I've Got You Under My Skin

by Marblez

Following the war Draco had nothing; no prospects, no future. But then he was given a chance and now, ten years later, he was a successful tattoo artist and was happier than he'd ever expected to be. And then one day three unlikely customers walked in asking for matching tattoos...

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of these characters or the universe in which they exist. I'm merely borrowing them for a little bit and shall return them unharmed when I'm done ;)

~ I'VE GOT YOU UNDER MY SKIN ~

Holding his wand as though it were a quill Draco offered his latest client a reassuring smile, cast the required spell and began to sketch out the requested design on the witches skin. It was difficult work, requiring a level of precision that took years to master, and Draco was regarded as being in a league of his own when it came to his speciality; cover-up work. His current client was having a curse scar transformed into a constellation made out of flowers.

"That's beautiful, Draco," Nimue Naxxremis, the owner of the tattoo parlour murmured behind him as she watched the image taking shape. She had saved him from destitution following the war, giving him a chance even though he had no previous experience other than having a tattoo forced upon him against his will. It had taken her a year to train him, teaching him everything she knew, and his natural artistic talent had come as a surprise to both of them. Now, ten years after the end of the war, he was one of her most requested artists and his slots were booked solid for the next three months. "As per usual. Coffee?"

"Tea, please," he requested, not looking away from the delicate petals he was forming. "Are you sure you want the tattoo to be in monochrome? I can easily add some colours in…"

"No, monochrome is fine," his client reassured him. "I change my mind about colours so frequently that I'd be afraid of going off of the tattoo in a couple of weeks, you see?"

"I understand," Draco assured her. "I'll do some nice gradient shading instead."

Ink'd by Nimue, as the tattoo parlour was now known, had once been Markus Scarrs Indelible Tattoos and was located in Knockturn Alley between The White Wyvern, a pub notorious for serving banned drinks, and Nightridge & Sons Magical Funeral Services.

Under Nimue's management the parlour had been transformed.

Where it had once been a dark, depressing place where only those of a similarly dark or depressing nature would ever visit it was now bright and open. The front door had been repaired and repainted a warm yellow colour, similar to the shade of a sunflowers petals, whilst the decorative frame and lintel were an orange Draco had only ever seen during an autumn sunset. Above the door hung the sign that Nimue had designed herself, elegant blank writing on a yellow background slightly darker than the colour of the door. Each window of the strangely shaped building was painted a different colour, standing out against the brick walls which retained their dark colour no matter how hard they tried to clean them. And finally each pane of glass had been spelled to change colour sporadically throughout the day, creating an ever changing spectrum of light inside all three floors and the attic level of the building. In fact the only room that was still reasonably dark was the storeroom in the basement as it had no windows and only a single magical ceiling light.

Inside the building was equally changed.

The ground floor, which had once been crammed full of useless artefacts owned by Markus Scarrs of which he was proud to display, was now completely open with only one bookcase taking up the back left corner of the odd shaped room and the receptionists desk and chair near the door. Because the building was effectively the corner of a turn in the alley it was shaped almost like a bucket; the narrowest wall and therefore the base of the bucket was the front wall of the building and sported the front door and a large window on the upper floors. It wasn't wide enough for anything more than that. In the back right corner of the building was a winding staircase, the steps narrow and almost dangerously uneven. Nimue had spelled vines and flowers to grow artfully around the bars of the winding bannister, all of them wonderfully fragrant and brightly coloured. Draco's workstation was on the first floor directly above the reception desk and underneath the front facing window, bathed in the ever changing light. He had pictures of past works hung around his station for his clients to view, two of which were of his own body not that they would know that. The first was a picture of the back of right ankle where he'd created a tribute to his father in the form of the solar system in the shape of a wand. Each planet was a different colour but it was the sun, making up the base of the handle, which deliberately stood out the most and even more impressive was the fact that the ink he'd used was reactive to light meaning that it showed in the dark and under a muggle black-light seemed to glow. The picture was spelled to switch between the three different views, changing every sixty seconds, and his clients were often in awe of the black-light image and requested that he use the reactive inks.

The second of his tattoos to feature was his most prominent cover-up image; his Dark Mark.

Following the demise of the Dark Lord the tattoo had faded from its vivid black colour to a dull grey, the curse that had been embodied into the ink breaking the moment Voldemort had died. With the curse lifted he was able to alter the tattoo, turning the grey lines into a shade of pink similar to that of rose wine, and from there he added a purposefully random display of flowers around and seemingly behind the unmistakable tattoo. As a tribute to his mother he chose three flowers for the tattoo. The narcissus flower, more commonly known as the humble daffodil, which as well as being the origin of his mother's name through its link to the Greek God symbolised rebirth and renewal. Next he had chosen the myosotis flower, also known as forget me nots, as the little blue flowers symbolised faithful love and memories and then lastly the nelumbo nucifera, or lotus, in a gorgeous pink colour as they symbolised enlightenment and resilience. It was beautiful, if he did say so himself, and was no longer a memory of one of the worst years of his life. Rather it made him think of the strong willed woman who had raised him, a woman who was partially responsible for the defeat of Voldemort after she claimed Harry Potter was dead when he was in fact…not.

His was the first Dark Mark he had transformed in such a way but it hadn't been the last.

His other tattoo's had been done by different artists, Nimue having done the sleeping dragon which curled around his right shoulder in amazing detail, and because of his pale skin creating what they called a "perfect canvas to display their art upon" images of them featured on their workstations. The image of the delicate constellation he was named for across his rib cage on his right side, done in white ink that had a permanent glowing charm cast upon it, was one of the most requested styles of tattoo that Zelly Du Croix produced.

"Almost done," he reassured his client when she let out a slight hiss, the magical procedure significantly less painful than its muggle counterpart but certainly not pain free. Draco and his fellow employees at Ink'd by Nimue were trained to ease as much of the pain as possible unlike their predecessors who had worked for Markus Scarrs who'd never bothered to ease any of the pain. It had been one of them who had inked Draco's Dark Mark on the orders of Voldemort, the dark wizard adding the curse afterwards. "Just need to finish this last leaf."

It was as he was adding the very last strokes of ink that he heard the bell ring downstairs, signalling that someone had entered through the front door of the parlour. Voices travelled up the winding staircase and for a moment there was something painfully familiar about them, something that set the hairs on the back of his neck standing up on end. He couldn't focus on it for long, however, as he had the aftercare of the tattoo to see to. The most difficult part was always explaining to his client what they needed to do to make sure that their tattoo did not become infected before it had a chance to fully heal; there were far too many witches and wizards out there who didn't have the patience for getting a tattoo done.

Magic could only do so much, he always explained.

"Thank you so much," his client thanked him as she pulled on her outer robe and picked up her handbag, offering him a beaming smile as she pulled up the sleeve to gaze at the cling-film wrap covered tattoo. There was probably a magical equivalent they could use but all of the tattoo artists agreed that the ling-film was the better option. "It's just what I wanted."

"Good," Draco chuckled, rolling his shoulders in an effort to ease the slight ache that was beginning to settle into them. "You can settle your remaining bill with Arianna downstairs."

