Fic - Where the Dawn Breaks
Aug. 4th, 2011 07:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kjp_013Title: Where the Dawn Breaks
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 14,327
Summary: Harry takes an unconventional holiday. He was expecting sun, sand and other things beginning with S. He was not expecting to see more of Draco Malfoy than he ever had before.
Beta:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wendypops
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JKR.
A/N: This was supposed to be a short 1-2k PWP from a comment that Wendy made concerning nudist!Harry and Draco. Alas, it was not to be. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Aaargh! Because LJ is being a pain in the arse, this will be posted in three parts.
Harry desperately needed a holiday. He knew this for many reasons. One: He was getting pretty fed up of hiding out from the press and his adoring fans in Grimmauld Place all day. Two: He wanted some sun, sea and definitely some sex. Three: Everyone from his friends to the bloke behind the counter at the local shop told him so on a daily basis.
“You could do with a little break, Harry.”
“You look like you could do with getting away from this circus, me lad.”
“Why don't you take a holiday before you decide what to do with your life?”
Harry rolled his eyes as Hermione's words went through his mind. She had been adamant that Harry do something with his life instead of 'moping about the house'. Harry personally though that moping about the house had been a brilliant way to spend his time. He'd managed to make the house infinitely more liveable with the help of Kreacher and didn't miss his short-lived career with the Ministry one little bit.
This was how his kitchen table was now littered with brochure after brochure depicting everywhere from the beautiful beaches in Hawaii to the bustling streets of Barcelona. Harry knew he needed a holiday; he just didn't know where. Harry had made the simple mistake of telling Ron during a night out in the Leaky last week that he had decided to actually take a break. The following morning Harry had realised his mistake. He had woken up to what seemed to be a thousand owls, carrying what seemed to be a brochure for every wizarding and Muggle holiday spot in the world. He had vowed there and then that he wouldn't talk in public again without a Muffliato in place.
Harry sighed as he shuffled through the brochures, stopping every now and again when a sandy beach—it wasn't the guys in shorts, honest—caught his eye.
“This is too hard!” he grumbled out loud, swiping a hand over the table and sending the contents flying onto the floor. Why can't I just pick one?
Harry had a sudden idea. Closing his eyes, he tried to picture the perfect holiday. Sun, sea, sex. What about snow, he thought, I've never been skiing. Snow, slopes, sex. Or a safari! Or a cruise! What about diving?
“Fuck it,” Harry said with a sigh before raising his wand. “Accio perfect holiday brochure,” he cried, hoping that his magic would make his decision for him.
He couldn't have been more wrong. “Aaargh!” Harry screamed as every single brochure came flying towards him. Some even had staples.
That's what you get for generalising, his inner voice told him. Each holiday is perfect at different times and for different people. Harry silently wondered when his inner voice had turned into Hermione. He didn't like it; he wanted it to shut up and stop smirking at him. He especially didn't like the fact that he was now arguing with himself.
Harry very briefly cursed all of his friends for having actual jobs and therefore unable to make this momentous decision for him. There were simply far too many choices to even consider eenie, meenie, minie, mo. And it simply couldn't wait until later; once Harry had his mind set on something, it had to be done, preferably sooner rather than later.
“Right!” Harry cried, holding his wand out in front of him. “This way!”
Harry was slightly worried that he had started talking to the holiday brochures but, as they obediently started following him anyway, Harry thought that one was okay.
Harry guided the pamphlets into the drawing room and rolled up his sleeves. He had another idea. Picking up the first brochure, Harry smiled at the golden sands and tanned young men pictured on the front before walking over to the wall and pinning it right over where Tonks' name used to be embroidered.
Nodding to himself, Harry stuck another to the wall, and another, and another, until all four walls were papered in the brochures. Harry smiled and closed his eyes. He held his arms out to his sides and spun; he span around and around until he felt dizzy and more than a little nauseous. Harry shot a spark out of his wand before he was actually sick, and sat down on the floor to get his bearings back.
Harry waited for the last remnants of dizziness to disappear before opening his eyes and looking around the room to find out where he'd be holidaying.
“Aha!” he yelled triumphantly. “Shit!” he cried, jumping up from the floor to put out the fire.
Harry doused the small flame and peeled the brochure off the wall. Drying it with a wave of his wand, Harry reeled back in shock at what he held in his hands.
“What the—?” Harry started but closed his mouth upon noticing that nobody was fleeing from the fire or shaking their tiny fists at him. The pictures were still—it was a Muggle resort. There would be no wizards, clamouring for his attention; no worries about the press following him. But still...
“Fuck it. You only live once. Twice. Three times. Whatever.” Harry pocketed the brochure and grabbed his coat. It was time to book a holiday.
~
Harry Apparated to Diagon Alley as he still didn't like travelling by Floo. If he was going to book a Muggle holiday, he would need some Muggle money. He walked as quickly as he could through the Alley but it wasn't quick enough.
Harry groaned when he first heard the first shout and debated how long he could feasibly ignore his fans. As the calls—It's Harry Potter! Harry! Mr Potter!—increased in both volume and frequency, Harry made a snap decision—that was not cowardly, thank you very much—and ran.
He was slightly out of breath by the time he reached the steps of Gringotts and Harry silently cursed his lack of exercise over the last few months. Harry took his time having his money converted. He didn't usually like to spend a lot of time with the goblins—they still hadn't forgiven him fully for the dragon—but as his only other option was facing the hoards he assumed were waiting for him outside, Harry made small talk with the goblin serving him and asked the dreaded question. There really was no other way; he couldn't go back out into that crowd.
“Have you got a Floo I can use, please?”
~
It was a short walk from Grimmauld Place to get into town and Harry found the travel agency without too much trouble. After all, asking four random fellow shoppers and a policeman for directions was a perfectly normal thing to do if you were unfamiliar with an area.
Entering the shop, Harry immediately felt out of place. The well-dressed sales girl looked him over with something akin to disgust on her face. Harry idly thought how ridiculous it was that she was judging him on his clothing—especially if you considered where he planned to go on holiday. Harry didn't care one little teeny weeny bit about his appearance. All of his clothing was new—well, newish—but it was simply comfortable instead of stylish.
Harry could tell the woman thought she wouldn't be making a huge sale with him; the way she resolutely looked at her computer screen instead whenever Harry tried to make eye contact was clear enough, but her conversation with her colleague on 'who would take this one' sealed it.
