Chapter Text
It was a brief, fleeting thing.
They immediately jumped away from each other the moment their lips met, as Harry’s ferocity had caused their teeth to clash together clumsily.
At the same time, Draco's nose collided with Harry's. His glasses were sent skittering, and Draco's nose was left sore from the impact.
Harry, clutching at his own nose, croaked out a faint laugh, hanging his head.
“Sorry…”
Draco blinked, surprised. He brought his fingers to his tingling lips, ignoring the slight throb of his nose. Somehow, amongst the flurry of fireworks exploding in his head, he managed to find his footing, letting out a huffy harrumph.
“You should be!” he snapped. “That was terrible!”
Before he could think twice and cower away, he cupped a hand around Harry’s jaw, guiding his face back up to meet his eye.
With a sharp breath, he leant in and delicately pressed their lips together.
This time, it was soft. Tentative. Searching.
Harry’s lips were chapped yet soft, and none of Draco’s fantasising could’ve come close to the real thing, somehow both velvety smooth and firm, and, and –
He made a surprised noise as Harry eagerly deepened the kiss, turning their heads and slotting their lips together perfectly.
Harry tasted of cool peppermint and – rather disturbingly – there was the coppery tang of blood, and Draco was having a very hard time wrapping his head around the fact that he was really kissing him. He fell into a heady trance, his heart thumping to the rhythm of Harry, Harry, Harry.
Eventually, to Draco’s dismay, they had to break apart for air.
Harry leant his forehead against Draco’s collarbone, panting.
“You're really not –” Draco began, faltering when Harry looked up, his lips, wonderfully swollen, stretched into a lopsided grin.
Draco had done that, and the thought of it sent a thrill through him.
He swallowed. “You're not scared off?”
“Why would I be?” Harry asked, clutching at Draco as though he might slip through his fingers at any moment. “I'm a bit obsessed with you, too, you know.”
Draco took that as incentive to kiss him again, only caring about having Harry close to him, relishing in the warmth of what felt like a thousand suns.
Harry pulled away abruptly, his crooked grin so wide it crinkled his eyes.
“Ask me how I figured it out.”
Confusion quickly rose in Draco. “... Beg your pardon?” he asked, carefully polite. “Figured what out?”
“I've been piecing a few things together, you see,” Harry said, sounding ridiculously rehearsed. “You know what I'm like, can't help myself from solving a mystery – especially when it's staring me in the face. So, ask me how I figured it out.”
Humouring his little act, Draco arched a curious brow. “How did you figure it out?”
Harry cleared his throat importantly.
“Well,” he said, “the day Umbridge got arrested, you had too much to drink at the afterparty, and you told me that I was ‘your Scarhead.’”
“You are my Scarhead,” Draco purred, delighting in the way Harry's ears went bright red.
Harry cleared his throat again, his voice breaking a little as he carried on.
“That was what really got me thinking,” he said, "First I thought about how you were always so rude to Cho.” He paused, his eyes glittering with amusement. “To begin with, I thought it was because you fancied Cedric.”
Draco scoffed. “Oh, please –”
“But,” Harry butted in, “if it wasn’t about Cedric, then it had to be about Cho. Which meant you weren’t jealous of her for dating Cedric, you were jealous because of who else liked her.”
Draco scoffed again. “I wasn't jealous.”
Despite his insistence, he could hear the petulant pout in his voice, and he hated it.
Harry, however, looked beside himself. Smirking like the Kneazle that got the cream.
“I can think of one person who had a crush on Cho at the same time,” he murmured. “Or at least, he did, until he realised he had much stronger feelings for someone else.”
As he said this, his hands found their way to Draco’s waist, his thumbs settling comfortably in the hoops of his jeans. Draco's heart squeezed with joy, completely and utterly lost in those green, green eyes.
“And then,” said Harry, “finally, there was the poem in second year.”
“Oh no, you caught me,” Draco drawled, smirking.
Harry just ignored him, beaming away.
“When I asked Ginny, she was quite insistent that she didn't write any poems; that she actually found poetry incredibly stupid. But I do seem to recall you blaming her…”
Draco hummed idly.
“And after that,” Harry said, “every single little piece started falling into place. Every interaction, every offhand comment, every look… And then today, your Patronus was a stag.”
He was grinning like an absolute besotted fool.
