Archive of Our Own

Friday the 30th of June, 1978

I didn’t go to him, Juliet. I didn’t go to Matteo. His eyes were so full of trust, I promised I’d meet him to run away together because my parents won’t approve. But instead, I left him waiting for me, below our tree, waiting and wondering where I was. I’m in Verona now. I return to Tisbury in the morning, and I’m so afraid. Please, Juliet, tell me what I should do. My heart is breaking, and I have no one else to turn to.

Love, Narcissa Black

Black Manor

Friday the 30th of May, 2008

It all started with a letter. Draco was in the drawing room with his mother, drinking morning tea, when an owl dropped a letter on the table and flew away. It was addressed to his mother. She opened it carefully, as always, and as she read it, she began growing pale.

“Mother?”

Narcissa didn’t answer.

“What is it?” Draco asked worriedly.

Her lip was trembling, as if she was holding herself from crying. Draco, not knowing what else to do, put his hand over his mother’s hand, trying his best to comfort her as she inhaled and exhaled.

“It’s Juliet…”

Sunday the 25th of May, 2008

“Okay, I give up, I can’t do it.” Hermione dropped her hat on the dining table, no posh accent to be heard.

“Why, m’lady?” Ron asked with the most horrible posh accent as he thoughtfully rubbed his black goatee.

Harry snorted and took a sip of his tea. “Mate, you’re not working for her so you can’t call her my lady. That’s not the proper way to address her.”

Ron smirked. “You don’t know a thing, peasant. I’m working for her all day and all night long.”

Harry spit out his tea, bursting out laughing while Hermione glared sternly at her husband, who was laughing as well. The problem was that they both couldn’t take her seriously with the impressive black moustache plastered a bit above her lips.

When they were in their early twenties, Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny started a tradition: Pureblood Sundays. It was always at Ron and Hermione’s kitchen, every week without fail. They’d come in proper traditional robes and drink afternoon teas while talking in a fake posh accent about politics or the weather. It got better and better over the years as they were adding ties, hats and then canes to the mix, and before Harry, and then Ginny, moved to the US, they had the idea to magically grow facial hair. So when Harry and Ginny came back, they decided together to magically add facial hair without telling the others the type. Hermione had a long Italian moustache, Ron had an uneven goatee and Harry went with the most long and awful beard he could master. But when only Harry came to the Weasley-Granger household, he saw the disappointment on Hermione’s face, which was insane since they already told her Ginny wouldn’t come. He suspected Hermione was missing that time in their lives when they were all together, and was upset with Ginny bailing at the last second for another team meet. That’s at least seemed to be the reason Hermione didn’t even try to do the accent.

The day before, when Harry and Ginny came back from New England, Harry knew it would be tough to explain to Hermione why their visit back home will be only a visit. He dreaded telling her that they’re leaving for Italy in a couple days. So when Ron and Hermione showed up yesterday, dragging them to buy booze to celebrate their visit back home (Ron and Hermione didn’t keep any booze in their house until the kitchen cabinets were baby proofed so they were both dying for a drink), Harry and Ginny figured it’s probably not the best time to bring up the subject. But now, Harry knew there was no other choice but to tell them himself. Which is why he held his wand in his pocket, just in case, because any second now a wild and unpredictable Hermione would snap and Harry would have to run for his life. So he just blurted it out. Fortunately, Hermione was too tired to kill him.

“Who goes on a pre-honeymoon? You’ve only just got back from New England yesterday!” She chewed her nails, as she often does when she’s annoyed. As soon as he noticed, Ron gently took her hand with the chewed nails and held it in his palm.

“And we’re already on the cover of Witch Weekly because someone had to have some Margarita mix in the pouring rain yesterday!” Harry clapped back.

Hermione glared at him for a moment, but then rolled her eyes. “Oh please, you wanted that Margarita mix as much as I did.”

“That’s not the point!” Harry huffed. Hermione was being difficult for no reason. She knew the reasons Harry and Ginny couldn’t stay but she chose to ignore them. “This is why it’s only a visit, this whole… press thing. We’re both done with the press sticking their noses in our lives.” He sighed, brushing his hair out of his face only for it to flop back down. “Not to mention, you of all people should understand why we avoid the press, how Ginny doesn’t need the bad publicity right now.”

Hermione, in her high position in the department of mysteries, avoided the press like the plague. For the past two years, she would constantly complain about Romilda Vane, who became somewhat of a celebrity with her Question Authority column in the Daily Prophet. Hermione swears Vane is a “mini Rita Skeeter, only with goofy headlines and no understanding of governmental issues whatsoever,” end quote. The amount of times she angrily described how she would shrink Vane and crush her like a bug was kind of disturbing.

“He’s got a point.” Ron said, mouth full with some sort of a baked good. Or two.

“I’m not listening to anything you have to say while your mouth is full.” Hermione retorted and then turned around to stare daggers at Harry. “She’s just getting booze with her friends! It’s not a scandal, Harry!”

“And we’re not back, Hermione. We came for a visit.” Harry sighed and ran his hand through his hair, frustrated. “And to answer your first question, we’re going on a pre-honeymoon because Ginny has the final tournament right after the wedding.”

“She always has something...” Hermione muttered.

“Oi!” Ron quickly swallowed a mouthful. “That’s my sister you’re muttering about. Twice now, may I add.”

Hermione sighed. “I know, and I love Ginny to pieces but she’s so focused on her career she forgets everyone else, and you know I’m right.”

“You’re always right,” Ron hurried to say.

Hermione rolled her eyes but otherwise ignored him. “She doesn’t show up for holidays at the burrow anymore and even when she does she’s always distracted, talking to her weird and clingy coach in the fireplace instead of hanging out with us. Even Molly and Arthur barely see her.”

Harry didn’t want to tell her that he barely sees Ginny too. Hermione surely won’t like that. After years of being together, Harry guesses he just kind of got used to it. He was always the supportive boyfriend, and he wasn’t sure what was so wrong about that. And maybe it’s better to keep things private from Hermione, such as the fact that the decision to go to Italy for their honeymoon was inherently based on the fact Ginny has fans there to meet.

“Harry, I’m really, truly so excited for your honeymoon, but do not let her pay attention to anything but you, okay? It’s your honeymoon too!” Hermione exclaimed, shaking the ‘dining’ table and waking up a very loud whiny baby. “Oh funk, I can’t believe I woke her up again.” Hermione held her face tiredly in her hands. Her hair was barely holding it together in the messy frizzy bun on top of her head.

“It’s okay honey, I’ll get it.” Ron kissed her forehead and marched to Rose’s bedroom like a soldier on a mission, right into the horrid sounds of screams and wails of a three month old.

“Parenthood is hard, huh?” Harry said awkwardly, having truly no experience in that area.

“You have no idea.” Hermione stared at the table as if contemplating banging her head on it. Harry tried to think how to answer that when he realised something. “Did you just say ‘oh funk’?”

“Oh,” Hermione laughed, shaking her head. “Sorry, didn’t notice. We’re practicing not saying the… “ She leaned in conspicuously. “Bad words in front of her so in moments of need we can just swear safely.”

Harry stared at her, bewildered, “That’s.. actually genius. And hilarious.” Harry grinned.

Hermione rolled her eyes with a smile. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Just wait until you have one of these screaming babies waking you up in the middle of the night. Oh!” She gestured upstairs, where Rose’s bedroom was. “The crying’s stopped. I swear, he’s like magic. I never seem to calm her down, but her daddy is the nap time champion.”

A moment later, Ron entered the kitchen proudly like the nap time champion that he is, with praise from both Harry and Hermione. He kissed his wife and sat down, ready to continue their Sunday tea. Hermione and Ron had nothing to worry about. Harry always knew they’d be great parents.

Is this what his future would be like? Getting married to Ginny, settling down in a nice cottage just outside of London, becoming a father and raising the next little Potter-Weasleys before letting them go out into the world? Harry thought about how Ron confided in him before little Rosie was born, about his fears of becoming a father, especially to a girl. Harry told him how he would make an excellent father, and he knew it to be true. Ron had a strong support system all throughout his life, he grew up around his many siblings and had a great childhood. Not to mention he married the smartest, most caring woman Harry has ever known, so there was never any doubt in Harry’s mind they would not excel at parenting a child.

Harry on the other hand… He didn’t know if he wanted kids. He grew up without his parents and at times he wondered if he could be one. It wasn’t as if Harry and Ginny were close to having kids anyway, they never even talked about it. Harry’s not even sure if Ginny wants kids.

“Look, Harry,” Hermione held Harry’s hands and Harry snapped out of his thoughts. “I just want you to enjoy yourself. It’s your honeymoon. Go to nice restaurants and sightsee Verona. I hear it’s the most beautiful city this time of year.”

Hermione knew him rather too well at times. Harry laid back in his chair, letting go of Hermione’s hands in the process. “She has to practice three hours a day and maintain her diet.”

“Harry, come on.” Hermione tried to get him to look at her, but failed. Harry stared intently at his shoes under the table.

“It’s fine, I promise.”

“Are you sure, mate?” He could feel how uncomfortable Ron was, stepping in between Harry and his sister, but he still kept talking. “Hermione’s right. Both of you deserve a vacation without her hectic work schedule getting in the way.”

Harry sighed, hoping that they would drop it. “Seriously, it’s fine guys.”

Ron and Hermione exchanged one of their loaded looks, as if they could communicate telepathically (they probably could), but they finally dropped the subject.

They asked him if he’s planning to write another book but he avoided that subject as well. His publisher was worse than them, always calling to ask if there’s a new book in the horizon, and Harry always answered no. He’s hoping that an Italian change of scenery would make his creative block evaporate while trying his hardest not to get anxious as he does when he’s not writing daily. He started writing after the war as a way to cope, and it was actually helpful because it made him so focused on his stories that the nightmares of the war just faded away.

“You could have stayed.” Hermione said quietly, “You didn’t have to leave England.”

Of course they’d come back to that. They always come back to that. Harry sighed. “Yes, I did. I’m sorry, Hermione but I did, I had to. If I stayed to write here, especially under the pen name J. Black, the Wizarding world would have immediately known.”

“You don’t know that,” Hermione waved him off, “You write to muggles! There are fifty thousand muggle publications every year in the UK. No wizard would track them all down just so he could find you.”

“You don’t know that.” Ron chuckled, reminiscing. “Everyone wants something from Harry, I mean… He’s already gone through multiple murder attempts.”

“We should count them sometime.” Harry mumbled thoughtfully.

“Yeah,” Ron nodded, “I mean even Vane tried to poison Harry into falling in love with her.”

“Oh, don’t get me started on her…” Hermione started talking and then kept talking while Harry mouthed a very grateful ‘thanks’ to Ron who winked back. He didn’t want to get into the reasons of why he left England. It wasn’t just about avoiding his fame, but Hermione and Ron didn’t need to know that. It’s been a while, but Harry still remembers the day he left, the emotional wreck he was. He had to get away from another thing, another someone that was constantly in his mind.

Tuesday the 27th of May, 2008

As soon as Harry and Ginny got to their hotel, Ginny immediately apparated to the Italian quidditch league for practice, and Harry wasn’t surprised. He hoped to spend more time with her, but they had too many fights about that, so this time he prefered to just keep his mouth shut. He walked around Verona with a notebook in his bag, feeling sorry for himself, but soon enough he found other things to think about, maybe even write about. An elderly man and woman sitting on a bench, holding hands. Two boys running around the street recklessly, not minding the drivers of scooters or cars as they’re running and playing. A little girl with a tutu skirt and a tiara on her head, walking with her father, a balloon in her hand, flowing in the wind. It must have been her birthday, Harry thought, as he watched the dad ruffling his little girl’s hair affectionately. She looked adoringly up at him, her smile big and sweet. What were their lives like? Harry often wondered about muggles if they sensed sometimes there’s a higher power, a magical aura, floating around them, or were they completely unaware from the wonders of the wizarding world. It’s what started his love for writing in the first place. The two books he had published were not focused on wizards, but on muggles, and their ordinary lives, with the twist of magic and destiny. His books were a massive success, especially in America within muggle crowds.

He walked aimlessly until he reached Juliet’s house. A husband and wife took a picture with her statue, their hands on her breast, but most of the crowd there were women, writing letters about their loved ones. One woman in particular was crying hysterically, and Harry tried to comfort her, but he could only do so much without knowing the language. He sat there, on a bench, and started writing. He always used pens instead of quills, as he never completely got used to them, so he wasn’t peculiar to the muggle crowd. He knew Ginny will probably forget to call him when she’s done with her practice (she still exprienced trouble with her mobile phone, even though he and Hermione explained to her how it works half a dozen times) so he had many hours to kill before he had to head back. The hours passed and it was soon evening when Harry finally got up and came back to the hotel. As he poured himself a cup of tea, Ginny apparated into the room, smiling gratefully as he handed her a cup. They talked about their day and Ginny ranted excitedly about the teams’ new strategy, while Harry day-dreamed about the people he saw that day.

Friday the 30th of May, 2008

“Have you lost your mind?” Draco said, bewildered.

His mother glared at him narrowly, and he promptly shut his mouth.

“I thought I taught you better manners than that outburst, Draco.” She said, coldly. Draco hurried to apologize.

“I’m sorry, Mother, but don’t you think it’s a bit of an overreaction?" He asked, his voice pitching higher. "You’re about to go to Italy just to look for someone you knew 30 years ago! All because of a letter!”

“This letter,” She made a point to emphasize, “is the sign I’ve been waiting for for 30 years.”

“But don’t you think it’s too much after everything we’ve been through?”

“I’m going to do it because of everything we’ve been through,” she talked fiercely, her eyes gleaming, staring him down. She sighed. “I was always wondering, what would have happened if I stayed in Siena, if I didn’t go with what my parents expected of me. But I was afraid. I didn’t want to end up like my sister, exiled and disowned by my family. Now, after the war, I apologized left and right to every person I hurt, especially Andi. I know how short life can be, and I’ll always regret it, especially after getting this sign, if I wouldn’t try my best to find Matteo and apologize to him as well. I made a promise to him and I broke it in the most terrible way I could have. It’s time to make things right.”

Draco stared at his mother, at a loss of words. She was determined to go, and Draco couldn’t stop her.

“I’ll come with you.” He blurted before he could think about it too much, because she can’t go alone. His mother just smiled and gently stroked his cheek.

Wednesday the 28th of May, 2008

Harry went back straight to Juliet’s house the next morning, buzzing with excitement to write some more. He decided not to apparate for fear of startling muggles so he walked down the street, a brisk ten minute walk. When he arrived, he noticed something strange. He couldn’t keep his eyes in one place. Every time he tried to look at the wall of Juliet’s house, something distracted him. A bird, a window, Juliet’s statue. It was as if something prevented him from looking at the wall. He fought hard to keep his stare, and when he finally succeeded, he saw a woman with a basket, accio the letters from the wall. His survival instincts immediately kicked in and he hid until she was farther away. What was she doing? Why did she need the letters? Do the muggles see her? At least the last question was quickly answered. After she was done, she shrunk the basket to pocket size, and then muttered the spell to end a Notice-Me-Not charm (Harry himself felt relieved, now that he could get a good look at her). She was in her early 30’s, with long black hair and big purple glasses. She walked away, and when he figured it was safe enough, he began following her. At times like these, he wished he took his invisibility cloak with him. It’s so much more annoying to hide behind benches and trees.

A couple minutes later, she met three other women at the entrance of a restaurant and they went up the stairs to the employees area. Harry, with nothing to do for the moment, and no personal boundaries when it comes to snooping, immediately went up the stairs and got inside. If someone were to catch him, he could always say he’s a confused tourist, which is technically not a lie. When he entered the building, he saw a long hallway, and at the end of it he heard voices. As he walked toward the room he felt a ward keeping muggles away. His curiosity peaked and he knocked on the open door, watching the women accio the letters from the basket as they sat around the table, writing with quills on parchment. He hoped he wasn’t terribly rude by even entering the premises.

“Mi scusi,” Harry said in a horrible accent and probably some grammar mistakes, “parla inglese?”

“Ah!” The woman from earlier exclaimed and smiled warmly at him. “Take this basket and, how do you say... dig in.”

Harry frowned. “Dig in?”

“Yes, you’re the translator from the employment office, correct?”

“Oh,” Harry chuckled awkwardly. “I’m sorry, I’m not the translator.”

The woman sighed impatiently. “This ministry, giuro su Dio. I’ve been waiting over two weeks for the replacement.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said again, scratching the back of his neck self-consciously, “My name is Harry, I just... I followed you here because I saw you put the letters into a basket, and I… just wondered why.”

“Why?” She said, hesitantly, “Oh, you are a writer?” She asked, looking at the notebook in his hand.

“Uh... Yeah,” He said, clearing his throat, “Yes, I am a writer.”

The other women around the table, who were quiet until this moment, started to gush excitedly. Harry smiled back.

“Come, I’ll show you.” She said warmly, and Harry held himself from sighing in relief. She gestured to the window, and Harry followed her. “They come from all over the world every day.” She sighed as she watched.

“But taking their letters?” Harry asked helplessly, “Is that not like taking… pennies from a wishing well?”

“How else can we give them answers?”

Harry’s eyes widened, and he looked around the room at the other women, all writing replies. “So, you write all of them back.”

“Yes.” She answered as if Harry had asked her a question.

“You’re all Juliet?”

“Her secretaries,” she smiled, “All the broken-hearted women’s letters end up littering the streets, and no one helps them, or even answers them. We’re employed by the wizarding ministry of Italy to reply and send our replies via owls.”

“Even to muggles?”

“Especially to muggles. We have to keep Juliet’s magic alive.” Her eyes gleamed and she gestured to a woman at the end of the table, “Donatella has been married 80 years to the same man. She handles husband problems.” Donatella, who looked fairly young for her age, smiled at Harry and winked. “Husbands are like wine, they take a very long time to mature.” Harry laughed heartily. She reminded him of Mrs. Weasley.

“Francesca is a nurse, she deals with illness and loss.” Francesca smiled at Harry as she heard her name, but didn’t reply, too focused on her letter. “And Maria...”

“Why do you always sigh when you say my name?” Maria, a woman with blonde curly hair and huge red glasses yelled from the other end of the table.

“She has 12 children, 29 grandchildren and 16 great-grandchildren.” Harry’s brows shot up to his hair. The woman chuckled. “She writes whatever she likes.”

“And you?” Harry asked the woman.

“Isabella answers the ones you can barely read.” Francesca handed Isabella a pile of letters. Isabella sighed again. “The lovers’ quarrels. The breakups, the really tangled hearts. Someone has to do it.”

After staying with the witches all day, Isabella had asked Harry to stay for dinner, so Harry shot Ginny a text and half an hour later they were both eating with the four women at the restaurant, owned by Isabella. Ginny especially enjoyed the dishes, almost begging for the recipes, but Isabella insisted she’d take those family recipes to her grave. After that, Ginny whispered to Harry, “Wait until I tell my mom. Isabella won’t have a chance,” which made Harry almost snort his wine with laughter. The restaurant used small amounts of magical herbs and potions to make the food especially good, so it was a big success among the Italian wizards and witches (and unsuspecting muggles). They talked and laughed and Harry felt happy, being here with Ginny, living the culture and being around witches who didn’t care about the war or his fame.

“I love this wine.” Harry pointed out.

“Yes,” Maria drained her glass and immediately filled another one to the brim, “There’s no wine tastier than Caparzo.”

“I’ll smuggle some home with me.” Harry joked and the witches laughed.

“I’m going to get the dessert.” Isabella said with a smile and Harry immediately rose from his seat to offer his help.

As they walked to the kitchen, Isabella’s expression turned curious. “How long have you been engaged?”

Harry thought for a moment. “Almost a year.”

“So why is your fiancé not wearing a ring?” Harry already figured Isabella was a direct kind of person, but the question still took him by surprise.

“Gin didn’t want one.” He said honestly, and Isabella frowned, another question on her lips. Before she could ask he continued, “She thought it was idiotic of me to buy an engagement ring in the first place so we returned it back to the store. She said that she will need to take it off during her practices everyday and it would just be an annoyance at some point. She doesn’t need it to know we are engaged.”

Isabella stared at him quietly, but he could tell the wheels in her mind were spinning. She almost said something but then decided against it, and when they came back to the table, they brought with them an Italian cream cake (Ginny fell in love with it) without another word. Shortly after, Ginny and Harry said their goodbyes. Harry had already made plans to meet them again in the morning, and help them with the letters.

