Chapter Text
The streets of Knockturn Alley were as dark and gloomy as ever, yet the magical chime when Harry opened the creaking front door of the little shop was light and cheerful. At his entrance, the girl behind the counter looked up, her one hazel eye widening almost imperceptibly.
Her smile, on the other hand, was entirely invisible to the untrained eye. Harry had only begun picking up on it a couple of years ago himself. He returned her smile with a nod in greeting and a smile of his own as he walked up to the counter. "Is Draco in?"
"In the back," she answered grimly, jerking her head at the door behind her. "Rosalind."
Harry grimaced. "Got it, thanks." He made to set off towards the back of the shop before he remembered the little box in his coat pocket. "Here," he said, smiling, as he placed the velvet box in front of the girl. "Happy birthday, June."
June's hazel eye blinked up at him a few times before shifting down to the box in front of her. Harry maintained his warm smile when she picked it up and opened it with careful hands, the golden watch shimmering on its black, velvet cushion despite the poor lighting.
For one very short moment, her smile was wide enough for any passing stranger to understand just how much Harry's gift meant to her, and that was far more than Harry could have ever hoped for. His own smile fell when he looked back at the door behind him. He absentmindedly ruffled June's dirty blond hair.
She hadn't spelt it out for him but it wasn't hard to imagine what had happened to Rosalind. Regular as she was to this dingy little back corner of Knockturn, she was only ever here for one reason: she had overdosed on Crataegus Draught again—an incredibly strong and equally addictive painkiller.
"Thank you." June's gentle whisper drew Harry's attention back to her. Her barely-there smile emphasised her sparkling eye. Even the gold on her wrist wasn't bright enough to contest with the gratitude on her face.
"It's tradition," Harry said distractedly, running a hand through her lightly matting hair. It was only another week before she would allow him to run a comb through it and take care of the dead ends again. "You're welcome. I gotta go and drop these off." He gestured to the bags floating next to him.
"He'll be happy to see you," June said softly, urging him on. "To lend a hand, of course."
"Of course," Harry returned automatically with a jovial smile, as always ignoring the beat his heart skipped whenever she acknowledged that Draco actually wanted him there. "Call for us when you need something."
"I will," June assured him in the bored tone she always did, like she was still the thirteen-year-old moody teenage girl from the first time she'd been left in charge of the shop four years ago.
Even though she's off age now, Harry mused almost wistfully as he finally entered through the door into the little hallway at the very centre of the building. He let a hand trail across the wooden railing to the stairs on his left, his gaze shifting to the flowing curtain of silver magic that fell over the door to his right. Both paths led to Draco's private quarters.
Only a select few of the Morning Glory Sanctuary's visitors could pass unharmed through the curtains of magic. Harry was one of them, though he rarely entered without Draco at his side. It never felt right to intrude on the quiet nook of privacy he had carefully crafted for himself in the midst of his busy life without him present.
With one more wistful glance to the second silver curtain at the top of the stairs, Harry entered through the heavy wooden door in front of him. The room that lay behind it was about twice as large at the shop out front. This large room, divided up into smaller spaces with warded, silver curtains as their entrances, was where the majority of the Sanctuary's business was held.
At especially busy times, when most of the rooms were occupied by various visitors, each with their own reasons, it reminded Harry a bit of the Auror office. Except this place often felt much more alive than the drab Auror office ever could, with magic of so many different kinds buzzing from so many different sources and directions.
Draco's magic was always overpowering, blanketing any other emotions anyone else's magic could carry that might disrupt the serenity of the place. It was as though the room, and even the entire building, was an extension of him, and he was in careful control of everything that happened within these walls.
The first time Harry had ever been here, seven years ago, it had been nothing close to this grand. Back then, the only dividers in this large space had been temporary black curtains charmed with nothing more than silencing and alerting charms. They'd been much more seldom, only pulled up when absolutely necessary.
These dividers, made out of solid black fabric that spanned from floor to ceiling, were more permanent and were only moved around when absolutely necessary. They divided the room into smaller rooms, each with enough functionality to pass as both hotel and hospital rooms, though the latter was much more common. Visitors who weren't badly injured only stayed the night on rare occasions, but it did happen.
