Work Text:
“So… You have a son.”
Draco rolled his eyes. “Indeed. I suppose you will never not point out the obvious, will you?”
Potter scowled. “Shut up, Malfoy. I was just trying to make conversation.”
“Now, we both know your conversational skills are lacking,” said Draco with a smirk.
“You’re such a prat,” said Potter, but his mouth quirked upwards in amusement.
Draco was going to respond, but Scorpius had waddled his way over to the two professors and was now grasping the bottom of Potter’s navy blue robe in his fist.
“Ha-wee,” Scorpius gurgled happily, thrusting his arms upwards as he demanded to be picked up. Potter looked to Draco as though for approval, and when Draco simply nodded, obliged and held Scorpius in his arms with a smile.
“Hello there,” he said to Scorpius, before turning to Draco. “How does he know my name?”
Draco blushed. “Well, your face is all over the place, and it was only a matter of time before he asked who you were.” This was mostly true, except Potter’s face wasn’t exactly everywhere. Sure, many magazines and newspapers had articles on Potter, but Draco was the one buying them all for specifically that reason. Scorpius had learned the name Harry, as Draco didn’t find it appropriate to teach his toddler to call the man by his surname.
Potter frowned slightly, but fortunately didn’t ask any more questions. He turned back to Scorpius and grinned as he bobbed the baby up and down gently. Draco tried to ignore the constriction his heart made at the two of them. It was only because it was Scorpius, obviously. Potter had absolutely nothing to do with it. Nothing at all.
Oh, bullocks, who was Draco trying to fool? He’d fancied the pants off Potter since their Hogwarts years, and seeing both his child and Potter interacting so well together was doing things to Draco that he was loathe to admit.
Draco swiftly turned around to remove the pair from his field of vision. He pretended to be looking through the test papers of the next students, except that he had already been through them thrice.
Casting a brief Tempus charm, he turned to Potter again.
“You ought to head back to your class, Potter, it’s almost twelve o’clock.”
Potter flushed sheepishly as he handed Scorpius back and straightened out his robes. They suited him—the style, not the colour. If they had been in a nice bottle-green it would have been perfect. Not that Draco cared what Potter wore, of course; he just had a keen eye.
“Bye, Malfoy. Bye, Scorpius.”
And Potter left, leaving Draco with Scorpius in his grasp and something wriggling in his stomach—like the Cornish pixies from second year.
Scowling, Draco set Scorpius down in the pen he had transfigured next to his desk. Astoria had received an emergency Floo from St. Mungo’s and the hospital’s daycare was closed for the next two weeks due to renovations. Naturally, building with magic was faster, but as it was a hospital many safety regulations and protocols were in place and the building had to be approved before any children would be allowed back inside. After all, magic was a fickle thing, and not something to be treated lightly.
So for now, Scorpius was in Draco’s hands. However, he was determined to not let it affect his teaching. Many people were trying to get Draco out of Hogwarts and his job, and this would certainly be of use to them. Former Death Eater watching child instead of teaching class, Draco could already picture in his mind. The arseholes would do anything just to ruin his name (as if it could have been ruined more than it had been).
Draco sighed as he waved his wand and the instructions for the lesson’s potion were scribbled on in his neat and tidy scrawl. A few students arrived, and chatted amongst each other as they found their seats. Draco straightened out his robes as he folded his arms over his chest and stood in front of his desk. Potter always sat on his desk when teaching, and was always so laid back and relaxed. How one managed to teach that way, Draco was never able to deduce, but Potter was a good professor, and his students respected him. That was all that really mattered, Draco supposed. As the last pupils sat down, Draco snapped back to attention, and smiled at the sixth years.
“Good morning, everyone. Today we will be brewing Amortentia,” he said calmly, groaning inwardly at the giggles and snickers that sounded around the classroom. “Now, you will find the instructions on the board and on page 37, but just be clear, I will be—yes?”
A Gryffindor in the middle row had her hand raised in the air.
