F*ck!

by shushu_yaoi_lj

Chapter 2

Notes:

Warning for a very quick mention of Harry's wanker ex-boyfriend cheating on him.

“It’s a date,” Parvati deadpans while they fill in their respective paperwork at the end of the day. 

“Are you sure?” Harry asks, fingers going for his curls and tugging at them nervously. “Because you know I’m absolutely shit at flirting and understanding if someone’s hitting on me. Remember that time I thought a bloke needed a laxative and instead he just wanted to ask me out.”

“Harry, you’re going to a bloke’s house to cook for him, and hopefully to have a long awaited shag. It’s a date. Who is he anyway? Someone I know?”

“Nope,” Harry replies, eyes purposely glued to the roll of parchment in front of him. “No one you know.”

“Hmm,” Parvati says, clearly sounding dubious about Harry’s statement. “Bring some prunes, just in case he’s constipated.”

“Piss off,” Harry says, flipping her two fingers.

“So fucking rude,” Parvati comments, shaking her head.

Harry gets home later than he’s supposed to. Not that it’s a surprise, considering that every single day his shift ends at least two hours later than expected, but this time he tried his best to leave on time, so that he could get ready for his date – or whatever it is. He takes a quick shower and then wishes Kreacher was still alive to tell him what the fuck he should wear because he has no clue which clothes to choose. He casts a quick Tempus, then groans and settles for a pair of faded jeans, a t-shirt and a blue hoodie. The days are getting sunnier as April draws to an end, and Harry checks the calendar as he gathers the things he will need to make dinner.

Just ten days until the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts.

He feels the familiar pang in his chest, filling his heart with sadness at the memory of everything he’s lost, of all the people he couldn’t save. He thinks about Remus and Tonks, remembering that Teddy will take part in the memorial ceremony this year, old enough to read his mother’s favourite poem in front of a crowd of survivors. He’s been practising with Andromeda, and Harry couldn’t hold back the tears when he heard him, his voice trembling as he read the last few lines with a voice thick with emotion.

Harry tries to push the feelings down, thinking that he’s going to have a pleasant evening with Draco, and he can’t spoil it by being maudlin. That Draco will probably have bad memories of that day, too. That he will remember Narcissa getting attacked and hexed in front of his eyes after his father was carried away by the Aurors. That Draco will feel just as broken at the memory of what he has lost.

He prepares the fish and the vegetables, then grabs a few pans and shrinks everything. By the time he’s knocking on Draco’s front door, his stomach in a tight knot and hands a little sweaty, Harry is terribly late and feeling mildly sick with nerves.

“Hey,” he says when the door opens, showing a smiling Draco with a nasty cut on his forehead.

“Sorry, I just got home, and I didn’t get much time to tidy up,” Draco says casually, his eyes widening when Harry pushes him inside and puts his bag on the floor while he examines Draco’s wounds.

“What happened?” he asks, taking his wand out of the front pocket of his hoodie and pointing it at Draco’s forehead. The cut is not too deep, but it’s still bleeding, the torn skin clearly patched up with a very imprecise spell that didn’t fully work. “Who did this shitty job of healing you?”

“I did,” Draco drawls, wincing when his pale eyebrow automatically goes up in disdain, opening the cut further. “Maybe you should teach me how to do it properly.”

“Maybe you should have come to the hospital since you were injured,” Harry argues, casting a disinfecting spell and then a stitching spell that he hopes is not going to hurt too much. “Do you have any pain relief?”

“I think I have a paracetamol my elderly neighbour gave me,” Draco mumbles, groaning when Harry casts another spell to get rid of the bruising that is already forming under the healed cut. 

“Wait,” Harry says, noticing a blue shadow under the white collar of Draco’s Muggle shirt. He sneaks his fingers under it, moving it aside to find a big bruise that is hidden under the collar. “For fuck’s sake, Draco! Look at you.”

Harry’s fingers move quickly, unbuttoning Draco’s shirt to reveal another injury. He mutters darkly as he heals it and opens the shirt further, to check if there are more wounds.

“So eager, Potter,” Draco teases him. “We’re still standing on the porch and you’re already undressing me.”

Harry feels his own cheeks flushing furiously and takes a step back as if burnt, and his eyes meet Draco’s. He smirks, fingers idly tracing the strings of Harry’s hoodie.

“Let me treat those wounds,” Harry mumbles, voice low and tentative. Draco tilts his head and nods. Harry feels a wave of relief as his magic heals Draco’s injured skin, making it regain its porcelain quality. Harry puts his wand back in his pocket and then takes his shoes off. “Now you can show me your house.”

“Bossy,” Draco complains with a dramatic eye roll, but he still takes Harry through the narrow corridor and into a small living room with a tiny sofa and a Muggle television. There are bookshelves loaded with books all the way to the ceiling, and a fireplace that appears to be the only magical thing in the room. Harry stares at the bare décor, remembering the ostentatious splendour of Malfoy Manor, comparing the big crystal chandeliers to Draco’s Ikea ceiling light, made of rice paper.

Draco takes him to the tiniest kitchen Harry’s ever seen, a toaster and microwave looking well-loved on the counter. It’s all very clean and essential, and Harry feels his chest constricting while he looks around, wondering if Draco has enough to get by. Can he even cook in this minuscule place? He’s speechless as Draco shows him the only bedroom, tidy and comfy looking with its big bed that takes up most of the space, colourful polka dots on the duvet.

“And the bathroom is here,” Draco says. Harry peaks his head inside and notices the white shower curtain with a smiling banana, throwing away its peel as it shouts ‘let’s get naked!’.

“It’s…” Harry mutters, trying to find the right words.

“Tiny,” Draco suggests. “Cheerful, but lacking in small, adorable mammals.”

“Hm,” Harry says, following Draco back to the kitchen. “Don’t they pay you enough at the Ministry? Both Neville and Seamus live in big houses.”

“Well,” Draco says, fishing out a chopping board from one of the cupboards as Harry unshrinks his cooking ingredients and utensils and gets started. There’s barely enough room for two adults standing side by side, but it feels nice being so close to Draco, feeling his warmth as their shoulders are pressed against each other.

“Well?” Harry encourages him to continue.

“I don’t use all my money for the rent,” Draco replies, avoiding Harry’s insistent stare. “And I have to pay for Mother’s stay in St Mungo’s and for a few treats that might ease her permanence there. Not that she knows she’s eating fine chocolate, mind you. Some days she doesn’t even recognise me,” he says lightly, shrugging as if it weren’t something that could shatter Harry’s heart.

“I’m so sorry for what happened to your mum,” Harry says, his hand resting on Draco’s on the counter amongst the potato peels. “It was fucking unfair and so awful. I wish I could have done something to stop them.”

“You can’t save everyone, Harry,” Draco simply says. “What shall I do with the broccoli?”  

“Wash it, please,” Harry says, and Draco’s hand stays there for a few seconds longer, warm under Harry’s palm, then it moves and opens the tap to wash the vegetables. “Do you donate part of your salary to charity?”

Draco’s back stiffens, and he’s quiet for a long minute before he nods.

“It’s only fair,” he mutters, then starts cutting the broccoli while Harry sets up the pans to steam it. 

“You don’t have to spend the rest of your life paying for past mistakes, you know?” Harry says slowly, trying to be delicate because he knows it’s a topic Draco probably doesn’t want to discuss, not with him of all people. No one seems to want to talk about the war anymore, even if Harry sometimes still feels the need to. “My Mind Healer used to say that to me all the time.”

“What kind of mistakes did you make?” Draco asks, looking dumbfounded as he puts the broccoli in the pan, accidentally letting a few bounce out of it as he stares at Harry. 

“There are so many people I didn’t save,” Harry confesses, his voice reduced to a whisper. He bites on his bottom lip, then tries to keep his hands busy with the food preparation. “It still keeps me up at night sometimes. The things I should have done differently. The hurt I’ve caused.”

“Harry, no…” Draco says, shaking his head with a hurtful expression on his face.

“What I meant to say,” Harry continues, trying to find the right words. “Is that we’ve all made mistakes. We’ve all caused hurt. And yes, your family supported a psychopath who tried to kill us all, but you served your sentence. You’ve changed.  Your father lost his freedom and your mother her mind. How much more do you need to lose before you’ll feel like it’s enough?”

They’re quiet for a bit, and Harry thinks he’s fucked up royally, that if this was supposed to be a date, he’s completely ruined the atmosphere and there’s no way Draco is going to invite him over ever again. But then Draco moves closer, placing a hand on the small of his back while Harry finishes preparing the food. He leans forward and whispers a thank you in Harry’s ear, making him shudder and blush. 

They spend a lovely evening eating dinner on the sofa, their thighs pressed together as they chat and then watch a bit of telly side by side. And Harry’s so confused by what he’s feeling, by the desperate need to pull Draco closer and taste his lips and the rest of his skin, to check if every inch of it is as milky white and flawless as the rest of him. 

When it’s late and they’re both yawning, Harry stands up and stretches his arms above his head, noticing the way Draco’s eyes wander low, to where his t-shirt uncovered a bit of his waist. 

“I have to wake up early tomorrow,” Harry says, and Draco nods, looking disappointed.

“Yes, I have an early patrol in Knockturn Alley,” Draco comments, making Harry frown. 

“Do they always assign you the shittiest jobs?” he asks, and Draco blinks a few times before he shrugs and stands up to rummage through a drawer until he finds a jar of Floo Powder. 

“Thanks for the lovely evening and for the delicious dinner,” Draco says when Harry’s ready to leave.

“We should do it again,” Harry says, blushing at the implications of his own statements. 

“Yes,” Draco replies with a smile. “We should definitely do it again.”

Harry Floos home and then spends a good hour rolling around in bed, wondering if that was a date or not. If it went well, date-wise. He’s not really sure, but it’s not like he can ask Parvati without revealing that it was Draco Malfoy he’s got a terrible crush on. And telling Hermione is out of the question, since she’ll make a big fuss out of it and will ask Harry a million invasive questions, including whether he’s using the right protection – as if he weren’t a bloody Healer. As if he were having sex!

“I don’t know if I’m dating Draco Malfoy,” he tells Ron instead. His best friend groans, uncorking one of the colourful vials that are littering his kitchen table. Harry counted at least twenty when he arrived, wondering how Ron keeps track of what’s what as he pours them on confectionery with a dropper. 

“I would like to say that I’m surprised, but you’ve been obsessed with him since sixth year,” Ron comments, putting one of the sweets in his mouth and whimpering when he sprouts wings. From his arse. “I reckon I need to work on the Angel Cake Drops a bit more.”

