Draco Malfoy was sick of being a prince. It was annoying to constantly be addressed as "Your Highness" or "Crown Prince." He liked the privileges that came with being royalty — but at the same time, he also wished he was normal.

His father — the king, Lucius Malfoy — told him normal was a word that had never been used to describe the Malfoy line. It wasn't a word that they even allowed to be spoken near them.

The perks were nice — he could go anywhere and be recognised and cared for well. And yet, all Draco wanted was to be normal, to live a normal life and work for a living, despite his parents' horror at the very idea.

But he was a prince, and so a prince he must act.

Normal. That's what Harry was. Always had been and always will be. Everyday the same old, normal thing. The same old normal clothes. The same normal job. The same quaint cottage. The only non-normal thing about him was an odd lightning shaped scar adorning his forehead.

He felt as if something was amiss in his life. A sort of longing. That a part of him was missing. But never could he quite figure out what it was. He once tried filling that void. He bought a gorgeous owl and, while he did adore her, it just wasn't what was needed.

This morning was the same as any other morning. He ate, dressed for the day and headed for work. Except today he decided to take the longer route, walking through the busy main street. People bustling to and fro, voices upon voices yelling about various items for sale.

Just a normal day.

Draco could leave the castle; it wasn't advised or recommended, but nothing and no one was stopping him.

Nothing except the fact that he would stand out wherever he went. He would be classified as the prince, and he would be ushered along and bowed to by everyone.

He didn't want that today. For once, just once, in his lifetime, he wanted to be normal.

So he snuck into the servants' quarters and took a pair of brown pants and a simple white t-shirt. It was standard dress for the commoners — what they were used to and what they could afford. Slipping them on and then taking off his shoes — no one wore shoes except the royal family and the other ranks of nobility — he climbed out his window and dropped to the ground below.

Harry strolled along leisurely, keeping to himself, lost deep in thought. He'd be late for work today — not that it really mattered since he owned the store. The store belonged to his parents but after a tragic accident resulting in their deaths, it was left to Harry.

It wasn't anything extravagant. Just a small, rundown building where he repaired clothes. Since most couldn't afford brand new clothes, he would patch them up for an affordable price to all. Sewing patches on to cover holes, replacing buttons, with a needle and some string, Harry could work wonders.

Lost in thought, he didn't notice the blonde until he had tumbled right on top of him.

The ground was a lot softer than Draco expected it to be. That was, until he heard a grunt come from beneath him.

He scrambled up. "Oh gods, I'm sorry! I wasn't looking where I was jumping and — are you alright? Are you hurt?" He stopped babbling for a minute to scrutinise who he had landed on top of.

The boy had wild black hair that stuck up in several different directions, emerald green eyes behind round glasses, and had a lithe, graceful build. His cheekbones were prominent in his hollow face, as if he didn't get enough to eat — who knew, maybe he didn't — and his eyes appeared to be older than his body. He looked around Draco's age — sixteen — or maybe even younger.

"I'm Dr —" Draco stopped abruptly. No one else in the kingdom that he knew of had the name 'Draco.' "Er, I'm Drake." Close enough.

The man held out his hand and, tentatively, Draco grasped it. He had a much firmer grip than he appeared he would have — strong and confident. "Harry."

Harry stared into steel grey eyes, admiring such a unique colour. His eyes travelled north to take in the boy's dishevelled platinum blonde hair. He found himself wanting to casually run his fingers through it to see if it was as soft as it looked. Searching this man's face, taking in every little detail, it was as though everyone else had disappeared and it was just the two of them. There was no one yelling about fruits or meats for sale. It was just Harry and Drake.

There was a slight pressure in his hand and when his gaze shifted down to it, he realised he was still holding the other boy's hand. A light dusting of pink coated his cheeks as Harry pulled his hand back.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked tentatively. "That was quite a fall."

Draco startled a bit at the question. He wasn't used to anyone asking if he was okay; usually, the royal doctors just poked and prodded him to see if they could find a problem.

"I'm fine," he replied. "Thank you for cushioning my fall." He grinned, flashing his teeth quickly, to let Harry know he was just kidding.

Harry grinned back. "You're welcome." He motioned to the road and the two boys began walking together. Draco matched his strides to Harry's. "What brings you here?" he asked. "You don't look like you're from around here — hardly any people in this kingdom have hair the colour of yours."

