Author's Notes:

Content Warning:

Feelings of despair/Adult language/Suggestive themes (minimal)

Trigger Warning:

Mentions of impending death/Implied past trauma (minimal)

Outcome Spoilers:

Do NOT read unless you need to know the story's outcome in advance!

̷O̷v̷e̷r̷w̷h̷e̷l̷m̷i̷n̷g̷ ̷f̷l̷u̷f̷f̷/̷H̷a̷p̷p̷y̷ ̷e̷n̷d̷i̷n̷g̷/̷S̷e̷l̷f̷ ̷r̷e̷a̷l̷i̷z̷a̷t̷i̷o̷n̷/̷O̷p̷e̷n̷-̷e̷n̷d̷e̷d̷

But Not the First

ღ꧁ღ╭⊱ꕥ ꕥ⊱╮ღ꧂ღ

Platinum blond hair peaked through the bottom of Draco Malfoy's hat. The word hat might be too kind for the thing perched on top of his head, though. Deprived of a shower for the last three days, Draco was not in a charitable mood. His wrists ached from the heavy manacles, his back hurt from sleeping on a stone floor, and his robes had wrinkles from using them as a pillow.

If he were being honest, the wrinkles were a tempest in a teapot, but the lack of a shower was something else entirely. Here he was, about to be presented before the Wizengamot, and he smelled like—well, something that smelled. He'd come up with a better comparison later.

His mother stood behind him, looking as bad as Draco, but somehow maintaining a regal sense of decorum. She nodded to him, her eyes trying to express the entire love she had for him in a single glance. This was the end for them, after all.

"Be strong, Draco," she whispered in his ear. "Don't let them frighten you in front of the cameras. We can be afraid later, together."

"They're going to send us back, aren't they?" Draco asked.

His mother nodded again. "Yes."

"What do you think happens to you when they swallow your soul? Do you stay in your body and feel empty, or is it like disappearing?"

Narcissa Malfoy raised her hand, chains jangling at her wrist as she placed it on the side of his face. Malfoy turned to look at his mother, and he saw an expression on her as cold as steel. She looked resigned to her fate.

"For what we've done, Draco," she murmured, a tinge of dread bubbling to the surface, "we deserve far worse than either."

Malfoy's throat tightened, and he choked back the panic rising through him. "I'm sorry, mother. I didn't want to-"

"Shh," she hushed. "I know you didn't, darling." Narcissa locked eyes with him. "You know I love you very much."

They waited in silence for another eternity, standing in a hall outside the dungeon courtroom. Portraits of wizards and witches, chiefs and leaders of the Wizengamot past, lined the surrounding walls. Most stared down at the pair with sneers, whispering cruel words to one another.

All but one, that is…

Albus Dumbledore looked down at Draco with twinkling blue eyes behind half-moon spectacles. His face was kind and sad as he watched them both. When the doors finally opened and they dragged Draco by his chains toward his doom, he heard his former headmaster speak from over his shoulder.

"You did only what you had to do, Draco. I forgive you."

His knees almost buckled under the weight of Dumbledore's words. He turned to look and saw a kind smile crinkling the eyes of the man he tried to kill. Of course, the old bat would say something so absurd while he tried to keep from breaking.

Draco's eyes spilled over without warning. His chest heaved, and a sob escaped his lips. It was at that moment he entered the courtroom of the Wizengamot, and the flashbulbs of a thousand cameras blinded him.

They dragged the boy to a hard wooden chair in the center of the room, shoving him against it and winding leather straps through the iron hoops on his cuffs. A man that Draco recognized strapped his ankles securely into place. Jonathan Bell, Katie Bell's father, pulled the straps tight enough to make Draco wince.

"I hope they burn you alive," he spat at the boy. "Just like the muggles used to do to each other."

After that, he straightened up, looming over Malfoy with a malicious glint in his eye. The blond nodded at him from his chair, careful not to shift too much. When he spoke, it was quiet but firm.

"I do to, Mr. Bell. I'm so sorry."

Bell's eyebrows rose over the thick-framed glasses he wore. "You're really just a kid," he whispered to himself, his tone amazed. He turned and left, saying nothing else to Draco, and sat down in one of the few seats left.

The entire Wizengamot was in session, and the rows behind them groaned with reporters, spectators, and witnesses. Draco might have felt flattered at the turnout if he wasn't about to die. A few faces in the crowd looked like people he knew, but so many were strangers.

At the forefront of the gathered mass, Draco's eyes connected with a stout man wearing deep purple robes emblazoned with a bright silver 'W' on the breast. This man was the newly appointed Chief of the Wizengamot, and another face that Draco recognized. After all, his father invited him over for dinner often enough as he climbed through the ministry.

