Harry's first thought in the morning was to wonder where the hell he was. The second was that he really had to stop falling asleep crying in Draco's arms — it was starting to become a habit.
Draco was still asleep when he woke, and he laid in bed for a while, glad to be back in his own room. He hadn't realised how suffocating the castle had begun to feel, his brain still in war-mode long after the battle had ended. Here he could relax. He could start returning to normality.
He snorted quietly. What the hell even was that, for Harry James Potter??
He watched Draco, the blond's face relaxed in slumber. Watched the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way his arm stretched out towards Harry even while unconscious. He was so fucking pretty, face all high cheekbones and strong jaw, what had been pointy as an eleven year-old now evened out into features photographers would weep over. Narrow, sculpted shoulders and the smooth slope of his back, hitting a quidditch player's arse and thighs, toned and pale. Certainly the prettiest person Harry had ever seen.
But he drooled in his sleep, and despite all his excessive skincare rituals — or perhaps because Harry kept making him forget about his excessive skincare rituals — there was a smattering of acne flaring on the right side of his chin. His nose was a little crooked, where it had broken by his father's hand as a child. He was eighty percent limbs, all of which seemed to find a way to jab into Harry while they slept. He kicked the covers to the bottom of the bed every damn night, except when it was cold and then he stole them all for himself. There were marks on his skin now, war wounds he hadn't had the time to heal properly, silvery scars only noticeable if you got up close.
He wasn't flawless. He wasn't perfect. But Harry loved every last bit of him.
Normality was this, perhaps. Watching Draco sleep beside him, relishing in the quiet calm. Getting up and going downstairs where Ceri would have breakfast ready. Going for a fly, perhaps. God, he hadn't been on his broom in what felt like forever.
He had tryouts for the England national team in a few weeks. Was that normality? Either way he should probably get some practice in. Oliver would kill him if he didn't show his best.
All of those things — quidditch and friends and family — those were all normality. Going back to school would be normality.
Now, going to Wizengamot meetings was normality.
He had a life. And with Dumbledore gone, he could finally stop worrying about the ghosts from his past and actually live it.
Grinning, he skimmed a hand over Draco's back, gently shaking the Slytherin's shoulder. A rush of fondness flooded him as that perfect pink mouth screwed up in a frown, eyes blinking open in disgruntlement that immediately softened at the sight of Harry. "You're smiling," he murmured, reaching a hand up to run his thumbs over Harry's lips. "That's… not what I expected."
Harry chuckled, kissing him quickly. "I feel okay, I think," he said. "I think— it's going to be a good day."
Draco rolled onto his back, arching up in a stretch that made his spine click horrendously but also made his t-shirt ride up and expose the V of his hipbone. "Well, if the saviour has decreed it, it shall be so," he declared magnanimously. "What are we doing, on this good day of ours?"
"Breakfast, first," Harry told him, "then quidditch. Then… we'll see how it goes." He leered, and Draco smirked up at him rakishly.
"I like the sound of all of those things. Guess we'd better get up."
Downstairs, Harry's good mood was almost dented by the Prophet headline declaring Dumbledore's death, promising a full account of the story within. But the second, smaller headline perked him up.
The Ministerial vote would be happening on the 30th of August.
He leaned in a bit to get a better look, and Snape eyed him over the top of the paper. "Amelia will win," he said confidently. "The only person running against her is that idiot Hawthorne from the Order."
Harry vaguely remembered the man; he was one of Dumbledore's lackeys, one who had gone with Alastor Moody after the attack on Hogsmeade.
He didn't stand a chance against Amelia Bones.
Bolstered by that knowledge, he sat down, immediately presented with a stack of pancakes and a cup of tea. "Master Harry is not getting pancakes on his birthday," Ceri said. "But it is better late than never!"
Her huge eyes were hopeful, waiting for Harry's response. He beamed at her. "Brilliant, thanks Ceri. I've missed your cooking."
It seemed that was the perfect thing to say, as the elf quietly wriggled with delight before hurrying back to the stove. They chatted over breakfast, about inconsequential things. Harry was inordinately grateful that they weren't looking at him like he was about to crack.
He had devoted enough pain and grief to Albus Dumbledore in his life. The man didn't deserve any more now he was dead.
"What's everyone up to today, then?" he asked, peering around the table.
"Actually, pup, I wanted to ask you about that," Sirius began. His voice wavered with nerves, and he reached across to take Charlie's hand. Both of them looked worryingly serious, and Harry straightened up. "We, ah, got confirmation yesterday that Mr and Mrs Forrester were killed in what was probably a raid — muggles had it down as a gas leak."
That was usually the cover-up. Sirius exchanged a weighted look with Charlie, then turned back to his godson. "We… Charlie and I…"
"We're going to put in the paperwork to adopt the kids," Charlie finished for him. "They're confirmed Prewetts by Gringotts, so that'll smooth things along." Harry already knew that; the tests had been days ago, sixteen kids in all, and every one of them traced back to a wizarding family somewhere down the line. It turned out Charlie's Great Aunt Muriel had a squib sister no one had spoken about, put up for quiet adoption as a child.
"They aren't ready to leave the Pottery yet," Sirius added quickly. "I don't think Nash wants to until Frankie has somewhere to go. Which, honestly, might take a while." The boy was a Yaxley, they had discovered, and there wasn't a single scrap of that family left elsewhere. As a mouthy little Slytherin with a chip on his shoulder, he didn't exactly have any friends with families willing to take him in. "But Charlie and I thought we'd go over this afternoon and ask the three of them if they'd like to be family. And then we thought we might go to Grimmauld, for a family dinner. Not the extended, just us lot. The house is empty now, and it's somewhere familiar to them. A good place for you all to get to know each other better."
He looked so tentative, the hope on his face so fragile, like Harry might throw a screaming fit and refuse. As if Harry hadn't been rooting for this since the day Sirius had called him on the mirror and told him about the three kids with curly red hair and familiar blue eyes.
