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“well this is absolutely dreadful,”
draco didn’t have to turn his head to know who had sidled up to him. he had been watching potter all night from his safe spot in the back of the ballroom. nobody else had made an attempt to try and talk to him, which he was fine with - he had only come to this ball because his mother had pleaded with him, desperate to restart her social climb. potter, on the other hand, had been in high demand all evening, being dragged from table to table by hermione granger, smiling and shaking hands, but mostly standing awkwardly to the side with his hands shoved in his pockets, like the vagabond he truly was.
and now, potter was standing beside draco, trying to make small talk. wonders never ceased. draco turned to look at him, arching an eyebrow and donning a polite smile. it simply wouldn’t do to spar with potter tonight, whether that be verbally or physically.
“yes,” draco said simply, swirling his drink in his hand. the ice had long melted, and he had no interest in finishing the low grade alcohol that the ministry had provided. he raised the glass to his lips and took a sip anyways, just to give himself something to do.
“so, what’ve you been up to, malfoy?” potter tried again, turning his body towards draco this time. draco groaned inwardly - the last thing he needed was potter trying to strike up conversation tonight. he didn’t want to end up on the front of the prophet with some inflammatory headline proclaiming his intentions to seduce potter to the dark side, or some other rubbish.
“the usual,” draco murmured, “tending to the gardens, studying, being generally evil. you know how it is.”
for a second, potter didn’t say anything, and draco froze, fearing that he had gone too far. draco bit the inside of his check, cursing himself silently. draco was a marked ex-death eater, and potter was the darling of the ministry and an auror, and full within his rights to arrest draco under the suspicion of his involvement with dark magic. and draco had just, stupidly, basically confessed to still practicing dark magic, which he didn’t even do anymore, and -
and then potter laughed - a loud, barking sound that startled draco so much that he jumped and his drink sloshed over the rim of his glass, spilling over his fingers. finally, draco turned to glance at potter, and found his heart doubling in speed immediately.
potter was, for lack of a better word, hot . his hair was artfully tousled, a departure from the birds nest that he had always donned back at hogwarts. he had abandoned his iconic glasses, at least for the night, and his electric green eyes shone brighter for it. he had evidently filled out during auror training, and his sleek robes accentuated every muscle on his lithe body. draco felt his mouth go dry as he tried not to stare too hard at potter.
“you know, malfoy,” potter said, sidling closer to draco, a grin spread across his face. “you’re kind of funny when you’re not being a prat.”
“i’m always a prat,” draco said lowly, hoping potter wouldn’t notice the slight tremor in his voice. “it’s my trademark.”
“right,” harry laughed again, and draco decided that it was his new favorite sound. “want a peppermint?”
“what?”
potter was rooting through his robe pockets, patting at his chest and thighs before seemingly finding what he was looking for. he pulled out a small peppermint candy, encased in a clear plastic wrapper.
“peppermint,” potter said again, holding it out to draco. draco stood stock still, glancing between potter’s outstretched hand and his face, with that broad grin still spread across his lips. this position so closely mimicked the one they had stood in all those years ago, except this time it was potter extending his hand to draco, the one offering friendship, or at the very least a truce. “do you want it or not?”
draco took the peppermint, trying to keep his hand from trembling as he did so.
“thanks, potter,” he said softly, placing his glass down and unwrapping the peppermint.
“call me harry,” potter said, kindly and warmly and terribly. “and you’re welcome, draco.”
-
“you know, i’ve been having a lot of fun hanging out with you, draco,”
harry looks over at him, his eyes bright and clear and open and terribly endearing.
“yeah?” draco wants to look away, to turn and run screaming in the opposite direction, but he can’t. because here’s harry, mere inches away from draco’s face, with his lips parted and his hair messy and looking absolutely delicious. draco wants him, so badly, but he can’t -
there’s no logical explanation for why he can’t, or shouldn’t kiss harry because it’s more than likely that harry will kiss him right back. after all, it’s harry who’s organized almost all of these outings, harry who has left lingering touches on draco’s arms and legs, harry who is now staring into draco’s eyes with blown pupils.
“yeah.” potter breathes, his eyes flicking down to draco’s lips, and then back up to his eyes. he flicks his pink tongue against his lips, dampening them, and draco’s heart stops. “you’re nothing like i thought.”
“always glad to subvert your assumptions,” draco whispers, swallowing deeply.
“you -” harry laughs dryly, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “subvert my - fuck, draco.”
and then harry leans forward and presses their lips together, finally , and draco’s eyes flutter shut as his soul promptly evacuates his body. harry’s lips are surprisingly pillow soft against draco’s, and he tastes overwhelmingly of peppermint. his strong hands come up to pull draco closer, until he effectively straddles harry’s lap, their chests pressed flush to each other. he whimpers into the kiss, and then feels terribly embarrassed about it, and then harry cups his face delicate and he does it again.
harry pulls away first, although he stays close, pressing his forehead to draco’s and staring into his eyes, their breath mingling together in the tiny space between them.
“you,” draco whispers, and then falters. his heart thuds ridiculously in his chest, and he genuinely fears that it’ll fall out of his chest and he’ll die here, in harry’s arms. “you taste of peppermint.”
harry laughs, and draco leans forward, puling him into another searing kiss.
