Work Text:
Draco would never admit it, but he was nervous. He knew the coffee order had been a brilliant idea, but now that he was standing here in Magsickles and he could already see people’s stares and glares and whispers as he just stood in line. Then again, they were doing this to make him self conscience and he knew that. You know what? Fuck them, he’s happy and they’re in for a big surprise.
Draco smirked to himself and through a few winks at some groups of haters. He was Draco Malfoy. He had made some very large mistakes, but he had payed and repented, and it was time for these gits to let go of the past.
People’s mouths fell open at the audacity Draco had. He winked at them? A former Death Eater dared to show up in their coffee shop and he just acted like he belonged there?
Sadly, for them at least, Draco had reached the counter and had to ignore them in order to give his coffee order. Not that he would have paid them any attention in different circumstances.
“Hello yes I’d like something with only a little sugar please? I’m here for coffee not a heart attack.” Draco mustered as much snark as he could; he had a reputation to maintain and not even being Harry Potter’s husband was going to change that.
The cashier looked at him, fear evident in her wide eyes and hunched shoulders. He rolled his eyes, “I’m not a Death Eater anymore, you know that.” His voice softened just a tad, “I’m not going to hurt you or anyone else in this coffee store.” Then his voice hardened back up, “Unless they get in the way of me and my bloody espresso.”
The cashier looked reassured enough to Draco, so he stopped talking.
“I need a name for the order. Malfoy, I presume?”
Shit. He hadn’t thought this part through. Now this girl was going to know his plan and secret and she was probably going to blurt it out before he had a chance to do it himself. Damn it. Well, there was no turning back now; he was going to have to trust her.
He bent low so only she could here him, “Actually, it’s Potter now, but please don’t say anything until you call my name later, I’m trying to surprise all the bloody asswipes in here.” He smiled, “I just want to see the looks on their faces.”
Shockingly, the girl snickered. Leaning forward until she was very close to Draco’s face, she told him, “I’ll do it. Not because I’m sure you’re a good person yet, but because I hate these people too. They’re so rude, and they never leave any fucking tips.”
Draco couldn’t hold in a laugh at that, “Well, I appreciate the help no matter what your motivation.” He paused for a second, thinking, “And I’ll give you a massive tip, just to prove you made the right choice. Just don’t tell these blokes I’m going soft.”
She grinned and nodded once before heading off to make his drink.
Unsurprisingly it was at this exact movement that the person behind Draco chose to yell, “Oi! You’re holding up the line you Death Eater! Some of us nice people want our coffee too!” Draco just turned around and rolled his eyes for everyone to see before moving to stand by the pick up counter.
A few minutes passed when “Potter!” ran through the room. People were gasping and muttering and looking all around the room, trying to figure out where the Chosen One was hiding. This was Draco’s time. He had a mere moment of hesitation before sauntering up to the counter and taking the cup with a loud, “Thank you.”
He could barely hold in a laugh at the faces people were making all around the shop. Some were still looking around for Harry, confused as to why Draco Malfoy was taking his coffee. Some were staring at him in awe, putting together the pieces that Draco had left for them. Some were hastily leaving and some were whispering to their friends. One woman at a table in the corner was frantically writing something on a notepad while the man next to her held up a camera in what he obviously believed to be a subtle manner but was actually about as subtle as a stampede of angry hippogriffs. That is to say, not at all.
A split second decision later and Draco was walking confidently towards the table instead of the door. As soon as he reached them he let out a dazzling smile and said, “So, you want the scoop?”
________________
“Honey, I’m home!” Draco yelled, elated at what he had just done. He heard a crash sound on the stairwell and suddenly Harry’s messy black hair came into view. On the ground. At the bottom of the stairs. Draco rolled his eyes as Harry popped up, a sheepish expression on his face.
“Sorry, I was excited. How did it go?”
It was impossible to hold anything against anyone that cute. Especially when they had the biggest green eyes and the most kissable lips and... No, Draco was getting off track. He grinned broadly; it wasn’t even a sneer this time, it was a genuine smile. “It went bloody brilliant! A reporter from the Daily Prophet happened to be there. Rita Skeeter I think her name was? Anyway, I gave her an interview and to say it was colorful would be an understatement.”
Harry’s face blushed bright red, “Was she, perhaps, using a green pen with a tendency to write on its own?”
“Yeah, how’d you know?”
“Let’s just say I have some experience with Skeeter. She’s a bloody awful woman but I think she’s exactly what we need for this article.” Harry grinned, “She likes to exaggerate things and that pen she uses is a Quick-Quotes Quill. It likes to exaggerate just as much. Together they are a bloody unstoppable force. Which, I mean, you would already know." Harry smirked, "At least this story is true, unlike the ones you gave her in 4th year."
“Sounds like exactly what we need!” Draco said, unabashedly ignoring Harry's snide comment, “I’ll take my thank you’s now.” He bowed down stiffly at the waist and took Harry’s hand in his.
“Not this again.” Harry muttered annoyedly, but his sparkling eyes and wide smile told the real truth.