In the small alley behind the Sanctuary, Draco had set up warded storage cabinets that could be rented free of charge a few years ago. There were also a few smaller, more heavily charmed rooms in the very back that were only used when conflicts arose. Those were used even more sparingly than the hotel function of the rooms and only when visitors had to be separated, usually for their own good.
One time, Harry had overheard some rowdy visitors who'd been awaiting Healing after a bloody fight mention that the rooms felt like a prison. He'd been pleasantly surprised when Draco had told them to suck it up or find someplace else, like there was any other such place anywhere in Knockturn.
Most of the time, the Healing took place in the rooms adjacent to the twisting hallway that ran roughly through the middle of the room, which had the easiest access to both the back and main entrance. Only a few visitors requested rooms farther back. When they weren't on the verge of dying, Draco usually didn't object. Small wins, he'd told Harry once. Take them when you can.
In Rosalind's case, she wouldn't have been conscious enough to even make such a request. Before Harry had the chance to wonder to which of the nearest rooms she'd been brought, a figure stumbled out of the second room on the right, shouting obscenities over her shoulder as she hobbled hurriedly towards the back entrance.
Seconds later, Draco appeared, arms crossed, in the doorway, black robes and white-blond hair only a little dishevelled from the endeavour. He sighed deeply as he stared after her, his lack of effort to hold her back not surprising Harry in the slightest. Rosalind could be brought here for overdoses twice a day and she would still never stay when she'd woken up.
Draco went back inside the next moment, mumbling under his breath, and Harry let out a long exhale. Seven years, he'd spent at least a few hours at Draco's side more days than not, and his first time seeing him every day still threw him off balance. It was almost laughable how easily Draco's mere presence got him like that.
That feeling of elation had been borderline addictive since the very first time Harry had woken up to Draco at his side seven years ago.
After his first solo mission to Knockturn as an Auror had gone awry, he'd closed his eyes with a disturbing sense of calmness that he hadn't felt in years, certain that he'd been done for. It was the closest that he'd ever come to dying since, well, Voldemort, and in such a deep, forsaken part of Knockturn Alley, of all places. He had never imagined that anyone would pass by and find him, never mind care enough to save him.
The next moment, he'd opened his eyes to Draco's frowning face. He'd stood next to the bed Harry had been in, worrying his lip and staring off into the distance. So many thoughts and feelings had rushed through him in that moment, so many questions about where he'd been brought to and what had happened, yet none had been stronger than his awe at seeing Draco again after years of nothing.
Things had taken a bit of a turn once Draco had noticed that he'd woken up and they'd quickly tumbled into their first fight of many in their slow descend into friendship. It had taken a couple of years for Draco to trust him enough with the minor tasks that he couldn't get to himself with the little time he had in a day. These days, it was almost a given that Harry ran him errands and took care of anything that he or June needed help with.
Despite everything that he did here being a secret from every other person in his life, Harry had never loved his life more. Over the years, the Morning Glory Sanctuary had become more of a home to him than the house he'd lived in for a decade had ever been. It was only here, at Draco's side, that Harry really felt like himself.
He had worked hard for that, for the visitors, especially, to see him as anyone other than the Chosen One or one of the Aurors, and now he reaped the benefits. Here, some of the regulars saw him as nothing more than Draco's errand boy, while others knew him from his streak of keeping conflict away from Draco and June. He hadn't exactly earned himself the title of bodyguard yet, but some of the more unruly regulars were almost convinced.
Some days, he could even close his eyes and imagine that this wasn't just a shady secret that he returned to time and time again under the guise of patrolling Knockturn. He'd imagine that Draco's private quarters were both of theirs, that he was as much of a father figure to June as Draco was, and that he could happily say that the ring on his ring finger symbolised his union with Draco instead.
Harry frowned and shook his head to clear it. As nice as the fantasies were, dwelling on them didn't do him any good. Without another thought spared, he followed Draco into the room, He found him with his back turned, tucking away his wand. The room was immaculate, like no one had just been there.