Christopher Bailey stood behind a tall podium wearing a hat that matched his robes. It resembled a large molar, or an upside-down nose with enormous nostrils. Draco suddenly felt much better about the hat he wore. The sight of it made him laugh.

Actually, laugh was putting it lightly. Sure, it started off as a chuckle, but the volume rose within a few seconds. The sounds spilling out of him were quite unbecoming of a person in his position, but they just kept tumbling out. By the end of his hysterics, his face was wet with tears, throat sore, and the back of his head ached from smiling so widely.

A reporter's hat pin tumbled out of her hair, and Draco heard it clatter to the floor from where he sat. The faces of the crowd morphed into horror and disgust. To them, he looked like another mad Death Eater, completely unrepentant.

"Shit," he cursed under his breath. Then, louder so the rest of the room could hear, "I apologize, Chief Bailey, it's just… Your hat struck me as hilarious."

That hadn't been the right thing to say. Christopher Bailey, shocked at the outburst, rose a trembling hand and patted the top of his head without thinking. Pink flushed his cheeks in embarrassment, and Draco saw that the other faces had gone from terror to outright condemnation.

Shit, his brain agreed.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy," Chief Bailey said. He regained his composure and straightened his robes. His dark brown eyes narrowed into slits as he began his speech.

"You have been brought before the Wizengamot to answer for your crimes. They are: the use of an unforgiveable curse, conspiracy to commit murder, three counts of attempted murder, accessory to murder, and fighting as an enemy combatant. How do you plea?"

Draco heard his mother's voice, reminding him to be strong. If there was one thing he had learned through this total ordeal, it was admitting fault took an incredible amount of strength and bravery. No one could deny the harm of his actions—not even himself. The charges were correct.

He wanted to make his mother proud one last time, and then turn into a blubbery mess later. He just hoped they would offer him a shower before chucking him back into Azkaban. By the expressions around him, that seemed unlikely.

Guilty, his mind hissed.

He'd tell them the truth, the last bit of right he could do, and then he would die. Or not die? He still didn't understand what a dementor's kiss actually did to a person. What was a soul, and more importantly, did Draco even have one?

Honestly, what other option was there besides guilty? They all knew he was already. At least this way he wouldn't have to hear direct witness testimony against him—against his mother. Plead guilty, get sentenced, lose your soul. It seemed simple enough.

The Chief of the Wizengamot loudly cleared his throat, jostling Draco back to reality. He silently thanked Mr. Bell for tightening the straps. If he hadn't, Draco would have jumped out of his seat at the sound.

"I-" Draco paused. His steely eyes scanned the crowd until he found Jonathan Bell again. He was staring directly at Malfoy, his eyes burning into the boy's face. Mr. Bell removed his hat, twisting it fretfully in his hands, and drawing his face up in concern. Was he worried for him?

Draco gave the man a look he hoped conveyed how sorry he was for everything. He wanted to find other faces in the crowd and try to do the same, but there wasn't enough time. Instead, he faced the leader of the Wizengamot again. It was time for Draco to face the music. It wasn't like Harry-bloody-Potter was going to come storming in to sa-

A man barged through the door of the courtroom with a crash, and a million flashes of light erupted from the stands. Whoever they were, let the door swing shut behind them, cool as a cucumber, and strode toward the former Death Eater from behind. Draco tried to get a look at the invader, but his restraints held him rigid and his eyes were taking a nasty beating from the bulbs again.

The Wizengamot chief lifted his wand, placed it against his throat, and cast sonorus on himself. His voice rumbled off the walls and over the sounds of clicking, shouted questions, and general commotion. "Silence!"

The ruckus tapered off, but it took another few moments for flashes and pops of the cameras to stop. Draco blinked, adjusting his eyes to the dim lighting of the massive room. Though the uproar was silenced, quiet murmurs of excitement and intrigue still floated around.

"Mr. Potter," Draco heard the portly man exclaim. "It's an honor to have you with us today. Please, have a seat, and we'll continue the proceedings."

Draco gaped, finally laying eyes on the man standing next to him. It was none other than the savior of the wizarding world himself, Harry Potter.

And gold galleons will fall from the ceiling, Draco's brain quipped.

"Chief Bailey and members of the Wizengamot," Harry said in greeting, nodding politely to them. "I have not come to be a spectator, but to give testimony."

A few members of the press couldn't help themselves and snapped several more pictures at Harry's words. Christopher Bailey cast a withering glare at their section, but said nothing. Knowing the man personally, Draco guessed that if he had a camera with him, he would also be happily clicking away.

"This is an unexpected request, Mr. Potter," he said.

"It's not a request, sir. It's a statement of fact."

