Chapter Text
When the Dementor patted Draco down—slipped a hand unnecessarily over his bare arse, Draco winked at him, then head-butted him in the face. He hit the floor. The other inmates lined up beside Draco burst into an uproar of laughter.
“You fucker!” the Dementor screamed.
Draco had nicked his lip on a tooth—spat a bit of blood out at the man. The Dementor staggered to his feet and slammed a pile of clothes in Draco’s face. Kneed him in the gut.
I’m home, Draco thought, with wild eyes, thumbing the green lining of the shirt collar. He dressed quickly—the Dementor prodding him forward even as he stepped into the trousers. He’d have to re-learn to live with the damp smell of mildew and death.
Draco was led right back to his cell. The Dementor kicked him through the entry and slammed the door. He looked up at the familiar disfigurations in the ceiling. Everything was the same. It had taken less than a week to get him back behind bars. The prosecutor made sure to parade him in front of the cameras, dolled up in a bespoke suit. The people loved a good patricide.
But the show was finally over.
It was dinner time. No doubt Harry was already in the mess hall. Had he heard of Draco’s return? Surely—the way news spread like adolescent gossip within these walls, word must have made it to him by now. What would he think of Draco, having killed his father? Would Harry look at him differently?
No. There was probably nobody else in the world who would better understand.
Draco couldn’t put it off—didn’t want to. He wanted Harry back. A nefarious thought nagged at him—what if Harry was already gone? Escaped, or worse? After all, he’d killed Tom Riddle. Anyone could have gotten to him while Draco was busy choosing a fucking tie.
He had to see Harry. They had already been apart for far too long.
When Draco walked into the mess hall, the entire room was quiet, save the scritching of utensils on plastic trays. Several eyes darted to him. A few inmates nudged each other—nodded in his direction. He felt like he was in the courtroom all over again, beneath the brutal scrutiny of the jury.
Draco took a steadying breath and crossed the room. He first looked at the table where he and Harry typically sat. It was occupied by a group of strangers. His heart twisted. Then he looked at Sirius Black’s table, and not only did his heart un-twist, but it may as well have fucking galloped, because there he was. Harry Potter, sitting beside Black, with his eyes glued to Draco.
Harry was there—so it was all okay. Except Harry was frowning. A little wrinkle springing up on his forehead.
“Good to see you in one piece, Draco,” Sirius Black said, gesturing for him to sit beside Harry.
Harry tore his gaze away—looked down at his tray. His hands curled into tight fists on the table.
A spike of anger struck Draco. He slapped the back of Harry’s head—his wild hair fluttering as he jerked forward.
“What the fu—”
“If you think you’re going to sit here and ignore me,” Draco hissed, uncaring of their audience. “I’ve got some bad news for you, Potter.”
“Christ, as if anyone could ignore you,” Harry mumbled, rubbing the back of his head. It was difficult to gauge what the other man was feeling. Maybe it was too much to have hoped for complete elation—for Harry to feel the same way he did, at being reunited.
Maybe Draco was wrong about all of it.
Harry’s voice dropped to a soft hiss. “You were out! What the hell were you thinking?”
How could Harry ask him that, when he already knew the answer? Draco belonged where Harry was. It was that simple. “I guess I wasn’t,” he murmured, standing back up. He wasn’t hungry anyway.
As Draco walked away, Sirius Black gave the back of Harry’s head another slap.
The ambient noise of the cell block was soothing. Draco paced beside the bunk bed, shaking with rage and worse—embarrassment. He’d been made a fool, again. It wasn’t fair. He just wanted to be with Harry. Why wasn’t Draco allowed to have anything he wanted?
He threw himself onto his cot, smashing his face into the horrid pillow. Why had he been complaining about his huge bed again?
Oh, right. It didn’t smell like Harry. Not like this one.
