writingsidhe

[writingsidhe]

caffè nero bollente in cucina

After the debacle that is that last tea together, Harry keeps his life between work and the isolation of his house. He manages to avoid Draco and he manages to send back the first two owls Narcissa tries to send him. After that, she doesn’t try anymore.

Andromeda asks him if everything’s okay but doesn’t press the subject when she understands he doesn’t really want to talk about it. And it’s pretty clear, to be honest, that he doesn’t want to talk.

Even Ron and Hermione steer clear of him, to the best of their abilities - it’s not the first time since the end of the war Harry needs some time alone, and they both learned to accept that.

It takes him some time before he can manage to understand that Narcissa Malfoy deserves at least some explanation.

Harry goes back to the Manor for the first time in order to explain himself. He somehow does, even if he doesn’t go into the details of what exactly happened in his mind the last time.

Narcissa seems to understand, even though Harry immediately spots a hint of disappointment in her eyes.

“What about Draco?” she asks, and Harry does his best not to think about the implications of that particular question.

“You don’t have to worry, I’ll be civil with him.”

Narcissa bows her head, defeated, and Harry has to do his best to squash down all the bad feelings that rumble inside his chest.

“We could still have tea together, if you think that’d be possible. Not every week, I realize now that I asked too much of you. Just a few times, nothing more. Whenever you want.”

“I’d like that,” Harry smiles briefly, because he’d really like that. Strangely enough, as terrifying as she is, Harry really likes Narcissa Malfoy. And he owes her. And having tea just a few times isn’t bad, is it? It’s not like he’s going to see Malfoy and harbor more complicated feelings. He already went down that road and look where it took him.

So they have tea together and then Narcissa excuses herself, leaving Harry to find his way out of the Manor.

“Potter?”

“Malfoy. I was just going-”

“Yes, I know. You don’t want to stay here longer than necessary. And you certainly don’t want to stay anywhere near me, you made that abundantly clear.”

“Look, Malfoy-”

“No, don’t bother. I don’t need an explanation, you don’t owe me an explanation. This is exactly why I tried to stay away from you, because I didn’t want what you feel about me to ruin-”

“I don’t feel anything about you, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry interrupts him, harder than he intended to. “I don’t feel comfortable near you, not after everything you did. Your mother has nothing to do with this. And I don’t feel anything about you.”

“You know what, Potter? I like to think that I grew up. I imagine this doesn’t really matter to you and I can’t really be upset about it, can I? I was horrible in school. I understand why you feel like you don’t want to be near me. But I won’t spend the rest of my life apologizing for the things I did and said when I was a kid. I won’t spend the rest of my life explaining that I’m not a monster, that my mistakes have roots in my whole childhood, that I was a stupid kid who didn’t know better. Who didn't know anything else. I apologized to everyone, I helped rebuild Hogwarts, I served the term of my temporary house arrest without complaining because it was the right thing to do. I’m going to live the rest of my life with the reminder that my family decided I was expendable to the cause inked in my arm and I think this is enough punishment. I won’t go around cowering for the rest of my life. I won’t do it.”

Harry’s heart is beating so fast in his chest he’s almost afraid Malfoy can hear it. He doesn’t know what to do - or what to think or what to feel, and the things he has inside are loud and terrible. Everything Malfoy said just makes sense. Everything Malfoy said sounds right and fair and Harry understands, really, he does understand. Malfoy is looking at him, slightly flushed and silent, like he’s hanging on whatever Harry will say - and there’s hope, behind his eyes, Harry can see it.

And yet there’s this thing, right inside his chest, that pulls and stretches and holds him - this thing that tells him don’t trust him, just go away, it’ll be easier, you can’t trust him, you can’t trust anyone, especially not Malfoy.

“Do whatever you want, Malfoy, I don’t really care.”

He leaves, once again, trying to erase Malfoy’s hurt look from his mind.

The second time Harry returns to have tea, Narcissa is adamant he leaves sooner than usual. They chat for quite some time and Harry can’t help but notice the way she keeps fidgeting with one of her rings - most unbecoming for a pureblood lady - and the way she keeps glancing at the antique grandfather clock on the other side of the room.

“Do you want me to go?”

“Nonsense, my dear boy, I’m so glad to have you here,” Narcissa goes for her usual charming smile but her gaze falls once again on the clock. Harry takes that as his cue to leave.

“Now that I think about it, I need to be somewhere else-”

“Of course, of course! Let me walk you to the door!” Harry doesn’t even have the time to point out that she has never showed him our, let alone walked him to the door.

“… Narcissa?” Narcissa pales slightly and the familiar voice grows heated. “You didn’t tell me we had guests.”

Harry recognized the voice the minute he heard it say Narcissa’s name - but if he hadn’t, the way Lucius Malfoy just sneered the word guests would have been quite telling.

So this is why Narcissa wanted him to leave.

“I was just leaving,” Harry replies without even looking at the man - he doesn't really want to, if he's being completely honest. Especially not after what he just heard.

“Yes, I believe that would be preferable for all parts involved,” Lucius Malfoy replies stiffly.

“I can find the way on my own.”

Except it turns out he definitely cannot. The Manor is even bigger than he remembered and every hallway look the same if you're not been living in the place for at least your last ten years. After what feels like hours of wandering, Harry decides it's best if he just asks for help - not for his pride, maybe, but if that takes him out of the Manor he'll gladly accept the loss of it. The problem is, he doesn't have the slightest idea where the fuck he is now or how the fuck to go back from where he came.

It’s in that exact moment Harry hears two familiar voices - so, naturally, he quickly decides to hide behind the corner, just hidden enough for him to be able to peek.

Lucius Malfoy is positively fuming, pacing down the corridor, while an unimpressed looking Draco Malfoy stands before him.

“How dares he? I can barely understand your mother thinking this might be the right thing to do, but how dares he come into our home-”

“You mean the home we still have because of him?” Draco drawls back in a way that almost makes Harry loose his balance.

“Yes, well. That was a minor inconvenience.”

“Talk about minor inconvenience.”

“Don't talk to me like that, I am your father and I demand respect. I thought you learned that lesson quite some time ago,” Lucius sounds every bit the angry and demanding man Harry knew in the past but the true surprise is something entirely different. Harry remembers quite well the way Draco used to react to those intimidations - quiet, subdued, silent - and this? The way he stands proud and tall right in front of his father? This is something completely different.

“You know what, father? I've learned something in the past few years. I don't owe you anything. I don't owe you respect just because you're my father. You have to earn my respect just like I have to earn yours, and you have done absolutely nothing in order to earn it.”

“You lived under my roof for your entire life, I fed you and I clothed you and-”

“You did what you were supposed to do as a parent. Congratulations. I worked my ass off to keep our home, while you were rotting in Azkaban for the foolish things you did. I’m managing our whole fortune because you can’t touch a single knut so I’d watch my mouth if I were you.” Draco’s voice is dripping in sarcasm. “And you know who else lived under this roof? Voldemort. For two whole years while I was sixteen years old.”

“That has nothing-”

“That's the truth, father! Everything I did, everything Mother did was for you! Because we loved you and we trusted you and we believed you knew better than anybody else!”

Even Lucius seems taken aback from Draco’s sudden outburst. The older man doesn’t seem so confident as before - not when he steps back and looks at his son with something Harry can’t really explain behind his eyes.

“You are my father and I love you. I'll always love you. I came to visit you while you were in Azkaban even though I was still mad at you because it was the right thing to do. Because you didn't deserve to be abandoned by your only son. I'll always love you, but that doesn't mean I forgive you. You're back, now, and you're gonna have to step it up if you want us to have any kind of relationship at all.”

Draco is quiet, now, and somehow that makes everything even worse. He sounds quiet and sad and resolved at the same time. Harry has never heard him like this, has never seen that look in his eyes. And he doesn’t pretend to understand everything - he doesn’t at all, their situations don’t compare in the slightest way - but at the same time he does know how difficult it is for a son to accept his father isn’t the perfect human being he thought he was.

“If your wife decides to invite a whole muggle’s neighborhood for dinner, you’ll smile and nod and let her. The next time you see Harry Potter you will behave like a decent human being, because he has done nothing but help us and you, more than anyone, should be grateful. And you becoming a better person also means I won't tolerate any hate towards towards muggles and half-bloods. I had enough of that shit during my whole life and look where it got us.”

“Draco,” Lucius tries to intervene and his voice sounds so broken Harry doesn't really know what to think. It's the first time in his whole life he thinks of Lucius Malfoy as a human being and not as an enemy or a danger. He doesn't look like either of those things, right now. He looks like a father who screwed up and only now realized how much he screwed up.

“Earn my respect, father. Because you sure as hell didn't when you pushed me into a war I didn't want to fight. You didn't when I had to take that fucking mark to protect my family from your mistakes.”

Draco leaves, after that last sentence, and Lucius Malfoy leaves as well, looking more haunted than Harry would've care to notice. He almost jumps when he feels a hand on his shoulder and certainly doesn't relax when he turns to find Narcissa, right behind him. She doesn't seem angry, though, so Harry figures he's not in too much trouble.

“Lucius hasn't always been like he was when you met him. I'm not going to justify what he did, believe me. But he was a completely different person before Draco's second year. A doting father, a loving husband. Maybe I'm just being naive but I can't help but hope he'll go back to what he was,” Narcissa sounds thoughtful and sad and Harry doesn't know what to say. “I think it's better if I show you the exit, now.”

But Harry can't stop thinking about what Narcissa just said. He was a completely different person before Draco's second year. He doesn't want to think about this, doesn't want to try and find an explanation for the awful man he knows - but his instincts tell him there's something there. Something in the way Draco and Narcissa still love him, something in the way they're both suffering and yet resolved to try and make Lucius Malfoy a better person.

