Work Text:
Dear Malfoy,
Have you ever told a lie that spiralled completely out of control? In writing this, I have.
HJP
“I think there’s something sweet about it,” Hermione said dreamily. Harry had been counting on her to be the stone-cold pragmatist, the one to roll her eyes and say it was all moving a bit fast. But Harry had forgotten a crucial detail. Hermione loved weddings and that outweighed the cynicism of a woman who had once drawn up a pre-nuptial agreement with forty clauses about child rearing and a full itemization of all assets down to book titles. So Harry was left to commiserate alone.
Once might have been funny. Twice, a little bit of a coincidence. After the seventh time an ex found happily married bliss with the next person they dated, Harry was starting to take offence, particularly since numbers six and seven were marrying each other.
How lovely for Terry Boot and Terry Singh. He had to think it was his mistake for dating two people with the same name, and then having them become the Terries.
The Terries went on a date, did you hear? The Terries are adopting the cutest little rescue pekingese. Aren’t you jealous? Someone should hit me with the Potter curse. I heard the Terries are going to Santorini on their honeymoon. Poor Harry though. But they’re all friends.
“You’ll find someone,” was wearing a bit thin at present. It was inevitable though, and Harry knew they all meant well. It’s not as if Terry Singh had broken up with him for Terry Boot. Instead, he said a lot of rubbish about not looking for a commitment like Harry was, and promptly married the next person he had dated for less than three months, like that wasn’t a complete mindfuck.
And Harry wasn’t going to avoid social events as though he was the wronged party in someone else’s love story. So he was at the engagement party in some horrid posh bar in Chelsea that served lukewarm tapas, throwing back prosecco and making self-deprecating mate-y jokes about the ones that got away.
“Have you tried getting back out there?” Ginny said with the conviction and unflinching sincerity of every coupled up person in his friend group. Good thing the lighting was terrible because he was feeling underdressed in his nice jeans while she was in a sequin dress.
“I don’t really think that I want—” Harry began.
“You work with so many Quidditch players.” Seamus' voice held a twinge of envy, as he sidled up to the bar. He didn’t even pretend he hadn't been eavesdropping.
“I work with their brooms, which isn’t nearly the same thing,” Harry muttered and took another swig.
Neville, a noted early beneficiary of the next-comes-marriage curse chimed in, “I know someone.” Harry loved Neville, but one herbologist had been enough for him, and all of Neville’s friends that Harry hadn’t gone to school with were herbologists.
Harry was about to open his mouth to protest again. Probably with one of his pre-packaged lines that he was touched by their concern et cetera but he was really focused right now on the season and his career.
Instead he said, “Actually I am seeing someone, so.” Ron whipped around from a conversation to look at him.
“Really?” Lavender was paying attention, too. Which was unfortunate because Ron and Lavender had teamed up to be the worst gossips of the bunch. No matter what Harry said, half their friends would know before the next drink.
“It’s early days, so don’t want to say much about it,” Harry demurred. This was the most stupid thing he’d done in years. Who could he even have been dating?
“Of course, no need to put pressure on it,” Parvati said. Then Harry was saved from further scrutiny by the Terries calling for a toast.
“To true love, may we all find it, keep it, and cherish it,” Terry Boot said. Harry raised his glass.
Dear Malfoy,
I expect this will end up at the bottom of the ocean. The owl I sent under duress came back ruffled and ill-tempered. No one has seen or heard from you in a while, I’ve asked. I think Pansy Parkinson only answered me because she still feels guilty about trying to hand me over to Voldemort, but somehow conveyed that I was under her intense scrutiny. Charming friend you’ve got.
Can’t imagine what you’ve been up to that has you disappear for months at a time with a word to anyone, but in this case, it’s to my advantage. It is convenient for me to be writing to someone who is not expected to reply.
I can avoid the pitying looks, you are none the wiser, everyone wins. It’s hard to lie to my friends about how this feels. They’ve seen the Potter curse happen seven times. Date me and the next person you date, you will marry. Although marriage is not necessary, you can merely swan about town with your beloved and declare you’re forever bound to each other in much more modern ways like wearing their Quidditch jerseys to pub night looking well-shagged (see: Neville) or adopting a small animal (see: Terries; Luna; Cho) or a committing to a cause together (see: Luna, Charlie, MJ).
Terry Singh didn’t want any of that with me. That’s fair enough. I just wish he’d been honest with me. It’s not like it was all good, I’m not naïve. We had arguments. He was as stubborn as I was. He seemed disappointed that I wasn’t something more than I am: a person who leaves their dirty laundry on the floor. Terry was Junior Counsel for Creatures. I was proud of him. He always treated my job as a hobby until I finally started my own broom company. Cleansweep, Firebolt, Comet have offered me my own branded lines. But I just…I can’t see myself doing that. I like my workshop. I enjoy having an apprentice. Despite everything, I was happy. And he wasn’t. And I feel like until I solve that problem, I shouldn’t be dating anyone else.
Ad mare,
Harry Potter
“Well, who are they then?” Ron had been needling him ceaselessly since Friday night. “Do we know them? It’s not another Tilda, is it?”
“No, it’s not another Tilda.” If Harry wanted to risk poisoning by love potion again, he could do better than his obsessed ex-apprentice who had appeared to be normal, until she had declared her body, soul, and boundless love for Harry via flash mob in Diagon Alley. Harry shuddered at the memory.
“I can’t believe you won’t tell me.” Ron looked wounded, but it didn’t fool Harry. It was the same face Ron made at Molly for the end piece of Sunday roast, as he knew Molly considered Hermione’s vegetarianism an advanced form of torture.
“If I tell you anything, half the people in the world will know by lunch.”
“Hey, I’ll keep it between us.”
“He’s really very private,” Harry tried to insist, but in doing so made a critical error.
“So it’s a he, and I must know him if you’re all that concerned. Unlikely to be a Muggle then.”
“Ron…” Harry said in a warning tone. It was to everyone’s benefit Ron had chosen Harry’s non-existent private life and not the Dark Arts as the focus of his nosiness.
“I’ll back off, I’ll back off. Although…it’s not Padraig from the Kestrels?”
Padraig was a handsome man, but there was such a thing as being too aware of one’s own handsomeness. Besides, Harry had sworn off Quidditch players a while back. Too much attention for his liking. They were a superstitious bunch too, and it wouldn't help business if people thought he wasn't entirely neutral as a League certified broom repair technician.
“It’s not Padraig.”
“Oliver?” It wasn’t Harry’s place to volunteer information that Percy hadn’t seen fit to disclose yet, and he wasn’t about to blurt out Percy’s sexual orientation or secret boyfriend, lest every Weasley in the Isles descend upon their next gathering to get started on planning the next wedding.
“It’s not Oliver, or any of my clients.” Struck by sudden inspiration, he said, “Look, it’s not a traditional thing, where we go on dates. We’re writing to each other. He’s overseas.”
He was certain Ron was going to call him out, as it was all sounding a bit like ‘my girlfriend goes to another school, you wouldn’t know her’. But to his surprise, perhaps because Harry rarely lied, Ron accepted it without question.
“That’s romantic isn't it?” Ron said. “I’m happy for you, mate.”
Dear Malfoy,
Once Parvati gifted me a gratitude journal for my birthday. So I wrote in it diligently. On the best days, I was thankful for my friends, my life and my job. On the worst? Well, sometimes it was only that I was going to sleep for ten hours straight after the workshop.
I wrote for a year, then tried to re-read it.
Look, I’ve always been grateful. I didn’t grow up with magic. My Aunt and Uncle weren’t exactly the warmest people. And yet my life is, in very many ways, good. I’m lucky to be here, and people have told me that my whole life. I don’t think they mean it the way I’ve taken it but I’ve always felt I had to keep myself respectfully delighted for whatever life threw at me or else I wasn’t paying my dues.
I’m sick to the back teeth of it. I deserve a good life. Most people do. There’s enough pain out there, and I find suffering rarely teaches you anything of value. But it made me think of being content with scraps instead. Like being grateful I’ve cleaned up my act enough that someone wants to stick around, even if they don’t love me.
I need to lay off the Thursday night drinks.
H—
“Ron told me about your courtship,” Luna admitted halfway into just stopping by for tea while he was teaching Annette about the Cleansweep fault and the tendency for their charms to fuse over time. Annette was in the front looking at speed tangling examples and minding the shop. Harry was in the back with Luna, sitting on sawdust covered armchairs with a mug.
“Ron needs to take up tennis or something.” Luna fidgeted with her coaster before putting it down.
“The international Owls to Rolf are always so expensive. The Owlery will give us a discount. Why don’t you prepare your letters and we can send them together weekly? Where is he?”
“He moves around a lot.” Harry needed to get better at making up details if was going to lie to all his friends. He should have just picked a country, like Luxembourg. Although he probably knew less about Luxembourg than he should. Maybe the love of his life was in Luxembourg, stymied by his lack of knowledge of their capital and primary exports.