“No shit Sherlock,” Harry says, chuckling as Ron’s arse flaps its wings. “Did you just fart or are you about to fly away?”

“Piss off,” Ron says.

“Daddy said a bad word!” Rosie calls from upstairs. “Jar!”

Ron groans and Summons a Galleon that he puts in the swearing jar on the counter.

“Daddy is sorry!” he calls. “Please don’t tell mummy! And come downstairs. What are you still doing there? You said you just needed a wee, darling.”

“I’m playing with mummy’s dolls,” Rosie calls, and Harry frowns.

“Does Hermione have dolls?” he asks, struggling to picture a younger Hermione playing with Barbies instead of reading big tomes on the most impossible topics. Ron shrugs and tells Rosie to come back downstairs, then he eyes the table and frowns.

“I think I’m missing a vial,” he mutters, checking under the table. “Maybe I’m just losing the plot. I’ve been working at night to keep up with the orders. Thank Merlin my mum is coming back tomorrow from her holiday. Let me go and fetch Rosie.”

Harry looks everywhere for a missing vial, finding one under the sofa after he remembers Ron telling him that 90% of the time they’re looking for something it ends up there.

“Here it is,” he tells Ron when he comes downstairs with a smiling Rosie, clearly happy to see her godfather. 

“One of mummy’s dolls looks exactly like you, Uncle Harry,” Rosie says after hugging him.

“Really?” Harry asks, dumbfounded. He doesn’t remember ever seeing a Ken with dark hair and glasses, but trusts Hermione to have been the kind of child who played with toys that challenged stereotypes.

“Can we make a cake this time, Uncle Harry?” Rosie asks, tugging at his robes.

“I’m afraid I have to go to work in a little bit,” Harry says, hating how disappointed she looks, “but I can come back at the weekend, and we can make a chocolate cake together.”

“With chocolate chips and whipped cream,” Rosie says, making Ron roll his eyes.

“Mummy is going to be sooo happy,” he says, putting all the vials with his potions into a small box with a flick of his wand and levitating them on the highest shelf in the kitchen. “Now, Uncle Harry is going to tell me why on earth he’s not sure if he’s dating the most annoying git in England.”

“Daddy, you said another bad word!” Rosie accuses, and Ron sighs, departing with another one of his coins.

“He’s been…coming to dinner at mine,” Harry summarises, not wanting to discuss Draco’s weird Apparition problem. “He invited me over to his flat the other day, and I made him dinner.”

“Did you make out?” Ron asks, peeling a banana for his daughter. 

“What?” Harry asks, staring at Rosie and blushing. “No, but…”

“Did you want to kiss him?” Ron asks him quickly, not giving Harry time to think.

“Yes, but you shouldn’t ask me these questions in front of a child!”

“I only asked if you kissed him, calm down!” Ron says. “Anyway, you could be dating, or you could be simply his cook. The most important thing is that you don’t tell Hermione that you fancy the ferret. She will be impossible about it, saying that you’ve finally found someone to love you as you deserve,” Ron says, mimicking Hermione’s heartfelt ‘Harry should be happy’ spiel to perfection. “She will tell me that she knew you would eventually fall in love with Malfoy, and I will owe her ten Galleons.”

“Wait, what?” Harry asks, frowning at his best friend.

“Mate, you’ve been constantly talking about how much he’s changed since our eighth year,” Ron deadpans. “It’s a constant ‘Malfoy’s injured again’, and ‘why is he not looking after himself properly?’, and ‘his hair is like fairy dust and his eyes like pools of silver sadness’.”

“I never said the last one,” Harry grumbles with his lips pressed thin. 

“Anyway, both Hermione and I saw it coming,” Ron says, casting a spell to tidy up Rosie’s play area and sending all the toys into different boxes. “It was only a matter of time.”

“Hm,” Harry says, then bites on his bottom lip as he considers Ron’s statement. “And are you…”

“Of course, I’m okay with it,” Ron finishes his sentence with a huff. “I only want you to be happy, mate. Even if it means having to spend some time with the ferret. Besides, Hermione said she’s been talking to him, and he’s not that bad these days.”

“Hermione’s been talking to Draco?” Harry asks, fearing her meddling.

“Don’t worry, I made her promise not to say anything to him,” Ron says, patting him on the back. “It was part of the bet. She just works with the Aurors sometimes. They have cases they share, and she always says how professional and lovely Malfoy is. She’s also convinced the Head Auror is doing something fishy.”

“I suspect that too,” Harry says, and as he heads to work, he wonders if maybe Figgins is to blame for Draco’s strange curse. What if he’s the one who hexed him or spiked Draco’s tea with some weird potion?

Harry decides to visit Neville the following day, after spending an evening waiting for Draco to randomly appear by dinner time and failing to do so. There’s a voice inside his head that says, “You could simply visit Draco. You know where he lives.” But Harry doesn’t want to pop by unannounced, so he visits Neville on Saturday morning instead. 

“Is Figgins trying to kill Draco?” Harry asks after Neville has offered him a cup of coffee. “Do you have some tea, please? I don’t like coffee that much.”

“Right,” Neville says, blinking at him and dropping the tin with the teabags a moment later. “I don’t think Figgins would try to kill him, but it’s not a mystery in the DMLE that he hates Draco because of what happened during the War.”

“But that was Lucius, not Draco!” Harry argues, and Neville sighs.

“I know, and Draco has changed,” Neville says. “He’s a nice bloke, and a bloody good Auror, if you ask me. It’s just that Figgins always finds a way to assign him to the most dangerous missions or the deadliest cases. And Draco never complains, which doesn’t help. Figgins keeps on giving him overtime, probably in the hope that he will quit the Forces, but Draco’s determined to stay.”

“Have you tried t-”

“Of course, I have,” Neville interrupts him. “Seamus and I went to speak to Robards, and a couple of other Aurors also said that it wasn’t fair in our monthly Department meetings, but Figgins has Robards’ support, who has Kingsley’s support. So our hands are bound, and Draco is risking his life on a daily basis.”

Harry fumes, thinking that is unfair, that there’s something that he should be able to do to stop the bloody Head Auror from trying to get the love of his life killed. 

He pauses to think as his jaw drops.

He’s in love with Draco Malfoy.

Truly in love. 

“Oh, god.”

“You still there, Harry?” Neville asks. “By the way, are you coming to the Battle of Hogwarts Memorial? I heard that McGonagall is going to organise something special this year since it’s the tenth anniversary.”

Harry’s face falls as he locks gaze with Neville again.

He completely forgot about the Memorial, about the fact that it’s already ten years, even though it seems like yesterday sometimes. He never wants to go to these ceremonies, but he always ends up attending anyway, because people expect him to give a speech, even if Harry never knows what to say, except that he’s sorry and he still misses all the people he’s lost. 

He thinks about it on the way home as he walks through the park, kicking a stone and remembering the one he used in the last Battle. He looks at a mother pushing her son on the swing and wonders if his parents ever got to do that with him when he was a baby. Probably not. 

Harry goes to work and saves lives. But not all of them. He casts all the spells that he knows on a man whose heart has stopped beating, but there’s nothing he can do, and Harry ends up hyperventilating in a cupboard, remembering the way that wizard’s life slipped through his hands. 

Another person he couldn’t save.  

Parvati finds him in the cupboard and tells him to go home, ignoring Harry’s protests and arguments about the Board already hating him without him skiving off work.

“You’re not fit for work,” she declares. “Take a week off. You haven’t taken a holiday in eight months, Harry. I checked.”

“I don’t need a holiday,” Harry argues, but Parvati pushes him towards the changing room and locks them inside.

“I tell you every year to take time off before the anniversary of the Battle,” she says, her eyes determined, but voice kind. “I’ve seen you getting depressed every single year since we started training together. You end up in a state every time a patient dies, and I know it’s hard most days, but you can’t cope with it right now. So take time off, please. I will speak to the Board, and they can fuck themselves if they disagree. You’re already doing so much, but your mental health comes first.”

“Okay…” Harry mumbles, giving in. He feels lost as he looks around the room and tries to avoid his friend’s eyes. “I suppose I could take some time off.”

“Good,” Parvati says with a smile, her shoulders relaxing as she runs her hands along Harry’s arms. “Give me a call if you need anything or if you’re feeling down. Promise?” 

Harry nods and changes into his normal clothes, thinking that in a strange twist of fate he might end up missing his much detested lime green robes while he’s off work.

The problem is that he doesn’t know what to do at home on his own. Hermione and Ron are both at work, and Rosie’s back with her grandmother during the day. Teddy’s at school, so Harry has nothing to occupy his day with.

He goes to the loft and looks at old photos, then ends up crying when he finds a box full of pictures of baby Sirius that somehow escaped Walburga’s efforts to wipe his memory from Grimmauld Place.

“Fuck, he was so cute,” Harry sobs as he holds a photo of Sirius giggling at the camera. “Look at those chubby cheeks. And the curls…”

“Hey,” Draco says softly, startling him as he appears behind Harry and kneels next to him on the dusty floor. “What happened?”

“My godfather had dimples,” Harry confesses with a thick voice, showing him the photo. “He had dimples, and now he’s dead.”

“Harry…”

“Sorry, I’m a mess today.”

“It’s okay. You’re allowed to feel like shit any day of the year, you know?” Draco says, rummaging through the box of photos and finding one of his mother as a little girl. “Look at that. She was so beautiful.”

Harry starts crying even harder, remembering Narcissa the last time he saw her in St Mungo’s, her vacant gaze and grey skin. 

“I’m so sorry…” he says wetly, and Draco wraps his arms around Harry’s shoulders, bringing him closer before he kisses his forehead.

“It’s okay,” Draco repeats. “Shall we go downstairs so that I can make you a cup of tea? Do you still have some of those walnut biscuits with the chocolate ganache in the middle?”

Harry nods and lets Draco take him to the kitchen, feeling like an absolute wreck and wondering what on earth Draco must be thinking. 

“Were you not at work?” Harry asks, noticing that Draco is wearing Muggle clothes in the middle of the day. 

“No, I have a stakeout planned for the night, so I get the day off,” Draco replies. “I can spend some time with you if you want.”

“Don’t you have to sleep?” Harry asks, wiping his wet cheeks with the sleeve of his top and accepting the steaming mug of tea and biscuits that Draco offers him. 

“Sleep is overrated,” Draco says with a wink, and Harry feels a warmth spreading through his chest, making the painful throbbing that has been there since the morning ease and eventually disappear by the time they’re both sitting on the sofa, so close that it feels like they’re cuddling. 

