Chapter Text
Draco smoothed his hands down the front of his jumper before taking a fortifying breath. He schooled his features into a disinterested mask and made his way onto the cobbled street before him. Diagon Alley was alive with the daily goings on of its teeming crowds.
Five years after the war he was still on the receiving end of many heated glares. He didn’t let them bother him—he expected them. To some, it would never matter that Draco Malfoy had been cleared of all charges or that the Chosen One himself had testified on his behalf. Draco had accepted his role and played it well, knowing all along what the price of success would be.
Draco wandered slowly toward his destination, allowing himself to get lost in thought. After Fourth Year he had been approached by his father and Severus. They explained the truth of the Dark Lord’s return and what he would expect from Draco. Draco was raised to be a proper pure blood heir and carried with him all of the prejudices and traditions that went with the title.
Draco was excited at first. His father had always professed his loyalty to the Dark Lord and Draco wanted nothing more than to please his father and swear fealty to his new master. When he told them this Lucius had not looked proud. Draco watched in shock as his father’s expression twisted into one of contempt and sadness. Lucius Malfoy bowed his head for a long time before nodding once to Severus and leaving the room.
Severus told him about how his father had turned into a spy for the Light after Draco was born. The Order was never informed as Voldemort disappeared a few months later and it was deemed an unnecessary risk to expose Lucius as a spy. He was Dumbledore’s contingency plan for when the Dark Lord returned. Lucius was meant to be the embodiment of the perfect Death Eater and was ordered to do nothing that would cause anyone to become suspicious of him.
Draco listened to Severus explain what life serving the Dark Lord would really be like. He was directed to the Pensive in the room and felt a growing sense of horror as he viewed memory after memory of Death Eater meetings and raids. He was told that most of what he had been raised to believe was wrong. His father returned to the room, visibly shaken, and asked for forgiveness.
With the Dark Lord’s return Draco was given a choice—he could be sent away to America until the war was over or he could stay and fight. To fight would be to spy; to cloak himself in darkness and fool everyone around him into thinking that nothing had changed. He was still to be the perfect Death Eater son. No one could know the truth. No one could learn that he was fighting for the Light, that he was helping Harry Potter. Not even Potter could know the truth.
Choosing to fight, Draco struggled to maintain his sense of self. On one hand there was his old self, the self that was full of hate and cruelty that he presented to the wizarding world. On the other hand there was his new self, the one that had opened his eyes to the dangers of old prejudices and was actively working to guarantee a better future for himself and his family.
Though not completely alone in his struggle, Draco eventually began to feel lost. The only people who knew who he really was were his parents, Severus, and Dumbledore. Draco had struggled through Fifth Year at Hogwarts but managed to maintain enough perspective to still believe that he was doing the right thing. It wasn’t until Sixth Year that things nearly fell apart.
The Dark Lord’s task was one he was unwilling to complete, and though he knew that failure would mean his death the alternative was so abhorrent that he wouldn’t consider it. After a particularly nasty argument with Severus and Dumbledore he had fled to Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. Potter’s arrival when he was at his lowest point proved to be too much for Draco. He just wanted to be done. He loathed the things he had done, the things he was supposed to do. Casting a poorly executed Crucio had been his way of forcing a duel. Draco didn’t expect the vicious cutting curse that was cast at him, but as his world faded to grey and then black he was overwhelmed by a sense of relief.
Of course, it wasn’t over. Far from it, in fact. From that point forward though things did get a bit more bearable for Draco. The incident had forced Dumbledore to tell Potter about Draco’s secret. There was still a lot of tension between them, but they slowly began to trust each other.
Startling at the sound of a loud crack Draco looked up, surprised to find himself at his destination. The children outside the shop lit one more firework and laughed with glee as yet another passerby startled. Rolling his eyes at their antics, Draco pushed open the door to Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes and stepped inside.
He shook his head to clear it of his depressing thoughts. Things got better eventually, he reminded himself ruefully. The full truth could never come out, but he and Potter had put on a show of making amends with each other after the Dark Lord’s defeat. Harry got Draco to reluctantly allow him to tell the Weasley family about his true role in the war efforts and after a few months of tense conversations Draco suddenly found himself being welcomed as a friend.
Looking around the shop, Draco grimaced at all the flamboyant decorations. Everywhere he looked there were red and pink hearts, charmed Cupid dolls shooting sparkly arrows, and pink love potions.
“It looks like Valentine’s day was sick in here,” Draco drawled sardonically, lazily leaning against the door frame to the open store room.
George looked up from where he appeared to be sorting Pygmy puffs by color and grinned.
“Don’t complain about the decor, Marilyn.”
Draco snorted. Raising an eyebrow he addressed George with a long-suffering sigh. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”
“Nope!” Came the reply as the red-head disappeared behind a display of fluttering white envelopes.
“Sod off. Halloween was months ago, I refuse to be plagued by that ridiculous nickname any longer.” He hesitated and then continued thoughtfully, “I did look pretty fantastic in that dress though, didn’t I?” Draco said with a lazy grin.
Laughing, George reappeared and slung his arm across Draco’s shoulders. Leaning down he whispered into Draco’s ear, “That you did mate. You were a dead ringer for Marilyn Monroe for sure, but I’ve always been more interested in how Harry talked you into wearing the dress in the first place.”
With a scowl he shoved George away. “Potter cheated. We had a bet and the Golden Boy cheated.”
“Oh now you have to tell me, Marilyn.”
“I will not give you the sordid details, you ginger freak,” Draco replied with a smirk. “You appear to spend far too much time fantasizing about me already. Not that I blame you, really. I am a rather tempting eye-candy after all.”
George’s laughter boomed through the shop as he licked Draco’s cheek. Draco shoved him hard enough that he fell against a display of singing Valentine’s Day cards. With a flick of his wand they were silenced, but not quick enough to save them from the glare that Angelina, George’s wife, shot them from the front counter. “Oi! I thought you two had secret, ‘Don’t tell Harry’ things to do? Get out of here before you scare the customers with your warped conversations.”
With a wicked grin George blew her a kiss that she pretended to catch before throwing back at him. “Oh Angie, don’t pretend you’re not just as interested in seeing Draco in a dress again as I am.”
Draco grabbed George’s arm and pulled him to the back of the shop and up the stairs towards. Waiving to Angelina he turned and slapped the back of George’s head. “Deviant,” he muttered fondly. At George’s grin he rolled his eyes. “Come on, you kinky bastard, we have things to do.”
Chuckling over his shoulder at Draco, George led the way into his flat. After closing the door he shoved Draco towards the sitting room. He poured them both a glass of Fire Whisky before coming to stand in front of Draco. “You know,” he said slowly, “People are starting to get suspicious of us spending so much time together. It’s only been a few weeks but I’ve already been cornered by both Ginny and Hermione demanding answers. You’re going to have to tell him soon.”
Draco sighed and nodded, taking a swallow of his drink and allowing it to burn a path down his throat. “I know,” he said quietly. “Merlin, the whole point of all this sneaking around was so that I could tell him tonight but I feel so damned guilty every time he asks what we’re up to.”
George chuckled. “You’ve grown soft, Marilyn. It isn’t anything to feel guilty about. Now strip!” He commanded with a leer.
Rolling his eyes to hide his blush Draco did as he was commanded, untucking his jumper and slowly tugging it over his head before tossing it to the sofa behind him. Taking a fortifying breath he met George’s eyes, “Where do you want me?”