Every mountain, every ocean

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/60954271.

Rating: Mature
Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Category: M/M
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Relationship: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Characters: Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, James Sirius Potter, Albus Severus Potter,
Scorpius Malfoy, Hermione Granger, Astoria Greengrass, Ron Weasley,
Theodore Nott, Lucius Malfoy, Narcissa Black Malfoy
Additional Tags: Time Travel Fix-It, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Domestic Violence,
Older Man/Younger Man, Omega Draco Malfoy, Alpha Harry Potter,
Past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Minor Astoria Greengrass/Draco
Malfoy, Arranged Marriage, Mental Health Issues, Suicide Attempt,
Angst with a Happy Ending
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2024-11-30 Updated: 2025-04-24 Words: 84,283 Chapters:
12/36
 Every mountain, every ocean
by English (DirtyMind_DirtyMouth)

Summary

"Draco had no idea that that moment would set the tone for their marriage for years to come:
him standing there, stupefied, letting himself be moved by this man as if he were a simple
object destined to fulfill a single function."
*
After being widowed, Harry Potter needs to marry again. Lucius Malfoy offers him the hand
of his young son, full of hopes and dreams that will be shattered in the blink of an eye.
After all, the term "delicacy" is not one that can be used to describe the alpha Potter,
especially after his world was turned upside down once again.

Notes
See the end of the work for notes

A translation of [Restricted Work] by DirtyMind_DirtyMouth

 Chapter 1

Introduction

The married life of omega Draco Malfoy began with a very unfortunate remark made by his
husband to the press.

They were running down the steps of the registry office, hand in hand, one grabbing the
other's fingers with more force than necessary, pulling without consideration, when the
vultures surrounded them, cameras and notepads in hand, pens fluttering everywhere.

One of them managed to get in the way of the Head of the Auror Office, blocking his path by
brazenly putting her foot in it, causing Potter to brake suddenly and Draco to crash into his
back, his nose becoming buried between his shoulder blades.

As he caught the scent of camera smoke, he thought it would be the perfect shot for the
papers: him, safe behind the firm back of the Hero of the Wizarding World, who, in front of
that unpleasant reporter with shrewd eyes and fake-looking ringlets, had to look as if he were
protecting him from all harm, so Draco pressed closer to him, trying to appear like a fragile,
needy little thing, ignoring the pain in his fingers, which were currently being crushed by
Potter's hand, as if he were planning to break them in half.

It's a good thing he wasn't wearing rings…

"What do you have to tell us about this abrupt decision to marry again, Auror Potter?" asked
the woman with the sullen face and shrill voice, pushing her glasses up on the bridge of her
nose with a push of her middle finger that clearly meant "stick it where it fits, Potter."

Everyone knew that, since he was at school, he had never gotten along with Rita Skeeter,
who must have been the most hated woman in the entire wizarding world.

"How noble of you to be related to one of the families most harmed by the war..." Her moist
little eyes went to look at Draco, who was still huddled against Potter's body, barely
managing to keep his balance on the edge of the step where he had been left, trapped on one
side and the other by photographers who kept flashing their cameras in his direction, blinding
him.

He, as a Malfoy, had never made too many public appearances, so this was the first time he
had come face to face with such a stir, since his parents had always kept him well protected,
both abroad and in England.

At first he thought he would like it and that he would strut around in front of everyone with
the same confidence he had always displayed, but at that moment he liked his new idea
better: that of passing himself off as something insignificant, sweet and delicate, dressed in a
white wedding robe, with his hair held back by a veil that fell down his back.
That way they would want to know more about him. That way his name would be on
everyone's lips, wondering who was the omega who had managed to get the alpha Harry
Potter to pull his head out of the hole he had fallen into after the death of his wife. Then, little
by little, he would make public appearances and become the perfect example of the ideal
omega, next to the alpha that everyone wanted to be with.

Of course, he never considered the Potter Factor into the equation, and perhaps he should
have, given the way that large, warm, unfamiliar hand tightened its grip on his, making him
groan as his knuckles clicked together, in real danger of breaking.

He glanced over his shoulder, searching for his parents at the top of the stairs, but couldn't
make them out among the crowd.

There was a new string of flashes, making his eyes water.

“The only noble thing about this marriage, are the parts of this boy that I plan to profit from,”
said the black-haired, green-eyed man, narrowing them beneath his glasses in a menacing
manner. “I’ve heard that pureblood omegas are trained very well for that. Enjoy your
headline, Rita!”

There were a few gasps at the double-entendre comment.

Draco saw the eyes of the journalist, Rita, shine even more. A pleased smile appeared on her
ugly, red-painted mouth before her pen flew over the yellowed notebook floating next to her
face, without a doubt composing a most insidious article.

The clicking of the cameras turned into a ringing in his ears.

Draco, realizing all that this implied, bathed in a shame previously unknown to him that dyed
his cheeks red, felt himself losing strength in his legs, so that he was actually on the verge of
falling.

Potter caught him by the waist, brandishing him as if he were the handle of his broom, and,
holding him that way, made him go down the rest of the steps, barely allowing his feet to
touch the ground.

Draco had no idea that that moment would set the tone for their marriage for the next few
years: him standing there, stupefied, letting himself be moved by that man as if he were a
simple object destined to fulfill a single function.

Harry Potter was in a bad mood when he said all that and forgot it quickly, so quickly that for
him it didn't even happen, but his words were tattooed on Draco's soul, along with many
other things that would happen between them from that moment on, and they would be
something he could never forgive him for.

Chapter 1

*
Ginny Potter died on January 15th, almost two years ago, months after giving birth to her
second child following a delicate, high-risk pregnancy that compromised her health.

It was something so sudden, surprising and horrible, the result of an infection that consumed
her from within, that the people around her still had not managed to get over it and were still
in shock, especially her husband, Harry, who had gone through the experience as if he were
watching a horror movie, disconnected from his body, perceiving everything with the eyes of
an automaton.

Ginny had left him alone. Without her help, he had no idea what to do with his children.

James, when it all happened, was barely old enough to understand that his mother was very
ill and Albus was almost a newborn, so he knew little about her even though Ginny did
everything she could to be there for him, by his side, despite the fatigue and pain.

Harry, who had already survived many losses in his life, however, had no idea how to cope
with this one, so when the funeral was over, he did the most human thing he could think of:
he collapsed into an armchair, head in his hands, trying not to think even though inside his
head there was an agonized scream that kept repeating the same thing (NOW WHAT? NOW
WHAT? NOW WHAT?!).

Ginny had become his pillar after the war and now she was gone.

Ginny was gone.

Ginny was dead, and she had taken half of his soul to the grave.

At first, it was simple, to put it in a general way: it was his superiors at the Ministry of Magic
(Kingsley Shacklebolt, the minister himself) who decided to give him a period of mourning,
so he could stay home and languish in his misery without worrying about anything else.

He didn't hear from the press, he didn't accept condolences, he ignored the correspondence,
he abandoned himself. It was like having an open wound in his chest, infected and festering,
which slowly turned into a black hole, sucking in everything around it, preventing him from
paying attention to it.

He didn't have to take care of the boys because, thank goodness, Ginny had a big family and
the Weasleys were always willing to lend a hand, so it was Grandma Molly who took his
children from that cold house they had gotten in the country (a small estate surrounded by
lovely landscapes, but gloomier than Antarctica) and took them to The Burrow, her
ramshackle little house in the hills of Ottery St. Catchpole, to look after them, giving Harry
some time to deal with himself alone.

Maybe that was a very serious mistake, because it gave him permission to ignore the
children.

If Molly had left them there, with him, he would have had to figure out how to look after
them, overcoming his depression and his broken heart to make sure they were okay. He
would have had to force himself to swallow his own tears (although there were none because,
since his parents' death, Harry Potter had lost the ability to mourn any death close to him) to
dry theirs, making them his priority. He would have had to force himself to ignore his
insomnia to calm his nightmares, reminding them that they still had a family and, above all, a
father who would always watch over them.

(Molly hadn't done it with bad intentions, on the contrary, and she hadn't been able to prevent
the consequences either. Hurt as she was, just as much or even more than Harry, she wanted
to have the fruit of her daughter's womb as close as possible, as if Ginny were still there, with
her, in the smiles of her children or in the sound of their voices. Harry Potter, for once, had
taken a backseat, as often happened when one had children.)

However, seeing himself alone within those four walls, consumed by a pain that grew ever
greater as he understood, with each dawn, that things would never be the same again,
something inside him began to fragment and let itself be absorbed by the darkness.

To hell with everything and everyone!

To ​hell with people and to hell with his children!

Harry Potter had lost the love of his life, his omega, his mate, and with that, half of his
everything was gone too. No one could force him to get over it anytime soon.

What did the world matter? What did what was in it matter?

By the time his friends and in-laws realized that leaving him alone wasn't the best decision
and tried to set things right, bringing James and Albus back home to keep him company,
something inside Harry Potter had already changed forever and time had only underlined
things.

He was empty, hollow, like a bell that had lost its ability to ring, and he hated that the damn
people didn't understand it…

"I think you should do it more for the boys than for yourself," Hermione said, keeping her
gaze down, fixed on her teacup, while pretending to be distracted by the honey-stained silver
spoon. "I mean, your house-elf is old, Harry, he can't look after them all the time, and James
is growing up. What are you going to do the next time he gets his head stuck in the banister
of the stairs again? If Kreacher hadn't found him in time…"

Harry, who was only half listening, glared at her through his glasses. The taste of the
morning's liquor still lingered on his palate.

Hermione took a breath through her nose, keeping her mouth tight, pushing a lock of curly
brown hair behind her ear.

The little gold earrings that decorated her lobes sparkled in the midday sunlight that filtered
through the dining room windows. She was dressed in a light brown suit that didn't quite suit
her because it made her look a little old, although her cheeks were still as rosy as the first
time Harry saw her, on the train to school when they were children.
She was the voice of his conscience now that Ginny was gone, and ever since that ugly
accident with James, which the entire Weasley family had found out about, she was on his
case more than ever, hot on his heels to "make him see reason," trying to convince him to get
married again, or at least hire someone full-time, but the latter didn't seem to work for them.

They'd had a few governesses and nannies over the years, but none had lasted long.

The first had run away after James had set her hair on fire for some reason or other, and the
second had gone after her after Harry had yelled at her for neglecting Albus, who had nearly
fallen down the stairs. The third, an elderly woman, had recently left them because her
daughter had given birth to twins and she had decided to go and look after her in her
hometown, and the fourth, the one they had now, was a dreadful thing that he had resorted to
mostly out of necessity even though it reminded him so much of Professor Umbridge, who
had been his tormentor during his fifth year of education at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft
and Wizardry.

Harry grimaced sourly at the thought of her.

Madame Brown, as the wretched gargoyle called herself, must have emerged from the depths
of his nightmares because she was like a living statue, capable of standing in the dark for
hours in order to catch him off guard and scare him to death, especially when he came home
drunk late at night after stopping by the pub following a mission.

She was obsessed with rules and Harry hated her for it, but by golly, she was the only one
who managed to bring some order to this house when everything seemed to be falling apart.

He hired her from an ad in the Daily Prophet and the madwoman turned up on his doorstep
within hours of sending her the letter with an owl, floating like Mary Poppins, although
much, MUCH, less gracefully.

His children hated her almost as much as he did or even more, hence it was Kreacher, the old
house elf, who kept a close eye on them.

Madame Brown made James brush his hair every day, combing it back with gel so his black
curls wouldn't fly in all directions, and she often spanked Albus's hands when the boy
wouldn't eat. She made him sit facing the wall to punish him whenever he did "something
wrong," which was many times a day, so Harry was sure that the youngest of his children,
who was just beginning to try to communicate with others, had seen more of the brown
pimples that decorated their brown walls than of the gardens that surrounded their own
house.

Albus, who was less energetic than James, able to escape any punishment with the wit of a
five-year-old, would just sit there, crying silently, stewing in his misery, until Harry came
back and pulled him off the ground.

He had had so many fights with that woman about it, but it hadn't changed anything, and now
he just limited himself to making sure he didn't forget Albus somewhere in the house before
going to sleep.
Harry wanted to get rid of her, but that would also mean getting rid of the opportunity to run
away every time he got that uncontrollable urge to run away when Ginny's shadow became
too present in this place, so he put up with her in the name of that.

James and Albus... well, they had been the victims of his selfishness for a while, but as long
as he didn't think about it too much, he was going to be fine. The guilt wouldn't get too big.

Besides, all the bad times they had in their own house were made up for by how good they
were when they visited their grandparents, so they would have both good and bad memories
of their childhood, something that he himself couldn't boast about when he was with the
Dursleys, the uncles who raised him after his parents died.

With Molly and Arthur’s love in tow, Harry was confident that his children wouldn’t grow up
with the same resentments as he did (but deep down he knew he was kidding himself: he
couldn’t leave all the work to them. He couldn’t depend on Ginny’s family to patch up the
cracks he left behind. What a terrible father he would become by relying on something like
that.)

“So I have to marry some random omega just so my kids have a full-time nanny who’s forced
to put up with them no matter what,” he commented, being particularly venomous as he
enunciated each word.

He took a sip of his coffee, which had been spiked with some firewhisky even though it
wasn't even one in the afternoon. He'd been drinking earlier and earlier these days, sometimes
taking a sip as soon as he woke up, though he hadn't noticed (James would sometimes joke
that his breath smelled like "cherry chocolates," the only boozy thing he'd ever tasted because
his grandparents had once offered him a bite. Harry's face fell to the floor with a horrible
sensation that stuck deep inside him, so he tried not to drink in front of them, but there were
days when he just couldn't help it).

Hermione frowned, starting to lose her patience, as she did every time they met.

Still, Harry preferred to deal with her than Ron, who just shifted uncomfortably in his spot,
not looking him in the eye, trying to find something to say.

Ginny was his sister, and her death had devastated him as much as it had Harry, but he was
still capable of saying things like "you should get over it, mate," which made Harry want to
jump to his throat and rip it to pieces.

That's why it was better for him not to show up here, because Harry had a terrible temper that
couldn't stand stupidity.

“Who says you won't be interested?” the woman asked, trying to speak to him softly, like a
child prone to tantrums.

Harry rolled his eyes.

“I say so” he said ironically.

Hermione sighed, putting her hands on the white tablecloth, trying to stay calm so as not to
start an argument.

Harry fought too much with her and Ron. He had even gone so far as to kick them out of here
on one occasion and he didn't understand how they had forgiven him.

Deep down, he hoped that one day they would stop, forget about him and leave him alone.

Ginny's death had plunged him into darkness and it was as if he sought to punish himself
every day so as not to allow himself to overcome it, having conflicts at work, being annoying
to his subordinates, refusing to socialize with his superiors and peers as if his life depended
on it, whom he would have preferred to immerse in a vat of acid, and becoming incredibly
intolerant of people who continued to strive to remain close to him, as his friends.

Incredible that the ties that united him to Ron and Hermione had resisted a million blows
before, during and after the war, but were fraying now, when age was beginning to become
an impediment to "trying again." Harry no longer wanted to. He didn't have the strength of
his eleven-year-old self hunting the Philosopher's Stone or his fifteen-year-old self, a little
bully capable of standing up to the Ministry of Magic.

No. Enough. He wanted the damn world to stop spinning for at least a moment so he could
start to get used to the fact that this was the new reality he had to live: widowed with two
small children, deeply bitter about this fact…

“You are an alpha, Harry. You can mate again,” she reminded him hopefully. “It’s in your
nature.”

Harry closed his hand into a fist, thinking that the conversation was starting to get out of hand
because this had always been a delicate subject for him.

Yes, an alpha tended to want to mate again if their mate died, seeking the warmth and
comfort of a new lover, but he didn’t.

He refused to give in to his animal impulses because he wanted to be faithful to the memory
of his wife, whom he had loved with all his heart.

While his body felt the natural fever of an alpha more and more frequently, leading him to do
embarrassing things in the dark to relieve that unbearable burning, his mind had always been
quite stubborn and powerful, capable of overcoming anything, even his own needs, so he was
convinced that he would not fall into the temptation of looking for a new omega even in the
most vile of his states.

Hermione snorted, exasperated.

“Don't you see that we're worried about you?!” She burst out, despite her best efforts to keep
the conversation civil. “You're going on riskier and riskier missions, you're never home, and
when you do show up, it's only to get into a fight with someone and throw the kids out again!
Your children don't even recognize you anymore!”
The smell of her pheromones began to fill the dining room and Harry reacted to them,
releasing his own in warning. Hermione made a move to back away, a natural response for
any omega facing an alpha, but she wasn't intimidated. She continued to hold his gaze even
though her pulse had quickened.

“We're afraid of losing you. Don't you realize? You must try to recover, to rebuild your life
for them! Otherwise, you'll get yourself killed! What will become of your children then? An
omega can stabilize you! It's obvious that you're in crisis but you don't see it! You never see
it!”

Harry took a deep breath, frowning, swallowing his annoyance.

He understood her, he really did, even though he didn't like it and hated being forced upon.

What did they expect? Him to mate with another omega or even a beta and pretend
everything was fine again? Did they expect him to play house with some stranger who would
never mean anything in his life? Did they expect him to watch that person live with his and
Ginny's children as if they belonged to him?

He knew, deep down, that he would never love anyone like he had loved his wife again.

She was everything to him.

But maybe Hermione was right.

If he married again, at least he could be sure that there would always be someone at home to
watch over his children, because even the horrible Madame Brown had days off and was very
demanding regarding them. On those occasions, it was Kreacher who looked after the
children, but it was true: he was old and tired. James was a whirlwind and had often filled his
plate, to the point of making Harry think that the old house-elf longed every night for a
peaceful death in his sleep so that he would not have to live with that child again, who could
be a real force to be reckoned with.

Likewise, it could be that a wife had that homely touch that the children were missing,
because it was obvious that the pampering of Molly and their uncles could not compensate
for everything. They would go to the Burrow, see a world full of colour, and then come back
to this horrible grey place that Ginny and Harry had created for them by mistake, because
they never really got around to decorating the house, making it their own, because they
always thought they could put it off for later…

Harry had enjoyed his life early in their marriage, hunting Dark Wizards, coming and going
from place to place, not worrying too much about the look of the wallpaper or the carpets on
the floor, and Ginny had done it in her own way too, enthusiastic at first about her career as a
Seeker for the Holihead Harpies and, after James was born, as a sports correspondent for the
Daily Prophet.

They had seriously thought that at some point the opportunity would come to look after the
house, to make it more domestic for the children on the way, and, when they heard that Albus
was to be born, they had begun to plan little by little, but had stopped short when Ginny's
health began to deteriorate.

And things had ended up as they were now, a half-done job in more than one sense.

In this fractured place, James was turning into a little boy desperate for attention, hence why
he got into so much trouble, and Albus was growing up with this sad look that broke Harry's
heart every time he saw it…

It might have all worked out if he had intended to be more present at home, but that wasn't
the case.

He hated this place as much as he hated what it made him feel.

Sometimes he wondered if his children felt the same way, and felt sorry for them, since
unlike him, they couldn't run away.

He sighed, lowering his head in peace. Hermione relaxed as well.

"Where the hell am I going to get a wife?" He asked sharply. "Do I just put it in the paper like
I'm asking for a new broom? I'm not going to try to flirt with someone. I'm not going to be
the ideal husband either," he warned, speaking almost as if Hermione were his prospective
wife. She was only getting irritated, raising an eyebrow as she listened to him. "I don't want
someone who thinks they're going to get that from me. I want someone who knows what
they're getting into from the start."

Hermione licked her lips, with a disapproving smack.

"You want a slave, then, who works for food and shelter, nothing more," she reprimanded.

Harry slammed the table, making the cutlery jump. Her eyes widened.

Harry could have fits, he always had. He flared up like a gunpowder, but he had never been
as violent as he was now, reminding them of a runaway horse or a furious dog. He was scary,
and that was why his friends were so worried about him.

“Hermione, damn it!” he exclaimed. “Then what do you want from me?! If it were up to me
we wouldn’t even be talking about this! Do you understand?”

That was the key word: no one understood how he felt, and that was what killed him inside.
No one had ever understood what it was like to be like him, to live what he did, to endure
what he did…

The woman put her hands to her face, shaking her head. She stood up. She had reached the
limit of what she could bear. She looked at him with reproachful eyes.

“Listen, I can't talk with you like this,” she admitted, making a gesture, denoting how
exhausted she was. “You've been behaving like a Neanderthal for years. But we made
progress today, which is good. I'll be back soon and we'll tackle this, okay? In the meantime,
try to cool your head, because I assure you that with that attitude not even the most desperate
of people will tolerate you,” she admonished and stomped off toward the fireplace.

She threw in a handful of floo powder and the flames turned green. She looked over her
shoulder one last time, letting out a sigh.

“We all know how hard it's been, Harry,” she said, returning to her comforting tone. “We love
you as much as we loved Ginny.” That's why we can't watch you fall any further, okay? Life
doesn't end here. You can still be happy”.

Harry felt the urge to throw his cup at her.

Hermione must have sensed it, because she stepped into the flames, disappearing from sight
as if she had never been there.

Harry hated them all, really.

Ron, Hermione, even a little Molly, Arthur, his brothers-in-law, and Andromeda, his godson's
grandmother. He also hated Teddy, the aforementioned, for good measure, and since he was
making a list of all those who had fallen on his bad side, he might as well put Madame
Brown at the top (that wretch!).

Hermione had taken his advice and announced in the Daily Prophet that Harry Potter was
looking for a new wife. Of course, she had done it in a classy way and had omitted his name,
as well as the word "wife," simply putting in a brief description of him, his job, his family
circumstances, and his willingness to date.

To his surprise, dozens of letters began to arrive, responding to the offer, coming from the
pens of countless people of all possible characteristics.

“I think this one will eat you alive if you give it a chance,” George, his brother-in-law,
mocked, waving a yellowed sheet of paper in the air, clearing his throat before beginning to
read aloud. “Moderately attractive female (ugh, “moderately”! What a bargain!), beta, in her
mid-forties, thrice divorced with five children, waiting to meet an interesting man (beta or
alpha, it doesn’t matter) who knows how to squeeze out of her what the others couldn’t.” He
laughed, resting his hands on his belly while Harry felt his face turn red. “Why the hell is she
talking in the third person as if she were advertising herself too?”

They weren't alone: ​they were in the Weasleys' sitting room and most of Ginny's siblings had
gathered, wives and children included.

The children were playing in the courtyard in a row while the adults remained gathered
inside, listening to the conversation.

He had the feeling that it was some kind of intervention, as if he were some kind of addict
about to be thrown ass-first into rehab.
He realized that he had been standing in the corner of the kitchen for a while, trying to blend
into the shadows while the others sorted through the mess of letters on the table.

Molly had made tomato sandwiches and tea, which showed how excited everyone was.

Harry wanted to be swallowed by the earth, especially when Hermione, who was also digging
through the letters, added:

“Because I think she also appears advertised in the dating section of the Daily Prophet. She
will probably respond to any publications.”

Ron let out a laugh that sounded like a goose honking. He tried to shut up, putting a hand
over his mouth, but the damage had already been done.

He obviously thought anyone who advertised there was a loser. Harry agreed.

“And you want me to marry people like that?” he burst out, pacing back and forth, arms
folded tightly across his chest.

Molly stopped him, patting him on the elbow reassuringly.

In the yellow light of her oil lamp, the grey in his red hair was more noticeable than ever, as
were the wrinkles around her eyes.

Wizards were long-lived, but the losses had been taking their toll on that woman for a long
time, making her age several years in a short time.

It was only because of the pity he felt for her at that moment that Harry did not run away
from contact, as he would have done with anyone else.

Since Ginny had died, physical contact with others, even if it was his children, seemed
unbearable to him. That was what Hermione meant when she told him that an omega could
stabilize him: right now, his alpha was a cornered and alert animal, hence he couldn't help
acting like a damn madman, although, to be honest, he had always had some of that, mated or
not. Maybe that was why the situation had hit him so hard.

"Harry, darling: you're not getting married tomorrow," Molly consoled him and Harry hated
that it was precisely she who was telling him that because, as Ginny's mother, shouldn't she
be suffering seeing whoever was her daughter's alpha trying to get his life back together? Or
was it that everyone had gotten over it but him? No, that couldn’t be it. Did they see him so
far on the edge that they were taking desperate measures on his behalf? Why didn’t anyone
understand how he felt?

“You’ll go on dates, you’ll meet someone new. You’ll let them into your home, meet your
children…” She covered her lips with a hand as they began to shake. “And if all goes well,
you’ll fall in love again and you’ll be able to be the same happy person we knew. You
deserve to be happy. And you deserve to have someone by your side to keep you company.”
A tear ran down her cheek, which had been pale for a long time, like everything else on her.
During the war, Molly lost another of her sons, Fred, George's twin. Ginny's death had only
come to mean a new blow to her poor heart, which had been left quite fragile by the
misfortunes.

That was why Harry could never contradict her, since Molly was the only mother he had ever
known and, if she asked him for something, for him it was something like a law. Of course,
when she was not being intransigent.

"How about this one?" Hermione intervened again, taking a purple envelope to offer it to
him. Before, she passed it under her nose. "It's perfumed. That indicates attention to detail. It
smells very good," she smiled. "It's from an omega," she raised her eyebrows.

Ron, fortunately, gave her a little push on the arm to ask for control.

Harry twisted his mouth, wanting to set the letter on fire more than anything.

“Just take a look at it, son,” said Arthur, who had stepped up behind his wife’s chair to
encourage him.

Harry really hated the way everyone was making him feel, like they thought he was defective
or something.

Over the course of his life, a lot of people must have thought that way: Harry Potter, the
damaged child who had defeated the greatest Dark Wizard of all time within a year of being
born only to end up facing him many more times until he finally beat him. Harry Potter, the
poor bastard who would always bear the stain of bad fortune: dead parents, dead godfather,
dead wife…

He snatched the envelope from Hermione, not wanting to think about that sort of thing
anymore.

"Her name is Nancy Summers," he read, dragging out his words to show his obvious lack of
interest, "it says she likes children, she loves nature." He rolled his eyes in disdain without
being able to help himself. "It doesn't sound so bad, but she could be a potential psychopath.
Hermione, what you consider romantic can't be anything more than a trick, like those deep-
sea fish, who attract their victims with that ridiculous little lamp." He made a gesture to his
forehead to make her understand what he was talking about.

Hermione also rolled her eyes and crossed her arms.

"It’s called illicium and I don’t care: you're going to write to her." He reached for paper, pen
and inkwell, putting them within his reach and, just to annoy him, called over his shoulder,
"James, get the lotion that Uncle Ron forgot in the bathroom cabinet, please!" Ron, George,
Angelina Johnson and even Arthur and Molly laughed a little.

Harry, keeping a scowl on his face so they wouldn't think he was going soft, held his breath
and sat down to do as he was told.

*
Nancy What'sHerName was a terrible idea because Harry hated her on sight, with her stupid
black hair, that was too straight, licking her shoulders and her stupid white skirt full of frills.
He hated the smell of her perfume, as well as her pheromones, and he had no qualms about
letting her know, covering his nose throughout the most tedious thirty minutes of his entire
life in a café in Diagon Alley.

The date ended with her very embarrassed, telling him that maybe meeting him had been a
mistake, and Harry couldn't help twisting his mouth:

"Do you think so?" he asked, sarcastic, and he narrowly escaped having her throw her coffee
in his face (and that was even though, up until a second before, she didn't seem to have any
kind of violent inclination).

He stood there, rubbing his eyes, hating the migraine that threatened to make itself present.

That very morning, Andromeda had written to him to tell him that there were several people
in her book club interested in meeting him (in a romantic way, of course) and Teddy had even
taken the trouble to add a note, letting him know that in his part-time job too.

By now, Harry was so annoyed with all of them, he thought it would be a good idea to
contact one of those illegal marriage agencies that would set you up with half-humans
(because out there, in that horrible world that the Savior of the Wizarding World detested so
much, there were plenty of perverts who got horny screwing a female werewolf kidnapped
from the forests of Siberia or a half-mermaid omega with a body speckled with scales).

Maybe they would set him up with a banshee or something, some half-veela somewhere.
Then Harry could slip it under their noses in all his glory and ask them “didn’t you want me
to marry again?”

What could be a worse option than that just to teach them a lesson?

…a mail order wife.

He had really fallen low, and to tell the truth, that letter George had read to him had insulted
him, because it made him imagine a future scenario in which he would be old and desperate,
locked away in his solitude, regretting, as always, not having been able to have a life like
everyone else while he saw how time slipped through his fingers like water.

If only Ginny hadn't died.

He thought that at least a hundred times a day, whether he was brushing his teeth or signing
papers at the office.

All in all, he wished his wife hadn't left him alone, because she was the most human part of
him, if we were being honest.

Now he felt like a damn caged animal…

When he realized how much his hands were shaking, he pulled out his notepad, ordered a
new coffee, and hastily wrote down things that interested him if he was really going to do
this:

1.- YOUNG.

He circled it and highlighted it several times.

Harry Potter was thirty-five years old now and his wife was thirty-two at the time of her
death. James and Albus were small and very demanding, so he couldn't expect much from an
"autumn flower" like Madame Brown, who was basically just there to make sure they didn't
turn into wild children.

He wanted someone who could keep up with them, no matter what, and be able to handle any
situation.

Even if something were to happen to him one day and his children were to be left in the care
of this new person, under the Weasleys' tutelage, of course, it was better if it was someone
young, capable of lasting them a long time (Harry Potter, what are you thinking?).

If he got a little clever, his notes would even serve a double purpose, which he wrote in
capital letters on the side of the sheet: "REASONS WHY I SHOULD FIRE MADAME
BROWN."

He laughed at the thought and the girl who filled his cup looked at him strangely. He was
fascinated that the younger the people around him were, the less dazzled they seemed at the
idea of ​meeting Harry Potter, the Chosen One.

2.- WITH CHARACTER.

That had been the main problem with Miss Summers: from the moment he saw her arrive,
Harry noticed an incredible lack of attitude in her. She was submissive by nature, clearly, an
omega, and he didn't want that.

Ginny had had a very strong personality and perhaps that contributed to Harry falling in love
with her.

He didn't want to share his last name with someone who reminded him of a hamster left out
in the rain.

Also, he was constantly getting into trouble and Miss Summers gave him the impression that
she didn't have the strength to cope.
What would they do the day Harry ended up in St. Mungo's with his intestines hanging out
(again) and his legal guardian had to make decisions for him? Surely that poor softie would
fall apart and he didn't want that.

He needed someone to comfort his children, not an individual who needed to be comforted.

What else, what else?

3.- INTELLIGENT.

Did it really matter?

If he thought about it, of course it did: he didn't want to spend the rest of his life tied to an
idiot turkey.

Why it would last the rest of his life? Because this would be a marriage of convenience.
Convenience for him and his children, so he wasn't going to get out of it at the first
opportunity because he had already done that with the corresponding nannies who hadn't
been able to keep up with the Potter house.

That's why he needed this person to know, from the beginning, what he was getting into and
to enter into the deal of his own free will.

Of course, if he was intelligent, he would know from the beginning the great benefits he
could get out of all this, not just food and shelter, as Hermione had told him, although, yes,
basically...

He needed this person not to have the stupid hope (like Miss Summers) that Harry would one
day come to love her, because that was never going to be the case.

But the passing of months and dates only made one thing clear to him: perhaps this ridiculous
thing would never happen because he didn't seem to want to let it (maybe it was his fault
because he was the one who didn’t want to).

Harry met a few more women, even a few men, omegas, but he didn't like them because none
of them gave him enough confidence to make him think they could be allowed to live in his
house, with his children, forever.

As a man and as an alpha he could have lost his mind after his wife's death, but it was on her
behalf that he didn't want to make a mistake in this regard. Ginny, at least, deserved that
Harry take into account the kind of person to whom he would open the doors of his home
(although never his heart. That was closed forever and he knew it perfectly).
If he had given in to all this, it was because he believed that James and Albus deserved a
maternal figure beyond the care of his grandmother, his aunts and that horrible governess that
he had been forced to accept under his roof because, otherwise, he would have found himself
with his feet nailed to England, where he did not want to be.

Everyone he had meet so far seemed like the wrong person, so if he didn't like them at first
glance, he would just turn around and walk away, because he didn't need to waste his time or
theirs.

It was worse when one of those poor losers couldn't handle the rejection and started a rumour
(which was true) that Harry Potter was trying to get back into the game by delving into the
dark world of pen-pal dating.

The gossip raged like a pile of hay with a torch thrown on it, and if his already mediocre
attempt at finding a partner, without names involved, had attracted a lot of attention, once this
information was revealed to the media, he started receiving owls every day from lunatics who
swore that they were soul mates.

It was disastrous and horrible, embarrassing and humiliating in more ways than one, and
Harry ended up detesting even more those who had put the idea into his head that he should
remarry.

He wished he could throw himself off a fifth floor when he remembered the exact moment
when he began to give in to the pressure.

It's all because of James and Albus, it's all because of James and Albus, he repeated over and
over again while he massaged his temples in disgust, they deserve something better, a normal
family, someone who is there to take care of them all the time when I can't do it myself...

Hermione, who believed that more candidates in the raffle would be the perfect opportunity
for Harry to stop fooling around once and for all, was very irritated the afternoon she showed
up at his office at the Ministry of Magic and discovered that Harry was throwing all the
letters, notes, gifts, flower arrangements and boxes of chocolates into the trash without even
paying attention to them.

“You're not taking any of this seriously!” her friend scolded him, beginning to pace around
the room like a caged lion.

Harry glared at her resentfully.

Lately, that was the only way he could look at her.

“Do you think any of these idiots are taking this more seriously than me?” He shouted, letting
out all his frustration. Hermione jumped. “They've sent me dozens of packages contaminated
with Amortentia! The last letter had a binding with animal bones and human hair!” He let her
know, inserting the pen violently into the inkwell, which splashed a little.

Hermione's eyes widened upon hearing this.

“What the hell do you want me to do?” He asked rudely, ignoring the pile of papers on his
table, which he still hadn't finished checking because the mail tube kept throwing package
after package at him, so he was thinking of blocking it. “Marry the first bore who walks
through that door and proposes to me? Sure! I give you my word. I'll do that!”

Hermione, exhausted, dropped her arms to her sides.

“No one is asking you for any of that!” she exclaimed, her nerves on edge as much as he was.
“No one expects to force you to do anything you don’t want to do! In fact, if you want, forget
about marriage!” She covered her eyes with her hands for a moment, taking a deep breath.
Harry thought it was too late to take that escape route and maybe she was just mentioning it
because she knew. He hated her twice as much for it. “Leave aside the subject of dating, of
couples, of parenthood, of James and Albus… Harry, just…” Her voice took on an almost
pleading tone as she stood in front of him, between the two chairs in front of his desk. “Go
back to your old self, okay? Go out with us again, with Ron and me, like in the past. Let’s
have fun!” It is very painful for us to see every day how you throw a little more of your life
into the dumpster.”

She remained silent, looking at his face, showing him the palms of her hands in an attitude of
surrender because she did not know what else to say.

For once in her life, that woman had been left speechless, there, standing in Harry's small
circular office, incredibly congested with his boxes full of papers and rare objects that he
used to detect black magic.

Hermione, his best friend, who had achieved an infinity of feats over the years and who right
now saw him with the eyes of that girl desperate to prove that she could be a great witch
whom Harry met many years ago.

He really hated her as he had never hated her, not even when she was trying hard to be
especially annoying.

And he no longer used the word "hate" as an exaggeration: in truth they caused him aversion,
a dislike so deep, that he could not tolerate being near them.

