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It was just another normal day at Hogwarts—at least, as normal as a day could get with the end-of-term exams looming over everyone like an ominous cloud. Harry, Hermione, and Ron were seated at the Gryffindor table, enjoying lunch. Or rather, Harry was picking at his food, Ron was inhaling his fifth sandwich, and Hermione was mid-rant about OWL-level procrastination.
"I mean, Ron, you've had months to revise for Potions! You can't just cram everything in two days before the test!" Hermione scolded, her fork waving dangerously close to Ron's face.
Ron, unfazed, took a giant bite and mumbled, “That’s what I have you for, ‘Mione.”
Harry smirked, half-listening, when suddenly, without any warning, bam, Draco Malfoy appeared in his peripheral vision—looking furious.
"Potter!" Draco barked, storming towards them like a hurricane in an impeccably tailored Slytherin uniform.
Harry blinked, wondering if Draco was going to insult him for merely existing or accuse him of stealing another Snitch. But, to Harry's utter shock, Draco didn’t do either of those things.
Instead, Draco grabbed Harry by the collar, yanked him out of his seat, and—before anyone could react—kissed him. Full on the lips. In the middle of the Great Hall.
Harry’s brain short-circuited.
He didn’t move, didn’t blink. His thoughts? Nonexistent. His face? Frozen. All he could hear was the collective gasp of everyone in the Hall. It was like someone had muted reality, leaving only the rapid pounding of his heart in his ears.
Draco pulled back just as abruptly as he’d kissed him, and with a look of fierce determination, he declared, "We’re getting married after we finish our NEWTs, Potter. Understand?"
Harry’s mouth flapped uselessly, like a fish out of water. Married? MARRIED?!
He couldn't even process what was happening, so he just… nodded. Nodded. His brain was too scrambled to think, and Draco’s intense grey eyes were burning into him.
Draco seemed satisfied with this, gave Harry a firm kiss on the cheek for good measure, and then let go of him, walking away with the swagger of someone who hadn’t just rocked Harry’s world beyond comprehension. He left the Great Hall, his robes billowing dramatically behind him like some victorious war hero.
Meanwhile, Harry just stood there. Staring blankly. His legs felt like jelly, and when they finally gave out, he collapsed back into his seat like a puppet with its strings cut.
Across from him, Ron’s mouth hung open, half a sandwich forgotten in his hand. Hermione blinked rapidly, trying to process what just transpired, looking equally as stunned.
Ron was the first to recover, though he didn’t look any less baffled. “Mate…” he said slowly, as if speaking to someone who’d been knocked on the head, “What the hell just happened?!”
Harry opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. He just stared at Ron, wide-eyed, his brain still replaying the kiss on a loop.
Ron continued, clearly at a loss for words, “Why did Malfoy kiss you? Why are you agreeing to marry him?!”
Harry still couldn't speak. His thoughts were a chaotic jumble of ‘Malfoy kissed me,’ ‘Did I just get engaged?’ and ‘What on earth is happening?’
Hermione, more composed, but still clearly shocked, reached out and patted Harry gently on the back. “It looks like you have a… future ahead of you, Harry.”
"Future?" Harry croaked, his voice finally returning, though he sounded like he was in a daze.
Hermione gave him a small smile. “Yes. You were planning to take a few years off before joining the Auror program, but now… well, it looks like you’re going to have a wedding to plan.”
Harry’s eyes widened even further, if that was possible. “What on earth is happening?!”
Meanwhile, over at the Slytherin table, all hell had broken loose.
“Draco, what the bloody hell was that?!” Blaise hissed, his eyes wide with panic. He looked like he was two seconds away from throttling Draco.
Theo, equally confused, raised an eyebrow. “You just kissed Potter. In front of the entire school. And now you're—what, planning a wedding? Have you lost your mind?”
Draco, however, seemed utterly unfazed. He shrugged, as if this whole situation was nothing more than a minor inconvenience. “My parents want me to marry some pureblood witch after NEWTs. Obviously, that’s not happening. I don’t like women. I’m gay. Potter’s gay. Problem solved.”
“Problem solved?!” Blaise nearly yelled, his calm demeanor cracking. “You think just because you kiss him and declare a wedding, that’s the solution? Have you completely lost your marbles?!”
Pansy looked equally appalled. “Draco, you’re insane! You can’t just go around kissing people and planning weddings like it’s some Slytherin scheme! This is Potter we’re talking about!”
Draco looked bored with their reactions. “I don’t see the issue. I don’t want to marry some witch. Potter’s convenient. He’ll come around. He already agreed.”
Theo gaped at him. “Agreed?! You practically kidnapped him with your lips, and he was too shocked to say anything else!”
Draco, brushing imaginary lint off his robes, said coolly, “Well, now he knows. We’ll send out invitations after NEWTs.”
Blaise threw his hands up in exasperation. “Draco, you can’t just decide to marry Potter because it’s convenient!”
Pansy crossed her arms, glaring. “You really think this is going to work?”
Draco smirked. “I know it will. And besides, have you seen Potter? He’s fit. At least I’m not marrying some hag. I think I’m doing us both a favor.”
Blaise groaned, burying his face in his hands. “You’re insane. Absolutely mental.”
Pansy, shaking her head, muttered, “We’re going to need a lot of Firewhisky for this wedding.”
Draco, ignoring the chaos he’d left in his wake, simply stood up and sauntered out of the Great Hall, as if everything was going exactly according to plan.
Back at the Gryffindor table, Harry’s brain was still struggling to reboot. He glanced helplessly at Ron and Hermione, who were both staring at him like he had suddenly sprouted another head.
“So…” Ron began, cautiously. “Are you really… marrying Malfoy?”
Harry groaned and let his head drop onto the table. “What on earth just happened?”
.........
