Chapter Text
“I’ll do you and you’ll do me.”
Draco nearly dropped his wand, which he had been using to polish the chandelier that cast the upstairs sitting room at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place into flickering light.
“Potter! Do you want Kreacher to suffer a heart attack?”
Harry rolled his eyes but still looked over his shoulder to make sure that Kreacher wasn’t lurking. “Sirius’ mother did it plenty of times. He probably loved it.”
Draco took a deep breath and turned his back on Harry very deliberately. “Merlin give me strength. We can’t just do it.”
“You were the one who suggested it in the first place! New Year’s Eve 2008. You said we could probably get it done in under a minute. Kreacher wouldn’t have to know.”
Harry placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. Somehow, he managed to make it suggestive.
“Oh please,” Draco scoffed.
He crossed the room until he stood directly in front of the ancient tapestry depicting the Black family tree. The threads portraying his great-aunt Walburga were flawless and vibrant – Kreacher had clearly gone to great lengths to preserve them.
Harry took a second to unwind Emerald from his neck and place her on an empty couch, before saying, “I’ll just send him on a last-minute errand for the party and we could do it right now.”
“Kreacher would know instantly and you know it. He knows everything that happens in this house.”
“Fine,” said Harry, joining him in front of the tapestry. “I’ll just take care of myself then and you can see how you like it when you’re left on there all on your own.”
Draco snatched Harry’s wand the moment he lifted it. “Don’t you dare!”
Harry raised his eyebrows at him, a move Draco was certain he had picked up from him at some point. “I probably could do it without my wand, you know? Want to test what remains of the tapestry if I try?”
Draco shook his head, holding on to Harry’s wand regardless. “I’d rather you didn’t.”
“Why?” Harry turned to look at him instead of the tapestry. “You’re the one who’s been glaring at that bloody thing for the last four years.”
“Still –”
“You hate it, you say so at least three times a week.”
“I know …” Draco sucked in his bottom lip to chew on it. Why did he have to complain about that bloody thing so much?
“But?”
“That was before.”
Harry shook his head. “Before what? Before we decided to move here after all?”
“Before there was something on there that I liked.”
Draco raised his free hand and ran his fingertips over the delicate golden line connecting Draco Lucius Malfoy to Harry James Potter.
He generally tried to ignore the golden threads that connected him to anybody else – like his parents.
Maybe he should have taken Harry’s name after all.
But he’d still felt, at the time, that maybe his parents could learn to accept him. That maybe they’d realise this wasn’t just a phase that they could pressure him out of.
All hopes of that ever happening had gone out the window when his parents’ second child had been born almost exactly one year after news of the Potter-Malfoy wedding had broken (which had taken the Prophet a whole week, impressively enough).
Scorpius Malfoy was the sole heir to the Malfoy bloodline and a clear sign that his parents had given up on Draco for good.
Harry exhaled noisily. “Is it too late to get a divorce?”
“Yes,” Draco said pointedly, spreading out his fingers so they were covering both of their likenesses. Just to be sure that Harry wouldn’t try anything funny.
“So, what you’re saying is that if I hadn’t married you, you’d have let me blow this thing up?”
“But you did marry me.”
“Worst mistake of my life,” said Harry.
He wasn’t even trying to sound sincere, which arguably would’ve been entirely impossible anyway, because he was grinning like lunatic as he took Draco’s hand in his own and pulled it away from the tapestry to turn him around so they were facing each other.
“I promise not to blow you up –”
“Should’ve put that in your vows,” Draco said with a grin of his own.
“– even though you are the worst disappointment in all of the Blacks’ history.”
Draco gripped the hair at Harry’s neck. Since Harry was still holding on to his left hand, Draco had to let go of both their wands to do it, but it was worth it to hear Harry’s startled yelp as Draco pushed him against the tapestry.
Their lips brushed for a fraction of a second and then Harry was gone, dragging Draco down with a hand on his shoulder. They landed on their knees with twin thuds, knocking heads in the process.
Draco rubbed his forehead and Harry clutched his traitorous leg, glaring down at it. “Typical. Just when I was about to get some. You just had to ruin it, didn’t you?”
“I’d be more worried about your head.” Draco made a whistling sound to voice his suspicion that Harry wasn’t all there. He brushed some of Harry’s hair out of his face to have a look at his forehead, which was really just an excuse to touch his stupidly soft hair. “But please let me know if your leg does deign to answer you.”
Harry rolled his eyes but let go of his leg so he could place both of his hands on Draco’s shoulder and arm. They met in the middle, but the kiss wasn’t as urgent as it would’ve been if they hadn’t been interrupted by Harry’s fucked-up leg.
Draco didn’t mind. He loved this just as much. Sometimes even more.
~o~
“Happy birthday, Draco!”
