Archive of Our Own

Hogsmeade was quiet on the Tuesday before Hogwarts started up again. Draco leaned on the counter and sighed, blowing some strands of his hair out of his face.

“If you keep scowling your face will freeze like that,” Pansy said, dropping a box on the counter beside him with a loud ‘thump’ that made him jump.

“Okay, mum,” Draco said with a roll of his eyes.

“What are you moping for anyway?” Pansy asked. “Sad that you haven’t seen Potter in a whole two months?”

“Shut up, Pans,” Draco said, half-heartedly.

Pansy cast a cutting charm on the box and gleefully pulled it open. “Look, Draco, it’s our new Pride merch.” She pulled out an armful of rainbow-emblazoned items; badges and flags and Muggle-style shirts, wand-holsters and textbook-covers and folding fans.

“That’s nice,” Draco said, dubiously, picking up one of the badges. It flashed from the Rainbow Pride flag to the Trans flag, the words ‘Trans Pride’ flashing on it. “Where did you get this stuff anyway?” he asked.

“WWW’s ‘Pride Line',” Pansy said, shoving it all back into the box and then carrying it over to one of the shelves they’d put up to sell merchandise. “I heard the badges were inspired by your ‘Potter Stinks' badges back in fourth year. You’re a regular trend-setter.”

Draco looked at the badge in his hand. It wasn’t a secret that he was trans. It was fairly common in the wizarding world. He could barely remember back when everyone had thought he was a girl, before he’d convinced his parents that they were wrong and they’d got him the Gender Affirmation Potion. Seemed like a strange thing to be proud about.

Pansy was still talking while arranging the shelves. The flashing flags didn’t go well with the carefully curated atmosphere of the café: the white walls and light stained wood furniture, the false windows showing bright sunny skies, the hanging plants that trailed their vines everywhere, the delicate silver and crystal mobiles hanging from the high ceilings. And now this eyesore.

“Is there a way to tone it down?” he asked Pansy, wondering how long it would be before the flashing colours gave him a headache.

“Tone down Pride?” Pansy gasped, her hand to her heart. “How dare you?”

Draco rolled his eyes.

“Look,” she said, her hands on her hips, and he knew she was getting ready to go into lecture mode. “Maybe you had it easy, with your parents throwing you a renaming party and everything, but some of us didn’t. Some of us had to go to your stupid party wearing pink frilly dresses and be told our whole lives that ‘ladies do this’ and ‘ladies do that’. And the Muggle-borns and half-bloods: half of them don’t even know being trans is an option, or if they do they’ve probably been told that trans people are wrong.”

“Okay,” Draco said, “but I don’t know what you want me to do about it.”

“Don’t argue about us putting up Pride decorations and selling them. We’re signaling that this is a safe place and that queer people are welcome here. And you’re going to wear that badge,” Pansy said, pointing one pointy fingernail at it. “And be a role model.”

Draco choked. “A role model?” he repeated.

“Yes,” Pansy said. “A trans, gay role model.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “A ex-Death Eater who works in a café?”

“A handsome small business owner,” Pansy countered.

Draco sighed and looked at it. “It’s garish,” he said, tapping the badge and watching as it cycled through the trans flag, the bi flag, and the rainbow flag. “It clashes with our aesthetic.”

Pansy huffed and rolled her eyes and went back to arranging the shelf.

Draco considered the badge for a long moment and then pinned it to his apron. Pansy was probably right – she usually was.

Draco was flipping through a catalogue of café supplies – did they really need 30 different flavours of flavoured syrup? – when Harry Potter came into the shop, tripping over the lintel like she usually did, looking flustered and out of sorts, her hair sticking up every which way.

She dumped a bag on one of the café tables and stomped up to the counter.

“Potter,” Draco drawled, putting his catalogue to the side. “Welcome back to Hogsmeade.”

“Malfoy,” Potter spit out. “I’m not in the mood for your witty banter today. Just give me a coffee.”

“What kind of coffee?” Draco asked.

“I don’t care,” Potter said, rummaging around in her pockets. “Something strong and black.”

Draco nodded and poured a mug of drip coffee, sliding it across the counter to her.

“Bloody hell, I don’t even know where my wallet is!” Potter exclaimed. “Buggery-fuck.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Draco said. “On the house.”

Potter squinted up at him through her thick glasses, clearly suspicious.

“What’s got you so wound up?” Draco asked, leaning on the counter.

“It’s the bloody Ministry, isn’t it?” Potter said, taking a large gulp of her coffee and wincing, Draco assumed at the heat. It certainly wasn’t the flavour. “They want to throw a ‘Gala’ for my birthday. ‘Our Saviour’s 30th birthday is an event worth celebrating.’ Dress me up like a… a… show pony and show off my… I don’t know, whatever you do with show ponies.”

“Don’t look at me,” Draco said, when she looked at him. “I have never even seen a show pony. Can’t you just say ‘no’?”

“But they’re going to bribe me, aren’t they?” Potter said. “‘Oh, Miss Potter, it would be so much easier pushing those reforms you want through the Wizengamot if you play nice and wear a pretty robe and smile at the camera’. They’re going to bring in a stylist who’s going to try to force me to take a Hair-Growing Potion and dress me in pink – ‘it will go so well with your skin tone! You’re obviously a December,’” she imitated someone with a shrill voice.

Draco smiled. “An Autumn,” he corrected.

“I don’t care!” Potter hissed. “I’m not wearing pink! I’m not growing my hair long! I don’t care if it would be more manageable!”

“Okay, okay,” Draco said, holding up his hands. “I support your right to do what you want with your hair.”

Potter eyed him, taking another sip of her coffee. “It’s a sad day when Draco Malfoy is on my side,” she said.

“Hey,” Draco said, “don’t you remember that time when I could have given you up to Voldemort and I didn’t?”

“You’ve certainly milked it enough,” Potter said.

“And you wouldn’t have been able to defeat Voldemort without my wand,” Draco added.

Potter glared at him. “I would have defeated Voldemort,” she hissed, “with my bare hands.”

Draco hoped he wasn’t blushing too hard. Potter was hot when she was angry.

“What are you smirking at?” she demanded.

“What?” Draco asked. “Nothing.” He fiddled with the badge still pinned on his apron and it flashed. Rainbow, trans, bi, rainbow, trans, bi.

“What is that?” Potter asked, sounding like she was trying to be casual but failing.

“It’s part of the WWW Pride line,” Draco said, gesturing. “I didn’t want to wear it, but Pans was going on about me being a role model.”

