Rule #13

The buzz of Draco’s favorite three hives is better than the likes of Chopin or Vivaldi. It’s calming and musical, the quick flutter of their translucent wings, and Draco has spent months missing that anthophilac hum. The recording Lily sent Narcissa was by no means sufficient, and though Draco has been playing it every night to fall asleep, he’s sorely missed this. 

Missed the bees!

Nothing compares to sitting amidst them, watching them work, hearing their song; it’s a privilege to be a witness to such outstanding nature. 

It had been Draco’s mom’s idea to host Thanksgiving at Hogwarts. From all the organizing they’ve done for camp donations and fundraisers in Hogsmeade, not to mention coordinating their sons’ long-distance friendship, Narcissa and Lily have become somewhat of an event-planning duo—equally fierce as they are productive. 

Sometimes, Draco finds it nice that he and Harry’s moms get along. Other times he is understandably, reasonably terrified.

Lily, according to Narcissa, jumped at the opportunity to host everyone on the campgrounds while Narcissa, according to Draco, needed the distraction. 

This would be their first Thanksgiving without Lucius, as Draco has taken to call him, even in his mind. Because legally, he’s nothing more than that. A name. Not a father.

Good riddance!

At least that’s what Draco felt yesterday when he and his mom arrived a day early to help Lily and Mary set up. Now, lost in the buzz of his bees, Draco feels something less dismissive, and maybe even nostalgic.

Not that his father deserves it—no, Lucius, Draco corrects himself.

“I figured I’d find you here.”

Draco whips his head around at the familiar voice. “Barty!” 

Wearing cat-eye sunglasses and a backward camp hat, Barty sits beside Draco across from the hives, sans apiarist gear, just like old times. “How’ve you been, Draco?”

It’s a challenge not to visibly preen at Barty’s attention—he’s just so effortlessly cool and yet, somehow, he also cares about Draco! “I’m doing well, Barty. And you? How is your husband?”

Barty smirks. “You’re as polite and posh as ever, I thought I taught you the wayward ways this summer? Evan and I just got back from our honeymoon so we have no complaints.”

Thanks to his nosy cousin, Sirius, Draco knew that Evan and Barty had been running around Latin America, and thanks to his appeasing cousin, Regulus, Draco got to Facetime Barty while visiting Regulus’ new apartment in LA. It was the second highlight of the trip, the first being Harry, naturally. 

The thought of Harry makes Draco look at his hands, biting back a smile. 

“Oh I know that look. Harry should be here soon, no?”

“He’s supposed to be here at 2 PM, but I have little faith in Sirius and James’ timeliness,” Draco says with a sigh. He supposes Regulus’ driving up with them should help them stay on agenda. 

“I’m sure Harry is just as excited to see you as you are him,” Barty says, laughing to himself. “He’s probably even driving himself.”

Draco frowns. “That would be entirely unsafe—”

“I’m kidding, Draco.”

“Oh.” Draco sniffs. 

He never knows when it comes to Harry’s family, or rather, his new family. The Potter-Evans-Black-Lupin clan is as reckless as they are attentive; Draco can’t complain, not when Harry is so obscenely happy, but he often advises his mother to offer proper parenting advice to Lily, the most rational member of the group.

Honestly, how could someone think that an I Heart NY t-shirt with Mickey Mouse is proper school-attire? Draco expects eclectic style from Harry, sure, but how dare his family finance such tacky nonsense!

Barty hums, matching the bees’ pitch. “It’s been, what, a month since you saw Harry?” 

“Fifty-four days and seven hours,” Draco states. He’s kept a running log in his journal, though he doesn’t need to reference it since he can easily make the calculations in his head. 

Barty shakes his head with a smile, looking at the hives with as much scrutiny as Draco. With Barty’s advisement, and Draco’s constant concern, Mary and Lily have been in charge of the bees’ upkeep. So far they haven’t managed to mess anything up, but Draco is never one for optimism, so he remains vigilant in his nagging. Whenever he texts Harry, both of them using their moms’ phones, he’s sure to remind Lily of proper beekeeping etiquette.

“Harry’s really happy in LA,” Draco says, and he’s not sure why. Barty knows this already. James is religious about sending the Hogwarts staff photos of their perfect family, with their perfect life far away from Draco. 

“I bet he misses you though,” Barty says.

Draco nods because he knows Harry does. But he also knows that Harry has new friends now—that Harry has loads of fun at his school and everyone seems to like him because he’s unreasonably likable—that Harry doesn’t text and call Draco as often as he did at the start of the school year. 

