Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Coffee Talks	By : Queenie_Mab Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 2707 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations from Harry Potter, created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including Bloomsbury, Scholastic and Raincoast, and Warner Bros. No money is being made and no copyright infringeme

Chapter List
- 1-Coffee Talks
- 1
Torn

Harry held Ginny’s hand clasped tightly in his own, though she could no longer feel him, nor return the gesture. Her skin had already begun to cool and set, but he couldn’t let her go just yet. His eyes drank her in, memorising every freckle on her lifeless face, willing himself to wake from this nightmare.

“Dad,” James’ timid voice said from the doorway. “They’re here.”

Mediwizards from St. Mungo’s had arrived to verify Ginny’s death and to place freshening spells on her body.

Harry looked up at his nine-year-old son as the tears began to flow anew. James’ chin trembled, and his large brown eyes fixated on his mother’s body. Harry could see James was trying to hold himself together, that he felt he needed to be strong for Harry.

“Jamie,” Harry said, reaching his free arm out to his son. “It’s all right to cry right now. Come here and let me hold you.”

James nodded sadly, tears spilling down his cheeks, and allowed Harry to pull him close to his chest. Harry buried his nose in the crook of James’ neck, and the sobs he was holding inside burst out in long grief-stricken bursts, drawing the same from James.

He let go of Ginny’s hand for the first time since she’d taken her last breath, and he and James clung to one another, holding each other up.

“Daddy?” Lily said in a small voice. “Can I hug you too?”

Harry looked up to see seven-year-old Albus and five-year-old Lily standing at the foot of the bed.

He and James opened their arms for the young ones to join in.

Goodbye

The cemetery in Godric’s Hollow was packed. Witches and wizards from around the world had come to pay their respects to Harry for the loss of his wife. They stood in groups of five and ten, weaving in between the headstones of the tiny cemetery, dotting the landscape with funeral black.

Harry held Lily in his arms, her head resting on his shoulder, while James and Albus clung to the pockets of his dress robes as they watched Bill, Charlie, George, Percy and Ron wave their wands together to lift Ginny’s white and gold painted coffin up and settle it gently in the hole in the ground beside Harry’s parents' tombstone.

Molly and Arthur held each other, weeping freely. Luna dropped a sunflower on top of Ginny’s coffin, beginning a trend among the crowd of people Harry held dear. They all took turns tossing in flowers. Lilies, daisies, wisteria, heather, all the flowers that scented the warm spring day and reminded Harry so much of the woman he had loved and now had lost.

That night, after his children piled in his and Ginny’s bed, tangled together in sleep for comfort and to keep the nightmares away, Harry sat at his desk by the window. The small lamp cast a circle of light on the documents he was looking over.

One scroll was the death certificate:

Ginevra Molly Potter, nee Weasley.

Born: 11 August 1981 Died: 12 June 2014

Cause of Death: Complications arising from pure-blood cancer.

I, Hamish Hollister, do attest to having declared the deceased as such on this 12th of June 2014.

Signed Hollister, Mediwizard, Ministry of Magic.

Filed with the Department of Vital

Statistics

Harry added his signature to the bottom of the second scroll, an application to Healer training at St. Mungo’s, and a third, his resignation from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He couldn’t be an Auror any longer, not after the past six months he’d spent tending to Ginny and witnessing the miracles of healing that happened at St. Mungo’s every day. There worked the true heroes of the wizarding world, and it was through healing that Harry wanted to make his mark. And if he was able to eventually pinpoint the cause of the cancer that had taken Ginny, and to find a cure, so much the better.

He trimmed the wick in his lamp and retreated to the bed, sliding beneath the thick quilt that had been a wedding gift, to join his children in their first night home without a mother.

Starting

Over

Harry climbed out of the fireplace at Andromeda Tonks’ house, looking up to see her dusting the soot off Lily and Albus.

“Hi, Andromeda,” he said then turned to the kids. “Kids, I want you to be on your best behaviour for Auntie Andromeda.”

Albus shrugged, tugging at the hem of his ragged hand-me-down Weird Sisters shirt. He tossed his fringe out of his eyes. Lily gave Harry a bright smile and hugged him. “We always do, Dad,” she said, releasing him.

Andromeda pointed to the kitchen door. “There’s dough in the kitchen that needs to be cut into biscuits. You two go on and get started for me.”

Lily’s eyes brightened at the mention of biscuits, and she scampered off to the kitchen. Albus raised his hand in a half wave. “Goodnight, Dad,” he said, and followed Lily with a casual lope.

When they were alone, Andromeda turned her heavily lidded eyes on Harry, fixing him with a penetrating stare. “How are you getting on, Harry?” she asked, concerned. “I know people say grief gets easier as time passes, but it never truly goes away, especially when the children look up at you with their eyes…” She trailed off, as if lost in thought.

Harry swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. He had nearly forgotten the four-year anniversary of Ginny’s death was coming up next week. He thought about the research he was doing at St. Mungo’s for his dissertation as he worked towards expanding his career as a Healer—researching past cases of the illness that had taken Ginny, hoping they held clues that would bring him closer to finding a cure. This was what had kept him going, pushing himself ahead in the world of higher learning, to keep the pain he was experiencing from happening to others. “I’m okay, Andromeda,” he said finally. “I really must be off. I’ll be working another double shift tonight as Healer Boot owled in sick again. Can you be sure they get to bed at a reasonable—”

“We’ll manage, Harry,” Andromeda said, interrupting him. “You take care of you and don’t trouble yourself about the children. We’ll be fine.”

Coffee

Harry took the lift to the fifth floor during his break between shifts. He took his place in a short queue in front of the coffee stand and let his eyes wander around the room, watching the late-night hospital visitors comforting each other. Dotted at a few of the circular tables were Healers distinguishable by their lime-green robes.

“Hey there, Harry!” a friendly voice called, drawing his attention back to the queue. It was Teddy Lupin, waving him forward.

“Hi, Teddy,” Harry said, smiling. “I’ll have a coffee, black please.”

Teddy raised a pale blue eyebrow. “Watching the calories, are we?” he said teasingly. “Oh, I am meant to pass this on to you.” He slid a rolled parchment across the counter after writing Harry’s drink order on a paper cup.

Harry put five Sickles on the counter and picked up the scroll. He unrolled it to find a note in Lily’s loopy scrawl as she practised her cursive.

I miss you Daddy. We’re having fun. I love spending time with cousin Teddy. I love you and send you a big kiss and hug. Al called me an egg sucker. Love

Lily

He grinned at the scroll and looked up as Teddy passed him his drink. “Thanks, Ted. When is your shift up?”

“I’m off in half an hour, but Bell is taking over next, so your coffee is in capable hands.”

“That’s a relief,” Harry said. He picked up a discarded copy of the Daily Prophet that was lying on a table and, looking at it, wandered to his customary place, a window seat in the corner, only to find it was taken by the familiar figure of Draco Malfoy. Harry watched him staring vacantly out the window, his white-blond hair reflected in the glass pane.

He took a step backwards, wanting to retreat to avoid any conflict, but overstepped, knocking into a nearby chair and causing Draco’s eyes to snap to him. Draco’s eyebrows narrowed in suspicion. “Potter, what do you want?”

Harry felt his pulse quicken, the instinct to lash back with something rude of his own ruling his tongue, but he stopped. Draco’s eyes were overly tired, worried. He recognised the pain in them. “What’s happened?” he asked, falling into his Healer mode. He sat in the chair opposite Draco. “Are you all right?”

“Potter,” Draco said, swiping a hand across his brow as if brushing away a bothersome fly, “I don’t need the Hero of the Wizarding World pressing in on my business and solving my problems. I don’t think I need to spell it out for you that I do not accept the general consensus held by my peers that the very sun shines out of your golden arse. Why don’t you just run off and leave us mortals to our trivialities.” He picked up his mug and tried to drink from it, but realised it was empty and set it back on the table.

Harry felt a snort escape. It felt brilliantly refreshing to see that here was one person who had never wavered in his feelings towards Harry. He shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said finally. “I suppose I’ve moved past the old days.”

Draco’s sharp features began to contort, and Harry thought he might have said the wrong thing, inwardly kicking himself for talking down to a visitor while on duty, and then he realised Draco was fighting to not smile.

“You’re so full of shit, Potter,” he said, his customary smirk firmly in place. He sighed. “Though I must admit that your bone-headed Gryffindor oversight of your own shortcomings is at least a distraction.”

Harry wasn’t sure whether or not he was meant to be insulted, so he shrugged and took a sip from his cup, eyes roving over the rest of the room. He looked back at Draco when he heard Draco clear his throat. “Hrm?”

“You do realise there are a good many tables available, do you not? Why are you sitting with me?” Draco demanded, though Harry thought he detected more curiosity and less antagonism in his tone of voice.

Harry shrugged and nodded at Draco’s cup. “You need another coffee? How do you take it? I’ll get you one.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, and he stood up, taking his mug with him. “I can get my own coffee, Potter,” he said and stalked away.

Harry watched him stand in the queue, his body stiff and agitated, and he wondered who Draco was here to visit. He noticed Draco put his mug in the dish bin and fetch his next drink in a take-away cup.

