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Chapter Text

Paris, Rue des Mathurins in the year 2012

There was shouting, screaming really, but none of the wizards in the alley were surprised by that. It had been going on for years after all and nowadays it was almost expected that any interaction between Harry Potter and Ron Weasley ended in an argument.

It was always a repeat of the same accusations. A vicious cycle of abandonment and betrayal that neither wizard could own up to. Even after his mother blatantly blamed Harry for the deaths of Fred and Ginny Weasley, Ron couldn’t see why his best friend left Britain shortly after the Battle of Hogwarts. There were plenty of other reasons of course, most could be traced back to the blatant political games the Ministry was keen on playing with the Conqueror of the Dark Lord Voldemort. Harry had wanted no part of it, so he’d left and sought a better life in the United States. All the while desperately trying to hold on to his childhood friendships with Hermione and Ron.

Which brings us here, to yet another screaming match between two fully grown wizards who couldn’t accept that life had led them in completely different directions. In Harry’s defense, most of the trouble lay with Ron’s inability to let go of their teenage plans. Joining the Auror corps together was supposed to be their life goal, to be partners until retirement. The British Wizarding World’s constant back and forth between hatred and adoration had been too much for the Saviour. To Harry, a new, clean slate was a dream come true.

His past didn’t seem to agree. Every day there were howlers, letters, demands and questions. One right after the other. Britain wanted her Golden Boy back, but Harry only desired to live out his life in peace. To do his job and marry the love of his life.

That’s why they were in this alley, the only apparition point close to Louis XVI. A nice restaurant that served classic French dishes that Harry knew his fiance loved. A night out to celebrate their engagement. Not that they’ll still make their reservation now.

Or any other for that matter.

“Avada Kedavra!”

In the seconds that followed a bright green light, there was nothing but silence. The alley was deathly quiet except for the heavy breaths of the two wizards left.

Ron Weasley looked shocked, but only mildly horrified. As if, even now, he doesn’t feel responsible for his own actions. He’d never used an unforgivable before, leaving that kind of magic to Harry and Hermione during the war. Keeping his own hands clean as it were. Perhaps that makes him a coward, unworthy of the House he’d been sorted into all those years ago.

Or maybe he’d known there would be no going back. Like now, staring at the body slowly falling to the ground. Ron Weasley may not be the smartest wizard in the world, but even he knew a line had been crossed. Truthfully, that had happened over a decade ago. When Ginevra Weasley was admitted to St. Mungo’s, comatose after Voldemort’s death, Molly had decided to all but call Harry a murderer in the Ministry Atrium. Where no one had come to his aid. Where none of his friends saw fit to defend him.

Even with all of their fights and disagreements, they’d never pulled their wands on each other. They’d been through a war together, stood side by side during countless battles. Once upon a time, they had one another’s back.

Now..now Draco Malfoy lies dead in a Parisian alley.

Ron opens his mouth. To apologise, maybe, or perhaps to pretend it was all an accident and he hadn’t meant to do it. As Harry Potter stares at empty grey eyes that had come to mean the world to him, he can’t find it in himself to care about his former friend’s motivations. Suddenly, his efforts to keep one of his first friends seems childish and stupid.

His magic ripples in horror at the sudden loss of his partner, his lover and the one person Harry had selfishly decided to keep to himself. He’d given so much, sacrificed everything for a war he hadn’t even started. All for what? For Hermione to disappear to Australia to find her parents and complete her seventh year through letters with Headmistress Mcgonnagall. For Ron to refuse to finish his education and join the Auror Academy with the full expectation that Harry would follow suit. For all but one Weasley to shun him and that being the only one Harry couldn’t stand himself. For Harry to realise that aside from the Weasleys and Hermione, he didn’t have a single friendship or relationship to fall back on.

For nothing.

No one will ever know what Ron Wealsey wanted to say that day. Harry’s core trembles with rage and his magic responds immediately. The resulting shockwave of power slams into Ron and whirls him into the side of the house the alley was located next to. Bones crunched and blood flowed. There wasn’t enough time to even groan in pain as another body slumped to the floor, staining the alley with a second death.

Harry is known for having a short fuse and usually he regrets letting his anger get the best of him. Not this time, not with Draco’s body growing colder by the minute. The violence of his reaction never touches his lover, instead the body is gently wrapped in a protective layer of Harry’s own magic. A desperate attempt to preserve the one person that matters most to him.

He falls to his knees beside his fiance and lets his fingers caress silver blond hair. Harry had always believed those strands caught moonlight in them, always reflecting back to the world around him. Draco would roll his eyes and claim it’s just Veela magic, but he had always been breathtaking to Harry’s eyes. He apparates them to their flat in the heart of Paris, not caring about leaving Ron’s body behind to rot.

Someone would find him eventually, but that’s not his concern.

He’d been a fool. Harry had always known his Gryffindor nature would get him into trouble one day. It was his chivalry and desire to be selfless that caused Cedric Diggory’s death. If only he’d been selfish for once. Surviving the war had made him paranoid, afraid to lose anything or anyone else. So much so that the thought of potentially losing Ron and Hermione had made him complacent.

He should’ve cut his losses, run away and never looked back. Draco’s life had never been a price he was willing to pay. He rests his forehead against the other’s, desperately seeking the intimacy that came so easily to them.

It had almost driven Harry crazy back then. After getting drunk enough and arguing through their complicated history, they’d settled into friendship and then love with no issues. Harry had never known how easy it could be to love and be loved in return.

“I’m so sorry, love. You were right, as always.” He chuckles through a broken sob. Draco had made so many mistakes as a teenager that he’d made it his life’s mission to make better choices as an adult. Harry fully believes the once Death Eater is a much better man than him. Harry should have told him that. Instead he’d let their old lives dictate their present too much, and had clung too tightly to people that were already long lost to him.

“You should have never had to deal with it. You deserve so much better, Dragon. Please..I can’t do this without you.”

His mind forces him to remember all the times his so-called friends had shoved Draco aside, pretending Harry was merely going through a phase of sorts. Every single one of them had expected him to dump Draco and settle down with some nice witch and start a family.

Harry didn’t want any of it. The war and his years at Hogwarts had thoroughly disillusioned him regarding the picture perfect family life. All he really wanted was to explore the Wizarding World, do his job and live out the rest of his life with his fiance.

His now dead fiance.

His magic, restored again after his outburst in the alley, stirred inside him violently. Draco had always been an anchor of sorts. It used to be nothing but anger and jealousy between them, then hatred and disgust, until the war forced them to see the truth of it all. Then it turned to sadness and understanding. He fully believes if there’s anyone in this world who could understand what he’s been through, how the adults in his life had played him, then it’d be Draco. Now his fiance is a refuge, a calm in the storm that always ends up raging through his life.

Or at least he was. Now there’s nothing to soothe his fury. Verdant green and purple light flashes around their apartment, ripping apart anything that isn’t nailed down with sticking charms. Draco’s body remains untouched by the carnage. Harry’s magic refuses to hurt the one he loves, even in death.

He sits there, kneeling beside the corpse of his lover in the middle of a ravaged apartment. His shoulders heaving with sobs that he doesn’t bother to try and control. His magic settles eventually, depleted by two major outbursts. He still doesn’t move, head bowed as he prays to every deity he’s ever heard of. Perhaps one of them will finally grant him mercy.

He thinks his prayers are heard when he realizes he’s not alone in the apartment anymore. Someone kneels next to him and puts a hand on his shoulder. He doesn’t flinch, too tired to react to anything happening around him.

George Weasley is covered in blood and staring at him with more compassion than he’s seen since he left Britain fifteen years ago. “It’s hard isn’t it, losing your other half?” He nods heavily and wonders how George managed to survive all these years without Fred. Then he remembers that George married his twin’s girlfriend and named their son Fred the Second, so maybe he hasn’t been coping as much as he’d like people to believe.

“I saw your handiwork. I must say, I’m surprised you lasted this long. Merlin knows I can hardly stand Ron on a good day, but you? You put up with a lot from my little brother. I didn’t think I’d have to wait this long, but man was it worth it. The Great Harry Potter brought low.” He closes his eyes, one hand finding Draco’s and threading their fingers together. The grip is cold and unfeeling. He doesn’t fight when George slaps him jovially on the back and stands up. When he feels a familiar magic building in the air, he makes no move to draw his wand. “For what it’s worth, Harry, I really regret how everything turned out.”

He smiles sardonically in agreement. For once, that damned green light didn’t evoke horror, only peace. His grip on Draco’s hand tightens until he can’t feel it anymore. Until he can’t feel anything anymore.

“Well, that’s disappointing.” He grimaces as he opens his eyes to a bright whiteness. It only takes him a second to recognize where he is.

“Not this bloody place again.” He looks around, but thankfully doesn’t see anymore miniature Voldemort pieces lurking about. Nor does he see any sign of Dumbledore. Thank Merlin for that. He would not have reacted well to the former Headmaster’s presence right now…or any time at all since realizing what a manipulative bastard the old coot was.

Seriously, every adult in his life was disturbingly corrupt.

“I couldn’t agree more. Why the bloody hell do you keep finding your way back here, Potter?” His heart trips over the familiar disdain and he turns around desperately.

A young woman is looking at him with annoyance. One of her eyebrows raised in clear expectation of a good answer. Harry fervently crushes the disappointment that rushes through him.

It’s only been two hours since the alley and he’s already sick with longing for his Dragon. “Well, what do you have to say for yourself?” He gapes at the genuine outrage on her face, but swallows the urge to make some demands of his own. He’s learnt the hard way not to always go headfirst. Draco would be so proud of him. “Sorry, I uh…I’m not sure what’s going on? Am I dead or not?” She rolls her eyes and snaps her fingers, the light dimming to a more bearable level.

“None of that was supposed to happen. The future might not be set in stone, but there is a certain amount of Fate at play. Let me tell you, my cousin is not happy her plans have all been ruined. You were supposed to live happily ever after, you idiot!” He doesn’t know what to say to any of that. Except…

“-cousin?” She huffs and her arms whirl about her in earnest frustration. “Yes! You know, the Lady who created your prophecy, made you the Chosen One and led all the Hallows to you?!” He glares incredulously at her. “You mean the one who made my life a living hell?”

The woman scoffs and crosses her arms. “Don’t go blaming that on us, boy.” Her anger grows sharp and this time her expression is more serious. His back straightens in response. Whoever this is, she’s a genuine threat.

“My sisters and I knew how great you and the little Dragon could be together. We spent over a year entwining your lives as much as possible and what do you do? You reject him at the first opportunity and then you both spend the next almost twenty years being too pigheaded to talk to each other!” She heaves at the end of her rant and even though he still doesn’t know who she is or half of what she’s talking about, he still feels ashamed.

He can guess who the ‘little Dragon’ is referring to and she’s not wrong. He’s often looked back and shaken his head at how childish they used to be. It should never have gotten so out of hand between him and Draco. It’s only hindsight and many uncomfortable conversations that helped them work through it all.

Turns out, Ron’s an even bigger twat than he already knew. Back then he’d rejected Malfoy in defense of his first friend. He never knew that it was actually Ron that had given the first insult. By laughing at Draco’s name and pretending they didn’t know each other, Ron had made his disdain for the Malfoy family clear. Especially since he and Draco had already met several times before at countless Ministry functions due to their fathers. So, yeah, in hindsight his clear preference of Ron over Draco must’ve felt unfair.
In his defense, Draco knows very well he was being a little shit at the time.

He focuses back on the woman patiently waiting for him to pay attention again. He shrugs apologetically and she continues listing all the ways he’d gone wrong.

“No one forced you to choose Gryffindor or to then only befriend two people and barely give anyone else the time of day. We didn’t force you to profit off your smart little bookworm and refuse to do any real learning yourself. Or you might have known sooner that you could’ve emancipated yourself at fourteen and leave the Dursley’s forever.” That had stung when he’d found out. Visiting the French branch of Gringotts, Agricole, after getting an apartment in Paris with Draco, had opened his eyes regarding his financial and political situation. Well, it had been his lover’s presence and outrage that had made the truth come to light. By then it had been too late to claim everything owed to him. His new keeper could only give him the Potter family vault and Godric’s Hollow. Which wasn’t nothing, but it was infuriating to consider how much of his own family inheritance he’d lost due to letting it all become stagnant. Simply, because he hadn’t known or rather, he hadn’t cared to find out.

So many regrets. His shoulders sag as he concedes her point. His choices are what led him here.

“You were planning on hunting down the horcruxes yourself despite barely even knowing what they are and if it weren’t for your best friends deciding to go with you, you would have died! Then what would have become of the Wizarding world?! Yes, you were used and manipulated and discarded by people you should have been able to trust. You were wronged again and again and what did you do? You forgave them, over and over no matter what they did to you.” Harry keeps his eyes closed as her harsh words hit home. It’s nothing he hasn’t already thought of himself. Yet, it somehow feels worse laid out so brutally. Like his entire life was a joke.

“There’s nothing wrong with forgiveness, Harry.” His eyes blink open, confused, as he looks at her. Her voice and face are soft now, staring at him with compassion and understanding. “Forgiving someone can heal yourself. It’s a way to move on with people you love, but you don't just forgive.” She shakes her head sadly when he can only stare at her.

