Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Harry Potter sitting in his lap was, without a doubt, one of his absolute favorite things in the world.
Fuck. Having those legs, those thighs, wrapped around him, that perfect ass, so round, resting on his thighs, Draco got hard just thinking about it. Another thing he had long suspected but had been proven beyond doubt the week before, the way Harry Potter moaned. Low, breathless, needy, Merlin, Draco could listen to that sound forever.
But he couldn't anymore, not after Theodore, deservedly hexed, had ruined everything, leaving Harry bolting out of the room with cheeks so red they could have passed for Gryffindor's house colors. Blaise had warned him Harry came looking for him at dinner, but Draco hadn't been at Hogwarts.
He'd finally managed to secure a meeting with Gawain Robards, something he'd been chasing ever since Harry's nightmare, that night he'd woken up shaken to the core, and Smith had let slip the names of the Death Eaters still at large.
Draco had finally gotten that damned meeting, where he offered as much funding as necessary to the Auror Department to track down Carrow and Yaxley as fast as possible. Robards had been skeptical at first, until Draco reminded him that Harry was pregnant, and that those two could not be free when Harry went into labor. Only then did Robards agree. That was the mission now, more Aurors were on it, more resources were being poured in.
He knew Harry hadn't meant the things he'd said weeks earlier, about his past and his part in the war, but they were still true. He'd watched Granger be tortured and done nothing, he'd seen Lovegood and Thomas kidnapped into his cellar, and done nothing, he'd actively let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts, he'd worked on that for months.
Harry had apologized countless times after the argument they'd had, but Draco could still hear Harry shouting at him, the words he'd said, and it was like a loop, ironically, only disappearing when he was with Harry, talking, studying, or kissing.
He didn't resent the Gryffindor, not at all, but he resented himself. How had he been so blind? How could he have done all those things? He deserved Sectumsempra, deserved to carry those scars for the rest of his life, and he didn't deserve the care Harry had shown when he saw them, kissing one of the scars.
He didn't deserve Harry, didn't deserve to hear his laughter, to receive his smiles, his patience when explaining things, didn't deserve his soft lips, his sweet taste, didn't deserve his touches, didn't deserve to touch his skin, didn't deserve to breathe him in, didn't deserve even the glimpse of those beautiful, deep, shining green eyes.
Those eyes that were reading the new edition of the Daily Prophet, looking drowsy, while Granger placed on the eighth-year table the potions he needed to take daily. He smiled at his friends, flipped Theodore off, and pulled away from them, walking toward Harry.
He set his hands on the smaller boy's shoulders, massaging there, reading the news Harry was reading, and leaned down until his mouth was level with the Gryffindor's ear, almost brushing the small silver hoop he wore there.
"Robards has a plan to catch Carrow and Yaxley," he whispered, and Harry turned to him, those wide green eyes going round. "I went to speak with him last week, I'm funding the search," he said, keeping his tone low.
"You could have told me, Draco," he said.
"I wanted to have some results before I told you," he shrugged, and Harry shifted to give him room to sit beside him, which he did. "How's our boy doing?" he asked.
"Giving me heartburn," Harry answered, which explained the bad mood.
Harry sighed, dropping the paper and pressing his hand to the side of his belly as if trying to convince James to cooperate. Draco watched the gesture, small but full of intimacy, and felt the almost uncontrollable urge to pull him away, far from the noise, the stares, everyone.
"Come with me after breakfast," he said softly, his mouth close to Harry's ear, his voice quiet enough for only him to hear. Harry lifted his eyes, raising an eyebrow.
He didn't want to scare him, didn't want to push Harry back into the pit of shame he'd fallen into after the episode with Theo. But he wanted, needed, a moment with him where the whole world didn't exist.
"Draco…" his tone was cautious, almost weary.
"It's nothing serious," Draco hurried to add, keeping his tone light. "It's Saturday," he reminded him. "Everyone's going to Hogsmeade. You need some air, need to step away… and so do I."
"To where?" he asked, sounding interested.
"London. My apartment," he said with a shrug. They could Apparate from Hogsmeade. Harry blinked again, surprised.
"That empty one?" he asked, probably remembering when Draco had taken him there to add him to the wards.
"It's not empty anymore," Draco corrected, trying to sound casual though his heart was beating fast. "I want to show you. I want you to feel comfortable there."
There was a short silence between them, broken only by the noise of the hall. Harry lowered his eyes to his pumpkin juice, thoughtful, and for a moment Draco thought he was going to refuse.
"Alright," the Gryffindor murmured.