He had fun today. When Harry watched them working, they exchanged notes or the stories of the letters that they related to. They joked about some of them (just a little bit). They were funny, easy to talk to and didn’t care about his fame. When he talked about the war, they all looked incredibly bored and unimpressed, and that was… refreshing. He couldn’t wait to come back.

Thursday the 29th of May, 2008

Harry helped Isabella with gathering all the letters in the wall. Thursday was their busiest time, as it was nearing the weekend and more and more people came to write letters. Isabella couldn’t mutter the Notice-Me-Not charm without drawing her wand so usually she covered herself with a coat to hide her casting. Harry didn’t want her to take a coat in this heat, and he knew that she had to operate fast so that no one would notice the missing letters from the empty wall as the tourists swarm the place. The other witches were much older than Isabella, and Harry got the impression she didn’t want to ask them for help. So when he offered to join her, her smile was bright, and Harry figured he’s in her good graces even though he was terrified of her most of the time. She had that type of look as if she could read a person like a book.

He muttered the charm wandlessly and they started working fast, dropping letters in the basket without even looking. Harry almost finished his side of the wall, when a brick fell out, and Harry noticed a small piece of paper tucked inside. The paper was brown and old-looking, a little crumpled at the edges, but Harry could still smell a bit of perfume on it. He took the paper out, and when he read it, his eyes were widening with every word. The second he stopped reading, Isabella touched his arm and whispered “Let’s go.”

They ran out of Juliet’s house past the unsuspecting muggles, as the bells of the church were ringing in their ears, all the way back to the restaurant, breathing hard and smiling because of a mission accomplished, and Harry ended the Notice-Me-Not charm.

When they got up the stairs, Harry, trying and failing miserably not to feel overwhelmed, had the weird urge to tell the other witches about the letter. Maybe it will give meaning to the swarm of thoughts filling his head and would make everything make sense after reading it again, so he did. His head was a mess of emotions as he stood and read out the contents of the letter, while the witches watched him mesmerised.

“I know the writer of this letter.” He said passionately, trying to convey the cosmic magnitude of this coincidence even happening. “She saved me during the war… I… owe her my life.”

“So did she stay with Matteo?” Maria gushed excitedly.

Harry hesitated. “No. She married someone else.”

“And it’s been there all these years?” Francesca asked curiously. “How come we’ve never found it?”

Maybe it’s destiny, Harry thought crazily, getting his hair out of his eyes. Maybe Harry was the only one that was supposed to find it all along. Maybe Harry is the one to write her back.

“I just have to write her back.” It came out of him, without him meaning to voice it aloud, and all the witches turned to watch Isabella. Her face was unreadable. Maybe thoughtful. A long moment has passed and Harry began growing nervous when she finally smiled and gave him a slip of parchment, “Then answer her.”

After a moment of surprised silence, Harry cautiously smiled back and took the parchment, and as he sat down, the witches were soon enough bored again and continued their work, dividing the letters between them.

Harry didn’t know what to write. He didn’t even know where to start. What do you write to a person who saved your life? Will Narcissa even appreciate it? Did she remember even writing that letter to Juliet? Maybe she forgot. Maybe it was just a silly teenage love that didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. But what if it wasn’t? Harry knew, of course, what happened after she wrote the letter. She didn’t stay in Italy with Matteo, she came back to England, married Lucius Malfoy and had Draco. Harry always assumed Lucius and Narcissa were in love and that’s why they got married, but what if that wasn’t the case? What if she loved someone else all along?

Harry worked on his letter until the small hours of the morning, shooting Ginny a text that he will come back late. The other witches left a long time ago and Harry, so busy with the reply, didn’t even notice. When he was finally satisfied with his answer, in the small hours of the night, he walked out into the hallway and found the owlery. After finding an owl that didn’t resemble Hedwig and attaching the letter to his leg, he apparated back to the hotel, watching Ginny tucked in their bed as her chest rose and fell, eyes closed and a smile on her face. Harry felt happy, and he got under the covers, holding Ginny in his arms.

Friday the 30th of May, 2008

“Harry. You did it. You found him.”

Draco Malfoy was looking at him with the most peculiar smile, and Harry didn’t know what to do with himself so he looked at his hands.

“We found him.” Harry corrected but Malfoy shook his head.

“No. You. You found him. You knew all along he was out there somewhere, and I… I didn’t believe you. I thought you were mad. Both of you. It’s all thanks to you. How….” Malfoy stopped, trying to figure out how he’s going to ask what he’s about to ask. “How did you know?”

And suddenly the world started spinning and all he saw were grey eyes and pale blonde hair before being pulled back from the dream. He woke up, feeling disoriented, trying to understand his surroundings. When the fog in his head cleared, he noticed the bed was empty, and cold. Ginny left a blue sticky note on his forehead and he irritatingly took it off. She promised she’d stop doing that.

I’ve gone for a morning run and coffee with that friend from the team that I’ve been telling you about, and then we’ll go to our practice. See you this evening, snoring human. I love you.

Great. Now they don’t even spend their mornings together. And also, she’s such a liar. He does not snore.

It was the middle of the day at the Secretaries of Juliet’s office. Harry went to the other room to bring out more quills, when he heard someone knocking on the open door. He had a weird sense of deja vu.

“Excuse me. I’m sorry to interrupt. But are you the secretaries of Juliet?” Harry immediately recognised the voice. He would know it anywhere. Draco Malfoy.

“Yes, that’s us.” Said Maria.

“Great. May I ask, which one of you wrote to my mother, Narcissa Malfoy?”

“I wrote that.” Harry stepped out, and Malfoy’s expression was priceless. But Harry, damn him, couldn’t stop himself from staring at the man.

Malfoy looked incredible. He was wearing a smart grey muggle suit with a matching vest and a white buttoned shirt, which he left a couple buttons open at the collar. He wore his hair loose, falling over his eyes, and his face was all cheekbones and pretty. Very pretty. Fortunately for Harry, Malfoy, in his shock, didn’t notice his shameful ogling.

“Potter?! What are you doing here?” He picked his jaw off the floor.

Harry shook himself quickly, and smirked at Malfoy’s angry face. “I was about to ask you. I’m on my honeymoon.”

“Congratulations.” Malfoy sneered, “And condolences to your Weaslette. I suppose I expected you two to get married and have your sea of screaming Gryffindorish babies but still, it’s so painfully obvious that she’s out of your league. I feel bad for her, I do. I hoped she’d get the good sense to leave you. Oh well.” He didn’t even give Harry a chance to get mad before he clapped his hands. “Now, to the matter at hand. I have enough to do without wasting any more time.” His hands were still together while he stared at Harry as if he’s a four year old. “What, for the love of god, were you thinking?”

Harry tried to answer but Malfoy interjected yelling, “That’s right! You weren’t thinking!”

Once, Malfoy being this angry would have made Harry laugh or at least chuckle, but after everything they’ve been through… Harry sighed. “Will you let me talk?”

“Oh, go ahead, Potter!” Malfoy waved his hands in the air like an angry ferret. “Talk!”

“I was thinking she deserved an answer.”

Malfoy stared at him as if he was mental. “Yeah! 30 years ago, maybe! Not now!”

Harry took a deep breath to stop himself from yelling back at Malfoy’s stupid pretty face. He can do this, he can talk to Draco Malfoy without getting angry. After a couple more breaths, he calmly retorted. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realise true love had an expiration date.”

“True love? Are you joking?” Malfoy was shouting now, all red in the face, and the other witches shamelessly stopped what they were doing to watch. “Could you imagine what would’ve happened if she hadn’t seen sense?”

“Well,” Harry smirked, “You wouldn’t be here and that would be an upside.”

The witches, amused with the exchange, roared with laughter at Harry’s comment. Malfoy on the other hand, didn’t seem to appreciate it as he scoffed and walked away. Harry soon enough followed him outside.

“So you came all this way just to give me a lecture?” He called, going down the stairs after Malfoy as fast as he could. Malfoy kept walking.

“No, I came because I couldn’t let my mother come on her own.”

“Narcissa’s here?” Harry stopped in his tracks, “Why?”

Malfoy turned around, raising an eyebrow while he looked at Harry up and down and crossed his arms. Harry did not blush. “I think even you might be able to work that one out.”

Harry frowned, but then it dawned on him. “Oh my god. That’s awesome, she came to find Matteo!”

Malfoy just stared at him as if he was a creature from another planet.

“Awesome?” Malfoy uttered the word as if it tasted sour in his mouth, and walked closer to Harry, “What if Matteo doesn’t want to see her, has forgotten her, is gravely ill or… dead, let’s say, just for fun. Then what?”

Harry scowled. He couldn’t tell him about the dream.

“Thought so.” Malfoy smirked, turning to walk away.

“I want to see her.”

Malfoy turned back around to glare at him. “And I want to go back to England but I suppose life isn’t about what you want.”

“You don’t think she’d like to see me?”

Malfoy just smirked. “I honestly think she has no interest in seeing the guy that managed just now to jam the words ‘oh my god’ and ‘awesome’ into the same sentence.”

Harry scowled as Malfoy walked away. The only choice here was whether to follow him or not, so of course he decided on the former. At some point he recognised the way. They were going to Juliet’s house.

When Harry got there, he saw Malfoy walk up to his mother as she was admiring the wall. She was older than Harry remembered her, hair more white than platinum now and a couple more smile-lines, but she was still as beautiful, and elegant in her royal blue robes.

Draco was walking briskly, muttering to himself. He couldn’t believe he was here. His mother wanted to apparate to Italy straight away, so they packed their things as soon as tea was over. And now to find out Potter was behind all of this? Someone was playing some kind of a cruel joke on him.

“Mother, we should go now.” Draco kissed his mother’s cheek as soon as he arrived. She smiled at him and he took her hand, planning to walk towards the exit together.

“Mrs. Malfoy?” Potter popped out of fucking nowhere and Draco couldn’t take it anymore.

“Mr. Potter.” If Narcissa was surprised to see him, she didn’t show. Well-mannered as always. “What a coincidence to see you.”

Potter was tanner than the last time Draco saw him. His hair was also longer, and he changed his glasses to a more sophisticated square look. Draco couldn’t deny, even to himself, that he looked good. And fit.

Potter chuckled. “And it’s just getting bigger. I came because I wrote your letter.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “The letter... from Juliet? Goodness.” She said, and put her hands on top of his. “Thank you. Thank you for this thoughtful letter. Especially after everything we’ve been through.”

“Of course. The least I could do. You saved my life.”

“I’m sorry, what?!” Draco looked at them, flabbergasted, but they just ignored him altogether. Potter smiled at his mother, and Narcissa squeezed Potter’s hands. This was Draco’s worst nightmare come to life.

“You should call me Harry.”

She smiled. “Then you should call me Narcissa. But, however did you find us?”

“Your son found me, actually.”

“He did?” Narcissa turned to Draco but before he could comment Potter interjected, the git. “Yes, he was very sweet. And charming as ever, and he thought that you might like to see me.”

“Uncharacteristically thoughtful of you, dear.” Narcissa looked at Draco, not surprised as much as amused by the exchange.

“Well, under the circumstances,” Draco gritted his teeth, “It seems a bit churlish not to meet the man responsible for this voyage of lunacy. And look! It’s Potter! Of course.”

Narcissa snorted. “Draco doesn’t approve, which makes this all the more fun.”

Potter laughed. His face was free and open, and he had a loud laugh, as if he didn’t care if anyone heard him. Stupid Potter.

“Harry, we were just going for a glass of wine. Would you like to join us?”

“Absolutely not.” Draco almost cut her off, “Absolutely Not.” Draco tried to smile politely to Potter (emphasis on tried). “It’s been a long day. Too long. You understand.”

Narcissa raised an eyebrow. “Okay, darling.” She gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Have a good sleep.”

“But I-“

“Do you know somewhere we can go?” She asked Potter, and Draco groaned. Now his evening will be ruined as well. What fun.

Potter smiled. “I actually have the perfect place.”

“Gin, we’re having dinner with the Malfoys tonight.”

Ginny laughed. “I’m sorry? It sounded like you said-”

“We’re having dinner with the Malfoys tonight.”

The other end of the phone call was silent for a moment. “Am I in a parallel universe?” Was Ginny’s answer.

“No.”

“The hell?!”

“Ow!” Harry lowered the phone from his ear. So much for telling Ginny multiple times that there’s no need to yell during a phone call…

“You deserve it. You just said the worst sentence that you’ve ever said.”

He tried to explain this turn of events in a way that was short but satisfactory. He failed miserably.

“Just come here and I’ll explain later.”

“Fine.” She hung up the phone. Twenty minutes later, she arrived in a sundress and a smile, as if everything wasn’t a weird imaginative nightmare. Harry, Ginny and the Malfoys all sitting together at dinner, acting civil towards each other as if nothing had happened. She was right. Of course it was a parallel universe.

So it was awkward. Especially in the beginning when Harry didn’t know how to introduce Ginny to the Malfoys (and vice versa), not to mention Malfoy kept referring to Ginny as ‘the Weaslette’ the whole evening. Fourtanately, Narcissa’s stories of her time in Italy broke the ice.

“I was taking an art course in Tuscany, staying with a wizarding family outside Siena and they introduced me to Matteo, their muggle son-in-law. His girlfriend, their daughter, died at childbirth, and he was left with a half-blood daughter named Sofia so the grandparents helped him. Apparently in Italy they don’t mind muggles as much as in England. Anyway, it was love at first sight. He had such gentle blue eyes. And he gave me this ring.” She showed Harry, Ginny and the other witches at the table a small silver ring with a small red stone, the kind of cheap jewellery Harry would never associate Mrs. Malfoy with. Matteo clearly meant a lot to her if she had kept it all these years. “We wanted to get married and raise Sofia together, she was the most beautiful girl and so smart for her age. She casted spells as early as five years old. But he was a muggle, so I knew my parents would never approve and I was already engaged to Lucius. The Malfoy wedding ceremony was going to be held after my holiday, and it was my last opportunity to be by myself for a few months before getting married. Matteo was the absolute opposite of me. He was sweet, with a warm heart. He came from the poorer side of muggles. Still, it was the most passionate few months.”

“Okay, mother, we get the picture.” Malfoy interjected and Narcissa raised an eyebrow at him (a family trait) but otherwise ignored him. “In short, I got scared, and I ran away. Now, what I really want is to tell him how sorry I am, how I was such a coward.”

Malfoy made some noises but Ginny ignored him altogether. “So, you’ve come to find your Matteo.” She said with a smile.

“Yes,” Narcissa answered warmly, “And I think I know where he is.”

“Where?” Harry asked curiously.

“A farm, just near Siena. We’re driving there tomorrow.”

Harry was confused, there was no way one of the Malfoys had a driving license. “How?”

“Taxi.” Narcissa said as if it was obvious. “There’s no nightbus here and we wouldn’t like to frighten muggles by apparating, especially because I haven’t been here for a long time.”

Harry considered it and shook his head. “Why would you want that? Waste of money. I’ll drop you off, I rented a car for the trip.”

Narcissa looked surprised. “Really?”

He felt Ginny’s leg twitching against him but he didn’t care. “I’d be happy to.”

“And the Weaslette won’t mind?” Malfoy asked through gritted teeth. Ginny snorted.

“The Weaslette, as you call her, won’t mind at all. In fact,” Ginny turned to Narcissa, “I’d be happy if Harry would drive you to your one true love.” She smiled sincerely and held Narcissa’s hand. “After all, I think it’s sweet. Not to mention annoying Malfoy is my favourite pastime.” Malfoy glared at Ginny, and Gin stuck out her tongue at him. Narcissa squeezed Ginny’s hand.

“Thank you dear. And please, ignore my son. He thinks this is all a mistake.” Narcissa shook her head with a smile.

“Because he doesn’t have a romantic bone in his body.” Francesca drawled.

“First of all, I’m right here. And second of all, what are you talking about?”

“I’m a healer, I can see.”

Malfoy scoffed. “No, it’s because I’m a realist.”

“And a British man.”

“Cold as fish.” Maria smirked, and Isabella and Donatella laughed heartily.

“Right, and who was it that wrote Romeo and Juliet?” Malfoy drawled.

“William Shakespearelli, a great Italian.” Maria answered without blinking.

Malfoy looked at them all with horror and began muttering to himself. “They’re mad. They’re mad. Sono pazzi.” With that, the whole table burst into surprised laughter.

Harry stared, dumbfounded. “Of course. You know Italian.“

“As well as French and Latin, yes.” Malfoy smirked.

“Harry, Ginny.” Narcissa rose from the table and turned to them. Malfoy stood too, looking as though he couldn’t leave fast enough.

“Good night,” she said warmly. “And thank you again, Harry—for the letter, and for the drive.”

She turned to Ginny with a sincere smile. “You’re a lucky girl.”

Ginny beamed. “I know.”

Harry kissed her cheek, and Narcissa gave one last nod. “Good night, everyone.”

Then she and Malfoy walked away.

Ginny watched them go, still smiling. “How wonderful would it be if she found her Romeo?”

Harry kissed her cheek again.

“Imagine if she did—thirty years later—all because you found that letter,” Isabella said dreamily.

“Yes,” Ginny said, twirling the last bite of pasta on her fork. “No one would believe it if it weren’t true.”

Everyone murmured their agreement —except Harry. His dream was very clear. He knew exactly what he needed to do. He stood abruptly. Before Ginny could even call after him, he Apparated.

He landed at the spot he’d last seen the Malfoys, scanned the street—and there, five blocks ahead. Without a second thought, he sprinted to catch up.

“Wait! Wait!” He said and they turned around.

“Hurray mom, our saviour comes to save us. Here he is, Potter in all his glory.” Malfoy gestured to Harry sarcastically. Harry frowned at him, realised he’s not worth his time, and turned to Narcissa.

“May I come with you to find Matteo?”

“Come with us?!” Malfoy was seconds from pulling out his own hair. “What about the Weaslette?” He sneered, “You’re in the city of love and you want to come with us?!”

“Yes! I do because she’s busy and I’m free, and I mean- of course, if it’s not an intrusion.”

“No, no, it’s not an intrusion.” Said Narcissa, with a thoughtful expression.

“I just... Listen. I do have one thing to tell you first, this is not entirely selfless.” Harry ran his hand through his hair, trying to think of how to say this. “It started out as a simple reply to your letter, and now I think what you’re doing is incredible, and I’d love to write about it if it’s okay.” He didn’t realise writing was his goal until he said it, but it made sense. This story was truly incredible, and Harry would be a fool to let it slip away. All Harry could do was hope they would say yes.

Of course Potter’s charms won mother over. All he had to do was flush his white teeth and winning smile and mother would have swooned. He told her how he believes it’s a story worth telling and she told him that they would love to have him and that was that. Draco was stuck with Potter for the journey.

What the hell is wrong with his life? Why does it keep getting worse and worse?

“So, Harry, What happened today?”

“Well...” Harry scratched his ear. He knew this conversation was coming. Ginny waited patiently as he tried to explain.

“I found a letter addressed to Juliet from 30 years ago, from Narcissa Malfoy as you’ve probably guessed. She asked for Juliet’s help. She had fallen in love with an Italian guy and didn’t know what to do. It was a beautiful letter. Naturally-“

“Naturally.” Ginny rolled her eyes in boredom. “You’ve felt an incredible urge to be the one that answers her.”

Harry felt stunned. How did she know? And then the shame kicked in. Of course she knew. His friends always talked about his hero complex, how he makes it his business to save everyone around him. Is that what he’s really trying to do? Maybe. All he could do now was answer honestly. “Yes.”

“And you want to write about it.” Ginny said matter of fact, as if it weren’t even a question.

Harry still answered. “Yes.”

Ginny was silent, the wheels in her mind spinning. Finally, after a long and uncomfortable silence, she settled on, “I know how much you love to write, and how much you miss it lately, so if writing back to Mrs. Malfoy made you feel therapeutic, well, I’m happy for you. I think you should spend more time with them, keep writing.”

“Really?” Harry didn’t expect that. At all. “Why?” He frowned.

“It’s your passion. It’s necessary for you to feel alive, and I think…” Ginny sighed. “I think that’s the thing that’s been missing from your life lately.”

Harry didn’t even know how to respond to that. But he didn’t have to because Ginny continued talking as if what she said wasn’t that significant. “And dinner was really funny. In a truly weird way, I missed your banter with Malfoy. I don’t know how you manage to get on each other’s nerves still, but it’s nostalgic. Reminds me of your schoolboy rivalry days.”

Harry didn’t blush. He really didn’t. “Ginny!”

