Erised

by grumbleonimbus

Summary:

Draco Malfoy is trying to make amends by doing fundraisers and events for a war orphan charity. He hasn't seen Harry Potter - or thought about him... really! - in about five years. Until he sees him a lot, everywhere, dammit. While vehemently trying to deny his school crush has reignited, Draco cannot help but be charmed by a more mature, serene, confident Harry. And, well, the new looks, plural, are ever so appealing.

Notes:

I love this Wonderful Wizarding World that J.K. Rowling created. I wish it were mine, but I am making no money from this merely giving the beloved characters different endings. I tried to have some originality, but it has been said that of fiction that there are no new ideas.

Chapter 1

Draco snaps his mouth closed. He realises it’s been hanging open, it’s embarrassing that he doesn’t know for how long. He looks around quickly, but no one is paying him any attention, their eyes are riveted on the performance on stage. Even Granger sitting next to him, and she has seen this band, this man, perform before.

 

Draco is here because he spotted Granger at a distance a few days ago walking with an attractive – alright, he’ll admit hot – guy. It was too far for Draco to recognise him but not so far that he hadn’t noticed dark hair pulled into a topknot, some cultivated stubble, tattoos, and a rather nice, ahem, derriere – Muggle denims are a wonder. After his, really rather devastating, break-up with Bastien – curse the exquisite creature – he’d been moping a bit. And, except for the dark hair, this guy seemed completely different from Draco’s usual clean-cut type, and he thought why bloody not?

 

“Grang- Hermione?” he said, casually leaning on the counter in the tea area for what was formally known as the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, recently changed to the Department for Magical Beings (emphasis on for, such is the influence of Granger nowadays).

“Draco, you well?” she asked, stirring her tea without clinking the sides.

“Yes, quite. I saw you, yesterday, walking with someone. You were headed to the coffee shop, the one with the– ”

“Great Chocolate Cake,” she interrupted, the capital letters clearly heard by Draco who has had more than a slice, or four.

“Yes, he is… well I thought he looks… interesting. Is he…?” Draco had to fight the impulse to face palm – what was he even doing?

“Single?”

“Yes that, obviously,” he said in a mimicry of Severus’ languid pronunciation (he does a fairly good impression according to his friends but then Draco thinks so too). It elicited a laugh from Hermione, which was the goal.

“It so happens he is. Why?” Granger tried hiding an amused smile with a sip from her teacup, but her eyes gave her away, so Draco knew then that Hermione only wanted to hear him say it for some reason.

His initial why-bloody-not whim had turned into regret already, but he nonetheless continued, “I thought, perhaps, you might be willing to introduce us.” At which, Draco suddenly felt as though he might sound desperate – he is not – “Ugh, never mind, apologies, I-”

“No, that’s alright. I’ll have to ask him, of course. He’s in a band actually, they’re playing this Thursday at a bar in Hampstead Heath. It’s a Muggle bar. Maybe you’d like to go. I haven’t seen them play in a while, so I’d go with you. They just play covers but they’re great,” Hermione smiled nodding her head.

Having pictured the ubiquitous Gryffindors that seemed to travel in a pride, Draco hesitated. Also covers?

Granger must have sensed his reluctance, “Just you and me if that’s okay? Ron will be busy. And it’s a bit short notice for the rest of the gang.”

She really is quite perceptive, Draco had to admit, not even reluctantly but he would never say that out loud. “That would be nice, uh fine, uh… thank you.” He started to leave but turned back from the door, “What should I wear?” he said before he could stop himself.

“Casual Muggle.”

“Casual Muggle. Right. Okay.” He was going to have to recruit Pansy to explain that. He has been wearing Muggle clothes more often, he was just unsure whether they would be considered casual.

“I’ll owl you this evening with the name of the place, you can apparate into the nearby alley. I’ll meet you there.”

 

Later that evening, a tiny owl pecked at Draco’s window. Draco gave it a treat and asked it to wait for a reply before reading the note.

Draco,

As promised, the band is playing at The Pearl Swallow in Hampstead Heath.

Thursday 8:15pm

Hermione

Draco kept Granger’s note and wrote a reply on a slip of paper in a tray by his kitchen window.

Thank you, Hermione. See you there.

DM

 

Turns out casual Muggle isn’t so very tasteless. Draco is wearing a rather expensive pair of dark denims – Guess, darling Pansy said while piling clothes on his arm – and a lavender button-up, open at the throat. Draco added a navy waistcoat after Pansy left, probably rendering it less casual, but he couldn’t help it if he tried. He spent not a small amount of time fussing with his hair, with the intention that it look like he hadn’t. Rakish is a synonym for casual, after all.

 

It's twenty past ten, Draco tears his eyes from the stage to glance at his watch (also expensive – he likes timepieces and Muggles do them rather exquisitely). He isn’t in a hurry to leave, far from it, he is just wondering how long they’d been on stage. He’s surprised to find it has been over an hour and they didn’t seem to be tiring.

The man on stage is enchanting. It is niggling Draco that there is something familiar about him, but he keeps being distracted by the way he moves to really put a finger on it. Draco’s eyes are drawn to his loosely laced Doc Martens – yes, he knows what those are, thank you and maybe he’s been wanting a pair – when the lead singer bends one shapely calf, clothed in tight glen-check fabric, behind him. He bounces the toe of his boot twice on the floor to the beat before planting that foot in a wide stance. Then he rocks back and forth between his feet, swaying his hips more and more with each swing. How is Draco meant to not look at his crotch – Merlin?

The song builds to the chorus and before it comes, the man shoots a stunning grin to the guitarist on his left and bounces on his heels to the up-tempo beat a few times. Draco wonders if there is something between them – but then why would Hermione have invited him? Draco pushes the thought down to admire the singer’s forearms as he hooks his thumbs under thin leather braces and runs them down and up, down and up the length. The sleeves of his crisp white shirt are rolled up to the elbow revealing a few tattoos. They’re unclear from this distance, possibly flowers of some kind or leaves maybe. Draco longs to see them up close – mmm, does the singer have others… and who knew he likes tattoos? Bastien doesn’t have any, it isn’t allowed in the Ballet de l’ Opera de Paris.

The vocalist swipes his right hand up the back of his neck, a faintly familiar gesture to Draco. A turquoise beaded bangle stands out amongst a stack of black and brown leather bands and cords. He shakes his head at a poignant lyric then drops his arm heavily and cocks his left knee inwards dropping his shoulder to the left as well. His eyes are shut tight, a deep frown line between his brows. Dark, square-framed glasses – hipster would be the best description, Pansy’s word – flash in the stage lights before he straightens up and puts a hand on either side of the mic and sings the last line of the song, right up close to it. The words are, however, drowned out by the audience at the foot of the stage already whooping and clapping. It’s roughly five people deep and Draco inexplicably imagines himself as one of the people pressed into the stage at the front – is he a twelve-year old girl now? The singer breaks into a shy smile and a laugh that Draco doesn’t hear so much as see.

He turns away from the mic and there’s a brief, non-verbal agreement between bandmates. He takes a few sips of water from a glass on a barstool in front of the drummer’s dais, wiping his other arm across his forehead.

The singer returns to the mic, cocks one eyebrow that Draco can now see is pierced with a bar – Merlin, he may indeed be a twelve-year old girl – and says past a cheeky grin in a deep voice, rough from use, “This’ll be our last song.” The crowd’s boos morph into cheers as the song starts, it’s clearly a favourite.

Granger has raised her arms to clap loudly in front of her face and she startles Draco with a “Whoo!” Who’d have thought it of Granger. Usually, all no-nonsense and serious at the Ministry, it’s the least composed Draco has seen her. Then again, he seldom sees her outside of working hours.

The man’s cheeks lift in a barely-there smile at the floor, held in a quick glance to the side at the guitarist again before he looks down at his shuffling feet while he waits for his cue. His expression turns into something more wistful as he begins to sing looking into an unseen distance above the audience. Then, suddenly, cocks his head and looks… right. At. Draco. Draco is astonished – surely, he can’t actually be looking at him. He sings the words, “I wish I was a sacrifice, but somehow still lived on”¹ before he flicks his gaze to Hermione and then away. No, no, no, no, it can’t be.

Draco looks at Granger, she has tears in her eyes. That niggling thought has pushed through, and he has figured out exactly why the man is so familiar. Draco’s heartbeat quickens, rushing ferociously in his ears and his vision goes spotty as his stomach lurches. He barely hears the rest of the song recalling the many, many other times he has watched this very person across a crowded room. It feels like long ago and just yesterday all at the same time. He is fourteen and pining, he is twenty-four and… perving? For Merlin’s sake. And nothing has really changed while at the same time every, single thing.

Draco comes to his senses as the man, Harry Potter, sings the last two lines acapella, softly as he draws away from the mic onto his back leg almost tipping backwards, he leans so far although he is complete control of the movement. This time the crowd waits into the ringing silence before applauding and whistling. Granger is on her feet clapping again too. Draco slides off his stool to stand and clap as well, Potter or not, the performance was captivating.

Potter makes a calm-down gesture, and the audience quietens some. He points to his right, “This is John,” and John plays a riff on his bass guitar and the audience claps briefly louder. He takes a large step to his right, dragging his left foot before stomping it down alongside his right, grinning as he does. He points upstage and says, “This is Alex.” On cue, the drummer plays an intricate rataplan to hollers and whistles from the crowd. Potter, eyes crinkling from his ongoing smile swings his left arm towards the lead guitarist saying, “This is Luke,” who also plays a long twanging note to some increased cheering. Draco holds his breath – will the vocalist confirm his suspicion? Draco is not sure if he really wants it to be him, or if he really, really does not.

“I’m Harrison, and we are Erised,” he finishes with shallow bow.

Harrison? Draco realises he is disappointed, although it’s similar enough – it could still be him.

Draco looks at the stage and ‘Harrison’ has his arms around the neck of a woman with a big hairdo. The latter says something, and the man, who is very probably Potter, throws his head back laughing. Then he plants a kiss on the side of her mouth. Draco feels a surge of something – not jealousy – at the interaction and turns away to face the bar. Yup, for sure, Draco thinks wryly, maybe not a twelve-year old girl, but almost definitely that fourteen-year-old boy is lurking near the surface.

Looking at his drink, Draco resolves to duck out without actually being ‘introduced’. He feels a bit of a fool over the whole thing and just wants to get out of there. He glances around to see where Potter/Harrison is, but he can’t see him. Leaning towards Granger with a rather pathetic yet desperate attempt to escape, he indicates to her that he is headed to the loos. She nods with a smile.

Draco walks in that direction and glances back, seeing that Granger isn’t watching him, he ducks into the milling crowd and weaves through them as quickly as possible with his head down, cursing the distinctiveness of his hair. Having half-expected to be unlucky enough to actually bump right into his school cru- nemesis, somehow, he makes it outside without doing so. He ducks around the corner of the building and disapparates as soon as he is far enough along the dark alley.

 

Landing in his lounge, Draco lets out a sound of frustration. He knows he is not going to get much sleep. He knows his thoughts will be filled with visions of tousled hair and smiles that make an audience cheer and tattooed arms and no doubt some stupid lyric. Or, that particular and devastating lyric – I wish I was a sacrifice but somehow still lived on – looping round and round. What an oddly specific lyric to Potter in particular, if the rumours are true, and in a Muggle song. And indeed, round and round it goes.

 

---

 

“Ugh, fuck my life.”

“What now, you drama queen?” Pansy asks Draco, throwing her hands up in exasperation, a piece of paper flapping in one. “You asked for this meeting to work through this damned list. You know I’m the ideas person and these tiny details are tedious as shi– ”

“No, not about this,” Draco interrupts her. “Guess who just walked through the door? It rhymes with Beholden my Woe,” whispers Draco as he slides down his chair and leans forward at the same time, attempting to hide behind Pansy. Draco is feeling rather raw about what happened a week ago. He convinced himself, while tossing and turning, that Potter and Granger had obviously set him up and planned to poke fun at him. Or something, probably. Potter isn’t even gay; he must have misunderstood Granger. Surely.

Pansy mouths Draco’s clue and snorts inelegantly. Draco is sure that he hears her say, “Here we go again” under her breath but out loud she says, “Do you mean Potter is actually with the Weasel and Granger?”

“Yes. Don’t look for fuck’s sake.”

Pansy has whipped her head round, razor-sharp black bob flying before he got the words out. When she turns back around, Draco is amused to see she has hair in her mouth, she swipes at it, “They haven’t been seen together in aaages. I imagined they’d had some sort of falling out. Something tawdry and salacious, of course.” Thankfully she has lowered her voice some, more likely for the conspiratorial nature of her comment than due to a desire not to be heard.

“You would.”

 

Potter has stepped up to the counter while the other two have taken a table across the room. Draco is trying to appear not to be listening to his exchange with the barista, but Pansy knows him better than that, and he appreciates that she doesn’t say anything else so that he can.

“Mr Evans, what a lovely surprise,” the barista greets warmly. Evans?

“Samantha, I’ve told you, please call me Harrison.” Draco frowns, not only at his use of the alias here as well but that they seem so familiar with each other.

“How are your studies going? Architecture, right?”

“Yes, how did you remember?” Samantha appears delighted and blushes.

Potter laughs as he leans onto the counter. One leg propped behind him on the tip of his brown Blundstone boot swinging his heel back and forth, reminding Draco of the performance at the bar. It makes him squirm thinking of how sexy ‘Harrison’ looked on stage and he is really rather annoyed that he appears to be flirting with Samantha. Now that Potter’s hair is only half tied back in a – neat-ish – bundle Draco sees that it is long enough to brush the top of his shoulders. Draco also can’t help but notice the dirty frayed cuff at the heels of Potter’s blue jeans. He wants to hate how ratty it looks but the outfit, as a whole, is quite appealing with how closely the off-white Henley fits him. He remembers Potter always in clothes about three sizes too big. This Potter that wears tight-fitting clothes is… well, Draco is refusing to think about it too much. The sleeves are pushed up a short way, not far enough to see the tattoos on his arms, Draco finds himself disappointed at this. One wrist has a leather cuff but there is no bar in his eyebrow and his frames are thin and round – interesting.

Draco drifts back from his thoughts to the conversation between Potter and the barista when Samantha giggles – Eurgh!

She says, “Can I get you your usual? Also, I have some warm almond croissants in the back that I was just about to bring through.”

“Ahh, Samanthaaa,” Potter replies with a smile, “you know me too well. Yes, three of those, my usual plus one and a caramel latte.”

Draco frequents this coffee shop not an insignificant amount and he has never seen Potter here and yet, somehow, he has a usual and knows details about the barista’s personal life? Draco hadn’t even known her name until now. Pansy has turned to look over her shoulder again, bored with waiting for Draco to be done eavesdropping. Potter pays and then stuffs some notes into the tip jar after the barista has turned away, Draco rolls his eyes. Potter moves off to sit with his friends.

 

“Is it just me or has Potter grown into himself rather nicely? I don’t think I’d have recognised him in the street. Although, same old specs, gag.”

“It is just you.”

“Mmm, that’s what I thought you’d say,” Pansy muses with a smirk as she turns back to look at Draco twisting an empty sugar packet in his hands.

“Wipe that drool from your chin, Pans dear, it’s unbecoming.”

“Draco, darling?” she sings.

He looks up and leans forward so he can threaten her closer to her face, “I do not like that glint in your eye, Pansy. We are not going over there.”

“But Draco, daaarling, think of the donations if the man himself is in attendance.” She was never really asking him and is already standing, smoothing out her dress and patting her hair. It’s a bad sign.

“Pansy. Sit. Down. Pansy, no – Morgana, curse you,” he hisses after her. She flips a hand to acknowledge she heard him. Draco is filled with dread and no little amount of annoyance.

 

As they approach, Potter’s back is to them and he is rocking the chair onto the two back legs, a habit he has clearly not lost from school. They slam into the ground as Pansy says, “Well, well, well, if it isn’t our very own shiny threesome back together.” Pansy stares lasciviously at Potter, not even looking at his friends.

There is no room for a retort from any of them as just then the barista appears with their coffee order on a tray. “Excuse me. Here you go, Mr Evans, I mean Harrison,” beaming at Potter, who winks – bloody winks – at her while she puts his coffee and croissant down in front of him. Pansy inclines her head at Draco with a look of puzzlement on her face. He is still trying to communicate to her can we fucking leave?

“I’m guessing this is yours,” Samantha sets the other cappuccino down in front of Granger. “And this must be yours,” as she places the caramel latte in front of Weasley followed by two more plates onto the centre of the table.

“Thank you, Samantha,” Potter says.

“Enjoyiii!” she says rather loudly and then spins away towards the counter. Draco does enjoy seeing her wince at her own exclamation. He is sure she probably fancies the stupid prat and thinks she made a fool of herself. She did.

Weasley, already half-done with his croissant, pulls everyone’s attention by letting out a rather indecent moan from his full mouth. “Harry, mate,” he swallows the large mouthful to continue, “Why’d you get me only one of these? They’re bloody delicious.”

“I didn’t, Hermione doesn’t like almonds. They’re both yours.”

Weasley pulls the second plate towards him, “You’re the best, you know that right?”

Potter and Granger share a fond look – repeat eurgh! – a second before Draco and Pansy share a pointed one. Pansy, barely concealing her distaste, tries to resume her entreaty.

“As I was saying, it’s just so nice to see you three in your familiar… huddle,” she simpers. Potter and Granger share another look, this time somewhat more amused. Draco is intent on staying well behind Pansy. The berk tilts his chair backwards again, all the better to look at Draco, apparently. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Potter dip his head and lift it again slowly. Draco stands taller and lifts his chin a fraction, Malfoy through and through. He glances at Potter who is no longer looking at Draco, but he notices Potter’s mouth ticks up at the corner.

“What have you been keeping yourself busy with, Potter? We haven’t seen you around in forever,” Pansy asks, looking for something to turn into gossip, no doubt.

At the exact same time, all three of them say, “Travelling mostly.” They all snicker at, what must be, some kind of inside joke. Draco is oddly green-eyed that he’s on the outside of it, as he always was.

Pansy shakes her head once, at a loss for words – there’s a first time for everything. She seems to be holding her breath for a few seconds longer than normal as she lets it out in a huff.

“Um, that’s… nice,” is all she can come up with. Quickly regaining her composure nonetheless, she gets back into her stride, “So, anyway, Draco and I were wondering,” – he bloody was not – “if Harry might agree to attend our fundraiser tomorrow evening?” Pansy taps a finger polished scarlet on her chin.

Draco reluctantly feels the need to step in to mitigate this disaster, “Pansy, I’m sure it is far too short notice. Potter probably doesn’t have anything suitable to wear and–”

“Rude.” Draco stops, nonplussed at Potter’s interjection. Potter continues, “I’m sure I can rustle up something suitable.” Draco cringes at the emphasis. “Hermione bought me a rather nice blazer like… six years ago, I can dig it out of the back of my closet.”

Granger is nodding, “Yes, it was rather fetching on you. Reminded me of Professor Lupin, actually, which is why I got it for you.”

Draco makes a noise that sounds a lot like Eep! But Pansy just laughs or rather says, “Ha, ha, ha.”

Draco tries again, “And the tables are full to capacity–”

This time it’s Weasley who interrupts, “Harry can take my place as Hermione’s plus one.”

“Sure, if you’d like?” Granger says.

“Thanks Ron, mate,” Harry claps Weasley on the back quite hard. Weasley gives him a wide grin in response.

“Indeed, thank you Ro- Weasley,” Draco just can’t say it. While he and Granger are now on a first name basis, face-to-face anyway, he and the Weasel will never be that familiar and they probably both prefer it since Draco sees an eyebrow raised under that awful ginger fringe at the near miss.

“See-ee Draco, that’s lovely then,” states Pansy. “We’ll see you both tomorrow evening. Bye” she sings in a high pitch as Draco tugs her to the door. Draco hears Potter saying, “Remus, nice touch,” and the friends break out laughing and Draco is very annoyed indeed.

 

---

 

Feeling the familiar elastic yielding of the wards that snap closed behind him as he enters the door where his aunt now lives, Draco calls, “Aunt Andromeda?”

“Up here, Draco dear.”

Draco shoves a dripping umbrella, necessary for appearances in the Muggle neighbourhood, into the awful troll’s leg umbrella stand which is… in the middle of the floor for some reason. Then he shrugs out of his impervious, and therefore dry, raincoat and sees an unfamiliar one. Muggle military he thinks – on my hook. He takes a shrunken box from the inside pocket of his raincoat, glowering at the offending garment as he’s forced to use a different empty hook. He engorges the box with a tap of his wand which he extracts and returns to his arm holster in an effortless movement heading towards his aunt’s voice coming from the informal parlour one flight up the stairs.

“I got you that tea you like so…” he trails off as he enters the room. “For,” he says out loud then much softer, lest his aunt chide him, and Teddy learn a new word, “fuck’s sake.” 

Lying on the floor on his front, bare feet in the air crossed at the ankles is Harry fucking Potter. Draco hasn’t seen him since when – Crabbe’s funeral? – and out of nowhere, this is the second time in as many days and the third in a week. And he must still see him this evening again. It’s becoming farcical at this point.

 

Potter is fiddling with something in front of him. Spread out around him and Teddy, sitting on one heel with his other knee under his chin across from Potter, are what might be small colourful pieces of plastic.

Draco hears Teddy ask Potter, “So, will you see the cherry blossoms next time?”

Potter murmurs back, “If I go in the Spring, yes.”

Potter reaches for something closer to Teddy and Draco sees a flash of a bat-like wing above his hip as his T-shirt rides up – so he does have other tattoos. The rest of the creature is lost under the waistband of his jeans.

Draco quickly looks at his aunt so as not to stare and greets her. She returns the greeting and thanks him as she takes the box of tea he brought. She sets it on a table at her side and goes back to her knitting.

“Uncle Draco!” Teddy cries gleefully, his hair changing from bright turquoise to a vibrant green, because he knows it’s Draco’s favourite colour. Draco doesn’t know if Teddy does it intentionally, but he loves it just the same. Draco does not want to analyse why he knows how close the shade is to Potter’s eyes. “Uncle Harry got me some more Lego, want to see?” Draco presumes that Lego must be what the bits of plastic are called. Draco smiles at him.

Meanwhile ‘Uncle Harry’ has sat up, turned, and folded his legs almost flat against the carpet, one slightly in front of the other, feet tucked in. Draco tries not to think about how flexible he is and what that position exposes. His jeans are ripped– ripped – one knobbly knee poking out of them and his hair is a dishevelled mess, in a knot so loose it’s falling out. Draco’s eyes flit to Potter and he looks tickled, for lack of a better word, a small smile playing at his lips. He nods but says nothing. Potter’s T-shirt is in the American raglan style, white with black sleeves and a bizarre random collection of letters, ‘CBGB & OMFUG’, for which Draco cannot fathom the meaning.

Draco nods back, still half-smiling from Teddy’s enthusiasm, before turning his attention to Teddy again. “What is Lego?” Draco asks.

“It’s a Muggle toy, see, you can build stuff by sticking them together like this.” Teddy demonstrates with a white square and a red rectangle. “Uncle Harry got me one that can be made into two different kinds of cars but also an airplane.”

Teddy has brought the box over to Draco and he takes it, genuinely intrigued at how that combination of vehicles from these little pieces is possible. He squeezes Teddy in a one-armed hug and the boy smiles up at him. He lets Teddy go and the boy returns to his spot near Potter.

 

“Aunty, why is the troll leg in the middle of the hallway?” Draco asks, as his sits down in an armchair across from her and drapes one leg over the other. He can feel Potter’s eyes on him.

His aunt’s only reply is a chuckle. And Potter makes a sound like pfft and looks away. And Teddy is snickering. Draco looks at each of them in turn at these responses to his question.

“What’s the joke?”

“That thing haaates Uncle Harry!” Teddy pipes up, his hair returning to its previous bright turquoise. Is this Potter’s favourite colour? Draco’s brain flashes on the beads Potter had been wearing when he was singing. Hmm.

“Why? How?”

“No idea,” his aunt supplies. “It doesn’t do it to us, but somehow it knows when Harry is coming, and it likes to trip him up.” Potter just shakes his head, looking down at his lap.

“That’s… ridiculous,” says Draco. It is an amusing picture, Potter hopping about because he stubbed his toe on the vile and, apparently, mischievous object.

“It’s hilarious,” Teddy giggles wildly.

“Why don’t you just get rid of it?”

His aunt answers this time, “It won’t budge, we’ve tried. We’ve moved it into a cupboard and locked it, into Kreacher’s room, the attic more than a few times, chained the last one. We’ve thrown it out, even tried in a Muggle municipal bin. It just reappears. Enchanted somehow to never leave the house, or the hallway even.”

“Buuut, actually it is one of my favourite things,” says Teddy.

“How so?” asks his aunt, Draco is wondering the same thing.

“Weeell, whenever I come home from school and the leg is standing there instead of where it goooess, I know Uncle Harry is home,” says Teddy beaming at everyone in the room. Potter smiles fondly at Teddy. Draco shakes his head in bewilderment at the whole thing.

 

His aunt changes the subject, “Anyway, you didn’t have to bring this tea to me, today of all days.”

“No, it’s alright, I promised.”

Besides his head, Potter hasn’t moved, not only from where he’s sitting but his body at all – why is this bugging Draco…? His posture is different, his brain supplies. He recalls how Potter often hunched into himself at school, at dinner, in class. Except – except when Draco challenged him and when Potter fought… HIM. Does he feel threatened right now? Draco isn’t getting the feeling that Potter is defensive, actually he seems quite… serene. It’s somehow disconcerting, it doesn’t fit with how they’ve ever interacted. Even yesterday at the coffee shop he bantered with Draco and Pansy.

“Besides,” Draco continues, “I’m on my way to the Ministry now but I wanted to ask you if you’d like me to meet you in the floo lobby when you arrive and at what time?”

“Oh, that is sweet, but don’t trouble yourself. Harry is accompanying me this evening. He’s getting dressed here and he ordered us a town car since he dislikes wizard-travel so much.” Town car? Dressed here?  Does Potter live here? How could he not know that? But Draco has never seen any unfamiliar jackets on his peg or the troll leg stand being anywhere other than in the corner by the door before.

Potter’s head turned towards Andromeda as she spoke, but their eyes meet when Draco looks at him after the comment about disliking wizard-travel. Potter’s expression is composed and inscrutable, while Draco can’t help furrowing his brow at these various pieces of new information. Potter lifts an eyebrow – still no piercing – from behind bright red frames that are square at the top and rounded at the bottom. Draco smooths his features and Harry’s mouth quirks.

Draco looks at his aunt hastily saying “Oh, alright then. Glad you are being taken care of.” She smiles at Draco affectionately and then turns the smile on Potter. Draco chances another glance at him, and Potter has half a smile now as he ducks his head in discomfit. Hmm? – Draco expected him to be smug. “Well, I must be off.”

“Can’t you perhaps stay for lunch, you need to eat, dear. Harry was just about to make something for us.” Potter nods, starting to stand up. How familiar of him.

“No, no, thank you, I really must go. There are a hundred little things that need doing and Pansy is probably in a flap already.”

“If you’re sure?”

“I am sure, thank you.” Draco leans down to give his aunt a peck on the cheek. Potter is fully stood up and is stretching, arms over his head exposes more of the creature tattoo but it is not yet identifiable – why does every move he makes seem so… sensual, for Merlin’s sake? Before Potter drops his arms, Draco sees that the tattoo on his right inner forearm is of three different leaves, one under another, that seem to be drifting as though in a gust even though they are static. Draco recognises a holly leaf at the top, everyone knows what they look like. The next one down is a hawthorn – he knows because he is a geek, and he researched the properties of his wand when it had chosen him – but the bottom leaf eludes him. They are incredibly realistic; it is beautiful work. And on that same wrist, there is a fang curved downwards across it, seemingly so three-dimensional Draco would swear it might pierce his skin.

Potter drops his arms and Draco realises he has been staring again.

“See you later this evening,” his aunt says.

“Yes, indeed. Potter,” Draco says nodding at him.

“Malfoy,” he says without any inflection. It’s the only thing he has said the entire time and Draco feels like his tummy fills with something that has rapidly flapping wings – what the fuck? Potter blinks slowly.

Draco has paused too long so hastily says, “Right, I’m off. Bye Teddy.”

“Bye Uncle Draco.” The boy hops up from where he was sitting playing and leaps, throwing himself into Draco’s arms. Draco catches him around his middle and whirls him a hundred and eighty degrees then starts walking awkwardly towards the door looking over Teddy’s head – he is getting too big for this – with his dangling feet swinging with each step. He’s giggling wildly and Draco is pleased to see his hair morph into that green again, “Uncle Draaycohhhwah.”

“What?” Draco laughs, “Oh, what are you doing here?”

“You’re silly.” Usually Draco would automatically think, Malfoy’s are not silly, if anyone else had made such an accusation, but he loves playing with Teddy, so he allows it. Draco puts Teddy down laughing but holds him around the shoulders and they walk out of the room together and down the stairs.

Draco hears his aunt say, “He’s so good with him.” If Potter replies he doesn’t hear it.

 

“So, where are you going to spend the evening?”

“I’m going to sleepover at Grandma Molly’s.”

“Yeah?”

“Yup, and Victoire is visiting, and little Freddie will be there even.”

“I’m sure that will be lots of fun.”

“Yeah! Definitely.”

“Will you take your legos?”

“It’s just Lego. One Lego, a hundred gazillion Lego,” Teddy holds one finger up and then circles his arms in a wide arc in demonstration. Draco nods and makes an affirmative sound at this important piece of information. “And nooo, little Fred could swallow it. He puts everything in his mouth,” Teddy says, exasperated at this habit, like he never did such a thing at the same age.

“Oh dear, yes, good thinking.”

Draco leaves him on the second to last stair and ruffles the hair above his forehead after which Teddy shoves it out of his eyes. As he collects his coat and umbrella, Teddy leans over the balustrade and waves. Draco waves back before exiting.

 

As Draco feels the wards release him, he speculates that the complex wards on the home of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black are probably Potter’s doing. Draco vaguely recalls that it is actually Potter’s house now that he comes to think of it consciously. He still isn’t clear on whether Potter lives there, when he is in England anyway since, apparently, he ‘travels mostly’.

Draco must walk to the end of the block to disapparate in an alley – at least the rain stopped. While he does, he continues to ponder that it means Potter would have had to key Draco into the wards, but how? And when? He knew his aunt and Teddy had moved here soon after the war. And Draco had started visiting not long after he graduated from his ‘eighth year’.

Potter hadn’t enrolled for the additional year with the dozen or so students who returned. There was much speculation as to why not – by other people, of course – but no one knew to where he’d disappeared or if they did – Granger and Weasley most likely – they kept his secret. Draco distinctly remembers his aunt showing him a piece of paper when she invited him that first time, that specified she and Teddy lived at the address, down to the borough of Islington, written on it in a scratchy handwriting that wasn’t hers. She hadn’t given it to him, just asked him to read it. And, even then, the wards had felt potent but pliant to Draco. Is it because he is also part-Black? Surely, that must be the reason.

But these musings are forgotten as he arrives at the Ministry, finding Pansy, as predicted, in a flap.

Notes:

1 The lyric is from Wishlist by Pearl Jam

Chapter 2

Notes:

All the kudos are much appreciated. I'll likely post at least once a week.

Draco is standing near the door of the main event hall in the Ministry of Magic, taking turns with Pansy to greet arrivals. Draco waves off the couple with which he’d been occupied with a hand to the elbow and a smile wishing them a pleasant evening. Draco turns his head to see who has entered next as Pansy is still busy with a high-ranking Ministry official, touching his arm for longer than strictly necessary – always the flirt, that bint.

Draco does a double take. Harry James Potter, ‘Chosen Hero Saviour Who Lived’, has walked into the room. Draco wants to add ‘Undesirable Number One’ to the list of monikers because he was that too for a time, but it’s not really true now, is it.

He has Aunt Andromeda on one arm and Granger on the other. Draco’s eyes involuntarily run up and down Potter’s – dapper – form, Draco licks his bottom lip biting down as he retracts it and swallows. Smoothing his Muggle tuxedo jacket unnecessarily, he collects himself striding towards them, eyes still on Potter though. He’s chuckling at something Andromeda has said as she looks round and spots Draco. As he approaches, Potter takes a slight step back removing her arm gently from his own and guides her ahead of him. He does similarly with Granger so that he is standing slightly behind both – peculiar – but maintains a hand on the middle of her back.

Draco shifts his focus to his aunt and wraps her hand around his elbow as he greets her and Granger, adding, “You both look lovely this evening.”

His aunt bats his arm with her other hand faux-bashfully and Granger says, “Thank you Draco.”

Draco feels the familiar prickle of being stared at and out of the corner of his eye he sees Potter’s head move slowly down and up like it did at the coffee shop. Draco feels a flush climbing his neck and he is thankful the lighting is dimmed.

Finally getting the nerve to greet him, Draco opens his mouth but before he can anything Pansy swoops in.

“Oh, such gorrrgeous gowns,” she crows, looking at both his aunt and Granger in turn.

“Good evening, Pansy, are you well?” Andromeda asks.

“Exceeedingly.”

“Evening Pansy,” says Granger as well.

“I love your nails,” as Pansy reaches for the hand in which Granger isn’t holding her clutch. “What colour is this?”

“Thank you, it’s Let Them Eat Rice Cake. Harry got it for me in Japan.”

“Ooooh!” Draco hears Pansy coo as his eyes dart to Granger at the revelation. He catches what he thinks is another silent conversation between the friends because her face is immediately anguished and apologetic. Ah, Teddy asked about seeing cherry blossoms. Is that where he goes then? Draco’s eyes flick to Potter whose face seemed to be replying to Granger’s look with one of forgiving reproach. 

Before Draco can avert his eyes however, feeling like he is intruding on something private, Potter’s eyes are suddenly upon him. Merlin!

 

Potter is wearing light grey framed glasses that make the peridot-coloured twinkle of his eyes stand out starkly in contrast. Pansy steps into their line of sight and both of them lean sideways to maintain eye-contact. What the bloody hell? It feels like time slows down and years go by. Draco is sure he and Potter have never looked directly into each other’s eyes for this long. But time resumes its normal speed when Pansy suddenly gasps, and Potter’s eyes shift to her.

Morgana, Merlin, and all the Founders Draco’s brain whimpers, she has taken to pawing the man. Running her hands up and down Potter’s torso he, at first, seems startled but quickly becomes amused. Potter lifts an eyebrow – he’s actually quite good at that – and glances at Granger. She makes a bad attempt at hiding a smile by turning her head to the side. Potter starts lifting his hands to remove Pansy’s – claws – but Draco quickly decides to intercede and firmly wraps his fingers around her wrist. He inadvertently brushes Potter’s chest as he does so and he tries not to think about how he can feel, not only Potter’s firm pectoral muscle, but also his magic thrumming. It wants to send a shiver down Draco’s spine which he reins in when he notices that Potter’s brows furrow in a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it frown – Merlin, I hardly touched him at all.

Draco tugs Pansy close to hiss in her ear, “What are you doing?” pronouncing the ‘t’ sharply.

She answers out of the side of her mouth, eyes raking over Potter from head to toe and back, “That’s a Simon Carter.” Draco is a clotheshorse so knows she means the shirt. Draco’s mouth drops open slightly and he lets go of Pansy’s wrist, she rubs it pointedly – and he’s the drama queen. No longer distracted by Pansy, Draco sees that Potter’s shirt has a repeated pattern of various kinds of butterflies about the size of a sickle. It’s framed by a midnight blue tailored suit and matching tie – is that an Eldredge knot? Draco inexplicably feels the urge to do the same as Pansy had done. He also notices that Potter’s hair is swept back, the sides rolled loosely, into a bun at the nape of his neck.

Now Draco knows what the look Potter and Granger shared at the coffee shop was about. They were teasing he and Pansy and Potter clearly has something Draco thought he lacked, that is taste, excellent taste. He didn’t really think he’d arrive in some Professor Lupin inspired bedraggled suit, but this is… unforeseen.

Pansy is smoothing her dress and patting her hair, an indication she is gearing up to say something she should not. Instead, Potter says, “Do I pass muster?” looking down at his outfit then up at Draco through his lashes.

“Yes, Potter it’s…,” he flounders through his vocabulary – stunning, striking, sophisticated, smoking – “suitable.” Harry tilts his head and bites his lower lip on one side – oh deary me – then nods once.

 

Potter asks his aunt and Granger in turn if he can get them a drink, they both say yes please. Draco feels remiss in not having asked already. Potter walks around behind Granger. Draco tracks his movement but within a blink of his eyes Potter has disappeared so thoroughly Draco looks back at Granger sharply. She sees the question on his face and says, “Oh, Harry is very good at Notice-me-not charms.”

“I’m afraid the invitation explicitly said no wands, Potter will have to relinquish it for the evening. We cannot make an exception even for him.”

“Oh, no need, Harry doesn’t have a wand,” Granger says.

With him, she must mean, but then how–?

“Draco, dear, do you not have other guests to greet?” asks his aunt, interrupting his thought.

“We’re only waiting on the Minister now.”

Just then Potter reappears – out of thin air – handing Draco’s aunt a gin and tonic and Hermione a sparkling apple juice. “Andromeda, I selected an elderberry gin from their impressive selection, I hope you like it?”

It suddenly strikes Draco that the other leaf on Potter’s arm is elder. Leaves representing wand woods seems likely, perhaps a leaf each representing the wands of the so-called ‘Golden Trio’.

“It’s lovely Harry, thank you. Your doing, the gin selection, Draco?”

“Yes, Aunt Andromeda,” Draco smiles at her indirect praise.

 

“Andromeda, you’ve arrived,” says a silky voice nearby. Draco’s aunt swirls around.

“Narcissa,” and they embrace lightly so as not to wrinkle their gowns.

“Mon Étoile,” she directs at Draco.

“Maman,” he replies with a smile.

“Il a l’air beau, ce soir.”

Draco shoots a furtive glance at Potter at his mother’s words. His mother knows Draco has always had a flame burning for Potter – in fact, it had been she who had intimated that perhaps Draco felt more than he was acknowledging when all he spoke about was Potter through the whole of fourth year and most of the fifth, definitely not the sixth though. He thinks Potter overhears her from the way he tilts and turns his head slightly in their direction, but thankfully Draco knows he does not understand that his mother has just commented that Potter is handsome this evening.

Draco smiles at her with a slight roll of his eyes at her teasing, “Oui, qu’il est. Ah, the Minster. Excusez-moi sil vous plait, Maman. Aunty.”

“Of course,” she says as she waves her hand in the direction of the Minister for Magic who is hovering at the entrance.

 

Draco guides Minister Shacklebolt and his wife into the room and sees to it that they both have a glass of champagne. Draco’s abhorrence for small talk is pushed to the limit before he can bring the Minister’s attention to an elegantly shaped jar on a raised platform on one side of the room, framed by arrangements of tulips of the same colours. “We are using the same magic as the Hogwarts House-points counters. Instead, it reflects the donations as they occur throughout the evening. Perhaps I might ask the assistance of your lovely wife, Madam, to present it near the end of the evening to the Chairperson of the Foundation, if you would be so kind?”

As they watch the jar, already a quarter full before the evening began from donors who could not attend, slowly fills with an amalgam of red, orange, and yellow stones.

“Yes, of course, Mr Malfoy, I’d be delighted.”

To Mrs Shacklebolt, “Thank you, I shall fetch you when it is time.” Draco takes his leave of them. He scans the room wondering on Potter’s whereabouts. Probably employing the Notice-me-not charm he is apparently very good at, entirely defeating the purpose of his being here. But he does see Potter after all, steadily making an anti-clockwise circuit of the room with Granger.

Draco himself is moving through the room, glad-handing, so he cannot watch Potter the whole time. Whenever he does seek him out, now and again, Draco hates to admit that he thinks Pansy may have been right. From the looks on the faces of the guests and the laughter coming from whichever part of the room Potter and Granger happen to be in, the two of them are charming each and every one. Draco notices how tenderly Potter reaches out to touch the arms of the widows and widowers in attendance while he keeps his hands behind his back with the officials and benefactors after a preliminary handshake.

The only exception is the Minister for Magic who Potter heartily claps on the back and keeps it there through the remainder of an anecdote that has Minister Shacklebolt and his companions roaring with laughter. Draco hadn’t realised they were so well-acquainted as that. Meanwhile Granger is chatting amiably to Mrs Shacklebolt.

 

It strikes Draco that Potter seems to have many guises. He has also noticed they each seem to wear a different pair of glasses – ridiculously, an image of a Muggle superhero comes into his head. Each guise dresses and behaves differently. He wonders if anyone else is conscious of this. It is likely that most people haven’t seen them all in such a short space of time. Weasley is hardly that perceptive. But, Granger, he thinks, is most likely of anyone to be aware.

Draco’s mother and aunt join him where he’s musing over this, standing near the stairs to the stage in front of the room. Potter and Granger are incoming just behind them as well.

“Lady Malfoy, how lovely to see you again.” Again? Potter kisses Draco’s mother on both cheeks. “Are you well?”

“I am, indeed, Lord Potter.”

Draco had forgotten, of course, Potter will have taken up his Lordship. Mother would be disappointed that he had also forgotten his pureblood etiquette this evening and not greeted Lord Potter in propriety – his being distracted isn’t even a good excuse.

“Harry, please.” His mother inclines her head slightly towards Potter in acknowledgement of the invitation.

“Miss Granger, your dress is very fetching.”

“Thank you, Lady Malfoy.”

Just then Draco’s assistant Sarah, a bright, young Hogwarts graduate, catches his attention, “Sir, the children are ready.”

“Thank you, Sarah. Maman, peux-tu trouver ta place par toi-même, juste là?”

Potter sees where Draco is gesturing and says, “Allow me, Lady Malfoy, please.”

“Et charmant,” Draco’s mother adds to her compliment of Potter from earlier as Draco stares at Potter being exactly that.

 

“Sir?”

“Yes, of course.” Draco follows her up the stairs to the stage and stands behind a bronze lectern alongside another beautiful arrangement of the same flame-coloured tulips – the symbol and namesake of the charity – that decorate the hall throughout and the centres of the tables. He watches Potter pull his mother’s chair out and whisper something close to her ear as he pushes it back in under her. In response her face quickly passes through a series of expressions Draco finds hard to understand – astonishment for certain swiftly followed by… comprehension maybe. Draco is filled with curiosity at what he may have said but he has a job to do now.

Draco casts Sonorus – he employs his wand subtly because, of course, he kept it for emergencies. While the soft classical music still plays in the background, Draco says, “Minister Shacklebolt, Mrs Shacklebolt, Ladies and Gentlemen if you would please take your seats, we have a surprise for you.”

Draco cancels the charm as he steps into the wings. He shakes hands with Professor McGonagall, and she clasps his hand in both of hers, “Headmistress, I trust the children enjoyed their dinner?”

In three lines behind Professor McGonagall are a group of children, aged from seven to ten years old, all orphans of the war – so many, too many. The smaller ones are in the first line closest to downstage and the older, taller children in the last line at the back. Draco ruffles the hair of a little dark-haired boy with blue-green eyes, smiling at him. He could hardly make the thick, unruly mop any messier than it is, it’s adorable.

“Yes, they did, Draco. They’re very excited.”

“Oh good, I am pleased that they are. Professor Flitwick, sir, good to see you.”

“And you, Draco, and you.”

Draco waves at the children, he recognises quite a few of them from field trips and the like, before turning back to the stage. He smooths down his jacket, he knows it won’t have been wrinkled, his tuxedo is charmed to prevent something as an intolerable as that from occurring, it is more to calm his nerves.

Professor McGonagall puts a hand on his arm, “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, you do wonderful work, Draco, and I’m very proud of you.”

Draco is suddenly trying to swallow a lump in his throat, “Thank you Headmistress, it means so much to me when you say that.” She smiles fondly at him, and he returns it. The murmurs and scraping of chairs have quietened down so Draco steps out from behind the curtain and up to the lectern.

