Disclaimer: I own nothing. Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling.

one: luncheons and introductions

Harry Potter was not surprised when the wards alerted him of someone rudely apparating right into his foyer some half an hour before lunch was set to start, just as he was not surprised when that someone turned out to be Draco Malfoy.

He was surprised, though, by the soft but strong-willed voice he could hear as he approached his scantily used entrance room, spatula in hand.

The wards had alerted him of two people apparating into his foyer, of course.

One of them which they recognised but one which they didn't, but Harry thought of it as a little quirk he'd have to look into later in the afternoon, when he was alone and had run out of things to occupy his mind with.

Draco hadn't bothered with his social visits for a while—some two or three months now, at the least—so that might have confused the wards of his house.

Because Draco Malfoy did not rudely apparate into his foyer on Sundays for their little Black luncheons dressed in smart muggle black slacks and a worn-down white dress shirt, what he knew was his favourite dark green denim jacket draped over not his form but over the flower-patterned white dress of his very beautiful brunette companion.

Or he did, but usually without a companion and his jacket on him, and usually with his hair not in the middle of drying out.

'Draco! Draco, listen to me. Please just listen to me—you cannot just!—oh Merlin, Draco, we cannot simply show up to Harry Potter's home unannounced! We'll be arrested! Sent to Azkaban! You won't—we won't even—this was not—'

'Hi.' Harry didn't get to hear the rest of her tirade, for he had picked that moment to butt in—even as he wanted not to and enjoy Draco's cowed visage for a little while more.

Draco's companion had very long hair, he noted, as she jumped and left behind a slow-following brown trail as she twirled around to face him, something high pitched coming from her mouth. Wide green-and-blue eyes stared at him.

The man in question simply sighed in relief and raised his hand, grateful for the interruption.

'Morning, Potter.'

'Afternoon, really,' for good measure, Harry had checked his wristwatch before waving it around in front of him. 'You're late, Malfoy. Narcissa won't be happy.'

It was not only Draco that grimaced but Harry did, too. Lateness displeased Narcissa to an untold degree, and once displeased, Draco's mother would not be appeased until after she had picked everything there was to pick apart from everyone in attendance.

He was glad he had chosen his nicer trainers instead of the worn-down things he wore when he visited the Burrow just last week and an actual dress shirt for once, even if rumpled; there was not much he could do about his hair, but at least it was not the rat nest it was during his Hogwarts years. He could imagine how well that would've gone with her. But at least he sure was on the clear of Narcissa Black's rampage. Hopefully. One could only pray.

'And that's what we have little Edward for, thankfully.'

Harry rolled his eyes. 'So, introductions?'

'Right, ah, introductions. Potter—Harry, this is Astoria Greengrass. Astoria, this is Harry Potter.'

two: green denim

Surprisingly enough, Narcissa did not make a fuss once she laid eyes on Astoria Greengrass; on her long, dark chestnut hair and polished pureblood smile, on her graceful movements.

On the dark, flowery drawings that loitered on her dress, barely visible, most hidden under the dark green jacket of her son—the one her sister Andromeda bought for him on Christmas, a bit more than a year ago, when they treaded through muggle London's packed streets, searching gifts to bury little Edward in.

It was Draco's favourite jacket Astoria Greengrass wore to her first Black luncheon, the one that extended past lunch and supper time and well into the night.

It was the one thing besides his wand that Draco never let go of. The one he took to business meetings through Britain, always carefully tucked away inside the safety of his trunk. The one he always wore as he ventured down through Diagon Alley and the gardens of her home.

It was Narcissa's son's dark green denim jacket Astoria Greengrass wore when she cautiously stepped outside and into the Black Townhouse's little garden while holding Draco's hand. So maybe it shouldn't have been surprising at all when Narcissa said nothing about his tardiness and instead stood up, smile on her face, placed Teddy on Andromeda's lap and kindly greeted Astoria.

three: berries and cherries

But it wasn't surprising when Astoria showed up the next Sunday and the one after that, and the one after that—she wore her own jacket (an oversized black denim that looked bigger on her than Draco's own, covered in more kinds of flowers he could ever remember; and even more flattering), then.

Draco said they were just friends, but Astoria never once failed to show up—with apples and pears; spring greens and bright green cabbages; with cucumbers and tomatoes and a variety of mushrooms; plums and all kind of different berries along Teddy's favourite bright red cherries during wintertime.

She showed up with all kinds of flower arrangements for Cissy and Andy, and one summer evening found Harry staring down at a long jardiniere that rested on his dinner table with what he had later found out were seven black spider lilies. Later, it had become a permanent fixture outside the window of his kitchen, the one overlooking the dark patio wooden table the now six of them spent their Sundays around.

It was Astoria that Teddy ran off to every time; the pretty lady that showed every Sunday with his favourite cherries. The one Narcissa discussed flower arrangements with, that could keep up with Andromeda's intricate potion talk. The one that graced Harry's otherwise lonely house with a multitude of fruits and vegetables.

But more importantly, it was Astoria Greengrass that made Draco Malfoy smile, and not the sneer or the grimace that Harry had grown used through the years.

four: leftovers for some other day

Two years of luncheons with one more person in them passed by quickly, two years of cooking for more but also not, because he always made too much and they always ended up taking leftovers home.

