On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me…
“Coffee. I need coffee.”
“Harry, if we don’t hurry up we’ll be late for the interdepartmental meeting!”
Harry fixed Hermione with a glare and repeated firmly, “Coffee.”
Hermione glanced over his shoulder and in through the steamed up windows of the coffee shop behind him. Something she saw made her roll her eyes, and she huffed. “Fine, but don’t expect me to help you find an excuse for Robards when you’re late.” She shook her head, carrying on with her brisk walk towards the Ministry. Just before disappearing around the corner, she called out, “And Ron won’t be helping you either!”
“That’s what you think,” Harry mumbled to himself, pushing open the coffee shop doors and breathing in the heavenly smell of freshly ground beans. After the ‘incident’ at Hallowe’en, Harry had enough bribery material against his best friend to last him well into the new year.
The line in front of him was long, everyone stopping to top up their caffeine intake before the start of the working day. Even though it meant he was definitely going to be late for his meeting, Harry didn’t mind. It gave him longer to watch the barista behind the counter. The way his pale hands moved confidently, long fingers moving from cup to machine to till without faltering. The faint blush on his cheeks from the heat of the milk steamer. The black apron accentuating the blond hair and big grey eyes. Harry sighed and took his place in line, tuning out the rest of the shop and waiting patiently for his turn.
The counter was sticky under his elbows, but Harry didn’t care. He braced his chin on a fist and smiled. “Malfoy.”
“What can I get you?”
The light in those grey eyes dared Harry to say something, and Merlin, did he want to, but instead he just shrugged. “The usual, I guess.”
Malfoy snorted elegantly. “So much for Gryffindors being adventurous.”
Harry grinned and watched Malfoy begin to make his large black coffee, with just a hint of milk. “I can be adventurous,” he said.
“Sure you can.”
“Prove it.” Malfoy let his hand hover over the display of flavoured shots. “Do you trust me?”
Harry raised an eyebrow. “No.” Then he sighed. “Fine. Give it your best shot.”
“Funny.” Malfoy turned his back so that Harry couldn’t tell which bottle he chose. Harry really didn’t mind the view. He watched as Malfoy scribbled something on the side of the cardboard cup, before placing it down on the counter between them. “That’ll be six sickles, please.”
Harry handed the coins over, feeling a spark in his fingers as they brushed against Malfoy’s palm. “Thanks.”
Malfoy nodded, eyes lingering on Harry. “See you tomorrow.”
And then the line moved on and the moment was over. Harry walked back outside into the cold December morning, and looked down to see what Malfoy had written on his cup.
The Chosen Twat.
Harry snorted and looked back through the window. Malfoy was busy with another customer, but he seemed to know that Harry was looking, and he looked up with a smirk. Cheeky bastard. Harry rolled his eyes and took a sip of his coffee, and spat it straight back out again, narrowly missing the feet of a very disgusted passerby.
“Sorry,” Harry gasped out, blinking his eyes to rid himself of tears. It was flavoured with chilli.
The door behind him opened again, and the sound of Slytherin laughter drifted out.
On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to me…
Harry stood by the open door to Grimmauld Place, jangling his keys in impatience. “We’re going to be late, Ron,” he called irritably up the stairs.
“We wouldn’t be late if you’d just use the Floo like a normal wizard.” Ron’s grumbling voice floated down the stairs just before the man himself appeared, robes thrown haphazardly over his shoulders.
“You know I don’t like travelling by Floo.” Harry threw Ron’s coat and scarf at him and shoved him through the door. “It makes me feel dizzy for hours afterwards.”
“Yeah, and I’m sure it’s got absolutely nothing to do with the coffee shop not being connected to the network.”
Harry shrugged, locking the door behind him and setting off down the path. It was a ten minute walk at the most, there really wasn’t a lot to complain about. “The coffee is better than the crap they serve in the Ministry cafeteria.”
“Of course it is, the stuff in the cafeteria tastes like stewed mud, but that’s not why you go to the coffee shop.” Ron grinned at him smugly, his longer legs easily keeping up with Harry’s quick pace.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Harry said primly, pushing his glasses up his nose.
“Uh huh.” Ron moved in front of him, turning around to walk backwards. “You do know you’re not remotely subtle, right?” Harry shoved him, Ron laughing even as he slipped on a patch of ice.
“I can be subtle!”
“Yeah, like a hex to the face.”
Harry scowled at his friend as they turned the corner onto the street where The Roasting Pot was situated, just one turn away from the Ministry’s main entrance. It was the perfect place for a coffee shop, especially considering the coffee in the cafeteria really did taste like mud. Say what you like about Blaise Zabini, but the man definitely had a head for business. It didn’t exactly hurt that he’d employed some of his best looking friends, either.
“Are you coming in for a coffee or not?”