"That sounds like a brilliant idea," he enthused, watching Sirius light up. "Why don't you invite Frankie along, too? They won't want to leave him behind, and we've got enough snakes in the family he won't be overrun. Maybe he'll warm up to Draco," he suggested, grinning. The pair looked surprised. "We hadn't thought of that. But yeah, why not; the more the merrier, eh? Pretty sure Nashira and Frankie are attached at the hip anyway, by this point. We'll have to acclimatise him to the family eventually," Charlie said, snorting.
"Definitely a good idea to start with the Black side of the family," Remus piped up. "The Weasley side will send them all running for sure."
Charlie mock-glared. "They happen to think the twins are brilliant, thank you very much."
"They would," Severus said with a roll of his eyes. "I dread to think what kind of hellions you two will turn those twins into, even without Fred and George to assist. Perhaps I should plan to retire from teaching by then."
"Come on, Uncle Sev," Draco cajoled. "You survived teaching us, how much worse can it get?"
The Potions Master levelled the most dry, deadpan stare he could muster at his godson. "You have not graduated yet."
At the other end of the table, Narcissa hid a giggle behind her napkin. "Well, I think that all sounds like a marvellous idea," she agreed. "Just let me know what time to be home — I'm having tea with Miss Ashford this morning, to discuss her further education."
"That's the new Rosier heir, right?" Draco checked.
"Indeed. Poor dear has no idea what to expect from such things, raised as a muggleborn. Hogwarts teaches nothing about pureblood culture, it's disgraceful."
"Yeah, we're working on that," Harry assured. "It's on Susan's list."
Narcissa's lips quirked in amusement. "Lady Bones has quite the list indeed."
That was an understatement if Harry had ever heard one.
"Well, Mother, I'm sure you'll enjoy having a young lady to teach about etiquette and comportment and all the family gossip and what not," Draco sighed, eyes flashing in jest. "You always did wish for a daughter."
"I wished for a child that might sit still long enough to listen," Narcissa chided playfully. "Instead I got a boy who spent all his lessons staring at the fireplace waiting for Uncle Severus to come teach him Potions."
Both Draco and Snape went pink across the cheeks, though a pleased smile flickered across the Potions Master's face.
"That's adorable," Harry declared, grinning at the pair of them. "Draco and I are going to play quidditch this morning, if that's alright?"
"We'll be around," Remus confirmed. "Though with the way Draco's healing magic is coming along, perhaps you don't need us in case of emergency."
"We will if the emergency is Draco crashing into the ground," Harry reasoned wryly.
"Such faith in my flying skills."
"I have faith in your flying. I have less faith in your ability to recognise that you're not going to outlast me in a dive."
Draco jabbed him in the side, then stole his last bite of pancake. "You're going to regret that comment, Potter."
"Oh, Merlin," Sirius muttered, "out come the last names. Quit flirting and bugger off outside, I've had enough of watching the pair of you make eyes at each other."
Harry laughed, refraining from pointing out what a hypocrite his godfather was, as he and Charlie were the biggest flirts of them all.
"Masters' quidditch things is being in the shed," Ceri piped up. "Dobby is putting them there last night."
"Perfect, thanks." Harry thought for a moment. "My practice snitch is still in my trunk, I think. I'm gonna run up and grab it; I'll meet you outside?"
Draco nodded, brushing a kiss across Harry's cheek before the Gryffindor could sprint up to his room. So focused on finding the snitch so he could get out in the sunshine and up in the air, Harry almost didn't notice the things on the bed. Then he skidded to a halt, eyes going wide.
The bed was made — a habit after years of having to make Dudley's — and there, in the centre, was a folded up cloak. His invisibility cloak.
He took a step closer, realising the cloak was not alone. On top of it lay the Elder Wand and the resurrection stone in its new ring, both items that had been in his pocket the night before that he'd completely forgotten about in his grief.
But how the hell did they get there?
With a hesitant hand, Harry reached out, brushing his fingers over the silky fabric. He had truly thought he would never see it again, thought it was lost to Dumbledore forever.
This Hallow can only be freely given. Never stolen .
He jumped at the voice that echoed through his head. His eyes went wide. Was that…
The truth that all the legends forgot, is that the Hallows combined mean nothing in the hands of one who fears Death. A true master does not fear their subject, after all.
Yup; Death itself was speaking to him, in his head. Or he'd gone mad.
Not madness, little Master.
I don't want to be your Master, Harry thought at the entity. I never asked for any of this.
Exactly. I knew, when I created these Hallows, that they would drive mortals mad. That they would send souls to my domain, in their greed and lust for power. And I knew, when I offered these Hallows to three young men, that their family would be the perfect vessel for the magic I offered. It takes more than just ownership of the Hallows, little Master. It takes Peverell blood, and a soul that has seen Death up close yet does not shy away, does not seek to delay it. A soul I have been waiting for for a very long time.
Harry stared at the bedspread, at the cloak and stone and wand lying innocently on top. You knew it would be me, when you made them? How… how is that possible?
Time means little in Death, little Master. The voice sounded almost amused. Now, you have the Hallows. The strength of the Deathstick, the power of the Resurrection Stone, the protection of the Invisibility Cloak. I am at your command. What will you do?
Harry had no idea what that even entailed, but he knew the very idea of some other mystical destiny, some important power that was only his to control, just sounded too fucking exhausting to even contemplate.
"I'm going to go play quidditch with my boyfriend," he said aloud, gathering up the wand and the cloak and the stone and chucking them all in the bottom of his wardrobe. "And I'm going to deal with all that later."
As he hunted for his snitch, he heard Death chuckle in the back of his mind. A wise choice, little Master.
He grabbed his snitch, and didn't look back at the wardrobe once on his way out.
Harry didn't need time to think about it, truly. He knew exactly what he was going to do with those three items, the power they entailed.
He was going to keep it a secret, eventually pass the cloak on to his eldest child as tradition dictated, and die peacefully of old age without anyone knowing a single thing about the whole affair. That was not a kind of power he wanted to reintroduce to the world; Death had had its fun, letting the Hallows circulate. It was time to end that, now.
He sprinted across the grounds, seeing Draco waiting by the broom shed, both their brooms in hand. "You took your time! Forgotten what it's like to use stairs like us common folk?" he teased. Harry kissed him with enough force to make him take a steadying step backwards, pulling back to a look of surprise. "What was that for?"