“You forget, Harry.” His mind races with hurt, memories going back to times past. “You forgot how easily your friends turned on you, not once but twice. You let them back in without working through it. Are you truly surprised it all fell apart? You kept putting your faith in people that had betrayed you and then acted surprised when you ended up alone again.” Tears rolled down his face. His eyes staring unseeing at a wall to his left. A bench hits his knees and he collapses.

He flinches as a hand rests on his shoulder gently. “Think of your Dragon.” How can he not? He’s been missing Draco like a limb for Merlin knows how long now. “When you met again, did you just pick up where you left off?” He snorts, bemused at the very thought. He wishes it had been that easy. “You talked, brought up everything that had happened between you. You laid a new foundation and built it up from there. In the end, you both came out stronger together.” He hangs his head, finally understanding her point.

He’d never talked with Ron and Hermione about fourth year or the summer after. How they turned and abandoned him when he’d needed them most. He’d never properly sat down with his housemates, demanding to know what they wanted from him. One minute supporting him and the next believing him a liar. He’d been too scared. All he knew how to do was cling to people in the hopes that they wouldn’t leave him. So that he wouldn’t be alone again like he’d been the first eleven years of his life. Dumbledore, Snape, Mcgonnagall and so many more. He’d wanted answers from all of them, but he’d never had the courage to ask. Instead he’d let it all go, focused on making it to the next day. Until he looked around and realised he was more alone after the war than he’d ever been at Privet Drive.

“You’ve been a martyr all your life, Harry. Don’t you think it’s time to be something else?” Oh how he wishes he still could, but it’s too late now. Magic swirls in the air around him and he looks up. His eyes trace the walls and floors around him, images flickering in and out of his vision.

“What is all this?” He recognizes faces and places, realising quickly that he’s watching his entire life flash by. “It’s what I do..what we do.” He turns towards her, only to see three women looking back at him. One of them is the young woman, another holds a hand over her pregnant stomach and the third is leaning heavily on a wooden staff. His breath catches as some of Hermione and Draco’s words and rants about magic drift back to him. Mother, maiden and crone.

“You’re the Triple Goddess.” Deity of magic and creator of wizardkind. The oldest is holding a string connected to the images still rotating around them. “It’s up to you, Chosen One.” He’s about to ask again what the hell is going on, but his eyes get stuck on one image.

Draco’s face is stricken with fear. He’s pale and thin and so obviously doesn’t want to be there. His wand arm trembles as he speaks words Harry can’t hear. He doesn’t need to. He remembers this night clearly. Remembers the grief and the rage that’s now all tangled together in a mess of emotions Harry’s avoided thinking about. Remembers best how angry he was, at everything and everyone for always leaving him stuck doing nothing. Back then he could only watch as his childhood truly ended and a war began. Now..now he doesn’t know what he’d do.

“Huh, interesting choice.” The voice of the young maiden makes him turn around but he never gets that far. The magic swirling about them becomes oppressive, forcing him to his knees. He claws at the marble floor, desperate to take the pressure off. He lies there gasping for breath as the magic surges ever higher.

“Our will be done.”

The last thing he hears is the sound of scissors snapping.
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Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Astronomy Tower, 1997

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore has a plan. Well… He always has a plan. Well thought out and considered from every angle. He’s never been afraid of death, knows that everyone’s time comes eventually. Albus has never been the type of wizard to deny that. He believes in fate, and so he welcomes his own with open arms.

Still, he has a plan. Even his death works into the cogs and gears of his carefully cultivated plan. That's all that matters now. All his hard work will finally be rewarded. The events of tonight will incite a war, the ending of which he’s already written. Tom Riddle will finally fall as Harry Potter takes his place as the Chosen One. All due to Albus’ efforts. His legacy was hard won, but worth it.

It had been easier than he’d expected. Tom’s childhood had made him impossible to mold into anything he needed. He’d been afraid Harry’s attitude would be no different, but he was wrong. He’d guided people exactly where they needed to be and everything had fallen into place beautifully.

He’d been briefly worried about the Malfoy boy. He and Harry had started circling each other since the moment they met, always pushing and pulling. Thankfully, neither child had figured out why they were so drawn to the other. The animosity circumstances had cultivated between them blinded them too much. Albus had been particularly proud of how that situation resolved itself. He’d barely needed to prod Hagrid and the Weasleys into thoroughly turning Harry against anything Pureblood or Slytherin.

Prejudices can be very useful sometimes.

He’d taken no pleasure in keeping the boys apart. Complementary cores were rare. It’s the reason you couldn’t just take up another’s wand and use it. Such wizards and witches always brought change and prosperity to the wizarding world. Unfortunately the timing was off and he couldn’t risk anything going out of control. Perhaps they’ll find each other after the war, if Harry survives that is. He’s fond enough of the boy not to wish him harm, but his plan depends on the boy’s sacrifice. What happens after death is out of even his powerful scope.

The worst part of it all? Albus Dumbledore was right. It had been easy to encourage Harry and those around him into the positions he’d needed them in. No effort was needed to build fortuitous alliances and keep others at a distance. How could Hogwarts’ Headmaster think anything else than that it was all meant to be? Except he hadn’t considered one thing.

People are sheep, especially children.

Adults that should have made their own choices never did, instead bowing to the power and experience of Grindelwald’s conqueror. How could they not? Dumbledore was a beacon, a symbol. They did what humans have done for generations..they followed the flock. Albus may never admit it, but that’s the reason he focused so hard on Half-bloods and Muggleborns. After all, they were the more human ones.

It’s a known fact that Purebloods are closer to magical creatures like Vampires, Unicorns, Werewolves and Veela. That’s what having magic means. Their genetic structure is completely different from Muggles. They might look alike, but Purebloods are practically a different species. Well..it’s a known fact to anyone who didn’t attend Hogwarts or was raised by Muggles. Why else would most Purebloods and creatures join Voldemort? Oppose Dumbledore and the Ministry corruption? They felt threatened, and like all animals backed into a corner, they lashed out.

Of course Dumbledore had it easy. He was the Headmaster, in control of the education of the next generation. His curriculum decides what kind of witches and wizards joined the British wizarding world. That’s the kind of hidden power no one ever considers, so yes, it had all been so very easy.

Perhaps that’s why the Triple Goddess chose to interfere.

It had been easy once, but it would never be so again.

Albus Dumbledore watched patiently as Severus approached, leaving Harry hidden on the level below. The full body bind curse made sure the boy couldn't interfere, not until it was already too late. It is cruel to make a child watch their mentor be murdered right in front of them, but it was a necessary evil. Albus would do anything to preserve the greater good.

A subtle shift of magic in the air has his eyes scanning the gleeful Death Eaters. Only Bellatrix had her wand out. The two other masked ones seemed too preoccupied with staring at the spectacle before them, and Severus’ mind was too full of the task he needed to accomplish. It was only Fenrir Greyback who noticed something off, subtly sniffing the air around him.

Nothing stood out. No intruders and no spells being cast. So what changed? Eventually his gaze landed on the young Malfoy. The boy’s eyes were rooted to the floor. Albus followed his stare and frowned when he realized Draco was looking straight at the spot where Harry was immobilised underneath the invisibility cloak. Was it possible the young pureblood knew? No, that didn’t make any sense.

Alas, as grey eyes met his own blue, Albus knew he did. There was no fear, no apprehension. Nothing of the tumultuous emotions so visible earlier. The boy’s hand tightened on his wand and his feet spread further apart, taking on a stance Albus had seen numerous times over the years. A dueler preparing to fight.

As Draco’s wand raised and the curse was cast, Albus had only one thought.

Somehow, his plan had failed.

Severus Snape could only stare in shock as Dumbledore’s body fell off the tower. Bellatrix’ crazed laughter followed after, along with the other Death Eaters. That was supposed to be his job, finally cementing his position in Voldemort’s ranks. Now how would he follow Dumbledore’s final orders and see the outcome of the war as intended? He turned to his godson, prepared to do damage control and get everyone out of there.

Bellatrix was dancing around in glee, but Fenrir was looking suspicious. When his eyes landed on Draco, he could see why. The boy was no longer trembling. His wand gripped tightly, but easily. The nonchalance wasn’t faked, that much Snape could see. He knew his godson too well for that. Or at least he thought he did. The boy he knew wasn’t capable of cold blooded murder, but that’s exactly what Draco had done.

There was no remorse to be found.

He remembered the first time he’d taken a life. How he couldn’t keep the contents of his stomach down, how he regretted every decision that had brought him there. Using the Killing curse especially was a brutal affair. If you weren’t prepared for the feeling of someone’s soul passing at your own hands, it could be debilitating. There was nothing of that in Draco, only a deep satisfaction as the green light died down. Severus could hardly believe what he was seeing, but somehow, he didn’t think this was the first time Draco used that unforgivable.

It only took seconds, but that was all Draco needed.

“Diffindo!” The severing charm cut a path straight through Greyback’s face, running all the way to his chest. It wasn’t enough to stop a werewolf, but it was good as a distraction. Bellatrix’ face transformed to shock as blood splattered all over her face. Then the rage that scared even Severus took over.

“Crucio!” Snape moved, desperately thinking about the unbreakable vow and how he couldn’t afford to die now! Someone else moved faster. Stunning spells and a leg-locking jinx were cast from below, taking out the two unknown Death Eaters still standing in the back. It kept them busy enough as a figure ran up the stairs. Draco ducked out of the way of the Unforgivable, expertly using his seeker reflexes.

Severus was unsurprised to see Harry Potter burst onto the scene as only a Gryffindor could. He was however shocked to see Draco turn his back, trusting Harry to defend him. The Chosen One did, familiarly moving around Draco’s magic and movements to add his own curses to the mix. “Confringo!” Bellatrix barely avoided the fiery blast and screamed in rage. Snape was about to move into the mix when an ‘arresto momentum’ from Potter’s wand slowed him down.

“Aguamenti.” Water shot out of Harry’s wand to arc into the air. A second later Draco waved his hand and froze the liquid into shards, sending them with deadly accuracy at the two recovering Death Eaters on the floor. There wasn’t any time to contemplate the fact that his godson had done so wandlessly and wordlessly. They weren’t able to avoid it in time. Greyback growled at the unexpected brutality and even Snape had to turn his head for a moment at the sight of the dismembered bodies.

Neither Harry or Draco blinked, still moving to corner the werewolf and keep Lestrange at bay. How two Hogwarts students were even accomplishing that, he didn’t know. He felt the slowing spell let him go and he raised his wand, but what to do? If he helped the boys there was no winning back the Dark Lord’s favour, but if he stood by and let Draco be killed… He wouldn’t survive the night. His indecision cost him, as a stray ‘everte statum’ almost blasted him off the tower. His hastily cast shield saved him. By the time he climbed back to his feet the battle had shifted. Bellatrix ran towards one of the abandoned brooms and flew off the tower, barely dodging the curses the Slytherin and Gryffindor sent her way.

In the chaos, Greyback fled down the stairs. His hulking figure sped away into the night, but neither wizard seemed to care. No, their focus had strayed immediately to each other. A twitch of Draco’s wand arm had Potter’s attention locked on the Dark Mark. A disgusted sneer took over his face and he reached out. One hand gripping Draco’s left arm and the other winding around his waist, pulling the other wizard roughly to him. Severus moved, prepared to drag them apart. He was stopped at the sight of Potter’s magic visibly sparking off his skin. Green and red and black hues circled the Mark, then the hissing.

He’d always hated Parseltongue because of Voldemort, associating the language with death and decay. Draco tensed minutely and then seemed to melt into Potter’s hold, not protesting at all to the sheer possessiveness of the Gryffindor’s grip. His godson seemed perfectly content where he was. The potions master gaped as the Dark Mark dissolved, leaving pale skin behind. He observed as Draco seemed to straighten. There was a shine to his skin that hadn’t been there before.

It looked disturbingly familiar, reminding him of a certain triwizard champion two years ago.

“-alright, Dragon?” He shook himself out of his stupor, confused at the intimacy he was witnessing. He still has his wand clutched in his hand, ready to fight. Only he has no idea whose side he’s on right now. None of this was supposed to happen.

Dumbledore had a plan..but that has clearly been thrown out the window, or off the tower in this case.

The two wizards ignore him entirely as they embrace, lips seeking out the other’s like magnets being pulled together. Severus was thoroughly disgusted at the behaviour, never expecting this kind of display from the two young men in front of him. He, like everyone else, had been convinced Potter and Malfoy hated each other.

Had they been fooled by teenagers?

He was about to demand an explanation when the two finally parted, resting their foreheads together. They simply breathed for a moment. The gesture shocked Snape immensely. This wasn’t a sudden attack out of shock and terror. There was no desperation or forbidden romance. These weren’t two teenagers finding each other in the dark and enjoying the subterfuge of their secret.

Whatever this was, it ran deeper than that. Proven by the easy way the two moved together, like they’d been doing it for years. He wonders how long they’ve been together, how many years they kept up the facade.

Eventually he cleared his throat, ready to put on his detention voice and demand some answers. They didn’t even stiffen at the reminder of his presence, like they’d never forgotten he was there. They hadn’t registered him as a threat, which was both infuriating and discomforting. Simultaneously they turned towards him. Nothing came out of his mouth as a sudden sense of unease spread through him at their assessing gazes. They shared a look, obviously communicating something. Draco’s nod of assent didn’t help his nerves.

