Chapter Text
“If I just add the honeywater after the moondew and grind the ginger—no, it couldn’t be that easy… Could it?” Draco frowned, scribbling in a well-worn spiral-bound notebook, forcing his biro over the thin paper as if the pressure was the necessary ingredient to cracking the formula. A desk lamp cast feeble shadows across the multiple open textbooks sprawled across his desk.
“Harry?” he yelled, uncaring of the desperation in his voice. He began to frantically shuffle books around, moving empty tea cups off of them and onto other ones.
He heard loud, quick thumps overhead as Harry ran down the stairs. When he appeared in the door frame, he was a bit out of breath and his hair was tousled carelessly. “What is it? Did you hurt yourself?”
“Have you seen Roots: Reanimating, Reconciling, Revitalising? I swear it was right here, and…” Draco groaned, running his finger over the spines of books haphazardly piled onto the bookshelves that lined the walls. “I can’t find it.”
Harry stepped carefully into Draco’s office, over the unopened box of potions ingredients that Slug and Jiggers had owled over that morning and past the stack of cauldrons that desperately needed to be scrubbed. He picked up Draco’s canvas jacket from the floor, revealing his messenger bag, which he reached into and pulled the book from. “You mean this?”
“Saviour!” Draco rushed across the room, grabbing the book and flipping through the pages. “No, not ginseng, ah, here we go: ‘Ginger, when ground, acts as an emulsifying agent when used in conjunction with tree saps, fruit juices, and dews.’” He looked up at Harry, jittery with excitement and more hopeful than he’d felt in months. “Dews, Harry. Including moondew. Do you know what this means?”
Harry chuckled, running a hand through his stupid hair. “No, Draco. Why don’t you tell me?”
“It means I’ve figured it out!” Draco tossed the book onto the armchair that doubled as storage. As he stretched across his desk, reaching frantically for his notebook, he knocked over a cup of tea. “Get that, would you?” he asked, rushing to set up a cauldron. He paused, looking back at Harry. “Please, sorry.”
Harry rolled his eyes, pulling out his wand and setting things to rights. Draco stared at his housemate’s profile for a moment, the dip in his nose from where it hadn’t set quite right in sixth-year. Merlin, he’s so gorgeous, and he doesn’t even realise.
Shaking his head, he refocused his attention on the silver cauldron, setting the heat to begin a slow simmer of the alkaline water base.
“When will you know?” Harry was very close all of a sudden, his breath ghosting over Draco’s neck.
Draco shuddered, exhaling to try and centre himself. “It’ll be done well before the full moon. I’ll need to go talk to Lavender tomorrow, though, to make sure that she doesn’t start taking the regular stuff.” He picked up his trusty knife, the silver one with the carved walnut handle that Teddy and Harry had given him for Christmas last year, testing its balance in his left hand.
“How about I see if she and Pans want to come over for dinner tomorrow night?” Harry offered. “I can cook, it’ll give you the day to work on it.”
Draco looked over his shoulder, realising that he had no idea what time it was—his lab didn’t have windows, so as to not affect the potions, and he couldn't remember the last time he’d come up for air. The stubble on Harry’s face indicated that it was probably late evening. “Yeah, that’d be lovely, cheers.” He mentally measured the distance between his face and Harry’s, calculating how far he’d have to lean back to press their lips together, and would it be awkward from this angle, and—
“Any special requests?”
“Sorry.” Draco forced his focus back to his cutting board and the Chinese chomping cabbage he meant to chiffonade. “No, whatever you want to make is fine with me.”
The heat at his back receded as Harry stepped away. “Yell if you need anything,” Harry said. “Or send up a Patronus, you’re sounding hoarse. You’re going to want your voice tomorrow night.”
Draco wasn’t about to admit that Harry was correct. His throat had been particularly bad, perhaps because he’d forgotten to take his potion that morning.
His traitorous eyes glanced over at Harry’s backside. “Harry?”
Harry turned back towards him, one hand on the door jamb. Draco’s eyes flew up just in time for Harry to respond. “Yeah?”
“Thank you. For everything.”
Harry’s bright smile was like a reward. “You’re welcome. Make sure you get some sleep tonight, okay?”
Draco nodded, unsure whether he would be able to sleep. He leafed through his notebook, turning to his stores to grab some dried lavender.
