Harry is walking out of an old phone booth, exiting the Ministry. The dark blue cloak proclaiming his Cursebreaker status seamlessly transfigures into a muggle blazer. He welcomes the innocuous change just as the burden of his worries dissipates, allowing the legacy of Harry Potter to fall away. The streets of dreary London compel him to continue to walk instead of finding the nearest apparition point. Sometimes, he has to remind himself how easy it is to fall into the mindset of rushing towards his destination. Wixen have no need to wait, but sometimes it is nice to just take in his surroundings. To catch himself in a downpour, weep with the rain for all his heart aches. His healers do not approve of this method of hiding his feelings , but he can't be damned to care. His job may not deal with day-to-day criminals, but he still has cases that chill him to the bone, the atrocities he bears witness.
Draco said he would make a fine cursebreaker, and he was right. There is fulfillment in his heart even when it seems impossible. Harry also works part-time in the Department of Mysteries. He isn't obsessed with work, refusing to fall into a pit that will have him abandoning Teddy and his family. He tries to use his time enjoying their presence. Soaking in each hug and laughter because he won't be someone who lives without love.
He helps Hermione campaign and has been able to help restructure the MOM in the best ways. Equal rights across the board for sentient species, the formation of a primary school that allows better integration of Wizards and Non-Magics. It has been a new age for their generation. It believes in prison reformation and aid to those who suffered at the hands of Voldemort on both sides.Honestly sometimes it feels like a dream to see such changes from when first entered the wizarding world.
The soft hum of magic alerts him to the faithful presence at his side.
Emerald eyes clash with stormy grey, then turns away as he speaks, "Did you hear Ron finally made Head Auror?"
"Ron Weasely, huh? Making a mark in the world, an achievement outside of the precious golden trio. Who would have thought so much would come from a boy with hand-me-down robes and red hair? " Draco smirks a little towards the end.
" I knew he’d achieve that, git. I chose him to be my friend, if you recall."
“Yes, yes, I do recall you saying ‘knowing how to choose the right sort for yourself’.” Draco waves him off as if to say let bygones be bygones when he was the one to bring it up, “I noticed you didn't mention your second Order of Merlin First Class after dismantling the ring of fire that contaminated the North Sea. As well as finally banishing the Dementors that had been rogue from Voldemort's reign of terror."
An awkward laugh escapes Harry waving the words away as if he can make them disappear with the wind. Harry will never be able to accept praise for what he believes anyone else would do in his place. Draco said where everyone had common sense, Harry had an uncommonly kind heart.
"I used your notes to accomplish that. I haven't done a damn thing alone since I was eleven, you know that."
"Harry", Draco turned from where he had been striding alongside him to admonish Harry straight on.
Even in the middle of the crowded street, Harry can't handle it, so he turns quickly and thinks of the three D's that will take him away before he is completely ensnared by grey eyes.
Landing with a soft thump, he moves quickly when he feels a hand touch his wrist.
“Harry?”
The emotions he keeps sealed and wrapped in him throughout his ‘working day’ finally rise and bubble to the surface. He chokes, "You're supposed to be here, standing with me as we are recognised together as partners. How can I call myself a saviour if I couldn't even save you ?"
The tears fall onto the grey gravestone, which proclaims:
" Draco Lucius Potter
As you wish, As I wish"
June 5 5,1991 - Sept 22,2000
*******************************
Sept. 8 1998
Harry is crammed into the smallest storage closet the school must have. His legs are numb, and he has no idea how Malfoy has held back from whinging. There is no way he feels any better with being squeezed into this tight space. Surely, he has lost all feeling and will never be able to use his wand again. Maybe he will ask Promfrey to cut it off for being such a useless appendage. Ok, so maybe he is exaggerating just like an eleven-year-old Malfoy, but he is hungry, and they have been here for at least half an hour.
" Do you suppose they have finally given up on this hallway?"
"Hmm. Well, as our dedicated Lord and Savior, I believe it is your duty to check the corridor, mon petit chou." A yawn." Go on, save us, Potter.
"Did you just insult me in French?"
