And that is how Draco found himself in a muggle nightclub on a Thursday night.
The music was terrible and far too loud, and Draco had a buzzing in his ears that made it difficult to concentrate so he kept downing shots of Tequila until the lights blurred and he couldn’t tell his arse from his elbow. He’d lost Pansy who knows how long ago but he didn’t much care because he was having a great time. At least, he thought he was.
He was dancing with a faceless man who was supposed to be incredibly beautiful, but Draco couldn’t really see his face properly anymore. He had amazing dark hair, was wearing the tightest jeans Draco had ever seen—which left very little to the imagination—and smelled like heaven and Draco would be damned if he didn’t go home with this guy.
The man, Draco had already forgotten his name, was leaving an indecent amount of lovebites all over his neck and collar and whilst Draco had always found it horrifically tacky, he secretly revelled in the idea of showing up to work tomorrow and parading his marked skin in front of Harry. A sober Draco would’ve felt like a pathetic little worm for thinking such manipulative things, but drunk Draco had no such qualms. He pulled the stranger close to him and didn’t object when he felt his hands groping at his arse. If getting laid was what Pansy wanted him to do, then that’s exactly what he would do.
He could feel sweat trickling down his neck and for a moment he wished he was in a wizard club, so he could cast a cooling charm. Then he realised he was so smashed that even if he could get his wand out—Draco snorted aloud at that—he wouldn’t be in any state to cast a charm effectively.
‘Come back to mine.’ The man whispered in his ear. Draco grinned despite the fact he couldn’t even see where he was going. He nodded, and the man dragged him off the dancefloor and out of the club. Draco couldn’t remember how he got from the club to the man’s house and he could’ve sworn he’d been outside the club one minute and a blink later he wasn’t.
They stumbled to the man’s room, dropping items of clothing throughout the house as they went, and Draco found he really didn’t give a shit about much else anymore. Why had he gone out in the first place? He really couldn’t remember. All he knew was that this stranger knew all the right things to say and all the right things to do, as if he could read Draco’s mind and it was absolutely thrilling. As they tumbled into bed together, Draco didn’t have a care in the world.
Draco stirred groggily the next morning. His head felt like a heard of Hippogriffs had trampled straight through it and he knew he was in deep shit. There was a warm weight pressed against his back and an arm slung over his waist. After every one-night stand Draco had ever had, he’d never woken up quite like this. Yes, there was often an arm slung over his waist, but it was lifeless and haphazard. This one held him tightly to the body behind him and he could feel a hand splayed over his stomach. Yes, he often woke up tangled with the person whose attention he’d caught the night before, but it was always half turned away from him. This body was pressed hard against his back, like it was desperately trying to cocoon him. He could feel hot, even breaths coasting across the side of his neck and his ear, sending a shiver down his spine. Whoever this stranger was, they held him like he really mattered.
He couldn’t remember a thing from the night before. He’d been at a muggle club. Ok, he’d never slept with a muggle before, so it couldn’t have been a one night stand repeated. He’d gone out with Pansy. That meant that he’d probably gone to a club he’d never been to either. He’d been to a muggle club before but been too afraid to sleep with a muggle in case in his drunken haze he slipped up and used some form of magic. He couldn’t figure out what was bugging him about the whole thing.
He turned over as slowly and carefully as he could possibly do so, not knowing if his bed partner was a heavy or light sleeper. Normally, he’d have gotten straight out of bed, collected his things and gone, without a second look. This was different; he was hurting from saying his goodbyes the day before, and he’d be so alone when he left that he just wanted to soak in this feeling, even if it was fake affection. Nothing could have prepared him for the sight he saw.
Because, as Draco turned over, the sleeping face of his ex-husband was on the pillow, right next to his. It had been so long since Draco had been lucky enough to witness this that he couldn’t even be angry. The air was knocked out of his lungs as he took in the sight before him.
Harry’s skin was a light shade of gold. It wasn’t dark, not at all, but compared to Draco’s own porcelain skin, Harry always looked so warm. He was still sporting that designer stubble Draco was beginning to love on him, and had the circumstances been different, nothing would’ve stopped Draco from nipping and biting his way along Harry’s sharp, cut-from-marble jawline.