Out of the corner of his eye, Draco caught something moving and startled. A steaming cup of tea floated in and settled gently on his desk. Draco could smell the lemon and honey from where he stood. He heard Harry’s familiar footsteps treading up the stairs.
“Thoughtful git,” he murmured to himself, smiling.
Draco spent most of the night on his revised Wolfsbane Potion. It didn’t need constant attention, but he pored over his notes while it simmered, double-checking himself, thinking it couldn’t possibly be that he’d figured it out. He napped intermittently in his chair as he waited for the potion to steep, his wand’s alarm a rude awakening each time the potion was ready for the next step.
But the ingredients reacted just the way he expected they would. With each new addition, each stir of the liquid, he became more confident that he’d created something that would work.
Harry checked on him before he left for work and again when he got home, and Draco was surprised that another day had slipped away from him.
“I’m going to start on dinner, are you okay with Indian food?” Harry asked.
Draco nodded absentmindedly, using his finger to underline the words in Most Potente Potions as he read them, as if it might help him better understand them.
“Pans and Lavender will be here in about an hour.”
Draco nodded again, humming. There was a warm hand on his shoulder, and he looked up from his book.
Harry smiled at him, a few splatters of ink joining the freckles on the bridge of his nose. “Why don’t you go take a shower?”
Draco had been talking a mile a minute since Pansy and Lavender stepped through the Floo. They had gathered around the kitchen table to keep Harry company while he finished cooking. Pansy elbowed a creeping vine out of the way—Draco’s plants took up nearly every available surface in the kitchen, vying for sunlight and, some of them, for attention.
“I don’t want to tell you about what I think it’s going to feel like, because I want you to be able to describe it to me the next morning without bias.”
Lavender nodded. “That makes sense. Are you going to stay at ours, then?”
“I want to be out in the greenhouse with you.”
Something shattered, and everyone’s heads swivelled to Harry, who was now standing in a ring of broken glass. “Draco, are you sure that’s a good idea?” he asked in a low voice.
Draco sat up a bit straighter. “I believe in my work. It’s reacted just the way I expected, and I’ve done the research. Merlin, I’ve been working on this for the better part of two years, Harry. I need to be with her.”
“I have chains,” Lavender added, as if this were a reasonable contribution to Draco’s argument.
Pansy clenched her glass, her blood-red lips set in a thin line. “I agree with Harry. That is a stupid idea, Draco. And, Lavender, you’re just going to take a potion without knowing what it does?”
Draco opened his mouth to protest, but Lavender raised her hand to hush him, resting a placating hand on Pansy’s knee. “I don’t understand how Wolfsbane works, but I take it. I trust Draco. The worst that could happen is that it doesn’t work and I have a bad full moon.”
Draco saw Harry’s jaw working and half-expected him to make a comment that the worst thing that could happen would be her mauling Draco, but he kept quiet.
“I’d be happy to show you my research, Pansy.” Draco Summoned his notebook, the pages fluttering as it breezed into the room. “I just ask that you don’t share it with Lavender, for reasons that I’ve already explained.”
“I’m opening a bottle of wine,” Harry muttered, walking out of the room. Pansy put her head in her hands.
Lavender rubbed Pansy’s back reassuringly, but turned back to Draco. “So, you’ll come over around six? Moonrise isn’t until 7:30 but I’d be more comfortable if I was chained up early.”
Luckily, the awkwardness eased a bit as the wine started to flow and they moved to different topics of conversation.
“How’s it been, with Teddy at Hogwarts?” Pansy asked between bites of the chana masala Harry had made for dinner.
“Quiet,” Draco and Harry said at the same time, looking at each other in surprise. The corner of Harry’s mouth twisted up into a smile.
Draco felt his cheeks heat up. Stupid dimples. “You go.”
“I mean, it’s a transition. We’ve been here with him for what—five years?”
“Six,” Draco corrected.
“Six. And now he’s just… gone. The house feels empty without him. Well, not empty.” He looked at Draco, his expression unreadable.
“Different,” Draco supplied, and Harry nodded. “But he’s loving school. He sorted Hufflepuff.”
“Of course he did,” Pansy laughed.
“And he loves Herbology—he has Neville—and Magical Creatures with Charlie Weasley. Exactly what we thought would happen.”
“He has a small class,” Harry added. “Apparently, there weren’t a lot of magical children born that year, go figure.”
Draco chuckled, but it turned into a hacking cough that scraped its way up his throat like serrated knives.