“Not, actually.” Ron peeked in through the window and pulled a face. “As much fun as it usually is to watch you fail at flirting, I don’t fancy watching you do it with that ferrety git.”
“I don’t flirt with him!” Harry glared at his friend. “And he’s not much of a git these days, either,” he added belatedly.
“Oh, so the chilli-flavoured coffee the other day wasn’t him being his usual git-like self?”
“No,” Harry replied, although he couldn’t find the words to explain why.
Ron sighed dramatically, as though he was forever put upon. “I know. That’s what makes the bad flirting less fun to watch.” Harry opened his mouth to reply, but Ron waved him off. “Go on, get your fix, I’ll see you in the office.”
“My coffee fix is important,” Harry agreed.
Ron snorted. “Sure, okay, that’s what we’ll call it.” He walked off with a wave before Harry could ask what he meant.
The warmth of the shop was a welcome relief after the frigid winter air outside, and Harry breathed in the familiar aroma. The shop was busier than Harry had ever seen it, and the chalkboard hanging over the wall above the counter told him why. Gingerbread Spiced White Hot Chocolate. Harry felt his mouth begin to water at just the thought, but he needed his coffee if he was going to survive the rest of the day. Whatever Ron thought about his reasons for stopping in here, Harry wasn’t lying about his caffeine addiction.
Malfoy was already making his coffee by the time Harry made it to the counter, even though he was technically Daphne Greengrass’s customer. She just rolled her eyes and moved to the side, calling for the next in line. Harry barely paid attention to her, too focused on watching the lines of Malfoy’s back as he filled Harry’s cup.
“I think you owe me a coffee, after you ruined mine the other day,” he said, glad when his voice came out strong and confident.
“You’re the one who should have known better,” Malfoy replied, setting the cup down between them and holding his hand out for payment. He took Harry’s sickles and slid them into the drawer of the till. Then he leaned over the counter. “How about instead of a coffee, I give you something else?”
Harry’s eyes darted up to meet Malfoy’s, taking in the coy lift to his lips, the sparkle in those grey depths. Harry opened his mouth, wondering if Malfoy was saying what Harry thought he was saying, but then Malfoy moved, lifting his hand and dropping something into the front pocket of Harry’s robes.
“See you tomorrow,” Malfoy said with a wink, and moved onto the next customer waiting impatiently, and Harry had no choice but to move out of the line.
It was only once he was sat at his desk that he checked his pocket: a small, brightly packaged, ginger and white chocolate chip cookie.
On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to me…
Harry stood on the threshold of the coffee shop, momentarily confused. It was the same time he usually got there for his morning coffee; ten minutes before he was due at work. All the familiar customers were there, standing in line waiting for their turn at the counter. It was definitely a Tuesday, because Harry distinctly remembered waking up to that usual awful Monday feeling just the day before. Absolutely everything was as it should be.
All except for one glaring absence.
Harry got in line, standing up on tiptoes to see over the heads of the customers in front of him. Twice he lost his balance and had to steady himself on the diminutive witch in front of him, but he was too preoccupied to notice the glares she gave him in return. He stared hard at the man behind the counter, as though he could will him into being a different person if he tried hard enough.
“Ah, Potter, good morning,” Zabini said, teeth a flash of white against his dusky skin. “What can I get for you?”
“Malfoy,” Harry said shortly, then blushed. He’d meant to ask where Malfoy was.
Zabini sucked a breath in through his teeth regretfully. “Sorry, Potter. It doesn’t matter how often I ask, Draco absolutely refuses to let me put him on the menu.” He leaned over the counter in a conspiratorial gesture. “Just think how many more customers I’d get if he would.”
Harry scowled, and Zabini laughed.
“Don’t worry, Draco left me a list of orders for his favourite customers.”
He fixed a drink quickly and slid it over to Harry, who handed over his money, a little grumpily.
“Oh, Potter,” Zabini called to him, just as Harry was about to leave, “Draco said to tell you, ‘make sure you drink all the way to the bottom’.” And with that rather enigmatic message, Zabini turned resolutely to his next customer, dismissing Harry completely.
Harry made his way towards work, sipping at the drink a little dejectedly as he went. It tasted alright, he supposed, wrinkling his nose up anyway. It was just that the coffee seemed to taste just that little bit richer when Malfoy made it.
He managed to get all the way to his desk before finishing the last gulp of perfectly average coffee, and it was only then that he noticed there was something still inside the cup. He pulled the lid off and looked inside. Right at the bottom, sitting in the last dregs of brown liquid, was a piece of parchment, folded into a little triangle and spelled dry. Harry pulled it out and unfolded it, a smile curling his lips as he realised what it was.
We can continue our little coffee adventures tomorrow, promise.
Harry looked up quickly, and after making sure nobody was watching, he slipped the little note into the top drawer of his desk to keep.
On the fourth day of Christmas my true love gave to me…
Harry was late, oh so very fucking late.
