Chapter Text
Ron still had a room in Harry’s and George’s flat, much to Hermione’s chagrin. He called it his bachelor pad, said it was an important shrine of his forgotten youth. Every time he visited he would check up on it, make sure that his brother hadn’t nicked the plaster Cannons logo on his shelf, or his book on field medicine that he’d bought just after they left school, in that hazy two month period where he’d wanted to be a Healer. Despite that, he hadn’t slept at the flat in years and had no desire to, having bought a place with Hermione what felt like forever ago.
Occasionally, after nights out or when he and Harry caught a late Portkey from a Quidditch match on the continent, he’d stay over, but he always kipped in Harry’s room. He’d drunkenly proclaim that the attic was too dark and he’d be too scared to sleep by himself, despite having grown up with the exact same bedroom setup at the Burrow.
Harry suspected that he just wanted an excuse to cuddle a bit, which he didn’t particularly mind; Ron ran hot, and the house’s Heating Charms tended to splutter during the dead of winter.
Two days before, Ron had Floo’d and informed Harry that he’d be coming round and to prepare to call off work for the following day. They sat in Harry’s bedroom, leaning against opposite walls and going through a six-pack, giggling like teenagers as they gossiped about their old schoolmates.
“Tracey Davis cut her fringe herself,” Ron said, widening his eyes meaningfully. “Hermione says she got dropped by that wanker from the DCMC – Patrick something.”
Harry winced. He tried to cover it by pretending to shiver, letting out a brr and rubbing a hand along his bare forearm.
Ron narrowed his eyes. “Mate.”
“What?”
“Don’t tell me you’ve got a thing for Tracey Davis? Or the illustrious Patrick?”
“Er, no.”
Ron raised an eyebrow. He made a sweeping gesture with his hand, indicating that Harry should elaborate.
“I’m just a bit nervous for the finale. It’s fine. Let’s talk about someone else getting dumped – I hear Padma and Terry are on the rocks.”
“They’re not,” Ron replied. “Saw him at the jewellers the other day. Your Peri lad seemed pretty keen on you in the last episode. Did you not do enough to close the deal?”
“No, I…” Harry sighed and set his drink down. “I’m a bit worried about the response, that’s all.”
“You’re the fan favourites. Like, pretty obviously.”
“I know,” Harry said. “But it’s…”
Ron cleared his throat. He leaned an elbow on his bent knee, his gaze searching. “You’re not talking about the toffs in Diagon, are you?”
“Not really.”
“So you’re worried about what we’ll think? Me and Hermione and everyone?”
After a moment, Harry nodded.
Ron pursed his lips for a moment. “Who is it?”
“You know I can’t tell you that – the secrecy spell will activate.” Mercifully – his contract gave him an out that he was thankful for. He wasn’t sure that he was ready to lay the full reveal on Ron right at that moment. He’d rather feel it out first, temper his opinion before it fully formed.
“Right,” Ron said. “Uh, what do they look like? I mean their face – I’ve seen their biceps enough for an entire bloody lifetime. Not bad, by the way.”
“Thanks. Can’t say that either, though.”
“What’s their job?”
Harry held his hands out to the sides, a grin beginning to spread. “Nope.”
Ron let out a dramatic huff. He rolled his eyes, doing a bang-up impression of Draco. “Are you actually worried? Like, properly?”
“A bit, yeah.”
Ron tapped the head of his beer bottle against his chin. “This sounds like a complete cop out, but you don’t need to get your head in a knot.”
“Thanks, mate. I feel massively reassured.”
Ron flipped him two fingers. “I mean it – I trust your judgement, always will. Even though she meddles, Hermione does too. Whoever you’ve chosen, we’ll support you. Even if they’re a proper wanker.”
With a shaky laugh, Harry said, “You might not support this.”
“You’ve not been dating my dad, have you?”
Beer sprayed over Harry’s bent knees as he spluttered. “What the fuck? No.”
“Or my mum?”
“Even more no.”
“Don’t sound so offended, she’s a bit of a catch. Point is, as long as you’re not breaking up a Weasley marriage, it’ll be fine. Seriously.” He took a swing from his bottle and raised his eyebrows. “Do I know them?”