-
he had only needed to brew a few batches of pepper-up potion - a request from one of his most frequent customers in an attempt to combat the upcoming flu season. draco hummed quietly to himself as he crushed the bicorn horn, his mind far away as his hands worked automatically, already very familiar with the process of making this particular potion. his thoughts had wandered, as they tended to do, to harry.
he hadn’t seen him in almost a week, as a result of their busy schedules seemingly working against each other. harry worked impossible hours at the ministry (fetching coffee and pushing paper work, according to him), and draco spent almost every waking hour brewing down in his lab. at first, his potions business had struggled - but word of mouth and stellar reviews from some of his most loyal and infuential customers had quickly turned things around. his skill and impeccable customer service had taken presidence over his name, and nothing made draco happier than to know that his name had finally taken a backseat.
well, almost nothing.
he thought about the kiss harry had pulled him into last week, hot and heavy and so full of need that draco had spent nearly half an hour under the cold spray of his shower, trying to calm his racing heartbeat. it had been almost six months of pure bliss - of coffee shop dates and late nights spent talking on the phone and pressing close to each other simply because they could.
draco couldn’t recall having ever felt this happy, this full of euphoria ever in his life. just thinking about potter made his stomach flutter and his lips spread into a manic grin.
the idea comes to him sporadically, itching at the back of his mind as he added the mandrake root into his cauldron. he has everything he needs - the rose thorns, the ashwinder eggs, and the bloody peppermint. he could just throw it all in a cauldron together, and no one would ever be any wiser. he scolds himself quietly, worrying over the possibilities of going through with this. he doesn’t know what scares him more: the idea of the results confirming his suspicions, or disproving them. he continues to mull it over as he stirs the pepper-up potion before setting it back on the burner to simmer for a bit.
finally, draco gives in to his inner impulsive gryffindor, rushing over to his stores and picking out everything he needs.
he hadn’t smelled amortentia in years - the last time had been when he was a teenager, and nursing a heavy crush on blaise. the potion had smelled of musky cologne, cigars, aftershave, and leather, as well as carrying hints of more familiar scents, like the smell of his fresh linen and home. he waits for the potion to finish with shaky hands and a rebellious stomach, anxiety gripping him and almost sending him over the edge.
when, three hours later, his alarm charm alerts him that the potion is finished, he descends into the basement with a slight tremble in his hands. he feels for harry, quite strongly, but just a whiff of amortentia will make things much more serious. he removes the lid slowly and bends of the cauldron, wafting the slow spirals toward himself with his hand, and -
he doesn’t immediately recognize the scents that overwhelm him, but he does remember clearly where he’s smelled them before.
it had been about a month prior - harry had requested that draco meet him in some large field, miles away from everything else. there, he had pulled draco onto a broom with him, with harry steering and draco clutching his torso, his face buried in the crook of harry’s neck. it had been so reminiscent of the first and last time he had been on a broom with harry - fiendfyre licking at the soles of their shoes and terror gripping both of them. this was different in every possible way. harry flew slowly at first, talking gently to draco all the while as he flew them over the countryside. eventually, draco had been able to open his eyes and enjoy the view, and stop chewing on his lip long enough to actually hold a conversation with potter. he had kept his nose buried in harry’s shoulder, though, savouring his scent, and the way that it felt like home.
harry had smelled of grass and clean sweat and flowers and broomstick polish and the lemongrass shampoo he favoured and, inexplicably, a warm day.
these are the scents that wash over draco as he inhales, overwhelming him and transporting him back to that perfect day, his arms wrapped around harry’s torso and the sun beaming down on his shoulders.
and there, beneath it all, subtle but still definitely present - peppermint.
he doesn’t breathe or think, as he flicks his wand and puts all of his potions under a stasis, stumbles upstairs, pulls on a pair of robes, and apparates from his living room directly to harry’s doorstep. as soon as he lands, he begins banging on the door and yelling for harry, completely aware but not caring very much at all that he looks absolutely mad.
when harry doesn’t answer, draco sinks to floor on the steps, pulling his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. for a while, although draco isn’t sure if it’s five minutes or five hours, he stares blankly at the park across the street from harry’s house, his mind racing.
his amortentia had smelled like harry. harry potter, the saviour of the wizarding world and patron saint of orphans and gryffindors, who draco still privately believed to be much too virtuous and good and deserving to pursue draco - shared a scent with draco’s amortentia. the... affection potion. he repeated these facts to himself a little under a thousand times, and then - after he had memorized them - moved on to questioning himself.
why was he sitting on harry’s doorstep? surely he wasn’t going to… tell harry about the whole amortentia situation. what if he didn’t feel the same way? no - what would draco do when harry didn’t feel the same way, as draco was sure he wouldn’t. he had been a fling, something fun for harry to do over the last few months, a body to keep his bed warm on the colder, lonlier nights. would he laugh in draco’s face at this confession? would he tell his auror friends over drinks at the pub tomorrow night - starting the anecdote with a ‘ so, do you lot remember the death eater i was shagging? you won’t believe what he told me yesterday,’ ?
draco’s stomach began to twist uncomfortably as he mulled over this possibility. deciding that the best course of action would be to go back home and hope that harry’s neighbors wouldn’t tell him about the mad blonde that had hung around his home for hours while he had been at work, draco stood. just as he made to turn, the front door swung open.
there was harry, wearing his red auror robes and looking absolutely kissable. all of draco’s prior negative thoughts melted away as he stared up at harry, wanting him, needing him so desperately that it made his hands shake again.
“draco? what are you doing here?”
“potter,” draco breathes, looking down at his shoes. “you... you smell like broom polish, and springtime, and warmth, and you taste of peppermint, and -” he tapers off, sighing heavily. he runs and hand through his hair and admonishes himself for not practicing a speech during the time he had sat here worrying.
“oh,” harry says, raising an eyebrow and looking cautious, as if draco was a crazy person. “are you feeling okay, draco?”
“no, i’m not feeling okay, thank you very much,” draco snapped, suddenly irritated. why didn’t potter just put two and two together? “i made the damn potion, and all i could smell was you, and your bloody peppermints -”
“potion? what potion?”
