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Chapter Text

The sun dips low over the sprawling garden as Harry and Ginny enjoy the afternoon at Luna’s house, a light breeze stirring the late summer leaves. Luna, now married to Rolf, beams at the children playing quidditch, her usual dreamy expression sharpened with excitement. Around the yard, laughter bubbles while the children darting between trees, chasing after a bludger, with their game in full swing.

Harry glances around, heart tightening with a strange mixture of nostalgia and anxiety. The familiar faces of old friends are scattered around like Ron laughing with Theo, Hermione chatting quietly with Neville and Blaise fumbling with the barbecue while Seamus and Dean watch, amused. Ginny has been refereeing the kids’ game, the familiar red hair a splash of comfort amongst the green of the backyard.

And then, there.

Draco Malfoy. He leans casually against the second story balcony railing, his sharp profile outlined by the golden afternoon light. Their eyes meet for a brief second, and Harry feels it like a jolt—no coldness, no sharpness, just surprise. The look is almost... warm. His chest tightens; a wild beat thrums through him, unfamiliar and thrilling.

Though Harry tries to distract himself by chatting with the others, he can’t help stealing another glance at Draco, who now watches the children play with a rare softness that unsettles him. Draco’s hands rest on the wooden railing, fingers curling casually. During a particularly exciting moment in the quidditch match where Albus and Draco’s son, Scorpius, Harry remembers, battle for the snitch, The Chosen One uses the moment to escape.

As he wanders inside, he watches the game over his shoulder, the pair barrelling through the air just a streak of blonde and brunette looking all too familiar. Harry scales the stairs and from the landing he can already see Draco again, through the glass sliding door lazing on the balcony.

Harry joins him silently, both watching Blaise’s fumbling attempts to light the barbecue spark laughter from Greg, Neville, Dean, and Seamus down below. Nearby, Ron and Hermione share a quiet, intimate moment, their heads close together. Ginny’s laughter carries across the yard as her referring sprinkles through the ongoing game, the sight grounding Harry and yet stirring something raw inside him.

When Draco spots Harry standing beside him, he doesn’t say anything. He just sets his eyes on the distance. Harry tries to make small talk. He ventures quietly, the question slipping before he can stop himself, “Where’s Astoria?”

Draco’s eyes darken slightly, but he doesn’t look away. “She wasn’t well enough to come,” he says softly. Then, he nods toward Ginny and adds, “She looks in her element.”

Harry smiles, but it’s bittersweet, “Oh, definitely.” His gaze flickers back to Draco’s, and the air between them crackles. Goosebumps rise on Harry’s skin, and he turns away quickly, breath catching.

“I’m glad things worked out for you… Harry,” Draco murmurs, his voice low, almost hesitant. He doesn’t meet Harry’s eyes, but the weight of his words lands heavy in the space between them.

“Thanks. You too, Draco,” Harry manages, voice a little hoarse. He catches Draco’s faint smile as he leans on the balcony edge, fingers tracing invisible patterns on the wine flute hanging lazily from his fingertips.

“Anyway,” Draco says, pushing off from the railing, “I’d better get Scorpius and head off.” He descends the stairs and disappears inside as Harry watches him go. Their eyes meet only once as Draco strides away, grey on green and with oddly more warmth than Harry expects.

Needing air, Harry starts for the stairs a moment later and heads for the garden. The kids’ game had ended, and Luna ushers the kids all inside for water and snacks. Harry finds Ginny leaning on a patio chair, her eyes bright. “Who won?” he asks.

Ginny shrugs, laughing softly, “Hard to tell. They couldn’t agree on the rules, so half their goals didn’t count.”

Harry smiles but his gaze drifts toward Draco, who’s now shaking Neville’s hand near the back porch.

“Are they leaving?” Ginny asks, sensing his distraction, “Draco and Scorpius?” 

Harry replies, “Yeah, I think so.”

“They’ve got the right idea,” Ginny says, hands on hips, looking up at the deepening sky, “Should we escape, too?”

