Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Draco could often be found at Colby’s house, a small semi-detached bungalow just outside Central London, due to being his closest friend.

Draco had his head in Colby’s lap, reading the newspaper, with Colby running his fingers through his yet unstraightened hair. Colby found great delight in playing with Draco’s curls and it was no secret that it annoyed Colby when Draco straightened his hair.

“I’m glad you stopped straightening your hair. Why the fuck did you do that anyway?”

“I was young and had a weird father complex which made me want to look like him.”

Colby’s expression became patronising. “Aw, how sweet. You’re one of those kids who say they’re going to be an exact replica of their parent, only to become the complete opposite when they get older.”

Draco scowled. “You’re a prat.”

“I try.”

There was a lull in conversation - Draco returning to his newspaper and Colby becoming increasingly fixated on Draco’s hair.

“Dray.”

“Hmm?”

“Would you ever dye your hair?”

“No.”

Draco sensed Colby’s pout without even looking up.

“ Dray,” he whined. “Your hair in silver would look amazing.”

“ I wear suits to work in an office.” He said a matter of factly

Colby pouted. “Suits that cost more than my rent.”

“Whatever. If I turned up at work with silver hair, everyone would faint. Harry would probably die of a heart attack.”

Colby snorted. “That’d be amazing. Anyway, when do I get to meet Scarhead? It’s been ages since you two stopped bitch fighting.”

“If you keep calling him Scarhead, then you won’t ever meet him.”

“Ooh, getting all touchy? What changed?”

Draco shrugged. “I don’t know. We got closer?”

Draco and Harry’s friendship had grown from strength to strength - something the whole office noticed. They even made their own inside jokes. After all, Harry had come to work chuckling one morning as Weasley had found out about his friendship with Draco and went on a rampage.

“You’d better not run into him on the street,” Harry joked, “Hermione barely forgave him for the shit he said about you, then we became buds, he probably feels that you’re stealing all his friends.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Well then, he needs to keep a better eye on his friends. Shouldn’t just assume that being the ‘first’ friend makes him the ‘only’ friend.”

Harry had punched him jokingly on the arm but agreed nonetheless.

Colby still seemed put out. “So, when do I get to meet your new BFF?”

“Colby, you can have more than one BFF. You’ll get to meet him once he figures out my ‘secret’.”

“You haven’t told him?” Colby seemed surprised.

“Nope,” Draco shook his head and grinned. “He wants to solve it by himself.”

Colby looked contemplative.

“Interesting. By the way, would your dad be okay with you having silver hair?”

“Oh, my God, Colby. I am not dyeing my hair silver! Do you have silver hair dye or something?”

Colby looked away and mumbled something under his breath, causing Draco to gwauf.

“Oh Lord, you do! Why don’t you dye your hair!?”

“Because I have black hair that needs to be bleached at least twice before the dye shows properly. Your hair, though, is super blonde. No bleaching required.”

Draco glanced at a stray strand of pale hair above his eye and reached up.Tugging gently, he examined it - under the lights, his hair was practically white.

Draco sat up and smirked at Colby’s petulant expression.

“I’ll tell you what Colby. You can dye my hair whatever colour you like. When we’re on tour.”

Colby’s face lit up. “Thanks, Dray. You’re the best.”

The Eurasian male proceeded to tackle Draco into a strong embrace, littering his face with small kisses.

“What’s up Colby? While your affection’s cute, you definitely want something.”

Colby gave Draco a wide-eyed stare, trying to appear innocent. With his delicate features, it would have worked on anyone else, but Draco was too used to his friend's antics for it to have any effect.

“Aw Draco, can’t I show how much I love you without you thinking I want something out of it?”

The blond gave him a blank stare. “Hardly.”

Colby appeared aggravated momentarily, then sighed.

“Since I can’t dye your hair for a while, I thought to myself, ‘ I should give Dray a haircut’ .”

Draco gaped at his friend, floored as to what he could actually say.

“Dray, say something. I really want to do something with your hair! Anything! Whenever I see you during your lunch break, your hair is like Captain America’s before he became Captain America.”

“Wasn’t it the same afterwards anyway?”

“That’s beside the point!” Colby grabbed Draco’s shoulders, his position above the blond giving him that opportunity.  “ Please? Can I cut your hair?”

Draco rolled his eyes, flipping his and Colby’s position, before getting off the couch.

“Goddamnit, Colby! What’s with this ‘let’s give Draco a makeover’ mood today?”

He sighed, running his hands through his hair.

“Alright, you can cut it, but it has to be a style that I can wear to work.”

Colby beamed at him from his position on the couch, before dashing out the lounge to get his styling equipment.

Draco shook his head. He knew Colby loved fashion and turning heads, and would love to become the band’s personal stylist. He fought countless times with Argent over the drummer’s preference of clothing.

While amusing to watch, once on the receiving end of Colby’s attempts to be ‘stylist’, it was an unending trial until you agreed to his whims.

Draco knew that Colby would have kept going, presenting more and more preposterous ideas as the day went on.

He ran his fingers through his hair again. It was getting unacceptably long, covering his ears. At least one good thing came from Colby cutting his hair.

Speaking of the devil, the Eurasian came back into the lounge, dragging a considerably large basket.

Draco eyed it warily. “Um, Colby, what exactly is in this basket?”

“Oh!” his friend grinned. “This is all my styling equipment. I have another basket with hair products as well. This is only the basket of styling apparatus.”

Draco gulped. While he too has an exorbitant amount of products at his disposal at home, he didn’t trust Colby’s own.

“Please don’t make me regret this Colby. I’d rather not deal with people asking me about it at work.”

Colby looked affronted. “ I’ll have you know I've taken a cosmetology and hairdressing course! I am fully capable of doing this!”

“News to me,” Draco smirked at him. “When did you do this?”

“That’s for me to know and for you to worry your pretty little head over while I do your hair. Now, go grab a chair from the kitchen! Now!”

*

Colby had been snipping at the back of his head for a while now, muttering quietly.

“What’s up? Anything wrong?”

Colby shushed him.

“Don’t ask me about your hair, it’s off-putting. Tell me something. Like your improving relationship with Daddy Malfoy.”

“He’d kill you if you said that to his face.”

“That’s why I said it. Now, tell me.”

So Draco told him. It had been several months since the start of Draco and Lucius’ improving relationship. There would be hard at times, and they often disagreed on many things. Draco’s piercings - “Why do you have 15 piercings Draco? It’s uncouth.” Decisions made at work - “I think it’s hardly fair that you blame me for the mistake in the Human Resources department when you were only made aware of it an hour ago Father.” Regardless, they were improving steadily. Spending time together was not limited to the occasional dinner where Lucius berated Draco for supposed flaws in his Malfoy image, but, to restaurant dining, shared lunch breaks, a sporadic shopping trip, or enjoyment of the others company.

Colby listened intently to Draco, a smile gracing his features, as he continued with the haircut. In order to keep Draco talking, he asked the blond for more stories about his acquaintances from work, or friends. Eventually, Draco’s stories  - some which left Colby in stitches - circled back to Harry, and Draco’s own adventures with him.

“You know,” Draco said as he started to regale another tale. “I can never understand how Hermione and Harry are friends with Weasley. It’s not that I hate him, but, he can be so fucking oblivious!”

Colby, still giggling from the last story, asked him to elaborate.

“So, there are these two guys that went to Hogwarts, Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan. Gryffindors. Finnegan was a bit of a pyro, and Dean was on Harry’s team as a fielder, but they’re both nice blokes.”

“Well, they’re Harry’s friends. They still hang out, and I believe both of them work for partner firms to Abraxas, but that’s beside the point. The thing is, Finnegan and Thomas have been going out since Hogwarts.”

Colby paused his ministrations to Draco’s hair and placed down whatever tool he was using in Draco’s hair.

“What has this got to do with Weasley’s obliviousness?”

Draco tutted. “I’m getting to that! So, Harry and I are at this pub - ghastly places, pubs, but Harry loves them for some godawful reason, anyway - Thomas and Finnegan were there, and they’d gotten engaged. I thought it was bloody time. They’d been dating for almost 10 years at this point, I expected them to tie the knot much sooner.”

“Anyhow, Weasley was there, and I don’t think he was actually listening because Harry was asking to see the ring Thomas gave Finnegan, and Weasley says: ‘Oh, congratulations Dean! Who’s the lucky girl?’ and Finnegan just looks at Weasley all affronted, which is understandable, as he just got engaged to the man he’s loved for 10 years and here’s this idiot asking which girl his fiancé proposed to.”

Colby started sniggering, and Draco heard as he picked up another tool and flicked a switch, the sound of shears starting up.

Draco paused. “What are you doing Col?”

“Don’t worry about it, Dray. It’ll be fine.”

“It better.”

Colby waved away Draco’s concern. “Just continue with the story. Please.”

“Alright. So Thomas replies: ‘Are you joking Ron?’ to which the Weasel replies: ‘No, I’m not. Who is she?’ , and Harry’s trying not to laugh and I am just so done with this red headed imbecile and Finnegan looks like he wants to douse Weasley in gasoline and set him on fire. And Harry, bless him, turns to Weasley and says: ‘Uh, Ron, Dean is engaged to Seamus.’ Weasley’s face drains of blood and he’s sputtering, ‘You two are gay? When did this happen?’ so now Finnegan AND Thomas look ready to murder him.”

It had only been a few minutes since Colby was using the shears, but he had to stop because he was laughing hard. “Oh my God,” kept being mumbled between laughs.

“So I, unable to take it any longer, as while he deserves whatever pain that Thomas and Finnegan want to inflict on him, I felt obliged to tell him how much he has missed in 10 fucking years. I mean, how do you miss that? So, I turn to him and say: ‘Weasley, if your question is ‘When did this happen?’ I believe the answer you’re looking for is 4th year. Even I know and I wasn’t even speaking to any of you.’ ”

Colby looked as if he would collapse from his amusement. Draco had to put out a hand to steady him.

“Alright?” Colby nodded in reply.

“Fuck, your life’s a drama Draco.”

He smirked. “And it gets better. So Weasley is having a mini panic attack by this point, finding out 2 of his friends swing for the other side, then he turns to Harry and goes: ‘You’re not gay as well, are you, Harry?’ And, I don’t think we meant it to happen like that, but Thomas, Finnegan and I all snort simultaneously at Weasley’s statement, and Weasley looked so horrified and Harry is rather sheepish when he looks at Weasley and says: ‘Um, kinda? I’m pansexual Ron.’ and Weasley, in a pique of frustration, says: ‘Are none of my friends straight?’ ”

Draco smiled. “And we don’t say anything, because, well, You’re aware of Hermione, plus from what I picked up from Harry and my occasional hangouts with Longbottom, he’s the same as Harry - oh, you don’t know Longbottom, do you? Never mind - and while Weasley’s oldest brother William is married to Fleur Delacour, you know, that French supermodel? - I think they have a child now. Charles Weasley is definitely gay, you would not believe how many clubs I have seen him in. The twins? You know the twins.”

Colby snorted at that. “Who doesn’t know the twins?”

“Well, the twins aren’t straight.” Colby muttered an ‘Obviously’ at that.

“Weasley’s brother Percy, well, you know the footballer Oliver Wood?”

“That piece of arse?” Colby straightened up. “I knew he was gay and that he was with someone called Percival… wait, that’s Ron Weasley’s brother? Oh, this is gold. Do go on.”

Draco grinned.

“Ginerva Weasley is with Luna Lovegood, the writer/editor in chief of Quibbler Magazine. I assume she’s bi; she dated Harry at Hogwarts. Anyway, we don’t say anything, because practically none of his friends and family are straight. It’s actually rather sad if you think about it.”

In the middle of this, Colby had resumed shaving the back of Draco’s head. He could feel the vibrations up the nape of his neck. He did not have a mirror, so he had no idea how he looked.

“I thought you disliked the Weasleys Draco. How do you know so much about their family?”

“During secondary school maybe, “ Draco shrugged. “But I went to uni, and figured out I wasn’t straight, and all gay people are somehow magnetically drawn to each other. So I got to know them in a different context.”

Colby hummed in understanding. “Is your story finished?”

“Nearly? So Weasley is nigh on sobbing at this point, and Finnegan looks disgusted - I suppose he was still pretty miffed about the fact that Weasley, his friend, was ignorant of his relationship of 10 years to Dean - and Harry’s patting Weasley’s back, as if consoling him would fix his blunder. Then he turns to me, and says, accusingly, as if it’s my fault that Hogwarts was an accepting school environment where people could figure out themselves without fear of ostracization and that somehow, I made everyone a ‘flaming homosexual’ with my prolonged presence, ‘Are you gay too Malfoy?’ ”

“And I’m sure you’re aware that I don’t state my sexuality like that so, I just told him it wasn’t his business and that he should fuck off.”

