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“There must be another way,” Harry snapped, frustration and annoyance making his voice sharper than he’d have wished. “Narcissa? She’d give Draco her magic in a shot. Or Blaise. There must be someone else.”
Pansy Parkinson – her usually tidy hair pulled back in a loose knot, and her face grey with exhaustion – shook her head. “It has to be you,” she answered. “Your bond with Draco means your magic is a match for his. Please, Potter. You won’t have to talk to him. He’s unconscious.” She folded her arms in front of her, defiant and pleading in the same movement. “It’s a few hours of your time and you’ll save his life.”
Frankly, refusing Pansy’s request hadn’t ever been an option, not really, but that didn’t mean he had to be delighted about the prospect of spending the rest of the day in St Mungo’s with Draco Malfoy, the very last man in the world he wanted to see.
Gods. A day battling Horntails had more appeal. If Merlin looked kindly upon him, he’d at least be able to infuse Draco with his magic before the git woke. Then he could leave, they wouldn’t have to endure an awkward conversation, and everything could return to their current miserable detente.
“Fine,” Harry answered, “I’ll do it if I absolutely must. Draco won’t be too chuffed though when he wakes. Taking my magic is the last thing he wants.”
The relief on Pansy’s face was palpable. “Thank you,” she said, pink flooding her cheeks. “Draco is in the Artefact Accident Ward, on the second floor. I can take you over there now if you wish?”
“I could get there blindfolded,” Harry answered crossly. “We were marr… We were together three years, Pansy. Part of being with a Cursebreaker is the regular trips to St Mungo’s.” He sighed. “You go ahead. I need to Firecall Ron. We’re supposed to be going to watch the Harpies. I’ll follow along in fifteen minutes.”
Pansy nodded. “Please, don’t be any longer,” she asked. “Draco’s in a mess, Potter. He really needs your help.”
With that, Pansy turned around and took the two steps back to the Grimmauld Floo. Harry watched the enchanted green flames rise and the witch vanish into them. He didn’t move a muscle until the very last sparkle had disappeared.
Only then did Harry reach under the neck of his tee-shirt and pull out the chain that was hidden beneath. There was a ring on the chain, made of Goblin-wrought gold and silver with a date three years before carved upon the smooth metal. He held the ring between his thumb and forefinger for a second, feeling its warmth, before dropping it back under his clothes. What was he playing at, rushing off to play saviour to Draco? It was only a month since he’d sworn, faithfully, that he’d never allow himself to be in the other wizard’s company again. It was simply too painful. Draco was supposed to have been his happy ending. Instead, Draco Malfoy had become Harry Potter’s greatest regret.
Harry Accio’ed his trainers and a recent copy of Quidditch Today. He’d promised Pansy he’d help Draco, and he wasn’t about to renege on that. He’d grit his teeth, pretend to be somewhere else, and get this whole sorry experience over with. After pulling on his trainers, Harry strode towards the Floo. The sooner this began, the sooner he could leave.
Life really had it in for him.
~
When Pansy had told Harry that Draco was in a mess, she hadn’t been fibbing.
Harry’s belly was full of knots, and his heart knocked against his ribs. Harry wasn’t a stranger to the Artefact Accident Ward, but on every previous occasion he’d found Draco sat up in bed, impatient to go home and running his Healers ragged.
Today was hugely different. Draco lay in starched white sheets, still as a statue, his already pale face devoid of any colour. His lips had a blueish tinge, and his hair circled his face like a halo. The bright, artificial Lumos of the bustling corridors outside was more subtle in Draco’s small room, and Harry felt the prickle of Monitoring Spells against his skin. Pansy was sat in a seat beside the bed, her hand placed on top of Draco’s own. Her brown eyes flicked to Harry for a moment, before returning to her best friend.
“What happened?” Harry asked, determined to keep his voice from betraying the depth of his feelings. In mere weeks, Draco wouldn’t be anything to Harry anymore. Their marriage, and the bond that came alongside it, would be severed forever.
“A Cursebreaking job at Woolsthorpe Manor,” Pansy answered, leaning forward to brush a stray hair from Draco’s forehead fondly. “Theo told me the old wizard who lived there had an array of ancient, illegally cursed objects... Draco picked up a music box and, when the tune inside it played, it knocked him unconscious.” She sighed. “Theo managed to cast a Protego, otherwise he’d be in the same state as Draco… The tune syphoned away most of Draco’s magic and the only cure is to transfuse compatible bonded magic back into him. Then, when he’s awake, Draco can destroy the music box and end the curse.”
“Couldn’t Nott have done that already?” Harry asked, stepping closer to the bed. He felt unaccountably furious with Theo Nott, Draco’s Cursebreaking partner, who’d put up a shield wall instead of coming to Draco’s aid.
“Only the victim of the curse can end it,” Pansy answered. “It’s particularly nasty that way. The victim – Draco – gets weaker and weaker, so less able to end the spell, and eventually, once the music box has had its way, Draco will…” Pansy swallowed. “He would die.”
Harry felt faint at the prospect and wished, not for the first or the thousandth time, that Draco had chosen any other career over Cursebreaking. It was Draco’s vocation, however. Having grown up surrounded by Lucius’s collection of dark objects, Draco had an instinctive understanding of the devious enchantments twisting through their materials. Indeed, Draco saw Cursebreaking as a small form of penance for his family’s role in the Second Wizarding War. With every item Draco destroyed, another piece of dark magic was taken out of the world.
Even so, it was hazardous, and part of Harry had worried every time Draco had gone on shift. In the weeks preceding their breakup, Draco had spent several days in the Artefact Accident Ward after a nasty encounter with a cursed mirror. Harry sighed. Dwelling on the past wouldn’t help the present situation and Draco needed his help.
“What happens now?” Harry asked.
“I’ll fetch Healer McKenzie,” Pansy said, standing, “and she can start the magic transfusion enchantments.” As she passed Harry on the way out of the room, she squeezed his arm briefly. “Thank you for doing this,” she said. “I know that things… Well, we all wish they could have been different.”
With that, Pansy rushed out of the door, leaving Draco and him alone. It was absurd to be nervous in the presence of a man he’d known most of his life, and whom he knew better than anyone else in the world, but it didn’t change the fact Harry was.
Tentatively, Harry took Pansy’s vacated seat, and slowly, very slowly, took Draco’s hand in his own.
Straightaway, Harry felt the magic of their marriage bond start to race through his blood, and his fingers tingled where their skin touched Draco’s.
Inevitably, Harry’s mind flicked backwards to the last time they’d been together. Draco had been packing the last of his belongings into his trunk, folding away shirts he’d worn on their dates, and books which had been Valentine’s presents. Harry had believed his heart would break there and then; he’d been astonished when it continued beating.
