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Chapter Text

Harry lay on his bed, on top of his blankets. It was early evening, and no one else was in the sixth year Gryffindor boys’ dormitory, but Harry had the curtains to his four-poster closed tightly around him. He was shaking. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Draco Malfoy lying on the bathroom tile, bloody and gasping and wet from the water spraying from a pipe they had broken in their duel. The scene kept replaying in Harry’s mind, despite his attempts to turn it off. 

He shouldn’t have used that spell. Godric, why had he used that spell? He should have gone for a stunner. He should have used a body bind. He should have used expelliarmus. 

His mind circled uselessly in a vain attempt to fix the events of the day, but there was no escaping the fact that Draco was in the hospital wing and that Harry had put him there. 

If it hadn’t been for Myrtle’s cries for help — if it hadn’t been for Snape, who arrived quickly and who knew what to do — Harry would have been a murderer. 

Harry lost track of time, lying on his back, staring up at his canopy and trying to still the panicked beating of his heart. Eventually, he heard voices as the other boys in his dorm came in and got ready for bed. Ron called out to him to ask if he was awake, but Harry stayed silent and didn’t answer. 

When all the voices stilled and the room beyond Harry’s curtains drifted into deep darkness, then Harry finally got up. He didn’t think very hard about what he was going to do, but he knew he had to do something. He couldn’t just leave things as they were. 

Quietly, Harry got out his invisibility cloak and the Map. He crept down to the darkened common room, checked the Map for Filch and anyone else out patrolling the corridors, and then slipped out the portrait hole. 

Harry had had six years of creeping around the castle after curfew. He arrived quickly at the hospital wing without any setbacks. 

The hospital wing felt even quieter than Gryffindor Tower. The white curtains hung like ghosts around each of the beds, unmoving and heavy with the silence. 

“Lumos,” Harry whispered, shrugging off the cloak and stuffing it in his pocket. There was a chance that Madam Pomfrey would come out of her rooms and find him there, but Harry didn’t want to startle the already injured Draco. Harry moved forward, checking each bed until finally he found the only one that was occupied. 

Draco’s grey eyes met his as Harry pulled back the curtain, his dimly lit wand held aloft. For a moment, they only stared at each other. Draco’s white blond hair was tousled and mussed from the pillow he was lying on. He looked frail and thin in his hospital nightshirt, his collarbone prominent above the nightshirt’s loose collar. 

“Come to finish the job?” Draco murmured. 

“Godric, no.” Harry’s throat felt thick and constricted. “Draco. I didn’t know what that spell would do. I swear, I didn’t know.”

“If you’re planning to lie about it, you’re going to have to do better than that.” Draco’s voice was strangely mild, as if all the tension from the previous months had been bled out of it. 

“I’m not lying!” Harry protested. “I found some spells in a used spellbook. The other spells were all for — just pranks, really, nothing too bad. I didn’t know what that one would do. The book didn’t say!”

“That’s not a thing, Potter,” Draco said, shaking his head slightly, a faint line appearing between his fair brows. 

“What’s not?” Harry said. 

“You need intent to cast a spell. You can’t cast a spell if you don’t know what it does.”

“Maybe you can’t,” Harry said, nonplussed. 

“What?” The line between Draco’s brows deepened. “What do you mean?”

Harry shrugged. 

“I mean I didn’t know what that spell did.”

Draco stared. 

“What, you mean — You really didn’t — So what are you saying, you just have a natural affinity for dark, deadly spells?”

Harry shrugged again, feeling more uncomfortable now. 

“I’d just… read the spell in the book,” he repeated. “And when you attacked me, I just… thought I’d try it out. To see what happened.”

“Potter.” Draco was wincing now as if it pained him to speak. “Tell me something. Just so I understand the situation clearly. Had you ever cast that spell before?”

“No,” Harry said. “I never would have cast that on you if I had known.”

“So not only were you somehow able to cast a dark, powerful spell without knowing what it did, but also, you cast it at full, deadly strength… on your first try?”

There was a chair near Draco’s bed. Harry sat down in it with a huff. 

“This isn’t what I came here to say,” Harry said. 

“If this whole situation didn’t suck so much, it would be funny,” Draco said. “The Death Eater’s son can’t perform dark magic when his life depends on it, but Dumbledore’s golden boy can do it without even knowing what he’s trying for.”

“Don’t call me that,” Harry said. 

“Maybe we should switch places,” Draco said, and he laughed, a short and mirthless sound. 

Harry could have pressed for more information then. He already knew that Draco had some mission from Voldemort, that Voldemort had said he would kill Draco and his parents if Draco failed. Harry had heard Draco say all of that to Myrtle in the bathroom before they had dueled. 

But Harry was still feeling raw and vulnerable from seeing Draco nearly die, from having nearly killed Draco. And all of that had happened because Harry had been trying to get more information from Draco. So Harry didn’t say anything. He merely sat there, watching Draco’s face: his narrow, pointed features, his thin lips and his pale eyes, half hooded now, returning Harry’s gaze without any embarrassment. 

“It’s like you’re keeping vigil,” Draco said after a while, “only I haven’t died yet.”

“You’re not going to die,” Harry said, more forcefully than he had meant to. 

“Well,” Draco said. “If Saint Potter says it, then it must be so.”

“Don’t call me that,” Harry said again, automatically and without heat. 

“Would you cry for me if I died?” Draco said, settling back against his pillow. 

“You’re not going to die.” 

“I know you’re not here because you care about me,” Draco said mildly. “You’re here for yourself, not for me.”

Harry didn’t cry often. It wasn’t a safe thing to do at the Dursleys, so Harry had long ago learned to shove his emotions down deep, to keep the tears from surfacing. But when Sirius had died, Harry had cried. He had raged, and he had grieved, and he had cried. And when he thought of how he had felt when Draco lay on the bathroom floor, bleeding and dying, it didn’t feel that different from when Sirius had died.

“I would cry for you if you died,” Harry said, a solemn pronouncement in the quiet of the curtained room. 

“Oh,” Draco said, and his grey eyes widened for a moment. He sounded both surprised and pleased. 

There was something deeply wrong with Draco. But then, Harry had known that all year. 

They sat in silence again. After a while, Draco fell asleep, and Harry felt forgiven, because Draco trusted him enough to sleep with him there. 

***

The Aurors spoke to Harry after Dumbledore fell from the tower. Harry blamed everything on Snape, and he didn’t even mention Draco. He didn’t give any thought to this decision. He was preoccupied, for one thing, reeling over the loss of his mentor, raging over Snape’s betrayal. But also, he didn’t feel like he was doing anything wrong. Draco had been forced. He hadn’t wanted to do any of the bad things he’d done that year. He’d only done them because Voldemort had threatened to kill him and his family. 

Most importantly, Harry had seen Draco disarm the sick and weakened Dumbledore. Draco had had plenty of time to kill him, but he hadn’t done it. Even at the risk to his own life and to those of his parents, he had chosen not to kill. Harry had seen how much Draco had suffered up to that moment, and he respected him for that choice. Now he was honoring Draco’s decision by covering for him in the aftermath. It seemed to Harry like the right thing to do. 

“The deputy headmistress says there’s a student missing,” said the Auror who was taking Harry’s eyewitness account. “Draco Malfoy. Do you know if he was involved in any of this?”

“Who?” Harry said. 

***

Harry once heard someone say that war was long periods of boredom punctuated by moments of sheer terror. That about described the following year for him after Dumbledore’s death. Harry, Ron, and Hermione ran from Death Eaters, hunted down a locket, and chased some dead ends… but mostly they sat around in their tent in the woods and tried to figure out what to do next. Harry spent many evenings lying on his cot with the Marauders’ Map out. 

Draco was back at Hogwarts. Harry watched his dot moving slowly around the castle, from classroom to dinner, from dinner to dormitory. He seemed to spend most of his free time holed up in his dorm room, alone. 

***

Harry nearly died at Malfoy Manor. If he had been a few seconds slower, Voldemort would have arrived and Harry would have died. That was why Harry hadn’t had time to think, to figure out the best solution. It didn’t stop him, though, from running through the events over and over in his mind afterwards, trying to find where he could have acted differently. 

Because Dobby had died, and as Harry sat in the grassy weeds outside Shell Cottage, clutching Dobby’s tiny body in his arms, he saw in his mind the moment when Voldemort arrived at the manor. 

Harry had left Draco behind to face Voldemort’s wrath. 

Dobby had dropped the chandelier on Bellatrix, and in the ensuing chaos, Draco had looked at Harry and had held up his hand, which was holding three wands. 

It was a small gesture. Anyone else might have missed it entirely. If they had noticed anything, they might have thought Draco was warning Harry off. But Harry had spent six years staring at Draco, and he knew the gesture for what it was: an offer of escape. 

Harry grabbed the wands from Draco’s hand, and Draco let them go without complaint. Harry stunned Greyback, who was about to attack him, threw a wand to Ron, grabbed Dobby and Griphook, and apparated away. 

He should have grabbed Draco too. 

There hadn’t been any time, and he didn’t even know if Draco would have wanted to come. 

He should have grabbed Draco. 

Snape had spent months trying to teach Harry to close his mind against Voldemort. Harry had never been able to do it, had given up trying. But now, drowning under his grief and guilt, Harry took hold of his mental link to Voldemort. 

And shut it closed against Draco’s screams. 

***

Harry didn’t see Draco again until he was standing in the Room of Requirement, back at Hogwarts once more. Crabbe and Goyle were there brandishing their wands, and Draco was trying fruitlessly to hold them back, to keep them from hurting Harry. 

“Don’t kill him! DON’T KILL HIM!” Malfoy was shouting as Crabbe and Goyle shot curses at Harry. 

But all Harry felt (as he ducked spells and hurled his own right back) was an overwhelming rush of relief. Draco was alive. Voldemort hadn’t killed him. 

Technically, he had already known this. He still checked the Map often. But it was still a relief to have absolute confirmation of the fact. 

Then Crabbe — stupid, stupid Crabbe — cast the Fiendfyre Curse. 

Harry found a broomstick, pulled Draco from the inferno, and flew towards the exit with Draco riding behind him. The heat of the roiling flames rose all around them, but Harry steered his broom automatically and hardly noticed the danger, because all his thoughts were zeroed in on Draco Malfoy pressed against his back, his arms wrapped painfully tight around Harry’s waist. 

When they got to safety, slamming the door shut behind them, Harry was a little surprised to find that Ron and Hermione had managed to rescue Goyle. He never would have guessed that his friends would risk dying by Fiendfyre to save Goyle, of all people. It was decent of them, of course, and they were decent people. 

At that point, the Death Eaters breached Hogwarts’ defenses, and the battle began in earnest. Draco was safe, so Harry left him to go join the fray. The fighting was intense, and then Harry had another vision from Voldemort. He knew where the snake was now, the last Horcrux. They needed to get to it. 

But before Harry could leave Hogwarts, he came across Draco again. And yet again, Draco was in trouble. He was fending off a Death Eater while trying to convince the man that he was on his side. 

Harry stunned the Death Eater. Draco turned around to see who had helped him, and Harry was stopped in his tracks, because Draco was smiling, and Harry was caught off-guard by the brilliance of it. 

And then Ron ruined the moment by punching Draco in the mouth. 

“And that’s the second time we’ve saved your life tonight, you two-faced —” Ron shouted. 

“Ron!” Harry seized Draco’s arm to keep him from toppling over with the force of Ron’s blow. Harry thought it was clear that Draco had only been attacked because he was in fact, not loyal to Voldemort, but there was no time to argue with Ron about this. 

Harry had a problem. He had some very important things he needed to do, but he wasn’t going to be able to focus on them if he was constantly worrying about Draco’s safety. He wished he could put Draco in a little box, and put that box somewhere safe until the battle was over. 

And that’s when Harry knew what he was going to do. 

“Draco, come with me,” Harry said decisively, pulling on Draco’s arm. He strode off down the corridor. Draco meekly allowed himself to be dragged along, his hand over his mouth where Ron had hit him. 

“Harry, you’re going the wrong way!” Hermione protested as she and Ron jogged behind them. 

“I have to do something first,” Harry said. “Hermione, fix Draco’s mouth. He’s bleeding.”

“Harry, just leave him,” Ron groaned, but Hermione shot a healing spell at Draco without missing a step. 

Draco continued to follow Harry without complaint until Harry pushed a door open and Draco realized where Harry had brought him. 

“A girls’ bathroom?” Draco said faintly, staring at the row of toilets. 

“Good idea, Harry,” Ron said, as he pushed into the bathroom behind Draco. He had cheered up considerably when he had realized where they were taking Draco. 

Harry didn’t waste any time. He went straight for the sink with the tiny snake etched on it. 

“Open,” he hissed. And the sink opened. 

“What is that?” Draco said weakly, staring at the black gaping hole that yawned into the space where the sink had been. 

“It’s the Chamber of Secrets,” Harry said. “You’ll be safe down there.”

“The Chamber…” Draco gaped at him. “You mean you really were the heir of Slytherin?”

“What? No!” Harry said. 

“You attacked Granger?” Draco sounded shocked. 

“It wasn’t me!” Harry protested. “It was… well, it was basically Voldemort. I don’t have time to explain. Just go down the slide and you’ll be fine. No one will be able to find you down there.”

“Wait… you want me to go down there?” Draco seemed to be having difficulty keeping up. 

“Don’t worry, Malfoy,” Ron said nastily. “The monster won’t be interested in you. You’re way too scrawny.”

“Slytherin’s monster?!” Draco paled and tried to back away, but Harry grabbed him and pushed him towards the opening. 

“Don’t listen to Ron; he’s just trying to give you a hard time. The monster’s dead. I killed it.”

“You —”

“Come on, Draco, I don’t have time!” 

Draco did take a little more convincing, but eventually he sat down shakily at the top of the open pipe, and Harry gave him a push before he could protest further. Then he sealed up the entrance behind him. 

It was a huge weight off of Harry’s mind knowing that Draco was safe. He ran off to look for Voldemort’s snake with Ron and Hermione at his heels. 

***

Harry was there when Snape died. Snape left Harry some of his memories, and Harry took them up to Dumbledore’s office to watch them in his pensieve. 

What he saw left him numb with shock. He stumbled out of the office in a daze. He had to die. That was what everything was leading to. It was the only way to permanently defeat Voldemort. 

Harry walked through the corridors. He couldn’t bear to see his friends before he went. He would just have to go. He would leave without telling anyone. He would turn himself over to Voldemort, and he would die. He was going to die. He was —

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” Harry said, remembering suddenly. He turned around and ran back the way he had come. He kept running until he was back inside the girls’ bathroom. 

“Open,” Harry hissed. 

He couldn’t just go and die while Draco was still in the Chamber. Draco would be stuck there forever. He certainly couldn’t count on Ron to get him out. 

“Oh, it’s you,” Draco said, relieved, when Harry landed with a thump on the dusty floor of the Chamber. 

“Change of plans,” Harry said. “I need to put you some place else. We have to…” 

Harry trailed off as he turned around and looked at the steep pipe he had just slid down. Ron and Hermione had come down here earlier to get the basilisk fangs. How had they gotten back up?

“There’s a spiral staircase right there,” Draco said, pointing. 

“Oh,” Harry said. Had that been there before? Oh well. No time to question it. Harry led the way up the stairs. Draco followed close behind. He seemed more than happy to be leaving the Chamber behind. They were a long way under the school, however, and there were a lot of stairs…

Harry saw a long, curling snake carved into the wall along the stairs. 

“Up,” he said in Parseltongue, just to see what would happen. He heard Draco yelp behind him as the stone stairs began to move, carrying them upwards like an escalator. 

The stairs somehow managed to open up in the same spot as the pipe that Harry had slid down earlier. Harry hissed at it to close it, and then he grabbed Draco and took off at a run. He didn’t stop until he was back at the entrance to Dumbledore’s office. He gave the password to the gargoyle and then led Draco up the stairs, which moved just like the ones in the Chamber.  

“Just stay here and don’t go anywhere until you’re sure it’s safe,” Harry said, ushering Draco into the circular office lined with the portraits of past headmasters. 

“Aren’t you going to come back?” Draco said, and his voice sounded lost and plaintive, like a child. 

“I —” Harry said, and then paused. He had told himself that he couldn’t tell any of his friends. But Draco wasn’t his friend, and Harry badly wanted someone to share his burden. 

“I might not be able to come back,” Harry finally said. 

Draco wrapped his arms around himself as if he were cold, his shoulders hunching up. He looked miserable. 

“You don’t have to go back out there,” he said. “You could stay here.”

Harry shook his head. 

“I know how to stop Voldemort. And I’m the only one who can do it. It has to be me. It’s just… I don’t know if I’ll survive.” He wasn’t going to survive. It had always been the plan for him to die. 

“You can’t die,” Draco said. “You won’t.”

“Well,” Harry said, giving a small, forced smile, “if Draco Malfoy says it, then it must be so.”

“You always pull through in the end.” Draco was looking at him, his grey eyes intense, desperate, even. “You always pull off some miraculous escape.”

“Draco,” Harry said. “Would you cry for me if I died?”

Draco made a strange, strangled noise, and then he grabbed a fistful of the front of Harry’s shirt and hauled him in close. Harry had a brief, dizzying moment of seeing Draco’s face inches away, right in front of his. And then Draco crashed their faces together.

It wasn’t a soft kiss. There were teeth, and it didn’t feel that different from fighting. The blood rushed in Harry’s ears, and he couldn’t think. He shouldn’t think about this. He was going to die soon; there was no point in thinking. He was just going to have this, in this moment, before he died. He wrapped his arms around Draco’s waist and kissed back, matching Draco’s desperate ferocity with his own feverish touches.

Eventually, Draco broke off with a sob and turned away from Harry. His hand went to his mouth, and Harry realized he was crying. Harry hadn’t even died yet, and Draco was already crying.

He understood now how Draco had felt in sixth year, when Harry had said he would cry for him. It was a comfort, in an empty, hollow sort of way, to know that Draco would mourn him when he was gone. Harry was only sorry that he wouldn’t be around to one day return the favor.

He was desperately glad that Draco was not a Gryffindor, and that he could trust him to stay put wherever Harry said was safe. 

***

Harry went to find Voldemort. He died, but he also came back. And when he came back, he got rid of Voldemort for good.

In the aftermath of the battle, Harry saw Lucius and Narcissa running about, looking desperately among the survivors for their son. Harry made his way towards them, and when Narcissa saw him coming, she rushed to meet him.

“Have you seen Draco?” she asked, her face tight with anxiety.

“I put him in Dumbledore’s office,” Harry said.

From the way Narcissa’s pale face went ashen, Harry realized she thought he meant that he had put Draco’s dead body in Dumbledore’s office.

“He’s alive, and he’s fine,” Harry said quickly. “At least he was the last time I saw him. I put him there to keep him safe. He kept getting into trouble.” It sounded ridiculous when he said it out loud. Everyone in the whole castle had been in trouble. But Draco had been the only one Harry had put away for safekeeping.

Narcissa wasn’t questioning Harry’s dubious decision-making, though. She was already relaying the news to Lucius, and then both of them were off, making their way to Dumbledore’s office in a flat out run.

Chapter Text

Two weeks after the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry was lying in the darkness on his spare mattress on the floor of Ron’s bedroom when the door creaked open. Hermione crept inside, shutting the door carefully behind herself. Harry watched her shadowy outline as she crawled up onto Ron’s bed and tucked herself under the covers next to him. 

Don’t, Harry told himself firmly. You’re intruding enough already just being here in the room with them. 

Harry was glad that their fugitive camping days were over. Of course he was. But it was a bit strange being back in society. There were social mores that they’d left behind at some point, but now they had to pick them up again. They had to think about appearances. Hermione, for example, now had to sneak around when Mrs. Weasley wasn’t looking if she wanted to sleep next to Ron. And Harry…

Bugger this, Harry thought. He threw off his covers, fumbled about for his wand, and stood up. He pointed his wand at Ron’s bed. 

“Engorgio,” Harry whispered. Ron’s bed widened and Harry scooted himself in on Ron’s free side, opposite from Hermione. He selfishly didn’t care if his charm lasted the night. If the bed shrunk, it would only leave the three of them tucked in closer together. 

When they first started pushing their mattresses together in the tent, they’d said they were doing it for warmth. And that was true. It was cold out there, sleeping in a tent first in the fall and then in the winter. But it wasn’t long before they were huddling together for comfort just as much as for warmth. 

They always slept the same way, with Ron stretched out in the middle, his lanky limbs spilling over the edge of the mattress, and Harry and Hermione curled up on either side of him. 

Everything had been horrible when Ron left them, but the worst part had been trying to sleep without him. Harry didn’t feel quite right about cuddling up to Hermione at night. He knew Ron wouldn’t like it, for one thing. It had been such a relief that first night after Ron came back, the three of them sleeping in a heap like a pile of abandoned puppies. 

Now, Harry pulled the blankets up and tucked himself in next to Ron. Ron reached out blindly in the darkness and patted Harry on the arm, letting him know it was okay, they didn’t mind if he slept with them. 

Tomorrow he would move into Grimmauld Place, Harry thought. He would give Ron and Hermione some space. And it would be good to have his own space too. At least, it would be good to get some distance from the Weasleys’ grief, Harry thought guiltily. As much as he wanted to be with his friends, it was hard being at the Burrow when Fred’s death was so recent. The sorrow was pervasive, and it hung over the home like a heavy cloud. 

***

In the end, it was another week before Harry was able to make himself go through with his resolve to move into Grimmauld Place. The Weasleys were still only a Floo away, of course, and Harry continued to spend plenty of his waking hours at the Burrow with Ron and Hermione. Hermione was still living there for now, since her parents were in Australia with no memory of their only daughter. 

Harry thought he deserved a break. Unfortunately, his mind did not agree. For so long, all of his energy had been focused on defeating Voldemort. Now that he was gone, Harry felt a bit lost. Purposeless, like a log drifting in the ocean. 

Hermione was going back to school in the fall, but Harry didn’t think he could stand to go back to Hogwarts at that point. He supposed he could get a job. He could apply to be an Auror; he could start the Auror training program. But that seemed daunting, and Harry didn’t feel like he had the energy for it just yet. 

He spent a lot of time thinking about Draco. He was pretty sure Draco had only kissed him because he thought they were both going to die before the day was out. Harry wasn’t sure how to proceed now that the situation wasn’t dire. 

He began wandering around Diagon Alley, wearing his Invisibility Cloak to avoid being mobbed by fans, and hoping to catch a glimpse of Draco. But he never found him. 

Should he just show up on the front step of Malfoy Manor? Would Draco even want to see him? What was Harry hoping to accomplish? He had no idea what he was doing. All he knew was that he couldn’t stop remembering the feel of Draco's lips against his. Or the way Draco had held him, pressed up against his back, as Harry flew them through the Fiendfyre. Draco in Harry’s arms in Dumbledore’s office…

Harry was no good at relationships. He never had been. He didn’t know what to do. And what was he even thinking? A relationship with Draco? Was that really what he wanted? Even Draco would tell him he was crazy for considering it. 