 

Draco magically projects his voice again at a lower volume. His eyes flit to Potter, quite against his will. He’s smiling blithely up at Draco, as if it is a thing that they do with each other, and Draco is momentarily taken aback but his poise kicks in and he shifts his gaze to the room at large. “Thank you for your patience. I’d like to welcome you all this evening. We have come together to benefit the Vikareus Foundation Trust. We are honoured to have so many of its receiving members here with us.” He allows a moment for a short round of applause.

“But you are not our only honoured guests. There are some very special little ones back here,” Draco gestures to the wings, “many of whom I have come to know through this charity, and they are very excited to entertain you this evening. I know they have been working very hard so please give them a big round of applause.”

Draco beckons them on with an inviting smile. The children tentatively start to file onto stage. Draco reaches his hand out to the dark-haired boy, Elio, who takes it, and the children follow Draco and the boy more confidently as the two of them lead the rest across to their places. A few almost go off the other side and there is a smattering of good-natured laughter amongst the clapping audience. Draco shoos them back out and steps into the wings on the other side as Professor Flitwick follows the last child onto the stage.

Professor Flitwick bows to more applause and then turns to face the children. He points to a girl in the centre who sings their note. Then he nods and raises his hands, and they begin to sing. It’s beautifully melodious with the odd off-key note here and there that makes it all the more endearing.

Elio turns his head and gives Draco a sweet little wave and he waves back. Draco has the urge to scoop him up so strongly he almost takes a step forward. Instead, he nods encouragement and the boy beams.

Draco looks up, a smile still on his face, and sees Potter watching the interaction, head tilted slightly, his lips parted. Draco feels himself flush and ducks his head. He can’t help it that the smile lingers for a moment at Potter’s expression. He looked… rapt. For the children, of course, Draco convinces himself. He wants to peek at Potter again, but the song ends, and he looks over the children clapping for them along with the audience.

 

They start another song, a sweet Muggle one – Draco insists on inclusivity amongst the orphans and displaced Muggle-raised. Sarah touches Draco’s elbow and he leans in to hear her tell him that Pansy is looking for him. He nods and reluctantly leaves with her.

“Pans?”

“Draco, it seems one of the major donors has pulled out. The magical counter was full to the brim but now it’s… well, look…” Pansy gestures towards the jar, now a fifth empty at least. “I brought it back here when I noticed before anyone could see the anomaly.”

“Let me guess?” Draco lifts his left arm and yanks at his sleeve, underneath which is the source of the grievance, he is sure of it.

“We can’t know for sure, but you know how it is. Some people just won’t forgive. I don’t know who it is or why they chose now to revoke their contribution. Just that it was rather large or more than one even.” She makes another futile gesture at the jar.

Draco is suddenly furious, head filled with those shining faces singing their hearts out on stage. “People are bigoted shits, Pansy.” No need to point out the irony of those words coming out the mouth of a Malfoy. Draco paces back and forth twice and a growl is building in his throat, but he swallows it. “Dinner is about to begin. Let’s see to that then I’ll think. Winky?”

Crack.

“Yes, Master Draco?”

Draco kneels to speak to her, “I trust everything is in order. You are ready after the children’s meal? I’m about to announce dinner.”

“Yes, Master Draco, we Hogwarts Elves won’t be offended that you ask,” she replies with a cheeky glint in her eyes. “We loves that we gets to work for worthy causes and serving very important witches and wizards and Master Harry Potter too, sir.”

Draco puts a hand on Winky’s shoulder, “Good, thank you, Winky. I couldn’t do this without you. You may go.”

“Winky must bring Master Draco something to eat.”

“Thank you but it’s alright, I don’t have time now, maybe later.”

“Yes, Master Draco.” Winky disapparates with a click of her fingers.

“Of course, the House-Elves revere Potter. Who bloody doesn’t, I suppose?” Pansy says, hands on hips.

“Except me, obviously,” Draco says, Snape-like. He stands up and shakes his leg to free the cuff from where it got stuck behind the tongue of his dress shoe.

Pansy laughs, adding, “And me.” She pulls him into a side hug around his waist, Draco lifting his arm to make space for her. She leans over to kiss him alongside his eyebrow, her impractical and yet ubiquitous five-inch heels bringing her near his six-and-a-bit foot height.

“Yes, and you,” Draco gives Pansy a rueful smile before heading back to the stage and catching the last few bars of their closing song.

 

The audience applaud more loudly still as the children troop off stage. Some of them waving, one or two tripping on the heels of the person in front of them too busy looking at the crowd of people clapping for them. Draco waits until they have cleared the stage completely, allowing them their moment fully before he walks on and crosses back to the lectern. He grasps the hand that Professor McGonagall has reached out to him, and she squeezes his. Draco is filled with humble awe at her ability to embrace his projects. He looks down at the lectern to blink away building moisture.

Draco lifts his head and flicks his long fringe out of his eyes where it had fallen – his Sleekeasy days long gone. Again, Draco catches Potter’s eyes, he’s biting his lower lip thoughtfully, a little frown line between his eyebrows. Draco likes this pulled together Potter, but he suddenly thinks he’d really like to see that other Potter, Harrison, with the exposed tattoos and all that, again.

Draco looks round the room and says, “I told you they are wonderful.” And the hall fills with some laughter and some more clapping. “Ladies and Gentlemen, please enjoy your dinner.” At that an elegant starter appears on the guests’ plates. It will be followed by precisely timed courses with a sorbet between the second and third and then dessert. Uniformed waiter’s float through the tables to collect drink orders.

 

Draco scans the room for signs of discontent, seeing none he goes down the stairs onto the main floor. He walks along the edge of the room intending to find some space to clear his head and give their problem some thought. His left hand semi-consciously tugging at the cuff of his shirtsleeve, the clean white shirt masking that filthy Mark. Draco reaches a door that he unlocks with his wand, behind it is a short hallway and another door. He knows there is an unused bathroom in there.

He removes his jacket and sets it down on the counter-top beside the sink. Draco leans over it on his hands dropping his head and shaking it, the anger, and with it the frustration, rising again. He lifts his head half-way up and something catches his eye in the mirror. There is a hand around the door that is opening silently.

His head snaps up, he straightens his posture, squares his shoulders, and turns around. Draco reaches up to smooth his hair back from his face as the door swings fully open revealing little more than a silhouette. But it’s a silhouette that Draco is familiar with even changed as it is, he’s seen this shape often enough in the past week.

“Potter?”

Draco’s ears are suddenly filled with the rush of blood from his pounding heart and something does a flip in his belly. Surely just déjà vu. “Sectumsempra!” Draco suddenly hears the spell ringing out in his recollection so loud, he thinks Potter cast it here and now. He flinches, sucking in a breath, waiting for the searing pain...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

... “Lumos,” Potter barely whispers, hesitant to move further forward at Draco’s flinch. A light forms in the palm of his hand held out in front of him. He lifts his arm a little way and the ball of light drifts upwards to hover above them. Potter’s eyes dart around the space, clearly clocking the sink, the mirror, the loo stalls against the wall behind him. A shadow passes over Potter’s face and his eyes are drawn to Draco’s chest. They’re filled with something unfamiliar and pained – guilt, but surely not?

 

He shakes the memory off as he sees Potter stumble a step backward arms limp at his sides, not pointing a wand at Draco, lost in memory too. Draco clears his throat and hardens his expression, “Can I help you with something?”

Potter shakes his head, his eyes refocus on the present, “No, I thought maybe I could help you… with something.”

“What makes you think I need help?”

“I saw you ducking in here, and you looked like…” Potter’s eyes shift away from Draco for a split second and back, as though he’s reluctant to say what he’s thinking.

“Like I’m up to something?” Draco supplies tersely.

Potter’s face falls, his brows knitting together, “No, no, I mean… I mean distraught.”

Draco considers for a split second not telling Potter – why? To save face? He can’t feel more of a failure, so, un-Malfoy-like, he decides to tell most of the truth, “We’ve had a… mishap.” Understatement of the year. “We were going to bring out a token of the fundraising–”

“The enchanted jar?”

“Yes, it’s… partially empty, after being full for a time. We aren’t entirely sure why but I can hazard a guess. I came here to think how we can fill it, if only for tonight. Easiest will probably be just transfiguring something temporari–”

“Fuck,” is Potter’s quiet comment on the situation. Draco’s brain goes erk at Potter saying that particular word for some reason. “Why?”

“Well, it won’t look great if we’re short. We’ll just need a lot of something to transfigure.”

“No, I mean, why do you think someone pulled their donation so late in the day.”

“Why do you think?” Draco snapped and regretted the flinch it caused in Potter before his eyes narrowed and flitted to Draco’s left arm.

“Exactly.”

“Still?”

“Yes, of course, fucking still,” Draco’s voice has risen at Potter’s ignorance.

“That’s… I can’t beli– …I’m sorry. That isn’t… what we fought for,” the last more to himself than to Draco.

Draco holds his tongue, only just, from saying something vindictive. Potter looks uncomfortable, shifting from foot to foot.

Draco sighs and turns back to the sink. He turns the tap on and wets his hands, shaking them off before wiping them over his face. He needed to cool down the heat that had risen into it – from the feeling of failure, or from being in this space with Potter, or from realising, yet again, that he felt much the same way about him now as he did then, or… from all of the above.

“I…,” Potter starts but doesn’t finish. He turns away and leaves without further hesitation and as he does, his Lumos winks out.

Draco knows he’s been here too long already. He smooths his hair back again with his still damp fingers and then dabs his face dry with a handkerchief from an inside pocket. He shrugs his jacket back on and fastens the two buttons at his midriff, checking his bowtie is still straight in the mirror as he does. With a lift of his chin, he marches out of the bathroom, the hall in turn and back into the event.

 

Draco starts to wend his way through the room. He is waylaid along the way by a handshake here and pleasantries exchanged there, over the children, the food, the good work. He doesn’t feel like he deserves any of it, right now. He is halfway across the room when he spots Granger speaking to Pansy. Potter is not with her. Except for just now in the bathroom, they have not left one another’s side the whole evening and Draco wonders where he went.

Yet again, he is pulled into a handshake and a pat on the back, physically and metaphorically, and he cringes inside. Once freed from these felicitations, he looks to where Pansy had been standing with Granger. Pansy has not moved but Granger is gone. To prevent further distractions, Draco makes his way to the foot of the stage for a straight shot to Pansy. Taking long strides, he reaches her quickly.

“Hey, so did you think of anything we can do?” she asks him.

Draco realises that he was so distracted by the encounter with bloody Potter that no he only had a half-formed idea. He doesn’t answer her and instead, giving himself time to think, he grasps her hand, and pulls her up the steps, onto the stage and off into the wings. Once they are in the room where the fund counter is he says, “Maybe we can transfigure something into similar looking stones?”

“We’d need a lot of said something, it’s not small amount of space to fill.”

“I know, that’s as far as I had gotten. Or, I suppose I could borrow money from my vault temporarily. Either way, we can apply ourselves to making up the deficit somehow tomo–” Draco stops suddenly.

“What is it? Did you think of something else?”

“No,” he points at the glass jar.

Pansy spins round, “It’s full again, but how?”

Draco knows, without a shadow of a doubt, “What were you talking to Hermione about?”

“Oh, this and that. She said she liked how we tied the flowers to the Home’s emblem and how cute the children were and that it was nice to see Professor Flit– actually, it was a bit weird now I think about it. She kept shifting to stand in front of me and kept changing the subject.”

“Like she was distracting you?”

Pansy’s expression collapses into confusion, “From what, though?”

“Those two should have been in Slytherin.”

“Who?”

“Granger and Potter.”

“Do you think…?

“I don’t think, I know. Have you seen him?”

“Not for a while. Since you went off to think, actually.”

Draco walks quickly back to the stage, from the wings, he sees Potter sat at his table like he had been there all along. He’s listening, with what appears to be all his attention, to a very, very elderly lady. She is no doubt recollecting the First Wizarding War or describing the antics of her grandchildren or, or, cats. Draco suddenly feels spiteful glee at the thought. He makes a beeline for the table.

“Excuse me, Ma’am.”

“Yes, dear?” she looks myopically at Draco.

“May I steal Pot– Harry for a moment?” He probably invited her to call him that.

“Harry who, dear?”

Draco almost laughs, she didn’t know who she was speaking to so definitely anecdotes about a clowder of cats then.

“Please, excuse me, Madam,” Potter says politely. When they are far enough away, in case her hearing is better than her eyesight, he says, “Thank fuck, I thought I might actually die, again, listeni–”

“Shut it.” Potter’s mouth snaps shut. Draco thinks he rather likes having Potter obey him like that, he expected Potter to continue blithely on or be affronted. He takes a moment to recover from his surprise and Potter still has not said anything more. “What did you do?”

“With regards to?” Potter is suddenly expressionless, mostly, his eyes glint.

“Do not play dumb with me.”

“Malfoy, I haven’t the faintest what you’re talking about.”

“The money, you replaced it.”

“Again, no idea what y–”

Draco growls. Potter’s breath catches. Draco rather likes that reaction too, a lot. Draco steps into Potter’s personal space, with a finger in his face and doesn’t even flinch. “You are a bad liar, Potter. I know it was you. And you’ll take it back tomorrow because I know you gave this charity it’s significant start-up funding. And, because I don’t need you to rescue me.” The again… and again goes unsaid, but it weighs heavily on Draco’s mind.

Potter searches his face; Draco doesn’t know for what. He licks his lips and Draco’s eyes flick to them. Draco takes a step back, still looking – stop it. He shifts his focus back to Potter’s ridiculously bright green eyes, they’re full of Resolve. Draco feels the anger surging up again, he tries not to raise his voice “You are infuriating. I mean it, yo–”

This time, Potter steps forward askance into Draco’s left side, halting his tirade. He leans towards Draco’s ear, he doesn’t have to lean far, he is very, very close. Draco wants so badly to press his cheek against Potter’s mouth. He is inwardly pleased that he does not succumb to the ridiculous whim or even flinch either.

“It wasn’t for you,” Potter whispers straight into his ear. Draco can feel his breath tickle, and his magic virtually hums around them. Draco’s knees wobble. “You see, it was probably entirely selfish. I was one of those kids and it makes me feel good to help them have a better childhood than mine.”

Draco snaps his head to look at Potter at that. He has to lean to the side so as not to inadvertently brush their lips together. But then his eyes are drawn to his left arm as Potter brushes his palm slowly down the outside of Draco’s arm stopping just as it reaches his cuff. Draco does not know what to do with that.

“Please do thank Pansy for inviting me, will you?” he says then more softly, smiling slightly, “This was… impressive.” Then Potter steps past him and Draco whirls around but he has vanished, employing the Notice-me-not charm again, clearly.

“Well, I’m fucked,” Draco expels the words with a breath he didn’t know he was holding while swipes a hand over his face.

 

His stupor is interrupted by Pansy, “So, was it Potter?”

“No,” Draco lies, inexplicably. He’s better at it than Potter because Pansy pouts, believing him.

When she says, “It would have been such great publicity that he saved the day… again. And make that dick who took his money back feel like a right asshole.”

“He didn’t know anything about it.”

“Oh well, crisis averted either way. Come Draco darling, time to announce the fruits of our efforts and have Josephine, she said I can call her that, do the thing.” And Pansy is pulling Draco alongside her as she jabbers while his mind is stuck on what Potter might have meant by ‘better childhood’, and also his eyes, and his lips being right there, and did he mention the eyes already?

 

Notes:

Sorry if the French isn’t 100% correct. Loosely then:
Mon Etoile – My Star
Il a l’air beau, ce soir – He looks handsome tonight
Oui, qu’il est. Ah, the Minister. Excusez-moi sil vous plait – Yes that he is… Please excuse me
peux-tu trouver ta place par toi-même, juste là – can you find your place by yourself, just here
Et charmant – And charming

Chapter 3

Then Potter was gone.

Not just a charm this time, gone out of the country according to Aunt Andromeda. Draco hadn’t asked, she volunteered the information.

“Teddy loves it when you come so often, especially when Harry is off travelling,” Andromeda waves a hand through the air at the world at large,

Draco may or may not have an ulterior motive for going to see Teddy slightly more often than usual in the past ten days. It may or may not have something to do with checking the hallway for the damned troll leg umbrella stand having displaced itself, but he does enjoy spending time with his bright, funny cousin so win-win.

She continues, “He misses Harry terribly. He can’t stop talking about the stories Harry has told him after he’s left. They always seem to feature animals, if it’s not rabbits and coyotes or foxes, it’s a spider or a… praying mantis. His favourite is the story about the wolf and the dog. Whatever the story, the themes, it seems to me, are of mischief-making. I just hope Harry is not inspiring Teddy to be a prankster, the last thing we need is another Marauder on our hands when he goes to school.”

Marauder? Something about that list of animals is ringing a bell in the back of Draco’s mind. He decides to look them up in the Manor library when next he visits his mother.

 

Draco may or may not have also gone to the Pearl Swallow to see if Potter’s band might be playing. The barman gave him a ‘flyer’, which was just a piece of paper that didn’t do any flying at all, like Ministry memos, but did list the days that bands would be playing for the whole month – gigs the barman called them. Draco saw there that Erised would be performing on the thirty-first of March, which was a little over a week from now. He asked the barman if they ever cancelled and he said, “Harrison never makes a promise he can’t keep.” Of course, he doesn’t.

 

To be sure he does not run into Granger at the gig, Draco invites her to share lunch with him in the Ministry canteen so he can casually engage her in conversation about her plans for the week.

“Most likely we’ll be spending much of the week at the Burrow,” she replies. “April Fool’s is this Friday and it’s a big day at W3, naturally, but it’s also just a bit of a rough one for the whole family. It’s Fred and George’s birthday, you see. Ron, and George especially, tend to drown themselves in work but they crash pretty hard when it’s over.”

It occurs to Draco that maybe this is the reason that Potter is returning this week. In spite of how he was taught to think of the Weasley’s, Draco had appreciated the twins’ jocular antics. The war left no one untouched, and some more than others.

“So, what do you have coming up?” Granger asks him.

“Well, we have the Quidditch clinic in two weeks. We are mostly ready but there are some things you cannot do until closer to the time. They are the bane of my existence.”

“Oh, yes, Ginny mentioned it. You’re using the Puddlemere pitch. Are any other teams going?”

“Yes, it helps when you know the team manager. We have a few Arrows, some Falcons, and a couple of Cannons. I am waiting on confirmation from the Wasps. And, of course, the whole Puddlemere team.”

“Do not tell Ron you have Cannons players coming, he will pester you to be allowed to go.”

“Firstly, it would never occur to me to do such a thing as engaging Weasley about the Cannons.” Granger snickers. “Secondly, he is more than welcome. We are going to have some former- and current Hogwarts players and he is ‘The King’ after all.”

Granger’s fork is hovering just in front of her mouth, she blinks a few times, “Really?”

“Yes, really, I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t mean it. Besides, he gave up his seat at the dinner before. I am willing to bet he whinged about missing out on the food.”

“You are not wrong,” Granger says, smiling broadly. “Thank you, Draco, he’ll be beside himself. Ginny may not thank you, just a cautionary heads-up.”

“Thanks, I’ll take care to avoid her then.” Draco has plans to steer clear of the Weaslette anyway. It is one of the reasons he never takes Blaise up on invitations to practices. That, and because Blaise is an insufferable, arrogant twat. Still, the man has generously given up his field to being camped on and stomped all over for two days.

“If you’re inviting former Hogwarts’ players, why not ask Harry?” Granger suggests, digging around in her salad for bits that weren’t lettuce.

It’s Draco’s turn to freeze. Granger looks at him, eyebrows up in question. “I did not know he would be available. Is he, uh… back in England?”

“He arrives tomorrow. I think he’ll be around for two weeks or so. He often comes and goes without saying anything and I find out after the fact. I can ask when I see him on Friday.”

Without saying anything, to his best friends? “Well, of course, if he is around, as you say, and willing, Potter is also… welcome. I mean, it was his superfluous donation that allowed us most of the extra funds to host this clinic.”

Granger finishes her last mouthful, dabbing at the corners with a napkin. “I am sure I have no idea what you mean by that last part, but I will tell him about attending if he wants to,” she smiles, mirth in her eyes. “Right, I must be off, I have a meeting with the Goblin Liaison Office in about an hour. Oh, I nearly forgot, I wanted to ask you about putting together an event for my department. But we’ll chat later?”

“Yes, of course, happy to, whenever.”

Granger squeezes his shoulder as she goes by, “Thank you Draco, see you around.”

“Bye, Hermione.” How exactly does Potter keep getting himself invited to these things? Draco muses.

---

 

A beanie draped towards the back of Draco’s head, the point folded down, is covering most of his white-blond hair. Not his usual choice of accessory but it does seem to be on trend. All the better for not being spotted at a distance while he settles into a seat towards the back of the bar, as far from the stage as he can get and still see it.

He is nursing a gin and tonic, watching the crowd grow restless. He glances at his watch; it is ten to nine.

“Lovely to see you Draco,” a lilting voice floats up from ahead of him. Merlin! How unlucky can he be? And sure enough, Luna is coming towards him, all swaths of colourful flowing fabric and a dreamy look.

“Luna,” Draco steps off his stool, leaving one foot on the footrest to give Luna a brief hug.

“Here to watch Harrison sing? Or is this a coincidence?” He knows she knows it isn’t. Luna is more than insightful; she is downright prescient. He noticed she didn’t say Harry. “I mean, I don’t blame you for coming back, he’s a captivating performer.” Her eyes flare open at ‘captivating’. Draco’s eyes widen as well, his mouth twitching as he searches for something to say – back? Had they gossiped about him after last time.

“Oh, Hermione didn’t say anything, if you were wondering. I just observed your body language. You are… eager,” Luna tilts her head at the selection of adjective, “rather than just being here with no expectations, which you would be if you hadn’t been before. Hermione’s the only other person that knows about Harrison,” – oh? – “I can’t imagine you would have chanced upon him yourself in a Muggle bar. Although… …you two are like magnets to one another.”

Luna seldom revealed how she interpreted such things, so Draco is speechless that she has done. Draco has read some books on Muggle physics – fascinating subject, that made him rethink how magic really works – so he is aware of the properties of magnets. He wonders how Luna is, but then she is brighter than she alludes to be. Magnets. The image causes a tug behind his navel, not unlike the sensation of travelling by portkey, and he sees Potter stepping towards him at the fundraiser, so close. And how Draco had to fight the desire to lean into him.

Luna seems, not to be waiting for him to say something, but for his thoughts to conclude. Conclude what? That she is right. She smiles benignly then, “Well, I’m going to watch from down there,” she gestures to the stage, where Erised has started to gear up. “Enjoy.”

Before he can reply, she has drifted away. He sees her, all 5 feet and not much more, nudge her way effortlessly to the front. He shakes his head in bewilderment.

 

Potter is all ‘Harrison Evans’ again: olive cargo pants tucked into laced up Doc Martens this time, leather straps and turquoise beads, eyebrow piercing Draco is pretending not to be thrilled to see, dark frames and is that glitter in a smear on his cheekbone. Potter smiles at Luna, poking his tongue between his teeth and scrunching his nose. It’s endearing as hell, how annoying. But, of course, Luna explains the glitter. His hair is French braided on one side above his ear, more than half of his thick loose curls are thrown over his other ear swinging with every move he makes. Draco wonders if that’s Luna’s doing as well.

“Hey,” Harrison says into the mic – it’s too familiar to think of him this way, Evans. No, Draco decides to still just call him Potter. He might be in ‘rock star’ guise but he is Potter underneath the persona. The crowd claps and cheers and there’s a wolf-whistle that causes a crooked grin on his face. “We are Erised.” At that the drummer clacks his drumsticks together four times and the guitars kick in. Another cheer from the crowd.

Draco loses track of time. Somehow it is mostly a blur of movement and wash of music with singular, lucid moments that seem to just hang there, impossibly suspended in time, featuring Potter in some alluring pose or another.

At some point in the show, Potter sings the same song about being a sacrifice but this time he looks down at Luna stretching a hand towards her and their fingertips touch as she reaches back. He does not get through the line, his voice cracks and he turns away from the mic and misses the next one. Coming back around he says, “Sorry about that,” his voice breaks, and he clears his throat to pick up the song from the next lyric that has him leading the audience to lifting their hands above their heads. He tips his head back and sways during the instrumental break, dropping his hands heavily after a few seconds. He steps back from the mic on one foot, still holding the cradle where it rests in the stand and tipping it towards him as he leaves his other foot on the heel at the base of the mic-stand. He looks over at, whatshisname, the guitarist, and whatever he sees in his face, he looks reassured.

Draco feels moved by the line, more so this time than the last. He wonders, not for the first time, how anyone could have enough courage to walk into the Forbidden Forest that day – even this quintessential Gryffindor. He wonders if anyone, besides Potter, knows the whole story. He wonders if Luna has guessed. She and Potter seem to have a closeness that Draco had not been aware of, being that Luna is one of the few people that forgave Draco without hesitation and that they spoke regularly.

 

A few songs later, Potter bends over, his olive-green cargo pants pulling taught around his thighs and his deep V-neck T-shirt gapes showing off a lot of sweat-sheened skin and two more tattoos across his collarbones, wings maybe, it’s too fleeting to be sure. Draco swallows the sip of his third drink hard and coughs.

“You alright?” he hears and turns towards the voice; the barman looks concerned.

“Mhm, fine,” he croaks.

He hears Potter say, “This will be our last song selected by one of my best friends, the lovely Luna, right over here, ladies and gentlemen.” Potter smiles down at her and winks.

His eyes are glued to Potter’s face as cups his right hand at the ear of the guitarist, who nods. As he drops it, Potter puts his left hand on the man’s right shoulder and keeps it there. Standing to the side of him with their right feet parallel and Potter’s left side behind the man. They are much, much too close and Potter is watching him play over the man’s shoulder. The refrain is sensual with heavy drumbeats coming from behind them after the guitar begins playing the melody. After one bar, the music repeats and Potter rolls his body, chest to hips, past his bum coming to stop as the roll reaches his knees. He does this against the guitarist’s side, who leans back into him. Draco would be tempted to whimper at the sight of Potter’s movement were it not for their proximity. Potter grins at another wolf-whistle from the audience which spurs him to do it again. He drops half the smile, his mouth twisting into a smirk as he glances down and across his right shoulder at the audience, lifting it slightly. Draco shifts uncomfortably on his stool. This should not be legal in public.

Finally, Potter steps away from him, giving his shoulder a squeeze as he does, and up to the mic in two quick steps as his cue to sing comes up. The song is an odd assortment of lyrics. They remind Draco of Dumbledore’s idea of ‘saying a few words’ at start of term feasts, seemingly random and nonsensical. Of course, Luna knows this song and picked it.

After the second verse, the chorus comes in for the first time. Potter sings, “Come together, right now…” and then barely audibly sung closely into the mic, “Over me.” And Draco likes something in his tone, he likes it a lot. It sends a shiver down his spine, and he can’t help but shimmy his shoulders – ugh, why does the man entice him into such untoward reactions!

“Hot, huh?”

Draco does not want to turn to the barman to acknowledge this unwelcome comment. But he half turns his head without taking his eyes off Potter and only gives a jerky nod.

He thinks maybe the barman says something else, but Draco has turned his full attention back to Potter. Draco doesn’t think it can get any sexier, but impossibly, Potter’s gravelly voice breaks when he sings ‘right now’ for the third, and final time, and goosebumps prickle over Draco’s skin. He can even feel them climb up right behind his ears. The audience is completely still, like they are holding their collective breath in the slightly longer pause before he closes it off with ‘over me’. Draco had been and he lets it out in a sigh.

They begin clapping, before they get too loud and over the closing bars of the music that are similar to the opening ones, Potter introduces his bandmates again exactly as he did the first time Draco saw them. He gives a little bow afterwards and beams over the audience.

 

Once they are done playing, some background music resumes in the bar. Draco is stock-still for a few moments. He shakes his head to collect himself. When he looks up, he sees Potter has climbed down from the stage and his leaning down as Luna says something to him. The next moment Potter’s eyes go wide and search the bar. Stupidly, it takes a moment for Draco to realise that he’s searching for him. Gah, Luna. The bloody hat was meant to keep him from being recognised and there's she just blabbing it right to Potter.

Draco quickly spins in his stool looking down at the bar. He knocks back the last of his drink and stands, fumbling with his wallet to pay. He should have left before as the band closed out – and he think he’s smart.

“Put it on my tab, please Jason.”

“Sure thing, Harrison. Here’s your glass of water.”

Draco hasn’t mustered the courage to face him yet. But Potter brushes his arm as he reaches for the water.

“Cheers.”

Draco looks up to see Jason leer at Potter, who is oblivious, and Draco can feel a snarl forming on his lips. But he chases it away and turns ninety degrees and leans on the bar putting his elbow on the – ick – tacky surface, mirroring Potter’s stance. How are all bar-counters sticky no matter how much the barman wipes them? Draco also briefly wonders where Luna got to, mostly because he wants to glare at her. Although she’s immune to them anyway.

 

“Didn’t think I’d see you here again.”

This is the first time Potter has acknowledged that Draco was here previously. With Potter’s arm on the bar this way, it gives Draco the opportunity to surreptitiously satisfy his curiosity for one of the tattoos he has seen. On his left forearm Potter has a bouquet of wolfsbane behind it are two halo-like rings crossing over each other, on the pinnacle of the top one is a star. Not the 5-pointed kind, black and grey shading and negative space have been used to create the impression of a star. Like the leaves on his right arm, it’s beautiful.

Draco doesn’t know what to say and so he reaches for his trademark snark, “I like the ambience, and they have good gin. I didn’t know you were playing.” He hopes the barman, isn’t near enough to hear him and rumble the lie.

“Ahh, I see,” he deadpans.

“And I was just about to leave.”

“Funny that, me too. May I walk out with you?”

Draco wants to protest but his mouth comes out with, “Certainly.” The only reason Draco doesn’t visibly cringe at agreeing to it is due to being scrutinised by eyes the colour of envy, but no, that’s how Draco feels because he’s instead envious of the sincerity they portray.

“Hang on a sec, will you?” Potter walks backwards two steps, smiles, and then spins around and half-jogs, half-skips back to the stage. Not an easy task through a bustling crowd, with hands reaching out for him along the way. Everyone seems to want a piece of Potter… even Draco, if he’s honest with himself.

He is back quicker than it takes Draco to realise he had the opportunity to abscond a second time.

Slinging a leather biker jacket on and zipping it up diagonally across his chest. He leaves the last third flapped open in a triangle. Draco’s brain is trying to form rational thoughts, but it has stalled apparently.

“Shall we?”

We. Draco is stirred to move at a gesture towards the door from Potter, “Right, yes.”

 

They amble in awkward silence to the alley where Draco had apparated to again. Potter halts and turns fully towards Draco who only reciprocates only halfway. Just as Draco’s eyes swivel to Potter, he sees him lean back as if to sit with his arms crossed. Draco reaches to catch him if the fool falls backwards, but a motorcycle that must have been disillusioned appears under him. Draco blinks rapidly, wondering how Potter knows precisely where it was. Then he notices a piece of graffiti, he thinks the Muggles call it, on the wall behind Potter.

“Aunt Andromeda said you don’t like wizard means of travel, so do you ride that thing instead?”

“This thing is a vintage Triumph Bonneville. And yes, I use it to go everywhere. Except when I happen to be in a nice suit, which isn’t often,” Potter is smirking.

“Why? I mean, surely wizard travel is… more efficient.”

“Well, you can’t apparate without a wand – I mean you can, but you really shouldn’t – and I don’t have one. I never seem to land on my feet and get soot up my nose when I floo. And I had a nightmare experience with a portkey so… yeah. Obviously, brooms are fine and anyway, it’s enchanted,” he pats the shiny two-tone fuel tank with one hand and recrosses his arms, “it flies.”

This is quite a lot of information to parse, but Draco is stuck on the first thing Potter said, “You don’t have a wand. With you, you mean?” He can’t fathom going anywhere without his, he’ll feel like he’s missing a limb.

He gives a humourless smile, “No, at all.”

“But… but how do you…?”

“I manage,” he shrugs.

“You manage? You are absolutely–”

Potter leans forward and with a shit-eating grin interjects, “Infuriating. I’ve been told.”

Draco just shakes his head – yes, yes, he is quite infuriated.

“Do you…?” Potter inclines his head toward the bike.

“Absolutely not, Potter. I shan’t be climbing onto a flying motorcycle with you.”

“Flying it is safer than driving on the roads really,” Potter stands and they’re close again. How had Draco drifted so close again while they were talking?

“What about the Statue?”

“There’s this spell called the Disilluuusionment Spell,” Potter wiggles his fingers obnoxiously and Draco wants to bat them aside. “I’m pretty nifty at it.”

“You can disillusion that… thing and the two of us. Without a wand?”

“Probably. Well, if you’re sure?”

“Probably?” Draco sputters – no Malfoy’s don’t sputter; he’s dignified in his incredulity – “I’m even more sure now. Not that I wasn’t before,” he defends.

Potter hums, pulling a shrunken helmet from his pocket. As he does a Snitch pops free and flutters up to head height. “I forgot that was in there,” he says, mostly to himself, Draco thinks. Potter wraps his hand around it and pockets it again before he engorges the helmet.

Only Potter would have a tame snitch in his pocket that he forgot about and perform wandless spells effortlessly as though this were normal.

Draco finds himself murmuring, “Completely, utterly–”

“Infuriating, yeah, it’s been established.”

Draco huffs at his criticism being thwarted again.

Potter takes a pair of leather gloves out, from inside the helmet, that he lays down on his leg. Draco’s eyes focus on the gloves, like a hand on Potter’s thigh. He puts the helmet on, tucking his hair into the side, away from his face. Draco notices a word on his wrist as he ties the helmet strap, ‘always’ and he is inquisitive as to the meaning. Potter picks up one glove at a time and puts them on, flexing his fingers as he pulls them taut at the wrist.

The helmet has a pair of World War One flying goggles strapped around it, Potter takes off his glasses and tucks them away inside his jacket before zipping it all the way and securing the snap at the shoulder. He pulls the goggles down over his eyes, shifting them up and down until they are comfortable. Then he stands to swing a leg over the seat. Draco assumes the goggles have his prescription in them.

Potter reaches for the handlebars but sits back up, “Oh yes, Hermione told me about the Quidditch clinic. I’d like to come if that’s alright?”

“Yes, I did say that you could.”

“I’ll see you there then, it’s next Saturday?”

“And Sunday, yes. We’re camping overnight on the pitch. You can come either day.”

Potter pauses a minute, two, but it’s hard to see his expression past the goggles as he looks at Draco. He’s unsure if he should continue standing there or…

“That gives me an idea.”

“I heard your ideas never work.”

Potter laughs again heartily, “Did Hermione tell you this? Our ideas and she’s not wrong. It’s… I’d like to stay, overnight and set up a little surprise for the kids. Entertainment, I think they’d love it.”

“You are going to have to give me more than that. I am responsible for them. I cannot just let you run some hare-brained–”

“It’s not hare-brained, I promise.”.

Draco has heard Potter keeps those. “Okay. I cannot believe I am saying this, but I trust you, Potter.”

Potter tilts his head, saying with a sincere smile, “I… Thank you, Malfoy.” Potter puts his hands on the handlebars again and kickstarts the motorcycle. A deep rumble reverberates off the close alley walls.

Merlin! It does something to Draco seeing Potter straddle this large piece of machinery, revving it with a flick of his wrist. He does what he does best in situations such as these, straightens his spine, squares his shoulders, and lifts his chin. He takes two steps back to have room to apparate but before he does, Potter gives him a wave and pulls away.

He’s gone before Draco can even lift a hand. Infuriating.

Notes:

Luna’s song is Come Together by The Beatles

And Wishlist is referenced again.

Chapter 4: (in two parts)

Notes:

This is my first fic, so any feedback is welcome as I am trying to improve my writing. I’m a bit dissatisfied with these next two chapters somewhat. Overly long, maybe or too many small details perhaps, I can’t pinpoint it. Please bear with me even if you think so too.

Also, the chapter count went down and now it might go up. This is due to me combining a very short chapter with another only to then split a super long one in half, so I decided to wait until closer to the end to revise the chapter count more accurately.

Saturday

Wrangling children is not easy, but Draco is discovering that wrangling professional Quidditch players is harder. They keep disappearing to Merlin knows where or they are doing foolish tricks on their brooms. Draco would prefer the children do not get any ideas, thank you very much.

“Blaise. Blaise!”

“Draco, baby, darling, doll face, honey², what are you yelling for?”

“I am yelling because you are flirting with, well, just about anyone who stands still for two minutes, and I need your help to gather everyone. For Merlin’s sake.”

“You only had to ask.”

“I did ask, about twenty minutes ago.”

“Alright, don’t get your knickers in a twist. I’ll help.”

“A Malfoy’s knickers do not get twisted.”

“Ah, but you don’t deny wearing them,” Blaise flounces off, chuckling.

 

Draco shakes his head, looking down at his clipboard – nifty Muggle invention these. After the welcome tea they just had, he wants to kit the children out and group them so they can get started.

Draco looks up, searching for Pansy. Just then, he spots Potter sitting with the Hogwarts bunch with his feet up on the chair in front of him. Draco was so busy that he hadn’t noticed when Potter arrived. Weasley is talking animatedly, while Potter is sweeping his eyes over the stands scanning faces, looking for someone specific perhaps.

He seems to be in ‘Harry-mate’ mode, tip-off being the reappearance of the thin, round spectacles and gone are the other accessories, hair half-up like at the coffee shop. He is wearing a plain white long-sleeved T-shirt that fits just right tucked into navy tracksuit pants with three white stripes running down the side. They taper at the ankle, and he has matching white sneakers with blue stripes, as though he is sponsored by some sport brand. Weasley is, of course, in the garish Chudley Cannons colours toes to the ends of his clashing hair – eurgh!

Potter spots Draco and lifts a hand in greeting offering a tentative smile along with it. Draco only reciprocates with a nod. Blaise seems to have helped after all, and the various groups of people are clumped on the stands. Draco slides his wand out of the clip part of the board and casts a Sonorus.

“Hello everyone.”

A litany of responses, mostly from the children, float down to where he is standing against the railing in front of the bottom row of the stands.

Draco smiles, “Welcome children, I hope you are all excited to start. We brought some Quidditch players from professional teams, and from Hogwarts, some former players in their school days. Right, first everyone needs to gear up so when I say, we are all going to gather on the pitch. Each one of you has a bag with your name on it and inside you will find a shirt and protective gear. This includes the Hogwarts group. Anyone needing help to put them on can raise their hands please.”

Cassius Warrington – former Slytherin player in sixth year when Draco was in first – raises his hand, smirking. Draco rolls his eyes.

“If the adults could come down now and get themselves,” – Cassius lowers his hand, pouting – “ready please so as to assist the children when I send them down.” They do as they’re told at varying pace. Draco is secretly pleased at his idea to have arranged the Hogwarts cohort white Quidditch jerseys with their surnames and former numbers on the back along with the Hogwarts crest on the front. Mostly because it gives him a thrill of remembered intense contests to see ‘Potter 7’.

 

While they’re doing this, Draco faces back to the children. He knows from experience to keep the charm up when talking to them to ensure they are paying attention.

“It is very important that you all listen to the adults to make sure no one gets hurt, okay?” There are nods and assenting voices. “Good.” Draco glances back at the field, satisfied with the readiness of the players, he beckons the children, “Alright, down you come,” and leads the way onto the pitch. “Form a line in front of this table please.”

Pansy is sitting there with another clipboard, hers spelled to summon the bag of the child in front of her with a touch of her wand to their name. 

Elio dodges past some of the other children as they mill about forming, what could roughly be called, a line if you squinted, and runs up to Draco. He crouches as the boy approaches and puts his clipboard down on the grass. As Elio reaches him, Draco takes hold of his arms and gives them a gentle squeeze. Draco does not know what it is about this child that he adores so much, but it floods his heart with warmth, like stepping into the sun from out of the chilly shade, every time Draco sees him.

“Hey, Elio, are you excited?”

“So excited.”

“Who is your favourite player?”

“You are,” Elio insists, his eyes alight.

Draco laughs. He stands, picking his clipboard up as he does and taking Elio’s hand in his free one. “Come with me.” Elio skips along beside him, slightly tugging Draco’s arm with each hop. It makes him realise that would rather be here than anywhere else in the world right now.

They wait at the back of the line, Elio swinging Draco’s arm back and forth. Draco takes over the swing and twirls Elio in a circle then tugs him into a one-armed hug. As Elio steps up to Pansy’s table, Draco scans the pitch again, pleased to see the children either helping each other or being helped by a player to put on protective vests, greaves, shin guards, helmets and pulling white Quidditch jerseys with coloured sleeves over the top, each child with their names over their shoulders.

His eyes land on Potter who is staring again unabashedly, right at Draco. He is a little irked to notice that Potter is holding a Firebolt III series, handle propped on the ground and bristles in the air. Of course he has a professional-level broom.

Draco shrugs his shoulders and tilts his head asking ‘what?’ in silent question. Potter smiles, cheeks colouring ever so slightly now he’s been caught, and shakes his head as if to say ‘nothing’. Draco raises an eyebrow in reply and smothers the smile that lurks at the corner of his own mouth, turning his attention back to the crowd at large.

 

When the hum of activity has died down some. Draco uses his wand to raise his voice again. “Thank you. First, the most fundamental parts of Quidditch are flying and ball handling. That is mostly what we will be doing today. Learning to mount brooms, manoeuvre them safely and land. And about how each ball behaves and what to do with them. There is a height limit of four feet placed over the stadium,” – some of the children exclaim their disappointment at this – “and there is a team of three Mediwitches on hand, but I would prefer we do not use them, so please be careful. First, however, the Puddlemere Vice-captain, Oliver Wood, will lead everyone in some warm-up exercises. Over to you.”

“Thanks, Malfoy.”

 

Draco ticks a few things off on his clipboard tapping them with his wand.

“Pansy?”

“Yes, darling?”

“May I ask you to please go check the emergency floo is open? I asked Blaise to do it but–”

“Enough said,” Pansy flaps a hand at Draco. “How that man is in charge of a team is beyond me,” she says loudly as she makes her way to the offices.

“Thank you,” Draco calls after her. He feels better about that with Pansy on task.

Draco strides off the field, with the single-minded purpose to check on lunch in the cafeteria with the House Elves contingent, on loan from Hogwarts. After a fifteen-minute argument with Winky about what constitutes appropriate, healthy dietary choices again, Draco returns to the field a bit out of breath, just as the warm-up session ends.

 

“Righty-ho, does everyone feel ready for some fun?” There are some ‘yeahs’ and some whoops and jumping up and down. “Good. Players, please divide yourselves in half. One lot to take the nine- and ten-year-olds to the brooms over there,” Draco points to one end of the field and then pointing to the opposite side, “and the other to lead the seven- and eight-year-olds to the ball trunks over there. You will spend two hours working on skills then we will meet in the middle here for lunch.”

Everyone moves off to one side of the field or the other. Next on Draco’s list is setting up the tables for lunchtime.

“Hey, Malfoy?” a familiar voice carries to him. Draco turns and waits for Potter to jog to him.

“Um… hi.”

“Hello Potter.”

“I’d… would you… just thought I’d offer…,” Harry scrubs the back of his neck with a hand, looking at the ground then up at Draco only raising his head halfway. He seems shy and the stuttering, for some reason, which is somehow endearing. “Or I can… if you don’t…,” he exhales with a puff of air, pointing to where came from.

“Potter, you did not quite finish a single sentence there.”

“Ha, yeah. Help… that is. I’d like to uh, help you with whatever needs doing right now. If you could use it.”

“Yes, alright, I’m moving tables and benches over for lunch. They must be in a specific array, just like the Hogwarts tables so the Elves can do their thing in the kitchen and the food–”

“Appears here.”

“Yes.”

“So, what’s the arrangement?”