"No luck?" Harry asked, chuckling softly when his words startled Draco.
Draco sighed. "What did it sound like?" he asked, giving Harry a wry smile over his shoulder. His frown softened when he noticed the bags floating at Harry's side. "Oh, great," he said with the kind of tired cheerfulness Harry was used to from him this late in the day. Strangely, it wasn't as common when Harry spent more of the day here. "Thank you. Come on."
Harry followed him out of the room and through winding hallways until they arrived at a side door covered with another silver curtain, tucked away in a corner of the large room, that led to Draco's kitchen.
The left wall of the small kitchen and dining area was covered in counters and cupboards with varying preservation charms, the door to Draco's lab right ahead. A small table with three chairs stood in the nearest corner on the right with another door along the right wall leading to a similarly small living room.
Harry floated the bags onto the kitchen island in the middle of the room. With a heavy sigh, Draco sank into one of the chairs at the island, one hand already reaching out for one of the bags.
"So, how was she?" Harry spoke up loudly, snatching the bag Draco had been reaching for and putting it out of his reach as he began unloading and putting away the groceries into the cupboards.
Draco blinked in surprise. His hand fell to the counter with a soft thud. "Not worse than usual," he said, running a hand through his hair. "Crata again, twice times over. But Wick is making progress."
"Hey, that's good!" Harry smiled at Draco over his shoulder. The old man that owned an old antique shop down the street had come into the shop last night, asking for some assistance with a bashful grin missing at least half of his teeth, but that wasn't what he'd needed help with. "How's his leg?"
"Attached," Draco revealed happily. "It was a nasty infection. I really wonder how he got that. He lucked out that I still had some Dittany left, otherwise I never could have taken care of it in time."
"Dittany? We ran out of Dittany?" Harry wondered, frowning in alarm.
Draco waved him off with a chuckle. "I sent June to get some in time. Stop sweating, no one went without."
"Still," Harry muttered. He vanished the empty bag with a wave of his hand and summoned the second one. "I've been so busy with mandatory meetings, I didn't even notice."
"Like the meetings aren't your actual job." Draco scoffed. His chair scraped over the floor as he stood up. "We can manage a week without you, you know," Draco said, leaning against the counter next to Harry. Harry shot him nothing more than a quick glance as he busied himself with the groceries. "Nothing's going to happen in the few days you're not here."
"I know." Harry sighed. He froze when he felt Draco's hand on his lower arm, stilling his motions and drawing his attention to Draco with the ease only he could.
"Do you?"
Harry blinked, words failing him as he watched Draco's raised eyebrow settle into a frown. "Yeah," he mumbled, wishing that he could look away from Draco's captivating pale grey eyes to stop them from peering into his very soul.
Draco broke their eye contact with a sigh. Harry instantly missed the warmth of his hand when Draco crossed his arms over his chest and turned away from him. "June's of age now," he started.
"I know, I just gave her her present."
Draco's frown smoothed out just a little with the small smile that spread across his face. "Thank you," he breathed, like Harry had given him the gift instead. Those two words said in that gentle tone did all the worst things to Harry's heart. "My point is," he continued, his tone hardening once more. "The two of us are more than capable of picking up the odd jobs you do in your absence."
Harry huffed a laugh. "You're saying you don't need me around?"
"That's not—" Draco started sharply, shooting Harry a glare before turning to face him all the way. Two warm hands came up to hold Harry's cheeks and force him to meet Draco's eyes. It was all Harry could do not to lean in, their proximity suddenly overwhelming.
"It's a week, Potter," he breathed through clenched teeth. "As useful as you may or may not be, we can manage a week picking up the slack when you're out doing your real, actual job. It's not like it's forever." Draco sighed deeply, his arms falling to his side before Harry could have made the mistake of holding him back.
"I... appreciate all you do here, truly," he said quietly, the slightest flush blossoming on his cheeks that had Harry transfixed, his previous upset forgotten in the face of Draco and his surprisingly kind words. "You do help, and June likes having you around, but you have to go. Your job depends on it."
