Chapter Text
Something was up with Harry.
He had been distracted and impatient since Wednesday, and now it had been a less than ideal Saturday morning. Most Saturdays, they had plans: a visit to the Weasleys, lunch with Draco's mother, a day with the Lupins, an outing planned by Hermione, an extra Quidditch practice ordered by Oliver Wood (who seemed to keep forgetting that they were not a professional team) or any number of events that popped up far too frequently for Draco's liking. Perhaps it was only because they were so rare, but Draco treasured the Saturdays without any plans, when the two of them could enjoy a slow, quiet morning, which usually included cuddling and breakfast in bed.
Today, however, Harry had picked a fight over seemingly nothing (they were out of bacon) and then stormed out of Grimmauld Place saying that he was going for a quick jog and then a run to the shops.
That was over ninety minutes ago, and Draco was quite certain that didn't meet the criteria for "quick" by any existing definition.
As annoyed as he was that he was robbed of one of his greatest joys in life, he was more concerned about Harry. Something was clearly on his mind. It was simply a matter of waiting until he told Draco what it was — or until Draco figured it out on his own. Whenever Harry got like this, Draco would make something of a game of it, seeing if he could figure out what was bothering Harry before he did.
That was the main trouble with Harry's moods. It wasn't that he was keeping something from Draco. In most cases, he simply didn't quite understand what was bothering him or why. Though life might be easier if Harry were more in touch with his emotions, Draco didn't mind trying to solve the case of "what's eating Harry Potter" on occasion.
So Draco sat in the sitting room with the pot of tea he'd made himself and mulled over what could be the matter. He could rule out Harry being upset with him. That was one thing that Harry never had a hard time articulating. Though it had previously been a source of many moody mornings, Harry had finally come to terms with the latest revision of the Quidditch rules that had been announced at the beginning of the year, which had relegated catching the Snitch to a mere fifty points and rather than ending the game, triggered a five minute countdown. And it was too early for the annual shadow that accompanied the month of May. Just as he was trying to recall whether Harry had made any comments about problems with work, the doorbell rang.
Draco leisurely finished his cup of tea before going to answer the door. It served Harry right for leaving in such a huff. He'd probably forgotten to bring a bag for the shop, meaning his hands were so full it left him unable to turn the doorknob or even flick his wrist to open the door himself.
Just as Draco entered the long corridor to the entryway, the doorbell rang again.
"Coming!" called Draco down the hall. "Good grief!"
Opening the door, he continued his bickering. "You make me wait nearly two hours, but you're fussing at me over less than two — oh — hello, dear cousin. What brings you here?"
Instead of his not-quite-tall, dark, and handsome husband, on the doorstep stood a man built like a Graphorn with cropped blond hair and a rather pink face.
"Is Harry home?" asked Dudley Dursley.
"Afraid not," said Draco. "He's stepped out for a bit but should be back any moment. You're welcome to come inside and wait."
"Er...yeah. Thanks."
Dudley stepped into the house and followed Draco down the corridor toward the sitting room. Once there, they sat in silence: Dudley in an oversized wing-backed armchair and Draco at his spot on the sofa, which he realised too late he should have offered to Dudley, who managed to make the armchair seem small.
Draco liked Dudley well enough, or perhaps it was more accurate to say that he didn't dislike him, other than the small part of him that hated the man for how he had treated Harry when they were growing up together. The wiser part of Draco knew it was ridiculous. He had done much worse to Harry during their years at Hogwarts, but to be fair, that small part hated himself as well.
Though Dudley and Draco had met more than a dozen times over the past decade, the two of them had never spent any time with each other one-on-one. This was for good reason; besides Harry, they hadn't a single thing in common other than their past as spoiled brats and insufferable bullies, something that neither of them were keen on bonding over.
"Can I get you anything?" asked Draco. "A cup of tea, perhaps?
"Not much of a tea drinker," said Dudley. "I'll take a coffee."
"Harry's usually the one that makes the coffee...," said Draco.
"Right…," said Dudley.
They lapsed into uncomfortable silence once again.
Draco wracked his brain for something else to say, regretting that he hadn't paid closer attention to Harry when he was explaining how to use the French Press, when Dudley blurted out, "Why don't you want to come to the wedding?"
"Come again?"
"My wedding," said Dudley. "I got your RSVP yesterday. It said you and Harry won't be coming."
And there it was: the thing that must be bothering Harry. Draco's investigative skills were peerless.
"This is news to me," he said. "I was planning on arranging an appointment for our suit fitting next week."
"I have it here."
Dudley stood up and pulled out a folded and slightly squashed piece of card stock out of his back pocket and handed it to Draco. There, in Harry's writing, were their names with a check mark in the box next to "declines with regret."
"So...you wanted to go?" asked Dudley, squeezing himself back into the chair.
