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June 5, 1992 - First Year
Draco’s day had been boring.
Draco’s day had been boring, and, usually, that was simply unacceptable. Draco did not do boring, because Draco was an exciting person who liked excitement.
But this was a special day. It was Draco’s special day, his birthday, and for Draco’s birthday to be boring was beyond unacceptable, it was- it was-
It was definitely something! There was a word for how above-unnacceptable it was and Draco definitely knew it. It started with an R. Or maybe an L.
Draco’s perfectly polished shoes made little tap-tap sounds on the Hogwarts stone as he stewed on the word that he definitely knew, various paintings and portraits calling cheerful (and/or drunken) hellos to him as he passed. This was a hallway on the fourth floor that wasn’t often used, which suited Draco perfectly, as there were often times when Draco didn’t want to be found.
Not that Draco wasn’t a social person. He was a very social person, in fact. His father had been teaching him how to work a room since he could walk a room, and his mother had always impressed upon him the importance of manners and a good social standing. So, yes, Draco was a very social person because he understood how necessary it was for one to have a place in the world.
But, sometimes, Draco got a little tired working his Slytherin common room when it was so clear that everyone else was working the room as well. Conversation was boring when everyone had eight different layers below their words, and, as Draco had already mentioned, he did not like boring things.
Besides. The unused hallway with unused classrooms was good for other things as well.
Draco sighed aloud.
He wasn’t doing any of those things, though. What Draco wouldn’t give to duck into the old Charms classroom and add some excitement to his day. He shot the classroom a wistful look, then admonished himself.
No, it wasn’t good for him to be upset about such things. Sometimes excitement didn’t have time for him. That was perfectly fine. The fact that he even entertained the thought that it wasn’t was re- re-
Draco groaned. Still didn’t have it.
Draco absentmindedly turned a corner, stubbornly not thinking about the word that he definitely knew in hopes it might come to him (watched pots weren’t the only things that didn’t boil if they had an audience, right?), and then let out an undignified yelp when a skinny hand shot out from behind a curtained alcove and dragged him into it.
It took him a second to regain his balance, and, when he did, he was met with a nervous-excited smile.
“Harry!” Draco exclaimed happily. He then made an effort to not be too happy. Malfoy’s didn’t get so happy to see scruffy Gryffindor’s who had obviously just come back from an off-season quidditch practice.
“Hi Draco,” Harry said softly, smile widening. His hair was even more out of place than usual, windswept and chaotic. His glasses were crooked, and he had a grass stain on his cheek.
He was exactly what Draco’s day needed.
“How was practice?” Draco asked politely, his mother’s voice in the back of his head. Harry shrugged, which Draco’s mother would not approve of, but, then again, Draco’s mother wouldn’t approve of Harry in general.
“It was good.” Harry was still smiling, and still speaking in that soft way. It was really the only way he ever spoke, unless he needed to speak up for a teacher. Draco liked it. It made everything he said sound special. “How’s your day been?”
Draco sighed and leaned back against the wall.
“It’s been boring, Harry,” he despaired. “Nothing happened at all.”
Harry’s face attempted sympathy, but it was ruined by the fact that he was still smiling.
“I’m sorry, Draco,” he replied. “Your birthday should be very special.”
“I know!” Draco agreed. “And nothing special happened. If I was at home, I would have eaten a cake as tall as me, and opened fifty presents! Instead I had to go to Transfiguration.”
Harry nodded, trying and failing to school his face into something serious.
“That’s really horrible, Draco,” he said, and it occurred to Draco that Harry might be making fun of him.
“You’re laughing at me,” he whined, crossing his arms. Harry smiled again, which Draco guessed was a good thing. He liked it when Harry smiled, even if it was at Draco’s expense (although he didn’t like it too much. Malfoy’s didn’t care about whether poor Gryffindor’s smiled or not).
“Maybe a little,” Harry admitted, unashamed. At Draco’s pout, he laughed quietly, just like he talked. “Will this make up for it? I have a present for you.”
“A present?” Draco asked, perking up. He uncrossed his arms and pushed off the wall, which put him quite close to Harry, as they were still in the alcove and it wasn’t very big. This close to him, Draco could pick out the individual flecks of gold in Harry’s too-green eyes, and see the light flush that spread over the apples of his cheeks.
“Mhm,” Harry hummed and nodded, reaching into a bag that Draco hadn’t noticed was tucked in the corner. He pulled a relatively thin, small book sized, bright yellow box out and presented it to Draco, who grabbed it eagerly.
“Lemonheads?” Draco looked up from the box in surprise. Harry was still smiling, but it was all nerves, and his hands were twisting together in front of him.
“You said they were your favorite,” he said.
They were Draco’s favorite, and nobody knew that. They were muggle, and the only reason Draco had even tried it was because they were in Paris and a wizard had given him one before his father had figured out that they were muggle and therefore not worth their time.
