The Art of Pretending

by peakadvisor

Summary:

“What? Harry, you do realize what you just told me, no?” Hermione gapes.

“Wha-”

“Harry. These symptoms are that of a… a..” Hermione gnaws on her bottom lip. “Werewolf, Harry.”

or

Harry Potter nearly risks his life on an auror mission. He recovers just fine, and attempts to ignore the sudden emergence of his apparent werewolf identity and Draco Malfoy's presence in his life.

Notes:

this was a long work in the making.... APOLOGIES FOR ANY TYPOS! I have no beta reader...

this idea came to me in math class and i've been attempting to finish it for two months... ended up making it shorter than i wanted it to, but i hope you enjoy! kudos and comments are ALWAYS appreciated!

Harry startles awake with a shuddering breath, shooting to lean over as his stomach and chest clench painfully. He pants and grips the clothes on his back, the fabric now feeling too constrictive. A hand comes to his head and attempts to calm him, pushing him down. He lets out a wet sob and feels his throat tightening. He’s never been in so much pain. He can feel the way it coils up and releases every now and then. Somebody brings a vial to his lips and the liquid flows into his orifice against his will. The liquid burns at first, and he growls. Sweat is dripping down the spine of his back in huge droplets. 

 

A hand comes to his forehead, pushing back the strands away from his eyes as a cold hand comes to his forehead. The last thing he hears is a silent hushing beside him. He collapses onto the bed before he can even register it. 

 

Harry wakes up in a cold sweat, but the pain has lessened, and Harry hopes it had only been a dream. The pain coils in his abdomen, silent and just a short buzz. He groans as he forces his eyes open. 

 

“Oh, Auror Potter!” A woman exclaims from beside him. Harry blinks the sleep away from his eyes blearily as he turns to face the voice. A petite older woman has her hand over her mouth, before she’s running out of the doorway. 

 

“Oh, Harry!” Hermione sobs as she flings herself onto him, and Harry tries to bring his arms back up to hug her back. His throat is tight, and he tries to speak but it comes out in a strained rasp. “Don’t strain yourself. You’ve been out for a week.” She pulls away from his neck and flattens his bangs away from his forehead. Her gaze is fond and worrisome. Ron stands behind her, arms crossed as he leans against the door frame with a fond smile of his own. 

 

“Mate, you gave us a good scare.” He murmurs. Harry nods towards his direction, but he stares between the two as if asking: what happened?

 

“The mission that Robards gave you. You- you ran into a- a- werewolf. If Ron hadn’t come in time, you could’ve died. Honestly, you need to be more careful with the tasks you’re handling. It clearly said on the form that you would have to fight off at least three werewolves. And it was a full moon that night!” She scorns, her finger firm in front of his face, but her tone is dripping with worry and her voice breaks. “Do you know how worried I was?” She tears up and grasps Harry’s hand in her own. He places his hand over hers and smiles at her with all his might. 

 

Exhaustion paints his features and he can feel his head reeling, demanding for sleep. 

 

Ron drags Hermione away with a hand on her shoulder. 

 

“I’m glad you’re alright, mate. We’ll let you rest and come back in a few hours.” He smiles at Harry, and the couple give him space. He’s drifting into sleep before he can do anything else. 

When he wakes again, it’s dark outside, the sun no longer shining into his hospital room. His vision is blurry, indication of the absence of his glasses. He feels around the side table for them, hands fumbling and ribs aching from the strain. A hand comes to his bicep, and wills him to sit down. Harry has to narrow his eyes to clear his vision. 

 

“Drink.” The voice instructs. Soon enough, there’s the faint recognition of a cold glass coming to his lips. Harry lets the liquid seep down into his throat, and he swallows. It’s not as sour as most draughts are, a bit sweet and tangy. He finds it quite pleasant. He hums out a pleased hum. “Yes, I know. Very delicious. I made it myself.” The voice deadpans. Harry would laugh back, maybe thank him, but his voice is nowhere to be seen, and instead a faint breath escapes. 

 

“Don’t strain yourself to talk. Your throat was nearly crushed in the attack. You’ll be needing some speech therapy once you’re able to move around.” The hand pushes back his bangs to lay the back of his palm against Harry’s forehead. He leans into the touch, the hand cold and refreshing on his skin. “Mind if I open a window?” The voice suggests, and Harry nods. He misses the cold touch when it’s gone. Soon, the room is filling with the cold crisp air, and Harry relishes in the feeling. Harry rests his head against his pillow, sighing in relief. The voice laughs, and it’s so sweet that Harry wants to hear it again. The hand comes back to his shoulder to push him around, forcing him to lay further up the bed. 

 

“You shouldn’t put strain on your lower back.” The voice suggests. Harry nods drearily. The hand retreats again, and Harry is quick to grab it by the wrist. He pulls the wrist closer, and the man must have fallen over onto the bed, because Harry feels a soft weight on his knees. The hand returns to his shoulder, letting his fingers brush against his bicep and grip it loosely. The touch is cold and grounding, and Harry hums a satisfied sigh. The man above him sighs and makes an attempt to sit down next to Harry, the weight on his knees removed as he hears a chair scrape on the floor. 

“Very needy.” The man comments, as the hand returns to his face, touching his cheek gently as he strokes a cold thumb over his warm skin. 

 

Perfect. He hums. 

 

He falls asleep like that. 

 

* * *

 

“You’re ready to start your recovery journey, now that your wounds have been healing a significant amount!” The woman informs him once he wakes. He reaches for his glasses and frowns when he realizes the seat next to him is empty. Hermione is quick to rush into the room and greet Harry, fussing over him like Mrs. Weasley usually does. Harry hugs Ron when he walks over, offering his silent thanks in the form of firm hugs. 

 

The recovery is surprisingly painless, just very tedious. Harry has to focus on putting one foot in front of the other and try to balance himself, as his muscles completely gave out and some even got torn during the attack. He winces sometimes when he missteps and Hermione hurriedly asks what’s wrong. The next thing is voice therapy. His voice is hoarse, and the doctor explains that it’s because his throat was nearly torn, as a werewolf stuck his claws into the appendage. Harry focuses on guzzling water in his throat whilst humming a simple note. The head healer applauds him for every little thing, and Ron, by his side, pats his shoulder. He feels like a coddled child. 

 

This goes on for days, and he doesn’t even remember how long he’s stayed inside of the healers building. He’s taken the opportunity of forced solitude from his work and friends to take walks around the building. He leans on his walking cane as he takes shaking steps down the stairs and to the garden. It’s pretty - and he lets himself enjoy the solitude and the distant sound of nature at peace. 

 

He waits every night for the man who had come to him the second night he woke, and he waits, and waits. He never shows. The man’s soft voice and cold hands lay lingering in his dreams, and he wills himself to forget it. That it must have been some other healer who just happened to be there. That he was hallucinating because of the amount of potions he had taken that night. 

 

“Alright, then. Do you mind trying to introduce yourself?” The healer sets down his wand, and instructs Harry with a swift wave of his hand. Harry swallows tensely. He hasn’t even tried speaking a full sentence since he woke up, and has only been able to make simple vowel sounds up until now. 

 

“Ah-” He starts, and his voice cracks embarrassingly. “I-m H-harr- Poh-tah.” He tries. It cracks at the end of every sentence, his voice going hoarse at some parts, but he still says it, and it sounds a little bit more normal. In all honesty, he now sounds like a frail old man. Like Dumbledore, his head supplies. He snickers and Ron gives him an assuring pat. 

 

“Good job, mate!” 

 

Harry smiles sheepishly, a bit embarrassed that he should feel so prideful of something so small, but he does anyways. 

 

The head healer encouraged Harry to talk as much as he can whenever he wants to, to let the vocal cords adjust to being used once more. He lets out a pathetic ‘hi’ to Hermione when he sees her, and she nearly bursts into tears, grabbing onto Harry’s robes and rubbing her wet face into his cheek. She wails about how she missed his voice, and Harry doesn’t supply that his voice currently doesn’t even sound like his voice , but he lets the girl sob into his arms. 

 

* * * 

 

“She’s been bloody worried, you know. She’s just glad to hear you showing signs of improvement, even if it’s small.” Ron tells him, now that they’re back in his sleeping quarters in the healer’s office. Ron has a small mug of coffee - having now taken a liking to the muggle invention due to Hermione’s influence - and Harry has his own cup of some herbal tea that Hermione had brought over for his throat. “She’s a bit dramatic, I know. But it’s Hermione , when is she not?” Ron snorts. Harry laughs, to the best of his abilities. 

 

“I- ‘s nice to see you g-uys. Thanks for being h-ere with me.” He tries, and Ron turns to him with a fond smile.

“ ‘course, mate.” 

 

* * * 

 

Harry’s dispatched three days after his first words. His right arm is still all bandaged up and in a splint. The healers bid him goodbye as he comes to the realization that he’s stayed at the hospital for at least three months now. He’s to come back every month on the twelfth for a physical check up - said the head healer. The workaholic part of him hopes that Robards isn’t too upset, and that the pile of forms to be filled out hasn’t piled too high. He winces when he realizes that he’s just been gravely injured, and he needn’t worry about work right now. He purses his lips together when Ginny’s voice echoes through his head: 

 

I know, I understand your work comes first, Harry. But what if I want to get married, have children? What will you do then? Will you be slaving away at the Ministry whilst your children have their first day at Hogwarts? You need to sort out your priorities. Pick me or the ministry. 

 

She had gritted out, her eyes brimming with tears. 

 

Ginny- you- you know how much this job means to me. I’ve always wanted to be an Auror. I thought- I know you want other things sometimes but- Gin, listen to me. We can figure it out! I can do both! Just let me- oh gods- Ginny, please. I love you, but Robards, he needs me-

 

I know. I know. He always needs you, doesn’t he? It’s always ‘Robards said-’ but I know the truth, Harry. You’re busy. That’s fine! I just- I want you to tell me now, choose now, so you can save me the trouble and all the pain. I want- I want to settle down and have a family and put all this dangerous mission hunting business behind us. 

 

Ginny sniffles and wipes her eyes. 

 

I sometimes wonder why you do it. You come home all bloodied-up, no owl, no note, at one in the morning. You wake up in the middle of the night in sweat and screaming, yet you leave every morning to go fight what? He’s gone, Harry. There’s no big danger for you to fight anymore. Why do you keep searching for it?  

 

Harry doesn’t know, and he comes to the shocking revelation that she’s right. That all this time he’s been looking. Looking for what? He hasn’t been fighting. He’s been looking. To shove the empty feeling of not being needed away. He’s been looking to find resolve, a reason as to why he feels like a mere shell of the person he was at Hogwarts. His name is famous, and his every move is calculated. People look to him as a beacon of hope. But there’s no longer any wizards hurling curses at him, no dark lord to hunt him down, to sit at the back of his mind, listening and understanding Harry’s feelings. No school exams to stress for, no emotional turmoil that comes with the war. No rival to bump shoulders against in a good game of Quidditch. 

 

He’d been scared when Ginny broke up with him, that he would turn to the dark arts, that he would find some other way to satisfy the yearning for his teen years. He’d been scared because he didn’t know why he craved danger. Was it for the familiarity or for the thrill? Both options scared him. 

 

So instead of apparating straight to the Ministry, he apparates to Grimmauld Place. The dark halls now remind him too much of Sirius and the childhood he had to live. It hurts all over. It’s no wonder he holed himself up in the Auror office instead of returning home. His fingers graze over the nameplate to Sirius’s room and he feels his heart clench. There are some parts of the war that he misses and some parts that he doesn’t. He wishes he hadn’t lost Sirius, or Remus, or even Snape for that matter. He pushes past the doors of the guest room and flops unceremoniously onto the bed. 

 

He groans into the pillow as he shuffles his head into the familiar smell of the sheets. It smells like dust and earl grey tea. He’s closing his eyes. 

 

* * *

 

Thunder claps outside of his window, and Harry can hear the rain fall onto the glass panes of Grimmauld Place. He tosses and turns in his sleep, feeling a strange itching sensation crawl up his spine. His teeth ache, as if he’s eaten about five galleons worth of Bertie Bott’s every flavour beans. He smashes a pillow onto the top of his head, groaning in his sleep. His stomach churns with the familiar roll of pain, and Harry growls into his pillow. 

 

His eyes shoot open upon the noise. He’s heard it before - the first night he was at the hospital. The man with the cold hands had given him a draught to calm him. But this time, there is no other healer in the room with him, lulling him back to sleep with his soft voice and calming hands. Harry’s hands find purchase in the sheets surrounding him, and he grips it tightly as he shuts his eyes. Pain squeezes itself into Harry’s joints, forcing the appendages to go limp. Harry whines. The pain comes to a halting stop, and is soon replaced by something much different . 

 

He shoots his eyes open once more when he feels pleasure spread throughout his abdomen. He shifts his hips, and gasps when his hardness makes contact with the mattress beneath him. He does it again, and again. He starts rutting his hips into the mattress, chasing after his release. His face, still in the pillow, nuzzles harder against the soft material. A strange sound emits from his throat again, and now he finally registers it. 

 

Growling . He’s growling like a fucking animal in heat. However, he’s too lost in the pressure against his prick. He chases after the pleasure, getting lost in the sensations as he keeps releasing growl after growl. He finally snakes a hand down into his trousers, getting a hand on his own leaking hardness. He lets out a wet gasp when he finally starts to stroke up and down fervently. He fucks into his hand, groaning and moaning all the while, until the pads of his fingers catch onto something . 

 

There’s something thick and large at the base of his prick, and he nearly jumps out of his skin. He traces his fingertips upon the unfamiliar protrusion, and he lets out a shuddering gasp when he presses his fingers into it. His hips involuntarily jump into his own fist and he hisses. He can feel the strange aching in his teeth return, and he presses his face into his pillow. He fucks his fist, and finds himself squeezing the gradually swelling protrusion. He moans wetly into his pillow as he slowly approaches his release and before he knows it he’s-

 

He bites into his pillow, and his hips stutter into his own hand as he feels his warm release run down his fist. He brings his hand to the base of his prick, feeling the bump as it swells a final time and relishing in the pleasure as he squeezes it firmly once more. 

 

He pulls away to look at the damage done to his pillow. It’s wet with his drool, and a teeth-shaped mark lies right in the middle, the fluffing of the pillow piling out of it.  He wraps the entirety of the bed sheets and pillow and throws them away, deciding he should buy new ones. 

Then, he lays in bed staring at the ceiling, wondering what the fuck just happened. 

 

* * * 

 

“-to the fifth ending. We told Bones to watch out just in case-” 

 

The details of the weekly Aurors meeting fly past Harry, who is now glaring across the table at Hermione. Not that she’s done anything wrong! She’s newly pregnant and still working at the Ministry, worrying about Harry. It’s awful. Hermione stares back at him with an apologetic gaze, a hand on her slightly enlarged stomach. It’s very miniscule, but Harry can tell. He always can. In fact, he can smell it on her. She smells like baby powder - the telltale sign that she’s pregnant. He doesn’t know how or why, but he just can . 

 

Naturally, Hermione didn’t tell anybody about the pregnancy, and doesn’t plan to until the baby is at least 20 weeks along. She’ll take maternity leave once she’s showing more, and will let Ron take care of the baby once she’s delivered. It’s mental, really. Hermione cannot be one to preach Harry on his workaholic tendencies when she’s just as bad. 

 

They’ve decided to name the baby Rose Granger-Weasley. It’s cute, and Harry hopes that the babe will have flaming red hair to match the name. 

 

* * * 

 

“You really shouldn’t be working, Hermione. You could seriously hurt the baby with the amount of stress you’re getting.” Harry mumbles as they leave the meeting. Hermione slaps him on the shoulder. 

 

“I can take care of myself, thank you very much. If Ron can handle me being at work for the next few weeks, then you can too.” 

 

Harry frowns. 

 

“But you’re so pregnant !” Harry exclaims, throwing his hands up in the air. “You should relax! For Merlin’s sake, I can practically smell the pregnancy on you.” Harry glowers. Hermione snaps her head to him, her hair flying over her shoulder. 

 

“You can what? ” Hermione questions, her eyebrow quivering as she stares at Harry with a puzzled expression. 

 

“Um-” Harry debates on telling the truth. He doesn’t want Hermione to think that he’s a freak, but he knows that if something’s wrong, Hermione will know. “Can we talk in private?” He whispers under his breath, tugging the sleeve of her dress shirt, gesturing to her office. Hermione complies, of course, not without a few backward glances at him as she leads him to his office. 

“What? Harry, you do realize what you just told me, no?” Hermione gapes. She’s at the edge of her desk, hands crossed firmly over her chest whilst Harry retells the horror of his awful night of sleep, and the strange sounds and the smells . 

 

“Wha-” 

 

“Harry. These symptoms are that of a… a..” Hermione gnaws on her bottom lip. “Werewolf, Harry.” Hermione softens her gaze. “Do you think- that- maybe that night, you were-” 

 

Harry looks at her in shock, still processing the fact that he might be a werewolf. He remembers how hard it was for Professor Lupin to do anything. He said that Tonks was truly the only person who had tried to help him. Minus Sirius and his dad, apparently. He remembers the first night he was lying in the hospital bed, feeling the sting on his shoulder. He blinks. 

 

Shit. 

 

But it doesn’t make any sense. How is it that he is a werewolf , but none of the healers taking care of him ever saw it? With all the diagnostics that they were running? There’s no way that the soft spoken healer who came to see him that night to give him the right potion didn’t know. How was it it that he had just happened to have the right potion to cure his ills? Harry blinks again, dumbly, as Hermione rambles on about how it would be impossible, attempting to rationalize Harry’s behaviour. 

 

He had known. The healer who came to see him must have known, considering that the draught he drank had worked perfectly when nothing else the healers gave him had. He pales. He needs to return to St. Mungos. 

 

* * * 

“Hermione… I don’t think this is a coincidence I-” 

 

“Oh, Harry. I know. I just- this’ll ruin your life. Werewolves are treated so unfairly and I’ve been trying to pass some legislation that will-” 

 

“It’s alright, really. I need to visit St. Mungos for a check up, anyways. I’ll ask for help.” He stands to embrace Hermione’s tense body in his. “Don’t worry about it. Go home and rest.” 

 

“You need to stop worrying about everyone else besides yourself.” She murmurs into his neck before pulling away. “I’m telling Ron when I get home. We’ll try to research and find something.”

 

“I think we both know that Ron is not going to be helping with that portion.” 

 

Hermione laughs so softly. She brings a hand to his cheek. 

 

“Please be safe.” 

 

Harry nods and leaves Hermione to her own company. He needs to find that healer. 

 

* * * 

As he walks up the long entrance way to St. Mungos, he recounts the night in his head. He was far too delirious with pain, not to mention his glasses were discarded god knows where , meaning he couldn’t even make out where his fingers started and ended. All he remembers is the cold hands, the soft voice, and a blob of light colour. Meaning, that the healer must have been very pale. 

 

He waits patiently in his instructed room, fiddling with his fingers. His teeth begin to ache suddenly. It’s been happening far too much for his comfort. It comes and goes, and Harry just gets an urge to bite . But he doesn’t know what to bite. He’s tried shoveling food into his mouth to see if eating would solve it, he’s tried biting into hard candy, bones, too. It’s all fruitless. The only thing that remotely satisfied him was when he dug his teeth into a fat, juicy piece of ribbed pork. Granted, it was raw, but Harry had been losing his mind all morning with the pain in his teeth, and he saw the first thing in his fridge and dove at it. It had sedated him, but the taste of the raw meat juice soaked into his throat made him regurgitate the portion he had bitten. 