“I have a diagram,” Draco flips to a page in one movement using a coloured flag that is sticking out – he really loves Muggle stationery, it’s so useful for organising things. Potter hesitates a moment. Draco notes the intriguing change in confidence level, it’s like he is a different person from the more serious, dignified gentleman at the fundraiser and from the laughing, insouciant guy from the gig. This is not a Potter he has met before. When he does come over Draco shows Potter the mapped-out placement of the tables. There is about an inch of space between them, and Draco must force himself to not start tipping towards Potter to close it – magnets – he blames the tendrils of magic he feels emanating from the man.

“Ok, so you do these, and I’ll do these,” Potter says, finger sliding over Draco’s illustration.

“Yes, fine.”

 

As they set to work floating tables and benches from a storeroom under the stands, Draco’s mind is whirring with all the revelations Potter made outside the bar. Before he can stop himself, he asks, “Why the pseudonym?”

“Oh, um… partly to avoid being recognised by Witches and Wizards if they happen to be in the Muggle world.”

“Really, you don’t think you would anyway, not least of all because of…?” Draco points to his own forehead.

Now that Draco is really looking at it, he realises the scar is not very visible unless you are looking for it. The most noticeable part is where one fork of the infamous lighting scar bisects his eyebrow. Potter reaches up and lightly touches his fingers to it, eyes unfocused. Draco clears his throat to call Potter back from wherever his mind drifted to, or whenever.

Potter jerks his hand down and says, “You’d think, but it’s the name more than anything else that catches people’s attention. They only look after they hear it. Then comes the muttering. I had plenty of that for a lifetime at school. It’s easier to stay out in the Muggle world most of the time. Easier to not be… er, him all the time.” Then why has he accepted these invitations that are reeling him back in?

Without putting any thought into it, Draco’s brain decides to respond to that revelation with, “Well, ‘Harrison Evans’ seems to catch people’s attention just fine. He seems to be just as famous in the Muggle world as you are in ours.” Potter looks offended, no more than that, wounded. Draco may once have relished a reaction like this, but he regrets saying it now.

Potter frowns, “I’m hardly…, at the bar, they’re a crowd of regulars. It’s… They’re hardly the Muggle world at large, you know.”

“Ob-viously,” hoping to make Potter laugh with his imitation of Severus. It works, Potter’s head snaps up to look at Draco and a split second later he is roaring with laughter. Now this is a reaction Draco can relish.

Still smiling broadly, Potter’s laugh dies down, “That’s a very good impersonation. I never thought I’d hear…,” and just as suddenly as he started to laugh, he stops and becomes pensive again, absent-mindedly rubbing his thumb over ‘always’. Draco doesn’t know what to think about this strange behaviour, so he turns back to the job at hand.

After a few minutes, his curiosity gets the better of him once more, “The wand thing, what is that about?”

Potter becomes self-conscious again, like when he first came over. He sighs and says, mostly to the ground or with his head turned away, looking anywhere but at Draco.

“It’s a long story but the… short version is, my Holly was irrevocably damaged by a curse that backfired… I have the pieces, couldn’t bear to throw them away. I destroyed the Elder wand because, well… no one should have that kind of power. And I… I gave your Hawthorn back to you.” At the last, Potter makes a gesture towards him, lifting his eyes locking them on Draco’s own. Holly, hawthorn, elder – the leaves tattoo. Even though this riddle is solved, yet again the answer has created more questions.

An Elder wand that had immense power. When and how had that come into play? Draco is distantly reminded of that children’s fable about the Three Brothers. The Wand of Destiny in the story is famously made of elder wood..., surely not. But then, momentous things do frequently happen around Potter.

A beat of silence later, while all those thoughts fly through Draco’s head, his only reply is, “Why is every one of your answers wholly–”

“Infuriating?”

Draco pouts, but Potter is laughing again, eyes shining, and the pout twitches threatening to turn into a smile.

They finish the job without speaking about anything else. Afterwards Potter throws a thumb at the side of the pitch where the children are being taught ball skills, “I’ll just…”. He jogs away. As he watches, Draco certainly is not thinking he might be able to watch Potter jog all day. Not least of all because he does actually have things to do so he diverts his eyes onto his trusty clipboard, seeking his next task.

 

Lunch and the afternoon activities – a swapping of groups between the brooms- and balls-skills training – ran along with only one hitch, Draco had expected worse – he had the foresight to not use real Bludgers or that might well have been the case. They had borrowed some well-maintained Comet Three-sixty’s from the school so they weren’t the speediest of brooms, still a boy sprained his ankle from landing a broom without pulling up sufficiently. But he was quickly attended to by a Mediwitch and happily bouncing up and down cheering his friends along soon after.

Draco only just came to sit down with Pansy briefly, having been on his feet all day, and he is regretting it as they only hurt worse now. He racks his brain for a spell to alleviate it when he realises that he has not spared a thought to the ‘surprise’ Potter mentioned. Instantly it causes him some anxiety that he does not have a clue what it is and therefore could not have prepared for all scenarios. He needs to speak to Potter. Draco looks around the field but cannot see him.

“Pansy?”

“Yes, Draco darling?” without looking at him. From their perch in the stands, she is ogling some of the professional players.

“Can you see Potter anywhere?”

She sighs dramatically, “Ahh, just like the good ol’ days.”

“What is?”

“Nothing,” she sings, “and no, I have not seen Potter. I have been rather preoccupied with the very fine behind on that very tall, very attractive player over there.” She points her finger and squints along the top of it, then at Draco, grinning.

Draco’s reply to this is to get up and walk away. He hears Pansy giggle behind him. Muttering under his breath in rapid French, mostly saying some unkind things about Pansy’s tendency to become unfocused in the presence of good-looking men but with more swear words. He is not willing to admit a similar tendency in himself around a specific former classmate just as he suddenly bumps into someone quite hard. That is, the bump is hard but so is the someone. Draco may have thought he’d walked into a wall if walls smelled like grass and broom oil and were warm and a bit sweaty and sort of buzzed with a magical field.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t watching…”

A hand grasps his elbow tightly. Draco looks up and it really could not have been anyone else.

“Potter, I’ve been looking for you.”

“So have I… …been looking for you, I mean. Not you know looking for myself… like, existentially, perpetually, but just now, erm, just you.”

Draco thinks he kind of adored that revealing gibberish.

“Sorry, you go first,” Potter offers, stepping back.

“I wanted to find out what your plans are, for the entertainment you mentioned. As I said, I’m responsible for the children, which means considering all eventualities.” Draco makes an all-encompassing gesture with his arms, omnipresent clipboard in one hand which seems to distract Harry for a moment.

“Exactly. That’s why I was looking for as well.”

“Oh good. Let’s sit over here, my feet are killing me.”

“Let me…,” Potter mutters then Draco feels a wash of magic swirl around his feet, they instantly feel better.

“Hermione,” is Potter’s answer to Draco’s silent amazement, he continues as if what he says next explains anything further, “she learned quite a few nifty tricks like that on the Never-Ending-Camping-Trip-From-Hell. Taught me eventually so she didn’t have to keep on…,” Potter stops talking and blinks at Draco who is shaking his head, stalled half-way to sitting down. They do not have time to discuss another bewildering fraction of an undoubtedly much longer story.

Draco drops into the seat at the same time as Potter who proceeds to explains his plan.

 

Later that evening, almost everyone is bustling about getting their tents erected on one half of the field. They had to place the tents closer together to accommodate the space needed for the evening’s entertainment. Potter brought a Muggle movie.

With some help from Angelina Johnson and Oliver Wood, and another annoyingly unhelpful Puddlemere player, who Draco learned was called Lennox Graves, a large white sheet is being raised into the air about three feet above the ground. They had to remove the height restriction temporarily, but Draco knew children to well not to restrict it again when they were done – his mind conjuring images of midnight joyrides by Gryffindors in the making. The four corners, the middle of both sides, and the top and bottom, were secured to hold it taut. Graves does not appear willing or capable of doing anything but stand with his hands on his hips and shouting unhelpful advice that goes ignored, occasionally shooting glances over at Potter to see if he is looking. He is not Draco is pleased to observe.

What Potter is doing is fiddling with a Muggle contraption he called a projector. He explained that he’d specifically sought out a mechanical one that he would spell to crank at the right speed, whatever that meant, since an electrical one would not have worked within the magical enclosure surrounding the stadium and, also, due to electrical extension cords not being long enough, anyway, even if they had plugs – he had said it like that, all in one breath in his stream of consciousness way of speaking Draco has noticed when is flustered or enthusiastic.

Draco has heard about Muggle movies but has never seen one and is quite looking forward to it. He had some concerns over the appropriateness of the story when he heard what it is called. But Potter said it was something called ‘Pick-zarre animal-shin’, and they will love it.

Meanwhile the Weasleys have been instructing the Hogwarts Elves on how to make a snack for the children.

Potter gives Draco a double thumbs up and a broad smile. Potter’s enthusiasm is infectious, and Draco turns his head away, after a nod, to smile just as broadly and yet not be seen to be giving such a compromising response.

Draco casts Sonorus and calls everyone to the empty part of the field, telling them to grab a cup off a nearby table, to take care to keep them upright for when the drink arrives and that the children must be seated on the scattered cushions. There is some running around, a kerfuffle at the table, and some shuffling as the children rearrange who sits next to whom before everyone becomes settled – if you can call muttering excitedly settled.

With excellent timing, the Weasley’s are levitating a flotilla of trays carrying red and white striped packets and distributing one to each person. The Elves also assist with magically filling everyone’s cups with something called ‘Fanta Orange’ that Potter had also procured and brought along. Spilling and whining were inevitable despite the warning, but it’s sorted soon enough, with help from Harry’s friends as they dish out the treats.

Draco suggested that Potter be the one to introduce the experience to the crowd, but he insisted that he’d rather not even be mentioned and just told Draco what to say which surprised him with how comfortable he, or rather Harrison, is in front of a crowd – maybe that is the difference.

“Good evening, everyone. Someone has very kindly arranged for you to be shown a Muggle movie tonight.” The Muggle-raised children clap and cheer while the fully Wizarding ones look around perplexed. “I am told you will be shown a moving picture that tells a story on this large white sheet behind me. The movie is called,” and here Draco must refer to his clipboard to read, “Monsters Inc…orporated, I have been assured that it is funny and has a happy ending. I have to warn you that we are going to Nox the lights, but it is so we can see the movie properly. Inside the packets you each have is popcorn and it’s the customary Muggle snack for watching movies. I would like everyone to stay seated unless you need the loo, please,” – there are some giggles at this. “I hope you enjoy it.”

Draco cancels the charm and walks over to join the grown-ups sat in the back. Weasley has a rather extraordinary magical artifact, Draco observes, that he uses to draw in all the lights except one by the exit to the toilets which quietens down the chattering children. And a whirring sound starts, followed by a stream of light. After some flashing numbers counting down, the movie begins with a small bouncing light squashing the letter ‘i’ in the word Pixar – oh!

Potter told him that in a movie theatre, the sound is projected using something called ‘speakers’ but he figured out a way to magically amplify the sound. Draco does not understand how he is accomplishing any of it but so long as Potter does.

Draco uses a faint light at the tip of his wand to make his way carefully in the dark to where Potter is sitting overseeing the operation of the projector, as he wants to see it in action, obviously. Potter explained the mechanics to him earlier and he is fascinated.

“Hey,” Potter whispers when he sees Draco. The low greeting sends a little spasm of something pleasant through his tummy.

“Evening, may I?” he gestures to a cushioned chair alongside Potter that somehow no one was sitting in already. At Potter’s smiling nod he sits down. On Draco’s other side is Graves, side-eyeing him. It occurs to him that Graves wanted this seat and maybe Potter kept it open for… him? Draco ducks his head to hide a smile at the thought, even if it is wishful thinking.

Potter lightly elbows him, to draw his attention to the offer of a packet of popcorn. He takes it and looks up at Potter who tilts his head towards the screen with another of those lovely open, dare he consider, warm smiles. Draco turns towards the screen to see colourful creatures more comical than monstrous.

 

Immersed, it is only sometime later that he has the feeling of being watched. At first, Draco turns his head to Graves, assuming he is still fuming about being denied sitting next to Potter, but he’s leaning back in his chair, snoring. Draco aborts a snicker. Still getting the feeling, he turns his head the other way.

Poter is just righting himself from leaning back to look past Draco at Graves – oh, okay then – only then he makes an annoyed face and shifts his gaze to Draco. He suddenly realises that Potter has removed his glasses and is blinking owlishly at him. His face partly lit by the lightbulb on the projector. Draco cocks his head and draws circles in the air around his own eyes. Potter shrugs and leans over to Draco who reciprocates the lean offering his ear.

Whispering right into his ear, like at the fundraiser, Potter says, “I don’t need them anymore. They’re more a kind of…”

“Mask,” Draco fills in and turns his head to look at Potter again. His shoulders briefly lift in a silent laugh, an insight dawning in his eyes.

Now that Draco’s ear was facing away from him, Potter has to lean further over, “I was going to say accessory. I never thought of it that way.”

His breath on Draco’s ear as he spoke makes goosebumps sprout down his arms. Potter ducks his head and pulls away before looking up at the movie. Draco reluctantly does as well.

Too lost in thought, however, he never actually saw the end of the movie.

Notes:

2 This is also in reference to a song, Fires by Band of Skulls (it’s anachronistic, or I’d have had Harry sing it).

Yes, I chose to not have Harry fix his wand with the Elder Wand as he does in canon for the purposes of the story. He’d have intended to get a new one and then found he didn’t need to. I also imagine maybe it might have reminded him too much of Events, being the brother wand to Voldemort’s.

Chapter 5: (a.k.a. Chapter 4 – the second part)

Sunday

Draco didn’t sleep much last night. He knows the lack of sleep will hit him about midday and is dreading it.

 

Some of the adults used featherlight charms on the children who fell asleep to carry them to their tents and saw to it that the rest settled in. Others tidied up the cushions and discarded cups and red and white bags along with a truly astonishing amount of spilled popcorn – thank goodness for magic. There were some players, who shall not be named, who did not help at all and instead went to bed themselves. One of whom kept casting lingering looks at Potter, looks aimed low especially when he was facing away, making Draco very irate indeed.

It was stewing over those looks as well as replaying the interaction with Potter that kept him awake for most of the night. Draco felt like last night there was something between he and Potter. A moment. But he found himself feeling the fool once again this morning.

 

After fruits and cereals for breakfast, he sent the children to their warm-up with Oliver. However, one of the children fell ill and the Mediwitch advised that he be taken back to Vikareus Home where he could be put to bed and kept an eye on. Just having come from seeing to that, Draco happened upon Potter and Ginevra quite a distance from him in a hallway. Thankfully, he heard a giggle before he saw them and halted his steps.

Girl-Weasley was stood, rather intimately, between Potter’s legs that were spread wide in front of him as he leaned against a railing. At first his hands were braced on it as well and she was talking as he listened attentively. Draco could not hear what she was saying from where he was… not hiding, rather strategically concealed. Looking enamoured and flushed, Potter said something in reply. He smiled slightly, then ducked and turned his head away bashfully. At that, she sprang forward and flung her arms around his neck. He tucked his chin into the crook her neck, causing his round frames to go aslant at the bridge of his nose, as his arms came around to embrace her in return.

Draco had seen enough, he pulled back from the corner he was peeking around and leaned against the wall, bumping his head once, purposefully, into it. Feeling slightly numb and, oh, so very stupid, he scrubbed his face with his hands and resolved to not let it ruin his day. After all, it really was none of his business.

 

His resolve to do so crumbles the moment he is back on the field. The Weaslette, looking quite gratified, is casually leaning an arm over Potter’s shoulder. He has a job to do though, and he will be professional about it. Wiping his face of the scowl he felt forming, Draco plasters on a smile.

 

“Good and warmed up? Right, now can the players please sort yourselves into your positions.” They shuffle about while Draco keeps talking, “You’ll have noticed the children are grouped by four colours on their T-shirts. Each position will be sent one group, and you’ll spend an hour with them. Then we’ll rotate so each position receives a new group. After two hours, we will break for lunch. Then resume afterwards with yet another new group for an hour and then rotate one last time. We’ll close the day with some demonstrations for the children.”

Checking his clipboard, Draco calls, “Orange group to the Keepers.” Oliver Wood raises his hand and the children wearing orange trip over to stand with him and the three other Keepers present. There is some confusion as a little girl with grey sleeves, follows these children and Pansy fetches her.

“Purple group to the Chasers.” Ginevra – bleurgh – and Cassius both put up their hands and the purple-clad children scamper to the ten Chasers.

“Grey group to the Beaters.” In turn, the children in grey troop over, Pansy shooing the little girl who got confused, when one of the eight volunteer Beaters beckons them.

“And the Teal group to the Seekers, please.” Graves raises his broom, and the remaining children dash over to the where the four Seekers are gathered.

 

Needing to clear his head, Draco goes to sit in the stands.

A short while later, Pansy joins him, “What’s the matter with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Ohh. I see,” Pansy glances towards where the Seekers are having the children run after Snitches.

Draco sees her head movement and shifts in his seat. “It’s not…”

“Sure. Of course not.”

“Don’t you have someone to ogle?”

“Turns out he’s gay,” Pansy pouts.

“Who?”

“Graves.”

Draco makes a face, “He’s only been checking out Potter’s ass every chance he gets. Didn’t you notice?”

“I did notice Potter’s ass in fact, and it is a very fine one. I admit this frankly to you, and you alone, Draco darling. Should you tell anyone I said that I’ll sever your tongue and feed it to my Kneazle.” The wickedness in Pansy’s eyes belies her faux-sweet smile.

“Charming.”

“I thought you would have been appreciating it as well.”

“I have better things to do than evaluate Potter’s various… attributes.”

“Who mentioned anything about his other ‘attributes’?” Pansy mimes the air quotes, “I was only referring to the one, in particular.” At the last Pansy also mimes something large and round with her hands.

Draco glares at her and Pansy cackles. He gets up and stalks off. Pansy might, bluntly, admit it, but Draco would never admit to any such thing.

 

There are two small accidents in the morning session. A beater’s bat collided with a little boy’s arm after being swung a bit wildly by another. And a Quaffle smacked a girl in the face when she ran forward to catch it. But no one was the worse for wear after swift treatment.

Draco recruits Blaise to help him set out the lunch tables to ensure Potter doesn’t volunteer again. His lackadaisical friend really didn’t do much at all, but the plan works, and Potter does not come over. Draco sits with Elio during lunch. Not only needing a pick-me-up – this boy is entirely made out of sunshine – but it keeps his eyes from traitorously searching for Potter.

 

Not much of consequence happens in the afternoon session and Draco is looking forward to sitting back and watching the players’ demonstration.

At lunch, they decide amongst themselves to play professionals against Hogwarts students and to be fair draw names from a hat to make up the teams. Of course, Potter is drawn to play Seeker and everyone with a Hogwarts shirt claps him on the back, jostling him every which way as they do. A few even tousle his hair and he jerks his head away from their hands, his mouth a thin line of annoyance.

 

The game proves fun to watch, the players demonstrating various formations and skills to show the children different strategies. The only thing that can’t be so closely controlled is the Seeking. It is hardly interesting to children to watch them do little more than hover a good deal of the time while there is so much more action amongst the other players. Potter is a bit more exciting to watch as he strategically interrupts Chaser formations – damn him all to hell.

Draco really does try hard not to pay attention to him. But inexorably his eyes are drawn over again and again. Draco has always resented Potter’s talent. Growing up Muggle should have put him at a disadvantage, but his talent is undeniable even now. Never graceful, Potter makes up for it with dexterity and speed. Draco does not know if he still plays regularly or not. He has said he spends most of his time in the Muggle world and more than likely his travelling keeps him from playing as well. If that is the case, it is all the more infuriating that he manoeuvres his broom with hardly any effort. Then again, Draco sniffs, he does have a top-of-the-line broom.

As it happens with Quidditch, the game comes to a sudden and exciting end as the Snitch is spotted. No guesses who caught it, although Draco is pleased that the Hogwarts team has beaten the professionals, even if it is thanks to Potter. And especially since his opponent was Graves.

 

Afterwards, Draco goes down to stand in front of the children to give a short closing speech when some idiot cries, “Seeker’s match!” This causes a chant from the so-called adults that grates on Draco’s nerves and that is, predictably, picked up by most of the children.

Draco makes a quietening gesture.

A strawberry-blond Muggle-raised boy pipes up, “Sir, what is a Seeker’s match?” And another girl, pigtails bobbing from her nodding head, says, “Yes, sir, please explain it to us.”

Draco sighs, “Well, no one except the Seekers play and they simply have to catch the Snitch as fast as possible. Sometimes they will play best out of an uneven number of matches. It is quite tiring, so it seldom goes longer than three games though. Most catches wins.”

There are some eager exclamations amongst the children and Draco realises he cannot disappoint them. He turns to the players standing haphazardly on the field still.

“Any of you game?” The Falcons’s rookie Seeker puts up her hand.

Seeing this, said idiot who proposed the idea, Graves raises his voice, “Why don’t we do two-on-two?”

“That’s not how you play,” someone from the assembled players says. It is all Draco can do not to snort at the comment.

“So, it might be fun, and the kiddies will see some different skills, or whatever.” This man nettles Draco no end. He probably just thinks the rookie is beneath him.

Then some other idiot says, “Why don’t you play, Draco?”

Draco swivels his head across the heads of the players to see who spoke, bloody Cassius.

There is a chorus of, “Hear, hear!” from the field and the children cheer as well. Great, just great. How is he meant to say no? Elio’s smile reaching his ears as he nods fervently, clinches it.

He makes a meagre attempt to escape playing by saying he doesn’t have gear. But an Arrows player roughly Draco’s height offers his. Resigned, Draco goes down to the field, takes the player’s offered kit and gets ready. If it was a Cannons player that offered, Draco would have point-blank refused. Even so, he does not like putting on the other man’s jersey, but he is wearing a button-up, so he hardly has a choice. He tosses a few cleaning charms at it since the man had been wearing it all day. Thankfully he hadn’t played in the demonstration match. Nonetheless, Draco is fervently wishing he had himself a jersey made too.

 

To make things fair, Draco is given professional brooms. Like Potter, Puddlemere are equipped with Firebolt III’s.

Graves raises his voice again, “Who else?”

A few people push Potter forward, and he seems reluctant but looks at Draco, a question on his face.

Draco grits his teeth, “Fine.” Potter smiles warily at that, Draco only turning his head sharply away. “Oliver, will you referee?”

“Can do. Clear the field.” The remaining players do as he says and when they are settled in the stands, Oliver says to the four of them, “Let’s give the kids a show but keep it clean and don’t be reckless.” He glances at Potter as he says this, who smirks in reply.

Draco is trying to keep his face blank, but it’s exceedingly difficult. If his head is not flashing back to the Weaslette hurling herself onto Potter, it is bringing back memories of every time he had beaten Draco to the Snitch. By the time they kick off he is seething.

Hanging in the air across from Potter, he glares at him. At first Potter is smiling, but at Draco’s look his face falls in confusion. He shakes his head, his mouth settling into a stern line. Draco raises his chin and Potter huffs, arranging his features in a determined frown. Oliver calls readiness and lets the Snitch go.

 

The games were tough; the Snitch was lively and quick, but it made for some consummate flying and exhilarating scuffles. Potter won the first game fairly quickly, ducking in front of Graves at the last minute, at which it was decided they would play two more. Draco won the second, stealing it from under the nose of Graves, this time showing off doing a loop-de-loop. He was on cloud nine when he spotted Elio jumping up and down, waving wildly at him. Draco waved back, Snitch in hand, the wings still fluttering about his fist.

 

Then, briefly taking a break to have some water, Potter kept glancing at him, Draco only knew this because he could see Potter out of the corner of his eye but studiously avoided looking directly at him.

 

Now, despite there being four players, Draco knows this round is really a competition between himself and Potter. Above all else, Draco desires winning this last match. Intending to provoke Potter, once they are back in the air waiting for the release of the Snitch, Draco sneers at him, “Scared Potter?”

Although he doesn’t look riled up at all, the muscles in his cheeks bunch ahead of the inevitable comeback, “You wish.” There is no malice in the delivery though, Draco instead sees that Potter looks… dejected, dumbfounding him. There is no time to analyse this as the Snitch zooms up past them, commencing the final clash.

Draco flicks his eyes about the sky and pitch in a practiced way while he always keeps Potter in his line of sight. He knows Potter is prone to feint, so he is determined to be sure he has seen the Snitch before chasing.

Much to Draco’s amusement however, Graves attempts a feint, more than likely he is desperate. It doesn’t matter because neither Draco nor Potter fall for it. The Falcons Seeker does, and Graves leads her to the upright of one of the goal hoops and lets her smack into it while she keeps her eyes on him. It is poor situational awareness on her part, but she doesn’t deserve to get hurt, and in a dirty move.

While she is attended to by the Mediwitches, Oliver calls Graves down. From high above the field, Draco cannot hear what they were saying. After some wild gesticulating from them both, Graves stalks off, throwing his broom to the ground.

Draco credits Potter for keeping his focus. He hasn’t been watching any of it, instead he is continuing to scan for the Snitch. Annoyed at himself for being distracted, Draco resumes his search, but the error cost him. Potter takes off towards a corner of the stadium where the semi-domed roof rounded over the stands. Eyes trained on the Snitch; Draco accelerates towards it as well.

He learned during the other two games that this Snitch tends to hover in one place as they approached but flit about in an almost star-shaped pattern as they closed in on it. Being the brilliant player that he is, Draco is sure that Potter has also made a study of the Snitch’s movements and will be anticipating them as well.

They are coming from different angles so Draco cannot, in retrospect, be sure about what he thinks happens next. Eyes on the tricky Snitch, his periphery vision catches a movement. He risks a fleeting glance at Potter, and it looks as though he has lifted himself off the seat. It effectively stalls his broom just enough for Draco to overtake him. Returning his focus to the Snitch again, Draco counts it’s jerks and reaches towards where it would go on the fourth count. His hand wraps around it, and he almost let’s go in his bewilderment by partially opening his fist to check he really has it. Then he tightens it to make sure the still-excited ball doesn’t escape and coasts to the ground in a lazy circle.

 

The children are streaming onto the pitch, but Draco only has eyes for one as he strides towards them. When Elio reaches him, bouncing up and down, having surged ahead of the other children in a flat-out run, Draco kneels, dropping the broom. He lightly grasps the boy’s wrist and carefully puts the Snitch into his hand, closing his fist tightly over it. Elio’s surprised expression silently asks: ‘for me?’ and a nod from Draco gives him his answer. Eyes, already alight in the excitement, shine impossibly brighter and Elio throws his arms around Draco’s neck. He hugs the boy back tightly and stands up without letting go. Several months older than Teddy but slighter in build, Draco hitches the boy higher into his arms easily, as Elio simultaneously wraps his legs around his waist. The other children have swarmed around them during this exchange, and they ooh and ahh over Elio’s good fortune. Instead of brandishing his prize though, it’s tucked between them.

Draco indicates to the children to bring the broom and there is a squabble over who gets to carry it. In the end three of them manage to grasp a piece of the handle while they follow Draco and Elio. When they reach the stairs, Draco stands at the foot, urging the children into the seats. He comes after, putting Elio down in the front row still clutching the Snitch in a white-knuckle grip. Draco kneels to show him where to apply pressure so that the wings subside and envelope the ball.

Draco lifts his eyes just then, to the top of the stands and there alone, Firebolt held at his side, is Potter without his glasses and with his hair more down than up in an absolute mess. He looks windswept and wrecked in every sense of the word. His shoulders lifted twice as he takes two rapid breaths, his teeth worrying his lower lip. Then he turns away towards the stadium exit.

Potter’s actions puzzle Draco more than he cares to scrutinise right now. He must close out the clinic.

 

For the last time, Draco raises his voice with his wand, more loudly than usual to be heard, “Settle down please. Thank you. This brings us to the end of the Quidditch clinic, I hope you all learned something and had lots of fun?” A familiar refrain of cheering and affirmations makes Draco smile. This has been such a success overall that he decides, right then and there, that he wants to make it an annual event. “Pansy has put a gift inside each of your bags.” The children almost as one dive to retrieve them at their feet and are pulling out copies of Quidditch Through the Ages, much to their delight.

“Now, I want you to gather into the groups of nine that you arrived in, and we will have each group portkey back to Vikareus Home with the Puddlemere player who brought you here.” Draco hails the team who find their various groups and head back down to the field. They file past Pansy waiting at the foot of the stairs where she gives each player a portkey. One by one they activate, and the children are whisked home.

After having hugged Elio tightly goodbye, Draco watches him depart in the last group. He is relieved but completely and utterly exhausted. Pansy comes tripping up the stairs to squeal and hug him to death. He laughs nonetheless as she sways him back and forth. Finally, Pansy lets him go to set about organising the clean-up with the Hogwarts Elves.

 

Only then does Draco pause to contemplate Potter’s tactic fully at the end of the game and the look on his face before he left. Had Potter allowed him to win? Why? Draco’s first rection is naturally resentful indignation – he despises nothing more than help he hasn’t asked for – but then his head fills with shining blue-green eyes looking up at him and the feeling of holding Elio in his arms. Potter gave them that moment. Draco wonders if he guessed that he might share his victory with the boy. Then he recalls that Potter was watching him much of the time over the last two days. Draco and Elio had spent spare moments here and then together. He clearly noticed.

Draco wants nothing more than to be angry with Potter for throwing the match, but he really cannot find it in himself to do so. Draco made his mind up about something very important as he strode towards Elio. Something that fills his heart with far too much joy to make room to for any anger at Potter.

 

---

Then Potter is gone, again. And Draco thinks of little else. Not to the surprise of his friends and family, but much to their irritation. His Mother being far more tolerant.

 

Draco has been running through every interaction with Potter he’s had recently. There is a smattering of decade-old ones as well but mainly for the purposes of comparison.

At their regular Sunday afternoon tea, a week after the Quidditch clinic, Draco asks his mother what he said to her at the Foundation fundraiser. He does so, reaching for a coconut biscuit, hoping to appear unconcerned at the reply, and not as completely preoccupied with it as he truly is. He knows she won’t be fooled; his mother knows him far too well. He hasn’t even needed to name Potter, after all, for his mother to know to which ‘he’ Draco referred.

“You looked rather surprised by it.”

Narcissa smiles, the smell of chamomile wafting to Draco as she pours herself another cup. “It appears he understood my comment to you about him being handsome and charming. Harry’s exact words were ‘ton fils a toujours été beau’.”

Draco finds he has been holding his breath waiting for the answer. He blows it out, lifting his fringe where it fell over an eye from leaning forward.

“Since when does Potter speak French? I am so humiliated.”

“I did ask him. He said that he learned some from Fleur,” at Draco’s slight frown, she clarifies, “née Delacour, you recall from the Triwizard Tournament?”

Draco’s mind flashes to a Hungarian Horntail and a boy zooming around it on a Firebolt. Flashes to dashing dress robes and awkward dancing. Flashes to a gasping breath as he surfaces from the Black Lake, hauling not only Weasley but Fleur’s little sister as well. Flashes to watching that same boy disappear into the maze and then arriving outside of it holding Cedric to much confusion, completely distraught. Even more upsetting now for knowing the reason in retrospect.

“Yes, of course” he practically whispers.

“She is married to one of the Weasley’s, William I believe. The curse-breaker.”

“Oh yes, I believe their daughter is of a similar age to Teddy. He has spoken of her.”

“Harry also mentioned that a friend of his has a boyfriend from Belgium and he has also taught Harry a bit of French. He said he isn’t fluent, but he can follow a conversation. It was that or be left out of them, with his friends. However, mon Étoile, I think you are focussing on entirely the wrong part of what I said.”

“Exactly what bit am I meant to be focussing on. I mean, I agreed with you, and he heard me.”

His Mother makes a sound of exasperation, “The part, my dearest, where Harry said you have always been handsome.”

“How do you know he even meant me?”

Narcissa laughs humourlessly, “Who else could he have meant? He said it to me, in French. Besides, he hardly took his eyes off you the whole evening.”

“This is a common inclination of his since the beginning. I mean, there was hardly a day that went by that he wasn’t gawking at me across the Great Hall.” Draco blinks. This statement sinks in.

 

But always handsome? Draco acknowledges his looks are appealing but Potter thinking so, apparently for some time is impossible. And the gawking was most certainly not related.

 

Draco reaches for another biscuit and chews thoughtfully for a while.

“It is rather odd.”

“What is, dearest?”

“It seems that Potter and I have been moving around each other in circles, or perhaps parallel more accurately. For two years I did not see him anywhere and then suddenly I am bumping into him at all the places I have been frequenting those same years.”

Narcissa makes no comment and let’s Draco continue.

“I mean, I know that he primarily lives in the Muggle world, he said, and that he has been travelling ‘mostly’. It is especially odd that I have never run into him at Aunt Andromeda’s. Considering that Grimmauld Place is actually his house, and he is Teddy’s godfather, how have I not constantly happened upon him visiting them before a few months’ ago?”

“Maybe,” Narcissa suggests, “you were not ready to face each other until now. Maybe things have happened the way they did so that you would meet after you both had lived and grown.”

“Ha. Interesting way to look at it. I doubt that Potter would be fond of your theory. I imagine he would not like the idea of fate being in command of his life… still. I wouldn’t after a childhood like his. Just from the little I have seen of him recently; I get the impression that he likes to govern how he comes across. Very likely part of a fundamental need for control.

“But there might be something to what you said. I am not sure I would have seen him the same way seven years ago, five, maybe even two. I had an image of him that I am only now letting go the assumptions that formed it, that I could not see past for a long time.”

“Then there was lovely Mr Bélanger,” his mother adds, having only made attentive noises through Draco’s discourse.

“Yes, I was living in France for part of the year during ballet season while we were together. I could say it was probably the least I have ever thought about Potter, if I did at all, in those few years.”

“You were quite enthralled with Bastien. In a good way.”

Draco smiles wistfully, “I was, wasn’t I? I miss him still. Muggle post, by the way, is aggravating, I don’t know how they endure it. I imagine we would still be together if he had not needed to move. I just couldn’t imagine spending what passes for summer in St. Petersburg.”

“You would have been insufferable.”

“Thank you, Mother.”

She smiles benignly. She isn’t wrong. “Is he well?”

“Indeed. I brought you his latest letter to read, as it happens,” Draco reaches into his breast pocket and hands it to his mother. He looks out over the garden while she reads.

“Oh, he seems nervous to portray The Prince, he need not be so, with his talent. This is the one I am thinking of, is it not, that we saw here in London? Matthew Bourne’s Swan Lake?”

“Yes, the same. It was mesmerising. I never imagined that it could be performed that way.”

“C’est inspiré.”

“Mmm, oui, c’est effectivement le cas.”

“I would so love to see Bastien dance again.”

“Me too. Maybe I will brave the damned Muggle telephone and find out when the run ends so we can look at going.”

“Please do, mon Étoile.”

Narcissa folds the letter and passes it back to Draco who pockets it with a distracted hum of agreement.

 

After a few minutes of silence, Narcissa says, “Andromeda said something else I found interesting.”

“I am afraid to ask.”

“She said that Harry has been going away for much shorter periods of time and staying longer, these past few months.”

“Why is that interesting?”

Suddenly, a low voice from the adjacent room interjects, “Yes, why iiis, that inter-resting? And please tell me we are not dis-cussing Potter yet again? Hon-estly, I am bored to death. Is it not enough I had to en-dure your yammering on about him back then, I must listen to it now still?”

Draco speaks loudly turning his head towards the door, “Perhaps you should stop eavesdropping, oh godfather dearest.”

“I am rather tired of listening to Albus waffle on about phoenix lore, knitting patterns, socks or something e-qually dull. Frankly, I think I do prefer that to this.”

They both listen for more comments, but Severus seems to have left his portrait.

“As I was saying, Andromeda speculated that Harry might have found a reason to do so now.”

“I’m sure he just wants to spend more time with Teddy, and his friends. I mean, how much travelling can someone do?”

Narcissa sighs, giving Draco a pained look.

Oh – “Oh, I have been oblivious, haven’t I?” the question is rhetorical, directed at the garden outside the windows more than at his mother, as Draco stares into the distance.

She contributes her conclusion anyway, “It isn’t in your nature, but from what I’ve learned of him, Harry has always worn his heart on his sleeve.”

“Do you think Aunt Andromeda might know when Potter will be back? From wherever he is.”

“She might. Should I ask her?”

“Please don’t.”

His Mother titters delicately, “Andromeda is aware of your mutual attraction.”

Magnets – “First, please never say attraction again. Second, you’ve been gossiping about me, about…,” Draco swallows hard, “…us?” It is hard to form the word and mean it about himself and Potter. It has always been Slytherin vs Gryffindor, us vs them, me vs him.

“Hardly gossip. More like shared opinions.”

“That you discussed.”

Narcissa flaps a hand at Draco.

He feels quite exposed by this information. Not only that they gossiped about him, them – us – but this discovery that there is some chance that the feeling might be mutual, his mother’s words. Draco simply has not been able to reconcile that Potter’s actions have been intentional towards him. And what of the scene with Ginevra that he’d witnessed?

 

They are quiet a time, each of them with their own thoughts, before his mother says, “I really do admire how… convivial Harry is. It strikes me, with what Andromeda has told me about Harry’s childhood, as all the more poignant. Most people would probably have turned out withdrawn and bitter.”

“I have noticed him being much more guarded now than he was at school. He knows how to appear gregarious when it is required of him, but I think he hides most of himself most of the time.”

“It sounds as though that has come from close observation. Perhaps you have not been able to take your eyes off him either?”

Draco clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes, “Bonté, oui, d’accord.” But he cannot help smiling because it is true.

Narcissa laughs.

“I was saying, in my… ‘observation’ he alters his entire persona depending on who’s around him.”

“Don’t we all to some extent, dearest?”

“Yes, of course, it is necessary. But it’s more significant than that. He goes by different names even, he dresses entirely differently, down to his glasses. Which, by the way, he does not need anymore. He told me at the Quidditch clinic. He wears them like–”

“A piece of armour,” Narcissa supplied, thoughtfully.

“Hmm, he said accessory, I said mask, but armour is an apt way of putting it as well.”

His mother only hums thoughtfully in response.

 

A few more biscuits later in contented silence, Draco excuses himself, “I need to search for a few books in the library. I shall say goodbye now.” He kisses his mother on her cheek. “There is something else I need to discuss with you. But I’m still wrapping my head around the practicalities.”

“Ah, you leave me with this. How spiteful.”

“Not spiteful, just cautious. Au revoir, Maman.” For now, Draco is intent on looking up the commonality between the animals Aunt Andromeda said Teddy talks about.

Draco starts his search with the most unusual of the animals, the praying mantis, and is rewarded by Southern African folklore about the shape shifting Kaggen. This makes him recall Anansi which references some Native American stories. A book on these is where he finds a few more of the animals and he sees a theme emerging – they’re all tricksters.

Notes:

ton fils a toujours été beau – your son has always been handsome
C’est inspiré – It’s inspired
Oui, c’est effectivement le cas –Yes, that is indeed the case
Bonté, oui, d’accord – Goodness, yes, okay
Au revoir, Maman – Goodbye Mum

The ballet production being referred to is 'Matthew Bourne's Swan Lake' in which all the swans are male. Bastien would be dancing the equivalent part of Odette/Odile.

Chapter 6: (also in two parts)

Notes:

This chapter was huge and needed splitting in a half, so I roughly halved it which isn’t the greatest stopping point between them.

Before 20h30

Ducking into the entry hall of Grimmauld Place, Draco drops his umbrella without looking to the side of the door. But instead of the expected thunk of it hitting the bottom of the troll leg stand, it makes a flat thwack sound as it falls onto the floor. Draco looks down at it stupidly for a second, jacket most of the way off, before it dawns on him what it means.

Sure enough, the troll leg is standing in the middle of the floor. Potter! Draco nearly calls his name out loud, but he reins it in and calls instead, “Aunty, Teddy?” as he dodges the ugly artefact and walks towards the stairs where he, uncharacteristically, drapes his jacket over the balustrade.

His Aunt appears at the stairs leading into the kitchen, “Draco, dear. I’m afraid you just missed Teddy. Harry took him home for a sleepover, a birthday-treat.” That answers the question of where Harry stays when he’s in London.

“Oh… uh, that’s alright I was just bringing his gift. I can leave it with you, I suppose. Or come back tomorrow.”

“You know what? Teddy was so excited he just bounded off and forgot his overnight bag. Perhaps you can take it to him and give him your gift yourself. It would be doing me a favour.”

“I…,” – have no excuses whatsoever – “Of course. It’s no problem. How would I…?”

“Harry’s floo is open, he leaves it connected to Grimmauld while Teddy is there.”

“But he hates…”

His Aunt looks amused, “He does hate flooing, but he also won’t have Teddy on the motorbike, no matter how much he begs. I can’t get Harry to stop riding that thing, but he understands it is much too dangerous for Teddy.”

“Ok, shall I pop through then and we can have some tea when I get back?”

“Yes, if you return. Here is Teddy’s bag. The password is ‘floppity floop’.”

“You can’t be serious?”

“Harry let Teddy pick it, he wanted it to be something no one could simply guess.”

“Well, he has successfully achieved that.”

His Aunt just chuckles and shoos him, “Off you go.”

 

Draco, feeling entirely foolish, uses the password and steps out into, what could only be described as, an inviting living room. It radiates warmth and a lived-in feel. Someone – someone – loves this home. Then he hears music coming from beyond the door.

“Potter? Teddy?” He is reluctant to invade Potter’s space much further, uninvited.

There is no acknowledgement. He calls again more loudly, still with no reply.

Leaving nothing for it, he ventures towards the music and the… singing.

Peering through the door, he comes upon Teddy standing on a stool alongside Potter. Draco has a quick glance around the room. Warm grey upper cupboards, a complementary stone worktop, off-white lower cupboards, with a textured hexagonal tile splashback, also grey – Draco enjoyed fixing up his own flat and learned the terminology. A few pot plants, and some odds and ends in bright turquoise dotted around. It’s functional and cosy.

They are singing along to the song, a bit out of tune on Teddy’s part. As Draco takes in the scene, he notices that they are both wearing mismatched socks. The same two pairs just halved between them. One is a lurid green and the other seems to have a pattern on it, polka dots or Golden Snitches maybe. It should be ridiculous, but it is completely endearing, and Draco shakes his head that he finds it so.

“… it was all yellow,” they sing, at which Teddy’s hair turns canary-yellow, and they laugh. Potter picks Teddy up. He puts their foreheads together. Potter’s hair falls towards Teddy – a Hufflepuff-coloured huddle, black and yellow – and Teddy lets Potter sing the last lyric of the chorus on his own:

“You’re ski-in, oh yeah, you’re skin and bones,

Tur-urned ii-in to something beautiful,

And yo-ou know-oh, you know I love you so,

You know I love you so-ohh.”³

 

Draco suddenly feels more than ever that he’s intruding, but before he can make a move to leave Teddy sees him.

“Uncle Draco?” he squirms, and Potter puts him down.

At Draco’s name, Potter snaps his head to the kitchen door. He looks mildly surprised but not in the least upset at suddenly being interrupted and by Malfoy least of all.

Teddy runs to Draco and flings his arms around his waist, as he always does.

“Happy birthday, Teddy. How old are you today?” teases Draco, after releasing him.

“Seven,” Teddy replies with a grin, as Draco swings him from side-to-side.

“What? I can’t believe it. I feel sure it was only yesterday you were this big,” Draco exclaims in mock-surprise, releasing Teddy, and makes a small gap between a thumb and forefinger.

“I was never that small.”

Draco laughs, “I brought your gift, and your bag that you left it at home.” At the last, Draco swings Teddy’s bag off his shoulder as he looks up at Potter, as this is the explanation why he is here after all.

Potter nods.

Draco reaches into his trouser pocket and engorges a present wrapped in iridescent foil and a big green bow. Teddy leaps up at the sight of the present, clasping his hands as though in an effort not to grab it. Draco holds it out, laughing, and Teddy takes it, eyes lit up.

