"Best to get it over with," Zach says, staring at the ominous red envelope. Draco nods, then takes the envelope and sprints out of the kitchen. He books it to the coat closet in the front hallway and shuts himself inside.
"I deserve this," Draco mutters to himself before slipping a fingernail under the seal of the envelope. A moment later, the closet explodes into sound. Draco lets go of the howler and covers his ears, regretting his choice of an enclosed space.
"Draco Malfoy!" the howler says in Weasley's voice. "How dare you leave this house! Harry hasn't stopped crying for hours and Viktor's threatening to sleep with him to cheer him up."
"It is a sacrifice I am willing to make," the howler continues, now as Viktor, before changing to Pansy.
"Draco, stop being an insecure arsehole and get your stupid fucking arse back here, you absolute muppet."
"Do you remember when I said I'd kill you if you hurt him?" Weasley's voice continues. "Well, I'm going to fucking hunt you down, you tosser. Not, er, to kill you because Harry then wouldn't speak to me, but to yell at you. In person."
"Ron, this is the weakest part of the howler," Pansy's voice says.
"If you do not come back, I, Viktor may have to take Harry to bed to cheer him up."
"We already said that," Weasley continues. "Seriously though, Ferretface. If you're breaking up with Harry, come back and do it properly. Or, better yet, come back and talk your shit through. He misses you. More than that, he bloody loves you."
"Fuck the Prophet," Pansy cuts in. "Get back here and work this out." The howler then explodes into flames, and falls to ashes on the floor of the closet, narrowly missing Draco's shoes. He takes a moment to collect himself, then opens the door and steps back out into the hallway. Zach is standing there, next to Draco's mother. She's wearing an oddly disappointed expression: her eyebrows are drawn and her mouth is twisted to the side.
Zach walks up to Draco, who is now staring at a spot on the floor, just left of his mother's feet, and slaps him. Hard.
"Ow. What was that for?" Draco asks, looking up. He holds a hand up to his stinging cheek.
"Did Harry tell you that he loves you?" Zach asks. Draco scrunches up his face, guilty. "You're a goddamn fool, Draco Malfoy." Draco hangs his head in shame. He still can't look at his mother. He hears her sigh. He swallows hard and looks up.
"I thought I had taught you better," she says.
"I'm sorry, Mother."
"It's not me you should be apologizing to. It's that poor boy whose heart you've broken." Draco bites down hard on his lower lip to stop the tears he has building in his eyes. He nods quickly and looks back down at the floor. His mother sighs again. He sees her step towards him and a moment later he's enveloped in her arms. He breathes in her perfume. It's a scent that reminds him of his childhood — freesias and pears. It makes him ache for those simpler times.
After a long moment, his mother lets him go, and instead starts to steer him back towards the kitchen. She pushes him gently down at his seat and slides his glass of water across the table to him. He takes it and drinks down several large gulps.
"Do you love him?" his mother asks once he puts his glass back down. He thinks for a moment about lying, but he's never been able to hide anything from her, not really, so instead he just nods. "And you came here because you were afraid he didn't love you back? Or was it something else?"
"I'm not worth the shit he's going to get for being with me," Draco says. Then he winces. "Er, excuse my language."
"Darling," his mother says in a warm tone. She reaches out and places a hand on his arm. "Of course you're worth it." Draco shakes his head. "Yes, you are." She is more insistent this time, so Draco stills his head.
"It's not your call to make anyway," Zach says. Draco jumps. He'd been unaware that Zach had followed them back into the kitchen. "It's Harry's."
"Healer Smith is right," his mother says. "The only thing you can answer is whether or not you think he is worth fighting for. For yourself, I mean."
"Of course he is," Draco says immediately.
"Then what are you still doing here?" Zach asks. "Get back to London. Swallow your stupid Slytherin pride, you ponce, and beg him to take you back." Draco wants to say that Malfoy's don't beg, but it's not entirely true.
"You're right," he says instead.
"Of course I'm right," Zach says. Draco looks balefully at him, but doesn't argue.
"Finish up your supper," his mother says. "And Shreeky will fetch your bag. In the meantime, I'm going to draft a letter to the editor stating my displeasure at the manner in which my son's love life was used to sell newspapers like he was some sort of tawdry nobody."