More flashes and clicks rang through the room. Chief Bailey seemed surprised, and in his shock, he did nothing to stop them this time. Potter was definitely getting the front page for the week. Draco narrowed his eyes at the other boy.

So, it was like that, was it? Harry Potter was going to make a statement about him.

He showed up unannounced to rattle off all the pain Draco caused throughout the war and be sure to doom him. The boy wonder would probably start in the first year, going over every little act of bullying Draco dished out to him and his little friends.

Worth it, he thought.

The man was a goody-good as far as Draco was concerned. He only wished he'd said guilty earlier and avoided the secondhand embarrassment he was about to feel for Potter. He could imagine how this was going to go already.

Boo-hoo! Draco expanded Granger's teeth, used foul language, and made fun of my dead parents. I'm so sad. Draco tried to kill my favorite teacher. That last idea made the blond cringe. He had done that, hadn't he?

The court would eat it up, of course. Anything to have a bit more gossip and drama.

"Draco Malfoy saved my life and the life of my friends," he said.

Wait! What?

"After being captured by Death Eaters," he pressed on, "they imprisoned us in Malfoy Manor. There was no chance of escape. Voldemort was told of our capture, our location, and planned on murdering me as soon as he arrived. He would have tortured my friends for information and then murdered them as well."

Draco watched him, shocked and wide-eyed, as he told his story. The squirming, apprehensive boy that Draco knew in school was gone; replaced by this stranger who, frankly, oozed with confidence. His eyes stayed focused on the Wizengamot, his head held high, and eyes unblinking against the onslaught of cameras.

"Draco," Harry said, "under great threat to his own life and the life of his mother, helped not only me to escape a terrible end but also several others that played pivotal roles in ending the war. Those included Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Dean Thomas-"

Draco's throat swelled again, and his breath got stuck there. Without even realizing, tears slipped over his face. He didn't even blink as Harry Potter continued listing off names next to him, or placed a hand on his shoulder to give a reassuring squeeze.

"-Luna Lovegood, Xenophilius Lovegood, Griphook, and Garrick Ollivander. If any of these people had died in that manor, we would have lost the war, and I would be in this chair instead."

Harry's wide, heavy hand did not move from Draco, and heat rushed up the former Death Eater's neck. If he expected Harry Potter to say anything, and he had, it would have been none of that. The Gryffindor looked down at Draco, beaming at him with a bright smile, and Malfoy felt the heat from his neck rush into his cheeks.

"I ask this court to punish Draco and Narcissa Malfoy for their crimes," he continued, turning his attention back to the Wizengamot, "but I demand grace."

Chief Bailey arched an eyebrow at the man hearing the word demand. "You demand, Mr. Potter?"

"I feel the Ministry of Magic and the Wizengamot owe me far more than what I am asking you today."

Whispers swept through the courtroom. Christopher Bailey did not enjoy being demanded to do anything, but he recognized an opportunity for good publicity when he saw it. The Wizengamot Chief lifted his hand and stroked his beard, feigning serious contemplation on the matter. Draco knew Bailey had decided as soon as the words left Harry's mouth, but he wanted to make a show of it all.

"Perhaps we do, Mr. Potter." He said. "Perhaps the entire wizarding world owes you a debt that we can never hope to repay."

Bailey nodded, as if reaching a conclusion. "Grace shall be granted to both surviving Malfoy family members. What do you suggest, Mr. Potter?"

Harry smiled amiably. "They assist in the War Reconstruction Effort and surrender all properties and assets, including Malfoy Manor, to the Weasley Foundation for Orphaned Children."

A young woman with auburn hair and a round face stood up. She wore the same purple robes as the rest of her fellow Wizengamot peers, but they lacked the silver letter on the breast. Draco knew her immediately.

"This court recognizes Susan Bones, acting temporary member for her late Aunt Amelia Bones." Bailey said.

"Harry," she began, "without a home, the Malfoys will need accommodations, not to mention supervision, to ensure their well-being. What do you propose the Wizengamot do?"

Before Harry answered, Chief Bailey raised a quieting hand. "I think I have the solution for that, Ms. Bones." His eyes fixed on Harry. "Your terms are acceptable, Mr. Potter. The decision of this court is for Draco and Narcissa Malfoy to assist the War Reconstruction Effort, surrender all assets to the Weasley Foundation for Orphaned Children, and to be placed under the care and direct supervision of Harry James Potter."

Firmly tapping a gavel against a wooden block, he put the verdict into effect. Draco offered an odd squeaking noise to the Wizengamot as a reply. There was no way Malfoy would stand for it!

╰⊱ ⊱╮ღ꧁꧂ღ╭⊱ ≺

"Here we are," Harry said with a welcoming grin.