"Excellent, then finish eating," Draco felt a warm wave of relief inside, though he didn't let much of it show.
Harry huffed, but the shadow of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. When he turned his eyes away from the smaller boy, Draco's gaze met Weasley's. The redhead was staring, serious, and it looked like he'd stopped eating the moment Draco sat down. One didn't need to be a genius to understand that he was watching every word and every movement Draco made near Harry.
It was good, before, it would have sparked a little anger in him, back before the war, before the Dark Lord's return. The Golden Trio, always together, always getting into something, and even when there was drama among them, they always protected one another, no matter what, no matter the means, they always protected each other. And Weasley was doing that now, watching, protecting Harry. He was grateful for it now.
He served himself some tea and glanced at his friends. Greg was asking Theo, who apparently had a date with Longbottom in Hogsmeade, to bring back some sweets from Honeydukes, since, by Ministry orders, Greg couldn't leave the Hogwarts grounds until the end of the school year.
Draco didn't pay much attention to the conversation, focused instead on the slow rhythm of Harry chewing. He was used to it by now, on the good days, when Harry ate without trouble, and on the bad ones, when every bite seemed like a sacrifice.
"Draco?" a female voice called, and he turned to see Pansy. "Are you coming to Hogsmeade with us?" she asked, judging by her tone, it was the second time.
"I'm only going to Hogsmeade to Apparate to London, with Harry," he replied, reaching for a green apple and biting into it.
"What? Why are you two going to London?" Daphne asked.
"Because I want to show him something, and to have a bit of privacy," he said, shooting Theodore a sharp look, which only made him roll his eyes.
"Oh, please, you didn't lock the door, you didn't close the curtains around the bed, you didn't even cast a single privacy charm. That's not on me," Theo said dismissively, and Draco rolled his eyes before turning his attention back to Harry, who seemed to be finishing his last bite.
"Can we go?" Harry asked, and Draco nodded.
"Harry, will you be back before dinner?" Granger asked, and Harry looked to Draco, as though waiting for his answer.
"No, but we won't be much later than that," Draco answered. He wanted to take Harry out to dinner somewhere, he'd let the Gryffindor choose, even if it ended up being a Muggle restaurant, which was highly likely.
"Alright," she gave Harry a small smile before turning back to the table.
"It's fine, Ron," Draco heard Harry say, and he looked at the redhead, watching him nod and return to eating in that utterly graceless way he always had.
"Where would you like to have dinner?" he asked as they walked toward the castle exit, and Harry looked at him.
Draco had always loved the fact that Harry was shorter than him, always. When he was younger, it was about feeling superior, about the Gryffindor having to tilt his head up to meet his gaze. But now it was the way his eyes lit up in the light, the way the dark green became even more vibrant in the sun, the way the chaos of Harry's hair fell across his forehead, and the way he moved it aside before looking up.
"Do you want me to choose?" Harry asked, his tone sounding skeptical, a small smile playing on his lips.
"Yes," Draco said, confused by the disbelief.
"So, Draco Lucius Malfoy is willing to go to a restaurant with not a shred of class, absolutely nothing French, 100% Muggle, where you would have no control over what happens?" he asked, teasing. There was a strangely familiar smile on his face, reminiscent of the grin he used to flash as they grew up, when he managed to annoy him, or win some argument or stupid competition, but there was affection there too, something Draco could see in those beautiful green eyes, as clear as their color. "In exchange for what?" he asked, and Draco rolled his eyes.
"In exchange for what?" Draco repeated, seeing how he smiled even more. "Isn't it a bit Slytherin of you to think that way?" he teased.
"Well, you're a Slytherin," Harry shrugged. "And the Sorting Hat considered putting me in Slytherin," he said, as if discussing the weather.
Draco's heart skipped a beat, thinking of how it could have been to have Harry in Slytherin. Would they have shared a dorm? Could they have become friends? Could Harry have stopped him from following his father's stupid path? Could he have pulled him to the right side of the war?
"That's not true," Draco replied seriously. It couldn't be, he couldn't have lost the chance, couldn't have let all those mistakes slip through his fingers like sand.
"The hat said I could have done well in Slytherin, that I would have made good friends," Harry shrugged.
"Potter, you're a Gryffindor through and through," Draco said, smiling in disbelief. "You have more courage in your pinky fingernail than most people have in their whole body. You're brave. You're not afraid of a damn thing. You don't let anything stop you from fighting for what you believe in, even when your friends don't believe in you," Draco continued, and Harry rolled his eyes.