Do people change? Is it possible for Lucius Malfoy to change? And if it's possible for Lucius Malfoy, why shouldn't it be possible for Draco?

Harry is more confused than ever - and the fact that he keeps dreaming about Draco Malfoy doesn't help at all.

“Is everything okay?” Harry just has to ask, because Narcissa is looking a bit unfocused and it’s the first time she has this look on her face - and if something is happening, Harry just has to know. “Did something happen?”

“Oh- nothing you need to worry about, dear.”

“Are you sure?” he insists, because he’s really concerned - not because he has this spasmodic need to know if something happened to Draco. Of course not. He just wants to be helpful.

“Well, you see… Draco is feeling, one could say, a bit under the weather.”

“Has he gone to St. Mungo?”

“Oh, no, no. His… condition isn’t strictly physical. He was seeing someone, you see. I always thought it wouldn’t last, I definitely did not like his choice of partner. But Draco seemed to be fairly content and I didn’t want to see him unhappy so I didn’t say anything. And now he’s positively heartbroken.”

“… Someone dumped him?”

“Yes, exactly. And with a letter, of all things. Draco doesn't want to talk about it, of course, but I can see his pain. I’m his mother, after all.”

When Harry is about to leave, he can’t help but notice a slightly open door and known voices coming from the adjacent room. And it’s not like he’s snooping, not at all. He just wants to make sure everything’s okay. That’s it.

“How are you holding up, babe?” Pansy asks with a smile and a weird voice, almost like she’s making fun of him, that would probably make anyone sneer back. Draco, however, doesn’t sneer. At all.

He smiles - softly, Harry notices - and hugs her and he looks the most vulnerable Harry has ever seen him.

“Like fucking shit, Pans.”

“Well, you shouldn’t. Plenty of fishes in the sea and all that. You’ll find someone new in no time.”

“But he’ll be a replacement. I’m not sure I see the point in finding a replacement. It’s not like it’s gonna work out for me.”

“Okay then maybe just wait a bit. Have some fun and when it won’t feel like a replacement you-”

“But it’ll always feel like a replacement.”

“Surely he wasn’t that-” Parkinson suddenly stops talking and for one moment Harry’s almost sure she sees him standing right outside of the room. But her eyes are fixed on Malfoy and Malfoy looks... wretched.

“No,” she whispers softly and Malfoy lets out a strangled noise and a humorless laugh. Harry doesn’t understand what the fuck is happening.

“How could you possibly still be in love with him? After everything that happened? After the way he treated you! After-”

“You think I don’t know that? You think I want this? It’s not my fault, it’s not like I actively decided to fall in love with him when I was fucking eleven and never forget him. It’s not like I decided to fall in love with the one man who would never look at me that way.”

The room is completely still after Draco’s words and Harry still doesn’t know what to think.

“Fuck,” Draco lets out a shaky breath and an even shakier laugh. “I’m a complete and utter joke. So much for Malfoys don’t show weakness. I’m sorry.”

“You’re not a joke. I’m sorry, love, I shouldn’t have. I know it’s not your fault. I know.”

“It’s okay, Pans. It’s bound to go away at some point, isn’t it?”

“Of course. But in the meantime, I’ve got you.”

“What’s this?” Draco asks with an annoyed voice but a glint in his eyes - and Harry wonders when exactly did he became the local expert on what the subtle details in Draco’s face mean. Hermione would probably tell him it’s because he’s a bit of a stalker. Harry would obviously deny it and now he almost scoff at the thought. Stalking, him! as he hides behind the door, still looking at what is happening inside the room. Insane.

“I brought alcohol, chocolate and I’m going to call some company. Millie, Daphne and Astoria. That’s exactly what you need to feel better.”

“Well, at least the part about chocolate sounds good.”

“Fuck you.”

“Love you too.”

The next time Harry goes to the Manor, there is definitely something going on. It’s later than usual, for once, and he still doesn’t know why since Narcissa didn’t bother with any explanation.

It’s later than usual and Narcissa’s eyes gleams with the same mischief Harry was used to see during their first meetings.

“I think Draco is feeling a little bit better.”

“Oh, is he?”

“Yes, I would imagine so. He organized something of a… meeting with some of his friends.”

A meeting with Draco’s friends is exactly what Harry’s instincts need to start screaming Draco Malfoy Is Probably Up to Something. He doesn’t know if Narcissa knows that, doesn’t know what she knows. The only thing he does know is that it’s better if he, as an Auror, checks on Malfoy. It’s his duty, after all.

And that’s why he finds himself going to the west wing of the Manor, hidden under his invisibility cloak - the one he always brings with him, just in case.

(He can almost hear Hermione quips something like just in case you need to stalk Malfoy? but he chooses to ignore her voice in his head.)

He can feel the Silencio casted as soon as he walks through it without disrupting it. Silencing spells sound pretty shady, honestly, even Hermione would have to agree. Or she’d tell him that maybe Draco just wanted some privacy from his parents. It doesn’t matter now, not when Harry comes closer to the source of the noise he can suddenly hear.

He’s this close to find out what Draco Malfoy is up to - this close to find the proof he need to stop tormenting himself about the way he acted. If Draco is actually up to something, it means that Harry didn’t do anything wrong. It means that he was right when he tried to distance himself front the Malfoys, it means he was right when he told Draco he didn’t care. He just has to find some proof.

“Everyone ready for today’s meeting?”

Malfoy’s voice drawls familiarly and Harry can’t help but feel a little bit hopeful - and a little bit saddened - hearing those words. There’s no way a meeting organized by a former Death Eater could mean any good. And as he takes in the rest of the room they’re in, anywhere he looks he sees other Slytherins.

It doesn’t look like a meeting, though. There’s a whole lot of junk food and alcohol, there’s music - Muggle music, Harry realizes - and they’re all dressed like they’re going to a party. Knowing Slytherins - and their reputation as party people -, this probably is a party. But it doesn’t explain Malfoy’s words and it certainly doesn’t give Harry any proofs of their illegal activities.

“I demand compensation!” Blaise Zabini shouts from the other end of the room, clearly looking at Draco. “I always bring all the food and it’s not fair!”

“Though shit, Zabini,” Parkinson deadpans without even looking at him. “I always bring all the alcohol and you don’t hear me complain.”

“And you’re always here in my home and you don’t hear me complain,” Draco quips right after her. Harry recognize Theodore Nott laughing right next to Malfoy - he also recognize the two Greengrass sisters, Bulstrode and a few more Slytherins.

“Alright, fine. I despise you all.”

“The feeling is entirely mutual, Blaise!”

Malfoy whispers something to Nott, making him laugh ever more - and Harry doesn’t like it one bit. And it isn’t because Harry’s jealous, fuck no. It’s just because he’s sure Malfoy is plotting something and he’s even more convinced of it when he sees him whispering things to other guys. Fuck.

“What are we doing for the bulling?” Bulstrode asks and everyone immediately turn towards Draco.

“I’ve already talked to McGonagall about it. She said she’s doing what she can as Headmistress, but of course it’s a complex problem. But I also talked to Professor Longbottom and I have his word that he’s going to look out for- mistreated Slytherins. Especially those in their first years.”

Everyone nods almost somberly and Harry finds it difficult to do anything than just watch. He’s not used to this. Not used to Slytherins caring about other people - even if they’re other Slytherins. He doesn’t exactly know if he just didn’t notice in school or if it’s a more recent development but something tells him that it’s far more likely that he didn’t want to see this part.

He almost doesn’t want to see it now.

“What about your parents, Theo?”

“Do we need to have more words with them?”

“No, they’re getting better. Well, better as in my father doesn’t talk to me anymore.”

“I’ve found that it’s better when they don't talk to me,” Parkinson intervenes with a bitter smile.

“You need to remember what I always tell you. None of our parents has the rights to treat us like this. Not after what they put us through,” Draco sounds very sure but Harry notices the shadow behind his eyes - almost like there's a sadness than never goes away. “We need to be better but fuck if they need to be better too. They need to be decent parents. And decent parents don’t sacrifice their kids to a cause. Decent parents care for their children.”

“Yeah but I mean, our parents weren’t as fucked up as yours,” one of the Greengrasses tries to argue.

“That’s not true. Okay, well, maybe your father didn’t fucked up so royally that you were forced to become a fucking child soldier,” Harry doesn’t know what the fuck is wrong with their sense of humor because the whole room is now laughing and he doesn’t find it funny at all. “But it doesn’t mean that they didn’t forced their stupid beliefs upon you. It doesn’t mean that you aren’t paying for their errors. They should’ve known better. They should’ve acted better.”

Draco and Astoria are now holding hands and everyone can see that what he just said is effecting her. Draco just... comforted someone. He helped someone. This is something completely different from what Harry is used to - from what he used to see in school, from the way he always thought about Draco Malfoy.

And this is exactly what he didn’t need to see.

“If you need anything, just ask.”

Harry slips out of the room with his own heart in such a turmoil that, as usual, he’s left without knowing what to do. He was sure he would’ve found something to justify what he did but instead? Instead he’s just feeling more awful than before.

The fifth time Harry returns to Malfoy Manor - after the Great Disaster -, he hears the high pitched screams of a familiar voice. And it’s not one of the Malfoys no. Harry is sure, more than anything in his whole life, that that voice belongs to his godson.

So this means Teddy is inside the Manor. So this means Teddy is inside the Manor and he’s screaming for some reason Harry doesn’t actually know - but paired with the fact that Lucius Malfoy lives in the place, he doesn’t have a good feeling about this. Not at all.