He was about to raise his wand again. He may not be able to harm Draco because of the Vow, but Potter had no such protection. Despite everything he just witnessed, the blatant murder and impressive combat magic, he still didn’t see it coming.

Potter lazily lifted his wand.

“Sectumsempra.” He stumbled back as the yellow light hit him gently, almost a caress instead of a dark curse. It was almost poetic to be struck down by his own creation. His back hit a column and he slid down, leaving blood tracks on the wall. His vision swam as he barely made out Draco moving closer to Potter, entwining their hands as they passively waited for him to bleed out.

The last thing he sees are Lily’s eyes staring into his soul.

Chapter Text

Draco doesn’t know what the fuck is going on, but he’s rolling with it anyway. Being in the same Hogwarts year as one Harry James Potter, Boy-Who-Lived and precious saviour of the Wizarding World, didn’t exactly leave a lot of time for ‘normal’ and ‘boring’. Becoming Auror partners, then friends and later falling in love certainly hadn’t helped. Draco has become a veritable master of going with the flow.

He can never be accused of taking the easy path in life.

Still, he wouldn’t change it for the world. The war had been horrifying and it was a miracle he’d survived. His parents hadn’t been so lucky. Lucius had been sentenced to Azkaban, but died in the Ministry holding cells when some of the other Death Eaters found out he’d run away during the final battle. As for his mother? Narcissa had killed herself when she realised what kind of life awaited them after the Wizengamot was through with them.

Apparently, with Voldemort and his inner circle dead or having fled Britain, Draco and his mother were the perfect scapegoats. Every crime they could possibly pin on him, they had. Whether he’d actually done it or not hadn’t mattered. Not to the bloodthirsty crowd of people demanding he be brought to justice. In the end, they’d treated him as if he was Voldemort himself.

After all the mistakes he’d made, the regrets and horrible decisions, he hadn’t had it in him to protest. There was no fight left in him, so he’d let them take their pound of flesh. Instead of standing by her son, Narcissa had once again proven how much of a coward she was. She may have lied to Voldemort, but that had been a tactical decision. A desperate one too. His mother had known that if Voldemort won there wouldn’t be any glory waiting for them, only death. So, she’d made the only decision she could at the time.

Don’t get him wrong. Draco knows his mother loved him, but their relationship is complicated. She’d never protested when Lucius drilled bigoted nonsense into his head or punished him when he wasn’t living up to ‘Malfoy’ expectations. Narcissa had been too much of a traditional Pureblood wife to lay a hand on him herself, but she’d had no problem letting others do it for her. She certainly hadn’t stood up to her husband and his terrible habit of pledging allegiance to psychotic megalomaniacs.

Yeah, Draco had spent enough time being disillusioned of his family’s ideals to be a tad cynical now.

Back to the Wizengamot punishments..they’d been harsh. Too harsh really, in hindsight, but Draco had been too ashamed of himself to care at the time. It wasn’t until after all of his vaults and properties had been taken and redistributed that he’d started to get an inkling this was more than mere justice. The three month stay in Azkaban had been bad enough, but to take everything they’d owned? The public had wanted him humiliated..and they’d succeeded.

A year after the war the once proud Malfoy heir could be found making potions for scrupulous individuals. He hadn’t wanted to fall back into crime, not after everything with Voldemort, but the world hadn’t given him a choice. Then he was too far into their operations. Taken off the streets of Knockturn Alley, he’d been forced to help a ring of traffickers. They’d mainly focused on Pureblood wizards and witches in Britain, especially former Slytherins. Kidnapping them and then selling them again to others for experimentation or entertainment purposes.

Draco hadn’t been spared some of their sadistic tendencies. The only reason he hadn’t been beaten black and blue was because they’d needed him to create the potions to put their victims to sleep. Spells could be tracked, but potions were trickier. They didn’t leave any magical trace in the air for Aurors to latch onto, and if they didn’t find the victims in time, there wouldn't be anything left in their systems either. Not that they tried that hard.

Britain didn’t care much for the Pureblood community still left after the war. It’s the reason why the DMLE didn’t put much effort in finding the perpetrators. Nobody cared about some missing blood purists, even if the ones being kidnapped hadn’t had anything to do with Voldemort. No one, except for a certain Chosen One.

After Harry had left Britain, he’d been invited to join the American Auror Academy by the Director of Magical Security himself. Percival Graves was a legend and no sane person would refuse him. When the traffickers accidentally took a visiting American Pureblood, Macusa had responded in outrage. Harry had only been a trainee then, shadowing the Auror actually working the case. It hadn’t been long before Draco started hearing rumours about who exactly was hunting them. He’d been relieved, trusting that Potter wouldn’t give up easily.

He’d started leaving clues. Ingredients that didn’t change the potion, but that could be found when doing a toxicity test. He hadn’t bothered before because he knew that even if they’d found his clues, no one would be able to decipher them. Knowing that Potter would definitely recognise his handiwork, he started leaving messages. The results of each tox screen would show different ingredients, all of them connected to a city or hideout Draco knew of. It only took Macusa five weeks to find them, but by then his duplicity had been discovered.

He doesn’t actually remember being rescued. He’d been too injured, but he does remember waking up with Harry Potter at his bedside glaring at him. It had taken a lot of explanations and pleas before Potter would hear him out, but eventually he had listened. Draco had drawn the line at apologising though. Harry had left before his trial had even started. There was no reason to feel guilty about not helping.

After that Harry hadn’t left his side, admirably helping him through his recovery. He’d also been an absolute pain about joining the Academy as well, but Draco hadn’t thought it a good idea. Not with his past. It had been Percival Graves’ husband, Newt Scamander, who’d truly convinced him. Newt had his own dubious history with the law, but he’d pointed out that everyone deserved a second chance. The private argument he’d made about Harry needing someone to look out for him in the field had also been incredibly persuasive. Not that Draco would ever admit that.

So, that brings them to how they ended up tangling their lives together. He hadn’t been expecting to ever find love. Becoming friends had already been monumental, but more than that? Draco hadn’t let himself dream. Until Potter had become Harry and Draco somehow lost track of when exactly that happened. He’d been clueless to any domestic developments until he was helping Harry pick out furniture for a little getaway apartment in Paris. An apartment he’d been promptly handed a key for with a stuttered explanation, complete with blush.

His past is what had led them there, even the horrible parts he regrets. No, he’d never change any of that for the world.

Except now that’s seemingly exactly what he’s doing.

The killing curse left his wand easily, never hesitating in the way he used to as an actual sixteen year old. Why would he? He’s been an auror for about a decade, of course he wouldn’t balk at taking a life. Being Harry’s partner didn’t exactly get them the easy cases. More often than not, their suspects ended up dead.

After starting to date, Draco had discovered a lot about Harry’s life he never would’ve dreamed of. Including a lot of interesting stuff about Albus Dumbledore. His fiance might be conflicted about how to feel regarding the old coot and his machinations, but Draco hadn’t. No..by the time they were on their sixth date and had run through their respective life stories, Draco had hated Dumbledore as much as Voldemort. As he watched a hesitant Harry explain some of the horrendous situations he’d been forced into, Draco had made a silent promise to himself.

If he ever met Dumbledore in the afterlife, he’d finish his task.

For the first time since the war ended, Draco had actually regretted not completing Voldemort’s task and letting Snape take the glory. Especially after Harry explained some of his godfather’s questionable actions. Draco had always known Severus hated Harry, but to hear the truth behind it had been enlightening. Obsessed with a woman he’d ended up getting killed? Blaming James’ horrid behaviour on his son who’d never even met him? Not flinching at sentencing a baby to death and only attempting to spare the mother?

His godfather had been a bigger bastard than he’d known.

Albus Dumbledore’s body falls off the tower a second time and battle commences. They move instinctively around each other, their magic shoring the other up where needed. They’d fought a hundred battles like this. It was easy to fall back into that rhythm now, even with the countless questions swerving through his mind.

Bellatrix flees and it’s an annoyance, but not too terrible that they need to go after her. The same goes for Greyback. Both of them will report back to their master, but it won’t change anything. Voldemort will still target the Ministry and position his Death Eaters at Hogwarts. The Dark Lord is terribly predictable even with the changes they’ve already made. It won’t be until they start going after the Horcruxes that they’ll have to worry about Voldemort changing tactics. If Draco has his way, the Ministry will not be falling either. Nor will it be left to the corruption currently running rampant throughout it.

Oh, so much to plan. First he needs answers though. None of it matters if this isn’t actually time travel like he suspects.

He turns towards his..are they still engaged? Has time taken that from him too? Draco doesn’t get the chance to doubt, because that’s the moment Harry catches sight of his arm. The Dark Mark is a taint on both his body and magic. He can feel the oily mass that is Voldemort’s magic coursing through his own core and he hates it. He’s always hated it, but now he can’t even stand the thought of it on his arm. He doesn’t fight the tight grip Harry has on him, leans into it instead. It’s been a long time since he hasn’t wanted to be in his lover’s arms. No matter what’s going on here, he’s not going back to that.

Harry’s magic is furious at Voldemort’s claim on him and Draco smiles, relieved that some things haven’t changed. He watches, content, as the parasite fades off his arm in black smoke. “There, much better.” He smiles indulgently at Harry’s smug approval of his now bare arm. The embrace he’s caught in doesn’t get looser, instead the arms holding him tighten. He pulls back to look into emerald eyes and raises an eyebrow. “Feeling territorial, are we?”

Harry only grimaces as he looks him over for obvious injuries. “Are you alright, Dragon?” How is Draco supposed to stay strong in the face of that? Harry knows how much he loves all of his ridiculous nicknames for him. It’s so very unpureblood, and it makes Draco adore them all the more. He lets his body speak for him, grabbing insistently at Harry’s tie to reel him in. Their lips meet in a chaste kiss..well chaste for them at least. It wouldn’t be the first time they got lost in each other after a successful battle.

Harry’s arms wind around his waist as he sighs into the kiss, leisurely opening his mouth to deepen it, tongues mapping familiar and yet new territory. They never kissed at sixteen after all. When they pull back for air Draco doesn’t hesitate to rest their foreheads together. He needs the contact right now, not knowing what the hell just happened to them.

He reluctantly pulls back as he hears his godfather next to them. He hadn’t forgotten Severus’ presence, but he’d foolishly hoped the man would’ve left by now. He can still remember the way he used to look up to the potions master, believing him to be more worthy of his worship than his father. Severus doesn’t know how to care about people though. Somewhere along the way something broke his godfather and he’d never quite recovered. Draco doesn’t know what happened, but he doesn’t particularly care either. Severus has had years to make up for his mistakes, yet he can’t even admit when he’s wrong.

While Draco remembers childhood adulation, he also remembers the more recent experiences during and after the war. How ashamed he was of his own cowardice. He’d hated every minute of being a Death Eater, and it had been obvious to everyone around him. His parents tried to do damage control, but they’d all known Draco wasn’t a true believer. All of his missions from Voldemort ended up being done by someone else or just plain failed. He’d been punished more than anything else. He still sometimes shakes awake with the remembered pain from one too many crucio’s. It’s a miracle he hadn’t gone insane. A quick look at the mutilated bodies of the two Death Eaters he’d killed and he mentally amends that statement.

Not completely insane. But hey, they are aurors for a reason. They don’t teach you how to conjure flowers at the academy. He’s also steadfastly ignoring the reason why Voldemort had been so soft with him compared to all his other followers. Nope, not thinking about that. at. all.

Perhaps that’s the real reason he can’t see his godfather the way he used to. Knowing now how much Severus had always been in Dumbledore’s pockets and how he’d never so much as hinted at any remorse for his actions makes the auror in him twitchy. He’s made a career of hunting down criminals, and he’s bloody good at it too. You don’t get much worse than a follower of the Dark Lord.

Which is why he doesn’t hesitate when Harry glances at him briefly. Severus is too trusting, still in shock after everything that’s happened in the last half hour.

Naturally, even now, he doesn’t suspect the two of them mean him any harm. He watches dispassionately as the man he once loved like a surly uncle bleeds out quietly.

They don’t have a lot of time. He still doesn’t know what’s going on, but Dumbledore’s body won’t go undiscovered forever. They need to move and-..and they need to make a plan. So much to consider, so many variables that could go wrong. He turns to his partner and Harry’s already opening up his mental shields, letting Draco inside his mind with no hesitation.

Even with all the training at the Academy, Harry still sucks at any magic that’s passive. His lover is more of an active caster and can only keep up the flimsiest of occlumency shields. That’s why Draco usually protects them both, his own natural legilimency going a long way in keeping their secrets. It’ll be more important now than ever before. He skips through the memory of his death and later Harry’s, although he’ll have a hard time not cursing any gingers for a while. Instead he focuses on what happened after that, and only Harry bloody Potter could have memories from the afterlife.

He takes a deep breath as he emerges from the memory. His clenched fists and panting breaths clue his partner in that something's wrong. “Draco?” He shakes his head and moves to stand near the edge, needing the wind in his face to calm down. He relaxes minutely as arms wrap around his waist from behind and a head of messy hair nuzzles into his neck. “Talk to me.” He sighs and turns around, briefly pressing their lips together to reassure himself.

