Chapter Text
Epilogue: “What Comes Next”
Three months later:
The Room of Requirement was quieter than usual. Draco sat cross-legged on the floor, his back against one of the walls, a book open in his lap. He wasn’t reading it, though. His gaze was fixed on Harry, who was sprawled on the rug in front of the fire, absently tossing a small golden snitch into the air and catching it again.
“Does that thing ever get boring?” Draco asked, arching an eyebrow.
Harry grinned without looking up. “Not really.”
Draco rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress the faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. It was moments like this—ordinary, unremarkable moments—that felt like the greatest luxury.
It had been three months since that night in Gryffindor Tower. Three months since Draco had walked away from everything he’d known, his house, his family’s expectations, the future that had been mapped out for him since birth.
Three months of looking over his shoulder, of lying low, of trusting Harry—and, reluctantly, Hermione and Ron—with his life.
It wasn’t easy. There were days when the weight of it all threatened to crush him. Days when he wondered if it would have been easier to stay in Slytherin, to keep his head down and do what was expected.
But then there were moments like this.
Moments where the world outside the walls of the Room of Requirement seemed to fade away. Where the firelight painted everything in warm golds and reds, and Harry’s laughter reminded him why he’d chosen this path.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Harry asked, breaking the silence.
Draco blinked, his gaze snapping back to Harry. “What?”
“You’re staring,” Harry said, smirking as he caught the snitch mid-air. “Something on your mind?”
Draco hesitated, his fingers brushing over the edges of the book in his lap. “Just… thinking.”
“About?”
“Everything,” Draco admitted quietly. “About how we got here. About what happens next.”
Harry sat up, the snitch clutched loosely in his hand. He looked at Draco, his green eyes steady and reassuring. “We keep going,” he said simply.
Draco huffed a soft laugh, shaking his head. “That’s a very Gryffindor answer.”
“Maybe,” Harry said with a grin. “But it’s true. We’ve made it this far, haven’t we?”
Draco’s smile faded slightly, his gaze dropping to the book in his lap. “What if it’s not enough? What if—”
“Don’t,” Harry interrupted, his voice firm but gentle.
Draco looked up, startled.
“Don’t talk yourself out of this,” Harry said, crawling over to sit beside him. “We’ll figure it out, Draco. We always do.”
Draco stared at him for a long moment before letting out a quiet sigh. “You’re insufferable.”
“And you’re stuck with me,” Harry replied with a soft smile.
Draco’s lips twitched into a faint smirk, but his eyes softened as he looked at Harry. “I suppose there are worse people to be stuck with.”
Harry laughed, leaning back against the wall beside him. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
The fire crackled softly, casting dancing shadows across the walls. For a while, neither of them spoke, content to sit in the quiet, their shoulders brushing. Whatever the future held—whatever challenges or dangers lay ahead—they knew they’d face them together.
And for now, that was enough.
Two years later:
The rolling hills surrounding the Burrow were quiet, the spring air warm and alive with the sound of distant birdsong. Harry leaned back against the trunk of a large oak tree, his head tilted up to the canopy of green above. The peace was still new, still strange, but he was learning to let it in.
By the end of the first year together Draco had been smuggled out of Hogwarts to Grimmauld Place and ended up living with Sirius Black. They stayed together for the entirety of sixth and seventh years, the war escalated to the point where it wasn’t safe for him to return to Hogwarts again. They laid a false trail covering his tracks and led others to believe that he had gone to live with distant Black relatives on the continent during the war.
Sirius and Draco went back to Hogwarts before the final battle, meeting up with Harry and the Golden Trio. Draco battling on their side against the Death Eaters, against his own father.
Now, on the hillside, Draco sat beside Harry, his posture stiff as he ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit Harry had come to recognize well. His gaze flicked to the crooked house in the distance, then back to the ground.
“They’re watching me,” Draco muttered.
Harry glanced at him, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “They’re just curious. It’s not every day a Malfoy shows up for dinner at the Weasleys’.”
Draco huffed, his expression sour. “Curious, judgmental—same thing.”
“It’s different now,” Harry said softly. “The war’s over.”
Draco’s eyes darkened, his hand curling into a fist on the grass. “Is it?”
Harry leaned closer, brushing his hand lightly against Draco’s. “It is. At least for us.”
Draco hesitated, his fingers relaxing slightly. “Tell that to your red-haired fan club.”
“They’ll come around,” Harry said confidently. “They just need time.”
Draco let out a quiet laugh, though it was tinged with bitterness. “Time. Right. That’s something we all have in abundance now, isn’t it?”
Harry didn’t respond immediately. He reached for Draco’s hand, threading their fingers together. “We do,” he said firmly. “And we’ll use it.”
The world after the war was a strange and fractured place. The lines that had once divided them—House, bloodline, loyalty—were blurred, but not erased. Draco had learned quickly that trust was not freely given, especially to someone with his name.
But he also learned that he didn’t have to navigate it alone.
Harry was there, always. Whether it was enduring pointed stares in Diagon Alley, or accompanying him to the Ministry as he testified against his father, Harry never wavered.
Draco had tried, once, to push him away.
“They’ll never see me as anything but a Death Eater,” he’d said one evening, his voice low and tight. “And they’ll never understand why you’re wasting your time with me.”