“Yeah,” Harry said. “Yeah, you do.”
Nose screwing up, Ron asked, “It’s not that twat Smith again, is it?”
Harry mimed stabbing himself in the chest. “Don’t even joke. Throw me in the Channel if I ever get that idea again.”
“Come here,” Ron said, holding an arm out to the side. He waited until Harry crawled over and fitted himself under it before saying, “I love you – we both do. As long as you’re doing what’s right for you, we’ll support it.”
“Yeah,” Harry said. He took another drink, blinking as his eyes clouded. “Appreciate it, mate.”
“Don’t cry,” Ron joked, tightening his arm around Harry’s shoulders. “You’ll make me cry and we’re already sad enough, sitting on the floor on a weekday night, drinking. We don’t need to get all weepy as well.”
“He might not fit in with us,” Harry said. “You might still hate him.”
Ron let out a long breath. “I’ll try not to. You can find common ground with anyone if you try hard enough. I’ll start putting together conversation starters for our re-meeting.”
“I want him to fit here, with us. Into my life.”
“He will,” Ron said. “Come on, you sad sack, let’s put on the Wireless – they’re airing a replay of the Kestrels getting smashed by the Wasps and I need a laugh.”
*
It was a few days later when Harry put his next phase of Plan Sort-Harry’s-Head-Out into action.
He was walking Teddy home from school – a regular occurrence and a highlight of his week. It gave them time to chat, for him to hear about how school was going, what Teddy’s friends were like, and to keep tabs on his changing interests. Teddy was almost certainly old enough to make the fifteen minute walk himself – Harry had been cooking full meals and helping to manage a household at his age – but that didn’t stop him from worrying that Teddy was going to somehow get kidnapped by some weirdo in a white van as he stopped at a zebra crossing. So it was easier on Harry’s blood pressure to accompany him.
It wasn’t all walking – sometimes they went to the arcade or to see a film. It felt a bit like they were mates sometimes, the casualness of it all. Harry knew that he’d miss those afternoons deeply when Teddy went off to Hogwarts.
But there were more pressing matters at hand to focus on – like information gathering.
“So,” Harry said, shifting from foot to foot. “How’s Draco been going?”
Teddy frowned at him, his teal eyebrows drawing together. “Why?”
“Because I asked?”
“Why?”
“Because I want to know.”
Heaving a sigh that was weary beyond his years, Teddy asked, “Are you going to ask all sorts of weird questions again, like when I was little?”
“No,” Harry replied. He hoped to god Draco never found out about the interrogations he used to subject Teddy to, back in the early days. At the time, he’d had a good reason – Draco was fresh off his post-war trial, had made a solemn apology in public and had completed his requisite community service. He’d attended a Muggle Studies course, travelling to Hogwarts three times a week to sit in with the Seventh Years. He’d apologised to half of wizarding Britain, gritting his teeth all the while. He’d reconnected with his aunt.
The last item in the list was what had set alarm bells ringing in eighteen-year-old Harry’s head. And Andromeda hadn’t entertained even one word of his meddling.
Where Teddy was concerned, Harry had done his best to push for information subtly – though, evidently, it hadn’t been even remotely subtle. Once Teddy was old enough to talk, Harry would pop over for a visit to chat with him, ask him about what he’d done with Draco that day, where they’d gone and who they’d spoken to.
It had felt like proper reconnaissance at the time.
Now it just felt like an embarrassing overreaction.
“I’m not being weird,” Harry said. “I’m just … wanting to check something.”
Teddy’s schoolbag bumped against his back as he jumped over a branch that lay across the pavement. “Draco’s cool. He’s fun.”
“Brilliant,” Harry said. “‘Fun’ how?”
“He’s good at Marco Polo. One time he climbed up a tree. Are you going to play Marco Polo with him?”
“Er,” said Harry, “no, I don’t reckon I will.”
“He gets really excited when he’s winning. It’s funny.”
“Anything else?”
Teddy narrowed his eyes. “Why?”
Harry’s eyes flicked upwards. “My … friend might want to be boyfriends with him. But you know Draco better than I do, so I thought I’d ask you about him before I said anything to them.”
