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“Pass the butter, will you Draco?”
Draco scoffed. “Why do you like that?” He begrudgingly moved the butter closer to Potter, who grinned at him.
“’Cause it’s delicious, you should try it.”
Draco wrinkled his nose. “Chips in butter? No, thank you.”
“Suit yourself,” Potter took a chip and dipped it in the cool butter, popping it in his mouth.
“That’s disgusting, Potter.”
“Why do you still call me that?”
Draco blinked. “What, Potter?”
“Yeah, I call you Draco.”
“Yes, but…” Draco trailed off, flushing slightly.
Potter chuckled. “You might as well. You’ve lived here for a month now. We’re sort of mates, right?”
“I...I suppose.”
“Good, now I’ll call you Draco if you call me Harry, agreed?”
Draco held his breath and stuck out his hand, which was slightly trembling. Potter looked at it in surprise before giving Draco a wide grin and stilling the tremor by clasping Draco’s hand in his own, shaking it firmly.
“It’s a deal, Harry.”
______
“The Wizengamot calls Harry Potter to the stand.”
The crowd broke out into intense whispers. Draco’s breath stuttered in his chest as he watched Potter walk through the courtroom. Clearly the few weeks between the end of the war and the trials had done him some good, especially compared to Draco, who was still gaunt and shadow-eyed from his stint in an Azkaban holding cell. Potter walked with a grace he hadn’t possessed in their school days. His hair was still impossible, and the glow of his eyes was still dulled by his hideous glasses, but his aura was undeniably confident, even sexy.
Potter took his place at the stand and swore to tell the truth—as if the git would ever lie—and looked at the Wizengamot as if daring them to ask the unspoken question on everyone’s mind, especially Draco’s: Why?
Potter then locked eyes with Draco as he gave his testimony, and Draco couldn’t look away if he wanted to. Potter spoke of Sixth Year, of finding Draco crying in the bathroom. He spoke of what happened on the Astronomy Tower, of how Draco hadn’t identified him in the manor, of how everyone was capable of redemption. He said they were children, that they all committed atrocities. That they were all guilty of being innocent in a depraved, senseless war made by adults.
Potter was still staring at him when he left the stand, only finally glancing away when he sat back in his seat. The Wizengamot declared that Potter was the final witness, and they began deliberations. The crowd wandered out for the recess, including Draco, who was escorted into another room.
An Auror sat, bored, in the only other chair in the waiting room, reading the day’s Prophet. Draco ignored the picture of himself on the cover that was taken during his arrest, the magical image playing on a loop. He knows the visual well: his head bowed slightly and his skinny form walking briskly and compliantly, his hands held together in the firm grasp of the Aurors behind him.
Instead, he let his leg bounce and his breathing turn heavy. He hadn’t expected Potter to attend his trial—let alone speak in his defense. He distracted himself from his looming fate by wondering why why why Potter why did you do this why did you jeopardize your own reputation why why why
After what was either seven minutes or two hours, the door opened and the Auror put down his Prophet to lead Draco back into the quickly-filling courtroom. Draco didn’t seek out Potter with his eyes, he didn’t need to. He could feel that stare on him among all the others. He kept his eyes low, humble.
The Wizengamot gaveled back into session. They started the vote. Hands raised. One, two, three, four and on and on until they reached a majority and it was enough, just enough, barely and Draco wasn’t going back to Azkaban. They gave him house arrest with probation and he was hardly listening because the sounds of the world quieted to a hum.
“…Manor will be seized…”
Draco’s head jerked up at that.
His solicitor, a man with a thick mustache who smelled like grease, rose from his seat. “Your honor, if I may, where is the boy to live? With his father in Azkaban for life and his mother exiled to France, if he is to obey the terms of his probation he can’t leave the Wizarding World. Where do you expect him to go?”
The head of the Wizengamot pressed his lips together. “That manor is full of dark objects, and it is necessary for the war reparations—unless Mr. Malfoy would like to relinquish the remains of the Malfoy estate…”
Draco shook his head, and his solicitor turned back to the Wizengamot. “Do you really expect him to be able to find suitable housing? Do you really believe that anyone in the Wizarding World is going to lease an apartment to a former Death Eater, child or not? He will have nowhere to go, and money alone can’t solve that.”
“He can stay with me.”
The room was buzzing; photographers began snapping pictures, capturing the moment Potter stood up from his seat and calmly but firmly turned the entire world on its head.
Draco couldn’t stop his jaw from dropping in shock. Potter turned to him, face grim but determined, brokering no argument. Draco clenched his jaw and looked away to analyze the considering expressions of the Wizengamot. Finally, the man nodded.
“Alright then. For the duration of his house arrest, lasting until his required attendance of his eighth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Draco Malfoy will reside with Harry Potter. He is also subject to a probationary period of one year.” The sound of the gavel was decisive, comfortingly final. “This court is adjourned.”
Draco turned to his solicitor, offering him a grateful handshake. Then he turned and was faced with a grinning Potter.
“You don’t need to save me, Potter,” Draco said, voice and somewhat raspy from lack of use.