" That's what you're worried about? I insult you plenty in English, so stop being ridiculous and do your duty, Potty."
A snort breaks out, "Are you- are you saying you choose me? As in, I’m the chosen one?." Harry asks deadpan.
" Oh, Merlin, you're a child. Yes, yes, I choose you. Now move it! "
“No thanks. I'm having a much better time now. " Harry makes an exaggerated wiggle with his body to show how comfortable he is, “How bout you go check? After all, we wouldn't want a swot like you to be late to his billion NEWT courses."
"It is hardly a billion courses, just twelve, and that is one less than Granger. I have been trying to get the Headmistress to exempt me from the Muggle Studies NEWT. One year in the class is hardly sufficient time to accomplish an O."
"Ah, so you could pass it with an Acceptable or Exceeds Expectations. Just refuse to lower yourself to such a horrible status. How Hermione of you."
"No, I just think it's not fair to expect me to be at Granger's level when I only have one year in the class. And maybe I am a little competitive with Granger, sue me. I at least, will be able to brag of O's across the board, unlike some people. " The emphasis and wiggle at ‘people’ causes his lips to twitch in mirth. The intended insult, more of a light tease fills Harry with a giddiness he hasn’t felt in some time.
" Are you calling me stupid, Malfoy? I'll have you know I've only ever received one "Troll," which was from Snape, and I still believe he did it out of petty revenge." Harry doesn't add that it was after the Sectumsempra incident, and he did not contest it because he had felt too guilty to look Snape in the eye for the rest of the year. The punishment in reality felt too small for what he did to Malfoy.
"Of course, mon petit chou," Draco placates, though Harry can see the small smirk that lays just at the corner of pink lips.
The boys are crammed inside the closet, limbs tangled in a jumble. Harry shifts uncomfortably, trying to find a better position to alleviate the pressure on his arm. As he attempts to manoeuvre Malfoy to face the door, their heads and elbows knock into each other causing them to curse softly. Harry’s hands are raised above his shoulders, and his feet are wedged to one side, while Draco’s shoulders are pressed into his knees, using one hand to keep himself held upright.
"Come on, budge up a bit, Malfoy"
" What are you doing?" Draco scolds under his breath.
" Well, I figure if neither of us plans to leave, maybe we can try not to cut off my circulation and end up with my appendages falling off!"
"Ooo, big words for you potter, Granger teach you that? "
"Yes, along with arsehole and git."
A poke against his scar shuts him up temporarily from continuing his insults.
"Lying, liar. Shall I inform Granger you are insinuating that she taught you such common filth? I guarantee she has more ingenious insults than that."
"Course not. Then, I would owe her an essay on the better words to describe the great Draco Malfoy. " Harry hmphs when he realises Draco is not helping at all." You could help, you know, to lift your fat arse.”
" Why? I am not the one trying to move." Draco simply shrugs. Though he definitely flops a little more on Harry after the fat arse remark.
"You know what? I don't need an essay to find a better word for you. So as they say, –As you wish, Princess," with effort, he is able to lift Draco, who squawks something awful, then places him gently back down in between his legs " There, that is much better, you can lay back so your legs will have a bit more room."
Malfoy's spluttering is oddly cute and it makes Harry’s stomach flip in odd ways making something in Harry happy beyond repair.
" I can't believe you just did that." Draco mumbles stiffly as he relaxes slowly into the cradle of Potters’ arms.
“Well, believe it, princess"
"Stop calling me that!"
"As you wish. "Then a whisper, "Princess".
Using whatever bit of free space is available, Draco smacks Harry across his scar once more.
"My name is Draco Malfoy. You killed my father. Prepare to die."
There is a quiet moment as the words sink in. Anyone else (mainly Hermione)would be appalled by this. To joke of Lucius, who had just passed away, though it wasn't Harry's fault. Draco tenses a bit once the words have left his mouth.
Then realisation hits. And this time, Harry can’t stop himself from letting out a proper snort,enough to jostle Malfoy in his lap.
" Did you just quote the Princess Bride to me? Oh Merlin, today is my favourite day." Harry chuckles.