"Oh, I never miss a wedding if I can help it," said Draco. "Who doesn't love an opportunity to dress up and judge people?
Dudley frowned. It was impossible to tell whether he was upset or just confused, so Draco added, "And celebrate love, of course."
Although Dudley nodded, he still looked confused. "So Harry doesn't want to come…," he said slowly.
"You'll have to ask him," said Draco, trying not to sound overtly annoyed. "He hasn't mentioned anything about it to me."
Dudley continued nodding to himself and furrowed his brow as though thinking very hard about something.
"D'you think it's 'cause...y'know…'cause of how it was…when we were kids?"
"I can't be certain, but that seems unlikely. Harry has a remarkable capacity for forgiveness," said Draco. "You and I sitting in this room is proof enough of that. If it bothered him that much, I don't think he'd spend any time with you at all."
They were interrupted by the doorbell, and this time Draco was certain it was Harry. He excused himself to answer the door, once again taking his time as he walked down the corridor and marvelling at the fact that he had been wrong — Harry had been hiding something from him after all.
"It's about time," said Draco, opening the door. "I was about to send a search party."
On the other side was Harry, smiling apologetically and arms full from a shop, including a box from Draco's favourite bakery.
"So...," said Draco, taking the box of pastries from Harry's hand, "do you have something to tell me?"
"Er...," said Harry, looking at him quizzically, "I love you?"
Draco gave a dramatic sigh and rolled his eyes, but the slight upward turn of his lips gave him away.
"That is an acceptable answer," said Draco, turning to walk down the corridor, "but I'm afraid it wasn't the one I was looking for."
"So what is the answer you're looking for," said Harry, entering the house and closing the door behind him with his foot.
"It's no fun if I tell you! But there's a hint in there," said Draco, pointing a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the sitting room. "Oh, and you should put on a pot of coffee."
Harry gave him another quizzical look as he ducked into the kitchen.
As soon as Draco reentered the sitting room, Dudley sprang up from the chair and asked, "Was that Harry? Where is he?"
"In the kitchen. He'll be out soon. So, what's the plan?"
"Plan? For what?"
"I assume you came here to encourage Harry to change his mind regarding our presence at your wedding. Seeing as I was unaware until just a few moments ago that we weren't attending, this is something I would like to discuss with him as well. In that case, a united front is probably the best strategy, don't you think?
"Er…I didn't really think about it."
"So…you came here with no plan?"
Dudley shook his head.
"I see…," said Draco. "Well, then I suppose I'll let you take the lead, and when you fail spectacularly, I'll go ahead and jump in."
"Er…thanks…I think," said Dudley, sitting back down.
Just then, Harry walked into the sitting room, carrying a French press whose plunger had not yet been pushed down and two mugs. When he noticed who was sitting in the armchair, he nearly dropped the whole lot.
"Dudley!?"
"Er...yeah," said Dudley, springing up from his chair again. "How ya been?"
"Fine," said Harry. "Er…good, actually. What are you doing here?"
"Well," said Dudley. "I got your RSVP."
"Oh."
Harry slowly lowered the French press and the mugs to place them on the coffee table.
"Oh!?" said Draco, unable to contain himself any longer. "Is that all you have to say for yourself?"
Harry shot him a bewildered look. "I don't know. What else should I say?"
"Maybe you can explain why you decided to decline the invitation without telling me about it. I never even knew that you didn't want to go."
"I didn't know either!" said Harry. "The invitation was delivered on Tuesday, and after I got it...I don't know…just kept thinking that it would be better if I didn't go."
"Why?" asked Dudley and Draco in unison.
"Why!?" repeated Harry. "Your mum and dad hate me. And you know they're not going to like Draco."
"Why not?" said Draco, crossing his arms. "I'm delightful."
"A delightful gay wizard ," said Harry, turning toward Draco. "And as much as I love those things about you, none of those things are positives in Vernon and Petunia Dursley's book."
"Besides," said Harry, continuing his conversation with Dudley. "I haven't seen them in over ten years…I just…don't think it's a good idea."
"I talk about you sometimes," said Dudley.
"And how does that go?" asked Harry. "I bet your mum makes a face like she's swallowed a lemon, and your dad turns purple and makes a comment about me being a no-good, ungrateful brat."
The tiniest glimmer in Harry's eyes looked like he hoped Dudley would tell him he was wrong, but Dudley frowned, rubbed the back of his neck, and said, "I guess you know them pretty well."
Harry sighed. "Yeah, I guess so…. That's why it's better if I don't go. I don't want to add any stress to your day. It should be about you and Ash starting a new chapter, not about...y'know…ancient history."
"So that's the reason?"
"Er…yeah," said Harry. "Pretty much."
"So it's not because you don't want to be around them?"
"What do you mean?"
