Chapter Text
“Are you sure this is the right place?” Draco asks into his mobile. He turns on the spot, trying to make out any distinguishing characteristics in the foliage that surrounds him. He’s standing in the middle of a dirt road that cuts through a thicket of trees and staring down a driveway that winds out of view around a bend.
“Ugh,” Pansy huffs on the other end of the line. “Yes, for the millionth time. Stop stalling!”
“I’m not stalling. I am genuinely wondering if you have sent me to the middle of nowhere to die! There isn’t even a sign or anything…”
There’s the sound of a struggle on Pansy’s end of the phone call, and then Ginny’s voice comes through. “Draco? Hey. Are you standing in front of a long driveway?”
“Uhh….yes.”
“Okay, good. If you step right up to where it meets the road and wave your wand, you’ll see it.”
Draco follows Ginny’s directions, increasingly sure that they’re just having him on, but jumps back when a large, wrought-iron arch appears before him. The sign hanging from the top reads “Hedwig Haven Animal Sanctuary”.
“Oh, yeah, I see it now,” he says, full of fondness over the name.
Pansy’s voice comes through this time. “Good. Gin says just follow that path along, and you’ll be there. And Draco—”
“Hmph.”
“It’ll be okay. Just be yourself, you’re better at that than anyone I know.”
“Hardly,” he sneers, scuffing the toe of his boot in the dirt.
“Shut up, and go snog a werewolf, you idiot boy.”
“Go get your man!” calls Ginny, her voice small and far away-sounding.
“Goodbye!!” he shouts at the phone, already halfway to ending the call and stuffing it back in his pocket.
He begins the trek along the narrow, winding driveway, a scowl permanently fixed to his face . He walks for what feels like hours, until suddenly the trees break and the ground falls away to a valley full of low, gently rolling hills partitioned off into neat fields by long, wire fences. Directly in front of him stands an old farmhouse, its tan siding faded and peeling, and its shutters painted a cheerful bright yellow. Behind it stands a huge red barn, and beyond that, several smaller sheds. Draco can hear the gentle clucking of chickens from somewhere to his left, and the barking of a dog from somewhere very far off.
The property seems massive from where he’s standing, so he isn’t sure where to begin looking for Harry. He’s just contemplating knocking on the front door of the farmhouse when someone comes around the side of it from the direction of the barn, their boots crunching on gravel.
Harry stops as soon as he sees Draco. His worn jeans are smeared with mud and one knee has a gaping hole in it. He has a large red flannel on, open over a black t-shirt, and his hair is twisted up in a bun at the back of his head. His arms are full with a tiny goat who bleats impatiently at the sudden interruption.
Draco can’t help the smile that takes over his face as relief floods his chest. Just seeing Harry, standing there with a confused expression on his face and looking so incredibly himself makes Draco ache. He swallows and takes a few hesitant steps toward the pair. “Is this Lucifer?”
“Um. Yeah, uh,” Harry stammers. The little goat makes another irritated sound. Harry scoffs and looks down at the tiny, wriggling thing. “Oh my god, I am literally taking you in to feed you right now, calm down.”
He looks back up at Draco with a small smile on his face. Draco doesn’t fail to notice that it’s tinged with something—sadness or hesitation, maybe. “Want to help me feed him?”
Draco’s heart skips a beat, and he nods, unsure if he could even get his voice to work at the moment. Harry looks so at home here, so comfortable and at ease. Like he was born to gently cradle wounded baby animals, and not sacrifice himself to a war he had no part in starting.
He follows Harry up the steps and into the farmhouse, then down a hallway to a large kitchen in the back. Harry doesn’t ask before practically pouring the tiny goat into Draco’s arms. They both squirm a little until they find a comfortable position—Draco’s arm under Lucifer’s belly, threaded through his front and back legs, and Lucifer’s head resting in the crook of Draco’s elbow. He weighs nearly nothing and feels so warm against Draco’s cold skin.
“I—you shouldn’t leave him with me,” Draco says.
“Oh, why? I thought you liked animals,” Harry says, distracted as he prepares a bottle for Lucifer.
“Oh, I do. They just don’t seem to like me much. Since I was turned.”
Harry looks back over his shoulder. “He seems to like you just fine.”
“Oh.” Draco looks down and finds that Lucifer has tucked his nose further into his arm and closed his eyes. The tip of his little pink tongue is poking out of his mouth, he’s so relaxed.
“It’s just the owls at work,” Draco continues. “Right after I was turned, they wouldn’t come near me. They noticed right away, and it was like they were scared of me.”