“No,” Potter said. “I mean, I know about the WWW Pride line. George showed me… why do you have the transgender flag?”

Draco looked down at the badge, at the pink, white, and blue stripes. “I’m transgender?” he said. It came out sounding like much more of a question than he’d meant.

“No, you’re not,” Potter said.

Draco stared at her. What was he supposed to say to that?

“I mean,” Potter said. “You aren’t? But you’re… are you?”

Draco blinked at her. “Uh,” he said. “I am? I… when I was born everyone thought I was a girl, but when I was three I cut all of the ribbons out of my hair and told my mum I was a boy, so…”

“Three?” Potter repeated. “And she listened to you?”

“Yeah,” Draco said.

“Is there…” Potter licked her lips. “Is there some kind of magic way to… to change…?”

“Potter,” Draco said. “There is a magic way to turn into animals. Of course there’s a magic way to change gender… I mean, not gender, but the way… the physical part.” He made a vague gesture at his body. He was definitely turning pink now.

“So you were three and you told your mum you were a boy and…”

“And Sev made me a potion and then we had a renaming party,” Draco said. Why the hell was he telling her this?

Her eyes were, impossibly, even wider. “They had a party for you?” she demanded. “You came out and they had a party?”

“Yeah,” Draco said, his brow wrinkling. Why was she so upset now?

“I can’t believe that the one thing pure-bloods are okay with are trans people,” Potter said.

Draco shrugged.

“I can’t believe you’re trans and I didn’t know!” Potter exclaimed.

Draco shrugged again. “It’s not really a big deal,” he said. “It’s not a secret it’s just…”

“Not a big deal?!” Potter exclaimed. She seemed angry again.

Draco took a step back. Was Potter transphobic? Was she one of those TERFs Pansy had been telling him about the other day? It was hard to believe with all of her activism for house-elves and magical creatures and such. Surely Granger wouldn’t let Potter be a TERF?

His eyes flickered from her short hair to her baggy clothes. She never wore dresses or skirts, when she had to wear dress robes they were always plain, without frills, hated being called ‘Miss Potter’ or ‘Harriet’...

“Potter,” he began, but didn’t know how to continue. “Do you want to talk about this in private?”

She looked at him suspiciously.

“Or… we’re really slow today,” he said. “I can lock up. Just… if you want to talk to me about this… about what it’s like… or… the potion…”

Her eyes widened again, this time in fear. She stepped back. “No,” she said. “No, no… I’m fine. I have to go anyway. Class planning, you know. I’ll uh, see you around, Malfoy.”

“Any time you want to talk,” Draco said, but she was out the door before he’d even said the last word.

Draco mused over it (moped, Pansy said), the next few days. The announcement for Potter’s 30th Birthday Gala was splashed all over the Prophet, and the fashion pages, which were some of the only pages he read, were full of speculation about what Potter would wear. He couldn’t unsee it now the way she (should he think of Potter as ‘he’ now? Or ‘they’? Was it rude to do so without Potter confirming their speculations?) had always dressed. Muggle clothes whenever possible, plain baggy robes when not. The fashion pages decried Potter’s lack of style, Potter’s poorly-groomed hair, the way Potter slouched and hid Potter’s body.

Potter slunk in almost a week later. Potter no longer looked angry. Rathertired. Done.

Draco poured a black coffee and slid it across the counter. Potter ran a finger up and down the side of the mug. Then Potter took a deep breath and walked over to the Pride display, taking one of the badges and bringing it back to the counter. Potter tapped on the badge. Rainbow. Trans. Potter put it gently down on the counter.

Draco looked down at the pink and blue and white.

“What are your pronouns?” he asked.

Potter took a deep breath. “He, him,” he said and then looked at Draco as if he was challenging him.

“Thanks for telling me,” Draco said and Potter smiled with something that looked like relief.

Draco smiled back and held out a hand. Potter looked at it for a moment, then took it. Held it for a moment like he didn’t know what to do, then shook it.

“I’m not out yet,” Potter said. “Please don’t tell anyone.”

“Of course,” Draco said.

“Like the Prophet. Don’t sell me out to the Prophet.” The again was unspoken.

“I’ve changed,” Draco found himself blurting out suddenly.

Potter looked at him. “I know,” he said. “You think I’d tell you something like that if I didn’t know?”

Draco stared at him.

Potter ran his hand through his hair. “You own a café,” he said. “You put up Pride decorations so kids will be safe. I know you give food away sometimes.”

“Only if it’s going to go bad,” Draco muttered.

Potter smiled. He had such a beautiful smile. Draco swallowed.

“We should celebrate,” Draco said, suddenly.

“What?” Potter asked.

“Your coming out,” Draco said.

“I’m not coming out,” Potter said. “I just said–”

“You came out to me,” Draco said. He pulled a small cake out of the case and put it on the counter, then waved his wand over it until it was decorated in pink and blue. “It’s a boy!” the words on the top read.

“Er,” Potter said. “But what about when I come out to more people?”

“Then we’ll have to get a bigger cake,” Draco said, grabbing a pair of forks and handing one to Potter.

“Oh,” Potter said, and looked down at the cake.

“Go on,” Draco said.

Potter cut a small piece of cake off and scooped it up with his fork. He slid it into his mouth and then licked the frosting off his lips. “Wow, that’s really good,” he said.

“Of course it’s really good, Potter,” Draco said. “I don’t carry subpar cakes in my café.”

Potter smiled at him. “Of course you don’t,” he said. He took a larger bite. “You mean that? About the bigger cake?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Draco asked, taking his own bite.

“You think I can do it? I can tell everyone?”

“Potter,” Draco said, putting down his fork. “I know the Muggles have some fucked up ideas about some things…”

“Pure-bloods have some fucked up ideas too,” Potter grumbled.

Draco snorted. “You think I’m going to argue with that?” he asked.

“Fair,” Potter said.

“As I was saying, Muggles have some fucked up ideas about some things. Pure-bloods don’t give a toss about all this.” He waved a hand at the Pride display. “Not that they don’t have extremely problematic views on other things. Just not this. And most of Wixen society feels the same way. So yeah, I think eventually you’re going to feel comfortable enough to come out- or uncomfortable enough, maybe.”

“And then I can just… buy a potion?”

Draco nodded. “They have to be custom brewed – they can be a little tricky, so you have to go to a Potions master – but you can order them from any apothecary. Do you want to see?”

“What?” Potter asked.

“We could just go to an apothecary and inquire.”

“We can’t,” Potter said.

“Why not?” Draco asked.

“They’d know,” Potter said.