Harry dithered about in indecision. He visited Hogsmeade in a vague attempt to do something. And then, one month after the Battle, an owl came. 

It was Draco’s eagle owl. Harry recognized him immediately. He brought a note that was only one line long:

Potter: 

They’re going to put me in Azkaban. 

Draco

He didn’t ask for help. Harry thought he wanted to, but he was afraid Harry would turn him down. So he merely let Harry know what was happening, and left it to Harry to decide how to respond. 

Suddenly, everything was simple again. Draco needed his help. Harry would help him. That was something he knew how to do. 

Where are you? Harry scribbled back. 

Malfoy Manor, came the reply. 

Well. That was as good as an invitation, as far as Harry was concerned. He apparated to the Manor’s front door and rang the ornamented doorbell. Draco appeared in the tall, double doorway several minutes later. 

“Potter.” He sounded surprised. “I… didn’t realize you were coming.”

“I got your note,” Harry said. They stared at each other stupidly. 

Lucius Malfoy appeared in the large entrance hall behind Draco. 

“Draco,” he said, “did you —” Then he saw Harry. 

“Pardon,” Lucius said, and he turned hastily and disappeared into the house. Before he left, Harry caught a glint of gold hanging from his ear. 

That was strange. Harry was pretty sure that Lucius had never had a piercing before. Did he go and get it done right after the war ended? Was it a way to let off stress? Or… was it possible he’d done it to celebrate? Voldemort’s second reign certainly hadn’t treated him well. He was probably relieved that it was over. 

There was a time when Harry would have felt angry upon seeing Lucius Malfoy, the Death Eater who had supported Voldemort. He didn’t feel anything now. Lucius had made stupid choices and he had paid for them. That was all there was to it. Harry didn’t have the energy for anything else. 

“I don’t suppose you want to come in…” Draco said. 

“Sure,” Harry agreed. 

“Really?” Draco blinked at him. He looked cute when he was confused. 

“Yeah, why not?”

“I just thought it might bother you…” Draco trailed off. 

“No?” 

“Well. Alright then.” 

Draco ushered him inside with a strangely formal and stilted gesture. Then he led the way past the entrance hall and into the manor. 

They walked down a long and shrouded hallway. The house got darker and darker the longer they walked, and Harry resisted the urge to light his wand. Draco didn’t seem bothered by the darkness. 

“We don’t use the front door much,” Draco said after a long stretch of walking in silence. “We’re nearly there.”

The ceiling of the hallway was lined with spindly chandeliers that looked like giant spiders waiting to drop on them in the darkness. They passed several large rooms with furniture draped in ghostly white sheets, and other rooms that were completely empty. The silence made the walk feel even longer than it already was, but finally Draco turned into a doorway. 

Half a dozen oil lamps set in the walls flickered to life as they entered the room. One wall was filled with tall windows that let the daylight in, so Harry could suddenly see clearly again. As he looked around, he realized they were in a very large kitchen with vast marble countertops gleaming over row upon row of neat, white-painted cupboards. 

“Would you like to sit?” Draco asked, gesturing to a wooden table that was twice as big as the one in the Dursleys’ dining room. Harry thought the Malfoys probably considered it a cozy breakfast nook. 

“I’ve been meaning to return this,” Harry said, pulling Draco’s wand out of his pocket where it had been tucked in next to his own. 

“Oh,” Draco said. He seemed to be trying not to let his eagerness show as he took the wand from Harry, but Harry saw it anyway. “I didn’t know if you were going to give it back.”

“Of course I’m giving it back,” Harry said. 

“Did you get a new one?”

“No, I, uh, got my old one back.”

“Oh. Well,” Draco said. “This will make things easier. We only had one wand between the three of us, and we can’t exactly ask Ollivander to sell to us, considering.”

“I’m sorry for leaving you without a wand,” Harry said, welling up with guilt. “That was a terrible thing to do.”

“I survived,” Draco said. “If you hadn’t taken my wand, you wouldn’t have.”

“I wish I hadn’t had to do it, though,” Harry said. 

“Well,” Draco said, and he looked like he didn’t know what to say next. “Would you like some tea?”

Draco’s hair had gotten a bit long. He pushed some of the white blond strands behind his ear, and that was when Harry saw it: a small, golden earring in the shape of a bat, wings tucked in and hanging by its feet from Draco’s left earlobe. 

“Did you and your dad get matching piercings?” he asked, bemused. 

“What?” Draco frowned, then his eyes cleared as he remembered. He put a self-conscious hand to his ear. “Oh. Not as such. It’s a tracker.”

“A tracker,” Harry repeated, not understanding. 

“A condition of bail,” Draco said. “The Aurors put it in. It keeps us tethered to the U.K. so we can’t flee the country before our trials. And it will let them track us down if we don’t show up for court.”

“They pierced your ear?” Harry said. 

“I’m not entirely opposed to the idea,” Draco said. “It’s just that I didn’t get to choose this one.”

The Aurors had poked a hole through Draco’s ear. First Voldemort, leaving his horrible Mark on Draco’s arm, and now this…

Harry saw red. 

***

“Mr. Potter!” The fresh-faced young Auror behind the desk jumped up when Harry burst through the door with Draco in tow. “What can I do for you?”

“I want this tracker out of his ear,” Harry growled, pointing at Draco. 

“Tracker?” the young Auror repeated, looking flustered. 

“That’s really not necessary,” Draco said. 

“I want it out now,” Harry said, folding his arms and leveling a glare at the Auror. 

“I, um,” the Auror said, glancing nervously between Harry and Draco. “I don’t have authority to remove his tracker right now.”

“Where’s Robards?” Harry said impatiently. 

“The Head Auror is in his office, but —” the young Auror began. Harry was already walking past him. He went to a door that was standing slightly ajar, knocked, and pushed inside. 

Robards was sitting at his desk, speaking to two Aurors who were standing in front of him. They all turned to look at Harry as he stormed into the office. 

“Potter!” Robards said cheerfully. “Come to sign up for Auror training?”

“Robards,” Harry said, glaring. “Your people put a hole in Draco’s ear.”

“It’s fine,” Draco said from behind him. “I really don’t mind.”

“Give us a moment, will you?” Robards said to the two Aurors in front of him. They left the office, both of them looking over their shoulders at Harry and Draco as they left. 

“Haven’t you people heard of ankle monitors?” Harry said. “Or a bracelet, maybe?”

“Excellent question, Potter,” Robards said, as if he were a professor and Harry and Draco were his students. He leaned back in his padded office chair, making himself comfortable. “The earring functions in much the same way as a tent stake. The tent stake has to go through a hole to keep the tent tethered to the ground. The magical theory behind the earring is the same. It keeps Mr. Malfoy tethered to Great Britain and stops him from leaving by any means, magical or Muggle. The fact that the earring goes through a part of the body is essential to the magic. It’s like pinning a butterfly to a cork board with a pushpin. You can’t do the same thing with a bracelet. It’s entirely possible to apparate out of a bracelet.”

“It is?” Harry said, surprised. 

“Oh yes,” Robards assured him. “Definitely possible.”

“Does that mean it’s possible to apparate out of your clothes?” Harry asked, his forehead crinkling. 

Draco sniggered. Harry turned to look at him, and Draco blushed. 

“I suppose that’s possible too, but less likely,” Robards said, considering. “Bracelets aren’t complicated, though. You would just have to levitate the bracelet, then position your arm so it wasn’t touching the bracelet at any point, and then apparate away. Presto. Of course, it’s a bit difficult to apparate without dropping the bracelet levitation. That’s the tricky bit. But still doable. You could even have a friend just hold the bracelet for you.”

“Okay…” Harry said. They were getting off topic. “But Draco doesn’t need a tracker. I want his earring out.”

“Potter.” Robards heaved a sigh and stood up, shaking his head. “He’s a marked Death Eater.”

“He was forced,” Harry said. “He was underage when he was marked. He didn’t fight in the Battle of Hogwarts. And he saved my life. He helped me escape from the manor. I would have died without him.”

Robards put his hands on his hips and squinted at Draco. 

“He’s a flight risk,” Robards said. 

“I’ll vouch for him,” Harry said. 

“Oh, you will, will you?” Robards’ eyebrows rose. 

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t leave the U.K. I’ll make sure he attends his trial.”

Robards was squinting at Harry now. Harry tried to stand his ground, tried not to squirm. Robards was a tall, broad-chested man, probably twice as wide as Harry. Harry knew he still looked like a kid, that he looked even younger than he actually was. He’d always been skinny, and it didn’t help that they’d been short on food for those months when they were on the run. 

But he didn’t feel like a kid. Not after everything he’d been through, and everything he’d done. And what he’d done wasn’t something that Robards could ignore. 

Robards pointed his wand at Draco. Draco flinched, but the golden bat in his ear spread its thin, golden wings. Its tiny feet released their hold, retracting the single talon that pierced through his earlobe, and the bat zoomed into Robards’ hand, wings flapping wildly. 

“I wouldn’t do this for anyone else,” Robards said. 

“I know,” Harry said, breathing an inward sigh of relief. “Thanks, Robards.”

“He better be at his trial, Potter,” Robards said. 

“Yeah, about that…” Harry said. “I also want his trial canceled.”

“Canceled,” Robards repeated flatly. 

“Yeah,” Harry said. “For all the reasons I just said. He wasn’t like the other Death Eaters. He was a victim. He and his mother were basically held hostage in their own home.”

“Well…” Robards raked thick fingers through his thinning hair, frowning. “That’s not my department. We just arrest people. It’s the ministry barristers who decide whether or not to prosecute. And you’re not going to have an easy time convincing them to cancel young Mr. Malfoy’s trial. The public is out for blood right now. The prosecutors are under a lot of pressure to mete out justice. And, like I said, Malfoy is marked.”

“Right,” Harry said. “We’ll be on our way, then. Thanks for your help, Robards.”

“Always a pleasure, Potter,” Robards said. “We’ve still got a spot in Auror training with your name on it. Whenever you’re ready.”

Harry left the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and strode purposefully through the halls of the Ministry. People stopped to stare at him wherever he went, and he didn’t want to give them the opening to come up and speak to him. He only slowed down long enough to make sure Draco was still following him. 

“Potter, this isn’t the way to the prosecutors’ office,” Draco said quietly. 

“We’re not going to the prosecutors’ office,” Harry said. He could tell Draco wanted to ask more, but there were too many people around who might listen in, so neither of them said anything else until Harry finally brought them to their destination. He glanced at Draco, who was looking back at him, his face full of misgivings. And then Harry pushed open the door to the office of the Minister for Magic. 

“I need to talk to Kingsley,” Harry said to the secretary sitting behind a desk. 

“Good morning, Mr. Potter!” said the secretary, a plump older witch with a purple pointed hat. “The minister is out, I’m afraid. Can I make you an appointment?”

Harry sighed, annoyed. 

“Fine, but make it soon. This is urgent. Draco…” He paused and turned to look at him. “Wait, when is your trial?”

“October 2002,” Draco said. 

Harry’s brow furrowed. 

“2002? As in, the year 2002?”

“Ah, yes,” Draco said, going faintly pink under Harry’s scrutiny. 

“That’s over four years from now!” Harry said indignantly, rounding on the secretary. 

“They need to allow time for both sides to gather evidence,” the secretary explained. “It would be unfair to the accused to rush the trials. And there are so many Death Eaters that need to be tried. These things are going to take a while.”

“But he’s just supposed to sit around in limbo for four years, with the threat of Azkaban hanging over his head? Isn’t that cruel and unusual punishment?” Harry protested. 

“To tell you the truth, Mr. Potter, he’s lucky he’s not waiting for his trial in Azkaban. Most of the Death Eaters are, you know. Mr. Malfoy is lucky. The Aurors must have decided he wasn’t a serious threat.”

“Of course he’s not a threat,” Harry grumbled. “Can’t you make his trial any sooner?”

“Well…” the secretary’s expression turned coy. “As the personal administrator for the Minister for Magic, it just so happens that I do have access to the Wizengamot’s trial schedule.”

“Yeah?” Harry leaned forward with one hand on the secretary’s desk, interested. “So… you can move Draco’s trial up?”

“I wouldn’t do this for just anyone, you know,” the secretary said archly, pulling out a huge book that took up half her desk when she opened it. “But seeing as it’s you, Mr. Potter…”

She took several minutes to page through the book, humming and tutting to herself, crossing things out and adding notes. Finally, she looked up again at Harry. 

“Just for you, Mr. Potter —” she pointed a teasing finger at him — “for you I can move up Mr. Malfoy’s trial to January 2002.” She smiled at him, looking pleased with herself. Harry stared. 

“That’s still four years away,” Harry said. 

“That’s three years and seven months!” the secretary proclaimed proudly. 

Harry sighed. 

“Look, just… can you tell Kingsley I need to talk to him?”

“I’ll make an appointment for you,” the secretary said. 

Harry left the Ministry in a simmering cloud of dissatisfaction. Draco stuck close to his side as if he were using Harry to shield him from the accusing looks of all the people they passed. 

When they finally got out of the Ministry and reached the apparition point in the London alleyway across from the Ministry entrance, Harry stopped and looked at Draco. 

“Well,” Draco said awkwardly. “I suppose I’d best be on my way.”

“Your ear!” Harry remembered suddenly. He reached out a thoughtless hand and tucked the strands of Draco’s fine, blond hair behind his ear so he could see it better. Draco’s eyes widened. 

“We should take you to St. Mungo’s,” Harry said, inspecting the tiny hole in Draco’s earlobe. “Hopefully they can heal it so it doesn’t scar.”

“No!” Draco said too quickly. He cleared his throat and tried again. “No, that won’t be necessary, Potter. My mother can fix it for me.”

“Oh,” Harry said. “If you’re sure…?”

“Quite sure,” Draco said. “I… thank you for your time, Potter. I’d best be on my way.”

“Oh,” Harry said again, caught off guard. He hadn’t expected Draco to leave so soon. But before he could think of a reason to stop him, Draco disapparated, leaving Harry behind feeling strangely unsatisfied and disappointed. 

***

Harry’s appointment with the minister was set for a month out. That was far too long to wait, in Harry’s opinion, so he went back to the ministry the next day and snuck into Kingsley’s office with the witch who brought him his lunch. 

“I can’t just cancel his trial,” Kingsley told him over a bowl of soup. “He’s a marked Death Eater!”

“He was a minor when he was marked!” Harry protested. “Voldemort only marked him to hurt Lucius!”

“Look, Harry,” Kingsley massaged at his temples. “I’ll talk to the prosecutors, okay? I’m not making any promises, but I’ll see what I can do. Just because it’s you, alright? I wouldn’t do this for anyone else.”

“Right. Thank you,” Harry said, deferential and polite now that he was getting his way. 

Except that, the next day, when Harry went back, Kingsley still hadn’t spoken to the prosecutors. 

“This may surprise you, Harry, but I do have other priorities aside from the younger Mr. Malfoy,” Kingsley said when Harry accosted him in a ministry hallway. 

“I could go with you to speak to the prosecutors,” Harry offered. 

“That won’t be necessary,” Kingsley said. “I’m on my way to a goblin liaison meeting right now, but I will get to Mr. Malfoy.”

It was a week later that Harry finally managed to drag Kingsley to the prosecutors’ office with him. 

“You will wait here,” Kingsley said sternly to him in the hallway. 

“Why?” Harry asked, suspicious. He was worried Kingsley would stray off topic if Harry wasn’t there to keep him on track. He knew Kingsley did not take the situation as seriously as Harry did. 

“Because you’re getting far too intense about this,” Kingsley said. “You’re going to come off as though you’re accusing them of something, and they’ll get offended and won’t want to cooperate. Trust me. Let me handle this.”

Harry stayed in the hallway brooding while Kingsley finally spoke to the ministry prosecutors. 

Later that day, Harry apparated to Malfoy Manor. 

“Potter,” Draco said when he once again answered the door. Harry was hoping for another invitation inside, but this time Draco only stood there, blocking the doorway and looking awkward. 

“I have good news,” Harry said. “Well, I think it’s good. I have news, anyway.”

Draco swallowed. His grey eyes looked apprehensive. 

“Oh?” he said. 

“Yeah,” Harry said, and barreled forward. “The ministry is going to give you a pre-trial hearing in two months to decide if you need to have a full trial. You can present whatever evidence you want. And a ministry barrister will present evidence against you, but all they’re deciding is whether to go forward with your regular trial. They can do this sooner than a regular trial because they’re not deciding about… well, locking you up or anything. It’s like a miniature version of a full trial. It’s shorter and faster and stuff. And if we can convince them that you have a good case, then they’ll cancel your trial.”

Harry paused to breathe. 

“I see,” Draco said after a moment. He looked overwhelmed. 

“Do you have a barrister? Or a solicitor? I’m not quite clear on the difference,” Harry said. 

“It’s barristers for trials, I think,” Draco said. “And yes, our family has a barrister.”

“Oh. That’s good,” Harry said. 

“Yes,” Draco said, and then they were just standing there, staring at each other again. 

It was strange, having these quiet moments of awkwardness. They’d been at each other’s throats for so long. Harry didn’t quite know what to do when they weren’t fighting. 

“It’s good of you to come all this way to tell me,” Draco said stiffly. 

Was Harry being dismissed? Apparently so. Draco was closing the door, so Harry, feeling extremely dissatisfied, apparated away. 

***

On Friday evening, Harry met up with Ron and Hermione at the Leaky Cauldron. He hadn’t told them anything about Malfoy’s difficulties and all the trouble Harry had been going to to ease them. He wasn’t trying to keep it a secret, exactly. It was just that Ron and his family were grieving the loss of Fred, and it seemed selfish to bring up Malfoy’s problems. Ron and Hermione didn’t want to hear about that, even in the best of circumstances. 

So Harry asked about the joke shop where Ron had started working with George, and Ron complained about difficult customers and Hermione tried to persuade both of them to join her at Hogwarts in the fall. 

“We still need to do our seventh year!” she insisted, while Harry and Ron exchanged uneasy glances. Harry hadn’t decided for sure, but he felt like he just couldn’t think about Hogwarts yet. He was having trouble thinking about the future at all. For so long, his future had been Voldemort: a towering wall in front of him that blocked out all else. With that wall down, all Harry could see was emptiness, a blank white space stretching out over a vast, frighteningly bare horizon. 

They’d just about finished their supper (an assortment of typical pub fare: steak and kidney pie, bangers and mash, and a basket of chips which they’d got to share, though most of the contents had disappeared into Ron’s mouth), when Dean and Seamus walked in with a group of other Hogwarts teens. The mood of the pub quickly turned boisterous and merry. It was a thing that happened sometimes when more of a few of them got together: the giddy bubbling over of relief turned to raucousness as they saw one another and remembered they had survived the war. 

Harry didn’t begrudge them their spontaneous celebrations. It was something that kept people going between the funerals and the hospital visits and the grief. But Harry wasn’t in the mood tonight. He thought he would rather go home and brood while trying to figure out how he could see Draco again. He bid Ron and Hermione a hasty goodbye and then slipped out of the Leaky Cauldron before anyone could stop him. 

Harry stepped out into Diagon Alley. It was dark outside, the air beginning to cool from the warmth of the summer day. Harry heard a shout, and he looked up to see some teenaged boys scuffling a ways down the street. He frowned and turned to go in the opposite direction, when two words caught his ear, spat out as part of a string of garbled insults. 

“…Death Eater…!”

Harry’s head swung around. His eyes narrowed as he reevaluated the scene. 

He had assumed that some blokes were fighting. Now he saw that it was actually just one boy being attacked by all the others. One boy with blond hair so fair, it almost seemed to glow when it caught the light of the nearest lamppost. 

Draco went down, falling heavily to the cobblestone street. One of his attackers kicked him in the stomach. 

Harry was running towards them, wand out and casting furiously before he even realized what he was doing. 

Chapter Text

“He got me a pre-trial hearing,” Draco explained reluctantly when his mother cornered him in the Malfoy library after Harry’s second visit to the manor. “He thinks there’s a possibility they could cancel my full trial.”

“Will he testify for you at your hearing?” Narcissa was standing in front of Draco, who was sitting in an armchair, arms folded and shoulders hunched, curling in on himself. 

“I don’t know,” Draco said. 

“You need to ask him,” Narcissa said. 

“I can’t…” Draco protested weakly. 

“Why not?”

“I can’t just…” Draco shrugged helplessly, hugging himself as if he were cold. “I can’t just ask him for favors, as if he’s a friend. We’re not friends. I don’t… I don’t know where I stand with him. It’s complicated.”

“But you already asked him for help, did you not?” Narcissa pressed. “And he came.”

“I didn’t ask for anything,” Draco said. “I just told him they wanted to put me in Azkaban.”

“And that’s what’s at stake. Draco…” Narcissa stepped closer and Draco shrunk back into the armchair. “This isn’t the time for pride. There’s too much on the line. You realize that, don’t you?”

“I’m aware, Mother,” Draco said, his voice strained. 

“Draco. I promise you your father and I are doing everything we can to keep our family out of Azkaban. But our resources may not be enough. You have something your father and I don’t. It’s in your power to keep our entire family safe.”

There it is, Draco thought. 

“You’re delusional if you think Potter will help Father,” Draco said. 

“Why don’t you invite him to tea?” Narcissa suggested. “We can sit down, just the four of us, and get to know each other.”

Draco was shaking his head. 

“Potter’s not going to let you manipulate him.”

“He owes us,” Narcissa said. “You saved him from the Dark Lord when you gave him your wand. I saved him from the Dark Lord when I lied for him. He would be dead without us. Draco, he owes us! There’s no reason why you can’t ask for help. You have to try!”

“I can’t!” Draco cried, anguished. “It’s Harry Potter! I can’t ask him for anything! Why would he do anything for me? I’ve antagonized him for years, Mother, we supported the Dark Lord! How can I possibly look him in the eye and ask for his help? Why would he ever give it? He despises me! He despises us for following the Dark Lord. He’s not going to help!”

Narcissa knelt in front of Draco, and Draco abruptly stopped talking. His mother put one hand to the side of his face, and Draco looked away, not meeting her gaze. His eyes caught, unwilling, on the tiny golden bat hanging from her left ear. 

“Look at me, Draco,” Narcissa said. 

“Don’t," Draco said. 

“I won’t go back too far. Just his last two visits. Let me judge his reactions for myself. Draco, look at me,” Narcissa said. 

“No,” Draco said, but then he looked at her anyway.  

Legilimens.

She didn’t say the spell out loud, but Draco was also trained in the mind arts, and he knew the moment when she cast. 

He remembered the first time he answered the door at the manor to find Harry standing there. He’d invited him in. Why had he invited him in? Harry didn’t want to come in, to the place where Voldemort had lived, the place where his friend had been tortured and where Harry had nearly been killed. Draco wound up being horrible to Harry even when he was trying to be good, making him come inside that house, to walk those unhallowed halls. Harry had been too polite to refuse him. Or too brave, maybe. He hadn’t wanted Draco to think he was afraid. But Draco should have been more considerate — he never should have asked Harry to come in in the first place. 