 

The door opens and Harry shoots up in his seat, ignoring the way his teeth still ache. A man walks through and- 

 

Merlin and Morgana. It’s him. It’s Draco Malfoy.

 

Harry’s face must have warped into a very puzzled expression, because Malfoy is turning to him with a clipboard in hand, before scowling. 

 

“What’s got your ugly face in a twist, Potter?” The familiar sneer of his lip appears, and it’s all very familiar . Harry scoffs. 

 

“Nothing. Why are you here?” 

 

“I’m your bloody healer, Potter. I’m here to check up on your blessed welfare because lord forbid something happens to you.” Malfoy mutters as he steps into the room, placing his clipboard on a nearby desk as he shuffles through the cabinets. His healer outfit is something Harry’s not used to. Well, afterall, it’s been… what? A solid seven years since they’ve seen each other? Harry is now twenty-six, and he hasn’t seen the other boy since he had testified for him at the final trial of the Malfoys. Lucius hadn’t gotten off easily, and he was sent to Azkaban. From what Harry remembers, he demanded that Malfoy and his mother should be freed. 

 

He hadn't looked back once when he left the courtroom. Honestly, he hadn’t looked back at all. Well, that’s not true. He looks back at a lot in his life, just never at Malfoy. Harry watches Malfoy with cautious eyes as he rummages around the cupboards, pulling out multiple little vials and his wand tucked safely in the pocket of his apron. Malfoy turns around with a spin on his heel. 

 

“What? Sit down.” He demands, gesturing for Harry to sit on the examination desk. Harry is hesitant, but reluctantly complies when Malfoy shoots him a deadly glare. When he looks back at Malfoy, his eyes are watching the opening of the window, where Harry had pushed the blinds open so there would be some natural light whilst he waited. 

 

“Close those blinds.” Malfoy murmurs, pointing at the open blinds with a strained expression, voice tight and cold, but his finger shakes as he points at the said blinds. Harry turns back to him, puzzled. His face pales (not more than it usually does) and Harry slowly rises to his feet to close the blinds. Malfoy’s hand is still shaking once it closes, but grips his wrist tightly against his chest and breathes deeply. He mutters something under his breath, before he’s charging into the room, to his desk, and rummaging through the drawers. Harry, albeit suspicious, sits back down on the examination desk. 

 

Malfoy finally opens the drawer on the right side of his desk, extracting a tiny vial with light blue liquid inside of it. He tosses the stopper on the vial and flings the contents into his throat. He leans over his desk, shoulders hunched, as he slowly starts to catch his breath. 

 

It feels like an eternity as he waits for Malfoy to come back to his senses. Finally, Malfoy straightens up, tossing the vial to a nearby bin and folding his sleeves up. 

 

“Alright. Let’s commence, shall we?” His tone now even and cold, just as it was before. Harry itches to ask what happened, but the way Malfoy’s eyebrows furrow into each other and the way his lip quivers when he gnaws on it, Harry decides against it. Malfoy nudges Harry to sit up further on the table, and brings his wand to Harry’s forearm, poking at a vein. Harry flinches and nearly pulls his hand away, but Malfoy grips his wrist and glares at him. “Don’t move.” He grits, and his wand pushes into his vein. Suddenly, there’s a pulsing sensation running up his arm and Harry shivers. 

 

“Yes, it’ll tickle. It’s to check your vials to make sure your bloodstream is healthy. No other substances taken recently?” Malfoy questions, as he traces the vein with his wand. Harry looks down and sees a small blue light traveling in his veins. He gulps. 

 

“None.” 

 

“Perfect.” Malfoy comments. The tiny glowing dot travels up his arm, near his throat, and back down his midriff, as spotted by the glaring blue light peeking through his white t-shirt. Harry shudders when the sensation travels down his thighs and finally ends at his feet. “How decadent, Potter. Your vials are perfect.” 

 

Malfoy folds his wand into his robes, and pulls out several different potions. Harry grimaces at the hefty amount of potions. Malfoy catches his gaze. 

 

“Don’t fret. You won’t be drinking these. You’ll just be dipping your finger in some of them, somewhat.” Malfoy shrugs, and he’s unscrewing a rather large bottle of something and pouring it into a bowl. He sticks his hand out, as if gesturing for Harry to surrender his right arm, and Harry - against his will - obliges. Malfoy carefully searches for his finger, grabbing his ring finger. His fingers are so cold that Harry shudders when his fingers lace into his own. Harry feels a cold sensation when his finger hits the liquid. He waits for something to happen. Perhaps a shock, or his finger to turn a different colour, or maybe for it to explode. He’s pleasantly surprised when nothing of the sort happens. 

 

Malfoy lets out a pleased hum, and retracts Harry’s finger. Despite all the professionalism, Harry can’t help but feel skeptical. Does he have an ulterior motive? What are the odds that Draco Malfoy is his healer? It must be a mistake. Everybody in the wizarding world is aware of their history and what Malfoy had done. A small part of his mind tricks him into thinking Malfoy could be doing something to him with all this potions nonsense. Harry doesn’t even need a checkup, he’s perfectly fine. (Other than the werewolf thing, which nobody except for Hermione needs to know, and most certainly not Malfoy). 

 

He grabs his arm out of Malfoy’s grip, and the blond man flinches at the sudden action. 

 

“I told you not to mo-” 

 

“What are you doing?” Harry questions, the venom in his tone unmistakably hostile. Malfoy scowls, but a sense of shock lies underneath it. 

 

“What am I- what do you think I’m doing? I’m checking your bloody vials, Potter!” Malfoy drawls. “Stop being stupid and give me your arm.” He reaches out for Harry’s arm, and Harry must not think. It must be a force of habit, because before he knows it, his other hand is coming down and he- 

 

Slaps Malfoy’s hand away.  

 

Malfoy pulls back his hand, wincing a little as he does so, but glaring at Harry all the same. He doesn’t say anything, just glares at him with a rather peeved expression. 

 

“If you’re going to be difficult, I suggest you just call for another healer.” Malfoy sneers. He grips the vial he currently has in his hand tightly against his chest. But no, Malfoy can’t leave without Harry understanding if there’s any ulterior motive. 

 

“What are you up to?” Harry murmurs. Malfoy snaps his head up to meet Harry’s investigative glare, and he leers. 

 

“You can’t be serious.” He mutters. “After all this time, you really think that I- Merlin and Morgana, Potter. The war’s over! There’s no Death Eaters trying to spy on you, or any stupid feud between us! It’s been years. ” Malfoy hisses. 

 

Harry still glares at him, and Malfoy attempts to reach for him. Harry slaps his hand away again. 

 

“Don’t act like I should be over it! My friends and family were killed, no thanks to you!” He shouts. “I’m supposed to just forgive and forget? Blimey, Malfoy. You’re a fucking Death Eater!”. 

 

He knows once he’s said it, that he’s made a mistake. He sees the way Malfoy crumbles under the title, and his expression drops into something of an exasperated one. His walls crumble around him. His shoulders fall and his eyes widen. He takes a step back. 

 

“No- fuck. That’s not what I-” 

 

“Was it all bollocks, then?” He whispers, gaze planted to the floor. “You testified for my mother and I- I just thought-” 

 

Harry waits. 

 

“Nevermind.” His gaze hardens again, and now his walls have returned. He makes eye contact with Harry, taking an angry step forward, before his right arm is coming to his left sleeve. Harry’s gaze widens at the sight of his mutilated Dark Mark, cuts forming into small puffy ones and multiple burn marks and scrapes littered on top of it. If you look close enough, you can still see the dark outline of the skeleton head. The skin is all charred and broken. It looks painful. 

 

“There’s your proof that I’m not up to something .” He shoots back. It hits Harry hard in his chest. “I’ll arrange for a new healer for you.” Malfoy is pushing his sleeve down, and strides out the door. Harry just sits on the table, hands tangled together, held up against his chest. 

 

He tries to not feel guilty for Malfoy, considering everything he’s done to him. But it's hard. 

 

* * * 

 

He recounts the entire experience the second he apparates home, he fiddles with his hair, carding his finger through it in exhaustion and he flings his glasses across the room of his study, gathering his head in his hands. He squeezes his palms into his eyes. 

 

He’s heard it before. From Hermione, from Ginny, from Ron. Hell, even from Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. 

 

You should be over it by now. It’s happened a long time ago, now. Best get over it. You’ll only cause yourself pain if you dwell on it too much.

 

Mrs. Weasley had consoled him, only a few weeks after he and Ginny had broken off their engagement. Mrs. Weasley, albeit a bit angry that her favourite daughter had not gotten married to the man of her dreams, still consoled Harry to the best of her abilities. Harry keeps replaying every incident that happened during the war in his head. Every night, he dreams about them, and has nightmares of the disappointed looks on his parents' faces. They died so he could live and lead a happy life . But he hasn’t. He has dreams of returning to Hogwarts, riding a broom every other weekend for Quidditch matches, flinging his invisibility cloak around his shoulders and dancing around Filch late at nights. He misses Ron and Hermione, and their toothy grins as they follow Harry around in his rebellious travels. 

 

He even misses the fighting, the war. He misses the simplicity of it all. Coming back to Hogwarts after every summer to a new and challenging task. As cruel and disheartening as it was, it felt nice to have a routine. To feel needed. Not used, not in the way the Ministry and the Daily Prophet need him. He doesn’t want to be a political device. He doesn’t want to be Head Auror, slaving away at files and files of work just to end up as a Minister when he’s old and decrepit. 

 

He flops onto his bed, and buries his face in his - still torn - pillow case. He nuzzles into it, and buries another pillow on top of his head. 

 

He replays what Malfoy said to him. He replays what he had said to him. He replays the way the Dark Mark looked on his pale skin. 

 

He replays Malfoy’s slightly overgrown hair, only just long enough to pull the front strands away from his face with a hair tie. The way his hands were decorated with gold jewelry that didn’t match his skin at all. A stark contrast to the silver ring that his father gave him when he was a student at Hogwarts. The way his skin glowed in the dark ambience of his office. 

 

Then, all at once, he finds his own thrum filling the room. He would’ve barely recognised it, if not for the way he twitches every now and then, nuzzling his face further into the pillow. He nearly falls off of his bed with the shock of it all, and he reaches out, scrambling for his glasses. 

 

Shit. Maybe he is a werewolf.  

 

* * *

 

When he floos into Hermione’s office the next day, she’s surrounded by floating stacks of paper, occasionally reaching out to grab one, but then placing it back into its orbit around her office. 

 

“Harry!” She exclaims, sitting up from her desk to envelope him in a hug. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” She giggles. Harry snorts. 

 

“Actually, I was just checking in to see if you found anything out about- um- werewolves?” 

 

Hermione perks up at the mention. 

 

“Oh yes! Now that you mention it, I checked out a few books last night. I was going to bring them over later, but I’m afraid I got caught up in…” She gestures at the mess floating around her room. “This.” She sheepishly apologises. Harry offers a consoling smile. She rummages through the pile of books on the side of her desk, before pulling out a rather hefty book. She drops it into Harry’s hands - to which he almost stumbles back with the force of it - and glances at the title. 

 

Everything about Werewolves: A-Z Guide for Pups.

 

He grimaces at the title. He doesn’t like being called a pup. 

 

“I’m not a-”

 

“Pup, yes I know. But you’re a beginner at this whole thing, which makes you a pup all the same.” She plops back down on her desk. “I made some annotations, some sections are marked filled with the things you’ve already told me, as well as things to expect in the future. The red tags are ways that the book offers advice on how to deal with it. You should get started on asking an apothecary for some Wolfsbane.” She lectures him thoroughly about her very in depth research, and scorns that he better get a Wolfsbane potion for the upcoming full moon. He watches as she multi-tasks, harping on about werewolves to him, all whilst shuffling through piles.

 

He bids her farewell, seeing as she’s busy. 

 

* * * 

 

Young werewolves are to be expected to change into their full form every full moon. By drinking a wolfsbane potion, the user may stay conscious and harmless throughout this process. It’s to be expected that at the end of every transformation, a heat / rut may occur, depending on the wolf’s secondary gender (which must be examined by a specialist). Throughout this time period, it’s crucial to have a partner for means of satisfying their wolf, as well as increasing chances of reproduction when with an omega, or a female. 

 

Harry narrows his eyes whilst reading. He’s never been the best reader. The words jumble and jump out at him every now and then, but he wills himself to focus. 

 

A heat? A rut? He’s never heard of these things before, not even from Professor Lupin. Truth be told, he was always very secretive of his wolf side. He shuts the book and collapses onto his bed, throwing an arm over his face. If his calculations are right, then the next full moon should be in about two weeks. He can’t possibly be prepared by then. 

 

He needs wolfsbane, first. And he knows exactly who to ask. 

 

* * * 

 

He finds himself at St. Mungos the next day, waiting in the office. He finds himself unsurprised when Malfoy flings the door open. 

 

“Merlin and Morgana both. Let’s just get this over with.” He scowls, and his face is paler than usual. His hair is frazzled, tied half haphazardly up into a little knot at his nape. Harry is left speechless at his messy updo, but he shuts his mouth, fearing that if he even breathes without Malfoy’s permission, he may die a second time. 

 

Malfoy does what he usually does. He brings out vials upon vials of potions, and a couple syringes out. He’s gnawing on his lip as he does so, and he looks much skinnier than Harry had seen him last. Not that he wasn’t always skinny. He just looks way too skinny. 

 

“Arm.” Malfoy mutters, and he grasps Harry’s arm tightly in his hand. His grip is cold, very cold . It makes Harry flinch a little, and let out an involuntary shudder. Malfoy narrows his eyes. “Stay still.” 

 

“S-sorry. Your hands are very co-”

 

“Shush.” Malfoy murmurs, bringing his hand up to the vein, and continuing his procedure. The two sit in silence as Harry watches Malfoy from the corner of his eye. Watching the way his eyebrows furrowed in concentration, the way his usually pristine complexion is muddled, his bangs so long that they’ve started growing into his eyes. His cheekbones are jutting out, and Harry furrows his brows. There are dark bags under his lash line, and he blinks away the sleep from his eyes. 

 

Harry looks around the office. He knows it’s Malfoy’s. This is the same one he was in last time. He takes this opportunity of silence to study his office. There’s a nearby wooden desk, and it’s lined with books stacked on top of each other. A small framed portrait of Malfoy and his parents are sitting in the midst of the mess. Malfoy looks no older than eleven. It’s the same sneering boy that Harry remembers. He grins to himself. There’s a golden snitch carefully displayed behind a glass box on the same shelf. There are anatomy posters of humans and other creatures alike. There’s even a poster of Viktor Krum on the nearby wall. Harry pauses when he notices an anatomy diagram of a transformed werewolf.  

 

There’s scribbling on it, and some arrows pointing to the chest. 

 

“You know a lot about werewolves?” Harry questions, not realizing what he had just asked. Malfoy turns his gaze up from Harry’s arm to gaze up at him, drearily. 

 

“Obviously. I’m a curse breaker.” He rolls his eyes. 

 

“What does that have to do with-”

 

“It means .” Malfoy begins. “That my area of expertise is to brew wolfsbane and conduct check ups on them. Some are cursed to be werewolves, instead of adapting the trait through bloodline or getting turned into one. When it’s a curse, there’s a higher chance of reverting it. That’s where I come in. However, I’ve been studying anatomy recently, trying to figure out if I could come out with a better suppressor for them.” 

 

Harry watches as Malfoy explains with a passion so evident that Harry doesn’t have the heart to chime in and comment that Malfoy had called Professor Lupin a dirty half-breed.

 

“Why the sudden interest?” Harry innocently asks. Malfoy glares. “What?” The blond takes a sharp inhale from his nose. 

 

“Nothing. I was just interested in… such creatures.” 

 

“Werewolves?”

 

“Half breeds. Humans whose blood is split. It interests me. There must be a cure to it all, no? They’re not that different from vampires, really. I think that if there was a cure for either, it could lead to a cure for the other and I’ve always-” 

 

Malfoy clamps his mouth shut, staring at the ground with wide eyes, before he’s leaning in to continue his work. 

 

“Stop asking stupid questions.” 

 

But Harry needs the answers to these stupid questions. He sighs and lets his legs dangle from the examination table. Malfoy snaps his attention back to Harry’s face, catching his gaze and scowling, before turning back to his work. 

 

“So.” Harry begins. Malfoy lets out a displeased hum. “What did you mean about suppressors for werewolves?” 

 

There’s a beat of silence. 

 

“You know, wolfsbane, suppressant pills, the works.” 

 

“Suppressant pills?” 

 

“Pill to keep a werewolf’s rut or heat at bay.” 

 

“A what?” 

 

“ Merlin . Did you ever pay attention in Defense Against the Dark Arts?” 

 

“Um, no? I was too busy with the fact that our teacher and curriculum changes every year.” Harry sheepishly replies. Malfoy still glares at him, but clears his throat. 

 

“Well. If you paid attention , you would know that every werewolf is either an alpha, beta, or an omega; their secondary gender. Depending on it, they would go into a heat or rut, which… sexually charges one.” Malfoy flushes, and tightens his hold on his needle. “But, suppressants have been created so werewolves can continue their lives without the worry of going into an unexpected cycle. Granted, they’re harmful if used too much, so I only administer them once every other month to patients.”

 

“How do I- I mean- how would one know what their secondary gender would be?” 

 

“You would get it checked by a specialist.”

 

“And are you…”

 

“Me? Well, of sorts. I could do it, but it’d be nicer to go to a specialist who can tell them what to specifically do to alleviate the pain of it all.”

 

Then, a spark ignites within him. An idea plants itself firmly into his head. It’s mental, it really is. To trust a former Death Eater of all things to help him. But to be fair, Malfoy is the only person he can trust right now. He knows more than Hermione could ever research, considering he has first-hand experience with them. Not to mention, he knows the right treatments and carries the right medicine. He doesn’t seem very prejudiced against werewolves either. It all adds up for him. 

 

“I must be out of my mind.” He mutters to himself as Malfoy administers a shot into Harry's upper arm. 

 

“Pardon?”

 

“I’m a werewolf.” He blurts out, and Malfoy nearly drops the needle on the floor. His fingers scramble to grip the needle properly. He shoots his gaze up to meet Harry’s face, expression stretched thin with proper shock. Harry clears his throat awkwardly as Malfoy doesn’t break his stare. “Um- Malfoy?” The blond shakes his head. 

 

“I- okay.” He says, dumbly. 

 

“What do you mean ‘okay’? I need your-” Harry doesn’t want to say it. “Help. I don’t understand this stuff and I think I need to get it treated. Something really weird happened the other day and-” Harry prefers not to go into detail about the knob at the base of his prick or the way he bit his pillow so hard it tore into pieces. He flushes red. Malfoy, being the observant prick he is, picks up on it. 

 

“Oh.” He mutters dumbly. “Fine. I’ll help. But only because my current research is centered around it. Nothing more.” Malfoy glares, as he tosses the needles into a nearby bin. “Your vials are clear. You’re free to go, Potter. But come back tomorrow night at sunset. I can help you then.” Harry perks up, and grins back at Malfoy with what he hopes is an enthusiastic and grateful smile. Malfoy narrows his eyes, but Harry doesn’t miss the way his very pale skin paints with excitement. 

