Chapter Text
Harry can’t shake the feeling that Draco Malfoy is Up To Something.
Sure, he has a wonderful relationship with Draco now, and they very rarely have miscommunications anymore, but all the same.
Harry has never been more sure of it.
It starts when Harry wakes up alone, which isn’t unusual, but Harry spots red hair and the tail end of a shoe stepping into the floo and shouting “Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes!” before a flurry of green flames whisk him away.
“Draco, was that George?” Harry asks in surprise. Draco spins around to see Harry on the bottom stair.
“George Weasley?” He asks innocently.
“It’s his birthday today.” Harry realises. Draco nods.
George’s birthday is a difficult day for everyone, even nearly five years later. Ever since the war, George has focused his talents on wellness items in WWW’s. He maintains the old product lines, but everything he’s added have been… Well, not jokes.
“I wish he would’ve stayed, I’d like to wish him a good day.” Harry says, heading into the kitchen with Draco on his heels.
“He has to open the shop.”
“It’s his birthday, he can be a couple minutes late.” Harry shrugs, setting the kettle on the stove.
With a hum, Draco sits delicately on one foot at the breakfast table, sunlight making his pale skin and hair glow golden.
“Right.” Harry says. “I’ll see him tonight for his party anyway.”
Harry’s unused to Draco sitting quietly as Harry cooks their breakfast. Usually, Draco will help out, or interrupt to get kisses or cuddles. Draco is also more fidgety than usual, folding serviettes into birds.
Even so, Draco’s presence is nice, and he helps Harry clean up after they finish.
The next strange thing is Draco’s shower, which is ordinarily extremely long, but today lasts only fifteen or so minutes.
Harry is halfway into his trousers when Draco steps out, bundled in a towel with his wet hair dripping down his nose.
“Done already?” Harry asks in surprise.
“I’d like to visit George’s shop.” Draco says, drying himself off and putting on a slightly-nicer-than-usual outfit. It might be just for George’s party.
“Oh. Alright. We can Apparate so your nice clothes don’t get sooty.” Harry offers. Draco nods.
Harry and Draco Apparate into Diagon, and Draco doesn’t let go of Harry’s hand, though it’s not obvious, as their cloaks cover their limbs mostly.
It’s not that their relationship is a secret. The papers had made sure of it, about three years ago. But they get a lot of odd looks when they’re publicly affectionate, and it sets both of them on edge.
In Wheezes, George greets Harry warmly, and Draco finally steps away from Harry, following George, who tells Harry they’ll ‘just be a minute.’ Harry doesn’t feel too badly about it, as he’d likely not follow whatever they’re talking about anyway.
Harry pokes about the shop while he waits, finding a few neat things he hadn’t seen before and picking up some Silent Sparklers for the party tonight, because Percy is still a bit sensitive to loud sounds. The clerk does a very good job acting like he has no idea who Harry Potter is, which Harry appreciates. The facade slips a bit when he tells Harry there’s a 100% discount on his purchase.
When Harry makes his way toward the back again, George and Draco are talking quietly, and shake hands with a look that makes Harry a bit uneasy. It’s very conspiratorial, and he’s still feeling a bit off-centre at how the morning had started.
As they’re leaving, Harry takes Draco’s hand again, tugging him toward Honeydukes for sweets.
“I’m very curious about what you and George have been working on.” Harry says casually. Draco hums.
“You’ll see. I can tell you about it after.” Draco says softly.
“After? After what?”
Draco stops in his tracks, frowning deeply before he bites his lip and holds out his wrist to Harry, then takes it back just as fast.
“I forgot.” Draco says, rubbing the skin.
“Are you alright?” Harry whispers, turning to face Draco. “Do we need to go home?”
Shaking his head, Draco looks into Harry’s eyes with a smile.
“I’m okay. I forgot we don’t do that anymore. I’m only distracted.”
“You’re sure?”
Draco nods, kisses the backs of both of Harry’s hands, and pulls him toward Honeydukes again.
“I would like chocolate, please.”
Harry can’t help but smile, and buys a ridiculous amount of chocolates for Draco.