“Is that your kid, Professor Malfoy?” she asked eagerly. The other students all looked to where Scorpius was standing on the edge of his pen. Draco sighed.
“Yes, that is my son, Scorpius. I am looking after him today. Getting back to the topic at hand—”
“Professor?” A Slytherin’s hand shot up.
“If it about Amortentia or something related, then please do go ahead. If it is about my son, then I’d ask you to refrain from asking about him until after class,” said Draco. The boy’s hand went down. “Thank you. So, to continue…”
Draco launched into explaining a brief history of the potion, its properties, and why it—including several other variations of love potions—should be used responsibly, if at all.
“If you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to ask—as long as it is regarding the potion at hand.”
The students all got to work, and Draco prayed for the minimal amount of teenage drama once they all got a whiff of their completed potions. And that no cauldrons would explode—it happened more often than one would think.
Scorpius began to get a bit agitated at being ignored, so Draco picked him up to settle him. He reluctantly allowed his son to play with his quill as he walked around the classroom to observe the students’ progress. So far so good, he thought to himself. Scorpius mumbled on about something or other as Draco took to helping a Slytherin with her potion. Once she was back on her feet, he took another student’s question.
“Professor Malfoy, what do you smell?” the Gryffindor asked him. Draco blushed bright red. It wasn’t out of line, it did have to do with Amortentia after all.
Draco wasn’t sure why he replied; why on earth he thought to answer them.
“I—I smell…” he breathed in deeply. “Lemon. My mother’s hands always smelled like lemons,” Draco said, putting Scorpius down on his desk. “And wood—my broomstick. It always had a distinct…” he trailed off as he tried to identify the last smell. It was so easily familiar, and when he finally recognised it, he was sure he must have turned an even deeper scarlet. It was an earthy sort of smell, but fresh—like taking a walk through the woods. It was something he couldn’t name, but only place to…
“It’s his smell,” said Draco quietly, looking up at the class again. “It’s not something I’ll ever be able to describe other than him.”
The majority of students were wide-eyed and open-mouthed, all staring at him in amazement. Draco was a very private person, so sharing something as intimate as what love smelled like to him… it was rather out of character.
He then watched in horror as the students looked back and forth from Draco and something else. He turned around and saw someone. Potter was standing in the doorway, looking completely gobsmacked, and the only thing Draco could hear were cauldrons bubbling and Scorpius’s mumbles.
Blushing, Draco cleared his throat and said, “Well? Get on with your work, we don’t have all day.”
They did as they were told, but whispered to each other and sneaked glances to their two professors. Draco took hold of Scorpius once again and walked over to where Potter still stood motionless in the entrance to the classroom.
“Can I help you?” he said as coolly as he could manage in his moment of complete humiliation.
“I was just—I wanted to—never mind,” Potter tried to hurry off, but Draco took his arm, his heart beating in his throat.
Potter whipped around, blushing as he looked from Draco’s face to where Draco’s pale hand was grasping his darker forearm. It was so much warmer than Draco’s, and the latter released his hold with haste.
“Wait—are you, er, free?” he asked. Potter flushed even more as his eyes widened. Realising what he said had sounded like, Draco quickly added, “I mean—it would be great if you could watch Scorpius for me.”
Potter relaxed slightly, but still seemed anxious. “Sure,” he said, taking Scorpius. They eyes met for a moment before Potter turned around and walked away as quickly as he could while still holding Scorpius firmly. Draco sighed as he rubbed his eyes. This was far too stressful, having feelings for his co-worker.
When he turned around again, all eyes were on him. Going red again, he said, “What are you all looking at?”
“You gave Professor Potter your baby,” said a Slytherin.
“So?”
“You must trust him a lot.”
Draco frowned. They had a point, he thought. He really had grown to trust Potter, and now with his only child? That was quite… well, substantial.
“He’s got a godson, he knows how to look after a child,” he told the class defensively.