Ginny shrugged. “It is what it is. And, I do need to tell you something too, Harry. In a way it all works out.” She chuckled, rubbing her hands together. “The coach of the Italian team invited all of his players to a gala for the Quidditch teams’ funding. I got offered a plus one and I really want to go. I know we agreed to spend the next days here together, but I was wondering if I can go. It’s just three days, and you’ll barely notice me gone with your new adventure.” She said, playfully pinching his cheek.

Harry looked at her. She was being nonchalant, but Harry still caught her biting her lip nervously. She really wants this. It was really important to her. And for the first time, Harry had no qualms in his gut as he agreed wholeheartedly for her to go. As she said it herself, he had his own adventure.

Saturday the 31st of May, 2008

It was a regular brick house, with a nice garden and a wooden door. Harry looked at Narcissa, and she was holding the ring she attached to her necklace in her palm.

“So, how do you want to go about this?” Malfoy asked doubtfully.

“First,” Narcissa smiled and walked to the door, “Knock.” She knocked, and they all waited. Malfoy was tapping his foot on the ground anxiously (and annoyingly). “What if the wife answers and goes into a jealous fit of rage?” He said impatiently, “Then what?”

“Well,” Narcissa turned to Harry, “I’d be flattered.” Harry chuckled.

After a moment, Narcissa grew serious. “I’m more worried… that he won’t remember me.”

“Right,” Malfoy said decisively and put a hand on his mother’s shoulder. “Let’s go home then. Before it all ends in tear- ow!”

“Sorry,” Harry smiled innocently, “Kicked you by accident.”

“Potter, I’ll kill you by accident.”

Harry laughed heartily. “I survived multiple murder attempts by the time I was 17 but good luck to you, Malfoy.” Harry patted him on the back but Malfoy quickly shook him off. “You’re going to be the death of me.” He muttered darkly.

Not a minute passed and Malfoy already started to complain. “Look! No one answered the door! There’s no one in.”

“I’ll check the back.” Harry started to walk towards the backyard.

“There’s no reason, we made our best efforts, there’s no need to prolong the disappointment-“ Yada yada yada, Harry ignored as Malfoy spouted more foolish excuses to ditch, looking around the backyard. Narcissa knocked once more and the door finally opened, showing a small bald man with a toothpick in his mouth. “Ci?”

“Hi,” Harry walked briskly over and shook the man’s hand, “We’re looking for Matteo Ricci.”

“Ci, that’s me.”

Malfoy interrupted Harry by saying a bunch of shit in Italian (of course his accent was perfect). But then Narcissa stopped him.

“It’s not him.”

Harry put a hand on her shoulder. “Are you sure?”

She turned to him, her expression sad. “It’s not his eyes.”

“Wait, let me make sure.” Malfoy talked to the man a little more in Italian. The man smiled, as if reminiscing an old, distant memory. And then he talked in Italian, and gestured with his hands as if he’s telling a long ancient story, and Harry couldn’t help but notice Malfoy’s eyes getting bigger and bigger with horror.

Harry couldn’t help it; he bursted out laughing. Even Narcissa chuckled. The man suddenly scowled, but to everyone’s surprise, it wasn’t because of their amusement.

Harry and Narcissa backed away slowly as they watched the man yell and curse in Italian. Malfoy looked horrified, mumbled something and walked away briskly back to the car.

“You’re happy now?!” He yelled at Potter, his face furious.

“I am, actually.” Harry smirked. "What did he say?"

Malfoy didn’t answer. “Well, we’re done now. Can’t say we didn’t try, mother. I’m sorry. Truly.”

“Are you for real?”

Malfoy glared at Harry. “If I knew what that question meant, I might attempt to answer it.”

Harry turned to Narcissa. “He can’t be the only Matteo Ricci in Tuscany.”

“Yes, I agree,” Narcissa nodded decisively, “And I haven’t come all this way to pack it in now.”

Malfoy looked as if he wanted to pull out his hair. “Mother, what do you want to do? You want to start knocking on every door asking if Matteo’s in?” He asked desperately.

Harry raised an eyebrow. “How many can there be?”

“How much time did you spend with Matteo?” Potter asked when they popped in the hotel he and his mother were staying in. Unfortunately, Potter checked-in a room as well. After that hellish experience, Potter and his mother wanted to work out a plan, but all Draco wanted to do was smoke, at least one cigarette, so the first thing he did was exactly that. They were sitting under a big parasol at a table in the pool area. His mother raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything else.

“Every second that we could. I’d go meet him at the farm where he was working and we’d sit under the trees and share some bread with tomatoes and olive oil. Sometimes with Sofia, his daughter.”

“What’s so romantic about eating in the dirt?” Draco frowned. Potter glared at him but Narcissa was distracted.

“It’s done loading!” She said excitedly, and they all watched as the screen of Potter’s laptop showed the list. There was a moment of shocked silence but Draco… Draco felt like the cat who got the cream.

“Seventy four!” He exclaimed, and then he noticed Potter held himself back from laughing at him, which he really did not appreciate, thank you very much. He tried to ignore him. “Seventy four Matteo Ricci’s and you want to go on a scavenger hunt? Impossible. Not happening. We’re going home in the morning.”

“You’re welcome to on your own, dear.” His mother said warmly, sipping her tea. “But I’m staying. He wouldn’t have left this area, I’m quite certain. We can narrow it down.”

“Yes,” Potter nodded and gestured to Narcissa’s necklace with the ring, “May I?”

His mother looked surprised but gave the necklace to Potter. “Please.”

As the Malfoys watched him, Draco with scrutiny and Narcissa with curiosity, he took out the map, put a marker in the ring and used the necklace to map out a circle from where they were.

“Here would be our Matteos.” Potter smiled as he handed her back the necklace and his mother stroked Potter’s cheek. And then when Potter asked, his mother started to tell him more about her holiday here, and they were talking as if they were in their own little world, completely ignoring Draco’s existence.

“How do you know he’s still here?”

“He loved this land, the earth. He would talk to me and Sofia about the rain, and the springs of fresh water, and we’d walk for miles and miles. We’d lie on the dry grass and just feel the sunshine for hours, even though the fair-skinned Black family as a rule won’t be too long in the sun for fear of freckles.”

Harry smiled. He pictured a young Narcissa, and her few freckles from the Italian sun, pretty and carefree. In love with Matteo, the landscape, picturing her life here. She must have been really scared for her to give all of that up.

“So you must feel like you’re about to find your long-lost soulmate.”

“Yes.” Narcissa answered softly.

“Her soulmate was my father. Let’s not invalidate my entire existence.” Malfoy sneered and put out his cigarette.

“Sorry, that’s... clearly not what I meant.”

Malfoy ignored him and stomped away, taking his shirt off and diving straight into the pool, when Narcissa turned to Harry. “Are you sure you have time for all of this?” Narcissa asked worriedly, looking at the map. “I wouldn’t want to keep you away from your fiancé.”

Harry smiled, “I’ll give her a call. I don’t think it will be a problem.”

Malfoy got out of the pool, his hair darkened to a dark blonde from the water, and sat at the edge of it. He was all pale skin, athletically toned… Harry’s mouth went dry for some reason.

“He grew up to be a good looking young man, hadn’t he?” Narcissa smiled as she watched her son as well. Harry blushed, ashamed at being caught staring and chuckled awkwardly. He took this opportunity to run away and make his phone call.

“Hey, Harry. How are you? I’m so glad you called, I wanted to call you but I still don’t really understand how to do that.”

“Well, you-“

“I wasn’t asking, it’s this stupid mobile, barely works.”

“Right.” Harry chuckled, holding himself from laughing fully.

“So how are you?”

“I’m good. I’m in Siena right now.”

“In Siena?”

“Yeah, we’re checking out a few places to see if we can find Matteo.”

He could hear Ginny’s gasp. “That’s great!”

Harry watched as Malfoy dove into the water. Perfect form, of course. “And how was the gala?”

“It’s amazing here. And you know, I was going to call you before because the opportunities here are really, really incredible so to butter up the new coach I think I need to stay here till Friday, there’s a really important-“

“No, do it, please. I’m gonna need until Friday, as well.”

“Great! So I’ll see you Friday. Great. Thank you!”

“Of course.” Harry said and hung up. He turned around. “Narcissa.” He called. Narcissa looked up. “I’m free.”

Her face lit up. “Yes!”

“Free for what?” Malfoy asked from the edge of the pool.

“He’s coming!”

“Oh, Potter’s coming!” Malfoy yelled, splashing water everywhere, not caring other tourists were watching him wearily, “Splendid! Fantastic! Just the thing I was hoping for.”

“What is this with you and Italian men?” Harry said, bewildered. “They fall at your feet.”

They just came back from their fourth Matteo Ricci, who was a successful billionaire with acres of land, an enormous mansion and beautiful gardens.

“Well, wouldn’t it be nice, mother?” Malfoy commented as they were driving up to the gate. “Going from a boy who works the fields to a man who owns them. And you got to skip the messy bits.”

Narcissa looked behind her seat to look properly at Malfoy. “Life is the messy bits.” She said matter of factly, and Harry couldn’t help but smile.

Unfortunately rich Matteo wasn’t the right Matteo, even though he was very willing to be that lucky guy who gets to court her, as he said while handing her a red rose. He invited them to come back anytime, they’d always be welcome.

“That’s a shame. I think I could’ve been happy here.” Malfoy drawled as they got back to the car.

“Happy?” Harry turned to Narcissa. “Did your son just say the word happy?”

“I said could have been. Let’s not get carried away, I have a reputation to uphold.”

A few hours later, they were eating dinner together at the hotel. Narcissa let Harry choose the wine, much to Malfoy’s displeasure, and Harry picked the bottle of Caparzo that the witches served at the restaurant. Immediately she beamed and said that it’s her favourite wine, and even Malfoy, although reluctantly, admitted it was delicious.

“Draco,” Narcissa said as she was picking another broccoli with her fork, “Why don’t you tell Harry about your organization?”

Malfoy huffed. “I can’t imagine he’d have much interest.”

Harry glared. So typical of Malfoy to act as if he’s superior to Harry. “Try me.”

“You know the sort of thing...” Malfoy cleared his throat and avoided Harry’s eyes, “A small organisation for victims of the war, especially orphaned children. We supply them with anything they need. Food, house supplies, adoptive families.” Malfoy raised his eyes to meet Harry’s. “You look surprised.”

“I am surprised,” Harry said matter of factly. “I’m so surprised. I didn’t have you pinned down as the save-humanity type at all.” In that moment, Harry could swear smoke was coming from Malfoy’s ears. It was like coming back home, riling Malfoy up. Harry almost missed it. “But now that you mention it, a self-satisfied do-gooder kinda works too.”

“Well, that’s my cue to say good night.” Narcissa smirked and rose from her chair. She kissed Malfoy’s cheek and whispered “Be nice” before she turned to Harry, wishing him good night and walking back to her room.

Harry smiled as he looked at her walking away. “She is awesome.”

Malfoy watched him closely. “I respect your usage of the word this one instance.”

Harry snorted. “Oh, I’m flattered, thank you for approving. “

“You’re very welcome.”

The awkward silence was inevitable. So Harry wasn’t surprised at all when Malfoy said. “Well, as much as I’d love to sit here and drink another bottle of Caparzo-“

Harry stopped him. “No, go to bed. You should. Good night, Malfoy.”

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “Right. Well, good night.”

“Good night.”

As Malfoy walked away, Harry wondered how does the guy manage to be such an asshole to others while also being a doting son, helping his mother. Malfoy was an enigma, he didn’t make any sense whatsoever, which is why Harry was surprised for the tenth time this trip when Malfoy turned back around and said “Forgive me. Where are my manners?”

After the war he and Potter had been civil, maybe even friendly after Potter talked at his trial and returned his wand, so eighth year was kind of nice, and they even hung out a few times, studying or playing Exploding Snap. But then Potter flew to America unexpectedly without even saying goodbye. He didn’t return Draco’s owls. Later, Draco had heard about his and the Weaslette’s relationship. Then their engagement. Draco didn’t like to think about that too much. Potter let him down and Draco often wondered why. Did Draco do something? Did Potter still hate him because of the war? Draco felt as if they were finally getting somewhere close to peace, when Potter just got up and left. Maybe Potter didn’t contact him anymore because he believed Draco was a bad person. Draco himself wouldn’t blame him.

“You know,” Potter drank another sip of his glass of wine, “I’ve been wondering that since I met you.”

“Yes, well,” Draco was looking at his shoes, “Considering our history you seem to bring out the very worst in me.”

Potter smiled bitterly. “Somehow it’s my fault.”

“All of this is your fault.” Draco got a bit irritated now. Potter was acting like a saint, as always! “You wrote that blasted letter in the first place. Nonetheless,” he remembered his mother’s words, “I’m sorry. It’s just… I’m genuinely worried for her. I know she seems composed, but she’s had it rough these past few months, not to mention few years, and I don’t want her to get her hopes up just for them to be shuttered. Is it that unreasonable for me to worry?”

Potter looked at him, really looked at him. It was like he was seeing Draco in a new light.

“No,” Potter understood. Of course he did. The saint. “But I have a good feeling about this. You’ll see.”

All Draco could do was nod numbly at the look of utter conviction pouring out of Potter, before he said good night again and walked back to his room. He just hoped Potter was right.

Sunday the 1st of June, 2008

“We have to take this route!”

“Why?”

“It’s the most direct!”

“No, it’s not!”

“Yes, it is!”

Harry was losing his mind. They visited three Matteos and were already on their way to the fourth one, when Malfoy had to stop the car once again. They raced all day from one to the other, Malfoy and Harry constantly arguing which is the best route to drive, and Harry couldn’t handle it anymore.

“Malfoy, has anyone told you you’re insane?”

Before Malfoy could speak, Narcissa answered. “I did. Many times.”

Harry chuckled and crossed his arms. “Seriously Malfoy. Do you want to drive? Should I adjust the mirrors for you?”

Malfoy scowled. “You’re not in charge just because you’re the driver.”

“Actually, I am in charge because I’m the driver.”

“Darling,” Narcissa put her hand on Malfoy’s shoulder, “If Harry, who’s doing us a huge favor, asks that we’ll respect his choices, it is only polite to do so.”

“But he’s clearly wrong.” Malfoy huffed.

“Back to the car, go on.” Narcissa reprimanded him and then winked at Harry as she walked Malfoy back to the car as if he’s a small child. Harry suspected Malfoy was irritated that his mother sided mostly with him.

When the fourth Matteo didn’t work out, they were all done for the day. As he was driving back to their hotel, Harry stopped at a red light and turned to Narcissa, in the passenger seat as always. She looked out the window, her face deep in thought. He put a hand on her shoulder.

“Hey. We’re not done yet.” He said.

Narcissa turned to him, her eyes wide and so incredibly blue, and she smiled and squeezed his hand. “Of course we’re not, darling.”

When they got to the hotel, they all went to their rooms to rest. Harry was especially eager, wanting to get started on his story. A couple hours and a thousand written words later, he heard a knock on the door. When he opened the door, Draco Malfoy stood there, looking nervous.

“Hello.” He said.

“Hi,” Harry frowned, “Is Narcissa with you?”

“No, she turned in early actually.” Malfoy scratched the back of his neck.

“Oh, okay.”

Malfoy gestured to the left-over dinner that Harry had ordered from room service. “I wanted to ask if you wanted dinner but uh…”

“I just… I wanted to get started on my story.”

“How’s it coming?” Malfoy asked curiously.

“It’s coming… okay.” Harry replied wearily.

“Am I in it?”

What was Malfoy up to? “You may be, why?”

Malfoy sighed. “Can I read just a little bit?”

“Are you joking?” Harry almost laughed but Malfoy was already itching closer to the desk. “Just a little bit.” He mumbled as Harry immediately shut the notebook. “Absolutely not.”

Malfoy scowled at him. “How am I to be sure that I’m being properly portrayed?”

“Oh, you are. Believe me. You are.” Harry muttered.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Malfoy put his hands on his hips. Harry sighed.

“It means good night, Draco.”

Malfoy stared at him, and Harry realised he called him Draco for the first time in his life. “Good night,” Harry said again, and Malfoy watched him for a second before going out and closing the door after him.

Monday the 2nd of June, 2008

Draco felt restless. It was early morning, and he was in bed, staring at the ceiling, and trying to relax so he could get even a few hours of blissful sleep. He barely slept all night, obsessing over what Potter could possibly write about him in the story. Maybe he considers him a loser. Maybe he describes how he hates him. Maybe Potter lied and Draco isn’t written in the story at all.

At some point he heard a knock on the door and gave up. He would have to sleep in the car.

“It’s open.” He called. It was his mother. It was as if his pain was a siren call, his mother always knew when something was troubling him.

“Hey, darling. How are you feeling?” She asked, as if she didn’t start the mess in his head in the first place.

“Fine.” He grunted, determinedly staring at the ceiling, avoiding her gaze. “You can go back to sleep.”

Instead of listening to him and walking out the door, Narcissa sat on his bed, caressing his hair softly.“I know it’s been hard for you. Your father made some mistakes, but he’s still your father, and now that I’m looking for Matteo, I understand why you’d feel protective. I loved your father. Truly. You shouldn’t worry yourself over it.”

“I’m not.” Draco said, pouting. His mother gave him that look that meant he was acting like a child. “Well, maybe I am.”

“It’s natural. I don’t expect you to feel any different. But it’s a chapter of my life that I have to close. I have to apologise to him.”

Draco sighed. “I know. But still. All of this seems mad to me.” He sat up and looked deeply in his mother’s eyes. “Did you love him?”

Narcissa closed her eyes for a second before rising from the bed and walking out the door. Draco sat perplexed for a minute before his mother came back, with something in her hands. “I did love Matteo. I was in love with two completely different people, and I was scared. I was a witch from a pureblood family and he was a muggle. I wasn’t ready for that. Marrying your father was the best decision for me at the time. And I still don’t regret it, partly because we really loved each other and had so many beautiful years together… But the main reason is that now I have you. You’re the best thing I’ve ever done in my life.” She smiled, stroking his cheek. Draco leaned into her touch. “And because of that, I want you to have this.”

“What is it?” Draco asked curiously and his mother took a deep breath before answering.

“This is the journal I wrote when I was a girl. I wish you’d read it. Maybe it will help you understand.” She gave him the journal and he looked at the cover. It was a plain brown leather journal, but it was pouring magical energy. “It’s a magical journal. If you’d go through it without saying the key word, it would all be blank pages. When you’re ready to read it, just say ‘daffodil’.”

Daffodil, the other name of Narcissus. His mother’s flower. Draco smiled. “Thank you, mother.”

Narcissa smiled and kissed his cheek. “Good night.” She said before rising to leave, but Draco didn’t want her to go just yet.

“Mom?” He asked, and Narcissa turned around, surprised. He hadn’t called her mom since the age of three. “I’m not sure how I feel about Potter’s tagging along. I wish we could be civil enough, but I don’t know. I just don’t want it all to blow up in your face when inevitably we’ll end up at each other’s throats or start throwing punches.”

Narcissa chuckled as if she was aware of something Draco wasn’t. “Draco,” she sat on the bed and took Draco’s hand, “First of all, purebloods don’t throw punches, they duel.”

“That’s your first of all?”

She ignored him. “Second of all, I think you just have to try a bit.”

Draco frowned. “What do you mean? I am trying.”

“Are you?” She raised an eyebrow. “Try to get closer to him, reach out.”

“I offered him dinner-“

“Without ulterior motives.” Narcissa said seriously and Draco shut up. He did try to get Potter to let him read his story. Emphasis on tried.

“How?” Draco asked helplessly and Narcissa rose from the bed.

“I think I’ll stay in tomorrow morning. Maybe you should take him sightseeing.” And then she walked out, leaving Draco perplexed and confused. She was trying to tell him what to do, and he didn’t like it one bit, but if he didn't go through with it he would hear it from her till the end of time. Oh well, maybe he should try.

He closed his eyes, but then he figured he’d never sleep now, so he opened the journal and started reading a random paragraph.

Soph and I went to the private lake and we swam until nightfall. The Zabini’s cottage is truly beautiful. Matteo came after work and lifted her up in his arms. Sweet pea laughed and kissed her dad. They have such a strong bond. I wish I had my own child, to be needed like that.

He read that paragraph over and over again. The Zabini’s? That’s the wizarding family she stayed with in Italy? Why did she keep it from him?

He flipped the pages back to the start, and started reading.

I just got here, to Zabini's little Italian cottage. Lucius, the sweetheart, got me this journal to write in every day. He said he’d miss me.