“No they wouldn’t,” Draco said. “We could be inquiring for a friend.”

But Potter was still shaking his head.

“You could disillusion yourself,” Draco suggested. “And I’ll inquire and you’ll just watch.”

“Oh,” Potter said. He bit his lip. “Maybe another time,” he said. He thanked Draco for the cake and left.

Potter’s secret burned inside of Draco. He was really bad at keeping secrets. Always had been. The whole Death Eater thing had been pretty hellish, for that and other reasons. He took to avoiding Pansy just so he could make sure not to tell her. He considered casting a charm on himself to make him mute.

“What the hell, Draco?” Pansy demanded, cornering him finally in the store room of the café, where he’d been pretending to inventory supplies so he wouldn’t be at front with a chance to talk to her.

“What?” he asked, blinking up at her and doing his best to feign innocence. He was also rubbish at acting.

“Why are you avoiding me?” she demanded.

He couldn’t help it. He couldn’t. He chewed his lip anxiously. “Okay, ah, someone came out to me. Someone we both know and they asked me to keep it a secret so I can’t tell anyone and it’s driving me mad! I really really really want to tell you, but I can’t! And it’s all your fault!” he finished. “For making me wear this stupid pin?” He slid down to the floor of the storage room, wrapping his arms around his legs.

Pansy slid to the floor beside him. “Buggery fuck,” she said. “I really want to pry until you tell me everything, but I also want you to respect this person and keep their secret.”

“I know!” Draco wailed. “It’s such good gossip too!”

Pansy wrapped her arm around him. “You can do this,” she said. “You’re strong.”

Draco huffed. “I am not strong,” he said. “I am categorically not strong. It is one of my defining traits, being weak-willed. Going along with what people tell me.”

“Draco, that was over ten years ago,” Pansy said. “You were a child.”

“I go along with what you tell me,” Draco muttered.

“Because I’m always right and you recognise that,” Pansy said. “And I’m not asking you to hurt anyone. I think if I did then you’d stand up to me.”

Draco looked at her and wiped his eyes. When had he started crying? What was this nonsense?

“Yeah,” he said. “I think so too.”

Pansy squeezed his shoulder. “Merlin, this is hard,” she said. “I want to ask you for a hint, just one little hint, but it’s so wrong!”

“I wish I could tell you,” Draco said. “But he trusted me. He said ‘please don’t tell anyone’ and he actually believed I wouldn’t and then he… he said he knew I had changed!” He turned a stray bit of paper into a tissue and wiped his eyes.

“Fuck,” Pansy said. “It’s Potter isn’t it.”

“Pans!” Draco exclaimed.

“Sorry!” Pansy said. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to put the pieces together, but then I thought about who telling you they trusted you would make you blubber like this, and obviously it’s Potter and of course he’s trans. Why the hell didn’t I see it before?”

“It’s so obvious,” Draco said. “Pans, you can’t tell anyone, I can’t have him think I outed him.”

“Of course I won’t,” Pansy said.

“You can’t…” Draco began. “You can’t even look at him, okay? If you see him coming you have to turn tail and run. If he looks at you he’ll know and then he’ll be disappointed in me.”

Pansy stared at him. “You have a thing for Potter,” she said.

“I don’t,” Draco defended weakly.

“You do,” she said. “Merlin, you always have, haven’t you? All your stupid school boy antics you were just trying to pull Potter’s pigtails. That’s horrible.” She gasped. “You stomped on his nose!”

“I didn’t…” Draco began. “I… he… it’s not that simple! I… he was spying on me!”

“You were a miserable little sod back then, weren’t you?”

“He thought I was a Death Eater!”

“You were a Death Eater,” Pansy said.

“I was really confused, okay,” Draco said. “It wasn’t just… that pulling pigtails thing is really, I don’t know, misogynistic, or excusing the bad behaviours of bullies or something. It wasn’t like that. It was… I was jealous and I was angry and I was scared and…”

Pansy sighed. “Okay,” she said.

“I wouldn’t hurt someone because I had a crush on them,” Draco said.

“I know,” Pansy said. “I’m sorry for teasing you.”

“It was all so horrible back then,” Draco said.

“I know,” Pansy said again. “I’m sorry.”

They sat in the storage room for a long moment, until Draco’s arse started hurting. “Ugh,” he said, standing up and offering her his hand. “I’m too old for this.”

Pansy snickered at him and let him help her up.

Potter sent him an owl the next day and asked him to meet him in his quarters at Hogwarts, so Draco trooped over to the castle, enjoying the warm summer day, a buzz vibrating through his skin at the thought of seeing Potter.

Potter was considerably less happy, seated on a window seat in front of an open window, drinking Firewhisky, even though it was the early afternoon.

Draco eyed it, but didn’t say anything, just sat down on the seat across from him. “It’s a lovely day,” he said.

“I keep thinking about it,” Potter said.

“How lovely it is?” Draco asked.

“The whole… thing,” Potter said, vaguely.

“Oh,” Draco said.

“I’ve thought about it for a really long time,” Potter said. “It never felt right, you know, being a… a girl. But I didn’t think I had a choice. I thought there was just something wrong with me.” He took a rather large sip of whisky and shuddered a little. “And then I found out that there were other people like me a few years ago and I started thinking maybe, maybe. But I’m Harry Potter, and everything I do is so… examined… and I just feel… felt… embarrassed by it. And like… like it was stupid, like I’d be making all this fuss for a stupid reason.”

He wiped at his eyes angrily. Draco pulled a handkerchief from his robes and handed it to him. He wanted to tell Potter it wasn’t stupid and it wasn’t embarrassing, but instead he just listened.

“And then I found out about you and… there’s a potion! Which is so stupid, isn’t it? Of course there’s a potion. We’re fucking Wixen! There’s a potion for everything. And pure-bloods don’t, I guess, really care? Which is kind of surprising, because there’s a lot of misogyny in wizarding culture, and I’d think misogyny and transphobia would go hand in hand.” He sighed. “That… I’m… I can’t stop thinking about it now,” he said. “I could just…” He bit his lip. “I could just come out. I could get one of those potions and just do it.”

“You can,” Draco said. Potter looked up at him surprised, like he’d forgotten he was there.

Draco swallowed. “You can just do it,” he said. “I’ll help you.”

“You will?” Potter asked.

Draco nodded. “Anything you need,” he said. “I can get you a potion or take you to the tailor, or if you have any questions. And cake, of course.”