He was very afraid of feeling those kinds of things because, basically, his victory over
Voldemort had been based on the love he could feel for others, whether he knew them or not,
and Ginny's departure had taken away even that, which was the best inheritance his mother
could have left him when she sacrificed her life for his.

He didn't want to feel this way, but he couldn't help it: it was unfair that life had taken so
much from him when he gave everything to others with open hands without asking for
anything in return.

Harry had once sacrificed himself in the name of humanity. Why hadn't he been allowed, as a
reward, to keep his wife and his idea of ​a happy family?

Why was he always the one who ended up losing everything when everyone else had perfect,
normal lives, no matter what?
Easy for you to say, isn't it? The love of your life is waiting for you at home every day, so you
can ask for stupid things like that lightly because you don't know what it's like to be torn
apart from the inside out. Damn you!

But of course he didn't say any of that to her.

“I'm getting married” he informed, rolling his eyes with irony, noticing the exact moment in
which she became defensive. “I'm going to find this "wonderful" person that everyone thinks
is out there, waiting for me to take off the blindfold and show me that life can be beautiful
again, but you know what? Maybe when that happens and I go back to being the Harry that
you've been waiting for, I won't want you around anymore, because, tell you what? I'm
disgusted by the way you all pretend to care about me without really knowing what I'm going
through” he let his words take effect and felt victorious when he saw her blink to remove the
moisture from her eyelashes. “How's Ron, by the way? I bet he's alive and kicking, taking
care of your daughter while you come and waste time here, playing at doing "important
things"” he drew quotation marks in the air with his fingers.

Hermione's eyes were filled with tears and her cheeks were very red.

She pointed a finger at him.

"You're a wretch!" she said, barely audible, before turning and walking out briskly.

Although Harry had never been very good at the art of Legilimency, he didn't need it to know
the string of rude things the woman was thinking about him.

He put his quill aside and sighed, leaning back in his chair.

He was shaking in a way that made him want to make himself small and cover himself with a
blanket.

Yes, he had gone too far, but he didn't regret anything either.

It was time for them to open their eyes.

How long would it be before his friendship with Ron and Hermione was ruined forever? It
was obvious that, since Ginny's death, Harry had changed too much and they didn't like him
as much anymore.

Could he stand being completely alone, without having anyone to talk to or share his
misfortunes with?

But it was true: he was fed up with them, just like with the Weasleys, who, without Ginny by
their side, no longer felt like family to him. He was tired of Ron, of Hermione, of Molly, of
Arthur... of his children.

Every day, the desire to kill himself grew stronger.

He looked at the photograph of a smiling Ginny waving at him from its frame, placed on a
corner of the table.
Maybe then I could see you again, my love…

There was a soft knock on his door, causing him to startle and feel worse at being interrupted,
and he thought it was Hermione again, perhaps not having resisted the urge to read him the
riot act before leaving the Ministry.

He took a breath and, tightening his stomach like someone preparing to receive a punch, said:

“Come in!” anxious to discover what else she would have to say to him after the angry way
in which she had left.

But he was disappointed.

It was not Hermione and, when he recognized the person standing under his threshold, his
hand automatically traveled to his wand, in a warning signal.

“How nice to see you again, Mr. Potter” said the viperous voice of Lucius Malfoy, who
entered his office with his elegant and slow walk. He was dressed in a black robe that, as
always, made his long, almost white, blond hair stand out, which he wore loose over his
shoulders. “It's been a long time.”

Harry made a superhuman effort to overcome the bitter surprise, although his brow remained
furrowed throughout.

He took his hand away from his wand, thinking that Lucius would not be capable of doing
something stupid in the middle of the Ministry of Magic, but, for heaven's sake, this man was
not good news.

What the hell did he want?

"May I?" Lucius asked, holding the back of the chair in front of Harry.

Harry made an exasperated face, not caring that his bad mood and lack of education were
noticeable, and nodded.

Lucius Malfoy had to be one of the most pretentious people he had ever met. He was Arthur
Weasley's enemy par excellence and, for that reason, Harry had always detested him, and
because of him, in her second year at Hogwarts, Ginny had had a terrible experience that had
linked her to Tom Riddle, or, rather, Lord Voldemort.

That had marked her forever and Harry could not forgive either of them for it.

Then, to make matters worse, when Voldemort came back "from the dead" with the help of
his minions, Lucius Malfoy was quick to join their ranks, denoting his loyalties in a war that
was soon unleashed.

In the end, he had lost his nerve and sided with Harry... or something like that.

That is to say, it was more or less thanks to him and his wife, Narcissa, that Harry had come
out of the last war unscathed.
After the trial, where they were declared innocent by the skin of their teeth, they had fled
England to where only they knew, although Harry, being the incredible Auror that he was,
had always known their whereabouts: after fleeing their homeland in a hurry, they settled in
Poland. They lived there for a while, quietly, until it was time to return, a few years ago.

Harry had completely forgotten about them, to tell the truth. They had kept such a low profile
from the start, that they were not at all interesting compared to other ex-Death Eaters.

"To what do I owe the misfortune of your visit, Malfoy?" he asked, testing the ground, not
caring about false courtesies.

He did not owe Lucius Malfoy any kind of respect. Because of him, during the war, many
lives were lost. His house served as a hideout for Lord Voldemort. Harry and his friends were
tortured there mercilessly. Just because the law had exonerated them didn't mean Harry did
either, though he owed his life to Narcissa Malfoy, who had lied for him in the final battle.

Lucius closed his eyes for a moment, sighing wearily.

He looked better than the last time Harry had seen him, several years ago, when he had
looked like a walking corpse.

Damn coward.

If it weren't for Harry and his people, this entire wretched family would be dead right now,
and Lucius seemed to know that better than anyone.

He placed his gloved hand on the snake's head that crowned his cane, and Harry watched as
he parted his lips as he began to utter his ramblings.

"Before I say anything else (and I hope you don't take this as an insult, but rather as a simple
courtesy), I wish to offer my condolences on the passing of your wife," he said, speaking
very softly, knowing that his words would have exactly the opposite effect on Harry, who
sometimes couldn't even tolerate Ginny's name being mentioned by his own family, much
less by someone like Malfoy.

He slammed his fist on his desk, about to jump on him, but Malfoy didn't even blink, instead
continuing to speak:

"Without further ado, the truth is, Potter, I've come here to make you a proposition," and he
lowered his head, showing him part of his neck in submission, a gesture that, on the part of
one alpha to another alpha, meant too much.

Harry momentarily forgot his anger in favor of his curiosity, which was a big change because
it had been a long time since he felt this stimulated by anyone.

"What kind of 'proposition' can an ex-Death Eater make me?" he enjoyed seeing him wince.

Could it be that he had gotten into trouble serious enough to need the support of an Auror?
Would this become one of those extreme missions that he liked so much and that consumed
his time in such a way that it prevented him from thinking about other things?
If only.

Malfoy slowly lifted his face and met his eyes, revealing for the first time the spark of
concern that framed his own.

Harry felt his stomach rumble in anticipation, hoping it was something good: dark arts,
family curses, enchanted objects, old feuds between powerful families obsessed with blood
status…what had Lucius Malfoy brought to his table today?

“As you know, Potter, I have a son” he said, speaking very softly, as if he wanted to avoid
scaring a dangerous animal.

Harry rolled his eyes. What did he care about Lucius Malfoy's offspring?

“Uh-huh” he muttered, trying to hurry him along.

Lucius pursed his mouth a little and Harry enjoyed seeing the way he tried to hide his
exasperation at his lack of cooperation.

“Omega”.

“Yes, and?”

“Twenty years, never been courted by an alpha. Well-educated, top of his class at Hogwarts,
with a wonderful endowment” Malfoy recited as if he had memorized it or was constantly
repeating it to him as a review of his achievements.

After everything he had done to ensure that this child survived, of course even hearing him
breathe should be a cause for celebration for them.

Harry began to play with his falcon quill, caressing it with one finger, rolling it in the inkwell.

“Yes, of course: a little prince raised in silk sheets, conceited, spoiled and overprotected,” he
murmured, still not following the thread of anything, simply because he was not interested
unless it was something that could represent a challenge for him and his magic. “It is obvious
that our idea of ​fatherhood does not fit, Malfoy.

Although, of course, his involved ignoring his children for months if necessary.

Lucius sighed and Harry had the impression that he was giving up a battle, although he
would not retreat until he exposed his issue, apparently, out of mere pride.

“I was hoping that, since the news that you are looking for a new marriage has begun to
spread through magical society, you would take Draco into consideration,” he cleared his
throat, since his voice had suddenly become hoarse. He sat up very slowly, looking him in the
eyes with some reproach, "but I see that the past experiences between us will prevent you
from doing it in a good light. I'm sorry for wasting our time. If you'll excuse me, Potter."

Harry watched him walk towards the door and, although the more rational part of his head
told him to scoff and let him go, another, the one that had an incredible desire to self-destruct,
was stronger and made him open his mouth before Lucius even put his hand on the knob.

Maybe it wasn't a dangerous mission, but it was what he had been waiting for so that he
could get back at Hermione and a little bit of the Weasleys.

"Wait!" he exclaimed, waving his hand in his direction.

Of course, since Lucius had his back to him, Harry couldn't see him smiling and sighing in
relief.
 Chapter 2

Draco Malfoy was fifteen years younger than Harry Potter.

He was born to parents who believed they would never be able to have children the year The
Chosen One revealed to the wizarding world the return of Lord Voldemort.

Draco Malfoy was a baby of months when Harry Potter sent his father to prison after failing
to steal a certain prophecy and he was barely a year old when Lucius failed again in the
mission to assassinate Albus Dumbledore.

It could be said, in a way, that Draco Malfoy was a hostage in his house, like his mother,
during the time that Voldemort lived there and that it was because of him that Lucius and
Narcissa turned their backs on their Lord when the worst of the war broke out.

It was because of him that Narcissa lied in the Forbidden Forest, making Voldemort believe
that Harry was dead when he was not: the only thing the woman wanted was to get out safely
so she could return home and hold her baby in her arms.

And she succeeded.

(Harry Potter had seen the boy, barely two years old, tiny and swaddled in a black robe,
making noises on a social worker's lap as Lucius and Narcissa stood trial. He remembered
thinking he was too white, sort of like a moonbeam, to be dressed in mourning like his
parents, who were all for show, with black bows in their hair and hairnets dangling from their
hats as they wiped away their tears with knitted handkerchiefs.)

Anyway.

Draco Malfoy didn't remember any of that, which must have been an incredible blessing
because, unlike many, he didn't have nightmares about Lord Voldemort's horrible red-eyed
face or the vestiges of the war.

No.

He had grown up abroad, living a privileged life thanks to his family's fortune, listening to a
slightly distorted version of things.

For him, his parents were victims of the war: since Aunt Bellatrix, Narcissa's sister, was a
fervent follower of the Dark Lord, she involved them with the Death Eaters and, to save their
skin, they had no choice but to play along, although underground they helped The Order of
the Phoenix win the battle. If it hadn't been for them, Harry Potter would possibly be dead
today and all of Great Britain, if not the entire world, would be under the yoke of Lord
Voldemort.

For Draco, his parents were heroes and he never tired of repeating it to anyone who was
willing to listen, because there was no one there to contradict him either.
Shortly before he turned eleven, his letter from Hogwarts came into his hands, where he was
dying to attend to learn magic, so the Malfoys returned to England, where they again
occupied the old house erected by their ancestors, which for Draco represented nothing more
than another symbol of his wealth, although for his parents it was a nest of shocks and chills
when remembering everything they lived there because of the Dark Lord.

Thanks to Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy had had an incredible time at the School of Witchcraft
and Wizardry, since no one was afraid, strange things did not happen and there was no one to
compete against.

Draco, during the seven years he spent there, was a popular boy, recognized and admired by
many both for his performance in magic (which, admittedly, was nothing out of the ordinary,
but he stood out for the wit with which he could use it) and for his money.

Being Slytherin, like everyone in his family, was the best thing that could have happened to
him, to tell the truth, although the house did not enjoy the same reputation that Harry Potter
knew it had during his own time at school.

Harry Potter, Harry Potter, Harry Potter…

Like any child, Draco grew up hearing the name of the hero of the magical world, admiring
him and feeling extremely proud when he learned about the relationship he had with his
parents (as a child, he always fantasized about how things could have been if they had
cultivated that relationship: perhaps Draco would have grown up living around that man,
having a close relationship, which would have been amazing). It never made his tongue scald
to say his name, on the contrary: Harry Potter was incredible and, when Draco finally
introduced himself as an omega, back in his fourth year of school, and continued collecting
magazine clippings where the Auror was mentioned, always accompanied by a photograph,
he also realized that Harry Potter was a rather handsome alpha, capable of making him wet
between the legs just thinking about him.

“It's a pity he's married” it was a refrain that was heard a lot in the school corridors every
time the man with jet black hair and green eyes managed to be on everyone's lips again.

Draco never said it out loud, but he thought it just like everyone else, especially when the
articles had to do with some celebration where, in the moving photographs, you could see the
happy couple, composed of the tall and attractive man, holding the woman with long red hair
by the hand.

When he was widowed two years ago and Draco found out, a handful of emotions knotted in
his chest without him being able to explain it: there was pity there, of course, a little bit of
sorrow, but, above all things, there was a dazzling happiness that made him sit on the edge of
his bed, with his head down, trying to understand it because, as well as good, knowing that
made him feel very bad.

Draco Malfoy, fortunately, had lived an existence thus far in which it was never necessary to
long for someone else's death, so he couldn't understand why Ginny Potter's demise made
him feel such a brutal relief.
In the end, he consoled himself with the thought that he must not be the only one who felt
that way and stopped paying attention to it.

Harry Potter was the golden dream of many people, especially omegas who longed for the
perfect alpha, just like Draco.

It was natural that he had gotten a little carried away.

However, an uneasiness that he was familiar with, but never able to recognize, came back to
him with the gossip about Harry Potter looking to marry again.

“If I was still single and less pregnant than I am now,” Pansy told him one afternoon as they
drank tea on Draco’s terrace, nibbling on a strawberry-filled tart, “I’d fight my way up that
pole. Tooth and nail,” she added, somewhat vehemently, making him laugh, though without
amusement. “It’s on my bucket list: to know what it feels like to fuck Harry Potter.”

Draco took a sip from his cup, trying not to burn his lips with the hot liquid, and Pansy
watched him through her lashes with her deep green eyes. A couple of pink spots had
appeared on his cheeks and it was obvious that he was trying to make them disappear with
sheer force of will.

The ever-blushing, virgin and omega Draco Malfoy…

Though his friends had tried to convince him to flirt a little with some alphas at school, Draco
never did, which had given him a bit of a reputation as a prude. That had only been made
worse by the fact that his parents were overly protective of him, serving as chaperones at
every party he was invited to, hovering over him like a pair of hawks protecting their child's
chastity.

It was so old-fashioned for parents to guard one like that, but the Malfoys were one of those
rare, antiquated pureblood families.

If Draco had accidentally gotten pregnant at school, Pansy couldn't imagine what the Malfoys
would have done (although she did it often and laughed her head off).

"You should try it, darling," she said suddenly, making him jump so much that Draco nearly
spilled his drink on his robes. "At this age, you should be being courted by at least a couple
of alphas, but you've never allowed it. You're causing a stir." She was mocking him even
though she was passing it off as genuine interest. "First they'll whisper that you prefer betas
because you can't please an alpha, then if you take longer than thirty, they'll make up that you
prefer omegas. You don't want that, do you? To see your reputation ruined like that?" She
made a curious gesture with her brown eyebrows. "What? Do you have a fiancé on the other
side of the planet that you're faithful to and you haven't told me?"

Draco grew uncomfortable.

“It's nothing like that” he answered, trying to modulate his tone to hide the nervousness that
suddenly affected him. “No one attracts me, that's all. No alphas, no betas and much less
omegas” he shuddered with repulsion at the mere idea.
Many omegas of good lineage fell into that, unfortunately. Forced to marry alphas they did
not love, many times only for the purpose of securing a good position in society, if they
needed to satisfy themselves beyond the marital sheets, they could get involved with some
common beta, of those that abounded in the service of an alpha's house, and, if they wanted
to maintain decorum and were not afraid of committing taboo, they could opt for an omega of
their own class, even.

Omegas. Silent, delicate, soft. Without minds of their own or even souls in the eyes of the
general public. Incapable of doing anything with each other other than touching each other to
give themselves a little pleasure and hope.

Draco had always thought that lying with another omega was pathetic, like giving up on life
without a fight.

He had heard that an omega male and an omega female could have a good time, but still, as
they looked into each other's eyes and shared the touch of their skin between them, didn't
they go crazy for the touch of an alpha, as their most primitive nature dictated?

Pansy nodded, making a face of disgust to empathize with him.

"All alphas are disgusting, aren't they? Even the ones that don't seem like they are," she
commented in her nasal voice. "But you can't keep wasting your time. The young alphas who
courted you at Hogwarts forgot about you because you never paid attention to them and now
you only have the old ones left." She twisted her mouth in disgust, just like him. "Those are
like dogs after a bone, Draco. If your parents didn't have so much power (and by power I
mean money), one of those pigs would have already sunk their teeth into you. Whether you
wanted it or not," she added, trying to be unpleasant.

Draco's stomach turned and he was unable to continue drinking the sugary tea.

Yes, what she was telling him was true.

He was twenty years old and in this world he lived in, he should already be married, like her,
or at least with a couple of prospects. If he didn't get pregnant before he was twenty-five,
they would start to consider him a defective product, like so many others, and the gossip
would start.

That was how it was in his social stratum.

But he was in no hurry, just like the others. It wasn't that he dreamed of the house and the
children, only of the alpha...

He dreamed a lot about one in particular.

All his heats so far had been poems written on his skin with a very special dedication to
Harry Potter.

Maybe he was crazy.

Maybe he had let a teenage romance go too far.

It was just that, now that Ginny Potter was dead, what had once seemed like a dream had
become a possibility. He just didn't know how to approach it without feeling like he was
making a fool of himself.

For one thing in particular.

It happened at the Winter Ball of his fourth year at Hogwarts, where Harry Potter was a
special guest.

There were so many people there, and everyone was crowding around like a pack of hounds
to meet him, that Draco decided it would be best to remain modest and stay away. Maybe,
another time, he would have the chance to go over and say hello, since he thought he would
lose his dignity if he joined the crowd of curious onlookers who wouldn't let him take a sip of
wine in peace.

Then someone made a joke that The Chosen One should take his wife out dancing.

"Oh, no!" Ginny Potter replied with an embarrassed smile. "Harry's a terrible dancer!"

His female fans responded with boos, and someone suggested he bring someone else out. A
joker —perhaps Blaise Zabini, whom Draco had rejected as a partner because he didn't like
the idea of ​being near an alpha who had recently shown up— grabbed Draco by the shoulders
and threw him onto Potter's back. Potter stumbled, but still turned with great reflexes to catch
him before he fell, saving him from what would have been a hard thud against the stone floor.

"I'm sorry, I don't dance," he said somewhat brusquely, annoyed by the wine stain on the front
of his elegant evening suit, and Draco felt his face burning with embarrassment under the
white lights.

So damn close, with a strong, warm hand gripping his wrist and a wonderful smell filling his
nostrils…

Ginny Potter giggled, covering her lips with her fingers.

"It was just a misstep," Draco excused himself, his head floating, freeing himself from the
grip of that hand, although his mind was asking him for the opposite, to leave with a brisk
pace because he was short of breath.

The next morning, his hormones exploded for the first time and he was confined to a bed in
the infirmary with a very high fever and a single need: Harry Potter between his legs.

He had never dreamed of presenting himself as an alpha because something deep inside him
told him that he would be an omega, but he never believed that his first heat would be
triggered by someone else.

Much less by an alpha much older than him and married to someone else.

He became too depressed and it was hard for him to get out of it, but, fortunately, that feeling
helped him not to fall into the same trick as Pansy: throwing himself into the arms of the first
alpha who spoke nicely to him believing that he was the love of his life only to discover how
wrong he had been.

No, Draco was fine like this, really.

Whatever people said about him, he didn't care. He was far above anyone, even the impulse
to do exactly what Pansy was suggesting: stand in front of Harry Potter now that he was a
free alpha, offering himself, body and soul, because some little part of his head wanted him
to.

No, no.

If it had to happen, it would be another way.

…and, thankfully, that "other way" happened to be his father throwing him into Potter's arms
like that smartass did during the Winter Ball.

"I know we didn't consult with you, Draco, and that it would have been the polite thing to do,
but I'm afraid it seemed like the right thing to do under the circumstances," his father said,
breaking him out of his reverie, for, apparently, they had been talking for a long time about
something that Draco hadn't been paying attention to because he was lost in his thoughts.

That had been the case ever since Pansy's visit, whose voice echoed in his head with an
ominous tone saying you should try, you should try, you should try...

And succeed, damn it! No "I'm sorry, I don't dance" this time.

Draco looked at Lucius, with grey eyes identical to his father's, pushing a lock of platinum
blonde hair behind his ear, making the tiny silver earring that decorated his lobe tinkle.

"Excuse me, what?" He asked, tilting his head, trying to get the flies out of his mind. "What
should you have consulted me about?"

Lucius and Narcissa, who was sitting across from Draco, exchanged a look and Draco felt
something cold slide down his spine, because he didn't think that so much secrecy could
mean anything good. At least not for him.

It was just that during the last week he had heard the word "marriage" so much for various
reasons, that he had a bad feeling.

"We know that you don't want to get married, Draco," Narcissa said, her soft voice, drawing
his attention. Draco closed his eyes for a moment, fearing the worst. He began to tremble,
losing control of his limbs, "but the proposals you've been receiving for the last year have
kept us on alert, so we decided that the best option for you is to get engaged and this morning
your father spoke with an alpha who is willing to…”

Draco closed his hand in a fist on his leg, feeling like his soul was going to leave his mouth.

“What alpha?” he interrupted hastily. His voice was higher than normal.
“He may not be the most orthodox person for you, but I assure you that we thought about it a
lot before deciding” said Lucius, using that condescending little tone of voice that Draco
hated so much because it made him feel like a stupid boy.

“What alpha?” he repeated, serious to such a degree that his father let out a sigh.

Could it be one of those bastards who kept writing to him? One of those old men Pansy told
him about?

If so, I'm going to cut my throat and throw myself off the balcony, I swear.

“Harry Potter” answered Narcissa, without beating around the bush.

For Draco it was as if time had stopped. He sat there, in his chair, with his mouth open and,
without a doubt, an expression of stupidity. The mask of the most perplexed disbelief. The
ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece seemed very distant, as did the crackling of the flames
on the palo santo logs used to perfume the dining room.

So whatever weight there might have been on his chest at the news that Potter was looking
for a new wife vanished like smoke being blown away by the wind.

He exhaled, and when he filled his lungs again, it was like he was breathing for the first time
in his life.

So this was what it meant to be an omega, huh? Filled from head to toe with a longing that
couldn't be satisfied unless it was done by the right person. And, for him, the right person
would always be Harry Potter.

He covered his face with his hands and let his head fall, burying his chin in his chest as his
parents' worried gazes gave him time to compose himself.

"Did he accept?" he asked, his voice shaking.

Lucius frowned.

"That's right," he replied. "We'll agree on a date soon. All he asked for was a simple
ceremony, without too much fuss, out of respect for the memory of his wife and his children,
who are still young."

To hell with that!

Draco could do it. Draco could give him anything he asked for, no matter how stupid and
banal it was. He could have gotten married under a bridge if Potter had asked him!

Of course he would have liked a full-blown celebration, going all out, but the truth was that
he didn't care about any of that.

He won!

He got his way!

Harry Potter belonged to him!

He couldn't help but feel his whole body vibrate with excitement.

Harry Potter! He was going to marry Harry Potter!

“Oh my God, yes!” he exclaimed, looking at his parents with eyes soaked with pure emotion,
startling them a little, making them exchange a new look of concern. “Anything, anything he
wants, yes!” He stood up and went to kiss each one on the cheek, looking at them with a
devotion that he had never experienced in his life, which also left them stunned. “Thank
you!” and he ran out of the dining room with his heart racing because he needed to celebrate
alone.

Lucius and Narcissa looked at each other.

Neither of them understood exactly what had just happened because they thought Draco
would fight back more, especially considering how disgusted he had been when the letters
from all those perverts started arriving, making advances towards him. He had made it clear,
on more than one occasion, that he had no intention of getting married in the near future, no
matter what happened, so both Narcissa and Lucius had known that they would give him a
very hard blow by going to talk to Potter behind his back; that's why his reaction right now
had been the most... disconcerting.

But Narcissa understood him, in a way.

Harry Potter was attractive, rich, famous, successful, recognized, quite a personality
compared to all those old men who could only offer him fortunes and disappointments.

That's why they had been so distressed at the beginning, when they realized that Draco was in
some kind of bet between all those disgusting purebloods, who were fighting each other for
the right to possess him.

Draco had received many proposals since he had become known in society and none seemed
too decorous, since most of them came from alphas with several divorces under their belts, as
well as suspected cases of widowhood.

It had become fashionable among this class of wizards to court young men and obtaining
them was more of a game than anything else.

They used them, broke them and threw them away in the most humiliating ways possible.

Although the Malfoys had managed to protect their son so far, rejecting them all, the letters
did not stop coming and it became particularly annoying when, during a meeting, many of
these alphas rose over Draco like vultures waiting for a victim.

Some tried to overstep their boundaries, touching without permission, making indecent
advances, and Lucius couldn't stand it any longer: he decided that the best way to protect
Draco was to marry him off, but to whom?

Who could be the best prospect?

Lucius and Narcissa knew better than anyone that most pureblood alphas were filthy,
ruthless, cruel, selfish and focused on one thing only: their own satisfaction.

Since the end of the war, they had been hearing more and more stories in their circle of
abused omegas, forced to give birth at the edge of exhaustion and being beaten behind the
scenes.

The most recent and famous example was that of Pansy Parkinson, Draco's best friend, who
had been admitted to St. Mungo's some time ago due to a miscarriage (everyone knew that
said event was the fault of a beating given to her by her husband, a successful jeweler with a
terrible temper). Now she was pregnant again, and you only had to look at her face to see
how little enthusiasm she had for it.

Sometimes Narcissa thought she could see in her a tremendous desire to stab herself in the
jugular with a fork, but her greed was much greater than her death urges, thank God.

Since neither Lucius nor Narcissa were ready to see Draco in the clutches of one of those
alphas who were after him after having moved heaven, earth and sea during the war to keep
him safe, they had begun to look for better options for him, but none seemed to be enough,
since every damn alpha they investigated, without exception, had a shady story behind them.

It was then that the rumors that Harry Potter was trying to get married again began to sound
and Lucius did not have to think twice: who could be a better option for his son than the
savior of the magical world?

Although, of course, in that sense the only thing that played against him was the fact that
Potter despised them, since he was quite influenced by those Weasleys, lovers of muggles
and mudbloods.

However, he wished time had cleared those waters between them: the Malfoys had been
behaving well the last few years and had not gotten into any kind of scandal since the trial.
They had lived in peace abroad, raising their son, until it was time to return.

They made donations, paid taxes, participated in charity events, had a model child, a
perfectly raised omega…

Surely Potter would be able to give them that, right?

And he had, because he had accepted Draco's hand almost without hesitation, although
Lucius had sensed some misgivings on his part at first.

When Potter called him, he gave the impression that he was thinking something unpleasant,
but the important thing was that he did what Lucius wanted, accepting Draco as a prospect,
which would keep the other alphas at bay because no one would want to offend Harry Potter
by courting his omega right under his nose.

It would be a matter of hoping that he wouldn't back out, but, with the kind of freaks that
were being offered to him, he doubted that would happen.
Weasley was already a rather precarious option that he possibly accepted only out of
commitment to that family, which practically adopted him after his arrival in the magical
world.

Both Narcissa and Lucius hoped that Draco would know how to play his cards right for his
own good: behave like a good omega, giving Potter's alpha everything he could want from
him, get pregnant quickly and bind him to his side forever with a bite.

Neither of them was an idiot, though: they had known Potter since he was a child, interacting
with him for one reason or another, and they knew perfectly well that his heart was not easily
accessible.

A love like the one he had with Ginny Weasley would be difficult to overcome, especially
judging by the dead look Lucius saw in him when he visited him.

Neither of them expected much. Neither of them wanted him to fall madly in love with
Draco: they just wanted him to treat him well. To give him the home and children that any
omega could wish for, without daring to lay a hand on him in a fit of rage or give in to his
low alpha instincts, using him in a vile way to satisfy himself.

Draco deserved someone who treated him like a human, not like a trophy to show off.

Maybe Potter would never come to love him like he loved Ginny Weasley, but surely, with
time, he would have some affection for him and that would be good.

Draco could live his life as he pleased, without submitting to anyone.

Freedom.

That was what they were giving him by pushing him into Potter's arms.

Narcissa sighed.

“Perhaps I should speak to him and explain not to expect too much,” she said, disappointed
by how things had turned out for her son during the period in which he had lived, but
relieved, at least, that the mere name of Harry Potter next to his own offered him the same
security as a protective shield.

Narcissa found him writing letters in his room, obviously with the intention of letting his
friends know the good news.

Draco must have been as relieved as they were to marry the hero of the wizarding world after
months of harassment by those creepy ravens.

Narcissa sighed, sitting on the edge of his bed with a flutter of her skirt.

“Don’t you think you’re getting too ahead of yourself?” she asked softly. “Even though he
told your father that they would choose a date, Potter would continue to court for a while,
from what he gave Lucius to understand. Looking at options. You'd better not get too excited
too soon, because you might end up…”

Draco interrupted her, still writing. His back was very straight, and his hair, which reached to
his shoulder blades, fell over the back of his chair like a white curtain.

He didn't look much like Lucius, but neither did he look like her. The beauty he possessed
was all his own, and Narcissa had always been very grateful for it.

She had always felt that her own face was a little sad, especially with that combination of her
colors: pale, light blonde, and blue-eyed. That fact worried her for a long time, considering
the Blacks' tendency to depression. She, side by side with the dark-haired, dark-eyed
Bellatrix, was like a grim reaper shining against the black backgrounds that surrounded her,
so she feared a little for Draco when she saw him born as a little thing as pale as she and his
father, perhaps with a bit of his faded expression and Lucius's sharp eyes.

But Draco had made his own life, shining in the darkness of his name like the snow at dusk
or the moon peeking through storm clouds.

She was proud of him and hoped that Draco knew that everything they had done since his
birth had been to give him the best opportunities, even if they had made a lot of mistakes in
the process.

Could this all be a mistake too? Oh, but purebloods lived in a horrible, devastating world.
They could be pretty vile, and they knew that better than anyone.

Narcissa had long feared the worst for Draco from one of those mindless alphas, so this was
the best option.

Even if Potter never came to love him, the protection of his family name would be enough to
keep Draco safe from harm, she was convinced of that.

But like any mother, she wanted to have hope, just as she wanted to trust in that heart that had
beaten with a strong, violent rhythm under her palm in the middle of the Forbidden Forest.

Potter… he wasn't a bad guy, despite all his misfortunes.

"Let him court whatever he wants: in the end he'll choose me. I'm the best option," Draco
answered with complete confidence, not letting himself be intimidated by his mother's words.

Narcissa raised an eyebrow.

Draco had never had self-esteem problems. He was as confident as a dragon on the wind and
never doubted his abilities, but the way he made that statement seemed new and perhaps a
little risky, because it implied that Draco had fantasized about this and perhaps his
expectations went far beyond what they were considering.

He never talked much about his personal goals, to the point that both she and Lucius had
thought that he really didn't have any, but could it be that he had been expecting too much
from his married life, just like any omega?
If things went wrong, Narcissa's heart would break.

"What makes you so sure? You could be in for a fiasco if you're not careful," she warned him,
not wanting to see him make one of those youthful mistakes that had doomed her and Lucius
to a rather cruel participation in the war.

"I'm well-born," Draco said, turning in his chair to look at her closely.

He was indeed beautiful and Narcissa could have admired him all night like a diamond on red
velvet.

"His wife was the daughter of the greatest blood traitors in the wizarding world, which means
the alabaster in your cradle is the least of his concerns," she contradicted him, but Draco did
not give up.

"I'm a good omega," he shrugged. "All those alphas fighting over me have made me see that.
Anyone would want me by their side. I'm smart and young. I'm not afraid of anything."

Narcissa made a noise that sounded like a laugh between her lips. Suddenly she felt like she
was talking to the six-year-old Draco who was just getting to know the world through
childish eyes.

Was this how birds felt when their chicks were about to leave the nest?

It would hurt her greatly to see him leave this place to become a married man, but it was
something that had to happen, because it was the inevitable course of life.

“Because, my son, you have known nothing, so there has never been anything before your
eyes to fear,” she thought it was important to say because Draco had indeed been lucky to
never have to face Lord Voldemort as Harry Potter had to do in his teenage years.

Draco cocked his head and it was only then that his eyes took on a certain impatient and
slightly contemptuous glint. However, he looked so determined that Narcissa feared for him.

“What are you trying to make me see, mother?” he asked, dragging out his words. “Do you
think I got too worked up? Well, that's obvious: he's Harry Potter! The Boy Who Lived, the
Chosen One, the Savior of the Wizarding World. Anyone would lose their minds a little at the
prospect of being by his side forever.” As he said it, he avoided his mother's gaze, letting her
see that there was something else behind his words that he wasn't revealing to her.

“I know his whole life as well as anyone else” he continued, not realizing that this wasn't true
because, after all, what one could read in books and magazines wasn't even close to the truth.
“I know that he keeps throwing himself into danger like everyone says he did at Hogwarts
because he enjoys being an Auror. I know that he has enemies and I've even heard that his
character isn't the best.”

Narcissa rolled her eyes because she still remembered that little green-eyed idiot yelling at
her in many of the confrontations they had years ago.
“I don't think he's a prince in white armor or anything like that.” He shook his head as if the
mere idea seemed crazy to him.

He laughed and Narcissa let out a breath.

“I've also heard what everyone says about him and his wife.” Draco paused briefly after
saying that word, as if it seemed bitter to him. Narcissa narrowed her eyes, "that she was his
soulmate and all that, but she's gone now." Again, a pause and a small rise at the edges of his
mouth. "And he deserves not to be alone. I know I can give him the company he needs and
that I will make him love me. I will give him children and he will love them as much as the
ones she gave him. It will be perfect." And, without further delay, he settled back into the
chair to continue writing.

Narcissa stared at him for a long time, enjoying his profile as one enjoys the breath of fresh
air at the top of a slope.

She never noticed. She never suspected. Draco never gave her any reason to do so, because
he was too private with his feelings, keeping them inside with distrust because he considered
that was where he could best protect them.

However, at that moment she could see it and she didn't know how to feel about it, because it
could well be a youthful infatuation or a fire that would feed until it reached unsuspected
limits with the new situation. She just hoped for the best because, apparently, Draco Malfoy
was in love with Harry Potter.
 Chapter 3

Just as Draco had said, Harry Potter had chosen him, so he called Lucius Malfoy to set the
date for the wedding.

Since the Auror had a busy schedule and several trips over the next few months, they couldn't
choose a day off as such, so they ended up agreeing that the arrangement would take place
next week, on Monday morning, which was only three days away.

Lucius Malfoy particularly hated the way Potter insisted on referring to the wedding as a
"formality," almost as if he were buying a countertop and agreeing on the delivery date, but
he didn't say anything because, if it had been up to him, he would have brought Draco to sign
the damned paper right there.

