Chapter Text
A Suitable Wife
Prologue
Harry had thought that almost killing Draco Malfoy with Sectumsempra would be the crescendo of their relationship.
As it turned out, they were apparently destined for waves instead.
Waves of trying to kill each other. Then waves of letting Draco pound him into a mattress two or three times a week.
Harry lay sprawled across Draco’s bed, basking in post-coital contentment and wondering, not for the first time, how exactly this had happened. He still wasn’t entirely sure.
Beside him, Draco was already drifting towards sleep.
Harry huffed a laugh and sat up. “I’m going to shower.”
He received no response. Draco often dozed off after sex.
Harry crossed the room and stepped into the en-suite, turning the shower on before climbing beneath the blessedly hot water. He helped himself to Draco’s expensive shower gel and shampoo. It smelled of Draco; something annoyingly sophisticated that Harry couldn’t name.
As the water ran over him, his thoughts drifted back to how all of this had started.
After the Battle of Hogwarts there had been funerals and trials.
Then the rebuilding began. So quickly after it barely felt like they’d had moment to come to terms with everything that had happened.
Draco had been sentenced to community service, helping restore the castle he’d helped put in danger. The Wizengamot had accepted Harry’s testimony that Draco had been coerced, that he had done what he could to aid Harry and his friends when it mattered most.
But there had still been consequences. He had allowed Death Eaters into Hogwarts. So he would be one of the people who rebuilt it.
Harry had ended up at Hogwarts too.
Professor McGonagall had approached him during Snape’s funeral, a service with a depressingly small attendance, and quietly informed him that Hogwarts would always have a place for him should he need one.
The Burrow was crowded and grieving.
Ron and Hermione were wrapped up in the dizzy early days of their relationship, and Harry often felt like an accidental third wheel. Then there was Ginny.
Breaking up with her had been difficult the first time. The long looks she sent him were worse. The hopes they’d get back together. While they’d not had a conversation about it Harry had kept her at arms length.
Everyone had been supportive of him since the final battle. How he felt with his own trauma and greif. Ginny included, mostly. But Harry knew she needed space, and he needed it too . He knew that understanding between them would end sooner or later and they’d need to have a conversation about it. Avoiding the Burrow meant that conversation could be put back. That appealed to Harry.
Grimmauld Place required more work than he could face on his own. If he was going to spend months helping rebuild somewhere, Hogwarts seemed the obvious choice.
He and Draco were the only students who had returned Hanford the rebuild.
For weeks they barely spoke. Then McGonagall started assigning them projects together.
Their first task was the rebuilding of Hagrid’s hut had almost been a disaster. They argued about everything. Draco wanted improvements while Harry wanted it exactly as Hagrid had left it.
Eventually they compromised.
The hut remained recognisably Hagrid’s, but with subtle enhancements: a slightly wider floor plan, a loft bedroom accessed by a broad staircase, and an enormous sofa where the bed had once sat.
Hagrid had loved it, McGonagall struggled to keep the surprise off her face so from there on in, the Malfoy-Potter partnership was born.
McGonagall trusted them with increasingly ambitious projects and, annoyingly enough, they worked well together.
A refurbished Defence classroom complete with a heavily warded duelling platform; Draco’s contribution.
A communal kitchen where students could learn to cook for themselves. Harry’s idea.
A shared common room designed to encourage inter-house friendships; he was quite sure who had thought that one up. It had just sort of happened while they bounced ideas off each other.
By July, McGonagall had summoned them to her office and revealed plans for an Eighth Year programme, allowing students whose education had been disrupted by the war to complete their schooling.
Both Harry and Draco agreed immediately.
Then, on what should have been their graduation day, they got drunk together in the new communal common room.
One minute they were talking.
The next they were snogging in a secluded nook at the back. Ironically, Draco had installed the nook specifically because he thought students would use it for snogging.
They avoided each other for three days afterwards.
Harry then disappeared to the Burrow for his eighteenth birthday.
When he returned, Draco presented him with a pocket watch. A handsome silver one that didn’t actually tell the time.
Instead it tracked the weather, moon phases, and sunrise and sunset times. Draco had also layered several protective charms into it which he claimed he did because he wanted the practice.
Harry had kissed him senseless.
By the end of August they were spending most nights in each other’s beds.
A week before term began, Draco had sat beside him at the edge of the lake. “You know nobody can find out about us once the students return, don’t you?”
