Harry woke the next morning to Draco's singing. He squinted a sleepy eye open and saw Draco pottering about the room in semidarkness.
"What're you doing up at this hour?" he mumbled.
"Ah, you're awake!" said Draco happily, leaning over the bed to give Harry's hair a kiss. "It's been a very productive morning. I've got all of your washing done— seriously, either you bring Kreacher back or you need to get yourself another house elf because your domestic skills are atrocious —I've done the dishes and I'm just about to put on breakfast. Here's your morning tea." He conjured a hot cup of tea and sat it on Harry's nightstand. "I feel like doing something fun today. Maybe a game of Quidditch? I'll see if Weasley and Granger fancy playing with us."
"Hermione hates flying," yawned Harry, snuggling into his warm pillow.
"Well, maybe Ginny or Lovegood can play," he shrugged.
Harry smiled at the thought of Luna playing Quidditch on the back of a thestral, he wouldn't put it past her. Draco pulled back the bed covers and Harry shouted as cold air hit his bare skin.
"Get your arse into gear, sunshine!" he cried, slapping Harry on the rear. "It's a beautiful day!"
"Piss off," grumbled Harry, pulling the quilt back over his head.
Draco just laughed and sauntered out of the bedroom, humming to himself. It really was a beautiful day. He'd woken up next to the man he loves, who loves him too, with a contentment he'd never felt in his life. He felt like he could take on a dragon single-handedly today, but he figured he had better start with making their breakfast. He hopped down the last couple steps of the landing and paused— maybe today was the day.
He pulled his wand out of its holster and concentrated hard on his happiest memory. He pictured the night before crystal clear in his mind, and saw Harry turning to him and saying, "I love you, too."
" Expecto —"
Click .
Draco paused and turned towards the front door and saw that morning's newspaper half sticking out of the letterbox. He holstered his wand and grabbed the paper out of the letterbox when suddenly there was a bright, white flash. Draco blinked. What the hell was that? He looked at the letterbox closely, then lifted the lid a little. Another white flash erupted and he quickly dropped the lid.
"What in the world?" he whispered. He peered through the door's peephole. "Fuck."
A horrible gut feeling made Draco open the morning paper and read the headline.
"Fuckfuckfuckfuck," he hissed.
Harry traipsed down the stairs a little while later, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He paused when he entered the living room. Draco was sitting there looking forlorn, the Daily Prophet resting on his lap. He wasn't singing anymore.
"What's up?" he asked.
Draco rested his hand on the newspaper. "The kneazle's out the bag, Harry."
Harry stared for a moment, then snatched the paper from Draco. All the colour drained from his face as he read the front page headline:
The Boy Who Loved a Death Eater: Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy in Secret Tryst?
"Fuck," he breathed.
He couldn't believe that they had actually used that ridiculous headline.
"My thoughts exactly," said Draco sourly.
Harry tore the pages open and groaned— there were photographs, too. The first one was of Harry and Draco at dinner holding hands on the night he and Draco first kissed. The next one was of Draco spinning Harry in a pirouette down the country path by Andromeda's cottage then kissing Harry softly on the cheek. The image replaying over and over again on the page and Harry could see Draco mouthing the words, "I love to see you dance."
"There's nothing in there that they haven't said about me before. At least some of it is accurate this time," said Draco nonplussed. "I must admit I take the greatest offence at the suggestion that you must be under the effects of a love potion or the Imperius curse. As though I'm not charming enough to seduce you of my own volition."
"This isn't funny!" shouted Harry.
"I know it's not," said Draco. "There's not really much else to say though, is there?"
Harry flipped to the next page and groaned— the next picture was of Draco kissing Harry hard, pushing him backwards into a tree. Harry felt shame and anger course through him. He remembered all too well what had happened next, and now he knew that somebody had been watching them. He screwed the paper up in his fist and through it into the fireplace.
"They have no right," he snarled. "No fucking right."
"I know," said Draco quietly.
Harry looked at Draco— he looked small and deflated, which just stoked Harry's anger even more. Draco had been so happy this morning, but in one foul swoop they had extinguished that happiness. The doorbell rang.
"Don't look out there," Draco pleaded.
Harry was already striding towards the window. He pulled back the curtain and was met with a series of white flashes from cameras, some twenty reporters and photographers leaning up at the window shouting for quotes and confirmations. Harry dropped the curtain, feeling his anger swell inside of him like a volcano about to erupt. The doorbell rang again. Pulling his wand from his pocket he strode towards the front door. He'd had enough.