Harry cleared his throat and went to sit in front of her desk. Cheeky bitch, he thought.
“Oh, hello, sir,” the sales girl began. “How can I help you today?”
“I'd like to book a holiday to Belle Playa, please—” Harry looked at her name tag. “—Marie.”
Harry hid a smile at the look of shock that passed over her face. Belle Playa was not only an unconventional holiday, it was bloody expensive.
“Certainly, we can look at that now for you, sir.” The shock was replaced by disbelief on Marie's face. “We can also look into some other resorts, if you'd like. When would you like to go?”
“No, I'd really like to go to Belle Playa, thank you,” Harry answered, biting back a growl. Harry had chosen the resort randomly but once he had thought about it in depth, he found he quite liked the idea. “And I'd like to go sometime in the next month.”
“Okay,” she replied coolly. “This is high season, so the prices are quite expensive. And you would have to pay straight away.”
Harry grinned and reached into his pocket. “Cash okay?”
At the sight of the thick wad of twenty pound notes in Harry's hand, the girl's face dropped and she sat up straighter in her chair.
“Of course, sir. Cash is perfectly fine. Now, let's have a look what we can do for you. Can I get you a cup of tea while we sort it out?”
Harry couldn't help it; he laughed.
~
Harry sighed as he reached for his beer. He was starting to think inviting his best friends out for a drink was a bad idea. He had only wanted to tell them that he had booked a holiday, and to not expect any mail from him for a while. Instead he found himself stuck in a corner of the Leaky—Muffliato fully in place—having his ear talked off by Hermione.
Hermione had been stupidly happy when Harry had told her he booked a holiday, and was determined to find out where he was going. Harry, while not embarrassed by his choice, didn't feel the need to tell her. He'd told her that he was going away for some peace and quiet and didn't want, or expect, any owls.
Hermione, being Hermione, couldn't let it go; she needed to know. Ron, being Ron, didn't care and told her so.
“Can't a wizard have any privacy, love?” Ron asked. “Leave him alone!”
Hermione's eyes took on a strange glint at his words. Harry raised his pint to Ron in thanks and waited for Hermione's next course of action.
“Oh,” she said suddenly. “Is it one of those types of holidays?”
Harry regretted having just taken a gulp of his beer as he started in shock and it dribbled down his chin.
“Because you can tell us,” Hermione continued, obviously oblivious to Harry's discomfort. “We're your friends and we support everything you do.” Hermione finished by putting her hands over Harry's.
“What are you on about?” Harry tentatively asked. He wasn't sure he wanted to know.
“You know,” she angled her head and spoke quietly. “One of the gay cruises.”
Harry didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Ron simply sat opposite him with a look of utter shock on his face; the corners of his mouth were twitching but he obviously knew better than to laugh at his girlfriend.
“What are you on about?” Harry repeated.
“When you told us about your sexuality, we—” Hermione said. Ron coughed. “Sorry, I did some research. I wanted to be able to support you fully.”
Harry didn't know why he found himself surprised. He held his hand up to stop Hermione in her tracks. “No, I'm not going on a 'gay cruise', although that does sound, erm, interesting.”
“Where are you going, then?” Hermione asked again.
Harry resisted the urge to bang his head on the table. Bang! Ron did not.
“Hermione, let it go!” Ron said.
“I'm going to take a break. I'm sorry; I'm not telling you where. If nobody knows, nobody can know.” Harry thought his reasoning was brilliant and nodded happily to himself. “I'll see you in two weeks,” he said, standing up to leave.
“But, I do need your help,” Harry said, sitting back down. “Can you explain to me how to use an airport?”
~
Harry ran through the check-list in his head—luggage, money, passport, tickets, toothbrush, the extras—before taking a last look around the house. He knew Kreacher would be here but he had to to make sure that he hadn't left the tap running in the bathroom or the fridge door open. Once Harry was satisfied, he picked up his bags, put on his sunglasses and left for the airport.
Hermione had been very happy to explain the workings of the Muggle airport. She had tried to wheedle his destination out of him one last time before Harry finally snapped 'the beach' at her and mollified her slightly. Ron had sat up straighter upon hearing that Harry was 'going Muggle' but, thankfully, had not gone further than that. Harry wouldn't have even told them that much—he didn't know why exactly—but Hermione was the only person he knew who had actually visited an airport.
Not wanting to risk Apparating and not fancying the prospect of the tube, Harry hailed a taxi to take him to Heathrow. As he arrived at the airport, Harry realised he owed Hermione a lot of thanks. It was huge and like nothing he had ever experienced before; he never would have been able to manage without her implicit—and written—instructions.
Harry made his way through the crowds to his check-in desk and he noticed something. Not one person took more than a second glance at him. Harry could've gladly stayed there forever. Here, he was just another traveller, making his way. He liked being the only wizard around. Harry couldn't wait to see if his entire holiday would be the same.
~
The first thing that hit Harry as he stepped off the plane was the heat. He didn't know how to describe it, and he was sure he had never felt heat like it before. Harry was sure that it had a different name. Humidity, or air pressure, or something. All Harry knew was that it was hot. And he loved it.
Harry eventually found his transfer to the resort and sighed gratefully before getting in. It had been a long flight, and Harry just needed to get to the hotel, strip off and jump in the pool. Before he could do that, Harry had to endure what felt like weeks in the sweltering coach. Harry berated his decision to travel as a Muggle; if he'd just Apparated straight to the resort, he could've been in that pool by now. Harry debated running to the toilet and Apparating from there, but the thought of the trouble it might cause, coupled with the fact that his luggage was stowed beneath the bus, kept him sitting in his seat, pretending to read his book and dying of dehydration.
“Welcome to Belle Playa!” was the greeting Harry received as he stumbled off the coach and into the beaming sunshine. “Please, leave your luggage where it is; it will be taken to your rooms. It's time for a refreshing drink! Please, follow me!”
Harry smiled happily and followed the young man. This holiday was shaping up nicely already—a drink sounded like a great idea. And it had been a long time since he'd followed a naked man anywhere.
Following the small group into a thankfully shaded area, Harry took a proffered drink and sat down to listen to the man talk. He wasn't the most comfortable he's ever felt; he'd never felt over-dressed before.
“Again, welcome to Belle Playa. My name is Tony, and I have been working here for ten years. I love it here and can guarantee you will enjoy your stay! Before I show you to your rooms, I have to inform you of some of our rules.