Potter smiled, finally. “Of course,” he said. “Cake. Coming out cake.” He took Draco’s hand. Draco swallowed again. His hand was so warm and rough, calluses from holding his wand and holding his broom and Draco didn’t know what else. Draco wanted to feel those calluses on his skin, his cheek, his chest, his… down boy. He didn’t even want to think about how hot his face was.

“Thank you,” Potter said, as if he hadn’t seen Draco blushing scarlet. “That’s really… I don’t know why but having you… knowing you’re trans too, having you helping me. It’s… it really makes so much difference. It makes it seem possible. Will you…” he swallowed. “What do you think I should do first?”

Draco blinked at him. “I don’t know,” he admitted.

Potter let go of his hand and Draco bit his lip from chasing it and grabbing it again. “Should I just take the potion first? What will it do?”

“It’s custom,” Draco said. “You have to order it from a Potions master, like I said. And specify what you want.”

“What I want?” Potter repeated.

Draco nodded. “Because you’re full grown,” he said. “For me it was… it changed my, you know. Organs. But I didn’t have any… hormones? So it was simpler because I just did puberty normal, I mean, like everything after that was like I was born…” He pursed his lips. “This is hard to talk about,” he said.

“Thank you,” Potter said. “For trying.”

Draco nodded. “For you, you have to… you have choices. How much of your body do you want to change? You can make it like you were through puberty differently, like if you had been born with the right organs, and then grew up, or you can just change the… the outside, not the ones inside, or… your hips and your…” he gestured to Harry’s torso. “And the shape of your face,” he continued quickly. “Do you want to grow hair or… your voice… There’s just… there’s a lot of things.”

“Oh,” Harry said. “I… I didn’t know it was so complicated. I just thought…”

“I’ll,” Draco said. “I know a Potions master who can do it. Who will. I wish Sev was… he was the best.”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “I wish he hadn’t died too.”

Draco looked at him surprised. “He was nasty to you,” he said.

“It’s complicated,” Harry said. “Like it is with you.”

“Complicated?” Draco repeated.

Harry huffed out a breath that was maybe a laugh. “We were pretty nasty to each other as children,” he said.

“I was nasty to you,” Draco said.

“You were nastier, yeah,” Harry agreed. “But now we’re…” He licked his lips. Draco stared at him, feeling like all the air had been sucked from the room somehow. “Friends,” Harry finished.

Draco felt his heart sinking a little and tried to cover it up with a smile. “Yeah,” he said, finally. “Yeah, we’re friends.”

Harry smiled at him, that blinding smile that always made Draco’s heart do things.

“Do you want me to set you up a meeting?” Draco asked. “With Potions master Ukelis?”

Harry frowned.

“Or I can act as an intermediary?” Draco suggested. “I can get you the form you’d have to fill out with all the… specifications. So you don’t have to talk to them personally.”

Harry’s shoulders relaxed. “You’d do that?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Draco said. “Of course. We’re friends, right?”

Harry nodded. They sat in silence for a moment. “I should tell Ron and Hermione first,” Harry said, finally. “Would you… would you come with me?”

Draco stared at him. “What?” he asked.

“Would you come with me?” Harry repeated. “To tell Ron and Hermione? I know that’s really weird. It’s stupid, I guess, I just…”

“It’s not stupid,” Draco blurted out. “It’s not… yes, I’ll come.” I’ll do anything for you, Draco almost said, but somehow managed to keep in. “Whenever you want.”

“Tonight?” Potter asked, hopefully, looking up at Draco through his lashes, damn him.

Draco nodded. Pansy would be pissed at him for missing their reality TV night but she’d get over it. “Yeah,” he said, and it was worth the horror of spending an evening with Granger and Weasley and the agony Pansy was going to put him through just to see that smile bloom on Potter’s face again.

Potter gave Draco the time and the Floo address and Draco spent a hour deciding what robes to wear which was stupid, Granger and Weasley had seen him at his absolute worst physically, emotionally and morally, and this wasn’t about him anyway, this was about Potter. He wrapped up a cake and stood in front of the Floo anxiously until Pansy took pity on him and activated the Floo and pushed him through.

Potter was there already, and he and Granger and Weasley were sitting on the sofas in Granger and Weasley’s sitting room drinking beers when Draco stumbled through, tripping on the rug and almost face-planting in his cake.

Potter and Weasley and Granger stared at him. This was all so completely unfair. Where was Draco’s moral support?

Potter jumped up and took the cake box and handed it to Granger. “Thanks for coming!” he said, chirpily, like this was his house. “Do you want a… uh… beer? Do you drink beer?”

Draco opened his mouth to say something snarky and then shut it again and nodded. “Yes, thank you,” he managed.

Potter disappeared around a corner, leaving Draco with Granger and Weasley. Granger looked at her husband, then stood. “Uh, hi, Malfoy,” she said. “I mean Draco. Um… Honestly, Harry said you were coming but I didn’t actually believe her.”

Draco winced internally at the misgendering, as unintentional as it was.

Instead he put on what was probably the fakest looking smile ever. “I was very surprised h… um, Potter invited me.”

Granger’s smile became a little more real at this. “Please have a seat,” she said, gesturing to a chair. Draco sat gratefully. “So, uh, how’s your coffee shop? I was there just last week. It’s a lovely little place.”

“Oh,” Draco said. “Um, sorry I missed you. It’s going well. Slow, during the summer.”

“I saw you have a display of WWW Pride stuff,” Hermione said. “That’s… good.”

“Well,” Draco said. “Pans says it’s very good to, uh, make the kids feel safe.” Bloody hell, where was Potter and his drink?

“Safe?” Weasley snorted. Granger elbowed him.

“So you’re friends with Harry now? She said you’ve been spending some time together.”

Draco winced again.

“What’s that, Malfoy?” Weasley asked. “You have a tic or something?”

“Ron!” Granger exclaimed.

“Yeah, we’re friends,” Draco said. He was pretty sure he was sweating now. Could they see that he was sweating? He should have worn lighter robes. “We, uh, have some things in common.”

“Like what?” Weasley demanded.

Granger scolded him again just as Potter came back into the room. Draco had never been so relieved to see anyone in his life.

Potter handed a glass of Muggle beer to Draco and then sat down beside him. He looked between Draco and the Granger-Weasleys. “Getting on alright then?” he asked with a crooked little smile.

Draco glared at him and he winked back.

Draco cleared his throat and looked meaningfully between Potter and the Granger-Weasleys.

Potter pouted at him. Draco widened his eyes. Potter frowned and then turned to his friends.

He scratched the back of his neck. “Ah, so I, uh, had something I wanted to tell you,” he said.

“Oh no,” Weasley said.

