With a yelp Harry realised the tip of Malfoy’s wand was digging into his ribs. 

So much for a Head Auror. 

Harry narrowed his eyes and kept his wand pointed to Malfoy’s face. Just to make clear he wasn’t the one in control. Mostly.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t AK you right now, Malfoy,” Harry drawled. 

Malfoy smirked. It was infuriating. “You are the one who saved my life. Repeatedly. Why waste it now?”

Harry clenched his jaws so hard it hurt. “Believe me, I regret it. I thought– I thought you deserved a second chance!”

“You’re so naive.” Malfoy’s voice was so low Harry had to lean in to be sure of what he was saying. Malfoy continued. “I like what I do, Head Auror. I like brewing drugs and poisons. It pays me well. More than.” 

“Enough!” Harry was so furious he could feel the earth under their feet trembling with the strength of his magic leaking out of him. Malfoy should be terrified and instead, he looked so damn smug. “Lower your damn wand, Malf-”

“I saw you,” Malfoy said, cocking his head. “I see you. Every Sunday night. You wear a glamour, but it’s you, I know it’s you. Head Auror, giving his money to prostitutes.” 

Harry’s blood froze in his veins. It couldn’t be true. Malfoy couldn’t have recognised him.

Apparently, his silence paid more than thousands of words. Malfoy’s face lit dangerously with a crooked grin. “I need a favor. From the Pimp of the House you so often like to visit. As I said, I have a proposition,” Malfoy concluded, voice steady, controlled, measured.

Harry mentally cursed himself. Three years. He spent three years trying to catch Malfoy and every time meeting him made Harry lose his temper and make a mistake.

This one was unforgivable, though. He couldn’t let his colleagues know. He was Head Auror, for Merlin’s sake.

“Tell me what you have in mind.”

–

for @xx-thedarklord-xx and @d-addict ❤️

Oh it got SO much better!!!

So uh apparently I’m doing this completely self-indulgent thing where I write little things about art to keep me writing? I dunno, and I’m sorry if I clog anyone’s feed, but @triggerlil I adore this art and you’re just the sweetest. Have some unbeta-ed words.

Ron made his way from the Great Hall back to the Eighth Year dormitories, muttering under his breath about Quidditch and Seekers who needed breakfast and not losing Quidditch to the pointiest of pointy gits and questioning how he’d ended up as the voice of responsibility and also, just because he had a big family, it didn’t make him the ‘mom friend’. He made it to Harry’s door, only to find it both shut and locked. 

“Harry,” he grumbled, knocking loudly. “Get up! We’re gonna be late!”

“Give me a minute!” Harry shouted back. 

Frowning, he pounded on the door again. “Gonna be late!” he reiterated. “It’s our Saturday—”

“I know, Ron!” was Harry’s reply. 

“If you know, why aren’t you ready?” He hit the door again, this time just because he felt like it. 

“I— I, uh, erm,” stuttered Harry. There was a brief pause. Ron hit the door again. It was kinda fun. “Slept through my alarm.”

“OK, but why is your door locked?”

Harry let out a little shriek. “I’ll be out in a minute, Ronald!”

“Ronald?” he asked himself. “When did Harry turn into Hermione?”

Ron waited, patiently for a few breaths, but after hearing a large crash, he was fed up. “I’m coming in,” he warned. “Not like I haven’t seen everything anyway,” he muttered as he cast a quick Alohomora. 

He pushed the door open and let out a shriek of his own. “Harry!” he exclaimed. “What the fucking shit?!?”

“Very nice, Weasley,” Malfoy, who was IN HARRY’S ROOM, snarked. “Do you kiss Granger with that mouth?”

What followed after was even worse than seeing Draco Malfoy, IN HIS PANTS, in Harry’s room.

“You’re one to talk,” Harry whispered. Or at least Ron had to hope it was supposed to be a whisper because then he said, “You used your mouth for plenty of dirty things last night, Draco,” and if he had meant to say it at volume, Ron was going to end their friendship.

“LAST NIGHT?!” Ron cried. “DRACO?!” He felt his voice had reached a pitch at which glass would shatter. “Why is…” he turned back around and immediately regretted it. Slapping his hand over his eyes, he let out a groan.

“Harry,” he gritted out. “Why is the ferret in your room, in his pants, and IN YOUR QUIDDITCH JERSEY?!”

Letting out an almost hysterical giggle, Harry said, “Oops?”

“OOPS? This is so much more than an oops, Harry!”

Obviously alerted by Ron’s shouts, Seamus, Dean, Hermione, and Neville burst in the door, knocking Ron’s hand off his eyes and bringing to light even more details: the blush that started at Malfoy’s ears and disappeared under the collar of Harry’s jersey; the Golden Snitches on Harry’s pink pants; the besotted look Harry was giving Malfoy; the gentle smile Malfoy had aimed at Harry; the hearts on Malfoy’s pants.

“Malfoy’s pants,” he whispered in a broken voice. His friends were all chattering excitedly around him— he thought he heard Neville telling Seamus to “pay up’ —but Ron could only turn to his girlfriend and rest his face in her hair. “They’ve killed me, ‘Mione,” he gasped out.

“You’re fine,” she said, in a completely unsympathetic tone. “Anyway, it’s not like this is a surprise.”

“Not a surprise?” Ron wailed, again into Hermione’s hair.

“Surely you noticed—”

“As charming as this all is,” Malfoy interrupted in a dry tone, “perhaps you would all like to quit gawking and allow Potter and myself to finish getting dressed.” The wording hinted at a question, but Malfoy’s voice allowed no argument.

Hermione herded everyone out of the hall and back to the common room. She had a big smile on her face as Ron slunk down in a big, cushy armchair. He focused on her face, her beautiful face, the one thing that might override the horrible image now burnt into his eyes.

“You have noticed how Draco has changed, haven’t you?” she asked. “With the apologies and—”

“Still not enough to excuse the fact he and Harry are…” he couldn’t finish his train of thought. “Can’t even finish that sentence!” he cried.

“Do get over it, Weasley,” Malfoy said as he and Harry finally came out of Harry’s room. “We’ve a match to play and I, for one, am looking forward to besting Potter on the pitch.”

Ron couldn’t look to see if they were dressed, he’d already put his brain through enough trauma for the day. “Hell, for the rest of the term,” he whispered, earning a confused look from Hermione. She gave him a gentle nudge.

“Grow up, Ronald. They’re dressed and gone. You’re poor, innocent eyes are safe.” Then she giggled at him.

“Malfoy’s pants had hearts on them,” he wailed as he was pushed out the door.

Failing at hiding her smile, Hermione said, “Yes, they were rather cute, weren’t they?”