Potter nodded. “I didn’t need to. I wanted to.”
Draco didn’t hide his incredulity. “Why?” His voice was whispered, but forceful.
Potter grinned. “Because you’re worth it.”
Draco was too stunned to speak. Potter didn’t seem to mind.
______
“What on earth is that?”
Potter looked at him with dwindling patience. “It’s a microwave, Malfoy.”
“Why not just use a reheating charm?”
Potter shrugged. “I think magic makes the food taste odd. This is the Muggle way.”
“The house didn’t fight you?” Draco hated the awe in his voice.
Potter smirked. “At first, but we came to an understanding.”
“Of course you did,” Draco rolled his eyes. Of course, even an old Pureblood house was willing to bend to Potter’s will. “How does it work?”
Potter rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Well it gets into a bit of Muggle science, but basically there are these invisible things called microwaves--”
“It’s not invisible, Potter, the microwave is right there.”
“Er--yes, the device itself is here and visible, but it’s named for the thing it uses to heat food. So there are these invisible forces called waves, and they’re different strengths and lengths, and this uses microwaves to make food hot.”
Draco’s eyebrows knit. “I...I understood about every other word you said there, Potter. Just tell me how to use it.”
Potter let out a laugh. “Okay, well just put your food here on this turntable,” he pressed something that made the little door pop open, and Draco jumped slightly. “Then you just press the buttons to tell it how long you want it to cook, press the “start” button and then it’ll go until it’s finished.”
Draco nodded. “That makes sense.”
Potter’s eyes lit up. “It does?”
“Yes, I understand.”
“Great!”
“Just one question.”
“Go ahead.”
“What’s a button?”
______
Draco’s packed belongings floated behind him as he approached Grimmauld Place. He knocked on the door, and Potter answered it with a grin.
“Great! Malfoy, you’re here. Come in!”
Potter stepped aside for Draco and his things to come through the threshold, leaving the door open until everything was inside. The items floated awkwardly next to Draco’s head as the two of them stood awkwardly in the living room. Potter was still grinning.
“Potter, might you show me to my room?”
“Oh! Right, yeah, um, this way.” Potter turned and led him toward the stairs, Draco’s belongings floating after them.
Potter showed him to a small bedroom. It was surprisingly homey for a bedroom in an old Pureblood house, but then again so was the rest of the decor in the house. Gone were the heads of house-elves and screaming old portraits Draco remembered from the few visits he made in his childhood. The walls of his temporary lodgings were a pale blue, the comforter on the bed white with darker blue flowers scattered on it. The pillows were a mix of white and blue, and another blanket lay folded at the foot of the bed. It looked as soft as anything Draco’d had at the Manor.
He swallowed against the lump in his throat at the memories of his childhood home. That was the past. Home was no longer where he’d lay his head at the end of the day. Draco might be lucky enough to have food, water and shelter, but he was homeless.
“Er, do you need anything? Help unpacking? Food? Are you hungry? Can I--”
Draco held up a hand to stop Potter’s rambling. “I’m fine, Potter. Thank you for your hospitality.”
Potter grinned. “Of course, Malfoy.”
They stood there awkwardly, neither knowing quite what to do or say next.
“Potter, I--I wanted to apologize.”
“Oh, Malfoy, I--”
“No, just let me get this out, please.”
Potter pressed his lips together and nodded.
Draco took a deep breath. “Potter, I’m sorry. For everything--my role in the war, in our...rivalry. For hurting you and your friends. For the beliefs I held. For all of the anguish and pain I might’ve caused, I sincerely apologize.”
Potter seemed stunned for a moment before he spoke. “I, um, appreciate that, Malfoy, thank you. And I’m sorry, too. For my part. And for, um, when we were in the bathroom. I didn’t know what that spell did, I’m sorry, I just panicked and--”
Draco shook his head. “Please, Potter, it’s fine. I deserved it.”
Potter’s expression turned fierce. “No, you didn’t. No one does.”
“I did, and I deserved worse, really, I--”
“Stop that, Malfoy. You didn’t. It was reckless and stupid of me, and I’m sorry.”
Draco swallowed. “Alright. There’s no need to be, though. I didn’t hold it against you then, and I don’t now.”
“Well,” Harry said. “I’m sorry, all the same.”
“Apology accepted, if it helps.”
“It does.”
They were silent again. This time, Draco let himself break it.
“I should--”
“Right! Sorry, I’ll let you--”
“No, no need to apologize, I’ll just--”
“Yeah…” Potter bit his lip. “Alright. I’ll call you for dinner in a couple of hours. Takeaway curry alright? I’m not in the mood to cook.”
Draco nodded.
“Brilliant,” Potter grinned again. “See you soon! Call for Kreacher if you need anything.” With that, Potter left the room, closing the door behind him.
Draco sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was so screwed.
______
“I don’t want to go back tomorrow.”
Harry approached Draco, who was sitting in front of the blazing fire. Draco took one of the proffered glasses of wine with a nodded thanks before taking a long sip.
“Why not, Draco?”
