Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Molly Weasley was not at all what Draco had expected. She was round, flushed, sweet as honey, and loud enough to make his ears ring.

He’d at least thought his entrance into the Burrow would be met with more resistance but it seemed like everyone had been debriefed beforehand. Even Ronald was watching him politely. The Weaslette...Geeny, Jinny? Something like that, had brought her girlfriend along. They were disgustingly adorable together, sharing bits of pie on the porch while Fleur and her husband...William? Billiam? Bill? Spoke to each other in soft whispers. There were redheads everywhere. A sea of them and Draco couldn’t tell any of them apart because everyone seemed set on never actually introducing themselves to him, as if he was supposed to already know.

Dinner had been a loud affair. Everyone talked overtop of everyone else. Rolls were tossed across the table instead of passed with a hovering charm like civilized people - And Potter, glorious, wonderful, dimple-cheeked Potter,  looked so at home amidst their freckles that it hurt just to look at him. His green eyes were wide and soft as he stared across the crowd of red heads like he couldn’t believe they were there- Like he couldn’t believe he was there.

Draco could understand that. He couldn’t believe he was here either.

He snorted into his glass of pumpkin juice, amused by his own joke, then chastened himself because he was trying to be better- Truly, and the Weasley’s had been nothing but kind to him, even though he could not for the life of him fathom why .

Draco had changed his outfit four separate times while getting ready for the party. Because that’s what this was. What the Weasley’s called ‘Sunday Dinner’ was actually just an excuse to throw a massive party with laughter and enough alcohol one would be hard pressed not to get sloshed just from entering the room. Draco’s first choice of clothing had been simultaneously too flashy and too beaten. He looked the part of a disgraced aristocrat, moth eaten and yet just snobbish enough to rub his previous wealth in everyone’s faces. There was nothing about that he found acceptable- Especially when reuniting with the family of one’s paramour for the first time since...Well...The War.

“Ginny, dear,” Mrs. Weasley hummed from where she sat at the head of the table, her lovely orange mane glowing in a halo of fire cast from the overhead light, “Why don’t you pass along the butter to Draco. He’s looking a little too skinny nowadays.”

Draco wanted to be offended but.. She was right. He’d noticed the sad state of his musculature just the other day when he’d been swapping clothes before date night with Potter (Date night with Potter!) and he could easily count his ribs with surprising clarity. He supposed a diet of lukewarm tea and leftover biscuits wasn’t enough to keep him healthy considering the amount of exercise his job required. Bugger.

Pansy must’ve been getting soft too because he hadn’t heard her comment on his weight loss even once, the bint . It had come as quite a shock really and he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t sat on the floor and stared morosely at the wall for at least an hour because of it.

“Here you go,” Ginny nodded, scooting the little porcelain tray full of half melted butter with a loud squeak across the already crowded surface of the dinner table, “Help yourself.”

“Ah, thanks.” Draco said, surprised once again by the civility. Part of him had expected to have the plate launched at his head with a cheery grin and an even cheerier two fingered salute. That , he would’ve been able to understand. This... Niceness - If you could call it that, was overwhelming to say the least and it left him feeling like he had two left feet and thumbs for fingers.

Harry smiled at him encouragingly like a simple ‘thanks’ out of Draco’s mouth was enough to celebrate. The git . He wasn’t that bad...Well. Not anymore anyway. Just to spite him Draco turned to Mrs. Weasley with a polite smile and nodded towards his nearly empty plate of roast chicken and garden vegetables. “Thank you, Mrs. Weasley. The food was delicious.”

Harry was beaming now. Arsehole.

“You are very welcome, dear.” Molly hummed, looking surprisingly pleased as her green eyes flickered across the room and softened as they fell upon where Harry had surreptitiously slipped his hand under the table to place it hot and heavy on Draco’s knee. “It’s nothing like you’re used to, I’m sure, but I do my best with what I’ve got.”