So when Harry came knocking a second time, Draco of course did not invite him in. It felt rude standing there blocking the doorway, but Draco knew he was doing the right thing for once. 

Draco and Narcissa stayed there together in the library, unmoving, for a long moment. Finally, Narcissa dropped her hand from Draco’s face. 

“Morgan’s lake, Draco,” Narcissa said (her swears were always proper and a bit old-fashioned). “Whatever are you making such a fuss about?”

“That was a gross violation of my privacy,” Draco said. 

“You can have all the privacy you want once I can be sure you’re safe from Azkaban,” Narcissa said, still kneeling in front of him, looking up at his face. “Draco, this isn’t going to be difficult at all. Potter wants to help you. Can’t you see that?”

Draco was shaking his head again. 

“That doesn’t make any sense. Why would he want to help me?”

His mother gave him a shrewd look that had him hoping fervently that she hadn’t seen what had happened between him and Harry in the headmaster’s office during the battle. He’d tried very hard only to let the specific, requested memories out from behind his Occlumency shields. Unfortunately, his mother was a master of the mind arts and Draco couldn’t really be sure how much she had seen when he let her in his mind. 

“Perhaps Potter is anxious to pay off his debts,” was all Narcissa said. 

Draco didn’t say anything. His mind whirred, calculating the tally of their debts. He’d done it before, but it was something his mind returned to often, calculating and recalculating. 

Harry had almost killed him in sixth year. He owed Draco a debt for that. But then, on the day of the battle, he had swooped in spectacularly, heroically, and plucked Draco out from the clutches of the Fiendfyre. He had saved Draco’s life and canceled out his debt. 

Draco and Narcissa had each, much less spectacularly, much less heroically, come to Harry’s aid to save him from Voldemort. 

But then Harry had also saved Draco from a Death Eater during the battle. What had happened was, Voldemort had summoned all his Death Eaters to his side, and Draco hadn’t come. He’d been too busy trying to keep Harry safe from Crabbe and Goyle, who were not marked Death Eaters and who had decided to go after Harry and his friends. 

He didn’t know if that Death Eater (Draco wasn’t even sure who he was) would have killed him. But he had certainly decided that Draco was a traitor, and Draco definitely would have got hurt if Harry hadn’t come along. 

Then there was the fact that Harry had hidden him for the rest of the battle. That had probably saved Draco’s life again. If those two instances didn’t quite make up for the two debts Harry owed to the Malfoys, there was also the small matter that Draco had spent most of his Hogwarts years using his words to injure Harry and his friends just as badly as he could. 

All in all, he felt their respective debts canceled each other out. He didn’t think Harry owed him anything at that point. 

“Draco,” Narcissa said, interrupting his thoughts. Her face was still very close, her blue eyes watching him intently. “We can’t let them put your father back in Azkaban. You saw what it did to him last time. We can’t let that happen again. Can you imagine seeing him there, knowing you could have prevented it, but that you did nothing? Can you imagine how terrible that would feel?”

Draco already felt terrible. He could imagine the feeling very well indeed. 

***

The next day Draco’s father found him in his bedroom. 

“My son,” Lucius said. “You must know that I would do anything to keep you and your mother out of Azkaban.”

You should have thought about that before you got that madman’s Mark tattooed on your arm, Draco thought sourly. He didn’t say anything though, because the truth was, he knew his father regretted that Mark. Their whole family had paid for his father’s decisions, and Draco knew that Lucius knew he was to blame. 

“You know I’ve spent time in Azkaban,” Lucius said, a light reference to his year in hell. “I know what it’s like. And your mother cannot be allowed to go there. Please, Draco. I’m asking you. Help me keep your mother safe.”

Draco wondered if his parents had planned this together, that each of them would go to him in turn to plead on behalf of the other. It would make them seem more sympathetic that way, to beg him to help the other parent rather than just begging for themselves. 

It was working, too. Of course it was working! They were his parents, and despite everything, Draco loved them. They were all he had. 

But how could he tell Harry that? Harry would never understand. Harry, who saw the world in black and white. Even if Harry decided to help Draco — and Draco still thought that was a pretty big “if,” despite what his mother had said — but even if Harry decided to help Draco, he would surely draw the line at Draco’s parents. 

But he couldn’t just sit back and watch his parents go to Azkaban. He had to do something. And there was only one thing he could do. He was going to have to ask Harry for help. 

Draco put his face in his hands and groaned. 

***

On Friday after supper, Draco went down to the wine cellar. Technically, his parents hadn’t given him permission to go to the wine cellar, but Draco was of age now under wizarding law, and he was going a bit stir-crazy being stuck in the manor with his parents. 

He’d gone to Diagon Alley once after the Battle of Hogwarts. He hadn’t quite realized, at that point, how much things had changed. Then someone spat at him and told him he had some nerve, showing his face when people had died because of him and his family. 

Draco had apparated home without going into any of the shops. 

It didn’t occur to Draco to venture out into Muggle England. It may as well have been a foreign country, as far as Draco was concerned. He didn’t have any of their money, and he didn’t know how to use it, at any rate. He couldn’t understand half the words that came out of Muggles’ mouths. They practically spoke a different language. And the lack of magic made him uncomfortable. 

The result was that Draco had spent nearly all his summer thus far at Malfoy Manor with only his parents for company. And that was how he ended up in the wine cellar, picking out a bottle at random. 

The elf-made wine was bright and sparkling, like drinking sunlight. It was much better than the firewhisky that Blaise used to smuggle into their dorm. It didn’t exactly make Draco feel better about his own situation, but it did dull the feeling of terror that had taken up residence in the back of his mind some time during sixth year, and that hadn’t gone away with the Dark Lord’s death. 

Partway through the bottle, Draco had an epiphany. It was dark out. If he went to Diagon Alley now, people wouldn’t recognize him in the dark. 

Congratulating himself on his clever thinking, Draco took out his wand and apparated. 

Diagon Alley was, for the most part, dark. Unfortunately for Draco, every open shop he passed was lit up, and as he passed one of these shops, he was recognized. 

“Hey, isn’t that Malfoy?” an unfriendly voice said. 

The boys that surrounded Draco had been drinking (just like Draco), and the drink made them bold and aggressive. They shouted things at him for a while, and asked him questions that he had no good answer for. He wanted badly to apparate away, but he was afraid of antagonizing them by pulling out his wand. 

Then one of them hit him in the face, and Draco, dizzy with the wine, fell over. His plan at that point was to curl up with his arms over his head and wait for it to be over. He was outnumbered, and he thought it would only make it worse if he tried to fight back. 

When he saw Harry running towards him like an avenging angel, spells blasting from his wand, his immediate response was panic. Yes, the Diagon Alley boys were going to hurt him, but Harry? Harry was going to kill him. 

Draco made a clumsy attempt at scooting away while still on the ground while Harry shouted. The boys that had surrounded Draco went tumbling backwards, shoved away from him by the force of Harry’s magic. And then Harry was down on his knees right next to Draco, looking at him with that fierce, intense gaze that came so easily to him. Draco flinched back. Everything was happening too quickly for his panicked mind to process. But Harry didn’t hesitate. He seized Draco’s wrist and disapparated with him. 

***

They materialized on the rug of a living room, at the foot of an antique couch with curved, wooden legs. 

“Are you okay? How badly did they hurt you?” Harry asked, and Draco realized, blinking stupidly, that Harry had not come to kill him after all. He had come to rescue him. Again. 

“You’re shaking. Here, let’s get you to the couch,” Harry said, and he put one arm behind Draco’s back and the other arm beneath Draco’s knees, and then he picked him up and deposited him on the couch behind them. Draco lay his head back on the pillow because he felt he really did need to lie down after all that. 

There was a loud crack, and an ancient-looking house elf appeared in the middle of the living room. 

“Harry Potter has brought Draco Malfoy of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black to visit the most venerable walls of his ancestors’ home!” the elf cried out in rapturous tones. 

“Hey Kreacher,” Harry said. “Draco got attacked by some blokes in Diagon. I’m not sure how bad it is. He isn’t saying anything, which is unusual for him.”

“Are you saying I talk too much?” Draco said, rousing himself enough to feel annoyed. 

“Oh good, he can speak,” Harry said, looking down at him. 

“What villains dare attack a noble son of the House of Black?” Kreacher said, coming over next to Harry to peer indignantly at Draco with his large, bulbous eyes. 

“They were a bunch of cowards,” Harry glowered. “It was five against one. I’d like to go back and hex them, teach them a lesson…”

“They suffered under the Dark Lord,” Draco said. “One of them lost his father.”

“How do you know that?” Harry asked. 

“He told me before he hit me,” Draco said. 

“That still doesn’t make it right, what they did,” Harry said, with an impatient shake of his head. “You’re not responsible for everything Voldemort and his Death Eaters did.”

Draco only shrugged. He knew he had plenty of culpability of his own, but he wasn’t going to argue over it now. 

“Did they curse you at all?” Harry asked. 

“They didn’t use any magic,” Draco said. “They just hit and kicked me.”

“The blaggards!” Kreacher wailed. 

“His eye’s already swelling up,” Harry said. “Uh, Kreacher? Do you know any healing magic?”

The house elf grimaced. 

“Kreacher only knows house magic,” he said. “Cooking and cleaning is house elf magic.”

“And apparating inside of Hogwarts, which is supposed to be impossible,” Harry added. 

“Yes. House magic,” Kreacher agreed. 

“I’m not the best at healing, but I guess I could —”

“An ice pack would suffice,” Draco interrupted. “Harry got there before they could do too much damage.”

“Right. I can, er,” Harry started. 

“Kreacher will get an ice pack!” Kreacher announced. He disappeared with another crack, and then reappeared moments later with a cloth-wrapped ice pack which he placed gingerly over Draco’s reddened eye. 

“Draco…” Harry leaned in closer. Draco would have backed away, but he was still lying on the couch, and there was nowhere for him to go. 

“What’s this?” Harry said, frowning, and Draco froze as Harry reached out and tucked Draco’s hair behind his ear just as he’d done at the ministry. 

“What?” Draco said, his mind blank. 

“You haven’t healed your ear,” Harry said. “Your piercing. It’s still there. I thought you were going to ask your mum to fix it.”

“Ah,” Draco said. He could feel his cheeks getting hot. It was a curse, having such a fair complexion. He could never hide what he was feeling. “I, uh, didn’t get around to asking her.”

“Why not?” Harry’s frown deepened. 

“Well…” Draco squirmed. “I just didn’t feel right asking her to heal a tiny hole in my ear that will probably heal on its own, when she still has a tracker in her ear.”

“Oh,” Harry said. “But then why didn’t you let me take you to St. Mungo’s? Hey, why don’t we just go right now? They can heal your bruises too while we’re there.”

“No! No,” Draco said, trying to tamp down on his rising panic. “It’s fine. You don’t need to — I’m fine, really.”

“Why don’t you want to go?” said Harry. He was still just as nosy as he’d been at school. He couldn’t take a hint. 

“There are patients there who were wounded in the Battle,” Draco said, exasperated at Harry for not thinking of this. “There are people there who lost family members to the Death Eaters. It’s indecent for me to show up there. Especially for a tiny, harmless ear piercing.”

Harry scrubbed at his forehead for a moment, thinking. Then he dropped his hand. 

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll fix it.”

“Why does this matter so much to you?” Draco said, wrinkling his nose. “And I thought you said you were pants at healing.”

“I just don’t like that the Ministry did that to you,” Harry said. “Tell me what spell I should use and I’ll do it.”

“You could try episkey,” Draco said, “but it might not work since it’s been a while since my ear was pierced.”

“You should have let me fix it right away,” Harry huffed, but he knelt down at Draco’s side with his wand out. Draco tried not to flinch as Harry pointed his wand at the side of Draco’s head and murmured the incantation. 

“Ow!” Draco pulled away from Harry as his ear flared up with sudden heat. 

“Sorry!” Harry dropped his wand hastily and the heat subsided. “I might’ve given that too much power. I think… I think it worked, though.” He tilted his head, squinting at Draco’s ear. 

“Mirror,” Draco said weakly, holding out one hand. Kreacher was there in an instant, holding up a hand mirror. Draco took it and turned his head to inspect his ear. It had gone very red, but that wouldn’t be permanent. The tiny hole was gone. 

“Well,” Draco said. “I suppose you might have a future as a healer after all.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Harry said, still apologetic. “Um…”

“Would young Draco Malfoy like some refreshment after his ordeal?” Kreacher asked, his bat-like ears flapping hopefully. 

“That would be just the thing. Thank you, Kreacher,” said Draco. He had already eaten dinner, but he was eighteen years old and perpetually hungry. 

“Right away, young Mr. Draco!” Kreacher said. He apparated away, looking ecstatic. 

“So, um,” Harry said. “What were you doing in Diagon?”

Draco sighed. 

“It was stupid to go there, I know.”

“That wasn’t — I was just asking,” Harry said. 

Kreacher popped into the living room, placed a plate of biscuits on the coffee table, moved the coffee table closer to Draco, and popped away again. 

“I just meant, er, did you need to buy something?” Harry asked. “I could pick it up for you.”

Kreacher popped back in with a teapot and teacups, then popped away as quickly as he had come.

“No, I just…” Draco sighed, staring up at the ceiling with his one eye that wasn’t covered with an ice pack. “I just wanted to get out of the house. I hate being there now, after… Well. He lived there, you know.”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “I know.”

Another crack. Kreacher came in and out with a plate of crackers and cheese. 

“I could try to heal your eye?” Harry offered. 

“I think one overpowered healing spell is all I can handle for one night,” Draco said. 

“Did it hurt a lot?” Harry said, abashed. “I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean —”

“Potter,” Draco interrupted. “It’s fine.”

Kreacher reappeared with a tureen of soup and three bowls. He snapped his fingers and the bowls filled with a creamy orange-colored soup. One bowl floated over to Draco, who sat up gingerly, dropping his ice pack, and another floated over to Harry who was sitting on the floor. Kreacher took the third bowl and sat down on the couch next to Draco. He began to eat while Draco looked at him in surprise. 

The Malfoys hadn’t had a house elf since Draco’s second year at Hogwarts, but Draco was pretty sure that house elves were not meant to be seen. They certainly didn’t sit down to eat with their masters. But of course, this was Harry’s elf, and Harry was always going to be the exception. 

“Kreacher remembers when dear Miss Cissy first came to Grimmauld Place with little Master Draco,” Kreacher said in between spoonfuls of soup. “My mistress said that little Draco was the prettiest baby she’d ever seen, apart from young Master Regulus, of course.”

Draco glanced at Harry. He was sure Harry had no interest in hearing about what a pretty baby Draco had been. Actually, Draco had no idea what he was still doing in Harry’s home. Harry had satisfied his conscience and had gotten Draco to safety. Why hadn’t he sent him away yet? Did he want something?

Maybe he wanted another kiss. 

Draco quickly pushed the thought away, annoyed with himself for thinking it. Harry wouldn’t want to kiss him again. He’d let Draco kiss him once because… Well, actually Draco didn’t know why. Maybe he was just being polite? He never used to be polite, but things had changed between them after the incident in the bathroom. 

Draco had wanted to kiss Harry for years, but he had assumed that Harry would kill him if he ever tried. And then Harry nearly did kill him. 

As Draco lay on the bathroom tile, panic seizing his chest as his life bled away before his eyes, one detached thought rose in the back of his mind: If he was going to kill me anyway, I should have at least kissed him first. 

Then Snape came and Draco didn’t die after all, but a year later, it seemed very likely that Harry would die (and maybe Draco too, since there was a battle going on and both sides hated him at that point). Draco decided he wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice, and so he grabbed Harry and kissed him. 

He had no idea why Harry had allowed it. He supposed Harry had had more important things on his mind at the moment (killing dark lords and such). He couldn’t be bothered to get upset over… whatever was going on with Draco. 

But that was no longer the case. Harry would never allow such a thing to happen twice. Draco could not kiss him again, no matter how cozy and attractive he looked right now, eating his soup cross-legged on the floor of his living room. 

Draco sighed inwardly and ate a chocolate biscuit. 

“You’ve got bags under your eyes,” Harry observed. “Are you sleeping okay?”

“Not — not exactly,” Draco said. Now Harry was pointing out that he looked bad. Lovely. 

“I have trouble sleeping sometimes too,” Harry said. 

Draco shook his head as if shaking off a persistent insect. 

“I wake up easily,” he said. “It was easier to sleep at Hogwarts, but at the manor… Logically, I know he’s gone. I know they’re all gone. But I’ll hear a floorboard creak, and I’ll think it’s him coming for me, or my aunt, or, or… Greyback…” Draco shuddered. 

“You could stay here tonight,” Harry offered. 

“What?” Draco’s eyes snapped up to Harry’s face, startled. 

“We have plenty of extra bedrooms. He could stay, couldn’t he?” 

This last part was directed at Kreacher. He seemed to be asking his permission, which was bewildering to Draco. Wizards didn’t ask their house elves for permission to invite guests over. 

“Draco Malfoy must stay,” Kreacher agreed readily while munching cheese and crackers. “Kreacher will be honored to host him. And he must stay for breakfast in the morning.”

“It’s already late, and maybe you’ll sleep better here,” Harry said, turning back to Draco. “Anyway, you probably shouldn’t be apparating again in your condition.”

“I couldn’t possibly impose,” Draco said. 

“It’s fine, we don’t mind,” Harry said, insistent. 

“It’s — I can’t just stay at your house, Potter,” Draco protested. 

“Oh, it’s not my house, it’s Kreacher’s,” Harry said, “and he would love for you to stay because you’re part of the Black family. So really. You should stay.”

“The house is… Kreacher’s?” Draco blinked. 

“Harry Potter is not the brightest wizard,” Kreacher sighed. “But he has Kreacher to look after him.”

“I freed Kreacher and gave him the house,” Harry explained. “He has more right to it than I do, really. He’s lived here all his life.”

“You freed…” Draco stared first at Harry and then at Kreacher. He’d expected the elf to be wearing some sort of pillowcase toga, so that’s what he had seen, but now that he looked closer, he realized the dark blue garment Kreacher was wearing was actually a tiny dressing gown. Striped pajama pants poked out from beneath the dressing gown, and the elf’s feet were clad in brown moccasin-like slippers. 

“But… you can’t free elves,” Draco said uncertainly. “It makes them miserable… Doesn’t it?”

“It can,” Harry said, calmly stirring his tea, “but Kreacher and I talked about it. For most elves, there’s two parts to it. There’s the separation from the wizarding family, and the separation from the house. Both of those can cause a lot of distress. However, Kreacher’s wizarding family has already died. And I haven’t separated him from his house. So he’s fine being free.”

“Kreacher has a wizarding family. It’s Harry Potter,” Kreacher corrected. 

“Kreacher’s been kind enough to let me rent a room from him,” Harry said. “I’m his housemate. And he’s my landlord.”

“Your house elf is your landlord,” Draco repeated faintly. 

“He’s a very generous landlord,” Harry said. “He likes to cook, and he shares his food.”

“Harry Potter buys the groceries,” Kreacher said. 

Harry and Kreacher carried on eating as if they had not said anything remarkable. Draco had to finish his soup to process what he had just heard. 

“I suppose — I suppose that makes sense,” he said hesitantly. “Since house elves generate from the magic of the old wizarding houses, and since they’re so closely tied to their house, I suppose it makes sense that you could free an elf without ill effect as long the elf stayed in his house.”

“Wait, generate?” Harry paused with a cracker in his hand. “What does that mean?”

“Well…” Draco glanced at Kreacher. He wasn’t sure if it was rude to discuss this in front of him. “You know where house elves come from, don’t you?”

“Um, no?” Harry also looked over at the ancient little elf. “Kreacher? What’s he talking about?”

“Wizards is making more wizards by having babies, yes?” Kreacher said, dunking a cracker in his soup. 

“Okay?” Harry looked very confused. 

“House elves isn’t having babies,” Kreacher said, as if this explained everything. 

“Erm?” Harry said. 

“House elves are a product of the magic that builds up in a wizarding house over the years,” Draco tried to explain. “It takes time for enough magic to build up, which is why you’ll only find house elves in the older houses.”

“Huh,” Harry said. “Is that right, Kreacher?”

“Draco Malfoy didn’t fall out of the post owl’s sack,” Kreacher said cryptically, still focused mostly on his soup. 

“That’s why you’ll usually only see one house elf per house,” Draco said. “They live with wizards, but not with other house elves.”

“But Hogwarts has lots of elves,” Harry pointed out. 

“Yes, but Hogwarts is very old, and has always had hundreds of witches and wizards living there. All that magic plus all that time? The result is lots of house elves. But Hogwarts is an exception to the rule.”

Draco realized suddenly that Harry was looking at him intently, and he stopped talking, feeling self-conscious. 

“You knew Dobby,” Harry said quietly. 

“Dobby?” Draco said, surprised. Then he remembered. “That’s right! Dobby came to help you at the manor! Where is he now?” He looked around as if Dobby might be hiding in the shadows. 

“He died,” Harry said, still watching him closely. “Bellatrix threw a knife right before we apparated.”

“Oh,” Draco said, deflating. There was an awkward silence as Draco fumbled for something to say. “Did… did you know him well?”

“Yes,” Harry said seriously. “He was one of the bravest, most loyal friends I’ve ever had.”

That was not what Draco had been expecting. Wizards didn’t talk about house elves like that. But Kreacher was sitting next to him on the couch, finishing his tea, so maybe Draco should not have been so surprised. 

“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen him,” Draco finally said. He’d been under the impression that Dobby had died years ago, sometime during his second year at Hogwarts, but he wasn’t going to tell Harry that. He didn’t think it would be helpful at that moment. 

“He was always good to me,” Draco said instead. “He used to let me help in the kitchen.”

Harry blinked at him. 

“…You helped in the kitchen?”

“When my tutors were gone and my parents were busy, yes. He used to let me pour in the ingredients and stir the pots. I’m sure I was more of a hindrance than a help. But… it got a bit lonely at the manor, I suppose. And Dobby always listened to me. I used to talk his ear off…”

Draco looked down into his teacup, feeling suddenly very sad. 

“Dobby was a bad elf,” Kreacher said, standing up. “Kreacher will get Master Regulus’ room ready for Draco Malfoy.”

***

The amount of green in Regulus’ room was almost comical. The walls were painted green, the carpet was green, the bedding and the canopy were green. A green banner with Slytherin’s crest hung from one wall. Draco might have laughed, if it weren’t for the other wall. The wall opposite from the one with the banner was covered in newspaper clippings. It was like a memorial to the First War: the headlines all spoke of Death Eaters, the Dark Lord, and murder, while the images showed glowing Dark Marks hanging ghoulishly over burning homes, dark figures with white masks brandishing their wands. Draco wondered why Harry hadn’t taken the newspaper clippings down. 

