Archive of Our Own

Something in the Air

"I raised my wand and said 'Swish and flick'."

"And then nothing happened?"

"That's correct, Auror Potter. My magic has been erratic since then."

Harry dipped his quill in the inkpot and then scrawled Professor Flitwick's response in his notepad, filled with the other professors’ incidents of wavering magic.

He glanced over at Headmistress Minerva McGonagall who sat behind her desk, staring at the pillow perched on the windowsill; she had been as silent as the portraits pretending to be asleep. "Headmistress, is there more?"

Her jaw tightened as her gaze turned to him. A reluctant nod was given. Harry gave a reassuring grin. "It's okay; we'll figure it out, but I need to know."

Professor Flitwick hopped off his chair. "I should be going. I'll be in my quarters if I can be of any further service, Auror Potter."

"Thank you, Professor."

The door shut. The only sound was the whirring of silver instruments. Harry set down his quill and poured each of them a cup of tea.

"Headmistress," Harry whispered. "Tell me."

“I...I...I have lost my Animagus ability.”

Harry didn’t pick up the quill. He was sure he would remember that statement.

“I’m sorry, Headmistress. When did this happen?”

He saw her blinking back tears; he looked away towards the tartan pillow on the windowsill. It was covered in cat hair.

“Two weeks ago, although there were some incidents before. I-I thought it was due to my age.”

Harry couldn’t help but smile. He imagined the Headmistress’ magic was as strong as ever. It was a simple case of denial that there was something more going on. Harry closed his notebook and put it away. Her eyes had cleared and she sipped her tea.

“Anything else?”

Minerva set the teacup down and cleared her throat. "The Book...there haven't been any new names added for months."

Harry squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. He'd not been prepared for that response and hadn't a clue what it could mean.

"Have you spoken with the house-elves?"

"Yes. They don’t seem to be bothered by this...this...problem. They did mention that they felt a difference in the air."

Harry’s brow furrowed. "A difference in the air?"

"And, Harry," McGonagall said, peering over the tops of her spectacles. "The portraits...the portraits as of this morning are still."

Harry's blood ran cold as he glanced up to see row upon row of heads bowed and eyes closed. They weren’t sleeping.

"Potter, I was wondering when you would send for me." Draco Malfoy strolled into Harry's office and promptly took a seat in front of his desk. Harry blinked. Despite Malfoy's usual whiny tone, he looked anything but usual. Greyish tone to his skin, rumpled robes, tangled blond hair and bloodshot eyes reminded Harry of a younger Malfoy who'd been up to no good.

"I've been expecting this for months." Draco’s trembling fingers reached into a jar of Bertie Bott’s on Harry's desk and picked out a purple bean. Harry watched him in earnest; George had claimed those tasted of vomit. Draco popped the jellybean into his mouth and grinned.

Harry rolled his eyes at his own gullibility.

"You're the only Unspeakable I know by name, Malfoy, or I would have called another. What can you tell me? By the way, you look like shit."

A single arched brow told Harry that information would not be freely offered. Malfoy was clearly enjoying this moment. Just as Harry had to admit he had enjoyed giving the final signature Malfoy needed to be accepted into the Unspeakable program three years prior.

"About the depletion of magic. What do you know?"

"Some things," Draco replied as he reached for another bean.

"Don't play games, Malfoy. Tell me what you know."

Draco sighed. "I assume you'll file papers against my department if I don't. Then mine will file a rebuttal and we'll end up in front of the Wizengamot within a year."

Harry nodded.

Draco put the candy in his mouth but didn't chew it. Harry knew he was letting the flavour expand and then the strong scent struck: violets. The memory of that taste flooded his thoughts. It wasn’t flowery, but thick and rich like a curry spice. He’d only experienced the flavour twice before, and the memory of each was as blurred as his vision without glasses.

“Potter!”

“What?”

"I was talking. Did you hear what I said?”

Harry hated admitting that Draco had successfully distracted him but the topic was too important to rush over. “No, Malfoy, I didn’t. Could you please repeat it?”

Draco swiped his lips with his tongue. He pulled out a silver flask from his robes. "Would you like a drink?"

"Malfoy, it's ten in the morning," Harry said and reached for an ever-full glass of water. He drained the clear liquid and blinked again as the glass only refilled halfway.

Draco twisted the cap off the flask; it hung by a thin chain. Harry's eyes enlarged as Draco took three long gulps.

"How long have you been drinking like that?" Harry surprised even himself with the concerned tone.

Draco snorted. “Magic is going away, Potter. We're all going to be fucking Squibs and our children's children will be Muggles."

The words made no sense; Draco tipped the flask again and let the final drops fall onto his tongue. Harry closed his eyes and shook his head.

"All of it?" he whispered. His mind began reviewing the past months’ cases for any hint of magic gone awry in his Auror force. He cringed as he remembered pleas of mercy that were unheeded when criminals claimed they didn't mean to do certain spells or for them to be that strong; Aurors were facing disciplinary problems for being too rough or letting criminals escape.

Draco stood up slowly. "Potter, I'm usually pissed by noon, so why don't we discuss this somewhere else; my flask is dry. Take me out of here, and I’ll put out for you."

Harry laughed. "Are you asking me out, Malfoy?"

Draco gave a wry grin. "No, you dickhead. I'm telling you that if you want more information, you're supplying the drinks."

Harry rose from his chair. He Summoned his jacket and handed a spare to Draco. “I remember you being happy and affectionate when you drank, not just more of your usual bastardness.”

"A Muggle bar?" Draco groaned as he removed his cloak and slipped on the black leather jacket. "I suppose I'll have to accustom myself to them. And Potter, bastardness is not a word. Besides, it’s you who gets sloppy and horny when pissed.”

Harry grabbed Draco’s elbow and led him to the Floo. “It’s the only way I could stomach snogging you, Malfoy.”

“We did more than snog, Potter.”

Harry grimaced and shoved Draco into the fireplace. “Leaky Cauldron,” he said and threw down a handful of Floo Powder.

Harry tucked his hands in his jacket pockets and walked briskly out of the Leaky Cauldron with Draco. He was replaying the words Malfoy had blurted out about magic going away. He stopped abruptly in front of a two-story dilapidated building with a worn out sign. The Gateway.

"This is a dive," Draco mumbled as Harry opened the door. The high windows were blackened with years of grime and soot. The only lighting was from bulbs hanging by wires from overhead beams.