“Same with Rolf. The owls are good though. I’ll come by tomorrow?”
Harry opened his mouth to protest, when Luna turned in her chair and said, “I’m really glad someone is talking to Draco. I won’t tell anyone. But I am worried about him. His research has really brought him far afield.”
Something akin to a vague horror swept through him. “It’s not Draco Malfoy.” Draco Malfoy, who no one had seen in at least five years? Harry could sort of see why she’d come to that conclusion.
“Your secret’s safe with me,” Luna said with an exaggerated wink.
She swept out before Harry could decide to be dating a foreign Quidditch player to save face.
That night, he wrote his first letter.
Receiving the save the date card hurt more than Harry thought it would. He was over both Terries, really. But this was the final thing that made it sink in, along with a little scrawled note that said they looked forward to meeting his mystery boyfriend.
Malfoy,
The post office has marked all letters to you ‘cannot confirm delivery’ which is as good as saying I am wasting my money on a very stupid ruse, but might as well get some therapeutic use out of this foolishness.
I realise I have no clue what you’re researching or why, so I’ve told everyone something about it being classified since Pansy didn’t know either. Can’t be too off the mark.
Luna worries about you, but won’t discuss it with me in order to keep the integrity of our fake blossoming romance. As much as I’ve said my friends can be a pain in the arse, for all their faults, I know they want me to be happy. If you have people who care for you, never take it for granted. You should write to them, if you can.
I wouldn’t take my advice either, but it was worth a shot.
Harry
Harry put his head in his arms and sighed. Unfortunately, this caused a chain reaction where a broom twig poked him in the nose and he sneezed and knocked an awl under the workbench. There was no summoning anything in the workshop unless he wanted to risk messing up an order, so Harry bent down only to bash his head on the tabletop on the way back up.
“Are you…okay?” Annette said. She only sounded vaguely concerned, which is what Harry got for employing the first apprentice who asked more questions about the brooms than about Harry and was willing to undergo a background check. Black dresses, black combat boots, thick black eyeliner, the soft lilt of her early childhood upbringing in Port-Au-Prince, Muggle-born—none of the rest of it had mattered to Harry.
Harry hissed and gingerly touched the back of his head, which was throbbing horribly now. “Annette, do you ever think that the universe is vast and uncaring?”
Her monotone broke with the tiniest bit of emotion. “Harry, should you go home? I can look after the measurements for tomorrow.”
“I'm alright. I was just joking,” Harry said, except the effort of smiling made his head hurt worse. He checked his hand again. “No blood. But maybe I’ll check out for the day. You have the ward keys?”
Annette nodded, not quite wiping the look of concern from her expression. “All seven. I’ll use the locker with the bolt for the team brooms.”
Harry missed having someone to fuss over him. Someone to double check whether he’d hit his head harder than he thought. Instead, he firecalled the St Mungo’s urgent line, enchanted his own ice pack out of a clean sock from under the couch, ate a handful of dry crackers, and went to sleep after setting his watch’s alarm to go off every hour for the next eight, as the Mediwix had instructed.
He slept terribly because of it, including a dream where he’d lost Great Aunt Muriel’s tiara and had to duel a very pissed off Sphinx for it with one of Teddy’s plastic swords.
He ended up back in the workshop early to catch up on all the work he'd missed yesterday.
Vana Sturtgarten, Harpies centre, Nimbus 4k custom, brakes needed tuning and there was something off with the stand start acceleration. The resonance was normal for the wood. The charms responded to a surface prod with his wand. He charmed his loupe onto his glasses, tucked his wand back behind his ear and started from the handle.
His eyes were smarting by the time Annette arrived. He always cautioned her against taking too much time with detail work, and with the head injury from yesterday he felt slightly nauseous. But someone had taken a shortcut and repaired the broom wrap with a cheaper grade of goblin iron some months ago, and it had degraded.
"Annette, do you see the seam here? How can I tell that's not properly done?"
She reached out and grabbed the broom from him, lowering her own loupe and frowning. "There's a scratch on it. And it should be over-under on the seam instead of welded."
"Correct. Do you know who repaired it?"
"I don't see a repair stamp." She had good instincts, so Harry tried to guide her without giving her the answer. He had been apprenticed like that, and while he learned a lot from Basil Tweeddale, there was a lot left wanting from his pedagogical approach. "The Nimbus factory repaired it then."
"Well done. They can't use lesser grade iron on new brooms, but there aren’t any regulations on repairs you don't pay for and the owner has a lifetime warranty."
"And the price of iron is going up because of the strikes," Annette continued, looking thoughtful.
“The strikes are the Ministry’s fault and it’s no excuse for a shoddy job. That’s why you’ll be doing it.” He smiled at her.
“Me?” Annette squeaked. Six months was long enough to start repairs without direction, Harry thought. He rummaged around in his desk and held out his hand to her. Her own weighted stamp on a black silk cord, so she would no longer be stamping his initials on her repairs. It had a six-sided star for his repair shop.
“You’re right, I’ll give it to my other apprentice,” Harry joked, but she snatched it out of his hands. Her face managed to convey anger, deep gratitude, and embarrassment all at once so she must have been very pleased indeed.
“I thought it would be another year at least.” She carried the stamp with no small amount of reverence and rested it on her worktop.
“You do good work. Take the label, and reference the weights before you start,” Harry reminded her.
Harry put on the kettle and watched her for a second. She reminded Harry of himself at eighteen, hands shaking, but realising this was exactly what he wanted to do.
If we're meant to be lovers, here's a list of things you should know that I probably should just hand over to every new person I date:
I dislike small, enclosed spaces.
I am deathly allergic to kiwis.
Taking a second glass of Clarence Granger's eggnog is always a mistake.
I see a therapist twice a month and take an anti-anxiety potion daily.
My favourite city in the world is Tokyo.
Because of Luna's midwinter party in 2002, I have a lifetime ban from the Knight Bus and it is the only time I've ever paid the press off.
The most money I've ever spent is on an original Silver Arrow I bought at auction. I built it a special archival case with a magical voidsafe.
Once a year in June I go to a chicken shop in Surrey and that is as close as I will ever get to my aunt & uncle while they still live. My cousin Dudley sends a card every Christmas and I've never replied.
Surprisingly, Harry's friends were more respectful of his imaginary relationship than he expected.
The normal teasing of "Turning in early? C’mon Harry!" turned into "Oh, rush home and write to him, it must be so hard." Hannah had cornered him at the next pub night to talk about brooms and then commitment.
"You just want someone to pick you, right?" Harry nodded along vigorously even though according to Ron she had an unfortunate habit of picking up married women twenty years her senior. They were in the same boat. Well, adjacent boats, but in the same choppy waters of despairing singledom nonetheless. Except Hannah didn't know they were still in the same situation so he felt quite unreasonably like he'd given her false hope of what was possible if you let one lie multiply.
"Tell me. Your mystery man, does he treat you well?" Terry Singh asked an evening later that week at Neville’s annual quiz night. Harry did not know how to process that Terry was talking to him alone when he'd avoided doing so for months now. Harry used to live with him and now they barely spoke unless it was the Terries as a unit. Terry hadn't even had the decency to have changed at all since they broke up. Harry couldn’t pretend they were different people who had been constrained by different circumstances when Terry acted exactly the same.
"He's good to me," Harry said. He might have felt some twinges of guilt with his other friends but he felt none about lying to Terry's face. Terry had lied to his.
"You deserve it," Terry said with a depth of feeling that made Harry want to shake him vigorously. Terry Singh was not the expert on what he deserved. Terry deserved to be lost in the Floo for a few hours. Alas, here they both were while Harry pretended he wasn't going to let all the herbologists on his quiz team finish by themselves.
"Which plant was used to induce visions during the Mysteries of Eleusis rite? Bonus points for whoever can name the wizard who managed to synthesise it in modern times."
"Isn't it ergot?" Harry interjected in a whisper, only to earn himself a dirty look as Kira? Kayla? scribbled an answer that seemed far too long for a pub quiz. He turned his attention back to Terry. Who Harry belatedly realised had always loathed these pub quizzes and inexplicably, Neville, so he really must have come to speak to Harry.
"He understands me, I think. Knows what I'm about," Harry went on. If he had to put a name to his feelings right now, he would say sadness mixed with a little contempt. The hurt felt more distant with every day. He was just tired. Tired of feeling awkward, tired of wishing he had thought to settle things between him and Terry Singh first, tired of revisiting the past. He didn't love him anymore but he did want things to be normal between them. They had been friends.
"Well, I can't wait to meet him if he can make it to the wedding," Terry said with a broad smile.
"If he can make it, I'll let you know," Harry said. Then before the impulse faded he said "Terry?"
"Yeah?"
"I really am happy for you. Genuinely, mate. I'm looking forward to the wedding." The smile was back again, and Terry Singh left the pub.
