Archive of Our Own

“So…I guess Malfoy is a bird now?”

“Hmm, what type? Albino crow? Always figured his animagus would be a ferret.” 

“No, sorry mate. I meant like a girl. He is now a she.” 

Harry, mid drink, almost spit his beer across the table. Coughing, he pounded a fist against the burn in his sternum.

“I- what?” He sputtered out, finally gulping a fresh breath of air.

“Yeah.” Ron was nodding his head across the table. “I heard it from Hermione. Who heard about it from a junior cleric. Bunch of paperwork had to be filed.”

It was their monthly ‘best friends in different stages of life bro catch up’ at the pub night. After Ron had gone through all of his recent parenting anecdotes (of which Harry had attempted to sympathize but could not relate) they had fallen into an awkward silence. Harry was trying to recall his current cases and any interesting, but not confidential, snippets when Ron had broken the silence with this piece of absolute mindfuckery. 

Harry was attempting to picture it. This involved a very gangly Malfoy wobbling on stilettos and scowling. 

“So, er, he like, transitioned? How does that work with magic?”

“No, no,” Ron was shaking his head. “He was never a bloke or some wild shit like that.”

“What? Ron, I’m lost. Malfoy most definitively is, uh, was a guy.” Not that Harry was looking. 

Quidditch pants did not leave much to imagination. 

“I don’t know. Hermione wasn’t really supposed to overhear this. She definitely wasn’t supposed to tell me. Just- how could she not? Right?” Harry laughed. It was good seeing Ron so animated. “I wasn’t supposed to say anything to you either, mate. But, blimey - it’s Malfoy!”

“Ron, you can’t drop this type of intel and not know more. I am so confused.” 

Also, intrigued. Harry would not say that out loud though. He always did have a weird thing with the blonde ferret. 

His red headed friend slapped a hand on the table, snickering. “You’re always confused, Harry. I guess something to do with old family magics. Dark shit.” Ron was shaking his head again. “This is why you don’t mess with that crap. One morning you wake up and—bam! Your willy is gone.” 

After a good chuckle they lapsed into a more comfortable silence.

“You know I’m not going to be able to let this go, right?”

“Of course, mate. Calculated risk.” Ron was smirking. “Just be sure to tell me everything.” 

——-

Harry’s first order of business was to draft a list of everyone he knew who could have potential intel on the Malfoy family movements post war. He ranked them in order of who he wanted to interview. This was based on level of access and knowledge. Then, he began to add names of potential acquaintances of Malfoy, planning how to acquire their addresses. 

Finally, Harry stood up, ripped the list in half and walked down to files for Malfoy’s current address, listed in his parole file. And, because he was Harry Fucking Potter, he disapparated directly from the DMLE, in the middle of the day, to the aforementioned destination. 

Malfoy lived in a two story townhouse, with elegant ivy climbing the facade and light that appeared to hit the widows just right. Disoriented, Harry felt like he had stepped into a storybook. The scent of geraniums and roses enveloped him as he walked the front stairs to knock. Even the front door was painted an inviting shade of teal. 

A tall blonde opened the door. Momentarily forgetting why he was there Harry stumbled on his wording. “Er, I was looking for Malfoy. I mean, is Malfoy here?” 

She glared. 

He understood immediately. “Uh, that is… Hello Malfoy.”

Because of course she was. But, also, she wasn’t. The face was the same, but smaller and more delicate. Less pointy, more aristocratic. His/her hair was the same shocking white blonde, now shoulder length with a soft wave. Still tall, still skinny— with the addition of soft curves in the front and hips. Actually, Harry was sure Malfoy was taller than him by the end of year six. This Malfoy was slightly shorter. Heels would reverse that. 

On this particular morning she was wearing black house slippers. His/her shirt was a billowy white button up, paired with tailored tan slacks. 

The gleaming gray eyes were one hundred percent those of Draco Malfoy. That was a glare Harry would never forget. 

“Potter.”

There it was. They way he/she spat out his name, enunciating every syllable. The tone may have been higher, but the rasp on the tail end of that accent was the same. 

At school, every time Malfoy had said his name Harry was filled with an irrational desire to deck him in the face. That was not what he was filled with today. 

Harry shifted, uncomfortable with his trousers and this line of thinking. 

For Merlin’s sake, Malfoy was a death eater. Former Death eater. On parole maybe-maybe not reformed Death eater. No matter the current state of their genitalia.

While he was standing there, slackjawed like an idiot, Malfoy went to slam the door in his face. Harry slid a booted foot into the doorway.

“So, Malfoy, what have you been up to?”. 

“Not breaking my parole, Auror Potter,” she drawled.

“Not here officially. Just dropping in. Thought we could catch up.”

“You’re not going to leave, are you?”

“No.” His smile was all teeth. 

Still glaring, Malfoy opened the door and gestured inside.

“You might as well come in. I prefer not to give the neighbors a show.”

Malfoy led him into a sitting room, which was immediately to their right. 

A large window illuminated the room with natural light, allowing Harry to easily skim the titles of numerous books lining the walls. Charm, ancient runes, repair of magical items, warding, ancestral estates, cleansing dark magics. 

Interesting. 

Harry sat on a well worn velvet settee. It was low enough that his knees creaked. 

“I’ll put on tea.” 

Malfoy disappeared into the house, leaving Harry to his gather his thoughts. He should work on his game plan. Malfoy reappeared, carrying a tea tray with an assortment of biscuits. 

“Just simple breakfast tea. I hope you don’t mind.”

When Harry looked up from making his tea, Malfoy was staring at him beneath the rim of his/her own cup, steam rising artfully above it. They had carefully arranged themselves into a relaxed position. 

Harry observed the tension in Malfoy’s hands. Even as another gender he knew the tells, honed from years of studying Malfoy across a dining hall. 

“I would ask why you’re here, but we were never the type to play those games. I can assume, from your lack of surprise and dismal attempt at discernment, that you heard about my situation.” Malfoy took a sip from her/his cup. “Surprised it took this long. You always seemed to know exactly what I didn’t want you to.”

Harry jumped right in. That was his strong suit anyway. 

“Er, are you a girl or a boy? Neither? I am not sure how to refer to you and it’s making my head hurt.”

Malfoy rolled his/her eyes. “That’s a low bar, considering you’ve been a walking headache your entire life. If you must know, I’m very female. Still getting used to it myself.”

“Huh. Ok. Did you, uh, always feel like a female?”

Harry was imagining a young Draco Malfoy, stifled and controlled in his stuffy family, unable to be who he wanted to be. That could explain some of the bullying at such a young age.

Malfoy chuckled. “Merlin, no. I never even thought of it.”

That theory went out the window. 

“What? You just decided to reinvent yourself one day? Reformed death eater no longer working for you?”

She was smirking now. Harry was hit with a visceral reminder of a young Malfoy, reveling in knowing something others did not. 

“I’m still the same person, Potter. I’m not ‘reinventing’ anyone. This is just who I have always been… apparently.”

There was some truth in that statement; Harry’s most pressing emotion around Malfoy had always been annoyance. “Stop being coy, Malfoy. You know what I’m asking.”

“Ahh,” she leaned forward, that smirk still plastered to her face. “I could tell you…but you would need to sign an NDA first.” 

Malfoy then stood up, strode across the room, and pulled out a thick stack of papers from a drawer. “You’re in luck, Potter. I happen to keep extras here for just this situation.”

Dumbfounded, Harry gaped as she accio’ed a quill and then handed both to him. 

He immediately dropped them on the floor and kicked them under the settee. 

“I’m not signing any fucking papers. How stupid do you think I am? We don’t even have our lawyers here.”

Malfoy was pouting. Legit, bottom lip pushed out, pouting. 

Harry wanted to do something violent.

“Fine. You’ve never been any fun, Potter. But I swear to Merlin, if you sell this information to the press I will make it my new life’s mission to ruin you.”

Now Harry was rolling his eyes. “Dramatic much, Malfoy? I wouldn’t piss on those leeches if they were on fire.”

“Doubt that Mr. Hero Complex, but I get your point.” 

She had finished up her tea and started fiddling with the cup, running a finger around the rim. Nervous habit, first noted during third year.

“Do you know much about ancestral estates and homes, Potter?”

Harry shrugged, “No, not really an interest of mine.”

Draco sent him a doleful look. “Well, it’s mine. A product of how I was raised. The intended heir of a large and ancient magical estate. It’s a lot of responsibility.”

She had wandered over to one of the bookshelves and pulled out a book. It was well worn and opened easily to the page she wanted. Malfoy then indicated Harry should take it, before sitting down next to him. 

It was an intricate drawing of Malfoy Manor, followed by a detailed history.

“My family built the Manor in the 13th century, and it has been occupied by an heir continuously since. Do you know how rare that is, Potter? Do you understand how much magic has gone into that particular place?”

Harry didn’t respond; it was a rhetorical question. 

“I always felt loved in the Manor. Connected. Drawn to it. Malfoy Manor was anchored to me, and me to it. But… that is what those places are meant to do. It does not mean they love you. It does not mean they, too, cannot become dark.”

Malfoy may have been next to Harry, but her gaze was miles away. 

“He broke something. The Dark—Voldemort.” She swallowed. “It didn’t feel like home anymore. It felt dead. It was rotting from the inside out, and I was the necromancer. It was anchored to me, and me to it, and I was terrified, always. That the rot would spread to me, and consume me alive. Until all that was left was a shell, a body with the name Malfoy. Puppeted by an inanimate building consumed with lineage.”

She visibly shuttered and shook out her hands, before smiling. “Anyway, that was why, when it came time to talk reparations, I jumped at the chance to sign over the Manor. Once Father died, of course. Which he did, if you recall, two years ago.”

Harry considered giving his condolences; but he didn’t want to, and he didn’t feel sorry. 

“Of course, I didn’t know, at the time, about the enchantments. None of us did. They were never written down. Typical of those old purebloods. Always so secretive.” She rolled her eyes. “Even if I had known…I’m not sure if I would have kept it. Regardless, it’s done. And here I am.”

She had spread her arms out. Harry chivalrously ignored how it highlighted her breast. 

“Enchantments?”

“Oh, yes. Remember how I said our lineage was unbroken? How rare that is? What a coincidence each male heir begot exactly one male heir generation after generation!” Malfoy sent him a rueful glance. “It must obviously be a sign that the Malfoy’s were greater than all the others, chosen by the Gods, destined for magic! Nothing to do, at all, with a highly illegal dark magic ritual woven into the wards of Malfoy Manor itself. Ask me how I know, Potter. Go on— ask me.” 

“Er… how do you know?”

“Oh, well my first clue was that, the very day after the manor was completely transferred out of my ownership, I woke up and discovered I was bleeding. From my vagina.” She made sure to draw out every syllable of the word. “Which I did not have the night before. Nor had I ever, at any point in my life prior. My vagina, Potter.”

Harry flinched. Malfoy laughed. 

“Yeah, exactly.”

“What did you do?”

“I freaked the fuck out, of course. I thought maybe I had been cursed. I called for Mother and she freaked the fuck out. Then took me to see the Goblins, who know more about curses and discretion than any Healer.” 

“They ran a bunch of test, only to tell me I wasn’t cursed. That I was, in fact, a female. Then they used some stored blood samples —oh, don’t give me that look, all pure blooded families do it— and it revealed I had always, in fact, been a female.”

“What? I still don’t get that.” Harry hated being confused. It felt like being a kid again, always in the dark. 

“Honestly, it’s some muggle magic. No, not magic, science? I tried to read up on it. Something with embryos, and development, and chromosomes? They give them letters. Males have a Y and females don’t? Ask Granger.”

“So you were born female?”

“No, you dipwit. I was a boy. My mother has eyes. The Manor apparently has, or had, a bunch of enchantments and warding layered in it. One of them ensured succession. That each male heir begot exactly one male heir to preserve the lineage, aka the Manor.”

“The Manor used creepy house magic to turn you into a boy?”

“No! Well, yes. But that’s a dumb way to put it.” The lip pout was back. Harry was not going to admit how cute it was. 

“So then, when you relinquished the Manor, what exactly happened?”

“They think it must have something to do with the wording of the original enchantments. Once the Manor became untethered to the Malfoy lineage, or once I removed myself as owner, the original curse no longer applied and was effectively broken. Freeing me from the prison of my male body and liberating me to become the woman I was meant to be.” 

Malfoy fluttered her eyelashes dramatically. Unsure what to say, Harry sat wide eyed. 

“That was a joke, you lummox. Merlin, why do people put up with you? Give me your tea cup before you break it.”

Malfoy cleaned up the tea service while Harry collected himself. 

She returned, leaning with her back against the doorframe. “Well? Thoughts? Questions?”

“It’s, er, a lot. Yeah.” Harry ran a hand through his hair, overwhelmed with the information dump. 

“I’m sort of surprised you told me all this.”

Malfoy placed a foot on the opposite frame, emphasizing the arch in her back. Then she tipped her head back, elongating her neck, and stared pensively up at the ceiling. “You’re the chosen one. Who am I to deny you?” 

Before he could process that particular statement Malfoy looked down, locking eyes with him from under her eyelashes. “Do you think I’m pretty now? Do you want to fuck me, Potter?”

Harry felt the blood rushing to his face, and, unfortunately, his groin. “Er—I don’t—”

Malfoy was doubled over laughing. She could barely catch her breath. “Your face. Oh Merlin, the look on your face.” She wiped moisture from the corner of her eyes. 

Still chucking, she stood up and sauntered across the room, towards the front door. “Get the fuck out of my house now, Potter. I better not hear one word about this encounter from anyone. Keep your stupid, ugly, mouth shut.”

Harry had the best wank of his entire life that night. Ginny was right, he did like them mean. 

—————

Two days later, Harry was knocking on Malfoy’s door.

He didn’t plan to go back. 

It was afternoon, and she was wearing a silky cream blouse, another pair of fitted trousers, and black leather flats. 

“Stalking me already, Potter?”

“Do you want to grab dinner?” 

He didn’t plan to ask that. 

Malfoy’s smile was slow, but blinding. Harry was sure, in that moment, that he had never actually seen them smile before. 

“Oh,” she said. “You actually want to fuck me.”

He didn’t attempt to deny or accept it. 

“Let me grab my stuff.”

They went to a cafe down the street. It wasn’t wizarding, which suited them both. Malfoy seemed comfortable there. 

It felt like a date. It definitely wasn’t, but, also, it could be. 

Everything about Draco Malfoy these days was shades of gray. Harry didn’t even know if that was her name anymore. 

“How was your day?”

“Hmm. It was ok. I saw Mother. Oh, look, the special today is a risotto. I think I’ll get that. Are you drinking?”

“Er, yeah. I could.”

“Want to split a bottle? They have a nice selection here.”

“Sure. You can choose. So your mother— Just ok?”

“Yeah. I love her. She can be difficult though. Especially now.”

A server arrived and Malfoy pivoted to order. Harry was getting whiplash from the back and forth. 

“What do you mean, especially now?”

“Since my miraculous rebirth, of course.” She rolled her eyes. “Mother feels I’m not representing her well. She missed critical years where she could have been teaching me how to be a proper lady. It’s all bullshit. Oh, good! Here’s the wine.”

Malfoy took a large sip, closing her eyes and sighing. “That’s better.”

She poured him a glass. “Now you.”

Harry tasted the wine and nodded approvingly. “Better than what I would have gotten.”

“Obviously.”

“I never thought about it before. What sort of stuff does a proper lady need to know?”

“Right?” She scoffed. “That is the question. Mostly she just wails, and tells me all the things I’m doing wrong. The way I dress, the way I walk, my hair, the way I talk.”

Harry was startled. “How you talk? What does that mean?”

Malfoy leaned in. “Apparently, I cuss too much. It’s not proper.”

Harry thought of his ex wife and laughed. “Ginny cussed like a sailor. And she was most definitely female. All of her life.”

The knowing look was back. “You always did have a type, hmm Potter?”

“I don’t know what you mean by that, Malfoy.”

“Yes you do. Anyway, let’s move on. Unless, you want to talk about what happened with you and the littlest Weasley? I am curious.”

“No.” Harry scowled, all the humor chased from his face. That one still felt too raw to touch. He didn’t know when the wound would close. 

“Ok, ok.” Malfoy held up her hands in mock surrender. “Can’t blame a girl for attempting to gossip.”