And that’s why he sprints towards the sound of the voice, in full Auror mode - and the screams get closer and closer until he can make out what Teddy is saying and finally-

“Draco, no!” Teddy yells, hair pale blond and a huge smile stretching his lips. He’s trying to cover his whole body with just his own hands and Draco-

“Draco yes!” Draco is grinning wildly, trying his best to tickle whatever body part he can reach.

“You are the worst cousin ever!”

“Well, lucky you, I’m also your only cousin,” Draco snickers - Harry has never heard him like this and, honestly, he feels like his heart has stopped functioning correctly -, holding Teddy close to his chest. “So you’re stuck with me.”

“Let me go!” Teddy yells as loud as he can, laughing like a mad man and trying to free himself from Draco’s clutch. “I’ll give you Cesare the Lion if you stop!”

“You’d give me Cesare the Lion?” Draco softly gasps, feigning surprise and finally stopping with the tickling. “I’m not worthy of Cesare the Lion, Edward.”

“My name’s not Edward.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry, Tedward.”

“Draco!”

“Edwin?”

“Stop it!”

They both start laughing and Harry has never felt more stupid in his entire life. He’s standing there, lurking in the corner with his wand raised for what? Draco Malfoy playing with his cousin.

And of course it’s in that exact moment that Teddy sees him.

“Harry! Harry come play with us!” the kid yells, completely unfazed by Harry’s stance. No one could say the same about Draco Malfoy though - Harry can pinpoint the precise second when the other man sees him and pales significantly.

There’s no way he didn’t notice what Harry was doing. There’s no way he didn’t see the raised wand and the combat stance. That’s probably why he slowly raises his hands, eyes fixed on Harry, like he’s going to surrender.

“Go join Andromeda in the drawing room, Ted. Harry will be with you in a minute,” Harry can’t even focus on how strange it is to be called by his first name by Draco. Everything that’s happening right now is far more complex than that. Draco looks defeated and tired and even a little bit sad.

“What about you?” Teddy asks with a frown - to which Draco smiles softly, hands still raised up in the air.

“I have something very important to do, we’ll play together another day, I promise.”

As opposed to feeling plain stupid, now Harry feels like an asshole. The realization hits him straight in the chest with the strength of a high speed train. Draco is afraid of him. Draco is afraid of him and he can’t really blame him - not after the stance, the raised wand and everything that happened before that.

When Teddy finally leaves, Draco doesn’t utter a single word. He doesn’t move, doesn’t talk, doesn’t do anything other than looking at Harry straight in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, I had no right to barge in here with my wand out.”

“You’re an Auror. I’m guessing you heard Teddy scream and thought we were harming him,” Draco sounds so utterly defeated and Harry doesn’t know anything more than the fact he doesn’t want to hear him like this never again in his whole life. If they’d ask him to choose between this and Draco yelling insults, he’d definitely choose you’re so bloody dumb, scarhead.

“Yeah, sometimes I can be a tad impulsive.”

“A tad. Would you mind terribly lowering your fucking wand, Potter? I thought we established I wasn’t torturing my cousin.”

“Oh yeah, yeah, of course,” fucking good move, Potter, amazing move. Forget about the wand you’re pointing at a completely innocent man.

“I know you don’t have any reason to believe me but I would never harm Teddy. Andromeda trusts me. And we won’t leave him alone with my father, even though he wouldn’t harm him either.”

“I know, I was just- I wasn’t thinking. I’m too protective of the people I love and I just wasn’t thinking.”

“Yes, well,” Draco sniffs, turning his back to Harry and taking a few steps forward. “As much of a pleasant visit this was, I believe you spent way too much time with me for your liking.”

“I’ve changed my mind,” Harry whispers, as calmly as he can, holding on to Draco’s wrist. He can’t let go. This is his one chance to make everything better - as he’s pretty sure Draco won’t give you a second one. Not after everything that happened.

“Well, does it work any better?”

“Ouch,” Harry instantly replies, trying his best to hold Draco right there without getting too imposing. “I mean it. I acted like a complete asshole and I shouldn’t have done that. I liked what- what was happening between us. I liked talking to you. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“And you decided you regret what you did in this last five minutes? Though shit, Potter, I don’t trust you. You’ll change your ming again in the next hour. You’ll convince yourself that you can’t to this anymore and then I’ll- then my Mother will suffer once again. Not likely, Potter.”

Draco leaves without saying anything else - and Harry can’t hold him there anymore. It’s not right for him to do that. He fucked up and now he has to give Draco time.

But this doesn’t mean he’ll stop trying.

[writingsidhe]

you smiled, luring me on (my heart was gone, you were temptation)

"Did you hear about that pirate who escaped last night? Frightening, absolutely frightening."

“No, what happened?” asks another woman, clearly interested in the latest gossip news. Francis isn’t really listening, to be honest. He shouldn’t find these high society parties so damn boring but the truth is... he does? He likes the atmosphere, yes, of course. He likes the food, and the places and the palaces and the dresses. But everything else? All those boring people with their judging looks and their even more judging opinions?

His father is loudly laughing with a group of nobles and Francis dares to look at him, hoping he’ll see his bored look and he’ll decide to go home. His mother is patiently listening to other women even though Francis is perfectly aware she would much rather be home with a good book.

This used to be fun, when Antonio still was home. When he wasn’t away, busy exploring oceans and hunting down pirates. This used to be fun, when Antonio was still there. They used to be together and laugh at all those boring nobles and their father would laugh with them and their mother would give them all a reprimand look and the laugh with them.

Now? Now everything is boring, just plain boring. And he has to attend, he has to. Antonio went away and he got to do exactly what he always wanted to do and Father made perfectly clear Francis has to marry well for the sake of their family.

The problem is Francis doesn’t want to.

And it’s not that he doesn’t want to marry someone, he really wants that. He has been dreaming of marrying the right person for the most part of his life. There are only two problems: one, he wants to marry for love and not for any other reasons. Other reasons that are kind of exactly what his family is first and foremost concerned about. And that's why Francis finds himself engaged to a boring woman who has the same amount of interest in him as he has in her. None.

Two, when he thinks about the right person, he always thinks about men. Always have, always will be. And that really is the biggest problem for his future marriage.

“So, apparently they managed to capture a pirate, a few days ago, and they locked him in prison. But he escaped last night! Nobody knows how he managed to do that, they just know he vanished into thin air!”

“Oh my, that really is awful.”

“Can you imagine? That brute is somewhere around here!”

“You think? My husband says he’s probably already on a ship and that we’re safe.”

Francis is still listening, a bit more interested in this daily gossip than he was before. He heard of the pirate, of course. Everyone heard of the pirate. Apparently he’s a bit of a nightmare for the entire court and the guards were particularly happy to have him in their custody. He was awaiting for his trial - and Francis' father said it the death sentence was almost a certainty. Francis likes to imagine this hulking brute, covered in scars, a single eye and the most terrifying look on his face.

Everything is better than this boring party, even fantasy.

"It's a nice day to be out here," a voice that Francis doesn't recognize right behind him, way closer than it should be. "Nice, sunny day. The perfect day for a party."

"Yes, it's a nice day," he simply answers, forcing himself not to turn around immediately. Francis doesn't like to be taken by surprise - nor does he like to show surprise.

"And what a nice party! Splendid location and amazing food and- so many influential guests!"

"Thank you for you kind words. I'm glad my efforts are appreciated."

Francis thinks this is the right moment to turn and so he does. He finds himself in front of a man he's sure he has already seen somewhere - but he can't recall exactly where or when.

The man looks roughly the same age as Francis is and has a smile that could only mean trouble. Blond hair and green eyes and really, really nice shoulders. It's not like Francis has a thing for shoulders. He doesn't. It's just that the man has really nice - lean but well built - shoulders and Francis appreciates them as he appreciates art or music. It's not that he has a thing for men's shoulder, he doesn't, he really doesn't.

"You organized all of this? You're full of surprises, uh?" the other man is smirking and Francis isn't sure he likes the tone of his voice. "So you're not just a pretty face?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"I mean I knew you were important - being the son of the governor and everything else - but this is very... what's the word, cute? Yeah, cute."

"... Cute? Excuse me, sir, I don't think we know each other and I'd like to go talk to literally anyone else."

"My, aren’t we feisty,” the other man is openly laughing and Francis has never felt so offended in his whole life. He doesn’t know why exactly this particular person is making him feel like this but he certainly doesn’t like the power this man has over him. It takes all his self control not to say something the son of the governor shouldn’t really say.

But when he tries to go away, the man takes him in his arms and a just a few second later they’re dancing. Those movements were so smooth Francis doesn’t really understand what happened and it takes him a whole minute to recover.

They’re dancing. Together. That man is holding him close, a hand firmly planted on Francis’ lower back as he’s leading the dance. Because they’re dancing. Like a couple. Like man and woman. Except they aren’t, except everybody else starts staring and Francis is suddenly aware of it and it’s terrible and- exhilarating at the same time.

“Cat got your tongue, beautiful?” the man is smirking again and Francis is pretty sure he just felt the hand sliding a little lower. A little bit too low.

“You are by far the most insufferable man I’ve ever met.”

“I bet I’m also the most interesting man you’ve ever met. I imagine it doesn’t take too much, though. Everybody here seems very... dull.”

Francis does his best to ignore the other man's satisfied grin but it's difficult, it really is. Almost as difficult as trying not to lean onto him. Almost as difficult as trying not to enjoy what's happening even a slightly bit. The man is holding him so close to his chest Francis has to think about literally anything else in order to maintain any sort of decency at all - and it's maddening, absolutely maddening.

Francis is highly aware of the looks of the whole room. He's highly aware of what they must be thinking - of what his father must be thinking. His mother, his lovely fiancée. But he's also oh so highly aware of the way the other man is holding him, of the way he's looking at him, of the way he looks and smell and breathes and smirk.