“christ, are you an auror or not?” draco sneered, his heart pounding. “amortentia, potter. i made fucking amortentia, and it reeks of peppermint which can only mean…”
“you love me,” harry finishes, a stupid grin spreading across his face. draco can’t decide if he wants to collapse with relief or kiss him. “you love me?”
“apparently,” draco grits out, blushing terribly. “of course, i shouldn’t need a potion to tell me this. the feelings are there. have been for quite some time, i suppose. and i can’t deny them, or downplay them any longer, because… i made the potion, and it smelled like peppermints.” he finishes weakly, suddenly needing a nap, and a pepper-up potion for himself. he can’t bring himself to look harry in the eye, so he looks at his shoulder instead. it’s quite broad and nicely defined in harry’s auror robes. he would quite like to kiss the skin beneath it sometime soon.
“can i kiss you right now?” harry asks, and draco’s knees go weak. harry steps close to him, and draco inhales the familiar earthy scent. he opens his mouth again, and draco smells the peppermints he knows harry has had recently. “i’d like to kiss you.”
“i’d hex you if you didn’t,” draco whispers, throwing his arms around harry’s neck.
harry kisses him, and draco swears that he hears the unspoken ‘i love you, too ’ that’s pressed into it.
-
draco winces as harry flicks his wand once more, changing the channel on the television once again. he had been switching between about three different films and watching short scenes of each, although he kept flicking to the next film just as draco had started to grow interested in any of them.
his headache, which had started shortly after breakfast and had stubbornly persistd into the afternoon, was only growing as his irritance festered. harry hadn’t necessarily done anything to make him angry - in fact, he had woken draco up with an earth-shattering blow-job and then prepared a large breakfast for them both, before pulling draco onto the couch for an overlong cuddling session, with small breaks for making out or groping each other.
nonetheless, draco felt himself prepared to snap at harry at any given moment, despite knowing that doing so would ruin the positive mood of the day. the last thing he needed was a full-blown argument with harry. those always lasted hours and usually ended in hexes being thrown and doors being slammed.
harry laughed loudly at something on the telly, and draco couldn’t hold back his annoyed exhale. harry noticed, and flicked his wand again, muting the television. draco’s headache slightened marginally, and he suddenly felt guilty about releasing his frustration.
“what is it?” harry asked, sitting up and looking over at draco. “you’re more irritated than usual.”
“nothing,” draco snapped, irritated at harry’s assumption. harry fixed him with a blank stare, his forehead creasing as he silently told draco that he didn’t believe a word that he had just said. “my head is throbbing,” he admitted after a moment. “and i’ve sold all of my potions, and i don’t feel well enough to brew any.”
“oh,” harry said, smiling slightly. “well, why didn’t you just say so?”
with that, harry swung his legs off of the couch and left the room without another word.
“what are you doing?” draco called, considering getting up and following him but deciding against it.
“just you relax,” harry returned, sounding as if he was somewhere in the kitchen. privately, draco hoped that harry had decided to cook something. he tended to do all of the cooking and baking for the both of them, and delighted in trying out as many recipes as he could. draco, on the other hand, had no qualms about trying each of harry’s creations and providing him with constructive criticism, (which usually came in the form of kisses or other sexual favors.)
harry returned a few moments later, clutching a steaming mug and smiling warmly.
“what’s this?” draco asked, sitting up and throwing the blanket off of his body. harry settled into the couch beside him and pushed the mug into his hand, nodding his head encouragingly.
“peppermint tea,” harry grinned, looking quite proud of himself. “good for headaches. did you know that peppermint -”
“has healing qualities?” draco finished, leaning forward to press his lips to harry’s. “i did know that, actually.”
“drink,” harry pressed, cupping his hands around draco’s and pushing the mug to his lips. draco obeyed, inhaling the strong aroma of the tea before taking a deep sip. he cringed at the taste - he had never liked peppermint as much as harry seemed to, and only enjoyed the taste when he picked it up from harry’s own mouth with a swipe of his tongue. harry watched eagerly as draco finished the mug, grinning proudly all the while. “good?” he asked as draco finished, taking the mug from him and setting it on the coffee table.
“perfect,” draco murmurs, leaning forward to catch harry into another, deeper kiss. he laces his arms around his neck and pulls harry close again, separating their lips but maintaining their proximity. “harry, my beloved, you’re a gem.”
a flush spreads across harry’s face as he laughs quietly and pulls away from draco, never one to take a compliment. he moves backwards until his back presses against the couch, and spreads his legs before gesturing for draco to sit between them. he obeys, and is pleasantly surprised when harry’s fingers slip through his hair and begin to gently massage at his scalp.
“harry,” draco moans gently, his eyes rolling back in his head. “you’re marvelous,”
“i love you, too,” harry laughs softly, and draco relaxes into his arms, sighing contently.
-
the call comes early in the morning, just a few hours after they had originally fallen asleep, curled tight around each other. harry lurches awake first, his keen ears already trained to listen for the sound of his emergency page, even while deeply asleep. draco woke only as harry lumbered through their bedroom, still half-asleep and pulling on his uniform.
“harry,” draco slurs, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes. “wha-?”
