Chapter Text
5. Fifteen Years Later
Draco stops under a large plane tree on the path to Hogwarts from the village and takes off his wool jumper. He’s surprised at how warm it is for May. Canberra’d been frigid at night and cool during the day and he hadn’t adjusted his travelling outfit for the summer of his destination. He rolls back the checked cuffs of his broadcloth shirt.
Presents and parting gifts from Rolf and Luna threaten to spill out of his satchel as he stuffs the rolled navy wool in amongst the clothes he’d packed at the research station this morning. His other things, his research, will be arriving by international Wizarding delivery later in the week. He hopes they don’t rifle through his samples again and ruin his sorting methods. He doesn’t want to have to restructure three months worth of work.
He shoulders his bag and sets off again with long, determined strides. After twenty minutes, he reaches his destination. He sets the heavy leather satchel on the worn stone stoop and pounds loudly on the wooden door. Fang II barks and Hagrid’s bushy face appears. His hair’s gone mostly white now, although his beard retains several streaks of brown, and he’s going deaf in one ear. His face splits into a grin when he recognises his caller.
“Draco, lad. Back so soon, are yeh?” Hagrid motions him inside. “I’ve made some rock cakes, and there’s a kettle already on.” He rustles around in the shelves by the sink and returns with two mismatched stoneware mugs. “Now how’re young Rolf and Luna getting on?”
“The twins are seven now, and complete terrors.” Draco hoists his long, lanky frame onto his favourite stool. His feet barely hit the bottom rung. “And the station is thriving. Luna’s working on some Aussie creatures that are half fungus and half mouse. I was never quite sure when she pointed them out in the forests what to look for, but she seems thrilled. And Rolf’s work on the classification of Graphorns and the hornless Australasian types is finally gaining international recognition.”
“And th’ breeding program?” Hagrid presses. “Tell me about th’ ‘orses.”
Draco blows on the surface of his scalding tea and takes a sip. “We went to Ulan Bator and the countryside this time. We’re trying to gather rare lines from all over Asia and I think we may even be able to repopulate some areas with herds in partnership with the local Wizarding authorities. I also talked to a visiting team from Slovakia working specifically with endangered Abraxan horses, and we may have work to do there, too. They said there are several local breeds that haven’t been properly classified.”
“Might check with Olympe.” Hagrid looks pleased. “Last I heard she has records of all the Abraxan bloodlines. European, at least. See if there’s some overlap. Did yeh see the Moon Thestrals?”
Draco nods, remembering the small group of four and the pale moonlight making their forms visible. “It was in Khankh, near Lake Khovsgol. We were only ten feet away when the moon shone on them. They almost looked like Patronuses, but they were too solid and too bright. And their eyes were jet black.”
Hagrid leans forward, spilling some of his tea onto the sleeping Fang, who leaps up and barks. “There, there,” Hagrid says, patting him distractedly while looking at Draco. “How long did yeh see them?”
“Only for a few minutes. The moon slipped behind a cloud and then they were gone.” Draco pauses. “It was astonishing really.” He points to his bag. “I have some of their mane hairs in there. And I got a hoof impression.”
While Hagrid is chuckling and pouring more tea, Draco reaches into the pocket of his trousers and fishes out a small tin. “Here,” he says, handing it to Hagrid. “Put this in the fire and then pour water on it once a day for ten days.”
Hagrid shakes it gently. “What is it?”
“Nothing too dangerous, unfortunately,” Draco smiles. “Although I’ll knit you a pair of gloves out of their hair when they moult. It’ll help you work with the Fire Crabs. Real Woolly Salamanders are hard to come by.”
Hagrid beams at him. “Yeh didn’t have to bring me anything.”
“I wanted to bring you some lovely exploding Crater Crabs from Indonesia, but I was afraid I’d be caught at customs.” Draco waits for a moment, watching the succession of looks on the half-giant’s face and his attempt not to look crushed. He laughs. “They should be arriving in a separate case next week. Rolf worked out how to pack them in rock with enough food for the journey.”
Draco lets Hagrid hug him, and then he pushes him gently back into his seat. “But tell me about the herd. How’ve they been getting on this summer? Are the new foals from Druella’s line still larger than the others?”
When he leaves the hut half an hour later, Draco is up-to-date on the progress of the Thestrals and the notable events from the past twelve weeks, at least as Hagrid sees them, which is a bit different from the standard perspective. Draco’d learned almost nothing about the students or teachers, but he knew more than he cared to about a large spider nest that Hagrid’d found in the Forest.
As Draco rounds the paths next to the greenhouse, he sees a familiar robed, dark-haired figure leaning against the fence around the vegetable patch and his heart leaps in his chest. He throws his satchel down in the ankle-high grass and runs. Harry just waits for Draco to reach him, a crooked smile on his face. Draco’s hands thread past the stems of Harry’s glasses, through the unruly curls and he pulls him in. Their lips meet, softly at first.
Draco nips Harry’s lower lip.
Harry shifts and sighs and kisses him back harder. “I’ve missed you, love.”
“How’s my favourite Charms professor?” Draco murmurs. His fingers tug lightly at Harry’s hair. Harry’s held the position since Flitwick retired eleven years ago. Draco thinks if he told his eleven-year-old self that he’d be married one day to the Head of Gryffindor House, he’d have laughed himself into a nervous breakdown.
Harry smiles against Draco’s mouth. “Complaining terribly about his husband being halfway across the world for three months.”
“I’d hate to endure that,” Draco says. “Must have been horribly annoying at staff meetings.”
“According to Snape.” Harry pulls back and grins at him. “He marched into our bedroom one night to tell me just to wank and get over myself.”