There’s been a 30% decrease in communications, at least in quantity. 

“I think he’s moved on to better things.” It’s true in every sense—since James and Lily got custody, Harry has had a better life. 

“Sometimes time and distance get in the way of friendships but that doesn’t mean they fade away,” Barty tells Draco. “The best friends can wait forever to see each other and still be as strong as ever.”

Forever. That’s the word Harry assigned their friendship over the summer. Does he still think that? Now that he has more…options, will he want Draco at all?

“Draco! Barty!” His mom’s voice calls from the outdoor kitchen, a healthy distance from the hives. She’s never been good with insects, always makes Draco escort the spiders out of their apartment. “I need both of you to help me set up the table in the dining area.”

“Coming!” Draco rolls back his shoulders.

Barty jumps to his feet, kicking up dust, and offers Draco a hand. Once they’re both standing, Draco makes a rash decision—one undeniably thanks to Harry’s influence—and hugs Barty. Hugs the coolest counselor he’s ever known!

“It’s nice to see you,” Draco tries to keep his voice level.

Barty ruffles his air with a wink. “Likewise.” 

******

The day is not kind to Draco, most days tend not to be, what with his former father’s lasting genetic curse, but today above all. 

Harry is late! 

Yet Draco is expected to function, to help his mom, Mary, and Lily lay out the name tags and the not-quite-fancy china, to decorate the old tables with an autumn aesthetic, and to greet each of the familiar visitors with a Black grin. Not Malfoy, not anymore. 

It’s not fair, and on any other day Draco would adamantly whinge, but he wants to help his mom—she becomes especially stressed around the holidays, and Draco keeps waiting for her to have a meltdown, or at least have a moment. Isn’t she upset to be celebrating Thanksgiving without her husband? 

Ex-husband, Draco reminds himself.

If she is, Narcissa would never reveal it, so Draco tries his hardest to follow her instructions, to make this day easier on her. He tries his hardest to make her proud since Lucius never managed to.

He stands by the parking lot and escorts the guests to the dining area as if they all don’t already know where everything is. Ridiculous!

“Hello Marlene, Dorcas.” Draco nods to the couple’s clasped hands with a raised brow. “I’m pleased to see that you’ve resumed courting.”

Dorcas snorts while Marlene smiles softly. “It’s nice to see you too, Draco. Happy Thanksgiving.”

“I wish you the same, that is, if you’re interested in glorifying false historical narratives.”

When Dorcas breaks into laughter, barely keeping themself upright on Marlene’s shoulder, Draco flicks a piece of lint off his crisp forest green button-up. 

Honestly, Dorcas needs a lesson in poker face. Marlene, at least, has more than mastered the art.

“If you’ll please follow the paper-mache turkeys to the dining area, you’ll find—” Draco cuts off as a dirty black truck drives under the entrance, a dark blue minivan just behind. 

“DRACO DRAMATIC PAUSE MALFOY!” Harry screeches out the window, his dark hair waving with the wind. It’s so long! 

The second James has parked, Harry bolts out of the car, sprinting to Draco. 

But Draco can’t move, he’s so thrilled he can’t feel any part of his body, he’s just a blob of thoughts, a cumulation of: Harry’s here! Harry’s running to me! My best friend!

Then Harry runs straight into him, and Draco’s a living, breathing thing again, his arms wrapping around Harry like it's second nature. Because it is. 

“I missed you so much,” Harry whisper-screams into Draco’s ear. 

A round of barking emerges from behind them and then the pit bulls are jumping around Draco and Harry, eager to lick their faces. Harry breaks away to pet them, kissing their fur and squealing about how much he missed them. 

Why didn’t Harry kiss me? Draco can’t help but pout. Ashamed of his own thoughts, Draco stiffens and turns to greet his cousin. 

“Thank you for bringing Harry,” Draco tells Sirius, then turns to James. “If only you brought your child on time.”

James laughs. “We’re only a few minutes late—”

“It’s my fault, Draco!” Harry returns his attention to Draco, swinging an arm around his shoulders. “I needed a pee break.”

Draco accepts the excuse. Harry has a horribly small bladder. 

Regulus and Remus emerge from the second car, and Draco watches the pair laugh, leaning their heads together to look at something on Remus’ phone. “Did you switch romantic partners?” Draco asks Sirius. 

“Are you…” Sirius looks from Draco to Remus, then back to Draco. “Are you being serious?”

“No, that’s you, I’d never stoop so low,” Draco says without missing a beat. 