Offering him another murmur of thanks his client left, all but skipping down the spiral staircase while Draco picked up his mug of tea and took a sip, grimacing as he found it almost stone cold. A quick warming charm restored it to a decent enough temperature, something he had been forced to perfect as it happened almost daily that he got carried away with a tattoo and forgot all about the coffee or tea sitting on his workstation for him.

He was leaning back in his chair sipping his tea when Arianna called out to him

"Dray? I know it's asking a lot but could you squeeze a couple of small tattoos in quickly? Well, three?" she asked as she appeared on the stairs, gazing hopefully across at him. She was a sweet girl, with red hair slightly darker than the shade he had seen all through his school years on the various members of the Weasley family. "I wouldn't normally ask but, well, it's a special case and you've still got half-an-hour blocked out for your last client…"

"How small are we talking?"

"Three matching wrist tattoos," Arianna reported, scurrying over to hand him a muggle post it note, of all things with a crudely drawn Deathly Hallows symbol on it. Behind the symbol there was an equally crude scribble of colour, done with what appeared to be a muggle felt-tip marker. "This is the basic idea although they all agreed that none of them are artistic…"

"No kidding," he snorted. "Double the price and I can do it."

"Double?" the young witch all but squeaked, visibly alarmed. "But…"

"They're walk-ins so they always get charged more anyway," Draco pointed out. "And I'm technically still booked so could be using this time to, I don't know, have a quick sandwich instead of doing them a favour and fitting them in. Double the usual price or tell them to make an appointment and come back in three months when I'm next free. Go on, then."

"Right…"

"You know she's going to charge them the normal price, right?" Jax, short for Japheth, offered up as he escorted his last client down the stairs, gesturing for them to carry on downstairs whilst he moved to lean against Draco's workstation. "She's just too…nice."

He was right, of course; she'd never have the nerve to charge them double.

"Any chance you could take one of them?"

"Not if they want matching tattoos," Jax snorted. "Our styles are nothing alike, Dray."

"Yeah, fair point," Draco sighed, gulping down the last of his tea and setting the mug aside just as he heard a group of footsteps ascending the stairs. He turned, fixing his best customer service smile on his face in preparation only to feel it slip off entirely when he caught sight of just who was stepping out onto the first floor of the parlour. "No way…"

"Hey, isn't that…?"

"Malfoy?!"

No.

He couldn't believe it.

"Weasley," he responded dryly, fighting down the urge to back away from the advancing group. As it was he made sure that his back was pressed against the wall. "Potter. Gra…"

Something glinted on the ring finger of her left hand, making him pause before guessing,

"Weasley?"

"Hello, Draco," she murmured, smiling warmly across at him. "It's good to see you."

"…it is?" he checked before clearing his throat and nodding. "Yeah, of course, it is."

Jax was blinking at them all wide eyes, his head swivelling back and forth.

"So, er, you're here to get matching tattoos?"

"That's right," Hermione spoke for the trio once more. "And you're our tattoo artist?"

Draco nodded,

"Yeah."

Shrugging off his discomfort he held up the post-it note.

"So, d'you want it exactly like this or would you like me to…"

"You can say improve it," Hermione chuckled. "I know I'm no artist."

"I can clean up the lines or I can make it purposefully messy, either would look good," he explained, conjuring a piece of parchment and demonstrating what he meant. "And in regards to the colour in the background do you want a wash or a clear line?" With another was of his wand he added the colour to the parchment in both styles. "And all the same colour? Or were you thinking of having a different colour for each tattoo? It's up to you."

He watched as their eyes moved back and forth between the two styles.

"Um…"

It was all Draco could do not to shudder at the sound of Harry's voice, the same voice that had haunted his dreams since he'd gone through puberty and realised to his horror that he was more interested in a certain black haired, green eyed saviour than any of the girls. If anything the years they'd spent apart, Harry rising through the ranks as an Auror and Draco becoming a tattoo artist of great renown, had only made the effect of his voice stronger.

"What about the messy style with the wash of colour?" Harry suggested to his best friends who hummed thoughtfully before softly agreeing with him. "And a colour each? Maybe?"

"I want orange."

"No," Draco said before he could stop himself, wincing as Weasley turned to glare at him. "Weasley, no offence but you're ginger. To make it work I would need to match your hair colour perfectly. You'd be better off going for a green or even blue, like your eye colour."

"…you actually know what you're talking about…"

"Yes, Potter, I do," Draco confirmed. "This is my job, after all."

"Eye colours could be nice for you two but mine are just brown," Hermione sighed regretfully, gesturing to her eyes with obvious disdain. "It wouldn't show on my skin."

Again Draco was shaking his head before his brain could catch up and stop him.

"No, your eyes are a totally different colour to your skin," he reassured her, tapping the parchment with his wand in order to make it the same espresso colour as her skin before changing the colour behind the design to match her eyes. "See? Your eyes are more of an amber tone and it would definitely show up. Or, if you want something a little bit more eye catching but in keeping with the other two tattoos I can do some golden highlights like this."

He knew he'd sold the design to her when Hermione's mouth dropped open into a surprised smile upon seeing the beautiful golden colour seeping into the design on the parchment. It help that Ron let out a hum of instinctive approval, earning him a bigger smile from his wife.

"…so, we're on for making the wash colour match your eyes?"

All three of them nodded.

"Okay, then; who's first?"

"I'll leave you to it," Jax murmured, patting Draco on the shoulder as the blond began to prep his workstation for the work he was about to do. "Want me to fetch you another tea?"

"If you could that'd be great," Draco muttered, moving out of the way as his colleague summoned the empty mug from the desk. When he turned back to the trio Hermione had moved to sit on the specially designed chair, her arm resting on the padded support with the woollen jumper she was wearing pulled up above her elbow. "Wrist or mid-forearm?"

"Wrist," she answered firmly. "And the size of a galleon."

Nodding Draco adjusted his grip on his wand, settled onto his stool and lost himself in his work, working carefully around the delicate veins of her wrist so as not to cause her harm.

Once the colour wash had been applied, the colour standing out every bit as much as he'd expected it to, he moved on to forming the purposefully chaotic black lines of the tattoo.

He was aware of their eyes upon him but ignored them, only glancing away from the tattoo rapidly taking shape on her dark skin when Jax carefully leaned around him to place his cup of tea on his workstation. His colleague paused, checking out the tattoo for himself, before offering the Golden Trio a bright smile and disappearing up to his own messy workstation.

After a couple of final strokes to tidy up some of the lines, particularly the one representing the Elder Wand, he leaned back with a satisfied grunt, reaching back to grab his cup of tea.

"We'll let it get some air whilst I do the next two and then I can deal with the aftercare," he explained to her between sips of tea, absentmindedly twirling his wands around his fingers. After draining almost half of his mug of tea he turned to Harry and Ron. "Right, who's next?"

Without saying a word Ron moved to take his wife's place, tugging up the sleeve of his loose fitting knitted jumper until it was bunched around his elbow, revealing his pale forearm; the rest of his skin might be covered in hundreds of freckles but this stretch of skin had none.

"Don't read into this any more than you have to, Weasley, but let me see your eyes," Draco ordered, feeling a flush moving up his neck as the redhead obeyed. "Alright, that's enough."

With the right shade of blue captured in his mind Draco got to work, using his free hand to hold Ron's wrist steady when the redhead flinched at the first touch of the wand on his skin.