“What do you know about complementary cores, Harry?” Because Draco had immediately realized what the Maiden was talking about in Harry’s memory when she mentioned entwining their fates. How could he not? When he’d wondered so many times before why it is that the two of them work so well together. That they could use each other’s wands, anticipate which spell the other will use and even share and build up power between them. He just thought opposites attract and their shared history made for a peculiar bond, but he never could have dreamed of this.

“Not much, Binns didn’t exactly feature it in his history lessons and the Academy only glossed over it. The only thing they taught us was how wizards and witches with such cores duel differently, and that if we ever encountered perps like that we needed to be careful. Subduing one could make the other either submit as well or turn them feral.” Draco nodded along with the explanation. It was true that complements duelled differently, like a well oiled machine..like them. How had Draco never seen it? Perhaps because the stories always focus on how close the two are from the moment they meet, how inseparable. Their first meeting couldn’t have been more different. It spurs his anger back into overdrive. While he knows it’s their own actions that kept them from becoming more than rivals, he’s also painfully aware that Dumbledore manipulated everything around them to keep them apart. It’s the only thing that makes sense. There’s no way the old coot hadn’t known about them, not with the way the two of them obsessed with each other to an unhealthy degree.

“That’s all true, but it’s so much more than that.” Harry strokes his arms in question, silently waiting for him to go on. So, he does, knowing already that Harry wouldn’t react well.

“Complementary cores are like two halves of a whole. It’s where muggles get their silly little soulmate ideas from. They’re not actually one soul split in two. It’d be disastrous if everyone walked around with only half a soul, incomplete without their other half.” Draco rolls his eyes slightly at the notion. He’s heard plenty of muggleborns back at Hogwarts wax poetic about it. None of them ever realized how close to the truth they were, or how far off reality would be from their expectations. Then again, isn’t that always how muggleborns handle anything magical?

“It’s more like the cogs of a wheel. Sure with only one cog the wheel will still roll, and it will even do perfectly fine for a long time. If the wheel is never whole it might not even know the difference. Complements are like that. They’re alright on their own, even manage to do extraordinary things without ever meeting their partner. They can settle down and have kids and never notice anything amiss, except perhaps for a slight sense of longing. They won’t even know what they’re missing.” He sees Harry frown and has to suppress a smile. No doubt his fiance is relating to that sense of unknown longing.

“When they’re together, they complete each other in every way. Magic that one can’t master will be the other’s specialty. Usually, according to the legends, one will have an active core and the other passive. Where one excels at powerful bursts of magic, the other will be an expert at breaking down less obvious defenses. From there the saying, ‘two sides of the same coin’. If the coin is standing up, the two sides are always back to back. And if it’s lying down, one is protecting the other. One in the light, one in the dark.” It’s with that last part that Harry’s face contorts in fury. His partner spins away from him, pacing around the tower. “They kept us apart.” It’s not a question. It’s not even an accusation. It’s a statement of yet one more thing the people around Harry took from him.

“I know you’re angry, love, but we don’t have time.” A distant scream reaches them and he knows Dumbledore’s been found. It won’t take them long to realize where he fell from. They can’t be found up here. Some of the other professors might have been aware of Dumbledore’s outing with Harry and his own suspicious behaviour, and Granger and Weasley definitely know something. But if they want plausible deniability, then they need to move. He twitches his wand hand and uses a modified ‘evanesce’ to get rid of their magical signatures. No need to show their hands this early.

Harry’s already clearing his wand just in case and he throws his own wand to his lover as they make their way back down into the corridors. They move swiftly and silently, avoiding most of the portraits. Draco’s not worried that Hogwarts will reveal them to the professors, not with Harry’s status as Duke of Slytherin. Well, if they make it to Gringotts in time that is.

In their timeline, Harry had not been able to claim his titles because of stagnancy. If a title is left unclaimed for too long, it automatically goes to the Goblins. Part of the treaty that was made after the last Goblin war. Wizards hadn’t thought anyone would actually leave their title unclaimed long enough for it to matter. Harry hadn’t even known he had anything to claim. Let’s just say they'd both made a scene and been unwelcome in Gringotts and the Ministry ever since, not that they even wanted to return. The French Nation of Goblins at Agricole had tried their best to help, but even they couldn’t circumvent a century old treaty.

Harry’s status as a minor will work in his favour with Gringotts, though they’ll both have to emancipate themselves as soon as possible, before the Order or his parents exert their control. Although Draco has no delusions that he won’t be disowned before the night is over. His father is a self-preserving bastard and though his mother might love him in her own way, she won’t go against her husband. His steps falter only slightly as he realizes how many people are still alive right now, people he’d mourned.

His stumble causes Harry to tighten his grip on their joined hands, pulling him into an abandoned classroom on the fifth floor. Hopefully they’re far enough away that no one will find them, but still.. they shouldn’t linger. “I'm fine, Harry. I only need some time to adjust, but I’ll be fine.” He squeezes his lover’s hand. “We need to get back to our common rooms. They’ll have all the students gather there so the heads of house can do a headcount. We don’t want our housemates to start asking questions.” He turns to head back out, but is stopped when an insistent tug has him spinning back around to face his lover.

“We both know it’s too late for that. We’re both too well known for everyone not to immediately suspect we have something to do with this. Ron and Hermione know I was out with Dumbledore, and I’m betting at least Mcgonagall was aware of something as well.” He frowns in thought, knowing Harry is up to something. “Alright, but we can’t afford the Order already being on to us for this. We’ll never be able to get to all the Horcruxes if they’re hunting us down. Voldemort and his ilk will be enough of a problem.” Especially because the Dark Lord will be furious when he realizes he can’t feel Draco any longer through the Mark, and not for any of the reasons that Harry thinks. They haven’t kept any secrets from each other since they started working together, but Draco never imagined he’d have to confront this particular problem ever again. He’ll have to tell Harry eventually, if only because the eventual reveal of his Veela status will infuriate Voldemort even more.

Oh, he’s so not looking forward to that conversation.

“So, we should tell them we were out doing something entirely different than murder and mayhem.” He rolls his eyes. “And what exactly would be so convincing, with good enough evidence I might add? Don’t forget we’re supposed to hate each other right now.” Harry’s face turns serious then. “If you think for one moment I’m going to keep up this ridiculous rivalry then you’re not as smart as I know you are.” He huffs indignantly, but quiets as Harry smiles softly. “You’re an idiot if you believe I’ll treat you any less than you deserve.” He sighs to disguise the twitch of his lips. “Harry-” He breaks off and chokes over his next words as his fiance kneels down in front of him.

He looks down into blazing green eyes and breathes out shakily. He hasn’t seen Harry this serious since the last time he was in this position, and dammit he’s not going to cry again. “I lost you, Dragon. I held your dead body in my arms and I can’t-” He squeezes Harry’s hands to let him know he's right here. “I know there’s no guarantee we’ll survive the coming war again. This isn’t a heat of the moment, we could die any second kind of thing.” He snorts in amusement and Harry smiles in response. “The simple truth is that I’ve wanted you for years. I’ve been drawn to you since we met, practically obsessed, and I’m sick of denying it. I’m tired of having everything I ever wanted right in front of me, and constantly having to fight for it.” Harry smirks then. “Don’t get me wrong. I’d happily burn down the world for you, love, but I refuse to keep justifying this.” Suddenly, Draco understands exactly what’s happening.

Ron Weasley had killed him right in front of Harry. The very same man Harry had once loved as a brother had betrayed him in the worst way possible. Now, they were both back in a time where that relationship hadn’t dissolved yet. If they stayed true to the timeline, Harry would have to play nice with his murderer. How could Draco ever ask that of him, when he himself is already planning George Weasley’s grisly demise? Harry probably blames himself for Draco’s death, knowing him.

To be honest, so does a part of him. Not for his death, no, but for everything that led to it. Harry might have walked away from the British Ministry after the war, but he’d not been able to cut ties with Ron and Hermione so easily. Granger had made the decision for everyone by leaving first. Her foray into Australia to find her parents and then her continued distance didn’t give Harry much choice. Draco suspects the trauma of the war had kept Granger far away and sticking close to the normalcy of her family, and he couldn’t even blame her for it. In return, Harry and Ron had clung tighter to each other. Only, that had put a continuous strain on their own relationship.

Draco had lost count of the amount of canceled dates or changed plans he’d had to endure because Weasley refused to let Harry go. The useless weasel had clamped on to his best friend like a parasite. How many times had he put his head down and taken the scoffs and disgusted looks from his boyfriend’s supposed friends and family. How many times had his lips bled from biting back the words he’d wanted to respond to all the insults with? How many times had he needed to vanish nail marks on his hands and arms from his own attempt to keep himself in check? How many times did he cry himself to sleep because he thought they were right? That Harry could do so much better than a Death Eater and a Malfoy. That he was a coward, a liar, and never a hero. Not like those who fought on the light side. Not like the Weasleys Harry loved so much.

It was obvious that before Ginevra’s indefinite stay in the Janus Thickey ward, that she was supposed to be Misses Potter. Draco had watched in despair as so many beautiful, good witches and wizards were paraded around in front of his boyfriend.

How many times had he wondered what place he had in Harry’s life? If he would ever be as important as his flock of red-heads? Sometimes their relationship had been a waiting game for him. Until Harry had proposed, Draco had expected to be shoved aside for someone better. He never once thought Harry cruel enough to purposefully hurt him, but it hadn’t stopped the doubts. Aside from his continued blind eye to Ron and the rest, Harry had always been the perfect partner. They fought and disagreed on occasion, but Draco had always felt loved.

And yet he couldn’t dismiss all the times that he’d begged Harry to let the Weasleys go. At first he’ll admit it was purely selfish. He’d wanted to be number one in his lover’s life, because that’s where Harry stood with him. He’d grown up enough to realise that their situations were very different. Harry had an entire family of people that he loved and who supported him through the war. Draco couldn’t claim that, so it had been easy to put Harry above anyone else. Even his somewhat friendships with Blaise and Pansy couldn’t touch his relationship with Harry. In the end his only concern had been for Harry himself. His partner had kept putting his own life on hold to satisfy people that should’ve been encouraging him to be happy.

Isn’t that what mattered to him most? Harry’s happiness. It had been easy then to put the hurt aside and smile through it. To be Harry’s anchor when the world was convinced nothing could bring down their chosen one. They had a wonderful life together regardless and Draco would never regret anything that leads him to Harry’s arms. It is, after all, the one place he feels safest. How could he not try and do the same?

He opens his mouth to assure Harry that he doesn’t have to rush through anything just to please him and assuage his own guilt. Because there’s nothing to be guilty about and they’re in the past now. Perhaps with a bit of good fortune, Harry won’t have to lose the Weasleys and Granger at all. It’s only as he focuses back on Harry that he registers his fiance staring at him in horror. His mind screeched to a halt and his shields slam up hard enough that he’ll probably be hit with a migraine for it later.

How could he have forgotten about his empathy? Veela’s were very in tune with their chosen mate’s needs, so they could mould themselves into the most alluring partner possible. It was a surviving mechanism as much as it was about reproduction. Draco remembers how difficult the summer between fifth and sixth year was when his Veela powers started coming in, until he’d been marked. Having the Dark Mark for so long dampened the abilities and he hasn’t had to compensate for it in well over a decade. With his natural legilimency, his thoughts were probably projecting themselves straight into Harry’s mind.

How much had Harry heard of his thoughts? “Harry-I..it’s not-mhnpf!”

Draco’s back doesn’t so much as twinge as he’s slammed into the wall. He can feel the cushioning charm Harry’s magic had instinctively placed there to keep him from harm and bloody hell, can he love this man any more? He moans as Harry’s tongue fiercely maps his mouth and hands go straight for his thighs. His legs wrap around his lover’s waist automatically, and no he’s totally not getting hard at the thought that Harry doesn’t even need a weight lightning charm to hold him up like this. He can feel Harry’s arousal and starts grinding into it when Harry pulls back for air. “How could you ever think you don’t mean the world to me?”

His brain is still trying to catch up with the sudden turn of events. “Harry, of course I know you love me. You’d never let me doubt it. You don’t need to prove anything.” Harry’s angry snarl is not what he had been expecting. Nor is the heavy grind of his lover’s cock against his own and he barely stifles a moan. Are they fighting or making out? He can’t keep up.

“And yet you think Ron is more important to me? Why wouldn’t you? When I’ve let him and his family dictate our relationship for so long.” The words are sighed frustratedly into his ear and he wants to do something. He should say something to convince Harry everything is okay between them. He’s certainly not mad at Harry for trying to keep his family together, a tad resigned maybe. He’s also very well aware of how high maintenance he can be. It’s why he never said anything, suspecting his need for attention to be the real culprit.

The thought leaves his mind as quickly as it came when Harry’s lips find his throat, sucking marks into his skin at random. One of his hands grabs onto the back of Harry’s head, pulling him in and pushing his own body up into the wonderful sensations. “Ngnn, fuck. Harry!” His hands scramble at their clothes before calloused hands grab his own in a tight grip and push them against the wall above his head. Oh merlin, he’s so fucking wet. The only obvious physical Veela trait he’d kept after taking the mark had been his reproductive organs. Male or female, Veela always find a way to carry children. And right now, both his cock and his vagina are dripping wet. It’s ridiculous how much of an effect Harry has on him.