“Probably for the best.”

Inside, Hermione scolds the kids for neglecting to wash their hands before eating, while Ron tries to intervene but gets scolded himself. The kids cheer as Ginny enters, crowding around her feet demanding she make the final decision on who won. 

“You’re supposed to be the ref!” Lily insists.

“Yeah, but I’m also your mom,” She reminds her, “And I’m teaching you a lesson on problem solving!” The kids groan and retreat as Ginny pulls Luna into a fond hug, “Thank you so much for having us.”

“It’s been wonderful!” Luna beams, a bowl of apple slices in her free hand. 

“I’ll remind the kids to keep an eye on Orion and Celeste for you,” Ginny offers, referring to Luna’s twins starting their very first year at Hogwarts in the coming few days. 

“You’re a darling, Gin. Stop by sooner, yeah?”

“Of course.”

Harry watches the exchange while leaning against the kitchen bench but his focus is regained when Draco strides into the room. His expression is tight as he asks, “Where’s Scorpius?” The question sparks those in the room to look around. 

James pipes up, “Albus has gone missing too.” There’s a simultaneous groan from everyone in the room, the friendship between the two boys infamous since they both started Hogwarts years ago. Now, going into their 6th year, they seem to be trying to double the trouble and make even more mischief than ever before. 

Draco shakes his head, “I’ll look upstairs.”

“I’ll check the garden,” Harry offers, relief mingling with nerves.

He steps outside, the laughter from the others drifting faintly from the deck along with the smell of burning. Blaise mustn’t have succeeded with the grill after all. Harry's footsteps crunch on dry leaves as he loops around the outskirts of the yard. He’s almost done a full circle when he hears a rustling from the trees above. He glances up and sees only leaves. Still, he can hear two muffled voices. “Albus?” Harry calls gently.

There's a moment's silence as the trees stop rustling and both voices come to a halt. Then, a hesitant, “Yeah, Dad?” Albus’s voice is muffled but clear. His head pops out from the leaves then, followed by Scorpius’ as well. 

“Hey, Mr. Potter.”

“Oh, Scorpius, it’s you too.”

“Yeah,” Scorpius says shyly.

“What do you want?” Albus frowns, annoyed.

Harry is baffled by the rude tone, “We’re leaving. And so is your father, Scorpius, he’s looking for you.”

The boys sigh in unison, then Albus calls down, “We’ll be there soon.”

“No, Albus Potter. Come down now. Your mother’s waiting, and so am I,” Harry says sternly, a headache starting to form between his temples. This day has been far too long and it’s high time it’s over. 

“ Dad ,” Albus whines, retreating further into the branches and tugging Scorpius with him.

“Albus?” Harry tries again, as the pair disappear, “I swear to-”

Whispers and rustling follow before Albus scales down skilfully. He lands on the forest floor with his face flushed from the excursion and he’s even got a button done up wrong on his shirt. Odd, Harry notes, from climbing trees. 

Harry plucks a leaf from his hair and laughs, “Been busy, huh?” 

Albus yelps awkwardly, “What do you mean?” 

Harry holds out the leaf with a confused look, “Busy climbing trees?” 

Albus huffs a relieved sigh, “Oh yeah, duh. Come on.” He takes Harry’s arm and pulls him towards the house.

“What about Scorpius?” Harry asks as they walk back.

“He’ll come down soon,” Albus promises.

Back inside, Draco has returned and waits anxiously and a little annoyed. Albus explains quickly upon entering, “Don’t worry, Mr Malfoy, Scorpius just needed a minute.”

James, mouth full of Luna’s homemade muffin, pipes up, “I wonder what for.”

“James, shut up!” Albus hisses.

Scorpius enters then, messy-haired and apologetic, “Hey, Father. Sorry to keep you waiting.” His eyes meet Albus’s for a moment, a small smile playing on his lips, “Bye, Albus.”

The Malfoys leave, James teasingly saying, “ Bye, Albus ,” to Albus who gives him a furious shove. Ginny pulls them apart before it gets really dirty, giving them a look as if to say ‘ What’s gotten into you two?’ .