“Well, animals are very perceptive,” Harry says, stirring a heaping spoonful of powdered formula into the warm water. “They can read our emotions better than most people can. It’s part of why I love them so much. The owls probably sensed that you were…scared? Upset? Angry? They were probably just giving you space, like they would any other wounded animal.”
“I’m not a wounded animal, Potter,” Draco says, an edge to his voice that he didn’t intend.
“No?” Harry screws on the cap to the bottle and gives it another good shake. He directs Draco to sit in one of the chairs at the small dining table with a gesture. When Draco has settled, Harry hands him the bottle and directs his hand to the right position so that Lucifer can drink. His eyes fly open, and he sucks eagerly on the bottle, making small contented goat noises. Draco laughs as he squirms, trying to get better leverage to nurse.
“Do the owls still avoid you?” Harry asks, a smile on his face as he also watches Lucifer.
“No. Not anymore,” Draco replies softly, maneuvering the hand not holding onto the bottle for dear life to rub small circles into the soft fur of Lucifer’s chest.
When he looks up, Harry’s gaze is trained on him, the smile still clinging to the corners of his lips. Draco smiles back.
“Did you come for any particular reason?” Harry asks after a long moment. He looks wary and…hopeful. Draco takes that as a good sign, and he takes a deep breath before he says what he came to say.
“Yeah, um. I wanted to apologize for the way I reacted at the infusion clinic. You’re right, I was afraid, and self-conscious, and…well, frankly, I was sure you were going to realize you didn’t want me after all, and I pushed you away before that could happen. It’s a classic Draco Malfoy move, I’m afraid.”
Lucifer smacks his lips and nudges the bottle away to indicate that he’s finished eating. Draco sets it down on the table and begins to run a hand down the goat’s back in slow, smooth strokes. Lucifer pulls his legs up further and curls into a ball against Draco’s chest. He tucks his head in the crook of Draco’s neck and closes his eyes.
“But that’s not the person I want to be—not the person I am anymore. And…I want to ask you if I’ve completely mucked things up, or if there might still be a chance that we could try the whole first date thing again. Because I would like that very much.”
Harry breaks into a bright grin and nods. “Yeah,” he breathes, and his shoulders sag like Draco has just taken a great weight off of them. “God, yeah. Absolutely. I wanted to give you some space to figure things out, but… Well, to be honest—” His cheeks flush a lovely pink and he drops his eyes to the floor. It’s so endearing that Draco also has to look away, turning his attention to the little white spot between Lucifer’s ears. “I’ve had to physically stop myself from messaging you about ten times a day.”
“You have?!” Draco’s head shoots up, and his shout turns to a whisper as Lucifer squirms in his sleep.
“Of course. You think I could walk away that easily, after everything? After finding out that this funny, smart, charming person I’ve fallen for on some silly dating app, and the man I’ve been half in love with for years are the same person? No way. I would have cracked eventually and come begging. Probably would’ve only taken another day or two, honestly. Just ask Luce,” he says, reaching out to stroke the little goat’s nose with a finger. “I’ve been a mopey mess for a week.”
Draco’s heart stops beating entirely for a second, then kickstarts so hard he nearly chokes. Warmth floods his stomach, and his fingers and toes feel all tingly. “Are you—are you being serious right now? If this is a joke, or—”
“Draco, I’m being very serious. I know I’m usually not, but—I’ve been attracted to you for ages. Just—” his blush deepens, “noticed how fit you’d gotten, that sort of thing. Don’t laugh! I mean, I have eyes, and I’m not made of stone!” Draco smothers his disbelieving giggles in the top of Lucifer’s head. “Then when Pansy and Gin got together and we started spending more time around one another I was done for. But, then I was bitten, and things got really fucking complicated.”
“Oh. Complicated how?”
Harry looks at him for a long moment, seemingly weighing his words. He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, chews on it, then lets it go, and Draco wants to kiss it so badly he nearly forgets what they’re talking about. Until Harry figures out how to say whatever he’s thinking.
“Complicated like I wanted to tear the eyes out of every man’s head who so much as looked at you for too long at pub night?” Harry stands and starts to pace around the kitchen. “Complicated like I could smell you from a mile away, and your scent would stay on my skin and in my hair for days, driving me mad? Complicated like I thought about you all the fucking time. That complicated.”