Almost, but not quite.

“Will you be okay on your own?” Draco asks before leaving, and Harry nods, finding a bit of his Gryffindor courage to break the distance between them and hug him tight.

“Thank you,” Harry whispers against his ear, burying his nose in the crook of Draco’s neck and inhaling his comforting smell. He can feel Draco’s tiny whimper before his own arms wrap around Harry’s back, holding him for what feels like an endless minute.

Harry’s fine for the rest of the day, the memory of Draco’s words and warm hands still alive on his skin, but when he wakes up in the morning, it all feels too bleak and bloody hard for him to cope. He struggles to get out of bed, then ends up stumbling upstairs and looking at more photos. He forgets to eat and to shower, then cannot sleep. 

He wishes Draco would simply appear, but he doesn’t actually know how to summon him, how the curse works, and he’s too exhausted to leave the house to bother Draco at his tiny flat.

After a couple of days of seeing no one, Harry stumbles into the bathroom in the late afternoon, flicking his wand tiredly to fill up the bathtub when he realises that he hasn’t washed since the last day he went to work. He sinks into the hot water and lets the tears run down his cheeks, then feels like a complete mess, the shame rising from his stomach like acid.

“Fuck, I’m so bloody pathetic,” he mutters, and then opens his eyes when he hears a loud gasp. 

Draco stands there, right in the middle of the bathroom, with a guinea pig in his hand.

“You’re naked,” Draco mumbles, his face turning the deepest shade of tomato-red as his grey eyes wander all over Harry’s body. There are a few bubbles floating on the surface, but not enough to cover him completely. 

“That’s how people normally take baths,” Harry replies embarrassingly, then he points at Draco’s hands. “What are you doing with that guinea pig?”

“Shit, I’m stealing it!” Draco shouts, making the little animal squeak in distress and try to wiggle away as Draco squeezes him in panic. “Oh no, sorry, little chap! Harry, I need to take him back to the pet shop, this is basically theft.”

“Okay,” Harry says, still confused about what’s happening.

“I…I want to come back here, later. If that’s okay with you,” Draco says, still blushing as he stares at a spot on the ceiling to avoid looking at Harry’s naked body. “When you’re done taking a bath, that is.”

“Yes,” Harry says, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips for the first time in days. “I’d like that.”

Draco nods, smiling back as he tugs the guinea pig closer to his chest and strokes its fur in a soothing way. It’s black and orange, with soft-looking tufts of fur that stick out in a funny way on its tiny head. Harry thinks it’s a million times more adorable than all the photos Luna’s ever sent him, and he wishes he could cuddle it too.

“I don’t know where you live, though,” Draco points out, and Harry realises that he’s never actually told Draco his address, that all this time he has relied on Draco randomly appearing by magic. "I've been wanting to come and check on you for the past few days, but I don't actually know where you live, and you weren't at the hospital."

“Do you have something to write on?” Harry asks, touched by Draco's concern. Draco fishes out a small notebook and a self-inking quill from the pocket of his Auror robes and hands them to Harry. 

He writes his address, then gives it back to him.

“Wait, is this house Unplottable?” Draco asks, his eyes widening. “Are you making me your Secret Keeper?!”

“It’s alright,” Harry says serenely with a shrug, then he confesses, “I like having you here.”

Draco looks him straight in the eyes and then nearly drops the guinea pig when Harry sits up and some of the foam moves, revealing his body in the water. He leans against the bathtub and smiles at Draco, pointing at the tiny mammal in his hands. 

“Shit, I need to take him back before they call the Aurors to report me for theft. I’ll be back soon,” Draco promises, and then Apparates with a loud crack.

Harry looks at the empty space left by Draco, then washes himself quickly, finding some of his energy returning at the prospect of an evening spent in Draco’s company. He grabs a towel and dries himself, then pads to his bedroom to choose some clean clothes. He’s casting a quick drying charm on his curls when he hears a sound from downstairs.

“Harry?” Draco’s voice calls. 

Harry leaves his hair damp and rushes down the stairs, his hand sliding on the bannister as he catches a glimpse of Draco’s blond head. He stops in his tracks on the last step when he notices what Draco has brought with him.

There’s a big cage and two guinea pigs inside. One is the animal Draco was holding earlier, but the other one is new, with white fur and black ears and paws. Draco looks hesitant as he puts a bag full of guinea pig muesli and cardboard tubes on the floor and opens the cage. He carefully takes one of the animals out and delicately places it in Harry’s trembling hands, keeping his own palm pressed against the back of Harry’s fingers, steadying him.

“I thought the photos helped, but the real thing might be better,” Draco explains slowly. “These little chaps are yours if you want them. I can help you look after them, and I read a couple of books on guinea pigs, so I can answer all your questions. I bought all the things you need, plus a few more treats for them because they’re just bloody cute and I couldn’t help myself.”

“They’re mine?” Harry breathes out, his heart beating hard and fast as he feels the soft fur of the small pet in his hand. He’s so warm and solid, and Harry tries to bite back the tears at the thought that it now belongs to him, that Draco made it happen. “I…I haven’t had any other pet since Hedwig…I just missed her too much, and she felt irreplaceable, but…Draco, thank you.”

“I’ve never had a pet, but I can help you pick out names, if you want,” Draco says, letting go too soon of Harry’s hands, making him crave his touch again, like always, with an intensity that feels like it’s consuming Harry from within. “I’ve always wanted a pet, but Father would not allow it.”

“Why?” Harry asks, looking at Draco as he takes the other guinea pig out of the cage, motioning for Harry to follow him to the parlour. 

“He said he didn’t want me to get attached,” Draco explains with a grimace. “That I would only cry when it would eventually die.”

“There’s nothing wrong with crying,” Harry says, thinking about all the tears he’s shed in the course of his life. “And I get attached all the time. Probably too much.”

“I…I like that about you,” Draco murmurs, and it feels like a confession when Harry notices the way his cheeks blush.

“I like a lot of things about you,” Harry whispers back, relishing the way Draco’s eyes lock with his, hopeful and so lovely.

“Shit,” Harry says when the guinea pig has finally had enough of being held and wiggles out of his hand. “No, where are you going, wait!”

Draco chuckles and helps him put the guinea pigs back in their cage.

“We weren’t even supposed to handle them the first day,” he confesses with a guilty look on his face, “but I couldn’t help myself.”

“Why did you get two?” Harry asks, tilting his head to look at the animals eating some carrots.

“Because they need company,” Draco replies, “pretty much like everyone.”

Harry hums and leans against the wall, staring at Draco instead of his new pets, wanting to keep him close, to have him in his life with a desperation he’s never felt before.

“Will you stay for dinner?” he asks, trying to prolong the moment even though he doesn’t have the strength to cook.

“Yes, but we’re ordering some take-away food,” Draco declares, fishing some menus out of the pockets of his Auror robes. “Can I also borrow your cosy clothes? These robes are so fucking heavy.”

Harry smiles and nods, feeling his heart bursting for the first time in days. 

He loves Draco so much. 

“I reckon we should find them matching names,” Harry says later, pointing at the guinea pigs with his chopsticks as he munches on his Pad Thai.

“Don’t point with your chopsticks; it’s rude,” Draco scolds him, but Harry raises an eyebrow at him and sticks his tongue out, making Draco laugh and call him a cheeky sod. “What kind of matching names were you thinking about?”

“I don’t know,” Harry shrugs, then looks at the two fluffy creatures sleeping cuddled up together. “Parvati’s twins both have names that start with the letter p, like their mother and auntie. Maybe something like that. Or Ketchup and Mayo.”

Draco’s horrified expression at the suggestion of condiments makes Harry snort inelegantly, and Draco scoffs again at his appalling table manners. Harry points out that they’re eating on the sofa anyway, but Draco just shakes his head and suggests fancy constellation names that make Harry laugh even more.

“I need to wake up really early tomorrow,” Draco says when it’s already quite late, and Harry wishes he could find a reason to ask him to spend the night, but he can’t really keep Draco for longer, and he knows it. 

“Are you coming to the Memorial?” Harry asks, lingering in the doorway while Draco puts his shoes back on. He’s still wearing Harry’s clothes, and Harry wants to tug him closer and sink his nose into the crook of his neck, to breathe him in and feel his warmth.

“I don’t think my presence will be well-received,” Draco murmurs, avoiding Harry’s eyes. “I always end up taking a day off and lying low. The first couple of years I got hexed in the streets, or people threw food and mud at me.”

Harry frowns at the injustice of it all. Draco paid for his mistakes.

They didn’t fight for this kind of thing to happen.

“Why don’t you come here and spend the day with me?” Harry asks. “You could help me keep Whiskey and Soda company and have a cuddle with them.”

“Yes,” Draco whispers, then, “okay. I’d love to do that. But I refuse to name them after drinks.”

“We can discuss names together,” Harry promises with a smile, feeling incredibly relieved at the thought of spending the day at home with Draco instead of stressing himself sick while he’s making small talk with Ministry officials who only want to appear in the papers with him.

Harry feels a little better that evening, falling asleep on the sofa as he looks at his new pets with a fond gaze and a new warmth in his heart.

He tells Ron and Hermione that he won’t be there for the Memorial, and they seem to understand without asking too many questions on what he’s doing instead. Teddy is disappointed and tries to convince him to come, but Andromeda kindly explains that sometimes grownups need time to be on their own, and that Harry still loves him even if he won’t be there to hear him read his poem.

“Do you think I’m a shitty godfather?” Harry asks Draco on 2nd May, hands deep in a bowl full of flour and butter as he prepares some biscuits.

“I think you’re genuinely shit at choosing guinea pig’s names, but you’re most definitely a great godfather,” Draco replies confidently, chopping walnuts with a sharp knife and sending a few flying on the kitchen floor. “Teddy adores you, and Aunt Andromeda is always singing your praise.”

“My ex cheated on me,” Harry blurts out, making them both freeze. He blushes and then continues, “He said I was too much, that I was too clingy and too affectionate, that it was a pain being with someone as famous as me, and…”

“Your ex was a dick,” Draco declares out loud, possibly too loudly and with so much venom in his voice. “You’re a loving and caring person, Harry. There’s no such thing as being too affectionate, and he was a complete and utter wanker for making you feel guilty about the way you are, which, by the way, is utterly amazing. Give me his address and I’ll hex him.”

