Canary Creams and New Yellow Paint
Chapters: 16/16
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Characters: Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Scorpius Malfoy, Astoria Greengrass, Teddy Lupin, Andromeda Black Tonks, Luna Lovegood, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Poppy Pomfrey, Blaise Zabini, Lavender Brown, Pansy Parkinson, Parvati Patil, Rolf Scamander, Original Characters, Original Non-Human Character(s)
Additional Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Post-Second Wizarding War with Voldemort (Harry Potter), Minor Lavender Brown/Parvati Patil, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Minor Luna Lovegood/Rolf Scamander, Divorced Astoria Greengrass & Draco Malfoy, Magical Prostheses (Harry Potter), Time Travel, Serious Injuries, Moving Portraits (Harry Potter), Artist Harry Potter, Werewolf Teddy Lupin, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures (Harry Potter), Disability, Monocular Vision, Loss of Eyes, Hoarding Disorder, Black Astoria Greengrass, Mixed Scorpius Malfoy, Black Hermione Granger, Black Rolf Scamander, Magical Theory (Harry Potter), Magical Creatures, Magical Environmentalism, Unusual Career, Getting Together, Job Loss, Past Major Injury of a Child, Creature Discrimination, house arrest, Temporary Minor Character Death, After Effects of Crucio | Cruciatus Curse (Harry Potter), Ministry Corruption, Wizengamot Trial, H/D Erised 2022, POV Draco Malfoy, Mystery, Magically Powerful Harry Potter, Past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, Pets, Banter, Blow Jobs, Face-Fucking, Dirty Talk, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Harry Potter, Top Draco Malfoy, Happy Ending, Slow Burn, Recluse Harry Potter, Ensemble Cast, Person of Color Harry Potter, Drarry in their 40s
Summary:
It’s not Draco’s fault that Potter is seeing things and Scorpius’s campaign to be the Ministry’s Creature Liaison is struggling, it’s not.
Draco didn’t ask for Potter to walk into his Ocularistry Clinic in Northern Ireland fifteen years after they last saw each other, demanding to know why the Spectroculars Draco invented malfunctioned while Potter was painting and cost him an eye.
Scorpius hadn’t asked for any of that either, though, so when Potter and the rest of Draco’s patients start to see mysterious symbols through their prosthetic eyes, and the resulting blow to Draco’s public reputation drags Scorpius’s campaign through the mud, Draco is determined to fix it.
If that means trudging through a boggy moor in search of a fictional species Luna thinks is causing their problems, Draco will just have to pluck up the courage, march in with a team of Gryffindors, and be ready to battle any beast they meet.
Even if that beast looks less like the large, bipedal talking toads they find and more like the Ministry of Magic as a whole.
AN: The injury descriptions have been rated non-graphic by multiple readers. To the best of my abilities, that’s true.
(੭ˊ͈ ꒵ˋ͈)੭. * ・ 。゚☆
Excerpt:
“You’re alive,” Harry says.
“You got your glasses back,” he returns.
Harry laughs. “That I did.”
He steps closer. Draco does not move.
“Madam Pomfrey said you’d still be treating your wounds for a while.”
“Yes, more dittany and silver. To aid the scars in fading a bit and to relieve itching.”
He meets Harry’s eyes, then looks quickly back down again. There’s not much he struggles to reach, but Harry’s offering, so he nods.
Harry steps close to him, and he takes the ointment from Draco gently. He swipes his fingers in it and brings them to Draco’s chest.
The cream is cold, but Harry’s hand is warm as he massages it in.
Draco’s eyes flutter shut.
Harry does not speak, and Draco is afraid that anything he could say to fill the silence would make it painfully obvious how he feels.
So he just stands there and lets Harry’s fingers play across his skin. Draco doesn’t stop him when Harry goes over the same spot a second time, even though it stings.
“Bandages?” Harry breathes.
“Hm?” His eyes open. Oh.
Draco doesn’t look at Harry as he grabs fresh bandages and places them into his hands.
He holds his arms up obediently the way Harry directs him. The pain is worse now, and Draco has to guide Harry to make sure he doesn’t wind the bandages too tight.
Harry ties a knot against Draco’s skin, his fingers brushing lightly over his ribs. He runs a flat hand down the plane of Draco’s stomach and then stops, keeping it there, just above his hip.
“Why aren’t you looking at me?” Harry whispers.
He can’t. Because if he looks, then Harry will see. He’ll know — every torrid thought haunting Draco’s mind, how it feels to see him so near a bed, how he imagines kneeling at his feet and kissing his way up bare thighs, every bit the worshipful fanatic.
Would Harry let him? Maybe he needs more control than that.
Draco looks up. Harry’s green eye is glittering, his cheeks warmed with red. Draco can see him breathing, the soft fall of his chest.
“I’m looking at you,” Draco tells him.
Now, all Harry has to do is tell him to look away.
Harry exhales softly, unreadable.
“Say something,” Draco demands.
“Why don’t you call me Harry yet?”
His stomach pulls tight. For Merlin’s sake. “Why should I?”
“I think I’d like to hear it.”
“I don’t … there’s nothing to it. I’ve always called you Potter.”
“Please?”
The light from the lamps is soft. It suits Harry, to be the brightest thing in the room.
“Harry.” It comes out as the barest whisper, broken. Draco meets Harry’s eyes and prays Harry can’t see the images pouring out of his head, the ones that keep him up at night; his finger tracing across the dimples at the base of Harry’s back, their hands twining together as he fucks into him, listening to his horrible singing in the kitchen during early mornings.
“Draco,” Harry replies, in just as low of a whisper — because he’s cruel, a sadist, he has to be.
“Don’t say it like that.”
“You want me,” Harry says. He sounds surprised.
“I…” Draco doesn’t know why he admits it. “Yes.”
“Why?” The question comes from a place of such honest curiosity that Draco falls just a little bit harder.
He’s gotten good at wanting, over the years. Wanting his father to be proud of him, wanting the war to be over, wanting to regain favour with the public, wanting his family to be safe. He’s never been all that good at knowing what to do with something once he has it, never been able to love the things he gets the way they deserve.
How do you make someone see all that they are?
“I don’t know.”
He does, but he can’t put it into words. Draco’s been wishing all this time that he had some sort of defence against the aching, gnawing feeling in his heart that he’ll fuck this up; that he isn’t good enough for Harry — not the Saviour, not the Chosen One, and not the man right in front of him.
“I want you to kiss me,” Harry says.
“I won’t be able to think clearly for the rest of my life.”
Harry steps closer, and Draco feels the soft breath of a laugh skate across his face. Their foreheads fall together, and the warm metal of Harry’s prosthesis presses against Draco’s brow. The tip of Harry’s nose brushes against his own.
“I want you to kiss me,” Harry says again.
And Dear Merlin, Draco must already be fucked in the head, because he does. He closes the distance and brings his hand up to the back of Harry’s neck.
Harry shouldn’t want him. But that doesn’t matter, because Harry was right. Draco is selfish. He’ll take anything Harry offers him, and he’ll take it greedily, hungrily — like a man who believes he deserves it.
He parts Harry’s lips with his tongue, and he pulls their hips together.
Harry sighs in the back of his throat, and Draco cannot help the way his chest seizes up, and he surges against him, kissing as though it might be possible to get past Harry’s physical body and burrow somewhere inside his soul. Draco was wrong, it turns out. He’s well versed in mistakes — he knows them like the grooves of his own wand, having made enough for a lifetime — and this can’t possibly be one.
Not when it feels like this.
꒰˘̩̩̩⌣˘̩̩̩๑꒱♡