"I think the fact that we we're on the front page precludes us from being nobodies, mum." His mother waves off his comment and continues on.
"Of course, the Minister is furious too."
"For Harry's sake, rather than mine, I'm sure."
"No, no. Parvati was schoolmates with both of you. She's upset on both of your behalves." Draco doesn't have the energy to argue, so he just nods. He picks up his knife and fork and starts to eat. His movements are mechanical; he hardly tastes the food. All he can think about is Harry.
Will Harry even take him back? Weasley's howler had said he was devastated. What if Harry can't forgive him for running away?
He puts down his fork, his hunger gone.
"I should go," he says. His mother gives him a warm smile and nods. She stands when he does and sweeps him into one last hug.
"Good luck, my darling," she whispers in his ear. She pulls away and holds him at arm's length. "And when you have a chance," she says at a normal volume. "Bring the boy round for tea. I should like to see him again."
…
"I'm not sure you're alright to drive," Zach says as he and Draco walk out of the kitchen. Zach has Draco's bag in tow.
"I'm fine," Draco says with as much conviction as he can muster. Then he does his absolute best to walk in a straight line.
"No, you're not," Zach says as Draco veers slightly to the side.
"But I need to see Harry. Today. Now. Both of you just said that." Draco pouts. His mother had stayed behind in the kitchen after hugging him goodbye.
"I get that. But you're in no state to get behind the wheel." Draco stops walking.
"Fuck," he says. He shouldn't have had the whisky. Or the wine. But there's not much he can do about it now.
"Quite." Zach twists his mouth to the side for a moment, staring hard at Draco. "Give me five minutes and I'll drive you." He shoves Draco's bag into his arms and strides away. Draco puts his bag down and pulls out his phone. He'd turned it off while he'd been driving and had forgotten to turn it back on until now. He presses the power button and waits as it goes through its loading screens.
There are nine missed calls from Harry, three from Pansy and two from unknown numbers. He has four voicemails and nineteen unread text messages. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth as he starts to read through them.
Draco where the fuck did you go? Pansy's frustration with him is apparent in the fact that she has spelled out entire words in her text. Her texts get shorter and both lose vowels and punctuation as they go on.
Draco where are you?
Get your arse back here
Fucks sake Draco, Harrys v upset where r u
Youve broke the chosen one
Answer yr fuckin phone
ur such an idiot i hope u know that
sometimes i wonder y we r frends
dick
The last message had arrived about half an hour before the Howler. He thinks about texting back, but his nerve fails him and instead he looks through the rest of his messages.
Mate, saw the papers. Nice pull. This is Blaise.
Gonna yell Prophet over articles.
Pansy says we're doing a letter campaign.
Draco is unsurprised that even while Pansy had been yelling at him by text, she had still been coming up with a way to make things better. What surprises him is that she'd suggested letters. But then, she can hardly curse down the Prophet's doors if they're still quarantining.
I'm going to sue the ever-loving shit out of that newspaper. This text is from Millie and he's oddly touched. He hasn't heard from her in years — in fact he doesn't have a single other message from her on this phone. He almost feels bad for the Prophet — he's very aware of how successful Millie's legal career has been — but they've potentially ruined the only good relationship he's ever had and he wants to see them burn.
The hardest texts to read are the ones from Harry, so he saves them for last. His heart clenches in his chest as he reads through them.
Where are you? Did you leave?
What the hell? Why did you leave?
Are you breaking up with me?
Why won't you answer me?
Ignore that voicemail
Please come home
Zach walks up as he's closing Harry's last message and Draco doesn't have the strength to listen to the voicemails, so he snaps his phone closed. Zach's carrying a weekend bag and nods once as he draws level with Draco.
"Give me your keys," he says and Draco hands them over. "Let's go."
…
It's half past eleven by the time they reach Grimmauld Place. Draco helps with directions. It's his only contribution to the driving. They park in the same spot that Draco had left. He doesn't bother to transfigure his car. If it gets stolen, or damaged, so be it. He probably deserves it.
"This is nice," Zach says, looking around.
"It's the old Black family home."
"Number Twelve, you said?" Zach is looking at the house numbers in obvious confusion.