 

“Thanks, Malfoy. I owe you one.” 

 

“You’ve already given it to me.” He mutters.

 

“What?” 

 

“Nothing. Go home.” 

 

* * * 

 

“Please tell me you’re joking.” Ron deadpans, nearly dropping the glass out of his hand. Hermione sighs in resignation as she takes another swig of her butterbeer. 

 

“I reckon it’s a fine idea. Draco is very smart, he could help Harry with his troubles.” Luna pipes up, her gaze far gone, as it usually is. Neville throws an arm around her shoulder. 

 

“I don’t like him, but Luna’s known him for years. I wouldn’t doubt her trust in his medical abilities.” 

 

Harry offers them a gentle smile. 

 

“I think it’s a terrible idea. He could poison you for all we know.” Ginny frowns, swirling her cup around with a disapproving glare. 

 

It’s nice to have a group of friends that he can confide in, especially about the werewolf side of him, considering they’re so oppressed in wizarding society. Luna was more than thrilled and offered to be there whilst he transforms to study the behaviour of transformed werewolves. Neville offered to find the ingredients to brew a wolfsbane potion. Naturally, Harry respectfully declined. 

 

“I don’t think he would. It’s vital to his research on half-breeds as well. It’s not just for me.” Harry rebuttals. He doesn’t like Malfoy as much as the next person, but he can’t deny that he’s not only skilled at his craft, but he’s also very passionate about it. Harry has his trust in him. Not all of it, obviously, but most of it. 

 

“If you’re sure…” Ginny purses her lips, attempting to offer Harry a frail smile. She definitely doesn’t trust him. 

 

Most people would expect that things have gone awkward between the two, but really, they get along perfectly, just as fine as they did before they started dating.  Of course, it’s a little awkward being around each other. Sometimes, people who haven’t caught up with recent news of Harry Potter’s recent love life, run to the pair, asking when their wedding is. 

 

Hermione grabs his hand from across the table. 

 

“Well, just promise me you’ll be safe. I have no doubt in Malfoy’s abilities as a healer but I- I’m just… worried, I guess.” Hermione gnaws on her bottom lip, offering a tight smile. Harry squeezes her hand back. 

 

“Well, enough about me. More about Hermione’s promotion!” Harry digresses, and the whole table erupts with cheers for her. Hermione has recently been promoted from DMLE to the head of the whole department. She’s been ecstatic since. She’s come a far way since her entry level job at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. 

 

That night when Harry returns to his flat, he’s surprised to see a bat of sorts knocking its nose against his window. Harry gently lifts the sill, and lets the bat fly into his bedroom. It nuzzles on his bedsheets, and Harry giggles to himself. Peculiar thing, bats. Harry’s never been fond of them, but he’d seen a few flying around the Hogwarts castle once. The bat is very thin, much more bonier than the ones he’s seen before. Its eyes are an alluring grey colour, and Harry doesn’t think he’s ever seen a bat with such bright eyes before. Harry notices a slip cradled in between its claws, and he slowly reaches for it, careful not to disturb the bat as it flops around in Harry’s sheets. 

 

The note is signed with perfect penmanship, and Harry knows exactly whose it is. 

 

Potter, I hate to be so last minute, but I’m afraid we can’t meet tomorrow. I understand as a werewolf with an upcoming full moon, you’re desperate to seek help. However, I’m very busy, as you can see. The people are just dying to be in the presence of my genius. It’ll have to wait until Friday. I’ve attached a potion that should relieve any of your primal… urges for the time being. If anything drastic happens, owl me. 

 

Harry stares at the note and tucks it into his pocket. How very Malfoy-like to sound so pretentious even in a note. He catches hold of a small vial filled with dark blue liquid, and he sloshes it around in the moonlight. 

 

The bat makes a sharp clicking noise from where it’s laying on his bed. Harry carefully grabs hold of the frail bat, cradles its body in his hands. It’s shivering, and clearly hungry. Harry frowns, but he shouldn’t feed someone else’s pet without their consent. 

 

“You’ll be alright. If you hurry, you can make it before it gets too chilly.” Harry places a thumb on the top of the bat’s head, and it leans into the touch. It’s growing on him, if he’s being honest. He places the bat on the windowsill, and lets the wind take it away. 

 

He looks out at the moon. It's only a waning gibbous, but that means the full moon should be arriving soon. He furrows his brows. He’s concerned that he’ll do something drastic when he’s transformed, perhaps injure somebody and then the whole world will know what he is. He flops onto the bed to dispel his thoughts. 

 

He sniffs the contents of the vial, and it smells sharp. He recoils. It doesn’t smell unpleasant, just… a lot. It’s actually the opposite. It smells very good. So good that it has his teeth aching. It makes everything inside of him roar like an engine. He brings it back to his face, and he groans. In a moment, his teeth are aching with the urge to bite, bite, bite. He buries his face into the pillow and feels his teeth catching onto the pillow case. 

 

He lifts his head up to sniff it again, and the next thing he knows, he’s pouring the potion into his mouth, uncaring of what it does. He’s desperate to feel, to taste more, more, more. The effect is immediate, and it has him biting into his pillow as he lets out a guttural groan at the pleasure that begins to chur in his stomach. He shifts his hips, and gasps when his hardened bulge catches on the mattress. He pants hotly into his pillow, before he’s grounding down onto the mattress again, and again. 

 

He flips onto his back and buries a hand in his trousers, groaning when he wraps a hand around himself and thrusts into his fist. He tips his head back against the sheets when his fingers catch the precome beading at the tip to glide his movement. His fingers knock against the knob at the base of his dick, and he knows exactly what to do now. He brings another hand to the base of his prick and squeezes. 

 

He’s growling before he knows it, and starts thrusting into his fist again, letting the obscene sounds of his pleasure drown out the world around him. The fingers around the base of his prick feel heavenly, and he abruptly moans as he’s pumping his release into his undergarments. The simmering pleasure is fading now, less prominent, but still lingering. 

 

He flips onto his front, and lets his unclothed prick rub against his sheets. He grunts, frustrated at the lack of friction, and grabs his pillow and thrusts it under him. He moves his hips to meet the pillow, and pushes down onto it. He’s far too lost in pleasure to be embarrassed that he’s humping his pillow. He’s had worse days. He brings a hand to his teeth, the ones that are aching, and lets his fingers delve into the crevices of his gum tissue. He pricks his finger when he catches onto one of his fangs . He realizes in a second that he has fangs.  

 

And then his hips are stuttering as they release into the pillow, feeling a strange stretch at the base of his prick, and he bites into his palm abruptly with a growl. Harry tips his head back with pleasure, as he feels his shaft pulse with every rush of come. He pants hotly, and feels blood dripping down his chin. His fingers remove from his grip on his pillow, and gently touch the base of his dick, now even larger than it was before. He gasps, and hisses when his fingers squeeze it again. 

 

The pleasure is long gone, now satisfied after two orgasms. Harry can hardly look at the way his prick swells, and especially not at the bite-shaped mark on the back of his palm. He sighs and collapses onto the bed. 

 

What is happening?  

 

* * * 

 

“Morning.” Malfoy greets when he walks into his office, with definitely more pep in his step than the last few times he’s seen him. Not to mention, he acknowledges Harry with something else rather than an insult. His complexion is fuller, less pale and skinny, and definitely with more skin on his bones. 

 

“Morning?” Harry greets back, as Malfoy circles his office. He pulls out a needle, a bunch of different vials, and a potion that is shockingly similar to the one he received last night. “What’s that?” He asks cautiously, motioning towards the vial. 

 

“A hormone inducer. Just to gauge your reaction and observe.” Malfoy holds the vial up in between his fingers. Whilst Malfoy ruffles through the drawers, Harry takes closer notice of his well-rested complexion. 

 

“You certainly look like you slept well.” Harry comments mindlessly. 

 

“Wha- oh. I- I was working too many overnight shifts. That’s all.” Malfoy stammers. “Thanks for your pitiful compliment.” 

 

Harry snorts, and skirts his fingers over the contents that Malfoy had laid out on the medical table, staring at the potion in disapproval. He’d really rather die than get a hard-on around Draco Malfoy. 

 

“Open wide.” Malfoy is suddenly standing in front of him, gloves on and dental instruments held to his face. 

 

“Wha-” 

 

“You canines. I need to check for growth of fangs.” 

 

Harry gulps, but opens his mouth. Malfoy hums in approval, and leans closer. The cold metal on his cheek makes him flinch and narrow his eyes in disdain at Malfoy. He rolls his eyes and leans in closer. The blond’s face is quite close to his, but his focus is on the inside of his mouth. Harry can smell the morning shower on Malfoy’s hair as he shuffles closer. Harry subconsciously moves backward, and Malfoy stops him with a hand on his shoulder. 

 

“No moving.” He chastises. He continues his ministrations, examining Harry’s teeth. “Do you feel this?” Malfoy pushes down on one of Harry’s molars and Harry hums, nodding to the best of his abilities. 

 

“Don’t move. That’s great. Can you show me where you think your fangs are? I need to check to see if they’re healthy.” Harry traces over the rigid, sharp indent where his fangs laid last night. He hums when he traces over the edge of his sharp teeth, feeling the slightly sharp bump on his tongue. “Good.” Malfoy absentmindedly comments. He moves the tools to touch the embedded tooth. The pressure on his fangs have him hissing, growling in his chest at the pain, but also, the need to bite . Harry shakes it away, holds it down for as long as he can. 

 

“Easy, now.” Malfoy eases him, placing a hand on the back of his neck, stroking his nape gently. Harry melts into the touch, and a soft rumble resonates from his chest. Harry relishes in the feeling of the pressure on his neck, before it’s abruptly taken away. He frowns and grabs Malfoy’s wrist, bringing his pressure point to his own cheek. 

 

Scent. Scent.  

 

Harry dives his nose into the ridge of Malfoy’s wrist, the appendage cold. He smells like a home cooked meal with a meat spread, like metal, like Darjeeling tea. If he sniffs close enough, he can smell acorns and raspberries and pride and… 

 

Arousal . 

 

He rubs his cheek onto Draco’s wrist, hoping that his own individual scent will leave and only be left with his own. He wants Draco to smell like him . He wants to bite Draco. He wants to bend Draco over and scent his back whilst he-

 

Malfoy slowly pulls his hand away, and Harry’s still dazed and confused. Malfoy’s looking down at him with wide eyes and flushed cheeks. 

 

“L-let’s- I’ll bring you a calming draught, I-” Malfoy stammers and walks away to the cupboard, turning his back towards him and shuffling through the drawers. Harry watches with a puzzled expression, something of a kicked puppy. He flops onto the hospital bed nearby and crashes his face into the pillow. Of course, he bites into it. He growls and sinks his teeth into the firm pillow, and his wolf side purrs in contentedness. 

 

“ Harry .” Malfoy pats the topside of Harry’s head gently. “Get up, stop mutilating the pillow.” His tone is so gentle and Harry wants to drown in it. He lifts his head up and Malfoy pushes away his bangs. “Are you back?” Harry has no idea what he means, and he pushes into the hand on his head. Malfoy sighs above him. “Drink this.” Harry sits up, and grabs hold of the vial. It’s a soft blue, and he tilts his head at Malfoy. He rolls his eyes. 

 

“Here.” He places a hand on the back of Harry’s nape, and brings his hand to Harry’s wrist, helping him bring the vial to his lips and down the potion. In a moment, his vision is becoming less blurry, and he’s slowly coming back onto the ground. 

 

“Wha-” He begins. 

 

“Good morn.” Malfoy greets. His hand is still on the back of Harry’s neck and his hand on Harry’s wrist. 

 

“Oh. I’m sorry I-” Harry flushes when he belatedly registers the situation. 

 

“I’ve seen worse.” Malfoy shrugs and he pulls away from Harry. He strangely finds himself missing the cold touch of the blond when he leaves. “I think I have what I need, but I’ll try this final test to see.” Malfoy comments, quite complacently, a stark change from his gentle tone earlier. Harry nods, even though Malfoy’s back is turned to him. 

 

“It’s this.” Malfoy holds up the blue vial, and Harry shakes his head. 

 

“No.” He answers - right away. “That thing, it smells-” Harry doesn’t know what to say. What does it smell like? All he knows is that he took one whiff of it and went crazy. 

 

“I understand, but it’ll be quick. Just one whiff and I’ll have all I need.” 

 

Harry hesitates, but he’d really rather get the most accurate results he can whilst he’s here. He doesn’t want to return to do this whole thing over again. He sighs, resigned and he’s on his feet, walking towards Malfoy. The blond uncorks the vial, and brings it to Harry’s face. He can smell it, but not as potently. He leans closer, and the scent hits him like a truck. He recoils in on himself as he groans, and puts a hand on Malfoy’s shoulder. He’s probably squeezing the blond too hard, but he’s willing everything in himself to not pounce on anything. Or anyone . 

 

He’s panting hotly, and he knows everything in his body is on fire. He tightens his grip on Malfoy’s shoulder in an attempt to ground himself. He growls and grips Malfoy’s shoulders, pushing him onto the bed and hovering over him. Malfoy looks up at Harry, thoroughly startled and flushed. Harry leans into his neck, and breathes deeply. He pushes his cheek to his skin, attempting to scent him. 

 

Omega. Omega. His brain chants. A hand on his nape has his body melting on top of Malfoy’s and he moans. The hand squeezes and Harry groans. His body goes limp, and Malfoy takes this opportunity to gently push himself away from Harry’s body. He grunts gently when Malfoy shuffles out from under him. 

 

“Har- Potter.” Malfoy gently scorns. “Are you-” 

 

“Mhpf.” Harry grunts into the soft bedding. Malfoy snorts from behind him. 

 

“Get up. I have another draught for you. Don’t fret, it’ll calm you.” Harry slowly pushes himself up on his hands. Malfoy is there, at the edge of the bed, and his hair is a bit tousled. He hands Harry the vial. The effects of the potion hit him gently, and he relaxes his shoulders. 

 

“What even is that? I had some last night and it-”

 

“You what? ” Malfoy whips around. “You mean to tell me that you- drank it?” 

 

Harry raises an eyebrow. 

 

“Was I not supposed to?” 

 

Malfoy makes a face. 

 

“No. I mean- you can. But…” 

“But what?”

 

“Maybe I forgot to mention it in my letter. I was very exhausted, you see.” Malfoy excuses, as he turns to tidy his desk. 

 

“Malfoy.” Harry grounds out. “What was it?” He stands up from the bed. There’s a beat of silence, before Malfoy’s exhaling. 

 

“It’s.. omega. Omega slick.” 

 

Harry has no clue what that is. 

 

“Okay?” He stupidly shrugs. Malfoy turns to face him, face red with embarrassment. 

 

“Omega slick is… secreted… by an omega. Usually from their…” Malfoy doesn’t continue. But Harry has no clue. 

 

“Their?” 

 

“Merlin, are you really going to make me say it?” Malfoy sighs. Harry shrugs. 

 

“Their privates . Most omegas have… female anatomy. Regardless of if they’re male or female. They produce slick when aroused or during heat.” Malfoy attempts to keep a professional and even tone, but Harry can tell it’s not an easy feat. 

 

“Remind me what a heat is again.” Harry grows red. He tries not to think about the fact that he drank some omega’s slick last night. 

 

“A heat or a rut. Omegas have heats. Something about optimal mating time for them. Increases fertility. An alpha, on the other hand, has a rut, Same thing, for optimal mating. Comes once a month, as do heats. Your sexual drive would… increase, one would say. Your sense of smell would be heightened.” Malfoy turns around to busy his hands with something else other than tangling them around uselessly in his lap. “These usually come after a werewolf’s transformation. About a few days later. The full moon is coming up, which means you’ll be entering pre-rut soon.” 

 

“Pre-rut? I’m an alpha?” 

 

“Obviously. If you were an omega, the slick wouldn’t have affected you at all. And omegas don’t growl, they whine .”

 

Harry sits dumbly. 

 

“Oh.. kay.” He decides on. Malfoy rolls his eyes, but offers Harry a pouch full of tiny little vials. “If this is omega slick again, I don’t want i-”

 

“It’s not.” Malfoy cuts him off, thoroughly flushed. “The dark purple one is wolfsbane. The grey ones are suppressants for your rut. It’ll help you ease through it without having to take time off of work to lie in bed all day and… take care of it.” 

 

“Why would I need to miss work for i-”

 

“The pain. Ruts are painful if you don’t properly take care of them. You need to sexually pleasure yourself, ease the tension. Your libido will be at an all time high, and no amount of release usually helps. I suggest you take a week off. The first ones are always the worst, considering that you would naturally be presenting. But then again, that’s your choice.” 

 

Harry slowly nods. He wasn’t going to work, anyways. 

 

“Thanks.” Harry says, with a level of genuineness he had no idea he held for Malfoy. The blond fusses him out the door. 

 

“Yes, yes. Whatever. Goodluck on your transformation in two days. Drink the wolfsbane every morning until then, yes?” 

 

Harry nods, and Malfoy shuts the door in his face. He feels a sense of satisfaction when he realizes Malfoy has smelled like him the whole time. 

 

* * * 

“What do you think?” 

 

“I think,” Hermione starts. “That you need to stop talking about Malfoy so I can focus on my work.”

 

Harry huffs and flops onto the chair. Hermione is furiously writing an address to Shacklebolt, her quill angry as she scribbles faster. Harry has been thoroughly bored . Considering he hasn’t shown up to work for a solid fifteen weeks. He originally took time to himself to heal his injury in the meantime, but now it only made sense to extend his break, considering his rut is happening soon. The full moon is creeping forward, and Harry feels unease settling underneath his skin. He isn’t ready to transform. 

 

“Does it hurt?” Harry interrupts Hermione’s train of thought. She sighs and turns toward him with a worried expression. 

 

“It does.” She answers. “The wolfsbane Malfoy brewed should help, though. It should keep you sane and conscious throughout the whole thing.” She combs her fingers through his hair, and furrows her brows. 

 

“Stay safe, Harry. You know we’re only a floo call away. I don’t care if you’ve already transformed. If you need help, I’ll come. Ron and I both.” She pats his head. “I hate to ask, but do you think you can pick up Ron from Diagon Alley? He can give you some company, and I’m quite busy here.” Hermione offers him a grateful smile when he says his goodbyes. 

 

* * * 

He knows it’s near when he starts feeling a strange itch crawl its way into his stomach. He feels irritable and sick. He’s been drinking the wolfsbane every morning (well, only the morning since he got it) and he’s pacing around his study. It’s only five o’clock. Hermione and Ron had suggested they come over to be with him up until the sun started to set, but Harry had refused. He knows they’re more than capable of protecting themselves if he lashes out, but he doesn’t want to risk it. He’ll just be a sad, sane, and mopping wolf for a short night. Then the following days he’ll have to deal with the ordeal of presenting . 

 

Let’s just say, he’s not looking forward to an increased sex drive. 

 

The sun has only started to set, and he feels a strange itch paw at his side. He growls as he shrugs it away. A strange tapping comes from Harry’s window. He nearly expects to turn around and spot an owl, instead he’s surprised when he sees a full grown man sitting on his window sill. 

 

“Malfoy?” Harry shares a look of equally shocked and appalled as he rushes over to open the window. “Are you out of your mind? Why in Merlin's name are you sitting on my window?” Malfoy tumbles into the kitchen, wincing as he moves to the shadier part of the sun-lit kitchen. Harry notes the way he limps as he does so. 