“What?” Potter asked.

“Ron!” Granger scolded.

“You’re not dating Malfoy?” Weasley demanded. “Harry, how could you? He’s a nasty little git!”

“Ron!” Granger exclaimed.

“...pointy-faced, ferret…” Weasley continued, undeterred.

“I’m not dating Malfoy,” Potter said.

“... Death Eater pure-blood fascist…” Weasley said.

Potter jumped to his feet.

“Shut up!” he said. “Shut the fuck up!”

Weasley shut up, starting up at him.

“Draco is my friend,” Potter said. “He’s not a nasty little git and he’s not pointy-faced and he’s not a Death Eater. I’m not dating him, and you’re not allowed to insult him.”

Weasley gaped at him.

“He’s here because I have something I wanted to tell you and he’s the only one who understands and so I asked him to come as moral support and I can’t believe you’d insult him like that, that’s really… he’s a guest. He’s my friend.”

Wesley was slowly turning scarlet all through this speech.

Granger looked equally abashed, which didn’t really seem fair. “I’m sorry,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” Weasley muttered, not sounding sorry at all. “You don’t need moral support, though. You can tell us anything, you know that.”

Potter raised his eyebrows. “Can I? A minute ago you thought I was dating Draco and you weren’t very supportive, were you?”

“But he’s a…” Weasley began, but then shut his mouth. “Sorry,” he muttered again.

Draco found his hand on Potter’s wrist. “Sit down,” he said. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t… I wasn’t a very nice person to…” he looked at Weasley and Granger. “I’m sorry,” he told them. “I’m sorry for being a bully and… and a Death Eater.”

Potter twisted his wrist so he was holding Draco’s hand.

“Oh,” Granger said. “I… I forgave you a long time ago. But thank you. I’m sorry I punched you.”

“I deserved it,” Draco said.

“Yeah,” Granger agreed, “but I’m still sorry I did it.” She elbowed her husband.

“What?” Ron demanded, but then he looked up at Potter, frowning when he saw them holding hands. He sighed dramatically. “Fine,” he said. “I forgive you too.”

“And I’m sorry for insulting you,” Granger prompted.

Weasley gave an even more dramatic sigh. “I’m sorry for insulting you. And I’m sorry for interrupting you,” he added. “I mean it, mate, you can tell us anything.”

Potter sat back down, close enough to Draco now that he could feel the heat of his body.

“Okay, well, um, what I wanted to tell you was that I’mtransgenderandmypronounsarehehimand…”

Draco squeezed his hand. “Slow down a little,” he suggested, softly.

Granger had jumped to her feet, though. “Harry!” she exclaimed. Potter flinched back.

Granger crossed the room to them and wrapped her arms around Potter. “Harry, that’s… thank you for telling us. We’re… we’ll support you, anything you need. Right, Ron?”

Weasley looked stunned. “Yeah,” he said. “Of course mate.” Then he brightened. “Mate,” he said again. “We can have proper boy’s nights out now,” he said.

“Yeah,” Potter said, brightening.

Granger pulled away. “Are you coming out publicly?” she asked.

“Oh,” Potter said. “Um, yeah, I think. There’s a potion I can take – Draco’s helping me with that, and then I think I’m just going to, uh, ask Luna to do an article. Just getting out in the open all at once. I guess I’ll probably have to tell a few more people personally first.”

Granger nodded. “Anything you need,” she said, again. She looked at Draco. “Thank you for helping he… him,” she corrected.

“Yeah,” Draco muttered. He felt like he should go. Harry had got the moral support he needed, and now he could just leave him with his friends, right? But Harry’s hand was still tightly clasping Draco’s.

“There’s cake,” Harry said, suddenly.

“Cake?” Weasley asked, brightening up.

“Draco brought it. He’s… he promised me whenever I came out he’d bring me cake,” Harry said, grinning at Draco.

“That’s… that’s really nice,” Hermione said.

“It’s nothing,” Draco said, looking down at the thread-bare rug. “Just because when I came out my parents threw me a party, so I told Potter he should have cake.”

“Oh,” Granger said. “Well, let me get some plates and forks and… I think we might have some champagne. Champagne is appropriate, right?” she looked at Draco.

“Yeah?” he guessed.

“Yeah,” Granger said. “We’re celebrating, right? This is so big – I'm so proud of you, Harry.”

“Oh,” Harry said, seeming embarrassed.

Draco hadn’t decorated the cake because he hadn’t wanted to embarrass Harry, but it was still delicious and the champagne was good and bubbly and after a little bit everyone seemed to relax a little.

“So you came out to Draco first?” Granger asked, when they’d made their way through their first slices of cake.

Potter nodded. “Oh, but not really,” he said. “He kind of… guessed, I think.”

“Yeah,” Draco said.

“It’s just I found out he was trans and it just…”

“You didn’t know?” Weasley demanded.

“You knew?” Granger asked.

“Everyone knew,” Weasley said. “The Malfoys made such a big deal about the birth of their child and then a few years later they had the renaming ceremony and it was all over the Prophet.”

“But no one ever said anything,” Granger said.

Weasley shrugged. “What was there to say? He’s a boy now, isn’t he?”

“He was always a boy,” Granger defended.

Weasley shrugged. “Whatever. It’s just not a big deal.”

Potter gaped at him. “It’s not a big deal?” he demanded.

“Nah,” Weasley said, then grunted when Granger elbowed him. He must be covered in bruises, Draco thought.

“I mean, it’s obviously a huge deal to you!” Weasley corrected quickly. “It’s just not a huge deal to, you know, wizarding society. Like the Prophet or whatever.”

“Everything Potter does is big news to the Prophet,” Draco said. “Every day it’s ‘the Saviour changed flavours of toothpaste,' 'the Saviour went for a walk,' 'the Saviour’s new hat is hideous.'”

“It was a great hat!” Potter exclaimed. “Why does everyone hate that hat?”

“It was a dreadful hat,” Draco said. “Every time I saw it I had to force myself not to vomit.”

“Luna gave me that hat,” Potter said.

“Well, that explains everything,” Draco said and he suddenly realised he and Harry were grinning at each other and Granger and Weasley were staring at them.

Draco took another bite of cake.

Potter came into the café the next day just as Draco was closing up. “I want to do it,” he said. “I want to get the potion. Would you help?”

Draco nodded and fished a piece of parchment out of his robes.

Potter looked at it. “You already had it?” he asked.

“I thought you might want it,” he said. He made Potter a coffee and himself a tea and piled biscuits onto a plate and carried them over to one of the small tables, Harry following behind.