"Time's up for this round! Let's see how everyone did."
Harry did like weddings.
At the Burrow, Molly seemed unusually cheerful even for her. She hummed while she worked, she let Harry help her chop some veg and she brought out the wine before noon and poured herself a little glass before anyone else even arrived.
"Are you hungry Ronald? Have you eaten breakfast?" She greeted him as he crashed into the kitchen.
"No thanks Mum, I can wait until lunch." Ron went to find Arthur in the shed.
Hermione rolled her eyes. She had swept in behind Ron with an enamel pot of aloo chana as she always did whenever she wasn't in the mood to cobble together sides for a meal. Molly peered in and said, "Is it spicy?"
"No," Hermione said. She wasn't quite frowning, but it would get there depending on the line of questioning.
"I'll have to try some today then if you can spare a bite. Smells lovely, dear." Molly must have been in an excellent mood indeed. Usually Hermione sat beside Harry sniping that Molly must think they both scavenged leaves and twigs from trees when Molly wasn't around to feed them.
"Is someone pregnant?" Hermione murmured.
"I was going to ask you the same," Harry said.
Fred and Angelina came next, then Ginny and Nat. Bill and Fleur were in town, and so was Charlie and Rowan along with him. The room got louder and louder as it got more crowded. Percy was never late, much less absent, and noon ticked over without a sign of him. Then the front door chimed, and Percy walked in with Oliver. He meant to say something Harry was sure. Instead, Molly drew Oliver into a big hug though she was barely up to his shoulder.
"I hope you don't mind the hug. And I know you've been here before, but what a delight it is to finally have you here, Oliver." Molly steered him to the coveted spot, the armchair she never let anyone else sit in (In part because she forgot knitting needles in the cushion and it gave everyone a surprise poke in the rear at least once, even when it seemed safe.) Percy was quiet. Harry spared him a wink, and he smiled uneasily.
Arthur's hearing was going, so when he entered from the garden, he boomed, "Oliver Wood, how are you?" at something approaching the volume of a dragon's roar. Molly winced.
"Oh," Hermione said softly as she understood.
Ginny was the one who broke the ice. She walked over and perched right next to Oliver.
"So, Oliver. Are you tired of carrying your entire team all season?"
Oliver laughed and laughed, then they started in on the Quidditch talk, with Fleur jumping in to give her very strong opinions about Puddlemere's management.
"But it does not make sense to have such a weak bench," Fleur insisted. "It's a shame. You could cry for the shame!"
"Crying shame, darling," Bill supplied helpfully. She insisted on being told when she had her idioms mixed up though her English at this point was better than Harry's.
"They know what they're doing. There's a vision. I can tell," Rowan added, punctuating his words with a finger pointed upward as if appealing to a higher Quidditch being who had nothing better to do than service the conflicting requests of League fanatics. As long as the games brought him brooms, Harry didn't care too much about any team. He followed along so he could make conversation with customers and see his handiwork. He preferred any player who treated their brooms well. By that metric and any other, Oliver was one of the finest.
"Thank you. Someone has faith in the process!" Oliver said.
Little by little, Percy relaxed. During lunch, everyone begged Hermione to bring more to share next time, and she seemed very pleased indeed when Molly said she liked it.
After lunch, Ron roped him into a long walk.
"I really thought you were with Oliver since he's on the road a lot." Ron mused as they got further down the road, pleasantly full. "But I'm guessing you knew about Percy all along."
Harry neither confirmed nor denied it.
"Good on Percy for bagging the best looking Keeper in the league."
"Ron, are you certain you're straight?" Ron shrugged.
"Oh, I wouldn't say I'm sure of it, but it's also never come up. There's only one person for me," Ron said brightly. Then, "You know, if you really wanted me not to tell anyone, I wouldn't. Not even Hermione. Because I think I know the truth."
Harry sputtered. He had been caught out, he knew it. It was time to come clean. Harry was a lying liar who lied, but if anyone would forgive him for it, it'd be Ron. He opened his mouth, a confession on the tip of his tongue.
But instead Ron said, "I thought it had to be Draco at first, then I thought it wasn't, but I'm back to thinking it is."
Harry opened and closed his mouth several times. His brain was making the steady click of a broom odometer during a speed test with absolutely no thoughts taking enough form to come out of his mouth.
"I can't promise that I understand, but I would like to see you happy. And if he'll make you happy, then." Ron shrugged. "I don't ever want it to be like when you were with Charlie. I'm not proud of myself for that."
Ron had apologised, though he imagined that dating Ron's brother was a little different than dating the man who had bullied his wife in school. But all the same, he was touched that he'd taken the brief chill between them seriously enough.
"You don't have to apologise for that."
"Oh, but I do," Ron said with an easy smile. "Is Draco coming to the Terry and Terry wedding?"
"No," Harry said. "Don't think he can make it." Ron nodded.
"Too bad, I'd like to see him if he's ever around. Hermione, too."
"Does she…?" Harry trailed off.
“You know what she’s like. She said as long as he's not as annoying as MJ, she doesn't care."
"I feel like we are overlooking a significant detail," Harry pointed out. “MJ wasn’t a baby Death Eater.”
"Pity. Voldemort could have sent him around to bore people to death," Ron said. Harry's snort of laughter escaped before he could hold it in. MJ often interrupted people with a light throat clearing and "well actually" before, as far as Harry could tell, repeating the same thing the other person said. Hermione found it infuriating, as someone who had gone to great lengths to curb her know-it-all instincts for the sake of manners. Harry would say he didn't know what he saw in him, but Harry had been tempted more than once by the standing offer to join him and Goldstein for a pleasant evening.
Coming out stories (because there is always more than one):
You know how the story goes. Boy meets boy, boy kisses boy, cries in nightclub toilets, has first panic attack. Many friends said “We thought you knew” and I still don’t know what the fuck that means.
While I don't really recommend allowing Molly to catch you with one of her sons, it saved me some explanation, as we were both too hideously embarrassed for her to say anything on the topic ever again.
Once, I came out to my own boyfriend in the aftermath of some so-so sex when he said something like, "Must be nice not to pretend anymore." Which was funny before I realized he was talking about Luna and thought the "bisexual thing" was an interim step, as if the general public liked it any better.
I have heard every single joke or pun in existence about handling brooms, and it's not a good pickup line. Every professional Quidditch player is so convinced of their own sex appeal that I've had to explain many times that bisexual doesn't mean anyone that asks. I don't mix work and relationships anyway. Relationships are risky enough without losing contracts over them.
Harry
His days went well. He found a kick start issue with the new prototype Firebolt sent him and got a manufacturer's bonus by diagramming the fix and sending it in. Annette took on most of the straightforward repairs including basic broom maintenance, which left him with inspections and the more interesting work.
He was looking at one of them, the restoration of a handmade teak family broom in the front window when Pansy Parkinson came into his shop.
"Er, hello?" Harry said. She took a long look around. She was in some sort of blue minidress, a light grey wool travelling cloak, and heels so high he worried for the structural integrity of her ankles.
"Are you looking for something?" Harry tried. Pansy rolled her eyes.
"I'm not here for a broom," and she said the word 'broom' in the exact tone someone else might say maggot. "Just browsing."
Harry looked at her a little helplessly. "Let me know if you need anything."
He was conscious of the slow click of her heels as she circled the shop once, looking at broom polish, twig trimming kits, harnesses, and price lists. Perhaps she was looking for a present for someone.
"Very good," Pansy said. She rummaged around in her black crocodile skin handbag for a moment, then brought out a brown envelope. "I know he isn't…I doubt he's answering you often is all. I thought you might like this."
She sailed out of his shop before he could ask her any questions. Harry rubbed his hands over his face. He set the envelope aside to continue working out the charms in the varnish of the family broom, and didn't look at it again until he was closing after Annette had left for the day.
Carefully, he broke the seal and out slid a photo of Draco Malfoy.
Harry immediately had to update his mental image of Draco. He was on a sailboat, hands resting easy on the guardrail behind him. The deep blue of the water undulated gently in the background. Draco looked over his shoulder, then back at the camera. He threw up a hand to shield his eyes and smiled.
He had certainly grown into his looks. Harry caught himself looking and looking. The back of this photo was dated five years ago, Split, Croatia. Before he went out of contact with almost everyone.
Upon slipping the photo back into the envelope, Harry realised the only reason for Pansy to have given him this was if she was also under the impression they were dating.
Draco might be incommunicado but the rumour was clearly getting around their friend circles just fine. Harry had made a complete hash of things.
Well, all he had to do was get through this wedding season, and maybe after he would tell everyone that they'd broken up. He was already resigned to going alone to the events, but it'd been nice to be considered coupled up. No jokes about the Potter curse, no surprise suitors or offers to hook him up with someone's neighbour's cousin's bridge partner's son, no awkward conversations about how he was silly for wanting love when he had professional success or whether his standards were too high or whether he was really open to being loved.
