it all ends here
This is us, Potter. We’ll never be quits. Never.
Because I know in my heart that somewhere, Ron is clearing the windows of the Great Hall, and you’re sitting together at the staff table with no telling what the future will hold. You’re meeting tonight on the fifth floor of the Astronomy Tower. You’re in love in New York at Christmastime; you’re having fight-sex on the Quidditch field. You’re kissing in the Shrieking Shack, and saying, ‘I want to learn the words,’ and standing in the House of Black looking at the tapestry together because you’re free, and free to choose each other.
You’re watching each other play baseball. You’re wearing leather pants. Harry, you’re blasting a hole in the wall so Draco can see your bed from the couch. Draco, you’re standing in the Great Hall reading out loud. You’re both lying in your bed from Florence, staring up at the enchanted ceiling, feeling like you’re swimming in your own private lake. You’re dancing slowly in a storeroom, trying not to kiss. You’re writing epic poetry. You’re kissing each other in the halls while Hogwarts floods. You’re kissing for the first time in a passage back from Hogsmeade. You’re lying in a boat on the lake with a nose-biting teacup. You’re getting married. You are married. You’re sitting companionably at a Muggle bar because neither of you can stand the Wizarding World post-war. You’re playing Quidditch together in an alternate universe. You're telling each other at breakfast, and on the train, and at the station.
I'll see you on 31 July, Draco.
See you then, Unscarhead.
This is not the end. ♥