Harry had laughed. “I know. Your not the sort of boy my friends would be pleased about and I’m not the potential pureblood wife that your mothers hoping for am I?”
Draco’s jaw tightened. “That doesn’t mean we have to stop.”
Harry had picked up a stone and thrown it into the water “What if I met someone else?”
Draco had been silent for a moment. “Then I’d accept it. Just as you’ve accepted that one day I’ll be expected to marry.”
“Do you want to stop?”
“No.”
Harry remembered smiling. “Then let’s not.”
It was simple and convenient sort of arrangement. At least that was what they told themselves.
They would continue meeting in secret and remain distant in public.
They had no expectations for each other, they made no promises, and they where practical about the fact that there was no future for them.
The whole arrangement was convenient. That was what Harry told himself, anyway.
Draco’s quarters were tucked away in one of Hogwarts’ guest corridors; a single room just large enough for a double bed, a wardrobe, two armchairs and an overflowing bookcase. It also had an en-suite, which Harry considered one of the greatest luxuries known to wizardkind.
The guest room was dangerously convenient.
Draco had even cleared a section of his wardrobe for Harry. At first it had been for an emergency change of clothes, but somehow it had expanded to include several jumpers, a pair of jeans and a dressing gown that Harry was fairly certain he’d never actually brought down himself.
One bedside drawer belonged entirely to him now. Pyjamas, underwear, and socks all shoved in there with a tub of lube.
The other was filled with the sort of miscellaneous collection that accumulated when someone spent too much time in one place: a spare toothbrush, deodorant, quills, ink, spare parchment, and various objects Harry had absent-mindedly emptied from his bag and pockets from day to day.
Draco was the only Slytherin who had returned for Eighth Year. Harry, meanwhile, shared a dormitory with Ron and Neville. The Eighth Year rooms had been created by partitioning off part of Gryffindor Tower, making them smaller than the usual dormitories and offering very little privacy.
Draco’s guest suite became some sort of haven to him. Harry only stayed over two or three nights a week trying to limit himself.
Ron was too distracted by Hermione to pay much attention to Harry’s comings and goings, but Neville was more observant. To avoid awkward questions, Harry had developed a routine.
Before leaving, he’d draw the curtains around his bed and charm them shut.
Then, at some ungodly hour of the morning, a house-elf who had been mentored by Doddy, would open them, straighten the bedding and make it appear as though Harry had simply risen early.
So far, both Ron and Neville seemed content to attribute his increasingly odd sleeping habits to lingering war trauma.Harry felt mildly guilty about that. Not guilty enough to stop.
The arrangement had worked perfectly before Christmas, they’d both left. Harry spending a week at Grimmauld starting some of the renovations. Draco back to the Manoe for the first time in over six months. Now term had started again.
Earlier that evening Harry had yawned theatrically in the common room, complained of exhaustion and retreated upstairs. Ten minutes later he’d slipped beneath his Invisibility Cloak and made his way through the castle.
It was now well past eleven. When he emerged from the bathroom, towelling his hair dry, he found Draco sitting upright in bed.
A wheeled table had been pulled across his lap and several books were spread across it. The candlelight illuminated page after page of meticulous notes.
Harry rolled his eyes.
Crossing the room, he climbed onto the mattress and dropped his head against Draco’s shoulder. “Didn’t you do enough studying while you were home?”
Draco made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. “Mother dragged me from ball to ball trying to find me a suitable wife.”
Harry felt something unpleasant twist low in his stomach. It wasn’t exactly news. Draco had always been open about it.
He would marry some pureblood witch and Harry would be forced to look at photos of them in the prophet.
What was news was that Narcissa Malfoy was treating the search like a full-time occupation apparently.
“Find anyone you fancied?” Harry asked lightly, pressing a quick kiss just below Draco’s ear.
Draco sighed and snapped his book shut. “None of them had an arse quite like yours, Potter.”
Harry barked out a laugh as Draco shoved the books aside and pushed him backwards onto the mattress. The table rolled away leaving the bed clear.
Draco looked down at him, amusement softening his features “You’re staying, aren’t you?”
Harry’s chest tightened unexpectedly.
“Yeah,” he said quietly.
Then, with a grin, he caught Draco by the front of his shirt and pulled him down. “I’m staying.”
Draco made a noise of approval then waved his had to extinguish the candles.
The Eighth Years attended every class together regardless of House. It made sense. There were only a handful of them from each year, and most subjects had too few students to justify separate lessons.