Harry hummed, looking out the window, allowing himself to relax and enjoy the last few minutes of his break. He reminded himself he’d moved past the need to know what Draco Malfoy was up to at all times, and closed his eyes, letting the velvety scent of his coffee wash through his senses.

Try as he might to ignore it, his ears tuned in to listen to Draco’s clipped banter with Teddy, and he could sense Draco’s departure from the visitors’ room.

Holiday

“Here it comes, Daddy, look!” Lily shrieked, jumping up and down as the Hogwarts Express came into view.

Harry grinned and patted Albus on the shoulder, rubbing it with his palm. “Just think, Al. In a few months, you’ll be on your way to Hogwarts too.” He sighed, watching the red steam-engine’s wheels slow and the bustling activity in the windows of students excited for the summer hols, nostalgia washing over him.

Albus shrugged Harry’s hand off his shoulder and waved his arm wildly about, having spotted his brother. “James, hey!”

James was peering out the window at them, near the door, a cocky smile on his face as he turned to laugh at something one of his classmates had said.

~x~

As they pulled out of London in their Muggle car onto the highway that would take them to Godric’s Hollow, Albus and Lily fell silent in the backseat, as if a gloom had settled heavily over them.

Harry turned to see James staring out the window on the passenger side. “Jamie? Everything all right?”

James turned back and looked at Harry, a thoughtful expression crossing his features. “Yeah,” he sighed. “Just thinking about Mum. She ought to be here, would be, if you know…” He shrugged.

Harry swallowed hard, feeling his throat tighten up. It felt like he was swallowing a rock. “I miss her too,” he said, trying to keep his eyes from filling up by rolling down the window and exposing them to the wind.

“Are you still working on finding a cure, Dad?” James asked. “I mean, that’s why you became a Healer, isn’t it?”

Harry nodded, blinking. “That’s right, Jamie. Why don’t you find us some music to listen to?”

~x~

Harry hummed, absently stroking the side of his face under the arm of his glasses. He studied the board laid out on the kitchen table, illuminated by a circlet of yellow light from the lamp overhead, the warm scent of that night’s shepherd's pie lingering in the air.

“Come on, Dad!” James exclaimed, across from him. He rocked his chair back on two legs.

“Feet on the floor,” Harry said, absently, echoing Ginny’s past frequent reprimand.

He finally moved his bishop diagonally two spaces, looking up to see James’ face eagerly waiting for him to take his hand off the piece. He paused, the edge of the bishop just touching the board. “I don’t want to move here, do I?”

James laughed. “It’s up to you, but if you move there, the end is in sight.”

Harry’s eyes darted over the board, not making heads nor tails of it. He released the bishop. “I suppose I’ll have to concede then,” he said, sighing dramatically.

He watched James slide his queen to the left, in a move he had not seen coming. “Checkmate,” James declared proudly.

Harry watched his king fall to its knees and smiled at his son. “Your mother would be so proud to see the young man you’re becoming. I know I am.”

James rolled his eyes. “Thanks,” he said, looking up from his win. “I’m er—really proud of you too.”

Sleepless

Harry tossed and turned in the night. He was too cold without the sheet, but when he pulled it over himself, he was sweating minutes later and it was frustrating. He remembered Ginny had been like that throughout her pregnancies and the thought made his heart ache.

“Daddy,” a small voice broke through his thoughts.

He sat up on his elbows, squinting towards the door. He could just make out Lily standing in her white cotton nightgown, one hand rubbing at an eye. “What’s up, Lily-bug?” he asked, sitting up fully and opening his arms.

Lily’s feet padded quietly over the carpeted floor. She climbed into bed and wrapped her long arms around him in a tight squeeze.

“I had a bad dream,” Lily said quietly, whispering in the dark.

Harry smoothed out of her eyes a few loose wisps of her hair that had come undone from her plait. “You want to tell me about it?” he asked, holding her tightly as she pushed her cheek against his chest, listening to his heart beat as she had done for comfort from the time she was a baby.

She shook her head. They remained quiet for a couple of long minutes.

“Why don’t you sleep here, love?” he suggested, kissing the top of her head, the smell of her shampoo making him feel as if Ginny was present in the room, hanging onto Lily like a hug.

She looked up at him, large brown eyes round and dark in her pale freckled face. Her lips curled upwards.

Harry released her and made room.

When he awakened again, a sunbeam warmed his face, making him squint as he opened his eyes. He was so hot he was sweating. When he turned his head, he thought his heart would explode from happiness at the sight of all three of his children piled in beside him in the bed.

Common Ground

When Harry stepped into the visitors' tearoom the next night during his lunch hour, he was surprised to see Draco again seated at the same table.

He ordered two black coffees from Bell and carried the paper cups over to Draco’s table along with a few capsules of milk.

He felt Draco’s eyes follow his progress, but refused to be intimidated. “I brought you some coffee,” he offered in explanation, sitting across from Draco. “I didn’t know whether you took milk and sugar…”

Draco’s lips turned down in a frown, pinching a bit. He said nothing, but took the proffered cup of coffee and dumped two of the capsules into it, ignoring the sugar bowl on the table.

Harry grinned slightly, sipping his own coffee and settling back in his chair, extending his legs into the aisle between tables. “So what brings you here for a second night in a row?” he asked conversationally.

Draco sipped his coffee, looking over the rim of his cup at Harry with wary eyes. He set the cup back on the table and crossed his legs. “I don’t see how my business is any of your business, Potter. I may not tell you to bugger off when you sit uninvited at my table, but a coffee is not enough of an incentive for me to talk to you.”

Harry lifted his cup in mock salute. “Understood,” he said dryly. They sat in silence for the rest of Harry’s break, drinking coffee, and alternating between looking out the window and watching other patrons of the hospital congregate at the tables.

When Harry left to return to his shift, Draco nodded in acknowledgement, making Harry feel like he’d won at a game of sorts.

As he took the stairs down to the second floor, he wondered if Draco would be having coffee again the following night and realised he was looking forward to finding out.

~x~

The following night, Draco was once again seated in the window seat when Harry walked into the visitors' room. His face was wan and looked haunted, as if he hadn’t slept in ages, and his normally tamed hair hung in greasy curtains around his eyes, but he surprised Harry when he lifted his hand and beckoned him over.

“What’s this?” Harry asked, taking his place across from Draco. Two cups of coffee stood waiting for him, steam rising from their surfaces.

“I owed you a coffee,” Draco said blandly. “Consider us even.”

Harry wanted to ask Draco why he was spending his nights in the visitors' room, but couldn’t think how to phrase the question without having his head bitten off. He looked at his watch to make sure he had time enough left before he would be missed, and then chanced a sideways glance, taking in Draco’s miserable expression.

“Who is it?” Harry asked finally, unable to keep silent any longer.

Draco acknowledged his question with an eyebrow lift that appeared to take the last of his energy. He took a sip from his coffee and set the cup down, still holding it, staring at the tan-coloured liquid. “My son,” he whispered hoarsely. “They’re still running tests.”

Harry’s heart clenched in his chest. He could only imagine the sort of pain Draco was going through. It had been bad enough when Ginny had fallen ill, but to have an illness happen to one of his children he supposed would tear him in two.

“I’m sorry,” Harry mumbled, feeling woefully inadequate at expressing his sympathy.

The minutes ticked away as they sat not talking, taking turns drinking coffee and watching the bustle of the night-time crowd disperse until it was again time for Harry to take his leave.

“I’ll see if I can find out what’s keeping the results,” he offered lamely, but felt it was better than saying nothing at all.

He watched Draco roll his eyes as he flicked his wrist, shooing Harry away. “Go on, Potter. I’m sure there are many people needing your saving grace, and I won’t keep you from them.”

He immediately felt like arguing with Draco, defending himself from being labelled a hero in this place too, when he realised Draco was joking.

“I’ll see you later,” he said, smiling reluctantly as he returned to work.

More ill news

The following afternoon when Harry arrived at work, he scribbled in shorthand across a roll of parchment on the table at the Healers' station, taking his report. Bigoni, the off-going Healer, droned on and on, his voice wearily rattling off details of each of the patients Harry would be taking on for the evening shift. He pulled the third patient’s file from a stack on the table, and his eyes fell upon the name and diagnosis.

“What’s this?” Harry said aloud, more to himself than to his colleague. “Scorpius Malfoy?” He opened the chart and his heart sank. “Why wasn’t I told about this case when the diagnosis was made?” Harry asked impatiently, looking up to see Bigoni’s shrug.

“Search me,” Bigoni said. “I came on halfway through this morning. I understand it took a few days for the results to be conclusive. Anyhow, getting back to the Dragon Pox in room 12…”

Harry’s stomach sank as he realised he would be taking on Scorpius’ care from then on. His job in the Research and Development Department of St. Mungo’s had been waiting for another verified case of The Disease Which Shall Not Be Named to come up. The prognosis was dire, and Harry hated that it was happening to such a young child.

Fear

Scorpius shrugged where he lay upon the examination table, his pale features drawn very much like Draco’s.

Harry ran his wand over Scorpius’ chest, a ball of blue energy forming from the spell and hovering in midair.