He knew a bit about Regulus, who was his mother’s younger cousin. Regulus had joined the Dark Lord as a teenager and had died young. The details around his death were unclear, but it was generally thought that he’d tried to defect, and that the Dark Lord had quietly had him killed for it. 

The story was far too close to home for Draco’s liking. He was well aware of how close he’d come to repeating Regulus’ story with his own life. 

He didn’t know how he was going to sleep in this room. 

But somehow, the next thing he knew, he was waking up. Daylight was streaming in through the green curtains covering the tall window. Draco groped for his silver pocket watch on the bedside table and was abashed to see that it was already eleven. He’d slept in far later than he’d meant to.

Draco pushed his blankets aside and sat up. He discovered slippers waiting for him on the floor, so he put those on. Then he went to the bathroom that was conveniently attached to his bedroom. (The towels, rugs, and tile were all green, of course.)

When he came out, he went to look for his clothes from the day before, but there was a fresh set of robes set out for him instead. They were rich and handsome with fancy silver clasps down the front. They were also about two decades out of date, but Draco thought that was just about enough time for them to be coming back in style, so he put them on. Then he went to inspect his reflection in the full length mirror. 

He couldn’t put it off any longer, he thought as he stared at his own pale, thin face in the mirror. He couldn’t go home without asking Potter to testify for his family. That was the reason he’d stayed the night, after all. He hadn’t gathered up the nerve to ask Potter last night, so he’d put it off and told himself he’d do it in the morning, after he got a good night’s sleep. 

It was morning now. Nearly noon. His mother would be very disappointed in him if he stayed all this time and didn’t manage to convey their request to Potter. 

Draco sighed, turned away from the mirror, and opened the bedroom door. There was a hallway and then a staircase, all paneled with a dark wood. Draco vaguely remembered coming up this way the night before. He descended the stairs carefully, feeling like an intruder. At the bottom of the stairs, he turned into the first room he saw. 

“Draco Malfoy is wearing Master Regulus’ robes!” cried Kreacher, and to Draco’s horror, the ancient house elf burst into tears. 

“Hey, you’re up,” said Harry, seemingly unbothered by Kreacher’s outburst. The two of them were in the living room, and they appeared to be sitting there waiting for Draco to show up. 

“I, ah, didn’t intend to sleep quite so late,” Draco said, abashed. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Harry said easily. “Does this mean you slept okay last night?”

“I suppose it did,” Draco said reluctantly. It felt a bit like losing, for some reason, to admit that to Potter. 

“Oh, good,” Potter said, standing up. “Let’s get you some breakfast.”

“I should really get going…” Draco said. 

“Young Draco must eat before he goes!” Kreacher declared. He seemed to have recovered from his tears. 

“I don’t think —” Draco started, but then Kreacher came up to him and actually gave him a shove (at about knee-height) towards the kitchen. 

And then Harry bumped Draco’s shoulder as he pushed past him. He looked back at him and grinned, and said, “C’mon, Draco,” and so Draco did. 

Draco sat at the kitchen table and watched in a sort of daze as Harry bustled about the kitchen, cracking eggs and adding strips of bacon to a sizzling frying pan. Kreacher got Draco a cup of tea, but then he also got a cup of tea for himself, and then he sat at the table next to Draco and drank it. Draco was very confused. He thought house elves loved to cook? But he felt stupid continually questioning Harry’s arrangement with the house elf, so he just drank his tea and watched Harry. Harry seemed focused on his frying pans, so it seemed safe to do that. 

Draco had known for years that he liked looking at Harry. Back in fifth year, he’d been terrified that Harry would realize, so he’d been as awful as he could to Harry to throw him off the scent. He’d hoped he would get over it in time, but here he was, eighteen years old and still unable to stop staring at Harry. 

Harry’s back was to him, and Draco’s eyes raked up and down his slim form. He’d always been small and skinny, thin and underfed. The hungry look he had about him had lessened over the years, but now, after his year on the run from Voldemort, it was back with a vengeance. No wonder he was making so much bacon…

Harry turned around and Draco started, embarrassed to be caught staring. 

“Here you are,” Harry said, passing him a plate. 

Harry served up eggs, bacon, and toast. Draco ate and tried not to look at Harry too much now that Harry was sitting at the table and facing him. Harry ate too and didn’t say anything. Kreacher crunched happily on strips of bacon. 

Draco looked up at one point and found himself making eye contact with Harry. He immediately looked away, but then he began to wonder. Was Harry staring at him too? No, that was presumptuous of him. Harry was only looking at him because Draco was the only other human in the room. That was all. 

Draco needed to ask Harry to speak at his family’s hearings. He needed to ask before he left. His mother would be disappointed in him if he did not. Also, his whole family would probably be sent to Azkaban if Harry did not intervene. He should ask now. There was no time like the present. 

“Thank you for breakfast,” Draco said, pushing back his chair and standing up. “I really do need to get home now. My mother will worry if she realizes I didn’t come home last night.”

“Oh — okay,” Harry said. “You’re welcome to come back anytime, you know.”

“Oh?” Draco said, feeling thrown off balance. 

“You know, if you can’t sleep at the manor,” Harry said. “You can sleep here any time you like.”

“Oh,” Draco said, uncertain. “That’s very generous of you.”

“Well,” Harry said, and shrugged. 

Ask him, Draco thought. Ask him now. 

“See you around, Potter,” Draco said out loud. He disapparated. 

Chapter Text

Several days later, Harry sighed and slumped down on the couch in his living room. 

“Do you think Draco will come back?” he asked. 

“No,” said Kreacher, who was sitting on an armchair attempting to crochet. 

“That’s what I thought,” Harry said gloomily. 

“If Harry Potter wishes to marry Draco Malfoy, he must court him properly,” Kreacher said. 

“Marry!” Harry yelped, sitting up straight. “Who said anything about getting married?!”

“Harry Potter wishes for Draco to come live at Grimmauld Place and stay here forever and ever, yes?” Kreacher said. 

“Well,” Harry squirmed in his seat. “If he’s here, then I know where he is and I know he’s safe. That’s all.”

“Kreacher would like to have another tenant,” Kreacher said, doing something to the yarn with his crochet hook that Harry was sure could not be right. “Kreacher would like to have a member of the House of Black as a tenant.”

“Draco probably doesn’t want to come live here,” Harry said. “He has Malfoy Manor and everything.”

“Young Draco’s parents may live for another hundred years yet,” Kreacher said placidly, his large, orb-like eyes fixed on the mess of yarn that he was steadily adding to on his lap. “Draco will not want to spend the next hundred years living with his parents. He will do well to come live in the ancestral home of the Blacks. And the easiest way to convince him to do that is for Harry Potter to marry him.”

“I don’t even know if I want to date him, let alone marry him,” Harry said. 

“Harry Potter should invite Draco to dinner,” Kreacher said. “That will help him decide. Kreacher will cook.”

***

“Do you think it’s too soon for me to ask someone on a date?” Harry asked. He, Hermione, and Ron were all hanging out in Ron’s bedroom at the Burrow. Harry was sitting on the floor with his back to Ron’s bed. 

“Not at all!” Hermione said, perking up and looking, in Harry’s opinion, far too interested. “Did you have someone in mind?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Harry deflected. “I was just thinking, you know, I haven’t really had a lot of time to date properly, what with everything going on. But I have time now. But then I was thinking, lots of people are still suffering from the war, and maybe they’re… I don’t know. Not ready to date yet?”

“I think the opposite is true for a lot of people,” Hermione said. “People are tired of being scared and unhappy. The war is over! People want to celebrate. They want to go out and have fun. And there’s no reason why you shouldn’t do that too.”

“The worst she can do is say no,” Ron added. 

“I guess that’s true,” Harry said. 

“Only, Harry,” Ron said, wincing. “Have you, er, spoken to Ginny lately?”

“Ginny?” Harry said blankly. 

“I wasn’t sure if you were aware,” Ron said reluctantly. “But she’s, er, seeing someone.”

“Yeah?” Harry said. 

“It’s… Blaise Zabini,” Ron said, wincing again. “Apparently she took up with him at Hogwarts while we were gone. I know, it sounds bad, but she claims he and his mother never supported Voldemort, and she said he actually helped protect everyone who was hiding in the Room of Requirement last year. He was a prefect, you know, since Malfoy stepped down in sixth year.”

“Oh,” Harry said, surprised. He hadn’t seen that coming. “I reckon Ginny knows what she’s about. If she thinks he’s alright, he’s probably alright.”

“You don’t mind?” Hermione said, exchanging a glance with Ron. 

“Why, just because he’s a Slytherin?” Harry said. 

“And one of Malfoy’s cronies,” Ron added. 

“Well…” Harry said, and then forgot to say anything else because he’d started thinking about Draco. 

“We just thought you might have been thinking about asking Ginny out,” Hermione finally said. 

“Oh!” Harry said. It was true that he’d noticed her from time to time back in sixth year. He thought most boys had — she’d gotten aggressively attractive around the year she turned fifteen. But from the time Harry had cursed Draco in the bathroom, Draco had pushed Ginny entirely out of Harry’s mind. 

“Ginny’s great, but I think of her more like a little sister,” Harry said. 

“Really? So who are you thinking of asking?” Hermione leaned forward, curious once more. 

“I’m not really sure yet,” Harry hedged. “If I find someone who says yes, I’ll let you know.”

He wasn’t trying to keep secrets from his friends. But he knew they wouldn’t be thrilled to hear that it was Draco Malfoy he was thinking of asking on a date, and since he didn’t even know if Draco would agree, there was no point in getting his friends upset over nothing. 

***

Kreacher insisted on making the invitation himself, using golden ink and thick parchment, and writing in large, looping, pretentious letters.

“I don’t know, I feel like it’s a bit… formal,” Harry said, inspecting the invitation doubtfully. 

To Mr. Draco Malfoy,

Your presence is requested…

“In the early stages of courting, it is proper to also invite the parents of one’s intended,” Kreacher croaked. 

“I’m not asking Draco’s parents to dinner,” Harry said, making a face. 

“Very well, Kreacher will chaperone,” Kreacher said. “Salazar knows Kreacher has done it before.”

“Um, okay,” Harry said. “Also we don’t have an owl, so I suppose we’ll have to pop down to the owl post —”

“Kreacher will take it,” the elf said, and he disapparated before Harry could complain further about the invitation. 

***

Draco wrote back to say he would come. Harry and Kreacher bartered and fretted over the menu, giving, in Harry’s opinion, far too much thought to the whole thing. And then finally, the evening of the dinner arrived. Kreacher got a bit manic in the kitchen, but he did take a break to poke his head out and stare down Harry. 

“Draco Malfoy will be here any minute. Why is Harry Potter not dressed?”

“I am dressed!” Harry protested, gesturing at his jeans and t-shirt. 

“Dressed like a street-living Muggle,” Kreacher said. “Go dress for dinner!”

“I’m not dressing up for Draco; that’s weird,” Harry said. 

Kreacher glared at him. Harry glared right back. But then a timer went off, so Kreacher ran back into the kitchen and lost that argument. 

A couple minutes later, the fireplace flared. Harry stood up straighter and strode briskly into the living room. Draco was standing on the mat in front of the fire, cleaning the ash off his shoes with his wand. He had dressed up, Harry realized. He was wearing formal dark blue robes with multiple layers, a stiff collar, and lots of buttons down the front. The robes didn’t seem to fit him quite right, though. They were too broad around the shoulders, too wide. Harry could remember clearly the picture Draco had cut back at the Yule Ball, his dress robes perfectly tailored around his shoulders and his waist. But it had clearly been a while since Draco had been able to get anything fancy tailored. He’d probably grown too tall for his last dress robes. Was he wearing his father’s?

“Hey, uh.” Harry cleared his throat, realizing he’d been staring. “Dinner’s through here. I think Kreacher’s ready for us.”

Harry led the way to the dining room, pausing for a moment in the doorway to take in the scene. 

Kreacher had traded out the usual large, oval table for a round table for two. If he was still planning to chaperone, he apparently wasn’t going to do it from inside the room. 

Grimmauld Place was typically lit by oil lamps, but the three lamps that usually burned in the dining room were nowhere to be seen. Instead there were two tall candlesticks standing side by side in the middle of the table. Overhead, there was a small chandelier that Harry had never seen before, and it was lit with a dozen more candles. The whole thing gave the impression of an intimate, romantic dinner. 

Harry should never have let Kreacher be in charge of this. He was going to scare Draco off before they even sat down to eat. 

“I brought this,” Draco said, and Harry saw he was holding a bottle of wine which he now held up for Harry to take. 

“Oh! No thanks,” Harry said. 

Draco just stood there, holding the bottle out and staring at Harry. He looked unprepared for this scenario. 

“Um, but you can go ahead and have some,” Harry said. 

Draco frowned, but he slowly lowered his arm. He set the bottle of wine to one side of the table and he and Harry sat down across from each other. 

Kreacher appeared in the doorway as if summoned, carrying two bowls of cauliflower soup with melted Stilton and carmelized onions. He placed one bowl in front of Draco and the other in front of Harry. 

“Thank you, Kreacher,” Harry said. “Aren’t you going to eat with us?”

“Kreacher is busy,” Kreacher croaked, and he disappeared back into the kitchen. 

“Well,” Harry said, and then he couldn’t think of anything else to say, so he picked up his spoon. Draco didn’t say anything either, so they ate their soup in silence. 

Harry wondered what sort of monitoring spell Kreacher had placed on the table, because the moment he and Draco were both finished with their soup, Kreacher was back again, whisking away their bowls and then bringing out the main course: an impressive beef Wellington accompanied by roasted asparagus and mashed potatoes. 

Harry had argued that the beef Wellington was too complicated, and that they should choose something simpler (he didn’t want Kreacher to get overwhelmed, and he didn’t know enough to help with such a fancy dish). But the more Harry expressed his doubts, the more Kreacher had dug his heels in. Now, looking at the platter in front of them — the beef tenderloin was coated in a mushroom mixture and layered with pâté and prosciutto, and then the entire affair was wrapped up in puff pastry — Harry had to admit that the result was impressive. Kreacher clearly knew what he was doing. 

Unfortunately, Harry did not. 

“Er, do you like asparagus?” Harry said, making a flailing attempt at conversation. 

“Yes,” Draco said. 

“Oh,” Harry said. “Kreacher picked it, but I wasn’t sure.”

“Hmm,” Draco said, and the conversation petered out again. 

This was such a huge mistake. What had Harry been thinking? He and Draco didn’t talk! They only ever fought. Did he think that, just because they’d kissed a month or so ago, that now they could suddenly get along? Harry was so stupid. He ate his beef Wellington (it was delicious) and brooded. 

Draco didn’t say anything else as they ate. He kept glancing at his bottle of wine. He hadn’t opened it. Harry didn’t know why. He’d told him he could, so if he wanted it, why didn’t he just drink it? He’d never wanted Harry’s permission to do anything before. 

Harry picked up his knife and sawed through his asparagus more aggressively than he needed to. The knife squeaked unpleasantly against his plate, but Draco didn’t say anything, and they finished the main course in silence. 

Kreacher came again and cleared away the used dishes and the leftovers. Then he snapped his fingers and a Battenberg cake appeared in the center of the table. Harry had suggested treacle tart, but Kreacher had decided on the pink and yellow checkered sponge cake, which was assembled with apricot jam between the colored layers of sponge. The whole thing was then rolled up in a thin layer of white marzipan. 

Kreacher cut a slice for each of them before disappearing again. Harry picked up his fork and lifted a bite of cake to his mouth. 

“Potter,” Draco said suddenly. 

Harry paused, his fork hovering in the air. 

“This wine is a 1351 vintage, from the later years of the Black Death.” Draco was once again holding up the bottle of wine he’d brought. 

“Oh, gross.” Harry made a face. “You brought plague wine?”

“It’s not going to give you the plague!” Draco looked insulted, even though he was the one who had brought the plague wine. “Even if it did — which it won’t — we have potions for that now. It’s hardly a concern. I mentioned the year because it’s a rare vintage — they didn’t make very many of these, you know. Too busy dying.”

“You’re really selling it,” Harry said drily. 

“Come on, Potter, I want to try it,” Draco said.

“Go ahead! I’m not stopping you.” Harry waved a vague arm towards Draco’s bottle.

“You have to drink too,” Draco said.

“No, I don’t.”

“I’m not drinking alone.”

“Then don’t drink!”

Draco pressed his lips together in a thin line, frustrated.

“Why won’t you drink my wine?” he said. “Do you think I’m going to poison you?” 

“Of course not,” Harry said, purposefully not thinking about the time Ron almost died after drinking wine that Draco had poisoned. It wasn’t like Draco had meant to target Ron…

“So drink it then,” Draco said.

“No,” Harry said stubbornly. “I don’t drink.”

“What? Not ever?” Draco’s nose wrinkled. “Perfect Potter, so much better than the rest of us, too good even to enjoy a drink?”

“I’m not perfect, and no one knows that better than you,” Harry scowled.

“So drink the wine!” Draco said.

“I don’t have to do something just because you tell me to.”

Draco glared. He looked simultaneously helpless and furious.

“It’s an insult if you won’t drink the wine your guest brings to your home,” he said.

“It’s not like I’ve never insulted you before,” Harry replied.

Draco pulled out his wand and vanished the water in Harry’s glass. Harry scowled, grabbed for his own wand, and refilled it. Draco vanished it again.

“Stop that,” Harry said, pointing his wand at Draco. Draco froze, staring wide-eyed at Harry’s wand.

“I didn’t mean…” Harry said, dropping his wand arm hastily.

“Bet you’re really loving this, aren’t you,” Draco said bitterly.

“What — ?”

“You get to order me around, tell me what to do, and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

“I’m not — ordering you around — ” Harry began.

“Why else would you invite me to dinner at your house? You know I can’t say no. You know I have to sit here, playing nice and doing whatever you say, or you’ll send me and my parents to Azkaban.”

Harry stared at Draco, listening to the words coming out of his mouth, and he had a sudden realization. 

At the Battle of Hogwarts, Draco had followed him around, meek and terrified. And he hadn’t really changed since then. He’d followed Harry around the ministry in much the same way, quiet and acquiescent. For Harry, the war had ended with the Battle of Hogwarts. It was over for him; he’d been glad to put it behind him. But the war wasn’t over for Draco. He wasn’t out of danger yet. 

That’s why he’d been acting the way he had, so subdued and polite and agreeable. He was still scared. Terrified, even. That wasn’t the real Draco. The real Draco was sitting in front of him now, sneering at him and practically spitting like a cat with its fur on end. 

Godric, Harry had missed this Draco. 

“You’re not ‘playing nice’ now, are you, but I’m still going to speak for you at your hearing,” Harry said. “You don’t have to be polite to me. I don’t care. I’m not letting them put you in Azkaban.”

Draco’s expression faltered for a moment, but then his eyes hardened again and his lip curled. 

“Sure, you’ll keep me out of Azkaban for your amusement. Can’t watch me grovel for you if I’m locked up, can you? But you won’t speak for my parents. You’ll let them get locked away — You’ll punish me by punishing them —”

“For Merlin’s sake, Draco,” Harry said, exasperated. “Is that what’s bothering you? Fine, I’ll speak for your parents too.”

Draco’s face went completely blank. 

“You will?”

“Yes!” Harry said. “You mum did save my life. I suppose I owe it to her. Though I’m not sure what I can say about your dad. I’m not going to lie or anything, mind.”

“That’s — that’s fine,” Draco said, recovering. “We only need you to point out a few facts, and then tell the Wizengamot you support probation and home arrest for him. I — I’m not making excuses for him. But he hasn’t killed anyone. I’m not saying he doesn’t share any blame, but — He didn’t kill anyone directly. And I don’t know if you know this, but he hasn’t even had a wand for about a year now. He didn’t fight at the Battle of Hogwarts. Neither of my parents did. They were there, but they were both wandless. I had my mother’s wand at the time.”

“Yeah, I know,” Harry said.

“You do?” Draco looked like he hardly dared to hope that Harry would believe his story.

“Yeah, I saw your parents during the battle. They were frantic to get to you. I think I can honestly say they weren’t supporting Voldemort at that point. They were just desperate to keep you safe.”

“Oh,” Draco said, and he looked away quickly, his pale cheeks flushing pink.

Harry considered Draco, sitting there across the table from him. He was still upset, Harry could tell, even though he’d run out of things to shout at Harry about. He’d clearly been holding a lot of things inside for a very long time, and he was finally starting to let some things out. That was good. Harry wanted to be someone who made Draco feel safe enough to shout. 

“Hey, let’s go,” Harry said, standing up. 

“What?” Draco said. 

“I wanna go flying. You coming?”

“But… we didn’t eat the cake…”

“It’ll keep. Hey, Kreacher?” Harry stepped out into the hall and swung around the corner to poke his head into the kitchen. The house elf was sitting on a child-size armchair sipping a cup of tea while the dishes scrubbed themselves vigorously in the bubbles in the sink.

“Dinner was delicious. You’re a brilliant chef,” Harry said. 

“Harry Potter doubted Kreacher,” Kreacher said, shaking his head sorrowfully. 

“I didn’t!” Harry protested. “But also, we’re going out now, but we’re coming back, so we’ll eat the cake later tonight, okay?”

Kreacher’s large, bulbous eyes narrowed. 

“Harry Potter did not like the cake?”

“No, Kreacher, I —”

“Kreacher spent hours on that cake.”

“We’re just going to —”

“Kreacher baked the cake. And sliced the cake. And put it back together again.”

“Yes, it’s very impressive —”

“And Harry Potter hates Kreacher’s cake.”

“Kreacher!” Harry hollered. 

“Yes?”

“We really want to eat the cake. Just as soon as we get back from flying, yeah?”

“Very well. Kreacher will not feed the cake to the doxies.”

“No, definitely don’t do that,” Harry said. 

Back in the dining room, Draco was looking distressed. 

“I’m not dressed for flying,” he said. 

“Maybe Regulus has something that would work?” Harry said. “Or you could borrow some of my things?”

Draco went pink again at that suggestion. 

“I’ll check Regulus’ room,” he mumbled. 

He came back down the stairs some time later in a short, knee-length sports robe paired with tan-colored trousers. The robe was far from the latest style, but it would allow Draco to move freely on a broom. 

“Here you are,” Harry said, handing Draco one of the two brooms he’d been holding. 

“Where’s the Firebolt?” Draco asked, eyeing the older model Nimbus in Harry’s hands. 

“Gone,” Harry shrugged. “Lost it last summer. Haven’t got around to getting a new broom, but I found these in the house. Sirius and Regulus’ old brooms from school, I reckon.”

“Oh.” Draco looked down at his broom, and Harry could practically see the cloud of gloom descending on him. 

“Come on. Side-along?” Harry said quickly, holding out his arm. 

Draco hesitated. 

“You know I’m not exactly popular in the magical world at the moment,” he said. 

Harry shook his head. 