“‘ve been paged,” harry grunts, tripping into his trousers. “probably a raid,”
“mmm,” draco mutters, already lying back down. over the three years of their relationship, harry had been called on two other midnight raids before. he had always returned sometime during the afternoon, in need of a bath and a warm cup of tea. “be safe,”
“yea,” harry rushes out of the door, before backpedaling and moving back to draco’s bedside. he leaned over the bed, gently grasping draco’s chin and pulling him into a light kiss. “love you,”
and then he was gone, rushing down the stairs and through the floo, while draco readjusted in bed and pulled harry’s still-warm pillow to his face. draco’s sleep-addled brain made it easy to not think about where harry was going, or worry about the possibility of danger for very long. he fell asleep quickly, lulled back into unconsciousness by the comfortable and welcoming warmth of the duvet.
when draco wakes again, several hours later, the sun had risen completely and peaks through the sheer curtains in their room. he looks over at the empty side of the bed, wishing for a moment that harry hadn’t been called away. their morning routines were dear to draco, what with the way that they moved around and with each other in a practiced dance, a testament to their time together and the level of familiarity they had achieved. he allows himself only a moment of longing before kicking the sheets from his body and clambering from the bed, yawning and stretching and mentally going over all he would have to do for the day.
he sits at the kitchen table alone for breakfast, nursing a mug of chamomile tea and nibbling at a slice of toast while he flips through the prophet. he glazes over the sports section and the society pages, and puts it aside for harry to glance at later. he does, however, focus on the international news segment. apparently, there was some sort of tension growing between the korean and american magical communities, and reports of a possible war brewing. he shivers at the idea of war - of mass casualty and loss and hatred running rampant anywhere in the world, even if he would never see it. a short spike of worry for harry shot through him, causing draco to put down the prophet and take a long drag of tea.
knowing that harry was out there somewhere, fighting darkness was never easy. he knew how angry most dark wizards were with harry, for forcing them to go underground or jailing their friends and family. they were ruthless, and wouldn’t hesitate to hurt harry. the idea made draco’s stomach twist. determined to not ruin his day before it could truly begin, he kept flipping through the prophet, and to the funny pages. a cartoon of a wizard accidentally vanishing his head kept replaying, and draco forced himself to laugh weakly.
when he finished his breakfast, he made easy work of finishing up the household chores. he charmed the dishes to do themselves, and polished the floors and carpets with a swipe of his wand - but decided to fold the laundry by hand. the charms always left terrible wrinkles in his clothes that seemed to be heavily resistant to ironing charms. once he had finished, and magicked the piles of clothing into their respective wardrobes, he set about watering all of their plants.
when he had moved in, harry had had only three pathetic plants, each nearly dead and yellowing drastically. it had taken almost a year, but draco had single-handedly transformed their house into something that resembled a greenhouse. plants of all species covered nearly every available surface, leafy and brightly colored, and beautiful. draco liked taking care of them and watching them flourish made him happy. seeing draco happy, in turn, made harry happy - and so, the plants stayed. he watered them by hand, taking the time to speak softly to each about his plans for the day, or his thoughts on the last film he had watched, or what he thought would happen in the next cycle of wizengamot elections.
once he had finished tending to his plants, draco fed and stroked the cat, also taking time to press gentle kisses to her furry head and asking her politely what she thought about the recent dip in the wizarding stock market. she didn’t respond, as expected, and so he moved on.
draco went about his routine happily, delighting in the causal domesticity of taking care of his and harry’s home. if someone had told him as a child that he’d genuinely enjoy acting as a housewife - cooking and cleaning and waiting around for his beau to come home, he would’ve laughed in their face. now, he found himself completely content to keep things tidy in their home, while also taking as much time as he needed for himself to brew, or research, or do whatever it is that he wanted to do.
as mid-day rolled around, the desire to brew begins to pull at draco. he had finished cleaning the house, and had absently flicked through the last few chapters of the novel hermione had recommended to him. he stands from the couch, summoning one of harry’s old sweaters and pulling it over his head. he hated brewing in his own clothing - and harry would hardly notice a stain in the already muddy brown fabric of this sweater from at least seven years ago.
the knock sounds from the front door just as draco prepares to descend the stairs into his lab. he freezes, furrowing his eyebrows. any wizard would have simply used the floo, and harry didn’t have any muggle neighbors who might’ve come knocking. he strides to the door quickly, not bothering to peek out of the window as he pulls it open. standing there on the porch, looking distinctly out of place, was kingsley shacklebolt and gawain robards, their mouths pressed into identical grim lines.
“gentlemen,” draco says, tugging on his tattered old sweater and suddenly regretting pulling on harry’s old rags. “what can i do for you?”
as the words leave his mouth, draco scans their faces once more, feeling his heart begin to descend as his brain connects the puzzle pieces. there are important ministry men - there’s no reason for them to be standing on the porch of his and harry’s home… unless -
“mr. malfoy, i don’t usually do house calls, but i felt this situation deserved an exception.” kingsley says solemnly, his hands folding over his robes. draco’s mouth goes dry as his mind begins to race - each avenue of thought leading him to the same conclusion each time. he wants to slam the door shut, to find a time turner and go back, to change the order of what he already knows has happened. instead, he stands in the doorway, his eyes wide and his shoulders tense. “is there somewhere we can sit and talk?”
-
even in death, harry potter is beautiful.
he lies beneath a white sheet, covered up to his chest, but draco pulls it away with shaking hands. he runs his fingers over every inch of harry’s body, wanting to recoil from the unfamiliar coolness that reaches back to him, yet still so desperate to hold on to even one last piece of harry, if he can.
