"Merlin, Draco, you're going to pull your robes to shreds if you try to straighten them out anymore," Harry chided. Draco scowled, tugging on the poor fabric even harder. Harry caught his hands and pulled them away. "Draco, love, it's fine. You look gorgeous, just like always. No one will even look at the bride with you there. So can you please stop worrying?"
Draco sighed, giving in. "A year," he whispered. "Over a year, really, since anyone saw me in public." He wrapped his arms around Harry's shoulders and buried his face in the crook of his neck. "They're all going to hate me still."
Harry held onto him tightly. "They might," he agreed. "And they're allowed to. They can glare and whisper all they want, because it doesn't matter, understand? They can't do anything more than that, not without pissing off two very well-respected and powerful war heroes."
"I thought you hated being known as a war hero?" Draco asked, leaning back to meet Harry's eye. That was probably the biggest wrong idea he'd had in school. Harry detested being known as the Boy-Who-Lived, or the Chosen One, or the Saviour. He only barely got along with being Lord Too-Many-Titles, as Draco sometimes called him on better days.
Harry heaved a sigh. "I do, but no one else seems to agree, so I might as well do something with it. Like keep people in line in public."
Draco cracked a smile, letting go of Harry and fixing all the wrinkles he'd just put in the man's robes, much to Harry's annoyance. Well, Harry just needed to accept that a Malfoy never goes anywhere looking less than perfect, and, Potter though he might be, Harry was a Malfoy now.
Though, he would admit that Harry had gotten quite good at looking quite good since Hogwarts. Long gone were the days of ratty muggle clothes ten sizes too big. Taking his seats on the Wizengamot had done wonders for his image. He even made wedding party robes look like they were made just for him.
It helped that Longbottom had chosen good colours, of course. Harry's robes, as best man, were a deep earthy green, with gold and blue accents. They fastened over his torso with small bronze buttons, before falling open and away to show grey trousers and shiny black shoes.
Draco actually felt plain next to him, in simple, if expensive, robes of dove grey linen over a starched white shirt and darker grey trousers. His emerald green tie, his only splash of colour, was tucked into a silver silk vest.
He fiddled with his tracking bracelet, visible whenever the sleeve of his robes pulled away, while Harry fastened up his cufflinks.
"Daddy!" Reggie burst into the room laughing. He had a miniature portrait, Tom Riddle's, in his hand. "You look fancy!"
Harry laughed, crouching down to meet his son's eye. "Thank you, Snakeling," he chuckled. "Did you want something?"
"No, but Tom did," Reggie admitted, handing over the portrait. Draco was still amazed at how Harry managed to almost become- dare he think it?- friends with the former Dark Lord. Reggie, of course, was completely attached to him, if only because he was the only person that spoke Parseltongue with him regularly, but even Harry had long conversations with the portrait. Apparently, most of Harry's Wizengamot proposals were modified versions of the Dark Lord's original ideals, before he went mad. They were even talking about making a larger copy for Harry to hang in his office!
"I want to go with you to the wedding," Reggie pouted, as Harry and the portrait hissed at each other.
"No you don't," Draco replied. "There's going to be people everywhere, all over the place, and you don't like lots of people." Reggie pouted even more, but Draco just smirked. "Huge crowds. Crowds of grown-ups! All sitting around and trying to be pretty and talking about grown-up things. Your little brain would positively melt."
"It does sound boring," Reggie said, scrunching up his nose. "I'm glad I'm staying here with Teddy!" he decided.
"I'll bring you both back a slice of cake, then," Harry said, handing the portrait back to Reggie. "Work hard at your lessons with Tom tonight, alright? Tomorrow you can show me what you did." Reggie beamed at him and hugged them both before dashing out of the room, already hissing at the portrait.
"Lessons?" Draco asked as they headed toward the Floo.
"Just in Parsel right now," Harry assured him. "There's a written form, and Tom's been teaching us both, though Reggie has a lot more time to learn than I do." He smirked at Draco. "What, did you really think I would let a Dark Lord teach my son whatever caught his fancy? No, he's not allowed to learn about any Dark magic until he's twelve."
Draco skidded to a halt on the stairs, gaping at Harry. "You're really going to teach him Dark magic?!"
Harry shrugged. "Why not? It's in his blood, what with the Blacks, the Slytherins, the Gaunts, hell, even the Peverells weren't Light. I'm not Light. He's Grey, at the very least, so why try to force him to reject a part of himself? Just because the Ministry bans it doesn't mean it's all evil." He prodded Draco into motion again with a hand on his back. "He's going to be powerful; he already is. We're just going to make sure he knows how and when to use that power."