And it's so very hard to do the right thing.

“I don't know you and I'm pretty sure I've never seen you around. So: who the hell are you and how do you manage to sneak into my party?”

“Sneak into your party wasn't the difficult part, love. Not after what I did to sneak out of the prison cell.”

A stunned moment of silence follows those words, as Francis is forced to contemplate what exactly the man is implying - and who exactly the man is.

“Now, as much as I'm enjoying this dance,” the man whispers, so close to Francis' ear that he has to repress a shiver. "There's somewhere I need to be. And I'd appreciate if you'd come with me without struggling.”

There's a strange sound in the air and before Francis can even ask what the hell was that about, the screaming start. Broken windows and women screaming and guards grunting loudly. His father held at gunpoint by men Francis has never seen before.

“Captain Kirkland, at your service," the pirate offers with a smirk, and only a second later Francis finds himself thrown on the man's shoulder. "Governor? We'll be in touch for the ransom of your son.”

And just like that, Francis finds himself thrown on a pirate ship, surrounded by pirates and at the mercy of one particular pirate's captain, locked in the captain's cabin.

Captain Kirkland is not at all what Francis thought he was going to be. Scratch all those fantasies of hulking brutes covered in scars with a single eye. He has the face - and apparently the cleaning habits - of a gentleman.

Not the manners, maybe, not when he doesn't want to. And of course no gentleman would walk around with a leather coat and leather pants and leather everything, two swords and two pistols strapped to his chest.

But striking green eyes, a stupidly dashing smirk and a lean but built figure aren't exactly what anyone immediately imagine when thinking about a pirate.

And every single one of these thoughts is so much more louder than any soon-to-be marriage, especially when paired with the fact that apparently pirates are a little bit more handsy than what Francis is used to.

“Have you considered tell me where are you taking me? You know, since you so brutishly took me away from my home and my family I think the least you could do is tell me where are we going.”

They only answer Francis always gets is the usual smirk and a piercing look that really, really bothers him in all the wrong way.

It takes a few days before the captain feels safe enough to let Francis outside of the cabin and, from that moment on, Francis spends his days observing and exploring, causing the least amount of trouble he can.

To the crew, that's it. Not to the captain.

“You're insufferable! And you're also English, and that's by far the worst part of all of this mess you've got me into.”

Among everything Francis yells, Captain Kirkland seems to take offense at the sole mention of his homeland. “Oh my God do you ever shut up?"

“... No, I don't have the habit to stop complaining, not after I'm kidnapped and taken away from my family and forced into a ship in the middle of the ocean! I absolutely despise the ocean!”

“We're heading to Nassau! Is Nassau land enough for you?” Kirkland blurts out, probably worn out by all of Francis' talking. Exactly what he hoped was going to happen. Kirkland seems to notice his slip and quickly recovers by pretending not to have slipped at all. “Trust me, you'll like it there.”

“Are you taking me back home? No? That's what I thought. So no, I don't think I will.”

Days go by and Francis decides he has to make the most of this unexpected journey: sure enough not all pirates must be as bad as everyone always told him.

And it turns out they aren't so bad, not at all. It turns out they're just men - and oh, does Francis know how to get along with men. One by one he gets to know a little bit of all of them and it constantly amazes Francis how they're really just men.

It also turns out they're really, really bad at accounting. The ship's finances are in a dreadful state and the men manage to spend more than they actually have. When Francis inquires who is supposed to handle the finances, the crew points to their newly appointed quartermaster (one Callum, apparently Captain Kirkland's eldest brother), who's the absolute best at handling the men and the absolute worst at handling money.

Saoirse, the sailing master of the ship and yet another one of Kirkland's siblings (Francis starts to wonder if the entirety of the crew is made of just one family), tells him that her brother the captain is perfectly able to but doesn't have enough time to handle the finances of the ship.

And it shows, it really shows. And it's bad and Francis, in all good conscience, cannot let this state of things go on. He simply cannot.

So he sweet talks Callum into letting him see the accounting books and he takes the reins from there. It gives him something to do other than lurking around and it gives him something to think about other than a certain captain. It's a win for everyone.

From that moment on, the rest of the crew starts warming up to Francis. They come to him to talk, to ask about and for things, to offer him things he didn’t even ask for.

Francis learns that Captain Kirkland has the reputation of one of the best pirates of the New World, but that he’s not exactly a social man. His men only see him when the situation requests his presence: he leaves his cabin, does an excellent job, and then goes back to his books.

And his men are okay with that, really, but it’s so easy to just slip into the vacant role Kirkland has left, so easy and so natural that neither Francis nor the rest of the crew notice.

It doesn’t take much more time for almost the entirety of the crew to grow fond of Francis - a perfectly executed job, if Francis says so himself. Of course growing fond of the crew wasn’t exactly part of his well-thought plan.

"Captain has decided to go after a prize.”

"What does that mean?” Francis is aware of the worried look on the face of this particular pirate - Mr. Adnan, as he has come to know him - and he’s also particularly aware of the fact that he’s just been locked in the safest part of the ship.

"It means we're going to attack another ship and we all want you to be safe."

"What does you captain think about this?"

"He told us to. But we want to keep you safe, too,” the other man offers and Francis can’t help but smile a little.

"Well, that's very thoughtful of you."

Francis is quite certain he just witnessed his first pirate blush.

And while the relationship with the other pirates has significantly improved, the same cannot be said about the relationship with the captain. Arthur Kirkland is the most insufferable man Francis has ever met. The most English men Francis has ever met. And Francis still doesn’t know what the hell does Kirkland want from him.

Other than the ransom, of course, that much is clear. But it isn’t just the ransom, Francis can tell by the way Kirkland’s gaze is always on him. By the way he looks and talks to him, by the way he suddenly decides where Francis should be or what Francis should do. By the dangerous look he had the first time he saw Francis laughing with his men.

“I think you should go back to my cabin.”

“I don’t want to go back to your cabin, thank you very much. I’m perfectly happy to stay here.”

Captain Kirkland doesn’t look particularly amused by Francis’ voice - and that probably explains why he just decided to throw him over his shoulder.

"Unhand me, you brute!”

Kirkland starts laughing but is forced to stop when confronted with the rest of the crew on deck, silently staring at him. Francis has a perfect view of what’s happening from the other’s man shoulder and it really is exhilarating.

"If he doesn't want to be manhandled I reckon you should let go, captain,” one of the men - Francis recently advised him on how to safely spend his money and have enough to send something back to his wife - quietly says and  the rest of the crew murmurs and nods in agreement.

"... How the fuck did you manage to turn an entire pirate crew against me? How the fuck did you do that?”

"You really don't know how to talk to people, do you?"

[writingsidhe]

marks

It turns out saving the world from a number of different catastrophes is slightly more difficult if you're focused on your love life.

Or lack of thereof, Ben says from where he's standing right behind Klaus, pretending to be a creepy ghost (or his guardian angel. Klaus doesn't know which of these two alternatives scares him most.)

"Fuck you too!" Klaus chirps, because that's exactly what Ben deserves for making fun of him and his love life and his complete lack of a love life and everything else that doesn't particularly work in his life.

And that means most of it, to be honest.

But the point is: saving the world (or even feeling the need to save the world) is really fucking difficult if you're focused on your love life.

That must explain why dear old dad made the pleasant decision to burn off his kid's soulmates marks. They couldn't really be obedient little soldiers if they were preoccupied with finding their loved ones, couldn't they?

And the award for best father in the world goes to, drumroll, Reginald fucking Hargreeves.

But once the world is saved? What then?

Their father probably thought the matter ended there. His children didn't have any use other than that, saving the world. But the fact is that they're still alive, after that.

They live, they laugh and as much as this makes him sound like one of those stupid positive message housewives hang on the wall, they love.

They love in a world that values soulmates bonds. They live in a world where they don't have any soulmates marks. And there's that.

What Reginald Hargreeves couldn't have predict, even with his big ass brain, was that his kids would want love anyway. And of course he didn't thought of that, he was a fucking soulless monster, what the fuck could he possibly know about love?

Diego remembers well enough the first time he understood Klaus was his soulmate. Well, decided Klaus was his soulmate. There's no way to know if that's even remotely true and you know what? Diego doesn't give a shit.

He thinks about what he feels when Klaus is around him and decides that's exactly what a soulmate must feel like. He observes Klaus doing the most fucked up things, take the most foolish and absurd decisions and he feels nothing but a mild annoyance and a fuckton of worrying.

Klaus says some stupid shit and Diego, even though he doesn't because he has to keep appearances, just wants to laugh his heart out. Klaus laughs at incomprehensible things and, while everybody else looks puzzled at least, Diego just wants to kiss him. Klaus wears pretty shit and Diego just wants to fuck him.

It's always been like this, more or less. Maybe less fucking and more kissing, when they were young and naive and Diego only wanted to hold Klaus' hand and shield him from everything wrong in the world.

They grew up, after that. Shit gets messier when you grow up.

Klaus remembers well enough the first time he understood Diego was his soulmate. Well, decided Diego was his soulmate. There's no way to know if that's even remotely true and you know what? Klaus doesn't give a shit.

He always knew he loved Diego. More than he loved his other siblings, of a different love than the love he felt for Ben. Klaus never dreamt of kissing Ben, of course. But he sure dreamt about kissing Diego a shameful amount of times.

Half of the things Klaus ever did were to impress Diego. To have his attention, to make Diego notice him, for better or for worse. He realizes that's probably not the best course of action but then again, this is everything but a normal relationship, is it?

It took them a while to get to a point where they managed to talk about their feelings. Diego always preferred to throw stuff around and for a long time Klaus preferred the use of every illegal drug or substance he could find. (He likes to think he's slightly more grown up material, after saving the world from the fucking apocalypse while two days freshly sober.)