“Let me get you a pain potion,” Harry said, Summoning a small purple bottle, and Draco blinked gratefully at him through the tears in his eyes. He gulped it down, forcing himself to hold back the cough long enough to swallow. His throat tingled as the magic kicked in, and he took a deep breath.
“Take it easy,” Harry said, his hand firm on Draco’s shoulder as he stood to clear the dishes.
“What happened, anyway? To your voice? I don’t remember it being like that in school.”
Draco had come to realise that Lavender had no filter. He wasn’t sure if she had been that way at school, but often wondered if constantly answering questions about her scars had hardened her a bit. Large slashes covered most of the left side of her face, leaving her blind in one eye.
“Lav!” Pansy hissed.
Draco held up his hands, chuckling. “It’s fine. I, erm, I don’t know if you know about what happened in the Room of Requirement?”
“The Fiendfyre?”
“Right. Well, the smoke burned my throat and lungs pretty badly.” Before she could ask, he continued. “Yes, it is treatable with magic, but I didn’t have a wand, and the Death Eaters were the last to be given medical attention. It could have been worse.” He didn’t need to look at Harry to know he was frowning, which was a large part of why he hated recounting this story. “It’s left me with this sexy rasp, though, so I can’t complain,” he said, trying to lighten the mood, his laugh coming out even huskier than usual.
Lavender laughed along with him, at least. “Sexy rasp, sexy scars,” she said, gesturing towards her face, the raised pink scar tissue still angry all these years later. “We’re quite the pair.”
“They’re gone.” Harry had walked back into the kitchen after seeing Pansy and Lavender off.
Draco flipped on the wireless before sending a spell at the clean dishes to dry them. When he turned around, he found Harry flipping through the pages of his notebook. He could faintly hear Harry clicking his tongue piercing against his teeth, something he tended to do absent-mindedly when he was deep in thought.
“You really think you’ve figured it out,” Harry said quietly.
Draco leaned back against the kitchen counter, taking in Harry’s broad form as he scanned Draco’s scribbled notes. “I do.”
Harry turned to him, bright-eyed and smiling, a contrast to his sullen attitude from earlier. “You know what this means?”
Draco tilted his head, frowning a bit. “I’m sure that I don’t.”
Harry took a few bounding steps forward, wrapping his arms around Draco’s waist and pulling him into an awkward spinning embrace. “We have to celebrate!”
Draco squealed, his heart jumping into his throat. “Put me down, you brute!” he laughed, swatting half-heartedly at Harry.
Harry settled him back onto his feet, loosening his grip but not quite stepping away. Draco felt breathless and a bit dizzy, choosing to attribute it to the spin and not to Harry’s proximity. “You know how I feel about parties,” he said, allowing a small smile to break free.
“This is huge, though,” Harry said, his eyes searching Draco’s.
“I know it’s huge.” Draco disentangled himself from Harry’s embrace, turning back to the sink where he started casting scouring spells at the dirty pots and pans. “I just don’t like parties. And it’s just my job, you know.”
“It’s more than that, and you know it.” Harry leaned on the counter next to Draco, standing close. Draco could feel Harry’s eyes surveying him. “How about a dinner party, then? Just something small?”
“Fine. But no party until after the Ministry approves the potion for public use.” Draco knew that Harry wouldn’t relent, and a dinner party never hurt anyone.
“And you let me tattoo you.”
Draco’s magic faltered, a heavy pot clanging in the sink. “What?”
“Let me tattoo you. Something to commemorate it—a potion bottle, or one of your ingredients. Oooh, or a werewolf!”
Draco chuckled, reengaging the cleaning spell. “I’m not getting a werewolf tattoo.”
“Something else, then.”
“Harry, your waiting list is two months long.” It was true; Draco had seen his appointment book when he’d stopped into the tattoo shop last week. Harry’s tattoo shop, Reclamation, catered mostly to Muggles, who seemed obsessed with his delicate linework and black & grey aesthetic. Draco was pretty sure that Harry prioritised his Muggle clients over his magical ones; something about wanting Harry to tattoo them because of his talent and not because of his name.
“I’ll do it after hours, or on one of my days off. Please? It would mean a lot to me.”
Draco sighed and made the mistake of turning his head to look at Harry. Denying him just wasn’t something that Draco possessed the power to do. “Draw something up for me and we’ll talk.”
Harry’s grin was blinding. “Can I copy down your ingredient list and use some of your books for reference?”