“Is this it, then?” Harry had asked, stood at the doorway of their bedroom. “Our marriage, reduced to a box of belongings?” Draco hadn’t answered, and he hadn’t met Harry’s eyes.
A noise at the door brought Harry back to the present. The door opened, and Pansy walked back through, a green robed Healer following closely behind. Hastily, Harry dropped Draco’s hand, embarrassed to be caught out. Standing, Harry offered his hand, and the witch shook it, the embodiment of professionalism. Pansy hung back; her arms folded across her chest in a defensive posture. Perhaps Pansy believed he might still change his mind and leave.
“Good afternoon, Mr Malfoy-Potter,” the Healer said, curling her wand sharply and making the Monitoring Spells glow. “I’m Healer Shafiq. It’s incredibly good of you to come so quickly. This curse is a nasty little bugger, so time is of the essence. If everything goes to plan with the magic infusion, you’ll be saving Draco’s life.”
“It’s just Mr Potter now,” Harry answered automatically, before the actual meaning of Healer Shafiq’s words sank in. His stomach twisted painfully. “What do you mean if everything goes to plan? I thought everything would be straightforward. It always was, all the other times Draco was cursed… Is there a chance Draco might still die?”
Healer Shafiq frowned and didn’t speak immediately. The seconds ticked by, and the only sound was the subtle hum of the enchantments. At last, Shafiq replied. “With your donation, I’m confident that Draco will pull through. However, in matters of dark magic there can never be any guarantees. We can only do the best we can.”
Harry felt like all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room.
“Then let’s get started,” Harry said, his voice falsely loud. “We can’t waste another minute.”
~
The infusion wasn’t painful, thank Merlin, but it was far more draining than Harry had anticipated. Healer Shafiq sat him back in the chair beside Draco’s bed, told him to get comfortable, and that he wasn’t to move for the next few hours. Next, he cast a complicated spell and pointed his wand at Harry’s chest.
Heat coiled though Harry’s skin, thick like oil, and the marriage bond made his skin prickle. A silvery trickle of magic danced through the air between Draco and him, and Healer Shafiq pronounced himself satisfied. “The infusion has taken beautifully,” he said, his quill scratching over Draco’s notes. “The bond between the two of you is obviously very strong.” There was nothing else for Healer Shaiq to do, so he’d poured Harry a glass of water and told him he’d be back in an hour to check Draco’s progress.
Pansy had stuck around for a few minutes, but then she’d made the excuse of needing to go home. She was expecting a visit from Theo and wanted to update him on Draco’s condition. Harry was glad to see the back of her. It wasn’t that he disliked Pansy – their mutual Hogwarts animosity had ended years ago – but the witch was still Draco’s best mate, and since Draco and he had finished, things between Pansy and he had been tricky. She’d always been Draco’s confidant, so Harry reckoned she knew even more about the end of their relationship than he did.
The minutes trickled past slowly, and Harry half-wondered whether a charm had been cast on the clock making it run at a snail's pace. Harry watched the minute hand tick away fifteen minutes and felt his eyelids growing heavy. A sudden wave of tiredness washed over him, and he closed his eyes. His magic would transfuse whether he was awake or not. Getting himself comfortable, Harry let himself drift away to sleep. A five-minute nap wouldn’t hurt, Harry reasoned. He’d be awake by the time Healer Shafiq returned.
But when Harry awoke with a start, more time had passed than he had expected. The clock showed he had been fast asleep for more than three hours. The room was more shadowy than earlier, and somebody had left a Magic Renewal Potion for him to drink. Draco was still unconscious, his face as pale and perfect as a marble statue in the half light.
Harry stretched, yawned, and fidgeted in his chair, surprised with himself. He’d had a decent night of sleep the night before and there wasn’t any reason for him to have snoozed the afternoon away. Harry wondered if he was coming down with something. His head ached, there were pins and needles in his hands, and his brain felt woozy, like he’d spent the afternoon solving riddles. It was all very puzzling. Picking up the Magic Renewal Potion, Harry drank the disgusting pink brew in one gulp. It tasted like a rancid mix of rotten pears and brass sickles, and Harry thought, for one awful minute, that he might be sick.
“Wake up, you complete git,” Harry urged as soon as his stomach had settled. “Here I am, drinking bilge, ruining my afternoon, feeling like shit, just so you’ll wake up, and the best part is, you’ve made it as clear as crystal you can’t stand the sight of me… I can’t even hate you,” Harry said, “I’ve tried. I’ve smashed the Pensieve, so I don’t watch our memories. I’ve given our wedding album to Hermione, so I don’t lose myself in it… Wake up Draco. Wake up-”
“Harry,” came a croak from the bed, unexpected and shocking in the quiet of the room. “You’re… You’re here. You came-”
The voice was broken, grating and melancholy, but it was Draco’s voice, which meant he’d woken up. Blissful relief rolled though Harry, and he was so delighted that he didn’t even care whether Draco had heard his confession only moments before. If Draco were awake, he could destroy the music box, and live a long life.
“Don’t try to speak,” Harry ordered, hurriedly grabbing his wand so that he could summon Healer Shafiq. “You’re awake. That’s all that matters.”
~
“It’s working,” Healer Shafiq said, his wand hovering over Draco’s torso as he cast the last of the diagnostic spells. “You’ve transferred enough magic that Draco was able to fight his way out of the coma.”
“That’s wonderful,” Pansy chipped in. She’d entered, alongside Healer Shafiq, when Harry cast the summoning charm, and her face was pink with happiness. “Now all Draco needs to do to end this blasted curse is destroy the music box. Theo is waiting with it, back at mine. Shall I tell him to Floo over?”
Shafiq shook his head. “Not yet, Ms Parkinson. We don’t want to rush anything. Draco isn’t entirely out of the woods yet, and the Curse Removal Spell is a complicated one, with complex incantations and wand movements. The consequences of a mistake could be disastrous... Mr Potter, I’d like you to stay and continue the transfusion for another couple of hours. We’ll get you a second phial of Magic Renewal Potion.”
All the excitement of Draco waking from the coma drained out of Harry. He’d done everything Pansy had begged of him. He’d donated his magic. He’d brought Draco back to the land of the living.
Too late, Harry remembered Pansy was as sly and cunning as any Slytherin that’d ever lived and would have told Harry anything to get him to St Mungo’s. Harry sighed and glanced at the bed. Draco was still deathly pale, his skin waxy, and his eyes closed. Unfortunately, Healer Shafiq was correct, wasn’t he? Draco was in no fit to be casting spells of any sort. He could hardly speak.
“Fine,” Harry said, resigned to staying, “but I’ve got a couple of conditions. First, I’m not making polite conversation. Draco has made it abundantly clear he isn’t remotely interested in anything I’ve got to say. Secondly, I don’t want you, Zabini, or Nott running in every five minutes. My head is thumping, and I think I’m getting the ‘flu. All I want to do is sleep.”