That was more true than Draco would ever know, Harry thought sourly. "I know." He sighed deeply, but failed to hold back his smile. "Thank you."
Draco scoffed and summoned the bag with potions ingredients before Harry could stop him. "Don't sweat it, Potter," he mumbled as he set off for his potions lab through the door on Harry's right.
"It's Harry," Harry called after him with a grin. He laughed when Draco gave him the finger without looking back.
✩⋆☾⋆✩
"...and then, somehow, a Bludger comes out of nowhere and hits him! We thought it was the one all the way across the pitch at first, but it turned out that the second one was much closer than we'd thought and Rockwood—"
"I'm leaving tonight," Harry spoke up loudly as he directed his magic to take care of his dishes with a wave of his hand.
Ginny paused her enthusiastic rambling to frown at him in confusion, her fork and knife raised in midair, where her wild gesturing had left them. "Oh, I thought that was tomorrow," she said flippantly.
"No, tonight," Harry said stiffly, actively ignoring the half-finished plate in front of her. It had gone cold at least five minutes ago, but it wasn't like she cared about that these days. Harry sometimes wondered why he still bothered to make her anything. So they wouldn't pick a fight, he supposed. "I need to finish packing."
"Of course." She waved him off. "Go do that. I'll finish up here."
"Right," Harry mumbled, sparing Ginny one more glance as his magic stored his cleaned dishes away into the cupboards. She was gazing distractedly out the window, worrying her bottom lip like she was struggling not to continue her story to her own reflection before he left.
He didn't offer her to join him upstairs. She'd probably decline, say that she had things to do without elaborating on what things that were, and it wasn't worth the headache he already felt coming on. Despite how little of his job he took seriously these days, this was an actually important mission that would determine the fate of dozens of innocent civilians.
So, instead, he wished her a goodnight that likely fell on deaf ears and headed upstairs and into their bathroom without waiting for a response.
Last night, he'd already taken care of most of his luggage, so all he had left to do now was get his toiletries together and look over everything once more before his Portkey went off in an hour. That shouldn't take more than a couple of minutes; he should be out of the house in ten tops.
The mission was estimated to take up to a week, though most of it would be spent staking out the location and targets in preparation of what was promised to be the biggest bust of his career yet. Frankly, he would have cared far more about that a decade ago, when he'd just started out with the Aurors, but now...
Harry sighed deeply, his thoughts straying as they often did these days, away from his job, and his friends, and his life with Ginny. They landed on earlier, on giving June the present for her seventeenth birthday, on watching Rosalind hobble away, stubbornly denying help like she always did, on Draco. Just Draco.
Well, no, not just Draco. It was never just Draco. Not these days.
Draco's laugh came to him first. The rare one that Harry only heard when he was either particularly happy or utterly exhausted. It wasn't often that a laugh that bright echoed through the Morning Glory Sanctuary, but when it did... Merlin. Harry still hadn't recovered from the last time, a few days ago, when he'd made a deeply sleep deprived Draco laugh with a joke so bad that he couldn't even remember it.
Just second to that was his smile—any of them. The tired ones early in the morning or after a long day. The small, private ones when something was going well and the proud, lopsided ones when something had gone well. The surprised ones directed at Harry personally when he would on occasion show up at the Sanctuary without prior warning.
Those last ones were his favourites. They could make Harry feel all warm and giddy for hours, even when he'd returned to the Ministry, or home, as long as he didn't run into Ginny or Ron before the feeling had faded. That was when the guilt set in, that pesky, nagging feeling deep in his gut that he sometimes wished he could carve out with a knife.
He wasn't an idiot, after all. He knew what he felt for Draco and what he hadn't felt for Ginny in years. Sometimes, he questioned if he'd ever even felt that way about Ginny in the first place. What he felt for Draco was powerful, this all-consuming thing that had too easily drawn him in and locked him into a second, secret life away from anyone who wasn't home to the darkest corners of the Wizarding World.