Draco clutches Lucifer to his chest more tightly, desperate for something to tether him to the earth because he might explode or float away at any moment. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”
“Why?! Because it’s fucking unhinged, that’s why! I mean, first of all, I couldn’t tell people about my bite for a long time, and none of it makes any sense without that vital piece of information. And secondly, I wasn’t even sure if you could stand being around me, let alone if you were open to that level of craziness.” He tugs the elastic from his hair, runs his hands through his curls, and then ties it back into a bun. Draco notices the dark circles under Harry’s eyes and the stubble on his jaw. He really must have been agonizing over Draco as much as he claimed.
“It’s why I usually keep my distance from you when we are out with our friends, although sometimes I can’t help it. Not because I didn’t want to be close to you…the opposite, actually. Because I wanted to be too close to you. I wanted it too much. You’d have told me to fuck off and never talked to me again if I tried to explain.”
“Yeah, probably would have,” Draco says, his voice barely above a whisper. Harry’s eyes shoot to him, searching his face for more. “But only because I’ve wanted you to want me like that for a very long time, and I would have panicked if you were just there, all of a sudden, ready to do it. I am still astounded by this fact, but you know better than anyone how hard it is for me to love myself and allow myself to have good things. I would have done what I did at the clinic, only a hundred times worse, and I would have hurt you horribly in the process.”
Harry nods, leaning back against the counter and letting his head hang down between his shoulders. He looks exhausted, and Draco desperately wants to hold him. “I only downloaded the app because I thought if I just met someone else, or a few someones, it would help me get over you and move on.”
Draco hums. “And instead it brought you right back to me. We wouldn’t be here now, without it. I wouldn’t be ready for this,” Draco says, ducking his head shyly, “if you hadn’t given me the chance to explore who I really am, without pressure or expectations. It couldn’t have happened any other way. And…” Draco closes his eyes and pushes himself to say exactly what he feels. “I told you, I like—I really like—” his voice falters, “how possessive you are. I like all your ridiculous, wolfy things. It’s not…crazy, it’s not too much, I like everything about you…”
When Draco looks up, Harry’s staring right at him, his gaze fierce and determined. He steps forward and leans down, placing his hands on the table on either side of Draco’s shoulders. Draco tilts his head back to look up into impossibly green, impossibly fond eyes.
Draco’s breathing quickens, but not with panic. He feels open and warm and calmer than he has in so long. He lets his eyes fall shut as Harry closes the gap between him, letting his lips part to meet Harry’s, so soft and warm and careful, but Harry pauses, his hot breath ghosting over Draco’s skin and making him shiver.
“Can I kiss you?” he whispers.
Draco huffs a breath and nods, his nose brushing Harry’s, who turns into the touch before pressing his lips—hot against Draco’s icy skin, and slightly chapped, but so soft—to the corner of Draco’s mouth. Draco can’t stifle the little gasp that escapes his mouth at the impossibly gentle contact.
Harry captures the sound between his parted lips as he presses forward, kissing Draco harder and sliding one hand around the nape of Draco’s neck. Draco feels liquid and boneless as Harry’s body heat surrounds him, and he surrenders himself to the moment—not overthinking, not analyzing or cataloging every emotion moving through his body. He tries to kiss Harry back as best he can, but Harry overwhelms him, cradling Draco’s head in his hands and rubbing the rough pads of his thumbs over Draco’s cheekbones, and earlobes, and the most sensitive, intimate part of his throat—two healed puncture marks, now faded to a very light pink and almost invisible. And Draco is lost to it.
When Harry pulls back to suck in a breath, Draco sighs. “Sorry m’so cold.”
Harry surges forward again and moans softly into his open mouth. “God, I love it,” he says, the naked desire in his voice dripping like honey down Draco’s spine.
Lucifer thrashes in Draco’s arms where he’s squished between his and Harry’s chests and lets out a sad little noise. Harry jumps back. “Shit, Sorry, Luce! God, I forgot he was even there.” He laughs and rubs his hands over his face and hair, jostling loose a few curls that fall onto his forehead. He’s flushed from his neck to the top of his face, and his lips are slick and red and thoroughly kissed, and Draco beams at him knowing that he looks the exact same, sans blush.
Harry leans against the counter again and gazes at Draco, the smile on his face glowing in his eyes. “Want a tour of the place?” he asks, waving a hand vaguely.
Draco nods. “Oh, there was something else I wanted to tell you,” he says, the thought floating up to the top of his affection-soaked brain. Harry stops, halfway out of the kitchen and turns, his full attention aimed at Draco. “The article…it’s going to be published.”