OMG LEAH@?@?@??@ THAT WAS SO ADORABLE!!!!!! Ron you great blundering oaf I love him so much gah, you worded his voice so perfectly here, I could hear him shrieking through my screen 😂😭💞😍🥰 and Hermione’s line at the end omg, this was just so adorable I’m sitting here grinning like a madwoman because everyone is so sweet, and Harry and Draco are so in love 🥺. (Also I was not having the best day and this just cheered me up by like 10,000 million merits 💓💓💓)

Everyone read this drabble right the Frick now 😭

I am laughing SO HARD this is AMAZING!!!!

writing tip #2840:

be selective with what you write about. NEVER write about peas

Draco sighed as Harry dissolved into helpless, absolutely not cute giggles once more.

"Merlin's saggy bollocks, Potter," he sighed, knitting his brow together just quick enough to cover the twitch if his lips, traitorous things that they were. "Must we go through this every single time?"

But Harry just continued to snigger, dazzling eyes peeking up at Draco from beneath his every messy hair.

"You know you love it!" He grinned. Draco would have to put a stop to that soon; it was simply illegal for one stupid scarred idiot to make his stomach swoop like that.

"I know nothing of the sort," he retorted. "Why you'd think I'd care something so childish, so inane, so-so-"

"Adorable?" he grinned, smugly. "Clever? Charming? Inspired?"

Draco narrowed his eyes.

"Pathetic."

But as Harry burst out laughing once more before leaning over and capturing Draco's own, sending hot, fluttery sensations racing through Draco's veins, he couldn't resist sighing against the ridiculous man he loved.

Maybe there were worse things than Potter exclaiming "I pea'd on the table!" whenever one of the infernal things rolled off his plate...

Lol, I'm a rule breaker!

Ahhhhh!!! Amazing!!!!! This is SUCH a good way to pin these two prompts together! And I love the relationship between Draco and Greg!!!! Yessss :D

Breaking Point

@hogwarts365 drabble challenge, weekly prompts #330:

Self-prompt: Quarantine

This drabble/ficlet is part of 52 Weeks of Drarry – a series of connected weekly drabbles written during 2020. It takes place in spring 2004 during a fictional virus outbreak, i.e. not COVID-19, but if you’re currently suffering from pandemic anxiety, I’d recommend you reading something fluffier instead, e.g. this one by @synonym-for-life. Please, stay safe! 💙

(This work is also submitted to the @lockdownfest)

Thank you for the beta, @aedwritesfic 💙

_______________

“Do you mind?” Malfoy hisses through gritted teeth.

Harry shoots him a quick look from his hunched position on the upholstered bench, defiantly continuing his fiddling with the piece of string he found a couple of hours ago. Malfoy looks pale, even paler than usual, but his patented glare is just as murderous as ever. They’ve been trapped in here for nearly three days, and Malfoy’s patience is wearing dangerously thin.

“What?”

Harry shrugs, turning his gaze to the view outside their tiny window. St Pancras Station is really nothing special to look at, but after three days, anything’s better than the interior of the compartment they’re currently in — not to mention the sight of his agitated companion.

Quarantine, they call it. Prison, more like. Locked up in the Eurostar wizarding carriage to avoid the lethal Muggle virus from spreading to the British Isles from the continent. Not that anyone’s bothered to test them for it; having been to Paris is apparently reason enough for keeping them. Just a nice way of saying thanks for finally solving that fucking Polyjuice fraud case that has kept them awake for the best part of two weeks. 

“For fuck’s sake, Potter — stop it!”

The piece of string is suddenly snatched from Harry’s hands, the yank forceful enough to burn the skin on his fingers. The sudden outburst still echoes through the confined space as he looks up to meet Malfoy’s stormy eyes.

“What the fuck is your problem?” Harry snaps. “I’m just as restless as you, you fucking twat. No need to make this shit any worse than it already is.”

And just like that, Malfoy breaks — slumping down across from Harry, hiding his face in his hands.

It feels like forever before he finally speaks, voice soft and quivering. “I’ve never had a Muggle disease in my life, Potter. My immune system is not prepared for a virus like this, and if I catch it, it’d probably kill me, alright?”

“It’ll be fine, Mal—”

“Is it hot in here?” Malfoy blurts. “I feel like it’s…”

Suddenly, Malfoy’s Auror robes are on the floor and Harry’s presented with his bare, perfect torso.

Damn.

Harry swallows.

Four more days.

_______________

If you liked this drabble, you might also like the others I’ve written in this series. If you’re curious about them – or any of the rest of my works – you can find them all on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1612318

HHHHHH!!! OH MY GOSH I SO WANNA KNOW WHAT HAPPENS!!!!

Obligation Weighs Heavy

@hogwarts365 drabble challenge, weekly prompts #329:

The Pen15 is Mightier weekly drabble prompt: Letter

This drabble/ficlet is part of 52 Weeks of Drarry – a series of connected weekly drabbles written during 2020.

Thank you for the beta, @aedwritesfic 💙

_______________

“Okay, Malfoy, that’s it,” Harry says through gritted teeth. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

They’ve been sitting in this cramped space for nearly four hours, watching the door across the street. Harry’s tried to engage his partner in conversation, but so far Malfoy hasn’t contributed more than monosyllabic responses and the occasional grunt. He’s irritated and on edge, and Harry’s had enough.

When you’re partnered with Draco Malfoy, a stakeout can be a tribulation even at the best of times — especially if you’ve been attracted to the git for longer than you care to admit, and your body insists on constantly alerting you to his nearness and the spicy scent of his cologne. It’s never been as bad as this, though — not even on those early morning missions after too many nightmares and not enough tea — and this time, for once, Harry’s inconvenient feelings are not to blame.

“Nothing’s wrong.”

Harry glances at his partner from the corner of his eye, observing his sharp silhouette, his narrowed eyes, and his tense jaw.

“Yes, there is. You’ve been insufferable for days, ever since you got that letter.” Malfoy glares at him, denial on his tongue, prompting Harry to add, “Yeah, I noticed, Malfoy. And whatever it said, it’s still bothering you, so spill.”

Malfoy inhales deeply and shuts his eyes for a moment before letting out an audible sigh.

“It was from Father. He’s found me a match.”

“A match? As in…”

“As in… a wife.”

“But you’re…” Harry frowns, “I-I thought you were gay?”

“I am,” Malfoy says, detached, “but as my father like to remind me, I’m also the heir of a proud Pure-blood family line.”

“But—”

“It’s not as if this came as a surprise, Potter, I’ve always known it would happen someday. I just thought I’d have more time.”

He makes it sound as if he’s walking towards his death, and in Harry’s chest, there’s a heart breaking for this man, so resigned to his fate.

“I— I’m sorry,” Harry murmurs, impulsively reaching out to place a comforting hand on Malfoy’s arm, heart beating fast as he realises what he’s done.

Malfoy startles at the touch but doesn’t move away.

Harry swallows.

Fuck.

_______________

If you liked this drabble, you might also like the others I’ve written in this series. If you’re curious about them – or any of the rest of my works – you can find them all on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1612318

😭♥️😭♥️😭♥️😭♥️😭

Corona Comfort Drabble #1

Recipient: @curiouselfqueen — I hope I manage to cheer you up even the smallest bit with this piece of fluff. Stay safe!