Spring rolled into an easy summer, inoffensively warm, and full of small delights. Dozens of extra broom inspections as it was a World Cup year with international brooms to look at, a glass of sorrel at the annual Granger barbecue, a few days camping in the Lake District with Dean, Seamus, and Lee.
He dutifully prepared for the list of wedding-related events that would last about a month.
“Is this normal?” Harry asked Luna when she came by for the latest letter and a cup of tea.
“You know how I feel about that word, Harry,” Luna replied. He sighed.
Hermione shrugged and Ron had said he wasn’t up on pure-blood traditions on account of not giving a shit. Neville informed him that this was rather subdued of them.
“Gran says they did a respectable three months of celebrations back in her day. Probably all for the best, we just have to attend some parties but there’s no duelling showcase or feats of magic. Can you imagine having to pick your future spouse's wand out of a lineup?”
The first event was an informal dinner, which nonetheless required Harry to trek out to some place by the Old Wizarding Theatre in, of all places, Chichester. He arrived mostly dry thanks to in-built charms in his shirt, though he’d been turned around again and again.
If nothing else, he could admire the handiwork on the rosewood chandelier with brass fittings, enchanted with beeswax candles gently bobbing up and down, providing a shifting light that made a crowd of nearly one hundred seem intimate.
It was most of the same people Harry saw all the time with some additions. Terry Singh’s sisters gave him a flutter of awkward greetings by the entrance hall.
Terry Boot’s mother caught him near the back corner and talked his ear off without any regard for the volume of her voice, complaining of everything from the weather, to her allergies, to the amount of work she was undertaking as mother of a groom which she took as seriously as a general on a last stand campaign. Harry thought Evangeline Boot confiding in him had ended with his relationship with Terry. Evidently not.
Her husband used this opportunity to escape and left Harry looking with deep longing at all his other schoolmates, most of the Ministry’s legal counsel and a sprinkling of public figures. Harry was very uncomfortable to realise he still probably counted among their number, and his seat was close to the head table where Harry graciously dropped off Mrs Boot to complain at her counterpart Mrs Singh.
Thankfully, he was seated beside Professor—no, Headteacher—McGonagall.
“Good to see you, Harry,” she greeted him warmly.
“And you. How are you, Headmistress?”
“I was just in Gigha with some of our summer students last week. Enjoying myself. What about you?"
They made their way through the appetisers and a main course as Harry told her about Annette’s recent promotion and she gave him a few updates about the new cohort of year-round students, the day students, and transfers. McGonagall even talked him into looking at the school brooms since “as you know, Potter, it’s our poorest students who use them and without a full-time flying instructor, their maintenance has fallen by the wayside."
Harry was certain that a handful of students in detention could have handled it under supervision as he had donated every single one of those brooms less than five years ago. But the last time McGonagall had walked away with a pledge to build a new wing and there had been no cumin-dusted mushrooms or mini cabbage rolls and certainly none of these tiny delicious gooseberry and custard tarts or ashed brie on rosemary crackers, so he was considering it a victory.
Luna was the one to accost him before he could slip out early. “Harry!” she hissed. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Her earrings jingled loudly with every syllable as she looked back into the restaurant.
“Luna…” Harry put his arms around her gently. “I’m exhausted. Can we chat another time?” He wasn’t sure what the source of her clear agitation was, but he was willing to count tonight as a victory if he slipped away without notice from Mrs Boot again.
“No, this is important. Look, I think someone brought D—”
From behind, a voice that was all too familiar said, "Surprise, sweetheart, have you missed me?"
It was the very shock of his life. Draco Malfoy, fashionably rumpled like he'd wandered straight from Portkey to the dinner. Wherever he’d been, he’d shown up in jeans and a dusty white shirt. Harry swallowed and swallowed again, and his mouth was drier than the Sahara. Draco might have had the shoulders of someone who chopped wood all day, and acquired some interesting looking scars, but Draco’s expressions were the same and he looked far too pleased for Harry's liking. The ruse was up. Malfoy knew.
"Draco," Harry began. Harry was fucked. Harry was triple fucked. Even now, he could see his friends hovering. Lavender clapped her hands with glee.
"We thought we’d surprise you!” she said.
“Oh,” said Harry. People were gathering in the front hall to witness the reunion.
There was a tiny pale crescent scar on Draco’s lip. Draco paused just long enough that Harry was sure Draco was about to let everyone know that Harry was a fraud. But at the last minute, he pulled Harry in close, awkward and jerky, and kissed the top of his forehead.It was not unlike what he imagined a kiss from your Nan might be like, except all he knew of his own maternal grandmother was a rather gruesome set of paintings of saints being martyred she had left to Aunt Petunia.
In his ear, Draco said just above a whisper, “You owe me an explanation.”
“We thought it’d be a nice surprise,” said Terry Boot.
“Thank you?” Harry said. Draco had barely moved, and he still was holding onto Harry’s arm as if he might bolt.
“How wonderful of you to track me down,” Draco said, and everyone must have missed the sarcasm because a chorus of aww’s echoed through the crowd.
And because this entire experience wasn't surreal enough, Draco walked him to the temporary Floo setup and let him call out “Ten Sebastian Street.”
"I can explain.” They stumbled from the Portafloo into Harry’s living room and Harry only caught himself from tripping from the carpet into his coffee table.
"I think you'd better." Draco slung a battered carryall Harry hadn’t noticed onto the floor. Evidently, feeling none of the awkwardness Harry did, he unlaced and kicked off his boots then sat, sprawling into Harry’s squishy red couch like he belonged there. "I’ll start. I’m here because I got an owl from Terrence Boot.”
“Terry wrote to you?” Harry said. Terry wasn’t usually so forward. No doubt there was a story there.
“He demanded my presence at his wedding. Have you met Terrence’s grandmother? She makes his mother seem easygoing. That woman called on my mother and said she was insulted that I was refusing to attend with my boyfriend.”
“Oh.” Harry was not sure what else to say. He should be worried or even a little intimidated. After all, he had gone and inadvertently fetched Draco from wherever he had been by telling a very stupid lie. But then again, if Draco had wanted to expose him, he could have. And while Draco was radiating deep annoyance, he didn’t seem to be projecting malice in his direction. And besides, Draco had holes in the seam of his sock, and it was hard to feel intimidated by someone who was showing you the underside of their foot.
“I rather think,” and there was particular care to enunciate each syllable, “you could have managed someone better suited to this charade, don’t you?”
Might as well be comfortable. In front of the bench to the left of the fireplace, Harry shrugged off his robes and sat on them in his shirt and his trousers, kicking off one dress shoe then the other.
“I made a mistake,” Harry admitted. Draco leaned forward, and planted his feet on Harry’s carpet, and scanned Harry’s face slowly.
“I don’t understand why. I don’t understand why you let this get this far. I don’t understand why you wrote to me of all people.”
“I’m sorry,” Harry began, because that seemed the most honest, but Draco waved that off. Harry took a deep breath. "I lied that…well I didn’t lie, but I did let people assume we were dating because I didn't want anyone to pity me. I didn’t want to do this song and dance again. And I didn't correct them because I thought this would die down on its own.” There was the whole pathetic story, wasn’t it?
“In a way, I understand,” Draco said after a moment, expression thoughtful. “Except for the part where you dated Terry Boot and then Terry Singh.”
“Because they’re both too good for me or something?” Here, Draco gave him a scathing look, one that brought to mind that somehow he had summoned Draco Fucking Malfoy to his home by his inability to keep his mouth shut.
“Terry Singh is a desperate social climber, and Terry Boot is the very definition of book smart and an unrepentant idiot. You can do better,” Draco said crisply.
“You’ve been away for ten years,” Harry pointed out.
“I grew up with both of them, and your letters confirmed it. Keep up.”
It was a little uncomfortable to think Draco had read the letters this closely. Harry didn’t think he had spent so much time looking at him previously. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind Draco could tell that sometimes Harry swept dirt under the rug, and that he had nicked himself shaving this morning and even that this whole thing had spiralled out of Harry’s control. Whatever he had spent the last few years doing had given Draco a fine focus.
“Look, I’m sorry for getting you involved in this. I do think Terry was trying to make me happy, he’s just a bit intense.” Draco snorted, but Harry kept going. “I can pay for a Portkey back to…?” He looked expectantly to Draco.
“Kruje,” Draco supplied, rather unhelpfully.
“I will pay for a Portkey to Kruje.” Harry was terrible at geography and he was sure he was pronouncing it wrong.
“It’s a chartered portkey to Kruje that requires ten business days to process.” With a certain relish, Draco elaborated, “I was actually outside Kruje, but the community I was living in doesn’t allow direct portkeys. So I hiked.” It explained the amount of dirt on Draco’s shirt. “I’m here for at least the duration of this wedding. We will attend together. That’s what you want from me and it makes sense.”