“Of course.” Harry’s smile was catching, and a corresponding one spread over Draco’s face. “You want to get started now, don’t you?”
Harry bounced on his toes, an overgrown puppy trapped in a man’s body. “I have some ideas, I just want to get them down on paper.”
“I’ll jot down a list and gather some books, just give me five minutes.”
“Okay, I’ll be in my studio!” Harry bounded away.
“Not until after the full!” Draco called after him. “I don’t want to jinx it!”
Draco held his breath as Lavender groaned, her body breaking and reforming, chestnut-coloured fur sprouting from her skin. The blanket she’d held over herself for modesty fluttered to the floor. As the transformation settled, she shook out her luxurious coat, blinking up at Draco with unsettlingly intelligent eyes, one the colour of night, the other a milky white.
Draco cleared his throat. He’d never been this close to a transformed werewolf before. There had been a concern that Teddy would take on his father’s lupine tendencies, which was what started Draco down this particular path of research in the first place, but as his puberty hit and full moons continued to come and go without any more than an increased craving for rare steak, St Mungo’s declared Teddy no more a werewolf than Bill Weasley.
“Lav?” he asked tentatively, feeling particularly off-kilter knowing that he wouldn’t be receiving a response. He approached cautiously, trusting that the chains would hold if his potion hadn’t worked.
The wolf blinked at him, her nose inching up to bare her teeth. Fuck, Draco thought.
But it wasn’t a snarl, it was a sneeze. As Draco swiped wolf snot from his arm with disgust, the wolf—Lavender—huffed softly a few times, some approximation of a chuckle.
“Lavender?” Draco repeated. She blinked, bobbing her head in an imitation of a nod, and settled onto her haunches.
Draco laughed, perhaps a bit hysterically. “It worked?”
Lavender’s tongue lolled out of her mouth, her lips curling up into a wolfy smile.
“Can I—Can I touch you?” Draco asked, reaching out a hand tentatively.
Lavender responded by butting her whole head into his palm, and he laughed again, delighted, spelling open her chains.
“What? What the—” Draco blinked awake, frowning, trying to make sense of why his face was wet and quickly realising that Lavender had licked him. “You…” he grumbled, swallowing thickly and trying to clear his throat as he sat up.
It was still dark, but Draco could see the barest sliver of black edging into purple along the horizon. They were still in the converted greenhouse in the backyard of Pansy and Lavender’s home, and he had crashed on one of the torn-up sofas that took up the space.
“Are you ready?” he asked Lavender, who whined and put her head between her front paws. He took her vitals and noted that her heart rate was accelerated, unsurprising given the approaching sunrise.
As the first ray of sun pierced the night sky, Lavender threw her head back and howled. Draco turned his back to let her transform in peace. He flinched as he heard the snap of her bones rearranging themselves, her laboured breathing heavy in the quiet structure.
“Decent,” she sighed, and Draco turned to find her lying on the ground, her curls a sunburst around her head. She’d draped the blanket haphazardly over her long limbs. Draco nearly blurted out a thousand questions before remembering that this was his friend and she was likely in pain.
Kneeling at her side on the cushioned floor, he Summoned a glass and filled it with cold water. “How are you feeling?”
She sat up, clutching the blanket to her chest, and drank greedily, rivulets of water streaming down her chin. She wiped her mouth with the back of her free hand. “Surprisingly good,” she said, rolling her neck and curling and uncurling her fingers, as if testing them.
“Like… better than usual?” he asked, refilling the glass. His eyes fell to the bitemark over her shoulder and part of her neck, and the tattooed lavender and pansies Harry had adorned it with years ago, just before Draco had come back into the picture.
She chuckled tiredly. “Definitely better than usual. Do you want to pull a few memories and we can review together with a Pensieve later?”
“Great plan, I—”
“Draco Malfoy, stop grilling her right now!” The entrance to the greenhouse crashed open, admitting Pansy, who barrelled into Draco and shoved him out of the way. Draco had asked that Pansy not disturb them during the night, even if the potion worked, not wanting to impact the results in any way by introducing a second human.
“I wasn’t— Pansy!” Draco fell heavy on his elbows and groused at his best friend, who was running her hands over Lavender and murmuring quietly. She scowled briefly at Draco, her face flipping between strong emotions as she looked back to Lavender sweetly, as if she were putting on and removing a mask.
