Chapter Text
August 21, 1998
Hermione,
I'm fine. My life isn’t spiraling out of control. I’ve found myself a flat and a good outlet for my magic. The outbursts are happening less often, and not destructive anymore. Being out of the country must be helping.
While I appreciate the concern, you don't need to come, and you’ve probably have plenty to do before going back to Hogwarts.
Everything is fine, I just haven’t found Malfoy, yet. Once I find him and give him back his wand, I’ll take the first international portkey to London.
-Harry
P.S. Tell Ron and Ginny to knock it off with the howlers. I'm living among Muggles and IT IS NOT APPRECIATED.
—
Had Hermione known the full extent of Harry’s living situation, she would have classified him as distinctly “not fine.”
He did not live in a flat, but rather an odd hotel called The Palace of Delight on the outskirts of the town where Malfoy lived. Modeled after a Muggle fairy tale castle and garishly decorated, The Palace of Delight could be rented both by the hour and the day, which at first puzzled Harry and then gradually made more sense as he noticed it was predominantly couples that frequented the place. Despite this, Harry was reluctant to leave. He liked the bath, which flashed different colored lights and had jet bubbles, and the proximity to Malfoy’s apartment.
Harry had indeed found Malfoy. In fact, he had found him mere hours after landing in Japan. Though, it had helped Harry knew where Draco had gone after the trials.
Ministry lips were surprisingly loose around Harry now, and the Ministry official who had arranged Malfoy's Muggle visa and portkey gave Harry all the necessary information he needed after a few pints at The Leaky Cauldron.
Malfoy had left England for Nagahama, Japan to teach English to Japanese children at Suzuki’s Magic Word Academy.
"Those Japanese are very particular about teaching their children about magic used among the Anglos," the Ministry official had added after giving Harry the address of the English school, "but not so particular about who teaches them."
Harry wrinkled his nose at the man, annoyed at his comments, and promptly left the pub.
A few days later, Harry found himself in Nagahama, standing beneath his invisibility cloak as he observed Suzuki’s Magic Word Academy from across the street.
How exactly Harry had gone from an auror trainee fresh from his bombastic testimonies at the Post-War trials to little more than Draco Malfoy’s stalker baffled and worried his friends.
But, though Harry himself didn’t fully understand why he abandoned his life in England to find Malfoy, his conviction couldn’t be shaken that needed he to give Malfoy back his wand, even though he used Malfoy’s wand as his own.
—
Harry’s life started spiraling long before he moved into The Palace of Delight. While Ginny would argue it had all started when he testified for the release of Malfoy, Harry pinpointed the beginning a few weeks after the trials when all the auror trainees started their potions unit.
“Before you is Amortentia. As junior aurors, you will most likely encounter this potion and its many abuses. I highly recommend you familiarize yourself with its scent as…” droned the instructor.
Fellow trainees leaned over the vials placed before them, their reactions ranging from goofy smiles to tears. Ron, seated next to him, sighed with relief after huffing the potion.
“Well, I’m glad the war didn’t screw me up entirely,” Ron said, smiling. “Some things don’t change.”
Harry, however, didn’t share the sentiment. Nose engulfed in the swirling steam of the potion, Harry took in deep breath after deep breath, nearly hyperventilating.
A new scent, spicy and citrusy, laced the usual notes of treacle tart and broomstick. Gone was the comforting floral he long associated with Ginny. Harry’s stomach plummeted as he placed the new aroma. Memories of sixth year, chasing after that scent, the heat of Fiendfyre at his heels as trembling arms wrapped around his waist.
“Fuck,” Harry muttered, and before he knew it, the vial burst, a bout of uncontrollable magic sending glass shards flying.
—
A natural stress response, the Healers had told Harry. A week away from auror training would set Harry right again, they had said.
But after he destroyed nearly all the glasses and dishes in Grimmauld Place and untamed magic continued to roiled in his blood after a week, Harry doubted it was only stress.
“It’s that bloody wand,” Ginny had told Harry. “Why do you keep using Malfoy’s wand?”
Why indeed. His old wand still worked for him well enough, and he had taken the trouble to fix it, after all. Nonetheless, his hand continued to drift to the Hawthorn one, the shaft warm and alive in his palm.
Malfoy’s wand did not cause the outburst, Harry knew, as much as he knew the smell of Amortentia. But he not say this and instead agreed with Ginny that perhaps it was the wand.
“I’ll give it back to him,” Harry told Ginny. Within the week, he was in Japan.
—
Harry hadn’t meant to stay so long in Japan. He also hadn’t meant to keep watching Malfoy from beneath his invisibility cloak.
He just wasn’t ready to give back the wand, not when it fit his hand so well and his outbursts of magic made Malfoy’s life better.
Away from his friends and family, Malfoy almost seemed meek as he nervously corrected his students pronunciation and earnestly answered all their questions, no matter how absurd they were. While Harry couldn’t say Malfoy was a particularly good teacher, he certainly wasn’t teaching that Hideo fellow anything, he knew for certain now that Malfoy did more good here than rotting away in Azkaban. And if Harry’s magic could help Malfoy, if only a little, why did he have to stop watching him?
Though, Harry knew it had to end eventually.
Standing in Hideo Obuchi’s kitchen, Harry figured he had reached the end.
“Potter?” Draco said, “What in the bloody hell are you doing here?”
A faint spicy citrusy scent tickled Harry’s nose. Harry’s stomach flipped. Malfoy still used the same cologne.
He couldn’t let it end here. Malfoy’s wand was his.
“I’m here for you,” Harry said. “I’m…”
Harry’s throat suddenly felt dry and he desperately rallied his nerves.
“Don’t send me back,” Harry added helplessly.
—
Draco blinked. Something was obviously wrong with Potter. His magic seemed to ooze out of him, the smell of baked sugar and butter permeated the apartment. A wave of confused realizations shook Draco, and he placed a steady hand on the table to keep his balance.
“How could I possibly send you back?” Draco replied, voice shaky.
An odd expression that strangely looked hopeful crossed Potter’s face.
“Good,” Potter said and took a deep breath. “Good.”
Their eyes met. Much like Draco had remembered, Potter’s stare sent a thrill down his spine. Yet, unlike in the past, something akin to hunger heated Potter’s gaze.
Potter wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon, Draco thought. Panic and excitement sang in his blood.
Potter had come for him.