“That hardly seems fair,” Harry said.
“It’s not. You will grant me two favours. One is that you will allow me to stay here, so my mother doesn’t spend all of her time haranguing me to death about moving back to London.”
“And the second?”
“The second, I can tell you about in the morning as I’ve been travelling all day.” He punctuated that with a little yawn and a little twist to crack his back. Harry scrambled to his feet.
“Yeah, shit, of course. Are you hungry?”
“Not hungry, just tired.” Draco tilted his head from side to side. “I can sleep out here if you prefer.” And although Harry was unsure of everything up until this point, the part of him that had been raised by Molly Weasley was perfectly horrified at the idea of someone sleeping on his couch.
“No. The least I could do is put you up in a bed. There’s a shower down the hall, last door to your right. The linens are clean, and I’ll leave some towels outside your door. You’re welcome to anything in the kitchen. I have bread. And Hobnobs. And tea! You’re a guest and I have absolutely no plans tomorrow. If you need anything, feel free to tell me.”
“Well then. Thank you, Potter.”
[Unsent]
Harry,
Why on earth would you
Of all the presumptuous
This is probably the worst manifestation of a sex dream I can think of
With all due respect, I
You don't need me to
I have work to do. Work. Are you familiar with the concept of gainful employment?
Have you hit your head recently? I suggest a visit to St Mungo's
I don't have time for this
Harry awoke to the far off sound of the wireless on low and the gentle clink of someone looking through the mugs. He was tempted to drift back to sleep as it was his day off, until his memory returned and he remembered that Draco Malfoy, his entirely fake boyfriend, newly acquired month-long roommate and co-conspirator in the worst plan on earth, was in his home.
Draco was drinking his tea with a copy of the Prophet when Harry finally talked himself into entering the kitchen as it was his house. His. He kept it through four of seven exes. It was his space.
"Morning," Draco said. He wore a similar outfit to yesterday: slim cut khakis with several pockets and a white shirt that was wrinkled to hell with the sleeves rolled up. He looked as though he were ready for a daring adventure. Harry hummed his hello.
Half an omelette was left under a warming charm on the counter, feta and spinach. "That's for you." Harry assumed that Draco would have gone for the loose leaf he kept for Hermione, but he had brewed a whole pot of Tata instead.
"Thank you, sorry I wasn't up early enough to cook." Draco waved him off, turning his attention back to the world section.
He finished his own breakfast and was just thinking of how to broach the subject when Draco said, "You're wondering about the second favour."
"I am, yeah."
"I told you I was based in Albania. You weren't wrong about my research but it's a bit more like magical ecology. Someone like Luna focuses more on creatures and Neville deals more with plants, but I focus more on the balance between all the elements in a magical environment. I specialise in dead zones. Where I live now is where Voldemort spent time after the first war. He devastated the area. Nothing will grow or live in certain swathes, magic doesn't work properly."
Harry rarely thought of the UK Wizarding Wars as they were now being called, touching other countries though he knew that there had been international trials, other plans, connections with similar blood purity movements across Europe. But he had never thought of what it might have done to Albania's forests to have Voldemort slithering around without a care for anyone else in the years in between.
"And what can I do about it?"
"I've been working with some of the local people and scholars from the university in Tirana and we think there's a way to rehabilitate some of the dead zones." Upon seeing Harry's expression he continued, "I'm not asking you because of the past, but because of your craft. You're used to imbuing wood with magic."
"Why not a wandmaker?"
"Tried that. Didn't work. I think if you could work with me, I could finally revive the area."
"And in exchange, you'll be my boyfriend." It sounded absurd when Harry put it like that, but considering it was that or his imminent humiliation, he really should be more grateful. At least this way, it was clear what Draco was getting out of this arrangement. He wanted to ask more questions but his fear was that Draco would change his mind.
"Harry, if you'll work on this, I'll gladly take your hand in marriage if you want." He said it so nonchalantly too. Harry took a deep breath.
"Would you be comfortable with all of this considering our history?"
"You were comfortable enough, I think I'll manage." The return of a bit of sharpness made Harry relax. Draco was allowed to be prickly under the circumstances and it helped to know that Draco Malfoy, magical ecologist, might have nobler pursuits than Draco Malfoy, Slytherin, but he hadn't had a personality transplant.
There were several more practical matters at hand. Draco needed dress robes for the wedding and to see his mother. Harry needed to buy more food if Draco was going to stay with him. They parted ways after Harry keyed him into the wards, which allowed Harry to have his meltdown while slowly steering a trolley through the Sunday afternoon crowds at Sainsbury's as nature intended.
Overall, this was the best possible outcome. His cover wasn't blown. Draco was amenable to keeping up the charade. Harry might get to do something interesting with magic.
At the same time, Harry was uneasy. He was pretty certain they could pull off a relationship, and Draco really didn’t seem all that concerned. They had managed an awkward forehead kiss and Harry wasn’t much for public displays of affection. It hadn’t been so long that he’d touched another person that some hand-holding was going to throw him off. At worst, they’d kiss. Harry would kiss him on the mouth and not the forehead. It wouldn’t be a problem. He’d had plenty of first kisses.
He was so preoccupied with the idea of potential—unnecessary, he reminded himself—kissing, he ran his trolley into a display of a cardboard cartoon bear advertising a new flavour of Fruit Jellies and quickly disappeared down another aisle as a child gleefully proclaimed, “Uh oh, mummy, he’s dead!”
He needed to get a grip.
[Unsent]
Do you know I never meant to stay? I was asked by my mentor if I wouldn't mind consulting for six weeks. Projects like this had never felt personal before. I knew going in anything with Voldemort was going to be uncomfortably close. And once I realised the extent of the damage, I couldn't leave.
I miss my friends terribly. I miss home.
But what kind of person would I be if I didn't stay? Not one I could easily live with.
Determined to hold up his end of the bargain, Harry had Draco come to his workshop the following Monday in the afternoon to start on his project, which he promised to explain in more detail. It would mean giving Annette more work and putting in extra hours. It might not be related to brooms, but he was interested.
“Annette, this is Draco,” Harry said as Draco arrived . He expected some interest after all, he never brought anyone else into their space in the back, even customers. But with manners prettier than he expected, she leapt up and shook Draco’s hand firmly.
“I’m Harry’s apprentice. Delighted to meet you.”
“Likewise,” Draco said. “Congratulations on receiving your stamp.” She smiled then, more brightly than usual. He wondered how Draco knew.
Harry leaned on the front counter. “We’re going to take the back office workshop, if you don’t mind working upfront today. Not the Wallace broom, I’ve tagged that for Bill to come take a look and contained it in a field. There’s something that feels wrong about it and the scans for common curses didn’t turn up anything.” She nodded and swept into the back to gather her tools and bring them with her.
Draco sat next to him, in the seat that was normally occupied by Annette. It wasn’t any closer but Harry could feel the heat radiating off Draco. He was dressed, as Harry expected he did in the field with a pair of khaki coloured zip off trousers with lots of pockets and a white shirt that, again, might have seen better days and his black boots. Indiana Jones, Harry thought suddenly.
Draco carefully laid out his carryall and pulled out five sticks, about half the size of a standard broom, stripped of bark and whittled roughly.
“These are from the healthy parts of the forest. Local legends say the trees were blessed, long ago. It seems to be a charm, and if we can replicate the charm on other wood, then we can place them carefully and they should purify the area. Here’s a diagram.”
Harry leaned over the parchment to see the concentric circles of a charms factoring, an exercise he hadn't done since Hogwarts. It took a moment to parse because the charm was so unusual in structure. Instead of a central function, there was a dispersal of intent, a series of well wishes with a deep love for the land and its people. A blessing, they had called it. Harry reached out a hand to trace it.
"I'm not sure if I can cast this," Harry admitted.
"I think you can," Draco said. "Please try." And if Harry was to be spending time with Draco he did have to try.
It took the better part of an hour for Harry to even read the rest of the first paper Draco brought. He called it a high-level explanation, but Harry had to pause several times to ask questions.
In this way, the accumulation of Dark magic —classified here by Kwan's paradigm—is a form of biomagnification, that if unchecked gathers around those elements of a magical ecosystem with the most powerful natural magic and therefore the most sensitivity. See: the collapse of magi environmental protections that led to the famous Lapland dead zone in 1963.
After a few halting explanations where Harry looked blankly at Draco, Draco seemed to understand that he had to use much more simple language.
“I've spent most of my time talking with other ecologists or local practitioners," Draco said.
“I’m neither of those things.” Harry let faint amusement colour his voice.
"Believe me, I've noticed."
He offered Harry a sheepish smile that set Harry's heart racing. The little scar below his lip made his smile slightly lopsided, and Harry became very aware of how close they were. Harry could have sworn Draco's eyes flicked ever so briefly to his mouth but before he could question it, Draco stood.