All the things that could have gone wrong that morning had gone wrong. He’d slept through his alarm clock, dripped egg yolk down the front of his Auror robes, run out of Floo powder, and had got halfway down the road before remembering that he’d left the Very Important file still sitting on his kitchen table and had had to rush back and get it. And now he was late, oh so very late for work, and that Very Important interdepartmental meeting, during which he was meant to be giving a presentation, and he just knew that Robards was going to punish him for his lateness with a trip to the old case file room. Nobody wanted to go down there; the whole place smelled like feet.
And the worst part of all was that he absolutely didn’t have time to stop for coffee.
He slowed down in his mad dash down the street as he neared the coffee shop, hoping for just a quick glimpse, and skidded to a halt so fast he nearly toppled over.
“Late night last night, was it?”
Harry stared in amazement. Malfoy was leaning against the shop door frame, multi-coloured scarf wrapped around his neck, tasseled ends hanging down over the black apron. His cheeks were tinged a bright pink from the cold, and in his hands he held a cup of coffee with the name Harry written on it in curly black letters.
“You were waiting for me?”
Malfoy shrugged, and held out the cup. “What can I say, Gryffindors are predictable.” Harry started to look for some change, but Malfoy waved him off. “You can give me an extra big tip tomorrow. Now get moving, before you miss that meeting completely.”
“Yeah I- Wait.” Harry looked at him a little suspiciously. “How do you know I’ve got a meeting?”
Malfoy smirked. “Slytherin,” he said, pointing a thumb at his own chest, as though that explained everything.
Which, yeah, it kind of did, really.
Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “You’re only going to get later, you know.”
Harry resumed his run to work, Malfoy’s laugh following him up the street.
On the fifth day of Christmas my true love gave to me…
The closer it got to Christmas, the bigger the line in the coffee shop grew. There was just something about December, Harry supposed, that made people crave the heat and the delicious smells. Groups of witches gathered together in the early mornings chattering about their Christmas lists and who they still had left to buy for. Wizards stood in the small spaces left behind, coffee cups in hand and doing their best not to step on the myriad shopping bags spread across the floor. It was absolute chaos, in the best way, as far as Harry was concerned.
Well, with the exception of having to wait in line for so long, but happily for Harry, a shout from closer to the counter caught his attention.
“Harry! How are you, mate?”
Harry grinned at Oliver Wood, and snuck up to join him in the line, casting apologetic smiles at people he overtook with all the fakeness he could muster. Oliver was in a good mood; he’d managed to convince the department of Magical Games and Sports to let him open up a Quidditch summer camp, and was on his way into the Ministry to finalise everything for the following year. Harry listened with a big smile, happy for his friend, thinking about their one date a few years before. It had been just after Harry had come out, and it had been a great evening, all in all. The only reason there hadn’t been a second date was because they’d spent four hours just talking about Quidditch, and they’d both realised by the end that friendship and a love of the game was the only thing they would ever have in common. Neither of them had been too put out by the realisation, and they’d instead set up a monthly get together in the Leaky, that had quickly spiraled from a boys’ night out to a group gathering of pretty much everyone.
Of course, that didn’t stop the press from speculating about their relationship. Not that that was too surprising; Harry could stand too close to a lamppost and there’d be an article about it in the next day’s Daily Prophet.
Oliver, being the great man he was, let Harry slip into the line in front of him, much to the muttered groans of the waiting customers behind them. Sending his friend a big grin in thanks, Harry turned to look over the counter and give Malfoy a smile, ready for whatever Malfoy had planned for that particular morning.
But instead of a sly smile and an even more sly comment, what he got was a scowl. Malfoy made up his usual coffee without saying a word, slamming the cup down hard on the counter between them. Harry picked it up hesitantly, wondering what had put Malfoy in a bad mood. He opened his mouth to ask, to see if he could help, or maybe just hex someone for him, but Malfoy ignored him completely, already moving onto asking Oliver what he wanted, in a very churlish voice. Oliver’s drink got much the same treatment as Harry’s, except when Malfoy slammed the cup down, the lid popped off and sprayed hot coffee all over the counter.
“Woah, steady on there, mate,” Oliver said, shaking brown liquid off of his hand. “What’s got your knickers in a twist this morning?”
But Malfoy didn’t apologise; instead he shot a look filled with venom at Oliver, before sliding his eyes over to Harry.
Which… Oh. Oh. Could Malfoy be… jealous?
Harry felt a bubble of warmth seep into his chest that had absolutely nothing to do with the coffee. He stood by the counter and waited until Malfoy looked at him again, and then sent him a smile and a wink. Malfoy made a disbelieving noise in the back of his throat, and promptly turned away and walked through the door to the back of the shop.
“Huh,” Oliver said. “I didn’t see that coming.”
“Then you’re the only one who didn’t,” Zabini replied, handing Oliver a new drink on the house.