Draco sighed, standing up and stretching his limbs, which were achy from sleeping on a too-short sofa for the few hours of sleep he’d managed. “As I was saying, that’s a great plan. Send me an owl once you’re up and about. No rush!” he exclaimed as Pansy tried to AK him with a sharp glare.
He sniffed, turning to collect his things. “I’ll just let myself out.”
A hand wrapped around his ankle, and he looked down. It was slightly disconcerting to see the wolf’s eyes back in their human form.
“Thank you,” Lavender said quietly.
Draco smiled. “You’re welcome.”
Draco stumbled through the Floo, swearing as he tripped on the lip of the hearth that he still forgot about every time, even after six years in the cottage.
“Good morning, Grace.”
Harry was sprawled on their sofa in his pyjama pants, and Draco caught his breath. Who gave this human the right to be so fucking attractive? He had both nipples pierced, a fact that literally haunted Draco’s dreams, and tattoos covered his entire upper torso. Draco wished he could catalogue them all. Perhaps with his tongue…
“Draco?”
“Right, erm, good morning.” Draco dusted the Floo powder from his trousers. “You’re up early.”
“I wanted to see how it went.”
“Nightmare?”
Harry huffed. “Yes, nightmare. But also, I wanted to see how it went.”
Draco kicked off his shoes, an awful habit he’d picked up from Harry and Teddy, and collapsed on the sofa next to Harry. He was freshly showered, and the spicy smell of his soap flooded Draco’s nostrils.
“It went really well.” Draco’s exhaustion seemed to catch up with him all at once, with the weight of Harry’s leg against his, their cosy living room still mostly dark. “She seemed… okay.” He felt hesitant to commit to anything without more information, but this was Harry.
“‘Okay’ sounds like an improvement, at least.” Harry bumped their shoulders together. “Do you want a cup of tea?”
Draco’s eyelids were heavy. “No, I think I’ll just…”
Harry chuckled. “Yes, why don’t you just.”
Draco distantly felt his head lolling towards Harry, but he had already crossed the border into dreamland and was too far gone to care.
Tap, tap, tap.
Draco frowned, turning away from the sound.
Tap, tap, tap.
Draco groaned, burying his face into the warmth beside him. Someone rubbed his shoulder soothingly, their arm a tether back to reality that Draco latched onto.
Tap, tap, tap.
“Draco,” Harry whispered.
All at once, Draco recognised where he was and what he was doing and froze. He shifted his head tentatively, his nose brushing against what he now realised was the stubble on Harry’s neck.
“Fuck,” he said, peeling his face away from the bare skin of Harry’s upper chest. Harry came into focus, the morning light making his bronze skin glow. His eyes scanned Draco’s face thoughtfully. Thank Merlin I wasn’t drooling.
A warm smile broke out over Harry’s handsome features. “You passed out.”
“You could’ve moved me,” Draco said, sitting up straighter and rubbing his eyes with his fists. Harry’s fingers trailed along his shoulder as he moved away, and he disguised a shiver by shaking out the pins and needles in his arm.
Harry chuckled. “It’s alright. I fell back asleep, too.”
This wasn’t the first moment of easy intimacy between them. Draco had worried that Teddy’s absence would make things awkward between the two of them, but instead, it seemed that Harry gravitated even more often to Draco, touching Draco casually, sitting close to him on the sofa. It fuelled the ever-present fire that was Draco’s longing for Harry, the deep-seated crush he’d been harbouring for too long.
Tap, tap, tap.
Harry stood, stretching his arms to the ceiling. Draco let his eyes roam over the expanse of Harry’s back, over the huge phoenix whose wings stretched over Harry’s shoulder blades, then down to the downy hair right above Harry’s low-slung pyjamas. As Harry shuffled towards the window over the mismatched rugs that Draco loved to hate, Draco found himself wishing that the pyjamas were tighter, so he could—
“Oh, it’s from Teddy,” Harry said, tossing a treat to Matilda, the owl that they’d gifted Teddy for his birthday a few months earlier, and untying the parchment from her leg.
Draco inhaled sharply, shaking his lascivious thoughts to the outskirts of his brain. “Oh, yeah? Bring it here.”
“Come to the kitchen, I’ll make us a cup of tea.”
Draco stood, grumbling as he followed Harry into their kitchen, where the sun was shining brightly through the bay window, filtering through the jungle of plants that took up the window sill. Harry tossed him the roll of parchment and pulled out their mint green kettle, filling it with water from his wand and looking expectantly at Draco, who had been watching him instead of opening the parchment.