"I'm not saying I'm not a Gryffindor. I am, I like it, and I'm proud of it. But I'm afraid of things, and I fight for those I love," Harry countered, and Draco shook his head, smiling, intrigued by how Harry didn't even notice.
"Harry, you abandoned the safety of keeping your head down for Umbridge for what you believed in. You actively did things against her, throwing any safety to the wind, for what you believed. Your friends opposed you in the sixth year, but you didn't listen to them, you set aside what the people you loved said to follow what you believed. Is there anything braver, more Gryffindor than that?" Draco asked, seeing the way those green eyes watched him.
"How would a Slytherin have acted?" Harry asked, and Draco paused, thinking.
"Well, Slytherins are usually motivated by security and acceptance. Friends and family are security and acceptance. So it definitely wouldn't have been the way you acted all these years," he shrugged, watching the way Harry tilted his head slightly to the side, looking curious. "Well, I mean, that's just my perception," he added shyly, then looked away.
"Don't you see the way I fight for my friends? They're my stability, my security, and I've done some crazy things for them," Harry asked, and Draco looked back at him, giving a small smile.
"Well, and yet you ignored them about me in the sixth year," he murmured, and the way Harry's eyes lit up, Draco knew he had won that argument.
"I was right," he muttered, and Draco laughed.
"Yes, you were," he agreed, noticing the way the smaller boy's eyes widened, as if realizing what it all meant. "No, Harry, you were right. I was screwing up, and one of the biggest, if not the biggest mistake of my life," he said with a sad smile. "And yet you're here, by my side," he chuckled softly.
"Draco, I'm sorry for the things I said to you," Harry said, and Draco shook his head.
Those green eyes, always so bright and vibrant, were now filled with guilt, regret, and sorrow, and Draco would gladly never see a smile from the Gryffindor again, or hear that voice filled with anger hurl insults at him every day, if it meant those feelings would never cloud those eyes.
"It's okay, Harry," he smiled, trying to sound as sincere as possible, using all his years of practice hiding his emotions, though he knew Harry didn't fully believe him. "James's room is ready." He changed the subject, watching a group of Ravenclaws, probably third or fourth years, disperse across Hogsmeade in front of them. "Shall we?" he asked, extending his arm to the slightly younger boy, who studied him carefully before linking his arm with Draco's. Draco Apparated.
The air in the town was slightly warmer, and Draco glanced around. The building his mother had found had two entrances, one for Muggles and one for wizards. The lower floors were for Muggles, and the upper ones for wizards. His apartment was on the top floor, one of the new wizarding residences that accommodated electricity.
He smiled as they walked toward the entrance, feeling satisfied with the warmth of Harry's arm hooked around his. He entered the building and headed straight for the elevator, tapping his wand on the metal. The buttons from 13 to 25 appeared, and Draco pressed the last one.
"All right, I need to tell you something," Draco said, and Harry looked at him "When I went to the meeting with Robards, I took the chance to come here and take care of a few things," he explained. The elevator paused for a few seconds before the doors opened. "I don't want you to feel pressured, in any way, but I thought… I wanted you to feel comfortable in my home, so…" He took a deep breath, noticing how shaky his voice was.
"Draco, it's fine, take a deep breath," Harry said, and Draco looked forward, opening the apartment door with a flick of his wand, revealing the small foyer.
"I've set aside one of the rooms for you," he said, afraid to meet those green eyes, so he focused on taking off his expensive shoes and hanging his cloak. "I mean, whenever you want to stay here when James comes, and stuff," he shrugged, stepping into the apartment, admiring the large white grand piano, smiling that his mother had remembered and bought it for him.
He took a deep breath and looked at Harry, who was still standing at the entrance. He noticed the confusion in his eyes and worried that he might have overdone it, that he was pressuring the Gryffindor.
His thoughts and worries were forgotten when Harry stepped closer, cupped his face with his hands, and pressed his lips to his. He held the other's waist, feeling the round belly against his torso, and gave a small smile when Harry pulled back.
"You gave me a room in your apartment?" he asked, his voice low, and Draco nodded without saying anything, watching Harry's smile grow a little. "Thank you," he whispered, and Draco smiled.
Harry stepped back and took off his worn sneakers, placing them next to Draco's, leaving one of them lying on its side. Draco found the contrast between them, so clearly exposed in these simple objects, interesting.
"I don't think I've ever been in places this luxurious, except for Gringotts and Grimmauld Place, before I started going out with you," Harry said, looking around.
'Going out with you', damn, damn, damn. He knew what Harry meant, but damn, how would it feel to call Harry James Potter his boyfriend? To be cared for, cherished, admired by him? To be loved by Harry?