(If you’d like to have a drabble/ficlet written, check out my original post about it and send me a prompt)

Pairing: Draco/Harry Prompt: “An adventurous day trip”  Rating: T Warning: FLUFF! Lots of it! Length: approx. 1.3k words

Notes: Thanks to @musiclover19 and @static-abyss for reading through it! Mwah!

Title: Where did you take us?

“Pot-Harry! Where did you take us?” Draco huffed, as he tried to find his footing on the deserted pebbled path winding up the green hill. “You know I wanted us to visit Tintagel. And you know how much I hate surprise Apparitions–”

“Wales.” Barely able to hide his excited grin, Harry reached for Draco’s arm to steady him. “I brought us to Wales, my dear. I know I promised that today was about you and your interest with Merlin–”

Draco couldn’t stay angry for long, especially not after being faced with the most adorable puppy-eyed expression Harry could muster. It was just too damn adorable. “Fine. Wales. Just… why?”

Harry gave him a peck on his lips, growing all giddy. “A Common Welsh Green was sighted around here–”

“You brought me here for a loose dragon?” Draco couldn’t help but shake his head in amusement and then frame Harry’s face with his hands, fingers digging into the hair on the side. “I thought you already found your own dragon with me?”

Keep reading

This is so sweet and cute and gorgeous!!!!

Love Language

Harry was on the phone with Neville when Draco arrived. He listened to the end of his conversation as he started peeling potatoes with an actual peeler. 

“Yeah, okay, sounds good,” Harry concluded. “See you Sunday. Love you!" 

Draco scoffed. "You know, you tell people you love them a lot,” he grumbled.

Harry chuckled. “I know. I mean it a lot.”

Draco viciously threw down a peel. “So, you really love Hannah Abbot?

"Of course!” Harry teased. “She’s the mother of Neville’s child.”

“And Pansy?”

“Obviously. She’s your best friend.”

“And yesterday, when you told the mail carrier you loved her?”

“Draco, she brought me my LICORICE WANDS. So yes, I love her.”

“Okay, fine,” Draco grumbled. “I get it.”

Harry approached the sink carefully, prying the peeler away from Draco. “Why do I feel like we’re arguing?”

“Well, how am I supposed to know which one I am. Am I Neville level of love? Or the Post level of love? How am I supposed to be able to decide what I am to you if you love everyone.”

Harry set his wand on the potatoes and pulled Draco away from the sink. “Draco, I don’t say ‘I love you’ to tell you I love you.”

“Great.”

“I don’t say it because you don’t hear me. So instead I say, "I trust you”. Or “why don’t you choose what you want for dinner, I’m easy”. Or even “Can I have a hug? I had a bad day’.”

Draco, whose arms were crossed and blocking the embrace that Harry was trying to initiate, sighed again and took a step back. 

“It’s easier because you don’t get your hackles up right away,” Harry pressed on. “Do you seriously not know that? Because I worked that out a long time ago. Around the time you first told me I say ‘I love you’ too much. So, yes, Draco, I—”

Draco cut him off with his arms dropping over Harry’s shoulders, a kiss that apologised, and a push passed him with a gentle kiss. “Here,” he said, handing back Harry’s wand. “Let me finish these and get them boiling. Can you hand me the basil?” 

Harry, with a small chuckle, handed down the basil and poured them some wine, all while leaning gently into Draco’s space. Love language, after all, does not always require words.    

Okay, but just.... Fucking... THIS.

I love this as a fanfic, as a bloody brilliant depiction of Draco and just how uncomfortable he would be with hearing those words after everything, but also? Also because THIS is Love Languages! They're precious, quietly spoken, lovely things that so many people miss entirely, but when you notice them or understand? Hnnngg it's amazing!!!

This is SO GOOD!!!!

Harry heard Draco entering for the loud bang of the door shutting, the echo of his angry steps and a litany of curses muttered under his breath. 

Harry smiled, putting a stasis charm on the soup and hurrying to go find Draco.

He found him sat at their sofa, a glass of whisky already in hand, incomprehensible words resounding in the darkness of the room.

Harry murmured a quick Lumos and reached Draco, sitting next to him. 

“Hey.” He kissed him at the corner of his lips. “Did you have a bad day?”

Draco’s eyebrows knitted together, lips pouting. He clutched stronger the glass. “Yes. Yes, as always! I’m so sick of this, Harry!” 

He gulped almost half the whiskey, eyes watering up. Harry brought a hand around his shoulders, squeezing gently. 

“They never listen to me, I’m so angry!” Draco went on, raising his voice. “Every day the same story. I’ve worked at the Wizengamot for the last two years now, Harry. Two years. And every time I speak they deliberately misinterpret my words or make fun of me. I share my opinion, just like they do, and they take it, ruin it as they want and use my words, a fucking twisted version of my words, against me!”

Harry looked at the man next to him, feeling proud of him. It was true. Every time Draco opened his mouth to say something, someone would twist the meaning of his words, only because of his past, because of what they thought Draco represented. And still, Draco was still there. Every day, he got up and showed at work. 

“They’ll stop. They’ll understand your value, one day. I’m sure of it.” Harry kissed Draco’s cheek, starting to stroke his hair. 

Draco melted in his touch, sighing deeply. “It’s just frustrating. You know I can’t even joke?”

Harry chuckled, knowing how much his boyfriend liked joking. “What did you say this time?”

Draco’s eyes widened minutely before he spoke. “I don’t even know! I just, I said something meant to be fun and a second later that stupid Johnson was glaring at me, muttering about racism and wasted second chances.” 

Harry heard Draco’s sniffling and something in his chest tightened painfully- he never liked seeing Draco in that much distress.

“What about this,” Harry said, purring every word directly into Draco’s ears. “I prepare you a hot bath, with the pink bubbles you love so much and even some rubber ducks, we have dinner together and then we spend the night watching Dirty Dancing?” 

Harry looked amused at the faint blush that covered Draco’s cheeks. 

“Mmh. Will you join me in the bath?” 

Harry laughed, already half-way to the bathroom. “Of course.”

Draco smiled. Harry knew he’d never get tired of seeing that smile on his face.

CUUUUUTE!!!!!

"Draco," Narcissa smiled, drawing out the syllables of his name. "Oh, darling, I'm so happy to see you."

"Hello Mother," Draco greeted, leaning down to press a kiss to her delicate cheekbone. "Thank you so much for taking over. It was quite a shock to find our wedding planner was plotting as he was."

"Yes, yes, nasty business. I don't know what's come over the world, but we'll take care of everything. Now, where's Harry? Shouldn't he be here for this?" 

"Yes, he's just been called away. He's promised to make it here as soon as he possibly can."

"And the gentleman standing in the corridor?" 

"Ah, yes. He's been assigned to protect me as there are still a few suspects at large."

"Very well," she sighed. "I don't suppose he'd care for a spot of tea?" 

