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Chapter Text

Love at First Sight

Molly sat down beside Arthur on the couch. They smiled at each other in the way people who have spent their lives side by side do. Communicating entire paragraphs in the blink of an eye, a half-hidden smile.   

“I was only eleven when I first saw Arthur,” she said. “We were in the same year at Hogwarts but I didn’t see him during the Sorting. I was sitting at the Gryffindor table the next morning beside my friend Emily.” Molly turned to Arthur beside her and looped her arm through his. “And this man,” she leaned her head on Arthur’s shoulder, “walked into the Great Hall, headed for our table. I turned to Emily and said, ‘You see that boy? I’m going to marry him.’”  

Arthur smiled down at Molly’s head fondly.  

“Two weeks after graduation, we were married.” Molly continued. “I lost my two brothers in the first war.” Her eyes filled with tears. “We lost our son in the second war.”  

Arthur’s eyes became glassy with his own unshed tears.  

“But I never lost Arthur.” Molly said, her voice thick. “Over fifty years we’ve been married, bless him.”

Draco

If Draco had to watch Potter manhandle his girlfriend for a moment longer, he was going to sick up. The stupid Auror had the Weaselette pushed up against the train platform wall. They snogged as though oxygen was a luxury. Something in which one indulged occasionally. It was disgusting. Uncouth. Draco wouldn’t be caught dead in such an unseemly position, in public no less.  

Merlin, if they stayed here any longer, clothes would start coming off and imagine the papers, then. “Auror Potter Attempts Procreation at Kings Cross.” Draco bit back a smile. As much as it would serve the tosser right, Draco couldn’t afford to miss the train.

He coughed politely. They ignored him, naturally. Draco’s eyes darted around the platform. The Ministry’s platform was just crowded enough that most people ignored him. Only a few scathing looks were pointed his direction, upon recognition.

Fifteen minutes until departure.  

“I’ll miss you, Harry.” Ginny Weasley said. Her breathy voice set Draco on edge.  

“I’ll miss you too.”

Merlin, it was only a one day transport. It’s not as though their trip would take Potter from his girlfriend for months. Draco tapped his foot loudly.

“I love you,” she said.

“Same. So much.”

Draco felt nauseous. Something had to be done.

Potter whirled around. “Did you just hit me with an apple?”

“I most certainly did not!” Draco declared.  

The Weaselette hid her laughter behind her hands. Potter glared at Draco.  

“It was a pomegranate,” he said primly.

This briefly flummoxed Potter. “Who eats pomegranates?”

“I do, obviously. Besides, pomegranates themselves are not eaten, only the seeds. But that’s another matter.”  

This information did not appear to penetrate Potter’s thick skull. “We’re late, Potter,” he drawled.  

Potter glanced at the watch on his wrist. Potter had never accessorized before and Draco didn’t recognize it. He must not have worn it at Hogwarts. Though, he may have worn it during the Battle of Hogwarts by the look of it. Scuffed and tarnished, Draco would never wear such a dreadful thing. Were those scorch marks?

He summoned the pomegranate into to his pocket with the flick of his wand.

Potter threw an angry glance over his shoulder at Draco before swiftly pecking the Weaselette on the cheek. 

She smirked at Draco before turning to Potter. “And you’re sure you don’t need me for protection? I know a wicked hex or two.”

Draco was thoroughly aware of her bat bogey hex. Blaise described it with such admiration Draco suspected the man had fallen a little in love with her sixth year. Before everything turned to shit.

“That won’t be necessary, I assure you,” Draco said.

“Nervous, Malfoy?” She taunted.

He looked down his nose at her. “Of course not.” 

“If he becomes a problem, you’ll be the first to hear,” Potter said. “I’ll await your daring rescue.” His hands were in her hair, and he was nuzzling her again.  

“I’m quite the hero, remember,” she quipped.

“I remember.”

And they were snogging again.

“I really must insist we depart,” Draco interrupted.

The Weaselette shot Draco a scathing look. “I’ve got to go, anyway. My portkey’s in five.” 

“I will miss our time together, Weasley, brief though it was.” 

“Oi.” Potter shot a warning glare at Draco.

She smirked at him, deliberately made eye contact with Draco, and pulled Potter into a passionate kiss until he couldn’t see her behind Potter. Draco looked away and ignored the turning in his stomach. Then she released Potter and strutted away. Potter’s eyes attended her tight fitting robes until she was out of sight.  

“Alright, let’s get on with it,” said Potter, turning to Draco. “Hand me your wrist.” Potter slid his wand out of his sleeve and tapped Draco’s wrist. A cool tingling settled into his skin where Potter’s wand touched. Potter unfurled a roll of parchment and read out the terms of Draco’s voluntary surrender. Years spent in litigation before his case finally went to trial, before Wizengamot led Draco here, turning himself in. He tried to ignore the small crowd gathering around them. Potter took longer to notice, but once he did, he put a stop to it. 

“Oi, you lot! Bugger off!” he yelled at the onlookers.  

“How professional Auror Potter,” Draco sneered.

“I’m serious!” Potter roared. They seemed to wilt under his fiery gaze. “Honestly,” he muttered, once they started dispersing. “Sorry about that, Malfoy.”

Draco’s cheeks tinged. Why on earth was the man apologizing to him? “It doesn’t matter.”

“Still,” Potter glared at the people in the station again. Then he waved his wand and said something under his breath that Draco couldn’t quite make out. After that, no one around them seemed to hear anything they said. They got a few curious looks, but encountered no pointed interest. Potter squared his shoulders and finished reading from the parchment.

“And you, Draco Malfoy, shall acquiesce to a tracing charm being placed on your person for the duration of the journey until such time as the DMLE is able to carry out the sentence given at the time of your trial. This, given in good faith, that...” 

Draco tuned him out. He knew what he was about. He also recognized that he had Potter to thank for his leniency in the sentence. Two years on house arrest, the first of which was to be served without a wand. Potter had to deliver him from London out to Azkaban, where the tracing charms would be placed. From there, Draco was on his own. Wandless for an entire year. Not allowed out of his flat for two. The idea of being so vulnerable for so long made him ill. He didn’t see why they couldn’t just place the charms on him after he’d been sentenced at Wizengamot. Draco strongly suspected the trip out to Azkaban was strictly for intimidation purposes. A test, of sorts, to see how far he was willing to prove his good will. He wasn’t able to prove it, though, and he was in no position to make a stir.  

“Got it?”

Draco blinked a few times. “Pardon?”

“Do you agree to these terms, Malfoy? Were you listening at all?”

Draco flicked his hand dismissively. “Yes, of course. Get on with it, would you?”

“Right.” The intensity of Potter’s stare was overwhelming. Draco felt as if he were an insect pinned to the wall for scrutiny. “Sign here.”

Potter handed him a self-inking quill. Draco signed the parchment in mid-air and then Potter tapped it with his wand. The parchment slackened again and rolled up into a scroll of its own accord. Potter snatched it out of the air and tapped it with his wand once more. A clump of purple wax appeared while a small ribbon tied the scroll in place. Draco saw the ministry seal form inside the purple wax. Potter tied it to the leg of an owl that had moments ago gone unseen by Draco and sent it off.  

Draco held out his arm, the unmarked one. Potter glanced at him, questioning, and Draco nodded. Potter gave a firm nod in return and held his wand to Draco’s forearm. A rope of blue light slid out from the top of the wand onto his arm. Draco tried not to flinch at the near (but not quite) burning sensation it left. The light wrapped itself around Draco’s forearm twice and then into the shape of the ministry seal over them. He hissed through his teeth as it sunk into his arm, growing brighter for a moment before the light dimmed to a barely visible glow.  

“Alright?” Potter asked.

Draco looked down his nose at him, haughtily. “I’ve had worse.”

“Don’t I know it,” Potter said. “Come on, then.” He indicated the vibrantly magenta car two down from where they stood. The Aurors posted at the entrance acknowledged Potter with a nod, who responded in kind.  

“Parney. Stolls.”

Of course he knew them personally. Potter had probably told them loads of humiliating stories about Draco and they all had a good laugh at his expense. Naturally. Draco was well aware of the way their eyes wouldn’t meet his, the slight curl of the lip when he passed. He threw back his shoulders and put on the most contemptuous look he could summon to precede Potter into the private car. Draco ignored the set of seats with shackles built into them. He strode to the back of the car where there were bench seats and sat by the window. Potter did some checks along the perimeter and spoke briefly with the other Aurors.  

He sat on the bench seat across from Draco precicely as the train started moving.  

“Grapes? What are you, eleven?”

Potter merely shrugged. “Ginny packed them for me. Besides, who brings pomegranates as a snack? At least you don’t need a knife to eat grapes.”

“A knife?” Draco tutted. Muggleborns. He slid his wand out of his pocket. He tapped the pomegranate, and it split in half. After conjuring a bowl, and Draco flicked his wand. The pomegranate seeds flew in a perfect arch into the bowl. A knife indeed.  

They sat in a silence that Draco was more than willing to cultivate. Potter, it seemed, was unable to manage it.  

“So tell me about yourself, Malfoy.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You know,” he motioned with his hand, “What have you been up to and that?”

“Is that meant to be a sarcastic remark?” Draco narrowed his eyes. 

Potter had the good grace to realize he’d stepped in it.

“I just meant-”

“I haven’t been up to anything,” Draco interrupted, his temper rising.

Potter scratched the back of his neck. “Shit. I didn’t think-”

“No, you didn’t.” Draco spat. “I haven’t been up to anything. I haven’t been rebuilding my father’s nefarious network of followers. I haven’t been harassing muggles in the streets. I haven’t been up to a bloody thing.”

“I-”

“I’m trying to move on, you know. Why do you think I’m doing this?” he raised his right arm to Potter, where the blue ministry seal was glowing mildly under his skin. “I’m turning myself in for sentencing. I might have fucked off to France with my mother, you know. But I’m trying to do the right thing here. I’m trying to start over. And you come in with your accusations!”

“I wasn’t accusing you of anything! Jesus!” Potter shouted at him. “I was only making small talk.”  

“Small talk.” 

“Yeah.”

“Small talk?” Draco said, incredulous. “In what world would you and I ever make small talk?”

Potter shook his head slowly and gazed out the window.

“We’re not friends, Potter. We’re not even acquaintances.”

“I suppose you’re right. We would never be friends.”  

Draco paused. He thought Potter sounded a bit remorseful, but that couldn’t be right. 

I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks.

Here they were: another train, another offer of friendship. And Draco had rejected it without a moment’s thought. Hadn’t Draco just said he was trying to move on?

“I-” Draco bit his lip. “I suppose I’m a bit on edge, Potter. We could be friends, couldn’t we?”

Draco hated the way it sounded coming out of his mouth, the waver in his voice. Self loathing curled about his stomach, settling in like a heavy meal.

“Not a chance.” Harry spat a grape seed into the bin by the door. “You were right the first time.”

Draco had anticipated the answer was the same now as it was at age eleven. It still hurt to hear out loud. He turned to the window.  

“I’m an Auror and you’re turning yourself in for war crimes,” Potter prattled on, completely unnecessarily. A simple “no” would suffice. No need to add insult to injury with further details. Draco hated Harry Potter, though not as much as he hated himself for still wanting the man’s friendship. The stupid oaf spat another grape seed into the bin. 

“Revolting,” Draco sneered.  

“What? How is that any worse than your pomegranate seeds? Both seeds, aren’t they?”

“The difference is how uncouth it is to spit food into a bin. I think you’re right, we could never be friends. I do have standards, after all.”

Potter snorted, further proving Draco’s point.  

Harry

They suburbs of London flew past the windows. If Malfoy was so determined to be a prat, Harry would leave him to it. They could sit in silence for the remainder of the journey for all Harry cared. Draco Sodding Malfoy and his complete misunderstanding of one of the greatest films in existence.   

“You’re wrong.” Malfoy refused to let it go.

“Sod off, I am not.” Harry snapped. “He wants-”

“I can’t believe how wrong you are. You’re muggleborn. Doesn’t that grant you some better understanding of how they work?”

“He wants her to leave! Jesus. That’s why he puts her on the plane. He’s trying to keep her safe!”

Malfoy shook his head. “She doesn’t want to stay, Potter.”

Harry had always known Malfoy was an idiot. He was only proving Harry right. “She absolutely wants to stay. I mean, look at them. Wouldn’t you rather stay with Humphrey Bogart than whoever that other tosser was?”

Malfoy arched his eyebrow at Harry. “Why Potter, I never realized you so light in the loafers.”

Harry rolled his eyes.  

“I would certainly never spend the rest of my life in a war-torn country with a man who runs a bar. How foolish do you have to be to entertain such a notion?”

“You’d rather be in a passionless, political marriage than live with the man you’ve had the best shag of your life with?” Harry wouldn’t put it past Malfoy. He was a Slytherin, after all. “Just because of his job? Because he runs a bar? What? That’s not posh enough for you?”

“Obviously.” Malfoy was incredulous. “Do you think pureblood marriages happen because of physical intimacy?”

Harry’s hackles rose. “So it’s bigotry, is that it? What happened to moving on?”

“I didn’t mean- that’s beside-” Malfoy took a breath and said more calmly, “What I mean to say is that this is what I’ve been groomed my whole life to do. Most traditional marriages in the wizarding world are built on strategic matches, not love matches. Putting obligation above passion. Any sensible person would do the same.” Malfoy went on, “People are very practical, even Muggles like Ingrid Bergman.”

Harry shook his head in disbelief. Malfoy was more messed up than he thought.  

“Which is why she gets on the plane at the end of the film,” the blonde concluded.  

Harry would never give up the passion he had with Ginny for some political alliance. Her fire and wit. She was impossible to live without. Just the thought of her sent his heart racing, the soft curve of her arse, the taste of her skin. The way she- Harry blinked. That was it.  

“You’ve never been properly shagged,” Harry practically shouted, pointing a finger.  

Malfoy’s eyes widened, nearly apoplectic. His cheeks tinged pink.  

“Potter!” he hissed.

Harry shrugged. “What? We’re what? Twenty? Loads of people don’t get laid until their twenties.”

“I’ve had relations, Potter.” Malfoy glanced around to ensure they were still alone. “If you must know.”

Harry quirked his eyebrow. “Relations? Afraid of the word sex, are you?”

“I cannot believe we are having his conversation.” Malfoy pinched the bridge of his nose.  

“Let’s get something to eat.”

Malfoy eyed the bin where Harry had been spitting his grape seeds.

“Something substantial,” Harry said.

“Fine. Anything to end this conversation.”

Malfoy followed Harry through the carriage doors to the dining car.  

Harry gestured to an empty table for Malfoy to sit at. The car was about three quarters full. Harry grabbed them sandwiches and a couple of butterbeers and sat down across from Malfoy.  

“Where were we?” He asked as he slid into the seat. He began unwrapping his sandwich. “Right, you were just telling me you were a virgin.”

Malfoy shot him a glare and unwrapped his own sandwich.  

“I will have you know I have been laid plenty.”

Harry pointed a finger at him, despite his hands being full of sandwich. “But not well.”

“I have been laid often and well, Auror Potter!” Malfoy said loudly. The noise in the dining card stopped entirely. All heads swiveled in their direction.  

Harry himself choked on his food. He coughed a few times and took a sip of butterbeer. “What’d you do that for?” he said 

“To remind you of the impropriety of asking a detainee to disclose his sexual history.”

“Oh come off it, Malfoy. It’s only me. We’ve known each other since we were eleven.”

“You have no sense of decency, do you?”

“Don’t see the point,” Harry shrugged. 

“Indeed.”  

They finished their meal in silence. 

Once they arrived at the DMLE station, Harry led Malfoy to the Portkey Centre. Harry nodded at the Portkey Officer and took the offered empty crisp packet.

“Next one’s in a quarter hour,” he told Malfoy. “Hold out your arm?”

Malfoy looked as though he would vomit for half a moment before he blinked himself into composure. “The one with the Ministry tracer?” he asked faintly.

Harry nodded, and Malfoy seemed to relax a little. He held out his right arm. Harry tapped it with his wand and the Ministry Seal glowed more brightly. It turned from a blue violet colour to a dark glowing plum. Instead of the light diminishing as it had when Harry put the tracer on, the mark remained vivid, glowing bright beneath Malfoy’s pale skin.  

“Well,” Malfoy said when Harry lowered his wand. Harry watched him tug the sleeve of his robes down. “This is the part where you leave,” Malfoy said pointedly.

“Technically, I can’t leave until you’ve taken the Portkey.”

“Have it your way, then.” 

 There was a small waiting room looking over the ocean, where they sat on a bench. Harry observed Malfoy’s reflection in the window. He’d changed since Hogwarts, since his trial even. The pale blonde hair appeared healthier than Harry had seen it in years. His fine features made a cutting profile. Somehow, Malfoy had grown up when Harry hadn’t been paying attention. He found himself oddly captivated.  

“You’re not bad looking, you know,” Harry blurted.  

Malfoy turned and stared at him.

“You’re quite fit,” Harry said, making everything worse.

“Are you having a stroke?”

“What?”

“Because I cannot fathom a reason that you would try to chat me up as you are both an officer of the law and romantically involved. With a woman!”

Harry’s cheeks warmed. He ran a hand through his hair. “That’s not what I was doing.”

“Wasn’t it?” Malfoy said, his voice haughty and disdainful.

“No!” 

“Please enlighten me.”

“I just-” Harry sighed. “I never noted it before,” Harry lied. Dreams didn’t count, really. “You seemed a bit… sad. I was trying to be encouraging.”

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed. “So you pity me.”

“I don’t!”

“You pity me and you believe the way to save poor wretched Draco Malfoy is to come onto me. Despite the fact that you’re in a heterosexual monogamous relationship.”

“Forget it,” he said. If Malfoy was determined to misunderstand Harry’s every word, there was no point in trying to explain himself.  

Malfoy tutted beside him and folded his arms across his chest. Harry continued looking at him in the window reflection, unable to tear his eyes away. The light was dimming, and the horizon slashed with deep oranges and reds. On top of which Malfoy’s reflection hung, spectral and beautiful. Harry sighed again.

 The crisp packet warmed in Harry’s hand, signalling the two-minute warning. He looked to Malfoy, and they stood facing each other.

“Ready?”  

Malfoy’s lips thinned, and he nodded.  

“When you get to Azkaban, they’ll activate the dampener to replace the tracer I put on you. They won’t give you any trouble.”  

Malfoy looked doubtful.

“It will only be a year without magic.” He tried to sound bracing. Harry clapped him on the shoulder. “You’ll be fine.”

Malfoy’s gaze snapped to where Harry’s hand touched his shoulder and narrowed his eyes. Harry sighed and let his hand drop.  

They held each other’s gaze steadily. Harry’s heart sped up for no discernable reason. 

“See you around Malfoy.”  

He could have sworn Malfoy’s eyes dropped to his lips for half a second before he disappeared. Then he was gone and Harry felt as though he missed the last step on a staircase. 

Chapter Text

High School Sweethearts

Pomona Sprout sat down on the sofa at the same time as Herb.  They smiled warmly at each other. Their faces were covered in age spots.  Pomona’s hair was fading from steely gray to white. Herb had no hair left at all.  They wore the comfortable clothing of the elderly. Soft robes with large clasps in solid colours.  Pomona’s purple robes had cat hairs along the collar, as did the bottom of Herb’s cloak.  

“We fell in love at Hogwarts.” Pomona said.

“We were sweethearts.” Herb added.  They spoke nearly in tandem, the familiarity of the story flowing easily between them. 

“But then he moved to America.” Pomona continued.  

“But I never forgot her.” Herb glanced at his wife, a half smile on his face.  Remorse for time lost but grateful for what little time they had.

“He never forgot me.”  She was so pleased, the warmth radiated from her face. 

Herb chuckled and tapped his temple.  “My best pensieve memories are of her.  And it was, oh around thirty years later.  I was visiting Diagon Alley. I saw her come out of Flourish and Blotts.”

“We knew each other in a moment.  It was as though no time had passed at all.” Pomona continued.  

Herb turned to face Pomona, “She was just as beautiful as she was at sixteen.”  He patted her knee gently.  

Pomona caressed Herb’s shoulder, “He was just the same, wasn’t he?"

Draco

Draco spent more time in the muggle world than he did in the wizarding one.  It wasn’t a situation he’d ever thought he’d be in. He had a muggle job, lived in a muggle part of London, and oddest of all wore muggle clothing.  It took a bit of getting used to. The trousers fit more snugly than flowing robes. He found the ease of throwing on a v-necked t-shirt ever so much easier than the layers required to dress for wizarding outings.  His father would be appalled, he thought happily.  

Draco had been particularly thrilled when he discovered “beanies.”  They were Draco’s favourite accessory. Nine months out of the year Draco wore a beanie.  Only in the sweltering heat of London in the summer did he go without one. His favourite was black and a bit too large so that it slouched at the back of his neck. The most exciting part of wearing muggle clothes was wearing them in Diagon Alley.  With his hair covered by a beanie and his mark covered with muggle floral tattoos, Draco wasn’t immediately recognized as a Malfoy. A Death Eater. He wasn’t spat at or hexed. It was rather lovely. 

The floo chimed from the main room of his flat.  Draco threw on his leather jacket and tucked a stray hair back under the beanie.  Just as Draco closed his bedroom door he heard Jean call out. 

“Drake?” 

Draco rolled his eyes as he crossed to the hearth to peck Jean on the cheek as he came all the way through the fireplace.  

Jean and Draco were of a height, which made them an impressive pair when they went out.  All the more reason to look as muggle as possible. Jean was dressed in casual robes with his Daily Prophet badge pinned above the breast pocket.  

“Going full muggle, I see?” Jean commented, his eyes sweeping up Draco’s attire.  

Draco squared his shoulders, “It’s comfortable.”

“Alright.  I’ve a port key”  He drew a bottle cap from his pocket and flipped it in the air. “We’ve got about five minutes.”

“Whatever shall we do with our time.” Draco smirked and sank to his knees.  

Five minutes later they reached the Port Key Arrival outside the quidditch pitch out of breath and grinning like fools.  Jean put his hands in his pockets and held out the crook of his elbow. Draco smirked at him and looped his own arm through. They made their way through the crowd to the Top Box.  If there were a few detours to dark corners to continue their previous activities, well Draco wasn’t going to complain. 

Jean’s fingers were just skimming the skin between the hem of Draco’s t-shirt and the top of his jeans when they were interrupted.

“Jean?”

Draco’s stomach flipped. 

“Jean is that you?”

Jean removed his hands and turned to face Harry Sodding Potter behind them.  

Potter grinned up at Jean and stuck out his hand.  “How are you mate?”

“Harry!” Jean shook his hand “I’m great, mate.  Smashin it.” 

“Brilliant.  Glad to hear it.  Are you still with Le Soleil Quotidien ?”

“No, I’m at the Daily Prophet now, actually.”

Potter’s eyes caught the badge above Jean’s breast pocket.  “I’ll take you over Rita Skeeter any day.”

They shared a laugh.  Draco angled his face slightly so Potter couldn’t look at him full on.

“Harry, this is Drake” he indicated to Draco and he silently cursed both Jean and Potter.

“Alright?” Potter said.  Thank Merlin he didn’t try to shake his hand. Draco nodded in greeting, not looking Potter in the eye.  He tugged the beanie down a bit.  