Harry’s eyes go wide, and he reaches Draco in one long stride. He takes Draco by the shoulders and pulls him close. “Are you serious?!” He’s practically vibrating with excitement, and Draco laughs, pleased.
“Yeah. And—”
“And?! There’s more?”
“It’s going to be on the front page of Sunday’s edition.”
“Holy shit, Draco, that’s amazing! Of course it is, that’s bloody brilliant!” Harry wraps him in a hug, careful not to crush Lucifer again.
“And—”
“Stop, stop. My heart can’t take it. What else?!” Harry doesn’t let him go.
“I’ve been offered a six-month probationary period, to train under one of the more senior writers. And then I’m going to get my own column about creature-related issues. I’m going to be a real writer.”
Harry doesn’t say anything this time, he just sucks in a breath. When he finally pulls back, Draco realizes he’s crying. A tear rolls down his face, and he laughs wetly. “Oh my god, what?” Draco asks, not sure what he’d done to elicit this response.
“Sorry, sorry, but I told you…I’m an enormous sap. I cry whenever I’m happy. It’s embarrassing, honestly, but there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it. ”
“Oh,” Draco says, smiling shyly and freeing a hand to wipe away Harry’s tears.
“S’pose you’ll just have to live with it,” Harry says, shrugging.
“I think I can manage that,” Draco replies.
They stand in the middle of the kitchen staring dopily at one another, until Draco can’t stand the open fondness in Harry’s expression anymore, rolls his eyes, and says, “I thought you were giving me a tour, you great oaf.”
Harry grins and leads the way to the front door. “You know, there’s only one problem with this whole thing,” he says as they head around the house and in the direction of the barn.
“What’s that?” Draco asks, setting Lucifer on his feet and watching him trot off happily to the paddock where the rest of the goats are lounging.
“I already planned the perfect first date, and someone hated it so much they fainted in the first five minutes, so I don’t know what we’re going to do about that.”
“Oh my god, you know I’m sorry about that, and it was just a picnic! What’s so impossible to recreate about it?”
“It wasn’t just a picnic, you ungrateful arse,” Harry says, bumping his shoulder into Draco’s and then taking his hand and entwining their fingers. “We were going to drink enough wine that we weren’t nervous anymore, the sun was going to go down, and then we were going to lie on that blanket and pretend to watch the meteor shower that I so expertly timed the picnic to, while we pretended that we weren’t both just wondering if enough time had passed before we could start making out!”
“Oh, is that what that was?”
“Yes!” Harry whines, waving his unencumbered hand petulantly.
Draco pulls on his hand to stop him, then steps into his space. “Well I can’t conjure a meteor shower,” he says, sliding his hands around Harry’s waist, “but I can say for sure enough time has passed, and we can definitely make out.”
Harry laughs and presses Draco back against the side of the house.
*
Six Months Later
“Are you sure I look alright?” Draco asks, turning around in the mirror to look at himself from all angles. The burgundy suit he’s wearing was custom-made and fits him like a glove, but he’s nervous and needs to funnel his anxious energy somewhere.
“For the hundredth time,” Harry says, stepping up behind him and wrapping his arms around Draco’s waist, “you look too fucking good, and if you ask me even one more time I’m going to take this suit off of you and prove it to you the only way I know how.”
Draco pushes him away playfully, trying to scowl through his pleased smile. “Keep your hands to yourself, you incorrigible wolf.” Harry tugs him back in by the hips and kisses him soundly. Draco grunts, but doesn’t protest. When Harry lets him go he pants, “and I can’t…we can’t…Oh, for fuck’s sake, you know I can’t think when you do that.”
“Exactly,” Harry says, self-satisfaction oozing from his wolfy grin.
“Let’s go,” Draco says, straightening Harry’s bowtie and tucking a lock of hair behind Harry’s ear. “I don’t want to be late, the others are probably already there.”
They Apparate to the alleyway across the street from St. Mungo’s. When they come out onto the sidewalk, Draco freezes. He hasn’t seen the new addition without all the scaffolding spells, and it takes his breath away. It’s beautiful, all shiny, iridescent glass and sleek steel.
The sign above the front door reads The Carl T. Night Center for Critical Creature Care. Draco had managed to convince them to name it in honor of Bruce’s late partner, as a reminder for everyone who enters that they will be loved here, inside and out. There’s even a little plaque just inside the door with Carl’s picture and a little story Bruce had written about him. Bruce had cried when Draco told him, wiping at his big, yellow eyes with his clawed hands.