“…Did that feel weird? Calling yourself that. It felt weird for me.”

“A little.” She stared out beyond the table. “It gets easier. The more I lean into it.” The sly smile returned. “And it doesn’t stop you from wanting to fuck me.” 

“Shut up, Malfoy. I never said that.” But he was smiling, amused in spite of himself.  “I never asked, how long have you, you know.”

“Had a vagina?”

“Stop saying it like that!”

“Does the word vagina make you uncomfortable, Potter? I expected better from our progressive paragon of the ministry!” She batted her eyelashes. Harry rolled his eyes. 

“Almost a year now.”

“Have you, er, tried it out? You know, been with someone?”

“Oh, Potter,” Malfoy reached across the table and ran a finger down the back of his hand. “Has anyone told you that you have such an elegant way with words?” 

She sat up and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. Harry intensively tracked the movement. 

“I assume you are asking if I have, indeed, fucked someone.”

He nodded. 

“Of course! Who do you think I am?”

Their food choose that moment to arrive. The Auror in Harry needed details. He waited until the server left before blurting out — “How was it?”

Malfoy scrunched her nose. “Kinky.” She thoughtfully chewed a bite of risotto. 

“It’s good. Or, it can be good. It can also be awful. Very different than being the guy. Back then, I just needed a warm body. Insert penis to the power of ten. Pleasure achieved. Now, my choice of partner matters more.”

“How many guys have you been with? Not that I care.”

“Potter, you seem to forget. I, too, was a guy. Of course you fucking care. But, it’s also none of your business.”

Sufficiently chided, he kept his mouth shut. 

“You’re not the first with this reaction. From school, that is. Blaise and Theo have both graciously offered me the use of their dicks.”

If Harry could have found a dignified way to sink under the table, he would have.

“I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable, Malfoy. I think…I’m just confused. I don’t really understand what’s going on or my reactions.”

“Yeah. I know.” Malfoy was pushing around some of the risotto on her plate with her fork. “And I understand the feeling. I wasn’t completely honest.”

Harry snorted. 

“Yes, what a surprise.” There was a smile playing at the edge of her lips. “I did have some confusion over my sexuality. Before this. When I still had a dick. Mostly, I was conflicted about the people I was attracted to. And maybe I had some tendencies that Father liked to call ‘feminine.’ So I can’t say that I am unhappy now, or that I would go out of my way to reverse it.” She sighed. “I just think it’s a big change. It will take awhile to get comfortable.”

They fell into easy general banter for the remainder of dinner. Harry talked about some of his older well publicized cases at the DMLE, since he was a workaholic and those were the safest subjects. 

Malfoy was humming at a particular anecdote, spooning the last bite of dessert into her mouth. Harry valiantly tried not to gawk as she twisted the spoon and pulled it out with an obscene pop. 

“Do you plan to fuck me tonight or not, Potter? If so, you can get the tab.”

Harry paid the bill. 

————

It was, objectively, the best sex of his life. 

Malfoy kissed like it was a competition, no inhibition. Just wet, and tongue, and fistfuls of hair. 

When she rubbed against him it was with the sense that she genuinely did not care if Harry liked it. When she pushed him to the bed, then grabbed that same head of hair to guide him between her legs, he willingly followed. And when she impatiently demanded that he “get me ready for that chosen cock, already” Harry could only laugh and then devote himself fully to the cause. 

Malfoy demanded that she cast the protection charms, because Harry was a “bumbling fool who only knew one spell.” Then she fucked him so well he learned that seeing stars was not a metaphor. 

Laying face first in the world's softest sheets, Harry shivered. Malfoy was running a finger up and down his back, sliding against the rapidly cooling sweat. 

“I always wondered what you would be like in bed.” 

“Hmm. Did I pass?” 

“Darling… I give that performance an O. Outstanding.”

She began running her fingers through his hair, gently untangling the strands. 

“That was even better than with Blaise. And we all know what his mother is.” She waggled her eyebrows. 

Harry pushed himself up onto his forearms. “Wait, you slept with Zambini?”

Malfoy laughed. “Don’t pout Potter. I just told you that you were better.”

He felt irrationally annoyed. Which Harry knew was a ridiculous feeling that had no merit. 

“Can you call me, Harry?” He snapped. 

“You always were the jealous type.” Malfoy leaned over to squeeze his biceps. She was awfully touchy. Harry hated how much he liked it. “I’ll think about it.”

“Hey,” he had a sudden thought. “Do you still go by Draco? Or something else?”

“Awfully presumptuous of you, to assume you can use my first name.” Her words were crisp, but Malfoy continued to run her hands up and down his shoulders, lightly massaging. This entire situation was fucking torture. 

“I still go by Draco. It’s a unique name. I’m still that person. It’s hard to explain.”

“Ok.” 

“My friends call me Dray. Even before.”

“Ok.”

“Mother has been calling me Drea. She still finds it…odd. To call me Draco.”

“Ok.”

Malfoy flipped him over, leaning down until her hair made a curtain around them. When she pulled at his bottom lip with her teeth he rose to meet her, opening his mouth wider and sinking into the kiss. 

“I’m going to suck your cock now. Don’t cum. I want you hard enough to ride.”

“Ok.”

Filthy, fucking, perfect Malfoy. 

———

Before the night was over Harry wrung two long moans of “Harry” out of Malfoy. Not that he was counting. 

Once they were both blissfully fucked out, but after he had recovered some semblance of sanity, he went about the awkward task of collecting his clothing and crafting some sort of farewell. “Thanks for being an awesome fuck” sounded too crass. 

Malfoy smoothed the transition for him. “Oh good. I was worried I might have to kick you out in order to get some sleep.” She rolled into the center of the bed, gathering blankets. “Thanks for the cleaning charm. And the dicking.”

“No problem.” 

“Do it again sometime?”

Harry ran a hand through his hair. Then stuck his foot in his mouth. “Nothing personal, but I don’t do relationships anymore.” 

Malfoy giggled, raising an impervious eyebrow. “What makes you think I do?”

So, he kept coming back. Malfoy was always there, and she always invited him inside. 

Harry wasn’t lying when he said he didn’t do relationships anymore. Ever since Ginny, he couldn’t let himself be vulnerable around another person, too full of guilt and self loathing. He would look into their soft hopeful eyes the next morning and feel like an absolute piece of shit. 

So, he stuck to muggle bars, where they didn’t know who he was and couldn’t have inflated expectations. He would hide in the bathroom and disapparate to his home in the early hours of the morning, no tearful goodbyes or gentle suggestions of intimacy. 

With Malfoy, he didn’t have to deal with that guilt. She didn’t do relationships either. She wasn’t soft, or nice, and definitely did not look at him with the dreams of a future shining on her face. 

And, if he did start to feel like an asshole, that mean voice in the back of his mind would remind him— this is Draco Malfoy. She may be changed, but this is still the boy person who became a Death Eater. If Harry maybe fucked her a little rougher after that, or had trouble looking at her face, that stayed between them.

She usually got him back, anyways. Malfoy always could hold her own. 

On one memorable occasion, Harry arrived at the townhouse and knew from the moment she opened the door mischief was brewing. 

“Oh, look! It's a little lost puppy dog. Come for some dinner, boy?”

She was blocking the doorframe, barefoot and wrapped in her dressing gown. Harry waited for this game to play out. 

(He asked once to be added to the wards, only to receive mocking laughter. “You’re good in bed, Potter. But not that good.”)

“I’m beginning to think you’re homeless, Potter. What was it? Gambling? Potion addiction?”

Harry continued to stare. Malfoy hated not getting a rise out of people; he knew she would break soon. 

“Ah, very serious tonight.” That fucking pout, it drove him wild. “Come in if you want, boy. I’ve got some extra juicy steak for you tonight. You like it rare?”

Harry strode past her and began taking off his boots. 

“Malfoy, what the fuck are you talking about?” 

When he stood up Malfoy was standing directly in front of him, smirking maniacally. She cupped him through his pants, squeezing lightly, before leaning close enough to whisper in his ear. 

“Darling, I’m positively bleeding out. It’s a mess down there.”

Harry blanched, stepping back. She followed, squeezing tighter. 

“I want you to eat me out. Unless… you're scared, Potter?”

He knew he shouldn’t let her get to him. She always knew exactly what buttons to push. He knew the smart thing was to walk away, to refuse to play this game. 

It also felt so, so good to give in. 

Ron could never know. Harry wouldn’t be able to live it down. 

————

Ron canceled their next ‘bro’s catch up’ pub night; Rosie was running a fever. The next time they saw each other was at one of the Weasley family dinners. 

Harry had felt awkward attending them, after his fall out with Ginny. He could barely look Molly in the face, knowing how he hurt her only daughter. Seeing Ginny in person, having to socialize and pretend, was like a kick in the stomach. He could hardly eat. 

George had taken to sending him an owl when Ginny wouldn’t be there. Harry wasn’t sure if it was out of kindness or pity. 

Ron, seeing Harry, slapped him on the back. “Harry! You’re a sight for sore eyes! Where have you been?”

“Hello Harry! Glad you’re here tonight.” Hermione, with a tiny sleeping Rosie, wandered in after Ron. 

Before they parted ways, heart and stomach full, Harry readily agreed when Hermione demanded he come over in a few days for dinner. 

“Not like you don’t take every chance to get out of that dreary house anyway,” she had joked. 

He chuckled, mostly because it was true. “I’ll be there, ‘Mione. Should I bring takeout?”

“Curry?” Hermione wasn’t the worst cook (Ron was actually pretty good), but he knew the new parents wouldn’t turn away an offer.

“You know it.” Harry reached over to smooth a finger against Rosie’s sleeping cheek, ignoring the pain in his chest. 

That was how, three days later, he found himself facing off with Ron in the Granger-Weasley living room. 

He had arrived toting a large bag of takeaway. Hermione, frazzled, grabbed the bags and shooed him towards the living room. “Harry! My hero. Come in, Ron’s in there. I’ll grab some plates.”

Rosie was in a baby torture device, being bounced up and down. She seemed happy enough, so Harry went over to greet her. “Hey sweet one.” She grasped onto this finger, trying to pull it towards her mouth. “You don’t want that. Who knows where it’s been.” 

Ron was laughing. 

“She’s got a good grip.”

“Right? That’s what I was saying. Future seeker, that one.”

Hermione clicked her tongue, arriving with supplies for dinner. “Don’t project onto the baby, Ron. We’ve talked about this.”

They had a great meal, laughing and reminiscing about old times. Rosie began fussing and Hermione used her wand to cast a tempus. 

“That’s my cue. Feeding time! I’ll be back.” 

She scooped up Rosie and left the room. 

“Still breastfeeding?”

“Yeah,” Ron nodded. “She’s trying. Pumps during the day and then takes her when she’s home.”

“You, er, enjoying it? Being home with Rosie?”

Ron lit up. “Yeah, mate. It’s grand. I wasn’t sure at first, you know? But it seems to be working out. And I love being with her all day.”

Harry was smiling, but he knew if felt off. He never did have a good poker face. 

Ron backpedaled. “Not that I don’t miss an Auror sometimes. It was great being partners for a while.”

“Yeah. I get it. You were ready for a change though. This sounds like it’s been good.” They hadn’t been partners for a few years now anyway. Since before the divorce.

“Hey!” Ron exclaimed, changing the subject. “Did you ever look into that Malfoy thing?”

Harry really wished he had some skill at not broadcasting his thoughts with his two best friends. 

“You did! Didn’t you?” Ron was laughing. “Of course. So? Is Malfoy now a Mal-she?”

“Er, yeah.”

“Blimey,” the ginger blinked. “I honestly didn’t think that was true. It is? You saw it?”

Harry ran a hand down his face. “I met him—her. We talked. Malfoy is now, and apparently, technically, has always been, a girl.”

“And?”

In hindsight, Ron was definitely probing for more details on what happened. Instead, Harry said— “And I fucked her.”

Ron punched him in the face. 

Moaning on the ground, Harry held a hand to his throbbing eye.

“You fucked him?!” The other man bellowed, looming above. 

“Her.” Harry managed to groan. He never claimed to have good self preservation skills. 

Hermione ran into the room. The clasp was undone on her shoulder, Rosie sucking furiously on her shirt collar. 

“Ron!” She was screaming. “What are you doing?”

Ron’s face turned an alarming shade of red. “It’s Malfoy!”

“Did you punch, Harry? Why would you punch Harry?”

The ridiculousness of the situation hit him. Harry began laughing hysterically. 

“Harry!” It was Hermione. “Are you alright? What is going on here? Ron, stop yelling—“

“No, no,” Harry held up his palm. “Let him ‘Mione. Go ahead, Ron. Let it out. This has been a long time coming.”

Hermione stepped back, unsure. Ron, finally given the opening, let loose. 

“I put up with a lot, Harry. These last few years. But, here you come into my home, after breaking my sisters heart, only to announce you fucked Malfoy? As some sort of transvestite?”

“Language, Ron.”

Harry pushed himself up off the floor, sitting back down in the same spot on the couch.

“What is wrong with you?” Ron was yelling. He kept repeating it. “What is wrong with you? What is wrong with you?”

“What else?” 

“What else?!” Harry saw the metaphorical lid pop. “You want to know, Harry? You really want to know?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. 

Hermione was mumbling, “Ron, don’t. Let’s calm down.” 

They ignored her. 

“You married my sister, Harry. Mine. Who I love. We welcomed you into our family. I consider you my brother. And then, with no warning, you decide, what? That she’s not good enough for you? That you’re not the “type” to settle down? Whatever the fuck that means.”

“You don’t stop once to consider where that leaves me? Did you? My little sister is heartbroken. She loved you, Harry. She thought  it was temporary, that you were coming back to her. Instead, you serve her papers. She has to see your face plastered all over the papers with random women. What is wrong with you,

Harry? Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Sitting on the couch, Harry stared off into the distance. Arguing with an angry person had always felt futile, ever since he was a small child being locked under the stairs. 

Ron was shaking. “You’re my best friend, my brother. I love you. But, I have been so angry. And then—“ the redhead got his second wind. “You just disappear on us. Not the family. On us. Hermione and me. When we need you the most.”

Harry felt the couch sink, the depression of another person sitting down. Hermione had quietly placed Rosie in her cot and was now wrapping her arms around him

“You say the right things, Harry. But we never see you. You’re Rosie’s godfather, and I can count on one hand the number of times you’ve interacted with her.” Ron’s voice rose in pitch with every word.

Harry realized he was crying. That he probably had been for awhile. When he went to wipe at his cheeks it seemed to never end. 

Everything got quiet; Harry could now hear his own soft sobs.

Deflated, Ron sat down on his other side. “Mate.” He shook his head. “Just…mate.”

Hermione pulled him closer. 

“It’s okay, Harry. We got you. It’s ok. Just let it go.”

It was the permission he didn’t know he was waiting for. Suddenly, Harry felt overwhelmed by the visceral reactions happening in his body. He sobbed brokenly into her hair, trying to hide his face. It felt like it would never stop, and he would drown himself in this despair. 

When it finally felt like he could breathe again, when the shame of awareness started creeping up his throat, Harry decided to do the Gryffindor thing and be brave. Part of him wanted to grab his shoes and run. Instead he said, “I can’t have kids.”

Just hearing the words felt so final and raw. He was hiccuping, using the edge of his shirt to wipe away new tracks. 

Neither said anything, so Harry continued. It felt easier now that the worst part had been voiced. 

“We kept trying, Ginny and I. Nothing was happening. We did some test. She thought maybe it was all the quidditch. But, it was me. It’s me.” 

He was crying again. Hermione was softly rubbing his shoulder. 

“And, I know Ron. I know she loved me. And she wanted to stay with me. She said we didn’t need kids.”

“But I do, Ron. I want them so damn much. And I’m so angry at the unfairness of it. Why can’t I finally have something good? Why?”

“I just… I feel like a failure. Like I can’t even do this one thing. She doesn’t deserve me. She deserves more than me. Someone who isn’t so broken and full of rage. I’m not a person anyone should be with. I can’t be.”

“Oh, Harry…You’ve been holding so much back. I wish you would have confided in us earlier.”

“I felt like I couldn’t put this on you. I knew you felt trapped between us, Ron. It wasn’t fair to you. And then you were expecting Rosie. I was so happy, but it hurts so much. Like this aching pain in my chest, at what I will never have.”