“Harry here was one of the celebrities I interviewed for the humanitarian piece I did last year.” Jean explained.  

Thankfully they were interrupted by a booming voice permeating the air, “WELCOME ONE AND ALL TO FAWLEY STADIUM.  LINEUPS WILL BE ANNOUNCED IN TWENTY MINUTES.”

“I’d better get to my seat. It was good to see you, mate.” Potter said.

“Laters.” Jean called after him.  

As soon as Potter rounded the corner Draco let out a sigh of relief. He casually draped his arm through Jean's. “Thank Merlin he didn’t recognize me.”

“You know Harry Potter?”

“This is England, everyone knows Harry Potter.  Besides, we were at Hogwarts together.”

“Oh, right.  I think I knew that.  You don’t talk much about school.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.  Potter was there, we didn’t get on.  And you know my history with the war.”

Jean frowned.  “I’m sorry to hear that.  He’s not a bad bloke. Not conceited like a lot of celebs I interview.”

“Last time I saw Potter we were on the train together five years ago and believe me when I say it was the longest train ride I’ve ever taken.”

“Why’s that?” Jean’s eyes were scanning the crowd looking for the stairwell to the Top Box.

“If you must know, he tried to chat me up.  I turned him down, obviously. He was seeing Ginny Weasley.”

“The one who plays for the Hollyhead Harpies?”

Draco shrugged.  “I wasn’t about to be a side piece.  That’s just not on.”

Jean led the way up the stairs.  “Oh?”

They were briefly separated by a group talking excitedly in Bulgarian.

“Pardon?” Draco said, back at Jean’s side.

“What did you say when you turned him down?”

Draco straightened his jacket sleeve again.  “Oh I said we could be friends. But he wasn’t interested.  I was a criminal, you see. And he was an Auror.”

“Former criminal, you said.”  Jean got a weird look on his face, one that usually precedes an argument.

Draco waved him off.  “Do you think it’s true?”

“What?”

“What he said.  That Aurors can’t be friends with criminals?”

“Former criminals.”

Draco rolled his eyes.

“And why do you want to be friends with an Auror specifically?”

“I didn’t mean Auror specifically, I just meant,” Draco gestured with his hand. “People integrated with society.  Aurors, journalists. Are you friends with any-” Draco stopped himself. “We don’t need to be friends. Forget I said anything.  Potter and I aren’t friends, end of story.”

“If you say so.”  Jean’s mouth pressed into a thin line.  

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten Top Box seats at a quidditch match.  The Bulgaria v Ireland World Cup perhaps? Draco shuddered. He tugged the sleeve of his jacket down on his left arm and followed Jean to their row.  There was only one empty seat at the end of the row, the rest of the box was packed. Draco looked to Jean.  

“This is you, here.” Jean said.

“Pardon?”

“I’ll be in the press box.”

“The whole match?”  

Jean smiled at him like Draco was a child asking too many questions of a tired parent.  “Drake, this ticket cost me a fortune, don’t be ungrateful. I’ll meet up with you after.”

Draco sighed. “Alright.”

“Come on, I’m trying to do something nice for you here. You’re not upset are you?”

“Of course not.” Draco lied.

“Brilliant.”  Jean kissed his cheek.  “See you in a bit.”

Draco sat in his seat.   At least he was in the Top Box.  

“WELCOME!  WELCOME TO THE FINAL PERFORMANCE OF BULGARIA’S OWN VIKTOR KRUM.  HERE IN THE TOP BOX WITH US TONIGHT IS KRUM’S FAMILY. ”

The crowd erupted in cheers, the loudest coming from the group surrounding Draco.  The screen showed those in the Top Box and Draco began to panic. He slid down in his seat as the picture of the Top Box zoomed in closer and much to Draco’s dismay the black shaggy head in front of him was not a Bulgarian, but in fact Harry Sodding Potter.  Because of course it was.

“THE FAMOUS HARRY POTTER JOINING THE TOP BOX AS WELL.  CHEERS, MATE! CLOSE PERSONAL FRIEND OF MY, HARRY IS. WENT TO HOGWARTS TOGETHER.”

It was Lee Jordan announcing, of course.  Potter gave a little wave and the screen moved on.  Draco took some satisfaction in Potter’s discomfort at being singled out but it was short lived.  Just before he was off screen Draco saw Potter do a double take. Fuck. He’d definitely been seen.  The shaggy black hair turned about in the seat to face him directly.  

Harry

“Malfoy?” It popped out of Harry’s mouth before he could stop it.  It was definitely Malfoy. Jean had introduced him as Drake and he was dressed in muggle clothing but it was him alright.  “I thought that was you.”

Malfoy stared at him.  He took a deep breath that looked like it cost him.  “Hello Potter.”

Harry grinned.  He was twisted around in his chair to see Malfoy.  The woman beside him was watching their exchange.  

“Would you like to sit next to each other?" she asked in heavily accented English.

“No!” Malfoy spat at the same time Harry said, “Fantastic!  Cheers.” She smiled indulgently at him and patted his cheek as she passed.  

Harry blinked at her and smiled back.  He sank into the seat beside Malfoy and stretched his legs out. 

“I thought that was you.” he said.  

“You’ve already made that remark.”  Malfoy drawled. “I see your conversation skills haven’t improved over the years.”

Harry let out a bark of a laugh.  “So they haven’t. I haven’t seen you since..”

“I turned myself in as a war criminal?  And you tried to chat me up on the train?”

“Oh come off it.”  Harry said, good naturedly. “I did not.”

“You did.  And you said we couldn’t be friends.  So I don’t see why you’ve inserted yourself into my life again.  I can assure you, Auror Potter, that I am not ‘up to something.’”

“I’m not on duty.” 

“But you’re still an Auror.”

Harry shrugged.  “We could be friends.”

Malfoy turned to stare at him.  

“What?” Harry asked.

“You are unbelievable.”

“So what, you’re living as a muggle now?”  Harry looked Malfoy up and down, taking in the jeans, the t-shirt beneath his leather jacket, and christ he was wearing a beanie.  “And you’re with Jean?”

Malfoy looked as though he had developed an acute headache, but Harry didn't see how that could have happened in the two minutes that had passed since he sat down.  Malfoy closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Yes, I am with Jean.  Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Why does he call you Drake?”

“Because that’s the name I use at work.  Must we discuss this? We’re missing the mascot displays.”

“Where do you work?”

“Merlin, Potter, were you always this incessant?” Malfoy finally looked over at Harry.  

Harry arched an eyebrow at him.  “Well?”

“I-  I-” Malfoy flushed, “I’m a licensed mixologist, if you must know.”

Harry frowned.  Mixologist?  “Like a bartender?”

A stray hair had come loose from Malfoy’s beanie.  Harry gaped. 

“Have you dyed your hair??”

Malfoy hastily tucked it back under.  “It was a mistake.”

“It’s blue!”

“They’ve released the snitch, Potter.  Where has your Gollum like dedication to quidditch gone?  Surely Krum’s last professional match is a more riveting topic than the colour of my hair.”

“Gollum?”  Harry was nonplussed.  And then astonished, “You’ve seen Lord of the Rings?”

Malfoy threw Harry a disdainful glance, “I’ve read them, you neanderthal.  That’s beside the point. Would you kindly shut it so that I can enjoy quidditch in peace?”

Harry hadn’t even realized the match had started.  He could have kicked himself for letting Malfoy distract him.  One of Krum’s cousins fell ill and Viktor had sent Harry the ticket.  He never let on to Ron how much he and Viktor had kept in touch. Especially since Viktor never married and asked after Hermione each time they saw each other.   He’d been delighted for a seat in the Top Box. Harry normally balked at any sort of public special treatment or fawning. But Krum was a friend. And Harry loved quidditch.   Sodding Malfoy distracting him. Malfoy who looked incredibly fit in a t-shirt of all things. Christ, that blue hair.

Malfoy was right, though.  The match was on. Harry dragged his eyes away from the blue strands hiding beneath Malfoy’s beanie and forced himself to find the snitch.  

“Hand me those, would you.”

“You mean my omnioculars Potter?  Absolutely not. Get your own pair.”

“You’re not even using them.”  Harry plucked them from Malfoy’s lap and had a go.  He zoomed in on the other team. Their lineup was about even with Bulgaria’s.   Krum had more clout to be sure. It was guaranteed to be a wild match.

“Excuse you.” 

The omnioculars were snatched from his hands.  

“Careful, I’ve got glasses on.”

“Well it’s not like you could fix them if anything happened.”

Bulgaria chasers had the quaffle.  They tossed it between each other, easily dodging the keeper and shot it through the post.  

The crowd erupted in cheers, the Top Box being no exception.  Harry glanced at Malfoy again. He was picking at black nail varnish.  He had painted his nails black. He had blue hair. He was wearing muggle clothing.  Who was this? How could it possibly be Malfoy?

“So you’re with Jean?” Harry asked, unable to help himself.

Malfoy didn’t respond. 

“You’ve been together, what a month?”  Harry pressed.

Malfoy looked at Harry out of the corner of his eye.  

“How did you know?”

Harry shrugged.  “He’s taking you on an expensive date.  Trying to impress you and that.”

“Your point being?”

“That means it’s early in the relationship.  That’s why I never took anyone on expensive dates.”

“What are you nattering about?”

“I dunno.  My aunt was always complaining to my uncle that he never took her out anymore.  They rowed about it constantly. I guess I never wanted to have that row. If you never go anywhere extravagant to begin with, they won’t be disappointed if you stop.”

“You’re awfully grim for a Gryffindor.  Has anyone ever told you that, Potter?” 

Harry shrugged again.  It was true. If you have no expectations they can’t be disappointed.  

“Are you going to marry him?”

Malfoy rounded on Harry, indignant.  “Firstly I don’t see how that’s any business of yours, Auror Potter.  Second, we hardly know each other. We’ve been dating a month. I don’t want to marry anyone I’ve known for a month. Which is, I repeat, none of your business.”

“I was only asking.” Harry chewed his lip a moment, “I’m getting married.”

This shut Malfoy up.  He tried and stopped himself from saying something a few times before he was able to talk again, “No you aren’t.”

Harry scowled.  “I am.”

Malfoy sat back in his seat and turned back to the match.  “No you’re not. It’d be all over The Prophet. Saviour of the Wizarding World marries a famous Quidditch Player.  There’s no way to keep that quiet.”

“She really is incredible.”

“I have to admit, she is formidable.  The Harpies would be nowhere without her.” Malfoy conceded. “That last match against the Cannons was brutal.”

“Ron went mental.  Didn’t know who to cheer for.  He was in a right state.”

Malfoy huffed a laugh.  Harry realized Malfoy was smirking at him and it did things to Harry’s insides that he wasn’t entirely comfortable with.  “Anyway, I’m going to marry her and I’d hardly share that with the press, would I.”

“Then why are you sharing it with me?”

“Who are you going to tell?”

“Oh, I don’t know the reporter from the Daily Prophet I am currently seeing?”

Harry shrugged, “Well it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve given a shitty interview about me I suppose.”  He gave Malfoy a look which was ignored.

“I can’t believe you’re actually getting married.  You’re only twenty five.”

“What’s so hard to believe about that?” 

“It just seems so..  Expected.” Malfoy offered.  “So.. tidy. You marry your best friend’s sister and everyone lives happily ever after.  That’s not you.”

“It’s not?”  Harry felt he should probably be offended.

“No, you’re always breaking the rules in the most mental way possible.  You rode a bleeding dragon out of Gringotts for pity’s sake. And now you’re going to, what?  Get married and pop out a few children? Buy a nice cottage in the country?”

“No. We’re staying in London.  Haven’t really thought about kids.”  He frowned, “What’s wrong with getting married?  We’re in love, have been for ages.” Harry thought for a moment.  “We tried breaking up for a bit but you just get tired of it.”

“What do you mean you get tired of it?  Wait- you and the Weaselette split up?” Malfoy sat up in his seat.

Harry frowned, “Don’t call her that.  It was a few years ago. We tried seeing other people but we got back together, didn’t we.  I got tired of trying to get to know other people. It’s hard to know who to trust with new people and it’s almost never worth it.  You go home with someone and have a good time. Then you’re lying there wondering how long have I got? How long do I lie here holding them before they try to get a photo of us in bed to sell to the press?  What is the right amount of time to hold someone before I can leave? Do I stay the night and risk exposure in my sleep? Is it worth risking a night’s stay to see if they’re the kind of person who wouldn’t sell my photo?”

“Potter you’re depressing me.  You can’t really be thinking that.”

“Course I am.  Most people in my position are.  People only want to sleep with me for the novelty of it.”

“How many Chosen Ones do you honestly think there are?”

Harry waved Malfoy off.  “You know what I mean.”

A bout of cheering went out in the top box, Harry wasn’t sure why.

“I think I do actually.  The novelty aspect, anyway.”

Harry felt caught in the moment and their eyes met.  Malfoy tugged the left sleeve of his jacket down. A floral tattoo was poking out from the sleeve of his leather jacket.  He probably did understand, come to that.

“I couldn’t be with anyone new.  Besides, I love Ginny.  Always have.”

Malfoy nodded and looked back to match.  

“And you’re with Jean.”

“I am.”

“He went to Beauxbatons didn’t he?”

“What of it?”  Malfoy’s posture changed.  He sat up straight. The sneer was back in his voice.  Harry didn’t remember it leaving but he was sorry it was back.  

“Don’t think someone like me could date anyone British?”

“No, I’m sure you could date anyone you please.  You’re a good looking bloke.”

Malfoy opened and closed his mouth several times.  

Harry heaved a sigh and ran a hand through his hair.  “Not this again, you know you’re fit Malfoy.”

“I beg your unbelievable pardon, Auror Potter?”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Need I remind you I am with Jean?”

“Forget it.”

They spent the rest of the evening watching the match in deliberate attention.  When Krum finally snagged the snitch, Bulgaria was ahead seventy to fifty three.   The Top Box went wild with cheering. Jean popped back to the box to apologize to Malfoy for having to stay longer.  

“I’ve just got to get these interviews, you understand?”

Malfoy clearly minded but didn’t say it.  He merely nodded.

“Alright Harry?” Jean asked, looking over.

“Alright.” Harry replied.

“See you later,” Jean kissed Malfoy on the cheek. Harry looked away quickly.  After his departure Malfoy adjusted his beanie, once again tucking the blue hair away.  When the crowds began to disperse Harry stayed in his seat. He liked to let the stadium thin out before trying to traverse the crowd.  Malfoy seemed to have the same idea. Despite Krum’s victory and an overall fantastic match Malfoy didn’t smile. He kept sighing and picking at his nail varnish.  They waited until Krum’s family left before they began descending the stairs.  

Harry glanced at Malfoy every few steps.  Malfoy seemed determined to ignore him.  

“Fancy a pint?” Harry asked. 

Malfoy stopped and turned to face him.  “What about me being with Jean is confusing to you?”

“As friends.” Harry emphasized.

“You want to have a pint with me as friends?  I thought you said we couldn't be friends.”

“I never said that.”

“Yes, you very well did.  On the train. We had an entire discussion about it.”

“I don’t remember that.” 

What Harry remembered from that day was Malfoy’s reflection in the window.  Draco looked on the outside the way Harry felt on the inside. He thought about it every time he accompanied a convict to Azkaban.  The emptiness in his breathtaking eyes. Harry’s mind dwelled on the image periodically through the years. Particularly when Ginny was traveling, gone for days at a time and Harry found himself staring out windows, waxing maudlin.

“Not only that, but we had this exact conversation two hours ago. You said we couldn’t be friends and that’s all there is to say on the matter.” Malfoy said.

Harry blinked a few times.  “That’s bollocks. We can be mates.  We’re both seeing people, there’s nothing romantic involved.  We're not even trying to kill each other anymore.”

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed, “I never said there was anything romantic going on.  You’re the one who keeps trying to chat me up, telling me I’m fit.” he hissed. “Just what I’m meant to do with that information, Potter?”

Harry realized they were standing very close together.  Much closer than he anticipated. With Malfoy halfway down the step in front of him, Harry was ever so slightly taller than Malfoy.  The nearness of him threw Harry off balance. He lost the trail of their bickering.

“What?”

“What, indeed, Potter.”

The stairwell had nearly cleared out.  They were alone standing entirely too close together.  Draco swallowed. Then he turned round and stormed off.  Harry stood still for a few moments, waiting for his mind to catch up with his body.  What on earth just happened?

Chapter Text

Remarried

Kingsley Shacklebolt was a powerful looking man even into his sixties.  He wore a crisp set of robes that accentuated his wide shoulders. He sat with his hand folded neatly in his lap.  Beside him, Vera wore a smart wool suit with a high collar instead of lapels. The soft grey of the wool matched the carefully curated grey of her dreadlocks that were pulled into an elegant bun which contrasted beautifully against her dark skin.  They sat on the sofa with straight backs, projecting perfect posture.

“We were married forty years ago for a while,” said Kingsley.

“Three years.” corrected Vera.  

Kingsley looked at her and nodded in confirmation.  “After we got divorced I married Elizabeth.”

Vera added curt but not unkind, “But first you lived with Priya.”

He laid a hand firmly on her knee and squeezed gently.  “Ah yes, Priya. But I didn’t marry her. I married Elizabeth.”

“Mm.  Then you got divorced.” Amusement sparked in her eyes.

Kingsley picked a piece of lint off his trousers.  “Right, then I married Natalie.”

“And promptly divorced.”

They looked at each other, searching for the next chapter of their story.  Kingley hesitated but continued when Vera smiled, confident and hospitable.

“After the tenth anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts, I saw Vera again.  I was with some woman at the time, I can’t recall her name.”

“Roberta.” Vera chimed in.

Kingsley glanced at her, “That’s right.  Roberta.” he turned in his seat to face her directly.  “But I couldn’t look away from you. I can’t remember what I said precisely.”

“You asked if I was headed to The Three Broomsticks after the speeches.”

They smiled at each other and Kingsley turned to face forward again.  “Of course. So I left Roberta after the ceremony was finished.  Vera and I went for a drink.” Kingsley’s smile grew to encompass his entire face.   He gestured openly with his hands. “We were married after a month.”

“Thirty five years to the day after our first wedding.” Vera added, also smiling.  

Draco

Draco accepted the bowl of lemons Pansy brought from the back.  She was out in classic Pansy style, bright red lipstick, black fringe, crisp white pressed shirt, skin tight.  The top buttons undone enough to where Draco could see to top of her red brazier pushing out, same shade as her lipstick.  He rolled his eyes. He sliced lemons while she walked about the bar taking the bar stools off the tables, setting them nicely down around the clean floors with a swish of her wand. Draco forced himself to slice with a knife instead of his wand.  He’d gotten good at it during his Year of Magical Abstinence. Now he kept up the habit. Not all his employees were voluptuous witches. It was a good habit to keep.  

“I went through his pockets.” Pansy said.

“You did what?”

“They bought a bloody dining set.”

“This is precisely why I don’t date married men, Pansy.”  Draco finished up the bar prep and went over to his custom drinks board.  It was his favourite thing about Mood.  

He’d contacted his solicitor to ensure he wasn’t breaking any laws.  Draco had a potions lab built into the back of the bar after he bought it.  He also happened to live above the bar, and ended up buying the building along with the bar. It was one of the things he was most proud of.  Combining potions with cocktails. He tapped the chalkboard with his wand and a lovely image of a cherry cocktail appeared in red and white chalk.  

"How do you want to feel today?" was written across the top.

Draco held his wand tip to the board and white chalk modern calligraphy poured out forming "Cheery Cherry: a drink to lift your spirits."

Next he added a blue and green swirled cocktail beside which he had “Debbie Downer: calm down and mellow out.”

Technically speaking they were potions and did not contain much alcohol.  But because of the phrasing, he could ask people how they wanted to feel and give them a potion to accomplish this.  Just this side of legal. He was very proud indeed.  

Pansy was still whinging about the dining set her married lover purchased with his wife.  Draco shook his head again. 

Once everything on the patron side of Mood was set, Draco unlocked the door and flipped the switch for the Open sign in the window.  Pansy adjusted her cleavage in one of the mirrors on the wall. Draco tutted and went behind the bar. She joined him soon after and they finished mixing up their mixers.  

“I swear, Draco, you’ve landed the last decent person in London.  It isn’t fair.”

“Jean and I broke up.”

“What?  When!” Pansy whirled on him.  She poked his shoulder with her red painted fingernail.  “When was this??”

Draco went back to his bar prep, not meeting her eyes.  “A few days ago.”

“A FEW DAYS AGO!” she shouted at him.  “How could you keep this from me!”

“I haven’t been keeping anything from you.  It just hasn’t come up.”

“That is a load of tosh!  How are you not a total wreck?”

“It was amicable.”

“You were together for five years!  There is no way a five year relationship ends amicably.  Draco, my darling boy, surely even you know that.”

“We’ve been growing apart for some time. It felt like a natural end to things.”

“I can’t believe you’ve split up!"  she went back to the mirror to fine tune the fringe that had come out of place in her outburst.  " I mean, for pity's sake.  You had someone in your life! And you’ve let it go to waste.”

Draco didn’t see how being alone could possibly be as bad as Pansy made it out to be.  Getting out of a dead end relationship wasn't letting anything go to waste.  He suspected her misery stemmed from the marital status of her lover more than anything else.  

“Have I already asked how you’re not a wreck?”

“You have.”

“And what was the answer?”

“I feel fine, honestly.”  Draco straightened his apron and adjusted his posture. “I’m thirty one now and I want more out of a relationship than what he could give.”  

The door opened and a muggle couple came in.  Pansy grabbed her own apron and trotted over to the table where they sat. Draco marveled at her ability to work an eight hour shift in heels. It was inhuman.

“A pint of lager and a white wine.”  she said when she trotted back to him.

He nodded and got the drinks ready.  

“You’re really fine?”

“I truly am.”

Pansy squeezed his wrist (the right one) and delivered the drinks.  The night picked up fairly quickly, as Fridays usually did. By the time Lou came in Draco was ready for a break.  He went through the back of the bar to his potions room. He drew the curtain aside, the muggle repellent wards along the doors sent a cool chill down his spine as he crossed the threshold.  The room held only two cauldrons, and as such he only served two specialty “Mood” drinks a night. They were built into the wall, adjacent to each other leaving the wall to the right of the door as his workspace.  

Draco selected the best of the sweetgrass leaves and tied four of them into four little bows.  Then he placed them in the pewter cauldron. The potion turned a more brilliant shade of green with each bow.  He was just setting a tempus charm when Pansy came through the curtain as well. She perched herself on the edge of his small work table. 

“Does this mean I can set you up with my mates?”

“You have mates I don’t know about?”

“You don’t know everything about me, Draco, darling.”

“I’m not ready to date, Pans.  It was only a few days ago.”

Pansy whipped out her mobile.  “Well it can’t hurt to look. Are you on Witchr?”

“Am I on what?”

“Witchr?  It’s the muggle free dating app.”

“Merlin.”  Draco shook his head.  He nudged Pansy to move over and grabbed a cutting block. “How can it possibly know if you’re muggle on a mobile phone?”

“Magical signature required to open it.”

“That makes no sense.” 

“You’re missing the point, Draco.” She began tapping away.  “Alright, I’ve set you up a profile. Let’s see who we can find.”

Draco chopped his herbs. “If you’re setting me up with your mates, I don’t see why you’re using a dating app.  And the answer is no.”