Harry walked to the Ministry with Oliver still chattering about his summer camp, that little bubble keeping him warm the entire way there.
On the sixth day of Christmas my true love sent to me…
The next time Harry entered the shop, Hermione had her hand clamped firmly around his arm, face set in an expression of resignation mixed with determination. She looked at Harry, then at the counter, where Malfoy was busy wiping down the coffee machine.
“Right then, let’s get this sorted out.”
“Hermione, don’t say anything, please-”
“Like how much you’ve been going on about Malfoy getting the wrong idea about you and Oliver?”
It was possible that Harry had got on her nerves over the past few days. But he couldn’t help it; as much as the idea that Malfoy might have been jealous of Oliver had given him a little bit of hope, for the life of him Harry couldn’t work out how to fix it without sounding completely desperate.
If there was one thing you didn’t want to look in front of a Slytherin, it was desperate, as Harry had told his friends a time or two recently.
“Yeah, because panting over the counter at him really sells your aloofness,” Ron had snorted.
“Just, leave it, alright?” Harry begged Hermione now, as she pulled him further into the shop. For the first time since walking past and seeing Malfoy working there, Harry dug his heels in, not wanting to move any closer.
“Nope. You ruined my evening talking incessantly about this last night. Now I’m going to ruin your morning by giving you everything you ever wanted.”
Harry moaned, a high pathetic noise. Malfoy turned around and stared at him.
“I hate my entire life.”
“You’ll get over it.” Hermione patted his arm and then turned to the counter, leaning on one elbow and smiling at Malfoy. “Two coffees please, black.”
Malfoy nodded and began making their drinks. Harry noticed that despite the cool look he gave Harry, he still ignored Hermione’s order and poured a little skimmed milk into one of the cups. That warm little bubble in Harry’s chest grew bigger. He always got black coffee at work because it seemed to be a choice between that and something that was half milk half hot water, but he actually did like a bit of colour to his coffee.
“Oh, I almost forgot to ask you,” Hermione said suddenly, and very loudly. “When you saw Oliver, did he tell you about his new boyfriend?”
“Er, what?” Harry stared at her, completely confused. She shot him a keep up look, nodding her head in the direction of Malfoy. Harry looked over. Malfoy’s back was to them, but Harry could tell that he was listening. Oh.
“Oh, er, yeah, yeah he did,” Harry said, stumbling over his words. “Apparently they met at a Quidditch game.”
“That’s not surprising,” Hermione said, really getting into the role. “Really, only a complete Quidditch nut would ever make Oliver happy. It’s nice he’s found someone.”
“Yeah,” Harry agreed, somewhat lamely. He hoped Oliver would forgive him if he ever found out about this.
Malfoy turned back to the counter and slid the drinks over to them. At Hermione’s raised eyebrow, Harry paid, but he forgot all about the awkwardness when Malfoy graced him with one of his usual smiles.
“Have a good day,” Malfoy said, handing back his change.
“Yeah,” Harry said faintly, a little bit blinded. “Thanks, Malfoy.”
Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes. “Come on, or we’ll be late for work. Again.” She grabbed Harry’s arm, pulling him backwards towards the door, as he continued to stare at Malfoy.
Malfoy’s smile widened into a smirk.
“Hermione, you’re a genius,” Harry said, once the door had firmly closed on them both.
“I know,” she said, a little smugly, but really, she had every right to be. “Look at your cup.”
Frowning, Harry did, rotating the cardboard cup until he found a message scrawled across in black pen.
Your friend’s a genius. How does she put up with you? ;)
By the way, call me Draco.
Harry skipped along the road a couple of paces. Hermione laughed at him.
On the seventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me…
Harry groaned pathetically, pushing up his glasses so that he could rub his eyes. This case had kept both him and Ron stuck in the office for nearly two days, looking through piles of random things, hoping to find a connection. Harry had only left the room in order to pee, and once to Floo home and grab a quick change of clothes, after Ron had fallen asleep and accidentally wiped his egg mayonnaise sandwich across Harry’s shoulders. Harry was so tired he was beginning to hallucinate.
Because Malfoy could not be standing in the doorway to his office, holding a cup of coffee and what looked like it might be a toasted cheese sandwich.
Harry shot to his feet, sending a pile of parchment fluttering to the floor. “Mal- I, I mean Draco. What are you doing here?” Even in his overtired state, Harry liked the way the name felt when he spoke it out loud. He’d spent the last few days rolling it around in his mouth, whispering it to himself and generally driving Ron insane.
Draco moved into the room, casting a raised eyebrow at Ron, who was snoring loudly enough to make the empty cups on the desk rattle. “Granger told me you’d been too busy with a case to even leave your office,” he said, walking right up to Harry. He smelled of coffee and the chilly outside air. “I was worried for the wizarding population over what you might do without your coffee fix.”