For a second, Pansy looked like she was going to say something, but then she appeared to think better of it. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” she answered sharply. “Draco staying well is all that matters. I’ll wait at home,” she told Healer Shafiq, “but please, Firecall the moment you’re ready for the music box. Theo and I will come straight back.” Pansy rounded the bed, and kissed Draco on the cheek. “Stay well darling,” she said, giving his forearm a gentle squeeze. “I’ll not be far.”
“Love you,” mumbled Draco, still not opening his eyes. “Remember… You promised?”
Pansy huffed. “Only because you made me,” she murmured back, “and no, I haven’t said a word. Honour between snakes.”
Harry watched the scene, immediately cross, wondering what Pansy’s promise had been. Obviously, it was something from which he was excluded. Jealousy bloomed in his chest, an ugly, thorned rose. Had Draco found a new beau already? Was Pansy keeping Draco’s mystery man informed about Draco’s progress? Was it Theo? They’d been close at Hogwarts, had stayed so afterwards, and become a successful Cursebreaking partnership. Harry, already feeling rotten, tried to swallow his hurt. Draco wasn’t his, not anymore. Draco was a free agent and could love anyone he desired.
Pansy swept out of the room, leaving Harry alone with Draco and Healer Shafiq. The Healer gave him an appraising look, as if he were the patient, rather than Draco. “I expect you’ll be wanting five minutes to take a walk, get a coffee and freshen up?” Shafiq asked, an obvious hint. “You’re going to be stuck in this chair for a few hours longer, Mr Potter. I want you to be comfortable.”
Harry had no problem heeding Shafiq’s suggestion. He stood, stretched, and made for the door. As soon as he was outside in the corridor, Harry cast a Tempus, and was surprised to discover it was already the early evening. St Mungo’s was quieter, and Harry made his way towards the hospital café, keeping his head low so that he wasn’t recognised.
Thank Merlin, the café was almost deserted. Harry found a pair of Sickles in his pocket, bought a blistering cup of coffee, and took a seat in the corner.
As he sipped his acidic brew, Harry tried to get the dancing Wrackspurts inside of his belly under control. Why was spending time with his ex-husband so nerve-wracking? The wizard lying in the bed was only Draco, who sang along to his favourite songs on the wireless and couldn’t ever resist a second helping of Molly’s rhubarb crumble. It was only Draco, so why did it feel like he was in the middle of the Triwizard Tournament once again, tasked with fighting a dragon? Harry sighed, casting his eyes around the café. The witch behind the cash register wasn’t paying him any attention and neither were the other two customers, a loved-up couple in their twenties.
Satisfied he wasn’t being observed, Harry pulled out his wedding ring once again.
They’d married in the summer, in the garden of Grimmauld Place, and it had been a gentle, easy affair, surrounded by friends and family. Their loved ones had stood in a semi-circle around them as the Officiant had touched their held hands with the tip of her wand. Spirals of silver magic had appeared, coiling around both, tying Draco and he together, bonding their magic and their lives.
Their guests had cheered, but to Harry, the sound had been far away.
All Harry’s attentions had been focused on Draco and how happy he was. Harry hadn’t known it was possible to be as happy as he’d been, on his wedding day. There’d been a single flower petal caught in Draco’s hair, Harry remembered, the pink of it bright against the white-blond. Afterwards, when Harry had raised his hand to pluck it out, Draco had caught it, kissing Harry’s wrist with soft lips…
The clink of a cup in a saucer brought Harry back to reality. All that love, all that desire, had ended. Draco had left him, and all he wanted now was another influx of his magic. Harry drank another mouthful of the coffee, wincing at the bitter taste. He’d been sitting there for longer than five minutes, his head and heart lost in the past, and Healer Shafiq would be waiting for him.
Pushing the half-drunk cup away, Harry stood. It was time to go back to Draco’s bedside. He could do this. Just a few more hours, and he could go home.
~
There was silence between Draco and he as Harry settled back into the chair, and Healer Shafiq recast the Magic Infusion Spell. Another phial of Magic Renewal Potion had been left out for him, and Harry drank it, glad of something to do with his hands.
“My tests showed that Draco’s blood pressure, heart rate and magical levels are doing better than expected,” Healer Shafiq told Harry, “so I’m going to come back in an hour. Mr Potter, if you start to feel weak or nauseous in the meantime, just cast a Summoning Spell. We can be at your side in moments.”
After that, the Healer left, shutting the door firmly behind them. Again, Harry was struck by the peculiarity of Shafiq’s behaviour. It was as if he were the wizard lying sick, rather than Draco. Harry considered Draco’s prone form for a moment, watching his ex’s chest rise and fall, and decided he was being silly. Shafiq was an excellent Healer, empathetic and caring, and no doubt treated all who came under his radar to the same attention.
The minutes passed excruciatingly slowly, and the silence between Harry and Draco grew deafening. On the bed, Draco was clearly feigning sleep so as not to talk to him, which suited Harry perfectly.
Taking the crumpled copy of Quidditch Today out of his bag, Harry flicked back to the last article he’d been reading. It was an absorbing analysis of the different broomsticks ridden by the best Seekers in Britain, and that would usually be right up Harry’s street, but today he couldn’t force himself to concentrate. The words swam on the page, wriggling and blurring into one another.
After three attempts, Harry threw the magazine aside for a bad job and glanced at the clock. He swallowed a swear. Only five minutes had passed since the last time he’d looked.
For the fiftieth time that day, Harry let his eyes drift over his ex-husband. He’d lost weight during their weeks apart; Harry was sure of it. The dip of Draco’s clavicle where it peeked outside of his hospital gown was more pronounced, while his jaw and cheekbones were sharp. Something painful twisted in Harry’s chest, and he had to restrain himself from stroking Draco’s cheek.
No doubt Draco was burning the candle at both ends, snacking on Chocolate Frogs, and never sitting down for a proper meal. Harry, always a consummate caregiver, had always been the one in their marriage who looked out for Draco’s wellbeing, the one who’d cooked their meals, and the one who’d always drawn them a bath. He’d been the one to massage Draco’s anxieties away, telling Draco he was loved and beautiful.
Sitting back in his seat, Harry huffed out a breath. Had his ministrations been the reason Draco had fallen out of love with him? Had their domesticity suffocated Draco? Had the cosy home Harry had tried to create become a prison cell for his husband? Harry didn’t know because Draco had never spared him the dignity of an explanation. Their marriage, which had been the centre of Harry’s world, had fallen into ruin not long after the cursed mirror incident.