Draco stared at the flames. “I’ve never been this happy before,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I don’t want that to go away. I feel safe, here, with you. The others--they won’t understand. They won’t--” Draco broke off, his throat tight.
Harry set his own glass of wine down on the floor next to him and wrapped an arm around Draco’s shoulder. “Draco, these past three months have been…” Harry trailed off, as if searching for the right words.
Draco nodded. “I know what you mean. Me too.”
“Right! And--and sure, things will be different, but they’ll be better, too. We’ll be able to do things--to go places together. Your house arrest will be over. You’ll get to see your other friends again. I know you’ve wanted to get together with Pansy and Blaise for a while, since you Owl each other every day. But now you’ll get to see them in person. And you’re on good terms with Ron and Hermione now--even if you refuse to call Ron by his first name.”
Draco wrinkled his nose. “He calls me Malfoy, Harry, and just be grateful we can play Wizard’s Chess together. He’s the only one at that bloody school who has any skill other than me--but don’t tell him I said so.”
Harry grinned. “I won’t. But you get on well with Hermione, too! You both love books more than anyone else on the bloody planet.”
Draco hummed. “She has great taste in literature, I will say that.”
“See? And they feel the same toward you. And I’ll be there, right by your side, the whole time. I’ll protect you.”
Draco looked at him flatly. “You don’t need to save me, Harry.”
Harry smiled. “I’m not saving you. I’m done saving you--and you saved me, too, or don’t you remember? I’m not saving you by caring about you.”
Draco swallowed, picking up his wine for another sip before he answered. He nodded. “Alright.”
“Alright?”
Draco turned to Harry, letting a small smile play at his lips. “Yes, Harry. But just promise me one thing.”
“Anything.”
Draco’s heart melted at the earnestness in Harry’s voice. “Promise me--if it gets to be too much, too hard. If I...if I can’t do it. Will you run away with me?”
Harry took Draco’s hands in his. “Draco Malfoy--there is nothing in this world that you cannot do. Do you hear me? No--no don’t give me that. You lived through a war and came out a better person because of it. You learned and grew and became someone amazing. There is nothing they can throw at you that you can’t handle--or that we can’t handle together.”
Draco felt tears prick at the back of his eyes, but he didn’t remove his hands from Harry’s grasp to wipe them away, letting them spill over onto his cheeks.
“Hey--hey, don’t cry.” Harry murmured, pulling Draco close to himself, pressing him flush against his chest. Draco felt Harry kiss the top of his head, seemingly uncaring that Draco’s tears stained his shirt. Harry pulled Draco up gently, kissing the tear tracks on Draco’s cheeks.
Draco sniffed. “Harry…”
“What is it, love?”
“I...Why did you offer to let me stay here?”
Harry blinked, a little stunned. “I told you. Because you’re worth it.”
Draco knit his eyebrows. “Why?” he whispered.
“You’re...you,” Harry said. “And that’s enough for me.”
______
Sunlight streaming through the windows had Draco scrunching his eyes in protest. He gave in and blinked them open, the familiar blue walls coming into focus. He smiled softly as he ran his hands over the soft blanket covering his naked body.
Wait. Why was he naked?
A snore sounded loudly next to him, making Draco jump and turn to look at the source: a mop of messy black hair and a tanned back visible above the covers, the back rising and falling in even, sleepy breaths.
Memories of the previous night flooded Draco’s mind. The wine with dinner that Harry’d made. The steak frites with butter. Calling him Harry for the first time. And then calling him Harry over and over as they stumbled into Draco’s bedroom, the name crescendoing from Draco’s lips with a strained yelp followed by breathy moans.
Draco braced himself for the panic, for tumbling out of bed and putting on the least embarrassing and easy-to-find clothes and rushing out of the room and acting as if nothing happened.
Or.
He looked at Harry’s prone form, peaceful and relaxed. He remembered kisses that tasted like wine, like freedom. He remembered whispers into his skin and promises of “more than this” and “wanted you for so long” and “no one else” and “mine” the words tucked and kissed onto Draco’s neck, his stomach, the back of his knee, and his ankle, for safekeeping.
“Hey, what’re you doing?” Harry turned over, bleary-eyed and sleep warm, to blink up at Draco in curiosity. “Somethin’ wrong?”
Draco’s lips curved into a smile. He let himself lay back down and curl up next to Harry, who wrapped a warm, tanned arm around him. “No, just thinking.”
“What’bout?”
Draco shrugged. “Us, you, me. What this means. What do you want, Harry?”
Harry smiled sleepily. “You, Draco. I want you.”
“Yes, you made that fairly clear last night.”
Harry snickered. “You loved it.”
Draco flushed. “Be that as it may--I mean, what do you want, long term? Do you want to keep it casual? Was it just for last night? Do you want to be together?”
Harry sat up a little to lean on his forearms, his mind more awake now. “I want to be with you, Draco. I want to go on dates and kiss you and hold your hand and make you dinner. And I don’t want to do that with anyone else. I don’t really care what we call that, do you?”
Draco gave him a slow smile and shook his head. “No, Harry, I don’t.”