“harry,” he whispers, his voice weak and trembling but still echoing in the otherwise empty room. “my harry,”
he tries desperately to remember what the last thing he had said to harry was, if he had told him that he loved him, that he didn’t want to exist in a world without him, that even being apart for a day was too much to bear, that he didn’t know how to continue going on knowing that harry’s race had already ended.
he brushes harry’s hair away from his face, still wild and untameable and absolutely breathtaking. he runs his trembling fingers over his eyes, his nose, his lips, his jaw - trying desperately to memorize every curve and bump and line, if only so that he can pretend to hold him close, even after he leaves this room and his time with harry comes to an end forever. he already knows so much of his body, after years of fighting and fucking and kissing and touching - draco knows every scar and mark that litters harry’s body, a collection of stories and tales of great heroism and even greater personal failures. he loves each one, has kissed and licked and stroked each mark lovingly. but now, there are new ones - fresher gashes covering previously unblemished skin, marring him, making this body unfamiliar to draco.
he doesn’t know this body - this body that is littered in strange marks, this body that does not move, or breathe, or radiate warmth or comfort, or smile crookedly and offer peppermints. he knows harry - harry potter, who does all of these things and more. but he can’t find harry - not in this body, not in their home, in their bed - not anywhere he should be.
nevertheless, draco clutches the body in the bed. he wraps his arms around it and buries his face in its chest, sobbing so loudly he fears that the aurors outside will come in and drag him away, claiming to be doing so for his own well-being. he kisses the body, on its palms, its shoulder, its neck, on its lips, and forehead, and on that damn scar.
he wonders if he can just stay here forever, in this cold room with this body that looks like but doesn’t act like his harry, clutching it until he dies and can go to wherever harry has gone. there is nothing for him outside of this room anyway, nothing he cares about more than harry. he would give it all up - the house and the career and the friends and the money - to bring harry back, would live like a pauper and sleep in dark alleys if it meant that he could have harry potter by his side again.
except, harry potter is gone. and he won’t come back.
at least, that’s what ron weasley whispers to him as he tries to gently pull draco away from harry’s body, rubbing soothing circles into his back and trying to pretend as if he’s not crying too.
“it’s okay, draco,” he whispers, even though it is not.
“you’ll be okay,” he says, even though he will not be.
“i can’t,” he cries weakly into ron’s chest, after finally being pulled away from harry and ushered towards the door. “i can’t -”
he doesn’t finish the sentence, doesn’t know how to. there are too many variables, too many different things that can fit on the end and still work. so much that he can no longer do - not without harry’s warmth and his smile by draco’s side.. he can’t go on without harry, he can’t pretend like this is okay, he can’t go back to their empty home and sleep in their empty bed and eat at their empty dining room table.
but he will have to.
because harry potter is gone. and he won’t come back.
when he stops crying enough to effectively communicate with the aurors, they express their sincerest condolences, again and again, making comments about how harry was such an asset to their team, and how they truly mourn the loss of such a powerful wizard. draco wants to sneer and tell them to go fuck themselves, that he’s trying to figure out how to navigate life without his partner while they will simply fill harry’s spot with some wet-behind-the-ears junior auror, but he bites his tongue.
“we have his things,” one of the aurors steps forward. draco thinks that it’s harry’s partner, judging by the dampness in his eyes. “from his desk.”
draco takes the box with shaky hands, glancing down at it and feeling his heart shrivel up and die completely. folded at the bottom of the box was a grey jumper that draco had gotten him during their first christmas together. there are a few photo frames, containing photos of ron and hermione, teddy, draco, and some of them all standing and smiling together. there are also a few knick-knacks of harry’s - a small dragon figurine and a spinning broomstick. and there, nestled in between it all - a small crystal jar, filled with peppermints.
-
“i’ve been thinking,” pansy muses, running a hand through her hair. “about cutting my hair again. blaise quite likes it longer, but it is my body. letting a man tell me what to do with my appearance based on his personal tastes would be very anti-feminist of me, wouldn’t you say so?”
draco hums noncommittally, and pansy continues to blather. it’s obvious that he’s not really listening to her, but she continues to carry the decidedly one-side conversation as if he is. he appreciates this more than he can say. numbness still haunts him - seeping into every crevice of his being and slowing him down drastically. before, draco had been a firecracker. he did everything quickly and all at once - and found people who moved at a snails pace to be frustrating. now, it seemed as if all of the energy had been sapped from his body, simple conversations - an exchanging of pleasantries, or small talk seemed to drag on forever, and were laden with awkward silences. a week ago, his mother had asked him how he was holding up - he had stared at her silently, his lip quivering and his forehead creasing as he searched desperately for the words that always seemed to evade him nowadays. that’s alright, dear , she had said softly, patting his thigh. he had wanted to burst into tears - to scream out that it wasn’t at all okay, that he had been handicapped since harry left - that he wanted to be himself again.
around him, their loved ones all seem to be grieving in their own way. the few group gatherings that draco had attended since harry’s death had been downright depressing - with a different person ducking away from the table every few moments and coming back with damp eyes, or with everyone getting just a bit too drunk. connections fortified by the war seemed to waver in the face of loss - which draco thought was terribly ironic. death and destruction had bought them all closer than ever - yet it was that same force that seemed to be tearing at each of them individually.
despite their own grief, his friends seemed to have developed some sort of coalition dedicated solely to making sure that draco didn’t drown in his own sorrow. neville, after dropping by a few weeks ago to find all of draco’s plants dried up and dead, had returned with a small pot of lavender and pushed it into draco’s hands gently, murmuring something about giving him something to look after, and lavender not needing much care. hermione has taken to coming through the floo unannounced almost every other day, and sits with him on the couch and eyes the old sweater that had once belonged to harry that draco had taken to wearing almost constantly. she says things that he knows she read from some psychology textbook about the stages of grief and biopsychosocial influences of grief-fueled depression. when he does encounter ron, he claps him on the back a bit too roughly and smiles awkwardly, always hesitating as if he wants to say something, but is unsure of what. luna always hugs him - long and hard, pressing her face into his neck and matching her breaths to his heartbeat. the method is unusual but has effectively reduced him to tears twice without a single word being uttered between them. blaise, theo, and greg drop by at least once a week, clutching bags full of takeout and cases of beer and bottles of wine. they don’t talk much, but the company is a welcome distraction from the otherwise suffocating silence of the house.
