
And that's when Draco realised that Granger didn't even fully understand Harry. It all seemed so tragic, really, that he couldn't help feeling sorry for her and everyone else who'd ever met Harry and not understood him.
Harry was amazing. How could anyone not want to know him like that? Maybe, he thought, Harry was really like one of those ineffable things that people thought they understood but really didn't.
How lonely would it be to go through life with no one to understand you? To be so far apart from everyone else that even if you were in a crowded room, you were still standing by yourself?
Draco thought back to the day before, how intoxicated he had become with watching Harry, how much he had wanted to participate—over and over and over—and realised, finally, that he hadn't understood Harry, either.
But Harry had understood him.
"Just fix it, Malfoy," Granger snarled. "I calmed him down and he's gone back to his flat now. Fix it." And then she was gone.
Draco stared at the lifeless grate for nearly an hour before he remembered to move. He went to make coffee—even though he didn't really like it—but the water scalded him and the coffee-maker crashed to the floor.
It was so familiar, but so unfamiliar that he didn't know what to do with himself, so he left the water on the floor where it stained the hard-wood and went back to bed. He wasn't so strapped that he couldn't take a day off from work.
The Ministry gala was three nights later, on a Sunday. Draco apparated to the coast at Brighton after sunset and found Harry sitting on the pier, hair blowing fiercely with the sea wind, hand outstretched.
"You found him," Draco said by way of greeting. He pulled his cloak tighter around himself, trying to fight off the occasional bursts of wind, and stared at the timid little creature ducking its head for Harry.
"He found me," Harry replied quietly. The foal's horn was still just a glittering gold bump on its intense white head, but Draco had seen enough unicorns in textbooks to know that this was the creature they had been looking for only days before.
It was only that he'd never seen one in real life before. And they were beautiful. One look at the downy white fur, the vivid blue eyes, and Draco understood why Harry kept trying.
There were things left to save in the world. Things not yet broken or destroyed.
"Just like you said," Harry continued. "Men who had mothers—they always end up in the same places."
Harry still hadn't turn to look at Draco, but that was okay. Harry was saving the world right now, and Draco didn't want to interrupt. He watched as Harry poured another gob of treacle on the tips of his fingers and held them out for the baby unicorn.
It stuck its nose out, whinnied delightedly, and lapped up the sugary substance. "That's how I knew you'd come. Always the same places."
Draco felt brave for the first time in his life, right then.
"I missed you," he said to Harry's back. When Harry only stiffened, Draco continued, laying his words out like a flush of cards and hoping that the house didn't win this time. "I missed take-away and accidentally putting my hand in a wet spot on the couch where you drooled all over it. I missed waking up to you failing at making coffee."
The foal, having finished the treacle on Harry's fingers and wanting more, ducked its head into the jar and helped itself. Harry's hand dropped to his lap and his head fell forward slightly.
"I missed the way you tease me, and the way you natter on about saving the planet without actually admitting that you're trying to save the planet."
Harry laughed dryly. "Brilliant."
Draco took a step forward and then another, until he was standing in front of Harry and staring down at his face. Cheeks raw and blistered from the wind, lips red and full. Draco had never wanted him more than he did at that moment—even if Harry's hair was everywhere. Maybe because Harry's hair was everywhere.
It occurred to him as he took in the brightness of Harry's eyes that maybe he had finally begun to see what he was saving all this time.
"I didn't miss my mother, though," Draco admitted. "Not once."
Harry looked up at him then. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," Draco said. Reaching up to his neck, he snapped the clasp of his cloak and allowed it to fall from his shoulders. The fabric pooled around his ankles, and Draco was suddenly overcome with panic and indecision.
Harry had never seen him in Narcissa's wedding dress. Would he think him a fool? Think he looked ridiculous? It didn't matter; Draco had come to prove something and he was going to prove it.
"That's your mum's wedding dress," Harry said, knowing instinctively, even if he'd never seen it before.
Draco nodded. "I look ridiculous, don't I?"