Draco couldn’t think of an instance where his father was being affectionate towards his mother. His father’s affection was always with a particular ulterior motive in mind. That was one of the first rules taught to him by his father, after all. Showing affection was a show of weakness, and Draco was taught to never show his weaknesses.

Gem welcomed me with open arms. She was so excited when I told her about my acceptance letter to the Italian Art Academy. I could only stay for a course, but nonetheless she immediately invited me to spend the summer at the Zabini’s cottage, probably knowing she won’t see much of me once I’ll be married.

Gem. Gemma Zabini. Blaise’s mother.

My parents wouldn’t have agreed without talking to the Zabini’s about parental supervision, so Gem’s parents greeted me at the door and helped me get settled in my room. After they left, I saw someone outside the window. It was a guy in his twenties, tan and tall, his hair blowing in the wind, riding a brown horse. He was gorgeous and carefree and I couldn’t stop myself from staring. Sitting for afternoon tea today with Gem, I finally knew who he was.

Matteo.

Gem mentioned her sister briefly nowadays. She was the oldest, ordering poor Gem around. But Gem loved her to death. She frequently talked about her older sister at school, how Lucy finished with the highest grades in her class at Durmstrang, and became the youngest editor ever of the highly acclaimed “La Gazzetta dei Maghi”. When Lucy got pregnant, the Zabini’s kept it in a hush, but Gem couldn’t help herself telling me excitedly about her new soon-to-be niece, knowing I’ll keep her secret safe. She was over the moon to be an aunt to an adorable new baby. But then… They had a crying new baby, without a mother. Gem was devastated, crying for days. Now she barely mentions her.

Gem explained to me that Matteo was Lucy’s widower and Sophie’s father. I asked why he was living with them, and she answered that he was a big help around the house, and although he was a muggle, he wasn’t that bad, which for her was a compliment.

I met Sophie at the dinner table, and the Zabini’s informed us Matteo won’t come as he’s visiting his mother at her ‘nursing home’, which is apparently a muggle residential facility for the elderly. Sophie was not at all what I expected. In looks she’s a spitting image of her mother, but she was different than I thought she’d be. She was just so cheerful and bright and she immediately started asking me questions when Ms. Zabini told her it’s not polite to bombard guests. Sophie just laughed and whispered to me, “At least answer my first question.” And Ms. Zabini just shook her head with a smile.

I was shocked. I never in my life said anything that contradicted my parents, and if I did, they would have never reacted that way, with a smile and a shake of the head.

After dinner I asked Gem about Sophie’s upbringing. She chuckled, “Yeah, they never raised me and Lucy like they raise her.” Apparently after Lucy passed away, the Zabini’s invited Matteo and Sophie to live with them. It wasn’t the most comfortable because they didn’t agree with Matteo’s parenting ways, but after he made it clear that he’s not changing how he raises Sophie, that she doesn’t have to be polite or quiet because she’s just a kid, they eventually softened, and they love her as she is. Gem was actually relieved with this change. She felt more connected to her parents. She loves Sophie, and she said Sophie really did brighten all of their lives.

Draco shut the book. He then tried to sleep for a while.

It didn’t work.

So he read the entire journal, and when he finished for the second time, he breathed in and out. After a couple more hours of tossing and turning, thinking of his mother, debating with himself if he should try being Potter’s friend again, he decided to try once more, without ulterior motives. His mother loved him, even before she had him, and wished him the best, so maybe she was right. And more importantly, Malfoys are not cowards, and his mother is going to be proud of him, damn it.

First thing he did when he woke up was to go to his mother’s room and knock on her door. She was already awake, having her morning tea. When he entered she lowered her cup, as if sensing Draco’s outburst.

“Good morning my darling. How’d you sleep?” She asked pleasantly.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“About the Zabini’s.” He sat down on the chair next to her. “We could have saved the trouble a long time ago, ask them where Matteo is now.”

Narcissa moved the hair from his face. “I still don’t understand why you won’t get a haircut.”

“Mother, please.”

Narcissa sighed. “Oh well, you’re right. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. It’s just that I know how heartbroken you were after Astoria left and she and Blaise got together. You don’t talk to him anymore and I just didn’t want to put you in an uncomfortable position.”

Draco was dumbfounded. Yes, he and Blaise are not on speaking terms at the moment but he wouldn’t have minded. It wasn’t as if he loved Astoria, but the thing was… He was disappointed with Blaise. If he had just come to him and told him the truth… Oh well. His mother didn’t know about the cheating, but she still looked out for him, even at her own expense. Draco was honoured. He held his mother’s hand. “Thank you mother. I appreciate it.”

She smiled. “Now run along. You still have to talk to Potter.”

Draco rolled his eyes with a smile but got on his feet. He had some butt-kissing to do.

“Good morning.”

Harry looked up from his notebook and saw Malfoy, standing in front of him. Harry went down for breakfast, but now when he was sitting down, he only drank coffee as he felt that editing the last paragraph he wrote was much more important. He worked on it all of last night, and went to bed in the early hours of the morning. Now the coffee was the only thing keeping him together.

“Good morning.” Harry answered, rubbing his eyes.

“Mother wants to sleep in this morning.”

Harry stopped what he was doing and frowned. “Is she okay? Does she need anything?”

“Oh no need,” Malfoy waved him off, “She’s tough as old boots, that one. Mad-eye Moody in a dress.”

Draco chuckled nervously yet unfortunately the joke didn’t land. And then it landed on Draco that maybe using one of Potter’s friends as a punchline of a cutting joke on his mother wasn’t the best impression. Potter watched him curiously but didn’t answer.

“So, I thought I’d see a bit of Siena since we’re here.” Draco drawled, nonchalantly as possible.

“It’s a good idea.” Potter replied, but his head was once again buried in his notebook.

“I suppose you want to keep on writing.”

Potter raised his head to look properly at Draco, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “I mean...”

“Right. Right. Of course.” Draco cleared his throat. “Carry on then, I guess. I wanted to avoid doing this but you’re…” Draco laughed bitterly. “Pretty stubborn.” Potter’s eyes narrowed suspiciously which made Draco smile. And then Draco opened his mouth to yell out, “Harry Potter! Leave this notebook at once! We’re going sightseeing!”

Murmurs filled the restaurant and Potter rose quickly from his chair and hurried over to Draco, whispering frantically. “Would you keep it down?”

Draco didn’t keep it down. It wasn’t in his nature.

“Please! Harry Potter! Do me the honour of escorting me throughout the city. Gosh darn luck, I would be so lonely without your comforting presence.”

Potter snorted and took Draco’s hand, holding his notebook with his other arm. “Fine, you big baby. Let’s go.”

Draco smirked and let himself be pulled. “That’s all I asked.”

After Potter signed his bill, they entered the hotel and walked around the lobby when Potter asked. “Why are you always annoying me?”

“It’s my favourite pastime.” Draco answered pleasantly, throwing the Weaslette’s words back at Potter. “That’s what’s so beautiful about our relationship, Potter. I annoy you, and you barely tolerate me.”

Potter rolled his eyes. “You can say that again.”

“I hate to compliment you, but um, what you’re doing for Narcissa is really...” Harry got quiet and after a moment, Malfoy sighed.

“Okay Potter, I know it’s a hard concept but I need you to talk in full sentences for me to understand you.”

Harry not-so-accidentally bumped shoulders with Malfoy as they walked down the street, shoving him sideways as hard as he could, and Malfoy laughed, shoving back. Harry couldn’t help but think that this is what he and Ginny were meant to do in the first place, go sightseeing the streets of Italy. The church bells were ringing, and Siena was beautiful. Harry wished he could stay here.

“What you’re doing for Narcissa is really sweet.” He blurted out. Malfoy’s eyes widened a bit, but then his expression became thoughtful.

“Well, she did raise me. From an obnoxious young boy to the simply unpleasant, bitter man I am today.”

Harry snorted. “That’s an understatement. Still. It’s sweet, and I... I imagine that you’d rather be spending your holiday elsewhere. What did Lucius think about all of this?” Harry couldn’t help asking. “I mean, where does he fit in?”

Malfoy got silent, his mouth in a grim line. “I hope somewhere nice, but probably in hell.”

Harry stared at Malfoy, but Malfoy kept his head forward. “He died six months ago. When he came back from Azkaban... He wasn’t himself anymore. Mother... was devastated. She didn’t get out of bed for a month. It was a hard process, for both of us. I had to be there for her, take care of her, convince her to eat... In the end, I made my peace with him dying. He wasn’t really himself anymore, and his old self tarnished whatever happy memories we’ve shared in my childhood, so… In a way, it was better that he was gone.” Malfoy looked as if he didn’t quite plan to blurt all of that out, but there was no way to take it back now.

Harry knew the pain of losing a parent. But he lost his parents at such a young age he barely remembered them, and the tidbits he knew about them were good. He couldn’t imagine how Draco felt, how hard and complicated it was to mourn a parent like Lucius. “I didn’t know, Malfoy. I’m sorry.”

Malfoy chuckled bitterly. “No, you’re not. You’re glad he’s dead.”

Harry sighed. It was hard not to be relieved by Lucius’s death. “I can’t say that I’m not, he got what was coming for him but... still. I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you Potter,” Malfoy almost smiled, “I appreciate it.”

They walked in silence for a while, until they passed by a couple of teenagers nestled in each other’s arms, swallowing each other’s faces and not caring if anyone looked. “Isn’t your fiancé starting to get just a tad lonely?” Malfoy asked.

Harry sighed. He expected that question at least.

“Ginny’s having the time of her life right now. I doubt she even notices I’m gone. What about you?” Harry asked, finding himself curious by the notion of Draco Malfoy dating. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

“That is a very, very long story.”

Harry chuckled. “Why am I not surprised?”

Draco told Potter all about his relationship with Astoria and its demise. He caught Astoria cheating on him with Zabini and it was over right then and there. But he decided not to tell Harry that the whole relationship with her was only a ruse to please his parents, or that Astoria pressured him to propose to her while Draco knew in his gut that she was planning to divorce him right after, with plenty of galleons in her pocket. Still, he stayed with her, on and off. “It’s been about a year since I’ve seen Astoria.” He said finally.

“And you broke up with her?”

Draco frowned. “Are you insinuating that I’m the type to get dumped rather than do the dumping?”

Potter chuckled. “Maybe I am.”

“Actually,” Draco knew Potter was joking, but he was kind of hurt by that remark, especially from Potter. Draco supposed that he was right after all. She did break his trust first. “I did break up with Astoria. This time.”

“Gotcha.” Gotcha. Gotcha. It was funny to Draco how Americans always shortened their words as if there wasn’t enough time to say a full proper sentence, and apparently Potter was infected by this disease after almost a decade of living there. Draco wondered what else has changed since he’d last seen Potter. He subtly watched as Potter was checking his surroundings, walking with his hands in his pockets and whistling a tune Draco didn’t recognise. Probably muggle. But it was nice.

“Why did you run to New York anyway?” Draco blurted it out. The question ate at him for a long time, and he couldn’t just hold it in now that he and Potter were on (somewhat) good terms again. Potter didn’t question it, he just started talking as if he didn’t even realise who he was talking to.

“In eighth year, I came out to my close friends as bi, and they were really supportive. Especially Ginny, she’s bi too. And I realized I had... feelings for someone.” He shut up completely.

“So? You could have anyone. You’re the chosen one, the golden boy, the savior of the wizarding world. Who wouldn’t want to be with you?”

Potter looked at Draco oddly but avoided the question. “The war was also weighing on me, all those funerals, all the press, all the nightmares. I just had to get away for a while. So I moved to New York. It was supposed to be a year at most, but Ginny moved to Maine for a position in the national American team and we were both kind of lonely there so we spent more time together and we... Anyway, that’s why I left.”

Of course Draco had heard about Ginny Weasley’s success, she appeared on the Witch Weekly’s cover the moment the news got out. He couldn’t help but be jealous of her a little bit, and he tried not to think too closely about the reasons why.

When they sat down in a nearby ice cream parlor, Malfoy wouldn’t stop bugging Harry to let him read the story he’s been working on. Finally, Harry caved because Draco Malfoy is the most stubborn person on earth. Minutes went by as Malfoy read the draft to the story, and Harry couldn’t stop himself from watching him, how he munched on his ice cream while reading, licking his finger as he’s flipping the pages, holding the notebook all without a single drop of ice cream dripping on it. He was just that graceful and Harry both hated and loved that about him. Finally, Malfoy put the notebook down.

“Potter.”

“Malfoy.”

“You are really good.” Malfoy said seriously.

“Thank you.”

“Really good.” Malfoy repeated and Harry glared.

“Why are you so surprised?”

Malfoy ignored him and took another lick of his salty caramel ice cream. “How come you haven’t published in years?”

Harry looked at his boring vanilla. He regretted not choosing the coffee one. “Because I guess I feel like my work isn’t finished.”

Malfoy waved him off. “That’s bollocks.”

Harry glared at him. “Well, I’m a perfectionist and I don’t have a transcript worth publishing.” Malfoy snorted.

“You know that’s another way of saying ‘I’m chicken’?”

Harry scowled. “I am not chicken.” And then he found himself shoving vanilla ice cream in Malfoy’s face. Malfoy’s mouth was covered in it, and it was dripping from his right cheek. “Here you go. I’m not chicken. I am a Gryffindor.”

Malfoy licked his lips, and Harry’s eyes wandered there without his consent. “And I’m a Slytherin.” Malfoy smirked as he shoved his own ice cream in Harry’s face and Harry felt a bit of ice cream dripping down his chin. “Not a gentleman.”

Yeah, Harry thought as he licked his chin, he should have picked a different flavour. The salty caramel was really good.

And then they were fighting with their ice cream cones, shoving more and more ice cream in each other’s faces, until the cones broke apart, ice cream was smeared all over the table, and they were both laughing hysterically.

“I think we should get back to Narcissa,” Harry said smiling, wiping his face with a napkin.

“Yes, yes,” Malfoy looked at him, eyes twinkling. “Many more Matteos.”

Harry cast a quick cleaning charm, but then Malfoy gasped. “On no,” He showed Harry the notebook, the pages still stained with ice cream, “I’m so sorry.”

Malfoy looked so apologetic and grief stricken, Harry couldn’t help but laugh. After a few seconds, he just smiled at Malfoy. “It’s okay, no worries.”

Malfoy smiled back.

As they walked back to the hotel, Harry felt as if a weight had been lifted. Maybe Malfoy wasn’t so horrible after all.

Narcissa was already awake, apologising for staying in and asking about their morning before they hit the road. When they arrived at the first address for the day, Malfoy didn’t even hesitate knocking on the door, and Harry caught Narcissa smiling at her son.

I finally met him. He was in the greenhouse, tending to the plants. I was taking a walk around the gardens when I accidentally bumped into him and he dropped the equipment he was carrying. I helped him and asked him what does it do, just to make conversation, and he looked at me funny for a moment before he chuckled.
“I forgot you’re a wizard.” He said, as if he wasn’t even bothered by me having a greater power than him. He then explained the gardening process for the garden. It was actually really interesting. What he was carrying was actually called a “fertiliser”. Apparently muggles can’t grow plants without it.
He offered me some tomatoes from the garden and even though I’m not completely comfortable with sitting on the ground, it was actually pretty nice. We sat down and talked until sunset. He was really artistic, like me, and had beautiful insights on the differences between muggles and wizards’ expression in art. He insisted he’d take me to a muggle museum someday, to show me what I was missing.

“Buongiorno.” Said the young man answering the door. He seemed to be in his early twenties.

"Buongiorno," Draco answered, “Conosci qualcuno che si chiama Matteo Ricci?”

“I am Matteo Ricci.” Matteo answered. Draco looked at his mother and Potter, both surprised, when another man in his forties came to the door. “Buongiorno.” He said, and Potter stepped in.

“Do you know Matteo Ricci?”

“I am Matteo Ricci.” He said matter of factly,

“He’s Matteo too!” Potter exclaimed.

“Wait,” Narcissa hesitated. “It doesn’t make sense. He had only Sophie at the time.”

“Maybe he had another kid. Do you have a father also named Matteo?” Draco asked.

“Yes, but what can I do for you?”

Draco turned to look at Potter and his mother, their eyes wide in disbelief.

“I’m sorry, we’re being terribly rude. My name is Draco Malfoy, this is my mother, Narcissa, and our friend, Harry Potter. We’ve been on a journey to find your father, you see, my mother knows him. May we… come in?”

The Matteos looked at each other but then shrugged and let them in. The older Matteo led them to the living room, where Matteo senior was watching the television. “Dad, these people came to see you.”

“In the middle of ‘The Price Is Right’?!”

His father stood up from the couch, and it would be a gross understatement to say that his looks were disappointing. He was bald (but hairy everywhere else), with a squeaky voice and a big belly that was sticking out of his shirt. Not to mention, he had the most awful pair of glasses. Even Potter’s childhood glasses looked fashionable compared to that. Draco hoped it wasn’t the right Matteo, and more than that he hoped his mother would take one look at this guy, spend a minute apologising and immediately apparate back to England, wanting to stay the farthest away from this man. If this guy becomes Draco’s stepfather, Draco would kill himself.

“Hi,” he said, looking puzzled.

“How are you doing, sir?” Potter shook his hand. “I’m Harry Potter and these are Narcissa and Draco Malfoy, and we’ve been searching for someone that Narcissa knew 30 years ago called Matteo Ricci.”

“Oh! Sorry to disappoint you but uh…” Matteo scratched his head, “I wasn’t here 30 years ago. My family moved from the US in the nineties. My actual name is Matthew Ritchie, but we changed it to fit the Italians.”

“Oh!” Potter said, looking awkward. “Right!”

“I was wondering why their English accent was better than most Italians.” Draco muttered and Potter kicked him in the leg. Again.

“Anyway,” Matthew didn’t notice, “I’m sorry for all your trouble. Would you like to stay for tea?”

“Of course we would.” Narcissa smiled pleasantly. Draco figured she’s probably relieved, but she’d never say no to an invitation. Well-mannered as always.

So they stayed for tea, and while Draco would have rathered to be anywhere else, at least the tea was good. He sat there while Potter chatted up the whole family, asking about their work and why did they move and all kinds of boring information Draco didn’t care to know about. So Draco sat there silently, thinking about the portion he read of Potter’s writing. It was really good. Even great. He didn’t lie to Potter when he said that. In a way he wasn’t nearly as surprised as he thought. Of course Potter’s writing was good, everything else he did he excelled at. But Draco was surprised at his portrayal in the story. Potter wrote about a doting son, helping his mother find her one true love. He wrote their banter but in a funny, friendly way that made Draco smile. He didn’t write a single bad word about Draco, and without realising it before, Draco knew now that he was relieved. Not because Potter was writing a book that would be published to a mass of people all around the world and his reputation won’t be tarnished, but because now Draco knew that Potter doesn’t really hate him as he believed he did.

After teatime, they went to another address of a potential Matteo. It was a long drive and when they finally arrived, it wasn’t the right Matteo, but both Matteo and his wife were begging Narcissa to take him. After that, the day was too much for everyone to handle, so they just drove back to the hotel. When they were minutes away, Potter began pressing a button on the wheel that made the most awful sound.

“Potter,” Draco said, irritated, “What the hell are you doing?”

Potter looked behind him at the back seat, where Draco was sitting, in surprise.

“I’m honking,” He said, as if it was obvious.

“Why?”

“The driver of the bus next to us asked me to honk.”

“Why?” Draco repeated the question with a frown on his face before the words got lost in his throat. They all stared out of the window in shock. The bus next to the car did ask Potter to honk, but apparently honking means a bunch of 20-somethings flashing their private parts from the bus’ windows and catcalling. They waved a sign ‘Honk if you’re horny’ while they showed their dicks, boobs, butts and everything in between. “Oh for Salazar’s sake-“

“Oh god no!” Potter looked horrified.

“Get away from them!” Draco yelled.

“I’m trying!”

“Try harder!”

Draco fearfully looked at his mother, and at his look, she couldn’t help it. She bursted out laughing. His mother. Laughing loudly without any care in the world. Draco never heard her laugh like that. She was always so composed. But apparently this day was full of surprises. Potter, who finally succeeded in swerving away from the bus, started laughing too. And then they were all laughing, even Draco, mostly out of disbelief.

“Well, that was something.” Narcissa said after they calmed down, amused.

“It really was.” Potter chuckled, and Draco couldn’t help himself as he glanced at the rear-view mirror. To his surprise, Potter was already watching him with a smile. Draco quickly looked away. He didn’t want Potter to see him blush.

