Insufferably Yours

The common room fire crackled, but it wasn’t doing much for the boredom chewing a hole in Harry’s chest. He slumped deeper into the armchair across from Ron, who was sprawled on the sofa like he’d melted there, a half-eaten packet of Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum dangling from his fingers.

“You know,” Ron said, popping a pink bubble that deflated with a wet smack, “for the Chosen One, you’ve got a remarkably un-chosen love life.”

Harry scowled. “I’ve been busy. War, remember? And before that, basilisk, tournament, crazed werewolf—”

“Yeah, yeah, excuses.” Ron sat up, a wicked grin spreading across his freckled face. “Face it, mate. You’re single, and judging by how awkward you get around anyone with a pulse, I’d wager you’re probably rubbish in bed too.”

“I am not!” Harry’s ears burned. He could feel the tips of them glowing red.

“Prove it, then.” Ron leaned forward, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Show me you’ve got a secret lover. Some mysterious witch—or wizard—who can’t keep their hands off you. Otherwise, I’m filing a report to the Prophet: ‘Boy Who Lived, Died a Virgin.’”

“You’re an arse,” Harry muttered, but his gaze drifted past Ron’s shoulder, out the open common room door into the stone corridor beyond. And there, sitting on the bottom step of a narrow staircase, was Draco Malfoy.

He was alone, a thick leather-bound book balanced on his knees, his silver-blond head bent over the pages. The late afternoon light from a high window caught the sheen of his hair, making it look like spun platinum. He looked utterly peaceful, utterly un-Malfoy-like, and utterly beautiful.

An idea sparked in Harry’s mind—foolish, reckless, exactly the sort of thing Ron had dared him into.

“Fine,” Harry said, standing abruptly. “You want proof? I’ll give you proof.”

Ron’s eyebrows shot up. “What? Wait, where are you going?”

But Harry was already striding out of the common room, his heart hammering against his ribs. He crossed the flagstones in a few long strides and came to a halt in front of Draco, blocking the light.

Draco looked up, his grey eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Potter. What do you want? If you’ve come to hex me again—”

“No, no hex.” Harry’s voice came out breathless. He crouched down, lowering his volume to a whisper. “Malfoy. I need a favour. A big one. The kind that will make you laugh for a week.”

Draco closed his book slowly, the gesture elegant and unnerving. “I’m listening.”

“Ron just dared me to prove I have a secret lover. He’s watching right now.” Harry jerked his head toward the common room door. “I need you to pretend to be that lover. Just for two minutes. I’ll owe you. Big time.”

Draco’s lips twitched. For a moment, Harry thought he would sneer and walk away. But then that flicker of a smile spread into a slow, dangerous grin.

“You want me to be your secret lover, Potter?” Draco’s voice was silk. “How romantic. And what, exactly, does this performance entail?”

“Just… act affectionate. Put your arm around me, call me something sappy. I’ll do the same. And then he’ll go away, and we can both get on with our lives.”

Draco stood, tucking his book under his arm. He was a few inches taller than Harry, and he used every inch of that height now, looking down his nose. “Fine. But you owe me. And if this gets back to my father, I will hex your bits off.”

“Deal.” Harry let out a shaky breath. “Ready?”

“Always.”

Harry turned, positioning himself so Ron could see through the common room doorway. He slid his arm around Draco’s waist, feeling the slight tension in the other boy’s body. Draco’s hand came up to rest on Harry’s shoulder.

“All right, love?” Harry said, pitching his voice loud enough for Ron to hear. “I missed you.”

Draco’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second before he recovered. His free hand came up to cup Harry’s cheek, his thumb stroking along Harry’s jawline. “Sweetheart,” he said, his voice dripping with false sweetness, “I missed you too. I was just reading about the mating habits of Flobberworms. So tedious without you.”

Harry snorted, then turned it into a cough. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to Draco’s cheek—dry, quick, but undeniably affectionate. “Play along,” he whispered against Draco’s ear. “Ron’s gawping.”

Draco’s response was to grab Harry by the front of his robes and pull him into a crushing embrace. Before Harry could react, Draco’s lips were on his temple, then his cheekbone, then the corner of his mouth. Soft, exaggerated kisses, accompanied by theatrical little moans.

“Oh, my darling,” Draco cooed, loud enough to echo. “My sweet, wonderful Potter. How I’ve languished without your presence.”

Harry could feel Draco’s lips leaving faint, sticky marks—lip salve, maybe, or a charm. He forced himself not to laugh. “I’ve languished too, love,” he managed, his voice strained.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Ron standing in the doorway, mouth hanging open. Hermione had joined him, her expression a mix of confusion and dawning horror.

“Blimey,” Ron muttered. “You were serious.”

“Told you,” Harry called, his arm still around Draco. “Secret lover. Very secret. Very… lover-y.”

