When Draco finds himself laughing about it, standing there between a ridiculous blown-up palm tree and a throng of drag queens, watching, just down the way on the sand, as Harry turns his face towards a tall, gangly man with dark hair and big hands—one of which is cupping the back of Harry’s neck, the other, planted firmly on his backside—the sound that erupts from Draco’s chest is ugly and ragged, and—