"Harry, don't!"
Draco pulled at Harry's arm. Harry shook him off but Draco ran forward and used his body to block the front door. Ring went the doorbell.
"Don't give them the satisfaction, Harry. They want you to lose your temper!"
"I'm past losing my temper!" Harry bellowed . "I'm so sick of them hounding me day and night, tearing my life apart and analysing it and making judgements about me when they don't even know me! I can't have anything— not a single thing —to myself, that's private! I literally can't walk out the door without them taking photographs of me fucking my boyfriend and plastering it on the front page!"
Harry kicked over the umbrella stand hard, scattering its contents all over the floor. He winced and doubled over, his big toe throbbing painfully.
"Are you alright?" asked Draco softly.
Harry sank to his knees. "Why can't they just leave me alone? Haven't I given them enough? Christ, everyone will already have seen the pictures by now. The Weasleys, your mum, Ollivander—" A look of dawning and horror spread across Harry's face and he covered his face with his hands, "Oh god. He's not going to want me anywhere near his shop after this."
"He was well aware of how much press you get before he took you on," Draco assured him. "He took you on because of your skills, not your name."
"It's not that, it's—" Harry stopped short.
Draco frowned and said quietly, "It's because it's me, isn't it?"
"No," Harry lied.
Draco nodded slowly. "It is. If it were anyone else you wouldn't react this badly. But me, Merlin, what could be worse, eh? I can understand now why you didn't want to tell Ollivander about me. You wanted to have the best of both worlds, didn't you? Get a cushy job and fuck me on the side for as long as you could get away with it."
"Don't be ridiculous," said Harry angrily. "You're not just some side-fuck. If that was what I was after, there are a lot less complicated options out there to choose from!"
"Oh, that makes me feel a lot better!" shouted Draco. "Thank you so much, Harry. Good to know I'm a pity-fuck!"
"You know that's not what I meant!"
"Well that's how it sounded!" bellowed Draco. "Oh, to hell this."
Draco stormed upstairs and reappeared a couple minutes later, fully dressed.
Harry stared after him. "Where are you going?"
"Out," he replied shortly pulling on his cloak and heading for the front door.
"You're going passed the reporters?" asked Harry incredulously.
"What difference does it make? They already know I'm here!"
He pulled the door open and had camera lenses and quills pushed into his face. Draco quickly slammed the door shut behind him, kept his head bowed and collar up and marched down the street, followed by the gaggle of reporters bombarding him with questions.
Well, at least they've left the house , he thought bitterly.
He kept walking for a few minutes, drawing the reporters further and further away from the house before Disapparating without warning to The Leaky Cauldron. The pub was quiet at this time in the morning, he probably could have hidden out here for a while, but Draco kept moving. He exited the rear of the pub and moved quickly up Diagon Alley, thankful it was still too early for there to be many shoppers. Most of the shops wouldn't be opening for another hour, but he didn't care how long he'd have to wait. He'd stand outside all day if he had to until the old codger turned up. Draco stopped outside Ollivander's Wand Shop and peered inside the dirty window into the darkened interior. To his relief, he saw the old wandmaker shuffling about the shop floor still in his nightgown and slippers. Draco sighed and clenched his fists, he really didn't want to do this. But this morning he was ready to fight a dragon, surely he could handle the old wizard. He'd much rather be doing Harry's washing instead. Gathering his courage, he knocked on the door and entered, the little doorbell tinkling softly to announce his arrival.
"I'm sorry, but we're closed," called Mr Ollivander, shuffling forward. His eyes widened when he saw Draco, then he nodded, "I was wondering when you would come to see me."
Draco frowned. "You've been expecting me?"
"Oh, yes. We have important matters to discuss."
Mr Ollivander took an unsteady step towards a small table with two chairs by the window. He slowly sank into one of the chairs and beckoned Draco to join him. Although Ollivander gave the impression of a weak and feeble old man, Draco noticed his hands were quite steady. His eyes fell onto the front page of that morning's Daily Prophet sitting on the table.
Draco sneered at it but asked matter-of-factly, "I suppose you've seen this morning's paper?"
"I have," Mr Ollivander confirmed. "Though I find The Quibbler to be much more informative. The next issue includes a free pair of Auroculars."
Draco gave a small smile. "I already have a pair."
"Oh?"
Draco nodded. "Luna Lovegood gave me a pair."