“It’ll be fine where we’re going. You know I don’t like people staring at me.”

“Right…” Draco said, because he did know. He’d used that knowledge to harass Harry often enough over the years. 

Draco’s hand landed on Harry’s arm and Harry disapparated them with a faint pop. 

They came out again in front of an unremarkable grey warehouse sitting in a line of other warehouses. 

“What is this?” Draco said, looking around. “Storage units?”

“Yeah. Alohomora,” Harry said, pointing his wand at the bolt on the door. The bolt snapped open and Harry turned the doorknob. 

“That’s it?” Draco said. “It’s only protected as far as an Alohomora?”

“That’s just to keep out the Muggles.” Harry pushed open the door and passed through into a dark hallway, Draco following behind him. 

“Lumos,” Harry said, lighting their way as they passed door after door until Harry found the one he was looking for. He touched the point of his wand to the keyhole beneath the doorknob, and the metal plating around the doorknob shuddered. Two eyes blinked, looking up at them over the doorknob. Beneath the doorknob, the keyhole opened into a mouth, making the doorknob appear as a large, round nose. 

“Evening to you, chappies,” the doorknob man said.

“I solemnly swear I am up to no good,” Harry said.

“Always a pleasure, Mr. Potter,” said the doorknob man, and the door swung open.

“That was the password?” Draco said, his eyebrows rising.

“There isn’t really a password,” Harry said. “The door recognizes my voice and my face.”

“That’s no good against Polyjuice,” Draco pointed out.

“This isn’t Gringotts; it’s just a rental. Come on…” 

Harry went through the door. He watched as Draco stepped through behind him, his head tilting back and his eyes widening as he took in the view.

From the outside, the warehouse had appeared to be only one storey tall. It was long, but divided into many sections as evidenced by all the doors along the hallway. Harry’s section of the warehouse should not have been larger than a good-sized living room. But stepping into Harry’s storage unit did not feel like stepping into a living room. It felt more like stepping outside. Not the grey, paved over outside of the commercial district they had just come from, but rather an idyllic outside, with blue sky and green grass and the gentlest of breezes that carried a faint scent of flowers. 

The main attraction of the space was the regulation-sized Quidditch pitch, with the three tall goal hoops set on posts at either end of the field. Set around the pitch, there was a racing track and obstacle course, with various multi-colored hoops and poles set out for flyers to dodge or zoom through, as the case might be. 

“The ceiling and walls are charmed, I suppose?” Draco said, taking in the sight. “Like the ceiling in the Great Hall at Hogwarts?”

“Sort of, except that the ceiling at Hogwarts mimics the actual sky outside,” Harry said. “This one doesn’t change. That means the magic isn’t as complicated, I suppose, but we always have good weather here. You ready?”

“Seeker’s match?” Draco eyed him warily, but Harry shook his head. 

“Not today. Not right now. Today let’s just fly.”

Harry mounted his broom and kicked off into the air. He zoomed onto the racetrack and started zipping around poles, flattening himself along his broom handle to hurtle through hoops. From the corner of his eye, he saw Draco following, slightly behind and to his left. 

The Nimbus Harry was using wasn’t anywhere close to the caliber of his old Nimbus 2000, let alone his Firebolt. But it added to the challenge, using an older broom. You had to work harder and pay more attention, since the broom was less responsive and less precise in its movements. 

When Harry tired of the obstacles, he flew up higher, bypassing all of them, and then he simply flew and flew around the course, gaining speed and going as fast as the old broom would let him. Harry squinted into the wind, the air rushing past him and blowing back his hair. 

Suddenly, his broom began to slow. Harry frowned down at his broom handle. Were the charms on the old Nimbus wearing off? Would they give out entirely, dropping him out of the sky like a stone?

Harry looked back over his shoulder. Draco was right behind him, flat against his broom with one arm outstretched, his face going red with the effort. He was holding onto the twigs of Harry’s broom, just like he’d done in one of their matches back at Hogwarts. 

“Cheater!” Harry said, pulling a look of mock outrage. Draco took advantage of Harry’s distraction to yank on his broom with a great heave, knocking Harry momentarily off balance. Draco shot ahead in the seconds it took Harry to right himself. 

Some dozen laps later, Harry landed on the grass of the Quidditch pitch, tumbling off his broom and collapsing onto his back. Draco landed nearby and sat down a few feet away. They stayed that way for a while, catching their breath. Harry stared straight up at the fluffy white clouds drifting slowly by, but he could feel Draco’s eyes on him. 

“I don’t drink because drinking makes me feel like I’m under the Imperius,” Harry said. 

“Oh!” Draco said, and he sounded surprised. He was quiet for a moment, but then he spoke again. “I’ve only been under the Imperius the once, in Moody’s class. I — well, I thought it felt pretty good, actually.”

“Yeah, too good,” Harry said darkly. “Like everything’s just fine, and there’s nothing to worry about. That’s how you know something’s wrong.”

“Are you alright, Potter?” Draco asked lightly, quirking an eyebrow at him. “That’s kind of the point of alcohol. To make all the bad things fade away.”

“It’s a lie though,” Harry said, shaking his head. “The bad things are still there. And when I drink, I feel like — like someone’s trying to get something past me. Like there’s something important that someone doesn’t want me to see, and they're taking over my mind, trying to control what I think and what I do… It makes me crazy, is all. If I start, you know, drinking, and then I start feeling the effects of, of alcohol, then… well, I start to panic. I start trying to fight it, to throw it off like it’s the Imperius.”

“So you’re a violent drunk,” Draco said solemnly. 

“Well,” was all Harry said in reply. 

“They said — back in fourth year — they said you threw off the Imperius Curse,” Draco said, and Harry could hear the restrained curiosity in his voice. 

“Yeah,” Harry said. 

“You can throw it off?”

“Yeah.”

“Typical,” Draco said, shaking his head. He sounded vaguely disgusted. 

They were quiet again for a while. Harry pulled one knee up to stretch, and then the other. 

“How long have you been renting a storage unit Quidditch pitch?” Draco asked. 

“Not long. Just since this summer. It was Oliver’s idea. He wants me to get back into shape so I can play for his team. They rent a couple of the units here. Oliver plays for Puddlemere, did you know?”

Draco snorted. 

“Don’t play for Puddlemere, Potter, you can do better than that.”

Harry’s mouth quirked into a smile. 

“Is that a compliment, Malfoy?”

“It was supposed to be an insult to Wood,” Draco said. 

Harry laughed. 

“I don’t really feel like I’m in the right… well, headspace, I guess, to play Quidditch professionally right now. Maybe later. Right now, it’s just been nice to have a private place to fly and clear my head.”

“Hm,” Draco said. He hesitated, then, stiffly, he lay down on the grass, leaving a good space between himself and Harry. 

“Why have you left those pictures up in Regulus’ room?” Draco asked. “The newspaper clippings about the Dark Lord.”

“I told you, it’s not my house,” Harry said, his eyes still on the sky. “And that room especially is not mine.”

“It’s Kreacher’s?” Draco said, both curious and skeptical. 

“Regulus was Kreacher’s kid,” Harry said. “He loved him. And Kreacher had to watch his kid die in front of him. He couldn’t save him. He’s still pretty traumatized from that.”

“Okay,” Draco said. “But doesn’t it bother you to have that room in your house, a memorial to a Death Eater?”

Harry shook his head. 

“Regulus was a hero.”

“Oh?”

“He gave his life to defeat Voldemort. The newspaper clippings on the wall… those are part of his story. At the beginning, he did choose to support Voldemort. But things happened. I’m not sure what all of them were, but Regulus changed. In the end, he died just to give someone else a chance to take down Voldemort. 

“So it doesn’t bother me that Kreacher wants to keep Regulus’ room as a tribute to him. I kind of like it, actually. I find it encouraging. Regulus’ room is a reminder that people can change.”

Draco didn’t say anything. Harry rolled over onto his side, propping his head up on his elbow so he could look at Draco. 

Draco was staring fixedly up at the sky, long, lithe limbs stretched out. His white blond hair was splayed on the grass beneath his head. He used to keep it so neatly trimmed, but in sixth year, he’d started letting it grow out a bit, and he stopped slicking it back with gel. It was loose now, loose and soft and flaxen and fine… Harry liked Draco’s hair like this. He really, really liked it. 

It would only take him a second to push himself up, to lean over Draco lying there on the grass, to press his mouth against Draco’s thin, pink lips…

Draco was looking at him, watching Harry stare. 

“You want that cake?” Harry asked. 

“Yes, I want the cake,” Draco replied.

Chapter Text

Draco found himself in Regulus’ bed again that night. Harry had said that it was late, and Draco should just stay the night; they had plenty of room. Draco did not point out that he had not been drinking this time (the bottle he’d brought was still sitting unopened on Harry’s dining room table), and that it would only take him a few seconds to apparate home, a minute or two to Floo. Because this was the whole reason for that farce of a dinner party, wasn’t it? So that Draco could get an uninterrupted night’s sleep away from the manor?

Draco didn’t know why Harry had gone to so much trouble. He’d wanted to tell him to stuff it when he saw the invitation. He’d arrived at Grimmauld Place quietly seething at everything and everyone for… well, for no reason, really. Except that he was stressed and scared for himself and his parents, and he had been for so long. 

It had been reckless to try to use Harry as an outlet for all his frustration and rage. His mother would have been furious with him. Harry was their best hope for staying out of Azkaban, and Draco had foolishly jeopardized that. 

But he’d wanted to make Harry as angry as he was. He’d thought it would make himself feel better to make Harry’s famous temper rise at his bidding, the way he used to do at Hogwarts. He’d kind of hoped that Harry would hit him, because then he would have an excuse to hit back. 

But Harry hadn’t hit him. Instead he’d dangled his shiny Quidditch pitch in front of him, as if Draco were a child to be distracted by sweets. 

Draco tossed and turned fretfully in Regulus’ bed, but he was tired, and he fell asleep before long. He was not, however, to get the uninterrupted sleep he’d expected. 

Draco didn’t know how long he’d been sleeping when his eyes opened abruptly, his body instantly tense and alert. He looked about wildly in the darkness, trying to figure out what had woken him. He had nearly decided that it was a false alarm when he heard it: a cry, pained and muffled. Then there was a shout, someone saying something. Then the night went silent. Draco waited, tensed, hoping that it was over, that that would be the end of it. But the next moment, he heard a moan, miserable and forlorn and drawn out. 

Draco put his hands over his ears and squeezed his eyes shut. Make it stop, make it stop. 

This had happened so many times at the manor. Someone was getting tortured, and there was nothing Draco could do but look away and pray for it to be over. And sometimes he was the one doing the torturing, and it didn’t change anything. Still he was helpless, and still he prayed for it to be over, even as the Cruciatus Curse spurted from his wand. Make it stop, make it stop. 

Draco opened his eyes again suddenly. He wasn’t in the manor. Voldemort was dead. And Draco didn’t have to put up with this. He could make those terrible noises stop. 

He sat up, pushing the blankets away and swinging his feet off the bed and onto the rug. He reached for his wand on the nightstand and lit it with a faint lumos. Then he stood up, went to the door, and opened it. 

He stood in the doorway for a moment, and everything was quiet again. He began to wonder if he’d dreamed the sounds he’d heard. But then he heard it again: another pained cry, a whimper like a wounded animal. 

Draco followed the noises down the hall. He opened a door, the only thought in his mind the repeated, increasingly urgent refrain of make it stop, make it STOP!

There was a large bed in the room that Draco had found. Through the gloom, Draco could see the shape of a person lying on the far side of the bed, the blankets twisted and kicked away. 

The figure made a noise like a kicked dog. Thoughtlessly, Draco strode forward. He crawled up onto the bed, put a hand out, and gave the person a firm shake. 

“Stop that,” he said sternly. 

The person whipped around and seized Draco by the wrist, and then they both froze, and Draco found himself looking through the darkness at the wide-eyed face of Harry Potter. 

They stayed like that for a while, just looking at each other. Harry wasn’t wearing his glasses, and his face looked different without them. Draco could see the glint of his lumos reflected in Harry’s eyes. He was still only half-awake, and too tired to really think about what he’d just done. 

Then, “Draco?” Harry said, and he sounded so lost and vulnerable and… and frightened even, that it made Draco’s anger flare all over again. Harry Potter wasn’t supposed to sound like that. He was the slayer of the Dark Lord, for Salazar’s sake! He could defeat any monster, any obstacle in his way. What right did he have to be scared, to be frightened? 

“Budge up,” Draco said roughly, rolling Harry away from him and onto his side. He dropped his wand on Harry’s nightstand and the dim light fizzled out. Draco lay down behind Harry with a huff and put one arm around him, pulling Harry’s back flush against his own chest. 

“Mmph!” was all Harry said. 

“Quiet,” Draco said. “I’m very tired.” He sat up again to grab the fluffy comforter, which he pulled over both of them. Then he tucked himself back against Harry, his arm over Harry’s waist. He felt it when Harry relaxed and went back to sleep, silent this time aside from the soft sound of his breathing. It made Draco’s eyelids heavy listening to it, and a moment later, Draco was asleep as well. 

***

Draco came through the Floo into the receiving room at Malfoy Manor. He’d woken up before Harry — thank Merlin for small mercies — and he’d decided the best course of action was to disappear as quickly as possible. Back at home, he crept out into the hall in the still dim morning light. He had nearly made it to his bedroom — was reaching for the doorknob — when a voice spoke behind him. 

“Draco, darling.”

Draco winced and turned around reluctantly. 

“Good morning, Mother.”

Narcissa was in her dressing gown and house shoes, looking at him curiously. 

“Did you come home last night? I didn’t hear you come in.”

Draco swallowed. 

“No, I was… invited to stay.”

“Oh?” Narcissa said, the hint of an arch showing on her brows. 

“Harry said he would speak for us. For all of us,” Draco said, hastily changing the subject. 

“Oh, my dearest!” Narcissa came closer, raising her hands and clasping them warmly on either side of Draco’s upper arms. “I knew you could do it! I’ll set up a meeting with our barrister.”

“He probably won’t come,” Draco said. “He’s probably changed his mind already.”

“You’ve done your part, love,” Narcissa said. “Let Mother take care of the rest.”

“He said he won’t lie,” Draco warned her, but Narcissa only smiled and shook her head. 

“I’ll take it from here, darling.”

***

Harry did, in fact, attend the meeting with the Malfoys’ barrister. The Malfoys themselves did not attend. Narcissa had wanted to, but Draco thought it was wiser to let the barrister handle it alone. He thought that if Harry had to actually interact with his parents, then he would come to his senses and remember how much he hated them, and then he would refuse to help like he should have done to begin with. 

The barrister owled to say that he had written up a formal request for a pre-trial hearing for Draco’s parents. Harry had gone in person to file the request, and the result was that Draco’s parents had been scheduled for hearings at the same time as Draco. 

Draco didn’t know what to do with this information. 

***

Draco woke up in the night again. Something in the old manor house had creaked, and Draco was instantly awake and panicked, sure that someone — or something — was coming for him. He lay staring at the ceiling, trying to remind himself that Voldemort was gone, but his heart wouldn’t stop pounding in his chest. 

When Draco couldn’t take it anymore, he got up and made his way out into the hall and down the long staircase, his wand held in front of him with a dim lumos. He kept walking until he got to the fireplace in the receiving room — the one with the Floo connection. 

“Grimmauld Place,” Draco said after lighting the fire with his wand and tossing in a pinch of Floo Powder. The fire flared green and Draco stepped through the flames. 

A minute later, he stepped cautiously into Harry’s living room. Harry had told him he could come any time, but he was still surprised when the Floo opened for him. He was relieved to find the house dark and quiet. He might have burst in on Harry having a late night party with his friends, he realized suddenly. Or Harry might have been in the middle of a romantic evening with one of his many female admirers… It had been foolhardy of him to come. He hadn’t been thinking right; what was he doing??

But he was here already, he reminded himself. He might as well stay. 

Draco found Regulus’ room, slid under the blankets of the large, green four-poster, and closed his eyes. 

***

He was still awake when the door to the bedroom opened again, but he kept his eyes closed and pretended to be asleep until he felt the bed dip. He opened his eyes then and saw Harry sitting on the bed looking at him, his dimly lit wand in his hand. 

“You came back,” Harry said. He sounded pleased. 

“You said I could,” Draco said, feeling stupid. There were no monsters in the manor. He knew there were no monsters in the manor. He should have just gone back to sleep instead of coming running to Potter. 

“I did,” Harry confirmed. “And, um. I wanted to say sorry about last time you were here. Sorry for… for waking you up and all. I know the whole reason you came here was to not get woken up.”

“Oh,” Draco said. “Well. That’s alright.”

Harry nodded. He didn’t get up from off the bed. 

“Do you have nightmares a lot?” Draco asked, since Harry didn’t show any signs of leaving. 

“It’s just…” Harry made a noise of frustration. He dropped his chin and rubbed his knuckles against his forehead with a grimace. “I got used to sleeping next to someone else. We were — me, Ron, and Hermione — we lived in a tent together for months last year. And… you know, it was cold and stuff. We used to push our beds together to stay warm. I know it’s stupid — I’m not a kid anymore. I shouldn’t need someone to hold my hand at night just so I can sleep.”

Harry was scowling now, glaring down at his hands in his lap. Draco lifted the blankets. 

“Come on, Potter,” he said. 

“What?” Harry looked up in surprise. 

“This is why you’re here, isn’t it? Get in; I’ll protect you from the monsters under the bed.” Draco spoke carelessly, as if he weren’t here hiding from his own monsters. 

“Oh, shut up,” Harry grumbled, but he got into bed next to Draco readily enough. “Nox.”

The light from Harry’s wand went out. Draco looked over at him. Harry was nothing more than a dark shape on the pillow next to his. 

“Doesn’t it bother you, being in Regulus’ room?” Draco asked. 

“No,” Harry said. “I know it sounds weird, but… I kind of feel like I know him. He was Sirius’ brother, and Kreacher has told me about him. And… I read a letter he wrote.”

“But he chose to join the Dark Lord,” Draco said. “Don’t you hate him?”

“I don’t hate him,” Harry said. “He made some bad choices, he believed in the wrong things, but in the end, he realized he’d been wrong, and he did what he could to make up for it. That’s a big deal, I think, being able to admit when you’ve been wrong.”

Draco made a noncommittal noise in his throat. 

“And then he sacrificed his life to help take down Voldemort,” Harry went on. “How could I hate him after that?”

“I didn’t sacrifice my life,” Draco said, bringing the conversation around to the person he was really thinking about (himself). In the darkness, he saw Harry turn his head to look at him. He was very close. It made Draco’s insides feel hollow and fluttery. 

“Good,” Harry said. “Maybe you didn’t notice, but I went to some trouble to make sure you stayed alive.”

“Well,” Draco said. 

“Not everyone needs to sacrifice themselves,” Harry said. “More than enough people have died as it is. If I could have saved Regulus, then I would have. In a heartbeat. I wouldn’t hesitate.”

“Why are you helping me?” Draco asked. The darkness was making him brave. “You know I was a Death Eater. You know who I am, you know what I’ve done. And still you keep… you keep helping me. Why? Why are you doing this?”

Harry shifted under the blankets, and Draco felt the bed move beneath him. 

“I wanted to help you so badly over the last two years, and for so long, there was nothing I could do,” Harry said. “I mean, there were so many people I couldn’t save. So many times when I was helpless… But I can finally do something now. I can finally help you. So… just let me, yeah?”

“Two years… you wanted to help me for two years?” Draco gave a short, dry laugh. “Why would you even want that?”

“I remember seeing you around Hogwarts in sixth year, and how ill you looked. I knew Voldemort was making you do something, that he was threatening you. And then last year… well… Did you know about my connection to the Dark Lord?”

“What kind of connection?” Draco asked suspiciously. 

“I’m sure you remember the.. the episodes I had in class a couple times. The Daily Prophet reported on it.”

“The screaming and the twitching on the ground?” Draco said, his eyebrows rising at the memory. “Yeah, I remember. You did it during one of our O.W.L.s.”

“Yeah… Well… Look, this is going to sound weird, but I feel like… well, I feel like I should tell you.”

“Oh?” Draco’s eyebrows were disappearing into his hairline. He had no idea what to expect. 

“I used to watch you through Voldemort’s eyes,” Harry said. 

“What?” Draco said blankly. 

“Like, all the time,” Harry added. “Over the last year or so.”

“What do you mean you used to watch me?” Draco said, uncomprehending. 

“I mean, if Voldemort was in the same room with you and he could see you, chances are pretty good that I was watching you too.”

In the darkness, Draco stared. 

“You’re kidding.”

“No,” Harry said. “I know Voldemort used you when he wanted to punish one of his Death Eaters. I saw how scared you were. I know you were forced, that you didn’t have a choice.”

“You saw me torture people… and you want to help me?” Draco gaped. 

“You were trapped,” Harry said. “You were just as much a victim as they were.”

Draco didn’t know what to say to that. He was trying to go over all the times he had seen the Dark Lord — something he rarely did on purpose — in an attempt to figure out all the worst things Harry might have seen. Honestly, this felt like a nightmare. 

“Draco…” Harry reached out. Somehow he found Draco’s wrist in the darkness, and he gripped it. “I felt so helpless, watching all these things happen to you, and not being able to get to you, not being able to do anything. The worst was when I left you behind when we were escaping from your house. It’s one of my greatest regrets, that I left you behind to be punished in my place.”

“Punished?” Draco repeated. “You would have been killed if you’d stayed a minute longer. You had to leave.”

“I want you to know I regret it, though,” Harry said. “I felt awful about it. I still do. I would give anything to be able to go back and stop him from hurting you.”

“I thought you were supposed to be busy last year,” Draco said, hurrying the conversation along and trying not to dwell on Harry’s words. He also wished Harry had been able to save him that day, but it was too late for that, and none of it was Harry’s fault. “Thought you were supposed to be doing important savior stuff. Not sitting around watching me.”

“Well, I was doing important stuff some of the time,” Harry said, “but there was a lot of down time. Trying to figure out our next move and all. Anyway, you were at Hogwarts a lot of the time, so I couldn’t watch you then.”

“You know I tortured people,” Draco said, not able to get over that fact. 

“Yeah,” Harry said. 

“You saw me do it.”

“Yeah.”

“Why haven’t you kicked me out of your house?”

Harry sighed heavily. He let go of Draco’s wrist and turned so he was lying on his back. Draco felt bereft. 

“You weren’t able to torture me when you tried,” Harry reminded him. “I know you had enough time to finish casting before I did. It doesn’t take that long to say crucio, and you started casting first. It was just that you couldn’t make it work. You didn’t hurt me at all, and me? I almost killed you. So who came out of that duel the better person? You or me?”

“I couldn’t crucio anyone back then,” Draco said. “It wasn’t just about you. You’re not special. But things have changed since then. I could crucio you now if I wanted.”

“Do it, then,” Harry said. 

“What?” Draco blanched. 

