After the war, Harry Potter becomes a talented Senior Auror with a penchant for injury in defense of his colleagues.
Draco Malfoy leaves the country for five years and becomes an accomplished Specialty Healer. He comes back after he accepts a job a...
The first week of December was an absolute nightmare for Harry.
Geoff and Rita Skeeter's book was officially published, and Harry found himself wishing he could hide under a rock and spend the rest of his days as a hermit.
While his friends and coworkers boycotted the book in support, it was clear that the rest of the Wizarding World's interest had been piqued.
Harry couldn't enter the Ministry without drawing stares and whispers and Merlin, the blushing. It was awful.
He could tell who had read the bloody book just by making eye contact and watching as their faces turned crimson, some not even being discreet as they eyed his crotch.
He'd never liked being in the spotlight, but this? This was positively mortifying.
The awkwardness of the book release paled in comparison, however, to the horror of receiving the first death threat.
Which happened the next day.
Harry stared at the large envelope on his desk that hadn't been there a few minutes earlier, a sense of foreboding sending a chill down his spine.
He opened it with trembling fingers, and a newspaper clipping and a note dropped onto his desk.
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Harry's chest constricted painfully. He reached out and picked up the newspaper clipping. It was from the article about Harry and Draco attending the Ministry Ball from several months before, including a large picture of the two of them walking in arm-in-arm. Across Draco's face, the words "Avada Kedavra were written in bold green ink.
Harry's vision blurred. His legs gave out beneath him as he sank to his knees, gasping for breath, panic flooding through him. He leaned forward onto his hands, bracing himself on the stone-cold floor as dry sobs wracked through his body.
"Potter? What—?"
Robards stood in the doorway, taking in the scene. He strode into the room and picked up the two pieces of paper that had slipped through Harry's fingers and fluttered to the floor. He looked them over quickly, his brow furrowed.
"Potter—" He knelt beside him and put a hand on his back. "This isn't the first time something like this has happened."
"Jaz was right. Bloody hell, he was right. This isn't, I can't—I can't have this. He'll never be safe. Never. I have to protect him. I have to—I can't lose him."
The Head Auror didn't know what to make of Harry's babbling, only the last sentence made any sense to him. "Potter. We'll put a protective team on Malfoy. They can follow him everywhere—work, home, anywhere—your boyfriend will be perfectly safe. We can protect him until the Neo-Death Eaters are stopped. Breathe. Everything will be fine."
Harry nodded, swallowing thickly, but inside of him something hardened. He won't be safe. It's not enough.
He had done this before, and he could do it again. After all, Ginny had forgiven him in the end.