It was late, and despite the comfort of his four-poster bed, Harry Potter couldn’t sleep. His mind was racing—married to Draco Malfoy? Every time he tried to close his eyes, he’d hear Draco’s voice in his head, smugly declaring their impending nuptials like it was an announcement in the Daily Prophet. The idea of Draco walking away from their kiss with that irritating smirk plastered on his face made Harry's skin tingle with frustration.
He tossed and turned for another ten minutes before deciding he needed answers.
"That's it," he muttered, kicking off the blankets. “I’m going to find him.”
Pulling out his trusty Invisibility Cloak, he wrapped himself in its silvery folds, grabbed the Marauder’s Map, and crept out of the dormitory. He tiptoed down the spiral staircase, past the snoozing Fat Lady, and opened the map under the dim light of his wand.
“Where are you, Malfoy?” Harry whispered.
A tiny dot labeled Draco Malfoy appeared near the seventh floor, right by the entrance of the Room of Requirement.
“Perfect,” Harry grinned.
Sneaking through the dark castle corridors was no small feat. He narrowly avoided Peeves, who was humming some obscene limerick about Filch and Mrs. Norris, and had a terrifyingly close call with Mrs. Norris herself on the third-floor corridor. She sniffed the air suspiciously, eyes gleaming in the dark as Harry held his breath. Luckily, she moved on, and Harry made his way up to the seventh floor undetected.
There he spotted Draco, leaning against the stone wall beside the Room of Requirement, seemingly lost in thought.
Show me the door, Harry thought frantically, praying the Room of Requirement would open. To his relief, the door materialized, and with a burst of Gryffindor bravery, he yanked off his cloak, rushed up to Draco, and grabbed him by the wrist, pulling him into the room before the Slytherin had time to react.
“what the—” Draco started, startled, but as soon as he registered it was Harry, his expression shifted into a slow, teasing smirk. "Well, well, couldn’t stay away, could you? Missed your fiancé already?"
Harry, breathing hard from both nerves and anger, backed Draco up against the wall, glaring at him. "Cut the crap, Malfoy. What’s your game? What are you playing at?"
Draco raised his hands in mock surrender, though his smirk never wavered. "Game? I’m not playing any games. We’re getting married after our NEWTs. It’s all very straightforward, really."
Harry leaned closer, his chest pressing against Draco’s, forcing him further against the stone wall. He could feel Draco’s breath hitch just a little, though the blond remained smug.
“Not a game?” Harry growled. “You can’t seriously expect me to believe that.”
Draco’s lips twitched, and he leaned his head forward until his lips brushed the shell of Harry’s ear, his voice dropping to a low, playful whisper. “Don’t rush, Potter. We need to save this for the wedding night.”
Harry’s eyes went wide, his face instantly turning a shade of Gryffindor red. He stepped back hastily, trying to regain his composure but failing spectacularly as his pulse raced, his brain short-circuiting for the second time that day. Why does he always do this?
Draco, looking far too pleased with himself, took the opportunity to brush an errant strand of Harry’s messy hair from his face. He then reached up to push Harry’s glasses back into place, his touch infuriatingly gentle.
"Just be good, Potter," Draco whispered again, voice laced with amusement. “Wait until the wedding…"
Before Harry could react, Draco kissed him. It started innocently enough—a soft press of lips that somehow melted Harry’s resolve. Instinctively, Harry’s hands flew to Draco’s waist, pulling him closer as their kiss deepened. They fought for dominance, the heat between them rising until Harry started to gain the upper hand, his lips demanding more.
But just as Harry was about to win the battle, Draco pulled away, leaving Harry breathless and… utterly frustrated.
With that signature Malfoy smirk back in place, Draco ran a hand down Harry’s chest, his eyes gleaming with triumph. “Save it for after the wedding, future husband.”
Harry stood there, chest heaving, as Draco casually strolled toward the door. With one last glance over his shoulder, Draco added, “Goodnight, Potter.”
And then he was gone, leaving Harry standing alone in the Room of Requirement, completely dazed and utterly frustrated. His hands still tingled where they had gripped Draco's waist, and his lips still buzzed from the kiss.
"Why—why do I let him do this?" Harry mumbled to himself, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. His heart was fluttering wildly, and he hated that. He hated that Draco could just walk in, kiss him, and poof—Harry’s brain was scrambled like eggs. Worse, he had no answers to his original question: What the hell was Malfoy up to?
But Draco had gotten under his skin. Again. And now all Harry could think about was the way Draco’s lips had felt against his, the way Draco’s hand had brushed his face so tenderly. His mind raced, replaying the kiss over and over.
Oh, Merlin, Harry thought, burying his face in his hands. "I’m in trouble."
---
Meanwhile, back in the Slytherin common room, Blaise, Pansy, and Theo sat around the fire, still trying to make sense of the earlier events.
“What the bloody hell was that kiss at dinner?!” Blaise nearly shouted, pacing back and forth in front of Draco, who had just walked in, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
Draco, ever the picture of calm, dropped into a chair with a sigh. "Honestly, Blaise, do you have to shout?"
“Yes! Because you kissed Potter and announced your bloody wedding plans like it was tea time!” Blaise raged, throwing his hands in the air.
Theo, lounging lazily on the sofa, raised an eyebrow. “And now you’ve got him completely hooked, haven’t you?”
Draco smirked. “Hooked? Oh, Theo, he’s practically reeled in.”
Pansy leaned forward, her arms crossed, eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You’re mental, Malfoy. You’ve been plotting this, haven’t you?”
Draco shrugged as if he had merely suggested a new brand of broom polish. “My parents want me to marry some pureblood witch after our NEWTs. But I’m not exactly into women. So… Potter seemed like the logical choice.”
“Logical choice?!” Blaise sputtered. “You can’t just choose Potter like you’re picking a pet owl, Draco!”
Draco looked entirely unbothered. “Why not? He agreed to it, didn’t he?”