But it had been so good , so sour and it had lasted ten minutes in Draco’s mouth, and even though he had been eight and had had much more fun wizarding candy since then, he still considered them his favorite.
Draco didn’t even remember telling Harry that story, but he must have, because no one else in the entire world knew that Draco’s favorite candy was Lemonheads.
“They are,” Draco assured him, even though his tongue suddenly felt somewhat too big for his mouth and he didn’t know what to do. If his father saw him now, he would say he was- “Reprehensible!”
Harry jumped a bit, and tilted his head.
“What?”
“Nothing, sorry.” Draco tore into the box of muggle candy, mind sated now that he remembered the word. “I just remembered something. Really, Harry, I can’t believe you got these for me.” He furrowed his eyebrows. “How did you get these for me?”
Harry shrugged again.
“I had Hermione’s parents pick them up for me,” he said. Draco nodded, not really listening as he pulled out one of the yellow hard candies from the box. He popped it in his mouth and smiled at his friend.
“Thank you, Harry,” he said, not even having to think of his mother for those manners. Really, he couldn’t think of any present that he had ever received that he liked more. (Except for the season tickets to every Puddlemere game, but he wasn’t sure anything could beat that.)
“Of course, Draco.” Harry shrugged again. “I know it’s not how your birthday would usually go back at the Manor, but I wanted to get something you liked.”
“Really,” Draco insisted. “It’s perfect. Do you want to try one?” He held out one of the candies, which Harry looked at for a second before taking. His face screwed up spectacularly when he put it in his mouth, and Draco laughed uproariously at it.
“Draco, those are so sour, how do you like that?” Harry asked, astonished. His words sounded weird as he struggled to talk around the candy.
“I don’t know, I like sour things.” If he was Harry he would have shrugged, but Malfoy’s did not shrug.
“Weirdo,” Harry said seriously, pressing on Draco’s shoulder in what was probably supposed to be a friendly push. Harry was too careful for that, though, so it was just a warm press of his hand through Draco’s uniform.
“You’re the weirdo,” Draco replied haughtily, still giggling at the face Harry had made.
“Sure,” Harry agreed. He was smiling again. “Happy birthday, Draco.”
Draco beamed at him.
(His stomach dropped and heart squeezed painfully when the news of Harry’s hospitalization and adventure against the Dark Lord made their rounds, and it was the first time Draco felt real, true fear.)
June 5, 1993 - Second Year
Draco almost forgot it was his birthday.
Actually, he did, right up until his mother sent the usual birthday chocolates at breakfast. Draco then had to spend a few minutes trying to figure out why he forgot his own birthday.
Okay, well, he knew why. Draco had been sick with worry for Harry since it got out that he had gone who-knows-where and saved the girl Weasley. The Hogwarts rumor mill was surprisingly bereft of details, but, knowing Harry, it was something ridiculously dangerous. Draco at least knew he got hurt doing whatever it was, because his arm was wrapped tightly in white bandages, and his normal warm brown skin was clammy and three shades paler, only just starting to regain its natural color, one week later.
As Harry’s best friend, Draco usually was well-informed on whatever recklessly Gryffindor thing Harry had gotten up to, and, while he still worried, was reassured enough by the reckless Gryffindor himself.
However, as Harry’s secret best friend, Draco also was left to the fates of how well Harry could get away from his adoring fans, and, ever since whatever happened, he hadn’t been able to find any time alone.
He could, of course, sneak out at night with his invisibility cloak, and he did offer in the one note he had managed to slip Draco, but Draco had immediately refuted that idea. A blind man could see how much Harry needed his sleep, and Draco would rather lose his own sleep worrying about him than take away Harry’s.
Long story short, Draco was a little strung out, which had made itself apparent when he had stared at his mother’s birthday wishes uncomprehendingly for a half a minute before actually realizing what she was saying.
But, really, his birthday didn’t change much. It was any other day. They had exams to study for, so, despite it being a clear, beautiful June Saturday, Draco and the other Slytherin’s trudged their way to the library and claimed as many tables as they could get their hands on.
Draco then spent three hours with his nose in a book. Many books, in fact. He scribbled notes half-heartedly on a parchment, but he had always been good at retaining information if he read it a few times, so he started a circuit of two books per subject.
By just before lunch time, he had read through Transfiguration, Herbology and Potions and was starting Charms. Well, he would have been starting Charms, except when he emerged from the end of his Potions text and looked for a Charms book, it wasn’t on the table.
Draco groaned to himself, but stood up anyway. His unused limbs ached for a second, but the pain dulled as he started walking. Draco cracked his neck absentmindedly as he wandered the shelves towards the Charms section. The books he needed were just in sight when a hand clamped down on his robe sleeve and started pulling.
Draco, now accustomed to this, just followed where the hand pulled him, until he ended up in an aisle towards the back of the library that contained… something. Those titles weren’t in English, French or Latin.