“Michael Corner?” Pansy asked.  “I personally would never. But you haven’t got a problem with messy hair.  You love it.”

“I do not.”  

Pansy gave him a look over the top of her mobile.  

Draco did not explain there was just one head of messy hair that he found particularly compelling.  He thought of that quidditch match. Standing an inch away from Potter. He’d been furious with Jean for humiliating him.  And just reckless enough, he’d nearly thrown it all away. With Jean’s recent departure Draco began to regret not snogging the life out of Potter while he had the chance.  What would Potter have done? Hexed him on principle? Or shoved Draco against the wall and...

“Ooohh, what about Millie?” Pansy cooed.  “She’s looking quite fit these days.”

“I am not interested in dating at the moment.   Pansy, have you failed to notice my very prominent homosexuality?  I seem to recall a terrible decision from fourth year where we decided to test that theory, met with disastrous results.”

“Ugh, don't remind me.  I will never get my first kiss back, Draco.  I’m just saying, you don’t want to wait too long, love.  Marcus Belby took a bludger to the head, died instantly only just last year.”

“Are you insinuating that if I do not immediately resume dating that I will be hit by a bludger and die?  You’re awfully optimistic today.”

“You should keep your options open, is all.”

Draco did not respond.  He had five minutes left before he needed to take over for Lou and he still needed to add the alihotsy he was muddling.  Pansy continued to swipe through potentials on her mobile.  

“Oooh!” exclaimed Pansy, “What about Potter, then?”

Draco’s head snapped up.  

“Gotcha!” Pansy cackled.  She nearly fell off the table top laughing.  

Harry

If Ron thought a quidditch game would cheer Harry up he was dead wrong.  They didn’t have top box seats, thank Christ. Ron wanted to, now that he could afford them, but Harry didn’t want Lee Jordan pointing him out again.  He didn’t have enough energy to put on a cheery face and pretend he was having the time of his life. Particularly when his life was yet again falling apart.  

“When was this?” Ron asked.  He had a box of every flavour beans that he was eating entirely too recklessly for Harry’s taste.  

“Friday.”  

“Fuck, mate.  No wonder you weren’t at dinner Sunday.   Ginny didn’t say anything. I mean she looked a bit off colour, but honestly I thought she was knackered from quidditch practice.  I had no idea.”

Harry chewed his lip for a moment.  “I just didn’t understand. She said she doesn’t want to be married. As though marriage itself is the problem.  ‘Marriage’ is why she doesn’t want to be with me anymore.” 

“She never had a problem with it before.” Ron said. 

Harry gestured emphatically.   “Exactly. I told her we didn’t need to make any rash decisions.”

“You said that?  You?” 

Harry had the decency to look abashed.  “I know. I’m lucky I didn’t get hexed, honestly.”

Ron shook his head slowly and popped another bean into his mouth.  He chewed once before he cringed and spat it out. “Vomit.”

“Next day she’d thought about it and wanted to separate.  Just for a bit. While she’s away for the European circuit.  Then when she’s playing matches in the UK we can try going on dates again.” Harry struggled to keep from shouting.  “Wasn’t the whole point of marriage to stop dating? Why would I want to start over when we already love each other?  That’s bollocks!”

Ron echoed, “Total bollocks.”

“But I think that was the problem.  

“What, bollocks?”

“No.  I don’t think she loved me.”

Ron turned to face Harry, confused.  “Course she does. She’s loved you since we were kids, innit.”

Harry shook his head.  “I’m not who I was at eleven.  And I’m certainly not who I was at eighteen.  Neither is she. I think she feels obligated to be with me, cause I’m well…”

“You.”

Harry nodded dejectedly,  “Which is just brilliant. So I asked her."  The crowd around them cheered loudly.  Harry waited for the noise to die down a moment, "she said she doesn’t know that she’s ever really loved me.”  Harry felt weak and tired, like he hadn't eaten in a few days.  He sighed and buried his hands in his hair, resting his elbows on his knees.

“Fuck, mate.”

 The wave had begun near them in the stadium.  Harry and Ron stood to raise their arms along with the crowd and sat back down.  Harry slouched in his seat.

“She was just going through the motions because I’m Harry Potter. And who wouldn’t want to marry Harry Sodding Potter, you know?” 

“That’s awful Harry.  I’d be devastated if Hermione said that to me.  Genuinely gutted.” 

“It gets worse.”

Ron popped another bean into his mouth and chewed cautiously.  “Peppermint. Go on.”

“She’d already found a flat.  We’re in the middle of a row about this and the movers arrived. Movers!  They started magicking half the shit in our flat into boxes. Ginny had gone round and marked what she’s taking with bloody stickers!”

Ron’s jaw dropped.  

“I was livid and I asked her when she booked the movers but she wouldn’t look me in the eye.  Meanwhile I look like I’ve gone mad. And obviously this was going to be in The Prophet. Potter Gone Mental Over Failed Marriage. But in for a penny, in for a pound.  I asked one of the blokes shrinking my furniture when Ginny called them.”

“And?”

“They were bloody terrified.  Looking between us. Finally Ginny realized I’m not going to let it go. She’d booked them a week ago.”  Harry took in a shaky breath. “I’ve never been so gutted.”

“Why didn’t she tell you? Or me for that reason, I’m her brother!”

“Yeah well, she didn’t want to ruin my birthday, did she.”

They stood and raised their arms as the wave came round the stadium again.  When they sat down, Harry slumped in his seat. He stared at the concrete floor.  “It gets worse.”

“Worse than a surprise divorce?”

Harry nodded.  He ran a hand through his hair. “It was a lie.”

“What was?”

“The separation.  She’s moved in with Neville.”

“Fuuuuuuck.”

The crowd around them stood up cheering at the Cannon’s recent goal.  Harry and Ron remained seated, Ron gawping at Harry. Harry staring at the floor.

“How d’you know?” Ron asked.

“Invisibility cloak.”

“You didn’t.”

Harry nodded.  “Followed her, didn’t I.  Morbid curiosity I suppose.  I just wanted to see this place she was going to be living her Harry Potter-free life.  But it wasn’t her team mate’s flat. It was Neville’s.”

“I’m so sorry, mate.”

Harry shrugged.  “The whole time we were together I knew it would end.  Everything always ends. I knew she’d leave me. Everyone I love leaves me at some point.”

Ron’s ears tinged red.  “Sometimes they come back.” he said, sheepishly.

Harry smiled hollowly at Ron. “Not this time.  It almost feels inevitable. My whole life has been a one catastrophe after another, why wouldn’t my marriage.”

“I dunno.  I don’t think cheating is what ends marriages.  It’s more like a symptom of a bigger problem, mate.”

“Yeah, well that symptom is fucking my wife.” Harry said, dejectedly.  

“Oi, that’s my sister you’re talking about.” Ron halfheartedly protested and jostled Harry’s elbow.

Harry sighed.  The Cannons scored again and the orange swathed crowd around them erupted in cheers.  

Chapter Text

Draco

Draco was grateful enough time had passed since the war that he was no longer hexed in the streets.  His gradual re-integration into Wizarding society didn’t seem as monumental as he’d thought it would in his twenties.   Life in the Muggle world had done him good. Mellowed him out, gave him perspective. Meeting Pansy at Flourish & Blotts ten years ago would be terrifying.  Now it was commonplace. They’d meet up just as often at random muggle bookshops. Pansy always said she accompanied him out of loyalty but never failed to leave a bookshop without a few tawdry romance novels.  

“Here you are, perfect!” Pansy slid How to Win Friends and Influence People by Dale Carnegie to him.

“Very funny.” 

“You don’t appreciate me enough, Draco.”

“No one in the world could appreciate you enough, Pans.”

“How’s your head this morning, love?”

“Fine.”  Draco’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.  “How is yours?”

“I think I’ve got to cut back on the drinking, to be honest.  Can I still work for you if I don't drink?"

"Of course, you're always welcome at Mood."

"And I have a confession.”

There it was.  The heart of the matter.  “You’ve come to your senses and decided not to chase married men?” he asked. 

“I found a receipt.”

“You found a receipt?"  he blinked.  "At Mood?" 

Pansy bit her lip and shook her head slightly.  Draco narrowed his eyes.  "As in you spotted a slip of paper on the floor and read it before you binned it?”

“I found it.  In a pile of receipts.  On his desk. Where he balances his books.”

Draco shook his head, “Oh Pansy.”

“They’ve just got matching robes for the Ministry Gala next month.”

“Pansy.  He is never going to leave his wife for you.”

“I know, I know..” She sighed, “He’s never going to leave her.”  She examined her reflection in the display window, standing in different positions.  She squeezed her cleavage together. “What about a permanent engorgement charm?”

“Pansy.”

“Too much?” She looked about to say more but something in the reflection caught her eye.  Draco gave her a questioning look. She indicated something with her head. Draco’s eyebrows knitted.  He looked around them at the table of books.

“Pardon?”

She jerked her head to the side a few times but Draco didn’t see anything beside her.  

“Pansy I think your tits are fine as they are.”

Her face fell with exaggerated exasperation.  “What would you know about tits, anyway. Should have asked Blaise.”  

She gripped Draco’s shoulders and physically turned him round.  “What I was trying to show you is Harry Potter standing at that table” she whispered aggressively.  “Pretending to look at a book and he keeps looking up at you every five seconds.” 

Draco’s stomach dropped.  Potter glanced up from a book, an upside down book, and saw he’d been caught out.  His cheeks flushed.

“He’s fit now, innit.” Pansy whispered. 

“He is not,” Draco lied.  Potter looked like he was debating putting the book down.  “He looks as weedy and thin as ever.”

“Don’t be stupid.  One of his arms is the size of both yours together.”

“He’s more your type than mine, he’s married now, you see.”

“No he’s not.”

“He is” Draco insisted quietly.

“How was that not all over The Prophet?” she asked, still whispering.

“Well he said he was getting married last time I saw him.”

Pansy’s eyebrows arched, made all the more impressive by her perfectly rendered makeup.  “How long ago was that?” she asked.

“I’m not sure.  Five years ago? Jean and I had only just started dating.”

“Fuck he’s coming over.” 

Indeed he was.  Potter ran a hand up the back of his neck into his mussed hair.  The shadow of a beard Draco remembered from the last time they saw each other had grown to a full beard.  Not too long, and it seemed much better groomed than his mad hair which stuck up all over, much as it ever had. 

“Malfoy?”

Draco nodded.  He indicated to his left, “You remember-” 

Potter looked but Draco found himself alone.  

“Pansy..”  he trailed off.  Draco sighed heavily.  

“So how’re you, then?  No more blue hair?” Potter asked.  Draco felt Potter’s eyes roving over him.  Taking in the muggle slacks and form fitting high collared dress shirt with his sleeves buttoned to the wrist.  Draco resisted the urge to snap back that he wasn’t up to anything and Potter should bugger off. They were adults.  Potter wasn’t in uniform. Draco could be civil.

“Well enough.  That was a phase, anyway.  Just having a laugh.” he drawled.  And then winced.  

“How’s Jean?” Potter asked, his eyes darted around as though waiting for Jean’s sudden appearance.  Never mind the fact that Potter had obviously been watching Draco and Pansy for a few minutes prior to his approach.

“Fine.” Draco glanced around as well, hoping Pansy would rescue him.  He had no such luck. “I hear he’s fine.”

“Are you not with Jean anymore?” Potter chewed his lip, “Shit, I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s fine, Potter.  “We’ve just split up.”

Shock registered in Potter’s eyes.  He began looking round the shop more aggressively.  

Draco rolled his eyes.  “Not just this moment, you idiot.”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to pry.”

“You’re not.  Forget it. How are you, Potter?  Haven’t seen you in the papers for at least a month.  Is that a record for you?”

Potter did not take the bait.  In fact he huffed a small laugh.  Draco stared openly at him. 

“I reckon it is,” he grinned at Draco.  

Draco didn’t want to ruin this amicable conversation.  He cast around for something to ask, “How’s married life, then?”

Potter chuckled, darkly this time.  “Not great, as it were.” He stuck his hands in his pockets and gave an odd sort of hunched over shrug.  “I'm getting divorced, actually.”

Draco’s instinct was to take the piss, but somehow Potter just looked too defeated.  Draco didn’t have it in him to kick the man already down. Especially after his own recent disillusionment with love.  

“I’m sorry, Potter.” he said.

Potter kept his eyes on his trainers.  He gave another shrug, “What can you do, eh?”  he looked up at Draco, his green eyes intense.  

Draco didn’t laugh.  Neither did Potter. They didn’t hex or curse each other.  Both their noses remained intact and unbroken.  Draco struggled a moment to identify the alien emotion he was feeling.  Sympathy. He was feeling sympathy. Specifically he was feeling sympathy for Potter.  

“So what happened with you guys?” Potter asked.  

A pained smile passed over Draco’s face.  

Harry

Harry wasn’t sure where the words had come from, but when they popped out he was equally surprised to find Malfoy had accepted his invitation.  Here they were having coffee together. Like old friends. Not like bitter enemies who’d once tried to kill each other. It was... Odd.  

“Jean and I never wanted to get married.  We’d talked about it a few times, mostly how abhorrent it seemed.  Married couples always seemed to be in a spat of some sort, most often about children.  Theo got married, you know. As soon as he produced offspring he and his wife stopped having sex altogether.  He told me they were too exhausted. Nappies everywhere. Waking up at all hours of the night.”

“And that’s only being married to Theo.” Harry quipped.

Malfoy’s eyes sparkled with humor.  “The children, you twit.’

Harry held back a smile.

“We’d agreed, you understand?”  

Harry nodded and Draco continued. “No marriage.  No children. We could catch a port key to Paris, floo to Fiji.  We were free! We could make love in front of the fireplace without having to worry about stepping on lego or storey books.  It was almost a relief to finally be with someone who was on the same page.  

“But..”

“But I changed my mind.”

Harry raised one of his eyebrows. 

“I was looking after Theo’s children one day.  They sat at the table in the kitchen drawing pictures.  Terrible artists, I must say.”

Harry laughed.

“The oldest one is around five, you see.  And she drew a group of stick figures holding hands.  Two parents, the children in the middle. Well, I say children, they could have been anything really.  She really has the most awful sense of artistry. Then she wrote ‘my family’ at the top beneath the most ridiculous rendering of the sun I’ve ever seen.  As though the sun has a face, let alone a smiling one.”

Harry grinned at Malfoy again.  He wasn’t sure he knew all his letters at age five let alone spell the word family. “She’s doing better than I was at that age.”

“Well not everyone was born an idiot, Potter.”  Malfoy said, without any heat.

“That’s just me, then.”  Harry smirked.

“Naturally.  

“Go on.”

“I got home and told Jean, the thing was we’d never gone to Paris together.  I mean five years together and we’d never once gone to see his family in France.”

“And the romantic interlude by the fireplace?”

“Not once.  I mean really, we use it for the Floo.  That's just foolish.”

Harry nodded.

“I told him I wanted all of it.  I want to get married. And while I may not come from the epitome of a wholesome family, I’m open to the idea.  At the very least, I want to be in a family. It was always just my parents and me.” Mafloy looked out the darkening window.  “I was so lonely growing up.” he seemed to come back to himself and gave Harry a chagrined half smile. “That must seem strange to you, but I was.  My parents had to pay people to get their children to play with me.”

Harry didn’t reply but he didn’t think it was that odd, not the bit about paying parents.  That was just weird. But an only child growing up on such a large estate was bound to be a bit lonely.  Mind you Harry would have swapped his cupboard and tormentors for an estate and paid mates any time.  He bit back another smile. 

“You might not remember, Potter, but I was a bit of a shit growing up.”

Harry laughed aloud.  “Were you really? Must have escaped my attention.”

Malfoy’s grin became rueful.  “I have to say that’s one of the reasons I was so keen on being friends when we were eleven.  I thought if I could have you as my friend I wouldn’t need lots of friends, because I’d have the best person in the world as my friend.”

Harry didn’t know what to say to that.  He felt his cheeks colouring. 

“I don’t want to be alone anymore.”  Malfoy continued. “I want to visit relatives and have family gatherings.  I’m still on the fence about children, mind you. But I know I want to be part of a family.” 

Harry didn’t know who this person was in front of him.  Gone was the little shit who looked down on the Weasley’s plethora of children.  Now it sounded as though Malfoy wanted to be a part of them. Harry didn’t know quite what to say. A small warm feeling began to grow in his chest.  Like his first taste of butterbeer, or the moment he first took off on a broom.  

“But Jean didn’t want those things. He still doesn’t want to get married.  Completely opposed to children.  He has no interest in connecting with his family. He may have had a good reason for that, but I can’t say for certain because he never spoke of them.  But that’s another matter. What I wanted had changed, what he wanted hadn’t. I said ‘It’s over then, isn’t it?’”

Harry nodded again.

“And I’m over him.  He couldn’t give what I needed.”

“That sounds very healthy.” 

“It does?”  Malfoy paused for a moment thinking it over, then his confidence came back. He smirked at Harry, “It does, doesn’t it.  I am nothing if not resilient.”

“No argument here.” Harry added, a smile on his lips.  “You sound great, Malfoy.”

They were kicked out of the cafe a few minutes later.  Harry hadn’t even noticed how late it was. They strolled together through the evening in Diagon Alley.  Lanterns hung outside the shop entrances lighting the way. A few had magical winking fairy lights strung along outdoor seating.  Harry preferred Diagon Alley in the evenings. Not only because he was recognized less often but it just all seemed so much more….  Magical. Strolling through the evening talking to Malfoy he’d never felt farther from Privet Drive.  

“I kept the flat.” Malfoy said.  “I’ve got that much, at least.”

“I don’t know why people always say that.”  Harry replied. “Who gives a shit about a flat.”

“Wizarding flats are hard to come by in muggle London, you know.”  Malfoy smirked at Harry, “though maybe not for you Potter.”

Harry couldn’t help but roll his eyes.  “I don’t actually need a flat. I couldn't stay in it without Ginny anyway.  I’ve still got 12 Grimmauld Place. How’d you find a wizarding flat in muggle London, anyway?”

“With great perseverance.”

Harry laughed.  Malfoy was looking at him out of the corner of his eye, biting back a smile.

“You’re funny, Malfoy.”  Harry said. “I guess I never knew that about you.”

“I’ve always been funny.  You’ve just always been too much of a prat to notice.  Those Potter Stinks badges were brilliant.”

Harry laughed again.  “I reckon they were.”

Malfoy stopped smiling, his face pensive.  “What’s happening here, Potter?” He indicated the pair of them with his long elegant finger.  

Harry quirked an eyebrow.  His heartbeat sped up.

“Are we becoming friends?” 

Harry relaxed his shoulders.  “I think we are, Malfoy.”

“Then you’d better call me Draco.”

Harry threw back his head and laughed.  Malfoy, no, Draco smirked at him. Harry stuck out his hand, “Friends?”

Draco shook his hand without hesitation.  “Friends.”

The handshake went on a half a second too long, before they dropped their hands.

“Goodnight, Harry.” Draco said quietly.  

Chapter Text

The Right Time & Place

Professor Aurora Sinistra was getting up in years and sat on the sofa with great care.  Her hair had gone gracefully white, which matched her wife’s. Where Aurora’s was thick and straight, in a clean bob, Dayita’s was long and wavy.  Dayita wore it half up and half down, so that she could still wear her pointed hat. The wide brim sat back on her head, so that her face could be clearly seen.  Aurora brushed a stray hair from Dayita’s cheek and tucked it behind her ear. Dayita smiled slowly. They turned to face forward and settled more comfortably on the sofa together.  Dayita looped her arm through Aurora’s and they leaned into each other.

“We were born in the same ward of St. Mungos” Aurora said.  

Dayita added, “Nineteen twenty one.”

“Only a week apart” said Aurora at the same time Dayita said, “The very same floor!”

Aurora continued, “We grew up in the same area.”

“Council housing.”

“Upper Holloway”

“Islington.” Dayita specified, nodding.

“I moved to Cambridge after Hogwarts.” said Aurora. 

Dayita spoke at the same time, “I went to America to go to school.  But I moved to Cambridge after graduating.”

“For six years she worked for the Department of Applied Mathematics and Theoretical Physics while I worked at the Institute of Astronomy.” Aurora announced, proudly. 

Halfway through the first word, Dayita began saying, “I worked for the Department of Applied Mathematics and Theoretical Physics at Cambridge for a very prominent muggle scientist.”

They both paused and looked at each other. 

“We never met,” Aurora said.  Their eyes sparked with amusement.

“We never met.” Dayita repeated.  She faced forward again, “Can you imagine?”

“You know where we did meet?” Aurora asked.  “A hotel in Dorset. On the lifts.”

“I was visiting my family there.” Dayita added.  “She was on the second floor. I was staying on the eleventh.”

They beamed at each other again.  

“I rode up nine extra floors just to keep talking.” Aurora said, her eyes glowed and never left Dayita's face. 

“Nine.  Extra. Floors.” Dayita repeated, turning forward.  She squeezed Aurora's hand in her lap.

Draco

Draco’s mobile buzzed on his bedside table.  He paused the movie on his laptop, feeling delightfully muggle. 

“Harry.”  He said by way of greeting.

“Hiya.  Were you sleeping?”

“I was not,”  Draco said. “I was watching Casablanca.”

“Oh? What are you watching it on?”

“Netflix.”

“Gimme a sec.” 

Draco heard the sounds of something being set down, a thunk followed by Harry swearing.  Draco put the phone on speaker and set it on the bedside table.

“Does the internet work at Grimmauld Place?” he asked, curious.

“I’m at Ron and Hermione’s place.  Watching Rosie for the night. Ok, it’s pulled up.  What part are you at?”

"“Yvonne I love you, but he pays me.”"

“Classic. I can’t believe you’d go with Victor Lazlo.”

Draco scoffed.  “No I wouldn’t. When did I say that?”

“On the train.”

“To Hogwarts?” Draco asked, incredulous.  He was fairly certain he remembered running into Potter every year, except for second and seventh, and not once did they have a friendly chat about Casablanca.  Draco hadn’t even seen it until after Hogwarts. Which meant-

“To Azkaban.”

“Oh.  Right.”

“How do you sleep at night?”

“I beg your pardon?” Draco drawled.  He held back his urge to lash out.  The more conversations he had with Harry the more often he realized the majority of slights he inferred were actually borne of Harry’s lack of social skills.  Poor socialization as a child, Draco surmised.  It was not born of some desire to antagonize Draco, as he’d previously thought.  

“I can’t sleep at night.”

Draco let out a breath.  Nothing to be upset about, Harry wasn’t dredging up Draco’s past. It was just his natural obliviousness coming through yet again.

“I wake up and expect Ginny to be there.  But she never is.”

“I don’t have a problem sleeping.”

“You don’t?” Harry sounded wistful.  “I can’t believe how well you’re doing.”

“Pott- Harry, you’ve been through worse than a heartbreak.  We both have.”

“Doesn’t feel like it.”

“I don’t miss Jean at all.  I miss having someone to come home to.  Someone to go out to dinner with.  I miss the idea of him, but not Jean specifically.  You know what I mean?”

“No, I miss Ginny all the time.  Family stuff is especially difficult.  I can’t not go, because the Weasley’s are my family.  But seeing Ginny makes it bloody difficult. I’m lucky she’s away so much, to be honest.  She hasn’t brought Neville round yet. I don’t think Molly’s too chuffed with them at the moment."  Harry sighed,  "Christmas is going to be awful. Oh, I love this part-”

They watched the film progress in silence for a while.  