Talking about feelings was always hard, but talking about their feelings for each other? A fucking nightmare.

But they did it, they made it, they're exactly where they should be. Or at least they're exactly where they want to be.

It took them a while to get there. It took them heartbreak and pain and loneliness and loss to get there, but they're here, now. They're together. Everything that happened was so they could be together now.

At least that's something nice to think about in the dark of the night.

It takes them slightly less time to figure out what they both like. What they dislike, what they need, what they want from each other. What's best to be left unsaid and when is the case to bring an argument further for the sake of their mental wellness.

(Not that they're particularly able to do so.)

It takes Klaus only a few times to realize that Diego needs more reassurances than what he originally thought.

“You’re doing great,” Klaus murmurs sweetly and the moan he hears coming from Diego is exactly what he needed. “You’re so good to me.”

Being able to do exactly what Diego needs is one of the best feeling in Klaus’ life. Knowing what he needs, knowing his own needs will be taken care of by Diego. Knowing they love each other more than anything else in the world.

Reginald Hargreeves burned their soulmates marks off and that still didn’t stop them. They found each other.

Reginald Hargreeves can kindly fuck off.

[writingsidhe]

the second incident

After the second incident - first there was the Great Lucius Disaster and then the Great Teddy Misunderstandment, Harry is now starting to think he's going to need a few more names for the foreseeable future -, Draco continues to avoids him.

Harry can't blame him, not really. He knows he fucked up. He's not so stubborn to think he was right and he certainly doesn't pretend Draco has to talk to him. They both need their time - Harry needed it before and Draco needs it now. He's willing to wait.

(And no, he still doesn't exactly understand why. Maybe it's because he feels like this is the right thing to do, maybe it's because this is what his mother would've want, maybe it's because the war is over and they all need to grow up. It certainly doesn't have anything to do with how Harry felt when he was with Draco those first few times. It certainly doesn't have anything to do with the way he notices every single detail when Draco does anything. Of course not.)

So, Draco needs time and Harry is willing to wait.

It turns out, Narcissa Malfoy doesn't want either of those things.

“It's so good to have you here again so soon, dear Harry,” she smiles like she had nothing to do with why Harry is here again so soon. She's the reason, she invited him. And Harry is willing to bet she's also the reason why Draco is, once again, playing the piano for them. “Isn't this marvellous, Draco? Of course it is, we're thrilled to have you with us.”

Draco doesn't say anything, he just keeps on playing, but Harry can see the way he rolls his eyes and it's really hard to repress a laugh.

“It's good to be here, Narcissa.”

And it is, good. Harry can't even manage to be angry at Narcissa Malfoy, not for this. Not when his first and only thought is that this is quite frankly something that Molly Weasley could've pulled. And it's really fucking hilarious.

So they chat and talk and drink tea and eat fancy looking biscuits - while Draco keeps playing and playing and playing. And the exact second Draco stops playing, Narcissa jumps - as elegantly as she can - up from the sofa.

“Oh, silly me! I forgot I have to check on Mipsy. She's our elf, you see, and she's supposed to cook dinner but I simply must check on her! Draco, please, be a good host and keep Harry some company,” and just like that, she's gone.

There are more than a few moments of awkward silence - moments when Harry can't quite muster the courage to look at Draco in his eyes, moments when Draco seems passionately focused on the piano - and in the end, right when Harry is ready to look like a fool by saying anything at all, Draco snorts.

“What she needs to check on, I don't know. Mipsy has cooked every single one of our meals since I was five years old and my mother has no idea how to make a simple sandwich,” he laughs but there's clearly fondness in his voice. “But sure, she simply must check on her!”

Harry can't help but laugh at the way Draco is mimicking his mother's words - and it's amazing, really, it's amazing how any awkwardness disappeared just like that. Draco crosses the room - and Harry can't look away.

“You mother is a force of nature.”

“That she is,” Draco hums as he sits right next to Harry. “And she always gets what she wants.”

“And what do you think she wanted, this time?”

“I'm guessing leaving us alone. She knows we had some sort of... disagreement. And obviously, since you're Saint Potter, she thinks it's my fault.”

Harry finds himself smiling in spite of the nickname - because there isn't the old snark in it, there isn't any trace of mocking in it. It feels more and more like a joke between two friends.

“Don't be ridiculous. It's clear that your mother loves you more than anything in the whole world.”

“Yeah. She really does,” Draco smiles happily and Harry's heart flutters once again. “But she still thinks it’s my fault. She thinks I was too hard on you.”

“Well, don’t get me wrong, I love the fact that your mother has my back, because the opposite would scare me shitless,” Harry pauses when Draco snorts, glad to hear him laugh. “But I don’t think it was your fault. Or that you’re being too hard on me. I honestly fucked up.”

Draco hums accordingly but Harry can definitely see something in his eyes - something that tells him that Draco is going to listen to what he has to say, something that tells him that maybe Draco isn’t as angry as he was before. So, of course, Harry has to try. He wouldn’t be a Gryffindor if he didn’t.

“I shouldn’t have run away like that and I shouldn’t have told you things I didn’t really believe. And more than anything else I shouldn’t have dismissed what you did with your life in the past five years. It was really bad of me.”

Draco hums again, not bothering to look at Harry. “I guess I just don’t understand what made you suddenly act the way you did. I thought that things were going better between us. I thought since we couldn’t be friends maybe we could at least be civil to each other. So I just don’t understand… what did I do wrong?”

“It’s not your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong. ”

“I freaked out. I know you're absolutely gonna judge me about that, but it's the truth. I freaked out. I suddenly realized I was spending a whole lot of my time with you and your mother. Mostly I realized I was enjoying that time with you. And then your mother started talking about your father and it was like I realized only that moment that your father was also Lucius Malfoy. And I started thinking about everything he had done in the past, about how many of my family he had hurt. And I- I began to wonder what would they think about this? Would they hate me because I enjoy spending time with you and your mom?”

Draco doesn't utter a single word - and doesn't look at him, not one single time. Harry isn't really sure he's doing good but being honest is the best thing he could do - so he keeps talking.

“I know it's stupid but I can't really ask my parents what would they think about anything. Or my Godfather. And I guess I thought that my only known family wouldn't have taken well the thing. You know, since there's this dumb feud between your family and the Weasleys. And I panicked. And I ran.”

“You're one weird man, Potter. You didn't freak out in front of the Dark Lord himself but you freaked out because of this?" Harry is fully expecting this to be some sort of a drag, but instead Draco is smiling. "I guess we have more in common than we knew. Every stupid thing I did, I did for my family. The one time you fully freak out, it's because of your family.”

It takes one look for both of them to start laughing - and it's weird and surreal and amazing at the same time.

“I think we could be more than civil to each other,” Harry offers his hand for Draco to shake, and the irony of the gesture doesn't go missing. “I'd like to be your friend, Malfoy.”

“Took you long enough.”

“Yeah. Took you long enough to stop being a stuck up snob.”

“I beg your pardon? I still am a stuck up snob.”

“Seriously, though, I completely understand if you need more time. I'll still come here to take tea with your mother and we'll tell her that we're okay so she doesn't have to go check on Mipsy.”

“If you can look over everything that happened in the past, I guess I can look over the One Time Harry Potter Freaked Out.”

“Come on, it's not the first time.”

“No, but it's the first time you freaked out because of me.”

The second time they see each other, after that feeble reconciliation, Draco Malfoy is riding the already mentioned big, inflatable neon pink flamingo filled with glitter.

And that alone is the weirdest sentence Harry has ever thought of.

But seeing with his own two eyes Draco Malfoy - riding a big, neon pink inflatable flamingo filled with glitter in a huge pool, wearing only a small swimsuit and a pair of floral sunglasses? That is a complete different thing altogether. Weird doesn't even begin to cover what Harry is feeling.

(Aroused, however, has a nice ring to it.)

“Uhm,” he tries to say something, anything, but the only thing that manages to escape his throat is some kind of pathetic, strangled noise. There's no way that those legs are human. No way. The way Malfoy is stretching like a fucking cat is driving Harry completely mad. And he's been there for less than two minutes. Fuck.

“Potter. Did my mother send you?” Draco asks lightly, sipping on his colorful drink - and, seriously? A bright pink drink with a bright pink straw and a paper umbrella? Who does that? It's way easier to focus on the fun part of what he's witnessing - judging by how tight his pants suddenly are, the fun part is harmless. The part where he wants nothing more than fuck Draco on that particular pink flamingo is really, really dangerous.

And it's a damn shame Harry has never been too good with avoiding dangerous situations.

“Sort of. We were having the usual tea and she said she wanted to make sure you hadn’t drowned.”

“Well, as you see I’m perfectly fine.”

“Yes you are. I mean, yes, you're fine. I mean, you're okay. You're not dead. Not yet,” Harry decides to shut his mouth before he can say anything more stupid than what he already said. Why does he always have to look so dumb in front of Draco Malfoy, that he'll never understand. It's been going on since the first year at Hogwarts and it has never stopped.

“... Is that a threat, Potter?” Draco is almost snickering, by now, and Harry has to admit this is a nice alternative from their school day. It doesn't sound like he's making fun of him. It sounds more like banter between friends. And Harry really likes it.

“If I had any doubts about your sexuality-”

“If you had any doubts about my sexuality you haven't paid enough attention in school. Like, at all. My sexuality was the least best kept secret of the whole castle.”

“Trust me, I paid too much attention to you.”

There's an awkward silence after those words and, as usual, Harry would really fucking love to own a time-turner to go back in time and kick his past-self ass. The fact is, he doesn't have one. And, even if he did, Hermione would probably keep it. So the best he can do is try to survive his mouth attempts to make him the dumbest person alive.

