Work Text:
“Hi.”
Draco hears his fiance’s voice for the first time in a week. He doesn’t turn around, knowing he’ll break if he sees Harry’s face. Instead, he lets out the slightest huff of breath in acknowledgement and continues to clean the Old Kingdom tablet in front of him with a tiny brush.
After their fight, Draco had stormed out of the house, had left the whole country in fact, going straight to the one person he knew would unconditionally support him.
Pansy is a curator at the Magical Museum of Cairo. She’d taken one look at Draco’s face, which he hoped had displayed righteous fury rather than pathetic heartbreak, and put him to work cleaning ancient artifacts. He’s spent almost every waking hour of the last week sitting at this lab table, alone with his thoughts and the remnants of people long gone.
“I miss you.”
There’s a tremor in Harry’s voice, and Draco’s chest aches at the sound. He knows it’s the result of anxious, sleepless nights. Draco looks down at the tablet, sees a dark spot form and then another. It takes him a few seconds to process that they are his tears falling on the dry clay. He leans back in his chair, some instinct prompting him to protect the tablet. He hears Harry take a couple steps into the room.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t… I had no idea you’d react like this to me inviting him.”
Draco watches Harry’s reflection in the steel cabinet across the room, sees his arm reach up as he runs his fingers through his hair. The reflection is blurry, but Draco knows Harry well enough that he can perfectly imagine the dark mess of curls pushed between long bronze fingers.
“He treated you terribly, and you still, still…invite him to our wedding.” Draco nearly spits the last words.
“He was a kid who made mistakes, but he’s trying to change.” Harry pauses. “And he’s family.”
“He doesn’t deserve you.”
There’s a rustling, and Draco knows Harry is shrugging, shoving his hands deep in his pockets the way he always does when he’s run out of words. Draco rubs his hands over his face, the guilt he’s been fermenting this last week bubbles to the surface.
“I treated you just as terribly,” Draco says, then whispers, “I don’t deserve you.”
“Oh. Oh, Draco, love.”
Draco feels Harry’s arms wrap around him, smells his sweat and the citrusy scent of the sachets Draco puts in their wardrobe. Draco turns as Harry pulls him into his chest, hears Harry whisper love and adoration into his ear as his tears soak Harry’s shirt.
It’s not a resolution, not the long and honest conversation they’re going to have to have, but it’s a beginning.