Archive of Our Own ^beta

The sun filtered down to the ground through breaks in the sparse cloud cover and dappled in winking patterns over Draco’s table. A light breeze fluttered some of the delicately folded handkerchiefs laid along the front edge of the table. All in all, it was a lovely day for the annual alpha display. A lovely day that Draco was spending sitting behind a table, watching giggling omegas and betas stroll along, checking out what the collected alphas had curated. They did not, however, ever stop to see what Draco had laid out. Which was a shame, really. Even though Draco hadn’t wanted to attend in the slightest, he’d still collected his best items to display.  

As another omega gave his table a wide berth, Draco ran a hand through his hair and sighed. He’d known it would be like this, which was the worst part. His mother and Pansy had been so insistent on Draco coming to the display (for several years now) and Draco had originally refused (as he had for several years now). They’d only convinced him to attend when they pitched the angle that it could be good for his business.  

“Think of it as free advertising, Draco!” Pansy had wheedled him over a cup of Earl Grey (she thought she was hysterical, Pansy did).  

“Yes, dear – it’s the perfect opportunity to show off the incredible skill you’ve developed,” his mother had enthusiastically agreed. “And just think! Maybe some lovely omega will be so taken they ask to court you!” Draco had groaned at this and dragged a hand down his face while simultaneously sliding down in his seat. 

“Mother –” he began in a long-suffering tone (Draco had been hoping he could escape this particular conversation but, alas, luck was not on his side). 

“Or a beta!” Narcissa quickly said, as if that was the issue Draco was taking with what she’d said.  

“If I say I’ll think about it, will you two let it drop for today?” Draco asked with a sigh. He had known this might happen when he’d gotten the invitation for tea (even though he’d never participated in the display before, he knew when it was. He wasn’t an idiot).  

“Oh, all right,” Draco’s mother acquiesced with a glance over at Pansy.  

True to his word, Draco had thought about it. In truth, he’d thought about attending the display every year before, and every year he had decided against going. He told himself it was because no one would be interested in an alpha that was a tailor. Let alone a tailor who didn’t use magic.  

Draco was extremely proud of his craft, and he knew he had a multitude of beautiful pieces that he could choose from for his display. But he also knew that (while things had gotten more progressive in his lifetime) an alpha who took up a “softer” trade was often looked down on. That was without even opening the never-ending can of worms that being an ex-Death Eater added to the situation.  

However, this year, Narcissa and Pansy were determined to get him to the display. He knew that it was coming from a good place – they were both worried about how much time he spent alone. They hid it well, but Draco was perceptive and knew the slight bitter tinge to his mother’s daffodil scent that arose every time Draco attended an event alone or begged off entirely. So, no matter what they said about his business, Draco knew they really were hoping he’d find someone at the display that would ask to court him.  

Draco knew that wouldn’t happen, but he humored them. And he also was getting so tired of the never-ending fliers that appeared in his mailbox from the two of them. So, he’d finally given up and agreed he would sign up.  

Despite his reluctance to attend, Draco had taken it seriously. He’d sewn his own tablecloth for the event (a deep emerald green with scalloped edges picked out in silver thread [what? His Slytherin pride ran deep and objectively those colors work so well together]). He’d picked out a selection of some of his loveliest handkerchiefs in lighter colors for the spring and solid colors as staple pieces. He’d collected some of his favorite ties, all pieces made with fabric he’d woven himself. And to truly show off his prize examples, Draco had brought with him mannequins: the first to sit on the table and display a waistcoat Draco spent three months working on. Made of forest green satin and embroidered in pale green threads portraying leaves whirling as if caught in a breeze (he couldn’t bring himself to wear it or sell it). The second mannequin displayed a tea-length dress comprised of lemon-yellow linen with cap sleeves, covered with hand-embroidered lilies (Pansy had been trying to buy it from him but wouldn’t tell him why. Draco, on principle, refused to sell it until Pansy confessed that she wanted to give it as a courting gift to Luna Lovegood. Pansy still thought Draco had no idea, the twit).  

Casting his gaze across the lines of booths set up in the wide field, Draco ran his hand through his hair again and idly checked his watch. Thank Merlin, Draco thought as he saw there was only an hour left before the end of the display. He’d been here for three already and had, against his better judgement, felt a spark of pride at his skillful work, and something else (hope? - Some unhelpful part of him tried to supply. Draco ignored it) as he set up his table. Those feelings had slowly faded as more and more people walked by his table. It was predictable really – Draco would see them spot his works and if their interest was piqued, it would immediately fade when they caught sight of him behind the table. Draco couldn’t even be filled with righteous indignation enough to tell his mother and Pansy “I told you so” because he could already see in his mind’s eye how their faces would fall, and it brought him no joy.  

The only spot of interest had come about halfway through the display. He’d been casting his eyes over the crowd and could have sworn he’d seen a bushy head of hair (now constrained into a slightly less bushy ponytail) ambling along next to a tall red head. Draco wasn’t willing to bet his shop that it was Granger and Weasley, but he’d bet ten Galleons it was. Unfortunately, while it captured his interest, the two were too far away for him to confirm their identities. He found himself not opposed to the idea of talking to them if they had wandered by.  

While he didn’t think he and the Golden Trio would ever be friends, Draco’s actions at the end of the war to help Potter had led to Potter defending him at his trial. Draco had been cleared of his charges and pardoned, as had his mother. People generally accepted that Draco and Narcissa had been coerced by Lucius to become Death Eaters and that was, shockingly, the truth. They’d been lucky enough to leave it behind, but unfortunately it could not be forgotten entirely. This was something they had learned to make peace with. Narcissa had thrown herself into completely re-decorating the Manor then, and after that, the house-elf liberation movement (of all possible things). Draco had thrown himself into his fabric and thread.  

Over the months spent rebuilding Hogwarts, Draco had seen the Golden Trio from afar, only sometimes slightly closer. They’d all been cordial with each other when it seemed appropriate but never went out of their ways to see one another. This suited Draco fine.  

Although sometimes, while sitting in the Great Hall, eating supper as a reward for the work they had all done that day, Draco could feel Potter’s eyes locked on him from across the room and immediately felt transported back in time. It almost made him want to send jinx under the table just to make Potter jump and scowl at him. He never did, though. People got jumpy about ex-Death Eaters sending jinxes (even if they were donating their time to pour magic back into the wounded body of Hogwarts). 

Draco shook his head slightly, clearing away thoughts from the past and scanning the crowd again. Consulting his pocket watch again, Draco sighed at the half-hour still remaining until he could pack up and head back home to the peaceful (if sometimes stifling) quiet of his little townhome. While his mother had been able to recover her love for the Manor and process the War by reclaiming the space, Draco had never truly felt comfortable in the place he had grown up. His mother hadn’t pushed him (too much) when he announced his plans to buy his own place and start fresh.  

And start fresh he had. His townhouse had been a blank slate, and the first place Draco had truly been able to make his own. It was his sanctuary, but sometimes the quiet felt… oppressive. And in those moments Draco found himself longing for something he didn’t quite have words to describe. He’d curated an excellent record collection to combat these times. By his logic, he couldn’t dwell with Joan Jett playing as loud as his record player would allow.  

Draco was idly planning what he would do with his day off the next day (he had to make it spectacular to make up for losing out on today as a day off to this stupid display) when a faint scent cleared all thoughts out of his head. 

Coffee. 

Logically, Draco knew that coffee was not an uncommon scent for someone to have, but he knew the contours of this scent. It was rich and dark – fragrant with no underlying tones to distract from it. He hadn’t smelled it in years.  

Almost independent of conscious thought his eyes began scanning – not frantically, no, but methodically. He was searching. He felt his alpha urging him to get up and prowl, an urge he tamped down. Draco’s eyes began moving more quickly as the scent of coffee became stronger. And then, suddenly, the scent overwhelming, there he was.  

Potter. 

Draco’s eyes stilled and locked onto Potter’s. In that moment, he felt as if he were trapped in a web – strung up and unable to move. It had been years since they’d seen each other – not since the official re-opening of Hogwarts. Much to his alpha’s disappointment, Draco made it a point after that to try avoiding Potter when possible.   

“Hey there, Malfoy,” Potter said evenly, one corner of his mouth quirked. “Didn’t think I’d see you here.” As he said this, Potter broke their eye contact to scan over the table and Draco found himself able to breathe again.  

“Yes, well, it wasn’t really my idea,” Draco said after lightly clearing his throat. He dropped his eyes to his hands and busied himself with fixing his shirt cuffs. He heard Harry hum in understanding as his hand entered Draco’s field of vision to ghost over the neatly folded handkerchiefs.  

“Yeah, I guess you aren’t really one to make public appearances anymore,” Potter said in the same even tone. Draco’s recently recovered breath caught in his throat – was Potter saying he’d noticed Draco’s reclusiveness? (He was probably keeping an eye out for you to see if you’d start causing trouble again, a negative voice whispered in the back of his mind. It warred with the pleased rumble his alpha wanted to let out. Omega was looking for us. Omega wanted to see us. Neither of these thoughts were helpful, so Draco wrote them off. Or tried to, at least.)  

“I was glad to see you here, though. I’d heard you’d started up as a tailor and was always so curious what your work looked like,” Potter said, oblivious to the spiral his comment was causing Draco. As Potter gently ran his hands through the ties, Draco allowed himself to glance up and really look at Potter.  

His unruly hair was much longer now – so long in fact that he wore it up in a small bun. With his hair pulled off his face, Draco could see his scar clearly from where it started near his left temple and branched across his forehead and down through his eyebrow. He’d changed his glasses – gone were the round wire frames – he'd replaced them with a pair of thick black rectangular frames. While Draco felt a pang at the loss of the round glasses that had been such a staple for Potter, he had to admit the new frames balanced his face in a way the round ones never had.  

“This is a marvel,” Potter said in that same even tone as he reached his hand out to gently brush his fingers against the satin waistcoat. As his hand moved, the sleeve of his shirt moved slightly and exposed his wrist. A fresh wave of coffee swept over Draco and he couldn’t help but close his eyes (just for a second) and inhale. Coffee was a somewhat unusual scent for an omega, but then again, Harry Potter was an unusual omega.  

Draco remembered the first time he’d smelled the rich scent of black coffee – it had been during the war. He was home from Hogwarts for the Easter holidays and had been hiding away in his room, hoping to avoid the Death Eaters that had established a base in the Manor. He’d been tucked away, trying to ignore the maniac laughter and occasional screams that filtered under his door (he hadn’t been doing very well), when his door was flung open to reveal his aunt Bellatrix grinning madly.  

“Oh, Draco,” she crooned at him. “We need you immediately – come with me.” She didn’t give him a choice, reaching out to snare his arm and drag him down the stairs to the drawing room. Aunt Bellatrix shoved him through the door in front of her and began to giggle hysterically behind him. A wave of scents washed over him – the excited scents of the Death Eaters around him, but there were three that were new. His eyes locked on the trio kneeling on the floor, surrounded with wands pointed at them. Draco briefly registered the smell of freshly cut grass and the smell of fresh ink on parchment before a wave of coffee swept over him. Even soured as it was with panic, Draco felt his alpha cling to the scent. As his gaze locked with a pair of blazing green eyes that he hadn’t seen in almost a year, Draco’s alpha growled three words that changed the course of his life: Omega. Mine. Protect.  