Ron stared for another long moment, his face cycling through disbelief, jealousy, and a grudging sort of respect. Finally, he shook his head and retreated back into the common room, pulling Hermione with him.

The moment they were out of sight, Draco shoved Harry away so hard he stumbled into the stone wall.

“You absolute menace,” Draco hissed, but there was no venom in it. His cheeks were flushed, and he was dabbing at his mouth with the back of his hand. “Look what you made me do. I have glitter all over my lips now.”

Harry laughed, the sound bright and genuine. “Thanks. Really. That was… actually brilliant.”

Draco crossed his arms, a smirk tugging at his lips. “I am brilliant. That’s not news.”

They stood there in the dim corridor, the last light of afternoon fading into twilight. The air felt charged, electric, as if the performance had left something crackling between them.

“We should,” Harry began, then hesitated. He felt a grin spread across his face. “We should meet. Later. In the bathroom on the fourth floor. The one with the leaky taps. I have an idea.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “An idea? Or a plan to humiliate me further?”

“An idea. A good one. Trust me.”

Draco studied him for a long moment, grey eyes searching. Then he gave a single, curt nod. “Fine. An hour. Don’t be late, Potter.”

He turned and walked away, his robes billowing behind him. Harry watched him go, his pulse still racing, and wondered what exactly he had just started.

---

The bathroom was as he remembered: tiled in chipped white and pale green, the far sink dripping a steady, rhythmic plink-plink-plink. The air smelled of mildew and lemon polish. Harry paced in front of the cracked mirror, rehearsing words that felt too big for his mouth.

The door creaked open, and Draco slipped inside, locking it behind him with a flick of his wand.

“This had better be good,” he said, but his voice was soft, almost nervous.

Harry turned. “It is. I think.”

They stood a few feet apart, the silence stretching. Harry could hear his own heartbeat, feel the heat creeping up his neck.

“What I said back there,” Harry started, then stopped. He took a step closer. “It wasn’t all acting. The part about missing you. The part about wanting you close.”

Draco’s breath caught. “Potter…”

“Harry. Call me Harry.”

Another step. They were close enough now that Harry could smell Draco’s cologne—something clean and sharp, like pine and fresh parchment.

“I’ve been thinking about you for months,” Harry admitted, his voice barely a whisper. “Ever since the end of the war. I couldn’t stop. And today, when I saw you on that staircase, I thought… maybe this is my chance.”

Draco’s hand came up, trembling, and touched Harry’s cheek. “You really mean that?”

“I really do.”

Then Draco kissed him.

It was not the theatrical, exaggerated kiss from before. It was soft, hesitant, like a question. Harry answered by threading his fingers into Draco’s hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss until they were both gasping for air.

They kissed until the dripping tap seemed to fade into the background, until the world narrowed to the taste of mint and the press of lips and the warmth of bodies intertwined. Harry’s back hit the cool tile wall, and Draco pressed against him, one hand braced beside Harry’s head.

“I never thought,” Draco murmured against his lips, “that you would ever want this. Want me.”

“I do.” Harry pulled back just enough to look into Draco’s eyes. They were dark, vulnerable, nothing like the sneering mask he wore in the corridors. “I want you, Draco. Not as a joke. Not as a dare. For real.”

Draco let out a shaky breath. He rested his forehead against Harry’s. “This is insane. We’re insane.”

“Probably.”

They stayed like that for a long moment, breathing each other in. Then Draco pulled away, a faint blush colouring his cheeks. He walked to the sink and splashed cold water on his face.

“So,” he said, turning back with a weak smile. “What happens now?”

Harry crossed the small room and wrapped his arms around Draco from behind, resting his chin on Draco’s shoulder. “Whatever we want. I’m thinking… we become the most talked-about couple at Hogwarts. Make Ron choke on his breakfast. Make Pansy Parkinson faint.”

Draco laughed, a real laugh, low and warm. “I like that plan.”

Harry turned him around, cupping his face. “But first, I want to know: what do you want from me? From us?”

Draco’s blush deepened. His gaze dropped to the floor. “I don’t know. I’ve never… I’ve never done this before. With anyone.”

“Neither have I,” Harry said softly. “Not like this. Not for real.”

Draco looked up, his eyes searching. “What are we now?”

It was the same question Harry had been asking himself all evening. He took a deep breath and answered from his gut.

“What do you want us to be?”

Draco’s lips parted. For a second, he looked terrified, as if he expected Harry to laugh and call it a joke. But Harry held his gaze, steady, honest.

“I want…” Draco’s voice cracked. He cleared his throat. “I want to be yours. And I want you to be mine.”

Harry’s heart swelled. He leaned in and kissed Draco again, softer this time, full of promise. “Then that’s what we are. Boyfriends. Lovers. Whatever word you like.”

“I like ‘yours’,” Draco whispered.