"If you don't want to come to the wedding because you never want to see my mum and dad again, I won't try and change your mind," said Dudley. "But if it's because you're worried about me or Ash or the wedding, then I don't want you to worry about that. I want you to come. We want you to come. You're not going to ruin anything. If my parents want to make a fuss about you being there, that's on them."
A small chime went off, and the plunger of the French Press slowly lowered itself. Harry immediately took it as an excuse to seek a short reprieve from the conversation. Sitting down on the couch, he conjured a third mug and began pouring the coffee.
"Mad," said Dudley.
"What?" said Harry.
"It's just mad that I used to be afraid of magic. It seems dead useful. Wish I could make things just appear like that."
"Er…yeah, it can be," said Harry. "But you weren't completely wrong, some of it can be pretty scary."
"Not from you, though."
Harry stopped dead, set down the French Press, and looked at his cousin with an astonished look on his face.
"Thanks, Dud."
The half-poured coffee was growing cold as the silence stretched out between them, and Draco grew tired of waiting, both on the coffee and a resolution as to whether or not they would be attending the wedding.
"Let's do a thought experiment," said Draco, taking a seat next to Harry to finish pouring the coffee, "if your aunt and uncle weren't going to be there, what would you do?"
"I'd go," said Harry with a shrug.
"Then we should go," said Draco, standing up to hand Dudley his cup. "You were excited about it when we got the 'Save the Date.'"
"I know!" said Harry. "I was…."
"So what changed?" asked Draco, picking up his own mug and blowing on its contents.
"I don't know!" said Harry. "Nothing! I just…hadn't really thought about it."
Harry looked from Draco to Dudley, who towered over him with intense stares, and then down at the floor
"I don't know…," he said. "Maybe I'm worrying over nothing."
"It's going to be fine. You'll see!" said Dudley. "You won't even have to talk to them! There are going to be so many people there. And I'll tell them to be nice. You know how mum is. She'll do anything I ask, and she can convince dad—"
"This is exactly what I mean," said Harry, shaking his head, still looking at the floor. "You'll be worrying about how your parents are going to act around me when you should be enjoying your day."
"And I'm going to enjoy it more because you're going to be there."
"And you won't be alone," said Draco, sitting back down next to Harry and resting a hand on his knee. "I'll be there with you."
Harry lifted his head to look at him. The expression on his face was difficult to parse. Apologetic, frustrated, embarrassed, grateful: each of these expressions seamlessly melded into one another, cycling over and over until Draco began to feel confused and conflicted himself.
When Harry opened his mouth to speak, no words came out. Instead, he exhaled heavily and shook his head.
"You're right," he said eventually. "You're both right. We should go."
"Great!" said Dudley, grinning broadly. "Then I'll mark you two down on the list. Ash is going to be thrilled. She really likes you two, y'know. Said she's looking forward to being related! And can you imagine her reaction when she finds out you can do magic!?"
The three of them spent the next hour chatting about Dudley's wedding plans. As Dudley's bride-to-be, Ashley Louis, was from the United States, they had opted for a destination wedding. Vernon and Petunia apparently kicked up a row when they first floated the idea of getting married in Ash's hometown, just outside Chicago, so they decided on neutral ground, namely, Spain. Neither Harry or Draco had yet been to Mallorca, so they were happy enough for the opportunity to visit a place with good food and plenty of sunshine.
By the time the coffee had been drunk and the apology pastries had been eaten, Harry was in a far better mood and genuinely seemed to be looking forward to the wedding. But Draco couldn't quite shake the feeling that something was still off, that he had missed something, and all was not as well as it seemed.
That night, Draco lay in bed with Harry's head resting on his chest. He ran a hand through Harry's hair, while Harry traced random patterns on the smooth skin of Draco's torso. This was how they should have spent their morning, and as happy as he was that they were making up for the lost time, something kept niggling at Draco's conscience, insisting that he ruin their moment of peace.
"Are you sure?" he asked.
"Sure about what?"
"About the wedding."
Although he was expecting it, Draco couldn't stop himself from feeling enormous disappointment when Harry stopped using him as a pillow and sat up.
"Are you serious?" he asked, looking down at Draco. "You ambush me with Dudley and talk me into going, and now you ask me if I'm sure. We just told him we would go!"
"Exactly! So if you really don't want to go, now is the best time to tell him. He said he'd understand."
"Why are you thinking about this now ?" Harry sat back against the headboard and covered his face with his hands.
"I just want to be sure we didn't…er, bully you into saying yes," said Draco, guiltily murmuring out the last few words.
Harry said nothing and continued hiding behind his hands. The complete lack of response made Draco feel even worse.
"We wouldn't be in this predicament if you had talked to me about all this before you sent the invitation response," said Draco, sitting up and turning to face Harry.