Harry had simply taken his hand, his green eyes steady and unwavering. “I’m not wasting anything,” he replied. “And I don’t care what they think. I care about you.”
Those words had stuck with Draco, a lifeline he hadn’t known he needed.
Now, sitting under the oak tree with Harry beside him, Draco felt a rare sense of calm. The path ahead was still uncertain, but for the first time, he didn’t feel entirely lost.
“I’m still not going in there,” Draco said suddenly, nodding toward the Burrow.
Harry laughed, his head falling back against the tree. “Yes, you are. Molly’s made pudding, and Ginny will never forgive me if you don’t at least pretend to like it.”
Draco raised an eyebrow. “Ah yes, another test of my worthiness. Survive pudding, earn grudging acceptance. Lovely.”
Harry grinned, squeezing his hand. “You’ll survive. You always do.”
Draco studied him for a moment, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “You’re insufferable.”
“And you’re still stuck with me,” Harry said lightly.
For a moment, they sat in comfortable silence, the weight of the past easing under the warmth of the spring sun.
Whatever the world threw at them next, they knew they could face it. Together.
Ten years later:
The morning sun spilled through the wide windows of their cottage, bathing the kitchen in a soft golden light. The smell of toast and freshly brewed coffee filled the air, mingling with the sounds of muffled laughter from the backyard.
Harry stood at the stove, flipping a pancake with practiced ease. He glanced over his shoulder at Draco, who was sitting at the kitchen table, his reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose as he scanned a copy of the Daily Prophet.
“You’re burning it,” Draco said without looking up.
Harry rolled his eyes. “I am not.”
Draco smirked, lowering the paper just enough to reveal his amused expression. “The smoke says otherwise.”
Before Harry could retort, a shrill burst of laughter erupted from the backyard, followed by the sound of small, hurried footsteps.
“Papa! Dad!”
Two children burst through the door, their faces flushed and their eyes bright. Lily, the elder of the two, carried a broom in her hand, her dark red hair wild from the wind. Scorpius followed close behind, clutching a bundle of flowers he’d clearly plucked from the garden without permission.
Draco raised an eyebrow as he folded the paper. “Scorpius James Potter, what did I say about picking the daisies?”
Scorpius froze, his pale blond hair sticking up in all directions, and grinned sheepishly. “They’re for you, Papa.”
Draco sighed but couldn’t quite hide his smile as he took the flowers. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”
Lily tugged at Harry’s sleeve. “Dad, Scorpius cheated at tag!”
“I did not!” Scorpius protested, crossing his arms.
“You hid in the tree!” Lily shot back, glaring at him.
“Only because you were trying to jinx me!”
“Was not!”
“Enough,” Harry said, holding up his hands to stop the brewing argument. “Breakfast first. Quidditch debates later.”
Draco snorted softly as Harry ushered the children to the table, setting plates of pancakes in front of them. Scorpius immediately reached for the syrup, while Lily meticulously arranged her strawberries into a smiley face.
Draco watched them with a faint smile, his hand resting lightly on Harry’s arm as he sat down beside him.
“They’re exhausting,” he murmured.
“You love it,” Harry replied, grinning.
Draco didn’t argue.
Later that evening, after the children were asleep, Draco stood by the window in their living room, a glass of wine in hand. The moonlight cast a soft glow over his features, and Harry watched him from the sofa, his heart swelling with a quiet, familiar warmth.
“You’re brooding again,” Harry said teasingly.
Draco turned, a faint smirk on his lips. “I prefer to call it reflecting.”
Harry got up, crossing the room to join him. He slid an arm around Draco’s waist, pulling him close. “Reflecting on what?”
Draco hesitated, his gaze drifting to the stars outside. “How different it all could have been,” he said quietly. “If we hadn’t… if we hadn’t made those choices back then.”
Harry’s grip tightened slightly. “But we did. And we’re here now. Together.”
Draco glanced at him, his gray eyes softening. “Do you ever wonder what they’d think? Your parents.”
Harry pressed a kiss to Draco’s temple. “I think they’d be proud of us. Of what we’ve built.”
Draco let out a quiet laugh, resting his head against Harry’s shoulder. “It’s a bit unconventional, isn’t it? A Malfoy and a Potter raising a family together.”
“Ah, but you're not a Malfoy anymore are you, Mr Potter? Besides, we may be unconventional,” Harry said with a smile. “But I think we're perfect.”
Draco didn’t reply, but the contentment in his expression said everything.
As they stood together, the soft sound of footsteps broke the quiet.
“Dad? Papa?”
They turned to see Scorpius standing in the doorway, clutching a worn teddy bear.
“I had a bad dream,” he murmured, rubbing his eyes.
Draco crouched down, opening his arms. “Come here.”
Scorpius ran to him, burying his face in Draco’s shoulder as Harry knelt beside them, his hand resting on Scorpius’s back.
“You’re safe,” Harry said softly. “We’ve got you.”
Draco pressed a kiss to the top of Scorpius’s head, his eyes meeting Harry’s over their son’s shoulder. At that moment, he knew Harry was right.
They’d fought for this future. They’d built it together, one step at a time. Draco didn’t feel like he had to look over his shoulder anymore. They were safe, together.