She snaps, “James, stop antagonising your brother and get in the floo!” The kids rush off, Lily staying back a moment to hug Rose before dashing off as well. Ginny goes next, leaving just Harry to farewell his friends before he’s sucked into the fireplace too.

***

Much later, once the kids have gone to bed, Harry sits on the bedroom floor stuffing his possessions into brown boxes. Ginny’s to his right, supposedly helping him, but she’s smiling at a letter she received at breakfast and hasn’t stopped retrieving to re-read all afternoon. 

“Who’s that from, eh?” Harry questions, contemplating whether he needs to keep his weathered old Hogwarts scarf. He dumps it in the box anyway. 

Ginny gives him a glance, “Are you sure you…want to know?” Harry doesn’t miss how her gaze falls over the boxes crowding the corners of the room and their wedding rings, each sitting unworn on their sidetables. 

“Of course,” Harry insists, “I still want us to be friends, Ginny, I mean we have years of history and the kids. Just, lets make this feel normal?”

Ginny gives a light laugh, looking down at the letter in her hand, “None of this is normal,” But she still answers his question, “The letter is from…her name’s Riley.”

Harry nods, giving her a teasing look and a small nudge, “Riley, eh?”

“Oh stop it,” Ginny laughs big this time, almost loud enough to wake the children. Harry hopes she doesn’t. At least when they’re asleep he can’t feel their silent judgement. He knows they blame him for the divorce, especially since he’ll be the one moving out to live at Grimmauld place. He thought it’d be for the best that the kids stay in the house where they were raised, a large farm secluded from the public and paparazzi that followed Harry everywhere and, by extension, his kids. It’d been a home for years and he’s not sure how he’ll handle the empty, lonely and untouched Grimmauld Place. He snaps from his thoughts when Ginny gives him sidelong, “And you? Is there... is there someone else?”

Harry flinches. He wants to laugh — not in mockery, but in sheer disbelief, “No. I mean, not really. I don’t know.”

She raises an eyebrow, “Not really?”

Harry hesitates. He doesn’t know how to put it into words. That there’s this infuriating, sharp-edged presence in his life again. That Malfoy is in his dreams, in his head, in the stupid ink-smeared parchment of his journal where he gets out the thoughts too guilty to share with anyone.

“It’s not like that ,” he finally says, rubbing the back of his neck, “There’s just… someone who’s always gotten under my skin. And I guess... lately I’ve been thinking too much about why that is.”

Ginny studies him for a long moment. Then, to his surprise, she grins, really grins, a quick flash of that mischievous, unafraid Weasley fire. “Oh my god,” she breathes, “It’s Malfoy, isn’t it?”

Harry’s face goes hot, “What? No. I mean — I didn’t say that!”

“You didn’t have to,” she teases gently, and it’s like the tension breaks just a little. “Harry, you’ve always been obsessed with him. I thought it was just mutual hatred, but…”

“It is mutual hatred!” Harry insists, flustered.

Ginny shrugs. “If you say so.” Then her expression softens again. “You don’t owe me an explanation. I’m not angry. Just... promise me you’ll let yourself figure it out. Whatever it is. Don’t shove it down just because it’s inconvenient or confusing.”

“I can’t promise that at all,” Harry sighs, “Besides, Draco’s with Astoria.”

Ginny smirks then, rising from the floor and stretching her back with a groan, “Oh I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

“Huh?” Harry frowns up at her curiously, “What do you know that I don’t?”

“Let’s just say not everything is as good as it appears to be. Why do you think Astoria didn’t come today? Some people can’t hide the faults in their relationship as we do,” Ginny sniffs, the divorce finalisation paperwork seemly glowing from the desk in the corner. How they’d kept it a secret from everyone bar the kids, Ron and Hermione is only by sheer luck.

“He said Astoria was sick,” Harry corrects.

