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With the possible exception of all of the eighth years getting along and actually becoming friends, regardless of their former rivalries, the first half of Draco’s eighth year at Hogwarts was remarkably ordinary. Funny how all it took was a war to see that they were all just children and all being used as pawns in a bigger game.
There was also, for Draco, the realization that he had a bit of a crush on Potter. He found that he actually really enjoyed the other boy’s company; he enjoyed his snarkiness and the way that Draco could see mischief in his eyes. He liked the way Potter listened, liked the way he always seemed to want to casually touch other people. He liked him, plain and simple.
But other than the unlikely truces turned friendships (and in the case of Potter, turned crush) nothing weird happened, no one tried to kill him (or other students), no prophecies were unveiled, there were no dementors, no psychopath teachers, nothing. It was almost enough to make Draco bored.
Almost.
There was nothing strange until one unassuming morning in March, when they were all sitting in the great Hall, eating breakfast, and quizzing each other for the upcoming test in Transfiguration.
Potter interrupted the heated debate that Draco was having with Granger with a blurted, “What the fuck?”
Everyone looked over at him, including Hermione and Draco, to see what had happened.
“There’s a tulip in my coffee cup!” the other boy said.
“So there is,” Draco replied in amusement, glancing down at the tulip sticking out of his mug.
Everyone chuckled and Potter tried to figure out who had put the bright yellow tulip there but Draco really didn’t have time to think about that because he and Hermione were back to arguing about Transfiguration theory.
He probably wouldn’t have thought about it again but that evening as they got ready for bed, Draco felt a strange twinge in his magical core, like you got when you were preparing to cast a strong spell.
Before he could really dig into what had happened, Potter’s bed curtains flew open, “Alright, you lot,” he said, a laugh ruining the stern look he was attempting. “Who put this here?” he asked, holding out a red tulip that he’d apparently found on his pillow.
Each of them denied having any knowledge of how the tulip could have found its way into Potter’s bed, but a bit of unease settled in Draco’s stomach. Potter put the second tulip in with the first in the vase on the windowsill and laughed it off.
But somewhere, in the back of his mind, there was a story he’d been told as a child. A story that he couldn’t quite grasp but filled him with a bit of apprehension none the less.
Still, this was nothing like the sort of anxiety that Draco had been accustomed to forcing himself to sleep through for the past few years, so he put it from his mind and went to sleep.
And again, he might have been able to forget about it, if it weren’t for the fact that the next morning he felt a tug at his magical core and then a few minutes later, Potter appeared with another tulip. White this time and he’d found it in the pocket of his robes. “Seriously, what the hell you guys?” he laughed.
Everyone else laughed too, but Draco frowned, the memory of the story niggling at the back of his mind once more, he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.
He continued to try to remember throughout the rest of the week and Potter continued to get tulips. They showed up in his book bag, they showed up in place of his quills, they showed up on his plate at meals, they showed up everywhere and anywhere. One even replaced his loofa in the shower.
By the end of the week, Potter was getting a bit irritated and he’d had to enlarge the vase multiple times to fit all of the tulips. Draco wasn’t sure why Potter hadn’t just thrown them out, but it wasn’t his place to say anything, certainly.
On Saturday, when everyone had gone off to Hogsmeade for the morning, Draco fire called his mother.
“Draco, darling,” she said, smiling at him, “I’m so pleased to hear from you. How are you?”
He endured the predictable pleasantries before he said, “Listen, mother, the reason I called,” he paused there because this was all a bit ridiculous. “Well, it sounds silly really, but there was a story you told me when I was little,” he said. “Something about a wizard who had flowers appear out of nowhere? I can’t remember it.”
“Why?” she asked, her turning face serious. “Draco, why are you asking me about that story?”
“No reason,” he said quickly. “It’s just something that came into my head,” he lied.
“Who’s receiving tulips, Draco?”
“It’s nothing!” he repeated. “And I never said there were any tulips.”
“If I tell you the story, will you tell me the truth?”
Draco sighed but nodded.
“The story,” she began, “was about your great, great, great uncle Silas. Silas was a difficult man, everyone always said so. He was haughty and rude; he was quite clever but not terribly gracious about it.”
“Mother,” he interrupted, his knees were growing cold and sore from kneeling on the common room floor, “could we just skip to the meat of the story.”
“Yes, alright,” she sighed. “Long story short, Silas fell in love with a muggleborn. His family obviously refused to let him get married, assuming that the love would fade eventually. There was an arranged marriage in there as well, but that’s not really important. What is important, is that the person he fell in love with began to find tulips everywhere. Every time she went to pick up something, it turned into a tulip; at her home, her work, everywhere she went, tulips.”
Draco felt something in the pit of his stomach drop. This couldn’t be happening.