Draco nodded, putting the idea into the back of his mind for longer thought later, when he had the time. "So what did the Dark Lord want?"
Harry frowned. "Call him Tom. He isn't that anymore."
"Habit," Draco muttered. "What did Tom want, then?"
"Reggie's magic is…destabilizing, I guess. Like last year." Draco shuddered at the memory of the last October, when Harry had burned like a phoenix on that deserted moor. "I'll need to keep an eye on him, make sure I catch it again. He's still not old enough to control the overflow."
And with that cheery thought, they both stepped into the Floo, Draco barely taking a moment to brace himself before they were whisked away.
"Harry," a familiar Scottish voice greeted as they stepped out of the Floo. Harry smiled.
"Minerva," he replied, lightly grasping the Headmistress' fingers. She had never liked the way purebloods greeted with hand kisses. He looked around the office. "Hello, sir," he said politely to Dumbledore's portrait.
"Hello, my dear boy," Dumbledore answered, eyes twinkling. "And hello, Mr Malfoy," he added, looking over at Draco, who was still attached to Harry's other hand. Harry turned, pleased to see that McGonagall had not even hesitated a second before offering her hand to Draco, who followed Harry's lead in dispensing with the kiss.
"No greeting for your ancestor, I suppose?" a snide voice commented.
Harry smirked, always amused by the speaker. "My apologies, Grandfather Phineas, I had not realised I should also greet those people I live with," he replied. "Greetings, Grandfather Phineas," he said in his loftiest manner, making Phineas Nigellus snort. "My sincerest greetings, Draco," Harry continued, bowing slightly to Draco.
Draco bowed deeply, fighting a smile. "My warmest salutations, Lord Potter," he replied in his best superior pureblood voice. Even Minerva McGonagall laughed. "My greetings to you as well, Grandfather Phineas."
"If you have all finished amusing yourselves, I believe Lord Potter should be gathering with the rest of the wedding party at the moment," Phineas informed them, but he too was smirking.
"Oh!" Harry glanced at his pocket watch and realised Phineas was right. "Yeah, I do. We'll see you at the reception, Minerva."
The Headmistress waved them off as they hurried down the stairs and out to the grounds. Harry left Draco in George's company and care in Greenhouse Three, which had been cleared in the middle for the ceremony. Luna and her bridesmaids were getting ready in Greenhouse One, but Harry had to go to Greenhouse Six, where Neville was.
"There he is!" Seamus Finnigan clapped him on the shoulder as he walked in. "The best man! We nearly thought you were lost!" Dean Thomas, the last of the groomsmen, rolled his eyes in the background, and Neville chuckled weakly.
"When have I ever gotten lost at Hogwarts?" Harry replied, shaking first Seamus' hand, then Dean's. "Alright, Nev?" he asked, squeezing his friend's shoulder. He could feel the tiny tremors running through his body.
"I- yeah, I think so," Neville answered, his voice shaky.
"Not nervous, are you?" Harry grinned.
"Maybe a little," Neville admitted, in what was probably the understatement of the year. "I'll be fine."
"Yeah you will," Harry decided. He leaned in close and lowered his voice. "It's probably just the Wrackspurts."
Neville burst out laughing, tension leaving his body immediately. "Merlin knows where she gets those creatures from," he said as he calmed, before drawing Harry into a swift, tight hug. "I'm glad you're here, Harry."
"Me too." He straighten his old friend's robes one last time. "Ready?"
Neville gave him a bright smile, his face glowing with happiness. "Ready."
Draco was almost used to the glares and pointed whispering by the time pudding was served. He sat between Luna and Harry, which was almost painfully uncomfortable, until Luna had turned to him over the salad and told him she didn't blame him for her captivity at the Manor, since he never had any part in it and he had always treated her as well as he could. It was possibly the only thing he had heard her say without mentioning any imaginary creatures.
Harry was telling the story of the time in Second Year when he and Ronald had snuck into the Slytherin dungeons Polyjuiced as Crabbe and Goyle, which was met with uproarious laughter from Thomas and Finnigan. Ginerva Weasley, Luna's maid of honour (though 'maid' was definitely a misleading title) was next to Thomas, as they were apparently together, though that never stopped her from giving Harry endless sad looks over the meal.
Draco looked up to see her watching Harry's laughter with a hungry look on her face again and was suddenly tired of it. He slid a hand along the back of Harry's neck, threading his fingers into barely-tamed black hair. He smirked in triumph when Harry hummed and leaned into his touch, his eyes fluttering closed. Something flashed in Ginerva's eyes and she slid her hand up Thomas' leg instead.