"I just love you," Harry replied, smiling widely. "Now let's fly."
He grabbed his broom, kicking off into the air with a whoop of joy.
Normality.
.-.-.
As a child, Harry had often wondered what it would be like to have siblings.
When he was vey young indeed he had thought Dudley would be like a sibling, though that hope had quickly died. Then when he met the Weasleys, spent time in their house and listened to all Ron's stories about his older brothers, the jealousy had settled in him once more.
Of course, these days he had more honorary siblings than he could shake a stick at, but it wasn't quite the same.
Not like playing with Nashira and the twins.
Amita — Amy for short — and Tahan, both eight years old and coming out of their shells after the hellish year they had been through, were absolutely destroying Harry at the board game they'd picked out. And he was loving every second of it.
"I'm starting to regret having you on my team," Nashira told him plainly, and he ran a hand through his hair.
"Look, I don't play many board games, alright?" he defended. "Been a bit busy with other things." Nashira raised an eyebrow at him, as if to say 'that's not an excuse'.
"Harry, they're eight. And they're winning."
"Maybe we'll do better in the next round."
Over on the sofa, Sirius let out a bark of laughter. He was curled up against Charlie's side, watching the four play their game with shining eyes, like he'd never seen anything better in his life. The family dinner had gone as easy as breathing, the four kids slotting into the whole affair like they'd been part of it from day one. The adoption papers hadn't been signed yet, but Harry expected it wouldn't be long.
"We would do better if you would stop being so nice to them!" Nashira complained, moving her game piece along. "You've had so many opportunities to knock them back and you never do!"
"I don't want to make them cry!" As if on cue, the twins looked at him with identical wobbling lower lips and wide, sad eyes. Nashira scoffed.
"God, you're useless," she huffed, then grinned. "You're gonna have to learn to stand up to them if you really want to do this whole sibling thing. They'll walk all over you otherwise."
"She's not wrong, kid," Charlie agreed, smirking at the Potter lord. "The little ones are always cute and adorable and then they turn out to be terrifying once they realise you're weak to them. Look at me and Ginny."
Harry snorted — it was true, Charlie couldn't ever say no to Ginny, and the youngest Weasley knew it.
"Draco, help!" he begged pathetically, turning hopeful eyes on his boyfriend.
"Sorry, love; only child, quite like it that way," came the blond's even response.
Nashira put a hand on Harry's arm, a tentative smile on her face. "How about next round we do me and Tahan against you and Amy. It's always easier if we split them up." The smile turned a little guilty. "I might've been throwing you in at the deep end with this round."
Harry shook his head, looking to the twins, who had innocence in their smiles but mischief in their eyes. "I'm not sure I want siblings anymore," he declared archly. "Not if you're going to gang up on me all the time."
Amy giggled, throwing herself into his lap and hugging him around the neck. "We're sorry," she said, not sounding remotely apologetic. "Nash said you were a Slytherin even though you're a Gryffindor so we thought you'd be all mean like Frankie is."
"Oi!" Frankie exclaimed, looking over with offence written across his face. He was sat with Remus, Severus and Draco — and had been practically shadowing his housemaster all evening. "Wanting to win isn't being mean, you little brat. I won't go easy just because you're eight."
Nashira gave Harry a pointed look, a clear 'that is how it should be', and Harry sighed, looping his arm around Amy's waist.
"Okay, then. I can be mean. But if anyone cries, I'm blaming Nash," he warned, then grinned down at his new teammate. "Let's kick their arses, yeah?"
It might be a steep learning curve, but Harry was more than willing to figure it out.
.-.-.
Diagon Alley was a place Harry hadn't been in over a year, and he knew he had to face up to it. The idea of going to a place with so many people — people who would likely not be as polite regarding his boundaries as those at the Ministry — made his skin crawl, but he'd have to go there eventually. And he didn't want to wait until booklists arrived, or the alley would be even more swarmed than usual.
So he made his plans, roped Sirius in so he couldn't chicken out of it, kissed Draco goodbye, and apparated to London.
The sheer volume of the wizarding shopping area made his pulse pick up. Sirius squeezed his shoulder, eyes darkened with concern. "You alright, kiddo?"
"Yeah. Fine. Just," he grimaced, looking ahead at the throng of people, "if you spend half this visit carrying a fox in your arms, I apologise in advance."
Sirius laughed, ruffling his hair. "No judgement from me, after the amount of times I became Padfoot to avoid people." Then he put his arm round Harry's shoulders, and led him into the crowd.
Bringing Sirius had another advantage — the man actually had some shopping to do, so Harry wouldn't just be wandering aimlessly and getting steadily more panicked. Sirius wanted to buy some presents for the kids to help them feel a bit more welcome when they eventually moved out of the Pottery, and it was Harry's job to stop him going overboard.
"Do you know if Nash likes flying at all, pup?" Sirius asked, eyes landing on Quality Quidditch Supplies. "Because I thought about getting the twins some kid brooms and I'd like to get her one too, but I don't know if she'd even like it."
His fretting was adorable, and Harry grinned. "She hasn't flown much since first year lessons, but I think she'd like to do more. Just — not a Firebolt, yeah?" They didn't need to be buying a fourteen year-old with very little flying experience the fastest broom on the market.
"Right, yeah, of course," Sirius agreed, nodding absently, his mind already on the prospect of buying quidditch supplies for the kids.
"And you should get something for Frankie, too." Harry smirked. "Or maybe Moony and Sev can get him something."
Sirius finally looked away from the shop, turning to Harry with a knowing sparkle in his eyes. "You noticed that too, then?"
The entire family dinner, Frankie had been utterly enraptured by the Slytherin half of the family, but more specifically Snape — and Remus along with him. And far from being as stand-offish as he usually was with students, Snape had quite happily talked Potions with the boy most of the night, meeting all of Frankie's snide remarks with equally cutting quips of his own. Harry had a sneaking suspicion it would not be as difficult to find a foster family for the boy as they had feared. Nor would Nashira have to worry about losing her best friend.
"Remus had that look on his face, and you know Severus is a total pushover for him," he added, amused. No one would ever believe such a thing, but it was true, no matter how much the Potions Master denied it. Remus Lupin was his sun, moon and stars, and he would do whatever it took to make him happy. Even adopt a cynical, fourteen year-old Slytherin orphan.