With those words ringing in his mind, Draco stumbled his way through lying – of course that wasn’t Harry Potter, he didn’t even have his glasses. Couldn’t they see that or were they really that stupid?  

Draco hadn’t before rebelled against the Dark Lord, but when faced with the idea of putting Potter in danger, Draco’s alpha simply would not let him.  

After the war, it was a huge news sensation. How Harry Potter, Savior of the Wizarding World and the Chosen One, had presented in a freezing tent in the woods as an omega. No one had expected it. Everyone (including Draco) was so sure that the Harry Potter would present as an alpha that no one quite knew how to handle the fact that he was an omega.  

Draco had never told anyone what he realized that day when he saw Harry. Sometimes, swaddled in the endless quiet of his home and on the edge of sleep, Draco would wonder what Potter’s omega thought when it saw Draco. He’d tried to make peace with the fact that he’d never know. 

“How did you make it?” Potter asked, tilting his head at the waistcoat and snapping Draco from his memories.  

“By hand,” Draco answered. “I used a sewing machine to stitch together the pieces, but all of the embroidery was done by hand.” Draco saw Potter’s eyebrows lift slightly at this and the other side of his mouth quirk up. One could almost call it a small smile, if one wasn’t Draco Malfoy. 

“By hand,” Potter repeated in a soft tone. Draco almost caught a note in Potter’s scent – was that surprise? “I assumed you would have used magic.”  

“Yes, well, I make everything by hand. It helps to keep my hands busy,” Draco said awkwardly. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d talked this long with Potter without one of them whipping out their wands and threatening the other.  

“I think it’s admirable,” Potter said in that same soft tone. “It’s a shame I didn’t bring any flowers.” The second part of his statement made Draco felt like the ground was falling out beneath him. He was so caught up in his newfound vertigo, he completely missed the way Potter flushed as if he hadn’t meant to say it aloud. 

While at the display, if an omega found an alpha suitable and desirable, and wished the court them, they would present the alpha with a bouquet. Predictably, Draco had not received any bouquets, and he hadn’t expected to. Strangely, though, he could have sworn he saw Potter’s eyes scanning quickly over his table and behind it. Draco’s suspicions of the motive behind this inspection were confirmed when Potter asked: “Have you received any bouquets?” Draco scoffed before he could stop himself. 

“Please, Potter. You already know the answer to that. Who would want to court an ex-Death Eater? And an alpha who embroiders by hand?” To his surprise, Draco looked up and saw Potter shaking his head slightly and a mild note of irritation had filtered into his scent. 

“But your work is lovely – I’ve never seen anything like it. And you were pardoned.” Potter’s soft tone was gone, replaced with the familiar indignant tone that littered Draco’s memories.   

“We both know a simple pardon isn’t enough to change most minds, Potter,” Draco said gently, looking up and finally locking eyes again. When their eyes met, Draco felt the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Softly, so softly, his alpha crooned omega.  

“But it should. Beyond that, you helped re-build Hogwarts, Malfoy. You’re not that person anymore,” Harry said insistently, eyes boring into Draco’s. Before Draco could reply, the sound of a bell tolling swept across the field signaling the end of the display. The sound seemed to wake Draco up and he darted his eyes away from Potter’s.  

“Well, I guess we’ll just have to add this to the list of things we disagree on, won’t we Potter?” Draco asked in his more customary sardonic tone, and he turned away slightly to grab his bags and boxes to begin packing up his table.  

“I guess we will, Malfoy,” Potter responded pensively. Before he moved away, Draco saw him quickly reach out and take one of Draco’s business cards. 

When Draco got back to his townhouse after the display, the very first thing he did was take a long, hot shower. Partially to wash off the strange feeling that had swept over him at the display (and from his interaction with Potter, not that he wanted to admit that to himself) and partly to wash off his scent blockers. He sighed in relief as his Earl Grey scent slowly emerged and mixed with the sandalwood aroma from his body wash.  

He was glad that the display insisted on all alphas in attendance wearing scent blockers. Draco knew the purpose of such an insistence was to ensure no perturbed parties could object to a courting by saying an alpha overwhelmed an omega with their scent. But, while he was quite partial to his scent, Draco knew that Earl Grey was not a common scent for alphas. (Much like black coffee isn’t a common scent for omegas, a traitorous part of his mind whispered). Most people didn’t comment on Draco’s scent – not to his face at least. He’d heard enough comments from people who thought they were quieter than they actually were to last him a lifetime. As he turned off the water and toweled himself dry, Draco found himself idly wondering if Harry got the same sort of comments regarding his scent – before he remembered he shouldn’t think about him, that is.  

Draco wasn’t stupid – he knew exactly what the protective urge and his alpha saying mine meant when he saw Potter in the drawing room during the war. He knew it then and immediately began shutting down those thoughts. No matter what Draco’s alpha (and Draco, though he was too proud to admit it) wanted, he knew there was no future where the Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, the insufferable scarhead, would willingly spend time with him. (Though he would never admit it, in some of his lower points when the loneliness felt too big to bear, like a wave cresting above him threatening to sweep him off the map completely, Draco couldn’t help but wonder if Harry’s omega reacted the same way that day.) 

Draco, now clad in his comfiest clothes, was ready to settle into an evening of silence and peace when he heard an insistent knocking at his door. He froze with his hand hovering in the air in front of his mug cabinet and sighed deeply. There was only one person who knocked like that. He mentally prepared himself as much as he could before walking down the short hall and opening the door.  

“Draco!” Pansy shouted excitedly at him before throwing her arms around him and forcing him back a few steps. 

“Pans –” Draco began in a tired voice. 

“Don’t you ‘Pans’ me,” Pansy said tersely, unwinding her arms to poke him in the chest (forcing him further back into the house). “I know we agreed to meet up for lunch on Monday to talk about how the display went, but I couldn’t wait that long! I need to know how it went!” Draco didn’t realize that Pansy had been backing him up further and further until he heard her shut the door with a definite click behind her.  

“Well, it appears you’re already inside, so you may as well stay,” Draco said in an exasperated tone, looking pointedly at the door. 

“Delightful! I knew you’d see reason,” Pansy crowed, patting his shoulder as she moved past him. “Besides, I brought that chardonnay you like so much.”  

“Well why didn’t you lead with that, you awful wench? I would’ve let you in so much sooner,” Draco drawled drily as he followed Pansy to his kitchen.  

“Keep that up and I’ll think you’re only using me for my wine cellar. Not like you can’t get your own,” Pansy tossed sarcastically over her shoulder as she was already pulling two wine glasses down from the cupboard.  

“You mean you still haven’t figured out that’s the only reason I hang around with you? I thought you were smarter than that, Pans,” Draco teased as he grabbed his corkscrew and made quick work of opening the bottle. A derisive scoff was her only response.  

Wine flowing, they settled into the plush cushions of Draco’s steel grey sofa. They both sat with their backs leaned up against the armrests facing each other, slotting their feet together on the middle cushion. Draco and Pansy (both pining for people they couldn’t have, though they’d never admit it) had fallen into a cozy, casual sort of touch to try and appease their instincts and fight off some of the loneliness they both felt (it worked – sort of. They both knew it wasn’t the same, not even remotely close, but this is what they could get, so they took it).  

“So,” Pansy said looking slyly at Draco over the rim of her glass. “How was it?”  

“How do you think it was, Pansy?” Draco asked flatly. “Almost no one talked to me. I caught a few people here and there glancing at my table, but once they realized it was me, they cleared out in a hurry.” He took a long sip after this, not wanting to see the pity on Pansy’s face. When he finally glanced up at her, he didn’t find the sympathetic expression he was anticipating. She looked intrigued. 

“Almost no one talked to you? So, someone did talk to you?” Draco froze, realizing his mistake. He hadn’t fully decided if he was going to tell Pansy and his mother about Potter coming up to his stall or not – he thought he’d have more time before having to sort out his feelings on the matter.  

“If I tell you to drop it, will you?” Draco said with a groan, but there was no conviction behind it and Pansy knew it. 

“Absolutely not! Go on, spill it then, fabric man.” This was followed with a lively wave of her glass that threatened to send a light drizzle of chardonnay all over his couch. 

“All right, all right! Just calm down before you drown us both in wine,” Draco sniped. “Wouldn’t be the worst way to go,” Pansy muttered under her breath. Draco elected to ignore her.  

“If you must know,” Draco said archly, “Potter came by my table in the last few minutes of the display.” Whatever Pansy had been expecting him to say, it had clearly not been that. Her eyebrows rose quickly, and her lemongrass scent grew brighter – almost sharp.  

“Potter?” she asked in a gobsmacked tone. “As in Harry Potter?” Draco couldn’t help the way his Earl Grey scent bloomed ever so slightly as Potter’s wild hair and bright eyes flashed through his mind. Based on the slight flare of Pansy’s nostrils, she caught it.  

“Do we know any other Potters?” Draco asked in a wry tone.  

“What did he say?”  

“He said he was wondering if I’d be there and that he’d heard I’d started up as a tailor. I guess he was curious about my work.” Draco tried to say this as nonchalantly as he could, even throwing in a small shrug and a casual sip of his wine. Pansy, of course, devious witch that she was, saw right through it.  

“Mhmm. And what else did he say?” Draco darted his eyes away from hers and took a much larger sip.  

“Draco,” Pansy drawled. “It’ll be so much easier if you just tell me.  

“Fine! But only because you’re an insufferable nag.” Pansy pointedly ignored this and waved her hand for him to continue. Draco fidgeted with the hem of his sweater and swirled his wine around his glass lightly.  

“He said something about wishing he had brought flowers. And he asked me if I had gotten any bouquets,” he said, voice somewhat smaller than it had been before. Pansy’s eyes opened comically wide while her mouth dropped open in shock. Before she could say anything, Draco hurried on. 

“I told him that obviously I hadn’t gotten any, because who would want to court an ex-Death Eater.” His voice was bitter, and he knew it, but he looked squarely at Pansy. Her expression morphed from one of shock to one of sad understanding.  

“Oh, Draco,” she said in a voice as soft as a snowflake touching ground. She reached out and grabbed his hand gently away from where it was still picking at the hem of his sweater. He let her. 

“It’s beside the point. I knew what would happen and I went anyways. No point getting sad about it now.” Draco tried to adopt a nonchalant tone and knew he didn’t quite nail it. Pansy didn’t call him out on it. 

“You don’t think, maybe…” she started in a gentle voice. Draco had a feeling he knew where this was going and didn’t like it. “That maybe he said that because he wanted –” Draco cut her off. 

