Middle-aged Drarry with background Scorbus; Minister for Magic Harry Potter; fake marriage; sentient homes; getting together; fluff; life, love, and laundry.
Two households, both alike in... meddling Floo connections, apparently?
Draco Malfoy is a highly professional and well-respected Ministry official, with a demanding schedule, a loving son, and—through no fault of his own—a faulty Floo connection that keeps regurgitating the Minister for Magic through his fireplace.
“A real marriage. We certainly couldn’t sanction a sign-off on anything that wasn’t a love match, not with the high levels of magical energy involved,” the Estates chap said, eyeing Potter suspiciously. As well he might—Potter’s colour was high, glasses discarded somewhere, eyes looking very green. “The terms of the Contract are very clear.”
“Of course,” Potter said calmly. “That makes perfect sense. And it’s not precisely how we planned this but—”
He paused, probably because both Draco and the Estates man were looking at him uncomprehendingly, and then he very deliberately reached out to Draco and placed a hand on his leg. It was only just above the knee, entirely decorous and not in the least bit lascivious, and his hand felt very warm and wide and somehow solid. Draco wasn’t sure why the touch would send heat crawling through him, the shock of it sizzling up his spine. No doubt he was blushing; his face always did give everything away.
“What do you think, darling?” Potter said smoothly. “I know we wanted a bit more time to plan, but given the circumstances, I think we might have to move the wedding forward.”