Draco’s eyes roamed across Harry’s open and sleeping face. He ran a finger lightly down his strong, straight nose and across his smooth cheek. Draco’s heart swelled with both gratitude and sadness. He thought about all the times he’d woken up to this and never appreciated it, how grateful he was that he’d get one more chance to do it now. But there was also a sadness, that this would be the last time.
He ran a hand through Harry’s hair and marvelled at how soft it always was despite looking coarse and messy all the time. He’d always loved playing with Harry’s hair when they’d been together, both in and out of the bedroom. They’d lounge on their sofa many an evening, Harry with his head in Draco’s lap as Draco carded long fingers through the raven strands. The ache in Draco’s chest grew.
And then there were Harry’s eyelashes. Long and thick and fluttering against the tops of his cheeks as dreamed. Harry had beautiful eyes even when they were closed, and Draco missed the way they used to look at him like he was the only thing in the world so much, that he could hardly look Harry in the eye at all now.
It seemed Harry could feel Draco’s hand skimming lightly through his hair because he unconsciously pulled Draco closer and nuzzled his face into Draco’s neck just like he had when they were married. Draco’s heart was ready to explode with need and want, but then the spell was broken.
‘Draco…’ Harry muttered in his sleep. Reality struck.
And that was how, in the fourth month of Draco’s agreement with Hermione Granger- Weasley, Draco Malfoy woke up in bed with Harry Potter.
Fuck.
Chapter 8
Draco felt as though he’d been dumped head first into an icy plunge pool. A chill spread through every inch of his body and a tight knot formed in his sternum which somehow managed to make him feel sick and unable to breath at the same time.
How? How could he have possibly been so drunk that he couldn’t recognise his own ex- husband? What was Harry even doing at a muggle club, didn’t he have Leggy-Blonde?
Draco was utterly shell-shocked as he slid out of the bed and stood in the middle of his old bedroom wondering whether he should run away now or stay and face the consequences. He always left after a one-night stand. But then, his one-night stands weren’t Harry. If he left now, he could be at work before Harry woke up and Harry would just assume that his random shag just disappeared. Maybe he wouldn’t even remember bringing anyone home at all. How drunk had Harry been anyway? Draco wasn’t sure.
On the other hand, if he stayed, there’s no way he could put their talk off any longer. That could be a good thing. He could get it all of his chest and then he’d be ready to move. He was still waiting to hear back from the jobs he’d applied for, but he was totally ready to go as soon as the case was closed.
No. He realised that would be a stupid idea. He hadn’t had a dose since before he went out the night before and he’d never make it through a conversation like that without one. He couldn’t quite bring himself to move though. He used to love watching Harry sleep, like he sometimes watched Teddy now. Harry was a strong and independent person when he was awake, but when he slept there was a kind of vulnerability about him that reminded Draco that Harry wasn’t a perfect hero, he was just a man like Draco.
Harry’s hair was a knotted mess all over the pillow and Draco desperately wanted to run his fingers through it once more. He daren’t though, since he knew how much of a light sleeper Harry was. Harry was pouting in his sleep and his eyelashes were fluttering as he dreamed and if Draco wasn’t absolutely terrified of his current situation, he’d think it was the most adorable sight in the world.
He decided it would be best for him to get the fuck out of there as soon as possible, so he turned tails as quietly as possible and tiptoed his way back through the house, collecting his abandoned clothes on his way. In a twisted way, it was good that this had once been his own house because it wasn’t quite so awkward making it all the way to the stairs before finding his discarded underwear.
By the time he’d made it to the open plan kitchen-living room, all Draco’s idea of course, he’d managed to collect his scattered belongings. He was looking around for his wand, which he must’ve dropped somewhere along the way, when a lone picture frame caught his eye. He walked over to the side table next to the sofa he had been adamant was worth the small fortune it cost and picked up a silver-guilt frame he’d never seen before. He turned the photo around and gasped when he realised that it was a photo of him he’d never known had been taken.
It was taken not long after his small stint in Azkaban. He could tell because he looked painfully thin; his cheeks sunken and his skin almost translucent, even his hair was dull and dry.
You’d never know that from the photo though. He watched as his sullen expression dissipated as Harry ran up behind him and attacked him around the waist. His miserable faraway look melted into a broad grin and he turned his head to the side to see Harry’s chin hook over his shoulder. They grinned like maniacs at each other and then the loop reset.