"Never mind him, Mother. We have work to do."

"Yes, of course. Tell me everything you've planned thus far."

-

Standing at the end of Privet Drive, Harry stared down the lane, his red Auror's robes flapping in the wind, hesitant to take his first steps back toward his old life. It wasn't the first time he'd visited Aunt Petunia since the war, but every time they met it was on neutral ground, a café or restaurant where they would chat inanely, avoiding any triggering memories or topics on both sides. 

This was good, though, Harry reminded himself. When Petunia had called, he wasn't sure what to expect, but he was looking forward to the chance to tell her the news of his upcoming wedding. So he took that first step, and the next, until his feet carried him to the walk of number four. 

The curtains were drawn, the house silent, as was to be expected. How else would she be able to spy on the neighbors unobserved? Chuckling to himself, Harry jogged up the drive and rapped briskly on the door. 

He only had to wait a moment before the door was cracked open and one frightened eye peeked out. 

"Harry?" Petunia asked, then widened the crack a bit. "Oh, thank goodness you're here, I—" 

But she was cut off by a large hand closing over her mouth and dragging her away. Harry whipped out his wand in an instant, kicking the door the rest of the way open, and hurried into the house. Training kicking in, he glanced around each room as he passed it, looking for any sign of danger. He found none, though, and followed them through to the living room where the man was standing over the chair he'd secured Petunia to with magical ropes. 

He could see her clearly now, the frazzled state of her hair, the bruise blooming high on one cheekbone, the smeared make-up. And, standing above her, a wicked gleam in his eyes and a leering smirk on his lips, was Fenrir Greyback. 

“Greyback,” Harry said, somewhat redundantly, levelling his wand at the werewolf’s chest. “What are you doing here?”

Greyback had been on the run for eight years, since the end of the war, with barely a whisper of his whereabouts in all that time. Petunia whimpered, drawing Harry’s attention momentarily, but it was long enough. 

“Expelliarmus!” a cold voice rang out from the shadows of the darkened room, and Harry twisted as his wand flew from his fingers and into the outstretched hand of one Lucius Malfoy, stepping into the dim light filtering through Petunia’s lacy curtains. “Mr Potter,” he sneered. “How kind of you to join us…” 

-

At the Ministry of Magic, deep in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, an alarm sounded, filling the office of Anthony Goldstein as he shuffled through paperwork. It was an alarm that sounded once every few days or so, but this time Anthony’s head jerked up in surprise. Usually, when the alarm sounded, Harry Potter was out in the field, surrounded by Aurors and perfectly safe, but Anthony knew Harry’s schedule as well as he knew his own. He was meant to be at Malfoy Manor, planning his wedding. There shouldn’t be any danger.

Checking his wand, he frowned. Little Whinging? What was Harry doing in Little Whinging?

Abandoning his paperwork, he rose, throwing his robes over his shoulders, and strode from the office. He didn’t bother telling anyone where he was going, that would only raise unwanted questions. Nothing like an illegal trace on the savior of the wizarding world to bring an abrupt end to his career. 

In Little Whinging, he followed the trace to Privet Drive and the little house with darkened windows. The door was ajar, so he readied his wand, whispering "finite" to end the tracking spell. 

There were voices coming from the end of the entrance hall, two men arguing. 

"Aren't we going to kill him, Malfoy? Isn't that why you dragged me out here?" one growled, and Anthony perked up. Malfoy was behind this! He should have known. 

"I don't want to kill him, you fool. I want him to understand what will happen if he doesn't end this foolishness with my son."

Creeping into the living room, wand pointed straight ahead of him, Anthony announced his presence with a flourish. "Alright, nobody move!" He'd always wanted to say that. 

While every eye locked onto him, he took a moment to survey the situation. Harry was stood, disarmed, in the center of the room beside a chair with a battered woman tied to it. Behind him was a large man who looked vaguely familiar, and to the right of him, Lucius Malfoy had his wand aimed at Harry. 

"Goldstein, what are you doing here?" Harry demanded, and it hurt a bit to see the look of annoyance on his face. 

"Alright there, Harry?" he asked anyway. 

"This matter doesn't concern you, boy," Lucius sneered. He turned his wand on Anthony, who instantly cast a preemptive Potego. "Avada—" 

"No!" Harry shouted, rushing him and knocking him off balance. They toppled to the floor, wrestling for Malfoy’s wand while Anthony kept his trained on the muscle in the back. Straddling him, Harry closed his eyes for a brief moment, then pulled his fist back and brought it crashing down on Malfoy’s jaw. "Sorry, Draco," he muttered. "He had it coming."

"Harry, what about this guy?" 

"That guy is Fenrir Greyback, take him into custody." As he staggered to his feet, Harry shot an incarcerous at Malfoy, then straightened and approached the chair to untie his aunt. "Aunt Petunia, are you alright?" 

Goldstein shot an incarcerous at Greyback, ignoring his angry growl, and moved to help Harry. 

"Come along," Harry said, helping Aunt Petunia to stand. "I'll take you to the hospital."

"Don't be ridiculous, boy. The hospital, on a Friday?" she scolded. "I'd be there all day, and for what? A couple of bruises? No."

"What about St. Mungo's?" Goldstein suggested.

Harry cringed and Petunia scowled. "What's a St. Mungo?" she asked, eyeing Harry shrewdly. 

"It's a wizarding hospital," he explained. "I know, I know—"

"I don't want to do that, Harry," she snapped. "You know how I feel about—" 

"I know. But someone should look you over." 

"I'm fine. The big one slapped me and pulled my hair, but that's it. I'll be fine."

"At least let me heal you?" he implored. He felt responsible for her injuries, after all, and was perfectly capable of healing them. "What will you tell Uncle Vernon?" 

She seemed to think very hard about that before nodding curtly. "Fine, do it. But don't you dare tell Vernon anything about this."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

-

"You what?" Draco demanded, dropping his fork to stare at Harry. "How could you arrest my father?" 

"He was in the middle of casting the killing curse at an Auror," Harry sighed. "And he summoned Greyback to come and scare me out of marrying you. I'm sorry, I didn't have a choice."

Draco sighed, a long, world-weary sound. "I suppose, but what will I tell Mother? You missed our meeting because you were too busy arresting her husband?" 

"Or, you could let the Aurors tell her, since it is their job, and be done with it."

I suppose I could do." Lifting his fork, he took a bite of his chicken. "I don't suppose he'll be released in time for the wedding?" 

"Probably not, love, I'm sorry."

"No you aren't; you never wanted him at the wedding," Draco pouted. 

Harry slid a hand across the table to close it over his. "But you did, so I'm sorry."

Draco smiled weakly, but nodded. "Alright. Thank you."

"So, how's this week's bodyguard?" 

"He's better than last week's," Draco admitted. "Though I'm not sure he'll last. At least he doesn't complain about running around chasing cursed objects."

"Which one was that? The second?" 

"The fourth," Draco corrected. 

