Chapter Text
“I am quite unamused by this, Potter,” Draco said, showing his annoyance. He always called Harry “Potter” when he was irritated with him. Or in one of his more playful moods. Unfortunately, this was not the latter.
“It’s not like I volunteered,” Harry responded.
“This time!” Draco returned.
Harry smirked. Yes, he really had been eager to please in the beginning. By now, they were seasoned, sixth year professors; but that first year they had returned to the school, Harry was so new to being the flight instructor that he jumped at any chance to prove that he was a team player and serious about his job. He volunteered to demonstrate skills even when unnecessary, oversee detentions for unruly charges more than anyone else, and stay at the school for winter break for those who needed guarding, as he was doing now. Only this time, it wasn’t his fault.
That first year, he and Draco had been dating for two years and Harry fondly remembered that Draco was even less amused then with Harry’s self-sacrificing behaviour, even if it was markedly less dangerous than when he’d been out fighting Death Eaters, killing psychotic dark lords, and saving the world. Draco, the toff bastard, had wanted to take Harry to his family’s French chateau that year for Christmas, but Harry’s volunteerism had waylaid Draco’s good intentions. But Draco, being the dutiful boyfriend he was - “And don’t you ever forget it, Potter!” - stayed at Hogwarts with Harry so they could at least still spend the holiday together.
As the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, the respect Draco had among the students - and the teachers, if Harry was being honest - was as much because of his dark past as it was from his knowledge and skills. Draco’s upbringing under a father and godfather who practiced the Dark Arts, as well as being in close proximity, however briefly, to a literal dark lord, had given Draco unprecedented material to learn from and experience to use when teaching students to counter any number of Dark spells, curses, jinxes, hexes, and rituals.
Harry could admit he had been eager to please, just as he knew Draco would acknowledge, if only grudgingly, that he had returned to Hogwarts to prove that he was redeemed and was working to overcome his shadowed history and the damage he had done to the school. He worked to make his presence a balm, rather than an infection that kept the wound open.
It didn’t necessarily work at first. The teachers, particularly those who had been there during the war and fought alongside Harry, were wary of Draco and the influence he would wield on the students. But Harry spoke in Draco’s defence and Dumbledore’s portrait had convinced Minerva to give young Draco a chance. What a teenage boy did during wartime, under threat of torture and death to himself and his family, deserved some leeway and forgiveness.
And Draco wouldn’t be deterred.
“I’m going to whip this school into shape,” he’d said after being hired. “The last decent teacher we had here was Snape, and before that it was a bloody werewolf! The Dark Lord is dead. The curse on the position is gone. And things are about to change around here.”
And they had. The chance Draco was given paid off, tenfold. He was a brilliant teacher. His classes were not only informative, but engaging. He was the best DADA professor since Professor Lupin, and a far sight better than Harry did with Dumbledore’s Army, simply for having more knowledge of what he was doing and a more authoritative air to his teaching. His experience in being surrounded by and using the Dark Arts was instrumental in teaching how to fight against them, and his students thrived. The O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. scores for his classes skyrocketed and his students went on to do great things after they graduated.
After his third year teaching, there were no more objections, whispered or otherwise, to his presence at Hogwarts. And now, six years on, even those who had openly scorned Draco’s hiring couldn’t help but praise the work he’d done and the results he produced.
In the beginning, Harry and Draco had great fun when they returned to Hogwarts to teach. Sure, there was pressure on them that was self-inflicted, as well as coming from their peers, their students, and the outside world, but Harry and Draco found lots of time to explore the castle as if they were students again themselves. Their activities in hidden corners or secret passageways were a bit less appropriate or adventurous than Harry’s had been when he really was a student, though.