A Gryffindor giggled. “You fancy Professor Potter,” she said, several others joining in until they were just a chorus of you fancy Professor Potters. Draco hurriedly hushed them, his face hot and his dignity rather scrapped.
“Merlin, be quiet—the whole castle can hear you—”
“It’s his smell,” said another Gryffindor loudly in a high-pitched voice, causing the rest of the students to laugh. Draco scowled at them, feeling more mortified than he ever had in his life, desperately trying to get them to be quiet.
“How long have you fancied him?”
“Are you gay, Professor?
“Professor, have you kissed him yet?”
“Alright, alright!” he said to them. “Yes, I have feelings for him, had for a while, but as an adult, I daresay it is none of your business—”
“He has to be gay.”
“But he has a kid, he can’t be.”
“Maybe he adopted.”
“It looks just like him.”
“Maybe he had a surrogate.”
“A what?”
“That’s enough!” said Draco. “My love-life is none of your concern—”
“Definitely gay,” said a Slytherin.
“Be quiet!” Draco said.
“We have to help you ask him out!” Another Slytherin said excitedly. The class cheered in agreement.
“No, you do not, and the next person to say anything else on the matter will have detention for the rest of the year—!”
Why did having feelings for Potter make everything so difficult?
***
In a matter of days, all of Hogwarts was buzzing about how Professor Malfoy fancies Professor Potter, and other rumours of a similar fashion. It was like a game—get Professors Potter and Malfoy together, but don’t tell Professor Potter that Professor Malfoy fancies him, because that ruins all the fun. Even the other professors were in on the gossip, but the two teachers who were head over heels for each other were none the wiser, and continued to dance around one another.
Scorpius was back at daycare, so at least he was no longer distracting Draco by being all over Potter, who just so happened to be excellent father material, the perfect git.
Now, to be clear, Draco was completely gay, so entirely opposed to any degree of straightness that he was practically a bloody circle. Astoria was one of his closest friends, and when she had proposed she have his baby to please their parents, Draco hadn’t been happier. Astoria had always wanted to have a baby, for herself more than anything else, and Draco hadn’t known how much he had wanted a son until he held the crying baby in his arms for the first time. He had started to cry himself, as the feeling of being unworthy to be the father to such a beautiful little baby bubbled to the surface. Draco had promised that day to always protect his son no matter the cost.
And Potter and Scorpius getting along so well… That was just a bonus (actually, it wasn’t, it was a major issue—because that meant that Potter was even more eligible than before).
So now Draco’s students were all conspiring against him. It went on for several weeks, before Draco finally snapped and demanded that the fourth year Ravenclaw/Slytherin class (a rather dangerous combination, to be perfectly honest) fill him in with whatever was having them stare at him constantly.
“It’s just that… Well, we’re trying to…” A Ravenclaw mumbled, before being cut off by the Slytherin next to her.
“We’re trying to hook you up with Professor Potter, sir.”
Draco’s cheeks went a bit pink, but he wasn’t surprised. “Of course you are. Well, good luck with that one; I’ve been trying since I was about your age. Or rather… Not anymore.”
“Why?” said a tall Ravenclaw with glasses that were similar to Potter’s. Bloody Ravenclaws and having to know everything—they were all terrible gossips, honestly.
Draco sighed. “Because sometimes, things don’t work out, and it’s just not meant to be—”
“Bullshit!” said a Slytherin in the front. Draco stared at her in surprise, not even having the capacity to ask what in Merlin’s name bullshit was.
“With all due respect sir, we all know that you and Professor Potter weren’t friends in the past, but it’s all over now and it doesn’t matter anymore.”