Harry suspected, having seen the pair interact, that Snape wouldn't need all that much convincing.
They were starting to get noticed for sure, now; whispers of both their names trickling through the crowd. Sirius was almost as famous as Harry these days — the Pureblood Lord, the last bastion of the oldest family in magical Britain, abandoned by the justice system for so long and finally reintroduced to the world. Sirius had been free for a year now, but it hadn't exactly been a year for shopping sprees and social outings.
The pair of them together were quite the sight. Maybe Harry should've brought Charlie, instead.
But Sirius was remarkably good at letting all the mutters and exclamations slide right off his back, chatting to Harry about the pros and cons of the Cleansweep 9 as a good starter broom for Nashira, trying to persuade him that they absolutely needed tiny adorable matching quidditch uniforms for the twins.
"No house colours until they're Sorted," Harry insisted firmly, shaking his head at the child-sized Gryffindor uniforms. "You don't want to pressure them." Then he smirked. "Besides, you know Ollie will have Puddlemere kit for the lot of them sent over the moment Charlie tells him the good news. That man is just waiting for a load of kids to spoil rotten. He's already sent a bunch of quidditch-themed onesies to Tonks." Oliver Wood, despite his intimidating stature and professional quidditch career, was the textbook definition of broody these days, and Harry wondered how long Cassius would hold him off before seeking out a surrogate.
"Fair point," Sirius relented, before darting across the shop to look at junior quidditch ball sets.
Harry didn't argue that one. He quite liked the idea of helping teach the kids to play. They'd certainly have lots of instructors in the family, for any position they chose. After Quality Quidditch Supplies, they went to Flourish and Blotts, though Harry wasn't sure why when they had both an owl-order catalogue and also a bigger library than Hogwarts itself. With Harry's own personal book collection, which he was happy to share, the kids weren't likely to want for reading material.
Then, because it was truly inevitable with a Marauder and the son of a Marauder, they ended up at Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes.
Harry hadn't seen the twins or their usual entourage lately, as they'd all been so busy with the shop. Sure enough, the place was packed to the rafters, adults and kids alike all oohing and ahhing over the twins' creations.
"There he is!" Fred exclaimed, popping up on Harry's left.
"Our favouritest little brother!" George appeared on Sirius' right.
"And our newest favouritest big brother!" Fred teased with a wink at the dog animagus. "We heard you were about. Worried for a minute you might not come visit."
"As if I'd do that." Harry rolled his eyes. "Have you got time to chat?"
"Lee and Lissy are on it, and Blaise is around here somewhere," George assured dismissively. "All the time in the world for you, Harrikins."
"And we've got some presents for you to take home with you," Fred added. "For the new recruits."
Harry snorted at the description — indeed, sometimes it did feel a bit like the family was something you got recruited into, rather than the traditional method of acquiring new members. A bunch of waifs and strays, picking up more of the same.
They browsed the shop as they walked, and for the first time Harry hardly even got noticed — the shoppers were far too engrossed in the products to notice Harry Potter among them. They chatted with the twins, promising to sort out a big family dinner once things were quieter, catching up on the extended Weasley family gossip. Bill and Fleur had bought a cottage off the coast of Norfolk, and apparently Mr Weasley was looking at a promotion to the head of the whole Misuse of Muggle Artefacts department.
"That's brilliant!" Harry enthused, beaming. Arthur Weasley more than deserved it.
"It's not confirmed yet, they're still shifting things about over at the Ministry — as I'm sure you know, Lord Potter," George teased, ruffling Harry's hair. "But Percy says it's a sure bet, and he would know."
Percy was, according to Amelia Bones, the most valuable asset the entire Ministry had. Something that made him turn beet red every time she said it within his earshot. In the days since Dumbledore's death, the pair of them had been working with Mrs Frobisher and a reporter at the Prophet to systematically point out all of the Ministry's corruption, as well as Dumbledore's crimes, and the involvement of those connected to him. Cornelius Fudge was getting a reputation as the worst Minister they'd ever had, making Harry wonder if the man would ever dare show his face in public again.
He couldn't say he minded if he didn't.
But Percy was absolutely thriving in his position as Amelia's Senior Undersecretary, handling all her organisational needs with relish and not once faltering at the sight of an enormous and extremely boring pile of parchment to read through in detail. And he had all his siblings back, too, which Harry knew he must appreciate.
They stopped to chat to Lee and Alicia too, though the pair were at the till and didn't have much time to talk. And Blaise popped up only briefly, kissing George, declaring he was going out for a bit, and telling Harry that he and Draco had made plans to gather the Slytherin cohort before school went back and Harry was very much expected to be there.
But at last, they had to let everyone get back to work, and after hugs and promises to catch up somewhere quieter soon, Harry and Sirius left the shop.
And bumped right into three people they did not want to see.
Ron, Hermione and Mrs Weasley were stood looking through the window of the twins' shop with conflicted expressions, and the blood drained from their faces at the pair that exited.
"Harry," Hermione gasped, brown eyes widening.
"Hermione," he returned evenly, inclining his head. "Good to see you're fully healed."
"I— yeah. Thanks."
An awkward silence fell between the group, and Harry was just about to start walking when Mrs Weasley reached out. "Harry, dear, we wanted to apologise," she started, eyes welling with tears. "I feel so awful about everything — Albus convinced me it was all for the best, and like the fool I was, I believed him!"
"We're really sorry, Harry," Hermione added sadly.
"Yeah, mate. We shouldn't have treated you like that," Ron said gruffly, looking distinctly uncomfortable at the show of emotion.
Harry folded his arms over his chest, trying to ignore the way his heart was racing. "I accept your apologies," he said, watching them all deflate with relief, "but I can't forgive you."
The trio tensed. Hermione bit her lip. "Harry, I—"
"I was just a kid," he cut her off. "A scared, lonely kid who had never had friends before, never had proper family, and had no idea what any of that was supposed to look like. And yeah, maybe you two were kids as well, but you still should have known better than to fake friendship with someone just because an old man tells you it's for the good of the wizarding world."