Wait, Draco thought, sucking in a deep breath. It really smelled like Harry. Like he’d been sleeping there exclusively since Draco’s departure. His stomach fluttered. He wrapped his arms around the pillow to crush it closer, but something crinkled beneath it.
A scrap of a newspaper article. Draco rolled onto his back and unfolded it.
It was him. A picture of Draco in the courthouse—looking over his shoulder, with an expression of outright boredom. His hands were bound behind his back. The cut of his suit really was immaculate—he had to give himself credit for that. Draco had always been a little bit vain. The headline didn’t help.
Handcuffs Never Looked This Good.
“Oh, please,” he mumbled to himself. “On what page do they mention the nasty murder business?” He flipped the scrap of paper over. It was a missing pet advertisement.
“I don’t get into your dirty magazines.”
Harry looked in from outside the cell, holding the bars. It was reminiscent of their earliest interactions. To think, those were the easy days. Nothing could have prepared Draco for his many rude awakenings.
“I wasn’t aware Darby Musgrave, the missing British Shorthair, was your type,” Draco said, putting the scrap of newspaper aside. He sat up on the edge of the mattress. Harry came in and shut the cell door behind him.
“I’m sorry,” Harry said.
Draco hummed, pinching at his chin. Trying to appear more in control than he felt. “That’s not good enough, is it?”
Harry flinched. “Draco—I just—”
“Try again,” Draco said, leaning back. “On your knees, this time.”
Harry only hesitated for a moment before sinking down—placing his long, calloused fingers on Draco’s knees. The sight of Harry between his legs was enough to drive him bloody insane with need. They’d been apart for so long—he could hold out, just a bit more.
To finally get what he wanted.
“Draco,” Harry said, his eyes wide and luminescent in the flickering light. “I was angry.”
“That’s a terrible apology.”
“Just let me finish, okay?” Harry rubbed circles into Draco’s knees. Draco spread his legs a little wider. “I was so angry, because I wanted you to be free. You deserve so much more than this.”
“Harry,” Draco croaked. “I’m not even sure I deserve this.”
Harry kissed the knob of his left knee. The raw affection was crippling. “I’m glad you did it—you know. I’m glad you killed that fucking bastard. And as angry as I am that you’re here, I am also so—so happy to be near you again. Serving time without you was dreadfully lonely.”
The tension bled from Draco’s shoulders. “I missed you terminally,” he whispered—running his fingers along Harry’s square jaw. “Harry Potter. Bloody savior of the lower rings.”
“I’m sorry I was an arse. Can I get up now?”
Draco pretended to think a moment. “No,” he said. “What else?”
Harry sighed. Nuzzled his face into Draco’s inner thigh. His eyes were wet with guilt. “I’m sorry about Parkinson.”
“Specifically?”
“I’m sorry I almost got her killed.”
Draco tutted. “Wrong,” he said, flicking Harry’s nose. Harry looked entirely affronted at the gesture—opened his mouth to complain about it, but Draco raised his eyebrows, effectively shutting him up.
I could get used to this, he thought.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you she was alright,” Harry said. “I wanted to, but you have to understand. There was too much at stake.”
Draco nodded. He did understand, once the initial rush of anger had passed. Harry was intelligent, but he couldn’t pull it off without the help of his friends. The bits and pieces of conversations Draco had overhead throughout the months finally all made sense.
“Do you forgive me?” Harry asked.
Again, Draco pretended to think on it. “Maybe if you kiss my foot.”
Harry grabbed Draco by his slim ankle and yanked—dragged him right out of the cot and onto his arse.
“What the hell!” Draco balked.
“You’re such a brat,” Harry snapped, standing—not letting go of his ankle. Draco’s heart pounded. Harry yanked again, actually dragged Draco a few feet across the floor of the cell.
Draco covered his face with his hands—surely a bright, cherry red.
He was already hard.
“I played your game, princess,” Harry said, his voice deep and ravenous. “My turn. Tell me you want me.”
Draco gasped. Mumbled through the cage of his fingers, “I want you.”