The raven-haired man clambered up the stairs of Number 12 Grimmauld Place with a childlike stride. Draco rolled his eyes as he took two at a time, then jumped the last three to land at the top. He spun on the heels of his feet and smiled at the Malfoy's, like a child who finally figured out how to whistle.

Narcissa rolled her lips up into a smirk, and to Draco, it almost seemed genuine. Perhaps not friendly, per se, but certainly amused. The blond rolled his eyes again, folding his arms across his chest. He didn't plan on making friends with Potter, let alone smiling at his adorable antics.

No, stupid is the adjective I was looking for, Draco thought. Get it together, you pillock.

"Very nice, Potter," Draco sneered. "Perhaps a rousing game of leapfrog after tea?"

Narcissa narrowed her eyes at him. "Draco," she hissed in his ear. His mother might be angry, but she was still conventional. Scoldings were a private matter that others should never overhear. "Be kind. He saved our lives."

A furious blush raced up Draco's neck, having everything to do with his mother's harsh reprimand, and absolutely nothing to do with the onslaught of images his mind conjured at the idea of playing leapfrog with Harry Potter. He let out a tired sigh, casting a sideway glance at her. Despite being humbled a few hours ago, Narcissa Malfoy looked as stern and set as ever before.

"Sorry, Potter. Old habits, you understand."

Harry looked shocked at the apology. His hand rubbed the back of his neck, and a sheepish grin flitted across his face. "Oh, yea—er—of course!" Pink tinged the bridge of his nose and the tops of his ears, but his embarrassment passed quickly. In a rush, physically shaking off the awkwardness, he brought his palms together with a clap. "Well, I should give you the tour."

"This is my ancestral home, Mr. Potter," Narcissa spoke. "It's ridic-"

Draco cleared his throat loudly. If he were going to be held to a higher standard, then so was his mother.

"A tour would be lovely," she finished

Potter nodded, positively beaming at the pair of them. Malfoy wondered if it was possible that someone might have opened a portal and shoved him into a different timeline without his knowledge. Here he was, standing on the stoop of 12 Grimmauld Place, being smiled at by Harry Potter and his moronic mouth.

Was that strange? Focusing on his mouth like that? No, definitely not, Draco thought. He had used the word moronic, after all. Calling a schoolboy rival's mouth a negative word was something rivals did. The blond was sure of that—probably.

Stepping into the foyer constituted a health hazard in several ways. Cobwebs hung from the corners of the ceiling, the walls looked stained with age and pipe smoke, the rug beneath their feet had worn threadbare, and the floor had a thin coating of dust across it. Narcissa's nose wrinkled at the smell of stale air and decay.

"It's not exactly how I remember it," she said, running a gloved finger over a hall table.

Harry chuckled, casting his gaze down. "Er-I just moved in," he said. "It's been empty for a couple of years, and they passed the deed to me about three days ago. I've been busy preparing for your trial, so I haven't really… done anything yet?"

Draco watched as his mother's blue eyes locked with Harry's in surprise. She opened her mouth to say something, snapped it shut, and then opened it again. It stayed like that for a few seconds, just hanging open in utter confusion. Her son looked on, perturbed. Whatever the boy wonder said, it obviously shocked her.

"You prepared for our case?" she finally asked.

"Oh!" Ketchup red spread over Harry's cheeks, forehead, and ears. "I-no, that is-yeah, but I hardly used anything that I researched. I mean, they seemed to just agree with whatever I said."

"Saving the world has its perks, Potter." Draco grinned.

His mother looked entranced by the other boy, and she reached a hand in dreamlike slowness to rest on his shoulder. "Thank you, Harry."

Draco thought Potter might have an aneurysm. Truthfully, Draco thought he might have one as well. Given names? Friendly shoulder pats? Gratitude?! When had his mother become so… so sentimental?

"It's really nothing." Harry said with a warm smile. Despite looking uncomfortable, being the perfect prince that he was, he actually reached up and draped a palm over her hand. They were both kindly smiling at each other.

Draco did the only thing he could think of and cleared his throat loudly. The two broke apart, but the smiles they wore didn't falter. The creeping dread of an alternate timeline, like in a muggle science-fiction program, washed over him again.

"Judging by the state of this house, I'm assuming that Kreacher has died?" Narcissa asked.

"No, he's probably sleeping in a cupboard somewhere."

The woman frowned. "That's not possible," she said.

Draco saw Harry's face draw up at the brows, creasing the little space above his nose. Narcissa Malfoy was an imposing woman, and she spoke with such authority that anyone would question whether or not they were right. At the moment, Potter appeared to be having an internal debate on if Kreacher was still alive, or if he had imagined his entire existence.