“How about this autumn, Scorpius?” Harry asked, watching Scorpius’ scared eyes focus on the ball. “Are you looking forward to going to Hogwarts?”

“Guess so,” Scorpius said, shrugging. “I’m looking forward to getting to brew some real potions at last. My dad won’t let me do much more than making hair potions and stuff. He says I need to wait until I start school. He does let me study them though, so I know I’ll have at least that much of a head start.”

Harry smiled, whispering an incantation under his breath. The ball of light dimmed and turned yellow. “Has your dad talked much to you about Severus Snape?” Harry asked. The quill floating beside him scratched a note on a hovering scroll of parchment. “I was fortunate enough in my sixth year to have had access to his old Potions book. He’d written all sorts of notes in it, and when I followed his instructions rather than the book’s, I was able to brew potions well for the first time in my life. I must say, I never got on with Professor Snape when he was alive, but he was undeniably a genius.”

Scorpius smirked wryly up at Harry. “My dad said you had to take remedial Potions from Severus when you were in school.”

“Do my ears deceive me?” Draco’s voice carried from the open door. “Or did I just hear you compliment Severus Snape, Potter?”

Harry rolled his eyes and turned his head as Draco came closer. “We’re nearly finished,” he said. “And, yes. I actually gave the name Severus to my middle child. Albus Severus.” He flicked his wand again, and the light grew blue once more. “He’ll be in the same year as you, Scorpius.”

Scorpius looked at the ceiling, as if he couldn’t stand looking at the light any longer. “I dunno,” he said quietly. “I don’t even know if I’ll be around to go to school.” A heavy teardrop ran down the side of his face.

Harry’s heart clenched painfully. He wanted to reassure Scorpius, to tell him not to talk like that, to keep his spirits high, but couldn’t bring himself to lie. “I promise you, young man,” he said finally. “I will do whatever it takes to treat you and to find a cure. Do you understand?”

Scorpius opened his large grey eyes, ringed with his blond lashes sticking together with moisture, and looked at Harry. “Yes,” he whispered. “Thank you, Healer Potter.”

His voice was so small and defeated, Harry wanted to wage war with the heavens to challenge the unfairness of putting an innocent child through so much pain.

“Potter,” Draco said from beside him. “When you’re finished, I’d like a word in private.”

Harry nodded.

“How is it going in here?” Ellie Hamilton, the Healer-in-Charge, asked, bustling over to stand on the other side of Scorpius. She squinted through the large round lenses of her glasses, studying the light.

“All right, Ellie,” Harry said, and with a complicated flourish, the light descended back into Scorpius’ chest and Harry felt the pull on his magic from concentrating so long lift. “Scorpius, Healer Hamilton will take care of you for a few minutes while your dad and I have a quick chat. Is that all right?”

Scorpius nodded bravely as Draco gave his shoulder a squeeze. “You’re doing brilliant, Scorpius. I’ll be back shortly.”

Harry put the quill and parchment into his Healer bag and carried it with him to the door, standing just outside so Draco could catch up. The emotions he was trying to suppress threatened to overwhelm him. He remembered Ginny’s face when the Healers had given them the grim diagnosis, how she had taken the news with a stoic grace and only a slight tremble of her lips had betrayed her fear.

Draco stood beside him, shutting the door with a click.

Harry turned to meet him. The look he had just remembered was pasted on Draco’s features, his grey eyes steely. “Let’s get some coffee,” he said, and turned to walk towards the lift.

Confessions

“Tell it to me straight,” Draco said, swallowing hard. “I can read it plainly on your face, Potter. Whatever it is, it’s not good, is it?”

Harry shook his head and fought back the impulse to chew on his thumbnail. “You know the diagnosis,” he said at last. “His magic levels have been halved since the last test. I’m afraid his motor skills will be affected next.”

Draco’s lips tightened and he looked out the window. “Bugger!” He took a deep sigh. “Is that how it happened with her? Your wife?”

Harry nodded, taking a sip of his coffee. The bitter taste perfectly complemented his mood. “She died,” he said, exhaling, “about two months after the physical symptoms appeared.” He thought he could see tears forming in Draco’s reflection in the window, but couldn’t be certain.

Draco closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the glass. “He’s been through too much for an eleven-year-old. It’s not fair. I swore to myself that I’d never let a child of mine suffer, and I’ve failed once again. I can’t bloody do anything right,” he spat bitterly.

Harry wasn’t sure what to say, or if he should say anything at all. “He looks remarkably like you,” he said after a pregnant pause. He sat back in his chair, coffee poised under his mouth, feeling the steam rise from the hole in the plastic lid. “When I first walked into his room, I thought I’d stepped back in time by accident.”

Draco lifted his face and turned towards Harry. His cheeks were a blotchy pink from upset. “He’s ten times a better person than I ever was,” he said, a hint of pride in his voice. “If I had been the boy he is, we might have been friends.”

Harry shrugged. “Maybe,” he said, noncommittally.

“You don’t know how badly I’ve fucked up,” Draco muttered. “There’s so much I should have done to protect him, so many things I should have noticed…” His voice trailed off as his gaze wandered to the streaks of rain hitting the darkened window.

“What happened?” Harry asked. “I mean, you don’t have to tell me, but if you wanted to talk, er…”

Draco ignored his stammering. “His mother was not ‘all there’ if you know what I mean,” he said thickly. He looked at Harry, grey eyes flashing, daring Harry to challenge him. When Harry remained silent, he continued. “I think she thought she could change me. I don’t know,” he said miserably. “Our marriage was a sham. It was a convenient arrangement, nothing more, but I think she had delusions that time would change things.”

“What sort of things?” Harry asked when Draco had stopped talking. He nodded encouragingly, wanting to hear more.

Draco’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if sizing Harry up. His face was impassive. “I don’t know how much you know about me, Potter,” he said. “Or really, how much you would care to know, but the reason I married Astoria was to procure an heir.”

Harry shrugged. “Okay?” he said. “You managed that. What was the problem?”

Draco sighed as if Harry had entirely missed his point. “I am gay,” he said definitively. “Astoria knew from the get-go that our marriage was to be in name only. The agreement was that she would provide me an heir and in exchange, I would save her family from financial ruin. I held up my end of the bargain, and she did as well. But when she would take Scorpius to play with other children, she began to want the whole ‘functioning family’ that I could never give her.”

Harry was blown away. He’d not expected Draco to be so blunt with him. His surprise must have been clear on his face because Draco rolled his eyes at his reaction. “So, er…” Harry stammered. Draco raised an eyebrow sharply. “What happened then?”

Draco took a sip from his cup, leaning back in his chair, brooding. “There were signs,” Draco said. “Signs I should have paid attention to. I know that now. But, it’s infuriating when somebody tries to rewrite the terms of a contract. She threatened to divorce me and keep Scorpius from me if I didn’t agree to play family with her. Unfortunately I didn’t take her seriously and she died,” he finished lamely.

Harry started forward. “What?”

The lines in Draco’s forehead deepened as he drew his eyebrows together, almost pleadingly. “Splinched herself…” he whispered, focusing on the surface of the table, “on purpose. I had come into the room carrying Scorpius on my hip, after spending the day with him. I had plans to meet a friend that evening, so I was dropping Scorpius off with her to have her spend time with him before bed, and when we walked into her bedroom... Scorpius saw her before I did. Her head was in the bathroom and her body was on the floor in a pool of blood.” His voice got extremely quiet and Harry had to strain his ears to make out Draco’s words. “I’ve never seen so much blood.”

Harry felt sick to his stomach. He couldn’t begin to imagine how traumatic seeing his mother like that must have been to Scorpius.

“How old was he when it happened?” he asked, for the lack of anything better to say.

“He was four years old,” Draco said wincing. “Merlin, I can’t believe I let my four-year-old son see that. I can’t stand to think I drove her to it. I’m so mad at her I could spit, but I’m equally mad at myself for letting it happen. I keep thinking that if I had just been less selfish and done things differently it might not have happened, but then I remember how miserable I was while she was alive and I think about what I could have done differently to make sure she’d done it where Scorpius wouldn’t have seen. I’m an awful person, but you know that, don’t you, Potter?”

Harry shrugged. He didn’t know how else to respond. “I’m sorry to hear that happened to you.” His eyes were on Draco’s face, studying it as if he’d never really seen him before. He noticed the smallest hints of what could have been pale freckles sprinkled across the bridge of Draco’s nose, noticed how his lips were thin, but maintained a pouting look nevertheless. He must have made Draco uncomfortable with his staring because Draco got to his feet a moment later.

“Well, it’s all past now. I’m sure I’ll see you around,” Draco said and walked towards the lift.

Harry remained at the table for several moments longer, hoping he hadn’t said the wrong things or not said the right things to Draco. He wondered why he even cared, and then thought of Scorpius. Of course he cared. He was needed. He pulled the notes he’d taken earlier out of his bag and flipped through them. There had to be a cure for this illness, he was certain. What if the answer was hiding right in front of him if he only looked hard enough?

When the end of his shift finally arrived, Harry’s head felt like it had been hewn in two with an axe. His feet ached after being on them all night and he shuffled to the outgoing Floo, thoughts of how good he would feel sliding under clean sheets dancing through his mind.