“I’d like to know when after is, at least.” Harry says as they leave the shop, hoping Draco will give him that much.
But Draco doesn’t answer, merely giving Harry the most mischievous look Harry’s seen on his face in quite some time. It leaves a weird feeling of excitement and dread in the pit of Harry’s stomach.
When they arrive at the Burrow later that afternoon, Molly pulls Harry aside.
“Say, you don’t know what George may be up to, do you? I know he’s been planning something with Draco.” She whispers. Harry shakes his head.
“Draco wouldn’t say, but he’s been acting funny all day. I think we’re in for some sort of hyjinx today.” Harry says.
“Dear me.” Molly sighs, but she can’t hide the small smile forming.
George hasn’t pulled a prank in years .
Not really, anyway, nothing like they used to. The closest he’s come was on Ginny’s seventeenth birthday, when he used never-ending candles on her cake, which only get taller the longer they burn.
“George was at the house this morning - left as soon as I came downstairs.” Harry tells her.
“That’s odd, he was up early and I found him rummaging through one of my cupboards in the kitchen before he Apparated away. Didn’t even say good morning.” Molly says. “I looked and looked, but nothing was missing and there was nothing that hadn’t been there before.”
“Strange.” Harry agrees.
When Ginny arrives, she makes a big fuss over Harry’s spec-less face.
“It’s part of your charm!” She protests enthusiastically.
“I got lasik six years ago.” Harry laughs, catching her waving hands and pulling her into a hug. “It’s good to see you, Gin. Honest.”
“I’ve missed you, Harry. You should write me more often.”
“And where should I address it, when you’re travelling so much?”
Ginny just snorts, ruffling Harry’s hair.
But it doesn’t take long for her to pick up on something as well.
“Do you think George is acting strangely?” She whispers to Harry at the dinner table, where he sits with Draco on one side and Ginny on the other.
“I’ve been thinking that all day.” Harry admits. “Think he’s got something planned with Draco, they’re being awfully suspicious.”
It’s the shared looks between Draco and George across the table, the notes Draco keeps passing him when they’re scattered around the sitting room after dinner, and the way Draco disappears for nearly a quarter of an hour before George opens up his gifts.
Every little thing - a cupboard shutting too quickly - the flicker of a light - the breeze blowing through the open window - makes everyone’s head snap toward it.
And immediately after, Harry notes the triumphant looks exchanged by the Instigators.
At the end of the evening, it’s obvious that Ron and Hermione are stalling instead of taking Rose and Hugo home.
“Okay, I give in!” Hermione finally says, throwing her hands in the air. “What is it, George? What are you two up to? I’ve been on edge all day thinking someone’s hair is about to turn blue, or someone’s nose will become an elephant trunk or - or that Hugo would start blowing bubbles from his ears! What’s the prank!”
The rest of the party all turn to George and Draco, who are sitting next to each other on the floor beneath the window, looking very guilty indeed.
“Well that’s just it.”
“ What is, George?” Molly presses.
“ That. ” George says, looking around with a wide grin. “See, I was telling dear old Draco here that I’ve been missing the thrill of a good joke, seeing everyone being all uneasy in expectation, and he had a smashing idea.”
“No prank.” Draco says with a smile. “But pretend there is a prank. It was all a roose.”
“What-” Percy starts. “A roose?”
“Ruse, I think.” Hermione says absently. “R-U-S-E? Ruse.”
“Oh.” Draco says, tilting his head.
“No prank!” George says, throwing his hands up. “And just be weird, so you all think there’s a prank!”
It’s so spectacularly dumb that Harry’s still laughing when he and Draco get home.
“I’m sorry I lied to you.” Draco says, wrapping his arms around Harry’s middle, meeting Harry’s eyes in the mirror. “It was just part of the joke.”
“It was a good joke.” Harry smiles, dropping his toothbrush into the cup. He turns to face Draco without leaving his arms.
“George needed help to do it. He was very nervous.” Draco explains as he reaches up to brush Harry’s hair back. “It was his birthday present to Fred.”