“Pansy, I know what you’re thinking and it’s just not the case. It can’t be the case. If anything, he was probably just saying that to rile me up and see if I’m up to no good like back in our school days.” Draco tried to adopt a joking tone for the last sentence, but knew it fell flat. Pansy meant well, and Draco knew that (while some treacherous part of him had run over and over what Harry had said, trying to convince Draco that Harry had wanted to give him flowers, had wanted to court him ) but he’d learned it was easier to stop the thoughts in the first place than it was to indulge them, lest they prosper and grow.  

Pansy looked at him and looked at him and looked at him. After what felt like an eon (but was really less than a minute) she squeezed his hand reassuringly. And then, blessedly, she changed the subject.  

Monday found Draco working away in his shop. After a Sunday spent blessedly alone, Draco was able to mostly shake off the funk that had settled over him after the display. Though he’d never admit it, Pansy’s visit had helped – having someone else try to voice the thoughts he’d been ignoring for years now (while it made his heart ache, if he were being maudlin and metaphorical) made him feel less like he was losing his sanity. 

The sky outside was cluttered with cottony clouds, packed tight enough together that even the bravest sunbeams couldn’t quite punch through, but not enough to signal a storm coming. A light spring breeze fluttered through the air, making everything seem fresh. When Draco got to his shop, he found himself cracking the windows open to welcome the breeze in.  

The shop was still and peaceful around him, with the soft sounds of Fleetwood Mac drifting up from his record player stashed behind the counter. He had a small collection of orders to work through and he was thankful for it. Not many people came in person or stumbled in off the street, but he’d gotten a fair few regulars who sent in their requests by owl. This suited Draco just fine.  

It was as he was diligently trimming the excess from a cloak, the scent of coffee trickled in through the open window. Draco’s hand stayed steady even as his heart tripped in his chest. It’s just someone walking by with coffee he scoffed at himself (throwing in an eye roll for good measure). And if some part of him tried to tell him that this coffee didn’t smell like something someone could buy at a back street café, he refused to acknowledge it. 

At least, he refused to acknowledge it until the bell on the front door tinkled merrily as it was opened. As the smell of coffee got even stronger, Draco resolutely kept trimming the fabric and didn’t look up.  

“Welcome to Tactful Tailors, be with you in just a moment,” Draco called evenly over his shoulder as if he had no idea who had just come into his shop. Unfortunately, his scent betrayed all the calm he was trying to project and brightened with – excitement? (How embarrassing , Draco thought morosely. He hadn’t even looked yet and here he was, reeking like a teenager who just spotted their crush across the corridor.) He was so deep in his self-lambasting that he almost missed how the coffee scent grew richer in response to his own. Almost, but not quite. As he tried to inhale surreptitiously, he felt a slight heat rise to his cheeks that he immediately tried (somewhat unsuccessfully) to will away. Snipping through the last of the fabric, Draco delicately set down his fabric scissors and steeled himself to turn around. He looked down at the cuffs of his shirt (one he’d made himself out of a sage green linen) and tugged them as he turned around.  

And there he was, like he’d always been there. Harry Potter. He was standing calmly, with his hands tucked into the pockets of his dark, worn jeans (Draco resolutely refused to stare at the hint of skin that peeked through a tear in the right knee). He was wearing a loose black T-shirt that said “Alaska” on it in forest green letters. There was a charcoal grey cardigan tucked into the crook of one of his arms.  

“Hello,” Draco said so evenly that odd numbers wept. He finally raised his gaze to Potter’s and saw his hair was back in that infuriating bun that only served to highlight his eyes and cheekbones.  

“Hi,” Potter said, giving him a small smile. “I snagged one of your cards at the display and was curious to see what your shop looked like.”  

“Oh?” Draco said as he raised an eyebrow. “And what do you think?” He tried to say this nonchalantly but found himself unconsciously crossing his arms as he asked. In truth, he took a lot of pride in his shop and had poured a good measure of himself into it. When he stopped to think about it, he felt more at home among the warm brown wooden walls, the globe lights, and the muted blue carpet than he did at home. (He tried not to think about it too often – one of the many things he tried not to think about, actually.)  

“It’s very cozy,” Potter said, his smile expanding from small to medium. “Honestly, it’s not what I was expecting.” Draco couldn’t help but snort at that. 

“And what were you expecting? Hooks hanging from the ceiling and drains in the floor for my devious experiments?” he asked wryly, leaning slightly so his hip was braced against the worktable next to him. The way Potter’s mouth dropped open and his eyes went wide made Draco want to cackle. Instead, he settled for merely chuffing a small laugh.  

“No!” Harry insisted earnestly. “I thought you’d have gone for a more… posh style.” 

“You can say you thought I’d make it pretentious,” Draco quipped wryly, easing his crossed arms slightly. Potter spluttered briefly at this before glancing away with a slight blush. Draco tried valiantly to stomp down the part of him that wanted to analyze the blush in detail.  

“Well, okay, maybe…” Potter said slowly. “But! Can you blame me?” he said, pointing at Draco and raising his eyebrows. As much as he didn’t want to, Draco had to concede Potter had a point.  

“All right, fair enough. My style at Hogwarts was, perhaps, a bit pretentious,” Draco granted.  

“A bit?! Are you forgetting the year you shrunk my robes every time you saw me because you had to settle for silver clasps on yours instead of platinum?” Harry asked with a guffaw. Draco felt his cheeks heat and wanted to glance away but couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sparkle that had appeared in Potter’s eyes while they crinkled in the corners.  

“Yes, well, I’ve matured since then,” Draco said with an imperious sniff, before narrowing his eyes and pointing back at Potter. “And, if I’m remembering correctly, you retaliated by changing my robes to red every time you saw me. It did murder to my complexion. You know I have cool undertones.” Potter stared at him for a few seconds, mouth agape, before breaking into a deep belly laugh that had him leaning back, tipping his face towards the ceiling.  

“Cool undertones? Merlin, Malfoy, never change,” he choked out around a laugh, taking his glasses off to wipe at the corners of his eyes. The smell of coffee had saturated the air, mingling in with Draco’s Earl Grey so thoroughly he couldn’t tell who the smell of happiness was coming from. The thought caused his heart to squeeze, and Draco tried not to examine the feeling. He cleared his throat lightly to try clearing the feeling from the air.  

“Well, I’m assuming you didn’t come all this way to reminisce about one of our spats,” Draco said lightly. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”  

“All this way,” Potter scoffed. “Haven’t you heard of a little thing called apparition?” He said this with a teasing tone, crossing his arms over his chest in a way that made Draco consciously look away lest he be caught ogling.  

“Speaking of apparition,” Draco said in a mock-thoughtful tone, tapping his index finger against his chin, “did you ever get your license or are you still popping around illegally?” This time, when Potter looked at him aghast, repeatedly opening and closing his mouth without saying anything, Draco couldn’t hold back his guffaw. Through his laughter, he registered the smell of coffee intensifying as if pleased, and Draco smelled his own scent brighten in response.  

“Well, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Potter said piously, even going so far as to turn his head away and stick his nose into the air. It was somewhat ruined with the smirk starting to creep in.  

“Oh, yes, I’m quite sure that’s the case,” Draco said wryly, toning his laughter down. Potter nodded, trying to keep up the façade, before turning his face back towards Draco with a slight grin. 

“I actually came because I couldn’t stop thinking about your work after the display,” he said, uncrossing his arms to raise a hand to sheepishly rub the back of his neck. Draco felt his brain shut down.  

“My work?” Draco asked dumbly, trying desperately to find some joke or double meaning in the words. Surely Harry Potter had high-end tailors sending him free pieces left and right trying to gain his favor – why on Earth would he be interested in Draco’s work? ( Not that Draco thought he was work was subpar by any means – he took pride in what he did and knew he was good at it. But there was being good after having picked it up in the last 5 years, and then there’s having dedicated your entire life to something.)  

“Yeah, your work,” Potter said with a horribly endearing tone (which absolutely did not cause the scent of bergamot to bloom vibrantly in the air between them).  

“Why?” Draco asked, dumbfounded. He could feel a slight heat in his cheeks asking but couldn’t think of anything more coherent to say.  

“Well, I mean, obviously it’s beautiful,” Potter said, scrubbing his hand over his neck again. Draco registered distantly that Potter’s cheeks also appeared a little pink. He mentally saved that information to parse out later when his brain was back online. “But what really caught my eye was your attention to detail. When I was looking over your display, I could just feel the attentiveness to each piece, no matter how small. It’s something I appreciated immediately.” Draco took all of this in, reeling, and almost missed the way the pink darkened in Potter’s cheeks as if he hadn’t meant to say the last part out loud. Almost. (Distantly, Draco was sure the combination of their scents was sneaking out of the open windows and spreading into the street. His alpha grumbled proudly at that. Draco tried valiantly to tamp that feeling down.)  

“I didn’t think you were that interested in clothes,” Draco said dumbly.  

“Oh, I’m sure,” Potter scoffed wryly. “Contrary to what you may think, growing up wearing nothing but my cousin’s hand-me-downs for the first 17 years of my life has made me appreciate clothes a little more than the average person.” A slightly bitter note crept into Potter’s scent, hinting at something more buried under the blasé delivery. Draco’s fingers twitched at his side, itching to reach out and do – something, he didn’t quite know what. His alpha grumbled at not being able to soothe his omega (not his, Draco chided himself) and he found himself almost unconsciously releasing soothing pheromones to try and take away the smell of burning coffee. Because of how closely he was watching Potter, Draco saw how the slight crease between his eyebrows eased as he closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. Draco also saw the way Potter’s pupils had dilated when he opened his eyes again and looked steadily at Draco. The smell of burnt coffee filtered out, as if it had never been there. Draco felt flushed and out of breath as if he’d just run up a flight of stairs. He dragged his eyes away and cleared his throat, running a hand through his hair to try and regain his sanity. From the corner of his eye, he caught Potter pushing his glasses up his nose and tugging lightly at the collar of his shirt. Draco’s alpha preened at the idea that Potter was reacting to Draco the same way Draco reacted to him. (Draco knew he needed to shut thoughts like these down, but momentarily he was having a hard time remembering exactly why.)  

“Oh, I can see how much you appreciate your clothes now – so much so you’re holding on to those jeans even though they’re torn,” Draco quipped, trying to inject some levity into the atmosphere that had suddenly become very loaded between the two of them.  

“Sod off, Malfoy,” Potter shot back, but there was no heat in it. “This is the style, even you can’t pretend like you don’t know that. Plus, these are my favorites! I’ve never found a pair that fit me quite like these.”  

“Well, I can’t deny how well they fit you,” Draco said, not realizing he’d spoken out loud until a fresh wave of coffee crested over him (and was it tinted with – desire? No, no, that couldn’t be it). Draco tried desperately to wrangle himself. “I mean –” Draco started, knowing fully well he didn’t have anything to follow it. He was cut off by Potter chuckling lowly and easing forward a step. 