Ginny scoffs, “Likely story. She’s one of the best seekers in the circuit at the moment, I’ve just reffed 3 of her home games and she’s at the top of her paygrade. There’s no way she’s sick enough not to have made a small reunion within friends.” 

Harry nods, slowly, “I suppose.”

“Anyways,” Ginny shrugs, slinking towards the door with another small smirk, “I always knew you and Malfoy had some weird little thing going on at school.”

The words hit him like a quiet punch to the gut, settling deep in his chest where no one can see. It’s not anger or jealousy, not exactly. It’s something heavier, a sharp ache wrapped in reluctant truth. That strange, complicated knot of longing and regret that has never fully loosened. He swallows hard, forcing a smile, but inside, everything tightens — like the last page of a book he’s not ready to finish. The past and present tangled together, and no matter how hard he tries, some things refuse to stay buried.

Chapter Text

It’s been a mere week since Ginny and Harry had farewelled their children at platform 9 3/4’s so Harry’s surprised when he’s already received an owl from Professor McGonagall. He’s sitting at the dining table at Grimmauld place as he reads it. The house is silent and his loneliness is only magnified by the empty chairs lining the equally empty table. The letter is vague, giving only a few details on his son’s behaviour, Albus not James; it confirms. His stomach knots as he reads the last line which is a summon to Hogwarts to discuss punishment. 

Even though the morning light filtered through Grimmauld Place’s high windows, everything inside Harry feels like it’s fraying. His children had seemed… distant lately. They preferred Ginny, letters arriving at their address only and carefully addressed as if he were a stranger. Ginny reassured him it wasn’t personal, but Harry couldn’t help feeling the weight of blame pressing against his chest. After all, hadn’t he initiated the divorce? He couldn’t deny the thought gnawed at him. Both he and Ginny had grown bored of each other, had other sparks they wished to pursue but it’d been him to make the final call. 

A call from the living room startles him, “Harry?” Ginny’s voice called.

“Yeah, coming!” he replies, tossing the letter down on the table next to his steaming mug of tea. He takes a breath as he rounds the corner and spots Ginny in the fireplace. She steps through, dusting off her shoulders. 

“You’ve got the owl?” Ginny asks, not wasting any time though she does give him a sympathetic smile. She didn’t need to say anything; he already knew what she was talking about. 

Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair, “Albus… probably just a phase,” he mutters, gesturing her into the kitchen, “Or the divorce has him on edge. I don’t know.

Ginny’s gaze was gentle, “You’re not failing him, Harry, though I know you think it. You’re… human. He’ll still need you. And you him. Don’t forget that.”

He gave her a weak smile, but the knot in his chest didn’t loosen, “Right. Human.” They sit for a brief conversation over tea on who will go to Hogwarts to deal to their son. Eventually, it’s Harry who agrees to go as Ginny has referring and coaching to tend to. 

By mid-morning, Harry finds himself in the familiar stone corridors of Hogwarts. Students zig zag through the corridors in a never ending sea of movement with wands and bags in hand. The echo of students’ footsteps and the whispers that pass him feel like a backdrop to the worry inside him. 

Harry locates Professor McGonagall's office with practised ease, saying the password before stepping through. He takes the spiral staircase up, strides down the thin corridor before knocking on the door waiting at the end. Mcgonagall’s voice beckons him in and Harry tries not to feel hesitant as he steps in. He isn’t expecting anyone at the meeting bar himself and Mcgonagalls so when he makes direct eye contact with grey eyes he stops on the spot. His worry eases for a split second, a jolt of something else coursing through him instead. 

“What are you doing here?” He says, closing the door behind him but still staying rooted to the spot. 

“The same as you,” He says dryly, “Sit down so we can start.”

Harry huffs and takes the seat beside him, across from McGonagall. She watches them with interest, though her chin stays high and regal, “You two have thawed over the years, but not much I take it?” Neither respond, avoiding each other's eyes. She hums and goes on, “Potter. Malfoy. I’ll be frank with you, Albus and Scorpius have…made a number of poor choices.” 

