Sandpiper

    “Gods Draco, why do you always have to make things so damn difficult?”

    Draco laughed softly to himself, a silvery laugh that made the hairs on the back of Harry’s neck stand up in pleasure. “Because I love you, Potter,” he said gently. “And that’s what I told you last time you asked me that.” He nuzzled into Harry’s chest, eyeing him tentatively out of the corner of his eye.

    “Ah,” said Harry, stretching into the cottony sheets, inhaling their crisp laundry scent.

    They both laughed, Harry’s brassily warm tones intermixing with Draco’s cool, fresh ones.

    “I’ve missed you,” whispered Draco edgily.

    “I haven’t gone anywhere for the past month a half except out to lunch a couple of times with Ron and ‘Mione. How can you miss me?”

    Draco kissed him soundly, their lips caressing the other’s tenderly. “Easily,” he said. “I miss you the way you were before.”

    Harry looked down sharply. “Before I defeated Voldemort, you mean.”

    Uncomforted, Draco glanced away. “I suppose. I miss…sneaking around Hogwarts together, waking up to you in the mornings, knowing the password to Gryffindor tower.” He smiled oddly up at Harry. “Eh?”

    “That side of me…it’s not coming back, Drake.”

    “I know.”

    Harry sighed, letting his hand untwine from Draco’s fingers. “Do you wish it could?”

    Draco thought for a moment. “No,” he said finally. “I miss that side of you, sometimes, but I love you the way you are even more.”

    Harry smiled. “I’m glad, Draco, you have no idea how glad.”

    The sun penetrated into their flat, filtering through the sheer cotton curtains and onto their white sheets. Draco rested his head on Harry’s chest, contented for the time being.

    Harry stretched his arms over his head, the morning light polishing his skin, and Draco felt the muscles in his chest flex.

    Draco yawned, sitting up beside Harry. “Morning, sunshine,” he murmured into Harry’s jet hair.

    “Don’t call me that.”

    They both laughed slightly. “Whyever not?”

    “Because if you do, I get to call you-”

    “Don’t say it!” exclaimed Draco, leaping at Harry.

    “-my sandpiper!” Harry’s voice rang out through the flat.

    “Grr,” grumbled Draco.

    “Did you just growl at me?”

    “Perhaps,” said Draco. “What’s the matter, Potter?” He kissed Harry briefly on the lips, hotness sparking between them. “Does it turn you on?”

    He was lying on top of Harry, supported by his arms, only an inch or two from Harry’s face.

    “You have no idea,” breathed Harry, leaning forward to touch Draco’s lips.

*

    “I need my coffee, damn it!” said Draco some time later, eyes flickering open.

    Harry stretched, gently pushing Draco off. “Well, I’d better be getting up. I’ve got to go to work.”

    “You don’t work, Harry.”

    “Actually,” said Harry, scrambling out of bed with a yawn. “I was going to apply for a job at the Ministry today. My parents’ fortune is going to run out eventually, and I don’t want to have to get a job then. So I figured-”

    “What department?” interrupted Draco.

    Harry shrugged. “I dunno. Well - actually I do. The Department of Mysteries.”

    “Isn’t that where-”

    “Shut up,” said Harry, pulling Draco up after him. He yawned, flannel pajamas rustling, and headed for the kitchen, Draco in pursuit.

    “Harry,” he began, suddenly more awake than before. “I only want the best for you - you know that, don’t you?” Without waiting for a response, he continued. “I don’t think working....there...is going to be such a good idea.”

    Harry cocked his head to one side, taking two of the little white clay mugs out of the cabinet. “Where’s my-”

    “Here,” said Draco, handing Harry his wand as he turned to look for it.

    “Thanks,” Harry said gratefully, smiling half-heartedly. He took one of the mugs and waved his wand around inside it for a moment. The bottom of the cup filled up with espresso, the kind with foam on top. “Here you go,” he said, handing the mug to Draco.

    “Thanks,” he said as Harry went about fixing his own coffee. With another wave, Harry’s mug filled with coffee, the half-and-half and sugar already added.

    “Good god, Harry,” said Draco taking a sip of his own. “This tastes disgusting.”

    “It’s espresso, sandpiper,” said Harry with a shrug. “It’s supposed to taste that way.”

    “I happen to love espresso,” Draco said. “And it is not supposed to taste like this.” But, Harry noticed, he continued to drink it anyway.