Colby applauded, a grin stretching across his face. Draco mock bowed.

“That honestly made my day.”

The blonde gave a murmur in response, before glancing around, trying to locate the clock on Colby’s wall. The time read to be four in the afternoon.

“Okay,” Colby started, drawing Draco’s attention back to him. “I’m almost done. I just need to trim the hair on your crown.”

“I dearly hope you haven’t ruined my hair, Colby.”

“Oh, ye of little faith. I would never.”

The trimming only took a further 10 minutes, and upon finishing, Colby stepped back to admire his handiwork and grinned.

“Look at you. Such a fine piece of real estate if I do say so myself.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere Colby. Get me a mirror already.”

Colby merely smiled and went to retrieve a mirror. Moments later, the reflective glass was placed in Draco’s hands.

“Tada!” he exclaimed, allowing the blond to appraise his appearance.

Colby had given him an undercut, brushing his curls to fall across his forehead, like an artful fringe. Draco loved it, but Colby shaved off a lot more hair than he expected.

“Wow Colby, you did good.”

“I know right? Now all I have to do is dye it!”

“One question, how is this work appropriate?”

“I took some liberties.”

“Jesus fucking Christ Colby. And we’re not dyeing my hair.”

Colby grinned before starting to clean up whatever mess was caused by Draco’s hair. The blond chipped in to help - it was his hair after all - till they finished and settled down to order takeaway and watch and watch a season or two of Hannibal.

All the while, Draco was trying to figure out how to style his hair for work.

***

Harry rarely visited Hermione’s penthouse - she usually came to his place or they went out - so every time he went, he saw it as a treat. The doorman was a bit of a tosser, but it didn’t detract from how amazing the apartment was. Very open plan, with floor to ceiling windows along an entire wall.

“Hermione,” he asked the first time he visited. “How the fuck do you afford this?”

But his friend merely smiled and asked him if he wanted tea.

Currently, he sat in one of her many couches, sampling the hummus that she had laid out. They were talking about the ongoing events in their lives. Due to vocational obligations, they were unable to regularly spend time with each other, much to Ron’s chagrin. While Harry still spent time with Ron, even hanging out with Ron and Draco simultaneously, Hermione had yet to see Ron. She had made a promise all those months ago about Harry’s and Ron’s treatment of Draco and since then, and though Harry made an effort to try and make amends, much to his benefit, Ron still found it hard to look past Draco’s actions towards the trio during secondary school. Hence, Hermione refused to talk to him, and Harry gave up long ago trying to convince each party otherwise.

Hermione said she would know if they had kept their part of the unexpected agreement, and she seemed to know about Harry’s friendship with Draco.

Curious, he decided to ask her. “‘Mione, how do you know Draco?”

The brunette gave him a demure smirk before answering his question.

“Oh, we have mutual contacts. Why are you asking?”

“Well, remember when you were like: ‘I will not talk to you until you apologise to Draco?’ And you kept your promise thus far?”

“Yes.”

Harry shrugged. “Well, it got me thinking about how you knew Draco, cause you wouldn’t be so adamant about us making up with him.”

Hermione nodded, before reaching forward and dipping a baby carrot into the small pot of hummus.

“Well, Draco and I went to the same university, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

Harry was. Draco had complained about how Hermione seemed to haunt his academic pursuits wherever he went. The comment made Harry laugh, and the blond’s responding smirk had given Harry a warm feeling in his chest.

“We shared some classes, and the occasional tutor, though it seemed very suspicious back then.”

Harry leant forward. Sure, he’d heard the passing story about Draco’s university life, but the blond was very tight-lipped about the entire thing, which bemused Harry. Hearing Mione talk about it would help clear up some things that he was curious about. “So, how did you start talking?”

Hermione sighed. “Well, he tried to apologise to me about how he treated me at Hogwarts. I didn’t believe him at first because it was still a sore topic for me. Regardless, he was incredibly civil and made a ridiculous effort not to say anything offensive to me or any other scholarship students that were at our university. He even made up with Neville, which was shocking.”

Harry was surprised by what he was hearing. Sure, after knowing Draco amicably for several weeks, he noticed that there were two sides to Draco, the side that you saw at work, the ‘my father is the head of a multi-billion dollar business empire’ side, and the side that Harry now saw more of, an open and considerate side, the side that smiled more, that made sarcastic jokes. It was the side Harry preferred and desired to see more of. He had originally thought that Draco’s almost ‘alter ego’ was a recent thing, from when he started at the company, but the confirmation that his ‘entitled rich boy ’ act was purely for the company was shocking and saddening.

“What did you do, Mione?”

His friend looked slightly mournful. “I found it so hard to forgive him, despite how I saw him change for the better right in front of me. It took my animosity almost ruining a group project and nearly receiving a failing grade to accept Draco’s sincerity.”

“You almost failed? The fuck, Hermione!”

She looked sheepish. “I must confess it wasn’t my best moment. But Draco just smiled and said it was alright. He looked so relieved that I accepted his apology, like a great weight had lifted off his shoulders.”

Harry weighed up what he had just heard. If he was in the same position, would he have managed to let go of his resentment towards Draco? He thought how he managed to hold on to his dislike for so long, sure that he and the blond could never meet on friendly terms, but here he was, looking forward to spending time with someone he considered a very close friend.

“Mione, you’d consider yourself Draco’s friend right?”

“Well, sure. We spend time together, why?”

“Do you know the whole thing behind the eyebrow piercing?”

Hermione released and exasperated breath. “You’re still on that? Why can’t you just accept that he has an eyebrow piercing?”

“Because it’s more than just an eyebrow piercing! I know it! There are other behaviours of his that hint of something else.”

Hermione looked curious. “Like what Harry?”

“He’s hardly free weekends. When we hang out in town, he has a preference for these indie underground hangouts that you know only people who are actually in the scene attend.”

“I’ve never met any of his friends that didn’t go to Hogwarts. I haven’t even seen Zabini and Parkinson recently. Where are they? Draco was always with them.”

“Oh, Pansy and Blaise? They’re both overseas. Pansy is in Europe somewhere and Blaise is in Italy for work.”

Harry gave her an incredulous look. “You’re friends with those two?”

“Blaise and I are in a similar line of work, and Pansy and I are, acquainted from previous circumstances.”

Harry grinned and gave his brunette friend a knowing look, which Hermione turned away from. “‘Acquainted’? Is that what they’re calling it nowadays?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Weren’t we discussing your fascination with Draco’s supposed secret?” Hermione folded her arms across her chest.

“We are going to talk about this Hermione.”

“I’d love to see you try. What other things have you noticed?”

Harry pouted. “He’s very particular about his nights. We hardly go out at night. I thought maybe it’s because he dislikes pubs - why does he hate pubs? Makes no sense - but I figured it was something different. So I came to the conclusion that he has an activity that he participates in. Maybe a sport, a recreational activity? But it didn’t link to the eyebrow piercing!”

Hermione seemed amused. “Does it have to link back to the eyebrow piercing?”

Harry threw his hands up, almost relinquishing the slice of cucumber in his hand. “Yes, it does! The eyebrow piercing is the start of it all. It plays a vital role!”

“I think you’re overthinking this, Harry.”

“I think you’re mocking me, Mione.”

She only grinned in response. “I guess I do know what he does. I mean, he does have a social life outside of work Harry. Why wouldn’t he? He’s invited me along to his activities once or twice.”

Harry’s face lit up. He knew she knew something! All he had to do was get her to tell him.

“I’m not telling you anything, Harry. You have to figure it out yourself.”

“But Mione -”

She shook her head. “If you want to figure it out then do so. I’m not going to make this easier for you.”

“Come on Hermione. Just tell me.”

“Nope.”

Harry pouted. “You’re no fun, Hermione.”

“But Draco is. And loud too.”

Harry reddened. “What the hell Hermione? What’s that supposed to mean?”

She just winked at him. “That would be telling Harry.”

*

Harry pestered Hermione relentlessly, but his friend’s patience was greater than his so he eventually had to give up.

“Better luck next time,” she preened at him, patting his back as he left, a long drive ahead of him.

It was Monday, and, for once, he made it work on time. In fact, he was early. Draco, normally already there, was not in his office, nor were his things. His desk was immaculate, everything in its proper place. Despite its presentation of impersonal starkness, the office felt like Draco. Harry regarded the comfortable couch that sat across from Draco’s desk and recalled occasions where he sat on that couch, eating lunch with Draco when they were both too busy to go out.

Stepping out of Draco’s office, he heard the elevator go off, signalling someone entering the floor.

It was Draco.

Harry grinned, about to say good morning to his friend, when he noticed something strange about Draco’s appearance. While the expensive suit was the same, along with the self-assured swagger of someone who knows their own importance, Harry couldn’t entirely figure out what was different.

It wasn’t until Cormac McLaggen made the comment about Draco deciding to wear a throwback hairstyle from Hogwarts that Harry realised.

Draco had slicked his hair back: gone was the standard businessman haircut that Draco normally sported, it was back to the 1920s style that was a regular of 1st through to 3rd year Draco.

Draco greeted him, but all Harry could reply with was: “What happened to your hair?”

Draco paused, and said firmly, “I just wanted a change.”

Harry did not believe this one bit. “A change? What brought on this change then?”

A twitch appeared at the corner of Draco’s eye. “Why do you care so much, Harry? It’s just a hairstyle.”

“A hairstyle you haven’t worn since you were 14. And if I recall, it made you look seedy.”

The blond scowled. “Do you have a problem with it, Harry?”

“Oh no.” Harry shook his head. “I dare say that now you’ve matured, the hairstyle fits you better. Very ‘Great Gatsby’, I must say.”

Draco sighed, but composed himself before saying:

“Harry, we have work. You should be focusing on that instead of trying to find out my reasons for styling my hair this way.”

Harry gave Draco a petulant look, earning him a glare from the blond, but he nonetheless obeyed Draco’s order.

The day progressed, and Harry assumed that due to the hecticness of the day, it probably slipped Draco’s mind how incessant Harry became when he wanted to find out something. His mother had sighed and told him that he shouldn’t try to act on it because it could be unnerving for people. At the time, Remus and Sirius were over, and Sirius, upon hearing Lily’s statement, had said: ‘I believe she means to stop before people peg you as an annoying little shit.’ His pronouncement was followed by a harsh glare from Harry’s mother and a smack from Remus. Duly cowed, Sirius apologised and gave Harry a giant bar of Honeydukes Fudge Chocolate, which he had saved for a month, before Dudley, his lardass of a cousin, found it and ate all of it.

Harry’s plan to learn Draco’s reasons behind his hairstyle went into play when Draco walked into Harry’s office to collect his signature for some documents.

“Draco.”

“Hmm?”

“Why did you change your hair?”

A hiss of breath was released before the answer; “None of your business” was given, and the blond marched out the office.

*

Lunchtime.

*

“Draco.”

“No, Harry”

After the video call to their American client company.

“ Please Draco.”

“For fuck’s sake, no Harry.”

“ Jeez. I didn’t even say anything.”

10 minutes before they left work.

“Dray?”

“ Oh, my fucking Christ Harry! If I invite you to my house this weekend, will you shut up?”

Harry gaped at the fuming blond, thoughts of hair fleeing his head before a grin lit up his face. The thought of visiting Draco’s apartment excited him more than anything.

“Really Dray?”

“ Christ. Yes, Harry.” A roll of silver eyes. “I’ve been meaning to invite you over for a while actually.”

At that announcement, Harry’s heart skipped a beat. He supposed that Draco meant to allow him to come over, but they were both busy people and Harry knew Draco was occupied on the weekends. But they were friends. Why was Harry feeling this way over a simple platonic invite? It was completely uncalled for. Truly.

***

Draco knew that Pansy and Blaise had been in town since Sunday, so he called them to arrange a meet up for Wednesday at.

The club was full, which was surprising, as it was a workday in the middle of the week, but the Draco didn’t question it. Pansy had returned from her band’s European tour, hitting lots of big feminist and human rights events. Gekido was Pansy’s life, and to see her get this far made him happy. Blaise was working in Milan, carving up the fashion world as one an upcoming designers of the new millennium. People were in awe of Blaise’s style, and the fact that no one batted an eye at Blaise coming out as androgyne made it even better.