Stress Relief

Standing beneath the hot spray of the shower, Harry let his mind unwind from his double shift. He had about six hours before the kids were dropped off by their grandparents, which gave him just enough time to clean up quickly and get a few hours of sleep.

He was reeling from the billowing steam and his exhaustion, both physical and mental. He couldn’t fathom how much pain Draco must be going through. He’d lost his wife in a horrific manner and now was on the verge of losing his only child. Harry’s heart ached as he thought of how he’d feel if one of his children were diagnosed with a fatal illness.

He closed his eyes, savouring the sensation created by the water relentlessly pelting his skin, letting those thoughts slide off him. He picked up the bar of soap, its scent sharp and clean as he scrubbed it across his chest, letting the lather build in his scant chest hair and sluice down his abdomen. His thoughts returned to Draco, but instead of focusing on the horrific tale Draco had told him, he thought of the fact that Draco was admittedly gay and what that meant logistically when he was intimate with another person. The thought sent his heart racing, and a fire spread throughout his nervous system like he’d not felt in years. His body was responding to the idea as well, and the heat rose in waves of steam in the narrow-tiled shower cubicle.

His soapy hand slipped easily around his cock, bringing it to full attention, and his hips snapped forward, thrusting into his fist furiously while visions of Draco’s pouting lips flashed through his mind. He slowed his strokes, forcing himself to back down to think about what he was doing.

What was he doing? He wasn’t gay. His cock throbbed in protest at whatever his brain was trying to rationalise. He rolled his shoulders, turning his back on the shower spray, letting his worries roll off with the soap suds, giving in to the urgency of his need. It had been so long since he’d given himself over to pleasure. Surely thinking about Draco and gay sex while wanking didn’t make him gay; it was simply a curiosity, something different that made it exciting and dangerous.

Once he’d settled on that rationale, he chased his orgasm to its finish, vision going white as he painted the tiles with his release. He was left shuddering to catch his breath and slow his racing heart, relief coursing through his limbs in warm bursts of contentment.

And then a fist pounding on the bathroom door nearly made him fall, slipping in surprise. He turned off the water and grabbed his towel from its hook.

"Daddy, I have to peeee!" Lily's voice called through the wood panels.

He wrapped the towel around his waist and stepped onto the bathmat, then slid his glasses on his nose, instantly fogging them, and opened the door.

Lily bounced into the room, her jeans already undone and hopping from foot to foot.

He shuffled out of the bathroom, allowing her to slam the door closed after him, and looked up bemused as James wandered into the hallway.

"Hey, Dad," James said. "We're just stopping in so Lily could use the toilet and grab her purse, then we're going to Diagon Alley."

Harry chuckled. "No problem, Jamie. I was just getting ready to sleep. I hope you have a good time shopping."

Research

Harry ran his fingers through his sweat-slicked hair, feeling tufts of it left standing at odd angles. He looked down at the mass of scrolls on the desk before him in the records room at St. Mungo’s and sighed. The air was thick with dust and the ventilation system didn’t seem to be working. The room was small, cramped and windowless. The walls were lined with filing cabinets rising from floor to ceiling, and looking up, the ceiling rose quite high, as if it had an Expansion Charm upon it.

The door creaked open and banged into the back of Harry’s chair.

“Sorry, Harry,” Teddy Lupin said, chuckling. “You’d think they would expand the work space, wouldn’t you? I brought you a cappuccino.”

“Is he in there?” a familiar voice asked from the hall. Harry turned in his chair to see Draco Malfoy standing behind Teddy, trying to see over Teddy’s tall shoulders.

“Is it all right with you if Mr. Malfoy talks to you a bit?” Teddy asked, his face apologetic. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Maybe he could help you with filing or something? He needs something to focus on. Please? He’s driving me barmy.”

Harry nodded quickly, his pulse racing. He told himself his body was reacting to the old rivalry, not the accidental shower wank, and fought to remain calm and professional.

Teddy backed out of the door and Draco stepped in. He looked like he’d not slept in days. His grey eyes were set with dark shadows beneath them, and his face was in desperate need of a shave.

Teddy gave Harry a raised eyebrow and a head nod as he departed.

Harry watched Draco’s eyes take in the cramped records room with distaste. He pulled his wand free from his robe pocket and flicked it. The table doubled in size, as did the room. Harry felt like he could breathe finally.

“Thanks,” he said. “I was getting claustrophobic.”

Draco stumbled to another chair that had materialised across from Harry and collapsed in it, glowering at Harry from under his greasy fringe. He let out a deep breath. “Potter, you do know how to use your wand, do you not?”

Harry felt his lips tugging at the sides, unsure if Draco intended the innuendo Harry had picked up.

“Was there something you wanted?” he asked finally, feeling strangely nervous, and hoping Draco wouldn’t sense it. “Did you want to help me with my research?”

Draco smirked and summoned the scroll Harry had been reading. He held it in one hand, eyes flying across the script, and then looked back to Harry. “Why isn’t this illness bigger news to the wizarding public?”

Harry cleared his throat; it felt like he’d half-swallowed a hair. “Um, I think it’s because it occurs exclusively in pure-blood witches and wizards. It’s just not talked about. You’d know more about it than me. I wasn’t raised with the whole"—he notched his fingers like quotes—“'Toujours Pur' motto."

Draco narrowed his eyes. “Let me see what you’ve compiled so far of all this,” he said, gesturing to the piles of scrolls littering the table.

Harry slid his notes across the tabletop, feeling a shock of static as Draco’s hand brushed his while taking the paper. He moistened his lips, hoping he hadn’t made his nervousness known to Draco. But the way Draco was immersed in the information Harry had spent months gathering, he figured he was probably safe.

~x~

Harry lifted his head as the door opened, regretting it at once as his neck screamed in protest.

“I just thought I’d check and see if you were still in here, Harry,” Teddy said from the doorway.

Harry turned his neck carefully from side to side, trying to use it without it seizing up on him again and his eyes fell on Draco, fast asleep with his head pillowed in his arms.

“What time is it, Teddy?” he asked, realising his throat was parched and his mouth tasted of dust.

“I left you two in here yesterday before I went home. I’m back now, So it’s been sixteen hours,” Teddy said, a trace of amusement in his voice.

Bollocks! “I need to owl your grandmother and apologise for not coming home last night,” Harry said, getting to his feet.

“It’s all right, Harry,” Teddy said with a wry grin. “I’ll let her know. Thanks for keeping him”—he gestured to Draco with a nod—“occupied.”

Harry nodded his thanks. “Can you bring us a pitcher of water and maybe some toast?” he asked as his stomach gave a loud growl.

Development

Harry couldn’t help it—he was enjoying the banter he and Draco exchanged over the next fortnight locked away in the records room. He felt at ease around Draco, sometimes wondering if some of the lingering glances he’d catch from the corner of his eye meant Draco saw him in an attractive way at all.

“Potter,” Draco’s drawled casually, looking in his coffee mug with a frown as he saw it was empty again. “What are we accomplishing by going over all these records? All that’s here time and again are notes documenting how nothing the Healers have tried in the past has helped. How is this supposed to cure Scorpius?”

Harry furrowed his brow and put down the ancient scroll he’d been examining. His fingers were covered in ink that had bled from the parchment. “I told you, we need to chart what has been tried in the past and what results each trial yielded to figure out what’s missing. What hasn’t been tried? What can we do differently?”

He blinked suddenly as Draco’s hand swept across Harry’s nose, rubbing the bridge with a thumb. He felt his face flush with colour as he met Draco’s steady grey gaze.

“Sorry,” Draco said, sitting back in his chair.

Harry just realised it had moved so they were seated side by side. He couldn’t remember when that had happened.

“You had a smudge on your nose. I did that without thinking,” Draco finished, a hint of colour in his pale cheeks.

Harry nodded dumbly. His heart skipped a beat and sped up as he watched Draco’s face watching him. He watched a fine blond eyebrow arch in curiousity, watched as Draco’s lips curled upward on one side.

“If I didn’t know better, Potter,” Draco said slowly, Harry watching the words form on his lips as if in slow motion, “I’d say you were checking me out. Do you like what you see?”

It took him a moment to register what Draco had said. He felt his face grow warm and looked towards the door. He stood up. “I’m going to go get some more coffee,” he said, needing some air and to stretch his legs. “And visit the loo,” he added as Draco rose slowly from his seat as if to join him. “Did you want me to bring something back for you?”

“I’ll get my own coffee, thanks,” Draco said wryly.

When he returned to the records room a half an hour later, Draco had picked up his things and left a note telling Harry he’d be spending the rest of the day with Scorpius. Harry sighed, torn between wanting to confront Draco’s earlier declaration and relief in not having to face so uncomfortable a conversation.

Exploration

Harry opened his eyes and stared at his alarm clock. It was six in the morning and he really needed to sleep before the kids returned from their stay with Andromeda, but his body thrummed with a deep ache.

As much as he tried to deny it, he was painfully aroused, and the arousal stemmed entirely from his days spent in Draco’s proximity. His body was awake for the first time since Ginny had died, and it wanted, longed, for something Harry was fighting with himself to admit.