Harry sat up and took notice. Rules? He hadn't expected rules. He really thought that this would've been a freeing experience. That was what he was looking forward to most: somewhere where he wouldn't be judged; a place where he could just relax and be himself for once in his life. Harry had never thought about doing anything like this before, and it had taken a spark out of his wand to make him even consider it, but he had been looking forward to it.
Shit, he thought, when he realised that Tony had continued talking.
“So, that's it, basically,” Tony said and Harry's heart dropped. Why the fuck couldn't he concentrate for two minutes?
Fuck, he thought when he realised that Tony still hadn't finished.
“—just a couple, but they are very important for everybody's enjoyment and safety.” Tony finished his talk with a smile. Harry tried to smile back.
“To reiterate the important rules,” Tony said and Harry nearly laughed in relief before telling himself to listen. “One: No bathing costumes of any kind allowed in the swimming pool. Two: Clothes to be worn after 8pm in the restaurants and bars. Three: You must always carry a towel with you to sit on. Four: Enjoy your holiday!”
Harry was torn between screwing his face up in disgust and laughing out loud at the towel rule. It made sense but he really didn't want to think about other people's sweat on the loungers. Oh god, he suddenly thought in disgust, the bar has leather seats.
“Now I'm sure you'd like to settle into your rooms and start your holiday properly,” Tony said with his seemingly never-ending smile on his face. “Please follow me and I'll show you where you're staying.”
Harry looked warily at the other holidaymakers and had to stop himself shouting at them to remember their towels.
~
After checking out his room and unpacking, Harry undressed and, remembering his towel, made his way down to the pool. He did have a quick panic when he wondered where to put his room key, but on noticing what he thought was simply a decorative band was actually a wrist strap he relaxed. The hotel really did think of everything.
Harry had wondered what his own reaction would be upon being faced with boobs and bits everywhere he looked, but he was pleased to note that it didn't bother him. His assumption had been correct; it was freeing.
Sparing a quick thought to what his friends, and in particular Ron, would think of him now, Harry threw his towel and his sun lotion onto a spare lounger and jumped into the large pool.
Harry was having a fantastic time in the pool. He had always loved swimming, and swimming in the nude was glorious. It reminded him of the time he had gone in the prefects bath but without the bubbles. And the ghost. The sun was beating down on him and Harry dragged himself out of the cooling water to get a drink. He briefly considered going for his towel but as he looked around at his fellow guests lounging and walking around without a second thought to covering up, Harry relented and walked to the bar naked.
Harry stood next to the bar as he drank his cold beer and worried as he felt the strange sensation of the sun burning his arse. He had made sure to cover his normally-white bits with plenty of factor 30 before leaving his room, but Harry thought that maybe it was time for another application.
The poolside was busier than it was when he first arrived, and Harry was thankful that he'd remembered to grab a lounger beforehand. As he walked to where he had thrown his towel, Harry frowned as he noticed that someone had taken his seat. Bastard! Harry raged in his head as he stormed over to the man sunbathing on his front.
“Excuse me,” Harry calmly said, after all, no use making enemies on the first day. “I think you must be mistaken; I claimed this lounger earlier. My towel and lotion were on here.”
“Yes, they're on the table,” the man said without moving. “The sun was much better over here. Don't worry, I won't be long.”
Harry was struck by a familiarity in the man's voice and as the man turned his head to speak again, Harry nearly fainted. It had him reaching for his towel, anyway.
“Malfoy?”
“Potter?”
Malfoy jumped up from the lounger and wrapped his towel around himself; Harry had already done the same. They both spoke over one another, and quite loudly at that.
“—of all the—”
“—wizard free, my arse—”
“—supposed to be relaxing—”
“—just wanted—”
“—peace and quiet!”
“—peace and quiet!”
They both stopped talking as they realised what they had said and Harry found himself inexplicably bursting into laughter. Malfoy soon followed.
“Is everything okay here, sirs?” The hotel manager had obviously been summoned by the grumpy looking bloke behind the bar and was running towards them with surprising speed.
Harry raised an eyebrow at Malfoy and received a nod in return.
“We're fine,” Harry told the now-panting man. “Sorry for the disruption.”
Harry sighed and sat down heavily onto the lounger. Malfoy joined him.
“What are the fucking chances?” he asked, flopping his head onto his hands.
“One in thirteen million, three hundred and sixty-five thousand, nine hundred and twenty-five,” Malfoy said with a straight face. “I looked it up: the chances of Harry Potter choosing the same Muggle holiday as me, in the same resort and the same week. And choosing the same lounger.”
Harry laughed again. Why hadn't he ever noticed that Malfoy was funny?
Harry didn't know what to do. He was pretty sure he should be ranting and fighting by now, but, if he was perfectly honest with himself, he just didn't want to. He was on holiday, the weather was glorious and he just couldn't get himself worked up enough to bother. He was well aware that he was naked, and he had been so sure that no one would have discovered his new-found love of naturism but he hadn't felt this peaceful in a long time. A quick glance at Malfoy showed that he too had a bemused look on his face. Harry made a decision.
“Fancy a drink?” he asked the man beside him.
“Why not?” Malfoy said, standing up and indicating the bar. “Don't forget your towel,” he added with a shudder, causing Harry to laugh once more.
Once they were both seated and been served with fresh drinks Harry thought for something to say to start the conversation. What did one say to a person they went to school with, had never seen eye to eye with, and hadn't actually seen for three years? Harry refused to think about the fact that he was also naked.
“So...”
“So...”
Harry laughed and Malfoy joined in. Harry spared a passing thought for his sanity and pressed on.
“What are you doing here?” Harry asked before taking a drink.
Malfoy smiled. “I wanted a holiday, but couldn't decide on where to go; Pansy had been pestering me so I had to make a snap decision. I got hold of as many brochures as I could find, threw them in the air and grabbed one at random,” Malfoy explained. “What about you? How did you decide on this place?”
Harry nearly choked on his drink and Malfoy shot him a worried look. Harry wiped his mouth and bit down the laugh that was bubbling inside him. What the fuck is wrong with me? Harry asked himself.
“Nearly the same way, except I pinned the brochures to the wall and sent a spark at one of them,” Harry admitted, blushing slightly. “When did you get here?”
“At least my way wasn't a fire hazard,” Malfoy said without a trace of malice. “I got here two days ago; it's different but beautiful. So, how shocked were you when you saw what type of resort it was?”
“It was the Muggle thing that made me agree to it.”
