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Their steps pound rhythmically on the cobblestones, vibrating through Harry’s body.
One look to his right shows Draco keeping pace, and Harry grins. Draco’s come a long way from the spoiled little wizard who couldn’t run half a mile without collapsing.
“Shall we get a coffee from Branwen’s?” Draco asks.
“Good idea.” Harry looks ahead. “Last one there pays for both?”
Draco grins mischievously. “Better keep up then, Potter!” he yells over his shoulder and quickens his pace.
Harry runs after him at full speed, chancing a glance at Draco’s arse. He doesn’t mind paying for coffee if it gets him a view like this.
Too late, he notices ice on the ground where the sun hasn’t reached. He tries to regain his balance but it’s no use. His ankle twisting under him, Harry falls backwards and lands with a jolt, hitting his head.
The last thing he sees is Draco’s horrified face.
Then everything goes black.
“How’s your ankle?” Ron asks from his perch on the counter.
“It’s slow-going, but it’s getting better.” Harry grips his cane a little tighter as he hobbles from one owl cage to the next, setting out treats and water, and stroking a small head here or some breast feathers there. “I’d forgotten how frustrating it is to wait for your bones to heal without magic. It’s a shame that the spells to heal my concussion interfere with any other healing spells.”
“I’m glad they have a way to heal concussions now,” Ron says. “It probably sucks that you can’t run for a while, but at least you’re alright on your own.”
Harry nods. “True. And I don’t run much anyways, so it’s not too bad.”
Ron frowns. “What do you mean, you don’t run much?”
“Well, since Voldemort’s death, there hasn’t been much to run from, has there?” He stops at Alberta’s cage. She hoots at him softly, and he pets her head carefully. She’d been half-dead when he found her, having broken her leg, unable to hunt and feed herself. She’s been getting better under his care, but she’s still frightfully thin. Even like this, she’s a very pretty barn owl and he’s sure her plumage will be magnificent once she’s well again.
The bell above the shopdoor tinkles softly and Harry turns around to greet his customer.
He stumbles a little when he sees who it is. “Malfoy,” he says. “Welcome to my shop. What can I do for you?”
Malfoy, who had been smiling brightly when he entered the shop, gives him a funny look. “Hi. I wanted to check in on you. Sorry that I didn’t stop by sooner, but the Potioneer’s Conference only ended yesterday.”
“Er–”, Harry says, bemused, “It’s alright? It’s not like we have seen each other a lot since Hogwarts.” He darts a look at Ron who has grown pale, a pensive look on his face as he focuses on Harry.
Malfoy’s smile has slipped off his face completely, and Harry kind of misses it. “You don’t remember?” He also throws a helpless glance at Ron before facing Harry again. “We used to go running together, you and I. It’s how you hurt your ankle.”
“Not much of a runner right now, I’m afraid.” Harry gestures to his cane. He looks at Ron. “Is it true?”
Ron nods. “That’s why I was surprised when you said you didn’t run much these days. From what you told us, you and Malfoy used to meet almost daily?” He directs the question at Mafoy, who nods and answers, though Harry can’t hear it.
There’s a ringing in his ears and he sinks down on a stool, suddenly feeling weak.
What else doesn’t he know?
Weasley stops by Draco’s flat that evening, accepting the cup of tea Draco offers him at a loss of what else to do. Draco hasn’t put away his research notes spread all over his small kitchen table and chairs, and Weasley hovers awkwardly, cradling the warm cup in his hands.
“I’m so sorry. The healers said there might be some memory loss, but we couldn’t find anything. We should have been suspicious when he didn’t talk about anything you did together recently. Though he still talked about you a lot ...” Weasley trails off.
Draco raises an eyebrow. “Did he, now?
Weasley shrugs. “Anyway. I asked him some more questions, and it looks like he’s forgotten everything related to you, at least since you became friends.”
Draco is quiet for a moment. “Could be worse,” he mutters. “He could have forgotten everything about me since the war and still think I’m a bigoted prick.”
Weasley grimaces. “You’ll try again, won’t you? Spend time with him in some way?”
Draco doesn’t know what to say to that. He got lucky the first time Harry and he grew closer. The chances of them getting along and finding common ground had been so slim, but they had managed somehow, even if it was just going on runs together. He’s not sure they’ll succeed a second time.
Weasley presses on. “Please? You were so good for him, he was much more carefree and himself. I thought he was just worried about your presentation at that conference. But if he forgot your entire friendship that might mean he’s back to his state of mind from a couple of years ago.”
Something snaps in Draco. “Friendship? We’re just running buddies, and he can’t run right now.” How dare Weasley just show up, having barely acknowledged him before today, and tell him what to do?