Harry noticed that Draco kept to himself. In class he always claimed the table furthest from everyone else. At meals he sat at the end of the Eighth Year table, usually with an empty space on side and across from him.
Nobody was outwardly hostile to him but nobody invited him to join them either. He was excluded from socialising apart from the younger Slytherins who treated him like some sort of mentor.
In their classes Ron and Hermione seemed to have reached some sort of arrangement. One sat with Harry while the other sat with Neville, then they switched for the next lesson.
Harry had pointed out more than once that they could simply sit together and leave him with Neville.
Hermione had rolled her eyes. “We already spend most of our free time together.”
“And if we sat together in every lesson we’d end up murdering each other,” Ron had added cheerfully.
Harry spent every lesson acutely aware of Draco’s existence despite his split custody arrangement with his friends. Aware of the pale head bent over textbooks of the time he spent over the elegant handwriting.
He desperately wanted to sit beside him.
In the evenings the Eighth Years often gathered in the communal common room. Harry quickly learned Draco’s routine.
He always chose the same armchair seating alone by the window across from the exit.
This was were the Slytherins approached him for help with coursework. Usually Arithmancy. Occasionally Ancient Runes.
Draco never turned them away; he’d smile and explain the theory to them kindly.
Harry had come to learn just how much of a scholar Draco was which surprised him. Not that Draco was clever, he’d always known that. Hermione had spent years competing with him for top marks. What surprised Harry was the amount of work Draco put in.
Hours of effort and determination. Harry had assumed, if he was honest, that Draco’s success came naturally.
One evening, a few weeks into term, Harry finally asked. He was sprawled across Draco’s bed while Draco worked through an Arithmancy assignment at his desk.
Harry had attempted several increasingly creative distractions. Draco had ignored every single one.
“I don’t get it.”
Draco continued writing.
“Get what?”
“Why you study so hard.”
That finally earned him a glance. “What?”
Harry propped himself up on his elbows. “You’re rich.”
Draco blinked so Harry pressed on.
“You’ve got Malfoy Manor. Loads of money. You’ll probably never need a job.”
The quill stopped moving. Slowly, Draco turned towards him “Is that honestly what you think?”
“I’ve seen your house, Draco.”
To Harry’s surprise, Draco laughed. It wasn’t mocking but genuinely amused.
“Potter,” he said, shaking his head, “you’ve absolutely no idea how the wizarding world works.”
Draco closed his textbook which Harry recognised as Draco entering his mentor head space and resisted the urge not to groan.
“Right,” Draco began. “Tell me. Who runs magical Britain?”
“The Minister?”
Draco sighed. “The Minister administers magical Britain.”
“What’s the difference?”
“A very important one.”
Harry settled further into the pillows. This was definitely becoming a lecture.
“The Minister can propose legislation, oversee departments and manage government business. The Wizengamot approves laws, oversees appointments and can remove ministers.”
“So they’re like the muggle Parliament?”
“Not exactly.”
Harry frowned. “Then what are they?”
Draco considered for a moment. “A cross between Parliament, the House of Lords and the Courts - you’ve seen the trails were there.”
“That’s ridiculous. They do all of that?”
“I didn’t create it.”
Harry threw a cushion at him which Draco caught it without looking and continued. “The Wizengamot has existed for over a thousand years,” he continued. “Long before Muggle democracy. It evolved rather than being designed.”
“So how do people get onto it?”
A strange look crossed Draco’s face. “You really don’t know?”
“No.”
“Nobody’s told you?”
“Clearly not.”
Draco stared at him for several seconds.
Then he laughed again. “Merlin, Potter.”
“What?”
“You have two seats.”
Harry sat upright. “I have what?”
“Two seats.” Draco told him again.
“I most certainly do not.” Harry denied. Someone would have told him this. If he was a member of the Wizenmagot then surely he’d have sat for the trials too.
“You do.” Draco looked delighted by Harry’s confusion. “The Potter seat and the Black seat. You were Sirius Blacks heir”
Harry blinked. “Sorry?”
“You are the heir to both the Potter and black lordships and with that comes the hereditary seats attached to your Houses.”
Harry simply stared. Draco rubbed a hand across his face.
“Some families possess hereditary representation. Malfoy. Black. Potter. Bones. Longbottom. Selwyn. Rosier. There are 153 of them. I won’t name them all.”
“Hereditary.”
“Yes.”
“As in inherited?”