"I promised Pansy a drink. I'll leave those papers with you. We're off to a good start. I'll schedule something later this week and try to figure out a clearer beginning. I know you have other work to do."
Draco excused himself and Harry heard the shop bell tinkle with his exit. Annette didn't say anything but offered him a raised eyebrow.
“Nice of him to visit,” she said.
“The workshop?” Harry asked distractedly. He was checking over her work before he would look at the Hogwarts brooms.
She shot him a look he couldn't quite interpret. “I meant it was nice of him to visit you.”
They settled into an odd rhythm, that first week. It was strange to have someone in the house again. When Harry was alone, nothing changed. A mug set on the table would wait for him; everything he misplaced could only be blamed on himself. But Draco introduced little changes: the loo roll going the wrong way, the corner of a rug turned up, all dishes forgotten elsewhere made it in the sink, a new toothbrush in the holder, and a lot of absentminded humming.
Draco woke up and made breakfast for both of them, even when Harry set his alarm. They went to his workshop in the morning. Harry was picking apart the charm.
It would have gone on as if Harry had acquired a roommate and a side project until Saturday rolled around and they were expected at the Terries joint stag party. They weren't even starting until ten, so Harry napped in the late afternoon. A small mercy of no longer being with Terry Singh was that he hadn’t been out this late in ages.
Draco had exchanged his khakis for a dark coloured pair of jeans, a gauzy loose white shirt that was unbuttoned revealing a thin gold chain with a gold coin, with surprisingly thick chest hair, golden-brown, darker than his brows even with one long faded slash disappearing behind the buttons. Harry knew he was staring.
“Still with the boots,” Harry remarked. Not that he minded, but Draco shrugged. They arrived at an Apparition Point a few blocks away, from another nightclub called Ecstasy. Chelsea again.
They were waved past a red velvet rope. Harry had no idea what to do with the fact he was more recognisable with a scowl on his face. Inside was more of a crush than Harry expected and just when he was about to be really annoyed, Draco slid past him and shouldered through the crowd to the raised dais of the black leather VIP booths. It was empty except for crystal decanters of spirits and mixer. Draco didn’t move away from him at all.
“It’s too fucking late for this. What are you drinking?” Draco called.
“Whatever you’re drinking is fine, thanks.” There was a nervous churn as Harry realised this would be the first real test.
With a deft hand, Draco poured what looked like two generous shots of vodka in a glass and passed it to Harry before knocking his back in one deep swallow. Harry followed, for lack of anything else to do. Draco made them both a vodka soda to hold, with a twist of lime. A surprising warmth pooled in Harry’s stomach. Perhaps this was a good sign. Or the liquor was working.
“I’m going to hold you a bit closer, if that’s alright.” Harry nodded. Either way, he managed not to jump out of his skin when Draco finally reached for him with an arm slung around his back.
As if on cue, the Terries caught sight of them and came from the dancefloor to greet them both, with a slap on the shoulder for Draco, who tilted his glass towards them.
“We’re so glad you made it. We wanted to surprise Harry, and we’re happy to have you for the wedding,” Terry Singh shouted over the music.
"The pleasure is mine entirely. I'm so glad I could make it for your wedding. Congratulations again. Harry's told me all about it."
Harry must have made a face because Draco used the hand tucked behind Harry's back to pinch him. Harry flinched and Draco's gaze was filled with perfect concern.
"Everything alright, Harry?" Harry nodded more tightly. Draco wasn’t that good of an actor, and his concern sounded much less genuine than when he’d asked to touch him.
"It was nice to have an excuse to come home," Draco said. He moved his hand away but instead of putting it at his side, Draco brushed away hair from Harry's nape and shivers ran through Harry’s body from the rough scrape of his calluses. He had seen his hands now, a workman’s hands like his own, but he had never imagined them on his body.
"You're very lucky he waited. What was it? A few months since you’ve started seeing each other?" Terry Boot said. His tone wasn’t quite suspicious, it sounded almost…protective of Harry.
"Something like that. It was difficult, but I felt we really had something worth waiting for." Harry mistimed his drink and choked. Once he caught his breath, he nodded vigorously. Thank fuck for Draco Malfoy because he couldn’t lie that well.
“We’re going to dance. Draco?” Terry Singh said.
“Do you want to dance?” Draco murmured into his ear. His voice was no less distracting than his face, a steady baritone that made his heart beat slightly off kilter.
“Oh, don’t worry about Harry, he doesn’t dance!” Terry Boot said, trying to pull Draco along. Something about that seemed to irritate Draco.
“Come on.” Draco held out his hand. Harry took it. They squeezed through the crowd and Hermione was right in the centre of the crush, hands in the air. Ron held her purse and was watching her from the edge of the crowd.
“You weren’t kidding, she really loves to dance,” Draco observed. Harry knew Draco read his letters, but it was still surreal to have Draco casually remember details from them. Their crowd scattered across the dancefloor. Pansy and Cho were bopping along with drinks in hand. The Terries had only eyes for each other. Luna was doing her best impression of Kate Bush in Wuthering Heights and whirling away with Lavender.
Draco slipped a free hand around his back and they were dancing together. Mostly swaying, but the impression that Draco had spent his time overseas hauling rocks and fighting bears only got stronger with Draco's bicep under his hand.
"I’m sorry you came all the way here," Harry blurted.
"I know." His voice brooked no argument. They swayed for half a dozen songs or so, Harry couldn't tell since they were all bleeding into each other and seemed to have the same bassline, as if they borrowed the playlist from some nightclub in Ibiza. As far as wanky taste in places to hang out, the Terries were a brilliant match.
When he couldn't take it anymore, he leaned in and shouted, "Drink?" Draco nodded, and Harry took off back to their table. He made them both another vodka soda, significantly weaker. Pansy was speaking to him, but when she spotted Harry she said, “Brilliant idea, I could use another,” and ran off.
Draco knocked this drink back as well and they stood close again. Harry liked it better when they had been touching more.
“This is fun,” Draco said. Harry wasn’t expecting him to say that.
“Didn’t go to many parties in Albania?” Harry asked. Five years out of contact with his friends. Harry couldn’t imagine.
“No, not really. My days are really long in the field, and I don’t get much time off.”
“Did all the ecologists work that much?” Harry asked. He was suddenly very curious about his days. Did Draco spend all his time hiking and testing stuff? Luna and Neville had long periods of disappearances, but they came home.
“No, but most of them have families, and they move from site to site. I stayed, so.” Draco shrugged, a gesture that definitely belonged to Draco now and not Draco then, almost self-effacing. Before he could ask any further questions, Hermione was upon them, planting a sloppy kiss on Harry’s cheek.
“Hi,” Harry said. Drunk Hermione had two modes, and he was unsure whether she had exhausted Party Hermione and Honest Hermione was about to make an appearance.
“You,” Hermione said, pointing a finger at Draco.
Draco pointed at himself, “Me?”
“Do you agree Harry deserves to be happy?” Harry opened his mouth to protest, but she shushed him noisily. Draco held up his hands, palms facing outwards although her wand was likely stashed in her purse.
“Yes, Harry deserves to be happy,” Draco said.
“Good. Don’t fuck around,” Hermione said with obvious, drunken satisfaction and she actually poked Draco’s chest with enough force he took a step backwards though she was about a foot shorter. “You’re very lucky. Harry is a catch.” Hermione frowned. “And there’s no Potter curse. That’s very silly. It’s not even the way curses work. It’s like no one else was paying attention at Hogwarts sometimes. The foundations of everything you could possibly want to learn about magic and no one was paying attention.”
“And with that, it is time for us to go home,” Ron said, gently pulling her arm as he came up behind her. He gave Draco a brief nod. “Take care of Harry. Night.”
That went much better than Harry had been expecting. They excused themselves shortly after and instead of going straight to the closest Apparition point, decided to walk. Draco stuck his hands in his pockets.
“Do you not want me to touch you? You seemed uncomfortable,” Draco said, into the slight chill of the summer night, walking past the throbbing bass of all the other restaurants and nightclubs.
“I don’t mind if you touch me,” Harry said. Perhaps too quick there because now Draco was looking at him and not the pavement. “Just, if you touch me, don’t do it lightly. It makes me anxious. Like with a broom, a firm grip is better.”
Belatedly, Harry heard the unfortunate come-on, but if Draco did, he didn’t remark on it.
“Understood,” Draco said.
Luna,
Please see a photograph and impression of tracks found around Site 35B. Can you identify them? Most locals were certain all native unicorns were extinct by 1995. This could be good news for that population level data I had you look at last spring.
You’re not wrong but the work is more important. It always is.
x
Draco
In his workshop, Harry had grasped the charm, but failed to cast it. His brooms didn’t seem to like that kind of magic, and even elder wood had proved stubbornly resistant to this charm in particular. Draco scribbled in a pocket-sized memo book as Harry tried everything he had learned. The charm disintegrated with layering, insertion, summoning, condensing, dispersal (clockwise and counterclockwise) and a straightforward cast.
