We Open at the Close (Drarry)

Emus Totilea

Harry woke the next morning to Draco's singing. He squinted a sleepy eye open and saw Draco pottering about the room in semidarkness.

"What're you doing up at this hour?" he mumbled.

"Ah, you're awake!" said Draco happily, leaning over the bed to give Harry's hair a kiss. "It's been a very productive morning. I've got all of your washing done— seriously, either you bring Kreacher back or you need to get yourself another house elf because your domestic skills are atrocious —I've done the dishes and I'm just about to put on breakfast. Here's your morning tea." He conjured a hot cup of tea and sat it on Harry's nightstand. "I feel like doing something fun today. Maybe a game of Quidditch? I'll see if Weasley and Granger fancy playing with us."

"Hermione hates flying," yawned Harry, snuggling into his warm pillow.

"Well, maybe Ginny or Lovegood can play," he shrugged.

Harry smiled at the thought of Luna playing Quidditch on the back of a thestral, he wouldn't put it past her. Draco pulled back the bed covers and Harry shouted as cold air hit his bare skin.

"Get your arse into gear, sunshine!" he cried, slapping Harry on the rear. "It's a beautiful day!"

"Piss off," grumbled Harry, pulling the quilt back over his head.

Draco just laughed and sauntered out of the bedroom, humming to himself. It really was a beautiful day. He'd woken up next to the man he loves, who loves him too, with a contentment he'd never felt in his life. He felt like he could take on a dragon single-handedly today, but he figured he had better start with making their breakfast. He hopped down the last couple steps of the landing and paused— maybe today was the day.

He pulled his wand out of its holster and concentrated hard on his happiest memory. He pictured the night before crystal clear in his mind, and saw Harry turning to him and saying, "I love you, too."

" Expecto —"

Click .

Draco paused and turned towards the front door and saw that morning's newspaper half sticking out of the letterbox. He holstered his wand and grabbed the paper out of the letterbox when suddenly there was a bright, white flash. Draco blinked. What the hell was that? He looked at the letterbox closely, then lifted the lid a little. Another white flash erupted and he quickly dropped the lid.

"What in the world?" he whispered. He peered through the door's peephole. "Fuck."

A horrible gut feeling made Draco open the morning paper and read the headline.

"Fuckfuckfuckfuck," he hissed.

Harry traipsed down the stairs a little while later, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He paused when he entered the living room. Draco was sitting there looking forlorn, the Daily Prophet resting on his lap. He wasn't singing anymore.

"What's up?" he asked.

Draco rested his hand on the newspaper. "The kneazle's out the bag, Harry."

Harry stared for a moment, then snatched the paper from Draco. All the colour drained from his face as he read the front page headline:

The Boy Who Loved a Death Eater: Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy in Secret Tryst?

"Fuck," he breathed.

He couldn't believe that they had actually used that ridiculous headline.

"My thoughts exactly," said Draco sourly.

Harry tore the pages open and groaned— there were photographs, too. The first one was of Harry and Draco at dinner holding hands on the night he and Draco first kissed. The next one was of Draco spinning Harry in a pirouette down the country path by Andromeda's cottage then kissing Harry softly on the cheek. The image replaying over and over again on the page and Harry could see Draco mouthing the words, "I love to see you dance."