“It was a really good one.”
The Regulus Black House for Freed Elves requests your presence for the annual board meeting Friday the eighth of August. See included RSVP card for more details.
“I’m going to relinquish my headship.” Harry tells Draco over dinner at home. “At the meeting on Friday. Make Kreacher the Director.”
“Tell them you’ll continue funding them, don’t make them ask.” Draco advises, setting down the page he’s working on. “You don’t like being Director?”
“I don’t think I should be. They know what’s best for themselves. The only reason for me being involved at all was to get some press, and we did that already.”
Draco hums, his eyes on the table as he thinks.
“Maybe it would be better for them to vote on who they want to take your place.”
“Who else would be better than Kreacher?” Harry asks, running through the directory of various elves working at the House.
“I don’t know. That’s my point, we don’t know the day-to-day bits.” Draco says reasonably. “So they should choose their leader themselves.”
“Good point.”
“Kreacher may want to retire.”
“Or may like his position. Now that I’m thinking about it, I don’t think Kreacher would want to be the leader.” Harry admits. “I’ll step down and suggest a vote.”
“Yes. They will appreciate that.” Draco smiles. “I think I should pay the movie people for making more Pirates of the Caribbean. My tour leader is asking if we could raise another shipwreck, because there are too many people for just one ship.”
“You could pay the movie people by going to watch the movie.” Harry suggests. “We could watch it at Ron and Hermione’s.”
“Maybe.” Draco says, looking at Harry. He tilts his head and smiles. “We could get our own telly.”
“Yeah?” Harry laughs. “Okay, let’s pick one out together.”
Harry paces restlessly in the waiting room.
It’s only three o’clock, but Draco’s been in the operating room for an hour now, and Harry can’t help but imagine what might have gone wrong.
At an irritated look from another patient, Harry plops down on an uncomfortable, minimally padded chair. Everything smells like the slightly burned magicky scent of cleaning spells.
Finally, just past four, a mediwix beckons Harry back.
“He’s okay?” Harry asks him. “Il va bien?”
“Oui, il se sent bien.”
Harry lets out a breath of relief as he follows the man.
Palms sweating, Harry ducks into the room. He takes the small charmed switch from the wall, clutching it like a lifeline as he moves to his lover’s side.
It’s clinically pleasant, with little colour and even less comfort, so Harry can only imagine how uncomfortable Draco would be, waking up in here alone.
But he doesn’t have to, because Draco’s still resting peacefully on the patient bed, and Harry’s here to keep him safe.
The healer had been very understanding about the situation, and that little gesture had given Draco the confidence to go through with the operation.
And here he is now, pale eyelashes fanned over paler cheeks. Harry takes his hand from the bed, squeezing gently. As if he can sense Harry’s presence, Draco’s lips lift ever so slightly as he sleeps.
The anaesthetic won’t wear off for an hour, so Harry gets comfortable to wait. He rests his head on the wall and closes his eyes.
“Oh, fucking hell… gods, what the fuck-”
Harry jolts awake at Draco’s voice.
“Draco? It’s okay, it’s just me.” Harry croaks, clearing his throat. “You alright?”
Draco’s looking all around the room, rubbing his head.
“I’m fine, what are you doing here?” Draco asks, pulling his hand from Harry’s like he’s been burned. “Where are we? Potter, I swear- Where are your specs?”
“Shit.” Harry breathes.
He knew it was a possibility.
A very likely one, and one for which they’d had to prepare. But still. After four years of brainwashing, Draco had remembered Harry. Perhaps it was just too much to expect of Draco’s exhausted mind, remembering a second time.
“Draco, you just had brain surgery.” Harry says carefully. His voice wavers. “Well, not surgery, but the wizard version of it.”
“Brain surgery.” Draco repeats, like Harry’s having him on. “Right, okay. And why did I need brain surgery?”
“Do you know what year it is?” Harry asks hesitantly.
“‘97. Is this some big joke? Because it’s really not funny. Even for you.” Draco says, pulling the blankets off and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “Oh god.”