“And?” Draco said smugly, managing to keep his cool. “What was your conclusion, Auror Potter?”
Green eyes burning into him, Harry gently lifted Draco’s hand to his mouth, and placed a kiss into the palm of it, not breaking eye contact.
Draco’s knees felt like they'd been struck with a particularly powerful Jelly-legs Jinx.
Still holding his hand, Harry tangled their fingers together. The contrast of their golden and pale skin was wonderful. Beautiful.
“You loooove me,” he sing-sang teasingly.
Draco only rolled his eyes, his cheeks burning. “Harry Potter does it again, folks. He solved yet another glaringly obvious mystery.”
Harry huffed a laugh, pulling Draco closer. “Should I be insulted that you see having feelings for me as a curse?” he murmured.
Draco snorted.
“The Black Family Curse isn't real, Harry,” he murmured back. “It's a gimmick – a way the Black ancestors scared their descendants away from falling in love and letting them be happy.”
Harry furrowed his brow. “So…?”
“So,” said Draco, rolling his eyes, “what I meant was, I am happy. I am in love. I am ‘cursed.’”
Harry looked awkwardly down at his feet, going strangely shy, his face turning the same shade of red as his ears. It was rather adorable.
“Can… you say it again?” His eyes burned with the question, pleading and sincere.
“Hm?” said Draco, smirking. “Oh, no. I don't think I will.”
At Harry’s stricken expression, he turned his nose up, his smirk curling further upon his face.
“That's your lot, Scarhead.”
Harry gasped, mock-wounded. “I just basically took a bullet for you!”
It was said in a lighthearted, joking manner, but it gave Draco whiplash nonetheless.
His smirk fell instantly, staring, lost, at Harry. “How… How did you survive?”
Harry shrugged, completely carefree. “I just got lucky, I suppose.”
Draco shook his head, not accepting that as an answer. “You weren’t breathing, Harry. I thought – I thought you – ”
A reassuring squeeze of his hand – comforting and familiar.
Harry swallowed, ducking his head. “I don't… really know…” he said. “It's blurry. All I remember is white, and familiar voices … And that I knew I had to get back to you.”
“To me?” Draco asked. “That's it? Just me?”
“Of course,” said Harry, as though it were obvious. “I couldn't leave you when we were this close –” he held his fingers up, pinched but barely touching. “You – God this is going to sound so cheesy – you're everything to me, Draco. You make me so happy it's insane. You make me want to be better, to get up and seize the day, to – to – I dunno, randomly break into song!”
Draco laughed.
He really wanted to scrunch his nose in disdain, to sneer and mock barfing at the sheer Hufflepuff-ness that had just spilled from Harry’s extremely kissable lips, but the idea of Harry singing as though he were in a stage play was too much.
He ignored the frankly obscenely smitten smile Harry was sending his way, his own smile fading as his thoughts drifted to less amusing things.
"I wasn't supposed to make you happy,” he said quietly, so melancholic, he could hear it laced tightly in his voice. “And I don't think you would've wanted me originally... The original timeline, that is. Where I was a Death Ea –”
Harry put a hand over his mouth.
"Don't,” he said. “I don't think you would’ve had it in you to be a proper Death Eater. And I like to think I still would've fallen for you …” He wrinkled his nose. “Eventually."
Draco scoffed, tugging Harry’s hand away. “I could too have been a proper Death Eater.”
"That's what you decide to take from that?" Harry asked dryly, tangling their fingers together again.
With one of his hands being held and the other wrapped around his waist, Draco felt as though they were about to break into some sort of absurd waltz.
He felt like laughing again, lightheaded, reckless, and so incredibly alive. So he did. Elated and slightly giddy.
“Alright, fine, you win,” he murmured, leaning in close, lips just brushing the shell of Harry’s ear.
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
Draco’s breath left him in a rush. He shot back, heart lodged in his throat, staring and staring and staring at Harry.
Harry stared back, grinning. Soft, shy, and entirely sure of himself. A flush crept up his cheeks, deeper than before.
Draco couldn’t help it. He let out a sharp, unrestrained cry of glee and flung himself at Harry, wrapping his arms and legs around him.
They fell, but Draco didn't care.
He peppered Harry’s face with kisses, lingering the longest on his lips before pulling away, holding Harry’s cheeks between his hands.