The humble response spurred the blonde’s courage, his cheeks burning, throat sticky as he forced himself to blurt out some horrifying honesty. “That’s true. I mean- What I’m used to now is stale biscuits and my flatmates old takeaway.” He blinked owlishly, waiting for the other shoe to drop. This was what he was supposed to do right? You were supposed to even the playing field when someone said something self-deprecating? Right ? Being a good person was surprisingly difficult.

There was silence.

More silence.

Draco’s hands felt clammy and numb where they curled tight around his silverware and he tried not to slowly die.

Molly laughed. Her face lit up like a Christmas tree, all joyful and full of wrinkles as she slapped the table in delight and the rest of the weasels joined in her laughter as if they had been waiting for her. “If that’s all you’re eating, Harry’ll have to bring you over more often.” She answered in her softest voice. It made Draco’s skin crawl. Or maybe that was just the fact that he was the closest to crying that he’d felt in the longest time from just a few matronly words from a stranger who by all rights should hate him. 

“I’d like that.” Draco answered, honestly shocked by the sincerity that rang behind his own words.

Two hours later, and more importantly two pies later, Draco was pleasantly stuffed, his eyes half lidded as he curled his fingers tight within Potter’s sweaty grip. The Burrow stood behind them, just a blip on the horizon as gravel crunched beneath their feet and the sweet smell of wheatgrass filled his nostrils. They were alone at last. The whistle of wind through the tall grass surrounding them made Draco’s heart warm as the setting sun painted Potter in peach and persimmon, perfect in his imperfection like a single flower blossomed in a lawn free of weeds.

Harry’s beard was uneven like he’d missed a spot trimming it and Draco wanted nothing more than to smooth his fingers through the extra scruff and appreciate him in his humanity. It felt like the world had stopped for a moment, monumental in it’s stillness as the sun turned liquid on the horizon and Draco’s silver gaze traced the crooked swoop of Harry’s nose. He was suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude that he was allowed to be a part of this amazing man’s world. Each moment was a gift he knew he would cherish til the day he met his end.

It was the closest to heaven that he thought he’d ever be.

Harry turned to look at him, his dimples creasing his cheeks, eyes crinkling at their corners as peace settled across his face. “Thank you.” Harry hummed, voice butter smooth and honey sweet. “This was…” He swallowed, his adams’ apple bobbing, “You are-” His thick brow knit together, a wayward curl bouncing across his forehead as the sun painted him in ambrosia. “You are… ”

Draco didn’t know why he did it, but he interrupted him, his fingers brushing up to tangle in Potter’s ebony mane before he could finish the sentence he had so sweetly started. All he knew was that he wasn’t ready to hear whatever it was that Harry wanted to say. The kiss was all passion and little preamble. 

Despite it being sudden Potter leaned into the kiss with just as much desperation, his lips just as eager, their touch just as hot. His big hands slid along the blonde’s slender shoulders, bunching in the fabric of his shirt and tugging it away so he could finger along sun warmed skin.

Draco knew he was sweaty. The cling of it sticky across his heat dampened skin. It had been hours since he’d gotten ready that morning, and he’d spent the majority of it traveling across the countryside with only bugs for company. There was reason behind it being there but that didn’t make him any less embarrassed as Harry’s fingers fumbled with the top three buttons on his shirt and the heat of his hands scratched along Draco’s sweat-sweet skin.

Harry’s hands were molten wherever they touched, the scratch of calluses addicting as they pulled at him til their hips were flush and the sunset behind them painted Draco’s eyelids crimson.

He groaned into the kiss, unable to help himself as Potter’s lips grew more urgent, his teeth insistent where he bit and licked, claiming, owning , conquering. His kiss promised possession, the flicker of his wet-hot tongue against the roof of Draco’s mouth making his knees weak enough he was frightened he might fall.

Despite being sweeter than anyone Draco had ever met, Potter wasn’t exactly the most talkative of people. He seemed to excel whenever physical action was required and God, oh God, was he good with his body. 