“What would you say if I told you I have a very important question for you?”

“I'd say: well, let's hear what the very important question is.”

“Has your father already see you like this? I mean like pool and inflatable giant flamingo and everything else.”

“Well I sure fucking hope so,” Draco laughs - and it's the best laugh in the whole world - taking another sip of his drink. The pink flamingo glitters in the sun and the reflection makes Draco's hair shine even more. “I'm not sure he ever got the your son is the worst possible kind of gay memo so I've been trying to convey the message in other ways. Less subtle ways.”

“Oh, you mean like the pink flamingo you're riding?”

“… I mean, he could see me ride worse things. I'd say I'm going easy on him.”

Harry almost chokes on thin air and Draco laughs again. Suddenly Harry realizes exactly why Malfoy's laugh is making him feel so good. It sounds so free it's almost scary. Draco has never sounded free. It's new and exciting and Harry is sure - more than anything in his life - that Draco is feeling like he's feeling. It shows in his eyes.

“But I'll have you know I'm not doing this only to rile up my father. I mean, it's a pretty big reason, don't get me wrong. Lately I've been doing a lot of things to rile him up. The closest thing I'll manage to a revenge, I guess. It's kinda petty but fun, nonetheless.”

“And what are the other reasons?”

“It's fun. I've always wanted a pool, you know? I spend a lot of time in my potions lab and since I'm not a vampire I still enjoy my fair share of sun. And how to better enjoy it than floating in a pool on the gayest thing I could buy?”

“Fair enough," Harry flashes his brightest smile. "Mind if I join you?”

“No, Potter, you can’t," Draco suddenly sounds so serious Harry is afraid he said something he shouldn't have - then he notices Draco's smirk and the glint in his eyes. “This flamingo isn't big enough for the both of us.”

“Well, I imagine you can conjure something equally gay and obnoxious.”

“It'll absolutely be my pleasure,” Draco smiles once again and Harry decides that's the perfect moment to throw himself into the water, making an absolute mess of the pool side, his clothes and, of course, Draco.

Malfoy doesn't utter a single word for a few seconds - but if looks could kill, Harry would've been already dead. When he finally talks, he sounds almost as terrifying as his mother.

“Well, now I just have to kill you. I'll send a note to the Auror department, tell them how sorry I am that I had to orchestrate your demise.”

They're both laughing like kids and there's something, right there in Harry's chest, that speaks of hope and love and future. When he doesn't think about it, he's almost not afraid of it.

The third time they see each other, Harry has something to ask. Narcissa assured him everything would be okay but Harry can’t be certain. It’s difficult, more difficult than anything else he has ever done, more difficult than anything he’ll ever have to do.

(Not a single one of the Voldemort related encounter has ever scared him so. Not even Voldemort himself. Nothing compares to the task ahead.)

“I’m in extreme need of your help, Malfoy,” he blurts out as soon as he sees Draco, trying to get everything off his chest as fast as possibile. The sooner he asks, the sooner it’ll all be over.

“Uh, that sounded so good. Say it again. Let me focus so I can relive the memory in a pensieve for the rest of my life.”

Draco is sketching something on a loose piece of paper, leaning on a very comfortable looking couch. He looks like the very picture of relax. He also looks straight out of Harry’s latest dream - and that’s a whole another thing.

“Very funny. I need your help. Please.”

“You need my help with what, exactly? Need to find some sense in the nest you have on your head?”

“Close enough, but I doubt even you would manage to help me with the hair. No, I need help with clothes.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Draco deadpans.

“Have anyone ever told you that you’re rude as fuck?”

“Honestly? No, I’m mostly only rude towards you.”

“That's very nice to know. Anyway. The Minister… suggested that I wear something other than my Auror uniform for the next big event,” Harry tries his best to ignore the it’s about damn time he hears coming from Draco’s mouth. “And I don’t- I mean, I don’t really have any experience in the fancy clothes department.”

“While I wholeheartedly agree, that's not completely true. The robe you wore during the Yule Ball was lovel- I mean. Nice enough. Pretty decent.”

“I didn’t choose it, though.”

“What? You- oh, well. That explains why it was lovely.”

“Thanks. Again.”

“Never fear, Potter, I’ll help you find some decent clothes. And I won’t even require payment, I’ll have you know. I’m doing this pro bono. You’re my charity case of the month.”

“You’re never going to let this go, are you.”

“Never.”

And that is how Harry Potter find himself shopping in the company of Draco Malfoy - something Rita Skeeter would pay Hagrid’s weight in gold to be able to report. Luckily enough, they both agreed to cast some minor glamours and everything should be okay. At least Harry hopes so.

Apparently Draco is on a roll, because after the whole trip to Diagon Alley, Harry is now forced to shop in twenty five different muggle shops while Draco rebuilds his wardrobe from scratch.

“Are you sure you're okay with this?” Draco at least has the decency to ask - and fuck, Harry is okay with this. Completely okay. One hundred percent okay.

Draco is surprisingly nice the whole time - albeit the occasional snarky comment: he doesn’t berate Harry when it’s clear he has zero knowledge of the fashion lingo, he doesn’t try and force him to wear something Harry would never wear.

Quite the contrary, really. Draco makes sure everything Harry’s trying is also comfortable and very much something Harry could like. Even when he gives him something he has never wore before, Harry doesn’t feel out of place.

“You could do this as a job, you know,” he whispers almost reverently, watching his own reflection in the mirror. He has never looked so good and he honestly wants to look like this for the rest of his damned life.

“Oh, this would definitely give my father an aneurism. Draco Lucius Malfoy, heir to the Malfoy fortune: personal shopper.”

“Well, I don’t care what your father thinks, you did an amazing job. I’m glad you accepted me as your monthly charity case.”

Draco doesn’t answer, too busy trying to decide between two ties Harry thinks are absolutely identical, but Harry takes that small smile as a victory.

“Let me buy you lunch,” he blurts out before he can think properly, blushing slightly when Draco looks at him pointedly.

“You don’t have to.”

“No, I know I don’t have to. But I want to.”

“Well, then,” Draco sniffs, trying (and failing) to hide another smile. Harry’s counting them. “I shall warn you my tastes are quite expensive.”

“It’s a good thing I can afford you, then,” he replies quickly, One look at Draco’s slightly wider eyes and he realizes that what he just said sounded an awful lot like flirting.

And what if it is, flirting? Would that be so bad? The voice in his head - the one that usually spends most of the time talking about how handsome Draco is - doesn’t stop suggesting that, and Harry has no idea what to do or what to think.

Having lunch with Draco, alone, is better than he expected.

The fourth time they see each other, Harry is drinking with the whole lot of his friends and Draco walks into the Leaky Cauldron with his own clique.

(To be fair, Harry shouldn’t call it a clique anymore. It’s just that they look so much like a clique, it’s difficult to drop the habit. He wouldn’t be surprised to see them sport the same leather jacket with something Slytherin related embedded on their backs.)

They end up sitting at the same table, still divided between two distinct groups. Not that Harry’s paying attention to something else than the way Draco is sipping on his beer.

“So, it turns out Davis’ sister was shocked to hear her brother’s gay,” Pansy Parkinson is whispering really loudly with the voice everybody knows as I’ve got some juice gossip tidbits and I’m going to share them with you. “And I was like, damn girl, he was a Slytherin, of course he’s not straight.”

The whole Slytherin part of the table starts snickering and that’s the exact moment Seamus decide to intervene. Loudly.

“You mean to tell me there isn’t a single straight person in the whole Slytherin house? Come on Parkinson, that’s impossible and you know it!”

“No, that’s absolutely true. First Slytherin’s rule: no one is straight.” Zabini replies in a heartbeat, immediately followed by Parkinson. “I was thinking about girls, when I was sorted. How about you guys?”

“Boys,” both Nott and Draco reply at unison, highfiving each other with a grin.

“Both,” the two Greengrass sisters and Zabini add, less than a heartbeat later.

“Apparently straight people are only to be found in Gryffindor,” Ron mutters, face half buried in his chips.

“Speak for yourself,” Hermione blurts out and every single person turns to look at her. She blushes slightly and glances quickly towards Ron before talking again. “I mean. I love Ron and everything but-”

“The beauty of the female flower doesn’t go wasted on you?”

“You’re partial to the sapphic shores?”

“Your door swings both ways like an old saloon doors?”

“You’re all for equal opportunity in the bedroom?”

“And outside the bedroom,” Hermione replies without even thinking, right before blushing even harder than before. The Slytherin part of the table erupts in screams while Nott proposes to make Hermione an honorary snake.

Harry doesn’t quite know what to think, let alone what to say. He has never even consider the possibility that one of his friends could be queer. Let alone Hermione, who clearly always had a thing for Ron. He has never even consider the possibility that one of his friends could be queer too. And the way Hermione just came out to their whole group of friends without even thinking?

She has always been braver than him, that’s for sure.

“You okay, Weasley?” someone asks and Harry finds himself listening closely for the answer. Is Ron okay? If he’s okay with his girlfriend being bisexual, he would be okay with Harry too, wouldn’t he?

There’s a moment of awkward silence while Ron glances between Hermione and the rest of the table. Then he shrugs.

“Why shouldn’t I be? She loves me. Too late for everybody else, boys and girls. Hah,” and that particular response is rewarded by Hermione’s laugh and an embarrassing amount of kissing.

“So, the whole Slytherin house is gay,” Dean repeats like he’s looking for confirmation. “I have a question but I want assurance I won’t be exed.”

“No deal. Depends on the question.”

“… Did you folks only date each other?”

“For Merlin’s sake, Thomas, we were most definitely not the only gays in school,” Parkinson huffs and rolls her eyes - and to be honest, that was kind of a stupid question, Harry has to admit.