Harry laughs, shaking his head and feeling relieved, a weight lifted from his heart after having told someone the secret that has been making him feel inadequate and awful for so long, unable to let go and find someone else who could love him for who he is. But he wants that with Draco now, like he’s never wanted it before.  

The rest of the day goes by in a pleasant blur, and for the first time, Harry doesn’t spend the anniversary of the Battle taking calming potions or hyperventilating in a corner with Hermione and Ron patting his back. He still remembers the people he’s lost, but he shares memories with Draco instead, showing him old photos and curling up on the sofa next to him with a steaming cup of tea and freshly-baked biscuits. 

Harry goes back to work the following day, and it’s a good thing because not even an hour has gone by since the beginning of his shift that his wand flashes red and Parvati shouts at him to run.

When Harry Apparates in the examination room his heart skips a beat as a scream dies on his lips. Draco is lying there, a big red gash on his chest as he struggles to breathe and stares at him with terrified eyes.

It's the most awful déjà vu of what happened in that wretched bathroom, so many years ago.

“No, no, no!” Harry chants, casting spell after spell to seal the wounds and prevent further blood loss while Parvati casts a diagnostic spell to check the damage to Draco’s lungs.

“Theatre,” Parvati declares, “he needs urgent surgery.”

The binding spell makes Draco panic, but Harry’s immediately at his side, holding his hand and stroking his hair, telling him that everything will be alright and that the surgeon on duty is the best one in St Mungo’s. Parvati eyes them with a frown, then she gives Draco a potion that makes him instantly fall asleep. They Side-Along him to theatre and then leave him in the care of the team in charge.

“Harry,” Parvati says, gently rubbing his back and looking at him like he’s a scared little animal. “Here, have some chocolate. Breathe, love. You need to breathe. In through your nose, out through your mouth, like that, good. They’ll patch him up in no time, you’ll see.”

Harry finds the strength to nod, his breathing still coming out ragged and desperate.

“He…” he mumbles, then swallows loudly.

“He’s going to be fine,” Parvati promises. “Would you like to wait for him here? I can keep an eye on your patients this morning.”

“Thanks,” Harry breathes out, then Parvati guides him to a chair and stays with him a little longer, holding Harry’s hand while his heartbeat eventually slows down.

When Draco finally emerges on a stretcher, pale but all in one piece with his gaze still a little unfocused because of the potions, he smiles at Harry and reaches for his hand.

“Stop making that face,” Draco murmurs. “You’ll get wrinkles.”

“Who fucking cares,” Harry says, kissing his hand and making one of the Medi-witches raise an eyebrow at him. He doesn’t care, holds Draco’s hand closer and places it on his own cheek, kissing his palm. “You scared me to death. Never do that again.”

“I’ll try not to,” Draco says, a little smile dancing on his face. 

“How are you feeling?” Harry asks, finally allowing his colleagues to move the stretcher and take Draco to a small, bright room for his recovery. “You’ve lost a lot of blood.”

“I’m starving,” Draco replies, and Harry finally laughs, even though it sounds more like a little sob and a few tears escape his eyes as he moves and asks if Draco is allowed some tea and a few biscuits.

“What happened?” Harry asks later, after watching Draco wolf down half a packet of chocolate digestives and wondering if Draco is feeding himself at home. He needs someone to look after him, to make him lunch and dinner and make sure he’s eating breakfast before he heads off to work. Someone like Harry, a little voice insists in his head.

“Neo-Death Eaters,” Draco replies after a moment, staring at his lap. “Figgins thought I was the perfect man for the job, considering my past…well, the raid didn’t go well at all.”

“I’m going to fucking hex Figgins’s balls off,” Harry declares heatedly, clutching his wand a little too tight. “This has to stop! You’re going to take time off to recover, and in the meantime, I’m going to go have a strong word with Kingsley about this.”

“Harry,” Draco says, his silver eyes finally meeting his. “I love my job. I didn’t think I would at first when I applied to the Aurors programme. It was mainly an attempt to redeem myself after the war, but I really enjoy it. Yes, Figgins is a wanker, but I don’t want to get fired, and I think I’m a decent Auror, with room for improvement, obviously. My colleagues are nice, and I’m due to get a new partner because mine retired three months ago. Seamus volunteered, and he’s bloody hilarious. I don’t want you to speak to Kingsley. This is something I need to do on my own.”

“But he’s going to kill you one of these days,” Harry argues. “And I can’t stand to see you injured. You could have died today!”

“I’m going to be fine,” Draco promises, but his voice is still coming out hoarse and feeble, and his skin is so pale that Harry’s heart clenches in his chest. “Besides, Figgins has applied to move to the US and work with MACUSA. Hopefully, he will leave soon.”

“He’d better,” Harry replies darkly.

He spends the rest of the day with his mind stuck on Draco, in the recovery room where he’s lying a few floors above Harry.

“We need to talk,” Parvati says, giving him a knowing look after Harry’s messed up a simple counter-curse because he’s too distracted with white-blond hair and grey eyes. 

“I’m fine,” Harry replies with a sigh. “Just a bit tired.”

“Tired or having a ridiculous crush on a former school nemesis?” Parvati teases, making Harry blush as he tries to ignore her and get on with his work.

He takes his lime green robes off at the end of his shift, but instead of going home he goes to Draco’s room, finding him awake and bored, and sits next to him in bed.

“When can I leave?” Draco asks, beaming at Harry when he produces a slice of cake he got from that lovely Medi-witch that works at reception.

“I’m not in charge of you,” Harry replies, leaning forward and checking Draco’s chart, “but you’re supposed to stay for at least a couple of days. They had to do some reconstructive surgery on your lungs, so you need to be monitored.”

Draco sighs dramatically and sits with his back against the pillows.

“You look tired,” he murmurs, his eyes boring on Harry. “Go home and relax.”

“I’d rather stay here for a little longer,” Harry confesses. “If that’s okay with you.”

He doesn’t say that it’s because he will miss Draco too much at home, and he’s terrified of summoning him by accident and causing his wounds to open in the process. That he’s so in love with Draco that it hurts to see him like this. That he just wants to breathe his air and feel his warmth next to him. That he’s dying to kiss him.

“It’s more than okay with me,” Draco replies with a smile, his eyes shining as they lock with Harry’s.

“Good.”

“Tell me something about you that I don’t know,” Draco says, turning around to face him. Harry considers what to say, but settles for the uncomfortable truth.

He tells Draco about the War, about being terrified and on the run, about Ron leaving and Harry’s heart shattering. He tells Draco about the day he died, about seeing his parents and Sirius. Draco listens, his eyes never leaving Harry’s while his hand moves and wraps around his, warm and solid.

Harry tells him about the Dursleys.

About the cupboard and the hunger.

About feeling cold and wrong and so fucking lonely all the bloody time.

He tells him things he’s never even told Ron and Hermione because he wants Draco to know all of him, the ugly parts too. He talks about stealing food from the canteen at primary school, about taking books from the library and not returning them because he wanted something to keep. He confesses going back to see the Dursleys after the war to shatter all of Petunia’s fine china and reduce Vernon’s prized stamps collection to smithereens. He tells Draco what it felt like to raise his wand and watch their terrified faces as he destroyed their most precious things, realising that it wasn’t even remotely enough to appease his anger, that nothing would ever be.

He talks about going to therapy and how hard it was, about feeling raw and cracked open in a way he hated but that felt too necessary to hide away from it.

When the words won’t come out anymore, Harry closes his eyes and lets Draco’s hand stroke his hair, his wet cheeks and trembling back.

“Thank you,” Draco whispers against his forehead, placing a sweet kiss there. “For telling me all this. For trusting me. Thank you.”

Harry doesn’t mean to, but he falls asleep there, cuddling up next to Draco in the most unprofessional way. He feels safe and warm, and there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

When he wakes up in the morning and realises what he’s done, Harry doesn’t actually care if they fire him. Draco’s not his patient anyway, and Harry just wanted to feel him, to know Draco was safe next to him. 

The Medi-wizard who comes to check on Draco in the morning gasps loudly and blushes when he finds them all tangled up together, Draco’s head resting on Harry’s chest, his hair beautifully messy. Harry feels too embarrassed to stay for long, so he bids his farewell and goes home to shower and change before his shift starts.

“You slept at the hospital. With Draco Malfoy. What the hell, Harry!” Parvati shouts as a greeting that morning. Harry groans and hides his face in his hands. “The Board has scheduled a meeting at 10 to discuss your behaviour. Here, have some tea; you’ll definitely need it.”

It’s not the first time Harry has a meeting with the Board, in fact, he’s not even that worried about it. They’re just a bunch of old-fashioned wizards and witches who are very much set in their ways of doing things that are not always the most effective or sensible for staff and patients. Harry has requested more flexibility in organising staff rotas for new parents when Parvati came back after maternity leave and he saw how much she was struggling. He’s asked for a better canteen, open twenty-four seven instead of just during the day, not giving the people who are doing a night shift the chance to get some half-decent food. He asked for new, more comfortable robes, since they’re on their feet all day and need freedom of movement. But the board has been deaf to all his requests, saying that St Mungo’s hospital has always done things in a certain way, which is obviously the right way.

He drags his feet upstairs and is asked to wait in a room with light green walls and the most uncomfortable wooden chair Harry has ever had the displeasure to sit on. When they finally let him in, Harry is greeted with stern faces and a series of frowns. The oldest member of the board has dozed off in his chair, and Harry can’t help but smirk when he starts snoring loudly.

“I know what you’re going to say,” Harry starts before they even get a chance to lecture him on his conduct, “but I frankly don’t care anymore. You want to fire me for falling asleep next to a patient – not my patient, by the way – go for it. Good luck finding a Healer with my success rate and who is willing to not take any time off to go on holiday, do all the extra shifts you constantly ask me to do and collect money for your stupid Friends of St Mungo’s auctions every single year.”

He crosses his arms in front of his chest and waits. The elderly wizard lets out a funny snore, and the witch sitting next to him elbows him hard in the ribs.

“Healer Potter, you’re suspended for three days,” the president of the Board declares, his bushy eyebrows so thick that Harry can barely see his eyes. “Without pay.”

“Oh, whatever shall I do?” Harry says, rolling his eyes. “By the way, I’m starting a new petition for a change of robes. This uniform is absolutely ridiculous and so uncomfortable that I have two interns with skin rashes and one with blisters. I’m considering organising a day when we are all going to come to work in our pyjamas as a form of protest.”

They all grumble in annoyance, and Harry storms off, heading towards Draco’s room before he leaves the hospital.

He doesn’t find him there.

