"Sometimes the people you love aren't the people you should."
Together with their parents,
Draco Lucius Malfoy
and
Astoria Marie Greengrass
request the honour of your presence
at their marriage
on Saturday, the seventeenth of April
Two Thousand and Four
at two o'clock in the afternoon
Malfoy Manor
Wiltshire, England
Response by Owl
They littered the table, a sea of blues, greens and whites. A large snowy owl was perched atop the generous pile, hooting softly as Harry Potter glared. She watched him slouch into a chair reluctantly, picking an old up again– smoothing his hands over the heavy card, fingers fiddling with the flap of the envelope.
Hedwig II (as Draco had absolutely insisted on calling her) was larger than she had been, less bright and less intuitive. She nudged his hand the way Hedwig herself had and Harry finally turned to retrieve a freshly sealed envelope from her leg.
He began to study her suspiciously and she hooted again. He gave a wry smile and announced, "Hedwig the second, Draco Malfoy is a bastard." As he flung the new invitation into the air and set it aflame, he extended an arm to her. Another insistent hoot and he laughed bitterly. "Go home. No response."
The owl huffed and took flight immediately, leaving Harry alone in the kitchen. He picked up the envelope again, brushing over the Malfoy seal and sighed. He would need dress robes– perhaps he would steal Draco's, the black ones he'd worn to last year's Ministry Gala. The ones he'd worn when he had moved into Grimmauld Place the year before that.
The ones he'd worn when everything changed.
Saturday mornings were his favourite. Harry was in bed, enjoying the cool sheets and smiling into his pillow. It was rather peaceful, those footsteps coming up the stairs. Tap Tap Tap Tap.
Harry's eyes flew open. How did anyone pass the wards around the house? He hastily reached for his glasses, turning to evict the intruder when–
"Nice place you have, Potter."
He scrambled to pull his blankets up, cheeks reddening and voice caught in alarm. Draco Malfoy was walking around near the foot of his bed, exploring it. He paused and looked over, raising an eyebrow and daring him to question his presence. Harry wasn't quite sure he was there, of if he was still having a ridiculous nightmare about blond wizards in his bedroom.
"Malfoy? What are you doing here, exactly?" Malfoy was now a fully-reformed philanthropist according to The Daily Prophet and Harry would be damned if he believed anything they said.
"I live here now, apparently." Malfoy absentmindedly picked at some invisible lint on his robes, answering with an air of annoying superiority. "I rather like the arrangement, although you should really move the portrait of Aunty Walburga."
Malfoy had moved to stand near his bed, crossing his arms defensively and staring resolutely at his scar. Harry shifted uncomfortably under his steely gaze, opening his mouth to protest. "My godfather left me this place, Malfoy, I hardly think you can waltz in here."
"Goodness no, Potter, the flooring here is terrible. Surely you don't dance on it?" Suddenly, Malfoy was grinning and Harry was silenced for a second. It was odd, really, Malfoy offering him a smile reserved for friends. He sobered up as Malfoy's tone dropped. "The ministry sent me here," he admitted. "They've taken the manor and mother's gone to France."
"Why–"
"France is lovely place, that's why."
"Come off it, Malfoy. Why here?"
"Your ministry seems to think 'reparations' are in order." Malfoy put down firmly. "I can't do anything and you're living in a Black house. I'm stuck with you." He bowed his head a little, continuing to dust off his spotless clothes.
There was a pained silence where Harry's mind began to consider Malfoy's options. It had been years since they'd last seen each other in the courtroom, where he had testified for the Malfoys. It had been years since Malfoy had apologised and thanked him. It had been years since he thought Malfoy was truly a git.
He had gotten up resignedly, hand on the door, when Harry's voice crossed the room.
"You will not insult my friends. And you will stay the hell away from my toothbrush, or Merlin help you." Malfoy whipped around, gray eyes wide with surprise. Harry was grinning back at him and he let out a breath of relief. He nodded, slowly, not trusting himself to speak.
"Right then. There's a bedroom right across this one, if you like." Again, he nodded.
"What's the matter, Malfoy? Ferret got your tongue?"
"Potter!"
Harry was laughing by now. Draco coloured, turning to leave again.
"Hey, Malfoy?" He looked over his shoulder, considering him for a moment. Harry Potter was allowing him to stay in this house and he wasn't really sure when the dream would end. He wasn't sure when he'd wake up in a Ministry holding cell again. "Yes, Potter?"