Harry laughed self deprecatingly, running his hands through his hair. “It’s so messed up. Who thinks like that? What is wrong with me?”

Ron winced. “Harry, no… Mate, there‘s nothing wrong with you. You’re grieving.”

Hermione nodded. “Yes, exactly. Grieving a life you thought you would have.”

“I wish we had known. Before I lost it on you like that. I feel like a jerk.”

“It’s fine, Ron. I knew you needed it. Things have been off between us. Since the divorce.”

Ron shoved Harry lightly. “Yeah, you berk. Because you’ve been going through a mental and refusing to talk to anyone about it. Come here.”

Both Ron and Hermione were hugging him, the weight pushing Harry deeper into their pit of a couch. 

“I can’t breathe.”

“I think I hear, Rosie.”

“Give her a second to settle, Ron.”

“That’s going to be one hell of a shiner.”

“For god’s sake, let me heal it before you go home, Harry.”

“Great form.”

“Ugh, Boys.”

“You love us.”

“Hey, Harry… did you say you were, uh, with Malfoy?”

“Mmm hmm”

“Any good?”

“Ron!”

“What?”

——

In a good and perfect world, Harry would be going home to his wife and three children. They would lay down next to each other in bed and Harry would tell himself, “I deserve this. I endured, I did the right thing, and now I am reaping the rewards. I am home.” 

Instead, he took one look at the dark ominous hallways of Grimmauld Place, turned on his heel, and disapparated to Malfoy’s. 

It was past midnight; she still answered the door. Then he fucked her right there on the settee in the parlor. It was so intense he felt chaffed the next day. 

Hermione had healed his black eye, but she wasn’t around to heal this. Malfoy laughed hysterically when she saw him waddle in the next evening.

“Potter, this is why smart wizards don’t skip the lubricant.”

In retribution, he shoved her up onto the kitchen counter and used up half of her good olive oil. 

“Not that you would know, but this is not great for my lady bits, Potter.” He snorted at the term ‘lady bits.’

The days began to blend together. 

Harry hated being home. The large dark house only reinforced how lonely he was. Most days, he only spent a few hours there, for clothes and substance, before the itch to leave was crawling under his skin. 

In his worst moods, he had forced himself to lay still in bed, believing this was what he deserved. Then, he had embraced hedonism, and sank into drinking and picking up women. 

Now, he went to Malfoy’s. It wasn’t a relationship, but he didn’t see the point of picking up strangers when he had a good thing going. 

Malfoy was funny, and quick-witted. Many of the things about her were the same as the boy he grew up with. The things that had always drawn Harry in. Only now, they were softened around the edges. 

Harry started to think of her as Draco. 

Strategically, he waited until they were in bed, his messy hair buried between her legs, to ask. 

“Hey, Malfoy?” 

She hummed. “Don’t stop, don’t stop. Damn it Harry.”

“I was thinking…”

“I will stab you in the jugular.”

“Could I call you Draco?”

“Fuck you. I’m so close. Keep going.”

“So? Could I?”

She shrieked. “I don’t give a damn. Get back to work, Potter.”

Harry beamed. “Ok, Draco.” 

Resumed. Then stopped again. 

“Could I call you Dray? Are we friends now?”

He was legitimately worried she might wallop him on the side of his head. Harry chuckled and ducked.

“You are the most useless man I have ever met! I said I don’t care! Don’t stop, don’t stop. Oh, fuck Harry.”

Music to his ears. 

The next morning, after cleaning up, Harry detoured through the kitchen on his way to work. Draco, reading the paper, glanced up and pushed a plate of toast his way. 

“Thanks, Dray.” 

Her fist clenched around the paper. She was too proud to take it back now though. 

He dropped a kiss on top of her head. “See you later.”

To Harry’s further delight, he ascertained that Malfoy had a very particular kink. 

This is how it unfolded:

Harry found himself with a free morning one day and decided to indulge. 

When Malfoy opened the door she was wearing one of her silk shirts. Only, it had been paired with a pleated knee length skirt and strappy sandals. She stood there, halfway through the process of putting on an earring, paralyzed. 

“Morning, Dray.”

“I thought you were Mother.”

“Ahh…” he shoved his hands into his pockets. “Do you want me to leave?”

“Yes.” She slammed the door in his face.  

They acted like nothing happened when he came back that evening. Now, laying in her bed, sated and relaxed, Harry turned over and ran his hands down her back. 

“Hey, Draco…”

“Hmm?” She didn’t bother moving. 

“You looked really pretty this morning.”

Her blonde head perked up, eyes wide. “What?”

“This morning. Before you went to meet your Mother. I thought you looked very pretty.”

“Shut up, Harry. No one wants to hear you talk.” 

But she was blushing, the flush reaching her neck. 

“I just thought you should know.”

“I said shut up.”

She then gave Harry the best damn blowjob. It was so mindblowing he was miffed that she had been holding out on him. Harry would have voiced this complaint, but he couldn’t be bothered to string together a coherent sentence.

As a semi-competent Auror he collected the evidence available, then began to test his hypothesis. 

“You are so damn beautiful,” whispered in the heat of the moment. A bashful hand covered her face. 

“Hmm, pretty,” as he stroked a piece of her hair. Draco promptly dropped her paper and left the kitchen. 

The best results came from the silently vulnerable moments; when he found her wearing or doing something considered traditionally feminine. 

One evening, Harry detected the lingering sheen of lipgloss. Grabbing her chin, he ran a finger softly against her bottom lip. “Lovely.”

“I went out with Pansy earlier. She took me shopping,” Draco rasped. 

“I like it.”

The full body flush was back, her eyes dilated. Harry could only appreciate it for a moment. Draco grabbed him by the nape of his collar and started furiously kissing him. 

“Fuck me. Right here.” 

“Ok.”

His hypothesis was thus proven true. Draco Malfoy got off on being told how pretty she was. Which, having known Draco Malfoy since they were eleven, wasn’t really surprising, 

When Harry saw the strappy sundress hanging in her closet he debated if he should take it further. Then said, fuck it, let’s Gryffindor this. 

“Dray,” he was kissing up the side of her neck. “Could I ask you something?”

“Mmm, yeah.” Harry had reached her ear, pulling it between his teeth. She shrieked. “Stop tickling me.”

He laughed and leaned back on the bed. “I want to see you in that.” 

“In what?”

Harry nodded towards the closet, where he had placed the sundress front and center.

Draco blanched.”That?”

“Yeah, that. The dress.” When she refused to even meet his eyes Harry shrugged. “Unless you don’t want to.” He leaned in, pushing aside her blouse to place wet kisses on the exposed collar bones. “I just thought it would be hot.” 

She suddenly pushed him to the bed, standing up and striding over to the closet. “If you insist.” 

Harry suppressed a laugh, noticing how nervously she was bunching the fabric. 

“Yeah. Definitely. It would be so hot.”

At those words, Draco seemed to gain her confidence. She shimmed out of her blouse and slid the dress on over her head. 

Harry wasn’t always the brightest guy, but he knew it was his time to shine. 

“I knew it. Damn. You are so beautiful.” 

The flush was back.

“Come over here. I want to lift up that dress and fuck you on my lap.”

She was on top of him, legs spread on either side of his. Her eyes wide, dilated. 

“Merlin, I can’t help myself.” He grabbed both ass cheeks, giving them a firm squeeze. “Do you even know what you are doing to me?”

“Shut up, Potter. Shut up, shut up, shut up.” 

Harry knew better. He continued, spouting off nonstop about how beautiful, pretty, lovely she was. Draco rode him with abandon; legs quivering until her whole body shook. 

Glorious. 

They dozed off. Harry was suddenly woken up by the sound of Draco having what, he could only assume, was a panic attack.

“I’m here.” He placed a hand on both of her shoulders . “Deep breaths.”

She flicked him in the forehead. 

“Ouch! What the fuck, Dray?”

“You pillock! We forgot the protection charms.”

“We?” 

She flicked him again.

“Hey, stop that!”

“This isn’t funny! I am extremely fertile. Did you  want to trick me? Is this a trap?”

Harry laughed so hard his chest hurt. 

“Potter, I do not find anything about this to be funny.”

“Oh,” he bent over, wheezing. “But it is. Oww, oww, stop it!”

Draco had grabbed him by the ear and was twisting it. “Explain yourself, right now.”

Harry managed to bat her hands away and was rubbing his abused ear. “I can’t have kids, Malfoy. I don’t have the right stuff.”

She looked meaningfully down at his flaccid penis. Well, semi flaccid. The ear twisting may have caused some excitement. 

“Looks like the right ‘stuff’ to me.”

“I meant my sperm. No swimmers.” He rolled his eyes. “Obviously, we have established my dick works.”

“There are potions for that.”

“For the love of—“ he ran a hand down his face. “I know that too. We tried that. And a whole list of other things. Nothing. None. I am infertile.” Harry enunciated each word. 

“We? You and Ginny?”

He nodded. 

“Huh. Is that why you divorced?”

“Part of it. Not that it’s your business.”

If he didn’t know her so well, Harry would have said Draco looked hurt.

“Loud and clear, Potter.” She cleared her throat. “I still don’t trust it. Don’t try that again. You’re lucky I’m starting my period tomorrow. We should be fine.”

“Why am I always attracted to crazy broads?” Harry mumbled, waving a hand to turn off the light. “Ow! Dray that fucking hurts. Flick me again and I’m going to spank you.”

Spoiler alert: the spanking was consensual.

——-

At bros-catch-up pub night Ron reminded Harry that Rosie’s first birthday was that upcoming weekend. 

Harry, inwardly shocked but outwardly calm, realized two things: how much time had passed, and that he had no idea what to buy for a one year old.

He crashed at Ron’s place that night, resolved to tackle the issue in the morning. 

At work he received an owl, which wasn’t odd. Thinking it was another interdepartmental memo he waited until after lunch to open it. 

It was from Draco. 

   Checking to make sure you are still alive. -DM

Ah, damn. He hadn’t meant to make her worry, but he hadn’t even considered sending a note. 

Harry quickly wrote a reply. 

   All good. Crashed at Ron’s. Pub night. -HP

He went to send it, then reconsidered. They weren’t in a relationship. It felt like too much. 

   All good. Crashed at Ron’s. Pub night. Thxs. -HP

Now that felt like it wasn’t enough. Harry sent the owl before he could overthink it. 

He had planned to go over that night, as always, but ended up pulled into a double shift.

Exhausted, Harry stumbled home as then sun was rising. He didn’t even take off his Auror robes, laying down on top of the covers and sleeping until the crawling feeling of doom woke him. 

“Stupid old haunted dark houses.”

He felt better after a hot shower and eating some leftovers from Molly. When he finally knocked on Malfoy’s door it was after six in the evening. 

For the first time ever, she didn’t answer. 

Harry genuinely did not know how to handle this situation. 

Should he wait here? Draco was always complaining about the neighbors being nosy. 

Should he try to go inside? That felt like breaking and entering. 

But, what if she was hurt? She could also just be napping. He would never hear the end of that. 

Should he try her moms? That felt intrusive. Also, he didn’t know what he would say. “Hello, Mrs. Malfoy, I’m banging your son turned daughter. Have you seen her?”

Lost in rumination, Harry sat down on the front stairs and watched the sky darken. At some point, he heard the crack of apparition. Then the squeak of hinges on the front door. 

“Stop loitering, Potter. The neighbors will gossip.”

She was wearing the sun dress, with low heels. Her hair was softly waved and styled around her face. It had continued to grow and was now past her shoulders. She looked, he imagined, like she had been on a date. 

Harry felt feverish, overcome with a swell of irrational rage. 

He grabbed her chin, purposely smudging her lipstick with his thumb. When he slipped it between her lips, pressing down on the center of her tongue, she eagerly accepted it. Draco hallowed her cheeks, hauling him backwards into the hallway, before releasing with an obscene pop. 

She wiped at the corner of her mouth. It smeared the lipstick more, creating a streak down to her chin. Harry purposely didn’t comment on it. 

“I’ve never seen you in heels before.” 

“They’re not very comfortable.” 

“Where were you?”

“Blaise was in town. We went to get dinner and drinks.”

He froze. “You were with Blaise?”

“Hmm, yes. I just said that.”

“Wearing that?”

Draco gave him a shrewd look. “Wearing what, Potter?”

“That!” He gestured widely. “My dress.”

“I don’t think it would fit you.”

“Ugh!” Harry pulled up on his hair. “Don’t act stupid, Dray. You wore that dress, my dress, to meet up with some guy you told me was good in bed.”

“Now you’re being stupid. I said you’re better.” She was taking off the heels, absently rubbing the balls of her feet. “I don’t know why you’re acting like this. We aren’t in a relationship. We don’t owe each other anything.”

Harry grabbed her arm and guided her to the settee. He lifted her feet into his lap. Draco moaned as he started to massage the first one. 

“Fine. Go out with Zambini if you want.”

“Potter, you are an imbecile. I don’t want to go out with Blaise. He’s much too vain. He stares into the mirror while he fucks.” Harry snorted, switching feet. “He would never rub my feet. He didn’t even notice the dress. Plus, your dick is bigger.”

“He must be blind. I wanted to ravish you the moment you opened the door. Then go punch him in the face. And then maybe fuck you again while he watched.”

“Harry, darling, no need to sweet talk me. I’m already wet.”

The next morning, Draco was sitting at her vanity, brushing her hair. She was already dressed in slacks and a blouse. Harry slid in behind her, rubbing his face against the side of her neck. 

“You look nice. Plans today?”

“Parole check in.”

He watched as her hand hovered on a pair of earrings, then retreated. 

“Do you know what would be an appropriate gift for a one year olds birthday party?”

“A one year old? Boy or girl?”

“Girl. Rosie’s birthday is this weekend.”

At her blank look he elaborated. “Ron and Hermione’s daughter.”

“Oh, that’s right. It was all over the papers last year.” 

Harry inched a hand under her shirt. Draco slapped it away. 

“Traditionally, one year is a training broom for wizards and a charm bracelet for witches.” Draco smirked. “I have a feeling Granger would not appreciate that.”

“No, not very traditional at their house.”

“She’s a baby. Don’t overthink it, Potter. Clothes are good. They grow fast. Little robes are adorable.” 

“You’re adorable.” She blushed, pushing him away when he tried to kiss her. 

Harry stood up, selecting a simple necklace from the vanity. Draco watched, motionless, as he put it on her. He lifted blonde hair up over the back of the chain, before tucking a strand behind her ears. 

“Got it. Don’t overthink it.”

——

With nothing else to do, Harry arrived early the morning of Rosie’s birthday party. Dusting off 

floo powder he stood up, announcing himself. 

“Knock, knock! Anyone home?”

“Harry!” Hermione’s head appeared around the corner, hair a fuzzy poof of curls. “You’re early! Very early.”

“Thought I would see if you needed any help?”

Hermione sagged with relief. “Oh, I could hug you. Yes, that would be great. I never knew how much work went into a kids party.”

“Just tell me what to do. I am at your disposal.”

Dictating had always been her strongest interpersonal skill. Soon, Harry had a list longer than his hand and was shooing her upstairs. “Go get ready, ‘Mione. This day is for you too.”

Ron was in the kitchen, feeding Rosie breakfast. 

Harry held up the list as a peace offering.

“I sent ‘Mione to shower. She has given me strict orders on what to do. You just handle the birthday girl.”

Ron laughed. “Thanks, mate. This is a nice surprise.”

“Happy birthday, Rosie.” 

Rosie banged her cup on the table, giggling. “Da da da.”

The day unfolded with the casual festivity characteristic of Weasley gatherings. By mid afternoon the house was flooded with a never ending parade of red heads and their growing flock of kids. 

Harry did his best to ignore the occasional pang of longing. It helped that Ron and Hermione seemed to understand, doing their best to fill in any long silences or usher him to help with another task.

Ginny arrived with Dean Thomas. He had thought it would be hard, seeing her with someone else. Instead, Harry felt an intense sense of relief, like a heavy weight had been lifted off his shoulders. 

Harry went right over to them. Gryffindor style. 

Ginny had been laughing at something Dean had said, head thrown back. Harry had always loved that about her— How fully she embraced whatever she was feeling. Dean was attempting to not stare like a besotted fool. Harry grinned. She deserved someone who looked at her like that. 

“Hey Dean, Ginny.” 

