Chapter Text
“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. As Hogwarts professors, they were automatically in the pool to watch over the students during winter break, disrupting their plans for their New Year’s Eve wedding anniversary.
"I expect you to make this up to me, Harry," Draco demanded. "We could 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 living quarters. 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 sneered.
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 off Lac Gris. Its windows open to a very good reproduction of the lake and mountain range. The oversize portrait from their wedding night hung above the mantle. Draco's favourite chaise sat in the parlour.
That 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 much, Potter?"
Harry smiled back. "I 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.