Ollivander smiled fondly. "Ah, Luna. A remarkably gifted witch, and unusually kind. I take it she is doing well?"
"It seems so, yes," said Draco. It was strange engaging in small talk with a man who had been imprisoned in his house in recent months. "Mr Ollivander, I know that I ought to have come here sooner, but I could never think of a satisfactory explanation or apology for how you were treated by my family. Then I realised there will never be a satisfactory explanation and no apology good enough to suffice how I've wronged you. But for what it's worth— not all that much coming from me, I imagine —I am sorry."
Ollivander listened intently then gave a curt nod. "You don't seem the type to apologise unless you really mean it."
"I do mean it," Draco implored. "I don't expect you to forgive me, either. But regardless of how you feel about me or what I've done, regardless of how...complicated...our relationship is, it has no bearing on Harry's ability to work for you."
"Hmm," Ollivander's gaze lowered towards the newspaper.
"I don't want you to think Harry was being deceptive by not mentioning me. He was simply trying to avoid this," said Draco, nodding towards the newspaper. "He doesn't get much of a private life as you well know. He just wanted some time to figure things out before speaking to you himself. I understand if my being in Harry life makes you uncomfortable." Draco sighed and forced himself to say the next part, "If his being involved with me affects his chances of keeping the apprenticeship, then I'll step back. I don't want Harry to lose a once in a lifetime opportunity on my account. He really loves this job. He won't shut up about it, actually." Mr Ollivander gave a short laugh and Draco continued with quiet pleading, "Please...don't judge Harry based on things that I've done."
Mr Ollivander considered Draco in silence for a few moments, his large, pale eyes boring into Draco like he was being x-rayed. Finally, he held out his spindly hand. "May I see your wand, please?"
Draco blinked. That wasn't the response he had been expecting. Still, he unsheathed his wand and handed it to Ollivander. The wandmaker scrutinized it closely, twirling it between his long fingers.
"Hawthorn wood, ten inches exactly, reasonably springy, unicorn hair core," Ollivander's eyes flitted to Draco's. "I remember when you came into my shop to buy this wand. I was quick to dismiss you as little more than an arrogant, selfish child full of misplaced pride."
Draco sneered at the man but said nothing. He wasn't saying anything that Draco didn't already know himself, but it still stung to hear it. However, if sitting here taking a few insults on the chin would allow Harry to keep his apprenticeship it was worth it.
Ollivander continued, "But wands are capable of divining much about one's true nature, far more capable than old wandmakers like myself. I will admit that I was surprised that this wand would choose you. I expected a wand of a more volatile nature would suit you, one with a dragon heartstring core, perhaps...but no, this wand presented itself to you instead."
"I'm not sure I understand..." said Draco slowly.
"This wand," said Mr Ollivander, holding it up in the dim light. "Is a wand of contradictions. Hawthorn trees have adept healing properties, but when its branches are cut it reeks of death. It has a dual nature, teetering between light and dark. You know, wands tend to choose wizards who compliment their own nature. You and your wand exist in a paradox, Mr Malfoy — you each walk a fine line between darkness and light. I remember you well during my imprisonment at the manor. You were scared out of your wits, but you were never cruel or unkind to myself or the others. And that day when Mr Potter came to the manor— wounded, and unarmed —you were presented with a choice between what was right and what was easy. It would have been so easy to sacrifice him to the Dark Lord, it would have saved you and family a great deal of pain. But when it came to making the hardest choice of all— between darkness and light —you chose hope over fear."
Draco stared intently at his wand, feeling unnerved by Mr Ollivander's words. "You speak as though wands can think for themselves. Like they can read your mind or...determine one's destiny."
"Oh, they can do neither," said Mr Ollivander. "But I trust the wand's judgement of character above anything else. They can see qualities in a person that I cannot. Qualities, more often than not, that the wizard cannot even see within themselves. I am beginning to understand now why this wand chose you."
Mr Ollivander held Draco's wand out to him. Draco took it back and rested it on his lap.
"So," Mr Ollivander slapped his hands off of his lap and rose to his feet. "You can assure Mr Potter that his private life is of little consequence to me. So long as he arrives on time and works hard, his apprenticeship shall continue."
Draco couldn't help the relieved smile that broke out across his face. "Thank you, sir." He made to leave but paused and pulled his wand out of its holster, "Mr Ollivander, before I go could I ask you to check something for me?"
"With regards to your wand?" asked Mr Ollivander curiously.
"Yes. Are you...could you cast a Patronus with my wand?"