Harry shook his head quickly. "I think you look beautiful…I just wish you'd do it for yourself, and not your dead mum."
"I am doing this for myself," Draco said, and closed his eyes. This was the part he'd been steeling himself for, the part he'd been dreading. The dress was made of flimsy gossamer and thirty-year-old silk. It was not difficult to grab it with both hands and rip until it fell off of him, but it was hard.
Harry inhaled quickly, and Draco was already shivering by the time he could open his eyes without making a bigger fool of himself.
Draco couldn't stand to look at the wedding dress for very long, so he kicked it over the edge of the pier. He might've been tempted to repair it otherwise.
"That was for you," Draco explained, watching the white fabric as it became saturated and sank slowly down. Chancing a glance at Harry, he noticed that his bright green eyes were trained on him as if it were an imperative.
He gestured at himself, clad only in stockings and a pair of knickers—both his own, as even he had been reluctant to wear his mother's. "This is for me."
"Good on you," Harry choked. "Well done, Draco. Brilliant, yeah."
"It could be for you, too," Draco said slowly, reaching out his hand to pull Harry up. Harry grabbed it swiftly, but stepped back once he'd risen.
"Are you sure?" he asked.
Draco nodded, feeling distantly silly for standing on a muggle pier at night in a pair of knickers and stockings, but unable to care. He turned to stare at the empty, black bit of water where his mother's white wedding dress had been. He did not feel empty, or dead, or guilty.
How many realizations had he ever come to standing on a dock?
"I'm sure," he said, and then turned back to Harry, finding him staring at him with a small, quiet smile playing about his lips.
"Come on," Harry said, stepping forward. He pulled his cloak off and wrapped it around Draco's shoulders. "Let's go home."
Draco had barely shut the door to Harry's flat before he was slammed back up against it. He inhaled sharply and stared wide-eyed at Harry.
"Do you know how hot you look dressed like that?" he asked quietly. It was so strange to see Harry like that—nearly as strange as it had been to see him storming out the other night. Harry was so very rarely aggressive anymore—always caught up in his dreaming and quietness.
"What?" Draco asked, startled. Harry's hands were bracing himself against the door, trapping Draco between them.
"In women's clothing, Draco," Harry explained, nipping at his earlobe. "You look so fucking amazing in it. Always have."
"I thought you didn't like that I wore my mother's clothing," Draco said. He was getting confused now, and turned on, and the two didn't work well together.
Harry laughed softly in his ear. "I didn't like why you wore it, but you wear it well just the same."
"You think it's hot?" Draco asked slowly.
Harry's hands were all over him now. Even as he asked the question, one of them began trailing down his chest, parting the cloak and skimming over his skin. He trembled and shuddered at the feel of Harry's hands on him, hoping on everything that Harry would keep touching him.
Harry's hand stopped at the waistband of the knickers Draco was wearing and played at the edges. "God, yes," he said.
Draco whimpered in anticipation and bucked forward, trying to get Harry's fingers to slip and touch him where he really wanted to be touched. It didn't work and he whined in desperation. This was so much better than watching Harry wank and they hadn't even really touched yet.
"I've wanted you for so long," Harry continued, and this time, Draco didn't have to ask why, if they'd both wanted each other so much, Harry had never done this. But they were past all that now.
"I know," he said instead, even as he bucked into Harry again. Harry whimpered and leant into him. Then, suddenly, lips were smashing into his and Draco opened his mouth automatically, begging for it. Harry kissed like he did everything else: passionately and with all of his attention, but this was so much different from the often quiet person Draco had come to know over the years. This was fierce and desperate.
Draco didn't think he'd ever seen Harry desperate before.
He shrugged out of the cloak impatiently and tugged on his knickers, but Harry's hand on his wrist stopped him.
"Don't," Harry said against his lips. "Leave them on."
Draco didn't bother replying. He just twisted his fingers around the hem of Harry's t-shirt and snatched it over his head, leaving the tie in place, though he didn't know why—only that seeing Harry in a tie and no shirt was more arousing than he'd ever thought it would be.