"We weren't faking! Not really!" Hermione protested. Harry just arched an eyebrow.
"I'm supposed to believe that, am I? Along with all the other lies you've fed me over the years? You called me a blood purist, Hermione." She flinched, squeezing Ron's hand. Even now, Harry couldn't quiet the voice in the back of his mind that insisted they were only trying to befriend him now because he'd won, because he was famous — because Hermione had realised she'd burned bridges with just about every future influential member of the Wizengamot, and if she didn't get back in his good graces she could kiss goodbye to her dream of taking the Ministry by storm.
He looked up at the Weasley matriarch, his heart clenching with an entirely different betrayal.
"And you, Mrs Weasley — you were an adult. You were a mother, and you looked at me, half-starved and terrified to do something wrong in your house because I didn't know what the punishment would be, and you pretended to welcome me into your family. I'm lucky your husband and the rest of your kids were genuine — if all of it had been a lie, I don't think I would have survived."
He swallowed thickly, feeling the gentle press of Sirius at his shoulder, quietly supportive. "You let me go back to the Dursleys every summer when you knew I wasn't happy there, because Dumbledore told you. And you tried to control me, to keep me oblivious just like he wanted, to guilt me into thinking the whole world was my responsibility. Then you believed an old man that told you I was evil because of something in my scar, that I had to die for Voldemort to be destroyed. Without even thinking to talk to me about it. And that's not even mentioning how awful you were to Sirius — in his own house, even!"
Mrs Weasley's gaze flickered to the dog animagus, filling with guilt. "I'm aware that our families are connected, in more ways than one," Harry continued. "I won't be able to avoid the three of you. I'm not going to make anyone choose between me and you. Which is more grace than you gave me," he added sharply. "I can be civil. Friendly, even, at family gatherings. But you're delusional if you think I'll ever trust the three of you ever again. And if I were you, Mrs Weasley, I'd take a closer look at your relationship with the rest of your children, before you lose them forever."
Trying not to let his breath shake, he exhaled slowly, glancing back at Sirius. "Let's go home, yeah?" He was so very done with being out in public.
"Sure thing, pup," Sirius assured quietly. He nodded politely to the trio, then steered Harry away towards the apparition point.
Harry's heart didn't stop racing until long after they'd walked away.
"Was I too harsh, Pads?" he asked, once they were strolling across the lawn of Seren Du in blissful quiet. Sirius scoffed.
"If anything, you were far more polite than they deserved," he muttered, scowling. "Clearly there's not quite enough Black in you to hold a proper grudge," he teased with a wink.
"I don't want to cause problems with the family," Harry insisted. He knew it was going to be awkward, that it would take a long time before any of the Weasley kids were truly comfortable around their mum and youngest brother. But Harry wasn't going to be the one to force them to cut out their own family, not for his sake.
He could be polite, and put up with them at family gatherings. He'd prefer if he never had to waste a single thought on them again, but… that was family, he supposed. There were always a few you wished you didn't have to deal with.
"It's not gonna be easy," Sirius agreed, loosening his ponytail and shaking out his hair. "Charlie… he doesn't know how to feel about his mum, really. She still doesn't like me. Doesn't like us together. Not sure she ever will," he said, shrugging. "But that's her problem, not ours. She's the one who needs to decide if her hurt feelings are worth losing her son over."
Sirius pulled him into a rough half-hug, kissing his temple. "We'll figure it out, in time. Maybe they'll get their heads out of their arses, maybe they won't. Either way, there's plenty of other people around who love you, kiddo. You don't need them."
He was right. Harry had so much family; real, honest family. And it was growing bigger and bigger even still. He didn't need to latch on to the first people to show him any sort of attention or affection, anymore. "Hey, Sirius," he said, slowing to a halt. Sirius cocked his head, looking much like his canine counterpart. "I don't know if I ever said it, but… thank you, so much. For bringing me here after third year, for giving me somewhere safe, somewhere I could figure out who I really was. Giving me a home. Giving me everything." If he hadn't had Seren Du, he very likely would not have lasted this long.
Sirius' face softened, his hands resting on Harry's shoulders. "Oh, kiddo. You never need to thank me, not for that." He wrapped his arms around Harry, embracing him tightly. "That's what godfathers are for, you silly fox."
There were tears welling up in Harry's eyes. Merlin, he'd been crying so much lately. He hoped that stopped soon. "I love you, Padfoot. Dad." He felt the hitch in the taller man's breath. "You're gonna be an amazing parent to those kids. Any kids." Harry knew he and Charlie would have at least one baby, eventually.
Sirius sniffled, looking Harry in the eye. "And they couldn't ask for a better big brother," he replied, pressing their foreheads together. "Now come on, how about you and I put all this away and go for a fly, yeah? If I'm gonna be teaching my kids to play quidditch, I'll have to dust off my skills a bit!"
Harry grinned at him. "Sounds good."
He couldn't wait to see the twins react to their new brooms.
.-.-.
With all his friendships out in the open, all his family freely able to show they cared for each other, Harry's social calendar had never been more full.
They'd finally organised that party he and Neville talked about, right before the battle. It wasn't at the Pottery — there were still far too many kids living there, waiting for foster families — but at Longbottom Manor, with presents and cake and fireworks and everything the two boys could have dreamed of. But even aside from that, Harry was constantly out of the house; working on Ministry and Wizengamot stuff with the usual crowd and Justin Finch-Fletchley; meeting up for lunch or dinner or drinks with HA members, past and present alike; family dinners and Weasley gatherings and pick-up quidditch matches and sibling outings. It would have been exhausting had it not been the best weeks of his entire life.
So it wasn't unusual when an owl flew through the window of Seren Du, bearing mail. What was unusual was the number of envelopes — one for each of them, in heavy, high-quality parchment. The owl dropped the stack and flew away, no need for replies.
Harry frowned, reaching for the one with his name on. "This isn't a Hogwarts thing, is it?" he asked, looking up at Snape.
"Not as far as I'm aware."
Wondering if it was perhaps a Ministry thing — some Order of Merlin or other such rot — Harry was wary as he thumbed open the envelope, pulling out the thick, pale gold cardstock inside.