“Draco,” he gasped into the night, finally giving voice to his longing.

His knees bent beneath the sheet, and he could smell his arousal thick on the air. “Fuck!” he swore, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his pants and pulling them off, feeling the slickness of perspiration on the underside of his knees.

His hips bucked upwards as his erection tented the sheet, his need growing in intensity. He screwed his eyes shut tight, grasping at his pillow, searching underneath it for the smooth wood handle he knew he’d find there. The hawthorn wand sang in his hand, responding to his touch like a kiss from an old friend or lover shared after an extended absence.

His breath caught in his throat, coming in a shuddering gasp as he closed his eyes to what he was about to do. “Lubricus,” he whispered, feeling the wand in his hand slick itself with a slippery film of cool gel. Sucking in a breath, he guided the tip to the centre of his ache, loosing a low moan as it penetrated him. He let it slip back again and then pushed it in deeper, imagining it was actually being held by its former master.

His cock throbbed and dripped at the thought of what Draco would say if he saw him at this moment, spread open and wantonly fucking himself with his wand. The tip hit his prostate, sending sparks of pleasure through his nervous system, popping in his vision as pinwheels of silver and gold, spinning through his mind’s eye until they transformed into Draco’s grey stare.

His orgasm crashed over him, leaving him breathless, a shuddering mess all over his hand. He hadn’t even realised he was holding his cock until it twitched in his fist, flagging from exertion. Draco’s wand slipped free and he gave in to the pull of exhaustion.

~x~

Harry’s eyes snapped open and he yanked the blankets over his exposed body just as the front door banged open and he heard Lily’s voice call, “Daddy! We’re back!”

The Gift of Life

After they spent the day shopping for summer clothes, Harry led the children past a row of Muggle shops. As they walked past the tube station entrance, Harry spotted a tent set up with flags advertising for the National Blood Service. A large banner stretched across the front of a folding table under the canopy. It featured a photograph of a bald little girl probably around seven years old, smiling brightly, and the slogan in block letters to the right read, ‘Give the Gift of Life. Donate today!’

He stopped and picked up a pamphlet from the table, read the title and signalled to a young man wearing a blue shirt that labeled him a volunteer. “What’s this bone marrow registry?” Harry asked.

The young man launched into his memorised speech about how people could submit their DNA to the national registry, and then if a patient needed a bone marrow transplant, they would be called on if they were a match. Harry listened enraptured, taken with the idea of a transplant. If the pureblood illness was as it was defined, a cancer of a person’s magic, it would stand to reason that it could possibly be cured if a transfusion of magic was made. He turned away from the young man, looking for his children. “Oi, James, Lily,” he called, spotting them at the corner of the street. “Grab your brother! We need to go!”

Hope

Harry punched the second floor button in the lift, willing the doors to close so he could get to Draco faster.

When he finally made it to Scorpius’ room, he knocked on the door and pushed it open after a moment.

Draco was sitting in the chair beside Scorpius’ bed. He held a book open in his lap and was reading intently while Scorpius slept. He looked up as Harry entered the room, his face inquisitive.

Harry was out of breath from running. He fought to regain control of his speech, taking deep breaths and holding onto the doorjamb.

“Potter?” Draco said after a few moments. “I thought you had the day off.”

Taking a final breath as his lungs finally stopped screaming, he smiled broadly at Draco. “Let’s grab some coffee. I’ve had a brainwave.”

Draco smirked, amused.

Harry watched him stand up and place the book on the side table. He moved with such a fluid grace, Harry couldn’t help but stare, watching Draco’s body stretch, his linen shirt clinging to his chest as he worked out a knot in his back.

Their eyes met and Harry found his face growing warm, but was saved further embarrassment when Draco turned his attention to his sleeping son and placed a sweet kiss on Scorpius’ forehead.

Scorpius’ eyelashes fluttered, but he continued sleeping.

Harry shifted his weight and chewed his lower lip, feeling as though he was intruding on a tender moment. “Er—I’ll be at our table upstairs,” he said quietly and fled.

Plans

Harry’s knee bounced under the table as he waited for Draco to join him. He was filled with nervous energy.

Finally he spotted Draco’s blond hair across the room and watched as he ordered coffee from Teddy. He’d been trying to stifle the memory of what he had done with Draco’s wand, but watching Draco interact with Teddy and Scorpius, and just thinking of how excited he would be when he heard Harry’s idea, made Harry’s cock twitch as his pulse raced.

He was not sure what to make of his apparently new gay fascination, and he clenched his hands so the nails bit his palms to steady himself enough to act normal.

Draco took his seat in the window beside Harry and set his coffee cup on the table. “All right, Potter. You mentioned using your brain?”

Harry smiled. “I have an idea. I don’t know if it will work, but it’s better than what we’ve done so far.”

Draco’s eyebrows raised and he nodded.

“All right, so I was in London with the kids, and we passed an NBS booth,” he started.

Draco held up a hand. “A what booth?”

“A National Blood Service booth,” Harry explained, handing Draco a pamphlet. “It’s a Muggle thing. They have a service where people can come and donate their blood a pint at a time. Then when the blood is needed in a hospital, or whatever, they have it.”

Draco’s face looked utterly perplexed as he looked over the tri-folded paper in his hand.

“They don’t have Blood-Replenishing potions, Draco,” he said in explanation. “This is how Muggles handle blood loss, through transfusion.”

Harry watched Draco blink at the sound of his given name and felt his face begin to colour, but he didn’t have time to analyse why he was acting so strange at the moment, not when Scorpius’ condition could potentially be improved.

“All right,” Draco said skeptically. “Do you think Scorpius needs a Muggle blood transfusion?”

“No. Sorry, I’m getting to the point,” Harry said. He pushed his fringe out of his eyes. “So there was this banner on the table and it had a picture of a kid with cancer on it asking people to donate bone marrow. I was just thinking, the illness that Scorpius has got is cancer of his magic. What if we did a magic transfusion? I mean Muggles use bone marrow transfusions to cure blood cancer…” He stopped talking. He watched as Draco’s thoughts flitted across his face, like he was trying to read ahead in a game of chess.

“So,” Draco said, pausing on the syllable. He started to speak a couple of times and stopped. “How would we do it? I mean. It’s an interesting thought, but if it were possible, don’t you think it would have been done already? How would we isolate a person’s magic to transfer it to Scorpius?”

Harry’s spirits fell. He hadn’t thought that far ahead. He let his eyes slide to the window, looking out at the waning day.

“I want to do it,” Draco said, bringing Harry back. “I want to figure out how to do it, and I will donate my magic to Scorpius.”

Harry saw the determination in Draco’s eyes. He swallowed hard. “All right. We need to prepare our proposal for the Research and Development Committee, so…” he gestured with his hand trying to find the right words. “Shall we do it in the library?”

Draco’s face contorted with concentration. “I think the records room will suffice.” He got to his feet.

Brainstorming

Harry looked down at the scroll his note-taking quill had been scratching on as he and Draco hashed out different scenarios for potentially isolating a wizard’s magic and possible methods of transference.

Draco was poring over a Healer textbook on using Switching Spells in Healing magic.

Harry cleared his throat. “You realise, if we are able to do this transplant there’s a risk you will lose your magic altogether?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Draco answered, turning a page with indifference.

Harry wasn’t sure what was making him so nervous. All the potential mishaps that could come from such an experimental procedure weighed on him. “I mean, there’s another thing,” he started, but stopped when Draco sent him a withering stare.

“Potter, this is my son we’re speaking of. I am willing to sacrifice everything if it will heal him.”

Harry felt slightly ashamed for bringing up what he was thinking, but he didn’t see any way around it. “But, you’re also a pure-blood. You’re susceptible to developing this illness. Maybe we should look for a half-blood or a Muggle-born who would be willing to…”

“Right,” Draco drawled, rolling his eyes. “I’m sure the half-blood and Muggle-born community will queue right up to sacrifice their magic to save the life of the son of a Death Eater. Potter, I am aware of the risks and I’m willing to take them.”

“Well, I could—” Harry started.

“You need to do the spell. I won’t hear any more nonsense about you wanting to sacrifice yourself; your children need you.” Draco’s voice was frank and dismissive.

Harry sighed as reality slapped him in the face. He was so used to trying to save everybody and fix everything, he was being reckless. Then an idea came to him.

“Self-sacrifice!” he exclaimed. “That’s it!”

Draco closed his book and looked at Harry with a “care-to-elaborate?” expression on his face.

“I think I know how to isolate the magic. It’s like how Voldemort used Horcruxes to keep himself alive. He split his soul and his magic into pieces by committing murder and stored them in objects. Well, how would you split your soul and your magic in order to transfer the magic without committing murder? You would have to do the opposite of murder, and sacrifice yourself. It’s like what my mother did when she tried to keep Voldemort from murdering me.” He looked at Draco, wild eyed and excited. “Well? What do you think?”

“Are you saying I need to kill myself in order to save my son, Potter?” Draco asked seriously.