That morning, he had received a letter from Theodore Nott, son of an old acquaintance of his,
requesting "permission" to court Draco (warning him, rather, that he intended to do so,
whether he wanted or not). Lucius was scalded by the memory that Nott's last wife, who had
had omegas enough to throw up, had died under suspicious circumstances by falling out of
her window, so he breathed a sigh of relief when he received the note from Potter, asking him
to meet him at the Ministry.

He knew that the speed of things would generate gossip, especially regarding Draco, but he
didn't care because they wouldn't be the first or the last pureblood family to have a whirlwind
wedding. In fact, with Potter as a groom, it could be quite an interesting thing: the world
would think that he had impregnated him and had to take responsibility. That way he would
be even more protected from anyone who wanted to get their hands on him because nobody
wanted to mess with the pregnant omega of an alpha unless he was trying to die.

However, as soon as he left the Ministry of Magic, he had a public notice printed in The
Daily Prophet that in the afternoon caused such a stir that the patio of his house became a
scene from a horror story with the large number of owls that appeared to deliver letters from
acquaintances and strangers wanting to know more about the situation.

Lucius laughed as he imagined that if things were like this on his side, they must be much
worse on Potter's, and he thought that the ungrateful bastard deserved it for the way he had
him chase him back and forth through the Ministry that morning, because he hadn't been able
to sit down for a single moment to talk like civilized people.

Most of the letters that came to him were threatening, demanding that he reconsider the
situation, all from alphas who had at some point made him overtures regarding his son.

He threw them into the fire without consideration and, just in case, he doubled the wards in
the mansion, especially around the spaces that Draco usually frequented. He closed the floo
network and placed a powerful curse on each cardinal point of his grounds in case someone
wanted to violate the sanctity of his home.

How would Potter react if someone stole his fiancé three days before the wedding?
Lucius was convinced that the idiot would barely lift a finger unless rescuing Draco involved
the possibility of being torn to pieces (and Lucius was sure he would be the one to tear him to
pieces if he refused to keep his son safe).

But best not to think about that.

Draco called Madame Malkin, the owner of the busiest robe shop in Diagon Alley, to get his
wedding trousseau ready.

The woman appeared with a small circle in tow, loaded with measuring tapes, pins, bolts of
fabric, and needles.

The surprising thing was that, although Draco usually had no patience for stools and
posturing, much less for casual chit-chat, at that moment he allowed them absolutely
everything because he loved hearing them say that he was going to marry Harry Potter,
watching them cover their mouths and squeal with excitement like a group of schoolgirls.

His smile, reflected in the full-length mirror in his room, was the most radiant it had ever
been, and it became even more radiant when the dress was finished, white and very long,
displayed on a mannequin in the middle of his dressing room.

He was fascinated by it, but deep down he hoped that it would be his future husband who
would be able to enjoy it.

Just as a personal joke, he asked Madame Malkin to embroider tiny snowflakes on the thick
white fabric to remember that disastrous Yule Ball. The woman fulfilled his every whim,
from the veil to the shoes, and when the work was finished, Draco sat on his stool,
contemplating the robe for a long time, waiting for the moment to come to wear it.

In just a few days he would become Harry Potter's omega and he couldn't contain his
excitement.

He raised his hand in the air, looking at his empty finger, dreaming of the ring he would soon
wear to prove to the world that he belonged to someone.

He couldn't handle the excitement. He even thought he might die of happiness.

He wished that time would pass as quickly as possible...

Monday morning came with a blast of sun on his face and, although he knew he didn't have
to hurry too much because they were only signing a paper, he couldn't help but feel his heart
in his throat as he showered before breakfast.

He was vibrating and, when it was time to get dressed, he was afraid he would vomit.

Looking at the beautiful robe waiting for him on the mannequin, he remembered the exact
tone of Harry Potter's voice, which he had heard six years ago in the middle of a very
crowded room, and a shiver ran down his spine.
What if… he changed his mind and told everyone that he didn’t want to marry him?

“No, no, don’t be an idiot,” he told himself, trying to keep his nerves under control.

Potter had chosen him for a reason. If he had decided to share his life with him, it was
because he knew that Draco was the best of his options, so the best thing he could do for both
of them was to come to him with a good attitude.

Waving his wand, he stripped and, in front of the mirror, put on the white robe, which bathed
him like a shower of light composed of disembodied droplets.

Once he had it on him, tight to his body like a glove, a strange warmth filled his chest and
made him feel dizzy, realizing that he was finally reaching a moment in his life that, without
knowing it, he had been waiting for with great eagerness, so he was very, very happy and
grateful that things turned out the way they did. He took a second to compose himself,
tucking his wand into his belt.

The sleeves of his robes hung to the floor and dragged along with the skirt with each step he
took. He walked a little, rehearsing to prevent any accidents because he didn't want to make a
fool of himself on the most important day of his life.

He was spraying perfume on his neck when Pansy appeared in the doorway of the dressing
room and froze under the lintel.

"My God, look at you!" She covered her face with her hands and, against all odds, burst into
tears, groping for a stool to fall on and sob to her heart's content.

Draco, who knew that her emotional state was the fault of her pregnancy, let her be, finishing
getting ready in a hurry, before going to her and giving her a kiss on the top of her head.

“I told you not to come,” he reminded her, although, deep down, he was very happy to have
her there so he could show her off his suit. “They agreed that it will be something simple, so
it will only be my parents and the witnesses. Apparently Potter has to rush off to Auvergne
after the ceremony, so it will be something rather quick.” This had made him a little sad, but
what could he do? They would plan the honeymoon when he returned. “From here to the
registry and from the registry,” he smiled without being able to help it, letting happiness light
up his face, “to my new house.”

He hadn’t packed much because he planned to buy quite a few new things, but the little he
had packed was arranged in some suitcases stacked by the dressing room door.

He had been a little worried about not knowing where Potter lived, but at the same time, he
liked the expectation, because he was sure it would be a fabulous place that he could adapt to
himself.

He would use the days they were apart to make this place his new home, and when Potter
came back, they would go on a vacation to be alone. Maybe to France or Spain, maybe across
the ocean for a change.
Pansy grabbed his hand and squeezed it, looking into his eyes.

“I can’t believe it,” she said. “Can you? A few weeks ago you were horrified at the idea of ​
marrying an old man, and now you’re going to marry a guy almost twice your age, but who
has always managed to turn you on.”

Draco felt himself blush from his chest to his forehead and slapped her away.

“For God’s sake, shut up!” he exclaimed, embarrassed.

Pansy laughed even though her face was still soaked in tears.

“Did you think I didn’t know?” she asked, frowning in mockery. “You were his number one
fan!” If they had sold merchandise with his image on it, you would have bought it all. She
rolled her eyes and then looked at his face sweetly. And now you're going to marry him.
What kind of spell did you use? Tell me”.

Draco looked at the ceiling, shaking his head.

“I swear I don't know! But this must be the biggest stroke of luck I've ever had in my life and
I'm really scared I'll end up paying dearly for it!” he admitted, because he hadn't stopped
thinking about it all morning, as if the enormous happiness he was feeling today had to be
compensated for in some way afterwards.

Could it be a feeling? A premonition? Or was it just that all this was too new and exciting?

Pansy swallowed and touched his face, not letting him go down that path.

“You really were lucky, Draco,” she said, taking on a very serious tone. “But… he's an alpha.
And no matter who he is, in the end, all alphas are the same. I want… I want you to
remember that, okay?” He frowned, wetting his throat. “That they always have something
horrible behind them that can't be seen with the naked eye, but it's there. That's why I came. I
realized I hadn't told you and I wanted to do it before…" She placed her hand on her belly,
which protruded from beneath her emerald green robes.

Pansy was not a victim and she was not a poor girl either.

If she had wanted to, she could have poisoned her abusive husband long ago, freeing herself
from him and his abuse, but she endured it because that was the card she had been dealt, like
many other pureblood omegas.

However, Draco was sure that he had been dealt the best of the games.

His alpha was the best of them all and, by his side, Draco would feel more complete than
ever.

"It's Harry Potter, Pansy," he reminded her, as if she could have forgotten. "Harry Potter.
He's different. He's… another kind of alpha, I can assure you." He smacked his lips,
regaining his good spirits, leaving his doubts behind. "And I promise you that it will be
perfect."
I'll have what she left behind, he thought, not daring to say it out loud because, in a way, he
was still afraid of offending the memory of the deceased who had had everything at the side
of the man Draco loved.

Draco would keep everything that Ginny Potter could no longer enjoy: the smiles of his alpha
hidden in his hair, the warmth of his hands on his body, the softness of his lips and the
whisper of his words full of love.

He would keep her children, about whom he had not thought much yet, although he did know
that he did not intend to be a cliché of a stepfather. He would treat them well and, when his
own children arrived, he would not push them aside. He would treat them as his own, if that
would make his alpha happy and that was what he needed right now: someone to give them
back the feeling of home that they had lost two years ago.

He knew it would not be easy, given the way things were going, but he wanted to have faith.

A lot of faith.

“He’s going to love me, Pansy. I know it.” Just as much or more than he loved her.

Pansy smiled at him, though her mouth twisted a little, considering.

She took one of Draco’s hands and placed it on her belly, where the baby was kicking.

“Yes, well, darling. Sometimes love hurts. And you don’t know how much.”

Harry Potter forgot he was getting married that morning, until Hermione Granger-Weasley
appeared around the corner of a corridor and walked towards him with the gait of a lioness on
the savannah.

It was impressive that, despite Harry being a little more than a head taller than her, she still
managed to intimidate him, since he still remembered her attacking Ron with a thousand
enchanted birds the time he had angered her.

“Harry James Potter!” she growled, with her arms akimbo, accompanied by a violent clicking
of her heels. “You are NOT going to do THIS!” she started to say and Harry, who had been in
the process of eating his breakfast while walking down the hall reading a document, clamped
the toast and black pudding between his teeth, starting to walk backwards before simply
turning and running.

Now what the hell had he done to her?

She had been avoiding him like the plague since the last argument they had had and for her to
appear right now with such an attitude must be for something really…

When he remembered it, he slapped his forehead and checked the gold watch he had in his
pocket, that old, dented gift that Molly Weasley had given him on his seventeenth birthday.
At least he hadn't forgotten the time either and there were only two minutes left.

"Hermione, one day you're going to find out that you're not my mother," he said over his
shoulder, throwing the remains of breakfast into the trash can he trotted past. "I make my
own damn decisions," and, without further ado, he turned on his heels and disappeared.

The soles of his shoes made a clap as they hit the marble floor of the registry office and, once
he recognized its high white walls and blue windows, his heart jumped in his chest and
appeared in his throat, where it stayed beating at a painful and uncomfortable pace.

Not even on his worst mission (the one everyone knew about and for which he had become
famous without meaning to) had he felt like this, perhaps because that time he had been
accompanied, at least, by the ghosts of his loved ones, brought back to his side by the
Resurrection Stone.

However, this time he realized how alone he was when he turned around and saw the
Malfoys standing next to the officiant, a short, elderly, bald man, who looked at him from
behind his glasses with a raised eyebrow, as if he couldn't believe how he had arrived.

Since he worked at the Ministry, this happened to him a lot: he couldn't quite please anyone,
so he had stopped trying a long time ago. In fact, he was sure he had never tried, so he didn't
understand how people, at this point, still felt free to want to admonish him.

"Thank you for joining us, Mr. Potter," the little man said in a raspy voice. “Another couple
of minutes and I would have had to sit down. Punctuality is not a gift that is bestowed upon
everyone”.

Narcissa closed her eyes and exhaled through her mouth, beautiful in a pale blue robe that
swept the floor at her feet. She held Lucius's arm as if it were her anchor.

Harry hadn't seen her in almost two decades and having her there again brought back many
memories, mainly of the Forbidden Forest.

He began to think that none of this was a good idea after all and his mind raced to find a way
to get out of it, but he suspected it was too late.

He knew that these two fools had issued a notice, hence the world had gone mad around him
again, although he had tried not to pay attention to it.

Although he didn't owe anyone anything, he supposed that leaving an omega at the altar
would not be very chivalrous, even if it was the son of the Malfoys, who, now that he
realized, he had only wanted to use to annoy Hermione, which he had succeeded in doing.

If he thought about it, he had only seen him when he was a baby... what if he had inherited
Lucius Malfoy's unfriendly expression?

Damn it, he couldn't tolerate that! In that case, of course, he would run away because he
couldn't spend the rest of his days looking at that stretched face...
He looked at Narcissa, trying to figure out how she had managed to put up with someone like
Lucius for so long, but as soon as their eyes met, he wished he hadn't because there was
something in hers that was too raw, almost pleading, that transported him back to that
moment when the woman's cold hand had slipped under his clothes to feel his chest and
check if his heart was still beating or not.

Seeing her and recognizing the passage of time in her features, he felt like a seventeen-year-
old boy again, clumsy and inexperienced.

Narcissa moved away from her husband's safe arm to walk towards him and, just like with
Hermione, Harry wanted to back away, but he forced himself to stay where he was.

Narcissa stood a hand's length away from him, illuminated by the blue lights that flooded the
place. To Harry's surprise, she reached up to smooth his hair, though her fingers never
actually touched it, perhaps because they knew that getting into that territory was a futile
effort, then brushed the crumbs from his robes and straightened his tie.

He died of embarrassment when he realized that she was grooming him, with her best
maternal airs, so that her son, who was about to marry this disastrous alpha, would not
discover the shirt of eleven yards in which they had put him.

"It's nice to see you again, Mr. Potter," Narcissa told him, speaking in a barely audible
murmur, looking him in the eyes. "You've changed a lot." Harry felt something unpleasant
when he heard those words because that had been his cross since Ginny's death: the change,
an unstoppable metamorphosis that was dragging him through paths he never thought he
would walk. "However, at the same time, you are still that irreverent brat of always. What a
troublemaker”.

Harry, against all odds, smiled, giving her a small nod.

"I'm doing my best," he said clumsily so as not to leave her hanging.

"I would be disappointed if you weren't," Narcissa replied, mimicking his body language,
tilting her head. "I'm putting my heart in your hands today, Mr. Potter. I hope you're aware of
that and, as in everything, do your best," she emphasized her words with such insistence in
her gaze that Harry felt uncomfortable. "Draco is young and inexperienced, a little restless
and perhaps stubborn, but he's not like us."

Harry raised his eyebrows upon hearing her.

How much courage did it take for her to say that?

In a way, hearing her made him feel a little better.

"I'm glad," he answered honestly and she managed to smile although Lucius Malfoy gave
him a look that made him think he wanted to murder him and bury his corpse in a dark
corner.
But, thinking about it, Lucius had been looking at him like that since the day he appeared in
his office to offer him his son's hand in marriage.

Harry didn't mind: he was well aware that it was a strategy on both sides. With this marriage,
he would put an omega in his house, capable of taking care of his children and offering them
the paternal care that no governess could get if she was under the yoke of a salary, and the
Malfoys made sure that their blessing was protected from lascivious alphas twenty-four-
seven, three, six, five.

"Can we begin, please?" the officiant asked, looking at them with a heavy air, attracting them
with gestures of his hands. "Where is the groom?" he made a sign to an assistant who was
waiting by the oak door at the back of the room, almost empty, except for a group of
musicians stationed in a corner, who began to play their violins after quickly taking their
seats.

Harry felt a vein throb in his temple when he was faced with the shrill wails of the
instruments. Who had come up with such a stupid idea?

He looked at the couple in front of him and didn’t have to wonder anymore. He swallowed
the urge to squint, because they were able of bringing also a flower girl (just in case, he
looked around to make sure there wasn’t one).

“Can you not…?!” he exclaimed, grimacing and silencing the musicians with a wave of his
hand.

Lucius laced his fingers together to keep from punching him, which would have been
memorable, perhaps more so than the wedding itself.

The girl from before seemed a little confused by the change in schedule, so she danced on her
feet, peeking again and again into the adjoining room, gesturing and looking over her
shoulder, waiting for directions.

The officiant gestured to her again, letting her know that it was indeed time, and the girl
smiled awkwardly, holding the door open.

Harry was pretty exasperated by this point, hoping to get this pantomime over with as soon as
possible because he had things to do, but then he was hit by an incredibly disturbing reality as
he saw the Malfoy son appear, dressed in a long white robe, turned into anyone's dream.

It was, without exaggeration, like watching a fucking angel emerge from the clouds, a vision
perhaps heightened by the blue lights that flooded the place.

He hadn't expected this, to tell the truth, and it frightened him so much that he thought he
might hyperventilate.

He, as an alpha, had a ketchup stain on his shirt cuff. The Malfoy son, as an omega, was the
most striking and beautiful thing in the entire room, something like a jewel that had become a
person.
Now he understood why his parents were so desperate to get him out of all these indecent
marriage proposals.

He couldn't see his face because it was covered by an opaque veil with tiny embroidered
diamonds, but the mere fact of his presence was enough to freeze him in place.

He was going to marry an omega. Another omega. A male, to boot, something he had no
experience with. And that omega would enter his house and live with his children, becoming
part of his family.

James and Albus would be under the light emanating from this thing that seemed to come
from another world and that there was no way it could combine with them, just as water
could not mix with oil.

That omega, who was about to be chained to him for the rest of his days by signing a paper,
would play the role of his husband before the world, but he would never succeed in replacing
Ginny.

And the mere idea that he would try, that people would believe it, that Harry would have to
allow it, made his heart start beating like crazy, to the point of making him fear having a heart
attack.

The omega walked towards him with an elegant, well-practiced walk, and Harry was left, for
the first time in his life, not knowing what to do to fix things.

IwishGinnywashereIwishIdidn'thavetodothisIdon'twanttoHeavenspleasesomeonesaveme…

Tap, tap, tap.

The omega's shoes made as much noise against the floor as Harry's did, however, their
rhythm was different, harmonious, even though it was just a matter of walking. That creature
was completely in control of his body, unlike Harry Potter, who had no idea where his head
and feet were for a long time.

The omega was in front of him at that moment, face to face, because they were almost the
same size.

Harry was not used to that. His omega was always small and delicate, the perfect
counterpoint to him.

He did not like this change. It made him feel insecure. His hands sweated and, when he
realized that his nervousness could be reflected on his face, he searched, instinctively, for a
way out, but he found none other than to face what was coming.

“You may uncover your omega’s face, Mr. Potter, to begin the ceremony,” the officiant
instructed, impatient as ever.

Harry flinched at the sound of his name.

“Ah! Yes,” he said stupidly as he returned to the world of the living, raising his hands to
direct them to the hem of the heavy veil.

Was he really allowed to touch something so beautiful? Sometimes he hated being that easily
frightened child who shrank into a tiny little boy when Aunt Petunia yelled at him for
accidentally breaking something in her house.

This person would have fascinated his aunt, who collected porcelain figurines that she kept in
a special display case. She would surely have wished with all her heart that she could shrink
him to put next to her antique music box (and would have looked at Harry with contempt for
having the privilege of touching him with his fingers).

Mine. This is going to be mine.

The funny thing was that he could face dark wizards, dangerous creatures, ancient curses and
at that moment he felt just as useless as a little boy who is just getting to know the world
around him.

Although, without a doubt, this wedding was as simple as he had asked for, without any extra
weight, it was proving much more difficult than his wedding with Ginny, which was a piece
of cake, if he thought about it. Quick and fun, designed to enjoy with the family rather than to
tie them for life. This one, on the other hand, had a vibe that indicated "protocol" all over it.

That was what led him to do things without further consideration.

This was not the same as his first marriage, it meant nothing.

It would never mean anything.

It was a silly thing to get rid of many problems and that's it.

He lifted Draco Malfoy's veil like someone discovering an old piece of furniture hidden
under a sheet and had to admit it: in another universe, he would have fallen in love with the
grey eyes that shone like gems and that perfect face that reminded him of a marble statue
placed in a niche to be admired, but, in this one…

In this one, that curious heartbeat that could have meant something had to die quickly,
because Draco Malfoy could not be anything to him other than a convenience.

He was doing this for his children, for his freedom, and nothing more.

"Shall we continue?" he urged the officiant, ignoring the look charged with a powerful
emotion that the boy was throwing in his direction.

Harry tried hard not to look at him again throughout the entire procedure (although he was
dying to).

*
Draco had never imagined that a civil wedding would involve so much paperwork, so he
regretted not having insisted on a more traditional one, one where the vows were read in front
of the guests and then they could celebrate, drinking some wine to forget the stress of the
preparations.

Although, of course, no wizard wedding was the same, so his was special too. In its own way
(one that he couldn't see well).

Did his parents really agree to this? Did they not protest even a little? Draco said he would
accept anything, but this… (Maybe the wedding under the bridge would have been more
interesting).

Fifteen minutes into the ceremony, he felt like he'd signed more documents than he'd ever
seen in his life, and to be honest, he wasn't keeping track of many of them, so much so that he
began to worry that he didn't understand. But fortunately, his father seemed to be keeping
track of everything, judging by the little murmurs he made, as did Narcissa: joint property,
dowries, legal responsibility for minors, commitment of those involved, use and misuse of
the alpha's surname... what?

Why hadn't anyone explained all this to him before he put on his wedding robes? He couldn't
say that he had paid attention to them, but he would have liked to know so that he wouldn't
just stand there like a dumb duck, watching everyone nod without knowing when to do so as
well.

He was very tense, but where he didn't give in was when Potter argued that it wasn't
necessary for Draco to change his surname to his own.

"I agree with that," Lucius said, standing behind them with his arms crossed for a while.

Both he and Narcissa were acting as Draco's witnesses, while Harry Potter had had the nerve
to ask one of the quartet members (whom he didn't even allow to play) and that silly girl at
the door to be his.

She was beside herself with excitement and Draco had been imagining for a while hitting her
in the nose with the bouquet, which he had started to tear off some petals from, which were at
his feet, out of sheer nerves.

Outside, they could hear the racket of the reporters and, well, along with their screams and
the flashes of the cameras, Draco could tell how much Potter was getting impatient.

“I think it is an honour for the omega to bear the name of his alpha,” he contradicted them,
opening his mouth for the first time, making Harry glance at him sideways, which he thought
was a victory, because the man had done a triple backflip away from him as soon as he
discovered his face, which had disconcerted him greatly and made him feel insecure.

Potter clicked his tongue, dismissive.

“What is this, a historical soap opera?” he asked, rolling his eyes. Draco didn’t know what to
answer because he had no idea what that was. “I’m not old-fashioned. You can keep your last
name if that’s what you want,” he shrugged.

“It’s not what I want,” he said quickly, frowning, digging his thumbnail into the hard stem of
the tulips in his bouquet.

“It will be for the best,” Lucius said over him, peering over Draco’s shoulder, pointing at the
new parchment they would have to sign. They were disappearing from the table as they
finished with them, but always one more arrived. “And, taking this opportunity, let’s agree
once and for all that if there are children involved, they will have the Malfoy name before the
Potter name…”

“Can you keep quiet?!” Draco burst out, louder than he would have liked, which was perhaps
fortunate because he couldn’t hear Harry Potter saying something like “Of course there won’t
be…” which would have knocked him out of his seat.

“May I suggest a hyphen?” Narcissa intervened, her nerves very frayed, trying to speed
things up because she was fed up.

Weddings weren't supposed to be like this.

The officiant agreed.

"How do you prefer it: by hierarchy or alphabetical order?" he asked.

"Alphabetical order will be best," Lucius intervened again.

This time, Draco agreed because "Malfoy-Potter" sounded much better than "Potter-Malfoy",
if asked. At least it wasn't an atrocity like "Granger-Weasley", but he better never say that out
loud, if he knew what was good for him.

Still, if those two were such good friends of his husband, why weren't they here? Maybe the
relationship wasn't as close as the media made it out to be.

On the paper, Draco saw, with a smile that was managing to cover all the strangeness that
was happening around him, which he was unable to notice due to his obnubilation, his name
going from being simply "Draco Malfoy" to carrying the surname Potter on his back. The
idiot of the door clapped her hands and Draco stopped hating her, at least a little.

A couple more signatures and…

“Good. That is all,” the officiant said. “I pronounce you united in holy matrimony,” and
smiled at them for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, bowing to them.

There were more sighs of relief than applause, but they heard some.

However, it was not all over for Draco, who turned to Harry Potter, watching him wince.

He offered him his hand.

Potter tilted his body three-quarters to look at his long, perfectly nailed fingers, white in the
daylight and very, very bare.

He blinked, not catching what Draco was demanding.

“I suppose that is all,” he said, nodding as if he were reviewing the information with himself,
still watching Draco’s hand very closely.

Draco’s heart skipped a beat.

“I suppose you won't refuse, Potter,” Lucius began, “to have lunch with us, at least. We've
prepared a simple brunch in the gardens of the mansion, so it would be best if we moved
to…”

“I don't have time,” interrupted Harry Potter, getting up from his chair, grabbing Draco's hand
to force him to do the same.

They both looked at each other.

Harry's hand was large and warm while Draco's was thin and cold. The contrast between the
two was quite noticeable.

Lucius seemed to lose his temper at that last rudeness and was about to jump on his new son-
in-law. Draco frowned, not understanding the reason for his reaction. He had never seen his
parents be so abrupt with someone or a person speaking to them as if they were scoundrels.

“Listen to me, you little…!” his father began to exclaim.

“Lucius!” Narcissa warned, wanting to avoid a scene.

“What are you…?” Draco tried to ask, looking at Lucius, but got no answers because, at that,
an exasperated Harry Potter yanked him towards the door.

Automatically, seeing him stolen from their side, both Lucius and Narcissa advanced in his
direction, but Potter stopped them with a fiery look.

“Enough!” he exclaimed angrily. “I warned you that I had no time for nonsense and you
agreed! Now I have to run” and, being true to his words, that was exactly what he did,
dragging Draco behind him as he did with the train of the wedding robe, which was several
meters long.

They opened the doors of the building and a completely new world unfolded before their
eyes.

Certainly, when he offered his hand in anticipation of a ring, he didn't think that what he was
actually in for was a walk through a horde of reporters hungry for a story (although he'd be
lying if he said he hadn't expected it).

As soon as the lights, smoke, and screams hit Potter in the face, Draco felt him get even more
moody, although he didn't understand why he was so upset and not knowing made the hairs
on his body stand up.

Potter made him run down the steps of the building, serving as his bodyguard so that the
reporters wouldn't catch up to him and, when that unpleasant Rita Skeeter blocked their way,
Draco gasped as he collided with him.

Was this how his life would always be from now on, being involved in Harry Potter's fame,
whether he liked it or not?

Then Potter had to make that horrible comment about his status as a pureblood omega,
implying that the only reason he had married him was because he wanted to enjoy him as his
personal whore.

Wasn't that what his parents had intended to save him from by getting him engaged? And
here came Harry Potter to imply that as soon as they were alone, Draco would spread his legs
for him.

"Enjoy your headline, Rita!" he heard him say over the ringing in his ears, as if he were
sharing a personal joke with the journalist.

Potter, who had helped him down the steps by carrying him by the waist, placed him beside
him on the stone floor and, linking their arms, he disappeared, immersing Draco in that
pressure so familiar and so similar to what he was feeling at that moment while he wondered
if his mother had been right in warning him not to idealize this marriage so much.

He remembered Pansy's words (sometimes love hurts) and discovered that the girl was
capable of saying things that could be true sometimes.

His love for Harry Potter had just hurt him for the first time in his life and what he didn't
know was that it wouldn't be the last.
 Chapter 4
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

They appeared in an open field full of yellowing grass and few trees, although there were
beginning to be more in the distance.

Draco could feel his shoes sinking into the soft earth and regretted that Madame Malkin's
fabulous work was ruined because it was not designed for this kind of place.

Perhaps that was why Potter had frowned at him when he saw him in the registry office,
although, at first, Draco had the impression that he was only reacting to the idea of ​having
more on his plate than he could handle and at that moment he felt proud: as an omega, he had
managed to unbalance Potter, who had been left with his mouth open at the first glimpse of
him.

Now he was beginning to suspect that, in reality, Potter was wondering how much Draco
could fit into his little world of dry grass and blasts of cold air in the face.

This country setting would be no problem for someone like Ginny Weasley, who had been
raised on a rubbish dump (don't you dare say that out loud!), but for Draco it would definitely
be a challenge.

One he was willing to face.

He lost his balance and grabbed onto Potter's arm with both hands, which tensed, as if he
were going to yank it away, before he sighed in resignation and, wrapping his arm around his
waist, helped him walk through the grass.

His arm was firm and, beneath the black sleeve of his Auror uniform, Draco could feel well-
defined muscles. He was a strong man and he didn't doubt that he could have carried him all
the way if he wanted to.

The idea enthralled him. Would they follow tradition and Potter will carry him across the
threshold of his new home? But it was best not to entertain fantasies, because, with how
serious the alpha was, he could assume not.

…although he would have loved it.

The sky above them was a sad grey, the kind that could cause depression if one wasn’t
careful, unlike the sunny gold they had just left in central London.

Draco gulped.

His head was still swimming after that run-in with the press.
He cleared his throat, which was very dry. The first thing he would do as soon as he settled
into his new home would be to drink a huge glass of cold water.

“What did you mean by that?” he asked, not quite sure he wanted to know the answer, but
hoping his suspicions were true: that he had just misinterpreted his husband’s words or that
he had only said it in order to annoy the journalists and get them off his back, since not many
would enjoy publishing obscenities in their traditional newspapers.

However, Rita Skeeter was a kettle of fish, and that was what worried him: what his
acquaintances would say when they read such filth with his name attached.

Draco had a reputation to protect, and he knew that his former classmates at Hogwarts
considered him a squeamish for never wanting to experiment with alphas or even betas. If
word got out that his husband had called him a "pureblood whore" right after they got
married, he would become a laughing stock.

Their marriage had to be perfect (exemplary!), but he already had the feeling that it had
started badly and that he still had no idea of ​anything.

"With what?" Potter asked in turn, frowning because he was still in a bad mood. "I haven't
said anything."

Draco, who now realized that he had a very high instinct for self-preservation, decided not to
insist and stick with the story that would allow him to sleep at night: he had misunderstood.
He didn't have to think about the matter too much.

"Where are we?" he wanted to know next, ignoring all the times that the tail of his robe or
veil got caught on some branch, hurting him, forcing him to make sudden pauses that made
Potter snort and roll his eyes while he waited for him.

He carried him like a sack of potatoes and his fingers hurt, digging into Draco's flesh, who,
however, was convinced that it was for his safety, since he often ran the risk of falling flat on
his face, especially during one of those pulls.

"It's a small magical community outside of London. It's called Pelles," the auror explained,
although he didn't seem too enthusiastic about being forced to open his mouth again.

Draco had the impression he had heard of this place before and his heart sank when he
remembered what was said about it: rural to the fifth hell, where the most interesting thing
you could ever see was a cow grazing.

Most of the people around here had farms and dedicated themselves to raising horses or farm
animals, like sheep, goats and such.

It wouldn't have been the number one choice for any pureblood with modesty, if you asked
him.

Don't tell me that... but what could you expect from a hick like Weasley? Or was he the one
who...? He shut his thoughts down before they could get him into trouble.
"Sounds... lovely," he struggled to find the most convincing adjective.

Potter rolled his eyes again.

Draco would put up with it as long as necessary and then, when he had Potter eating out of
his hand, he would force him to get him a better place, perhaps a mansion like his parents' in
Wiltshire.

His father had even probably included one in the dowry, so they would move in and live
according to their status, leaving all this... behind. Far behind.

Then Draco would be lord and master of his domain and feel at peace to watch over his
family while his alpha did that crazy Harry Potter stuff that got his name mentioned so much.

No farm animals in his possession, please. How vulgar!

Since Potter was practically dragging him along, he tried to adjust his gait to his, enjoying the
feel of that warm hand on his belly. He placed his fingers over Harry's, hoping the touch
would feel soft and flirtatious.

He knew they would have to spend the night apart, but as soon as Potter returned, they would
be together. And if they were lucky, Draco would conceive soon, so that hand on that very
special part of his body meant a lot.

He had prepared himself before he got married: he had written to the drugstore in Diagon
Alley asking for an assortment of all kinds of potions for omegas. He was well covered in
terms of estrus, inhibitors and stimulants, as well as fertility. He had been advised to take a
certain herbal mixture every day with breakfast that would leave him in optimal condition to
procreate.

Although he never believed himself to be desperate to get pregnant, right now it was the only
thing he could think about, perhaps because the scent of the alpha at his side was hypnotic,
just as it had been that time at Hogwarts, six years ago.

He would like to have a boy or two, perhaps twins. A girl? There were already two boys in
the house, so perhaps it would be good to give birth to a girl. What would his husband think
of girls? Which would he prefer? Boy or girl? Surely, if he asked him, this man would be one
of those who said "it doesn't matter, as long as they are healthy."

Draco smiled.

Yes, a healthy, beautiful child wasn't bad.

He imagined a warm, tiny body dozing on his chest and his heart began to race. He wanted to
get pregnant now, now, now!

Potter gave him a strange look out of the corner of his eye, no doubt sensing his excitement,
but he didn't say anything.
They continued walking until they saw a red brick house, surrounded by a large expanse of
grass, with a stone walkway and a white fence. It was large, though not as large as Malfoy
Manor, and was full of windows and balconies and chimney towers, darkened by smog. It
was pretty, at least, although at first glance there was something about it that would never
have caught his attention at any other time.

Draco felt his pulse quicken as he realized that this would be his new home, and he felt an
incredible eagerness to start taking care of it, imagining all the things he could do to make it
look better.

Once his feet were on much firmer ground, he was able to walk on his own, but he didn't
want to move even an inch away from his husband.

His feet were soaked, as his shoes were made of cloth and the mud had climbed up the hem
of his robes until it reached very high, but he barely noticed.

Of course it was a shame to see the ruined dress, but what did it matter? A smile appeared on
his face and he tried to take Potter's hand to lead him to the entrance, represented by a black
wooden door with glass, but the Auror avoided his touch, putting his fingers in the pockets of
his robes.

Draco looked at him, his eyebrows slightly arched.

The Auror Department crest flashed on his chest. Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
His husband was 'the good boy' and that, for some reason, made his insides rumble with
'something' he had no idea could attract him so much until now.

Instead of following him, Potter stood in front of the stone fountain in front of the house,
listening to the splashing. He looked up at the tall building, scanning it with those green eyes
a couple of times, as if it was the first time he was fully focusing on it.

He might be a little embarrassed by the obnoxious red brick color (so Weasley), but he
needn't worry: Draco would take care of it in no time. He would make this place the most
respectable in England, perhaps next to Malfoy Manor itself.

Draco waited impatiently for Potter to continue, but he didn't. He was lost in his thoughts.

The clouds moved over their heads with a docile, slow gait. They didn't care about anything.

"This is my house," Potter said suddenly, confusing him with the ominous tone of his voice.

"Of course." What else could he say?

Potter's green eyes locked on him, making him take a step back because they felt like pins on
his skin.

There was no kindness there, not even condescension. “This is my children’s house,” he
added, and for some reason the way he said it made Draco’s guts clench.

If his mouth was already dry, it now became a desert.

In a way, he’d been working with the idea that Potter’s children with Weasley would take a
backseat now that he was here. That they would move down a step on the ladder so that
Draco would perch above them, along with any children he might conceive.

But that was too much fantasizing.

It wasn't the time.

First he had to get to know the terrain and then build from there.

"The kids, of course," he tried to sound friendly, like any omega who loved small and
beautiful things, although he'd never had much of that, to tell the truth. "I'm dying to meet
them," but, now that they were so close, that wasn't true.

They terrified him, actually, just like the animals at the zoo.

Harry seemed to read some of that in his expression because he narrowed his eyes in a way
that indicated danger. However, in the end he sighed and looked down, letting his hands fall
to his sides with an air of resignation.