Draco knew some of the secret passageways around the school. He had been a prefect, after all, and had spent most of sixth year sneaking about. One was bound to stumble upon a hidden corridor or a concealed entryway under such circumstances. But a whole world opened up to him when Harry revealed his Marauder's Map. Draco was annoyed when first shown the Map (That’s how you eluded us sixth year!), causing Harry to get annoyed right back (We were running from someone who literally tortured students, Draco), but both of their irritation evaporated the first time Harry pulled him into a disguised nook and proceeded to snog him in the lull just after classes finished for the day.
Since then, it has been a battle between them to see who could surprise the other from some secret hideaway or another the most and see how far they could go before a student, professor, or ghost happened upon their area. Harry had Draco hard against the wall once, trousers down about his ankles and Harry’s hand tight against Draco’s mouth to muffle his moans as Harry pounded into him. They were seconds from finishing when Nearly Headless Nick floated through the wall beside them and caused Draco to make an entirely different noise. Nick still kept an uncomfortable distance from them most days, having seen much more than he’d ever wanted to of both of their buttocks.
Draco had gotten Harry back for that embarrassment in an abandoned corridor on the fourth floor. Harry received a phenomenal blowjob, all the more torturous because Draco took his time about it and would not allow Harry to muffle his own moans to make sure people were more likely to discover them than not. Harry had just come down Draco’s throat and Draco had creamed his own hand when Mrs. Norris had scuttled around the corner and spotted them, releasing a meow that sounded like a gong in the quiet hallway. Seconds later, they heard Filch scurrying up the stairs with a, “Coming, my sweet! Don’t let them get away!”
It was nothing but the grace of Merlin himself that got Harry and Draco stuffed back into their trousers and hidden under Harry’s invisibility cloak before Filch reached the top of the stairs and rounded their corner. He cursed a blue streak when he found no students to punish and sent Mrs. Norris on her way in search of other insubordinate pupils.
As the years progressed, they settled into their life at Hogwarts. Harry no longer volunteered for everything or anyone that needed help or “saving,” and Draco yielded his inherent darkness a little less among the professors and students. He did not give it all up, though. He was the godson of Severus Snape and damn if Draco didn’t have a flair for the dramatics as much as the old bat had and thrived in his peers and students fearing him a little bit.
The one thing that didn’t change was their trysts all across the school. Harry was certain that McGonagall knew, as they had been caught by more than one portrait during their rendezvous, but they hadn’t been scolded for it. Yet.
This year, their sixth as Hogwarts professors and second as a married couple, they had anticipated returning to their home in the south of France. They’d married on New Year’s Eve, as the clock was striking the new year. They had a small ceremony, just a few friends who would have been at their party that night anyway. They had started a tradition of going away for their wedding anniversary, and the last place Draco intended to spend it was at work.
“It’s our anniversary, Potter,” Draco complained.
“I’m aware of that, Potter,” Harry countered, making Draco blush. Though they both shared the last name Potter-Malfoy, Draco always got both giddy and smug being referred to solely as Potter. Harry had delighted in showing him just how much he loved that full-body blush in each and every room of their sprawling manor house.
It was separate, and far away, from Lucius and Narcissa’s. The elder Malfoys had decided the men needed their own place when they were caught one too many times in their escapades and the Malfoys gifted them their lovely abode as a wedding present.
“If you’re going to be exhibitionists, do it somewhere else,” Lucius had said.
Narcissa hadn’t said a word, but lifted an eyebrow and held out the key to what would quickly become their primary residence outside of Malfoy Manor in Wiltshire. Harry was yet to decide whom Draco had inherited his unimpressed look from, as both Lucius and Narcissa bore an expression identical to Draco’s when they all but kicked them from their Paris home.
And now they wouldn’t see their home until the summer, due to Harry drawing a bad lot in the chaperone pool.
"I expect you to make this up to me, Harry," Draco demanded. "We were supposed to be cruising down the French Riviera by now!"
Harry knew he meant sex. Draco usually meant sex when he was demanding recompense for some perceived wrong, and Harry was always more than happy to satisfy him.
"Don't worry. I know just what you need," Harry promised.
