Chapter Text
When Draco Malfoy was 7, he fell in love with Harry Potter before he even met him. Honestly, what did people expect? His entire life, the world has been blabbering about a brave boy with black hair and green eyes who saved the whole world. How could Draco ever hope to hold his feelings against such raw power and heroism? Not to mention, Dobby had waxed poetic about the tales of the great Harry Potter and every night to help Draco fall asleep. And so, Draco knew that the second he met Harry Potter, he would make him his friend. Sure, it might take longer for Harry to get on the same page as Draco, but that was alright. Harry was probably very smart and Draco could be patient. He’d only waited his whole life, after all.
When Draco Malfoy was 11, he realized he was wrong. Harry Potter was not smart at all! Why, the absolute nerve of the boy, to turn down a handshake that was meant to ensure that they fell in love. But no, Harry wasn’t interested. The world’s savior had turned up his nose at Draco and claimed he could tell the wrong sort for himself, thanks. Draco had been gutted. He’d caught a glimpse of Harry at Madam Malkin's not too long ago, but had been too nervous to go up and say anything to the boy—too mesmerized. Nonetheless, it seemed there was a hitch in Draco’s plan for they would not be friends after all.
When Draco Malfoy was 16, he spent more days crying than not. Terrified and scared, Draco was willing to do anything—vile, cruel, hurtful things—to save his mother. Constantly being taunted by the Dark Lord to obey his command unless he wanted something terrible to happen to his mother, Draco did as he was told, even if no part of him wanted to. That year, Harry Potter had taken a particular interest in him—well, to call a spade a spade, it was stalking, wasn’t it? And Draco, just as pathetically in love as he had always been, felt a thrill at the attention he was receiving from the boy who he craved it from the most. Until one day, Potter walked in on him crying in the girl’s bathroom.
When Draco Malfoy was 17, he was rescued by Harry Potter from a room incinerating itself in Fiendfyre. Draco had never wanted to hurt Potter. In fact, he was lowering his bloody wand even as Potter was speaking, recognizing that Draco didn’t identify the Golden Trio at the Manor. There was something different in Harry’s eyes when he spoke—a sort of sadness and maybe something softer. But it didn’t matter. They still weren’t friends and they were never going to be. It didn’t matter how many times Draco told his aching heart this truth, it never stung any less.
When Draco Malfoy was 18, he sat in front of the Wizengamot, awaiting the final verdict of his trial. His father had been sentenced to life in Azkaban. Surely, Draco and his mother would receive the same fate. But at the very last moment, a charged force entered the room, insisting that he speak on behalf of Draco and his mother. Draco didn’t even need to turn to know who it was. It was his curse after all, his heart always knew when Harry Potter was in the room. Potter spoke with vehemence, insisting that he wouldn’t have been alive without Draco or his mother. Draco didn’t identify him. Narcissa lied to the Dark Lord’s face. Those small acts of defiance—those shimmers of good—changed the narrative entirely. Potter insisted that he would not be standing there without Draco and Narcissa Malfoy, and they deserved better than a life in Azkaban. Lo and behold, Draco was acquitted the very same day.
When Draco Malfoy was 19, his mother passed away. No one attended the funeral, except for Draco himself and his aunt Andromeda. Draco thought he was alone before, but it was nothing compared to how he felt now—with no anchor, no reason to continue living. Draco visited his mother’s grave every single week. And every week without fail, someone had laid a fresh wreath of narcissus on the cold slab of marble. Draco never saw who put them there, but he was grateful for them because on his own visits, he cried too hard to do any magic.
When Draco Mafoy was 20, he renovated Malfoy Manor to become a home for children orphaned by the war. Granted, many were skeptical but he did everything he could to prove that he had no ulterior motive, he just wanted to help. His assistance came in the form of one Hermione Granger—rapidly rising in the ranks at the Ministry—who declared Draco’s intentions to be noble and trustworthy, helping him establish the Manor as a home where children felt safe, loved and protected. Draco hoped he was helping. That was all he wanted to do now—heal what had been broken, help those who needed it.
When Draco Malfoy was 21, he was accepted as a Healer at St. Mungo’s. Some people were wary and others were downright incensed but Draco was determined to give everything he had to this job, no matter what it cost him. He had spent too much of his life hurting people. He wanted to heal now—be the reason why someone could go back home to their loved ones at the end of the day. Never mind that Draco went home to no one, in an isolated flat in Muggle London, because no one would sell him a place anywhere near the hospital. But it was alright. Draco didn’t complain, he never did. He was fulfilled and busy—what more could he ask for? He only ever thought of Harry Potter in his dreams, where they were in a different world. Happy and in love.