He’ll blame it on teenage hormones for as long as he can.

“You’re my whole fucking world, Draco Malfoy. I intend to make that very clear not just to you but everyone else who thinks they can dictate my life.” He writhes as much as he can while pinned to the wall by Harry’s body. From the groans his lover lets out, his movements are appreciated. “Let go, love. Come for me.” He feels like he’s on a precipice about to fall with one push, and Harry doesn’t hesitate in giving it. Hissing fills the room and he whimpers as a hand squeezes his cock. “Harry!” His head thunks against the wall as he comes down from a truly spectacular orgasm. “Fucking hell, how are you this breathtaking?” He opens his eyes and sees light reflected on the walls around them. His Veela allure is visible as his skin literally glows. He’s grateful it’s not bright enough to be an eyesore at least.

“You’re right, I don’t need to prove anything. You’re mine, aren’t you? It’s about time I show off my pretty little fiance, don’t you think?” Normally he’d be hitting Harry for that and insisting that they’re equally tall. Even though the Academy’s rigorous healing services caused his partner to grow to be a head taller than him. So unfair, really. He can’t even remember that they’re in the past and technically he’s currently taller than Harry. With his Veela instincts front and center like this he can only whimper in response. “Yes, yes, yours, Harry. I’m yours.”

He can feel the feral grin as they kiss and Harry continues to grind his cock against Draco’s pliant body. He does so love it when his lover takes what he wants. “None of them matter, Dragon. Give me the privilege of marrying you. I want to call you my husband.” He hardly believes it when he can feel himself blush. The red tinge only worsens when Harry catches sight of it and groans, coming on his robes. When had Harry even taken his cock out? Bloody hell, he needs to get a grip on his Veela side, or he’ll be useless whenever Harry does something attractive. Which is most of the time, really.

He casts a silent scourgify on them both as Harry sets him back down. He resolutely ignores the sudden desire to lick the come off Harry’s cock instead, seriously out of control those hormones. “I’m sorry.”

He sighs but doesn’t refute the apology. His own doubts and insecurities aside, Harry had let Ron get away with too much. He won’t do either of them the disservice of playing coy about that. He’d died at the weasel’s hands after all. Instead he presses a soft kiss to full lips. “I’m sorry too.” Because he shouldn’t have kept quiet about it. They’re a team, and that means sometimes they need to have uncomfortable conversations. Draco can’t let his own fears stop him from letting them both be happy.

“I meant what I said, you know. You’re the most important person in my life and I can’t imagine being without you. Let’s go to Gringotts right now and secure our future. I don’t want to give anyone the chance to separate us.” He nods because his partner is right. With everything that’s at stake they can’t take the risk that Harry’s friends and the blasted Order of the Phoenix won’t try and come between them. Probably out of some perverted sense of protecting Harry. Draco smirks at that. Sixteen year old Harry Potter might have let them walk all over him, but the thirty-two year old is not so easily cowed. Weasleys aside, Harry’s like a bull these days when it comes to defending his own territory. He’ll deny ever blushing at the thought that Harry includes him in that.

“If we claim some sort of forbidden love affair and tell them we eloped, they’ll eat it up. Not everyone will be happy about it, but the masses will love a posture couple when the war takes off.” Harry glares at him for that, but doesn’t deny it. He knows Harry’s never enjoyed his image, but he has every intention of working both their reputations to their advantage. “I guess we could say we were afraid of what’s coming and didn’t want to wait until after graduation to get married. We expected the emancipation process might be difficult but we were surprised by the titles I could claim.” Draco agrees with the idea of playing innocent as long as possible. They won’t hide what they are to each other, but they won’t be revealing their plans either. It’ll be good to have Dumbledore’s minions underestimate them as much as possible, especially with Bellatrix and Greyback reporting back on what happened on the tower.

Voldemort will be furious, but he won’t be underestimating them. Hopefully his anger at losing Draco to his nemesis will prevent him from seeing them as too much of a threat. Which reminds him he’ll have to tell Harry about that before they can go to Gringotts.

Which means telling him now. “Muffliato.” He strengthens the silencing spell, casts a notice me not and puts down a minor ward to keep as much attention away from this classroom as possible. He knows his lover well enough to know it’ll be necessary.

“Draco…” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Did you ever wonder why Voldemort embraced me that day?” He knows Harry did, as did a lot of other Death Eaters and especially his aunt. Only his parents had been privy to his actual status in the Dark Lord’s ranks. The real reason why his family got away with so much. “Of course I did. I knew Voldemort better than most. He’s not exactly a touchy feely guy.” Harry frowns, probably picking up on his anxiety. “My family enjoyed a place in his inner circle, even after my father’s failures in our Second, Fourth and Fifth year.” Harry shakes his head at that. “No, Tom is definitely not the forgiving kind. What did your father have that he wanted so much?” He closes his eyes as memories long buried fight their way back.

“-our son, Lucius. How could you!”

“-your role to play, Draco. Make me proud.”

“Ah, young Malfoy. Come to me.”

He startles as Harry’s gentle grip on his jaw chases away the phantom touches. The caresses through his hair and the hand on his lower back. The voice hissing in his ear how perfect he is. There’s more than one reason why Draco had had a panic attack after hearing Harry use Parseltongue after the war. Before he’d come to enjoy it as another aspect of his lover and not his tormentor.

Harry opens his mouth but he blurts the answer out before he loses his courage. “Me.” The careful grip Harry has on him doesn’t let him look away. He wants to crawl into the nearest body of water and scrub himself raw. It takes a moment for Harry to put his response as an answer to his question..but then his eyes harden. Draco can taste the magic in the air as red and green sparks fly around, bouncing off the desks and chairs before disappearing. He can visibly see Harry steel himself to ask, but he thunders forward first. He needs to get this out before he can’t.

“Voldemort was many things, Harry, but he was never a fool. He knew conquering Britain was one thing compared to the rest of the Wizarding world. The Ministry was corrupt and Hogwarts was ripe with future followers, but he needed an inn with the other countries. The Pureblood community might have lost power here due to Dumbledore, but they’re still active everywhere else. The Dark Lord’s plan always involved dominion over the entire world, not just Britain. To do that, he knew he needed an advantageous alliance. Something to convince the Purebloods that he wasn't just another maniac, that he had the political power and influence to back up the change he was promoting.”

Draco takes a step back and gestures at himself, not able to quite read the look on Harry’s face right now. “I’m the last living descendant of both the Malfoy and Black families. Who else would get him the power, the money and the influence he needed for his campaign? My father knew it too, and he didn’t hesitate to make that offer.” He looks out the window to avoid admitting how monstrous his next words would be.

“I was one month old when the betrothal contract was signed. All those years I thought the pressure and the lessons were to be the perfect heir, but all along they were grooming me to be his trophy. Voldemort reveled in my misery, knowing there was nothing I could do. The contract bound me to him for life. I thought about running away, but I knew I wouldn’t get far. There was nowhere to run to, I didn’t have anybody.” He sighs as he shakes his head in self deprecation. “I was a coward. When you showed up at the manor, I told myself I could be brave like you..just once. So, I snuck into Severus’ potion lab and brewed Fleckeri.” He could see Harry’s confusion and he smiled sardonically. “It’s a poison that uses Box Jellyfish venom. I was going to take it after the battle if he won. It would have stopped my heart in a matter of minutes.”

Something between a laugh and a sob escapes him then. “My only ticket to freedom was the ultimate form of cowardice.”

“Stop!” Magic explodes around them in creeping black tendrils. None of them hurt him. On the contrary, the tendrils swarm him in a cocoon of overprotective magic. He doesn’t realise they’re pulling him forwards until he’s back in Harry’s arms. “Never say that again.” He gulps down another sob and clutches his lover close instead. He refuses to shed any more tears over this. He did that enough the first time he was sixteen. “You’re the bravest person I know.” He scoffs and pulls back to look into green eyes. “Don’t patronise me, Harry.” Fingers glide through his hair and put several errant strands back behind his ear. “I’m not.”

“Every time I think you’re done surprising me, you amaze me all over again. Do you think it would have been easy for anyone to live in the same house as that monster, knowing what was to come if he won? You survived, Draco.” He melts into the hold and buries his head in Harry’s chest, letting the words soothe his festering wounds. “I’m proud to call you my partner in every way, and I wouldn’t have anyone else by my side. That said, I hope you realise I’m going to tear him to fucking pieces for this.” He laughs. He probably shouldn’t be so flattered by threats of violence on his behalf, but oh well.

“Can we get rid of the contract?” He nods as he snuggles closer. “I couldn’t before because I knew he’d feel it the moment it dissolved. It would have meant denouncing the Malfoy name, which wasn’t a problem for me. The consequences though..Without it, I wouldn’t have been able to get access to my vaults. There were no resources, no time to prepare..no one to turn to. I considered Dumbledore’s offer, but I also knew he couldn’t be trusted to keep his word. I was alone.” He lifts his head as a kiss is pressed to his forehead. “You’re not alone now. I love you, so, so much.”

He grins. “So sappy, you gryffindors.” Harry rolls his eyes, but he continues before any sassy remarks can come forth. “I love you too, Harry. More than I can say.”

“Marry me?”

“Again? You know, I should be offended that you’ve had to ask me that twice now.”

“Draco.”

“Yes, Harry, yes. I’ll marry you. We’re officially engaged…twice over, because you couldn’t do it right the first time apparently.”

“Ugh, I’m regretting travelling back in time to save you.”

“No, you’re not.”

Chapter Text

Time travel is disorienting. Harry still remembers using the time turner in third year and feeling the need to throw up. Fifteen years was a hell of a lot longer than a few hours. The difference was noticeable. For one, Harry hadn't actually had the time to process it properly, being directly flung into battle like that. He was too busy duelling to truly think about the consequences of being back. The biggest change was not having to hide from himself..considering he is very much the only Harry Potter in this timeline right now. A good thing too. Avoiding oneself for a few hours is one thing, but fifteen years? Not to mention that despite all the war and trauma, Harry quite likes the life he’d built for himself. He wouldn’t have liked having to walk away and start all over again.

Would he have even been able to?

He supposes it doesn’t matter now. They’re here and as far as they’re aware, there’s no going back. Besides, Harry really doesn’t want to accidentally piss off the Triple Goddess by undoing her hard work. If she wants them back in time, then that can only mean she wants them to change things right? Approval from higher deities or not, Harry’s going to change as much as he can get away with.

It goes against every lecture Hermione forced on him in third year, the one and only time they used the turner. Keep out of sight. Don’t interfere. Change only the one thing you came back for. Everything else has to turn out the same. Using a time turner is sort of like a surgical strike, one strategic move to change the outcome. That approach was thrown out almost immediately when they arrived. Dumbledore dying won’t change anything. Especially if they still blame it on Snape. It’s a good thing part of Harry’s training at the Academy had involved reading wand signatures and manipulating them. Making it look like Snape’s wand had fired the killing curse was child’s play and since the Aurors here in Britain weren’t aware of those methods, they wouldn’t suspect foul play.

The two dead death eaters might cause a small ripple, but honestly? So many nameless wizards and witches died during the upcoming war that he doubts those two will make much of a difference. Their biggest problem will be Voldemort’s reaction to losing Draco so blatantly as a follower. If the snake faced bastard comes anywhere near his lover, Harry will eviscerate him.

For now, their next step is getting to Gringotts and plotting out the next fifteen years of their lives…again. Yeah, this really wasn’t anything like third year. Harry had wondered why McGonagall gave Hermione the turner. Using something as dangerous as time travel just to follow a few classes more doesn’t seem like a responsible thing to do. Which isn’t surprising when it comes to his best friend really. Hermione may love to give lectures about rules and safety when it comes to his and Ron’s and basically anyone else’s rulebreaking ideas, but when it benefits her? No, Hermione never had a problem bending the system to suit her own needs. He only has to think back on her idea for the DA in fifth year to prove that. Harry certainly wasn’t complaining. Not when Hermione’s ideas often saved their arses in the end.

He does wonder why McGonnagall would go along with it. He knows the older witch dotes on her lions as much as possible, but a time turner? That seems excessive, even entrusting it to someone like Hermione. No matter how brilliant she is, at the time she was only thirteen. It seems like a lot of power to hand over to a teenager. The thought that he could actually ask either of them now is mindblowing. He hasn’t spoken to his head of house since the Final Battle, seeing all of his professors again will be weird. As for one of his best friends?

He and Hermione had a tearful goodbye three weeks after Voldemort’s defeat. Hogwarts was slowly being rebuilt and thoughts were turning to what comes next. Hermione wanted to find her parents, of course. He and Ron had offered to help, but they’d both been rebuffed gently. Ron had thrown a fit when he realized Hermione wanted to focus on other things first before contemplating a relationship. He couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t just let him be there for her. Hermione’s abrupt departure to not only fix her own family, but to heal, had done Ron’s mental state no good. It might have been the best decision for her own health, and Harry even agreed with her, but it had left a gaping wound in their friendships that needed more time than Ron was willing to give it.