“Oh, is that so? Checking out the fit of my jeans, hmm Malfoy?” Potter asked, voice teasing but eyes serious. Draco’s head was swimming – he had no idea how they’d gotten here and while he wasn’t complaining he felt completely unmoored. So, he did what came naturally to him – leaned in further.  

“I’m not blind, Potter,” Draco said, matching his tone and raising an eyebrow. Potter’s mouth dropped open ever so slightly in response and Draco found his gaze locked on his slightly chapped lips.  

“Never said you were,” Potter replied, the teasing tone fading quickly. Draco felt a primal urge to close the distance between them and trace his nose along the side of Potter’s neck. He felt himself start to lean forward ever so slightly, saw Potter tracking his move and inhaling slightly when a loud clatter sounded at the window next to the pair. 

Draco whipped his head around, barely concealing a growl that threated to slip out, to find – an owl. Perched patiently on the sill, leg outstretched with a parcel attached to it. Draco didn’t even try to hide the deep sigh he let out. As he moved over to retrieve the package and grab a small dish of water and treats for the owl, he heard Potter echo his sigh behind him, the smell of coffee souring ever so slightly. Draco could tell the same note of disappointment had snuck into his own scent. 

When he turned around after sending the owl on its way, he found that Potter had moved from where he had been standing to his display of ties and was looking at them intently.  

“Do you take orders by mail, then?” Potter asked lightly over his shoulder as he ghosted his fingers over a burnt orange tie. 

“I do,” Draco responded, matching his tone. “I have a handful of customers I’ve never actually met, just corresponded with them via owl.” 

“And how do you get their measurements?” Harry asked, now staring intently at a seafoam green tie with delicate aqua stitching in the pattern of waves across it.  

“Oh, sometimes they’ll send me something that has the fit they want as a guide. Sometimes though they just send me their measurements. It usually works out fairly well.” Potter hummed in response as he gently removed the tie with the waves from the rack.  

“Must be fairly convenient,” Potter said pensively. “I’m more of an in-person sort of guy, though, personally.” He said the last bit in an off-handed manner that was at odds with the intensity of his gaze. Draco dropped his eyes to the tie in Potter’s hand to avoid getting sucked in again, even if what he actually wanted to do was the opposite. 

“You’ve got great taste – that’s one of my favorites,” Draco said, nodding at the tie in Potter’s hands. He started making his way towards the front of the shop where he kept his register, brushing past Potter on his way. He tilted his head ever so slightly as he did and sucked in a quick breath, mentally smacking himself even as he did it. It’s like Potter’s scent was a drug and he couldn’t get enough. The longer he was around it, the harder it was to maintain the manners he used as a wall, a wall to keep him separated. In reality, the longer he was around Potter the more he felt his control on his alpha slipping, wanting to give in entirely to his instincts. It was, for someone as ludicrously in control as Draco, quite disorienting.  

Potter hummed noncommittally behind him and followed him to the front. As he handed over the coins for the tie, Potter’s hand brushed lightly against Draco’s and he could swear in that moment, he saw stars.  

Later, on his way home, Draco popped into the shop to stock up on a few essentials. As he walked down the coffee and tea aisle, he found himself pausing in front of the coffee selection and remembering the way Potter had blushed earlier in his shop and found himself unconsciously reaching for a bag of beans and putting them gently in his cart, despite the fact he’d never really been a coffee drinker. And even later, when Pansy came over for dinner and saw Draco’s French press sitting in his sink to be washed and asked Draco when he’d started drinking coffee, he’d shrug easily and tell her he’d just gotten a craving for it, no big deal. Pansy, who of course knew what Potter’s scent was, merely raised her eyebrows pointedly and let the subject drop.  

It was only 4 days before Harry came back. (Not that Draco was counting. [Except he absolutely was.]) This time, Harry showed up shortly after Draco opened the shop – which meant he found Draco sitting quietly behind his drafting table, sipping a morning cup of coffee. Harry was slightly more dressed up this time, wearing a pair of dark brown chinos paired with a navy blue henley shirt. Draco froze, coffee halfway to his lips, as he raked his gaze over Harry. As if the fit of the henley wasn’t bad enough on its own, Harry had pushed the sleeves up to his elbows putting his forearms on display. It was criminal, frankly.  

“Good morning, Potter,” Draco said evenly, lifting his eyes to meet Harry’s at the same time as he lifted his mug to complete his sip. Because he was looking at Harry, he could see how his smile bloomed ever so slightly. Draco tried to pretend the scent of coffee was just coming from his cup. (It didn’t work.) 

“Morning, Malfoy,” Harry responded brightly. “Hard at work, I see.” Draco scoffed and lightly rolled his eyes. 

“One of the perks of owning my own business, you see,” he responded with a wry smirk. “I get to set my own hours and tasks. And my task currently is to enjoy my cup of coffee.” He punctuated this with a delicate sip.  

“Didn’t take you for much of a coffee drinker, Malfoy,” Harry said as he sauntered closer. “Figured you were a staunch tea drinker, what with being so posh and all.” 

“Hmm, yes, well it’s more of a recent development,” Draco responded before he could think any better of it. He didn’t even have time to call himself an idiot for saying that before Harry’s coffee scent spiked with a note that could only be pleased.  

“Always liked coffee myself, but I’ve been on quite a tea kick lately.” Harry’s tone was almost as bright as his eyes as he finally came to stop next to Draco’s drafting table.  

“Oh, really?” Draco asked, feigning a nonchalance he didn’t feel. “Anything specific?” He cringed inwardly and mentally kicked himself. Anything specific? Merlin, but he’s a moron. Unaware of his inner turmoil, Harry hummed thoughtfully.  

“Well, I’m always partial to a good Yorkshire Gold, but lately I can’t get enough Earl Grey. Damnedest thing.” Draco managed to keep his jaw from dropping, but he couldn’t stop his eyes from darting over to stare at Harry. It was only when Harry lifted a paper to-go cup to his lips and took a drink that Draco realized he had one at all. He couldn’t stop the way his scent spiked, in a near imitation of how Harry’s had spiked moments ago, and his inner alpha growled happily. (Draco was suddenly glad that alphas could not purr, because he was sure he would have in that moment if he could.)  

“Well, there’s no accounting for taste,” Draco tried to say lightly, but it came out slightly strained.  

“Oh, I think my taste is just fine, personally,” Harry quipped back in a tone that Draco would have called flirtatious, if it were anyone else using it. (He tried desperately to tamp down the thoughts that it was flirtatious: ergo Harry was flirting with him, but his mental wall was slowly crumbling with each whiff of coffee he caught from the omega). Draco flushed slightly and looked away from Harry’s face. 

“Well, I’m sure you didn’t pop in bright-and-early to talk caffeinated beverages with me, no matter how scintillating the conversation is,” Draco mused as he brushed non-existent lint off his cuff. Harry clearly clocked the deflection (Draco hadn’t even tried to hide it, after all) but didn’t comment on it.  

“Unfortunately not, however, don’t think that means the conversation is tabled – I would love nothing more than to know all your thoughts on caffeinated beverages,” Harry said, pointing an intent finger at Draco.  

“Noted, I’ll prepare my flashcards,” Draco quipped wryly, raising his hands in mock surrender. Harry nodded, succinct and pleased, before holding up a tote bag (that Draco also had not noticed he’d carried in – good Morganna, just how distracted was he? Draco mentally bid adieu to his previously prized attention to detail. Oh, but he would remember it fondly).  

“I was actually hoping I could get some shirts tailored,” Harry said, completely oblivious to the inner spiral Draco was currently speeding down.  

“Well, I’ve never tailored T-shirts, but I guess there’s a first time for everything,” Draco mused jokingly, tapping a finger thoughtfully against his bottom lip. He glanced at Harry and caught the omega tracking the movement of his finger for the barest hint of a second. For a split second, all thoughts of teasing flew out of his mind as the scent of coffee grew ever so slightly sweeter around him. Because he was staring so intently at Harry, Draco was able to see the light blush spread quickly and delicately across the apples of his cheeks. He smelled his own scent sweeten in response. (It really was incredible, Draco mused idly, how simply being around Harry made it hard for him to control his scent. He usually kept it on a tight leash [he’d heard too many snide comments about his scent and how it was “unusual” and “particular” for an alpha to let it run free as he pleased], but one sniff of Harry’s coffee scent or one charged glance bright eyes had his scent running wild like he was freshly presented.) 

Harry cleared his throat lightly and glanced towards the window that was once again open, a light breeze causing the curtain to flutter lightly. 

“I own more than T-shirts, Malfoy,” Harry said sardonically, with only a slight hitch in his voice. (Draco’s alpha perked up, entranced with further evidence that Harry was as affected by Draco as Draco was by him. Draco valiantly continued to fight the losing fight of convincing himself otherwise.) In lieu of a verbal reply, Draco raised an eyebrow and glanced meaningfully at the henley shirt Harry was currently wearing.  

“I like to be comfortable!” Harry spluttered, affronted but suppressing a laugh. “Sue me for enjoying a little casual wear! Wait – actually, don’t. I’m sure your family’s lawyers are much better than any I could hire.” Draco guffawed at this, unable to contain it any longer. The corner of Harry’s mouth quirked up and the hint of affection was undeniable in his scent. (Draco didn’t even argue with his alpha when he felt a sense of fondness sweep through him.)  

“And you would be right – you know, I think that’s the most reasonable thing I’ve heard you say, Potter?” Harry scoffed and rolled his eyes good naturedly. “So let me see these shirts, then,” Draco continued, setting down his mug and holding out his hand, palm up. Harry put the bag into his waiting hand and Draco stepped over to his worktable. He set the bag down lightly and reached inside.  

Well, they certainly weren’t T-shirts, Draco thought wryly as he pulled out the two oxford cloth dress shirts from the bag. One was a deep ochre and the other a rich burgundy. The buttons on both were wooden, which somehow seemed to suit Harry perfectly.  

“These are quite nice, Potter,” Draco said appreciatively, turning the ochre shirt over in his hands and inspecting the seams. “Where’d you get a sense of taste from, finally?”  

“You know, one of these days you’ll accept that I didn’t wear rugby shirts three sizes too big because I thought they were stylish,” Harry quipped behind Draco, closer than he expected. His hands clutched the shirt, itching to turn around and touch. 

“We’ll see,” Draco replied dryly, trying to tamp down his instincts that wanted him to do nothing more than turn around and drag his nose up and down the column of Harry’s neck. “So, what did you have in mind?” Draco asked, still facing away from Harry, his gaze burning into the table in front of him. He could feel the heat from where Harry stood behind him and the scent of coffee was growing around him.  

Draco felt the heat lessen as Harry moved away to stand next to him, a few paces away, and he fought back a sigh of relief even as his alpha keened at the distance.  

“The sleeves are just a little too long, other than that they’re perfect,” Harry said, his voice hinting that Draco hadn’t been the only one affected by their proximity.  

“Well, I can certainly help with that,” Draco mused. “But so could any other tailor worth their salt. Why me?” Draco asked, unable to tame the insatiable curiosity that suddenly reared its head.  