“The hell you are!” Weasley puts the cup on the counter and runs his hands through his hair in frustration. “Take him on walks or something. Just–”, his gaze goes softer as he looks Draco in the eye, more sincere, “–please don’t give up on him?”
Something softens in Draco, and he sighs. “As if I could.”
Harry still feels out of sorts the next day, although he can’t quite put his finger on why.
So he’s forgotten that he and Malfoy go running together. Malfoy had been quick to assure him that’s all it was, though, so it shouldn’t be that big of an issue. Maybe they can start up again, once his ankle is healed. He feels restless as he hobbles through his shop, whispering to his owls, and trying to ignore the fact that Ron had looked thoroughly skeptical as Malfoy had stammered out his assurances and left the shop.
He’s saved from his thoughts by Luna, who brings him lunch–a soup with unidentifiable vegetables that smells weird but tastes amazing.
He tells her about his encounter with Malfoy, hoping she’ll find something reassuring to say, as she often does.
Indeed, she smiles serenely at him. “Don’t worry, Harry. You’ll remember.”
This doesn’t help Harry much. “Remember what?”
She pats his thigh. “You’ll see when it’s time.”
Alberta hoots from her cage, and Luna directs her smile at the owl. “Oh, you’re looking much better already. Is Harry taking good care of you?”
Alberts hoots again, and Luna nods. “Yes, I think so, too. I’m sure it’ll all work out.”
Later that day when Harry closes his shop, Malfoy shows up.
“Hello again,” he says. “I wanted to apologise for leaving so suddenly.”
“It’s alright,” Harry says. “It was a weird situation.”
Malfoy snorts. “That’s putting it mildly. Anyway, I was wondering if you wanted to go look at the Christmas lights in Diagon with me? You said you’d never walked the whole street and looked at them properly. I promise it’s magnificent.”
Malfoy looks unsure, fiddling with the hem of his jumper, and Harry wants to see his bright smile again.
“We could go right now,” Harry blurts out.
Malfoy looks at his cane. “Will that work for you?”
Harry nods. He wants to spend time with Malfoy, he realises. “I need to move,” he says. “And we can go slow, if that’s okay?”
“Of course it is.”
And they set off, Malfoy adjusting his usually quick pace – Wait, how do I know that? Harry wonders – so that Harry can keep up.
Malfoy talks about the conference he visited and his presentation there, how worried he’d been before. “I thought they might not look past me being a Death Eater, but they liked my ideas!”
He becomes more animated as he talks about his research and the discussions with his colleagues, imitating the peculiar way some of them talked, which has Harry in stitches. He remembers Malfoy holding court at the Slytherin table and imitating people, looking his way before landing a particularly nasty jab. His imitations now aren’t the mean-spirited ones of a bully but observations that are still full of respect for the people he digs at, and it’s really entertaining.
When they get into Diagon Alley proper, Harry marvels at the Christmas lights and the way they play upon Draco’s face, bathing it in different hues of green, blue, and purple. He looks so pretty like this, almost radiant.
Or maybe that’s just his face? How has Harry never noticed before?
Alberta hoots at him, pulling him out of his thoughts. “Sorry, darling. It’s just strange, you know? I never gave him much thought, and now I can’t stop thinking about him. He told me so much about himself yesterday, and I still want to know more.”
Alberta blinks at him knowingly.
“Anyway, we walked for hours, until it had gotten so cold we could barely feel our toes anymore. Then we went to his flat, because it was close, and he made hot cocoa with marshmallows and cinnamon, which is objectively the best way to make it.”
Alberta hoots approvingly, and he smiles.
Just then, the shopbell chimes and Draco enters, a bag from Branwen’s Bewitching Brews in his hand. Harry’s heart skips a beat as he looks at him, and he feels his smile grow.
“I brought you lunch.” Draco holds up the bag. “I know you forget to eat.”
They chat as they eat their sandwiches, the owls chiming in every now and then. Harry feels comfortable with Draco, the way he feels with very few people, and as he watches Draco arguing with one of the feistier owls, he wonders Could I have this?
He wonders, and he hopes.
Lunch with Draco becomes Harry’s daily routine, as do their walks through Diagon Alley. Sometimes, Draco brings sandwiches and sweet treats from Branwen’s – his favourite café, Harry learns – sometimes, they go to eat in one of the small bistros on Horizont Alley or venture into Muggle London. Soon, he needs his cane less and less.
Luna joins them sometimes, and Harry learns that she and Draco are close friends and that Draco is awfully fond of her, a smile playing at his lips as he listens attentively to her outrageous stories about creatures that may or may not exist.
Throughout it all, they never make Harry feel bad for the things he’s forgotten; at the same time, they also don’t pretend not to know things about him if he’s already told them in the past. Harry likes it that way. It makes it feel more temporary somehow, like he’s going to get his memories back, no question about it.