Abruptly, Draco had moved from their bedroom and into the spare room. Then he’d begun working every hour Merlin sent and ignoring Harry’s pleas for him to come home. They’d stopped socialising, stopped eating together. And on the rare occasions where Draco had come home, he’d locked himself in Grimmauld’s basement for hours and refused to talk about what he was doing. Finally, Draco had moved out, cold-bloodedly sending over divorce papers by owl without even a handwritten note. Harry had lain on the floor the day he’d received them and not moved for half a day.
Hermione and Ron had been flabbergasted. Harry and Draco had been the strongest couple of their acquaintance, their love forged like metal in the heat of the War. Their ending had come out of nowhere, and Harry was still reeling. Draco, as if windlessly casting a Legilimens Spell, must have read Harry’s mind, because he chose that moment to open his eyes. With obvious effort, he turned his head to look at Harry, his grey eyes heavily lidded and red-rimmed.
“Thank you,” Draco rasped, voice scratchy. “I… I know I don’t deserve it… How much you must loathe me, Harry… And how much I deserve your loathing.”
Harry didn’t answer. Taking up his wand, he cast a gentle Aguamenti, holding his wand to Draco’s lips as a light stream of water emerged from the end, and the other wizard drank of it thirstily. Harry’s silence hung in the air, louder than a scream. Draco’s expression was soft and vulnerable, the antithesis of the cold-hearted, clinical swine he’d been during the last few months.
At last, Draco tried again. “How… How have you been?” he asked.
It was an innocent enough question, but Harry didn’t know what to say. The knots in his belly tightened. This was the first time Draco had acknowledged their breakup, or his callous behaviour, and he felt a little sick and lightheaded. His headache returned with a vengeance, making Harry feel as if his skull was far too small to contain all his feelings.
Harry tried to assemble his thoughts so that they made sense. Should he tell the truth? Should he talk about the days where he hadn’t been able to get out of his bed? The days where he hadn’t been able to get off the settee? The days where he’d lived off yesterday’s Muggle takeaway? He’d missed Draco viscerally, and the pain of loneliness had been sharper than a Diffindo.
No, Harry decided, he wouldn’t lie. Draco shouldn’t get a free pass, just because he’d been stupid enough to open a cursed music box. He didn’t deserve it.
“It’s been awful,” Harry answered honestly. “The world carries on regardless, but I want to lock myself away from all of it… I don’t want to go to the footie with Dean or fishing with Nev. All I want is to stop time, because every minute that passes is another minute that I’m away from you.” Harry chucked, wryly. “I put on my brave jovial performance for the rest of the world, but I can’t pretend for you, Draco. I never could.”
A tear, small as a seed pearl, rolled down Draco’s cheek, and if Harry hadn’t been watching him closely, he would have missed it. “I… Hurting you was the last thing I ever wanted to do,” Draco answered. “I only wish-”
But Draco didn’t complete his sentence. There was a knock at the door, and Healer Shafiq entered, his robes swinging behind him, cutting Draco off before he could finish saying what he wanted to. Shafiq waved his wand through the air, ending the Magic Infusion Spell with a Finite. Harry grunted as the bond between Draco and he was severed, the tendrils of magic snapping suddenly, leaving him bereft. Shafiq strode over to Draco’s bedside before pointing his wand at his patient’s torso and casting a series of diagnostic spells.
“Excellent, excellent,” the Healer announced. “Your magical levels are back to where I’d like them, and your blood pressure and heart rate are back to regular parameters.” He murmured to himself, casting a series of spells. Green and pink magic buzzed through the air, and Harry felt the crackle of them in the air. “Draco, if you’re willing to give it a shot, I think we ought to have Ms Parkinson and Mr Nott bring in the musical box? Do you feel strong enough to cast the annihilation spell?”
Draco leaned forward; eyes narrowed in concentration. He picked up his wand from where it was sat with his wallet and watch on the bedside table. Cautiously, Draco moved it through the air in a broad curve. “Accio glass,” he summoned, and the water glass flew into his hand, only spilling a few droplets onto the bed cover. It hovered briefly, and Draco picked it out of the air before taking a small sip. “I believe so,” Draco told Shafiq. “No offence to St Mungo’s but I want to get that blasted thing destroyed and get out of here as soon as possible.”
“None taken,” Shafiq answered, taking the glass from Draco’s hand, and placing it back beside the jug. “One tries not to get too fond of their patients, but you’ve spent more time here than most, Draco. Cursebreaking is dangerous work, and if you wish to see your thirties, you ought to rethink your career path. In my experience, Cursebreakers don’t make old bones.” Shafiq turned his attentions to Harry. “Now, just because the Magic Infusion Spell has ended, I don’t want you rushing away. You need to stay exactly where you are, for the next twenty minutes at least. You’ve given away a lot of your magic and need to give yourself a chance to recover. I’d be remiss as a Healer if I simply let you just walk out of here. If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I’m going to Firecall Ms Parkinson.”
On that, Healer Shafiq left the room once more, leaving him alone with Draco. Harry folded his arms over his chest, not sure which emotion he felt most intensely. Was he worried, because of Shafiq’s dire warning to Draco? Sad, because Draco’s job wasn’t supposed to be any of his concern any longer? Or was he angry because of Draco’s weasel words, moments before? If hurting him was the last thing Draco had wanted, he’d mucked everything up badly.
Harry knew he needed to leave. Being here, in Draco’s company, had knocked him back to square one. His head throbbed, his limbs felt like lead and his heart was raw and broken.
“We won’t be able to do this again,” Harry said eventually, hating each word that left his mouth but knowing each had to be said. “When the Wizengamot grants the divorce, they’ll break our marriage bond. I won’t be able to infuse you with magic again. This is the last time. I’d ask you to give up Cursebreaking, but I know my words will fall on deaf ears. You wouldn’t give it up while we were married. Why on earth would you do it now?”
“If I could go back and listen to you,” Draco answered, “I would do. I wish I could change things, Harry… More than you know.”
Harry felt the bonds of his temper loosening. “You wish you could change things? You didn’t want to hurt me? Make up your mind! You’re the one who left, remember? You’re the one who gave up on our marriage without any explanation. None of this makes sense! I thought we’d be together until we were old, that we’d live out the rest of our days in each other’s arms. But now I know better. You’ve never cared about me, about us, Draco! You’ve taken our future and you’ve obliterated it.”
“I’m sorry,” Draco said, another tear running down his face. “You’ve no idea how sorry I am.”
A silence lapsed over the two of them, heavy as a shroud.
On the bed, Draco looked lost and lonely. Harry’s instinct had always been to cheer Draco, to kiss away his sadness, and to remind him he was loved. Knowing they weren’t Harry’s responsibility anymore hurt deeply. Harry wanted to reach out to Draco, wanted to kiss away that troubled smile. But he couldn't. They weren't husbands any longer.