“They are my priority,” he said, forcing himself to have a conversation he didn’t want, but
that was very necessary, especially if Draco was going to live in his house from now on.
“There will never be anything above them, do you understand? Their well-being is
everything to me. I don’t expect you to understand now because we don’t even know each
other, but there is only one thing I expect from you.” He looked him in the eyes and Draco
was startled by the depth with which he saw himself reprimanded. “I don’t demand that you
love them as if they were yours, but I do demand that you respect them and that you be aware
that this house is theirs before it is yours. I don’t want them to feel like intruders under their
roof, I don’t want them to be afraid to express themselves or to think that they don’t belong
here.” From the way he looked at a point over his omega’s shoulder, it was obvious that he
was looking beyond, towards the past, perhaps to his own childhood at the Dursleys’ house,
where he couldn’t even cough without earning a disapproving look. “This place is theirs. You
should know this from now on”.

He let his words hit Draco in a way that made him feel offended and left out, but he forced
himself to get past the knot in his chest to make sense of what Potter was saying: the children
he had with Ginny Potter were young. They needed affection and care. They couldn’t take
care of themselves. Of course Potter should expect their upbringing to become a joint effort
between the two of them.

Besides, it was an alpha’s job to ensure the safety of his young. If he didn’t, that should be a
red flag, right? Draco should be proud that this alpha here was making it clear to him what a
good father he would be to his babies (a primitive part of himself, the one that was sweetened
by his wedding, demanded that he show his neck, that he lie on his back and show him how
well he would be rewarded for being such a good alpha, such a good protector of his family,
such a good provider… scandalized, he was two seconds away from slapping himself to push
aside all those new stupid impulses he was facing. Maybe he should have fooled around a
little at school so as not to make a fool of himself now at the first glimpse of an alpha's
pheromones).
Thinking clearly again, Draco became a little worried at an unexpected factor: he had never
had to put himself aside for someone else.

What did the needs of those children matter to him? They must have had nannies or
something…

Potter, once again, seemed to be reading his mind, because he cocked his head like a wildcat
about to swallow a baby bird and said:

"We have a governess who looks after them" why was he speaking in plural, as if his wife
was still in the equation? Draco pursed his lips "but don't trust her. She's extremely
unpleasant and you can understand that the care she can offer a pair of children is limited
compared to what a father can give them."

“I understand,” he lied.

Potter raised an eyebrow.

A draught of icy wind began to rush between them.

Potter opened his mouth to say something else, but was interrupted by the creaking of the
door. Draco looked in that direction and was met with the sight of a small, dark-haired boy,
brown eyes peeking through a crack before he grinned and ran off, leaping up the steps to
rush forward and throw himself into his father’s arms, past Draco.

“Dad! You’re back!” he shouted excitedly, showering Harry’s face with kisses, managing to
draw a smile from him that made Draco’s chest hurt twice as much as it had been for a while.

Dad.

Hearing that word in the voice of a child and seeing the exchange of hugs and kisses moved
him in a way he could not explain and his hand traveled to his empty belly without him
realizing it, rubbing it with his fingers as if to say "soon”.

He waited patiently to be introduced, but it was as if alpha and son had completely forgotten
about him.

The wind made tiny icy drops from the fountain hit his face.

He noticed a new presence at the point where the child had come from and turned there,
meeting the stern gaze of a very tall and thin woman, well into her years, who held a smaller
child in her arms and looked at them all as if she wanted to tear out their eyes.

She was dressed in a robe so severe that Draco automatically felt very self-conscious, there,
in his wedding dress stained with mud and a little battered by the tugs of the branches.

His veil had come loose from his comb and long pale locks had fallen to either side of his
face, a detail that the woman was judging at that moment with a censure that could be
smelled in the air.
If she had had a stick at hand, Draco was sure she would have hit him with it.

"To what do we owe the honor of this unexpected visit, Mr. Potter, and with such... striking
company?" the woman asked, with a marked accent that Draco could not recognize,
sweeping him with her gaze.

He narrowed his eyes, thinking of a lot of possible answers, but swallowing them all because
he sensed that it was not the time to be on the defensive.

He would get even later.

“Do I need to ask your permission to visit my house, Madame Brown?” the alpha replied, and
Draco was at least relieved to recognize in him the same animosity he was feeling. “Do I
need to make an appointment to come see my children?” He rolled his eyes. “I’ll keep that in
mind next time.” He snorted in exasperation, and the boy in his arms laughed, thinking it was
a game. “The ‘flashy’ company is my omega. Draco Malfoy: he will be in charge of this
house from today on.”

Many things were happening inside Draco at the same time: first, his cheeks turned red when
he heard Potter calling him "my omega." Then, his heart began to beat like crazy and,
embarrassingly, there were tingling sensations between his legs that almost made him lose his
balance.

He breathed in through his nose and, looking the woman in the eyes, he bowed solemnly,
clearly meaning "go to hell, witch!"

The woman smiled unpleasantly and walked down the steps towards him, still holding the
boy who must have been Albus Severus Potter.

Draco only knew the children from photographs in newspapers and magazines.

Harry placed James on the floor, who, without delay, went to Draco with a finger in his
mouth, walking around him, looking at him from all angles.

He touched his dress, tugged at the little stones that sparkled in the light, caressed the long
veil, giving it an accidental tug that almost made Draco grimace, and finally smiled at him, as
if he had somehow earned his approval.

He proceeded to hug Draco’s leg and look at him.

Next to him, Draco realized that he was indeed tall, because the boy seemed to him to be
about the size of a grain of rice.

Something inside him softened.

“You smell nice,” the boy said.

Draco allowed himself to slide his hand through his black curls. They were very soft and
pleasant to touch, although they obviously needed a good brushing. He would deal with that
later.
“Thank you, James,” he said, and saw his eyes widen.

Oddly, Potter had the same expression.

What? Did he think he was going to come to this marriage without knowing anything about
anything? He could even recite the names of all those Weasleys in alphabetical order if he
wanted to… only because he had grown up with some very wise advice from his parents:
know your enemy.

He knew everything about the family Harry Potter had tried to build with Ginny Weasley
because he needed to break many links and replace them with his own if he wanted this
marriage to be a success.

“Ah, yes,” the woman said, staying a few feet away from them. From her attitude, Draco
guessed that she did not like the idea of ​giving up her dominion over the house, especially to
someone as young as him. “The brand new fiancé.” She lowered her head in a gesture that
was intended to be friendly. “Welcome, sir. It would be an honor to offer my guidance in
anything that you find difficult, which, something tells me, will be too much." She looked at
Harry, ignoring Draco's narrowed eyes. "Mr. Potter, I want you to know that I would not
mind continuing to take over the management of the household even if you are married. I fear
it might be exhausting for one so..." he swept Draco with cheetah eyes again, "young."

Draco counted to ten.

Harry stepped forward and pulled Albus from the woman's arms. The boy hugged him,
maintaining an overwhelming silence. Draco wondered if he was retarded in some way,
because compared to James, he had barely blinked.

“In that case, I would have married you” Harry said ironically and Draco raised his eyebrows
when he saw two horrible pink spots appear on the woman's withered cheeks, “but that wasn't
the case, was it? If I could defeat Lord Voldemort at seventeen, surely this boy will manage to
keep the house from falling on him. Right, Draco?”

And he was startled by being referred to so suddenly.

“It wouldn't happen even in my worst nightmares” for some stupid reason, he was going to
say "sir", but he stopped himself in time.

Never in his life had he had to make such an effort to behave well in front of someone.

If he had been in his house, that bitch would already be fired.

“Which is good” Harry celebrated, rolling his eyes again, walking with Albus towards the
house.

Draco hurried to follow him, removing James from his leg so that he wouldn't slow him
down. Not thinking it would be a good idea to snub him right now, he lifted him up, surprised
at how heavy he was, allowing the boy to wrap his arms and legs around his body, hiding his
face in his hair.
His breath on his neck calmed the crazy beating of his heart.

Yes, I can handle this, he promised himself, feeling more confident.

He walked with a determined step behind his alpha, leaving Madame Brown behind and, as
the only rudeness, he allowed himself to close the door, leaving her outside.

They had started badly and, in the name of Salazar Slytherin!, he was not going to make any
attempt to get along with her.

The interior of the house seemed a mess, and he was overcome with disappointment as he
looked at the damp-damaged wallpaper in the hall and the old, tasteless furniture that didn't
match each other.

The mud on his dress was no longer out of place, at least, because the carpet under his feet
was an identical colour that reminded him of a rotten dish sponge in the sink, not that he had
ever related to many.

There were pictures on the walls, all of them not matching each other at all, and photographs
of redheads abounded, moving around everywhere, making him feel stuffy. Trapped in a
horrible alternate universe, possessed by the Weasleys.

The children's toys were scattered around as if they had been thrown against the walls by a
small typhoon, and although the place was large, it was dwarfed by the sheer amount of
clutter.

Potter led them into the nearest sitting room, which was accessed through a double door with
smoked glass.

There was a huge stone fireplace at the back, and to Draco's horror, a portrait of Ginny Potter
crowned it, so large and colorful that it was the first thing that caught his eye.

What he found most frustrating of all was the fact that, unlike the magical portraits, this one
neither moved nor spoke, showing the woman always with the same smiling expression,
looking at them through eyes that were dead in more ways than one.

Something about the frozen image made Draco feel extremely uncomfortable.

He set James down, still staring at the portrait, which drew his attention like a moth to a light,
because inside he felt like something horrible was going to happen to him if he stopped
paying attention to it.

Harry set Albus down on a red velvet chair, as tasteless and disorganized as everything else,
and the boy sank down against an ugly wool blanket, red, for a change. James came over,
offering him a wooden cart to play with, and the two engaged in a noisy exchange that made
Draco's head throb.
As a Slytherin, it was his first time in such a Gryffindor environment, and somehow the
discordance between things made him think that this must have been what the common room
of these yokels must have been like. The Weasley’s house must have been like this too.

He was horrified, eager to put some order around him. Potter sighed and looked at Draco. He
noticed where the omega had his attention and looked at the portrait as well, where Ginny
Potter was dressed in a gold dress, her long red hair tossed over her shoulder, smiling at them
with a macabre sweetness.

"It was a gift from my father-in-law," Potter explained, his words drawn out a little sullenly.
He stood next to Draco, not because he wanted to be next to him, but because he could see
the image better from there. "It was painted by a muggle from a photograph, shortly after Gin
died, so that's why it's not enchanted and it doesn't move." He shrugged. "It's better this way."

Draco had a few alarm bells ringing when he heard him say “father-in-law” and “muggle.”

He was obviously referring to Arthur Weasley, the self-proclaimed defender of muggle rights
who had always contradicted Lucius Malfoy in everything.

Draco felt a pang of revulsion and then of contempt at such a story.

Was Arthur Weasley so crazy as to think that a portrait of his daughter made by one of those
muggles was a good gift?

He swallowed the urge to say that it was sinister, especially since Potter’s last sentence (“it’s
better this way”) implied a lot of things he’d rather not think about.

Would it have hurt him to have a memory of his wife talking and moving around in a frame
he couldn’t get into to be with her? Of course it would.

That wouldn’t have been the real Ginny, anyway, just a glimpse of her soul through the eyes
of a wizard artist. Yes, he understood why Potter thought it was best it didn’t move or speak,
but the still image gave him the creeps.

The first thing he would do as soon as he started looking after this house would be to banish
it: the mourning period was over, anyway, and Potter had to know that, if he had married
again.

"I have to go," Potter interrupted suddenly, looking at the horrible, warped watch in his
pocket (one more thing Draco would have to deal with soon). "I'll be in the Auvergne for a
few weeks, as I explained to your father."

Draco nodded.

“I know,” he said, but his stomach turned at the mere thought of being separated from his
alpha so suddenly. “Would it be possible for you to stay at least a…?”

The alpha paid him no attention.

“Madame Brown already knows, but I suppose you don’t: for security reasons, during my
travels I remain incommunicado, so no owls, no messages, no such thing.” He narrowed his
eyes, as if wondering why Draco would have to do such a thing. He shook his head,
dismissing it. “Even if it is something regarding the children, you cannot contact me, is that
clear?”

Draco nodded solemnly.

He felt anxious because he had the impression that Potter would be away for a long time and
his instincts told him that he could not tolerate it.

How did he expect him to stay in peace in an unknown house, with people he did not trust,
when this was supposed to be their wedding night and their honeymoon period?

What if he got stubborn and demanded that his husband stay by his side? But he wasn't an
idiot: he knew it would be a terrible idea, so he swallowed his urge.

"I'll try to keep in touch, but I'm not guaranteeing anything," the auror continued. He walked
around the red sofa to crouch next to the children. James smiled at him and handed him
another toy to play with, but Harry just took it and twirled it between his fingers. He kissed
James on the temple and Albus on the forehead. "Another thing I want to ask you is that you
watch them at all times, okay? Don't leave them alone with that woman." He looked at the
door with displeasure, as if the aforementioned woman had materialized there. "Don't let her
punish them for stupid things, okay? Especially Al." He ran his hand through the boy's hair,
who blinked in his direction, without saying anything. “If one of them needs your attention,
it's Albus. Don't neglect him”.

Draco shook himself a little.

Wasn't he supposed to be the one enjoying this day? And yet he was already being thrown
headlong into a business trip for his husband and babysitting children that weren't even his.

Wasn't that nasty woman's job to take care of them? And if Potter didn't like her, why didn't
he kick her out? Why did it seem like she was hiring Draco to protect his children from the
evil governess instead of marrying him with the intention of rebuilding their family?

"I'm leaving, children, I have to run," he told them, hugging them tightly and kissing them
again before standing up. "This person," Draco grimaced at that, feeling like a wall. He was
no longer "Draco" but just a "person," "is here to take care of you, okay? Anything you need,
ask him."

Of course not. Hell, no. How am I supposed to take care of them?

His fingers twitched at the thought and he hoped Potter didn't see him.

"Come back soon!" James exclaimed, waving goodbye.

Albus tried to imitate him, but he seemed to have the motor coordination of a beetle on its
back and Draco was terrified at the thought that he was actually stupid.
 And Potter was expecting him to look after him…? How awful!

“Wait!” he exclaimed, anxious now that he saw that departure was imminent. “At least show
me the house!” Harry ran past him, his energy renewed now that it was time to leave, and he
glanced over his shoulder, annoyed.

“Sure, you can explore on your own!” he protested, ironic. “But you should take that thing
off first: it wouldn't do to break your neck on your first day here because of a stumble. Bye,
boys!”

“Bye, Dad!” James exclaimed again, throwing his arms in the air, jumping in place with
excitement.

Draco tried to go after Harry to stop him, grabbing his arm to force him to stay a little longer,
but he couldn't because of "that thing", which was his wedding dress. Beautiful to look at, but
a hindrance when chasing an alpha in full flight.

Potter vanished as if he had never been there. Draco stood with his mouth open, trying to
make sense of things.

Suddenly, everything fell silent after the slam of a door that squeaked on its hinges.

He ran his hands over his clothes, feeling the delicate pearls beneath his fingers,
remembering the dismissive way Potter had said “that thing” and “this person.”

Yes, perhaps that had been too much, because it was obvious that this man’s palate was still
not well-educated, so he resolved to turn things down a bit so as not to scare him away.

He would train him. He would educate him in the art of loving a Malfoy, so to speak. He
would tame him, as every good omega should do with his alpha.

Unable to help himself, he looked at the portrait again, on the fireplace perched between two
balconies.

Ginny Potter, although she was smiling kindly at him, seemed to be mocking him, just as she
had done the night of the Yule Ball, when Harry Potter refused to dance with him.

He is mine now. There is nothing to fear.

Chapter End Notes

Thank you all for your reviews. They are so funny and make so happy. I hope you enjoy
this chapter.
 Chapter 5
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

Since Ron left the Auror Department, Harry's team had changed a lot over time, so there were
always new faces. He used to pay attention to them and try to bond with them, but now he
didn't care.

Sometimes he didn't learn their names, changing them to others, or giving them nicknames
that weren't exactly nice. He wasn't open to suggestions and liked them to know who was
boss. If they couldn't keep up with him or complained too much, he would send them packing
without any consideration.

Some joined because they thought it would be wonderful to work under the Hero of the
Wizarding World, but they deserted when they realised it wasn't a sleepover. Others left
because the job terrified them and others simply died.

The last to leave for this reason was Mr. Owen Kellerman, forty-seven, who was hit by a
Killing Curse on a mission he was accompanying Harry on, who did his best to retrieve his
body and return it to his wife, who thanked him with tearful eyes.

He did it more for Ginny than for her, actually. In another universe, if this had been their fate,
Harry would have appreciated someone having the decency to return his body to his wife
instead of just leaving it behind.

Mr. Kellerman's death had left a vacancy open and Harry had had to fill it with a new recruit,
who, unfortunately for him, was more annoying than a pain in the ass.

The recruit was young and went by the name of Eddie McKellen.

He was too energetic, always laughing and telling terrible jokes. He had a dreadful habit of
insisting on them if they weren't funny, so the others had learned to giggle uncomfortably to
keep things simple.

Harry had often wanted to put his hands on his neck, but that particular day he felt closer than
ever to losing control.

It was obvious that the boy (Harry hated the fact that, at his age, many people were already
"boys", almost children, next to him, even if they were adults) was proud to have been
accepted into the Auror corps, but he made an inhuman effort to fit in, which had the opposite
effect.

Harry sat against a tree, trying to gather his thoughts while the others were getting their
uniforms and wands ready: he had been a bit worried about leaving Draco Malfoy in his
house without further ado.
Maybe he should have listened to him and stayed at least a while to show him around, give
him more directions, etc. Maybe he should have taken the time to make sure he got along
with the children and that they accepted him, that they knew he would be a permanent
presence and got used to the idea.

By Godric Gryffindor! He knew that James would be capable of leaving with a ragman
because he had an adventurous spirit almost as big as his own that led him to do many silly
things, but Albus was more delicate. He was not very open with his acquaintances, much less
with strangers, and Madame Brown already gave him a hard time, hence he was somewhat
difficult to deal with. Despite being old enough, he barely spoke, communicating mostly
through signs, and when something went wrong he would cry silently, wringing his hands
nervously, which could be a little disheartening and strange for anyone lacking patience.
Sometimes even Molly had a hard time with him, and she was Molly Weasley, the epitome of
motherhood par excellence.

Draco… he didn't strike him as obtuse, but he did strike him as trying too hard, and that made
him anxious. What if leaving him alone with his children was like mixing sodium and water?
What if the children drove him crazy and he treated them badly? The boy was a damn child
too, and, holy crap, Harry had left him in charge of his babies.

He wanted to growl and scream as he remembered the way Lucius used to treat Dobby, his
house elf before Harry freed him in his second year at Hogwarts, insulting him, punishing
him, torturing him, causing him to self-harm for the silliest reasons. What if Draco was the
same? What if he turned out to be worse than Madame Brown?

What did you do, Harry Potter, what did you do? If something happens to those children, how
are you going to forgive yourself?

Eddie, thankfully, cut him off before he started tearing his hair out.

“I didn’t think you’d be coming with us, Auror Potter,” he said, the laugh under his voice that
he hated so much. Automatically, Harry’s train of thought was cut off, causing him to focus
all his attention on him almost gratefully, but it didn’t last long. “You got married just
yesterday and all that. Weren’t you sorry to leave your omega home alone?”

Sorry.

He blinked very slowly, seeing in the darkness of his mind the image of Draco Malfoy
walking towards him with the elegance of a swan gliding over the surface of a lake, his face
covered by that veil that must have been worth a small fortune and holding the bouquet of
tulips in his hands. He remembered his nails, shining like small diamonds in the candlelight
of the registry office.

He knew nothing about him other than what his parents had told him (lying, perhaps, with the
intention of making Harry accept him as his husband) and what he had been able to perceive
through his own eyes.

What if Madame Brown drove him mad and made him run back to his house, leaving his
children alone with that wretch? What if he was a wolf in sheep's clothing who could put his
family at risk?

He should have looked into him instead of just wasting his time trying to annoy Hermione
and the Weasleys, but he didn't think it was necessary because the Malfoys had really been
keeping a low profile since the end of the war and he figured that if his son was some kind of
maniac he would have heard about it by now.

But luckily, Harry had never been a bad judge of character (except for Severus Snape, of
course): that Malfoy boy was definitely his parents' son, he could see that as soon as he laid
eyes on him. He was vain, self-centered, and narcissistic. He obviously knew he was
beautiful and intended to use it to his advantage, batting his eyelashes like a little princess
and showing him his neck in a false act of submission. He might be shallow, judging by the
way he looked at his house, which he didn't like at all, but he didn't strike him as a bad guy.

That is, not the bad-bad ones Harry faced daily at work. Maybe just…

Like Dudley. And his cousin had long since shown him that he could have a heart when he
stopped thinking only of himself.

In reality, he had nothing to worry about: James had liked meeting Draco and had even told
him that he smelled nice, something very unusual for him, who was quite whiny about
strangers and their scents. He had let himself be picked up and petted by him, when he had
barely allowed Madame Brown to brush his hair. Draco had lifted him up even though the
boy weighed as much as a sack of turnips and James had been very comfortable with him.

Albus usually tried to imitate everything his older brother did (well, almost everything), so
Harry hoped it would be the same in that sense. It would be the best, the easiest for everyone.

"If that were the case, I wouldn't be here, would I?" he forced himself to answer and
McKellen laughed, ignoring the obvious weariness of the others, who had long ago learned
not to mention anything about Harry Potter's first marriage after he was widowed and had
assumed it would be best to do the same with the second just in case.

But that boy was dumb as a worm.

An owl hooted between the branches of the trees. They were submerged in complete
darkness, only illuminated by the misty moonlight that accompanied them like a ghost.

They had received the tip from a cult dedicated to Voldemort, composed of English wizards
who took refuge in the Auvergne. They had permission from the French government for this
mission, although it had not been easy to get it, since they were not very cooperative, so they
had better not screw it up.

"And here between us," McKellen insisted and the other members of the team exchanged
nervous glances, sensing disaster. It was already strange that Potter was so tolerant, since
these days he tended to become fierce at the slightest provocation, "did you confirm what you
told that crazy journalist? Does that pureblood omega really have an ass as delicious as it
looked in the photos? It's just that with that robe...” he licked his lips and made a guttural
sound, as if he were growling.
One of the others, beneath the sound, ran a hand over his eyes and muttered something like
oh, my God.

Harry just stared at McKellen, who seemed to interpret the lack of warmth behind his eyes as
approval to continue.

He, on the other hand, had no idea what the man was talking about because he didn't
remember anything that had happened between him and Rita Skeeter.

Usually, whenever they met, they would exchange insults and then the woman would use
them to write a very dramatic article, so Harry was no longer paying attention.

"I know you must not have had much time for a full-blown wedding night," he continued,
and Harry made sure to pay close attention to him, which he seemed to like, "but that's the
advantage of omegas, right?" He looked at the others, trying to make eye contact, but no one
paid attention, so he turned his eyes back to Harry, who continued to stare at him like one
does with a spit on the ground. "You talk to them nicely and they get wet. You can bend them
anywhere and access to everything. And that one looked young. Young and delicious…”

“Will you shut up?!” exclaimed Frederick Daniels, the highest ranking member after Harry.

McKellen didn’t seem to take the interruption well.

“Why?” he exclaimed, offended. “As if I were talking to you. I'm just saying that Auror
Potter's omega is very attractive and that anyone would be happy to mount him. He must
make the most delicious little noises, right?” and, since Harry still didn't react, which must
mean that he was one of those alphas who felt flattered when others talked about how much
they would like to fuck their omegas, he continued to poke the hornet's nest, enjoying his
silence. “While we're at it, your late wife was also a beauty…”

But he couldn't say more because Harry's fist hit his face like a mule's kick.

The sound of his nose breaking was like that of a cup falling to the ground and those who
heard it limited themselves to grunting and grimacing because he had brought it on himself.

McKellen's head snapped back, his nose at an odd angle, drenched in blood, and he collapsed
to the ground in the darkness, coughing up red bubbles.

Daniels turned his face away so he wouldn't choke.

Harry stood up and, without much regard, kicked the fallen man in the ribs, using his heel.
There was another crunch and a sort of unconscious whimper that helped calm him down a
bit, though his alpha was so upset, he would have liked to continue hurting him very much.

“Anybody else want to make an obscene comment about my wife?” he asked, speaking low
and menacing, the scent of his pheromones permeating the air in such a way that, if he didn’t
calm down, it could put the mission at risk.

“No, sir.”
“Of course not.”

“Fine,” Harry agreed, adjusting his gloves, keeping his chemical signals to a minimum,
although he enjoyed seeing the heads bowed and necks exposed to his alpha display, as it
should be. “Put this bastard where they can’t find him and let’s go. It’s about time.”

The others complied.

Daniels was thinking it was a rather curious thing that Potter hadn’t reacted earlier, when
McKellen was talking about his current omega, about whom he said the real obscenities.
Instead, he punched him in the face just for saying that his dead wife was beautiful. He wasn't
going to dwell on it too much: he knew a lost cause when he saw one, and he knew Potter
had become one long ago.

The worst part was that these kinds of marriages of convenience usually ended badly.
Incredibly badly.

If Potter pulled his head out of his arse (something he didn't think would happen anytime
soon), he would do the smart thing, which would be to try to rebuild his family in the wake of
this new opportunity.

The way things were looking, the exact opposite would happen because Auror Potter was
here, not at home, where he was most needed.

The worst part was that that idiot McKellen was right about something he said: Potter's
omega was a splendid thing just by looking at those photographs that were published in all
the newspapers and he couldn't believe that this stupid alpha was wasting him, especially
after having publicly exhibited him before the media.

Anyway...

To each his own.

He pulled McKellen into a ditch and applied a Disillusionment Charm to keep him safe while
they fulfilled their mission.

Harry refused the medical help offered by the French embassy and instead locked himself in
his hotel room, pressing a handkerchief to the deep wound on his neck, the result of a
Diffindo that had come very close to severing his carotid artery.

But they caught them.

Seventeen English wizards making fools of themselves on foreign soil would spend the night
in the catacombs of the French Ministry and would soon be transported back to England to be
tried for their crimes.

It had been worth it, although he had ended up more beaten than he had anticipated.
He was beginning to think that he was too old for these trots, even though he tried to keep his
body in shape, training frequently, eating healthily... although he had to admit that, since he
had been widowed, all that had taken a backseat.

He had to get back to it because it was becoming increasingly difficult for him to ignore the
creaking of his joints, the aching muscles and the chronic fatigue.

He was only thirty-five years old and already had a gastric ulcer like a seventy-year-old, in
addition, of course, to his bad mood.

Now he understood why the healers at St. Mungo's held annual campaigns asking the magical
community to keep a closer eye on their health. He healed his wound in front of the mirror,
not caring if it left scars. He didn't feel like taking the dittany out of the suitcase. One more
mark, one less mark, who the hell was going to notice?

He smiled a little as he remembered that Ginny always said that she thought his scars, results
of the war, were sexy.

He got into the bathtub, purring with pleasure as the hot water soothed the pain in his battered
body.

The hand with which he had hit McKellen had been stinging him for hours. If it weren't for
Daniels, that poor wretch would have been left crushed in the middle of the forest, because
Potter had never intended to go pick him up.

He closed his eyes and rested his head on the porcelain rim, enjoying the adrenaline rush,
which had started in the forest because of that stupid subordinate of his, who, needless to say,
was more than out of his ranks.

How dare he speak of Ginny in such a disgusting way? He should have torn him to pieces,
torn out that filthy tongue so he could never speak a word again.

Tiredness began to take hold of him, but he was still so energetic that he knew he would have
trouble sleeping that night.

He didn't think much about it and put a hand between his legs, holding on tightly under the
water, beginning to pull, hoping to get some tension out of it.

Sexual pleasure had become a very foreign thing to him since his widowhood.

Being an alpha or omega meant being intimately connected to a person, feeling them in body
and soul as if a part of himself had merged with them. Only Ginny had touched him, only she
had given him pleasure. Only she had known this side of him, so private and sometimes
shameful.

The Dursleys had stigmatized him a lot about being an alpha. For them, that dynamic (Uncle
Vernon was alpha), was like belonging to royalty and the person had a certain "obligation" to
behave at the height, denoting their status through attitude and clothing.
To them, there was never any chance of Harry presenting himself as an alpha, and when he
finally did in his fifth year, they called him a waste of pheromones.

He only started to feel good about it when he met others like him (with a wild aura that they
didn't hide from society), like Sirius, but he was still very careful with his dynamics: he never
abused his pheromones or used them against others to dominate them, although he had great
control over them, something that, certainly, he didn't even expect, seeing how bad he was at
Legilimency and everything that had to do with the calm of his mind and emotions.

Harry knew very well what was said about alphas and, if he had to be honest, all those
comments about them were more than true: there was something animal inside them that
behaved like a beast that was always on the prowl. Omegas were the easiest and most desired
prey and Harry understood that, in the midst of those uncontrollable outbreaks of passion, an
alpha could lose control and hurt them, but, fortunately, it never happened to him with Ginny.

Ginny was so gentle with him, so sweet, that Harry never lost his mind at her side in the
midst of some heat, neither hers nor his. He never hurt her. He never made her feel horrified
of being an omega as happened to so many others.

With her death, she had taken a very important part of Harry's alpha side: his self-control.
And deep down he knew perfectly why it was: the alpha wanted to mate again, but the man
was not going to allow it without a fight.

That the alpha had low instincts to satisfy did not mean that Harry agreed. But, by Merlin! as
time went on, this celibacy became more and more unbearable for the alpha…

That was why his friends insisted so much that he marry again: they knew that his current
madness had to do with his grief, but also with the fact that his internal balance was
unbalanced, on the verge of an irreparable collapse.

Damn them… what did they care?

Harry, the man, was not interested in knowing again what it was like to possess an omega. He
had had his, he had lost her and that was the end of that side of him, whether who liked it or
not, the same.

But even though he thought that way, he couldn't help doing these kinds of things, because he
hadn't become a monk or anything.

Behind his eyelids, he watched the flash of red that he associated with Ginny's hair blowing
in the wind. Despite the time that had passed, he remembered her scent as if he had smelled it
only yesterday, and thinking about it made him feel very relaxed.

Ginny smelled like linden tea or something. It was a very faint scent, a little soggy, but he
was rather mistaken. It was like sandalwood, sandalwood and vanilla or sandalwood and
cinnamon…

He concentrated on that, moving his hand in the rhythm he liked until he finally came, and in
that flash of pleasure, he remembered that all of that wasn't true.
Ginny smelled like flowers. Garden flowers, like azaleas, daisies, hydrangeas, petunias,
gardenias. A rather large bouquet that could be intimidating and overwhelming at first glance.

The other scent, the subtle one, barely perceptible in the air, was not hers. So where had he
smelled it?

His primitive mind remembered Draco Malfoy's blushing expression standing in front of his
house, watching him embrace James: at that moment, his alpha recognized an omega ready to
give himself to him, wet and ready to receive him inside with the intention of procreating, but
Harry's conscious mind, which had always been very good at overcoming his primary
instincts, got rid of the discovery with the speed of someone snapping his fingers, without
even paying attention to it.

What bothered him a lot at that moment was discovering, with horror, that he was forgetting
the smell of his wife. Of his omega.

Realizing this made him feel as if he were watching her die again and his heart broke in two
one more time.

Harry Potter took a month to return home, something Draco certainly wasn't expecting and it
was a huge disappointment.

The second week after his departure, the omega heard a crackling in the flames of the
fireplace in the living room and ran across the room barefoot to stand in front of the fire in
his nightgown.

Harry Potter's face, drawn between the logs, glowing from the fire, gave him a pair of raised
eyebrows before they furrowed, giving him the impression that he had forgotten about him
completely.

Draco, who had knelt on the rug to be closer to his husband, was about to put his hand in the
fire, but thought better of it.

It hadn't been the best two weeks of his life: although James gave him the impression that he
had grown fond of him, the truth was that he was a whirlwind and had the ability to turn the
house upside down just by entering a room. It was exhausting to chase him around and it was
obvious that he had to do it, since, on his first day there, he wanted to show Draco his
collection of stones in the garden and was about to go headlong into the well.

Draco almost burst into tears thinking about what would have happened if he had hurt
himself, and the bills he would have had to pay his husband, who would undoubtedly not
have been happy.

For safety, he placed the heavy wooden lid over the well, disgusted by the moldy sensation
under his fingers, using a charm to make it impossible for the boy to move it from its place.
He supposed he would have to take similar measures with many other things around the
house.

Madame Brown had shown that she detested Draco with all her heart and, having him there,
she had completely ignored the children, pretending to be busy with other things. However,
she would appear at the most inconvenient times to point out to Draco everything he was
doing wrong and to throw pejorative comments at the children.

Draco was fed up with her and had often considered the possibility of firing her, but he was
terrified of being left alone on the estate with the children and with that ridiculous house elf
who was so old and crazy that he couldn't explain why he was still working.

Albus... he hated him too and Draco couldn't say that the feeling wasn't mutual.

Albus, despite being a little boy, was sullen and grumpy. He liked to play alone and hardly
communicated. When he wanted something, he would first ask his brother for it through
gestures and tantrums, and if he didn't listen, he would go to Madame Brown or the elf,
Kreacher.

To be honest, it was usually the other way around: he looked for the elf before the woman,
but the woman before Draco, which spoke of the hierarchies that were handled inside his
dark little head.

He watched Draco half hidden behind the furniture or the nooks of the walls, always making
nervous twists with his fingers and keeping a frown, which gave him chills.

He didn't like his father's new husband, it was obvious, and Draco easily despaired because of
him, so he preferred not to pay attention to him.

He felt ridiculous having a quarrel with such a small child.

Obviously, he wasn't going to say anything about it to his husband, who was looking at him
as if Draco were a fairy emerged from the woods, there, sitting on his heels, with his long
white hair loose over his shoulders, very straight.

"Hey," the auror muttered, unleashing a flurry of sparks and ashes. Draco smiled, taking a
deep breath, because he was very happy to see him, despite everything.

“Hey, you,” he replied softly, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear, uncovering the
shoulder that had been left bare because the nightgown was too big.

On purpose.

He had bought a lot of nightwear with the sole intention of attracting his husband, but, as
long as he wasn’t here, there was no need to go crazy.

This nightgown, floor-length, was a semi-transparent thing that allowed a glimpse of his tiny
underwear to be seen. The living room was dark, barely lit by the flames and the moonlight
coming in through the window, but Draco would have been a fool to have believed that Harry
hadn’t seen things when he ran to his side.
The Auror cleared his throat.

“I was hoping to talk to Madame Brown to ask how the boys are,” he explained. “She’s
usually around here at this time…”

And she was, before Draco kicked her out, appearing in the sitting room to read a little and
drink some tea before bed.

Since the woman couldn’t stand him, she abandoned what she was doing and, raising her
chin, vanished.

“You don’t need to talk to her when I’m here,” he reminded him, hoping his tone was more
flirtatious than incriminating. Harry raised his eyebrows. Draco smiled. “The kids are fine.
James is very active, but I’ve managed with him and we get along amazingly. Albus is… a
little quieter, but I’m not complaining.” He swallowed the urge to roll his eyes because, if
he’d had the chance, he would have of course rant against him. “We’ve had a lot of fun
together,” he made up, because, although they hadn’t had such a bad time these days, they
hadn’t had such a good time either. “I'm fine”.

Harry pressed his lips together.

"Great," he said. "Well, that was just it… tell them… I hope they're okay. I won't be back
anytime soon, it'll be a while, and I don't know when I'll be able to get through again, so…"

Draco started. He pushed himself up onto his knees and peered further into the fireplace. His
long hair whipped around Harry, who jumped at the thought of it burning if he wasn't careful,
but Draco didn't seem to care.