“Uncle Harry, look,” Teddy squeals, turning around to show Potter the gift and then putting it down on the island to unwrap it.

“I see, Sos, aren’t you lucky,” Potter says with a bright smile for his godson. To Draco he says, “Thanks for bringing the bag, you can just set it down on the stool there.” He doesn’t lose the smile entirely, speaking to Draco, it’s just more tentative.

 

While Potter watches Teddy opening his gift, Draco takes in what he’s wearing – he likes clothes, and particularly clothes on Potter, apparently. But he knows he’s looking at it more closely to validate his theory of the many faces of Potter. Uncle Harry has once again appeared meaning a relaxed dishevelment via light-coloured jeans and a black, long-sleeved T-shirt with a yellow bat shape on the front – they’re pushed halfway up his forearms, not high enough to provide more than a tantalising glimpse of the tattoo on his left arm that Draco has not fully seen yet. The red glasses are back along with a mess of hair that is neither a ponytail nor fully down. And of course, the ridiculous un-pairing of socks instead of bare feet this time.

Teddy exclaims in delight as he pulls out a pad of thick, art paper and box of 64 Crayola crayons.

Potter looks up at Draco in amazement. At what? Knowing Teddy loves to draw, surely not. That it’s a Muggle gift, more likely. Defensively, he feels like saying that he is not completely clueless about all Muggle things.

“It’s the sixty-four box, Uncle Harry.”

“I see.” Potter’s look lingers on Draco before turning back to Teddy.

“Thank you, Uncle Draco, I love it! I can’t wait to draw something.” Teddy cracks open the box carefully, grinning, “Mmm, they smell so good.”

“After dinner,” Potter says firmly.

Draco feels like this might be his cue to leave, “So, I’ll just be going. Sorry for the intrusion. I called out when I came through but there was no answer,” Draco points into the air, indicating the music that Potter must have turned down at some point, which makes him clear his throat to dispel the sudden, awkward feeling.

Potter seems amused.

“Can Uncle Draco stay for dinner, pleeeeese?”

“I was just about to ask. Would you like to stay for dinner? It’s just home-made pizza–”

“From scratch,” Teddy adds pushing his chest out with pride.

“And there’s plenty.”

“It’s okay really. Aunt Andromeda is waiting for me to have tea. I should…, hmm.” It occurs to him that Aunt Andromeda had said ‘if you come back’. Once a Slytherin…

“Please stay, Uncle Draco. It’s my birthday.”

“How can you say no to that?”

“Yeah,” Draco chuckles, “how can I? You sure?”

“Yes, stay. Please.”

Draco’s tummy feels like he’s diving on a broom. “Alright. Thank you.”

“Sure thing.”

“Yaaaay! We’re doing toppings next. It’s the best part.”

Potter’s eyes have barely left Draco through most of this exchange along with a barely-there smile.

“Okay. Um… you have some flour on your cheek, just…” Draco tells Potter, gesturing to his own. He has been glancing at it since he arrived, desperately wanting to brush it off himself.

“Oh, thanks.” Then with narrowed eyes he says to Teddy, “You knew, and you didn’t say.”

He giggles putting his hands in front of his mouth. Potter laughs and dashes the flour away with the tips of his fingers. Raising his eyebrows at Draco in question, he nods at Potter in reply that he got it all.

 

“Can I wash up at the sink?”

“Yes, go ahead,” Potter says pointing to it unnecessarily.

He and Teddy are back at the counter, the boy on the stool again. Potter is explaining to Teddy how to cut up some pineapple slices.

“Watch your fingers. Nice and steady.” Teddy’s face screws up in concentration, his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth. Draco wonders at Potter allowing him to use a knife. It is a useful skill, even if it is potentially a bit hazardous for a seven-year-old.

“Good job, Sausage.”

“It’s not sausage, it’s pineapple.”

“You’re the Sausage.”

“No, you’re a sausage.” They laugh.

Even though Draco feels a bit left out, he likes seeing them interact. It’s sweet and pure. Fluffy. Malfoys don’t do ‘fluffy’, but maybe, just possibly, he wants to – it makes him wish to spend time like this with Elio.

 

Potter sets about arranging some bowls along the top of the counter. Each one with a handful of various toppings. He collects some pizza bases, a little larger than a side plate, already covered in tomato sauce and two kinds of cheese. Draco wonders how Potter learned to do it ‘from scratch’.

“Uncle Draco, you can have this one. You just choose what you want from here and put it on top anyhow you like,” Teddy explains like it isn’t obvious, it’s too cute.

“Why don’t you go first and show me.”

Teddy proceeds to pick up a bit from each bowl and place them on his pizza in the shape of a smiley face.

Draco and Potter take turns at glancing at each other, their eyes never quite meeting, until Draco takes his turn with the toppings. While he does, Potter helps Teddy put his pizza on a pre-heated oven tray.

“Careful, it’s hot.”

Potter seems to make a habit of exposing Teddy to questionable activities in the kitchen.

To Draco, “You have enough?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Okay put it on the tray too then.”

Draco does. Potter hums while he sprinkles on his own toppings, the same song they were singing just now, Draco thinks. His heart constricts. It’s all so domestic, he can’t bear it. He excuses himself to ‘pop to the loo’ like a twit. But Potter doesn’t bat an eye and directs him there.

 

Draco wanders into a short hallway and finds the bathroom easily, the door is ajar, and the light is on. There are two other doors, both closed and Draco wonders which one is Potter’s – no, no he isn’t thinking about that, he’s merely wondering what the other one is used for. In the bathroom, the tiles are various shades of grey again with white porcelain fixtures and brushed silver tapware, the loo behind a low tiled wall to one side. A shower behind glass on the other and a bath opposite. He’s not sure what he expected, something messier maybe. Something to attempt to tame the hair, although clearly, it isn’t a priority most of the time.

He doesn’t want to take too long but only splashes water on his face and the back of his neck and drying it with a grey hand towel hanging next to the sink. He sees in the mirror that in the wall behind him is a poster of a classic French movie, Le Voyage dans la Lune. Bloody Potter and his secret understanding of French.

 

He returns to the kitchen where it’s already beginning to smell like bacon and melting cheese. Potter and Teddy are murmuring together amiably.

“Are they ready yet?”

“Not yet.”

“But my tummy is grumbling.”

“You had a snack before you got here, and you nicked bits while we were preparing them.”

“I know but listen,” he whines and pushes his tummy out.

Potter indulges him and puts an ear to it. He jumps back as though it scared him and Teddy giggles wildly. Then Potter sets to tickling him and Teddy folds himself over to get away. Potter lets him go and sees Draco by the door and he grins. Widely. Eyes, still alight with residual mirth – form the tickling no doubt – crinkle at the corners.

Potter clears his throat and says, while tugging the band not really holding his hair up out and sliding it onto his wrist, “It’ll be ready soon. Please sit so long.” He scoops up his hair then holds most of it in the hand on which he put the band, and, in a practised move, he twists it round a few times forming a loose topknot. The result is not a whole lot better than before with tendrils hanging over his temples, ears, and neck. Draco has watched him do it, he thinks, with his mouth slightly agape. He grouses internally at his lack of self-control and then Potter smiles at him, again, all warm and friendly.

Just then the oven dings – what’s that Muggle saying that describes this very situation, something about a bell?

Draco shifts the overnight bag to the floor near the door as Teddy gets some plates and serviettes out and Potter puts on oven-gloves to take the pizzas out. Teddy hops up onto the barstool on the short end of the island and rubs his hands together.

Potter cuts them into slices before sliding them onto the waiting plates. It is only then that it strikes Draco that it is an entirely Muggle kitchen, kitted out with all the appliances, electrical ones. He wonders if Potter uses magic for anything here or they likely wouldn’t work.

Putting a plate in front of Teddy, he says, “Tuck in.” And the boy does with gusto, cheese already strung drooping between his mouth and the slice – “Ah, hot!” Teddy exclaims but it doesn’t stop him taking another bite – before Potter can spin around with their two plates, plonking down on the stool opposite.

“Drinks!” he says, clicking his fingers. “What would you like? I have Sprite and Coke and juice, probably, or…”

“Sprite, please,” Teddy chirps. “It’s refreshing,” he directs this at Draco displaying his newly grown front teeth and the gap beside one of them. Potter chuckles.

“Draco?”

“Uh… anything is fine. Whatever you’re having.”

“Sprite it is.” Potter pours them all a glass.

Draco takes a sip of the ice-cold, sweet, lemony drink; he’s never tasted it before.

“So?” Teddy asks. “Do you like it?”

“It’s… refreshing,” Draco replies. He’s pleased he caught onto the joke when it makes the two of them burst out laughing.

“Oh, would you prefer a knife and fork?” Potter asks, seeing Draco had not begun eating.

“No, no, thanks. I was waiting for you.”

“Oh ok,” Potter seems taken aback and flushes slightly, gesturing to Draco’s plate, “please.”

They eat in companiable silence. An occasional ‘mmm’ and lip smacking coming from Teddy. He finishes well before them and begs an extra slice off Potter. He pretends to protest but gives in easily enough making Teddy look smug.

“So good,” the boy says.

Draco agrees with Teddy’s appraisal, it is good.

Teddy answers yet another question Draco had by saying, “Uncle Harry has been cooking since he was really little. He’s showing me how.”

Before Draco can wonder what ‘really little’ means, Potter says, bewilderingly matter of fact, “At least now I get to eat what I cook.” What? He stands to clear the table, taking all three of their plates to the sink.

“Let’s do dessert in the lounge. You can draw with your new crayons.”

“Yay!” Teddy bounces out of the kitchen, taking his gift items with him.

“Go ahead, I’ll bring it out. Um… not sure if you like brownies.”

“Don’t be absurd, Potter. That is possibly the stupidest thing you’ve ever said,” adding a haughty sniff at the end.

“Rude,” he snaps but follows it with a chuckle after a beat. Draco is really getting the knack of making him laugh.

 

Putting no effort into not smiling like a loon after that, just with his back turned to Potter obviously, Draco joins Teddy in the lounge. He has his pad of paper open on a large weathered, green paint chipped, trunk that is serving as Potter’s coffee table. Teddy is running his fingers over the crayons, selecting a colour for whatever vision he has in his head.

Draco looks about the room more closely. The wall alongside the fireplace is curved and filled with a window seat. There is floor to ceiling shelves along one wall, a good deal of the books with a bookmark sticking out here or there. And artfully spaced, some knickknacks collected from living a life mostly travelling evidently: Russian nesting dolls, a beautiful Murano glass vase with bits of paper stuffed inside that they look like ticket stubs, a baobab tree fashioned from copper wire, a blue ukulele on a stand, bizarrely, even a model of a shark, amongst other things. There is also a bookend that is half of a crystal stag with its front hooves kicking into the air as though it is leaping out of the book itself. Draco is tickled – although he’d never admit that – to find the rear-end of the stag on the other side of a collection of Defence textbooks.

And, under a glass bell jar is the Snitch Draco thinks Potter must have had with him previously. It has an inscription on it: ‘I open at the close’ – how enigmatic, a word that sums up Potter really. It’s resting on a little plinth. Beneath it, sleeping on a rock is a model of a Horntail that could fit on the palm of a hand. The sight of it sends a secret thrill through Draco and he touches the glass which squeaks under his finger and the Dragon wakes up and stretches it wings. Just then Potter walks in announcing dessert and Draco starts, feeling guilty for having disturbed it.

“Sorry, I…” he gestures towards the dragon. Potter looks up from putting down three bowls on the coffee table.

“Oh, don’t worry, she’ll settle down on her own.”

“Uh, alright.”

“Are you still standing out of some sort of etiquette?”

“Yes, of course, Potter, you hardly invited me to sit… in here, yet.” Meanwhile Draco was really just too busy looking at the clues to his life.

Bowing and flourishing a hand to a the dark-blue, corduroy sofa, he says “Well, please do take a seat, Heir Malfoy. Here you go, now that Teddy has selected the largest piece,” Potter side-eyes a grinning Teddy, “Brownie à la Harry.”

“Uncle Harry makes... The. Best. Brownies,” Teddy says, chocolate at the corners of his mouth.

“I hardly think you have a lot to compare it to, but thanks, Sos.”

Draco scoops a bite onto a spoon with a bit of vanilla ice-cream and find he agrees with Teddy, it is sublime. But he only says, “I have somewhat more experience in the field of brownies, and it is… adequate, Potter.”

“They’re bloody delicious.”

“Hey!” says Potter sharply.

“That’s what Uncle Ron says.”

“Well, we don’t copy what Uncle Ron says, please.”

Teddy cannot help himself, he kid-whispers to Draco, “They are.”

Draco laughs silently at this father-and-son-like exchange. Potter has flung himself into an armchair to one side of the couch, his legs dangling over one arm. Draco has a fleeting daydream of doing things with Potter on it that he should not in present company.

“How come you two call each other by your surnames?” Teddy asks.

“Leftover habit from our schooldays, I suppose,” is Potter’s reply. “Somehow I can’t imagine Draay-co ever addressing me as Harry.” Potter draws out his name, looking up at him through his lashes and a dangling twist of hair that has fallen over an eye, the spoon inside his mouth at the bite he took after having spoken. Draco’s internal organs constrict at the sight, that is just wicked of Potter.

“I shan’t. Ever,” Draco states, looking Potter in the eyes. Potter tips his head sideways, an acquiescence that this how it is.

 

Bowl empty, Potter says, “Teddy, Sausage, we have some negotiations to undertake.”

“Ooh, yes,” he replies, “just let me finish my picture.” He’s scraping his own bowl and sets it aside only when he can’t possibly gather any more of the dregs onto his spoon. Then he colours in fiercely for a little while longer.

“Finished,” he sings and holds the picture up facing Draco. The proportions are a little off, but it’s a Hippogriff with the name Buckbeak written underneath in careful print lettering.

“Did you put him up to this?”

Potter cranes his neck to see it and Draco sees, of all things, some sort of small, weird, winged creature tattooed behind his left ear. The mysteries that make up this man were stacking up. Then Potter laughs, rather harder than necessary.

“Nope,” he says, still guffawing.

“What’s so funny?”

“Ahem, that absurd chicken-horse, viciously attacked me in Care of Magical Creatures in third year.”

“Ugh,” Potter rolls his eyes, “always the drama with you. You were rude.”

“Ohhh, ev-eryone knows you should be polite to a Hippogriff,” Teddy nods solemnly and Potter mimics the boy.

Before Draco can protest, Potter asks Teddy to take their bowls to the kitchen while he tidies the crayons that litter the coffee table. With a click of his fingers, they shift and roll forming a neat line to one. Draco wants to be unimpressed, and he decides he is when he catches the sly grin on Potter’s face – show off.

 

“Right, let’s do this,” Potter says as Teddy returns. They sit on the floor opposite each other, fiddling about their necks as though straightening neckties. They then make as though they are donning jackets, Potter smoothing his non-existent lapels. Draco is nonplussed.

Potter pretends to gather some papers ‘tapping’ them on the table before settling them. “First up on the agenda, Mr Ted E. Bear,” he consults the imaginary paper, “bath time.”

“May I, Mr Hah. Arry?” Teddy asks. Potter makes a gesture that indicates he go ahead. Draco suppresses a laugh, not wanting to disturb their little production. They are like a comedy-duo, doing a common routine, entirely for themselves, despite his presence.

“Eight o’clock, bubbles and two great big splashes,” Teddy holds up two fingers.

“Hmm, bold opening gambit,” Potter says, with a shake of his head, “but no, I cannot countenance such an offer. I propose: seven o’ clock, I shall concede the bubbles, and no splashing.”

Teddy looks mock-affronted, “A rrridikkulus counter. Seven thirty, bubbles are stiple-…, ummm… stip-ulated, and one, medium splash.”

Potter pretends to think, “You drive a hard bargain, Mr Ted E. Bear, I accept your terms.” They shake hands once sharply. Consulting the ‘agenda’ again, Potter says, “Final item, Bedtime. May I open with straight in after your bath, one story, after teeth brushing, of course.”

“I am insulted,” Teddy exclaims. “Three stories are the bare minimum, since it is my birthday, after all, and surely you can delay the hour to nine o’clock for the afrorm-aforementioned reason. I’ll waive rebuffing the teeth-brushing.”

“A cunning tactic mentioning the auspiciousness of the date. Eight thirty and two stories. It’s my final offer.”

The reach for each other’s hands and as they clasp them, Teddy adds, “Throw in a fort and you have a deal.”

“How Machiavellian, waiting until the last moment to throw that in. But you have a deal, nonetheless, Mr Ted E. Bear. A pleasure doing business with you, as always.”

Draco is entertained by their use of all the big words and business-like tone. And their forms of address are so… adorable. Teddy, Teddy is adorable.

“Likewise, Mr Hah. Arry.”

Potter loosens his ‘tie’ and leans back on his hands, “You were tough this evening.”

Teddy giggles again. “Uncle Harry says I could be in Slytherin with my nego-sheashun skills. But also, he said that I could be in Gryffindor ‘cos I’m fearless, in Ravenclaw ‘cos I’m smart, and in Hufflepuff ‘cos I’m kind to my friends,” Teddy says, all in one breath, as he counts the four houses off on his fingers. “He says any house would be lucky to have me.”

“I dare say I agree with him on that,” Draco puts a hand to the side of his mouth and stage whispers, “but don’t tell him I said that.” Teddy sniggers.

“He also says that everyone belongs in at least two houses, so he’s really a Slytherindor. Maybe, I’m a… a… Huffle-rin-raven-dor.” Teddy looks pleased with his joke.

“Wait, what?”

“Which house were you in, Uncle Draco and which other house would you belong to, if you could?”

Draco is somewhat surprised that Teddy doesn’t know. “Slytherin,” he replies.

“Like Grandma.”

“Yes, and Ravenclaw,” Draco and Potter finish simultaneously. Potter nods. Draco harrumphs aloud, but silently he’s stupidly flattered. “So, I don’t understand why Teddy thinks you are a Slytherindor, surely you’re more of a Gryffin… puff,” he says scrunching his nose.

Potter laughs, “Well, the Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin initially.” This time Teddy nods, clearly he has heard this story before.

“That’s… I… why weren’t you then?”

“He asked it not to,” Teddy answers for him, nonchalant, like such a thing isn’t unheard of.

Draco’s head swivels to Potter who is still mostly facing away from him on the floor, “You asked it not to. Only you, Potter, would flout a time-honoured Wizarding tradition such as the Sorting. You are endlessly in–”

“-furiating,” he finishes, shooting a glance over his shoulder at Draco with a smirk.

Draco averts his eyes from this enticing pose and wistful visions of the two of them playing Exploding Snap or Wizard’s Chess and helping each other with homework, maybe even getting more – nope, can’t go there. “Why ask it… not to, though?”

“Partly, you. But mostly because of Tom,” Potter’s eyes glaze over.

Draco’s first thought is a disappointed ‘me?’ even knowing he was a bit of a shit when they met. But his brain stalls, not recognising the other name with his mind elsewhere, “Tom?”

“Mmm, can we uh…?” Potter angles his head towards Teddy indicating he didn’t want to discuss this in front of him. Teddy, meanwhile, has begun to draw another picture, his tongue poking out of his mouth again.

“Yes… yes, sorry,” says Draco, not fully understanding why.

Potter offers Draco some tea and makes a pot for them both, while Teddy scribbles away. Drawing a Dragon, called Norberta, that he gives to Draco. And a House-Elf wearing mismatched socks called Dobby – oh.

Potter puts the picture of Dobby on his fireplace mantel while Teddy looks on proudly. Draco sees that a mixture of Muggle and Wizard photographs fills its entire length.

 

“Teddy, tidy up please, it’s bath time.”

He grumbles but does as he’s told. Potter disappears and Draco hears water going into the bath. Teddy fetches his bag from where Draco left it in the kitchen and skips to the bathroom with it.

Draco hears Potter say, “In you hop.” Then the closing of the bathroom door before he comes through to the lounge.

“Sorry, about that. I don’t like to talk about Riddle in front of Teddy.”

“Riddle?” Draco puts the two names together, “Tom Riddle. Oh… right. Of course, that’s... his real name.” Draco is frowning, while he runs the name in his head a few times. Even though he had heard it before it only just clicked for him. “You know, I know all the pure–” Draco does try to avoid saying that word anymore, “er… established Wizarding lines and that is not one of them.”

“You’re kidding?” Potter says eyes narrowing. When Draco frowns, he continues, “Yeah, Tom Riddle Junior he was. It was his Muggle father’s name. His mother was a Gaunt and, possibly even, a Squib or at least a very weak Witch.”

The furrow between Draco’s eyes deepens with each word, “I… I didn’t know he was, or clearly never even thought about it more critically… what a fucking hypocrite.”

Potter laughs, “Well exposong it wouldn’t have netted him… followers who were loyal to a faul–. Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, you are not wrong, Potter. How do you know all this?”

“Pensieve memories,” is all Potter says as though it is enough of an answer. “I think if I never see another one of… those, it’ll be… too soon.” His eyes are staring into the distance again. He shakes his head to clear it. “Fuck,” he says thickly, as though with a lump in his throat.

“May I ask a question?”

“Another?” Potter’s mouth quirks up at the edges, and Draco realises just how much he looks at Potter’s mouth. “Sure.”

“What’s with the socks? I saw Teddy put them on the picture of Dobby as well.”

Potter’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise at the change in subject, “That’s why. Dobby never understood why people wore matching socks when there were so many to choose from. I’ve never worn a matching pair since… since, that day we, er….”

Draco nearly asks what day but suddenly he knows – Luna told him what happened after Bellatrix threw the knife. He swallows. Merlin, he’s dredging up all kinds of bad memories for Potter, for them both. He feels suddenly perhaps he may have overstayed his welcome, but it is a bitter note to leave on.

Draco is saved from filling in the awkward silence by a shout from down the hall.

“How much longer?”

Potter smiles again, “That boy. I better go see what kind of mess he made of my bathroom.”

Notes:

3 The song lyrics are from Yellow by Coldplay.

Chapter 7: (a.k.a Chapter 6 the second part)

Notes:

I wrote this some time ago, so I’ve been casting a look over the chapters before posting. Luckily this is the case, because there is a reference to an attempted suicide here and a little later in the story. It is only hinted at but if you need to skip it, I have put two asterisks ahead of the mention and two at the end. I’ll do the same when the other one comes up.

And, once again, thank you ever so much for all the kudos, I really appreciate it!

After 20h30 (really closer to 21h30 after three stories)

Draco breathes out a large sigh after Potter is out of earshot. He walks over to the mantel, too curious to refrain. In the centre is a Wizard picture of his parents dancing in front of a fountain. Flanking it are two pictures of Teddy. One of Potter holding him lying on his forearms. He’s tiny, maybe two months old, not even. They are in silhouette in a windowsill with a bright full moon in the sky, Harry is gazing at Teddy like he has never seen anything so precious. Draco sees his mouth move and fervently wishes he knew what Potter whispered to baby Teddy. In the other, Teddy is a toddler pudgier around the cheeks and smiling brightly as he holds a huge candyfloss with a Muggle fair in the background. His hair changes from turquoise – he must be with Potter then – to a bubble-gum pink. He can’t help but smile wondering how he had explained that if anyone saw.

Draco scans the rest of the shelf: there’s a still picture of Ginevra in mid-air partaking in that, frankly insane, Muggle pastime of jumping out of a plane. Draco wonders if Potter did it as well – well, he is a lion, despite his earlier revelation. Luna and Neville hugging an extremely large tree trunk, Luna runs forward and grabs the photographer’s hand and Draco sees the word ‘always’ come into view. He realises that the word reads the same regardless of which way you look at it after watching the loop – only few times… although it was probably more like several. Another still of Angelina Johnson, George Weasley and Lee Jordan with their arms in the air, faces in various stages of fearful delight. Alongside them is Weasley, clutching a padded frame of some kind, face showing no delight at all, eyes squeezed tightly shut. Granger and Weasley holding hands in front of a bonfire, looking up at some fireworks that explode in the picture above them, lighting their profiles. Another Muggle photograph of every single Weasley, Granger and few other smiling faces sitting in a lounge, all but a few wearing knitted jumpers over pyjamas, branches of a Christmas tree just in the frame on one side – no Potter, or taking it perhaps.

The only other picture with Potter in it is one of him with his chin resting on his hands in the background, looking gaunt and young and haunted, placing it in time. In the foreground is a Dragon hatching from an egg. In the picture Potter’s eyes brighten and he lifts his head off his hands at seeing a wing unfurl breaking a piece of the shell. Potter looks at whoever holds the camera with a soft smile. It is strangely intimate and makes Draco realise that Potter has left him alone in this very personal space with no qualms, trusting him with pieces of his life. And Draco is humbled by the trust when there has been no reason to give it.

 

Breaking him out of his reverie is the sound, coming closer, of Teddy asking Potter if they could play a game.

“Depends, not something long like Monopoly.”

“Jenga?”

“Okay, go get it then.”

Teddy barges into the lounge in dinosaur-covered pyjamas. He empties everything still lying on the coffee table/trunk onto the floor. Lifting the lid, he rummages for a bit before pulling out a long, cuboid box. He closes the lid again and opens the box tipping the pieces onto the table.

“May I have some hot chocolate please, Uncle Harry?”

 “Sure, Sausage. Malfoy another tea?”

“Yes, please.”

Potter retrieves their teacups from a side table that is between the couch and the chair he sat in earlier and goes into the kitchen. Draco watches his every move until he is gone, wondering when he decided to stay after resolving to leave not fifteen minutes ago.

Draco then turns to watch Teddy carefully stacking the oblong blocks into a tower.

“So how do you play this game?”

Teddy explains and demonstrates by pushing a loose piece out of the middle of the tower.

“See?”

“I do.”

“Your go.”

“Alright, then.”

 

As the game progresses Potter comes back and sets their drinks and a plate of chocolate digestives, that he carried on a tray, alongside them on the coffee table. Potter pushes Draco’s tea towards him and he takes a sip, thinking mmm perfect, before realising he hasn’t made it himself. His insides fill with warmth, and he pretends it is the tea doing that.

Teddy wins when Draco upsets the tower with a misjudged move on an unstable part, having seen Teddy do just that successfully a couple moves previously.

“Rematch?”

“Ye-ahh,” Teddy says like that was a foregone conclusion, already stacking the pieces again, in between finishing up his hot chocolate.

Draco looks over at Potter and catches him staring at his – throat? more or less. Potter blinks and the corners of his mouth lift as he turns his head away. Draco wants to know what he was thinking. Feeling shy at being observed so closely, he tries to focus on the game. But he still loses again.

Teddy starts stacking the pieces and Potter says, “Nope, sorry, it’s bedtime.”

“Aww,” Teddy whines but puts the Jenga pieces back in the box, dragging out the task to eke out more time.

“I see what you’re doing, over there,” Potter says.

Teddy sighs and finishes packing up more quickly, returning the box to inside the trunk. Draco finds himself wholly amused by the whole evening so far.

“You promised me a fort.”

“So, I did. Grab some pillows, I’ll fetch some sheets. Want to help?” he asks Draco.

“Um… sure,” not really sure what he has volunteered to do.

 

Draco follows them down the hall and Teddy, arms full of cushions stands by one of the closed doors. Potter flicks his hand in that direction, the lock clicks and it swings open. Ugh, did the word swoon just go through Draco’s head? Potter hands Draco a stack of linen sheets, none of them the same. One is light green; one is striped, two shades of blue and white; one is plain blue; and one is covered in geometric shapes. Draco realises they are paper airplanes and boats.

Potter then stretches onto his toes to reach for a space-themed duvet and matching pillow on the top shelf. His shirt lifts and Draco sees, not only are his jeans slung very low, but that he can now make out most of the tattoo over his hip, dipping tantalisingly under the waistband – a Thestral. And something extends from behind it – sort of like, railway tracks? He quickly averts his eyes before he is caught gawking.

 

“After you,” Potter is indicating the door with a slight bow in that direction.

Draco goes into the room, more than a little curious. It has a Scandinavian-style wooden desk, on which is an extendable lamp that is lit and a Muggle television, but smaller, sitting on a square box – computer, that’s the word. A flat rectangle with letters attached to it and one of those things he’s heard are called ‘mice’, for some unknown reason. There is a wheeled chair, in a similar style to the desk, functional but comfortable looking. The walls are a soft blue. Much like the rest of the house, the floor is parquet in a herringbone pattern with a large, good-quality rug that picks up the colours in the… office/study. And another jam-packed bookshelf. Draco is dying to look at the titles and turns away from it to stop himself. There are two other chairs, dark grey, textured leather on wooden feet.

Teddy is pushing these a few feet across from each other near the desk, seats facing outwards.

“Make them slightly further apart, Sos, so you don’t bop your head in your sleep.”

“Okay.”

Draco is left standing there, while Potter transfigures a sheet of paper into a mattress and sets it on the floor between the chairs. He takes the topmost sheet from Draco. He fluffs it over the mattress and Teddy helps straighten it out and they repeat the motions with the duvet, finally tossing the star-covered pillow towards the top end.

Draco, still unsure what he’s meant to be doing, just stands there dispensing sheets as Potter proceeds to drape them, tent-like starting from the desk across to the chairs over the bed he and Teddy have made. They use items on the desk and the pillows to hold the sheets in place strung between the chairs. Draco wants to ask why he doesn’t use magic, but he guesses that’s part of the fun when one side collapses and sets them off laughing.

Eventually, slightly precarious but holding, the ‘fort’ is ready. Teddy jumps up and down in excitement, “Thank you, Uncle Harry.”

“Brush teeth.”

Teddy speeds out and is back rather quicker than it is possible to be thorough, but Harry doesn’t remark on it.

“In you go.” The boy burrows inside and under the covers.

“Erm, I’m going to…,” Draco gestures to the door and Potter acknowledges him with a nod as he sits down, lies back and shimmies inside the fort next to Teddy, who squeals a little bit.

“Shhh, do you want a story or not?”

“Yes,” Teddy whispers.

“Okay then,” Potter whispers back.

Draco sees them both wriggling and their feet end up facing each other. He wants to leave as much as he does not. He chooses the latter, lingering at the door.

 

“Once upon a time, there was a very sad wolf. Every full moon, he’d sit by himself and howl.”

“Because he was so lonely,” Teddy inserts in a whisper.

“Yes, but one day, lying underneath a great big willow tree–”

“The Whomping Willow,” Teddy whispers again as though in awe of something he has only heard tell-tale of.

“Yes, the Whomping Willow. It was put there specially for him so he knew the trick to keep it still. And there–”

Draco is too intrigued now to leave as he wonders where the story is going. He gets an inkling with Potter’s next words.

“–he met a big black dog, like a Grim. The dog was called–”

“Padfoot.”

“Yes, and the wolf was named…”

“Moony.”

Potter pauses, Draco guesses he is smiling, “Moony was a bit shy at first. But Padfoot was very lively, bouncing on his back legs and running around the tree and the wolf soon found his antics funny soon joining in chasing the dog round and round.

“From that day on, they met under the Whomping Willow at every full moon. The dog taught the wolf how to play tricks on the other animals in the forest nearby. Their favourite animal to tease was a great big stag called Prongs. And the wolf taught the dog to howl at the moon – ah-whooo,” Teddy joins in on the howl and Potter chuckles softly. Draco’s heart clenches at the tenderness and decides he should leave them be, after all.

As he walks away, he hears a bit more, “They made each other happy because the dog was the wolf’s most special friend.”

“They loved each other very much,” Teddy says more loudly in that way that children forget they are meant to be quiet.

“Shhh, yes they loved each other very–” Draco doesn’t hear anymore.

He has guessed the wolf must be Teddy’s father, Professor Lupin. He knew that he and Sirius had been friends, his aunt had told him a little about their friendship at school. But something about the way Potter spoke about them makes him wonder if there was more to the story.

 

While he waits for Potter to finish up with Teddy, he goes back to looking around Potter’s living room, unable to stop himself. Draco reads some of the book titles, some novels, travel guides aplenty, mixed Wizarding and Muggle books in an order that Draco cannot entirely discern. Transfiguration books are alongside Particle Physics, and similar for other subjects, he figures it must make sense to Potter. And he takes a closer look at the nesting dolls on the bookshelf, oddly each one had a man’s face. Underneath their faces are names, Freddie, Brian, Roger, and John. He is not familiar with who they are. Packed along one bottom shelf is a row of vinyl records, Blaise was acquiring these, and so Draco was familiar with their purpose. Stacked in another is a pile of small plastic boxes, some thicker and rectangular with hand-written labels, some flatter and square.

Potter’s house is a cabinet of curiosities. Something to look at any way you turn and, no doubt, each one with a story.

He hears a throat being cleared behind him, Draco hadn’t heard Potter come in and is startled.

“Sorry. Teddy wants to say good night. He might ah… try persuading you to read him a story, even though he already had two. He’s probably even picking one out. But you…”

“No, I’d love to.”

“Okay.”

Potter steps aside so Draco can go past and as he does, Potter is exuding warmth from being cooped up in the fort with Teddy and with it comes the smell of Teddy’s bubble bath, Draco thinks, and something savoury, bacon from earlier. If one had to name the odd combination of smells, and the feeling of been wrapped up in Potter’s magic that always seems to reach out when Draco is near, one might call it Home.

 

Draco crawls inside the fort of sheets and it’s suffused with soft light from the table lamp shining through them.

“Hello.”

“Hi. Can you read me a story, please?”

“Hmm, didn’t you already get two?” Draco’s face is serious.

“Maybe. But pleeease. These are extenuatening circumstances,” Teddy pleads, following this with a yawn. Draco doesn’t correct his mispronunciation, although he bites his lip to keep from laughing at it.

“Hmm okay, but don’t tell Mr Hah. Arry. He won’t be pleased you broke your deal.”

Teddy sniggers and hands him a book called Oh, the Places You Will Go. Before he’s even a handful of pages in, the boy is snoring softly, and Draco eases out of the fort with care so as not to bump him.

 

Draco returns to the lounge to find Potter sprawled on three quarters of the couch, reading something himself, Magician. Draco wonders whose biography it might be, it’s not a commonly assigned title.

“He twisted my arm,” Draco speaks quietly.

Potter huffs a laugh.

“I left the door open a little way. I wasn’t sure.”

“It’s fine, thank you.”

“I should probably go.”

“Stay,” Potter says hurriedly, then more measured, softer, “…please.” There is something else in the tone of his voice that Draco can only guess at.

“Only if I can ask more questions,” Draco says equally softly, conscious of waking Teddy.

Potter rolls his eyes but chuckles, “I may not answer them all, but you can ask. And don’t worry, I cast a one-way Silencing spell, I can hear Teddy if he wakes up, but we won’t disturb him.”

“When did–?” but it doesn’t matter, there are other more pressing questions.

 

Draco walks around the couch and without taking his eyes off him, Potter shifts his legs at the last minute, an invitation to join him rather than use the wingback. He hesitates a moment and slides into the space, his body pressed hard into the armrest to be as far away from Potter as possible not wanting to be presumptuous.

Draco looks away then, “This was all very…”

“Strange?” Potter takes off his glasses, well frames really since there is no prescription in them and sets them down with his book.

“I was going to say pleasant, but that too.”

Potter breathes out a quiet laugh, “Ask.” He pulls his hair loose and runs his fingers through it.

Draco casts his eyes about the room again, both to not wish it were his hands and because he is unsure where to start. Catching site of the records, “The music, how did you start singing?”

“When I moved to Camden Town, I brought Sirius’ old records with me,” he gestured to the vinyl collection. “I needed something to play them, so I went to a music store not far from here. I met Luke there. He asked what kind of music I was into. I told him the records weren’t really mine, so I wasn’t sure but listed a few of the bands I had enjoyed so far, uh… Queen, Boston, The Beatles. Classic rock, he said. Anyway, long story short, I went there often, adding to my collection with his advice as I learned what I liked. We started hanging out, listening to music, he played guitar sometimes, and I sang along here and there. He said I had a, quote unquote, ‘great’ voice,” Potter smiles bashfully.

Draco wants to say ‘you do’ but holds his tongue.

“He suggested we start a band because he knew Alex and so, we advertised in the shop window for a bass player. John came along with more than one instrument under his belt et voila, Erised. At first it was just for fun, well it’s still fun, but I mean not for an audience initially. But we, Luke and I, and Timothée, went to the Pearl Swallow often–”

“Timothée?”

“Luke’s boyfriend.”

He wonders if Timothée dislikes the way Potter touches Luke as much as Draco does.

“So, the Swallow had a notice up saying they were looking for bands. We spoke to Amanda, the owner, and she said, ‘show us what you got’. And next the thing we’re regulars. I love it. It’s like something that has nothing to do with the Wizarding World and it makes me happy to make other people happy, you know?”

Again, Draco wants to say, but your performance is magic, enchanting, beautiful magic. What’s with all the urges to compliment Potter. “I do know. It seems our jobs are similar, making people happy I mean.”

“It’s a hobby really, but how about that? Not so very different, you and me.”

Draco feels a fire start to kindle low in his belly. “Um, why… why are you being so…” – flirty? – “friendly?”

“Hermione told me some time ago about all the fundraising events and charity work your non-profit does and how much you’ve changed your outlook. So, when she told me you had asked after the ‘interesting guy’ she was with…” Potter starts to say with a smile tugging at his lips.

Draco’s ears go warm. He wants to say he changed his outlook a long time ago, before he was marked even, but was under too much pressure to truly consider any such thing at the time. However, he doesn’t want to appear cowardly, so he says nothing.

“… I felt like maybe it was a chance to meet this Malfoy that I didn’t know. Talk for a change. We never really did… talk I mean. We shouted and threw insults at each other but… but never talked. And sometimes I wonder if… …if maybe… that would have been all it took to… make a difference or some… something.”

Stuttering Potter is back. Draco notes how his speech pattern shifted from when he spoke about his music, in which he is confident, to how timidly he talks about the past. Draco thinks about what Potter said and gets an inkling of what he might mean by something, and it disquiets him to consider what might have been different.

There is something Draco needs to say though, “I’m sorry for being… for all of the insults and the other dumb stuff. Sabotaging your potions, the Dementor prank, those awful buttons. I am sure there is much more. I was… many things, jealous I guess, most of all. I am sorry.”

“Trust me, there was nothing to be jealous of, I wouldn’t wish my life on anyone. And hey, I gave as good as I got. We were both raised to be… what we were, polar opposites. But see, if you think about it, we’d both do anything for the people we love. That’s significant enough common ground to… to build on now, don’t you think?”

Draco amends silently, only you would do anything for anyone though.

“Why not come back for ‘eighth’ year?”

Potter draws his knees to his chest and stuffs his hands between them and his body. He looks down at them, fiddling with his fingers. In a small voice, “It… it was a lot of things. It’s that Hogwarts was… the only,” his voice breaks slightly, and he pauses and breathes a shuddering breath before continuing, “only home I’ve ever truly had and… and how could I eat in the Great Hall where their… their bodies were laid out. How could I walk through… through the courtyard and not see rubble and spilled b-blood. How could I play Qui… Quidditch and not see the stands on fire. Or look out over the For–,” Potter squeezes his eyes tight and whispers, “It’ll… never be the same to me.”

Draco had had similar thoughts, but he felt a responsibility as well towards making amends and helping, in any way he could, with putting the institution he held in such high esteem back together. Getting his N.E.W.T.S. had also been mandated for his parole – not that he didn’t want them, he needed them to make himself feel whole somehow. And he simply put his head down in class and worked hard to get the best possible marks, not for his father, nor for the Wizengamot, for himself.

**

Potter continued, after a pause, eyes unfocused, “I was beyond exhausted and struggled with… with, what Hermione calls, ‘survivor’s guilt’. I mean I know we all had… a hard, hard time with… all of it. But when I… died I got a choice to… to come back or… …not. And I felt…, still feel sometimes, that maybe I… made the wrong choice. Like, no one else got to… to choose.” He pauses trying to collect himself by sucking in a breath. “It drove me to despair thinking about h… how I would, in a heartbeat, have given up that choice to… to any one of them. Give them back Fred, if… if I could. Give Teddy his father or mother. I felt… selfish.” His eyes are brimming with tears, he blinks, and they roll down his cheeks at which swipes them away harshly.

“Potter,” Draco breathes out in awe. “I take it back about the brownies, this is the stupidest thing you have ever said.”

Potter laughs wetly.

Draco is shocked by more statements in Potter’s explanation – died, choice, despair? – but thinks he does not want to upset him more than he already has. He only says, “Selfish is never a word I would use to describe you. If anything, you give too much.”

Potter shrugs staring at the floor. Then he turns his head to the side and rests it on his knees.

“That’s what Hermione said, says. I also never… never expected to… to live… through it. And I wanted to… I wanted to go back… to the station because I sh… should have taken the train and gone on. But Hermione helped me see that… I had another choice to make. She said that they,” Potter moves runs his hand over his left arm, unconsciously Draco thinks, shoulder to wrist, “wouldn’t want to see me yet. They’d want me… to live.”

His breath hitches at the last words, and he grabs a hold of his right ribs and pushes his fingers into them, the tips going white, to bruise, to hurt. Like how they say: ‘to feel pain is to know you’re alive’.

Potter was speaking in a reverie and not fully making sense to Draco, he isn’t sure he knows what Potter means exactly about the train station for one and about wanting to go back. He hopes it is not what he thinks it means. And the train tracks on his ribs – leading off a Thestral – are starting to make sense in a Potter sort of way. He has thought it before, this man is bewildering.

**

Draco wants to change the subject for Potter but also for his own disquiet. Draco is truly selfish. He knew this, before he heard Potter disparage himself but feels it more keenly now.

“At the Seeker’s match you let me win – why?”

Potter moves his head to put his chin on his hands on top of his knees. “I have no idea what you are talking about,” his expression is carefully blank, but his eyes betray him, he is a terrible liar.

“You know the little boy with the dark hair?”

“Elio.”

He knows his name. “Yes, Elio,” Draco cannot help breaking into a big smile, his eyes crinkling so he ducks his head. “Actually, you are the first person I’m telling. I have been thinking about adopting him. Well, not just thinking, I’ve looked into it.”

“Malfoy, that’s wonderful.” Potter sits up straight, his eyes lit up again, and he smiles, small, but there.

That fire that was kindled in his belly starts to catch. “I worry. I want to emulate my father in some ways. He was more than you know of him. But I am afraid of other parts of him… sneaking out of me.”

“Being so aware is the reason they won’t.”

“I hope so. I also worry, the criteria are strict, of course they are. It won’t be easy, especially with…,” Draco twitches his left arm, “they could say no on principle.”

“They cannot hold it against you, you were indoctrinated, forced even, they must understand that,” Potter says vehemently. “Holding onto that prejudice is frankly beneath us all. Everything you’ve done is inspiring especially with the children from the orphanage and the Muggle-raised. It’s amazing that you’ve put a programme in place so they can be more prepared to enter the Wizarding World. And getting to mix with the Wizarding children before they go to Hogwarts is so important. It will count in your favour, I’m sure. You are great with children, Malfoy, not just Teddy. Elio looks at you like you hung the stars and you earned that. If the child has a say, I have no doubt he would pick you.”

Draco is beyond touched, a lump constricting his throat. It takes a moment to sink in that this is Potter saying these things about him. Draco pulls himself together sufficiently to meet his eyes. They are fiery with conviction, the green flaring like burning copper. His own fire rising into his chest.

“Thank you, Potter,” Draco takes a deep breath. “Depending on their age, they do – and he does qualify so he will have a say. They also look at means to provide – that is the easy part. Home environment – there’s a list of requirements and I have started on it already. They prefer two parents, so that will be the hardest part to overcome, but I think if I can prove I have a support network – my mother, Aunt Andromeda, Pansy, Luna if she is willing, even Teddy as a peer will help – maybe all of them combined will be an equivalent, I hope. And I was thinking of asking Professor McGonagall for a testimonial. It is a lot to ask but she has been so supportive of my efforts with the children. I have just never wanted anything so much.” Other than you, Draco thinks and that is saying something.

“I know she won’t hesitate, Malfoy. I saw her at the fundraiser grasp your hand. She’s proud of you.”