Both of Draco’s friends were sat in a booth away from the crowds, catching up on gossip. Draco hadn’t seen Blaise since last year, and Pansy left on tour several months prior. Sure, Facetime and Skype existed, but talking to friends in person was always more enjoyable.

Presently, they were waiting for their drinks; the bartender was Hogwarts alumni from before Draco had begun his seven-year long stay at that indomitable school. The man had opened up a series of clubs around London, some of which Pansy and Draco had performed at - the one time where they performed on the same night - and on occasion, the man liked to work the bar for old times sake. Years ago, during seventh year and subsequent years, Blaise, Pansy and Draco were regulars at the club.

“So Draco,” began Blaise, who was currently analysing their nails. “A little birdie told me that someone was getting chummy with Hogwarts’ golden boy.” The Italian regarded Draco with cool, kohl-lined eyes.

“Blaise, it’s been six years since we left Hogwarts. He’s no longer the golden boy.”

Blaise sniffed. “Whatever. He’ll always be the golden boy to me. Regardless, do tell about your budding relationship.”

Even Pansy looked intrigued.

“Oh yes, Hermione was telling me about that.” Pansy’s straight black hair fell forward as she leant towards him, eager to learn more.

“You’re talking to Hermione?” This was news to Draco. Sure, both women had become friends due to him, but he was unaware that they communicated more frequently than that.

Pansy stiffened and Draco smirked, reaching his own conclusion.

“Of course we talk Draco. You did introduce us after all.”

He raised an eyebrow before sighing.

“Potter and I work together. After several negative encounters, we realised that our animosity was highly detrimental to the work environment and we decided to be civil with each other. Our camaraderie beyond that was unexpected but not unwarranted.”

Blaise grinned.

“How professional Dray: how long has it been since you and Potter made up? Three, four months?”

“Five, nearly six.” Draco’s pale face was tinged slightly with pink. The Italian raised their eyebrows.

“Half a year? Draco, this is surprising, I must say. Don’t you agree Pansy?”

Her grin was feral. “Oh yes, Blaise, it really is. Tell me Draco, what is Potter like? Or should I say, Harry ?”

“That is none of your concern Pansy. Maybe we should be discussing you and Hermione instead.”

Pansy shrugged.

“There is nothing to tell. Nothing that is as interesting as you and Potter becoming best mates.”

“Why does this interest you? Who I’m friends with is none of your business.”

“Ah, you are wrong, Draco. It is our concern who you’re friends with,”Blaise stated. “Especially if that person holds a special interest for you.”

Draco scowled. His friends were hardly in the same country as him yet they seemed to know everything.

“Dray, are you sure you’re just going to be friends with Potter? I mean, I’m certainly questioning your choices as it’s Potter, but you’re a big boy now.”

“Thank you for your approval Pansy, but I am sure whatever feelings I have for Harry will have to remain platonic. It’s highly impractical for the work environment.”

Blaise scoffed. “Daphne works with you, and you fucked her. You still manage to work together after the fact.”

“Daphne and I were together briefly before we recognised that we were incompatible. I did not just ‘fuck’ her, as you have so crassly said. How uncouth of you to say.”

Blaise lifted their hands in mock surrender.

“Calm down, Draco, I apologise. But Pansy is right. What are you going to do about Potter? And don’t give me that crap about work ethics. People work together and they still date.”

Pansy placed a hand on their shoulder. “I think he’s not saying anything because he’s unsure of Potter’s feelings for him.”

Blaise’s expression became soft, and Draco was immediately wary.

“You care for that Gryffindor don’t you?”

“I’m ending this discussion. Now.” Draco turned his attention to Pansy, who had a similar expression. What was with his friends and his supposed love life? It was irritating how they got involved. He didn’t even want to get started on Hermione.

Pansy sighed, then stretched.

“Okay, if this conversation is over, then I’m going to excuse myself. There’s this cute girl making eyes at me, and I want in.”

“Go get some Pans!” and a wolf whistle followed her as she walked away, leaving Draco with Blaise. They smiled at him.

“So,” began Blaise, picking up their cocktail and taking a sip. “How have you been? I was going to ask, but your interest in Potter was a more intriguing topic.”

“I thought I said we were going to drop that.”

“Oh, we are. I was just asking how you were.”

“I’m fine thank you. I was trying to enjoy myself, but my friends started pestering me about my perceived interest in a secondary school rival.”

Blaise pouted.

“You know we only mean well. Please don’t be angry with us.”

Draco ran his hands through his hair.

“I’m not angry. Just frustrated. Nothing is actually going to happen anyway. We’re honestly just friends.”

“He’s coming to your house this weekend right?”

“I’m not even going to ask how you know that, but, yes, he is.”

Blaise merely nodded as they took another sip of their cocktail. The Italian’s eyes wandered past Draco, probably to look at Pansy.

Draco turned and saw Pansy grinding on a woman that looked suspiciously like his band’s manager, but Draco didn’t question it. If the pair wanted to tell him, they would tell him.

Draco looked back at Blaise, who was staring at him intently, almost seductively. He surveyed Blaise’s body, long legs and stilettos, bare shoulders and midriff, how their caught up hair made their elegant neck look longer.

Draco knew exactly what Blaise wanted, and he felt no compulsion to deny them.

“It’s been a long time, hasn’t it, Draco?”

“It has. My place or yours?”

“Yours. I’m staying with Pansy and I believe she’s planning on bringing someone home.”

Draco nodded.

“Alright. Let me just tell her we’re leaving. You know my car right?”

I’d know your car anywhere, even if you bought a new one yesterday.”

Draco sighed and gave Blaise his keys.

“I’ll meet you at the car.”

Draco left Blaise at the table and went off to locate Pansy on the crowded dance floor. He found her and the girl practically fornicating on the wall.

“Pansy, Blaise and I are leaving.”

His friend only turned her head towards him, the only indication she was listening. The woman she was with was leaving small bites up her neck.

“Alright, Draco. You and Blaise have fun.” Pansy’s voice was thick with lust. It was just as well they didn’t decide on Pansy’s place.

Draco smirked. “Have a nice night. Pansy. Hermione.”

The woman Pansy was with merely flipped him off in response, causing Draco to laugh.

The blonde made his way to his car, still chuckling. He entered his car and Blaise leant over to give him a kiss on the lips, one that promised more.

“Let’s get going, bello,” they whispered on his lips, and in response, Draco started his car and left the parking lot of the club.

*

Draco stared up at his bedroom ceiling, examining the ceiling designs and coving. Blaise lay beside him, propped up on their elbows as they smoked a cigarette. Draco liked the smell of Blaise’s cigarettes. They weren’t store bought, but expensive custom made ones. Blaise couldn’t stand the thought of inhaling tar and rocket fuel into their lungs, so their cigarettes were pure tobacco and whatever else was used to give them their fragrant aroma. Blaise wouldn’t tell Draco what it was.

His relationship with Blaise was based on years of friendship and mutual attraction that resulted in sporadic nights spent together whenever neither one was in a relationship. Hermione found it slightly distasteful, and Pansy found it tragic, but neither friend said anything.

Truthfully, Draco didn’t know why he and Blaise had sex. Blaise was gorgeous, humorous, and intelligent - everything Draco found addicting. But he knew what he had with Blaise wouldn’t last. Blaise was inherently fickle. Draco was surprised that he held their attention for this long. It seemed as if Blaise realised this as well and released a long sigh.

“What’s the matter?” Draco turned his head towards them.

“You know what I’ve just realised? This is the last time I’ll ever get to have sex with you.”

“Tragic. How did you come to such a conclusion?”

“Because,” Blaise took a drag of their cigarette and exhaled, fluid plumes of smoke leaving their mouth. “Harry Potter is going to be here next time.”

Draco laughed, but the sound was off.

“Why do you say that? And I can’t believe you’re talking about other guys while we’re naked in bed.

Blaise grinned. They gestured to the space between Draco and themselves.

“This is closure, I think. We needed to have one last great shag before we go our separate ways.”

“Are you saying you want to end our friendship?”

Blaise gave Draco a droll look.

“Dear God, no. we’ve been together so long, I don’t know if we can stop being friends.”

Draco smiled. It was true. Draco has been friends with Blaise since they were children, from before the death of Ariadne Zabini’s first husband.

“By the way, how many husbands has your mother had?”

They shrugged, tapping their cigarette on the ashtray resting on Draco’s bedside table.

“I think Jacques is number seven? Or eight. I’m unsure. I just know that my father was the one that lasted the longest.”

“How long do you think this one will last?”

Draco viewed Ariadne’s husbands the same way Blaise did: like shoes. Once Ariadne got bored of them, she threw them away and got a new one. Blaise’s mother was known for her constant changing of husbands. Both Blaise and Draco thought that they should probably consider foul play, but neither could care enough. All her husbands died in drastically different ways and usually when Ariadne wasn’t around, so the police could only label it as a misfortune.

Blaise finished their cigarette and lifted themselves out of bed.

“Where are you going, Blaise?” a question.

“I don’t know. But I want a shower first.”

Draco regarded their tall figure as they sauntered into his en suite, then returned to his observation of his bedroom ceiling.

Minutes later, Blaise returned, smelling of Draco and the fragrance Blaise always wore. They were also dressed to leave.

Blaise leant over and kissed Draco. Something about the gesture was so final that it made Draco’s heartache. He wondered why.

“It’s in September isn’t it?” Blaise whispered, their breath scented faintly with their previous cigarette and toothpaste.

Draco nodded. “It is.”

Blaise straightened and smiled sadly.

“I’ll be back in town around then.”

Draco could only watch as the Italian left.

***

Harry glanced at the paper in his hand, then at the house in front of him. He was sure that the GPS led him to the right place, but what if he entered the address wrong? What if Draco didn’t even live here?

The neighbourhood was very affluent, one of the more expensive parts of London. Draco had told him that his father bought him this apartment, and Harry was sure Lucius Malfoy wouldn’t settle for any second-rate apartment for his son.

Harry steeled himself as he climbed the steps to the front door and rang the doorbell. Harry was preparing himself for some entitled son of a Duke or some other whacky shit to open the door and ask him what the heck he was doing ringing his doorbell.

It was then the door opened, and who greeted him was not Draco Malfoy.

It was the doppelganger that he saw in the park! The man wore sweatpants and a wife beater, along with a cardigan with rolled sleeves revealing tattoos on both arms, and Harry could see the head of something peering over his shoulder. He had many piercings: snake bites, a septum, stretchers? Plus Harry was sure that was a nipple piercing he saw pressing into the wife beater.

The man has a smirk on his face, looking at Harry as if his shock had made the blond’s morning.

Harry was about to apologise to the attractive man for getting the wrong house when Harry glanced up and saw that just under the beanie covered head was a silver bar through his right eyebrow.

“Draco?!” sputtered Harry.

The blond’s smirk became a sneer, before answering.

“Oh, come inside, Harry, and stop looking like an invalid on my doorstep.”

All Harry could do was mutely follow Draco into the apartment. The ground floor was open, practically one room, with just a wall separating the kitchen from the lounge, it was a good thing too, as smack bang in the middle of the lounge was a baby grand piano. Several guitars were hung on the walls, varying in size and type. A pristine looking drum kit sat in a corner, along with an electric keyboard. A couch was against the wall across from the kitchen.

Draco had turned and was currently grinning at Harry’s awestruck expression. Harry noted how relaxed Draco looked. Maybe it was because they were inside Draco’s domain, or perhaps it was the weekend, Harry was unclear. He just knew that Draco looked incredibly handsome when relaxed.

Harry shook himself from his thoughts, suddenly feeling very awkward about it.

“Wow Draco, nice decorations you have in here. If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were being a bit ostentatious.”

Draco’s grin fell from his face and his expression turned cold.

“I can play any instrument in this room, Harry. I assure you this is not for show.”

Harry realised that he had stuck his foot in his mouth with what he said. “I’m sorry. Who taught you?”

Draco looked wistful. “My mother. She taught me pretty much everything I know about music.”

Harry walked around the living room, looking at all the instruments. None were cheap. Harry gasped as he saw a 1965 Fender Stratocaster on the wall. His hands itched with the desire to touch it. He was aware of Draco watching him. He supposed he would do the same thing if Draco came to his house.

“Would you like anything Harry?” came the nervous? question from Draco. Harry tried to figure out why Draco’s voice had that tone.

“Um, do you have any juice?”

“I have Apple and, Cranberry.”

“I’ll have Cranberry please.”