"I brought some aspects of the manor here, I admit," he murmured, glancing at the decorations on the walls. "Everything here is new, none of the furniture is from there, of course, I wouldn't risk bringing anything into my apartment that had been touched by Death Eaters or the Dark Lord," he explained, and watched Harry approach the piano.
"You play?" he asked, and Draco smiled, nodding "Can you play something for me?" he requested, as if Draco could ever refuse him.
He nodded and walked over to the instrument, opening the white cover to reveal the keys, taking a deep breath as he considered what would be at Harry's level. He glanced at the boy, leaning against the instrument, caressing his round belly, eyes sparkling green. Draco knew which music he would play.
He snapped his fingers, took a deep breath, and pressed the first key, listening to the note. He began by playing the same four keys eight times with his right hand before adding the other notes with his left. The world disappeared, the only things that existed were him, the piano, the notes, and Harry.
He looked at the Gryffindor, at those impossibly bright green eyes, his smile so genuine, so open, so vulnerable that Draco felt pain, and the keys were pressed with a little more force.
His heart beat as fast as the keys were struck. In that moment, he realized he would do anything for that Gryffindor, give him everything he had, his possessions, his body, his soul, he didn't even need to ask, all Harry had to do was look at him that way.
He finished the music, watching Harry smile, teeth showing, and rose to gently cup his cheeks, pressing their lips together. It was just a seal, a touch, but Draco felt his heart would stop if he didn't.
"Want to see our boy's room?" he asked, and Harry nodded, smiling.
He extended his arm to the smaller boy, who smiled before linking his arm with his, and Draco led him to the stairs. They climbed slowly, Harry running his hand along the white railing, admiring the chandelier and the room's details. They reached the corridor, and Draco pointed.
"That's my room, there's the office, over there are the two guest rooms, that's your room, and this one" he pointed to the door he stopped in front of "is James's room," he said, opening the door.
Draco watched Harry step slowly into the room. It was large, with tall windows draped in light-colored curtains, letting in plenty of natural light. In the center of the room, there was a round wooden crib, with detailed finishing and a lace skirt. He had ignored his friends' opinions, he wanted James to be a child with no pressure on his shoulders, about anything.
The ceiling was adorned with ornate moldings, from which hung a crystal chandelier. The walls were decorated with framed panels and Niffler paintings, and along the sides of the room were dressers and nightstands, also in light wood, accompanied by beige-lamp-shaded lamps.
A large, plush rug covered the wooden floor, featuring floral embroidery in soft tones. To the right, there was an upholstered armchair with a footrest, designed for him to watch James sleep or for Harry to nurse if he wanted.
"Draco… This is beautiful," Harry said, his tone full of admiration as he looked around, and Draco smiled, feeling satisfied.
"Do you really like it?" he asked, stepping into the room as well, watching Harry run his hand along the crib.
"It's so different from what I put together, but so beautiful," he said, smiling and turning to Draco, his green eyes shining.
"How different?" he asked, curious, and Harry laughed.
"What I set up is all dark blue, with stars and the moon. I was afraid it might be too dark, and you made everything so light, so cute," he laughed to himself, looking enchanted.
"Want to see what I decorated for you?" Draco asked, feeling nervous, and Harry nodded, still smiling.
Draco took Harry's hand and intertwined their fingers, leaving the room and heading to the other door, taking a deep breath before opening it. The furniture in this room was carved wood upholstered in wine velvet. The bed had a tall, padded headboard, accompanied by a small chaise at the foot, both adorned with gold details. The bedding was in shades of wine and gold.
The walls were covered with boiseries and framed mirrors in gold, complemented by wall-mounted light fixtures. Heavy wine velvet curtains with gold details framed the windows. The ceiling had gold moldings and a large crystal chandelier in the center.
Around the bed were mirrored and gilded side tables with lamps. The floor was covered with a deep red rug featuring classic patterns. On the sides, upholstered wine velvet armchairs and a dressing table with a mirror completed the room.
He looked at Harry, hating how he couldn't read his expressions, his eyes. Harry stepped into the room, looking around, taking in every detail, walking to the bed and sitting on it, running his hand over the comforter, seemingly testing its softness.
"Isn't this a bit too red and gold for a Slytherin house?" he teased, and Draco felt like he could finally breathe again.
"My room makes up for it," he joked, though it was true, his room was all green and black.
"It's beautiful, Draco, really," he said, lying down on the bed, and Draco moved closer. "I can't believe you did this for me," he whispered.
"It was nothing," Draco shrugged, knowing it was the least he could do for Harry Potter.