“Show me,” Harry said. “You’ve got your wand nearby, haven’t you? If you can crucio me so easily, then do it.”

“Have you gone mad?” Draco goggled at him.  

“I’ve been crucio’d by Voldemort before,” Harry said. “I doubt yours is as bad.”

“I’m not going to crucio you, Potter,” Draco said. 

“Why not? I thought you said you could do it.”

“Of course I can! But I’m not going to!” Draco said, exasperated. 

“And there you have it.” Potter sounded irritatingly smug. “You won’t crucio me because you choose not to. And that’s what really matters.”

Draco didn’t have an answer for that. It wasn’t like he’d never made a bad choice before. He’d made plenty of bad choices all on his own, without the Dark Lord’s help, and Potter knew it. 

“I tried to crucio Bellatrix once,” Harry said. 

“You did?” Draco’s eyes widened. 

“At the ministry in fifth year,” Harry said. “And I tried to crucio Snape in sixth year, after he killed Dumbledore. It didn’t work. I couldn’t do it.”

“You have to really want to cause pain,” Draco said. “It’s on a different level from wanting to punch someone on the Quidditch Pitch. I don’t know how to explain it, but it’s messed up. It’s probably impossible for anyone who’s halfway decent.”

“Well, I’m not decent, then,” Harry said, “because I crucio’d one of the Carrows before the Battle of Hogwarts.”

There was a silence. 

“Did you,” Draco finally said. 

“I did,” Harry confirmed. “I couldn’t crucio Bellatrix for killing my godfather, I couldn’t crucio Snape for killing Dumbledore… but a year later, I saw Carrow spit at McGonagall, and I just lost it. It felt good, too. I liked making him pay for what he did. And I chose to do it, of my own free will. Have you ever crucio’d someone just because you wanted to, with no one making you do it?”

Another silence. 

“No,” Draco said at last. 

“There you have it, then,” Harry said for the second time that night. “Guess that makes me worse than you.”

Draco reached out and caught Harry’s wrist. Harry turned to look at him in surprise. 

“You’re insufferable, Potter,” Draco said. 

“What?” Harry said. 

“You’re not worse than me. Stop fishing for compliments; it makes you look desperate.”

“I’m not fishing!” Harry said, starting to laugh. 

“Hmm,” Draco said, unconvinced. 

“I just mean… I’m not kicking you out,” Harry said, his voice turning serious again. “I know what you’ve done, and I’m not kicking you out, and I’m going to speak for you at your hearing. And I’m not going to change my mind. That’s all.”

“Fine,” Draco said, because that was all he could come up with in the moment. 

“Fine,” Harry repeated. He didn’t say anything else, and after a while, Draco (who still hadn’t let go of Harry’s wrist) heard Harry’s breathing go deep and slow. Harry had fallen asleep. 

Draco closed his eyes, and soon he was asleep as well. 

***

Draco woke up again some time later. It was still dark. Harry had moved closer to him in the night, and his back was now touching Draco’s arm. Draco lifted his arm and wrapped it around Harry’s waist, scooting forward so he could hold him close. Then he fell asleep again.

In the morning, Draco stayed for breakfast. 

Chapter Text

Harry apparated to the front steps of the Burrow for Sunday dinner. Molly answered the door. 

“Come in, Harry, dear, how are you?” she said, greeting him with a hug. 

“Good, thanks.” Harry paused in the entryway to take off his shoes. He could already smell the mouthwatering scents of home cooked dishes wafting out from the kitchen. 

“I do hate thinking of you all alone in that dreary house,” Molly said. “You know you’re welcome to stay with us any time you like. Percy hasn’t used his room in ages.”

“Thanks, Molly,” Harry said. This was a conversation he had had dozens of times with her. He had no intention of moving back in, especially now that Draco was coming by Grimmauld Place regularly, but he didn’t want to have an argument with Ron’s mother. 

Harry found Ron and Hermione setting the long dining room table for supper. 

“Harry,” Hermione said when she saw him. “Look what the owl post brought me today.” She slid a paper across the table towards him and Harry picked it up. 

It was Hermione’s Hogwarts letter. A list of spellbooks and materials required for the upcoming school year. Harry felt an odd prickling sensation in his chest as he looked at it, a strange combination of nostalgia and deja vu mingled with apprehension and grief. 

“It’s not too late to sign up,” Hermione said, watching him hopefully. “You can still write to McGonagall.”

“I don’t know, Hermione,” Harry said, lifting a hand to rub at the back of his neck. 

“You don’t have any other plans, do you?” Hermione pressed. 

“No…”

“You don’t want to have to study for your N.E.W.T.s by yourself, and it will only get harder to go back to Hogwarts if you wait. If you put it off a year, you’ll be 19 going to school with 17-year-olds. You don’t want that, do you?”

“Why are you only picking on me?” Harry said. “What about Ron?”

Ron shook his head as he doled out a fork for each place setting. 

“She’s already tried with me,” he said. “I’m a lost cause. I’m not going back to school. I can’t do it.”

“You can change your mind later,” Hermione said. 

“Not gonna happen,” Ron said. “Harry, want to help me move tomorrow?”

“You’re moving?” Harry said, surprised. “Where?”

“Into the shop with George,” Ron said. “Well, the flat above the shop, that is. Turns out George doesn’t really like living alone… and I’m already working there anyway…” Ron shrugged. 

“That’s great,” Harry said. Maybe that was why Molly had been pestering him to move in again. She was losing another son…

“So… help me move some stuff tomorrow?” 

“Yeah, sure.”

“Ron…” Hermione said, pausing with a pile of napkins in her hands. “Owl.”

Ron turned around to look at the window behind him, where a large, officious-looking owl was sitting, tapping its beak against the glass. Ron opened the window and the owl swooped inside, dropping an envelope on the table in front of Harry before coming to land on the back of a chair. 

Harry picked up the envelope. It was from the Malfoys’ barrister. Probably a reminder about their upcoming appointment — a final rehearsal of Harry’s testimony before the Malfoys’ hearings (all three Malfoys were now scheduled for pre-trial hearings, thanks to Harry and the Malfoys’ barrister). 

Harry put the envelope in his pocket, trying not to look dodgy.

“Got it, thanks,” he said to the owl, who gave him a look before spreading his wings and flying out the window again. 

“Who’s that from?” Hermione asked. 

“Oh, it’s, um…” Harry cast about for a lie and came up empty. “Nothing important.”

“Oh?” Hermione said, her eyebrows rising. 

Rats, Harry thought. He’d awoken Hermione’s suspicions. 

The Malfoys’ hearings were coming up soon, and Harry still hadn’t said anything to Ron and Hermione about Draco, not even now that Draco was coming over more often. Not every night, but often enough. He didn’t even bother with Regulus’ bed anymore. He just went straight to Harry’s. 

Harry wasn’t exactly trying to hide anything. It was just… Ron and Hermione wouldn’t be interested. They didn’t like it when he talked too much about Draco. He knew that from sixth year. And where would he even start? How would he put things into words?

Draco sleeps in my bed sometimes. I will die sooner than see him get locked up. 

Ron and Hermione wouldn’t get it. 

“Did you go on that date yet?” Hermione asked. 

“What?” Harry startled. 

“You said you wanted to ask someone on a date,” Hermione reminded him. “Have you done it yet?”

“Oh,” Harry said. “I had someone over for dinner.”

“You did?” Hermione exchanged a surprised look with Ron. “At Grimmauld Place?”

“Yes?” Harry said. 

“That’s very… intimate for a first date,” Hermione said, looking at him curiously. 

“Is it?” Harry said. He hadn’t thought about that. 

“Did you order in takeaway?” Hermione asked. 

“No, Kreacher cooked,” Harry said. 

“Kreacher approves, eh?” Ron waggled his eyebrows at him and Harry rolled his eyes. “Must be a pureblood.”

“Hmm,” Harry said, noncommittal. 

“How’d it go, then?” Ron asked. 

“Okay, I think, overall,” Harry said. 

“C’mon, mate, aren’t you going to tell us who the lucky lady is?”

Right. As if things weren’t complicated enough, Harry also had to deal with the fact that Draco was a boy, and not the sweet, lovely girl that everyone expected him to date. 

“I just don’t know where things are going yet,” Harry said. “It’s still early. I’ll tell you if things get serious, yeah?”

“That’s fine, Harry, we’re just glad you’re seeing someone,” Hermione said. “We’ll be happy to meet her whenever you’re ready.”

***

Draco came tumbling through Harry’s fireplace the night before his hearing. He stood in Harry’s living room, jittery and even paler than usual. 

“I can’t do this,” he said, shaking his head as if trying to dislodge a fly. “I can’t.”

Harry had been sitting on the sofa listening to Quidditch on the wireless, but he turned it off and went to Draco. 

“It’ll be fine,” Harry said. 

“You don’t know that.” Draco lifted his hand and began tapping anxiously on the mantelpiece. 

“Want to go to the kitchen?” Harry asked. “We could get hot chocolate.”

“No, no,” Draco said impatiently. He combed his blond hair back with his fingers, leaving it more mussed than before. 

Harry considered. 

“I’m tired,” he said. “Want to go to bed?”

Harry was not actually very tired. 

Draco shook his head, no. 

“Yes, alright then,” Draco said out loud. 

They went upstairs. Draco went to Regulus’ room to find pajamas to change into, and they took turns with the bathroom. Draco had his own toothbrush there now, thanks to Kreacher. 

Harry finished getting ready first. There were two oil lamps in his bedroom, one sitting on either side of the large four-poster. Harry turned off one of them and dimmed the other. Then he got in the bed, tucked himself under the heavy comforter, and waited. 

Draco took a long time. He always did, but tonight seemed longer than usual. Finally he came into the room, frowning and looking distracted. Harry continued to wait patiently until Draco finally sat down on the bed and lay back, his head falling onto the pillow and his feet swinging up and slipping under the blankets. Then Harry reached for him, nudging him until he turned onto his side, and Harry pulled him close, his back to Harry’s chest, Harry’s arm around his waist, just as Draco had done for him before. 

“It’s only the pre-trial hearing,” Harry said, the tip of his nose brushing against the fine strands Draco’s white blond hair. “It’s not the real trial. They won’t be deciding anything final.”

Draco shook his head. 

“Whatever happens tomorrow will be a sign of what’s to come. If I have to go to trial, to a real trial, it’s as good as decided: I’m going to Azkaban.” He shuddered under Harry’s arm. 

“We have time to figure something out,” Harry said, his arm tightening around Draco. “And going to trial doesn’t mean you’re going to Azkaban. They could find you not guilty.”

“But I am guilty! I tortured people!” Draco said, a bit wildly. 

“But you didn’t want to. You were forced,” Harry said. 

“After everything that happened, people are out for blood. The ministry wants to be seen as the hand of justice so people forget just how compromised the ministry was, how complicit — how they rolled over and played nice the second the Death Eaters closed in on them. No one’s going to care what I wanted or didn’t want to do. I’m the one with the Mark on my arm — I’m the one who has to pay —”

“I’ll take you away from here,” Harry said. 

“What?”

“You’re right. It’s too risky to let you go to trial. If they find you guilty, then it’s all over, so we’ll do everything we can to make sure your trial never happens. But if it comes down to it, if we can’t get your trial canceled, then, well. I already got your tracker out, didn’t I? We’ll leave Britain. Go to the continent, go to America. We’ll just go.”

“…You got my tracker out.” Harry could hear the shock in Draco’s voice. “That’s why you did that? So I could run away?”

“Well, no, I wasn’t thinking about that at the time,” Harry admitted. “I just didn’t like that they did that to you.”

“You vouched for me,” Draco reminded him. “When you got my tracker out. You said you would make sure I showed up at my trial.”

“I’m not going to let them put you in Azkaban,” Harry said. “It’s not right. I won’t let them do that to you.”

Draco didn’t say anything. Harry dropped his head down and pressed his face to the back of Draco’s neck. 

Whenever they were this close, Harry’s mind wandered back to that moment in Dumbledore’s office when Draco had kissed him. He wanted to do that again — to turn Draco over and to kiss him on the mouth, to press him down into the mattress… 

But that was selfish of him. Draco was upset right now. It wasn’t the time to try and start something. So Harry satisfied himself with burying his nose in Draco’s hair, his mouth only coincidentally against the back of Draco’s neck. If Draco wanted to interpret it as a kiss, then that wasn’t Harry’s fault. 

Draco still didn’t say anything, but Harry felt him slowly relax beneath his arm. 

***

Draco went home the next morning so his parents would know where he was. The three of them apparated to the ministry entrance together. 

You still had to step into a toilet to actually get into the Ministry of Magic. The wizard government was rightly paranoid after what had happened with Voldemort and the Death Eaters, and apparently they thought the toilet entrances were an improvement to security measures, because they hadn’t gotten rid of them. 

Once they were through the toilets, Draco walked through the large entrance hall, following close behind his parents and trying to pretend he didn’t notice all the hostile looks converging on them as people began to notice their presence. His parents strode forward as briskly as they could without looking like they were running, and soon they were in front of the lifts. 

That was when the first camera flash went off. 

“Mr. Malfoy, are you prepared for your hearing today?” a loud voice called out over the din of the entrance hall. A reporter and a photographer had rushed up to them, the reporter balancing a Quick Quotes Quill over a long piece of parchment. 

“Mr. Malfoy, what outcome do you expect today?” Another reporter had materialized, and two more photographers were taking pictures. 

“Mrs. Malfoy, are you a Death Eater too, or is it just your husband?”

“Draco! How do you feel about your father after everything that’s happened?”

Lucius pressed the button to call a lift. Neither he nor Narcissa acknowledged the reporters. Draco stared straight ahead at the lift doors in front of him. He could hear murmuring from the people around him who were also waiting. Why were the lifts taking so long?

“Where are the Aurors? Shouldn’t they be handcuffed at least?” a woman asked, not bothering to lower her voice. The cameras continued to flash. 

“What is your opinion of the Malfoys?” a reporter asked the woman who had spoken up, since the Malfoys themselves were keeping their silence. Draco’s parents never would have put up with such disrespect before the war. But now they didn’t even react. 

Mercifully, the doors to their lift finally opened, and they stepped inside. No one else tried to join them, but the photographers continued snapping pictures until the lift doors closed on them. 

The doors opened two more times before they reached their destination. Each time, several witches and wizards made to get in the lift with them, but then hastily backed away when they saw who was inside. It was like the Malfoys carried the plague. 

At length, the doors opened on the ministry's courtroom floor, and the Malfoys got out. Draco gulped when he saw which room they had been assigned to: it was the largest courtroom. Their hearing would be held in front of the full Wizengamot. 

The Wizengamot was already in session. The Malfoys sat down on a bench in the hall, waiting to be called in. Three years ago, Draco’s father would have been on the other side, passing judgement with the rest of the Wizengamot…

Harry wasn’t here yet. 

He probably wasn’t coming. He’d said some nice things the night before, but Draco didn’t really expect him to come. Why would he? It was too much to ask of him. He wouldn’t be able to do it. 

Harry came around the corner at that moment. He nodded solemnly to the Malfoys and then sat down on the bench opposite them. He had dressed up for the occasion: he was wearing an outdated but formal burgundy robe. Draco guessed that it had belonged to Sirius. 

A ministry barrister came around the corner next. He was middle aged and greying, and he had a slightly rumpled look to him. He looked at the Malfoys, and then at Harry. 

“Mr. Potter,” the barrister said, his brow furrowing. “I was told you would be testifying for the defense, but I thought there must have been a mistake.”

“No mistake,” Harry said, looking up at the man, his eyes beginning to narrow behind his glasses. 

“You have a lot of influence right now, Mr. Potter,” the barrister said. “This is how you choose to wield it? By shielding Death Eaters?”

“I’m not going to lie,” Harry said. “I’m going to tell the truth.”

“I can only hope so,” the barrister said. 

Before Harry could reply, the door to the courtroom opened. The Malfoys’ barrister stood in the doorway. 

“They’re ready for us,” she said. 

Arminta Selwyn, tall and thin in stiletto heels and tailored pinstripe robes, cut a much more impressive figure than the ministry’s somewhat shabby barrister. She belonged to one of England’s old, pureblood families, and she was a partner at a prestigious wizarding law firm. She’d represented Draco’s father after the first war, and Lucius trusted her. As the Malfoys followed Ms. Selwyn into the courtroom, Draco hoped that trust had been well placed. 

The ministry’s largest courtroom was far too large for Draco’s liking. There was an open space on the floor with chairs set behind tables for the barristers, the defendants, and the witnesses. The many members of the Wizengamot were spread out in tiered, stadium seating, a whole crowd of them gathered to witness the Malfoys’ humiliation, like an audience watching a play. 

There was a severe sort of iron throne set out center stage, facing the Wizengamot. Chains hung loosely from the arms. Draco tried not to look at them as he took his seat behind a table with his parents. He was aware of Harry, who was sitting down directly behind him. 

Lucius was first to be called forward. Draco held his breath as he watched his father sit down on the iron throne, but the chains did not move. If it had been their actual trial, and not a pre-trial hearing, Draco knew the chains would have leapt up, pinning Lucius’ arms to the arms of the chair. A precaution to keep the accused from running away, because in an actual trial, if the accused was found guilty, he would be dragged straight off to Azkaban. 

The ministry barrister began to read the charges against Lucius. The main one was conspiracy, for helping the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters, for enabling their crimes with his money and his manor. Next came the evidence: a list of witnesses and the testimony they were prepared to offer. If it came down to a real trial, then the witnesses would be called to testify in person. 

Draco tried not to squirm as he listened to the catalogue of his father’s crimes. Would Harry change his mind about testifying after hearing all this? He would probably decide it would be better for him to testify for the other side…

After what felt like an eternity, the ministry barrister sat down and Ms. Selwyn stood up. She outlined Lucius’ defense and set forth her proposal for a plea deal which included a lengthy probation period and hefty reparation payments, but no prison time. Then she called Harry up to testify. 

Draco watched with mounting anxiety as Harry stepped forward and sat down on a chair to the left of where Lucius was sitting. He was holding a piece of parchment with his prepared statement. He took a breath and began. 

“As it has been established previously in this court through pensieve memories which have been made available to the Wizengamot, I, Harry Potter, had a mental link with the dark lord known as Voldemort which allowed me to, on occasion, see visions of what he saw and experienced.”

This was news to Draco. He didn’t know Harry had been testifying in other Death Eater cases, and telling people about his mental link with the Dark Lord. Testifying against the Death Eaters, presumably, and not for them. 

“I saw Voldemort take Lucius Malfoy’s wand from him shortly after Mr. Malfoy was released from Azkaban,” Harry continued, his voice steady. “That wand was destroyed in a confrontation between Voldemort and myself. You’ll find dates and other specifics in the brief that was provided to you in preparation for this hearing.”

There was a rustling of paper as several Wizengamot members leafed through their copies of the brief. 

“Mr. Malfoy has been without a wand from that time until the present,” Harry said. 

“It has been established that the Dark Lord resided at Malfoy Manor,” said Ms. Selwyn, who was standing near Harry with her own pile of parchment. “Can you tell us when that residency began?”

“Voldemort moved into Malfoy Manor in Lucius’ absence, when Lucius was in Azkaban,” Harry said. “He made threats against the Malfoy family and tortured all of them. I witnessed one occasion, but I believe it happened more than once.”

“Did you see Mr. Malfoy at the Battle of Hogwarts?”

“Yes,” Harry said. “He entered the castle, an area of active combat, unarmed and at great personal risk, in order to find and protect his son.”

“Mr. Potter.” An imposing older woman stood up from one of the Wizengamot seats. She was wearing an ostentatious pointed hat with a stuffed quail on the brim. It was Augusta Longbottom, Draco realized, Neville Longbottom’s grandmother. 

“Lucius Malfoy bears the Dark Mark,” Mrs. Longbottom said. “He is a Death Eater. He supported the Dark Lord. These facts are not in question. Yet you are here to speak in his defense?”

“I think his personal views on Muggle-borns are disgusting,” Harry said. “His past support of Voldemort is inexcusable. But it would be wrong for the ministry to start sending people to Azkaban because of what they think. Lucius Malfoy hasn’t killed anyone. He hasn’t tortured anyone. He was essentially a hostage in his own home. He and his family were victims of Voldemort as much as anyone.”

Draco could tell that Mrs. Longbottom was not impressed, but she sat down and didn’t say anything else. 

“I wish to express my support for the proposed plea deal, with the probation and reparations,” Harry said. 

After that, things seemed to go more quickly. 

“Narcissa Malfoy saved my life,” Harry said when it was Narcissa’s turn in the iron throne. “She lied to Voldemort to save me. Voldemort was highly skilled in the mind arts, and it would have taken an equally skilled person to successfully lie to him. If he had realized she was lying, he would have tortured her at the very least. He probably would have killed her for her betrayal. If she hadn’t lied for me, I would be dead.”

And then it was Draco’s turn. The iron throne was hard and still cold when he sat down on it, even though his mother had been sitting there only a minute before. Draco tried not to imagine the chains pulling tight around his arms. 

The ministry barrister read the charges against Draco, listed the evidence against him as he had for his parents. Then Harry was taking the witness seat again. Draco looked over at him. Harry didn’t smile, but he met Draco’s eyes for a full beat before turning to look at the Wizengamot. 

“Voldemort gave Draco Malfoy the Dark Mark over the objections of his mother, when Draco was underage. Lucius was in Azkaban at the time and was unable to protect his son from Voldemort. Draco was still a Hogwarts student when the Battle of Hogwarts ended the war. He only turned eighteen two months ago, in June.” 

He knows my birthday, Draco thought faintly. 

“You’ve testified to the court about the time you were taken captive by the Snatchers to Malfoy Manor,” Ms. Selwyn said. “Did you see Draco Malfoy at that time?”

“Yes,” Harry said. “Draco was asked to identify me. He refused to do so. We went to school together for six years. He knows me well. I am certain he knew it was me. Yet he refused to identify me. Had he confirmed my identity, Voldemort would have been summoned immediately and I would have been killed.”

It was not lost on Draco that Harry specifically avoided disclosing that it was Draco’s parents (along with his aunt) who would have immediately contacted Voldemort. Draco’s parents who had pressured him to identify Harry so that he could be killed. 

“Did you see Draco Malfoy at the Battle of Hogwarts?”

“Yes. During the battle, he fought on our side. He protected me from two Death Eaters who were trying to kill me.”

It took Draco one bewildered moment to realize what Harry was talking about. The Room of Requirement. Crabbe and Goyle. Draco desperately trying to hold them back. 

Draco hadn’t been terribly effective, though. Harry had survived that encounter more because he was good at running and dodging than because of anything Draco had done. 

“Esteemed witches and wizards of the Wizengamot.” Harry was standing now, looking out at his audience with a steely gleam in his bright green eyes. “Let me make one thing clear: I would be dead without the Malfoys. And if I were dead, Voldemort would still be in charge. Voldemort was only defeated because of the actions of the Malfoys.”