"If the pain gets too much…"

"It's not the pain," Ron interjected. "I just don't like…"

Draco nodded in understanding.

Trusting someone to place their wand that close to your skin, particularly at a point where a painful death would follow swiftly if a cutting curse was used, would be difficult enough for someone who had survived the war without their personal history adding to the trauma.

"If it helps your wife can draw her wand on me whilst I work?"

"Not Harry?"

Draco chuckled dryly, shaking his head as he answered,

"If you end up flinching I'd rather get knocked across the room by your wife rather than have my arm cut off by your best friend when he uses the wrong curse by accident…"

It was impossible to miss the way Harry flinched, his vivid green eyes becoming fixed upon the silvery scar visible on Draco's face, one of many that covered his body as a result of the curse the Boy-Who-Lived had cast on his in the bathroom during their Sixth Year. People often remarked on the visible scars, the one cutting diagonally across his face which had narrowly missed his eye, another on his chin and a third on the side of his neck disappearing under the collar of his shift, and always assumed that they had occurred during the war.

He'd never told anyone the truth of their creation.

Ron frowned, his own eyes dropping to the scars whilst his wife gasped.

"…Harry?"

"I didn't know what the spell would do when I cast it," Harry blurted out, his voice thick with regret even as Draco continued to work on Ron's tattoo. "It was written in the margin of a book I'd found and…and it just came out when we were fighting. When it…when you…I…"

"It's alright, Potter," Draco sighed, regretting mentioning it at all. "It was a long time ago."

In reality it was a little over a decade ago but, with the war and everything that had happened, it felt like that violent confrontation had taken place in another lifetime.

"Just…promise me you don't still go around casting unknown spells at people…"

"No," Harry chuckled, clearly embarrassed. "No, I don't. I learned my lesson."

"Try not to move now, Weasley," Draco murmured as he finished off the colour and moved onto the lines, making them almost identical to those on Hermione's wrist but not quite as the broader wrist allowed for a slightly different shaped tattoo. "Or this could end badly…"

A few moments of careful work later and the tattoo was complete.

"Right, Potter, you're up," Draco muttered, picking up his mug and downing the last of his tea in three large swallows, the liquid now lukewarm rather than hot. Ron and Hermione were smiling happily, holding their arms side by side to compare their tattoos, as Harry carefully took his place at the workstation. There was a long moment of silence and then, "I know I'm good at what I do, Potter, but I cannot tattoo through two layers of clothing..."

Flinching, clearly embarrassed at having to be reminded of such a simple thing, Harry pulled up the sleeve of his own slightly more form fitting jumper, unbuttoned the cuff of the shirt he wore underneath and folded the crisp green fabric up far enough to expose his tan wrist.

"Thank you."

He willed his hands not to tremble as he reached out to reposition Harry's arm, bringing it just a bit closer to him and encouraging him to lay his arm flat, and forced himself to ignore the way his own body reacted to feeling the heat of the other young mans. Gently biting his lower lip he glanced quickly into the eyes of the Boy-Who-Lived to confirm that his memory was correct in regards to their distinct colour before getting to work on the final tattoo.

"…how did you end up doing this?" Harry enquired after a moment of silence had passed, his eyes fluttering back and forth between the tattoo being formed and Draco's face. "I mean, I assumed that you'd go into Magical Law like your father once you were cleared…"

"Beggars can't be choosers, Potter," Draco found himself murmuring in response. "Nor can former Death Eaters, cleared by the Wizengamot or not. When Nimue, Madame Naxxremis, offered to take me on in spite of having no previous experience I didn't even hesitate, not with our fortune gone thanks to the reparations we had to pay and my father unable to work due to his precarious mental state. He's better now, thankfully, but at the time his health was in a…delicate state. It was simply by chance that I turned out to be good at this."

"So you enjoy it? Your work, I mean."

"Yes," Draco answered simply, finishing off the colour work with a sweeping flick of his wrist. "Yes, I do enjoy it and not just because I'm good at it. It is surprisingly rewarding."

"I'm glad," Harry murmured sincerely, watching as the black lines began to form the tattoo. "Genuinely. You were…you were a prat at times but you weren't evil. Not like the others…"

Draco huffed out a laugh.

A prat…

He hadn't been called that since they were at Hogwarts…

"And you?" he found himself asking as he worked. "Do you enjoy your work?"

Worryingly there was a pause, a long pause where Harry said nothing.

"…Potter?"

Still nothing, prompting Draco to pause in his own work, and it was then that Ron and Hermione seemed to realise that something was wrong, pausing in their conversation.

Harry had gone down the route expected of him, becoming an Auror and he was steadily rising through the ranks. There was talk of him becoming the Head Auror within the next decade and if it was before he turned thirty-five he would be the youngest one in history.

And yet…

"Harry?"

"Yeah," the dark-hair young man sighed, lifting his gaze up to meet Draco's. Behind his ever present glasses his eyes were filled with painful confusion. "Sorry, I was just…thinking…"

"You don't have to answer the question if you don't…"

"I enjoy bits of my work," Harry blurted out. "Most of it, really. Not the paperwork but I don't think anyone could like the paperwork. I like that I'm helping people. I like that I'm able to do good things, like last week when we found those kidnapped kids and reunited them with their parents or when we finally put away Rookwood. I...I enjoy days like that."

Draco nodded, slowly getting back to work on the tattoo he was creating.

"But when we can't…when the…"

He trailed off, his words getting caught in his throat, and Ron stepped forwards to rest his hand on his best friends shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze as he finished it for him,

"…when there isn't a happy ending it's the worst job in the world."

Harry nodded.

"Yes," he mumbled, bringing his other hand up to run his fingers through his hair. "That."

Offering the understandably subdued young man a brief smile filled with sympathy Draco returned to his work giving all three members of the Golden Trio a moment to regain their composure as he worked on forming a perfect circle, the line work deliberately light, before slicing it in half with a significantly thicker and somewhat messy line, allowing it to extend almost a centimetre past the haphazard point of the triangle as well as down past the base.

"There," he announced, leaning back and encouraging Harry to take a look. "All done."

As one the three friends moved until they could line their forearms up, allowing them to admire the tattoos side by side. They weren't identical, all three of them slightly different sizes on account of the size of their wrist and the line work was significantly neater on Hermione's than either of her friends in accordance with her tidier nature. Even though he busied himself with preparing the necessary products for the aftercare of their tattoos Draco couldn't but smile himself when he saw the way they beamed excitedly at each other.

"I should probably warn you that tattoos can and often do become addictive," he offered up with a smirk, beconing for Hermione to give him her arm. She obeyed, chuckling softly. "Ok, aftercare is very important even though these are magical tattoos, not muggle ones. You'll need to put some of this cream on the tattoos every morning and evening for a week and keep it covered with cling-film and no, before you ask, there is no magical equivalent; in this instance the muggle way is best as stasis charms can affect the ingredients in the cream."

As he spoke her smoothed a thin layer of the cream over the tattoo and wrapped her wrist in cling-film, using some medical tape to secure it in place. Putting the lid back on the pot of cream he handed it to her, cast a quick cleaning charm on his hands for hygiene reasons and picked up the next pot of cream which he used on Ron's arm, his movements professional.