“Oh, right, erm. Here we go. ‘Hi Wee, Hi Coco,’.” Teddy had a lisp growing up, and Draco might’ve hated his nickname if Harry’s—“Hawwy” shortened to “Wee”—hadn’t been worse.
How are you? I’m tired today. I stayed up late last night playing Exploding Snap with Oscar and Peony but it was really fun and I won so I got the first pick of pastries at breakfast this morning. I had Charms this morning with Professor Flitwick and we started learning Lumos. I only managed a bit of a glow but Oscar is really good at Charms and he lit up the whole classroom by the time we were done. Professor Flitwick gave him 50 points, which was good.
Nev Professor Longbottom says hello and asked if you would be coming up for the Hufflepuff/Ravenclaw match on the 17th. It’s the first of the season. He said you could sit with him and the staff but I’ll let you sit with me in the Hufflepuff section if you aren’t too embarrassing.
“I can’t believe he thinks we’re embarrassing,” Harry scoffed, heating up the kettle.
“I can’t believe you’re surprised, after that stunt you pulled at last year’s final.” Harry had the audacity to look offended, and Draco chuckled, rolling his eyes and picking the letter back up.
Write me back soon, please, and can you send some Sugar Quills? I can’t go to Honeyduke’s and I already ate all the ones I brought with me.
Love,
Teddy
PS: I know you said I couldn’t have the cloak at school, but maybe I could just borrow it for a little bit? Did you know that the Puff common rooms are right by the kitchens?
Draco chuckled. “I can’t say that I’m surprised he’s asking for the cloak already; how long do you think until McGonagall calls us in to talk about his behaviour?”
Harry pulled some mugs down from the cupboard, laughing. “I’ll be surprised if he makes it a year.”
“That match is on a Saturday, can you take a whole day off?”
“It’s Diwali, I blocked off my schedule.”
Draco looked up; he’d been admiring the badger doodles Teddy had scrawled along the bottom of the parchment. “Oh, right. We don’t have to go? Or I can just go—” Draco had gotten into the bad habit of assuming that they’d do things together, but with Teddy at Hogwarts he needed to, well… stop.
Harry frowned, pouring steaming water into the mugs, over the Snitch-shaped tea infusers Draco had gifted him the day after he’d finally beaten Harry during a pick-up Seekers game at the Burrow. “Of course, we’ll go. If the game isn’t over in a few hours, you’re not going to want to stick it out, anyway.”
Draco scoffed, even though Harry was correct.
“And then we can head over to Padma and Hermione’s afterwards.”
At least Draco wasn’t the only one still making plans as if they were part of a unit. “Sure, that sounds good. I’m excited to see their new place.” He took a sip of tea, avoiding the chip on the rim and admiring for about the millionth time how much better Harry’s tea tasted than his own. Maybe it was his Aguamenti, or perhaps his magic heated up the water to a different temperature, or—
“Draco.”
“Hmm?”
Harry smiled at him even though he’d been talking and Draco had clearly been zoned out. “I asked how last night went?”
“Oh. Good.” Draco crossed his legs, leaning forward on his elbow. “Lavender pulled some memories for me; she’s supposed to owl me so we can set up a time to do a formal interview.”
Harry sipped his own tea, the steam obscuring his glasses. Draco tsked, shooting a defogging spell at his face. This had become such a routine between them that Harry didn’t even flinch, just kept talking as his eyes came back into view. “I’m sure you’re itching to talk to her.”
The tea was soothing on Draco’s raw throat. “I feel… surprisingly calm. I think the moment that she looked at me with recognition, I knew everything would be fine. Honestly, anything else is just icing on the cake.”
“I’m sure the cake will be well-iced.”
Harry’s smile warmed Draco as much as the tea did, and he had to force himself to look away, busying himself with the stack of post that had been piling up for the past few days. A postcard from Ron and Blaise was on top, a very sunburnt Ron kissing Blaise’s forehead and smiling on an endless loop in the magical photograph.
“How was your day yesterday?” Draco asked, tearing his eyes away from their blissed-out faces.
Harry shifted, suddenly looking uneasy.
“What?” Draco narrowed his eyes.
“Someone came in to schedule a consult for a cover-up.”