Harry continued to inspect the other instruments in the room as he heard Draco pottering around in his kitchen.

He looked at the drums, and the electronic keyboard briefly, before examining the baby grand.

It was a Steinway & Sons - one of the most well-regarded makers in the world. The black gleamed, as if freshly polished, and upon pressing the ivory keys, Harry knew the piano had just been tuned.

He sat at the bench and began playing a simple tune on the piano. It had been years since he played.

“I never knew you played the piano.”

Harry started and turned, Draco standing behind him with his glass of cranberry juice and a plate of biscuits. He shrugged.

“Mum plays the piano and I learnt from her, though I stopped when I reached grade 5.”

Draco rolled his eyes.

“Trust you to quit so close to the end.”

“Well, Sirius offered to teach me the guitar, and 13 year old me was convinced that girls liked guitarists more than pianists.”

“When did you realise that girls liked both?” there was a smile in Draco’s voice.

“Much much later, I think. I was in my final year of Hogwarts. It was then that I realised that I could learn two instruments at the same time.”

Draco let out a surprised laugh.

“How did you not realise?”

“Well, everyone I knew was learning only one instrument, so I thought that was the way it was done. I admit my younger self wasn’t very smart.”

Draco grinned at him, his expression incredulous.

“If we’re being honest, your older self isn’t much smarter.”

Harry shrugged but smiled nonetheless at Draco’s comment. He went to grab the juice and plate of biscuits, then moved to sit on the couch, watching as Draco took his place at the piano.

“What grade did you reach? Since my grade 5 is so disappointing.”

Draco regarded him with a haughty look.

“I completed all the grades, thank you very much.” Harry applauded.

“Impressive. Play something then.”

“I’m not some monkey that plays on demand Potter. What an assumption.”

Regardless, Draco played. Upon hearing the piece, however, Harry had to laugh.”

“ The Celebrated Chop Waltz ? I asked you to play me something!”

Draco mock glared at him. “And I am,” he sniffed reaching the first set of glissandos . “You never stated at what grade it was supposed to be at. Specification is key, my good chap, if you want to get what you want.”

Harry only nodded. He leant back and drank his cranberry juice and ate the biscuits - jam creams, his favourite - and listened as Draco kept playing the piano. After the Chop Waltz , he played the first Gymnopédie . Draco played it beautifully slow, his long fingers caressing the keys as he played.

His technique is infinitely better than mine , was Harry’s first thought as he watched Draco.

He looks so at peace , was his second. The blond looked so at ease around the piano, yet there was a sadness about him, as if playing that lovely instrument gave him as much pain as it did joy. Harry felt this urge to kiss away Draco’s pain but managed to control himself.

The Gymnopédie finished, and Draco transitioned into a piece that Harry did not recognise. It was just as beautiful as the Gymnopédie , and much longer. It was quite languid, and Harry thought that maybe it was a piece by Mendelssohn. In the middle section modulated quite a bit, before returning to its languid quality.

The piece was coming to a close and Harry wondered if Draco would stop there or continue on.

The blond did, but with a more lively piece that Harry recognised. It was the Revolutionary Étude by Chopin. Harry was fascinated by the way Draco concentrated on the piano, how he gave everything to each piece he played. His mother had told him about the piece when he was still learning the piano, and described to him Chopin’s motivations for it. Harry wondered what it was like, knowing a composer’s intention as Draco seemed to.

The piece reached its end, and when Draco played the last few notes, Harry gave him a standing ovation.

“What was that piece you played before Revolutionary? It sounded kinda like Mendelssohn?”

Draco smiled. “It was Schubert actually. Impromptu in G-Flat Major . It took inspiration from Mendelssohn, which is why it sounds like him.” he gave Harry a look of appraisal. “Look at you knowing your composers! I’m impressed.”

Harry got up and attempted to go towards the piano, determined to show Draco how much he knew, regardless of not continuing past grade 5, but the blond waved at him to sit down.

“No no, if we’re showing off musical ability, I want to see you play the guitar. Since you’re so much better at it than at piano.”

Harry sat back down, as Draco went to retrieve a guitar. It was a gorgeous acoustic, and Harry subconsciously reached out to touch it. Draco chuckled at his expression.

“Harry, it’s a guitar, not a person. Stop staring at it like you want to make love to it.”

Harry gave Draco a look. “You care for them like people.”

“That, I am fully aware of. Another reason why I said don’t give it such a look. It’s mine.”

Harry pouted but nonetheless tried to tone down his rapturous expression. Draco handed over the guitar, and in grabbing the fret, Harry’s fingers touched his. He was glad that Draco wasn’t looking at his face as Harry’s cheeks were now tinted red. The blond was already heading back to the piano bench.

Harry gently ran his fingers along the golden brown body of the acoustic, the 6 strings, the fret.

“Why don’t you play something Harry? And I won’t demand that you play something high level.”

Harry glanced up from his examination of the guitar to look at Draco, then back to the guitar, which he righted. He plucked the strings to check the tuning and was pleasantly surprised to see that it was in the tuning he wanted.

“Do you want a pick?” Draco asked, Harry seeing the blond look at him with a curious expression.

“Oh, it’s alright,” he replied, smiling. “I already have one on me.”

“You travel with your picks?”

Harry shrugged. “I always just shove them in my pockets so I usually always have one.”

He actually had two on him at that moment, so he pulled one out and began playing the opening chords of the song.

In a haze, a stormy haze

I’ll be ‘round, I’ll be loving you, always.

Always

Harry observed Draco’s face. The blonde looked surprised that he could sing but didn’t seem to be offended by his voice, which Harry thought was a good thing.

Here I am, and I’ll take my time

Here I am, and I’ll wait in line, always

Always

The song was short, only 45 seconds, yet Harry heard Draco clapping.

“ Parachutes ? Really? Sure, it’s a good song, but there are other technically difficult ones by Coldplay.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “I thought you weren’t going to demand something difficult?”

“Oh no no, I was just taking the piss.” Draco shook his head, laughing. “It was great. You were great.”

Harry’s heart stumbled over itself learning a truth it could no longer deny: he was romantically attracted to Draco Malfoy.

The revelation hit Harry hard; it was all he could do not to lose it sitting across from Draco, the way he sat, cross-legged on the piano bench, how his metallic piercings glittered in the sunlight streaming through the windows.

Harry never wanted to run his hands through Draco’s hair more than he did now, and the desire to hold his hand was now very apparent.

Had the urge to kiss Draco ever been so great? Harry didn’t know.

And it was bringing him one step closer to panicking.

***

Harry liked him. Really liked him. Draco was astounded by that. Harry James Potter liked him! The person he liked actually returned his feelings.

Draco didn’t care that his current thoughts now mirrored a pre-teen’s. He wanted to cheer.

(There was also an underlying thought that Blaise and Pansy were right, and Draco made a promise there and then to never let them know).

He was especially surprised that Harry could sing. It wasn’t amazing, nor was it undiscovered talent. But it was one of those voices that you liked to hear in private, one of those voices that you saw as your special treat. His father’s singing was like that, Draco recalled, remembering family holidays when his father used to dance his mother around the family parlour, singing along to old French records.

Draco cherished those moments of his parents, the sentimental private things that they were. Harry’s voice was like that. It made Draco want to tell Harry to sing just for him, and no one else.

It made Draco even happier that Harry sang Parachutes , one of his favourite Coldplay songs. Despite it being less than a minute, despite its simplicity, he loved it. Harry couldn’t have known how dear that song was to him, yet he sang it anyway.

Draco was smiling broadly at Harry, whose face was red and who seemed so flustered. Suddenly, Harry held out the guitar, not looking at Draco.

“You should play something,” he mumbled, unwilling to look at the blond.

Draco cocked his head curiously. “Okay. But may I ask why?”

“You made me play! With your stupid hopeful expression and silver eyes…”

As the second sentence was muttered much more quietly than the first, Draco assumed that Harry didn’t mean to say that out loud, so he got off the piano bench and reached for the guitar.

He opted to sit on the floor, as while sitting on the piano bench with the guitar was alright, he had a habit of sitting cross-legged on it when he wasn’t playing the piano.

Fiddling with the tuning, Draco leant against the piano bench, the heavy piece of furniture immovable even with his weight. Draco’s pick was in the rim of his beanie, so he grabbed it and began playing.

Pansy had dragged him to see Angus, Thongs, and Perfect Snogging and in that scene near the end when Robbie was about to kiss Georgia, this song started playing. Till that point, the soundtrack was slightly disappointing - granted it was a chick flick, so Draco couldn’t really be surprised - plus Aaron Taylor-Johnson was fit as fuck in that film - but the song, Toothpaste Kisses by The Maccabees was so beautiful that Draco had kicked himself for not discovering them earlier, and definitely not in a movie that a teenage Pansy had forced him to go to.

Draco had kept playing the intro, focusing entirely on his guitar, then started to sing.

Cradle me,

I’ll cradle you

I’ll win your heart with a woop-a-woo

Pulling shapes just for your eyes

So with toothpaste kisses and lines

I’ll be yours and you’ll be-

A part of Draco was quite embarrassed to sing this in front of Harry; he dared not look up at the male across from him. The ‘Malfoy’ part was hissing that his behaviour was unbecoming, but he ignored it. This moment wasn’t between Malfoy and Potter. This was between Draco and Harry, and it was infinitely better.

Lay with me,

I’ll lay with you

We’ll do the things, that lovers do

With the stars in our eyes

And with heart shaped bruises

And late night kisses, divine.

The rest of the song was purely instrumental, so Draco kept playing. He knew this guitar well, the way it felt in his hand, his body curved around the guitar. He ran the pick across the strings, watching as its vibrations evolved into sound. Everything started to become hazy, except for his guitar.

Draco’s love for music almost surpassed his love for certain people, and when he played or sang, the reason became clear.

Music was everything.

Draco began whistling the tune as he played the closing, and the blond closed his eyes, playing the rest of the song by heart and ear alone.

The song ended, and then there was silence. Confused, Draco placed down his guitar and looked up, only to see Harry kneeling right in front of him.

Draco started, surprised at the close proximity. Harry’s smile was beatific, and it had Draco’s heart pounding frantically.

“Harry,” he whispered, voice hesitant. “What are you-”

Draco’s words were cut off by Harry’s lips touching his. Harry’s warm hands cupping his face. Harry’s body pressed against his.

The shock wore off quickly to be replaced by the feeling of a rising sun inside of him. Ecstatic, Draco kissed back. The kiss was gentle and sweet, with thoughts of longing and hopeful beginnings behind it.

Harry pulled away and pressed his forehead against Draco’s.

“That was beautiful Draco,” he said softly, his thumb rubbing against Draco’s cheek. “You’re beautiful.”

Draco reddened, and looked at his hands; looking at Harry would steal all his composure and he was already having a hard time keeping his control.

He heard Harry chuckle softly before taking both of Draco’s hands in his.

“Tell me about your tattoos Draco. Are the ones on your arms the only ones you have?”

Draco shook his head. “I have several, but you’re only allowed to see these two at this moment.”

Harry grinned. “This is the Slytherin snake, isn’t it? And you said that you were beyond house pride.”

Draco gave Harry a warning look. “This has nothing to do with house pride. It’s more the symbolism of it than anything else. Intelligence, cunning, ambition.”

Harry nodded and let go of Draco’s left hand and started tracing the letters of the poem on his right.

“This is German isn’t it?”

Draco nodded. “It’s part of Rilke’s Fifth Elegy.”

“Will you tell me what it means?”

Draco put on an air of nonchalance. “Maybe one day I’ll tell you.”

The smile on Harry’s face widened until he started laughing again, before pulling Draco into another kiss, much deeper than the last.

Pulling Harry close to him, and entangling his fingers into his hair, Draco vaguely remembered his apprehension towards Harry coming to his house, since it was the first time any of them went to the other’s house.

But now, with Harry wrapped around him, Draco was not at all regretting his decision to let Harry come over.

***

It had been two weeks since he found out his feelings for Draco were returned. Two weeks since he went to Draco’s house and played the guitar for him; two weeks since Draco had done the same.

Two weeks since he first felt Draco’s soft lips on his, since he’d seen his tattoos.

Harry was a very happy man.

At work, they behaved professionally, but their floor knew their bosses too well - for a week sly winks, whistles, and the occasional congratulations were sent in their direction.

The second week began with a flurry texts from friends and well-wishers. Harry didn’t know how, as he literally told no one, but he got texts from Hermione, Neville, Dean and Seamus, as well as others telling him congratulations. The twins, along with Sirius, sent him a message saying how they always knew that this day would come, with the twins adding that they always suspected that Harry’s and Draco’s fighting was just unresolved sexual tension that could now be resolved.