"Yes, it is." Harry grabbed Draco's arm and pulled him back. "Don't say another word until we're seated." Draco huffed but let Harry guide him to the last booth in the narrow hovel next to a set of rickety stairs. Harry sat down and lit a small red votive candle. Soon a bottle of scotch appeared on the wooden table with two glasses and a basket of fish and chips.

"The owner's a wizard?"

Harry nodded and was startled once again by the scent of violets permeating Draco's breath. "So talk to me, Malfoy. You have your alcohol." Harry sprinkled the chips with vinegar and more salt. Draco opened the bottle of scotch and poured out double shots for both of them.

Draco sighed. “Magic, Potter, is a natural resource. Did you know that?"

"No, but what...."

Draco held up his hand. "Magic is contained in the Earth's atmosphere. It moves like the wind, but it's always present."

"Very poetic, but what the hell does that have to do with what's going on?"

"There's a hole in the earth's stratosphere."

“It’s not really a hole in the ozone layer, it's a thinning.”

“I know that, Potter, it’s just a saying. But I’m impressed you know even that much about it.”

Harry sighed. “I was raised as a Muggle, remember? I do happen to keep up on the other people inhabiting this planet.” Harry reached for the largest piece of fish. Draco swatted his hand away and stole it.

“Granger. I bet she’s the one who told you.”

Harry smiled. He and Draco rarely spoke, but they did know each other. Once you’d been through a Fiendfyre together, got so drunk together that you’d shared a tavern loo to puke in … and then there were those two incidents. Relationships changed.

“So you’ve known for a while. What's the solution? How do we fix it?”

“We don’t,” Draco answered bluntly. “The scale is too wide. Ultraviolet rays negatively affect wizard magic. And while magic isn't finite, it doesn't regenerate quickly. For now, and possibly for the next century, we see it only getting worse. Some Muggles and their governments have made changes to prohibit the chemicals that were the main culprits of the situation, but they haven't done enough and certainly not quickly enough."

Harry's hand, as if by instinct, rose to his forehead and rubbed his scar. "Are you telling me that the whole world is running out of magic?"

"Yes, Potter, that is exactly what I’m telling you. The thinning of the ozone layer in the stratosphere is letting in ultraviolet rays, specifically UV-B rays, which are destroying our magic.”

Harry suddenly felt horribly unsettled.

Draco pushed Harry’s glass closer to him. "Would you like that drink now?"

Harry lifted it. His hands were trembling as much as Draco’s had been earlier. He took a long sip and suddenly understood why Draco was drinking so much. Harry, too, wanted the knowledge to stop buzzing around in his head, lighting off random thoughts of what would or could happen to the magical world, but then he remembered his conversation with McGonagall.

“And the magical creatures?”

“House-elves draw their magic from the earth itself and the goblins from minerals, so they’ll be fine. The rest of the magical creatures in Britain would have to live in the Forbidden Forrest and the Lake. That is all the wizards can guarantee protection of. The Centaurs, we’ve noticed they’ve already started to thin their herd.”

Harry downed the final shot of scotch in his glass. “What do you mean we could guarantee their protection? How could we do that if there is no magic?”

Draco poured Harry more whisky. "We have run simulations and believe Britain could sustain about one hundred wizards indefinitely, but the others would have to sacrifice their ability to do magic. Maybe during their time a solution could be found."

"One hundred," Harry muttered as he picked up the tumbler. "Would they have to be spread out all over Britain?"

Draco nodded. "Maybe six or more could live in Hogsmeade and possibly in Hogwarts, the area has a unique micro-climate favourable to magic, but the rest, only two or three adults could live in the same house and still use magic."

Harry winced at the taste of the scotch mixed with vinegary chips. The combination wasn't pretty but neither was the conversation.

"God," Harry sighed, "How are we supposed to decide?"

Draco fell silent. He lifted his glass to his lips for the first time since they’d entered the bar.

"You know. Damn it! Tell me."

Draco leaned back against the high bench seat. He raised one booted foot and placed it on the bench next to Harry’s thigh.

“Don’t even try and distract me, Malfoy. I’m not even close to being inebriated enough to touch you. Just fucking tell me how we could fairly choose one hundred people.”

"The Goblet of Fire."

"It's not foolproof."

Draco shook his head and reached for another chip. "No, Potter, you and Shacklebolt would guarantee its protection once it is activated and spelled in front of the Wizengamot to do what is required."

"And the names?" Harry asked, stunned that Malfoy would trust him with the Goblet and the duty it was to perform. "What do we do, have everyone, including children, fill out their names? It would break families apart."

"Phht, not the kids. They don't really register until they are of age."

"And once they're of age? What, then they get thrown out of the Leaky Cauldron on their arse?"

Draco swallowed a chip. Harry wondered when Draco had last eaten, given how much he'd eaten so far. "Yes, unless the Goblet specifically asks them to stay. The Goblet would be responsible for determining what people were necessary to salvage the magical community. Allowing non-magical folks to stay would affect the traditions trying to be preserved. Besides, Potter, once the magic is taken away, magical buildings won't even be visible. It will be the equivalent of being a Muggle, not even a Squib."

"Fuck!" Harry banged his head against the booth's high-back. “I just remembered what McGonagall told me. I don’t think we’ll have to worry about the children.”

Draco leant forward, his grey eyes finally coming to life. “What did she say?”

“No new names have been recorded in the Hogwarts Book for the past few months.”

Harry watched as Draco digested that piece of information. His foot tapped against Harry’s leg and he seemed to stare right through Harry. “Okay, but for those already born, and are magical, if a father or mother gets picked and not the other, they can all go to the Muggle world, or that parent could stay with the children," Draco said as a matter of fact.

They both took another drink.

"God, why didn't you say something before now?"

"You know why, Potter. There's no way around it. You have to ask the question directly for an Unspeakable to say anything."

Harry shook his head. "I have to tell Kingsley."

Draco shrugged and continued devouring the food before him. “Don’t worry, Potter, I’m sure both of you will be staying. It’s the rest of us poor sods who don’t stand a chance.”

The Lottery

Harry rubbed his temple while staring at the enormous map of Britain covering the conference room table. Shiny red dots were appearing on the parchment. Some in cities, others in small towns, and Harry pressed his head harder when a dot appeared on Bruray in the Out Skerries. “No one’s going to want to live there,” he grumbled.