Harry's hand finally—finally—slipped inside his knickers then and Draco trembled even harder. He couldn't take much more of this; if Harry didn't stop kissing him and touching him, he was going to come right there, and he didn't want this to be over yet. Clumsily, he reached for Harry's trousers, fumbling blindly until he managed, somehow, to get them off.
They fell to the floor and then they were both standing there in hardly anything—Draco's knickers a strange contrast to the black boxers Harry wore. Harry pressed his hips into Draco impatiently. "God, I want you," he whispered huskily.
Draco writhed, the feeling of Harry's hard cock pressed against his own too much to bear, even with the fabric that separated them. He yanked them down, wishing he could take off his own, but willing to leave them on for now if Harry wanted it.
"Then have me," Draco said, tangling his hands in Harry's hair and pulling him back in for another kiss. "Fuck me." And, God, how he wanted it.
Harry whined and licked his throat roughly, running his tongue along the skin and up Draco's jaw before he moved back to his ear. His hand, having just tortured Draco mercilessly with its fondling, slipped up to his face. And then his fingers were pressing against his lips.
"Suck," Harry commanded in a low voice. Draco complied immediately, sucking Harry's fingers into his mouth and swirling his tongue around them. Harry ground their hips together again, still tracing paths with his tongue along Draco's skin.
Hastily, he pulled his fingers from Draco's mouth. "God, that's enough," he whispered. "I'll come if you keep doing that."
Then his fingers were skirting the edge of Draco's knickers again. They plunged inside, and Harry's other hand moved to tangle in Draco's hair. Harry ran his fingers, still wet from Draco's mouth, over the head of his cock, gathering pre-come, before sliding back to tease at his entrance.
"Please," Draco whimpered. He couldn't help it; he was writhing and mewling like a common whore, but Harry had always made him want to do that. "Please."
The first finger plunged inside and Draco arched into Harry, so fucking turned on that he couldn't see straight, even if his eyes were open. Two fingers later, he was desperate for more. He bucked forward again, and begged, "Fuck me, Harry, please."
Harry growled and snapped his fingers. They were rapidly covered in thick, dripping fluid, and he wasted no time shoving them back inside Draco and then covering his own cock.
And then Draco was suddenly lifted off the floor with strength that he hadn't known Harry possessed. He wrapped his legs around him instinctively, one hand still tangled in Harry's thick black hair while the other was gripping his shoulder tightly. Harry pushed the knickers aside, panting, and Draco arched into him, begging for more. Harry shifted, pressing himself up against Draco's entrance.
For a split second, their eyes locked, and then Harry crashed his lips against Draco's at the same time as his cock, thick and heavy with arousal, pressed in. Slowly at first, allowing Draco to adjust, and then, when Draco was begging and writhing and mewling against Harry's mouth, more forcefully.
Draco didn't think he'd ever felt anything so agonizingly amazing in his life. Harry had found the right spot within the first minute of thrusting, but the sharp, burning pain of fucking for the first time in several years hung under it all, making it all the more better for the contrast.
Draco's back was against the door and Harry's hands were under his arse, holding him up, and his lips were back against his ear. "So fucking hot," Harry moaned. "God, those knickers…"
Harry was fucking him almost furiously now—every thrust hard and fast and hitting just the right spot. "Close," Draco panted.
Harry growled again, shifted his weight and brought his hand up to wrap around Draco's cock. "Oh God," Draco hissed, even as he pushed down even harder on Harry's cock. Harry's hand slid up and down his shaft in rhythm with his thrusting, thumb brushing intoxicatingly over the head each time.
It was all too much. Draco couldn't hold back any longer—didn't want to hold back any longer. With one final thrust from Harry, he came, shooting hot, white spurts of come all over both of their chests. And then Harry cried out and slammed back into him one more time, shuddering and trembling and coming hard.