“Ingrid Birdman.” Harry sighed when they got to the airplane scene.  “Talk about low maintenance.”

“What do you mean?” Draco asked absently, watching Humphrey Bogart say goodbye to the woman he loved.

“Most people are either low maintenance or high maintenance.”

“That seems highly reductive.”  Draco could practically hear Harry shrug through the phone.  “You’re saying Ingrid Birdman is low maintenance?”  

“Absolutely.”

“Which one am I, then?” Draco asked, interest piqued.

“Jesus, you’re the worst.”

“Fuck you too Potter.”

Harry chuckled.  “You’re the type of person who thinks of themselves as low maintenance but you’re actually very high maintenance.”

“That’s rubbish.”

“Draco.  You made us move to a different table at dinner last week because you were offended by the pitch of the woman’s voice who was sat behind us.”

“It was disruptive.  I couldn't hear a word you were saying.”

“A low maintenance person would have let it go and used muffliato .”

“I refused to use magic in a muggle establishment.  And I want what I want, Harry. I spent the first half of my life doing what everyone else wanted me to do and look where it got me.  I’ll be damned if I let anyone else dictate my actions .”

“I get that.” Harry said warmly, “I really do.”

A slow half smile spread across Draco's lips.  He was proud of how good they’d gotten at not picking fights with each other.  He often wondered how much more time they could have had as friends if only he’d been able to see their similarities earlier.  

“Louie, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.” Harry said along with Humphrey Bogart.  

Draco sighed.  

He heard the sound of footsteps coming from the phone.  Granger and Weasley’s distant voices.

“I’ve gotta go, mate.” Harry said, a little distracted.  

“Goodnight, Harry.” Draco said.  There was a heavy pause.

“Night Draco.”

Chapter Text

Harry

Harry found himself walking beside Draco Malfoy through Diagon Alley yet again.  It wasn’t what he’d set out to do that day but there they were. Harry had just left Ron and Hermione at a cafe with some other Ministry workers when he’d come across Draco leaving Gringotts.

“I have decided.” he said in an American cowboy accent. “That for thuh rest awf thuh day we will tawk like thee-us.”

“Harry you know I can’t do accents.  Don’t make me.”

Harry did know this.  And it delighted him to no end to hear Malfoy try.  The time he’d gotten Draco to say “Fuck off Jimmy” sounding like Johnny Vegas would live in his memory forever.

“Ah do deculare” Harry looked at Draco.  The blonde stared back at him fighting off a smile.  Draco used to do impersonations all the time at Hogwarts.  Typically of Harry doing something embarrassing. He knew Draco had it in him. Somewhere along the way, probably about the time of the war, Draco let that part of himself go and Harry was determined to see it again.  It was just the vowels that threw him off. 

“Aaah?”

Harry nodded grinning like a fool.  “Do deculare” he prompted.

“Do de cul aaaiir.”

“Do deculare”  Harry hooked his thumbs through the belt loops on his jeans and stuck out his elbows. “That ya ought t' see a movie with me tonaahyt.”

“That yaa oddessy a fil- mooovieee-” Draco tried. 

“Stop repeatin' eend answer thuh question, pahrtner”

Confusion passed over Draco’s face, “Pardon?”

Harry tried again, “Do ya faancy seein' a movie with me?

“Cowboys don’t say fancy, Potter.” 

Harry laughed.  “Do you, though?  Fancy seeing a film with me?”

“Oh, er.” Draco looked away from Harry, “I can’t tonight, actually.”

“Ya gawt yourself a hot date or sumthin?”

“Well, yes, rather.”

That brought Harry up short.  “Oh.”

Draco was watching him carefully.  “I wasn’t sure how to bring it up casually.”

“Oh.” 

“I thought it might be uncomfortable to mention it.”

“Oh.” he said.  Surely there were other words in the English language.  Why couldn’t he think of them? Harry ran a hand through his hair.  Draco was going on dates. Dates with people. “Er, yeah. That’s brilliant.”

Draco’s hesitation seemed to melt off his shoulders.  He glanced at Harry quickly. “It is rather, isn’t it?”

“Course it is.” Harry said, bracingly.  He glanced down at Draco’s outfit. His robes were a pale blue colour.  They had a high collar, and ended mid thigh in the front, but the back side had tails that went down past his knees.   The trousers beneath them were a fine dove grey wool. “That what you’re wearing?”

Draco looked down at himself.  He tugged his left sleeve down.  “Problem?”

“No, course not.”

The grey eyes narrowed at Harry.  

“You should wear muggle clothes more often, is all.”  Harry said quickly.  

Draco remained suspicious.  “I should? Are you having a go at me?”

“You look really fit in muggle clothes,” the words spilled out of Harry's mouth without his permission.  He tried to ignore the flush in his cheeks.  And because he couldn't stop himself, "Like that leather jacket you used to wear."  He ran a hand up the back of his neck, "with the skinny jeans?"

Draco blinked at Harry a few times and turned away.  “Noted.”  

Harry closed his eyes a moment to appreciate his own stupidity before he trotted to catch up with Draco. 

As they were passing Weasley Wizarding Wheezes George caught Harry through the shop front and gave him a nod.  Harry nodded back. He watched George’s eyes clock Draco beside him and raised an eyebrow. Harry tried to ignore the colour in his cheeks as George gave him a final querying look before he turned back to his customer.  

Draco glanced quickly from George’s face to Harry’s reaction.  They spoke at the same time.  

“You should get back out there, Harry.”

“Those faux flames are wicked, innit."

They paused.  Draco licked his lips and Harry tried not to notice.  

"Have you seen them?” Harry asked.

“Really, Potter.” Draco said.  “You should get back out there.”

Harry scoffed and looked away,  “I’m not ready yet.”

Thankfully Draco let it drop.  They parted ways at The Leaky Cauldron and Harry stomped down all thoughts of Malfoy on a date in fit muggle clothing.  

Draco

Draco slid a drink across the bar to Harry who sipped it.  Delight spread over his face and Draco grinned. “It’s good, eh?”

“That is incredible.”  Harry licked his lips. “I mean, it’s not technically illegal, what you’re doing.  But it’s definitely dubious.”

“It’s the phrasing that keeps it legal.  For the drinks we offer from the menu we had our solicitor draw up the phrasing.  As long as we say the phrase, ‘How would you like to feel’ and follow it up with “Would you like a potion for cheerfulness or whatever?”  It is verbal consent. It’s not different from ordering a calming herbal tea when you’re stressed. Or a coffee when you’re knackered. None of the potions are addictive and all of them, honestly, are less harmful than alcohol.”

“You sound like you’ve practiced that speech a lot.”

“I recite it every day before brewing.  I’m trying to do something good, you know?  Avoid causing harm. Think of it like a spa, only with beverages.”

Draco felt Harry’s intense gaze on him.  “We’ve won an award for fewest brawls.” he added.

Harry laughed.  “Brilliant.”

“Indeed.”

Harry took another sip.  “God, that’s perfect.”

“Want to see the brewing station?”

Harry shrugged, “Why not?”

Draco led the way to the back and held the curtain open for Harry.  

“So how was your date, then?  She was a muggleborn, right?”

“Yeah, American.”  Harry said. “Thought it might be less complicated.  I’m pretty much only famous here.”

“Where’d you meet her?”

“She’s a distant cousin of Hermione’s.”

“Oh?”  Draco would never date his friends' relatives.  He’d seen what a nightmare that had been for Blaise.  Although Blaise was handsome enough that he pretty much never brought out anger in people anyway.  He could smile a way any ill will. Draco was not so lucky. He’d learned to stay clear of entanglements of that nature.

“Where did you go?”

“A muggle place.  Didn’t want to get harassed, you know.”

“Mmm”  Draco tugged his left sleeve down. 

“Anyway, it started out fine.  Normal Great Britain v America conversations.  Do you have Tesco? No, do we have Albertsons? Trivial stuff.  What exactly is marmite?”

Draco nodded and took a quick peek in each of his cauldrons.  He’d hung up a chart beside each one with a detailed schedule of when each step of the potion needed to be added next.   So far everything looked on track. 

“We order dinner and the conversation’s a bit stinted, so I ask her about quidditch in America. And out of nowhere I’m having a full meltdown.”

Draco turned around quickly at the distress in Harry’s voice.  He watched Harry take a bracing gulp from his drink.

“Her team is the Holyhead Harpies?” Draco guessed.

Harry shook his head, “No she follows the New York Pixies.  But I completely lost control of myself. Sobbing in public like a loon.  I spent the entire night talking to this poor woman about Ginny. Ginny’s quidditch habits.  Her laundry habits.” Potter began pacing the tiny room, running his hands through his hair frantically, “The way her freckles get darker in the summer.  The way I will never know anyone as well as I know her.  I mean we've known each other since we were children.” 

Draco reached out and put a hand on his shoulder to stop him from moving about.  “I’m so sorry, Harry.”

Harry looked up at Draco and relaxed. “I was a right mess, mate.”

“Sounds like it.”

Harry shook his head rapidly, like a puppy just in from the rain.  He took a deep breath and finished the drink in his hand. Harry stepped away toward the door frame and Draco let his hand drop.  

“I suppose it was bound to be a bit of slog your first time back out there.” Draco said, hesitantly.  He turned to the work station and began slicing thin strips of willow bark. “But it’s a good job you’re trying.”

This was met with silence.  Draco looked up after a moment.  

“Sure it is.”  Harry said, absently.  He was leaning on the door frame with the curtain pushed back.  

“It is, truly.”  Draco said, turning back to his chopping block.  “It might be awhile before you connect with someone again.  Maybe even longer before you sleep with them. I think that’s perfectly normal.”

 "I still slept with her.”

Draco looked up to see the curtain swishing back into place after Potter’s departure.

“Oh.” he said aloud.  

Harry

Ron took down an old Cleansweep and a relatively modern Comet.  Harry, snitch already in hand, dug around in the shed behind The Burrow until he found their old quaffle and bludgers.  Once they got to the empty field, Harry let only one of the bludgers loose. He and Ron played one on one quidditch behind the Burrow when they could get away from Sunday Dinners.  Their time for game play seemed to decrease the further into adulthood they progressed. On the one hand, it made Harry a little sad they played so little. On the other, his back ached for days afterward. 

“Did I tell you I’ve been to Draco’s bar?” Harry mounted his broom and took off into the air.  The Cleansweep wobbled a bit and Harry had to be very firm in directing the handle. He should have brought his Firebolt.  Or at least get Molly and Arthur a set of new brooms for the grandkids to play on.  

“Draco?”  Ron dodged the bludger as he took off into the air after Harry.  “Seriously, mate. You call him Draco?”

Harry shrugged, but the gesture was lost on account of the whole flying on a broomstick in the air chasing a snitch thing.  

“That’s just weird.” Ron said.  

“It’s a nice place.” Harry spun around in the air, it felt great to feel the wind against his face.  He felt alive and free in a way that was becoming, sadly, less frequent.  

“So what’s it called?  The Twitchy Ferret?” 

Harry laughed.  “I can’t remember, honestly.  It was nice though. I was expecting it to be well Posh but it wasn’t.  It was normal, friendly-like.”

“That doesn’t sound like Malfoy.” Ron scoffed. 

The bludger came back around, this time at Harry.  He zig-zagged through the air, losing it around a bit of thicket.  

“I don’t get it.”

“Get what?”

“Why you’re friends with that bellend.”

Harry thought about this for a moment.  “He’s not who he was at school.”

“A prick?”

“Exactly.  I mean, obviously he’s still an uppity swot.  But without the sting.”

“What do you guys do?”

“Nothing much.  Talk. Drink.”

“We do that.”

“Yeah, but it’s different, innit.”

“How?”

“I dunno, he just…”  Hary trailed off and dove for the snitch.  It was flying up around Ron's ear. Ron looked quickly around and tried to snatch it out of the air.  Harry knocked him aside and they both tumbled off their brooms a foot or so to the ground, laughing.  

“You absolute wanker.” Ron breathed, laughing.  “Go on, then. Tell me what it’s like.”

“It’s like just after the war, and I couldn’t go anywhere without being mobbed.  Neither could he. Only it was worse for him, people were trying to hex him.”

“Yeah well, he was a Death Eater, innit.”

“He was just trying to protect his family.  Not his fault they were complete shit.”

“He said some nasty things to Hermione before he was ever a Death Eater.”

Too right, he had.  But Harry liked to think Draco wasn’t that person anymore.  “I dunno what to say, mate. That’s not who he is anymore. And the whole being mobbed bit, he gets it.  He didn’t have a choice in how he was raised any more than I did.  We were both a bit, I don't want to say brainwashed, but yeah.  Brainwashed.  Afraid of the future, afraid of letting people down.  We did what we had to.  He doesn't believe in any of that pure blood shite.  Not anymore.”

Ron grunted noncommittally. 

“And the loneliness, he gets that too.  He grew up lonely and abused just like I did.”

“Abused?  His parents bought his entire quidditch team new brooms!  He’s been spoiled his entire life! You were literally abused, Harry.  It’s not the same, mate.”

“Brainwashing is still abuse.  A different kind, mind you. But abuse all the same.”

Ron tutted and shook his head but didn’t press the matter.

“It just sort of feels like we were two sides of the same coin, you know?” Harry went on.  He glanced over at Ron who was giving Harry an uncomfortably shrewd look.

“And you’re not sleeping with him?”

“What?” Harry spluttered.  “Course not!”

Ron’s eyes narrowed.  

“Oi!” 

Ron and Harry turned to the new voice coming through the field.  Teddy and Victorie came running up the path. 

“Uncle Harry!  Uncle Ron!’ Teddy yelled.  “You have our brooms!”

Ron arched his eyebrows.  “Your brooms? Mate, I’ve been riding this Cleansweep since I was your age.”

“You know what we mean.” Victorie admonished.  

“Besides” Teddy said, “You’re meant to be helping Nan, not playing about.”

“We’ve already finished helping your nan.” Harry replied.  “What do you reckon, Ron? Think they can take us?”

Ron eyed the children mischievously.  “I dunno. Victorie’s pretty quick in the air.”

“Yeah!” she said, pointing her small finger at them.  “And you’re old!” 

“Old?” Harry replied in mock outrage.  He grinned and summoned two more brooms from the shed. “Well that settles it.  The Olds versus The Kids. You’re on!”

Harry debated heading home after.  He had a sore back and was in dire need of a drink.  He wasn’t quite ready for the quiet of Grimmauld Place after the afternoon spent playing quidditch at The Burrow.  Ron, Hermione, and Rosie were knackered when they left. Rosie from being a toddler stuffed with cake. Hermione from being the parent on duty and Ron from getting his arse handed to him in quidditch by his seven year old niece.  Harry felt some residual adrenaline running through his veins in need of an outlet. Harry checked his watch. Draco would be at his pub for another hour.  

By the time Harry got to Mood freshly showered, there was only a half hour remaining before Draco was free.  He decided not to go for the Potion specialty of the Cheery Cherry Bomb and opted for a pint while he waited for Draco’s shift to be over.   Harry enjoyed being known at this place more than anywhere in Diagon Alley. Here he was the broody friend of the owner instead of The Chosen One.  It was a nice change. Fewer adoring fans and gobs of personal space.    

Draco eventually came out of the back office and spoke briefly with the closing shift employees.  Harry thought he saw Pansy Parkinson dart behind the curtain but couldn’t be sure. Harry had the distinct suspicion that she was hiding from him.  She must know he and Draco were friends. Harry stopped by a few times a week, these days, to see him.  

Draco raised his eyebrows at Harry and inclined his head toward the entrance.  Harry nodded and began weaving his way through the patrons to the door.   

“Alright?” Harry asked once they were outside.

“Fine, you?” 

“Not bad, yeah.”  Harry scratched the back of his head.  “Fancy some dinner?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

Draco foolishly let Harry choose the location which is why they were at a Wetherspoons instead of fine dining.  They ordered burgers and opted for bottled beer which was safest according to Draco. 

“How was your evening last night?” Draco asked.

“With Martha?  It was alright.”  Uneventful, if Harry was honest.  She thought he was a street magician.  An assumption he failed to correct.  

“Oh?” Draco sipped his beer.  “You didn’t go home with her, then?”

“Course I did.”

Draco scoffed.

“You’re the prude, not me.” Harry said.

“I’m not a prude, Potter.” 

Harry snorted.  “Whatever you say.”

“Are you seeing her again, then?”

Harry looked up confused.  “Course not. I didn’t stay the night.  Left, didn’t I?"

“Do all your dates end in that manner?”

If Harry didn’t know any better, that sounded like jealousy.  It wasn’t of course. Draco wasn’t interested in Harry, he knew this.  

“What manner?”

“With you leaving.”  The you idiot was implied.

“The muggle ones do.”

Draco appeared to digest this. “How does it work?”

Harry shrugged.

“What do you say?”

Harry took a drink from his beer and thought it over.  “I say I’ve got work in the morning.”

“You quit your job six months ago.”

“Yeah, but they don’t know that, do they?”

The waiter arrived with their dinner.  “That’s disgusting,” he said.

“They’re not that bad.” Harry said, taking a bite of his burger.

“Not the food, you plonker.  Your behavior. Although..” he trailed off inspecting his food.  

Harry rolled his eyes.  “Well I don’t see what the problem is.  I have a good time, they have a good time.  Everyone wins.  

“Do they?  Win, that is?” Draco drawled.  “How do you know?”

“I know." Harry said. "I just do.

Draco smirked at him.  “Do you? Most women have faked it at some point.  According to Pansy, anyway. If you’ve only slept with women, how would you know for certain?”

Now was as good as time as any, Harry supposed.  “Not only women.” he corrected.

Draco’s eyebrows arched,  “Is that so?”  

Harry shrugged and Draco didn’t ask any follow up questions.  He did, however, run his fingers up and down the neck of the bottle slowly. Harry trailed Draco's fingers with his eyes. 

“And you’re certain they’ve all...   Enjoyed themselves?” he lowered his voice to a goading whisper, “because no one would ever fake it with you, the Great Harry Potter, would they?”

Harry shook his head and took another bite out of his burger.  “I can tell the difference. I’d know if they didn’t.”

“Would you, now?”  Draco's fingers were now circling the rim of the beer bottle. 

"Course I would."  Harry’s chewing slowed as he watched  

Draco took a sip of his beer. A long sip. His Adam's apple bobbed.  “Mmmm..” Draco hummed, slowly.

Harry’s mouth went dry.  “What are you doing?”

Draco closed his eyes again taking another drink and let out a groan that was downright indecent.  

“Oh, that’s-  Oh..” Malfoy whispered, his voice husky and soft.   He licked his lips and bit down on the bottom lip.  "Unnngggh." he moaned.

The blood drained from Harry’s face and went directly south.  

A middle aged couple across the aisle from them had stopped eating, watching Draco with rapt attention.

“Right there- mmmm.   Oh,” he was a little louder.  He made several breathy noises, his chest rising and falling quickly.  

“Haaaaaaaaaaarrrrryyyy”  Draco drew his name out, more filthy than anything Harry had ever heard.  Draco balled his hands into fists and hit the table softly.

“Yes, Harry, Yes!” He punctuated each yes by hitting the tabletop with his fists, each one louder than the last.  “MMmnnngh”

Harry’s cheeks flushed.  His eyes darted around to the other patrons.  They were now drawing the attention of everyone in the pub.  Harry made sure his hands were clearly visible on the table top and his feet planted on the floor.  Watching Malfoy hitting the table repeatedly with his fists, throwing his head back moaning his name was a car crash Harry couldn't look away from.  One that made his toes curl and his mouth dry. 

The whole pub was watching them now, Harry realized in horror.  The server at the table behind them dropped her pen without noticing.  Draco threw his head back and gave one last satisfied, positively vulgar groan.  Slowly he opened his eyes to smirk at Harry.  Draco leaned in and whispered, “How certain are you?”

Harry had no words.

“I’ll have what he’s having.” said a woman in her fifties.  The server nodded absently.  

Chapter Text

Harry

Harry wasn’t sure Draco would come with him.  Ron and Hermione knew they were friends.  They accepted it.  There was one awkward dinner, months ago, where Ron and Hermione popped by unannounced to find the pair of them watching footy.  Draco had been mid insult when they stepped through the fire.  After a few moments of shock and a significant amount of awkwardness they decided to stay.  Wine made everything easier.  Harry didn’t remember much of that night.  There was a brief memory where he walked in the kitchen to find Draco shame faced, tears rolling down his cheeks across from Hermione similarly adorned.  He quietly backed out of the room and let them have at it.  Draco never spoke of it but afterwards, Hermione seemed to thaw toward him.

This party went far better.  Ron and Hermione’s new house was perfect: the epitome of an English cottage, complete with a cow named Lady.  Hermione lit the back garden with jars of the little blue flames she used to conjure at Hogwarts.  It was enchanting and nostalgic. Molly took Rosie for the evening so Ron and Hermione could have some grown up fun for the New Year.  

Harry (and thankfully) Draco flooed in from Grimmauld place around half nine. This was, of course, after Draco made Harry change out of his t-shirt and jeans.  After Draco handed him a tie with a matching pocket square.  After Harry reluctantly admitted he looked much better with Draco’s instruction and Draco lit up like a smug Christmas Tree.  They were immediately handed glasses of champagne and greeted with double kissed cheeks from Luna Lovegood.  She wore a mass of tulle and what looked to be live butterflies.  One of which fluttered off her dress and landed on Draco’s shoulder.

“Laars likes you!  You must be falling in love.  He only likes people in love.”  She turned away and went to answer the front door, another two glasses of champagne in her hand.  She was followed by Laars, who left a dusting of shimmering powder on Draco's shoulder. 

Draco stared after her in confusion.  

Harry grinned and tugged him forward into the rest of the house.  Harry barely recognized the place.  Hermione had clearly been at work with the expansion charms.  The cottage looked more like a Tudor hall or something registered with the National Trust.  Huge brown beams led to a large vaulted ballroom where their sitting room used to be with beautiful hardwood floors.

Harry was secretly grateful that Ginny was out of the country playing a match against Turkey.  Even though he was over it, Harry still felt flashes of guilt and embarrassment at the Weasley events she was in town for. 

There were a few double takes at Draco’s appearance.  Each time Harry caught him tugging his left sleeve down. No one said anything untoward but that might have been due to Harry’s scowling presence at Draco’s side.  

“I see you’ve found the drinks.” Hermione said, kissing Harry on the cheek.  Her face was flushed.  A few strands of curls were spilling out of the enormous bun atop her head.  She was wearing a lovely dress of deep blue that sparkled when it moved.  Her eyes trailed Harry up and down with approval. 

“Is this your doing?” she asked Draco.

“Naturally,”  he said.  Draco himself was in a tight charcoal herringbone suit with black velvet lapels and piped pockets.  Draco was born to wear muggle suits, Harry thought. 

“I’m perfectly capable of dressing myself, thank you.” Harry objected.

“You absolutely are not.” Draco asserted while Hermione studiously avoided eye contact. 

Ron stumbled over and slung an arm around Hermione.  “Happy New Year Malfoy!”  He glanced at Harry.  “Blimey!  You look posh!”

Ron bemusedly joined in Hermione and Draco’s laughter.  