Theo let out a low chuckle. “You’re completely off your rocker. But I’ll admit, it’s kind of brilliant.”
Draco smirked, leaning back in his chair. “Thank you, Theo. I know.”
Pansy threw her hands up in exasperation. “You're both insane! This is Potter we’re talking about! Gryffindor’s Golden Boy!”
“Exactly,” Draco said, his smirk widening. “That’s what makes it all the more fun.”
Blaise groaned, sinking into his chair. “We’re all going to need therapy by the time this is over.”
Draco stood, brushing off imaginary dust from his robes. “Well, you lot figure that out. I have a wedding to plan.”
With that, Draco swept out of the common room, leaving his friends staring after him in disbelief.
Pansy shook her head. "We’re going to need more than therapy. We’re going to need Firewhisky."
.........
Harry had faced Death Eaters, survived the Triwizard Tournament, and defeated the Dark Lord—but nothing in his life had prepared him for this. Standing in the middle of the Ministry's quiet, bureaucratic Marriage Registration Office, Harry felt like he was trapped in some absurd dream.
Or maybe a nightmare.
“Alright, let’s make this quick. No need for a grand ceremony,” Draco had said as they hurried into the Ministry after their NEWTs. He dragged Harry by the arm, barely letting him process what was happening. “First things first: husband and husband.”
Harry blinked, trying to keep up. “Wait—what?”
“I’ve already bought the rings, filled out the forms,” Draco continued, completely ignoring Harry’s confusion. He handed the documents to the Ministry clerk, who looked between the two of them with a raised eyebrow but wisely kept his mouth shut. “We’re just here to make it official.”
Official? Marriage? Rings? Forms? Harry’s brain was working overtime trying to comprehend it all. But before he could form a coherent protest, Draco had signed his name with a flourish, handed Harry a quill, and smiled.
“Come on, Potter,” Draco purred, eyes gleaming with mischief. “You wouldn’t want to leave me hanging, would you?”
And that’s how, in a dizzying blur of parchment, quills, and Draco’s insistent gaze, Harry Potter found himself married to Draco Malfoy.
He only really grasped the reality of the situation when Draco pulled him in for a kiss—a quick peck on the lips, but enough to send Harry’s heart into overdrive. “See you tomorrow, Potter,” Draco whispered, his lips brushing against Harry’s ear. “When I move in.”
And just like that, Draco Malfoy—now Draco Potter-Malfoy, apparently—strode out of the Ministry, looking more pleased with himself than Harry had ever seen him.
Harry, meanwhile, stood frozen in place, the weight of the situation slowly sinking in. He looked down at the plain gold ring now sitting on his finger and swallowed hard.
Oh Merlin… I’m married.
---
The next morning, Harry sat at Grimmauld Place, staring blankly at the ring on his hand. The house was eerily quiet, and for once, the gloom of the place wasn’t coming from Kreacher’s mutterings or the gloomy drapes. No, the oppressive weight that had settled over him came from the sheer ridiculousness of what had happened the day before.
Draco Malfoy—his former arch-nemesis, his school rival, the boy he’d spent seven years bickering with—was moving in. As his husband.
Harry groaned, burying his face in his hands. “What have I done?”
His existential crisis was interrupted by a loud commotion at the front door. The sounds of a very upset Lucius Malfoy shouting echoed through the hall, and Harry winced. He had expected this. Lucius Malfoy had probably hoped Draco would marry some elegant pureblood witch, not the Chosen One.
“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, father, stop yelling! You’re embarrassing yourself!” Draco’s voice rang out from the hallway, sounding utterly exasperated.
Harry dragged himself to the front door just in time to see Draco striding in, arms full of boxes. He swept past Lucius and Narcissa, not a care in the world, while Kreacher frantically scrambled to keep up, trying to take the boxes from him.
Narcissa stood in the doorway, dabbing her eyes with a lace handkerchief, looking both heartbroken and resigned. Lucius, on the other hand, looked like he was about to pop a blood vessel.
“Draco!” Lucius snarled, his voice dangerously low. “How could you—”
Draco cut him off with a dismissive wave. “Oh, please, Father. Don’t be so dramatic.”
“Dramatic? DRAMATIC?!” Lucius thundered, his face turning an impressive shade of purple. “You married—him!”
Harry waved awkwardly. “Er—hi?”
Draco rolled his eyes and turned to his parents with a dazzling smile. “Yes, Father, I married him. Isn’t it just wonderful?” He turned to Harry and, with no warning whatsoever, pulled him into a rather enthusiastic kiss. Harry stumbled back in shock, but Draco didn’t let him go, his grip firm on Harry’s waist.
When Draco finally pulled back, he grinned up at Harry, ignoring the fact that Harry looked like he was on the verge of collapsing. “Husband,” he said smugly, as if savoring the word.
“H-husband,” Harry echoed weakly, blinking in disbelief.
Draco turned to his parents with an air of triumph. “See? All sorted.”
Narcissa let out a small sob, shaking her head. “My baby boy…”
Lucius, on the other hand, looked ready to launch a hex at Harry. “You—how—what did you do to him, Potter?!”
Harry held up his hands defensively. “I—I didn’t do anything! This was all his idea!”
Draco gave a mock gasp, feigning offense. “Excuse me, husband, but I believe this was a mutual decision.”
Harry shot Draco a bewildered look. “Mutual? You practically dragged me to the Ministry!”
Draco smiled sweetly. “Details, details.”
Lucius, however, was not in the mood for Draco’s theatrics. He pointed a shaking finger at Harry. “This is outrageous! You—Potter, you—”
Draco sighed dramatically, clearly tired of the conversation. “Oh, for Merlin’s sake, Father. I’m happy. He’s happy.” He paused, glancing at Harry, then added with a sly grin, “Well, I’m happy, at least. Harry’s still adjusting.”
Harry snorted at that. Adjusting was an understatement. He was still trying to figure out how his life had turned into this cosmic joke.