Her tone is measured, but her eyes twinkle with a hint of humor, “I know they’ve been the centre of a few issues in their years here, but none quite amount to the scope of today’s… incident.”

Harry swallows, “Yes, Professor. I—”

“Briefly,” McGonagall interjects, “Albus was involved in modifying potions in a way that… let’s say, made the Slytherin common room rather… aromatic. Scorpius was assisting,” She arches an eyebrow, “I assume you are aware that Gryffindor’s head of house is not fond of magical chaos in his corridors.”

Harry winced, “I… wasn’t aware. I mean, he didn’t mention it-”

Draco interrupts, voice calm but with an unmistakable edge, “It’s… less dramatic than it sounds. They weren’t harming anyone. Just being… creative. And a bit careless,” His eyes met Harry’s, and something flickered there. Maybe recognition? Or perhaps a shared memory of mischief passed.

McGonagall sighs, rubbing her temple, “It wouldn’t be much of a crime if not for their other, more pressing offense. As of late, I’m afraid your sons have been… rather inventive in their exploits. Albus and Scorpius, while brilliant in many respects, have had to be placed in separate dormitories for repeatedly fraternising beyond school hours. They were, how shall I put this, caught in a compromising position last week, which I trust you can imagine would not be appropriate for the school’s reputation.”

“Compromising position…?” Harry grimaces, as he processes, “Albus and Scorpius, surely not?” 

“Why is that so hard to comprehend, Potter?” Draco shoots back, though he seems to be reeling himself, eyes widened. Harry doesn’t miss how he says his last name. They must be back to that again, always dancing around each other with one step forward and two steps back, “You weren’t all the prude in school either.”

“Hey! That's-”

Draco leans forward slightly, a smirk playing on his lips, “-astonishing, really, that your son inherited the same sense of discretion as yourself. Though I suppose some lessons at Hogwarts are… best learned first-hand, wouldn’t you agree, Potter?”

Harry can only blink, as his cheeks heat. Is Draco really going there? He clears his throat, “Whatever do you mean, Malfoy?”

Draco feigns innocence but his voice drops low, “Oh, come now. Surely you remember certain… extracurricular exercises in rule-bending and private tutoring sessions.”

McGonagall interrupts sharply then, “Mr. Malfoy. If you intend to continue… that conversation, I suggest you do so somewhere other than my office.”

Draco shrugs but his disdainful look remains, “As you wish, Professor. Though some memories are rather difficult to forget.” The last part is targeted at Harry, most definitely, and he feels himself flush all over again. He shoots a dirty look in the blonde’s direction. Merlin, he wants to…what? He doesn’t get a chance to begin fantasising as Mcgonagall goes on. 

“Enough! You will both focus on how to guide your children. And perhaps consider that the next compromising position could involve the hospital wing rather than mere embarrassment,” She says sternly. 

“Right. Guiding them, avoiding hospital wings… got it,” Harry sighs, pushing up his glasses and rubbing his temple. They continue to speak for a while, McGonagall outlining a few possible disciplinary measures. The meeting extends longer than expected, and by the time it’s done, the day has waned into late afternoon. 

“Well, with all that sorted, I suppose it’s time for your portkey’s?” McGonagall says at last, juggling a few papers on her desk, “I have the coordinates right here somewhere…” She picks up a piece of parchment, eyes darting over it before her eyebrows cringe, “I’m very sorry but I have unfortunate news for you two.”

“What is it now?” Draco mutters. When Harry glances at him, he feels a rush of something in his chest. The blonde sits tall with his back straight the complete opposite to him, slumped back tiredly in his chair. 

“The portkeys I’ve organised have been cancelled due to unforeseen magical interference elsewhere” She explains.

Harry let out a frustrated groan, “Of course.”

“It seems you’re stuck until I can organise one for the morning,” McGonagall concludes, already rising from her desk, “I’ll organise for the house elves to prepare rooms for you two in the North tower where we keep extra accommodation.”