“Are we still calling it that?”
Harry looked over at Ron, who was now awake, and blinking blearily at them both with bloodshot eyes. Ron grimaced at them both, and pushed himself up out of his chair, wobbling slightly as he walked towards the door. “Yeah, I’m just gonna be… You know.” He walked out of the room, and Harry heard him curse as he bounced off the wall.
“You didn’t have to do this,” Harry said, but he reached out for the cup, moaning around his first sip of actual coffee in days, instead of the swill they served in the cafeteria.
Draco shrugged. “I’m on my lunch-break.” He leaned around Harry to put the sandwich on his desk. His arm brushed Harry’s shoulder.
“How much do I owe you?” Harry asked, to distract himself from the tingling feeling.
Draco looked at him, without moving away. He was so close that Harry could count his eyelashes. “I’m sure I’ll think of something,” he murmured, a smirk pulling at his lips. “See you tomorrow, Harry.”
Harry watched him go, feeling a little light headed.
It was probably just lack of sleep.
On the eighth day of Christmas my true love gave to me…
By the time the case was all wrapped up, it was evening the following day. Ron waved Harry goodbye at the Floos, intending to stop by at the Burrow and be waited on by his mum after such a gruelling week at work. He’d tried to get Harry to come with him, but all Harry really wanted was a night in his own bed and a solid twelve hours of sleep before his next shift. He wrapped himself up and left the Ministry, deciding that a brisk walk in the cold air would would clear his head enough that he wouldn’t have any trouble falling asleep.
The residents of Diagon Alley and the neighbouring streets were busy closing up shop for the night. Inside lights flicked off one by one as Harry walked past, shutters rolling down and street vending carts covering themselves in tarpaulin to keep their wares safe. Harry smiled and waved at various acquaintances, but nobody stopped to chat; it was far too cold. He heard a click of a lock as he neared the corner where The Roasting Pot sat, and Harry spared a brief moment to regret that he hadn’t had time to grab a hot cup of coffee before it closed; the stuff he made himself at home never tasted quite right. He rounded the corner, and bumped right into Draco.
“They finally let you out, then?” Draco asked, a small smile on his face. Harry thought he looked pleased.
“Ron fell asleep and nearly drowned himself in the Grindylow tank in Robard’s office,” Harry said, as they both began walking down towards the Leaky Cauldron. “He sent us home before we could do anymore damage.” The last words were swallowed up by a huge yawn. “Sorry, I’m really tired.”
“You look it,” Draco said, looking him up and down critically.
“Thanks very much.”
“Will you be able to get home without sleepwalking yourself into traffic?”
They’d reached the other side of the Leaky, and stood at a corner that separated their walks home. Draco’s hair looked golden in the orange glow of the streetlamp, and Harry thought he saw genuine concern underneath Draco’s sardonic gaze. Of course, it could just be the sleep deprivation making him see things.
“I’ll be fine.”
“Of course you will.” Draco rolled his eyes, and then stepped closer. “See you tomorrow, Harry.”
Then he leant in, and kissed Harry on the cheek.
Stunned, Harry raised his fingers to the spot, watching as Draco melted into the darkness. It was freezing, and his fingers were numb, but heat radiated out from his cheek, warming him up quicker than any cup of coffee ever could.
On the ninth day of Christmas my true love gave to me…
“One of these days, you’re going to work out how to be able to get up for work on time.”
Harry ran a hand through his hair, hoping it didn’t look too obvious that he hadn’t had time to comb it this morning. He smiled sheepishly at Draco. “I used to do a lot better when we were in training,” he said, watching as Draco made his drink. “Sharing the same shift times with Hermione is better than any alarm clock.”
Draco nodded, handing over the hot coffee. “So, you need someone there in the mornings to wake you up?”
“Someone bossy enough to make me get out of bed, yeah.” Harry shrugged, taking his first sip of deliciousness.
“That could describe quite a few people,” Draco murmured.
“Go out with me,” Harry blurted.
Draco dropped the change all over the counter. Harry could feel the blush burning his cheeks. He hadn’t meant to do it that way. Draco stared at him for a long moment, then tilted his head to the side.
“What did you have in mind?”
Nothing. Harry had absolutely nothing in mind because he hadn’t known he was going to ask. He cast about wildly. “Er, dinner? Somewhere nice? Um, tonight?”
Draco smirked. “Tell you what, if you can get a last minute table at the Golden Gryphon, you can pick me up here at seven.”
His smirk widened, as though he’d just issued a challenge, but it was all Harry could do not to fist-pump, because yes. The Gryphon might be the new hit place to eat, with tables booked out months in advance, but Harry knew the owner. Well okay, he knew someone who was shagging the owner. It looked like someone had been keeping a secret from Draco.
“I’ll see you later, then,” Harry said, grinning widely at Draco. He left the shop, laughing at the stunned look on Draco’s face.