“She has told me that. She’s an amazing woman.”

“I know. Fearsome too. The magnitude of a letter from her, I think, will go a long way in support of your case. And Teddy and Elio will get on like a house on fire, I know they will.”

It strikes Draco suddenly, making that flame flare bright and high into his chest cavity setting his heart ablaze, that it seems not to have occurred to Potter to volunteer to put a word in of his own. A testimonial from Harry James Potter, Chosen et al., could possibly make this easier for Draco. One might see it as a slight, that Potter is not willing to advocate for him. It may not even be just a tamping down of his saviour-complex, Draco thinks it is deeper than that. He is convinced that fire in his eyes just now has shown him that Potter knows Draco does not need him to accomplish this.

“Draco and Elio – a star and a sun. You may just be made for each other,” Potter says pensively.

The desire to surge forward and embrace this man and to kiss any part of him he can reach is so strong Draco needs to excuse himself somehow or get rid of Potter for a minute.

“May I have a glass of water, please?”

“Of course. I’ll be right back.”

When Potter is gone, Draco breathes out, trying to do so quietly to not audibly divulge his anguish.

 

When he gets back, Draco is composed, mostly. He sips the water though he wants to down it to douse the fire now roaring inside. He is reticent to ask, but he does anyway, “I was wondering, your tattoos, they’re beautiful, the artwork. I have been considering getting one.”

“Yeah? I could take you to my artist, when I’m back, that is. I’m leaving the day after tomorrow. Meg is really great. I love them.”

“I would like that.” Draco is disappointed to hear that he is leaving the day after tomorrow. “I’m sure they mean… I’m sorry, you don’t have to tell me.”

“It’s okay. I… they sort of represent two ideas I am like, …fascinated with,” he scrunches his nose at the last. “They’re… well, it’s weird, I know. This side,” he touches his left arm again, “is mostly for all the um… mischief-makers who shaped my life. The… Marauder’s side, I guess.” – Marauders, that word again – “But it includes my mother and Dobby and Luna ’cos that woman is an instigator of mischief, benign but mischief, nonetheless, the Wrackspurt, just here,” he touches behind his ear, “she drew it for me. I’m absolutely certain the Lovegood’s are the only people in the world who know what they look like. She always says my head is full of them,” he chuckles. “And I thought… Fred deserves to be an honorary Marauder, it’s his Patronus.” Twisting so Draco can see, he touches his elbow just above his – ha! – funny bone, a magpie.

He looks lost in thought a moment, fingering the ambigram on his wrist, “Maybe Professor Snape is the only exception, although he did cause me much trouble of a different kind, I suppose. I’d think he’d hate being on the side with the Marauders.” Potter laughs, short, a bit hysterical.

“Severus? Why?”

“That is a long fucking story.”

Draco hears this as I’ll tell you another day. Or he hopes so anyway, he’d really like to know why Potter put a representation of Draco’s godfather on his body. He can’t imagine what it means in the context of their animosity.

“Then there must surely also be a representation of yourself on that side?” Draco gives a one-sided smile.

“Heeey, I didn’t cause trouble, it sort of… found me.”

“Oh, is that what you tell yourself?”

“It’s true!” His expression looks affronted, but his eyes are full of mirth.

“And the other side?”

“It’s sort of the… um, death side,” he says, making a sound of amusement. He has a strange sense of humour.

“Merlin, Potter.”

“I said it was weird.”

“Explain.”

Potter says nothing for a beat, “Um… for the lost, …for the losses that I feel most deeply. I know, I do know that I didn’t… cause their deaths. Even though Tom created the circumstances, I am still the reason they died because, they were obstacles to get to me. And it’s for the things that got me to the forest and… and out of it.” He draws a finger down over the leaves that float around a long, scar interrupted by a jagged keloid, and rubs the fang, deep in thought.

He feels like he needs to say, so that Potter knows, whether it means anything or not coming from him, that he made the right decision, “When Hagrid carried you out of the forest, I… honestly, my first thought was, we have lost. And I did think of it that way, we. All of us. But the true… horror was that someone with your boundless spirit and heart and courage should not be gone.”

“I wasn’t though.”

“I did not know that then, you prat.”

Harry snorts, chuckles silently then yawns.

“I should really go now,” catching the yawn, Draco shivers.

“Just a little while longer,” Potter says softly, as he burrows lower into the couch, resting his head on the back. Looking at Draco with something unfathomable in his eyes. As Draco considers it – he really should go but he doesn’t want to break this spell, this connection – he rubs his arms.

“Merlin, you’re cold. Did you come with a jacket?”

Draco thinks a moment – where is his damned jacket? – and remembers, “I left it at Grimmauld Place.”

“Oh, let me.”

Before he can protest, Potter has jumped up and disappeared. He is gone some minutes, returning with options, which is just possibly the sweetest thing. On the pile is what looks to be a maroon knitted jumper like the ones in the Christmas photograph; a soft-looking but thin blue cardigan; and a stonewashed, teal-coloured zip-up hoodie. Surprising himself, Draco takes the hoodie with thanks and puts it on, crossing it over with his hands in the pockets rather than zipping it up, the hood bunched around his neck.

Potter drops the spare on the wingback and tugs on the jumper. It has a Snitch knitted onto the front.

With the slightest hesitation, Draco removes his shoes and puts his feet on the couch. He is sure Potter is not the sort to care about such familiarity and Draco feels like they have some of that now.

Then Potter pats the chair next to the backrest and Draco hesitates again at the invitation but stretches his legs out, crossing them at the ankle so as not to bump Potter. He swings his legs alongside Draco’s and tugs a blanket off the back of the couch over their legs. Then Potter wriggles a bit, so his head is in the crook where the arm- and backrest meet.

“Better?”

“Yes, thanks.”

“I could light a fire?”

“No, no this is,” – perfect, more than enough, unbearable – “fine, thanks.”

 

Potter is staring at him again through hooded eyes.

Before he really thinks about what he’s saying, Draco’s mouth comes out with, “You keep looking at me like I am some kind of new species or something.”

“Mmm, the Lesser-Spotted Malfoy.”

“What kind of creature would that be then?”

“A Dragon, of course.”

“You are keen on Dragons?”

Potter raises an eyebrow.

Draco realises what he said, or what it sounded like he said, “No, no I didn’t mean… because of the picture on your… over there.” He feels his face flush and he pushes the front of the hoodie up over his nose. Kill me now is his first thought, swiftly followed by oh, the hoodie smells so good.

Potter glances over to the mantle. “Ever since I spent time with Charlie, I found I am keen on Dragons,” he smirks, “of all kinds.”

A bit muffled from his hiding place, “Charlie?”

“Weasley. I went there after I tried to… after Hermione… well, she suggested going to Romania as an example of something I could consider doing. I did think about it and… a few other things, but after I spoke to Charlie, he said he’d be happy to arrange it so… I decided to go. And it was like, exactly what I needed… in more ways than one. Far enough away to have… space to breathe and I learned so much about Dragons, obviously, and… well, Charlie helped me figure out some stuff….”

“Stuff?” clearer now that Draco has dropped his hands into his lap again.

“Stuff I hadn’t known… about… about myself. What with being hunted by…. That I just hadn’t had time to even… um, explore.” He bites his lower lip and looks down.

It’s a signal that makes Draco fully realise what stuff he meant. That is not a stab of jealousy he just felt.

Still not looking at Draco, fiddling with the edge of the blanket, Potter asks, “When did you figure stuff out?” He flicks his eyes at Draco and away again.

“Oh, hmm,” Draco stalls, not sure if he should tell the truth. He does, “I’d say about the time I first saw a Dragon in real life.”

Potter looks up sharply, confusion furrowing his brows.

“A Hungarian Horntail to be exact.”

“How funny that Dragons were sort of the catalyst for both… oh,” he breathes out the last.

It is Draco’s turn to look down as Potter sucks in a breath, apparently speechless.

In a small voice, he finally asks, “Really? Did you mean Horntail because, that was my…? Krum, I’d believe, or Ced…,” Potter trails off.

Draco nods.

Potter sits up suddenly, sliding closer to Draco who tries not to draw back.

“I thought you hated me,” still sounding incredulous.

“I did in the beginning because you hogged all the attention and then I did, around the tournament, because… I didn’t. And then I did, in sixth year, because I didn’t want to. I am not making any sense. I was in such a precarious position, I couldn’t let myself think about anything else, but you were always there, everywhere I turned, like you came out of nowhere and you seemed to know where I was all the damn time,” Draco sighs, it was harder to tell more of the truth with Potter so much closer, with those eyes on him so intently. Eyes that pull at Draco’s core and he feels a surge of something more than just attraction, it is as if… his magic is responding.

Draco shifts fretfully. Then pulls his legs up and crosses them, mindful he does not rest his knee on Potter’s thigh.

Before he can change his mind, he reaches for Potter’s right arm. The moment his hand connects, Draco feels a current of magic arc between them. He runs his hand down the length of the arm, like Potter had done at the fundraiser, keeping watch on his face for a reaction. But Potter goes rigid and blinks in surprise. Then he looks down at where Draco’s hand has come to rest, lightly gripping the middle of Potter’s forearm and he shakes his head.

Fuck! This is a mistake. Draco had wanted so much to touch him for so long. Why could he not control this stupid impulse?

“I’m… I better go.” Draco stands suddenly and the blanket falls to the floor. He makes to reach for it but stops. Potter is motionless staring at where Draco was sitting. “Yes, um, thank you for inviting me to stay and this, and Teddy, dinner, brownies, pleasant, as I said, and good night.”

Draco carefully steps out of the blanket so as not to trip and make a bigger fool of himself. He dodges the trunk and reaching for floo powder he suddenly isn’t sure if the password is the same to go back to Grimmauld Place.

He turns around, looking everywhere but at Potter, “Um... is there a different password for…?”

Potter jerks out of his stupor and in a rough voice says, “It’s the same. There’s powder in the bowl.”

“Perfect,” Draco says, because he needs to be saying something else ridiculous right now. He does so as quietly as possible without it being unclear and he stumbles out on the other side.

 

By the time he has his jacket and is marching down the hall, he is furious with himself. Forgetting it was there, he stubs his toe on the troll leg stand still out of place. Biting down hard on his lip to prevent himself from yelling and waking his aunt, it exceedingly painfully makes him realise that he hadn’t picked up his shoes and he is still wearing Potter’s hoodie.

“Just perfect.”

Notes:

The book Teddy asks Draco to read is Oh, the Places You Will Go by Dr Seuss. And Harry is reading Magician by Raymond E. Feist.

Chapter 8

Draco is in rather a bad mood for days afterwards. Not only did he feel like a colossal fool, yet again, he realised that the hoodie brought the smell of Potter with it. Serving to drive home how intimate it all felt. Which led him to think about how badly it ended.

Did it stop him from picking up the damned thing up all too often just to hold it to his nose or from wearing it?

 

He decides he would immerse himself in work. The non-profit’s accounts needed doing. Besides that, he wants to make some progress on the adoption.

He tells his mother, his aunt and Luna and they’re all thrilled. He goes to Gringotts to open a vault and put some investments in place so it can grow with the idea that, even if the adoption falls through, he wants Elio to have his own means, one day. He has steadily made his way through the home environment checklist, making sure not to miss anything that might give them an excuse to deny the petition. And he has shown he might be a Slytheravendor for finding a bit of lion in himself to ask Professor McGonagall for the testimonial.

Thinking he may have to motivate his plea; he takes all the paperwork to show her. It bolsters him that Uncle Severus is quietly lending his support from his portrait in the Headmistress’ office – even though, when he told Severus’ Manor portrait of his intentions as well, he reminded Draco that children are dunderheads and asked him if he was sure, all while looking rather proud of Draco if one knew how to read his face.

As he shuffles through his papers nervously, Professor McGonagall puts a hand on the stack and tells him she will be happy to write it. He almost bursts into tears at that, relieved and grateful. And not a little crestfallen that he immediately wants to tell Potter.

Professor McGonagall surprises him by asking if he wants to change Elio’s name. Draco admits that while he wants to make the boy part of his family, he also does not want to saddle him with the Malfoy legacy. He is already the child of a Death Eater and replacing Rookwood with Malfoy would not help him in life.

“I didn’t know Elio’s surname is Rookwood,” she remarks.

Draco suddenly feels a bit affronted and concerned she will change her mind about the letter of recommendation with this new information. He defends it by saying these children are still orphans and that they have the stigma of their parents to contend with when they had nothing to do with the war. Having noticed Draco’s change of posture, she quickly lets him know that she thinks it is wonderful that he is setting an example.

“I apologise. I jumped to conclusions. I have an idea, for making him feel part of the family. I want to discuss it with him first.”

“Best of luck, Draco. Please do let me know if they grant the adoption.”

“I will and thank you again, Headmistress.” Though she has said he can call her Minerva, he finds he can’t as it feels disrespectful even now.

 

It left one thing to do, the most important one. Speak to Elio. He waited until he got this far, so that if Elio said yes, he would only need to file the paperwork. He has been even more nervous for this conversation than for the one with Professor McGonagall.

They sit on the swings in the playground at Vikareus House and chat about the things he’s learned and how the other children all want to hold his Snitch but that he is looking after it. He tells Draco about a visit to the beach and how he didn’t much like the sand. Draco agrees with him. The sea he could watch and listen to all day but getting sand all over everything is irksome.

Finally, Draco asks.

Elio replies with wide eyes, “Me?”

Draco reassures him that he wants nothing more. He explains that if Elio does not want to have Draco adopt him, he doesn’t have to feel bad, and that Draco will still see him as often as he likes. He also explains that there is a chance that Magical Child Care Services might say no but Draco reassures him that he is going to do everything he can to not give them a reason to do so.

Elio goes very quiet, and Draco tries not to fret and discomfit him.

The boy asks timidly, “Does that mean you would be my father?”

“According to the paperwork, yes, and you would be my son.”

At that Elio jumps into Draco’s arms, nearly knocking him off the swing.

“Yes, please,” he whispers through tears.

They sit together on one swing for a while longer, Draco answering Elio’s questions.

A third party would have to speak to Elio to ensure no undue influence so that is the next thing Draco needs to arrange. Then the decision will be in the hands of the MCCS.

 

Draco has been avoiding Granger for a while, worried Potter might have told her about the awkward aborted kiss. But she approaches him and strikes up a conversation at the Ministry when he is there filing the accounts for the Foundation. She doesn’t seem defensive of Potter which Draco would expect if she does know.

She tells him about her department’s Werewolf campaign. And Draco tells her about the adoption. Granger responds with delight and hugs him briefly. Odd.

Granger then tells him that Potter had been back in the country briefly at the weekend because he ‘mysteriously’ only said that he needed to ‘arrange something’. Draco tries not to feel crestfallen that Potter seems to be avoiding England again. She remarks that she’s always relieved when he goes to Romania for a few weeks at this time of year, “Because then I know he is being looked after. If he doesn’t, he either shuts down completely holed up in his apartment, or worse, does something stupid, which is no less terrifying, and for which he tries to recruit one of us.”

Like skydiving maybe Draco muses. He is about to ask what time of year but realises that it is almost May. Romania. A few weeks with the Dragon Weasel on the anniversary of the reason he went there in the first place. It sends a searing pain through his chest – but then what right does he have to feel this way.

Surprising Draco, Granger tells him that Potter asked whether she has seen him around and if he seems okay, adding that this was why she sought Draco out. She seems to be genuinely asking on Potter’s behalf. Even after he made an ass of himself? he thinks, somewhat bewildered.

“Harry said he’s looking forward to his next trip home. I’m not sure I’ve heard him say that in a long time.” She briefly scrutinises Draco which makes him squirm internally. He knows Granger is perceptive but maybe she’s just speculating. Her words leave him remembering what his mother said about Potter having found something to bring him home more often.

Suddenly it occurs to Draco that maybe Potter has found a boyfriend – ouch. Maybe that is why he stiffened at Draco’s touch, because he is not available. Maybe the intimacy had entirely been felt on Draco’s part alone and Potter really was just being friendly.

And just like that his mood sours again. It doesn’t help that progress on the adoption is slow.

 

---

Pansy tries to cheer him up by offering to plan an elaborate birthday party. She seems to think that pointing out he is turning a quarter of a century old – her words – is a good way to entice him to accept her offer.

Draco has always enjoyed his birthday – he likes being made a fuss of, so what? – but somehow, he can’t muster up the enthusiasm. His mother asks if he would like to go out to eat or have his favourite meal at home (by which she meant the Manor), but he blames Pansy’s party on not accepting her invitation. He struggles to come up with a good enough reason to stop Pansy from forging ahead.

Belatedly, he thinks he should have made those plans to see Bastien dance, not only may it have taken his mind off the adoption – and Potter, argh! – being out of the country would surely have been a good enough reason to miss the party. Although knowing Pansy she would have expected attendance, nonetheless, since Wizarding-travel makes it possible, after all.

 

Then the day of, an owl arrives. Draco thinks little of it; they have been arriving all day bringing cards and gifts from his friends. If he paid more attention, he may have noticed a familiar little owl delivered it.

What are you doing tonight?

– Potter

 

At seeing Potter’s name, Draco’s heart skips a beat and then proceeds to thump wildly. He wonders if Potter knows what day it is, or even when his birthday is. He will play it indifferent, he is expecting nothing, after all. He writes back on the same parchment.

I’ve a few offers but haven’t decided.

DM

 

The owl returns within thirty minutes, so Potter must be in London. And this time he recognises the little guy, Hermione’s owl.

Do you trust me?

What does that mean? And Draco supposes he does not really have reason not to – well, now anyway – only he cannot fathom Potter’s motive, and it is this which is causing him hesitation. He tries some snark.

Once a Snake, Potter. There are very few people I trust.

The reply comes quicker this time. Draco gives the owl an extra treat and some water for doing Potter’s dirty work.

Scared Malfoy?

That right prat, he knows damn well Draco will never refuse that particular challenge. There is only one thing for it.

You wish.

It takes the owl an hour to return for the last time, no doubt worn out by this stage.

7:30 pm. I’ll pick you up.

Draco thanks the owl and sends him on his way without a reply, he has given his answer already.

 

This presents a problem – what to wear? Making an assumption about what he knows of Potter, it could hardly be formal nor even smart. Perhaps casual Muggle would do the trick again. So, Draco picks out his Guess jeans and pairs it with a well-fitted white and blue striped shirt. He toys with rolling the sleeves and settles for leaving them down. He can always roll them up if Potter turns up very casual or where they were going calls for it.

At 7:28pm, Draco hears the growl of a motorbike slow to a purr and stop. Soon after, there is a rap at his door. It occurs to Draco as he makes his way over to it that he has not told Potter where he lives and hadn’t known how to expect him. Blowing out a breath, Draco opens the door.

It appears he will be accompanying Harrison to wherever this evening. The front cuffs of the glen-check trousers he wore the first time Draco saw him sing, are bunched up into Blundstones, while the back is hanging out. A white shirt, sleeves down but two buttons undone at his throat. And a double-breasted brown leather waistcoat with lapels, on one of which is a butterfly brooch of natural turquoise stones. At seeing Draco, Potter lifts his eyebrow and reveals the accessory only Harrison seemed to wear, under his dark, square frames. Hair tied high on his heard and a neat scruff completes the picture framed in Draco’s doorway.

He wonders if they are going to the bar. Draco does not particularly feel like spending his birthday sitting alone for most of the night, even if it is to see Potter perform again.

Head tilted, Potter’s eyes travel down Draco’s body and with a deep breath back up. That makes Draco feel all kinds of things, most significantly roundabout his groin – which is getting way ahead of the situation. Maybe Potter is not seeing someone else. Draco does not want to contemplate the alternative that he may be seeing more than one person, if he boldly includes himself.

“Malfoy.”

“Potter.”

“Your hair looks good like that.”

“Oh, thank you, I had it cut yesterday,” Draco feels a flush rising as he rakes his hand over the hair above his ear and around to the back that had been cut much shorter than usual, leaving his fringe long. Possibly a bit hipster but he likes this style.

“Are you ready?” Harry asks and curiously glances over Draco’s shoulder, eyes quickly surveying his lounge.

“Of course. Will I need a jacket?”

“Probably not, it’s a nice night.”

“Ok then.”

“I’m still not getting on that thing with you, so I hope you have another mode of transport planned.”

“Oh, you will, eventually, but tonight we’ll walk. The restaurant is close enough.”

Eventually – long term. Draco suppresses a smile at that.

“I hope you like it. I picked something with variety, not being entirely sure what you like to eat anymore.”

Anymore, like he had known in the past – the Great Hall? “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

 

It is. Tastefully done décor, excellent wine, delicious food, and a decadent dessert makes for an excellent way to spend a birthday. And Potter is good conversation with a side of teasing banter. The first thing he asks is if Draco has heard anything on Elio’s adoption and has encouraging things to say when he replies that he hasn’t.

“Surely it means they are taking it seriously. If they were going to turn you down on principle, they’d have done it already.”

That makes sense and Draco hopes that it’s true.

They talk about the Quidditch League and laugh over Teddy’s various antics. Potter avoids saying anything about the last time they were together. Draco is tempted to apologise but he doesn’t want to admit that he read the situation wrong or make things awkward now. The only thing bugging Draco is that Potter has been looking at his watch every so often. Draco comments that it was a very nice watch – it really is – in an attempt to point out that he has noticed. But it doesn’t stop Potter from glancing at it.

“Do you have somewhere you need to be?” Draco asks more pointedly, fed up.

“No, we do.” With that Potter excuses himself pointing in the direction of the loos.

We do.

 

When Potter gets back, he says, “Ready to go?”

“Yes, um… shall we call the waiter for the bill?”

“No, it’s sorted.”

Neat trick. “Thank you.”

“It was my pleasure.” Potter’s arm briefly twitches as though he wants to offer his hand to Draco. Instead, he stuffs both of them in his pockets and tilts his head to the door, following Draco out.

“This next bit is further away so we’ll catch a taxi.”

“There’s more?”

“Yes, I said we had somewhere to be.”

“Right, so where are we–?”

“You’ll see.”

 

Potter hails a black taxi and holds the door open for Draco. He has never been in one, just opting for the convenience of Wizard-travel.

With the Harrison look, he gets confident Potter. He rather likes his swagger but there is something about just Potter that Draco also likes a lot. He finds himself wishing this next thing, whatever it is, is with him.

They stop outside a darkened storefront. Potter pays the taxi, then hops out and holds the door open for him again. Draco secretly enjoys being treated like this. Still Potter has not wished him Happy Birthday, so Draco thinks perhaps he doesn’t know, after all.

Potter raps on the glass door of the shut-up shop. An unlit sign declaring it to be called Ink Well – A stationery shop possibly? – but at nine o’clock in the evening it is a bit of an odd destination, and he doesn’t think he mentioned how partial he is to it. Someone twitches the drawn shades and a light further back in the shops shows it to be a woman.

She unlocks the door and makes room for them to come in. Potter steps up close to her and fully envelopes her in his arms and gives her kiss. She is much shorter than him, so she must tilt her head back and he forward. Um… okay? It is not like a kiss kiss, but it is very familiar. They do not break apart as they greet each other.

“You well?” he asks.

“Yes, you? It’s been far too long that I’ve had you in my chair, Harrison.”

“I know, I’ve been busy. Thank you for seeing us after hours.”

“So, I see, busy?” she says, leaning heavily sideways to eye Draco behind Potter. “And anything for you, you know that.” Everywhere he goes, it seems Potter inspires – still inspires – boundless devotion. Draco is beginning to see why.

Potter steps aside but keeps an arm around her waist. “Meg this is Draco. And this is Meghan, my wonderful, talented tattoo artist and dear friend.” He says all the latter looking down at her again and she looks back up at him. He kisses her temple.

Draco is flustered by their affection, and because he heard Potter’s inflection on this when he introduced Draco, but his good manners take over effectively hiding it, “Oh, lovely to meet you, Meghan. Your work is beautiful.”

“Thank you. My favourite customer is a great canvas.”

Potter bumps her with the side of his body. She smiles. Then Meghan pointedly looks Draco up and down. “So, you’re the one who snagged this gorgeous man. It broke my heart finding out he’s gay. But maybe he is the lucky one because you are lovely.”

Completely thrown by her last comment, he stammers, “Oh, we’re not… Po-Evans is… uh, definitely not…”

“Mhm.”

Potter’s mouth twitches at her response but he does not assist Draco in correcting her.

“So, Harrison tells me you might want to get something done.”

“Yes, I was thinking about it. I wasn’t expecting this, so I haven’t given it any thought yet.”

“Well… uh, I had a few ideas I brought to Meg a couple weeks’ ago. I had her draw them up so long. Of course, you don’t have to use them. If they are not to your taste, you can discuss what you want, and I’ll bring you back.” A couple weeks’ ago? Granger said Potter told her he had needed to set something up, was this what he had come to do?

“Oh, I’ll take a look, but I really will need to give it some thought.”

“Of course. Come with me.”

 

Draco follows her to a brightly lit room with purple walls, a black leather tattooing chair and a table with her tools, inks arranged neatly on a shelf at about her hip height. Stuck to a mirror are three designs. Meghan pulls the drawings off one at a time handing them to Draco.

“Harrison thought you might like a dragon. He was quite specific that it looks like this.”

“A Horntail, really?”

Potter snickers. At which Draco realises it is really a joke, an inside joke – apparently, they have those now.

“Bit on the nose for your name so I am guessing no.”

“The detail is amazing but no, thank you.”

“Then this…?” It’s a realistic depiction of the sun, showing the fiery swirling surface, with a halo of light surrounding it. Elio.

“Oh,” he breathes. Draco looks at Potter behind him in the mirror. He smiles and nods almost like has heard Draco say Elio’s name out loud when it was only in his head. And he is suddenly overwhelmed with the same feeling he had before he turned that evening into a disaster. Draco looks down to hide a flush.

“So, you like it? There’s one more though.”

Draco does not hand it back to her, convinced he is going to use this design.

“This one was tricky. Harrison said one of your favourite books is Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.” Draco’s head snaps up to look at Potter again. Familiar with the feeling, he knows Potter has kept his eyes on Draco the whole time.

“How did you…?”

“Hermione told me.”

Draco recalls Granger asking him about the book ages ago. He was rereading it one afternoon at lunch. And they spoke about it – about him.

“He wanted the Jabberwocky poem from Through the Looking Glass, not only in the form of the beast, but backwards,” at the exact same time both Draco and Meg said, “like in the book.” Meghan smiles, “Yes. See, so when you look in the mirror,” she holds the stencil up to it, “it reads the right way round.”

Draco has been holding Potter’s intense stare, only at the last of Meghan’s words does he look at the design. The lettering is elegant, and the words are cleverly placed to make the shape of Tenniell’s illustration of the creature in Carroll’s imagination, vaguely dragon-like but with a spindlier neck and limbs. He is torn. It is thoughtful and unusual and beautiful but so is the sun.

“I love them both.”

Meghan looks at Potter and he glances back, a shy grin breaking out on his face.

“Harrison seems to know you very well,” – better than I knew – “and you can get them both,” Meghan says. Potter nods.

“Right,” Draco laughs, realising belatedly he doesn’t have to choose.

“Not all in the same sitting but yes, when you are healed up from tonight then we can make another appointment. That is if you want to do this tonight. You said you’d need to think about it.”

“No, they are…,” – perfect – “I can’t think of anything better. I would like to, if that’s alright?” In the glass he sees Potter smile and finally look down, exhaling visibly, like he’s been holding his breath.

“That’s what we’re here for,” she says, clapping her hands and rubbing them together.

 

Meghan chatters while she prepares, “Harrison wanted to see them before we showed you, but he only landed this afternoon so there wasn’t time. But I said, you trust me with your body, what’s so special about this that suddenly he’s checking my work. Well, now that I see this beautiful porcelain skin, I understand.” She flicks her eyes from Draco to Potter and back with a knowing smile and Draco blushes again. “So, hon, which one do you want to start with?”

Potter, meanwhile, has sat down in a red velvet chair, one leg crossed over the other, and one elbow propped up on the arm, a loose fist covering his mouth. Draco’s eyes keep drifting over to him.

“Draco?”

“Oh, sorry, pardon?”

Meghan looks amused, “Which one do you want to start with?”

“The poem, please, I want to save the other one until… for a special occasion.”

“Your birthday isn’t special enough?”

Draco shoots a glance at Potter – so he does know – who looks away and around in feigned nonchalance.

“It may be too much for one sitting, but let’s get started and see how it goes. Harrison is a trooper, not sure what magic trick he pulls but I get tired before he’s had enough.”

Draco looks at Potter and he shakes his head. She has said it as a turn of phrase only.

“Where are we putting it? My suggestion would be your bicep, I think the design would fit there nicely. But it’s your body.”

“Oh, can I see what it might look like?”

“Sure, I can put the stencil on, and you can check in the mirror.”

Draco suddenly feels awkward that it means taking his shirt off, but Meghan rescues him saying there is a screen and some disposable vests behind it, he can pop one on. It is sleeveless and it dawns on him as well that it means exposing the mark. It’s not as if Potter hasn’t seen one, just not his and Draco suddenly feels anxious that it might trigger him.

He comes back out around the screen and cannot help rubbing his arm, but Potter looks at only his face and does not once drop his eyes to the offending spot. Meghan doesn’t remark on it at all, perhaps Potter mentioned it was a sore spot for him, or surely she would have.

Draco stopped revering the Boy-Who-Lived when he refused his hand on the train, but all the things he’s learned about him in the past few months has him discovering a new admiration for the man. He’s been through more than most people could bear, could understand even. And yet here he sits, in a room with his school rival giving Draco respect, seemingly without reservations that he surely should hold deep within from a childhood spent in thrall of the wizard that gave Draco this mark. Always giving, more than he should. It is humbling.

 

Meghan takes a step back to check the placement, then invites Draco to look in the mirror. He twists his arm to-and-fro, seeing how it follows the curves of his toned bicep, carefully considering that this will be on his body forever. Unlike the other blight on his arm, this time he has a choice.

“Perfect.”

Meghan grins, “Great, in the chair with that lovely bum of yours.” She leers at said bum when he turns around to go over to the chair – Draco half catches her doing it before she throws a look to Potter. His response is to put the tip of his forefinger in his mouth and – oh, that is… some kind of torment – Draco licks his lips and swallows.

 

“I’m going to start with a small line so you can see how you feel.”

Draco has no idea what to expect and the loudness of the tattoo gun buzzing startles him. Having imagined intense pain, Draco is relieved to find it’s more of a scratching prickle.

“You, ok?”

“Yes, I was expecting worse.”

“It will build the longer I work so speak up if you need a break. Speak up before you feel the need to squirm because you must keep still. Harrison, would you…?”

“Yup.”

He’s gone and back in a minute, holding two glasses of cold water. He sets one down on the counter behind Meghan and the other alongside Draco and gives him a smile before resuming his seat. Draco nods in thanks.

“Alright, here we go.”

 

The buzzing and scratching go on a while and she is not wrong, it does start to become uncomfortable, so he asks her to stop for a break. She gets up and stretches, finishing her water and going to get more.

After about five minutes, she asks if he’s ready to go again. “Sometimes it helps to squeeze someone’s hand,” she says only barely managing a poker face.

“If you like… I mean… need to, I have two going spare,” he offers giving a jazz-hand wave unnecessarily.

“Um…,” Draco waivers.

Potter seems to decide for him and shifts his chair closer to Draco. He lays his arm down, palm up, leaving Draco to reach for it, if he wants to. After another moment of hesitation, he slides his hand into Potter’s who closes his fingers with a slight squeeze and a thrum of magic pulses through the contact. Draco can feel it travel up his arm, across his chest and down his other arm.

Draco looked down at their hands when they clasped but now up at the mesmerising gaze trained on him at the wave of magic. He did it on purpose, Draco understanding the minute Meghan starts up again that he has numbed the sensation slightly because he barely feels the scratching anymore. Now he knows why Potter is such a ‘trooper’. Draco’s eyes flare wide as that becomes clear, and Potter ducks his head with half a smile.

 

Meghan may have decided to also distract Draco because she says, “Harrison always has such unique ideas. I’m sure you’ve seen the little, winged ball on his shoulder. And that skeletal winged horse thing. No idea how he came up with them. He is very specific about the details.” The last part is punctuated by a pointed look at Potter.

Draco has been watching her working and swings his head to Potter at that. No, he has not seen this Snitch. Potter smiles at her and shrugs before shooting a smirk and a wink at him. As if that is not enough, he squeezes Draco’s hand minutely again and another barely-there wisp of magic tingles up his arm. It does not travel further this time, but Draco feels a responding tendril of his own blooming at his core. He does not quite know how to send it to Potter in the same way, but he must have seen something in Draco’s eyes because, with a fleeting crease between in his own, Potter tilts his head.

 

With the numbing charm easing the discomfort – and definitely not because Potter has not loosened his hold since the last time that he tightened his hand slightly – Draco relaxes and closes his eyes. The buzzing might have lulled him into a doze if it wasn’t for Potter brushing his thumb back and forth a few times every so often.

And then suddenly, Meghan is done and wiping his arm. Potter squeezes more tightly still for a moment before letting go. Draco curls his hand into a fist, as if it can keep the sensation of his touch within it.

He admires the finished work in the mirror and thanks Meghan sincerely. Potter pulls Meghan into a lingering hug and rocks her from to side to side, murmuring something Draco can’t hear. Then, with some after care instructions and an assurance that the payment has already been settled – sneaky bastard – Potter and Draco step into the slightly chilly night air.

As they walk along, Draco says, “Thank you, Potter. Next time you come maybe I can offer to squeeze your hand.”

“Um… see the thing is… well, you sort of …can’t.” Potter stops and scrubs the back of his neck with a hand, in seeming distress. Draco stops a little ahead of him.

Draco seethes, the hot and cold is confusing, “Oh, sorry. Of course, I didn’t mean to be presumptuous–”

Potter takes a few steps right up to Draco, who is looking anywhere but at him.

“No, Draco, it’s… it’s the reason I wore sleeves. Somehow… it shouldn’t be possible, but somehow your magic… you, um….” Draco is still averting his eyes at Potter’s stammering excuse. Potter stops and huffs a deep breath, before he continues, “The night of Teddy’s birthday, when you t…touched me, I felt something I’ve never felt before. Actually, I had felt it at the fundraiser too, but I thought it was my imagination then.”

Oh? Draco’s eyes flit to Potter’s and he has to tear them away again from the sincerity in the intense regard.

Potter takes a step closer, “Draco,” – only this second usage of his name registers with him and his already thumping hearts stutters like Potter’s words – “they’re Muggle tattoos, they shouldn’t… move.”

Draco looks up at Potter, searching for more of an explanation. He puts his hand on Draco’s arm, the one without the fresh tattoo.

Potter speaks more quietly now, “When you… put your hand on my… uh, shoulder, the Snitch… it sort of… fluttered.” He squeezes Draco’s arm and begins to run his hand down to his elbow, “I thought for a moment, it couldn’t be, that I was… imagining it, as I said, because… because it felt… so good, your touch, but then….” Potter’s hand continues down Draco’s arm, taking hold of his wrist loosely but with the tips of his fingers pressed into Draco’s pulse, which is currently betraying him. “But then, the leaves, they also like… what’s the word?” Potter turns his head this way and that, casting about for how to explain the impossible. “I guess, wafted… you know like as if on a breeze. I saw them move. I was stunned, obviously. Then, before I could… well, you got upset and I thought you had second thoughts or…,” he shrugs, “clearly, you wanted to be anywhere but there. And stupidly, I let you go. Then I felt sort of hurt, I guess. I thought we had… then you practically fled. It crossed my mind to cancel my trip – I’ve never done that at this time of year, but I wanted to, so maybe we could… but then I got angry. I told you things that, like, only Hermione and Luna know, and you just left.” Potter spreads his hands in a gesture of futility.

“Then why, if are angry with me, did you do all this?” Draco whispers, still not able to look at Potter for shame at his behaviour longer than a few seconds at a time. He assumed the worst of him, and he hadn’t deserved it, all because Draco was insecure.

“You were in my thoughts, like… constantly and it was so distracting, annoying really,” he huffs a laugh at this, “I couldn’t do my job.” – job? The travelling is not just for the sake of it? – “So, I spoke to Luna, since knows you better. To just, like, see if you… if I was wrong about everything. I told her about the tattoos, and she said she hadn’t heard of such a thing but that with powerful magic, like yours and mine,” – Luna had that thought their magic comparable? And Potter seemed to not think this comparison unlikely? – “who knows what it could do when… when… uh, mingled.” At this he threads his fingers together holding them at chest height between them. “I don’t know if I’m explaining it well.”

Draco looks at Potter’s hands, trying to wrap his head around all of this.

Minutes go by and Draco says nothing. Then Potter turns sharply and begins walking away. Draco thinks maybe he’s given up waiting for a reply. Potter is already several steps ahead when Draco begins to follow.

Then he stops abruptly. Draco doing the same, unsure if maybe Potter doesn’t want him to follow and is going to tell him to leave him alone. And he thinks his behaviour that night in April has ruined yet another remarkable night with Potter.

He turns around sharply, arms swinging out at the force of it, before he clamps them down at his sides, hands in fists. Draco equates it with schoolboy Potter, and he is deflated that maybe they have regressed that far.

“I want to kiss you.”

Oh… “Oh.” Merlin, has he misinterpreted the situation… again.

“Only not here on some… some random street. It’s… it’s not–”

“Potter, shut it.”

“What?” Potter’s expression runs through surprise, confusion, anger, and lands on dejection.

Draco closes the distance between them with a few long strides, “Shush, and just kiss me, you berk.”

Potter cups Draco’s cheek and with incredible, and excruciating, tenderness, as though Draco or the moment might fracture with any more pressure. He just barely touches their lips together.

Draco looks into Potter’s eyes, “Is that…? Even in this you are–”

“Infuriating,” Potter whispers, eyes staring unblinking into his.

Draco shakes his head, “Yes, so, so infuriating.”

“Can we…?”

“My place?”

Potter looks around them to make sure there are no Muggles, then takes Draco’s arm to disapparate with him side-along. The moment before they go, Potter’s lips collide with his.

Chapter 9

They arrive in Draco’s living room, and he wrenches free from the kiss, “Potter, you complete fucking nutter.” He is slightly dizzy and not a little anxious, mentally surveying himself for any signs of side effects. “You could have splinched us.”

“Are you all in one piece?” Potter’s eyes are twinkling in amusement.

“Yes, I’m pretty certain, but not the point,” Draco crosses his arms.

Potter pats himself here and there, “I’m all in one piece.”

“Ass,” says Draco, shaking his head.

He pats his bum, “Yup, accounted for. You could check for yourself if you like.”

Potter has stalked towards him, and it makes Draco feel desired. “May I?” Potter asks, barely a whisper right up against his ear, the question at odds with the stalking.

Draco nods. And this time the kiss is deep and deliberate. Draco is intrigued. The stammering is all gone and the alluring confidence is back. He is not complaining though, it’s just an observation.

Then they break apart far too soon. “Would you like something to drink, tea?” Draco is nothing if not an impeccable host, it is a well-known Malfoy trait, also he may be stalling.

“No,” said against his cheek, he is so close Draco feels Potter’s eyelashes brush against it. It is all he can do not to drop his head back and surrender.

“Uh, something stronger, perhaps?”

“No,” this one said against his mouth before Potter kisses him again. As he does, his hands slip around to Draco’s back, one arm angled down and the other up along his spine. Draco relishes the feeling of being in Potter’s arms. It doesn’t matter which version of the man is holding him right now; he finds he rather likes them all. Again, he wonders how many people have seen all of them, or he is just the lucky one?

When he breaks the kiss, Potter puts his forehead against Draco’s, “Um… I have a gift for you.”

“Another? All this tonight wasn’t enough?”

He steps back from Draco, hands lingering on his waist like he doesn’t want to let go but he does. He digs in a trouser pocket. Pulling out the gift, he engorges the flat rectangle to full size. It is simply wrapped in black and silver, striped paper.

“Happy birthday, Draco. It is still your birthday for about,” he consults his watch, “twenty minutes or so.”

 

Draco moves towards his Chesterfield couch, tugging Potter by the hand to sit alongside him. He sets the gift momentarily aside to take off his shoes so that he can tuck one foot under him on the seat. Not so shy this time of just, just resting his bent knee in the crook where Potter’s hip meets his thigh, even if he is hyper aware of his bold choice.

Then he picks up the present and opens what turns out to be a book. The spine is bound in book cloth, ‘CARROLL/JORISCH    JABBERWOCKY’ debossed into it in silver capitals. The rest of the jacket is illustrated with the close-up of a stylised beak and a claw and a wing, some sort of pterodactyl-dragonfly hybrid. It’s an exquisite edition. Inside is an unusual take on the poem. The strange words taken to describing an oppressed people and the Jabberwocky a dictator.

“I know the depiction is unusual. And it’s sort of the same gift twice, but you might have picked a different tattoo and I saw it in this quaint little bookshop in Oxford and it just like screamed ‘Draco’. So, yeah…,” Potter rushes through the explanation.

“It’s extraordinary. Thank you, Potter.” Draco looks at him to find him grinning, practically from ear-to-ear. Draco closes the book and runs a hand across the cover. He deliberately puts it down on the side-table on Potter’s end of the couch. His chest is noticeably rising and falling faster.

He climbs on Potter’s lap and puts his hands on either side of his neck, confirming that Potter’s pulse is also racing. Draco leans forward and kisses him, long and deep and just as considerately as Potter kissed him earlier.

He feels Potter’s hands glide up his thighs and grip his hips hard, urging Draco more tightly into him.

Draco resists, “So can I see this Snitch of yours?”

Potter smiles, shy all of a sudden, “I think I need a few less clothes for that.”

“I can help you divest yourself of them.”

Together they work on Potter’s waistcoat.

“Really, Potter, I do not think you could have made this any more difficult if you tried.”

He laughs, “I hardly expected to be in this position at the end of the night.”

“No?”

“No, I mean I hoped for a kiss, perhaps.”

“Merlin, how presumptuous of you.”

Harry chuckles.

Finally, they have it open and still there is his shirt, but Draco is too impatient and undoes just enough buttons to spread it open. Pushing the fabric aside by running his palms flat against Potter’s lean, taut chest.

Along Potter’s left clavicle, is a long, thin feather. When Draco brushes it with his fingertips, the barbs shift as though it were as real as it looks.

“Phoenix?” he knows by the shape and length, as it hasn’t been done in colour.

“Yes, my wand core.”

Draco nods as he repeats the test with his thumb in wonder of how this is possible. He turns his attention to Potter’s right collarbone, along which, balancing out the shape and length of the feather on the other side, is the wing of a Snitch. Just as Potter had intimated, it is flitting in the way they do.

Draco pushes the shirt off Potter’s right shoulder, he has to sit up so the shirt can be tugged free of his trousers to make room for the pull of the fabric so Draco tips back slightly to accommodate the movement. Despite being rendered in black and grey, the ball is so realistic, Draco feels like he could pluck it off Potter’s arm and it would escape. Carved into the centre is a symbol. Draco recognises it to be that of the Deathly Hallows and he wonders what it means to Potter who was Muggle-raised and may not have heard the story.

Except he recalls again Potter’s mention of the infamous Elder Wand, and he answers the puzzlement on Draco’s face by saying, “That is also a very long story.”

“Whenever is one of your life stories not long, Potter?”

He chuckles again at that, and his chest vibrates under Draco’s hand. “Really it is just one very, very long story, they’re all connected.”

He undoes the last two buttons on Potter’s shirt so that he can push the left-hand side off that shoulder as well. The tip of the feather’s calamus is touching the antler of a stag that appears to be carved roughly from stone. Tucked against one antler is the only colour tattoo Potter seems to have, a red and yellow flame lily.

“Your Patronus.”

“Yes, and my father’s Animagus form.”

“Merlin Potter, your father was an Animagus too?”

“Yes, he and Sirius were best friends. They learned to become Animagi to keep Remus company when he transformed.”