Olivia grabbed both his arms and dragged him down to her level so she could hug him. Draco hugged her back and kissed her cheek before she could do the same to him. The red lipstick she had worn to his actual birthday last month had only come off when he’d excused himself to go to the bathroom and used magic.
Olivia laughed and then handed him the gift-wrapped package that was sitting in her lap. Lauren embraced him next and then followed after Olivia, who was already making her way over to the sitting room.
As usual, none of them so much as glanced towards the staircase, acting instead as if it were invisible. Which it practically was for their Muggle friends.
As soon as they were out of view, there were two shouts of “Harry!”.
Draco went into the sitting room to see Harry get smothered in a three-way hug starring himself and the girls. It certainly looked uncomfortable, because he had to stand hunched over to be able to reach Olivia, and then there was Lauren, practically leaning on his back.
Draco wasn’t at all surprised when Harry’s leg gave out for the second time that day, and then he was just hanging there in the air, supported by Lauren’s arms around his chest.
Olivia was laughing lightly even as everybody nearby got up to support Harry, and then he was falling back into an empty armchair and laughing too.
Draco helped Olivia stand up from her wheelchair and walk over to the nearest couch, where Aurelius was already waiting for her, wagging his tail excitedly.
Then Draco sat down on Harry’s arm rest, bumping shoulders. “You definitely set yourself up for failure there.”
Harry elbowed him in the ribs in retaliation and grinned up at him. “You know what? I think having two birthdays is making you cocky. Even more than before, I mean.”
“You are more than welcome to take it back.”
“Nah, I wouldn’t go that far.” Harry slung an arm around Draco’s waist and pulled him so that they were both squeezed together in the armchair. Then he pressed a kiss on his cheek. “I’ll just have to keep you down to earth some other way.”
Ella leaned into the conversation before Draco could find out how Harry planned to do that. “So, how are the kids doing?”
Harry’s face lit up like a fairy tree. Draco, who knew how much gesturing was involved in Harry’s praise for his kids, took his glass of whisky from him and placed it on the table.
“Camp started on Monday. We actually had to split them up into four groups, there are so many sign-ups. A few of them are my students from boarding school, but mostly others – some children under eleven and some older children from different schools all over Europe. It’s going to be great!”
“He’s been working on his training schedule ever since the school year ended,” Draco said.
For the millionth time that week, he was glad that he had switched from Trauma to Curses two years prior. It was only a matter of time before the first campers got injured, and he’d rather Courtney and Tabitha dealt with that.
“The poor little bastards will be dead on their feet by tomorrow evening,” he added gleefully.
“Draco!” Hermione sounded scandalised. “Don’t call them bastards!”
“Why not? I’m neither a parent nor a teacher.”
“You’re talking about Harry’s students. You should support him.”
“Well,” said Harry, taking back his glass. “Some of them are bastards.”
Then he downed the rest of his whisky, as if he could distract from what he’d said.
Hermione threw her hands up in the air. “You’re a teacher, Harry! You can’t talk about them like that.”
Harry just laughed. “I’m not a real teacher, Hermione. Just an instructor. Besides, you should’ve seen the final match of the last season. Badgers against Eagles. Tessa Hopkins fouled the shit out of that game. It was brutal. And then she smiled at me all sweetly, like she couldn’t hurt a fly. Three Puffs had to spend the night at the hospital wing.”
“What position is she playing?” asked Callum, who probably had the most football knowledge out of all of them, although Draco wasn’t all that unknowing anymore either.
They’d decided a few years ago that they probably should know at least the basics if they wanted to keep their Muggle friends close. Draco even kind of liked going to sports bars with the Muggles, though the sport itself really was laughable.
Harry grimaced and threw his hands up in frustration, like he very much wanted to strangle Hopkins retroactively. “She’s a Striker.” Which meant that she was a Chaser. “And she’s not even a legacy! First generation.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Draco leaned away so he could frown at Harry. “Are you implying that legacies are more likely to cheat?”
“What’s a legacy?” asked Ella, who was sandwiched between Callum and Ginny on what was apparently Draco and Harry’s Best Couch. He wasn’t sure how they’d decided it, because there was no TV that could serve as a focal point.
“Students with at least one parent who went to the same school,” said Draco. Then he turned to face Harry again. “So?”
“Speaking as a legacy myself,” said Harry pointedly, “We are more likely to try and prove that we can live up to our parents’ examples or expectations. First generations are usually more relaxed.”
“Hmm,” made Hermione. “I definitely felt like I had to prove that I could keep up with the legacies. Academically, of course.”
Several people actually laughed at that; it was just that bizarre.
“Keep up?” said Ron, clearly mocking her. “You left us in the dust. Brightest witch of our age, and they haven’t had one as good as you since, according to McGonagall.”
“Did you just call your wife a witch?” asked Lauren. “The mother of both your children?”