"How much longer are you going to be gone?" he asked, gulping. "There's a lot of things here
I need you for. Besides, we haven't even…" His cheeks turned a delicious cherry red.

Harry blinked.

“I have to go, Draco, really. Watch the children, okay?” and, without giving him time for
more, he pulled his head out of the flames and left him alone in the darkness.

Draco, himself, expected him to take at least another week to return, but, when he realized
that he had been very naive, he let his illusion fade a little to continue with what had kept him
busy during his pseudo honeymoon: repairing the house.

At first, he thought it would be heavy and hateful, but it turned out to be the most fun in the
world and seeing himself accomplishing things little by little made him feel extremely
satisfied, so he dedicated all his energies to that while he waited for his husband to return.

Curiously, it was the only thing that Madame Brown seemed to applaud, because she was
always pointing out one thing and another that she thought Draco should take care of.

Since he liked to be acknowledged and to see the woman admit that he was good at what he
was doing, he did every single thing she suggested without considering that she might have
an ulterior motive.
He started by hiring a team of witches to tend to the garden, weeding, removing pests, and
planting trees (fruit trees, mostly, because James seemed to love apples as much as he did)
and new bushes. He had the broken tiles repaired, the moldy fountain washed, and some
goldfish added, which it was nice to discover fascinated the children, even Albus, who didn't
seem to be enthusiastic about anything (the afternoon that it was done, they spent it, the
children with their pants rolled up and Draco allowing the bottoms of his robes to get soaked,
splashing around in the bubbles and the fish. If someone had told him, he would have found
out that those two children had never laughed so much in that house).

He changed the colour of the façade from that obnoxious Weasley red-orange to a soft mint
green and filled the windowsills and balconies with flowers.

He also hired people to clean the chimneys and gutters, replacing damaged tiles and repairing
any possible leaks.

He was right in thinking that the Potters had animals in a small farm behind the house, where
he discovered a dozen rabbits of all colors, goats, chickens and sheep, as well as a damned
hippogriff that looked at him with murderous eyes as soon as he peeked into the yard.

James laughed at seeing him so scared, since he was the one who, apparently, fed the animals
when his father was not there, even the silver-feathered hippogriff. Draco thought that this
was a serious lack of responsibility on Potter's part, even on that unpleasant good-for-nothing
governess's part, but the boy seemed to have everything under control because the animals
loved him.

In addition to his farm animals, he owned a turtle, a ferret and several owls.

"I used to do this with Mum," he explained one afternoon, opening a tap to fill a bucket with
water halfway, transporting it with great difficulty to a small watering hole. "Dad doesn't like
it. He only helps me sometimes, when he's not doing things." Draco twisted his mouth,
feeling a little sorry for him. This must be one of his best memories next to his mother if he
still had it so present despite the fact that she had died two years ago.

In order not to see him struggling with the bucket and the water again, he approached him
and, with his wand, finished filling the basin, watching as a bunch of sheep came running to
drink, pushing them aside with their bulky bodies.

James laughed.

"I'll do it with you from today, James," he promised him, who knows why the hell, but it
seemed the most pertinent thing to do when faced with such a sweet memory of Ginny Potter.

He was going to keep his promise even though the hippogriff (Buckbeak) terrified him,
almost as much as the idea of ​getting his robes dirty by tending to a bunch of crawling
animals.

He would find the best way to get rid of them, but it was not yet time because he needed the
boy on his side.
James was happy with Draco's company and that first time they spent the afternoon together,
feeding rabbits with lettuce leaves while Albus watched them, hidden behind a wooden
bucket (he was just like Draco: he did not like his brother's pets).

Inside the house, the work was even harder, as each room was a chaos in itself.

He started by removing the Weasley photographs from the walls (which was very pleasant)
and replacing the damaged wallpaper.

He hired experts to get rid of the horrible water stains and, thinking that Potter would not
appreciate the lack of pictures, he scheduled a photography session in Diagon Alley, which
was his first outing with the children, although Madame Brown raised a hue and cry and
warned him that Mr. Potter would not approve of it.

"From now on, I am the one who decides what 'Mr. Potter' can approve or not," he said
arrogantly, carrying Albus to his chest with a scarf, although the child did not seem to enjoy it
very much, and holding James' hand as they traveled together through the Floo network.

It was not until he found himself alone in the crowded alley that he began to feel terrified that
something would happen to the children and Harry Potter would make him pay dearly for it,
but after a while he relaxed.

He was no fool and, as long as he did not let himself be careless, everything would be fine.

James was dying of happiness watching everything while Albus seemed interested at least.
His big green eyes were more illuminated than Draco had seen them so far.

He took them to the clothes shop, deciding that they deserved a decent wardrobe too, and
shopped with them until his pockets were considerably empty, so they had to stop at
Gringotts (he had found his husband's chamber key in a drawer in his desk and had taken it
without hesitation).

For a moment he lost James in the robes, but got him back by suggesting to Albus that they
go out for ice cream without his older brother. James responded by running out from under a
pile of cloaks to cling to his leg and never noticed the micro-stroke that he had nearly caused
Draco.

He allowed the children to choose whatever they wanted and, agreeing with the saleswoman
for immediate home delivery, they continued visiting shops before their session.

He bought books for James, toys for Albus, then toys for James and books for Albus. He
bought twice as many books for himself because it had been a long time since he had visited
Flourish & Blotts. They visited the ice cream shop, bought some candy to take home, and
finally went to the photography studio, where Draco ordered the family “dear memories”
package, which included formal and informal photos in lots of costumes.

At first, the serious photos were a bit tedious for the kids, but Draco managed to keep Albus
sitting on his lap and James next to him so they could take a couple. Then, when the
photographer suggested the costumes, the kids seemed to liven up a lot.
Draco thought it was silly, but then he imagined what things would have been like if his
parents had brought him to something like this as a kid and started having fun too (he
promised himself that, one day, when the family had grown a little more, he would repeat the
experience, but next to Harry Potter).

They took pictures in Hogwarts robes, Quidditch uniforms from different teams, dressed as
fantastic animals and children's stories.

Draco found himself really enjoying it, especially at James's loud laughter, which began to
spread to his little brother, who Draco had not given the ability to laugh like that.

Albus began to let loose more and more and that was very good for him because the better he
got along with his children, the quicker he would win his husband over.

When it was time to go home, Draco slung the children over his shoulders and looked for the
nearest fireplace.

Home.

He already thought of this place as his home and with the changes he was making, it would
be much better in no time.

When they returned, they discovered that the work on the wallpaper had been finished. Now,
instead of those ugly brown and dark colors, they had a beautiful pale blue that increased the
amount of light, making everything look better.

He was sure that when he put the pictures in silver frames, it would look fantastic, much
more alive.

He had to change the curtains, the carpets, the furniture…

He was going to give his husband a nice surprise when he returned.

He fell asleep in the living room, exhausted by all the emotions of the day, dreaming of a new
photo shoot in which he held a little bundle in his arms while the children ran around him like
crazy and his husband said his name with adoration.

In the midst of all these changes for his new home, Draco got a somewhat unpleasant surprise
(mostly because of the discomfort it brought him) the morning when, along with the
correspondence sent by his parents and friends, a letter written on yellowed parchment, rough
to the touch, also appeared.

He looked at it with some distrust.

He had been receiving letters and wedding congratulations, as well as gifts, from people he
didn't know, obviously all looking to ingratiate themselves with his alpha. However, the latest
such letter he had opened was a long list of why he didn't deserve to be married to Harry
Potter, as well as the reasons why the person who sent it was thinking of hexing him.
Draco wasn't going to be intimidated by a crazy fanatic, but he decided to be more cautious
from then on.

This letter was definitely addressed to him instead of "Mr. and Mr. Potter" like all others, so
he allowed his curiosity to get the better of him, ripping open the envelope.

The letter was written in neat, round handwriting:

Dear Mr. Malfoy (it began, which made him raise his eyebrows, thinking that people had
better start calling him by his new surname once and for all):

We have not had the pleasure of meeting in person, so I wish to introduce myself to you: I am
Molly Weasley, Ginny's mother and grandmother of James and Albus.

Although your wedding with Harry was held in a hasty manner, hence my family and I could
not accompany you on such a joyous occasion, I want you to know that we support Harry in
everything and that we are happy (was there a slight blur in the ink over that word?) to know
that he have finally decided to move on with his life after all that he has suffered due to the
death of our beloved daughter (Draco raised an eyebrow, trying to decide if the woman
wanted to intimidate him or not).

I am writing to you because I would like to invite you to dinner at our house to meet you or,
failing that, to ask your permission to visit our grandchildren. We realize that turning up
unannounced at the home of a newlywed couple would be rude, so we decided to write to
you.

Welcome to the family!

We look forward to hearing from you soon.

Draco twisted his mouth as he finished reading.

Obviously, the woman was referring to her and her husband, right? That Arthur Weasley.

He looked up at the blue sky above his head, realizing that he hadn't swallowed his last sip of
tea when he started reading, so he slid it down his throat with a somewhat bitter taste.

Of course he wasn't interested in dealing with this family, but it seemed he couldn't get rid of
them. Not so early in the relationship, at least.

Going to their house, having them here, without Harry by his side? He got hives just thinking
about it.

Would he ever be able to get rid of the ghost of the Weasleys? He understood that they
wanted to see the children, but Harry didn't belong to them anymore. Harry was Draco's and
Draco was a Malfoy.
 It must have been just bad luck for those poor devils that their beloved golden ticket had
married him, a member of the most anti-them family there could be.

With his wand, he summoned paper and pen, and after taking another sip of tea, he began to
write:

Dear Mrs. Weasley,

I appreciate your good wishes for my husband and me ('my husband' was slightly
highlighted, though he didn't mean to put the quill down so heavily).

We realize that this was a hasty decision, and therefore we didn't have time to plan much. I'm
currently dealing with several matters regarding the house, and I fear I won't have the time
necessary for such a pleasant reunion.

My husband (he was about to underline those two words with three dashes, but stopped
himself) is out of town at the moment. I would prefer to wait for his return so that he can
introduce us properly, following the appropriate protocol.

Thanking you for your good wishes.

Draco Malfoy-Potter.

He smiled as he stamped his signature at the bottom of the parchment, feeling extremely
pleased with himself.

And, since the very kind Mrs. Weasley had reminded him when she wrote to him, he finished
his breakfast in peace (finally finishing the cup of tea containing the leaves of the fertility
herb that had been recommended to him at the drugstore) and began his day with the firm
intention of getting rid of the portrait of Ginny Weasley that decorated the living room.

Chapter End Notes

Hi, guys. Merry Christmas!

I want to thank all of you for your interest in this story. At first I thought it will be a very
lonely ride, but, wow, you've surprised me.
Thanks for all your kudos, reviews and follows on twitter.

Also, english is not my first language and even when I translate stories, in this moment I
don't have the time to put much atenttion or to focus in this plot 100% without help of
the translator, so, I want to ask you to let me know if there are some things that might
sound weird or something to help me correct them (and learn) :D
But be kind, please :3 I'm fragile, like a butterfly.

Next chapter (Chapter 6) will happen some things inside the plot, so I want you to know
that there will be the FIRST ADV related to the "domestic violence" tag. So, beware.
I will be letting you know the prior chapter, but if you need more info, feel free to ask in
twitter to not spoil the reading of others.

Enjoy your holidays!

 Chapter 6
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

The day Harry Potter finally returned, Draco felt his presence in the air like an electric shock.

The entire house seemed to react to him, looking brighter, larger, more comfortable, more
homely, as if every inch of it recognized that the most important part of the puzzle had finally
appeared.

A smile appeared on Draco's lips as he looked out the window and saw him walking through
the garden with his light gait, clad in his black cloak, his hat half tilted over his eyes to shield
them from the sun. He stood out for the dullness of his attire compared to all the color that
Draco's hard work had managed to infuse into this place, but that was fine. That was how he
liked the man.

There was always something "dark" about Harry Potter that caught his attention as a teenager
and he supposed it must be the "bad boy" thing attracting the omega who felt capable of
changing him.

But no. Draco wouldn't change a thing about him at all.

He left the magazine he was reading in the living room to hurry the children and receive him
as he had planned, because he had been rehearsing this for a long time in his head and
making sure those two kept up with him.

James, at this point, was like a little soldier under his command, while Albus was still a little
wary of him, but not so much anymore, so it was much easier for Draco to deal with him.

It was obvious that they both preferred him over Mrs. Brown, who was grumpy, rude and
treated them as if they were a couple of orphaned puppies abandoned by the side of the road.

Although Draco wasn't their number one fan simply because living with children was a lot of
effort, he knew how to win them over by bribing them with gifts, sweets and good times.

Even Albus had started laughing a little more and trying to talk. It wasn't that he couldn't: it
was that he didn't have the confidence to try because, every time he made his opinion known,
there was always someone there to shut him up, whether it was the governess, lecturing him,
or even James, who didn't have much patience for him.

Draco, believing that improving Albus' attitude would be a great gift for his alpha, had been
reading to him every night, teaching him lots of words. Albus liked the stories, and
surprisingly, since Draco had started, he slept much better: he no longer woke up crying in
the middle of the night.
(Draco had discovered how good it felt to tuck them in, stroking their hair and even
encouraging himself to kiss their foreheads for the sake of drama, telling himself that he was
practicing for when his own children came along. The most convenient thing for him right
now was to show Harry Potter what a good father he could be by his side, so that the alpha
would recognize what a good idea it was to marry him.)

Pushing them with his hands, running through the hallway with James shouting as if it were a
game, he adjusted the ribbon he had tied in his hair and made sure he looked right as he
passed a mirror while, behind him, the detestable Madame Brown followed them with a nasty
smile on her lips. He heard her make a derogatory noise as she watched him shake his robes
to confirm that everything was impeccable.

Draco paid her no mind. Taking advantage of Harry's arrival, he would fire her and hire
someone better.

He flung open the door and stepped out with a firm but elegant step onto the portico, where
he stood, catching his breath with one hand on his chest. The afternoon sun caressed his face,
making a blush sparkle on his cheeks.

Harry, startled by the noise, stopped by the fountain and looked up. He dropped the beliz he
was holding, which made a dull thud against the stone.

Their eyes met and Draco smiled, with the children standing behind his legs, standing at
attention like a pair of sentinels.

Harry took a very slight step back as his mind made a superhuman effort to remember if he
had forgotten anything in France, hoping to have to go back to pick it up, delaying the
meeting a little longer.

As soon as he arrived, he had the feeling that something was different, but he couldn't put his
finger on it, which was an incredible flaw in his training as an Auror, which forced him to
always be aware of details, especially the smallest ones. When he saw Draco, he knew that
the answer was there and he didn't like it very much.

Draco came down the stone steps of the entrance with that well-trained gait, holding the
bottom of his wide white robes so as not to trip, and walked towards him enthusiastically, still
smiling.

He had one of those beautiful smiles, of people who have never been through hardship in
their lives. Such a gesture could work wonders at any bureaucratic dinner party, and knowing
the Malfoys, they had surely instigated him to cultivate it to his advantage in the best of
situations (he remembered the Dursleys rehearsing their idiotic comments every time one of
Uncle Vernon's superiors came to dinner at the house, flattering as best they could, and he
distinguished a metallic taste under his tongue as he remembered the way Draco had first
spoken to him at the registry office: I think it's an honour for the omega... ugh!).

Harry Potter pressed his lips together, waiting, looking behind the omega the two little figures
that had remained on the portico, next to the tall silhouette of the governess.
Draco stopped in front of him.

"Welcome home," he said, with that velvet-soft voice, and proceeded to kiss him on the
cheek, very close to his mouth, putting his hands on his shoulders.

Harry would have preferred a punch in the guts rather than knowing the feel of that mouth,
wet, soft and with a slight smell of raspberries.

"Thank you," he said, immediately backing away, trying to put distance between his face and
those lips, but Draco's hands, glued to his body, worked like a kind of magnet that caused the
omega to crush himself against him, as if they had become stuck.

Draco put an arm around his, reminding him of a snake climbing a trunk, and Harry
shuddered.

He looked at his children, who were jumping up and down in joy at the sight of him. He tilted
his head.

“Why the hell haven’t you come to say hello?” he reproached them and James hopped,
running towards him and throwing himself into his arms.

That was an incredible excuse to get away from Draco, who took a step back to give them
space.

“Welcome home!” James called out, wrapping his arms around his neck tightly, giving him a
kiss in the same spot as the omega.

(Great! Clean slate.)

Albus, to his surprise, also ran down the steps and joined them, allowing Harry to lift him up
and kiss him just like his brother. It was rare for Al to do that, but he loved it.

Draco, standing next to his alpha, sighed, his heart hammering in his ribcage with excitement,
wanting to know if they could finally paint that family picture he had been working so hard
for the last month.

Just to test the waters, he moved closer again and put a hand on James’ back, who looked at
him, smiling, before taking off his father’s hat and slamming it on his head. He must have
done the same thing a million times.

Draco reached out his arms to Albus, who responded to the gesture by offering his own,
falling against his chest with a docility they had been practicing every night when Draco put
him to bed.

Harry Potter's mouth dropped open because, apart from Molly Weasley, no one had ever
managed to get Albus to open up so much, allowing physical contact. Sometimes even he had
problems in that regard.

It was an even bigger surprise when the boy pointed at him and said "Daddy's home," seeking
the approval of the blond man, who smiled wider before kissing him on the cheek, cradling
his head with one hand to protect him from the sun.

“That's right, baby: Daddy's back” and his grey eyes, lit with a fire that could only mean one
thing, locked onto Harry's, who felt the overwhelming need to get out of there again.

Many things within this scene struck him as wrong.

First of all, the omega in front of him was not the one he really wanted: if life had been
moderately fair to him after everything he had done for the entire world, the one standing
next to him would be Ginny. Secondly, who the hell did this omega think he was to insert
himself into his family as if he had always belonged to it, making his children smile at him
and do things they had never done for anyone else?

A low, suspicious and distrustful growl settled deep in his throat, but he didn't let it out.

Madame Brown came closer too, with her hands clasped in front of her belly.

Dressed in her usual black dress, with a cameo attached to the hollow of her throat by a lace
ribbon, she looked like someone who had just attended a funeral.

Draco's temper cleared at the sight of her. The sooner he got her out of the way with her
husband's approval, the better (he'd been sending letters to everyone he knew with children,
asking for recommendations for nannies, and had already selected a few. He'd interview them
shortly).

“Mr. Potter,” she said in her magpie voice, “welcome,” she bowed.

Harry closed his eyes so it wouldn’t be so obvious that he was rolling them. He had just
arrived and would have loved to be able to sit down, especially after the hassle of taking
Portkeys, doing paperwork, dealing with embassies… However, he felt like he was going to
have a bucket of ice water dumped on him, and, as usual, he was right.

“Thank you, Madame Brown,” he replied listlessly.

The woman took a breath through her nose, allowing her cheeks to puff out before delivering
a speech she had obviously been rehearsing for a long time. A month, to be exact, probing
every single change in the estate sponsored by Draco Malfoy.

“I hope you like the modifications “your omega” has made to your house,” she said, reproach
hidden behind each word, and upon hearing it, Draco jumped a little, wondering why she said
it as if there was something that could really bother Harry. “I'm sure you'll be amazed. Have
you seen the facade? Beautiful, isn't it? With a lovely shine.”

Draco noticed the way Potter froze before following with his eyes what the woman was
pointing out. Then, when he did indeed discover a general change in the appearance of his
house, his pupils dilated and his heart skipped a beat in his chest because, yes, now that it had
been pointed out to him, he could see it with total clarity: the mint green of its walls, the
flowers in the windows, the clean chimneys… he even noticed that the curtains inside were
different, having changed their rigid and thick appearance for a much lighter one that
fluttered in the air.

He stood in awe, noticing the obvious changes outside too, like the fish in the fountain and
the trees that weren't there before, as well as the huge white and pink rose bushes.

“What the…?” he started to say, but stopped halfway.

“Look, Dad: we have apples! Red and green and yellow apples” James told him, pointing
over his shoulder at the apple trees behind Harry, waving their branches in the air as if they
were mocking him.

Harry had an unpleasant flashback to a moment many years ago, when he said goodbye to
Ginny in her room at the Burrow, kissing her for what he thought would be the last time as he
was leaving for the war, looking out at the tops of the fruit trees from the open window.

“No” he said, flatly.

The memory was too cruel because at that moment he thought he was losing her only to
regain her and lose her beyond repair some years later.

Draco's heart sank, the smile running down his face like pudding thrown against the wall
while the governess's grew wider.

Now he understood why she had been so open about the changes Draco was making in the
house: she knew Harry would hate them and she had made the list even longer in the hopes
that he would get into trouble.

And, well, apparently he would.

Harry took a breath through his mouth, not quite managing to fill his lungs. He seemed to
have a lot of things to say, without deciding on anything to begin with.

“I'm sure you'll appreciate the extensive modifications that have been made to the interior of
the house as well,” Madame Brown continued, sweeping Draco with her eyes with a rather
particular range of contempt. “I assure you that you won't recognize a single inch of your old
house.”

Draco looked at her resentfully.

He was fed up.

“This is my house and I can do what I please with it,” he said in a sour tone, but to his
surprise, Potter debated him and the tone of voice he used indicated danger.

“No, it isn't,” and upon hearing this, Draco felt his hands clammy with sweat, as well as a
tremor that moved through his entire body.

Seeing that he could risk knocking Albus down, he put him on the floor. The boy grabbed a
fold of his robes and stuck his thumb in his mouth, watching his father very carefully.
Harry put James down as well.

“What did you do?” The alpha asked the omega as if he had discovered Draco with a corpse
in a room and proceeded to go to the door, walking like a titan heading to battle.

Madame Brown displayed a nasty smile before following him, regaining almost a youthful
air. Then, the children left.

Draco stood there, in the courtyard, clenching his hands very tightly, taking small breaths
through his mouth.

What was wrong with what he had done? To him, everything looked fabulous, much more
civilized than it had been before. What had bothered him so much? Was it the green tint? Or
was it just that Draco hadn't consulted him before making changes?

But, well, after all, it was Potter who, before leaving, said that he was in charge.

Or did he not mean things like this?

But he would have to swallow it because Draco wasn't going to put anything back the way it
was.

And what the fuck did he mean when he said "no, it isn't"?

Gathering his courage, he ran into the house, hoping that Harry would be a little more pleased
with the state of the interior, but he wasn't.

As soon as he walked through the door, he found him in the hall, tearing off the walls the
silver frames that displayed the photographs Draco had taken with the children in Diagon
Alley. Since he couldn't hold them all in his hands, when he was unable to continue removing
and holding them, he simply threw them on the floor, where the frames dented and the glass
shattered with a loud crash.

Albus began to cry in the doorway of the living room. James hugged him, watching his father
go mad with wide eyes.

"What are you doing?!" Draco exclaimed, pushing the governess aside to go to Harry and
grab his hand before he could throw another picture.

The alpha turned to look at his face and, seeing the rage in his eyes, Draco regretted having
shortened the space between them so much, but it was too late.

He realized that he had never faced an angry alpha in his life and that, despite having heard
all those recommendations (look down, don't challenge him, show him your neck and make
yourself small) that were given to omegas in case of ending up in a situation like this, at that
moment he couldn't apply any of them because he was just as furious.

It seemed impossible to him that he had felt so happy just a minute ago to have ended up in
this and the worst thing was that he didn't even understand the reason.
Was it just because he hadn't asked permission or because Potter didn't like changes in
general?

He had heard that some war survivors developed that kind of intransigent mentality regarding
certain things, but he never imagined having to deal with something like that. He believed,
until now, that Harry Potter would be a very normal man.

“WHAT DID YOU DO!?” The alpha bellowed, his eyes wide, finishing to release the frames
he was still holding, which broke with great scandal between them. “This is MY house! It's
my children's house! Who gave you the right to change it to your liking?!” He growled,
running his hands over his face, shaking his head negatively. Annoyed, it was as if he had
grown bigger, with his energy taking up a large space of the room, where everyone else had
to cower in fear. “You didn't even bother to ask!” Now James was crying as much as Albus
and that stupid nanny wasn't doing anything for them. The sound of their crying was so ugly,
that it could be compared to the one made by the glass when it hit the floor.

Draco was torn between his shock at this abrupt fight, the humiliation he was feeling at being
treated like that without a reasonable justification, and the need to get those children out of
here so they wouldn't see their father turned into an animal.

He was also scared. Very scared. No alpha had ever dared to confront him like that, not even
his father, and the pheromones Potter was emitting at that moment could have made an
elephant faint. They made his heart beat like crazy and his head throb.

Maybe that's why his omega side was so on edge and, instead of trying to defend himself, he
simply ran towards the children, putting his arms around them, trying to get them into the
living room so they couldn't continue watching this pitiful scene.

"Don't you dare do that," Harry warned, speaking softly this time, but much more
threateningly than before. "Don't you ever turn your back on me again."

Draco flinched at the spite in his words. Even without seeing him, he knew he had his wand
out, ready to strike. To "punish" the omega who had offended him.

Even Madame Brown stopped smiling because she hadn't anticipated things going this far.

Draco tried to overcome everything that was boiling in his chest to think with a cool head
again. All of this had to have a damn solution that didn't involve him walking out that door
with his tail between his legs.

Not that.

This was his house and that man was his husband and he would teach him to treat him with
respect even if it was the last thing Draco did on this Earth.

Holding the children, he slowly turned on his heels, seeing Potter, who was still standing in
the middle of the hall, with a hideous face, the result of anger.
“Your children don't deserve to see you like this,” he told him, his teeth chattering and his jaw
shaking with the urge to burst into tears. More than hurt or offended, he felt embarrassed, like
a fucking clown, which made everything worse. “Just let me take them somewhere else,
okay? We'll talk about this in a moment. Try to get some air.” You fucking self-centered
bastard. Go to hell!

He was trying to be reasonable, to be the adult in all this because it was obvious that Potter
was behaving like an immature teenager, but the auror wouldn't let him.

He took a step in his direction and, seeing himself slapped by the sour aroma of his
pheromones, Draco stirred and almost fell to his knees.

They smelled too strong, too deep. Although they didn't smell bad, on the contrary, at that
moment they were corrupted and worked like a whip to subdue him.

Draco realized how little contact he had had with other alphas throughout his life, because
this was the first time he had encountered something like this and now he could openly say
that he was terrified, as if he had mistakenly entered a gas chamber.

His throat itched, making it difficult for him to take a breath.

“Who the fuck are you to decide what's good for my children or not?” Potter asked him,
looking him in the eyes as if he were imagining cutting him up and tossing his pieces into a
bag to be thrown to the crocodiles.

Draco blinked, silent tears falling now that his own mind had painted that as a possibility.
Still, he held his gaze.

He remembered Pansy in the hospital after losing her baby following the beating her husband
gave her after losing a small fortune gambling.

He kicked me until I couldn't move anymore, Draco! And when he realized I was trying to
protect my belly, he got even more vicious! Alphas are like wild beasts and we, omegas, are
their favorite dish!

It's not true, it's not true! Shut up, Pansy! He closed his eyes, letting the tears continue to fall,
trying not to be carried away by fear and disappointment.

James and Albus were crying their hearts out. James was clinging to Draco's robes like they
were a life preserver in the middle of the storm and Albus was trying to make himself small
next to him.

He never imagined himself like this, trying to protect with his body two children who weren't
even his. He never imagined Harry Potter standing threateningly in front of two people who
should matter to him above all else.

Harry took a step in his direction and Draco stepped back, entering the room. James let out a
cry of something very similar to terror when he heard the broken glass crunching under the
Auror's boots.
It was obvious that just as his alpha pheromones affected Draco, so with his children, who
were not reacting too well to his bullying.

It must have been the first time they had seen him like that.

It was the sound of that scream that seemed to make Potter react and, for a moment,
everything froze between the living room and the hallway.

Madame Brown covered her mouth with her hands because it was obvious that the joke had
gotten out of hand and she was afraid that Potter would do something crazy if he didn't calm
down soon.

Thank goodness the alpha tried, putting a hand to his chest, taking deep breaths of air.

Everything would have been much easier if he could have hit someone like he did with
McKellen. That way, his anger would have passed much faster.

He covered his face again and let out a desperate growl that sounded more like the bellow of
a beast. To satisfy himself, he took up his wand and, with a spell that lit the room in red, tore
the wallpaper off the wall, destroying the delicate, peaceful blue to return the old, worn, ugly
brown tones.

Draco pursed his lips at the sight, nodding, resigned to his fate.

Was that the whole problem? Had he not liked the color of the walls?

He made a nasal noise, trying to retain his dignity. He grabbed the children and, walking
slowly so as not to alert the predator, went out into the hallway, passing Harry to place Albus
and James in the arms of the governess, who had frozen in a corner. The woman took the
boys as if they were sacks of potatoes that she wanted to throw far away.

“Do something and get them out of here,” Draco ordered, making a nasty face at her, which
was more at risk of falling apart with each passing second. He had never experienced
anything like this before, and beneath everything he was facing, he kept asking himself the
same thing: is this really happening to me? “I'll settle accounts with you.”

The woman had the nerve to glare at him before running up the stairs, forgetting her modesty
to get to safety and, in the process, the children too.

Draco stood there, at the bottom of the steps, facing the wall, doing what Potter had warned
him not to do: turning his back on him. But what was he going to do? Attack him?

As angry as he was, Draco highly doubted he would be capable of truly harming him.

Thinking like that made him calm down.

Yes, an alpha wouldn't be capable of attacking his omega. He was just trying to force him to
submit, to acknowledge who was in charge here.
Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to calm down and gently release hormones, the kind
that served to calm an alpha in the worst of times.

Harry was not amused, which Draco discovered when he turned to look at him.

Now that the boys were gone, they both had their wands in their hands and, without realizing
that he had instinctively drawn his, Draco wondered if he would be able to face an Auror.

Of course not.

He had learned to duel at Hogwarts, but he wouldn't stand a chance against the Great Harry
Potter. The mere thought of trying made him smile a little, prompting the alpha to raise an
eyebrow in disdain.

Draco felt something strange in his body, as if an abnormal temperature was rising from his
belly to his head, setting him on fire. His clothes began to feel heavy and cumbersome. He
wanted to take them off.

For the moment, he managed to ignore it.

He wet his lips with his tongue.

"If I can't touch anything in this house, what the hell is supposed to be mine?" He asked,
trying to make him feel ashamed of his behavior. "I'm your husband. How much of yours is
mine?"

Weren't they supposed to have signed a bunch of paperwork regarding that during the
wedding? Hadn't Potter agreed to provide his omega with all his basic needs, starting with a
damn house? So what? Would he also cry foul when he realized all the gold Draco had taken
from his vault at Gringotts to pay for the repairs?

Well, luckily the Malfoys had money to shove down his throat until he burst and Draco's
dowry had been incredibly generous, though he didn't quite know what had happened to it, as
it had been arranged by his parents. He'd been given houses, land, businesses, trusts, cash,
jewelry, art... Draco would never really have to beg for anything from Harry Potter, so it
wasn't for the alpha to think he was that important either.

Potter reacted like a cobra that's been stung with a stick. He took a step in his direction and
Draco reacted by raising his wand, but managed to keep it as a mere expression of fear, not
daring to say any spell because he knew there would be consequences.

He wanted this all to be over and done with.

"None!" Harry replied, in a despicable tone, obviously trying hard to make it hurt. "You're
nobody! Do you think I married you for some wonderful reason? I did it because I wanted to
upset my family and get them to leave me alone! Of all the options, you were the worst!”

Draco took his words like a stab in the chest.

Unable to contain himself any longer, he lunged at him, trying to confront him. Potter didn't
back away, and instead grabbed his wrists, shaking him slightly. Draco dropped his wand.

“What are you talking about?!” Draco shrieked, frowning, more tears falling from his eyes
like raindrops sliding down a glass. “What are you saying?!” How could all that be true? “If
it weren't for my parents, you would have lost the war!” Then, an anger he hadn't felt until
this moment took over him, a product of Potter's ingratitude. He managed to free one of his
hands to hit him in the chest. “My parents saved your life!”

But, to his surprise, Potter looked at him, stunned, before letting out a very unpleasant laugh,
rolling his eyes, as if he was convinced that Draco was stupid.

“No” he contradicted him, wanting to hurt: “thanks to your parents wanting to save their own
skins, many people came out alive that day” he narrowed his eyes. “What the hell have they
told you, little prince? They didn't do it for noble reasons: it was pure selfishness”. He
enjoyed the way Draco's face finally broke into pieces, tears flooding his eyes like a pair of
lakes.

“Have you been believing them heroes all this time?” Harry mocked. “Do you know how
many people did they hurt? Do you know how many died because they tried to save their
own necks? Don't make me laugh! You're the son of a Death Eater and, although you boast of
the purity of your blood, to me you are nothing but trash! Be thankful that I let you walk on
my soil!” He squeezed his wrist tightly, happy to hear the bone crack. Draco groaned. “Don't
ever believe that you have the same rights as Ginny in this house, because you don't”.

And as he said his wife's name, he glanced over his shoulder, searching for the portrait that
topped the fireplace in the living room, but he didn't find it. Instead, he saw a painting of a
dull, unfamiliar landscape, just as pretentious as those silver frames he'd smashed and stood
on.

The hot anger he usually felt in these kinds of confrontations froze to be replaced by
something harsher and more horrible.

Draco, sensing danger again through the scent of his pheromones, tried to pull away, but
Harry released his grip on his wrist, which was stinging terribly, to rest his palm on the back
of his neck, gripping a handful of his hair.

The omega gasped.

"Where is it? What did you do with it?" Potter asked, deadly serious.

Draco, who could do nothing but stare at the floor from the way Potter held his head, knew
immediately what he was talking about and, instead of telling him that he had thrown it in the
basement with the rest of the Weasley’s photographs (he wasn't an idiot, he had suspected
that Harry might be upset if he threw them away, he just never imagined the magnitude), he
wanted to get even for everything Potter had done to him and simply said:

"I threw it in the fire." As soon as he said it, Harry's hand tightened, pulling out a few strands
of hair, making his skull sting. It was like being a coconut under a tiger's heavy paw. "She's
dead and, whatever the reason, you married me. Your present is me."

Harry, although he imagined slamming his forehead against the wall, restrained himself. His
heart was pounding in his temples like a hydraulic drill.

He nodded.

So this was the kind of game he wanted to play?

Perhaps the apple hadn't fallen too far from the tree after all, and it had been his mistake to
bring this little snake into his house.

He pulled his hair, forcing him to expose his neck, and, looking him in the eye with the
promise of making his life hell, he pushed him with all his strength to the ground, watching
him fall on the glass and the silver splinters.

The scent of blood rose into the air, accompanied by something else. Omega pheromones.
The smell he'd thought of earlier. Soft and a little sad, almost pleading. Sandalwood and tea
leaves.

A red path trailed from Draco's hand, where there was a nasty cut, beginning to run across the
floorboards he'd decided to leave uncarpeted.

It was at the sight of the red splatters, at the sound of the pained sob, that Harry realized what
he'd done, but this couldn't be hidden by simply ordering someone else to dump Draco in a
ditch, like he'd done with McKellen.

It was just the smell of blood that…

He looked at the space where Ginny's face used to be in the living room, watching him with a
perpetual smile frozen on her lips.

He waved his wand and destroyed everything around him, from the replacement painting to
the furniture, the curtains and the decorations that shouldn't be there.

He felt more welcome in the chaos than in the semblance of a perfect home Draco had
wanted to set up for him.