Draco smirked, then turned and flounced off down the corridor, no doubt expecting to be yanked into some hidden stairwell before the day finished. But this time, Harry had something else in mind. It was their anniversary, after all.
*
Harry paced three times outside of the wall hiding the Room of Requirement. Harry had thought to visit it a time or two since they'd returned, but Draco had refused the very thought of it, too scared the Room was still a scorched hell from the Fiendfyre. Harry thought Draco would see the damaged room and it would remind him of all the bad he'd done here.
But Draco had mostly healed from his past, and so had the Room.
Harry didn't dare try to call up the Room of Hidden Things, aware all of its treasures would have been lost to the blaze that almost took him and Draco, too. But he did call up a copy of his own teacher’s quarters, just to see how well the Room would do.
It did very well. The Room produced almost an exact replica of Harry's rooms. His robes were thrown over his chair as he was wont to do. His Quidditch playbooks were opened on various surfaces because Harry always cross-referenced plays from different teams to demonstrate and inspire the students. And even Draco's cup of tea from last night remained on the bedside table.
It was just some of the harder things the Room had trouble producing - the exact dozens of books on Harry's shelves, the extra tea variety Harry kept in his cupboard but rarely used and so barely thought to incorporate, the slipper Harry misplaced and was reasonably sure was actually under the bed.
Overall, Harry thought the Room would suit his purpose brilliantly.
*
"Potter, this is not what I had in mind," Draco complained.
Harry continued to drag Draco down the hall by the hand. "Dray, trust me. I promise, you'll like it."
Draco narrowed his eyes at Harry's back, but softened his look when Harry twined their fingers together.
His look hardened again when he realised where Harry was leading him. He stopped in his tracks, forcing Harry to stop, too.
"No. Oh no, Potter, you're not taking me back to this place. Of all the bloody places in the school-"
Harry kept their fingers together and stepped up close to Draco, running his free hand along Draco's cheek. "Potter," he said, looking Draco in the eye and projecting as much calm reassurance as he could. "Trust me."
Draco met his eyes for a few seconds and Harry could see his fears and insecurities warring with his willingness to trust his husband. When he nodded his head, Harry nodded back, squeezed his fingers, and led him the rest of the way to the Room.
When Harry opened the door, he heard Draco's indrawn breath and fought to suppress a smile. Yeah, the Room really had outdone itself.
Before them lay an exact replica of their French manor house. Its windows open to a very good reproduction of the Mediterranean Sea, the expanse of other estates from a different window. The oversize portrait from their wedding night hung above the mantle. Draco's favourite chaise in the parlour.
This was where Harry led Draco now, urging him to lie down on the chaise while Harry fetched him his favourite coffee from the kitchen. When he returned, Draco graced him with the loveliest smile and beckoned Harry to him. He sat the coffee aside and pulled Harry down atop him.
Harry stroked Draco's cheek again. "I'm sorry we couldn't go home for this winter break. But I thought I'd bring a bit of home to you."
Draco smiled at him again. "Sentimental, Potter."
Harry smiled back at him. "Love you, too."
The kiss they shared was soft and sweet and then heated and filthy. A prelude to every wicked thing they would get up to in this duplicate house in the coming hours and days. But for now, Harry urged Draco back after a pleasant few minutes of snogging.
“Alright. You sit here and drink your coffee and I’m going to head to the kitchen and start dinner,” he said.
“Or you could lie here with me while the elves make dinner,” Draco countered with a smirk and a stretch of his long body that he knew Harry found nearly impossible to resist.
Harry groaned. “Draco, I’m trying to pamper you. I was even set to make that tortellini you like with the mushrooms.”
“That can wait until after,” Draco said, luring Harry back into a kiss.
Harry allowed it for another minute or two before breaking away again. “You’ll like the pampering. Promise,” he said before disappearing from the room to the sound of Draco’s protests. Harry laughed as he went to the kitchen to start dinner.