As soon as he got to his office, he threw himself down in front of the fireplace and called Ginny.
“Harry? Why are you calling me this early?”
Harry ignored the question, and went straight for the kill. “Hey, Gin, remember that time your girlfriend tried to give me to Voldemort? I need her to make it up to me.”
Ginny’s eyes widened. “You promised you weren’t going to bring that up, ever!”
“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” Harry said with a determined look.
Ginny sighed, then called over her shoulder, “Pansy! Harry wants to talk to you.”
On the tenth day of Christmas my true love gave to me…
The next day, Harry was practically floating on air as he made his way to work. The date had gone brilliantly; eating gorgeous food across from a gorgeous man, watching him hiss at Pansy for not telling him about her new girlfriend. Snarky comments had flown back and forth across the dinner table, and Harry had been quite pleased with himself for managing to keep up.
But really, it had been the end of the night that had been the most amazing. Harry had walked Draco back to the flat he shared with Zabini, and the heat from where his fingers were wrapped around Draco’s had kept him warm all the way to his toes. And when he’d pushed every ounce of his courage to the fore and leaned forward to kiss Draco, it had been the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted. Leaning back against the lamppost outside Draco’s flat, Draco’s body one long line of heat and promise pressed against him, Harry had felt like there was nowhere else he’d rather be. Well, except maybe inside somewhere, with an available horizontal surface within reach.
Which made it especially frustrating when Draco pulled back from the kiss to whisper, “You probably shouldn’t come inside.”
“Oh.” Harry bit his lip, wondering if the night hadn’t been as good for Draco as it had for him.
As though reading his mind, Draco kissed him again. “It’s just that Blaise is in there, and he won’t let us get a moment of peace.”
“Oh,” Harry said again, understanding. They needed to plan better in future, that was all, for a night when they wouldn’t be interrupted. He leaned up for one more kiss. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”
For a brief moment, Draco looked utterly frustrated with Harry, before smiling that small smile Harry loved to see. “Yes, Harry, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Harry had had no idea how he’d even gotten home after that, and both Ron and Hermione had watched him float around the kitchen humming random Celestina Warbeck songs as he made himself a cup of tea, much to Kreacher’s consternation. He didn’t even remember dressing himself in the morning; all he knew was that he was here, right outside the Roasting Pot, and Draco would be just on the other side of the door.
The line was long, as usual, but today Harry waited patiently, smiling absently as he watched Draco flitting around behind the counter, remembering how those deft hands had felt cupping his hips, sliding inside his coat, playing with the hem of his shirt. By the time he made it to the front of the line, he was happily lost in a fantasy about those hands and a bed somewhere far away from interruptions, and he was uncomfortably hard in his trousers.
“There you are,” Draco said, reaching over the counter to grab Harry’s wrist. “Why are you always late?”
“I told you, I need… Where are we going?” Harry let himself be dragged around the side of the till towards the back of the shop, Draco’s fingers pressed firm around his wrist.
“I’ve thought about nothing but this since you picked me up last night,” Draco said, shoving him through a door into what looked like a storeroom. “I could barely sleep and it’s all your fault.”
“What is?” Harry asked, giving in to Draco’s pushing and prodding and stepping backwards. The door closed behind them.
“The fact that I haven’t sucked your cock yet,” Draco said, and sank to his knees.
Harry choked, falling back against the shelves as Draco wasted no time in undoing his belt and pulling down his zip. “But- but you said I couldn’t come in last night,” he protested, the words a half-gasp, half-moan, as Draco’s clever fingers wormed their way into the slit of Harry’s boxers and wrapped around him. “Oh my god.”
“That was a hint for you to take me back to your place, so we could be alone, you twat.”
“Draco, fuck,” Harry whimpered, the heat of Draco’s palm bringing him from half-mast to ready to blow in record time. “I live with Ron and Hermione, it wouldn’t have been very different at my place.”
“Still? Huh.” Draco tipped his head to the side, fingers pumping Harry loosely. “I thought they’d be off living in sin somewhere.”
“Living in sin?” Harry laughed, then choked on his own spit as Draco, after shooting him a warning glare, leaned in and sucked Harry all the way down to the hilt.
Harry’s hands slammed into the shelves behind him to keep his balance, bags of coffee beans falling around his shoulders as Draco engulfed him in deep swallows, wet and warmth and oh so fucking good. Harry was going to last an embarrassingly small amount of time, with the way Draco was deepthroating him, cheeks hollowing for perfect suction on the upstroke, tonguing the slit before sliding right back down again, and he was grateful for the tight grip Draco had on his hips stopping him from doing anything impolite.
He tried to hold on, to have this last longer than two minutes, but Harry made the mistake of blinking his eyes open and looking down. One glance at that pale blond, silky hair, those pink lips, shiny with spit, stretched wide around his dick, was all it took. Harry’s fingers gripped tighter to the edge of the shelf as he felt his balls draw up tight, felt the tingling feeling in his groin that indicated an impending orgasm he’d have no chance of holding back.