Mr Ollivander considered the request for a moment before nodding. He took Draco's wand, swished it above his head and cried, "Expecto Patronum!"
The dark interior of the shop was suddenly illuminated in brilliant white light, and a silvery, ghost-like pronghorn burst out of the wand. It galloped around the shop floor and came to a stop in front of Mr Ollivander before dissolving. The room was cast into semi-darkness again.
"Concerned that your wand wasn't working properly?" asked Mr Ollivander lightly.
"The thought had crossed my mind," admitted Draco. "I've been having trouble casting a corporeal Patronus. I knew the problem was more than likely with me than the wand."
Mr Ollivander huffed out a laugh. "I think your ability to cast a Patronus has little to do with your purported inherent nature and more to do with a lack of concentration, Mr Malfoy." He handed Draco back his wand. "It is a particularly difficult spell to cast. And I suspect since the war, many people who could cast one previously no longer can."
"Really?"
"Oh yes. Trauma can affect one's ability to cast certain magic. But, you ought to be grilling my apprentice about this. Do that for me, will you? Make him earn his wage."
Draco laughed softly. "I'll do that."
Mr Ollivander waved lazily at Draco and hobbled back in between the tall shelves and out of sight. Draco looked at his wand. It seemed that the wand could see more light in him than he could see in himself. He supposed Harry must see it, too. He holstered it and headed back out into the street, deep in thought about the nature of hawthorn.
***
When Draco flooed back to Harry's house, he found Harry sprawled out on the couch staring blankly at the ceiling. He looked up when he heard the whoosh of the emerald flames and jumped to his feet when Draco stepped through. He looked like he was going to hug Draco but stopped short, letting his arms fall limp by his sides.
"I'm sorry," he said mournfully. "What I said early was so shitty. You're not a pity-fuck and I'm not ashamed of you, I'm ashamed of myself for making you feel that way. I—" Harry frowned as his gaze fell on the two large paper bags in Draco's arms. "What are those?"
"Supplies," Draco dumped one of the bags into Harry's arms. "I figured we'd be stuck here for a few days until that lot out out there get bored or another more interesting story comes along. So I took advantage of them being distracted by your front door and did some shopping."
"Oh," Harry looked at Draco uncertainly. "So...you're staying?"
Draco drew him an incredulous look. "Of course I'm staying, where the hell else was I going to go? Andromeda's already told me she doesn't want me anywhere near the house for the next few days. She'll jinx any reporters she finds sneaking around the property without question. Besides, I practically live here now anyway."
Draco marched passed Harry out into the hall. He could still hear the rabble of reporters on the doorstep. He cast a silencing charm and the sound was muted and smiled to himself. "That's better."
Harry followed Draco into the kitchen and sat the paper bag on the kitchen table. "Draco..."
"Hmm?" Draco had already begun unpacking the contents of his bag onto the counter.
Harry touched his arm and he stilled. "I'm sorry for what I said."
Draco nodded. "I know. Although I still think there was some truth to it."
"No," Harry argued sincerely. "I'm not ashamed of you, Draco. I love you. To be honest, sneaking around for so long, I've kind of hated it."
Draco turned and looked at Harry. "Really?"
Harry nodded, his eyes wet and bright. "At the party, all I wanted was to be able to kiss you in front of everyone else. I wanted to hold you up and scream from the rooftops and let everyone know that you're mine."
Harry reached out tentatively, brushing his hand against Draco's. Draco laced their fingers together and pulled Harry closer, "Well, I suppose now we can."
"I'll do it now if you want me to," siad Harry. "I'll go out there in front of them all and tell them I love Draco Malfoy and he has the most gorgeous cock I've ever seen."
Draco and Harry laughed and Draco slid his hand behind the nape of Harry's neck. "I'd much rather you stayed here with me, actually." He closed the small distance between them and kissed Harry on the lips, softly at first. He whispered, "Say it again."
Harry smirked and pressed Draco against the counter. "About how gorgeous your cock is?"
Draco rested his forehead against Harry's. "You know what."
Harry cupped Draco's face in his hands and looked deep into his eyes. "I love you, Draco."
He pressed their lips together as Draco sighed into the kiss, "I love you, too."
The kiss was chaste at first, but quickly became more heated. Draco threaded his fingers through the tangle of Harry's raven locks, caressing, tugging, making his head tilt to the side, deepening their kiss. Harry pressed himself against Draco, running his hands all over his body, anywhere he could reach.
