Chapter Text
Draco spooned a mound of scrambled eggs dotted with sautéed mushrooms and green peppers onto each plate and shredded some sharp cheddar to melt on top. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Harry examine the decorations in his kitchen, badges of honor from fatherhood and the life he’d created in Muggle society.
Harry. In his kitchen. Draco didn’t miss the Babbitty Rabbitty shirt that Harry wore, the one Draco had shed before they’d tumbled into bed. And those flannel trousers that hung low, hugged Harry’s hipbones. Those were Draco’s.
Harry pulled a worn cookbook from atop the refrigerator. “So you’re the Wizard with this book!”
Draco laughed. He placed both plates across from each other on the small dinner table and lit the three candles on the centerpiece. “Yes. Once Scorpius began spending more time with me, I realized we couldn’t really exist on take-away.”
Harry brought the book to the table and before he sat, he moved the plates so they were next to each other. Draco brought the tea tray to the table and slid into the chair to Harry’s left, pressing their knees together. Immediately he worried that he was being too forward and jerked his leg away.
Draco rolled his eyes at his own stupidity. They’d opened themselves up to each other. They’d had sex, for Merlin’s sake.
Harry took a bite of his eggs and hummed in approval; then, he laid his fork on the plate and turned to Draco. “I like you, Draco. I wasn’t lying before. I’m not looking for a hook up.” Harry leaned in and brushed his lips across Draco’s cheek. “And I know it’s fast, but I’m pretty sure we were always headed right here. And by the time I realized it, you were gone. So, if you don’t mind, I’m not doing thatagain.”
Draco felt the tension drain from his shoulders and neck. Yeah. He found he didn’t mind at all.
Harry kissed Draco, a quick peck on the lips as if it were routine and not something extraordinary that made Draco’s heart flutter wildly. Harry turned his attention to their makeshift dinner and the cookbook.
He flipped through the book, searching for the most worn pages—beef stew, chicken noodle soup, chocolate cake—the recipes that Draco had first experimented with and that he returned to when he needed comfort. “Maybe I should keep that book for myself and get another one for Hermione.” Harry smiled and closed the cover gently, moving it out of the way of dinner. “I can cook some, but when I find a house, I’ve gotta be able to cook for the kids.”
“Cooking isn’t difficult. It’s about reading the recipe and measuring carefully, especially when you’re baking.”
Harry grimaced then chuckled. “That sounds way too much like potions class.” He pushed himself away from the table and padded to the refrigerator to search for jam for their toast.
I want Potter here. In my clothing. In my kitchen, Draco realized as he watched Harry, bent over as he searched the refrigerator. He grinned foolishly, happier than he could ever remember. When Harry returned to the table, Draco twined their fingers and leaned in to kiss him.
“What’s that for?” Harry asked, smiling and still holding the jar of jam.
“For being you.” Draco pushed Harry’s glasses back up to the bridge of his nose and felt his heart skip a beat. Of all they’d done, that small gesture felt the most intimate.
“You didn’t used to think that.” Harry laughed and kissed Draco one more time before focusing on his dinner.
“We all change, Potter.” Draco sniffed in mock haughtiness. “Except you. Apparently, you still have no table manners.”
When Harry made a big show of licking jam off each finger, smacking his lips and moaning, Draco laughed and threw his napkin at Harry before settling into his own plate.
“Is that why you bake, then?” Harry asked, taking a sip of his tea. “Because it’s like potions?”
Draco placed his fork and knife across his plate, dusted the toast crumbs that littered the table into a pile and then into his hand, then onto the plate. He’d never shared this with anyone, except Pansy, but she had been woven into all of this; it was impossible for her not to know.
Harry laid his hand, palm up. Draco hesitated, then slipped his hand into it, and Harry squeezed lightly.
Draco breathed deep and steady to settle the fear and panic that he felt trying to push in each time he tried to talk about The Before time.
“After the war, after all of the arrests and prosecutions, anyone associated with the Dark Lord moved away. The Ministry made their philosophy clear: the sins of the fathers would certainly be visited upon the children, and Wizarding society would be better off without us.
“I moved to France with my parents, who'd been in betrothal negotiations with Astoria Greengrass’ parents. We were expected to live in wedded bliss in a countryside villa and give them grandchildren yearly.” Draco laughed, sounding more bitter than he’d intended. “Astoria was the first person I’d ever told that I was gay. It wasn't fair to her to be forced to marry me, but she didn't care. We were friends all our lives, and--I have no idea what ‘allowance’ Father paid her--but our marriage gave her the opportunity to focus on her art and writing.”
Harry raised an eyebrow but didn’t interrupt Draco.
“If you’ve got kids, you’ve read her books. Tales of a Boarding School Spider—”
“By A. Greengrass.” Harry slapped his forehead as he shook his head. “Oh Merlin, the spider’s the World’s Nicest--”
“Scorpion. Yeah.” Draco flushed with pride for his son (and a little for his ex-wife). “It’s our bestselling children’s series at the store.”