Draco shakes his head at this new information. Then he rubs a thumb over the lily, it opens a little wider at his touch, just as the stag shakes itself slightly, like it might be ticklish. “Your mother’s name was Lily, wasn’t it?” he asks quietly.

“Yes.”

Draco looks at Potter, “The depths of you are–”

“Infuriating?”

“Ha! No, unfathomable.” Draco looks triumphant at having bested Potter of this infuriating habit, and there the word was back, but he does not need to know that Draco thought it.

Potter keeps his eyes on Draco’s as he sits up to both kiss him and take his shirt off the rest of the way. He feels Potter’s… interest press against his own, and Draco pushes him against the backrest tipping forward so as not to break the now fervent kiss.

Potter puts his hands on Draco’s chest and pushes him away slightly, to give him space to undo Draco’s shirt buttons and tug it off. As Potter runs his hands up Draco’s naked back, he arches away from the ticklish feeling, only to push back into it, effectively rolling his hips against Potter’s lap, who groans in response.

Clumsily, as is the way of these things, they shed their remaining clothes. Draco almost pinches himself because he can hardly believe where he is in this moment.

 

Later, in the early hours of the morning Draco is being spooned by Potter at his back as they’re half-dozing. He has one ankle hooked behind the calf of Potter’s lower leg, which is stretched out straight, while both of their topmost legs are slotted together at an angle. He’s exceptionally conformable considering they’re still on the couch.

Suddenly, Draco jerks fully awake, “Shit!”

Potter groans faintly at being disturbed and says sleepily into his shoulder, “What?”

“Pansy is going to fucking murder me. She threw me a birthday party last night and I entirely forgot about it. I didn’t even tell her that I had made other plans. It’s all your fault.”

Potter lifts his chin so he can speak more clearly, “How is it my fault your tightly held etiquette failed you yesterday?”

Draco lightly jabs Potter in ribs with an elbow, “Because you challenged me into, what was really a date, with those cryptic owls, then proceeded to charm me into getting a tattoo before seducing me rather successfully, clearly.” At the last, Draco wiggles his hips, Potter responds by pushing his forward.

“Merlin, how cunning of me.”

“Quite.”

Potter chuckles.

“She has creative ideas in this department. You will only have yourself to blame if I am found dismembered or something even more viscerally upsetting.”

“Sounds like I should make the most of having you alive and well, here now then,” Potter says between kisses along his bare shoulder.

“Mmm, you best do.”

 

---

Far too few hours later, Draco is awoken by both the tantalising aroma of warm apples and an inconsiderate tapping.

“Argh, that will be Pansy’s owl no doubt,” he mumbles to himself.

He realises the absence of Potter on the couch must mean he’s responsible for the delicious smell.

 

Wrapping a blanket that he finds thrown over him across his body, covering one hip and the opposite shoulder, he shuffles into the kitchen. Ignoring a Potter, dressed only in his trousers, Draco opens the kitchen window to allow a beleaguered owl through.

“Uh, I was just about to wipe my hands to open it,” Potter says apologetically.

Draco gives the owl, Nike, an extra treat for keeping her waiting – he isn’t one to shoot the messenger, because before him lies not a letter but a howler.

“Oops,” Potter states without an ounce of remorse.

Two seconds later, Pansy’s voice shrieks at him: “What the actual fuck? I throw you a lavish birthday party and my thanks is a gaping Draco-shaped hole. Just so you know, we had tremendous fun without you, and I hope you are dead, dying or graaavely injured, as these are the only excuses I would consider accepting for your absence. By the way, apparently Potter is back in town, thought you might like to know since he’s all you ever–”

Draco snatches the howler and crumples it to his chest muffling the rest of Pansy’s sentence.

Potter turns to him, spatula in hand, and raises an eyebrow. Sans frames and loose hair tangled where he slept on it and pushed behind an ear on one side, he looks more delicious even than the large American-style pancakes stacked alongside the stove, which appear to be the source of the apple smell.

“Since I’m all you ever… whaaat?”

“Shut up. Your fault, remember?”

Potter snickers and turns back to flipping a pancake.

“She is going to follow that up with a visit today to find out if I am dead, dying or gravely injured.”

“Is that your not-so-subtle way of chasing me out?”

“Well, ob-vioussly after you’re done making these.”

Potter tips sideways to give him a light kiss on the lips which makes Draco turn his head away with a small smile.

“I’m going to put something on.”

 

When Draco returns, he finds Potter fully dressed his shirtsleeves rolled up. He is stirring the contents of a saucepan. Draco could smell the cinnamon from his bedroom.

“How did you know I love apples and cinnamon?”

“I didn’t really, I just made use of what I could find.”

“I had the ingredients for pancakes?”

“Not going to lie, I was also surprised,” he winks and puts the stack of pancakes on Draco’s breakfast nook where he has already laid out plates and cutlery. Draco has no retort; he rather likes being winked at.

“Sit.”

Potter brings over a jug with decanted reduced, melted sugar and cinnamon-infused milk and sits as well.

“Is that my hoodie?”

Draco helps himself to pancakes, “I am sure I have no idea what you are talking about.” He sees Potter smiling from the corner of his eye. Having liberally poured the sauce over them, Draco takes a bite followed by an indecent sound, “Merlin, Potter. Where did you learn to cook?”

Grinning at his reaction, Potter says, “Taught myself mostly. I sort of decided to reclaim cooking to make it something I enjoy doing.”

“Teddy said previously that you have been cooking since you were, I quote, ‘really little’, and you said something like at least now you get to eat what you cook. What did you mean?”

“Well, my aunt showed me some bland basics, starting from about when I was, … I dunno, five, six. Once I got tall enough to reach things anyway. I hardly ever ate with them and only often got the leftovers. But my cousin was… indulged, would be the politest way to put it, so there wasn’t always food left.”

Draco looks incredulous, “I’m sorry, you say that like it is not a huge fucking deal that you cooked for people ungrateful enough to let you go hungry.”

“I know now that it wasn’t… right but at the time it… it was just how things were. It was drilled into me to be… grateful for what I did get because they’d taken me in when… when my parents…. It’s in the past. I can’t change it. The worst part is they told me my parents died in a… in a car crash and I hadn’t known I could do magic… until Hagrid delivered my Hogwarts letter.”

“Why would they do that?”

“Professor McGonagall always referred to them as the ‘worst sort of Muggles’. They aspired to be… um, completely ordinary in every way so here I am this… freak who made inexplicable things happen. And they… hated me for it.”

“Excuse me, a freak?”

“Yes, more often than not they called me…b… boy and when it came to any of the more… uh, odd occurrences, then freak. They’d lock me in my… my, uh, cupboard when company came over to ensure I didn’t do anything to… embarrass them.”

Draco wonders if this was why Potter carefully adjusted his persona to fit into different circles. It makes sense if it was drilled into him that there was something wrong with who he is from so young. But what really stuck with him are the words ‘my cupboard’ and the fact that Professor McGonagall seemed to know they were not good people. He has to ask, well a lot of things...

“Why not just ask you to stay in your room, surely locking you in your cupboard was taking things a bit far?”

“No, the… uh, cupboard under the stairs was my erm… room, so to speak.”

Draco cannot fathom such a thing. That any child, let alone the famed Harry Potter, could be forced to sleep in a cupboard.

“And Professor McGonagall was aware of their treatment of you?”

He shrugs “I’m not sure. My letter was addressed to the ‘Cupboard Under the Stairs’, but they are… magical, she doesn’t exactly write them out by hand. Maybe eventually she did know, as Head of House, you’d think she’d… have to know. Professor Dumbl– uh…”

“You can say his name Potter.”

“Uh, well he knew, he left me there... that night. I asked him if I could stay at Hogwarts after… after first year, but he said I couldn’t due to some… some ancient blood magic spell my mother had cast before she died. I never fully understood it because… surely their, what… what I now know to be, …a… abuse would negate the efficacy? Later the Order knew, some of them… threatened my aunt and uncle into treating me… ‘better’ which,” he sighs deeply, “mainly caused them to… to leave me alone, like to the point of ignoring me… as much as possible, which was actually preferable really.”

“How did they explain your accidental magic to you?”

“They didn’t. But then how do you explain… apparating onto the school roof to get… get away from my cousin who was… uh, bullying me at the time with his… crony-friends.”

“Potter, do you mean to tell me that your accidental magic was apparition? That is not… summoning toys or maybe changing your hair colour is normal accidental magic for children. I have never heard of that happening.”

“Oh, I did once make my hair grow back after my aunt cut it off. And I set a snake free at the zoo by vanishing the glass on its enclosure.” He laughs, “It even thanked me. I didn’t know then that I’m… a, uh, Parselmouth.”

Draco had forgotten Potter has this ability. It makes him shiver for remembering how he used to speak to Nagini.

“No wonder you said it is possible to apparate without a wand.”

“Yeah, cos I’ve done it. Although not on purpose the first time. It worked yesterday, but maybe it was enough that you have one.”

“You mean you weren’t sure you could yesterday, while you were attached to me, by the lips?”

“It crossed my mind that it might be problematic,” folding his own lips inwards to stop the smile that was creeping onto them.

Draco shakes his head slowly. He cannot even curse in French which is his go-to when he is particularly annoyed.

“Infuriating, aren’t I?” As he says it, he rakes his nails lightly down Draco’s thigh, and he loses his train of thought entirely, knowing how Potter had discovered that he liked that particular sensation just there. Draco must put effort into not to making any noise that would both reward Potter and spur him on. He thinks a deep breath might help so long as it doesn’t shudder. He manages it, just.

“So, explain again, because I do not fully understand why you never got another wand.”

“Well again, long story, but Hermione has this… theory that the part of Tom’s soul that had been latched onto my… onto my magical core was, I guess… strangling it… in a way, leaching off it to stay alive. For some reason, the only thing I was… really capable at was Defence. She thinks that had something to with my… my mother’s protection sp… spell.”

“Okaaay. The long part covers how his fucking soul got into you in the first place?”

He laughs, “It does.”

“But that does not explain not replac–”

“Yoo hoo!”

“Merde! Cette vache insolent qui fouine.”

Potter snorts at this.

“I didn’t hear the floo. Thank Merlin you’re dressed. Curse you Potter and your endless stories,” Draco whispers.

“You’re the one who keeps asking questions.”

Draco glares at him.

“Draaay-coh?”

“Oh, sweet mercy, I think she is only calling, or she would have been in here by now.”

“I’ll go anyway.”

“Um… hang on a sec.”

Draco hurries to his study, and from the door where she cannot see him, “Hey Pans, would you give me ten minutes. I just got out of the shower; I have to get dressed.”

“I’ll come over so long then.”

“Give me some privacy woman.”

“Bleurgh! You have exactly five minutes.”

Draco speeds back to the kitchen, “She’s coming over in five minutes.”

“Good, that gives me four minutes and thirty seconds to say goodbye properly.”

“Probably less now.”

“Okay, less talking, more kissing,” Potter has sidled up to Draco meanwhile. He drapes his arms around Draco’s torso, before kissing him in that tender way of which he is quickly becoming fond.

Yum, his mouth–“You’ve spoilt me for kisses that don’t taste of apple and cinnamon now.”

“I’ll just have to make these more often then.”

“That is what I was implying.” While kisses were feathered up his jaw, “Argh! You have to go.”

“Mhm. You have to remove your arms for me to do that.”

“Gah,” but still he doesn’t release Potter yet.

“Time’s uu-up!”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Draco whines. “I’ll head her off. You go.”

Potter pecks his cheek one more time.

“Go, go, go,” Draco urges in a whisper, turning towards the door.

 

Before Potter can go, Pansy comes through it.

“There you are you twat. So, what the fuck happened last night?”

Draco is trying not to let confusion show on his face at Pansy not having commented on the fact that Potter is in his kitchen so early in the morning. But then it dawns on him, Potter is excellent at the Notice-me-not charm and he internally gives a sigh of relief.

He has not thought up an excuse – bloody Potter and his bloody mouth distracting him… in more ways than one – sorry Bastien, Draco mentally apologises for having to use him as the excuse, “I went to St Petersburg.”

“St fucking Petersburg?”

“Yes, Mother took me to see Bastien. He is dancing the main role in Swan Lake. We had spoken about it, she and I, and she surprised me.”

“And you couldn’t have owled?”

“I wanted to but it she sprang it on me practically last minute, and then I was… erm, excited to go.”

Draco hears a motorcycle start up and rev. Potter has gotten out. Draco suddenly realises his kitchen has evidence of two people having eaten breakfast.

“Do you want some tea?” He turns as he asks with an eye towards the nook to see that the dishes have been tidied away into the sink. And here he is cursing bloody Potter who clearly had the forethought to tidy up when Draco went to stall Pansy at the firecall.

“Of course. So how was it?”

His mind on Potter – again… or still – Draco momentarily forgets what they were talking about, “How was what?”

“The ballet, Draco, Merlin. Ohhh.”

“Um, oh what?”

“Did you hook up with Bastien last night? Hmm?”

“What? No. No. Of course not.”

“That is the sound of protesting too much.”

“He would have been much too tired after dancing, Pansy. It is his full-time job, and they are in the middle of a run.”

“Oh, how disappointing, I was hoping for some salay-ciouss details, my dearest Draco darling.” He is back to darling, so it means he’s off the hook, for last night anyway, which is good.

“I’m exhausted,” Pansy makes a show of flouncing over to the chair and dropping into it. And now the subject has moved onto Pansy, which is very good.

“Sounds like I really missed out.”

“You really did. Afterwards we went to a club and danced until two in the morning. Thank goodness for the Hangover Potion.”

Draco’s thoughts quickly turn to what he was doing at two in the morning. And then Draco is picturing Potter, sweat sticking his hair to his neck, and his shirt to his back, writhing to a deep bass at a club... and he fusses with the tea longer than necessary to think about cold, cold showers to take the flush from his cheeks.

Draco joins Pansy at the table still slightly distracted.

When Pansy notices his attention is not on her, she says loudly, “Granger has put in a request for a fundraiser for her department.”

“Oh yes, I was expecting that, she mentioned previously.”

“Well, I had the idea that we make it a masquerade ball. Everyone loves those and it’s been ages since we’ve done one.”

“Not entirely a bad idea, actually.”

“Oh, thank you very much.”

Draco rolls his eyes, “We’ll have to run it by Granger first. But soon, because people need time to find costumes, so we must get the date into the calendar.”

“Do you want to do that, or shall I?”

“No, I will.”

“Then I was thinking, I am really sick to death of the Ministry function hall. So, I want to have it elsewhere.”

“Pansy, we have it there because it’s convenient.”

“Convenience is hardly a word one should associate with a masked ball. I did have an amaaazing idea.”

“Oh Morgana, what is this amaaazing idea then?”

“Hear me out before you say no. We should have it at Hogwart’s–”

“Absofuckinglutely not, Pansy.”

“You didn’t hear me out. And why?”

Draco’s thoughts had gone straight to Potter and how he is afraid of going to the school. He is certain that Potter would want to attend since it will be in aid of the Department for Magical Beings, and Draco does not want him to have to cope with that trauma when he’s not ready. But he cannot tell Pansy this.

“Oh, I can think of a number of reasons.”

“Liiike?”

“’Liiike’, to start…,” he says, thinking quickly, “we have the problem of how people will arrive. They cannot apparate into Hogwarts. Floo is not really an option, because unlike the Ministry, the Hogwarts fireplaces are spread out, they do not have a bank of them near each other, or near the Great Hall even. We can hardly have people using the one in the Great Hall. Besides which, I cannot see Professor McGonagall agreeing to allowing the network to have the open ingress line that is required for guests to arrive from all over.”

“Oh, I hadn’t thought about that,” Pansy looks thoughtful. She sucks in a breath between her teeth, “Ooooh, we could ask for the horseless carriages to take them up from the gate, it would be a nostalgic treat for everyone, and it could be so romaaantic which works with the masquerade.”

“Pansy, first of all they are not horseless, they are in fact pulled by Thestrals.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Not many children do, being as you cannot see them unless you have… witnessed death. So can you see how that would be a problem for a good deal of the people attending?”

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh. Most people are frightened by them. It doesn’t matter that they’re placid creatures, they still look scary.”

“You’ve seen them?” Pansy says without thinking.

Draco just levels an exasperated stare at Pansy in reply.

“Oh, right, of course, with the thing of hosting of the… I’ll shut up now.”

“So, you see how it is not an amazing idea after all?”

“Ugh! Well, it was an amazing idea, just not a practical one,” Pansy refuses to concede.

“Let us keep thinking, shall we?”

 

Their talk meanders through gossip from and about attendees at not-Draco’s birthday party to that of a restaurant having opened in Diagon Alley that they are keen on trying. It’s interrupted by another owl tapping at the window, he recognises this one belongs to Aunt Andromeda.

Draco’s tummy swoops seeing the handwriting as he unfurls the parchment. He keeps his face turned away from Pansy to hide a very stupid grin.

What are you doing tonight?

 – Potter

 

“Give me a minute, Pans, I need to answer this.”

“Mhm.”

 

I’ve a few offers but haven’t decided.

DM

 

Draco can hear Potter’s laugh ringing in his head and smiles at the thought of producing it with his reply.

“Who was that?”

“That is my aunt’s owl. Um… she needs me to get a few things for her, for Teddy. So, I should change and get going.”

“Oh, alright then.” Only now noticing his attire, “Since when do you wear hoodies?” He ignores the question. Putting a hand on his tattooed arm and squeezing it, Draco tries not to wince as she air-kisses, mwah, mwah, both his cheeks.

“Out, woman. And we’ll talk more about Granger’s fundraiser tomorrow.”

“Toodles,” she sings.

 

Draco can barely keep still while he waits for the owl to return.

So, since you haven’t been brutally dismembered, would you like to accompany me to the Saatchi Gallery?

He hadn’t expected that, he replies:

Art? Hardly your sort of thing, Potter…

But I’d love to.

Draco is already in front of his wardrobe, contemplating what to wear. At least this time he knows where they are going. He lays a pair of grey slacks in which he knows his bum looks good – oh face it, his bum looks good in most anything – along with a teal shirt, dark grey belt, and matching loafers onto his valet stand. He almost adds a waistcoat but then remembers having to waste time undoing Potter’s – bedamned double-breasted – one last night and foregoes it.

He races through to the kitchen when the owl taps again.

Rude.

4pm. I’ll pick you up.

PS: Andromeda may or may not know you spent your birthday with me and that we are going out tonight again X

 

Draco hits his forehead with the hand holding the letter – which means mother may or may not know as well. It seems he’ll be heading to the Manor directly then to try to ensure that she hears it from him. He looks at the clock on his kitchen wall. He is definitely not going to get to his paperwork today, but he resolves to make up for it tomorrow.

He sends his own owl with a scribbled note to his mother asking if he can pop in for a quick chat. She replies saying she’s home now but is expected for tea at Andromeda’s later this afternoon.

Oh, thank Merlin! Clearly his aunt thought this gossip is best dished in person. He quickly changes out of Potter’s hoodie and floos to the Manor.

 

---

Draco heads to the solarium, being the most likely place to find his mother.

“Mon Étoile, comme c’est inattendu.”

“Bonjour Maman. Yes, I have some… news.” Draco leans over to kiss his mother’s cheeks where she is sitting.

“About the adoption?” she asks, eyes alight.

“No, not yet. It’s something else.” He begins pacing. She looks alarmed and puts down her embroidery.

“It’s about Potter… and… well, me,” Draco is struggling to keep his face smooth; it wants to mimic the Cheshire Cat.

“Oh?”

He stops pacing to say, “Yes, he surprised me yesterday, took me out to eat and… we got on, uh… really well. He is taking me out again this afternoon.”

“Draco dear, do you mean what I think you mean?”

Draco resumes his pacing, “Um… I think so? I mean, yes. I suppose it’s too new to call it anything really, but I think… …yes.” At the last he stops again, biting his bottom lip anxiously.

“C’est un bonne nouvelle,” she says sincerely.

“Oui,” he allows the lurking smile to lift the corners of his mouth.

“Je suis si heureuse pour toi,” she stands and comes over to hug him.

Draco laughs lightly, “Merci bien, Maman.”

“So, it seems I have news for Andromeda, if you’ll permit me to tell her. Or is it too soon?”

“Apparently, Potter, qui est un cerveau d’oiseau, has let it slip to her already.”

His Mother pouts, “Ah, so this is why she has invited me to tea.”

“Almost certainly.”

“I am glad you came to tell me, at least she shan’t be taking me by surprise.”

“Which is exactly why I came round.”

“Oh, mon Étoile, this has been a long time coming. Where are you going?”

“The Saatchi, if you can believe that?”

“L’homme est plein de surprises?”

“You have no idea,” he says more to himself than her. He ignores his mother’s raised eyebrow at this. “I must go.”

“I look forward to discussing shared opinions with Andromeda later,” she smirks.

“Mmm, very funny. Bye Mother.” She kisses him in farewell. “And, by the way, should Pansy ask, you and I went to the ballet in St Petersburg, your gift to me.” He leaves before he sees his mother’s reaction; he feels bad enough already using Bastien as his excuse, he need not see her disapproving expression on top.

On the way out, Draco passes by Severus’ portrait which is sporting pursed lips and a twitching temple vein. Draco just gives into the feline-like grin.

 

---

The Triumph Bonneville once again announces Potter. Draco is standing in front the door before he even knocks but counts to ten then opens it – it will not do to appear too eager now. Which is suddenly hard to do at the sight that greets him.

Potter, in some amalgamation of all his persona’s, grey frames from the fundraiser, the piercing, that Draco demonstrated an appreciation for last night by repeatedly kissing him above his eyebrow at this particular spot, and hair half done up, leans forward and kisses Draco languidly as soon as the door opens.

“Mmm, I love being able to do that.”

“I’ll say.”

He’s wearing black trousers, a white shirt, a Burberry trench coat, and a blue tie.

“Potter, are you aware your tie is…?” Draco makes a gesture indicated ‘flipped around’.

“Ah yes, Teddy helped me put it on and I didn’t want to tell him, so I left it.” He grins, “Ready?”

Draco answers by stepping outside and locking the door, “How might we be reaching our destination today?”

“Tube.”

Draco stops, “Really?”

Potter reaches for his hand and tugs him as he walks backward, “Yes, really, unless…?” He jerks a thumb at the motorcycle.

“Tube it is.”

Potter laughs with his head thrown back at this.

 

They walk to the Knightsbridge Tube Station where Potter shows Draco how to use an Oyster Card to get through the turnstile. Hand-in-hand they board the Central Line and stand near the door as there are no seats available.

Alighting about 15 minutes later, they exit the station. The gallery is only a minute’s walk.

The exhibition, called The Triumph of Painting, is advertised along the pathway.

“When did you become interested in art, Potter, or are you just trying to impress me?”

“Is it working?” he flashes a smile, eyes bright. “Timothée, you remember, Luke’s boyfriend,” – Draco hums an affirmative, not at being impressed, mind, but at remembering who Timothée is, obviously – “he is an artist, actually. So, he took us to some exhibitions, and I found I enjoyed them. Some Modern Art goes over my head. I prefer Impressionism. This exhibition has mostly Figurative art, which I also like a lot.”

Okay, fine, Draco is impressed.

“Degas is my favourite artist,” Draco says. “I’d love to see some of his paintings.”

“I have, and Little Dancer, at the Metropolitan Museum in New York. I probably stood in that room for close to an hour. Have you seen Banksy’s interpretation, Ballerina with Action Man Parts?”

“Cannot say I have heard of… Banksy at all.”

“Oh, he’s… divisive, best known for graffiti. Luna and I went to see it, a couple months ago, in Bristol.”

 

Draco’s jaw drops open. Infuriatingly unfathomable. He makes sure to close his mouth before Potter sees it and resolves to find out more about this Banksy.

Potter pays the admission fee before Draco can even reach for his wallet, and they wander around the gallery. They speak in hushed voices, Potter clearly struggling to do so when he becomes more fervent with telling Draco about something he enjoys.

Draco, for his part, is finding himself smitten, although no one shall ever know quite how much.

After about an hour, they head to a nearby restaurant. Amongst other things, Potter asks Draco if he and Elio might like to come with himself and Teddy to the zoo at the weekend. Draco says he must clear it with Vikareus Home but that he’ll do so tomorrow and let Potter know.

 

As they are walking back to the Tube station, Potter tells him, “Erised is performing on Thursday. The scheduled band cancelled so Amanda called to find out if I was in town and asked us to fill-in. The guys are available, so we said yes. I was hoping you might come. I’ll introduce you to everyone.”

“Who is everyone?”

“The band, Amanda.”

“You would want to do that?”

“Yes, I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t.” Suddenly serious, Potter continues, “Draco, I’m sure you know that no matter how much I want to tell the whole world, I really don’t want to be in the Wizarding tabloids. But in the Muggle world I can be with you how I’d like to. So, can we start there, anyway?”

The whole world. Draco feels a warmth travel up and down his body giving rise to goosebumps.

“I’d love to come see you on Thursday.” Potter’s smile alone was worth agreeing.

“I’ll let you pick the last song.”

“Potter, I am hardly standing on the edge of the stage all night.”

“Mmm,” is his reply, as he drags Draco into a kiss. As it heats up, Potter pulls away with reluctance, “Um, I think you better do the honours this time.”

Slightly out of breath Draco agrees, “Yes, best.”

Potter nods and kisses him again. Draco puts a hand on his chest and pushes him about half a foot away. “Only don’t… uh, mmm,” Potter didn’t stay at this distance for long and he is kissing Draco’s neck, “I don’t want to be… splinched.”

“Mhm.”

“Okay. Stop, so we can go.” Potter does and affixes himself to Draco’s arm only this time and they disapparate to his apartment.

 

As soon as they arrive, Draco wraps his hands in the lapels of Potter’s trench coat tugging him firmly closer. Potter wraps his arms around Draco, overlapping them on his lower back. As the kiss deepens, he slides his arms further across, hands just curling around the back of Draco’s narrow hips pulling him tightly into his own.

Draco is finding it hard to breathe so he tips his head back to inhale deeply, only to have Potter put his mouth to the dip in Draco’s throat. His tongue darts out, licking that spot making Draco suck in another breath sharply. Draco tips his head forward again and Potter returns to kissing his mouth. He sinks his hands into Potter’s hair, who hums in approval.

Potter chases Draco step-for-step as he backs up until he bumps into the wall. Although Potter thoughtfully softens the impact with his arms, loosening them as he does. They drift around, broad hands skimming around the waistband of Draco’s jeans to clutch his hips tightly. He arches his shoulders into the wall to push his lower body into Potter, who practically growls at this in response. Draco likes that reaction the most so far. He pushes Potter’s jacket off his shoulders forcing him to briefly let go of Draco to shuck it off his arms.

Then they’re back, one hand sliding around to teasingly skate over the shape of Draco’s bum before dropping it to the back of his thigh, hitching it up against his own. Draco hooks his foot around Potter’s knee pulling him along sags flush against the wall. Potter bends his knees and pushes up onto his toes, lifting Draco higher against it. His shoulder bumps into the painting hanging there, knocking it askew. Potter stops kissing him.

”’S’okay, don’t stop,” Draco pulls him back by sliding hands along Potter’s jaw, before plunging them back into his hair, tugging lightly.

“Aah, Draco… um…”

“Bedroom?” Draco whispers.

“Yeah.” Potter reluctantly takes a step back, gently lowering Draco so he’s… standing would be a generous description as it feels as though his knees might give way any second. But Potter is still holding his hips, only less tightly, so he manages.

Draco takes one of his hands and leads him to the bedroom.

 

Some hours later, Draco wakes Potter by trailing his fingers up and down his arm. They fell asleep with Potter’s head on Draco’s shoulder. He can just see over the top of it, and he’s watching the Snitch that looks like it is hovering like they do between the Seekers before the pursuit begins.

“How many tattoos do you have altogether?”

“I dunno, wasn’t countimg,” Potter says still a bit groggy.

“Hmm.”

They lie in contentment a while longer before Potter rolls off Draco fully onto his side. Leaning on his elbow, “You know, I really enjoy rendering you monosyllabic. Where do all your big words go when you’re in my hands?”

“I’ll have you know, my extensive vocabulary does not abandon me, Potter, it merely yields, temporarily mind,” Draco raises one finger in front of Potter’s face, who moves to engulf the finger in his mouth. Draco is having a hard time recalling his train of thought. Valiantly ignoring the suggestive ministrations of his finger, Draco clears his throat, “Where was I?”

Potter releases his finger to provide, “Temporarily yielding,” before grabbing the tip of Draco’s finger between his teeth.

Draco stifles a sound at this and lifting his chin in a Malfoy-like manner, “Yes, temporarily yielding to the… uh, enthusiastic guidance as to my… prurience.”

“I see, very efficient then.”

“Exactly.”

Potter moves to stand and gets up, stretching. Draco asks a question that has been niggling him since he first saw this particular tattoo of the name ‘Francis’ in the shape of a fish on above the magpie.

“Who’s Francis? …Let me guess, long story,” Draco scrunches his nose, not sure he wants to know the answer.

“Not so long actually. It’s the name of the fish, not a person.”

Draco is quite relieved although the reply is ridiculous.

Potter heads to the ensuite. He stops at the door and half turns back, one hand on the doorframe, “Do you require a verbose invitation to participate in collaborative ablutions or will the simpler ‘are you coming’ do?” Potter winks and disappears through the door.

Draco is stunned for a whole minute – here he thought he liked eyes or hands, but he finds himself to be, most definitely, a word-man, especially when they were being said by this man with verdant eyes and dexterous hands.

Before he finishes the thought, he is climbing into the steaming shower, while Potter chuckles.

“You think you’re clever,” Draco says with a mock sneer. Potter smiles while he rests his hands on Draco’s hips and he, in turn, puts his hands on Potter’s chest, keeping him somewhat at bay.

“No, I think you are, you beautiful, clever man.”

“Oh, yes?” Draco clears his throat to release the tightness he suddenly feels in it, “go on.”

Potter smiles, “You’re generous, sexy, kind, sweet, funny…” a kiss punctuates each adjective, “did I say gorgeous man?”

“You said beautiful, but I’ll accept the amendment. I’ll deny all those things if you tell anyone. Except clever and gorgeous, obviously.”

“Haughty, jealous, aloof–”

“Rude. But not entirely untrue and more likely to be believed. Potter?”

“Mmm?”

“I love all the words but shut up and kiss me.” Draco snakes his arms around Potter’s neck who does similarly around Draco’s lower back – Merlin, he does love that – and things get a different kind of steamy.

Notes:

The version of the book Harry gives Draco is real and it is exquisite, published by Kids Can Press in a series called ‘Visions in Poetry’ and illustrated by Stéphane Jorisch.

Again, apologies for about what is likely very clumsy French.
Merde! Cette vache insolent qui fouine – Shit! That insolent, nosy cow (or more literally This insolent cow that snoops)
comme c’est inattendu – how unexpected
C’est un bonne nouvelle – This is good news
Je suis si heureuse pour toi – I am so happy for you
qui est un cerveau d’oiseau – who is a birdbrain
L’homme est plein de surprises – The man is full of surprises

There was a Supernatural nod in there, a foreshadowing in a way – hope you spotted it (“,)

Chapter 10

Saturday morning, Draco and Potter arrive at Grimmauld Place ahead of going to the zoo. They have decided to tell Teddy that they’re dating, since they don’t want to be secretive around him.

As Potter is about to make his way down the hall, Draco grabs his hand sharply.

“What?”

“The troll leg, you idiot.”

“Awww, thanks,” Potter teases.

Draco rolls his eyes, “I know what it’s like to stub a toe on that dam…”

“When was this?” Potter looks positively gleeful.

“Um…”

“Oh-ho, the night you stormed off,” Potter is trying, not to laugh. He fails.

“Stop laughing this instant,” Draco says, pouting.

Potter pulls Draco’s arms and wraps them about himself, doing the same in return. He presses his lips against Draco’s gently but firmly.

Draco turns his head away to make the accusation, “It is your fault the cursed thing cannot stay where it belongs.”

Potter continues kissing his jaw then his cheek, before replying, “And I suppose it’s also my fault you left your shoes in your rush to vacate my premises?” Potter kisses his other cheek, Draco obliges by turning his head, and then Potter finally lays a sweet kiss on his lips again.

“Apology accepted, Potter.”

Potter laughs again and tugs his hand, making a show of giving the umbrella stand a wide berth. At the top of the stairs, they face each other in a ‘here we go’ sort of way.

As they enter the informal lounge, Teddy is building a puzzle.

“Hey, Teddy.”

“Uncle Harry, Uncle Draco!” He leaps up and runs over to them, hugging them in turn.

“What are you building?”

“Come see,” he says pulling Potter by the hand.

“Cool,” says Potter as he reaches for a piece and tries it here and there before slotting it into a spot.

“Uncle Harry is good at puzzles.” Why is Draco not surprised?

“So, Ted, Sos, will you sit here for a second. We have something we want to tell you.” Potter pats the seat on the couch next to him. Draco sits in the armchair.

“Is it that you’re kissing now?”

Potter shoots a wide-eyed look at Draco, who reflects his concern.

“When did you…?

“Just now, I heard you laughing and saw you from the stairs.”

“Oh, I’m…”

“Does it mean you are each other’s most special friend?”

“That’s a good way to put it. Does that bother you?”

“No, I’m glad you won’t be so sad anymore ’cos you won’t be lonely.”

Out of the mouths of babes – Potter looks choked up suddenly at this astonishingly insightful comment from his godson. He pulls Teddy into a hug, kissing the top of his bright turquoise hair, looking over the top at Draco, his expression says, ‘don’t you love this kid?’ Draco nods.

He feels choked up too, not just at Teddy’s easy acceptance, but his apparent awareness of Potter’s lonesomeness, at which Draco had not even guessed.

 

The head-matron at Vikareus Home agreed to allow Draco to take Elio to the zoo. They decided he would collect the boy by floo via Grimmauld Place and then they’d meet at Potter’s apartment because the zoo is about a twenty-odd minutes’ walk from there. Draco let Elio say ‘floppity floop’ at which he giggled.

Before they leave, Draco uses Teddy’s words, as his cousin looks on quite smugly, that Potter is his ‘most special friend’.

“You’re the Seeker that Mister Draco beat at the Quidditch Clinic.”

“That’s right.”

“I still have the Snitch, it’s my very favourite thing.”

“You know, I also have a Snitch that is one of my very favourite things too. Want to see?”

Elio nods vigorously and Potter leads him the bell jar on his bookshelf. He taps the glass once and the Snitch spreads its wings, appears to shake itself and settle again. The miniature Horntail merely cracks one eye open and appears to huff in annoyance, a little smoke pluming from her nose. Elio is clearly delighted by the contents, judging from his excited, non-stop questions, and Draco is completely charmed by the little interaction. He has surmised that the Snitch is important to Potter but now, more than ever, he wants to know the story of why.

 

The boys were shy initially, as children are when they first meet, but by the time they reached the zoo, they seemed to be firm friends having raced and chased each other most of the way there. Potter had to call out more than once that they should not go too far ahead, while he ambled hand-in-hand with Draco.

Teddy was sporting dark hair, like Potter’s, after a serious-faced agreement to try his best not to change it in front of Muggles. The boys could have been brothers Draco observed as they crouched, head’s together, having found something interesting to look at on the ground.

 

At the zoo, they first go through the Reptile House. Potter entertains the boys by telling them what the Snakes are saying, mostly, apparently, annoyance at having their glass tapped on repeatedly while they’re trying to sleep, which makes Potter laugh for ages afterwards. And one, in particular, who recognises Potter from the visit when he was ten and thanked him for letting him ‘stretch his legs’ as it were until he got recaptured.

About half-way through, Elio is running a little ahead to see the Gorillas and trips. He sits up and turns around on the ground, one knee in his hands, bottom lip wobbling. Draco makes a pained sound and runs over to him. Teddy has backtracked from the Gorilla enclosure that he reached ahead of Elio and kneels beside him, awkwardly patting his shoulder. Potter is not far behind.

Elio begins to cry softly, tears sliding down his cheeks and breath coming in hiccoughs. Draco seems at a loss for what to do with his hands. They itch to draw his wand.

Instead, he draws the boy into a hug, “Shh, Elio, it’s ok. You’re ok.” To Potter, his face distraught, “I have him one day and I’m taking him back injured.” He hiccoughs his own stifled sob.

“Hey, Draco, it’s fine. I can help.”

Draco nods and reluctantly lets Elio go. Potter picks him up whispering soothing words into his ear. He leads them all to a nearby loo and sets Elio down on the counter. After wiping his knee and hands with a dampened handkerchief proffered by Draco, Potter puts a hand lightly over Elio’s graze, and with a furtive glance around, casts a surreptitious healing charm. Then does the same to both of his hands.

Elio looks on in wonder, “How did you do that?”

Potter waves his hands across each other in front of him and stage whispers, “Magic!” They all laugh. Draco mostly in relief, but to a lesser degree than the children, at Potter’s silly joke as well.

He looks at Potter gratefully and takes over to tie a loose shoelace on Elio’s sneaker. Wiping his tear-stained cheeks, he asks the boy if he is alright. A nod from Elio and another hug that they both needed, sees the little incident at an end.

 

As they leave the loos, Draco overhears Teddy ask Elio what his favourite colour is as the two of them walk closely together a little ahead.

“Orange.”

Draco wonders at the unusual choice and then his mind flashes to the Quidditch clinic, Elio’s sleeves were orange. And he sucks in another little sob. Potter looks at him and he shakes his head to in reassurance that it’s nothing adding a squeeze of their clasped hands.

Potter draws him into a hug anyway, “These things happen. He’s fine.” Draco sighs into the hug.

A delighted exclamation from Elio has them turning their heads to look at the cause only to find Teddy’s hair turned a lurid orange. Potter hurries over to them, looking around as he goes.

As he reaches Teddy, Potter pats the boy’s head, “Teddy.”

The boy’s face falls, “Oh, oh no. I’m sorry Uncle Harry! I was just trying to cheer Elio up. I forgot.”

“Hey, it’s okay.”

Draco joins them, standing opposite Potter to shield Teddy as best he can. He pats Elio on the shoulder to let him know he’s not in trouble as he looks upset at the turn of events, after having been giggling over Teddy’s stunt.

“Look at me,” Potter says as Teddy has hung his head. “Concentrate, and turn it back, like mine.”

Teddy nods and looks at Potter’s hair and, nose wrinkled in concentration, it turns dark again.

“Good job.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know. It’s fine now. You have to be careful, okay?”

Teddy nods again, solemnly.

“How about some candyfloss?” Potter asks.

As intended, the suggestion instantly changes Teddy’s mood, and he excitedly tries explaining to Elio what candyfloss is. Potter looks fondly at his godson. Draco understands the fondness, it was a sweet gesture if not well thought out. And he appreciates how Potter kept his head through both incidents.

 

Still stuck in his head a bit about how he will manage to look after Elio every day when on his very first one with sole responsibility the boy has gotten hurt, Draco is suddenly presented with a ball of blue spun sugar, roughly twice the size of his head.

“For you, fine sir,” Potter says with a bow.

Draco huffs, a small smile creeping onto his face, “You are a ridiculous man, Potter.”

“I aim to please.”

Draco takes the candyfloss, and they walk over to a, surprisingly vacant, picnic table. They happily watch the boys each devour their own treats, faster than he and Potter can share one.

They hear a woman’s voice say, “Your boys are adorable.”

Draco turns to see a middle-aged woman looking at the four of them.

From beside him, Potter says, “Thank you, ma’am. We adore the little rascals.”

She laughs and waves moving along.

Your boys. Draco likes the sound of that. And Potter didn’t correct her misconception that they were a family. Draco turns to him and putting a hand on his cheek, pours his feelings through his eyes – he cannot do this any other way right now because it’s too soon to say how he feels – then kisses Potter, short and sweet… very, very sweet, the candyfloss having been of assistance. Potter blinks fast a few times, looking somewhat beguiled. Draco winks – what has he become? He never bloody winks. But it is worth it for the bashful grin that causes Potter’s eyes to crinkle.

 

As they walk home, Draco holds Elio’s hand and asks him which has been his favourite animal.

“The tigers! They were so cool and big and orange. I didn’t know they were so big.” Elio jumps when he said ‘big’ the second time and Draco thinks his heart might burst. He wonders how he deserves this little ray of sunshine in his life. He sometimes feels as though he shouldn’t be allowed to be this happy. But he resolves to make every second of it count and to do anything and everything for this child because even if Draco may not deserve it, Elio does.

Just as he thinks this, Potter slides an arm across his shoulders and Draco knows he really, really could not be happier.

 

After having delivered both of their boys to Vikareus and Grimmauld, respectively, Draco sits with Potter’s head on his lap, running his hands through curls loosed from their hair tie while one of his records plays softly in the background.

Potter is looking off to the side, seemingly deep in thought. He turns his head to Draco a question in his eyes.

“You… you always turn your head when you smile, and you always stifle your laughter. Did you know that? I’m just wondering why. ’Cos… ’cos,” and here Potter sits up turning to face Draco, and gently clenches his fingers in the short hair at his nape, “today, you laughed… properly… aloud and I… it was…. Please let me… let me see you smile, let me hear you laugh.” Potter brings his hand down behind Draco’s ear, cups his jaw and brushes a thumb over his cheek. He looks down to ask, “Is it like a decorum thing or is… is it me?”

“Um, I guess… ugh,” he does not want to admit this, but now that Potter has asked him this way, “it is my upbringing, as you say, decorum was drummed into me. But it is you, as well.”

Potter face flickers with some angst.

Draco wants to put a halt to it immediately, “No, no, not like that. I mean, you make me feel…,” he cannot look at Potter when he says, “vulnerable. It’s hard to feel that way… for me. And maybe I think that this is too good to be true, like if I… abandon myself to you, it will just hurt more when it ends. So, I try… try to keep myself in check. But today,” at this he does look up, “honestly, I’ve never been happier. I think,” Draco smiles a little in remembrance of that feeling from earlier, “if had tried to cast a Patronus today, I would finally have made it corporeal.”

“Ok, so, you do realise that you have already, as you call it, abandoned yourself to me… cos uh, you know,” he jerks a head to the other end of the couch, “and also,” he flicks his eyes towards the bedroom.

Draco bites his lip and ducks his head.

Potter puts a finger under his chin and lifts it, “No, see. That, you do that. Draco, I don’t want you to think there is a when. I’m all in. Okay?”

Draco swallows and lets out a shaky breath, “Yes. Yes, okay.” He looks up through his lashes and the fringe that has fallen across an eye and smiles the smile he’s been hiding from Potter, wide and happy and free. He soon ends up biting his lip, old habits die hard.

“Only, actually, please don’t smile at me like this in public, I may not be able to keep my hands off you,” Potter says, running said hands down Draco’s neck and arms, hips and bum, easily manoeuvring him until he’s lying back on the couch.

At the comment Draco does laugh. And smiles brightly. Worth it.

“I’d like to talk about what you said about your Patronus. But first, what do you say you… ahem, abandon yourself to me in that other way again?”

Some fumbling with clothing later, things were quickly approaching said abandon when Draco’s blood-starved brain allows a word through, he swore he would never say, “Harry….”

Potter stops and starts laughing. Draco has not entirely registered what he said.

“What are you laughing at?” he asks sharply.

Potter crawls up and hovers over Draco, dipping his head, he whispers in Draco’s ear, “You called me Harry.”

Draco pushes Potter away, realising he actually had, “I would never do such a thing. You must have misheard.”

“You absolutely did,” still laughing, the bastard.

“Did not.”

 “You. Called. Me. Harry,” Potter’s eyes twinkle like he‘s caught something even more elusive than a Snitch.

“Listen here, Pottah,” Draco is fighting a smile, “I shan’t have aspersions cast upon my person. You definitely misheard me.” Feeling he needs to regain the upper hand; he shoves Potter over and straddles his hips. Draco grasps his wrists and draws Potter’s hands above his head. He sucks in a breath sharply and makes his thighs taut under Draco, who grips his wrists more tightly pushing them down with mock ferocity.