He held out his hand to Dean. Unsure, the other man looked at Ginny, then shook it.

“Uh, hey Harry. It’s been awhile.”

“I didn’t know you two were dating. How long have you been together?”

“A couple months.” Ginny said defensively. 

“That’s great, Gin. Happy for you both. Seriously.”

She was taken aback by his earnest expression. “Thanks Harry.”

“You two want a drink? They have coolers in the back.”

Dean nodded. “Sure. That would be great.”

After mingling and eating, the whole family gathered around a monstrosity of a yellow cake and belted out ‘Happy Birthday.’ Rosie cried, then grabbed a fistful of cake and smashed it into her hair. 

“I think that’s probably enough excitement for today. Are you tired, my little Rose?” Ron picked her up from the table. 

“Everyone say ‘Goodnight, Rosie!’”

“Goodnight, Rosie.” They parroted.

Harry was eating his slice of cake when Andromea appeared. She had arrived with Teddy a few hours earlier.

“You’re an illusive man these days, Harry.” Her words were light, but the tone was chiding. 

“Mmm.” He swallowed his bite. 

“Teddy has been asking about you.” 

Harry sent a guilty glance towards the gardens, where Teddy had run off to play. 

“Yeah,” he cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Andromea. I should try to be around more.”

“Yes, you should.” She didn’t elaborate. Harry rushed to fill the silence. 

“It’s not an excuse but I've been struggling. Since the divorce. Before the divorce too.”

“Relationships are hard.”

“Yeah.” He didn’t really know why he said it. The power of silences and wise scary women, perhaps.

“We couldn’t conceive. I can’t. Have kids, that is. And it just felt like too much. Being around Teddy, or anyone really. Pretending was exhausting.”

When he finally looked up, Andromea’s face had softened. 

“Ted and I adopted Nymphadora.”

Harry felt stunned. He had never even considered it.

“Memamorphmagus don’t just appear out of nowhere, Harry. It wasn’t a secret, but we didn’t go around announcing it either.”

“Bellatrix never could either, Thank Merlin. Have a child, that is. Our parents took us all to see the healers after that. It wasn’t great news. So, I wasn’t surprised when we struggled to conceive. It still hurt, though. Nymphadora was my little blessing. And now, Teddy is.”

She was wiping the corners of her eyes. 

Harry absently peeled the label of his beer. Andromea placed a hand on his shoulder. 

“I’m not telling you this as some sort of false hope. Or trying to influence you and your decisions. I just wanted to let you know that I understand. And that I’m sorry, Harry. Life isn’t always fair.”

The back of his eyes burned, but he wasn’t going to cry. Not here, not today.

“Ted and I will be here when you’re ready. Take your time.”

——

“How was the birthday party?”

“Good.” Harry was surprised that he meant it. “Really good, actually.”

“Well, one year olds would be on your intellectual level.” 

Draco snickered as Harry picked her up and threw her back down onto the bed, playfully pressing her head into the pillows. 

“Fucking brute.”

He laid his upper body against hers, entangling their legs and began licking his way from up her back, vertebrae by vertebrae. 

“Hey, Potter…”

“Hmm?”

“I was thinking—“

“Dangerous.”

“Shut up. As I was saying, you should rim me.”

Harry froze. “Like, your ass?”

“Yeah.” Draco pushed up, sending him her trademark sly sultry look over her shoulder. “And then, when I’m nice and loose, you should fuck me.”

“To clarify, before I make an idiot of myself, are we talking about anal?”

“Yeah. I’ve always wondered what it would feel like. If you want…Do you?”

Harry gulped, mouth dry. Reaching across her head, he picked up a glass of water from the bedside table, taking a large gulp. 

“Fuck. Fuck. Yes. Gryffindor up, baby.”

“Never, ever, say that again.”

———-

The next occasion Harry had to look forward to was Christmas. In the weeks leading up he noticed as Draco began decorating for the season. Little touches of festivity; fairy lights, garland, a tree propped up against the large window in the parlor. 

Standing in the doorway, surrounded by the smell of spruce, he watched as she carefully hung ornaments. 

“I always liked this time of year.”

It made him think of Hogwarts, and the wonder of experiencing magic. 

“Yeah,” her fingers paused on an ornament. “Me too.” 

Harry didn’t bother decorating at Grimmauld. It wouldn’t remove the sense of oppressive isolation. What was that saying— Lipstick on a pig? 

He started to spend more time at Ron and Hermione’s. Randomly stopping by with takeout after his shift, until it became their weekly thing.

And he became a more regular face at burrow family dinners. Gin was still dating Dean; it seemed like it might be a serious thing. Molly caught on too. She still sent him home with too much food, but without the long pitiful faces.

Teddy was thrilled when Harry started visiting on weekends. He was a whirlwind of energy, flitting between showing Harry his drawings, or his newest toy, asking to get ice cream, and begging Harry to teach him tricks on his broom. Andromea was grateful for the reprieve. 

“I’m getting too old to keep up,” she laughed. 

Harry did his best to shake off the guilt. It wasn’t helping anyone. 

He debated getting Draco a gift. They weren’t together, but they did spend a lot of time together. They were friends, right? And Harry got his friend's gift. 

In the end, Harry couldn’t help himself from buying a delicate blue sapphire jewelry set. The thought of seeing that delightful full body flush was too tempting. 

He could have done clothes, but knew nothing about the sizing. Even less about makeup. Jewelry felt safer. Plus, he knew it would go well with her coloring. 

They both had plans leading up to Christmas Day, so he didn’t visit until after. 

“New dress?”

A defensive tilt of the head. “Gift from Mother.”

“Very pretty. She knows what suits you.” Draco looked away, attempting to hide her face. He knew though. 

“Stop ogling me, you creep. Get in the house.”

Once the door shut, Harry handed her his gift.

“For me?”

“Obviously.” He smirked. 

“I didn’t get you anything.”

A shrug. “I figured. Open it.”

Malfoy opened her gifts methodically. It was very different than Ginny, who ripped into them with enthusiasm. 

“I can’t accept this.” She was running her fingers over the set, inspecting each piece. 

“Sure you can. Merry Christmas.” Harry took off his boots and heavy winter coat. 

“Well, come on. I came all this way to see you wear them.” Intertwining their fingers he headed towards her bedroom. “Naked.”

Draco was already starting to turn pink when he pushed her dress to the floor. 

She grabbed his hands, pausing him. “Wait, wait.”

Harry, not used to this particular response, stopped immediately, a questioning look on his face.

“I lied.” Harry snickered. “Shut up. I know. I did get you a gift.”

“Really?” That was surprising. The flush became a deeper, delicious red. 

“I…stay here. Don’t move.”

Draco disappeared into the en-suite. The door tentatively creaked open ten minutes later. 

This was… new. And very, very nice. 

Her stark blonde hair was partially obscuring the look on her face. Everything else was exquisitely displayed by a high end lingerie set. The way the garters hugged her thighs was especially hypnotizing. 

“Is this for me?”

She nodded. “Do you like it?”

“Dray. You have a gift. A true gift. I never knew until now that this was exactly what I wanted.”

“I thought about doing heels, but am still not used to them.”

“Fuck the heels. They make you taller than me anyway.”

She laughed. 

“Come here. Let me finish dressing you.”

Slowly, she climbed up the bed on all fours. Looking down, he tracked the dip of skin between her breasts. There was a lovely glistening sheen of sweat there that he wanted to lick off her. 

Harry put on the necklace and bracelet, then helped her change out her earrings. He then spent an obscene amount of time running his hands everywhere, until the flush faded away and she was left shaking. 

When he finally kissed her Harry felt her whole body seize, then melt into a delicious plaint puddle under his hands. They fucked; intense, soft, wet. That sweet and filthy juxtaposition he couldn’t get enough of. 

“Best Christmas ever.”

Draco rolled her eyes, smile playing at the edge of her lips. Harry affectionately pinched the bottom one between his fingers, and wasn’t surprised when she bit him. 

“That’s just the sex talking.”

“It’s good sex.”

“True.”

He was stretching his back muscles and jumped when cold feet slid under his calf. 

“I’m going away for a few days. New years reunion thing. It’s already been approved.”

“Oh, ok.” She didn’t have to tell him. Harry realized it was a courtesy. “When do you leave?”

“Tomorrow evening. I’ll be back on the 3rd.”

“Anywhere fun?”

“Just a little villa across the channel. Blaise’s mother owns it. Third husband, I think.”

Harry tried to ignore the gnawing in his chest. “Blaise. Of course.”

Now Draco was laughing at him. “You’re ridiculous, Potter.”

She reached over to run a hand through his curls, scratching gently. 

“Will it make you feel better if I promise not to fuck him?”

“It’s not any of my business.” Harry closed his eyes, leaning into Draco’s hand. “But yes.”

He wished she would stop laughing at him. He knew he could be a bastard. 

“I promise not to fuck Blaise during our sad Slytherin reunion.”

“Mmm. Better.”

“I don’t know why you are so obsessed with Blaise, anyway. Theo will be there too.”

Harry opened his eyes. “What about Theo? Did you also fuck Theo?”

Draco smiled that fucking mystevious/coy smile again. He hated that smile. 

“Wait, you did?”

She started cackling, harder than before. Then held up her index and thumb finger, an inch apart. “So small.”

“Ugh, I don’t want to know that, Dray. Don’t tell me anything more about Nott’s penis.”

“And Mother said I should consider marrying him.” She could barely breathe. “I didn’t even know we started. Does that count?”

“Please stop.” 

Harry threw a pillow at her head, muffling her hysterical laughs. After a moment, he had a thought.

He removed the pillow to give her a shrewd look. “Dray, don’t fuck no dick Nott either.” She lost it all over again. 

Harry replaced the pillow and turned off the lights. 

——-

Harry missed her. 

He had been expecting it, but not this strongly. Harry found himself at loose ends, unsure of what to do with himself.

The first night he had a sleepover at Teddy’s. It was nice, tucking the younger boy in and telling him stories about his parents. The type of stuff Harry always wanted to know about his own deceased parents. Teddy was enthralled, and kept him talking for over an hour. 

Andromea had been listening at the door. They politely pretended she hadn’t been crying. 

Then he swung by the burrow for a night, helping Mrs. Weasley with random odd jobs around the house. 

“This has been so lovely, Harry.” She kissed him on the forehead, leaving a coat of flour dusting his hair. “You’re always welcome.”

Finally, he invited himself over to Ron and Hermione’s house. It was their usual takeout night, so Harry figured it wouldn’t be too much of an imposition.

Ron was shaking his head. “Blimey, Harry. Just get an apartment already.” 

They made up the guest room anyway. 

Later, once Rosie was asleep, and Hermione was catching up on work, Ron turned on the wireless. They cracked open some beers, listening to the latest quidditch match. 

“Wild how Lee is professional these days.”

Harry nodded. “He always had a knack for it.”

The Cannons scored and Ron whooped. 

“Dean seems good for Ginny. She looks happy.”

“Yeah, he’s an alright bloke. No Harry Potter,” Ron joked, “but he would make a good quidditch husband. You, uh, doing ok? With it all?”

“Surprisingly, yeah. I’m really happy for them. It’s been better. Recently.”

“We can tell. Hermione and I, that is. That you’re better. It’s been nice, Harry. We missed you.”

“I missed you too, mate.” Harry slapped him on the back. Ron grinned, amused. 

“Don’t steal my moves, Harry. Get your own.”

Harry leaned back into the couch. While they talked the Tornadoes had scored twice, putting the Cannons 30 points behind. 

“I don’t need your moves,” he waggled his eyebrows. “Doing fine on my own.”

“Merlin. Don’t tell me about that. Actually, are you still? You know. Bumping uglies with Malfoy?”

Fool me once. 

“Do you really want to talk about this?”

Ron looked constipated. “No. But yes? I feel like we should. I am trying to be a mature father type figure here, Harry.”

“Hmm… then yes. I am.”

“I just. I don’t get it?”

“I don’t expect you to. I wouldn’t have a year ago either. It took me a while.”

“Are you happy?”

“I think so.”

“Alright, mate. Mature father figure Ron Weasley. Maturely accepting this and moving on—No! Ah damnit!” 

The Tornadoes seeker had caught the snitch. 

Harry chugged the rest of his beer. “It will be their season next year, Ron.” 

He clapped him on the back

——-

Malfoy returned from holiday. Harry convinced her to let him cast a disillusionment charm and fuck her on the outdoor patio table. She had wire marks on her ass, which he soothed with his tongue. 

“And here I thought you didn’t want to put on a show for the neighbors.”

She grabbed his clothes and threw them into a rose bush. She didn’t lock the door though, so Harry counted that one was a win. 

Winter faded into spring. The Ivy on the townhouse needed a trim, and the gardenias were beginning to bloom. 

Things were going well. Work picked up pace, and Harry was getting more senior cases. They floated him around to different partners; the department had always struggled to find a compatible magical signature. 

He started working longer hours. It was Malfoy who suggested he keep a few sets of clothes at her place. It made sense, logistically. 

Harry never mentioned it but noticed she also began saving him an extra plate at dinner. It was appreciated on late nights, when he stumbled in after the sun had set, ravenous. If he had said something, like ‘thank you,’ he knew she would probably stop. 

Slytherin’s could be petty like that.

Early one spring day, Harry was savoring a morning delight before work when there was a knock at the door. Flustered, Draco reared up, eyes wide, half of her hair sticking up. “Mother.”

There was a line of saliva stretching out from her bottom lip. Affectionately, Harry wiped it off. 

Draco threw his pants at his head. 

“Put on some clothes, Potter.”

She was hopping around frenetically, trying to pull her arms into her dressing gown. 

Harry leisurely pulled on his pants and shirt, then grabbed the hairbrush from her vanity. Draco stilled, watching warily while he fixed her hair. He then straightened the collar of her dressing gown and handed her the black house slippers. 

“Take a deep breath. She can wait a minute.”

“Mother waits for no one.” Draco jabbed him in the sternum. “Stay here. Wait ten minutes, then use that alleged  Auror training, and disappear. You are a ghost.”

Mocking, Harry waved his hands. “I was never here.”

“Shut up. You’ve never been funny a day in your life.”

Grabbing her on either side of the face, Harry hauled her in for a messy kiss, rubbing his stubble against her cheek.

Draco shrieked, pushing him off. “Get out, get out. And be quiet!”

Harry didn’t know much about Narcissa Malfoy, but she probably had enough life experience to know when someone looked thoroughly fucked. 

While he waited an appropriate amount of time Harry amused himself by switching Draco’s underwear drawer with her trouser drawer. Mostly because he knew it would piss her off. Then cast a disillusionment charm and slunk off towards the door. 

His boots were arranged next to Draco’s flats, under the front bench. If Mrs. Malfoy had a keen eye she most definitely noticed.

Unashamed, Harry paused by the kitchen door. He could make out the chatter of two women inside. 

“It’s nothing, Mother. I’m a grown woman. Don’t concern yourself with my private life.”

“Draco.” A pause. “Drea. I am your mother. You don’t understand. I need to make you understand our position here.”

Draco was moving around; noises consistent with tea service. 

“You need to be considering marriage prospects. Not sleeping around like —like some harlot!”

The kettle slammed down. Harry winced. 

“Thank you for that advice, Mother.”

“We are social pariahs!” Narcissa's voice rose. She was angry, but it held notes of frustration and fear. “This wasn’t in the plan, but you can use it. You can use this opportunity to restore our place. To create a better life. The life we wanted for you.”

“I’m not some pure blooded freak show, available to the highest bidder. We spoke, at length, about this already.”

“Nott would—“

“Theodore Nott is a death eater!” Draco was yelling now. “Out of the cauldron and into the fire? Never, never, never.”

Something clanged on the floor. 

“I would rather die. I would rather set myself adrift in the ocean at the mercy of the god’s. I would rath—“

“Okay, Draco!” Narcissa was chuckling. “You have always been melodramatic.” 

“I mean it.”

“I’m sorry I called you a harlot, Darling.”

Taking his chance, Harry grabbed his boots and softly closed the door behind him. If Malfoy would just add him to her wards this could have all been prevented anyway. 

They were getting dressed the next morning when Harry seized his moment. 

“Dray, don’t forget your sweater. Don’t want anyone to think you’re a harlot.”

Draco stiffened, hands mid button. “Oh, you awful man. I hate you.”

“But, would you cast yourself out to sea for me?”