“Well, sure, they could. But I didn’t want it to be any old tailor. I wanted it to be you.” As he said this, Harry looked (oh so slightly) up to meet Draco’s eyes. A wave of satisfaction swept through Draco so strongly that it made his scent spike and fill the air around them. 

“Maybe you really do have taste, after all, Potter,” Draco said, trying for glib but landing somewhere squarely in fond. Harry’s eyes crinkled ever so slightly at the corners as he quirked his lips into a small smile. Draco made himself turn back to the shirts before he did something embarrassing like stare longingly at Harry’s lips. (Truly, some distant part of himself thought, there should be an academic study on the effect that Harry Potter had on him. He’d never acted as enamored [or enraged] as he did with Harry Potter.)  

“So just shortening the sleeves, right? Nothing else?” Draco asked, clearing his throat.  

“Nope, just that,” Harry said brightly.  

“All right, then. Let me grab my tape measure and I’ll get your measurements.” Draco set the shirt down gently on the table and moved around the edge of the worktable and reached into one of the cubbies built into the side to retrieve his favorite tape measure. Ordinarily, he’d have an in-person client try on the pieces and pin them up to work from that. But ordinarily his clients weren’t Harry Potter. All his denials (which were growing weaker by the day) aside, Draco knew he would be tempting fate to be that close to Harry for that long. He was already steeling himself for how close he would be to take his measurements, no matter how brief it may be.  

“What do you need me to do?” Harry asked, when Draco turned back to him with his tape measure in hand.  

“Could you move a few steps to the left?” Draco asked, nodding when Harry did just that. “Perfect. Okay, hold out your left arm for me, please.”  

Draco, the consummate professional, deftly directed Harry through the different angles he needed and wrote down the numbers in a little notebook he kept tucked into his breast pocket. The smell of coffee was so strong around him and Draco was so close that he could see the faint jump of Harry’s pulse in his neck. His alpha preened when he realized, despite Harry’s outwardly calm demeanor, his heart seemed to be racing just as much as Draco’s.  

Scarcely after it began, Draco wrote down one final number, rolled up his tape measure, and stepped out of Harry’s space. He couldn’t help the deep breath he took in when he smelled how their two scents had twisted together in the short time they’d been sharing the same air. Draco’s eyes fluttered closed ever so slightly, meaning he missed as Harry pulled in a deep breath of his own.  

Clearing his throat to try and dislodge the feeling that had taken up residence there, Draco moved towards his worktable. He carefully tore the page out of the notebook and laid it on top of the two shirts. Turning around, his eyes locked with Harry’s and he noticed the faint blush dusting across Harry’s cheeks and tried not to think about how he had one to match.  

“I should have these done by next Monday,” Draco said.  

“Only a week?” Harry asked, raising his eyebrows in surprise. Draco scoffed. 

“What kind of tailors have you been going to, Potter? Something like this should never take longer than a week if you do it by hand, let alone if you do it by magic.” 

“Ah, well, you see...” Harry began, eyes breaking away from Draco’s. “I actually haven’t been to one recently? Usually, Mrs. Weasley helps me if I need any adjustments, so...” he trailed off as he scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck. Draco felt his lips part in shock as his inner alpha positively preened. 

“Is that so, Potter?” Draco drawled, a smirk growing on his face. “I can’t say I’m surprised; my work is quite excellent if I do say so myself.”  

“Well, yeah,” Harry replied, ignoring the facetious tone Draco had used. “I’d never really seen the point before, no offense, but when I saw your work at the display it all sort of... made sense.” Harry met his eyes levelly as he said this and Draco fought the urge to look away, feeling like his every thought and emotion was written plainly to see on his face. Draco felt the flush that had barely receded reemerging with reinforcements as every possible pithy response fled his mind. Left with no other options, he chose to respond sincerely.  

“I’m glad you came to the display, then.” It came out slightly lower than he intended, and he saw Harry’s pupils dilate ever so slightly. The combined scents of coffee and Earl Grey were thick around and between them.  

“Me too,” Harry responded in an equally low tone. He began to take a step towards Draco with an intent look on his face, reaching out slightly with his free hand. Draco felt himself turning more fully towards Harry, his own hand starting to rise to do – what? Catch Harry’s? To cup his face? Before he could find out, a clatter sounded from the window behind them and Draco froze, hand lifted, while Harry jumped. For a breath, they simply looked at each other aware the moment had passed but not quite ready to let it go.  

“I’m going to discontinue my owl order business,” Draco said tersely as he turned to look at the owl perched, unconcerned, in the window. It blithely held out its leg to him, order form attached. Letting out a long-suffering sigh, Draco moved over and relieved the owl of its burden. He reached into his pocket and fished out a few treats to give the owl before it winged its way out of the window. 

When he turned around, he found that Harry was watching him with an expression equal parts exasperated and... fond? 

“You can’t do that, you’d lose like half your clients, you said so yourself.”  

“I guess you’re right,” Draco acquiesced with a sigh. Harry shot him a crooked grin.  

“Never thought I’d hear you say that, Malfoy.” 

“Oh, piss off, Potter. Enjoy it because I surely won’t say it again,” Draco said pompously. When he glanced over at Harry he saw that same fond expression on his face. Draco couldn’t help but feel it was mirrored on his own.  

“So, next week then?” Harry asked after a beat of silence.  

“Yes, next week,” Draco confirmed, feeling his heart trip as he said it.  

“Can’t wait,” Harry replied, eyes crinkling in a smile. “I’ll be off to let you get to your work, then.” 

“Yes, I suppose that’s for the best. My boss is sure to crack down on me for slacking,” Draco joked. He was rewarded with a slight huff of laughter that made him want to do something embarrassing like grab Harry’s hand.  

“Bye for now, then,” Harry said, shuffling slightly but not yet turning to leave. 

“Well now you’re just stalling,” Draco observed wryly. Another huff of laughter, this one made his fingers twitch with the urge to reach out.  

“All right, all right, I’m going.” Harry held up his hands in mock surrender and made his way to the door.  

“Bye for now, Potter,” Draco said, unable to stop the fond note leeching into his tone. Harry paused at the door and threw a grin over his shoulder.  

“Bye for now,” he repeated and stepped out into the street. 

It wasn’t until several hours later, and after almost tripping over one of the straps, that Draco realized Harry had left his tote bag here. Rolling his eyes, he reached down to pick it up – surely Harry wouldn’t resort to leaving something behind as an excuse to come back, would he?  

As he set the bag on his worktable, it fell open ever so slightly so Draco could see a neatly wrapped box inside. A neatly wrapped box with his name scrawled on it in truly atrocious handwriting.  

Draco froze, his heart suddenly hammering in his throat. For a long moment, he just stared at the box snuggled securely in the bag. He slowly reached out a shaking hand to pick it up. An outside observer might assume Draco was afraid the box would do something ludicrous like attack him (and truly, in their school days, that outside observer would be right). But the truth now was that Draco was desperately trying to tamp down the hope that was now running rampant in him, having overflowed his previously ironclad walls. As he carefully picked up the box and pulled it free from the bag, Draco remembered the fond expression on Harry’s face and how he had moved towards him. How he had reached out.  

With a swooping feeling in his chest, Draco opened the card resting atop the box.  

Draco,  

For you, if you’ll have them.  

-Harry  

Some part of Draco registered that this was the first time Harry had used his first name.  

Hardly daring to breathe, heart even further lodged in his throat, a fleet of butterflies having taken up residence in his stomach, Draco gingerly lifted the lid of the box. Nestled inside, surrounded by tissue paper, lay a small pile of star shaped buttons, the light reflecting off them in delicate rainbow patters. 

Draco gently picked one up with his thumb and forefinger and brought it up to his eye to examine it. As he twisted it ever so slightly in the light, he realized they were made of Mother of Pearl.  

Not daring to breathe, Draco gently returned the button to its box. Then, he promptly sank down to the floor. He raised his hands to his cheeks, unsurprised to find them warm. He felt a smile spread, uncontained, across his face.  

There was no doubt about it. This was a courting gift.  

Outside, a couple ambled happily down the cobbled street enjoying the spring weather. As they chatted with each other, they passed a shop with its windows open to catch the spring breeze. They both caught the scent of Earl Grey wafting out and looked at each other, communicating silently in the way of long-established couples, before one tipped their head to signal the way to their favorite cafe. Arm in arm, they ambled away.  

Later, after sitting dumbstruck on the floor of his shop for longer than he would ever admit, Draco found himself in a quiet tea shop. He quickly made his purchase before heading home. Despite a tangible itch to get to work and use the buttons on piece he’d long been envisioning but never considered making, Draco sat at his desk and wrote a short note, which he attached to a wrapped box. Making sure it was all in order, he hooked the box to his owl’s leg and sent it off into the night.  

Not too far in the distance, Harry would be distracted from his book by a quiet tapping at his window. A grin split his face when he opened it to find a striking eagle owl perched on his sill.  

Heart light as air but somehow still clenching, Harry opened the card on top of the box. 

Harry,  

They’re lovely. Thank you.   

For you, if you’ll have it.  

-Draco  

Staring in disbelief at the card in his hand, Harry let out a relieved huff and found himself laughing, giddy. He gently set down the card and reached for the box. 

Nestled inside, was a canister of Earl Grey tea.  

Outside, Harry’s neighbor was returning home after a long walk with their dog. As they passed Harry’s house, they caught a whiff of coffee floating on the air. With a huff, they shook their head and muttered about how he would surely ruin his sleep cycle having coffee so late in the evening.  

The next morning, against his better judgement, Draco asked Pansy to come over for brunch. He briefly considered arranging for them to go out to catch up with the hope that being out in public would activate Pansy’s sense of propriety and contain any of her outbursts, but one is not simply friends with Pansy Parkinson since one’s childhood without accepting she exists without shame. Therefore, he ultimately decided it would be best to confine the impending outbursts to the relative safety and privacy of his home.  

Draco, champagne bottle in one hand to make them mimosas, had only a moment to wonder if this was actually a good idea, after all, before Pansy apparated directly into his kitchen. Long acquainted with her antics, Draco merely sighed.  

“You do know, Pans, that it’s polite to knock on the front door and wait to be let in?” 

“Draco, dearest, if you didn’t want me to enter your lovely abode freely you wouldn’t have keyed me into your wards, would you?” Pansy quipped back at him, her lemongrass scent as bright and as teasing as the note in her voice.  

“Now, you know I’m always delighted to be invited over to brunch at yours,” Pansy continued as she moved to sit at his breakfast bar, “but your invitations are usually more, how should I put this...” she trailed off, tapping the corner of her mouth pensively.  

“More calligraphy and cardstock with a weeks’ notice?” Draco asked dryly, pushing one of the now completed mimosas across the marble countertop to her.  

“Yes! Exactly! More of that and less written on a torn piece of parchment telling me you’ll exchange eggs benedict for advice.” 

“Yes, well, I’m sure you’ll forgive my break in character when you hear why I invited you over, you insatiable gossip,” Draco tossed over his shoulder as he turned to grab the aforementioned eggs benedict and a plate of cut fruit. 