Potter’s face turns serious, “Draco, I happen to like the way you say ‘Pottah’. It makes my heart beat faster. It makes my belly swoop like when you stall your broom before a drop. You know?”

Lying with his hair loose and mussed on a throw pillow, Draco realises that this is Potter without accessories, without a mask, without armour, …naked, physically and metaphorically, and entirely just Harry. And Draco finds himself thinking of this version as his Potter. He surges forward and kisses him.

 

---

They spend another two weeks, seeing each other most nights and any other time they could manage around Draco’s work. Potter’s friends are used to his long absences and didn’t much notice he was busy elsewhere. Draco’s friends did notice.

Pansy keeps trying different tactics to get him to tell her, when they have work meetings, what he’s occupied with that doesn’t involve entertaining her. Since Draco feigns ignorance often, this left her to make up increasingly wild theories, astonishingly never once landing on the truth.

Potter introduces Draco to TV and proclaims, after it becomes difficult to distract him from it, that he has created a couch potato – for which he earned a withering glare. He must work quite hard to turn Draco’s attention to him when So You Think You Can Dance is on. And a new show called Supernatural causes Draco to become anxious over how Muggles had discovered these secrets while Potter reassures him to them it is only fantasy. Potter teases him about fancying the character of Dean, which Draco denies vehemently.

He takes Draco to the cinema to watch Batman Begins. He is terribly excited about it and Draco teases him for being a nerd for wearing the T-shirt with the yellow bat design on it when he realises that it’s related to the film.

“Guilty as charged. Batman is literally the best superhero because he isn’t one at all. He has no innate special powers. It’s all cleverness and bravery.”

“I guess he’s a Ravendor then.” This makes Potter laugh which makes Draco very happy. And the movie really is rather thrilling.

 

They also discover that Draco’s Jabberwocky responds to Potter’s touch, arching against his finger if he tickles it’s back along the outer curve of Draco’s bicep. A tickle that sends an ardent thrill right through him. Possibly the only sure-fire way to draw his attention off the TV Potter quickly learns.

Said ministrations lead to discussing where Draco might put his sun tattoo, Potter tells him that having them against bone hurts quite a bit more than what Draco felt the first time. Since Potter is barely much more than skin over lithe muscle, without an ounce of fat on him, more pronounced in areas like his ribs, Draco understands that the railway track tattoo that runs up the length of his right side must have really hurt. He recalled how Potter had dug his fingers into it when he came the closest to this part of his story before and how Draco realised Potter had wanted to feel the pain again when he did so.

 

One night lying in bed together, Draco trails a finger up the tracks from the Thestral to where they end in a sunburst, like the star on Potter’s arm, rendered in negative space between black and grey shading. As he does, he reads from the bottom up what forms the ‘sleepers’ between the vertical tracks, as they ripple under his touch:

Hedwig, Dobby, Colin, Cedric, Alastor, Albus, Fred, Tonks, Remus, Sirius, James, Lily, Severus

Draco lays his head on Potter’s chest, “Tell me.”

Potter sighs deeply and is quiet some minutes, perhaps wondering where to start.

“Do you know what a Horcrux is?”

…

At the end of it, Draco knows that he feels humbled by the story. Potter may not have defeated a Dark Lord all by himself, as they were all lead to believe, but if any one thing happened differently, they would not be here now. And he has no doubt that it was Potter’s tenacious, benevolent spirit that drove everyone who had a hand in it towards this purpose.

Draco moves one leg to set his foot between Potter’s thighs and leans forward to pull him into a hug. Potter sinks into him heavily. And after a few moments of silence, in which his magic surges and swirls around Draco, Potter starts to cry. Heart-rending, body-racking, anguished sobs. Draco is so overcome at the pain he hears in those sobs that he holds Potter tighter still, tears of his own falling silently.

Eventually Potter quietens. Draco feels him slump further and realises Potter must be exhausted. He guides him to lie back and tenderly presses his lips to Potter’s lightning scar. He is asleep before his head hits the pillow. He unconsciously curls into a ball on his side and Draco covers him with the duvet and leaves him there to rest.

 

Much later, Draco leans in through the bedroom door to see Potter unfolded from the foetal position he left him in to be now spreadeagled on the bed, with most of the covers pushed off him. Draco wonders if it is a sign that he has purged himself of this story, he hopes so at least.

Not wanting to disturb him yet, Draco quietly pulls to door closed, He decides to make some tea, and it is while doing this that Potter finds him. He is sleep-rumpled and beautiful, and Draco knows he is irrevocably in love with him when Potter’s eyes light up at seeing him, and he gives Draco a smile that is somewhat shy and sweet and stunning in its sincerity.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Draco returns the smile, no ducking or hiding it this time. He revels in how in turn Potter beams at the open smile. Worth it.

“How long did I sleep?”

Draco checks the wall-clock, “About twelve hours, give or take.”

“Fuck.”

“Not sure you are quite up for that yet,” he smirks.

Potter scoops Draco into one of his Potter-y hugs and plants featherlight kisses on his cheekbone, along his jaw and down his neck before kissing him thoroughly on the lips.

“I have underestimated you,” Draco means this in more than one way, he knows Potter does not understand all the ways that he has meant it. Potter simply takes it as a challenge.

“Care to find out how much?”

Draco laughs when Potter lifts him onto the counter and resumes his kisses. Unbuttoning Draco’s shirt, to get access to more of his skin. They end up moving to the couch to finish what they started, the tea forgotten.

 

Afterwards, lying draped across his torso, Draco says, “Fifteen.”

“What’s that?”

“The number of tattoos you have.”

Suddenly, Potter stops his tickling of the Jabberwocky to ask, “Shit. What is the date?”

Draco has been working while Potter slept and he answers without hesitating, “The thirteenth, why?”

“Already? I have a trip coming up. I book the flights and hotels in advance to get better deals. And I set the meetings up early too. It may surprise you how well-organised I am.”

“Potter, nothing you do surprises me anymore. I choose to simply accept that you are a paradox.”

Potter laughs, jostling Draco so he sits up on one arm. He wants to tell Potter that he does not want him to go but he is worried about how much this would reveal of the depth of his feelings. Instead, he raises his chin and says, “Fine. Leave me then. I shan’t miss you one bit.”

“No?”

“Not at all.”

“Mmm. Alright, note to self, scratch Draco’s gift off the list.”

“Gift? Why might I be getting a gift?”

“I usually get gifts for people I miss. To show them I was thinking about them.”

Draco is actually quite touched and regrets being so dismissive, even if he was pretending. And not for the gift… only.

“I really must go. I leave on the fifteenth and I haven’t packed at all.”

“And you claim to be organised.”

“I was a tiny bit distracted by a devastating blond.”

“Who is this now? And how dare he distract you so.” Draco climbs onto Potter’s lap, straddling him.

“He is distracting me, right now.”

Draco smiles and Potter grips him around the waist so he can lean forward and kiss it off him, saying in between kisses, “I. Really. Must. Go.”

Draco pushes him away and climbs off, “Go then.” He makes a shooing motion towards the door.

“I may need clothes.”

“You’re the one in a great hurry.”

Potter gets up and pecks Draco on the cheek before going back to the bedroom and donning said clothes. He finds Draco back in the kitchen re-making the abandoned tea.

Potter encircles his waist from behind and plants another kiss on his temple, “Bye.”

Draco waves him off, continuing the façade of nonchalance. Potter laughs again as he leaves.

Notes:

This chapter is shorter than most because the ellipses between the question “Do you know what a Horcrux is?” and the last few paragraphs after it were filled in by Harry telling Draco the whole long story. I wrote it mainly for Draco’s reactions, but it amounted to rehashing of, well, the whole long story, that we all know already – or why would we be here? Even though I liked how I wrote it, I decided to take it out. I have kept it, and I’ll post it as a separate oneshot should anyone want to read it.

Chapter 11

Draco does have a fundraiser to plan and so he manages to keep his mind – mostly – occupied with it. He and Hermione meet to discuss the big decisions so he can get working on the minute details that will satisfy his perfectionism.

Pansy’s second amazing idea for an alternate venue is equally as problematic although more practical. Draco is dreading having to convince Hermione that Malfoy Manor is not only suitable but desirable.

He reassures her that the wing, formerly occupied by a certain nefarious someone has been thoroughly, magically expunged and sealed off from the rest of the house since the trials. She seems conflicted but agrees when Draco describes the garden.

Pleased, Draco gets down to the nitty gritty of his job.

 

---

Somehow the fortnight of no-Potter drags and races at the same time. Only Draco has no idea how long he would be gone. So, he is surprised – despite so recently claiming never to be so with any of Potter’s deeds – to find him sitting in the owner’s box at the Puddlemere United stadium with Weasley watching them play the Falmouth Falcons.

Even though his heart skips a beat before deafening him with its pounding, Draco pretends not of have noticed and joins Blaise in the front row. He can feel Potter’s eyes on him, a feeling, familiar and thrilling.

 

Blaise periodically stands up to shout at his team.

Then Potter says, as though to Weasley but loud enough to be heard, “Graves is fucking useless.”

Draco turns his head to look over his shoulder at him, knowingly taking the bait, “Potter, didn’t see you there.” Then because Weasley is not looking, Draco adds a crooked, genuine smile that threatens to crinkle the corners of his eyes. It makes Potter squirm, mission accomplished. Draco looks back at the game.

Blaise does not turn around but asks, “And why, pray tell, Potter?”

Potter leans forward and says in a stage-whisper, “I spotted the Snitch half an hour ago, I still know where it is and he’s too busy sunning himself or something to even be looking.”

Blaise makes a noise, part-disbelief, and part-frustration. Draco supresses a snort.

Potter sits back in his chair and, again, a bit louder than necessary tells Weasley he’s going to get a drink. Weasley is too engrossed to do more than grunt.

After a few moments, far fewer than he should have waited probably, Draco excuses himself in a mumble but Blaise is too busy shouting at Graves to hear him. He does his best not to race up the stairs and reaches the top realising he has no idea which direction Potter actually went when suddenly he is tugged around the waist. He spins in the arms ensnaring him.

“I am pretty sure I said please don’t smile at me like that in public.”

Draco gives him a wicked grin, “Use that Notice-me-not to cover us both, if you can, and follow me.”

Potter leans to whisper in Draco’s ear, “It already is.”

This makes Draco shiver, but he covers it by wriggling out of Potter’s arms and pulling him by the hand. They reach a door someway down the corridor between the team locker rooms and the offices.

Before Draco can pull out his wand, Potter clicks his fingers and turns the handle, swinging the door open.

Draco fake-coughs, “Show-off.”

Potter just grins, “Are we going in, or…?”

Draco shoves him in. Potter stumbles as he says, “An equipment room. Kinky.”

But Draco catches him, whirls him around and pins him to the wall.

Potter makes an ‘oof’ sound, but Draco does not give him a chance to complain before moving in to kiss him. It’s hungry and messy, and Draco is slightly appalled at his lack of self-control.

He pulls away and Potter leans forward chasing his lips, it makes Draco feel desired and he really likes that feeling.

“I did not know you were back,” he feels slightly hurt by this and it shows more than he would like.

“Got back yesterday afternoon and had to sleep off the jetlag. Since I haven’t spent time with Ron in ages, I asked him if we wanted to do something and he mentioned the game, so here I am. It’s earlier than planned. I wanted to come back as soon as possible.”

“Why is that then?”

“A certain devasting blond. I think I mentioned him before.”

“Did you get him a gift?”

“I might have.”

Draco smiles, ducking his head.

“Hey, don’t start that again. I missed you,” lifting Draco’s chin to look him in the eyes.

“Of course, you did Potter,” Draco’s voice is a bit strained; those eyes are doing all the devastating here.

At which Potter pulls his chin towards himself and kisses Draco a bit more methodically but no less deeply. Potter pulls away this time, running his fingers through Draco’s long fringe, pushing it back as though he wants to see all of his face.

Draco clears his throat, a little uncomfortable at being scrutinised in this way, “Well, I missed two episodes of the dancing show and two of the one with the brothers.”

“The one in which they save people and hunt things.”

“Yes, that one.”

“Draco Malfoy, it sounds like you have a type.”

Draco scoffs, “What type might that be, Potter? Saviours?”

“I didn’t say that you did. I was only going to say, men with green eyes,” he says with a teasing grin.

Potter forestalls Draco’s mortified protests with another kiss. It’s not untrue, that other trait is coincidence. The kiss turns heated quickly and Draco runs his hands under Potter’s Puddlemere shirt from the front round to his back and then hooks his forefingers into the waistband of his cargo pants for the return journey, which his fingers make a bit more slowly. He dips them lower as he reaches his hip bones and Potter breaks the kiss to tip his head back.

Draco takes the noise he makes as invitation to undo the button and zipper on his pants while he kisses Potter’s exposed neck. As he reaches into Potter’s boxer-briefs, he responds by resting his forehead against Draco’s and making the same sound.

Draco bites his lip and furrows his brow in concentration.

“You’re beautiful, Draco.”

“I…uh, distinctly remember you… mmm… amending that to um… gorgeous?”

“I did. Apologies. You’re gorgeous, Draco.”

“Would you say, devastatingly so?”

“Yes, yes… oh, devas… devastatingly so… oh fuck.”

 

Draco declines Potter’s offer to return the favour. Instead, they slide to the floor next to the door.

After just being silent in each other’s company for a several minutes, Draco sheepishly admits, “I… um, saw you and Ginevra in one of the corridors at the Quidditch clinic. You were… you looked like you were quite… amorous towards each other. At the time, I thought maybe you two were an item again or still.”

Potter looks confused for a few seconds, “Ohhh.” He laughs.

Draco feels annoyance building up in him for being laughed at.

“No, she was just happy for me. I was sort of gushing about someone. She stopped me in the hall, saying I looked, quote, ‘like someone had cast Wingardium Leviosa on me’ and asked who the lucky guy was. Then she said I looked smitten after I pretty much waxed lyrical. And I said that yeah, I was pretty far down that road.”

Draco is getting more annoyed by the second and becoming more detached, “Oh, and who was this then? Graves?”

“What? Why the fuck would you think I meant Graves?”

“Well, he was trying his best to get your attention.”

“He was? Well, I didn’t notice. I only had eyes for someone else.”

Draco is relieved it was not Graves but no less irritated that Potter is not saying who he does mean. But then perhaps it is not really Draco’s business. He sees Potter turn his head and reluctantly turns to face him his as well, not sure what awaits him.

Incredulousness, that is what is written on Potter’s face, “It was you, you oblivious berk. I was talking about you. I didn’t mention your name because I didn’t know where you stood but, Merlin, Draco, I thought I was being terribly obvious. I mean, we had a moment, during the movie, right? And the next day you were all weird and stiff and a little mean, even, and I was kinda crushed.”

Draco puts his head in his hands, his annoyance turned on himself, “I was an ass. I’m sorry. I felt like we did have a… a moment,” Draco peeks out from where he’s hiding his face to smile shyly at Potter, “and I misunderstood the whole thing with Ginevra, and I felt foolish for even thinking you might like me. And even though I was being an ass, you still let me win. Normally I would be furious at you, but Elio was running at me, just about blinding me with that light that he just radiates and his… his…,” Draco laughs, struggling to find the right adjective, “Elio-ness.”

Potter smiles, “It was just about one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. Him running to you like that and how his face lit up when you gave him the Snitch and his little hand holding it so tightly while you picked him up. I confess, it raised a lump in my throat.”

“That’s why you were crying?”

He doesn’t deny Draco’s guess at the emotion he showed before he left, “What can I say, I’m a sucker for that sort of thing.”

Draco took Potter’s face in his hands and kisses him sweetly. He beams in response.

“My mother said I was oblivious too. I say it’s hard for me to believe you like me, even now.”

“Believe it.”

 

A few more kisses later.

“We may have been missed by now.”

“I doubt either of them really noticed. So long as I bring Ron a beer, or two, back. I can blame a long line if he asks.”

“I think I am actually just going to leave. If Blaise asks me why I’ll tell him you were annoying me,” he gives Potter an impish smile.

“It’s entirely plausible.”

“Exactly, there is precedent after all.”

“Can I come over later?”

“I shall think about it.”

“See you at seven then.” Potter hops up and leans down to peck Draco one more time on the lips and slips out the door. He pops his head again, “Oh, you may want to fix your hair.” Draco immediately does begin smoothing his hair. Potter continues, “I like it when you look like you just got shagged but I know you are quite particular about it.” He winks and disappears.

Draco tips his head back into the wall, this time doing it for a completely different reason in this same stadium about the same man, mussing his hair again.

 

At breakfast the next morning, Draco receives an owl. As soon as he saw the eagle owl, he felt dread.

Mon Étoile

I’d like to extend an invitation to Harry that he may join us for tea this afternoon. I look forward to it.

 – Maman

 

“It’s not an invitation, it’s a summons,” Draco says, as Potter reads the note as well.

“Do I get to call you my star as well?”

“Potter, if you so much as think about it…,” Draco does not finish the threat, he cannot think of a punishment that does not deprive him of Potter as well and he is not one to cut off his nose to spite his face. It is a rather noble nose, excellent for sniffing imperiously, if he does say so himself.

 

At the Manor, after some initial polite small-talk over tea, Narcissa asks Draco to excuse them while she speaks to Potter – Harry, as she insists on calling him – alone.

The dread that had not really dissipated from earlier now feels like a lead weight, but he only says, “Of course, Maman. Be nice, would you.”

“I’m a delight, as you well know.”

“Mmm…,” he neither agrees nor disagrees, trying to communicate to Potter that he should brace himself.

Draco planned to eavesdrop at the door but finds that one of them, his mother no doubt, cast a Muffliato. Inspired, Draco goes to ask Snape if he might be willing to sneak into the painting in the parlour and listen in. Snape only levels him with a stare and disappears from his portrait.

“Drat!”

Draco must content himself with reading in the library although he seems to keep reading the same sentence over and over and not comprehending it at all.

 

After what feels like an eon, he hears Potter calling his name and Draco comes skidding out of the library. Grabbing him by the hands and dragging him back into it.

“Your mother said I might find you here.”

“So?”

“So?” Potter mimics, infuriatingly.

“Potter, for Merlin’s sake.”

“Let’s sit.”

“Oh, it is that bad?”

“No, just…, fine we’ll stand.”

“No, let’s sit.”

Potter huffs a laugh.

“What did you talk about?”

“She asked how I was keeping myself busy these days. We talked about your… your father.”

Draco winces internally.

“She just wanted to explain that although he asked the two of you to leave with him before he absconded, you no longer have any contact with him. She was concerned that this might trouble me and that he may cause trouble if he found out about us.”

Draco winces audibly this time, “Merlin, I never even thought of that. Potter, what if he…?”

“Shh, listen. I told you, Draco, I am all in. I keep my promises.”

“I heard that about you.”

“I was the best in Defence in our year, you know, I am pretty sure I can handle your father,” he winks at Draco who huffs a laugh himself.

“I would never side with him again. You must believe me. He will always be my father, but I’ll never trust him with my life or my mother’s ever again.”

“I believe you, Narcissa said something similar.”

“You’re calling her…?”

“She offered. She also asked me what my intentions toward you are.”

Draco winces audibly again and collapses onto the arm rest. Potter pulls him back into a sitting position.

“Come on. Be grateful you have a mum to be concerned.”

Chastised, Draco only askes, “What did you say?”

“I said I’m courting you.”

“You are kidding me, right?”

“Nope.”

“First of all, I will despise you forever for saying that. Second, you do realise that you skipped a few steps?”

“What?” Potter says in mock-surprise, “You mean that thing we did, and that other thing, that’s not courting?”

Draco attempts to look unamused, “No, Potter. They come much later, if you adhere strictly to tradition.”

“When have you known me to adhere to any traditions?”

“Touché. At least this time the defiance of tradition is in my favour.”

“Also, I can hardly be blamed for you not noticing earlier that I had begun said courtship.”

“And when, exactly, do you claim to have begun this so-called courtship.”

“On… on your birthday dinner and Meghan’s.”

“Oh, I… ahh–” Draco tugs Potter in for a kiss.

They hear a disgruntled groan, “That was far too much in-formation.”

“What did I say about eavesdropping, it serves you right, Uncle Severus.”

“Oh, now I should not when but forty minutes ago you asked me to do so on your behalf. Since Potter has ac-tually divulged almost ev-erything they spoke about anyway, it seems I have was-ted my time.” Severus turns sharply, if the picture had been full body, his robes would have billowed as he stalks out of the frame.

As Severus finishes speaking, Draco shoots a look at Potter and says, “Almost?”

But Potter has turned pale and stiff. Concerned Draco reaches for him.

“Wait,” Potter calls sharply, standing up and turning towards the portrait, “please Professor Snape.”

Some minutes pass, while Severus’ portrait remains empty. Finally, he steps back into the frame, “I don’t have all day, Potter.”

Potter’s lip curls, Draco guesses he is fighting saying something snarky out of pure habit, probably along the lines of you have all eternity in fact which is what occurred to Draco, then decides to dismiss the admonishment with a ‘pfft’ sound and gets a Snape Glare™ for his trouble.

“Sorry,” Potter begins, “I… just…,” he flounders, shaking his head, then he takes a deep breath and says, “thank you.”

Severus says nothing but nods after half an interminable minute while he looks Potter straight in the eyes. Draco knows now, after the whole long story was divulged, that it is not Potter’s eyes he sees. Tears well in those eyes and he nods back.

“I did not do it for–”

“Me. I know.”

“He does that, finishes your insult. It’s annoying,” Draco says to diffuse thing the tension somewhat.

“In-deed.”

Potter laughs wetly.

“I heard what you said to Narcissa, and I hope you mean it. I only want Draco to be happy e-ven if that is with you.” Draco thinks he adds a look down his nose for old times’ sake.

Potter looks serious when he says, “So do I, Professor.” Potter hesitates, then adds, “Always.” Potter turns his head to look at Draco and smiles a bit timidly.

Draco knows what this means now and takes Potter’s wrist and tenderly kisses the word tattooed there.

“Ahem, ex-cuse me,” Snape says primly and exits his portrait for good.

Draco and Potter both laugh.

“Sorry, I didn’t know it would upset you that much to see him or I’d have warned you he might pop in since I possibly, maybe, didn’t cajoled him at all to listen in on your conversation with mother.”

Potter huffs a laugh, “No, it’s alright. I just never expected to hear his voice again, it went straight to my fight or flight centre there,” Potter smiles sheepishly. “And I never expected to get a chance to say thank you. Professor Snape is one of the greatest unsung heroes of this war and not enough people accept that to be true. Saying thank you isn’t enough but I’m glad I got to say it anyway.”

There is a rustling from the portrait followed by something that sounds suspiciously like a stifled sob. They smile at each other but don’t comment on the sound.

“So, what say you we go skip a few more steps of this courtship?” said Potter, his hands wandering to Draco’s bum.

“I don’t think there are any more steps to skip, Potter.”

“Well, then we should do the skipping more thoroughly and… erm, often.”

“After we watch Supernatural. And also, the one with the time-travelling doctor, I quite like that one as well. What’s the name of it again, Doctor something?”

“Who.”

“The alien with the police box that is actually a time travel machine that has the extension charm inside.”

“Who.”

“Potter, for fucks’ sake–”

“Doctor Who, that’s the name of the show.”

“Why did not you just say that?’

“This was way funnier. It’s like that ‘Who’s on First’ skit.”⁴

“It was not that funny. And what?”

“No, What’s on second,” Potter says barely containing himself.

“I’m not doing this again,” Draco says pinching the bridge of his nose.

Potter bursts out laughing as Draco grumbles about stupid Muggle jokes.

“So, my place then?”

“Do I have a television, Potter?”

Potter leans in to kiss Draco, “Hey! None of that. Hold my arm like a normal person please.”

“I’ve proved it doesn’t cause splinching.”

“Once does not constitute sound scientific proof.”

“Like magic can be entirely be quantified by science,” Draco hears Potter say as he disapparates them holding him at arm’s length.

 

---

Draco is unhappy that Potter had yet another trip pre-booked the week following the visit with his mother, even though he promised to make it as quick as possible. Not least of all because Elio’s interview is in a week and Draco is nervous. He’s not allowed to talk to Elio before-hand on the day so he would have appreciated some handholding while he waits for the boy.

On top of this, he has a thousand things to do as the Department for Magical Beings fundraiser is in five weeks. Top of that list is invitations. He is already sending them later than he should – bloody Potter and his distracting… well, everything.

 

At least his trip gives Draco some time to connect with his friends. Pansy has been complaining bitterly that he’s not paying her enough attention – that is not what she actually said, it is only what she meant. She is demanding to know what has been keeping him so thoroughly occupied – those were her words, and they brought to mind another use of that word recently and Draco had to force himself not to drift away remembering just how thorough they’d been.

Blaise also mentioned off-hand that Draco seemed to be busier than usual.

So, now they sit at their favourite coffee shop in Diagon Alley, catching up.

“Do you think Potter will make an appearance?” Pansy asks.

Draco puts on a mask of disdainful indifference, “It is Hermione’s fundraiser so I dare say he would.”

“He and Granger are like this,” Pansy intertwines two fingers to make her point. “They do that communicating without words thing. It’s a bit creepy and quite rude.”

“Indeed, I’m sure he will come if he isn’t in Japan or South Africa or some such place.”

“Those are oddly specific examples. Draco darling, do you know something we don’t?” Pansy asks leaning forward in anticipation of some potential gossip.

Blaise who was looking bored, suddenly also perks up, “Do tell.”

Draco makes a show of rolling his eyes, “I am not saying I know anything, how could I?”

Pansy shrugs, “Because you are obssessed.”

Blaise nods, “Endlessly.”

“I am not ob…,” Draco doesn’t finish the sentence. Potter seems to be rubbing off on him and he cannot speak the lie outright. To cover, he says, “You remember at the fundraiser, you commented on Hermione’s nail varnish, and she said Potter had given it to her, a gift from Japan.”

“I remember the name of the varnish – impossible to come by, by the way – but none of that other stuff.”

“Literally impossible to come by because he got it in Japan, Pansy.”

“Oh, I see. Bleah,” she says and pouts.

“And why would you think of South Africa of all places?” asks Blaise, interest still piqued.

Draco’s mind briefly flashes upon a delicate Acacia tree made of wire that Potter had, in fact, gotten him from South Africa – the gift he promised. Draco brushes a hand at a large green beetle which flew off the table, “Just grasping something random and far-flung from the air.”

“Right.”

“Can we change the subject please?”

“What are you wearing, then?” Pansy asks.

“I am having a mask fashioned to look like chrome. So, I shall pick it up with silver on my jacket probably. I want to see how it turns out before I make any final choices on the suit.”

“Ooh, it will look fantastic with your hair.”

Draco does know this.

“How philosophical of you,” Blaise says facetiously.

“How is it philosophical?” asks Pansy.

“We are really all animals on some level so the mask is like a mirror – or no, it is just because it’ll look good with your hair?”

“Pretentious much?” Pansy contributes now that it has been explained.

Draco was sort of aiming for that exact concept but does not want to give Blaise the satisfaction so merely says, “Entirely vanity, Blaise.”

Blaise just smirks.

Pansy had really only started on this subject to describe every detail of her outfit, so she proceeds to just that.

 

Elio’s interview date comes up and, while Draco sits nervously in the corridor waiting for him to come out, Hermione arrives. Draco is sure it is likely Potter sent her, and he is very touched whether he had or not, but only thanks her with a smile. He is too jittery and fairly queasy to engage in conversation, but she sits with him in companionable silence, and he’s grateful.

 

When Elio comes out, he bounces up and down to see Draco. He’d been collected from Vikareus Home by the MCCS Officer.

Draco kneels in front of him, brushes some hair off his face, and asks “How are you, Sunshine?”

Elio beams, “The lady gave me a sweet, I ate it already.”

“Did she? That was nice of her.”

“She asked lots of questions. But I told them about the zoo and how fun it is playing with Teddy and also about my Snitch. Can we go to the zoo again with Teddy and Uncle Harry?”

“Of course, I’m sure they’d both love to.”

Draco doesn’t notice that the official is watching this interaction. He sees when she moves into his line of sight. So, he stands up and he and Elio reach for each other’s hands simultaneously. This makes Draco smile.

“Elio is a very well-spoken, clever young man.”

“I know,” Draco squeezes Elio’s hand at this. Elio leans into Draco, suddenly shy. “Do you know when we might hear the decision?”

“No, I’ll turn in my report at the end of the day. They may even request a second interview. And we need to set up the home inspection.”

Draco feels anxious but calmly says, “Thank you, I appreciate it. I will make myself available at any time for the inspection. I shall see him back to Vikareus Home, if that is alright?”

“No problem at all. Have a good day, Mr Malfoy. Elio, be good.”

Elio nods and Draco draws him into a one-armed hug, saying more to the boy than the Officer, “Elio is always good.”

Draco has almost forgotten Hermione is there until he turns with Elio to lead him to the floo bank. She actually appears as he turns, apparently having employed a Notice-me-not charm herself. Draco is flattered in a way. Much like Potter, Draco suspects Hermione doesn’t want to inadvertently exert her influence over the proceedings. Draco wonders if they have spoken of it explicitly, or if they just think similarly.

“Hey, thank you for this. It was very kind of you to be here with me. You must have had work to do.”

“Not at all, I cleared my schedule, and I was happy to.” This makes Draco feel warmly towards Potter’s best friend, something he never imagined – cordial, respectful, yes, but warm is new.

“Elio, this is Hermione, she is Potter’s friend. Hermione, Elio.”

Hermione extends her hand and Elio takes it, they shake firmly, Elio saying, “It’s nice to meet you ma’am.” Draco is pleased because he taught Elio how to properly greet people with respect.

“And you Elio.” To Draco she says, “Morgana, am I old enough to be a ma’am, already?”

They both laugh. Hermione bumps a knuckle on Elio’s cheek lightly with a smile in farewell then says, “See you around, Draco,” parting with a wave.

Draco and Elio wave back. Then he accompanies Draco, skipping, to the floo bank in the Ministry foyer while telling him more about what they spoke about in the interview. Overall, Draco feels like maybe it has gone well.

 

At Vikareus Home, Elio says he hopes they will hear soon ’cos he can’t wait to call Mister Draco ‘Papa’’. Draco tears up and hugs him so the boy cannot see that he has. Elio had asked him what father is in French when Draco told him that he would like to teach him to speak the language. Draco is most concerned now that Elio will be broken-hearted if the adoption doesn’t go through, but he decides to stay positive and worry about if it comes to that.

 

---

Draco is in a good mood when Pansy slaps a copy of the Daily Prophet on Draco’s kitchen table a couple days later.

“Pansy. What brings you uninvited into my home this morning?”

“Potter has been sighted, in Japan, just like you said. How about that? And look at this piece of boy-candy he’s with.”

Draco blanches and chokes on his tea. He tries not to snatch up the paper, especially because Pansy is regarding at him with a knowing look.

Clearing his throat, he looks at the headline news:

The Hero and his Hiro?

By Rita Skeeter

This reporter has exclusive news for the readers of The Daily Prophet. The eponymous, and oh so elusive, Hero of the Second Wizarding War and Vanquisher of the Dark Lord Voldemort, Harry James Potter (24) was sighted yesterday in Kyoto, Japan. What might he be doing there?

Perhaps it has something to do with the Seeker for the Japanese National Quidditch Team, Hiro Murakami (26)? The two were seen in each other’s company over an intimate meal.

Acting on an anonymous tip, I found herself posthaste taking a portkey to the country. It wasn’t easy, but not content to leave our faithful readers without answers, it required some dedicated investigating that was not without several false leads to track down Harry’s whereabouts. Finally, with some persuasion, a Muggle hotel clerk confirmed that Harry was staying there when I showed him a picture of our dashing Saviour, and under a pseudonym I furthermore discovered.

Why would such subterfuge be necessary if his reason for being there weren’t sordid?

Their conversation was conducted entirely in Japanese, but fear not, it has been dutifully translated for you. Harry was heard to be saying these shocking words.: “I am tired of feeling like we have to hide this.” And Hiro’s reply? “If you lived here this would be less of a problem.”

Perhaps it could be concluded that Harry is conducting an illicit affair with Mr Murakami who is said to be in a long-term relationship Teammate, reserve Chaser, Takami Sato (25).

It must be said the Harry looked relaxed and self-possessed, not at all like the demure young man we last saw in the company of Daernel Robins (35), former seeker for the Montrose Magpies before he became an international commentator for the sport. (For full details of this rocky relationship, see Page 3.)

This reporter will be sure to keep you informed of any developments.

 

Draco stares at the photo under the headline, the caption reads: Harry Potter and Hiro Murakami, sharing an intimate lunch in Kyoto, Japan. His ears sing and his vision goes white as his heart plummets in his chest.

Potter, looking the most like the version of himself that Draco has come to think of as one that only he has been privy too, was sitting rather close to this… Hiro. As the image loops, Potter reached a hand towards Hiro and laid it on his arm in a familiar way as he tipped his head back laughing.

“Potter clearly has a type,” Pansy comments.

“What type?” Draco says, somewhat dazed, from the whirlwind of thoughts in his head.

But the answer doesn’t come from Pansy. Blaise has also invited himself and appears holding another copy of the wretched paper, “Seekers. I see Pansy has beaten me to it.”

Pansy looks smug at this.

“Please come over and make yourself right at home, I don’t have anything better to do,” Draco sneers.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Blaise replies, ignoring Draco’s tone, snatching a piece of toast off Draco’s plate, grinning broadly.

Draco feels nauseated, by their behaviour, by whatever this is in front of him in the paper, by his gullible trust. Saying more to himself than them, “Who even is Daernel Robins?”

Blaise supplies the answer yet again, “I think he is the brother of someone that played on the Gryffindor team with Potter. Robins dragged what appeared to be a love-struck Potter around everywhere. If you ask me, I think he rather liked having the ‘Saviour’ draped over his arm. We crossed paths at inter-team socials and awards ceremonies and the like.”

“So, what happened there? The article says the relationship was rocky,” Draco asks.

“I don’t know all the details only that it came out he was cheating and–”

Suddenly scraping his chair loudly, Draco interrupts Blaise before he can hear anymore, “Excuse me, I don’t feel well. Pansy, do you think we could move our scheduled meeting for this afternoon to tomorrow?”

“Of course, darling, you do look pale,” Pansy stands up and reaches out to Draco, but he shies away from her.

“Migraine,” he says pinching the bridge of his nose. “I trust you can see yourselves out since you saw yourselves in all on your own.” Draco leaves them in his kitchen and races to his bathroom. He feels sure he might throw up from the nausea still making his stomach lurch.

 

By the time he gets there, tears are running down his face. How could he be so stupid? Was it all lies? Potter always makes him feel like he’s the only person in the world when they are together. Is this what he does? Is Draco not enough?

The more Draco thinks about it, the angrier he becomes. He returns to his kitchen, thinking tea solves or at least soothes most things. There he finds both papers, with the picture of Potter looping over and over. Draco looks at Hiro’s face, having been drawn to only Potter’s before. Hiro looks quite taken with him; it seems to Draco anyway. He crumples both papers and throws an Incendio at them.

If Potter is in a Muggle hotel, then a text message on the mobile phone is the best way to get hold of him. Draco only keeps the wretched thing to keep in touch with Potter while he’s travelling. It’s not like Draco spends that much time in Muggle areas that he can use it with any regularity, but he obliged Potter. Now, as it is, he’s going to have to go into one to send it.

 

While his brain runs its own loops of similar smiles and familiar small touches Potter has given him, his muscle memory leads him to the coffee shop in which encountered Potter for that second time in a week in February after apparating to near the Ministry. As Draco opens the door, he sees Samantha is at the counter, and he recalls Potter’s flirting with her as well. He would like to have slammed the door shut but is prevented from doing so by the door mechanism. He walks further on until he comes to another coffee shop. He orders a triple shot of espresso and sits down to send the message. He really despises the interminable pressing of each number repeatedly to reach the correct letter and despises it even more when he goes past the one that he needs and has to go around again. So, he resolves to keep it short.

DM: Guess who is front page news?

Draco’s coffee arrives before the reply. His leg bounces while he waits.

HP: Hey Gorgeous. What front page?

He dares call Draco that. He fires back: Prophet.

HP: How the fuck did they find me?

DM: Skeeter managed. You couldn’t have been trying that hard.

HP: What? Can I call, this is stupid.

DM: Floo.

HP: Yeah, ok. Give me half an hour.

Draco is fuming, stupid, is he? He finishes his coffee and returns home.

 

He ends up pacing in front of the fire in his study. It’s been half an hour too long in which Draco stews. The floo call flares green and there is Potter’s stupid face looking guileless.

“Hey, how are you?” he asks with a smile, which fades at Draco’s snide reply.

“How do you think I am?”

“Draco, I’m confused. Can you start from the beginning please?”

“You were in the paper this morning. Looking mighty cosy with some other guy. What do you have a stag in every port? Am I your one in England?”

“What the fuck, Draco? What guy?”

“Are there so many that you can’t recall the one now?”

“Do you mean Hiro?  He’s a friend.”

“Might he be of the most special variety as well?”

“Wh… What? Draco, I really don’t know what you are on about. What the fuck did the article even say?”

“It seems you collect Seekers.”

“Seekers? I don’t…,” Potter pauses, “oh, that is some coincidence.”

“Nice Potter, I don’t think now is the time to reminisce about all the Quidditch players you fucked.”

“Excuse me. Why would you even say that? I had one… committed relationship before you, that… that wasn’t good.”

“Learned your lesson, not to commit then? Yeah, I heard how you screwed around on him as well.”

“W…wow! I can’t even… I don’t understand where this is coming from. You’re… I’m in lo–” Potter stops himself from finishing his sentence. “If that’s what you think of me… I can’t…”

Draco hears another male voice coming from the fireplace, speaking Japanese. A hand comes into view landing on Potter’s shoulder. Potter says something in Japanese to the owner of the hand and it disappears.

“You’re with him, right now? You are unbelievable. Excuse me for interrupting whatever the fuck you were doing half an hour ago. And do not think I’ll be waiting for you when you get back. I will not just be some shag for whenever you deign to come home.”

“Draco, please listen…”

“No, Potter, I’m done.”

Potter mouth forms an ‘o’ of shock, followed by a shake of the head. His brow furrows like he’s confused again and a moment later it deepens into a scowl. How dare he get mad, Draco thinks, angry at being caught probably. The corners of Potter’s mouth droop and he looks like he might cry, then suddenly his face blanks, and this surprises Draco the most, almost scares him, if he’s honest. He does not think he has even seen Potter wearing no expression at all. Potter nods mechanically and ends the call. All of it happening in mere seconds.

Tears are threatening again, and Draco fiercely wills them to stay put.

Notes:

4 Harry is referring to the Abbott & Costello comedy routine called ‘Who’s on First?’

Chapter 12

Notes:

The other vague mention of attempted suicide by Harry falls in this chapter – I have again marked it off with two asterisks before and after, hopefully excising it sufficiently.

Unfortunately, a few days later, he cannot avoid a meeting with Hermione. They have many finer details to sign off. He’s imagining disdain at best and, well, he doesn’t know what at worst is for Hemione, but he does know that she is Potter’s fiercest protector.

In preparation to meet her, Draco squares his shoulders and lifts his chin, the Malfoy haughtiness taking over to shield him from whatever onslaught he might receive from an angry Hermione. Draco is quite taken aback to instead find her distracted. Perhaps Potter hasn’t yet told her what’s happened. Maybe he cares that little that it’s too insignificant to mention. At which thought, his veneer threatens to crack.

“Draco, hi.”

“Hermione. If you don’t mind, may we get started right away?”

“Yes, of course. I… um, oh I just had my notes a moment ago,” as she ruffles through some papers. She stops dejected, “I think I grabbed the wrong ones. Gosh, I’m sorry Draco. I’m not thinking straight.”

Draco is starting to become alarmed. This is very unlike Hermione.

“Is everything alright?”

“Yes,” she seems to answer automatically, then, “no, not really. I’m just… worried about Harry.”

Doing his best to keep his voice level, “Why’s that?”

“Um… I haven’t heard from him in a few days. We have this agreement. I’d have made it a compulsion if I thought it would work on him, but they literally have no effect on him at all.

**

“After… after the last time he went this… quiet and I found him… I just… can’t go through that again…. Oh,” she draws a tissue from her pocket and wipes her eyes to stem the flow of tears, “M’sorry.”

**

Hermione takes a deep breath before she continues, “Anyway, he has to message me once a day, no matter what. And it’s been three days, nearly four. I’m trying not to panic, but I’m not succeeding as you can see. I don’t know if you saw that awful article that that vicious insect of a woman wrote about him. It could be that that’s the reason although I don’t know how he could know about it.”

Draco swallows hard, it’s not guilt, or concern – it is not. Something about what Hermione just said niggles the back of his mind, but he cannot put his finger on it.

“And because the berk comes and goes as he pleases and doesn’t actually give us his schedule, I can’t even check with the airline or his hotel wherever he was headed to next,” she throws her hands up in exasperation.

“Do you…,” Draco’s voice cracks, he clears his throat, “Do you want to reschedule?”

“I think so, please. I am just not focussed.”

Draco is getting up to leave when his stupid heart betrays him, “Will you let me know if you hear from him, please.” Draco fears his face may also have given him away.

Hermione blinks at him. Her eyes narrow, “Did you have something to do with this?”

Too shrewd, is this formidable woman.

Draco hesitates, preparing to lie, but instead he says, “I don’t know, maybe, possibly. We are… were… uh….” Then it dawns on Draco, what has been niggling him, “Fuck.”

“Draco, what did you do?”

“You called Skeeter an insect just now.”

“And? You should know that her Animagus is a beetle. Don’t you remember feeding her lies in fourth year?”

“Yeah, I forgot all about that. Well, Pansy, Blaise and I were talking in Diagon about a week ago, a little more maybe, in that new–”

“Get to the point.”

“Right, yes, we were discussing Potter’s whereabouts, or rather Pansy wondered if he’d be coming to your event and I said, unthinking, that he might if he weren’t in… erm, South Africa or Japan.”

Hermione’s eyes flare open.

Draco hurries on, “And, there was a… uh, large green beetle on the table.”

“So, you, yet again, tipped her off, only this time what you said was true and it’s actually worse that it is.” She hisses to herself, “I should never have let that woman out of the jar. And you, …you should have bloody stayed a ferret.” Hermione stands as she said this, and her voice rises as she does.

Jar? Wait, “Hey, he’s the one who was photographes with some other guy.”

“How is Hiro some other guy? He and Harry have been friends for years. Skeeter twisted what she saw to suit her desire for salacious content, the snippets of conversation undoubtedly taken out of context to suit her narrative and always at Harry’s expense. Like he didn’t give more than enough, he must also hand over his personal life still, all these years later. What actually happened?”

“I told you, the bug must have been–”

“Not that bit, you complete ass. Why do you care why Harry is with any other guy at all. You were what?”

“Together,” Draco says it softly cowed by Hermione’s ire but also regretting his behaviour, not least of all because he does seem to have inadvertently been the reason Skeeter found Potter in the first place.

“Like, together together?”

Draco’s brows furrow and his mouth twists, and softer still, “Yes.”

“Since when?”

Draco, underneath his newfound anguish, is astonished she doesn’t already know.

“I guess, my birthday. I thought he would have told you.”

“Harry likes to protect what’s his. He probably thought you’d be uncomfortable with us,” she makes a wide sweeping gesture with her arms, likely encompassing the pride of Lions that has always circled Potter, “or even just me knowing, especially not without discussing it with you.”

Harry likes to protect what’s his. Me, I am his… was…

“Ok, so what happened then?”

“I saw the article and I jumped to conclusions. Blaise said something about Potter cheating on his previous boyfriend. And I accused Potter of doing the same to me.”

“What? Blaise knows perfectly well it was the other way round. Robins was a manipulative, narcissist who used Harry to get anything he wanted. Harry thought Robins loved him, but he just kept him in this cycle of mental and emotional abuse. He was the first person who showed him, what appeared to be affection, after he came out. But Harry equates love with sacrifice. He was literally raised to believe it.”