Draco, stands next with the same faintly infuriatingly calm expression, “Thank you for your hospitality, Professor, we’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Indeed, good afternoon gentlemen,” She dismisses them. Harry ends up leaving with Draco, trailing behind him on the staircase and almost stepping on his obnoxious robes as they step out into the hall. 

Draco tilts his head as Harry closes the door behind him, “Well, looks like we’re stuck here for the evening. I suppose we should… make the best of it.”

Harry blinks, caught off guard as his heart rate spikes. Stuck here, in Hogwarts, with Draco Malfoy. The words echoed in his mind, carrying a mixture of dread and something far more complicated. Something that reminds him of Eighth year, “And what do you mean by that, Malfoy?”

“You seem tense,” Draco remarked lightly, glancing back with that infuriating smirk. He begins leading the way down the hallway, robes almost brushing past the stone walls. As they neared the North Tower it smelled faintly of dust, parchment, and something almost herbal, probably the last remnants of old classrooms, “I expected more… cheer from the famous Harry Potter, saviour of the wizarding world, father of at least one overdramatic son.”

Harry huffs a laugh he doesn’t feel, fumbling with sleeve of his sweater, “I’m not exactly thrilled about being stuck here, Malfoy.”

“I don’t expect any less” Draco replies, his gaze softening in a way that makes Harry feel the slightest bit unnerved. What exactly was Malfoy playing at? His pace remains steadfast as they approach the door number they’d been given to one of the school’s mini suites, “You know, you don’t hide well when you’re hopelessly mortified by my presence.”

Harry blinked, “I’m not-”

Draco stops walking, turning so he can lean slightly closer as they arrive at their door, “Oh, but you are. I can feel it in your magic.”

Harry groans, using the key to open the door. The inside is a plain room with an open plan kitchennette and living space with two doors on the left, the two bedrooms, and one on the right, the bathroom. Harry barges in first, “You’re insufferable.”

“Possibly. But charming, too,” Draco replies, closing the door behind him and perching on one of the bar seats at the kitchen island. The house elves have already left a variety of steaming foods along the bench and Draco picks at a dish, grabbing a prawn, “Shall we eat? Or would you rather continue sulking?”

Harry has to refrain from a small smile, something felt natural about being back around Draco and his witty comments. He had hard edges that could be thawed and something in Harry still wants to try be the one to do it, “Fine. We’ll eat. But I’m not making conversation about… anything personal.”

Draco’s smirk widens, “Ah, polite small talk it is.”

The meal passes in a teasing rhythm, Draco commenting dryly on Harry’s serving technique, the way he holds his fork, the faint smudge of flour still clinging to his sleeve from an attempt at pancakes for breakfast. Harry rebuts his comment in turn, letting his old sarcasm slip back into place.

Then Draco’s tone softens, almost imperceptibly, “You know, I didn’t think it would be… this difficult, being here like this. Alone, in Hogwarts. Feels… smaller than I remember, somehow. Claustrophobic.”

Harry swallows, feeling an odd wave of vulnerability, “Yeah. It’s… strange. And quiet. Makes you think about what’s missing.”

Draco leans back, eyes meeting Harry’s over the table, “Missing… or misplaced?”

Harry’s throat tightens, and he looked down at his almost empty plate, “I don’t know.”

A pause stretches between them, heavy with things left unsaid. Draco reaches for a glass of water, brushing fingers against Harry’s hand just slightly. Harry’s pulse jumps, and he quickly withdraws his hand, cursing internally.

Draco’s smirk returns, slow and deliberate, “You always were so easily flustered, Potter. Some things never change.”

Harry flushes once again, and for the first time since entering the tower, he feels… something like anticipation. Something like history waiting to repeat itself, in ways neither of them could quite control, “I suppose you’re right, Malfoy,” Harry murmurs, voice low, almost reluctant to acknowledge it, “Stuck in a room together, decades later, and it feels… like nothing’s changed.”