Teddy sprung into overdrive. He began to list positive qualities of Draco’s, counting them on his fingers. They ranged from ‘always remembers to wear a lifejacket when canoeing’ – cute, but not particularly useful – to ‘is scared of purple butterflies. But only the purple ones’ – definitely a lie – to ‘tells the best jokes’ and ‘did funny voices when he used to read me books at bedtime’ – very valuable information.
The things that Teddy spouted were definitely embellished. For example, there was no way that Draco had managed to outswim a mermaid in a highland loch one summer, nor had he been called the ‘prettiest bloke alive’ when he and Teddy had been out in Muggle London buying new shoes. But all the same, they helped to paint a picture that had already begun to form in Harry’s mind.
He wasn’t insane and he hadn’t been driven completely round the bend by lust and George Weasley’s teas – Draco was different. He’d been different for a while. And despite Harry’s near constant surveillance, he hadn’t properly noticed it before they’d been paired up on the show.
“Does he ever have boyfriends?” Harry asked, doing his best to sound casual. “Has he ever asked you to meet anyone?”
Teddy’s lip curled in a rather hilarious imitation of Draco’s sneer. “Not aside from Theodore.”
Stifling a snort, Harry asked, “What’s wrong with Nott?”
“Draco told me that one time he ate all the sweets in the house because he’d broken up with Draco’s friend Pansy. He never replaced my Percy Pigs, Harry. He never replaced them.”
Harry did laugh then, offering Teddy a choked apology when he was thrown a look of pure disdain. “Don’t worry, I’m not talking about Nott.”
“Who are you talking about? They might not be good enough for Draco. Are they?”
“Yeah, they definitely are.”
“You need to tell me who – Draco says I’m a good judge of character.”
“Did he say that right after you complimented him about something?”
“Yeah?”
“Sorry,” Harry said, stifling another laugh. “They’re good enough for him, though. Promise.”
It was then that Teddy stopped in the middle of the pavement, crossed his arms over his chest, and refused to go any further until Harry told him who was enquiring after Draco. He seemed to be taking it as seriously as a proposal, as though this mystery person was about to worm his way into every facet of Draco’s life, and that things would never be the same again.
And he wasn’t taking no for an answer.
It took less than two minutes for Harry to give in, because he always gave in to Teddy.
“Er,” Harry said, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s me. The boyfriend bloke’s me.”
Teddy raised an eyebrow. “Your joke isn’t funny.”
“Not a joke. Definitely wishing it was, though.”
Harry briefly wondered whether he should tell Andromeda to get Teddy enrolled in an acting class, because he did a bang up job of miming vomiting all over the pavement. Evidently, the idea that Harry and Draco could hold hands in front of him – let alone kiss, which made the ends of his hair go a lurid green – was downright traumatic.
As any relative of Draco was bound to do, however, Teddy turned the situation to his advantage.
“You have to buy me a packet of Hobnobs now,” Teddy insisted. “I might not cry if you do. And you’re a bit of a loser for calling yourself your own friend. No offense.” He shrieked when Harry threw an arm around his shoulder and mussed up his hair, clapping his hands down to flatten it when he was released.
“Sorry,” Harry said, grinning from ear to ear. “But thanks for the information. There’s a Waitrose round the corner if you want to stop on the way home?”
Once the biscuits were in Teddy’s hand, Harry realised he’d made an error in his bargain – he’d not considered all the conditions before doling out a reward.
“You can’t say anything to Draco about this,” Harry said. “I’ll talk to him about it soon, but you have to keep quiet until then. Yeah?”
Teddy narrowed his eyes. “Draco and I don’t have secrets from each other.”
“You do. You didn’t tell him that Sophie W had a crush on you last year.”
“Yeah, because he cried when I said I liked Ella the year before. He wanted to take a picture to put on the wall because he was proud. But I told him the next time. So you need to hurry up and tell him because I’m very bad at keeping secrets. And I’ll have to tell Draco that you have one.”
Tossing aside every bit of parenting advice he’d ever heard, Harry asked, “Will you keep quiet for a week if I bribe you?”
“Yes,” Teddy said. “Can we go to Curry’s?”