*
Harry had their meal set under a warming charm and had a bath waiting when he went to retrieve Draco again. He’d wandered into the library and was flipping through a book by the fireplace. The windows overlooking Lac du Bourget and the Jura Mountains rose at his back. Harry thought they and Draco made a stunning picture.
“Dray, I’ve drawn you a bath,” Harry said, breaking the silence.
Draco’s eyes lifted from his pages and locked on Harry before he smiled and rose from his spot. “So the pampering begins, eh?” he remarked as he sauntered from the room.
Harry’s eyes followed his swaying hips as he left, quite looking forward to the bath himself, if only for the naked Draco.
Draco climbed in the tub, and Harry began preparing his body oils to massage him with when he got out. When Draco saw Harry arranging them, he gave him a look that beckoned his husband to him.
“Join me,” he said, and Harry needed no further invitation than that. He abandoned the oils for later and stripped, watching Draco watch him as each bit of skin was revealed. When Draco leaned forward, Harry climbed into the tub behind him and sighed as Draco rested back against his chest.
They sat awhile, Harry happily absorbing Draco’s weight as he relaxed against him. Harry picked up Draco’s loofah and began to rub his posh body wash into his skin. Draco let out a contented little hum and Harry knew he’d be drifting off before too long if allowed to continue sitting there.
Still, Harry took his time rubbing the loofah along Draco’s arms and legs, his chest and working it between them for his back and arse. Eventually, Harry finished washing Draco and himself, then urged Draco out of the bath. Harry dried Draco off while Draco stared at him with sleepy eyes. Harry smiled at him and then eased him onto their bed before going to retrieve Draco’s body oils.
Draco’s body was lax while Harry massaged his oils into him, working his muscles into softness and easing him further into sleep. By the time Harry was done, Draco was quietly snoring under his hands. Harry wished he had a camera to capture this, but he knew Draco would kill him if he ever tried to get this on film, anyway. So Harry just laughed to himself and tucked Draco in for a few hours’ rest before it was time to eat.
*
Harry was in the library, in Draco’s abandoned chair, when Draco padded into the library in a bathrobe, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He made his way across the room and dropped himself into Harry’s lap, burying his head into the crook of Harry’s neck without a word spoken. He was warm and heavy from sleep and smelled divinely of the massage oils Harry had rubbed into his skin several hours ago.
Harry felt a rush of love for him and wrapped his arms around his sleepy husband. “Had a good nap?” he asked.
Draco nodded his head from its place buried in Harry’s neck, making Harry smile and press a kiss to the tousled blond head.
“Alright. Up. Let’s go have dinner, hmm?” he said.
Harry coaxed Draco off his lap and they made their way to the kitchen. But when Harry had served up their plates and sat, Draco resumed his spot on Harry’s lap and refused to relinquish it, so Harry acquiesced. When Draco opened his mouth and held it there, Harry indulged him and fed him bites of the tortellini. Draco hummed his contentment again before laying his head on Harry’s shoulder.
“Someone’s tired today,” Harry noted while stroking Draco’s hair.
“It’s the end of term,” Draco reminded him. “Everyone’s tired. We just finally have a chance to settle down now.”
“True. Let’s do that back in the library, then,” Harry suggested.
Harry led him past the fireplace and to the window seat, overlooking Lac Gris and the Juras. The window was wide and tall, granting them a clear view of the lake and mountains, the artificial moonlight shining on the range and glinting off the water. Harry sat down and stretched out and Draco followed suit, leaning into him again.
“It’s beautiful,” Draco said.
Harry wrapped his arms around Draco and stared out the window. “It is, yeah.”
They lay in the quiet of the room, watching the ripples on the water and listening to the crackle of the fire long into the night. And when they retired to bed, the love they made was soft, slow, and sensual. It wasn’t the holiday they’d envisioned, or the anniversary they’d wanted, but Harry couldn’t find any reason to complain about how it all turned out.