Draco’s head lowers, the shift of what is probably fist clenching in embarrassment. This does nothing to deter Harry from finding the humour of what he said.
"Oh shut up, Potter, you started it."
" No, no, no, that was brilliant. I did call you Princess first, so does that make me Wesley? Am I to bow to your whims, Princess?"
Snootily he responds, " You should, at least then, someone with brain cells will do some thinking before simply trampling into everything: Forbidden forest, corridors, Manor’s that don't belong to you, and oh, I don't know Banks and Ministries with your wanted pictures everywhere."
"Yeah, probably right. If I just had my Princess, there is no way it would have taken as long to destroy ole noseless."
Another flick of fingers against his scar makes Harry yelp, ‘Oi!’, rubbing the spot furiously but with an uncontainable laugh.
" Shut up before we are found canoodling in this blasted closet, and your heathen followers kill me."
The chuckles die down.
"As you wish, Princess."
"Too right, as I wish', Another yawn leaves Malfoy just as hurried footsteps are heard outside the door.
" Where do you think he went? I found my lucky cloak for him to sign."
The words and footsteps fade, but the two are tense once more.
"What a pair we make, Death eaters and dangerous magical creatures, no problem. Second-year girls and here we are with our tails between our legs."
" Speak for yourself. I was glitter-bombed with chants of"Rah rah Potter Rotter, he's our man "or whatever they sing now. They also chastened me to watch myself around you. I'll happily take Nagini if it means I don't have to try to clean out glitter from my hair ever again.”
" Mmm, I thought your hair was looking rather bright lately, more silver blonde than its natural golden blonde, you know?"
Silence stretches as the words implicate just how much Harry stares at his hair.
" Yes, well, that would be the dastardly glitter bomb from the first day of term."Draco says in a rare show of clemency towards Harry.
Though Harry is sure he can heat all of Hogwarts with how his body burns from embarrassment.
Wary of bringing up anything else that will implicate his watchful (stalker Hermione and Ron say) tendencies, he decides to just be quiet.
Humming an agreement, but with not much else, Harry continues to hum tunes he remembers for a bit until there is pressure at his shoulder. Turning, he finds himself with a sleeping Draco Malfoy.
It's a beautiful sight. The small groove between his brows is now smooth, pale lashes flutter, and small breaths leave the smell of fresh apples behind. Course, it’s apples. Harry would bet that there is an apple hidden somewhere in the Slytherin’s robes.
Harry isn't one for fairytales, but here inside a cupboard once more, he thinks some things aren't so bad with the right person. So the person is Malfoy. He doesn't think he minds that part so much. He can finally stare at him up close. Most of his observations have had to be from a distance this year. The thump of Malfoy’s heart feels like an anchor to steady his own heart. They seemingly sync up after being apart for so long. Curious, the way he has no desire to leave or hide or panic since the end of the war. Harry is perfectly content at this moment.
He always thought falling in love was passion, fireworks, and huge declarations. Right now, he firmly believes this is what his mother felt so long ago. Sure, they had known each other since they were eleven, but it isn't till now that he thinks, "Oh. I just needed to meet him again,"
Harry recalls hair pulling and how Draco Malfoy never could have enough of his attention. Maybe Harry just needed to catch up. Of course, he won't just assume, but if Malfoy can fall asleep without fear in his arms, maybe he isn’t too far from the truth.
*************************************
It was easy after that day. To fall in love with Draco.
They would stay up and study together. Made plans together of where they would live and what career was best. How they could make changes to a world that had failed two generations.
Their friends quickly fell together when the two settled in the common room to share and debate how they grew up and how things could be better. Draco and Hermione would often get in each other's faces, and Harry would simply pull Draco back into his arms and calm him down. Assure him that Hermione didn't think they should erase the beauty of their history while Theo would hover near Hermione and whisper words that no one could hear, which allowed her to sit and think. The two would be off again, but with each bringing their arguments in a 10-page essay that no one other than Draco and Hermione were allowed to touch. Their separated 20 pages became one, filled with addendums and footnotes. Those pages are laminated and posted on Hermione's wall in her office of Undersecretary to the Minister.