Lord Cassius Warrington and Oliver Wood
Cordially invite you to join them in celebrating their nuptials,
On the afternoon of Tuesday, the 29 th of August,
Ceremony to begin at 1pm.
"Oh," Harry breathed, a slow smile creeping across his face. There was a second piece of cardstock behind the first, giving the details of the venue's apparition and floo access, as well as requesting an RSVP at their earliest convenience — although on Harry's the 'not attending' option had been scribbled out, a note in Oliver's cramped handwriting declaring that 'you're coming whether you like it or not, Potter'.
"How wonderful," Narcissa exclaimed, face lighting up. "I had wondered if they would have time before you all go back to school."
"Ollie will want to have his honeymoon before the season starts up," Harry pointed out, grinning. "This is brilliant. Has anyone got a quill?"
Sirius summoned one from the next room over, and as each of them in turn ticked the 'attending' boxes on their RSVP slips, the papers glowed and the green ink turned a bright gold colour, confirming it.
"We'll have to look for a wedding present," Draco said, catching Harry's hand. "And get some new dress robes."
Harry groaned quietly. "I suppose I can't just stick with the ones I've got?"
"Absolutely not. You wore those to Bill and Fleur's wedding."
"There were like thirty people and Bill and Fleur's wedding!" Harry protested, but Draco didn't budge.
"Yes, and every single one of them will be at this one, too. Not to mention, there were pictures. I refuse to be seen with you in the same dress robes at two weddings in the same social circle." There was that haughty aristocratic snobbery that Harry would never truly understand, but nor would Draco ever shed entirely.
"I think all of us could do with some new dress robes," Narcissa cut in, smiling with steel-grey eyes that just dared any of them to argue with her. "We'll make a family outing of it. I'll make an appointment with our tailor."
Harry looked across the table at Remus, the only person likely to give him any sympathy on the matter. But Remus was too busy looking down at Snape's confirmed attendance on the RSVP, no doubt lost in fantasies of attending such a public event together. Gross.
Harry looked down at his own invite contemplatively, smiling at the tiny golden quidditch hoops in the bottom corners. That reminded him — he had a plan to put into motion.
.-.-.-.
With a little help from Ginny and Neville, a recommendation from Narcissa and an autographed copy of the Prophet article of his defeat of Voldemort, Harry managed to organise a somewhat last-minute date.
"What are you up to, Potter?" Draco asked suspiciously, the morning when Harry told him they were going out for dinner, so to be wearing nice robes and ready to leave by quarter past six. Harry just grinned impishly, kissing his boyfriend and patting him on the backside, before heading to apparate over to the Ministry.
Harry made sure he was home in plenty of time to shower and change and wrestle his hair into submission, and it was clearly worth it — Draco inhaled sharply when he opened his bedroom door at Harry's knock, his eyes darkening with arousal as he studied his Gryffindor boyfriend. Harry wore forest green robes open over a crisp white shirt, green tie knotted neatly at his throat. "What do you think?" he asked, holding his arms wide for inspection, grinning. "Can you stand to be seen with me in public?"
Draco pursed his lips, as if considering it. "I suppose," he sighed, stepping close to press a kiss to Harry's cheek. "Will you tell me where you're taking me, now?"
"You'll find out when we get there," Harry insisted, offering his arm with a gallant bow. "You look stunning, by the way. I'm going to be the envy of everyone in the room." Draco's ice blue robes were tailored to perfection, his darker blue shirt in contrast to a pale grey tie that made his eyes stand out even more. Truly the Ice Prince of Slytherin.
They walked downstairs arm in arm, and Harry groaned at the duo that awaited them. Sirius and Narcissa, stood by the door ready to send them off as if it was their very first date.
Which, technically, Harry supposed it was. They'd gone about everything a little backwards, really.
"Don't stay out too late," Sirius mock-warned, wagging his finger. "And you look after my son, Malfoy, or I'll have your head."
"Have him back by midnight, Harry, darling," Narcissa told him, smirk tugging at her lips. "My boy is a gentleman and I shan't have you ruining his reputation."
Harry snorted. "We all know that ship has sailed," he joked, ignoring Draco's indignant expression. "You two are the worst, and we love you, and we'll be going now." He tugged on Draco's arm, heading for the door and ignoring the two waving dramatically at them on their way down the drive.
"Sometimes I think it was a bad idea bringing those two cousins back together," Draco said drily. Harry hummed in agreement.
"At least they didn't bring Andi into it." The three Blacks together were a force to be reckoned with.
Holding Draco close under the guise of needing to side-along him to their destination, Harry apparated, smiling as Draco peered around curiously. "We're in Diagon," he realised, and Harry nodded.
"Yup. Come on."
In those wonderful three weeks before his third year, in around having his entire life flipped on his head, Harry had gotten quite familiar with a lot of the offshoot alleys of Diagon. Before then, he'd thought the main high street was all there was to it.
This little section of the alley was full of restaurants and cafes and even a dance club — something Harry definitely wanted to investigate when the furore around him had died down some. He and Draco were still too young for muggle clubs; the fake IDs he'd conjured to get them into the sex shop beside Infinite earlier in the week probably wouldn't slide with a club bouncer. Mostly because Harry only had vague ideas of what a muggle ID was supposed to look like.
Maybe Farlig would be able to help him out. Gringotts did muggle documents, too.
It was a narrow street, the buildings looming tall on either side, with only a few people out and about, all enjoying their evenings — other couples on dates, some families, some groups of friends. Many of them nodded in greeting to the pair, some giggled and eyed them appreciatively, but none of them bothered them, for which Harry was extremely grateful.
Draco actually gaped when Harry turned them towards the door of their destination for the night. "The Golden Harp," he exclaimed quietly. "How the hell did you get us a table at the Golden Harp, this place is booked out months in advance!"
"Harry Potter," Harry pointed out, shrugging. He wasn't afraid to use his fame sometimes — namely, in the efforts of spoiling his boyfriend rotten.
The host straightened up at the sight of them, offering a sharp bow. "Lord Potter, Lord Malfoy," he greeted demurely. "Right this way, please."