Harry was pulled from his tangle of thoughts by another knock on the door. It opened and immediately the little room was filled with people. Healer Shafiq was back, with two serious faced colleagues, alongside Pansy and Theo. The cursed music box was in Theo’s possession, made of intricately carved ebony, inlaid with ivory runes. It didn’t look especially cursed, only unfashionable, and the sort of thing a dowager might have kept her earrings locked inside.
“Bloody awful business,” Nott said, Levitating the music box so it was suspended in the air above Draco’s bed. “It might be time to get out of the Cursebreaking game. I only wish I’d gone in there first, then I’d have caught the curse. We’ve had nothing but bad luck, ever since that damned mirror.”
“Which we’re not discussing, remember?” Pansy interjected, glaring daggers at Theo. “Now really isn’t the time.” She turned her attention to Healer Shafiq. “Are you sure this is the only way to end the curse? Is there no other way? After everything Draco’s endured-”
“Parkinson,” Draco cut in, silencing his best friend, his eyes trained on the hovering music box. “We’ve had this discussion already. Harry’s been here for hours, he’s given me his magic, and I feel ready to press on. You and I both know there’s no other option… If there had been, we’d have taken it.” He nodded, resolute, and looked at Harry. “You’ve saved me today, and I need you to know, if something was to happen… Marrying you was the best decision I’ve ever made.”
Harry didn’t know how to answer. He wanted to tell Draco that it wasn’t too late, that he could rip up the divorce papers and come home. He watched, not daring to blink, as Draco slashed his wand through the air, casting an Expulso at the music box. At the same moment, Theo threw up a Protego, shielding them from the blast.
A burst of blue light surrounded the music box, so bright Harry had to shield his eyes. A vibration thrummed through the room, making his stomach churn, and the music box began to rattle alarmingly, the runes glowing redder with every second. There was a sickening crack as the wood splintered, and Draco began to repeat an incantation which, to Harry’s ears, sounded almost melodic. Thrice he repeated the counter-curse, and on the third time it must have worked. There was a flash, and the music box smashed, sending wood flying in every direction. It rebounded off Theo’s shield charm and fell onto the floor. On the bed, Draco gasped and collapsed back onto his pillows, his fingers loosening around his wand.
Healer Shafiq and his assistants jumped into action, casting diagnostic spells, and Vanishing the remaining shards of the music box. There was a tense few seconds where Harry forgot to breathe, but very soon the Healers were nodding, satisfied. The music box was destroyed, and Draco had broken the curse. It was the best possible outcome, and despite everything, Harry was giddy with relief.
“The last remnants of the curse have gone,” Shafiq announced, “but I’m going to keep Draco here for observation overnight. The best thing all of you can do is let Draco rest. Mr Potter, do you feel sufficiently recovered, or would you like to remain seated for a while longer?”
Harry looked across at Draco. The Expluso and the counter-curse had taken everything out of him. He lay still, his eyes closed, his skin pale and his breathing shallow. Not caring about the judgement of Pansy or Theo, he reached over and let his hand rest, momentarily on Draco’s jaw. Their marriage bond flickered approvingly for a moment.
“Look after yourself, Draco,” Harry murmured, grasping that the next time they met, their bond would, most likely, be severed. It took everything Harry had to pull away. If he didn’t leave now, he never would. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.” He took a deep breath. “I’m ready to go home,” Harry told Healer Shafiq.
With that, Harry stood up. He took a final glance at Draco, stood, and left the room.
~
Harry was dozing on the settee, bored by the television show he’d given up trying to follow, when he heard the Floo chime. He scrambled for his glasses, shoving them on his nose with just enough time to see Pansy Parkinson emerge from the green flames.
Momentarily, Harry was confused. Pansy had been a regular visitor to Grimmauld before Draco had left him, but she hadn’t crossed the threshold once since coming to plead for his help after Draco was cursed. That had been a week before, and as far as Harry knew, Draco had made a full recovery. He’d been released from St Mungo’s the following morning. If anything, Pansy looked even more distressed than she had that day. There were dark smudges under her eyes, and her face was pinched and grey.
Pansy stepped into the living room, exactly like she had before, and Harry’s heart missed a beat. His worst fears had been realised. There was something wrong with Draco. That, surely, could be the only reason for her appearance.
“He’s gone,” Pansy began, without preamble, her voice frantic. “Draco’s gone, and he’s going to give up his magic! This morning, when I came down for breakfast, I found this.”
The witch thrust a piece of parchment in Harry’s direction, and he took it automatically. Unrolling it, Harry’s heart clenched at the sight of Draco’s familiar, looping handwriting. All Harry wanted to do was read it, but Pansy was speaking, so he forced himself to continue listening to her. “He’d gotten so desperate, Potter… Said he was only living half a life. Draco was managing before that music box fiasco, but after he saw you… It broke the last of his resolve.”
Harry hadn’t a clue what Parkinson was talking about. “What has seeing me got to do with anything?” he asked. “We’re divorcing, remember? The Wizengamot is going to sever our marriage bond. That was what Draco wanted! He made his wishes clear in his solicitor’s instructions. He didn’t want contact, either in person or by letter.”
There were tears streaming down Pansy’s face. “But Draco didn’t really want a divorce,” she exclaimed urgently. “It was all because of that cursed mirror! Draco swore me to secrecy, told me you couldn’t ever know, said that you’d sacrifice yourself to the curse! He wasn’t willing to let you die, Potter. It was better you live and hate him, than you die.”
Harry stared at Pansy in utter confusion. “The mirror?” he repeated, his mind racing back to the few days Draco had spent in the Artefact Accident Ward months before. “But the Healers couldn’t find any residual curse traces,” Harry answered, still not understanding. “They cleared him to return to work.”
“And that’s where Theo discovered the truth,” Pansy told him. “When Theo took the mirror back to the Ministry to be destroyed, he realised the curse was far more vicious than anything they’d been expecting.” She sniffed, distraught. “The owner of the mirror was a nineteenth century witch, and she’d been disappointed in love, her heart broken by an unfaithful lover... If she couldn’t have love, she swore that anyone who gazed at their reflection in her mirror wouldn’t know love either. The Healers didn’t find anything because Draco wasn’t cursed, Harry. You were!”
Harry felt his legs wobble beneath him. It was in the weeks after Draco’s stay in the Artefacts Accidents Ward that his husband had begun to withdraw from him. “But I’ve never even seen the mirror,” he said, shock making the room sway around him. “How could I be cursed?”
“Because of your marriage bond,” Pansy replied, impatience colouring her words. “The curse sought you out, seeking to curdle and ruin your love… Remember how ill you felt in Draco’s room at St Mungo’s? That was the curse working, its poison racing through your veins as you sat there. If Draco had been conscious, he’d never have allowed you in the room, but we didn’t have choice; we had to. Draco was dying and it was the only way to save his life.”
A horrible, dreadful understanding unravelled inside of Harry. There had been the occasional migraine and a couple of bouts of sickness in the weeks after Draco’s stay in the Artefacts Accidents Ward, but he’d chalked them up to the change in the weather.