 

“I flew here.” Malfoy says, matter of factly. 

 

“On a broom?” 

 

“...Yes.” 

 

“Why are you here? How did you even know where I live?” 

 

“Um. Luck. I was going to give you this. I was worried you may have started already since some werewolves transform early.” Malfoy hands Harry a necklace. “It’s enchanted. It eases the pain when you transform. I remember I was supposed to give it to you but I had forgotten.” Harry takes a look at Malfoy, the sun setting on the side of his face. He quickly ducks back into the corner of the kitchen where the light doesn’t hit. His skin looks as if he’s been sunburnt. Perhaps it’s a trick of the light. 

 

“Thanks.” Harry settles on, placing the necklace in his hand before he’s bringing it to his neck to pull it over his head. It’s a cute charm. It’s a grey moon with a jade gemstone in the middle, a brown rope connecting the charm to his neck. “It’s green.” 

 

“I like green.” 

 

Harry’s eyes dart up to Malfoy’s face. 

 

“Is that a Slytherin thing?”

 

“No. Just a personal preference.” 

 

Harry hums and leans against the kitchen containers. Malfoy’s slightly longish hair is untied. The wind from the open window brushes past his hair. 

 

“Can you-” Harry begins, gnawing on his lips. He’s conflicted whether or not he should ask Malfoy to stay. If he’s being honest, he’s a bit scared of the transformation bit. He knows that Malfoy has experience with creatures like him, and it makes him feel at ease. “Stay.” He breathes out. 

 

Malfoy is turning to stare at him, just as he was about to go flying out the window (on a broom supposedly). 

 

“Alright. But only for the purpose of my studies.” He mutters. “But shut that window. It’s… too bright. I don’t like the sun.” Malfoy saunters down the halls. Harry shuts the window. Grimmauld Place is dark. The lack of sunlight makes the whole place even darker. 

 

“I can hardly even see anything.” Harry grumbles as he follows Malfoy into the common room. 

 

“Really? I can see fine.” Malfoy shrugs. Then he turns towards Harry. “I mean- I concur.” He coughs. Harry feels the strange itch travel to other parts of his body. His neck starts to ache in a strange way. He hisses in pain as he plops down onto the couch. 

 

He groans as he leans forward to place his head in his palms. His headache is getting worse by the second. A hand comes to the back of Harry’s nape and he hums in content when Malfoy’s hand starts stroking it gently. 

 

“Calm down. You’ll be safe.” Malfoy whispers softly. Harry’s stomach churns, and all of a sudden he gets a strange feeling down his spine. 

 

It’s started.  

 

He whines at the back of his throat, signaling his fear. Malfoy places a hand on his head, scratching gently. A sharp pain knocks Harry in his stomach, and he nearly pushes Malfoy off of him. Instead, he shoots up in his seat in alarm. Malfoy is rubbing at his nape, shushing him. It’s not much, but it helps. The charm Malfoy gave him hums gently on his sternum. He can feel himself getting taller, and he shuts his eyes. It feels as though his limbs are being pulled on two opposite sides, as if it’s stretching a rag. 

 

He feels the robes ripping from his body, seeing the tattered fabric on the floor of the kitchen. Vaguely, he feels his glasses compress against his face and he throws the glasses onto the floor. His vision clears up suddenly, and it’s unfamiliar. 

 

He groans and he feels his claws form from his fingertips, digging into his now furry head as he howls in pain. Suddenly, the pain is gone, and he howls. Somewhere in the transformation, he’d lost Malfoy’s hand on his neck. He looks down and spots Malfoy, looking up at him in awe. 

 

“Amazing.” Malfoy comments. Harry whines in wolf form, getting on his knees to be at a more comfortable level with Malfoy. He nudges his arm with his head. “Alright, alright.” The cold appendage wraps around his wolf-ear and scratches. He thrums with content as he leans into the touch. 

 

“Fascinating. So it does work. There’s hope for me yet.” Malfoy mutters to himself. Harry doesn’t particularly care. He wants Malfoy to continue. “You still have a scar. Right here.” He brushes his thumb over his forehead, and he brings his paw up to his forehead to run a claw over the familiar lightning bolt. 

 

“Did it hurt? Are you alright?” 

 

Harry nods no. Then he nods yes. 

 

“Good.” Malfoy smiles. It’s such a relieved smile that it has Harry’s stomach leaping. He whines and nudges his nose against Malfoy’s head, breathing him in. Malfoy chuckles. 

 

“I know, I know. Let’s sit, shall we?” Malfoy drags him by his paw, but Harry protests when he brings him to the couch. Instead, he picks Malfoy up in his arms, and makes his way upstairs. Malfoy, surprisingly, does not complain. He looks down at Malfoy in his hands, looking at him with such starstruck awe that he nearly blushes. Well, maybe he does, but you can’t tell when he’s a wolf. 

 

He drops Malfoy down on the wooden flooring of his bedroom (well, Sirius’s old bedroom) and pats the bed. It’s an absurdly large bed for a singular person, but he supposes that’s how the Black family did it. He lands on the bed and gestures for Malfoy to join him. He makes a strange face. 

 

“I- I don’t know. Can we even fit?”

 

He nods yes. 

 

“A-alright.” Malfoy stammers as he cautiously makes his way to the bed. He steps onto the mattress lightly, before Harry’s pulling him down by a paw on his wrist. He flops down with an ‘oof’ and Harry nuzzles his skin, scenting the back of his neck. He hums, and it sounds more like a pleased growl, if anything. Malfoy is tense against his front. His back pressing against Harry’s front. He burrows his nose into Malfoy’s neck and whines. 

 

The man giggles and it warms his heart. 

 

“That- t-tickles.” He laughs, pushing Harry away from him. He pats his paw, now curled around his waist. “Yes, alright, then. Make yourself at home.” Harry lets his nose dig into the crook of Malfoy’s neck. 

 

He falls asleep to the warmth of Malfoy’s fingers tangled in his hair. 

 

* * * 

 

The sun hits the palm of Harry’s hand. His arm feels ever so numb, a weight on top of it. He groans and shifts. A cold palm comes to his forehead. 

 

“Potter?” A soft voice calls. He nudges the cold hand, his skin sticky with sweat. He mumbles into the palm as it reaches down to stroke his cheek. He slowly opens his eyes. All he sees is a blurry, blond figure looming over him. 

 

“Hmf?” He mumbles, groggily. Malfoy snorts and soon his vision is returning. Malfoy’s hair is ever so perfect, even after a full night’s sleep and it makes him scowl. 

 

“Morning.” 

 

“Mhm.” He groans as he turns face-down into his bedding. He mumbles into the pillow. 

 

“You should eat, your body is exhausted from the stress of the transformation.” 

 

Harry turns on his front to look up at Malfoy. His eyes are red, indicating he didn’t sleep much. 

 

“Your eyes. You’re tired.” 

 

“No. I usually don’t sleep at night.” 

 

Why? Harry asks himself. You never seem to sleep well.

 

He must have said it outloud, because soon Malfoy’s eyes turned to him in alarm. 

 

“I’m just not one for sleeping.” 

 

“All humans sleep.” 

 

He shrugs. 

 

“I’ll be downstairs.” He coughs. “Do me a favour, please put some clothes on. It’s very awkwardly intimate to be sharing a bed when one is bare.” He’s flushed pink as he kicks the sheets off of him and runs through the door. 

 

When Harry looks down, he realizes he’s been naked this whole time. Makes sense, considering his clothes were ripped during the process of his transformation. He should make a mental note that he should just be naked for the next transformation. 

 

* * * 

 

When he comes downstairs, he’s pleasantly surprised by the smell of breakfast. It’s been a while since he’s cooked anything for himself. Malfoy’s standing at the stove, face cracked in determination as he mixes something. Harry just watches from his place at the door. It’s quite funny to see pompous Malfoy concentrating so hard on a simple mix of batter. 

 

When he turns, whisk in hand, his eyes widen. 

 

“Oh. Hi.” 

 

“Hi. What’s this? Now you’re my personal house elf?” 

 

Malfoy throws a spoon at him. He ducks just in time. 

 

“Oh, well, pardon me for doing something hospitable for a werewolf .” He scowls, but turns to continue. Malfoy juggles mixing and tending to the stove. Harry snorts under his breath and he grabs his wand, letting it float two little cups out of the cupboard. 

 

“Coffee or tea?” 

 

“Coffee.” Malfoy nods. He had somehow expected that he would choose tea. Coffee really is a muggle thing. Though, recently, the influx of muggle born witches and wizards have started an uprising in coffee sales in Diagon Alley. Ron dreads coffee. He always refuses any whenever he’s over at Harry’s. 

 

“It smells awful, tastes awful. I’d much rather have a calming cup of tea.”  

 

Harry hums inquisitively and starts the coffee machine. The multitude of Malfoy’s multitasking has him wondering why he even juggles this many tasks when he could easily do it all with a wand. 

 

“You’re wondering why I like coffee and why I’m not using my wand.” 

 

Harry whips his head around. Is he trained in legilimency? He wonders. 

 

“No, I’m not a legilimen. I can just tell.” 

 

Harry shrugs. “Yeah. I don’t understand. You won’t use your magic to cook? It’s much easier.” 

 

Malfoy clears his throat. “I don’t have a wand. I can only do wandless magic, but even that’s restricted, as is my knowledge of the skill. And, I’ve grown a liking to coffee ever since I started working at St. Mungos. It helps with the shifts in the daytime. I’m not fond of early mornings.” 

 

Harry pauses. He has no wand? It must be troubling to be a curse-breaker with no wand. He can’t imagine how hard he must have worked to successfully get to where he is with no wand as a healer. It’s no wonder he’s the best potioneer he’s ever met. 

 

“I see.” Harry slowly nods. “You’re awake now. Are you tired? You should just sleep.” 

 

“I was planning to run some simple diagnostic on you to check for any critical conditions.” He mindlessly states as he flips a very perfect-looking pancake. 

 

“Oh. Sure.” 

 

It’s so dark in here, he realizes. He walks over to the window - the same one in which Malfoy had jumped into last night - and he flings the curtains open. In a second, Malfoy is yelping and stepping away from the window, running across the room. He grips his arm. 

 

“Stop! Stop it! Close the blinds!” He screams in distress. Harry’s face of dismay just stares at Malfoy, before he turns around promptly to shut the blinds. He can hear Malfoy panting from behind him, holding his left forearm in his hand as he shivers. Harry’s eyes watch a red, burn mark bully its way onto Malfoy’s pale skin. 

 

The skin starts to slowly halt its bubbling, and it secretes a short sizzle. Malfoy winces. The edge of the burn mark starts to char into a black scab. 

 

“M-Malfoy.” He stammers, his fingers twitching at his side. 

 

“Stop.” he murmurs, his forearm still in his hand as he rubs his fingers over the burn mark. “Don’t say anything.” Harry gnaws on his lip. 

 

“You’re burning, Malfoy.” Harry points out, concern laced in his voice. 

 

“I don’t need your pity.” he spits. 

 

Harry leans over to grab hold of Malfoy’s wrist. He flinches, but surrenders his arm. He places his wand over the wound, and lets a cooling charm roll down his wrist. Malfoy sighs in relief. The wound doesn’t disappear. He tries episkey, but to no avail. 

 

“I’m a vampire.” Malfoy abruptly says. Harry flinches, his wand nearly slipping out of his grip. 

 

“Wha-” 

 

“It’s hard for me to sleep at night. I can’t feel the sun. I can transform into a bat. I drink blood to stay alive. I have no need for human food most of the time. I’m only a half-breed, so I still need food replenishments. Not all the time. Typically I crave blood. Blood of animals, of course.” 

 

Harry stares at Malfoy with a bewildered expression, letting the truth sink in. He swallows. 

 

“O-kay.” he croaks. Malfoy stares at him with a vulnerable expression. “I- that’s fine. Werewolf, vampire, what’s the difference?”. Apparently his attempts to soothe Malfoy are terrible, because his expression morphs into one of disgust. 

 

“That’s awful. What horrible children’s book did you get that quote from?” 

 

“The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore by Rita Skeeter.” 

 

Malfoy snorts. Harry stifles a laugh and he feels Malfoy’s fingers curl in on his arm. 

 

“I’ve never told anybody that.” He admits. “It happened after the war. My father was in Azkaban and my mother had only just died.” 

 

Harry had no idea Mrs. Malfoy died. He swallows. 

 

“I was alarmed at first. Strange things kept happening to me. I took so many potions and tried to perform every diagnostic run on myself. I thought I was dying.” he pauses. “Then I found a book on half-breeds. A chapter about how you can be turned into one.”

 

“You got turned? How?” 

 

Malfoy pauses. He’s suddenly very quiet. He fiddles with Harry’s fingers in his hand. 

 

“Just so. I was in contact with some very bad people for a while after the war.” 

 

A beat of silence. He doesn’t elaborate. 

 

“I’m sorry about your mother. I had no idea.” 

 

“It’s alright. Nobody knew. Nobody came. They didn’t want to be seen with a-” he swallows. “A Death Eater’s wife and her son.” 

 

Harry feels his throat tighten. 

 

“I would’ve come- I- she saved my life.” 

 

Malfoy looks at him meaningfully. 

 

“No, you wouldn’t have.” he confirms. 

 

And it hurts that he’s right. He wouldn’t have. At that point, he was riding on the high after the war, he had his head high in the sky and nothing could touch him. He was foolish and young and dwelling on the past. He had no obligations and he was immature. Now that he got a chance to be as immature as he wanted, he took that opportunity. 

 

Harry trains his gaze to the ground. 

 

“But, I- I’m here now.” He stammers. Malfoy snaps his gaze up at him, his fingers mindlessly tracing circles on Harry’s palm. His fingers tighten around his palm. 

 

“Yeah.” he breathes. “You always were right behind me, weren’t you?” 

 

“I think it was the other way around, Malfoy.” 

 

“Draco. Call me Draco.” 

 

Harry stills. He hasn’t ever called him Draco. He’s said it only a handful of times. But it’s something only friends do. 

 

“Are we friends, Draco ?” 

 

Draco looks up at him with wide eyes. 

 

“I… I think so.” 

 

Harry grins at Malfoy. 

 

* * * 

 

Harry starts to understand the scars on Remus’s face. His palm is streaked with the faint outline of his talons scratching into his palms whilst he transformed. He scratches at his palms, tracing the edge of his faint scars. 

 

Draco had healed them once he had transformed back, and he had given Harry a thorough run down before he had passed out on his couch. It was way too bright for him to leave. He can’t apparate. His only option is muggle transportation but, given the fact that he can’t step outside for more than five seconds, Harry had offered to let him stay. 

 

It wasn’t even three minutes from when he disappeared into the kitchen to grab Draco’s coffee cup that he noticed he had already fallen asleep. He had almost felt awful for letting him sleep on the couch instead of the bed. He sat back on the opposite side of the living room and peered over at him as he read. 

 

An hour later, he got antsy in his seat and decided to floo over to Ron’s home. He made sure to reset all the heating charms in his house and place a blanket over Draco. 

 

“Harry! How did it go? We haven’t heard from you all day.” Ron is quick to rush over and hug him. 

 

“No work today?” 

 

“George had it covered.” Ron shrugs. “I was waiting for you to come visit. You promised, after all.” Ron drags Harry to sit down with him. “You arrived just in time, Hermione got the news and she should be coming over right now.” 

 

As if summoned, Hermione comes flooding out of the fireplace and into Harry’s arms. 

 

“Harry! You’re alright! I hope you don’t mind, I ran into Neville and Luna at Diagon Alley when I was reviewing a case and I just couldn’t help but invite them.” Hermione sheepishly steps to the side and Luna and Neville give their respective greetings. 

 

It’s nice to get lost in his friends. He feels as if he never sees them enough half the time. Given the stress of the transformation, it’s comforting to be in the presence of such familiarity. He just keeps thinking of Draco sitting at home, alone and tired in his own common room. 

 

He feels an irritable itch crawl up his spine, similar to the one he felt the day of his transformation, but more desperate . Harry’s nothing if not worried about his rut. Based on Draco’s description, a rut can only be perceived as painful. He already has a high libido, believe it or not, and he’s not looking forward to an increase in sex drive. The fact that he’ll be all by himself with no company doesn’t alleviate the stress of it all. 

 

“Harry, how are you feeling?” Neville asks, sitting down next to him as he pats his shoulder. “I heard from Luna that you might be disoriented a few days after. You alright?” 

 

Harry nods. “Yeah.” He’d prefer not to tell people about his rut, 

 

“Harry, can I borrow you for a minute?” Hermione speaks, gripping Harry's wrist. “I know about your rut. I finished reading about it in some Ministry scrolls.” she smooths down his jacket. 

 

“This is… really dangerous. Your first time presenting, I mean. If not taken care of properly, your alpha could not be satisfied and might take it out on any poor omega or… just anybody.” she gnaws on her lip, brows furrowed. “Promise me you’ll take care of yourself. Don’t ignore your primal urges. And I think it’s best if you have a… partner. Do you understand what I’m getting at?” 

 

“No.” Harry shakes his head slowly.

“Goodness, Harry. Did you even read the book I gave you?” 

 

“...no.” he mutters. Hermione sighs. 

 

“It’s best to have a partner to be intimate with. I can suggest somebody, if you really need it, but…” she slows. “You already have someone in mind, don’t you?” she whispers gently. Harry furrows his brows in confusion. 

 

“I don’t…” 

 

His mind thinks of Draco, sitting in his living room with his face squished against the pillows, his cold skin never warming up despite the amount of warming charms Harry had cast on him. He nearly bites his tongue when he makes the startling realization that he’s thinking, doting on Draco. 

 

“Harry, it’s alright. In my opinion, I think that you two should honesty start to mend your childish relationship-” 

 

“I- I’m- I need to go home. Rut and all.” he chokes, and he’s rushing out of the kitchen, grabbing his coat as he apparates back home. 

 

* * * 

 

Stupid, stupid, stupid! You don’t even like him. You’re sworn enemies! 

 

He buries his head in his hands as he apparates back into his study at Grimmauld Place. He rests his head on his desk, turning it to the side to watch the framed photo he has of Sirius, grinning wide as he holds the hand of another young boy with shorter black hair, Regulus. 

 

What would Sirius say? What would he say to the fact that he’s fallen for the nephew of the woman who killed him? He feels in shambles. He doesn’t like Draco. He just- has been depending on him for his abnormal activities. Yes, that’s it.  

 

“Hullo.” Draco mutters from the door. Harry shoots up in his desk. Draco’s hiding in the shadows of the doorway, blanket wrapped around his shoulders and his hair messy. His eyes blink with drowsiness and he leans against the doorframe lazily. “I didn’t hear you come back.” 

 

“I apparated home.” Harry sighs. “It’s too sunny, still.” he comments, getting up from his seat to shut the blinds in his office. He grits his teeth in conflict when he realizes what he’s just done. He’d just accommodated Draco . He grips the string holding the blinds closed firmly in his grip. A weight comes to his shoulder, and he tenses. 

 

“Hm. Thanks.” Draco hums. His head rests on Harry’s shoulder, and he feels his heart ripple through his chest cavity nervously. He slowly turns around, grabbing Draco by his shoulders. 

 

“You should sleep. There’s a million different rooms here. Surely you can sleep in one of them.” 

 

“Mhmf.” Draco hums. Harry has to stifle a laugh at his drowsy state. Are all vampires so cute when they’re sleepy? Fuck. He just called him cute.  