Draco has received similar texts from his friends as well, and the blond’s annoyance was palpable because of it, much to Harry’s amusement.

Then came the ‘threatening’ texts from ‘well meaning’ friends from the other side. While Draco got more ‘hurt my friend and I’ll kick your ass’ texts than Harry did, the threats that Harry did receive were more intense. He received texts from Parkinson and Zabini, who stated that their mother was known as the Black Widow for a reason and several from unknown numbers.

When Draco saw those texts, he growled and promptly began calling people and tearing them a new one. It was incredibly sexy to see Draco all riled up like that, and Harry kicked himself for not seeing it sooner.

It was Sunday, and Harry was at his parents’ house for dinner. He sat at the kitchen table, regaling his mother with stories from work and outside of it, and she nodded and smiled as she made dinner.

“So, how was your date last week, Harry?”

Harry thought back to his and Draco’s date the Saturday, and his expression became nostalgic at the memory. They had gone to this posh restaurant that Draco somehow got a reservation for, and they had the best times, despite the austere feel of the place. Harry didn’t feel out of place with his lack of knowledge on advanced table etiquette, as Draco’s whisper of “Watch me”, allowed Harry to calm himself.

Their conversation wasn’t awkward at all; they talked about anything that came to mind. No one bothered them about their status as a same-sex couple, which surprised Harry, but then Draco silently pointed out several other couples like themselves, enjoying their meal.

“It seems like you had a great time,” his mum said, snapping him out of his reverie.

“Oh, sorry mum.”

“It’s alright darling,” her smile was soft. “I’m glad you and Draco had fun.”

“I’m glad we did too mu-” Harry froze. “I never said I went on a date with Draco!”

His mother only gave him a look.

“I mean, yes, it was Draco, but how did you know?”

His mum checked a pot on the stove, before answering him.

“Well, when you had your date, Percy and Oliver were having their date night, celebrating - Percy got a promotion and Oliver’s secured a place on the English national team.”

“That’s amazing mum!”

“I know, sweetie. Anyway, they saw you at the restaurant. Percy has a bit of a shock you see, and FaceTimed the twins, who were a bit peeved at first, but then Percy showed them Draco and you. The twins took a screenshot, and forwarded it to your friendship group.”

Harry leant back in his chair, dazed. He didn’t even think about people seeing them out together, as he never thought that people actually gave a shit. Apparently, he was wrong.

“I believe Hermione found out before that, but she hadn’t told anyone when I asked her.”

“How did Sirius find out?”

“He was with Charlie Weasley when they got the picture. Charlie forwarded it to Sirius, who then told Remus. They both came here to tell your father and I.”

Harry was horrified. “I’m sorry you found out through Sirius instead of me. I was going to tell you, mum.”

“Oh hush,” Mum tutted. “You only just began your relationship. Of course, you’d want to figure out the dynamics of it before you told anyone. Alas, you and Draco are a pair that is bound to attract attention and you’re both  part of friend groups that are quite nosy.”
Harry let out a breath. At that moment as he was silently cursing all his friends, his dad came into the kitchen. He smiled at Harry before ruffling his hair.

“How are you son? And congratulations on your new relationship with Malfoy.”

Harry was put out but accepted his dad’s well wishes. Dad then gave him a serious look.

“Now Harry, I want you to understand. This is a boy you’re going out with and not a girl. Boys are different, especially in the bedroom department.”

“Oh Lord,” Harry couldn’t believe that his dad was doing this, and now of all times! He just turned 25! He was already old enough. He had seen enough.

“Dad, please. I don’t need the talk. I’m a grown man.”

James Potter only gave his son a woeful look in response. “But son, my only child. I want you to be safe.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “I know dad.”

“And remember to always use protection. I know it’s unlikely for a pregnancy to occur-”

“Unlikely!?”

“James, please stop teasing Harry,” Mum said, her voice light, but stern.

“It’s alright Lily. He’s only dating Draco, not Lucius, his dick of a father.”

“James, do be nice. Lucius Malfoy isn’t all that bad. Abraxas Malfoy was a terrible man. He’s really the cause of many things.”

“That didn’t mean he had to be a massive git.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “You and Mr. Malfoy sound like Draco and I.”

Mum chuckled.

“Your father wished. Lucius Malfoy was older than us by 2 years or so, but he was incredibly aloof, though I believe that to be the Malfoy facade. I’m sure you know of it, Harry.

Harry nodded. Draco had one, it was almost like a defence mechanism.

“Unfortunately, your father was obstinate and refused to see the mask for what it was. Hence, this one-sided rivalry that your father had with Lucius Malfoy.”

Dad was rather sheepish. “Lucius Malfoy was top of the school. He thought he was better than everyone.”

Mum giggled. “I secretly suspected that your father had a crush on Lucius.”

Harry laughed outright at Dad’s incredulous expression.

“What! I did- I mean- that is completely untrue.”

“I’m sure, Dad. I mean, I see the attraction. The man is pretty fit, and the whole aloof personality is pretty charming.”

“I refuse to listen to such libel.” Harry and Mum burst out laughing at Dad’s bright red face.

“Anyways Harry dear, let’s stop teasing your father. It’s not very nice.”

“Yeah, it isn’t. By the way, Harry, have you told Ron that you’re dating Draco?”

Harry froze. No, he hadn’t told his best friend about his new relationship. To be fair, Harry hadn’t told anyone at all, but everyone found out anyway, so Harry just assumed that Ron had found out. But then Harry remembered how oblivious his friend was to any non-heterosexual relationship. Case in point: Dean and Seamus’ engagement - Seamus was still miffed about the entire thing, to the point where it was unlikely that Ron would receive an invitation.

And, Ron was especially volatile when it came to Draco. Despite what Hermione said last year - had it actually been that long? - Ron has still not forgiven Draco or willingly decided to put aside his issues with the blond. Ron would view his relationship with Draco as a direct betrayal. A voice in Harry’s head that sounded a lot like Draco berated him saying that his friendship with Ron should have no bearing on his relationship with Draco, and if Ron had an unjustified problem with Draco, then Ron was a terrible friend.

Harry supposed the voice was right.

“No, I haven’t dad. Ron’s a bit iffy with these of things.”

Dad gave him a blank look. “Weren’t you the one that told me that Ron didn’t realise that Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan were together until they announced that they were engaged?”

“... Yes.”

Mum looked concerned. “You really should tell him, Harry. I’m sure you know how he would get if he found out, long after everyone else.”

“A bit too late for that,” muttered his Dad. Lily, however, heard and smacked him across the head for his cheek.

“As I was saying Harry, you should tell him. Before he believes you can’t trust him anymore.”

Harry sighed. He guessed his mum was right.

“All right!” his mum clapped her hands. “Sit down please, I’m about to serve dinner.”

Both the Potter men grinned, and took their places around the table, eagerly awaiting the food Lily Potter had prepared.

***

When Draco woke up in his childhood bedroom, a feeling of overwhelming sadness hit him. It was as bad as it had been in previous years, but the all-consuming pain was still there, as was the depression. Draco didn’t think he would ever get over it.

Putting on sweatpants and a t-shirt, Draco padded out of his bedroom. There, Dobson greeted him with a much-needed hug and informed him that his father was in the gardens and that he had no plans to leave there for the rest of the day.

Draco thanked the servant and asked if his breakfast could be brought out to the gardens as well, to which Dobson replied:

“Of course Master Draco. Today is an important day for both you and your father. Let us take care of you both today.”

It was easy to locate his father in the garden. There was a seating area set up in the middle of several hydrangea bushes. The sun was shining, as it had been raining quite a bit recently.

Lucius spotted him.

“Good morning Draco.”

“Good morning father.” Draco appraised his father’s arrangements. The large bench was laden with cushions and blankets, and the huge parasol was opened.

“You know Draco, the hydrangeas’ colour depends on the soil you plant them in. there are so many plants all around this garden.”

Draco nodded. The Malfoy Manor Gardens stretched across several acres: everyone covered in several hydrangea bushes.

“Yet these ones,” Lucius continued, gesturing to the hydrangea made enclosure. “They each have a different colour, even though the soil is the same. I never knew how she did it.”

It was then a servant brought out Draco’s breakfast: toast, scrambled eggs, and orange juice. His father raised an eyebrow at Draco’s meal.

“I’ll eat more later Papa. Don’t worry.”

“You better. I’d rather not have a repeat of two years ago.”

Neither did Draco.

The two men sat in companionable silence, though the air was tinged with melancholy.

Draco regarded the garden that was his mother’s handiwork, her pride and joy. Although the servants still follow the rules she created for the care of her garden, it wasn’t the same.

Nothing would ever be the same without her. But she wasn’t coming back.

Three years prior, Narcissa Black-Malfoy collapsed in her garden, where a servant found her and tried to resuscitate her before calling an ambulance. Despite medical professionals best efforts, they were unable to revive her, and on September 15th, at 22:48, Narcissa Black-Malfoy passed away, leaving behind a husband and son.

The doctors were stunned as to what cause her death. It wasn’t a stroke, nor her heart or any other organ failure. She just simply collapsed and never woke up again.

Draco was in the middle of a lecture when his father called. He had immediately known something was wrong. Draco had never heard his dad on the edge of a breakdown before.

It didn’t matter if he was in class. He just walked out, ignoring the annoyed calls of his lecturer behind him.

He remembered seeing his father in the hospital waiting room, staring blankly at the linoleum floor. He remembered sitting in one of those uncomfortable hospital chairs, picking at a scab he had until it bled. It eventually left a scar.

He remembered his father calling his Aunt Andromeda and his cousin Sirius who Draco didn’t see much, but he knew his mother stayed in frequent contact with. He remembered Sirius storming into the waiting room, ready to tear into Lucius, but stopping upon seeing the look on his father’s face.

He remembered Aunt Andromeda going to get everyone tea and food as they waited anxiously for news from the doctor.

And he remembered, at 22:49 on that terrible day, when the doctor came out and told them that his mother had died only seconds prior.

Draco ate his scrambled eggs and leant back on the bench, a blanket thrown over his legs. To his right, his father reclined, reading a book. He turned towards Lucius.

“Papa?”

“Yes, Draco?”

“How did you and mother meet?”

The smile on Lucius’ face was nostalgic.

“We both went to Hogwarts, though my father was quite tempted to send me to Durmstrang. That school is horrific, let me tell you.”

Draco’s father told him the story of how he met Narcissa. She was 2 years younger than him and in Ravenclaw. Lucius knew of her but didn’t really know her.

“Of course I knew her,” his father sniffed. “She was from the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black. Abraxas made sure I knew of all the ‘relevant’ children attending Hogwarts from the aristocracy and nobility at the same time as me.”

When the issue of arranged marriage came up, his father was more than annoyed. “I viewed it as an archaic practice.” Draco gave him an incredulous look. “What? Draco, regardless of what you may believe about me, no teenager wants to be married off to someone they barely know.”

Their first meeting was very public, loud, and scarily violent.

“She stormed across the Great Hall to the Slytherin table, and grabbed me by my blazer.”

Draco laughed at the image and Lucius grinned.

“Laugh all you want, Draco, but it was frightening. I was just eating dinner, listening to Lucan complain about how he got in trouble with McGonagall, again, when out of nowhere this freakishly strong 15-year-old is holding me up in the air and telling me that I would regret the day I agreed to sign a marriage contract which made her my betrothed.”

Draco was trying not to laugh at the description of his mother, all anger and strength and determination. It was only funny because she scared the crap out of Lucius.

“She then told me that she refused to be forced into a loveless marriage and demanded that I woo her.”

“Dear God, father. How did Uncle Lucan react?”

“Lucan was predictably amused. I believe he wished for his video camera in that moment. For one, I’m glad that he recorded nothing.”

“Did you actually woo her papa?”

The answering shrug was graceless.

“The concept of romance made no sense to me, so it was understandably hard to actually do it. There was a lot of trial and error.”

Lucius was normally someone that could do something right the first time round, so having to try repeatedly to get something right must have been a blow to his reputation.

“It didn’t help that she thought I was a playboy, which I thought was highly unfair. Apart from your mother, I dated no one. That scene was completely dominated by your Uncle Lucan.”

“Was he a ladies man?”

“Your uncle was everyone’s man. Now, I have no problem with people liking the same gender, but Lucan was ridiculous . I was surprised that he didn’t get anyone pregnant.”