“May I have this dance, Mr. Potter?” Draco said, putting on his poshest accent and most seductive facial expression.
“Yes you may, Mr. Potter.” And with that they were off, twirling around the living room and wherever else their feet lead them. Harry had not known how to dance before he met Draco after the war, but the blonde had seen that as an atrocity and their first few dates were spent at Draco’s flat, learning basic steps to every dance he could think of. Now it was a common thing to find them dancing around their house with only each other.
They danced, they ate, they read, they cuddled, and they slept until they were awoken by an owl screeching in the morning. Draco bolted upright, not bothering to throw a shirt on as he made his way to the window and let the owl in. He was carrying a copy of the day’s Daily Prophet, just as Draco knew he would.
Harry was not a morning person - all those times the Dursley’s had woken him up at ungodly hours to do massive amounts of chores had truly turned him off of any hour before 9:00 a.m.
Because of this, Draco was able to pay the owl, send him off, and read the entire article about his coffee shop plan yesterday before the man even got out of bed. Even then, he only got up because of how loudly Draco had been laughing.
“You’d better have a good reason for making me get up so bloody early, Draco.”
Not even able to pull himself together enough to point out that it was past 8:30, Draco handed the newspaper to his husband and finally managed to wipe the tears of mirth off of his face.
Harry only needed one look at the paper before he understood Draco’s hysterics. The mere title of the article was enough to set anyone off: Romeo and Juliet of the Magic World . How did she even know of that story? It was a muggle play, and he had not pegged Rita Skeeter as someone who bothered to stay in touch with the muggle world.
The farther he read on, the wider his eyes and grin got:
Much to the dismay of many girls out there, it would seem Harry Potter has taken himself off the market.
Draco Malfoy was seen yesterday at the Magsickles of Diagon Alley, picking up a cup of coffee under the name ‘Potter’. Now, I know what you’re all thinking: what ties could a former Death Eater have to someone as famous and pure as the Chosen One himself? Well, I was faced with the opportunity to interview Draco Malfoy himself, and he was rather eager to shed some light on the situation.
“Potter and I are fucking.” Was the first thing out of his mouth. When asked what that had to do with his apparent change of last name he responded, “Well, we’ve been at it for a while, so we got married. I mean, we love each other, isn’t that what prompts people to marry? Or is it all arranged for power these days?”
Yikes. It would seem the Chosen One’s chosen one has not lost any of his snark or attitude since his school days. This dark humor raises the question as to what Harry Potter sees in someone as misguided as the blonde man who sat in front of me that day.
“Well, I have a massive dick.” Malfoy whispered conspiratorially into my ear. Then he added, “And I seem to make him happy. Perhaps I’m only a prat to people I don’t like.” You would think he could be civilized towards the people who have given him the honor of publishing his story. Malfoy had been seen strutting around the store as he walked to my table with a trademark sneer distorting his face. Whatever Potter is after in this man, it is not his charming good looks.
I asked how long they were dating, because I know what my readers are after. Malfoy answered flippantly by telling me, “I mean, it’s been a while. We met after the war, at my trial, and he offered me a second chance. He was the first one to forgive me, and I will forever be grateful for that.” He paused here, seemingly to pull himself together. Could it be that the cold exterior is just that: an exterior? He pushed away that possibility when he started talking again, “I mean, I’m not sure when it graduated from friends with benefits to actual boyfriends, but hey, you could always ask Harry.
With that, Draco Malfoy up and left, not even sparing a second glance for me, despite what I had just done for him. I am not going to lie, readers, there was a lot more to this interview, but there is only so much space I have in this paper, and there was only so much of the conversation that the Prophet deemed printable.
So it would seem Harry Potter is off of the market. All we can do now is question whether or not the man has made the right choice. Did the war mess with his mind? Is he under a spell or even a potion that is keeping him with a former Death Eater? How much of this relationship was actually his idea and choice? I suppose we must stick to wondering for now. At least until I can secure an interview with the Golden Boy himself.
“You are bloody awful!” Harry shoved Draco off of the chair next to him. It should have been a relatively simple task considering Draco was still completely helpless against the gales of laughter wracking his body. However, Harry himself could not bring himself to stop laughing either, so he ended up on the floor next to Draco.
“I’m bloody amazing and we both know it.”
Harry stared at the man in front of him for a silent second, “Yeah, that’s true.” And before either could think about it any more their lips were attached. They turned towards each other and fit their bodies together in the way they were so used to. Not to be cliche - because Draco Malfoy would never lower himself enough to be considered cliche - they fit together like puzzle pieces. Not just their bodies, but their minds and their after-war beliefs and the way they saw the world. They were different individuals who were part of the same big picture.
When Harry’s tongue had just slipped into Draco’s mouth a screech and the feel of something landing on Draco’s head interrupted the mood.
“What the fuck?” Draco asked, rubbing his head. The husbands sat up and looked at the perpetrator. The owl was gone by now, but the howler it had carried was right next to them.
“Oh shit.” Harry muttered.
“And so it begins.” Malfoy murmured as Harry grabbed his hand and they ran as far from the living room as they could without leaving the house.