Minutes later, breathing back under control, Harry slid shakily down to the floor with Draco's legs still wrapped around them. The tie, the only thing Draco had not removed, hung limply from his neck, covered in sweat and twisted all wrong.
"Brilliant," Harry breathed into Draco's neck.
Draco scoffed. "You're such a Philistine."
Harry lifted his head from Draco's shoulder sleepily. "How do you mean?"
"Amazing sex like that and you say 'brilliant'?"
Harry looked endearingly confused. "I'd like to see you come up with something better right now."
Sleepy and sated, Draco couldn't. Much to his annoyance. He wiggled instead, remembering that Harry was still inside him. And the knickers, pushed aside for the whole thing, were getting uncomfortable.
Harry sighed and they slipped apart, standing on wobbly legs. Harry ran a hand through his hair, more mussed and ridiculous than usual. Draco watched him fondly, astounded as to how anyone could actually have hair that bad.
"I've got to return the Magicabrio," Harry said suddenly. "I told them I'd have it back by this afternoon."
Draco waved him off as he removed the sticky knickers and looked for something more comfortable to wear. He saw a pair of Harry's trousers lying on the floor in the other room and went to get them. "I took care of it," he said as he was pulling them on.
"What do you mean?" Harry was still naked save for the tie, leaning against the door frame and looking at Draco affectionately.
"I bought it for you," Draco said. "This morning."
Harry's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," Draco said slowly.
Draco shrugged. "I thought you might like it."
Harry laughed. Then, "You shouldn't have spent your money on me," he said, a guilty look crossing over his face.
"Don't start," Draco warned. "I'm not as strapped as everyone thinks I am." Harry was still frowning, so Draco added, "Do you want to go get some naan and noodles? We haven't had that in a while."
Harry beamed at him.
A week later, after Draco had moved from his flat in Essex to Harry's flat in Essex, they were in a muggle woman's kitchen stealing her aerosol cooking spray when Granger rang Harry on his magical mobile.
"Yeah?" he said. Harry went quiet. And then Harry was grinning and fidgeting. Draco banished the aerosol tin, pocketed some Tupperware and replaced them with crystal, as he was feeling altruistic. "Brilliant," Harry said, and Draco looked up.
Harry looked over at him, still beaming. "Forget this lot. Let's go."
Harry shook his head, told Granger goodbye and grabbed his wrist. "You'll see."
Harry apparated them, and when they materialised again, they were standing near the pier in Brighton—where Draco had found Harry feeding the unicorn foal treacle the week before.
"There," Harry whispered, pointing behind Draco. Draco turned.
The unicorn foal was jumping around spastically and whinnying with its tiny little voice—nudging another small unicorn and begging it to play with him. The other unicorn foal pranced and whinnied back, and its mother—standing only a few feet away—swished her tail approvingly.
"He found a herd," Draco said, bewildered. Even as he said it, dozens of other unicorns in all stages of life sauntered out from the woods around them.
Harry nodded mutely beside him. His hand slipped into Draco's, and he said softly, "Of course he did. Did you ever doubt him?"
Draco glanced at him from the corner of his eye. "He didn't have a mother."
"Everyone has a mother," Harry replied quietly. Then he pulled Draco close to him as they watched the other unicorns gathering around.
Draco turned his head and kissed Harry slowly. Their hands wove together and their bracelets tangled—Draco's mother's bracelet, flickering in the sunlight, and Harry's silly little woven one.
When he pulled back, Draco pressed his forehead against Harry's, staring into his eyes. "What about us men who had mothers, then?"
Harry smiled at him. "We turn out okay."
Draco kissed him again because he knew Harry was right. Their mothers might not be around anymore, but they still had mothers and they were okay. Several unicorns whinnied as Harry's hands tangled in his hair.
Right then, Draco knew why Harry wanted to save the world. And he thought that maybe, maybe, Harry had known all along what he was saving.
The quote "[Goodness me, the clock has struck—]alackaday, and fuck my luck" is from Kurt Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse Five.