“Oh, fuck off.  The lot of you.” Harry grumbled and drained his glass of champagne. 

The night progressed.  Champagne exchanged hands.  Ties were loosened.  Shoes kicked to the side. Hors d'oeuvres consumed. Roger Davies got into an argument with George about the dangers of joke broomsticks. Davies recently transferred to the Wimborne Wasps after a few years with the Holyhead Harpies.  He and Harry had become friends when he played for the Harpies with Ginny.  He held very strong opinions on brooms.  Davies had done very well the last two years, becoming quite the popular public figure.  George didn’t give a shit.  Harry carefully avoided their argument.

Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan showed up with dates and stared daggers at each other.  Their breakup six months ago had been a loud row in the middle of the Leaky Cauldron.  Harry was a little surprised to see them both behaving civilly.  Another round of champagne smoothed over any lingering tension. 

Luna was named the New Year Queen apropos of nothing at all.  Everyone knelt around her in a circle while she warded off Nargles only she could detect.  Everyone joined arms and formed concentric circles around Luna, dancing around her and Draco among them.  Harry had never seen Draco's face so joyful.  It was the kind of evening where happiness mixed into a deep terrible sadness that Harry couldn’t explain. Something to do with the dancing and the drinking, never wanting the night to end but knowing it would.

Harry found himself dancing with Draco nearing midnight, Draco’s hand around Harry's waist.  He swayed them in time to the music.  Harry tried to ignore Draco’s cologne and the things it did to his hormones.  Their eyes locked on each other just a hair too long to remain platonic. Draco cleared his throat and looked away.

 “I can’t believe you shaved off your beard.”

Harry frowned, “You don’t like it?”

“You look good with a beard.  Not everyone does.”

Harry wondered if Draco had ever tried growing facial hair but wisely decided not to ask.  “Felt like it was time for a change is all.  I’ll probably grow it back.”

They were quiet a moment, and let the music wash over them. A few feet away Seamus grabbed Dean Thomas by the face and planted a giant kiss on him.  Draco spun them away when the kiss became intimate, chuckling.  Draco Malfoy was laughing at the drunken antics of his very Gryffindor friends. Something warm fluttered in Harry’s chest.  He thought again of the butterfly that had landed on Draco's shoulder at the start of the night.

“Thanks for dragging me with you Harry.” Draco said.  Not an ounce of disdain or derision. Harry was struck again by how much Draco had grown as a person.  How lucky he was to have Draco as a friend.   “This was...” he trailed off and Harry realized he was staring at Draco's lips.

“Of course."  Harry averted his eyes.  "If  we’re both single next year you’ve got a date for New Year then too.”  Harry meant for it to come out casual.  But the words felt more significant when said aloud.  Somehow, without noticing, they’d moved their bodies closer together, dancing cheek to cheek.  Christ, Draco smelled good.  Harry had to physically stop himself from nuzzling into Draco’s neck, which didn’t seem like the kind of thing that friends did.  He’d certainly never had the urge to nuzzle Ron.  He heard Draco sigh contentedly and Harry's heart skipped a beat.

“I’ll hold you to it.” Draco murmured.  Harry drew back to look at him.  He’d forgotten what they’d been talking about, lost in thoughts of nuzzling.  Draco’s eyes were dove grey with small flecks of blue around the rim.  Harry hadn’t noticed that particular detail before. How had he missed that?  The air was thick between them.  Harry opened his mouth to speak but found he had nothing to say.  Draco’s eyes flicked down to his mouth.  Harry’s stomach did somersaults.  

Ron bellowed from the centre of the dance floor, “Ten seconds until the New Year!”  

This was met with raucous cheering.

Harry blinked rapidly and shook himself.  “Fancy getting some air?” he asked.

“TEN!” the crowd shouted.

Draco swallowed, his eyes still on Harry’s lips.  He nodded, absently.

“NINE!”

Harry dragged Draco through the crowd, their hands clasped tight.

“EIGHT!”

“SEVEN!”

They went into the empty garden, breathing harder than they should have for the exertion it took to get outside.  They stood together, leaning on a stone wall looking over the garden, lit by the beautiful blue flames.

“THREE!”

“TWO!” 

“ONE!”

Everyone erupted in cheers.  Harry found himself unable to look away from Draco’s face, his expression unreadable.  

“Happy New Year.” He breathed.  

“Happy New Year.” Draco said.  They were a few inches apart and the space between them was soft and delicate and gathering heat.  The sound of people singing came wafting out through the open windows:

“Should old acquaintance be forgot,

and auld lang syne?”

Harry leaned forward, he saw Draco’s eyes widen for a half second. Harry placed a gentle half kiss on Draco’s cheek. He stayed a moment too long.  Their cheeks dragged against each other and Harry was grateful he’d shaved.   Draco moved slightly and Harry backed up quickly.  He ran a hand up through his hair at the back of his neck.  

“For auld lang syne, my dear,

for auld lang syne,

we'll take a cup of kindness yet,

for auld lang syne.”

“Er.. Sorry.” he said at the same time Draco said, “Cheers, Harry.”

“What?”

“Sorry?”

They laughed, a little awkward, a little anxious and unsure. The tension hadn’t quite dissipated.  Draco dragged Harry into an awkward half-hug, which Harry blamed on the champagne.  They went back into the party as though nothing had happened.  As though their friendship hadn’t just taken a turn. Harry didn’t know how he felt about it.  

They left the party separately.  Draco said goodnight to Ron and Hermione before leaving out the front door and disappearing into the dark.  Harry watched him go and flooed back to Grimmuald place not long after.  He ignored all thoughts of Draco’s cologne and the way he’d moaned Harry’s name in the pub all those weeks ago. 

Chapter Text

You just know.

 Audrey Weasley sat down on the sofa.  Her black hair was braided into a crown circling her head.  She wore a plain pink dress with a white Peter Pan collar.  The glasses she wore were not the most fashionable, but then again neither were Percy’s.  His hair had started to bald and he had crows feet on his eyes.  His jumper was horribly out of fashion.  They made a rather severe pair, like a couple you might see at a book banning rally.  They would never, of course, do such a horrendous thing.  But they had the look of people who might. 

Audrey cleared her throat.  “Well Percy and I were leaders for the Wizarding UN for Hogwarts Students.  He led the boys and I led the girls.  They were very competitive that year.  Bauxbatons nearly won.” Percy and Audrey glanced at each other briefly, sharing the memory of their triumph.  A satisfied smirk crept over Percy's face.  Audrey's shoulders squared as she adjusted her posture. 

“We had a dance at the end for all the students, " she continued,  "Where we chaperoned.  Percy walked across the room.  I thought he was coming over to speak with Eloise.  Everyone was always crossing rooms to speak with Eloise.”  Audrey sat even straighter.  “But he was coming to talk to me.” she said primly.  “He said to me-”

“Percy Weasley.  Department of Magical of International Magical Cooperation for the Ministry of Magic.” Percy puffed out his chest as he announced this.

Adrey’s smile became mischievous and proud, as though she had solved a murder.  “And right in that moment, I knew.  They way you know about a good melon.”

Draco

“Pansy, my darling, he is never going to leave her.”

“He’s never going to leave her, is he?” Pansy lamented.

“I’ve said this from the start.  I don’t understand why you can’t get that through your thick skull,” Draco said.

“Did you just talk to me the way you talk to Potter?" Pansy pouted at him.  "Draco, how could you.”

“Did I?”

“Yes!” She hit him lightly on the arm. 

“Well it’s true.  That awful man is never going to leave his wife for you.”

Pansy sighed. “I sent flowers to myself.”

“Oh, Pansy.  That is truly pathetic.  Even for you.” She glared at him but Draco ignored it.  “Was he even there when they arrived?”

“No.  The wanker.  That’s £80 I’ll never see again."

Draco tutted and shook his head.

"Who are we meeting, anyway?” Pansy asked, changing tacks.  “Did you meet him on Witchr?  Was it that gorgeous man with blue eyes and biceps the size of tree trunks?  Every last inch of him covered in hair?”

Draco sighed heavily and braced himself, “It’s Potter.”

“Fuck you, it is not.”

“It is, Pansy.”

“What?"  She stopped walking and Draco had to turn back to face her. 
"How could you do this to me?  You know how hard I’ve worked to avoid him!  Never mind that you’ve been galavanting all over London together for the last few years.  I haven’t had to speak to Potter once!  I’m quite proud of that, actually.”

“It’s wasted effort, love."  Draco tugged his left sleeve down and looked away.  "I want you to speak with him.  He’s my..  He’s..”

Pansy arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at him.  “He’s what to you exactly?”

Draco took a breath to compose himself.  He looked down his nose at Pansy, “We’re friends," he drawled. "He’s important to me and you’re important to me and I need the pair of you to get along.”

“So you’re telling me that Harry Potter is my date tonight.  Is that what I’m hearing from you Draco Lucius Abraxas Malfoy?”

“Well, yes.” Draco turned and resumed walking.

Pansy trotted a bit to catch up to him, “I can’t believe you’re doing this to me.”

“The two of you really are not so different.  You’re both snarky as fuck.  You both make rash decisions when you’re in a pinch.  I think you could really..  Hit it off.”  The thought of Harry and Pansy together as a couple actually made Draco feel a little ill.  He blamed this on the anxiety that arose from their inevitably uncomfortable first encounter.  Nothing else about their pairing could make him uncomfortable, of course.  Nothing at all. 

“And he’s on board with this, is he?  Harry Potter wants to date me.  Me who, in the worst moment of my life made the biggest mistake possible in front of the entire world.  How thrilled was he when you asked?”

Draco sighed again.  He’d been afraid of this.  It was the reason he waited until the last moment to tell Pansy who her date was on their pseudo blind date scenario.  The truth was Harry hadn’t been thrilled.  In fact he looked more disappointed than angry.  Draco was probably reading too much into things.  He was always doing that.  Seeing intent when there were only casual friendly cheek kisses.  The same way Potter greeted Granger.  It didn’t mean anything.  Pansy and Harry were tremendously important to Draco and he felt that if Potter could forgive him he could forgive Pansy.  She’d panicked in a moment of crisis.  Draco’s crimes were far worse with more lasting consequences.

“Would you kindly calm your tits, Pansy.” he hissed at her.  “He trusts me.  I want him to be happy and I want you to be happy.  For pity’s sake, will you just give this a chance?”  They arrived at the restaurant and Draco held the door open for her. 

Pansy crossed her arms and tapped her foot. “This place better have vegan options.” she pouted.

Draco let half a smile take over his face.  He knew he’d won.  “Naturally.”

Pansy’s eyes narrowed, “Did you just make a pun?  Draco that is truly grotesque.  I don’t know who you are anymore.”  

Harry

“Harry!” Roger Davies had the easy smile of a celebrity.  It was something Harry had never managed to achieve.  He always looked vaguely harassed in photographs.  Not Roger Davies, though.  The man looked like he stepped off the cover of a magazine.  His attired was just as posh as Draco's.  Malfoy would never feel the need to dress Davies, Harry thought, pleased with his choice.  Davies’s dark brown hair was swept perfectly off his face.  His haircut probably cost more than Harry’s entire closet.  Perfect for Draco, Harry thought with just a touch of bitterness.  Only because Harry was jealous they’d hit it off without question while he was meant to be set up with Pansy Parkinson, that was all.  Nothing else for him to be bitter about, of course.

“Roger!” Harry replied.  They shook hands.  

“So.  Draco Malfoy, eh?”

Harry took a deep breath and scratched the back of his neck.  “Yeah.”

“And you’re on the level?  This isn’t some sort of a celebrity prank story you’ve got going with the Daily Prophet?”

“What?  Er, no.  He’s great.”

“He was a bit of a twat at Hogwarts, wasn’t he?”

Davies had a point.  “Yeah, but who doesn’t cringe at who they were as a teenager.”

“Says the person who defeated You Know Who at age seventeen.”

Harry scoffed.  “I suppose I did.”

Roger shook his head. “And the whole Deatheater thing-?  You’re fine with it?”

“That’s not who he is.”  Harry said, his hackles rising.  “He’s changed a lot since we were kids.”

Davies inspected Harry’s reaction before continuing carefully, “Well, if the hero of the wizarding world will vouch for him.”

Harry nodded and tried to look confident.  He did his best to ignore the trepidation that had been following him all day.

Davies nodded back.  “I guess that’s good enough for me.  And it’s only dinner.”

“Thanks, Roger.  I owe you one.”

“Of course.  What harm could come from dinner?”

Clearly Roger Davies had never eaten dinner with a family like The Dursleys.  

“It’s just round the corner.”

Dinner was a disaster and they hadn’t even ordered starters.  Harry was only half paying attention to what Pansy was saying.  Out of the corner of his eye he watched Roger Davies, sitting across from Harry, explain a quidditch move he’d tried in his last match.  Draco narrowed his eyes.  Not a good sign.  

Harry turned to Pansy beside him.  “So, do you er..  Ever make any of the specials at Mood?”

She sipped her water.  “Occasionally.  Draco’s a better potioneer.  He handles most of them.  I did one a while back that was a mixture of a Serenity Solution and a Manhattan.  We called it Serenity in the City.   Did you see that one?”

“I didn’t, no.”  Harry admitted.

“Oh.”

Harry glanced over at Draco, sitting diagonally from him.  Draco wore the pinched expression Harry associated with Draco being subjected to the tube.  “I don’t care for the Brimley line.  They’re workmanship leaves a lot to be desired.”

“Ivan Brimley is my grandfather.  He’s the reason I got into quidditch.”  Davies replied shortly.  Roger looked over at Harry and caught his eye.  He shook his head, incredulous. Harry chewed his lip.  He glanced at Draco again.  Draco studiously avoided his gaze and forced a polite expression onto his face.  Pansy shot Draco an “I told you so look” that Harry pretended not to see.  An utter disaster.

Draco glanced anxiously between Harry and Pansy, noticing how far apart they were sitting.  “Harry, you and Pansy were both nearly sorted into each other’s houses at Hogwarts.”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up, “You were nearly a Gryffindor?”

Pansy shot a glare at Draco.  “I told you that in confidence, Draco.”  She turned to Harry and pasted a smile onto her face.  “So you were nearly-”

“Slytherin, yeah.  Went Gryffindor in the end.”

“Naturally.”  She smiled like a weapon but Harry wasn’t looking for a fight. 

Silence settled over the table again.  

“Roger, you’ll love this."  Harry said, "Draco is fantastic at ordering cocktails.  He mixes them with potions to lift people’s moods at his place.”  He was unable to keep the pride out of his voice.  Harry loved watching Draco order drinks.  On his own Harry inevitably ordered a pint of lager.  But when they were out together he’d learned to trust Draco with his drinks order.  Every time it was perfect.  He grinned over at Draco.  Draco gave him a small grateful smile in return. 

“I don’t drink.” Davies said.  “I have to keep my body pure for the pitch.”

The smile slid off Draco’s face, replaced with haughty disdain.  He crossed his arms.

“People ingest too many toxins these days." Roger continued.  "If they had any thought for the future they’d be a lot more particular about what they put in their bodies.”

Pansy looked up at this.  “I have to say I completely agree.  I’ve gone vegan.”

Roger Davies beamed at her.  “And it suits you.”  He waved a perfectly manicured finger at her “You've got this glow about you.”

Pansy preened under his gaze.  

“I’m vegan too,” Davies said smugly.  “Have been for a year now.”

“That’s brilliant!  Draco wasn’t I just telling you this morning how I’ve gone vegan!”  Pansy exclaimed.

Draco caught Harry’s eye and smirked.  He shook his head infinitesimally.  

Harry watched dismally as Pansy flashed a coquettish smile at Davies.  Nothing like the knife of a smile she’d thrown at Harry earlier.  

Draco

“Roger Davies is quite the catch, wouldn’t you say?”  Pansy asked as they left the restaurant.  

Draco watched Harry and Davies walking a few feet in front of them.  Harry was wearing jeans in his actual size.  Draco had thrown out all his baggy denims and forced him to purchase new ones in the correct size.  His arse looked fantastic in them.  The green jumper suited him too.  

“Mmm” Draco said.

“And he’s vegan!  Can you believe it?  The day I decide to go vegan we meet another vegan!”

“Pansy you’re wearing leather shoes.”

“So?  It’s about taking care of your body.  Who gives a flying fuck about shoes?”

“I’m fairly certain vegans do.”

“So what do you think?”

“About vegan shoes?”

“About Roger Davies the extremely fit vegan.  Can I have him?”

Draco’s eyes were drawn once again to Harry.  “Just- can you wait?  Potter’s been in a dark place of late.  I’d hate to add insult to injury.  Can you give it a day or two?  For Harry?”

“Oh, of course!” she cooed.  “Poor guy.  I won’t reject him right out.  Roger is just so fit.  I wonder what his routine is.  Do you think he works out shirtless?  Do you think he’d let me watch?”

“You’re hopeless, Pansy.  Utterly hopeless.”

Harry

Harry led the way out of the restaurant with Davies quick on his heels. Harry could not get home soon enough.

“Do you think you’ll go out with Pansy, then?”  Roger asked, leaning into Harry’s personal space.  Harry stepped back.

“Er..”

“I can see why you’d want to.  That body is incredible.  Where did she get that dress? Do you think her tits are real?  No way was she wearing a bra.”  He was talking awfully fast for someone who didn't drink.

Harry hadn’t noticed Pansy’s dress or whether or not she was wearing a bra, “You don’t fancy Draco then?”

“What? Oh, I hadn’t thought.  Pansy is more my type.  I don’t remember her from Hogwarts.  Did she play quidditch?”

“No, Draco did though.”

“That’s right, he did, didn’t he.  Do you think you’ll see her again?”

Harry sighed and let the inevitable happen.  “No, feel free to ask her out.  Maybe wait a bit, yeah?  Draco’s going through some shit.  I’d hate for him to feel rejected so quickly.  Dating is difficult for him.”

“Course, yeah.  You’re a decent bloke, Harry.  Not enough people give you credit for that.  Very decent.  Top notch bloke.”

“Er, thanks.  I suppose.”  They waited at a crosswalk where Draco and Pansy caught up with them.  

“So.” Davies said, looking at Pansy.  Completely ignoring Harry and Draco. 

“Right.”  She said. “Do you-?”

“Me?” Roger asked.

She bit her lip.  Davies's grin turned wolfish, his eyes roamed down her neckline.  

“Oh for pity’s sake.” Draco exclaimed.  “Just be off, the pair of you.”

Chapter Text

Arranged Marriage

Narcissa Malfoy sat primly on the edge of the sofa in the very centre.  Her full skirted black robes draped elegantly on either side of her. Her back was straight, her ankles crossed, and her hands folded gracefully in her lap.  The hair that had once been black turned a steely grey with a white streak pulled up from her widow's peak into an elaborate bun.

“My marriage was arranged, as most pureblood unions are.” she said.  Her voice was soft but firm, almost like a disapproving librarian.  “The women of the Black family had their spouses chosen for them if they desired to remain in the family.  You did as you were told or you were out.  That was the way of things.”  Narcissa paused and licked her lips and she shifted slightly in her seat.  “That’s not to say I wasn’t nervous.  My sister Bella found out who I was going to marry before I did.  She taunted me that he was hideous with warts, boils, and worst of all that he was of muggle lineage.  I knew it couldn’t be true but I had to see for myself.

“I sneeked down before the contract was drawn and hid behind the curtains under a disillusionment spell.  But when my father sat down with the groom’s family to sign the paperwork it wasn’t some boil covered muggleborn.  It was only Lucious.”  Narcissa smiled.  “I had never been more relieved.  We were married for thirty five years before he passed.’  Her smile slowly faded.  “Thirty five years.”

Draco 

“Why can’t we get them something from Diagon Alley?” Draco asked.  The shop around them was completely baffling to him.  Something called Argos.  It was a strange mixture of vaguely familiar and utterly confounding muggle items. White boxes with stationary images packed the shelves.  There was the occasional grey box or black box.  Those ones had brighter stationary images on the front. 

“Because,” Harry said, “you have not known true joy until you have given a wizard the gift of electronics.  Their flat is in muggle London, it will be fine.  Besides, I once gave Ron’s dad an espresso machine.  He cried from pure happiness.  Mind you, he’s a bit off his rocker when it comes to muggle shite.”

“I’ll take your word on it.  How are we selecting the appropriate box for Pansy and Roger?”

“Well they both grew up in the wizarding world, so pretty much anything will be a hit.” 

"I don't think you fully understand wizarding relationships with muggle utilities, Harry.  I would hazard to say Arthur Weasley is the exception to the rule."

Harry looked taken aback.  He opened his mouth to ask, but Draco didn't let him finish. 

“What does this do?”  Draco interrupted.  He picked up a cardboard box about the size of Hogwarts: A History.

“That is fantastic!  It’s an at home projector.  You can watch a film on a wall.” Harry said, delighted and successfully distracted. 

“Why on earth would you do that?" Draco asked.  "Why wouldn’t you just go to the cinema?”

Harry shrugged.  “People like watching things at home.”

“But on a wall?”

Harry laughed.  “On a blank wall, Malfoy.  Not one covered in portraits or trinkets.”

“Obviously it would be a blank wall.  That was my first thought, of course.  A blank wall.”  It wasn’t.  He had no idea what Harry was talking about.  

“Sure.  Course it was.”  Harry smirked. 

It was an adorable smirk. Draco hated it.  “I resent your tone, Potter.  Hurry up and pick something.”

“You’re the one who wanted to get them a gift, mate.  Not me.”

“Because that’s what you do when a couple gets engaged.  You bring an engagement gift.  You would know this if you weren’t such an uncivilized cretin.”

“Sod off.”  Harry said without any heat.  “Oh this is brilliant!” he grabbed Draco’s arm and dragged him over to a medium sized box.  Draco assumed it was medium sized.  Larger than the last item.  Not as big as a telly.  He supposed that must make it medium.  

“We have to give it a go!”

“What is it?” Draco asked. 

“It’s a karaoke machine.  You sing along with it.”

“Sing?  You expect me to sing?  Have you mistaken me for some other Draco Malfoy without a sense of propriety?”

 Harry ignored him and began scrolling through the songs on the karaoke machine. Overjoyed with his selection, he grabbed Draco’s arm again pulling him in close so they could both see the screen.  “Come on, you know this one!”

“I don’t, actually.”

“How can you know Casablanca but you don’t know this?”

“I’m not sure if you’re aware, Potter, but music and films are two very different forms of culture.”

Harry nudged Draco with his shoulder.  He handed over one of the microphones, nodding encouragingly.  “Come one, the words pop up on the screen, right there.   You have to have heard this at some point in your life.”

“We’ve led very different lives, Harry.”

“Not that different.  Go on, then.”

Not that different, indeed.  Draco glanced around the shop but no one was paying them any attention. He sighed and took the microphone. 

“I’m coming out of my cage and I’ve been doing just fine.” Harry began singing.

Draco thought the song sounded vaguely familiar.

 “Gotta gotta be damned because I want it all.”  Harry sang even louder.  He didn’t need the screen.  Instead he watched Draco’s hesitation.  Draco had the microphone in one hand and was glancing between Harry and the screen.

“It started out with a kiss” Harry sang at him, a smile on his lips. “How did it end up like this? It was only a kiss.”  