“Where has Mr Malfoy gone?” Harry asks one of the Medi-witches.

“He discharged himself saying that he had too much work to do and that he was fine,” she replies with a shrug.

Harry considers going to the Ministry to drag Draco back to hospital, but Parvati catches him before he leaves and gives him a lecture on doing rash things and isn’t he aware that he’s not a horny teenager anymore, and how is Parvati supposed to cope on her own for three bloody days?

“I’m sorry,” Harry says, his shoulders sagging. “I really am, Parv. I didn’t mean to make your life more difficult. I just…needed to feel close to him and fell asleep. I’m sorry.”

Her gaze softens, and she gives him a pat on the shoulder before telling him to get lost and that he owes her at least a fancy meal with expensive wine and a tray full of his salted caramel brownies for her girls.

Harry goes home and sits down on the sofa, wondering what Draco is doing and how to summon him. He has no clue how the bloody curse works and is starting to wonder if it’s a curse at all, since none of the diagnostic spells he tried detected anything. He worries it was one of Figgins’s failed attempts to get rid of Draco and that he’s going to try to curse him again soon and manage to hurt him. Harry wonders if he has actually got something to do with it, since Draco only seems to apparate in Harry’s presence.

What if it was Harry who was cursed?

What if they both were? 

Maybe he should ask a curse-breaker to check on him and Draco.

“Fuck,” Harry breathes out, wondering if Draco is okay, working after such a serious injury.

“Oh,” Draco mumbles, staring at Harry with wild eyes. “I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon.”

“Draco, what the hell!” Harry shouts, noticing the bruise on his forehead and his broken lip. “You got patched up yesterday evening. How on earth are you already injured?”

Harry’s hand wraps around Draco’s arm, pulling him closer so that he sits on the sofa next to him. Harry doesn’t have his wand on him, so he uses his hands to cast a healing spell to treat his wounds, fingers carefully sealing cuts and erasing bruises with feather-light touches.  

“Thank you,” Draco replies, his lips so pink and soft-looking as they curl up into a gentle smile. Their eyes meet, and Harry’s thumb brushes against Draco’s cheek, and then he just leans forward, without thinking, and kisses Draco’s lips tenderly, a barely there kiss that startles them both and makes them stare into each other’s eyes for a few seconds before they give in and do it again, and again, and again. The initial softness is soon replaced by a desperate need that makes Harry clutch at Draco’s rumpled robes while long fingers slide into his messy curls and pull him closer. When they eventually part for air, they’re both flushed and panting, evidently hard in Harry’s case - bloody Healer’s robes, hiding absolutely nothing.

“Do you need to go back to work?” Harry asks, reaching for Draco’s lips one more time, claiming his mouth for another searing kiss that leaves them both breathless.

“I guess so,” Draco replies, running his hands through his long hair and looking so gorgeous that Harry thinks he’s going to spontaneously combust. “Figgins is probably waiting to hex me again during Combat Practice. He takes a good deal of pleasure in seeing me in pain when he’s the one holding a wand and I’m the one who’s role-playing the Auror who got disarmed.” 

“Stay here for a little longer, then,” Harry replies, kissing his soft lips again and making Draco moan into his mouth. “Stay with me, Draco.”

“Mhh,” Draco hums, sucking on Harry’s bottom lip with a mischievous look in his eyes. “Fuck, I’m getting hard.”

“Me, too.”

They part for air, and Draco’s hands rest on Harry’s chest, gently pushing him away.

“I can’t go back to work with an erection,” he explains, making Harry chuckle softly as he kisses Draco’s cheek, then his neck, sucking a bruise there as Draco moans indecently and moves closer, then groans and abruptly stands up. “I’m going to come in my pants like a horny teenager, Harry!”

Harry can’t help but grin, watching the way Draco’s cheeks turn tomato red and his nostrils flare.

“We could…” he starts, but Draco shakes his head.

“I was on a coffee break,” he declares. “The other Aurors are probably already wondering where on earth I am hiding. I can’t have sex right now! Shit, you look like a snack, stop staring at me with those green eyes or I’ll have to drag you to bed…”

Harry snorts as Draco starts pacing around the room and then declares he’s going to the bathroom to wash his face with very cold water.

Harry watches him disappear up the stairs and then closes his eyes, his heart bursting with happiness.

“Fuck,” he mutters, feeling so full of want and need and love.

“Potter! Stop summoning me, I was trying to cool down!” Draco shouts, sounding outraged as he stands in front of Harry.

It suddenly hits him.

Harry’s lips part, and he points at Draco, then at himself.

“I’m the one who is summoning you!” he says.

“No shit, Sherlock,” Draco drawls with an eye roll.  

“No, it’s because I swore!” Harry explains, excited at the discovery he’s just made. “Every time I say fuck, you appear in front of me.”

“Are you sure?” Draco asks with a frown. “You’re always swearing.”

“Let’s try,” Harry says, shooing Draco away and waiting until he’s all the way up the stairs. 

Harry swears under his breath, and Draco immediately appears, eyes wide and lips parted.

“What the hell does this mean?” Draco asks, clearly dumbfounded by Harry’s discovery. “Were you cursed, then?”

“Maybe,” Harry replies, nibbling on the skin of his thumb. “It could have been the Board. They can’t stand me, so maybe they’re trying to piss me off so that I would leave them alone. Or maybe it’s another one of those mental fans of mine who tried to spike my tea to get into bed with me. Or what if it’s Figgins?”

“I doubt that,” Draco says, sitting down next to Harry and running his fingers through Harry’s tangle of curls. “If he wanted to get me injured, he wouldn’t send me to the best Healer in the country.”

Harry blushes, then leans forward for another kiss, wondering if he can continue kissing Draco for the rest of his days.

“Don’t go,” he murmurs against Draco’s lips when he moves to part, chasing after him with desperation.

“I need to go back to work, but I’ll come around this evening,” Draco promises, kissing the corner of Harry’s mouth. “At least now we know how you can summon me.”

“Hmm,” Harry hums, and he’s missing Draco already. He watches him Disapparate with a fond expression on his face and feels the need to swear really loudly to get him back into his arms. 

Harry spends the rest of the day nervously pacing around the house and trying to keep himself busy.

Who could be behind Draco’s apparitions?

If it’s not someone who wants to harm him, then maybe it’s the exact opposite, Harry reasons.

Maybe it’s someone who is trying to protect Draco, by sending him to Harry.

He thinks about all the people they know, discarding all the options one by one, until he has a sudden realisation.

“Surely not,” he mumbles, but then he figures that she loves them both enough to have conjured up an unhinged plan like this.

Luna.

Harry looks for her at home, at the Quibbler’s headquarters, then at the dainty little café where she spends her time when she’s not at home or at work.

“Harry!” she beams at him from behind a big cup of hot chocolate surmounted by a precarious pile of marshmallows. “It’s so nice to see you.”

“It’s nice to see you, too,” Harry says, sitting down next to her. “Luna, have you by any chance cast something dodgy on Draco?”

Luna seems to be deep in thought as she spoons out some of the marshmallows and then starts drinking her hot chocolate.

“If you’re referring to the time I accidentally turned his hair pink,” she finally says with a chocolate moustache above her upper lip, “then that was just to stabilise his chakras. The change in hair colour was simply fortuitous. He did look charming, though. Would you like to see a photo of him?” 

“Maybe later,” Harry says, shaking his head. “You don’t remember accidentally cursing him or making him Apparate to places against his will? Or casting something on me?”

“No,” Luna says, shaking her head and making her earrings tinkle. “I would remember that. I don’t know of any spells like that, unfortunately. Why?”

“Nothing,” Harry says, probably too quickly, and Luna studies him for a long moment. 

“You’re always super careful,” Luna says serenely, “and I doubt anyone would have managed to give you a potion or curse you without you knowing. I know that Draco ends up in St Mungo’s a lot, but he’s actually really good at his job, and both Neville and Seamus do their best to watch his back. Maybe the answer to your question is less suspicious than it looks.”

Harry thinks about Luna’s words, then he ends up ordering a panini and a pot of tea because he’s hungry and so bloody confused.

He goes home, looking at the clock as he wonders at what time Draco’s shift ends. He decides to take a shower, nervous about what is going to happen when they see each other again. Will Draco think it was all a mistake and Harry is too much of a hassle to be with? That their past is too much and being just friends would be a lot easier? Harry knows that being with him is not a walk in the park, what with all the added pressure of the press being constantly on his back and his friends being overprotective, but he wants Draco, needs him in a way he’s never craved anyone before.

He loves him, for fuck’s sake.

Harry can’t help but remember the taste of Draco’s lips, the slow drag of his tongue exploring Harry’s mouth and the way his long fingers tugged at Harry’s curls, possessively yet not too hard, with enough pressure to pull him closer and make him moan. 

Harry closes his eyes and runs his fingers down the length of his hardening cock, feeling it thicken under the warm stream of the water, closing his eyes as he pants and imagines Draco’s hands on him, his lips on Harry’s neck and fingers digging into the soft flesh of Harry’s waist to press against him.

“Fuck…” he can’t help but cry as he strokes faster, gasping when he feels familiar hands wrapping around his hips.

“Couldn’t wait for me, could you?” Draco says, his voice low as he stares at Harry’s hard cock, his bottom lip trapped between white teeth. “Fuck, you’re so hot. I want you really badly.”

He’s still wearing his Auror robes, the front starting to get wet under the stream of the shower, and Harry hopes he hasn’t dragged him out of an important meeting or a mission, but then Draco starts kissing him, hard and deep, making Harry moan helplessly into his mouth while Draco’s fingers wrap around Harry’s cock and start guiding his hand, up and down, smooth and hot. 

“You’re overdressed,” Harry mumbles when they part for oxygen, observing the way Draco’s eating him with his eyes. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Draco replies with a raised eyebrow that really ought to clash with the indecent way he’s moving his fist over Harry’s cock, but that makes Harry groan in a desperate way. “I must have missed the invitation for this special date in your shower that required a very specific dress code”

“Stop being snarky,” Harry replies, already breathless as he whimpers when Draco’s thumb slides over the slit of his cock “Wait, are we dating then?” 

“Potter, I have my hand around your cock and I’m trying to kiss you, if only you would stop talking,” Draco argues, successfully managing to shut Harry up with his lips. 

“Mhhh…aaah…do you want to date me?” Harry can’t help but ask when they part and Draco starts kissing a trail down his neck, sucking on the soft skin under his ear and making Harry close his eyes and just moan, low and helpless as he feels Draco’s hot mouth leaving bruises on him.