Draco wrenched Harry's shirt open and a couple of the buttons pinged off, but Harry was too turned on to care. Draco peeled the shirt back over Harry's shoulders and sucked on each of Harry's hard nipples. Harry was panting hard, fumbling with his belt and trousers while Draco peppered his chest with gentle bites, sucks and kisses. Once he'd manage to free his cock from his boxers, Harry quickly pulled Draco's trousers and boxers down passed his thighs and gripped Draco's throbbing cock. Draco gasped and took Harry's length in his own hand and they began wanking each other to a steady rhythm. Their kiss was wet and open-mouthed, filthy and mindless, the same way their pricks squelched in each other's hands.
Harry broke their kiss and dropped to his knees, looking up at Draco expectantly. Draco knew exactly what Harry wanted. He took a firm grip of Harry's hair and pulled his head back, looking deep into his shining, emerald eyes full of wanton lust.
"You want me to fuck your mouth with my cock?" he asked in a husky voice.
"God yes," moaned Harry.
"Tell me you're mine," said Draco, tracing a thumb over Harry's jawline and mouth.
Harry let out a shaky breath. "I'm yours."
Only then did Draco comply, sliding the length of his cock along Harry's wet lips before letting Harry engulf his length whole. Harry sucked hard, running his lips and tongue over Draco's cock in a steady rhythm. Using his free hands he traced them up Draco's abdomen and teased his perk nipples, rolling and tugging them between his nimble fingers until Draco's body arched, his thighs shaking.
"Harry," Draco moaned, throwing his head back.
Harry watched Draco, his eyes shut tight but mouth wide open in a silent plea. Harry couldn't resist slipping two fingers into that perfect mouth, groaning loudly as Draco sucked on them hungrily. Harry dragged his wet fingers down to Draco's hole, stroking and teasing his entrance. Draco gasped and bucked, moaning "Harry, Harry..." He desperately wanted to hear Draco say his name again. He was so hard just from feeling, hearing and watching Draco, he knew he would come just with a couple of strokes. Harry sucked harder, bobbing his head up and down over Draco's long shaft. He felt Draco's thighs stiffen and still.
"Fuck, I'm close," he whimpered holding Harry's hair tightly in his fist, thrusting in and out of his hot, wet mouth. "Harry, Harry..."
At the very last moment his eyes flew open. He wanted to look into Harry's eyes as he came, and he screamed, "Ha-ARGH, GRANGER!"
A girlish scream rang out around the kitchen and Harry turned, Draco's cock still in his mouth and saw a brush of bushy brown hair dashing out of the kitchen. Draco came with a loud cry, his face a grimace of pleasure and shock.
"What the fuck?" he gasped, bent double.
"Hermione!" screamed Harry scrambling to his feet.
Draco was still doubled over nursing his wilting erection, groaning, "Why does she never knock?"
Harry ran into the living room, shirt undone and cock out. Hermione shielded her eyes and Ron stood by the fireplace with his eyebrow raised at Harry.
He pointed and said, "You're on display, mate."
Harry looked down and quickly tucked himself back into his trousers. "What the hell are you doing here? Didn't you learn from the last time that you need to knock?"
"I did!" she insisted, still shielding her eyes. "I banged on the door before I came in, how could you not hear me?"
"My bad!" shouted Draco from the kitchen. "Silencing charm!"
Hermione groaned and covered her face. "I should have known better."
"I told you not to go in," said Ron, trying and failing to suppress a wide grin. "Did Malfoy at least have a tea towel this time?"
"I didn't need a tea towel, Weasley," Draco drawled. "I had Harry's mouth to preserve my decency."
"Draco!" Harry shouted.
Hermione groaned. "Oh my god."
"That is not a visual that I wanted or needed, Malfoy," Ron grimaced, his face screwed up with disgust.
"You did ask," Draco sauntering into the living room fully dressed and looking entirely unruffled.
Harry shook his head at Draco before turning back to his friends. "What are you doing here?"
"We read the Prophet this morning and we came to check you were alright," Ron explained. "We spoke to Malfoy earlier and he said he thought we ought to come over."
Harry looked at Draco with surprise. "You did?"
Draco shrugged. "I flooed them while I was out and suggested they come over for a chat and to have dinner with us. I was expecting them to arrive about now, but uh, unfortunately I lost track of the time. My apologies for any embarrassment caused. Totally my fault."
Ron and Hermione exchanged shocked looks. The only thing stranger than Draco Malfoy inviting them over for dinner was him apologising to them. Draco motioned towards the kitchen.
