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Draco knelt in the Manor garden, helping his mother tend to her rose bushes. Draco had always loved the roses, the elegance and beauty of them. And Narcissa kept their full colour palette, ranging from white to the deepest red, so their garden had forever looked like a rainbow in bloom.
While the house elves tended to most of the yard work, Narcissa enjoyed looking after her flowers herself. Draco had been a child when he first began assisting her, toddling along with a watering can and spilling water all over the place. Draco remembered his mother’s laugh distinctly from that young age, high and pure like windchimes.
Now, Narcissa trusted him to handle the roses while she dealt with more delicate and temperamental blossoms. Harry was nearby, tending to the narcissuses. Narcissa had confidence in Harry’s green thumb—though she hated the muggles who had forced it on him—and entrusted her prized, namesake flowers to his hand. Even Draco was given a side eye when he wanted to help with the narcissuses, but then again, Narcissa doted on her son-in-law.
Draco got distracted, glancing over at his husband. He couldn’t help it. Harry looked incredibly hot in his muggle clothes. Cargo shorts hugging his muscular thighs and a white t-shirt that was practically painted on, it was so tight. The sun beat down on him, warming his already dark brown skin and making him glow. His long hair was tied up in a ponytail, but he kept having to wipe his thick beard and moustache, the facial hair making him hotter. His sweat pooled, soaking his t-shirt through and giving Draco an enticing view of what lay underneath. Draco’s mouth watered with the urge to taste. Merlin, Harry looked good.
Good enough that Draco made a fatal mistake, not holding a rose carefully enough and pricking his finger. He’d forgotten his gloves, but thought he was adept enough at working with the flowers to know how to mind the thorns. What he hadn’t counted on was his hot husband just being there and looking like that and now Draco was dying!
He howled, released the flower and staring at his hand in horror where a thorn stuck out of his skin. He fell back on his arse, too shocked to make more than pitiful sounds at his condition. Harry appeared beside him, responding to Draco’s distress and trying to figure out what the problem was.
“Can’t you see I’m injured?!” Draco wailed, shoving his lacerated skin in Harry’s face.
Harry’s eyes widened, frantically zipping to and fro, hopefully searching for the cut in Draco’s body before they finally zeroed in on the humongous barb sticking out of Draco’s hand.
“You mean this little prickle?” Harry asked. “I could barely see it.”
“Prickle?!” Draco screeched. “It’s practically a dragon claw!”
Harry’s face calmed down from his panic, back into that indulgent expression that Draco learnt meant that Harry was humouring him, like Draco wasn’t on his deathbed right now.
Harry smiled that soft smile, somewhere between fond and mocking, amusedly exasperated, and gently took Draco’s damaged limb in his own hand.
“Shall I, your brave knight, save you from this foul beast’s wound, your highness?” Harry’s eyes twinkled with his teasing and Draco was annoyed with himself for finding the sight beautiful.
He turned his nose up and scoffed. “You shall.”
Harry smiled wider at him before turning his attention to the massive spike in Draco’s skin. Draco watched him pinch it between his fingers and pull it out, whimpering as the spine was cleaved from his flesh.
When a drop of red rose up in its wake, Harry said, “It got you good, huh?” And stuck the bloody gash in his mouth to wash the stain away.
Draco’s eyes bulged seeing the essence of his life leave his body and he got dizzy. He heard Harry call out “Draco!” before he fainted dead away.