It was hard to miss the ravenous glint in Pansy’s eyes, even as he focused the majority of his attention on safely delivering the food to the breakfast bar. Draco didn’t even try to delude himself into thinking that expression was for his food (no matter how good it was).  

“So?” Pansy prompted before Draco had even settled his napkin onto his lap. Draco looked up at her and took in the way she had pulled one of her legs up to hug her knee. She was attempting to tuck into her food around her leg. Draco raised an eyebrow. 

“Oh, don’t play coy with me Draco Malfoy,” Pansy shot at him, narrowing her eyes under eyebrows that had gotten sharp. (How did eyebrows get sharp? Draco wondered idly, fully aware that he was stalling.) “Spit it out blondie, you wouldn’t have asked me over if you didn’t want to talk about it.” Pansy’s last statement was said around a mouthful of poached egg and hollandaise sauce. Draco didn’t even try to chastise her anymore, just levelled a loaded glare at her. 

Draco took a steadying breath and said, without looking up from the silverware he was fiddling with, “I think Harry Potter is courting me.”  

Pansy’s resulting outburst made him very glad he had decided on brunch in, after all. 

Draco could only watch, somewhat removed, as Pansy’s shit-eating grin crept further and further up her cheeks as he relayed to her the events of the last few weeks. The further into the recounting he got, the warmer his cheeks felt and the less he could make eye contact with Pansy. There was a terrifyingly satisfied glint in her eyes that did not bode well for him, Draco feared. If the look of feral glee that had crossed her face when Draco told her about the conversation where he and Harry had revealed they’d both switched their caffeinated beverages to what the other smelled like was anything to go off of, it did not bode well for Draco at all. 

“So, he left his bag and in it was this,” Draco finished somewhat lamely as he gently set the box on the breakfast bar between them. He found himself lifting the lid before Pansy could, his alpha reluctant to let someone else touch the gift their omega had given them. Draco, thoroughly fed up and besotted, didn’t even try and fight his alpha at this point. Pansy, seeing this, did not try and reach out, bless her. She let out a little gasp seeing the buttons. While Pansy was not herself interested in the making of clothes, she always appreciated fine fashion and, more importantly, knew Draco’s tastes and that the buttons fell squarely within them. A positively delighted but still somewhat sharklike grin cut across her face as she read the note Harry had included.  

“Oh, Draco,” Pansy said sounding as if Christmas had come early. “You know I have to say this. It’s my right, you know.” Draco sighed deeply, knowing exactly what was coming.  

“Go on, then. Get it over with.” Pansy shifted in her seat, adopting a regal air for approximately one second before pointing deviously at Draco. 

“I told you so, you absolute moron! I absolutely told you so!” Pansy crowed with relish. “After the very first comment at the display who tried to tell you, hmm? But oh no, you had to mope and wallow.” 

“I was not moping,” Draco scoffed halfheartedly, knowing he had been doing just that. He promptly stopped trying to defend himself after seeing the warning look Pansy was levelling at him.  

“But luckily, you happen to be blessed with the best friend in the world who is capable of supporting your idiotic denials while being able to see the writing that is clearly on the walls. I mean, this is absolutely no surprise at all. You two were practically doing the world’s most complicated mating dance for our entire school careers,” Pansy continued as if Draco had not spoken at all. “So, go on then. What did you give him back?” Draco, who thought his cheeks could not get any hotter, felt them flame. He muttered quickly and under his breath. Pansy’s unamused eyebrow returned and she simply waited. Draco sighed again, even deeper than before. 

“Fine, you heathen. I got him Earl Grey.” Pansy’s cackling laughter echoed around his kitchen and drowned out the sputtering defenses Draco tried give.  

“No, no, I think it’s perfect, Draco,” Pansy said wiping away tears when her outburst had died down. “Based on what you’ve told me and how obsessed he was with you in school, he must be over the moon.” Draco felt a small smile on his lips and his alpha grumbled happily at the thought of his omega being pleased with their courting gift.  

“So, what’s next then?” Pansy asked as she turned her attention to the mimosa in front of her. Draco sighed and leaned his cheek against his palm. 

“That's what I need advice on, Pans. You know I’ve never been courted before – I have no bloody clue what I’m doing.” Pansy looked at him levelly over the rim of her glass, eyes softening.  

“Draco, I know how easily you can get worked up -” (“I do not get easily worked up -!” Draco spluttered, trying to defend himself. Pansy continued as if she hadn’t heard him.) “-but I think you’ll be okay. Circe’s tits, you bullied him mercilessly -” (here another round of Draco’s indignant squawks were deliberately ignored) “-and he still tracked you down to court you. I genuinely, and this is my professional opinion, do not think you have a single thing to worry about.” 

“But what if... what if I ruin it?” Draco asked in a suddenly small voice.  

“And how would you ruin it?” Pansy asked Draco neutrally. He let out a self-deprecating snort and scrubbed a hand over his face.  

“How wouldn’t I?” 

“Draco -” Pansy began, a sharp look creeping into the corners of her eyes.  

“No, Pansy, just – just let me,” Draco’s eyes had been darting around the room and finally came to rest on Pansy’s.  

“Well, firstly, I’m obnoxious, pretentious, judgmental, bitchy, and honestly more than a bit of a prat.” 

“As if he didn’t know all this about you already,” Pansy said shrewdly. Draco narrowed his eyes ever so slightly at her. “Besides! You’ve grown and changed a lot, Draco. It can be hard to track our own development, but as your closest friend and an outside observer, you are not the same egotistical prat you were in school.” She reached a hand over to lightly grasp his. “You’re a different egotistical prat now.” Draco couldn’t stop the snort that came out of him. In response her reached out his free hand to flick Pansy on the forehead.  

“Mean!” Pansy gasped as her hand flew out to cover the area of impact. Draco very maturely stuck his tongue out at her.  

“That’s not the only thing, though, Pans,” Draco said, sobering as he returned to their conversation. “I mean, he’s... Harry Potter. The Chosen One. And I’m me. Draco Malfoy. ex-Death Eater.” Draco had said the phrase “ex-Death Eater” with many different tones since the end of the war. Shame, anger, resentment, vitriol. Today he said it with resignation. It was an immutable fact. One that made him remember the gulf that stretched between what he wanted and what he was allowed to have. He’d been so careful to mind the sheer edge for so long, but a few sniffs of pleased coffee had him abandoning his logic and trying to build a bridge on hope. Now he was halfway across the chasm with insubstantial footing. He could still turn around, but now that he’d seen what was on the other side, Draco knew he’d be longing for it the rest of his life.  

Pansy squeezed his hand and he found sympathy in her eyes when he looked up and met her gaze. 

“We can’t change the past, Draco, but you and I both know you weren’t exactly given a choice in the matter,” Pansy said gently with a pointed look. “And besides that, are you forgetting who exactly was the first in line at your hearing to exonerate you? Clearly Scarhead sees past the Mark.” Draco looked down at their hands, still clasped, and fought the growing lump in his throat.  

“What if his omega doesn’t like me because I'm not... traditional?” Draco asked softly, putting voice to a worry that had been steadily growing in the shadowed corners of his mind. 

Whatever reaction he’d been expecting, it was most decidedly not Pansy snorting a laugh so hard she hit her knee on the counter.  

“What, like Harry Potter is a traditional omega?” Her laughter grew incrementally more raucous. “Oh, yes, I’m sure The Chosen One really wants a big, strong alpha to protect the homestead from marauders.” Pansy was laughing in earnest now, a deep cackle that started somewhere near her knees based on how visceral a laugh it was. Draco couldn’t stop a small, embarrassed smile from gently tipping the corners of his mouth up. 

“Fair enough,” Draco conceded before giving Pansy’s hand a thankful squeeze. 

“Draco, you beautiful idiot,” Pansy said fondly, squeezing his hand back. “Does Harry Potter really strike you as someone who does things by half measures? If that paragon of morality and justice asked to court you, then it’s because he wants to court you, warts and all.” (The last line was delivered so mischievously, a passerby on the sidewalk outside shivered without knowing why. They chalked it up to a lingering winter breeze and tugged the neck of their cardigan closed.) 

“Pansy! That was one time!” Draco screeched indignantly, trying to pull his hand away from Pansy’s grip, which had turned to iron. “And! I will have you know that every seven-year-old gets at least one wart!” 

“Well, I certainly didn’t,” Pansy sniffed dismissively, looking down at her nails and buffing them against her shirt.  

“You are unbelievable,” Draco said shaking his head and pointing at her. 

“Mmm, yes, so I’ve been told,” she responded with a wink. “But, Draco, really. I mean it. That tosser wants you. And you want him, right?” she asked, suddenly serious. 

Draco took a deep breath and allowed himself to think about Harry’s crooked smile, his unruly hair, his rich coffee scent. He felt a smitten smile spreading across his face and, for once, didn’t try to stop it. 

“Yeah. I really do.” 

Precisely one hour and twenty-seven minutes after Draco sent word to Harry that his shirts were ready, the little bell over his shop’s door jingled lightly. 

“Welcome in,” Draco called lightly over his shoulder, heart in his throat as the rich, dark scent of coffee hit him. 

“Hi,” came the soft and undeniably fond response from behind him. Draco turned around aiming for slow(ish) and suave(ish), resisting the urge to whirl around, and landed somewhere in the middle. 

“Hi,” Draco said, a little breathlessly (a fact he would vehemently deny). His eyes raked over Harry, drinking in as much as they could now that they were allowed to look. He was wearing a pair of worn black jeans that instantly became Draco’s new favorite piece of clothing for the way they hugged the man’s thighs. Draco’s traitorous mind whispered tantalizingly about how well they must fit all over based on the observable data. Draco valiantly tabled that thought for later. His eyes skated up, taking in the stone washed forest green long sleeve that hugged Harry’s arms and chest as well as the jeans. Merlin, he’s trying to kill me, Draco thought somewhat weakly.  

He finally pulled his eyes up to Harry’s face and hand to resist the urge to do something mortifying, like sigh dreamily. Some part of Draco thought ruefully about how quickly his composure had flown out the window now that he wasn’t clinging to it like a life raft. 

Harry’s hair was only half up – the top part was twisted into a bun while the rest was left free to curl down to his shoulders. His eyes were bright, brought out ever so slightly by the green shirt he was wearing. Harry’s eyes darted up to meet Draco's, green locking with grey, and Draco realized (belatedly and with a flush of what could only be pride) that Harry had been looking at Draco the same way Draco had been looking at him. 

“Hi,” Harry said again, with a small grin. 

“You said that already,” Draco teased, moving a few steps forward and leaning his hip against a display case. 

“I did, didn’t I?” Harry asked as he rubbed a self-conscious hand over the back of his neck. Draco laughed quietly and smelled the immediate brightness sweep into Harry’s scent. 

“How are you?” Draco asked, almost shyly, feeling like the conventional conversation rules had fled on the wind all because they had exchanged two parcels.  