"Do you want to come and help prepare dinner?" he asked. "I've got everything in the kitchen. I promise when you go in this time, Granger, I'll be fully clothed."
Hermione laughed softly, her cheeks still flushed pink. She nodded and the four of them went back into the kitchen.
"So what's for dinner?" asked Ron, his stomach grumbling already.
"Lemon roast chicken with chorizo stuffing, roast potatoes and vegetables," said Draco. "Is that to everyone's liking?"
Ron raised his eyebrows. "That sounds brilliant, mate."
"Excellent. Granger, you start chopping the onions. Weasley, make a start on the stuffing/ Harry, I need the potatoes peeled. I'll start prepping the chicken."
"What's for dessert?" asked Hermione.
Draco glanced at Harry and gave a mischievous grin. "Treacle tart, of course."
As everyone started their given tasks, Draco continued to give directions.
"Where did you learn to cook, Malfoy?" Ron wondered, stirring the stuffing ingredients in a large bowl.
"Andromeda," he said, basting the chicken.
"You learned to cook without magic?" asked Hermione.
"I can do it with magic, but I prefer it this way. It's more relaxing."
Ron and Hermione exchanged glances and Harry smothered a laugh at the expressions on their faces. Once the food was prepped and put in the oven, they spent the rest of the afternoon relaxing in the living room. Draco played a game of chess against Ron which he quickly lost, then they tried to build a pyramid from a pack of exploding cards, which blew up spectacularly just as Ron was putting the final two cards in place.
After dinner and a few beers, Hermione was becoming increasingly giggly. She found everything Ron said incredibly funny and kept hitting him on the arm, smothering her laughter in her hands while Ron, Harry and Draco all laughed at Hermione's giggly state.
"I never knew you had it in you to have some fun outside the pages of a book, Granger," teased Draco.
Hermione looked mockingly affronted. "I know how to have plenty of fun, thank you very much!" She leapt to her feet and bounced over to the gramophone declaring, "We need music!"
She shuffled through the vinyl records and squealed excitedly when she pulled one of the albums out of the pile. "I love this album!"
She slipped the record from its sleeve and slid it into the gramophone. The record crackled for a moment before the piano started to play and a woman began to sing.
"We've come a long, long way together
Through the hard times and the good
I have to celebrate you baby
I have to praise you like I should"
Hermione swayed from side to side with her eyes closed, then when the dance beat kicked in she began jumping about on the spot, throwing her arms over her head and singing, "I have to praise you! I have to praise you!"
Draco gaped as Hermione danced and kicked across the living room. "What on earth are you doing, Granger?"
"Dancing, stupid!" she laughed, trying to pull Ron up onto his feet to join her, but he pulled his hand free.
"No way! I'm fine here, thanks."
"Harry?" she asked pleadingly, but he shook his head and took another swig of his beer.
"Not my kind of music to dance to, sorry."
Hermione turned hesitantly towards Draco and then raised a hand to him. "Malfoy?"
Draco looked at her hand for a moment before breaking out into a wide grin and taking it. Hermione squealed excitedly and pulled Draco forward, and together they danced across the living room.
Ron watched the bizarre scene open-mouthed. "I must be hallucinating. Hermione and Malfoy are dancing together."
"Yup," grinned Harry.
Ron shook his head and slammed his beer onto the coffee table. "Well, we can't let this madness continue. Get up, Harry. We're dancing."
"What?" Harry choked and beer down his t-shirt.
Ron hauled Harry to his feet. "The day has been weird enough already, we might as well just go with it, mate. Come on."
Hermione and Draco pulled Ron and Harry towards them, and they proceeded to jump, kick and spin each other across the room, singing, "I have to praise you!" over and over again. Hermione climbed on top of the couch and started jumping about, singing even louder, until the wooden frame snapped and collapsed under her weight. Hermione shrieked as she lost her balance, toppling backwards off of the couch.
"Hermione!"
Both Harry and Ron shouted in unison and rushed forward to help her up, but Hermione just lay on the floor, her legs still in the air, laughing hysterically. Draco was doubled over with laughter, struggling to catch his breath. Things calmed down a little after that and Hermione switched from beer to coffee. Harry watched quietly as his two best friends and his boyfriend sat together chatting and laughing together like they'd been doing for years. It was more than he could have dreamed of— being here with people he loved and being happy.
Draco checked his watch and then yawned. "Well it's been a lovely day, but if you will excuse me, I'm heading to bed."