Draco panicked for a moment. Was his venture over before it even began? He slowly relaxed and lied smoothly, "I live here in Slytherin, but I was born in Ravenclaw. I came to live here with my father and godfather after my mother died."

Emerald eyes filled with compassion and sorrow, Harry commented, "My parents are dead as well. They were killed in a car crash when I was a baby. I've heard my godfather is a criminal, so I was sent to live here with my aunt and uncle, but they were…not the nicest people and I was finally taken away when I was sixteen and raised in a foster home until my seventeenth birthday when I could leave and make my own living."

Draco nodded silently; he knew what it was like to get apologies and condolences after loss — he didn't like it, and he knew that others didn't as well — so he wouldn't say anything. He didn't want to offend his new friend.

The two walked in comfortable silence for a little while, each enjoying the other's company. Harry slowed to a stop outside a small, run-down little shop front. The brick walls, once a vibrant white, were now black from age and weather. A sign hung lopsidedly above, reading 'Potter's Patchwork.' Harry fumbled in his pocket for a moment before producing a small key.

"Well, this is me." He nodded his head towards the door, casting Draco a gentle smile. "I do hope to see you drop in again, Drake." With a playful wink, Harry unlocked his store and left Draco standing alone in the street.

"Me too," Draco whispered after him, knowing full well Harry wasn't able to hear it.

The rest of Draco's visit to town was rather bland; he couldn't get Harry out of his head. Eventually, as the sun began to sink lower in the west, he turned and plodded back to the castle.

After climbing back into his room — which was no easy feat — he found his father standing in the middle of the floor, arms crossed and a scowl on his face.

"Where have you been?" Lucius demanded.

Draco stuttered for a minute. If he told his father about his visit to town and about Harry, he might be risking his new friend's life. But on the other hand, if he didn't tell, he would receive the punishment. He made the choice quickly. "I just wandered the grounds, father. No need to worry."

The sound of flesh against flesh registered in Draco's mind before the stinging pain in his cheek. His head had turned to the side from the force of the blow. He tasted copper liquid — blood — and he slowly raised his hand to touch the tender spot.

"Don't lie to me, boy. I cannot tolerate liars, and I most certainly did not raise my son to lie to me. I ask again — where have you been?"

"In town," Draco admitted. Another slap came, but he was expecting it and he stiffened his neck to keep it from snapping to the side.

"You have one rule, Draco!" his father thundered. "One! Your mother died from going into town and meeting her friend, who had a disgusting disease." His voice softened. "Draco…I can't lose you, too."

Draco looked down, immediately feeling ashamed. "I'm sorry, father. It was irresponsible of me, and I apologise."

Lucius stepped forward and wrapped his arms around his son. "I know." He pulled away and looked Draco in the eyes. "You are forbidden to leave your room for two weeks. Your lessons will be taken up here."

"What?" Draco burst out. "You can't stop me!"

"Son, I am the king. I believe you'll find I can."

With that, Lucius turned and swept out. The lock clicked a moment later.

The weeks passed slowly — more slowly than it seemed time had ever passed. Harry was distracted by the thought of seeing Drake again, and he walked the long route every day at the same time, hoping, wishing, that the blonde boy would drop on top of him again.

He never did.

His life ran the same as usual. Nothing important happened; nothing interesting in the slightest.

He started to believe that he would never see Drake again. His life became the same dull and normal that it was before he met him. He would still walk the long route; it just felt weird taking the other.

Today was no exception. He walked the long route to work, unlocked the shop front, and set to work fixing up a blanket. Time ticked by slowly. Harry worked delicately with his needle and thread, stitching small patterns of flowers and birds.

He heard the small bell attached to the door ding, signalling a customer.

"I won't be but a moment," Harry shouted out. He carefully placed down his needle and stumbled towards the front of the store.

Emerald eyes met stormy grey.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked blankly.

Draco shrugged and looked around. The little shop was clean but empty, showing nothing more than a few scraps of fabric, acting as examples, with different patterns stitched on them. "I just thought I'd stop by since I was here," he answered, looking back to Harry's bright green eyes. The colour was hypnotising — it drew him in and made him never want to look away.