Did Draco care? No he did not! He had his man, after all.
"You think you should start the dancing soon, Lord and Lady Longbottom?" Harry asked, startling Neville out of his quiet conversation with Luna. Neville went a little pale, but Luna just smiled dreamily and dragged him off to the dancing area.
"Harry!" he hissed.
Harry just laughed and shook his head, swiping up the last of the chocolate sauce on his plate with his finger and popping it in his mouth. "One dance on your own, Nev, just 'cause you have to, and then Draco and I will take pity on you."
Draco whirled to face him. "What?!"
"Oh, don't think you're getting out of dancing tonight, mister," Harry teased. "I spent ages learning to dance after the war and I feel like showing it off!" He smirked. "Unless you can't dance, of course."
"Of course I can bloody dance!" Draco protested. Harry's smirked widened and he groaned, realizing he'd just fallen into Harry's trap.
"Great, then we're dancing." Draco had his fork plucked out of his hand and was dragged out of his seat to go stand at the edge of the dance floor with the rest of the watchers to wait for the next song. People glared at him and moved away, muttering, but Harry's arm was warm around his waist and Draco frankly didn't give a flying fuck what they thought because Harry loved him and that was enough.
Harry clapped politely, smiling softly as Neville and Luna finished their dance with a kiss. He kissed Draco on the cheek. "Still up for this?" he murmured into Draco's ear. Draco just smiled and pulled him out onto the floor, ignoring the storm of whispers that started up. Harry folded him up in his arms and Draco sighed happily and leaned into him.
"I'm up for anything with you."
Harry spun Draco again and dipped him, enjoying the blush that spread across his cheeks. Someone whistled in the crowd. Harry spotted George grinning at him from a nearby table and gave him a two-finger salute. George just twiddled his fingers at him in reply.
He pulled Draco up into his arms again, holding him close and buried his nose in fine, blond hair. He felt Draco press his lip against his neck briefly.
"I like this," Draco murmured.
"I do too," Harry admitted. "I never would have thought, after Fourth Year."
Draco laughed. "Oh Merlin, the Yule Ball! You were hopeless!"
"Maybe it was just my date," Harry chuckled. "We seem to be just fine."
"Sure, blame the Patil girl," Draco smirked. "It had nothing to do with the scrawny, clumsy boy you were then."
"Then what makes me so good now?"
"Now you're fishing for compliments," Draco accused.
"Might it have anything to do with my fine physique and natural gra-" he cut off suddenly as pain shot through his chest. Alarm bells rang in his head, making him grab his temples.
"Harry?" Draco sounded worried, scared. "Harry?!" He grabbed Harry's wrists, staring into his face.
"The wards," Harry ground out. "The wards at home, they're broken. Someone broke in."
"What?" Draco gasped, but Harry was already dragging him off the floor and out the door into the night air. "Harry, where are we going? The Floo's in McGonagall's office."
"We're not taking the Floo," he grunted. He wrapped a tight arm around Draco's waist and ripped through the ancient Hogwarts anti-Apparition wards with a sound like a thunderclap.
Grimmauld Place was in shambles when they arrived. Spell fire marks scorched the walls, furniture was torn apart, several windows shattered. Heart in his toes, but still somehow in his throat, Harry sprinted for the stairs, praying to anything that might listen that both boys were safe in their rooms.
"REGGIE! TEDDY!" he screamed, barely noticing Draco pounding up the stairs behind him. Teddy's door was alright, it was fine, it was still locked. Harry threw it open. "Teddy!"
"Daddy!" The boy barrelled into his legs, sobbing.
"Teddy, is Reggie ok?" he asked desperately.
"I don't know, Daddy! I don't know!" Draco stepped forward to pry Teddy off his legs and carry him, murmuring softly to the sobbing boy, but Harry couldn't see anything beyond Reggie's shut door.
It looked untouched.
He blasted it open.
The rest of the room was untouched, too. And empty.
No Reggie.
Harry! a voice hissed at him from the table. Tom's portrait sat on the desk, open to the room.
Tom? He grabbed the portrait desperately. Tom, where is he?!
I don't know, Tom said softly, sadly, hopelessly. Harry, what happened?
"Harry?" Draco stood in the doorway, Teddy crying into his shirt.
"He's gone," he told them both. "He's gone, they took him, THEY TOOK MY SON!"
Oh, Harry.
Draco grabbed him, holding him tight to himself and Teddy as he cried.
"…Reggie…"