“Would it be too cheesy to say better now?” Harry asked, with a sly grin.  

“Oh, Merlin, is this what I have to look forward to now? I never would have pegged you as the cheesy type,” Draco asked with a grin spreading across his face. 

“Well, I should hope that Harry-Potter-suspecting-you-of-nefarious-deeds would be worlds away from Harry-Potter-desperately-wanting-to-court-you,” Harry responded with a sly smile and humor in his voice. 

“Desperately, hmm?” Draco raised an eyebrow as he slid a step closer to Harry. 

“Oh, absolutely. I’m not even going to deny it. You have no idea what a wreck I was waiting to hear back from you. Must’ve Floo’ed Ron and Hermione about 20 times – they were starting to threaten blocking me from their access.” Draco couldn't help the laugh that tumbled out of him at the mental image of Harry pacing around his apartment, hair messier than usual due to him running his hands through it restlessly, getting scolded by Hermione Granger for overthinking his courting gift.  

“Mind you, they’d never actually go through with it,” Harry said, giving him a knowing look. “I had to deal with both of them acting the same when they started courting each other, so as far as I’m concerned, I’m just collecting on what I’m owed.”  

“I can only imagine trying to placate the two of them,” Draco said conciliatorily. “I’ve been dealing with Pansy positively mooning over Luna Lovegood for the last 3 years. Dealing with one side is more than enough.”  

“Pansy facies Luna?” Harry asked, face bright with delight. “Draco you have no idea what I can do with this information.” 

“Hold your horses, Harry,” Draco chuckled, only realizing how close the two of them had drifted together when he found his hand moving to smooth lightly over Harry’s shoulder. “We have barely just started courting, I think we have to get a little further along in the process before we start playing matchmaker.” Draco looked at his hand, now resting mere breaths away from the collar of Harry’s shirt, oh so close to the scent gland on his neck.  

“What I’m hearing is that not only do you get farther along in the courting process with me, but you also want to play matchmaker with me,” Harry said smugly. Draco dragged his eyes away from his hand (which was itching to move just a little further and rest fully on the tantalizing scent gland) and looked ever so slightly down to meet Harry’s eyes. They were bright, so bright, the brightest Draco had ever seen them. Their scents twined in the air around them and Draco felt himself get a little lightheaded at the combination. 

“Of course, you idiot,” Draco said with a tenderness that surprised even him. “I want everything with you, Harry.”  

“Oh," Harry responded, only a little in wonder, before bringing his hand to rest on top of Draco’s. The moment their fingers touched Draco felt like his blood was singing in his veins. “You know, I had a whole speech I’d worked up to give to you today to ask you out for our first date. Really romantic, would’ve knocked your socks off. But I don’t think anything I could say to you would measure up to what you just said.”  

“Is that so?” Draco asked, trying (in vain) to fight the blush that was climbing ever higher on his cheeks. 

“Yes! You completely stole my thunder, you prat!” Harry exclaimed, his tone at odds with the gentle squeeze his hand gave Draco’s.  

“Well, I’d say sorry, but I don’t think starting our courting on a foundation of lies is a good idea...” Draco trailed off in faux-thoughtfulness and gave a small shrug. Harry barked out a laugh and reached his free hand to catch Draco’s index finger with his own. 

“A part of me wants to argue with you on principle of you being you, but even I can’t fault that logic,” Harry said, swinging their connected hands ever so slightly.  

“Hmm, sound logic in my opinion.”  

“Well, I can’t give my speech,” Harry said with a put-upon sigh (“Morganna, I’m never going to live this down, am I?” Draco tried to interject, and was roundly ignored), “but I can still ask... are you free on Saturday?”  

“Saturday? I should be,” Draco said, eyes darting around Harry’s face and catching on his lips as they spread (impossibly) into an even wider smile. 

“Excellent. Don’t make any plans. I’ll pick you up at noon.” Harry swung their hands in a wider arc and his scent seemed to get even brighter. Draco was briefly struck dumb at the knowledge that he’d done this. Harry’s good mood was because of him. His alpha grumbled happily and preened to have made their omega so pleased. Draco, for once, didn’t fight his alpha.  

“Do I get to know what we’re doing?” Draco asked, twisting their hands ever so slightly to interlace his fingers through Harry’s. He couldn’t help but notice how well their hands fit together. Recognizing that was a topic he could wax poetic about (and absolutely would later, to Pansy) Draco tucked that thought away for safe keeping.  

“Not a chance. It’s a surprise.” Draco couldn’t help the fond chuckle at seeing Harry’s joyful expression.  

“All right, then. I’m looking forward to it,” Draco said, gently running his thumb along the collar of Harry’s shirt. They stayed in each other’s space for a heartbeat more and as Draco felt his alpha urging him to duck his head and nuzzle against Harry’s neck, he cleared his throat and reluctantly ran his hand down Harry’s arm and grabbed his other hand.  

“So, your shirts?” he asked, and turned to lead Harry over to his worktop.  

Saturday, five minutes to noon found Draco fretting. If pressed, he would heartily deny this fact. The frequent fiddling with his cuffs, however, would directly contest that. So, too, would the frantic Floo-call Draco made to Pansy the night before opening with a panicked: “I have nothing to wear!” Pansy had laughed uproariously at this. When she got her breath back, she said evenly “Draco, darling, you’re a tailor.” She promptly began laughing again after this, before telling Draco to move out of the way and coming through the fireplace to help him look through his closet.  

Draco did, it turned out, have something to wear. Pansy, in her (as she claimed) infinite patience (Draco doubted this, based on the number of times she laughed at him during the whole ordeal) helped Draco comb through his closet and put together an outfit that Draco dubbed “satisfactory” (which earned him a smack on the back of the head from Pansy). 

Pansy had talked Draco round to wearing the green waistcoat he’d had at his booth during the alpha display. She’d waxed poetic about it all coming full circle – Draco wearing one of the pieces he’d had out when he and Harry had talked for the first time in years to go on their first courting date. Draco, still unaccustomed to allowing himself any romantic notions, found himself agreeing. Not that he’d ever tell her that – Merlin, but he’d never hear the end of it. 

They’d decided, after much deliberation, to pair the waistcoat with a pale green dress shirt and dark brown slacks. Overall, Draco was quite pleased with the effect. He’d only considered changing four times in the last five minutes, which was a new low for him. Pansy and his mother would be quite pleased with the improvement.  

Precisely at noon, while Draco stood in front of a mirror again trying to tuck the same strand of hair away from his forehead and back into order, three knocks sounded on the door. Draco froze. He realized, so belatedly one began to wonder if he would ever realize it, that he was nervous . He scoffed at himself as he made his way to the door. Before he could give himself any more time to dwell on his nerves, he opened the door. 

Harry was standing on the stoop, hands tucked genially in his pockets, and a smile on his face.  

“Hi,” Harry said. 

“Hi,” Draco replied, feeling a smile grow on his face as the rich aroma of coffee trickled into his nose.  

“You look nice,” Harry said, eyes sweeping over Draco. “This is from the display, isn’t it?” As he asked, he reached a hand out and gently ran the tips of his fingers along Draco’s side, tracing the whirls of the embroidered leaves.  

“It is – you remember it?” Draco asked, mildly surprised and pleased that Harry recognized it. 

“Of course I do! I wasn’t just sweet talking you when I said your work is a marvel.”  Draco flushed ever so slightly and smelled faintly the hint of bergamot strengthening in his scent at Harry’s words. He glanced down to Harry’s hand, still lingering on his side, and up his arm.  

“You’re wearing your shirt!” Draco said, surprised and pleased to see the ochre sleeves rolled up to Harry’s elbows.  

“I am," Harry answered (and some romantic corner of Draco’s mind could just swear that his eyes twinkled).  

“It looks good,” Draco said, pleased to see Harry wearing something he’d made. His alpha grumbled, pleased as punch, to see their omega showing off Draco’s work. Draco couldn’t help but agree. “You wear it well,” Draco said as he reached to run his fingers along the collar, smoothing it against Harry’s neck. The top few buttons were left open, giving Draco just a glance of the skin underneath and a hint of the hair that dusted it. He felt Harry’s fingers tighten on his side ever so slightly at the action.  

“Well,” Draco said, clearing his throat and moving back ever so slightly and letting his hand drop from Harry’s collar. “Do I finally get to find out what we’re doing today?” His alpha was immediately displeased with the distance and lack of contact, no matter Draco knowing logically that they have plans and can’t just stand on his stoop touching each other’s clothes all day.  

“Soon, but not yet,” Harry replied cheerily. He moved his hand from Draco’s waist to grab his hand.  

“Merlin, you’re going to keep this a secret until you absolutely can’t, aren’t you?” Draco asked with a laugh as Harry began to tug him down the steps and away from his door. 

“Oh, absolutely.” Harry tossed a grin over his shoulder to Draco. Draco couldn’t help but smile back. As he caught up to Harry, he couldn’t help but notice he was wearing those jeans. The ones that had haunted the corners of Draco’s mind since he’d seen them for the first time. 

“You’re wearing my favorite jeans,” he said, stupidly, before he could stop himself. 

“Already have favorites, hmm?” Harry asked coyly as Draco drew up next to him. The pleased spike in his scent hinted to Draco that maybe the choice in pants hadn’t been accidental. 

“I mean, can you blame me?” Draco asked, raising an eyebrow and mentally smacking himself for losing his cool before they were even off his block. 

“I guess not,” Harry said with a laugh. “Please do keep me informed as you discover new favorites so I can keep them in heavy rotation.” Draco felt a flush blooming on his cheeks but was saved from answering when he realized where Harry was leading him. 

“Are we apparating somewhere?” Draco asked as they neared the Apparition Point.  

“We are,” Harry responded, refusing to elaborate.  

“And are you going to tell me where we’re going?”  

“Nope. You’re going to side-along so I can keep my secret until the last possible moment.” Draco feigned a gasp. 

“You mean you’re going to apparate us without a license? For shame, Chosen One. I would’ve thought you better than this.” Draco poked a teasing finger into Harry’s side.  

“What can I say? You know how much I love causing chaos. Disrupt the system one illegal apparition at a time,” Harry said, laying a hand sanctimoniously on his chest. 

“You’re never going to get your license, are you?” Draco asked with a belly laugh. 

“The day I get an apparition license is the day I’ve truly sold out my morals,” Harry responded with a sly smile at Draco. “Now close your eyes, please.” Draco heaved a dramatic sigh but closed his eyes. He felt Harry drop his hand to link their arms.  

“One... two...” Harry whispered softly in his ear, breath fanning warm across his cheek. They popped into blackness before Harry said “three”.  

When the world reappeared around them, the first thing Draco noticed was the heat swirling around them. The second thing he noticed was the burble of many, many voices overlapping somewhere nearby.  

“Keep your eyes closed,” Harry said next to him, arm still looped through Draco’s. 

“You know, usually when doing a side-along apparition, it’s customary to actually count to ‘three’ before popping off,” Draco quipped drily. 