At first he’d had no problem being Ron’s rock through the aftermath of the war. Merlin knows he needed at least one of his best friends by his side. The Weasley family didn’t have it easy organising Fred’s funeral. George hadn’t spoken since his twin died and Harry didn’t know how to make it better. None of them did. They took one day at a time, but then another disaster struck. He and Ginny had never actually been in an official relationship. There’d been a few stolen moments that had helped Harry keep his priorities straight throughout the hunt for the Horcruxes, but they’d both decided being together at the time wasn’t wise. They’d barely even managed to talk about how they felt and Ginny spent most of her fourth and fifth year in a relationship with Dean. Not exactly the best circumstances to try something new between them, so they’d let it be. Molly had been hinting at cheering everyone up with a wedding and neither of them had the heart to crush her hopes. If things hadn’t happened the way they did, Harry and Ginny might have even given it a try. If only to find some sense of normalcy.

One day, barely a month after the Battle, Ginny wouldn’t wake up. They’d all thought someone had managed to curse her somehow. A sleep jinx that would wear off in time or a potion that she’d need. The healers at St. Mungo’s had a different diagnosis. Ginny had spent about a year possessed by Tom Riddle, slowly getting the life sucked out of her by that monster. When Harry had saved her and she’d been fine immediately after, no one questioned it. Apparently neither Molly or Arthur had seen the need to have her checked out. Ron and the twins were still so young and the others had never been given the details. Dumbledore had wanted Riddle’s presence and identity kept a secret for as long as possible. Harry had never understood his obsession with keeping vital information to himself, but he hadn’t questioned it either. Ginny was such a healthy child and never got seriously injured that Pomfrey hadn’t ever noticed anything either. Though Harry had a lot to say about the woman’s work ethic.

When Harry had killed Voldemort, he’d destroyed his body and prevented his resurrection. Destroying the small sliver of a soul he’d still had left was another thing entirely. That part had quickly latched on to the only host it felt connected to. If Harry hadn’t already destroyed the piece inside of him, he’s sure that would’ve been him. Instead, Ginny had served as the perfect hiding place. The healers had never seen anything like it. She wasn’t a horcrux, so Voldemort couldn’t return. His soul was too fractured to actually possess Ginny again, but the young witch’s own soul had been too damaged by what happened in second year to withstand the assault.

It hadn’t killed her, but by the end she was no more alive than a criminal after the Dementor's kiss. The only suggestion was to let her go peacefully and allow what was left of both her own soul and Voldemort’s to move on, wherever that may be.
Molly of course refused to let her daughter go, forcing St. Mungo’s to sustain her indefinitely. It was a painful way to live and Ginny didn’t deserve it, Harry wholeheartedly believed that. Neither did he deserve to be blamed for it though. When Molly and Arthur cornered him in the Ministry Atrium after yet another long day justifying why he didn’t want to join the Auror Corps, the last thing he was mentally prepared for was a dressing down. They weren’t his parents or legal guardians. Despite some of the circumstances they’d been in over the years, Harry had never officially been part of the Weasley family. For them to suddenly treat him like a wayward son making all the wrong choices…it stung. To make it worse, they blamed him for Ginny. Like he should’ve known at twelve years old what the consequences would be of that kind of possession. Across the entire globe there are maybe two or three cases remotely similar to Ginny’s situation, but he should’ve somehow warned them?

It was heartbreaking and infuriating. More than that, it was the last straw for him. Less than twenty-four hours later he was in the States, accepting Percival Graves’ invitation to join Macusa. It seemed like the best way to start over and try to salvage something of his messed up life.

He’d never once regretted it. Not when it led him to a career he loved and saw himself doing for the rest of his life and especially not when it led him to Draco. His partner and fiance whom he can’t imagine life without. Director Graves would flay him if he ever found out how reckless Harry had been with Draco’s safety when dealing with the Weasleys. Harry should’ve already known how unstable the family had become. Maybe they can still save Ginny at this time and hopefully prevent Fred’s death. Despite how George had turned out, neither twin had deserved it. It’s certainly something he’ll look into.

“-key?” Harry shook out of his thoughts as a Goblin in front of them started asking questions. Beside him Draco had put on his ‘public’ persona. A smile that said polite interest and body language that screamed superiority. It was an attitude Harry used to hate. Whenever Draco acted like that during a case, Harry had to refrain from falling into old habits and sniping with him. It took him way too long to realise Draco wasn’t purposefully antagonising him, but only trying to get information out of perps and witnesses. It was a mask and nothing more. Now that Harry had earned the privilege to see behind it, it was entertaining to watch other people try to deal with it. Somehow, someway, his Dragon always got what he wanted.

“Not yet, we’d like to see Chieftain Saurfang first. There’s some urgent business we need to take care of.” The Goblin’s face contorted at the demand. Normally, wizards would never get to see the Goblin Chief face to face. At most, they might get some personal correspondence, if the profit was big enough. To come into Gringotts and make this kind of demand? It was not only bold, but extremely insulting. “Your personal keepers are capable and ready to help.” In other words, fuck off and bother someone else.

Goblins and wizards had a precarious relationship, with both sides continuously aggravating each other. Goblins have had to deal with prejudice, bigotry and outright racism from wizardkind. Specifically the politicians at the Ministry treat them like that. Purebloods however have always had private dealings with the Nation that communicated mutual respect. Most Goblins today complained about Wizards acting all high and mighty, when they themselves brushed every Wizard and Witch with the same brush. It seemed a vicious and neverending cycle of hatred and disgust. Luckily for them both, Draco was adept at handling such fraught situations.

“Both my families were the support your Chief used to establish roots in Britain and France. We’ve had cordial relations since before you were born. If Varok can’t see me now, he’ll tell me so himself.” The Goblin blanched. Whether it was at the reminder of who exactly he was speaking to, or the blatant use of his Chieftain’s first name, Harry didn’t know. It was amusing either way.

“I certainly would, Heir Malfoy.” They both turned to see the Goblin in question coming towards them. The unhappy frown directed at his own employee didn’t spell well. When Varok reached them, he pressed his right fist over his heart and inclined his head. “It is certainly good to see you again, young dragon.” Harry raised an eyebrow at the familiarity, but Draco only smiled. A genuine smile for the first time since they stepped foot in the bank. “You as well, Varok. My fiance and I have too many delicate matters that need seeing to. I would trust no one but you to oversee them.”

“Of course, follow me.” As they swept out of the main area of the bank, Harry could hear another Goblin approach the one they first spoke to. He smirked as the familiar tone of a lecture echoed, even if it was in Gobbledegook. Some things were universal.

Varok let them into a luxurious yet modestly decorated office, meant to show his importance without bragging. Harry liked the style, mainly because his lover would never allow for anything less. He’s gotten used to opulence thanks to Draco, but it’ll never come second nature to him like it does for his fiance.

“Might I be the first to offer congratulations on your upcoming union? It is heartening to see that the younger generation can still think for themselves.” Varok’s words are blunt and honest as they each settle into a chair. It reminds Harry again that somehow, his fiance and the Chieftain of the Goblin Horde here in Britain have definitely met before. The disapproving glare he gets makes him a bit sheepish.

Normally he wouldn’t tolerate that kind of disrespect from a stranger, not since Molly Weasley reprimanded him in front of basically the entirety of Wizarding Britain. Varok only gets away with it because Draco snorts and is obviously not offended on his behalf. Harry knows Draco is otherwise the first to quite literally start spewing fire to defend his honour. Alright, so a very familial relationship then.

He only turns his head to his dragon a little to ask his question. “When?” Draco smiles indulgently as he thinks back on the memories. Which is good, because Harry does so hate to upset him. He needs to know though. If only because he’s hungry for any piece of Draco he doesn’t already know.

“After our second year, I realized exactly what was in store for me in the future. I might’ve been raised side by side with unforgivables, but I had no concept of what that would mean for my own path in life.” Here his lover frowns, a grimace spreading across his face. Harry doesn’t hesitate as he leans over and tangles their fingers together. He’s rewarded with a slight smile, one that’ll always make his heart flutter a little.

“I had made my peace with pain, as much as any child can really. I knew there’d be more suffering to come, but watching those students be petrified. It was the first time I realized I’d have to stand by and watch other people die. I wasn’t sure if I had the strength to stay with my parents, so I might’ve cooked up a little scheme.” Harry smiles fondly, glad that Draco at least acknowledges that staying with his parents wasn’t weak. When his dragon chooses to love someone, he does so with all the devotion he’s capable of. Narcissa and Lucius had chosen to squander that honour, but Harry knows exactly how privileged he is.

Varok adds his own perspective on the memory then. “I was surprised when a thirteen year old pureblood heir showed up at the bank inquiring about emancipation processes and how to open his own vault.” Draco flushes with embarrassment as the goblin smirks at him. “The little dragon was quite the demanding brat, but he was sincere in his desperation. It’s why one of the tellers eventually alerted me, afraid that the boy’s parents would soon find him and cause a scene in the middle of the bank.” Harry chuckles as Draco rolls his eyes dramatically, but keeps quiet. “I took the young lad back here and he explained his situation.”

His lover squeezes his hand as he continues the story. “I couldn’t get emancipated at the time because there were no outright signs of abuse or negligence, which are the only reasons a wizard can be released from his family magic. It’s a dangerous procedure and can be unpredictable when a wizard or witches’ magic is so young. I hadn’t even gone through my second maturation yet, so Varok refused the request on principle. I couldn’t leave without at least some sort of insurance, though.” He bites his lip then and to Harry’s surprise actually blushes faintly.

“You see, Heir Potter, your dragon decided that if his parents were going to sign away their future to a dark lord that wasn’t even fully alive at the time, then he’d have to make sure there wouldn’t be much to offer. With his mother practically turning a blind eye to her own heritage and Sirius Black still locked up, it was easy to periodically strip the Black family properties. I’d send a team of curse breakers and they would collect anything of worth left in the houses, which would then be distributed over the remaining Black vaults. It was the only way to make sure that no other goblins would grow suspicious at where everything was going.” Draco cleared his throat to interrupt and looked down.

“The majority of furniture and artifacts I couldn’t use were sold to other Pureblood families in faraway countries or the Nation itself. The profits were then moved into my trust vault, which my father had given me full control over when I turned seven. The first thing I did was make sure the vault was only accessible by me and a single goblin of my choosing. Varok accommodated my paranoia generously and basically took over as my personal keeper. After that I targeted the Malfoy properties that my father ignored. There weren’t many, but I couldn’t risk him noticing.” Varok shuffles some papers around on his desk and shoves one in Harry’s direction. “We had to enlarge the vault and expand into some others a few times but eventually the result was one impenetrable vault with everything the young heir could need in case of an emergency.” He could see why Varok had chosen to place himself as the vault’s guardian, considering the total wealth amounted to a quarter of what the bank owned as a whole. The sheer amount of magical objects, books, small furniture pieces and galleons that made up that single vault was impressive. Draco had systematically plucked both sides of his family dry in a way that they wouldn’t have caught on until years after it was already too late. After all, the Order of the Phoenix managed to stay hidden from Voldemort during both the first and second War by hiding out mainly in Black properties. Thanks to a disturbing disregard by Pureblood death eaters. It’s like Bellatrix didn’t just go mad, she’d lost all sense of who she was. Harry suspects most followers went at least a little insane with that brand on their arms constantly corrupting their own cores.

He couldn’t be prouder, but there was one thing that confused him. If this was Draco’s backup plan all along, then why had he never used it? His fiance knew him well enough to read the question off his face. Though it was Varok that answered. “The young dragon understates exactly how dangerous an emancipation ritual can be for a pureblood. Half-bloods and muggleborns don’t have such close ties to their familial magic, but Purebloods are practically drenched in it. While you yourself could cut ties with the Potters with no issues because of your mother’s muggle side, Heir Malfoy doesn’t have that genetic marker to fall back on. There’s nothing muggle in his blood. Just like magical creatures each have their own source of magic to draw from, so do Purebloods.” Suddenly it starts to make sense to Harry why his lover had never gone through with this.

The Malfoy and Black families are old, and with age comes not only experience, but also power. The ties that his own magical core would have to both Ancient families wouldn’t have made the ritual dangerous, but lethal. His magic would have gone haywire. There’s no telling what that amount of wild magic would do not only to himself but everything around him. Draco had been willing to kill himself to escape Voldemort though, so why not take that risk? Not that Harry wanted him to, the very thought makes him sick.

“The marriage contract.” Draco’s voice is unwavering but his eyes are apologetic as they lock with his own. Harry brings up their still locked fingers and presses a kiss to the back of his hand. “My parents both signed it, meaning that it wasn’t just one side of the family that promised my hand. That kind of oath is binding and practically impossible to break. With my own magical signature interwoven with it, disowning myself wouldn’t have changed the contract itself. Doing it the other way around, breaking the contract first, would have alerted my family immediately. Both would be painstaking and leave a mark on my magic. More than anything it would leave me…” Vulnerable. Harry knows that’s what Draco means to say. He also hears what the other wizard isn’t saying. With both obligations and family ties all broken, all that would have remained to tether Draco’s magic was the Dark Mark. This is what Draco had truly been afraid of. That by finally freeing himself, he would have given Voldemort a one way ticket to his magical core. Being a forced follower was one thing, but a slave? Harry shudders to even think what Voldemort would have done with that kind of power imbalance. It would have been worse than even being married to that monster.