"It appears when you walk up to it." Draco lugs his bag out of the car and then takes the keys from Zach so that he can lock it. His stomach is turning somersaults and he's quite certain he's going to be sick, but he squares his shoulders nonetheless and walks up to Number Twelve. The two buildings to the side slowly shift until Twelve appears between them. Draco glances at Zach. His eyes are wide.
"Shall we?" Draco asks, even as his stomach gives an uncomfortable lurch.
"D'you think they're awake?"
"It's a Friday. They're probably in the pool."
"Brill. I brought my swimming costume." Draco doesn't try to tell him that he doubts there will be any more swimming once he walks through the door. He suspects Zach already knows that and is just trying to lighten the mood. Draco takes a deep breath and knocks on the front door of the house that feels more like home than his actual home just had.
…
After a minute, the door swings open. Weasley is standing there. He's got a beer in one hand while his other holds open the door.
"Draco," he says and Draco flinches at the sound of his name in Weasley's mouth.
"Since when am I Draco to you?" he asks. He can't help himself. Weasley narrows his eyes.
"Since Harry told me he loved you." Weasley's — fine, Ron's — eyes flick to Zach. "Who's this?"
"Hiya Ron," Zach says.
"Bloody hell, Smith?"
"Call me Zach."
"Yes, but why are you here?"
"This idiot was too drunk to drive himself back." Draco turns his head to glare at Zach even as Ron snorts in amusement.
"I assume you got our howler?" Ron asks Draco.
"I did." Draco nods stiffly. "No need to yell at me in person now." He twists his mouth to the side. He had hoped that Harry would open the door, so he could get his feelings out right away. Making small talk with Weaselbee is an inconvenience.
"Well, come in then." Ron jerks his head toward the hallway. "I'll escort you to an empty room to quarantine."
"We're clean," Zach says. "I had him extensively tested this afternoon and we've not been in contact with any magic, nor infected people." Ron stares at him, face blank. "I'm a Healer, you knob. I know what I'm talking about."
"He stuck me with fucking needles," Draco spits out. He's still horrified at this method of extracting blood. Ron's mouth twitches.
"Fine," he says. "I'll take you to the roof."
"Not the pool?" Zach asks.
"Harry's too sad," Ron says shortly. "So instead we're flipping off any gossip witches that might be flying around, lurking." Then he turns and starts walking down the corridor. Draco follows him and Zach brings up the rear, closing the door behind himself as he crosses the threshold. Draco drops his bag outside of his room once they reach the second floor. Zach puts his next to Draco's, though it hadn't been nearly as much of a struggle to carry up the stairs.
Three more sets of stairs later, they burst out onto the rooftop. Draco doubles over as he tries to get his breath back.
Harry stares at him. His eyes are red. Draco's heart clenches and he can't bring himself to move. It's hard enough trying to get his breath back without the stare, but with it, Draco feels like it's a losing battle. He wrenches his gaze away while he sucks in air. Finally, he stands up.
Everyone is staring at him by this point.
"Er, hi," he says, putting one hand up in an awkward wave.
"Took you fucking long enough," Pansy says. None of them make a move to leave. Fuck, he's going to have to do this in front of everyone then.
"Harry, I'm sorry," Draco says. "I never meant to hurt you."
"Well, you did," Harry says. He crosses his arms in front of his chest.
"After seeing those articles, I thought you would be better off without me."
"Why the hell would you think that?" Harry asks, sitting forward. His voice breaks and his lower lip quivers. "I thought— I thought you cared about me. I thought you understood that—"
"—I just want you to be happy," Draco interrupts. This isn't going the way he had envisioned it. "More than anything, you deserve to be happy. You deserve better than me."
"What the fuck does that mean? I deserve better? That's bullshit. I love you, Draco. Even though you fucking left." He mutters something that Draco thinks might be "like everyone else in my life." And his heart breaks a little more. "That's the only thing that matters."
"I—" Draco starts to say.
"—No. I love you. That's the be all and end all of this conversation. You are what makes me happy."
"But you can do better than me," Draco says, looking bitterly down at the floor.
"Don't be fucking absurd."
"It was all over the Prophet. You shouldn't be dating a fucking scum-of-the-earth Death Eater."
"Ex-Death Eater," Harry all but shouts, surging to his feet. "Who's repented his actions. The actions he'd been forced into in the first place." As Harry is speaking, Ron walks over and slaps Draco. Draco blinks at him, dumbfounded.
"What was that for?" he sputters.