 

“ Harry . Let me sleep in your room.” he mumbles. 

 

“Wha- why?” Harry stammers. Draco tugs on his wrist. 

 

“Because your room is warm and the others are so cold. And you smell so good. Like fresh blood.” 

 

Harry stills. Well, that’s creepy.

 

“...sorry.” Draco mutters. “You smell nice, is all. I won’t bite, really.” 

 

Harry chuckles at that. He wraps an arm around Draco’s shoulders, and steps forward with him by his side. When he drops Draco on the bed, the man sprawls out on the sheets, burying his face into Harry’s pillow, face down. Harry rolls his eyes. 

 

“I have to sleep, too. My rut’s approaching.” 

 

“I know.” Draco muffles into the pillows, he turns onto his back, making room for Harry on the side. 

 

“If I didn’t know better, Draco, I would say that you want to sleep with me.” 

 

“Shut up, you pillock.” 

 

Harry smiles smugly at Draco’s familiar attitude. 

 

“That’s more like it.” He clambers onto the bed, laying next to Draco. It’s far too early to go to sleep for him. For Draco, it must feel like five in the morn for him. He watches Draco from the corner of his eyes. He stills when he feels Draco move in closer to him. 

 

“Merlin, you’re warm.” He mumbles into Harry’s skin. 

 

“Y-yeah.” He swallows. 

 

Draco’s cold hand comes to his bicep, resting right underneath his short sleeved tee. He squeezes once, then twice. 

 

“ Salazar .” 

 

“Go to bed, Draco.” he flushes, turning to his side, away from Draco. He can still feel his cold presence as he drifts off to sleep. 

 

* * * 

 

When Harry wakes, he’s sweating . And not in the cold sweat way he would wake up when he had a nightmare about Voldemort invading his mind. In a hot way. He’s burning up. He stretches his limbs and collapses onto his back, suddenly feeling as if the loose collar of his shirt has suddenly become too tight. He feels his abdomen clench with fury, and his hips jump when he realizes that he’s hard. His erection strains against his trousers and he huffs in frustration. 

 

He’s made aware of Draco’s presence when he throws his hand to the side, and collides with Draco’s chest. The dark night outside indicates that it’s past seven. He turns, hoping to see Draco awake, but he’s not. He brings a hand to his cheek, and his cold skin against his feels like heaven.  

 

He sniffs. He smells something . It smells wonderful, like contentment and happiness and warmth. He moves closer to Draco, pressing his nose into the crook of Draco’s neck. It smells calming and he drowns himself in it. He presses forward, and the sudden pressure against his prick has him growling in Draco’s ear. 

 

Growling? He’s growling. He can feel the rumble in his chest as he shifts his hips against Draco’s own. He sniffs, and before he can stop himself, he licks a stripe up the column of Draco’s neck. He starts licking, suckling, and nipping at Draco’s neck, and all he can think about is: scent, scent, knot.

 

He grounds his hips into the side of Draco’s body, reveling in the pressure as he pants against Draco’s neck. 

 

A hand shoots up to his hair, and twists in it, and he groans. He can smell it, the sudden shot of arousal that shoots through the air, coming from Draco. He groans and crowds against Draco, suckling at his neck. Draco pants from beside him, and pushes his face into his own neck with his hand on the back of Harry’s head. 

 

“H- Harry -” Draco stammers. Harry feels a hand on his chest, pushing him back. He whines and pushes back against the hand. He pulls away, frowning. Draco turns his head to face him, panting and cheeks pink. “You- are you-” 

 

Harry leans forward to press his lips against Draco’s, and the man moans into it, fingers tightening in his hair. Harry sighs and presses his hips against Draco’s own, digging his fingers into Draco’s waist. Draco pulls away from him, pressing the cool skin of his forehead to Harry’s own burning one. His eyes are lidded. Harry does his best to restrain himself. 

 

“Please, Draco. It hurts.” Harry whines, his hips itching to rut forward. Draco pants against Harry’s lips, and he’s pulling Harry by the wrist closer to him. Harry leans up on his arm, planting it by the side of Draco’s head as he moves to sit on top of the others’ body. Draco’s fingers deftly tuck Harry’s hair behind his ears, wiping sweat off of his cheek as he does so. 

 

“Okay.” he breathes, eyes wide as he looks up at Harry. He leans down to capture Draco’s lips in a kiss, leaning back to let his hands travel up the expanse of Draco’s loose fit tee. Draco shudders under his hands, and Harry digs his finger into the cold skin, eliciting a soft gasp from the man. He fists his hands through the shirt, and pulls it off of Draco. The blond huffs, sitting up to let Harry pull the shirt completely off him. This way, Draco’s face to face with Harry, the other on his lap. He grins and Harry feels his heart thump in his chest. 

 

He can’t stop himself from leaning closer to capture Draco’s lips with his own hands coming to Draco’s head and pushing him further into the kiss. Draco moans, gripping tightly onto Harry’s shoulders. Harry kisses down Draco’s jaw, suckling on the side of neck as he playfully nips him. It’s only then that he realizes his fangs are protruding out of his front teeth. Draco gasps when the teeth catch onto his skin and leave a small blotch of red. Harry growls and pins Draco down on the mattress, kissing down his abdomen. 

 

His fingers are deft as he unbuttons Draco’s sleeping trousers, kissing just above his navel as he looks up into Draco’s eyes. He nips and suckles at Draco’s cold skin, and revels in the soft moans Draco stifles. A cold hand comes to his forehead, pushing back the bangs as Harry finally pulls down the fabric constraining Draco’s erection. 

 

Draco’s prick bobs against his stomach as it’s released from its confines, and the man gnaws at his lip, nearly drawing blood. Harry nuzzles into where his thigh meets his pelvis, enveloping himself in the scent of Draco . He doesn't waste any time poking his tongue out to draw a stripe up Draco’s shaft. The man shivers, and his hands twist into Harry’s hair tighter. Harry’s eyes meet Draco’s burning gaze, half-lidded and red. So red. His mouth is agape, and Harry spots the way his front teeth extend, sharper and longer than Harry’s own. His stomach coils with arousal, and he swallows Draco’s prick in a short motion. 

 

Draco gasps. 

 

“F-fuck. Oh -” Harry swallows, feeling his throat tighten around the intrusion. He feels his eyes brimming with tears when he comes to the startling realization that he’s never done this before. He licks up Draco’s shaft, the entirety of his prick still resting on his tongue, and he can feel him twitch . It has Harry moaning, vibrating around Draco as his hips jump into Harry’s mouth. He gags, and his throat convulses around Draco. The blond cries out, hands coming to the pillow beside his head and tightening his fingers into the fabric. Harry grabs Draco by the hips, and bobs his head in an inexperienced motion. Once. Twice. 

 

He sets a sloppy pace, letting his mouth glide down Draco’s twitching shaft with a wet squelch every time he swallows around him. 

 

“F- hah- hngg- oh , Harry .” Draco moans out, hands coming down to search for Harry’s hand. He brings his hand upwards, and grasps Draco’s in his own. Fingers twist in his hair, urging him to pull away. He pops off Draco’s prick with a string of saliva connecting him to his tip, and a wet pop. 

 

Draco leans forward, bringing a hand to Harry’s throbbing member. Harry groans, tipping forwards and resting a hand on Draco’s shoulder for support. 

 

“You must be in pain.” Draco whispers. “You can do whatever you want, it’s alright. I’m here to help.” 

 

Harry hasn’t talked in so long. His voice croaks with misuse. “Mhf- don’t wanna hurt you.” he mumbles. Draco grins, wrapping his arms around Harry’s shoulders. 

 

“I know you won’t.” he pulls Harry in for a passionate kiss, and one of his hands brings Harry’s down below his dick. Harry feels his finger rub against Draco’s dry opening, and he itches to plunge his finger in. Draco mutters something against Harry’s lips, and a resounding thud is heard against his bedframe. Draco keeps Harry’s focus on him, fingers on Harry’s chin, before a cold, wet sensation falls against Harry's knuckle. He gasps into the kiss, but Draco pulls Harry by the wrist. 

 

“Touch me.” Draco whispers. Harry brings his fingers to Draco’s hole, letting the wetness around his fingers spread against the dry entrance. It’s Draco that pushes one of Harry’s fingers in, and sighs with relief. 

 

Harry’s head feels dizzy and he feels himself grow hot . Something in him bursting with need . He groans, his finger eagerly searching Draco’s inner walls. Draco grabs one of Harry’s other fingers, and pushes it in slowly. Harry keens, and he pushes his body against Draco's, knocking him backwards to lay on his back. His two fingers thrust carefully into Draco’s body. Draco’s hips shift forward, and Harry doubles back harder. 

 

“Hngn- more. Touch me more.” Draco mumbles. Harry buries his nose into Draco’s neck, smelling the arousal on him as his fingers explore Draco’s warm, wet hole. He groans at the twitching sensation around his fingers. The rhythmic pulsing of Draco’s hole around him as it squelches every time he pulls his fingers out. His fingers hit a firm muscle inside of Draco’s body, and suddenly, Draco’s eyes shoot open with a gasp, his hand coming to grasp Harry by his wrist. 

 

He experimentally wiggles his fingers against the nerve. Draco’s eyes slip shut and he moans, tipping his head to the side. Harry feels his stomach twist with arousal as he buries his fingers into the nerve, thrusting his fingers in and out at a rough pace. Draco’s moans slowly increase in volume. 

 

“H-Harry- p-please- oh my-” Draco’s hips stray away from the sensation, but Harry is quicker, and he holds Draco down with a growl, digging his fingers deeper. “Harry- please- I’m- I don’t want-” 

 

Draco moans, and his prick spurts globs of his release all over his stomach, his pants still on his thighs. Harry pants, and draws his fingers out of Draco’s hole slowly, watching as the wetness across his fingers make his prick twitch against Draco’s thigh. He can’t hold back anymore. 

 

He grabs Draco by the hips, stripping him of his pants as he turns him onto his stomach. He pulls his shirt off of his hot body as he grabs the base of his prick from his sleep shorts. He gives himself a stroke upwards, and finds himself dripping. The knot at the base of his dick swells painfully, and he presses his palm against it to alleviate the strain. He groans, and falls forward, one hand on the base of his prick as he lines himself up to Draco’s hole, raising his hips upwards with a single hand. Draco’s head turns back to stare at Harry. 

 

“H-Harry? What-” 

 

He slams forward, and topples forward, groaning at the tightness clenching around him. Draco gasps underneath him, fingers twitching and hips shifting away from him. He relishes in the tightness, the whole world droning out as he pulls his hips back and thrusts forward once more. He vaguely can hear Draco’s cries, but he can’t stop his hips from moving. 

 

“Draco.” He mutters into his skin. 

 

Draco replies with a muffled moan, and Harry can spot where Draco’s fingers have tightened around the bed sheets, knuckles white. Harry thrusts into Draco and clenches the skin on Draco’s hips tight as his own dick swells in size inside of Draco. He can barely keep focus of his eyesight, everything going hazy and all his senses sharpened as he continually ruts into Draco. His head tips forward, and he buries his nose into Draco’s nape, breathing him in. It’s as if he can smell every last secret of Draco’s. He moans wetly and Draco pants hotly, hips meeting Harry’s thrusts. 

 

“ Oh - mgf- too much- hgng- oh Merlin , fuck!” Draco cries out. Harry tangles a hand into Draco’s locs, raising his head up to be cheek-to-cheek with him as he presses his nose against Draco’s cheek. 

 

“You’re so good, Draco. So perfect. Mine.” He babbles and he chases his release, relishing in the moans Draco let tumble out of his lips as he thrusts with reckless abandon. Draco tightens deliciously around him and he growls as he presses his lips against Draco’s own, letting their tongues connect as Harry feels his knot expand at Draco’s entrance. 

 

He separates and pulls out, flipping Draco on his back. 

 

The man’s eyes are glossy and red, tears pricking at the corner of his eyes. His face is flushed and lined with sweat. Harry pulls Draco’s legs apart, pushing them against his chest before he guides himself back into Draco. The man throws his head back as he does so, hands coming to Harry’s back as he grips tightly, digging his fingers into the tanner skin. Harry shuts his eyes on a hearty groan as he finally feels his release spill from his dick. He pushes in a final time, and is met with resistance. 

 

He growls disapprovingly and pushes in with a single slide. Draco’s eyes shoot open and he gasps, tightening around Harry. Harry falls forward with the sudden pressure and catches Draco’s lips in his. It’s only when he realizes that Draco’s hips are finally connected to his that he realizes he’s very deeply seated in Draco. Including his knot . He moans when Draco rhythmically clenches around his length, and he lets his hands tangle into Draco’s hair. He looks down between them and notices two things. 

 

The copious amount of release on Draco’s abdomen. Then, the bulge threatening to rip out of Draco’s stomach. Harry whines and pushes his nose against Draco’s cheek wordlessly. 

 

“Hng- Harry.” Draco begins. “Mhm, ‘m alright.” he hums out and Harry hums a pleased rumble. He brings his fingers to the bulge and pushes down on it curiously. Draco moans and clenches around Harry’s length, and the brunet groans, tipping his head further down into the crook of Draco’s neck. 

 

“S-stop.” Draco mumbles. “I’m tired. That was-” Draco pauses. Harry pulls away from Draco’s neck to try and spot a reaction. But he, himself, is exhausted as well, and just stares at Draco from the side. 

 

The man is blushing pink, even in the dark of the night. 

 

“Good?” Harry croaks out, his voice cracking slightly. It makes him wince. He feels a sense of self again as he physically feels his prick shrink. It’s a very strange sensation, to say the least. Draco coughs and turns his head to face Harry. 

 

“Yeah.” he mumbles. “Please get out of my arse.” Harry coughs awkwardly and maneuvers his hips under Draco and lays to the side of the spent man. 

 

“One knot should last you a while. It’s different for Alphas and Omegas. Omegas need more satisfaction than just one release, but that’s because they typically have female anatomy. I know it wasn’t as satisfactory since I am not an omega nor do I have a womb, but-” 

 

“It was perfect.” Harry interrupts. Draco turns to his side to stare at Harry. Harry brings a hand to tenderly stroke Draco’s cheek and moves closer to kiss him. This time, it’s gentle and soft. Draco lets a pleased sigh simmer into the kiss and he melts against Harry's hold. When Harry pulls away, Draco’s looking at him with an astounded look. 

 

“It wasn’t just the rut.” He admits. He brings Draco closer to him and kisses him again. And again. And he falls asleep with the sound of Draco kissing his forehead as his eyes shut. 

 

* * * 

 

Harry can’t remember how many days it lasts, nor does he care. Unlike the transformation, he wasn’t nearly as sound of mind and it lasted for what must have been days rather than just one night. 

 

He knows one thing. He spent all that time either consciously sleeping or fucking Draco into his mattress. Their sweats combined into one body, and it was hard to tell where Harry began and Draco started. He felt dirty and he loved it. He reveled in it. Draco would leave to grab Harry’s wand and tidy up the space as best as he could, before Harry dragged him back to bed and stuffed his nose into the crook of Draco’s neck. 

 

After every knot, he could feel a wave of self slipping back, but it would only last for a moment before that same arousal-driven dizziness returned and he found himself growling and clawing at Draco’s hips. 

 

He’s memorised Draco’s body so well. He has the sound of Draco’s cries imprinted in his brain. He’s carved out a new space for himself inside of Draco, where his knot belongs . 

 

And in a stupid fit of dizziness, he whispers sweet nothings into Draco’s cold skin, now getting warmer as he thrusts into him. 

 

I love you. 

 

And something in him recognises him as his mate .  

 

* * * 

 

When Harry comes to, the sun is shining through his blinds, right into his eyeball. He groans and flips to his other side. But his eyes shoot open, because the first thing he thinks of is Draco. He gasps and throws an arm to his sides, searching for Draco’s body and is relieved when he doesn’t find his colder frame laying next to him. 

 

“Morning.” Draco announces from his doorway, hidden from the blaring sun, which nearly has Harry tumbling off his bed as he perks up to face Draco. 

 

“Hu-” His voice croaks with disuse and he grimaces. He clears his throat, “Hullo.” 

 

Draco looks soft and perfect and he can’t tell if he’s feeling sentimental because of the wolf side of him that keeps shouting that Draco is his.  

 

He looks unimpressed at Harry's lack of vocabulary. His shirt - well, actually, Harry recognises it as his shirt - is long and goes past his hips. It stupidly hangs off of one of his shoulders and he’s wearing some flimsy joggers that he must have picked up from Harry’s closet (it’s falling off of his hips as he speaks). A plain cup of tea in his hands. 

 

“Sleep well? Are you… done?” Draco quirks a brow. Harry doesn’t miss the pink flush on his ears as he mutters the last part. 

 

“I- I think? I don’t feel…” Harry doesn’t know how to phrase it. 

 

“Like you need to stick your prick into something, lest it implodes?” 

 

Ah. Yes, phrased perfectly. 

 

“I- yeah.” 

 

“Good.” Draco sips from his mug. ( His mug. Not Draco’s, he reminds himself). Something in him feels pride bloom across his chest from the way Draco’s dawned in everything of Harry’s. He feels like Draco is truly his.

 

Well, maybe his rut isn’t completely gone. 

 

“I still feel… I don’t know. I still feel the…”

 

“Vestiges of your rut. Yes. That’s normal.” He pauses. “What are you thinking about when you look at me like that?” He narrows his eyes at Harry. He feels caught in the act. 

 

“Um. You’re wearing my clothes.” 

 

“So?” 

 

“I- um. It looks nice on you.” 

 

He gnaws on his lip. Draco snorts and sets his mug down on the dresser near the door. He steps closer and closer and closer and-

 

A hand comes to cover Harry’s eyes and he’s confused. Before plush lips meet his own and it has his head reeling . He brings a hand to the back of Draco’s head and pushes him closer. He nips at Draco’s lips desperately, but soon, he’s pulling away. 

 

The hand on his eyes is gone and Harry’s eyes adjust to the light in his room. Draco’s lips are bitten pink and spit stained. His expression is smug and soft as he leans back, sitting on his heels on the mattress. 

 

“Are you hungry?” 

 

He looks at Draco fondly. 

 

“Oh, yes.” He jokingly leans forward to pucker his lips and he receives a slap on the head. 

 

“You buffoon.” Draco mutters as he turns on his heel to the door, swiping his mug from the dresser. Harry chuckles when Draco’s ears turn pinker by the second. 

 

What a sight to have Draco Malfoy cooking in your kitchen. He kisses the back of Draco’s neck as the man uses wandless magic to try and levitate some of the ingredients to him, but it only travels so far before Draco has to remove himself from Harry's embrace to catch the falling salt. 

 

“Do you miss having your wand?” 

 

“Yes.” Draco mumbles. Harry takes his place behind Draco to wrap his arms around his waist. Draco stiffens, but he doesn’t push his hands off. 

 

“You know, besides Hermione, you were always the best at charms.” Harry mindlessly traces circles on Draco’s hips as the man continues cutting vegetables with his deft fingers. “You could cast defensive charms all day, even offensive ones. Neville got those ones sometimes.” Draco grunts defensively. “Not that I really care. That was in the past.” He pauses. “But there was something so… beautiful about it. You enjoyed it. I never saw you smile as much as when you were out in the courtyard casting mending spells and charms.” 

 

He sees the corner of Draco’s lip curve upwards for a split second. 