Lucius had to convince Narcissa that he wasn’t who she thought he was, and it took many arguments and Narcissa actually bumping into Lucius and his identical younger brother when they were together to convince her otherwise.

“I don’t know how anyone mistook Lucan for me or vice versa. You’ve seen Lucan, Draco. Surely you see we don’t look identical.”

Draco shrugged. “Well, I’m biased due to both of you being family, but I do see where everyone else is coming from. You and Lucan do look very similar beyond standard familial resemblance, but I don’t believe that you can mistake one for the other. Unless you looked more identical when you were teenagers.”

“Regardless,” Lucius huffed, jokingly annoyed that Draco didn’t agree with him outright. “Let’s just continue with the story. I failed in trying to woo your mother, which I expected, as there needs to be mutual attraction for that to work, but we did become good friends.”

“So you got married after mum graduated?”

“The year after, yes. Neither of our parents wanted us to go off to university and be ‘loose’ as they called it before we got married.”

Being married during university wasn’t a problem; he was uninterested in dating and Narcissa just wanted to study. After completing their degrees, they tried for a child and eventually had Draco.

“While incredibly cute, that was less romantic than I imagined. For shame papa.” the entire sentence was in jest.

“Yes, well, while I loved your mother, I wasn’t in love with her. We just were very close friends.”

Draco nodded in understanding.

“Your mother was a complete romantic, though. I got dragged to see Titanic twice when it first came out: she loved it, bought it on VCR, then DVD when VCRs became outdated.”

“The Titanic was mother’s favourite film?”

“Not her favourite, but she loved it that film. I think it was because of Leonardo DiCaprio.”

Draco snorted.

“She loved any music based film more, though.”

“Like musicals?”

It was his father’s turn to snort. “Christ no. She hated musicals. The ones she loved had musicians as main characters or films with a great musical score. A lot of the DVDs she had were BBC’s Live at the Proms .”

“Didn’t we go for her birthday?”

“Yes.” Lucius smiled fondly at the memory. “You were around 8, I believe, and you kept complaining that you were bored. You were so petulant for half the evening, then Celestina Warbeck, the soprano, started singing, and you stopped. Cissa was thrilled, but I was slightly concerned that I was going to get a son that wanted to be an operatic singer. Not that I minded at the time, but, opera is not my favourite thing in the world.”

Draco stared at his father. He never really understood Lucius’ dislike for operatic music. “What’s wrong with opera?”

“Abraxas loved it. He was a Wagnerite especially. I’ve heard Tristan and Isolde played so many times, Dear Lord. At age 10, I thought Isolde’s closing number was terrifying.

Draco laughed. Personally, while he strongly preferred the Italian operas, he didn’t have the same hatred for Wagner as his father did.

His mother was a fan of the opera and regularly went. Last year, on her birthday, he went to see the performance of one of her favourite operas, Die Zauberflöte by Mozart.

Maybe he could convince his father to go to the opera with him at a later date.

“Anyway,” Lucius said, redirecting the conversation to their original topic. “Your mother and I thought that it was Warbeck’s singing that captivated you, but it wasn’t. It was the piano.”

“The piano?”

Lucius nodded. “You had been taking piano lessons for a year by then, but you weren’t very interested. I think your mother was about to give up on piano with you, she was so disappointed.”

Draco tried to remember if he had ever hated playing an instrument, but his mind kept drawing a blank.

“Are you sure papa? I don’t remember hating the piano.”

His father chuckled. “Oh, you despised it. Called it a girl’s instrument. I definitely remember one occasion where your mother tried to tell you about famous male pianists and composers like Chopin and Rachmaninoff, and you turned to her and shouted: “And where did they end up? Dead! Nothing good comes from male pianists.”

Draco hid his face, horrified. Child him sounded so facetious!

“Fret not Draco. The pianist at the Proms that night was male, and he played astoundingly well.” Lucius appeared thoughtful. “I remember you wanted to meet him after he finished accompanied the soprano, immediately after, may I add. You refused to settle down.”

Draco shoved his face in one of the bench cushions. Why didn’t he remember this?

His father laughed and ruffled his hair. “Weirdly, the pianist had a solo afterwards. He played Liszt’s Sonata in B Minor .”

“The thirty-minute sonata?” Draco’s eyes bulged.

“Yes.” Lucius seemed fond of the memory. “I have seen that sonata played many times, and that pianist was one the best I have seen, second only to your mother.”

Draco had once heard his mother play that sonata when he was 11. He sat at her feet as she played, and after she was finished, she wept.

When he asked what was wrong, she told him: “ The piece is about emotion, my darling Draco. That is what you have to play it with. Skill as a pianist is key, but, if you can make your audience feel, then you have done your job. ”

Draco didn’t understand what she meant until the first time he played the piece himself, a year after she died.

He didn’t touch his Steinway for weeks afterwards.

“Sure,” his father continued. “I am biased towards Narcissa, but the man was a genius. You were captivated. That was when you became obsessed with the piano. You started learning other instruments, as well as training your voice, but the piano was your first love.”

Draco smiled. “It still is. That was one of the gifts she left me.” Draco shifted closer to his father, who pulled him into his arms.

The father and son spent the day like that, in Narcissa’s garden, and feeding the occasional peacock that walked by.

“Why do we have peacocks anyway?”

Lucius closed his eyes and sighed. “My one moment of exorbitance.”

Nothing more was said on the matter.

They shared stories about Narcissa, from her first recital - “She threw up twice - once before and once after.” - her visiting Hogwarts when Draco broke his collarbone - “She refused to leave Papa, and she almost got into a fistfight with Mrs. Pomfrey!” - and even her last days - “She seemed very certain of something happening, and she told me that everything would be fine,” Lucius whispered, eyes damp. “But everything was not fine, especially since my Cissa died two days after she said that. How would anything be fine?”

Draco had seen his father cry twice before now, and both times Lucius was unaware that Draco had seen him. The first was when his grandfather had died. At first, his father seemed very nonchalant about it, but then his mother had taken his father’s hands in hers and whispered: “You don’t have to hold it in anymore Luce.” and his father’s facade cracked.

The second time was when his mother died, the night of her funeral. His father had sat in the family room and stared at the commissioned portrait of his mother, silent tears cascading down his face.

Now, Lucius wept softly, finally crying tears he should have wept years ago. Draco gripped his father’s hand, and his heart broke alongside his father’s. Why did his mother have to die?

Draco stared at the lines of German on his right arm, whispering the words under his breath. Lucius turned to look at his arm, eyes slightly puffy. He reached out a hand to caress Draco’s tattoos.

“Rainer Maria Rilke’s 5th Duino Elegy. And in the original German as well. Your mother’s favourite.”

Draco inclined his head. “I got it the Christmas after she… passed. My headspace was really negative, and I needed something positive to focus on.”

“Was that when you took the jet to Berlin?” Lucius gave him a condescending look.

“Draco sniffed. “While I trust my artist, I didn’t think that they would write the German properly, so I just went to the country itself. No harm in that.”

Lucius stared at him, and Draco knew what was left unspoken - how he went AWOL for two months, crashing at one of the Malfoy properties in Berlin, locking himself away from everyone, with only a handful of servants who just tidied his room when he managed to leave it, and prepare him food, which he barely ate.

When Draco returned to England, he was almost three stones lighter than when he left, and it was a miracle he didn’t fail that semester of university.

Lucius stared intently at his tattoo, slowly reading the words, memorising the image of it into his mind.

“Draco, let me tell you why this is your mother’s favourite poem.”

Draco faced his father, curious.

“Your mother studied German at school. She especially loved German literature. On our first wedding anniversary, I recited the 5th Elegy to her.

“My German was awful. I studied French and Italian instead, so German was a loss for me. But, I wanted to surprise your mother.”

Draco snorted. He was fully aware of his father’s mediocre prowess in German. He wasn’t bad, but, well, one got the idea.

“I stuttered like a fool, and made a mess of parts of it, but your mother adored it. Said no one had ever learnt a language just to surprise her. She then lectured me on pronunciation.”

Both the Malfoy men laughed, reminiscing over their lost loved one.

“Draco?”

“Yes, Papa?” Draco kept looking at his tattoo, the words forever in his subconscious.

“Can you recite the poem for me?”

Draco took a deep breath. “ Engel!: Es wäre ein Platz,

den wir nicht wissen, und dorten,

auf unsäglichem Teppich, zeigten die Liebenden, die’s hier

bis zum Können nie bringen, ihre kühnen

hohen Figuren des Herzschwungs,

ihre Türme aus Lust, ihre

längst, wo Boden nie war, nur an einander

lehnenden Leitern, bebend, — und könntens,

vor den Zuschauern rings, unzähligen lautlosen Toten:

Würfen die dann ihre letzten, immer ersparten,

immer verborgenen, die wir nicht kennen, ewig

gültigen Münzen des Glücks vor das endlich

wahrhaft lächelnde Paar auf gestilltem

Teppich? ”

By the end, Draco and Lucius were once again both teary-eyed.

“Papa?” Draco began, wiping his eyes. “Would you come to my performance today?”

Lucius wrapped his arms around Draco and smiled. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

**

“Daddy Malfoy, I have to say, if I wasn’t so close to your adult son, I’d believe that you were in university.”

Draco buried his head in his father’s lap. “Colby, what did I say about calling my father that?”

Colby looked peeved. “Just because you’re polite with your father doesn’t mean I have to be.”

Lucius laughed as he carded his fingers through Draco’s hair. It still had the undercut that Colby had given him nearly two months ago. He had Colby trim it up - it looked as good as new.

“No worries, Mr. Kerrington. I appreciate your compliment.”

Draco and his father were backstage in the room that the venue had given them to prepare. Everyone knew that today was for Draco, and while they were surprised at the elder Malfoy’s appearance, no one commented on it, as they knew that Lucius was keeping Draco from breaking down.

Hermione had fussed over him like a mother hen, which normally Draco would find mildly annoying, but today he accepted it wholeheartedly. The curly haired woman had just given him a cup of tea when her phone rang.

“It’s Harry!”

Draco’s face became red and he let out a small moan. Due to everyone being quiet, they could hear Harry without the use of speaker phone.

“Mione? Are you with Draco?”

“Why are you asking Harry? Is something wrong?” Hermione sounded concerned.

“Well, I’m not getting through to Draco’s phone. I know today is very important for him, but he only mentioned it briefly months ago? So I can’t exactly remember what it is, and fuck if I’m going to be a bad boyfriend and not be there for him!”

Lucius sniggered. “Draco, why didn’t you tell me that Mr. Potter finally made his move? And succeeded? For shame , Draco.”

A strangled noise came from the back of Draco’s throat, causing Colby and Argent to snort.

“Please Papa, stop talking. This is way too embarrassing.”

Hermione, trying to calm Harry down, was unable to stop Harry from hearing the exchange, no matter how muted it was.”

“Wait, Hermione, is that my boss and my boyfriend I hear? What are you doing with them?”

Even Rhys had to look away to stop from laughing as Hermione frantically tried to convince Harry that no, she was not with any of the Malfoy men, don’t be ridiculous.

Draco’s face resembled a stoplight. “Can the earth just open up and swallow me whole? I can never show my face at work again.”

Colby patted Draco’s back. “There, there Dray. the mortification will disappear in a few years or so.”

Lucius snorted while Draco glared at Colby.

“Draco? Mr. Malfoy?” Hermione’s voice was tentative.

“Yes, Mione?”

“Yes, Miss Granger?”

She sighed. “We need to be onstage in less than 5 minutes.”

Lucius paused his ministrations on his son’s hair, and Draco became silent before extricating himself from his father’s lap.

“Alright then,” Draco straightened his clothes and fixed his hair, which Colby promptly ruffled again.

“What was that for?”

Colby shrugged. “You look softer with your hair like that.”

Draco muttered obscenities under his breath, yet did nothing to change his hair.

“Any last words Hermione?” Xavier tossed a pick up in the air, a pre-performance habit of his.

“No, not really.” Hermione shook her head. “I’ll be backstage with Mr. Malfoy. So just go out there and play your best, alright?”

The five band members nodded, before heading out the green room. Draco was the last one out the door, but Lucius called him back.

“Draco,” his father smiled, holding Draco’s face between his hands. “Your mother would be so proud of you.”

He blushed. “Thank you, Papa.”

“Go out there and sing for her.” Lucius kissed his forehead then let go, allowing Draco to leave.

As Draco stood on the stage, he refrained from making the transition to Lucien. He would sing as Draco tonight. This night belonged to his mother and no one else.