“But if I despised him so much that I couldn’t abide being in the same room, Draco believed I’d be okay? And the divorce proceedings… They were so our marriage bond would be severed, weren’t they?”
“They were to save your life,” Pansy told him. “Draco knew you’d never give up on him voluntarily, that you’d do anything, go anywhere to break the curse. He knew what a silly, heroic Gryffindor sod you were… That you’d die chasing a solution. Draco couldn’t risk it. He loves you too much for you to live only half a life.” She sobbed. “But now he’s gone to Germany of all places. There’s a place there, the Munich Institute of Cursebreaking… Draco knows somebody who works there. They’ve got a new idea about how to break the spell, but it’s dangerous. He could lose his magic forever, Potter. Draco might even die.”
Harry could scarcely believe Pansy’s words. Vaguely he remembered Draco mentioning the Munich Institute during their marriage, but other than that, Harry hadn’t ever heard of it. He unrolled the parchment, wanting proof from Draco’s own hand.
My dearest Pansy,
Thank you for being a loyal friend over the course of the last few months. Your love has been the one bright spot during this dark time. I’m sorry if I’ve been gloomy company, locking myself in the library for hours on end, trying to discover an end to this damned mirror curse. I’ve read every book in the Ministry and believe I’m even further away than I was in the beginning. Then, at least, I had faith I could find a solution. Now I worry I could read for another hundred years and still be no closer to a result.
I believe the time has come for action instead of words. I have been in correspondence with Professor Hoffmann at the Munich Institute of Cursebreaking. He believes he knows a way forward.
As you know, the most powerful magic in the world is that of love. It was the sacrifice of Harry’s mum that saved him when he was a baby, and her love was powerful enough to repel an Avada Kedavra. My love for Harry is every bit as strong. Hoffman – a expert in advanced magical theory – thinks it might be possible to amplify my natural magic, and to propel that against the cursed mirror. Think of it as the creation of an Obscurus, but made in hours instead of years. If my love for Harry is powerful enough – and I genuinely believe it is – then that ought to be sufficient to break the curse.
Unfortunately for me, the Magic Magnification Spell is, as I write, a purely theoretical concept. My magic mightn’t return, or, in the worst-case scenario, I could lose my life. Hoffman says he can’t make any promises. It’ll be the first time this procedure has taken place.
I don’t want to die, but I can’t exist without Harry. I’m living only half a life. When I woke in St Mungo’s and saw Harry sitting there, I realised I couldn’t wait any longer. He still loves me, and I him, and if that love endures, so does the risk to Harry’s health and his life. We don’t have time to trust in the Ministry Cursebreaker’s efforts. This is the only path forward. Although I’m scared to take it, I don’t believe I have a choice.
Salazar forbid the worst should happen, but if it did, please show this letter to Harry and tell him that our love was the most significant event of my life. Harry will remain the brightest star in the sky forever.
Yours faithfully, Draco.
Harry read the letter twice before the magnitude of Draco’s decision began to sink in, he felt his whole body grow cold. To save his life, his husband was going to undertake a risky, experimental magical procedure that might well kill him.
Suddenly, everything made sense. Draco moving out of their bedroom, the constant working, and the experimenting in the basement. Draco’s aim hadn’t been to end their marriage; instead, he’d been doing everything he could to protect Harry’s life. Gods, but he wished Draco could only have talked to him and been honest from the outset.
“How close have the Ministry got to finding the counter-curse?” Harry asked, Accio’ing his coat and trainers. He pulled them onto his feet, getting ready to leave.
“Not very,” Pansy admitted. “They’ve found a variant of the witch’s curse and used the counter-curse on Draco. It didn’t work. The mirror was already ancient when it became cursed. The specialists think other, earlier enchantments might have altered the magic, making the curse unique to this object.”
That wasn’t good news at all. Even so, Harry knew he had to stop Draco and buy them both more time. Time was of the essence, and he couldn’t take the risk of Draco dying in a far-flung city across the sea. There had to be another way.
“The International Portkey Office,” Harry told Pansy. “If we’re quick, we might be able to stop him.”
~
When they arrived, the International Portkey Office was as busy as Harry had ever known it. Queues had formed in all directions, and it seemed like every other minute there was another announcement. Harry scanned the Atrium frantically, searching for the familiar sight of his husband’s blond hair amongst the crowds. Harry’s heart thumped furiously, the blood raced through his veins, and a million thoughts crowded his brain.
At last, Harry and Pansy arrived at the Departures Lounge. A large sign was hung there, covered in dozens of locations. Harry found Munich after moments, but instantly his hopes were dashed. The Portkey to Germany had left an hour before. They were already too late.
The next Portkey didn’t leave for another hour, but Harry already knew he’d be leaving with it. His marriage bond urged him forward, powerful, and compelling. He despised how desperate Draco must have become to resort to Hoffman’s speculative treatment, and how heartbroken he must have been to resort to leaving him.
Even worse, Harry knew Draco had been right to take the actions he had. Harry would have fought tooth and nail to remain at Draco’s side, the effect of any curse be damned.
~
The first impression Harry had of the Munich Institute of Cursebreaking was how much it reminded Harry of Hogwarts. The magnificent building must have once been the castle of a wealthy aristocrat, hidden from the local Muggles by a Fidelius Charm and protected by powerful warding spells.
Built from thick grey stone, the Institute’s turrets rose high into the sky, and despite the evening being warm, Harry shivered. The nearer Pansy and he had gotten to the Institute, the viler he had felt. A migraine had bloomed beneath his scar, and with every step, his legs felt heavier, like they had weights attached to them. Harry didn’t say anything. He knew it was the effects of the curse, making him steadily sicker as he got closer to Draco.
What if they were already too late? What if Draco had died? Harry thought he might be sick as they crossed the threshold into the castle. He’d know, wouldn’t he, if that had happened? He’d feel it in his marriage bond.
Pansy made straight for the wizard stood behind the reception, refusing to be intimidated by his haughty scowl or the wand he’d already withdrawn. She cast a Translation Charm before explaining what they had come for. “It’s imperative we speak to one of your visitors, our friend Draco Malfoy-Potter. He came to see Professor Hoffman earlier today on a Portkey from London. He ran away without telling anyone! Please, you must let us see him.”
The witch’s words did nothing to soften the wizard’s icy demeanour. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” he said sharply, folding his arms across his chest. “It’s Institute policy to keep all details of any visitors private. If we did have a Mr Malfoy-Potter here today, then he would have signed a confidentiality agreement which allowed us only to speak to family and significant others-”
Harry finally found his voice. “I’m significant,” he said, his voice sounding like it had come from a great distance away. “I’m Harry Malfoy-Potter. I’m Draco’s husband.”