Draco snorts and takes another sips of his drink. “Quite the contrary, in fact.”

“Yes, Draco can confirm this. After all he has slept with pretty much every-”

“Pansy Parkinson I will forcibly shut your mouth if you don’t stop right now.”

“Gay or bisexual guy in school.”

Draco opens his mouth, most likely to curse the girl, but Zabini and Nott exchange a dangerous look and stop him before he can say anything.

“What does she mean, Draco? I thought I was your first and only one!” Zabini gasps, feigning indignation. And he does a good job at it, really. “How could you do this to me?”

“I thought I was your one and only!” Nott exclaims, taking Draco’s hand in a dramatic gesture. “Everything we’ve shared, all the placed I’ve fucked you- and it all meant nothing!”

“And you’ve fucked guys of other houses? How could you? Were they Ravenclaws? I bet they were!”

“I fucking hate you both,” Draco deadpans, freeing his hand and basically drowning in his beer. The Slytherins are all laughing - and half of Harry’s side of the table is laughing too.

The voice in Harry’s head, though, is not laughing at all.

The fifth time they see each other, Harry falls completely and utterly in love. In retrospective he should’ve know that he had a huge weakness with kids and family and everything like that.

In retrospective he should’ve know that. He really should’ve. It makes sense that family is his greatest weakness - and strength, yes, of course, but this is most definitely not the moment for an Albus Dumbledore pep talk.

It makes sense that seeing the guy he has a small crush on - small, what you feel for him is anything but small, Harry - with a child couldn’t be of any help at all. It makes absolutely perfect sense. The thing screamed danger from every direction.

But, once again, one could say Harry has never been too good with the whole staying away from danger thing. And the thought of missing Draco and Teddy trip to the zoo together was absolutely ridiculous. Harry would’ve crossed the Forbidden Forest thrice to be able to be there.

“Have you ever been to the zoo, Harry?”

“Just once, actually.”

“Only one time? We should come again and again and again!”

“Let’s start with this one trip, okay buddy?”

“What’s your favorite animal, Draco?” Teddy asks, holding his cousin’s hand in one and Harry’s hand in the other.

“I’m contractually obliged to answer snakes but I guess other animals are pretty cool too.”

“Like what, like what?”

“I like sea animals. Like sharks and whales and seals.”

“Seals are cute. Sharks are scary.”

“They’re misunderstood. They’re not scarier than, I don’t know, lions or tigers. And they’re beautiful.”

They go on talking about animals for hours and Harry couldn’t be happier. Everything in this particular day feels like perfection. The ice cream they get for Teddy and for themselves feels like perfection. The homemade sandwiches they eat for lunch while they watch penguins feel like perfection. The way Teddy smiles the whole time feels like perfection.

Everything Draco does and says feels like perfection. The way he talks with Teddy - like he’s one of his peers and not a five years old -, the way it’s clear he can’t say no to anything Teddy asks. The way his eyes light up when they get to see seals swimming underwater feels like perfection. The smile Draco gifts him whenever Harry says something smart or does something nice feels like perfection.

I want this, he thinks suddenly, and it’s in that precise moment Harry knows he’s completely and utterly fucked.

[writingsidhe]

rocket man (burning out his fuse up here alone)

Harry doesn’t know exactly why it happens - maybe it has something to do with his newfound interest in being Draco’s future possible boyfriend, maybe not, he doesn’t know - but there’s a moment when something just clicks.

They’re out for drinks and once again the whole Slytherin clique is there. It happens more often than usual, lately, but apparently everybody is fine with that. Not that Harry isn’t fine with that, of course. It means he’s able to see Draco again without trying to find a lame excuse to actually see him.

Everything is going on as usual, between banters and jokes and the usual loud talking - and, just as usual, Harry is completely focused on Draco.

( And it’s not even funny anymore, the way Harry’s attention is always on Draco. The way he could go on for hours and hours just watching Draco do anything at all. Harry doesn't know if it’s wrong or if it’s right, he doesn’t know if it’s normal and he just never experienced something like this or if it isn’t normal and it’s just his obsession taking control. He doesn’t know. Frankly he doesn’t really care.)

So Harry watches him talk to his friends. He watches Draco sips on a pretty colourful drink and watches Draco laugh with a way too tipsy Blaise Zabini. He watches a cute guy smile at Draco and listen way too much closely to what exactly happens a few seconds later.

“Can I buy you something?”

Draco eyes the (quite frankly, Harry can’t lie about that) good looking guy and smiles with everything but his eyes - once again something Harry didn’t know it was possible. “No, thank you. Maybe some other time.”

Harry watches Draco brush off the guy who was trying to flirt with him, he watches the sorrowful look Parkinson gives her friend and Draco’s small, hopeless shrug. And it’s in that exact moment that something just clicks.

He remembers shards of a conversation, he remembers Draco talking about someone he still loved. “You think I don’t know that? You think I want this? It’s not my fault, it’s not like I actively decided to fall in love with him when I was fucking eleven and never forget him. It’s not like I decided to fall in love with the one man who would never look at me that way.”

He looks at the way Draco is smiling politely to Hermione and he focuses on the way Draco’s eyes sometimes wanders over Ron. Draco never looks towards Harry - and he notices it because he’s always looking at Draco.

And, just like that, Harry gets it.

Draco is in love with someone since they were eleven years old, so it must mean he’s in love with someone their age, someone that went to school with them. Draco is in love with, as he said, someone who would never look at him that way. So it must mean that he’s in love with someone he has a rough history with.

That must mean Draco is in love with Ron. There's no other possible explanation, the only thing possibile is this: Draco is in love with Ron.

Nothing is ever the same after he understand that. He notices every single time Draco looks at Ron, he notices every single time Draco and Ron talk to each other. (And they start talking to each other a whole lot more than what Harry would like).

Harry notices the way Draco seems happier than he was before, the way he laughs heartily at Ron’s dumb jokes, the way Draco looks every time they’re all together.

But Harry also notices every single time Draco’s expression darkens, he notices every single time Draco’s eyes look more sorrowful than what Harry’s used to - he notices how Draco’s eyes always look like he’s in pain. Not as much as during their sixth year, no, but still he can’t help but notice and can’t help but feeling bad for him.

He knows Ron is completely and utterly in love with Hermione and, while this should be of some comfort to his stupid feelings, somehow it just makes it even worse. Harry has a whole lot of feelings towards Draco, and they're not exclusively romantic - there’s jealousy, of course, but there’s also pain for what he has to see now that he can see what’s happening.

It must be hell, and Harry doesn’t want to see Draco hurt. It’s, he can say it with certainty now, the least thing he wants.

His own feelings aren’t important, not right now. His own feelings can wait, even though there’s a small part of his mind that hopes something can blossom from this. Harry knows he shouldn’t, and yet he can’t help but hope.

Harry tries to keep his feelings as hidden as possibile, focusing on what he discovered and on how to shield Draco from more pain. He doesn’t know if he can do that, honestly. How could he really do something like that? He doesn’t know if he can, but he can most definitely try.

So that's exactly what Harry does. He tries to distract him, tries to make him do things and see places and do everything he can do to keep him from thinking about Ron.

And, of course, Ron turns out to be everywhere he shouldn’t be at the worst possible time.

After that, Harry makes sure he’s spending as much time with Draco as he possibly can. He uses every excuse he can find, he uses every trick he can think of until he’s sure Draco sees him more than he sees Ron.

(And, yes, maybe it’s half because he thinks he’d like some buffer between Draco and Ron and half because Harry actually wants to spend all his time with Draco. Who’s counting.)

The second time it happens, the second time they’re all together after Harry worked out everything, Harry does his best to help in any way he can.

It’s hard to keep the distance between those two when each other’s friends suddenly seem to think there’s nothing better than to spend every free evening drinking alcohol in the same place.

Harry does what he usually does - as in he drinks almost in silence and observe what’s happening around him. It’s weird, really, the way they started mingling after just a few nights.

Hermione is talking with Parkinson and Zabini, Seamus and Dean are focused in an intense conversation with Nott and Daphne Greengrass. And Draco- Harry just saw Draco look away from him and his eyes are now fixed on Ron.

Harry doesn’t know why but he starts thinking how hard this must be for Draco - not being able to talk about the man he’s in love with. How bad it must be not being able to vent and share your feelings and just say what you have in mind.

Maybe it’s because right now Harry can’t really do the same - he can’t really talk about his feelings towards men or his feelings towards Draco. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t feel like he can talk to anybody about what he feels. Maybe he sympathizes with Draco because of this.

Because Draco certainly can’t talk about Ron to his parents - not with everything that happened between their two families. He can just imagine what Lucius Malfoy would have to say about that. And, yes, Narcissa seems to be better than her husband but still, family feuds don’t just go away like that.

Anyway, as much as Draco is clearly comfortable with his family, Harry can’t really imagine a son vent about his unrequited love with his family. Not that Harry is particularly expert on the matter, of course, but still he can’t really see himself talk to Molly Weasley about what he feels for Draco.

And what about Draco’s friends? Pansy Parkinson is aware, that much Harry knows for sure. But the others? It doesn’t seem likely. Harry doesn’t know if it’s because Draco doesn’t trust them with this particular piece of information, if it’s because he’s afraid of what they would think or if it’s entirely something else. Maybe it’s just that Draco is a private person. But still, he should have someone to talk about this.

More than anything else, Harry starts thinking how hard must be to see Ron being so happy with his girlfriend. And it’s crazy, really, how Draco is perfectly able to talk with Hermione and hide what he’s probably feeling at the same time. Draco’s amazing, really. If only Harry didn’t knew any better.