Which is when Harry realizes something. “The contract can be shifted, can’t it? Voldemort wasn’t even alive when it was first created and he would have never signed it later if his own name was actually on it. It would have been too confining and he couldn't trust even his most loyal followers with that kind of power over him. So as long as the requirement of marriage is fulfilled, it doesn’t matter who you marry.” The mischievous glint in silvery grey eyes tells Harry enough. He’s surprised for a moment that Draco hadn’t manipulated someone into the role of unknowing spouse and then merely divorced them afterwards. Then he has to remind himself exactly how desirable his fiance is as a spouse and that barely anyone would be able to resist that kind of wealth. Even Ron, who probably hates Draco more than anyone, would think twice about leaving the slytherin if it meant that he’d never have to worry about money again. There wouldn't have been anyone Draco could trust to actually honour that kind of arrangement.

Harry is immeasurably grateful that Voldemort and Draco’s parents were all dead by the time the two met up again. If this contract had still been active Harry already knows he would’ve gone on a personal crusade on Draco’s behalf to save him. The very idea of witches and wizards around the world attempting to take advantage of this kind of contract had anger rolling through him in waves. What in Merlin’s name had Lucius and Narcissa been thinking?! Oh yeah, it was the ultimate form of control.

“The titles first then?” Varok’s voice was a harsh reminder that they didn’t have time to get lost down memory lane. Beside him, Draco cleared his throat and nodded once. “Yes, we’re both already past the age of fourteen so there shouldn’t be any problems with the claiming.”
Wizards and witches matured in stages, or at least their magic did. Physically and mentally their bodies aged similarly to humans, aside from the extremely long half a millennium lifespans that is. But, magically, they couldn’t be more different. Young magicals started showing signs of accidental magic by the age of seven, which is when most pureblood and even some halfblood families start tutoring their children. It’s the same as elementary school for muggles. Every seven years from the first, their cores expand to allow more magic. Depending on the kinds of magic you’ve shown an affinity for in the years before a maturation, your core might even give you a gift. Some of the oldest acknowledged magical gifts are natural legilimency and occlumency. An example of an unacknowledged gift would be parseltongue.

Heirs to a pureblood family may request emancipation before the age of fourteen, the second maturation, but will often be denied. Such rituals put too much strain on a child’s magical core and might even damage it permanently. Fourteen onwards is a different story. It’s legally allowed for family heirs to request their titles early and to be considered a peer of the realm. This is often done when tragedy strikes and an heir is orphaned, or in Draco’s case, when the guardians are found negligent and abusive. It’s then up to the family magic itself to consider the heir worthy or not. The moment the magic settles into their core along with their new title, they’ll be considered an adult in the wizarding world. No need for an official emancipation. That amount of magic is a heavy burden though, which is yet another reason his fiance probably never risked it.

Harry watches in detached interest as two parchments are conjured in front of them. The words are familiar. ‘Hereby swear to uphold the laws of magic and conduct thyself with the authority and responsibility beholden to a peer of the realm.’ And so on and so on. He found it stuffy then and he still does, but he also understands better now exactly what is at stake. Last time, Harry had only been able to claim the Potter Lord title in name along with the family vault and one property. His status as a direct descendant is the only reason Gringotts hadn’t sent him packing. Godric’s hollow had been a ruin by then, completely corrupted by Voldemort’s use of black magic. While his family vault wasn’t exactly poor, it was an empty victory against how much he’d lost. It was yet one more reason for him to leave Britain. Why had Dumbledore never told him?

Guess he’ll never know now.

They both sign the parchment without hesitation, already aware of what would happen. Harry shifts as he feels the Potter and Slytherin family magic settle heavily on him. He’d known he was entitled to the founder’s magic after officially duelling and winning against Voldemort on more than one occasion. According to Pureblood law, that kind of defeat has consequences. It also helps that his first recorded ancestor, Ignotus Peverell was the brother of Cadmus Peverell, who started the Gaunt family after marrying into Slytherin. Meaning that Tom Riddle is no longer officially Slytherin’s heir, not now that Harry has claimed the title. Not that he thinks Voldemort would even notice, not with how damaged his own soul is already. Two rings appear on his left hand and he smiles nostalgically. The Potter family crest of three ravens in flight is engraved onto one ring and a snake eating itself on the other.

“Welcome back, Lord Ourovenn.” He startles slightly at the moniker, but an old sense of familiarity settles him. Eternity and rebirth. He supposes it’s a fitting name for him, what with all the boy-who-lived crap. He’s also not bothered by the strange wording. He carries a title that has centuries of history. His own actions will either add or detract from that. He picks up the parchment and skims it quickly, eyebrows rising as a particular name stands out to him. “Lancaster?” The goblin chief can’t stop the glint of greed in his eyes from shining through. “Slytherin owned many plots of land back then, but now only Lancaster remains. It was given to John Gaunt in 1362 by the Slytherin family as a wedding present. Now the city belongs to you.” Harry knows that isn’t meant literally so he gives the goblin an unimpressed look. “You own Lancaster Castle, or at least the actual fortress that isn’t currently a muggle tourist attraction. The forest of Bowland just outside the city is also under your purview. You might want to introduce yourself to the various creatures that have made their home there. Aside from those two, the rest of the city has been claimed by muggles.”

He’ll never admit to being relieved at that. Technically owning a forest that other magicals already live in is bad enough, but having to govern an entire city? The very thought makes him want to hurl. He does like the idea of a medieval fortress as their home though. They’ll need somewhere to lay low without being easily found. Lancaster seems just the place.

“Harry…” He frowns as he registers the shake in his partner’s voice. He’d been giving Draco the opportunity to compose himself while engaging Varok. No matter how prepared his dragon was at leaving behind his family, it still had to hurt. There was no doubt in their minds that Lucius and Narcissa wouldn't hesitate to counteract Draco’s claim by disowning him immediately. With his fiance’s actions regarding his trust fund, it at least wouldn’t mean losing too much financially. He turns his whole body towards his lover, not hesitating to show support and offer comfort where needed. Draco wasn’t looking at him though, or at the parchment still clasped tightly in his fist. His gaze was focused on his left arm, where the Dark Mark used to sit.

The sight of the vibrantly coloured peacock takes him by surprise. As Harry instinctively takes the arm and inspects the new mark, the peacock seems to preen as he opens his feathers for further admiration. Draco gives a choked off laugh at the display.

“I- I never thought I could…” Harry squeezes his arm in reassurance, understanding the awe in his partner’s voice. During the Hundred year war many territories were conquered, reclaimed and distributed, both among the French and the English. It was a mostly muggle war and wixen stayed far away from it, but there was the occasional struggle for certain lands. Like the Battle of Castillon in 1453. Armand Malfoy brought the Malfoy’s to Britain during the Norman Conquest, but many relations stayed in Europe, and especially their native home, Fr ance. After the Battle, the area of Aquitaine was given to the Malfoy family as a reward for their services during the war. It was meant to be a symbol of union between two great families. The Delacours held the land previously, and gifted it to Nicholas Malfoy when he married into the family as a way to preserve peace between the warring factions. Draco had explained this to Harry when he’d gotten curious about his Veela heritage.

Ever since then a member of the Malfoy family held the title of Marquess, vowing to represent not only the land, but the Veelas living there. It was an honour that had passed both his and his father’s generation because of their affiliation with the Dark Lord. The mark of a Death Eater prevented them being chosen by the Delacour family magic, understandably so. The Dark mark had suppressed all but the passive properties of a Veela. Draco hadn’t even had any empathy when Harry rescued him from that trafficking ring, which was probably for the best considering the rough treatment he’d received. Draco had always been annoyed that a part of himself had been basically neutered to the point of dormancy thanks to Voldemort. It’s one of many reasons why Harry hadn’t hesitated to take the Mark off when he could. It had been more difficult in the future, after carrying the damn thing for so long. The process had been excruciating and Draco had needed weeks to recover from the drain on his core, but nothing could heal the damage already done.
If their time travel had accomplished anything good, it’s that it has saved his fiance from losing such an intricate part of himself. He is curious about any other abilities his lover might have now.

Draco had to blink several times to make sure the beautiful mark didn’t disappear. Part of him wants to rage at the fact that once again his arm has been claimed for something he didn’t get to choose. The larger part of him is humbled by the approval he can feel from the connection to the Delacour family. More than that, with the title of Marquess technically belonging to the French branch of the Malfoy family, his father can’t disown him without significantly weakening all of them. Lucius Malfoy would never give up the extra power another pureblood family is now contributing. He is surprised that his mother hasn’t severed his ties to the Blacks yet though. “Love?”

He meets green eyes and smiles gently to let Harry know he’s alright. Varok is looking far too interested in all these developments, which Draco can hardly blame him for. After all, he’s fairly certain between the two of them, they’re bringing in a large portion of Gringotts’ profits. “What about my mother’s family?” The goblin rifles through a few more parchments before lifting one up to study. “Hmm.” He resists the urge to show his impatience and harshly grips Harry’s thigh to prevent any rudeness. Merlin knows his lover is terrible at being diplomatic. He jumps in his seat as a spark of magic shocks through him, making him glare at the smug grin on his partner’s face. “Interesting.”

Draco digs his nails in as Harry’s mouth opens to intrude. The goblin chief looks far too amused. “There are no current heirs within the immediate Black family. Narcissa might not be able to disown you if that is the case. The family magic demands a patriarch and with Sirius dead and Bellatrix imprisoned, your mother is the only connection left.” Which means Draco is the only living blood heir at the moment. He’d known of course, but he hadn’t thought that would stop an outright disowning. He can’t help but be relieved that the Ancient House of Black won’t dissolve because of his parents superiority complex. It amuses him to know how infuriated his mother and father have to be at the fact that they can’t punish him for legally claiming his titles and getting out from under their control. Oh the looks on their faces when their goblin keepers inform them his betrothal contract is fulfilled.

“However, Sirius Black is your godfather, Lord Ourovenn. You both have an equal claim on the title.”

They both turn to look at each other. Draco almost rolls his eyes at the pleading look in his lover’s eyes. With his status as Lord of the House of Potter and the new title of Duke of Slytherin, he can practically see his partner beg off a third title. He supposes there’s a nice symmetry to both of them having two titles. Draco always struggles with a feeling of inadequacy compared to his heroic lover. Having another area where they’re fully equals isn’t something he’ll complain about. He flourishes a quill and signs the parchment detailing him as the new Lord of the House of Black.

The Malfoy heir ring on his right hand had changed slightly to accommodate his status as Marquess, filling the cold metal with an elegant lilac colour. If he looks up the Delacour family crest he’ll probably find more of a similar shade. He makes a mental note to contact Fleur and Gabrielle. He’d connected with them in Fourth year through a mutual love of French cuisine. He considers them some of the only true friends he’s ever made. His Slytherin companions were more ally than friend nowadays, and he knows he’ll lose quite a few of them when word gets out he’s a traitor. He flexes his right hand as a solid onyx stone on a metal ring appears. No engravings or symbols, only a black rock worth a fortune to signify the Black family.

“Congratulations to you as well, Lord Black. Will you be doing the marriage ceremony next?”

He smiles genuinely at the reminder of why they’re really here. They may be doing this to get ahead of everyone else that might try to manipulate them in the coming war, but that doesn’t take away from the fact that he’s about to marry the love of his life. One look in Harry’s direction tells him his fiance is just as excited. After all, they’d died to get here.

“Well then, do you have anyone in mind or would you like me to officiate?” A marriage between two wizards officiated by the Chieftain of the Goblin Nation? That will make headlines all over the Wizarding World, which is exactly what they need. Plenty of people will oppose their relationship as it is. Draco does not look forward to the inevitable confrontation with Granger and Weasley. If they can gather support from an entire species by having their leader’s blessing like this, they’d be fools not to go for it.

“We would be honoured, Varok. Could you give us a moment? We’ll join you in the ritual chamber as soon as we’re ready.” The Goblin nods understandingly and leaves the room, probably ordering his people to prepare for an impromptu wedding. When he finally gets a second alone with his lover, he instantly notices the frown on his face. If it hadn’t been Harry who’d proposed again so suddenly, he’d be worried about cold feet. “What is it?” Emerald green eyes lock on him and he huffs indignantly as hands tug him out of his seat. Harry manhandles him until he’s settled sideways on his lap, arms wrapped securely around him. He leans into the hand that cups his cheek and presses a kiss to Harry’s palm.

“This isn’t how I imagined things to go.” He knows his lover isn’t talking about the titles. They hadn’t been engaged for long in the future, only a few weeks. They’d had to continuously postpone celebrating it when case after case kept popping up. It’d been Director Graves himself who had eventually put them on a forceful timeout and told them not to come back until they’d actually planned something. They never wanted a long engagement. None of it had mattered.

They didn’t get to celebrate, or plan, or squabble over table decorations and flower patterns. Even now, fifteen years in the past, they can’t enjoy their love quietly and in peace. Every move they make will have political motivations and there’s nothing they can do about it. Not unless they run away from it all. They both already know neither of them can do that.