Another Saturday meant another wedding event. And as it loomed, Harry started thinking up scenarios where he was caught out. Possibly exiled. Unhealthy, his therapist would say, but his friends were two sheets to the wind at the nightclub and everyone would be more sober and present at a wedding shower. Logically, Harry knew he had the advantage of this being such an absurd series of events. No one could have scripted it for a wireless drama without getting complaints. It didn't stop the worrying.
Draco hadn’t managed to match Harry’s dress robes perfectly with less than two weeks’ notice. But he had echoed the leaf patterned embroidery on the pockets, and wore a light grey to Harry’s charcoal. For once, he had abandoned the work boots in favour of black dress shoes. Even his hair, normally left alone, had been combed and parted. Draco looked more as Harry had imagined him, though he looked uncomfortable, fidgeting with his cuffs.
“You look good,” Harry said. A simple compliment but his tongue nearly tripped him up. Harry busied himself tucking the flat seam in Draco’s cuffs in. “Better?”
“Much.” For the first time since this whole charade began, Harry wondered what it might have been like if Draco was actually someone he had reconnected with. Someone who wrote back to him and maybe came to visit. “You look good too. Where’s the shower?”
“Hounslow. I can do it in two jumps.”
“Lead the way then.” He threaded his arm through Harry’s, a steady hold. Harry Apparated twice, and even managed to land well, by the front entrance. Before they could enter, a elderly witch with her wand still out tapped him on the shoulder.
“Tumhaare papa kahaan hai? Der ho rahi hai, beta.”
“Sorry, I don’t speak Hindi,” he said. She peered at him more closely through her glasses, her eyes widened as she registered his scar, then she switched to English.
“I thought you were one of my grandnephews. My apologies. Please go in, enjoy the party.” Draco dropped Harry’s arm to help her up the few steps nonetheless.
Sometimes Harry felt like his face was a cipher for everyone to solve, an offer to claim him as theirs in some way. Even Jean Granger said, “Darling, you could tell us you were Trini and we’d believe you.”
It used to bother him much more, but it happened so rarely in the Wizarding world. It was much more of a delight to be recognised as kin than discuss everyone’s passing memories of his parents. Much better than being greeted with people unburdening themselves about the war, which more than once had left him hyperventilating in a stall, fumbling for a vial of emergency Calming Draught.
If the engagement party was informal, and the bachelor party was for friends, this was clearly more about family. Among the older guests, Harry only recognised Terry Singh’s sisters and parents. Terry Boot’s mother and father were clearly caught in the throngs of circular greetings just by sheer density of people around them. The Fire Broomgade would have something to say about it.
“Harry!” Ginny called, and they steered themselves to a table replete with Harry’s friends.
“Everyone, Draco,” Harry said to no one in particular, but a murmur of acknowledgement went up. Pansy came over to sit next to them and with her, Cho, Neville and Padma.
“Where’s Luna?” Harry asked.
“In the field with Rolf,” Padma said. Cho passed them two signature cocktails and Harry’s hand was sweating as he held the chilled glass. Draco put a hand on Harry’s wrist, sniffed the cocktail, tasted it and said, “There’s kiwi in there. Don’t drink that.”
“Oh fuck, I totally forgot to ask,” Cho said, smacking her forehead. “So sorry.” They flagged a member of the waitstaff, who whisked it away and brought Harry and Draco mojitos instead. Draco also wet a napkin and wiped his mouth.
“Well, let’s be glad Draco was paying attention,” Padma said. “Draco, Harry told us your research was classified?”
“Not entirely.” He gave her one of his smiles. “Harry was simplifying. I’m studying how to fix a place where nothing will grow. More ecology than herbology.”
Draco was holding up well against the interrogation. Desperately needing to pee, Harry decided to chance it. Harry figured that the line of questioning couldn't get that much worse in five minutes. He was wrong. Upon his return, Ginny was twirling her finger and one of the long bits just before her undercut, and leaning forward, a sure sign this was anything but casual.
"And what are your intentions for our Harry? Is this serious? Or is everyone having a bit of fun?”
“Don't give him the third degree,” Harry chimed in. “You're making it weird.”
“Malfoy’s a big boy and he can tell me to fuck off if he wants to.” For a moment Harry thought this was the final straw. Instead Draco chewed his lip thoughtfully.
“I take my time when something’s important,” Draco said, which was completely a non-answer but something about him answering like that made a flare of heat inch up Harry’s neck.
The mic on stage gave a few sharp seconds of feedback and everyone cringed before one of the Terries’ cousins spoke with a big smile on his face. Draco reached for Harry’s hand. “Welcome, welcome to the wedding shower for Terry Singh and Terrence Boot. This couple has mixed some family traditions from both sides to honour their families. They’ve also brought in new traditions that symbolise their new beginning. So please enjoy the festivities. Among so many other things, joy will sustain their marriage. We’re here to eat, sing, dance, and celebrate…before we do it all again in a week’s time.” There was a round of applause.
“Also, the venue has asked me to tell you, if you flew here—and you know who you are—please put your broom on the locking rack and not in the bushes under a Concealing Spell. The community centre gardener is very cross with us after last year’s reunion and there has been a rash of broom thefts in the area.” He paused meaningfully.
“One last thing, my name is Sam Singh. If you find me funny, handsome and/or charming, listen to my wireless show on QW23, four in the afternoon on Sundays.” That earned him a smattering of laughter before the entertainment started.
It was nice to have someone with him. It was nice, in particular, to have Draco with him, who explained the pure-blood traditions Harry wasn't familiar with.
There was a fountain in the corner that involved coins and kissing and Harry almost succeeded in steering them away before Mrs Boot waved them over.
“I think Harry would prefer—” Draco said at the same time as Harry began, “Draco doesn't really like—"
"It's good luck," she interrupted. "And I am exhausted. You're very young so you don't know, but my back has been acting up. Did you know—"
"We will do the fountain," Draco said, neatly cutting her off. "Do you have a sickle?"
Harry rummaged in his pockets and only came up with a Galleon.
"It's symbolic, that's fine," Draco said hurriedly before Mrs Boot could gather steam again. "We stand facing each other. I kiss the coin," and Draco did, brushing Harry's fingertips with a light touch. "Then you kiss the coin." Harry pressed his lips against Draco’s hand. "Then we kiss."
Draco put his hand on Harry's cheek, and did just that, so quick and effortlessly that it stole Harry's breath. A peck, then another longer kiss that was still appropriate but felt like something monumental had shifted. For good measure, Harry angled for a third kiss, open-mouthed and warm and lovely, because three was a magically powerful number, and because he was attracted to Draco and honestly, because if this was their one kiss, Harry wanted a good one. Mrs Boot cleared her throat and Draco whipped his head up.
Harry had been kissing Draco—their very first kiss—in front of his ex's mother.
"You toss the coin together," she prompted, as they both stared blankly at her.
"Right." Draco offered an edge for Harry to pinch between his thumb and forefinger and they tossed it underhand, where it sent up a shower of gold sparks.
There was a surprise performance by someone's ten year old cousin who sang a Celestina Warbeck standard with an astonishly powerful voice, followed by songs where she furrowed her brow to remember lyrics Harry had never heard before in his life, but Draco mouthed most of the words.
What was the kissing earlier about? Was it for show? What would have happened with no audience? He didn't get any of those answers. Instead, he learned what Draco's laugh sounded like when he was humouring an older witch who squeezed his bicep, muttering about too much gym, not enough settling down from their generation. Harry learned that Draco was good company, leaning in and offering small observations, "Look at the spellwork on the elephant statue." And in turn coaxing Harry to speak, "I think a pair of shoes winked at me." Harry fake shuddered with disgust.
And he learned the way Draco started to blink slowly when he was sleepy and insisted he wasn't tired until at least three people had left because it was polite.
[Unsent]
I don't know whether to tell you to stop or keep going.
Harry should have seen it coming. If his friends had seen fit to measure Draco up, of course Narcissa Malfoy would make a carefully timed visit to his workshop after Draco had left for the day. Harry had been desperate for a break after he splintered yet another piece of wood with that stupid charm so he'd leapt up when Annette said someone was here to see him.
"Hello, Mr Potter."
"Mrs Malfoy." Harry greeted her with a nod of the head because his hands were covered in broom grease even after wiping them on his apron. She nodded in return.
"I wanted to thank you for Draco coming home.”
“I don’t think that’s necess—”
“He works too hard. He doesn't need to work. The degree was enough of an accomplishment. I thought it was a hobby until he started working in Albania, of all places." Frankly, Harry had no idea how to respond to Narcissa Malfoy in his shop and it didn’t seem she knew how to talk to him any more than he knew how to talk to her.