"I'm glad you're okay."
Still gripping the invitation in one hand, Harry brought his breakfast up into the library. He looked carefully at the flowers on the invitation and snorted. Anyone who knew Draco would know his wife had chosen the flowers. Anyone who cared.
Draco had always hated roses. They made him sneeze. Harry remembered Draco offering a bouquet to him with a mask on their anniversary, extending them as far away from his person as possible. Harry had laughed and taken them away from him.
That had been days before Draco left.
Harry pulled out a sheet of parchment and a self-inking quill, deciding he wouldn't play the irresponsible guest he had always accused him of. It wouldn't do to turn up unannounced.
It wouldn't do to miss a funeral as important as this.
Draco,
Harry paused, quill hovering above the parchment. Grimacing, he scratched it out, pulling a fresh sheet of parchment over.
Malfoy,
I'll be there.
HP
Sending his note off to Malfoy Manor, he slumped down on the chaise and stared ahead. He ignored the pain in his chest and settled to wait. The seventeenth was three days away.
Harry really doesn't remember when Malfoy became Draco.
He had rolled over one saturday morning, watching Malfoy's hair cover his eyes as he slept. His mouth was slightly open and Harry would gleefully point out that he drooled as he slumbered, but he was so peaceful as he slept on. He stares at the Dark Mark on his left arm and he finds he doesn't care.
Malfoy had taken to sleeping in Harry's bed. There's too much space, he had complained, slipping under the covers some weeks ago. Sometimes, they woke up entangled and neither would apologise, grinning widely at each other and separating to go to work.
Harry reached out to brush Draco's hair away from his eyes, only to find an expanse of gray staring back, confused. Then, he felt long fingers in his hair, too, and Malfoy– Draco– smiled. It was warm in the bed and for the first time, Harry felt like he didn't mind.
"Hey," he whispered.
"Hey yourself," the reply came, reassuring and full of love. Draco moved slowly, lacing their fingers together as they continued staring for a good minute.
Then, Ron's voice came from below. "Oi, Harry! You and Malfoy better get down for breakfast!" Smiling apologetically, Harry shifted around, looking for his glasses. He heard a gentle sigh.
Draco caught his wrist and spun him around and just as Harry was about to tell him off, he was stopped by a placing of his glasses carefully on his nose. Unable to look away, Harry was forced to close his eyes, flushing as he felt cold fingers against his burning skin. He almost missed the minute pressure of lips against his forehead.
When he opened his eyes again, Draco was gone, his laughter resonating in the stairwell.
Slumber refused to come on friday night and Harry lay awake, watching the ceiling above him like television. He was bewitched by the unchanging nature, the sheer ability to stay the same. Harry turned onto his side and ignored the tears in his eyes.
He was about to reach the limit of pretending, only a few hours before it truly mattered.
It had been easy, convincing Ron and Hermione that he was recovering from Draco's departure. It was easy, smiling and chatting about Quidditch, about the Ministry, about the Weasleys. He could pretend that Draco would come through the door after they left and that they'd kiss slowly until they assured each other that they would be together through it all. Or would have been.
Tonight, they talked about Ginny, since she was unexpectedly single again. She had been dating a bloke on her team– he had died from a fall and she had been left pregnant. Harry barely knew her anymore, but perhaps he would invite her to lunch to offer his sympathies.
It would be easy for two almost-widowers to bond together, after all. He would be able to watch over her newborn baby when the child was born. Perhaps he'd offer to father the child instead. Perhaps they'd name him James.
He wondered if Draco meant his promise to name their firstborn Scorpius, because he pitied the child named after drunken star-pointing. Laying together in the yard of Grimmauld Place, fingers intertwined, not worrying about anything but the night sky and each other. That was the future Draco promised him.
Malfoys were shit at promises, really, but Potters were shit at letting go.
Harry grabbed the Dreamless Sleep from his bedside table. Downing it slowly, he lay down and took off his glasses, placing them next to Draco's forgotten cufflinks. He'd have to return them at the wedding, then. (He tried to forget he'd bought them for Draco's 23rd birthday.)
Sleep overcame him and that was easy, too.
It was October when it fell apart.
It was a tense breakfast between the two, Harry staring resolutely at his cereal and silently demanding an explanation. He heard the words ringing in his ears and he looked up, unable to hold in his horror. When Draco made no attempt to look at him, Harry moved his eyes to stare at the remains of the red envelope.