Harry checked the time on his own watch. "But it's only after eight."
"Yeah, but I'm tired," Draco rose to his feet. "Don't end the night on my account. I'll see you two, later." He leaned forward and kissed Harry on top of his head, "See you when you come up. Enjoy the rest of the night with your friends."
He waved goodbye to Hermione and Ron and closed the living room door behind him with a click.
"Hell really has frozen over," Ron declared. "Not only did I just spend a whole day in Malfoy's company and I didn't kill him, I actually kind of enjoyed it."
Harry and Hermione laughed. Hermione's smile faltered and she looked at Harry, "I know we haven't had much of a chance to talk about this morning's paper."
Harry's face fell. He'd almost forgotten about that.
"Not much to say, is there? You said it yourself, I wasn't going to keep it secret forever. But the pictures..." Harry ran his hand roughly through his hair, "They've been following me for months. Why are they only publishing it now?"
"That's what I wondered as well," said Hermione. "I thought this had Skeeter's fingerprints all over it, so I went and had a word with her this morning about it."
"You didn't," said Harry in awe.
"I did! I reminded her about our little deal, but she insisted it wasn't her. She said that a freelance journalist had come forward with the story, and they got paid a hefty fee for it, too. She figured whoever had the pictures had probably been sitting on the story until they could get some reliable quotes from people who know you. But nobody who knows you would talk to them, obviously."
"So why now?" asked Harry.
"Rita suspects, and I'm inclined to agree with her, that someone was at the party and has heard people talking about you and Malfoy."
Anger and confusion flared up in Harry again. "Someone at the party sold my story to the Prophet?"
Hermione nodded. "When they've figured out that most people at the party knew about your relationship with Malfoy, they probably realised it was only a matter of time before someone else picked up the story, so they've just gone to the Prophet with what they had and published it anyway."
Harry sighed and rubbed his tired eyes. "Did anyone at the party not know about me and Draco?"
"Not really," shrugged Ron, then added brightly. "Ginny doesn't know yet!"
"She knows," said Harry. "I told her last night."
"Oh. Then yeah, everybody already knew."
"Harry, I know this Prophet article is embarrassing," said Hermione gently. "But the important thing is that all the people you care to tell already knew. So the rest of the world knows now, who cares what they think?"
"Exactly," said Ron. "And anyone who knows you won't care. They're just happy if you are, mate."
Harry knew they were right, and it made him feel a little better to hear it. Still...
"It's still really embarrassing," said Harry.
"I know," sighed Hermione. "It's not fair that they keep doing this to you."
"Do you think they'll ever get bored of writing about me?" he asked hopefully.
"No," said Hermione and Ron solemnly.
"Thought not." Harry sank back in his seat. "I don't suppose there's much I can do about it now. Let's just see where the cards fall."
"Well..." Hermione began slowly. "There is one thing you could do— and I'm not saying you should —but you could always give your side of the story. Rita offered to do it for you. I said you probably wouldn't be interested, but I thought I ought to mention it anyway."
Harry pulled a face. "What? Do some puff piece for the Prophet about how perfect and wonderful mine and Draco's relationship is? I'd rather not, thanks."
"You could always give it to The Quibbler," Hermione suggested. "I'm sure Luna would be happy to do it for you."
Harry shook his head. "I appreciate the suggestion, but no. I'm not giving them what they want. It's bad enough me doing it, but I'm not serving Draco up on a platter to be perused over for the public's amusement."
"They're already doing it, Harry," Hermione pointed out. "At least this way you can control the narrative."
"The narrative?" said Harry hotly. "This isn't some kind of performance Hermione, this is my life. No, I'm sick and tired of doing what everyone else wants me to do for them."
"Okay," Hermione mumbled. "It was just a suggestion."
Harry sighed. "I'm not angry at you, Hermione. I'm just angry that my life is still being treated like some kind of circus attraction."
"Bloody vultures," muttered Ron darkly. "I wish I could get five minutes with whoever took those pictures and give them a piece of my mind."
"You know, I didn't even think to look at who published them," said Harry, grabbing the remnants of the paper out of the fireplace and smoothing it flat on his lap. He flipped through the paper to the last page of the article, trying to ignore the moving photograph of Draco groping Harry against a tree. His eyes scanned down the page for the credits and frowned when he found what he was looking for. "Emus Totilea?"
"Emus Totilea?" Ron repeated. "Well, that's obviously fake."