He has to clutch Harry as he sways, but quickly yanks his hand away when he’s caught his balance again.
“Brain surgery?” He asks again.
“Yes. It’s 2008. We’ve been dating since 2004.”
“And where was I for that?” Draco snaps. “I think I would’ve noticed.”
“Just… think, okay? Try to remember.”
Draco stares at Harry with a scowl. Harry hadn’t expected it to hurt so much, to be looked at the way Draco did in school, after so many years only seeing love in those grey eyes.
“You told me you’d fancied me at school. You like watching me fly. You wrote me letters but never sent them.”
“Stop it.” Draco barks, clutching his head. “Oh fuck… this is not how this is supposed to go. You’re not supposed to know.”
“This isn’t in your mind.” Harry whispers. “This is real. I’m really here, and we’re really in love.”
Draco sits with his face in his hands, looking just as small and scared and vulnerable as he had when Harry’d found him all those years ago.
“Oh god. Oh god!” Draco shouts, lifting his head and staring at Harry in terror. “I got kidnapped, Greyback, Fenrir Greyback-”
“I know. That was a long time ago.”
Draco’s eyes fall to a spot on the bed, and unfocus as he falls back into his memories.
“That room was different from this. Smaller, and… worse.”
“Yeah, it was a closet.” Harry says softly. “You escaped in ‘02. Came to live with me.”
“I live with Blaise.” Draco says. “I live in the guest room at Blaise’s house.”
“You did, for a bit. We have a house together now. You bought it for me during our first Christmas together.”
“Oh god…” Draco groans, rubbing his eyes.
“Can I call the healer in?” Harry asks, lifting the switch he’d taken off the wall.
“Yeah, sure.”
Harry’s heart is broken.
Draco still comes over to the house every day, poking around, reading his journals, but he goes home to Blaise every night.
“Do you regret it?” He asks Harry one day.
“Regret what?”
“Letting me get my brain scrambled again?” Draco asks. He doesn’t look at Harry. He never looks at Harry.
“No.” Harry says. It’s only kind of a lie. “Not yet.”
Draco hums, sending his dishes back to the kitchen sink. His eyes are fixed on the tree outside the window.
And then he leaves again.
“These things can take time.” Shannon says, in her calm, reassuring tone. “Draco’s mind has been through a lot. Healing won’t happen instantly, just like it didn’t the first time.”
“But he remembered me .” Harry says, pulling on his hair. “Out of everyone, he remembered me, and he trusted me . Now, he won’t even look me in the eye.”
“He’s having to relearn everything he thought he knew. He’s working with a 17 year old’s mindset with a 22 year old’s memories and a 28 year old body.”
That doesn’t make it any easier to watch Draco’s confusion anytime Harry falls into one of their routines built over five years of love.
“We er… we go to the Alps every year.” Harry says, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Because that’s the first holiday we ever took. You loved it there.”
“I know I like the Alps.” Draco says. “It’s just-”
“Me.” Harry finishes for him. He looks at his hands. “I understand.”
Draco sighs, sitting down on the stone wall surrounding the little wishing well.
“I’ll go.” He says. “Let’s go.”
“It’s okay, Draco.” Harry says. “I know you prefer staying at Blaise’s. Shannon’s here, Marion…”
“It’s obviously important to you. And it would’ve been to me, too.” Draco says, staring through their garden. “Fucking hell, this is the worst feeling in the world.”
Brushing his tangled hair back, Harry moves in front of Draco’s line of sight. Draco looks down at the ground instead.
“We could go somewhere else.” Harry says. “Or not, we could just- maybe if-”
“I can’t believe this.” Draco whispers. “I can’t believe I somehow managed to make Harry Potter fall in love with me, and I still fucked it up.”
“You didn’t fuck it up.” Harry breathes, setting his hand on the wall next to, but not touching Draco’s. “I’m here, I love you.”
Draco doesn’t speak, and with every second that passes, Harry’s heart weeps another tear.
“We should go inside.” Draco finally says, looking from the ground to where Harry’s hand rests next to his.
“Okay.” Harry whispers.