"Jesus, you go through them so quickly. Maybe they should just let me do it."

"No, no, Harry. I want to marry you; why would you want to spoil that by bringing your incompetence to light?" 

Harry snorted. "Alright, fair enough."

"Besides, I've already contacted Robards about the next one. He'll start at the beginning of the week."

"Good."

They changed the topic, then, discussing wedding plans instead. There was still so much to do. 

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

JXJDIXJSISN!!!!

"Another failure," the leader said sternly. "I thought he'd never make it back to Harry, but I was wrong. We may have to eliminate him altogether."

"Eliminate?" Penelope cried, and Thomas reached out to draw her into his embrace. "Are you saying we should mur-murder him?" 

Their leader blanched. "Murder is… No, I'm not suggesting murder. But surely there's a way to separate them and keep Harry safe until he can come to his senses."

"What about a sleeping spell?" another member piped up, her face still obscured by her robes. "I've read of a spell that causes a sleep so deep, it's likened to death."

"And who can get close enough to cast it?" 

"It isn't cast on the wizard," she said, her shoulders squared with pride. "It's cast on an object. It will become irresistible and he'll have to touch it…"

"I have just the thing," another wizard said, his robes billowing around him in the night wind and showing a hint of a lavender suit.

-

“Alright gentlemen,” Aster beamed at Harry and Draco in turn, today’s suit a plain, seafoam green and excellently tailored, paired with a burgundy tie. “Now is the time to discuss wardrobe!”

Rushing around his desk, he pulled open a measuring tape and set it into motion. Harry was reminded vividly of every instance he’d shopped for robes since he first set foot in Madam Malkin's, nearly fifteen years before. He squirmed as he always did, envious of Draco, who sat in his usual chair, his legs crossed at the knees, his arms folded casually.

“Come now, Harry, don’t look at me like that,” he chuckled, eyes fond. “I suggested we elope.”

Harry laughed. “We never could have eloped, Narcissa would have hunted us down.”

“If Molly didn’t beat her to it,” Draco countered.

“Please stop fidgeting, Mr Potter,” Aster admonished. “I know! Mr Malfoy, why don’t you go look through our selection of robes and see if anything strikes your fancy. I’ll collect you when it’s your turn.”

“Very well,” he sighed. Rising, he shifted in the tiny office to brush a kiss to Harry’s lips before leaving.

“There,” Aster said, huffing out a breath. “That’s better, isn’t it? It’s nice to be apart sometimes, I’ve learned.”

“Maybe,” Harry said, already missing Draco. “Are you married?”

“Yes sir, seven years this august. And let me tell you, you are going to want to get a place for yourself, where you can spend some time alone. Men have no boundaries, especially men like the Malfoys.”

“Excuse me?” Harry interrupted, incensed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Aster faltered under his hard stare, but pressed on. “Oh, you remember how he was just a few months ago. He didn’t care about your needs. The Malfoys are selfish, egotistical—”

Holding up a hand, Harry shook his head. “He was under a spell,” he ground out. “Besides that, isn’t it your job to get people married, not try to talk them out of it?”

“Oh, a thousand pardons, Mr Potter! I only meant to say—”

“I know what you meant to say, Mr O’Neill, you aren’t the first to say it.” Stepping away, he pushed the measuring tape off course. The motion sent it colliding into a mannequin in one corner of the small space, but Harry ignored it. “I think we’re going to look for a new—”

A scream rang through the shop and Harry froze, already certain something terrible had happened. Aster was fidgeting, now, wringing his hands and darting his piercing blue eyes about nervously. 

“I-It’s for the best, Harry, don’t you see that?” he asked, and his words jarred Harry out of his shock and into motion. He raced through the door and into the shop, Aster’s words echoing after him. “You’re better off without him!”

Harry quickly found the source of the commotion, a woman in emerald robes stood over Draco where he lay prone on the floor beside an antique spinning wheel, it's treadle knocking against the frame as the ornate wooden wheel spun ominously in the otherwise silent room.

“Draco,” Harry called, dropping to his knees and ghosting his hands over his still form. He knew better than to move him, though the urge was strong. “Someone call a healer!” he shouted, then pulled out his wand and cast a patronus to call for back-up. 

When the healers arrived, Harry accompanied them to St. Mungos, leaving the Aurors to handle O’Neill. He hadn’t even tried to run; they found him cowering in his office, muttering about good and evil and wedding plans.

-

Harry had been waiting for hours while the healers worked. At times, he sat, his leg vibrating with restless energy. Others, he paced, his head whipping around at every bit of movement on the other side of the wide double doors where Draco lay. Ron and Hermione had come and gone, urging him to get some rest, but he stayed through the night, vibrating and pacing.

When the head healer finally stepped through the doors and into the waiting room, Harry was on him in an instant. “How is he?” he asked, not waiting for an answer before the next question was falling from his mouth. “Can I see him? What’s wrong with him?”

“I’m so sorry, Mr Potter, there doesn’t seem to be anything more we can do for him.” His eyes were heavy with sympathy and his hands folded before him. "He’s alive, but he isn’t waking. I understand the Cursebreakers have recovered the cursed object; we'll work closely with them to discover what curse was used and how to break it."

Harry swallowed and nodded before speaking again. "Can I see him?" he asked again, earnestly. 

"Yes, of course. Follow me."

Turning back the way he'd come, the healer led Harry through the winding corridor to the room they'd put Draco in. There were two beds in the room, but one stood empty. In the other, Draco lay still and lovely, his long hair splayed carefully over his shoulders. If it weren't for the colour in his cheeks, he might look dead. 

Harry choked back a sob as he moved to the side of the bed and sat heavily. He didn't notice when the healer left, his eyes firmly on his fiancé. "Oh, Draco," he whispered. "I'm so sorry. I should have known, I should have—" He broke off as the sobs pushed their way through, stealing his voice and blurring his vision with tears. 

Feeling beyond helpless, Harry lowered his head to Draco's stomach and let the tears come. Before he knew it, he was asleep, half curled around Draco, half on the chair. When he woke, light was streaming through the window of the hospital room and Draco slept on. 

"Oh, baby," he whispered. He didn't delude himself that it would work, but he felt he had to try. So he spoke to him, pleaded. "Come back to me, Draco," he said, his voice low and raw. "Wake up baby. I need you."

But he didn't move, not a muscle, and Harry sighed. Leaning forward, he closed his eyes and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to Draco's cool, unmoving lips, tasting only his own tears. A sound echoed through the quiet room and it took Harry a moment to realise it hadn't come from him. 

Springing back, he opened his eyes, hope flooding him as Draco moaned again, then twisted in his sleep, as if seeking Harry. 

"I'm here, Draco," he hurried to assure him. "I'm here, baby. Wake up!" 

Draco's eyes opened slowly and he glanced around. "Oh, fuck," he groaned. "Not again."

Harry laughed wetly, then nodded. "But you're okay," he cried. Almost as an afterthought, he jumped to his feet. "The healer! I should get the healer."