nobody seems to know what to say to him - but he doesn’t mind, because he doesn’t know what to say to them either. they are all grieving different people - a soulmate, a best friend, a brother. they lean into each other for support - but no amount of crying sessions or alcohol consumed will fill the empty space at the table, the space they all know should belong to harry.
this morning, pansy had dragged him out of bed, expressing that she needed his help picking out new dress robes from some high eng store in diagon alley. they both knew that she was simply worried about him, seeing as he hadn’t left his bed in almost three days, and had adopted a sickly pallor.
now, they strolled aimlessly down diagon - a bag on pansy’s arm and their stomachs pleasantly full. they had stopped in at one of pansy’s favorite cafe’s, and she had forced him to eat a double chocolate chip muffin, expressing how much she knew that he had liked these once upon a time. he ate it dutifully, and smiled with a mouthful of chocolate, complimenting the texture and flavor, despite not being able to taste anything. it had tasted grey, as most things did nowadays, all color and brightness and joy had been sapped from draco’s world - but the last thing he wanted was to be a bother to his friends.
“shit,” pansy swore suddenly, stopping in her tracks. she stepped off to the side, out of the flow of traffic. “i forgot to let blaise know we would be out today. you know how he is.” she pulled her purse out and began rustling through it, searching for her phone. draco follows her, moving out of the general rush and standing before a storefront, watching as she begins to presumably send a text to blaise.
draco shoves his hands into his robe pockets - a terrible habit he had picked up from harry during their time together. he had continuously warned against it - citing possible damage to the lining of his clothing - but harry hadn’t cared. his indifference had soon rubbed off on draco. and now, here they were. harry was gone, and draco balled his fists in the pockets of his clothing like an utter plebian.
draco’s fingers brushed something at the very bottom of his pocket - and he froze. the rest of the world turned to a vacuum - and suddenly, all he could hear and feel was the brush of his fingers against crinkling plastic, deep in his robe pocket. before he could stop himself, he grabbed at the plastic with his thumb and forefinger, slowly dragging out what he knew he would find.
the peppermint lies innocently in his palm as draco stares down at it, his entire world falling apart.
“you’ve got sweets?” pansy asked, glancing at him from over her phone. “don’t be a twat, give one here. i’m watching my figure, but i’m sure one little candy won’t hurt.” it is then that pansy looks up at his face, and notices the abject horror crossing it. his lip trembles as he stares down at the peppermint, suddenly feeling increasingly nauseous. “draco,” pansy says, pocketing her cellphone. draco wants to push her away, to warn her that his muffin is soon to make a reappearance based on the way his stomach turns at the sight of the candy. instead, he stands stock still, staring down at his shaking hand. “what’s wrong?”
“it’s a peppermint,” he chokes, finally looking up at pansy. his face crumbles as he gestures with his cupped palm. “it’s - this is a peppermint,”
“yes,” pansy says slowly, as if he’s gone mad. “what’s wrong with peppermints?”
“i fucking hate peppermint,” he gasps, dropping it to the ground as if suddenly realizing that it is hot to the touch. “i hate peppermint so much - it’s not even good,”
pansy seems very confused, but reaches forward to touch draco anyways. his entire body trembles beneath her hands, and she suddenly realizes that something is very, very wrong.
“draco,” she says softly, “what’s going on?”
“i haven’t worn these robes since - since harry,” he stammers, glancing around rapidly as his heart rate and breath begin to speed up. he’s close to hyperventilating - to completely losing his shit in the middle of diagon alley. however, he’s too distraught to care much about what the public will say if he has a full-blown panic attack in front of a stationary store. “and there’s peppermints in them -”
“why do you have them?” pansy asks quietly, putting a hand at draco’s back and moving him towards a quieter corner. it doesn’t make a difference - people have already noticed them and are watching as draco shakes visibly, glancing around and curling and uncurling his fists as if he’s gone mad.
“they’re for harry!” he shouts, his voice breaking on his name and dissolving into a sob. “he, he loved them, and i carried them for him because he liked them and now he - he’s fucking dead and all i have are these fucking stupid peppermints in all of my fucking robes and i can’t do this, pans, i can’t -”
“oh, draco,” pansy sighs, at a total loss for words. she doesn’t try to hug him - a testament to how well she knows him after all these years. instead, she flicks her wand and places a privacy charm around them, giving draco the room to be as loud as he needs without the public eye on him. “i’m sorry, love.”
“fuck,” draco chokes, pressing his palms to his eyes in an attempt to stop the flow of tears. instead, they come harder than ever - the grief pulling at him until he’s bending in two with the force of it, clutching himself as he cries his eyes out, right in the middle of diagon alley. pansy rubs his back gently, tutting affectionately and saying quietly, again and again, “i’m so sorry, draco.”
the tears come for what feels like hours, forcing themselves out with each hulking gasp draco takes. a part of draco feels as if he’s dying, as if he’ll hyperventilate and keel over from the force of it. the grief settles around him like a heavy cloak - weighing his body down and making doing anything other than letting it swallow him completely feel impossible. the embarrassment he knows he should feel evades him - giving the illusion that all sense of normalcy and decorum had left draco’s life along with harry.
when he finally pulls himself together, pansy takes his hand and casts his glamorous, hiding his puffy eyes and red nose and lips. he doesn’t have to ask her to do it, and the gesture makes him tear up again.