Game nights became the birthplace of Ginny Weasley and Pansy Parkinson’s empire, melding wizarding and muggle communications together. Pansy is the woman behind the scenes with schemes and ideas, and Ginny fronts to bring in Wixen through status as War Hero as well all around brilliancy in charms needed.
This year’s been amazing for all of us. The way each house was able to come together as one. The 8th and 7th year students who were thrust quite harshly into a war beyond their years. It was a genuine fear to think they would not finish their time at Hogwarts alive. It’s beautiful to see how far we have come and how much we will achieve as more than just a Gryffindor, Slytherin, Hufflepuff, or Ravenclaw but as a little bit of all of them .
Because they are technically 8th years, Their year is given a chance to cross the black lake one last time, Hogwarts as a backdrop to the past they are leaving behind and out into the world to make better for the next generation.
************************************
The ceremony which wasn't much of a ceremony but a send off Headmistress Mcgonagal and Hermione had staged as a way to show their pride, a send off into a new age was meant to begin in the Great Hall. Only Draco had insisted he would come right after Harry. They had just finished clearing out Number 12 and were left with new purchases scattered about the house that had not yet been put in place. Harry had gone ahead to meet their friends at the Leaky, where they would floo to the HogsHead.
McGonagall had ushered everyone to smarten themselves up, just like on their first day. Maybe Draco would try to recreate their first exchange from first year and their abominable rejected handshake. Maybe he just wanted to make a dramatic entrance. It wasn't until Hagrid asked them to head for the doors that he was truly worried. Malfoy was never late. Sure, they had gotten married just the other night. Already acting like a Potter then, Draco? Harry thought. Though he hoped it was only the late arrival and not the horrible luck to find themselves in mischief.
When Professor Sprout began to speak, he couldn't handle it anymore
" Mate, what's going on?"
"It's Draco. He isn't here."
"Huh, it has been kind of quiet now that I think about it."
" Ron, I don't– He– I need to find him now. He wouldn't miss this."
"Okay, calm down. We can leave once the Professors finish, no matter right?"
" No, Ron, I need to leave now."
No doubt ruining the wards once more, he twists and disappears away from Hogwarts into the sitting room of Number 12. The boxes are now gone, and the room is in perfect order. Of course, Draco couldn't just allow them to wait to put everything together. Only where was he? Running around screaming out for Draco, he almost calls out Malfoy. Only he isn't anymore; now he is Potter.
His husband.
It's at the entrance that he finally sees Walburga, who now tolerates him crying. The portrait pointing him towards the front door. The front door is open; sure, there are wards to keep muggles and most wixen out. Droplets of blood are on the railing to the door, a smear of a red handprint.
" No—--No–No– No " As soon as he begins to cast spell after spell he realises his friends are here too, casting spells and worryingly searching for Draco. He can feel Hermione side eyeing him with a clear distress that he may collapse or disapparate with no way to follow ,
It's two weeks of chasing trails, looking for clues. They have apparated across the channel and back again when they finally find them.
It's Rowle, in the middle of a forest, a dismal-looking tent not far from where he has Draco tied to a goddamn post, chains wrapped around him that look to be burned into his skin.
There is a pounding in his head as he takes stock of the situation. Every detail that he takes in making his magic swirl going so far as to manifest in a typhoon. The surging of winds tuned into the horror in his heart at the unmoving bloody body of Draco Potter. Harry silently screams and tries to make sense of why he can never stop fighting, only to stand in the ruins of those he loves. As he begins to cast the first spell he can think of, there is a hope in him that he is finally in time to earn the title saviour.
Rowle laughs when Harry's Sectumsepra hits him. " My job here is done," He says, spitting blood at Harry with a maniacal grin.
And it is done—his job. Draco Potter is unresponsive on the forest floor even as he is transported via portkey to St.Mungos. He later learns that there was never anything to revive him.
He had been gone for hours before Harry had ever stepped foot on the same soil as his beloved husband.