Harry gave Draco’s ankle a rough shake. “I can’t hear you, Draco. You’ll have to speak up.”
“Christ, Harry!” Draco snapped, moving his hands away from his mouth. “If you’re going to manhandle me like a bloody ape, you could at least get me off the fucking ground and do it properly!”
“Fuck,” Harry hissed, “I missed you so much.” He leaned down and grabbed Draco by his shirt and lifted him right to his feet.
Draco’s eyes almost rolled right back into his head. “Fuck, okay. Yeah. I want you, alright? Obviously I fucking want you!”
Harry kissed him. Did a swan dive right into Draco’s mouth—his tongue fiery hot. He wound his fingers through the wefts of Draco’s hair—pulled a low wail right out of him.
“I can’t believe you’re actually back,” Harry whispered into the kiss. “Why can’t you do anything normal?”
“Oh please,” Draco scoffed, mouthing down Harry’s jaw—scraping his skin on the first pricks of stubble. “You’d hate that.”
“I would,” Harry agreed. “I’d fucking hate it.”
Harry turned Draco around and shoved him against the wall—pressed his solid prick into the dip of Draco’s arse. Draco’s cheek dragged along the porous brick, but he didn’t mind the scrape. It couldn’t compare to the rush of oxytocin that hit him. He moaned. The brickwork swallowed the sound.
Harry bit the nape of his neck. Sunk his teeth into the pale, mole-speckled flesh. “Did you fuck anyone out there?” he practically growled, dragging Draco’s trousers down to bunch around his thighs. Exposed his arse to the cool air—his throbbing prick shoved against the damp wall.
“I thought about it—“ Draco panted, resisting the urge to grind against the brick. There was no way that would end well. “Went to a bar and had a look around for someone who might know how to fuck me ri—aughn!”
Draco lost his grip on reality as Harry struck his arse with a wide, flat palm. “Still at it with that mouth,” Harry murmured, rubbing away the sting—spreading Draco open. Prodding at his hole with a dry thumb.
“Of course I didn’t fuck anyone, you imbecile,” Draco whimpered, pushing back against Harry’s fingertip. Trying to welcome it inside. “Fuck—it’s you, Harry.” Tears gathered in Draco’s eyes. “I think you’re it for me.”
“Don’t say that unless you mean it.”
The crack of a cap—when did he get the lube? It didn’t matter, because Harry was two fingers deep in Draco before he could formulate the question. It was too fast, but it was perfect. The stretch hurt delectably.
“Of course I mean it, you oaf,” Draco moaned—screwing his eyes shut. “Now shut up and get your prick in me!”
“Fuckin’ bossy,” Harry mumbled, sinking his teeth back into Draco’s neck as he pushed inside.
Draco gasped—his eyes shooting open. “Fuck,” he whined. Harry hadn’t prepped him as thoroughly as he had their first time. The stretch was intense. He felt like bubblegum, deep in his core.
It was wonderful.
Harry whispered into the shell of his ear, “Don’t you have a smart-ass remark lined up?”
Draco whimpered, turning to look over his shoulder at Harry—his mouth slack. Brow, twisted. Harry’s eyes went wide behind his fogged-up glasses. Draco let out a long—sweet whine.
“Fuck—okay,” Harry babbled, starting with a few shallow thrusts. “It’s okay. I'm here.”
Draco groaned, finally getting what he wanted. Harry, with him, without doubt. The tears broke free—anointed his cheeks with salt. His whole body trembled beneath each lengthening stroke.
“That what you needed?” Harry whispered. He kissed along the lily pads of Draco’s moles. “Someone to scratch the itch?”
He grabbed Draco’s hands and pinned them against the wall above his head—threaded his fingers through them and squeezed to keep him in place while he fucked him—thrust so deeply that it lifted Draco to his literal toes and into the metaphorical clouds.