She was reaching for her wand, eyes menacing. Knowing better, he fled. 

A few mornings later, an owl arrived while they were drinking tea. Harry had been mentally reviewing his case load for the day. 

Curious, he watched as she scanned the note, scowling. Harry snatched it before she could rip it up. 

Malfoy, would you care for dinner tonight? I have reservations at that French restaurant you always rave about. -Theo

He raised an eyebrow, grinning. 

“Love notes from No-Dick-Nott?”

“Mother’s work, no doubt. She’s got a bee in her bonnet.” Draco rolled her eyes. “Although… I do like that restaurant. Especially if he’s paying.”

It was Harry’s turn to glare. 

“I could take you to French restaurants.”

“Potter, they wouldn’t let you through the front door.”

“Are you blind?” He waved at his face. “I’m Harry Potter. They would kick Nott out for me.” 

“It’s muggle.”

“Stop lying.”

“Ugh, you don’t know me.”

He slammed the letter on the table. “Write down the restaurant. I’ll pick you up at six.”

Malfoy wore one of the dresses that Narcissa got her for Christmas, along with the blue sapphire set he had picked out. 

Harry obstinately refused to change. They let him in anyway, falling over themselves to accommodate them. “Right this way, Mr. Potter.” 

He smirked knowingly over at Draco, mouthing “Harry Potter.”

No one seemed to recognize her. “It’s the silver lining in of this all. People see what they want to see, Potter. They don’t usually try to look much deeper.”

“Do you miss it? Being the Draco Malfoy? The man?” He waggled his eyes, aiming for a laugh.

She considered the question for a long time. “No? I am still Draco Malfoy. I have always been Draco Malfoy. But… I am happier now. I wouldn’t change it. I don’t miss that body. I don’t miss how conflicted I felt, all the time.” 

She seemed surprised at herself, and relieved. “I’ve never said that before. I never even let myself think it.”

The food was mindblowing. Harry moaned obscenely with every bite. Draco was close to slapping her hands against his mouth and carting him out in sheer embarrassment.

“We should eat here every night.”

“I’m never eating here with you again!”

“This is better than sex. I’m considering moving into the kitchen.”

“How dare you?” Draco threw her dessert spoon down on the table. “Challenge accepted.”

Harry didn’t know where Malfoy learned to edge like that, but he might have cried some. Very manly tears of manliness, that did not, at all, involve him begging her on his knees to let him cum. 

Draco smiled coyly, “Can’t handle it, Potter? Are you giving up?”

His orgasm, when she finally brought him to completion, was a religious experience.

“Well?” She was breathing heavily, a sheen of sweat sticking pale blonde hairs to her face. 

“I think I spoke to God.”

Draco huffed out a laugh, flopping down beside him. 

“It was Dumbledore. He was waiting at platform 9 ¾ and offered me a train ticket to the beyond. I told him I couldn’t go. I had a mean blonde Slytherin waiting for me. Me and my chosen one dick. And the best boeuf bourguignon this side of the channel.” 

She chortled, running her hands through the chaos known as his hair. “I can’t believe I edged you for over two hours and you are still thinking about that damn restaurant. My jaw is aching”

“I don’t think there is a winner or loser here, Dray. Well, except me. I am obviously the winner tonight.” 

“I always knew you had a thing with food, but never realized you might have an actual palate.”

“Mmm, yeah. I like food. You can pick all of the restaurants from now on.”

He leaned his head toward her, nudging her fingers. Then sighed when she continued scratching his scalp. 

“Harry…You don’t have to answer. Or can tell me to mind my own business. But, is what they say true?”

“Hmm?” Harry opened his eyes, finding hers.  “They say a lot.”

“About how you grew up. Before Hogwarts.”

“Ahhh. That.” He nodded his head. “Yeah, for the most part.”

“What parts? The media is not reliable, Potter. We both know that.” 

“Planning to sell me out, Malfoy?”

That was definitely an upset look. Harry grabbed her hands before she could turn away. 

“It was a joke. I know you wouldn’t, Dray. Not now.”

“You know nothing, Harry Potter.” She wrenched her hands away from him, but stayed put.

He took a deep breath. “I was taken in by my maternal aunt and uncle. They were muggles. They hated me, and everything about me. I didn’t know anything about my parents, or magic.”

“Were they…” Draco paused, searching for the right words. “Unkind to you?”

“They did the bare minimum required in the eyes of the law. I had shelter, and clothes, and food, and schooling.” Harry clenched and unclenched his fist. 

“But?”

“But they weren’t kind to me, either. The shelter was small, and dark, and lonely. The clothes were old, and ill fitted, and rarely washed. The food was just enough to keep me alive, but never enough to sate the constant gnawing in my stomach.”

He could feel the old anger festering. 

“I never knew a gentle touch, or a soft word. They treated me like dirt. An imposition. Something to be broken, and used, and never, ever, looked directly at.”

Draco was hugging him, holding tight, his head against her breast while hers rested on his hair. They had never hugged before.

It was nice.

She ran a hand up and down, up and down, rhythmically, against his nape. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Let’s not talk about it.”

Harry closed his eyes, focusing on her hand. It was very soothing. 

The top of his head felt wet. 

“Draco… Are you crying?”

That was definitely a sob. 

“I was an awful kid, Harry.” 

He tried to pull away, but she held on tighter. 

“Just so, so awful. I only ever thought about myself. I thought I was better than everyone else. Smarter than everyone else. That they deserved bad things, because I deserved good things. And,” she let him go to cover her face, crying in earnest now. “I was so mean to you. I joined a fucking hate group, mostly to spite you. What was wrong with me?” 

Draco rolled over, burying her face into her pillow. Harry wasn’t sure what, if anything, he could say. So he didn’t say anything. 

Eventually, the crying abated. They lay there together, looking out at nothing. Draco gripped his hand.

“You deserve more, Harry.”

He rubbed his thumb against her palm, silent. 

“I’m going to give you so many blowjobs.”

Harry chortled. 

“Anal. Just say the word, Harry. Me, you. Whatever. I’ll strap up. You want me to toss your salad, big boy?”

Laughing he grabbed her, “Ok, Dray. Ok!”

“You want to lick my toes? Come on, tell me that kinky stuff. I’m yours, darling.”

“No, no! No more tonight. I don’t think I could take it. Sleep! Please woman, have mercy on me.”

“Fine. But buckle in because you are in for it tomorrow. No room in this bed for the boy who can’t get it up.” 

Harry yelped when she pinched his ass. 

He waved, turning off the lights. They settled in, her head on his chest, his arm around her shoulders. The soft sound of breathing was lulling him to sleep when she spoke.

“Harry…”

“Hmm?”

“Sometimes, when I was a kid, I would go into my mothers closet. To touch her clothes. And, well, to wear them. And her jewelry and makeup. I did ribbons a few times, when my hair was long enough. Only when I knew my parents weren’t home, of course.”

“Ok.” Harry began to stroke her hair. 

“Except… one day, Father walked in on me. He was so angry. I had never seen him so angry. It was terrifying. I knew I had done something wrong. I knew it was wrong. That I was wrong.”

“He had never hit me before.” Harry’s fingers stilled in her hair, before continuing. 

“I wasn’t allowed to be unsupervised after that. I had my own elf house, assigned to follow me and report back any ‘abnormal’ behaviors. Father approved all of my outfits. I wasn’t even allowed to choose my own hair style.” 

She placed her hand over his, stilling movement.

“I know it’s not an excuse. I was still an awful, entitled, little shit. But I was also very angry and confused. I’m sorry you had to deal with that.”

Harry brought her hand to his lips, placing a soft kiss against the palm. 

“Go to sleep, Dray.”

“I just—“

“Shhh.” He mashed a finger against her lips. “Rest. I have some toes to suck in the morning, remember?”

—————

Harry was put on a major case at work. Suddenly, he was pulling double shifts and taking random portkeys at all hours of the day. 

It was exhilarating, but also exhausting. 

Draco had starting taking to referring to him as the ‘Dark Stranger in the Night.’ Then insisted they role play a bunch of weird shit where he was either 1) breaking in and coercing her into rough sex or 2) he’s homeless and she has to spend the evening taking care of him and grooming her live in bang boy. 

“What about the one where I’m an Auror and you’re on parole? Lots of material, Dray. It’s the low hanging fruit.” 

Draco glared. “No thank you. I’m not interested in your dirty fruit. Now, get in here right now. You’re absolutely filthy.” 

She guided him inside and began removing his muddy boots. “You must have been sleeping on the streets for ages. Don’t worry, I have a nice warm bed for you. I’ll take care of you, darling.”

Ah, it would be homeless bang boy tonight. 

He was at the tail end of his fifth double shift when he got sloppy. Sleep deprived and running on adrenaline, Harry managed to get hit by a rouge hex. 

He was immediately carted to St. Mungo’s. They patched him up quickly, but now the healers were insisting Harry could only be released into responsible hands. Like he couldn’t be trusted on his own. 

Harry was about to put down Hermione’s contact information when he stopped, overcome by a brilliant idea. He wrote down the information for Draco Malfoy and handed it over. 

She would probably like the idea of playing his nurse for a while. About as much as his dick liked it. 

Half an hour later the blonde glided effortlessly into his suite. “I see you’re not dead, Potter.”

Harry grinned, suddenly happier than he had been all day. “Just a flesh wound.”

She rolled her eyes. “Hilarious. As always.” Draco turned to the nurse. “What are the instructions?”

“Level two hex. Mr. Potter should be fine but he’s been placed on a three day leave of rest. No apparition for 24 hours. He should remain supervised during this time period.”

“Any potions?”

The nurse flipped through his chart. “Two. A Standard Replenishment and an Unrestricted Dark Magic Cleanser.”

“Alright. I’ll go get them and sign the paperwork. Wait here, Potter.”

Harry sent her an incredulous look. “Where would I go, Malfoy?”

“How should I know? You have a unique knack for trouble. It’s common knowledge.”

“Common knowledge?!” 

She left the room before he could finish. Harry was left to stare awkwardly at the nurse. 

“I thought you were divorced.”

“I am.” What a weird question. Also, rude. 

“Oh. I thought— never mind.”

Draco returned, carrying a paper bag from the pharmacy. 

“All settled, Potter. You’re free. Up we go, big boy.”

She slid a hand under his shoulders, helping him stand up. He stumbled into her. Harry wouldn’t have admitted it aloud, but he was feeling slightly woozy. 

“That’s the cleansing potion. Gives you the wobbles. Come on, I can give you a replenishment once you're home and tucked in.” 

They headed toward the floo. Draco grabbed a handful of powder, throwing it in. “Where to?”

“Grimmauld Place.” 

As he passed through the green flames, Harry missed her shocked face. 

Draco came tumbling through right after him, coughing. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Did you say Grimmauld Place?” She was looking around him with dawning horror. “Is this the old Black townhome?”

Harry was suddenly too tired to decipher her strange behavior. “Yeah.”

“Oh, no. No. Harry,” she stood up, grabbing him frantically by the front of his cloak. “Please tell me you don’t live here.”

“Draco, stop being so dramatic.” He disengaged her fingers. “I’m really not in the mood.”

“Harry. Harry, you don’t understand. You don’t belong here.”

It felt like being slapped. 

“I don’t belong here? Why? Because I’m not a pureblood like you, Malfoy?”

She had a stupid wounded animal look on her face. 

“Harry, you have to leave this place right now.” Draco reached for his hand, but he pulled away. “Come back to mine. I’ll put you in the wards.”

“Sirius left me this house. It may be a gloomy piece of shit, but it’s mine. It’s the only place I have. The order met here. Ginny and I lived here.” He swallowed around the lump in his throat, choking out, “We were going to raise a family here.”

The lights flickered. Malfoy swallowed, turning cautiously to place her back to the floo. 

Harry ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, Dray. I shouldn’t have had them owl you. I didn’t realize how bad I was feeling. Let’s just table this, ok? I could use that potion, and some rest.”

She was shaking her head. “It’s not you, Harry. It’s not you. It’s this place.”

He signed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m going to bed.” Harry walked up the stairs. 

Without bothering to remove his boots or cloak he tumbled into bed. His head was pounding relentlessly; partially due to his injury, partially due to their argument. 

The door creaked open, and Malfoy’s slim figure creeped in. She kept flinching and looking over her shoulder. 

“You’re absurd, Draco. Just go home.”

“No,” she shook her head emphatically. “I’m not leaving you.”

There was an empty glass on the end table. Draco filled it with an aguamenti, then poured him a measured dose of replenishment potion with shaking hands. 

Harry took them gratefully. When the headache began to wane, he forced his body to relax. His eyes felt heavy. 

Draco was gripping one of his hands in hers. “Harry,” she whispered. “Harry, let’s go to my place. I just remembered, I have a new lingerie set. I want you to see it. It’s red.”

He pushed her away. “After. M’tired.”

“No, no. Don’t go to sleep yet. You have to get out of here. You can’t stay here, Harry. It’s not safe.”

He drifted off to sleep. 

Malfoy sat stoically in the chair beside him, trying not to hyperventilate. 

After a long time, she stood up and attempted to physically pull him out of the bed. The dark haired man mumbled, rolling over. 

Draco paused in awareness, feeling like a fool. “Are you not a witch, Draco?”

Her wand slid into her hand from its holster. “Wingardium Leviosa!“

Harry rose into the air, hovering above the bed for a few seconds before the spell suddenly released. He landed with a soft groan. 

“Ughh! Less treacle tart wouldn’t kill you, Potter!”

He was still wearing those stupid round glasses of his. She ripped them off his face in a pique. Then sheepishly folded them and placed them within reach on the bedside. 

The lights flickered.

“Oh shut up.” Draco stomped on one of the floorboards. “You miserable fucking house.”

One door slammed in the distance. Then another. 

“Oh, you think you’re powerful? You’ve never had to deal with me. I’ll take you down with me, brick by brick. I cut my teeth on a house much bigger and meaner than you.”

From the corner of her eye, Draco saw shifting shadows. She knew better than to look.

That was the difference between her and Potter. He faced the shadows head on, eyes raised, a force of nature. She knew better. That some shadows didn’t have shapes; if you tried to look they ingested you whole. 

A plan. She needed a plan…

The Floo.

They arrived by Floo. Potter, unlike her, was well liked by enough people to have direct access to their homes. It was a risk, but Draco was willing to take it. 

She walked purposefully down to the kitchen. “Accio salt!” A large container flew into her hand. 

A junk drawer held a few random candles. She grabbed three while resolutely ignoring the slamming cabinet doors. 

“You’ll have to try harder than that.”

Harry’s head was tipped back, lightly snoring. Draco smoothed back his hair, then laid his wand next to his glasses, just as he liked it. 

She lit the three candles, placing them on the mantle, angling the flames to reflect in the mirror. With the salt, she drew a simple protective rune around Harry’s bed. 

Then, with a few well timed flicks, she cast some basic safety charms over the candles and bed. Another to alert if the boundary was breached. 

Hesitating at the door, she turned back to quickly kiss his forehead, before going directly into the floo.

“Granger-Weasley Household”

———-

“Hermione! Hermione, there is a weird woman in our house!”

With the reflexes of a mother, Hermione checked that Rosie was sleeping, warded her crib, and then ran into the den to join her husband. 

The tall red headed man was gaping at a lanky blonde. Hermione knew he didn’t have his wand on him, so immediately pointed hers at the woman.

Shrewd gray-blue eyes spied the danger immediately. Her hands went up in the air. 

“Hello, Granger. I come in peace.” 

Something about her face was tickling Hermione’s memory. The woman shifted her left foot forward into a bracing stance. 

“Malfoy?”

“Malfoy?!” Ron repeated, bug eyed.

Draco briefly looked at him, then back to Hermione. “Hello Weasel.” 

Now Hermione felt conflicted. Harry would probably want her to put down her wand… but it was Malfoy. In a skirt. 

“Blimey.” Ron couldn’t stop staring. “Blimey.”

He turned towards his wife. “I mean. Look at that, ‘Mione. It’s Malfoy? That broad is Malfoy.”

She rolled her eyes. “Close your mouth, Ron. I’m right here.”

“I am terribly sorry to interpret.” Malfoy drawled, not sounding sorry at all. “But, as much as it pains me, this isn’t a social visit.”

“Is Harry ok?”

“That was quick.” The blonde blinked. “Motherhood suits you, Granger.”