“No no no, it can’t be orange !” Draco protests with a laugh. “Hang on, hold this.”
He passes his cocktail to Harry, sticking his wand into his teeth as he lifts the sample drapes up to the window, looking back over his shoulder at Blaise with his eyebrows raised.
“I like it!” Blaise says, throwing his hands up. Rolling his eyes, Draco lets the drapes fall to the floor, taking his wand out of his teeth again.
“Blaise, your taste is shit.”
“They’re not that bad.” Harry says with a smirk, sipping Draco’s drink innocently as Draco gives him a look of betrayal.
“Unbelievable, I’m moving out again.” Draco complains, taking back his drink with a flourish.
“You couldn’t possibly.” Harry says smugly, standing up straighter. “You can’t go without my cuddles. It’s a proven fact. Draco Malfoy can’t resist this.”
“They look like Chudley Cannon flags!” Draco shouts, pointing at the rumpled pile. “They look like something Ronald Weasley would have on his dorm wall!”
Blaise laughs, bending to pick the fabric off the ground.
“You should’ve led with that. I’ll look for something else.”
Chuckling, Harry walks back to the living room with Draco at his side as Blaise repacks the offending drapes. Harry glances up to find Draco already looking at him, a little smile and the familiar, vague confusion in his eyes.
“I love you.” Harry says, bumping Draco’s side gently with his own.
“I know you do.” Draco says. “Thank you.”
“Of course I remember how to fold the birds.” Draco says, flicking off the light and setting his wand down with a clack against the bedside table.
“It’s one of the first things you remembered last time.” Harry says, staring up at the ceiling.
“I know. It was in the first journal.” Draco says. He slides over until his arm is resting against Harry’s. It’s Harry’s cue to initiate cuddles. Draco won’t ever ask. “I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have all that written down.”
“I would tell you.” Harry says. “I would tell you as much as I can remember.”
Draco hums.
“I wouldn’t hold it against you if you moved on.” Draco says softly. Harry’s heart stops.
“Do you want me to?”
The words hang for ages as Draco thinks.
“There’s a part of me that…” He begins, and trails off. “It’s hard to watch you hurting every day because of me.”
Harry dips his chin down so his lips press into the fabric of Draco’s shirt. This version of Draco doesn’t mind sleeping with clothes on. Harry doesn’t want to mention it, in case Draco takes it as pressure to sleep naked.
“I don’t know where I’d be without my love for you.” Harry admits.
After a moment, Draco shifts to lay facing Harry, their faces level and looking across the pillows at each other in the dim light coming from outside.
“What if I never remember the version of me that bought this house for you?” He whispers.
“It’ll be okay. I remember him. Maybe that’s enough.”
Draco’s eyes are so deep, so full of secrets and private thoughts and yet so lost .
“Why can’t you have a love that isn’t pain?”
Harry’s surprised when Draco tucks his toes under Harry’s thigh at breakfast. He doesn’t mention it.
Draco tells Harry about what’s happening at the club - who’s gone off on their own endeavours, who’s returned to work the busy Christmas season now whilst universities are on holiday.
“I’ve had to write up and email out a statement about my mental state. I must’ve explained it a dozen times in the first day I was back.” Draco says, clutching his tea and gazing out the window into their garden.
“How’s everyone taking it?” Harry asks.
“Very well. Considering I haven’t fired anyone or docked pay, it doesn’t really change the job at all.” Draco shrugs. “Apparently, I was more blunt, though.”
“Oh, yeah.” Harry agrees. Draco looks back at him curiously. “You weren’t self-conscious about anything.”
“Really? That sounds obnoxious.” Draco says, taking a sip of his tea.
“It was sweet.” Harry smiles. “The only thing you got shy about was our relationship. I used to tease you a lot.”
Draco wrinkles his nose, and goes back to staring out the window.
“Hm.”
“We had spaghetti yesterday, let’s get steak.” Draco says, crowding up behind Harry to forcefully direct the trolly toward the meat section.
“Okay, we’ll get steaks.” Harry laughs as the warmth of Draco’s chest seeps through their clothes and into Harry’s back. “When are you going to start cooking?”