“Doesn’t matter?” Draco finally found his words. “If there is anything that I know, it’s that it does matter! I’m not—going to go into details, because frankly, this is none of your business, just like the fact that because I have feelings for Professor Potter isn’t either. But you should know that there are things I will never be able to forget. Things that I’ve done that other people won’t forget either, and things that were done to me that nearly drove me into the ground. I still have the scars,” Draco said, looking at the shocked Slytherin in the eye, “I still have the scars from our last fight. And I don’t know if realistically, we will be able to overcome that. So I’m sorry if this ridiculous little match-making game you’re all playing isn’t as fun as you thought it was going to be.”
Draco felt eyes burning into him as he turned and began to walk away to his office. “You are dismissed,” he said.
“But sir, we still have half an hour left—”
“I said you are dismissed, and if I hear anything from any of you again in the next five minutes, I will see you in detention during tomorrow night’s match.”
The resulting scurrying of nervous and terrified students did little to settle the irrational anger and pain that raged inside his chest.
***
When a bunch of students that were definitely not his showed up to his classroom in the middle of the last period of the day, Harry was quite confused. He paused from where he was writing on the board—he preferred physically writing it out more than using a spell—and gestured for the students in the front to come in.
“Is everything alright?” he said to the two girls—actually, the Slytherin with the black hair had a pin on his robes saying he/him today on it.
“Weeell…” the girl with blonde and blue hair said in a tone that Harry didn’t like the sound of at all, looking over to her friend for help.
“We fucked up,” he said bluntly, before adding, “sir.”
Harry raised an eyebrow as he crossed his arms. “And what did you do, exactly?”
“We upset Professor Malfoy, sir,” a timid-looking Ravenclaw answered this time. “We were all joking, really, but it got serious really quickly and not-so-funny anymore. He was really upset and told us all to leave as he went to his office.”
“What on Earth could you possibly have been joking about? If this is about his past involvement with Vol—”
“No, no, sir, nothing like that,” said the Ravenclaw quickly, brushing his pink hair out of his face. “It did, um, bring up some old stuff, though.”
“‘Old stuff’?”
“Ugh, it was about you, Professor!” said a Slytherin suddenly in exasperation.
Harry sighed and massaged his temple as he tried to fathom what could have upset Draco so much that he would have just upped and left. Perhaps it was about sixth year and what happened between them. Harry could understand that.
“If what you’re saying is true, then wouldn’t I be the last person Draco would want to see right now?”
“Yeah, but he loves you,” said a Ravenclaw near the back of the group, before groaning as she was elbowed by a classmate. “Jesus, Pippa, could you not? I think you broke my rib,” she wheezed. “Anyway, there’s no point in not telling him anymore, I mean, it’s been ages and they still haven’t even spoken to each other. The only interactions they have is passing eachother in the Great Hall and pretending they aren’t looking at one another; honestly, it’s ridiculous.”
“I don’t—Professor Malfoy does not love me,” said Harry.
“Does too, you should have seen him staring after like a puppy when you were watching his son for him. It was gross.”
The others murmured in agreement.
“He loves you, and you love him, so really it would be perfect for you to go!” said a Slytherin.
“Now, hold on a moment—!” said Harry.
“With all due respect, sir,” piped in another Slytherin, “you two really just need to snog each other, already.”
“I hardly think it is up to you—”
“Please, sir, just go!”
Harry glanced back to his class that were watching intently. Cursing under his breath, he replied, “I will go, but only because it’s the right thing to do.”
Turning on his heel, Harry hurried off to speak to Malfoy.
***
“In the name of my great-grandfather Septimus, would you bloody shut up—Potter.”
Draco had threw the door open in frustration following the awfully loud and incessant knocking. He mentally told his students to do something to themselves that he ought to never say to them in person. This had to be their work, there’s no doubt about it.
Potter shrugged sheepishly and gave him a weak smile. “Can I come in?”
Draco smirked as he said, “I don’t know; can you?”
Potter chuckled lightly and grinned. “You’re such a…”
“Disappointment? Traitor? Disgrace? Dishonourable member of society?”
“No,” Potter said with a frown.
“Well, I’ve got a couple more, if you want to hear them,” said Draco.