Malfoy nodded. “I know.”
The pair talked for hours. They discussed their reasons for getting away from the wizarding world—Harry was surprised to discover that Malfoy's reasons were basically the same as his—and how they felt about naturism and their holiday resort in particular. Harry found Malfoy's views on the subject refreshing; gone was the Malfoy he had once known, and in his place Harry was pleased to find a companionable, funny and pleasant man.
The years had obviously done Draco Malfoy the world of good. He was still a snarky bastard, but Malfoy had an edge to him now that told Harry just how much he'd changed. His comments were no longer tinged with malice, rather given with a touch of humour; where once his face would've curled up in disgust, now it curled into a smile as he told a story about one of their schoolmates. Harry liked it. He didn't know how, or why, but he did.
It was nearing time for dinner and Harry found himself torn between returning to his solitary holiday and not wanting to bring an end to one of the most pleasant days he had had in a very long time.
“We should go and get dressed for dinner,” Malfoy said, placing his empty glass down and standing up. “I don't particularly fancy dining in nothing but a towel. And I highly doubt anyone else would want to see that either.”
Harry had been enjoying their conversation so much that he had completely forgotten that both he and Malfoy were naked. Harry found he didn't care.
“Well, it is a very nice towel, but rules are rules.” Harry smiled at Malfoy and stood up. “It's been a nice afternoon; thanks, Malfoy.”
“Draco,” Malfoy said, holding his hand out. “Please, we're supposed to be grown-ups; I think we've proved that we're not the same people we were years ago.”
Harry noticed the insecurity in Malfoy's—Draco's—face and quickly shook the offered hand before making a decision. “Draco, would you like to join me for dinner?”
Draco nodded. “That would be nice. See you in the dining room, Harry.”
~
As Harry showered and changed for dinner, he thought back over the afternoon and wondered how dinner would be. Harry wasn't stupid; he knew that a friendship with Draco wouldn't have worked when they were younger. They had been too different to have ever been close.
Harry had been eighteen when he had last seen Draco, and back then he hadn't given a second thought as to why Malfoy had been like he was. Harry had assumed that Draco was simply a bully and a spoilt brat; he couldn't have been more wrong. Draco had made a few off hand comments about his life during the war and Harry had begun to understand. Most of their conversation was light-hearted, but Harry had noticed the way Draco's eyes had darkened when the war was touched upon so hadn't pushed the issue. Draco had been nothing but a child, manipulated by the adults around him to be the way he was. Harry could sympathise; maybe they hadn't been so different after all.
Harry entered the dining room and his mind was still swirling, attempting to make some sense of the fact that he was about to sit down willingly to have dinner with Draco Malfoy. Spotting Draco sitting at a small table near the large windows, Harry waved away the waiter and moved towards the man.
“Evening,” Harry said, alerting Draco to his presence. “Have you ordered?”
Draco jumped slightly but quickly recovered. “No, I was waiting on you. Please, sit down.”
The awkwardness quickly gave way to the easiness of earlier in the afternoon as the evening wore on. Dinner was fantastic; the food was utterly delicious and the expensive wine that Draco had chosen was flowing freely.
“Can I ask you something?” Draco said as they finished their meal.
“You just did, but you can ask another.” Harry simply laughed at Draco's raised eyebrow. “Sorry, I couldn't resist.”
“Why did you leave the Aurors?”
Harry's smile slipped slightly as he thought over the question. “I'd had enough,” he finally said. “Enough of the Ministry and their pompous arses and of the bad guys. Everyone assumed that I would—could—save them. It was always, 'No, we want Harry Potter, not random Auror number twelve'. Eurgh.”
“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry or make you uncomfortable,” Draco said, reaching over and patting Harry's hand. “We can change the subject if you'd like.”
“No, it's okay. I need to talk to someone about it.” Harry's face brightened. “And seeing as how you asked, you can bear the brunt of it.”
Draco laughed and Harry drained his glass.
“But we're going to need more wine,” Harry insisted, beckoning the waiter over.
Draco poured them both fresh glasses and sat back in his chair. Harry could tell that he was actually interested in hearing what he had to say. Harry wasn't used to it.
“I had my life planned out for me,” Harry began and Draco nodded as if he knew exactly what Harry meant. “I was going to join the Aurors straight from Hogwarts and be the best Auror ever. I was going to work my way up the ranks, with my new bride, Ginny, by my side. She was going to stay at home and bear me children, and they were going to grow up and go to school and be best friends with Ron and Hermione's kids. We were going to live in Grimmauld Place and fix up my parents' old house in Godric's Hollow for the weekends.”
Draco didn't say anything, he just took a sip of his drink and gestured at Harry to continue. Harry laughed grimly.
“That is what was going to happen, everybody said so. We had barely got through the funerals and trials before Molly was asking when I was going to propose. Kingsley had already told me that I needn't go back to Hogwarts; there was a spot with my name on it in the Aurors already. Hermione was pestering me to fix up the house as it wasn't fit for a family.
“But it wasn't to be. I didn't want to marry Ginny and, as luck would have it, she didn't want to marry me. She'd moved on and who could've blamed her? Anyway, I did join the Aurors and I hated every minute of it. I'd done my fighting; I'd had enough of all that. So I left. And now I'm here; trying to figure out what to do next.”
Harry downed his glass of wine and Draco automatically refilled it.
“What about you?” Harry asked. “I thought you'd be married to some perfect pure-blood by now, with your heir running about the manor and you off in the Ministry somewhere.”
“Ah, yours are not the only plans that fell through. If it were up to my father, all of that would probably be true.”
Harry flinched at the mention of Lucius and hoped that Draco had missed it.
“But, as you know,” Draco said with a smirk on his face, “he's safely in Azkaban where he holds no control over my life. And I hope he stays there for the foreseeable future. I like leading my own life. Yeah, I don't know exactly what I want to do with it, but I like the fact that it is my choice.”
Harry raised his glass. “To us and doing what the fuck we want!”
“To us!” Draco repeated, clinking their glasses together. “But I think we'd better do what the fuck we want tomorrow. It looks like we're about to be kicked out.”
Harry looked around and found that Draco was correct. Apart from the waiter and a lone barman, Harry and Draco were the only people in the restaurant and most of the lights had already been turned off.
“Oops.” Harry finished his drink and stood on shaky legs. “Thank you for a lovely evening; can we do it again?”