Narcissa dabbed her eyes one last time and sighed. “Oh, Draco, darling… just promise me you’ll be happy.”
Draco smiled softly at his mother. “I am, Mother. I promise.”
Lucius, however, seemed unconvinced. He gave Harry one last murderous glare before turning on his heel. “Come, Narcissa. I cannot bear to watch this farce any longer.”
As they left, Draco waved cheerfully at his parents. “Thanks for dropping me off! See you at Christmas!”
The door closed behind them, and suddenly, the house was quiet again. Except now, Draco stood in the middle of the living room, looking around with an air of casual confidence, like he owned the place.
“Well, that went well,” Draco said brightly, tossing his coat onto the sofa and beginning to unpack his things.
Harry stood there, still in shock, as he watched Draco order Kreacher around. “You—you really moved in,” Harry muttered, more to himself than to Draco.
“Obviously,” Draco said, not even looking up from the box he was unpacking. “We’re married, Potter. Or have you forgotten already?”
Harry stared at him, then down at the ring on his finger, then back at Draco. “I just… I can’t believe this is real.”
Draco, looking entirely too smug, walked over to Harry and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Believe it, Potter. You’re now the proud husband of Draco Lucius Malfoy.”
Harry sighed, shaking his head in disbelief. “I feel like my life is some kind of cosmic joke.”
Draco grinned. “Oh, but darling, it’s our cosmic joke now.” He winked, then gave Harry a swift kiss on the cheek before sauntering off to boss Kreacher around some more, leaving Harry standing there, feeling like he’d just been hit by a very smug, very attractive freight train.
Harry sighed, rubbing his temples. "Merlin, help me."
........
Harry Potter was married. It had been a week, and he still woke up every morning with the same sense of dread, staring at the gold band on his finger like it had been glued there as part of some cruel prank. He’d even tried to take it off once, but Draco had shot him a withering look and muttered something about “till death do us part,” which left Harry too spooked to attempt it again.
And, if that wasn’t bizarre enough, Draco Malfoy—his husband—had turned into some sort of bizarre, stylish, nagging, borderline housewife… or, as Draco had vehemently corrected him, househusband.
Harry, slouched on the sofa with his feet up on the coffee table, watched in stunned silence as Draco floated around Grimmauld Place, making the once gloomy and dilapidated house look like the inside of a luxury boutique. Draco had completely redecorated. The dark, depressing décor was gone, replaced with sleek silver accents, rich velvet drapes, and tasteful modern furniture that screamed ‘I have money and I want you to know it.’
There was even a crystal chandelier in the foyer now.
“Draco… when did we get a chandelier?” Harry asked one afternoon, staring up at it like it was some alien object.
Draco looked up from where he was arranging a bouquet of roses on the dining table. “Last night. Kreacher installed it. Why?”
Harry blinked. “It just… wasn’t there before?”
“Well, obviously, Potter,” Draco huffed. “I had to redecorate. This place was a disaster zone. Now it’s livable—barely.”
Harry scratched his head, feeling thoroughly out of place in his own house. He had spent years treating Grimmauld like some dark, creepy hideout, and now it looked like something out of Witch Weekly’s “10 Most Luxurious Wizarding Homes.”
Draco moved around like he owned the place—like this wasn’t even the house of his husband’s godfather, but rather his personal mansion. And somehow, in the process of redecorating, he had taken over other aspects of their lives as well.
He cooked. He cleaned. He nagged Harry for leaving socks on the floor and not putting the dishes away properly. Draco had even started ordering Kreacher around with an air of superiority that would’ve been offensive if Kreacher didn’t seem so oddly happy about it.
This morning, Draco had stood in the kitchen, hands on his hips, glaring at Harry as he shoved toast into his mouth. “Honestly, Potter, must you chew like that? It’s like dining with a troll.”
Harry grumbled around his food. “Didn’t know I was marrying a house elf.”
Draco shot him a deadly look. “If you call me your wife again, I will hex you into the next century.”
“Sorry—sorry!” Harry held his hands up in mock surrender, trying to suppress a grin. “Househusband, then?”
Draco’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Barely better, but fine. Now, get your shoes off the sofa before I hex those too.”
Harry sighed and pulled his feet off the furniture. He was just starting to feel at ease again, reclining on the sofa with the newspaper, when the front door opened with a loud bang.
Draco, holding a letter with a dark seal on it, breezed in like a storm cloud. “Look what we have here,” he said with a snide smirk, waving the letter around. “A letter from Father.”
Harry grimaced. Lucius Malfoy had been in rare form since the whole “marriage” thing, and Harry had been keeping a low profile whenever Lucius came up in conversation.
Draco tore open the letter and gave it a quick scan before—without hesitation—tossing it into the fireplace. The parchment burst into flames, curling up into ash in seconds.
Harry blinked. “Wait… what? What did it say?”
Draco shrugged, utterly nonchalant. “Oh, nothing important. Just that Father’s cutting me off from the Malfoy family fortune. He’s very upset with me, you know. The usual.”
Harry sat up so fast he nearly fell off the sofa. “What?! He’s cutting you off?!”
Draco didn’t even look remotely concerned. “Mm-hmm.”
“And you’re not worried?” Harry asked, bewildered. He stared at Draco like he’d just announced he was moving to the moon. “Draco, aren’t you—aren’t you upset?”
Draco finally turned to him, arching an eyebrow. “Why on earth would I be? We’ve got the Black fortune, haven’t we?”
Harry blinked, the words not quite registering. “The… the Black fortune?”
“Honestly, Potter, do you ever pay attention to anything important?” Draco shook his head in disbelief. “I’m a Black by blood, and now, so are you. We have access to all the Black vaults. You’ve been adopted by Sirius Black, for Merlin’s sake! You inherited everything.”
Harry’s jaw dropped. “WHAT?”