Harry was left blinking up at him, his green eyes owlishly wide, his squished lips parted in surprise.
Then, he burst out laughing, surging upright and wrapping his arms around Draco, hugging him tightly. Against Draco’s chest, he sighed, “I feel like I've gone to heaven…”
Draco pulled back slightly, tilting Harry’s jaw up to face him again.
“What are we now, then, Harry?” he asked, his heart doing somersaults as he draped his arms languidly over Harry’s shoulders.
Harry bit his lip, and his grin grew impossibly wider.
“Didn’t you say something about being the Chosen One's Consort?”
Draco smacked his shoulder, snorting. “Behave.”
Harry’s stupidly smug and smitten grin didn't falter at all. It got even worse, bright green eyes gleaming at him, vibrant and playful.
“Draco Malfoy, how would you like to actually absolutely one hundred percent be my boyfriend?”
Draco pretended to think hard. He hemmed and hawed, tapping his chin.
“That depends,” he said as Harry let out an amused huff. “Think you're up to the task, Scarhead?”
Harry answered the question by leaning forwards and catching his lips in another kiss.
***
By three o’clock in the afternoon, ten Aurors had arrived on the scene.
They took accounts from various students, expressions ranging from grim to mildly bewildered as they attempted to piece together the complete pandemonium that had taken place.
The Hogwarts student body was scattered across the grass and the train tracks, some standing in clusters, others sprawled out in the fields. While some were enthusiastically babbling about the glaringly obvious, others had given up on making sense of it all.
A group of firsties sat cross-legged in a circle, playing Gobstones, while a few older students had produced a deck of Exploding Snap cards.
Pansy, meanwhile, was relaying the entire story with big arm gestures to a haggled-looking Auror.
The moment she saw Draco, however, she immediately forgot all about her interrogation, rushing over to him, the Auror looking visibly relieved.
Draco was expecting her to ask if he was okay, or if he was at all hurt.
He was not expecting her to point at him in horrified fascination and declare, “You've been snogging someone!”
Draco gaped at her, absolutely mortified.
“What?!” he spluttered. “No, I never – I wouldn't – How on earth – ?!”
Pansy's answering grin was pure evil. “Was it a certain scar-headed someone?”
Draco huffed. “I'm fine by the way, thank you for asking.”
Ignoring him, Pansy carried on with her heartless teasing. “Was it a heat of the moment thing?” she asked. “Did he sweep you into his arms and kiss you as spellfire exploded all around you?”
“It was after Riddle's lot had vanished!” Draco snapped. “I told him I loved him, and he kissed me, alright?!”
Pansy stared at him blankly.
“Was that it?! ” she exclaimed. “No grand gestures, no drama or anything?!”
Draco scoffed as indignation swelled within him. “Well, actually –!”
He hesitated, staring blankly into the distance as he relived the final moments of the battle… Harry might not want it publicly known he was The Boy Who Lived Twice. That he had basically died to save him…
“Well, actually, I can't believe I did it!” He cried, splaying a dramatic hand against his forehead. “I just flung myself at him and told him everything like a reckless fool!”
Pansy merely raised a dark brow.
“Oh, I'm sorry, was I supposed to be surprised?” She drawled.
She thought she had the advantage, but Draco had her right where he wanted her.
He hid his smirk as she cleared her throat, adopting an expression of horrified mock-shock.
“Draco Malfoy! Love has turned you into an idiotic, reckless Gryffindor!”
Draco buried his face in his hands, effecting a feigned state of flustered woe. “I know!”
He didn't need to look to know Pansy was rolling her eyes.
“So…” He sighed, emerging from his hands. “What happened while we were on the roof?”
Pansy tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Oo-er, let's see… The Snidgets fought off your cuckoo-clock aunt best they could, and defended the firsties when the she-devil broke loose. Greg got hit with a nasty boils hex, and Neville suffered an almighty nosebleed…” She gave him a wicked grin. “Anyway, when's the wedding?”
"Release me, you Ministry twerps!"
Draco looked over at the sudden exclamation.
Near the train, two Aurors stood over Ivan Goyle and Selwina Crabbe, who were both bound in enchanted restraints.
Ivan looked furious, his massive frame rigid as he glowered up at the Aurors.
Selwina, on the other hand, was struggling against the spell that kept her hands locked behind her back. She was attempting to flip her tentacle-hair at an unimpressed Auror, who simply took a step back.