"Kreacher!" Narcissa called out. Her voice sounded sharp, making Harry wince.

A crack rang out like lightning, and the wrinkled elf stood behind them. "Could it be?" his voice pleaded, barely above a whisper. "Oh, it is!" the house-elf wailed. "Oh, my Lady Black has returned to her ancestral home. Kreacher is happy to see you, my mistress."

Narcissa narrowed her eyes at the wrinkly little prune. "How dare you, Kreacher? How dare you greet me with such pleasure when you've let a manor, belonging to The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, fall into such a state?"

Kreacher's eyes went wide with panic, and he started jabbering away with wailing sobs. "Oh please, my mistress. Please forgive Kreacher! Only following the Lady's rules. Make it hard, she says. Make them want to leave."

"Who?"

"Blood traitors and mudbloods, my lady. Bringing their filth."

"I want this place," Narcissa whispered, her voice deep as the ocean, "to look exactly like I remember it by the end of tomorrow. Do you understand?"

Kreacher nodded. "Right away, mistress. Immediately!"

Harry stared openmouthed at the spot the elf had been. "I tried convincing him to clean for the last two years."

"Yes, well…" Narcissa trailed off.

"You're too nice, Potter," Draco finished.

╰⊱ ⊱╮ღ꧁꧂ღ╭⊱ ≺

Three days since Draco landed in his ancestral hellhole. His mother settled in almost immediately, but he found it very difficult to adjust to his new surroundings. What was there to do in a muggle neighborhood with no freedom to leave, and a completely unfamiliar house to traipse around, one might ask? Nothing, that's what.

The house itself looked a thousand percent better, though. Kreacher cleaned and scrubbed the past two days without stopping, using a combination of his own magic and plain elbow grease. Draco still smelled the scent of wood polish coming off the baseboards, and the floor-to-ceiling windows, free of grime and smudges, let a dazzling amount of sunlight into the room.

If Draco were a better person, he might see this as a grand opportunity to start over; take a bit of time getting to know Potter, even. After all, it's what his mother did. Her behavior truly shocked her son sometimes.

She started cooking the next morning after they arrived. Actually cooking! Something Draco hadn't seen her do going all the way back to his childhood. And in true Malfoy fashion, she didn't stop at simple eggs and bacon. No, she went on making the Full English breakfast; complete with black pudding, sauteed mushrooms, and a slab of fried bread each. Draco thought his heart might burst just from looking at it. Either from sheer joy or cardiac arrest, he couldn't tell.

And what's more? Harry Potter sat down at the table and ate with them—making polite conversation and even throwing in a couple of decent jokes. As if it were perfectly natural to be there! Admittedly, though, Draco got a small amount of satisfaction when his mother scolded the golden boy for putting his elbows on the table. Ruined promptly afterward by the look Potter gave her for it. His ears got all red and his brows came up in the middle and he looked like a firm talking to was all he ever wanted in his life. Like his own mother had never scolded him be-

No, she never did, did she? A fact you were most pleased to bring up all the time. How quickly you forgot, Draco's treacherous mind offered.

"We were children," the blond mumbled to himself. "I didn't know any better."

"About what?"

Draco sat bolt upright as his eyes snapped to Harry Potter. He stood in the doorway, leaning on the jambs with an amused grin on his face and a mess of silky black hair on top of his head. That kind of hair someone might want to reach out and touch with just their fingertips.

No.

"How long have you been standing there, Potter?"

"Not terribly long, Malfoy."

The way his tongue wrapped around the word 'terribly' made Draco think he meant the opposite of what he was saying. Usually, the blond could pick up on sarcasm easily. He spoke it as a second language, essentially. But something about Harry Potter made him all confused and stumbling over his words and sometimes taking the right word, tossing it away, and putting one that made no sense in its place. Like silky, for example.

And what on earth was he doing standing there and watching him with that goofy smirk on his face?

His Gryffindor rival looked ready to go out. Showered, shaved, and smartly dressed. Draco could not stop his eyes from drifting across his body-

Outfit.

Yes, outfit, damn it! Slim-cut jeans that showed off his long legs, a pair of well-kept trainers, and a bright red tee stretched so tightly across him it should be punishable by law to go out in public. Not terribly long, my arse! Draco could be witty too, and he had the perfect response.

"Well, good then." Malfoy said, sounding like a complete twit.

Harry chuckled. "So," he went on, "what didn't you know any better about?"

"What?" Again. Twit.

"You said—" Potter shook his head. "Never mind, it's nothing. I actually came in to ask you something."

Draco waited expectantly, staring at the other man, nonplussed. Potter said nothing, though. Was he waiting for Draco to give him permission to ask?