It became a routine. For the past week I’ve been having lunches in the gardens with Matteo. We’d sit under our favourite tree and talk about philosophy and art. Those lunches sometimes stretch into the late afternoon. Matteo is just… Dreamy. I’ve never known a guy like him. He’s so funny and kind and I can’t help but feel… something every time he’s around me. And I feel so guilty. Lucius Malfoy. The guy I chased after for years during school, the wizard with the most power and status and charisma that my parents have already approved of, is waiting for me back home, and here I am, spending hours sitting in the dirt, eating bread and tomatoes with another man. Not only that, but a muggle man. What am I doing? Have I truly lost my mind?

When they arrived at the hotel, Narcissa bid them good night as she already had too much fun today and wanted to try the food service and rest. Harry and Malfoy stayed behind, and Harry was trying to figure out if to say good night as well, when Malfoy spoke.

“Do you want a drink? I could use one after today.”

Harry laughed. “I hear ya.” And Malfoy chuckled and said that Harry really needs to come back to his British roots before he will horribly transform to an American.

They walked around until they found a nice, cozy pub. Malfoy immediately hopped on a stool, and Harry was taken aback. He figured Malfoy to be the type to sit in a proper table, and away from prying eyes. Malfoy smiled innocently and whispered, “I’m full of surprises.” And Harry’s jeans went tight. So he quickly sat down on the stool next to Malfoy and put a napkin over his lap. Fortunately, Malfoy didn’t notice.

“Look at these teenagers.” He signaled and Harry looked around. Three tables away sat a ginger-haired guy and a curly-haired girl at what appeared to be their first date. So Harry pointed that out.

“Yeah, they’re awkward as fuck, but who do they remind you of?” Malfoy said, annoyed with Harry’s stupidity probably.

“I don’t know,” Harry shrugged and looked again as Malfoy signaled the bartender. The guy was blue-eyed and pale, and he was sitting weird, as if he didn’t know what to do with his hands, or legs, or body in general. The girl, with her hair bouncing around, was frantically looking around the pub, trying to figure out which way would be the best to escape. And then it hit him.

“Oh, fuck you.” Harry growled as the bartender handed Malfoy his drink. Malfoy took a sip of his fine single malt whiskey, enjoying annoying Harry for as long as possible. When he was finally finished, after a few unbelievably long seconds, he grinned. “I always pictured Granger and Weasley’s first date like that. I’m surprised they lasted this long.”

“You’re a prick, you know that?”

“No, I had no idea.” Malfoy answered with amusement.

“Do you know what you are? The Montagues and the Capulets.”

“Oh, you mean...” Malfoy chuckled nervously, sensing the shift in the air. “Well. At least I’m not Romeo.”

Harry laughed bitterly. “That’s the understatement of the century.”

“No, because you see,” Malfoy put his empty whiskey glass to gesture with his hands. Unfortunately, Harry liked his hands. “If I found the love of my life, I wouldn’t just stand there, like an idiot, whispering in a garden. I would just grab him from that blasted balcony and be done with it.”

Harry’s eyebrows shot to his hair. Malfoy signaled to the bartender for another drink, so he probably missed his slip of the tongue. Does Malfoy like guys? That can’t be, he was practically engaged to Greengrass until all that Zabini business. Did he mean it or was it a mistake? Maybe Harry didn’t hear him well. Maybe it was the alcohol he didn’t drink yet, clouding Harry’s inhibitions, he could already feel it affect him. The temperature in the room was too hot. Yes, it was definitely the alcohol. That he didn’t drink yet. Not Malfoy in his sophisticated muggle suit, drinking whiskey neat without a single wince and taking out of his pocket the box of cigarettes he smokes. He offered one to Harry, and Harry was relieved, because now at least he had something to do with his hands.

“I remember you saying it in Eighth Year, when we had to take muggle studies. Every time you’d get drunk you ranted on and on about how much you hated Shakespeare,” Harry lit his cigarette and inhaled.

“Good that you do because it all seems fuzzy to me.”

“You’re really lightweight.”

“Shut up. And I’m not anymore. I can hold my drink.”

“And I’m a natural blonde.”

Malfoy chuckled. “You wish to be.”

“I do. I really do,” Harry said seriously, “What a luscious head of hair you have.”

Malfoy shoved him and they laughed, sharing stories of drunkenness in the dorms. And then it was back to laughing. Lots and lots of it. Mostly at Harry’s expense.

“I can’t believe you honked!” Malfoy laughed so hard, he wiped tears from his eyes.

“What do you want?” Harry shrieked, almost yanking his hair out. “What was I supposed to do?”

“Not! Honk!”

“They asked me too!”

“So what?”

“So…” Harry stopped himself before getting too close. Malfoy brushed his knee with Harry’s a few times during the night, and every time Harry felt as if he couldn’t breathe. They were close enough. “You’re right.”

Malfoy leaned back, seeming pleased and oblivious to Harry’s turmoil. “As always.”

“We’ll see about that.” Harry challenged and then stopped in his tracks. Maybe he imagined it but for a moment it seemed as if Malfoy’s eyes dropped to his lips. Harry cleared his throat and leaned back while Malfoy signaled the bartender, again.

“Do you believe in destiny?” Harry blurted as soon as they got their drinks; Harry’s second, Malfoy’s fifth, because it was so like Malfoy to prove that he wasn’t lightweight.

Malfoy stared at him, as if he’s the greatest mystery in the entire world. “Do you?”

“I think so. I think... It’s destiny that I’m here. Right now.”

Malfoy’s lips parted. His eyes were like a storm and Harry wanted to drown in them. “With Narcissa.” He chuckled nervously, putting his glass down. Suddenly the moment was broken.

“Right,” Malfoy cleared his throat, his cheeks a bit pink, “Right. With Narcissa. Of course.”

Matteo’s testing me, I know he is. He knows I like him and he flirts every chance he gets. I can’t say I don’t lean into it a bit. He’s just so… I don’t know. I think I’m falling for him. Hard.

Tuesday the 3rd of June, 2008

After breakfast, they drove to their first Matteo of the day. They knocked on the door but no one answered. There was no sound from inside.

“Maybe he’s not home.” Potter shrugged.

“It is the right address, isn’t it?” Draco frowned.

“Yes, this is the sign of the street, and the number.” Narcissa pointed out, somewhat wearily.

They stood there for a couple minutes, knocking on the door once or twice more, until an old man on a motorcycle pulled up. He asked Draco who they were looking for, and when Draco answered, the biker said they could follow him.

So they got back in the car and drove after the biker. As Potter drove, the scenery changed from buildings to landscape. A sense of dread filled Draco’s gut. Something was wrong.

After 20 minutes of driving, the biker finally honked, pointed out for them the place and drove off. As Potter drove up the sand path, the silence in the car was deafening, and Draco knew at once. It was a cemetery.

Potter parked the car, and Narcissa got out, walking slowly to the gate. Draco quickly followed her, sensing Potter trailing behind. When Draco entered the cemetery, he saw her, standing over one of the graves, her hands crossed. It was the grave of Matteo Ricci.

“This is what I feared the most.” He said as he heard Potter’s steps stop behind him. Potter put a hand on his shoulder but Draco shook him off.

“Draco, we don’t even know if it’s him.” Potter said, sounding nervous.

“I hope it’s not, I hope it’s not.” Draco said, irritated. “Either way we’re finished.”

“No! Not here!”

“Then when do we stop?” Draco turned around to look at Potter, straight in the eye. “Over the next hill? Or the next road? Scour the whole country?” Draco waited for a beat, looking for the hesitation in Potter’s eyes. He found it. “No, no. This ends here.” He said definitively.

Potter ran a hand through his hair in that infuriatingly endearing way he always did when he was lost. It made Draco want to scream. This—this was why he hadn’t wanted to come. Potter with his damn fairytales and blind hope. This wasn’t some romantic quest. This was real, and it was over. Everything had led to this, and Draco could feel it breaking loose inside him, sharp and inevitable. He couldn’t hold it back anymore.

“There are other Matteos not far from here,” Harry tried, but Malfoy’s glare stopped him cold.

“That’s not the ending you want, is it?” Malfoy’s eyes were blazing, his voice rising. “This isn’t your story. It’s not some perfect tale where the hero defeats the villain and everyone lives happily ever after!”

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but Malfoy didn’t let him.

“This is real life. Our lives. My mother’s life.”

“It’s not about a story, Malfoy!” Harry snapped, his voice sharp with frustration.

“She already lost the man once. How many times would you have her lose him?”

The words hit like a punch. Harry staggered under the weight of them. What if Malfoy was right? What if the dream meant nothing? What if this was Matteo, buried here, and Harry had brought Narcissa back only to grieve all over again?

He looked toward her. Her hair hung over her face, but he could tell—she was crying.

Malfoy stepped closer, his voice low and tight. “You know, I don’t expect you to understand. With your pack of friends, money, your fame — your perfect life. We don’t have that. She’s all I have left. We already lost everything, and you —” he scoffed “— you’re still floating around in your optimistic bubble, poking your nose into other people’s pain like you’re here to fix it.”

Harry tried to look away, but Malfoy kept going.

“You don’t even know what you’re feeling. I actually pity you. Running away to America like it’s going to solve everything—trying so hard to escape that you forgot what it’s like to feel anything. You forgot what it means to lose something.”

Silence fell like a stone. Harry couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think. He stood there, frozen, staring at Malfoy’s cold, tired face. It felt like hours before he finally muttered, “You can Apparate to the hotel. I’ll return the car,” and turned to walk out the gate.

His heart was pounding, eyes stinging. He thought about doing it—really leaving them there. Just driving off and being done with it.

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t do that.

So he stayed. Standing by the car. Swallowing it all down. Trying not to fall apart.

After Potter left, Draco exhaled. It was almost a relief to get all of that out. Potter should have heard it. It was Potter’s fault that his mother was crying in a cemetery over a man she knew 30 years ago. It’s all because of Potter, and his stupid unrealistic bullshit fantasies. This is real life, and in real life his mother was standing in front of a grave for the second time this year, crying her eyes out.

He walked up to his mother, trying to give her some comfort, maybe convince her to go back home. But she turned around, and the hand he put on her shoulder was quickly dropped.

”You know better, Draco.” She looked deep in his eyes, her tears staining her pale cheeks. “Harry lost everything too, you know that. You know he never forgot what it’s like, to be alone in the world. He’s without family for as long as he can remember.”

Draco sighed. “It’s not the same mother.”

”You’re right.” Her eyes filled with sadness again, and Draco couldn’t bear to look at her. “It’s worse. We had each other all along while he didn’t have anyone to lean on. And with that tragedy, he still chose to sacrifice himself for the people he truly loved at the battle of Hogwarts.”

Draco tried to interject but his mother wasn’t having it. “No, Draco. You need to apologise. You knew your father well, and you knew he was ill for a long time. You had the time to say your goodbyes. Harry didn’t know his parents at all. They were taken away from him.”

“Maybe knowing your father isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.” Draco muttered.

Her eyes turned soft. “Don’t say that. Your father made mistakes, but you know he loved you. He loved us both very much, in his own way. He did what he thought was right, what was expected of him.” Narcissa sighed. “I know why you chose to date Astoria. You were doing what was expected of you. What we expected of you.”

Draco was speechless. She knew? This whole time?

His mother stroked his cheek. “Don’t do what’s expected of you, Draco. Follow your heart.” And with that, she walked back to the car, not before transfiguring an old rock into a bouquet of flowers and laying it on Matteo’s grave.

Draco followed her back out the gate. The car was still there. Draco was surprised Potter still stayed but the silence on the way back was tense. Potter was visibly shaken, and as soon as they arrived to the hotel, he got out, climbed the stairs two at a time, and locked the door of his room before Draco had a chance to say anything to him.

I told Matteo about Lucius. He was sad, but he understood. He said there’s no reason not to say it now, and confessed he’d fallen in love with me. I couldn’t breathe and I started to cry. If only he wasn’t a muggle, if only he was a respectable pureblood. But as my mother would often say, the world is cruel and unforgiving. He wiped my tears away, and before I knew it, I was kissing him. He kissed me back. The kiss was wet and salty and not short from perfect. After that he hugged me for a very long time.

It was a few hours later when someone knocked on the door, and Harry hoped it wasn’t Malfoy. He heard enough already. He just got out of the shower, so he was in the middle of drying his hair with a towel (the drying charm always made his hair frizzy). Surprisingly, it was Narcissa standing there, her eyes kind and worried.

“I just wanted to see if you were alright.” That was all she said, and Harry felt like sobbing again immediately, feeling guilty over making her worry. He closed the door behind her and tried to ignore the knot in his stomach. She sat primly on the edge of the bed.

“Yeah, yes. I’m okay.” His voice wobbled a bit, and he took a deep breath. “Narcissa. I’m so sorry if I caused you—“

“No. No.” She said softly, but firmly, eyes shining. “Every minute has been so special. I knew the risks, but I decided to go anyway, to know what happened, to take control over my life. The what-if’s you talked about in your letter were driving me crazy for 30 years. But now at least, when I’ll get back, I’ll always know that I’ve tried everything in my power to see him and that’s enough for me. I won’t forget what you did for me, Harry, and I’m glad that you’re here. I could have never done it on my own.”

With every word, Harry felt himself bursting. The what-if’s of his were constantly clouding his brain, even after all the therapy, the writing. He couldn’t hold it in any longer. He started to sob.

“Oh darling.” She stood up and sat him down on a nearby chair, giving his shoulder a squeeze while looking at him in the mirror. She looked directly in his eyes when she said, “Thank you from the bottom of my heart.” Then, she gestured towards his hairbrush. “May I?”

All Harry could do was nod numbly as she took the hairbrush and started to brush his wet hair. “One of the great joys of life is having one’s hair brushed.” Narcissa said warmly, and Harry smiled, closing his eyes. It was nice. He couldn’t help but wonder if this is what he missed all these years, a mother’s touch, and imagined as if it was his own mother, brushing his hair with soft movements. He started spilling everything about himself, telling Narcissa about his childhood at the Dursleys, first meeting Hagrid. He tried to relive a time where magic was this hopeful avenue in his life. For hours after Narcissa had already left, Harry laid in his bed, looking at the ceiling and wondering if his parents could see him, right now, in the middle of this journey. He wondered if they were proud of him.

Soph decided we should have nicknames for each other. She chose mine - Daisy, even though my flower is daffodil. She said it would sound stupid as a nickname and I couldn’t help but laugh at her logic. Even Matteo adopted it, calling me Daisy with a smile. I chose hers - Sweet pea. She is the sweetest pea.

Wednesday the 4th of June, 2008

Narcissa invited Harry for brunch with her and Draco the next day, so Draco had to apologise, or else his mother would have never let him live it down. But it didn’t matter anyway, because Draco already felt horrible. He was still angry at Potter, but mostly at himself. He knew Potter had good intentions. He had always known that. But when he saw his mother crying, he looked for someone to blame, and Potter was there, the easiest target. He had something about him, something that always pushed Draco’s buttons. It wasn’t Potter’s fault, and his mother insisted she’s going to look for Matteo no matter what Draco had to say. His mother decided to go through with this, consequences be damned, and all Draco could do right now was help her, just as Potter did.

He always had a way of ruining the good things in his life. This tentative start of a friendship with Potter didn’t deserve to be another casualty — just because Draco couldn’t help being an insensitive asshole. As usual.

Draco and his mother were waiting for Potter, her voice a steady loop of one refrain: he had to apologise. No good morning, no how did you sleep — but Draco hadn’t expected anything different.

“Darling, say you’re sorry,” she urged for the tenth time, eyes fixed anxiously on Potter approaching in the distance. “Look him in the eye. And with contrition.”

“I will, Mother. I will,” Draco muttered, watching him too. Potter looked exhausted — dark circles under his eyes, hair tousled like he hadn’t slept at all.

When he reached the table, he took the coffee the waiter handed him with a quiet, grateful nod before sinking into his seat.

“Potter, I’m afraid I —“

“In the eye,” Narcissa muttered. “And call him by his first name, god damn it.”

Potter raised his eyebrows but stayed silent.

“Yes, Mother. I’m not twelve,” Draco muttered under his breath, adding a scowl for good measure.

“Prove it.”

Draco exhaled slowly, bracing himself. Then he turned to Potter and met his gaze. Potter was already watching him, face unreadable, expression tightly guarded.

“I’m sincerely sorry… Harry.” The name caught in Draco’s throat, but he pushed through. “What I said — it was awful. And false. I was lashing out, looking for someone to blame, and that wasn’t fair to you. None of it was. I… I truly am sorry. I promise you — it would never happen again.”

He held his breath, watching, waiting. Potter didn’t say anything at first, just looked at him for a long, silent moment. Then, slowly, he smiled. A small, genuine smile. He gave a single nod.

And just like that, Draco felt a weight lift from his chest. Potter had forgiven him.

Not that he’d admit it — but he was deeply, quietly relieved.

Narcissa looked pleased and raised her glass. “Harry, I’d like to make a toast. I want to thank you — for the truly wonderful thing you did for me, despite everything we’ve been through. I’ll never forget it.” Her hand drifted to her chest, a quiet gesture of sincerity.

“Nor I,” Draco said suddenly, the words escaping before he could stop them. Potter glanced at him, surprised, but said nothing.

“I’ve had the most incredible few days,” Potter said, his voice softer now. “Truly. And I can’t thank you both enough for letting me tag along.”

Narcissa chuckled warmly. “I think you did far more than just tag along.” She raised her glass a little higher. “To all our loved ones — wherever they may be.”

They clinked glasses, smiles shared between them. And for the first time on this strange, winding trip, Draco felt something unfamiliar settle over him.

Peace.

Matteo asked me to stay and it sounds like a dream. We’ll eat in the dirt and swim and tend to our plants. We’ll run away and raise Sophie together and live freely. It is a dream, but maybe dreams aren’t meant to come true.

After dinner, Draco came outside to breathe some fresh air. He was just lying in the grass, deep in thought, when he heard steps from behind him. He closed his eyes, listening to that confident if not totally graceful walk coming to a halt as soon as it got close. Draco knew that walk.

“May I join you?”

Draco nodded and Potter lay down next to him. The breeze of the night was nice, and they both laid there silently, listening to the quiet.

“I am truly sorry.” Draco blurted. He had to say it again.

Potter smiled at him, and Draco’s gut clenched. “I know.” They laid there for a while and Draco couldn’t help but feel goosebumps as he sensed Potter’s arm so close to his.

“Hey.” Potter called into the void.

“What?”

“What did that old grump say to you?” Potter turned to him, curiously.

Now he was just perplexed. “What?”

“At the first house we saw, Matteo screamed at you in Italian.”

Draco couldn’t help himself, he bursted out laughing. Potter looked at him like a wounded puppy.

“Tell me.” He insisted in a whine, shaking Draco’s shoulder.

Draco stopped laughing and raised an eyebrow. “It keeps you up at night?”

“Just answer the question, will you?” Potter answered, irritated, shoving Draco once more.

“First of all, stop shoving me, you peasant.” Draco sneered and Potter snorted. Draco carried on as if he didn’t hear it. “Second of all, what’s in it for me?” He smirked.

“I won’t punch you in your stupid weird face.” Potter said seriously and Draco rolled his eyes.

“My face is not weird, nor is it stupid. And I’ll tell you, I guess. Got to protect the masterpiece. I asked him what he was doing in the summer of ‘78. He said he had met the most beautiful girl, with long blonde hair and a beautiful smile... They married that year.”

Potter stared at the sky, perplexed. “Yikes.”

“That’s not the worst of it.” Draco added with disgust. “He also cursed that poor woman. Her eyes, her teeth, her moustache… And he cursed me too!”

Potter bursted out laughing, but unfortunately for Draco, he loved Potter’s laugh.

Potter sighed deeply, straightening his back on the grass. “I used to lay out under the stars as a kid, in the summertime.” He looked up at the sky, his eyes deep in thought. “The Dursleys didn’t mind me going out, they didn’t want me in their house anyway. Maybe they were hoping I’ll run away. I’d look at the stars and... I’d think about my parents. I’d wonder about life after death, if they’re watching me, if they know who I am and who I grew up to be. For the longest time I thought they were killed in a car accident, and I was so angry. I was an angry kid. It could have been prevented.”

Draco felt Harry’s fingers tense against his so he laced their fingers together, much to Harry’s surprise. But Draco didn’t care what Harry thought. All he knew is that he wanted to comfort him, so he squeezed his hand in what he hoped would show support. Harry smiled bitterly. “When I realized what truly happened it seemed so long ago that I just threw myself into a new adventure or obsession, I put it away. I miss them. I miss them every day. And I wonder how my life would have been if they hadn’t died, if they raised me and loved me as I wished they would. I don’t know if I’d be the same person I am today.”