Hermione held back a smirk. 

“Yes. I need your help with Potter.” Draco gestured to an arm chair. “Can we talk here? I think it would be better. I’m more the ‘planning in advance’ vs ‘recklessly charging ahead’ type.”

Ron and Hermione gave each other knowing looks, then moved to sit down. “We can. What’s going on?”

Malfoy slumped down in the seat across from them. 

“How long has Harry been living at Grimmauld Place?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Ron said. 

Hermione placed a hand on his arm. “I don’t track yet, but I’ll bite. Ever since we left Hogwarts.”

Malfoy groaned. In a very uncharacteristic move, she brought a finger to her mouth and began chewing on the nail, lost in thought. “It might be too late then.”

“Too late? Malfoy, we don’t have all night. Cut the crap.”

Grey eyes locked directly on brown. “That house hates him, Granger.” 

“Houses don’t have feelings.”

“Old dark ones like that do. Can none of you feel it? He should never have been there! Why did you let him stay there?”

“Let him?” Ron scoffed. “No one lets Harry do anything. So what if it’s creepy and smells bad? Ginny lived there. She was fine!”

“She should never have been there either! She’s lucky to have walked away unscathed.” 

“Wait,” Hermione was thinking. “No, Ron. Ginny was never there. She was always training or traveling for quidditch. They fought about it all the time.”

Ron groaned. “Well, of course she wasn’t. It’s a creepy fucking house ‘Mione.”

Malfoy threw her hand up, exasperated. “Yes! See? That is exactly what I have been saying.”

“I don’t believe all this nonsense about sentient houses, but let’s say I did—“

“Don’t believe!” Malfoy stood up, gesturing up and down. “Granger, I am a female, born and raised as a male! Because of some creepy old sentient house! The Manor wanted to control every aspect of my life. It wanted to consume me, and called it love.” 

Ron was staring again, shaking his head. 

“I know this isn’t the time for this but I am very interested in learning more,” Hermione said. 

The blonde woman leveled her with a deadpan gaze. 

“I’m going to move forward, with the assumption that what you are saying may have some merit.” Malfoy snorted. “And we can all agree Grimmauld is… off putting. To put it lightly. That Harry would rather spend time literally anywhere else.”

“Like with Malfoy.” Ron chimed in. 

His wife elbowed him in the side. “Not now.”

“Very mature, Weasel.” Malfoy rolled her eyes. 

“Why are you coming to us now? What changed?”

“Nothing changed, Granger. I just had no fucking clue that was where he went off to. I come to pick him up and play nursemaid for a few days—“

“Harry was hurt?”

She waved them off. “Minor hex. He’s fine. Other than the fact that he is sleeping in a decaying house with the most malignant aura I have ever felt. He cannot stay there. I can’t let him stay even one more night. We have to move him.”

“Like, right now?”

“Yes, Weasley. Right now. As soon as possible, ASAP. The more time he spends there, the more it sinks its claws into him.”

Hermione chimed in, always the voice of reason. “Did you tell him this? Harry’s levelheaded.” Ron snorted. “Mostly.”

“Do you think I’m stupid? Of course I told him! He won’t leave! I don’t know if it’s me, or if it’s the house. If it’s me, he’ll listen to you. If it’s the house, he’ll listen when we get him out. Either way, it has to be done tonight.”

Ron grabbed her hand. Hermione looked over and saw the message in his face. “Tonight then. Let’s make a plan.”

Malfoy visibly relaxed, closing her eyes. 

“He was asleep when I left. I couldn’t keep him awake. It could be the house, feeding off of him. They’ll do that sometimes, when old and abandoned.”

“He's groggy, if you wake him up in the middle of the night,” Ron said. Hermione could see the cogs turning in his head. “He can get confused. Only for a minute or two. I can use that. I’ll go in, wake him and say it’s an emergency. Late night stake out, that we need to hurry. We used to do those, back when we were partners.”

“Should we bring him back here?”

Malfoy nodded. “Yes. He knows you both. Trust you without question. It’s not guaranteed with me.”

“I’ll make up the guest room and wait here. We can explain together once Harry gets here.” Hermione offered. “Someone needs to stay with Rosie. It should be me.” 

“I’ll go with you, Weasley. I plan to stay out of the way, but I don’t trust that house.” 

“What if he won’t wake up, Ron? Or refuses to go with you?”

Ron shrugged. “I’ve got a good steady levitation. Plus, a wicked body bind.” He leered at his wife. 

“Ugh, keep it in your pants, Weasel.” 

Hermione laughed and gave him a peck on the cheek. “For good luck.”

——-

A perk of being best friends with a bloke since eleven, was that Ron had gotten very good at predicting certain reactions. 

He burst in through the bedroom door, as loudly as possible. Malfoy was pressed against the hallway wall behind him. 

“Harry! Harry, wake up!”

The curly haired man popped up, immediately groping around for his glasses and wand. 

“Wha, um, Ron. Fuck, what time is it?”

“No time, Harry! Let’s go, we’re so late. Robert’s is going to have our heads.”

Harry was stumbling, pulling himself out of bed. Ron slid his arm under his and helped right him, creating a forward momentum out of the bedroom and down the stairs. 

“Ron, Ron…” Harry began rubbing his eyes. That was Ron’s cue to move faster. 

“Blimey, mate! You said you’d be ready. I can’t afford another lecture.”  

Ron reached up and grabbed a handful of Floo powder. 

“Granger-Weasley Household” 

“Wait, Ron!”

He shoved Harry into the flames. 

Spinning around, Ron grinned over at girl Malfoy. “See? Easy enough.”

“Thanks, Weasley.” She tipped her chin toward the floo. “You should probably go after him. Before he turns around and tries to come back.”

Hermione had planned to remove the floo powder after they left. But Harry was reckless enough to try apparition against doctors orders. 

“Yeah. You coming?”

She shook her head. “Not tonight. I have something I need to do.”

Ron shrugged. “Don’t linger too long. Evil house and all that.”

When he arrived back home, Harry was sitting on the sofa with Hermione, a dazed look on his face. 

She had the two potions Malfoy had given them earlier. “Here Harry. Let’s get these into you, it will make you feel better.”

He saw Ron and stood up, running his hand through his hair. “Mate, what the fuck? Do I have salt in my hair? What even was that?”

“Ah, sorry, Harry.” Ron sheepishly rubbed the back of his head. “Figured that was the easiest way to get you here.”

“Why? What is going on?”

Hermione was pulling Harry back down to the couch, handing him measured doses. She supervised as he swallowed them.

“So, we met your girlfriend.”

“I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Uh, girl who used to be a boy who you occasionally bang friend?”

Harry was staring at him blankly. 

“Malfoy?”

He blanched. “Dray was here?”

“That’s cute,” mumbled Hermione. 

“Yeah. She said Grimmauld place is sentient, hates you, and plans to slowly kill your soul and absorb you. Or something like that.”

“What?!” Harry stood up again. Then sat back down. 

“It was very convincing.” Hermione added. “She looked like she might cry.”

Ron nodded along. “Better safe than sorry, mate.”

Hermione kept glancing behind Ron, at the fireplace. “Is Malfoy coming back?”

“Nah.” Ron shrugged. “Said she had something to do.”

“Uggghhh!” Harry was screaming into his hands. “Did you just leave her there?”

“Mate! She told me to! I’m not Malfoy’s keeper.”

“I can’t believe you. I have to go back.” He stood up and began rifling around for the floo powder. 

“Where is it ‘Mione?”

“Harry, I promised her I wouldn’t let you go back.”

“That’s ridiculous. You’ve all gone daft.”

She caught her hands in his. 

“I’m sure Malfoy went home, Harry. She seemed terrified of Grimmauld.”

That wasn’t the comfort Hermione thought it would be. In fact, it made him feel worse. 

“You need sleep, Harry. Come on, I made the guest bed already.”

——

Harry slept for three days, waking only to address his most basic bodily functions. 

On the third day, he woke hard as a rock, rubbing himself absently against the bedsheets. 

Closing his eyes, he attempted to take matters into his own hands (pun intended), heard Rosie crying, and abruptly stopped, feeling like a pervert. 

He took a long overdue shower instead. 

“Morning, sunshine!” Ron greeted, as Harry stumbled into the kitchen. “Breakfast?”

Ron tipped his pan forward. Harry could see eggs and sausage. 

“I wouldn’t turn it down.”

“A man after my own heart.”

Harry ducked, laughing, as Ron went to clap him on the back. The other man stumbled. 

“Spoilsport!”

Hermione came in, carrying Rosie. “You’re up! How are you feeling, Harry?”

He sat down at the table with her. Ron put some scrambled eggs on Rosie’s tray. 

“Great. I didn’t realize how tired I was. Can’t believe I slept that long.”

“You even slept through Rosie’s crying,” Ron exclaimed. “That’s commitment, mate.”

“Did you feel that way before or after you went home from St. Mungos?” Hermione had pulled out some papers and a quill. Harry examined the set up inquisitively. 

“Er, after? I guess. What’s all this?”

“I’ve been corresponding with Malfoy,” she replied. “She even sent me a few books from her personal library.”

“What?” Harry reached over and tried to grab a letter; he could see Draco’s elegant slanted handwriting. Hermione slapped his hand away. 

“Don’t touch my papers.”

“Don’t be stingy, ‘Mione. Is she writing a novel?”

“Malfoy has been very thorough in citing her sources.”

“Did she send me a letter?”

“Harry, can we stay on topic here? We need to discuss Grimmauld.”

Ron was cackling hysterically in the background.

“I’m just saying…she could have sent me a letter. At least to see how I’ve been. You know, after kicking me out of my own house.” Harry mumbled. 

“That doesn’t even make sense. You were asleep. I made sure to keep Malfoy informed.”

Ok, so he was definitely pouting some. Ron doubled over, clutching his stomach. Rosie joined him, giggling and clapping her hands enthusiastically. 

“After doing some additional research, and reading her sources, I’ve come to agree, Harry. I don’t think you should go back to Grimmwauld. Not until we can definitively say the house has good intentions. Or just no intentions.”

Harry blinked. “Er. Ok. I am not sure how to respond to that.”

Hermione tugged on a curl. “Honestly, I can’t believe I said it. Be truthful, Harry. Really think about it before you answer. Is there anything, in hindsight, that could make you think or feel that something was wrong at Grimmauld Place?”

“Other than a general creepy ominous feeling of doom?”

“Thank you, Ron. Helpful as always.”

“I aim to please, m’lady.”

Harry ran a hand over his face. “Yes? I don’t know. It could be hard to be there for too long. I would get this feeling, like my skin was crawling. A sense that I needed to leave. It’s hard to explain.”

“Anything else?”

“I don’t think it hates me. It’s a house! I have thought that, perhaps, it doesn’t like me. But Grimmauld doesn’t like anyone! It’s not personal.”

“Mate, I don’t think your house should feel any sort of way about you. It should be a house.”

Harry ground his teeth, feeling chided. “We all didn’t get to grow up at the burrow, Ron. Forgive me if I don’t know what a home should feel like.”

There was an uncomfortable silence.

Ron cleared his throat. “Sorry, Harry. Didn’t mean it that way.”

“I know. I’m a bit overwhelmed. And feeling a tad bit stupid.” 

“Oh, Harry. Don’t feel stupid.” Hermione grabbed his hand. “We’ve been over plenty of times and didn’t think it was anything serious. It’s not all on you.”

“Yeah, mate. I’m plenty stupid all the time.”

Harry laughed. “Ok. We’re all a tad bit stupid here. I guess I just need to figure out what to do now.” 

He glanced over at Hermione’s papers. 

“I’m going to go talk to Malfoy.”

“Harry, I think you have work today.”

“Sorry, ‘Mione, did you say something? Oh, look at the time.” 

He snagged a piece of sausage, smacked Ron heartily on the back, and then plopped a kiss on Rosie’s head. 

“If Robert’s owls tell him I’m still sleeping! Nasty hex. Going to be laid up all day.”

——-

After standing at the front door for half an hour, like the idiot he was, Harry realized she wasn’t going to answer. 

Surreptitiously, he cast a quick homenum revelio. It lit on the second story, where the bedroom was.

Now what? Harry was kicking himself for not taking her up on the offer to add him to the wards. They could have spent the last couple days doing kinky nurse role playing. What was wrong with him? Maybe Grimmauld Place really was cursed. 

Malfoy didn’t have a Floo—not that Harry would have been keyed in anyway. He didn’t even think Narcissa was on the wards. 

Really though, that wasn’t very safe of Malfoy. 

After some additional consideration, Harry apparated into the kitchen, ripping through the wards. 

“Harry! What the fuck?”

Draco flew into the room— wide eyed, dressing gown hanging off her shoulders and wand in hand. 

“That was fun.” Harry cracked his neck, grinning. “Haven’t found a ward I couldn’t break.” 

She blinked, still half asleep and unsure if this was real.

“Chin up, Dray. I’ll help you lay down some new ones. You really should add me in, anyway. For safety.”

Draco rubbed her eyes. Harry finally noticed the dark circles under them. Her face was blotchy and puffy, like she had been crying. 

“Did you try knocking?”

“Yes. Draco, I’ve been standing outside your door for over thirty minutes now.” Harry pulled her into a hug. “I was worried.”

“Ah. I forgot. Silencing charm.” She laid her head on his shoulder. “I went to bed late and didn’t want the neighbors to wake me.”

Draco finally stepped back, taking a good look at Harry. 

“You look better.”

“You look awful.”

“Potter! You can’t say that to a lady!”

“Why not? It’s true!” Harry placed a hand on either side of her face. “What have you been doing? You’re exhausted. Come lay down with me.”

Hands linked, he took her to the bedroom and pushed her back into bed. 

“Don’t you have work today?”

“I’m taking some personal time.” Harry laid her head onto his shoulder. Draco kept obsessively running her hands over his chest, before she finally drifted back to sleep. 

Considering he had just slept for three days, Harry knew he wouldn’t have been able to nap without a very strong Dreamless Sleep. 

Instead, he spent the morning snooping around the house. The parlor was a mess, with various books and papers covering every service. There were pieces of parchment with runics and notes scribbled haphazardly. Numerous ones had been balled up or ripped into pieces, as if Draco had experienced a sudden fit of temper. 

Harry picked up some cold tea cups, taking them to the kitchen. After borrowing a quill and parchment he wrote a note to Robert’s. Draco’s temperamental owl was hiding in the garden. It almost bite his finger off before Harry successfully sweet talked him into taking his post.

He vanished the trash, straightened up the books, and went about making and putting a lunch under stasis. 

Draco stumbled downstairs around one o’clock, eagerly accepting a cup of tea. 

“Mmm, perfect.”

Harry chuckled. It was rare to see Draco in such a state. He did his best to try and smooth out some of the tangles in her hair. 

“Harry, did you clean up?”

He shrugged bashfully. “Couldn’t sleep.” 

“Hypocrite.”

“You hungry? I made some food.”

“Ravenous, darling.”

After eating, they wandered out to the patio. Draco said she needed some fresh air. 

Harry was studying her face, continuing his life’s work of figuring out what Draco Malfoy was up to. 

“Care to explain why you lost your mind and kicked me out of my own house, Dray?”

Her eyes had been closed, head tipped back. She opened them into slits, gaze brooding. 

“Will you listen now?”

“Yes.” 

Draco sat up, leaning forward to grab his hands from across the table. “Harry, the Black house is no place for anyone. That family…there is a reason bloodlines die out. When you let the dark in, you cannot control it. It’s human folly to think you can. A tiger will let you raise it, but still rip out your throat when it’s hungry.”

“The Blacks let hate fester. Hate, and jealousy, and resentment. Not just towards the others— towards themselves, in their own home. When hate festers in a family like that, it seeps into the walls. Into everything they touch. It’s what they become. The house becomes disoriented. It lashes out indiscriminately.”

“Wait, wait. I thought— aren’t you a Black?”

“Technically. But, no?” she drawled. “I’m a Malfoy. I do have Black blood, through Mother. When she married Father they joined the old way. Blood rites. Mother became a Malfoy that day, forsaking all others. The Manor wouldn’t have it any other way.” She tipped her head. “Mother always was the clever one.”

“You talk like these places are alive, Draco. I think I would have noticed.”