"I think he does need to work," Harry offered with some gentleness. "Not for the money perhaps."
She sniffed delicately. "I suppose you're right. We all know what happens to young men without clarity of purpose…I do hear things." She pinned him with the same unnerving focus Draco sometimes displayed. "Will he come home?"
"Not until he's done, I think," Harry said. He knew it was true without even thinking about it. He suspected Draco was out of contact with most people, not because he was in a remote area, but in an attempt to ensure he remained until the job was done.
"Not even for you? He's quite fond of you, you know." Narcissa made an elegant version of the little shrug Draco used. Draco might be fond of him despite the inciting incident of their acquaintance. Fond as a friend at least. There was something there, and Harry felt it strongly in the pull of their kiss, but that was nothing that would make Draco abandon his work.
"Especially not for me," Harry said. She gave him a little sad half-smile.
"Good to know there's someone else out there thinking about him, I suppose." She took a fortifying breath and squared her shoulders. "Let's keep this visit between us, shall we?" Harry agreed. She left.
Harry went to sit with the charm again and a branch of holly. But for the first time, he thought back to the first principles he had been taught as a broom maker. "A tree is not wood, wood is not a broom. To harvest the wood you change its properties. Your magic interacts with everything it touches. Your fingerprints are everywhere."
This could mean any number of things and Harry didn't have the time to test them all. But he wondered if part of the trouble was that Draco wouldn't be dealing with sticks out there but trees with their roots and branches. Not a diminished version of the thing, but its whole.
"Annette, can you owl Draco? Can you ask him to bring one of the trees in the flat with him?"
Draco arrived shortly after. It was Harry's turn to explain himself. "I think we've been going about this the wrong way. It's true that a branch would be much less reactive than a whole Wiggentree for example. There would be resistance."
"Not to mention I would have some convincing to do."
"It would be slow going at first. But—" Harry said.
"It might actually fucking work." Draco's smile was heartstopping.
"You would be able to arrange a group casting once you were sure."
"It would be a matter of weeks to rehabilitation instead of years if we can pull this off."
They got to diagramming. Harry called in Annette at some point to help and it was long after she was usually dismissed when they finished writing out exactly what to do.
It took on the first cast and Annette actually whooped with delight. Draco patted her arm. "I'll credit both of you, of course."
The tiny rowan glowed in the pot, before shaking its leaves decisively and the glow faded. The charm had taken though. Draco kissed Harry's cheek and suddenly Harry was stupid with it.
He wanted to turn his face to the side and kiss him once more. They had such a short amount of time they had left, it wouldn't matter, he could.
It was such a short amount of time they had left, it mattered too much, he shouldn't.
He contented himself with a squeeze of his hand and a meaningful look. He memorised the way Draco looked truly joyful with his little tree, and a diagram. Imagining what it must feel like to save the day after five years of trying and trying again.
The wedding was beautiful. It was a more subdued mood before the ceremony. Ivy and roses dripped from the ceiling. They stood in the aisle as both grooms walked past. The rings were passed for warming. There was a lightness in Harry's heart as he held the pair, still warm from Draco's hands and he passed on his best wishes.
They had written their own vows, and for all Harry’s cynicism he had to take a steadying breath and search his pocket for a handkerchief as his eyes pricked with tears. Draco took his hand once and squeezed hard, keeping their hands joined. Harry didn’t think this had anything to do with pretending.
The reception came and instead of mingling, Harry stuck by Draco’s side at their little two person table with their champagne flutes for the toast. Mr Boot said barely anything except that he was very happy indeed and Mrs Boot went on a little ramble about wishing with her whole heart that Terrence would be content. It was sweet despite its length. Mr and Mrs Singh listed all of their son’s fine attributes as if it were a job interview, but even they ended by saying that they loved him, which Harry knew wasn’t something they said as often as he’d hoped.
Harry and Draco danced and then when the heat was stifling, went to take a turn in the garden.
“It’s a shame you’ll be gone soon.”
“A shame,” Draco repeated.
Harry knew what he was doing when he stopped in a private spot. His hand was touching Draco's back, and Draco stepped closer.
No one was around but the rose bushes when he kissed Draco this time, needy kisses that were less of the open, gentle affection they had been displaying to his friends but greedy, unquestioned want. He drew away and Draco held still, eyes still firmly shut, with slow heavy pants. He waited for Harry to draw him back in. Harry took the opportunity to let his hands roam, tracing across Draco's shoulder and down his arm, stepping closer. He was receiving a thorough introduction to what he'd only had fleetingly before.
Draco spoke against the crook of his neck. "I don’t think your friends are out here. Whose benefit was that for?"
"Mine. I've been wanting to…" And Harry wasn't sure how he planned to finish that sentence because they were kissing again, Draco arching into it with a little sound that made Harry feel like he'd won.
“Here?”
It was undoubtedly stupid, regardless of what privacy charm they used. Draco nodded and kissed him more fiercely still, unbuttoned the tiny buttons of his robe to dip his hand into his pants. Harry wanted to see more, trace the gold chain Draco wore. But the last thing they needed was to get caught, so he placed Draco's hand on top of his own and breathed in the scent of the warm skin of Draco's neck. He learned how Draco liked being wanked: a leisurely pace that only sped up when they heard distant rustling. Draco graciously insisted on returning the favour, letting their breaths mingle. “Fuck, look at you.” It ended in a spiralling pleasure that made him lean into Draco while he regained his balance.
Harry Vanished his kerchief after cleaning up and no ironing charm would take the flush from Draco’s face. Ginny, Dean, Seamus and Oliver gave them a thumbs up, which Harry studiously pretended not to notice as they came through the garden doors.
When they made it back home, Draco came to his bedroom without being invited. He would be gone in the morning, so they spent a while trading lazy kisses back and forth.
“Why did you come back after all this time?” Harry wondered aloud.
"You wrote to me," Draco said simply.
Harry planned to wake up very early for once. Make the omelette this time, see Draco off. But when he awoke the bed was empty and all of Draco’s belongings were gone, including Harry’s tiny Wiggentree. There was a piece of parchment underneath the box of teabags.
Dear Harry,
Getting to know you through your letters was the most wonderful accident. I thought I knew you before. I had no idea.
I don't think there's any such thing as the Potter curse. Everyone you've dated, myself included, has been very lucky to get to spend time with you.
You are dedicated, funny and insightful. You deserve the world.
I hope I was an okay substitute for the real thing. I have no right to ask, but if you would write to me, I promise I'll answer.
x
Draco
P.s. I burnt the letters. I just read them over and over when I was lonely until I knew them all by heart. Thank you.
It took three days until the random bouts of irritability made sense to him and even that realisation was only punctuated by a visit with Luna at the workshop. Annette, perhaps sensing something Harry didn’t, went for a walk.
“You got together in a real sense?” she asked.
“We were always together,” Harry said automatically. Luna rolled her eyes.
“Harry, I knew.”
“You knew?”
It was the first time Harry had seen Luna frustrated beyond words for a moment. "Of course, I knew. I knew the whole time. There are no flat rates for two international letters with Owl Post, Harry," Luna said this all with a matter of fact tone and a sigh that seemed to emanate from her very soul.
"This is, at least partially, your fault. You realise this?" Harry said. No one had made them come up with the scheme but he thought that portioning some blame elsewhere might make him feel better. Count on Luna to have tried to set them up through deception and been elsewhere for most of the consequences.
"You two are unbelievable."
"I agree with you, you're right, I'll never do it again," Harry said readily. He had the beginnings of a plan forming.
"And?" Luna said, anticipating a follow up.
"And I think I need a Portkey to Kruje," Harry said.
[Unsent]
How are you
I miss
Did you start
Fuck it, I’m coming to you to say this all in person
The hike from the Portkey station was no small feat. Harry had a broom, but the Entry Office was very clear that this community could only be reached by foot. Harry was wearing running shoes, but quickly found them inadequate to the cause of not giving him blisters. It was hot too, and Harry stopped to mop his forehead with his vest. It seemed like hours though his watch only counted forty five minutes to the summit, with clear swathes of devastated land with trails marked to swerve around them.
He stood at the top, looking back at the path he’d blazed through the tree line and seeing more clearly small patches of light green where new growth was pushing through. Harry was desperately trying to remember how to say good morning again, when a rustling started nearby.
“This is a protected community, if you are not a resident or registered worker you should not be here,” said a very familiar voice.
“What if I’ve come to visit someone?” Harry asked. It was worth the whole trek here to see Draco in his context, zip off khakis and all.
“Harry.”
“Draco.”
“It’s been barely a month. I’ll be back in three months thanks to you,” Draco said, incredulously. His eyes finally flicked to Harry’s feet. “Those are not appropriate field shoes.”
“I had a week off. Letters are a bit slow and you can’t really trust the owls,” Harry said.
Watching the surprise and delight bloom over Draco’s face was quite something. The kiss was good, too.