“In summary, we request your approval for the submitted plea deal of probation and reparations for Lucius Malfoy,” Ms. Selwyn cut in briskly. “For Narcissa and Draco Malfoy, we ask that the charges be dropped.”

“Ms. Selwyn’s proposal has my complete support,” Harry said. 

And the hearing was over. 

***

Draco waited in the hallway for the Wizengamot to come to a decision. He sat with his parents on the same bench they’d sat on earlier, with Harry sitting across from them. 

The trial hadn’t covered anything Draco had done in sixth year. Harry was the only person still alive who knew what Draco had done that year (Draco had made sure that Madame Rosmerta never knew who Imperiused her). And Harry hadn’t said anything about it during the trial. 

No one had said anything about Draco’s use of the highly illegal Cruciatus Curse either. Draco didn’t know if it was because they didn’t know about it or if it was because they actually didn’t care, since he had only ever tortured Death Eaters. The Dark Lord had enjoyed reserving him for that particular “honor.” In addition to distressing Draco by forcing him to do something he hated, it had the added benefit of driving a wedge between the Death Eaters and the Malfoys. 

But Draco couldn’t think about these things right now. He couldn’t think about Harry, sitting across from him, and he most definitely couldn’t think about what Harry had said in the hearing, about Harry’s version of events. All of his mental energy was focused on what was happening at that moment inside the courtroom. Would Mrs. Longbottom turn the court against them? Had the court been swayed by Harry’s testimony?

Draco tried not to replay the trial in his head, but his mind kept returning to Augusta Longbottom’s unforgiving face. 

Ms. Selwyn and her assistant brought them all tea, levitating a tray with a teapot and cups down the hall. Draco sipped his tea slowly. It was difficult to swallow — his throat felt thick and constricted. Harry was watching him, but Draco couldn’t bring himself to meet his eyes again. 

The minutes dragged by. No one said anything. Draco shifted in his seat on the bench. He leaned back, bumping his head lightly against the hard wall behind him. It was too hot in this hallway. Hot and stuffy and —

The door to the courtroom opened. 

“The Wizengamot has made its decision,” a court clerk announced. 

Draco filed back into the courtroom with the others. There was a tightness growing in his chest, and he felt lightheaded, like he might faint. He took his seat next to his parents behind the front table, looking out at the vast array of faces that made up the Wizengamot, the people who would decide his fate. 

A wizard stood up on the front row. He unfurled a long roll of parchment and cleared his throat. 

“The esteemed High Court of the Wizengamot has deliberated and has made the following judgments in the case of the Malfoy family:

“For Lucius Malfoy: we accept the terms for the plea deal, which include probation and reparations as outlined. 

“For Narcissa Malfoy: in light of her service during the Battle of Hogwarts, we hereby clear her of all charges. 

“For Draco Malfoy: the court recognizes his status as a minor at the time he received the Dark Mark, and also recognizes the aid which he provided to the war effort. We likewise clear him of all charges.”

***

Draco left the courtroom in a daze. He walked down the hallway behind his parents, dimly aware of Harry’s presence at his side. They waited for the lift, got in, and waited again. No one spoke. Draco’s father was frowning slightly. His mother’s nose was wrinkled with a faint air of disgust. 

Surely they were both relieved at the way things had turned out. But they wouldn’t say anything about it until they were safe in the privacy of their own home. And maybe not even then. 

Their reserve was not something that came naturally to Draco, but he tried. He squared his shoulders, tried to flatten his expression. 

The lift doors opened onto the ministry atrium. The Malfoys and Harry stepped out, and were promptly assaulted with a barrage of flashing lights. The group of photographers and reporters had grown, and they’d been lying in wait. They’d also apparently been informed of the outcome of the hearing. 

“Mr. Malfoy! How did you avoid Azkaban for the second time?”

“Did you bribe the Wizengamot?”

“Have your views on Muggle-borns changed?”

“Draco! Is it true you have the Dark Mark?”

A light flashed in Draco’s face as a camera went off a foot away from his nose. Harry snarled and stepped in closer to Draco, glaring at the offending photographer. The man’s camera sparked and made a popping sound. The photographer yelped and stepped hastily away from them. 

Draco’s parents were walking very quickly through the atrium now, and Draco and Harry hurried to keep up. The four of them made for the exits, and a moment later they emerged from the toilets out onto the Muggle street. From there, they walked to the apparition area in the nearby alleyway, still moving at brisk pace. 

“Mrs. Malfoy! Any comments for Witch Weekly? Has your love for your husband survived the war??” A reporter had followed them out of the toilets and was closing in on them. A photographer came out behind her, and then another reporter… More lights flashed. 

Narcissa turned to Harry. 

“Thank you for your help today, Mr. Potter. I think we’d best be on our way now.”

“Come to mine?” Harry murmured, looking at Draco. He was standing very close. Draco tried to suppress a shiver. 

“I’ll be home later,” Draco said to his parents. He saw them both glance from him to Harry, but Narcissa only nodded. 

“Good day, Mr. Potter.”

“Um, bye,” Harry said awkwardly. 

Draco’s parents disapparated. 

“Mr. Potter!” the Witch Weekly reporter had caught up to them. “Is it true you spoke at the Malfoys’ hearing?”

Harry's hand closed around Draco’s wrist, and they disapparated. 

***

They reappeared on the rug in Harry’s living room. Draco looked at Harry and saw his green eyes looking back at him, intense and focused. 

They reached for each other at the same time. Harry dropped Draco’s wrist and wrapped his arms around Draco’s waist. Draco put one hand to Harry’s back, the other rising to cup the back of his head, and then they were kissing, warm and close, relief mingling with want. Draco pushed his fingers into Harry’s thick, wiry hair, and he felt Harry answer, one hand roving eagerly over Draco’s back while his other arm stayed tucked around Draco’s waist, holding him close. 

The kiss during the Battle of Hogwarts hadn’t been a fluke. Harry actually wanted him. 

And Draco was free to want him back. He wasn’t going to Azkaban in three years. There was no weight hanging over his head, waiting to drop. His future was wide open. His parents were safe. He was safe. Harry was safe. They weren’t going to die. They’d survived.

Everything was suddenly too much. Draco felt the tears start in his eyes, his throat constricting. He’d always struggled to control his emotions the way his parents did, but it was an absolute lost cause in front of Harry. It seemed like Harry always knew exactly how Draco was feeling — like he could see right through him. Draco pulled reluctantly away from Harry’s warm mouth so that he could sniffle and dash hastily at the tears that were starting to spill down his cheeks.

“Are you crying? Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” Harry’s voice was concerned and affectionate, and he began rubbing gentle circles beneath Draco’s shoulder blade. Draco exhaled, making a noise that was half laugh, half sob.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he said, his voice coming out shaky from the tears. “Everything’s perfect. Because of you.”

“I told you I wouldn’t let them take you from me,” Harry said.   

“Yeah,” Draco said. “You saved us, babydoll.”

Harry laughed, but from the faint blush on his cheeks and the way his eyes lit up, Draco knew he liked the endearment. He really, really liked it. Draco pulled Harry in close again.

“Darling,” Draco said, breathing the word onto Harry’s lips. It wasn’t that different from when they were in school. Draco was still just chasing a reaction. 

He had always had a talent for getting a reaction from Harry. Today wasn’t any different. 

Harry crowded against him, pushing him until he fell backwards onto the sofa, all the while chasing Draco’s mouth with his own. Draco went willingly, letting Harry put him where he wanted. Everything about this felt so new and yet not, the feel and scent of Harry familiar after their nights spent wrapped up in each other. Harry’s fingers, strong and sure of themselves, bold on Draco’s body. Harry’s mouth, insistent and hungry in a way that suggested he was about to devour Draco whole. His every touch was attentive, worshipful, even, as if Draco was the only other person on the earth. 

Draco made a noise of contentment as Harry fell on top of him, heavy and warm. His weight was a comfort, a shelter and a promise of safety. An oasis after all the fear and terror of the war and its aftermath. It was the physical assurance that everything was going to be okay. 

Draco closed his eyes, lay back, and let Harry’s wordless adoration envelop him.

Chapter Text

Ron and Hermione were relaxing in the living room at Grimmauld Place on a Saturday night. They’d gone out to eat earlier, then they’d ended up at Harry’s place where they played a few rounds of cards, and now Harry was in the kitchen getting out some late night snacks for the three of them. 

Ron had his feet propped up on the coffee table, and he had just taken a swallow from his bottle of butterbeer when the fireplace burst to life in front of them. That was unusual in and of itself. Harry was a private person and he rarely had guests over outside of his closest friends. But the opening of Harry’s Floo connection was only the beginning of that night’s surprises, because the next thing that happened was that out of the flames stumbled Draco Malfoy. 

Malfoy took one look at Ron and Hermione’s shocked faces, and his eyes widened in horror. 

“Shit,” he said, and turned back to the fireplace as if to go right back to where he came from. The flames, however, had disappeared, and the Floo connection had closed. 

Ron jumped to his feet and snapped his wand out, pointing it at Malfoy. Malfoy made a grab for the little pot of Floo powder on the mantelpiece, but he only succeeded in knocking it to the floor. The powder spilled out over the rug. 

“Shit,” Malfoy said again, and he started to lean over to grab a pinch of powder from the ground, but Ron was in front of him in two quick strides. He brandished his wand in Malfoy’s face and Malfoy froze. 

“Hands where I can see them, Malfoy,” Ron said tightly. “Don’t even think about going for your wand.”

Malfoy raised his hands. He seemed to be shaking slightly. 

“I made a mistake,” he said. “I must have gone a grate too far. I can just go…”

“Harry has a private Floo connection, obviously,” said Hermione, who had come up behind Ron. “You can’t just walk in here by mistake.”

“You can’t even fire-call Harry if you’re not keyed into his wards,” Ron added. “So you’re not going anywhere, Malfoy, until you tell us how you got through, and why you did it.”

Malfoy swallowed, his eyes darting nervously between Ron and Hermione. 

“Is Harry here?” Malfoy asked. “I — I can explain to him.”

“What do you want with Harry?” Ron’s eyes narrowed and his wand zeroed in even closer to Malfoy’s face. Malfoy tried to back away in alarm, and he bumped up against the mantelpiece behind him. 

“It’s — it’s just a bit private —” Malfoy said, and that was when Harry walked into the room carrying a platter of biscuits and sweets. 

“Hey —” he began. The smile dropped from his face and his eyes widened when he saw the scene in front of him. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Harry said, hastily depositing his platter on the coffee table and running to get between Draco and Ron’s wand. “Ron, leave him alone!”

“Harry, he got in through your Floo!” Hermione said. 

“Yeah, I know,” Harry said. He’d placed his hands on Draco’s shoulders and was looking him up and down, assessing him for damage with a small frown on his face. 

“I didn’t know you had company tonight,” Draco said. “I wouldn’t have come… I can go now.”

“You’ve been drinking, haven’t you?” Harry said. 

“Just a bit…” Draco swayed on the spot. Harry put an arm around him and steered him away from his friends. 

“Come on, let’s get you upstairs.”

“Harry,” Ron said tightly, his wand still gripped in his fist. “What is he doing here?”

“Just a minute, Ron,” Harry said, and he and Draco walked out of the room. When he came back a few minutes later, Hermione had resumed her seat on the couch, but Ron hadn’t moved. He was still standing by the fireplace, his wand out. 

“Harry?” he said. “What’s going on?”

“Well…” Harry ran a sheepish hand through his unruly hair. “He was having a hard time sleeping at his house, so I told him he could sleep here if he wanted…”

“I’m sorry, you did what?” Hermione said, sitting up straight and disbelieving.

“Um, yeah,” Harry said. 

“Why were you even talking to him in the first place?” Ron said. “Since when are you friends with Malfoy? ”

“Well, I’ve been meaning to tell you,” said Harry, who was standing facing his friends and looking awkward. 

“Tell us what?” Ron said, frowning. 

“I didn’t tell you earlier because, well, you both have a lot going on, and I didn’t want you to get upset over this if it wasn’t going to go anywhere in the first place, but —”

“Harry,” Ron said. There was a dangerous edge to his voice. “What are you talking about?”

Harry took a deep breath while Hermione looked at him with an expression of growing concern. 

“I’m dating Draco,” Harry said. 

His announcement was met with a shocked silence. 

“Dating?” Hermione finally repeated. 

“What do you mean, you’re dating Draco?” Ron said. 

“I know it’s a bit unexpected,” Harry said. “But —”

“A bit unexpected?” Hermione echoed. “Are you under the Imperius?”

“I can throw off the Imperius,” Harry said, frowning. 

“A love potion, then,” Hermione said. She stood up and lifted her wand. “Look straight ahead, Harry.”

Harry sighed, but he did as he was told. Hermione lit her wand and peered closely at his eyes. Then she cast a series of spells at him. After a few minutes, she stepped back and looked at Ron. 

“I don’t think he’s under the influence of any potions,” she said. 

“I think I could probably fight off a love potion too,” Harry said. “It can’t be stronger than an Unforgiveable, can it?”

“Finite Incantatem!” Hermione said, pointing her wand suddenly at Harry. Harry shook his head. 

“Sorry. I still want to date Draco.”

“Harry,” Ron said. “I lived with you for seven years. You’re not even gay. You like girls. I remember the way you used to look at Cho Chang.”

“And Cedric,” Harry said. 

“What?” Ron said, clearly thrown. 

“I used to look at Cho and Cedric,” Harry said. “They were both so fit. I picked Cho to ask to the Yule Ball because… well, that was the thing to do at the time, right? All the blokes were asking girls. But if any blokes had been asking other blokes to the ball… and if Cedric hadn’t been so much older than me… maybe I would have asked him instead.”

Ron gaped at him. 

“You’re gay?” he said. 

Harry shrugged. 

“Or bi, maybe.”

Ron seemed to collect himself. 

“Doesn’t matter to me if you like blokes, even if you never said anything about it until now…” There was a note of hurt in his voice. “That’s not the point. The point is… you can’t date Malfoy.”

“Look, I know he was a git at school, but a lot has happened since then,” Harry tried. 

“Oh, are you going to tell me he’s changed?” Ron said sarcastically. 

“He has changed,” Harry said. 

“Really,” Ron said. “Has he even apologized to you for all the shit he pulled?”

“He doesn’t need to,” Harry said. “I know him. I know how he feels.”

“Seriously, Harry?” Ron’s orange eyebrows were rising incredulously. “Have you forgotten everything he used to say to us? To Hermione? Maybe you can overlook the way he mocked you for being an orphan, or me for being poor. But have you forgotten second year, when he openly wished for Hermione’s death?”

Harry frowned.

“I’m not saying that wasn’t wrong. Of course it was wrong. But he’s come a long way since then. He would never say that now.”

“Are you sure about that?” Ron pressed. “He has the Dark Mark on his arm. The way he used to talk at school… You know he wanted to join You-Know-Who.”

“Yeah, he did at one point,” Harry said. “But he wouldn’t do that now.”

“He broke your nose!” Ron snapped. “He stomped on your face while you were paralyzed — that was less than two years ago! How can you date someone who would do that to you?”

“I almost killed him,” Harry said. “I’ve done bad things too.”

“That was an accident,” Hermione interjected. “You said it was an accident. And Draco has done many, many bad things on purpose.”

“But more recently, he’s done good things,” Harry said. “He saved us at the manor, you know. If he’d identified us, they would have called Voldemort right away.”

“He couldn’t even bring himself to say it wasn’t you,” Ron said, his eyes hard. “All he said was he wasn’t sure. He was a coward then and he’s a coward now. He can’t even face Hermione and me. He’s left you here while he runs off and hides upstairs.”

“I always have to be brave, Ron,” Harry said, shaking his head slightly. “I don’t need Draco to be the same. He’s brave in his own way.”

“We saw that article in the Daily Prophet,” Ron said abruptly. “There was a picture of you at the ministry with the Malfoys. We thought the Prophet was spinning things, making a story out of nothing. But they weren’t, were they? You got Draco off. You got Lucius Malfoy off.”

“He’s going to pay a lot of money into the Muggle-born restitution fund, and he’ll be on probation for the next fifteen years. Honestly, I think he’s learned his lesson, but there will be someone keeping an eye on him in case he hasn’t,” Harry said. 

“They’re Death Eaters, Harry,” Ron growled, frustrated. His fists clenched at his sides. “They got Fred killed.”

“Ron, I’m upset about Fred too,” Harry said. “But the Malfoys didn’t fight in that battle. None of them did. Lucius didn’t even have a wand. I didn’t lie at the Malfoys’ hearing, okay? All I did was tell the truth. What else do you want me to do?”

“You could have left well enough alone!” Ron said, his voice starting to rise. “You didn’t have to go and put your thumb on the scale. You could have left it to the ministry to decide what justice looks like!”

“Oh, right, the ministry. Just trust the ministry,” Harry said, throwing his arms up in the air. “The same ministry that had us on the run all of last year. The ministry that named me Undesireable Number One and had a bounty on my head. You want me to trust that ministry?”

“That was when You-Know-Who was in charge!” Ron protested. 

“You know Voldemort never actually had a position in the ministry,” Harry said. “Most of the people who rolled over and handed the reins to him the first chance they got? The people who went along with his plans, who thought it was about time someone put all those Muggle-borns in their place? They’re still there, you know. They can’t put everyone in Azkaban. But they’re out for blood right now, looking for people to blame so that no one looks too closely at them —”

“You’re changing the subject!” Ron shouted. “The bottom line is, you’re messing around with someone who treated your friends like shit! And you expect us to forget about all that, just because you like the way he looks?”

“I’m not asking you to hang out with him,” Harry said. “You don’t have to see him at all.”

“Oh, you’re just going to keep hiding half your life from us?” Ron snorted. “No. That’s not going to cut it, Harry.”

“Ron —”

“You have to choose,” Ron said flatly. “It’s either us or Malfoy. You can’t have both.”

Harry shook his head slowly.

“I’m not going to choose, Ron,” he said. 

“If you think we’re going to stick around here with him…”

“I’m not going to choose,” Harry said again. “Leave if you have to. You’ve done it before.”

Ron blanched. 

“That’s not fair. I didn’t mean to actually leave you. You know that. The Snatchers —”

“But that wasn’t even the first time you left, was it?” Harry said.

“You’re changing the subject again, Harry,” Hermione said quietly. “You might want to think about why you’ve hidden this from us. You didn’t mean for us to find out tonight. Why didn’t you want us to know?”

“I was going to tell you!” Harry said, frustrated. “I was just trying to figure out how to do it, because I knew you’d react like this!”

“Maybe you didn’t tell us because you knew what you were doing was wrong,” Hermione said. 

Harry glared at her. 

“Look. I know I haven’t been the perfect friend,” Ron said. “I sure as hell haven’t been a bloody Death Eater, but if it were just about me, maybe I could let this go. But I can’t forgive the way he’s treated Hermione. I can’t do that, Harry.”

“I’m not asking anyone to forgive or forget anything. Hermione…” Harry turned to his other friend for help. Hermione sighed and shook her head.  

“Malfoy can’t possibly be good for you, Harry,” she said. “The war ended so recently… You’re probably not in the best frame of mind right now. It might be better for you to take a break from dating for a bit. Before you do anything you might regret.”

“I know what I’m doing,” Harry said stubbornly. 

“It’s us or Malfoy, Harry,” Ron said again. “You have to choose.”

“No,” Harry said. “I’m not going to choose between you. I’m not going to do that.”

“Then you’ve made your choice. You’re picking Malfoy over us. Over your friends.”

“No, Ron.” Harry was speaking more quietly now. He’d gone strangely calm. “If you choose to leave now, that’s your choice, not mine. I’m not kicking you out. If you want to sever our friendship over this, I want to make it very clear that you’re the one making that choice. Not me.”

Harry and Ron stood there in the middle of Harry’s living room staring each other down, Ron glowering, Harry meeting his gaze steadily. 

“I’ll be happy to see you again when you change your mind,” Ron finally said. “Think about it. I’m going. Hermione?” Ron stooped to pick up a pinch of the spilled Floo powder from off the floor. 

“I’m sorry, Harry.” Hermione gave him a regretful look. “I think I’d better go too.”

***

Harry stood alone in his living room and watched his friends leave through the fireplace. Then he turned away and left the room, stepping out into the hallway. Draco was there, sitting at the bottom of the stairs in the near darkness. Harry looked at him and sighed. 

“Did you hear all that?” 

“Yeah,” Draco said. 

Harry sat down next to him on the steps, slumping against him and resting his head on Draco’s shoulder. 

“I didn’t realize you were bringing them back here tonight,” Draco said. “I wouldn’t have come…”

“It wasn’t planned,” Harry said. “It’s for the best, anyway. I had to tell them some time.”

“Did you?” Draco said curiously. 

“Of course!” Harry said. 

“I didn’t mind being your sordid little secret,” Draco said, sounding more pleased with himself than anything. 

“That’s not what you were,” Harry said, rolling his eyes even though he was nestled in too close to Draco for Draco to see him do it. They were quiet for a moment while Harry intertwined his fingers with Draco’s. 

“There is something I’ve been wondering,” Draco said hesitantly. “I suppose I’ve been a bit scared to ask, but since Weasley brought it up… Why did you help my dad? I mean, I know you helped my mother because she helped you. And you helped me because you want my body.”

Harry snorted at that.

“But why would you help my dad?” Draco asked.

Harry lifted his head and saw Draco looking at him, grey eyes very close in the darkness, open and vulnerable.

“I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true. And I don’t think your dad is going to cause any more trouble,” Harry said. “And you would have been sad if he’d gone to Azkaban.”

Draco held his gaze steadily, searching.

“You did that just so I wouldn’t be sad.”

“The war’s over,” Harry said. “I don’t want you to be sad anymore.”

The house was very quiet. Kreacher had gone to bed hours earlier. Not even a floorboard creaked.

“Weasley’s right, by the way,” Draco said in a more subdued tone. “I haven’t apologized to you. Do you want me to?”

“Godric, no,” Harry said. 

“It’s not that I refuse to apologize,” Draco said. “It’s just that, once I start listing things, I don’t know when I’ll be able to stop.”

“If you start, then I’ll have to start too,” Harry said.

“What? You don’t owe me anything,” Draco said. “You’ve paid your debts.”

“This isn’t a business relationship.”

“Well. I didn’t mean to make you lose your friends. If there’s… something I can do…”

“I haven’t lost my friends. We’re just fighting.”

“Oh?”

“It’s not like Ron and I have never fought before. He’ll come ‘round.”

“You sound very sure of yourself,” Draco said. 

“They’re my friends,” Harry shrugged. “It’s going to be okay.”

Draco chewed on his lip. 

“I’m not stupid. I know I’m not more important to you than they are. If you’re going to drop me, just do it. I can’t stand waiting on tenterhooks…”

Harry let go of Draco’s hand so he could wrap both arms around Draco’s waist. Draco answered instantly with an arm around Harry’s shoulders. 

“I already said I’m not choosing,” Harry said. “And you can’t leave. How will you ever pay off all your debts to me?”