“Potter, is this the reason you wear glasses? They absolutely are alive.” She threw up her hands. “With magic. Years upon years of magic and intent. Did Hogwarts not feel alive to you?”

“I, er, I never thought about it. Yes? Maybe.” 

“Did you feel like Grimwauld wanted you there? That it was welcoming?”

“Well, no, but—er. Draco, I ripped through your wards this morning. I have a pretty solid feel for magic. I would have noticed if my house was trying to kill me.”

“Do you think we are human, Harry?” 

“What? Stop giving me fucking whiplash. This is worse than talking to Hermione.”

She was squeezing his fingers, painfully now. “Because we are, and we are not. We are of bone and blood, of fae and magic. We are bound to this plane, but the rules of humanity do not apply. Death is not the worst thing that could happen.”

“I think I know that better than you, Draco.”

“Yes.” Her eyes were gleaming, otherworldly. “I think you do. And it’s made you reckless. You think you are untouchable. Just like I thought I was untouchable, and my Father before me.”

She picked up her wand from where it had been laying on the table, twirling it around her fingers. 

“The hawthorn wand was the best and worst thing magic ever gave me. It was humiliating, to be me— the Malfoy heir, the death eater — and wield a unicorn core. It also saved me.” 

“Sometimes we forget. We don’t own magic, it owns us. It does not care how we use it; our concept of light and dark. It is.”

“Father, Aunt Bella, the—Voldemort, even you sometimes Harry. You think magic is a battering ram. It is always there for you, eager and hungry.”

“For me… magic is a stream, running beneath my skin. It’s a trickle, soft and steady, but never delicate. It reminds me, everyday, that I can never let my guard down.”

“I’m not sure how I feel about that comparison, Malfoy.” 

She released his hands, blanching. “I didn’t mean it that way, Harry. I’m not sure how to explain this to you. I need you to believe me. I need you to promise me you won’t go back there. Not alone, at least.”

“Draco…I trust that you genuinely believe this. Yes, Grimmauld place is creepy. It’s dark, and old, and maybe mean. But,” Harry held out his arms. “I am fine. I’ve lived there since I was eighteen. Nothing bad has happened.”

He watched the blood drain from her face. She was biting her bottom lip, eyes wide. 

“What is that look for, Dray?”

“I— I don’t think I should tell you.”

“Tell me what?” As an adult, the one thing Harry hated more than anything was being left in the dark. 

“Harry…” she swallowed. “Harry, I am certain this is the reason you can’t have kids.”

A white hot rush of rage swept through him. Harry stood up quickly, his legs banged against the edge of the table. “I have to go.”

“Harry, I have been looking for days,” Draco was attempting to grab him by the arm, babbling. “I’ve done all the research. I’m trying so hard to make this right for you.” 

“I can’t do this right now.”

She started crying, large gulping sobs. “Please. I want to make this right for you. I’m trying. I’m trying. I’ll fix it.”

Harry clenched his jaw. “I’m not something you can fix, Malfoy.” 

“Where will you go? Stay here. I can leave.”

“Anywhere but here.” 

He turned on his heel and disapparated. 

————

Harry went to the Burrow.

Taking a moment to calm down, he paused in the garden, breathing deep. A soft sense of ‘home’ and ‘welcome’ washed over him, relieving the tension in his shoulders. 

Huh. Maybe he was blind. 

Mrs. Weasley took him in without question. 

After dinner, while helping clean up, Harry asked some of his own. 

“Mrs. Weasley, what do you think of Grimmauld Place?”

The older woman paused momentarily, mid flick of her wand. Then resumed. “Do you want my truth Harry?”

“Yes, please.” 

“I think you are too nice for that house.”

It wasn’t what he was expecting to hear. “Too nice?”

“Sirius may have exiled himself from his family, but he had a mean streak he could never shake. When he was alive, it balanced. Grimmauld and Sirius. It’s a mean house.”

“You let Ginny move in with me!”

“Well, yes. I thought, given time, and love, it would change. Houses can absorb those emotions. Both muggle and wizard, you know. But it can’t actually harm you.”

“That’s not what Malfoy says.”

Molly gave him a quizzical look. “Malfoy? Why are you talking to him.”

“Her.”

“What?”

“It’s complicated. Can we talk about it later? The house. Is she right?”

“That is what some old fashioned wizards say. It’s not a modern line of thought. I think we would notice if houses were attacking people, dear.”

“Hermione thinks I should listen to her. That I shouldn’t live there anymore.”

“Hmm. Well, Hermione is a bright witch. She’s usually right about these things. Dry those dishes, would you, Harry?”

———-

Molly clocked him; he was too nice. 

While he was still upset over what had been said, Harry returned to Malfoy’s townhouse the next day. This time, he apperated directly into the front parlor. 

Draco was sitting at her small secretary, with a cup of tea and a large tomb open on it. 

“You owe me new wards.” She didn’t bother to look up, turning a page. 

“You owe me red lingerie.”

That did catch her attention. 

“Deal.”

Harry pulled his hand from his pocket, unraveling a Gryffindor tie he had snagged from the Burrow.

“I want you to wear this with it.”

Draco winced, crinkling her nose in disdain. “Will you forgive me?”

He slowly nodded. “You have to tell me I’m the best seeker you’ve ever seen.”

“Can I also assume broom euphemisms would be appropriate?”

“You know me so well.”

“The things I do for you, Potter.”

When he slid into her that night, tie wrapped tightly around his fist, it felt like coming home. 

Not that Harry would ever, ever say that out loud. 

——

Harry set new wards, keying himself in. Then moved in with Malfoy. 

They didn’t talk about the discussion in the garden. 

His schedule didn’t change much. He went back to work, came home late, ate dinner, tumbled into bed— wake up, repeat. There were pub nights, burrow dinners, takeout with Hermione and Ron, weekend visits to Teddy. 

All of it— minus Grimauld. 

Draco did… whatever it was she did. 

He knew she was still obsessively pouring through books, taking copious notes that she stored in her desk drawer. He could also see the circles under her eyes getting darker, the frenetic way her mind always seemed to be calculating. 

While Harry had never felt better, his energy and mood lifting from a cloud he hadn’t realized was there, Draco was getting paler and skinnier as the days progressed.

It reminded him of sixth year, how Malfoy had thrown themselves into their task. The only time she let go was in bed, devoting herself fully to their mutual pleasure. 

Harry began bringing home takeout and making reservations at her favorite restaurants. Just to be sure she was actually eating a full meal each day. 

One morning, she came to him.

 “We should get the rest of your things from Grimmauld Place. It will be safer together.”

It was the sensible thing to do, so he agreed. 

She helped him pack, swiftly moving clothes into boxes with her wand. “Add me to the wards, it will be faster if we can both apparate in and out.”

Uneasy, Harry stared at her. She met his eyes, rolling hers.

“Hurry up, Potter. I don’t want to be here a second longer than necessary.” 

So he did. 

Then, later, they hung his robes up on the other side of the closet. It was weird, but not unpleasant. 

The gardenia flowers withered and dropped. The days got hot enough to officially declare it summer.

Hermione, noticing how distracted he was, suggested he bring Draco for dinner (aka takeout) the next week. 

“I really would like to know more about this magic Malfoy Manor was doing. It’s fascinating.” 

Since this would solve Harry’s main worry that Draco wasn’t eating, he readily agreed. Convincing Draco took some work, but Harry enjoyed the process. 

The night went smoother than he anticipated. 

Hermione kept the conversation flowing with a list of questions she compiled. Malfoy, apparently a secret swot their entire life, was eager to discuss theories.

She had worn a sundress, because she “wanted to make the Weasel uncomfortable.”

True to form, Ron just kept muttering “blimey” and drinking beers. 

Harry was most surprised at Draco’s interest in Rosie. She kept looking at her, taking the initiative to sit on the floor and ask about her toys. Rosie seemed to like this. She started toddling over and randomly handing the blonde different objects throughout the evening. 

Draco would hold them up, dramatically examining whatever it was with profuse enthusiasm, before handing them back.

He asked her about it later. Draco just shrugged. “I always liked kids, Potter. The next best thing to being spoiled is spoiling someone else.”

That didn’t make any sense to Harry, but he had been raised in a cupboard by spiders.

Narcissa came by impromptu again. Draco shoved him into the en suite and told him to stay put. 

Instead, Harry wandered into the kitchen and casually placed a kiss on Draco’s head. 

“Morning, Dray. Morning, Mrs. Malfoy.”

He picked up the kettle, pouring himself a cuppa. Narcissa dropped her spoon, it clanged loudly against the nice porcelain. 

“Harry!” Draco’s face was a delightful shade of red. “I told you to stay upstairs.”

“You’re not the boss of me.”

“I will suffocate you with your own pillow.”

He mock gasped. “In my own home?”

“You live here? Draco!”

“Merlin, what is wrong with you, Potter? Did Dumbledore drop you on your head when he handed you over to those muggles?” Harry snorted into his tea.

“Drea, you cannot say stuff like that. I’m so sorry, Mr. Potter.”

“It’s ok, Mrs. Malfoy. I like her mouth.”

“Agh! Potter! That’s my Mother you berk!”

Narcissa was looking back and forth between them, calculating. Suddenly, she smiled and seemed to regain her composure.

“It’s so nice to see you, Harry. Can I call you Harry? I feel like we’re family, you know? Forged through the flames of adversity.”

Draco put her face into her hands. 

That night, for the first time ever, she refused to have sex with him. Of course, only after he ate her out to completion. Twice. 

Thinking she had accepted his apology, Harry was unprepared to be shoved out of bed mid-kiss. Landing with a soft “oof,” he stared up at the ceiling, dazed. 

A pillow landed on his face. 

“I forgive you. But I want you to think about what you’ve done, Harry.”

She turned off the lights. 

Molly had apparently been talking to Hermione, and extended an offer for Malfoy to come to the burrow for dinner. 

“The older you get, the more you value forgiveness, Harry. If he, uh, she makes you happy then my home is open.”

Draco put her foot down on that one. Literally, on his chest, shoving Harry back into bed. 

“Oh, absolutely not. Hell no. That is not happening, Potter. Now shut your stupid mouth while I blow you.”

Harry wasn’t willing to repeat his night on the floor. He wisely shut up. 

———

Before they knew it, summer was coming to an end. This, as it did every year, meant Harry’s birthday. That meant a large party thrown at the burrow, spearheaded by Ron. 

“What is this?” 

Draco was opening her mail. Harry leaned over her, sliding his hand through the gap in her dressing gown. 

“Looks like an invitation.”

“I can read, Harry.”

“Can you?” He pointed at each word, sounding them out. “Harry. Potter’s. Birthday.”

“Quit that!” She grabbed his finger, pulling it back, glaring while he laughed. “Why is it addressed to me?”

“Oh, probably because we live together. And have sex, on the regular.” He waggled his eyebrows. “And I want you there.”

“No.” She ripped it in half. 

“Hey! You can’t just say no! It’s my birthday.”

Draco rolled her eyes. “It’s also a national holiday. I think you’ll be fine.”

Harry blushed, uncomfortable. “I didn’t ask for that.”

“Yes, I know.” Her grey eyes softened. “I don’t think it’s a good idea, Harry. I’m still me. You know… reformed death eater? On parole? Can’t leave the country or even get a job without permission?”

“We can still celebrate. Something else, later.” Her hand covered his, sliding it toward her thighs. “I’ll even wear that awful tie again, if you want.”

Celebrate, indeed. 

Draco got him a cake. It was presented on a fancy crystal platter; she was wearing his favorite lingerie set (the one with garters). 

“Cake for breakfast?”

“You can have cake whenever you want on your birthday. It’s custom ordered, from my favorite patisserie.”

She fed it to him while riding him. Half asleep, hair askew, Harry could only moan.

“Holy shit, Dray. This is the best cake I’ve ever had.”

“I know,” she panted. “So good. I’m so close.”

“Keep going, keep going. More cake?”

Afterwards, there was cake everywhere. Draco laughed, picking it out of his hair. 

“These are the times I’m grateful for cleaning charms. So many crumbs.”

Harry lavishly sucked the frosting from the tips of her fingers. 

“Mmm. So fucking good.”

“Happy Birthday, Harry.”

Later, she helped him pick out his outfit before shoving him out the door. 

“Will you be home tonight?”

He shrugged. “Probably not. Most years I’m too wasted by the end of the night.”

“Alright,” Draco reached up, making a futile attempt to smooth out his hair. “Have fun, darling.” 

“Always. Stay here and be miserable without me.”

“Always.” 

But she didn’t laugh. 

———

Harry did have fun. 

He kept running into his favorite people. Neville, Luna, Hagrid, Seamus, Padma. They would embrace and start chatting like no time had passed. 

People kept handing him drinks. Someone arranged a quidditch match and dragged him to the pitch to play seeker. Hermione had ordered the largest cake possible. They put so many candles on it that one of the curtains caught on fire and Bill had to put it out. 

Eventually, the night started winding down. 

Harry was a little buzzed, and very, very happy. His life wasn’t perfect, but he realized it could still be good. 

George hollered out to him. “I’m staying the night. You need me to set up another cot, Harry?”

“Hmm. No,” Harry stood up, dusting grass off his pants. “No. I think I’m good to apparate home.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Getting old. I can’t knock them back like I used to.”

They chuckled. 

“Alright. I’ll tell mum that you left. Happy birthday!”

“See ya, George.” 

Harry apparated directly in the bedroom. He clumsily shrugged out of his shoes and robes, crawling into bed. 

It took him a couple minutes to realize he was alone. 

“Dray?”

No one answered. 

Looking around, Harry saw her dressing gown on its hook, next to the en-suite. 

He had told her wouldn’t be home, so didn’t think she would have waited up for him. Of course, she could be burning the midnight candle with those stupid books. 

Harry groaned, debating if he should just go to bed. Instead, he stomped down to the parlor, fully expecting to find an abashed blonde. 

It was empty. 

On a hunch, he opened up the drawer to the secretary. Also, empty. 

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

Furious, Harry put on his boots and checked that his wand was secure. Then he disapparated to Grimmauld Place. 

And immediately felt like throwing up. 

The house had gotten worse, if that was possible. Or maybe Harry had been away long enough that its influence had waned. 

The walls seemed to twist into themselves, ending nowhere. 

Stumbling, he called into the darkness. “Dray!”

The house creaked audibly around him. 

“Draco!”

Low moaning, barely loud enough to hear.

“Homenum Revialus!“

A faint glow, up ahead to the right. 

Harry closed his eyes, placing a hand against the wall, and inched forward. As he predicted, the walls remained steady, and he hit a door. 

She was in his bedroom. The furniture had been pushed to the corners of the room. A large runic circle was carved into the floorboards. 

Draco’s head was tipped back, eyes open, pupilless. Her teeth were tightly clenched. From the arch in her back he could tell she was in pain. Her palms were open, twin gashes on either side. Blood was soaked into the runes. 

“Fuck, Dray.” 

Harry went to grab her. He bounced right off the perimeter, slamming his head back into the wall. 

Hell no. This was not happening. Not on his birthday. 

Glaring, Harry gripped his wand, assessing. There wasn’t a magic strong enough on this earth to keep him out. Didn’t they know? He’s Harry Potter. 

Closing his eyes, he took a few measured breaths, opened them, and apparated directly into the circle. 

“Protego!”

He threw up a shield, just as the house moaned ominously around them, and the ceiling caved in. 

Draco began to cough, inhaling dust from the plaster. Her body had unclenched though, and she was blinking groggily up at him. 

“I’m so mad at you.”

Her bottom lip quivered, she started weeping. Harry could see the outline of tear tracks on her cheeks, cutting through the dust. 

A shaky hand reached up, cold fingers caressing his cheek. 

“It won’t let you go, Harry. I tried everything. It won’t let you go.”

Harry ignored her, checking them over for injuries. 

“Why won’t it listen to me? Why won’t it let you go?”

He lost it. 

“Just stop! Please. Stop it, Draco. Why are you doing this? Leave it alone.”

She gripped his hand, sobbing

“You are so stupid, Potter. So unbelievably stupid. You never see what’s directly in front of you.”

“Stop talking in circles.” Harry rubbed at his temples. “I’m angry, and tired, and I want to go home.” 

They jumped. All of the doors had simultaneously slammed shut. 

“Can we go? I’m worried you’re hurt and I shouldn’t move you. Are you hurt?”

Draco shook her head. “I can’t leave right now.”