“none of that,” pansy tuts softly, patting his cheek. “let’s get you home, darling.”
she drops the privacy charm, wrapping an arm around his waist and guiding him gently to the apparition point. if people are looking at them, he doesn’t notice - completely grounded by the solid warmth of pansy against his side.
then, they go home.
-
he hadn’t had any reason to grab the box. in fact, he had originally brushed it aside, reaching for his usual chamomile. peppermint tea usually helped more with his headaches, but at the moment he hadn’t been able to stomach the idea of making the tea for himself. harry had known how to make it perfectly, and had purposefully never told draco exactly how he made it, stating that -
“ you’re so independent.” harry murmured, handing draco another mug with a self-satisfied smile, “i like being able to do something for you.”
draco fished out the box containing the chamomile leaves, sighing deeply when he shook the box and found it much lighter than it should’ve been. he doesn’t bother opening it - instead slamming it on the counter and shutting his eyes tight. he doesn’t want to have to touch the box - this box that had belonged to harry only. he wants to let it sit, and gather dust for years, a small relic of their life together before the fates had torn them apart. but his head aches, and the possible comfort and familiarity that the peppermint tea may bring him lures him back into the cabinet, reaching for the pale green tin.
he realizes that something is amiss as soon as he picks up the tin - almost triple the weight of what it should be even when completely full. he pulls it out slowly, his brow furrowing as he does so. when he gives the box a shake, he hears the loud thud of something inside, something that definitely isn’t a tea bag, and so he pulls the lid off, suddenly overwhelmingly curious.
draco peers in, pushing aside two tea bags before his fingers brush a small, velvety object. his heart freezes as his fingers stroke the fabric again, tilting the box towards him so that he can look inside. there, nestled in a bed of peppermint tea bags, is a small black box - one that looks terrifyingly similar to a...
tears flood his eyes before he can even pull out the box, already knowing what it is, and what it means.
harry wanted to marry him.
harry was going to propose, and he had been hiding the ring in a box filled with peppermint tea bags, knowing that draco would never look in there. he had specifically chosen this spot because he knew of draco’s general dislike for peppermint, and knew his mannerisms, and knew him well enough to still want to spend their lives together. his hands tremble as he pulls the box open, equal parts dreading what he knows is inside and needing it desperately. as it flips open, a small piece of paper flutters out and floats delicately to the ground. draco places the ring on the counter and bends, grabbing the paper between two fingers and exhaling as he flips it around. there, in harry’s messy and cramped handwriting, are the words -
don’t be a coward.
he laughs through his tears at the implication - at the idea of harry ever needing to psych himself up to propose to draco. even now, draco loved harry completely, with every ounce of his being. he would’ve had to have been a fool to do anything other than immediately say yes - and draco was no fool.
he chokes on his tears as he reads the paper again and again, running his thumb over the line of harry’s writing again and again. knowing that harry had written this note to himself, had touched this paper and ripped it himself and tucked it away in this dark little box. draco presses it to his nose, hoping to catch even a whiff of harry’s essence. the only thing he smells is peppermint - which is close enough, but also so very far from fully capturing who harry was.
as he holds the scrap of paper, draco finds himself wishing desperately that, just for once, harry had been a coward. wishes that he wouldn’t have rushed out to the front lines, perpetually leaning into his saviour nature. wishing that he had, terribly enough, let someone else take the killing curse. he would’ve felt guilty - so insanely guilty that he would be almost physically sick with it. nightmares and angst would’ve haunted him for months - but he would still be here . draco could have tried to kiss away tears, and hold harry close during nightmares, rubbing his back and murmuring him until the guilt finally ebbed away.
instead, draco has a scrap of paper and an empty bed and an engagement ring with no fiance. there is no one to propose, to drop to their knees and make grandiose declarations of love.
he slides the ring onto his finger with a barely-suppressed sob.
“yes,” he says to no one - to his perpetually empty home. across the kitchen, the kettle whistles. “my answer is yes.”
-
“i know you must think i’m foolish,”
luna gazes serenely at draco as he unbuttons his top and throws it over a chair. there’s a small smile on her face, but she allows him to keep talking. the room is just a bit colder than what would make him comfortable, but the candles and incense burning from nearly every horizontal surface and the quiet whimsical music playing soothed his nerves slightly.
“i’m almost forty - i should be settled down, not running amok and behaving like a teenager.”
“i don’t think you’re foolish, draco,” she says softly, gliding towards him and running her cool hands across his torso. “i think that you’re sublime.” he sits down as she guided him into her chair, looking up at her through his eyelashes. “besides, i think forty is an excellent age. much better than the seventeen-year-olds i usually get.”
“right,” draco murmurs, “should i just lie down here?”
luna nods and turns away, busying herself with something on a small table behind her while draco stares up at the ceiling, attempting to steady his breathing. it’s not as if he’s afraid of the pain - the dark mark on his arm and the crucio’s he had experienced during the war had been more physically painful. emotionally, well - draco could handle anything that luna had for him. he watches as she pulls out the tattoo gun and her wand and presumably sanitizes them, before turning back to him. when she first puts the needle to his skin, he winces simply out of instinct. in reality, he feels only a slight pressure in the general area as she works.
while she tattoo’s draco, luna hums softly to herself - a song completely different from the one playing on the speakers throughout the shop. draco remains quiet as she works, only occasionally humming softly when she asks if he’s feeling okay, or if he’s in any pain, or if he’s spoken with any “humans” with tails recently.
finally, after nearly three hours, she pulls away, smiling happily.