Draco’s heart sped up.  Why had Harry picked this song? Was he reading too much into things again?  Draco had to stop himself from over analyzing.  It wasn’t hard to put those thoughts aside.  Not with Harry Sodding Potter making a fool of himself in a muggle shop, doing his best to make Draco laugh.  

Finally Malfoy joined in, “Jealousy turning saints into the sea”

“Swimming through sick lullabies”

“Choking on your alibis” they sang together.

Harry took a deep breath “But it’s just the price I pay” he belted at the top of his lungs.

Draco caught his eye “Destiny is killing me” Harry grinned at him.  Draco felt like a helium balloon about to burst.

They made it through another chorus.  Harry began dancing, jumping and in general making a prat of himself.  The joy was unbearable.  Draco hated it.  He never wanted the moment to end.  The two of them could go on singing silliness forever and Draco would die happily.  Decorum be damned! He couldn’t help but be taken in by Potter’s enthusiasm.  The man was such a fool and so happy doing it. 

Looking at him Draco felt as though he had finally been shown what life was and his chest ached.  For all the lost time they could have spent fooling about instead of out for blood.  Life wasn’t heavy expectations from parents.  It wasn’t impossible tasks assigned to him by madmen.  It wasn’t desperation.  It was this.  Harry Potter standing on a designer trunk and jumping down to land on his knees, head thrown back yelling at the top of his lungs “Destiny is killing me!  Open up your eager eyes!”

Draco couldn't stop the smile forming if he’d been stupefied.  “Cause I’m Mr. Brightside.” he joined in again.  He wasn’t as confident.  But he picked it up.  He’d finally got the last line when he noticed Harry had gone still.  

“It started out with a kiss. How did it end up like this.  Harry?  Potter, I’m singing, you idiot.  You got your wish what are you-”

He followed Harry’s sight line and found none other than Neville Longbottom arm in arm with Ginerva Weasley.  She was pregnant. 

“Fuck.” Draco said loudly into the microphone.  He hastily shut the machine off.  They were coming over to say hello.  Draco glanced at Harry.  He put a hand on his shoulder and gave a little shake.  Harry blinked rapidly a few times and got to his feet.

“Hiya.” Ginerva Weasley said.  She glanced between Draco and Harry.  Draco can feel the mild judgement at his presence radiating off her.  “How are you, Harry?”

“Alright.”

She waited for a follow up query.  Draco stepped on Harry’s toe.  

“Ow! Er.. Oh… Er..  How’re you, then?” 

“Fine.”

Ginny turned her head expectantly toward Draco.  

“You remember Draco?” Harry said.

She arched her eyebrow at the given name.  

Draco cleared his throat and stuck out his hand.  “Longbottom, how are you?”

“Malfoy.”

Longbottom was no longer the small chubby boy Draco had bullied in school.  If he was honest, the man looked quite fit.  He wasn’t scared of Draco, that was certain.  His face was carefully constructed with polite curiosity.  His brown eyes flicked between Harry and Draco.  How close they were standing to each other. Draco coughed and took a half step away.  

“You’re with Malfoy?” Ginny said, her voice was sharp and pointed.

Harry still hadn’t come out of his daze.  “Yeah, we’re um.   Er we’re..”

“No.” Draco cut in.  “Just-”  What were they doing here? Other than drowning in mortification, that is.  Shopping.  They were shopping for Pansy and Roger.  “Shopping.” 

“We have to go.” Harry said and began marching toward the door.

“Lovely to see you both.  Please excuse us.” Draco nodded at them and trotted to catch up with Harry.  

Harry 

Harry found himself standing on the pavement, without a clue to how he’d gotten there or where he actually was.   He stood there a few moments watching the traffic go by before there was a gentle nudge at his elbow.  

“Harry?”  Draco asked, his voice soft.  Harry nodded absently.  

“How had I forgotten she was pregnant?” 

“Did you know?  You’ve never mentioned it.”

“I guess I put it out of my mind.  Didn’t seem real.  Though it does explain why Molly has been more prone to tears than usual.  She gets emotional about kids and that.”

“Come along, Potter, we’re going to be late.”  

Harry allowed himself to be dragged by the elbow.  “London is huge, millions of people live here.  It was going to happen.  Inevitable, really.”

“Harry, her brother is your best mate.  It’s a wonder you’ve managed to avoid her for so long.  You’re practically family.”

They were in front of a fireplace.  Draco was holding a bouquet of flowers.  “When did you get those?”

“While you were having a mental breakdown and stared at the pavement for ten solid minutes.”  Draco inspected Harry.  “Can you pull yourself together?”

Harry nodded.  Nods were easier than words.  

Draco hesitated so Harry nodded again, with enthusiasm this time.  

They stepped through the floo to the very modern flat Pansy and Roger had purchased.  Everything was clean lines and either white, chrome, or concrete.  There were no photos of loved ones, but there was an occasional piece of modern art placed in a corner.  And in the most prominent corner, by the enormous wall sized window was the most bizarre piece of workout equipment Harry had ever seen. At least he thought it was workout equipment.  There were two brown slats that could have been skis.  Some sort of pulley contraption.  Pansy Parkinson and Rodger Davies were standing in front of it clearly in the middle of a row.

“Good afternoon.” Draco said cautiously.

Pansy and Roger whirled round.  Pansy’s eyes rounded in wicked delight.  “Perfect, guests!” She trotted over to them and slung her arm through Draco’s, dragging him forward.  “Tell me, loves, how do you really feel about this piece?”

Draco looked dumbfounded.  Harry caught his eye and shrugged.  

“It’s..  fine?” Harry said.

Pansy rolled her eyes.  “Of course you think that.  You’d wear clothes out of the bin if Draco would let you.”

Harry rather thought he should be offended.  But instead the words floated over him like a fog. 

“Draco, darling, what do you say?”

“What..  is it?” Draco asked, leaning forward to inspect it a bit more.  

“It’s called a Nordic Track.” Davies announced with pride.  “This is a vintage piece of exercise equipment, very popular in America.  They’re brilliant.  It’s all the rage with muggles.  Isn’t it Harry?”

All three turned to face Harry.

“Er..”

“You grew up muggle, didn’t you? Your muggles had one, I expect.  Didn’t they?  Eh?”

“The Dursleys haven’t seen a day of exercise in their lives, I can tell you that.” Harry said.

Davies looked at him, imploringly.

“But it, er, looks fine in the corner there, I suppose.”  Harry glanced at Draco’s horrified face.  “Or, it’s terrible?”

Roger followed Harry’s gaze to Draco.  “Oh, come on, mate.  It’s brilliant, isn’t it?  Pans, come on.  I haven’t slagged off anything you’ve brought.”

Pansy drew herself up and looked down her nose at Davies in a spot on impression of Draco.  “That’s because I have impeccable taste.” she said in his drawl.  Draco narrowed his eyes at her. 

“And you think I don’t?” Davies asked.  

Roger and Pansy continued to snap at each other.  Harry was having a terrible sense of dejavoo.  He and Ginny had bickered for three days before Harry finally gave up and tossed his Gryffindor bedding.  She didn’t want to feel like she was living at school any longer.  She wanted a grown up bedroom with grown up fixings.  Harry just wanted to feel at home.  He hadn’t realized his taste was juvenile until she'd said it aloud.

Harry sank onto the seat of Pansy’s perfectly white leather sofa.  “We used to be just like this.”

The bickering halted and three heads swiveled around to face him.  Harry gestured to Pansy and Roger.  “Just like this.  We were so excited to get our own place.  We got new furniture, decorated the flat.  And then..”

Draco shook his head, silently signaling Harry to shut up already.  Harry didn’t care.  “And then!  Then it’s six years later and you’re singing karaoke at a shop like a complete idiot and in she walks with the person she left you for!”

“Potter.” Draco hissed.  “Now is not the time.”

“Oh, no!  Now is exactly the right time."  Harry practically shouted.  He was on his feet again, "Because now is when it’s easy and fun.  You’re having a laugh with your friends and everything is light hearted and wonderful!”

“Stop shouting, Potter.” 

“I will not!  They need to know!  You think this will last forever? It won’t! You think your harmless arguments about horrible American exercise equipment are endearing but it’s not going to last.  Eventually you will be fighting over every fork and knife in this flat.  I would say furniture, BUT YOU HAVEN’T GOT ANY BLEEDING FURNITURE OTHER THAN THIS MISERABLE SOFA.”

Draco came and stood beside Harry and said gently, “Harry.”

Harry glanced at him but was too wound up to allow himself to be calmed down.  “Do yourselves a favor!  Write your names in everything!  Every sodding book you own!  Otherwise you’ll spend thousands of pounds in litigation deciding who gets this copy of Quidditch Through the Ages.  Never mind it was given to me as a gift!”

Draco looped an arm through Harry's, and began guiding him out.  “I’m so sorry.  We’ve just run into Ginny Weasley.”

Pansy’s face changed from shock to pity and it made Harry even angrier.  

“We haven’t got any books.” said Roger helpfully.

“IT WAS A METAPHOR.” Harry shouted as Draco was dragging him out the door.

Outside Harry began pacing.  Draco leaned elegantly against the door, watching him.  Harry could feel the judgement rolling off him in waves.  

“What, Malfoy?” he snapped.

Draco just looked at him.

“Fuck.”  Harry ran his hands up through his hair and sat on the steps.  He sighed heavily.  “Shit.  I’m sorry.”

Draco sat beside him a few moments later.  “I’m not surprised you’re shit at occlumency you know.”

“What?” Harry looked up confused.  

“You’ve got to learn to control your emotions.”

Harry felt his hackles rising.  “Is that so.”

“An emotional outburst when we were teenagers is one thing.  You’re thirty-two now..”

“You thought-” Harry felt the rage welling up inside him again.  “Please let me know the next time you’re giving lessons in apathy.  Teach me how to be like you, The Great Draco Malfoy- Devoid of Human Emotion.”

“I beg your pardon.” Draco drawled, icily.  

“YOU NEVER HAVE EMOTIONS, MALFOY.”

His grey eyes narrowed dangerously, but Harry didn’t care.  

“I’ve literally never seen you upset about Jean.  Not once! How is that possible?  Did you not care about him at all?”

“Do not, for a moment think that because you do not see my emotions that I do not experience them.  I have a world of experience hiding them, Potter.  My life depended on it.  So you’ll forgive me if I don’t run about shouting every feeling I possess every moment of the day.”

“So you are upset about Jean?  And you’re just keeping it all inside?”

“Potter this isn’t about me.  This is about your inability to regulate yourself.”

 Harry didn’t even remember standing.  Yet here they were inches away from each other. Both shouting now, breathing heavily.  

“Is that what you do, Malfoy?  Regulate yourself?  That’s why you’ve only been with, how many?  Is it none?  You’ve been with no one since Jean?  Because you’re in control of your emotions?”

“You think I should be more like you, Potter?  Sleep with half the muggles in London.  Meanwhile not getting involved with a single witch or wizard?”

Harry let that sink in and felt his rage start to slip away.  Draco was right.  Harry hadn’t even realized that’s what he was doing.  

“That’s healthy, is it?” Draco said nastily.  “You’ll fuck anyone standing so long as they don’t know you!  And it doesn’t seem to help you get over Ginvera Weasley.  Why should I model my behaviour after yours?  You’re pathetic!”

Malfoy jabbed Harry in the chest with his finger.  Harry sighed.  “You’re right.”

“I-” Draco started. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’m sorry.  You’re right.”

Draco blinked.  Harry took advantage of his hesitation and wrapped him in a hug, his chin over Malfoy’s shoulder.  “Thank you, Draco.”  Harry felt Draco’s arm wrap around his waist.  

“I should go apologize to Pansy and Davies.”

“Harry Potter, apologize to Pansy Parkinson?  What is the world coming to?” Draco said softly against his neck. Harry ignored the warmth that spread through his body at Draco’s touch.  He stepped back and cleared his throat.  

Draco tugged his left sleeve down and became fascinated by the building’s architecture.  

“Right.”  Harry said, and climbed the steps.  He found Pansy and Roger sitting on polished chrome bar stools in front of their white marble bar, each drinking a vibrantly green smoothie.  “Sorry about that.”  Harry said and scratched the back of his neck.  “I’m having a rough go today.  Shouldn’t have let it get the best of me.”

“Forget it, Potter.”  Pansy said, prim as could be.

Harry glanced at the corner where the Nordic Track had been and found it empty.  

“Oh fuck off,” Davies said in a sulk.  

Harry grinned at him ruefully.  Draco came back in a moment later.  Harry watched him cross the room toward them and ignored the pounding in his chest. 

Chapter Text

Draco

Draco felt more comfortable at the Granger-Weasley residence each time he visited.  After his humiliating breakdown in front of Granger so long ago, Draco felt a small and delicate bud of friendship growing between them.  He’d never admit it out loud, but he’d always been something of a swot.  It was nice to have another like minded individual to discuss literature, philosophy, and magical theory with.  Honestly, his latest concoction at Mood had stemmed from Granger’s insistence that alihotsy leaves were more prone to producing mania in potions when they were harvested by those with a sunnier disposition.  Where as a melancholic worker harvesting alihotsy leaves brought the sweetest joy imaginable.  It had revolutionized his aptly named Giggle Water. 

Weasley was still a bit standoffish.  Thirty years of family feuding was bound to leave residual… not quite resentment.  Draco was a part of their friend group now, thanks to Harry dragging him along welcome or not.  Though Harry had been absent more often, lately.  It likely had something to do with muggleborn American he’d been seeing.  Muggleborn Americans did seem to be Potter’s type.  Granger, though.  They were getting on well.  She was rather something of a genius.

Luc met Draco at his flat so they could Floo in together.  “You look lovely,” Luc said and kissed Draco’s cheek.  

“Ready?”

“Of course.”

The dinner party would be fine.

Draco tapped his wand against the slate board.  Glowing white lines shot out into a shape that very little resembled the image he was going for.  He pursed his lips and tapped again, a few little squiggles were added.  

“It’s a square!” Weasley shouted, jumping to his feet.  He pointed a long freckled arm at Draco. “Square!  It’s Squared away! Squared away”

Draco’s mouth thinned to a line, as he tried to tamp down on his frustration.  He shook his head and pointed at the image again.  

“It’s not a square, they’re shorts!” Lovegood called out.  

Draco nodded and pointed at Lovegood emphatically.  

Weasley looked as though he’d swallowed a lemon, “Shorts?  Surely not.  Malfoy, are those supposed to be shorts?”

Draco nodded precisely, slowly and over exaggerated, his eyes nearly popping out of their sockets.  

“Shorts.. Shorts..,” Weasley thought for a second before resuming his yelling, “Shortened Life!  Life is Beautiful!”

“Life is beautiful?” Harry asked, “He just said they were shorts, mate.”

“Right, well, whatever.  We need more than that, Malfoy!”

Draco sighed and tapped the board again.  

“Is that a hat?” Granger asked.

Draco nodded again and tapped the board to add more detail.  

Harry tilted his head and squinted.  He shoved his glasses up and settled down into the sofa with his arm around Andrew.  They looked very cozy for having been dating three weeks.  Not that Draco was keeping track.  Andrew turned and smiled up at Harry.  Harry brushed a stray lock of blonde hair out of his face.  Draco felt a bit sick.  

“Malfoy!”

Draco started and looked at Weasley.  

“Shirty Hat Shorts?” the ginger shouted. 

What on earth was he on about?

Harry must have had the same thought as he turned incredulously to Weasley, “Shirty Hat Shorts?”

Weasley shouted, “Don’t be a square!” 

“Ten seconds left!” Granger called out.  

“They’re shorts not a square, Ron.” Harry said.  

“Shirty Hat Shorts! Shirty Hat Shorts!”

Lovegood and Granger were now laughing. Draco shook his head. He tapped his wand against the board once more.  He turned to face the room and found a sea of confused faces.  

“Is that meant to be a frog?” Granger asked.  Draco nodded again.

“A frog and shorts and a hat.  A frog, shorts and a hat.” 

The sand in the timer emptied out.  It began glowing green and emitted a small chirping sound. 

“Time!” shouted Granger.  

Draco hit his head against the board.  “Merlin’s pants!” he said in exasperation.

“Oooooohhh” came the sound of the rest of the group.  

“Oh” said Harry, “Oh, like boxer shorts.”

Draco pointed his finger at Harry, “That.”

“Not shorts, then.  Pants.” Weasley said, accusingly.  “Merlin’s Pants isn’t a saying.”

Granger sighed, smiling.  “Ronald, you’ve said that nearly every day since we’ve been married.”

“Shirty Hat Shorts, though.  Everyone says that, don’t they.” Harry quipped.  

Granger and Harry shared a significant glance and laughed together. There was something odd going on with Draco's chest.  He made a mental note to make an appointment with his Healer.

“I’m shit at art.” Draco said, leaning into Luc.  

“You’re fine, love.” he said, placing a kiss on Draco’s cheek.  They’d been seeing each other for a few weeks and it seemed to be going well enough.  Draco erred on the side of caution, but was hesitantly optimistic.  He was much more fit that the last date Draco had been on.  Luc’s dark brown, nearly black hair was perfectly tousled, a technique Draco envied but had never been able to achieve himself.  Luc also had beautiful hazel eyes.  In some lights they shone green and Draco was captivated. 

“Anyone fancy a cuppa?” Granger asked, standing up.  

“Have I told you how much I love you, Hermione?”

She blushed and gave Weasley a kiss.

"I'll have a chamomile, please, Hermione." Lovegood chimed in.  "It's excellent for attracting Flerble Moths."

Granger bit back a smile and nodded. "No problem." she said.

Draco was afraid to ask what a Flerble Moth was and turned to Luc, “Do you, then?  Fancy a cuppa?”

“Course.  One sugar, no milk.”

Draco nodded and turned to Granger.  “I’ll help you.”

“Ta, darling.” She said.  

Weasley stood, evaluating the drawing board.  “How were we meant to get Merlin from a chocolate frog?”

Luc shrugged elegantly, “He is the most famous wizard on the cards, is he not?”

Once they were in the kitchen he began taking down mugs from the top shelf and handing them to Hermione while the kettle heated up.  

Andrew popped his head into the kitchen.  “Sorry, where’s the loo?”

“Just down the hall on your left.” Hermione replied.  

Draco pursed his lips.  

“Go on,” Granger said.  

“Mm?”

“Say it, I know you’re dying to.”

“It’s just, he’s a bit young for Harry, isn’t he?”

“Is he?” Granger asked shrewdly.  “He seems quite accomplished to me.”

“Oh?” Draco asked innocently. 

“Mm.  He’s got some sort of a fashion line.”

The mug in Draco’s hand dropped to the floor and broke, scattering shards of pottery about.  Granger whipped out her wand and waved it.  The mug repaired itself while Draco continued to gape like a fish.  

“Andrew is Andrew Lawrence?  How did I miss that?”

“He stays away from the Daily Prophet.  He’s about as reclusive as Harry is.”

“But Harry doesn’t give a shit about fashion.”

“Yes, Harry is rarely drawn to well dressed blonde men.” She said shrewdly.  Granger looked at Draco, really looked at him.  He fully understood in that moment why Wizengamot was terrified of her.  “Luc seems lovely.” she said.  

Draco flushed and looked away.  His voice wasn’t as steady as he’d like, “He is.”

Harry

Harry should feel fine about it.  A dinner party was nothing to worry about.  But Harry rarely brought home dates.  Even more rarely exposed them to his friends.  They were mostly muggles and didn’t particularly matter.  Andrew was the first guy he’d brought home, so to speak.  The fame didn’t phase him, which was refreshing.  There was something about him that Harry found compelling, he couldn’t put a finger on what it was exactly.  Maybe the fine American accent or the fancy clothes.  

Dinner went by quickly.  Minimal awkwardness there, thank Christ.  Luc was weird.  Something about him threw Harry off kilter.  But he had to admit Draco looked happy, really happy.  It was nice to see him content, Harry thought.  He looked good in his casual muggle t-shirt beneath a lovely cardigan and tight fitting jeans. Harry could never tire of seeing Draco Malfoy in muggle clothing.  Every iteration of muggle clothing looked fit on him.

“Harry?” 

Harry looked over at Andrew.  “Hm?”

“Are you up next?” 

“I dunno if we’re playing another round after tea.  Maybe though.”  

Andrew reached his arm around Harry’s waist and leaned in to whisper in his ear “I might just pop off to use the loo.” He pecked Harry on the cheek.

“Alright.” Harry said and Andrew trotted away.

“Mate look at this.” Ron brought over the latest set of gag gifts from Weasley’s Wizarding Weezes.  

“Draco looks good, doesn’t he?”

Ron gave him a weird look and Harry feared he’d said it wrong.  “Happy I mean?”

“Yeah?”

“Doesn’t he?”

“Hadn’t noticed.  Check it out, it’s got a trap where if you touch it in the wrong order your fingers get coated in purple ink.”

“What do you think of Luc?”

“Who?  Oh.  He’s alright.” Ron flipped the jewelry box over.  “It’s not technically a curse, so you could bring it to Hogwarts.  It’s permanent ink, though, innit.”

“Is he?”

“Luc? Yeah, he’s fine.  We went to a football match with him last week.”

Harry was gobsmacked.  “You what?”

“Shit.” Ron stood up and scratched his nose.  “Yeah, we went to a football match.  Me, Davies, Neville, Malfoy and Luc.  We’d have invited you but..”

“Neville.”  Harry said, too brightly.  “I’m not a child you know.  I don’t have a problem with Neville.”

“I know, mate.  I know.  It’s just..”

“Right.” Harry said.  “Course.  You went to a football match?”

“Arsenal.”

“Draco hates football.”  Harry just couldn’t believe it.

Ron shrugged.  He caught Harry’s eye pointedly.  “Andrew’s great.”  

“What? Course, yeah.” Harry looked away and scratched the back of his neck.  “Mind you, when we were in Flourish & Blotts the other day I found a copy of Magical Me.  I asked him if he ever met Gilderoy Lockheart, Andrew didn’t even know who he was.  Born after Lockheart went mad.”

Ron chuckled and shook his head.  “You mean after he obliviated himself?”

“Right.” Harry pointed a finger at him and laughed.  “That.”

Chapter Text

Draco 

Draco debated answering the call.  He could blame it on magic.  Mobiles were unreliable around magic, everyone knew it.    The phone buzzed again.  He could ignore it, couldn't he?  Draco tapped his fingers along the table.  It buzzed again.  

“Drake?”

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose.

“It’s Jean.” 

“Jean, how are you?”

“I’m well, Drake.  Really well."  His voice was disgustingly upbeat.  "And you?”

“Excellent.” Draco replied.

“Glad to hear it. Glad to hear it.”

There was a moment of silence.  Draco thought about ending the call.  Why had he even answered it?

“Listen, I wanted to tell you-’ Jean stopped and tried again.  “I, well.  There’s no easy way of saying this, is there?”

And suddenly Draco very much wished he hadn’t answered at all.

“I’m getting married, Drake.” Jean couldn’t keep the joy out of his voice.  He was putting forth quite a lot of effort to sound neutral.  Draco couldn’t decide if it was out of pity or some warped sense of professionalism.  “I didn’t want you to hear it from anyone else.  Thought it might be in poor taste.”

“Did you.” Draco drawled.  

“Oh come on, don’t be like that.  We’re friends, aren’t we?”

They weren’t.  They hadn't spoken since they split up.  What on earth made him think they were friends?  Draco remained silent.