 

“Paid good attention, now, did you?” Draco dismally mumbles. “I don’t deserve one. I couldn’t do anything nearly as great as you could with yours.” He regretfully mumbles. “When I was given a wand, I only caused pain. What good could I do with one, now?” 

 

“Many things. You’re oh so brilliant. You need it for your profession. I mean - to rid a wizard of their wand is ridiculous.” 

 

“I doubt anyone thinks that. Nobody needs me. ” 

 

Harry blinks, watching the soft curve of Draco’s jaw. 

 

“I do. I need you.” 

 

Draco turns to him, expression tight and astounded. Harry doesn’t care when he leans in to press a kiss to Draco’s lips. Draco sets the knife down and turns to the side, letting Harry crowd him up against the kitchen counter. His heart clenches in his chest as he brings a hand to his jaw, desperate for more, to kiss Draco until he’s satisfied. 

 

He separates from the kiss to press their foreheads together. 

 

“Who would’ve thought you’d be snogging Draco Malfoy?” Draco snickers breathily. Harry chuckles back. 

 

“I think teenager-me would have dropped dead. But honestly, I always was obsessed with you.” Harry admits under his breath as he plants a kiss to Draco’s lips. Draco grins into the kiss and wraps his arms around Harry’s shoulders. “I’ll get you your wand back. I want to see it again.” 

 

“See what again? My magic? It’s nothing to cry home about.”

 

“No. You. Being happy.” He looks up at Draco. “I want to see you smile like that again.” 

 

Draco kisses him breathless. 

 

* * * 

 

“Oh, thank Merlin you’re alright.” Ron nearly lunges at Harry when he floos into the Weasley-Granger abode. Hermione wraps her arms around the two. 

 

“I already told you it would take at least five days, Ronald.” Hermione rolls her eyes at her husband’s evident lack of remembrance. With a hand on her ever-growing belly, she turns to Harry. “Good to see you, Harry.” 

 

He smiles back, and immediately feels at ease at the easy bicker of the two. Their dynamic back. Finally, something normal for him. 

 

He doesn’t know how to bring up the topic of Draco Malfoy, so he doesn’t. 

 

“So. Harry.” Ron begins, grimly. Harry has a feeling he doesn’t like where this is going. “Who did you spend it with?” It’s not really a question, more of a demand . Harry glances to the floor and fiddles with the handle of his mug nervously. 

 

“Um- no one. I- uh- couldn’t find anybody?” He stammers. And he immediately knows he’s screwed. 

 

“Has anybody ever told you that you’re a horrible liar, Harry?” Hermione snickers from behind her mug. 

 

“Spill it. Who’s the lucky girl?” 

 

Ah. Girl.

 

“I swear! I didn’t spend it with anyone!” 

 

“ Harry . You can tell us anything. We’re just curious is all.” 

 

Ron affirms. 

 

“I-” Harry stammers. “Ok, fine . Maybe I did spend it with somebody. A close friend. But, he doesn’t want me telling anybody, and probably wouldn’t enjoy me telling it to you specifically because he doesn’t-” 

 

He pauses. He rambled too much. He wants to apparate away. The look of shock on his two best friend’s faces are enough to make him almost sink to the floor in agony. 

 

“You-” 

 

“He?” 

 

They begin simultaneously. Harry brings his hands to his face to cradle his mortified expression. This is not how he planned that to come out. He wasn’t even aware of the fact he was into blokes until… well, until Draco sodding Malfoy came into his life. Or more particularly, his bedroom . 

 

“Congratulations, Harry.” Hermione says after a beat. “I- well. I guess I didn’t expect that because I had thought that you’d… b-but! I’m really happy for you, honestly.” Hermione gently says, bringing a hand across the table and resting it on Harry’s wrist, pulling his hands away from his face. Her smile is fond and sincere and Harry wants to stupidly hug her. Ron, on the other hand, is still astounded and wordless. 

 

“I- no, yeah. That’s wicked for you, mate. I just- well- when did you figure this out? I mean, did you like any blokes at Hogwarts?” 

 

“No… I- I was just recently enlightened to this fact.” Harry mumbles. 

 

“So it wasn’t Malfoy?” Hermione quirks a confused brow. 

 

“Whu- what ?” Harry shakes his head. 

 

“Huh.” Hermione frowns to herself. “I thought that maybe you had finally figured out why you were so madly obsessed with him.” 

 

“What? I was about to ask if it was Cedric.” 

 

“ What ??” Harry stammers. 

 

“Oh, Harry.” Hermione shakes her head. “We had our suspicions back during school. Over time, though, Ron and I dropped the subject and figured that you would much rather marry your ministry desk than a woman or a man.” 

 

Harry sheepishly chuckles. 

 

“I think I like both. So, I guess you were right about that.” 

 

“Well, no gay bloke would ever look at Cho Chang like that , I guarantee you.” Ron snickers. Harry fights back a flush and Hermione topples over from laughter. 

 

It’s exactly the reaction he had expected of them. 

 

* * * 

 

Harry still hasn’t gotten used to the idea of Draco hanging around his house when he comes home from work. It’s usually dark when he gets back, and Draco’s only just woken. It’s definitely awkward of sorts when he finds Draco hooking his legs on a notch on Harry’s bedroom door, hanging upside down. 

 

“Slept well, I take it?” Harry pulls off his coat and smiles up at Draco, who nearly stumbles off of his hanging position and widens his eyes upon Harry’s entrance. 

 

“Splendid.” Draco mumbles, swinging his legs over the ledge to plop back onto the carpeted floors, before he leans forward to give Harry a swift peck. However many times they kiss, it doesn’t help the blush that forms on his face every time. Draco hums, and pats Harry’s shoulder. 

 

“I have a night shift for a couple patients who need tending. Some elderly folk. I’ll be back by dawn, hopefully before light breaks.” Draco yawns, still drowsy. He must have just woken up recently. Harry turns to Draco, who’s now shuffling his arms into a coat. He smiles fondly to himself, and stands behind Draco to help his arms in. He doesn’t hesitate to plant a kiss to the back of Draco’s nape, his shoulder-length hair tied into a small knot. 

 

“When are you ever going to cut your hair?” 

 

Draco turns to him, wrapping an arm around Harry’s waist absentmindedly as he drags him closer. 

 

“Do you dislike it?” 

 

Harry brings a hand to Draco’s bangs. 

 

“No. Just.. different.” 

 

Harry cups Draco’s face and it’s so tender. Draco leans into the touch, not breaking eye contact. It’s like time has passed by for the last few weeks since Draco has made Harry’s home his own. He hasn’t minded. Not when the sex is amazing and the company is even better. Not to mention, bringing life to the empty house he once loathed. 

 

He can’t help but feel that everything about them is too domestic. Too domestic to be casual. There’s too much tension between them to just stay as friends. Harry knows this, but the fear of putting a name on their relationship is greater than anything else. 

 

“Pity. I was going to grow it out if you really did hate it.” Draco teases, grinning smugly. Harry’s reminded of all the reasons he hated him and why he can’t get enough of him all at once. He shoves Draco’s shoulder, whilst the man chuckles. 

 

“Go, you sod. Save some lives.” Harry leans against the wall, watching Draco lace up his sneakers fondly. Draco rolls his eyes. He leans forward, bringing his arms to Harry’s shoulders and kisses him deep. Harry breathes sharply out of his nose and brings his own hands to the back of Draco’s, letting them rest there. It’s so passionate it makes Harry’s teeth hurt. There’s no tongue, no heat, just this strange sense of longing . The one he feels when he stares at Draco for too long when it's morning, and he’s just fallen asleep. 

 

“I will.” Draco promises. He rushes out the door, leaving Harry speechless and flustered. He watches Draco run out into the street, where all the muggles are about. He stops for a minute, turning around to face Harry. “When I get back, take me out.” He shouts at Harry, the cold night air leaving his pinks flushed. 

 

“What?” Harry shouts back from his spot at the door, smiling fondly at Draco’s cute display of yelling in the middle of the street. 

 

“Take me out! On a date!” He shouts, and Draco grins fondly. 

 

“Why don’t you ask me?” Harry replies, cupping a hand to the side of his mouth to amplify his volume. 

 

Draco pauses for a moment, and Harry swears he can see his pink flush deepen. 

 

“I wanted to hear you say it.” Draco speaks back, in a normal volume, but loud enough that Harry can hear him. Harry smiles softly at Draco. 

 

“Anything for you, oh, mighty vampire king.” 

 

Draco rolls his eyes, a grin breaks out on his face, and he laughs. It’s a laugh so familiar that he can’t help but think- 

 

“Draco, are you-” 

 

“Goodbye, Harry.” Draco disapparates with a pop before Harry can speak more. Then, he forgets what he was even thinking about. 

 

* * * 

 

Meet you at Kensington Gardens at 8. Sharp. Don’t be late. 

 

Harry finds himself grinning at the message, scribbled in a soft dark blue ink with perfect handwriting as it bleeds through the parchment. Harry wishes Draco had personally delivered the message to him via bat, but he pets the barn owl on the back of its head and lets it fly away. 

 

He rummages through his closet for something presentable other than the same jumper and joggers he wears everyday. He finally reaches for a presentable button up and smooths his hair down - to the best of his abilities - and he finds some slacks. 

 

He eyes the contact lenses on his bedside table, but decides to forego it. 

 

The Kensington Gardens are exactly as Harry remembers them the first time Hermione and Ron had taken him. Of course Draco would only take him to the most extravagant places. He pauses in front of a garden bench, spotting Draco crouching down, picking a flower from the flower bed. The now risen moonlight shines down on his face as he mindlessly picks at the petals. 

 

Harry shifts on his feet and catches the gaze of Harry’s. 

 

“Oh. Hi.” Draco mumbles. He stands up straight and takes his usual spot, two inches above the top of Harry's head. He looks dashing. He’s dressed in a pleated dress shirt, and he looks so much more elegant than Harry could ever be, that he almost feels self conscious for trying. 

 

He clears his throat and stuffs his hands in his pockets before he does anything stupid, like hold his hands. 

 

“Hi.” He grins up at Draco, derpily. Draco huffs and shifts closer to Harry, his eyes trained to their shoes as he bumps his toes to Harry’s. “Can we leave? I’m absolutely starved.” Harry nods and reaches out to hold onto Draco’s arm. In a moment, he lets Draco apparate them away. 

 

It’s beautiful, is the first thing that Harry realizes. It’s somewhere on top of a building, and Harry can see Buckingham Palace from here. The London city lights look like little specks of glitter and Harry breathes out a soft breath. 

 

“It’s beautiful.” Harry walks forward to push against the railing, looking out into the city. 

 

“Come.” Draco urges Harry with a hand on his bicep. The table is so quaint and yet so beautifully decorated. The candles are dripping onto the table cloth and glow a bright yellow in the dark of the night. There’s a platter of meat on the table and Harry grins appreciatively at Draco. 

 

“This is nice.” He comments. Draco flushes and pushes Harry into his chair aggressively. 

 

“It was nothing. I’m a good cook. I didn’t make if just for you, I was planning on saving it for myself and-” 

 

“It’s perfect.” Harry interrupts, and he flashes Draco a fond smile. 

 

It’s so domestic, watching Draco eat and shovel more food onto Harry’s plate, demanding that he should eat to feel strong for his next transformation. Draco rambles on about his newest patient, an old wizard named Jim who has a bad case of portkey-sickness. Harry listens to him ramble, and he fondly smiles at him whilst he complains about his fellow healers who can’t take responsibility for their shifts. 

 

Harry explains to Draco the most recent case he was working on. He’s close to catching a wand thief who steals wands from interrogation officers to sell their private data in Knockturn Alley. He talks about the most recent book he’s read: a fictional tale of a wizard and his best friend going through turmoil through a war. 

 

Draco comments that it wasn’t far from the truth of his own life. Harry rolls his eyes. 

 

“Have you ever considered it?” Draco questions. Harry swallows his food. 

 

“Consider what?” 

 

“Writing a novel. About your life.” Draco shrugs. “I’d read it.” 

 

“You just can’t get enough of me, can you?” 

 

Draco throws a napkin across the table and it lands square on Harry’s face. He laughs and throws his head back, bundling the napkin into a ball and throwing it back to Draco’s face, who grumbles when it hits him in the nose. 

 

“I don’t know. I never put much thought into it, honestly. I think I was riding on the high of the war after everything and I was just happy to be alive so much that I didn’t care.” He pauses. “But then, I started thinking about it more. I kept having nightmares, even to this day. A part of me misses it, but I had never been as unhappy as I was then.” He frowns. “And I’m not looking to get any more people snooping into my life.” 

 

Draco hums. He has a hand on his cheek, watching Harry with rapt attention. 

 

“Well,” he begins. “You can tell me all about it.” 

 

“You already know all about it.” 

 

Draco fiddles with the napkin that Harry had hurled at him. “I don’t know all of it.” He mumbles. 

 

Harry’s never had anybody show so much interest in his life, not for the purpose of a story or for the thrill of the Harry Potter’s life, but just to know. “I’ll tell you the story as much as you want.” Harry decides on. Draco offers a shy smile and Harry’s heart lurches in his chest. 

 

* * * 

 

Draco’s kisses are like fire on Harry’s skin, and his rut cycle comes and goes as planned, after an excruciating night of pain, he’s accompanied by the toiling pain of his abdomen. His groans get swallowed by Draco’s soft hands and his gentle voice as he carries Harry gently until he lets his knot swell inside of him. 

 

Draco lets out soft gasps into Harry’s mouth as he runs his hands down Draco’s torso and whispers his countless admissions of affection. 

 

Draco, oh Draco. You’re mine. My mate. I love y-

 

He has enough strength to hold himself back that much . 

 

Sweat intermingles between their bodies and Harry grunts every time Draco raises his hips on to the tip of Harry’s swelling prick. Draco places both of his cold hands to Harry’s cheeks and pulls him closer. Their lips meet in a soft motion and Harry moans airily into the kiss, his hips jumping at his touch. 

 

“Will you be mine?” Draco mutters, voice raspy. 

 

Harry nods, and his voice croaks. 

 

“Please.” 

 

Draco flips Harry onto his back and pulls him into a searing kiss. 

 

* * * 

 

“Hey.” Harry mumbles when he stumbles into the kitchen, pressing a kiss to Draco’s nape. His hair is so overgrown, and it covers the skin on his neck. Harry frowns and pushes the hair out of the way to press a kiss to the bare skin, nipping at it. Draco kicks him in the shin and he winces and pulls away. He’s about to put Draco’s hair where it belongs, but he notices something. 

 

Marks. Bite marks. Two cylindrical scars parallel to each other. He runs his fingers over it. 

 

“Did I do this?” Harry asks. Draco slaps a hand over the bite and turns to Harry on his heel. 

 

“No. Sit down. Breakfast is ready.” 

 

Harry sits, and watches Draco from the corner of his eye. Draco sets the table, and ruffles his fingers through Harry's hair, before he takes his seat across from Harry. 

 

“Can you tell me?” Harry asks again, resting his head on the table and looking up at Draco. For a moment, Draco’s expression turns to one of sorrow for a split second, before he’s straightening his spine and extending a hand to reach to Harry’s forehead, pushing his bangs away and revealing his scar. 

 

“I was bit,” he begins. “By a vampire. It was only a split second, but the venom had already infiltrated my system. That’s why I’m a half-breed, not a fully turned vampire. I was able to stop my blood flow to slow the infection.” 

 

“How did you-” 

 

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Draco switches the topic. He stabs his fork into a piece of bacon and flings it into his mouth angrily. Harry huffs and leans forward in his seat, towering over his plate as he watches Draco shovel the food into his mouth. He sighs and reaches for Draco’s hand. 

 

“Okay.” He sighs. He runs a thumb down Draco’s palm. “You can tell me whenever you want, though.” 

 

Draco gnaws on his lip. 

 

“They were a family of Death Eaters. A vampire family of Death Eaters. They were furious when they found out that she had terminated the Dark Lord and they-” he chokes. “They killed her. They were supposed to kill me but… I was quicker. And nobody came.” Draco finishes. 

 

Harry now knows the reason why he was never informed of Narcissa’s passing. Nobody knew what had become of the Malfoy family. Harry furrows his brows. If only he had reached out when he could, when he had the power to protect his family. 

 

“Draco, I-”

 

“Don’t apologise. You didn’t like me as much as I liked you. It was only natural.” Draco grips Harry’s hand tight in his. “After all, you’re here now, aren’t you?” Draco offers a weak smile, and he looks as if he’s about to tear up. But he knows that he doesn’t cry, he won’t. 

 

Harry leans over the table and kisses Draco. 

 

“Always.” 

 

* * * 

 

Draco leaves to work with a kiss on Harry’s lip that quickly turns to a pin to the door as he gets down on his knees, and takes Draco in his mouth. Draco tangles his fingers in Harry’s hair, complaining that he’ll be late, but his hips twitch into Harry’s wet mouth and he tips his head back against the door as he lets Harry take the lead. 

 

“Hng- o-okay- enough.” Draco mumbles, and Harry doesn’t let up until he’s swallowed all of it. He kisses Draco sloppily, tasting like Draco as he ruts his hips into Draco’s own hip bone. 

 

“I have to go.” Draco mumbles, dazed out as he pulls Harry away from his body. Harry sighs and kisses Draco’s cheek. He stuffs a hand down his trousers as Draco mutters a scourgify to his pants. “Blimey. I left my folders upstairs.” 

 

“I could fetch it-” Harry goes to grip the handle bar of the stairs, before Draco is pushing him back. 

 

“No! I mean- n-no.” He mumbles. “It’s a mess in there. You shouldn’t bother yourself with the sight of my horribly messy study. I- I’ll clean it up later. Sorry for making a mess of your study-” Draco rambles on as he runs up the stairs, his shoes still on. Harry will have to clean that up later. He hears Draco rummaging through the drawers of his desk, before he runs downstairs again. He runs a hand through his long hair. 

 

“Merlin, I’m late. Thanks, Harry. Bye.” He kisses Harry on the cheek before running out the door. Harry watches from the window as Draco trips over his heels as he catches the bus. He snickers fondly. 

 

He feels it again. He feels… uneasy. It’s a feeling he’s grown accustomed to in all of his years spent hunting down Voldemort, anticipating his next move. He gnaws on his lip. 

 

Draco’s study? There’s nothing special about it. In all fairness, it’s not even Harry’s. Judging from the nameplate plastered at the front of the door, it must have belonged to Sirius’s father. He lets Draco have it for the time being, since Harry is content with studying in the kitchen near the windows. The study is nice and dark for Draco. Not to mention, Harry hasn’t been showing up to work recently, deciding to dedicate his time as an Auror to do some simple filing at home. 

 

He starts floating a sponge to the stairway, letting his magic flow through the objects as they cleanse the dark spots Draco left in his hurry. The door to the study is slightly ajar, and he steps hesitantly. 

 

It’s dark, and only a few simple floating lanterns light the room. Harry brushes away a lantern that floats in front of his face. The first thing he notices is that it very much is not dirty. Everything is organized in such a neat manner you could barely tell that anybody even goes in here. Harry swallows nervously. 

 

But Draco has no reason to lie to him, does he? Not anymore. 

 

Harry takes note of some of the folders on his desk. He gently taps the papers, brushing them out of the way. 

 

How To Use DreadleDrops on Patients, Best Curses for Curse Breakers, The Perfect Dreamless Sleep, Apothecary 101. 