Harry wanted to punch a wall. “I told you to stop. I don’t want this. We’re leaving.”

“I love you, you idiot.” 

He froze. 

Draco started crying again. Or maybe she had never stopped. Intense, consuming sobs. 

“Don’t you get it? I love you, Harry. I have always loved you. From the moment I was a nasty little shit making fun of your dead parents up until this very second. You consume my every thought. You have guided my every action. Draco Malfoy is nothing without Harry Potter.”

Harry was thunderstruck.

“I can’t let this go. I can’t let them win. I love you, Harry. You deserve your happy ending. It’s not right. It’s not fair. I need to do this. I won’t stop. I won’t.”

She cried and cried and cried. Finally, there were no tears left. 

They continued to sit there, breathing deeply for a long time, dust settling around them.

Harry slid his hand into hers, interlacing their fingers. 

“You always did have an obsessive personality.” 

Draco snorted, twisting her head to look at him. 

“Pot meet kettle.”

“Pot(ter).”

“You’re so lame. I hate you.”

“I thought you loved me.”

She didn’t reply, looking away. 

Harry winced. “Too soon?” 

“Too soon, Potter.”

“Can we go home now? Please, Dray? Please?”

“Yeah. Okay.” 

Eagerly, Harry gripped her upper arm, and twisted. 

Nothing happened. 

Draco smirked, “I said we can go.”

He tried again. And again. And again. 

Confused, Draco cocked her head to the side. “Harry?”

“Draco,” he whispered. “I’m trying.”

A sense of dread was crawling up his arms. The itching skin, ten times worse. 

“It’s not working. It’s not working.”

With a look of horror, Draco grabbed Harry’s hand. He felt the tug of magic. Nothing. 

This had never happened before. He was Harry Potter. 

For the first time ever, Harry felt genuinely terrified of Grimmauld Place. 

They moved closer together, almost embracing, breathing heavily. Both of them were palming their wands. 

“Don’t look directly at the shadows.”

“The shadows?”

“Yes,” Draco nodded her head. “If you see it, from the corner of your eye. Don’t look.” 

“How do you—“

“I just do, Potter!”

“Ok… what should we do now? Try the floo? Or the front door?”

“No,” she shook her head. “It wants us here. It wants you here. I need to talk to it, Harry.”

“Er… ok?” Harry made a questioning gesture. “So talk?”

“Of all the morons in England, this is the one I love. In the runic circle, you mouth breather!” 

“That does make more sense.” 

Harry helped Draco over into the circle, using his wand to move larger sections of ceiling aside. Looking up, all he could see was cavernous black. 

“I am positive we’re on the top floor.”

Draco looked up. 

“Yeah, that’s not ominous at all.”

She started removing her shirt, using it to clean a dagger. Then unlatched her bra. 

“Er, why are you getting naked?”

“Ancient magic is weird, Potter. Let’s not ask too many questions, mmm?”

Harry held up his hands. “You’re the expert here.”

At some point, Draco instructed him to move out of the runic circle. Harry shook his head. “That’s not happening.” 

“If I didn’t know how bad it hurts I’d kick you in the balls right now.”

“Your kindness knows no bounds.”

“Make yourself useful and hold this.”

“Wha-,” she shoved her panties into his mouth. 

Glaring, Harry spat them out. Then stuffed them into his pocket. 

“Dray, I may be partially blind, but you were not starkers when I found you earlier.”

“Stronger magic begets stranger sacrifices.”

“Why do you talk like some sixteenth century philosopher?” Harry exclaimed in bewilderment.

She closed a fist around the dagger, reopening the wounds. He flinched.

Draco made a fist, dripping blood on the runes she had carved. 

“Is this legal?”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.”

“Fair enough.”

“Also, don’t be a snitch, Auror Potter.”

“Snitches get stitches?”

“No,” there was a smile playing at her lips. “They get caught.”

Harry laughed. “That was lame, even for me.”

She kneeled down, palms up. Instinctively, Harry moved behind her, placing his knees on either side of hers. 

“I got you.”

Draco’s face went soft and considering. “You’re a good person, Harry Potter.”

Before he could think of a response she gripped her wand and began casting. Harry could feel the thrum of magic in the air, a gentle pulse that grew progressively louder. 

Her body suddenly seized, head thrown back and into her shoulder. Harry gripped her shoulders, shuttering as the crawling sensation amplified. He wanted to rip off his skin. He grit his teeth and forced himself to stay still. 

Harry didn’t know how much time passed. Draco’s eyes rapidly moved back and forth, eerily blank and devoid of pupil. He could see her lips moving, mumbling, but no audible sound. 

The entire house exhaled and Draco dropped, falling to the floor before Harry could catch her. 

Everything was silent. 

Draco pushed herself up onto all fours, arms shaking. Her head hung down, hair obscuring her face, the ends coated in dried blood. Harry realized she was chuckling, but not in amusement. 

“Dray?” He moved closer, hand hovering over her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“Grimmauld Place would like to make a deal.” Her nails scratched along the floor, fingers curling. “Congratulations, Potter. You impressed them with that show of magic earlier.”

She took a deep bracing breath, sitting up to finally look at him. Tenderly, Harry pushed strands of hair from the corners of her mouth. 

“Well? What does it want?”

Draco was shaking her head. “No, I don’t want to.” 

Belatedly, Harry realized she wasn’t really talking to him. 

“I won’t,” she sobbed. “I won’t.” 

“Dray,” he grabbed her by the chin, wiping moisture off it with his thumb. “You’re going to shrivel up soon.”

She laughed, gazing intently into his face, gray eyes gone soft. “Why does it have to be you? Anyone else, Potter. If it was anyone else…Why do I have to love you so much?”

She shook her head. “No.I’ve never been the self sacrificing type.”

“You’re being cryptic again. You know I hate that.”

“I lied to you, Harry.”

He snorted. 

“I signed the Manor over to the ministry, yes. But there are conditions. It can never be sold to another family. I didn’t completely remove myself from the line of succession. I’m still a Malfoy. The family tapestry remains active.”

Draco’s lip wobbled. “I meant to. Then, I woke up like this.” She gestured vaguely at her naked body. “I was scared. Bloody terrified. That, if I did, I would fade into nothing. That Draco Malfoy should have never existed in the first place. I’m a selfish person, Harry.”

Harry considered her; naked and wrecked on the floor of Grimmauld Place. “That doesn’t sound selfish. It sounds reasonable, Dray.”

“No,” she hiccuped. “I am selfish. Because I can give you what you want, Harry. I can give you a child.”

He pushed down a flash of irritation. “Malfoy, we already discussed this. I’m the problem. No matter how willing the womb.”

“The family magic is powerful. The goblins confirmed it. Multiple times.”

“Yes, yes,” Harry rolled his eyes. “I heard this story already. Can we go now?”

“Fucking idiot,” Draco lashed out. “I’m trying to explain that I am extremely fertile. Fertile enough I could dry hump an old sock from fifth year and impregnate myself.”

That was a visual Harry did not want to have. 

“The magic woven into the Malfoy family tapestry was cast by nasty old perverted wizards who had nothing better to do than wank off to the thought of continuing their greatness forever. This is the darkest of blood magics. Shit you can’t write down, because it burns the parchment before complete words form. I’m talking ritual sacrifice of babies type dark magic. That is the cauldron I was brewed in.”

“Ok, ok,” Harry replied, taken aback by her fervent rant. “I get that. But it doesn’t change me.”

“It worked for Mother.”

Harry froze. “What?”

“Mother. She had me. So obviously it’s powerful enough. I told you, the Black lineage was meant to die out. Grimmauld is still angry about that.”

His heart was pounding, thumping louder and louder with each beat. “Why are you telling me this?” He whispered. 

“Grimmauld Place wants to make you a deal.” 

“What sort of deal?” Harry swallowed. 

“Your firstborn. As the named successor of Grimmauld Place. A new, shiny, powerful magical lineage it can sink its teeth into.” Draco scoffed. “Apparently, we should rename this shit hole Rumplestiltskin.”

“I don’t have a firstborn. You said this house was the reason I am infertile to begin with.” Harry ran his hand though his hair, tugging up on the ends. 

Draco leveled Harry with an amused look. “I said the houses were alive with magic, Harry. I never claimed they possessed intelligence. Magic has never made any sense.”

“I need to sit down.” 

“You are.”

“I need to think.” He shrugged out of his robes and wrapped them around Draco. “That’s better. Let me think.”

Deep breaths. In and out. Closing his eyes, Harry pressed on his fingertips, counting each one. He opened them. 

“Ok. Let me see if I have this correct. Grimmauld Place would now like you and I to conceive a child. Because, apparently, your family dabbled in dark fertility rites and it knows this is a possibility.”

“Ten points to Gryfindor.”

“Then it wants me to name said child as successor to Grimmauld Place. So it can have a new family to harass.”

“And raise them here.”

“And raise them here. Of course.” 

“Once we agree, a binding agreement, it will let us leave.”

Harry took a minute to consider it. 

“Ok.”

Draco jumped to her feet, eyes wide.

“What?! No!”

“Why not?” Harry cocked his head to the side, following her to his feet.

“I don’t want to!”

“I thought you loved me.”

Draco looked stricken. “That was low. Even for you, Potter.”

“Dray,” Harry stalked closer, directly into her personal space. He ran his hands up her arms, her neck, cradling the back of her head. “You said I am a good person.”

He shook his head, softly placing his lips on hers, before deepening the kiss. When he pulled away her eyes were glazed. “I’m not. I am really, really not. You can’t dangle everything I ever wanted in my face and expect me not to reach for it.”

“You don’t want this.”

Another kiss.

“I do.” 

“I don’t want this.”

Another kiss. 

“Are you scared, Malfoy?”

She pushed him away, stumbling backwards. “Of course I’m fucking scared, Potter!” 

“Of what? Let’s talk about it.”

“Of everything,” she sobbed. “I didn’t even have a uterus three years ago. I don’t know how to have a child.”

A more empathetic person would have backed down. A good and moral person. Instead, he pushed. 

“No one does. We’ll figure it out.” Harry felt the monster in his chest awaken, the mean one that was always lurking. There was a little boy being shoved into a closet, and a teen being told he had been raised for slaughter, and an adult watching his best friends with their daughter and feeling like his heart was being ripped apart. 

“You said I deserved my happy ending. You said that, Dray. You said you loved me. Isn’t that enough?”

Draco stopped crying, eyes wide but conflicted. She was chewing on her bottom lip. Harry knew he had her. 

“The Manor won’t like it. It’s possessive.”

Harry reached out, pulling her forward. “We’ll have more. As many as they want.”

He always did want a large family.

“I won’t live here. I won’t. I’m tired of being controlled by old magic and expectations and houses that think they know better than me.”

Harry was rubbing circles into the nape of her neck. Gentle. She was so close, he didn’t want to spook her. 

“Can I tell you a secret?”

“Hm?”

“I don’t think Grimmauld place is that bad. It doesn’t bother me, honestly.”

“You were raised in a cubboard under the stairs.”

“True. But you were the one who told me. That magic doesn’t care about dark or light. It just is, right?”

Harry felt Draco’s hands, laid tentatively against his biceps. 

“Half the year.”

“Ok.”

Harry brought her closer, rubbing himself against the side of her hip, arranging her hands around him. 

“You don’t love me.” 

He cupped her chin, guiding her mouth to his. Wet, filthy, perfect. 

“I don’t know what love is. You love me, though. Can you teach me, Dray?” Harry stroked her hair, green eyes staring intently into hers. “No one ever spoiled me. Will you? Spoil me?”

“Fuck,” Draco’s eyes were dilated, glazed over with lust. Harry knew he had won. 

It was the greatest catch of his life. 

“I’m going to spoil you so hard, Harry.” She reached down to cup his cock. “So, so hard.”

“Will you give me everything I ever wanted? No one’s ever given me whatever I wanted.”

“Everything. Anything. Whatever you want, Harry.” 

“Because you love me? You’ve always loved me? Even as a guy?”

“Always. Forever.”

“You know Draco, I definitely would have fucked you back in sixth year. You should have asked.” 

Draco groaned, head thrown back. “Shut up and impregnate me already.”

“Dray, that is so hot. Say it again.”

Harry appreciated that she was only wearing his robes. It made access much easier. 

———

While it had been a convenient surface for fornecation, the runic carved floorboards were not very comfortable. Harry missed his bed. 

He had balled up his robes and was using them as a pillow. Draco was resting her head on his chest, carding her fingers through the curly hairs there. 

“On a scale from one to pregnant, where are you in your cycle right now?”

Harry knew far too much about ovulation cycles after years of trying to conceive with Ginny. 

Draco huffed a laugh. “An eight? A few days before peak fertility, but plenty of time to get it right.”

“I do enjoy the practice.”

“I wonder if Grimmauld Place is appeased enough to let us leave. I’m parched.” She ruefully chuckled. “And here Father thought I cried too much as a boy.” 

“You always did have a propensity for turning on the waterworks.” She pulled out a single chest hair in retribution. Harry chuckled. 

Scanning the room, he didn’t see any cups available for aguamenti. 

“Kretcher?”

Draco jumped, screaming. 

“Fucking Flobberworms! What is that?!”

“Kretcher. He’s the house elf.”

“There has been a house elf here?! This entire time?!”

“Er, yeah?”

“No, no. Absolutely not. Not today.” 

Draco grabbed her underwear from the pocket of Harry’s balled up robes. Placing them into Harry’s palm, she immediately punted them into Kretcher's face.

“Go! Get! Begone! You’re free.”

Harry pouted. 

“I wanted to keep those.”

—————

Grimmauld Place let them return home. After Draco did another, less intense but still weird, blood ritual. 

She refused to move in right away. “Not until I am holding a flesh and blood child, Harry. You cannot give these houses an inch. Do not get complacent.”

Harry figured she was the expert, all things considered. 

Nine months later Harry watched Draco cradle a dark haired baby in the crook of her elbow. Its face was red and smushed, eyes closed as it blindly rooted. 

It was the most beautiful baby Harry had ever seen. With gentle, shaking hands he ran a finger against downy hair. So soft. For once in his life, the monster in his chest disappeared. 

“Are you crying, Harry?”

“Yes,” he wiped at his face. “Guys can cry, Dray. This has been a very emotional day.”

“I know guys can cry! Obviously.” Draco rolled her eyes. “I’m trying to figure out this breastfeeding thing, be quiet. Your blubbering is distracting.”

“I just— I had given up hope that I would ever have this.”

“Yes, yes. Magic works in mysterious ways.” 

“I will kill anyone who so much as looks at him wrong.”

“Kinky. Put it away, Potter. And by it, I mean your overinflated magic.”

“Sorry.” The vase of flowers on her side table stopped wobbling.

“Better.” Draco was staring down at their child,

a haze of maternal affection on her face. It was a new look; Harry had never seen it before. He liked it. 

“Sweet boy. Sweet Scorpius.”

“Oh, hell no.” Harry stepped in. “You have officially lost all current and future naming rights.”

Draco glared. “I just gave birth. To your giant hairy baby.”

“His name is James.” 

“Ugh, fine. But don’t get mad at me if he grows up with a complex because of your daddy issues.”

“Why would you say that? James is perfectly acceptable! Your family tapestry literally only contains five recycled names.”

“Exactly,” Draco sniffed. “And my Mother knew better.”

“Scorpius is legitimately an awful name.”

“James? Harry? Come on. How plebeian can you be?”

“What about Albus?”

“Get the fuck out of my suite. Right now.”

Harry laughed. “Ok. That might be a little outdated.”

“I lied — stop laughing! James isn’t the worst name ever.” Draco ducked her head down. “What do you think, little one? James? Oh,” she grinned at Harry. “He latched! That’s baby for yes. Probably. Also, ouch! Why did not one tell me how rough this is on the nipples? Quick, distract me.”

“Er, when I died Voldemort was there as a little baby. All wrinkly and swaddled and red.”

“Did baby Voldemort have a nose?”

“Of course not! That would have been weird.”

Draco tilted her head, considering. “Yeah, it would have. Maybe even weirder than this.”

James’s little hand came up. Draco gave him her finger to grip, smiling softly.

Harry swallowed, overcome with emotion. Would you look at that? He got his Happy Ending after all. 

“You spoil me so good, Dray.”

“Harry! I just gave birth. Don’t say things like that.”