“And, well.  I’m going to be a father.”

"There must be a reception issue.  It sounded as though you said you were going to be a father."

"I am, yeah." Jean was bursting with elation. 

The rest was white noise.  Draco didn’t remember the end of the phone call.  Somehow there was a drink in his hand and a knock at the door.  Suddenly Potter was rubbing his shoulders and Draco was in the midst of the breakdown he promised he’d never let himself have. He’d not cried this much since sixth year so of course Harry Potter was there to witness it.  Harry Potter was always there when Draco was at his worst.  

“Shhh…. Shh…” Harry rubbed his shoulders.

Draco threw his arms around Harry’s neck and sobbed.  

“It’s alright, darling.” 

He drew a great shaky breath.  “He’s getting married.”

“Who, Luc?”

“No! Jean!  I don’t care about Luc.  Who cares about Luc?  Merlin, what's wrong with you?”

“But you do care about Jean?” Potter's voice was muffled and confused. 

“No, that’s not it either!" Draco half-heartedly shook Potter in exasperation.  "He called, and I knew what he was going to say.  We don’t keep up.  There’s no reason for him to call.  I knew precisely what he was going to say and I took the call anyway.”  Draco took another deep breath and sat back.  Harry gently wiped a tear from his cheek.  Draco scoffed.  “Merlin I need a tissue.”

He stood up and Harry followed him to the bedroom.  “Jean called and as we were talking it felt fine.  I knew he didn’t matter to me any longer.  I was well rid of him.  No romantic attachment left.”

Draco climbed into bed.  Harry brought over a warm knitted blanket.  He sat beside Draco and put an arm around him.  Draco leaned his head on Harry’s shoulder.  Harry placed a kiss on Draco’s forehead.  Draco relaxed a little, which made things worse.  He sobbed messily onto Harry’s shoulder.  

“They’ve only known each other a month and they’re getting married!" 

Harry kept rubbing soft circles into Draco's back. 

"We were together for five years and marriage only came up once.  And that was during the breakup."  Draco practically shouted through his sobs.  "All this time I was fine because at the end of the day I wanted a family and he didn’t.  He said he didn’t want a family.”  Draco drew a deep breath and wiped his eyes. “But that’s not it.  That’s not it at all.  He just didn’t want those things with me.”  Draco felt wretched.  Like every fear of rejection from his family, from society was wrapped up and delivered in the most gutting rejection of them all.  "He didn't want me.  No one wants me, not really."

Harry leaned his head on Draco’s.  “If you could get back together, would you?  Would you take him back right now?”

“No.  But..”

Harry ran a thumb over Draco’s outside shoulder and nestled in closer.  

“But why didn’t he want me?”  Draco sobbed.  “Will I never be free of who I was at sixteen?  Will I spend my life alone?”

“Shhh….  Of course not, darling.”  Harry cooed.  

“Why didn't he love me, Harry?  Why doesn’t anyone love me?”

“That’s not true. I-” 

“It is, though." Draco interrupted, "I’m awful.”

“You’re really not, Draco.”

“I’m bigotted.”

“Well, maybe when you were a child.  That’s not who you are now.  You have a muggle bar for christ sake.  You’ve covered your mark with pretty flowers.”  Harry's voice made Draco feel more solid.  Less like he was crumbling and more like he was being steadied. 

“Everything I do is wrong.  It always will be." he said petulantly.  "That’s why Jean didn’t want a life with me.  I'm wretched. I’m going to be forty and never been married.”

“Draco you’re thirty two.  It’s a bit soon to write yourself off as a confirmed bachelor." Harry chuckled softly. "Besides I was married and a fat lot of good it did me.”

“But that’s because you’re stupid.” Draco sighed into Harry’s shoulder.  Draco could feel the deep reverberations of Harry’s laugh.

“You’ll be alright.”  Harry turned and placed a kiss on Draco’s forehead.  “You want tea?  I can put the kettle on.”

Draco took a shaky breath, the only kind of breathing he seemed capable of and nodded.  But when Harry made to slide out of the bed Draco held on tighter. 

“You’ve got to let me go if I’m going to make tea.”

Draco shook his head.

“No tea, then?”  Harry huffed a soft laugh, “Alright, darling.”  He wiped the tears from Draco’s face and kissed him on the forehead.  It was the third time he’d kissed Draco.  Harry didn’t pull back right away.  Draco looked up, a heat sparked between them.  The air was thick.  Harry’s face was hovering above his, a breath away.  He kissed Draco’s cheek like a question, lingering and hesitant.  Draco’s heart pounded in his chest.  He was sure Harry could hear it.  Draco turned his head to bring their mouths closer together.  Harry leaned in and this time Draco closed his eyes.  Harry’s lips were softer than he expected, firm and warm on Draco’s own.  Draco reached a hand up and pulled him closer.  His fingers sneeked into Harry’s unmanageable hair. 

“Potter,” he breathed. 

Harry took advantage of Draco’s open mouth to deepen the kiss.  It was Draco’s heart flying through the air.  It was a thousand stolen glances.  It was Draco’s hands slipping under Harry’s shirt and the groan Potter let out.  It was their tongues dancing instead of dueling.   It was Draco nipping Harry’s lip and him losing control.  Hands in hair.  Biting teeth and sliding tongues.  It was too much clothing and not enough skin.  It was every fantasy Draco had since he was fifteen.

It was Potter stopping, both of them somehow shirtless, panting.  Their cheeks flushed and lips swollen.  Harry hovered above Draco, briefly hesitant.

“Malfoy.”  He said, tracing a finger along his jaw.  Harry’s eyes were even more green without his glasses. Green and brilliant and more intense than Draco had ever seen.  “Draco.  Tell me to stop.”

“What?”

“Tell me to stop and I’ll stop.”

Draco didn’t want to stop.  He never wanted to stop.  He could spend the rest of his life watching those green eyes blown wide with lust.   He could die now and die happily.  

“You’re an idiot.”

A smile crept up Harry's face, fond and awed.  He kissed Draco again.  It was the rough slide of lips and stubble.  It was the thousandth time Harry kissed him.

Stop, indeed.

Chapter Text

Harry 

Harry fucked up.  He always fucked up in relationships, but this was particularly fucked.  Draco was his best mate and had been for a while. Ron and Hermione had long surpassed friendship and Harry considered them family.  Draco, though.. Now they’d slept together and couldn’t go back to friends.  Friends don’t sleep together.  Harry had given in to his longing and hadn't been thinking right.

Draco padded back into the bedroom with two glasses of water and handed one to Harry.  

“Cheers.”  he said as he took it from Draco’s long elegant fingers.  Cheers?  Who says cheers after they’ve slept with their best mate.  Fuck.  Why did they do this?  Everything was ruined now.  He couldn’t be just friends now that he knew what Draco looked like in the throws of passion.

Draco slid into the bed, and just the sight of him got Harry’s blood pumping again.  His normally perfect hair was mussed, his prim disposition relaxed.  Harry had done that.  Harry rumpled those clothes and left those marks.  And even though he knew it was wrong to lust after your best friend, he couldn’t help himself.  If he’d been a teenager he’d be up for round two already.  He wanted to shove Draco down and devour him. His self control should have been better.  Draco was hurting and Harry had taken advantage.  Harry hated himself for that.  Draco kissed him on the cheek and curled himself around Harry.  He felt like a traitor.  

He barely slept.  Every time he woke tangled up with Draco, Harry hated himself a little more.  Most of all because he didn’t have the strength to pull away.  He couldn’t help but nudge closer to Draco and breathe in the smell of his cologne.  When the morning light hit Draco’s window Harry couldn’t stay any longer.  He slid out of bed and dressed as quietly as he could.  When he turned to face the bed, t-shirt still in hand, he found Draco watching him warily.  

“Leaving so soon, Potter?” Draco drawled. 

Harry flinched.  He should think of a reason other than panic for leaving. “Yeah, I’ve got work ‘n that.  But, erm..” Harry scratched the back of his neck.  “We should have dinner later.”

Draco slowly sat up in bed exposing the long expanse of pale, bare skin.  Harry’s mouth was suddenly very dry.  He licked his lips and looked away.  “Alright.  See you later, then.”

Harry booked it right to Hermione and Ron.  He popped through their Floo.  Hermione’s hair was a wild barely tamed bun on top of her head.  Her dressing gown thrown over her pajamas with Rosie on her hip.  Ron was in the kitchen making breakfast.  He popped his head around into the den.

“Harry?”

“Are you alright?”  Hermione asked.  “You look sick.”

Harry paced the floor tugging at his hair. 

“Mate, you’re making me nervous.  Take a seat.”  

Harry sat across from Hermione at their round table.  She got Rosie into her high chair and Ron brought out a pile of scrambled eggs with a giant stack of toast.  He came back again a few minutes later with tea for himself and Harry and a coffee for Hermione.  

“Thanks, love.” she said and gave him a kiss.  Then she turned to Harry.  “So you’ve slept with Malfoy.  Is that it?”

Harry’s jaw dropped.  “How did you know?”

“You have a hickey on your neck."

Harry clapped a hand to his neck, he'd forgotten about that. 

"You wouldn’t be upset about sleeping with anyone else.  And it's obviously just happened because in no world would Harry James Potter be out of bed before eight in the morning."

Harry hung his head. 

"It was bound to happen." Hermione went on, "The two of you have been circling each other for ages now.”

Ron nodded with a mouthful of food.  “He’s always wanted your attention.  Even when we were kids.  It’s a long time comin, innit.”

“Ron, don’t talk with food in your mouth.  You need to set a good example for Rosie.” Hermione chided.

“Sorry” he said through a mouthful of scrambled eggs.  

“So how was it?” Hermione asked.

“The sex?” Harry asked, confused.  Ron choked on his eggs.  Hermione thumped him on the back.  “It was great.  Brilliant, if I’m honest.  It was so real.  I’ve never been with anyone like that.  He was so-”

“I don’t need to hear about this.” Ron whinged.  “Especially not at the breakfast table.”

Hermione coughed, her cheeks pink.  “I erm, meant the situation in general not the er..”

“Sex?” Harry said helpfully. 

Ron shook his head and sighed.  

“The thing is.  He’s my best mate.”

“Cheers.” Ron said.

“You know what I mean.  You don't count; you're family.  Besides, you lot are married.  It’s different now. Anyway, I shouldn’t have taken advantage of him like that.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed, “Like what?”

Harry sighed.  “I went over last night because Draco called, he was upset because Jean’s getting married.”

Ron and Hermione caught each other’s eye.  Something passed between them.

“You knew?”

Hermione avoided Harry’s gaze as she buttered a piece of toast.  “We, erm.  We’ve heard.  There was something in the Daily Prophet.”

“Right.  Well, Draco was pretty upset.  And I was trying to make him feel better.  Well. We er..  Felt a lot better I suppose.  For a bit.  But I feel like I took advantage of him.”  Harry buried his head in his hands.  “I let myself get carried away and now I’ve gone and fucked my very close friend.  I’ve ruined everything.”

“Are you sure it was ruined?” Hermione asked cautiously.

“Absolutely.  You should have seen his face this morning.  It was like we were in sixth year and he’d just smashed my nose in.”

“Shit.  I’m sorry, mate.”  Ron clapped him on the shoulder.  

“Well at least now you know.”  Hermione said.  She patted his hand gently.  “Perhaps you can talk about it and apologize.”

Harry nodded.  “Yeah, you’re right.  I just- I can’t lose him.”

“You’ve worked through worse than this and still manage to be friends.  I think you’ll be alright.”

“Thanks, Hermione.”

“You’ll always have us, mate.  If things do go sour.” Ron added. 

“Cheers.”

Draco

Draco watched Potter practically sprint out the door.  Why would he have done anything else?  Draco knew what he was like.  He pulled constantly.  It never meant anything.  Why should his night with Draco be any different?  Draco was nothing special.  He was unlovable to his core.  He showered slowly, trying to forget the feel of Potter’s teeth scraping his shoulder.   The patch of hair leading down from his navel.  The taste of his mouth, and well.  Other things.  Fuck.  Draco hit his head against the shower wall a few times.

Draco dressed and checked the time.  Mood did well enough now that Draco really only needed to go in for the brewing and the paperwork.  He hadn’t done a real shift in the last six months, something that made him very grateful.  He’d waited late enough in the morning that Pansy and Davies should be done shagging.  

Draco covered his eyes with his hand and stuck his head in the floo.  “Pansy?  Are you decent?”

“Just a moment” her voice came from another room.  

Draco stepped through fully.  He dusted himself off and sat on the white leather sofa, covering his eyes with one of his hands.

“Very funny, Draco.”

He dropped his hand.  “There’s only so many times you can see a naked woman in your life, my dear.”

“Can’t say I agree with you, mate.” Davies said as he strode into the room.  They were dressed in a pair of large silk pajamas.  Davies wore the bottoms and Pansy wore the top.  Luckily for Draco the pajama shirt came down to just above her knees.  Davies immediately began slicing various fruits and vegetables and mucking about with a blender.

“You look like shit, Draco.”  Pansy said, acidly sweet.  “Tea?  Coffee?”

“Coffee, if you don’t mind.” 

Draco sat on the sofa on the other side of the room watching them perform their morning kitchen dance.  Weaving between one another, handing a spoon here, ducking under an arm there.  The soft touches that come from living together and sharing a space.  No one waking up to find Harry Sodding Potter halfway dressed with one foot out the door.  

Davies set out three large glasses and filled them with a bright green concoction.  Draco got up and sat on one of chrome barstools.  

“Thank you.” he said, when Davies slid it across the white marble counter to him.  

Pansy brought them each a coffee and sat beside him.

“So.  Spit it out.” She said.

Draco arched his eyebrow at her as he sipped his coffee.  She put the exact right amount of sugar in it.

“Did you fuck Potter or not?” Davies said.  

Draco nearly choked on his coffee.

Pansy and Roger exchanged a significant glance.  “Well?” Pansy asked.  “Did you?”

Draco sighed.  He nodded.  For a moment he thought he might start weeping but he held it together.  

“Oh, Draco.”  Pansy said.  “Oh, I’m so sorry.  I thought you’d be so pleased.  You’ve been been eye fucking each other for years now.” She patted his arm.  “Was it not good?

“He left.”

“Fuck.  Did he really?”

“Could not leave fast enough.  Barely had his shirt on.”

Pansy chewed on her lip, but she couldn’t help herself,  “How was he?  Shirtless, I mean.”

“Merlin, he was so fit, Pansy.”  Draco gushed.  “He was so present. So in the moment.  The passion in him.  It was-”

“Really?” She asked, a little breathless.  

“And the things that man can do with his-”

“Alright, we get the picture.” Davies interrupted.

“I will say only that Harry Potter on the quidditch pitch is nothing compared to the bedroom.”

Pansy leaned her elbow on the countertop, her hand in her hair, and sighed.  “I thought as much.”

“Mm..” Draco agreed, mirroring her position.  

Davies grumbled something under his breath.  

“And he left?” Pansy asked, still lost in a dream.

“He did.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“What are you going to do about it?” Davies asked abruptly.  

Draco sat up straight again.  “Well I suppose we’ll have to pretend it never happened.”

“That’s rough mate.” Davies said.  “I’m doing a celebrity quidditch match with him this weekend for that orphan charity he runs.  I could talk to him if you like?”

“No!” Draco said quickly.  “I appreciate the sentiment.  We’re having dinner tonight.  Hopefully I can salvage what’s left of my dignity.  I’ll say it was a mistake.  Because it so obviously was one.  I just hope I’m the one to say it first.  I don’t think I could bear it if he pitied me.”

Pansy squeezed his arm.  “We’re here if you need us.”

“What if I need you to come work for me again?”

“Draco you don’t need me anymore.  You haven’t for a while.”

He sighed. 

“I need you babes.” Davies said.  He planted a kiss on her mouth while his hands wandered down her backside.  The bottom of her shirt rode up and Draco was treated to an entirely too intimate view of her lace red panties.

“And that is my queue.” He said.  “Enjoy round two.”

Harry

All he wanted was for Draco to say it was a mistake first.  Harry couldn’t live with himself if he had to say it first.  It was clearly a mistake.  Draco looked at Harry with such disdain he felt they were back at Hogwarts on opposite sides of a war.  He could fix it at dinner, he knew he could.  Harry told himself over and over and over, all through the day.  They could fix this.  

Draco was late.  It if was anyone other than Draco, Harry would have thought it an accident.  But Malfoy was the most punctual person (other than Hermione) that Harry knew.  He drummed his fingers along the table.  Fifteen minutes passed before he saw the tell tale blonde hair pass through the door.  

Harry stood up, nearly knocking the chair over.  “Malfoy, er. Draco.  You’re here.” Which was apparently the wrong thing to say. 

Draco’s mouth pinched. “Of course.”  He looked so very fit.  He was dressed in a tailored charcoal suit with a tweed waistcoat.  It was distinctly muggle and so very posh.  Harry wanted to run his hands through Draco’s perfectly placed hair.  He wanted to unbutton the collar of Draco’s shirt or maybe remove it altogether.

They sat down and the waiter came over immediately to take their order.  Draco got a salad and Harry’s heart sank a little.  A salad was a quick meal.  A get out of dinner early meal.    You didn’t get a second round of drinks with a salad.  

Harry ran a hand through his hair.  He drummed his fingers on the table.  He tapped his foot under the table.  

The waiter disappeared with their orders.  Draco had yet to look Harry in the eye.  Finally Draco cleared his throat.  He folded his hands neatly on the table and finally, finally looked at Harry.  

“It was a mistake,” he said calmly. 

Harry breathed a sigh of relief.  “I’m so glad you think so too!  Fuck, I thought I’d ruined everything.”

Draco narrowed his eyes.  

“Not that it wasn’t brilliant.”  Harry added.

Draco’s mouth thinned.

“Because it was brilliant!  Honest.”

Draco’s eye twitched.  “It was a mistake.” he said, his voice carefully measured.

“Right, yes.  That.”  Harry pointed a finger at him.  “I won’t let it happen again.”

Draco’s breath caught.  

“I promise!” Harry said.  “It was a mistake.”

Draco nodded.  “It never should have happened.”

Harry hated this.  He hated this closed off mask of a person.  He’d never realized how animated Draco had become around him until he withdrew.   As intense and, quite honestly, life altering as the sex had been, it wasn’t worth losing Draco.  

Harry resumed tapping his foot.  Draco resumed avoiding eye contact.  

“How was Mood?” he asked.

“Fine.” 

“Good, that’s good.  Er.. Very good.”  Harry cringed and rested his face in his hand, elbow on the table.  He watched Draco's beautiful face look out the window in silence.  It was worse than taking Cho Chang to Madam Puddifoot's because instead of an awkward teenager on a terrible date they were fully grown men with a world of experience they could be talking about. They remained silent.

Dinner was short and over too soon.  Harry went to kiss Draco on the cheek when they left the restaurant but Draco turned away.  Harry tried not to let it dishearten him too much.  They would be fine.  Draco just needed a little space and Harry couldn’t begrudge him that.  

A day went by without hearing from Draco.  Then two.  

Then a week.

Harry felt like he was losing his mind.

 He got a wedding invitation for the wedding of Pansy Parkinson and Roger Davies.  At least he’d see Draco there.  Maybe Harry could apologize properly instead of bumbling around with his foot in his mouth.  He hadn’t actually said the words.  Maybe Draco needed to hear them.  He'd apologize at the wedding.  It would be fine.  Harry could fix this.

Chapter Text

Draco

Pansy twirled around in front of the tri-fold mirror.  The gown flowed out around her, cascading down the platform.  Gown was perhaps not the right word.  Draco sat behind her in a gold gilt fourteenth century dining chair drinking champagne.  

“It’s like it was made for me.”  Pansy gushed.  “It’s the perfect gown.”

“Is it a gown?” he drawled.

“Oh fuck off.”

She adjusted her baps in the crop top, push-up bustier that made up the top of the dress.  The skirt of the "gown" connected to the centre of the bustier and came down to drape sinfully over her hips down to a large train.  The beading on the bustier matched the bead work on the train.

“Davies will go mad when he sees you.”

She gave herself a satisfied smile, looking over her shoulder in the mirror.  Draco scoffed albeit lovingly.  He took a long drink from his champagne and then tugged the left sleeve of his shirt down.  “So, is Potter bringing anyone to the wedding?”

Pansy rolled her eyes.  “Took you long enough.  How long have you been working up to asking?  All morning?  Or just the last two hours.”  Pansy artfully placed her fringe as she spoke.

Draco had been thinking about it since the invitations went out, not that he’d tell Pansy.  “Is he, then?”

“No.”  She smirked at him.  “He’ll be there alone.”

Draco forced his voice to be casual.  “Is he still single?”

Her face fell a little.  “I don’t think he is, actually.”

“Oh?” Draco said too quickly.

“He was seeing Romilda Vane last I heard.”

Draco nearly spit out his champagne.  “Romilda Vane?  Didn’t she try to drug him at Hogwarts?”

“Draco you broke his nose. And tried to get him expelled at least once a year.”

She had a point.  “That’s different,” he said.  “We had a.. Rivalry.”

“That’s one word for it.”

“Romilda Vane.  Unbelievable.”  He needed more champagne.  “How did she look?”

“Huge tits.” Pansy sighed, enviously.  “They’re perfect.  I wanted to ask where she got them done but Roger said I need to make more of an effort not to alienate his friends.  Whatever that’s supposed to mean.”

“Potter does love a good pair of tits.” Draco said dejectedly.  

“So what do you think?” Pansy said.

Draco looked her up and down.  “It’s entirely too vulgar for a wedding.”

She beamed at him.  He stood beside her in the mirror and she leaned her head on his shoulder.  He leaned his head on the top of hers with his arm around her waist. “It’s perfect for you, Pansy.”

“It is, isn’t it.” she said happily.  

Harry

You don’t say no when someone asks you to be in their wedding.  Davies was in a pinch when his best man came down with dragon pox the night before the ceremony.  There were no relatives that could step in.  And if Harry was honest, he felt like Roger was leaning a little heavy on the celebrity aspect of their friendship. So obviously Harry said yes.  It was the thing to do. It was Davies’s wedding, after all.  

That’s how he found himself standing at the altar behind Roger Davies staring into Draco Malfoy’s eyes while the officiant read off their vows.  Harry knew he shouldn’t be staring but he couldn’t bring himself to look away from Draco where he loomed behind Pansy.  Harry hadn’t felt so off kilter since he lost all the bones in his arm second year. They hadn’t seen each other in weeks.  Draco looked just the same.  His pale hair was perfectly in place.  Harry wanted to rumple it.   The pale blue robes they both wore suited his complexion much better than they suited Harry’s.  Pale blue always seemed to make Harry look a bit ill. Draco's were perfectly pressed.  Harry wanted to wrinkle them.

Music started and Harry realized they were at the kissing part.  Somehow the whole ceremony had passed and all Harry could remember was the flush of Draco’s cheeks as he tried time and time again to avoid Harry’s gaze.  Pansy and Roger shared a vulgar kiss and the wedding guests cheered and wolf-whistled.  

Photographs were a nightmare.  Davies was really playing up the celebrity best man bit.  Harry wasn’t entirely sure he smiled in a single one.  Draco somehow managed to be busy between every shot.  Even when it was just a picture of the Best Men, Draco avoided him.  The photographer had Harry lean on a stone buttress while Draco slouched elegantly on the steps, putting them at a height.  It was lucky that Pansy was the arty photo type rather than the happy photo type.  Harry’s broody nature, as the photographer put it, made for gorgeous photos.  Harry wasn’t sure he could smile if he tried.  As soon as they were through Draco disappeared.  