Greg and Vince stood a few steps away, watching the scene unfold. Draco glanced uneasily between them, then shared a heavy look with Pansy.
Stepping forwards, he placed a hand on each of His Boys’ shoulders. They barely acknowledged him, watching as their parents were hauled to their feet before being Side-Alonged away to the Ministry with resounding CRACKS!
“It's better they're in Azkaban than fighting against us,” said Vince after a moment.
Greg, scratched at his red, spotty face. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Yeah, I guess so.”
Draco swallowed, a tightness in his chest.
He wanted to tell them they were making the right choice. That they weren’t alone in this.
But before he could find the words, a familiar voice came lilting from behind them.
“You’re quite right, darlings.”
Draco whipped around to find his mother standing there, giving Vince and Greg a sympathetic smile.
“Mrs Malfoy!” gasped Pansy at once. “Your coiffure!”
At least several inches of her long, pristine blonde hair had been lopped off – choppy and uneven, with one lock charred black at the tip.
His mother hummed. “I had an exceptionally demented barber.”
Draco winced. “Aunt Bellatrix?”
A regal sniff. “Indeed.”
He hesitated, scanning her face, searching for signs of distress, exhaustion, anything that might hint at how she was truly feeling. But, as always, she was impeccably composed, every inch the unshakable Malfoy matriarch.
“Mother… Are you alright?” he asked quietly.
“Of course I am, darling.” Her voice was smooth, effortless.
Draco didn’t quite believe her.
“Walk with me?” she asked, inclining her head towards the field.
Draco nodded, and they set off, strolling away from the gathered crowd.
The grass beneath their feet was soft and wild, dotted with dandelions and buttercups swaying gently in the afternoon breeze. The train still loomed in the distance.
For a long while, neither of them spoke.
The scent of wildflowers filled the air, mingling with the faint trace of smoke that still clung to Draco’s clothes.
His mother, for her part, looked serene. But Draco knew better.
Once they were in a quiet spot, she flicked her wand, effortlessly summoning a neat little café table and a tea set out of thin air. The porcelain gleamed in the late afternoon light as she conjured a teapot, steam curling from its spout as it filled with boiling water.
Reaching into her handbag, she dropped exactly three teabags into the pot, the scent of mint curling from the steam.
She looked up at him then, her eyes cool but knowing.
“Mint and chamomile tea?”
Draco nodded, taking the delicate wrought-iron seat opposite hers.
“I will need to Apparate away to Andromeda soon,” she said primly, holding her teacup to her face and inhaling deeply before taking a sip. “I'm sure we can make arrangements for Vincent and Gregory, if they should choose to come with us.”
“Really?” asked Draco, picking up his own teacup.
His mother hummed her affirmation. “With Vincent's other mother the way she is, and Gregory's mother too… they'll be vicious harpies… I have no doubt the poor boys will be brainwashed or ostracised.”
Draco frowned. “How can you be so sure? You changed sides because of me, they're still their parents.”
“The Crabbes and the Goyles are extremely loyal to the cause, all of them,” his mother responded evenly. “Mrs Goyle has said before, that if her son turned out to be a Mudwallower, she would disown him without a second thought.”
Draco stared deeply into his cup of untouched tea, disgusted.
“And while I enjoyed my status as the matriarch of our Pureblood socialite circle,” his mother continued, “I have always been on the fence. I believed in blood purity for my parents and then for your father, and promptly discarded it for you.”
She took another dainty sip. “That may seem shallow of me, but I simply do what's best for the ones I love.”
“He… saved me,” Draco said after a moment, his voice quiet. “Father, I mean.”
His mother didn’t react at first. She simply took a slow sip of her tea, letting the steam curl around her face.
“I saw.”
Draco stared down at his own cup, fingers tight around the delicate porcelain. He still hadn’t taken a sip yet. He wasn’t sure if he could bring himself to.
“I don’t understand…” he admitted, voice tight with confusion and frustration.
His mother let out a slow breath. “I know, darling, I know.”
She gazed into her tea, her expression tired yet pensive.
“It’s hard,” she murmured, swirling the liquid absently. “I’m not certain either, but…” She sighed. “I know that he cares deeply for us.”
Draco let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “He has a peculiar way of showing it.”
His mother smiled. Not with amusement, but with something softer, sadder. She didn’t argue.