Draco nodded and Harry dragged himself off to his room, not entirely sure that the day had been real.
Part 2
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 14,327
Summary: Harry takes an unconventional holiday. He was expecting sun, sand and other things beginning with S. He was not expecting to see more of Draco Malfoy than he ever had before.
Beta:
wendypopsDisclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JKR.
A/N: This was supposed to be a short 1-2k PWP from a comment that Wendy made concerning nudist!Harry and Draco. Alas, it was not to be. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Aaargh! Because LJ is being a pain in the arse, this will be posted in three parts.
Harry desperately needed a holiday. He knew this for many reasons. One: He was getting pretty fed up of hiding out from the press and his adoring fans in Grimmauld Place all day. Two: He wanted some sun, sea and definitely some sex. Three: Everyone from his friends to the bloke behind the counter at the local shop told him so on a daily basis.
“You could do with a little break, Harry.”
“You look like you could do with getting away from this circus, me lad.”
“Why don't you take a holiday before you decide what to do with your life?”
Harry rolled his eyes as Hermione's words went through his mind. She had been adamant that Harry do something with his life instead of 'moping about the house'. Harry personally though that moping about the house had been a brilliant way to spend his time. He'd managed to make the house infinitely more liveable with the help of Kreacher and didn't miss his short-lived career with the Ministry one little bit.
This was how his kitchen table was now littered with brochure after brochure depicting everywhere from the beautiful beaches in Hawaii to the bustling streets of Barcelona. Harry knew he needed a holiday; he just didn't know where. Harry had made the simple mistake of telling Ron during a night out in the Leaky last week that he had decided to actually take a break. The following morning Harry had realised his mistake. He had woken up to what seemed to be a thousand owls, carrying what seemed to be a brochure for every wizarding and Muggle holiday spot in the world. He had vowed there and then that he wouldn't talk in public again without a Muffliato in place.
Harry sighed as he shuffled through the brochures, stopping every now and again when a sandy beach—it wasn't the guys in shorts, honest—caught his eye.
“This is too hard!” he grumbled out loud, swiping a hand over the table and sending the contents flying onto the floor. Why can't I just pick one?
Harry had a sudden idea. Closing his eyes, he tried to picture the perfect holiday. Sun, sea, sex. What about snow, he thought, I've never been skiing. Snow, slopes, sex. Or a safari! Or a cruise! What about diving?
“Fuck it,” Harry said with a sigh before raising his wand. “Accio perfect holiday brochure,” he cried, hoping that his magic would make his decision for him.
He couldn't have been more wrong. “Aaargh!” Harry screamed as every single brochure came flying towards him. Some even had staples.
That's what you get for generalising, his inner voice told him. Each holiday is perfect at different times and for different people. Harry silently wondered when his inner voice had turned into Hermione. He didn't like it; he wanted it to shut up and stop smirking at him. He especially didn't like the fact that he was now arguing with himself.
Harry very briefly cursed all of his friends for having actual jobs and therefore unable to make this momentous decision for him. There were simply far too many choices to even consider eenie, meenie, minie, mo. And it simply couldn't wait until later; once Harry had his mind set on something, it had to be done, preferably sooner rather than later.
“Right!” Harry cried, holding his wand out in front of him. “This way!”
Harry was slightly worried that he had started talking to the holiday brochures but, as they obediently started following him anyway, Harry thought that one was okay.
Harry guided the pamphlets into the drawing room and rolled up his sleeves. He had another idea. Picking up the first brochure, Harry smiled at the golden sands and tanned young men pictured on the front before walking over to the wall and pinning it right over where Tonks' name used to be embroidered.
Nodding to himself, Harry stuck another to the wall, and another, and another, until all four walls were papered in the brochures. Harry smiled and closed his eyes. He held his arms out to his sides and spun; he span around and around until he felt dizzy and more than a little nauseous. Harry shot a spark out of his wand before he was actually sick, and sat down on the floor to get his bearings back.
Harry waited for the last remnants of dizziness to disappear before opening his eyes and looking around the room to find out where he'd be holidaying.
“Aha!” he yelled triumphantly. “Shit!” he cried, jumping up from the floor to put out the fire.
Harry doused the small flame and peeled the brochure off the wall. Drying it with a wave of his wand, Harry reeled back in shock at what he held in his hands.
“What the—?” Harry started but closed his mouth upon noticing that nobody was fleeing from the fire or shaking their tiny fists at him. The pictures were still—it was a Muggle resort. There would be no wizards, clamouring for his attention; no worries about the press following him. But still...
“Fuck it. You only live once. Twice. Three times. Whatever.” Harry pocketed the brochure and grabbed his coat. It was time to book a holiday.
~
Harry Apparated to Diagon Alley as he still didn't like travelling by Floo. If he was going to book a Muggle holiday, he would need some Muggle money. He walked as quickly as he could through the Alley but it wasn't quick enough.
Harry groaned when he first heard the first shout and debated how long he could feasibly ignore his fans. As the calls—It's Harry Potter! Harry! Mr Potter!—increased in both volume and frequency, Harry made a snap decision—that was not cowardly, thank you very much—and ran.
He was slightly out of breath by the time he reached the steps of Gringotts and Harry silently cursed his lack of exercise over the last few months. Harry took his time having his money converted. He didn't usually like to spend a lot of time with the goblins—they still hadn't forgiven him fully for the dragon—but as his only other option was facing the hoards he assumed were waiting for him outside, Harry made small talk with the goblin serving him and asked the dreaded question. There really was no other way; he couldn't go back out into that crowd.
“Have you got a Floo I can use, please?”
~
It was a short walk from Grimmauld Place to get into town and Harry found the travel agency without too much trouble. After all, asking four random fellow shoppers and a policeman for directions was a perfectly normal thing to do if you were unfamiliar with an area.
Entering the shop, Harry immediately felt out of place. The well-dressed sales girl looked him over with something akin to disgust on her face. Harry idly thought how ridiculous it was that she was judging him on his clothing—especially if you considered where he planned to go on holiday. Harry didn't care one little teeny weeny bit about his appearance. All of his clothing was new—well, newish—but it was simply comfortable instead of stylish.
Harry could tell the woman thought she wouldn't be making a huge sale with him; the way she resolutely looked at her computer screen instead whenever Harry tried to make eye contact was clear enough, but her conversation with her colleague on 'who would take this one' sealed it.
Harry cleared his throat and went to sit in front of her desk. Cheeky bitch, he thought.
