43. Moment of Crisis (pt.1)

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A/N This 'Moment' was requested @x_xdrarryx_x – It's taken so long to get to this point but here we are!

(997 words)

Harry looked along the long table in the Weasleys' kitchen. It was wonderful, he thought, having such a welcoming and large family.

Teddy was sitting beside him. Next to Teddy was Molly, heading the table, then opposite him were his three bestfriends: Ron, Mione, and Malfoy. Malfoy was deep in conversation with Victoire, in French, Harry thought proudly. Malfoy wasn't the only one the Weasleys had adopted after the war, Pansy was there too, with Hector and Esther. Hector was sitting on George's knee, smashing mashed pear into George's roast parsnips and squidging it into his mouth with his little fat fingers. Luna, Rolf, and Xenophileas were there too. And Andromeda was sitting at the far end of the table between Bill and Arthur.

Malfoy was just back from France after visiting his mother, he'd taken a portkey directly from Normandy to the Weasleys. People seemed to assume he went to somewhere near Nice, but Harry knew the ancestral home was in Bayeux, that Armand Malfoy had come to England in 1066 with the Norman invasion, and he was actually embroidered on the Bayeux Tapestry. Really, it was funny how much he knew about Malfoy and his family. A light tan dusted Malfoy's pale skin. It made him glow and brought out faint freckles on his nose. Malfoy'd complained about them once. Harry smiled at the memory of them lying in the garden at Grimmauld Place discussing the fact that Malfoy didn't like his freckles but Harry did; he'd joked that Malfoy's flaws only highlighted his perfection. Malfoy didn't complain about his freckles again.

Teddy was cheerfully telling Ron about the Roman Gladiators he was learning about at school; he was most entertained that they wore short dresses.

'Tunics,' Mione corrected. 'It's slightly different.'

'But they're still dresses,' Teddy said obstinately.

'You can't argue with that logic,' Ron said.

'Their legs were naked when they fighted.'

'Fought,' said Mione. 'And they wore leather greaves...'

Harry briefly wondered what Malfoy would look like dressed as a Gladiator, he rather thought Malfoy would have the perfect legs for it, especially with a tan.

He paled. Why on earth was he thinking about Malfoy's bare legs? He looked at his hands in embarrassment.

'Draco-love,' asked Molly. 'Would you mind passing me the roast potatoes?'

Harry looked up and couldn't help noticing how Malfoy grasped the dish. His hands strong, his fingers long and slender, though Harry knew that already, but he was fascinated by the way his index fingers remained slightly bent, the tips not quite touching the dish. Harry could imagine Malfoy's hands holding his waist in the same fashion...

Oh Merlin...

He hurriedly drew his eyes away and cut into his Yorkshire pudding only to find his knife clattered noisily against his plate. He dropped his cutlery and shoved his shaking hands under the table, gripping his thighs tightly until he could feel his nails through his leather trousers.

Oh Merlin...

It was with a sinking feeling that he realised he was only wearing his leather trousers because he knew that Malfoy liked them. And he was wearing a Slytherin-green tailored shirt because Malfoy had given it to him for Christmas.

He felt beads of perspiration break out on his forehead.

'Harry, are you okay?' Mione asked in concern.

'I-I'm not feeling... No...' he stuttered. 'I'm ill!' he said in a bid to cover the burgeoning realisation that was hitting him with the full force of the Hogwarts Express at speed.

Luckily Malfoy hadn't noticed his crisis occurring at the table.

Oh Merlin...

He took a shaky breath and looked at Malfoy again. Malfoy was still mid-conversation with Victoire and Harry knew, he knew, that he didn't feel proud that Malfoy could speak fluent French but, rather, Malfoy speaking French was fucking sexy.

He watched Malfoy's mouth forming around the foreign words and Harry knew he wanted to kiss him, he wanted to feel that mouth against his, he wanted to know what it felt like. Desperately.

He glanced at Mione's mouth to make sure. No, her mouth was too petite and Hermione-ish. Ron? He slightly shuddered, too plump and too Ron. Ginny? Been there... Back to Malfoy? Yep, he wanted to kiss Malfoy.

But he also knew it was more than desire, that the word love was buried amongst all these feelings.

Oh gods...

'Harry-love, you look very pale,' Molly said.

'His hands are shaking under the table,' said Teddy.

Conversation around the table dropped to silence as everyone looked at him.

He was looking at Malfoy again. Their eyes locked. He could see concern in those slate-grey eyes. Only they weren't really slate-grey, not up close. No, Harry knew that anthracite grey and white-silver blended with the steel grey and, if you got up close, there were flecks of pale blue amongst the colours too.

'Potter? Are you alright?' Malfoy asked, anxiety edging those grey eyes.

As he looked at Malfoy; his chest felt tight, his breath laboured, his pulse racing. He knew he was in love.

'I-I...' he stuttered. 'I-I think I'm gay...' he blurted out.

He pulled his gaze away from Malfoy and stood up suddenly. His chair falling over behind him and banging noisily on the stone floor. Esther started to cry and he felt like he wanted to do the same.

He didn't look at anyone as he left the kitchen. Though he knew they all followed his every move.

He heard Arthur say, 'but being gay isn't being ill...'

He heard Mione say, 'no, Ron, this one isn't for you to sort out...'

He heard Teddy say, 'what's gay? Is Harry going to die from gay?'

Quite possibly... he thought.

But then the kitchen door slammed closed behind him and he leant against the wall to catch his very wobbly breath.

He ran his shaking hand through his hair and wondered what the fuck he was going to do?

He heard the door open beside him.

'Potter?' Malfoy said quietly.

Oh gods...

*****

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