“This is Ginny’s house,” he said, serious, looking at the empty space instead of at the person
trying to compose himself at his feet. The smell of blood was still in the air, overshadowing
the smell of both of them. Alphas and omegas, the two of them reacted to that iron smell like
a shark would in water. “Everything here was hers. She was the one who chose this house for
us. Who do you think you are, trying to erase her presence?”

He stepped over Draco, ignoring his cries, to go lock himself in his office and try to cool off
the heat of the fight.

Draco managed to turn around and lay there between the broken glass, staring at the ceiling.
 He had cuts on his face and hands and he wouldn’t stop bleeding. Everything hurt too much
and he could barely move.

He could barely breathe.

Chapter End Notes

Happy New Year!

Thank you all for your reviews, they are so funny to read (at work).
Again, I'm helping myself a lot with the translator to finish the chapters every week (if I
did this by myself, I'll take way longer), so, please, if there is any mistake or something
that sounds weird, let me know.

Also, violence keeps going next chapter, BUT this was the only one that really made me
feel uncomfortable while writing, so I suppose this'll be the last ADV in the notes, but
keep in mind this is not a pink story, there will be dark things, dark themes that'll could
make some of you feel uneasy (maybe, I don't know).

See you next week.

 Chapter 7
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

Draco Malfoy hadn't had time to mess around his office either, something Harry was grateful
for. He slammed the door shut to once again make it clear how annoyed he was and
proceeded to stride over to the cabinet where he kept his alcohol.

He hadn't bought it himself. It had been given to him at one of those parties where flattery
was protocol, as had every damn bottle in it.

Before Ginny, he'd barely touched it and had actually considered throwing it away, but after
Ginny, that little mahogany cabinet with lion's feet and room for multiple bottles became one
of his best friends, far replacing Ron and Hermione.

It was amazing that his situation could be explained with acronyms: “BG” and “AG” (Before
Ginny and After Ginny), which could also stand for When I Was Happy and When My Life
Became a Burning Dumpster.

He poured himself a shot of firewhiskey and downed it, throwing his head back. The burn in
his throat was unpleasant, making even his nostrils sting, and he had to run to the trash can
next to his desk to spit it out.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and, after staring blankly at what he could see
through the open-curtained windows (a suddenly cloudy sky and the top of an overly green
tree), he poured himself some more.

What did you do, you moron? What the hell did you do?

Now that he was alone and could think more clearly, he realized that it hadn't been that bad,
and that was the root of the discomfort he felt now, because none of what he said was true.
Or, at least, not all of it.

It was true that Ginny had gotten this house, that she had decided to buy it from one of her
ex-colleagues from the Holyhead Harpies who was trying to get rid of it, but she never had
time to prepare it for them. The furniture was from the previous couple, as were the
tapestries, the rugs, the paintings, the curtains...

It's not that she didn't want to make it suitable for us, a little voice inside his head argued.
Even I could have done it if I'd given me the chance instead of doing something else.

But Ginny's touch would have been amazing, for sure. She would have managed to give it
that warm, wonderful air that The Burrow had, which had always reminded Harry of a nice
patchwork quilt, with one corner being completely different from the other, as if everything
was made up of pieces from different puzzles.
The Burrow, for him, was always the best of homes because in the Dursleys' house, with its
exaggerated neatness, he grew up feeling suffocated, oppressed, diminished, as if everything
around him was shouting at him how little he fit in with them and how much he shouldn't be
there.

Seeing what Draco had done here, he had a similar feeling, although now he had to admit...
that he had managed to make this place look a little more like a house.

Like a home.

And the children seemed happy. Albus had even come out to greet him instead of standing by
the governess and staring at him with doe-like eyes, as if he didn't know him. For the first
time in his life, he had run to his father with the same enthusiasm as James, which had
softened his spirit, so abused over the last two years.

Something heavy pressed down on his chest, causing him to feel an overwhelming sense of
unease.

Harry looked at the photos that Draco had replaced the Weasley’s ones with before tearing
them off the wall.

In them, his two sons were smiling. They were having fun. They were happy for the first time
since their mother's death, even Albus, who looked adorable dressed as an owl in those
pictures even though he generally detested the animals that James kept bringing into the
house. And held by Draco he looked like a child of his age should: pampered and cared for,
closely watched by the bright eyes of an omega in whose arms he fit perfectly.

He smiled a little, letting himself fall into his chair, tilting the new glass of liquor to his lips.
He wanted those damned children to laugh more than he had the chance to do during his
childhood. He wanted them to be happy, to have everything that Harry never could enjoy, to
never lack absolutely anything (although they had already lost the most important thing in
their lives, just like he had when Voldemort killed Lily).

Draco Malfoy was a good omega. Paying close attention to the details, he was… perfect. He
had this amazing smile that Harry had noticed before, although there was always this certain
superiority in his eyes that he didn't like a bit, but in those images, when he smiled at the
children, it was like seeing a ray of winter sunlight through the treetops of a very thick forest.
He had the prettiest hands Harry had ever seen, and he never noticed that kind of thing. When
he had run his hands gently through James's hair that first time they met, Harry had thought,
for a microsecond, that someone should make a charcoal drawing of that because it was
something worth preserving for posterity, but he supposed it would have to stay in his mind
forever for lack of anything better.

And that chest of his, although thin, seemed to be enough to offer some comfort to Albus,
who had let himself fall against it without hesitation, as if all his faith was placed in Draco
being able to catch him.

Within a month, those three had built something and Harry, who had no idea about anything,
had come to destroy it.
He felt terrible.

That doesn't give him the right to change everything as he pleases, insisted that little part of
his head that never knew when to let things go.

His stomach knotted as he remembered what he had said about Ginny's portrait.

Where was that stupid housekeeper to stop him, huh? But he thought of the way the woman
had rushed to report what Draco had done and rolled his eyes in contempt, realizing that this
whole mess had been what she had wanted all along, so his animosity tripled.

She must have enjoyed seeing you yell at him… she must have instigated him to do more and
more things with the sole purpose of seeing you come and explode like an animal.

He had gone too far, hadn't he?

He had done and said awful things that could never be erased. He had made his children cry
and had surely left them with eternal scars, all because he couldn't control himself.

He had never exploded like that in front of them. He had only done it in front of Hermione,
Ron and his team because deep down he knew that they would never turn their backs on him,
that they would tolerate everything, but Draco and the children didn't have to.

To hell with Draco Malfoy!

“You bloody idiot,” he muttered to himself. He could feel the beginnings of a migraine
throbbing behind one eyeball and knew it was going to be bad. It was also hot despite it being
the middle of November and when he couldn’t stand it any longer he undid the top buttons of
his shirt, fanning himself a bit. He had this strange feeling like he had stood on an anthill,
with countless insects crawling up his legs until they all gathered around a specific spot on
his body. “Who do you think you are?” He covered his eyes with a shaking hand, trying not
to let the anger he felt at losing Ginny’s painting spread inside him.

(He imagined himself punishing the insolent boy, grabbing him by the hair from behind,
forcing him to expose his neck once more. He didn't know what had gotten into him, but he
saw himself doing what McKellen told him, bending him over any surface, sinking deep into
him, making it clear who was the alpha, who he had to obey... shuddering, he shook it all
away, pretending he'd never thought of it.)

He'd have another painting of Ginny made, twice as big, and hang it over the fireplace again.
In fact, he wouldn't stop there: he'd make one for every damn bedroom and then no one
would ever forget again that she'd existed and that she'd been the light of Harry Potter's life.

Then everyone would recognize how crazy he was.

Yeah, right. Maybe then they'd leave him alone.

But, well, he thought the same thing about getting married again, thinking it would keep him
out of trouble, and he just had one more.
…but Draco had done his part. He had treated his children well. He had protected them.

From you. He protected them from you.

He closed his eyes, gulping, trying to get that horrible image out of his mind (he could still
hear James' screams and see Albus's tear-stained little face, the two of them trying to hide
behind Draco, who was shaking with violent jerks of pure terror, and despite that, he stayed
where he was, serving as a shield for them).

His children would never be in danger at Harry's side, so why…? Why did everything get out
of hand in such a disastrous way?

It took only a second for him to ignite like gunpowder and explode. He might have already
been predisposed and had put himself on the line to let everything escalate to those terrifying
limits.

That was why, since his teenage years, everyone had told him that he should learn to keep a
cool head, but he had never been able to. His blood was hot and his fuse was very short.

The smell of Draco Malfoy's blood was buried in his nostrils, sliding down his throat. It was
the same aroma that a poker gave off when it was picked up to stoke the fire in the hearth.
Iron.

Then, the world fell on him.

The smell of Draco Malfoy's blood was buried in his nostrils...

He jumped up, knocking over the glass, hearing it hit the carpet. He ran out of the office and
skidded down the corridor until he turned and reached the hall. He slipped on the glass,
falling to his knees beside Draco, ignoring the pangs of pain as some of the blades hurt him.

The omega had sat with his back against the wooden railing. His legs were drawn up against
his chest and his hair had come out of the ribbon, so it floated around his head like a wedding
veil. It was long and thick, very light, almost white, so that it stood out against the black
wood.

It was incredible how much that person clashed with everything in this place, with the dark
tones of the walls that Harry had brought back after his outburst, and also, how much he
matched the dented silver and the broken glass that had stuck in his skin. With the beauty in
pieces at their feet.

(At that moment, Harry Potter had no way of knowing that he would always be dealing with
Draco Malfoy the same way he was now: as if he were a broken thing, battered by his own
hand, smashed to pieces on the floor.)

Draco had a nasty cut on his forehead that wouldn't stop bleeding. A red thread ran down his
temple, soaking some blond strands that had stuck to his cheek. He was dressed in white, so
the drops on his chest looked like stab wounds. His right cheekbone was slightly scraped, and
Harry could make out some glass confetti on his skin. It was a miracle no large pieces had
gotten into his eyes, the way he had fallen.

Harry, his mouth dry and his guilt growing through the roof, caught Draco’s left wrist, which
was bleeding the most, since he had apparently torn a glass out of it. Blood flowed like a
stream, soaking his robes, leaving a terrible testimony in its wake of what had happened
between them.

Harry placed his fingers on top, squeezing very hard, desperately searching for his wand. He
pulled on Draco's hand to raise his arm above his head, trying to help stop the bleeding.

The blood, incredibly warm, ran down his fingers until it reached his wrist and colored the
cuff of his shirt.

Draco didn't react. He must be in shock if he wasn't doing anything about it, not even crying.

Harry had seen many omegas lose their minds at the mere sight of a bloody wound, and for
some reason he had had the impression that Draco Malfoy would be one of them. But no. At
that moment, the boy kept his gaze lost, hazy, barely paying attention to him.

Finally he found his wand buried deep in his pocket and pulled it out with relief.

“Don’t you know that you shouldn’t remove anything that has pierced your body? Once
there, it stays inside or you’ll bleed out,” Harry explained, trying to cover his anguish with
annoyance, passing the wand over the wound in a hurry, seeing the flesh closing completely.
It wasn’t a perfect job, he had never been very good at healing others, he lacked tact: Draco
would be left with a scar. “You'll have to apply some dittany essence if you want to get that
off," he said, wanting to treat him like he was the casual victim of one of his missions rather
than his own actions that had gotten them into this bizarre scenario.

It was hard for him to breathe, and it wasn't just because the scent of blood was disturbing
him: it was because of Draco's pheromones, which had spread through the hall like a bottle of
perfume had burst, filling everything with his scent.

Sandalwood and tea leaves. Linden, to be more specific. But it was just that right now the
scent seemed much more nourished and stronger because he had the worst luck in the world
and his initial outburst, the one where he put on an alpha display, pheromones included, had
apparently caused Draco to go into heat.

He understood his own tingling now.

He paled, recognizing all the implications that this carried.

It used to happen. It was the most common thing. The omega, in the midst of his panic when
faced with an angry alpha, would often resort to his most basic resource to appease him.

Harry saw this many times in the war and also as an auror, but it was the first time he had
provoked it himself and he felt miserable, especially because of the interested tickling in his
belly, which was becoming unbearable.
An alpha was supposed to be there to protect the weakest, not to frighten them with his
dynamic. And, as if that were not enough, in addition to throwing a pheromone bomb at him,
he had injured him by throwing him on a pile of broken glass.

He was no different from all those brutes who used their partners as punching bags because
they felt like they were the masters of the world.

Holding Draco's hands as if they were the ledge he was holding on to so as not to fall off a
tall building, discovering them frozen even though that boy was burning with fever, he
lowered his head, trying to deal with his shame, which caused a lump in his throat.

He would never have been able to do this to Ginny and he always believed himself incapable
of doing it to anyone, but here they were and now he couldn't find a way to ask for his
forgiveness.

Draco, still lost in the heat that consumed him, lowered his head until it touched Harry's, who
jumped. Then, the omega moved slowly until he joined his mouth with his ear, saying with a
murmur that made him shudder:

"I didn't burn it. It's in the basement with everything else." His fingers clung to Harry's with a
vigor born of concern in his voice. “I didn't do anything wrong. I just wanted to make you
happy. Why couldn't I make you happy?” He spoke so softly, it was hard to hear him.

His forehead collided with Harry's shoulder, who jumped as he remembered the wound there.
He tried to take care of it next, and in the process, he saw how dilated Draco's pupils were.
He was blushing and sweating.

Harry took care of healing the cut, using the sleeve of his robes to wipe away some of the
blood. Draco's face was equally dirty and Harry was unable to meet his gaze.

The smell of his pheromones was starting to make him stupid too, so he better hurry
(omegahurtomegainheatomeganeedalphaalphaprotectalphadonthurt).

He picked him up and went up the stairs with him. Draco relaxed against his chest and threw
his arms around his neck, where he hid his face. Harry felt a low growl stagnate in the base of
his throat. He needed to get somewhere small and dark, sheltered, where only the two of
them could be, and once there… he fought to overcome his baser instincts.

Draco's robes were a mess of tears and stains. Harry figured they must look sinister, so he
was thankful no one could see them.

Something like this can't happen again. It can't. Not in my house. Not with my children here.
What did I do? Why couldn't I control myself?

He wanted to bang his head against the wall, wanting to get his thoughts in order. It was hard
to separate the man from the alpha, and he was very scared to know which of the two had the
upper hand in this battle.
Draco was light as a feather, giving the sensation of carrying air. Still thinking about the loss
of blood, he flinched, worried for him.

"Madame Brown, I need you to give me a hand here!" He exclaimed, trying to hold his breath
so as not to continue inhaling the deep scent that Draco's body gave off.

He knew perfectly well where it came from. He knew what the reason was. He knew what
that body needed to be better and his wanted to give it to him, but it wasn't going to be like
that.

No, no and no.

The woman took an eternity to answer, but she finally left the room where she was locked
with the children with a hasty click of her heels. At least she had the prudence to close the
door behind her because, when she saw them, she let out a scream and covered her mouth
with her hands, sticking to the door as if an invisible energy had pushed her.

“Oh, it can't be! You killed him!” She burst out and her terrified eyes looked in all directions,
eyeing for another escape route since Harry, with his semi-conscious omega, blocked the
stairs. “Murder! Murder!” she screamed and Harry felt like she was two seconds away from
throwing herself over the railing just to be away from him.

“Don't be an idiot!” he said, furious, although something in that woman's words made a
horrified shiver slide down his spine. If he had been angrier, if they hadn't been so lucky, if,
for example, one of Draco's injuries had been in a vital spot, like his neck… "It was an
accident!" He lied, and when he realized he was doing it, his face turned very red. He was the
head of the Auror Department, for Merlin's sake! If he had any decency, he would lock
himself away. "But he's gone into heat and I can't take care of him. You're an omega. I need
your help."

Then the woman's attitude changed completely, as if a switch had been flicked. She even had
the audacity to raise an eyebrow. She took her hands off the door to place them in front of her
belly, intertwined, as she always carried them.

"Why?" she wanted to know, haughtily. "Isn't it the duty of every alpha to take care of the
needs of his omega, including heats?" An ugly smile appeared on her very thin and pale lips.
“Believe me, Mr. Potter, this creature has been desperately waiting for you since you left,
wearing those immodest clothes every night, drinking that disgusting tea every morning." She
made a face of disgust. "The greatest favor you could do him would be to put a child inside
him at the opportunity, although, seeing the state the other two are in, it might not be wise of
me to advise you so: the children you already have are a sea of ​nerves because of your
outburst. A newborn would not last two days at your side and I assure you that," she pointed
at Draco with her chin as if he were a slaughtered chicken, "will not have the slightest idea of
​how to care for it."

Harry felt himself trembling, partly from anger and partly because Draco's smell was
bringing out his most primitive side, so the woman's suggestion of making him a baby did not
seem so far-fetched. Under his clothes, Draco was soaked, he could feel it and, worse than
that, smell it. He was going crazy. He had to get rid of him as soon as possible, before
something stupid happened.

“Where does he sleep?” he asked, gritting his teeth, making a superhuman effort to ignore all
the governess' rudeness.

Madame Brown's eyes widened at such a question.

“Where will it be? In his room!” she answered.

Harry would have kicked her if Draco hadn't been in his way so much.

“Obviously he sleeps in his room, but which one?! Which one did he choose, damn it?” he
asked, losing patience.

Madame Brown took a cynical step in his direction, confident now that she saw that Potter
was playing the fool, dominated by his baser instincts.

“In yours” she clarified with great emphasis, since that was exactly what she said from the
beginning. That he did not understand was his problem. “Where else is he going to sleep if he
is married to the owner of this house? The master bedroom belongs to you, doesn't it? He is
going to sleep next to his alpha”.

Harry was about to back away.

If he had stayed a little longer after the wedding, he could have warned him that that was
exactly what he did not want: for Draco to invade such a private space for him. In fact, he
could have warned him not to mess with anything in the house the way he did and they would
have saved themselves all this.

“No!" He snapped, causing Draco to shudder in his arms and release many more pheromones,
which had a worse result for him. "That's my room, he can't be in there!" he thought in a rush
and simply crossed the hall at full speed, kicking open the bedroom opposite his, which was
unoccupied.

It was usually where Ron and Hermione slept when they visited, but that was a long, long
time ago.

Draco's hand hadn't passed through here either, apparently, but he prepared himself for it to
have passed through his bedroom, which was the sanctuary he kept for Ginny. He would be
angry, obviously. He would be furious... but he couldn't explode again like he did when he
saw the changes downstairs. No.

It would be enough if he left everything as it was before.

He carried Draco to the bed, where he tried to place him gently, but failed. He ended up
getting tangled in his own robe and falling on top of him, crushing him with all his weight
against the mattress.
Draco had to let out the most obscene moan Harry had ever heard in his life and something
inside his brain melted at once.

He buried his face in the pale neck of the omega beneath him and planted a kiss on his
jugular, which was throbbing at a very fast pace. He perceived the scent of oats and honey
from his soap and a pleased smile appeared on his lips: this smell was much better than that
of iron, which had taken a backseat under all his fluids.

Draco's hands, like a pair of tentacles belonging to a hungry creature, were quick to meet
him, tangling in his hair, keeping Harry's head where it was. He caressed him, causing a
delicious tickle on his neck that made him moan.

He kissed and kissed and kissed and felt, thinking that the clothes were too much of a
hindrance to what they both wanted to happen.

He sat up and stared at the grey eyes, as cloudy as his own, putting his fingers between the
buttonholes that held the small pearl buttons of the white robe. He pulled with all his might,
listening to the fabric strum with great pleasure, watching the small beads jump in all
directions.

Draco responded with an animated sigh, giving him his approval, parting his legs to give him
more room. Harry had to lift the skirt of his robe to expose him completely.

He leaned down, putting his mouth to his chest, settling between his legs, beginning to rub
himself hard. Draco was so wet, he could hear the splash of his fluids being rubbed by the
erection trapped in Harry's pants.

The omega held him again, cradling his head gently as Harry sucked on one of his nipples,
almost trying to tear it off.

He heard him sigh and moan and babble, and when Harry finally got him to come, the sound
that came out of his mouth ignited him like a forest fire.

He must make the most delicious little noises, right?

Who was the idiot who told him that? But holy crap! He had been absolutely right.

He lay on top of Draco, enjoying the waves of his own orgasm while the other dealt with his
own, the first of his life shared with someone.

They lay there, tangled together, caressing each other and breathing hard, filling the room
with noise and pheromones.

Harry wasn't completely lost yet, so when he felt better, he got out of bed fighting himself,
ignoring with all his might the urge to open his pants when he discovered what Madame
Brown had meant by immodest clothing because, now that he saw Draco properly, with his
robes open and his legs exposed... yeah, there was no way he wasn't doing it on purpose, I
mean, wearing those long stockings that reached up to his thighs and those tiny underwear
that left nothing to the imagination.
Harry imagined tearing them apart so he could bury himself inside him with all the freedom
in the world, allowing himself to discover the warmth of those entrails more than willing to
receive him, crying out for him.

“Madame Brown!” he croaked, beginning to retreat like a coward.

Damn omegas, they caused nothing but trouble!

“No, no, no! Don’t go, please!” Draco cried, trying to lift his head, beginning to fight with
what was left of his robes to push them aside and show more skin. He wanted to attract him.
“Please!”

Harry stumbled out of the room.

He found the governess standing at the end of the hall, still debating whether or not to help
despite having received a direct order, and Harry took advantage of that indecision to dump
all his frustrations on her.

There were five people in this house, only three with enough mental capacity to know what
to do in crisis situations, and unfortunately, one of them had been left out of the game
because Harry had left him like that.

As an alpha, he couldn't help Draco without ending up in a more complicated situation, so the
only option was this detestable woman, who seemed to go out of her way to make life
difficult for everyone.

Omegas in heat experienced a very high fever that, if not lowered, could have dire
consequences. They also lost all reason, as if they were under the influence of a drug, so they
couldn't be left alone for long because they could hurt themselves.

Harry took the woman by the elbow and dragged her across the hall, throwing her headfirst
into the bedroom where Draco was.

"But what am I supposed to do?" the governess asked, her voice high-pitched with urgency.
"Isn't it better that you…?"

Harry slammed the door in her face.

Wasn't it better for her to take care of him, omega to omega? The only way Harry could help
Draco would be to fuck him and that wasn't an option in this house, even if the omega died of
a heart attack or made an attempt on himself…

Don't think like that, don't think like that, he admonished himself. These cases were one in a
million.

He didn't bring this man to be his mate, he brought him to take care of his children and
nothing more.

He took out his wand to change his clothes, removing Draco's scent from his body, and
returned to his office to rummage through his potions cabinet until he found an inhibitor,
which he took on the run. The last thing he needed was to go into heat too.

When his head began to feel clearer and his sense of smell diminished, he sighed with relief
and went up to see his children.

But Madame Brown, who had a special disdain for all omegas and an even greater one for
Draco Malfoy, who in the last month had only increased the list of reasons why she should
detest him, was a terrible choice to take charge of the situation.

Even Kreacher would have helped more and that was even though the house-elf, who was
already very old, sometimes had no idea where his head was.

As soon as the woman saw the boy in bed, panting due to fever and need, all the hatred she
felt for him condensed into a laser beam that, through her gaze, could have torn him to
pieces.

It had always been like that. She had always cursed omegas like that boy and right now, being
forced to watch over him, all that hatred nurtured over decades reared its head, bringing out
the worst in her.

She rolled up her sleeves and walked over to him, looking at him as if he were a worm.

An incredibly beautiful, privileged, rich worm, married to the most important alpha in all of
Britain. A sulky, conceited worm who had done nothing but treat her like the tip of his shoe
for the past few weeks, rubbing in her face everything she had ever wanted in life but never
managed to get.

“Come here, you little leech,” she muttered under her breath, in case Potter was still around
(though she doubted it), putting one knee on the mattress to grab Draco by the hair and force
him to lift his head. “You're not so annoying now that you need something, are you?”

She pulled his hair so hard that Draco groaned, but he was completely out of it, so he didn't
try to defend himself.

Madame Brown threw him to the floor and, dragging him along, forcing him to crawl after
her or she would tear out a lock of his hair, threw him into the bathroom, where she forced
him into the tub.

She grabbed the shower head and, turning on the cold water, soaked him from head to toe,
causing Draco to let out a shriek and protect himself with his arms, writhing against the
porcelain, where he slipped, making escape impossible.

The coldness of the water against the heat of his body must have made him feel like a hot
frying pan being sprayed, emitting smoke and a hiss.

The woman doused him completely, pausing a moment to aim the stream at his face, causing
Draco to cover himself with his hands, still stained with blood.
"Good heavens!" the woman muttered in disgust. "I'd have less work right now if he'd
actually killed you! Can't that hornet-headed man do anything right? What a hero he is!”

Draco let out a whimper that echoed throughout the bathroom.

Madame Brown stopped wetting him to hover over him and tear off the last of his clothes,
untying his undergarment and throwing it to the floor with a watery sound.

Once she had him at her mercy, she wet him again, enjoying watching him curl up and
hearing him cry.

"Enough!" Draco shrieked. "ENOUGH! Please, stop!" he screamed, just like the children did
when punishments didn't work and the governess had to resort to spanking them to get them
to behave.

James, in particular, screamed incredibly, in a way that gave her great satisfaction, but that
Albus... silent as if the mouse had swallowed his tongue, just crying silently. He was the
worst.

She hated them both.

And she hated Draco Malfoy.

“Are you asking me to stop?” she asked, holding his chin, forcing him to look at her. His long
blonde hair stuck to his forehead and temples and there were ice-cold droplets hanging from
his eyelashes. He was really pretty, but at least Potter had managed to leave a mark on his
forehead, not as striking as his own, but a scar nonetheless. “Why would I do that? I'm having
a lot of fun after everything I've had to endure from you since you arrived.”

And, without further ado, she slapped him.

What she loved about omegas in this state was that they remembered almost nothing once it
was over.

They had feverish states that dominated them and made them hallucinate in some cases. They
had nightmares and night terrors and everything was worse if an alpha wasn't with them.
Alphas made everything easier.

Sometimes she wondered if she had become bitter because there was never one around to
take care of her when she was like this.

What would happen to the beautiful Malfoy boy if his husband didn't pull up his pants and
learn to take care of him instead of sniffling in the corners over his dead wife? Oh, he hoped
he'd be around for a long time to see the outcome of this pathetic story.

Draco cried harder.

"Please, please, stop it, I don't like it!" he stammered, his teeth clicking together. "It hurts!
Alpha, where's my alpha?"
Madame Brown giggled.

"Alpha, alpha," she mimicked in a high-pitched voice, hitting him again. "Where do you
think he is, boy? Wasting his time with his obnoxious children, pretending to be a good father
for once."

The sound of water against porcelain was like a thousand marbles falling down the stairs.

“Call him, please. I want… I need…” Draco made to get out of the tub, throwing himself to
the side, slipping and falling to the floor with a wet thud.

After the governess’s attack, he was left only in his stockings and underwear.

“How vulgar!” the woman said, bending down to pull his hair again. “What an intolerable
example of impropriety! If you were part of my family, I would die of shame! When this is
all over, I will have to teach you manners!”

Draco, caught by his hair, remained on his knees, shivering from the cold and the fever. He
endured her hitting him again, barely conscious enough to try to interpose his hands.

The woman began to release omega hormones, rancid, too sweet, and only succeeded in
making him double over and vomit.

Alpha, he needed his alpha… this time he had one, so he didn't have to bother with the
inhibitors.

He tried to get up and all he got was the woman throwing him back into the tub. His head
bounced painfully off the porcelain and he was left very dazed.

“You are going to learn to behave,” Madame Brown declared and once again attacked him
with the icy water.

Unable to do anything, consumed by a cloudy head that spun and hurt as much as that very
private part of his body, Draco burst into tears, wishing for this whole thing to end once and
for all.

It had to be a nightmare.

“Stop it, stop it, please, stop it! Alpha, where is my alpha?! Alpha!”

Harry, his face a little green, waved his wand to silence the room.

He had managed to get Albus to sleep a while ago, leaving him in a corner of James' bed
instead of taking him to his own room, but his eldest son didn't want to close his eyes, so he
was perched on Harry's lap, who had already read him three stories without seeming to have
any effect.
Now he would never get him to rest because Draco's screams had begun to fill the whole
house a while ago. James' eyes were wide with fear and, as much as Harry tried to assure him
that everything was fine, the boy didn't believe him.

What the hell was that woman doing to him? Wasn't she supposed to just change his clothes
and put him to sleep? Maybe give him a damn tea to calm his nerves and make him drink an
inhibitor? Surely Malfoy had brought his own, right? Was it that hard to keep an eye on him
so he didn't jump off the balcony and that's it?

What the hell was going on? Was she nailing him to the bed with spikes in his hands to make
him scream in such a horrible way? It was as if she was killing him and, although at the first
scream Harry wanted to run to see what was happening, he forced himself not to give in:
what Draco wanted was implicit in his words (alpha) and Harry couldn't give it to him.

"What's wrong with Draco, dad?" James asked, shuddering, looking at him with his big
brown eyes before directing them back to the closed door.

Harry's stomach tightened when he heard him mention the other's name because he couldn't
pronounce the R properly and actually said something like "Dwako."

He kissed his forehead.

"He's a little sick," he made up, speaking very softly because it really cost him work to
convince his children that he wouldn't scream or break more things. "One of those diseases
that omegas get from time to time. They get a little… intense and that's why they scream and
cry, but they're okay. Madame Brown is looking after him”.

But instead of reassuring him, James looked more scared. He shook his head.

“No!” he said, distressed. “She's bad! She's hurting him! Dad, you have to help him!” He
pulled at his hand, trying to get him up to force him to go see.

Harry rolled his eyes, sighing and looking at the ceiling.

The boys' rooms had been another shock, or at least James's, which Draco had somehow
managed to turn into a big pirate ship, with the bed being the prow, with a rudder and
everything, matching curtains and a lot of new furniture that the boy seemed to be enjoying a
little too much.

It was a shame that all this had to go too because Harry hated it with all his heart, having
replaced the simple, homely, motherly style that Ginny had managed to give to their son's
bedroom.

Their first child.

With James they had made an effort because she was in excellent health, so together they had
painted the walls blue for him, drawn clouds and stars on the ceiling and hung stuffed
animals over his cot, which later became a bed.
 Harry wanted him to keep that, although when James had calmed down a bit after what had
happened in the afternoon, he showed him all the "improvements" to his bedroom with great
enthusiasm, praising Draco's work because "he didn't want Daddy to be angry with him
anymore."

Oh my God, if he had seen how he left him (bloody and covered in tears), he would have
been traumatized for life.

Harry, for one, would have preferred to forget about Draco and what was happening to him at
that very moment.

But it was true: he couldn't completely let go.

It was just that he suddenly felt like he had a huge sticky mass in his hands and every attempt
he made to free himself from it made it stick more and more, driving him to despair.

He didn't know what the hell to do.

Get a divorce? Move that virgin arse back to his parents' house? Earn the animosity of Lucius
Malfoy, an ex-Death Eater, and the ridicule of the entire wizarding world by making stupid
decisions one after another? It was obvious that Draco had no idea about anything because
Lucius hadn't told him that Harry wasn't planning to marry with the intention of having a full-
fledged marriage again, but with the intention of having someone to permanently take care of
his children, with authority over them if necessary.

Of course, that idiot hadn't said anything, perhaps hoping that Draco would manage to seduce
him and become his real partner.

Well, that wouldn't happen.

Before coming with his children, Harry had gone down to the basement, retrieved his wife's
portrait and put it back in its place.

That he had felt good rubbing between his legs didn't mean anything. It was normal. That was
what omegas like that did, unable to control their pheromones and deal with them.

It wasn't Harry's fault, just as it wasn't his annoyance at the changes in his home (although he
was more than aware that his reaction was disproportionate and he was sorry for it).

Draco would have to adapt to him, not the other way around, and if he couldn't do that, then
Harry really would have to get rid of him.

Chapter End Notes

Guys, thank you so much for your reviews. They are so funny. I really enjoy all of you
getting angry at Harry.
Again, the english thing. If there is something wrong or that sounds weird, please, let me
know (I have doubts about "For God" and "By God". Sometimes translator puts it as"By
God" and I have seen other authors using it, but it makes me feel weird).
See you next week.
 Chapter 8
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

James had promised Harry that he would only get into bed if he assured him that he would
check on Draco, so he had to keep his promise.

He tucked him in with Albus, and while he thought about going to his own room, leaving the
governess to handle everything, in the end he felt terrible for lying to his son and had to do
what he had promised.

It was obvious that he cared about Draco and Harry had no idea how to feel about it.

The thing is, when he entered the bathroom, he hadn't expected to see the macabre scene that
unfolded before his eyes.

Was this woman crazy and he was just discovering it? He had thought her strict and archaic
(like Filch threatening to hang students by their ankles with chains), but this... this...

He snatched the shower head out of her hand and threw it to the floor before she could
continue to wet Draco. He grabbed her shoulder and forced her back.

Even the bathroom felt cold, as if he had stepped into an industrial freezer.

“What are you doing?!” he yelled and at the first note of his voice, the omega, shivering at
the bottom of the tub, woke up as if an Enervate had been applied to him and, with renewed
energy, threw himself into his arms.

He was a mess, even worse than when Harry found him in the hall. His stomach was in knots.

My God, this had to be the worst day of Draco Malfoy's life, without a doubt.

The omega collapsed towards his chest after tripping over the edge of the tub and Harry was
barely able to catch him, preventing him from hurting himself. Feeling how cold his body
was, he shuddered in pure horror. This was definitely a far cry from the fever he had left him
with.

He cursed himself for not coming sooner. Was he stupid enough not to have noticed this was
happening under his roof? But he thought that that wretched woman was calming his heat in
another way! That Draco was only begging for the closeness of an alpha in his time of need!

“You're crazy!” He snapped, looking at the woman, who shrugged, unfazed. “When did I tell
you to do this? Who do you think you are, dammit?! Do you not think?! Do you not have a
soul?!”

Draco was slipping off of him because he was so wet. Harry grabbed him by the waist with
both arms and squeezed him very hard, rubbing his hands down his back, but it was no use
because it was like caressing a slippery slug. The omega could barely stand and was shaking
like a telluric current. He whimpered and muttered things under his breath, with small
hiccups. Harry feared he would have an attack and clung to him as much as he could,
remembering how terrible it was to dive into that frozen lake to get the sword of Gryffindor.

If that had already been hard for an alpha, hardened by nature to be a super predator, he didn't
want to even think about what it was like for an omega, especially one like this one, delicate
and spoiled.

"I did nothing more than what you asked me to do, Mr. Potter: take care of your omega's
heat." The woman raised her palms unconcernedly, interlacing her fingers as Draco
whimpered into Harry's neck, who was sick to his stomach. "How should I do it if I'm an
omega too? This boy is whiny, rude, and doesn't respect me. Next time, if you can't do what
you should as his husband, I would advise you to strip him and throw him in the town tavern.
I assure you that there will be many alphas who can do the job for you. Look at him," and she
stared at Draco in disgust, "he's an accident waiting to happen."

Harry stood dumbfounded, halfway to reach for a towel to wrap Draco.

"Oh, Merlin!" He muttered, shocked, because this woman probably didn't mean what he
thought she meant. She better not. Just because Harry didn't like him very much didn't mean
he wanted a horde of alphas to attack him. "Get out of here! Holy crap! GET OUT!" he
screamed, his roar echoing through the freezing room.

Draco jumped as if he had screamed at him and Harry had to catch him before he could slip
out of his arms. He was dripping so much on the floor that he had already formed a small
puddle.

The woman shrugged and left the room, walking with the ease of someone strolling through
the park.

Harry, huffing in disbelief, finally reached for a towel resting on a tube by the sink and
covered Draco from the head.