Taking his wallet from his trouser pocket, Harry pulled out the photograph from their wedding day that he always carried with him. The receptionist’s expression softened a little as he took in the happy image and understood Harry was telling the truth.
“Alright,” The wizard said, flicking his wand. “I’ll make an exception.” The air shimmered, allowing Harry to pass into the main body of the Institute. “But I’m afraid you’ll have to wait here,” the receptionist barked at Pansy. “Relatives only. Mr Malfoy-Potter if you could please follow me?”
The two travelled quickly through meandering corridors, and as they drew ever closer to Draco, the mirror curse grew stronger. Pain rippled down his legs and arms, and his stomach was full of knots. His mouth was dry, and there was a lump in his throat. Fear mixed with a small, fluttery hope that Draco was still safe.
As they walked, Harry pulled the chain from around his neck, sliding it through his fingers until he found the lock. Unhooking it, Harry slid his wedding ring from it, and back onto his finger. The familiar warmth and weight of the gold was wonderful and buoyed Harry for whatever might to happen next.
The journey seemed to take forever, but at last the receptionist arrived at Professor Hoffmann’s offices. After knocking once, Harry entered.
Hoffmann’s rooms were more like a library than a Professor’s workspace. Ancient books covered shelves which led from the floor and the ceiling. There were tables, cluttered with phials, dusty bottles, and pestles and mortars, and elaborate scales.
Amid everything was Draco, sat in a simple wooden chair. His face was even paler than it had been at St Mungo’s a week before, his hair was a dishevelled mess, and his eyes were closed. There was a sheen of sweat on his brow, and he was achingly thin. He looked as vulnerable and as easy to break as a twig.
Despite Harry’s legs feeling like they might give way, he bounded over to his husband’s side.
As if sensing Harry’s presence, Draco opened his eyes. “I knew Pansy would spill the cauldron,” Draco croaked, voice frail. “You… You shouldn’t be here, Harry. The mirror is too powerful. Please… You must leave.”
Lifting a hand, Draco gestured weakly towards the corner of the room. Amongst the chaos was a painter’s easel, holding what appeared to be a large square canvas, covered in a sheet. Harry felt a cold wave trickle of dread roll down his spine. He knew without being told that it was the cursed mirror, radiating dark magic, the witch’s vitriol potent over a hundred years later.
Harry shook his head. He’d walked away from Draco at St Mungo’s and wasn’t about to make the same mistake again. When they’d married, and the silver coils of magic had bound their hands together, Harry had promised to be united with Draco in love, trust, and partnership. Now, now that their love was most challenged, was the time for Harry to fulfil his vows.
“You should have told me everything,” Harry answered, kneeling on the floor in front of Draco, laying his head on his husband’s knee. “I thought so many awful things. You can’t go through with Hoffmann’s spell. You’re so bloody foolish, Draco. You might die, and I forbid that to happen! I need you here, with me! I can’t lose you again.”
“Hoffman’s already syphoned my magic,” Draco answered, his hands carding through Harry’s hair. “That was the simple part. He’s amplifying it now.” Draco paused and took a stuttering breath. “You must understand, I had to do it, love. Even at the beginning, I could see how ill it was making you. The longer you loved me, the more in love we were, the worse it was going to get… Hoffmann offered me the only choice. This way, at least… I know you’ll live.”
At that moment, an older wizard entered the room. Hoffmann had a beard longer than Dumbledore’s, and his formal robes were of a style fashionable a dozen years before. His eyes were clouded but kindly. He held his wand aloft, Levitating before him a glowing, pulsing sphere of iridescent magic, brighter than any Lumos.
The air around it seemed to shimmer, the room grew warmer, and goosebumps rippled over Harry’s skin. Inside of him, Harry’s marriage bond buzzed with recognition. He knew without being told that the sphere was made from Draco’s magic, outside of his body.
“You must leave,” Draco repeated. “You shouldn’t be here... This mightn’t work…”
“I love you,” Harry said, “and I’m not going anywhere... Live or die, I’ll do it by your side.”
Harry took Draco’s hands in his own, as Professor Hoffman made the sphere rise upwards so that it hovered in the middle of the room.
“I can’t wait any longer!” Hoffmann shouted; voice ragged. “We have to break the mirror!”
Above them, the Obscurial sphere grew even larger. The books rattled on the shelves, and the furniture clattered. Pictures fell from the walls, their frames snapping and splintering.
“Remember our wedding vows?” Harry asked, looking to Draco for confirmation.
When his husband nodded, Harry began to repeat them, even though it took everything he had to do so.
Every cell inside Harry, his blood, his skin, and even his bones screamed in anguished unison, the curse battling with Harry’s marriage bond, wanting to seize control of him, wanting to lay him to waste. Harry refused to let it. His and Draco’s love was more powerful. He wouldn’t let the curse win.
Harry spoke their wedding vows aloud, compelled by a force outside his body.
“As our hands are bound together, so are our hearts, minds, and souls... We are united in trust, love, and partnership through the knots of this binding. May the sun always shine on our path and may the bonds of our marriage remain strong and unbreakable.”
There was the shattering of glass, loud and discordant, but Harry could hardly hear it. He knew there was nothing to worry about, not really. If this was to be their last moment on the earth, then it didn’t matter because they were together once again. This was where Harry ought to have been, from the very beginning.
Silvery magic spirals enveloped around Draco and him, made of his love, and Harry finally understood. Their marriage bond had saved Draco from the music box; now it was protecting them once again. No magic that came from love could be corrupted forever. Their bond surrounded them, thrumming and intense, shielding them from harm. An intense, blinding shockwave twirled around them both. There was a blinding flash, like a firework, and Harry watched it fall in tendrils around them.
Magic flooded Harry’s veins and he felt it leave him and infuse Draco, just as it had in St Mungo’s. That was the moment when everything changed.
Suddenly the room was bathed in an ethereal light, and for the first time in so many months, Harry felt truly alive. Air rushed into his lungs, the pain vanished from his head and his limbs felt lighter than air. The mirror curse was broken, and Draco had survived. They kissed and both of their faces were wet with tears.
~
“I hated fighting with you,” Draco whispered.
They were finally back home, at Grimmauld Place. Professor Hoffmann had taken hours and cast a multitude of tests before giving Draco the all-clear, and letting them return to Pansy, and to London.
Even now, Harry kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. He couldn’t shift the smile from his face, and his heart leapt at his husband’s warm tone. Their marriage bond, flickered inside of him, approving and relieved. Harry knew he was finally where he was supposed to be.
“Me too,” Harry replied, his voice gruff. “I don’t work without you. The last few months… Nothing has been right. Next time, you must talk to me. Not Pansy, not Theo. Me.”