James presses a hand over his laugh and clears his throat. “No—uhm, no, Draco, Remus and Regulus are roommates. We drove separately because we couldn’t fit everyone in my truck.”

Remus walks up to Sirius, kissing the top of her hair while Regulus moves to James’ side and takes his hand, looking over Draco carefully. 

Draco is just as careful! Though Regulus claims he can’t read minds, Draco remains vigilant—that is, after all, what a mind-reader would say. 

It’s in the midst of another Regulus/Draco stare-off, something Draco has oddly learned to look forward to, that Harry cups his mouth to whisper, “Don’t worry. Operation Wolfstar and Jegulus are still a success.”

Overwhelmed by Harry whispering so close, hanging off of him, Draco shoves his hands into his pockets, feeling the wings of the felted bee Harry made him during camp. He looks at the woodchips below them and tries to keep his face blank but it’s hard with Harry next to him. It’s hard not to be happy plainly—to indulge his own smile. 

“The dress code is semi-formal.” Draco scoffs at Harry’s outfit, a camp t-shirt with jeans. He looks around to see James in something similar, a washed-out red assemblage with cargo shorts. The horror!

Sirius, in their black dress and fingerless gloves, and Regulus, in his black blazer with a button-up the same shade of green as Draco’s, at least appear to understand something of style. Draco doesn’t dignify them with a compliment, however. They merely followed instructions. 

“Come on.” Draco takes Harry’s hand. “Let’s find you something suitable to wear.”

Before he takes off, Sirius steps forward. Her purple eyeliner matches their boots. “I wanted to thank you for inviting us, Draco.”

“It wasn’t my doing. Mom made the guest list. Besides, Harry wants you here.”

Regulus smirks at his sibling, but Sirius remains undeterred, meeting Draco’s scowl with a lazy smile. “Regardless, we’re glad to spend this holiday with you.”

Draco ignores the mushy feelings in his stomach, and snaps, “I’m sure many people are glad to see me, you’re one of many.”

“I’m glad to see you, Draco!” Harry echoes, squeezing his hand tight.

Just like that, Draco’s indifferent expression cracks, and he can’t help but smile back at Harry. It’s indulgent, yes, but it’s mostly nice. Good, even. 

Harry tends to bring that out in Draco. 

******

“Why do you have more than one suit?” Harry gawks at the garments hanging off bunk beds in Draco’s cabin. 

Lily let Draco and Narcissa take his old Slytherin cabin with the slide on the roof, and Draco, being the resourceful boy he is, used the other empty beds as storage for his assortment of luggage. Wrinkled fabric is for the uncouth!

“Everyone should have more than one suit,” Draco states the obvious. 

“I don’t have even one suit.”

“I will inform Lily and James that they must remedy that,” Draco says smoothly. “Now navy blue or black?”

Harry turns to look at Draco helplessly, standing between what was once Pansy and Hermione’s beds. “I—I don’t know, Draco. What do you think?”

Draco expected this, so he quickly advises: “Black.”

“Okay!”

Harry starts to change and Draco quickly turns around, fiddling with his felted bee. “So how is Nathan?” he asks because he’s trying to be a good friend. Draco’s trying to be good for Harry—even if mentioning Harry’s new best friend makes his skin chafe like a zested lemon. 

“Oh, Nathan’s great! He went to Rhode Island for Thanksgiving which apparently is on the other side of the country. I’ve never been to the East Coast, have you?”

“Mmhm. Many times.”

“Do you want to go again? I think I’d like to go if I went with you and Padfoot was talking about some awards show in New York and she said I could invite YOU too!”

“You should go with Nathan,” Draco says, trying not to sound bitter. It’s good that Harry has new friends at school—it’s good that he’s not cooped up at home with Petunia for a teacher. He’s happy that Harry’s happy. 

Because that’s what a good friend would feel. Draco tells himself this over and over as he inspects a wood knot on the cabin wall. 

“But I want to go with you,” Harry says quietly. 

“Have you finished changing?”

“Yes.” 

Draco turns and quickly busies himself with fixing Harry's collar. He spends longer than necessary fiddling with the button-up before Harry catches his wrist. 

“Draco? Did I do something wrong?”

“That’s my question.”

“You just—you’re not really looking at me? I feel like maybe you’re mad at me?”

Draco forces himself to look into Harry’s Slytherin green eyes. “I’m not—of course I’m not mad. I missed you a lot, Harry.”

“Missed you too,” Harry says, a grin forming. 

