A/N Just something I wrote for tumblr.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter does not belong to me. Everything recognizable belongs to J. K. Rowling.
It is the first school Qudditch game Draco has ever seen and he is seething. Stupid Potter on that stupid broomstick. Draco glares up into the sky where he can see that blighter weaving gracefully in the air with light glinting off a midnight black mop and a blinding smile on that stupid face. Draco watches as the boy suddenly jerks and hangs precariously off his broom. He pretends his heart isn't in his throat as he watches the little lion clutch at his stomach. He lets out a loud cry of anger as the boy reveals a small golden ball, hoping that his howl of outrage will mask the smirk wanting to form for his stupid little Gryffindor.
He rushes to meet him after the game, slowing down when he finally spots the boy.
"Potter," Draco sneers. Because he still hates the lucky bugger.
"Malfoy," Harry replies, too happy from his victory to put any real heat behind it.
For once they leave the conversation at that.
It's an hour into the Yule Ball. Draco can't stop stealing glances at that stupid boy with his stupid hair wearing those stupid robes that perfectly bring out his fucking disgusting eyes. He ignores Pansy harping in his ear, even overlooks Weasley's painfully awkward stance with his own date. His eyes are only for that stupid Gryffindor and his unworthy date. He jumps suddenly when he can't spot the bloke, trying to subtly sweep his eyes around the room to catch that messy rat's nest again.
His eyes meet a pair of bright green right behind him. They're shining with something Draco doesn't understand and hesitating with a shyness Draco doesn't think fits the reckless Triwizard Champion.
"Potter," Draco allows.
"Malfoy," Harry counters, seeming to shake his head and reject whatever plot he'd been planning.
For once Draco is distracted during his obligatory dance with his decidedly female partner.
It's been months since the Battle of Hogwarts and Draco can't get the image of a tan sweaty face out of his mind amidst the roaring flames. He can't get the picture of that lumbering giant sobbing over his precious cargo. Draco stands firm and attentive during his trial. He is going to prison. He knows this. He can bear this. He's handled worse and he can bear witness to his sentencing.
But he doesn't. Instead he stands before the court and listens to Potter plea to the jury on behalf of himself. Draco can't muster up an indifferent expression even if he tried. He can't even stop himself from making his way over to the bloke after he's spoken for his mother and surprisingly his father.
"Potter," Draco tries to bite, but he knows his eyes aren't glinting coolly like they're supposed to, knows his face is too flustered to look daunting.
"Malfoy," Harry nods, those deep emerald eyes seeming to understand what Draco can't bring himself to say.
For once Draco isn't so terrified of life after the war.
The Weasley household is everything Draco expected it to be and more. Shoes everywhere. Miss matched wooden panels. A permanent smell of food in the air. Draco is leaning back on his messy haired idiot of a Savior, trying to hold in the bubbling laugh that wants to escape out of the pure joy he feels. He banters with Granger, watches his mother speak in rapid french with Fleur and shakes his head as he sees his father puff up as he speaks of apparently important things with Percy.
A hand runs through his hair and he glares up at the person suicidal enough to do such a thing, adding a snarl when he meets a pair of laughing green eyes.
"Potter," he barks.
"Malfoy," the git chuckles, brushing his lips against a pale cheek.
For once Draco pays no heed to Weasley's whining as he pulls that mop of hair down to nip at those infuriatingly smirking lips.
Children were never supposed to be anything more than Malfoy heirs. Nothing more than beautiful people shown off to strike envy in the hearts of the lesser. Which is why Draco can't understand why his eyes are watering as he looks down at that sweet face that is currently yawning and showing off a toothless mouth.
Harry is beaming up at him, tan arms holding the babe as if it was the most precious thing in the world. He bends down to kiss that little head and shifts the blanket aside as he does so. Draco groans as he sees pale blonde hair stick out in every which way.
"Potter," he says accusingly, glaring down at the culprit.
"Malfoy," is the only reply, followed by a soft smile and a gleam in those eyes that he now shares with the newest Malfoy-Potter.
For once Draco can't dredge up the energy to snark back.
The sound of too loud humming coming from his too pleased husband makes Draco scowl at the man. They've just received an owl from James, Gryffindor's newest lion.
Draco tries to insist that their oldest is a Slytherin and that Albus and little Lily obviously take after Scorpius more than James. Harry only laughs as Lily and Albus run into the kitchen with red plastic swords and gold fake wands. They're both dressed in scarlet and tan armor. Draco is literally seeing red.
"Potter," Draco tries again, shoving a dozen galleons into a waiting palm before sidling over and handing his children green and silver shields before spinning around and giving his husband a look. This isn't over. He could still win the bet.
"Malfoy," Harry sings back, waving James's letter like a fan as he smirks at his partly glaring, partly pouting husband.
For once Draco is too distracted to respond as he tries to get his children to change their flag emblems to serpents instead of stupid lions.
It's been a while since Draco has held a baby, which is saying a lot considering all the ginger spawn he's had to hold as the Weasley's seemed determined to raise their number to the hundreds. That being said Draco finds he doesn't quite mind holding this little tyke. He nearly coos as the newborn blows a spit bubble at him. Nearly.
He looks over as Harry hugs their little Lily who isn't so little anymore. His husband catches his eye and they share a watery smile. Their little baby is a mum now. They have their first grandchild.
"Potter," Draco breathes after he's handed the baby back. His arms are wrapped around his husband and he tries not to focus on the weakening body he feels in his arms.
"Malfoy," Harry plays along, too happy to share the worry he can feel seeping from his husband's strong chest. He leans up to kiss that sharp jaw and nuzzle that unwrinkled face until his husband expels the breath he'd been holding.
For once Draco can sleep without lamenting on the constant threat that looms ahead just waiting to strike.
It is winter and Draco is raging. He is throwing rocks at fences and wiping his numb face with faintly blue fingers. Graveyards, Draco finds, are too damn quiet. Trees are too damn grey. The sky is too damn empty.
Draco breathes in deeply, his breath coming out shuddered as he falls to his knees in front of his husband's headstone. This was too much. He was too young. Draco can't breathe.
"Harry," Draco chokes, resting his head against the cool stone that wasn't supposed to guard his husband's body for another 80 years at least.
For once there is no reply.