“I thought that was clear.” 

“You never know,” Harry replies, sliding his fingers through Draco’s hair and marvelling at how soft it is. 

He thinks about all the people that just wanted to sleep with him in the past, of all the men and women who were simply interested in showing off to the rest of the wizarding world by claiming they had slept with the Saviour and couldn’t care less about dating Harry. 

“Harry, I’m demisexual, and there’s no one else I’ve ever wanted as badly as I want you in my life,” Draco replies, interrupting his ministrations to look at him straight in the eyes. “Now, I was just about to go down on my knees to suck your cock, if that’s something you might be interested in.”

“Oh,” Harry breathes out, eyes growing round as he nods a few times. “Yes, please.”

“Always so polite,” Draco drawls, but then he’s on his knees between Harry’s legs, grey eyes locking with his as Draco’s pink tongue darts out to lick at the precome gathered on the tip of his cock. He teases him with kitty licks while stroking Harry’s cock slowly, then sucks on the head of his cock and dips his tongue into the slit, until Harry’s a whimpering mess.

“Stop teasing,” Harry begs, his fingers buried in Draco’s hair, tugging gently until Draco manages to smirk around his cock and finally starts bobbing his head, taking him all in and swallowing Harry whole with a satisfied little grunt that sends a shiver down Harry’s spine. And then it’s heat and Draco’s deliciously wet mouth and firm fingers, and Harry’s lips open on a moan until he shudders and pours himself into Draco’s mouth, coming hard down his throat. Draco drinks it all, his eyes still locked on Harry’s face, as if he didn’t want to miss anything. 

“Hmm,” Draco hums around his oversensitive cock, and Harry lets out a pitiful little noise before stroking his hair and tilting his chin up as his softening dick escapes Draco’s indecent mouth.

“C’mere,” Harry says, dragging him up, pushing Draco against the shower wall and getting him all wet in the process. Harry tastes himself on his lips, fumbles with the front of his robes until Draco’s impossibly hard cock is in his hand and Harry is stroking him, hard and fast. There's no finesse, no time for showing Draco that Harry can be good and slow and tender. He wants him too much now, craves to make Draco come undone while he drinks in his flushed cheeks and creased eyebrows.

“Harry, fuck…” Draco gasps, then he arches his back and his eyes flutter shut as he comes in Harry’s hand, wet and warm on his palm, a little whimper on the tip of his lips.

“You’re so gorgeous,” Harry whispers, kissing him deep and messy, until Draco is loose and pliant in his arms, hands around Harry’s waist while they kiss and kiss. Harry eventually manages to get him naked, and he marvels at how beautiful Draco is, at the perfect curve of his arse while Harry makes him turn around with the excuse to wash him.

“Are you checking out my derrière?” Draco asks with a smirk, and Harry gives him a playful little smack and kisses his neck until Draco is moaning and panting again.

“What would you like for dinner?” Harry asks later, when they’re both wearing pyjamas and cuddling on the sofa, Draco’s head in his lap while Harry strokes his long hair and marvels at how silky it is. “I can make you something nice.”

“Whatever you fancy,” Draco replies, a smile lingering on his face as Harry dotes on him, wanting him to feel special and loved. "I already feel so spoiled."

Harry’s wand starts vibrating on the low table, flashing red and then buzzing ominously against the wood.

“I’m not on duty,” Harry says with a frown, his eyes fixed on the wand. “I’ve been suspended for three days.”

“You what?!” Draco asks, staring at him with a worried expression on his face. “Is that because you fell asleep in my bed?”

Parvati’s armadillo Patronus prevents Harry from answering as she starts speaking fast and hurriedly.

“Code Purple, Harry. The Knight Bus has crashed, ten injured with five in serious condition. The Board has revoked your suspension. Come quickly.”

Draco sits up immediately, taking Harry’s wand and handing it to him.

“Go,” he says, kissing him quickly on the lips. 

Harry would like to tell him that he loves him there and then. He would like to tell Draco that no one ever understands what it’s like to abandon whatever you’re doing, even if it's the most beautiful and perfect moment because there’s someone who needs your help. His ex used to make him feel guilty all the time, asking him to stay and ignore the calls, saying that Harry was always only half there with him, but Draco knows what it’s like to have a job where you have to just Disapparate without a word for the sake of someone else’s safety.

Harry slips into work mode instantly, Apparating to the examination rooms that are flashing purple, casting spell after spell to mend broken bones, stitch up wounds and heal bruises. He works in his pyjamas because there’s not a minute to lose and the casualties are so many. He sweats and channels his magic for a delicate spell that should make a heart start beating again, but fails at the first attempt, then breathes in relief when it finally works the second he casts it. 

“Liver failure in room 3,” someone shouts from the corridor. “We don’t have a Healer in here!”

Harry Apparates there, points his wand and fights against time, exhausted and dehydrated. When was the last time he had some water? He has no time for it because someone else is screaming in room 5.  

It’s midnight by the time Harry gets to cast an Aguamenti for himself and collapses on a sofa in the changing room.

“That was insane,” Parvati groans next to him, patting his knee, “but we did a great job.”

“There was one casualty,” Harry points out with a grimace, thinking about the patient they couldn’t save, about the bad news his colleague will have to give their family.

“Harry, it’s a miracle there was only one,” Parvati murmurs, her tired eyes meeting his. “Go home and sleep. It’s past midnight.”

“Am I still suspended or are they expecting me to come in tomorrow morning?” Harry asks, considering whether he should just find a cot there and sleep at work.

“Still suspended, I’m afraid,” Parvati says with a sigh. “At least you’ll have time to bake me those brownies.”

Harry Apparates home, and it’s dark and empty as usual, but it feels a million times worse because Draco was here before and Harry feels so lonely and miserable now. He checks on his guinea pigs and finds them asleep, huddled together in a warm cuddle. He can't help but feel stupidly jealous of them, which makes him realise how desperately he missed Draco.

Harry takes a quick shower to get rid of the tension and sweat of the evening. He groans under the hot stream of water, closing his eyes as he feels his muscles ache and eventually relax, thinking about the last time he was in the shower, about Draco appearing out of nowhere and giving him the most amazing blowjob of his life.

He dries himself with a half-arsed spell that leaves his hair damp and then puts just a pair of boxers on and slides under the cool blankets. He shuts his eyes, but sleep doesn’t claim him, his body too tired and brain unable to stop as the adrenaline still courses through his veins. He starts going over all the mistakes he made that evening, all the things he could have done differently to prevent that patient from dying. He finds himself staring at the ceiling in the dark and then squeezes his eyes shut, turning to face the wall.

He wishes Draco were there with him.

He just wants to feel him close, to know everything will be fine.

It’s past midnight, nearly one in the morning, and Harry doesn’t want to Floo to his tiny flat and wake him up, besides, he’s just being needy and weak.

But he remembers Draco’s fingers on his face, so tender and delicate. His lips, soft and warm, the delicious swipe of his tongue against Harry’s and all the helpless, little sounds Draco made when Harry’s hands were on him.

Harry tells himself he’s a selfish bastard when an idea takes shape in his head, but he eventually gives in, the need stronger than his moral compass.

“Fuck,” he whispers softly, almost like a prayer, and the bed drops under the weight of the body right behind him.

“Hm?” Draco murmurs sleepily, then his arm is wrapping around Harry’s waist, sliding up his chest as he presses his body against Harry’s naked back. And it’s skin on skin because Draco apparently sleeps naked, and Harry’s never been more grateful for anything else in his life. Draco buries his nose in the crook of Harry’s neck, leaving a small kiss there, his voice still thick with sleep when he asks, “Are you okay, my love?”

“Yeah,” Harry replies, his heart still caught on Draco’s last words. Love. Mine. “Sorry for summoning you, I just…”

“’S okay,” Draco replies, his lips pressed against Harry’s skin, pulling him even closer until they’re slotted together in the most perfect way and Harry can feel all of him, skin smooth and hot and just so perfect. “We can have lazy morning sex when we wake up. My shift starts in the afternoon.”

“Sounds like a perfect idea,” Harry replies with a smile, but Draco’s already drifting off, his face still so close that Harry can feel his gentle breathing against his skin.

He manages to fall asleep, lulled by the sound of Draco curled up behind him and by his comforting warmth.

That night Harry dreams.

He dreams of running and running and running, something behind him trying to catch him and nearly managing to. He dreams of squeezing through tubes and pipes and getting stuck, panicking as he feels trapped and helpless. But then a hand suddenly wraps around his and pulls him until he’s free, and Harry falls onto a sea of flowers, yellow and blue and red amid the green grass, closing his eyes as he feels the petals tickling his face.

He wakes up with a start, brushing a lock of white-blond hair from his face.

“Hmm,” Draco hums behind him, rocking against Harry’s back and making him gasp when he realises that Draco is hard. A hand slides up Harry’s chest, brushing against his nipple and making him puff out air as he tries to suppress a moan. Draco’s cock finds its perfect place in between Harry’s buttocks and starts sliding there, so stiff and promising. Draco’s hand wanders lower, sneaking under the elastic band of Harry’s boxers and wrapping around Harry’s hardening cock. “You’re overdressed.”

“Ahh,” Harry replies unhelpfully, still half-asleep as Draco continues rocking against him and strokes his length until Harry’s leaving a damp patch of precome on the front of his boxers. Draco starts leaving a trail of lazy kisses on his neck, then down his back, sliding Harry’s underwear down until it’s tangled around Harry’s ankles and he kicks it off with a grunt.

“Much better,” Draco declares, and Harry can hear the hint of satisfaction in his voice, wants to smile at it but he’s left moaning instead when Draco’s fingers part his cheeks and press there, teasing him while Draco sucks on the sensitive skin under Harry’s ear. “Want you.”

“Please…” Harry says, his first coherent word of the day, which seems to get Draco even harder as he swears under his breath and fumbles for something behind him. A cleaning spell aimed at his behind makes Harry squirm, but then Draco’s lubed-up finger is there, warm and insistent as it teases and massages until it finally pushes past Harry’s tight ring of muscles and slides inside, inch by tantalising inch. 

Harry pants as Draco slowly gets him ready, turning his head to steal a kiss when Draco adds a second finger, eager to get more, to have everything. They’re both still sleep-rumpled and loose, and Harry thinks this is not what he imagined their first time having sex together to be. There’s none of the usual tension and apprehension that goes with sleeping with someone for the first time, that knot in the stomach that always made Harry feel inadequate and anxious. It’s soft and tender instead; it needs no words and awkward stares, but just lips and hands and Draco’s desperate voice murmuring in his ear that he’s perfect, so hot and tight and Draco can’t take it anymore.