Draco stared at him, raising his eyebrows. “You didn’t know?”
“NO!” Harry scrambled to his feet, practically hyperventilating. “Sirius—Sirius didn’t tell me any of this!”
Draco looked at him like he’d just announced he didn’t know what a broomstick was. “Potter, he must’ve given you something. A medallion, a key, a—”
Harry fumbled around in his pockets before pulling out a small, ancient-looking key. “This? He gave me this.”
Draco stared at the key, his lips curling into an amused smile. “Potter, that’s the key to the entire Black vault. How could you not know?”
Harry’s head was spinning. “Sirius didn’t tell me anything about it! He—he died before he could explain anything! I didn’t even know I was adopted!”
Draco groaned dramatically, massaging his temples. “You Gryffindors. Always so focused on dying for the greater good that you miss all the important things.” He sat Harry down on the sofa, crossing his arms. “Right. Let me explain this to you like I would to a small child.”
Harry glared, but said nothing.
Draco began to pace, clearly irritated by Harry’s ignorance. “You, Harry, are part of the Black family now. A very old, very wealthy family. That little key you’ve been carting around could buy you more Firebolts than you could fly in a lifetime. Sirius didn’t just leave you his house, you idiot—he left you his entire fortune. Which, by the way, makes you richer than the Weasleys and the Malfoys combined.”
Harry stared at him, dumbfounded. “Wait… what?”
“Potter, you’re loaded!” Draco said with a flourish. “Filthy rich. Swimming in galleons. A vault so full, it makes the Malfoy fortune look like a child’s pocket money. And thanks to your brilliant husband—” he gestured to himself grandly “—you now know that you can live just as lavishly as me. If you want to, of course.”
Harry blinked again, still trying to process. “So… we’re… rich?”
Draco’s eyes sparkled mischievously. “We are absolutely swimming in money, darling.”
Harry slumped back onto the sofa, his head in his hands. “Oh Merlin… I didn’t sign up for this…”
Draco, meanwhile, had a wicked grin on his face. “Oh, but you did, Potter. You married me. And now you’re stuck with me and all the wonderful Black money.”
Harry groaned. “I can’t believe this.”
“And to think,” Draco said sweetly, “I’ll be living my lavish life—here, with you, redecorating everything, and Lucius can just sit there, fuming, while we sip tea from solid gold cups.”
Harry shot Draco a withering look. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
Draco simply shrugged. “Well, I’ve always had a taste for the finer things in life. And now that we’re married, Potter, you’d better start getting used to them too.”
Harry sighed, rubbing his temples. “Merlin help me.”
“Oh, don’t be so dramatic, darling,” Draco cooed, patting Harry’s head condescendingly. “Now, let’s talk about your bad habits. We’ve got to fix those if we’re going to be the wealthiest, most fabulous couple in Wizarding Britain.”
Harry looked up, exasperated. “What bad habits?”
Draco smirked, leaning in close. “Well, for one, you still chew like a troll.”
......
Harry Potter had always thought his life would eventually calm down. After defeating Voldemort, after the endless battles and chaos, he imagined he'd settle into a quiet, normal existence—maybe with a small house, a steady job, and just a little peace.
That dream, as it turned out, was a cosmic joke.
Instead, he was now sitting at the grand dining table of Grimmauld Place, which had somehow transformed into something straight out of a luxury magazine, wearing an expensive silk robe he hadn't chosen, sipping tea from a delicate porcelain cup that cost more than the Dursleys’ entire house.
And worst of all, he was married to Draco Malfoy, who seemed to excel at everything—especially being the perfect, aristocratic husband.
Harry stared blankly across the room as Draco breezed through the house, giving Kreacher instructions on how to properly polish the antique silverware. “Really, Kreacher, two swirls, not three. We’re not savages.”
It had been a couple of months since their marriage was—well, consummated. And if Harry was being honest with himself, it wasn’t that bad.
Scratch that—it was phenomenal, but that was beside the point.
Draco was annoyingly good at everything—potions, managing their obscene fortune, redecorating their mansion, looking impeccable in all his expensive clothes, and now… charming his way into Harry’s heart.
Harry let out a frustrated sigh. Why does Merlin hate me so much? He thought back to how he’d tried to resist Draco, tried to keep things at a distance, but now he was undeniably drawn to him in ways that made his head spin.
Which is how he found himself, sitting at a cafe with Ron and Hermione, trying to explain how his life had gone from “The Boy Who Lived” to “The Boy Who Became Obscenely Rich and Married Draco Malfoy.”
Ron was shoveling food into his mouth as usual, while Hermione sipped her tea, giving Harry her full attention. Harry poked at his sandwich, trying to find the right words.
“So, yeah,” Harry said finally, “I guess I’m technically a lord now. Draco… installed me.”
Hermione blinked. “Installed you? Like a… a bookshelf?”
“No, more like a lordship,” Harry muttered. “He’s been going on about it for weeks. Apparently, we—well, I—possess the Potter wealth and the Black wealth now.”
Ron nearly choked on his food. “Wait—what?”
“Yeah,” Harry said grimly. “Turns out, I’m one of the richest people in the wizarding world. If I wanted, I could probably buy a Fortune 500 company.”
Hermione raised her eyebrows. “And you didn’t know this?”
“Of course I didn’t know!” Harry exclaimed, throwing his hands up. “Sirius gave me a key, but no one bothered to explain what it actually meant. I thought it was, I don’t know, a key to a shed or something.”
Ron patted Harry on the back, laughing. “Mate, you’re filthy rich, and you had no idea? That’s classic.”
Harry shot him a look. “Oh, sure, laugh it up. I go from being a penniless orphan to married to Draco Malfoy, rolling in galleons, and now I have to attend some round table of lords next week. Do you have any idea what that is?”
Hermione tilted her head. “What’s a round table of lords?”