“Oh, hello, sir,” the sales girl began. “How can I help you today?”
“I'd like to book a holiday to Belle Playa, please—” Harry looked at her name tag. “—Marie.”
Harry hid a smile at the look of shock that passed over her face. Belle Playa was not only an unconventional holiday, it was bloody expensive.
“Certainly, we can look at that now for you, sir.” The shock was replaced by disbelief on Marie's face. “We can also look into some other resorts, if you'd like. When would you like to go?”
“No, I'd really like to go to Belle Playa, thank you,” Harry answered, biting back a growl. Harry had chosen the resort randomly but once he had thought about it in depth, he found he quite liked the idea. “And I'd like to go sometime in the next month.”
“Okay,” she replied coolly. “This is high season, so the prices are quite expensive. And you would have to pay straight away.”
Harry grinned and reached into his pocket. “Cash okay?”
At the sight of the thick wad of twenty pound notes in Harry's hand, the girl's face dropped and she sat up straighter in her chair.
“Of course, sir. Cash is perfectly fine. Now, let's have a look what we can do for you. Can I get you a cup of tea while we sort it out?”
Harry couldn't help it; he laughed.
~
Harry sighed as he reached for his beer. He was starting to think inviting his best friends out for a drink was a bad idea. He had only wanted to tell them that he had booked a holiday, and to not expect any mail from him for a while. Instead he found himself stuck in a corner of the Leaky—Muffliato fully in place—having his ear talked off by Hermione.
Hermione had been stupidly happy when Harry had told her he booked a holiday, and was determined to find out where he was going. Harry, while not embarrassed by his choice, didn't feel the need to tell her. He'd told her that he was going away for some peace and quiet and didn't want, or expect, any owls.
Hermione, being Hermione, couldn't let it go; she needed to know. Ron, being Ron, didn't care and told her so.
“Can't a wizard have any privacy, love?” Ron asked. “Leave him alone!”
Hermione's eyes took on a strange glint at his words. Harry raised his pint to Ron in thanks and waited for Hermione's next course of action.
“Oh,” she said suddenly. “Is it one of those types of holidays?”
Harry regretted having just taken a gulp of his beer as he started in shock and it dribbled down his chin.
“Because you can tell us,” Hermione continued, obviously oblivious to Harry's discomfort. “We're your friends and we support everything you do.” Hermione finished by putting her hands over Harry's.
“What are you on about?” Harry tentatively asked. He wasn't sure he wanted to know.
“You know,” she angled her head and spoke quietly. “One of the gay cruises.”
Harry didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Ron simply sat opposite him with a look of utter shock on his face; the corners of his mouth were twitching but he obviously knew better than to laugh at his girlfriend.
“What are you on about?” Harry repeated.
“When you told us about your sexuality, we—” Hermione said. Ron coughed. “Sorry, I did some research. I wanted to be able to support you fully.”
Harry didn't know why he found himself surprised. He held his hand up to stop Hermione in her tracks. “No, I'm not going on a 'gay cruise', although that does sound, erm, interesting.”
“Where are you going, then?” Hermione asked again.
Harry resisted the urge to bang his head on the table. Bang! Ron did not.
“Hermione, let it go!” Ron said.
“I'm going to take a break. I'm sorry; I'm not telling you where. If nobody knows, nobody can know.” Harry thought his reasoning was brilliant and nodded happily to himself. “I'll see you in two weeks,” he said, standing up to leave.
“But, I do need your help,” Harry said, sitting back down. “Can you explain to me how to use an airport?”
~
Harry ran through the check-list in his head—luggage, money, passport, tickets, toothbrush, the extras—before taking a last look around the house. He knew Kreacher would be here but he had to to make sure that he hadn't left the tap running in the bathroom or the fridge door open. Once Harry was satisfied, he picked up his bags, put on his sunglasses and left for the airport.
Hermione had been very happy to explain the workings of the Muggle airport. She had tried to wheedle his destination out of him one last time before Harry finally snapped 'the beach' at her and mollified her slightly. Ron had sat up straighter upon hearing that Harry was 'going Muggle' but, thankfully, had not gone further than that. Harry wouldn't have even told them that much—he didn't know why exactly—but Hermione was the only person he knew who had actually visited an airport.
Not wanting to risk Apparating and not fancying the prospect of the tube, Harry hailed a taxi to take him to Heathrow. As he arrived at the airport, Harry realised he owed Hermione a lot of thanks. It was huge and like nothing he had ever experienced before; he never would have been able to manage without her implicit—and written—instructions.
Harry made his way through the crowds to his check-in desk and he noticed something. Not one person took more than a second glance at him. Harry could've gladly stayed there forever. Here, he was just another traveller, making his way. He liked being the only wizard around. Harry couldn't wait to see if his entire holiday would be the same.
~
The first thing that hit Harry as he stepped off the plane was the heat. He didn't know how to describe it, and he was sure he had never felt heat like it before. Harry was sure that it had a different name. Humidity, or air pressure, or something. All Harry knew was that it was hot. And he loved it.
Harry eventually found his transfer to the resort and sighed gratefully before getting in. It had been a long flight, and Harry just needed to get to the hotel, strip off and jump in the pool. Before he could do that, Harry had to endure what felt like weeks in the sweltering coach. Harry berated his decision to travel as a Muggle; if he'd just Apparated straight to the resort, he could've been in that pool by now. Harry debated running to the toilet and Apparating from there, but the thought of the trouble it might cause, coupled with the fact that his luggage was stowed beneath the bus, kept him sitting in his seat, pretending to read his book and dying of dehydration.
“Welcome to Belle Playa!” was the greeting Harry received as he stumbled off the coach and into the beaming sunshine. “Please, leave your luggage where it is; it will be taken to your rooms. It's time for a refreshing drink! Please, follow me!”
Harry smiled happily and followed the young man. This holiday was shaping up nicely already—a drink sounded like a great idea. And it had been a long time since he'd followed a naked man anywhere.
Following the small group into a thankfully shaded area, Harry took a proffered drink and sat down to listen to the man talk. He wasn't the most comfortable he's ever felt; he'd never felt over-dressed before.
“Again, welcome to Belle Playa. My name is Tony, and I have been working here for ten years. I love it here and can guarantee you will enjoy your stay! Before I show you to your rooms, I have to inform you of some of our rules.