“I would, if I could keep my magic.” The Minister circled the table, fascinated as each dot appeared. The Goblet of Fire was choosing where the selected wizards and witches would be living. The spell was fairly simple, but the Wizengamot went over it multiple times before giving their approval.

Tomorrow, the Ministry atrium would be packed for the lottery proceedings. WWN would be reporting live for those choosing to stay at home

“Ah, look, Harry, Hogsmeade: six. Oh, someone will be staying at Hogwarts permanently. Bet it’s McGonagall.”

Rising bile burned Harry’s throat.

“What are your plans tonight?” Kingsley asked as he stopped pacing and looked down into the Ministry atrium. The Goblet of Fire was already there, high up on a pedestal.

“I don’t know. The Weasleys want me to go to the Burrow. But...but I can’t. The thought of them having to leave Ottery St. Catchpole makes me ill. I should probably go home and sleep, because after the lottery tomorrow, I imagine we’ll all be busy for the next two months with the transition.”

“Harry,” Kingsley said. “Maybe a dot will appear there. But even if it doesn’t, go – go out and have some fun. Do some magic.”

Harry shook his head. The last few weeks had been a blur ever since he’d told Kingsley. Meetings with the Muggle government, public announcements and decrees, mass hysteria, friends crying, and people clawing at him when he ventured into town. The worst were the suicides and murders. Whole families in small countryside homes: purebloods not able to face the idea of living like Muggles. No, Harry reprimanded himself, the worst was the infanticides: ignorant magical parents killing their non-magical newborns. The bile reached the back of his mouth. He excused himself and ran out of the conference room.

“Potter.”

Harry winced, recognising the voice. He’d hoped for a moment’s privacy as he was bent over the loo. A cool wet towel dangled before him. He grabbed it and wiped down his face. The remnants of a too-small breakfast and too much coffee were flushed away.

“Malfoy,” Harry said after he slowly stood up. “What do you want?”

Draco leaned against the wall next to the tap as Harry washed up and gargled with water.

“I need to know...about the Manor.”

Harry took a deep breath. Briefly, he considered telling Malfoy how self-centred he was, but the drawn, pale face stopped him. They’d barely talked since the meeting in the bar, but Malfoy had been to quite a few of the meetings. He knew what was happening right now in the Minister’s conference room.

“I couldn’t stand watching; only fifty or so spots appeared before I left. Wiltshire did have one, but it wasn’t near the Manor. Hogwarts has one and Hogsmeade six.”

“Well that’s good, isn’t it?”

Harry snorted. “It’s putting dots on the Shetland Islands.”

Draco’s eyelids closed. “Shit.”

“Yeah, shit. And I know after tomorrow morning, I’ll be investigating more suicides and murders. I don’t know how we’re going to do it. Shutting everything down, even the fucking Floo Network. I don’t even want to think about having to spell each person before they leave to shut down their magic. And as a final insult, taking their wands.”

“All for the greater good.”

Harry clenched his jaw, wondering if Malfoy knew why those words would sting him so much.

“Potter?” Draco whispered, startling Harry with the almost pathetic tone.

“What?”

Draco stood up straight and grasped the basin’s edge. His fingertips reddened with the pressure. Harry watched in horror as Draco’s jaw spasmed. Fuck, if Malfoy started bawling, he would hex him.

Draco cleared his throat. “Potter, I want you to have it.”

“Have what?”

“My...my wand.”

“Fuck!” Harry blurted out. It was the last thing he expected Malfoy to say.

“I’m serious. You told me about my wand—how it felt comfortable to you—my magic isn’t going into some encrypted box.”

Harry chuckled but recognised how much it had cost Draco to make the request. “Malfoy, let’s go to Hogsmeade and get plowed. We can recount our happy memories of Hogwarts together.”

The shops in Hogsmeade were closed. The few witches and wizards on the street had their hoods pulled down.

“I thought it would be crowded,” Harry said as they headed towards the Three Broomsticks to see if it was open.

“Everyone’s with their families. I guess we now know what people would actually do on the last night of the world.”

Everyone was with their families. The words stung. The community loved him, Harry knew that, but he wasn’t family. The Weasleys would have welcomed him, but somehow it just seemed right that it be only family members. There had been those few months, ten years ago, when he was sure he would have been one. That was until the first incident. He glanced over at Draco, not quite believing that it would be him that helped him toast the end of the magical world.

“Why aren’t you at home with your parents?”

Draco laughed; he grasped onto a light post as the gas flame ignited and twirled around it. “If you must know, we had our family goodbyes last night. My parents had special plans for tonight; they have a healthy sex life that usually involves a lot of magic. So one last hurrah for them.”

Harry stopped and watched Draco, his long hair catching the glow of the flames as lights popped on down the path. “I’m not sure I needed to know that.”

“And I’m sure I didn’t want to be there.” Draco stopped and smiled. “It’s open, Potter; Rosmerta has kept it open.”

“So it is,” Harry replied and smiled back. Something deep inside him told him to remember this moment: seeing Draco Malfoy smile as an early-spring breeze blew crab-apple petals from the trees on either side of Honeydukes down upon them.

“Come in, come in, drinks are on me tonight, boys,” Madam Rosmerta hollered as they entered the Three Broomsticks. A good number of customers were already on their way to being smashed. Rosmerta’s family, Harry thought. The lonely were her family members.

“Over here.” Draco pulled Harry towards a table.

“What shall it be, boys? The stockroom is still filled with red currant rum and elderflower wine. I’m afraid we’ve seen the last of the Ogden’s.”

“The rum sounds perfect,” Harry replied. Everyone at the Burrow must have filled their goblets with elderflower wine by now.

“And to eat? Lamb or pork chops? The stew and kidney pie are gone.”

“Lamb,” Draco answered as he sat. The tapered candle on the table he lit with his wand.

“Lamb would be lovely, Rosmerta, thank you.”

“Kiss arse.”

Harry smiled. “They're called manners, Malfoy. A great wizard once told me that having manners helped in uncomfortable situations.”

“Really, and what are you uncomfortable about?”

Harry opened his mouth, ready to spew out a litany of things, ranging from being at the Three Broomsticks with Malfoy, to having earlier in the day arrested the parents of a murdered newborn.

Draco held up his hand. “I’m sorry, Potter, that was a daft thing to ask.”

“Fuck me,” Harry whispered. “You just apologised. The world really is coming to an end.”