Harry grimaced, leaning back in his chair. “It’s just a bunch of old, rich wizards who sit around and talk about how much money they have and how they can make more money. I think they have competitions over who has the biggest mansion or the most useless collection of goblin-made goblets. And I have to face Lucius.”
Hermione frowned. “Lucius Malfoy?”
“My estranged father-in-law,” Harry muttered. “He’s going to be there, and I’ll have to explain how I’ve somehow become richer than him.”
Ron burst out laughing, slapping his knee. “Oh, mate, this is brilliant! Lucius is going to lose his mind!”
“Yeah, great,” Harry said dryly. “That’s exactly what I need—Lucius glaring at me across a table while Draco tries to one-up him by talking about how much more gold we have.”
Hermione smiled sympathetically. “It sounds like a lot to take in, Harry. But look on the bright side—you’re married to someone who knows how to handle all this. Draco clearly knows what he’s doing.”
Harry groaned. “That’s the problem! Draco’s… perfect. He knows how to manage the fortune, he’s an expert in potions, he redecorated the whole house—he even makes sure I eat properly and dress like some kind of aristocratic lord!”
Ron snorted. “You, mate, a lord. That’s something I never thought I’d hear.”
“I never thought I’d hear it either,” Harry grumbled. “He’s even started throwing out my clothes. I swear, I woke up one morning and all my comfy jumpers were gone. Just a pile of ash in the fireplace.”
Hermione raised an eyebrow. “He burned your clothes?”
“Yeah, and then he replaced them with these ridiculous outfits that scream, ‘I’m a lord, bow to me, or go and Avada Kedavra yourself.’”
Ron’s fork clattered to the table as he burst into laughter. “That’s perfect! Draco’s turned you into some kind of fashion icon!”
Harry glared. “This isn’t funny! I’m drowning in robes I don’t even know how to wear! I spent half an hour trying to figure out which way a belt goes on yesterday because it had more buckles than a Quidditch uniform!”
“Honestly, Harry, you should just ask Draco for help,” Hermione suggested with a smirk.
Harry sighed dramatically. “He enjoys this! He lives for it! Every time I complain about my clothes, he looks at me like I’ve personally offended fashion itself. He fusses over me like I’m some sort of project.”
Ron leaned in, still snickering. “And the worst part, mate, is that you love it.”
Harry’s face turned a deep shade of red. “I do not!”
“Oh, you totally do,” Hermione teased. “You’ve been married to him for how long now? And you’re still letting him burn your clothes and redecorate your house.”
Harry opened his mouth to protest but quickly closed it, realizing they were right. He couldn’t deny it anymore. Despite the chaos, despite the ridiculous clothes and the overwhelming wealth, despite being dragged into a world of fancy lords and riches, Harry couldn’t bring himself to hate it.
Or hate Draco.
Merlin help him, he thought as he took a sip of his tea, imagining Draco back home, probably rearranging their furniture yet again.
He groaned. “You’re right. I’m doomed. Draco’s taken over my life, and I can’t even fight it.”
Ron slapped him on the back again. “Cheer up, mate! You’re rich, married to the hottest bloke in Hogwarts, and now you get to rub it in Malfoy Senior’s face. What’s not to love?”
Harry sighed. “Everything. Everything is too much. It’s all so dramatic, and I just wanted a quiet life.”
“Harry,” Hermione said softly, “since when has your life ever been quiet?”
Harry groaned, rubbing his face. “Why does everything have to be so complicated?”
Ron grinned, raising his butterbeer in a toast. “Here’s to a dramatic, complicated life. Wouldn’t have it any other way, mate.”
Harry glared, but raised his glass too. “Yeah, yeah. Somebody save me from my husband.”
.......
Harry wasn’t sure what had woken him up first—the sudden tug on his blanket or the bright, sing-song voice of his husband, Draco Malfoy, standing at the edge of the bed with a devilish grin.
"Up, up, love!" Draco chirped, far too awake for the early hour. “We have a portkey to catch!”
Harry groaned, burying his face into the pillow. “Draco, it’s… Merlin, what time is it?”
"Time for us to join the illustrious ranks of the wizarding aristocracy," Draco said, completely ignoring Harry’s suffering. He flicked his wand, and Harry’s blankets promptly flew off. "We’re heading to Switzerland for the Round Table of the Lords."
"Switzerland?!” Harry squinted, half-blind from sleep. “What, like… today?”
"Obviously,” Draco replied, already pulling out one of Harry’s “lordly” robes from the closet—one that Harry was sure made him look like a walking velvet curtain. "You didn’t think we were going to skip this, did you? It’s our moment to shine, darling."
Harry rolled his eyes, sitting up reluctantly as Draco practically threw the robe at him. “Right, because I love mingling with snobby old men.”
“They’re not just old men,” Draco said as he dragged Harry to the wardrobe, “they’re very rich, snobby old men. With far too much time on their hands and not enough brain cells to fill a cauldron.”
"Sounds fantastic," Harry deadpanned, trying to shrug into the robe as Draco expertly wrapped a matching sash around him.
A few minutes (and a whirlwind of Draco fussing over his hair) later, they were standing in front of a portkey—a silver candlestick that Draco had smugly procured—and before Harry could even properly blink, they were whisked away, landing with a jolt on top of a snowy, picturesque mountain in Switzerland.
The building before them was utterly breathtaking, its spires stretching into the clouds, gleaming in the early morning sunlight. It looked like something out of a fairytale—an extravagant palace perched high on the Alps, complete with waterfalls and the faint sound of classical music drifting in the air.
"Of course it’s a palace on top of a mountain," Harry muttered under his breath.
Draco, however, was already beaming. “Isn’t it magnificent? Come along, love. We have a meeting of lords to attend.”
Harry, still groggy from lack of sleep and overwhelmed by how cold it was, trudged along as Draco led him inside. Once they entered the grand hall, they were met with exactly what Harry feared: a sea of old, overly dressed wizards, all with elaborate beards, monocles, and waistcoats.