Pressing another kiss to Draco's lips, he turned and rushed from the room. 

-

With a clean bill of health and more than a bit of head scratching, the healers released Draco, advising him to stay away from cursed objects in the future. 

"I'll be sure to do that," he deadpanned. 

When they were home at last, Draco curled into Harry's side and sighed. "I suppose I could use a bodyguard, it would seem," he admitted, reluctantly. 

"Good, because I've already asked Robards to assign someone. They wouldn't let me do it," Harry explained, scowling. 

"Of course not, it would be a conflict of interests," Draco insisted. "Besides, you aren't the only Auror worth his salt."

Harry frowned. "Are you still upset I didn't bring back-up to your father's house?" he asked, tightening his arms around Draco's waist. "I thought he was harmless."

"Oh, how quickly you forget," Draco sneered, then changed the subject. "So, our wedding planner cursed me."

"Apparently. He's being detained for questioning, they don't think he was working alone."

"I know he wasn't. It was a group that turned me into a frog. But, this is a bit of a setback. We'll have to hire someone else to plan the wedding."

"Yeah. Any ideas?" 

Draco furrowed his brow thoughtfully, lifting a finger to tap against pursed lips. "You know, I just might."

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

YES TRUE LOVE'S KISS! AMAZING!!!!

"I don't know what happened," Penelope cried, throwing back her hood. "My spell was ruined!" 

"It's okay, this isn't over. We'll try again." 

"What if—" someone began, then quieted. 

"What if what?" their leader asked, his voice firm and confident. 

"Well, it obviously wasn't enough to force Malfoy to show the coldness of his heart." Murmurs of agreement met the statement and, emboldened, he went on. "What if we show Harry how ugly he really is?" 

The leader nodded. "Yes, I like that. But what is as ugly on the outside as he is at his core?" 

Again, they plotted. 

-

Already late, Draco made his way hurriedly through Diagon Alley. His lunch had ended all of two minutes before and the alley was packed tighter than sardines in a tin— Merlin, he had to stop spending so much time with Harry. Draco had never even seen a tin of sardines. Still, he hugged the sides of the alley in an attempt to avoid the worst of the crowd. He didn’t dare leave Diagon altogether, not since he had been cursed. Of course, that had happened on Diagon, but he knew it was safer by far to meet a foe in a crowd than on one’s own.

Picking up speed, he slid past every opening between buildings as quickly as he could, wary of the patrons coming and going from the smaller Alleys that forked away from Diagon. For all the good that did him, he thought bitterly as a flash of red light shot out of Knockturn Alley and he fell to the ground, his vision going dark.

When he next opened his eyes, he had no idea how much time had passed or, indeed, where he was. Voices boomed around him, but he couldn't make his eyes cooperate. 

"It didn't work," someone sobbed. "He's not hideous at all!" 

"Shhh," another voice insisted. "Someone's coming."

"It'll still work," a third assured them as their voices drifted away. "He'll never be with…"

With a groan, Draco's eyes fluttered open at last, but the people who had spoken were gone. He lay flat on his chest, his neck stiff, his vision warped. A concussion, he thought. Splendid. 

He tested his limbs gingerly, lifting one hand, then the other. They felt soft, rubbery, but they moved. And, when he lifted himself up, they held his weight. Now for the legs. Sighing, he dropped his head as far as his neck would bend (which wasn't much) then froze, the blood in his veins running icy. 

There, where his hands should be, were two wrinkled, white things with spindly appendages, each topped with a little ball of flesh. Giving up on slow and steady, he sprang to his feet, staggered a step or two, then fell forward with a wet plop. 

Something was very, very wrong. 

Harry, he thought. He had to find Harry. Being a Cursebreaker was worth fuck all when you were the one who was cursed. Harry would get him to his colleagues and lift the spell.

Tentatively, Draco dragged one floppy foot forward, crawling bit by bit as he looked around for some landmark, a sign as to where he was. If he was lucky, he was still in Knockturn Alley, though he didn’t recognise anything about the narrow alley where he lay. The chatter he could hear through the haze of panic suggested Diagon Alley was close by, so he followed the sounds until he met a crossroad. 

Then he felt rather foolish. Looking up at the shop sign closest to him, Draco sighed. He was definitely in Knockturn Alley, and he was definitely a very small creature.

Clenching his jaw, he set off down the alley, toward the sounds of civilization. After ten minutes, though, he still hadn't reached it. There was nothing for it; he'd have to travel by the most convenient means, regardless of his dignity. Closing his eyes, he swallowed hard, pushed off with his back legs, and hopped. God, it was humiliating. He did it again. 

Within moments, he was leaving the shadows of Knockturn Alley and breaking into the sun and bustle of Diagon. Which, he realised quickly, was a much more dangerous place than it had been when he was human. Now, hugging the sides of the buildings was a requirement, lest he be trampled by shoppers or vendors. As it was, he had to dodge several small pairs of hands from enourmous children and he’d ducked for cover from hunting owls no less than five times before he reached the ministry.

Now all he had to do was figure out how to get in... 

-

Harry was bored. He thought of going to visit Draco in his office, but decided against it. He really should finish his paperwork, he knew. But it wasn't holding his attention like it should. He wanted a distraction. It was nearly time for him to head home, and freedom called to him, whispers in the slowly emptying halls of the DMLE. 

Desperate, he rummaged through his desk drawers until his fingers closed around a small golden ball, then pulled it out with a soft "aha!" He leaned back in his chair, propped his heels on the corner of his desk, and released the snitch with a smile. It zipped a few feet in the air, twitching this way and that before settling on a direction and spurring into action. At which point, Harry's hand shot out and grasped the gleaming metal, letting the little wings beat fruitlessly against his skin. 

When the wings slowed, nearly ready to retreat back into the snitch's shell, he released it again, then again. Catch, release, catch, release. He had a rhythm going when, suddenly, something cold and wet stuck itself to the back of his neck and he lurched to his feet. Twisting to and fro, he flapped his hands around the back of his neck, dancing about like a mad hippogriff. 

The thing—and it was definitely alive—crawled up over his neck and into his hair until its cold little feet met his forehead and Harry stilled. Lifting one hand, he reached up and wrapped his fingers delicately around a cool, smooth body, and plucked the thing from his head. 

It was a frog. A small, white thing with little pebbles of colour dotting its skin and big, grey eyes. 

"Hhhhaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrryyyy," it croaked, back legs twitching as if preparing to leap. 

Harry tightened his hold as much as he dared. "Now, how did you get in here, little fella?" he asked. "This is no place for a frog. Come along, I'll put you in a nice puddle."

He collected his Auror robes and was headed for the door when a strange sound emitted from the little creature in his hand. "Nnnnoooooooo," it seemed to say, but Harry didn’t notice.

He made his way up through the ministry, waving at those who greeted him, stopping only once to chat with one of Draco’s coworkers, but the little frog in his hand was twisting this way and that, his powerful hind legs flailing, seeking purchase on the edges of his prison. So, Harry continued on his way, finally breaking through into the afternoon sunlit street. 