And Harry held him, right there in the dim, mildewed bathroom, feeling the world shift and settle around them.

---

The news spread like wildfire. By breakfast the next morning, the entire Great Hall was buzzing. Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, holding hands at the Slytherin table. Draco leaning over to whisper something in Harry’s ear, making him laugh. Harry feeding Draco a piece of toast, while Ron stared with the expression of a man who had just seen a Hippogriff tap-dance.

“You’re actually dating Malfoy,” Ron said later, cornering Harry in the Transfiguration corridor. “Deliberately. On purpose.”

“Yes, Ron. That’s what dating means.”

“But… why?”

Harry smiled, a soft, private smile. “Because I make him happy. And he makes me happy. Isn’t that enough?”

Ron opened his mouth, closed it, and walked away shaking his head.

Harry found Draco after Charms, waiting for him by the statue of Gregory the Smarmy. Draco looked nervous, his usual confidence replaced by a tentative hope.

“Did you mean it?” Draco asked, his voice low. “All of it? Or was this just another game to you?”

Harry took his hand, lacing their fingers together. “I meant every word. And I’ll prove it, every day, if I have to.”

Draco’s shoulders relaxed. He squeezed Harry’s hand. “I don’t know how to do this. Be with someone. I’ve been told my whole life that I’m not worth loving.”

“Who told you that?” Harry’s voice was fierce.

“My father. The other Slytherins. The mirror every morning.” Draco’s laugh was hollow. “They called me a ferret, remember? Even after the war, I still feel like that sometimes. A pathetic, trembling ferret.”

Harry stopped walking and pulled Draco into an alcove, out of the stream of students. He framed Draco’s face with both hands, forcing him to meet his eyes.

“Listen to me,” Harry said, his voice intense. “You are not a ferret. You are not pathetic. You are the most beautiful person I have ever seen. Inside and out. And I will spend every day telling you that until you believe it.”

Draco’s eyes welled with tears. He blinked rapidly, trying to hold them back. “Harry…”

“I mean it, Draco. Your eyes are like silver stars. Your hair is like moonlight. Your laugh… I’d do anything to hear it. And when you smile, really smile, it lights up the whole bloody castle.”

A single tear escaped, rolling down Draco’s cheek. “I don’t understand why you want me.”

“Because you’re you.” Harry brushed the tear away with his thumb. “Because I saw past the mask. Because you’re brave and clever and you kissed me like I was the only thing that mattered. And because, for the first time in my life, I feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”

Draco broke then, burying his face in Harry’s shoulder, his body shaking with quiet sobs. Harry wrapped his arms around him, holding him close, murmuring soothing nonsense.

“You’re beautiful,” Harry whispered into Draco’s hair. “My beautiful, brilliant boyfriend. And I’m never letting you go.”

After a long moment, Draco pulled back, his eyes red but his smile genuine. “I love it when you call me beautiful.”

“Then I’ll say it a hundred times a day.” Harry kissed his forehead. “Beautiful. Beautiful. Beautiful.”

Draco laughed, a wet, joyful sound. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re stuck with me.”

---

As the weeks passed, Harry learned the contours of Draco’s insecurities. He learned that Draco craved reassurance, that a simple “you’re amazing” could brighten his entire day. He learned that Draco liked to be pampered—hot chocolate brought to his study table, his scarf adjusted before he went out in the cold, his hand held in crowded corridors.

Harry became an expert at compliments. He told Draco his hair was perfect in the morning, that his eyes sparkled in candlelight, that his hands were elegant, that his voice was honey. He said it casually, like breathing, until Draco stopped flinching and started believing.

They became Hogwarts’ “it couple.” Students watched them with a mixture of awe and confusion. Professors gave them knowing smiles. Even Snape’s portrait (now hanging in the staffroom) raised a ghostly eyebrow but said nothing.

One evening, in the quiet of the Astronomy Tower, Draco leaned his head on Harry’s shoulder.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

“For what?”

“For seeing me. For wanting me. For… making me feel like I matter.”

Harry kissed the top of his head. “You’ve always mattered, Draco. You just needed someone to show you.”

Draco looked up, his grey eyes soft. “I need you to tell me something. Every day. Even when I don’t ask.”

“Anything.”

“Tell me I’m beautiful. Tell me I’m enough. Tell me you love me.”

Harry’s heart ached with tenderness. He cupped Draco’s cheek and looked into his eyes.

“You are beautiful. You are more than enough. And I love you, Draco Malfoy. With every stupid, reckless, Gryffindor part of me.”

Draco’s smile was like the sun breaking through clouds. He leaned in and kissed Harry, slow and deep.

“I love you too,” he whispered against Harry’s lips. “Even though you’re insufferable.”

Harry grinned. “Insufferably yours.”

And they stayed there, wrapped in each other, as the stars wheeled overhead and the castle hummed with the quiet magic of two hearts finding their home.