Harry sighed and squeezed Draco’s hand back. Draco’s heart skipped a beat.

“Maybe I’d be a spoiled brat like you.”

“Shut up.” Draco shoved him with a smile and Harry laughed. Draco loved Harry’s laugh.

They laid there in silence for a moment, before Draco wondered his thoughts aloud for the first time.

“Do you really think he’s out there? Matteo?”

“He has to be somewhere.” Harry turned to him, his eyes determined as they were in the battle of Hogwarts. As if he knew it had to be true.

“So am I wrong?” Draco asked, his eyes trained on Harry’s, “To insist she quit?”

Harry laid his head on the grass again, looking up at the stars. “No. You can’t go on forever, chasing a ghost of a person. At some point, you have to stop and move on with your life.”

“Have you moved on?” Draco asked, then bit his tongue. That was yet another insensitive thing Draco blurted out this trip. Very nice. Bravo Draco, you outdid yourself. “You don’t have to answer that.”

“It’s okay.” Potter looked at him with a half-smile. “I haven’t moved on. Not from the war. Or my parents. No matter how much I tried. Maybe you were right. Maybe I was avoiding it, running to New York. I hope I will someday.”

“I know you will.” Draco said with assurance, and moved a bit so he could lay comfortably on the grass, his head near Harry’s chest. “I just wish…” Draco sighed, looking at the stars and trying to figure which constellation was his. “I wish my mother didn’t want to look for Matteo. It just seems like everything ended up working out so why dig in the past? Maybe I’m just selfish, I don’t know.”

“No, I get it.” Harry switched positions to lay more comfortably, on one elbow. “It fell on you out of the blue. I would have felt the same.”

Draco watched him. His hair had a leaf in it, and when Potter watched the stars, Draco noticed he would bite his lip in concentration. Draco loved him. Draco loved this annoying, brave, kind, bright-eyed wonderful man and he couldn’t do a damned thing about it. Harry was engaged for Salazer’s sake, and it wasn’t fair. So Draco got up, avoiding Potter’s gaze and watching the stars himself, wishing for a miracle, for Harry to finally notice Draco is falling in love with him.

“Do you remember eighth year?” Harry asked suddenly.

“Of course. We would drink and play exploding snap for hours.” Draco laid his head on his knees comfortably, reminiscing. “You almost burned the common room’s couch.”

He felt Potter’s laugh in the vibrations on his arm. It was making him skittish. “I did. I was so freaked out.”

Draco chuckled and closed his eyes. “Yeah, you were. It felt like a simpler time, even after the war. I… felt close to you. Which is why I was disappointed when you left for New York.” Draco opened his eyes in alarm. He only said it because his eyes were closed, but now that it was out there, Draco couldn’t find it in himself to regret saying it.

“I guess I figured you wouldn’t even notice me being gone.”

“Why?” Draco turned around to look directly at Potter. “I owled you, you didn’t reply… You never even told me that you’re planning on moving.”

Potter sighed, sitting up and taking off his glasses to rub his eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, and I’m sorry I didn’t answer, I just… had a lot on my mind.”

Draco suddenly thought of something. Potter said he moved away because he had feelings for someone. “Who were you so eager to get away from anyway?”

Potter slowly glanced at him, and Draco’s breath hitched. Was he the reason Potter left? Was he the person Potter wanted? It all seemed so surreal, there was no way. Maybe it was a miracle. The miracle he wished for. Draco swallowed, slowly getting closer to Potter just so he could grab the leaf that was driving him crazy from that unruly black hair. When he successfully took it out, Potter exhaled and that sound alone made Draco want to moan. Potter’s eyes went wide but his pupils were dilated and Draco couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t find it in himself to stop moving forward. Time stood still as Draco looked into those beautiful green eyes for confirmation and then, it was finally happening.

Malfoy was so close. He was biting those sweet, perfect lips and leaning in. The moment Harry had dreamed about for years — finally — was about to happen.

He’d imagined this so many times during the years, ever since those late nights during eighth year. The dorms were quiet, the firewhisky was warm, and Malfoy would laugh — really laugh — and Harry would feel lightheaded in a way that had nothing to do with drinking. There had always been something between them, some invisible thread pulling Harry closer, making him wonder.

Malfoy had been beautiful then. He still was. And still felt so out of reach.

That’s why Harry had run. Why he’d left for New York.

But then came Ginny.

He thought of those first dates again —the effort they both made to rediscover each other. The comfort. The giddy hope that maybe something new could bloom from what they’d once had. It hadn’t lasted, not romantically, but she’d become something even more sacred: home. Ginny knew him — his faults, his fears, his nightmares. After the war, she was the only steady thing in his life. She’d held him through the panic attacks, through the depressive spirals. She’d stayed.

She loved him.

What the hell was he doing?

He was engaged, for Godric’s sake. He couldn’t do this. Not to Ginny. Not to the woman who saved him, again and again, even when he couldn’t save himself.

And what if he was wrong about Malfoy? What if this was just another moment for him — casual, impulsive, meaningless? A joke? A thrill? A test to see if Potter would fall?

If that was the case, then fuck him.

“Malfoy.” Harry lifted a hand and pressed it gently to Malfoy’s chest, stopping him. “It can’t happen.”

Malfoy froze. For a second, Harry swore he saw disappointment flicker in his eyes— but it was gone as quickly as it came. He pulled back, face unreadable again.

“Yeah. You’re right, you’re right.” Malfoy cleared his throat, and for once, it didn’t make Harry feel warm or flustered. “You’re engaged. I’m sorry. I never should’ve done that.”

And just like that, Harry felt cold — like a bucket of ice had been poured over his heart.

Never should’ve done that.

Those words were a knife.

Maybe it hadn’t meant much to Malfoy after all. Maybe it never had. Not like it had to Harry. And the realization hurt more than he could admit.

He wasn’t a toy. He wasn’t some experiment. He wasn’t a prize to be won or discarded.

And he couldn’t stay here — not with someone who made him feel like he was.

He had to leave.

Potter had left him. And Draco — well, he probably deserved it.

Of course Potter wouldn’t go for it. He was engaged, for fuck’s sake. He wasn’t the type to cheat, not even in a moment of weakness. He was too noble for that. Too Harry for that.

Draco felt sick. He’d put him in an impossible position, and now all he could do was sit in the wreckage of his own misread signals. Maybe he’d gotten it all wrong. Maybe the glances, the touches, the silences — meant nothing. Maybe he wasn’t the reason Potter left for New York after all. Maybe Potter never wanted him to begin with.

Draco sighed and opened his mother’s journal, flipping to a page he knew by heart.

I left Matteo today. I packed and was gone before sunrise. I didn’t say goodbye— not even to Soph. I couldn’t face them. I couldn’t face myself. I’m in love with two different people, and all I have is myself to blame.

His fingers lingered at the bottom of the page, brushing over a faint stain. A teardrop, dried into the paper. It smudged the ink ever so slightly as he rubbed it.

Draco sat back in the grass and stayed there, alone in the quiet garden, kicking himself over and over again.

For misreading everything.

For pushing.

For being such a goddamn idiot.

Thursday the 5th of June, 2008

Potter was already standing by the car when Draco came down the stairs.

“Morning.”

Without looking at him, Potter took the luggage from his hands. “How’d you sleep?”

“I slept fine, how about you?” Draco tried to catch his eye, but Potter kept his gaze fixed on the trunk. The silence that followed felt heavy.

“Yes. Great. Thanks.” Potter cleared his throat and busied himself with the bags.

“Harry, I—”

“Good morning!” Narcissa’s cheerful voice floated down the stairs before he could finish. She kissed both their cheeks in greeting, bright as ever. “And happy birthday, my darling.”

“Wait,” Potter said, shutting the trunk, “It’s your birthday?”

“Yes,” Draco replied, forcing a smile. “The big 30th.”

Potter stared at him for a moment before lowering his eyes. “Happy birthday.”

“Thanks.” Draco cleared his throat, trying to reset the mood. “How did you sleep?” he asked his mother.

“I slept great. The stars were beautiful from my window.” Narcissa gave him a knowing smile.

Draco nearly cursed. Of course she’d seen them in the garden last night.

As Potter finished loading the bags into the car, Narcissa leaned in close to her son.

“Draco darling, would you mind switching seats with me? I’d love to stretch my legs for a bit.” Her smile was all innocence, but Draco saw right through it. He knew exactly what she was up to.

Brilliant. Just brilliant. She couldn’t play matchmaker when Potter was already spoken for.

But he held his tongue and gave a curt, “Fine,” like the good, polite son he’d been raised to be. He slid into the front seat, making a point to avoid eye contact with Potter.

For some reason, Narcissa insisted on romantic Italian songs for the entire car ride — and sang along to them as well, watching Harry and Malfoy far too closely for Harry’s comfort. To say he felt uncomfortable would be a gross understatement. He kept his eyes forward, determined not to glance at the passenger seat.

“Look!” Narcissa said suddenly, pointing to a road sign. “That vineyard. Caparzo! That’s our favourite wine! Let’s turn in there and have a birthday toast for Draco.”

Harry glanced at Malfoy, who was staring pointedly out the window, expression unreadable. Then he met Narcissa’s eyes in the rear-view mirror. She was beaming. He sighed inwardly and turned the wheel toward the vineyard. Maybe if they got this over with quickly, they could get back to searching for Matteos — and he could return to the hotel and drink himself into firewhiskey oblivion.

After parking, they followed Narcissa into the vineyard’s restaurant as she chatted away, seemingly oblivious to the strained silence between the men — though Harry suspected she noticed and simply didn’t care. They found a table, and a smiling blonde waitress appeared almost immediately.

When Narcissa ordered their favourite wine, the waitress’s face lit up. “Great choice. My personal favourite.”

“You really know your wine,” Narcissa commented pleasantly.

“Well,” the woman chuckled, “my father would’ve never let me live it down without a proper wine education.”

“I’ll drink to that!” Malfoy lifted his water glass with a salute, and the waitress laughed before heading off.

A few minutes later, the wine arrived. Narcissa raised her glass, her eyes shining.

“This week has been the most incredible for me, and I can’t thank you both enough for this journey I dragged you on. And even though we didn’t find Matteo… it’s Draco’s birthday, and I think we can celebrate the fact that we found Harry again. I know I said in our last toast that I hoped we’d find our loved ones, but I know now that I already did.”

“Oh, Narcissa.” Harry reached across the table and gave her hand a gentle squeeze, while Draco leaned in to hug her.

“I mean it. Happy birthday, my darling.” She kissed Malfoy’s cheek.

“Yeah.” Harry turned to Malfoy with a small smile. “Happy birthday.”

“Thank you,” Malfoy replied softly, smiling back.

Soon after, the waitress returned with a small lemon meringue cake — the only one Malfoy had allowed them to order. She placed it gently on the table and beamed at Malfoy.

“I just celebrated my own birthday a week ago.”

“Oh really?” he asked with a grin. “So you’re a Gemini like me.”

She was about to respond when Narcissa suddenly leaned forward, eyes narrowed.

“Excuse me,” she said slowly. “You’re very familiar. I’ve been trying to figure out why the entire time we’ve been here.”

The waitress smiled, clearly used to this. “Yeah, I get that a lot. People always think I look like some actress or singer, but I promise you I’m not.”

“What is your occupation?” Harry asked, noting she wasn’t in uniform like the other servers.

“My father owns the vineyard, and I manage the restaurant. We’re short-staffed today, so I help my waiters out.”

“That’s nice of you.” Harry smiled, and the woman returned it warmly.

“I love these people. Some of them have worked here since I was a kid. They welcomed me back with open arms when I started running the place.”

“It’s something else,” Narcissa murmured, her face distant. Thoughtful. “What’s your name, dear?”

“Sofia Ricci. But you can just call me Sophie.”

The air shifted.

Time seemed to slow, and a heavy silence fell over the table.

Harry looked at her, trying to match this woman with the memories they’d been chasing. Sophie blinked at them, kind but confused. She didn’t recognize Narcissa.

But Narcissa… she looked as if she’d seen a ghost.

“Is everything okay?” Sophie asked, uncertain.

“It’s you—”

“All this time—”

“Right under our noses—”

They all spoke at once, voices overlapping in disbelief.

“People, one at a time, please!” Sophie raised her hands, trying to make sense of their excitement.

“Sophie,” Malfoy leaned in, nearly tipping his chair, “is your father’s name Matteo?”

“Yeah, actually,” she frowned. “How did you know that?”

Narcissa stood slowly, staring at Sophie as though she were the only thing in the world.

She reached out — then hesitated.

A tear slid down her cheek. “Hey, Sweetpea.”

“Hey, Daisy,” Sophie answered instinctively. Then her eyes widened. “Narcissa?”

Narcissa nodded tearfully, and they embraced tightly.

“What are you doing here?” Sophie asked, pulling back, voice thick with disbelief.

“Actually, we were… looking for you.” Narcissa chuckled nervously. “And your father. I wanted to apologise for the way I left. I didn’t even say goodbye. I know I disappointed you both. I’m truly sorry.” She sighed, eyes closing in shame.

Sophie reached out, gently touching her shoulder. Narcissa opened her eyes again, blinking back tears.

“I’m so happy to see you,” Sophie said softly. “And I’m sure my dad will be too.”

Harry could see the relief flood Narcissa’s face. When he glanced at Malfoy, he found him already looking — beaming, radiant. Harry smiled back.

Narcissa invited Sophie to sit, and she did so gladly.

“This is my son, Draco,” she said proudly. “And our friend, Harry.”

Sophie smiled at them both. “Nice to meet you.” She winked at Harry, who gave a little salute.

Narcissa let out a short, stunned laugh. “I’m sorry,” she said. “This is all just… surreal.”

Sophie took her hand again. “Yeah. For me too.”

“So how are you?” Narcissa asked, still holding on tight.

“Wow. How do you summarise thirty years?” Sophie laughed. “Well… I got married. Then divorced. And I have the most adorable set of twins in the world —Michael and Aria.”

“You’re a mother?” Narcissa breathed. “I can’t believe it. How time flies. How old are they?”

“Eight months,” Sophie beamed. “My dad can’t wait for them to walk so he can show them around the vineyard.”

Narcissa hesitated. “How… is your father?”

Sophie sighed, her expression fond. “He’s… good. The best father I could’ve asked for. When I told him I wanted to be a mother, he funded everything for the surrogate. He didn’t even blink. And even though I know he was surprised when I came out, and bringing home a girl wasn’t what he expected… he adjusted. He made an effort. He’s a great grandfather. But…” She paused. “I don’t think he ever got over you.”

Narcissa looked stunned, and Harry couldn’t help but marvel at how strange it was — to have that kind of hold on someone’s life without even knowing it. He glanced at Draco, at the way his hair fell into his face. At some point, he must’ve given up fighting the wind and just let it be. It reminded Harry of eighth year — Draco’s hair always falling into his eyes. He’d grown it out then, maybe as a quiet act of rebellion after the war. He hadn’t changed it since.

Back then, whenever they played Exploding Snap, Draco would act unfazed when he lost — but the moment he won, he’d let out that smug little chuckle, pretending it was no big deal. But Harry remembered. He remembered all of it. And somewhere along the way, he’d fallen in love with him.

And he’d let that love ruin everything.

Draco Malfoy had no idea of the power he held, how deeply Harry felt. Just as Narcissa had no idea Matteo had never moved on, Draco didn’t know that Harry couldn’t either.

Sophie pulled out her phone and asked them to stay. She quickly rang her father, telling him to meet her at the restaurant.

Malfoy stared at the device with suspicion.

“Oh, I forgot,” Sophie laughed, holding it out. “You’re not familiar with cell phones.”

She explained the basics while Malfoy looked on, fascinated. “You can just… call anyone in the world?”

“If you have their number, yes.”

Draco shook his head, clearly impressed. “Amazing how Muggles figured it all out without magic, while we’re still using owls.”

Harry took out his own phone. “What’s your number? I’ll add you.”

Draco blinked. “You have one of those?”

“Of course,” Harry grinned. “Although Ron still hasn’t figured his out. I get woken up all the time because he butt-dials me.”

Both Malfoys turned to him, identical frowns on their faces.

Sophie burst out laughing.

“What in Salazar’s balls does that even mean?” Draco asked, bewildered.

Narcissa gasped, scandalized. “Language, Draco!”

“It means,” Sophie smirked, “that purebloods don’t know how to operate imaginative Muggle technology.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “I hope I haven’t heard you correctly.”

Sophie leaned in. “I bet you did.”

“Well, alright then.” Draco rubbed his hands together, intrigued. “I bet you I’ll master this ‘mobile’ of yours by tomorrow morning.”

“For how much?”

“A thousand Italian euros.”

Sophie shook his hand with a grin. “You’re on.”

But suddenly, Narcissa stood, pale as a ghost. “I can’t be here,” she whispered and rushed toward the door.

The three of them followed.

“Why?” Draco called after her.

“Let’s go before he comes back —”

“Mom.” Draco stopped her just outside. She turned to him, trembling. “You came all this way to find him,” he said. “And you did. What are you so afraid of?”

“I’ve been ridiculous,” she said, voice cracking. “He knew me when I was twenty-three. That girl is gone.”

Malfoy smiled gently. “No, she’s not. She’s right here. He loved you then. He’ll love you now.”

“It’s too late.”

Malfoy hesitated for a moment, then glanced at Harry. He turned back to his mother, gently placing his hands on her shoulders. “Someone smart once told me that true love is never too late,” he said softly.

Harry felt his heart skip a beat as grey eyes locked with his.

“Please stay,” Sophie begged. “He’ll want to see you.”

“I broke my promise,” Narcissa whispered. “Why would he —”

But she froze.

A man on horseback had appeared —tanned, broad-shouldered, silver threaded through his beard. He watched her with quiet awe as he dismounted and walked toward her.

“Cissy,” he said, voice low and full of wonder.

She finally smiled. “Matteo.”

“You haven’t changed.”

Narcissa looked down shyly. “If you say so.”

“So many years.”

“Thirty.” She whispered, eyes lowered. He gently lifted her chin.

“La mia bella.” And then he pulled her into his arms.

“Mother, are you blushing?” Malfoy teased, but Harry saw the light in his eyes.

“This is my son, Draco,” Narcissa introduced. “And I swear I taught him better manners. I apologise on his behalf.”

Matteo laughed and shook Draco’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“And this is Harry,” Narcissa added. “A dear friend. He convinced me to look for you.”

“Pleasure. And thank you,” Matteo said, shaking Harry’s hand warmly.

“Matteo,” Narcissa began, eyes misting again. “I want to apologise —”

“No. Please, Cissy. There’s no need.”

“But I have to. I’m so sorry for leaving. It wasn’t fair.”

He pulled her into another embrace. “I forgave you long ago, Daisy.”

“Oh, Matteo…” she cried, holding him tightly.

It was beautiful — sunlight in the vineyard, the rustle of leaves, the quiet sounds of birds in the trees. They had done it. Matteo was here.

They had found him.

“If you’ll allow me,” Matteo said, smiling at everyone gathered around the table as he raised his glass. “I truly don’t know how to express myself. I went for a ride this morning as an old man… and I came back feeling like my younger self.”

He turned to Narcissa, eyes full of warmth. “My dear Cissy. My Daisy. Destiny brought us back together. Grazie destino.”

Everyone at the table raised their glasses, cheering, while Narcissa, tears in her eyes, reached for Matteo’s hands.

“Matteo,” she said softly, “I do have one last apology to make—and I won’t let you stop me from saying it.” She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry I was late.”

Matteo let out a breathy laugh, eyes glassy. “No.” He squeezed her hands gently, gaze locked on hers. “When it comes to love, it’s never too late.” He smiled and kissed her.

The table erupted in cheers, louder this time. And as the sound swelled around them, Harry felt Draco’s gaze. He turned, meeting it — and Draco looked… heartbreakingly beautiful.

In the name of lost true love, Harry wordlessly downed his glass of wine.

Matteo insisted on giving them a tour of the vineyard, pointing out the different grapes and explaining the various winemaking techniques. Though Harry found it all genuinely interesting, his thoughts kept drifting. He was so far in his own head that he didn’t notice Sophie walking beside him until she cleared her throat.

He looked up, and they exchanged small, knowing smiles.

“Euro for your thoughts?” she asked.

Harry let out a low chuckle, exhaling. “It’s just… all a bit confusing.”

Sophie nodded, looking ahead at the vines swaying gently in the breeze. “What you did for them—it’s beautiful,” she said. “My dad… he wasn’t the same after Narcissa left. He truly loved her. And for a long time, I was really angry at her for walking away.”