An hour later Harry finally tracked him down. 

“Malfoy.”

Draco sighed.  “Potter.”

“That was a nice ceremony, then.” Harry scratched the back of his neck.

“Was it?” he asked, punctuating his disinterest by snagging a glass of champagne from a server.

“It must have been, there was cheering at the end.”

“Mm.” Draco downed half the glass.

“Er- How’ve you been?”

“Fine.”

And then, because Harry hated himself, “Are you seeing anyone?”

That earned him a chilling glare.  “Must we do this, Potter?”

Harry’s heart sank at the continued surname.  “Are you ever going to speak to me again?” he asked softly.

“We’re speaking right now” Draco drawled, “Or hadn’t you noticed.”

“Draco, please.” A hint of desperation crept into Harry’s voice.

Draco’s eyes snapped to Harry’s and then darted around to the people nearby.  “Must we discuss this now?”

“Yes!” Harry practically shouted.  

“Stop making a scene, Potter.” Malfoy clenched his now empty glass in his hand and stalked to the kitchen.

“Come on Draco. Are we never going to get past this?” Harry shouted and trotted after him.

Malfoy whipped around, “What do you mean, ever?  It just happened!”

“Three weeks ago!  That’s like a year in dog time!”

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed dangerously.  “Are you comparing me to a dog, Potter?”

He hadn’t meant to.  But it was too late to back track now.  “Er.. Maybe I am!  What of it.”

“If any of us is a dog, certainly it is you.” He replied, icily.  “You are the one who goes around rutting and leaving as if it meant nothing.”

“I never said it meant nothing!  Malfoy I’m sorry, okay?  It wasn’t nothing.” Harry tried to calm himself down. “I just don’t see why it has to mean everything.”

The glass in Draco’s hand shattered. “Because it does!” he hissed.  “You obviously know that as evident by your immediate departure.” He slid his wand out of his sleeve and repaired the glass.  “You weren’t even fully dressed before you walked out.” 

“I- I didn’t walk out Draco.”  Harry angrily handed Draco a cloth napkin from a serving trolley nearby. 

He snatched it out from Harry’s grasp.  Draco held the napkin to his cut hand.  “That’s right, you didn’t.  You ran.  Quick as you could, with or without your clothes.”

“Fuck.” Harry tried to calm down, but his voice continued to rise,  “I thought we agreed it was a mistake, Malfoy!  What do you want?  What can I do?  Tell me how to fix this!”

“I don’t want anything from you, Potter!” Draco spat.

“Fine!”

“Fine!” Draco’s normally pale cheeks were tinged red, his chest heaving.  “Thank you for the napkin!” 

“You’re welcome!” Harry snarled, “And just so you know, that’s not why I went over.  I wasn’t trying to get you into bed.”

“Oh?” Draco’s eyes glittered with anger.  

“No!  It just happened.  You looked so..  Forlorn.  I mean what was I supposed to do!”

Draco threw the napkin down on a pile of nearby dirty linens. “Are you saying I was a pity fuck?”

“What? No! I-”

Malfoy slapped Harry across the face.  “Fuck you, Potter.”

They stared at one another, unable to catch their breath a moment before Draco stormed out of the kitchen.  Harry closed his eyes and counted slowly to ten before he followed after.  

Just as he caught up to Draco, Roger stood up on the small private dais where his and Pansy’s table was. He tapped his wand to his throat.  “LADIES AND GENTLEMEN THANK YOU FOR COMING.  WE WANTED TO RAISE A TOAST TO THE REASON WE ARE HERE, CELEBRATING WITH YOU ALL.”

A mild round of applause went round the room.

“TO HARRY POTTER AND DRACO MALFOY.”

A wave of confused twittering began and all the guests turned to the pair of them.  Draco looked as deadly as he ever had.  Harry watched Draco carefully tug his left sleeve down.  Harry stood seething beside him.

"IF PANSY AND I HAD FOUND EITHER OF THEM ATTRACTIVE WE WOULDN’T BE HERE.  CHEERS, GENTS.  IF YOU’RE EVER IN NEED OF A PERSONAL TRAINER I HAVE SOME EXCELLENT RECOMMENDATIONS.” 

They were surrounded by a cloud of laughter and cheering.  Harry nodded and tried to smile, though he felt he should be offended.  Draco waited until the applause died down and disappeared through the crowd.  Harry didn’t try to follow this time. 

Chapter Text

Draco

Draco threw himself into brewing.  He upped the Daily Specials from two to four, which meant he had two brewing stations at his flat in addition to those at the bar. Draco turned his spare bedroom into a full brewing station.  He had two more fireplaces installed.  The builders set about their brickwork, leaving his flat covered in dusty and loud noises.  He almost didn’t see the owl tapping at the window.  Draco frowned and detached the note.  

Hiya Draco,

I’m not sure if you knew about the muggle traditions surrounding the holiday season but there’s a fantastic one about forgiveness and holiday cheer.  I’d like to say sorry, in case that wasn’t clear from all the other apology owls I’ve sent.

Miss you. 

HP

Draco incinerated the letter as he had the last four.  He turned back to organizing his potions supplies.  A few hours passed with Draco carefully writing new labels for his newly installed cupboards and drawers.  The next day was spent stocking his stores.  He measured out moonstone powder into one gram bundles.  He diligently cleaned porcupine quills. 

Another week went by. 

Pansy and Roger came to decorate Draco’s flat and put up a tree.  He tried to talk them out of it, but Pansy wasn't having it.

“You have to, Draco.  I can’t stand to see you moping about.”  Pansy said as she strung up garlands along his window panes.  She added a few pine cones and sprigs of holly.  Draco rolled his eyes.

“You do look grim, mate.” Davies added, who was stringing popcorn on some thread.  At Draco's inquiring look Roger merely shrugged.  "It's a muggle thing. Promise."

“Please, do come in.  You’re doing such an excellent job of cheering me up.  Would you look at that.  You're already in and covering my flat in unwanted holiday detritus.”

“No need for sarcasm,” Pansy retorted.  “I’ve brought kombucha and herbal tea as well.”

“Delightful.”

Two hours later his flat was nearly as cheery as Hogwarts during the Holidays.  Roaring fire in the hearth, mistletoe that Pansy and Roger were taking liberties with.  He excused himself to the kitchen and made them, Merlin help him, herbal teas.   When he came back to the sitting room, there was an owl flying about.  Draco sighed and retrieved the letter.  He gave the owl a treat and told it to go.   

Draco, 

I really need to speak with you.  You haven’t written me back, so I’ve made a list of possible reasons.

1. You’ve moved and the owl post has really let themselves go.
2. You hate me and I’m too thick to pick up on the clues.
3. You’re stuck in an evil magical diary and need me to save you.

I’m desperately hoping it’s A or C, mate.  Not sure I could live with B.

Miss you.  Please write me back.

HP

Draco slumped into his chair.  He folded the letter carefully back up and tossed it into the hearth where it was dissolved into flames.  When he glanced up he caught Pansy and Davies sharing a look. 

“Have you been on Witchr lately, Draco?”  Pansy asked, all wide eyes and innocence.  “Might be time to give it another go.  Get your mind off things.”

Draco sighed and drank his painfully sober tea.  

He spent Boxing Day alone in his flat, away from the shopping madness.  The potions station was at a lull at the moment.  Draco had lacewings stewing at one spot and was drying gilly weed in the other.  The two at work were in an equal state of stasis.  

Unable to find a reason for putting it off, Draco finally sat down to unwrap his gift from Pansy.  It was a framed photograph from the wedding.  Just Potter and himself in a constant loop sitting on the steps, well Potter was leaning on the balustrade.  Was that what they looked like together?  Draco felt his cheeks tinge.  Potter would chew his lip and look over at Draco with such longing that Draco felt his skin prickle.  As soon as Potter looked away from Draco to the Camera, unsmiling and miserable, Draco himself would turn to Potter and mirror the expression. One of them was always looking at the camera.  The other yearning for his attention.  It was pathetic and humiliating, all their emotions on full display for any and all viewers.  Draco couldn’t look away.

Draco didn’t notice the sun going down, but when the owl came tapping at his window pane night had indeed fallen.  Draco let it in and handed the owl a treat.  

Me again.  Writing you another note to tell you I’m sorry.  Do you even read these before you bin them?  I hope you do.  

I’m sorry, Draco.  Please forgive me.

HP

Draco stared at the note.  He sighed and ran his fingers through his rumpled hair.  He grabbed a quill.

What do you want, Potter?

The owl was back within thirty minutes.  

Forgiveness?  Friendship?  A date for New Year’s Eve?  I’m not seeing anyone.  We always said if neither of us was seeing anyone we could go together.  

I miss you.

Please say yes.

HP

Draco’s hand had a slight tremor when he responded.

I am not your consolation prize. 

The owl didn’t return.  

Chapter Text

Harry 

Four crumpled letters sat on Harry’s desk.  He banged his head on the desk a few times for good measure.  Then he rolled out a new piece of parchment and started a fifth.  All he'd written was "Draco" (it was a better start than the "Listen here you pointy git" of his last one).  But what was the point, honestly?  Draco didn’t want to hear from him.  He balled up the latest attempt and binned it.  One by one he binned the others.  And set them on fire.  

12 Grimmauld Place was feeling more dreary than usual, despite the holiday decorations Ron and Hermione helped him put up.  Harry wandered from room to room thinking about all the people who had come into his life only to be snatched away.  He found a photograph of The Marauders in Sirius’s old room, tucked behind the bedside table.  They were in their Hogwarts uniforms, sloppy and wrinkled.  Harry’s heart twinged at the sight of them looking so happy and carefree.  And now none of them were here.  His father, Sirius, Remus.   Wormtail was being furtive in the photo and Harry scowled at him.  He brought the photo up to his desk in his bedroom.  When he was there Harry came across a tub of bruise removal cream from Fred and George. Then an encouraging note Tonks had written him in sixth year.  He put the note up on the wall beside the slightly singed drawing of Draco.  Harry couldn’t stand the thought of Draco being alive and yet untenable.  It made his chest ache.

Boxing Day came and went.  Harry tried to read a book but instead realized he'd just spent twenty minutes staring at the invitation to Ron & Hermione’s annual New Year’s Eve party. A beautiful thing, clearly of Hermione’s taste.  If it had been up to Ron, Harry was sure it would have been scribbled on the back of a napkin.  Instead it was gorgeous black paper with the silhouette of a bubbling glass of champagne done in gold foil.  The drawing was charmed to look like it was pouring out so that the champagne became the details of the invitation.  Then the liquid was siphoned back into the glass and the image reset.  A nice bit of charmwork, that.  Unfortunately, the invitation sat on the end table beside the sofa where it had been for days.  Ultimately Harry just couldn’t go.  He’d been struggling at social events since before Roger and Pansy’s wedding which was an utter disaster. Harry learned his lesson. He knew this party was far beyond his capabilities at present.  He certainly didn’t want to be a downer at a party, especially a new year’s party meant to be filled with hope and possibility.

When New Year’s finally arrived it found him alone.  Harry lay on the sofa in his track pants and t-shirt.  He was fine, he told himself.  Always had been, always will be. Nothing wrong with a night in.   Or several, for that matter.  He could be alone with his thoughts, no problem.  They weren’t even bad thoughts, really.  

He wasn’t dwelling on Draco.  Harry had plenty of thoughts that weren’t about the man at all.  He wasn’t thinking about Malfoy’s comments about his deplorable clothes.  Or how amusing his cowboy accent was.  He didn’t at all think about how he and Draco danced cheek to cheek last New Year’s Eve.  Or the sounds Draco made when Harry pressed him into the mattress.  

Harry drummed his fingers along the edge of the sofa.  Who would want to go to a big party and pretend to have fun?  He was fine on his own. 

An hour later Harry realized he had thrown on a hoodie and was walking by a Wetherspoons.  He blinked a few times, stopped on a corner looking in at all the Londoners having a good time.  The tables were crowded and raucous.  It was arms thrown round shoulders and drunken singing.  

“In what world could you and I ever make small talk?”

It was a bloke spilling his pint met with laughter and light-hearted jostling.  They threw piles of napkins at the spill and got another round.  Harry realized he was staring.  He started walking again.

“We’re not friends, Potter.  We’re not even acquaintances.”

“I suppose you’re right.  We could never be friends.”  

He kept moving down the street.  Harry weaved in and out of other Londoners.  It was a couple bumping into Harry and apologizing.  They were young and in love.  It was bright blonde hair beautifully plaited on the shorter girl and a sleek bun on the taller girl, their hands clasped tight.  It was their blushing giggles and soft murmuring.  Harry waved them on and went down the steps to the tube.

“Are we becoming friends?”  

“I think we are, Malfoy.”

“Then you’d better call me Draco.”

The tube was awful on most days, but full of party goers on New Year’s Eve was a special treat.  Harry made his way through the clamouring crowd and found an empty seat.   It was a drunken woman in a festive dress beside him, helping her similarly attired friend apply a fake eyelash.  It was the more sober one bracing them when the train jostled.  It was cheerful hugs of thanks and drunken affirmations of friendship.

“I spent the first half of my life doing what everyone else wanted me to do.  I’ll be damned if I let anyone else dictate what I do.”

Harry blinked rapidly.  Oh.

“I get that.  I really do.”

Oh.

Without taking notice of the station, Harry got off at the next stop.  He had to find Draco and he had to find him right now.   Harry dashed to an empty corner and appearated with a loud crack.  

Draco 

Draco forced himself to dress.  He selected a beautiful forest green three piece muggle suit with an ivory dress shirt.  He folded a peacock feather patterned pocket square but decided to forgo a tie.  The pocket square was flare enough.  Instead he left the top three buttons undone so that his shirt was buttoned a centimeter or two above his waist coat.  He looked at himself in the mirror and tugged his left sleeve down.  He could do this, nothing too laborious.   It was only a party, after all.  It’s not as though he needed Potter beside him to be amongst his former classmates.  Draco could hold his own now.  There was nothing to it.  

Granger and Weasley greeted him cheerily, which Draco was finally getting used to.  Granger kissed him on the cheek, looking lovely in a maroon cocktail dress with peonies that were small at the bust of the dress and grew larger toward the hemline.  Weasley wore nice slacks and an Oxford, rolled up at the sleeves.  Draco’s eyes darted around the room, taking in the other guests, the live eight piece orchestra in the corner, the table of beautiful looking desserts along one wall and a bar along the other.  There was a roaring fire in the hearth that stood nearly as tall as Draco.  The Granger-Weasleys had even hired a coat check setup at the entrance, beside an enormous grandfather clock.  No mental, black hair sticking up anywhere.  

“Harry’s not here.” Granger said shrewdly.

“Oh?  I er..  Hadn’t been-” 

“Mmhmm.”  

“Davies and Parkinson are here though.”  Weasley interjected.  He nodded his head in their direction.  “Luna should be here too.  She’s got the Crown on already.  Mad, I tell you.”

Draco smiled and Weasley shook his hand.  “Thank you for having me.  This is a lovely venue.”

“Cheers, mate.”  Weasley said.

Granger looked delighted, “Isn’t it though?  The party just got too much last year to have at our house.  It’s a good size ballroom.”  She looked around.  As she turned, the peonies decorating her gown began to bloom slowly. “It really came together well.”  Some of the flowers closed up when she turned back to Draco.  Every time she moved she was a living, blooming garden.  

“Course it did, love.  You’re in charge of it.” Weasley kissed her on the forehead.  

“And might I add, you look exquisite.” Draco said.  “Your gown is truly stunning.”  She blushed prettily and Weasley was looking truly besotted.

“I’m a lucky bloke.” he mooned.

Draco felt a bit ill and excused himself.

Pansy and Roger were dancing together in a vaguely inappropriate manner.  Draco left them to it.  He spent a few hours dancing and making conversation with various people.  He got himself a Manhattan from the bar and chatted to Ernie McMillan for a while.  Draco later spun Lovegood around the floor a few times.  Her dress was thankfully devoid of emotionally perceptive fauna.  Eventually he pried Pansy out of Roger’s groping hands for a dance.  They shared a dramatic waltz around the ballroom, Draco keeping one eye on the grandfather clock.  The closer to midnight it became the more Draco found his edges fraying.  

“I think I’m going to go.” he told Pansy.

“Nooooo  Draco staaaay.” she begged.  “Potter’s not even here.  Just stay and have fun with us.”

He spun her out and brought her back in for a dip.  “I can’t believe you’re begging me to stay at Granger’s party.”

She let out a throaty laugh as he pulled her back up.  “How the mighty have fallen.”  She gave him a cheeky wink.  They continued spinning gracefully around the floor to the end of the song.  Davies was waiting for them.  Before she went back to him, Pansy put her hand on Draco’s cheek.

“Please stay, love.”

“I-” He swallowed, “I just can’t.  The thought of being here without-”  he caught himself in time and corrected the sentence.  “The thought of being here without anyone to kiss is entirely too depressing.”

Davies leaned over Pansy’s shoulder.  “I will kiss you Draco.  I have to say despite your terrible taste in brooms, you are quite fit.”

Pansy shoved his shoulder, “Alright, keep it in your pants.  We’re married, you know!”

“I appreciate the gesture, Davies, but nothing could be more abhorrent than kissing you.”

“I beg your pardon!” 

“Because you’re married to my best friend, of course.” he drawled.

“Oh, er.. Right!  Still.”

“Thank you, but no.”

He turned to go but only made it five steps.  Potter burst through the doors wearing, of all things, an unzipped hoodie over a t-shirt, track pants, and trainers.  His hair was particularly wrecked.  It was cold enough outside that his glasses were partially fogged over.  He took them off and tapped them with his wand, looking around.  Draco stood rooted to the spot.  Harry only took a moment to find him, relief washing over his features.

“Draco!” He shouted and ran over.  “I’m so glad you’re here,” he said, panting a little.  “I have to tell you something.”

Draco didn’t have time for this.  He needed to get away from here, from these people beginning to stare, this party, and most of all Harry Sodding Potter.

He took a step, but Harry reached out to grab his arm.  “Draco I’m in love with you.”

There was an odd buzzing in Draco’s ear.  The noise of the party faded away.

“Er- yeah.  So..” Harry sounded like he was under water.  He scratched the back of his neck

“I-” Draco shook himself and the sound came back at full volume.  “What am I supposed to say to that?” he snapped.

“Normally people say I love you back.  If they..” Harry cleared his throat.  “Do you love me back?” he asked in a smaller voice.

“I have to go.”

“You have to-” Harry swallowed.  “You don’t..  You don’t love me.”

“Look, Potter.  I understand what’s going on here.  It’s New Year’s Eve.” he drawled.  “You don’t want to be alone and we’ve come to rely on one another of late.” Potter’s heart was breaking and Draco didn’t think he could watch it.  His voice was nearly hoarse when he continued, “But you can’t just show up and say that you love me and expect everything to be fine.”

“Why not?”

“Because that’s not how this works!” he hissed.

“How does it work then?!” Harry asked, his temper rising.

“Not. Like. This.”

“That’s. Not. Helpful.”  Harry retorted.  He ran a hand through his hair, at a complete loss..  “I don’t know what to do.  Because I love you.”  He stared desperately into Draco’s eyes.  “I love you and I can’t do anything about it.  You’re all I can think about.  Everywhere I go I want to know what you would do if you were there. I can’t even dress myself without you.  I mean look at me, I’m a wreck without you.”  Harry let out a hollow laugh.  “Fuck.  I-just..  I love you.  I can’t stop saying it now.  I love you, Draco Malfoy.” 

Draco’s heart was a hummingbird in his chest.  

“I love that you know Humphrey Bogart but have never listened to The Killers.”  Harry continued, getting more worked up.  “I love that you spent your adult life trying to make muggles feel better about themselves.  It’s incredible that you do that!”

Harry caught the doubt on ghosting across Draco’s face.  “And it’s not because it’s New Year’s Eve.  It’s not because I’m lonely.”  Harry was breathing heavily as he stepped into Draco’s space. He continued, softer, “It’s you. It's because I’m in love with you.”  He reached out and traced Draco’s jaw with his thumb, his fingers sliding up into Draco’s hair.  “I’ve only just realized what this feeling was.  It’s been growing for so long.  And I had to come tell you as soon as I realized.” 

Harry ran his thumb along Draco’s bottom lip.  Draco was sorely tempted to swallow it just to get Harry to shut up. 

“I love you.” Harry said in a hushed tone, gentle and reverent.

Draco’s voice trembled.  “This is just like you,” he whispered heatedly, “You make it impossible for me to hate you.”

Harry’s other hand slid around Draco’s waist.  Draco leaned forward so their foreheads were touching.  

“And I really hate you, Harry Sodding Potter.” Draco said softly.

Harry grinned and met Draco’s lips. They lost themselves for a moment in the slide of lips and twining of hearts.  It was Potter’s teeth grazing Draco’s lips.  It was coming home after a long journey.  It was the crowd around them breaking into a chorus:

“Should old acquaintance be forgot,

and never brought to mind?”

“What does this song even mean?” Harry murmured into Draco’s mouth.

“Should old acquaintance be forgot,

and auld lang syne?”

“Does it matter?” Draco asked, his fingers skimming the strip of skin above the waist of Harry’s track pants.  “It’s about old acquaintances.”

“Old friends.” Harry agreed and kissed him again.  “Former enemies.  Future lovers.”

“Shut up, Potter.”

Twenty Two Years And Three Months

“The first time we met we hated each other.” Draco said, sitting down on the sofa.  He looked comfortable and casual in his muggle clothing.  He and Harry both wore jumpers, Draco's a dove grey and Harry's an emerald green. Harry's arm was slung around the back of the sofa behind Draco. 

“You didn’t hate me, I hated you, remember?” Harry corrected.  “Cause of that shit you were saying about Hagrid.”

“Mmm..” Draco said.  “The second time we met you didn’t recognize me.”

“What?  No the second time we met I hated you even more because you were having a go at Ron.”

Draco sighed and leaned his elbow on the arm of the sofa, propping his head up.  “If you are going to correct me about every time we met, Harry, we are going to be here a very long time.”

Harry shrugged.  “The third time we met was on the train to Azkaban.”

“Merlin,” sighed Draco.  He sat up and glanced at Harry.  “The fourth time, then.  The fourth time we met you didn’t recognize me.”

Harry scoffed.  “Only I did, though.”  

Draco shook his head and smiled.  “The fifth time we met we became friends.”

Harry nodded.  “We were friends for a long time.”

“Until we weren’t.” Draco added.

Harry continued to nod.  “And then we fell in love.”  He said proudly.  “Three months later we got married.  It only took three months.”

Draco looked at Harry out of the corner of his eye, “twenty two years and three months.” 

Harry laughed.  “Twenty two years and three months.”

Draco put his hand on Harry's knee, who then budged up closer.  “We had a great wedding,” Draco said.

“It was brilliant.  Mood provided the drinks, of course.”

“I added a drop of Elixir de Euphoria to a lovely cocktail called Sex On The Beach and renamed it Marital Bliss.” Draco said, looking well pleased with himself.  

Harry grinned and pointed a finger at Draco, “That.”