One of the reasons Harry had chosen this place, other than Narcissa raving about the menu, was that they had low-level privacy wards on every table. Not enough for people not to recognise who was sat there — what was the point in going to a fancy restaurant if you weren't seen at the fancy restaurant — but enough to discourage any sort of approach, or eavesdropping.
Harry and Draco could have a nice dinner to themselves, without worrying about the press or fans or anything.
"You really have pulled out all the stops, haven't you?" Draco remarked, pale brows rising at the sight of a bottle of his favourite white wine chilling at the table already. "Are you trying to romance, me, Potter?" A wicked grin tugged at his lips.
"Well, I figured after nearly three years, it's about time I put some effort in," Harry joked in reply, smiling briefly at the waitress who came and poured their wine and water. "Consider this an apology for all those dates we haven't been able to have in public."
Draco's face softened, a rosy blush rising in his cheeks. "You don't need to apologise for that," he insisted. "It was as much my doing as yours."
"Then consider it the start of me showering you with love and devotion and expensive things as you so deserve," Harry replied with a wink. "I always did say I'd spoil you rotten once I got the chance."
The blond had a tiny, pleased smile he couldn't quite hide behind his humour. "Dangerous thing to say to a Malfoy," he warned. "We have expensive tastes."
"Fairly sure I can handle the cost." Harry had more money than either of them could spend in a hundred lifetimes, even if Draco demanded meals like this every single night.
As he perused the menu, Harry tried not to let on how nervous he was. Not because of the date, or even his plans for later in the evening — he had never actually been to a wizarding restaurant before, not really. Certainly not one as posh as this. And he'd only been to a handful of muggle restaurants, in that summer before his fourth year when Sirius and Remus tried to introduce him to all the things he'd missed out on.
It was a big step up from the Three Broomsticks, that was for sure.
But whether or not Draco suspected his unease, the blond's calm demeanour went a long way to helping Harry relax. Draco ordered first, so Harry could just do what he did; tapping his desired order with his wand and having it appear on the plate in front of him. After that it was perfectly natural to slip into conversation — so much so that Harry almost forgot where they were until their waitress stopped by to ask if everything was to their liking.
The sweet wine slowly trickled warmth through his system, twining with the happy flutter in his belly that came with being out with Draco like this. "We should do this more often," he said as they were choosing their desserts. "Maybe not, like, this," he gestured to the very fancy restaurant around them, "but going out together. Sometimes it feels like the only time I get to be truly alone with you is when we're in bed." He blushed at saying something like that in public, glancing around, but no one could hear them through the spells.
Draco reached across the table, taking his hand with a fond smile. "I know what you mean. I love our family, but they're rather… a lot." He gave a lopsided grimace, chuckling. "I grew up an only child with mostly Crabbe and Goyle for company, or the house elves. I'm still not used to having so many people around."
"Think how I feel; I grew up in a bloody cupboard," Harry returned wryly.
It was wonderful, having a family as large and welcoming as theirs, having friends they could finally hang out with without masks or pretence or some sort of emergency to figure out.
But part of Harry missed the days of sneaking into classrooms to meet with Draco, playing Bluff and pretending they were the only two people in the world.
"It'll be harder at Hogwarts," Draco mused, running his thumb over Harry's knuckles. "But there's always the Chamber for privacy. And the wards certainly work in our favour," he added, eyes alight with amusement. "A lack of privacy is to be expected at school, though." His smile turned boyish, almost tentative. "I like the idea of doing more things just for us, when we can."
Harry grinned back, heart hammering in his chest. "That's settled, then."
They stared at each other, love in their eyes and dopey smiles on their faces, for longer than either would be willing to admit. Then a loud laugh from elsewhere in the restaurant broke their trance, and the two boys blushed, turning back to the dessert menus.
The sun was setting by the time they left, Harry not even blinking at the exorbitant price on the bill on his way out — it was worth every single knut, to see Draco smile like that.
"Our parents are going to be unbearable when we get in," Draco sighed, unable to hide the fondness in his voice. "I don't want this evening to end just yet."
"I've got an idea," Harry told him, grinning as if it was a spontaneous thing — as if he hadn't spent the last few days agonising over every little detail. "Come here." He slid his arms around Draco's waist, catching his lips in a soft kiss, then apparated them away.
They appeared in the middle of the Hogwarts quidditch pitch, the stands bathed in a vibrant orange-gold light over the horizon. Draco gaped at him. "Walking through walls, apparating into Hogwarts — anything else you can do?" he asked mildly, and Harry laughed.
"Possibly. Haven't figured it out yet." He squeezed Draco once, then stepped away. "Dobby," the house elf appeared in an instant, "would you go get mine and Draco's brooms, please?"
The elf nodded energetically, disappearing and reappearing in only a few moments.
"Harry, we're not dressed for quidditch," Draco complained as he was handed his Nimbus 2001. Harry undid his tie and the top button of his shirt, stuffing the silk into his robe pocket.
"We're not playing a full match, love," he teased, nimble fingers making quick work of Draco's own tie. Unable to help himself, he leaned in to suck a kiss against the pale of column of Draco's throat once his shirt collar was loosened, the blond's resulting gasp quickening his blood. "Come on. Fly with me."
Draco let out a shaky breath. "If you insist." He had a competitive glint in his eyes when he pulled away. "Catch me, then." Then he swung a leg over his broom and kicked off.
Harry laughed loudly as he shot into the sky moments behind his boyfriend, the exhilaration of the wind in his hair mixing with the wine in his stomach and the anticipation in his blood as he did a quick lap, easily matching Draco's pace. "Want to make this interesting?" he called, pulling a snitch from his pocket, holding it up tauntingly. "Where did you get that?" Draco shook his head in bewilderment. "Never mind. You're on, Potter. Usual wager?" He licked his lips pointedly.
Having an erection while on a broomstick was not the most comfortable thing in the world, but it was something Harry was an expert in dealing with by now, after years of flying with Draco Malfoy. He shifted to ease the pressure, grin widening. "Usual wager." Winner got to decide on bedroom activities that night.
He released the snitch, counted to fifteen with his eyes locked on Draco's, and then both of them sped off.