“Oh, really?” Harry asked sounding far too pleased as he began to lead Draco slowly... somewhere. 

“Yes - funnily enough, it’s something like the third thing you learn during apparition classes. Which you would know. If you had taken them.” 

“I did take them! I went to at least two when we were Fifth Years. Besides, why would I need to go learn it from a class when I’ve got you telling me right now?” Harry teased, voice close to Draco’s ear. Draco let out an exasperated sigh and shook his head ruefully. 

“Okay... just a few more steps...” Harry muttered as they began to slow before coming to a stop. “All right. You can open your eyes now.” Draco fluttered his eyes open, adjusting slowly to the bright light all around them. His eyes began to open wider and wider as they jumped around the scene in front of him.  

“Welcome,” Harry said grandly with a sweep of his hand, “to the world’s largest open air fabric market.” Draco turned, dumbstruck, to stare at Harry. 

“You brought me to a fabric market?”  

“Well, yeah - I thought it would be the kind of thing you would like,” Harry replied, starting to look a little doubtful the longer Draco stared at him. “I heard about it on a documentary on Morocco and it was the first thing that came to mind when I was planning things to do for our first -” Draco didn’t let Harry finish his rambling as he surged forward to crash his lips against the omega’s.  

Harry’s lips were soft and firm against Draco’s. He felt Harry’s smile against his own and moved a hand to cup the hinge of his jaw. Their scents bloomed around them, smelling like a coffee shop and happiness and a specific note that could only be described as finally.  

They broke apart slowly, Draco leaning forward ever so slightly to lean his forehead against Harry’s.  

“So, you like it, then?” Harry teased lightly. Draco let out a breathless chuckle. 

“Yes, you tosser. It’s perfect.” He cleared his throat and leaned back. “Now enough dilly dallying. Lots to see!” Harry watched him with undisguised fondness. 

“You know, I quite liked the dilly dallying. I wouldn’t be opposed to more dilly dallying any time that you’re so inclined.” Draco felt his cheeks heat, but he looked coyly down at Harry. 

“Well, if you’re good maybe that can be arranged.” Seeing the combined gobsmacked expression and blush creeping up Harry’s cheeks, Draco let out a belly laugh.  

“Come on, Harry,” Draco said over the other’s spluttering. “You are absolutely going to regret bringing me here.” 

“You know, the last thing I’m feeling right now is regret for bringing you here,” Harry said, hours later, bumping his shoulder against Draco’s.  

“Oh, is that so?” Draco asked, carefully folding up his last purchase for the day. He ran his hands gingerly over the deep blue velvet, already knowing exactly what he was going to make with it.  

“Mmhmm,” Harry hummed in assent. “It’s incredible to get to see you completely in your element.” Draco could smell the way his scent perked at the compliment and knew Harry would be able to, too. 

“Well, I'm glad you like it. Because we’re going to be back here with alarming regularity.” He tucked the fabric into a (rather full already) bag and laced his fingers through the omega’s. They began meandering back through the rows, heading towards the apparition point. The two had been wandering through the market for so long that the sun was beginning to set, painting the sky in swathes of coral and indigo. Lanterns and strings of lights were beginning to come to life around them.  

A light breeze teased the air around the two, swirling the companionable scents of Earl Grey and coffee up into the sunset. This time as they apparated, Harry whispered “three” softly in Draco’s ear before they were gone.  

Three and a half weeks after they’d gone to the fabric market, Draco sent Harry an owl asking him to come to Tactful Tailors at his earliest convenience. Harry was pushing the door of the shop open thirty-six minutes later. They’d seen each other several times since their first official outing (as Harry insisted on calling it), but the thrill of seeing each other hadn’t worn off yet. Draco privately hoped it never would.  

“Hi,” Harry said, a little breathlessly. 

“Did you run here?” Draco asked as he walked towards Harry.  

“Well, yes.” Draco couldn’t hold back a smile at the slightly abashed expression on Harry’s face. “I was excited – sue me! Wait, don’t actually - I’ve just remembered what you told me about your family lawyers, and I think it’s in my best interest to avoid any legal battles with you.” 

“Wise man,” Draco drawled, winking at Harry. “Come on, I have something I want to show you.” Reaching out, Draco grabbed Harry’s hand to lead him through the shop.  

“Is this the secret project you’ve been working on?” 

“The very one.” Draco had been using the majority of his free time for the last few weeks to work on his project, which had struck him like a bolt of lightning while at the fabric market. His hands had barely been able to keep up with his vision. On more than one occasion, Harry had asked Draco to walk in a park or go to a bookstore or cook together and Draco had to rain check with the promise that what he was working on would be worth it.   

As they neared the two mannequins in the back of the store, Draco felt a flutter of nerves and hoped that it would be worth it. Before Harry could get a good glimpse at what Draco had made, he gently laid his free hand over Harry’s eyes, mindful not to smudge his glasses. (On their second date, Harry had bemoaned having to wear glasses and the everyday indignities of them getting smudged. He subsequently pretended not to hear Draco when asked why he didn’t simply get his eyesight magically fixed.) 

“Oh, a surprise, is it?” Harry asked, joy creeping into his tone and his scent. Draco hummed in assent as he drew Harry to stand in front of the mannequins. Taking a deep breath to steal himself, he dropped his hand. 

“All right, here they are,” Draco said simply, suddenly wondering if this was too much and Harry would realize how deeply he’d already fallen. Too late to turn back now, Draco thought sardonically.  

He really needn’t have worried, though. Harry was staring, mouth parted slightly in amazement, at the matching waistcoats on the mannequins. They were made from the blue velvet Draco had picked out in Morocco and they were covered in constellations embroidered in silver thread. And they were finished with the Mother of Pearl buttons that Harry had given him to initiate their courting.  

“Draco, these are...” Harry trailed off, lost for words as he stepped forward to ghost his fingers along the fabric. “They’re beautiful.” 

“They're us,” Draco said, face flaming and scent taking on a slightly embarrassed note. He really was about to lay all his cards on the table. But, remembering what Pansy had said, Draco knew that having made it here, through everything that had happened before, Harry wasn’t going to go running.  

“This one is the night sky on July 31st, 1980,” Draco said, running the tips of his fingers lightly over the waistcoat on the left, before resting his hand on the shoulder of the waistcoat on the right. “And this one is the night sky on June 5th, 1980.”  

“Draco, you made these? For us?” Harry asked, his voice soft and his scent loud.  

“I did,” he replied, voice equally soft. Eyes still trained on the waistcoats, afraid to look up and see Harry’s face.  

“Draco, these are incredible. I’m so lucky to have such a talented alpha.” Hearing Harry’s words, something unlocked in Draco’s chest. His alpha howled inside him and Draco had to resist the urge to join in. Heart thundering, he glanced over to meet Harry’s eyes.  

The only word to describe what he could see in Harry’s eyes was adoration. He felt something inside him settle as he realized that he wasn’t alone in how far he had fallen. (And really, hadn’t they both been falling for a long, long time?) 

“Harry, can I scent you?” Draco asked softly, unable to hold back the urge to lay some sort of claim to his omega, for everyone to know they were a set, that they belonged together.  

“Yes,” Harry whispered fervently, “yes.” Draco drew in a shuddering breath as his heart soared and his alpha howled again. He turned slowly towards Harry, hands grasping the omega’s hips to reel him in.  

Chests inches apart, Draco sucked in a deep breath of the rich coffee that swirled around him and twined with his own Earl Grey.  

“Merlin, Harry. You smell so good,” Draco mumbled as he leaned further into the other man’s space. He could feel the chuckle in Harry’s chest at the same time he heard it. With the inevitability of two magnets drawing together, Draco leaned forward and brought his nose to the junction of Harry’s shoulder and buried himself in his scent gland. He huffed in a deep breath, maybe the deepest breath he’d ever taken in his life and sighed contentedly. Omega, his alpha purred, mine. And, finally, Draco didn’t disagree. As he began slowly dragging his nose along the curve of Harry’s neck, he couldn’t help the rumble that built in his chest and spilled out into the air.  

The scent of coffee was spilling into the air around them, so thick Draco imagined if he set out a mug that the scent would collect inside it just like real coffee.  

“Draco,” Harry gasped, “Draco, please can I scent you?” Draco felt another rumble building in his chest and in response, he slid a hand up Harry’s side to cup his jaw and tangle in his hair. Then he drew Harry’s face to his neck in confirmation. Draco could feel Harry’s breath dancing warm across his skin, could feel the rapid beating of his heart matching his own. The moment Harry traced his nose along Draco’s neck, he felt complete. Their scents flooded the air around them, saturating the shop. More , Draco’s alpha grumbled inside him, and he couldn’t help but agree. He brought his free hand to Harry’s and turned their arms so their wrists rested against each other. While pressing a kiss to the scent gland on Harry’s neck, he began to circle his wrist against Harry’s, causing another wave of Earl Grey and coffee to pour out. Draco could imagine the scents splashing against the walls and sinking into the carpet. He wished he were so permeable so that Harry’s scent would sink into him, too.  

They stayed pressed together for so long that time cycled from not existing to slowly pressing back into their awareness. Draco slowly realized he could both hear and feel Harry purring against him. He pressed one last kiss against Harry’s neck, nipping his scent gland lightly, and pulled back ever so slightly to look at his omega.  

Harry’s eyes were glassy, pupils expanded so that the barest hint of green was visible at the edges of his irises. His cheeks were red and his lips shiny. Draco guessed he probably looked similar.  

“Draco," Harry sighed happily, leaning forward to bump their noses together.  

“Harry,” he said in response, smiling as he tilted his head ever so slightly to bring their lips together. As their lips moved against each other, Draco slid his arms around Harry’s waist, clutching Harry even closer against him. Harry’s arms mirrored Draco’s, clutching him just as tight. When they broke apart, it was with giggles on both sides, scent drunk and wrapped up in each other. Draco rested his cheek against Harry’s temple and sighed happily as he felt Harry nuzzle against him. 

“Harry, you’re it for me,” Draco said, closing his eyes and relishing the feeling of an armful of content omega. 

“You tosser, I was going to say that,” Harry chuckled against Draco’s neck, pinching his side lightly. Draco huffed a laugh in response and began tracing a hand lazily up and down Harry’s spine. 

“I am so glad you were at that bloody display,” Harry whispered against Draco’s neck.  

“Me, too,” Draco said, and felt a surge of appreciation at his meddling mother and best friend well up in him. “You have my mother and Pansy to thank for that, you know. They accept their thanks in chocolate and flowers.” Draco felt Harry laugh against him and felt a smile creasing his face, so broad it made his cheeks hurt. 

“Well, that takes immediate priority on my to-do list,” Harry joked as his eyelashes brushed against Draco’s neck. 

“You have a to do list?” Draco asked incredulous and teasing, earning himself another pinch in the side.  

“I do now,” Harry replied, unable to hold in his laugh. Draco found himself joining in and their laughter wove through their combined scents, dancing out the windows and into the spring sunshine.