“I know you can’t talk about what you do for work but damn. I’d give everything to know what does an Unspeakable do,” Draco is sitting right next to Hermione, holding hands with Zabini - and why the fuck is he holding hands with Zabini, Harry doesn’t know. He’d be glad if Draco stopped, though.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Parkinson quips while Hermione just laugh out loud.

“Yes, I would, that was precisely the point of me asking. And I imagine I can’t tempt you with anything at all.”

“Of course you can’t.”

“It's a pity. I was going to offer unlimited access to the Manor’s library.”

“… Well, now, let’s not be hasty.”

They all start laughing after that and Draco spends the rest of the night talking to Hermione about books and his library and a whole lot of nerdy stuff Harry doesn’t even try to understand.

He thinks it’s incredible the way Draco can be so friendly with Hermione and he’s really happy things are like this - but Harry still knows how difficult it must be for Draco and he still wants to be helpful any way he can.

Draco looks bothered only if you look closely - or if you’re somebody who spent a whole year following him around and always look closely - and, even if the others don’t know, Harry knows. Harry has to do something.

So he tries to keep Draco’s attention only on himself, tries to be the only thing he cares about in that particular moment. Tries to compliment him on anything he can think of - since Ron can’t do anything else but joke about stuff.

Draco’s flustered, at the end of the day, so Harry thinks his efforts were pretty much futile.

There’s this one time when he realizes Narcissa knows everything and it’s like a whole lot of other stuff just clicked into place. Narcissa knows everything - because of course she knows everything. Narcissa knows Draco is in love with someone.

That explains why she wasn’t particularly keen on the dumbass Draco was dating before - that explains why she didn’t want them to be together.

And it’s possible - Harry is pretty sure, actually - that she also knows that particular someone is Ron. It would explain why she told Harry all those stuff about pureblood upbringing - and it would explain everything else.

She was trying to convince him that Draco would made a wonderful partner - and fuck if she did exactly that. She was trying to convince him that Draco could make a perfect partner for Harry’s best friend, because obviously he was the only connection she had to Ron and the Weasley.

They’re going to eat dinner - some fancy type of crab with aromatic herbs and other stuff Harry has never heard of - and he can’t do anything else but look at her and wonder.

And it turns out that Narcissa isn’t the only one to know about Draco’s secret.

Harry’s sitting in his kitchen with Hermione while she’s going on trying to make him eat more fruits and vegetables - and that means she’s currently peeling an orange possibly with the intent of force-feeding him. After that, there’s only a pack of baby carrots between him and his death.

“So you already know?”

“Of course I know, Harry. Honestly, it doesn’t exactly take a genius to see what’s going on.”

“... And you’re okay with that?”

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione is looking at him with a strange mix of love and pity and Harry isn’t sure he’s completely getting what the fuck is going on. “Of course I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I be? I mean, I understand your concern, I do, but you know me. I’m okay with this.”

“But- I mean. Draco Malfoy-”

“Yes, I know. But he has changed, hasn’t he? He’s a different person. And as long as everyone involved is safe and happy, I don’t think it’s anybody else business.”

Harry would like to argue that it probably is her business - being Ron’s fiancée and everything else - but then again: who is he to argue with Hermione about what she’s feeling?

Just because his emotional range is slightly better than a spoon’s one, it doesn’t mean he gets to tell her how to feel.

Especially not when she’s holding a knife.

[writingsidhe]

when you're with me, baby the skies'll be blue for all my life

The skating rink inside the park is almost empty - they’ve been there since the beginning of the afternoon and it’s almost closing time, so Diego guesses that was a success. There are some things that will never change and the fact that he prefers being alone is one of them.

“I’m really enjoying this, you know?” Klaus brushes their lips together and Diego has to do everything in his power to stop himself from smiling like a complete, utter idiot.

“Well I sure fucking hope so, since you forced me to roller skate my way into this Saturday’s evening.”

“I mean being here with you, dumbass.”

“I got that, shitface.”

“Is this brotherly love? Or is it just love?” Klaus’ eyes glimmer when he leans again into Diego’s arms - and it’s so easy to just hold him, to keep him close. It’s so easy and so natural. It’s like Klaus just belongs there. It feels like Diego belongs there too.

They’re almost alone, right in the middle of the park, and for once in their life they’re not thinking about saving the world or their duties and all of their worries. It’s just them. It’s just Diego and Klaus, almost alone, surrounded by trees and a dusking sky, skating like the two kids they never got to be.

“Does it really matter? Both, I guess. You ask yourself a lot of freaking complex questions, you know?”

“Downsides of being sober.”

“Don’t play the sober card, you’re just you. You’re just Klaus. You always ask yourself complex questions. To be honest they’re less complex now that you’re sober. ”

“That’s… yeah, I guess that’s true.”

“You’re lucky that’s one of the reasons I like you.”

Klaus doesn’t answer straight away, apparently content to just kiss Diego again and again and again. Not that Diego’s complaining, not at all.

“You were right, you know,” Klaus whispers after a while - hushed voice and meaningful eyes.

“I’m always right. About what, though?”

“This date. Going on a date with you. I needed this.”

“I needed this too.”

“I’ve made you something.”

And just like that Klaus discovers things he didn’t know he didn’t knew about Diego. After all these years, Diego still manages to surprise him - but it shouldn’t be a surprise, not really. Diego is just like that. Makes you think he’s predictable and then just, wham! Hits you with something new. Like presents or things he made just for you.

No one has ever made anything for Klaus.

“You made me something?”

“Yeah, why do you find it so hard to believe?”

“Well, I mean… is it like something with a knife sticked on it? Or more than one knife? A giant knife made of other knives?” Klaus asks with his usual shit eating grin, because he has to keep up appearances and he can’t show the fuzzy feeling that’s eating him from inside. Not just yet, at least.

“Fuck you, dipshit.”

“Love you too. What did you made me?”

“You don’t deserve it.”

“Probably not, but I still want it.”

Diego mutters something under his breath - probably more insults or something alone the lines of no one loves me and life is terrible - but obviously caves in the exact moment Klaus kisses him. Klaus is just that good at understanding weaknesses.

“Okay. But only because I’ve already made that and I don’t want to waste good food.”

“You made me food?” Klaus sounds like an excited kid and Diego can’t help but smile.

“Yup. I made you a cake. A whole cake, just for you.”

And for the first time in their whole life Klaus opens his mouth and doesn’t say a single word. For the first time in their whole life Klaus is speechless.

“I used one of Mom’s recipes. The mixing part was the though one, since this fucker,” Diego points at the mixer that lays on the floor, like somebody just kicked it there. “This fucker didn’t want to work. You’re lucky I’ve got enough muscles to hand mix everything.”

“Yeah, believe me I’m incredibly grateful to your muscles. All of them. Every single one of them.”

“Do you want to eat a slice of cake or do you want to keep gushing about my muscles?”

“Both? Both? Both is good.”

The cake is so good - just like the ones Mom used to make only for very special occasions - that Klaus doesn’t even think to try and make fun of Diego. He just stands there, mouth full of the most delicious chocolate cake, looking at Diego like he’s the most amazing thing Klaus has ever seen.

And he really is, isn’t he?

It turns out a perfectly good way of stopping Klaus from thinking about doing drugs is buying him stuff. Diego isn't exactly an expert on gifts and he isn't going to deny it. Why should he? He’s not an expert on gifts and he sure isn’t an expert on what gifts Klaus would love. Especially because Klaus likes things Diego doesn't really like.

(It was something else with Eudora, really. He knew what she liked because she liked the same things he did and everything was really fucking easier. Not that he's complaining about what he has now, with Klaus. It's just different. And more complicated when it comes to gifts.)

So, Diego isn't an expert on gifts and Klaus is really something but buying him stuff helps with the whole process and Diego isn't going to complain.

"You bought me another gift?" Klaus asks with a smile that could only mean danger - Diego knows, he's trained and he recognizes danger. Danger is his middle name.

"Are you complaining?"

"I'm not complaining," Klaus still has the same smile, even when he gets in front of the mirror and tries his new tank top. Diego figured Klaus would like something... extravagant like that. "It's pretty, I like it."

Diego bites down the urge to answer you're pretty - because what the fuck are they, characters in a cheesy romantic comedy? Fuck no - and just stares at him. But fuck, Klaus is really pretty.

And maybe, just maybe, this whole gifts thing has a double meaning. Because Diego can't deny he actually enjoys giving Klaus gifts. He does. He really does.

He enjoys the way Klaus always looks like a puppy in front of a treat. He enjoys the way Klaus' eyes widen every single time. He enjoys the fact that it doesn't matter what kind of gift it is - clothes, food, something else - Klaus always looks happier than before. Like it's not even the gift that made him happy but the single thought.

And maybe it's exactly that. It's not like they had a lot of all the whole receiving gifts thing when they were young. Or as adults, Diego guesses.

"So, do you like it?" Klaus asks, turning to face Diego.

"It's a gift for you, you're the one who should answer that question."

"But I'm wearing it and I want to know if you think I'm pretty," Klaus answers and there's that wicked smile, once again. Diego fucking love that smile. Even if it means danger - and, once again, danger is his middle name.

"You are," Diego concedes and tries to hide a smile when Klaus laughs and jumps on the bed, right next to him. On top of him, to be really honest. "You dumb ass."

"You're buying me a lot of stuff," Klaus whispers right against Diego's mouth and it takes all of his inner strength not to kiss Klaus back to make him shut up. "Are you my sugar daddy, Diego?"

"I think our relationship is already pretty fucked up without getting dad involved, don't you?"

Klaus starts snickering against him and Diego feels weirdly happy. And it’s a strange sensation, really, feeling so happy all of the time. It’s something neither of them are used to.

Diego thinks he could get used to this.