When it came to applying cream from the third pot to Harry's smooth skin he couldn't stop himself from focusing on the way the other man's skin felt so hot beneath his fingertips as he gently coated the tattoo in just the right amount, nor could he stop himself from taking just a fraction longer than he needed to before moving on to wrapping his wrist in cling-film.

"The cream will help the skin to heal and keep the ink from fading," he explained, applying one last bit of tape to Harry's arm. The fact that the medical tape was too fair for both his skin and Hermione's didn't go unnoticed but, again, it was a muggle product; the magical equivalent, he knew, altered its colour to perfectly match the user skin tone. "A slight amount of itching is normal but do try not to scratch it and ruin all my hard work. If the itching becomes worse, however, you'll need to return so we can see if anything wrong."

"Is that common?"

"No," Draco answered Hermione's question calmly. "I've only had three people return with issues and of them two were caused by their failure to perform the aftercare as instructed. The other turned out to be ever-so-slightly allergic to one of the ingredients used in the cream which is why the full list of ingredients is now attached to the bottom of each tub."

Checking the clock he winced, knowing that his next appointment was about to arrive.

"If you suffer any other unexpected symptoms, a burning sensation or alternatively losing feeling in the area, please come back as those are not normal and will need to be checked out," he informed them, tucking his wand away as he rose smoothly from his seat. His back gave a startlingly loud crack and he grimaced, twisting slightly to alleviate the pressure. "I'll take you down, now, and you can sort out your payments at the front desk and then if I'm really lucky my next appointment will be running late and I can grab a quick bite to eat…"

"You'd better not be skipping meals again, Draco," Nimue called out as they passed her workstation on the way to the spiral staircase having heard his muttered comment. "You know very well that I wasn't joking when I said I'd get Daedalus to sit on you while Zelly feeds you like she does that spoilt little child of hers, complete with 'choo-choo' noises."

"I promise you, I'm not skipping meals, Nimue," he responded, feeling the back of his neck flush with embarrassment as the trio sniggered softly behind him. "I took my lunch break at half-past twelve like a good little employee," he reported dryly, pausing on the first step as to explain, "It's just that I fancy a slice of that chocolate cake Chiyu brought in this morning."

Nimue chuckled, nodding in understanding before returning to her work.

"It's chocolate orange cake, by the way," she called out calmly. "And it's delicious."

She, along with everyone else at the parlour, knew that Draco had a weakness for Terry's Chocolate Oranges so taunting with that piece of information could be considered cruel.

"Well, now I'm going to have a piece whether my clients here or not," he responded, hurrying down the steps with an obvious bounce in his step which he knew his three classmates must have been amused by, ungainly as the motion was; he'd never have behaved in such a carefree manner whilst they were at Hogwarts. He motioned for Harry, Ron and Hermione to head over to where Arianna was sat carefully double-checking the accounts book to ensure it was up-to-date and made his own way across to the discreet refreshment stand tucked under the spiral staircase, windlessly summoning his mug when he realised he'd forgotten to bring it down with him. The cake tin, decorated with strange looking pictures in a style that Chiyu referred to as anime, was quickly opened to reveal a single slice of cake beside which sat a note, nestled on the crumbs of the rest of the cake. It read 'Draco's piece – DO NOT EAT OR I WILL HURT YOU!' in Chiyu's easily recognisable hand. "Thank you, Chiyu!" he called up the stairs with a laugh, putting the piece of cake on a plate along with the note, a feeling of warmth spreading through him at his friends care. "

Harry's voice stopped him before he could make his way back up the spiral staircase with his prize,

"It's my birthday next week."

Frowning Draco turned back to face the trio, finding similar expressions on Ron and Hermione's faces whilst Harry looked rather embarrassed and shocked, as though he hadn't intended to blurt it out at all, and Draco couldn't stop himself from arching his eyebrow like a true pureblood wizard as he responded with,

"I'm aware of that, yes. In fact, I'm pretty sure the Daily Prophet has been running a countdown giving in depth looks at your last ten or so birthdays so..."

"We're getting together for drinks," Harry pressed on. "And...and I was wondering if you'd like to join us."

"...join you?" Draco repeated, genuinely surprised by the invitation. "...for drinks?"

Harry nodded.

"It's nothing fancy," Harry assured him hurriedly, a flush beginning to creep up the sides of his neck. "It really is just drinks at the 'Wand and Cauldron' but I just...I just thought you might like to come..."

Behind him Ron and Hermione seemed every bit as stunned by Harry's invitation as Draco was.

"...I'd...I'd like a proper chance to catch up," Harry went on with his explanation, bringing a hand up to rub at the back of his neck and the move was so familiar that Draco's crush surged back to life yet again. "Don't feel pressured into saying yes, though, if you don't want to, I mean...I just..."

"Okay," Draco heard his own voice say before he even became conscious of speaking. "I'll come."

A moment passed during which Harry's sheepish smile grew broader.

"You will?" he checked. "That's great! Um..."

It was far too amusing to watch him flounder as he tried to regain control of himself, Ron actually planting his face into his hand with an exasperated huff whilst his wife let out a rather un-Hermione like snort, and Draco could tell that Harry was very much aware of his best friends' responses.

"So, yeah, we're meeting at the 'Wand and Cauldron' at 7pm on Saturday."

"We don't close until 9pm on Saturdays," Draco countered, gesturing to the board where the shops admittedly unusual opening times were displayed. Nimue was responsible for the fact that no two days were the same, designing the opening times to cater both to getting the best out of her employees and being open during the peak time for potential walk-in clients such as the Golder Trio themselves. This meant that they didn't open till midday on Mondays, no one liking Monday mornings after all, were open early on Tuesdays, finished at 2.30pm on Wednesdays, did a standard 9am to 5pm on Thursdays, opened late on Fridays and even later on Saturdays and weren't open at all on Sundays. "But I'll see if I can slip away early, depends on how busy we are."

"Okay," Harry agreed quickly. "Or just come when you can. We'll still be there."

Draco nodded,

"Okay, well, best get back upstairs before my next appointment arrives."

"Right. Well...um...see you Saturday."

"See you Saturday."

It wasn't until he was back upstairs, eating the remainder of his cake methodically, that he began to wonder what in Merlin's name he'd agreed to...

Stepping off the street and into the 'Wand and Cauldron', a muggle style pub which had opened up in Diagon Alley in the wake of the Second Wizarding War, Draco couldn't but wonder for the hundredth time why on earth he'd agreed to join whoever else Harry had invited to his birthday gathering.

He hadn't realised it when it had initially opened but he knew the owners, one Dean Thomas and his then boyfriend, now husband Seamus Finnigan, and had only discovered that fact when he'd joined his fellow tattoo artists on a night out to celebrate Chiyu's birthday.

There had been an awkward moment when he'd feared the two former Gryffindor's would refuse to serve him but, after a brief pause for everyone to get over their shock, the couple had returned to the usual selves and had treated him just like any other customer.

Since then it had become their favourite place to gather for a drink, just as it had many others, so he knew the spots to look for a large crowd and found them in what was known to be the best spot in the pub; near the back there was a large booth which could seat eight on the curved bench alone let alone when you added chairs to the other side of the table.

It wasn't too near the toilets but at the same time it wasn't too far away.