“I am useless in the kitchen.” Draco proclaims for the upteenth time. “Brain scrambled once too many times, can’t be arsed to relearn that.”
Harry clicks his tongue, stopping the trolley long enough to grab a tray of raw beef and toss it into the basket.
“Shannon told me that you asked about her chilli.” Harry says.
“Yeah, the recipe was in the green journal.” Draco shrugs. He waits a few steps before following Harry, browsing the shelves as he had been before. “There’s a lot of elements.”
“It’s a slow cooker dish.” Harry says. “It’s pretty much just dumping everything into the slow cooker and turning it on.”
“Harry, I’ve tried, and I cannot manage a can opener.” Draco says firmly, taking hold of the front of the trolley to pull it into an aisle. “We need more flour, I want you to make us some quaffles tomorrow.”
“Some what?”
“Quaffles.” Draco repeats, grabbing a sack of flour off the shelf. Harry’s stomach has landed somewhere in his throat.
“Quaffles. The pancakes with a grid.” Harry says carefully. Draco turns, sack in hand, and gives Harry an odd look.
“That’s what I said.”
Harry presses his knuckles into his eyes, a sort of giddiness rising in him that he’s desperately trying to keep a hold on.
“I-” Harry says.
“What’s the matter? Why are you freaking out?” Draco asks, lowering his voice and gently pulling Harry’s hands down from his face.
“You called them quaffles. When I brought you home. You thought they were called quaffles.” Harry tells him in a hoarse voice.
“Are they… not?” Draco asks, frowning deeply. “What the hell are they called? I thought they were named after the ball.”
Harry shakes his head.
“Waffles. You misheard me the first time. I said I like waffles .”
Draco stares at Harry for a long time, mechanically dropping the flour into the basket directly on top of the eggs. Harry glances around them before quickly vanishing the broken eggs with magic.
“So what does this mean?” Draco finally asks.
“I have no idea.” Harry admits.
“Wake up, love.”
Harry burrows deeper into the warmth of the bed, sighing.
“Harry.”
The sheets keeping the light from Harry’s eyes are peeled back, and he squints up at the haloed face above him.
“Hi. Time to wake up.” Draco says, pushing Harry’s hair back. “Wash that drool off your chin, have a cup of tea, finish packing your-”
“Alps!” Harry yelps, sitting up so suddenly, Draco jumps. “We leave for the Alps today!”
“There he is.” Draco smiles. “It’s nine.”
“Oh shit.” Harry mumbles, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “I’m basically all packed.”
“Except for your toothbrush, journal, a single pair of trousers, and Monticello’s food.” Draco lists off.
“You said you were going to get his food!” Harry protests. “He’s your ferret.”
“Yes, but you like him.” Draco says, pulling the blankets off all the way. “Get up, there’s much to be done.”
“You like him too, prat.” Harry snickers, stealing a kiss before heading to the bathroom to brush his teeth.
“You like him more.” Draco says. “I was fine with leaving him with Ron. Indefinitely.”
“Sure.” Harry says, splashing some water on his face.
There really isn’t a lot of time before their eleven am portkey, but they make the time for their morning tea ritual.
Despite his declaration of dislike, Draco brings Monticello from his ferret bed and drapes him across Harry’s shoulders. Monticello picks himself up and moves to Draco’s lap instead, sniffing the strawberry tea.
The morning air is crisp and frosty, so Harry and Draco sit very close together on their balcony swing, the thick wool blanket tucked tightly around their legs. Monticello is buried somewhere, his little nose poking out occasionally. Each time, Draco pets his little head.
“It’ll be even colder there.” Draco says as Harry shivers.
“We’ll be wearing more than dressing gowns.” Harry points out. Draco hums, taking another sip of tea.
Harry leans his head on Draco’s shoulder, watching a bird steal a cherry tomato off their magically protected vine. He reaches into Draco’s lap to stroke along Monticello's back.
“Are you happy, Harry Potter?” Draco asks, resting his cheek on Harry’s head.
“More than I’ve ever been.”