“Now you two hush,” Rosmerta said as she set down their goblets filled to the rim and two large platters filled with lamb chops. “I don’t want anyone crying into their rum tonight. Tomorrow is the first day of spring, and it will mark another chapter in our lives.” She leaned over and kissed each of them on the cheek.

Harry wondered if such optimism was innate.

“She’s been sniffing daisy dust,” Draco muttered.

Harry laughed and helped himself to a lamb chop.

“I heard Muggles have some good potions.”

“Malfoy, Muggles don’t call their medicines potions. And for Merlin’s sake, remember that bones can’t be re-grown, or broken noses healed with an Episkey.”

“Guess I'd better pay attention during transition classes then.”

Harry shoved the thoughts of Draco and so many others struggling to fit into the Muggle world away from his mind. What the hell would he do for a profession? Gringotts could only exchange so many Galleons for pounds without causing alarm in the gold exchange. Maybe an island in the North Sea wouldn’t be so bad. He shivered; yes, it would. Harry set down his knife and lifted his goblet. “To new chapters.”

Draco returned the gesture, rum slopping over the side as the cups clinked.

“To magic,” Draco said and their goblets touched for the tenth time.

“To childhoods lost,” Harry mumbled.

“Phht, what kind of toast is that? Don’t get maudlin on me, Golden Boy.”

“Will if I want to.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Potter, stop, I’m the one who’s supposed to be upset. Remember me? Pureblood arse who hated Muggles most of his life.”

“Fuck, Malfoy, you probably still do.”

Patrons stared at them as Draco’s goblet pounded on the table. “So what if I do? I hate most magical people I know, too. Including your sorry arse.”

“Really, then why are you with me tonight? Shouldn’t you be out fucking some bird or bloke or whatever you do?”

Draco drew out his wand, but it was snatched from his hand. Both of them looked up, startled at the witch glaring at them. “Last warning, gents. Next time, you’re out in the alley.”

“Sorry, Rosmerta,” Harry said. “We’ll behave.”

“Speak for yourself. Ouch! Damn, Rosmerta, that hurt.”

“Serves you right, young man. Now you can have your wand back, but no more drawing it on Auror Potter, or next time I’ll break it over your head.”

Harry sniggered as she left. Draco rubbed the top of his head where he’d been struck. Harry poked Draco in the stomach underneath the table with his wand. “Did you really think you could out-draw me?”

Draco sighed and lifted his goblet. “To me, Potter; may I someday catch the Snitch.”

Harry nodded. “To you, Malfoy.”

“To fucking Silenthing Sharms.”

Harry fell back on the bed laughing. Red currant rum spilled over his shirt. “Shit.”

Draco landed next to him. “Merlin. Is it the end? Thought Hogsmeade’s safe. The room is moving.”

Harry took a sip from his goblet; rum poured out the corners of his mouth. He tossed the cup away, turned on his side, and faced Draco.

“Oh fuck, you’re going to get horny on me now, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know, Malfoy, are we pissed enough?”

Draco giggled, making Harry smile. He leant over and kissed Draco on each corner of his mouth. Draco flipped on his side and wrapped his hand around Harry’s neck, pulling him in closer. “Yeah, we are,” Draco whispered and forced his lips onto Harry’s. Harry tasted violets.

Candles were Noxed, clothes removed, and they crawled between the warm sheets. Harry was sure he wouldn’t remember a thing in the morning, but now, now as Draco’s warm body was wrapped around his and his mouth sucked on his neck, he remembered they’d done this before. His body remembered, too. He felt a familiar numbness but also a craving; he spread his legs as Draco’s hand slid down his sternum and stomach and circled his erection. The fingers would soon find their way inside him. Only Malfoy knew this; only Malfoy knew that he loved being on his hands and knees.

“Lube.”

Harry’s hand fell over the side of the bed searching for his jacket and miraculously found it.

“Here.”

Long fingers dipped into the cream and disappeared under the covers. Draco’s lips ghosted over Harry’s chest, barely kissing each spot as he whispered, “Potter,” as if it was a mantra. Thoughts that didn’t belong tried to filter in, thoughts of tomorrow, but coaxing words to raise his knees and relax pushed them back to where they belonged—with tomorrow’s head and body ache. For now, there was only pleasure and the flavour of violets as Draco found his mouth once again.

“Say it, Potter. Say you want me.”

Harry lifted his head up off the bed, kissed cheeks that were warm, and then rolled over onto his stomach.

“Yeah, I want you, Malfoy.”

He came quickly. It would be a while for Draco; the alcohol had taken its toll. Harry brought his hands under his head and offered his body up for Draco to use.

This, he thought, this was magic.

The potion on the bedside table was the first thing Harry saw. The smell of bacon made his stomach turn.

“Drink it, Potter.”

Harry flinched and looked down at the end of the bed. Draco was sitting there putting on his boots. He’d already showered; his hair was still damp. They’d never stayed the night together after the previous two incidents. Harry snuck out the first time, Draco the second. Words acknowledging it had ever happened never occurred.

“You should be at work within the hour. I’m already late for breakfast with my parents.”

Harry carefully sat up and reached for the potion. Never, he was sure, had he been this hung-over.

“Eat the breakfast or Rosmerta will give you a final hex. She’s sure she won’t make the cut either.”

“’Kay,” Harry mumbled and then drank the thick blue liquid.

Draco stood up and stepped over to the bedside, looking down at Harry. “See you later,” he said and walked towards the door.

“Malfoy.”

Draco stopped and turned around.

“Good luck today.”

Draco snorted. “You too, Golden Boy.” He closed the door softly.

Harry reached for the breakfast tray. It struck him that Malfoy was the only person who had wished him good luck. The gnawing feeling of what if coursed through him.

The Ministry was a madhouse. Harry tried to squeeze through the crowd to reach the lifts but was pushed back every time he advanced. The people suddenly roared and then became silent. Harry looked around and saw what had caught their attention. The Goblet of Fire’s blue flames were dancing high. A magical barrier around it stopped anyone from getting within five meters.

The masses circled around the invisible line and waited. Harry made it to the lift and went to his office, changing into his formal Auror robes. A soft knock on his door followed soon after.

“Come in.”

Kingsley strode in, his attire much more elaborate than Harry’s.

“Good morning, Minister.”

“Good morning, Harry. Did you have good evening?”

“Fair enough, but not too much magic was involved.”

“Good, good. Now did you want to see the map before we go down?”

Harry thought for a moment. It would be grand to know if the Burrow was on it or Malfoy’s parents’ home. “No, that’s okay. Just bring it down and let everyone see at the same time. I need to grab a cup of coffee.”