“Hi,” Harry greeted him softly. He didn’t smile, which stirred the pit of worry in Draco’s stomach.
“Hi,” he replied anyway. “Are you okay?”
That got a little smile.
“Yes,” Harry answered. “I think so. Just recovering.”
“From what?” Draco checked his friend over surreptitiously, eyes lingering on his bandaged arm. Harry reached out and took Draco’s hand with the uninjured one, which caused Draco’s gaze to immediately snap to where Harry was intertwining their fingers.
Draco’s pale white fingers looked stark against Harry’s golden-brown, but Draco liked it. He ignored the way his cheeks started to heat.
When he looked up, Harry’s cheeks were flushed faintly, but he was finally giving Draco a real, genuine smile.
“I’ll tell you later,” Harry told him. Draco opened his mouth to argue that they had plenty of time now, and, even if they didn’t, Harry could easily tell him a short version at least, but Harry continued before Draco could protest. “I wanted to make sure I talked to you today, though.”
Draco sighed through his nose. Really, his birthday was insubstantial when Harry had probably had a near-death experience just a week ago. Draco told him as much, but it only caused Harry to shake his head firmly.
“No, Draco, your birthday is very important,” he insisted. “Besides, I got you your present ages ago, so I have to give it to you.”
Draco tried not to, but the mention of a present caught his attention, and he peered at Harry curiously despite himself.
“Oh, alright,” Draco acquiesced. “I suppose that makes sense.”
Harry smirked at him, to which Draco scowled. Harry then let go of Draco’s hand, which was very sad indeed, and left Draco feeling cold and bereft where they had been touching. He tried not to show it, and instead tucked his hand into his robe pocket as he watched Harry pull out a long, thin box from his bag.
“Here you go,” Harry said unnecessarily as he handed it to Draco, which Draco immediately knew meant he was nervous. Draco didn’t know why. Didn’t Harry know that Draco would like anything he got for him?
Draco opened the box without flourish, and immediately felt his eyes go wide and mouth drop open in an incredibly indelicate reaction, but couldn’t bring himself to care.
In the box was a long silver chain with a simple star pendant that was lined in small shining diamonds surrounding an emerald inlaid in the center. Draco stared at it, then looked back up at Harry slowly.
Harry was biting his lip, watching Draco with uncertain eyes. Well, that wouldn’t do.
“Harry,” Draco started slowly. He licked his lips, trying to think of the words to express what he was feeling, “this is incredible.” Mmm, no, not the right ones.
“Yes, well,” Harry stuttered slightly. “It was very pretty, I thought, and you’re-” Harry’s face turned a very bright red.
“I’m what?” Draco asked, staring back down at the necklace, and then back at Harry when he took a while to answer.
“You’re pretty, too,” he muttered, barely loud enough to be heard. Draco felt his face heat up, to the point that he was sure he was redder than Harry. “And, you know, Draco is a constellation and it’s a star,” he said, louder.
“Oh,” Draco replied, for lack of something better. “I mean, thank you.”
Harry somehow blushed brighter, but he nodded hesitantly. “So, you like it?”
Draco clutched the box to his chest and tried to sound as earnest as he felt.
“I love it.” Draco looked down at the necklace and carefully extracted it from the box, watching it as it dangled from his fingers. He focused back on Harry, who was watching him with a soft expression on his face. “Would you put it on me?”
Harry nodded again, more confidently and with a grin. He reached out and took the necklace from Draco, who turned around.
The necklace came over his head and rested on his chest, and Draco felt the feather light touch of Harry’s fingers on the back of his neck, which sent shivers down his spine.
“Done,” Harry said quietly, and Draco turned around slowly, coming face-to-face with his best friend.
“I love it, Harry,” Draco repeated, because Harry needed to know, needed to know how much it meant to him that Harry had seen something so beautiful (and expensive) and thought of him.
Harry smiled, really smiled, and Draco couldn’t do anything but smile back.
“I’m glad,” he said, and he reached forward to entwine their fingers again. “Happy birthday, Draco.”
Draco squeezed his hand.
(It was all his father’s fault, and he hated his father and hated that he could be a part of something that had hurt the most important person in Draco’s life.)
June 5, 1994 - Third Year
Draco was miserable.
In less than a day, that poor hippogriff was going to be executed, and it was all his fault.
“It’s not your fault, love,” Harry whispered into his ear, cuddling him closer. Draco was curled up in his lap, head tucked into the crook of his neck and legs sprawled out in front of them, tangled together.
“I’m the reason it’s happening,” Draco muttered back, nuzzling Harry’s exposed neck. Harry heaved a sigh, and Draco briefly felt very guilty for being so despondent on him, but then remembered that Harry had told him he liked taking care of Draco and settled.
“Really, Draco,” Harry insisted. “It’s all your father. Not you.” He turned his head so he was speaking into Draco’s hair, pressing a kiss there.