"What, Potter?"

"Well, me and some mates were going to head over to the Leaky Cauldron to grab a drink or two." His voice floated away with a suggestive lilt at the end.

Draco exhaled slowly, slumping his shoulders forward in mental exhaustion. "And?"

"Aaaand," Harry said, drawing out the word through an anxious smile, "we were wondering if you wanted to join us?"

The former Slytherin perked up at that. He could feel his heart's tempo pickup. The past three days had trudged on like a funeral procession, and Draco was drowning in boredom. The chance to get out of the house, grab a drink, and just relax with-

"Wait, did you say we?"

"Er-yeah," Harry agreed, rubbing the back of his neck. "You know… me and my mates."

"Your mates?" Draco asked, his tone going skeptical. "Your mates from school?"

"Them, yeah."

Draco collapsed backwards onto the sofa again with a thump. "Right. Have fun then."

Harry frowned. The blond couldn't see it, but felt the weight of it. To prove his point, Harry's voice floated through in a bit of a whine.

"C'mon. Don't be like that."

"Like what?" Draco asked, waving a hand through the air above him. "Like someone who doesn't want to spend their afternoon getting walloped by the golden trio? Damn, you've found me out."

"Do you really think I'd speak at a Wizengamot trial on your behalf, bring you into my home, and let you loaf around for three days as a desperate ruse to get my friends to beat you up, Malfoy? Because that's got to be the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

"I meant verbally, Potter, but thanks for giving me that idea. Did you even ask your friends if I could go, or is this one of those impulsive things you do?"

"Well, no. I didn't ask if you could go," Harry admitted.

Draco sat up, pointing a finger across the room at him, "Aha! I knew you-"

"Hermione did."

Malfoy sat frozen with his mouth open and accusatory finger held aloft. Slowly—very slowly—he sank with defeat, dropping into a neutral position again. That idiotic word he'd been parroting for the last fifteen minutes rose in his throat, and before he could choke it back…

"What?" he blurted.

"Hermione asked me to invite you," Potter said, his expression completely serious. "She thought it would be an olive branch, so to speak. She thought, since you were going to be around for a while, that it might be best to get to know you."

"Ah." The sound died as soon as it left his lips. He was almost ready to take the deal, the alternative being an early grave by boredom, but one thing still lurked in the back of his mind. "And the Weasel was alright with that?"

Potter let out a snort. "Merlin, no! He threw a bloody tantrum. He's still mad about it."

"I see," Draco said, standing up. "Let's go, then."

Harry's face split into a wide, gleaming smile. He sauntered to the fireplace, grabbed a flowerpot off the mantle, and turned to face Draco again. "You will not regret this, Malfoy."

"Oh, I'm certain I will."

"Scared?"

Draco locked his eyes on his, the ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, and said, "You wish."

╰⊱ ⊱╮ღ꧁꧂ღ╭⊱ ≺

The Leaky Cauldron was practically deserted. 'Seen better days' was a description that came to Draco's mind. From the pile of broken chairs in the corner to the front window draped with plastic. The blond might have assumed the wizarding world abandoned this establishment if the floo hadn't been on and a party of six not already waiting in a corner booth.

"This place is a bit rough around the edges," Draco commented.

"Yeah, some Death Eater stragglers really did a number on it a couple of weeks ago. Tom's still trying to patch it back up."

"Oh," Draco said. An unexpected wave of guilt slammed into him. "I'm really sorry."

Harry's lips widened into a confused smile. "For what? You weren't there."

Despite the other man's reassurance, a weight still twisted in his gut. Draco shove his tumultuous emotions onto the back burner as he caught sight of a young, bushy-haired woman at the booth.

Hermione Granger, their generation's brightest witch, was practically standing in her seat and frantically waving them down. Draco thought the entire thing unnecessary, given they were alone, aside from the bartender. Still, Harry waved back just as excitedly, and Draco supposed that was just the way they said hello.

Typical.

As they crossed the worn down pub, Draco took some time to place the faces already gathered. Weasel and Granger, of course.

Harry bent down to whisper in Draco's ear, sending odd shivers down his spine. "Don't call him Weasel."

"Mind reader," Draco retorted.

Harry smiled at him in a way Draco didn't recognize. It was pleasant, and he couldn't help but smile back. He quickly shifted his gray eyes to the table again, hoping Potter wouldn't notice his burning face.

Neville Longbottom was here, and looking quite rugged. Time was on his side, it seemed.

The girl Weasley was there too. Potter's little girlfriend. He should've guessed.