“I will see you downstairs in the circle in five.”

“Okay, and, Kingsley,...good luck.”

The Minister laughed—a rich, deep roar.

“You’re the first to say that to me.”

Harry sat on his desk and slid on his black boots. “Yeah, someone said it to me this morning. It was a first for me, too.”

“Okay, then I’ll make it a second. Good luck, Harry Potter.”

The crowd had thickened; the noise was deafening. If not for the magical line, and the circle of Aurors protecting it, Harry knew he and Kingsley would be crushed. Harry nodded to Ron, who gave him the thumbs up, and stepped up onto the pedestal with Kingsley. The Goblet’s flames had grown, but the enlarged map hanging down a side of the atrium wall caught Harry’s attention. There were twenty odd dots in Ireland, ten in Wales, twenty in Scotland, including the six in Hogsmeade and now two at Hogwarts. The others were scattered around England and a few on islands north and west. He took a deep breath when he saw the three red dots in Ottery St. Catchpole.

The clock struck twelve; the atrium became completely silent as the Goblet of Fire began to spark. Harry looked over to Kingsley, who appeared ashen. A single piece of parchment was spat out and Kingsley snatched it from the air.

"Number one: Draco Malfoy."

The name reverberated through the air. The crowd gasped. The dot on Hogwarts turned blue. Harry was stunned. He searched the crowd for Malfoy and finally saw him holding onto the third-floor railing, standing between his parents. He was shaking; he fell to his knees.

“It’s fixed!” someone yelled out. “Potter fixed it! They spent the night together at the Three Broomsticks last night!”

The crowd roared.

Kingsley put his hand on Harry’s shoulder and Harry jumped. The tension had him wound tight. Kingsley whispered in his ear, “And you told me you didn’t do magic last night.”

Harry suppressed the inappropriate urge to laugh. “Just rum, Kingsley, a shitload of rum.”

The next hour was surreal. It was filled with gasps, shouts and wailing. Harry couldn’t keep track of the dots or names. It was all happening too fast but they were only in the thirties. People he was sure would be called weren't and so many that were, he'd never heard of.

"Number thirty-seven: Percy Ignatius Weasley."

Harry became fixated on the rest of the Weasley family. Two dots for Ottery St. Catchpole were left. His fingers crossed waiting to hear Ron's name.

"Number forty: Charlie Weasley."

There was one more Weasley, or it could be a Lovegood.

“Forty-one: Molly Weasley.”

Harry saw Ron’s grin falter for a moment. The crowd began to separate. Molly Weasley was pushing her way forward. “Minister, Minister!” she said breathlessly.

Kingsley looked down. “Yes, Molly, what may I do for you?”

“I will not be accepting if Arthur is not among those still to be named. I...I thought the Goblet should know that. Can it hear me? We’ll live out our lives happily in London. I do love the city.”

Harry choked. Molly was frightened every time she set foot in Muggle London.

“I’m not sure, Molly, but we....”

His words stopped as the parchment with Molly Weasley’s name burst into flames.

Ron gasped.

Molly reached up and squeezed Ron’s cheeks. “We’ll be fine, Ronnie.” She pulled her shawl onto her shoulders, held her head up high, and returned to stand by Arthur and the rest of her family. Another outburst came and Harry quickly scanned the crowd; fingers were pointing to the map. A blue dot in London turned red as parchment number fifteen burst into flames. A loud screech came from the entrance; an eagle owl soared over the crowd and dropped a missive into Harry’s hand. Quickly, he unfurled it. He turned white.

He whispered to Kingsley, “Potion Master Jacobsen has been murdered. We’ve got to shut down WWN announcing the names.”

“No, WWN will keep reporting. Send out your team. Gather the people up. Hogwarts is the safest with its anti-Apparation fields.”

Harry stepped down and motioned for the Aurors and Hit Wizards to step closer. Soon the majority were spilling into the crowd and forcing their way to the Floos. “Ron, you get Malfoy and your brothers to Hogwarts, now! They can say goodbye later. Have them seal the doors and then come right back.”

The tension in the room mounted as more names were announced and Harry suddenly realised they were in the eighties. Cheers went up when blue dots changed back to red as selected witches and wizards chose family over magic. A loud yell of approval came when Kingsley read his own name from parchment number eighty-six. Harry patted him on the back, but his stomach turned as this was the first moment he really considered the possibility that he wouldn’t be selected. Why the Goblet chose Malfoy for Hogwarts was a mystery, but deep down an old feeling crept up, one of not belonging, but hadn't he saved this world? Wouldn’t that count for something?

"Ninety-three: Narcissa Malfoy." Harry looked up; she was still on the third-floor next to Lucius. Even from where he was, Harry could see she looked bewildered. Harry looked at the map: Hogwarts.

“She accepts,” Lucius called out.

Harry smiled as Neville was chosen for ninety-four and Greg Goyle for ninety-five. The Slytherin had become a pillar of the community in working with troubled youths. The room hushed as ninety-nine turned the last red dot in Wales blue. The only remaining dot was on Bruray in the Out Skerries.

The flames of the Goblet's fire hissed. The ancient wood was almost charred black. Harry thought of childhood nights in blackness, the feeling of being alone, and for the second time in his life, he tried to bargain with a magical item. “Don't pick me,” he begged silently.

“Number one hundred,” the Minister’s voice bellowed. “Jon McVeigh.”

Harry was numb. Many in the crowd began to weep; others were stoically silent and began to trudge to the Floos. Transition information would be published tomorrow. Tonight, tonight would be one of sorrow. He stepped down from the pedestal, not realising that his knees were so weak; he stumbled and Ron, who had returned, caught him.

Ron pulled him up straight. “Sorry, mate.”

“Sorry to you, too. I was sure you and Hermione would make it.”

Ron smiled and squeezed Harry’s shoulder. “We withdrew our names last night. Hermione didn’t want to leave her parents again, and I’m thinking Mum and Dad might need help in adjusting.”

“So I can come and live with you two then?” Harry asked with a grin.

“All right by me, but I’ll have to ask Hermione.”

Harry shook his head. “Our camping days are over. I’ll be fine.”

They both jumped as the Goblet spat out another parchment. Harry’s heart pounded; he’d seen this before.

“Looks like we had another decline," Ron said pointing up to the map. A red dot in Ottery St. Catchpole reappeared.