Harry patted the bed, and Draco smiled before sitting and lying down next to him, feeling pleased with the mattress his mother had chosen. It was comfortable, and Harry deserved everything that was the best.
"I was going to take you to McDonald's, but I guess it would be cruel to take you there after this," Harry murmured. Draco frowned, unsure what he meant, and Harry looked at him, smiling. "It's a place that sells sandwiches with questionable meat and amazing fries, but I doubt they're 100% potato," he explained, whispering the last part, and Draco made a face, earning a laugh from Harry.
"We can go there, I could include it in some Muggle culture or Muggle studies essay," Draco suggested, and saw the younger one laugh.
"I've only eaten there twice, my uncles never took me, but I know there are Muggle restaurants out there that wouldn't scare you so much," he shrugged, looking at the ceiling, his smile noticeably smaller.
"I don't care at all about eating suspicious food with my hands with you, Harry," Draco said sincerely, and the Gryffindor remained quiet. Draco then looked up as well, observing the chandelier.
"You said earlier that I wasn't afraid of anything," Harry said, and Draco looked at him.
Harry was still looking up, and Draco could observe his profile, the shape of his nose, the way his glasses rested on his face, how his hair fell on the bed, on Draco's comforter, the line and contour of his lips.
"And you said you was," Draco commented, adjusting himself to watch him better.
"Why did you think I wasn't afraid?" he asked, still not looking at him, and Draco sighed.
"Well, maybe because you never stopped fighting?" Draco suggested. "I mean, since you were eleven, well, I know now it was even earlier, but every year, every time something happened, you were there, head held high, as if nothing could stop you. And every time, it proved true, nothing could stop you," he tried to explain.
"And what does that have to do with not being afraid?" Harry asked, looking confused. "I was terrified the whole time. I spent my entire life feeling anger and fear, fear and anger," he said, and Draco felt his chest tighten.
"Because it's easier to believe you're not afraid than to face the truth," Draco murmured, and finally Harry turned his face to look into his eyes.
"What's the truth?" Harry asked, looking so vulnerable that it hurt Draco.
"That you are absurdly, admirably, and impossibly strong, because no one could have stood year after year, disaster after disaster, loss after loss, without being afraid," he explained, bringing his hand up to caress Harry's face. "No one but you, my Sweetheart," he smiled, running his thumb across Harry's lower lip. "And when you're so used to forcing yourself to hate someone, it's easier to take away people's credit. Doing that with you is to believe you feel no fear at all, and because of that, and only that, you managed to do everything you've done," he finished, feeling Harry's soft, sweet lips on his as the Gryffindor kissed him.
The kiss started gentle, but Draco couldn't hold back. His hand slid from Harry's cheek to the nape of his neck, fingers tangling in the rebellious strands, pulling him closer. He felt the smaller body mold against his, the round belly pressing against his abdomen, reminding him of James.
Harry sighed against his lips, and the sound traveled through every nerve in Draco like a warming spell. He parted his lips, letting Harry's tongue meet his, slow at first, but soon firm, demanding, as if he needed to prove he was still there, whole.
Draco's other hand slid down Harry's shoulder, tracing the curve of his back to his waist, pressing lightly as if he wanted to keep him anchored there, held to him. Heat seeped through the fabric of Harry's shirt, and Draco felt as if his palm would imprint that touch onto the Gryffindor's skin.
Harry lifted one hand and placed it on his chest, fingers spreading over the fabric, gripping him as if to make sure Draco was real, that he wouldn't vanish. Draco let out a low moan into the kiss, devotion escaping him in sound.
He pulled back for a moment, just to breathe, and brushed his lips along Harry's jawline, descending to the sensitive spot just below his ear. He whispered there, his voice husky and broken.
"You have no idea how incredible you are."
Harry trembled in his arms, but didn't pull away. On the contrary, he buried his free hand in Draco's hair, tugging gently, forcing him back to his mouth. The kiss deepened, wet and desperate, yet still tender, full of everything Draco couldn't put into words.
He let himself fall a little more onto the bed, pulling Harry with him, supporting him by the back and waist. His thumbs traced soft circles, as if trying to soothe every hidden fear there. Every time Harry arched against him, Draco felt himself unravel, willing to give anything, name, fortune, even his own soul, just to be able to feel that forever.
When they pulled apart for air, Draco rested his forehead against Harry's, watching the other's closed eyes, trying to catch his breath.
"You're unbelievably beautiful," he confessed, in a whisper that escaped before he could hold it back.
And then, with an almost reverent tenderness, he kissed him again, slower this time, as if promising something eternal.