There wasn’t much that looked terribly inviting to a frog, Harry thought, not on a busy city street. It didn’t take him long to find a shaded puddle of water, though, in a little corner where two buildings met unevenly. Bending, he lowered the frog toward it, chuckling when the thing tried to climb his arm, instead.

“It’s okay, little guy. You’ll like it there, I promise,” he said over the hysterical croaking. Taking the frog carefully off of his bicep, he lowered it once more, finally depositing it into the puddle.

The frog hopped immediately back out, then shot Harry a very human glare. Chuckling, Harry shook his head, fisting his hands on his hips. 

“Fine, don’t go in the puddle, just look out for birds, mate.”

And he turned to head back to work. Or, rather, his snitch. When he reached his office, he sat exactly as he had before he’d been interrupted, propped his feet exactly as they had been, and resumed his game of catch and release.

Twenty minutes passed, and Harry was becoming restless again. Even the snitch didn’t hold his attention for long. Maybe he would go visit Draco, after all. Lure him into leaving work early, picking up take away on their way home. Distracted by his thoughts, Harry forgot to catch the snitch until it was out of his reach, but he let it flutter around the room for a bit, content to watch it.

That was, until it flew low to the floor and a small white blur shot out, latching itself onto the golden ball and pinning it to the ground. Uncertain of what he’d seen, Harry stood and looked over his desk and to the floor, where the tiny white frog wrestled with the golden snitch.

“How-how did you get back in here?” Harry asked lamely. He rounded the desk and bent to pick up the frog-snitch blob, more than a bit confused. “How did you get into the building?”

Sinking back into his chair, he deposited the frog on his desk, securing the snitch back in its drawer.

“Hhaaaaarrrrrrrrryyyyyyy,” the frog croaked, and Harry stilled. Surely he hadn’t heard what he thought he heard...

"Hhaaaarrrryyy," it said again, and this time he was sure. 

"That's my— you spoke!" 

"Haaaarryyy."

"Merlin," Harry breathed. "How— how do you know my name?" 

One hairless brow arched over a bulbous eye. "Oaf," he croaked, and Harry was on his feet again. 

"Draco?" he asked, scooping the frog into his hands. "Baby, is that you? What happened?" 

"Curse… break… Harry."

"Shit, what do I do? I don't know how to—" 

"Oaf," Draco the frog said again. "Curse… breakers."

"Oh! Of course!" Heading for the door again, Harry lifted the frog to look into his eyes. "We'll fix this," he promised. "And then, you're getting a bloody bodyguard."

As if to seal the promise, he bent to press a kiss to the cold, wet lips of the frog, hoping in the back of his mind that it really was Draco, then set him on his shoulder for the walk. Almost as soon as he took his hand away, though, a flash of light lit his office and the little frog began to grow heavier and heavier, until Harry couldn't bear the weight of him. He stumbled, fell to his knees, and then to his stomach. But, where he'd set a frog moments before, now sat Draco, fully human and straddling Harry's head while he lay face down on the hardwood floor of his office. 

"Draco?" he asked. "Erm, what was that, exactly?" 

Draco scrambled off of him and turned him over, helping him to sit. "Fuck if I know. What did you do?" 

"I— I kissed you, that’s all." 

"They turned me into a fucking frog, Harry," Draco said calmly. "They. There were at least three of them. I don't need a bodyguard, I need them caught."

-

"You hopped along Diagon Alley?" Harry asked, hardly even trying to stifle his laughter. "But— but, how did you get into the ministry? How did you open the doors?" 

"I don't want to talk about this anymore," Draco said, not for the first time. 

"But Draco, you were so little!" 

"I'm warning you, Potter."

"It's a bit like when you were turned into a ferr— Ow!" Harry sobered quickly as Draco tucked his wand back into his sleeve. "You're right, it's not funny. I'm just glad it wasn't something worse."

"So am I. Not to worry, I'll be better prepared next time."

Harry didn't want to have to hope he'd be okay. He wished he could know, for certain. Draco was a stubborn man, but he was more than competent. So Harry would hope.

Part One

Part Two

THIS IS SO FUNNY!!!! I love the fact that all Draco had to do was call Harry an oaf and Harry instantly knew it was Draco 🤣🤣🤣 and the poor guy, being forced to hop around! LOVE IT! He definitely needs a body guard!!!

The group met in secret, certain of their cause and determined to succeed. They dressed unironically in black, for night was their only cover. Together, they plotted. 

"It is madness," one said. "Surely he must see that?" 

"He is blinded," another replied. 

"He is clearly under some spell. We must free him!" 

"I have an idea!" yet another proclaimed. "We must force the issue. Bring to light the evil with which he keeps company. Only then will he see reason!" 

A muttering rose among them as they sorted out the details, formulated a plan… 

-

Draco and Harry walked hand in hand through Diagon Alley, ignoring the dirty looks and disgruntled muttering. They were in high spirits, laughing and teasing one another as they made their way to meet with their wedding planner. With spring in full bloom, the walk was pleasant enough, aside from the people. 

Draco, in particular, was jostled more than usual, but he thought nothing of it until they were nearly to the office. A witch dressed in plain black robes glared at him, knocking her shoulder hard against his, muttering as she went. Suddenly, a sharp pain burst behind one eye and Draco halted in his tracks. 

"Ow!" he hissed. "Shit."

"What's wrong?" Harry asked, stopping to look at him as he rubbed at his eyes. 

"I got something in my eye," he complained, blinking rapidly. "Wait, I think— no, it's gone. I'm fine."

"You're sure?" 

"Yes. God's, when did it get so cold?" 

Harry glanced around. There was a cool breeze flowing through the alley, but he thought it was pleasant. "Maybe you're coming down with something. Let's get inside." 

Taking Draco's elbow, he led him into the shop where an animated mannequin waved from the front window, a wedding gown trailing down its wooden form, its faceless head tilting in greeting. Once inside, Draco glanced around and sniffed. 

"Why does everything involved in marriage have to be white?" 

"I don't know," Harry chuckled. "Something about innocence and virtue?" 

"It's usually too late for that," Draco snorted. 

"White wedding dresses were actually popularised by Queen Victoria in 1840," a man in a lavender paisley suit said, approaching them with a hand held out in welcome. He took Draco's sneer in stride, shaking both men's hands as he introduced himself. "I'm Aster O'Neill. No need to ask who you are, of course." 

"Yeah," Harry said with a tight smile. "We get that a lot." 

"You're here for your consultation, I presume. Why don't you come with me and we can get started."

He turned without waiting for a response and led the way to a small office in the back of the shop. When they were seated in the chairs opposite Aster’s at the desk, he pulled out a large portfolio bound in leather with sheafs of parchment spilling out of the sides. 

“So,” he began. “What are you thinking, theme-wise?”