That was one good thing that had come out of their awful year, a year when Harry was being actively hunted by a crazed madman and Draco was forced into acting like even bigger of a dick than he had been. He hated his father, hated him for putting Draco in this position.
But it was nice, Draco readily admitted, not having to hide his feelings from Harry anymore, and their mutual confession wouldn’t have happened if Draco hadn’t felt the need to rile up the hippogriff or risk exposure.
Harry held Draco in silence for another few minutes before he finally spoke again.
“I have something for you,” he whispered, tilting Draco’s head up so he could see Draco’s face. “A present.”
The idea of a present sparked something warm in Draco’s chest like always, but it was subdued by the weight of crushing guilt. Harry frowned at Draco’s lack of reaction, but said nothing, instead reaching over to his bag and pulling out a small box.
He presented it to Draco silently, and Draco took it slowly, with slightly trembling fingers. He carefully lifted the lid.
A ring. Thick and silver, with a flat top and an engraving on it. Draco the box up carefully to the floating ball of light Harry had cast when they had first entered the abandoned classroom, and it floated closer to him obediently.
The engraving was the letter ‘B’ written in an old-fashioned script, and there was a bird with spread wings behind it, stark in a sharp black color that highlighted the letter.
“The Black family motto is ‘Toujours Pur,’ which means ‘always pure,’” Harry said quietly. Draco looked up at him, but couldn’t read the expression on his face. “Obviously not good. Their family crest is a terrifying ordeal, honestly, but I did like the crows on it. I wanted-”
He paused, then sighed.
“All I’ve ever wanted in life was a family.” Harry brought a hand up to toy with Draco’s hair seemingly absentmindedly. Draco knew he was trying to distract himself from what he was saying. “I hate the thought that you’re so amazing and you have to deal with such a horrible one. Your father is such an awful person, and you don’t deserve that, love. But your mum isn’t, really. I’ve never met her, obviously, but the way you talk about her makes her seem like the most wonderful, most loving mother in the whole world.”
Harry’s eyes landed on Draco’s, and he carded his fingers through his hair.
“That’s the kind of family you deserve. Not your dad, your mum. And I know you’ve got just about a billion things with the Malfoy crest on them, but I figured you might not have so much of your mum’s side of the family.” Harry nudged the hand that was holding the ring box, drawing Draco’s gaze to it. “So, I did some research when I was stuck in Diagon over the summer. The black family bird is the crow, which is a harbinger of death. Quite morbid, but it’s peaceful too, I think. To have an escort when your time comes.”
“You’re being quite philosophical, Harry,” Draco finally croaked out, voice sounding wrecked. Harry shrugged under Draco and offered up a half-grin.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about death,” he offered in explanation. “With this whole Sirius Black thing. How my parents died, how I might die. And about family, when it comes to my parents.” Harry smoothed a hand over Draco’s forehead, brushing away the stray strands of hair that hung there. “I told you. I want you to have something that you can think of as ‘family’ that also doesn’t immediately bring your dad to mind.”
“But-” Draco swallowed when his voice came out sounding even worse than a moment ago. He tried again after a second, and it was only marginally better. “But what about Sirius Black? He’s in the Black family too and he’s-”
“I know,” Harry interrupted. “But he doesn’t speak for you or your mom. You can make your own definition of the Black family. You can do whatever you want.”
And that was that. Draco was officially crying. It was messy, too, how embarrassing.
Harry was lovely about it, though, just cradled his face softly and kissed his forehead, murmuring comforting words that Draco didn’t comprehend but helped regardless.
“Merlin, how are you so perfect,” Draco sobbed noisily, startling an aggressive snort out of his boyfriend.
“I practiced that speech in my head for hours,” Harry whispered loudly, causing Draco to laugh wetly. Draco stared down at the ring in the box, winking innocently in the floating white light. He very carefully pulled it out of the velvet, dropping the box, before sliding it almost reverently onto his left index finger, the ring magically resizing to fit perfectly. It was cold and heavy and Draco loved it and he loved what it meant and he loved Harry so, so much (they had only been together for a little while, though, so he kept that last one to himself).
Instead, Draco threaded his fingers through Harry’s, who squeezed their joined hands comfortingly. Draco admired the clean silver wrapped around his own long, piano player finger as it was surrounded by Harry’s dark and calloused hand.
“You’re perfect,” Draco repeated, needing Harry to understand. He wasn’t sure if he really got the message across (he wasn’t sure he could communicate the all-consuming love and adoration he felt), but Harry pressed a dry kiss to Draco’s wet cheek.
“Happy birthday, Draco,” he whispered, lips moving against Draco’s skin.
Draco turned his head and kissed him.
(Two days later, Harry regaled Draco with the tale of Buckbeak’s freedom and Sirius’ innocence and Draco twisted the Black family ring on his finger and felt proud, proud of who he was and who he could be.)