They both fell silent, the warm scent of mint tea wrapping around them. His mother's perfectly manicured nails drummed idly against her teacup.
She let out a deep sigh, her composure dropping as her shoulders sagged slightly.
“I know that beneath the exterior of maintaining reputation, family means everything to him,” she said softly. “You are his blood, and it is his sworn duty to protect his bloodline… I also know that he most definitely believes he's truly doing the right thing for his family’s future.”
Draco looked down at his hands, now fidgeting with a teaspoon.
“I miss him sometimes…”
He glanced up as his mother closed her eyes, inhaling deeply before softly admitting, “I miss him all the time.”
Draco stopped twiddling, looking back down. “...I'm sorry.”
His mother placed a cool, steady hand over his. Draco stared down at their hands for a moment, swallowing past the lump in his throat.
“Your father and I knew nothing of time travel and soothsaying journals,” she told him. “We both made our choices entirely independently, and I am still quite furious with him.”
Draco huffed out a breath, half a laugh, half something else. He turned his teacup absently in his fingers, watching the liquid ripple.
A moment of silence. Then, abruptly –
“Harry and I are an item now."
His mother froze mid-sip.
Her usually impeccable composure wavered just slightly as she blinked once. Twice. She opened her mouth as if to respond, only to shut it again, blinking a third time.
Draco held back a smirk.
“Well,” she said eventually, setting her teacup down carefully. “How do you feel?”
Draco let out a slow breath and turned his gaze outward, watching the rolling countryside stretch endlessly before them, the shades of green rippling in the mild breeze so achingly familiar.
He smiled.
“Extraordinary.”
***
The Hogwarts Express finally got back on its course at just gone five, chugging dutifully along the tracks to King's Cross Station.
With many wix-born families whisking their children away via Portkey during the long wait in the field, the train now felt oddly empty and eerily quiet. Or at least, as quiet as it could be with Lee Jordan still recounting the highlights of the ‘Battle of the Hogwarts Express,’ at full volume to anyone who would listen.
The Order of the Phoenix had remained onboard, sequestered in one of the open-seated carriages with tables, looking rather worse for wear.
Dora and Kingsley had departed with the other Aurors, however, Kingsley muttering darkly about ‘not letting Fudge cover this one up.’
Dora had made sure to give Draco a great big kiss on the cheek, ruffling his hair before Disapparating, leaving him fuming and desperately needing to seek revenge.
He had lingered on the rails as the train got ready to move, great puffs of purple steam hissing from the wheels, watching as his mother prepared to Apparate home.
She smoothed her hands over his hair, fussing and fixing it as if he were a small boy heading off for his first year at Hogwarts rather than a sixteen-year-old who had just fought for his life on top of a moving train.
“I'll see you in a couple of hours, darling." She gave him a long, measured look before cupping his cheek just briefly. “Be safe.”
And then, with a rustle of robes and a sharp crack, she was gone.
Draco let out a slow sigh, and boarded the train alone as it began to slowly chug along.
As he made his way through the narrow corridor, voices drifted from one of the table-seated carriages. Familiar voices. Sirius and Remus.
He paused, curiosity piqued.
“I tried talking to Harry,” Sirius was saying, sounding perplexed.
“Oh dear,” came Remus’s dry reply. “How is he?”
“That’s just it, Moony – he’s completely fine!” Sirius exclaimed. “In fact, he’s acting like he’s been hit with a Confundus, grinning like a loon and drifting into space.”
Remus hummed thoughtfully. “Well, did you check? Has he been bewitched by anything?”
“If by ‘anything’ you mean a certain cheeky blond cousin of mine, then you’d be right,” Sirius said, chuckling.
Draco couldn’t help but smirk.
“Oh, pleased with yourself, are you?” Sirius said suddenly, turning in his seat to look directly at Draco, who had, unfortunately, been caught eavesdropping.
Draco lifted his chin. “As I should be.”
Remus chuckled, while Sirius stood and clapped him on the shoulder. “Well, congrats. Welcome to the family.”
Draco arched a brow. “We're already family.”
Sirius waggled his own eyebrows. “Bit incestuous when you think about it, eh?”
Draco snorted, bid them a casual goodbye, and made his way toward their compartment.
“He's mad about you, you know.”
Draco stilled.