Draco raises an eyebrow. “And?”
Harry’s mouth quirks. “Imagine his complete consternation when he found me already putting his advice to use. At least the first half.”
With a laugh, Draco kisses him until they are both red-faced and gasping, on the edge of all possible restraint. Harry’s hand is twisted in the cloth of his shirt and he has both hands cupping Harry’s arse.
“I’d drag you off into a greenhouse if I could,” Draco murmurs, and Harry’s lashes lower.
As if on cue, the new professor of potions emerges from the greenhouse nearest them, her basket full of cuttings. “Not in Nev’s greenhouses, you wouldn’t. They’ve just been cleaned.” Her face softens, “You two never stop, do you?”
Draco reluctantly steps away from Harry, but keeps his fingers twined through Harry’s. Sunlight glints off the matching engraved platinum bands on their left hands. “Perdita, how are you?”
She smiles. “Well, thank you. And glad you’re back. The Deputy Headmaster’s been moping without you.”
“I have not,” Harry says. “I haven’t the time to mope.”
“That’s not what I heard.” Draco smiles, ignoring Harry’s mock indignation. “Will Agnes be coming up from London this summer?”
Perdita shakes her head. “No. I’m going to have to travel down more. She’s just been appointed to a new obstetrics ward at St Mungo’s, and she barely stops working to eat.”
Harry and Draco exchange glances. “She did always seem unnaturally interested in childbirth,” Draco whispers. “Especially for an eleven-year-old.”
“Twelve,” Perdita retorts with an amused gleam in her eye.
A shout comes from the direction of the castle as two girls burst out of the door. Peony Goldstein leads, her long legs propelling her in a dash. She’s just finished her first year and has her eyes set on the Ravenclaw seeker position. Rose Weasely-Granger chases behind her, her bushy red hair streaming. And behind them, Scorpius James walks at a more leisurely pace, not wanting to be caught running by his fathers as though he were eager. He stands back as the other two greet Draco, then walks forward slowly. Draco smiles and ruffles his son’s blond hair, noticing with a pang that he’s almost as tall as Harry.
“I didn’t expect such a reception,” Draco says dryly. His hand settles on Scorpius’s shoulder.
Scorpius ducks his head and grins, his hair falling across his cheek. “They’re just hoping you have presents.”
Peony eyes her godfather expectantly. “Of course he does. He always does.”
“In the satchel.” Draco gestures back behind him, and the two girls take off, robes flapping behind them. He looks back at his son. Scorpius’s Slytherin tie is slightly askew. Draco straightens it. “And you’re not running after them?”
Scorpius grins. “I’ll make them do all the work.”
“Wise boy.” Draco smiles as Harry slips both arms around his waist, resting his chin on Draco’s shoulder. “Where’s Teddy?”
“Off with Victoire again,” Scorpius huffs in annoyance, and Harry and Draco exchange a pointed look. They’ve had their suspicions about their son’s friendship with his cousin.
“Ah.” Draco leans back against Harry’s chest, enjoying the solidness of him.
Scorpius rolls his eyes as Harry nuzzles Draco’s neck. “Dad,” he says with a huff and the pained belief of a teenager that his parents only had sex once--to conceive him. “People--”
“Will not be surprised in the slightest that I can’t keep my hands off your father.” Harry says, and Perdita laughs.
“Too true. You should have seen them when they were younger.” She slips an arm through Scorpius’s elbow. “I’ve a new potion brewing if you’d like to see it. Professor Snape’s hovering over it right now, and I’m certain he’d be more than happy to tell us both how I cocked it up.”
Scorpius’s eyes light up, and he looks back at his father. “May I--”
Draco smiles indulgently at him. Severus had been thrilled to discover there was a potions prodigy in the family. ”Go on. I’ll come find you after I unpack.”
Scorpius whoops and takes off towards the castle, Perdita right behind him. Her blue dragonskin heeled boots kick up dust in their wake.
“Don’t get too engrossed,” Harry calls after them. “Your grandmother’s expecting us for dinner this evening.” He gives Draco an apologetic look. “She rescheduled Lucius’s birthday party last week so you could be there.”
Draco groans. His father’s mellowed somewhat in the past decade and a half, just not enough to make a family dinner with Harry palatable. “I wonder what he’ll accuse you of this time.”
“I’m rather looking forward to finding out.” Harry grins wickedly, and Draco sighs. Harry deliberately enjoys provoking his father, Draco’s certain of that, and after fifteen years, he’s starting to strongly suspect his father enjoys it as well.
“Put the wine near me then,” Draco says. His mother can fend for herself.
“Always.” Harry pulls Draco closer, leaning in to kiss him. “In the meantime, we’ve three hours to spare and a distracted teenager.” His mouth brushes Draco’s ear. “And I’ve been wanking myself raw for days thinking of having you inside me.”
“Not too raw, I hope.” Draco hooks two fingertips in the waist of Harry’s trousers. He breathes in the scent of Harry--spicy, warm, musky. God. He’s missed him.
Dreadfully.
Harry’s eyes sparkle. “Race you,” he murmurs, and then he pulls away, his fingers slipping from Draco’s hand.
“Cheat,” Draco shouts, taking off after him, and Harry just laughs over his shoulder as he dashes towards the castle.
Draco can hear Rose and Peony behind him, dragging the satchel between them and cheering him on.
In the bright blue sky above, a Thestral circles, her foal at her side. Her whinny echos bright and loud across the grounds, and Draco laughs, his hair whipping around his face as he runs after the man he loves.
This, he knows without the slightest doubt, is perfect happiness.
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