“Please,” Harry says again, begging for more. “Please, Draco…”

Draco’s fingers slide out, and Harry’s still lying on his side with Draco’s chest pressed against his back when he feels a strong hand lifting his leg and Draco’s cock finally there, slowly sinking inside him as Draco whimpers behind him.

“Fuck, you feel perfect,” Draco murmurs close to his ear, “so tight for me, love. You smell so good, Harry…”

“Draco…” he mumbles, gasping when Draco slides out, almost all the way out, to then push back inside until he bottoms out, then again and again until Harry is a whimpering mess, begging to be touched and to come. 

“Fuck,” Harry says, the intensity of feeling Draco so close almost ovelwhelming.

“Still trying to summon me, love?” Draco teases with a chuckle, pushing harder inside him and hitting that delicious bundle of nerves that makes Harry swear again. “I don’t think I can possibly get any closer, darling. I’m practically inside you.”

“Harder,” Harry begs, “deeper, please…”

Draco sucks on his neck as he starts fucking him deeper, his hips slapping against Harry’s and making him keen as he feels so close to the edge. Draco’s fingers finally wrap around Harry’s length, stroking him until Harry’s coming hard, white sparks exploding under his closed eyelids as he moans through his orgasm. He hears Draco’s groan, then his name, like a prayer, as Draco comes deep inside him.

They stay like that for a little longer, while they catch their breath, Draco still buried in Harry’s heat, his long fingers wrapped around Harry’s softening cock, covered in his come.

“I love you,” Draco whispers, so softly that Harry almost doesn’t hear him. 

“I love you, too,” he replies, turning around and cupping Draco’s cheek. “A lot. Like, really a lot. And I know it’s probably too soon, and I might scare you away, but I want you in my life.”

Draco smiles, that breath-taking smile of his that reaches his eyes and makes them crinkle and shine.

“You have morning breath,” he says, kissing Harry anyway, clearly not caring about the mess they’ve made and the fact that they’ve just confessed their feelings for each other.

“So do you,” Harry replies when they part for air.

“We could have breakfast,” Draco suggests, pressing a kiss to the corner of Harry’s mouth, then on the tip of his nose, “then brush our teeth, then have more sex.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Harry replies with a grin.

Harry makes him a full English breakfast, or possibly lunch, considering that it’s nearly midday by the time they take a shower and sit at the kitchen table to eat the food Harry has prepared.

“Merlin’s balls, this is unbelievable,” Draco moans with his mouth around a forkful of crispy bacon and the fluffiest scrambled eggs Harry’s ever managed to make.

“You said I was going to make someone happy one day,” Harry mumbles, remembering Draco’s words the first time he tasted his food. “What if I want that person to be you?”

“Are you about to go down on one knee?” Draco says with a grin and points at his plate. “Because I want to polish my plate before we discuss marriage proposals.”

“I just meant…” Harry fumbles, blushing as he plays with a tomato with his fork. “I want to…”

“Only if I get to make you happy, too,” Draco replies with an easy smile.

“What if I told you that you already do that?” Harry murmurs, making Draco blush and cover his face with his hand.

“Merlin, you’re going to kill me,” Draco mutters, taking Harry’s hand and squeezing it tight. “Come here, breakfast will have to wait.”

Harry ends up sitting on his lap, his mouth open and desperate as Draco kisses him messy and deep, his fingers sneaking under the hem of Harry’s t-shirt to tease his nipples until Harry is whimpering into his mouth and he feels like he’s going to burst.

“Want you so badly,” Harry breathes out. “Want to fuck you now, here, Draco…”

Draco smirks, and his smile is full of mischief as he takes his top off in one swift move, his blond hair cascading around his face in a tousled mess that makes Harry’s mouth water with how much he needs to feel him.

Draco lets Harry take him on the kitchen table, legs spread and ankles resting on Harry’s shoulders as he fucks into him hard and fast, unable to slow down and savour the moment due to the desperation that has suddenly seized him.

“Like that,” Draco cries on a broken moan, “fuck me like you mean it. Shit, there, Harry, oh fuck!”

“Touch yourself for me,” Harry mumbles, his fingers digging into the soft skin of Draco’s thighs as he gets lost inside him, closing his eyes when he feels his muscles tensing and the orgasm approaching, like the light at the end of an impossibly long tunnel, so bright and warm.

“Harry…” Draco gasps, clenching around him as he comes with a groan, calling his name over and over again, like the sweetest sound Harry’s ever heard. 

Harry finally lets go, arching his back and stilling as he comes deep inside Draco, whimpering through the aftershocks and feeling lost in the pleasure, Draco’s hand finding his neck and pulling him down for a tender kiss.

“I’m sorry,” Harry says, breathless and giddy, “I’m normally…I’m usually alright at this. I can go slow and be good, but with you I just…I can’t help…”

Draco wraps his legs around his buttocks and pulls him closer for another sweet kiss, letting his tongue slide against Harry’s in the most delicious way.

“You’re out of your mind if you think this was anything but perfect,” Draco comments when they finally part, Harry’s soft cock sliding out of him as Harry watches, unable to pry his eyes off the sight of Draco’s used hole, his own come trickling out in the most debauched way.

“Do you really have to go to work?” Harry asks, making Draco chuckle.

“Not everyone gets suspended for sleeping on the job,” Draco says, casting a quick cleaning spell on both of them and contemplating the state of the table. “Now I’ll think about you fucking me every time we have breakfast.”

“Mission accomplished,” Harry jokes, and Draco smacks his bum playfully.

Harry thinks about him all day, while he cleans the house and sorts out some outstanding paperwork. He daydreams about Draco while he does the laundry, remembers the feeling of his lips and his hands while he makes himself a snack, can’t stop thinking about his words on the way to Hermione and Ron for dinner.

“Oh god, look at the state of you,” Ron says gravely as he shakes his head. “You’re a goner.”

“What happened?” Hermione asks, looking at Harry with curiosity.

“I’m in love,” Harry replies wistfully, making Ron gag and leave the room with a dramatic sigh. 

“I’m going to go work on my Vanishing Violets while you two talk about Harry making heart eyes about the ferret,” Ron says.

“How do you make heart eyes, uncle Harry?” Rosie asks, staring at him with curiosity.

“Er…” Harry mutters, but Hermione quickly explains that Ron was simply joking and Rosie can continue drawing while the grownups have a chat. Harry spots the little girl squinting a few times and staring at her own reflection on the kitchen cupboard, probably checking for hearts in her eyes.

“So, you and Draco,” Hermione says, sitting next to Harry, “tell me everything!”

“I just…I’m in love with him,” Harry confesses, “and he seems to be mad enough to be in love with me.”

“I’m so happy for you, Harry!” Hermione exclaims, cupping her cheeks with her hands. “Merlin, I’ve been so busy lately that I haven’t had any time to check on you. Tell me how it happened, come on.”

Harry starts from the beginning, from the first time Draco mysteriously Apparated in the middle of Harry’s kitchen. He decides to tell Hermione everything, all the weird things that happened, but all the good ones, too. He tells her about his heart, full to the brim, about how happy he feels, about dying to see Draco again even though it’s only been a handful of hours since they parted.

Hermione listens, frowning when Harry describes the odd Apparitions, then she starts eating her nails and nervously looks at the ceiling.

“Harry, I am so glad that things are going well between you and Draco,” she starts, “and you both deserve to be happy, but this weird Apparition phenomenon sounds extremely unusual to me. I would like you and Draco to come to the Department of Mysteries for some further examination tomorrow morning.”

“Don’t listen to her,” Ron says, entering the kitchen and checking if dinner is ready. “She will prod you and ask a million questions, and she won’t even offer you a biscuit.”

“Ron!” Hermione shouts, glaring at her husband.

“It’s true,” Ron says calmly. “You didn’t offer me any when you insisted on me coming to get my brain scars checked last time.”

“Well, Blaise ate all of them,” Hermione says with a shrug. 

“Uncle Harry!” Rosie says, pulling at his sleeve. “Can we please play before dinner gets ready? I want to play pirates and dragons.”

“Of course, sweetie,” Harry says, ignoring Hermione’s concerned gaze and Ron’s eye roll.

Hermione still tries to convince him to go and see her at work, but Harry argues that Draco doesn’t want Figgins to find out about the curse, and he has a right to his privacy.

“Leave the poor blokes alone,” Ron says when Harry is about to leave. “It’s clearly not a deadly curse, and it seems to me that Harry is enjoying the superpower of summoning his boyfriend with a good old swear word.”

Harry’s so caught on the word boyfriend that he almost trips and falls into the Floo without saying his address first.

When he’s finally allowed to go back to work, after spending all the time he can in Draco’s lovely company, Harry misses him like mad and considers asking him to book a holiday together. They don’t have to go anywhere, Harry thinks, even staying at home for the whole duration of the holiday with Draco sounds delightful.

“Planet Earth to Harry,” Parvati says, waving her hand in front of his face.

“Sorry, Parv. I got distracted.”

“I’m not even going to bother asking you what you were thinking about,” Parvati says, narrowing her eyes. “Anyway, I managed to get all the members of staff to sign your petition to change the robes while you were off work.”

“You what?!” Harry shouts, making one of the interns jump and drop a potion that turns her robes a deep shade of blue.

“Better go to Decontamination, Wendy. That colour’s not too bad, though,” Parvati says absentmindedly. “Anyway, as I was saying, we all signed it, so the Board now has to consider it. They refuse to discuss it until we have new robes to present to them, but I have no clue who we can ask.”

“Oh my god, you’re an absolute star,” Harry says, kissing her on the forehead and making Parvati smile back at him. “I’m going to make you a batch of brownies tonight.”

“You haven’t done them yet!?” Parvati says, looking affronted.

“I’ve been a bit busy,” Harry confesses sheepishly.

The solution to Harry’s problems comes, as usual, in the most unexpected way.

There’s a moment of calm at the hospital in the last hours of the day, and Harry hasn’t had a break in so long that he declares he’s going to have something to eat and will be back in half an hour. He remembers Draco saying that he was going to have an early night and try to meet him for dinner the following day, but it’s too long to wait. He misses Draco like a lost limb, drunk on him and the heady feeling of Draco’s hands and lips on him, on his silver eyes crinkling at the corners when he smiles at Harry.

He hides in one of the storage rooms, with potions packed to the ceiling, and locks the door with the strongest charm he can manage. Then Harry casts a silencing charm and breathes out.