And it was close enough to the bar that, on quiet nights, orders could easily be called out from the table without having to get up.

None of them noticed him to begin with and that was just fine, allowing him a chance to study the raucous group before attempting to join them.

Harry was sat in the centre of the booth, an almost empty glass of beer held somewhat precariously in his hand as he chatted with Ginny who was sat on his right.

There had been much speculation about the two of them following the Battle of Hogwarts, Draco remembered, so when the rising Quidditch star had announced that she'd accepted the marriage proposals of Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood the Wizarding World had been shocked.

Triads, although not common, had been around for centuries and seeing the three of them now Draco couldn't help but chuckle to himself, wondering it a more unlikely trio had ever existed.

Neville, he noticed, looked good.

He was in training to take over from Professor Sprout when she retired in a couple of years and, if the gossip was to be believed, would also be taking over as Hufflepuff's Head of house despite he himself having been a Gryffindor; apparently it was one of the many changes to the school rules that Headmistress McGonagall had insisted upon, this one designed to make it easier to find suitable candidates for the Head of House positions.

Before each Head of House had to have come from the house in question, resulting in some serving in a position they either didn't want or weren't strictly speaking suitable for just because there weren't any other "suitable" options amongst the rest of the staff.

Ginny too looked better than he remembered, the life of a professional Quidditch player clearly suiting her.

As he watched she threw her head back and laughed at something Ron, sat on Harry's other side, said before twisting in her seat to call out something to Oliver Wood who was sat at the end of the table with his husband, Percy Weasley.

Whatever it was she said was intelligible to him, the noise of the pub blocking out most of it, but it caused Oliver to shout something back at her with great defiance.

It was only then that Draco remembered the fact that they were on rival Quidditch teams and recognised their actions for what they were; friendly ribbing of each others team.

Percy, ever the stickler for propriety, began to scold his husband either for what had been said or how it had been said.

He was the Head of the Department of Magical Transportation and, if the newspapers were to be believed, might very well be a future Minister for Magic.

Luna was sat on the other side of her husband and due to the ruffles adorning the brightly coloured dress she wore it took him a moment longer than it probably should have done to realise that the eccentric witch was very, very pregnant.

How they'd kept that out of the 'Daily Prophet' he'd never know...

Of course, thinking about it, it probably had something to do with her now being the co-editor of the 'Quibbler' which in the years since the Dark Lords downfall had become the more reliable of the two newspapers despite occasionally featuring completely unfounded articles about their continued search for non-existent magical creatures.

Glancing along the table he was somewhat surprised by some of the other members of their gathering.

He'd genuinely expected to find himself surrounded almost entirely by Gryffindor's and whilst they did make up the majority of those present, fifteen of them to be precise, there were quite a few representatives from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff too, not to mention Durmstrang and Beauxbatons.

He would be the only Slytherin, however...

Cho Chang was squashed between her fiancé, Michael Corner, and Percy who kept apologising every time his thigh accidently touched hers, much to her obvious amusement.

The two Ravenclaw's had begun dating during her Sixth Year and his Fifth Year and the fact that they still weren't married was a popular source of gossip for the 'Daily Prophet' as they already had a four-year-old son who they'd named, rather unsurprisingly, Cedric.

Sitting opposite them with their chairs pushed as close together as physically possible were Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet and it was only due to the distance at which he was observing the group that he was able to see that they were in fact hold hands underneath the table.

Clearly the two witches, Katie now a sports journalist for the 'Quibbler' who played on the most successful amateur Quidditch team in the country, the Corfe Castle Cobwebs, whilst Alicia was the author of a popular series of children's books based on her time playing Quidditch at Hogwarts, were keeping their relationship a secret for the time being.

Draco would respect that.

Their desire to keep things a secret was aided, he realised, by the fact that Lee Jordan was sat in the next chair along; for a professional Quidditch commentator his lack of observational skills were the stuff of legend.

He could spot a foul play from the other side of a Quidditch pitch but ask him who'd been sat behind him in the VIP box and he wouldn't be able to give you a single name.

Not even if one of them was his girlfriend, fashion model Gabrielle Delacour, who was currently signing an autograph for a wizard no older than fourteen.

Their relationship was another one that had taken the Wizarding World by surprise, the model having been chased all around the globe by countless "eligible" witches and wizards only for her to fall in love with the best friend of her brother-in-laws younger brother, and the international papers still speculated about them "breaking up" every couple of weeks when they were photographed with anyone other than each other.

The only other relationship to receive similar scrutiny from the tabloids was also sat at the table but at the opposite end; Viktor Krum and Susan Bones.

According to 'Witch Weekly', a magazine he only read as it was one of the publications the tattoo parlour kept in the waiting area and therefore had readily on hand for bored employees, their love story was "one for the ages" and that "everyone, at one point or another, had fantasised about something like this happening to them."

Although their paths had probably crossed during the Triwizard Tournament the Durmstrang champion had only ever had eyes for Hermione so it was unlikely that quiet little Susan Bones would have made much of an impression on him back then.

They had met through her work at the Ministry of Magic in the Department of International Magical Cooperation when she had been working at the 2002 Quidditch World Cup as part of the Ministry of Magic's delegation, Susan having come across a tearful Viktor after another disappointing final for the Bulgarian who'd been narrowly beaten to the Snitch by the Egyptian Seeker, Rawya Zaghloul.

She had comforted him in the only way she knew how; she'd given him a hug.

He'd apparently been so startled that his tears had dried up and, instead of focusing on his loss and decision to retire from playing professional Quidditch, he found himself seized by a desire to get to know the kind-hearted soul who'd dropped everything to comfort a relative stranger.

They'd become long-distance friends first before that had transitioned "quite naturally" into a long-distance relationship.

And then, unable to put up with the distance after a year and a half, Viktor had moved to England to be with her.

If the tabloids and magazines were to be believed they'd hardly been apart since and speculation was rife as to when he would finally propose...

Draco's attention was drawn to the oldest member of the group when he reached across the table to hand Luna a bowl of salted peanuts, the latter thanking him profusely before digging in to the treat with gusto.

Not that Bill Weasley looked his age, given that he still wore his hair long and dressed as though he were on his way to a Muggle rock concert.

It was only the streaks of grey appearing in his ginger hair that gave away the fact that he was a decade older than the majority of the group.

He and his wife were clearly enjoying a night off without their three children, Victoire, Dominique and Louis, and he doubted anyone could blame them given that if they were anything like the rest of the Weasley family those children would be a handful.

Fleur Delacour was every bit as elegant and captivating as ever despite being dressed as casually as everyone else in jeans and a sweater, her long blonde hair pinned up in a messy twist that had the appearance of chaos but Draco could tell was utterly controlled by the well placed pins.

She had refused to bow to the pressures of society and had settled into the life of a stay-at-home-mum, all but vanishing from the tabloids unless she was photographed whilst out with her younger sister, and Draco felt a huge respect for her living the life she wanted rather than the one everyone expected of her.

Just as the two Delacour sisters were sat beside one another so did two of the Weasley brothers, Charlie sitting on Bill's other side next to the deliberately empty chair that Draco assumed had been left for him.

It didn't escape his notice that the empty chair was located directly opposite Harry.