Kingsley handed the parchment to Ron as opposed to announcing it.

Ginevra Molly Weasley.

Transitions

Harry lay in bed, still. His wand tip flickered on and off as he repeated the words, Lumos and Nox. This would all be taken away from him. He should have gone to Hogwarts to make sure everything was secure, but he couldn't. The wound was too raw, and for God's sake, why would the Goblet choose Malfoy and Narcissa to be the ones to stay there? An owl pecking at his window interrupted his morose thoughts; he recognised it as a Hogwarts' bird and took the missive.

Harry,

I'm truly sorry.

Draco

Harry crinkled the parchment and tossed it across the room. What a time for Malfoy to be nice.

Nox

The list of decrees brought back horrible memories, only this time he was helping to make them. WWN was quickly becoming the media of choice. As soon as meetings concluded, the Minister was on the air. The rationing of Spells caused the greatest commotion. The Department of Mysteries had an accounting of magical energy for each spell under different conditions. Each wizard and witch was given a quota of magic for use depending on their situation.

St. Mungo's was overwhelmed with families bringing in those who had attempted suicide. Harry and the other Aurors were inundated with the additional family suicide-murders. They'd expected it to get worse, but wholesale slaughter of families and magical animals were stuff of nightmares. Hogwarts house-elves were dispersed to magical homes across the nation, to help magically dependent families with their transitions. The lottery winners could survive without them.

He glanced at the rotting wood floor he was sitting on, his back against the wall. A dark stain remained where coal black eyes had closed while staring into his. He wondered what Snape would have thought of this: giving up so much for a peaceful magical world, and then for all that magic—good and bad— to be going away. The sounds from the door beyond alerted him that Draco had received his note. He had waited one week before replying to Draco's message. He responded with a time, a place, and a map attached.

"Potter."

Harry tried to hide his surprise at the dishevelled wizard. It wasn't alcohol this time but the reduction of spells.

Harry knew he didn't look much better.

"Malfoy."

Harry withdrew a half-empty bottle of elderberry wine. Draco sat down and took the offered drink. Without acknowledging why they were there, trousers were unzipped and fingers forced their way inside pants. The hand-jobs were rough and the releases came with groans.

"I've got to go," Harry said as he wiped his hand on his shirt.

"You should stay. Rumour has it you're being erratic. You can sneak into my room."

The temptation was strong. He wasn't in any shape to work, but being discovered would have a price. None of the witches and wizards were allowed company in Hogwarts for their own and others safety: decree number fifteen.

"No."

"Fuck the decree! You broke more decrees in fifth-year than anyone else."

Harry struggled to stand.

"I can't."

"So you wanted to meet me for this?" Draco asked, zipping up.

Harry raised a brow. This was nice, but it wasn't the main reason. He held out his hand and pulled Draco up. Draco looked at him quizzically. Harry took a deep breath of the Shrieking Shack's stale air.

"No, this is the reason," Harry said and withdrew his wand. Draco twitched seeing it pointed at him. "At the end, I want you to say the spell. I want you to have it."

The rooms were as dingy as the bar below. Harry walked down the dilapidated stairs and glanced over the high bench booths; the windows were still covered in grime. Where faces before had once been hidden by hair and hats, now it was with droopy hoods. His boots stuck to each step; years of spilled drinks, spit, and blood adhered to the wood. The Gateway—a place of transition. He smiled briefly, remembering when he was bringing in stray witches and wizards, those who didn't know about magic, those whose parents never told them, those who Dumbledore didn't press to come to Hogwarts. He'd found them on the streets, in mental institutions, and huddled up to pints in pubs. Now it was those on the inside being forced to get out.

The last booth wasn't empty. Harry slid onto the bench and set down a bottle of Ogden's Finest with two glasses. A wizard appeared as a cloak was removed. Harry lit the candle. Only then with the red glow could Harry see his face. "Draco," he whispered. "You got my message."

"Of course I did or I wouldn't be here," Draco grumbled. His narrowed eyes glanced at the bottle and the glasses. "That won't be necessary; I quit."

Harry sniggered. "You think we can stand each other without it?"

"A shag’s a shag, Potter."

"You always come when I ask, Malfoy. Why is that?"

"My needs are basic: food, a warm shower, a quick shag, and then some sleep."

Harry snorted and filled a shot glass up to the brim. "Maybe you should just stand on the corner of Knockturn Alley with a sign that says you'll fuck for food and a shower."

"Bastard!" Draco spat out and began to stand up. Harry reached across and pulled him back down. Draco glared at him. Harry stared back and then nodded once.

"Sorry, I didn't realise you'd be so touchy tonight." Harry laid his hand next to Draco's on the table. Their fingers reached out to each other and intertwined. "Sorry," Harry whispered again as his thumb ran over the back of Draco's hand. "Talk to me. How’s everyone holding up?"

"We're getting by. Mother spends her time in the library. The Weasley three, I hear, are in the Gryffindor tower. Longbottom and Goyle stand guard at the front entrance every night...and fuck, Potter, do you really want to know? They're just waiting for you and the others to get your travelling papers so they can leave Hogwarts and start their lives. Mother and I are anxious to have them gone."

Harry sighed and downed a shot. The burn didn't affect him anymore. "It'll only be another week or two."

"You're still going to stay until the end?" Draco whispered.

Harry brought their joined hands to his lips and kissed Draco's fingers. There was dirt under Draco's nails. "Yes."

"Do you know where you'll go?"

Harry snorted. The candle flame danced. "Not around here."

Draco's eyes narrowed in disbelief. Harry let go of his hand and reached for Draco's face, holding it still. He leant over and kissed him roughly. Draco pulled back.

"Why?"

"I don't think I could bear being near anyone magical or live in one of the new ex-wizard communities being set-up."

Draco winced.

"Should we continue this upstairs?"

Draco blew out the candle and disappeared beneath the Cloak.

"Yes."

The sheers ballooned as an April gust made its way through the cracked-open window. Harry woke from the mid-afternoon slumber. Draco had left; he had agreed to do what Harry had asked of him. On the final day, at the gates of Hogwarts, they would meet. Harry wondered how Draco's Slytherin heart would feel taking his wand away to cast the spell to silence his magic, and the final horror, removing the ability to see magic.

Harry rolled onto his side; the wet spot was almost dry. He closed his eyes, savouring the memory of Draco splayed out underneath him, begging Harry to fuck him this time. Harry reached over and grabbed the bottle of whisky and remote control. He smiled, seeing the mound of purple Bertie Botts beside the telly. He pushed the button and watched the weather report.