Harry nodded in understanding. "Shall we take a walk?" he suggested.

"Oh, don't you have stuff to do?" Draco bit his lip; if he was spotted with a commoner, he would risk both himself and Harry.

The black-haired boy shook his head. "That's the luxury of being your own boss." He laughed and Draco managed a nervous chuckle. Without waiting for assent, he dragged Draco out of the shop, flipping the "Open" sign to the "Closed" side.

They walked along the canopied path following the stone wall surrounding the castle. Harry was talking about something — Draco couldn't hear what. His ears were ringing and he felt sick to his stomach. Harry drew back and peered into his friend's eyes. "Hey. Drake. You alright? You look like you're going to be sick."

Draco clapped a hand over his mouth and bolted for the side of the walkway. Harry made a face as the sounds of retching came from behind a tree but walked over and patted the blonde on the back. Wiping his mouth and grimacing as he swallowed to get the taste out of his mouth, Draco glanced up.

"I — I can't," he stammered.

"Can't what?" Harry asked, frowning.

Draco shook his head and ran, head down, back the way they'd come.

Lucius jumped up as the doctor came out of Draco's room. "How is he?" he asked.

"He has the same disease as your wife did," said the doctor. "It's still in its very early stage, so we may be able to treat it. There are no promises, though. He might live or he might die."

The blonde man looked like he, too, was going to be sick. "How did this happen?" he demanded.

"Prince Draco has apparently been visiting the village again" was the answer.

Lucius's eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. "I suppose I shall have to do something about that."

Draco was banned from leaving his room. Again. His window was barred, his door was locked and bolted. Essentially, he was a prisoner.

And he was bloody miserable.

Harry was equally as miserable. Thinking he had done something wrong. Everytime he thought about Drake, his heart felt as if a fist was crushing it, draining all the love and emotion from it. He stopped stitching patterns into his work, going back to threading straight lines where needed to help add another piece of cloth in place.

He felt as if his life had become meaningless. Nothing mattered to him anymore and he mattered to no one anymore. The only one who had cared about him, made him feel like he mattered, was gone.

Harry hated feeling like this. Feeling worthless, lonely and unappreciated.

Draco was still locked away, hidden in his room in the castle. The only contact he had was with his father, the doctor and the servants that brought his food, though he never ate much of it. Whenever the doctor would visit, Lucius would stand outside his son's door, waiting to hear about Draco's condition.

And this time wasn't any different. The doctor strode from the room, mouth set in a thin line.

"Well?" Lucius eagerly asked.

"His condition is getting better. Fever is going down; it shouldn't be too much longer before he is back to full health," The doctor shifted on his feet. "He talks a lot about someone named Harry. With emerald eyes. Apologising over and over again."

"I see." Lucius was a little shocked but understood what the doctor was talking about. He gave a brisk nod and the doctor took that as his leave.

He was still trapped in his bedroom. Each day, the walls felt like they were smaller. The bars had been taken off his window, at least, so he could get some fresh air — only in the day, though; his father and the doctor agreed that night air wouldn't be good for him.

He couldn't eat anything, no matter how small. He didn't sleep well, for each time he closed his eyes he saw Harry standing above his bed, emerald eyes alight with anger.

"How dare you?" the black-haired boy would shout at Draco. "How could you just run away?" He would then raise his arms and plunge a long, sharp knife into Draco's chest. "I loved you," he'd whisper, voice quiet and broken.

Tonight was no different.

Draco awoke with a start. He had broken out in a cold sweat sometime during his dream, and his pajamas were sticking to him uncomfortably. His throat hurt and his vision was hazy, but he clearly saw the outline of a figure at the window. A tap came, and with shaky legs, Draco slid out of bed and stumbled towards the window.

Throwing up the sash, he was met with the worried, furious, handsome face of Harry whatever-his-last-name-was. Draco realised suddenly he didn't know what Harry's last name was. It had never seemed important before now.

"What are you doing here?" he asked in a frantic, slightly hoarse voice. He glanced over his shoulder. The door was still locked, plus it was noise-cancelling, but he knew his father was right outside. "You can't be here!"

"Why not?" Harry said, bemused. He peered closer. "You look horrible, Draco."

Draco rolled his eyes and winced at the instant headache the movement caused. He paid no mind to the fact that Harry had called him by his real name.