Gasping against the brick—it was just what Draco needed. The head of his prick kept bumping the wall. He would have been mildly disgusted if everything didn’t feel so good—if Harry didn’t nick Draco’s sweet spot with such familiarity, like he, too, was coming home.
“I saw the photo from your arrest—,” Harry mumbled, slowing his hips. Dragging over that spot with cruel accuracy. Draco moaned and pushed back—tried to sink himself further down on the flagpole of Harry’s prick. “You looked so fucking hot, with your fancy fucking suit and your father’s blood on your face.”
“I—,” Draco choked out—stuttering as Harry switched back to hard and quick thrusts. “Fuck! I love you, Harry, you fucking psyc—“ His orgasm robbed the words from his mouth.
Harry fucked him through the crest of it, squeezing his hands. Stuck his nose into Draco’s hair and inhaled—
Harry came, sucking down the scent like he might a cigarette. Thrust a few more times, chasing the high. Wanting it to last forever.
Draco almost collapsed, but Harry wrapped his arms around him and hauled him backward—slipping out in the maneuver. He brought them both to the bottom cot. Backed himself onto it. Draco rolled over to curl into Harry’s chest.
“Your prick is hanging out,” Draco mumbled, drunk with the sway of pleasure.
“Leave him alone. He’s tired.”
Draco gave him a little swat. “You’re not as funny as you think you are,” he said, still out of breath.
“You can be pretty and wrong,” Harry tutted.
Draco made to swat him again, but Harry caught his wrist—pressed a kiss into the inner skin. Never breaking eye contact. “I love you,” he whispered.
Draco wanted to crack. “Still?” he asked.
“More.”
Draco kissed Harry. He kissed him, and he knew it was all worth it.
Long after curfew, Draco was still wide awake, staring up at the familiar metal grate of the upper bunk. In spite of everything, peace had settled over him. His eyes darted to Harry, who was beautiful, even in the dark.
“You’re staring again,” Harry mumbled, one eye drifting open.
Draco smiled. It was soft and vulnerable and felt different than it ever had before. He never knew happiness could be so easy.
“You’re thinking loudly again, also.” Harry rolled onto his side and propped his head up on his hand. He thumbed at the edge of Draco’s mouth. “Talk to me.”
“I keep thinking I should feel sad,” Draco whispered. “But I’m not.”
Harry hummed softly. “What was it like?” he asked. The ‘killing your father’ was implied.
“Easier than I would have thought. In the decision, and the execution.” Draco sighed and kissed the pad of Harry’s thumb. “Like putting down a pet. Of course I loved him—he was my father. But he had bitten too many people.”
“So now what?” Harry asked. “What happens to the Malfoy name?”
“I was thinking it might be time for a new alliance.”
“Potter-Malfoy has a ring to it,” Harry said, grinning.
“Oh please,” Draco scoffed. “If anything, it would be Malfoy-Potter. Anyway—you’re clever—”
“Aw, you think I’m clever?”
“Shut up,” Draco snipped. “You’re clever, I’ll give you that, but I was raised in this fucked-up world. I think we could remake it together, if you wanted.”
Harry’s crooked smile stretched into a splitting grin. He gripped the base of Draco’s neck and pulled him in close. “It’s you and me, princess,” he whispered into the warm, shared air. “It’s always been you and me.”
Six months later.
The door to the visitation room was familiar by now. Draco met with Snape frequently to discuss business matters, so much so they may as well have had a standing appointment. Draco nodded to the Dementor who held the door for him. The man nodded back. Things had changed over the months in Azkaban.
Except this time, it was his mother.
Narcissa stood in the corner of the room, looking in the mirror. Her hair was up and braided intricately—the dark and light forming a lattice up the base of her skull. She was wearing black, as usual. Maybe Malfoys were always in mourning.
“You’re looking well, Mother,” Draco said.
She turned to face him. Her hands were neatly crossed in front of her navel. “You as well, Draco. Your hair—” she trailed off.