Andromeda probably wouldn’t be happy about the brand new Nintendo DS that weighed down Teddy’s schoolbag, but needs must.
You couldn’t put a price on peace of mind.
*
Harry saw Draco again on Friday.
It was just after five, the Atrium steadily filling as everyone made their way downstairs from their offices, ready to start the weekend. No less than fifteen people had asked Harry how his relationship was going. They’d pressed him for hints on both the identity of his partner, and whether they were going to say yes to each other at the finale in two days’ time. He’d received coy giggles and knowing smirks when he reminded them that, no, he couldn’t say, even if they promised to keep it to themselves until after the big reveal. He’d considered just going home at lunch time, but Robards had pulled him into the office to go through a stack of paperwork that his assistant had left under her desk for half a week, forgetting to place it in his inbox.
Eyes seeing double, Harry stepped out of the lift and into the Atrium. He averted his gaze from the memorial statute of himself and his friends standing around Dumbledore’s likeness, their wands outstretched. It was because he was staring at the floor that he walked directly into Draco.
“Lurking by the loos again?” Harry joked. He rubbed his chest, soothing the spot that had smacked into Draco’s elbow.
“Actually,” Draco said, uncrossing his arms and leaning in close to speak in a low voice, “I was hoping to catch you before you left.”
“Don’t you usually work until six on Fridays?”
Lifting a brow, Draco asked, “And you know that how, exactly?”
“Don’t worry about it. Did you need something?”
“Yes, actually, but it’s obviously a secret. Come back to mine so we can talk?” He rolled his eyes when Harry wiggled his eyebrows. “Don’t be a slag – Theo’s at home, so there’ll be none of that. But I did send him an owl banishing him to his bedroom, so he shouldn’t bother us.”
“It’ll break the contract if he sees.”
“Hence why I’ll be putting a Sticking Charm on his door when we get in. Yes?”
“Yeah,” Harry said. “Alright.”
Draco stepped back, nodding to himself. “Give me three minutes to sort him out. Address is 9 Holland Park Mews. Feel free to take the Floo.”
Harry Apparated to Holland Park, intending to allow Draco some extra time to get everything sorted, and to also make him sweat a bit. When he knocked on the door of the old carriage house, Draco looked mildly flustered.
“I thought you’d ended up in Ms Bell’s place at number 19,” he hissed, waving Harry inside. “Merlin, she’s genuinely batty. She’d never have let you leave.”
Harry looked around, taking in the clean lines and luxurious furnishings. Beside him, Draco visibly preened.
“We’ve got maybe twenty minutes before Theo wises up. Tea?” He rolled his eyes when Harry snorted. “Not Wheezes tea – I’ve a box of Yorkshire in the cupboard. I also make a good London Fog, according to Pansy. Or beer?”
“A tea’ll do. Whip me up something special.”
He did, pottering around in the kitchen for a bit before depositing a steaming cup into Harry’s hands. He slid onto the couch beside Harry, crossing one leg over the other.
“So,” Harry said, raising his eyebrows meaningfully.
“Yes.” Draco cleared his throat. He set his cup down and turned to face Harry, lying one arm along the back of the couch. “Forgive me if this is too forward, but you were in a supremely odd mood at the end of our last date, and it’s been weighing on me since.”
“Oh. Er, sorry.”
“I thought about it, then remembered that we are both adults and decided that I should probably just discuss it with you.”
“Right,” Harry said. “Because we’re really good at doing that. But we can’t – the contract.”
“We’re on private property; I’m well within my rights to hex you.” Draco let out an exhale, visibly steeling himself. “We can, actually – I reviewed my copy of the contract, and as long as we don’t reveal anything publicly or make strides in our relationship outside of the bounds of the show, we can discuss what we like. And we’ve only got the finale left, so there’s no show to shirk anymore, really.” He bit down on his bottom lip, the corners of his eyes crinkling when he noticed Harry’s gaze drop to watch it. “I didn’t speak to you earlier because I didn’t feel that it was my place to push, but then it occurred to me that we probably are actually dating each other. Ergo, I should push.”
“Are we?” Harry asked, but it sounded less like a question and more like a tease.