Next to her sat Luna Loony Lovegood, a face that sent ice through his veins, and flashes of his family's dark basement to crowd his mind. He remembered the way her father wept and pleaded for her life. The memory lashed out at him without warning, pushing bursts of intrusive guilt into his mind. He shook his head to clear away the scene.

Next, his eyes landed on the girl at Ginny's right. Chestnut brown hair in an asymmetrical bob, almond-shaped eyes, pointed, upturned nose? It had to be…

"Pansy Parkinson," Draco exclaimed with a smile.

She squeezed her way out of the booth, stopping directly in front of her old fling, and raised a single brow at him. "Malfoy."

For a moment, they both stood in silence, glaring at each other. Draco's eyes burned, but he could see water pooling against Pansy's lower lids. Without warning, she blinked. Her eye and mouth rounded in shock. She broke first, throwing her head back with a wild laugh and dragging her friend into a tight squeeze. It took only a second, and Draco was returning the gesture full-force.

╰⊱ ⊱╮ღ꧁꧂ღ╭⊱ ≺

"So, there I was," Ron whispered.

He had the entire table enthralled with his story-telling. Draco didn't believe a single word, but he was four glasses of firewhisky in and hooked. He hoped the ending paid off.

"Standing at the top of Westminster Abbey with my robe torn to bits and wand sixty meters down. And guess who shows up to save my sorry arse?"

Neville went pink and hastily submerged his face into the mug he'd been nursing.

"Our deadly plants, expert extraordinaire… Longbottom!"

Hermione clapped and giggled madly. The red wine she drank flushed her cheeks a deep crimson, but she seemed in high spirits. Luna was still leaning forward in her chair, staring intently at Ron, as if waiting for a conclusion that she didn't realize had already come.

Potter let out a whoop, half standing out of his seat and raising a fist in the air. Apparently, victory by proxy was good enough for him. Draco kept an eye on him, figuring Harry had guzzled down twice the amount of drinks the blond had. The brunette wobbled on his legs, sticking his arms up to balance himself.

In his excitement, despite his efforts, Harry lost his footing. The man pitched forward and knocked a hip into the table's corner. How he defeated the dark lord, Draco would never know.

Cups and glasses rattled against the wood surface as Harry drew in a hiss of pain. The way his face scrunched up made Draco want to kiss him.

Yes. No arguments here, his drunken brain agreed.

With the grace of a bull, Harry fell hard on the seat next to Draco. His thigh somehow hooked over the blond's knee, and in a valiant attempt to save himself, Harry threw an arm around the only stable thing he could reach—Draco's shoulders. His momentum dragged the smaller man closer.

Malfoy tried to help, but his brain was fogged past the point of making quick calculations. In a panic, he threw out his hands to brace against the impact. They slid across the taut surface of Harry's shirt… and abdominals… possibly some pectoral touching happened, but Draco couldn't be sure.

Before he knew it, Malfoy found himself pressed firmly into Harry's side, arms wrapped around his middle, and Potter's long legs slid between his. Their faces floated inches apart from one another; complexions ruddy and eyes glazed from drinking.

"That's very sweet," a dreamy voice said. "I always knew they'd end up together. I have lots of drawings."

"Luna," Hermione hissed. "Later!"

╰⊱ ⊱╮ღ꧁꧂ღ╭⊱ ≺

"Oh Merlin," Harry laughed, stumbling through the fireplace with a grinning Malfoy under his arm. "Whatta great night!"

"Yeah," Malfoy agreed. The room swam pleasantly around him in a lazy wave. "Thanks again for grabbing the bill, Potter."

"Least I can do, for you, Mafoo." He chortled back, swaying on his feet. "I rhymed, right then. Didja hear it?"

"Mm," Draco hummed. "Very clever, Mr. Potter. Ten points to Gryffindor."

They both collapsed onto the paisley sofa, and Malfoy laughed at the fact he'd almost stayed in. If he had, he'd probably be in bed right now. What a loss that would've been.

"You're more cleverer, you know. Than me."

Draco turned heavy eyes onto the man sitting next to him. His hair was a mess, his words slurred, his shirt sported a stain from a spilled beer…

"And I'm an absolute nutter for finding him so cute."

Harry smiled widely. "Who's that, then?"

Shit.

Shit. Damn. Shit.

"Hmm?" Draco asked.

Right. Sure. Play dumb. He's drunk, you pillock, not deaf.

"Who's cute?" Harry pressed. "Someone I know?" Harry's eyes flew wide, leveling Malfoy with a knowing gaze.

Merlin-fucking-shit-fuck.

"Is that what you and 'Mione talked about before we left?"

Oh, thank Merlin!

"You don' wanna date Ron; ya know?" He went on. "He's a slob. Terrible hours. Out awl night hunting dark wizarz and whatnot. Plus, he's gotta fiancé andall."