Something in Sirius’s tone had changed. The teasing had softened into something serious. Almost… concerned.
“He died for you, Draco.”
Draco felt something sharp lodge itself in his throat. He turned back around, eyes flicking between Harry’s two guardians, forcing himself to keep his expression impassive.
Sirius leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "It wasn’t just instinct. He made a choice.” His grey eyes were steady. “You get that, don’t you?”
Draco did get it. He just wasn’t sure what to do with the knowledge.
Because he remembered. He remembered the spell leaving Riddle's wand. He remembered the way Harry had moved without hesitation – so quick, so deliberate.
Draco’s throat tightened. “He’s a bloody Gryffindor,” he said, forcing out something flippant. “That’s what you lot do, isn’t it?”
Sirius didn’t laugh.
“Harry’s brave. Reckless, even,” he said. “But that? That was different.” He hesitated. “He’d do it again, you know.”
Draco’s stomach twisted.
He knew.
He hated that he knew.
“Well,” he said, voice forcedly even. “Let’s try to avoid a repeat performance, shall we?”
Neither Sirius nor Remus argued. But as Draco turned and walked away, he could still feel their eyes on him.
He quickened his pace, ignoring the way his chest felt too tight.
He needed to see Harry. Now.
And yet, even as desperation climbed, doubt sunk its claws into his mind.
He knew he was being ridiculous.
Harry had kissed him. Declared his love for him on top of the Hogwarts bloody Express. And yet, now that they were back inside, away from the adrenaline and the chaos, Draco couldn’t stop his mind from racing.
What if it had just been the heat of the moment?
What if, now that things had settled, Harry didn’t want to make it official?
They’d been affectionate before, yes, but there was a difference between flirting and telling the whole world you were together.
What if Harry wanted to keep it quiet? To keep Draco at arm’s length when they weren’t alone?
Draco hadn’t even considered that possibility until now, but suddenly it was all he could think about.
He adored Harry. He didn’t want to hide this. Didn’t want to act like nothing had changed.
But what if Harry did?
He could handle a fight. He could handle teasing from Sirius and smug remarks from Pansy.
But he wasn’t sure he could handle being a secret.
His steps slowed as he neared their compartment. He hovered outside the door, his pulse suddenly too quick.
Steeling himself, he slid it open. And in an instant, all his doubts disappeared.
Because the second Harry saw him, he lit up.
There was no hesitation, no awkwardness, no second-guessing. Just pure joy breaking across Harry’s face, like he’d been waiting for Draco all along.
He immediately broke away from the others and promptly snogged Draco silly, as if it wasn’t a humongously gargantuan shift in their dynamic – as if they'd always done this.
Eating each other's faces in front of all their friends, that is.
He heard Pansy let out a shrill squawk of laughter from where she was curled up with Ginny and Luna. He heard Ron let out an almighty groan, and Hermione a disbelieving laugh.
Harry pulled away, his green eyes shining in the golden glow of the sunset.
“Hey,” he said, beaming.
“Hey,” Draco squeaked, entirely flustered.
Harry huffed a laugh. “You okay?”
“Never better,” Draco replied breathlessly.
Harry raised a teasing brow. “You sure?”
Draco rolled his eyes. “Don't coddle me, Scarhead, I'm fine.”
With that, Draco shoved his way into the compartment with as much dignity as he could muster. Which, unfortunately, was significantly less than usual. His face was still far too hot, his heartbeat much too unsteady.
He pointedly ignored everyone, marching straight to the window seat. Before he could park himself, however, Harry shot past him, grabbed him, yanked him down into his lap, and wrapped his arms around him.
Draco felt as though he were going to implode, his face feeling hot enough to melt.
To make matters even worse, Harry decided to be a complete and utter menace, nuzzling into the side of his neck with a contented sigh.
Draco felt every inch of his body burn.
Ginny snickered. “So. Are you two officially a thing, then?”
Harry didn’t even hesitate. “Yep.”
“Finally!”
Draco startled, twisting around to see both Vince and Greg throwing their hands in the air.
“Five ruddy years we’ve had to put up with his mooning and moping!” Greg huffed, arms crossed.
“Almost six,” Vince added.
“Almost six,” Greg agreed, grunting.
Ron let out a low whistle. “You guys are veterans, then. Harry’s only been waxing lyrical nonsense about that one since last year,” he said, nodding to Draco.