“No. Not really,” Harry said, trying to explain his thoughts. Everything felt perfectly clear to him now, like it had when he’d discovered the Resurrection Stone was hidden in the Snitch. “It’s enough, I think, that you’re willing to die for Scorpius, that you’re willing to risk losing your magic—I think that’s the key to making this transfusion successful.”

Draco was quiet for a few moments, as if mulling over what Harry had said.

Harry watched him, suddenly hyper aware of the fact they were seated side by side, their thighs nearly touching. Harry could feel the heat rise off Draco like it was his life energy pulsing, reaching out, brushing against Harry’s. He wished he could see auras, but he had skipped over that portion of Healer training as he was specialising in research and development of new Healing techniques.

When Draco finally spoke, his voice was low and full of emotion. “Thank you for saying that, Potter. It means a lot to me to know that you are able to see that I am capable of loving my son.” The sound curled through Harry’s nervous system like a static charge.

He cleared his throat, attempting to hide the physical effects Draco was having on him. “Well, I don’t see why that should surprise you,” he said. “I’m a father, too.”

Draco turned his head to look into Harry’s face. They were less than a foot apart, and Harry felt the chemistry mixing between them, nearly tangible. His lips turned up in a half-smile. “You’ve met my father, haven’t you?” he said blandly. “He didn’t set the greatest example.”

Harry caught the bitterness in Draco’s words. He stared into Draco’s eyes, lost in the grey. “He loved you,” he said, finding his voice breathy. “He didn’t share my ideals and was most definitely not on my side, but he loved you more than you know. I could see that, even during the war. Seeing it helped to keep me focused on what I was fighting for and to remember what I had lost.”

Harry watched Draco’s lips part as if to speak, the membranes sticking together from lack of moisture. His breath caught in his throat and he was extremely aware of their proximity. He wondered if Draco was going to kiss him and then flushed awkwardly at the thought.

Draco closed his eyes and turned away. He got to his feet. “I could use some more coffee,” he said, matter of factly. “How about you?”

Harry nodded and followed him out, thankful that the awkward moment had passed without him making a fool of himself, though he wondered how long he’d be able to hold off if Draco kept shedding his mask.

Try Again

“Absolutely not!” Draco thundered, slamming his palm against the tabletop in the records room. “I will not give up. There has to be something we can do… an appeal or something!”

Harry rolled up the last of the scrolls they’d spent so much time compiling and placed them in the “to-be-sorted” pile. “I don’t know. It’s not completely hopeless,” he said, not quite feeling honest. “They have agreed to let us develop a trial.”

Draco’s eyes flashed angrily. “And in the meantime my son is left to die. How the hell is a trial using house-elves even going to work? It’s not like you ordering them into self-sacrifice will actually provide the same magic transference. It’s preposterous... Totally off base. These research berks just don’t get it!”

Harry silently agreed. He couldn’t vocalise his agreement as long as he was a member of the Healer team at St. Mungo’s, but Draco was spot on in saying the research and development committee that had turned down their proposal of a magic transplant had entirely missed the mark.

He wasn’t sure what he should say next. The room felt like it was stifling, as Draco had removed the expansion charm since they were preparing to vacate. The air was heavy with Draco’s thoughts. Harry could practically see them in Draco’s exasperated posture.

“Would you…” Draco’s voice cut the tension.

Harry paused, waiting for Draco to finish. It seemed like Draco was having an internal debate.

“No, of course not,” Draco said sullenly. “Never mind. I’ll just take him home and keep him comfortable.”

“Draco,” Harry said, reaching out and touching Draco’s elbow.

Draco’s stricken eyes met Harry’s at the sound of his name. He looked lost, forlorn, very much like he had in their sixth year, and it tore Harry up inside. He wanted so much to take that pain away from Draco’s face—to see him free and easy, happy.

“Please ask me,” Harry continued when Draco did not try to free himself from Harry’s grip.

What looked like a mixture of confusion and hope crossed Draco’s face as he stared at Harry, weighing his options. “Would you consider treating Scorpius privately? At my house, I mean. I don’t want him to stay here. I don’t trust that these Healers have any hope for his recovery and I can’t let him…” He trailed off, looking away.

Harry saw his eyes were shining. He dropped Draco’s arm and squeezed his hand. “I will,” he said and released it. He opened the door, stepping into Draco’s space to make room for the heavy wood to swing inward and then stepped out of the room. “I’ll notify my superiors and start the appeal process. We’ll find a way,” he said on the way out, giving Draco some privacy.

Malfoy Manor

Harry stood before the wrought iron front gate at Malfoy Manor, his Healer bag in one hand and his rucksack thrown over the opposite shoulder. It had been nineteen years since his last visit to the Manor, and the sinking of his stomach let him know that he was not entirely over the memories the sight stirred.

He reached up to touch the bars of the gate and was surprised to find his hand slip through them as if the bars were made of smoke. He walked through, realising he’d been keyed into the wards. It gave him a strange sensation of comfort, knowing Draco trusted him to such an extent, though he was sure if Lucius and Narcissa were still alive and living there, it probably would not have happened.

He made his way up the gravel drive with its high yew hedges. He arrived at the front door to find Draco waiting for him, fiddling with a Flutterby bush.

Harry drew near and inclined his head towards the front door. “Is he inside?” he asked.

Draco turned and nodded. “Listen, Potter,” he said, sounding troubled. “I want to thank you for doing this for Scorpius. I also found some books in the library on Switching Spells that we might be able to use for research as we build a case for the appeal.” Draco’s voice was higher pitched than normal and a bit faster paced. He also wouldn’t make eye contact. Harry understood that he was going through the motions of maintaining hope where it really didn’t exist. Scorpius was losing his battle, and though they hadn’t spoken about it aloud, Harry knew that Draco realised it, too.

“That sounds great,” Harry said, trying to sound enthused. “My children are staying with their grandparents, but I told them I’d Fire-call them every night while I’m here.”

Draco nodded and led Harry up the stairs to the door. “That’s perfectly fine. You can use the fire in the drawing room or the one in the library. I’ll show you to your room, and then I’d like you to look in on Scorpius,” he said stiffly.

Harry crossed the threshold with a feeling of foreboding.

Quick Decisions

Harry opened his eyes, looking up at the blurred ceiling of the unfamiliar room in the dark. He lit his wand and pointed its tip at his watch, looking to see how long he had before it was time to check on Scorpius again.

He nearly stabbed himself in the eye with his wand when Draco pounded on the door.

“Open up, Potter!” Draco’s voice called.

Harry flicked his wand at the door, and Draco nearly fell on his face as he swung it open, flooding Harry’s bed with light from the oil lamps in the hall.

Draco was frazzled, desperate. His hair stuck up in odd tufts as he’d taken to pulling on it when he was nervous, and Harry couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken a break to shower or sleep since they had moved Scorpius home a fortnight previously.

“What’s happened?” Harry asked, sliding his glasses onto his face and tossing back the blankets.

Draco handed him his robe and fell to his knees before Harry where he was sitting on the edge of the bed. “Please,” Draco begged imploringly. “The Monitoring Charm keeps going off and he’s slipping.” Draco’s voice cracked. “I’ll do anything, Potter, just do the transplant! I’ll give you everything! Don’t let him die!”

Harry felt like his heart was breaking. They had spent the last two weeks in an appeals process with St. Mungo’s trying to get the magic transplant approved, with no success. The committee had continued to insist on elf trials before they would consider approving it for humans. If he went against them and failed, he’d lose everything: his livelihood... and Draco, for surely if the transplant failed Draco would blame him or himself and succumb to depression. But the look in Draco’s eye, the desperation, the hope made Harry unable to refuse.

He took a breath, holding Draco’s hands in his lap; their eyes connected and he felt himself nod. “All right,” he said. “Let’s do it.”

And then he was lost as he found his mouth full of Draco’s tongue. He was pushed back against the mattress and kissed like he’d never been kissed before. Draco was possessive and urgent, and his mouth tasted sour with a hint of sweetness, like he’d been eating sweets and not brushing his teeth for days, but it didn’t matter. It was brilliant and Harry was extremely reluctant to break it, but he finally did.

He held onto Draco’s arms as Draco straddled his hips. “We will definitely talk about this some more,” he said, attempting to tame his runaway emotions. “Let’s save Scorpius now.”

Draco full-on smiled down at Harry, tears slipping down his pale cheeks. He climbed off the bed backwards and stood trembling in the dark. Harry wasn’t sure if it was nervousness, or fear, or anticipation or what, but he was feeling it, too.

Taking Chances

Harry nervously chewed his lower lip, looking down at Scorpius’ still and pale form lying beside his father on his four-poster bed. Scorpius was slipping away. In the past two weeks, since they’d moved him home from St. Mungo’s, he’d lost the ability to control his physical functions and Harry had started him on a nutrient potion drip to be administered under his tongue every fifteen minutes around the clock.

Draco lay beside him, eyes closed, though he wasn’t sleeping.

“Potter, I’m ready,” he said, reaching out and grasping Scorpius’ hand in his own.

Harry swallowed dryly, feeling the nervous rush of adrenaline that preceded adventure. “Right,” he said softly. He took a deep breath and began the transfer.