“Yes,” Draco said. “And I suppose, since we’re being vulnerable, I should voice that I never expected you to deny going on another date with me. Not during the show, or after.”
“Neither did I,” Harry admitted. “I don’t know what that says about us but … I didn’t doubt it.”
“And,” Draco continued, “I didn’t bother to ask if you would want to continue to the finale because of course you would – we’re on track to bankrupt Witch Weekly. But I also made some assumptions about your intentions post-show.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes. And I … I’ve no delusions about how people will react to us. I’ve cultivated an inner circle that shields me from the worst of the public’s critique, but there’ll be more in the upcoming weeks. However, I can’t find it in myself to truly care. We’ll be accused of being in this for the money, of faking it to get additional donations, and my past misdeeds will likely be dredged up, but I can’t say that I really care.” He swallowed, gaze dropping to his lap. “It might be a question for the viewers as to whether we’ll continue on as we are, but that doesn’t mean that it needs to be up in the air for us. To state it plainly: I wouldn’t be opposed to continuing to date you, if you’re open to it?”
Harry’s breath left in a rush. He set his cup down on the table, atop the moss green coaster. When he looked back up, Draco’s eyes were already on him. He shifted closer, angling his body toward Draco. “We’ll have to change things. Work out how to fit into each other’s lives if we want to keep this going.”
“I’ve already thought about it. We’ll stay at mine on Monday nights and every second Friday, yours on Wednesdays and Saturdays. I’m prepared to play drinking games with Ronald and suffer through George’s jokes when you have need of it.”
“Not Tuesdays?” Harry asked.
“No,” Draco replied, “that’s Tedward time. I might enjoy spending time with you – as absurd as that still feels to say – but I won’t have you intruding on my outings with him. We can take him out on Sunday mornings together, if you like. I’ve book club in the afternoons, but that’s not until three.”
“Agreed; I have him on Thursdays and he’ll not play cards with me if he can natter on to you instead.”
Draco’s grin was bright enough to warm Harry’s skin, calm his nerves. “It’ll probably all go up in flames, you realise? We’re putting all this thought into it, but we’ll likely end up killing each other in a month.”
“Yeah,” Harry agreed. He fitted his palm to Draco’s kneecap and squeezed. “We’ll drive each other so mental that we won’t be able to be in the same room, but that’s fine. I’m probably willing to take that chance.”
“Probably?” Draco scoffed but he also laid his hand atop Harry’s own. “I’m going to need something more definitive than probably.”
“Definitely,” Harry said, and then he leaned in to kiss Draco softly. Their lips parted, Draco’s exhale filling his lungs.
“Better,” Draco said, his fingers coming up to tangle in Harry’s hair.
There were no cameras around this time. Just Draco’s hands on his skin, his warmth against Harry’s chest, and his breathy groan ringing in Harry’s ears.
Just them.
*
“Wear the green satin one that I picked out.”
“No,” Harry replied, rifling through his wardrobe in search of that exact shirt.
“Don’t be difficult.”
“I’m not.”
“You are,” Draco hissed. His hands clamped down on Harry’s hips, caging him in from behind. “We have to leave in twenty minutes, and you’ve not even fixed your hair yet.”
“Oh no,” Harry said sarcastically. He tugged the desired shirt from its hanger and began to unfasten the white pearl buttons. “Guess you’ll have to do it for me?”
“Idiot,” Draco said, without bite. “Hopeless. Utterly, completely hopeless.”
Harry hummed in agreement. He turned in Draco’s hold to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw. “How much longer?”
Draco’s hands slipped from his hips to his back, his nails dragging down Harry’s spine. “Not long enough for that.”
Harry kissed him again, exhaling over the damp spot he left. He grinned, feeling Draco shiver. “I can come fast.”
“Yes,” Draco agreed. “But what about me? Am I supposed to get on stage in front of two hundred people while sporting a raging erection?”
“Use a Glamour?”
“Use a Glamour,” Draco mimicked, his voice rising to a falsetto. “You’re incorrigible. An absolute tart. Sit down on the bed, fucking hell. And keep that satin out of the way, I won’t have it stained.”