"Emus Totilea..." said Hermione slowly. "How do you spell it?"
Harry read out the spelling of the name and Hermione scribbled it down on a piece of parchment, then proceeded to write several notes underneath, shaking her head and mumbling every so often. After a few minutes she sighed and frowned, and then suddenly she gasped and started scribbling again. Harry and Ron knew from experience that when Hermione had moments of inspiration like this, it was better just to leave her to it until she had figured out the problem, so they sat in silence sipping their beers and waited. After a few minutes, Hermione looked up at Harry with a triumphant expression.
"Got it." She held up the parchment and showed it to Harry and Ron. "It's an anagram. But it's not in English, it's in Latin. That's why it took me so long to figure it out."
"Oh yes, Hermione, a whole fifteen minutes to decipher a Latin anagram," said Ron with a mixture of sarcasm and admiration. "You're losing your touch."
"Very funny, Ron," said Hermione.
"What does it say?" asked Harry. "I can't read Latin."
" Mea est ultio ," said Hermione. "Vengeance will be mine."
An uncomfortable silence followed this revelation.
"Well that sounds dodgy," said Ron. "And kind of threatening."
Hermione carefully folded the paper in half and sat it on the coffee table. "Harry, I think you should go to Kingsley about this."
"And what's he going to do? Arrest all the reporters and photographers who follow me about?"
"That might be a good start," Ron muttered.
"You say these pictures were taken months ago," said Hermione. "Maybe this is more than a sleazy journalist trying to capitalise on your fame. Someone could be stalking you."
Harry scoffed. "Surely not. And even if it is some nutter, I've been fighting off Dark Lords and Death Eaters all my life. I think I can take care of myself."
"And what about Draco?" she asked. "He hasn't been fighting dark wizards and lunatics his whole life. He could easily get caught in the firing line."
Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The last thing he wanted was to drag the Ministry into this. It was bad enough having reporters on his doorstep, let alone having Aurors flanking him wherever he went. But then there wasn't just himself to think about now. What if what Hermione was suggesting was true and they hurt Draco? Harry felt a sharp pain in his stomach at the mere thought of it.
"Fine," he muttered resignedly.
Hermione gave out a small sigh of relief. "Good. I mean, it's probably nothing. But it's better to be safe than sorry."
"Yeah," said Harry weakly.
But Harry knew all too well from experience that when it came to him, things more often than not turned out to be something, and usually nothing good.
***
When Harry finally waved Ron and Hermione off after midnight, he expected to find Draco asleep. Instead, he was sitting on the bed, writing. He glanced up when Harry entered the room and discarded the parchment on the bedside table.
"Have a fun night?" he asked.
"Yeah," Harry stripped out of his clothes and climbed into bed next to Draco. "What are your plans tomorrow?"
"Not much. I wrote to my mother and informed her of the situation. I imagine her advice will be the same as Andromeda's— steer clear of going out in public for a few days until all this nonsense with the press dies down. Suits me just fine if it means I get to spend more time in bed with you."
"I'm definitely not knocking that," Harry's smile faded. "Thing is, I need to go to the Ministry tomorrow. It's nothing to worry about, I've just got some more paperwork to fill in for them, witness statements and whatnot."
"Alright," said Draco. "I'll make roast beef for you coming home."
"Thanks," said Harry. "I'll need to go and speak to Ollivander as well. God only knows what he'll say."
"You don't need to worry. I spoke to him this morning," said Draco. Harry gave him a sharp look, but Draco held up his hand, "It's alright. He says he's only interested in you turning up on time and working hard."
"Draco, you didn't need to do that."
"I did," said Draco. "It was about time I went and faced him, anyway. We had a long talk about wands choosing wizards and the nature of oneself, and in conclusion, he decided that I'm not as much of a git as he first thought I was. And more importantly, your private life is your own business."
"He's about the only one who seems to believe that," Harry muttered darkly, setting his glasses on the bedside table and turning back to Draco. "You've been amazing today. I just wanted to curl up into a ball and disappear, but you didn't let me. You even made an effort with Ron and Hermione. I don't think I've seen Hermione laugh that much in a long time. Thanks."
Draco pulled Harry closer. "Well, if we're taking this relationship seriously then I need to get to know your friends better, don't I?"
Harry smiled and kissed Draco and rested his head on his chest. He knew he should tell Draco about what Hermione had said, but he didn't want him to worry. He told himself he'd tell him tomorrow— after his meeting with Kingsley.