Chapter Text
Christmas Eve, 2000.
“I have to go,” Harry said, checking his International Floo ticket for the hundredth time. Unbuttoning his satchel, he placed it inside, beside his passport and an envelope, emblazoned with Boston Basilisk insignia. “They want me to play. They want me up in the sky. You know that I can’t sit in the stands watching, Draco.”
Draco’s brow furrowed. This wasn’t the first time they’d had this conversion. They’d argued, deliberated and debated Harry’s Basilisk loan for weeks. “You could fly easily enough in England,” Draco answered. “There are a dozen teams who’d sign you. If they only knew you were willing.”
Setting his satchel on the floor, Harry moved in front of his boyfriend. Draco was perched on the edge of his bed, watching Harry pack up his last few belongings.
Bringing his hand up, Harry carded it through Draco’s impossibly silky hair, relishing how soft the stands were between his fingers.
Gently, Harry raised Draco’s chin. His lover’s eyes were red-rimmed yet defiantly tearless. They’d done their crying last night, wrapped in each other’s arms.
“They’d only let me fly because of the war,” Harry said, “because I was the Chosen One. They’d pick me for Seeker because they felt they ought to. You know I couldn't stand that. I have to prove myself and get to the top on my own terms. Make them forget the person I was.”
“They’ll never forget. You saved our sodding world. Those teams would be lucky to have you,” Draco answered, like he had a million times before. He glanced at the satchel. “But why America? It’s so bloody far away.” He brought his gaze back up to meet Harry’s. “Not to mention, it's for a whole year. We’ve only just found each other. Now you’re leaving.”
The same paroxysm of remorse that Harry always felt when Draco mentioned the length of his Basilisk contact made his stomach flip over.
He swallowed the sensation. A year wasn’t anything, not in the whole scheme of a lifetime.
“You’ll be so busy that you’ll hardly notice that I’ve gone,” Harry told Draco, voice certain. “You’ve hardly got a spare minute as it is. The apprenticeship in the Wizengamot Law Office will keep you hard at it. Then you’ve got Pansy, Theo, Blaise, and your mum demanding your time. A year is nothing. Besides,” Harry said, leaning over to press a kiss onto the crown of Draco’s head, “I’d still love you if I was away for a decade.”
“Don’t you dare,” Draco huffed, tipping his head back so that he was close enough for Harry to kiss. "I'd hunt you down. I'd bring you back home."
Draco’s lips were soft beneath his, pliable and welcoming, and Harry had to wrench himself away. Once they began to kiss, it was difficult to stop, and he had already nearly procrastinated their parting to the point of catastrophe.
As they broke their kiss, Draco seized his hand. “Stay,” he said. “Fly for the Wasps or even the sodding Magpies if you must. Just, please. Don’t take that Portkey, Harry. Don’t go.”
Harry knew that it took a lot for Draco to plead, but it really was too late. It was four pm now, and his Floo left in an hour. His clothes, his broomstick, and everything he’d need in the next twelve months had already been Reducio’d and sent ahead to Boston. Bradley Thorpe, Head Coach of the Basilisks, had already taken out the lease on an apartment for him to live in.
“Draco, love,” Harry began. “We’ve already been through this–"
“I know we have,” Draco answered, “and I know what you’re going to say. That playing Quidditch means the world to you, and that it’s all you’ve ever wanted to do. I’m not trying to stop you. Gods, I’d never do that. I love you too much. And yes, I know that the Basilisks are a great team, and that this is a wonderful opportunity.” He sighed, before pressing his face into the thin cotton tee-shirt where it covered Harry’s belly and dragging in a great lungful of breath. “I just have a horrible feeling. I can’t shake it. If you leave today, and take that Floo, I don’t think you’ll come back.”
That was quite the silliest thing that Harry thought he had ever heard. He knelt down on the thick pile of the carpet and pressed the span of his palms across Draco’s skinny thighs.
“I just so happen to love you too,” Harry said, raising his hand and gesturing to the space between them. “What we’ve got is once-in-a-lifetime. Do you think I’d leave, if I had even the slightest doubt about our future? When I come back, I’m going to tell the Prophet all about us. A big, five-page exposé. Then I’m going to marry you, in front of your mum and every single one of our friends.”
Making a noise that was half a sob and half a laugh, Draco shook his head. “I’ll believe you when the ring is on my finger.”
It didn’t matter that Draco had reservations. Harry hadn't any doubts.
“I’m going to marry you,” Harry repeated. “Maybe Shacklebolt could marry us, in the Atrium of the Ministry. Or, if you fancied smaller, we could have a ceremony in the garden of Grimmauld Place. Whatever you wanted, Draco. As long as we get to be Mr and Mr Malfoy-Potter forever, I don’t really mind.”
“That all sounds very romantic,” Draco answered quietly, laying his hands over Harry’s own. “I can see it perfectly. Mother will be overjoyed, of course. You’re quite the catch.”
“And, when I come back, I’ll be a dutiful son-in-law,” Harry promised, “completely dedicated to satisfying her son’s every whim.”
“If you come back,” Draco said, his smile fading. “Stay.”
“I’ll come back,” Harry promised, tangling his and Draco’s hands together. He brought both up to his lips and lightly kissed each knuckle, giving each meticulous attention. “I’ll come back, and we’ll get married. We'll have a long life of uneventful domesticity. What’s one year, in the face of all that? We’ll owl, and we’ll Firecall, and before you know it, we’ll be back together.”
Turning Draco’s hand over, Harry examined the back of it, memorising the elegant fingers and the tidily cut nails. Harry memorised tiny freckles, the wand calluses, and the tiny scars. He memorised the blond hairs that patterned the skin, so slight and pale. They were Draco’s hands, hands that he’d held, kissed, and that had given him so much pleasure.
He brought Draco’s wrist to his lips, kissing the delicate blue veins and the pulse that raced beneath his skin.
He had to leave. Harry knew that if he didn’t leave now, he wouldn’t leave at all. He placed Draco’s hands onto his knees. Standing up, he picked his satchel from the floor.
“I have to go,” Harry said. “I’ll Firecall, just as soon as I get to the apartment.”
Draco didn’t answer and Harry knew that he finally ran out of time. Taking his wand from his sleeve, he swung it in a wide arc, casting the Apparition spell. Immediately, his body felt squashed and squeezed, compressed in every direction. He closed his eyes.
He wasn’t making a mistake. He was seizing an opportunity. Playing Quidditch for the Boston Basilisks would be good for his career.
Twelve months. It was hardly any time at all. Before they both knew it, he’d be home, Draco would move to Grimmauld Place, and then they’d marry.
That was their destiny. Harry knew that, without a single shadow of doubt.