Dismayed, he made sure to rub his body, trying to confer some warmth, but if they continued
like this, he would end up with pneumonia or worse.

His lips were blue and every time he breathed, clouds of steam came out of his mouth. He
trembled so violently that it was almost as if he were convulsing.

Damn it!: Harry felt as if he had left one of his children in the hands of that maniac. In this
state, Draco was no more conscious than Albus.

“Now, it’s okay. She’s gone. Let’s warm you up, come on.” He pulled him along, trying to
lead him back into the tub, but Draco resisted and Harry understood perfectly why.

What a wretch that woman had been, though he couldn’t blame her because he had put them
in this situation. He was the idiot who didn’t come the first time he heard Draco scream. Now
he had to deal with the consequences.
He ran a hand over his face, thinking what a complete jackass he had been.

Pulling Draco along, he crouched down and prepared the tub, filling it with hot water,
scalding at first so the steam would spread around and ease the coldness of the walls. He
measured it slowly, with Draco’s hand trapped in his at all times.

He could hear his teeth chattering and see his knees shaking out of the corner of his eye. He
lowered his eyelids, taking small breaths because he himself was shaking too.

This room was small. It had a balcony covered with white curtains, a wooden closet, and the
oval bathtub was in the middle of everything. It was big enough to fit an adult couple.

Harry liked it because it was a small, comfortable space that reminded him in some ways of
that lousy cupboard the Dursleys had made him grow up in, but in a better light.

He actually liked small places and wondered if it was a result of the war, where everything
seemed so vast and unbearable.

He tested the water and, when he found it fine, he took Draco's towel off to ask him to get in,
only he couldn't do it in his socks, could he?

Harry sighed, cursing this day like no other. He still hadn't convinced himself that it wasn't a
nightmare or a hallucination.

He guided Draco to sit on the edge of the tub.

Cold as he was, the scent of his pheromones wasn't as strong as before, so Harry could
breathe without difficulty.

Draco leaned against the tub and Harry knelt in front of him, taking him by the ankle so that
he placed his foot on his thigh. He reached up to undo the clasps of the garters, which left a
deep red mark on Draco's skin, hooking his fingers into the hem of the white stocking; he
began to unroll it down his long, pale leg.

He tried to focus on anything else, like the fact that he'd never met anyone who wore
stockings with garters. It seemed a little ridiculous, actually. Pretentious. Very stupid.

Inside his head, he felt like he was watching two clouds of smoke collide, one black and
familiar and one white and unknown.

His alpha was… very attentive, head out of the burrow, eyes peeking through a slit.

He'd never done this with anyone. Ginny had never needed him to help her undress.
Especially not looking like a poor little girl who'd gotten caught in the rain.

Draco Malfoy must have had the longest legs Harry had ever seen, and right now they were
freezing cold, like a pair of icebergs.

He wondered if he should reach for another towel and try to dry him off some more, but he
was going to get him into a hot bath anyway.
He pulled off the second sock as well, and Draco pursed his lips slightly when Harry made
him stand up to pull down his underwear.

He wasn't aroused or self-conscious. He'd seen plenty of naked classmates in the Ministry
barracks, and at school too, and during his missions he'd come across a few omegas as well.

He'd seen a bit of everything in his life. Draco Malfoy and his long legs were just one more
thing, as was his overwhelming nakedness.

"Alpha," Harry heard him whisper before Draco tried to put his mouth on his neck.

He'd gone a little hoarse, which wasn't surprising.

Harry shook his head, patiently pushing him away.

"I'm not your alpha," he replied. "Come on, let me warm you up a bit or you'll get sick."

The Malfoys were going to kill him if anything happened to their poor son under his care.

Lucius would try to tear him to pieces, no doubt.

He offered his hand to help him into the warm water, and as he leaned back against the
porcelain bottom, Draco sighed, sinking deeper into it, hoping it would cover his head and his
long, loose hair as it began to float behind him.

He must have been freezing cold, and all because of that witch. They'd really be lucky if he
didn't get sick.

Harry shuddered as he pressed the soap bottle into the water, creating a lot of foam.

Had she ever done something like that to one of his children? But they would have told him,
wouldn't they? James was a little gossip, and he told him everything, even what Albus
couldn't. He'd never seen them with bruises or anything like that. They complained a bit, but
that was normal, the same as when their uncles played rough with them or fought with one of
their cousins.

The only thing Harry had ever seen her do was pin Albus against a wall to punish him, but
that was only on rare occasions, when he was running through his house before launching
into a new mission… The one time he saw her slapping him in the hand for spilling the soup,
he became furious and yelled at her. She swore it would never happen again.

Harry believed her because he didn't want to stay in that house, trapped with his children, and
he couldn't go through the debacle of finding a new caregiver.

The hand holding the bottle made such a jump that the container fell from it and flew out
under the toilet.

Draco emerged from the water like a mermaid on the beach, but Harry knew perfectly well
that those things were not as beautiful as the one in front of him right now. He didn't even
care that he splashed him. He was too shaken.
He remembered the light tone with which they had greeted each other weeks ago, when he
had stuck his face through the fireplace, and he wanted to get it back, thinking that life would
be easier if they could get along (it would be a damn miracle if there were no hard feelings
after everything that had happened).

“Hey, Draco” he said, and upon hearing his name, the omega's grey eyes immediately locked
onto him. They looked exhausted and irritated from crying, but they still had the arrow-like
edge of an omega in heat. Harry was three seconds away from falling backwards as if he had
been attacked with two darts. “Have you ever seen Madame Brown mistreating the boys? I
mean, in this time…”

And, to his surprise, that omega's gaze turned to stone.

“I would have torn her head off” he answered, and after a second of shock, Harry smiled.

Omega and in heat, now he understood why there was a saying about how they could be
tough, especially when there were offspring involved.

And Harry felt good at that moment, knowing that, at least in that sense, he hadn't made a
mistake: Draco was…

The children felt cared for by this person and Draco had protected them, even from Harry
himself, who hadn't known how to repay him in the best way.

He didn't even have the balls to apologize for what he did to him and, even now, he wasn't
doing it for having left him in the care of that horrible person.

It's just that… he couldn't. Saying it out loud would be acknowledging the thing he had
become and… he wasn't ready to face it. No.

No.

Once the water had enough foam, he reached for the sponge and helped him wash himself,
because, if it had been up to Draco, he would have just stayed soaking wet.

He scrubbed his arms and chest, his neck and shoulders. He washed his hair, digging his
fingers into the strands very carefully so as not to accidentally tug on it. He made sure to
wash away the scabs of blood that had remained on his temple, where he hated the feeling of
a raised little mark under his fingers.

He didn't remember doing this for Ginny, so it was fine.

He didn't want to do with anyone else what he had done with his wife once. He didn't need
that intimacy with anyone other than her. If he was able to take care of Draco right now it
was because he owed it to him.

Harry... wasn't an evil person. He had never had that kind of inclination. Although he did
know that he wasn't perfect and that he could often make mistakes, just like today.
He liked things to be a certain way and for people to follow his lead, but Draco didn't seem to
be like that and that was why he had gotten so worked up.

However, it wasn't an excuse to behave like a bastard and even feel that he had the right to
hurt him.

He wasn't like that. He didn't want to be like that. He couldn't become that kind of person no
matter how much the loss of his wife had hurt him, no matter how much he thought that life
no longer had meaning and it wasn't worth continuing in this world, so full of crap for people
like him.

He was tired. He was just very tired of being alive. And he was making people pay, who
didn't deserve it.

Draco relaxed under the touch of his fingers, closing his eyes. From the faint scent of his
pheromones, Harry could tell he was calm, at peace, feeling cared for and protected.

His mouth twisted.

He felt uncomfortable.

Draco smelled too good for it to mean anything good. He was too young, he seemed to be full
of fantasies, and well… Harry didn't want him to misinterpret everything again.

He helped him rinse off and get out of the tub now that he was a little warmer. He wrapped a
new towel around him after a thorough rubbing and led him to the bedroom. He dried his hair
with a charm and helped him get under the covers, not caring, for the moment, about his
nakedness.

What did it matter? He could have been a lamp or a table. If Harry had reacted to him before,
it was only because of his scent, which, thanks to the inhibitor, had dissipated superficially.

Draco got into bed docilely, letting himself be covered like a child. Harry pointed to the
fireplace, lighting the fire, and went to sit in the armchair by the balcony. He could make out
Draco's eyes fixed on him through the half-light, waiting.

Harry thought he would fall asleep after a while, but in reality he was conscious, more alert
than ever, although only his alpha side, which was answering to the pheromones that were
slowly flooding the room again.

Draco stirred restlessly for a moment, trying to rub his skin against the sheets, and Harry
responded to him as if the song of a bird were calling him.

The fever had returned, as had the heat and the delicious aroma emanating from the center of
his body.

Harry stood up and rested one knee on the edge of the mattress, still fighting against himself
and his instincts. Draco extended a pale hand in his direction.
Harry took it reflexively, just as he took the hand of anyone who asked him for help, because,
after all, it was in his nature to be a savior, although for some time now the pain had made
him forget all that.

Draco drew him in like a carnivorous plant emitting perfume to call its prey.

Harry, who was exhausted from all the events of the day and from his trip to Auvergne, gave
in. He lay down beside him on the bed, on the covers.

They stayed for a while looking into each other's eyes, blinking in the opacity.

Draco brought Harry's hand to his mouth, kissing his fingers, letting him feel the moisture of
his lips.

"I'll be good, I promise," he said, his eyes clouded with the desire that was tearing him apart
from the depths of his being. "I'm a good omega." He kissed him again and Harry quivered as
if he had been shocked. "I'll do what my alpha wants. I won't make a mistake again. I'm
going to learn. Be my alpha, please."

He rubbed himself under the covers and Harry knew what he wanted. What he needed.

He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting the tightness in his belly.

He's not like us, he remembered Narcissa telling him on their wedding day.

Draco was… light. Amidst all that darkness Harry experienced within the icy walls of
Malfoy Manor. That's why he understood why his parents loved him so much.

Lucius and Narcissa had made a risky move by getting close to him to keep Draco safe and
Harry had betrayed that trust by hurting him.

He thought of Draco's devastated expression when he told him his parents were Death Eaters,
too.

That boy loved his family as much as Harry came to love his own, and yet here he was right
now, giving him the impression that he would be able to forget everything as long as Harry
gave him the little he was asking for, which, for him, after Ginny, was a lot.

Any other alpha would have given in already, but he had never been like the others.

Why the fuck did everything have to be so complicated?

Harry, since Ginny's death, felt like he was split in half or even into multiple pieces, having to
live a reality for each of them in this house that he hated to the core, but perhaps it was his
fault for having let himself be consumed by grief, for living from that day until today
thinking that at some point he would wake up from the nightmare and everything would be
good again.

Ginny was dead. That chapter of his life had closed forever because, as he learned well in his
fight against Voldemort, there was nothing that could beat Death and, right now, there was an
omega with a beating heart lying next to him, begging him to ride him and germinate a seed
inside him.

What if you just give in and give him what he wants and accept that things will never be the
same again?

It was just that, with Ginny, he came to think that he had already gotten his happy ending.

He had the love of his life, the dream job, the house, the children… nothing bad could happen
to him again.

And then, the weakness took over her, slowly consuming her until it extinguished her
completely, and here he was, still trying to process it. And he was convinced that he would
never succeed.

Maybe accepting Draco at his side was a much bigger bite than he could take, because right
now he was beyond confused and suffocated, wishing he hadn't taken this next big step.

Why the hell did he listen to his friends?

Draco was too much.

He didn't feel capable of facing him, but he wasn't going to leave him alone again. He wasn't
going to do that rude thing to him after he had yelled at him, hurt him, and caused that
woman to torture him during one of his most vulnerable moments.

He rolled him up in the blanket and hugged him tightly. He began to release his pheromones,
making the room fill with that hypnotic vapor, trying to ignore the scent of Draco's.

This was how it was done on the battlefield, when they found an omega in this precarious
situation and they couldn't resort to laying their hands on them because no.

They were intoxicated with the hormones of an alpha, they were made into idiots, exceeding
the demands of their needs, and then they were placed in the hands of a healer who could take
care of them.

Now, what Harry needed was for Draco to fall asleep and let him think quietly.

But it wasn't that easy.

Draco's fever was high again, perhaps because of Madame Brown's cold bath. Harry placed a
hand on his forehead and immediately removed it, as if he had touched a lit grill.

He pushed the blankets aside, revealing his soaked skin, trying to relieve his heat.

Draco gasped and something inside Harry melted again.

Below Draco's waist, on the dark sheets, was a huge wet stain.
Harry felt dizzy when he saw it. It smelled like everything he knew an omega's heat should
smell like.

"I'm going to be good," Draco hissed desperately, trying to rub himself against Harry. "I'm
going to be good, I swear. I swear, alpha, please."

Treating an omega's heat with an alpha pheromone bath was not the best option and could
have consequences, but Harry couldn't think of any better possibilities because, likewise,
letting his fever continue to rise could be risky.

He hugged Draco's naked body, feeling like he could break his ribs if he squeezed too hard,
and rested his forehead on his shoulder, sticky with sweat.

Thanks to the inhibitor he had drunk, he was no longer at risk of doing something stupid, but
even though his sense of smell was impaired, he could still distinguish how good Draco
smelled and how much it stimulated him, making his groin tingle.

It was like smelling a nice perfume with a stuffy nose.

“Please… please… I can’t take it anymore… it hurts…” Draco insisted, rubbing himself
against Harry shamelessly, unable to stop struggling when what he wanted was so incredibly
close and yet so far away.

The thing was, Harry, the man, master of his mind, had been furious with this person for
violating the sanctity of the house he shared with his wife, but Harry, the alpha, had long ago
realized that his omega had died and would never return.

As Hermione told him, it was common for alphas to pair up after losing their omega and what
Harry had been prolonging was the truly strange thing: enduring that emptiness, that lack of
natural connection between two people, was the real torture.

He was looking to tear himself apart from the inside out and here was the proof: any other
alpha would have already fallen into that temptation, which was rightfully his, while he was
still fighting the urge to throw himself into the void.

And Draco was suffering for it.

Harry might not have married him with the intention of being his mate, but he hadn't told him
that. Even Lucius hadn't warned him despite knowing that Harry wasn't looking for romance.

This boy wanted the alpha to complement him as an omega, the man who would love him
with all his heart and give him a home.

And Harry had dragged him into this just to upset his friends and family, who didn't want to
see him sink deeper into the despair of having lost his wife, one of the few people who had
dared to love him unconditionally and despite knowing all the baggage he carried inside.

It wasn't fair.
He felt very guilty and stupid because he kept making the same bad decisions as when he was
a teenager, only this time he couldn't count on Hermione to show up to help him analyze
things or Ron to give him support.

He was alone.

He closed his eyes tightly, feeling Draco shudder.

What Madame Brown did to him…

He had heard gruesome stories about what some omegas had to endure, especially those from
ancient bloodline families like the Malfoys, being used as bargaining chips between clans,
but he never thought he would have to see it.

It was his fault, too.

Draco cried some more, on the edge of the cliff, knowing there was an alpha beside him who
wasn't responding to him.

Harry gave in.

He slipped a hand between his legs and searched for that private spot, soaked in natural
lubricant. Draco let out a sort of approving grunt and immediately relaxed in Harry's arms,
flexing one leg to give him more room.

Harry gasped, realizing how fast his breathing was, and began to caress him there. At first it
was just a couple of fingers touching him like something very soft, surprised by the warmth
of his fluids, but then, when Draco began to despair, he had to go a little further.

He looked down, at all that bare skin spread out before his eyes to be admired. More than at
the very white thighs or the erect member, he focused on that little part of his body that now
throbbed with a single need.

You should do him a favor and put a child inside him, Madame Brown told him.

Put a child in that flat belly and watch it grow month by month, waiting for the first
movements, crossing off days on the calendar, preparing everything for the birth…

Heats made conceiving much easier.

If they had sex right now, Draco would most likely get pregnant and within a few months
there would be a new baby in this house, tiny and beautiful and adorable.

One that wouldn't be Ginny's…

Harry closed his eyes very tightly, not wanting to think about it.

His last experience with babies had been atrocious. He didn't want to relive it.
Ginny had barely survived childbirth and, although she tried to provide mothering care for
Albus, she couldn't, leaving it to Molly and her sisters-in-law, who were happy to help.

Draco moaned, contracted and came, repeating that chain of well-articulated sounds that
Harry heard at the beginning of all this.

The cutest little noises…

With his face burning, he tried to pull his hand away, but Draco stopped him, holding his
wrist to keep it where it was, squeezing it with the help of his thighs as well.

"More," he sighed, desperate. “More, please…" he rocked his hips, riding Harry's hand,
letting his eyes roll back into their sockets.

Harry gulped, finding that no one had ever done anything like that to him.

James and Albus were happy with Draco. At least that was the impression he had.

Draco had proven himself capable of taking care of them.

What did Harry think, marrying such a young, fertile omega? That he'd never have to deal
with things like this? Why couldn't he see past that? What was he supposed to do every time
his heat came, to throw him into a pack of alphas like Madame Brown advised? To keep him
on high inhibitors, robbing him of this fundamental part of himself?

He was a jerk.

He exhaled, exhausted.

They might never be able to be a normal marriage, but it was clear that the two of them
would have to start working as a team if they were going to make it last.

Draco was on fire again and the viscous fluid that had Harry's hand soaked kept oozing from
his body.

Harry, swallowing, pressed himself a little closer to him and tentatively inserted one of his
fingers into Draco's body, making him cry in surprise.

He'd never been with a male omega, so this was all new to him, too. Thinking he had hurt
him, he tried to pull away, but Draco pressed closer to him, pleading. He closed his eyes and
opened his mouth, sighing and moaning in a way that filled the room like the echo of an
orchestra.

Harry began to go crazy.

He began to push his finger a little harder, wanting to go further, but his knuckles prevented
him from doing so.

What he really wanted to put inside him was…

He added a second finger and soon found a kind of rhythm.

Draco came again, this time with a mewl, arching his back.

Harry, acting against himself, smiled, allowing his alpha to feel triumphant at discovering
that he was able to continue giving pleasure to an omega.

Draco lay limp on the bed, breathing very hard, running his hands over his body as if to make
sure everything was still whole.

He suddenly moved towards Harry, looking for a kiss, but Harry pulled away quickly.

“Not that,” he admonished, and Draco groaned a little, as if he were about to cry.

Harry stood up, pulling off his shirt and opening his trousers to relieve some of the pressure
between his legs. Those damn inhibitors only kept his head a little clearer, but the fire, being
fueled, grew just the same.

He pulled Draco’s slim hips around and put him on his knees on the bed, his face buried in a
pillow. He pushed two fingers into him at once and heard him sigh his approval.

He relaxed instantly. Harry did too.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, turning his face to the ceiling, still working his
fingers, wondering how deep he could go.

He hugged him around the waist, scattered a handful of kisses down his shoulders and back,
and, deciding that as long as he did everything in moderation there was nothing wrong with
it, he pulled his member out of his underwear and began rubbing it between his omega's
buttocks, who let out an interested moan.

Harry saw threads of his seminal fluid leaving trails across that body like spider webs,
glistening in the half-light.

Draco seemed to like that and it would have to do because he wasn't going to give him
anything else.

A day later, Draco's fever subsided enough for Harry to think the heat was over, but then it
came back with a vengeance, only accompanied by a sore throat and a lot of coughing.

So that nasty Madame Brown's ice bath had really gotten him sick after all.

Realizing this only made him feel worse.

He ordered Kreacher to change his sheets and it was him who put a new nightgown on him
after cleaning him with passes of his wand.
He left him submerged in clouds of cotton, covered up to his chin with the pearl-grey duvet,
resting the illness as if nothing had happened between them, paying him occasional visits to
make sure he was okay.

"Where's Draco, Dad?" James asked him, saying the name in that funny way, while Harry
helped him carry his bucket of lettuce to the animal shed.

The children got up even earlier than he did and began to fight, but this time they were calm,
calm as if they were afraid of doing something that would unleash a chaos similar to the last
time.

Harry didn't want them to grow up afraid, least of all of him, so he was making a great, great
effort to regain their trust. He couldn't believe what he had made them see and all for a stupid
thing.

They could have talked it over, he could have explained to Draco why he hadn't liked what he
had done, and with magic they could have left everything as it was, without having to go to
such lengths.

That was why Hermione and the Weasleys were so worried about him, wasn't it? They knew
what he had become... well, now Harry knew it too, and he hated it with all his being.

Leaving the pale yellow morning sun behind, they entered the wooden cottage where they
kept his firstborn's pets and Harry greeted Buckbeak with a nod, which the hippogriff
returned solemnly.

Hagrid hadn't been able to look after him for some time, so Harry had accepted his
responsibility, almost as he had accepted Draco. The funny thing was that, in order to deal
with both of them, Harry had the strange impression that he had to swallow his pride and bow
his head.

He was carrying Albus in his arms because he knew that the youngest of his children did not
like his brother's pets, but, to his surprise, this time the boy asked to come down kicking and,
when Harry put him on the ground, he saw him running after one of the rabbits that came
hopping over, looking for breakfast.

Another achievement of his husband, apparently.

Something bitter sank into his chest.

"He's still sick, James. You'd better let him rest. You can catch it," he explained, putting the
bucket on a wooden stool to start tearing up the lettuce with his hands, something that was
almost therapeutic.

James pouted.

"He'll be okay, right?" He asked, looking at his shoelaces sadly. "It won't be like... like
Mom?"
James, unfortunately, had seen a lot of his mother's convalescence and, apparently, he still
remembered it. Harry felt a knot in his stomach.

“It’s just the flu,” Harry consoled him, trying to downplay it, although deep down he wasn’t
so convinced. “Nothing bad will happen to him, I promise.”

He would have to redouble his efforts with Draco, then.

James cheered up.

That morning, Harry woke up to an unpleasant headline in the Daily Prophet and he still
didn’t know how to feel about it.

Apparently, the Diagon Alley photographer who had done that crazy photo shoot between his
children and “his omega” had sold the photographs to the paper, so, in addition to taking up
half the front page under the title “HARRY POTTER’S BEAUTIFUL FAMILY,” they had
two more pages in the middle of the publication where a larger assortment of striking images
could be seen, such as that of Draco Malfoy in his Hogwarts uniform pretending to cast a
spell on James, dressed as a giant pumpkin, and Albus, who was dressed as an owl.

People were amazed, while Harry, to be honest, was nauseous.

He had collected those same photographs, scattered around the hall of his house, and put
them in a box that he kept in his desk drawer, not knowing what to do with them.

Once Draco's heat had subsided, Harry let him sleep and went down to take care of the
damage, repairing the furniture, cleaning up the blood (which he didn't dare look at more than
necessary) and throwing away the polished silver and broken glass, which he didn't want to
have around again.

With a swipe of his wand, he smoothed out the huge gashes in the blue wallpaper, returning it
to its old brown color, just like the facade.

The only thing he kept were the fruit trees and he was still debating with himself whether he
should change the children's room or not. It would be a blow to James, who was in love with
his pirate bed, and he didn't want to upset him again, not now that the boy had stopped
jumping every time Harry's hand reached out to stroke his head.

He vowed to sue the man who sold the photos, especially since he suspected they would
create a frenzy of gossip in the magazines.

At the bottom of one of the larger photos, where Draco could be seen holding Albus, giving
him a kiss on the cheek, while James ran around them both, trying to get attention, there was
a comment demanding a photo shoot between the newlyweds.

Harry, who spent a long time looking at the image of Draco, smiling at the camera while he
swayed with Albus, who had a hand tightly tangled in his long blonde hair (almost the same
way he used to hold Ginny's when he was younger), felt a burning sensation in his stomach at
the thought that that was never going to happen.
He had already decided that he would stop being a jerk to his omega, but only out of respect
and comfort. It didn't mean that he wanted to play that game in front of the press too.

Damn people should know: Harry had always tried to be very private about his life, even
when the novelty of being The Chosen One prevented him from doing so.

The idea of ​having pictures of his children rolling around, as if they were sinister, soulless
catalog models, posing and making fools of themselves, made him very uncomfortable and
he thought about starting a new fight with Draco about it, but was it worth it at this point?

He would only warn him not to do it again and take legal action against those who thought it
would be a good idea to display them (did those ridiculous people go around selling photos of
Jane, the Baker, or John, the Apothecary? At least now that he was an adult, he felt much
more confident when it came to defending himself from such abuse from the public, which he
had to endure from a very early age in the magical world).

As for Madame Brown, he thought about firing her, but, seeing that Draco was out of action,
he had to keep her in the house, at least to watch the children while Draco's heat finished
breaking. His hopes of getting rid of her vanished when he discovered the flu. The woman
must have known how much Harry was thinking of sending her to hell because she was being
so nice, talking to him so respectfully and being so helpful, though Harry would never forget
the spiteful expression on her face as she tortured Draco in the bathroom.

He spoke to her, telling her that something like that couldn't happen again, and, indeed, the
governess feigned madness, making sure to turn the cards against Harry, making it clear that
it had all been his fault. And Harry felt so truly guilty that he couldn't contradict her.

"That person is like me in this house," he warned, icy, looking her in the eyes with the fixity
of a wolf. "If you do something like last night to him again, it will be as if you did it to me
and believe me, I won't like it."

"Of course," she shrugged her shoulders with a well-masked disdain. "That won't have to be
repeated if the next time the alpha of the house manages to fulfill his omega’s needs instead
of burdening someone else. I'm very sorry, Mr. Potter. After that confrontation between you
two, it was difficult for me to remember that he is your husband and not a rude little boy to
whom I must teach manners. In my day, this was how degenerate omegas' fevers were
calmed.

Harry imagined himself strangling her.

He would keep an eye on her, just in case (he hated how much extra work this was giving
him).

They sat on the grass outside the shed to feed James' rabbits, Harry with his back against a
wall and his legs crossed in the lotus position, feeling very relaxed as he breathed in the
fresh, morning air.

It was the first time in years that simply breathing felt this good to him.
It was the effects of having shared a heat with Draco. While they hadn't had sex, inhaling
their combined hormones worked as a natural relaxant. Although it had been a very mild
exposure thanks to the inhibitor, it was as if Harry had been intoxicated through the skin.

He understood now why the others had been so desperate to get him a new omega, but he
didn't want to agree with them.

Albus began to tear off bits of toast to throw at the curious owls that approached. Before, he
would have run away from them in terror. Harry watched him with wide eyes, listening to the
boy say “here, here!” throwing bits as far as his short arms would allow. He was having fun,
which was as amazing as a miracle.

Harry, for the first time in a long time, felt at peace around his children, not wanting to run
away from them, perhaps because, during that month when he wasn’t around, Draco took
care to dampen the fervor with which they greeted him every time he returned from a
mission.

James was calm. He showed him his things as usual, but didn’t pester him trying to get his
attention.

Albus, who had always been quiet, was talking a bit more, even under his breath, making up
his own stories, which was good. He had been a little afraid for him since Ginny, especially
when Hermione started talking about taking him to “child trauma specialists” (Harry, who
knew about “child trauma,” shuddered at the idea of ​the youngest of his children having one).

After every mission, his office would grant him a few days' leave to recuperate at home, and
though he never took it, he did this time, figuring a little time off wouldn't hurt, though there
was a certain anxiety throbbing beneath his skin.

With all his heart, he hoped Draco would recover soon so he wouldn't have to leave the
children in Madame Brown's hands, but it seemed like it would take a while.

He had never seen anyone get sick like that before because it was ridiculous, but he was
trying to understand that perhaps this boy had never experienced a freezing cold shower in
his life, so full of privilege and fanfare.

Surely the Malfoys, who were the biggest snobs Harry had ever met, would cut off their
hands rather than allow their son to face even the slightest lack (Harry remembered all those
times when one of them had made a disparaging remark about the Weasleys for their lack of
money or that time when Lucius had made fun of Hagrid's cottage, turning up there with the
intention of getting Dumbledore into trouble).

Even he, growing up with the Dursleys, had had to face punishments that often made him feel
like an animal, but that somehow toughened him up for the life he had to lead.

Draco was a little delirious with fever, which was making Harry fearful, so he had written to
the drugstore in Diagon Alley asking for a large supply of pepper potions to help him get by.
 Just in case, he had his sons drink some too, because he didn't want them to get infected, but,
seeing James's dirty nails and the way Albus was already able to play in the mud without
grimacing, he was convinced that they both had a much more effective immune system than
that omega of his, whose vocabulary should not include the word "dirt."

At night, Harry, who couldn't sleep, watched over Draco's sleep, making sure he was there
when the nightmares plagued him (they must have been horrible because he watched him
flail and groan, asking for help and calling for his parents between gasps).

Now Harry understood why his friends were so startled when he had nightmares about
Voldemort.

Draco... had to get well again because his children needed him, and if that was the case, so
did Harry.

Since they were in this boat side by side, they might as well try to get it afloat together.

Chapter End Notes

I think this fic is pretty inspired by the mexican telenovelas I have seen through my life.
Ok, nope.
As I said, last two chapters were the rougher ones, so you all can breath with peace the
next ones.

Madame Brown... It's a mix of two people I met a year ago and I'm releasing stress
through her, so we'll have to put up with her nasty self for a while.
 Chapter 9
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

It was a few days after his heat that Draco Malfoy woke up and the first thing he thought was
that he missed his room in his parents' mansion terribly.

He missed the stone balcony next to his bed, surrounded by white rose bushes, as well as the
sound of birds singing to him in the early morning. He longed for that old feeling of perfect
life, of "nothing bad can happen here," and of being protected in the shadow of Lucius and
Narcissa, who were the pillars of this little world of his.

Pained in a very deep part of his chest, in a special kind of pride that he didn't know he had or
that could be tarnished in such a ruinous way, he made himself small, thinking that very bad
things had happened to him and he didn't understand why. "Bad things" wouldn't happen to
people like him. It was unbelievable. Unthinkable. For other kind of people. Everything in his
life had to be perfect from dawn to dusk because his parents had accustomed him to that.
Why should it be any other way?

The world at Malfoy Manor had always revolved around him, even at Hogwarts it had
revolved around his money, so he didn't quite understand why his dream had suddenly turned
into a nightmare.

He was afraid.

And the worst of all was that, despite that, he still had some faith.

He took a deep breath and, tightening the duvet, forced himself to open his eyes. He was
greeted by the darkness of the curtains that blinded everything and, indeed, the contrast with
what he remembered from his old life was confusing and too opposite.

Coughing, he tasted the unpleasant taste of the medicine impregnated on his tongue, which
had the consistency of cardboard. His head throbbed, his eyes hurt and there was a persistent
ringing in his ears that made him wonder if he had gone deaf.

"Damn bastard," he said, thinking of his husband and, although his voice sounded raspy, he
could hear it, at least.

The room was cold in a way that would have been impossible in the Manor, since the house-
elves kept the fires burning at night. Asking Kreacher to do that would have been like asking
Albus to build a house in a day. However, someone had put a warm, thickly knitted blanket
over the duvet and that seemed to be counteracting his shivering a little.

He felt sick, weak and very tired. He barely had the ability to reason. His body ached. Too
much had come together and, for the first time in his life, he found himself in a frightening
and inhospitable place.
He sighed, defeated, realizing that this was not the room he had slept in for the last month.

So you even kicked me out of your room, he thought, and he felt a horrible urge to cry that he
swallowed out of vanity. He was embarrassed to remember the happiness with which he had
sunk into Harry Potter's bed the first time he slept in this house, rolling through the blankets
to breathe in that alpha scent that drove him a little crazy.

He also remembered, part by part, the terrible argument in the hall, as well as the push that
had knocked him face-first into the glass. He heard his husband's horrible statements as if he
were repeating them to him, making sure they were tattooed on Draco's brain: you are
nobody, you have no rights, don't take decisions, Ginny this, Ginny that.

The contempt he felt for that woman in that instant was so great, it bordered on sworn hatred
despite having never met her. He was so glad she was dead, and when he realized it, he cut
himself short, discovering that he had never felt anything like that.

But no one could blame him.

He felt his forehead and touched the scar that had appeared at the base of his hair. It wasn't
too big, but he hated the fact that it was there because he had never had any marks or moles.
He looked at his wrist and made out an S-shaped cut that reminded him of a snake slithering
through the grass. That one would be hard to hide, but at least he liked to wear long sleeves.

He sighed sadly, thinking of a lot of potions and pastes he could use to get rid of it, but… was
it worth it? He would think about that later, when he stopped feeling like he was floating in
water and had his feet back on the ground.

What did he say about your parents? Death Eaters. If it's true, this is where they should have
the Dark Mark, right? Now you're marked too.

A powerful disgust against himself invaded him and he didn't know why.

He didn't do anything wrong. It was Harry Potter who…

A cramp made his chest ache. It contracted, bending like a piece of plastic on fire.

Harry Potter.

Was it really him who had carried him into this room? He remembered pleading, hugging
someone with all his might, and the explosion of a very clear pleasure that, for a moment,
blinded him and drove everything else out of his head.

His face burned with shame.

Had they…?

He remembered nothing else. Only, perhaps, a freezing room, a voice insulting him, and cold
water falling on him like a rain of murderous arrows.
His soul sank and a great disappointment took hold of him, along with a degradation he had
never felt before, perhaps only the night Harry Potter looked at him with annoyance and said,
"I'm sorry, I don't dance."

I don't dance, I'm not a good husband, I'm not a good alpha, I leave my children adrift
because I can't take responsibility for them and I torture omegas for the sheer pleasure of it,
giving them the most incredible orgasms of their lives before spraying their faces with ice-
cold water and telling them they're trash…

That was the Harry Potter he'd gotten to know and he felt like an idiot when he remembered
the way he'd defended him in front of Pansy, who'd been right in telling him all alphas were
disgusting.

All of them, without exception.

And now Draco had marks on his body that would never let him forget.

How far had Harry Potter gone with him?

He rested a hand on his stomach, over the silk robe, and wondered if there was a chance he
was…

An alpha is an alpha, after all.

If he paid a little more attention to the blackness inside his mind, he could visualize glimpses
of the sheets of this bed knotted around his legs while a large, hot body lay behind him. It
was just too confusing because in that same abyss there were endless images produced during
the nightmares he had experienced the last few days, so it was hard to tell…

But he doubted that alpha Potter would have been able to resist, having an omega in heat at
his mercy.

That was how they all were.

So, that meant that Draco didn't even remember his first time. Would it be better this way,
after the way Potter had treated him?

A lump tightened in his throat and it hurt more than usual.

Everything you had hoped to get out of this marriage was nothing more than fantasies.

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to get used to the idea that he had built many castles in
the air. Now he would have to rebuild from the reality he had just learned. He had to stop
being naive and thinking of Harry Potter as that alpha he had idealized for almost all of his
adolescence.

You know nothing about him (apart from the fact that he's a jerk). He knows nothing about
you. He's not a selfless hero. He's not a irreproachable alpha. Keep that in mind and maybe
you can still get something out of this, Draco, come on. You did nothing wrong, it was all his
fault. His and no one else's. Anyone who says otherwise is a madman even if it's himself. Find
a way to grab him by the neck and don't let go, you can. It'll be like hunting a crocodile…

When the hell had a pureblood ever been in the fucking need of "hunting a crocodile", for
God’s sake? Fuck you, Potter!

Depressed and weak, he tried to get up to go to the bathroom. He needed to empty his
stomach. He wrapped himself in the crocheted blanket, which had to be the most wonderful
thing in the world because it helped him stay warm as if it were enchanted, although he was
disgusted by that vulgar scarlet red hue that would have been able to attract a bull to gore
him.