Tasting Magic -- Thirty Years Later

"Beautiful day, eh? Dr Pottah."

"Splendid."

"Did you pick up some of Sally's muffins?"

"Certainly did. Pumpkin maple-nut."

"Those are Tilly's favourite. Have ‘good day."

"You too, Russ."

Harry had seen the maple leaves in the sleepy town turn vibrant red and orange over the past three decades; never did they look as beautiful as they did now, against the deep blue autumn sky. The stands of birches further down the path with their iridescent white trunks and small golden leaves took his breath away. The two tote bags of groceries were getting heavy as he approached the corner to his street. The freshly-baked pumpkin muffins filled him with anticipation and quickened his steps.

The homes were decorated with the trappings of the season. He preferred the ones with cornstalks and pumpkins, as opposed to those with gravestones and sheeted ghosts hanging from the trees. It all, though, made him smile. A grey saltbox home stood out from the rest. The leaves had been raked and the rose bushes given their winter trim by the owners who rented out for the foliage season. Harry thought about stopping by to welcome the visitor; he'd heard he was from Scotland, but he was tired and the chill of autumn was settling in his bones. He gave the house a final glance and headed towards his home.

He jumped. It was just a flash, but out of his peripheral vision, he saw something that startled him. His heart quickened. An orange light was blinking erratically. He set down the bags on the pavement and ran after the light orange contrails that led him through large maple trees, some with spigots impaled in their trunks to tap into the sacred syrup. It was a small fairy; she slowed down and finally tumbled onto the front stoop of the large grey house. Harry came to a quick standstill and hid behind a tree as the front door creaked open. The fairy struggled to lift herself off the welcome mat and flew into the house. "It's okay, love, I'll fix you up," he heard a man say as the door shut.

The exterior of the house seemed normal— everything except the small burning pile of leaves, which was against the law, between two maple trees on the side of the home. The smoke was green. He squinted and a cauldron hoisted over burning maple logs revealed itself. "Wizard," Harry mumbled with excitement. His heart quickened, it was the first magic he'd seen in decades.

Harry scurried away, not wanting to be seen by whoever was in the house; at least not yet. The thought that a wizard might have been sent to the rural town in New Hampshire to locate him caused him some concern.

He swept up the grocery bags and trotted down the road. His red cottage welcomed him, its chimney reaching into the crisp blue sky.

"Hey, Gryff, calm down." A large Maine Coon circled and rubbed up against Harry's legs. Harry set the groceries down on the countertop; the cat promptly jumped up to investigate for treats. Harry picked him up and plopped him to the floor. Absent-mindedly, he put away the items and munched on a muffin without stopping to enjoying its taste. His mind had travelled back to the saltbox house, the autumn fairy, and the voice of the wizard. Harry froze as he replayed the words and the tone. "No— no it couldn't be," Harry said as he patted the cat who had returned to the counter. It was definitely British, but the voice was too kind and not nearly nasal enough, but then—but then it had been almost thirty years since he'd heard that voice.

Sitting on the old couch by the pellet fire in the soapstone woodstove, Harry sipped hot cider spiked with apricot brandy and mulled over the scene. The cat lay upon Harry's blanketed lap and purred as it relished in long continuous pets. Harry's eyelids drifted down, and he valiantly tried to raise them. Sighing, he set his cider and glasses on the coffee table, lay down, and pulled up the blanket around his shoulders. He shivered, despite the house being warm. Gryff curled up next to him.

The dreams over the years were the same; they weren't nice dreams, they were nightmares. Nightmares in which Harry stood helpless as his world ended. Draco saying goodbye with distraught grey eyes, and then turning away towards Hogwarts with words of I'm sorry on his lips. The castle disintegrated into a pile of rubble; the instinct to retreat from the area grabbed hold of him, and he ran. He would squeeze his eyes shut and then he would try to open them, hoping he could wake himself up, but the nightmare continued. Scurrying along the streets in London, seeing hands reaching out to him, begging for help, he would try to run away as sirens sounded and policemen rounded up folk and took them away. He was sure they would all be committed; no one would believe their stories.

Harry would wake and remind himself that things did get better. Hermione, Dean and so many others had spent the last three decades helping the others succeed. The communities set aside for them had merged with the Muggle community-at-large within a decade. Change hurt, but the survival instinct was strong. He’d seen it first hand with the human race adapting to extreme environmental changing conditions.

This afternoon's nap, though, brought something far different. He was in his home, sitting at the kitchen table. The sounds of magic were whirring around him as spoons in bowls were mixing batters and pots and pans were being scrubbed by brushes under the tap; dishes floated from cupboards and landed on the table, perfectly arranged. He sipped magically warmed tea and inhaled deeply. Yes, magic had a scent; it smelled and tasted of violets. A familiar feline tore through the room chasing a tittering orange fairy. Harry laughed. He turned his head as he heard a knock at the kitchen door. "Come in," he yelled. The door opened.

"Potter, you okay?"

"M'fine," Harry mumbled and snuggled further into the warm blankets.

A gentle snicker came from the stranger, then a warning growl from the cat as the intruder excavated him from his supreme spot and set him down on the braided rug. Somewhere in Harry's consciousness, he felt the empty space next to him, but then it was soon filled again.

"Harry, you're not fine." Harry grumbled as the back of a hand touched his forehead. "You're ill, Potter, the magic gave you a fever."

Harry tried opening his eyes; they seemed to be stuck shut just like in his nightmares. "Mmm, Draco? Hallucinating?"

"No, but I'm sure you would be soon." A pillow was propped under Harry's head. "Just drink a little at a time," Draco instructed as an open phial touched Harry’s mouth.

"Six drops of essence of terror, five drops of sinister sauce." Harry whispered and then laughed hysterically as he licked his lips.

"Are you insane?" Draco asked.

Harry finally felt like he could open his eyes. There was a moment of terror that if he did, he would be waking up from a dream and Draco wouldn't be there. He couldn’t take that heartbreak again. But then his fringe was pushed away and soft-dry lips brushed across his sweaty forehead.

"No, just watched too many old programs on the telly," Harry answered and grabbed Draco's wrist as he opened his eyes. "Draco," he mouthed silently, "how?"

"Shhh. We'll talk later. Just rest."