Harry sat up and took notice. Rules? He hadn't expected rules. He really thought that this would've been a freeing experience. That was what he was looking forward to most: somewhere where he wouldn't be judged; a place where he could just relax and be himself for once in his life. Harry had never thought about doing anything like this before, and it had taken a spark out of his wand to make him even consider it, but he had been looking forward to it.
Shit, he thought, when he realised that Tony had continued talking.
“So, that's it, basically,” Tony said and Harry's heart dropped. Why the fuck couldn't he concentrate for two minutes?
Fuck, he thought when he realised that Tony still hadn't finished.
“—just a couple, but they are very important for everybody's enjoyment and safety.” Tony finished his talk with a smile. Harry tried to smile back.
“To reiterate the important rules,” Tony said and Harry nearly laughed in relief before telling himself to listen. “One: No bathing costumes of any kind allowed in the swimming pool. Two: Clothes to be worn after 8pm in the restaurants and bars. Three: You must always carry a towel with you to sit on. Four: Enjoy your holiday!”
Harry was torn between screwing his face up in disgust and laughing out loud at the towel rule. It made sense but he really didn't want to think about other people's sweat on the loungers. Oh god, he suddenly thought in disgust, the bar has leather seats.
“Now I'm sure you'd like to settle into your rooms and start your holiday properly,” Tony said with his seemingly never-ending smile on his face. “Please follow me and I'll show you where you're staying.”
Harry looked warily at the other holidaymakers and had to stop himself shouting at them to remember their towels.
~
After checking out his room and unpacking, Harry undressed and, remembering his towel, made his way down to the pool. He did have a quick panic when he wondered where to put his room key, but on noticing what he thought was simply a decorative band was actually a wrist strap he relaxed. The hotel really did think of everything.
Harry had wondered what his own reaction would be upon being faced with boobs and bits everywhere he looked, but he was pleased to note that it didn't bother him. His assumption had been correct; it was freeing.
Sparing a quick thought to what his friends, and in particular Ron, would think of him now, Harry threw his towel and his sun lotion onto a spare lounger and jumped into the large pool.
Harry was having a fantastic time in the pool. He had always loved swimming, and swimming in the nude was glorious. It reminded him of the time he had gone in the prefects bath but without the bubbles. And the ghost. The sun was beating down on him and Harry dragged himself out of the cooling water to get a drink. He briefly considered going for his towel but as he looked around at his fellow guests lounging and walking around without a second thought to covering up, Harry relented and walked to the bar naked.
Harry stood next to the bar as he drank his cold beer and worried as he felt the strange sensation of the sun burning his arse. He had made sure to cover his normally-white bits with plenty of factor 30 before leaving his room, but Harry thought that maybe it was time for another application.
The poolside was busier than it was when he first arrived, and Harry was thankful that he'd remembered to grab a lounger beforehand. As he walked to where he had thrown his towel, Harry frowned as he noticed that someone had taken his seat. Bastard! Harry raged in his head as he stormed over to the man sunbathing on his front.
“Excuse me,” Harry calmly said, after all, no use making enemies on the first day. “I think you must be mistaken; I claimed this lounger earlier. My towel and lotion were on here.”
“Yes, they're on the table,” the man said without moving. “The sun was much better over here. Don't worry, I won't be long.”
Harry was struck by a familiarity in the man's voice and as the man turned his head to speak again, Harry nearly fainted. It had him reaching for his towel, anyway.
“Malfoy?”
“Potter?”
Malfoy jumped up from the lounger and wrapped his towel around himself; Harry had already done the same. They both spoke over one another, and quite loudly at that.
“—of all the—”
“—wizard free, my arse—”
“—supposed to be relaxing—”
“—just wanted—”
“—peace and quiet!”
“—peace and quiet!”
They both stopped talking as they realised what they had said and Harry found himself inexplicably bursting into laughter. Malfoy soon followed.
“Is everything okay here, sirs?” The hotel manager had obviously been summoned by the grumpy looking bloke behind the bar and was running towards them with surprising speed.
Harry raised an eyebrow at Malfoy and received a nod in return.
“We're fine,” Harry told the now-panting man. “Sorry for the disruption.”
Harry sighed and sat down heavily onto the lounger. Malfoy joined him.
“What are the fucking chances?” he asked, flopping his head onto his hands.
“One in thirteen million, three hundred and sixty-five thousand, nine hundred and twenty-five,” Malfoy said with a straight face. “I looked it up: the chances of Harry Potter choosing the same Muggle holiday as me, in the same resort and the same week. And choosing the same lounger.”
Harry laughed again. Why hadn't he ever noticed that Malfoy was funny?
Harry didn't know what to do. He was pretty sure he should be ranting and fighting by now, but, if he was perfectly honest with himself, he just didn't want to. He was on holiday, the weather was glorious and he just couldn't get himself worked up enough to bother. He was well aware that he was naked, and he had been so sure that no one would have discovered his new-found love of naturism but he hadn't felt this peaceful in a long time. A quick glance at Malfoy showed that he too had a bemused look on his face. Harry made a decision.
“Fancy a drink?” he asked the man beside him.
“Why not?” Malfoy said, standing up and indicating the bar. “Don't forget your towel,” he added with a shudder, causing Harry to laugh once more.
Once they were both seated and been served with fresh drinks Harry thought for something to say to start the conversation. What did one say to a person they went to school with, had never seen eye to eye with, and hadn't actually seen for three years? Harry refused to think about the fact that he was also naked.
“So...”
“So...”
Harry laughed and Malfoy joined in. Harry spared a passing thought for his sanity and pressed on.
“What are you doing here?” Harry asked before taking a drink.
Malfoy smiled. “I wanted a holiday, but couldn't decide on where to go; Pansy had been pestering me so I had to make a snap decision. I got hold of as many brochures as I could find, threw them in the air and grabbed one at random,” Malfoy explained. “What about you? How did you decide on this place?”
Harry nearly choked on his drink and Malfoy shot him a worried look. Harry wiped his mouth and bit down the laugh that was bubbling inside him. What the fuck is wrong with me? Harry asked himself.
“Nearly the same way, except I pinned the brochures to the wall and sent a spark at one of them,” Harry admitted, blushing slightly. “When did you get here?”
“At least my way wasn't a fire hazard,” Malfoy said without a trace of malice. “I got here two days ago; it's different but beautiful. So, how shocked were you when you saw what type of resort it was?”
“It was the Muggle thing that made me agree to it.”
Malfoy nodded. “I know.”