Draco ran a hand through his blond locks, letting out a deep sigh. "Potter, out of all your friends, Ron would be my last choice."

"Hey," Harry frowned. He looked offended. "Ron's muh best mate, ryh? He's not a bad-lookin' bloke."

Draco stared at him, bewildered, and then barked out a laugh. "Which is it, Potter? Do you want me to date him or not?"

"No," Harry laughed. "I'd rather you date Ginny than Ron."

"Sharing, Potter? How Hufflepuff of you."

"Wha?" Harry knitted his brows, frowning in concentration and trying to work out the puzzle Draco tossed his way. "I'm not with Ginny. Ginny's with Luna."

"Luna Lovegood?!" Draco gasped. Yes, when in doubt, avoid and distract. "I thought Luna was with Neville?"

"Yeah, she iz." Harry nodded, his eyes drooping with exhaustion. "Issa sorta-er-triangular ordeal."

"What a life," Draco chuckled, wiping sweat off his brow. The temperature had risen a few degrees at some point.

"Yeh," Harry mumbled in agreement, his eyes completely closed and breath slowing down. Draco felt he was almost out of the woods when Harry said, "Buh whoodooyoo fancy, Draco?"

Damn it all. Go to sleep, Potter!

"Don't worry about it, Potter," he whispered.

"Kay," he nodded, drifting away from the waking world completely. "Hope ish meh."

…

… …

"What?"

Harry gave a gentle snore, sliding down the paisley fabric until his head settled in Draco's lap. The blond's heart was sputtering out of control, and he didn't know what to do. What options did he have?

Stay calm, Draco, his brain told him. Handle this like a Malfoy.

He started slapping the side of Harry's face. "Potter, wake up this instant!"

Or throw sanity out the window entirely. Why not?

Harry groaned, batting away the other boy's hand in his sleep. Draco redoubled his efforts. Malfoys always got what they wanted. Immediately.

Potter cracked open an eye, looking distinctly unhappy. "Draco? Whatchawan"

"Say what you just said," Draco demanded, leaning his face over Harry's, looking him directly in the eye.

Harry groaned again, rubbing a hand over his face. "What do you want, Draco?" He asked, annunciating every word.

"No," Draco huffed. "Before that! Right before you fell asleep."

Harry gave Draco his signature scrunched-faced, confused look. "I dunno know, Mawfoy. Whattaya want?" He grumbled.

"To kiss you."

Harry Potter's emerald green eyes snapped open in alarm. They darted around the room and then settled back on Draco. His teeth snatched at his bottom lip, and for a moment, Malfoy thought he might bolt for the door. Then, something clicked inside Potter's brain. Draco watched the light go on like a lamp.

The boy in his lap smiled warmly as every muscle in his body relaxed. He laughed under his breath. "Oh, I thought I was awake."

And with that, Harry Potter lifted his head and kissed him. Him! Draco Malfoy! Former Death Eater, responsible for the attack on Hogwarts, and Hermione's perfect teeth. That last one was a stretch, but what did he care? Harry Potter was kissing him.

Draco often read romance novels when he was younger. That first kiss, the one that's been building up the entire time, is supposed to happen in a heated moment where tensions were high and teeth clacked together or something. He remembered every scene being passionate and hurried and forceful.

But when Harry kissed him, it felt like he'd kissed Draco a hundred times already. It was slow and lazy and familiar. Passion and lust were nowhere to be seen, but something even more exciting had taken their place. Something that drew fire up from the pit of Draco's gut and spread it through his entire body. Years of gentle touches, whispered sweet nothings, and naps together on paisley sofas birthed this kiss. This was better than any book he'd ever stolen off his mother's shelf. This was—it was-

Love.

Oh, that's what that felt like. Had it always been there? Was Draco in love with Potter? And if so, how long had that been going on?

The taste of firewhisky and ripe cherries were on his tongue, drawing him into a place he wanted to be, but wasn't ready for yet. Then Harry pulled away with a smile so sweet it broke Draco's heart.

"G'night, love." He whispered, already drifting off to sleep again. "If you're in my dreams tomorrow, I hope it's the one where we have a dog." Harry yawned, not bothering to cover his mouth, and stretched his arms out. "I like that one."

And then he was asleep again, easy as that.

He thought it was all a dream, his brain offered.

"Yeah," Draco murmured to himself, running a hand through messy jet-black hair. "But not the first one."

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Hello!

I hope you enjoyed reading "But Not the First", and thank you so much for taking the time.
If you had a good time reading this (and even if you didn't), then don't hesitate to follow and review!

Thank You, Again,
Gordon