“There are so many options,” Potter said, sounding dismayed as he unrolled the parchment. “Why are there so many options?”

“Because different people are different,” Draco said, sipping at his tea.

“It asks if I want to keep my uterus. Why would I want to keep my uterus?”

“You might want to have children,” Draco said.

Potter swallowed. “I do – I did – I always thought I’d have kids. But men don’t get pregnant.”

“Some men get pregnant,” Draco said. “Wizards who want to have children but aren’t in a relationship with a witch. Or if the witch doesn’t want to get pregnant and the wizard does.”

“Oh,” Potter said. He chewed on the end of the quill. Draco’s favourite quill. Draco tried not to be annoyed by it. “How do I know how much body hair I want? Or if I want a square jaw or… There are too many choices.”

Draco put his hand on the one Potter wasn’t holding the now-mutilated quill with. “You can choose the option that tries to mimic how you would have looked if you had testosterone instead of oestrogen as a sex hormone when you were developing,” he said. “That seems like the simplest option. As for the rest – you know none of this is permanent, right?”

“It’s not permanent?” Potter repeated. “You mean I’ll have to keep taking the potion?”

“No,” Draco said. “I meant that it’s reversible. All of it is. If you don’t like the amount of body hair or the shape of your face or the entire thing it’s okay to change it…”

Potter pulled his hand away. Draco hadn’t realised he’d been holding it. “I’m not going to change my mind!” He exclaimed. “This isn’t a phase.”

“That’s not…” Draco sighed. “I just meant that you don’t have to stress out about it so much. There are no wrong choices. If you’re not comfortable with something you can change it. If you think you liked your hips better before or you want to bear children or whatever you can change it. And I know this isn’t a phase – it wasn’t a phase for me either, remember.”

“Oh,” Harry said. “Yeah, I forgot.”

“But if it was,” Draco said, “that would be okay too. If a few years from now you decide that being a guy doesn’t feel right, you can change.”

Harry stared at him. “Everyone would think I’m a tosser,” he said. “Making this huge deal about it and then just being like ‘oh, nevermind.’”

“Fuck them,” Draco said. “Fuck everyone who thinks learning new pronouns for you is difficult. Fuck everyone who thinks you’re not allowed to change. You can change as much as you want to. You can change fifty times.”

“But not fifty-one?” Harry asked.

Draco shook his head. “Fifty-one is just too many,” he said.

“Well then,” Harry said, and he checked the box at the top. “There. I’ll just see what I would have been.”

Draco smiled at him. “I think it will be grand,” he said.

“You’ll help?” Harry asked.

“Of course,” Draco said. Somehow he’d come to be holding Harry’s hand again.

The potion took a week to brew, a week of Harry haunting Draco’s café and asking him all sorts of questions about shaving and clothing and did men really have to spread their legs out every time they sat down, and Draco did his best to be emotionally supportive even though that wasn’t really Draco’s thing. Draco’s thing was using wit and snark to mask his emotions in the grand tradition of English men.

Finally the potion came, an innocuous brown thing like so many other potions. “Does it look right?” Harry asked, staring down at the vial.

“I don’t recall what it looked like,” Draco said. “I was only three.”

Harry frowned.

“Master Ukelis is a celebrated potioneer,” Draco said. “I am sure the potion was formulated correctly.”

“I wish Snape were still alive,” Harry muttered. “Alright, should we do this?” He made like he was going to uncork the potion and swallow it right there and then.

“Harry,” Draco cut in quickly.

Harry lowered the vial and looked at him.

“You chose the option that would transform you completely, right?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Harry said.

“It seems likely that you’ll grow a little,” Draco said. “Perhaps it would be best to change into loose robes first?”

Harry hesitated, then nodded, and let Draco lead him up to his little flat above the café and give him one of his looser over robes. He went into the kitchen and made tea while Harry changed in the bedroom.

“Tea?” Harry asked.

“I remember it tasting dreadful,” Draco said, adding milk and sugar, then turning to put the cups down on the table.

“Should I just…?” Harry asked, raising the potion.

Draco nodded and Harry uncorked it then swallowed it as fast as he could, putting the vial down with a grimace and washing it down with tea.

“Ugh,” he said, grimacing. “That does taste…” He stopped talking and made a face like he was listening to a sound far away. Then he winced and jerked a little, then winced and jerked again and Draco looked away to give him privacy.

When he looked back Harry was feeling his face with a look of amazement. “Draco!” he said, and his voice was deeper. “Draco!” he said again. “My voice! Oh, look! My boobs are gone!”

“Potter, you idiot,” Draco said, his voice rough with an emotion he couldn’t name. “Just look in the mirror in the bedroom.”

Potter nodded and ducked into Draco’s bedroom and Draco followed and leaned on the doorframe while Potter stared in the mirror and poked at his face and torso. “Wow, look at my hips,” he said. Draco couldn’t get over how deep his voice was now, but still was him.

“And…” Potter’s mouth dropped open and he grabbed his crotch. “Oh Merlin, that feels so weird! Draco, I have a cock!”

Draco cleared his throat to hide his laugh and then choked when Potter pulled off the robe he was wearing and stared at himself naked in the mirror. He touched his flat chest first, then his waist and hips, so much more narrow now, and then reached down and cupped his junk. “Oh, it’s getting hard!” he exclaimed. “Oh, so that’s what it feels like. Weird. It’s kind of – it’s so weird that it’s attached to me.”

Draco closed his eyes. Potter wasn’t the only one getting hard. “Potter,” he choked out.

He opened his eyes in time to see Potter looking over at him wide-eyed. “I’m sorry!” he exclaimed. He scrambled to grab his robe and pull it on. “Do you mind if I head off? I’d like to, you know, test out my new equipment.”

Draco was beet red by this point, he could feel it. “No,” he said. “Have at it.”

“Great,” Potter said, bundling up his old clothes. “I’ll send you an owl, yeah? Do you have time to take me shopping?”

“Shopping?” Draco repeated. “I’m sorry Potter, I don’t think our styles overlap. I’m not into shapeless baggy–”

“I only wore those because I didn’t want…” Potter began, then gestured to his chest. “You know.”

“Oh,” Draco said.

“I want to dress hot,” Potter said, with a grin. “I’m hot now – I want to dress like it.”

“Of course,” Draco said. “I can help you, with wizarding wear at least.”

Potter grinned. “Maybe we can get something for my Birthday Gala,” he said. “You’ll come won’t you?”

“To your Birthday Gala?” Draco repeated. “I haven’t been invited.”