Harry finds himself looking forward to closing time each day, when Draco will be waiting for him and they’ll trudge through the snow, talking, laughing, exploring the wizarding quarter of London. He keeps sneaking glances at Draco, and sometimes, he catches Draco already looking at him, his face open and fond.
The weekends are Harry’s favourites. With more free time, they decide to go for walks in other places. They spend an enjoyable day in Hogsmeade, which feels different without students milling about. Draco starts a snowball fight that ends with them dripping wet, teeth chattering, and they make their way to the Three Broomsticks to warm up, reminiscing about their school days.
Harry hasn’t had this much fun in years.
As Draco gesticulates animatedly and their fingers brush, Harry hopes and yearns.
“I did it!” Harry announces as he enters the shop.
Several owls turn their head towards him and hoot questioningly.
“I asked Draco to dinner. I told him I’m a good cook, and he didn’t believe me. So I’m going to prove him wrong. And also maybe tell him how I feel?”
Alberta (who is looking much healthier these days) hoots at him encouragingly.
“You’re right, I definitely should.” He pauses. “What should I cook? I could make Fuck You Uncle Vernon Chicken, that’s always –”
Every pair of eyes in the shop looks at him aghast.
He shakes his head. “Sorry, you’re right. I’ll make that lamb curry he loves so much. … Wait, how do I know this?”
Harry ponders this question as he feeds and waters the owls. Luna did say he’d remember, but he wasn’t sure whether to take it literally.
Are his memories coming back?
The day after Christmas dawns bright and cold. Harry wakes up early, his thoughts racing, and spends the day cleaning to distract himself. Dinner time comes much sooner than he expects and, at the same time, takes much longer to arrive than he wants.
When the floo flares and Draco steps out, Harry is putting the finishing touches on the curry.
Draco’s face lights up. “Oh, you made my favourite! Who told you?”
“Er. No one told me.” Harry clears his throat. He feels jittery, like something crawled into his stomach and is now wiggling around, and he hopes that Draco doesn’t notice.
But, of course, he eventually does.
They sit down to eat, Draco praising the food and chatting about Christmas with his parents. Harry interjects short sentences here and there, picking at his food and not tasting anything.
After Draco clears his second portion, he puts his cutlery down and looks at him in concern. “You’ve barely eaten anything. What’s wrong?”
Harry sighs, then steels himself. He promised he’d say it. He looks at Draco and says, “I need to tell you something.” There’s no turning back now.
“Oh?” Draco gives him his full attention.
“These last few weeks have meant so much to me. I really liked spending time with you and getting to know you. And I’d like to spend a lot more time with you.” Harry takes a deep breath. “I think I’m falling in love with you.”
Draco stares at him, frozen for a moment. “Well,” he says, “I can’t say I was expecting this.”
Harry’s heart, rabbiting madly in his chest, feels like it falls down through the floor. He wants to follow.
Draco takes a look at his face and hurriedly adds, “Sorry, I’m just … surprised.” He reaches across the table and takes Harry’s hand in both of his. “Harry, surely you must know that I feel the same?”
Harry is struck dumb. “You do?”
Draco strokes his thumbs over the back of Harry’s hand and nods, a soft smile growing on his face.
From there, everything happens at once. They both get up, reaching for each other and suddenly, their lips meet, and they’re kissing, when suddenly —
“Draco!” Harry exclaims, grabbing his shoulders. “I remember!”
And he does, years of memories rushing back, and he did know how Draco felt, he realises. He was just too scared of changing their dynamic.
But none of that matters right now, and he pulls Draco close again.
They don’t stop kissing for a long time.
“So you finally did something about your feelings,” Ron says.
It’s five minutes to midnight on New Year’s Eve and they’re standing on the balcony of Neville’s swanky flat, watching their friends flitting around, handing out sparklers and checking their watches.
Harry’s eyes dart to Draco, and he nods. “Why didn’t you tell me about it when it was clear I’d forgotten?”
Ron shrugs. “We discussed it, Hermione and I.” Harry can hear the goofy smile that Ron always gets when talking about his wife. “But we didn’t know if it’d do more damage than good. Besides, would you have believed us, with all your memories of the prat missing?”
Harry snorts. “No, definitely not.”
Ron nudges him with his elbow. “Hey, I’m glad it worked out.”
“Yeah, me too.”
The first fireworks go off, and Harry is once again admiring the way the colours play upon Draco’s face. It’s a mesmerising sight, his cheekbones in stark relief, illuminated in red and green. Or maybe it’s Draco’s face that’s mesmerising and the colours are just a bonus, Harry muses.
As if hearing his thoughts, Draco turns his head.
He looks at Harry and smiles brightly.