It was silent until Draco moved to leave the kitchen, eyes looking everywhere but at Harry, trying to escape his gaze and the guilt building up.
"What the fuck, Malfoy?" Harry's tone is reined and Draco wants to cry, knowing the kind of pain he'd see looking back. He wanted to tell his father to go fuck himself, to leave him alone, that Harry was more important. Draco Malfoy couldn't be the heir he wanted while he had this and Lucius was not going to take it from him. As he heard a soft sob, Draco stilled because there would be water with the emeralds and he wasn't ready–
He isn't able to stop himself as Harry wrenches him around and forces them to lock gazes and Draco instinctively reaches out to wipe away tears. He pretends his heart doesn't break as Harry swats his hand away, holding his hands in his and refusing to look away, even as tears have clouded his vision. This is the end, and they know it.
Draco Malfoy was an ex-Death Eater, an heir and a pureblood. Harry Potter was the Chosen One, head of two houses, half-blood. Draco's parents would disown him if they knew. Harry's friends would hex Draco into next century.
Draco had a spouse-to-be. Harry thought they'd be together forever. But hadn't they know better than to love each other?
He reaches out again to pull Harry closer, pressing his lips carefully to his and begging him to understand. He is promptly kicked in the shin and collapses and Harry's voice is cold and unforgiving as he tells Draco to leave.
"Harry–"
"Get out."
"No, wait, let me–" He clambers up to look into Harry's eyes again. He is shoved down.
"Draco," Harry chokes out, falling to his knees again. "You have to go."
"I–"
"Leave me alone." He finds himself on the steps, the house's wards slowly adjusting to keep him out.
Malfoy disapparates. He does not remember where he ended up.
He stands just outside, watching him fuss over his white robes. Harry's eyes are bloodshot but he can't tear his eyes away from the familiar blond hair running around the room searching for his tie. Draco finally stands, moving over to the mirror and tying it slowly, fingers trembling and hesitating. Harry stands and wonders what wedding jitters feel like. He wonders if Draco has thought of him.
As Draco releases the knot and gives up, Harry chuckles. He almost hears Draco's neck crack as he gapes at Harry standing in the doorway. His eyes are bloodshot too, though his hair is perfect and Harry's is a right mess. It doesn't matter, because Draco is coming over to him with a relieved smile on his face.
Draco knows Harry is not here to say goodbye. He knows that he is about to watch his death walk down the aisle in his funeral and Harry is here to mourn him. Draco knows that they will never be friends, because he will be dead and Harry wants nothing to do with him.
Harry reaches for his tie and begins to knot it. "You're a real wanker, you know."
"I know." It is quiet, subdued, and Harry is sure that Draco is crying. He smiles bitterly at that.
"You're going to die out there. I even wore black for the funeral."
Draco is biting on his lower lip. He nods his head vigorously. Harry caresses his cheek and pulls his face up to look into his eyes. "I love you," he says rather simply, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. He pats Draco's tie down and drops the cufflinks into his hands. "I'll miss you."
The reception room is full of roses and Harry wants to laugh.
Draco comes up behind him. "Thank you." Thank you for testifying even though I spent our school years making your life miserable. Thank you for saving my mother. Thank you for bringing my home back. Thank you for taking me in. Thank you for the kisses, hugs, presents, dinners, and every laugh we shared together. Thank you for supporting me to the last. Thankyouforlovingme.
Harry doesn't seem to hear him. He smiles sadly, handing a long box to him tied with Draco's old school tie. He watches Draco still and grip the box tightly, and he walks away to talk to Astoria. Alarmed, he follows and overhears the conversation and wills himself not to chase after Harry–
"I'm sorry I have to leave early, but my boyfriend just passed away," he smiles apologetically at his wife. Malfoy's wife, whoever Malfoy is. Harry certainly doesn't know him.
"I'm sorry for your loss," Astoria is kind. Harry smiles at her again and turns to leave. Draco doesn't miss Harry's glance in his direction as he mumbles, "Me, too."
Draco,
I'm getting married tomorrow to Ginny Weasley.
You're not invited. Won't make you watch me marry someone else.
Consider that my final gift.
Harry
When Draco sees Harry on Platform Nine and Three Quarters, he nods in his direction. Harry falters but offers a smile in return, his hand on Albus Severus' back.
Harry begins to wonder if Scorpius inherited Draco's allergies, grinning as he bends down to whisper in Rose's ear. She squeals in delight and runs aboard the train in search of the blond head.