“Not particularly,” said Potter, and Draco’s face fell slightly. “I mean, I don’t want to hear your self-deprecating humour,” he added quickly.
“That’s a shame. It’s the only good thing I have to offer these days.”
“That’s not true.”
“Hmm?”
“I said that’s not true,” said Potter earnestly. “You’re smart, witty, funny—when you’re not insulting yourself or me, that is.”
“Ah, but insulting each other is kind of our thing,” Draco said with a pout. “I’d hate to have to say nice things to you all day, I’d retch.”
“So we have a thing, now, do we?”
Draco blushed. “Well, not that sort of thing, I mean, I don’t know, I was just—”
“Stop,” said Potter softly as he raised a finger tentatively and pressed it to Draco’s mouth. “I like having a thing,” he said. “But if it’s alright with you, I had another thing in mind.”
Holy bullshit.
Potter breathed a laugh, and Draco blushed deeper. “I said that out loud, didn’t I?”
“Mhm,” said Potter with a smile. “And you used ‘bullshit’ wrong.”
“Well, I have no bloody clue what it means,” Draco replied.
“It’s just a Muggle curse-word. It’s hard to try and define a curse-word; they vary quite drastically depending on the context.”
“Yeah,” mumbled Draco, except he had stopped paying attention to anything that wasn’t Harry’s eyes. His green, green, eyes. He wanted to lose himself in them forever. Except he couldn’t.
“I have to go,” Draco said abruptly, pushing backwards away from the doorway. But again, Harry grasped his arm quickly, yet gently.
“Don’t. I—I really like you, Malfoy,” Potter swallowed but didn’t look away. “And I know we didn’t always get along, but… I really hope you’ll give me a chance.”
Draco didn’t know what to say. His head was screaming at him to say no, to hex Potter and go back to his not-moping-at-all stuff. But his heart was already making him lean in closer unconsciously. And in an instant, they were kissing.
Draco hadn’t kissed many people, and the few that he had were incomparable to this. Astoria had been one of them when he was about eighteen, but it had been horrible. Not that Astoria herself was horrible; just kissing her was.
But kissing Potter brought so much relief and need simultaneously; like he hadn’t had anything to drink for months and was swallowing down a glass of water. It left him satisfied, but wanting more.
When Potter pulled away, his eyes bright, he gave a nervous smile. “Is that a yes?”
“I—I really shouldn’t,” Draco replied.
“Oh,” Potter’s face fell as he readjusted his robes. “Alright then, I’m sorry, I’ll just—”
“But I want to,” Draco told him solemnly, leaning again for another kiss.
Potter grinned. “Oh, thank bullshit.”
“Are you mocking me, Potter?”
“Me? Mock you? I would never,” said Potter, feigning being offended. “And if you’re going to snog me from now on, you might as well call me Harry.”
“But ‘Potter’ has such a good ring to it,” Draco frowned.
Harry rolled his eyes. “Whatever, Malfoy, just kiss me again, would you? Apparently, I’ve been in love with you for months.”
Draco smirked again as he replied, “Well, apparently, I’ve been in love with you for years.”
“That’s a long time,” said Harry, wrapping his arms around Draco’s neck (Draco had taken great pride in his younger years for being slightly taller than the Boy Who Lived). “I’d better kiss you a lot to make up for it.”
“Probably,” Draco said, before their lips met again. Only this time, it would take a while longer before either of them stopped, and when Harry returned to his classroom with his hair looking more dishevelled and a broad grin on his face, the students all exchanged knowing looks and whispers.
Rumour has it that now Professor Potter and Professor Malfoy are wildly in love and enjoy snogging each other when they think they’re alone.
Once, two Hufflepuffs caught them and grinned, the one’s “good job, Professor,” earning them both a detention (but it had definitely been worth it).
And yes, perhaps they had a difficult past and they argued sometimes (read: a lot), but they really did love each other and worked hard every day to make it work. Together (with Scorpius).