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Next year, Draco and Harry will be in his flat, eating chocolate covered strawberries and letting the tension build between them slowly, daring the other to finally snap and whisk them off to the bedroom.
Next year, Draco won’t steadfastly ignore the pink and white decor covering every inch of Diagon Alley and the Ministry. He won’t decline one of the chocolates being passed around the office. He won’t shoot a silencer at the wireless for playing love songs.
But right now, he doesn’t know any of that.
This year, Draco picks up his favorite meal on the way home from work. He eats it while watching that show on the telly his coworker recommended. He calls Pansy on his new mobile, and they talk for hours; they laugh until they cry and cry until they laugh once more.
This year, Draco falls asleep. Next year, Draco will fall in love.