“He was pining for her, heartbroken that he couldn’t be with her,” she said. “Now, magic can’t create something from nothing, so in each of the tulips was a little bit of Silas’ magic.”
“Like a horocrux?” he asked in horror.
“No, darling, nothing so sinister as that. But the flowers were slowly draining his magical core and he was growing steadily weaker.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, “So, as the story goes, when he was so weak he could barely summon the strength to stand, he went to her to confess his love. What did it matter if he was going to die? When he told her of his love, she kissed him and his magic was restored. The family was convinced that it was true love and that the love that bound the two of them together was obviously stronger magic than that of blood status.”
Draco rubbed a hand over his face, “So, this was a true story?”
“Yes, it’s all rather well documented as it would have to be in the case of something like this.” She gave him her most commanding look, “Now, I’ve held up my end of the bargain, so it’s your turn. Tell me who’s receiving tulips, Draco.”
“Harry Potter,” he whispered.
Her eyebrows rose, “You have to tell him, Draco.”
“I can’t!” he said, shaking his head, “You know I can’t. He couldn’t possibly feel the same way, he couldn’t possibly love me, too-”
Something shattered behind him and he yanked his head back to see the boy in question standing there, bouquet of tulips in his hands. The vase had dropped and been smashed, water was soaking into Potter’s socks but he didn’t seem to notice.
Draco promptly ended the fire call with his mother and wondered if it would be possible to transfer to Beauxbatons to complete the year. It was either that or he should just go off to die.
“How much of that did you hear?” he asked, his voice a hoarse whisper.
“Most of it,” Potter confessed with a little wince. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop but then I heard her talking about how everything in that girl’s life became tulips and I knew you were talking about me. I didn’t realize how the story would end,” he hastened to add. “I just thought that she might know something about a curse or spell that had been cast on me.”
Draco rubbed his forehead, “Look, could you just forget about the whole thing?”
“Forget about it?” Potter asked, sounding a little hysterical at this point. “Draco, it turned six quills into tulips in the past three days. Six!” he shook his head. “No, I can’t forget about it and I certainly can’t let you die.”
Draco stood up and balled his hands into fists, “Always ready to play the hero aren’t you?”
“What?” the other boy asked, obviously taken aback.
“Ready to play the martyr,” he sneered. “Well I won’t have it. I won’t have you tying yourself to me just because you’re afraid that I’ll die if you don’t return the sentiment.”
“But I already do return the sentiment,” Harry said, sounding bewildered. “Sorry, maybe I should have said so, but I thought that was obvious from the story.”
“What?”
“Well, your mum said that it was true love’s kiss that restored his magic, true love that made it possible for the flowers to appear in the first place. I just assumed it was obvious that I was in love with you, too.”
“You are?” he whispered, hardly daring to believe that this was possible.
“Yeah,” Harry replied with a little shrug. “I mean, I thought maybe it would have been good to start with a date or something,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “It’s why I’m still here, I wanted to invite you to go to Hogsmeade with me.”
“You did?”
Harry nodded again. “But I’m glad to kiss you, for the unselfish reason that it will restore your magic,” he said, glancing down at the flowers in his hands before looking back up, “And for the selfish reason that I would really just like to kiss you.”
“You would?” he asked.
Harry huffed at him, “Are you going to stop sounding like you doubt every word out of my mouth?”
“Sorry, it’s just-” Draco started but then Potter was across the room, dropping the tulips as he cupped Draco’s face in his hands and leaned in until they were a mere inch apart.
“Can I kiss you?” he asked softly, his eyes flickering between Draco’s.
“Yes,” Draco breathed.
Harry gave him a little grin and leaned in to kiss him, his soft, full lips, gently caressing Draco’s, and Draco felt like his heart stopped beating for a moment before a surge of magic, and joy, and love came rushing in and filled him to bursting.
He wrapped his arms around Harry’s waist and pulled him in closer and Harry hummed, molding his lips to Draco’s for a moment before pulling back and resting their foreheads together.
“That was-” Draco started.
“Fantastic,” Harry agreed. “Do you feel better? Not going to die on me or anything?”
Draco laughed and pinched his side, “I think we were a long way off from that.”
“I don’t know,” Harry replied, tilting his head to press a kiss to the tip of Draco’s nose. “There were an awful lot of tulips.”
“Yes,” Draco replied, pulling back to look at the tulips strewn about the floor, “And you’ve dropped them all on the ground. That’s quite rude, you know.”
Harry huffed at him, “Prat,” he said fondly before drawing away to swish his wand and collect all of the tulips and put them back into the repaired vase. “So,” Harry said, “I think tulips may be my new favorite flower.”
“Mine, too,” Draco replied with a smile.
And when they got married, two years later, there were tulips everywhere.