The pair talked for hours. They discussed their reasons for getting away from the wizarding world—Harry was surprised to discover that Malfoy's reasons were basically the same as his—and how they felt about naturism and their holiday resort in particular. Harry found Malfoy's views on the subject refreshing; gone was the Malfoy he had once known, and in his place Harry was pleased to find a companionable, funny and pleasant man.
The years had obviously done Draco Malfoy the world of good. He was still a snarky bastard, but Malfoy had an edge to him now that told Harry just how much he'd changed. His comments were no longer tinged with malice, rather given with a touch of humour; where once his face would've curled up in disgust, now it curled into a smile as he told a story about one of their schoolmates. Harry liked it. He didn't know how, or why, but he did.
It was nearing time for dinner and Harry found himself torn between returning to his solitary holiday and not wanting to bring an end to one of the most pleasant days he had had in a very long time.
“We should go and get dressed for dinner,” Malfoy said, placing his empty glass down and standing up. “I don't particularly fancy dining in nothing but a towel. And I highly doubt anyone else would want to see that either.”
Harry had been enjoying their conversation so much that he had completely forgotten that both he and Malfoy were naked. Harry found he didn't care.
“Well, it is a very nice towel, but rules are rules.” Harry smiled at Malfoy and stood up. “It's been a nice afternoon; thanks, Malfoy.”
“Draco,” Malfoy said, holding his hand out. “Please, we're supposed to be grown-ups; I think we've proved that we're not the same people we were years ago.”
Harry noticed the insecurity in Malfoy's—Draco's—face and quickly shook the offered hand before making a decision. “Draco, would you like to join me for dinner?”
Draco nodded. “That would be nice. See you in the dining room, Harry.”
~
As Harry showered and changed for dinner, he thought back over the afternoon and wondered how dinner would be. Harry wasn't stupid; he knew that a friendship with Draco wouldn't have worked when they were younger. They had been too different to have ever been close.
Harry had been eighteen when he had last seen Draco, and back then he hadn't given a second thought as to why Malfoy had been like he was. Harry had assumed that Draco was simply a bully and a spoilt brat; he couldn't have been more wrong. Draco had made a few off hand comments about his life during the war and Harry had begun to understand. Most of their conversation was light-hearted, but Harry had noticed the way Draco's eyes had darkened when the war was touched upon so hadn't pushed the issue. Draco had been nothing but a child, manipulated by the adults around him to be the way he was. Harry could sympathise; maybe they hadn't been so different after all.
Harry entered the dining room and his mind was still swirling, attempting to make some sense of the fact that he was about to sit down willingly to have dinner with Draco Malfoy. Spotting Draco sitting at a small table near the large windows, Harry waved away the waiter and moved towards the man.
“Evening,” Harry said, alerting Draco to his presence. “Have you ordered?”
Draco jumped slightly but quickly recovered. “No, I was waiting on you. Please, sit down.”
The awkwardness quickly gave way to the easiness of earlier in the afternoon as the evening wore on. Dinner was fantastic; the food was utterly delicious and the expensive wine that Draco had chosen was flowing freely.
“Can I ask you something?” Draco said as they finished their meal.
“You just did, but you can ask another.” Harry simply laughed at Draco's raised eyebrow. “Sorry, I couldn't resist.”
“Why did you leave the Aurors?”
Harry's smile slipped slightly as he thought over the question. “I'd had enough,” he finally said. “Enough of the Ministry and their pompous arses and of the bad guys. Everyone assumed that I would—could—save them. It was always, 'No, we want Harry Potter, not random Auror number twelve'. Eurgh.”
“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry or make you uncomfortable,” Draco said, reaching over and patting Harry's hand. “We can change the subject if you'd like.”
“No, it's okay. I need to talk to someone about it.” Harry's face brightened. “And seeing as how you asked, you can bear the brunt of it.”
Draco laughed and Harry drained his glass.
“But we're going to need more wine,” Harry insisted, beckoning the waiter over.
Draco poured them both fresh glasses and sat back in his chair. Harry could tell that he was actually interested in hearing what he had to say. Harry wasn't used to it.
“I had my life planned out for me,” Harry began and Draco nodded as if he knew exactly what Harry meant. “I was going to join the Aurors straight from Hogwarts and be the best Auror ever. I was going to work my way up the ranks, with my new bride, Ginny, by my side. She was going to stay at home and bear me children, and they were going to grow up and go to school and be best friends with Ron and Hermione's kids. We were going to live in Grimmauld Place and fix up my parents' old house in Godric's Hollow for the weekends.”
Draco didn't say anything, he just took a sip of his drink and gestured at Harry to continue. Harry laughed grimly.
“That is what was going to happen, everybody said so. We had barely got through the funerals and trials before Molly was asking when I was going to propose. Kingsley had already told me that I needn't go back to Hogwarts; there was a spot with my name on it in the Aurors already. Hermione was pestering me to fix up the house as it wasn't fit for a family.
“But it wasn't to be. I didn't want to marry Ginny and, as luck would have it, she didn't want to marry me. She'd moved on and who could've blamed her? Anyway, I did join the Aurors and I hated every minute of it. I'd done my fighting; I'd had enough of all that. So I left. And now I'm here; trying to figure out what to do next.”
Harry downed his glass of wine and Draco automatically refilled it.
“What about you?” Harry asked. “I thought you'd be married to some perfect pure-blood by now, with your heir running about the manor and you off in the Ministry somewhere.”
“Ah, yours are not the only plans that fell through. If it were up to my father, all of that would probably be true.”
Harry flinched at the mention of Lucius and hoped that Draco had missed it.
“But, as you know,” Draco said with a smirk on his face, “he's safely in Azkaban where he holds no control over my life. And I hope he stays there for the foreseeable future. I like leading my own life. Yeah, I don't know exactly what I want to do with it, but I like the fact that it is my choice.”
Harry raised his glass. “To us and doing what the fuck we want!”
“To us!” Draco repeated, clinking their glasses together. “But I think we'd better do what the fuck we want tomorrow. It looks like we're about to be kicked out.”
Harry looked around and found that Draco was correct. Apart from the waiter and a lone barman, Harry and Draco were the only people in the restaurant and most of the lights had already been turned off.
“Oops.” Harry finished his drink and stood on shaky legs. “Thank you for a lovely evening; can we do it again?”
Draco nodded and Harry dragged himself off to his room, not entirely sure that the day had been real.
Part 2