“Fuck, Draco, I’m gonna-”
But instead of pulling off, Draco only hummed and slid down further, until his nose was pressed into the curls at the base of Harry’s cock. Harry’s vision narrowed down to that wet, perfect suction and he threw his head back on a loud moan as he came hard. Brightly coloured sugar packets rained down over their shoulders, and a large tin of chocolate powder bounced off of Harry’s head, but he didn’t feel a thing. He just grinned down at Draco putting him carefully away, punch-drunk and swaying slightly.
“Now I feel better,” Draco said, standing up and running a hand through his hair. A drop of Harry’s come glistened in the corner of his lips, and Harry surged forward, plastering himself to Draco and licking his way into Draco’s mouth, groaning at the taste of himself on Draco’s tongue.
“Go out with me again,” he whispered, when they finally had to come up for air.
“What did you have in mind?”
Harry thought for a moment, and remembered Hermione reminding him that she and Ron would be going to the Burrow the following evening. “Tomorrow night,” he said, wincing at the sound of something crunching under his heel. “And I’ll think of something.”
Draco nodded. “Pick me up here tomorrow, then.” He looked down at the mess on the floor. “Go on you’ll be late for work.”
Harry grinned, snuck in one last kiss, and then edged out of the storeroom. Daphne Greengrass was waiting on the other side of the door, her face pulled up in a disgusted grimace.
“You owe us all double tips for the next month for making us listen to that,” she said, handing him the drink he hadn’t had time to order. “Now get lost, before I puke on you.”
Harry bumped into at least eight people on his way out the door.
On the eleventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me…
Snow was falling thick and fast as Harry made his way towards the coffee shop. He’d changed at work, not wanting to pick Draco up while still wearing his Auror robes. Ron and Hermione had left for the Burrow a few hours before, and all of the shops he walked past had long since closed up for the night, signs on the doors wishing everybody a happy holidays. Christmas was only a couple of days away, although Harry hadn’t been paying enough attention to the date to know exactly when it was. And it didn’t really matter, Harry realised, as he came across Draco, standing outside the locked door of the Roasting Pot.
Draco greeted him with a kiss on the cheek and a whispered, “What are we doing tonight?”
“I was thinking a takeaway and a movie at my place,” Harry said, linking his fingers through Draco’s.
“Not very adventurous.”
Harry grinned. “I don’t know, watching a scary movie all by ourselves in a house built by a creepy old wizard family sounds pretty adventurous to me.”
“All by ourselves?” At Harry’s nod, Draco smiled, looking somewhat mollified. “Maybe I can let your lack of originality slide, just this once.”
They stopped at Harry’s local Chinese takeaway and picked up their dinner, walking quickly through the snow that was rapidly piling up around them. Harry directed them straight into the living room, summoning plates and forks from the kitchen downstairs. He set up the movie while Draco doled out their dinner, and then they both settled back into the sofa, close enough that their elbows bumped every time one of them moved.
“I remember this house from when I was a child, you know,” Draco said, looking around the room. “You’ve done a lot to it.”
Harry looked around as well, feeling a little bit proud. The room was cozy, despite its size, and it had been one of the first rooms he and Ron had set about decorating, back when they’d all first moved in. Gone were the doxy-infested curtains and the portraits of old Black wizards and witches. The threadbare carpet had been pulled up and replaced with wooden boards the colour of rich honey. The hard, antique furniture had been swapped out for comfy armchairs and sofas, and Hermione had swept through the place once they were done, leaving cushions and throws and places to leave her books in her wake. It was warm and inviting, just the sort of family room Harry had imagined growing up, and he kind of loved it a lot.
“It’s a work in progress.” Harry shrugged, swallowing his mouthful of egg fried rice. “Eventually the rest of the house will look like this, hopefully.”
Draco nodded, his eyes on the framed photographs scattered about the room. “It’s nice,” he said quietly. “Homey.”
Harry shifted in his seat; the conversation was getting a little too heavy for just their second date. He reached out and snagged a couple of mini spring rolls, placing one on Draco’s plate. “Maybe you could give me some hints about what to do with the hallway. Slytherins are meant to have style, right?”
“No amount of style is going to fix that dreary hallway,” Draco snorted. “I think all you can do is throw a bucket of white paint at it and hope for the best.”
Harry laughed. “Funny, that’s exactly what Ron said. You sounded just like him, too.”
“I did not!” Draco gasped in horror. “You take that back!”