Harry blinked. "Merlin, we’re the only young people here."
“You don’t say,” Draco murmured, his eyes scanning the room. “Ah, and there he is.”
Harry followed his gaze, only to spot Lucius Malfoy across the room, dressed in the most dramatic robes imaginable, glaring daggers at them from beneath his perfectly coiffed hair. His sharp jaw was clenched so tightly that Harry thought he could hear it creaking from across the room.
“Lucius looks…” Harry hesitated, searching for the right word. “Furious?”
“Like he’s eaten something rancid,” Draco replied smugly. “Let’s go say hello, shall we?”
Do we have to?" Harry mumbled, but Draco was already pulling him forward by the hand, marching them straight toward Lucius with all the grace of a cat ready to play with its prey.
"Father," Draco greeted with a faux-innocent smile. “How wonderful to see you here. I didn’t think you’d make it—surely Mother had other plans for you?”
Lucius’s eyes narrowed, his lips barely moving as he muttered, “Draco. Potter.”
Harry gave Lucius a nervous smile. “Uh, Father-in-law! How are you? How’s, um… Mother-in-law?”
That did it. Lucius’s face turned a shade of purple that Harry had never seen before, his jaw tightening to the point where it seemed he might snap in half. Draco, meanwhile, was utterly delighted, his grip on Harry’s hand tightening as he smirked at his father.
“Father,” Draco said smoothly, “don’t strain yourself. We wouldn’t want you to pop a blood vessel before the meeting even begins. Now, if you’ll excuse us—Lord Potter and I have a table to attend.”
With that, Draco gave a mock bow, leaving Lucius standing there like an enraged peacock, his fists clenched by his sides. Harry, who could feel the palpable tension in the air, offered Lucius an awkward wave before Draco whisked him away to the grand round table at the center of the hall.
“Why do I feel like I’m going to regret this entire day?” Harry muttered under his breath as they approached the table.
“Because you will,” Draco replied cheerfully, squeezing his hand.
The table itself was massive, made of dark, polished wood, and surrounded by what seemed like the entire cast of a Victorian drama—elderly lords with top hats and waistcoats, all of whom looked at Harry and Draco as though they were bizarre, youthful anomalies.
Draco, however, slid into his seat as if he owned the entire room. He kept his fingers intertwined with Harry’s, offering him a comforting squeeze every now and then, though his smile had taken on a decidedly sly, fox-like quality. Harry could practically hear Lucius fuming from across the table.
The meeting started off just as Harry had expected—an unbearably boring discussion about property ownership, goblin relations, and economic policies in Switzerland. Draco seemed to be paying attention, his eyes gleaming with an enthusiasm that made Harry suspicious.
About halfway through, Draco casually raised his hand. “If I may,” he began, his voice dripping with politeness, “I have a suggestion regarding the redistribution of the Black estate’s assets.”
The room fell silent. All eyes turned to Draco, and more importantly, to Harry, as the Potter-Malfoy fortune was, by far, the largest and most influential at the table.
Harry swore he could hear Lucius’s teeth grinding into dust.
“Perhaps we could invest more heavily in magical education,” Draco continued, his tone measured. “Maybe allocate some of our vast wealth toward creating scholarships for underprivileged witches and wizards— as we may know that, the Potter-Black has contributed a lot into these.”
The elderly lords nodded along, but Harry could feel the tension rising from Lucius’s end of the table. Draco’s grip on Harry’s hand was firm, his smile practically glowing with satisfaction. Draco purely wants to rub into Lucius face that, —We are filthy rich… what would you do about that.—
Harry leaned in, whispering, “You’re doing this just to drive your dad mad, aren’t you?”
“Obviously,” Draco whispered back. “Watch him twitch.”
By the time the meeting was over, Harry was half-asleep and completely lost, but Draco looked radiant with victory. Lucius, on the other hand, stormed out of the building like a furious peacock, his silver cane clacking loudly on the marble floor as he went.
Once they were outside, Harry shook his head in disbelief. “Draco, what did we even accomplish in there?”
“Accomplish?” Draco said, smirking. “Oh, nothing important. Just a little fun, love.”
“Fun?” Harry repeated, laughing incredulously. “I think you just gave your father a heart attack.”
Draco looked far too pleased with himself. “And wasn’t it delightful?”
Later that evening, back at Grimmauld Place, Harry recounted the entire bizarre ordeal to Ron, Hermione, and Neville over dinner.
“So let me get this straight,” Ron said, laughing so hard he nearly dropped his fork. “You’re sitting at a table with a bunch of ancient rich guys, Draco’s poking fun at Lucius the whole time, and you’re just… there?”
“Pretty much,” Harry replied, sighing. “It was the most tense, boring thing I’ve ever sat through. And Draco was loving every second of it.”
“I can’t believe you called Lucius ‘Father-in-law,’” Hermione said with a grin. “You’re braver than I thought, Harry.”
Neville shook his head, chuckling. “Well, you can’t say your life’s boring, Harry.”
“Oh, trust me,” Harry muttered, “I’d take boring over Malfoy family drama any day.”
........
Life had a way of becoming progressively weirder for Harry Potter, but marrying Draco Malfoy had sent it spiraling into a new realm of unconventional.
It wasn’t the money—though Merlin, Draco was making more money than Harry could even begin to count—or the fact that Draco had taken it upon himself to rebuild Hogwarts (and without the pretense of guilt or simply to rile Lucius up). No, Draco had done it because, beneath his sharp tongue and perfectly styled hair, he actually cared. The man had even opened an orphanage for children who’d lost their parents during the war. He started a program for Muggle-born witches and wizards, ensuring they were introduced to magic before they turned eleven.