The crowd gathered out front is loud with excited chatter, and everyone is dressed impeccably for the opening gala. “Hey, you two!” someone calls across the street, and Draco looks around until he spots Thesus and Ayla. Theseus pulls Draco into a big hug as soon as he’s within arm’s reach, and Ayla places dainty kisses on both his and Harry’s cheeks.
“Can I? Please?” Theseus says pleadingly, looking at Ayla. She rolls her eyes, gives him a long-suffering glare, and then shrugs, an indulgent smile on her lips.
“Can you what?” Harry asks.
“He wants me to give him permission to tell you that we’re engaged, even though tonight is not about us,” she says, her smile growing into a huge grin.
“Oi! I wanted to do it,” Theseus protests, but he wraps Ayla up and smothers her face in kisses.
“Oh my god!” Harry cries loudly, wrapping his arms around both of them. Draco tuts fondly and wipes away the tear that rolls down his cheek. “This is the best news I have ever heard! Congratulations!”
Draco beams next to him and pulls Ayla in for another hug, demanding to see her ring, which she shows off proudly.
It doesn’t take long before they’re joined by Syd and the gang, Pansy and Ginny, the whole of both the Gryffindor and Slytherin crews, and their assorted significant others. Draco clings to Harry’s hand and allows himself to soak in the warm atmosphere of joy and celebration, gazing happily around at all of their friends, as they wait for the festivities to begin. He never thought he would have this, but thanks to Harry—and thanks to himself—he does, now.
“Ehem, if you’d all gather round, we’re ready to start,” an amplified voice says from the podium constructed over the new wing’s front steps. The crowd goes quiet as people shuffle closer to see and hear.
“I’d like to welcome you all on what is a most momentous day for us here at St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. My name is Elva Fiddlewood, I’m the Chief of Patient and Community Outreach here at St. Mungo’s, and I couldn’t be more pleased to have the honor of formally opening our new Critical Creature Care Center.”
Fiddlewood pauses for applause. “St. Mungo’s has been serving the wixen community for centuries, in some form or other. While we pride ourselves on our comprehensive and innovative care practices, our boundary-breaking research programs, and the high caliber of our staff and consultants, we can always be doing more to serve you better. This Center is an excellent example of that. You’ll see when you take a look inside that we’ve taken the latest guidance into consideration when designing our infusion rooms, the education and resource center for lycanthropic wix, and all the other targeted tools and areas to help us better care for our creature patients.”
“Now, before we cut the ribbon and welcome you all inside for food and drinks and a tour around, I want to ask Mrs. Hermione Granger-Weasley to come to the microphone and share a few words about how important this new Center is to all of wixen kind. Mrs. Weasley-Granger is the chief assistant to the Minister and one of the youngest voting members ever appointed to the Wizengamot. More importantly, she is the fuel and the fire behind the Creature Center project, advocating for meaningful change to long-standing and outdated legislation that has for so long prevented creatures and part-creatures from accessing the basic medical care that they need.”
Fiddlewood steps away from the microphone, and Hermione takes her place, looking stunning in a floor-length sapphire gown. Draco leans his head back against Harry’s chest, whose arms are wrapped around him from behind, and half-listens to Hermione’s speech about equal rights, justice, care for our fellow man, and whatever other noble things she’s come up with. It’s a beautiful speech, but Draco’s already heard it at least ten times since he helped her write and practice the thing.
“I can still go up there and make them thank you, too,” Harry growl-whispers in his ear.
Draco huffs a laugh. “For what? All I did was write an article. Hermione really did do most of the groundwork.”
“Excuse me, you wrote an award-winning series of articles, and you had just as many late nights as she did.” Harry sounds more than a little indignant on Draco’s behalf, as if Draco himself weren’t the one downplaying his achievements.
Draco shrugs. He turns to look at Harry while a group of hospital administrators hold out their wands and sever the ceremonial ribbon stretched across the front doors. All around them, people begin to drift towards the building and the promise of alcohol and hors d’oeuvres.
“This is enough thanks for me,” he says, gazing at the building and the crowd—a large part of which is made up of their friends and family. “Besides, I got exactly what I wanted out of writing that article months ago.” He places a lingering kiss on Harry’s lips.
He takes Harry’s hand and tugs him toward the front steps. “C’mon, I’m thirsty,” he says, grinning, his fangs glinting in the early evening sunlight. Harry grins back, wolfish and beautiful and golden in the sunset, and follows.