"I will not stand for anyone insulting the person that Harry loves. And right now, that's what you're doing. So shut the fuck up." Draco blinks at him. He opens his mouth to speak, but Ron isn't finished. "I yelled at the Prophet and I will yell at you too."
"But—"
"—I will be the first to say that we have never seen eye to eye." Draco almost scoffs but holds his reaction back at the last second. "But you're not the prick you were in school anymore. And you make Harry happier than I have ever seen him. So I am going to fight for the pair of you with everything I have." There's a beat and then Ron adds, "That sounded better in my head. But either way, shut up. Harry loves you, end of story. Now kiss and make up, you prat."
Then Ron turns on his heel and walks over to where Pansy and Viktor are sitting. He wedges himself in between them. Pansy starts massaging his shoulders. Draco turns his attention back to Harry.
"I'm so sorry," he says. He crosses the roof until he's standing next to Harry, looking down at him. Wanting to be at eye level, he kneels down in front of Harry. He reaches out and takes Harry's hands in his.
"I didn't realize this was going to be a proposal," Harry says, the side of his mouth lifting in a small smirk. Draco's heart is in his throat as he says,
"If I recall correctly, you were the one who proposed to me." He thinks he hears Pansy gasp behind him but he ignores her.
"You never gave me an answer," Harry says. The world has shrunk down to just the two of them. Draco reaches up and cups Harry's cheek with one hand. Harry leans into it, closing his eyes for a moment.
"I love you," Draco whispers. "I'm so sorry that I left. I panicked. All my darkest fears were spelled out in black and white on the pages of the Prophet: that I would never be good enough for anyone, that I didn't deserve love, that—"
"—Fuck the Prophet," Harry says. "I love you too."
"In which case," Draco says. He takes a deep breath. This could be a bad idea. It's rushed, that's for sure. But at the same time, he's certain about it. "Yes." Harry frowns at him.
"Yes what?"
"Yes, I'll marry you."
"What? Really?" Harry's eyes are wide. His face is so open and hopeful that Draco's heart feels full.
"Yes." Then he surges up and presses his lips to Harry's. He can distantly hear cheers, but he ignores them, intent instead on showing his boyfriend — fiancé? maybe? — how much he loves him. How sorry he is. He puts everything he has into the kisses, tangling his hands into Harry's hair.
He dimly registers the sound of a champagne cork popping and then there's a cold, wet feeling on his back. He pulls away from Harry and looks around.
"I'm so sorry," Neville says. "I didn't mean to." He's holding a still foaming bottle of champagne. And Draco thinks fuck it.
"Winky," he calls. There's a crack and then Winky appears before him. "We're going to need more champagne. Nine bottles, preferably. You might want to get them from the Manor, if you can. I don't want to deplete Harry's cellar."
"Nonsense," Harry says. "We're celebrating."
"I plan on spraying most of it in the air and on people, like we've won the World Cup."
"Your point?"
"I'm sure your champagne is very nice."
"And? We're celebrating." Harry's grinning from ear to ear. "I'm happier than I would be winning the World Cup, so let's do it."
"Merlin," Pansy drawls. "If we're doing that, I think I shall change into something that's not dry-clean only." She stretches, catlike, and stands. "Congratulations, darling. Don't start the celebrations without me."
It takes a few minutes to assemble all the champagne, so they're still shaking up the bottles when she returns.
"I should get you a ring," Harry whispers into Draco's ear. He's got his arm wrapped around Draco's waist and seems reluctant to let him go. Draco's worried it's because Harry thinks he might run off again.
"And I should reintroduce you to my mother," Draco whispers back. He presses a kiss to Harry's cheek.
"How is she doing? I assume you saw her?"
"Right as rain," Draco says. "She told me I was an idiot for leaving you."
"Smart woman."
"She wasn't wrong."
"Still," Harry says, squeezing Draco close. "You're here now."
"And forever."
And then Ron starts the champagne spraying and they both laugh and pop the corks out of theirs too. It's the happiest Draco thinks he's ever been. He feels like he doesn't deserve it. Not after he'd upset Harry so much, and not after everything he'd done. But he'll worry about that another time. Or maybe not at all. Maybe it's time to forgive himself. Not just for hurting Harry, but for his past as well. After all, if Harry can, why can't he?