June 5, 1995 - Fourth Year
Draco didn’t know what to expect.
Harry had pulled him to the side earlier, gave him a quick kiss and birthday wish, and then informed him to go to their usual classroom after curfew. So far, Draco’s presents had been everywhere from innocent to complimentary to emotional, so, yes, Draco was a bit wary of whatever Harry had gotten him this year, if only to avoid the embarrassing reaction that he had had last year.
When he walked into the classroom Harry was already there, sitting on the professor’s desk at the front of the room next to a cake with white frosting and fruit decorations, big enough for two. Draco’s chest expanded with warmth, and he was smiling as he made his way to stand between Harry’s legs.
“Hello, love,” Harry greeted, still speaking softly like he always had despite the leagues of confidence he had gained.
“Hello,” Draco replied, wrapping his arms around Harry’s neck. “This all for me?”
“‘Course.” Harry set one hand on Draco’s hip and nudged the cake with the other one. “Vanilla with honey buttercream and candied fruit.”
“My favorite,” Draco added unnecessarily. They both knew it was his favorite. He just loved the idea that Harry had remembered his favorite cake and gotten it for him, and he wanted to say it out loud.
“‘Course,” Harry repeated, pressing a quick peck to Draco’s cheek before pushing him lightly away. Draco crossed his arms and pouted, drawing a snort. “Cake first, kisses later,” Harry admonished.
“What about kisses now, cake now, and kisses later?” Draco asked innocently as Harry set two forks on the plate. He narrowed his eyes at Draco.
“Don’t push it, birthday boy,” he warned. Draco laughed lightly and went to sit on the desk on the other side of the cake.
They ate in companionable silence, broken by quiet words and hushed giggles. Eventually, when there was only the last of the candied fruit left on the plate and Harry was watching Draco systematically spear each one with his fork, he brought out a box.
He handed it to Draco with an innocent smile.
“This isn’t going to make me cry again, is it?” Draco asked suspiciously after finishing his fruit, taking the box. Harry’s eyes twinkled with mirth.
“No,” he assured. “No emotional speeches or breakdowns this year.”
Draco, mollified, opened the box curiously.
A cloak pin. It was silver, and in the design of a dragon that was extraordinarily detailed in its carving. Draco looked up at Harry happily.
“It’s gorgeous,” he said, lifting the pin to watch it shine against the floating lights. He looked back at Harry to see something that could only be described as a shit-eating grin. Draco squinted at him, then held the pin out further away from himself. “What?” he demanded. “What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing,” Harry answered honestly, eyes shining. “Look closer at it.”
Draco made sure his suspicion was made clear as he reluctantly brought the pin closer to him. It took him a second. Then he realized. He sighed heavily, and Harry burst into delighted laughter.
“A Hungarian Horntail,” Draco groaned. “As if I haven’t seen enough of those for three lifetimes.”
Harry wiped the side of his eyes as he giggled, and Draco valiantly tamped down on the smile that was trying to emerge.
“You’ll think of me every time you see it,” Harry informed him. Draco rolled his eyes.
“I’ll think about you racing around on a broom trying to get yourself blasted to smithereens as my poor heart tried to jump out of its chest, you mean,” he corrected drily. Harry collapsed in another fit of laughter.
“You’re so dramatic,” Harry managed to say through his gasping breaths. Draco squawked ( not dramatically) and Harry fell off the desk.
Draco looked down at his boyfriend with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. He set the cloak pin back in its box carefully (it really was beautiful) and gracefully slid off the desk, kneeled down next to Harry, and then flopped directly on top of him. Harry wheezed.
“Oi!” Harry exclaimed, poking his side. Draco wriggled on top of him until he was face-to-face with his boyfriend. He raised an eyebrow.
“Are you complaining?” he asked, shifting to get more comfortable. Harry bit his lip in an attempt to stop smiling.
“Only a little,” Harry told him, which earned him a pinch to his shoulder. He yelped, and Draco laughed at him.
“I was promised kisses,” Draco informed him seriously. Harry nodded, mimicking his seriousness. He was still smiling, though, so he didn’t do it very well.
“Who am I to deny you such a thing?” Harry pulled Draco down so their lips met, and Draco sighed into the kiss. Harry didn’t let it get very far, though, before he was pulling away, eyes bright.
“Happy birthday, Draco.”
Draco kissed him.
(Nineteen days later and Harry stopped laughing. Stopped smiling. Draco didn’t get to kiss him before they were forced to go their separate ways.)
June 5, 1996 - Fifth Year
Draco was on Inquisitor duty.
His birthday had been horrid, just like every day that year had been horrid. Umbridge had only gotten worse, and with her Draco was forced to get worse, until the things he was forced to say and do to innocent students left him losing his meals and staying up at night.