He refused to reach up and touch it. He didn’t want to remind her of Lucius. In fact, Draco had Harry trim it just the other day because it was creeping down his neck and he couldn’t risk looking like his father. Still, it was longer than he would have liked.
In the end, she didn’t say anything. Neither did she reach out to embrace him. It was fine. He wasn’t sure he could have accepted it.
“Severus said you left the manor,” Draco said.
“I’ve reconnected with my sister. My other sister.”
He nodded. “Andromeda.”
Narcissa didn’t even seem surprised that Draco had learned about his estranged aunt.
“I’ve put the wrong things first, for too long, I think,” she said. “Made too many excuses.” Her eyebrows furrowed and her entwined fingers went white-knuckled. “I am sorry, Draco. I know it means little, given the course of events.”
“I’m glad you decided to visit,” Draco said, because he was glad. Soon, she wouldn’t even get the chance.
Draco Malfoy was about to die.
Over the previous six months, Draco and Harry worked in conjunction with the House of Black to keep things running smoothly both inside and out of prison. With Snape’s help, every chemist who ever so much as dabbled in the alchemy of Amortentia was given an offer they couldn’t refuse. The veins in the lower rings dried up. The death toll plummeted, which meant they lost their most useful asset in faking the deaths of the inmates. It was a small price to pay to treat the epidemic. They were going to have to stop eventually. They’d done as much good as they could from the inside.
Draco sat on the edge of the infirmary cot. His fingers tapped nervously on the plastic-lined mattress. It felt like only yesterday he had toiled away on it with a debilitating fever—courtesy of the scar he hardly even noticed anymore.
Harry sat beside him. Took his hand. “It’s almost time,” he said. “They’re gonna have to move us quickly.
“And Ronald is ready?” Draco asked. “I’ll be quite livid if he has to perform mouth to mouth on either of us.”
Harry barked out a sharp laugh. “Hah! He’d probably hate that more than you.”
Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger were waiting in the coroner's truck. They’d gotten out months ago, when the crest of Amortentia overdoses broke, and Harry and Draco both realized their operation was coming to a natural end.
Finally, it was their turn.
Sirius Black and Remus Lupin were not going with them. There had been a considerable back and forth between Harry and Sirius. Draco could understand his reluctance to part with the healthiest father figure he’d ever had, but the man’s mind was made up.
Remus felt obligated to serve out his sentence. A stubborn streak of nobility, as Sirius had put it. And where Remus was, that’s where Sirius would be. That much was obvious.
It didn’t matter. Harry forgave Sirius and Remus. Maybe that was what you were supposed to do, with family. Draco wasn’t sure if he could ever forgive his mother, even if he didn’t actively resent her. Everyone was doing the best they could with the shit hand they’d been dealt.
Harry squeezed Draco’s fingers. It was going to be okay. They were building a new family—comprised of ghosts. Of promises, to never become their forefathers.
“It’s time,” Pomfrey said, slipping through the door. She went to the medicine cabinet and fetched two of the Killing Pills.
“Can we have a minute of privacy?” Harry asked.
She tutted and tapped her watch. “One minute, Mr. Potter. We’re racing the clock.” She handed him the pills. He passed one to Draco.
Pomfrey left. The door clicked shut behind her.
Draco held it up—captivated by the vibrant green capsule.
“You ready?” Harry asked.
“Always and never,” Draco said. “But time keeps moving forward, doesn’t it?”
Harry turned his body to face Draco. Draco did the same. He wanted to look into Harry’s eyes when the world went dark. If he did, he wouldn’t be afraid.
Harry held the pill out—hovered it in front of Draco’s mouth. The message was clear. Draco did the same for Harry. Their arms crossed—rested on one another at the wrist. Draco wondered if this was how wedding vows were made.
Harry touched the pill to Draco’s bottom lip. Grinned—his vibrant, beautiful grin. “See you in the afterlife, princess.”
Draco opened his mouth.