Harry glanced at her, curiosity tugging at him. “How’d you get over it?”

“In my twenties, I felt completely lost,” she admitted. “And then it hit me—Cissy was only my age when she met my dad. I tried picturing myself in her shoes… and suddenly, it all made sense. She was young, scared. She loved him, but she didn’t know how to handle any of it.”

Sophie smiled faintly, her voice quieting. “And seeing her again today… it all just came rushing back. Every bit of love I had for her. The memories I thought were long gone. I loved being around her when I was little. I always wanted to be near her. She was the most interesting person in the world to me.”

She paused, her voice turning wistful. “She was the closest thing I ever had to a mother. And I looked up to her… even if I didn’t realize it at the time.”

Draco couldn’t believe the irony. Matteo — the Matteo they had been searching for — had quite literally ridden in on his horse and saved the day. He had recognized Narcissa immediately. He was warm, gentle, and clearly still utterly in love with Draco’s mother.

Draco could hardly wrap his head around it.

After everything… she was finally going to get her happily ever after.

All because Potter had chosen to respond to that letter.

They were walking now, meandering through the vineyard paths. His mother walked ahead, deep in conversation with Matteo. Potter and Sophie trailed behind, chatting quietly. Draco slowed his steps to fall back and match their pace.

“Harry, can I talk to you for a second?” he asked.

Sophie gave them a small smile. “I’ll leave you alone. I want to catch up with Narcissa.”

Draco nodded in thanks, watching as she moved ahead to join his mother and Matteo, who didn’t notice they were now left behind.

Draco exhaled.

He had to say this.

“Harry. You did it. You found him.”

He looked at Harry with quiet intensity, willing him to understand just how much it meant. Harry glanced down at his hands instead.

“We found him,” he corrected softly.

But Draco shook his head. “No. You. You found him. You knew all along he was out there somewhere, and I… I didn’t believe you. I thought you were mad. Both of you. It’s all thanks to you. How —” Draco faltered, pausing to gather the words. “How did you know?”

Potter looked caught, like the answer was right on the edge of something he wasn’t ready to say. But then he shook his head and met Draco’s eyes.

“I just knew. Like I knew, the moment I saw that letter, I had to write a reply. Like I knew…” Potter’s gaze lingered. “That I’d see you again.”

Draco froze.

The weight of that moment hung between them. They were brushing the edges of something bigger, something they hadn’t dared to name.

He reached out, gently taking Harry’s palm in his own.

“Promise me you’ll finish it.”

Potter blinked. “Finish what?”

“The story. You have to.” Draco’s voice was quiet, but sure. Those bright green eyes were still on him, stealing his breath. He cleared his throat, trying to stay grounded. “You were right. It’s… a story worth telling.”

Potter looked at him for what felt like forever, unreadable. And then, finally, he chuckled.

“It is really hard for you to say it, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“That I was right,” Potter said, a teasing warmth in his voice.

Draco laughed. “It’s like being unable to breathe,” he said, dead serious.

Potter raised an eyebrow. “Admitting you were wrong and I was right is like being unable to breathe?”

“That’s never happened before,” Draco replied, chin tilted. “My body’s not used to it.”

Potter let out an incredulous sigh, shaking his head with a laugh. “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”

And then he turned and started walking again, and all Draco could do was follow.

Harry decided to leave.

It was all becoming too much.

Watching Narcissa and Matteo — watching the way they looked at each other, their soft whispers and private smiles, their fingers forever entwined now that they’d found each other again — it was overwhelming. Their love was blooming like it had never been interrupted, as if no time had passed at all.

And Harry didn’t know what to feel.

He was happy for them. Truly. But something inside him felt off, hollow. Something was missing.

Narcissa stood nearby, glowing with quiet joy, her arm hooked through Matteo’s. She turned to him hopefully. “It’s not as if it was going to be our last night looking for him,” she said with a soft smile. “You could stay the night. Matteo would be honoured.”

Harry took her hands gently in his.

“I’m so happy for you,” he said. “But I have to go.”

Her smile faltered. She studied him closely, concern darkening her eyes. She’d looked at him that way before —many times. And Harry loved her for it.

“Is something wrong?” she murmured.

He shook his head quickly, forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “No. Nothing at all.”

She watched him for a beat longer before pulling him into a tight embrace. He immediately felt like a complete jerk.

Narcissa had found her soulmate again — after three decades — and all Harry could think about was his own swirling confusion, his own broken heart.

He hated this goodbye. Because he knew it wasn’t just a goodbye to her.

He didn’t know when — or if — he’d see Draco again. And that thought hurt more than he expected.

After a long moment, she pulled back, her eyes glistening. “Keep in touch, Harry,” she said gently. “You’re always welcome to visit. After all, an angel brought you to me.” She brushed his fringe aside with both hands, cradling his face. “I cannot thank you enough. I’ll be eternally grateful.”

“Me too, Narcissa,” he whispered. “Me too.”

They hugged again, and just as he began to pull away, he heard footsteps behind him.

Narcissa released him and turned toward the sound. Then, with a knowing smile, she said, “I’ll leave you alone,” and walked off, leaving Harry standing there with the one person he wasn’t sure he could face.

Harry turned around.

Malfoy was shifting his weight between his feet, hands stuffed in his pockets. He looked hesitant, awkward — and completely adorable. Harry cursed himself for noticing.

“So,” he said casually, “you’re staying?”

“Actually…” Harry looked down. “I think I’m going to go.”

Draco’s face fell, just slightly — but enough to make Harry hate himself a little more.

“Oh. Well. Okay. So.” His voice was quiet. He looked up at Harry, clearing his throat. “I guess this is it. And I’m… I’m sorry it is.”

Harry sighed, heart heavy. “Yeah. Me too.”

There was a beat of silence. Draco opened his mouth, hesitated, then said, “Harry, I…”

But the words didn’t come.

Instead, he scratched the back of his head, searching for something to say. Something meaningful. Something honest.

Harry decided to spare him the effort.

“I know,” he said gently. “It’s okay.”

Malfoy sighed, eyes on the ground as he kicked at a small stone near his boot. “Because I never should’ve —”

“Really,” Harry interrupted, trying to wave it off, but Draco pushed on.

“You’re engaged,” he said simply.

Definitively.

And Harry swallowed hard, the truth of it closing around his throat like a noose.

He couldn’t do this. Not right now. Maybe not ever.

“Goodbye, Draco,” he said, and turned to walk away.

Draco watched as Harry walked away — and then apparated out of sight.

He let out a slow, resigned breath and shook his head at himself. Of course Harry wouldn’t stay. Not for him. In some quiet, foolish corner of his soul, he’d been hoping — just hoping — that he might.

But Harry was engaged. And Draco had crossed a line.

The sound of approaching footsteps broke through his thoughts. A delicate, familiar hand appeared on his shoulder.

“Darling,” his mother murmured softly in his ear, wrapping her arms around him from behind. She rested her cheek on his shoulder. “You’re my only son, so I think you’ll understand why I’m telling you this.”

She sighed.

“You’re a total idiot.”

Draco exhaled. “No need to sugarcoat it, Mum. I already feel bad enough.”

Then came the last thing he expected —the sharp smack of her palm against the back of his head.

“Ow!” he yelped, rubbing the spot. “What the hell was that for?”

Narcissa stepped around him, her expression sharp as a blade. “Tell me something,” she said. “How many Harry Potters do you think exist on this planet?”

Draco opened his mouth, sarcasm already loading, but one look from his mother was enough to shut him up. That look meant business — and maybe a second slap if he pushed it.

He clamped his lips shut and sighed. After a beat, her eyes softened.

“Don’t wait thirty years like I did.”

“You love him. You’ve loved him for years.”

“You’ve waited enough.”

“Go. Catch him before he slips away.”

Those words echoed in Draco’s head like a mantra as he walked briskly down the path, heart pounding. He still couldn’t believe she knew. All this time — his mother had known.

As soon as she said it, he’d kissed her cheek and apparated straight to the street outside Harry’s hotel.

Now he stood there, catching his breath, legs burning, chest heaving. Merlin, he really needed to start working out again.

He looked up.

And there he was.

Harry was on the terrace, cigarette between his fingers, looking out at the street. Draco nearly raised his hand to wave — until he saw Harry turn toward the door and grin.

The Weaslette had just come in.

Harry crushed the cigarette in the ashtray, lit up like Christmas morning, and picked her up, spinning her around.

“Finally!” he shouted, beaming. “My wife is back home from the war!”

The Weaslette laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Not yet,” she teased, and kissed him hard.

He kissed her back, holding her close, his voice soft and full of disbelief. “I can’t believe you’re back a day early.”

Then he shut the terrace door behind them.

Draco just stood there. Frozen. Watching.

Something twisted violently in his chest — nausea, heartbreak, something worse. He felt hollow, like the ground had vanished beneath him.

He didn’t remember apparating back to the Ricci villa. Or walking from the gate to the house.

He only knew that by the time he stepped through the front door, his limbs were heavy and his stomach churned.

Narcissa was reading in the living room, a book open in her lap. He barely muttered a greeting before bolting up the stairs.

She followed.

By the time she reached his room, he was curled up on the bed, sobbing into her shoulder. Loud, broken sobs.

She didn’t say anything. Just held him, stroking his hair gently, the way she used to when he was a boy and the nightmares came.

He knew how pathetic he must look.

But he didn’t care. Not now. Not like this.

The wedding was the best day of my life. It was magical and beautiful. I’m so incredibly lucky to have Lucius as my husband. He promised to my parents that he’d always take care of me, and I truly believe him.

Our honeymoon was wonderful and our families were very generous with the gifts. Not to mention, everyone we’ve invited arrived, including some very powerful wizards from the ministry.

I’m pregnant, 16 weeks. I’m so happy. I can’t wait to see my baby, to be a mother.

I can’t help but think about Matteo and Sophie sometimes, and I feel guilty. Can’t help but wonder how they’re doing.

Tuesday the 10th of June, 2008

Harry left his transcript at Mr. Kelly’s office as soon as they got back, not trusting himself not to lose his nerve and back out of sending it in. Ginny was really supportive, and insisted the transcript was a great book, but Harry still couldn’t shake the knot in his stomach.

Two nights later Kelly owled him and asked him to meet. Harry was a nervous wreck when he arrived, and the first thing Kelly had asked him threw Harry for a loop.

“So what happened?” Kelly looked at him expectantly.

Harry frowned. “What?”

“What happened in the story?”

Harry winced. “You don’t like the ending?”

“No,” Kelly answered, sounding a bit frustrated, “The ending’s fine. Quite moving, actually. But what happened to the people? Are they still together? What about... What about the Malfoy boy? Where’s he?”

“I don’t know.” Harry said quietly. “I didn’t keep in touch.”

Mr. Kelly nodded silently.

“Do you have any advice?” Harry asked hesitantly.

“I think you should buy stock in Alitalia.” Kelly said seriously. “Because all the ladies are gonna be flocking to Verona.” It was a common occurrence, Mr. Kelly trying to joke. Harry would fake a laugh usually, but this time he was truly shocked.

“You’re gonna publish this?”

Kelly frowned. “Of course I’m gonna publish it. It’s a good story. You’re a good writer. You got anything else for me?” He already looked under a few notes, continuing his work. Mr. Kelly’s mind was always work, work, work, find another story, let’s release another book even when Harry himself didn’t believe he would finish a good transcript. Kelly looked at the facts and was very straightforward in a way Harry sometimes wished to be. Maybe Harry should learn to be more like him. Maybe you can always look for the next thing you can do.

“No, not at the moment. But I will, I promise.”

“Good.” Said Mr. Kelly and then shook his hand firmly.

Sunday the 22nd of June, 2008

During a dinner at the Burrow the day before, to celebrate both Harry and Ginny’s engagement and the upcoming publication of Harry’s book, Molly Weasley had started in with the wedding talk.

At first, she was playful — subtle, even. “We can do it here at the Burrow, just like Bill and Fleur’s. It would be so romantic,” she sighed, smiling dreamily. But the more she talked, the more her excitement spiraled. She was ready to plan everything. The dress, the flowers, the seating arrangements.

When Hermione offered to help with the planning, that was it. The decision had been made — officially and irreversibly.

Harry and Ginny’s wedding was now scheduled for this coming Saturday.

“Hey, mate,” a hand touched his arm. Harry looked up to see Ron watching him with concern. “You okay? You haven’t said a word in like, twenty minutes.”

Harry blinked. He hadn’t realized how far he’d drifted. He was sitting in the kitchen of Hermione and Ron’s townhouse. They’d finally given up on trying to convince Ginny to come with him. At this point, they weren’t even surprised when he showed up alone.

“I’m okay,” Harry said, though it was clear even to him that it didn’t sound convincing.

“No, you’re not,” Ron replied firmly.

“You know you can talk to us about anything,” Hermione said gently, her voice laced with worry.

Harry hesitated. The knot in his stomach had grown too big to ignore. He couldn’t keep lying to himself—or them.

“Do you think…” he paused, struggling to find the words. “Do you think I made a mistake? Proposing to Ginny? I thought it was the right step for us, but now… I’m not sure anymore.”

Hermione and Ron exchanged a look —that silent, wordless communication that came from years of knowing each other inside and out. Harry had never had that with Ginny.

Hermione sighed. “Harry, for a couple of years, we wondered what you two were waiting for. In the beginning, it seemed like a perfect match — you were friends, and you were both starting fresh after breaking up during eighth year. We really wanted it to work.”

“But then…” Ron looked down at his hands. “Another year passed, and Hermione and I got engaged. Then another, and we got married. And you and Ginny still hadn’t moved in together. You weren’t even close to committing.”

“It was the distance —” Harry started, but Ron cut him off.

“No, it wasn’t,” Ron said sharply. “Ginny doesn’t have to practice eight times a week. She could have moved to New York and apparated to practices. You didn’t commit because you didn’t want to. You were comfortable, yeah—but not happy. Ginny didn’t mind the way things were, but you? You’ve been miserable. And you never admitted it to yourself. But we saw it, mate. We both did.”

“Harry…” Hermione reached across the table to take his hand. “We love you. We want to see you happy. If marrying Ginny is what you truly want, we’ll be right there beside you. But if you need an out… just think about it. Really think. Can you picture the rest of your life with her?”

Harry felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. He stared at them both, their words echoing in his mind. Had he really been dragging this relationship on for years? Had it been that obvious — to everyone but him?

“I need some air,” he muttered, getting up abruptly and rushing out the door, ignoring Hermione calling after him.

He ran until his legs gave out and ended up at the park. He collapsed onto a bench, breathing heavily. His thoughts were a blur, but the guilt sat heavy and clear in his chest.

An owl landed beside him.

It was white as snow, with big, soft, doe-like eyes. For a moment, Harry’s breath caught in his throat. He thought of Hedwig. Back at Hogwarts, he could talk to her about anything and feel understood. Her eyes had always been a quiet kind of comfort. What he wouldn’t give to have her with him now.

He carefully untied the letter from the owl’s leg. It took off the moment it was free, flying into the sky until it disappeared.

No one Harry knew would send a letter. They’d just call.

It could only be from one person.

He opened the envelope and immediately recognized the contents. There were three papers inside.

One was crumpled and brown — Narcissa’s letter to Juliet.

The second was a copy of his response.

And the third was an invitation:

Narcissa Malfoy & Matteo Ricci

joyfully announce their marriage to be celebrated

Saturday the twenty-eighth of June, one o’clock in the afternoon.

Villa Ricci, Siena, Italy

Tucked behind the invitation was a handwritten note:

Dear Harry,

I’m sorry I haven’t sent the original copy of your reply — I hold it dear to my heart, and I’m not ready to part with it.

I still can’t believe I’m here, about to marry my soulmate. And it’s all because of you.

You gave me the strength to go find him — with only a few powerful words.

I would be honored if you and Ginevra joined us as we begin this next chapter of our lives.

I know it’s short notice, and I’ll understand if you can’t make it.

But the guesthouse is ready for you both.

We’d be lucky to have you.

Thank you again.

All my love,

Narcissa

Harry read the note again. And again.

And then he looked out across the park, heart pounding with a new kind of clarity.

He couldn’t miss Narcissa’s wedding.

The decision was made for him.

Hermione promised she’d take care of everything wedding-related and let everyone know the ceremony was off. That freed Harry to do what he had to do: talk to Ginny.

He apparated straight to the Quidditch field.

From the stands, he watched her practice — graceful as ever, maneuvering the Quaffle like it was an extension of her. She really was brilliant out there. When practice ended and she finally spotted him, she jogged over with a surprised smile.

“Hey, Harry.” She gave him a kiss on the cheek, warm and slightly breathless, her scent a mix of floral perfume and sweat. “What are you doing here? Everything okay?”

He didn’t know how else to start.

“Narcissa and Matteo are getting married,” he blurted out.

Ginny blinked. “Really?” Her face lit up. “Wow, that’s amazing. When?”

Harry sighed. “Saturday.”

Her brows rose. “This Saturday? Okay, I guess we can postpone the wedding again…”

“Just —” He raised a hand gently. “Sit with me a minute?”

Looking slightly puzzled, she nodded and followed him to a bench near the edge of the pitch.

“I’m going to the wedding,” he said softly, “but… I’m going alone.”

Ginny froze, her fingers stilling on her broomstick. “Alone?”

“Let me just say this, okay?” He took her hand and squeezed. She looked uneasy, but she gave a small nod, wordlessly granting him the space.

“I don’t know what this is anymore. I don’t know what we’re doing.” He looked at their joined hands. “We went on vacation, and we barely spent any time together.”

“You were busy with the Malfoys, and your writing. I didn’t mind,” Ginny said carefully.

“I know you didn’t.” Harry nodded. “You had that gala, and I didn’t mind either. But that’s the point, Gin. We didn’t mind being apart. We didn’t miss each other. Not really.”

She didn’t argue.

“We went on what was basically a honeymoon,” he continued, “and we were both fine doing our own thing. We haven’t talked about the wedding since we got back. And now… we’re not even fussed about postponing it.”

Ginny’s lips pressed into a thin line, her expression unreadable.

“It’s not supposed to be like this,” Harry said, his voice dropping. “I think we just… got used to it. To each other. To this pattern. I don’t even know if you want kids.”

He glanced up to see how that landed. For a moment, Ginny just stared at him, unreadable. Then she let out a long sigh, brushing her windswept hair out of her eyes.

“You’re right,” she said quietly. “The past few years… I haven’t been there for you. I threw myself into my career. I put everything else second.” She looked down. “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”

A tear slipped down her cheek. Harry reached to brush it away, but she caught his hand.

“I wish I could tell you I’m ready to change,” she whispered, “but I’m not. This… this is who I am.”

“I know,” Harry said softly. “And I love who you are. You’re passionate, determined — fierce. You’re the best Quidditch player I’ve ever seen. You deserve every bit of your success.”

Ginny laughed quietly through her tears, eyes glistening.

“You told me once,” Harry went on, “that to survive, you have to follow your passion. And you were right. You shouldn’t give that up. Not for me.”

She looked down at their intertwined fingers, then back up at him.

“You’ve changed,” she said. “You want something else now.”

He nodded. “I want someone who makes me feel like… like I couldn’t stand to be away from them.”

She tilted her head, studying him. “Like Malfoy?”

Harry blinked, caught off guard. “What? I would never— Ginny, I haven’t—”

“I know,” she said calmly, her thumb brushing his knuckles. “You’d never cheat. It’s not who you are.”

He looked at her, wide-eyed, heart thudding.

“But the way you wrote about him in your book…” she shrugged slightly, offering a small, sad smile. “It was obvious. You and Malfoy — there’s something there. Something fiery. Something real.”

Harry swallowed hard. “I don’t… I mean, I never meant for you to think—”

“Harry,” she cut in gently, “you don’t have to say anything. I just want you to be happy. Even if it’s not with me.”

She reached out and cupped his cheek, thumb brushing softly over his skin.

“I haven’t been the partner you deserved,” she said, her voice breaking slightly. “And I’m truly sorry for that. You have my blessing. Go.”

Harry didn’t know what to say. The relief, the heartbreak, the gratitude — it all twisted in his chest at once.

So instead, he just pulled her into a hug. And they held each other for a long, quiet moment, saying everything without words.

Saturday the 28th of June, 2008

Harry had no idea what to wear, and it was driving him mad.

He didn’t know what to wear because he didn’t know what he’d say when he saw Draco. And he didn’t know what he’d say because he had no idea what he was feeling. Ginny had told him to go for it —had all but pushed him toward Draco —and still, he was hesitating. Still afraid.