His thick fingers tangled in the cotton of Draco’s shirt, bunching and pulling til it held him captive just below the swell of his chest. Only then did he put his hands where Draco truly wanted them, curved tight and possessive around the curve of his arse. Harry kneaded the swell of him, tugging at his cheeks, pulling, prodding, the tips of his fingers digging deliberately between them just to hear Draco gasp. It was fire- It was lightning- It was every calamity the world had ever known- Brilliant and dark and utterly world shattering-

And then... It... stopped .

Harry’s kiss slowed, gentling like an apology as the kiss of his dark curls brushed Draco’s forehead making his mind spin and his fingers blessedly numb. He raised a hand to cup Harry’s cheek, the scratch of his stubble tickling the sensitive skin on Draco’s palm as he let Potter break him down only to build him back up again.

There was laughter in the distance just along the horizon where the silhouette of the Weasley’s home stood tall against a wash of trees. Draco distantly heard it, but didn’t pay attention as he was manhandled onto his back and pressed into the dirt. The tall grass surrounding them concealed their bodies from view. Harry’s intelligent green eyes flickered with gentility as he cushioned the back of Draco’s head with the palm of his hand and he lay him down, his chest heaving with each labored breath.

Draco felt like he was dying, his world made anew as Harry’s lips twisted upwards in the promise of a smile and his eyes danced with mirth. “You’d better be quiet.” Harry teased, voice made of butter and silk, deeper than usual with a bit of gravel coloring his vowels.

“You-” Draco spluttered, eloquent as ever.

“Wouldn’t want to get caught, would you?” Harry’s smile turned wolfish, his brows lowering in a decidedly beast-like expression as his gaze trailed over Draco’s body with a dark rush of desire. Draco watched his tongue flicker out to wet his lips, the tattoo on his neck flickering in the sunlight as Harry crawled his way between his legs and pressed him even more firmly into the dirt.

God . The fact that Draco was willingly lying in soil for another man was telling enough. He might as well have declared his undying love.

“You’re awful.” Draco accused, his brow lowered in a soft pout that quickly morphed into surprised delight as Harry fumbled his fingers into the back of his hair and tugged his head back til he could feel the sting of the muscles pulling in his neck. Harry’s teeth were hot and sharp as he dragged them down Draco’s throat. His pupils dilated til there was only a ring of green left and he panted, watching his own saliva dry along Draco’s fragile skin with satisfaction.

 Draco couldn’t help but stare with hooded eyes, fascinated by the animal-like ferocity that teemed just underneath the surface of the most gentle man he had ever known.

“Fuck me.” Draco groaned, though really it sounded like more of a demand than anything else.

“Say please-” Harry teased, mischief written across his handsome face.

Draco did as he was told.

Later they were the last to leave. Harry and Mr. Weasley were sitting quietly atop the lumpy sofa in the Weasley’s sitting room as Draco debated whether or not it was socially acceptable for him to use a spell to clean the dishes instead of doing it by hand. He was startled out of his reverie by Mrs. Weasley’s presence, the heat of her buzzing beside him as she stopped and stared at him for a moment, green eyes flickering with something he couldn’t name.

It’s not like anyone had asked him to help. He’d just- Thought it was the polite thing to do, all things considered. Cleaning spells were really some of the only things he still was capable of casting and his wand felt like it was made of lead where it sat heavy and barely used, collecting dust in his back pocket.

He was still sore from earlier, (Understandable given the circumstances.) What Potter lacked in manners he made up with the power of his hips. When they had finished Draco had made Potter check on three separate occasions whether or not there was grass in his hair before he was ready to go back inside. Harry had been adamant that he was clean- But then again this was Harry he was talking about. The man wouldn’t be able to spot a sheet's thread count even if it was written on the label right in front of him.

“You don’t have to do that,” Molly said kindly, surprised by the way that Draco was clutching the dishes to his chest with a desperation one should never feel about something like dirty dishes.

He could’ve walked away then, that was his queue really- But for some strange reason he...Didn’t.