Draco’s mind is seesawing between what Hermione is saying and all the things he has misunderstood. Draco wishes he would stop making the same mistakes. Blaise meant Robins cheated and Draco assumed he meant Potter. And Robins was the first? Draco thought Charlie had been. But worst of all, to hear her say Potter equates love with sacrifice, drives home a truth Draco has not fully understood. His heart breaks and sinks like the Titanic, into a black void, a hole raked in the side by the cruel ice of his jealousy.

“He told me about his upbringing,” Draco says barely more than a whisper, more to confirm it for himself than to tell Hermione.

Hermione looked taken aback, “He did? He doesn’t do that. It’s hard for him to accept how he was groomed, never mind talk about it.”

Draco feels like shit – completely ashamed that he is entirely responsible for Potter effectively going missing.

“Harry just let Robins take and take from him and give nothing in return but for repeated heartache. It took an intervention from practically most of the DA to get him out of the cycle and he just got stuck into his job and seemed to avoid relationships entirely… well, apparently until very recently.”

“I… fuck… I’m–”

“Actually, I don’t want to hear it. I can’t look at you right now.” Hermione gets up to leave and Draco calls out but she either doesn’t hear or ignores him.

 

Draco decides to go speak to his aunt, maybe she knows something. Maybe Potter has even sought solace there because Teddy is the light of his life.

But Draco is disappointed to find the troll leg right where it should be and that his aunt, not only clueless as to Potter’s whereabouts, is now also worried about him.

“It’s all my fault.”

“How is it your fault?”

“I was horrible to him. I saw that bloody Prophet article and I don’t even know why I believed a word of it.”

“You know that Skeeter woman loves to stir and has some sort of vendetta against Harry. She wastes paper and ink with her cruel words. He’s never been any of the things she’s ever said about him. And, more than anyone, he doesn’t deserve it.”

“I know damn well, you don’t have to tell me, I feel crap enough about it already. I don’t need you piling on,” Draco snaps.

“Draco Lucius Malfoy, don’t you dare be rude to me because you did something awful.”

His aunt doesn’t even know the bit about how it was Draco who, inadvertently this time, provided the ‘anonymous tip’ that led the vile woman right to Potter. He puts his head in his hands, “Dammit. I am sorry, Aunt Andromeda.”

She lets the swear go, Draco is thankful as he cannot bear more chiding. But her next words somehow hit him deeper.

“I’ve never seen that man this dreamy-eyed. And always when he has been with or was going to see you.”

“If anything happens to him, I won’t forgive myself, I lo– …care about him very much.”

His aunt’s face softens, he knows she caught the near slip, “I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”

“Please.”

 

---

Draco must continue working on Hermione’s fundraiser and somehow, and he must do it carrying this guilt and shame. But really, it’s nothing in comparison to what he put Potter through. Draco replays Harry’s reaction to Draco’s declaration that he is done over and over, and it strikes him that Potter sped through all the stages of grief in front of his eyes.

In between it all, Draco is also anxious for the home inspection from Magical Child Care Services. In the meantime, he sets up a couple playdates for Elio with Teddy. Potter was right, even though Draco hated the analogy, they got on like a house on fire. He cannot bear to watch them play, it makes his heart sing and it’s nothing less than a traitorous feeling when Potter has vanished in a mental state of anguish.

 

Potter has been gone a week, when two, seemingly obvious, ideas hit Draco. What if Potter is hiding right here, not in plain sight exactly, but in Muggle London. First, he goes to the Pearl Swallow and asks Amanda if she has seen ‘Harrison’. She says no, Erised cancelled their gig, meant to be the following Thursday, for the first time ever. It sounds to Draco like maybe he has spoken to his band or Luke. But Amanda is reluctant to give him Luke’s number. He leaves frustrated so heads straight to the next possibility.

 

Draco apparates to the alley alongside Ink Well. He steels himself to the memories of that night here with Potter and goes inside.

Meghan is busy with a customer but upon seeing him says warmly, “Draco. It’s good to see you again. Come for that second tattoo?”

“I… I was wondering you if you’ve seen Po– Harrison.”

“It was about two weeks ago, maybe.”

Two weeks, right around when he left for Japan. But not since, then.

“Why do you ask?”

“Um… just haven’t heard from him in a bit. Last time I saw him he… uh, was upset” – understatement of the century – “and I know he finds solace in the tattoos, in here with you.”

“He was pretty excited last time he was here. He did get a new tattoo.”

“He did? What… what was it?”

“I don’t know, he never really explains his odd little collection of things. I just know they have deep meaning to him. It was an odd shape, here, I’ll draw it, sort of a triangle, with kind of a… no, wait, the triangle was the other way round… then there was a curve, something sort of like this… and then right here, he wanted this flare, like… like the star on his arm, you know… like this. All I know is he was practically glowing the entire time.” She turns the paper to Draco and his heart constricts painfully. She didn’t need to turn it for him to already have recognised it.

It’s crude but Draco would know that shape anywhere. It’s the Draconis constellation and the flare is right where his namesake star is. Glowing. His knees feel like they might buckle. Potter indelibly etched a representation of Draco on his skin, and he had been worse than Skeeter. Worse, because he should have known better, not just that he shouldn’t have believed her, but because Potter had shown him nothing but warmth and kindness and, worst of all, trust. Draco deserves none of it.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah….” Another idea struck Draco just then. “Actually, that special occasion has not yet come about. I have something else I want you to do for me. When is your soonest appointment?”

“Why don’t you come tonight, after hours?”

“That is not necessary, you don’t have to do that for me.”

“I’m booked up for months.”

“Oh. Then yes. Yes, please.”

“Alright then, see you later.”

“Nine o’clock?”

“Nine,” said Meghan with a smile.

 

Draco returns at the scheduled time and explains to Meghan what he wants and where. She warns him it will hurt a lot more than last time and asks if he’s sure. He replies that he’s absolutely certain.

She sets to work. Likely, in an attempt to distract him, she asks, “How did you first meet Harrison?”

“Oh, we went to school together. We were sort of rivals. It sounds silly now.”

“This is that boarding school then?”

“Yes, in Scotland.”

“Harrison never said where it was. I always wondered what boarding school is like. Harrison said it was his favourite place in the world. He’d start telling me about it, describing the common area with the fire and the amazing food, all excited and then he’d just disappear into himself. I never could understand why he looked so sad when it sounds like it made him so happy.”

“Uh… there was a fire,” Draco thinks he will tell a piece of the truth, “it got out of control. Some people died.”

Meghan stops, “That’s awful. I can see why Harrison gets so upset. He really has this sort of ‘saving people’ thing.”

Draco almost laughs, “Yes, that’s… Harrison.”

“He saved me. I was in an abusive relationship. The man was an awful, mean drunk. He beat me for the smallest things. Harrison saw the bruises; I hadn’t done a good enough job of hiding them with make-up and he wouldn’t budge until I told him everything. He was furious. I’ve only ever known him to be charming and sweet. But those gorgeous eyes were, like, literally ablaze. I was almost afraid.”

“I’ve been on the receiving end of those, I know exactly what you mean.”

Meghan chuckles, probably thinking Draco is joking or exaggerating.

“He came home with me that night, insisted, and that asshole was there, drunk and itching for a fight. Suddenly, he seemed to sober up, like completely, and started saying who the fuck is this and why was he in his house. Harrison walked right up to him, takes him by his shirt and spoke to him so softly, right in his ear, I didn’t hear a word. He went pale, I mean like deathly white, and Harrison said a bit louder, ‘Nod if you understand me. You will never come near Meghan again.’ And he nods, like, vigorously. Harrison told him to leave and to come back in two days since it was his flat. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that man move that fast. Harrison slept on my couch, or I don’t think he slept at all, it was like he was keeping watch, like a soldier on duty almost.

“The next day, some of his friends come over, he said they would pack up my things and move them to Harrison’s place. I protested, naturally, but he insisted again saying it was just until he could help me find somewhere safe to stay. One of them, she had an odd name, Herminnie maybe, took me to a spa and we had a girl’s day out, mani-pedi’s, massages, facials, the works. We get home later that afternoon, and all my stuff was packed up and moved already, like magic. There were only three of them, Harrison, a red-haired guy, Ronald I think Herminnie called him, and another blond man, very affable. It was a while back, his name escapes me, I remember him asking me about my orchids–”

“Neville.”

“Neville, that’s it. You know them?”

“Yes, we all went to school together.”

“They all joined us for dinner at Harrison’s – that man can cook, it’s very sexy – and I remember the redhead going for thirds. They adore Harrison, that much is clear.”

“I think everyone does.”

“He has a way with people, doesn’t he. Makes you feel like you’re–”

“The only person in the room. It’s quite intoxicating.”

“Exactly, but somehow, he never excludes anyone either. It’s a powerful, charming magic that he possesses. I keep saying that but it’s the only way to capture that thing he has. I still have a hard time imagining what this amazing, caring, beautiful human could have said to that dickwad that made him pale like that, I guess I’ll never know. I’ve never heard from him again.”

“How long did you stay with Harrison?”

“A couple months’, I think. It was hard to leave, with the cooking and the cuddles, but it was also good for me to get my own place. I felt like I could be myself, more confident, empowered. Those same friends moved me, in less than a day while Herminnie and I shopped for bits and pieces I needed. And I’ve never been happier.”

Draco had listened, rapt. Powerful, charming magic. Meghan doesn’t even know that it is the truth in more ways than one. And Draco sees a truth he has known, in the back of his mind but with the entirety of his heart, more clearly. Potter just cannot not be that. For all of his various disguises, inside he has always been just Harry. Full to the brim with more love than Draco can fathom, enough for everyone. And he feels more of a fool for not seeing it this way before.

“You said you were rivals, how then are you together now?”

Draco winced internally at her words, he treats them as true, but he knows they aren’t any longer, may never be again, “Our lives drifted apart for years, then I sort of found him, quite by chance.”

“You must be trouble then.”

Draco swallows, feeling guilty again, “How’s that?”

“Harrison says trouble has a way of finding him, so you must be trouble.”

Draco smiles in spite of himself, at this aphorism of Potter’s and because, again, she has spoken the truth without knowing it.

“I didn’t even realise it was him at first. He was this scrawny little kid at school, with clothes like three sizes too big and broken glasses, and now he’s this… well, the complete opposite. …In looks, anyway. He’s exactly the same in personality.”

“I can’t even picture him being scrawny. I mean he isn’t brawny now or anything, but he’s, like, bone, muscle, skin. And that man looks good in everything he wears, like it’s all made to fit him just right, even his rattier band T’s – don’t tell him but I stole one,” she cackles, a bit like Pansy. “I’m glad to hear he didn’t change as a person. It sounds like he had a hard childhood, with his parents being murdered in front of him as a baby and growing up with his aunt and her awful husband and kid. It’s a wonder he turned out like he did really.”

“A wonder, that is Po– Harrison alright.”

Draco is more than pleased with how Meghan had rendered his idea on his ribs. If he never gets to have Potter in the same way again, he will carry a representation of him near his heart. The light from out of the darkness that truly captures everything Potter is.

 

The next day Draco receives an owl. He is exhausted, having been up till the early hours before crying himself to sleep after. So, he is quite grumpy at being woken up by the rapping. But he recognises the little owl straight away as Hermione’s and it’s as good as mainlining an espresso. He hopes it is good news, but the letter doesn’t say much of anything other than to meet her at the Ministry as soon as possible. Draco grabs a folded parchment from his study desk and goes immediately by floo without even answering the message.

 

Hermione’s assistant asks him to wait as she has her husband in with her. Draco doesn’t have to wait long when Ron bustles out of the door. Draco makes himself as small as possible and Ron doesn’t seem to notice him. Neither does he seem upset, making Draco feel somewhat relieved.

Hermione beckons him into her office.

“Sit.”

Oh dear. “You look like you want to punch me… again.”

“I’m holding myself back.”

“I believe you.”

Hermione smiles without humour. Draco waits for her to speak, “I found Harry. He’s in a hospital in Romania.”

Romania. Charlie. Dragons. Draco suddenly cannot breathe, his stomach drops and blood rushes in his ears, “Is he…?”

“Alive.”

Draco does not like the sound of the starkness of that statement.

“What? How?”

“Harry went to Charlie. It’s where he went… after. I think he feels safe there.”

“How safe can it be when he’s in hospital?” Draco snaps.

Hermione just glares at him, and Draco decides he best keep his snide opinions to himself.

“Can I continue?”

Draco just nods sheepishly.

“Charlie said he was in a state when he arrived. Harry had only said that he just needed some time and asked Charlie not to tell anyone he was there. Charlie would do just about anything for Harry,” – wouldn’t we all, Draco thinks but doesn’t say – “so he did as he’d asked. Harry wanted to be put to work. Charlie said he volunteered for any and every job. He said that it was hard to watch, he barely ate, barely slept worked himself to the bone. That Harry wouldn’t say what was the matter and Charlie didn’t want to distress him further by pressing him.

“Then there was an emergency, two Dragons were fighting over territory. Ordinarily, the Wranglers don’t interfere but one of them is all but extinct and she has a nest. Harry wanted to go. Charlie said absolutely not. Harry had never handled Dragons in such a dangerous situation and in his state of mind, it wasn’t an option.”

Draco cannot help himself, “Let me guess, Potter went anyway?”

“Of course he did. They were trying to decide what to do when that menace swoops in on his bloody broom trying to lure the male away. What he thought he would do once it followed, who bloody knows? It’s not like he really thinks things through in these types of situations. Seat of the pants, our Harry always,” she rolls her eyes. “At first, it seemed to be working, it was even a Horntail if you can believe that–”

“Actually, I can.” Because such is Potter’s life.

“Such is his life,” Hermione says, echoing Draco’s silent sentiment, “Harry had its attention. But the Mother Dragon bellowed when the Wranglers moved in to calm her and the Horntail sent a burst of flame at Harry and wiped him off his broom entirely as it turned in the air to fly back. Charlie said all he saw,” she pauses a moment, taking a shaky breath, “was a ball of flame falling out of the sky.”

Draco gasps, putting his hand to his mouth. He is simultaneously picturing that awful image and remembering another time Potter flew a broom through fire. It raises gooseflesh over his entire body.

“Charlie said it took him and someone from the medical team twenty minutes to reach Harry. He said he’s seen worse in his line of work, but something about it being Harry lying there made it the worst thing he’s ever seen. It seems like Harry managed to cast a shield that spared him the brunt of the flame but the dragon fire weakened it and he did get badly burned, mostly on his left side as he turned away from it.”

Draco doesn’t know how Hermione is holding it together but perhaps she’s had time to process it or is being stoic because she must be just to cope.

“They stabilised him on a board, put him in stasis and lifted him out with a Hover charm. He said it was slow-going as they didn’t want to jostle him, but they had to climb back up over rough terrain. He thinks Harry fell close to eighty feet onto boulders.”

Draco has his fist to his mouth, shocked, scared, and furious at himself.

“They did what they could for him at the Wrangler’s field hospital, but he obviously needed more help than they could give him. Once he was stabilised, they took him to the hospital in Bucharest, it’s Muggle but they have Healer’s on staff in a disguised wing, because of the Dragon Reserve, as there is no fully magical hospital in that part of Europe. Charlie said that the Healer was quite angry with them that Harry was in stasis. He said that his magic could have begun to heal him. Charlie was equally angry because they had done as they’d been trained – he has quite a temper and he had to be escorted out which only made him angrier because now he didn’t know what was going on. They said he could come back when he’d cooled off.

“Beside the burns and severe smoke inhalation, Harry has nearly a dozen broken bones, they set them and gave him a large dose of Skel-E-Grow, and put him in a medically induced coma, Harry’s magic will do the rest. That’s where we are.”

Draco nods once, “Ron didn’t seem upset when he left.”

“He doesn’t know. No one else does. Charlie is trying to maintain his promise to Harry as far as possible and it’s easier to not have a hundred people, especially red-headed ones, asking questions until I’ve seen him and have answers. I had a hunch, and Charlie did not have a choice but to tell me when I erm... asked. I don’t really know why I’m telling you. Somehow it seems like the right thing to do. That’s something we learned together, the three of us. To trust that feeling.”

“Thank you, Hermione.”

“It’s not for you. I saw how much happier he has been these past six months. I didn’t know you were the reason, but he deserves happiness.”

“Six months? We only got together at my birthday, like I said. That’s less than six weeks ago.”

“Harry has been practically floating since the fundraiser.”

Draco doesn’t know what to say to this, instead he asks, “Are you going to see him?”

“Yes, I have a portkey out tomorrow morning.”

“I… uh, I wrote him a letter. I hadn’t yet thought of how to get it to him, but I brought it, in case. May I ask you give it to him, please?” At Hermione’s sceptical look, Draco adds, “Read it, it’s not sealed yet. Read it and if you decide not to give it to him, then I… then I understand. Please?”

Hermione holds out her hand and Draco hands over the parchment.

“Thank you.”

“Again, not for you.”

“I’ll take it. There’s that look again, I’m going to leave before the urge to punch me wins out.”

“What can I say Draco, you have a very punch-able face.”

Draco huffs a laugh and shakes his head, “I believe you.”

 

At home, while he tosses and turns and frets again that night, Draco thinks over his letter again. He’d been over it so many times, he knew it by heart.

 

Potter,

I have always thought that taking the mark and accepting the assignment that went with it was the biggest mistake of my life.

That is no longer true. Pushing you away, hurting you is so much worse.

I don’t think I have ever really felt like I deserve you. Not because of all those monikers you hate so much – you know I never held that figurehead in much esteem – but because you are just You.

I have been fortunate enough to be allowed to see each part of you – chosen hero saviour, godfather, friend, ‘rockstar’ – and to see them be a whole person with me. Or, at least you said once that you felt the most yourself with me. I think I didn’t want to dare believe it to be true.

So many people sing your praises and have done for so long. I have been sceptical of all of it thinking you only received it for what people imagined you to be. But as I got to know you, I have seen that you earned every single one. You are affectionate, caring, charming, encouraging, funny, generous, gentle, infuriating, kind, stubborn, talented (annoyingly so), thoughtful and truly remarkable (and yes those are in alphabetical order because I am that nerd). But above all of these gifts you give to the world at large, you are loving.

Hermione told me that you equate love with sacrifice. Before that, I had told you that you give too much, but I have seen that you do not have it in you to give anything less. I was stupidly, thoughtlessly jealous that, no matter what guise you wore, you gave of your care freely to most everyone you meet. I wanted you all to myself.

But my selfishness is not fair to you. It is not fair to stifle who you are at your beautiful, magical core. And I do not mean your actual magic, which is beautiful and astounding, I mean that you, Potter, exude life in an enthralling way. I have no right, because of my insecurities to tamp that spirit. Everyone you encounter deserves to be engulfed in it because it makes people happy. You make people happy with your singing, your philanthropy, your friendship, and your love.

I never told you, but it was you who helped me reach the decision I had been mulling over to adopt Elio when you let me win the Snitch. I do not know if it occurred to you to put in a word on my petition that might have swayed them just simply for being from you but leaving me to earn his adoption on my own was one of the greatest gifts you have given me. You were the first person I thought of when I found out – they have granted the adoption, Elio is my son.

You love with all of your heart, and I realised too late that you have taught me to love with all of mine. I think I have been afraid of admitting that.

My mother has more than once told me that you wear your heart on your sleeve and I saw this to be quite literally true with all the tributes you tattooed onto your body. But when Meghan told me that you had added something new to your wrist, I was beyond touched because I hope it means what I think it means.

And if it does, it means that I have made the biggest mistake of my life letting you go. I am going to let Hermione decide to give this to you or not, she knows you best. I hope she does. I hope it is enough and not too little, too late. Even if I have lost you forever, I want you to know this one thing, most of all…

When I left Ink Well after Meghan told me what you put indelibly on your ‘sleeve’, I just knew I could cast a fully formed Patronus. Unbelievably true, it’s a doe. A doe for your stag. A doe like Severus’. A doe because I feel the same for you as he did for your mother…

 

Always

 – Draco

PS: I couldn’t bear to give Elio the Malfoy name so I suggested he pick a star from Draconis so he would feel like part of the Black family, at least. He chose it because the star is orange – his name is now officially: Elio Giausar Rookwood.

Notes:

Giausar is pronounced JAW-sahr

Chapter 13

Notes:

I hadn’t realised that the chapter sizes would be so all over the place. This one is about half the length of most of them and so, instead of making you wait for the even shorter epilogue, I am posting them at the same time.

Draco is trying not to go insane with worry. He hears nothing from Hermione for weeks and does not feel like he can ask.

Then the day after Potter’s birthday – Draco thought of him constantly the entire day. He was saddened knowing that Potter’s spent his twenty-fifth in a hospital, possibly in pain, healing from serious burns and other injuries, all of which were indirectly Draco’s fault, while Potter had made his own twenty-fifth birthday one of the best he’s ever had – Hermione asks to meet him.

She specifies a time and Draco paces in front of his floo for close to an hour as the time approaches, unable to sit still.

 

“Draco.”

“Hermione.” He is on tenterhooks and Hermione may be letting him hang out to dry on them longer than necessary, but he feels like it’s justified, so he says nothing and waits.

“I went to see Harry yesterday for his–”

“Birthday. He was awake?”

“Finally, yes. I gave him your letter. I couldn’t read it for a while, I was still so angry with you,” she cannot even look at him when she says this. “But I did and I thought he needed to ‘hear’ all of that.”

Draco had temporarily forgotten about it in his overwhelming relief. He brings a fist to his mouth again and stifles a pained sound as tears well in his eyes.

“I can’t promise he’ll read it or anything.”

“Yeah, I know, thank you.”

Hermione looks at her lap, deep in thought for a few minutes. Then she sighs and looks up at Draco, “I have one more thing to say about this and then I’ll stand by him no matter what his choice.”

Draco bites his lip.

“Harry deserves to be loved without conditions. If he gives you another chance, which I honestly don’t think you deserve right now, do not fuck it up.”

Hermione seldom uses bad language, Draco knows.

“I know that I don’t deserve it. I have been selfish and insecure, like I said. And if he does, somehow, forgive me, I will never do anything to hurt him again.”

Hermione purses her lips but says nothing else just as she said she wouldn’t.

“Did they say when he might be recovered enough to leave?”

“The doctor wants to keep him as long as possible. Harry dislikes being cooped up in hospital beds, so I’m sure there will be heated discussions over it. But right now, I have no idea.”

Draco nods. They are quiet together for a few beats.

 

“Is there anything else I need to know about or that we need to discuss for the fundraiser?”

“No, I don’t think so. Everything is on track. My mother has picked up a lot of the slack on my part and I don’t have any concerns. The big vendors will be making their deliveries this week. I will be spending the last couple nights or so at the Manor to put it all in place. Most all the invitations to purchase tickets were accepted.”

“It was a great idea to make the tickets blank checks.”

“My mother’s. Yes, it means we will only know how well it has gone on the night.”

“And this surprise you mentioned. I do not much like surprises.”

“Same here. Potter is fond of them, to say the least, so they are growing on me.”

“He’s like a kid when it comes to surprises. And they’re the best sort, thoughtful and completely from the heart.”

“I know, his eyes kind of sparkle. They’re breathtaking,” Draco blushes at his effusiveness. He thinks he sees Hermione’s mouth twitch. “Pansy wanted us to put in a maze. There was no way I was going to countenance that, whether Potter was going to attend or not, it is entirely in poor taste. I had to explain why to her, for Merlin’s sake, before she would let it go. I think you will be happy with the overall atmosphere.”

“Thank you for that, not doing the maze, I mean. It was considerate of you. Alright. Well, owl me if you need anything. I shall be there an hour early to walk through.”

“Yes, of course,” Draco stands and reaches out his hand. Hermione hesitates for a fraction of a second then grips it tightly and shakes.

“See you then.”

 

---

There was hardly any time to speculate what Potter would do with his letter. Draco ended up spending nearly a week at the Manor, it was simply easier to stay there he realised, after he kept having to go to-and-fro.

But finally, everything was in place. They decided to finish everything the day before because they had to leave time – plenty of it darling – to get dressed. Draco’s mother wished him luck with a kiss on the cheek before flooing to Grimmauld Place to lavish love and dote on, and definitely not spoil, her beau petit Soleil.

 

As with every event, Draco and Pansy are waiting at the door to receive guests. Hermione joins them this time. And, between Draco’s assistant and Hermione’s, the collecting and tallying of the donations is all running smoothly.

Draco thinks the blue flowing layers of her tulle gown look demure and elegant on Hermione, topped with her hair piled high behind a delicate lace rabbit mask, and he tells her so.

It is the complete opposite to Pansy in a red slinky dress with a halter neck and low back, scarlet lips beneath a red crystal-encrusted mask – thank Morgana for being able to affix it with magic or it would mess her perfectly smooth hair, she said when Draco had complimented the ensemble.

The solarium and garden fill up with a riot of creativity and colour by the Magical Folk of all kinds in attendance. Draco wonders for all of half a second what his father would have thought about entertaining Goblins, Centaurs, Elves, Vampires and Werewolves amongst Witches and Wizards at his ancestral home and smiled at the red-faced spluttering he imagined.

 

Hermione was delighted by Draco’s surprise, dotted around the garden are topiaries trained into spirals and perfect spheres and other impossible shapes amongst his mother’s blooming rose bushes. The atmosphere is one of whimsy and opulence.

Dennis Creevey, representing all the press for Britain’s Wizarding World at Hermione’s express wish, is snapping pictures of the guests. Skeeter turned up anyway and was denied entrance by a formidable Hermione, backed up by an equally fearsome Draco. Pansy hadn’t been entirely sure what it was about but threw her disdain into the onslaught and Skeeter slunk away. Hermione had also insisted on wards around the event that prohibited disillusionment and transfigurations, including that of Animagi which she had erected herself prior to the start of the function.

The House-Elves outdid themselves with the food. And everyone seems to be enjoying the party. People are dancing on a huge marble floor set in the middle of the garden, lit by balls of light proudly sustained by House Elf Magic and laughter rings from every corner.

 

Once all the guests have arrived, Draco finds now he misses Potter even more. He can hardly enjoy himself when he is so far away. Far by distance, but more than likely, further still in his heart.

Draco has just manoeuvred himself to the edge of the room for some respite from the throng of people, when behind him he hears someone, appearing out of nowhere, standing very close, “You look ravishing.”

Draco feels a tendril of very familiar magic loop around his arm as a hand skates down his velvet jacket where it is adorned with silver filigree. The hand grasps his lightly and tugs him gently around. It is lifted to the lips under a gorgeous white wolf-shaped mask with cherry blossoms rising from a black nose, up and over the forehead, pink petals across the cheeks and inside the ears. Held on by pink ribbon entwined in black curls. Those lips just brush Draco’s knuckles, and it takes his breath away. A few moments go by before he can catch it again as he feels the man’s magic loop around him head to toe, like a warm, tender hug.

Every inch of the man kissing his hand is exquisite in a white silk jacket with black lapels and a cherry blossom tree embroidered across the back, reaching over his shoulders and down his upper arms. This over a black shirt and pink tie intricately tied in a trinity knot. Perfectly pressed black trousers, and perfectly pristine pink and white Chuck Taylor’s – Malfoy would have thought they ruined the whole thing, but Draco thinks they are perfectly suited.

Draco ducks his head hiding a smile. The man tilts his chin up with a finger and peridot eyes, sparkling with mischief, look straight into his.

“Dance with me.”

“Ordinarily I would, but you see, I’m in love with someone and I couldn’t bear to dance with anyone but him.”

“Oh, this is a little awkward. Well, he’s one lucky man,” a smile quirks at the edges of his mouth.

“No, I am the lucky one.”

“Is he here though?” he whispers conspiratorially.

“He was reckless, which is not unusual for him, by the way, only this time it was my fault, and he was gravely injured, so I wasn’t sure he’d make it. But I hoped he would.”

“Draco,” the man whispers again. And Draco feels a lump rising in his throat, not only because of the unwarranted concern evident in his voice, but also because the voice is raspier than he has known it to be. No doubt, because of the damage it took in the fire. It breaks his heart that his beautiful voice has been damaged. “Can we go somewhere? We need to talk.”

Draco drops his head again and nods. He takes the man’s hand and escorts him tentatively out of the solarium, through some passages sealed to the other guests and into his own room upstairs. It feels stifling after the outside air, so he leads Potter onto the balcony.

 

The man reaches to carefully untie Draco’s black dog-shaped mask, smooth and matt, and a stark contrast to his white-blond hair. Draco watches as he tugs his own mask off less gently, the ribbons pulling his hair out into loose black curls as they come undone.

“Potter, first, how are you, really? Should you even be here?”

“First, I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. And I’m a bit tender where the burns on my side are healing,” he gestures to the length of his left ribs vaguely down to his hip. “I’ve cast a numbing charm so my shirt doesn’t chafe but I have strict care instructions that perhaps you can help me with?” hope lifts the end of the sentence into a question.

“Of course, I will,” Draco nods then bites his lip his brow knitting together, before saying, “Potter, I… –”

“Shh, don’t,” he puts a finger to Draco’s lips then smooths the crease between his eyes.

“How is it you are consoling me when I do not deserve it?”

“I read your letter. Promise me you won’t say that anymore.”

“I really do not deserve it, or you. But I am hoping that your being here means you might just have forgiven me anyway?”

“Draco, this isn’t going to work if you don’t trust me and… trust me, I am in love with you.”

“Really, after everything?”

“Yes, still,” – still – “I am in love with every bit of this beautiful, clever, haughty, pretentious, secretly sweet, witty man.” As Potter says this, he slides his arms around Draco’s waist crossing them over his lower back and Draco melts into him.

He puts his arms on Potter’s chest a moment later, “Downgraded from gorgeous, am I?”

Potter laughs, “Ah no, a terribly grave error on my part. Gorgeous indeed.”

“Also, you left out sexy.”

“It goes without saying.”

Draco nods conceding his point, “Potter?”

“Mmm?”

“I love all the words, and that they were in alphabetical order too, I noticed, but shut up and kiss me.”

Potter tightens his arms and leans in to do so, stopping just before meeting Draco’s lips, “Wait, just checking you did mean me, before, down there. I’m the bloke you said you’re in love with?”

Draco rolls his eyes in a show of being exasperated at having to repeat himself, but also because this is harder without the masks in between them, but he manages to meet Potter’s eyes, “First, I am afraid you only come a close second now to my son. But yes, you idiot.”

“Rude.”

“True.”

“Berk.”

“Chosen One.”

Potter gasps theatrically, “You take that back!”

“Never. See, you chose me and I… choose you.”

“Ha… I’ll never see the words the same. And I’ll take being a close second since you must concede to Teddy.”

“Oh, well then you’re third.”

Potter chuckles as he draws Draco tightly into him, so that every part of them that can possibly be in contact is and rises on his toes slightly to gain the inch Draco has on him in height – he loves it when Potter does this – then kisses him. Tenderly, thoroughly, lovingly, Potter-y.

It feels like they kissed for years, and yet it is not long enough. When finally, they pull apart, they touch foreheads, eyes closed, to just be, together, in love, chosen.

 

“I really hated knowing you were stuck in that hospital bed for your birthday. It’s a little late but I have a gift for you.”

“Another one? I got my gift already, I read your letter on my birthday.”

Draco bites his lip in wonder that Potter thought his letter is gift enough.

“Is it here?” He looks round like it might suddenly pop out of hiding.

Draco’s smile is shy, “Yes, but I cannot give it to you right now.”

“How cruel, Draco Malfoy, you tell me you have a gift then make me wait.”

“Well, I learned the art of surprise from the best.”

“Moi?”

“Oui.”

Potter kisses Draco on the tip of his nose.

 

“So, how did you choose your mask? Seems a remarkable coincidence considering the one I was wearing.”

“I didn’t, I had another mask, a silver one. But I went to Grimmauld to drop Elio off, and Teddy presented me with this one and told me that it was Very Important to wear it. He said it was because I was a Black like Uncle Sirius. I can’t refuse him anything, and with Elio chiming in on top of that, I left the one I planned to wear there and brought this one.”

“Ha, funny that.”

“How so?”

“A certain Slytherinpuff I think we have on our hands, also insisted I wear the wolf mask. He claimed it was because it has cherry blossoms on it, because he knows I love them, and it matches my jacket. Transfigured to do so, no doubt. Oh, I made our boys a fort and left them giggling in it, by the way.”

Draco chuckles at this image, “Hmm… do you think they are trying to make a point about something?” Wait! Our. Draco looks sharply up at Potter who is grinning. He knows what he said.

“That we are each other’s most special friend perhaps?”

“How cunning,” Draco smiles easily, meeting Potter’s eyes.

And then, looking at each other, they both softly, simultaneously howl, “Ah-whoo.” And then burst out laughing at having the same thought.

They stand swaying slightly with a breeze ruffling their hair. When Draco shivers a bit, always a prone to getting cold, they go inside his bedroom.

“I have some other things I want to tell you.” So, they sit on Draco’s bed, facing each other holding hands, legs entwining without them thinking about. “I want to tell you what I’ve been doing these past few years.”

“You don’t have to; I do trust you.”

“I want to. I don’t want there to be secrets between us. It wasn’t really a secret in that way, it was a contract. I was the initial investor in Weasley Wizarding Wheezes. I was searching for something to do when George told me about an idea he and Fred had been toying with. The contract was charmed so that the signatures bound us to be unable to speak about it. We made it so for many reasons, one of which is competition – a bit like Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, it’s a Muggle children’s–”

“I know who Roald Dahl is, Potter,” Draco says affronted.

“Of course, you do,” he says with a small smile. “So, trade secrets, like that, and so that neither of us could leak it by mistake to the press by simply being overheard.”

Draco clears his throat, “I am really sorry about–”

“Shh, I told you, don’t apologise, especially not for Skeeter’s conniving. I wasn’t saying it to make you feel guilty. It was simply one of the reasons for the Langlock. I just wanted to have something that was all my own. I mean it was for W3 ultimately, but George let me run with it and it felt good to have a way to bring happiness to people when George used my research to invent new products. Making people happy, like I said before, is what makes me the happiest.”

 

Potter tells him that he and George agreed to cancel the spell on the contract so that he can tell Draco about some of the places he has been and why to gather knowledge for George to turn into tricks and gags and toys. Draco’s earlier research about the animals in Teddy’s stories make sense now and, being the nerd he is for such things, he is fascinated and has a hundred questions.

“I promise, I’ll tell you about all of it. For now, we have probably been gone way too long. Before we go, just know, I love you more than anything.”

“I doubt it can possibly be as much as I love you.”

“Mmm, I think it could be.”

“I feel quite certain it cannot, but feel free to try and prove it.”

Potter pulls Draco in and kisses him, nipping at his bottom lip as he pulls away for good measure.

“Um… yeah, I mean that is a good start, but you will have to do better than that.”

“Dance with me. Out there.”

Draco reaches for his mask that they had set down on the bed when they came inside, “Help me put this on.”

“No,” Potter takes the dog mask from Draco and tosses it aside, “without these.”

“What? No, it might be Dennis representing all the papers, but it is still the press. And a good deal of who’s who in Wizarding Britain. What would they say? No, I won’t do that to you.”

“I don’t care, Draco. …No scratch that, I care so much. I want them to see that… I chose you,” Potter says the last against Draco’s cheek that a kiss is pressed into as the punctuation to the declaration.

“You’re sure. I’m still me and you are–”

“Your most special friend,” Potter stands and tugs Draco up.

 

They re-join the party and go straight to the dancefloor, taking turns leading each other around the floor. Eventually, they just end up simply swaying in that shuffle that people in love do and, throughout it all, they only have eyes for each other.

 

---

Ron returns from the buffet juggling two small plates overloaded with canapés in one hand, while trying to also eat items off them with his other, while not messing on his suit.

“Why is the food and plates at these things always in miniature?”

“Oh, thank you, I’m famished. Which one is mine?”

“Erm… these are both for me. Did you want something?”

“Charming, Ronald.”

He shrugs in a you-knew-what-you-were-getting kind of way.

Hermione rolls her eyes as she turns away from him to continue speaking low in Luna’s ear. Ron notices they seem to be looking at something in the middle of the room. This leads him to notice that the ladies’ masks are off.

“We can take these things off now? Brilliant, they’re bloody annoying.” Ron realises he may have to put his food down to take off his harlequin mask, so he decides to finish off what’s on them first.

Neville arrives floating a tray of drinks ahead of him, which he dishes out. He turns to look at the dancefloor and after a moment says, sounding a little choked, “They look so happy.”

With his mouth full, Ron asks, “Who does?”

Before anyone answers, Ginny, Angelina, and George, who is also nibbling off a plate, joins the growing group of people, ducking his head between Hermione and Luna to stage whisper, “What are we gawking at?”

Hermione points discreetly but Ron can’t quite see at what.

“At last, don’t you think, they’ve been making eyes at each since forever,” says Ginny.

Angelina nods, putting an arm around George.

“It’s like Romeo and Juliet, quite romantic,” Luna says in a dreamy voice, holding her skirt as she swishes the bright purple dress from side-to-side.

“Which of them is Juliet, then?” George asks.

Off to one side they hear, “That bitch!” They turn their heads almost as one to see Pansy, hands on hips, expression torn between shock and outrage, “How dare he keep something so juicy from me.”

“Guess that answers that question,” says George with a wicked grin.

Pansy comes over to stand with them, pouting, but rapt, nonetheless. “When exactly did Potter learn to dance like that? I mean he was an absolute disaster at the Yule Ball. Is that a tango, for Morgana’s sake?”

“Juliet?” Ron is a bit behind the conversation and entirely confused now.

“Sooo, Harry asked me to cancel the Langlock on the contract with him so he could explain why he travels so much.”

“Harry? Contract, what contract?”

“Harry is responsible for the ‘R’-part of R&D at W3,” George answers Ron’s question for the whole group.

This is followed by a few overlapping questions, the gist of which is ‘what is he researching?’ Again, George addresses the group as a whole, “We are studying mischievous folklore and creatures from around the world to get inspiration and learn about the magic their trickery is founded on for new product development. Fascinating stuff, just about every culture has some sort of trickster myth. And the underlying magic can be extremely complex. Harry has been amazing at unravelling them and developing spells and charms with it.”

There is a ‘wow’, and a ‘so interesting’, a ‘brilliant’ and a ‘wicked’ in response to this news about what the ‘mostly’ part of Harry’s travels has been comprised. They all turn their eyes back to the dancefloor with varyingly pensive expressions. Pansy stalked off sometime during George’s explanation.

“But what are you all looking at?”

Hermione tugs Ron’s arm to pull him forward, “Can you see that rather large hat with the vulture on it?”

“My gran,” Neville adds unnecessarily.

“Ok, yes.”

“To the right of that.”

Finally, Ron’s eyes alight on a head of dark tousled hair pressed against another of immaculate white-blond.

“No! That isn’t… it can’t be,” he squints. “Bloody hell.”

Chapter 14: Epilogue

Draco harrumphs at seeing The Daily Prophet lying on the island as he enters the kitchen. He, as elegantly as possible to do such a thing, shinnies up onto it and sees a sealed note, his name in scarlet ink, lying on top. He knows exactly who it is from. Draco reads aloud:

Draco darling

This is for not telling me about Potter!                                                                                              

Your most loyal, best friend… or, apparently, not .

                                                                                                              Pansy xx

At a glance at the Prophet, Draco laments, “After all of Hermione’s efforts to keep Skeeter out, Pansy just hands her a headline article.”

Potter chuckles and turns around to see Draco dressed in his Simon Carter with only the second to last two buttons done up over navy boxer-briefs, paired with Potter is most amused to see, a pair of mismatched socks – one Argyle and the other polka-dotted.

“This looks good on you.”

At this Draco tugs the edge of unbuttoned portion nonchalantly revealing a collar bone, Potter is a little broader in the shoulder. “Oh, I just picked the first thing I saw hanging in the cupboard.”

“From inside a suite bag hanging in a heavily warded cupboard?”

“First, it is not my fault your silly cupboard let me through your wards, I mean how good could they have been?”

“Considering there is a Deathly Hallow in there, they should be entirely solid.”

Draco shrugs, “Second, I have standards, Potter.”

Draco’s standards do not apply to Potter who can wear what he damn well pleases, Meghan is right everything looks delectable on the man – including a raggedy old pair of heather grey joggers. Despite his proclamation that all his clothes fit now, they are a smidge or three too big resulting in them sitting lower than they ought in polite company. Draco being said polite company, is not complaining, it did help ameliorate the ghastly thing that he was not wearing anything else but his yummy tattoos.

Also, the egg lifter in is his hand is a most appreciated accessory.

 

Draco tears his eyes away from the dimples in Potter’s lower back and reads aloud the headline of the newspaper while Potter continues to make Draco’s favourite apple pancakes, the smell of the cinnamon sauce already suffusing the kitchen.

Harry Potter Unmasked

By Rita Skeeter

Draco watches his hips swivel as he shakes the pancake loose to flip it. He wonders if Potter’s doing it on purpose. Actually, Draco can almost hear the self-satisfied grin which is confirmed when Potter turns around leaning against the counter. Arms crossed, egg lifter poking out one side. Draco hurriedly returns his eyes to the paper. Potter snickers – definitely on purpose.

“Ahem,” Draco says the word, rather than actually clearing his throat before reading the article aloud.

“Last night, at a sophisticated masquerade ball in support… of creature rights–”

“All you,” Potter interjects from over his shoulder, having turned back to stir the sauce.

Technically quite a lot his mother and Pansy since Draco was preoccupied with a stupid, reckless, badly injured idiot. His eyes are drawn to the burn scar on Harry’s left side before he continues, “the undeniably dashing and… desirable Harry Potter–”

“Please,” Potter says gruffly, rolling his head back and Draco assumes his eyes with it, “Also, you said Harry.” He giggles.

“I am quoting. And I agree with that bit.” He resumes the reporter cadence, “made a reappearance in Wizarding Society in a most audacious and scandalous way,” Draco is even doing the silly head bobs.

“Rude!”

Draco skims ahead then drops the mocking tone to re-read the next part aloud, “Audaciousness we expect from the Gryffindor who defeated You-Know-Who–”

“For fuck’s sake,” Potter growls. “Also, it is ridiculous they still call him that.”

“But the scandal came in the form of Slytherin and ex-Death Eater Draco Malfoy–”

“Very fucking rude!” he punctuates this with a stab of the egg lifter in the air before flipping the next pancake. Draco smiles.

“… with whom Harry seemed to be completely enchanted.”

Pancakes apparently finished, Potter comes to stand alongside Draco, arms on the counter, he props one bare foot on the metatarsal, swinging his heel and forth while he gazes wistfully into, perhaps the memory of last night. Draco loves this quirk of Potter’s, to stand like this.

Draco continues, “And that raises a question. One of many. Has Malfoy confunded- so you’re Harry and I’m Malfoy?”

 

Potter stands up and plucks the paper out of Draco’s hands, crumples it up and tosses it over his shoulder. He moves between Draco’s legs and unbuttons the shirt all the way. His hands slide splayed over Draco’s ribs and over Potter’s surprise birthday gift tattoo on the left-hand side – a thundercloud out of which a forked lightning bolt strikes. As Potter swipes his thumb over it, the cloud roils and the lightning bolt disappears, only to strike again – it quite literally feels like a jolt of electricity to Draco as it does, but in a pleasant tingly sort of way. Potter is mesmerised for a moment as he causes another strike that makes Draco shudder and eliciting goosebumps.

Potter smiles and chuckles, then kisses Draco’s cheek sweetly. He ducks his head slightly, as though shy, and Draco can feel his eyelashes flutter on his cheek and it’s all he can do not to shudder again. He whispers, “But I’ll always be ‘Pottah’ to you.”

 

FIN

Notes:

Thank you so very much to everyone who stuck with it along the way and for all the acknowledgement via kudos and my lovely, lovely comments.

I will post the missing bit from Chapter 10 next. Then I have some more stories so watch this space. Thanks again!!

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of To Hold Up a Mirror