“I just invited you, you git,” Potter said. “Please will you come? As my date?”

“Your date?”

“Yeah,” Potter said. He glanced at Draco’s trousers and then away. Draco was suddenly very conscious that Potter was naked under the robes he was wearing – Draco’s robes – and conscious of what Potter was hiding under those robes.

“Yeah,” Draco managed, despite how dry his mouth was. “Yeah, I’ll come.”

“So he’s coming out?” Pansy asked. She grabbed at the bottle of Firewhisky and poured herself some.

“Yeah,” Draco said, his head cradled on his arms. “He did the potion and everything.”

“Huh,” Pansy said. “What does he look like?”

“He’s so hot!” Draco whined.

Pansy laughed and poked him. “You always thought Potter was hot,” Pansy said. “What’s changed?”

“I saw his cock,” Draco whispered. “It was glorious.”

“What?!” Pansy spit out.

Draco waved his arm. “Not like that,” he said. “But he asked me to his Birthday Gala! As his date! Pans, what am I going to wear?!”

“First of all,” Pansy said, pouring herself more Firewhisky. “You have an extensive wardrobe suited to all occasions, so don’t pretend that you don’t have something to wear. Second of all, I need to hear more about this cock sighting.”

Draco sighed. “I was there when he took the potion, for moral support of course. And he got so excited about his transformation he pulled off his robe so he could look at himself in the mirror – and Cerce, Pans, he is so hot! – and forgot I was there and started touching himself…” He felt himself going bright red again.

“Oh,” Pans said. “Tell me more about this hotness, though. Describe it, like, in detail.”

Draco rolled his eyes.

“So is this date to the gala like a date date?” she asked.

“I don’t know!” Draco wailed. “I’ve been moral supporting him all through this, so many it’s just for that, because it’s his first public appearance, but the way he was looking at me…”

Pansy nodded. “You know what you should do,” she said, leaning forward.

“No,” Draco said. “Whatever you’re thinking, no.”

Pansy pouted. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“I know it’s going to be something raunchy,” Draco said.

Pansy pouted at him.

“Fine,” Draco said. “What?”

Pansy leaned across the table. “You should offer to help him, you know, show him how to use his new equipment.”

“Pans!” Draco exclaimed, horrified.

“Don’t you think he needs a guiding… hand?” she suggested.

“Salazar, Pans,” Draco said, standing up and grabbing the Firewhisky bottle.

“You should ask him,” Pansy said, her tone suddenly serious.

“Ask him what?” Draco asked, stopping and turning to her.

“If it’s a date,” Pansy said. “Or a date.”

“I told the Weasleys,” Potter said the next day, as they browsed through the ready made garments at Draco’s favourite tailor. “And the staff at the school.”

“Congratulations,” Draco said, pulling out a dark green robe and holding it up to Potter’s body.

“I can’t wear green,” Potter complained.

“Green suits you so well,” Draco said.

“I know, I know,” Potter said. “Brings out my eyes. Blah blah blah. What about red?” he asked, taking a crimson robe off the rack.

“Red is terrible for your complexion,” Draco said sternly, grabbing it away from him and putting it back. “Pink, however.”

“Nope,” Potter said. “No pink.” He shuddered.

“This grey would suit you nicely,” Draco said.

“I’m going to visit Luna this evening,” Potter said. “She’s going to interview me and do an article. It’s going to come out right before the gala.”

“I’m surprised you want an article written about it,” Draco said, handing the grey robes to the shop assistant and then, checking to see that Potter wasn’t looking, the green robes as well.

“Well,” Potter said, frowning at a brown robe with a frilled collar, “I don’t. But they’ll write about it anyway, innit? So I might as well get out ahead of the story, make sure people hear my side of things first. If I leave it up to the Prophet they’ll tell some sob story about war trauma or something, you know?’

Draco nodded. “That sounds reasonable.” He took a dark blue robe from the rack. “I think this will really suit you,” he said.

After the wizarding shopping was completed, Draco trailed behind Potter as they wandered through Muggle London, stopping in several stores Potter claimed a friend of his had recommended, trying on trousers and t-shirts and leather jackets. Draco wasn’t really into Muggle things – he never really felt that comfortable around Muggles, even if he no longer subscribed to the beliefs of his upbringing – but he could readily admit Potter looked hot in the Muggle clothes. They hugged his arse in a way wizard robes just didn’t.

Finally Potter stowed away his purchases in an extendable bag when the Muggles weren’t looking and took Draco to a Muggle noodle shop.

“So you didn’t tell me how it went,” Draco said, as they waited for their noodles.

“How what went?” Potter asked, admiring the sleeve of his new jacket.

“Coming out,” Draco said. “With the Weasleys and the Staff.”

“Oh,” Potter said. “Ron was right – they just treated it like it wasn’t a big deal, like that kind of thing happens all the time. I mean, the Weasleys did. Suddenly they were coming out of the woodwork with stories of this aunt and that cousin who had transitioned – many of whom I’d met! – It’s so frustrating,” he added, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve been agonising about this for so long only to find out it’s apparently really normal. It’s like that constantly, you know. Or, not so much any more, but when I was younger it was like everyday I was finding out something about Wixen society no one had ever thought to mention.”

The noodles arrived and Draco spent a silent moment wondering why no one had ever mentioned these noodles to him before, because they were delicious. Maybe he should eat at Muggle places more often. Maybe Potter could be his Muggle guide.

“At the school the only ones who made a fuss were the Muggle-born. Artie Cross, do you remember him? A Hufflepuff a few years ahead of us.”

“Not from school,” Draco said, “but I’ve heard the students talking about him. The new Runes instructor?”

Potter nodded. “He was horrified, asked if they were really going to let me near the students.”

Draco gasped. “Are you fucking serious?” he asked.

Potter nodded again. “I thought McGonagall was going to Crucio him for a moment there, she looked so angry. Everyone basically dogpiled on him in my defence. It was really embarrassing.”

Draco nodded in sympathy, trying not to be distracted by how delicious the noodles were. Merlin, were these his favourite food now? He had to make sure to find out what they were called before they left the restaurant.

“Honestly, I think a few of the Muggle-born staff were a bit on the fence until that happened, and then they just couldn’t handle siding with someone so vile. I’m kind of afraid McGonagall’s going to send him packing.”

“Why?” Draco asked, scooping up more of the delicious noodles on his fork. Potter was using a pair of sticks to eat with, surprisingly adeptly, like he ate with them all the time. He’d explained they were commonly used in Asia and had seemed shocked Draco hadn’t known that. “You need to get out of your English wizard bubble,” Potter had said, and considering how good the food was, Draco was beginning to suspect that he was right.