“Right!” Pansy exclaimed suddenly, clapping her hands together. “Everyone pay up!”
A collective groan echoed through the compartment as everyone began rummaging through their bags, pockets, and coin pouches. There was the clinking rustle of Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts being reluctantly handed over.
“I really thought it would take longer,” Ginny grumbled, begrudgingly handing over a handful of Sickles. “I placed my bets for the start of next year, at least!”
“That’s where you made the mistake of not considering Harry’s impulsiveness,” Ron said sagely, his arms crossed as if he were a guru with all the answers to life’s great mysteries. “This was inevitable.”
Neville, looking lost and confused, scratched at his head. “I thought they were already a couple?”
“Hang on!” Harry exclaimed, pulling away from Draco’s neck. “You all placed bets on us getting together?!”
“Oh, please don’t take this the wrong way,” Hermione said with a barely stifled laugh. “But Harry, you can be very awkward when it comes to Draco.”
Ron snorted. “No kidding."
Pansy hummed in agreement, her face glowing with amusement. “And you’re perhaps the most romantically constipated person in existence, Drakey-poo.”
Draco let out a high-pitched, offended noise. “I am not!” he protested, his voice cracking with his outrage. He was about to say something else when Luna’s dreamy voice interrupted him.
“I imagine Draco’s going to be much calmer from now on, then,” she said, her voice soft and matter-of-fact. “After all, hanky-panky is the best medicine for romantic constipation.”
Pansy shrieked with laughter again, and Draco actually felt himself go from a delicate pink blush to a bright burning red at the notion.
“Traitors!” he squawked indignantly. “Traitors, the lot of you!”
“Careful,” Harry murmured, a grin tugging at his lips as he pulled Draco closer. “You sound like Walburga.”
Draco groaned, burying his face in the crook of Harry’s neck, hiding from the evil, traitorous people he once called his friends.
“Honestly,” Draco muttered into Harry’s neck, his voice muffled but still full of annoyance, “I hate all of you.”
Harry chuckled, his arms tightening around him. There was a warmth to the gesture that made Draco relax just a little more, even as Pansy, Ginny, and the others kept laughing in the background.
As Draco slowly let himself be drawn back into Harry’s embrace, surrounded by all his friends’ teasing, he realised he didn’t actually mind it all that much.
For a moment, the rest of the world felt far, far away. He was here, now officially with Harry. He had everything he wanted.
And it was enough.
***
It was certainly strange pulling into Kings Cross at a later time than usual, the sky already succumbing to night as the sun sank below the horizon.
The platform was starting to pile up as students filed off the train, a mixture of excited reunions and bittersweet goodbyes filling the air. Harry refused to let go of Draco’s hand as they wove their way to the Luggage Carriage, the comforting touch grounding Draco amidst the crowded train corridors.
Vince and Greg were struggling with their trunks when they got there. Greg had his dragging behind him, grunting with the effort. “This thing is cursed, I swear,” he muttered, his face red.
“Are you sure your aunt will let us stay, Draco?” asked Vince, looking equally exerted.
“Of course she will,” Draco said with a roll of his eyes, though he couldn’t help but notice the slight unease in his own voice.
He’d been certain of it, but now, the thought of showing up on Andromeda's doorstep with two more refugees felt a little more daunting, even with his mother's insistence.
“Mother should be waiting on the platform,” he told them as they hoisted their trunks off the train.
“Right-o!” said Vince, before they both disappeared into the crowd.
Pansy, peering hastily out of the car, groaned. “Oh, I'm dreading it…”
Draco followed her line of sight to Mr and Mrs Parkinson, standing haughtily among the crowd. He shot her a worried look. “Pansy, you know you could always –”
“Give up my life of luxury and have to share a tiny Muggle bedroom with three smelly boys? I don’t think so.” She let out a sharp laugh. “I have them conned, don't you worry.”
At that moment, Neville, barely able to see over his pile of luggage, nearly collided with her.
“Watch it!” Pansy snapped, but then froze as she saw Neville's face, blinking in surprise.
Neville, looking even more flustered than usual, stammered, “Oh! S-sorry, Pansy, I didn’t mean to –!”
Pansy, her usual demeanour faltering slightly, hesitated for a moment. Her face turned a bit pink as she muttered, “It’s fine, Longbottom. Just... be careful next time.”