“There won’t be a next time,” Draco answered with a half-chuckle. “I’m handing in my notice tomorrow. Healer Shafiq was right. Cursebreakers don’t live to see old age, and we’ve wasted enough time already.”
“That’s true,” Harry answered, moments later, his fingers playing with the edge of Draco’s shirt. Gods, but he’d missed this. “But I’ve got a brilliant idea of how you could make up for lost time.” He smoothed his hand across the curve of Draco’s arse. “A marriage reunion shouldn’t only be in words…”
Harry let his words trail away, choosing instead to continue the declaration in the form of a kiss that began at Draco’s mouth but continued across his cheek.
Harry wanted to nuzzle the spot beneath his husband’s ear and taste the sweetness of his skin. Draco’s hair and stubble tickled Harry’s chin, and the familiar scent of his aftershave filled the air. Happiness made Harry’s chest puff out. He’d honestly believed this part of his life had ended, so to have his husband back in his arms felt nothing less than miraculous.
Humming throatily in Harry’s ear, Draco tugged at Harry’s shirt, pulling it out of his jeans. He slid his hands underneath, where they met Harry’s skin. Draco’s touch was electric, and a sensual heat rolled through Harry, giving him goosebumps. Wherever Draco’s fingers strayed, a shiver raced straight to Harry’s prick. Draco had always known exactly how to touch him, how to set his whole body on fire, and he wasn’t afraid to use his knowledge to shatter Harry into pieces.
Breathlessly pulling away from Draco’s neck, Harry started unbuttoning his own shirt, eager for more of Draco’s touch. Joining at the bottom, Draco’s fingers met Harry’s in the middle and parting the sides. Together, they pushed the shirt over his shoulders, and onto the floor. Both surged back into each other’s arms as the shirt dropped, their lips meeting in an ardent kiss, their hands exploring frantically, their bodies pressed against each other from chest to thigh.
Harry pushed away from the door, and into their bedroom. Their bed was too far from the door for his liking, but they stumbled towards it, doing their best not to lose precious contact as they went. Every second without touching was a waste, and Harry couldn’t bear to be parted from Draco again. They only paused when finally, they reached the bed. Harry toed off his trainers and, with trembling fingers, began to unfasten his jeans.
Desire running fiercely through his veins, Harry stripped out of his clothes as fast as he could, tossing them away and not caring where they fell. The second he was naked, Harry grasped for Draco, rolling them onto the bed before kissing him with everything he had. Laying on his back, Harry pulled Draco on top of him, getting lost in the moment.
Draco moaned into Harry’s mouth, his hips thrusting forward against Harry’s. The intoxicating friction between them was on the very edge of painful, and it sent Harry’s arousal skyrocketing. Magic raced through Harry’s veins, thick like treacle. His libido, asleep for weeks, had decided it was alive once more, and it was tremendous. Harry knew if he didn’t regain some degree of control over himself, all this would be over before it had truly begun.
Grasping Draco’s thighs with both hands, Harry urged him up until Draco was straddling him. Bringing his hand upwards, Harry let the tips of his fingers trail into Draco’s backside, teasing his husband’s furled entrance.
Draco rocked back against Harry’s ministrations before he got up on his knees. After stretching across the bed, he pulled open a drawer. A bottle of lube dropped onto the bed cover beside Harry and thanked his lucky stars he’d kept it during their months apart.
After pushing the drawer closed, Draco settled himself back onto Harry’s thighs.
Reaching up, Harry drew his fingers through the tendrils of white blond hair that framed Draco’s face. “I love you, so much. You do know that, right?”
Grabbing his hand, Draco kissed Harry’s palm. “I do know,” Draco answered, his eyes going soft again. “And I love you too. I never stopped. Every day was a torture… I wouldn’t know how to stop loving you, even if I wanted to.”
Boosting himself with his free hand, Harry sat up. He pressed a tender kiss to Draco’s lips. It was a small touch, but it was enough to reignite the desire that had abated. Their chaste kisses grew heated quickly.
Reaching blindly behind him, Harry grabbed the bottle of lube, opening its lid with practised ease. Draco moaned as Harry circled his arse with one slick finger. One finger soon became two, then three. Draco pushed back against them, his body tight, warm, and welcoming.
“Please, Harry,” Draco muttered breathlessly. He whimpered as Harry angled his finger, purposely brushing over his prostate. “It’s been so long… I’m ready. I want this.”
Their eyes locked, saying a hundred things at once, and more eloquently than either could ever say aloud. Shifting forward onto his knees, Draco arranged himself in position, while Harry aligned himself with his entrance. Then, with a deep inhale of breath, Draco lowered himself down onto Harry’s prick.
The pleasure was incredible, and Harry had to fight to stop himself from coming on the spot. He took a couple of calming breaths, grateful that Draco also needed a moment to compose himself before moving. Then, Draco started pushing up onto his knees until only the tip of Harry’s prick was still inside of him, before sinking back down, swathing Harry’s entire length. Draco repeated the movement, over, and over. It was slow, and steady, and frustrating beyond belief. It was good, unbelievably good, but just not quite enough.
Desperately, Harry gripped Draco by the hips, pushing him to move faster, snapping his hips up in counterpoint.
Groaning, Draco picked up the pace, grunting with exertion with every thrust. His hair stuck damply to his neck, and sweat beaded on his chest, but to Harry, his husband had never looked better. Their coupling quickly grew frenzied as both wizards chased their release. Harry felt the tightening in his belly that warned him he was close to orgasm, and he took Draco’s prick in his hand, wanting very much for them to come together. Harry squeezed lightly, stroking in time with the chaotic pace of their bodies.
Draco muttered something unintelligible before dropping forward, catching his weight on hands that came to rest on Harry’s chest. Draco’s thumbs brushed Harry’s nipples, and that was all Harry needed to tip him over the edge into ecstasy.
Arching off the sheets with a cry, Harry hurtled headlong into pleasure. Fireworks exploded behind his eyelids, blood roared in his ears, and their magic tangled and twisted. He was dimly aware of Draco following him over the edge seconds later. Warm splatters hit his chest, followed swiftly by Draco’s boneless form.
Harry wondered, when he regained full awareness sometime later, whether he dozed off briefly; despite Draco’s soft weight on top of him, he was chilly in the cool air of their bedroom. He stroked Draco’s damp hair back from his forehead, rousing him from his dazed-looking state.
Slowly they separated, Draco rolling onto his side beside him. Harry thought about standing, and getting them both a drink of water, but he didn’t want to, not yet. His limbs were still a little too liquid to risk attempting that manoeuvre.
“I love you,” Draco repeated, leaning over to press a kiss on his cheek.
Harry moved to face his husband, taking in every detail of Draco’s contended expression, and pressing it close to his heart, overjoyed to know that he still had the privilege of putting a smile on Draco’s face.
The mirror curse was broken and they had the whole rest of their lives to share, and to enjoy.