“And it’s hardformetoshare,” Draco rushes out.

“You share with me all the time!” Harry exclaims. He moves his grip from Draco’s wrists to their hand intertwined between them. “What do you mean?”

“It’s hard for me to share you,” Draco clarifies. 

“Oh.” Harry’s smile wobbles a little. “My mom, uhm, Petunia, that is, she said the same thing.”

Draco grimaces at the comparison and lets go of Harry’s hands, putting some distance between them. “I’ll do better,” he says, looking anywhere but at Harry. “I’m better than her.”

“She’s working reallyyyy hard, you know. We have therapy together, she, Dudley, and I. Did you know she’s coming tonight?”

“I did.” Narcissa and Lily had spent a good hour debating where to place Petunia and Dudley on the seating chart. Draco had requested to be put as far away from them as possible, then later acquiesced so that he could sit next to Harry. 

He’ll put up with anything and anyone to sit next to Harry. 

“Well, Firefly taught me that I don’t have to limit my love. That I get to have a lot of people who take care of me, and maybe that looks different from other families, but that’s okay. Different isn’t bad.” Harry takes Draco’s hands again. “And I can have a lot of friends too but that doesn’t mean you aren’t my forever friend.”

Draco swallows, his mouth dry. “You still—we’re still forever friends?”

“Of course!” Harry’s face twists in offense. 

“Good.” Draco nods, his courage and pride returned. It’s all going to be just fine. Harry hasn’t forgotten about him. Harry hasn’t moved on and stopped loving him.

Not like Lucius has. 

“Draco, are you—-”

“Let’s go out there, they’re probably waiting for us,” he cuts Harry off. 

When Harry looks wary, still watching Draco with those eyes that can only mean a long, emotional talk full of feelings and possibly tears, Draco distracts him: “I think I heard something about Dorcas racing someone in the Black lake? They’re a swimming champion, you know.”

Harry’s eyes predictably light up. “I’ll race Dorcas!”

“Perfect,” Draco agrees, eager to see how much Harry has learned in his recent swim lessons. “Marlene and I will be the judges.”

******

Dorcas, it turns out, got roped into helping Evan and Molly in the kitchen, Marlene equally as occupied with Lily and Narcissa, so Draco sneaks through the festive chaos of the dining area and pulls Harry to the campfire circle. 

“I’ve been helping them all day, I don’t want to put up any more party decorations,” Draco says with a dramatic groan, which makes Harry giggle. 

“Okay, good. Now hoist yourself up with your arms, but keep your feet wrapped in the silks!” 

Harry and Draco turn to the aerial silks where Regulus is standing on the blue mat, hands on hips, watching James clutch to the silks a foot above the ground. 

“No wayyyy.” Harry gasps. “Prongs hasn’t been on the silks since the incident.”

“The incident?” 

“You know, when he got stuck during the talent show? We saw the photo!”

Draco smirks at the memory of a much younger James tomato-red, upside down. 

“I told Prongs to ask Regulus to teach him during Operation Jegulus,” Harry says proudly. He pulls on Draco’s hand and brings them closer to the joke of a show. Draco doesn’t expect James to do much more than koala-bear the silks. 

“You got this, Baba!” Harry cheers. 

James looks up, glasses crooked. “Thanks, baby Prongs!”

Draco shudders at Harry’s ridiculous nickname and begins to criticize James’ form in his head. What horrid posture!

Regulus, on the other hand, critiques James out loud: “Let your upper body do the work while you’re pulling yourself up, but once your foot has been knotted in, trust the silks to hold your weight.”

“I don’t know—” James says, legs dangling in the silks. 

“Come on, Jamie.”

It’s impossible not to roll his eyes at that. When it comes to James, Regulus turns into such a pathetic sap!

“You know, they’re always calling each other cute names,” Harry says, swinging their intertwined hands. “We should come up with nicknames for each other!”

Draco feels his cheeks go bright red, but luckily, Harry is too preoccupied with his dad struggling on the silks to notice. “But we’re not dating.” 

Harry shrugs. “Why not?”

“Why aren’t we dating or why don’t we give each other nicknames?” Draco sputters. 

Harry finally turns to look at Draco then, and his eyes go wide. “Wow, you look really sunburnt right now. Do you need sunscreen?”

“Answer the question, Harry.”

“What? Oh, I don’t know. I guess both.”

“We’re—we’re not supposed to date at this age.”