Charlie Weasley was something of an enigma even amongst such an eclectic group, preferring dragons over people from an early age which had apparently led him to transfer out of Hogwarts to study dragon's abroad midway through his Sixth Year.

His lack of partner, be it male or female, had been remarked about for years and yet as he Draco observed the stocky redhead he noticed one particular tattoo that explained everything in a matter of seconds.

It was a dragon, just like all his other visible tattoos, but the colouring was off; it was sporting the black, grey, white and purple of the newly designed asexual flag.

Charlie Weasley identified as asexual.

And, more importantly to Draco, he knew a talented tattoo artist as those dragons were nice.

On the other side of the empty seat sat an unfamiliar figure, or at least he was unfamiliar until he turned so as to press a kiss to his partners neck and Draco got a better look at his profile; he couldn't remember his name but he'd been one of the Durmstrang students who came to Hogwarts during his Fourth Year for the Triwizard Tournament.

And his partner, Draco realised with surprise, was none other than Parvati Patil.

Once voted joint prettiest girl in their year along with her sister, much to Pansy's displeasure, Parvati had gone on to practice Divination, becoming a well respected expert in the subject even though she wasn't a Seer and offered up her services to anyone with the money to pay for them.

Her twin, Padma, who was sat beside her had gone down an entirely different route; she and her husband, former Hufflepuff, Ernie McMillan, had made a living travelling the world writing a series of extremely popular guidebooks for the "modern witch or wizard" which unlike the guides that had come out before them included "tips and tricks" on how to blend in with the muggle population when visiting the muggle sites they recommended.

He'd heard good things about the books from his friends and colleagues who'd used them.

Hannah Abbott's voice cut through the noise of the pub as she laughed at Justin Finch-Fletchley's expression following his first sip of his pint,

"I told you you wouldn't like it! But you wouldn't believe me. I mean, how could I possibly know that you, Mr Sweet Tooth himself, wouldn't like the bitterest beer on offer? Oh, wait, that's right; because it's my job!"

If someone had told him that Hannah Abbott, nervous and naïve Hannah Abbott, would one day become the landlady of the Leaky Cauldron he'd have laughed at them, particularly if they'd told him that she would have transformed the once ancient pub and dubious inn into a beautifully stylish yet still traditional pub and a popular hotel.

And yet here they were.

She was married to Terry Boot, the former Ravenclaw having worked hard to become a well-respected accountant.

He'd started by just looking after, read sorting out, the Leaky Cauldron's accounts but had been approached by several of the other businesses on Diagon Alley until it had reached a point where it was easier to say which businesses he didn't look after.

He even took on a couple of businesses from Knockturn Alley, the tattoo parlour included, and Nimue considered him a fair and trustworthy individual.

If fact one of the only businesses he didn't look after was Weasley's Wizard Wheezes and that was because they were too successful, meaning that the additional workload would simply be too much for him to add to his already busy schedule.

Instead George had his own accountant to work solely for his business, a business which now stretched around the globe with branches of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes in New York, Los Angeles, Tokyo, Sydney, Milan, Paris and, following a request from a young witch who was too far away to order from any of the shops by owl, Skellefteå, Sweden.

There were rumours of "marital strain" between the owner of the world renowned joke shops and his wife, Angelina Johnson, but looking at them now with their hands linked between them on the table top even as they were having conversations with people at opposite ends of the long table Draco surmised that whichever reporter had put that nonsense in print was just trying to create a story where there wasn't one by causing trouble.

He was also pretty sure that the other rumour floating around the alleys about them was entirely true if the way Angelina had absently been stroking her slightly softer than usual stomach was any indication...

Draco was slightly surprised to see Anthony Goldstein sitting on Justin Finch-Fletchley's lap as he'd never realised the two even knew each other let alone were dating.

Sure, they'd been in the same year as the rest of them but had been in separate houses, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff respectfully, and had both earned a reputation for being somewhat anti-social; Justin preferring to spend time with members of his own house be they older or younger than him while Anthony had preferred books to people like the perfect little Ravenclaw that he was.

In fact the only time Draco could recall Anthony speaking in class had been to ask why Hogwarts celebrated Christian holidays rather than Pagan ones.

He'd been dissatisfied with the answer, that a past Headmaster had decided to make the change due to the balance of religions practiced by students shifting, and had asked quite rightly if it was fair to exclude all other religions like that.

It had only been then that they'd learned he was as Jewish as his surname suggested.

He'd drawn up a petition to ensure Hogwarts would celebrate the major holidays and celebrations of any religion practised by it's students or teachers and, as far as Draco was aware, the petition had been enough for Headmistress McGonagall to bring the desired practice into place.

Hogwarts was a much more inclusive place of learning than it used to be and for that Draco was glad.

He wasn't the only one.

Justin snorted loudly in response to something Terry said, hiding his face in Anthony's neck as he was reduced to uncontrollable giggles.

Of all the people present at this gathering he'd been invited to they were the only two who he had no idea what careers they had chosen or, possibly, not chosen.

The last member of the gathering to come under Draco's curious eye was Hermione, sat between her husband and one of her brothers-in-law, George, with whom she was having a rather spirited looking conversation, her hands all but flailing around as she gestured with each point she was trying to get across the to the prankster turned businessman.

It had surprised absolutely no one when the "smartest witch of their age" had decided to embark on a career within the Ministry of Magic, beginning in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures where she had already played a key role in improving the "quality of life" for house-elves and other disenfranchised creatures.

She had been instrumental in updating the classification system so that only those creatures which truly were "dark" were now labelled so and, following the success of the new classification system she'd been able to get the various registries removed; no longer would werewolves and other such creatures be tracked and victimised.

Instead she had overseen the creation of a charity designed to help people who had previously been on the registries to find better jobs, get them on housing schemes and in some cases get them off the streets with a "work to live" scheme that offered accommodation as part of the wages.

Whilst most people would have been satisfied with these successes Hermione had recently transferred to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to begin her new project; bringing an end to pro-pureblood laws that had been twisted so badly over the years that rather than protecting society as they had originally been intended to do they had now become a significant detriment.

New-blood witches and wizards, as some of the new legislature had begun referring to Muggleborns, were necessary to keep the magical bloodlines from becoming too inbred which had begun resulting in low magical signatures and even, in a few rare cases, debilitating hereditary diseases.

Those tended to be in the families that had been marrying cousins together for centuries, however, so Draco had thankfully been spared such things by his ancestors desire to influence as much of the Wizarding World as possible by marrying into as many of the "great" houses as they could.

It was then that someone finally noticed his arrival.

"Oh," Susan gasped softly when she caught sight of him. "Hello, Draco."

As one the entire table dropped whatever conversations they'd been engaged in in favour of turning to stare at him.

Wonderful.

Clearing his throat as discretely as possible he offered her a polite nod, responding softly,

"Hello, Susan."

"We saved a seat for you," she announced, gesturing to the empty space between Charlie and Konstantin even as Ron piped up with, "Didn't think you'd actually turn up."

"I don't make it a habit to break engagements," he announced, slipping off his coat in a naturally graceful motion and draping it over the back of his chair before sitting down. Instantly he found himself transfixed by a pair of impossibly green eyes directly across the table from him. He could feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing up as a cold feeling rushed down his spine, confirming once and for all that his crush on The-Boy-Who-Lived was still very much a thing no matter how hard he tried to deny it. Clearing his throat he offered the handsome young man a soft smile, "Happy Birthday, Harry."