Narcissa and Andromeda to the eldest's home where they had taken residency with Teddy after the war, and Draco to his flat in the middle of bustling muggle London, with a myriad of sounds that were more bearable than the whispers of magical Britain, even with as distanced Malfoy Manor was from the rest of the magical populace.

Astoria, too, ended up packing leftovers in one of Harry's plastic containers she'd floo to somewhere up in rural Suffolk, where the Greengrass' ancestral home was located, for her and her sister to enjoy some other day.

Except, sometime during the first six months, Astoria started packing leftovers for three as Draco lingered nearby, eating shiny red apples and cherries under her reproachful eyes, and when they were all returned, they all carried the same scent of soap and they all came from the same bag; then three became two, both in different sizes. Astoria would floo first, a single container in hand, and Draco would follow next, a heavier bag in hand.

There were lingering touches and following gazes that Harry, Narcissa and Andromeda noticed, but decided to comment against.

It didn't take long after that—however, it took a bit of strong-arming coming from Astoria and Draco having a mental breakdown for it ('Potter, you don't understand! You don't—Astoria—she's not like us! She was there because she wanted to be! She was not forced to, not raised to! She's good. She's good, and I am forever marked! He's gone but just look at my arm. It will be forever be scarred, it will be forever be a reminder. The Malfoy name is nothing but a stain now. If they all knew we were friends—if we became more than that and it got out—').

But they got together, in the end. People couldn't speak too loudly if Harry Potter himself walked with them down Diagon Alley as they met for lunch, couldn't speak too loudly if even Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley did, too.

It made Harry happy for them; and if it ever made him lonely and long for something he couldn't see himself ever finding—well, that was his secret to keep.

five: best man

Twenty-two months had passed since Astoria Greengrass set foot in his foyer alongside Draco Malfoy, and in seven more months they were to wed.

But he had known that was bound to happen since he first laid eyes on her standing in his foyer next to Draco, berating him, looking at him not like the stain most saw him as. He knew the moment he saw him smile in fondness at her, like he only saw when he was around Narcissa and Teddy, and sometimes even Andromeda.

'Astoria said yes.' He had not known the nervous mess Draco would become, or what he would ask him yet, 'she said yes. Oh, Merlin's bollocks, Astoria said yes! She said yes!' and so Draco proclaimed the Tuesday morning immediate to it in Harry's dimly lit bedroom. The sun hadn't even bothered to come out yet.

Harry tried not to, but he was instantly awake.

'Couldn't you—,' Harry took a sip of water from glass on his nightstand, '—I don't know, have waited for more acceptable visiting hours? It's—it's four in the morning, Malfoy.'

'No. No, no, no. I have just dropped Astoria at Greengrass Manor. And—,' even without his glasses and his eyes getting used to the light and his brain still trying to shift from combat mode to something more domestic and less harmful, Harry saw Draco fidget and mutter, not sure of his words, 'And I need to ask something of you. It's, uh, really, really important, Harry.'

Harry sat up—alert, combat mode flaring once again just as he was getting rid of it. Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter might have spent a great deal of time in amicable terms for the last five years but that did not mean that they had changed the way they addressed each other. Draco would always be Malfoy and Harry would always be Potter.

'I… I need you to be my best man.'

'…what?'

'I need you to be my best man. In six months, I need you to be my best man. At my wedding. We have already talked it over. There's no one she'd rather have there. And she has also picked the maid of honour already,' Draco rambled. And then, 'There's no one else I'd rather have there.'

Harry stared for a while—just a few seconds that felt like eternity—while Draco visibly squirmed until he finally nodded—stiff and confused, but a nod nonetheless.

They went downstairs, both completely awake (too awake, in Harry's opinion—Draco with the giddiness he never thought he'd see or Draco was capable of, the giddiness only a recently engaged man could have, and Harry with adrenaline still coursing through his veins, trying to figure out what had just happened).

Narcissa found them hours later, sprawled on the floor with too many empty bottles of alcohol, just as they exchanged slurred words with each other, in a very important conversation ('I'm getting married.' 'You're getting married.' 'I can't believe I'm getting married.' 'I can't believe you're getting married.').

There was a glint in her eyes neither one of them had ever seen before, and that may have been the whole reason she had not cursed them on the spot.

Part of something else—lenghtier, and Haphn-ier, that I haven't made much way in yet—but this could be read alone. Really just some glimpses into Draco and Astoria, and Draco and Harry, after the war. Astoria's heterochromatic eyes are because of her "curse," which has been watered down throught the centuries—simply because I refuse to let her suffer or die.

As per my character profiles:

Astoria is a gardener. She loved growing flowers as a kid and she now has a shop. She meets Draco one morning after he's had too much to drink and they become friends. They are instantly drawn to each other, romantically.
Her sister's crops yield too much so she steals from them.
She's honey. Average height. Dark brown hair and multicoloured eyes.
Draco Malfoy is lost. He works and works and attends family lunches with Harry Potter but wanders aimlessly through life.
Until he meets Astoria Greengrass, that is. He smiles in a way Narcissa hasn't seen since he was a child, before Lucius and the dark lord. And when they are to marry, he makes Harry Potter his best man.