“It’s the only explanation!” said Ron smoothly, pointing a finger at Hermione. He really had gotten better. “Nobody’s that good.”
“You tell yourself that, Ronald.”
“Time for presents!” announced Olivia cheerfully and then everybody was handing over their packets to Draco.
Draco started with the one he was still holding and unwrapped a black apron with a white cartoon pirate on the front and the words ‘Captain Cook’ underneath. Harry laughed and took it from him to hold it up so everybody could see.
“Maybe I’ll let you borrow that sometimes,” Draco said, barely containing his grin. “Since you set fire to yours last month.”
“Oh noooo,” said Olivia dramatically, displaying her non-existent acting abilities. “Don’t tell me we misremembered and Harry needs a new one? Shame.”
Lauren sighed deeply. “Maybe we’ll finally get it right next year. It would be really embarrassing if it happened a fifth time.”
“Though I wouldn’t count on it,” said Olivia sagely. “Our brains are very scattered.”
And Harry laughed and put the apron on while Draco unwrapped all his other presents, including a guide book on how to effectively teach adolescent athletes and a Weasley jumper with the Hogwarts crest on the front.
~o~
Here’s what wasn’t exactly right with their lives:
The Black house still was warded to kingdom come. They had only moved there half a year ago, a few months after Yaxley had died in Azkaban.
But they weren’t holed up in there anymore. Their friends visited, and since they had purged the ground floor of everything that was obviously magic, and made it accessible for Olivia two months ago, even the Muggles were welcome.
Harry still had his system, a place for everything, but Draco had learned to live with it and rarely misplaced things nowadays.
At least it was never messy at home, and that was certainly a good thing. He liked knowing that, no matter how chaotic things got at the Curses Ward, there was a firm, unshakeable structure at home.
Pig was the only owl that could enter the house now. Everything else was redirected to Samantha, who personally delivered their post once a day.
If their friends wanted to reach them, they used notepads with Protean charms on them, which was something Draco liked very much. It felt just like owning a mobile phone. Draco also had one of those now and he called Olivia almost daily to talk about her progress with physical therapy, which was going slowly but steadily, and about her wheelchair yoga class.
It really was incredible how she could retain her upbeat attitude through all of it, though Draco guessed that it helped that she didn’t remember anything about the accident and the official cause was now a burst tire and not a wrong split-second decision on her end.
They mostly kept out of the Wizarding world. On the rare occasions that they went out in Wizarding public, some people still stared like they were witnessing some great corruption.
But Harry didn’t insist on Polyjuice or glamours or his Cloak anymore, and the looks were getting fewer and fewer with every year going by, with every event they attended, looking just as in love as they had been five years ago. Maybe someday those looks would cease completely.
Harry still did his three jumps when he Disapparated from unsafe locations. But honestly? Given what had happened, Draco thought that was reasonable. So much so, that he had started doing it himself.
All those things made them look paranoid. Draco was aware of the fact. He just didn’t care anymore. If these things enabled them to fall asleep at night, if that meant that they could relax and actually live, then Draco would take it gladly. They were living in the light part of their lives, and the secret was not to give the darkness too much power.
The barrier keeping Harry’s magic from bursting forth was still thin, but he had himself under control most of the time, now that he wasn’t injured all the time and generally slept soundly.
They still had nightmares sometimes, but those weren’t all that bad anymore. Harry’s last curse scar hadn’t survived the car accident and Draco’s had all been removed the night of the collapse. Yes, sometimes Draco would wake up in the middle of the night and check to see if Harry was still breathing. But so far, Harry hadn’t let him down.
Harry’s professional Quidditch career was over, but that was alright too. He could still fly as much as he wanted, wearing a full gear of charmed clothes and using one of Blaise’s newest brooms, which were custom designed to substitute lost motor functions. They would never be approved for regular league matches, but Blaise and Harry were working together again and it seemed like there was a new Para-Quidditch league in the making.
And if there was one thing Harry didn’t seem to be missing, it was the attention he got from being a Falcon. He was content with his post as Quidditch instructor at Hogwarts and his summer camp, where participants were usually much more interested in his Quidditch knowledge than his person, and his former team mates (all of whom were still playing) visited regularly.
And, because Harry did many things out of a guilty conscience and shared traumatic experiences, he even got along with Felicity now. Well, sort of. Draco certainly wasn’t expecting any dinner invitations from her any time soon. But then again, there was never a shortage of evening entertainment anyway.
Teddy, Rose and Hugo had sleepovers every Friday. Then there was Saturday Pub Night with the Muggles, Sunday Lunch at the Weasleys, Wednesday Dinner with the Zabinis, the occasional tea with Mrs. Capitelli and her girls and, of course, a fuck-ton of birthdays and holidays.
Life wasn’t perfect, nor was it always easy. But it was theirs and they were happy the way it was.
And that’s what was right with their lives.