Harry tilts his head, eyes going up to the sky as he thinks that through. “I guess I never learned when dating is supposed to start. Petunia met…well, you know who, in high school. And James and Lily met when they were at camp. They dated then too.”

“My parents met when they were teenagers as well,” Draco says thickly. 

“So we should wait until we’re teenagers, and then we’ll date.”

Draco’s mouth falls open. “What?!”

“Do you not want that?”

“No—I mean, I don’t know. Do you want that?”

Harry grins and looks back at the silks, where James is somehow stuck again, only this time not upside-down. Regulus is trying to help untangle him but he’s evidently biting back a smile, murmuring things like “It’s okay, love,” and “Take a breath, Jamie.”

“I could call you my love when we date. Or maybe baby? Sweetheart? Darling!” 

Draco is caught between warning to run and hide in a dark cave and squishing his face into Harry’s chest so no one can ever look at him again. He’s never blushed this hard before—it’s probably his father’s fault. His former father. 

“My parents called each other darling.”

“Then we’ll think of something else,” Harry says matter-of-factly. “Something that’s just for us.”

“When we’re teenagers,” Draco can’t help but confirm. 

“Yes, but I’ll be brainstorming starting righttttttt NOW.”

Draco hums noncommittally, stunned by the conversation. He’ll have to replay it in his mind at least five times before he can compute all that’s happened. Compute all that Harry has promised. Friends forever is one thing, but dating—Harry actually wants to be Draco’s boyfriend?!

Why on earth Harry wants such a thing is lost to Draco, but he’s grateful for it regardless. How far he’s come from threatening the smiling boy who won the first snitch!

“So does this mean you believe in it?” Harry asks after a moment. 

“What?”

“Love. You said this summer that you didn’t believe in love. But if you plan to date me you must have changed your mind.”

Before Draco can respond, James has fallen splat onto the mat. He gives a low “ow” and Harry runs over, helping Regulus assess the damage. 

******

Thankfully, the chaos of Thanksgiving dinner steals Harry’s attention, so Draco doesn’t have to answer his…unanticipated question. 

Perhaps Draco should have anticipated it, he can’t help but scold himself—for as long as Draco has known Harry, he’s been all about the ‘true love’ agenda, using Disney fairytales as analogies in his romantic arguments. 

Draco finds it endearing, of course—he finds everything about Harry begrudgingly endearing—but he doesn’t think he’s changed his mind. Maybe Harry brings out the good in Draco, but he can’t work miracles. 

Draco is a cynic at heart. 

He was raised in the gradual ruin of his parents’ marriage, was witness to their venom, their quiet indifference, and eventual extinction. If love is something that can crumble so easily, then no, Draco will never believe in it. 

Moreover, he will never allow himself to feel it. 

But as he sits down for Thanksgiving dinner, all of the wooden tables pushed together to create one long diagonal, Draco can feel himself second guessing. It’s a rarity, questioning his own convictions, and he detests the doubt bubbling up within him like boiling water spilling over the side of the pot. 

He watches Dorcas and Marlene laugh together at the table’s other end—he watches Evan emerge from the kitchen with a turkey bordering on ostrich in size, Barty teasing him from behind with a vegetarian dish—he watches Sirius and Regulus both stare at their boyfriends across the table with equally smitten expressions—he watches Mary and Lily flitting about with bottles of wine and sparkling juice, Mary tapping their hips together when they cross paths.

And he watches his mom beside Alice, the two of them practically glowing with joy. 

It doesn’t take much intelligence to see the love around him, and Draco is notorious for his acumen. So maybe he should change his mind. Maybe he ought to. 

The only problem is: Lucius isn’t here. The man who once was his dad swore to be by his mom’s side till death do them part. Yet, he let Narcissa go. 

“Are you alright?” Neville asks Draco warily. He’s been seated across from Draco and Harry, in between Alice and Narcissa, and manages to appear both intimidated and eager by the prospect of conversing with Draco. 

“I’m fine.” 

Draco has tried, for the sake of his mother’s new relationship and Harry, to be pleasant with Neville. It’s not necessarily hard—Neville, it turns out, can be decent company when it comes to solving puzzles and film selections—but questions such as these, questions about Draco’s wellbeing, cross the line. 

Harry nudges Draco. “Are you sure you’re okay?” 

For some reason, the question isn’t quite so annoying when Harry poses it. “It’s just—” Draco lowers his voice. “I don’t miss him, obviously. But it is strange to celebrate without him.”