“Yes.”
“Like the muggles House of Lords?” He remembered back to a debate he watched about wether they could get rid of hereditary peers. Yet here in the wizarding world it was the norm apparently.
Draco pointed at him. “Now you’re getting it.”
Harry felt mildly sick. “You’re telling me some families automatically get seats because their ancestors were rich?”
“Influential,” Draco corrected.
“That’s worse.”
Draco grinned. “It does sound rather terrible when you put it like that. It’s actually more to do with the age of the families. The wizarding world is ever expanding. The seats were given to the original families that made up our world. It’s expanded somewhat since of course.”
Harry grabbed another cushion. Draco wisely continued before it could be thrown.
“There are also elected seats. Representatives from guilds, businesses, educational institutions, magical communities and councils.”
“Can Muggle-borns hold those?”
“Of course.” Harry relaxed slightly; that seemed marginally more acceptable structure in his head. “Some people don’t like that do they.”
Draco’s expression became more thoughtful. “The problem is that old families have centuries of influence and 90% of the wizarding worlds wealth.”
He hesitated. “Most pure-blood supremacists weren’t angry because Muggle-borns existed.”
Harry snorted. “Could’ve fooled me.”
“They were angry because Muggle-borns were gaining influence.”
Harry frowned. “What do you mean?”
Draco tapped the desk. “Your mother.”
The room suddenly felt very quiet. “What about my mum?”
“She sat on the Wizengamot.”
Harry froze surely he had heard wrong. “What?”
“She held the Potter seat after your grandfather died. Your father spent most of his time with the Aurors, so she attended.”
Harry stared at him nobody had ever told him that. Not Dumbledore, not Sirius, not even Remus when they’d spent hours discussing his parents. He might have like to know this about his mother.,
Draco watched his face carefully until he was sure that had sunk in before continuing. “She was respected too.”
Harry swallowed, that felt too much. “Really?”
“Very.” The answer came immediately with no hesitation or sarcasm attached to it. Just the truth about his mother. “She argued for expanding educational grants, improving Muggle-born integration and reforming inheritance laws.”
Harry looked away face feeling hot. Suddenly he wished he’d known her, he’d always wished he’d known her but never more than in this moment.
“The Death Eaters hated that,” Draco said quietly. “They hated what she represented.”
Harry sat silently for a long moment before he looked back at Draco. “So what happens now?”
“With what?” Draco asked clearly off footed by the change in direction.
“My seats.”
Draco smiled. “You’ll inherit both when you graduate.”
Harry groaned that was absolutely the last thing he wanted. “Can I refuse?”
“No.”
“Brilliant.”
“You can appoint a proxy for one.”
“Better.” Harry breathed.
“Your proxy would be tied to your voting intention though. They couldn’t do the important things such as present bills or speak even. They would just be able to use your second vote when it was needed. if it makes you feel any better, working members don’t sit on the committees usually, they just come in for main voting.” Draco explained but it only served to confuse Harry more.
Harry narrowed his eyes. “You will attend committee meetings I take it.”
“I will.”
“Why?”
For a moment, Draco looked genuinely surprised by the question. “Because it’s my responsibility.”
Harry studied him, really studied him. He thought back over the years to Dracos contributions in classes and realised, perhaps for the first time, that Draco had been raised for this.
While Harry had spent his childhood trying to survive, Draco had spent his learning how to govern. Learning to govern a world that might not even have been there’s to govern if Voldemort had had his way. Perhaps that was a discussion for another time.
“Will you do it full-time?” Harry asked.
Draco nodded. “Most likely.”
Harry leaned back against the headboard. “Then I think you’re going to have to keep teaching me.”
A slow smile spread across Draco’s face. “I was rather hoping you’d say that.”
From that evening onwards, Harry found himself receiving an ongoing education in wizarding politics. To his horror, he discovered that being a member of the Wizengamot wasn’t simply an honour. It was a responsibility.
One he wasn’t entirely certain he wanted and one that Draco Malfoy had been preparing for his entire life.
Over the previous few months, Draco had taken it upon himself to educate Harry in the finer points of wizarding politics and a fair few other parts about wizarding traditions.
The lessons had started with casual conversations and evolved into lengthy discussions that stretched late into the night. Draco explained voting, committee structures, legislative procedure and the complicated web of alliances that existed within the Wizengamot.
“Muggles have political parties but we have allies that share our political views and values.” Draco explained one night.