Harry tried to assure him that Draco was only doing what he had to. That anyone in his position would do what he was doing just to stay alive, to stay on the good side of both his father and the Dark Lord. Draco agreed, which was why he was still going along with it, but it was horrid.
On Draco’s sixteenth birthday he made a first year Hufflepuff cry, called a third year a slur she was undeserving of, and volunteered to stay out past curfew on Inquisitor duty because he wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway.
So it was after curfew and Draco was wandering the silent, dark halls of Hogwarts aimlessly, hating himself.
A hand landed on his shoulder, and Draco tensed, turning to look at where it was coming from. There was no one there.
“What is wrong with you?” Draco hissed, looking back and forth desperately, trying to remember if anyone was supposed to be coming in this direction. The hand squeezed his shoulder comfortingly, then slid down his arm to grab his hand, pulling him the few steps it took to get him into an empty classroom. The hand let go, the door closed, and then Harry was appearing, invisibility cloak pooling around his feet.
He turned and warded the door before Draco could remind him. They had both gotten quite good at the alarm and silencing wards that they learned in order to be able to meet with each other.Still, between their OWL work, Draco’s extra duties and Harry’s extra detentions, they hadn’t been able to meet much at all. Draco missed Harry like he would miss a limb, and found it immediately easier to breathe when Harry turned to look at him with a small smile, as if a weight he wasn’t aware of had lifted off his chest.
“You’re insane,” Draco told him, crossing his arms. “This isn’t safe, Harry.”
“I was careful,” Harry assured him, striding across the room to stand in front of Draco. “And there was no way I was missing your birthday.”
Draco sighed, letting his arms drop.
“Harry-”
“No,” Harry interrupted, face resolute. He had grown, this past year. He was older, more handsome than cute, and he was stronger, both physically and emotionally. When Harry was serious about something, you listened. So Draco listened. “I have to be fast, but I wasn’t going to miss it, Draco.”
Harry took a deep breath, as if he was preparing himself for something. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box. He held it out so Draco could see it, then flipped the lid up. Draco’s breath caught in his throat.
Rings. Two rings. One was a polished gold, one a polished silver, with no other designs.
“You’re the most important thing in my world, Draco,” Harry said quietly, “and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I don’t know if both of us will make it out of this war, but I want to have something that- that represents that for us, until we can get the real thing. So.” He lifted the box a little. “Promise rings.”
“Harry,” Draco breathed, sounding a little like he’d been punched in the stomach. He felt a little like he’d been punched in the stomach.
“You don’t have to take them if you don’t want to,” Harry continued, looking nervous. “But you’re, um. You’re it for me, Draco.”
“You’re it for me too,” he managed to reply. Harry smiled, big and full, and plucked the silver ring out of the box, handing it to Draco, who cast a Lumos to see it better.
On the inside there was an engraving. Until after. ♡
Draco looked up questioningly.
“The rings are just until after the war,” Harry explained easily, pulling a gold chain out of his pocket and threading the gold ring onto it. “Until we can get married for real.”
He closed the chain and put it over his head, tucking the ring into his jumper when it fell onto his chest. He didn’t have to explain that one. Draco wore a multitude of rings, including the Black one Harry had gotten him when they were thirteen, and a plain silver one wouldn’t draw any attention. Harry, however, wore no jewelry and wouldn’t get away with a gold ring without questions.
Draco stared at him. Marriage had always been held over his head as this inevitable thing, this thing that would happen with a woman and something that he had dreaded.
But when Harry said marriage, it was a light at the end of a tunnel. It was something for after, something to live for.
Merlin, Draco loved Harry more than he could handle.
“I love you,” Draco said, choked up, and Harry softened, stepping closer to Draco until his hands were warm on Draco’s arms and he was pressing a kiss to Draco’s nose. He carefully took the ring from Draco and slid it on to Draco’s left middle finger, only one finger away from where another ring would be someday.
“I love you, too,” Harry whispered to him, breath fanning his face. He kissed Draco, sweet and slow, and Draco loved him so much.
He pulled away too early (then again, Draco would have been happy to stay in Harry’s arms, kissing him, forever) and stepped back, going for his invisibility cloak.
“I told you I would be fast,” Harry smirked. Draco huffed and rolled his eyes.
“Goodbye, Harry,” he replied with a mocking wave in an attempt to reign in his rampant emotions.
“Bye, Draco.” Harry smiled at him one more time, swinging the cloak over his shoulders, disappearing except for his floating head. “Happy birthday.”
Draco watched him leave, heart full and ring already warm on his finger.
(Sirius died and Draco held him through it, loved him through it, and until after became a motto between them that got them through the worst of times.)
June 5, 1997 - Sixth Year
Draco was tired.
Draco was so tired. All the time. He walked in an exhaustion-fueled daze. He spaced out more than he focused. He ate when he remembered to, which was rare. His grades dove, mostly because he couldn’t stop being tired long enough to actually do the assignments.