It was a little harder, looking for a snitch in the light of the setting sun — especially a sunset as beautiful as this one, a glorious riot of colour in the sky so incredible Harry couldn't have planned it if he'd tried. But both of them were excellent seekers.
And the snitch was maybe a little bit enchanted.
Harry turned sharply as Draco went into a dive, haring after his boyfriend. He drew closer, the pair of them neck and neck — but he didn't put on that little extra burst of speed that would have had him beating Draco to the fluttering gold ball, instead watching pale fingers clamp around it, pulling up from the dive.
Draco grinned to himself, then turned to look suspiciously at Harry, both of them coming down to land. "You let me win that one," he accused. "Come on, Harry. It's no fun if you let me win."
"Yeah, well," Harry said, just a little shaky, his stomach full of butterflies and his heart in his throat. "I sort-of needed you to catch that snitch."
Confused, Draco looked down at the snitch in his palm. There was a quiet click, and it split in the middle, opening to reveal something nestled inside.
A ring sat in a little velvet indent; silver band made of three interwoven strands, swirling up around a flawless emerald with a smaller, perfect white diamond on each side. Masculine, but beautiful. Like Draco.
When Draco looked back up, Harry was in front of him, on one knee, eyes shining with hope.
Harry watched the rapid cycle of emotions play over his love's face — confusion, shock, joy, his jaw dropping ever so slightly, his hands beginning to tremble as he held the snitch steady.
Harry swallowed his nerves, and cleared his throat. "You are the best thing that's ever happened to me, Draco Malfoy," he declared earnestly, voice wavering with emotion. "Magic, Hogwarts, all the rest of it — none of it compares to the moment I looked at you across an empty classroom at one in the morning and realised I couldn't live without you in my life. I know we had a bit of a rocky start, to say the least," he chuckled weakly, and Draco's lips twitched, "but we've come a long way since we were eleven. We've seen far more than anyone our age should ever see, done things we never should have had to do. Through it all — all the drama and the danger and the ridiculous shit that seems to follow me around — you were right there, by my side, calling me an idiot Gryffindor and telling me you loved me in the same breath, making all my problems seem so easy to manage, as long as I had you. And I know, without a doubt, that I want you right there for the rest of our lives. I fought a war so I could have a future, Draco, and I want you to be that future. So… will you marry me?"
Draco stared at him. Harry couldn't breathe. His pulse thudded in his ears, fears suddenly gripping him; it was too soon, they were too young, Draco wanted to wait—
That thought was cut off abruptly as he was tackled to the ground, pressed against the grass by Draco's weight, the blond beaming down at him with tears shining in his gorgeous silver eyes. "You foolish Gryffindor," he rasped, and Harry's heart jolted. "Yes. Of course I'll marry you."
"Oh," Harry breathed, the words echoing in his head. Yes. Draco said yes. "That's good, then."
Draco laughed through more tears, leaning down, pressing their foreheads together. "Disaster of a wizard," he murmured affectionately, the same words he'd said years ago, right before he'd kissed Harry for the first time. "You couldn't possibly think I'd say no, did you?"
Harry shrugged sheepishly. "I mean — you might have?" He hadn't wanted to assume.
Snorting, Draco pulled back, kneeling on the grass next to Harry's reclined form. There were grass stains on both their robes, but neither of them cared.
"You've had me ruined for anyone but you since I was fourteen years old, you prat," Draco whispered, gaze turning back down to the ring, still safely inside the snitch. "It's absolutely beautiful, Harry. Is it an heirloom?"
Harry nodded, too dazed to speak. Draco ran a gentle finger over the ring. Then he looked at Harry imperiously. "Are you going to put this on me, or what?"
Harry scrambled to sit up, taking the ring out with shaking hands and fumbling with it until it slid onto Draco's left ring finger, resizing perfectly.
And there it was. His engagement ring, on Draco Malfoy's finger. His claim for the whole world to see — this perfect, amazing man was going to be his forever.
Harry hooked a hand round the back of his neck and pulled him into a hard kiss, pouring all of his love and relief into the embrace, hoping Draco knew just how happy he was at that moment.
Suddenly, there was a loud whistling noise, and a firework exploded over their heads in a shower of golden sparks, forming a heart in the sky. Cheers and whistles filled the air, and the two boys startled apart, whipping around to see a crowd of people up in the lowest stands. Their parents and godparents, but also Ginny and Neville, and all the older Weasley boys with their partners, and the Gryffindor quidditch team. Susan and Theo and Luna and Daphne and Pansy and Millie, all their other Hogwarts friends. The Tonks family and Kingsley, his hand on the barely-there swell of Tonks' stomach while she whooped and cheered, her hair cycling through the whole rainbow in her joy. Even McGonagall was there, applauding with a smile on her face and if Harry wasn't mistaken, tears in her eyes.
"Did you—" Draco started, but Harry shook his head.
"I didn't plan that!" he insisted, blushing bright red. "I thought it was just us!" Having an audience was not part of his grand idea!
Harry and Draco scrambled to their feet, trying to make themselves a little more presentable. "How long have you lot been there?" Harry called up, wondering how the hell he hadn't noticed. He held the damn school wards!
But then, so did Neville, and Luna, and McGonagall. And Harry would bet anything Hannah was up in the castle, watching through the magic, doing her bit to keep the family hidden from him.
"Long enough!" Sirius shouted back cheerfully. "Nice speech, kiddo!"
Harry's face burned. "How did you even know about this?" He'd hardly told anyone! He hadn't even mentioned it to Narcissa, just telling her he wanted to take Draco on a date.
Charlie's laugh was loudest of all, and Harry saw him reach out and ruffle the long side of Ginny's hair. "Our little sister can't keep a secret for shit, Potter! You should know that by now!"
Ginny waved, unrepentant, and Harry groaned. At his side, Draco laughed, letting the Gryffindor bury his face in his neck. "Think of it this way," he consoled, running a hand through Harry's hair, his huge smile pressing into Harry's temple, "at least now we don't have to send a notice out."
Harry snorted, inhaling the scent of wood polish and spice and the faint hint of sweat — the scent of his Amortentia. The smell of the person he loved most in the world.
He couldn't be mad at the unexpected audience, not really.
He was too damn happy that Draco had said yes.