“I wanted to give you a beautiful memory you could look back on, but now we can’t even invite the people that matter to us. You deserve so much better than this.” He sighs, because he knows that part of this is due to the thoughts Harry had heard from him back at Hogwarts. He won’t do them the disservice of pretending none of it happened, but a relationship contains two people. “Stop doing this to yourself, love. You made mistakes because you thought you could trust the Weasleys. They betrayed you.” He presses their foreheads together. “None of that is your fault. We worked through a rivalry and several attempted murders. This is nothing.” He grins as his lover snorts. “The only reason we’re here now is your love for me. You could’ve chosen any moment in time, but you chose to save me. Stop putting me on this pedestal and thinking I need grand gestures to stay with you.”

He lets their lips connect in one of the gentlest kisses they’ve ever shared. “All I’ll ever need is you. I love you, Harry.” He’s pulled into a tight hug with a kiss pressed into his temple. “I love you too, Dragon.” They stand up and Draco takes out his wand to make some adjustments to their robes. They might not be able to wed the traditional way, but he’ll take a crucio before letting them get married in their school robes. “Do you think Bill will still propose to Fleur this year?” It’s a good question. The two of them started courting when Bill came back to England to join the Order. With the Delacour family now firmly connected to the Malfoys again, Bill’s family won’t be enthusiastic about their progressing relationship. Especially considering Draco has no intention of letting their friendship fizzle out like he did last time. He’d stopped sending letters to Fleur and Gabrielle after he’d been marked. It was the only way he could protect them, but he won’t have to do that this time. Considering he’s now taken the Marquess title, he won’t exactly have a choice either. He’s already mentally penning the letter he’ll have to send Fleur’s parents about how best to represent their interests to the Ministry. The Delacours are Veela royalty, and now he’s become the Ambassador between the two species.

“You’ve told me plenty of times how much Molly hated the idea of Fleur marrying Bill. The only reason her opinion was overruled is because the rest of the family actually did like her. They never realized our relation because the Delacours smartly distanced themselves even before the war. Now things will go differently. There’s really no telling how they’ll react. Why?” Harry tilts his chin as magic loosens his collar for a more relaxed look. It fits his lover way better than the high aristocrat vibes he himself always goes for. “I never had much of a relationship with the eldest three brothers. I disliked Percy because he was a stickler for the rules and the rest of the family hated him, but I’m willing to give him an actual chance this time around. As for Charlie and Bill… Neither of them ever treated me badly, mainly because we really didn’t interact all that much. Bill did help me during the war. We needed to lay low and he and Fleur didn’t hesitate to help us. If I can repay that in any way, then I want to try.”

He looks them over one last time and nods in satisfaction. “We can’t force the Weasley clan to accept Fleur, but we can make it clear that they have our support. Perhaps it’ll be enough of a buffer when the truth comes out. Besides, I think your flock of gingers are going to be too busy having heart attacks over our relationship to worry about anything else.” Harry rolls his eyes and he smiles to himself. It’s always a win if he can get Harry out of his mind.

He lets out a noise that he’ll forever deny is a squeak when strong hands pull him flush against his lover’s body. Harry’s hands don’t hesitate when they travel down his spine and grab his arse roughly. Blood rushes south immediately and if they weren’t expected by a room full of Goblins, he’d get lost in the sensation. “Harry…” He wants it to come out as a reprimand but is embarrassed by how breathy he already sounds. How does his partner still have this effect on him? “Ready to tie ourselves together for the rest of our lives, baby?” He squeezes his eyes closed and bites his lip at the nickname. Harry only ever uses that one to get him hot and bothered, damn him. He’s abruptly let go and he yelps as a smack to his arse sends him towards the door. “Better get moving, we don’t want to be late to our own wedding.” He glares over his shoulder but starts to move out of the room anyway. If he puts a sway in his steps that’s between him and his future husband.

The ritual chamber at Gringotts isn’t big, just wide enough to fit a small family. Its primary use is after all to conduct the few rituals the Goblins are known for, like blood adoptions and emancipations. He doubts it’s ever been used as a wedding venue. They’re standing next to a giant stone, carved with runes infused with wild magic. Harry isn’t an expert like Draco is, but he does recognize some of the patterns as the symbols for friendship, love and loyalty. Varok stands on top of the stone, strands of said wild magic twirl around his hands erratically. Almost like they refuse to be contained completely. “Share your vows and then speak the ancient words to bind yourselves together by magic and soul.”

Harry takes a breath and focuses on the man in front of him. The beautiful wizard he wants to spend the rest of his life with. “People always say that those we love will hurt us the most. I used to think it meant that no matter how much you love someone, it will always end in pain. Now I know better. We’ve come so far from the boys we used to be. We’ve hurt each other, spent years trying to make the other as miserable as possible. I wondered why I was drawn to you so many times. Why could I ignore anyone else but the moment I heard your voice it was like a fire lit inside of me and I just had to notice you, had to respond. You were the one person in my life who saw through me like no other. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get you out of my head. Now I know I don’t want to.” He smiles widely as he notices Draco starting to glow, like his own personal star. “You were trying so hard to hide behind your family, but the moment I saw the real you, I was lost. You upset me, anger me, sadden me and infuriate me like no one else ever has, but more than anything you love me like you couldn’t possibly do anything else. The two of us? We’re inevitable, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He squeezes their hands together and focuses on the words he has to say to complete his part of their marriage bond.

“Blood of my blood, bone of my bone. I give you my body, that we might be one. I give you my spirit until our lives are done.” Harry’s words center around family and loyalty, a fitting context for how they got here. The one thing Harry’s always wanted was a family. So much so that he played along with Dumbledore and everyone else who gave him even a crumb of affection. In the end their efforts were in vain, because it’s Draco Malfoy who showed him that real family stands by you no matter what.

“You absolute bastard.” He chuckles wetly as Draco wipes his eyes furiously. His lover hates showing this kind of emotion in public. Harry isn’t going to let the fact that the only people present are the Goblin chief and two other strange Goblins stop him from showing his dragon how much he’s loved. Draco clears his throat and glares at him one last time before he speaks.

“I was taught to be perfect, to be in control no matter the circumstances. From the moment we met, you got under my skin. It didn’t matter what I’d learned or what was expected of me. You were always the exception and I hated you for it. I thought if I could beat you at everything, then I could prove you had no control over me. Every attempt to get you out of my life was futile. We kept being drawn together and I should have despised you for it, but instead I learned to love you. You give me the strength to be myself even when the world seeks to tear us apart. I should run, but where would I go when the safest place I’ve ever been is in your arms? You cherish me in ways I once thought were weak, but now I know how brave you are. With you by my side, I think I can be brave too.” The urge to interrupt and kiss his lover senseless is so strong Harry has to lock his legs together to stay still. Their vows might not be the sweetest or most romantic, but they’re real. The two of them have always been honest with each other, from brutal insults to devoted declarations. That isn’t going to change now.

“I vow to you the thoughts in my mind and the feelings in my heart. From this day it shall be only your name I cry out in the night, and into your eyes that I smile each morning.” The magic around Varok’s hands whirled around them before settling around their joined hands. Two rings manifest from the tiny magical hurricane. Two gold and onyx bands. The rings are almost identical, Harry’s being gold on the inside with onyx metal on the outside, and Draco’s being the reverse. They were clearly a matching set. Anyone who saw them could have no doubt that they’re a married couple, exactly as Harry likes it. Sue him, he’s married to a beautiful Veela who’s also a powerful pureblood wizard. He’s going to have enough trouble batting strangers away as it is, let him be a little territorial. He knows Draco certainly doesn’t mind.

Their complementary cores cause the marriage bond to settle deeper than it ordinarily would. The years they’ve worked together and Draco’s Veela nature already mean they can sense each other pretty well. Now it’s enhanced even more, creating a link between them that he knows will make it almost impossible for anyone to truly separate them ever again. Good, Dumbledore’s failure to keep them apart will be a lesson for all those who try in the future.

“It is my honour to pronounce you one. You may kiss.”

Now this isn’t a fairytale, and Harry certainly doesn’t feel fireworks or sparks or anything whenever they kiss. What does it feel like? For the first time since hearing about that stupid prophecy, he doesn’t feel like fighting fate. Because holding his precious dragon in his arms?

That feels like destiny.

Wiltshire, Malfoy Manor

“What is that insolent cretin trying to do?” Narcissa Malfoy watches in concern as her husband paces their parlour back and forth. They’d both felt it when Draco tried to claim his titles early. A foolish venture really. What had the boy been thinking? Her son knows well enough that neither herself or Lucius could just stand by and allow this kind of rebellion. If they couldn’t control Draco’s future, he wasn’t worth much. Perhaps it’s harsh to an outsider, but this is how Pureblood families work. Draco knows this, so why risk disownment now?

Narcissa loves her son. Truly, she does. She remembers her pregnancy fondly. How many plans she’d made for her little baby. She couldn't wait to watch him grow into the young man she expected him to be. Mostly he has, but there have been times when she doubted. Where either she or his father had to step in and teach him the right way. She tried to intervene when Lucius went too far; but usually she agrees with the lesson that needs to be taught. The one and only time she stopped a punishment was when Lucius let his anger get the best of him and sent a cruciatus at an eight year old Draco. She will not abide having a dysfunctional or mad son for an heir. Everything about Draco reflects back on them, and image is everything.

As soon as their respective family magic alerted them, she bade her magic to cut the string. Magically disowning her son without hesitation. She knew Lucius would do the same. If he was trying to claim the Malfoy title, they’d already lost control of him. They could always conceive another child or blood adopt one, but what they couldn’t risk was Draco ruining their plans. Who knows what the Dark Lord would do to them. No matter the doubts she has about the wisdom of following that maniac, Lucius had made his choice. Family stands together, and she knows they’re already in too deep to back out now. She had so fervently hoped Draco had realised the same.

She shifts uneasily as she can’t feel any difference. A disownment always leaves a mark, unpleasantly so. She can still feel the gaping emptiness where her sister Andromeda once stood. Why wasn’t she feeling that now?

“It seems our son is more conniving than we thought.” She’s snapped out of her musings as Lucius almost sounds proud. She raises an elegant eyebrow in question, setting down her tea to figure out what’s going on. “The status of patriarch is mine still, but the Marquess title is back in play. No Malfoy in over two decades has managed to claim it.” She frowns thoughtfully. “Perhaps Draco is attempting to bolster the family strength. It’s a smart move.” However distasteful she finds Veelas and in turn their Delacour relations, they do have quite a bit of influence in Europe. It would be good to barter back the Malfoy properties in France that were forcefully left behind when the Marquess title became dormant. “So, you will not disown him then?”

“No, the Delacour family magic can be profitable. He still needs to be punished for this disobedience. Take the Black family away and let’s see how long it takes before he comes crawling back for forgiveness.” Losing her own side of the family wouldn’t change much. All the Black properties are practically ruins and most of their fortune was lost during the first war. Still, it would teach Draco a lesson. The loss will be unbearable. The agony alone will make him malleable enough that he’ll think twice about going against them like this. If only she could actually cut that string. She tries again and actually feels a ripple pushing back at her. It senses vaguely like disapproval. “I have tried twice now, Lucius. The family magic won’t let me.”

He’s about to respond when she gasps. Family ties shifting deep within her and she knows what happened without a doubt. “He’s claimed the Black title.” Lucius snaps to her in a second. “That’s not possible. Sirius had a bigger claim than you and through him his godson. Draco should not have been able to contend that.” She glares at the insinuation she’s wrong. “I know what I feel, Lucius. The Ancient House of Black has a new Lord.” She wonders if he’ll change his mind about taking the Malfoy name now. Is the power and prestige of the Delacour name worth letting their son do as he pleases? Disowning him won’t take the Marquess title from him either, all they’ll do is alienate an entire branch of their own family. She doubts Lucius will take the risk.

An owl flies in before he can make up his mind about trying to fight this, not that she thinks there’s much they can do if the claim is already accepted. A heavy parchment is dropped on the table between them. The barn owl doesn’t wait for acknowledgement before leaving again. The Gringotts seal has never looked more foreboding. What is Draco up to? Why didn’t he come to them if he had doubts? Why didn’t he confide in her?

Has she failed as Lady Malfoy?

She’s detached as she watches Lucius rip into the paper, wondering if she could’ve done anything differently. Narcissa jumps as her husband curses viciously and runs out of the room. She hesitates to follow, gingerly reading through the parchment herself. What could possibly have Lucius acting so uncharacteristically? Her eyes widen as she recognises the betrothal contract. They hadn’t informed Draco of his responsibilities yet, thinking it was best to wait until The Dark Lord made his move on the Wizarding World first. Then Draco would take his place at his father’s side as a fully fledged Death Eater and everything could go as planned. According to what she’s reading though, the contract was already fulfilled.

She rushes out of the room herself, instantly knowing where her husband would go next. One of the walls in Lucius’ study is covered by a family tree. Most Pureblood homes have them as a reminder of what they represent, and it’s exactly the reason why Lucius built his study around it. Narcissa comes to a stop at his side and can only watch in horror as the name of their son’s spouse reveals itself. What had Draco done to them?!

She gazes after her husband as Lucius leaps to the fireplace, no doubt trying to contact Severus to find out what in Merlin’s name was going on at Hogwarts. What had they done wrong that could’ve led to this? Her feet are rooted to the plush carpet in front of the mural. Her eyes read her new son in law’s name over and over.

Harry James Potter.

Somehow she has the feeling this was the beginning of the end for them.