“Hey, everyone,” Draco spoke without preamble. “We’re From Me to You .”

Draco could see that the audience noticed how subdued he was, but they still cheered with the same fervour, as with every performance.

“We’re starting with ‘ Oak Street ’. I hope you guys have fun.”

Draco nodded to Argent, who started the beat.

Should I let the words flow

From my mouth right down your street

While you’re still home,

I hope you’ll hear me

Cause if I feel this low again I’ll scrape the deep end

But maybe then I’ll stop pretending

Yeah, maybe then I’ll stop pretending

Draco sang softly into the microphone, the tempo of the song gentler than what the band usually did. However, he didn’t care about how the audience felt about the song. Every song he sang tonight was for Narcissa, his mother. He had never sung for her since she had died.

That things just felt so cancerous for a while

I’m in the in-between

Like New Buffalo & Oak Street

I hope the thought of me keeps you away from the beach

Cause don’t care if you can’t sleep

No, I don’t care if you can’t sleep

Don’t think I care if you can’t sleep

In the days following her death, Draco didn’t sleep. He couldn’t look at anything that was his mother’s, anything that he could link back to her. He was seemingly haunted by her, his every waking thought filled with his mother.

It nearly drove him insane.

Stay away from the lake

Cause if you see me I’ll be skipping memories I swore I’d keep with me

In constant hopes that they’ll erode just like the glass we’d take home

Left to rot in a window well

They're left to rot in your window well

Some things just felt so cancerous for a while

I’m in the in-between

Like New Buffalo & Oak Street

I hope the thought of me keeps you away from the beach

Cause I don’t care if you can’t sleep

No, I don’t care if you can’t sleep

It came to a point, a month or so after Narcissa Malfoy’s death, that Draco hated her. He despised her with everything within him. He hated her because she died. He hated her because she was such an important part of his life, and how her passing seemed to yank the world from underneath him.

He especially hated her for leaving without ever saying goodbye.

That to Draco was the worst sin.

When I close my eyes

I feel your summer skin

It pulls me apart and rips me open

But, but. He remembered summer holidays spent helping her tend the garden, how he always got sunburnt despite sunscreen (though he often forgot to put on more), how she made him salad from the things she grew in her garden.

When I close my eyes

I feel the warmth of the sun

It takes me back where I was where my youth was stolen

Draco closed his eyes and reminisced about growing up with his mother, all their days spent exploring and adventuring when he was a child, moments of advice while he was a teenager, her silent encouragement when he became an adult.

The moment when he lost her forever.

Draco opened his eyes and gazed into the crowd, and a melancholy feeling fell over him.

His mother’s death was hitting him harder than ever before.

*

Xavier strummed at his guitar while Draco kept a firm grip on the microphone in his right hand.

When he was finally able to think about the situation without breaking down, Draco had written a song about the day when his mother was buried. Sunday Morning, At a Funeral, was alternatively Lucius’ and Draco’s story.

Sunday Morning still

laid innocent in sheets,

barely half asleep.

Sunday Morning I was dreaming I was turning from a busy street

into a parking lot.

On the day Draco’s mother was buried, he did not get out of bed. He was still being haunted by the memory of his mother and was in no fit state to get out of the bed, let alone go to a funeral.

Sunday Morning broke

and dragged me out of bed,

slightly less asleep.

Sunday Morning I was warming all the cold parts of my head

in cups and coffee pots.

Lucius was much better at getting up and ready that day, though he looked no better than Draco. Nevertheless, he consumed his habitual morning coffee and left for the church where the funeral was supposed to be held.

It would be strange if neither of the Malfoy men made an appearance at the funeral.

In the Winter I wonder

what it’s like to be anywhere else,

to be anywhere but here.

If I leave and don’t return I hope the factories get full

of people making furniture, with

the river running clear.

Draco knew how difficult that day was for both he and his father. That’s why he wrote the song. It was a song to explain how both had dealt with such a significant day. Draco hoped that his father understood

Sunday Morning fell

apart and back to sleep,

where I was running late,

where I looked out of place.

Sunday Morning pace of steady, nervous feet

headed for the church doors.

Draco knew he should have gotten out of bed and went with his father to the church. But he couldn’t. The stress of it all made him fall asleep again, his last thoughts on the people who would be there to give their respects to his mother.

Sunday Morning dressed

in suits and shades of black.

Sunday Morning soft in Sunday best.

Sunday someone’s never coming back here

to this place anymore.

Lucius had stood at the front of the church by his wife’s casket. It was an ostentatious affair, but Draco’s father thought that his wife deserved the best.

The elder Malfoy stared at everyone, the pews filled with somberly dressed people, hardly any colour among them. This truly was a gathering for someone that was lost.

In the Winter I wonder

what it’s like to be anywhere else,

to be anywhere but here.

If I leave and don’t return I hope the factories get full

of people making furniture, with

the river running clear.

Draco looked into the crowd, and he could see their faces, set in an expression of contemplation as they moved to the song. He wondered if the song made them think about similar experiences.

He wondered.

Sunday Morning stared

at rows of crowded pews.

Half or all asleep,

looking for a seat.

Sunday Morning waiting for a call from you

but didn’t hear my phone ring.

Draco was skype called by his father for the entirety of the church service dedicated to his mother. The church was quiet and solemn, and there was no music playing. Nothing that his mother loved, except for flowers, which Draco couldn’t smell to see if they would be as sweet as the ones in his mother’s garden.

Draco didn’t realise he was crying until he noticed that the call had disconnected and all he could see was his reflection on his phone screen and not the casket with his mother inside.

Draco panicked, waiting for his father to call him back.

Sunday Morning had

to sit and watch you bawl.

Sunday Morning left the ringer off.

Sunday Morning missed it when you called and

couldn’t do a thing

but watch.

Although at the time, Lucius’ and Draco’s relationship was not the best, his father couldn’t bear to see his son break down again and again, over seeing his mother’s lifeless body. So he didn’t call Draco again. And muted his phone. He felt helpless at being unable to soothe Draco’s pain, but Andromeda told him, as she sat beside Lucius, that all he could do was let grief run its course.

In the Winter I wonder what it’s like to be where you are, where you are, where you are.

In the Winter I wonder what it’d be like if you were still here.

Would the factories fill?

Would the river run clear?

Would the river run?

Draco had wondered for days whether his life would continue after Narcissa died, whether time would start again after it so dramatically stopped.

He remembered that day, lying in his bed, staring at the clock on his wall, wishing that the time would go back days, weeks, months, even years, back to when everything was fine and normal and carefree.

Sunday Morning dreamt

about a moment passed,

about a time I failed.

Sunday Morning I was staring at a clock, trying to push it back.

Sunday Morning wished to be a kid.

Lucius had returned from the funeral with guests in tow, but he left them in the drawing room and went to check on his son. Draco was out cold, face pale and ashen, eyes flittering behind his lids. Lucius woke him up, telling him that there were people downstairs and that he should get dressed and go and greet them.

Lucius contemplated hugging his son but didn’t, and now, he still wondered whether that was the right thing to do.

Sunday Morning shook

me all the way awake.

Stirred me from the dream.

Sunday Morning I was thinking of a phone call I should make

but never did.

I never did.

*

They were at the last song. The last song of the night, and while singing these words for his mother helped, they were also bringing him close to tears. He had to wipe away his eyes on several occasions during the set

Colby, concerned, held him close for a few seconds when they had a small break, giving him some words of encouragement.

Lucius, in the stage wings, gave him a reassuring smile.

Bolstered, Draco closed his eyes as he focused on the opening chords of the song. This was a song not only for his mother but, his father as well.

What will I find?

Some sacred thing to help me handle the tragedy?

Or did I once - Did I have it and lose it?

No one should ever have to walk through the fire alone.

No one should ever have to brave that storm. No,

Everybody needs someone or something.

It was during his disappearance from England for 2 months that Draco thought about his father. How he was dealing with the love of his life being taken from him. Sure, they weren’t in love with each other, but Lucius had never loved someone as much as he loved Narcissa.

His father did not deserve to have such happiness taken away from him.

No one did.

And when I sing, don’t I sing your name out

Right at the same time that I sing my own?

A lot of who his father was, was also entangled around Narcissa. Many things that his father did, if it benefitted him, it benefitted Narcissa and vice versa. His parents were almost co-dependent on each other.

Some days I swear I can feel you splitting the light through the window frame.

The shapes it makes are always warmer, always brighter than the rest of what comes through.

Some days I swear I can hear you sing to me or whisper my name in the slightest way.

It’s like the warmest light now laid across my bedroom floor is somehow actually you and

Not just sunlight.

Draco thought about how his father must have sleepless nights, the simplest things reminding him of his wife. How the moonlight could cast shadows that resembled her silhouette, or how a breeze might carry her scent.

Draco often thought about how his father coped.

I have the memory climb down the balcony.

I put a flower on the back of its dress.

It’s probably best to forget it.

It’s probably best to let go.

I paint it the shade of where the skin and the lip meet,

Only a moment after breaking the kiss. And

I blur out everything else.

That’s how I choose to remember it.

Lucius locked away his feelings on the matter, and rarely spoke of things, until recently, when he began opening up to Draco.

His father hid that part of himself deep inside, and that was how he chose to grieve.

Some nights are a lot like the days, I lay awake too late, I watch the shadows casted

Trace your shape. Those silver slivers on the wall then on the bedsheets.

I hear your song in the trees. I finally fall into rest.

Often later when I’m sleeping you show up in my dreams.

Just doing simple things, like buying groceries.

And when I wake up I could swear you must’ve just left me

Like you got up to make breakfast or maybe just to get dressed.

But dreams of his mother haunted Lucius, Draco knew this. Dreams of simplistic things: Narcissa gardening, playing the piano, humming along to the songs on the radio, speaking with servants. Dreams so commonplace that it seemed as if when Lucius woke up, Narcissa was just doing something else as opposed to staying in bed.

But Lucius knew that wasn’t true.

But the truth is, you were never there. You won’t ever be.

Sometimes I think I’m not either so what do I do

When every day still seems to start and end with you?

And you won’t ever know, you won’t ever see,

How much your ghost since then has been defining me.

I leave the memory up atop the balcony.

I tear this flower from the back of the dress.

It’s best this time, I bet, to just forget and let go.

Paint it the shade of where the lip bleeds and blur it out.

I blur out everything else, just blur out everything else.

And let go, and let go, and let go.

Something like this Draco knew Lucius had to let go of. Something he had to let go of. Otherwise, it would affect them both for a considerable amount of time into the future.

Everybody has to let go someday

Everybody has to let go.

I wonder when I will. I wonder.

But if I still hear you singing in every city I meet

After I blur it all out, our every memory, if

You never fade with the days, your shape still haunting me then,

Should I not just sing along?

Should I not just sing along?

Draco stared up at the rafters as he sang, the threat of tears even stronger.

His father still carried on throughout his loss, even if something reminded him of Narcissa every day. Which it did. She was truly a part of both the men in her lives.

All they could do in her memory was to live their lives regardless.

That was all they could do.

And that hurt more than Draco could imagine.

I will sing sweetly hope that the notes change but

I do not need it to happen. I’m not resigned to it. And

If they never do I’ll sing your name in every line.

Just like I did throughout this. Just like I’ve always done.

In every gun, the empty church, and every tortured son.

In all those giving up. In all those giving in.

The tears started to flow freely as Draco relinquished the mic from the stand. It was all he could do before dropping to his knees and screaming the last lines of the song

Until I die I will sing our names in unison.

Until I die I will sing our names in unison.

Until I die

Until I die

Until I…

Draco broke down on stage; all the emotions he tried to keep a hold of before flooding him. He didn’t know how he managed to not give in before. He just cried, head held back.

He heard the shocked gasps of the audience, murmurs of concern and sympathy reaching his ears. He didn’t care.

All that mattered was that his mother was gone and was never coming back.

Warm arms wrapped around him and whispered words of comfort helped quiet the raging torrent of emotions inside of him.

“Draco, are you alright?” Lucius rocked him, entirely ignoring the audience.

Draco shook his head. “No, Papa. Please, it hurts .”

“Son,” Lucius murmured in his ear. “Where do you want to go?”

“Can you take me to Harry’s, please? I don’t want to be here anymore.”

Draco felt his father nod.

“Okay, Draco.”

The man helped Draco to his feet and led him off the stage.

***

Draco was a mess, that much Lucius could tell. His son had performed beautifully, his voice so similar to his mother’s.