"You'll stay?" Harry asked. He stared at the grey eyes that were scanning his face and hands. Finally, they looked deep into Harry's. Harry gave a half grin when he saw that he wasn't the only one who'd aged. Draco had, distinguishably.

"Not going anywhere, Potter."

Harry sighed happily as the sweet feeling of a magical potion coursed through him.

Draco tucked the blanket around Harry and rose off the couch. Through bleary eyes, Harry watched him examine the still photos on the mantle. They told the story of a loving couple. Harry didn’t need to see them; the memories of Scott were firmly entrenched. They’d travelled the world, fighting the same cause. Draco turned slowly and glanced at the photos on the walls that continued the story of places Harry and his partner had adventured. He wanted to say something, but Draco spoke first.

“May I see the rest of the house?”

Harry nodded and struggled to sit up.

“No need, Potter; I won’t steal anything.”

“Not much to take.”

Draco walked through the music room without much of a glance. Scott’s piano sat there, un-played for far too long. Harry shuffled behind and found Draco standing at the sink, staring out of the kitchen window. The view of his property was a favourite of Harry's. He'd recently thrown straw over the garden. The greenhouse was just now sprouting winter vegetables and the last of the fruit in the orchard was left for the deer. Behind the cultivated yard were the autumn-painted trees, and beyond them, a windmill was spinning.

Harry leaned against the doorframe in silence. His farmhouse-style kitchen had reminded him of the Burrow. The large plank table had been filled with guests celebrating successes over the years. A stag caught his attention through his peripheral vision. Harry could see it stretching for the low hanging pears.

"The Goblet was moved to the Great Hall after the first year," Draco said without turning around. "I was charged with monitoring it for any new names, and then, sometimes, Kingsley would ask me to go and collect the lucky person."

"Did they choose to return?"

Draco shook his head. "In the first few years, yes, but now, most don't. I've had a few snatch their wands out of my hands and break them in half. They’d worked hard to make new lives for themselves, they were happy, and didn't want to be tempted."

There was almost a tone of regret in Draco's voice.

"Everyone thought Mother and I won the lottery, by being chosen to live and care for Hogwarts. It was easy to figure out why Mother was chosen. She was an expert at keeping a large estate. Of course, Hogwarts was a challenge, but she also kept the house-elves happy and busy."

"So they didn't take over the magical world?"

Draco chuckled. "No, but the goblins had a small war."

"And what about you, Draco? Why were you chosen?"

Draco turned away from the window. Harry caught his breath. It had been so long since he'd seen a wizard. There was a difference. The air around him felt alive.

"As penance. I once let evil in to destroy Hogwarts and somehow the Goblet knew I'd spend the rest of my life making sure it survived."

"Ah."

"Every morning I have breakfast near the Goblet, waiting and hoping that it will give me a name, someone lucky enough to bring back home. But now,” Draco turned and looked back out the window, “I can see that maybe Mother and I didn't win."

Harry frowned.

"I think you won, Harry," Draco whispered.

Harry walked into the kitchen and toward a set of French doors at the far wall. "Follow me."

Draco's eyes widened as he stepped into Harry's office. The wall behind his desk was covered in diplomas and photos of Harry and his partner, protesting, being arrested and then shaking hands with Heads of State. Draco's fingers ran over a set of books near the wall, all with Harry's name on them.

"I read in the Muggle papers about you, but...."

Harry shook his head and reached for a framed picture on his desk. Gryff was perched next to it. Harry caught Draco's quirk of a smile seeing the glass paperweight with a single purple Bertie Botts' Bean inside. Draco took the picture from Harry's hand and stared at it. It was Harry's favourite picture, Scott's last. He was lying on the couch with his head on Harry's lap. His long sandy-blond hair had turned grey. Gryff was curled up next to him.

"His name was Scott. An Australian ex-wizard. We made a life, Draco, and it was a very good one, but our goal was to make it back to the magical world. He died two years ago from skin cancer, like so many others. This," Harry said and gestured to the wall of photos and books. "This was the only way I knew to get back."

"I'm sorry you didn't both make it." Draco set down the picture. "But now I know why the Goblet waited. You had to help save this part of the world, too. It's beginning to heal."

Harry tilted his head and just stared at Draco.

"Why are you here, Draco? And how is it I can see magic?"

Draco was silent for a moment; he gave the room another glance and then looked back at Harry.

"Because you're a wizard, Harry."

Harry bit his lower lip. Draco reached out as Harry swayed and led him to a small leather couch.

"The Goblet?"

Draco nodded. "Harry James Potter: number two-hundred and two. But only if you want to return."

Harry's heartbeat quickened. "Where?"

Draco took Harry’s hand in his. Harry glanced down, seeing that the hands had aged, but they were soft and the nails manicured.

"With me...at Hogwarts. Mother passed away last week."

“I’m sorry.”

Harry’s thumb ran over the back of Draco's hand, remembering how it used to feel. Draco tensed.

“She had a good life. We enjoyed our time together. But I've been watching you for a week and I’m unsure whether you think we could in the future—have a good life.”

Harry laughed. “I don’t know, Malfoy. Is there a big enough stash of alcohol to last us the next few decades?”

“I saved some of the previous Headmaster’s finest,” Draco answered and held out his other hand. “Plus, I have these. A never ending supply.”

Harry carefully picked up the violet bean and smiled at Draco. “Well, then, that makes the decision easier.”

“I also have this,” Draco said and withdrew the stick of wood he’d carefully preserved.

Harry stared at it. He'd fantasised about this moment so many times, wondering how he would feel. Could he have left Scott? Could he have left any earlier than this moment? Draco placed the wand in Harry's hand. The jolt of magic that coursed through him made him shiver.

“I can bring Gryff with me?”

“If you insist.” Draco looked over to the cat. The cat hissed.

“We'll be able to fly on brooms?”

Draco sniggered. "Yes, Potter. But, you have a life here. Are you sure you can give it up?"

Harry turned and placed his hands on Draco’s face, holding it still; he looked at him in silence, searching for something familiar: the spark of a defiant young wizard he'd once detested, but missed. There was still a glint in those grey eyes.

“So you want to sneak me in for a night?”

Draco grasped each of Harry’s wrists, removing his hands from his face and leant forward. Harry held his breath; he’d waited too many years to have this kiss with Draco, a calm kiss. Draco’s lips were soft and full.

“Every night,” Draco whispered into the kiss.

Violets.

Harry sighed, tasting both Draco and the magic he brought back into his life.

finis