“Because he said that I was disgusting,” Potter said, wrinkling his nose.

“No,” Draco said. “Why are you afraid of it? They shouldn’t have such a bigoted person teaching there.”

Potter looked up at him in surprise. “I don’t want him to get fired just because of me,” he said.

“Maybe you’re looking at it the wrong way,” Draco said, sipping at his tea. It was iced and extremely orange and Draco had been very dubious until he took his first sip.

“What do you mean?” Potter asked.

“You’re thinking that he’d get sacked because he was bigoted against you. But you’re not the only one he’s bigoted against, are you?”

“I guess not,” Potter said.

“Some of the people he’d say those things about are children, and some of them are his students. They can’t let someone teach at Hogwarts if he’s going to tell his students they’re disgusting, can they?”

“They let Snape teach at Hogwarts,” Potter said. “Umbridge, the Carrows.”

Draco made a face. “That’s different,” he said. “You know that’s different. And McGonagall is really trying to change things.”

“Yeah,” Potter agreed. “That’s true.”

“You know why I was wearing that badge,” Draco said. “The Pride one? Because Pansy told me that I needed to be a role model. I always felt like because my transition was so easy for me all the flags and things didn’t apply to me. But Pansy said that the kids coming to the café needed to see that there were other people like them, that they were accepted and that it was okay. And I guess she was right, because that’s what you needed, wasn’t it?”

Potter pressed his lips together and blinked like he was trying not to cry. “Yeah,” he said, finally.

“And now you get to be that too,” Draco said. “You especially because you’re Harry Potter and not some ex-Death Eater.”

“You’re not an ex-Death Eater,” Potter protested.

“I am,” Draco said, gently.

“Well you’re not just that,” Potter said, and he reached across the table and grabbed Draco’s hand. “You’re so much more than that,” he said, and Draco swallowed and had to look away from him.

“It’s the same thing with that guy, Cross. You don’t want him to get sacked because you feel like it’s just because of you, but it’s all the other people like you too.”

Potter nodded. “Okay,” he said. “I guess you’re right. I just don’t want people to make a big deal out of it. Me.”

Draco laughed. “You’re kind of a big deal, Potter,” he said.

Potter pulled his hand away and resumed eating. “I’m really not,” he said, after a moment. “I’m really just an ordinary guy.”

Draco smiled at him. “You’re not ordinary,” he said.

Potter looked back up at him. “I’m okay with not being ordinary to you,” he said with a shy smile and something inside of Draco grew warm.

“Your hair is fine,” Pansy observed from the bed as Draco rearranged his hair for the fiftieth time. “Draco, you need to calm down.”

“How can I calm down?!” Draco demanded. “I’m Harry Potter’s date to his Birthday Gala! Everyone’s going to be looking at me.”

“No,” Pansy said, “everyone’s going to be looking at Harry Potter.”

“Why did I agree to this?” Draco whined, trying to resist the urge to flop down on the bed and put his head in his best friend’s lap. It would wrinkle his robes, he reminded himself. It would ruin his carefully sculpted hair.

“Because you want to get into his pants,” Pansy said and then sighed. “Because you want to be there to support him,” she corrected herself. “You’re a good person and you care about him.”

Draco turned away from her and caught a glimpse of himself looking bright red in the mirror. Bugger it, he thought. She might actually be right.

Potter didn’t often use the Floo at Hogwarts, Draco wasn’t sure why. He suspected that he liked the walk. Potter had always been an outdoorsy kind of person, getting all ansty when he was trapped inside for too long. He Flooed into Draco’s apartment and made a half-hearted effort to dust the ashes off his new dress robes.

Draco frowned and cast a Cleaning Charm on him.

“You’ll just have to do it again when we get to the Ministry,” Potter sighed. He looked up at Draco and smiled. “You look good,” he said.

“You look… amazing,” Draco said, his eyes skimming over Potter. The tailor had taken in the robes so they fit well, revealing his newly broad chest and narrow hips. Potter had even made some effort at styling his hair (or probably one of his friends had done it for him).

Potter looked away with a shy smile. “Thanks,” he said.

“Merlin, you do clean up well,” Pansy said, emerging from the kitchen. “I like your whole new look. Suits you.”

Potter looked down at himself, then up at her. “Er, thanks?” he said.

Pansy winked. “Well, you two had best be off,” she said. “Don’t want to make your adoring crowds wait.”

Potter scowled at her. Draco took a chance and took his hand. “I’ll be there,” he said.

Potter looked up at him, smiling again. “Yeah?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Draco said, and they stepped to the Floo together.

The gala was better and worse than Draco had imagined. Better because Potter kept looking up at him with that shy smile that undid Draco every time. Worse because the whole wizarding world seemed even more taken with Potter than usual, apparently fascinated (and sometimes disturbed) by his transition, despite what Ron had said.

“Does it make me gay if I still have a crush on her?” Draco had overheard one wizard saying and it had made him clench his fists even while being glad Potter had gone to the loo and hadn’t heard it.

But most people didn’t even look twice.

The best part of the whole evening was when Potter asked him to dance. It was a little awkward at first because they both tried to lead, and it turned out that Potter was actually pretty terrible at dancing, but he still got to have his arms around him, and Potter laughed when they messed up.

Halfway through the evening, but after the speeches and the cake, Potter leaned in to him. “Think we can escape now?”

“We’ve done our time, yeah,” Draco said, and they discreetly made their way to the Floo, hands clasped together.

When they got to Draco’s place, Draco tugged on Potter’s arm lightly.

“Do you have a little more time this evening?” he asked.

“I guess,” Potter said. “Why, what’s up?”

Draco pushed him lightly towards the sofa then went into the kitchen, coming back with a small cake.

Potter laughed when he saw it.

“I said I’d give you cake every time you came out,” he said. “So here it is.”

Potter grinned up at him, grabbing his hand and pulling him down beside him. “I came out for the last time today,” he murmured. “Everyone in the wizarding world must know about it by now. So does that mean this is the last cake I’m going to get?”

Draco felt his cheeks heating with the way Potter was staring at him. “I’ll–” he began, but his voice was too rough. “I’ll give you cake whenever you want it,” he managed.

Potters grinned transformed into something somehow even more lovely. “Good,” he said. “Because I’m pretty sure I’m always going to want your cake.”

“Is that–” Draco hesitated. “Is that a euphemism for something?”

Potter burst out laughing. “If you want it to be,” he said, with a wink.

Draco really did.