"Come in," he sighed.

Harry threw his leg over the sill and jumped down to the floor. "I brought food," he announced. "Just some berries — fresh-picked."

I'm not hungry, Draco was about to say — but his stomach growled just then. He hadn't had more than a few bites of oatmeal in the past four days and his stomach was cramping with hunger. Huh. He hadn't noticed that before. "Alright," he replied.

It was worth the risk to be near Harry.

They talked for hours, eating the berries with their fingers and getting sticky juice all over them.

Harry had pieced the puzzle together when Draco had run the wrong way — toward the castle instead of toward town. No one else in the kingdom had hair the colour of Draco's, and "Drake" was just too similar to "Draco."

Suddenly, Harry broke off the discussion of the festivals the villages threw to lean forward and brush something from Draco's lips.

"You, uh, had a seed at the corner of your mouth," he said awkwardly. "I didn't quite, um, get it."

Draco stuck his tongue out and licked his lips. Harry watched, chest rising and falling faster than usual.

"You look like you're about to kiss me," Draco murmured. Harry's eyes shot to his face.

"Would you mind?" he asked, almost shyly — if that word could apply to Harry.

"Not at all," assured Draco.

They leaned in together. When their lips finally brushed softly, everything was right in the world.

A loud snore coming from Draco's room woke Lucius. He immediately jumped from where he had been slumped asleep; Draco hadn't been sleeping since he got sick, and so this was a wonderful turn of events.

He unlocked the door and peeked in. The moonlight coming in through the open window — when had that been opened? — lit up Draco's bed. Which held a black-haired boy, who had definitely not been there when Lucius last left, as well as Draco.

Draco was fast asleep, and the other boy was carding his fingers through his platinum hair. The boy looked straight into Lucius' eyes, and Lucius nearly wept at the love shining within the emerald eyes.

Wait. Emerald eyes?

Emerald eyes. Exactly the same colour as Lily Evans, the Gryffindor princess who had run away with the stable hand, James Potter.

And even if their son — they'd only had the one child — was only partly royal, that meant this was…the heir to the Gryffindor throne.

Missing for all these years and who'd have thought that he had been here this whole time. Mingling with the Slytherin prince.

Harry knew the man standing in the doorframe. It was Lucius Malfoy, king of Slytherin and Draco's father. Why did he look like he was about to cry? In all honesty, Harry didn't care; he was overwhelmed to be able to hold and nurse the one he loved. The one he had longed to see again. For now, at least for tonight, Harry wasn't going anywhere. As long as Draco was there, Harry would stay. He didn't care if the king stood there all night — Harry wasn't moving.

Lucius stood in the door-frame just watching and silently taking in every detail, not knowing what to do. His eyes rested upon Draco, taking in his dishevelled hair, his chest rising and falling slowly in sleep, berry juice staining his mouth.

Berry juice. Berries were not a part of the meals that Draco had been getting. Lucius knew this for a fact since he oversaw everything that went in and out of the room.

That only left one explanation: Harry got Draco to eat, even if it was measly berries and after many restless nights, he also got him to sleep.

Lucius realised that maybe Draco being with Harry wouldn't be such a bad thing. Draco's mother would certainly be proud of him, following his heart, even if it was for something normal.

Lucius would simply have to learn to accept the fact that Draco was old enough and more than capable enough to make his own decisions — especially when it came to his happiness.

Lucius was glad he was able to accept Draco was growing up. The wedding day was here — barely seven months later; too early, he thought — and he was a mess. If he wasn't so "macho," he was sure he'd be crying.

Even so, he found himself sniffing and blinking rapidly as he escorted Draco down the aisle to where Harry waited, wearing a black tuxedo and even having managed to slick his hair down. He placed Draco's hand in Harry's, who beamed happily, and Lucius' heart, frozen after the death of his beloved wife, softened just a bit.

Narcissa would approve of him giving in and letting their son be happy; that was all she'd ever wanted, and what she had made him promise before she died.

He sat in the front row and half-listened as the preacher read the traditional wedding vows and Harry and Draco repeated them. Mainly, though, he focussed on the pure adoration and happiness radiating from Draco and the matching expression on Harry's face.

Maybe Harry wouldn't be such a bad addition to the Malfoy family after all.