    “But honestly, Harry,” he said, setting his mug down. “I don’t think this is going to be a good thing for you. Won’t it just bring back more-”

    “I need to do this. For Sirius,” said Harry, drinking his coffee in hurried gulps. “To come to terms with what happened.” He frowned. “It’s been four years,” he said. “I hadn’t realized until this morning. Four years to the day.”

    “I’m sorry.”

    “Don’t be.”

    One of the loudest silences Harry had ever heard filled the kitchen. Then Draco spoke.

    “At least let me work with you.”

    “I don’t think so, Draco. This is something I need to do for myself.”

    “Yeah,” murmured Draco, leaning back in his chair. “I suppose.”

    “Good,” said Harry, standing. He kissed Draco once on the cheek, and departed for the bathroom. A few minutes later Draco heard the water start, and he yawned again. He downed the rest of his espresso and cleaned the mugs out with magic. He opened the cabinet by hand, though, and slid them back in. He leaned against the counter, and remembered…

*

    “Don’t leave,” he whispered, hands grappling for Harry’s cloak.

    “I have to. I have to,” murmured Harry, his lips tickling Draco’s neck.

    They were in the Great Hall. All eyes were on Harry, watching him, him and Draco, and somehow, everyone had simply ceased to be for the pair of them.

    Draco’s silvery eyes were closed, his mind racing, his arms embracing Harry. “But-”

    “No, ‘piper,” said Harry into his shoulder. “I have to go.”

    “You can’t.”

    Harry tilted his head to the side, and Draco felt the mass of messy black hair, feather-light and so soft, against his cheek. “Draco, I-”

    “I love you,” interrupted Draco, his voice so soft only Harry heard.

    Harry stood stock still against Draco, his arms around his waist, and did not move a single muscle.    

    “I really do,” Draco said, his voice rending Harry’s heart. “That’s why…you can’t leave. Because I love you.”

    “Drake,” whispered Harry. “I…I love you too. And that’s why I have to leave.”

    “What do you mean?”

    “I have to do this, once and for all. For you. For…everyone.” He sighed, and Draco felt the air, warm against the back of his neck. “I will come back.”

    “How can you know?”

    “Because I love you, Draco, because I love you.”

    They pulled apart slightly, still embracing but not so tightly as before. Harry kissed him, kissed him with every ounce of being he possessed, and wondered if Draco knew. It was at this precise moment that the entire great hall, and all it’s occupants, resumed life, and saw Golden Boy kissing his arch nemesis. There was a gasp, but it did not affect the boys.

    Finally the kiss broke, and Draco saw tears washing down Harry’s face, hot, round tears that seemed to contain a lifetime. One splashed against Harry’s robes, and Draco saw everything they had had smash into pieces. He did not know it, but he was crying too, though they were what Harry later described as “Malfoy tears”, perfect, thin, cool droplets. The salt concentration, Harry remarked later, must have been at least ten times that of the normal person’s.

    “I love you, sandpiper,” said Harry, loud enough for the nearest students to hear. Waves of whispers passed through the crowd.

    He turned and walked away, his strides all even and exact. He had taken only nine steps when Draco called him back.

    “Harry - you never told me why you called me that,”

    Harry turned. He took four steps back, and stopped, a slight smile on his lips. “Because you remind me of a sandpiper,” he replied simply. “You are so…fair, and slender, and breakable.” He cocked his head again. “And do not forget that, my ‘piper.”

    “Breakable?” he asked indignantly, and a certain old man in the back laughed to himself. But then Draco smiled, eyes still moist, and looked away as Harry turned back and strode off.

    “Harry!” Draco Malfoy sat up in bed, cool sweat shining on his face.

    “Eh?” asked a sleepy voice, still burrowed under the covers, more than half asleep.

    “Harry,” repeated Draco, unnerved.

    “What?” came the same tired voice, muffled in the pillow, and clearly irritated. A bundle of black hair emerged from the bedclothes to observe Draco.

    “Gods, you’re alive,” said the blonde.

    “Hrumph,” said Harry. “I suppose I am.” He stretched slight, sitting up in bed.

    “I thought - I thought-”

    Harry yawned once and blinked his jade eyes at the boy in front of him. “Did you have another dream, Drake?”

    Draco frowned slightly, absentmindedly fixing his blonde locks. “I - I suppose I did.”

    “I’m going back to bed, then,” muttered Harry, fixing his pillow. “Sleep tight.” Immediately, he felt himself drifting off.

    And then a pair of deliciously warm lips, soft as silk, brushed his own, barely caressing his mouth.

    He sat up in bed again and rubbed his eyes, a small smirk playing on his lips.

    “Gods Draco, why do you always have to make things so damn difficult?”