Fifteen minutes later saw Harry smiling widely as he buttoned his shirt over his flushed chest. Draco wiped the corner of his mouth, damp lips plump as he licked the taste of Harry from his thumb.
“Hair?” Harry asked, pointing at his head. He laughed when Draco shot a spell at him, feeling the familiar zing of magic as it smoothed down his fly-aways. “Can I put the cream in yours for you? Smells bloody amazing.”
“Are you going to do the swoop right or will you fuck it up on purpose again?”
Pressing a soft kiss to the corner of Draco’s mouth, Harry murmured, “I’ll do it properly. Hold on.”
His hands smelled of peaches when he eventually stepped towards the Floo. Beside him, Draco fiddled with his signet ring, twisting it around his finger. His hair gleamed, his cheeks flushed in response to the filthy promises Harry had whispered into his ear as he’d fixed Draco’s hair.
“Do you want me to go first?” Harry asked.
Draco nodded. His gaze flicked up to meet Harry’s, apprehension colouring his expression. “Merlin, we’re actually doing this.”
“We are,” Harry said.
“It’s going to be a fucking mess.”
“Maybe.”
“Lee’s going to be absolutely insufferable about us. He’s going to make so many jokes about Hogwarts.”
“Definitely.”
“Weasley and Granger are going to hex me.”
“They won’t. They’ve probably already figured it out, so it won’t be a big shock.”
Draco swallowed. He let out a breath and straightened his back, a definitive air of do not fuck with me settling over him. He arched a brow and nodded at the Floo. “Why are you still standing there? We’re going to miss our call time. Never mind, I’ll go first.” He gave Harry’s arse a squeeze as he stepped around him to reach for the Floo powder. “Don’t wait too long.”
“I won’t,” Harry promised. He watched as Draco disappeared in a rush of green flame, powder swirling in the hearth. When he stepped out the other side a few moments later, bright lights beaming down on him, Draco was already waiting, hand outstretched.
“Hello,” Draco whispered, smiling softly.
“Hey,” Harry replied. He took Draco’s hand, linking their fingers together. “Ready?”
“Not even a little.”
“Good.”
“Are you having second thoughts about any of this?”
Grinning, Harry shook his head. The churning in his stomach calmed as he looked at Draco, watching his eyes crinkled at the corners. “You look really bloody fit.”
“Obviously,” Draco replied. He squeezed Harry’s hand and took a step, leading them both further away from the Floo. “For what it’s worth, I’m not having second thoughts either.”
“I didn’t think you were,” Harry said. “I never thought to ask.”
“Oh, shut up,” Draco hissed, though he couldn’t hide the pleased look on his face. “Come on, before the producers start throwing a fit.”
Hand in hand, they walked toward the stage, ready to take their marks.
In the moments before the curtain lifted, Harry focused on the feeling of Draco’s hand in his own. The roar of the crowd faded into the background as he turned to meet Draco’s gaze, finding it already on him.
Deep down, Harry knew that it would be fine. Absurdly, it was all going to work out.
“No second thoughts?” Draco whispered, gripping Harry’s hand tight.
“Never,” Harry said, and he led Draco across the stage.
There was no question.
Not anymore.
*
“So, Harry,” Lee asked, wiggling his eyebrows at the crowd, “did you figure out that you were in love with Draco before or after he called you a wanker on a nationally broadcasted program?”
“During,” Draco replied, his tone dripping with faux sweetness. “He loves it, the utter masochist. Don’t you remember how he used to seek out my craft projects in school? He’s still got a Potter Stinks badge in his top drawer; it sits next to a drawing I did of him in fourth year – he’s on a broom, getting struck by lightning.”
“Care to comment?” Lee asked, gesturing to Harry. “Is Draco correct when he says ‘during’?”
Smiling, Harry replied, “I think I’ll keep that one to myself.”
On the couch between them, Draco squeezed his hand. “He’ll inform me when he eventually figures it out, I’m sure.”
Harry rubbed his thumb over the back of Draco’s hand as he ducked his head in an attempt to hide his smile from the crowd; he didn’t succeed if the resounding awws were any indication.
Yeah, he thought to himself. I’ll tell him eventually. But I think I’ve got it figured out already.