"Thank you, Draco. It's good to see you again. You look...well, you look...good..."

A remarkable hush fell over the already quiet table as Harry's cheeks began to flush a light pink colour in the wake of his rather bumbling compliment, everyone blinking back and forth between the two of them as Draco felt his own traitorous cheeks begin to colour as well.

Desperate to break the strange atmosphere Draco turned to smile at another member of the group, offering up as brightly as he could,

"And you too, Neville; if I remember correctly your birthday was yesterday."

"It was," the congenial man murmured. "And, thank you."

It was, of course, Hermione that broke the continued silence.

"So, Draco, I've been meaning to ask you about how the rest of the Slytherin's from our year are doing?" she enquired, all eyes now flicking back and forth between her, Draco and Harry. "I hadn't realised just how little I know about their lives now until we bumped into you at the tattoo parlour. Oh, and they're looking great, by the way."

To demonstrate this she raised her arm high enough for everyone to get a good look at his work.

"And have you been following the aftercare treatment I prescribed?"

"Religiously," Ron huffed. "Just another thing I get nagged about these days..."

"Dangerous territory, little brother," George chuckled, nodding towards Hermione's now arched eyebrow. "When will you learn not to antagonise your better half?"

"Probably about the same time you learn not to antagonise yours," his wife pointed out with a laugh. "Or need I remind you about your thoughts on my outfit for tonight?"

Whatever he'd said was bad enough that George's mouth shut with an audible clacking of teeth as he shook his head.

"Yeah, that's what I thought..."

At a visible prod from Hermione, Draco answered her earlier question as simply as possible,

"My fellow Slytherin's are well, for the most part."

Sadly this was not enough to satisfy the smartest witch of their age.

"And? What are they up to? I recall a marriage announcement for Blaise Zabini and...um..."

"Daphne Greengrass," Draco confirmed, thinking of the Slytherin power couple who had been secretly dating since their Fourth Year, not that anyone ever believed them as thanks to his mothers less than stellar reputation Blaise had always been tarred with the same brush; the amount of rumours abounding surrounding girls he'd been seen talking to at Hogwarts was ridiculous. "He's just taken up the post of Potions professor at Beauxbatons after completing his Mastery in America."

Hermione wasn't the only one to look impressed by this piece of knowledge although with most of the others it obviously came grudgingly.

"Daphne was a photographer for the American version of 'Witch Weekly' but took a leave of absence when she fell pregnant," he explained, not mentioning that it had only come to that due to the difficult nature of her pregnancy. They didn't need to know that. "But now that Thierry, that's their son, is old enough to attend school she's going to be working for a French fashion magazine as a photographer; they have both a Muggle and a Magical publication and she's planning on working for both."

"How wonderful," Hermione responded genuinely. "I'm glad to hear they're doing so well."

"Didn't Daphne have a younger sister?"

"Astoria," Ginny confirmed for her brother, gesturing between herself as Luna as she explained further, "She was in our year. Nice, for a Slytherin."

"Such high praise," Draco couldn't help but snort. "And from a Gryffindor, no less."

The redhead in question wasn't the only one to snort with amusement following his comment but it was her voice that offered up a sincere,

"Point taken."

"And what is Astoria doing?"

"She's a freelance journalist, actually, specialising in fashion," he answered readily, proud to share the younger woman's success. There had been a time when his parents had suggested he follow in Blaise's footsteps and join himself to the Greengrass family who had managed to survive the war unscathed and with their fortune intact but he had, thankfully, stuck to his guns and pointed out the flaw in their plan; his homosexuality. "She's been published in all the major magazines and most of the major newspapers in Europe and America and at the moment is working to break out into Asia and Oceania."

"Oh!" Fleur gasped suddenly, spouting rapid fire French across at her sister before concluding with. "We've me Astoria. She has interviewed Gabrielle many times."

Gabrielle nodded.

"She is very good," the younger witch announced, offering Draco a sincere smile. "As interested in the model as she is the fashion. She actually asked real questions rather than treating us like a...what is the word...oh, a living mannequin and as such she is very highly thought of in the modelling community."

"You might have seen Millicent at the Ministry..."

"Bulstrode?" Ron demanded confirmation. "Millicent Bulstrode works for the Ministry of Magic?"

"Did I say that? No, I didn't," he pointed out with as much sarcasm and sass in his voice as possible, ending up with a tone that was so reminiscent of his Godfather when he'd been trying to teach Potions that a sad smile flashed across not only his face but Harry's too. "Pay attention, Weasley, and do try not to interrupt."

More than one person at the table snorted as Ron huffed loudly.

"As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted some of you might have seen her at the Ministry in her capacity as a private investigator and bounty hunter. She specialises in finding absconders hiding in the Muggle world and has recently brought in Augustus Rookwood who escaped the Battle of Hogwarts and has apparently been hiding in Russia."

A shocked silence fell on the table, Draco smirking as he watched them all processing the information he'd given them.

"Millicent brought Rookwood in?!"

"Kicking and screaming," Draco chuckled, using the exact words his friend had when explaining how things had gone. "The Ministry have just hired her again to find a witch who poisoned her husband, confessed and then disappeared into the Muggle world before her trial. Last time we spoke Millie said she was closing in on her target."

"Well, I'll be buggered..."

"Ron!"

Given that his wife was laughing fondly as she scolded him Draco had a feeling that the redheads use of profanity hadn't improved much over the years.

"One person you won't be seeing any more of is Greg, however; Goyle," he clarified for the few confused frowns he saw, a bolt of annoyance cursing through him as he realised that some of them probably hadn't bothered to learn Greg's name. "He retreated from the Wizarding World after the war and hasn't set foot in it since. Too many bad memories."

Around the table expressions softened in sympathy, particularly Harry's who no doubt remembered the devastation on Greg's face after the loss of Vincent.

"He's happy, though, married with three kids under five," he explained, his words prompting all of the parents present to hiss in sympathy of the couples lack of sleep. "And working as a muggle policeman in Birmingham. We exchange letters regularly just, you know, the muggle way so it can sometimes be rather a wait between letters."

"A muggle policeman?" Ron repeated incredulously. "Goyle?"

"Yes," Draco confirmed firmly. "He's on track to make Sergeant in a year or so."

"Well, who'd have thought..."

Rather than respond to Ron's surprised chuckle Draco announced sadly that,

"Terrence Higgs disappeared after the war and hasn't been heard from since."

"What? I didn't know that..."

"He left a note saying that he had to be alone and just...vanished. His parents have been searching for him ever since..."

"Have the gone to the Ministry?"

"What for?" Draco scoffed. "Ex-Death Eaters looking for their missing son who, whilst not a Death Eater himself was friends with many who were? They'd as soon get laughed out of the building than find someone to help them."

"But..."

"It's better than it was but the world still doesn't like us," Draco explained sadly for the benefit of Hermione who seemed to be the most disappointed to hear that the Higgs' were so doubtful of aid that they didn't even bother to try. "Ex-Death Eaters or just Slytherins."

He took no pleasure from the guilty looks his dinner companions were shooting one another as they recalled instances where they had made such judgements themselves.