It broke his heart to see Draco so destroyed by the death of Narcissa - to see his son still devastated by aftershocks wounded Lucius deeply.It had shaken their small family unit to the core. but The elder Malfoy had experienced many losses in his life and though the death of his wife still caused him tears, he could power through it.

But Draco. His precious Draco, who had never yet experienced such loss, who had to feel such pain, had written a song in dedication to him and Narcissa.

And when he collapsed on stage, the people around him, his bandmates and the audience, appeared ready to comfort him, regardless of whether he knew them.

How many people had his son touched with his music?

Lucius glanced at Draco in the passenger seat of his car, as he drove his son to Mr. Potter’s house.

He knew exactly when and where his son and Mr. Potter became romantically acquainted. It was a Saturday several weeks prior, and Draco had met him for dinner at this newly opened restaurant in Kensington.

Draco was absolutely radiant that night, and other patrons at the restaurant were hard pressed not to notice it.

Sources of his had told him that Mr. Potter was going to be at Draco’s apartment before he met with his father, so Lucius attributed his son’s happiness to his dark haired counterpart.

Lucius was also aware of their feelings, so, to Lucius, the reason for his son’s happiness was clear.

Potter had acted on his feelings for his son.

The elder Malfoy was glad that Draco had found someone to be with, and he knew that now Draco had found someone, he would try and find a partner for Lucius if he had not started looking already.

While he appreciated the sentiment, Lucius had no desire to find someone new.

It was not that Narcissa was his one and only, thought it would be a challenge to find someone even half as stunning as Narcissa was. Lucius simply held no interest in pursuing further romantic relationships. Years surrounded by people enraptured in the throes of romance had further affirmed this.

He was sure Draco noticed this as he grew up, though he and Narcissa tried to show Draco that there wasn’t a nuclear relationship model that everyone followed.

Regardless, he was touched by Draco’s song. Especially since the song never spoke of romance.

That caused Lucius to wonder whether Draco was aware of his own father’s orientation of sorts.

He wondered how it would affect Draco’s drive to find him someone. Lucius snorted at the thought.

He pulled up outside Harry Potter’s house, a modern detached house with steps leading to the front door.

“Draco, son. We’re here.”

Draco turned to gaze forlornly at him, his silver eyes brimming with tears. Sighing, Lucius got himself out of the car, then helped Draco out of the vehicle.

Leading his son up the steps, Lucius Malfoy rang the doorbell. On the other side of the door, he heard the muttering of someone wondering who was ringing their doorbell at this time.

Lucius thought such an inquiry was fair: it was 11pm. Still, he stood in front of the door, his arm around Draco holding him up, waiting for Harry to open the door.

He only waited a few more seconds before the door swung open, and Mr. Potter’s expression changed from one of annoyance to surprise.

“Mr. Malfoy! Draco? What are you doing here?”

At the sound of his beau’s voice, Draco threw himself into the arms of Mr. Potter, and Lucius watched in slight amusement as Harry tried to balance himself.

“My son asked to be in your presence and today I am wont to give him what he wants. Please do take care of my son, especially in his volatile state.”

“Wait what happened? Mr. Malfoy-”

“You can bring Draco back to the Manor tomorrow. Until then, goodnight, Harry.”
Harry was startled at the use of his first name, though managed to recover.
“Mr. Malfoy, wait-”

Lucius was already entering his car before the dark haired boy could say anything. The elder Malfoy watched as Harry’s arms tightened protectively around his son, and he smiled.

Draco was in safe hands tonight.

Lucius drove back to the Manor, where he spent his evening listening to his late wife’s favourite Proms CDs.

***

Harry ushered Draco inside into the lounge and stared down at his sobbing boyfriend in his arms, unsure of what to do. He had never seen Draco so emotional before, so he was at a loss.

“Draco,” Harry’s breath caused Draco to become quiet. “What’s wrong? You can tell me.”

Draco burrowed his head into Harry’s chest.

“Please not now. I don’t want to talk about it.”

Harry’s concern rose. “Draco. You just turned up on my doorstep, with your father , might I add, in tears. I have a right to know what’s going on.”

Despite his tears, Draco let out a laugh, and his arms, which held onto Harry so tightly, loosened and started to venture across Harry’s torso.

“Uh, Dray?” Harry stuttered, unsure how to react.

Draco stretched to wrap his arms around Harry’s neck, kissing along his jawline, the action so sensual Harry was short of breath.

“Ssh, Harry,” Draco muttered in his ear, the blond’s damp face incredibly close to his. “I don’t want to think right now Harry. Just let me feel.”

Harry closed his eyes and he exhaled with a shudder.

“Please, Harry - help me feel.”

Harry pulled away and cupped Draco’s face with his hands, his boyfriend’s silver eyes puffy from his tears, determined.

“Are you sure Draco? Are you okay with this?”

Draco nodded. “Yes Harry, I’m sure.”

Slowly, Harry leant forward and placed a kiss on Draco’s lips. The blond moaned softly, his mouth parting to allow Harry’s tongue to enter, deepening the kiss.

Harry’s hands ventured beneath Draco’s top, and Draco broke the kiss with a gasp, his pale skin seemingly sensitised by Harry’s touch. Harry nuzzled into Draco’s neck, and silent tears began to fall again from Draco.

Harry caressed his lover’s face, and kissed away his tears, “It’s going to be alright,” slipping softly from his lips. Pulling the blond further into his house, Harry continued by kissing Draco more deeply, tongues moving in fluid motion together. Draco broke away again, this time taking off his jacket and his t-shirt, revealing to Harry his tattoos.

The dark haired male’s mouth went dry as he surveyed Draco’s body art.

He took his time exploring the living canvas of Draco’s body, lavishing his attention on each tattoo.

Harry began with the snake on Draco’s left arm starting from his wrist, placing kisses all over the tattoo, committing its iridescent pattern to memory, before reaching his nipple piercing, which he took into his mouth.

Draco exhaled sharply as Harry used his tongue to stimulate the reddening nub; once suitably ravaged, Harry moved onto the other nipple. The blond sobbed brokenly, legs trembling as he grabbed onto a chair to support him.

Harry glanced up at Draco’s face, watching as the blond came apart under his ministrations. This was the first time Harry was able to witness Draco like this, so he took care to take his time.

Harry made his way across Draco’s chest to his right arm, kissing each beautifully inked word that his boyfriend had on his skin. Harry dreamed of worshiping Draco’s body, now he finally had the chance.

He was paying particular attention to the dragon on Draco’s back - one that seemed to move independently of its owner, it’s serpentine body metallic and dark, and when Harry reached the head, which rested on Draco’s neck, the eyes were reminiscent of a basilisk - when he noticed a slash of colour peeking out the top of Draco’s jeans. When he undid them to get a better look, Harry’s eyes widened.

Draco had a skin rip tattoo. It was like the skin had been cut open, but instead of blood, a garden of beautiful flora was bursting out of it. Harry lost some rational brain function there and then. He could feel Draco smirking at him.

“If you want to see all of it,” his boyfriend began, face flushed from arousal. “You should take me to your bedroom.”

Harry nodded, before standing up. He grabbed onto Draco, lifting the blond up, who proceeded to wrap his legs around Harry’s waist.

As Harry walked them to his room, he attacked Draco’s neck again, adding to the blossoming garden of love bites there.

Reaching his bedroom door, Harry kicked it open, earning him a wide-eyed look from Draco.

“Harry?”

“Yes, Draco?”

The blond looked slightly nervous. “You’ll take care of me, won’t you?”

Harry’s expression softened, and he captured Draco’s lips with his.

“I will. Dray. I promise.”

***

It was the sun streaming through the window that woke Draco, though it was more welcome than attempts made by the star previously.

He stretched, and a slight twinge was felt in his lower half, alerting him to the fact that he participated in intercourse the night prior.

Draco panicked slightly. He didn’t recognise where he was - did he have a one night stand?

After nights like last night, when Draco was desperate for any form of intimacy, he would sleep with anyone. But now Draco was in a relationship. Infidelity would ruin that.

However, memories of the night before came back to him in waves - the concert, his father driving him to Harry’s place, sleeping with Harry.

Draco sighed. Despite the circumstances of their first coupling, he didn’t regret it. He hoped that Harry didn’t either.

Extracting himself from the sheets of Harry’s bed, Draco located his boxers and grabbed one of Harry’s ridiculously oversized sweaters from the top of the clothes horse.

Padding to the kitchen, Draco saw a topless Harry making what he assumed to be breakfast, seeing as the clock on the wall stated that the time was 9:50.

Possibly hearing the noise, Harry turned and smiled at seeing Draco awake.

“Morning Dray. How are you?”

That smile paired with Harry’s topless state made Draco start experiencing certain feelings, and he blushed.

A part of his mind berated him for behaving like a 17-year-old virgin, but Draco ignored it.

Let me enjoy the view damn it!

“I’m okay.” his voice was unexpectedly small, and Harry’s expression became soft.

“Alright,” Harry stated firmly before placing plated on a breakfast tray. “Head back to the bedroom?”

“What? We can’t eat breakfast in the bedroom! It’s unhygienic!”

“No arguing Draco. Back into bed.”

Draco pouted but nonetheless obeyed Harry’s order.

On Harry’s bed, they sat, facing each other, Draco practically straddling Harry’s lap as he ate the waffles Harry had prepared. They ate quietly, though Draco still mumbled about the indecency of eating in bed. He said it all in jest, however, so instead of getting annoyed, Harry just smiled at him.

It was one of the most intimate moments of Draco’s life. He felt completely exposed, yet, for the first time in his life, Draco didn’t want to shy away. He wanted Harry and only Harry to see him like this. He had never been this open in his other relationships. It was a good feeling.

They finished eating, and after setting their plates to the side, Harry took hold of Draco’s hands.

“Draco, tell me about your tattoos. What do they mean?”

He looked at Harry. “Didn’t I already tell you about my tattoos?”

“The ones on your arms yes. You haven’t told me about your other ones, like the dragon, and your ripped skin.”

Draco smirked. “You really liked that tattoo didn’t you?”

Harry looked away and blushed. “It’s a beautiful tattoo.”

“Hmm.”

“Tell me about the rest of them Draco.”

Draco placed his hand on the head of the dragon on his shoulder. “The dragon could be considered narcissistic, as my name means Draco, but I love dragons. There’s something so encompassing about the dragon, depending on which culture you look at. They’re considered a representation of the forces of nature in some cultures, a symbol of knowledge and wisdom in another. They have incredible foresight. They easily represent good and bad, creation and destruction.”

“You really like dragons don’t you?” Harry smiled at him.

“I love dragons, Harry.”

“What about the skin rip?”

Draco shrugged. “It looked cool and I liked the aesthetic of it. It also reminds me that there’s possibility for beautiful things to exist inside me.”

“That’s beautiful Draco.”

He turned bright red. “Yeah, I guess.”

Harry pushed the sleeve up on Draco’s right arm to reveal the lines of German. “You promised me you would tell me what’s written here.”

“I did.”

“It’s Rilke right? My German’s shit, but could you recite the English version of it for me?”

Draco closed his eyes and leant back before beginning:

“ Angel! Were there an unknown place

where, upon an uncanny carpet, lovers

could disport themselves in ways

here inconceivable-daring aerial manoeuvres

of the heart, scaling high plateaus of passion,

ladders leaning one against the other,

planted trembling upon the void...

Were there such a place, would their

performance prove convincing to an audience

of the innumerable and silent dead?

Would not these dead toss down their

final, hoarded, secret coins of joy,

legal tender of eternity, before the

couple smiling on that detumescent carpet,

fully satisfied? ”

By the end, Draco had tears streaming down his face. Harry immediately wrapped his arms around him, whispering calming words into his ear.

“I’m sorry,” Draco whispered pulling away and wiping the tears from his eyes. “It was my mother’s favourite poem.”

Despite him not wanting to, the tears started to fall again, causing Harry to pull him close again.

“Yesterday was the anniversary of her death wasn’t it?” Draco could only nod and Harry pulled Draco closer to him, rocking him as he shed tears for his lost mother.

Draco soon calmed down, listening to Harry’s voice as his voice spoke of sweet nothings that comforted Draco nonetheless.

Draco smiled softly and, taking Harry’s face between his hands, tilted his head and kissed Harry. It was softly sweet, and Draco considered it one of the best kisses he ever had.

When they broke apart, Draco looked at Harry, and whispered, “I love you, Harry.”

Harry’s smile was almost as bright as the sunlight streaming through the window.

“I love you too Draco.”

They sat together, wrapped around each other and the morning sunlight.

***