Harry stumbled to speak. “I never—oh Merlin, the grey and green striped scarf he wears…I never—”
“We knew the marriage didn’t have to last long—just long enough for an heir. And after Scorpius was almost one, we divorced. She stayed in France, and I moved back to London and shared a flat with Pansy. We put our money into renovations and rent, so one of us needed to learn how to cook or we’d both starve.”
Draco spoke matter of factly and shrugged his shoulders, but Harry placed his hand over Draco’s and squeezed. “Your parents were wrong for forcing you to get married.”
“Yeah. They were.” Draco raised Harry’s hand to his lips and kissed it. “But Scorpius is the result, and I can’t regret any of it.”
Harry swiped his thumb at the corner of Draco’s mouth and removed a bit of melted cheese. “I get that.”
Draco shivered at the intimacy of the gesture. I could get used to this, fast, he thought, and changed the subject as quickly as he could. “Anyway, I’m okay at cooking, but I love baking. The café gives me a chance to bake, but what I’d really like is to cater events.”
He was spilling his secrets tonight. The stories he never told anyone. The dreams he held close to his chest. Draco pushed his chair away from the table and gathered the empty plates. “I’ve talked enough about me. What do you think of me?” he asked with a grin as he rinsed the plates at the sink.
“I think you’re brilliant,” Harry said, carrying the teacups to the sink. “And pretty fucking hot.”
Draco felt his face flush; he never expected Harry to take his joke seriously. Instead of answering, Draco rummaged through the freezer for the tub of ice cream he’d hidden from Scorpius. He pointed out where bowls and spoons were, and Harry brought 2 of each to the table.
“Did you become an Auror?” Draco asked, deciding they didn’t need bowls. He shoveled some Rocky Road into his mouth and handed the carton to Harry.
Harry didn’t answer immediately; instead, he scooped up ice cream and munched it as he thought.
Draco held back a squeak as Harry dragged the spoon out slowly from between his lips. “You really can’t do that again,” Draco said, nodding toward the spoon.
Harry crinkled his brow, questioning what Draco meant. “Oh, Merlin, I didn’t mean--!” He seemed embarrassed but grinned lecherously, licking the spoon in the most over the top, perverted way he knew until Draco was in tears from laughing.
“Anyway,” Harry said, dropping his spoon to the table. “The Ministry came to me during Auror training. They named me their Special Counsel.”
Draco had overheard a great deal growing up at Malfoy Manor, but Special Counsel was new to him.
“I’m supposed to advise them on Muggle and Wizarding matters, offer my completely a-political advice.” Harry took the ice cream from Draco. “What I really am is a name. They attach my name to anything they want to hold extra weight. And they pay me a metric fuck tonne.”
Draco had no idea how to respond. A lot of money and no real job sounded pretty good right now. “That sounds like a sweet deal.”
“I feel like a prostitute,” Harry admitted. “I hate doing it, but the money is important. I, um—” He struggled to continue and Draco thought he looked almost embarrassed.
Draco reached out and brushed Harry’s hair with his fingers. Harry caught his hand and kissed each tip. “So, yeah. No one knows this, but um, the money goes to this place for kids. It’s called Fawkes House. Kids with no place to go can stay there. Some are there long term because their parents died and they have no one. Some are runaways. And the LGBTQ kids know we’re a safe place for them. They can get a meal and a bed, or a shower, or food.”
Harry’s cheeks were flushed with embarrassment, and Draco didn’t know how best to respond. “That’s incredible, Harry. It’s—” Draco wrapped his arms around Harry and kissed him deeply, running his fingers through Harry’s hair, up and down his back. How. Fucking. Hot. Is he?
“Dumbledore believed that everyone deserved a second chance. And his phoenix, Fawkes, rescued me so many times. It’s just, something I love,” Harry admitted, as if he were embarrassed.
“It’s brilliant. You’re brilliant.” Draco kissed him again, and his brain focused on Harry’s broad shoulders in the too small shirt. “Can I help—”
Harry sat up straight, his eyes wide and bright. “No, you’re brilliant. We’re having a Christmas party at Fawkes House, and I was trying to find a caterer. Would you want to? We have money to pay.”
Draco nodded, blindsided by the opportunity to showcase his baking. “Let’s talk about it later,” he said, pressing his hands under the hem of the Babbitty Rabbitty shirt to Harry’s tight stomach.
‘Can I help’ was meant to be completed by ‘take your shirt off.’ But Draco didn’t really mind. After he kissed, sucked, nipped every bit of Harry’s skin (except the ticklish nipples), they could talk specifics about the party.
But not then. Draco put their spoons in the ice cream container and led Harry back to the bedroom.