~x~

He watched the last vestiges of coloured light sweep from Draco’s open mouth into Scorpius’, horrified at how grey Draco appeared. His heart thumped against his ribs, as if it were skipping beats. He waved his wand over Draco’s body in a sweeping gesture to check his level of magic and it came up empty. His stomach sank.

He turned and repeated the spell on Scorpius’ limp form and thought his stomach would heave itself out of his throat if he didn’t do something to calm himself fast. He Summoned a bottle of Calming Draught and swallowed a mouthful, wincing at the bitter taste.

As the potion took effect, Harry’s Healer training kicked into gear, and he immediately began to chant, his voice trembling slightly, though he concentrated all his efforts on properly invoking the Restoration Spell that would reset the balance on the Malfoys’ magical levels so he would get a more accurate reading when he repeated his Level Detection Charm.

Harry worked feverishly, finally coming up with a faint reading of Magic from Scorpius, though Draco’s levels remained entirely sapped.

He felt himself crumbling inside from the failure, knowing he needed to get them transferred to St. Mungo’s as soon as was possible, but dreading doing it and admitting his defeat and watching his career fall apart. What was he going to tell his children? What was he going to tell Draco when he finally awakened? Was the faint level of magic Scorpius had been able to absorb enough to halt the disease process, or had he taken everything from Draco and not been able to save his son all in one go?

Harry’s eyes focused on the limp hands of father and son, the larger covering the smaller, and then up at their motionless faces. Twin pointed chins and pale faces, heads of white-blond hair and eyelashes so fair, he could hardly make them out.

And then the charm that monitored the status of their body systems began to break, leaving Harry with a rising panic that he had just killed the man he’d sworn to save, the man who promised new life and possibilities that Harry hadn’t been able to see since losing Ginny.

He jumped forward, calling out for a house-elf. A small elf with large flapping ears appeared at the foot of the bed, trembling from top to toe, eyes wide with fear and what Harry sensed was a hint of accusation.

“Dipsy is answering you, Harry Potter,” he said, holding his trembling arms steady in a self-hug.

“Dipsy, I know I am not your master, but please, on Draco’s behalf, go to St. Mungo’s immediately and send Healers here for an emergency transfer.”

Dipsy’s eyes lighted on the still forms in the bed and he nodded his head and disappeared with a resounding crack.

Harry felt Draco’s wrist for a pulse, breaking out in a clammy sweat of relief when he located its slow but steady pumping against the pad of his finger. “I’m so sorry,” he said, sinking to his knees beside the bed, his forehead resting on the edge beside Draco’s left hand. “Please forgive me.”

Consequences

Harry’s world was collapsing in on itself, spinning like a top and leaving him winded. He was seated in a hard wooden chair in the hospital’s Chancellor’s office, awaiting the arrival of his supervisor.

He hadn’t heard how Scorpius and Draco were faring since they’d been brought to the hospital; instead he was shut away in the administrative section of St. Mungo’s, while the watchwizard stood sentinel beside the door, his fat neck popping the button of his navy blue robes as he glared at Harry, as if daring him to attempt to escape.

Harry’s stomach was already tied up in knots at the thought of what he’d done. He remembered feeling the same way in his sixth year at Hogwarts, after nearly killing Draco with his stupidity, and a sense of déjà vu washed over him, leaving him sort of outside himself.

Chancellor Higgens strode into the room after the large guard moved aside to admit him.

“Well, Mr. Potter,” Higgens said, with a pleased-sounding snide undertone. Harry noted the dropping of his Healer title, but couldn’t be arsed to care at the moment.

“How are they?” he asked, desperate for news, for hope.

“I hardly think the current condition of your victims should be revealed to you, Mr. Potter. The Auror office has been notified of your actions and they will be arriving shortly to arrest you for criminal misconduct. I am here to see you don’t get away until the charges have been applied.”

Harry felt what little colour remained in his face drain along with his hopes and ambitions. How could he have been so stupid, so foolhardy as to think he could perform untested magic upon an innocent child and not have it all go to pot?

Harry sighed, knowing full well what was coming and that he had everything to gain by not rising to Higgens’ baiting. He stared straight ahead, wondering if Hermione would be available to take on his defence.

Silver Lining

“Well, on the plus side, I’ll be able to spend more time with you three,” Harry said to his children at the dinner table at Andromeda’s house.

Andromeda frowned thoughtfully, but didn’t say anything, instead reaching over and handing Lily her fork to try to get Lily to use it instead of eating her asparagus spears with her fingers.

“I don’t get it, Dad,” Albus said, pouring himself a glass of pumpkin juice. “You saved Scorpius’ life, right? You cured him from the same thing that killed Mum; why are they taking away your Healer licence and sentencing you?”

“It’s because they’re a bunch of bureaucratic arseholes, Al,” James said juicily around a mouthful of pork roast.

“Watch your language, Jamie,” Harry said sternly.

“And swallow your food, for heaven’s sake,” Andromeda added, handing James his serviette.

Harry pushed his plate away from him. He couldn’t eat any more, not with wondering how Draco and Scorpius were holding up at the hospital and being barred from visiting them. He was scheduled to stand before the Wizengamot in two weeks' time for charges of gross misconduct. He’d not considered the very real possibility of being sent to Azkaban, but even the threat of the dismal prison did not lessen his resolve that he had made, if not legal, at least the most humane decision.

James swallowed a large gulp of pumpkin juice and looked over at Harry with an eager, juice-moustached expression. “I’m proud of you, Dad,” he said. “I know Mum would have been too.”

Harry smiled at his children, and Lily slipped her hand in his, giving it a squeeze. “I’ll always be proud of you, Dad. You’re my hero!”

Albus tossed a bread crust at Lily and caught her on the bridge of the nose. “You’re such a suck-up, Lil!” he said in a joking lilt, earning a protruding tongue from Lily in response.

Harry looked up suddenly as the back door opened and Teddy stepped into the kitchen.

“How are they, Ted?” Harry asked, standing. “Tell me they’re going to make it.”

Teddy smiled. “Yup. They’re doing great. Actually St. Mungo’s didn’t want me to visit since they knew I’d be talking to you, but Draco insisted I be allowed in considering our family ties. He wanted me to tell you that he’s grateful for what you did and that he’s sorry it caused so much trouble.”

Harry’s heart returned to its normal place as the tension he hadn’t realised he carried dissipated. He sat back down, relieved. He hadn’t killed them after all, and had in fact succeeded at the transplant.

Before the Hearing

The night before his hearing, Harry sat brooding in front of the fire, watching the flames lick the charred wood. He and Draco had kept up a sort of correspondence, using Teddy to pass notes back and forth. It was strange to him that he should feel as comfortable with their flirting as he was. The most recent notes had become downright racy, and Harry felt a bit guilty involving Teddy in the transfer of them, unbeknownst to him.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were staying over to take care of the kids for him while he attended the trial. Hermione had built a rather solid defence for him, and considering Draco had consented to the procedure both for himself and on behalf of his son, they hoped the Wizengamot would rule in his favour.

He looked up at the photograph that sat in the centre of the mantle, of himself and Ginny on their wedding day. In it he looked so happy and Ginny was radiant. They were young and free with a new world and a new life just beginning. “Even if I lose my Healer licence altogether, Gin, it was worth it to save Scorpius,” he told her smiling image. He wanted to say more to her, to tell her about how he was ready to explore life again with Draco, but he just wasn’t sure she would approve of whatever was developing between them.

He nearly fell off his chair when Dipsy appeared before him with a loud crack.

Dipsy’s knees knocked together in tandem with his large flapping ears, an expression of fear on his clownish face. “M—mister, H—Harry P-p-p—otter, sir,” he said trembling. “Dipsy has brought you a m-m—message.”

The little elf held out a rolled-up scroll of parchment, nearly dropping it with his tremors, and he Disapparated as soon as Harry took it from him.

He hurriedly broke the seal and unrolled the scroll, wondering what Draco had to tell him, his heart pounding in anticipation.

Potter,

I was released from St. Mungo’s an hour ago. I want to see you before the hearing tomorrow morning. Scorpius is well, better than they expected in fact, but you know how the legal aspect of these things goes—they won’t release him until your trial is over. Come to the Manor when you receive this message. I will be waiting.

Draco

Harry read through it once more, excitement surging through his body. Draco wanted to see him. He couldn’t keep from smiling as he tossed a change of clothes into his rucksack.

He let the Weasleys know where he would be, tossed some Floo powder into the fire and disappeared in a flash of green flame.

Coming Together

Draco’s light grey eyes met his as he climbed out of the fireplace into the drawing room of Malfoy Manor.

Harry’s pulse quickened at the sight of Draco in his dressing gown, his bare chest peeking through the V of the blue satin fabric.

“Er—You’re healed,” Harry stammered, feeling suddenly exposed under Draco’s scrutiny.

Draco said nothing. He crossed the room to stand before Harry and took Harry’s bags out of his hands, tossing them aside, never losing eye contact.

Harry thought his heart would jump out of his throat with the intensity of its beats. They stood a foot apart, Draco’s eyes—wide and pupil-blown—fixed on Harry’s as if they were seeking something… his permission perhaps?