He was pale and shaking and gaunt, he knew. He avoided mirrors, but he still knew. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered.
The only thing that mattered was black and twisted and evil, and it was branded on him. Forever. Draco would be tired forever.
He wanted to cry. He wanted to sob and rage that it wasn’t fair, that he didn’t deserve any of it, but Draco was too tired. He didn’t have the energy to do anything but lay down and accept it.
Harry cried. He cried for Draco, he said. He felt for Draco. He was constantly angry, the aggressive burn to Draco’s placid numb. Draco watched him push away his friends, push away his teachers and his mentors, all because he was feeling for Draco. Draco wanted to be upset about it, but he was too tired.
Draco had given up on his mission before he had even gotten it. His mother had assured him that she had an escape plan, that they couldn’t use her as leverage, but the thought of her life on the line still sent bile up Draco’s throat. Still, he couldn’t kill Dumbledore. Even ignoring the fact that he didn’t want to, Draco couldn’t. There was no way to.
June came. Draco wanted time to stop, so he wouldn’t have to face the horror of going home knowing that he had failed in something he didn’t want to succeed in and suffer the punishment for it.
He didn’t do anything about it. He was too tired to.
“It’s your birthday,” Harry murmured in his ear. They were in their position, with Draco curled on Harry’s lap, head tucked into his neck. It was night time, and they were meeting in their classroom.
Draco didn’t reply. He hadn’t known, but it wouldn’t have changed anything.
“I got you something,” Harry continued. He didn’t move. Draco didn’t either. He stared at a small crack running through one of the stones in the wall.
After a moment, a flat box the size of a book levitated out of Harry’s bag. Wordless, wandless magic was a feat a lot of grown wizards didn’t achieve, but, of course, his Harry could do it. Draco was so proud of him. He wished he could say it, but he didn’t have the energy to do more than shift his gaze to the box as it floated towards them.
Harry grabbed it out of the air with the hand that wasn’t resting on Draco’s hip. He opened the box and dropped it to the side, taking out whatever was inside and flipping it over, presenting it to Draco without a word.
A solid silver picture frame. The picture in it was familiar. A seven year old Draco was sitting on his mother’s lap, posing for a picture in the luscious Manor gardens. Draco was squirming a little, and Narcissa had a small, amused smile that she was directing at him. The picture looped after a few seconds.
Draco’s hands were shaking as he reached for it, but that wasn’t new. He took it carefully, tracing his mother’s beautiful face lovingly.
“Narcissa sent it to me,” Harry told him softly. Draco experienced a flicker of confusion. “We’ve been writing to each other since third year, actually.”
That was surprising enough to get him to tilt his head up to look at Harry. Harry was looking down at him, face unreadable but gaze warm.
“I wrote her after you told her about us,” he explained without prompting. “Introducing myself. She was lovely, just like you had always told me she was. We’ve been writing ever since. I told her I needed her help with a gift for you and she was more than happy to help.”
Draco loved Harry. Of course he wrote to Draco’s mother, because he knew how important she was to him and of course he wanted to make a good impression. Harry was perfect.
Draco looked down at the frame. Harry lifted his wand and rested it on the top of it.
“Revelare picturam unus,” he said, and the picture of Draco and Narcissa faded into white. It was quickly replaced with a new picture, which was of a slightly younger Harry, facing the camera with a wide grin and holding a sign that said ‘I LOVE YOU DRACO ❤’. The Harry in the picture waved over the sign, then brought his hand to his lips to blow a kiss. The picture looped.
“What-” Draco croaked in a whisper. He didn’t need to finish. Harry squeezed his hip comfortingly.
“There are thirty pictures.” After three more loops of Harry blowing Draco a kiss the picture faded back to the one of Narcissa and Draco. “This is the default, to avoid suspicion. But, when you’re alone, all you have to do is put your wand on the frame and say ‘Revelare picturam’ and then a number between one and thirty in Latin and it’ll show that picture.”
Draco stared at the frame for another few seconds, drinking in his mother’s face, before actually moving, sitting up in Harry’s lap and staring at him. He gave Draco a small smile, hand steady on his hip. Draco wet his lips a bit and cleared his throat, attempting to rid it of the lump that had formed.
“Thank you,” he whispered, trying to pour all of his feelings into the words. Harry widened his smile, showing a flash of teeth.
“You’re welcome, my love,” he replied. “I don’t know what’s going to happen next year, where we’ll be or what we’ll be doing, but I always want you to have a reminder that there are good things.” Harry brought his free hand to poke Draco lightly in the chest. “You’re a good thing. We’re a good thing.”
“You’re perfect,” Draco said back, because it wasn’t hard to say something so true. Harry’s cheeks pinked, and he continued smiling.
“I love you,” he replied, cupping Draco’s cheek in his palm. “Happy birthday.”
“I love you,” Draco told him, and it was the easiest thing he ever said.