“It’s the least I could do,” He found himself saying, “You made dinner.” Oh fuck. Fuckity-Fuck-Fuck. He was being so strange right now. She was going to think he was a kook and tell Harry all about their weird run in alone in the kitchen.

“That’s very sweet of you, dear.” She was beaming. Oh god. What a terrifying sight. This was worse, so much worse than her thinking he was crazy. Her hands were warm but firm as she snagged his elbow and led him over to the sink. “If you could gather them all together for me dear I’ll cast what’s needed to clean them up.” How he had ever thought she’d turn away his help was beyond him. This was a mother of…. 14? 15...17? There was no way in Hell she would ever turn away help with housework.

Draco was responsible for only a single person and cleaning up after himself even on a good day already seemed like a monumental effort.

They were both silent for a while aside from the clink of dishes as Draco brought them out of the dining room and into the kitchen to stack in a neat little pile inside the sink. He wasn’t stupid. He knew that there was truly no reason for him to be doing this. There were spells for gathering, for washing, for drying- There was no need for him to be traipsing back and forth from room to room one plate at a time. Well. There was. And it was right in front of him.

Molly Weasley in her own way was taking pity on him. She was giving him a way to prove himself, to show her that he truly had changed, that he was different now.

He smiled a little to himself as he grabbed the last plate, wincing as his hips ached and his gaze immediately flickered across the room to where Harry’s dark mop was peeking over the top of the patchwork couch.

Harry and Mr. Weasley were discussing something called a weefeey- Why-Fye? No. Wifi. Or…Something like that. Draco snorted, shaking his head in good natured amazement as his gaze flickered around the warm walls decorating the Weasley’s home and the portraits littering every surface showing off accomplishment after accomplishment, both big and small from each of their children.

His eye caught on a particular portrait tucked into the corner of the room. He glanced around to make sure no one was watching before he approached it, a little furrow in his brow before the crease smoothed and a genuine smile crept across his lips. It was Potter. Little itty-bitty Potter. He was guessing he couldn’t have been more than 14 in it, his expression hollowed out though the smile on his cheeks was honest and bright. He looked tired as he always had and it made Draco’s heart hurt, his memories plagued with things he could’ve done better had he only been a little older- A little wiser- A little kinder.

Draco turned back to head into the kitchen, startled once again when he saw a bright pair of knowing blue eyes staring back at him from Molly Weasley’s love creased cheeks.

Bugger. He’d walked right into that one, hadn’t he?

“C’mon, love. That’s the last one.” She said cheerily, ushering him in front of her though somehow...Something had changed. Something was… Different- In a way that Draco figured he must be crazy to claim.

“You know,” Molly began when they were sequestered against the dirty counter and Draco’s plate was nestled in a porcelain line against it’s brothers, “Everyone makes mistakes when they’re young.”

Draco froze, cold ice filling his veins as he tried to figure out whether or not it was finally time to run away. He’d known this would happen at some point- (The running) Though admittedly he’d thought he’d be bolting for the hills the moment he’d crossed the threshold. For the most part he hadn’t minded spending the day with the Weasley’s but he wasn’t emotionally prepared for a heart to heart with a woman who’s family he had mocked since the ripe age of 3. God, he felt sick. He’d been such a-... Such a-... Prick . When he was younger he’d never seen people as people, only conveniences to be used-abused and quickly disposed of.

“I know you may not believe me but I have seen a change in you that I have hardly ever seen in all my years.” Her eyes crinkled, expression lost though soft as she reached out to place a soft warm hand in the crease of Draco’s elbow. He suddenly felt quite dirty for the shenanigans he’d gotten up to with Harry just an hour prior. “You are kind now.” She continued, unaware that her words were shattering Draco’s inner walls, his fortresses, making him tremble in the wake of her forgiveness. “You think before you speak, and spend time considering how your words affect others.”

Draco swallowed. Even now he felt like she was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong . He hadn’t changed. But he was trying- He was trying .