Harry looked to Draco, unsure of how to respond. They really hadn’t put much thought into it, yet. Wasn’t that the point of hiring a wedding planner? “Well, we want to have the wedding in France, near Draco’s summer home. Maybe a beach wedding?” he asked, hoping Draco would pick up where he left off.

“A destination wedding, I love it! So, the beach; simple and elegant, or extravagant?”

“Either way is nonsense, of course,” Draco muttered, crossing his arms. “We’d get sand everywhere. ”

“That’s a good point,” Harry admitted, a bit confused. Draco loved the beaches in France, he talked about them all the time. “Maybe inside, then. A church?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Potter, we aren’t Muggles.”

Something was off, even Aster could tell, judging by the way he was glancing nervously between them. “Why don’t we handle some of the more universal details first. How many guests are you planning to invite?”

Harry did the mental calculations; the Weasleys, their friends from school, colleagues from work… “About two hundred, I think. Give or take.”

Draco made a disgusted sound before slumping in his chair. “Yeah, give or take the five guests on my side of the aisle.”

“Draco,” Harry said, dropping a hand to his leg. “All of the guests are your guests too, you know that. Are you okay? You sound—”

“I told you I’m fine, Potter. Maybe something’s wrong with you,” he said, turning to glare at Harry. “Why are we even doing this? The rest of the wizarding world is right, this is a bad idea.”

“What? What are you saying?” Harry asked, taken aback by the vehemence in his voice.

“Who wants tea?” Aster asked, standing quickly and heading for the door. “I’ll leave you two to discuss this matter privately. Excuse me.”

“Why are we getting married in the first place? We fight constantly, our friends hate each other. What are we going to do for the rest of our lives but make each other miserable?”

“That’s not true, Draco, any of it. What’s gotten into you?”

“I’ve come to my senses, and you should too.” Rising, Draco headed for the door, turning back as he pulled it open. The ice in his eyes stabbed through Harry, bringing tears rushing to the surface. “The wedding is off. I’m going to stay with Pansy until I can get my belongings from your flat.”

And he was gone, taking part of Harry with him.

-

“You should have heard him, ‘Mione,” Harry said, slumping into his favourite armchair in Ron and Hermione’s flat. “He sounded so— I don’t know, like he didn’t care anymore.”

“Draco, not care about his wedding?” she asked from where she sat opposite him, on the other side of the little coffee table. “That doesn’t sound like him.”

“That’s what I thought. He shot down every suggestion we made, then stormed out saying he didn’t want to get married, anymore. What am I supposed to do?”

Hermione took a moment to pour tea for the two of them, a thoughtful frown wrinkling her brow. “I’m not sure, Harry. Perhaps it would be best to give him time to cool down before you try to talk to him again. Has he been home yet?”

Harry sighed. “No, he said he was going to stay with Pansy. Hermione, I…” He swallowed, choking back the tears that had been threatening since Draco walked out. “I love him. What if— what if he’s serious and this is the end?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Harry, he’s just scared. He loves you, too, everyone knows it. Just give him some space.”

Nodding, Harry accepted the teacup she offered. “And then what?” he asked.

"Just remind him of what the two of you share. It's still there somewhere, Harry."

-

By the time Draco arrived at Pansy's lush penthouse flat, he'd all but forgotten Harry and their meeting. Pansy welcomed him in, clad in long, white robes and bundled in a luxurious white fur wrap. She was beautiful, cold and sparkling; the most perfect of snowflakes. 

"What is it, darling?" she asked. "What's wrong?" 

"Nothing is wrong," he assured her, warming himself in her embrace. 

Together, they moved to the sitting room. She sat and encouraged him to lay his head in her lap, as they'd done as children. "You're so cold, darling," she said, stroking his hair. "Why don't I light a fire?"

"No, I'm fine."

For two days, they sat, barely leaving the sitting room. At one point, Pansy found a puzzle she'd kept from childhood, a flat slate lined with icicles. It was charmed so that a series of taps would rearrange the icicles to form words and Draco loved it. 

"The ice is perfect," he said. "Nothing in the world is as perfect as snow and ice."

Pansy looked on as he formed every word he could think of growing more concerned with every passing hour. Draco was not himself, she thought. He didn't complain of the cold, though the temperature in her flat was lower than that of the Slytherin dungeons. In fact, he barely spoke a word. When she asked after Harry, he acted as if he'd never heard the name, if he reacted at all. 

So, when Harry arrived through her floo after three days, she descended on him within seconds. 

"Where have you been?" she hissed, following him from the receiving room as he marched through her home frantically. 

"Where is he?" Harry demanded. "I can't take this anymore. I need to talk to him."

"Good lot that will do. He's barely talking. Potter!" She grabbed at his elbow, jerking him to a halt halfway down the corridor to where Draco sat. "How could you leave him like that? He's obviously—" 

"I didn't leave him!" Harry insisted. "He left me. He called off the wedding."

"He's obviously cursed!" she cried. "He's cold as ice and doesn't seem to remember that he has a life. He hasn't been to work since he came here. I thought you'd show up sooner, where have you been?" 

Harry scowled, shuffling his feet. "I— I wanted to come straight away. Hermione said I should give him time." Which felt foolish now. 

Stepping out of the range of her icy glare, he continued down the corridor and walked slowly to Draco's side. "Draco?" he said softly, resting a hand on his arm, then snatching it away. He was freezing. "Draco, baby, what's happened?" 

Draco barely glanced at him before returning to his puzzle. "I can't seem to solve this," he said dully. "It's the only word I haven't found yet." 

"Draco, come home, please. Come talk to me."

But he didn't say anything more, simply tapped away. Unable to think of anything else to do, Harry fell to his knees at Draco's side, flung his arms around his frigid body, pressed his head against his chest, and wept. 

"I don't know what's happened, Draco, but I'm so sorry. If I did something that upset you, just tell me! I'll make it right, just talk to me!" 

"What are you doing?" Draco demanded, trying to jerk himself away. "Get off of me, you— Harry?" 

Harry chanced a glance at his face, saw tears streaming down his cheeks. "Draco?" 

"Harry, what happened? Why are you crying?" When Harry brushed a finger over his cheekbone, he started. "Why— why am I crying? What happened?" 

Harry laughed, a wet, choked sound, and wrapped Draco in his arms again. "Come home, Draco," he begged again. "We'll figure everything out, together."

The puzzle fell to the floor, unnoticed. On its surface, the icicles spelled the word "Eternity."

-

"I did not say that," Draco said when Harry told him what had happened at the wedding planner's office. "I love the beach; who cares if there's sand everywhere?" 

That's what I thought," Harry said. "But you sounded so certain."

"Well, I was obviously cursed. I barely remember being there, or at Pansy's. I'd like to file a complaint, Auror Potter," he said with a smirk. 

Harry frowned. This was serious. "Damned right you're filing a complaint," he insisted, snuggling close. "We'll do it first thing tomorrow."

Part One

YESSSS!!!!! I LOVE how you're linking all the tales together!!!!