“Fuck,” he says, smiling like an idiot when Draco appears in his boxers and a long-sleeved top, a toothbrush in his mouth and the white foam of toothpaste around his lips.

“Wha?” Draco mutters, looking around the small room with curiosity. He takes the toothbrush out and swallows with a grimace before cleaning his mouth on his sleeve. “Where on earth did you summon me, you menace?”

“I missed you,” is Harry’s answer, hands cupping Draco’s cheek to pull him closer for a kiss. “Minty.”

“Hmm,” Draco says, clearly abandoning his reservations for Harry’s poor choice of location for their illicit rendezvous. “Missed you, too. I couldn’t stop thinking about you this evening.”

“I hate the fact that our schedules don’t match some days,” Harry says, kissing his way down Draco’s neck and palming the front of his boxers, slowly moving his hand up and down and making Draco groan.

“So you thought you’d summon me here for a quickie,” Draco sums up with an amused huff.

“That sounds so unromantic,” Harry argues, capturing his lips again as Draco moans into his mouth, his hands fumbling for Harry’s robes, trying to pull at the fastening and failing to open them, then struggling with the tiny buttons of his trousers while Harry lowers his boxers with one smooth move.

“These fucking robes are impossible!” Draco bursts out, sounding incredibly frustrated as he frowns at Harry’s uniform, looking like he’s trying to tame it into submission with the power of his deadly glare.

“I know, it’s shit,” Harry says with a deep sigh, working on the fastening of his trousers with practised fingers and still taking ages to open them. “The Board finally agreed to consider changing them, but they want an alternative, and I don’t know any seamstress or tailor.”

Draco slides his hand inside Harry’s trousers as soon as they’re open, making Harry gasp and let out a wanton little sound that makes Draco smirk like that cat that got the cream.

“I think I can help with that,” he murmurs, stroking Harry slowly, so slowly that Harry knows he’s going to have to beg by the time Draco allows him to come, which the blond seems to love. “I know the perfect person who can design the best robes for every kind of occasion, including a quick shag in the closet.”

That person turns out to be Pansy Parkinson.

Harry didn’t know that Draco’s old school friend had started working at Madam Malkin’s after school ended, inheriting the business when the woman decided to retire.

“She’s absolutely brilliant,” Draco says as they walk down Diagon Alley that weekend. Harry warned him about the paparazzi following him everywhere and the chance of their new relationship being slapped on the front cover of every bloody paper the following morning. Draco said that as long as Harry didn’t mind, then he didn’t give a monkey’s arse about the press.

Harry’s hand finds his now, noticing a few people staring at them, a couple of flashes in the distance, but he doesn’t care. Draco’s hand feels warm and smooth, solid, like the best protection in the world.

“Do you think she will help me with the uniform?” Harry asks, suddenly feeling nervous. “We didn’t have the best relationship in school, you know.”

“I owled her yesterday, and she said she would be delighted to design new robes for you,” Draco says with a wink. “She’s already got a few proposals for you.”

“You’re the best,” Harry blurts out, still not believing his luck, still pinching himself daily when he thinks that he has a boyfriend, and that boyfriend is Draco, who loves him and cherishes him and is so sweet to him.

“Wait until you see the underwear I asked her to design specifically for you,” Draco says with a devious smirk, and Harry can’t help but laugh and kiss him straight on the lips, ignoring the insistent flashes of the photographers and the murmuring of passers-by all around them.

Harry’s happy and couldn’t care less about people’s opinions.

“Merlin, you look so disgustingly in love,” Ron groans when Harry visits them for brunch the following Sunday. “Where’s the ferret? I thought you were going to bring him today.”

“He got called in for an emergency meeting,” Harry replies apologetically, noticing the way Hermione’s torturing her fingers, biting on her nails as she stares at him from the sofa. “You alright, Hermione?”

“Well,” she says, her voice quivering as she stands up and then sits down again. “I need to have a word with you, Harry. There’s something I have to confess.”

Ron raises both ginger eyebrows and looks at his wife in surprise, but Harry just shrugs and says it’s okay.

Hermione takes him to her study, and it’s the first time Harry’s actually set foot in it. The room is tidy despite being full of books up to the ceiling, with a small desk cluttered with a series of magical devices Harry’s never seen before. Hermione takes a deep breath and then motions for Harry to sit at the table, taking a seat in front of him and opening one of the drawers to extract a small canvas bag.

“I’ve been working on a little side project,” Hermione starts, her fingers trembling as she pulls the cords of the bag to reveal its contents.

Two rag dolls, one with black hair and glasses, the other one with blond hair and a tiny drawing on its arm.

“Hermione,” Harry starts slowly, pointing at the dolls, which are clearly hand-made. “What on earth are these?”

“I made them,” Hermione confesses, suddenly looking sheepish. “I’ve been practising making dolls for Rosie, and I thought I could use them for work, too.”

Harry remembers Rosie saying that she was playing with her mother’s dolls, that one looked like Harry, and he realises that this is what she probably meant.

“But they…” Harry mutters, shaking his head. “They look like me and Draco.”

“They are your dolls,” Hermione confirms. “All I had to do was add one of your hair and perform a spell, and the dolls are in sync with you and Draco. With your feelings.”

Harry stares at them, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

“Are you telling me you made fucking voodoo dolls of me and my boyfriend?!” he shouts, and Hermione flinches, then shakes her head.

“No, no,” she says, resting her temples on her hand. “That’s not what they’re for. I’ve been studying the origin of love.”

“What?” Harry asks, confused, and Hermione sighs before she starts explaining.

“I worked in the Love Room for a bit last year, and I really wanted to study how people fall in love, but then they moved me to another room, so I had to keep it as a side project. I just…have you ever wondered what makes people fall in love? There are plenty of Muggle studies on it, debating whether it’s chemistry or something more complex. What’s that spark between two people that makes them fall in love with each other? I’ve always wondered if it’s magic, if even Muggles can feel it.”

“But why me and Draco?” Harry asks, still confused and extremely angry. He is used to Hermione getting sucked into a project, but he can’t stand the idea that he was used as a guinea pig without his consent, that she also dragged Draco into it to study them.

“Because you clearly looked like you were about to fall in love,” Hermione says with her usual enthusiasm. “Both of you, Harry. You should have seen the way he spoke about you when I had a chat with him, the way his eyes shone and cheeks turned pink. I just thought…I wanted to find out what it was like, because I was so young when it happened to me and Ron, and it feels like ages ago now.”

“Hermione, you used me and Draco!” he shouts, seeing the tears in her eyes. “I spent my youth getting used. Do you remember how that made me feel?”

“I know, and I’m so sorry,” he says, her bottom lip wobbly. “I realised straight away that it was the wrong thing to do, so I deactivated the dolls the day after I created them. I wanted to confess what I had done to you, but then Molly left for Romania and we were so busy, and there was no chance to sit down and talk.”

“You shouldn’t have cursed us, though,” he says, but Hermione looks horrified.

“That was not me,” she declares, “it was Rosie!”

“What?!” Harry exclaims in shock. Hermione groans and points at the door.

“She somehow managed to break into my office and found the dolls,” she explains. “She must have somehow activated them, and I suspect she poured some of Ron’s potions on them. See how they’re both stained,” she adds, and Harry notices a bright pink splotch on both of the dolls and a smaller green one on Draco. “I think she used some of the potions that go into the Vanishing Violets and the Swearing Sweeties, and her magic did the rest.”

Harry gingerly takes one of the dolls in his hands and observes it, thinking that a little girl has managed to give him the push that he needed to find love in his life. To find Draco.

“She’s unbelievable,” Harry says with a smile, returning the doll to Hermione, feeling his anger deflate when he thinks about Rosie.

“Harry, I’m so sorry,” Hermione says, looking genuinely guilty as her eyebrows crease. “I managed to get rid of all the spells, so these are simple dolls now and Draco won’t Apparate anymore every time you swear. If there’s anything else I can do to make amends, please just tell me.”

“It’s okay. But don’t ever do that again,” Harry says with a deep sigh. He realises Hermione must have been so worried about his reaction and how mad he would be. “Rosie is just a little girl.”

“She’s so powerful,” Hermione says, shaking her head. “I spend my days worrying about her future.”

“She’s going to be alright,” Harry says serenely, and he’s convinced of it. “She has two loving and caring parents.”

“And an amazing godfather,” Hermione adds, finally smiling.

“Actually,” Harry says, an idea taking shape in his head. “There is something you could do for me.”

“Anything,” Hermione says with conviction.

“Is there any chance you could speed up Figgins’ transfer to MACUSA?” Harry asks, and the glint in Hermione’s eyes makes him believe that he won’t have to wait for long for Draco to be free.

“Just leave it with me,” Hermione replies. “I’ll make sure he’s gone by end of the week.”

“Lunch is ready!” Ron shouts from downstairs, and Harry stands up, looking around the study one last time before he follows Hermione down the stairs and into the kitchen, where Rosie is waiting for them with hearts drawn on her cheeks.

Harry wishes Draco were there so he could show him his family and how much they mean to him, but he knows it’s just a matter of time before he will be able to have them all together under one roof. All the people he loves.

He Floos home and hears a knock on the front door that makes him freeze. No one ever knocks. No one can see the bloody door!

Harry tiptoes to the entrance and opens the door carefully, finding a bouquet of lilies and roses and Draco’s smiling face behind it.

“I thought I’d come and officially ask you out,” Draco declares, all solemn in his formal robes that make him look impossibly hotter than usual. Harry doesn’t think the robes will last long. “Ancient wizarding traditions and all that.”

“Draco, you look…”

“Dashing, I know,” Draco smirks, making Harry laugh. He tries to school his expression into a serious one, and announces with posh tones, “Harry James Potter, would you be my boyfriend?”

“Yes, you pompous git,” Harry replies, grabbing him by the front of his robes and dragging him inside. He pushes Draco against the wall, kissing him until they’re both breathless and smiling like idiots, lips against lips.

There’s a tiny squeak coming from the parlour, and Draco peaks behind Harry’s back.

“Oh, Salazar, I think the guinea pigs have seen us,” he says. “They’re probably shocked.”

“Salt and Pepper will be fine,” Harry says, reaching for his lips for another kiss.

“Potter, I refuse to call your pets like seasoning,” Draco protests hotly. “It is simply not appropriate.”

“Oh, fuck. Here we go again.”

Notes:

You can find me on Tumblr, where I post snippets of my WIPs.

Notes:

Kudos and comments make my day.

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