“For a young man who has been raised to use his words as weapons it is something…” She exhaled shakily, squeezing his arm almost shyly before she released him and stared out the little window atop the kitchen sink. “Miraculous, to behold.”

Draco swallowed again, the lump in his throat having only grown as his cheeks burned with mortification and his eyes became suspiciously wet.

“I know it is not the world who has decided you should change,” Molly continued, her words driving directly into the ice that had protected Draco’s heart for years, “But you - You, are making conscious choices to be a better man than you were raised to be.” Her bushy hair was practically glowing and for a moment Draco allowed himself to think her beautiful. “You are very brave, Draco. There is nothing braver than choosing to rewrite yourself, your story, your ending.”

Draco lay awake in bed that night mulling over Molly’s words. The ached inside him, like needles poking through every crevice in his defenses. Somehow even now he felt like he was just manipulating them all. That he’d wake up one day and he’d be who he was, sixteen and terrified, with Daddy’s blood leaking out his ears and Mother’s screams echoing in every echo leftover from his dreams. 

He didn’t want to be his father.

But then… What did that make him? A ghost of his parents dark legacy. A specter to live a shadow of a life.

For a week he went to bed dreaming of retribution, of ink and parchment, of the curve of his mother’s smile melting into the blue pools of Molly Weasley’s kind gaze. 

It was Sunday again when there was a knock at the door and Pansy entered without so much as a word of greeting. He pulled the ear plugs out of his ears he’d donned when she…And Brian had gotten far too loud for them not to throw up a charm.

“Darling.” Her voice was clipped and just a little panicked. Alarms sounded in the back of his mind and Draco bolted upright, eyes wide with fear. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting. Death eaters? (Silly, he was one, he would feel that) God. The scariest thing to go bump in the night and he was fucking one of them. What a joke.

“What’s wrong?” Draco blurted, brow furrowed in cautious annoyance, his eyes flickering with the pale moonlight floating in through the window. 

“Your paramour is here for you.” Pansy told him, expression still on the wrong side of startled. Draco had no idea why Potter of all people would cause Pansy to look quite so.. Disturbed. His gaze flickered to his wand, which he grabbed and cast a quick tempus charm. Midnight. Okay….

“Is he alright?” Draco asked, confused and a little alarmed as he rose from his bed and kicked the sheets off of his feet so he wouldn’t trip. His silk pajamas had seen better days, clinging to the length of his legs like a jilted lover as he hopped into his slippers and reached up to fix his hair.

Pansy grimaced, not answering for a moment as she stepped out into the hall and pushed the door wide open. Golden light spilled into the darkened room as Pansy’s body lit up in oranges and pinks. She looked stressed even now, her eye twitching as Draco watched her stand there with her arm holding the door open wide like a fucking weirdo.

“Have you been possessed?” Draco asked incredulously, which, she didn’t like, judging by the sour expression she threw his way. Her lipstick was smudged and she looked lovely as ever, even cross as she was with him apparently.

“Go on.” Pansy said in exasperation. At first Draco had thought she was talking to him- That was… Until he heard the thuds of heavy footsteps and the clack of claws on the-

Oh god. Ohgodohgodohgodohgod .

Draco’s gaze snapped to the window, moonlight flooding through the pane in a criss cross of silver as the full moon glowed bright in the sky.

Fuck.

Fuck.

FUCK.

A giant wolf entered the room, it’s eyes glowing green as spring grass as it’s heavy form pushed through the doorway and past Pansy and her smudged mascara.

“Potter?” Draco questioned, because it could be no one else. The dog- Wolf. Wolf-dog, woofed, a quiet little noise as it padded over to him. The blonde could feel it’s heat from over a meter away, the dark fur thick and unruly, it’s massive head (His, massive head) coming close to Draco’s ribcage in height. “Fucking-fuck, Harry.” Draco gasped breathlessly as the giant beast approached. Scritch, scratch, scritch, scratch, his nails dragged against the carpet. “You’re going to leave so much bloody fur all over my room.”