"I said I'm sorry!" said Harry, letting his hands drop but refusing to look Draco in the eyes. "I didn't know what to do!"
"Then why not talk to me?"
"It's not that easy, Draco. I don't even like thinking about it! How am I supposed to talk about it? I wish…I wish that I just didn't care or that I could just forget about it, like it never happened."
"Is it because you think I can't help or I won't understand?" asked Draco.
That's what he was afraid of: not understanding.
When he was a child, he had been given whatever he wanted. He had been the centre of his parent's entire world. In that respect, he had more in common with Dudley than Harry. His upbringing hadn't been perfect, but he had always known that he was safe and loved — and that was more than something. He simply couldn't understand how anyone could neglect a child under their care. But how can one make sense of the senseless or find reason in the unreasonable? It was easier to grasp the fact that Harry had come back from the dead than the fact that he had been neglected and abused by his own blood from the age of one.
"That's not it," said Harry.
"Then what is it?"
Harry, tired of saying "I don't know," just shrugged and shook his head.
"I didn't think anyone would care," he said eventually.
"What do you mean? Why wouldn't we care?"
"I didn't think Dudley would care that much about me being there, and I thought you would have been happy enough just taking a holiday somewhere else," said Harry, fidgeting with his gold wedding band like he always did when he and Draco had uncomfortable discussions. "That's what I was going to suggest when I got home after my run."
"Would you rather do that?"
"I don't know…," said Harry. "It would be less stressful…but if Dudley wants me to be at the wedding, then I want to be there."
"But I don't want you to be there if you're going to be miserable the whole time."
"It won't be all bad," said Harry with a shrug. "I'm sure I'll figure something out."
"Maybe you could let me figure it out?" said Draco.
Harry looked at Draco with his brow furrowed in confusion. "No," he said. "It's not something you should have to deal with. It's my problem—"
"I'm your husband, Harry. If it's your problem, it is my problem. And it just so happens that I'm the perfect person to deal with this," said Draco.
"Oh really? How's that?"
"I was raised to deal with wannabe-rich arseholes. You're basically trying to deny me my birthright."
"Even when those wanna-be rich arseholes are some of the most aggressively anti-magic Muggles that have ever existed."
"I make an excellent first impression when I want to," said Draco. "And from what you've told me about your aunt and uncle, money talks and for better or worse, that's my native language."
"And here I thought your native language was sass."
"That is my love language, darling. Completely different thing."
"So I guess that means you must've loved me all along," said Harry.
"I should have," said Draco.
Harry smiled at him. Finally. It was the first real smile he had seen from Harry in days.
"Fine," said Harry, "I'll let you take care of everything, but you need to promise me that you're not going to do anything that might cause problems. The last thing I need is for them to think they've been right all along because their son's precious day was ruined."
"I promise to behave as long as they do."
"Draco!"
"What?"
"If anything goes wrong, they're going to blame it on me."
"Exactly!" said Draco. "They know it has nothing to do with you. They just want a scapegoat."
"Yeah, so don't create a situation where a scapegoat is needed."
"It's a wedding, Harry," said Draco. "Nothing ever goes completely according to plan."
"Ours did."
"It did not!" said Draco, playfully slapping Harry on the shoulder. "Don't you remember how my mother nearly burst into tears because they hadn't removed the thorns from the roses? And then gnomes ran off with the rings and Fred and George had to dig up half the garden chasing them down!"
"What I remember...," said Harry, lacing his fingers through Draco's, "is getting to marry my best friend. So as far as I'm concerned, everything went exactly according to plan."
Harry lifted his free hand, placed it on Draco's cheek, and pulled him into a gentle kiss.
Even now, it was hard to believe that all this started when Harry had found Draco in the midst of a nervous breakdown in a Hogwarts bathroom. Harry had never really been able to explain why he'd done it, but in a moment in which Draco had been completely overcome by fear and despair, Harry had refused to meet that fear with his own. Instead, he had offered to help. Neither of them could have guessed that their uneasy alliance would transform and blossom into this, but every morning Draco woke up grateful that it had and at a loss for how he would ever be able to repay Harry for that first kindness he had shown him — a kindness he continued to show day after day after day.
Draco pulled back and looked into those green eyes that never failed to leave him a bit breathless.
"You know, you don't always have to be strong around me," he said. "You can let me take care of you sometimes."
"What are you talking about? You take care of me all the time."
"Not as much as you take care of me."
"I'm not keeping score, but I really don't think that's true."
"But you'll let me do this for you? I promise I'll do everything I can to make sure that you can just enjoy the wedding."
"And?" said Harry, both eyebrows raised expectantly.
Draco placed his left hand over his heart, and then raised his right hand. "And so long as they leave you alone, I solemnly swear your aunt and uncle will get through it completely unscathed."