Just When You Think, You've Got Me All Figured Out

location: Bedroom

mood: cranky

music: Alicia Keys and Jack White Another Way To Die

Like Ice


 

Sometimes Draco wonders what The Boy Who Lived sees in him. When his eyes sparkle with mischief and his tongue peeks out of his lips and he rolls on the floor with laughter. When he plays Monopoly with the Weasley brood and licks the top layer off of Draco’s painstakingly made crème brulees. When he closes his eyes at night to and pretends to sleep but actually listens to Draco’s heartbeat.

Draco isn’t insecure, just disbelieving.

And when he whispers sweet nothings in his ear, telling him love, showing him his love.

Harry’s cock slipping in and out of his arse at an erratic pace, his prostate being hit on with viciousness only Harry is capable of, a type viciousness laced with love.

Draco closes his eyes then and imagines Harry’s reaction to the ring in his pocket, stripped of it’s satin packaging, glinting in the heavy fluorescent lighting of St.Mungo’s.

“Trainee Malfoy.’ Draco looked up and found Suzie’s patient eyes boring into his. ‘The lab on the top floor...”

She trails off and Draco can almost hear the cogs in her brain churning.

***

He imagines the headlines in the Daily Prophet. “The Boy Who Lived to Love an Ex-Death Eater?” it’ll scream. And he imagines Harry chuckling at it as he had his pumpkin juice, never tea, or coffee. Just pumpkin juice and one triangle of toast spread thinly with butter and strawberry jam on the side to dip the toast into.  

His mouth twitched and he got on with calming the hysterical mother of a little girl admitted in spell damage.

***

He imagines the headlines in the Quibbler. Or maybe not. Probably something about blibbering humdingers anyway.

But Luna’d be at the wedding, wearing her bright clashing dress and odd earrings. If there was one.

***

He hated it, having to do the job, but he knew Harry wouldn’t.

He didn’t know how quite to approach the dilemma except he did now what he wouldn’t do. Go down on one knee, blush, stammer. If there was one thing the Malfoys prided themselves in being, it was passionate lovers, faithful companions and good in bed.

Draco smirked and got on with cleaning up the corrosive liquid that was threatening to dribble down the worktop. Very good in bed.

***

*“My love is like to ice, and I to fire:
How come it then that this her cold is so great
Is not dissolved through my so hot desire,
But harder grows the more I her entreat?
Or how comes it that my exceeding heat
Is not allayed by her heart-frozen cold,
But that I burn much more in boiling sweat,
And feel my flames augmented manifold?
What more miraculous thing may be told,
That fire, which is congealed with senseless cold,
Should kindle fire by wonderful device?
Such is the power of love in gentle mind,
That it can alter all the course of kind.”

Harry Potter, the Chosen One, The Boy Who Lived, they all looked up into Draco Malfoy’s eyes when Draco had finished reciting to him the love poem he’d painstakingly looked through the entirety of the Muggle library for.

His words were not spoken into pin drop silence, in such a family, it was not possible. But he knew Harry had heard when his head whipped around and his cheeks flushed and his mossy eyes were like spring leaves.

It didn’t matter that he had declared his love in such terms at the Burrow in front of the whole Weasley brood, didn’t matter that someone was singing Christmas carols loudly in the background, didn’t matter that Teddy and Victoire were giggling behind their hands as George Weasley turned their glasses into mice. 

What mattered was Harry got up from his chair at the table and walked straight into Draco’s arms and his future was handed over to Draco for safe keeping, for nurturing and Harry knew he was trapped when his ring finger stung and he looked down to find the Malfoy crest staring resignedly at him.

And oh, what an imprisonment it would be.


The End

*My Love Is Like To Ice was written by Edmund Spenser. Not me.