If Harry were honest with himself, he was secretly proud. Okay, very proud. Draco was charming, clever, and—annoyingly—good at everything he did. But with every passing day, Harry found himself falling deeper in love with this insufferably brilliant, deviously handsome man.
And yet, at the oddest times, a seed of doubt crept into Harry's mind. Sometimes, as Draco went through papers late at night, managing their investments or reviewing the success of one of his many charities, Harry would stare at him in awe. Why, of all people, had Draco chosen him? Surely, it wasn’t just because Harry was the Boy Who Lived—Draco hated that title.
Draco could have had anyone. He could’ve married someone clever, sharp-witted, someone who could navigate the politics and cutthroat world of aristocratic wizarding families. But… he chose Harry. Why?
One day, Harry was lounging in their cozy sitting room at Grimmauld Place, flipping through an old Quidditch magazine, when an owl swooped through the window and dropped a letter into Draco’s lap. Harry barely glanced at it, more interested in an article on broom maintenance, until he noticed the unmistakable Malfoy family crest on the envelope.
Draco looked at the letter, smirked, and without hesitation, tossed it into the roaring fireplace. The flames greedily ate the parchment, leaving nothing but ash.
"Er—" Harry set the magazine down and slid off the couch to wrap his arms around Draco from behind. “What was that?”
“Just some rubbish.” Draco shrugged, leaning back into Harry’s embrace. He was far too calm for someone who had just incinerated a family letter. “Apology from Father. Apparently, he’s suddenly remembered how to be remorseful.”
Harry snorted. “And you’re just going to burn it?”
Draco turned his head to glance at him, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “It’ll take a lot more than a letter for me to make amends with him.” He sneered the word, like the mere mention of Lucius made his stomach turn.
“Draco…” Harry hesitated, sensing there was more to the story. “What really happened between you two?”
Draco shifted out of Harry’s arms, turning to face him fully, eyes gleaming with something dangerously close to satisfaction. He crossed his arms, leaning against the armrest of the couch.
“You want to know the truth?” Draco asked, voice low but playful.
Harry frowned. “I’m starting to think you’ve been keeping something from me.”
Draco chuckled, the sound deep and rich. “Oh, Potter. Of course I have.”
Harry blinked, taken aback. "What?"
Draco waved a hand nonchalantly. “You see, darling, my dear father has been playing games with me for years. Controlling the family wealth, pulling the strings—typical patriarchal nonsense. But then, after the war, I realized something. I didn’t need him. I had you.”
“Me?” Harry’s confusion deepened. He wasn’t sure where this was going, but Draco’s smirk was growing.
“Yes, you,” Draco said, stepping closer, his voice lowering like he was sharing a delicious secret. “I had been planning this marriage since fifth year.”
“Fifth year?” Harry’s jaw dropped. “You’re joking.”
Draco raised an eyebrow. “Do I look like I’m joking?”
“Well, yeah, actually. A little bit.”
Draco’s smirk widened as he began pacing the room with a dramatic flair. “You see, Potter—Harry—I knew I needed a way out from under my father’s thumb. When I heard about Sirius Black’s death and how you inherited the Black fortune… well, I realized you were my key to freedom.”
Harry stared at him, blinking. “Wait… you mean all that bickering in school…?”
Draco nodded, grinning wickedly. “All part of the plan.”
Harry’s head was spinning. “You’re telling me that all those years of you making my life hell were because you were… flirting?!”
“Oh, not flirting, darling,” Draco corrected, walking up to him and placing a finger under Harry’s chin, tilting it up so their eyes met. “It was a well-orchestrated strategy. A master plan, if you will. And guess what?”
Harry gulped, feeling the heat between them rise. “What?”
“I won,” Draco whispered, brushing his lips lightly over Harry’s, his breath hot and intoxicating.
Harry's head was swimming. “You—you’re insane.”
Draco grinned devilishly. “And you love me for it.”
“I do,” Harry admitted, voice breathless. “I really do.”
They shared a heated kiss, Harry pulling Draco closer by the waist, deepening it until they were both breathless, Draco’s fingers tangling in Harry’s messy hair. When they finally broke apart, Draco’s lips were flushed, his chest rising and falling.
“You’re impossible, you know that?” Harry muttered, his hands still resting on Draco’s hips.
“Impossible, but brilliant,” Draco purred. “I married the most powerful wizard in the world. I gained independence from my insufferable father. And, as an added bonus, I doubled our fortune in a year.”
Harry snorted. “You’re proud of that, aren’t you?”
Draco gave him a long, satisfied look. “Of course. You didn’t marry me for my modesty, love.”
“Merlin, no,” Harry laughed, shaking his head. “I married you because you drive me absolutely insane—and apparently, you’ve been driving me insane on purpose since fifth year.”
Draco leaned in, whispering against his lips, “Oh, and darling, I’m not done yet.”
Harry sighed, pulling Draco into another kiss, as if this could somehow stop his husband’s endless scheming. “I can’t believe I fell for you, you evil genius.”
Draco’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “Oh, Potter. You never stood a chance.”
Later that evening, Harry eagerly reported his newfound discovery to Ron, Hermione, and Neville over dinner.
“So, let me get this straight,” Ron said, for what felt like the hundredth time. “Draco Malfoy—who tortured you for years—was doing it because he liked you?”
“No,” Harry corrected, stabbing a potato with his fork. “He was doing it because he had a plan.”
“That’s even worse!” Hermione exclaimed, looking horrified but also vaguely impressed. “Draco planned your entire relationship?”
Neville shook his head, amazed. “That’s… honestly, that’s brilliant. Insane, but brilliant.”
“You’re telling me,” Harry muttered, shaking his head. “I can’t believe it either.”
Ron sat back, arms crossed. “Mate, I hate to say it, but you’re married to an evil mastermind.”
Harry smirked, thinking about Draco’s smirk, his sharp wit, his relentless planning. “Yeah,” he sighed. “And I wouldn’t change a thing.”
End