But as guilty as he might feel when faced with all the people he was betraying and lying to, he still went to go see Draco, even with the silver band on his left ring finger. He still came home to Ginny every night, even though he fell asleep to thoughts of Draco. He was still locked in this union that had lost all its meaning years ago and, despite how much he wanted to, he couldn't leave.
So he would keep playing this game of secrecy. He left Ginny to do whatever she wanted to do, which centred around her professional Quidditch career more often than not these days, and he would keep seeing Draco, holding out no hope that anything could ever happen between them.
These feelings, and how much he let himself indulge in them, already went a step too far. Which he knew, damn it. He knew everything that he did crossed so many fucking lines, but how was he supposed to leave Draco's side when he had nothing to return to?
Ginny hardly even looked at him these days, not even when she talked his ears off about whatever had happened at practice. She didn't ask him questions about his day beyond an occasional, "How was work?", even when she had finally run out of stories. Truly, it was no wonder how he'd managed to keep his second life a secret for so long.
Harry couldn't even remember the last time they'd snogged or had anything resembling intimacy. As true as it was that he hadn't initiated anything in years, she hadn't either! The most they'd done recently was hold hands and share the occasional peck on the cheek when people were watching, like this ten-year-old marriage was just another performance for the public.
It was sickening, and the only time it didn't threaten to overwhelm Harry was when he was with Draco, so damn him if he let himself have the one thing that still brought him some peace and happiness. Honestly, they should have never married straight out of the War. Harry should have never let her—
"What the fuck?"
Where had his trunk gone? He'd left it right there, next to the closet, stuffed full of clothes and almost ready for tonight. So where...
Harry looked around the bedroom furiously for his trunk, bag with shrunk toiletries in hand. He was about to shout for Ginny, already forcing his breathing to stabilise so he wouldn't yell at her for something that might not have even been her doing, when he found it on top of the closet.
A wandless Accio summoned it with a bit more force than expected for how full it was supposed to be. It fell open on the ground with a clear thud. Empty.
Dozens of emotions washed over Harry all at once, anger and frustration and resentment coming over him in such aggressive waves that he almost shouted for Ginny regardless, consequences be damned. He took a deep breath to calm himself, but when he exhaled, he was left with nothing but utter exhaustion, all his energy drained out of him.
A quick glance at his watch showed what he'd already feared—he'd dallied, letting himself think about Draco and get mad about the state of his life all over again, and now he was out of time. His Portkey was leaving in ten minutes at the Ministry and all he had was a small bag of toiletries, an emptied trunk, and the clothes on his back.
He didn't trust his magic in his current state, too familiar with his own outbursts at this point. After throwing his bag of toiletries into his trunk, he scrambled around his closet for anything remotely wearable. It was only a week, after all, and Draco wouldn't be there to remark on any poor fashion or freshening charms.
It would all be fine.
Five minutes later, he had a trunk so light that it didn't even require any charms to lift comfortably and so empty that his bag of toiletries would have made much less of a racket had he not shrunk it down. Still, he'd already wasted enough time, so he hurried down the stairs, unsure if he even wanted to run into Ginny.
He didn't.
All he saw before leaving was a short note left behind on the cabinet next to the front door with a tin of ginger snaps.
Off to practice
Have a match next week Thursday so probably won't be here when you come home
Have these ginger snaps. Good luck!
✩⋆☾⋆✩
Oh, what Harry wouldn't give for a round with Draco...
He could be so good for Draco, he knew it. Draco hadn't been in a relationship in years, if ever, and he never even went out for a hook-up, too busy taking such good care of the Sanctuary and its visitors. But Harry was right there, some days for hours at a time. Draco must have considered him at some point, right? Even if it was just for one round?
That would be good enough, Harry figured. He could live with getting to fuck Draco just once. Perhaps he could take the chance to kiss him, too. Fuck, Harry had been wanting to kiss him for so long. Those pretty pink lips... How would they look after making out for hours? And around his cock? Could they get even prettier than they already were?