"Anyone else?" Susan eventually enquired, trying to restart the conversation but unfortunately the mere thought of the students he had left to speak about caused him to wince. "Oh. Not good news, then?"

"Not really," he sighed. "I'm sure most of you are aware that Pansy married Theodore Knott after the war?"

Within a month of the Battle of Hogwarts, in fact, when they were still only seventeen-years-old and only just that in Pansy's case.

Around the table everyone nodded.

"It was an arranged marriage, orchestrated by their parents after my own turned down an arrangement for Pansy and myself during our Fifth Year."

The mere thought of an arranged marriage seemed to be too much for some of them to comprehend.

How would they react to the rest of it?

"A union of the two remaining dark families that didn't 'stray towards the light' so as to preserve the power, influence and wealth that they possess. Pansy wanted to be an author, you know?" he asked them sadly, rubbing at his chin and lips absently. "She was always writing, not that anyone but a select few were ever permitted to know precisely what it was she was writing. She had potential but now, well, now she's expected to be the perfect Lady of the Manor and a brood mare to boot."

"...how many children do they have?"

"Six," he answered, thinking of the family photograph which sat on his bedside table at home. "Magnus and Montague, my godsons, are the eldest at nine. Twins, identical down to the last detail which makes telling them apart something of a challenge at times. Selena is sixand then there's Aurelius and Letitia, four; another set of twins but clearly not identical. And lastly there's little Emrys, my other godson, who just turned one."

"Two sets of twins?"

Draco nodded.

"Poor Pansy..."

"She's a wonderful mother, though, and even though she's still rather anti-muggle her opinions about Muggleborns have altered significantly since the war, mostly due to the fact that the nanny they eventually settled on to help with the children is one," Draco explained, smiling as he thought of the no-nonsense witch who ruled the nursery as though she were Mary Poppins incarnated. Several of those gathered around him mouthed the word 'Nanny' in disbelief. "A nanny was preferable to relying on their House Elves who were already busy caring for the running of the house and the estate; they had no nanny elves amongst them and would have had to reassign one causing problems elsewhere."

"And Nott?" Terry enquired softly. "You've not said anything about him other than they're married."

"Well, he recently inherited Borgin & Burkes after working there since the end of the war and the shop is as Dark as ever so care to hazard a guess how he's been?"

He hadn't meant to be quite as sarcastic as he ended up being but Theo's loyalty to the Dark side was a difficult subject for him.

Theo had never been a Death Eater.

His father had, serving time in Azkaban and under house arrest after the war.

At Hogwarts he'd always been something of a loner but had expressed a clear love of the Dark Arts from their First Year, a love that had been secretly nurtured over the years until he had become their resident expert on all things "Dark".

That love had been encouraged by his father and had led him to his apprenticeship and subsequent ownership of one of the most notorious shops in Knockturn Alley.

"He keeps things just this side of legal but...well..." he sighed, not even trying to conceal how distressed he was, before slapping his hands down onto his thighs and forcing himself to smile, "Right! I think that's everyone unless you lot want to know about people in other years..."

"Well, I know Adrian Pusey is a professional Quidditch player as I've faced off against him often enough but what about the other Slytherin Quidditch players?" Oliver enquired thoughtfully, his words prompting Ginny to nod in agreement. "I genuinely expected to see more of them make it onto the professional circuit; they might have cheated more than any other team but there were some damn good players."

"Well, Leo...er...Leodolphus Montague is still undergoing treatment at St Mungo's after that incident with the Vanishing Cabinet and his failed Apparition attempt," Draco reported, frowning slightly at the guilty looks some of the Gryffindor's shared. "But his fiancé is really good for him, or so I've heard, and he finally seems to be getting a bit better."

"That's good to hear..."

"Marcus Flint, as I'm sure you're all aware, is in Azkaban for murders he committed as a Death Eater during the war. Benjamin Derrick was killed during the Battle of Hogwarts and Kilian Bole didn't take it well; they were a couple, you know? Actually, you probably don't. Anyway Kilian's become something of a recluse ever since," he continued after wracking his brain to remember the correct names and details. "And as for the others, well, I have no idea about Jonathan Urquhart or Peter Vaisey, they just seemed to drop off the face of the planet after the war, and Miles Bletchley moved abroad but for the life of me I cannot remember where. Russia, maybe, or Romania?

"And Warrington?"

"Hugo? Again, no idea I'm afraid. Last time I heard his name mentioned it was a rumour going around Knockturn Alley that he'd fallen foul of a coven of vampires but that was only a rumour so who knows."

Silence fell on the large table as everyone processed the information they'd been given before finally being broken by Ginny in a rather unexpected fashion,

"So, Draco, are you aware that Harry's had a crush on you since you first met?"

"Ginny!"

Draco froze.

No.

It couldn't be true...

Any yet Harry was blushing harder than he'd ever seen the other man blush before, from his hairline all the way down to the collar of his shirt.

"Ginny, you can't just..."

"Oh, come on, Hermione," the redhead huffed loudly. "Aren't you sick of his pining by now? I know I am!"

Pining?

But...

"...you have a crush on me?"

Harry's expression became something close to the way he'd looked when he'd been being tortured by Aunt Bellatrix during the war but eventually he answered.

"Yes."

"Since...?"

A nod,

"Since."

There was only one thing he could think of to say when faced with what was effectively his wildest dream coming true.

"Me too."

Green eyes snapped up to meet grey, both impossibly wide, and were it not for the noise coming from the rest of the pub you could have heard a pin drop as their companions watched eagerly as this moment unfolded before their eyes like a live-action muggle soap opera.

"Since...?"

A chuckle accompanied his own nod,

"Since."

"Oh."

Neither said anything for a long moment, just stared at each other across the table, and eventually Ginny grew impatient once more.

"...and this is the moment where one of you asks the other out on a date."

Someone, he wasn't sure who, snickered loudly and then Ron commented smugly,

"Even we weren't this bad..."

Ducking his head with an embarrassed smile Harry glanced up at Draco through his thick eyelashes, the sight causing the blonde's lungs to seize as it was a picture he had imagined countless times over the many years he'd been in love with the Boy-Who-Lived, and asked softly and sincerely,

"Draco, would you like to go on a date with me sometime?"

"Yes, Harry," he couldn't even bring himself to feign hesitation for modesty's sake. Let them know how eager he was. What did he care? "I would love to go on a date with you."

"Wonderful!" Ginny cried out enthusiastically, clapping her hands together. "Now, onto more important matters; Charlie? I believe it's your round."

As the handsome redhead began to protest the validity of her statement Draco found himself possessed by a confidence he didn't know he possessed, reaching across the table to offer Harry his hand and a warm feeling began to blossom in his stomach when the other man eagerly placed his own hand on top of it, linking them together.

Suddenly his future didn't look anywhere near as bleak and lonely as it once had…

~ THE END ~

A/N So...the idea for this story came into existence from my browsing through Harry Potter fanart on Pinterest and then wouldn't leave me alone. It eventually reached the point where the fact that I hadn't written this story began to affect my ability to write some of my other stories and so I had to get it down. I hope you enjoyed it. If there's enough interest I may one day write a sequel but I make no promises as, like I said, it came out of nowhere. Take care everybody and stay safe!