 

There’s a million different books and papers on Draco’s desk, all organised and stacked on top of each other in a careful manner. They’re organised by genre, and Harry’s hand knocks against the drawers of Draco’s desk. He slides it out. 

 

There’s a diagram of a bat, and some notes about sunscreen he wishes to perfect. The notes are in a deep green ink, and his cursive writing hangs on the edge of the paper. Arrows point to the spleen of a bat wing, and Harry’s confused. He pulls out paper after paper, multiple articles on Half-Breeds and possible cures for them. 

 

That’s when he sees it.

 

There’s a drawing of him. It definitely is him, no doubt. It’s a doodle. Of course, it must be Harry because the stick figure is wearing glasses and has a lightning bolt scar. Harry, at first, fondly grins down at the sketch. 

 

Before his fingers trace over the small notes scattered across the paper, and the date reads: 

 

July 14, 2005.

 

The day he got cursed. The day he turned up at St. Mungos after an Auror mission. 

 

He feels his face pale. He reads. 

 

Vitals normal. Werewolf venom detected. 

 

 

• Venom similar to vampire

• Thick consistency. 

• Potter’s body compatible with the venom

 

 

July 13, 2005

 

• Venom still not removed 

• Monitoring vitals

• Enhanced blood flow, blood did not work with formula

 

 

 

• Injecting venom enhancer 

 

 

Merlin’s Beard. I hope this works. I can be cured at last. 

 

July 14, 2005 

 

 

• Potter will wake soon

• Likes my cold hands 

• Vitals stable, more so than usual

• Will keep drawing blood until full moon to procure a formula 

 

 

Golden boy knocked off his pitch, and now he’s stuck with me. 

 

Harry grips the notes in his hand, flipping through the sketchpad. 

 

Injecting venom enhancer, it said. 

 

Draco didn’t save him. 

 

He was the one who did it. He made him like this. 

 

Likes my cold hands . It was him that night, the one that came in to open a window and sit by his bedside. If only Harry had known that was the man that poisoned his life . 

 

If Remus were alive, he’d be upset. And to think he’s been staying by Draco’s side, not as his… lover. But instead, as his own personal science project. His guinea pig, a means to cure his own illness. 

 

Harry fists the paper, tearing it off of its spine and hurling it across the room. He clenches his jaw. His initial reluctance to trust Draco ended up being proved right. Draco made him like this. If the world finds out that he’s a werewolf, he’ll be sacked from every position. Despite Hermione’s attempts to reform Wizarding society, he knows it’ll be a long time until he’s accepted. 

 

He’s reminded of the pain, the pain from his skin ripping from his bones and turning into thick, wooly fur. He thinks of his heightened senses, the ones he never asked for, the ones that define him as an animal. 

 

He’s not human anymore, Draco made sure of that. 

 

He thinks of Remus. He thinks of Remus and how he always called it a curse. A curse he just had to get used to. A curse that Draco could have fixed for Harry’s sake. But he didn’t. 

 

There’s always a catch, isn’t there? How stupid for Harry to think that there was one person in this world that wasn’t just interested in Harry Potter, but rather Harry himself. He’s just a name, he's just a tool, a pawn. He’s always been one. He was Voldemort’s, then Dumbledore’s and he’d been Draco’s. 

 

Golden boy knocked off his pitch, now he’s stuck with me . That’s all this was, wasn’t it? A joke. To ridicule Harry. It always was. He incendios the papers within the drawer, pocketing the notepad as he storms out of the room. He feels anger coursing through his veins, and the door shuts behind him in his fury of magic. He apparates to St. Mungos. 

 

* * *

 

Harry stumbles back from his messy apparition and he grabs onto the railing of the steps to St. Mungos. The night sky is radiant and he can feel the cold wind brush against his elbows. 

 

He can spot that blond hair from a mile away, always so familiar, so striking. Harry fists his hands and clambers up the steps. Dr- Malfoy waves someone goodbye, before making eye contact with Harry. He grins. Oh, his beautiful grin. Harry feels his gut clench with pain, with betrayal. He feels angrier.

 

“Harry! Why are you-” 

 

Harry grips Malfoy by the collar of his Healer robes, lifting him off the ground to glare up at him. He has his wand on the other hand, pointed at Malfoy’s throat. Malfoy gasps, his face paling as he grabs Harry by the wrist with cold fingers. His eyes widen and he frowns, shakily exhaling. 

 

“H-Harry-” 

 

“You’re a prick, Malfoy.” He grits out. “I should’ve known. All you ever do is lie. You’re a liar and a traitor. I should’ve known better than to trust a Death Eater .” He spits. Malfoy flinches at the mention. 

 

“What are yo-” 

 

“Don’t bullshit me!” He shakes Malfoy by the collar of his shirt, and Malfoy’s grip fumbles on Harry’s wrist. “You did this to me.” He breathes out, anger laced underneath his hurt tone. “You don’t care about me. You just wanted to save yourself. You saw me hurt and vulnerable and practically lunged at the thought, didn’t you?” 

 

“N-no, please, Harry-” 

 

“You’re selfish. All you care about is yourself. What, were you going to leave me for the dogs once you figured it out? Once you solved it?” He shakes Malfoy back and forth, his wand digging deeper into Malfoy’s throat. Malfoy shuts his eyes, attempting to push the wand away. He whimpers in pain. 

 

“Please, Harry, it’s not like that. I-” Malfoy sniffles, his brows furrowed. His eyes glisten with regret, but Harry doesn’t care anymore.

 

“You were using me to find a cure.” Harry comments. 

 

“N-no. Well- I- I was just- I was desperate- and your body had the perfect-” 

 

Harry lets go of Malfoy, pushing him away from him. 

 

“Don’t ever talk to me again. If I need help with my transformation from now on, I’ll ask Hermione. Better yet, I’ll find someone else to spend my ruts with.” He shoves Malfoy on his shoulder. “Not that you really give a shit.” He turns on his heel, and Malfoy calls after him with a shaky voice. But he doesn’t look back. He’s tired of looking back. 

 

“Your belongings are being moved to the quarters here at St. Mungos. Don’t bother me.” 

 

Harry disapparates with a pop. 

 

* * *

 

Grimmault Place goes back to feeling like that empty place of sadness, and Harry rests his chin on his palm, staring out the front window and watching the children run up and down the streets. It’s incredibly lonely, and Harry attempts to fill the space with his brooding, broken-hearted behavior. He thinks it would be insane to say that he was in love with Malfoy. But he can’t fight the truth, and he breaks down in tears at their break-up , if that’s what you could call it. 

 

He’s too detached to call Hermione and Ron, and explaining the situation to the two would be unbearable. He knows Luna somehow already knows, knowing that she’s practically psychic, and Harry sighs and sends an owl. 

 

Luna is late, per usual. 

 

“Hello, Harry. Lovely evening.” She smiles at Harry gently and he leads her into the kitchen for a cup of coffee. The two chat, mostly about Neville and Luna’s father. 

 

“Where’s Draco? I was hoping to catch a word with my cousin. We have recently rekindled our relationship, yet, father’s still skeptical.” 

 

Harry stills at the mention of Malfoy, gnawing on his lip. Luna catches it immediately 

 

“You feel uneasy about Draco.” She comments mindlessly. Harry nods. 

 

“I- well, it’s complicated.” Harry settles for. Luna hums. 

 

“Well, you know, Draco stopped by just two days ago and stayed the night.” Luna tilts her head at Harry as she sips from her mug. “Don’t worry, he left this morning. He’s staying somewhere near Edinburgh.” 

 

Luna pauses, stirring her mug. “He asked about you, and I told him that it had been a while since I’d seen you. He looked ill, sort of how he did when we were at school, do you remember?” 

 

Of course Harry remembers. He remembers tracking down Malfoy throughout sixth year, and the way he found him crying in the bathroom, before striking him down. He painfully remembers the look of resignation on Malfoy’s face as his blood seeped into the floors and through his shirt, his chest heaving with the force of his sobs. He remembers the conflict he felt when he saw Malfoy’s wand lowering, unable to kill Dumbledore. 

 

“Yeah.” He croaks. He looks down at his fingers gripping his mug tightly. Luna’s hands are loose and gentle when they rest on top of Harry’s. 

 

“Is he keeping you company?” Luna eyes behind Harry, and he furrows his brows, confused. Until he feels a chill rush down his spine, and something is passing through him. 

 

Harry yelps. 

 

“Hello, Lovegood.” A dignified voice mumbles from beside Harry. “It was supposed to be a secret. I was perfectly comfortable wandering around the mansion and occasionally sparking conversation with you.” 

 

Harry’s head turns on its axis, and he’s on the edge of his seat, as far away from the voice as possible. 

 

A somewhat short ghost of a man - no, he looks like a boy - is standing next to Harry, or rather, floating . Harry blinks his eyes at the boy. He has short black curly hair, and it’s combed gently out of his face. He looks familiar, but Harry doesn’t know where he’s seen him before. His hair looks in a permanent state of wet , and his clothes are prim and proper, reminding him of Malfoy. 

 

“Wha-” 

 

“Hullo.” He turns to Harry. “We meet at last.” He extends his arm, and there’s a small rip in his sleeve. Harry tilts his head. “My slimy brother’s godson. Potter’s son.” He spits his surname like venom, and it’s so strangely reminiscent of Malfoy that it hurts. Then it hits him. My slimy brother’s godson.

 

Harry bolts up out of his seat. 

 

“You’re-! R.A.B., Regulus Black?” 

 

“Well, Regulus is just fine.” He mumbles, an irritated expression on his face. He pulls his arm back when he realizes Harry’s not going to shake his hand.

“I- oh- thank you. Your sacrifice meant the world, without you, we would’ve-” 

 

Regulus stops him with a hand, pinching the crown of his nose with two fingers. “Yes, yes. I’ve heard all about it from my young cousin, the Malfoy heir. Though, rumor has it that there is no heir to the family anymore.” 

 

“Your… Malfoy is your cousin?”

 

“Obviously. His mother is my cousin.” Regulus responds, clearly fed up with Harry’s questions. Harry tries not to think about how he had his godfather’s cousin in his bed, speared on his prick. Harry sits back in his seat, turning a head to look at Luna, whose expression is as complacent as ever. 

 

“How did Luna know?” 

 

“He’s lovely. I met him in the upstairs bathroom. He told me he was a wandering ghost.” Luna comments. 

 

“She questioned me until I finally gave up and told her.” Regulus corrects. He floats over to the kitchen counter, sitting on the tiling. He must be around the same age as Harry, if not a little bit younger. All the sacrifices people made for others to win, for him to win. He’s quite beautiful, as a matter of fact, and Harry can’t take his eyes off of him. 

 

“Oh, please. How very like your father you are.” Regulus deadpans. “You and the Malfoy boy got along pretty well. I suppose that’s another way you’re like your father.” 

 

Harry sputters and coughs. 

 

“You listened?” 

 

“No. I saw. Against my will, of course. This house is so small and you just happen to sleep in my room.” 

 

Harry tangles his fingers together awkwardly. 

 

“You also share a shocking resemblance to your father and I just couldn’t help myself.” 

 

Harry flushes. “What’s that supposed to- nevermind.” Harry pauses, more serious now. “Why are you here? You died. A long time ago when you were searching for the horcruxes, didn’t you?” 

 

Regulus looks up at Harry. 

 

“Yes. But you know what they say about ghosts. Unfinished business.” Regulus shrugs. “I wanted to see Kreacher off. I wanted to see if we won.” Regulus absent-mindedly rubs at his left forearm, and Harry’s curiosity spikes. 

 

“I freed Kreacher.” Harry mumbles, feeling apologetic. 

 

“You… freed Kreacher…” Regulus slowly repeats, like he’s attempting to digest the sentence on his tongue. “Oh… kay.” He settles on. “I’m glad. He was… a good friend.” Regulus looks down at his knees. 

 

“Why now? Why haven’t I seen you before?” 

 

“Well. You wallowing in the sorrow of your break-up is very annoying. Additionally, Lovegood being here was more of a reason than ever to reveal myself.” 

 

Harry hums. “You remind me of him. Of Dr- Malfoy.” 

 

“So I’ve been told. Us purebloods must stick together. Family is valued in our culture.” Regulus pauses. “ Used to . I understand it’s not a thing in the modern wizarding world anymore. The Sacred Twenty-Eight is no longer strong.” Regulus pauses. “Good.” 

 

“You used to be one of Voldemort’s followers, didn’t you?” 

 

Regulus narrows his eyes at Harry. He sighs. 

 

“Yes.” He pulls up his sleeve, and the wisps of the Dark Mark travel up his pale skin. It’s worn out, fading. He looks ashamed, conflicted, his jaw is clenched and he hides his gaze away from Harry. 

 

“You were a good man, don’t doubt it.” Harry quickly retorts. Regulus looks up at him. Then, a ghost of a smile grazes his lips. He moves towards Harry, a swift coldness draping itself over the room. 

 

“You look just like him.” He frowns, and his ghostly figure traces over the frames of his glasses. “If he ever lived to be your age.” He adds. Harry frowns, and he feels a sob threatening to wrench its way out of his mouth. How? Why? How did Regulus know his father? 

 

“You must have questions about your father, about Sirius. I’ll tell you all about it someday. But know this: you mustn't take opportunities for love for granted. Love is gentle and it comes and goes. Don’t lose your opportunity to love, your father never did, but I did. And I regret it so.” Regulus floats backwards into the kitchen wall, and Harry stands there, eyes widened in surprise as he digests the information just dropped on him. 

 

Love is gentle and it comes and goes. Don’t lose your opportunity to love

 

He doesn’t think of anything else at that moment, other than Malfoy. But he can’t… he knows Malfoy messed up and he shouldn't be giving him the time of day. 

 

He needs someone else, someone who’s painfully clear of mind and unbiased when it comes to things like this - romance, he thinks. 

 

“Luna, I’m sorry, but-” 

 

“I reckon Hermione is home right about now. She finally took maternity break.” Luna supplies gently and stands up to father her things. Harry, once again, is stunned by Luna’s ability to magically read his mind. He offers a warm smile and pats Luna on the back. 

 

He apparates away. 

 

* * *

 

“Harry! Oof-”. Hermione jolts upright in her seat on the couch, but she nearly topples over at the sudden angle change, holding her abdomen as she grips the seat for support. She must be a few months along, because the bump is starting to show, and she lies back at an angle as she sits back down. “Come on! Sit down!” 

 

Harry chucks off his jacket and places it on the table, sitting beside Hermione. 

 

“Where’s Ron?” 

 

“At the shop. Busy day, I heard.” Hermione pats Harry on the shoulder, straightening his sleeves. “What brings you here? I haven’t seen you in weeks!” 

 

Harry sheepishly chuckles. “Sorry, I was busy. Um- navigating my transformation.” 

 

“Oh! How was that? Haven’t there been two this month?” 

 

Harry nods, he tangles his fingers together and looks away from Hermione. 

 

“Um- actually, I- I wanted to talk to you about something.” 

 

Bloody hell, how does he begin with the fact that the bloke in question that he’s been shagging has been Draco sodding Malfoy?  

 

“Okay…” Hermione hesitantly speaks, her brows furrowed, as if catching his uncertainty. 

 

“It’s Draco.” He blurts out. 

 

There’s a beat of silence. 

 

“Um- Malfoy? What about him?” 

 

Harry swallows his nerves. “I’ve been- well, was - but anyways, I was- we were-” Harry sputters. “We were… together.” He decides on. He hasn’t turned to look at Hermione yet, just looking down at his tangled fingers. 

 

“Oh.” Hermione breathes. Not that he expects Hermione to lash out, he just expects to have more to say, like, berating him for trusting someone so untrustworthy, or something like that. Instead, he glances up at her and finds her carrying an empathetic expression. “Oh, Harry. I’m sorry. Did it not work out?” Hermione rubs a hand on his shoulder, and for a second, he’s still in shock.

 

“Wait, you- you don’t have anything to say about it?” 

 

Hermione thinks about it for a second. “Well, I would ask what went wrong and how I could help, but I’d rather just let you tell me at your own pace.” 

 

Harry’s expression softens. “You… don’t care? That Malfoy and I were together? That we- you know we’re not supposed to be together. I mean… a Malfoy and a Potter, notoriously rivals throughout school and the wizarding war. We could never…” 

 

“What makes you think I care about all that?” Hermione snorts. “Harry, I work against the Ministry in every way I can, despite working under them. I protest for the rights of magical creatures and object to classical wizarding ways. I could care less about what people think.” 

 

Harry grins at her softly. She’s right. Harry thinks about how Malfoy would react to her, the way she shrugs off half the wizarding society as if she doesn’t care. Malfoy cares too much, sometimes. 

 

It’s easy to open up to her after that. He tells her everything, from the first night he met him at the hospital, to the very end, when he held a wand up to Malfoy’s quivering throat, accusatory and angry. 

 

“That’s… horrible. He shouldn’t have done that.” Heermione frowns. 

 

“Yes, but, I just- I can’t stop thinking about him. I know it’s wrong, but I’ve just been thinking about what Regulus said, and I-” Harry gulps. “Hermione, I’ve never felt this way about anyone else before, and I’m just now realizing that… maybe I’ve loved him for a while now.” 

 

“Harry,” She begins. “You did.” She shakes her head, chuckling. “You’ve figured it out before, you can figure it out again. Do what you feel is right.” 

 

Harry holds her hand in his. 

 

* * *

 

He’s a bit hesitant when he apparates to the steps of St. Mungos. He shivers when the cold wind hits him and walks up the stairs with his arms wrapped around himself. He looks at the clock ticking on his wrist. 

 

Just about ten past midnight. He should be taking his break soon. 

He knows he’s right when the doors swing open and Malfoy comes flooding out, eyes red and strained with the need to sleep and his hair short . It’s the same length that Harry had grown accustomed to at Hogwarts. The prim and proper way it used to be styled, slicked back or his bangs perfectly cut to frame his face. No - this is not like that. It’s short, but cut in an artistically jagged way, inconsistent with its shape. It’s unstyled, frizzed and frazzled. He throws his hands in his pockets to drag a cigarette from it, lighting the tip of it with a slide of his hand over the blunt end. 

 

Harry’s never seen Malfoy smoke. He never even smelled it on him before. Is this a new occurrence, or had Harry just not noticed? There’s a faint splatter of some sort of liquid on his healer robes, and Malfoy must notice it, because he groans and tries to rub it out with his palm. He huffs and a cloud of smoke tumbles from his lips. He looks tired. Harry doesn’t even know where he’s been staying. 

 

He’s frozen in place, scared to even breathe too loudly, for fear that Malfoy will spot him and ruin the quiet serenity of this moment. He decides on a light cough, which startles Malfoy enough that he nearly drops his cigarette. He whips his head to catch Harry’s gaze, and he scowls. 

 

“Potter.” He spits. Malfoy doesn’t hesitate to avert his gaze and head up the steps of St. Mungos. “I’ll be leaving now.” 

 

Harry’s stands there in shock. He scowls back. “Hey! Do you have nothing to say to me, you git?” Harry shouts after him, running up the stairs. He skips up the stairs and grabs Malfoy by the wrist. The other man just stands silently. Harry stares at his back as his grip on Malfoy’s wrist tightens in anger. “Well?” He asks again. He grows tired of the silence, and he tugs on Malfoy’s wrist to force him to look back at him. 