Harry laughed, falling back against the arm of the sofa as Draco lunged for him. He gave a shout as Draco’s fingers found his ribs, digging in hard and wiggling. Plates of food and the movie forgotten, they wrestled on the sofa, slapping at each other’s hands and trying to find their most ticklish spots. Harry’s fingers wrapped around Draco’s ankle, fingers digging into the arch of Draco’s sock-covered foot, and Draco yelled, wrenching his leg away and bringing Harry along for the ride. He ended up sprawled between Draco’s legs, panting hard around the elbow shoved painfully into his ribs.
They both stopped, looking at each other. Draco’s cheeks were flushed and his hair was mussed, his lips parted around harsh breaths. His grey eyes were shining with mirth as he blinked up at Harry.
Harry didn’t think he’d ever seen anything so beautiful.
Draco kissed him before Harry had the chance to do it himself, leaning up and capturing Harry’s mouth in a hungry nip of his lips. Harry sank into it, letting go of Draco’s ankle and feeling a thrill chase up his spine as Draco wrapped his leg around his waist. He balanced his weight on his elbows and rocked his hips down into the cradle of Draco’s thighs.
“Off, off,” Draco muttered against Harry’s throat, pulling at the hem of Harry’s jumper. He sat up, ripping off both his jumper and the t shirt beneath it in one go, throwing them to the floor. He helped Draco out of his shirt and then they were kissing again, chest to chest, bare skin sliding together. Fingers bumped together, hindering each other as they tried to undo belt buckles and zips. Trousers and pants got shoved down together, forcing them to separate until they could kick them completely off, and then they were sliding back together, pressed against each other from chest to knees.
Draco shifted beneath him, hands grabbing at Harry’s hips to put him where he needed him. Harry gasped at the first feel of Draco’s cock sliding against his own, and he buried his face in Draco’s neck, biting at the sensitive skin behind his ear. Draco’s hand snaked its way between their stomachs, fingers wrapping around them both and squeezing. Harry braced himself on his elbows and took control of their thrusts, Draco running a thumb over the tip of Harry’s dick, gathering the wetness and using it to slick their movements.
Once again, Harry found himself on the edge of orgasm within minutes, and he wondered vaguely if he would ever get a chance to prove his stamina or if he’d always suffer from a hair-trigger when Draco was around. He thrust his hips down hard, surprised and pleased beyond the telling of it when Draco cried out and his entire body seized up, legs clamping down around Harry’s waist and sticky warmth flooding across their bellies.
Harry pulled his face out of Draco’s neck to kiss him, deep and filthy, as he slid his cock through the mess of Draco’s release. A sticky wet hand slid over his arse, a single finger delving between the crack and his hips snapped once, twice, and then it was over, orgasm ripped out of him like a punch to the spine.
They breathed heavily into each other for a while, until the stickiness between them began to cool unpleasantly. Harry grabbed his wand from the table and cleaned them both up, then grabbed one of the blankets to cover them both.
“So,” Draco said, once he’d arranged them both to suit himself, damp forehead resting on Harry’s chest. “That was an interesting movie.”
One the twelfth day of Christmas my true love gave to me…
Harry woke up abruptly when his pillow was ripped out from underneath his head. He blinked up at the ceiling, before Draco’s face came into view, leaning over him.
“Finally. I thought you’d never wake up.” Draco shook his shoulder until Harry sat himself up, then placed a tray on his lap. “I had to make breakfast myself.” He was wearing one of Harry’s old t shirts, and a pair of his boxers. Harry rather liked the sight of that. “Your house elf is weird. I had to answer a dozen questions before he would let me through the kitchen door.”
“Yeah, he’s a bit territorial over his domain.” Harry looked down at the tray balanced on his lap. “You made me breakfast?”
“No, I made me breakfast,” Draco said, flopping down onto the bed next to Harry. He took a piece of pear off the plate and bit into it, juice running down his fingers. “But I suppose you can have some too.”
Harry reached out and wrapped his hand around Draco’s wrist, bringing it to his mouth. He sucked the piece of pear into his mouth and licked up the juice from Draco’s fingers.
Draco watched him, swallowing hard. “It’s pretty bad form of you really, expecting your guests to help themselves. Especially on Christmas Day.”
“It’s Christmas Day?”
“How did you not know that?”
Harry ate another piece of pear. “I knew it was coming up soon,” he mumbled.
“How you manage to survive on a daily basis continues to confound me.” He poured them both some tea from the pot, adding just the right amount of milk and sugar to Harry’s cup. “You’d better remember properly next year, because I expect to be buried in presents. It’s about time you started contributing to this relationship too, I refuse to keep doing all of the work.”
The word relationship made something warm bloom in Harry’s chest. He pushed the tray off his lap, not caring where it went. “How about a Christmas morning blowjob?”
Draco settled onto his back with a pleased hum, eyes sparkling as he watched Harry shimmy down under the covers. “It’ll do for a start, I suppose. Oh, yes, Merry Christmas to me.”
Harry eagerly ran his tongue up the underside of Draco’s cock and thought, no, Merry Christmas to me.