Draco frowned. A large part of Harry’s business was covering up scars and hate or gang-related tattoos, and he usually delighted in any new clients. It was how he and Draco had reconnected, after Pansy had forcibly dragged him to Reclamation for his own consult. Harry offered them for free, stupid, amazing human that he was. “And?”
“It’s a Dark Mark.”
All the air left the room. Luckily, Draco wasn’t holding his teacup, or he might’ve dropped it. His hand went instinctively to his left forearm, clutching at his sleeve. He didn’t trust himself to say anything, instead searching Harry’s face for more information.
“It’s Rosier.”
Evan Rosier, long believed dead, had resurfaced during the Second Wizarding War and connected with Remus Lupin as part of the werewolf outreach Lupin had been tasked with. He’d been living under a pseudonym, using his faked death to escape punishment originally, but had turned into an informant after years of living with the peaceful werewolf pack that had taken him in after he’d been savagely attacked by Fenrir Greyback.
He had basically disappeared again after the Battle of Hogwarts, and it had been rumoured that he and Lupin were lovers. Draco knew that Harry had struggled with the information that Lupin was bisexual and that the nature of his relationship with Rosier and how it related to Teddy’s mother, Nymphadora Tonks, was lost along with their lives.
“Wh—How?” Draco managed.
“Don’t know. I didn’t even know who he was, thought he was just a Muggle until he took off his jacket. It’s—in bad shape. Looks like his wolf has done some damage. Magic’s still there, though.”
Draco felt sick, remembering the sluggish movement of his Dark Mark, the way his knees had given out when Voldemort died, the painful hours spent in Harry’s tattoo chair getting the magic removed and then covered up, though that pain was nothing compared to the minutes spent having it seared into his skin initially. Perhaps it was the lack of sleep or his already too-busy mind, but he felt himself beginning to spiral into a panic attack.
Harry had stepped close while Draco was lost in his memories, and he pried Draco’s fingers away from where they were digging painfully into his forearm. “Draco,” he said, his voice a balm.
Draco shuddered.
“Draco, you’re with me. Take a deep breath.” Draco distantly heard Harry pulling in a long inhale and tried to match it. “Come on, Draco. You’re with me. Tell me five things you can see.”
It took a minute of mimicking Harry’s steady breath before he felt able to speak. “Table, parchment, jumper, teacup. Gryffindor.” He absently ran his fingers over the roaring lion inked on Harry’s forearm, taking another deep, stuttered breath in as he focused on the tattoo and tried to block out the sound of Voldemort’s voice in his head.
Harry chuckled half-heartedly, his free hand rubbing Draco’s back soothingly. “Four things you can touch.”
“Hair, skin, wood. Gryffindor.” The fog was clearing from Draco’s brain, and he looked up at Harry’s earnest face, taking even breaths.
“Three things you can hear.”
“Fireplace crackling. Clock ticking. Gryffindor breathing.” He smiled half-heartedly at Harry, whose eyes were searching his face.
“Leave it to you to be an arse mid-panic attack.”
“Not having a panic attack anymore. Two things I can smell: tea, Gryffindor.”
“I showered this morning,” Harry huffed, jostling Draco, who gripped Harry’s arm tighter, not wanting him to pull away.
“One thing I can taste.” Tea. Draco ran his tongue over the top of his mouth, the honey-lemon-spice combination of Harry’s tea lingering from a few moments ago, from before his world rocked briefly off its axis.
But Harry beat him to the punch. “Gryffindor?” he breathed, leaning in slowly. Draco’s heart, which had just settled a bit, ratcheted up like a jackrabbit’s. He froze, letting Harry inch closer, finally pressing their lips together.
Am I dead? Dreaming? Draco thought, and then Harry tilted his head just so, Draco’s bottom lip slotting between Harry’s, and all coherent thought flew out the window.
Tap, tap, tap .
“Oh, fuck.” Draco leaned forward into nothing as Harry stepped back. “Draco, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—” He was running his hand feverishly through his hair, his eyes wide with panic.
Draco caught himself on the edge of the table and frowned. “Harry, stop, what’s—You didn’t do anything wrong—”
“That’s Lavender’s owl, erm, I’m sure it’s for you. I’m gonna… run to the shop for a few hours, get working on a sketch.” Harry spun on his heel and fled—fled from the kitchen, leaving only the smell of his soap behind, taking Draco’s dignity with him in exchange.
“What the fuck just happened?” Draco voiced his frustration into the empty kitchen, but the plants remained silent.