Draco tilts his head, as if he’s realising Harry’s willing to play the game he’s setting up. The smirk on his face lingers but there’s something quieter in his gray eyes now, a flicker of something unguarded, “Some things, Potter, are better left… unaltered though, don’t you think?. Keeps life interesting.”

Harry scoffs lightly, trying to mask the way his pulse picks up, “Interesting, huh? You mean exasperating, insufferable, infuriating?”

Draco leans forward, elbows resting on the counter top, tone teasing but pointed, “All of the above. And yet… I find myself rather enjoying it. You… frustrate me more than anyone, Harry.”

The words land differently than they would have years ago. There’s weight now, a shared history threaded with unspoken tension. Harry can’t help but feel drawn, a magnetic pull that’s part nostalgia, part something entirely new. He glances down at his hands, then meets Draco’s gaze again, sharper this time.

“And you,” Harry says, teasing returned, “have a talent for making even quiet afternoons feel… charged. Somehow.”

Draco’s smirk widens, and he leans just slightly closer, enough that the proximity is noticeable, deliberate. “Potter,” he murmurs, voice low, “we’re alone. No distractions, no distractions at all. Perhaps… we should see how well we remember each other?”

Harry swallows, a mix of nerves and excitement twisting in his chest, “You mean… test our… knowledge?”

Draco lets a slow, knowing laugh escape, “In a manner of speaking,” His grey eyes glint with mischief, “After all, we’ve always been… thorough learners.”

Harry can’t help the sharp inhale at the implication, the tension between them coiling tight, and for the first time that day, he realizes how much he’s wanted this- not just Draco’s company, but this… spark, this push-pull of old and new.

Draco reaches out, brushing fingers against Harry’s once more, lingering just enough to make him shiver, “Before we go any further, the rumours are true aren’t they? About you and Ginny…separating? It would explain the mopiness.”

“I shouldn’t be surprised that information’s circulating already,” Harry murmurs and he knows he should feel embarrassed people know his personal business or maybe annoyed that the press can’t leave him alone but all he can think about is getting closer to Draco, “What about you? I’ve heard things as well…” 

He trails off and Draco smiles, “Let’s just say there’s nothing in the way of this. And there’s no reason,” Draco adds quietly, almost a whisper now, “that our sons should be having more fun than us.”

Harry meets his gaze, heart thudding in a mix of apprehension and anticipation, “I suppose you’re right.” Harry’s pulse hammers in his ears, the air between them taut and electric as they close the gap between them. Harry almost falls off his stool in the rush to pull the man in. Draco’s smirk falters, replaced by something sharper, hungrier, and Harry loses the last fraction of restraint he’d been clinging to. He breathes in Draco’s scent before attacking his lips with deep, desperate kisses. He smells the same and just as intoxicating. 

They start stumbling for the nearest bedroom and, without thinking, Harry grabs Draco by the lapels, shoving him back against the wall. Draco gasps, a flash of surprise and hunger flickering across his face before Harry crashes back to his mouth in a hard, demanding kiss. Draco responds immediately, lips parting, hands tangling in Harry’s hair, and the world narrows until nothing exists but the heat of skin on skin and the familiar, maddening pull between them.

They stumble through the door and towards the double bed, hearts hammering, breaths ragged, clothes already becoming obstacles, the tension from years and unspoken desire exploding into motion. And just as they collapse onto the mattress, every nerve alive, every thought consumed by each other - there’s a sharp, hesitant knock on the suite’s door.

Both of them freeze, chests heaving, and Harry groans, pulling back just enough to glare at the door. Draco begins rebuttoning his shirt immediately while Harry sits up, smoothing his hair and trying to rid himself of his flushed cheeks. Harry glances at Draco and catelogues his swollen lips and muzzed hair. Whoever is at the door is going to know what they’ve been doing. Hopefully it’s just a house elf.

“Dad? Dad, are you guys in there?”

“Professor McGonagall said you two would be in here?”

The unmistakable voices of Albus and Scorpius.

Harry and Draco exchange a look that’s part horror, part wicked amusement, and the tension between them becomes a different kind of chaos altogether.