Chapter 15
Harry’s palms were sweating as he stood outside of the sleek establishment Draco had given him coordinates for in Bristol, which, it turned out, was where Draco had relocated after fleeing the Manor.
The bar was in a row of shops, with a simple navy painted shopfront, and a single sign saying ‘The Milk and Thistle’. Harry had let Hermione dress him, which had made her squeal with delight, and he was dressed- rather uncomfortably- in dickies chinos she had bought him specifically for the occasion, and a corduroy button down that had lived at the back of his wardrobe for the past two years. He didn’t know why he was so nervous, he had known Draco since he was eleven.
But this new Draco was handsome, and funny, and kind, and quiet, and an amazing father, and for some reason that last one was really doing a number on Harry. After a scathing internal pep talk, Harry pushed the door open and scanned the space, his eyes skipping over all the faces, searching out for a flash of white-blond hair.
Draco was sitting in a cosy, private booth in a corner, his back to Harry. Harry approached him slowly, clearing his throat when he was a few steps away to alert Draco to his presence. Draco looked a vision in white wide-leg trousers and a shirt so black it seemed to absorb the light of the lamps around them, serving to make Draco’s pale skin look ethereal, and his hair seemed to glow.
“You look incredible.” Harry said before he’d even properly thought about it, but any embarrassment was wiped away by the delicious pink blush that stained Draco’s cheeks at the compliment.
“So do you, who do I have to thank?” Draco teased, laughing loudly when Harry grumbled “Hermione.” exposing the column of his neck and the bob of his adam's apple. Harry was enchanted.
The two of them got drinks and talked until the bartender had to kick them out to close up the bar. Then Draco led Harry down to the harbourside, and the two of them found a bench that looked out on the water and talked for hours more, finding that the six odd years since the war had given them much more in common than either of them had anticipated. The gently skirted around the topic of the past, and instead discussed their work and hobbies. Draco had many questions about the wizarding world, and Harry about the muggle one, and they spent hours catching each other up to speed on the world they had grown up in and consequently left.
“I know how much you value your privacy, so feel free to turn me down, but may I walk you home?” Harry offered when the chill in the air started to become unbearable, and Draco gracefully nodded, leading Harry through the winding- steep- residential streets of Bristol.
“You can leave me here, this is the end of my road.” Draco said, turning to face Harry.
“I had a lovely time tonight, Draco. If you’re amenable, I would love to take you to dinner. If Bristol is better, I’m happy to book a hotel and find a restaurant here, if you need to be close to Scorpius.” Harry said, his eyes scanning the houses as he was too scared to look at Draco whilst he waited for an answer.
“That would be lovely, and don’t worry about a hotel, you can stay with me. I have it on good authority that my spare room is quite pleasant to stay in.” Draco responded, a teasing glint in his eye. Harry laughed, even though what he really wanted to do was kiss Draco silly.
“Your spare room it is. I’ll sort it and let you know the details via Imogen.” he ducked in, and gave Draco a kiss on the cheek. “Sleep well, Draco.” he said, watching the other man blush one more time before apparating home and immediately firecalling Hermione to tell her all about it, even though it was two in the morning.
****
Harry spent many hours when he should have been sleeping ahead of gruelling shifts alternating between researching restaurants in Bristol and reading through the gargantuan pile of boxes he had finally, finally received from the Manor. The corner of his office was piled high with boxes full of browned and yellowing sheaths of parchment, some of which had to be centuries old, covered in nearly-illegible cramped flowing script, watermarked and smudged and damaged, describing every health issue every Malfoy had had since what sort of felt like the dawn of time.
Harry had never loved reading at school, and this was on a whole different level. The dust made him perpetually sniffly and he spent interminably long hours, hunched over his desk, pouring over the pieces of parchment that called for various muggle body parts to be used as medicine and made Harry feel genuinely sick.
The only thing that motivated him was the feeling that he couldn’t see Draco again without answers for him. He saw the love Draco had for his son and he knew it was killing him to see Scorpius sick and not know how to help, so Harry was determined to take Draco on the best date of his life- a posh restaurant, and answers about his son.
Harry stumbled upon what he thought was the answer four days into his reading.
“Ore!” he called into the corridor, poking his head out of his office. “Ore! I need you!” he screamed. It was nearing 9pm and the day ward was empty so he could be as loud as he wanted. He heard footsteps before he saw Ore’s body materialise from behind a corner as she jogged towards him.
“For goodness sake, Haz. stop screaming like a bloody banshee, just send me a memo.” she panted, leaning against the doorjamb of his office.
“You know I find them creepy.” Harry pouted, ushering her in to sit down. The memos at Mungos were shaped like sparrows and flew around the halls, carrying messages, but they seemed to have a life of their own and they made Harry uncomfortable.
“Right, I think I might have found what's wrong with Scorpius. Do these accounts match his symptoms well enough, you think? They're from so long ago they are using words like ‘melancholy’ as a medical condition but I think it matches.” Harry passed across his desk the stack of parchment pieces he had kept aside as they all featured recording of children being inexplicably sick in the last two centuries.
“Yea, I guess… like here, ‘stuck down by an unexplainable melancholy just days following the seventh birthday celebrations’, that might be the lethargy Scorpius experienced, and the ages are close enough.” Ore said, squinting at the page she was holding.
“Right! Okay, do you have time to help me keep reading? I’ll give you anything for an hour of your time.” Harry begged, trying to give Ore his best puppy dog eyes.
“Hmmm, you’ll owe me big time. Youre lucky the missus is at her parents this week and I have no one to go home to.” Ore said, pretending to glower at Harry before recommencing her reading.
“Oh, shit.” Ore said after thirty minutes of silent reading interrupted only by the rustling of parchment.
“What is it?” Harry asked, rubbing his tired eyes. A headache was forming right at the front and he desperately wanted his bed.
“This page is from like 1942, and its burnt around the edges, like someone tried to get rid of it and someone else saved it, and listen to this, ‘banned research into the affects of in-breeding within pureblood families has shown that a lack of genetic diversity has detrimental affects on the strength and development of the magical core, which can only be strengthened with the pro potestate potion… Harry it lists the ingredients, and half of these are totally illegal.”
“Oh, fuck.” Harry only barely resisted the urge to bang his head into the table.
“Right, well. Maybe we can replicate the effects of the potion with different ingredients. I’ll send it down to potions tomorrow and see what they can tell me about it. You are a lifesaver, Ore. now go home to your empty flat and I’m going to go home to mine.”