“I ran into Remus and Draco in Paris.” Hermione announced, casually, taking a sip of her cappuccino. Because they all drank cappuccinos now, two years after the war, but Harry couldn’t help but still prefer butterbeer any day of the week.
“Uhg, sorry for that.” Ron muttered with disgust that only could be matched by the memory of the time he spent half a day vomiting slugs.
“Ron! We all fought at the same side in a war. Surely it’s about time --”
“Am I the only one who remembers that git actually poisoned me?”
“I almost killed Malfoy in Myrtle’s bathroom,” Harry quipped, dunking a cookie into his cappuccino before taking a bite. “Think that might makes us even in a weird way?”
“Not a chance.”
“Well,” Hermione rolled her eyes. “I had lunch with them. They seem very happy!”
“...with the two of them? As in together?” Harry asked, wondering what were the chances all three would run on each other like that in such a big city.
“They were searching for a book at the Latin Quarter. Malfoy is doing his Masters in Potions, you see.” Hermione added primly. “Remus is working with the French Confederation for Improvement of Werewolves Rights. Apparently, the buildings are at the same street, they see each other quite frequently.”
“Oh, that’s nice.” Harry observed and realized, belatedly, that he meant it. He remembered when Malfoy had defected and how seemed, in retrospect, to follow Lupin around the Grimmauld Place like a lost puppy.
After spending so long surrounded by Death Eaters twice his age, he seemed unsure or unwilling to handle being around people his age and had naturally gravitated to his cousin Tonks, Fleur and, especially, Lupin.
Sometimes Harry wondered if Voldemort had created some weird liminal space with his magic where mere months around him accounted to years, because the Draco Malfoy that had come to their side, tall like Ron but wearing it better than Harry suspected his friend ever would, was often in corners whispering with other members of the Order, sipping wine, like he was one of them, a proper grownup whose input was valued and considered.
Often during those times, Harry had found himself jealous, the little they saw each other, especially in regards to Remus Lupin who had seemed to develop a clear soft spot for Malfoy almost immediately, and was terribly protective, always willing to back Draco up whenever he felt he was being ganged up on.
Now, Harry felt a little silly. Two years later, it was rather clear to him that all of them but Malfoy especially, in his role fighting against his own family and people he had known his entire life, needed protecting and looked after and he no longer resented Lupin for taking the role, even when he had rarely done it for Harry himself. In a weird way Malfoy, during that year, needed him a lot more.
“Snape would have been proud of him.” Harry added. “For the Potions thing.”
Hermione beamed at him, then, seemingly eager to say more before catching herself. The more, Harry would find out on his own.
The years passed and it became clear that with excuse after excuse Remus Lupin had no plans to return to Britain, so if Harry ever wanted to see him again, and he did, for he was the only one left out of the Marauders -- there was a part of him that would always want to see him again, despite how strained things had gotten near the end of the war--, he would have to go to the man himself.
Hermione Granger gave him the perfect opening, perharps on purpose, by telling him of what seemingly had become, at least, monthly lunch dates with Lupin and Malfoy and that he should drop by as well. Shocking no one more than himself, Harry decided to do just that one day.
Following the address Hermione had provided, he apparated at a spot near the bistro they were supposed to meet. Harry Potter heard Malfoy before he saw him and, for a minute, it was like they were all together again, in Hogwarts, with Draco Malfoy’s bright, free laughter and gleaming blonde hair catching every eye in the room.
He was laughing hard at something Hermione had said, a proper giggling fit Harry had only seen him indulge in the years before Voldemort moved into his house and seemingly stole the capacity away from him. Under the glow of the afternoon sun, Harry watched his childhood rival lean precariously into Lupin’s space, sharing his myth and grabbing onto his arm to catch his balance.
Lupin twirled his fingers on Draco’s soft flowing hair, tucking it away from his face, silently laughing along, looking younger than Harry had ever seen him. Oh.
When Hermione walked in to get a last minute pastry while the two men waited by the sidewalk, both looking very tall and very warm in their long winter coats, he couldn’t claim surprise when they seemed to move as one, stealing a moment in the crowded sidewalk, Lupin’s large hands rubbing warmth on Draco’s shoulders that turned into a full blown embrace when the blond causally got onto his tippytoes to steal a kiss.
They sprang apart like new lovers at the sound of the bell of the bistro announcing Hermione’s return, even though a little voice told Harry they were anything but, the newness glow of their pairing refusing to dissipate.
“Harry!” Hermione waved at him, enthusiastically, as she caught sight of him.
As he crossed the street to them, he noticed the two men reach for the other’s hand in a moment of quiet reassurance.
“Potter,” Draco greeted him, baffled, stubbornly holding Lupin’s hand, standing between them. He was full blown scowling now and Harry wanted to laugh because he looked sixteen then and not a day over despite the fact he didn’t look it at all with his long flowy hair and sophisticated tan coat that hit his ankles. “How long have you been over there?”
“Oh, just a couple of minutes.” Harry replied airily, smiling at a nervous looking Remus. “How are you? It’s been a while!”
“Has it?” Malfoy raised an eyebrow looking as friendly as Buckbeak. How the hell did Hermione do this?
“Draco.” Remus chided him gently putting an arm around his shoulders and drawing him close to nuzzle his ear while telling him something. That earned him a big sigh.
“Potter.” Another big sigh. “Would you like to accompany Hermione, Remus and I back to our apartment?” Hermione. Harry was sure he was losing his mind. “We’ll open up a few bottles, get dinner started. I’ll warn you if you wish to spend the night you’ll have to share the guest room or take the sofa.”
“Er- sure, yeah! That would be great.”
Hermione was smiling at Harry encouragingly as the four of them walked the few blocks to where Draco and Remus lived together. Harry decided then to say yes to Hermione’s invitations more often by the sheer need to hear Draco Malfoy say her name like that again, like he’d always done it, like he'd always liked her, in the same breath he clearly and surely seemed to recall exactly how much he'd always disliked Harry. Somehow that easy, comfortable comradery they shared now was weirder than seeing him kiss Remus in a public street.
Which, by the way, they seemed to like doing an awful lot, Harry would observe after their fourth or fifth lunch-dinner. Not directly in front of Harry and Hermione, mind you, because that would be tacky and Draco Malfoy was a lot of things, A LOT indeed, but tacky was where he drew the line, but whenever they could steal a private moment away, which Lupin was sure to do when Draco and Harry would inevitably start to get snippy with each other.
At those moments, he would come up with some sort of culinary emergency in the kitchen which just happened to be an excuse to snog Draco within an inch of his nastiness. Harry was sure that was happening because Malfoy always came back to the table looking pink and soft and vaguely dazed and you could trust he’d be on his best behavior for at least the next half an hour.
“Ron is gonna kill us.” He told Hermione when they returned to London, feeling like a spouse that was carrying on an affair behind his wife’s back.
“Oh, he knows!” Hermione shrugged. “He’s convinced Draco has Remus imperiused.”
Harry snorted, imagining Ron’s face when he found out about the unlikely pairing that made an undeniable sort of sense.
“More like the other way around.”