“So your going to go in and partner up with your fathers mates?” Harry scoffed.
A flash of something passed across Dracos face, “Not necessarily.”
“Sorry, that was thoughtless.” Harry told him and leaned over to kiss him, “You are much more than your, Father.”
Harry had discovered, to his horror, that magical Britain was held together largely by tradition, precedent and centuries of families arguing with one another.
For Christmas, Draco had bought him a book.
Wizengamot Procedure and Legislative Practice: A Modern Guide. Tenth Edition
Inside the cover was a short inscription.
To continue your political education so you can act the hero, with confidence, in the Chamber.
There was no signature or initials. Nothing that could identify the giver. They were careful about things like that.
Still, Harry knew the handwriting well enough to recognise it instantly. He recognised the intent behind it to.
The book covered everything from wizen procedure to the drafting of legislation, committee appointments, budget negotiations and the process by which new laws were proposed, debated and enacted.
To Harry’s astonishment, he was nearly halfway through it.
Hermione caught him reading it one evening in early February.
The communal common room was unusually quiet. Several students were studying for upcoming exams and a fire crackled softly in the grate.
Harry had claimed an armchair near the window. Hermione had appeared beside him carrying a stack of books and peered down at the cover.
Her eyebrows rose. “Oh.”
Harry looked up. “What?”
“I didn’t think you’d be interested in your Wizengamot seat.”
Harry snorted. “I’m not.”
Hermione laughed.
He closed the book around a finger to keep his place. “I don’t think I’ve got much choice, though.”
Something softened in her expression.
“No,” she admitted. “I suppose you don’t.”
Harry studied her for a moment. “You knew?”
She blinked. “Knew what?”
“About the seats.”
Realisation dawned on her face.
“Oh.” For a second she looked genuinely uncomfortable. “I thought you knew.”
Harry shook his head. “Nope.”
“But Sirius? Remus? Dumbledore?”
“No.” He shrugged though it was still painful that none of them had sat him down and told him. Yet, he wasn’t sure any of them had really expected him to survive until graduation.
Hermione frowned. “They never told you?”
“I found out by accident.”
Her expression immediately turned apologetic. “Oh, Harry.”
He shrugged. It wasn’t really anyone’s fault. There had always been more urgent things to discuss.Some was always happening. Even those months they spent in the tent. They’d not discussed the future then either just the present. Compared to all of that, hereditary legislative appointments seemed rather insignificant.
“With everything that was happening,” Hermione said quietly, “I assumed it was the last thing you’d have wanted to hear about.”
“You’re probably right.” Harry tapped the edge of the book against his knee. “Anyway, apparently I’ve got four months before graduation to figure out what I’m supposed to do.”
Hermione smiled. To his surprise, she looked pleased. “I’m proud of you.”
Harry frowned. “For reading?”
“For taking it seriously.” She settled into the chair opposite him. “A lot of people would ignore it and rely on others to tell them how to vote.”
“That still sounds like a brilliant plan.”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean.”
Harry smiled despite himself. “Maybe.”
“No, I do mean it.” Her voice softened. “You’re educating yourself. You’re preparing. That’s responsible.”
Harry looked down at the book. He mostly felt overwhelmed still by all of this. “I don’t feel ready.”
Hermione’s smile became gentler. “You’ve done harder things.”
Harry opened his mouth to argue. Then closed it again because she was probably right. He had fought Voldemort, faced dragons, broken into Gringotts, survived a war.
Surely sitting through a few Wizenmagot meetings between Auror ops couldn’t be worse than any of that. His eyes lifted automatically. Across the room, Draco was sitting in his usual armchair with a book rested open on his lap.
He wasn’t reading it, though. He was watching Harry. The moment their eyes met, Draco looked away.
Harry’s chest tightened unexpectedly. For months now, Draco had been patiently teaching him everything he should already know.
He was preparing him, for little moments like this when he was asked about it. Harry realised now that Draco wasn’t preparing him because he had to. He was doing it because he wanted Harry to succeed.
The thought lingered with him long after he returned his attention to the page. For the first time, Harry wondered whether Draco had bought him the book because he thought Harry would need it or if there was another reason.
Did Draco want Harry educated and knowledgeable so that, once they sat in that chamber, they could be allies? Surely not. However compatible they were in other areas of their life’s surely their politics would never align enough for an alliance.
But Harry could imagine how hard it would be to say no to Draco Malfoy in that chamber.