They used to host family and friends in the Malfoy Manor every Thanksgiving, Narcissa planning every detail from the stuffing ingredients to the daffodils decorating the entryway. Draco had always loved to see his mom so happy, too enthralled with party planning to fight with Lucius. 

It was Draco’s rule of thumb: when his mom was happy, he was happy. 

Only there Narcissa is, cutting into her sweet potato casserole and smiling at Alice, and Draco can’t help but feel…somber. 

Somber like he did the day they left the Manor, and his dad patted him once on the shoulder. Somber like he did the day he got word that the divorce was finalized. Somber like the day his dad sent his first letter with nothing but a check for child support. 

How dare Lucius make Draco feel somber when he’s with Harry! When he’s supposed to be happy and celebrating and stuffing himself with vegetarian delights!

Harry places his head on Draco’s shoulder. “I’m sorry he’s not here, Draco.”

“I’m not.”

“It’s okay if you are a little.”

Draco’s breath blows out, and he allows himself a moment. One moment to miss his dad. Then he returns to the task at hand: hosting Thanksgiving at Hogwarts. 

“Dudley,” Draco calls out to the boy sitting on Harry’s other side. Petunia also turns to Draco at the sound of her son’s name. “I should introduce myself. My name is Draco, I’m Harry’s best friend.”

To Draco’s horror, Dudley lifts his fork full of mashed potatoes in greeting. “I’ve heard great things, Draco dramatic pause Malfoy.”

Harry laughs with his brother and Draco tries not to bristle. 

“Is he the boy who taught you to swear?” Petunia says to Harry stiffly. 

“No, Mom—I mean, Draco’s super polite. He’s got way better manners than anyone I know.”

Draco lifts his chin and meets Petunia’s stare. “If I curse, it’s only because I have good reason to.”

Petunia’s eyes widen in shock, then Lily comes over and steals her attention. “I have your favorite, Petunia.” She holds out a bottle of Belvino Pinot Grigio. 

Draco holds himself back from rolling his eyes—what a boring wine selection!

“Thank you, Lily.” Petunia pushes her wine glass towards her sister, watching her pour a glass with what Draco thinks is quiet affection, though her pursed lips are hard to read. 

“How is the foal doing?” Petunia asks. 

Lily lights up at the question, making Draco see all traces of Harry on her face—honestly, how hadn’t he noticed before? It’s one of his biggest embarrassments, he ought to have worked out Harry’s genetic relations first. 

“Destiny’s doing well,” Lily says with a chuckle. “She’s prancing around with her mom daily.”

Petunia nods, eyes darting around. She’s evidently uncomfortable here, but perhaps not unhappy. Dudley, on the other hand, gets along with everyone around him easily, taking a quick liking to Neville, and much to Draco’s surprise, Regulus. 

While the two of them are discussing Dudley’s latest competition in Track & Field, Narcissa looks over to Draco. She points to his plate and mouths, “Eat.”

“Not hungry,” Draco mouths back.

Narcissa stands and after a kiss on Alice’s cheek, walks around the table to Draco’s side. The conversation is scattered and rowdy, so no one save Harry notices, but that doesn’t mean Draco doesn’t feel a little childish when his mom crouches beside him, taking his hand. 

“I’m fine, mom.” 

“I know it’s difficult. A part of me wishes he was here too.”

Draco sighs, of course his mom knows what’s on his mind. She’s wise and clever and has all of Draco’s best traits, because he got them from her, of course.

“But tonight we are surrounded by lovely people who will stand by our side no matter what. I’m not saying any of them are a replacement for your father—-”

“He’s not my father. Not anymore.”

His mom reaches forward to brush his cheek, and he leans into it, unable to resist the urge to let her take some of the weight. To fall into his mom’s grip just for a little while. “I love you, Draco.”

“I love you too, Mom,” he whispers back. 

“I wish he were a better man. You deserve so much better.”

“You do too.”

Narcissa stands and kisses Draco on the top of his head, then moves to help Lily open a bottle of champagne. Draco watches his mom, for some reason holding back tears, not because he’s sad, well, he is a little—but because he’s grateful that they found something new. A home that isn’t empty or cold, but full of warmth, full of love. 

Full of Draco’s favorite people. 

When he returns to his meal, Harry holds his hand under the table. “You’re right,” Draco says after a bite of green beans. 

Harry gives Draco a puzzled look. “No, you’re the one who’s right all the time.”

“Just this once, you are,” Draco teases. 

“Okay! And what am I right about?”

“Love. The truest kind.”

Harry leans forward, eyes expectant. 

“Maybe it does exist,” Draco admits.