Clearing her throat and tossing her hair she exclaimed, "Anyway! Toodle-pip, losers!"
Draco watched as she sauntered off the train, barely containing his disbelief.
Ron and Hermione brushed past them as they stepped out onto the platform, bickering the whole way. Their argument over how much Hermione could fit in her bag was still going strong.
“I told you, Hermione, you don’t need five books for the summer!”
“You don’t know that, Ron! I might – !”
Draco rolled his eyes. “Will they ever stop?”
“Doesn’t look like it,” Ginny chuckled as she followed after them. “Don't do anything crazy without me, Draco!”
“Wouldn't dream of it!” Draco called after her. He couldn’t help but smile.
He could see that the atmosphere was shifting, like everyone was coming to terms with the end of the year. Their small, typical squabbles felt oddly comforting in the moment.
He glanced over his shoulder to look for Harry, and with a start, realised they were alone.
Harry was already staring at him, leaning casually against the luggage racks, his green eyes glowing in the dimness of the carriage.
Face feeling terribly hot, Draco reinforced his bravado. Raising an eyebrow, he cleared his throat and said, “See something you like?”
Harry took that as an invitation to step into his space, His breath was warm against Draco’s face as he leaned in and kissed him.
Draco melted into it.
It was... perfect.
Harry learned quickly, and Draco despised it.
Harry suddenly pulled away, just enough to flash a wicked grin that made Draco’s stomach do backflips. “Not so terrible now, huh?”
Draco somehow managed to smirk in return. “I'll say.”
Harry’s grin stretched wider, the corners of his eyes crinkling with delight before closing the gap between them once more.
Draco didn’t know what it was. Maybe it was the way he kissed, so patient but so hungry, or the fact that his lips seemed to taste like a promise of more, but Draco felt like he could lose himself in this moment forever.
But Harry, of course, broke the spell.
“I finally get to do that, and now it’s the bloody summer holidays,” he groaned mournfully, before turning a pair of great big, green puppy-dog eyes on Draco. “When will we see each other again? Because, honestly, I don’t think I can handle going that long without more of this.”
A jolt of delight shot through Draco at the thought of more of this.
He hummed in thought, draping his arms over Harry’s shoulders. “Well, we mustn’t forget the Order meetings, of course...”
Harry grinned, his nose bumping against Draco’s. “And phone lines should still be safe, right?”
Draco quirked a brow, a small, knowing smile curling on his lips. “Please. Riddle and his Death Eaters wouldn’t touch a Muggle-made device with a bargepole.”
“Then I’ll call you,” Harry said. “I’ll call you every chance I get. I promise.”
The simplicity of the words, the promise of more – more of him, more of them – made Draco’s heart skip. He nodded, unable to wipe the smile off his face.
“You'd better.”
Harry’s eyes softened, and he leaned in one last time, pressing a lingering kiss to Draco’s nose. Draco hummed contentedly, feeling warmth spread through him as Harry gently nudged him back against the wall.
Just as their lips brushed again –
“Ahem-hem.”
For a terrifying moment, Draco thought that somehow Umbridge had broken out of Azkaban and had come to hunt them down, her hideous, toad-like face sneering at them from the doorway.
His mind raced through possible escape plans that would undoubtedly involve some incredibly dramatic action on his part, such as leaping out of the nearest window or perhaps pretending to faint.
But when Draco whipped around, his eyes wide with panic, the person who stood before them was not the very definition of evil.
It was worse.
It was the Trolley Lady.
The Trolley Lady, dressed in her frilly apron and bonnet, standing there with her hands on her hips.
She gave them both a pointed look. “Not to interrupt, boys,” she began tartly, “but the train’s got to be locked up within the next five minutes. So, if you two are quite finished…”
The horror continued to boil inside Draco for a full moment before the words finally came out, a mixture of relief and complete mortification. “R-right, terribly sorry, Prudence.”
“Prudence?” Harry murmured, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
Draco merely shrugged. “Vince is on a first name basis with her.”
Harry huffed a laugh. “Fair enough,” he said, before thrusting his arm out and wiggling his fingers with a cheeky grin.
Draco fondly rolled his eyes, taking the invitation and holding his hand as they stepped off the train together.
Loving Harry Potter was perhaps a curse in itself, but it was a curse Draco was certainly willing to bear.