Could Draco somehow get even prettier than he already was, spread out underneath Harry as he finally got the chance to take him apart piece by piece? What would he sound like once Harry got his mouth on him? Draco seemed like the kind of person to get all whiny and restless if you teased him, and oh, how Harry would love to see his face when he was brought right to the brink only to be left hanging...
Just one chance!
Would begging work on him? Harry could do that. He'd even get on his knees and add in some compliments, finally say the things that he'd been keeping so close to his heart for far too long. Draco would have to appreciate that, right? And then Harry could finally get his hands on him.
His hands wouldn't be confined to simple, friendly touches on shoulders and arms anymore. He could let them roam all over Draco's long, lean body, could feel what it was like to hold that waist in his hands, to pull him in at those hips or squeeze that arse just to hear the inevitable grumble.
And he could kiss Draco.
Oh Merlin, he could kiss Draco.
Fuck.
"...sure you don't need a Healer, Auror Potter?"
"Huh?" Harry tried to blink away the sudden blurriness, squinting at the figure in front of him. It took him more than a couple of seconds to remember that he'd taken off his glasses. He rushed to put them on, ignoring the sharp pain in his right shoulder at the movement, and awkwardly cleared his throat.
Auror Colton came into focus a little slower than usual, but that was probably just the tiredness, and perhaps all the blood he'd lost at the moment to both his cock and a few cuts and scrapes from the mission. He shook off the daze, grimacing when it made his neck ache something strange.
"Ah... yes, thank you. I have a personal Healer." Draco. I need Draco.
"Are you sure? You really don't look too well," Auror Colton tried again. Even though the blurriness was gone, his colleague's face still swam before his eyes. It was doing nothing good to his headache. Or his erection, for that matter, but for that he blamed his lingering thoughts of Draco.
Harry grumbled, frustration rising in him. "I'm fine," he spat. Only Draco. No one else.
Auror Colton gave him a look, but Harry no longer paid him any mind. Only a couple more minutes until the Portkey to the Ministry, and then he could Apparate straight to the Morning Glory Sanctuary and see Draco.
Draco...
The little laugh that came out of him was strained with the sudden flare of pain in his side, but none of the pain he felt from his injuries was strong enough to overpower his excitement at the prospect of seeing Draco again after a week of only letters and bitesized versions of his homemade treacle tarts.
Even though the little squares of treacle tart had been as delicious as Draco always made them, they had only managed to partially soothe the ache of not seeing Draco for eight entire days. This mission had taken more out of him than it should have because of all his slacking these past couple of years. Most of his body was covered with weird pains and aches, and he was more tired than he could remember being in years.
But it didn't matter—none of it mattered—because his Portkey would activate in three... two... one—
Harry hardly felt the pull behind his navel, hardly comprehended his colleagues words as he filed out of the Portkey office with them. Someone could be calling out for him, wanting a chat or trying to force him to St. Mungo's regardless, but he didn't hear them. He went right outside, his mind clouded with thoughts and images of Draco, some of them seriously toeing the line on what were acceptable thoughts to have about a friend you had a crush on.
He immediately Apparated to the Morning Glory Sanctuary, lucking out when he landed right at the front door. He'd relied mostly on familiarity, even though he could faintly remember being highly advised against doing just that when Apparating. The chime of the door was as cheerful as ever, but it clashed painfully with the drum in his ears and his aching head. He needed Draco.
Within seconds of his entrance, there was shouting. The fuzzy image of a girl appeared in front of him, her one visible eye wide and holding more shock than Harry had ever seen it. He winced away from her touch, words failing him as he tried to ask for Draco. June looked utterly horrified despite his blurred vision, her head whipping behind her every so often, her yelling never quieting.
Harry raised a hand to hold his pounding head, an ache in his hip making him stumble. Right as he was about to force his way past June and into the back in search of Draco himself, there was movement in the back of the shop before another figured appeared. This one was taller, his clothes darker and hair brighter than June's. Draco.
Draco's blurry figure rushed at him. Harry met him halfway, trying to reach out and call out for Draco even as he lost his footing and everything went black.