In the end, he gave up on taming his hair and stuck with the suit he already had on. It was cutting it close anyway. With a deep breath, he shrunk his suitcase, apparated to an alley near the Ricci villa, and started walking through the open gate.

Guests were arriving, their voices light and cheerful as they chatted and laughed. The setting was stunning — tall green trees swaying gently in the breeze, endless vineyards stretching out beneath a soft afternoon sun. It was peaceful. Magical. And it hit Harry all at once, he had to admit it to himself, finally and fully — he was hoping Draco hadn’t given up on him yet.

“Harry!”

He turned, heart skipping, only to see Narcissa sweeping toward him in a long ivory gown, her hair pulled into a graceful updo, her face radiant. She looked elegant, alive.

“I’m so glad you came,” she said, pulling him into a hug.

“You look beautiful,” he murmured into her shoulder.

He could feel her smile without seeing it.

“Thank you, Harry. This is all so crazy, but…” She pulled back to look at him, eyes gleaming. “It feels right. We just couldn’t wait. We’ve waited long enough. He’s the love of my life, and I can’t thank you enough—”

Harry let out a soft laugh. “You’ve already thanked me. Several times.”

“I know, but I can’t stop.” Her voice was full of warmth. “You gave me back something I thought I’d lost forever. I’ll never forget that.”

Harry smiled, and for the first time all day, he felt a bit lighter. At least Narcissa was happy. That much was certain.

She was soon pulled away by another guest, and Harry used the moment to scan the crowd — his eyes searching for a familiar flash of pale blond hair, heart pounding in spite of himself.

Draco was surprisingly enjoying helping his mother plan the wedding, even if everything felt rushed. He took charge of the flowers — daffodils, naturally, knowing exactly what she’d love — oversaw the catering, and even helped pick the music. He didn’t mind at all. Seeing her so happy made him happy. Narcissa was finally free of her old worries, stealing away with Matteo to the gardens at every chance, like teenagers caught up in first love.

But while Draco loved her dearly and delighted in her joy, there was one moment during the invitation process when he truly hated her. She asked — more like hinted, then pressed — whether they should invite Potter. Draco bristled but luckily she dropped the subject. That is, until breakfast today, when she casually dropped the bombshell: Potter was coming. She had sent him an invitation anyway.

Draco went for a long run to calm his nerves. It didn’t help.

Now, standing in a sharp grey suit with a glass of champagne in hand, he tried not to fixate on the front gate. He was freaking out. What if Potter showed up with the Weaslette? What would he even do? Could he be civil? He knew he had to be — no matter how much he wanted to strangle her.

Of course, just then, another witch he wanted to strangle was walking straight toward him. Astoria. She looked stunning in a flowing lavender dress, her long dark hair cascading over her shoulders.

“Hey, Astoria,” Draco greeted politely.

“Draco! I’m so happy to see you. How are you?” She kissed him lightly on both cheeks.

“Good. You?”

She smiled warmly. “Good.”

“How’s Zabini?”

“I wouldn’t know,” she replied with a smirk, and Draco frowned.

“We broke up,” she added casually.

“Ah,” Draco nodded, “That makes sense.”

Astoria laughed, slapping his arm playfully. “Shut up. You’re mean.”

Draco shrugged. “Well…”

“So,” Astoria glanced down at her perfectly manicured nails, “Is he coming to the wedding?”

“You’re so transparent it’s laughable,” Draco said with a smirk.

Astoria scowled. “Can you just tell me instead of being an asshole?”

“He’s coming,” Draco confirmed, watching her nod.

“Okay, so I need you to help me—”

“Make him jealous. Got it.”

Astoria looked at him, puzzled.

“Both you and Zabini love mind games.”

Astoria laughed again, squeezing his arm. “You know us too well…”

Harry spotted Draco in the crowd and felt his heart catch. He looked stunning — tall and elegant in a perfectly tailored suit that matched the steel-gray of his eyes. His platinum-blond hair, always falling artfully over his face, shimmered in the afternoon sun. He was breathtaking.

Maybe this was it. Maybe Harry finally had the chance to say something. To do something. Maybe he just had to go for it.

He began to make his way toward Draco, weaving through the guests, when he noticed Draco wasn’t looking his way. He was watching someone else — a girl approaching with a confident stride and familiar smirk.

Astoria Greengrass.

Harry stopped in his tracks, dread settling heavily in his chest. She greeted Draco with a kiss on both cheeks, laughing as she placed a hand on his chest like it belonged there. She was clearly flirting, unmistakably single, and entirely too comfortable.

Draco smiled.

He didn’t pull away. He didn’t flinch. He laughed at something she said. It was easy between them, familiar in a way Harry could never touch.

And just like that, it hit him: There was never a chance. Not really.

Whatever spark existed between him and Draco — it didn’t matter. Draco still loved her. He probably always had.

The air around him suddenly felt too thick, too loud. He needed to leave.

On his way out, Harry accidentally bumped into Isabella just outside the gate.

“Hey!” she greeted with a warm smile. “You’re not leaving already, are you?”

“No, no,” Harry chuckled weakly, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Just, uh… stepping out for some fresh air. It’s… fresher out here. The air.”

Isabella grinned. “Air’s okay. You know what’s better? Water.”

Harry tried to laugh, but it didn’t quite come. Instead, he scratched the back of his neck. “You can head back in. I’ll be right there.”

She paused, watching him closely. That look — like she could see through him — made his stomach twist. But then, mercifully, she dropped it.

“See you inside,” she said, as if she meant it. As if she knew he wouldn’t.

Harry sat on a nearby bench, lit a cigarette, and watched the smoke curl up into the blue sky.

Narcissa found Draco and sent him out to show Potter where the guesthouse was so he could drop off his things. Draco hesitated, then made his way to the garden.

And froze.

Potter stood in the sunlight, wearing a fitted black suit with a crisp white shirt, a few buttons undone at the collar. He looked incredible — calm, distant, impossibly beautiful — and Draco felt a pang of something sharp twist in his stomach. Relief washed over him when he noticed the Weaslette wasn’t with him.

“Hey,” Draco said, walking over and trying to sound casual.

“Hi,” Harry replied curtly, his face unreadable.

The silence that followed was thick. They walked together toward the villa, neither knowing what to say. Draco’s thoughts spiraled. Harry hadn’t owled at the past month. Not once. Not even a line. It felt like déjà vu — the same hollow goodbye when Harry left for New York.

“So… how are you?” Draco tried, his voice tentative. Then, before he could stop himself, “How’s the Weaslette?”

“Fine.” Harry’s reply was flat, final.

Draco blinked. He hadn’t expected warmth, but the coldness still hurt.

“I’m fine too, thank you for asking,” he muttered, trying to joke, but Potter didn’t even glance at him.

Draco fumbled with the key at the door, cursing the thick silence between them. As soon as they stepped inside, he tried again.

“So, kitchen and bathroom are downstairs, bedroom’s upstairs—”

Potter didn’t wait. He was already heading up the stairs, two at a time, as if Draco weren’t even there. Draco followed awkwardly.

“There are clean towels in the shower. If you need anything else, just—

“How’s Narcissa?” Potter cut in, already unpacking his trunk on the bed.

“She’s good,” Draco said, recovering quickly. “Matteo’s amazing. Even more than I expected. He’s sweet, he takes care of her in a way I’ve never seen before. It’s… it’s good. I’m really happy for her.”

Potter smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah. She really does deserve it.”

There was a beat. A silence that wasn’t empty — just full of things unsaid.

“I need to shower before the ceremony,” Potter said abruptly, clearly dismissing him.

Draco nodded stiffly. “Oh. A-alright.”

He walked out, closing the door behind him, and leaned against it with a sigh. His chest ached, and his stomach churned.

This was going to be a long, painful wedding

Narcissa and Matteo’s wedding was breathtaking. Harry sat quietly as the ceremony unfolded, watching Draco escort his mother down the aisle. He looked striking in his grey suit, calm and proud, his arm linked with hers. When they reached the altar, Draco smiled at her with such warmth and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

The vineyard glowed in the golden light of the afternoon, and as Narcissa and Matteo faced each other, hands clasped, it was as if time stilled. Surrounded by friends, family, and rows of grapevines basking in the sun, it felt right. Perfect, even. Their vows were simple but full of history —“until death do us part”— and when they kissed, Harry found himself glancing instinctively at Draco, who stood behind them, smiling with a kind of peace Harry rarely saw in him.

Then came the reception. Laughter filled the air, the music swelled, and guests began to spill onto the dance floor. Harry slipped away to sit with Andromeda at the family table. They shared wine and quiet stories. For a moment, he could breathe again — until he noticed a couple twirling near the center of the floor.

Draco. And Astoria Greengrass.

Harry’s stomach sank. She was laughing at something he’d whispered. Her hand was on his arm. Her body tucked neatly into his side as if she belonged there.

“Are you alright?” Andromeda asked, following his gaze. Her eyes landed on Draco and Astoria dancing. “Oh… that’s new. Isn’t the Greengrass girl with Zabini?”

“I guess they broke up,” Harry muttered through clenched teeth. “What are they even doing here?”

Andromeda gave him a puzzled look. “What do you mean? The Zabini family likely invested in the vineyard.”

Harry blinked. “Why would they do that?”

“Matteo was married to Lucy Zabini,” she said gently. “She died during childbirth — horribly tragic. After that, Narcissa spent a summer at the Zabinis’ Italian cottage. And apparently…” Andromeda smiled faintly. “That’s when she and Matteo fell in love. I never knew, not even after we reconciled. She kept that summer close to her chest.”

Harry opened his mouth to reply, but just then, the sharp clinking of glass cut through the reception buzz. Narcissa stood at the head of the table, beaming.

Draco, returning from the dance floor, made his way toward them.

Harry gave Andromeda a quick nod and stood abruptly. “Excuse me,” he mumbled before hurrying back to his seat beside Juliet’s secretaries, heart thudding in his chest.

“Dear friends,” Narcissa said, voice warm with emotion. “Thank you for being here today. We are here for one reason, and one reason only — a letter.”

Matteo took her hand as she continued, her eyes sweeping across the crowd.

“Thirty years ago, I wrote a letter to Juliet. I asked her a question I never truly expected an answer to. And then, two months ago, I received a reply, amd without that letter…” She turned to Matteo, voice trembling with affection, “None of us would be here today.”

Then, she looked directly at Harry. He could feel Draco’s eyes on him too — hot and unrelenting, like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

“Harry dear,” Narcissa said tenderly, “would you mind if I read your words aloud?”

Harry gave a small nod, and his heart began to hammer.

She unfolded the letter. Her voice rang out clear, each word like a blow to his chest.

Dear Narcissa,

What and if are two words as non-threatening as words can be. But put them side by side, and they hold the power to haunt you forever.

What if? What if? What if?

Each sentence twisted in Harry’s gut like a blade. He felt exposed. Bare. The secret pain he had buried was now echoing through the vineyard, turned into a celebration toast.

If what you felt then was true love, then you know—it’s never too late. If it was true then, why wouldn’t it be true now? You need only the courage to follow your heart.

Harry’s eyes burned. He couldn’t look at Draco. Not now. Not after watching him dance with Astoria like they were inevitable. Not when the very words he’d written about love and courage were now mocking him.

I don’t know what a love like Juliet’s feels like. A love to leave loved ones for. A love to cross oceans for. But I’d like to believe, if I ever were to feel it, that I’d have the courage to seize it.

And if you didn’t, I hope one day that you will.

All my love,

Juliet.

Applause erupted. The secretaries around him clapped and leaned over to congratulate him. Harry forced a tight smile, nodding along, trying not to choke.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement.

Astoria leaned in and whispered something into Draco’s ear. Draco chuckled, eyes still locked on Harry.

And that was it.

It was cruel, wasn’t it? How the universe dangled hope right in front of him and then snatched it away.

He got up. He couldn’t stay.

He bolted from the table, not stopping to make excuses. He pushed through the crowd, down the villa steps and across the gravel path toward the guest house. His hands shook as he flung open the door. He had to pack. He had to leave. He couldn’t sit through this night pretending he was fine.

Because he wasn’t.

Not when the person he had been brave enough to love — finally — was smiling at someone else.

As Harry threw clothes into his suitcase, a shout echoed from outside.

“Potter!”

He froze, then walked out onto the balcony — because of course, of course it had to be a balcony.

Malfoy stood below, hands on his hips, glaring up. “Brilliant. A balcony.”

Harry shrugged weakly. “Well…”

“What the hell are you doing up there?”

“I’m packing. I’m leaving.”

Malfoy’s expression twisted. “Why?”

“Because I can’t be here with you,” Harry said, sharper than he intended.

Malfoy huffed. “Oh, and I’m supposed to feel great being around the guy who turned me down?”

Harry’s jaw clenched. “I didn’t turn you down.”

“You could’ve fooled me,” Malfoy snapped. “I tried talking to you today, and you ran off.”

“Because it hurts.” Harry exhaled, steadying himself. No more running. “I guess I should’ve realised sooner but… maybe I couldn’t. Or wouldn’t—“

Malfoy groaned. “Merlin, Potter, just use complete sentences before I—”

“I broke off the engagement,” Harry blurted.

Silence. For a heartbeat, everything stilled.

“You’re not engaged?” Malfoy asked, eyes wide.

Harry shook his head and looked away. “No. I’m not.”

He exhaled slowly, eyes closing. “But it’s too late. I know that.”

He didn’t even want to imagine what Malfoy must think of him — how pathetic he must have seemed.

Still, he pressed on, voice low but steady.

“I just… I needed you to know. Even if it doesn’t matter anymore. Even if you don’t want to hear it.”

Harry stepped closer to the railing, voice quieter now, steadier somehow.

“I love that you stained my notebook with ice cream. Every time I opened it this past month, I saw that stupid smear and thought of you. Every time.”

He huffed a soft, almost embarrassed laugh. “I miss your sarcasm. I miss laughing with you. I even miss how you go out of your way to drive me completely mad.”

There was a beat of silence before Harry looked down at his shoes. His voice broke a little as he said, “I love you. I’ve loved you since eighth year. That’s why I left. That’s why I didn’t say goodbye. I didn’t know how to handle it — any of it. But now… at least you know.”

He finally met Draco’s eyes — and to his surprise, Draco was grinning.

“You love me,” Draco said, awestruck, his voice tinged with wonder.

“Yeah,” Harry admitted softly. “Not that it matters anymore.”

Draco’s brows furrowed. “Why wouldn’t it matter?”

“Because of Astoria. You’re back together, aren’t you?”

Draco stared at him as if Harry had grown a second head.

“You’re not?” Harry asked, suddenly unsure.

Draco rubbed a hand down his face with theatrical exasperation. “You’ve got to be kidding me, Potter.”

Harry blinked. “What did I—?”

“First of all,” Draco interrupted, “the rich don’t eat leftovers. There’s no universe in which I’d crawl back to Blaise’s hand-me-downs. Astoria wanted to make him jealous and I was conveniently tall and well-dressed.”

Harry’s eyes widened.

“And second of all…” Draco cleared his throat and shoved his hands into his pockets, his shoulders tense. “I’ve been in love with you since we were kids. I just didn’t know what to do with it back then. I wanted you to like me, and when you didn’t… it hurt more than I could admit — even to myself.” He glanced away, then looked back at Harry, something raw flickering behind his eyes. “So technically, I’ve got a head start on you.”

Harry stared at him — brilliant, impossible Draco in his perfectly tailored grey suit, standing among blooming roses and tangled vines, sunlight catching in the silver of his hair, confesses he loved him back. He let out a breathless laugh, stunned. “I can’t believe you love me.”

Draco rolled his eyes and gave a dramatic snort, though the corner of his mouth twitched into a grin. “And I can’t believe you thought I’d crawl back to that stunningly manipulative woman. Honestly, Potter, I’m offended. I might need to lie down.”

Harry laughed, warm and incredulous, his chest feeling like it might burst. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And yet, tragically yours,” Draco replied, tipping his head with a mock flourish.

Harry laughed again, his eyes still a bit teary, but his smile full and bright.

“Now, would you please come down here?” Draco asked impatiently, already loosening his tie and slipping off his blazer, folding it neatly and laying it on the grass.

Harry narrowed his eyes. “What are you doing?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Fixing your idiocy, obviously.”

And then — before Harry could stop him — Draco grabbed hold of the vines growing up the villa wall.

“Malfoy—wait—”

“It’s Draco, you prat!” he called up as he climbed, hair in his face, jacket left behind like a challenge.

He reached Harry’s eyeline, hanging on precariously, then blew his fringe away with an annoyed huff. His eyes—stormy grey, wild, beautiful—locked onto Harry’s.

“Now listen very, very carefully, because I’m hanging by a vine and I know how your brain short-circuits when emotions are involved.”

Harry opened his mouth, but Draco immediately shushed him.

“I am the most serious I’ve ever been in my life.”

The air shifted. Everything stilled.

“I am madly, deeply, truly, stupidly in love with you. I can’t stop thinking about you. I want you, all of you, for myself. I always have. And now, will you please kiss me before I fall and make a complete arse of myself?”

Harry was already laughing, already leaning in—but Draco let out a startled yelp.

“Wait—Draco—!”

And just like that, he slipped and tumbled one floor down.

“Draco!” Harry shouted in horror, bolting from the balcony, through the room, down the stairs, and out to the garden.

He found Draco sprawled in the grass, groaning in pain.

“I can’t believe I just did that,” Draco muttered. “I’m such an idiot.”

Harry dropped to one knee beside him. “Are you okay?”

Draco groaned again and covered his eyes. “Please tell me no one saw that.”

Harry glanced over and spotted Narcissa and Matteo watching from a distance. Narcissa gave a knowing smile. Matteo gave a thumbs-up. Then they turned away, respectfully disappearing.

“No one saw,” Harry lied with a grin.

“Good. That’s good.” Draco winced, then smiled up at him. “Now… where were we?”

Warmth bloomed in Harry’s chest. He leaned in close. Their lips brushed —tentative at first, testing. The scent of Draco’s cologne, the softness of his hair, the feel of his breath—

And then they kissed. Properly. Finally.

It was like breathing for the first time.

“Been wanting to kiss you since eighth year,” Harry whispered against Draco’s lips, pressing in with teasing, breathless kisses. His tongue grazed the seam of Draco’s mouth, slow and deliberate, hinting at everything he was holding back.

Draco grinned, resting his forehead against Harry’s. One hand was still tangled in Harry’s hair, the other drifting lower, curling around the small of his back. “Please,” he murmured, brushing his nose against Harry’s, “I’ve been wanting to kiss you long before that.”

His fingers slid to the back of Harry’s neck, thumb stroking gently along his jaw just below his ear. The other hand trailed slowly down Harry’s chest, leaving sparks in its wake.

And then they were kissing again — deeper, needier. Their mouths parted, tongues meeting for the first time in a slow burn that quickly escalated. Hands gripped, bodies pressed flush. They held each other so tightly, it was impossible not to feel how much they both wanted this — had wanted this, for years.

Breaking apart just long enough to catch their breath, Harry dipped his face into the curve of Draco’s neck, inhaling the familiar, dizzying scent of his cologne. Draco’s breath was hot against his hair, shaky and uneven.

Then Harry shoved him hard in the arm.

“Ow!” Draco yelped, clutching it dramatically. “I’m already injured, you brute!”

“That,” Harry said, eyes narrowed, “was for not telling me Narcissa stayed with the Zabinis.”

“I didn’t even know myself—”

Harry cut him off by pressing a hand over his mouth. “You’re lucky I remembered you’re technically wounded. You almost got another for not telling me you were hot for me in eighth year.”

Draco tried to protest, voice muffled under Harry’s hand. “I wasn’t hot for you, I just—”

But Harry was already kissing him again — because he couldn’t resist that mouth for long, especially when it was being insufferably pretty.

Sunday the 6th of July, 2008

“I’m nervous,” Draco muttered, eyeing the front door of the Weasley-Granger household like it might bite him.

Harry rolled his eyes fondly. “Yeah, I noticed. You brought the most expensive bottle of wine known to wizardkind.”

Draco scowled. “I want them to like me.”

“I know,” Harry said, squeezing his hand and lacing their fingers together. “But they’re going to love you. No doubt about it. Just be yourself.”

Draco leaned in and kissed him, quick but lingering, then finally knocked on the door. As they waited, Harry glanced over at him and smiled to himself.

Draco had absolutely nothing to be nervous about.

After all, if there was one thing he excelled at — it was afternoon tea.

fin