 

When he turns around, Harry’s angered expression drops. Draco is crying . His cheeks are pink and there’s tears falling down the side of his face. His eyes are red, from lack of sleep or from crying, Harry doesn’t know. He furrows his brows and tightens his grip on Draco’s wrist. Draco is quick to cover his face, wiping his tears with the sleeve of his coat. 

 

“Let go.” He pathetically muffles into the sleeve of his healer robes. His voice is quiet and high, and laced with a vulnerability that Harry’s unfamiliar with. This feels familiar. It feels like it did years ago when Harry shot a curse at Draco’s chest whilst he bled out onto the bathroom floors, chest heaving with sobs. Back then, the excruciating regret and guilt ate away at him, until he saw Draco that night in the Astronomy tower, ready to strike Dumbledore down.

 

He always thought about how he should have said something to him, anything, to perhaps alleviate the pain he had. Harry had no idea back then. He did the first thing he could think of, having no compassion in his heart in the midst of war, and when everyone he’s ever loved has been killed. 

 

But he knows better now, he has seen compassion and he has seen pain at its climax. He knows empathy and he knows what the horrors of the war had done to people. He doesn’t hate Draco, he never did. The pigtail-pulling of their school yard rivalry carried into matters that shouldn’t have had anything to do with them. Opposite sides of the classroom, opposite sides of the war, opposite sides of the wizarding society. 

 

Which is why Harry doesn’t hesitate to pull Draco into his arms and kiss him. Draco struggles, shocked and gripping Harry’s shoulders tight. There’s no heat, just passion. No tongue, no nothing. It’s sweet, it’s soft, and filled with so much love that Harry hopes Draco feels it in his chest. Harry brings his thumbs to Draco’s cheek, cradling his face in the palm of his hands, wiping the tears away. Draco sobs into the kiss. 

 

Harry pulls away. 

 

“I- I can’t.” 

 

“What?” Draco steps back, as if he’s nervous of what Harry’s about to say. 

 

“I can’t live without you. I never-” Harry chokes. “I never realized how miserable I was before I met you. We’ve been bumping shoulders for my entire life, that when we parted ways I- I guess I stopped thinking about it.” Harry pauses. “Meeting you and those weeks we spent together were the happiest I’ve ever been. I don’t care. I don’t care that I’m a werewolf. To hell with that. To hell with the wizarding society. They can write whatever they want and think whatever they want. Neither of us owe them anything. We won them a war, isn’t that enough?” Harry holds Draco’s face in his hands as gently as he can. 

 

“We?” Draco mutters, voice weak with emotion. 

 

“Without you, we wouldn’t have won. Without your mother, we wouldn’t have won.” 

 

“I didn’t do anything.”

 

“You did everything . You didn’t kill Dumbledore. You were strong in the face of adversaries.” 

 

“No, I- I let them in. If it wasn’t for me, the Death Eaters would have never-” Draco turns his head away from Harry to let out a sob into his arm. Harry pulls him back with two hands on his cheek. 

 

“Without you I wouldn't have survived my transformation.” 

 

“No, I did that to you! Can’t you see? All I do is- is hurt people. All I do is fuck up the good things in my life, and nothing in my life has gone the way I’d wanted it to. I just wish I could have a do-over.” Draco mutters. He shuts his eyes and another tear slips out and Harry catches it with his thumb. Draco shakes his head and turns away from the sensation. “I don’t deserve you. I was stupid. Stupid to think that even changing your biology would make you want me. Stupid Potter. You’re always so unobtainable, so unstoppable. You’re cruel. You’re so cruel. You’re so close to me yet so far away all the time. I could never catch up to you-” 

 

“Well, I’m here now.” 

 

“Are you?” Draco shoots him an angry look, and it quickly crumbles, breaking into a sob. “I’ve loved you for so long.” He whispers and bumps his head into Harry’s chest, gently sobbing. “Merlin, I never even cry . What’s wrong with me?” 

 

“You love me?” Harry breathes out, exasperated. Draco shrugs. Harry can’t see his face, considering that Draco has decided to make Harry’s jumper its home, but the tips of his ears turn red. “You love me.” He whispers again, mostly to himself, but apparently Draco must’ve gotten embarrassed, because he stomps on Harry’s foot. 

 

“You slick git. Shut up.” 

 

Harry laughs, and he pulls Draco closer to him. 

 

“I love you, too. These past few weeks have been hell, I hope you know.” 

 

Draco lifts his head from Harry’s chest. Harry settles his arms around Draco’s waist, pulling him closer. 

 

“Really?” 

 

“Yeah.” Harry leans in closer to bump their foreheads together. Draco frowns and turns his head away. Harry takes this opportunity to kiss his cheek. Draco gasps and slaps Harry on the shoulder. 

 

“You cut your hair.” Harry comments. He brings his fingers up to Draco’s fringe and plays with it. 

 

“I- yeah. I was getting tired of the long hair.” Draco mumbles. “You don’t… like it? I understand that it was a very spur of the moment decision, and having cut it myself, I wasn’t sure-” 

 

“It’s nice. It’s perfect. It’s so… you.” 

 

Draco grimaces. “It’s messy.” 

 

Harry snorts. “You’re in the middle of shift. I don’t exactly expect you to look like a veela.” 

 

Draco scoffs and rolls his eyes. “You’re a fool.” 

 

Harry hums, kissing Draco. “For you.” 

 

The two pause, just sitting in each other’s embraces, languidly exchanging kisses. 

 

“You really don’t care? About what I did? Betraying you like that, turning you into a… werewolf?” 

 

Harry shrugs. “You were desperate for a cure. And afterall,” Harry kisses down Draco’s jawline. “We can spend my full-moons together and you can feed blood from me.” 

 

“Feed blood? From you?” Draco quirks a brow, eyes wide. 

 

“Well, sure. I’d be interested.” 

 

Draco slaps Harry on the shoulder again. 

 

“By the way, did you ever find a cure for it?” 

 

Draco gnaws on his lip. “I actually… I stopped the research as soon as we… slept together.” 

 

“Really?” 

 

Draco nods. He combs his fingers through Harry’s hair. “I didn’t feel it was necessary because I actually liked being a vampire around you. Oh, the things you do to me, Potter.” 

 

“Oh, it’s Potter now?” 

 

“ Harry.” Draco teases, and he kisses Harry on the lips, pulling him down by the collar of his jumper. “Will you be my… um- boyfriend?” 

 

“Well, alright.” Harry shrugs playfully, and Draco knocks him into another kiss. “Come home after you’re done.” 

 

“Home?” 

 

“Yeah, home. Our home.” Harry cradles Draco’s cheek. 

 

“I love you.” Draco whispers, and his voice breaks at the end of it. 

 

“I know.” Harry kisses his forehead. 

 

* * *

 

“So… Sirius had no regrets?” 

 

“I suppose so. I’m quite surprised he decided not to haunt this damn place in hopes of finding Lupin and having weird ghost love sessions.” 

 

Harry snorts. 

 

“Did Remus and Sirius really….” 

 

“Oh yeah, they were lovers. It was really annoying, actually. Imagine having to come home from the summer, hoping to get away from those Hogwarts goons, only to find your mistake of a brother jabbering on about the same man .” 

 

“Well, I can imagine that. Ron never stopped talking about Hermione.” 

 

“Well, Lupin was quite the looker, so I can’t blame Sirius.” 

 

“...did you fancy him?” 

 

Regulus flushes and averts his gaze. 

 

“Next question.” 

 

“Okay. How do you know my father?” 

 

“Well, Sirius was best friends with him, and unfortunately that meant I was more often than not exposed to Potter’s… eccentric nature.” 

 

Harry laughs. 

 

“And he was… a representation of everything I couldn’t be. Him and Sirius both. So carefree, so… brave. He was handsome, too. I guess I was finally able to make the right choice at the end when I thought about them, and the future they were fighting for. 

“Okay, why are you here?” 

 

Regulus pauses. 

 

“I don’t know. I thought I was here to see the end of the war, but it’s been over for a long time.” Regulus looks over at him. “I guess I wanted to see what Potter's son had ended up like.” 

 

“I’d say he didn’t do a horrible job.” He offers a gentle smile at Harry. 

 

* * *

 

Harry groans when he wakes up in the morning with a start, mostly surprised by the sensation on his dick. He tips his head back when the pressure tightens, and he brings his hands underneath the covers to grip hair. 

 

“Draco-” He groans. He instinctively calls out for him. His hips jump into Draco’s awaiting mouth and he topples over with his release. He can feel the way Draco’s throat constricts around him. Harry kicks the covers off of him. 

 

“Hey.” 

 

Draco rests his chin on Harry’s hip, looking up at him with a smug grin. 

 

“Hi.” Draco pushes himself up slowly and kisses his way up Harry’s navel. “You slept like an angel, darling .” 

 

Harry rolls his eyes. “We are not calling each other that. Get off.” Draco tumbles dramatically off of him. Harry pulls the waistband of his sleeping trousers up and leans down to bring a hand to Draco’s cheek. 

 

“Come downstairs and let me make breakfast for you. Hermione and Ron are coming over today with Rose, remember?” 

 

Draco nods gently, his eyes slipping shut already. Harry plops onto the bed to run a hand through Draco’s hair. 

 

“I told you to try and sleep last night. No luck?” 

 

“Mhm. No.” He grumbles and he buries his head to the side of the duvet. 

 

“You can sleep in. You know they won’t mind.” 

 

Draco groans. “I’ll be fine. Just fix up some food. I’ll be down soon.” 

 

“Why…” Harry trails off, before spotting the way Draco’s ears turn pink and he grips the cover to his crotch. “Oh. You don’t want help with that?” 

 

“No thanks. I’m too tired. I know you can get a bit… carried away, Potter.” 

 

“You only call me that when I’m being a prat.” Harry frowns. 

 

“You are. Now leave.” Draco looks up at Harry, glaring at him. Harry chuckles and turns to shut the door behind him. 

 

Draco comes tumbling down the stairs ten minutes later. His dress shirt carefully tucked into his trousers and messily tying his tie in a crisp bow. Harry’s tried his best to look nice, but he can only put so much effort. He’s dawned on a simple off-white button up, half-hazardly tucked into his own trousers and no tie. It’s unbuttoned at the top button, for he hates the way these shirts practically suffocate him. 

 

Draco, looks prim and proper as he always does once he straightens out his clothes, using the steamer Harry’s plugged into for him to smooth out the creases in his shirt. Harry could care less about wrinkles. 

 

“Harry. Come  here. You look ridiculous.” 

 

Harry sighs and defeatedly stomps his way over to Draco, wrapping his arms around his waist as Draco smooths out the wrinkles from his waistcoat. 

 

“You’re so sloppy all the time. What would you do without me?” 

 

“Die of embarrassment, probably. God forbid I don’t look like a businessman every five minutes.” 

 

Draco shoves his shoulder. 

 

“Pity I don’t have my wand, yet. I would hex you right now.” 

 

Harry grins up at Draco, who’s shooting him a mischievous smile. He tries his best to conceal his own smirk. 

 

“Hey, your birthday’s tomorrow.” Harry points out, stepping closer to Draco. He cages him in with two arms resting on the kitchen counter behind him and he kisses Draco’s cheek gently, whispering close to his ear. “I think you should get an early birthday present.” He turns to the side, catching a glance at Draco’s flustered expression and pink ears. 

 

“W-well, out with it.” He stammers, gripping the front loops of Harry’s trousers. He grins to himself and nuzzles Draco’s cheek with his own. He holds his hand out to the side and feels the magic flow through the room as he summons a box from his office. He hears it tumbling through sets of doors before landing in the palm of his hand at record speed. 

 

Draco turns to the side, alarmed. 

 

Harry steps back, only to hand Draco the box. It’s a long black box, Draco’s initials very clearly titled onto the front on a golden plaque. 

 

“What is…” 

 

“Open it.” Harry insists, sitting back and leaning on the kitchen table to watch Draco with folded arms. Draco hesitates, and he shoots a suspicious sneer at Harry. 

 

He unravels the bow on the box, opening the lid with steady hands. “This better not be something terribly expensive, Potter, or else I’ll kill y…” 

 

Draco pauses when he finally removes the silk wrappings of the box. His eyes widen at the same time his jaw drops. For a while, he stares at the box, and doesn’t move, nor look at Harry. With shaky hands, he brushes away the fabric covering the contents, and brushes his knuckles alongside it. 

 

A beautiful hawthorn wand lies there. Draco flinches back when he carefully grips the wand by its handle. He must feel the way the magic courses through his veins upon touching it. Harry watches with rapt attention, gnawing on his lip nervously. It’s not the same as it was. You can never replicate a wand word for word. But Harry remembers the feeling of Draco’s wand in his hand, and he knew it well. 

 

It’s lighter than it used to be, sure. Its handle is different, too. Gone is the elegant metal handle, and instead, replaced by a wooden crest, lined with silver markings. It’s still the same elegant dark wood. Draco carefully moves it around, waving it in front of his face, as if he expects it to disappear any second. He sighs and his expression lifts. He looks up at Harry. 

 

“My wand.” He breathes. “H-how?” 

 

Harry grins at Draco smugly. “Hermione got your permission form signed early. Both of us rallied for it. It was appealed last week, and I set out to get your wand.” Harry shifts on his feet. “I- well. I remembered your wand. I asked Ollivander to assess it all those years ago. Hawthorn wood, ten inches long, unicorn hair.” 

 

Harry averts his gaze the whole time. 

 

“I- did you know that unicorn hair is the least likely of the wand cores to turn to the Dark Arts? I think- um, I think it fits you. They say it’s flexible, I think that’s you. Isn’t it funny that our wands are kind of us in a way-” 

 

Harry is cut off when Draco clashes their lips together, gripping the front of his dress shirt tightly as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss. Harry melts into the kiss, gripping the backs of Draco’s fists. Draco’s wand is still in his hand, and Harry can feel the way it sparks with magic. 

 

We’re compatible , it says. 

 

It’s true. Their wands were always compatible, even when they were supposed to be hating each other, even when they were supposed to want to kill the other. 

 

It doesn’t understand me. Draco had described his mother’s wand. But his wand worked fine for Harry. 

 

You understand me? I understand you? Harry had thought at that moment. You knew it was me, you didn’t say anything. He questions Draco. He averts his gaze. I know why, though. You don’t want me to lose. 

 

Harry breathes in the scent of Draco’s scalp, the fresh scent of his shampoo radiating off of him. The faint scent of parchment and linen and contentedness . He can smell it so clearly. He lets a pleased grumble emit from his chest as he scents Draco. 

 

“You idiot.” Draco mumbles into Harry’s chest. “You blasted idiot. You’re such a sap, really. I can’t-” Draco separates from Harry to slap a hand on his shoulder. There are tears falling from the ducts of his eyes, and the tip of his nose is pink. 

 

Harry sighs and leans forward, kissing Draco on his cheek as he brushes away the tears. He pushes their foreheads together. 

 

“You're welcome. I can’t wait to see you and your brilliant mind work that wand from now on.” Harry fiddles with Draco’s tie, straightening it. “Now apparate us.” 

 

Draco snorts. “I haven’t done magic in a solid six years. I don’t think I can, Potter.” 

 

Harry rolls his eyes. 

 

* * *

 

It’s loud . Of course it is, everyone in their whole damn social circle had decided to come to wish Rose a happy birthday, her first ever. She babbles mindlessly and chews on her thumb whilst Hermione has her latched onto her hip. 

 

“And we’re already thinking about another. Hopefully a boy.” Hermione grins at her fellow ministry workers. Her gaze wanders when she finally catches sight of Harry and Draco. She grins and settles Rose into her mother’s arms, running over to them. She throws her arm around Harry, another around Draco. 

 

“You’re here!” She exclaims, pulling away. “Come, have some food. Ron did a wonderful job.” 

 

Harry kisses her cheek and Draco shakes her hand gently. Ron is jumping around in the kitchen, his pace relentless as he maneuvers through the cabinets. His usual beard is shaved off, and he looks much more proper than he usually does when it’s just him and Rose at him whilst Hermione’s at work. Harry clears his throat and Ron nearly jumps, before he catches Harry’s gaze. 

 

“Blimey, Harry. You scared me! Come here, mate!” Ron throws an arm around Harry to pull him into a tight hug. Harry chuckles and lets himself be swallowed in Ron’s affectionate hug. When Ron pulls away, he makes eye contact with Draco. His expression drops to a more neutral one

 

“Malfoy.” He greets, no hostility detected. 

 

“Weasley.” Draco greets back, bowing his head. “The spread looks… nice. Thank you for inviting us.” 

 

At that, Ron breaks out into a toothy grin. 

 

“So proper. Thanks, Malfoy, you big snob.” 

 

Malfoy rolls his eyes. Ron pushes the couple out of his kitchen, insisting that Harry needs to socialize more and can’t spend all his time in a honeymoon phase with Draco. Harry laughs and drags Draco away with a hand on his wrist. Neville and Luna have recently gotten engaged, and Neville holds up his fingers with a ring on his left finger, hiding his blush that threatens to melt his face. Luna smiles warmly as she converses with Draco about the newest fern that had been rumored to make a better wolfsbane potion. 

 

Ginny has an arm around another man, who Harry doesn’t know the name of, but he shakes hands with. Ginny still has her Quidditch jersey on, and her hair still tied into the ponytail that Harry knows she wears when she practices. Ginny chats up a storm with Draco about the newest Quidditch Weekly, where the Chudley Cannons had announced a new member. 

 

Dean and Thomas are sulking in the back of the house, arms crossed as they bicker about the most useless things, (Harry has to intervene). 

 

Cho made it, with a soft smile on her face. The Patel twins came in shortly after. Cho and Ginny immediately shoot each other glares. Harry has no idea why, but he assumes something must have happened at a recent Quidditch match once again. 

 

The rest of the Weasleys are surrounding Rose, showering her with gifts and little trinkets. Molly has hand-knitted her some mittens with a giant R on it. Ron frowns, muttering something about, ‘But you never gave me anything like that when I was her age!’ 

 

At one point, Harry watches the scene unfold in The Granger-Weasley flat, leaning back and taking a swig of his keg, filled with butterbeer of course. 

 

“Feeling sentimental, Potter?” Draco slides up next to him, cheeks rosy from the beer in his hand, no doubt. His poor boyfriend has recently discovered the wonders of Muggle alcohol, and now he can’t stop drinking beer. What a shame. 

 

Harry laughs and leans down to kiss Draco on the tip of his nose. 

 

“A bit.” He pauses. “Can you believe it?” 

 

“Believe what?” Draco looks up at him, resting his cheek on Harry’s shoulder. Harry looks out at the gathering, then back at Draco. 

 

“That we’re here. We lived and we’re all living happily like this?” 

 

Draco fiddles with his grip on his beer bottle. “No, I don’t.” 

 

“Merlin, I can’t either.” Harry curses. Draco snorts. “This is everything I’ve always wanted.” He admits. Draco looks up at him. Harry can see it in the corner of his eyes as he keeps his eyes trained to the crowd of people. A cold hand comes up to his. 

 

“I know. Me too.” Draco whispers. 

 

Harry is so happy that he can hardly contain it. This is what he’d been waiting for his whole life, for this view. Of friends, of family. Free from the dark and evil that clouded his childhood and teenager life. Free from obligations. This is what he died for. 

 

And he would do it again, in every life. 

 

And so, he lets those cold hands of Draco’s that he used to have vivid dreams about pull him down to snog him senseless. 

 

He’s happy. 

Notes:

the end! they lived happily ever after mhm mhm mhm my babies