Draco made a sound of indignation. 

“You literally just said this wasn’t a business relationship.”

“I changed my mind,” Harry said. “And I want to collect now.” He put his mouth to Draco’s neck, nuzzling against Draco’s soft, warm skin. 

“Oh, smooth, very smooth, Potter,” Draco said, rolling his eyes, but the next moment he gasped as Harry nipped at him. Draco stilled, and Harry kissed along the line of his neck until he reached the spot right under Draco’s ear that made Draco go limp under Harry’s hands. 

“Draco. Love. I’m keeping you,” Harry whispered. “You’re not going anywhere.”

***

Ron was sautéing chicken on the stove to go along with the pasta he was making for dinner when the doorbell rang. 

“I’ll get it,” Hermione said. She was sitting on the couch in the tiny living room of the flat over the joke shop where Ron now lived with George. She’d been reading one of her spellbooks for the upcoming school year. Ron, who was facing the stove, stirring the chicken, heard Hermione moving behind him as she set down her book and went to the door. He heard the door open. 

“Malfoy,” Hermione said in surprise. 

In two seconds, Ron had turned off the stove, moved the frying pan off the burner, and strode across the small flat to stand next to Hermione in the doorway. 

Malfoy was standing stiffly on the little balcony in front of their door, which sat at the top of the narrow outdoor stairway that ran along the back of the building. He looked scared and even more pale than usual. 

“Ah, Weasley,” Malfoy said. “I’m glad I caught you both at home. I wanted to speak to you.”

“What do you want, Malfoy?” Ron said, folding his arms over his chest and frowning. 

“Ah, yes.” Malfoy cleared his throat, his eyes darting about nervously. “I, um. I came to say that I am sorry. I’m sorry for being shit to you at school. And also, please don’t desert Harry because of me. He’s a good person, and he needs you, and he doesn’t deserve that.”

Hermione sighed. 

“Is Harry making you apologize?”

“No, he, ah, doesn’t know I’m here,” Draco said. “And, I know you have no reason to believe me, but I do actually care about him. I would leave him alone if I thought that would be better for him, but, in all humility, I don’t think it would be good for him right now to lose his boyfriend. I think he would find that upsetting, and I’m not going to do that to him.”

Ron just looked at him. This idiot kid who had mocked Ron for being poor all through school. Malfoy had always had a knack for ferreting out Ron’s insecurities and airing them out for all the world to see. And that wasn’t even the worst of it. Malfoy had gone on to join the hate group that wanted Ron’s girlfriend dead. He was inextricably wound up with Ron’s worst memory: being locked in the dungeons of Malfoy’s house, listening to Hermione being tortured, terrified that she would be killed. Ron throwing himself desperately against the door again and again, unable to get to Hermione. Completely helpless. 

All the boys in the world, and this was the one Harry wanted. 

Harry had always had an unhealthy obsession with Malfoy. Ron knew that. Especially once they got to sixth year, Harry wouldn’t shut up about him. But Ron had never imagined that Harry would take it so far as to actually date Malfoy. 

“You don’t have to see me again,” Draco said. “I’ll stay out of your way when you want to come see Harry.”

“Well. Thank you for your apology,” Hermione said. 

“Thank you for hearing me out,” Draco said, glancing nervously between Ron and Hermione. “That’s all I had to say, so I’ll just let you think on that, and I’ll go…” Draco took a step backwards and made a motion towards the stairs, all too ready to make his escape. 

“Stop running away, Malfoy, you coward,” Ron growled. 

Malfoy swallowed, and turned back to face Ron with a slightly sick look on his thin face. Ron was still several inches taller than him, Ron noted with satisfaction. 

“I hate you,” Ron announced. 

“I know,” Malfoy agreed. 

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive you for what you’ve done.”

“I don’t expect you to,” Malfoy assured him. 

“If you do anything — anything at all to hurt Harry —”

“I won’t,” Malfoy said quickly. “I swear I won’t.”

“You’re allowed to break up with him,” Ron said. “I cannot tell you how much I really, truly hope that you will break up with him. Although I would like it better if he broke up with you.”

“Understandable,” Malfoy said. 

“But if you do anything to hurt him outside of a normal, straightforward breakup — Hermione has read about a lot of spells, and I’m sure she and I can think of some… creative uses for them.”

“Um,” Malfoy said. He gulped. 

“We’ll make you wish you’d never set your pathetic eyes on Harry.”

“Yes, I —” Malfoy cleared his throat. “You’ve made your meaning abundantly clear. Does this — can I take this to mean you’ll see Harry again?”

Hermione sighed. 

“Of course we’ll see Harry again. He’s our best friend.”

“Oh,” Malfoy said. “But… weren’t you…?”

“Harry and Ron needed to get away from each other for a bit so they could cool down before they said something they would regret later,” Hermione explained. “They both have terrible tempers. You’re going to have to learn to put up with it if you’re going to date Harry.”

“…I see,” Malfoy said after a beat. “And… you’re not angry, then?”

“Oh, I’m angry,” Hermione said, shaking her head slightly. “I’m angry at Harry for dating you, and for not telling us. I’m angry at Ron for leaving me and Harry last year. I’m angry at you, and Voldemort, and all the Death Eaters and their stupid, pointless war that got good people killed. And I’m angry at myself for obliviating my parents, even though I did it to protect them. Even though I thought it was the best thing to do at the time.”

Malfoy was silent as Hermione took a breath to steady herself, since her voice was starting to shake. 

“But we’re not going to drop our best friend just because we’re angry,” Hermione said. “We’ll owl Harry. You can tell him we’ll talk to him soon, if you like.”

“Oh,” Malfoy said, looking a bit dazed. 

“See you around, Malfoy,” Ron said.

Chapter Text

“Oh, I forgot to take out the butter!” Harry said. “Er, should I try to spell it soft?”

“No! Circe, no, you’ll turn it into a puddle…” Draco said. He was bent over a three layer princess cake draped with green marzipan. He clutched a frosting bag with both hands as he added fastidious leaves to the pink buttercream roses on the top of the cake. “Just… put the butter out on the table. Maybe it’ll soften a bit by the time Weasley and Granger get here.”

“Oven!” Kreacher shrieked. “Make way for the roast!”

“Ouch! Kreacher! Watch it!”

Harry and Draco had spent the previous year studying for N.E.W.T.s. Harry had continued to live at Grimmauld Place and Draco had moved in, but they’d floo’d into Hogwarts four days a week to attend classes. Harry had taken Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, and Charms — the bare minimum required for an apprenticeship in Defense. Draco had taken Potions, Herbology, Charms, and — to Harry’s bewilderment — Care of Magical Creatures. 

“What?” Draco had said when Harry goggled at him. “Care of Magical Creatures was always my favorite class. It was you I didn’t like.”

“It’s just… I dropped the class ages ago,” Harry said. “I didn’t realize you kept going.”

“Not everything is about you, Potter,” Draco said. 

“Well. I’m glad to hear you didn’t let your fear of hippogriffs keep you down,” Harry said. Draco flipped him off. 

At Hogwarts, Draco did run into some problems with certain students who thought Azkaban would be a better place for him, and who were rather aggressive in letting Draco know. However, they backed off after Harry snogged Draco in the Great Hall in the middle of lunch. 

During the weekends at Grimmauld Place, Draco started taking baking lessons from Kreacher as a way to unwind. Kreacher was over the moon with joy, though Harry often had to remind him that if Draco was ever going to learn anything, Kreacher couldn’t do all the work for him. 

Harry, Draco, and Hermione all finished out their final year of Hogwarts in June. Ron said he might go back to Hogwarts part-time the next year, but Harry doubted that he would actually do it. Ron had never liked schoolwork, he was living with his Hogwarts dropout brother, and he was working full-time. Additionally, George, who didn’t like running his business alone, had made Ron a full partner, and they’d recently signed a contract to start sending their products to suppliers on the continent. 

N.E.W.T.s results had come out in late July. Harry, Draco, and Hermione had all passed: Harry with his three N.E.W.T.s, Draco with four, and Hermione with a whopping seven. Harry had applied for several Defense apprenticeships, all of them outside the U.K., since they worried Draco would struggle to find employment in Great Britain. Harry was accepted to every apprenticeship he applied to, and he decided to accept a placement in Romania with a vampirologist who happened to be the world’s leading expert on vampires. After he’d made that decision, Draco had started looking for a job in Romania as well. 

“The cake’s done!” Draco announced, straightening up and stepping back to inspect his handiwork. 

“Mmm, looks so good, babe,” Harry said, coming up behind him and wrapping his arms around Draco’s waist. 

“Are you even looking at the cake?” Draco said, turning his head to look at Harry with one eyebrow raised. 

“Yeah, that looks good too,” Harry said, brushing his lips against the side of Draco’s face. 

“That’ll be them!” Draco said as they heard the fireplace blaze to life in the living room. 

Harry and Draco got to the dining room just as Ron and Hermione were coming in from the living room. 

“Oh my!” Hermione said, as she took in the sight of the long dining table practically sagging under the weight of the feast spread out on top of it: the large roast sizzling in the center place, the heaping mounds of mashed potatoes, the piles of flaky butter rolls, the roasted vegetables, the steak and kidney pie, the tureens of gravy. 

“You’ve really outdone yourself, Kreacher,” Ron said to the ancient house elf, who had come to stand officiously at the head of the table. 

“Are we celebrating something?” Hermione asked, smiling at Harry. 

“As a matter of fact, we do have an announcement,” Harry said. 

“Oh?” Hermione said, and she and Ron looked questioningly from Harry to Draco. Harry gave Draco an encouraging nod. 

“I got a job in Romania,” Draco said. “I’m going to work at a rehabilitation center for magical creatures. It’s connected to Charlie’s dragon reserve, actually.”

“Oh, Draco, that’s wonderful news!” Hermione said. 

“So it’s official!” Harry said. “Draco’s coming with me to Romania!”

“I was coming either way,” Draco said. 

“Yes, but now you’ll have something to do besides bake cakes. Not that I’m complaining about having cake!” Harry added hastily. “Baking cakes is a very worthwhile and delicious use of your time, and I support your baking 100%. I just don’t want you to get bored being home alone all day.”

“Don’t hurt yourself, Potter,” Draco said, but there was a fond smile playing on his lips. 

“What about Kreacher?” Hermione asked.

“He’s going to start looking for a new tenant,” Harry said. “He likes having people around. We were thinking of asking Luna if she would be interested. We thought she might be a good fit for… well, for the house and Kreacher and everything.”

“Wrackspurts,” Kreacher muttered darkly. Whether in approval or in rejection of Luna, it was difficult to tell.

“Hm, yes, she might like it here,” Hermione said. “And your apprenticeship is for one year, right?”

“Yes, but the plan is to do two more apprenticeships after that,” Harry said. “McGonagall said if I complete three apprenticeships and get a paper published in a scholarly journal, then she’ll give me the Defense position at Hogwarts.”

“But she’ll have to hire someone in the meantime?” Ron said. 

“She’ll fire them the second Harry’s ready to take their job,” Draco said, rolling his eyes and folding his arms in front of his chest. 

“Well, yes,” Harry said. “I mean, she’s only giving out one-year contracts for Defense until I get back. It’s not actually a change, you know. No one’s taught Defense for more than one year in decades.”

“McGonagall’s counting on Harry to break the curse,” Draco said. 

“It should be fine now, right?” Hermione said, looking concerned. “Voldemort’s dead, so the curse should be broken, right?”

“That’s really not guaranteed,” Draco said. 

“It’s three years from now — we’ll figure it out when we get there,” Harry said breezily, with the confidence of a person who had gone up against a dark lord repeatedly and won every time. 

“You know, you had me worried there for a second, when you said you had an announcement,” Ron joked, leaning forward on the back of the chair in front of him. “I thought you were going to say you were getting married.”

There was a silence. Harry and Draco glanced at each other. 

“Wait, what was that?” Ron said suspiciously, looking from Harry to Draco and back again. 

“You are getting married?!” Hermione gasped, putting a hand to her mouth. 

“Well, not — not quite,” Harry said. 

“Not quite? What’s that supposed to mean?” Ron asked, ginger eyebrows rising. 

“Now, don’t get upset,” Harry said, rasing his hands placatingly. “We wanted to tell you at the time, but you were still struggling with the whole idea of Draco back then, and we just thought it would be better — I promise we were planning on telling you; we were just looking for the right moment —”

“Harry,” Ron said warningly. “Spit it out already. What are you trying to say?”

Harry took a deep breath. 

“It’s our anniversary,” he said. “We got married a year ago today.”

“What?!!” Ron and Hermione gasped in unison. 

“But… a year ago… That was only a few months after the war ended!” Hermione protested.

“Yeah, well,” Harry ducked his head sheepishly, but he was grinning widely. “I wanted Draco to move in, but Draco said his family didn’t believe in living together before getting married.”

(“Right, because murder is one thing, but cohabitation is where they draw the line,” Ron muttered sarcastically.)

“And I started thinking about it, and I thought, you know, my parents got married when they were eighteen, and isn’t this what I always wanted? To have my own family? So Kreacher helped me pick out a Black family heirloom ring, and I proposed!” Harry beamed, clearly very proud of himself.

“Ooh, Draco! Were you surprised?” Hermione asked. Her eyes were shining and she sounded a bit giddy.

“Of course not,” Draco said with a dismissive lift of his chin. “It’s only natural he would want to lock me down while he still could.” Ron threw a roll at him. It bounced off his forehead, and Draco ducked behind Harry. 

“Fine! Yes, I was shocked! Are you happy now?” Draco yelped. 

Harry laughed and pulled him to his side, wrapping an arm around his waist. 

“And I swear I wasn’t angling for a proposal,” Draco added, speaking more seriously now. “I thought Harry would just take it as a hint to move things more slowly. I was floored when he got down on one knee and pulled that ring out. I suppose I can start wearing it now that we’re telling people…”

“Oh, but where did you go to get married?” Hermione asked, looking interested. “Our ministry doesn’t recognize gay marriage, does it? And neither does the Muggle government. Did you go to Spain? They have civil unions there, don’t they?”

“Oh,” Harry said. “Well, we didn’t actually get married legally.”

“We got married illegally,” Draco said, smiling sunnily. Harry rolled his eyes. 

“You got married magically,” Ron said with a knowing nod. 

“Magically?” Hermione said, taken aback. “You’ve never told me about that before!”

“You didn’t ask!” Ron said defensively. 

“Fine,” Hermione said, putting her hands on her hips. It always bothered her when other people knew about something that she didn’t. “What does it mean to get married magically?”

“Well, it’s kind of like the difference between a religious marriage and a legal marriage for Muggles,” Harry said. “We did a magical marriage ceremony, and that’s the part that pureblood families really care about. But we can’t register it with the ministry to get it legally recognized, which is what you do if you’re straight. Honestly, we didn’t care about that at the time, since we were keeping it quiet. Someone probably would have leaked it to the press if we’d gone in to register it.”

“You had a ceremony?” Hermione said suspiciously. “Who was there?”

“We didn’t have any guests,” Harry said quickly. “It was just us and Kreacher. He officiated for us.” 

“Oh,” Hermione said. Harry could tell that she was still a little disappointed and hurt to be left out, but she was placated by the knowledge that no one besides Kreacher had been invited. 

“So… Kreacher officiated?” Hermione asked. “What exactly does that mean?”

“Kreacher oversaw our exchange of vows under Veritaserum,” Draco said dreamily, smiling at the memory. 

“Oh!” Hermione said, her eyebrows flying up. She glanced at Ron. 

“The Veritaserum really isn’t a necessary part of the ceremony,” Ron said hastily. “Only the really traditional purebloods do that.”

“We gave Kreacher a list of the traditional questions to ask us,” Draco continued, unbothered. “It’s important to know what the person you’re marrying really thinks of you. And you might want to know, for example, if they’re only marrying you for your money.”

“Couldn’t it be a bit awkward to figure that out during the actual ceremony?” Hermione said, her eyebrows still raised. 

“Better late than never,” Draco shrugged. 

“I really am sorry we didn’t invite you,” Harry said. “I know you would come if we asked you now, but… I don’t think you would have back then, and I didn’t want to start another argument.”

Ron huffed out a heavy sigh and shook his head. 

“Blimey,” he said. “Well, you’re probably right, mate. If you’d told me about this a year ago, I would have told you that you were out of your mind and that it would never last. But you’ve already lasted a whole year, so…”

Ron came around the table to where Harry and Draco were standing. He looked Draco in the eye and held out his hand. Draco shook it firmly. 

“Congratulations,” Ron said.

“Thank you,” said Draco, attempting to look solemn, but Harry, who never missed anything when it came to Draco, could see the hint of a self-satisfied smirk. 

Then Ron pulled Harry into a hug. Hermione had followed him, and she hugged Draco first and then Harry.

“We’re so happy for you! Even if you’ve been keeping secrets from us all this time,” she said, smacking Harry lightly on the shoulder. Then her lip trembled and she had to quickly rub at her eyes to dash away the tears. Ron put his arm around her.

“Mum’s going to be furious when she finds out she missed your wedding,” Ron told Harry.

“We did get married, but we haven’t had a wedding celebration yet,” Harry said. “We were thinking we could have a party and invite everyone.”

“Mum would love that,” Ron said. “I’ll warn you now: she’ll want to be in charge.”

“While the wizards are talking, the food is getting cold,” Kreacher announced.

“Oh! Right. Sorry, Kreacher,” Harry said. 

They all went to take their seats around the table. Kreacher sat at the head, and he made all the food hover in the air and float gently about the table as if on an invisible carousel. Everyone began to fill their plates, the mood cheery and festive. 

As Harry snagged a roll from a passing bowl, he looked around him. Two years ago, such a scene would have felt impossible to him. It was staggering how much had changed in such a short time. 

Draco was sitting next to him, his back straight and his head held high. His white blond hair glinted in the lamplight, and Harry felt suddenly overwhelmed with the knowledge that Draco was here, that Draco was safe, that Draco was his. They’d been through so much fear, so much pain, but now they were together, and a year ago they had promised to stay that way for as long as they lived.

He reached for Draco’s hand under the table and gave it a squeeze. Draco looked at him — those grey eyes Harry knew and loved so well. He smiled. 

Harry didn’t know exactly what the future held, but in that moment, he wasn’t worried. He had his friends. He had a home to return to after his apprenticeships. And no matter what happened, he and Draco would face that future together. 

***

Late that night, after Ron and Hermione had left, Harry lay in bed curled up at Draco’s side, his fingers trailing over the scar on Draco’s bare chest. It was a single line, thin and with the faintest shine to it, like a thread of spider’s silk, and it cut diagonally all the way across Draco’s torso. It was a terrible reminder of the time Harry had almost lost Draco because of his own stupidity, but at the same time, Harry didn’t think the scar was ugly. The imperfection of it only highlighted the rest of Draco’s beauty, in Harry’s opinion. The effect was to make him even more stunning than he would have been without it. 

Harry lifted his head and pressed his mouth to Draco’s chest, trailing slow kisses down the line of his scar. 

“I think you like that you marked me,” Draco said, watching him lazily. “You think it shows that I belong to you.”

“Give it another ten years and maybe I’ll be able to laugh at that,” Harry said. “Right now… it’s not funny. I almost killed you. That was the worst day of my life.”

“It wasn’t the worst day of mine,” Draco said. 

“Then you must have had some really shitty days, sweetheart,” Harry said, moving up to mouth at Draco’s neck. 

“I don’t really remember the pain, actually,” Draco mused. “I know it must have hurt, but I don’t remember it. I must have gone into shock. I do remember thinking I was going to die, though. Seeing all that blood and panicking. That was pretty horrible.”

“Sweetheart,” Harry said again, helplessly. “I’m so, so sorry. I’m going to regret that for the rest of my life.”

“Also, the floor was wet,” Draco continued, unperturbed. “One of us must have broken a pipe. So I was lying on the wet bathroom floor. It was really gross.”

Harry snorted a laugh into Draco’s shoulder. 

“Um. Right. Sorry about that too.”

“But as bad as that was, it wasn’t the worst day of my life,” Draco went on, “because that was also the day you came to find me in the hospital wing. That was the first time you ever really talked to me.”

Harry pushed his fingers into Draco’s fine blond hair, cradled his head gently. 

“Idiot,” Harry said affectionately. “Please don’t ever die just to get my attention. I wish I could take back what I did. You know I’m sorry, don’t you?”

Absently, Draco stroked Harry’s arm. 

“You’re sorry. Is that why you do all the things you do?” he asked, his tone polite and curious. “Saving me from Azkaban. Saving me from the fire. Saving me from Death Eater bullies and anti-Death Eater bullies. Did you marry me because you felt guilty?”

Harry moved his arm to wrap it around Draco’s waist, holding him close. He knew Draco didn’t really think that was the reason Harry married him, but he also knew that Draco sometimes needed reassurance. 

“Do you remember our marriage vows?” Harry asked. 

“I’m the one who wrote them, you know,” Draco reminded him. 

“I know,” Harry said. “Say them for me? It’s our anniversary.”

“You’re such a sap, Potter. Who would have guessed,” Draco sighed, making a show of acting put upon. But then he recited dutifully:

“I, Draco Malfoy, swear to you, Harry Potter,

On my life and my magic,

To stay by your side through foul weather and fair,

To laugh with you, to cry with you,

To celebrate with you, and to grieve with you,

To love you and to cherish you,

For forever and a day.”

“For forever and a day,” Harry echoed wistfully. “That’s what I swore to you under Veritaserum. And I’m still willing to make an Unbreakable Vow to you, just like all the Blacks used to do. Like your parents did. Just say the word and I’ll do it.”

“My parents think it’s romantic,” Draco said, “but I’d rather you stay with me because you choose to, and not because you’d literally die if you asked for a divorce.”

“This is what I choose, Draco,” Harry said. “I married you because I can’t bear to think of life without you. I want to wake up every morning to find you next to me. I want to see your face every single day for the rest of my life.”

“I am very good looking,” Draco said. 

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, and he leaned over Draco to kiss him, sucking gently on his lower lip. Draco lay beneath him, docile for a moment. He made a pleased noise. Then Harry felt his muscles tense, and next Draco was pushing at Harry, rolling them over until he was lying on top, bracketing Harry between his forearms. 

“You’ve been very good,” Draco said. “It’s my turn to take care of you now.”

Draco lowered his head and kissed Harry deeply and luxuriantly. Harry relaxed underneath the weight of Draco’s body. He liked being there, pinned between Draco and the mattress. It felt secure and safe, like Draco could take care of everything for that moment. 

When Draco finally broke off the kiss, surfacing for air, he dropped his head next to Harry’s on the pillow, his mouth inches from Harry’s ear. Harry could feel his breath, warm and feathery, and he shivered. 

“Darling, I love you so much,” Draco whispered. 

Harry brought both arms around Draco’s back, holding him tight. 

“Draco,” Harry breathed. “I love you too. Happy Anniversary.”

THE END