(Those thirty pictures and the thought of the person who gifted them to him were the only things that got Draco through the worst year of his life.)
June 5, 1998 - Seventh Year
Draco woke up warm and comfortable.
Sunlight streamed onto his face, and he had to blink a few times to adjust to it. He stretched out under the heavy duvet, enjoying the feeling until he hit the cold spot on the other side of the bed. Draco frowned over at it, but his confusion didn’t last long.
A knock on the door, and then Harry was coming in, clad in flannel pajama bottoms and a faded red shirt. He grinned when he caught sight of Draco, no doubt rumpled and sleepy-looking.
“Good morning, love,” he greeted, wasting no time in climbing into the bed and collapsing on top of Draco, who groaned.
“Good morning, Fat Friar,” he wheezed, prompting a bark of laughter from Harry. He did roll off of Draco, landing on his side and tucking his arm under his head so he could look at Draco.
“Do you know what day it is?” Harry asked curiously. Draco furrowed his eyebrows in thought, trying to go over what they had done that week. Just meeting with friends, working on charities, doing interviews.
“Thursday?” Draco guessed, reasonably confident he was close.
“Friday,” Harry corrected with a grin. “Friday, June 5th.”
Draco let out a breath.
“Oh,” he sighed. “I forgot.”
“I can tell,” Harry said, amused. Draco whacked his arm softly. Harry just kept on grinning at him. “I got you something.”
“Surprise, surprise,” Draco deadpanned, even though a spark of warmth raced through his body. He loved getting gifts, loved getting them from Harry.
Staring at Harry’s limp body had turned Draco’s world on its head and then shot it just as dead. Harry was Draco’s life, he was Draco’s reason, he was everything. Learning he was alive was euphoric, it was the biggest shock and relief that he would ever experience, and Draco swore that he would appreciate everything about Harry, remember everything, that he would never let a second go by when he wasn’t aware of and loving Harry.
“Shush,” Harry laughed. He didn’t do anything, though, didn’t pull out any box or grab Draco’s hand to pull him somewhere. Just settled and stared at him, so adoring it made Draco flush slightly. He smiled at it, then breathed deeply. “This one has a little speech to go with it, if that’s okay.”
“Don’t they all have a speech?” Draco teased, ignoring the ball of emotion in his chest.
“The cloak pin didn’t,” Harry pointed out. “Or the Lemonheads.”
“Ah, the Lemonheads,” Draco reminisced, thinking back to their eleven year old selves. “That was the best one.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Harry told him seriously, ruining it a moment later by snickering. Draco reached over and grabbed his hand.
“Well, get on with it,” he prompted. “I’m waiting for a speech.”
Harry smiled, and said nothing for a moment.
“I knew I was going to die,” he finally said. Draco stopped breathing. “I thought it during our fifth year and knew it during our sixth, and I accepted it in our seventh. I knew I would have to sacrifice myself for the world and I- I couldn’t say goodbye to you, Draco, because if I did I wouldn’t have gone through with it.” Harry squeezed Draco’s hand, his smile distinctly more watery than before. “I would have given up it all for you, Draco. But I did it, and then I came back to you. For you. I live for you, I do everything for you, because you are everything, Draco, you’re everything to me. You’re it for me.”
Harry breathed in shakily, but he was grinning so wide and Draco knew what was happening because he remembered those words, and that knowledge was a Lumos in his chest.
“I know we’ve technically been engaged since we were fifteen, but I figured we could make it a bit more official,” he continued, and then he was reaching into his pocket and pulling out a little black box that he flipped open to reveal a beautiful ring with twisting silver lines and a smooth black onyx in the center. Draco recognized it immediately as a Black heirloom.
“So, Draco Malfoy, would you do me the unbelievable honor of becoming your husband?” Harry asked. A tear slipped down the bridge of Draco’s nose, and another one down his temple, because he was still laying down sideways in his fucking bed and it was his birthday and Harry was proposing with a Black heirloom and Draco loved him, loved him so much.
“Yes,” he sobbed, then cleared his throat immediately with a little laugh, which Harry mirrored. “Yeah, yes, of course, Harry.”
Harry grinned so wide it looked like it hurt. He lifted Draco’s hand up to slide on the ring, which fit perfectly, of course. Draco couldn’t stop looking between it and Harry, couldn’t stop thinking about how happy he was. He felt like he could burst with it.
He lunged forward, tackling Harry onto his back and laughing with him. He leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together and breathing in, staring into his fiancé’s gorgeous green eyes.
“I love you so much,” Harry whispered, warm air ghosting across Draco’s lips.
“I love you, too, Harry.” Draco pressed forward into a kiss that warmed him from his hair to his toes. Harry broke away after a moment to give him a blinding smile.
“Happy birthday, Draco,” he said, kissing him again.
Draco had never been happier in his life.
(‘Happily ever after’ had never been in the cards for Draco, but he managed to achieve it anyway.)