When Draco Malfoy was 22, he ran into Harry Potter at a pub. Potter looked bloody fit. The awkward, malnourished boy from their youth who had always been on the run with never enough to eat was gone. Auror Potter had layers of thick muscles lining every plane of his body. Though his hair hadn’t tamed even one bit, it suited him well now—all wild and crazy like the man beneath it all. Those green eyes were just as striking and his languid grin just as devastating. Potter leaned on the bar next to Draco and smirked, in that lazy, arrogant way that knew he was never going to be denied anything. Potter bought him a drink and then asked him to dinner. Seven dinners later (Draco wasn’t sure it wasn’t all some funny Gryffindor prank), Draco let him come back to his flat where they stayed in bed for an entire weekend, alternating between desperate, vicious fucking and slow, sweet sex. When Potter began staying the night and leaving his toothbrush and a couple spare shirts around while regularly clearing out his kitchen of all its food, Draco realized they were in a relationship.
When Draco Malfoy was 23, he stepped out of the Floo at the Burrow, meeting his boyfriend’s family for the first time. It was nerve wracking and tense, but the ice thawed as he talked about Muggle appliances with Arthur (and promised to show him the ones in his flat) and new recipes with Molly. Even the Weasel welcomed a formidable chess rival and Granger had already been on his side from when Draco donated the Manor. That night, Harry pressed Draco into the sheets, slid inside him with tears in his eyes and whispered I love you .
When Draco Malfoy was 24, he moved into Grimmauld Place—his ancestral home—because Harry said he was sick and tired of Draco not being there when he got home from work. Draco argued that Harry’s concerns were ridiculous because Harry spent half his time at Draco’s flat anyway and Draco wouldn’t be known as some free-loader off of the Chosen One since Harry refused to accept a rent payment, but Harry was adamant. After a massive fight where Draco realized he was being an arse since all Harry really wanted was for Draco to be near him, Draco handed his keys back to his Muggle tenant and showed up to Grimmauld’s front door with all of his belongings in one hand, and an apology bag of Indian takeout in the other. Harry had merely grinned, pulled him in and fucked him on the floor of the entryway. If Draco wasn’t mistaken, the house seemed to let out a sigh of relief.
When Draco Malfoy was 25, he came home from St. Mungo’s utterly exhausted and looking forward to a quiet night with his boyfriend. Perhaps they could take a long bath together and Harry could fuck him into the sheets in that slow, lazy way that made Draco feel like he was losing his mind. But instead, when he entered their home, Harry was waiting in a full suit and dinner on the table. He’d made an effort—which was notable because Draco always nagged the man about putting some care into the way he dressed—because as soon as Draco walked up to him, Harry dropped to one knee and asked for the rest of forever. Draco hoped he said yes at least a couple times in the middle of all the sobs.
When Draco Malfoy was 26, he held Harry’s hand in front of all their friends and family, exchanging vows and teary kisses. Finally, after years of being in love and dreaming of this day, Draco married the love of his life and promised to love him forever.
When Draco Malfoy was 27, he and his husband welcomed their first child. Leo James Potter was born on a blistering summer day, looking equally like both his parents. Wild, untamable hair paired with discerning, gray eyes. Pointy facial features on a much warmer skin tone. A blinding, aloof smile in contrast with the cunning, sharp remarks that came out of it. Yes, he was the perfect mix. Just perfect, really. Draco loved him ever so. Harry spoiled him to no end and Draco didn’t have the heart to scold his husband about it, because Draco knew that it was just his way of ensuring that Leo felt all the love that Harry had never felt in his own childhood. And really, how could Draco ever argue with that? He would let Harry spoil Leo forever.
When Draco Malfoy was 28, he held Leo in his arms as they watched Auror Harry Potter be officially announced as the new head of the DMLE. Though Leo hardly knew what was going on at the ripe age of one, Draco felt so proud of his husband that he could burst. He told him so when they made their way back home—Harry lying on the ground with Leo for the baby’s doctor-ordered tummy time. Harry just shook his head and said that he didn’t care about Head Auror, not really. All Harry had ever wanted was in their home, together. Draco held onto those words forever.
When Draco Malfoy was 29 years old, he always felt tired. Between work at St. Mungo’s and taking care of a toddler, he felt like he was failing. Sure, he had Harry’s help but Harry’s job was to save the world because it relied on him. So while the world relied on Harry, Harry relied on Draco. It wasn’t easy, holding it all up on his own two shoulders but Draco did it and tried not to feel resentful of his husband’s fame and status because Harry had never—not even once—acted like anything mattered to him more than his family. And so Draco kept the smile on his face even as his eyes shut, because this was the forever he’d always wanted and how could he not do everything he could to keep it together?
At 30 years old, Draco Malfoy thinks that they might be at the end of forever.