He moved his focus to Draco’s thin lips, pouting ever so slightly above his pointed chin. The memory of those lips devouring him hit his brain, and he felt his face flush. He wanted that again, that sensation of kissing his equal, his rival, giving in under the domination of a rough cheek and tongue.

He felt the unspoken question hanging on the air between them, drawn out like a note of music plucked from the string of a harp. Harry’s breath caught in his throat, pausing, and then the answer came to him as naturally as his next intake of breath. His eyes fell closed as he felt their lips meet, brushing together lightly at the start, and then giving over to an escalation of sensation.

Their chests pressed together, Harry’s heaving under his robes as they rivalled for domination over the kiss, Draco pushing forward with his tongue and then darting back so Harry would have to chase it into his mouth.

Harry was lost in the swell of the moment, feeling Draco’s hands pull his hips so they fit with his own, pressed together in a dance-like rub. He let his hands wander up Draco’s back, not daring to let the moment get awkward by stopping to breathe. He shuddered into Draco’s mouth, inhaling through his nose and continuing the snog, relishing the hint of stubble on Draco’s face as it caught on his own five o’clock shadow.

When Draco pulled back for air, Harry felt suddenly unsteady on his legs. Draco’s eyes levelled him with a smouldering fire, igniting in the pit of his stomach and flashing through his nerves in a desperate need.

“Come with me,” Draco’s mouth said, while Harry watched his lips form the words.

The ball of pleasure rolling in his gut throbbed as Draco ground against his erection with a shift of his hips. Harry allowed himself to be led by the hand through the door at the back of the drawing room and down a dark corridor, lit by slow-burning oil lamps mounted in intervals along the way.

He followed as if in a dream state, ignoring the whispers of the pale-faced portraits they passed.

~x~

Harry was on fire in this position. His cheeks burned from within and he knew they had to be as red as tomatoes, but was grateful for the darkness of Draco’s bedroom. He held onto the backs of his knees for dear life, while Draco’s tongue worked him open, filling him with a sense of surrender mixed with intense fulfillment, which made the vulnerability he was displaying much easier to bear.

Harry gasped loudly, and shifted his hand to massage his aching cock as he felt Draco moan into his arse, wriggling his tongue inside as far as it would reach.

And then the wetness shifted and Harry had to tighten his grip the base of his erection to keep from coming as he felt Draco’s mouth encase his balls one at a time, lathering them with soft strokes of his tongue, pulling them with a light suction interspersed with long licks across the bridge of his perineum.

“Ungh—” Harry shuddered, eyes squeezed tightly shut as his body trembled like a leaf. He felt his hole breached by a slick finger, which worked its way deep inside Harry’s body, making him want to clench his muscles. But Draco’s talented mouth had moved up his cock and was greedily working it, distracting him. His hand had been shoved aside by Draco’s free hand and Harry helplessly gripped the duvet with his fists, driving his arse back against the invading digit, trying to take it deeper still, to scratch the itch he hadn’t realised was there until this moment.

When Draco began sucking his cock in earnest, Harry couldn’t help but cry aloud in a manner he’d never allowed himself before. And when Draco added a second finger and crooked them together just right, Harry saw sparks flash behind his eyelids as his world went white and he fed Draco’s throat with the crushing flood of his orgasm.

Breathing heavily, mouth wide open, Harry opened his eyes, not quite sure what he was seeing. He felt Draco’s fingers slip from his body and his tongue softly licking his softening cock.

He tucked his chin and looked down his body, seeing Draco in action through the dark to which his eyes had finally grown accustomed.

As if sensing Harry’s eyes on him, Draco looked up from his position between Harry’s legs. He let Harry’s legs fall open to the sides and crawled, cat-like, up Harry’s body, allowing his prominent erection to drag fuzzily up the trail of hair below Harry’s navel, and then back down.

Harry was too spent to be nervous. He smiled up at Draco, earning a winning grin in return, and reached up to pull him down into another tongue-tangling snog.

Draco resisted the kiss, but allowed himself to be manhandled into whatever position Harry wanted him in. “You do realise what my mouth has been doing?” he said, smirking, as if Harry ought to know kissing was out because of that.

“I don’t care,” Harry said, reaching up with his neck to claim Draco’s mouth for himself, one arm encircling Draco’s body, his hand coming to rest upon the swell of Draco’s arse and the other, down between their stomachs, firmly stroking Draco’s cock to completion.

Afterwards they lay face to face, sharing a pillow in the centre of Draco’s large bed.

Harry’s hand brushed up and down Draco’s side, stroking his pale skin, soft as a woman’s, but much more firm and definitively masculine.

“Potter,” Draco said, and then quickly amended, “Harry,” at the look Harry threw him. “I don’t know how to thank you for what you’ve done. I’m torn between wanting to write you a cheque and asking you to marry me.”

Harry chuckled, though he did feel his cheeks grow warm. “We can talk about all that later,” he said softly, closing his eyes and letting sleep take him, content and sated for the first time in what felt like forever.

Justice

Tiberius Ogden, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, brought his gavel down upon the wood podium. “Cleared of criminal charges,” he said in a rather wheezy voice. “Harry James Potter, you will, however, be placed on probation and prevented from practising Healing until a council made up of your peers at St. Mungo’s reviews your notes and reaches the decision to either allow you to return or to dismiss you.” He banged his gavel once more, signalling the end of the proceedings.

Harry sagged in the centre chair in relief, feeling the tension leave his shoulders. Hermione had presented his defence with a calm logic that would have exposed his accusers and their underhanded schemes of profiting off the ill had they tried to push their case against Harry any further. He watched Hermione shaking hands with Ogden, and the rows of the members of the Wizengamot in their plum-coloured robes shuffling to the exits.

Draco remained seated beside Hermione’s vacated chair, where he had been a witness for their defence, smirking pleasantly at Harry, one pale eyebrow raised. Harry nodded in response, not wanting to get up to face the swarm of reporters in the hall, but also eager to get home to see his children again.

Into the Future

Harry opened the heavy iron door to the oven, sliding the roast in its pot to the centre of the rack. As he was closing the door, Albus tumbled into the kitchen, his black hair bouncing and carrying the scent of freshly turned earth in with him.

“Hey, what’s that?” Albus asked, just as the swinging door smacked him in the backside.

“Move your fat arse, Al,” Scorpius called through the door.

Harry watched Albus smirk, backing against the door to prevent Scorpius from entering. He rolled his eyes and poured himself and Draco a cup of coffee from the cafetiere on the counter.

Loud thuds came through the centre panel of the door, banging against Albus as he struggled to keep it shut.

“Damnit,” Draco cursed, lifting the tube of icing he was using to form a Golden Snitch on top of Harry’s birthday cake.

Harry threw Albus a dirty look and Albus stepped away from the door just as Scorpius threw his shoulder against it. The door flew open and bounced off the wall and Scorpius’ tall and gawky body slid across the tiles face first, bumping into Draco’s leg.

Draco tossed the tube aside, having rammed the tip through the Snitch, leaving a deep groove in the cake. “Well, Harry, that’s that. I reckon it’ll taste all right.”

Harry handed him a cup of coffee as Albus helped Scorpius to his feet.

“How many times do I have to remind you two, do not play games involving doors. I don’t want to have to pull out the Skele-Gro again.”

“You’d think by the age of sixteen, you’d be over playing with doors,” Draco added dryly, making a face as Harry rubbed a bit of icing off his cheek and popped it in his mouth.

Scorpius fixed the icing Snitch with a flick of his wand. “Is that better?” he asked.

“Cheeky brat,” Draco said, smiling. “Have either of you seen James? He was supposed to be home an hour ago with the Ogden’s Old.”

Harry put his coffee down as the kitchen door swung open again and Lily came in. She threw herself into Harry’s arms and kissed him on the cheek, her long red hair brushing his unshaven cheek. “Happy birthday, Dad,” she said brightly. “I made you a card.”

She pulled out of the embrace and handed him an embossed envelope. He slid it open with a finger as Draco tutted at him.

“We’re doing the gifts after dessert.”

Harry stuck out his tongue and removed the card. The front read Happy Birthday Number 43! It was decorated with an illustration of a beehive, and in coloured pencil, forty-three bees buzzed around the hand-drawn meadow of flowers. When he opened the card, the bees followed, spelling out the words, “You’re even sweeter than honey!” with their buzzing bodies.

“Aww,” Harry said, feeling his throat choking up a bit. “Thanks, Lily-bug. It’s wonderful.” He pulled her into a one-armed hug.

“I’ve got it!” James’ deep voice announced as he strode through the door into the crowded kitchen. He set a bottle of Ogden’s Old Firewhisky down on the kitchen island counter next to the birthday cake and grinned down at Harry. He’d got his height from Ginny’s genes, Harry was certain. James beamed at where Scorpius and Albus were seated at the kitchen table in the corner. “Congrats on five years free of cancer, Scorpius!” he called.

Scorpius answered with a rude hand gesture, earning him a barking laugh from James and a flick at his ear from Draco.

Harry grinned, looking round the room full of the smell of freshly brewed coffee and the people he loved. He felt truly blessed at the family he had.

ActionsBookmark
- 1
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Coffee Talks