“all done,” she says, flicking her wand over the skin and spreading a cool gel over the surface. it dries quickly and disappears, leaving his skin feeling tight and new. she peers down at the new tattoo, running a gentle finger over it. “this is gorgeous, draco. i loved the stencil from the moment you showed it to me - but it looks even better now,”
he stands and walks over the large mirror hanging on the wall, turning to the side to examine his new artwork. tears immediately spring to spring to his eyes as he runs his fingers over the ink. the tattoo is long - curving up from his hip and ending in a spiral under the crease of his arm. dozens of light green leaves cover a thin vine, dotted with small springs of wildflowers in lights pinks and purples. other flowers dot the vine as well - narcissus flowers, lilies of the valley, but the obvious main focus remains on the peppermint plant. the contrasting plants shouldn’t fit together - what with their vastly different origins, colors, and patterns - but luna had truly worked her magic, and blended it all together seamlessly. “thank you, luna,” he says softly, blinking away the dampness in the corners of his eyes. he’s not sad - in fact, he’s overwhelmed with joy, and a bittersweet feeling that tugs at his heart, but he won’t cry. not here. “i love it.”
“he would love it, too,” luna says softly, coming to stand beside him in the mirror. she smiles serenely, her eyes twinkling as if she knows something that draco doesn’t.
“what?”
“harry,” she says, her lips curling into a slight frown as she says his name. she suddenly seems far away - and sad. and then, like it never happened, she’s back. “it’s for him, right? the lily flowers, for his mother of course. and narcissus for yours. i just don’t understand -”
“the mint,” he provides, and she nods. “he really liked mint. peppermint, specifically. was always offering it to me. it was sort of… one of our things.”
“that’s nice, draco,” she says gently, wrapping an arm around his waist and resting her head against his shoulder. they lean into each other silently, watching the curve of their bodies against each other in the mirror. like this, draco muses to himself, they look a bit like siblings. the same waifish features, the same pale hair. suddenly, a wave of appreciation for luna spreads through him.
“thank you,” he whispers again, running another gentle finger over the tattoo - over the permanent representation of harry, right at his side. just as he should be. the tattoo cannot hold him tight, or stroke his hair, or press gentle kisses to his neck in the pale light of an early morning - but draco can still close his eyes and press his hand to his side and pretend as if it does. and for now, until he can finally be reunited with his love - it will simply have to do.
-
“you go, draco,” luna whispers, shaking his hand in hers and stroking his hair. “go on. let the blinking flutterfleas guide you to the other side.”
“luna,” draco says softly, exhaling shakily. he wants to say more, wants to tell her that he loves her and appreciates her positivity, steadfast and constant even up until the last moment, but his breath escapes him as talking and breathing become more difficult.
his friends, his beautiful friends that have remained by his side after all these years, gather around his bedside, smiling down at him and nodding encouragingly. hermione’s eyes swim with tears as she pats kindly at draco’s thigh, no doubt reliving ron’s passing from just two years prior. “are you comfortable, draco?” she asks, and smiles gently when he nods jerkily.
he’s ready for this - has been since the day he lost harry, but especially now that he’s lived a long life, full of more triumphs and failures and heartbreak. he’s not afraid of whatever will come next, because, if his wishes are correct, he’ll be able to do it all with harry at his side.
with each breath, his lungs rattle, close to giving out but holding on just so that he can spend just a bit more time with the people who care for him. they seem to be staring down at him, waiting for him to say something else, perhaps make a speech about the fleeting nature of life, or the welcoming embrace of death - but he doesn’t have it in him.
instead, he smiles weakly and does a slow scan of the room, drinking in the sight of those that he loves. he hopes that they won’t be sad - won’t grieve him the way that he had grieved harry all those years ago.
“thank you, all,” he whispers, his voice hoarse and weak. he can feel his body beginning to give out completely, and inhales shakily as he attempts to gather enough strength to finish his thought. “for loving me. i -” he trails off, a sudden dampness gathering in his eyes. he’s too weak to blink them away, so they fall. “i love you.” it’s specific, but he sees as it passes over each and every person in the room. and then, they’re all talking over each other, as disorganized and chaotic as always, making jokes and crying and touching him. he drinks it in, their love and affection and care, and savors it as his eyes flutter shut for the last time.
when he opens them again, he is met with white once again - although it is not the harsh, severe light of st.mungo’s, rather a warmer, more inviting glow that makes him feel as if he’s young again. and when he looks down, he is - his hands are free of the wrinkles and spots that had covered them mere moments ago. he spends a few seconds marveling at his sudden youth before he remembers why he had been so excited to come here in the first place.
draco spins around, harry’s name on his lips - it dies quickly as he turns and comes face to face with him - the man draco had spent every day missing for decades. he looks just as he had the last time draco had seen him, alive and well. his hair is fastened in a bun at the base of his neck, flyaways and shorter hairs sticking out and framing his face beautifully. his eyes are just as piercing as they had always been - open and clear and warm and so full of love that draco has to keep himself from falling to his knees and simply weeping at harry’s feet. he wears a soft-looking weasley sweater with a silver h emblazoned across the front and a worn pair of muggle denims. he looks comfortable, and at peace, and draco has missed him so much that it physically pains him.
“harry,” he whispers, although it comes out sounding more like a squeak. he doesn’t move - doesn’t do anything but blink up at his lover, drinking in the sight of him once again. “my love. i missed you.”
“hey there, stranger,” he says quietly, a smile spreading across his soft pink lips. years have passed, and it feels as if there have been lifetimes since draco had last kissed harry, but he still remembers clearly how it feels to have those lips ghost across his own. harry holds out his hand, soft and smooth and holding something. draco doesn’t have to move his eyes from harry’s face and glance down at his hand to know what he’s holding, what he’s offering to draco.
“want a peppermint?”