He turned, his shirt still clutched in his hand and found Harry standing there with his wand pointing right at Draco’s naked chest. Draco dropped the photo which smashed and scatter glass everywhere, a shard of which bounced off the floor and wedged itself in Draco’s forearm as he tried to catch the frame before it hit the floor.
‘Shit!’ He hissed as he felt a sharp pain and bloody began running down his arm.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’ Harry barked at him. He was wearing nothing but his underwear, he had total bed hair and Draco was finding it very difficult to take him seriously, even though he knew Harry could destroy him in the blink of an eye.
‘Surprise?’ Draco said weakly. He finally spotted his wand; hidden in plain sight on the kitchen counter. He walked past Harry and picked it up. He knew a decent amount of healing charms, so he began to levitate fragments of glass from his arm.
He jumped when Harry gripped his wrist and took his wand out of his hand. He was about to panic when Harry said, ‘Here. Let me. You’re shaking.’ He held onto Draco’s hand to steady his arm and took over what Draco had started. ‘I take it it was you I managed to bring home last night.’ He said, not looking up from Draco’s arm. ‘Did we…?’ He trailed off awkwardly. Draco wasn’t sure why Harry was quite so bashful, it wasn’t as if they hadn’t slept together before. Yes, it wasn’t the wisest decision Draco had ever made, but he’d rather have had a one-night stand with Harry than a stranger. Judging by the familiar ache Draco had, and the fact he’d been completely starkers when he woke up, there was no question in his mind what they’d done.
‘Um, yes, I’m fairly confident we did,’ he said. Harry’s awkwardness rubbing off on him. That was a highly unfortunate choice of words considering the circumstances. ‘About that—’ He began.
‘No, I’m glad it was you.’ Harry said like that wasn’t a big deal. Draco’s heart stuttered, and his brain frantically tried to figure out whether he should ask him why. ‘I didn’t really want to take anyone home, I don’t make a habit of sleeping with strangers.’ Oh. So he was just glad Draco had stopped him from potentially catching some muggle disease.
‘I see.’ Draco said. He winced as Harry took out the largest and most painful shard of glass.
‘Sorry. That must hurt.’ Harry was sympathetic, and it made Draco’s insides squeeze horribly.
‘It’s fine.’ He didn’t want Harry to worry about him for no reason, even though it really did hurt a lot. Draco watched as Harry healed his wound and cast a tergeo on the blood that was already drying. Draco remembered a time when he wouldn’t let Harry anywhere near his left arm for fear he’d remind him about his mark and run off. How the times had changed.
‘Good as new.’ Harry said with a smile. An awkward silence descended as they both seemed to realise the situation they were in.
‘This might well be the most awkward thing that’s ever happened to me.’ Draco admitted. Harry finally let go and wandered over to the kitchen and put the kettle on. Most likely just for something to do. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen.’ Draco said. They’d come to a tentative truce the day before and Draco didn’t want it to be ruined. Harry sighed deeply, and his shoulders slumped as he leant against the bench.
‘Draco. Please. Just stop apologising.’ Harry said tiredly.
‘I don’t know what else to do.’ He fidgeted nervously. He didn’t know if he should sit down or not, but then he watched as Harry pulled two mugs out of the cupboard and he realised he wanted him to stay.
‘Apparently.’ Harry said angrily. Draco was getting really sick and tired of Harry’s temper.
‘Look. Harry. I’m not going to sit here while you throw shade at me and complain. If we’re going to talk then fine, but I can’t do it right now. I need to get home and—’
‘And take one of your FUCKING POTIONS.’ Harry yelled. He slammed the second mug down on the counter so hard it cracked straight up the middle. Draco flinched.
‘Harry I—’
‘Stay there.’ He said sternly and walked out of the room. Draco’s heart rate picked up and his fingers started twitching. He felt like an eleven-year-old boy in detention with Hagrid all over again.
Draco was just about to go running after Harry when he returned. He marched right up to the counter Draco was standing next to and put a vial of yellow potion down in the middle with a bit too much force. The contents splashed up against the seal and Draco watched anxiously as the surface rippled as the level settled.