He opened the wooden door and entered the small white room, which brought back a lot of
memories at once: Harry Potter's voice telling him to get into the tub, his hand in his hair,
endless obscene words and the water hitting his face, making him gasp…

And then a heavy, warm body holding his on the bed, giving him one blast of pleasure after
another.

He vomited heavily into the sink, feeling hollow and miserable.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. His first time with him should have been different,
wonderful. He should remember it as the best experience of his life, not having a hole where
all those memories should be found.

He sat down on a padded chair after rinsing his mouth and looked at his hand, devoid of a
wedding ring. Without any proof there to tell him he was married, he inevitably felt like a
vile whore who had given his heat to some unknown guy.

He narrowed his eyes, resentful and humiliated.

At least he didn't remember much of what had happened.

If Potter had really mounted him...

He rested his hand on his belly once more, wishing with all his heart to know if there was
something in there (and hoping the answer was yes for a reason he couldn't understand, but
which must be the same one that led a cat to cross a burning house in order to rescue her
babies. Omegas... nature's joke).

He decided he would spend the day in bed because he didn't feel like dealing with the world.

Everything was spinning and he could barely stand up.

But fate decided another course for him (once again), when, passing by the window on his
way to bed, he heard children's cries and, looking out out of curiosity, he saw a flash of red in
the garden.

He pulled the curtain open with a jerk that almost ripped it from the rod and what he saw
made his heart skip a beat that almost knocked him off his feet.
He ran without thinking things over.

In a second, he found himself going down the stairs, saving one floor like a gale, ignoring his
bare feet and the cold that accompanied him at all times, because the nightgown he was
wearing was very thin and he had lost the red blanket.

He nearly collided with a dull blur that suddenly appeared, but he shoved it out of the way.
He had no time for any hindrance.

“Hey, what’s wrong?!” he thought he heard someone calling him, but ignored it. “You’re still
sick! Go back to bed! Where are you going?!”

His head was throbbing. In the hall he nearly slipped on the mat, but he saved himself by
grabbing the door handle, which he yanked open.

He went out into the garden, receiving a blast of sunlight in his eyes that made them hurt as if
he’d been punched, galloping down the steps, running alongside the fountain after the
figures, who were already quite far away.

He had never run barefoot on stone, much less hot in the daylight, and he would be lying if
he said it didn’t hurt, but he didn’t notice that. He was scared to death for a reason he didn't
understand. Maybe it was the hormones from his heat that made his brain so desperate and
couldn't stop repeating mychildrenmychildrenmychildrenmychildrenmychildrenmychildren…

“Stop!” He screamed in a hoarse voice due to lack of use and illness. He was terrified that
they wouldn't hear him and he screamed louder, wanting to be heard. “WAIT! Who let you
into my house?! Where are you taking my children?!” Terrified, he realized that he didn't
have his wand with him.

The panic became so great that he was two seconds away from starting to look in all
directions, trying to find someone who could help, like a damsel in distress, but he knew that
there was no one. Only him. And that would have to be enough.

A little voice inside his head whispered: remember standing in front of an angry alpha for
them? And here you are. You can handle anything, no matter what it is. He nodded to
himself, trusting it was true.

Everything stopped around him.

The three figures walking in front of him, holding hands, stopped walking and then James
turned on his heel. Smiling, he ran in his direction to throw himself into his arms just as he
did with Potter.

His long black hair, turned into unruly curls now that no one forced him to comb it, framed
his pale cheeks and Draco realized that he was very happy to see him, that he was dying to
kiss his forehead. He buried his face in his neck, breathing in his scent of a small child, of a
child in need of protection.
“You woke up!” the boy exclaimed happily, and Draco held him against his chest as if he
were his most precious possession. His pheromones flowed in torrents, wrapping themselves
around James as if they were a ribbon that said one thing: minemineminemine… “You're not
sick anymore!” he celebrated, but that wasn't true because Draco felt on the verge of
collapsing, especially now, when the adrenaline had turned his legs into jelly.

The woman, short, overweight and red-haired, was still holding Albus's hand, who, as
always, looked at everything as if he didn't notice anything.

Draco stared at her, analyzing her from head to toe, from her disheveled curly hair to her
worn-out knitted sweater and shoes that must have undoubtedly seen better days. A long time
ago. She was old, perhaps much older than his mother, and she looked exhausted, which must
have implied that she posed no threat, but still... who the hell did she think she was, showing
up here and moving around so confidently?

However, it wasn't any of that that was disturbing him, surprisingly, but the little hand
trapped in hers, which made him feel like he was looking at a bird caught in the jaws of a
snake.

IntruderintruderINTRUDERINTRUDER!

"Honey, come here," he said to Albus and moved forward to snatch him from the woman's
grasp, who was staring at him with wide eyes in surprise.

Once he had them both by his side, he felt better... or worse... and fell to his knees on the
tiles, but he never let go.

He was shaking.

He was short of breath and the edges of his vision were turning black, but that didn't stop him
from glaring at the stranger. He would use every ounce of strength he had left to tear her face
off if she ever came near the wrong thing again.

"What did you call them, sweetie?" she had the nerve to ask him, as if Draco were a
mysterious box, and he felt on the verge of tears again because it couldn't be that so much shit
was falling on him all of a sudden.

Abused, humiliated, beaten, marked, what other crap was missing from his stamp card?

He had called them his to summarize, nothing more. And he had run after them because he
saw a stranger taking them. Just that. If Potter had already given him a beating for having
modified his house, he didn't want to even imagine what he would do to him if his children
were kidnapped by a woman with the fashion sense of a blind weasel.

James held his arm, trying to help him up, while Draco held Albus in his arms. A cough came
over him that he had to put out with his hand over his mouth.

His lungs burned as if they were on fire.

“They are my husband's children, therefore, my responsibility. I know they are not mine, but
as if they were!” He said, raising his voice, in case the woman tried to challenge him on the
matter. “Now tell me who you are! What are you doing in my house and why did you think
you could take these children?”

The woman's look became very compassionate and Draco hated it because he interpreted it as
pity.

No one had ever had reason to feel sorry for a Malfoy, but, after everything that had
happened to him the last few days, with his self-esteem and morale on the ground, that was
the last thing he needed to see in the eyes of someone who was looking at him.

He cursed her to the last circle of hell and tried to get up to regain some dignity, but he
couldn't because his legs were like butter after running that marathon after his illness.

He heard footsteps behind him and his heart sank. The shock made him start thinking clearly
again.

Of course, Potter was here. Potter, the prodigy Auror of the Ministry of Magic, must have
noticed even before he did that someone was taking his children. And if he had done nothing
to stop it, it must mean that this woman had permission…

Draco turned white as a sheet, wondering what he would get as punishment this time, a slap
or a head dunked in ice-cold water. He would make him walk on hot coals, for sure.

He shivered harder, buffeted by the wind, which could have knocked him down if he hadn't
used the children for support, and the woman's gaze changed to one filled with concern.

Potter leaned down to take Albus from his arms and hand him back to the stranger with a
determined air.

Draco pouted, his heart in his throat, watching Albus lean his head on the redhead's shoulder.

Redhead... Salazar! Draco Malfoy, you're stupid.

He grabbed James's little hand, who squeezed back, afraid to let it go. Maybe the boy would
serve as a shield in the new campaign he had just gotten himself into.

"This is Molly Weasley, you idiot," Potter said, though without much heat behind his words,
looking at Draco as if he had gone bald before him. "She's the grandmother of these children
and she was going to do me a favor by taking care of them for the weekend." He rolled his
eyes, snorting. "You almost scared me to death! Do you know how much you've
hallucinated? I thought you were going to throw yourself in the lake or something!"

Draco gulped, his eyes watering. In his defense, he wanted to cry more from embarrassment
than anything else. If he could have buried his head in the ground like an ostrich, he would
have gladly done so, hoping to suffocate.

Grandma. It was their grandma. Obviously. Redhead. Like that wretched dead woman who
had ruined his marriage with that portrait of hers…
Oh, for heaven's sake.

He released James, who bounded excitedly towards his grandmother to take her hand again.

"Harry, you shouldn't be so harsh," the woman admonished, coming closer to him. "Didn't
you say this boy was sick? And yet he's looking after the children." Hearing her, Draco's face
turned a million times redder. He didn't need that kind of pity. Not now. It only served to
make him feel more foolish. "Quick!" Molly said, taking on an imperious tone. "Take him
inside! I'll stay a while to make some soup. Good heavens, he's skin and bones!"

Draco, despite knowing it was a futile effort, tried to cover himself better with the nightgown,
which now seemed as obscene as Madame Brown had mentioned a hundred times.

He didn't even know if he was wearing underwear and that thing was see-through...

And surely Potter wouldn't appreciate that sight very much, not even after having shared a
heat with him.

He wanted to curl up into a ball and stay there, waiting for them to leave so he could try to
figure out what to do with his life. He made a nasal noise and wiped it with the back of his
hand, keeping his eyes on his knees. Since he couldn't breathe properly, he had to do it
through his mouth and he sounded like he was sobbing because he only managed it in fits and
starts.

Potter sighed, exhausted. Although he was only thirty-five years old, at that moment he
looked much older and, in the sunlight, some of his coal-black hair flashed with premature
grey. Or perhaps not so premature. Having been through the same shit as him since
childhood, anyone would show signs of age before their time.

He took off his jacket and threw it over him, which Draco appreciated, although it made him
feel like one of those protagonists of the novels he loved to read so much, an impoverished
vagabond blessed by the pity of a wealthy landowner…

I hope I get struck by lightning, God. What nonsense am I thinking?

The fabric was impregnated with the stove like heat of his alpha and he couldn't help but take
the collar to bring it to his nose and smell the delicious aroma it emitted, pretending that he
wanted to cover himself better.

"Don't worry, Molly," Potter said and leaned down to hold Draco's arm. "I'll take care of it."

Draco found that he could move like a puppet as long as a strong alpha pulled his strings. He
nearly lost his balance, but Potter held him up.

He was staring at him with such intensity and had said that last sentence in such a harsh tone,
that Draco thought about throwing himself at Molly Weasley's feet and begging her to stay
and make him all the soup she wanted, but he decided he wasn't going to lose any more of his
dignity in front of her.
The woman seemed to notice that something strange was going on between them because she
took a step closer.

"Are you sure?" she asked, hesitantly, looking at the green-eyed man, who was more than a
head taller than her. Then, she looked at Draco. "Sweetheart," she said again and Draco
grimaced because he was disgusted by her calling him that. He tried to hide it behind a
cough. "I know this is the first time we've met and I'm sorry I gave you this scare, especially
when you're this sick. We've already exchanged letters, right?” Harry raised his eyebrows. "I
think this is the opportunity you were waiting for: Harry is here to introduce us properly. But
maybe it's not the best time." Draco begged the heavens for her to keep quiet because every
word she said made him dizzy, just like the strong brightness of the sun.

"I think so too, Molly," Harry intervened, still holding Draco as if he sensed that, if he let go,
he would see him collapse at his feet. "It's the first time in days that he's managed to get out
of bed and it's only to run like crazy. He's lucky he's not spitting out a lung."

The woman slapped him on the arm.

"For a good reason!" she defended him and Draco let out a low whimper, wishing she would
stop. He wiped his eyes with his free hand and Potter's fingers tightened a little more on his
waist. “Imagine if I really had been a stranger taking your children away! You didn't even
come out to say goodbye!”

"I said goodbye inside!" Potter protested, frowning, though it was obvious he wasn't upset.

With her, at least.

Draco was shaking like a chihuahua because the cool wind on his skin cut like knives and
Potter, who could feel it in the arm he had around him, held him a little closer while his eyes
opened millimeter by millimeter as time passed.

He was remembering the cold shower, the fragile body collapsing on his, shivering non-
stop…

He began to rub Draco's back over his jacket without realizing it.

"At least I'll stay and prepare something nice as a snack. Afterwards you can spend the night
together, calm, without worrying about anything," Molly insisted. "Arthur and I still think it's
a shame you didn't have a honeymoon. We offered to take care of the kids."

Draco looked at her with his mouth open. The woman looked at him and smiled. Draco
looked at Potter, who avoided looking at him.

He could have had a honeymoon and this bastard said no, as if that word was the only thing
he had for him. He wanted to spit in his face, kick him in the crotch, gouge his eyes out…

He suffered such a burst of rage that it was too much for his battered convalescent body and
he lost all the strength he had left in his legs: he was about to fall backwards, praying to
heaven that he really fainted.
Potter caught him and put an arm under his legs, lifting him up like a princess. Draco felt his
eyes rolling in their sockets and, for a second, he really did see a flash of white. Maybe he
really was unconscious for a while.

“Oh, Circe!” Molly exclaimed, covering her mouth with a hand. “Are you sure you shouldn’t
take him to St. Mungo’s, Harry, darling? Maybe it’s best for him to see a healer.”

“I’ll call one if the fever comes back,” the auror replied, setting off towards the house with
Draco in tow. “I’ll just put him back to sleep now, Molly. Don’t worry. He shouldn’t have
gotten out of bed like that. Arthur is waiting for you.”

“But…” the woman tried to go after them, but Potter was striding.

Draco closed his eyes as he was dazzled by the light once more. Potter gave him an uneasy
look.

“Seriously, Molly, we’ll be fine. See you on Monday!”

Potter stepped through the door and Draco had to press himself closer to him to keep from
hitting his head on the frame. Out of reflex, he threw his arms around his neck and, since he
couldn’t keep his head up on his own, rested it on his chest out of sheer practicality. He
sighed, exhausted: Potter had an amazing chest to rest on. He closed his eyes, letting the mad
beat of his heart take over his senses.

Potter held his breath for a moment. He closed the door with a push of his boot and went up
the stairs with him.

Draco smiled a little: in another universe, on their wedding night, Potter would have carried
him this way to the nuptial bed, but in this one he only got this kind of attention when he hurt
him or was sick.

Draco was so used to the world falling apart to please him that this was all new to him: a
violent husband who had no regard for him at all and who, nevertheless, managed to make
him feel good with these kinds of crumbs.

Wow.

If it had been anyone else, Draco would have let him know what he thought and run away,
expecting the other to apologize on his knees, but this was Harry Potter. Harry Potter, to
whom he was bound by a signature on a piece of paper, although there was no ring on his
finger to confirm it.

Perhaps, if he could get these attentions from him in another way, it could be that…

But he had no conviction about it. All his dreams, hopes and desires had vanished with the
snap of invisible fingers.

He had been too naive to come here believing that with his pretty face he could part the seas.
Potter tucked him into the bed in the spare room as he would have done with a small child.
He made sure that Draco was well supported by the huge feather pillows and pulled the
covers up to his neck, ignoring the grey eyes fixed on him. He used a dropper to put the most
disgusting substance invented by man between his lips (he even put his hand on his mouth
when Draco gagged, preventing him from vomiting it up), before offering him a small sip of
water that did nothing to wash it down. Then he turned his back and walked away, leaving the
delicious smell of his pheromones in the air.

Draco spent a long time fighting the detestable taste of the medicine, concentrating on that
delicious aroma, capable of overriding any other stimuli.

Potter didn't wear cologne. Alphas rarely did, whereas omegas were allowed to wear
perfume. An omega's scent was always fainter than an alpha's unless he was in heat. Some
omegas used lotions to enhance it, especially if they were planning to court. Draco used a
very mild cologne that really only served to make him feel clean.

He wondered if Potter liked his pheromones when they were together as much as Draco liked
his.

Was that scent to blame for him going into heat again, just like the morning after the Yule
Ball?

It was most likely, although he didn't want to fool himself: he had been trying to attract his
heat with the teas and concoctions from the drugstore, hoping to incite him with the slightest
provocation as soon as his alpha was back. If he had known how things would turn out, he
would have been much more cautious, because he was convinced he had made a fool of
himself.

He had cried and begged. If Potter had ridden him, it had to be part lust and part pity, and that
was something he couldn't stand.

Draco stayed wrapped in the warm duvet and also in the black jacket, which the Auror didn't
take off of him. He tangled himself in it, macerating in his anxiety, biting one of his nails and
vibrating to such a degree that he couldn't stop moving his legs, as if he were preparing to run
again.

He tried to put his thoughts in order.

Why did he care so much about these children if at first he planned to ignore them in favor of
his own offspring?

He had never felt such great fear in relation to someone else and, if he had to explain it
somehow, he would say that, when he saw this stranger taking them away, he felt as if an
invisible entity sucked his soul.

As he ran after her, he was fully intending to fight to death if necessary to keep these children
by his side and safe.
It wasn't that he loved them. He despised half of their blood, just as he loved the other. He
only cared for them because it was in his nature as an omega: his primary instinct was to
protect the youngest of his clan, whether they carried his blood or not, making sure to
preserve the species, while an alpha's instinct would be to protect his entire family.

And then there was this strange dynamic where omega looked after alpha and alpha looked
after omega because otherwise their little microcosm would collapse, just like Potter and his
wife's had after her death.

It was common for an omega to adopt orphaned children, whether he knew them or not. It
was common for an omega to feel the need to fit into an empty niche like the one in this
house in order to offer some stability to those who lacked it.

Except Draco never thought it would happen to him. He came here thinking his only target
was Harry Potter and, holy crap, he ended up getting a spanking.

But that was how things worked in this world of alphas and omegas and maybe, with a little
luck, it would all work in his favor because, after all, Potter told him that he only brought him
here to take care of his children.

If Draco did this right, just like today, he could have more moments like this, with Potter
carrying him in his arms as if he cared about his well-being, tucking him into bed with the
utmost care, leaving all their grudges behind.

And in the future, when they knew each other in depth and Potter realized that he was being a
jerk to him, Draco would have managed to establish his place at his side, as he had so much
wanted when they got married. Yes, it was just a matter of waiting a little longer. Of being
patient and very tolerant.

He leaned on that because, otherwise, he would go crazy.

Potter had to come to love him at some point. And he would do it madly, of that he was sure.

I'mnotlettinggoI'mnotlettinggoI'vewaitedforsolongI'mnotlettinggoI'mnotlosingyouyoubelongt
omeyou'remineminemineminejustlikethemUNDERSTAND IT…

He covered his face with his hands, writhing under the covers until he became too agitated
and had no choice but to force himself to calm down.

The door opened after an eternity and Potter appeared, carrying a folding table.

The smoke coming from a porcelain bowl, which smelled delicious, fogged up his glasses
and Draco found it funny, although he barely had the strength to enjoy it.

He swallowed and began to tremble from sheer nerves. He continued to bite his nails, a
terrible habit he had since he was a child and that his parents hated to death, but which he
couldn't get rid of.

Potter put the table on the bed, on top of the covers, and Draco could see that the plate
contained a generous portion of onion soup. He'd also brought him a loaf of bread and spiced
butter.

His stomach growled with hunger and his cheeks flushed pink, but Potter didn't think much
of it.

"You haven't eaten in days. I've barely gotten you to drink with the dropper. I've tried to feed
you, but you're so whiny. You flail around, you spit like a camel, and, holy crap, I've never
heard such a flowery list of swear words," he let on, going to sit down in the armchair by the
balcony, crossing his arms so Draco couldn't see the half-smile on his lips, because at least
that part had been funny.

Harry had never been told anything like “leave me alone, you miserable dung beetle!” and it
happened the night he was trying to pry Draco’s mouth open to give him the pepper potion
for the first time. Then, when he understood, he was giggling like an idiot in his office and he
had the impression that this was a sound he hadn’t made in years, because what the hell?

Draco turned very red. He made a hissing noise with his mouth, pinching his tear ducts.

“I don’t spit and I don’t swear,” he lied haughtily.

One of his biggest flaws was that he could be quite foul-mouthed under pressure.

Potter rolled his eyes.

“You shouldn’t have come out like that. You could have hurt yourself. You almost broke your
neck halfway down the stairs. Didn’t you hear me calling you?”

Draco shook his head.

To give himself something to do, he reached for the spoon, but it fell from his hand and
bounced on the table, making a loud noise that pierced his ears. He looked at his trembling
fingers, very white, glistening against the grey of the duvet. He barely had the strength to
hold things, but when he ran after Albus and James he felt like he could fight a lion for them.

How embarrassing.

Potter stood up and took the spoon. Draco was afraid he would try to feed him in the mouth,
so he made a better attempt at it.

Potter seemed to approve, and leaving him alone, sat on the edge of the bed, took a piece of
bread to butter and put in his mouth, standing in profile, looking at the curtain.

Watching him eat relieved him, so Draco was able to take a spoonful of soup and it was
delicious. That damn house elf, despite being crazy, cooked very well.

He closed his eyes to enjoy the taste, although he didn't think he could handle another
spoonful. Not now. His throat burned.

"Do you want some bread?" Potter asked him, easy going, when he noticed that he was still.
Draco twisted his mouth.

Potter had taken him. Of course he had. An invisible wall seemed to have disappeared
between them, which could only come from an accidental intimacy caused by a heat.

Potter was being nice to him because he had no other choice: they were married for better and
worse.

Draco shook his head.

"You can't treat me like that again," he said, working up the courage to open his mouth,
although he had never had problems communicating his needs in his life.

Potter raised his eyebrows, although a bitter grimace appeared on his face.

“I just offered you a loaf of bread. It’s not the end of the world either,” he joked, though he
didn’t mean to be funny.

He knew what he was talking about and the fact that Draco had gotten to the point so quickly
when he thought it would take longer intimidated him.

He had never been good at being confronted. He was always the confronter.

“You can’t hit me again,” Draco continued, gaining a little confidence in what he was saying.
“I forbid it. You can’t yell at me again. Not in front of your children or the employees.
Especially if I haven’t done anything to deserve it.” His throat closed with a lump that was
about to make him lose control of his emotions again, but he controlled them. It would be
better to do it. It hurt him to have been humiliated and he wasn’t going to humiliate himself
again right now. “We got married and you left. You threw me here like I was an old rag. You
didn’t warn me about anything. You said I had to take care of this house and that’s what I
tried. I never thought it would bother you or that you would consider that I have no rights.
Should I have read your mind? Guessed? Assumed? How if you barely exchanged a word
with me? I'm willing to pretend this never happened (though I assure you I'll remember it for
the rest of my life as I hope you do too), but from here on you're going to respect me because
it's the least I deserve from you. From every bit of you, in fact. I demand it from Harry Potter
as a man, as an alpha and the damn head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement”.

Harry listened intently, remaining impassive even though his hands were shaking and his jaw
was tense.

That last one hurt. It was akin to having boiling water poured on his crotch. But only because
Draco was right and Harry knew it very well.

Cooperate.

They both had to cooperate and Draco wasn't saying anything that wasn't true.

"I didn't hit you," he contradicted despite knowing it wasn't the most appropriate thing to do
at the moment. "It was… an…”
Outburst.

One that he had hurt him with, which for that matter was the same thing.

He had thrown him onto glass, well aware that it was there in hopes of hurting him. That
much he knew.

In that microsecond, he knew the consequences of his actions and he didn't care. He wanted
to hurt him like he thought Draco had hurt him by modifying his house.

As he pushed him, he remembered Bellatrix telling him you must feel them, referring to the
Unforgivable Curses. And he had felt the need to hurt him.

He now realized that wallpaper and pictures on the wall did not justify this boy's injuries.
Everything could have been arranged differently if he had managed to keep control and not
act like a damned animal.

Like a beast.

He saw those gray eyes opening as wide as they were, projecting an emotion that he also felt
and that had a lot to do with a certain kind of indignation.

Draco showed him the wrist like the exorcist brandishing a cross in front of the possessed and
Harry saw the ugly cut through it.

He blinked very slowly, his heart skipping a beat. Then it was as if someone had taken it out
of his chest with a shovel. He actually pulled back.

He knew he had done something horrible to him. What a miserable, wretched, vile man he
had been. What did he intend to do next? Go around the street slapping old ladies, kicking
babies, stepping on dogs just because he couldn't control himself?

This is why in fifth grade he had such a hard time keeping his mind closed to Voldemort's
incursions and led Sirius to death. He thought he had already learned, but no.

"And what is this?!" Draco burst out, accusing.

"It was a mistake," Harry explained, devastated. A monstrosity, rather. "It will never happen
again, I swear."

He covered his mouth with one hand and had a nervous tic in his leg that made the whole bed
shake. He felt like vomiting.

Draco's look turned stern.

So, this is what happens when you're a miserable orphan who no one bothered to teach
manners... what a shame.

Reality was definitely far from the fantasy in his head. This Potter was a brazen person.
“Stop that!” he ordered, because the plate began to shake on the table and some of the soup
spilled onto it. Potter obeyed immediately, surprised. Draco put a finger on the handle of the
spoon to stop it from clinking with inertia. He was frowning. “And of course it won’t happen
again! I’ve been good to your children. I’ve looked after them, watched over them. They’ve
grown fond of me. And this is how you repay me.” He lowered his face so he didn’t see
Harry’s guilty expression. “You can’t do this to me again. I’m not… I’m not an animal.” He
looked into Harry’s eyes, stunned at having to use such a phrase because a Malfoy would
never in his life have to be compared to an inferior creature and Harry hated to discover that
sea of ​grey flooded and about to overflow. “And not a thing either. Even if you have those
kinds of tendencies like other alphas, you can’t do this to me again. You were supposed to be
different.” You, of all people, had to be different. You're Harry Potter”.

Harry gasped, offended at the mention of those other alphas. Even a little offended at the
assumption of his name (he wasn't even a quarter of the perfection that the damned wizarding
world tried to paint him as since Voldemort killed his parents. He was a simple little man,
privileged to have presented himself as an alpha, just like so many others, but nothing more.
He made so many mistakes he could gift them away).

He knew perfectly well what Draco was referring to because, in his social circle, it was
common for alphas to marry their omegas with the same attitude of someone who received a
prize and wanted to show it off to the world. There was no love between them and everything
was based on lust and pleasure. It was common to hear from time to time of horror scenes
with omegas who, under the table, were exchanged by their husbands and used as objects.

Harry had been called upon to handle the case of an omega being sexually exploited by his
alpha for profit from other alphas a year ago. He only got involved because it turned out that
the man was a big buyer of dark objects in Knockturn Alley.

He hated knowing that Draco was comparing him to trash like that, that he could get the idea
that Harry would do something similar to him.

He was implying that he thought he had enjoyed hurting him.

He ran a hand over his face, stunned.

“That… I can do that. But there are conditions involved,” he blinked, seeing how he sounded
at Draco’s indignant sigh. “I’m not making your safety conditional! Never. I’m just asking
you not to make decisions without consulting me again. Not in this house. It’s hard for me,
ok?! I can’t even explain it to myself! I can’t handle the changes… not since… it’s just… it’s
like…”

Ordering his thoughts became impossible. His hands became very cold and began to sweat.

That's why when Ron and Hermione asked him how he was, he preferred to get angry and tell
them to go to hell, because he knew this would happen, but he couldn't do it with Draco, not
again.

Draco looked at him angrily.

"Or what if I do?" he asked, resentful. "Are you going to torture me in the shower again? Are
you going to bathe me in ice-cold water like a dog until I learn to behave?" His beautiful grey
eyes narrowed.

He was grinding his teeth and, with tense fingers, he held the edge of the duvet, twisting it as
if he imagined it was his husband's neck.

Draco Malfoy had never had to go through a precarious situation in his life: until now he had
no idea what hunger, insomnia, a spanking as punishment or being treated badly by someone
was.

His time at Hogwarts was like that of a prince walking on rose petals and, along with the
Malfoys, he never knew anything other than the satisfaction of even the smallest of his
whims.

His parents were one of those rare pureblood exceptions in which alpha and omega were
practically soul mates, so he grew up with the idea that he would also have that when he
married.

Despite having been pampered and overprotected, watched over to the point of exaggeration
to such a degree that his parents even prevented him from being ruffled by the wind, the only
reason he had a bit of a conscience (and that was something he didn't even know) was
because Lucius and Narcissa decided to share with him the one they themselves obtained as a
result of the war: although of course Lucius retained his vision of the purity of blood, he
never carved it in stone inside his son's mind. Narcissa, out of caution, had not allowed it, so
Draco Malfoy had never called anyone a "mudblood" in his life and was capable of feigning
genuine reproach when someone dared to use those words in his presence.

His mother also made sure that Draco stayed away from gossip about them and their past as
Death Eaters, hence why Potter's words had taken him so by surprise.

They had taken care of him, but half-truths could also be considered lies.

There was a moment of silence that went unnoticed by Draco, whose heartbeat thundered in
his ears with a deafening boom, boom, boom.

Harry stared at him, mouth agape, and, noticing Draco's frown, the wounded seriousness in
his eyes, he smiled, unable to believe it.

He was livid, almost the same way he had been when people accused him of being a liar who
had fabricated Voldemort's return.

Heats were a tricky thing for them (alphas and omegas), because it removed all judgment
from a person and, yes, it could confuse them, make them stupid, and impair their memory,
so he couldn't even blame him. Draco had been through a lot that day.

He just had a hard time accepting that he had made such a bad impression on him, that this
boy believed him capable of tormenting him as Madame Brown did.
Harry had never resorted to such dirty tricks, not even in the war or in his work as an Auror,
much less when it came to an omega begging for care, affection and attention.

A secret pride, which had more to do with his alpha side than with himself, made him feel
particularly offended at that moment because he had bathed him with warm water, had
caressed him giving him pleasure to relieve the burning between his legs and today he had
brought him here like a precious little thing before making him soup for his convalescence.

Wasn't that what a good alpha did for his omega? Although, of course, their circumstances
were special.

But it was true. It was his fault. How could he put on a good boy face and defend himself
from false accusations when Draco was absolutely right to think badly of him?

He was a piece of shit. He treated him terribly. He should be ashamed of himself.

"Do you think it was me?" He asked, dry and ironic.

Draco narrowed his eyes and a tear ran down his cheek, though he still looked furious.

He was flushed from the illness and the conversation. He thought Harry was laughing at him.

“Then who?!” He muttered.

Who else should have been by his side during his heat other than his husband, his alpha, the
only one with the key to unlock him?

Harry admitted defeat and shrugged. He didn’t want to continue having this conversation.

He had never dealt well with embarrassment. He became surly and rude, which was not his
strongest suit right now.

He reached out and wiped Draco's tears away with his thumb, twisting his mouth when Draco
made a move to back away, as if he thought he was going to hit him.

That was how James had been reacting since the confrontation, which had hurt him deeply.

That was why he still couldn't get rid of that stupid pirate bed…

"I already told you I won't hurt you," he reminded him, disappointed.

"How could I trust you?"

Touché.

Harry rolled his eyes.

"So, what do you want?" he asked, wanting to sound reasonable. "For me to take you back to
your parents' house? We can do that right now."
Draco was stunned. His eyes widened and something like dread appeared on his features. He
had a very expressive face, which Harry appreciated because he could read him like a book.

“What if I’m…?” he started to ask, but stopped halfway.

He dropped his face and his hands rubbed over his belly, as if he had something alive under
his skin. Something he wanted to take care of.

Harry raised an eyebrow.

“If you’re what?” he prompted.

Draco bit his lip, but kept his head down, his long blonde hair loose, covering his face.

It took him a long time to speak again.

“Did you mount me?” He asked very quietly. “I can’t remember. Just a lot of feelings and
they were all…”

Harry was thankful he wasn’t looking into his eyes. There were a lot of things in this
conversation that seemed terrible to him, like the fact that Draco had to ask him not to attack
him again, to show him his scars and the fact he did not remember if they had sex or not.
That was very wrong.

He realized that he was asking him what would happen if he had impregnated him, if he
would ignore it or not.

Again, that alpha side felt very offended.

“What do you think?”

Draco made a nasal noise. He was very sad.

In his head, an alpha always responded to the heat of an omega, without exception, hence
why since he presented he was so careful following his cycles, turning them into a kind of
biorhythm to prevent any eventuality.

He had never been an irregular omega, not even close. His heat came punctually as it should
every three months, which, they said, was good, because he could organize himself better
with his alpha and even plan his pregnancies. He was always proud of that: of being
something of an "exemplary omega."

This time he had ended up responding to Potter's pheromones, but he hadn't been that out of
the clock because his natural heat would have had to fall on these days.

Today he realized that it was an incredibly stupid thing to be proud of.

"I don't believe anything, that's why I'm asking you," he said, serious. "I need to know..."
because nothing had gone as he had expected.
Harry sighed and took another bite of the bread, chewing for a long time, though he had
trouble swallowing. The butter stuck to his palate like a nauseating paste.

He went to pour himself some water from the jug on the table and drank it with gusto. Then
he poured some for Draco as well and set the glass down next to the plate. Draco tapped it
with his nail, making it rattle.

“I didn’t,” he admitted, embarrassed. “I just helped you out. You said you were in pain and
you were crying. Your fever was really high. I was worried you might have a seizure or
something.”

Draco turned redder.

He was a little disappointed. Deep down, he had been hoping to have been…

“Why didn’t you? Why did you resist? Isn’t that why we got married?” It was humiliating to
have to ask.

He leaned back, sullen, on the huge pillows, looking at the coffee table with contempt.

If he thought about it a little, they were practically two strangers talking about intimacies.
They knew nothing about each other.

Harry sighed.

"I took an inhibitor."

"Why?" Draco swallowed bitterly.

Harry went to sit in his chair, putting some distance between them.

"I warned your father," he said, looking at the ceiling, not noticing the way Draco cringed a
little at the mention of Lucius. He hadn't had time to think about that either. "I'm not looking
for a new relationship. I just needed to get married, and from the results of this heat, I already
know why." He pressed his lips into the grimace of someone who had just drank foul juice
because he didn't want to agree with Hermione. “What I said is true: at that moment, when
Lucius appeared in my office as if fallen from the sky, I accepted your hand because it
seemed the best way for the others to leave me alone, but I didn't see beyond that”.

He closed his eyes, weighing his words, taking a deep breath to gather his thoughts.

“I guess I didn't think of you as a person and that's true: I took you and threw you here like
you were just another piece of furniture and then I was very unfair to you. I accept that. Now,
the best thing I can do for you is to give you options: number one is” he took a breath “to set
you free now that you've realized what a terrible person I am, because I think you fell into my
hands under deception (even though I thought your father would inform you of my
situation)” he nodded, reaffirming his words. Draco wanted to hit him. “The second is… to
keep going. You're right when you say that my children love you and you're much better than
I was expecting. Your mother said so” but he didn't dare use Narcissa's exact words because
he suspected that it would offend him again. “You're… different. I wish I had seen it before”.
“I don’t intend to be the husband you expect, because I don’t think I can,” he admitted,
moistening his throat, staring at the warm carpet at his feet, ignoring Draco’s expression, who
was watching him as if his life was hanging in the balance at that very moment. “Not after
Ginny. But I can take responsibility for you.” That expression struck him as incredibly adult,
and for a second he realized that he was no longer a child juggling to try to survive in this
world. He was a damned man, and as such, he was expected to have all the answers, no
matter how lost he was. “All I ask in return is that you continue to care for my children as
you have done until today. And when you need me by your side as alpha, I’ll be there. If
that’s what you want. You can still reject me, it doesn’t matter. It’s just that I feel like it’s
unfair to ask you to sacrifice that aspect of your life for a bad decision I made in a moment of
stupidity. I was upset with other people and ended up dragging you down with me”.

At least he seemed to have some awareness about it, but what he was offering him was like
signing a new piece of paper in front of a notary.

Draco stood there, staring at him with his mouth open, trying to consider all his options,
although in reality he had made a decision from the beginning.

In fact, he had done so years ago, when he had first meet him.

It was true that perhaps he had been too pretentious in believing that he would come to this
marriage with all the odds against him, that Harry Potter would look him in the eyes and they
would fall in love and be happy forever.

Of course, fate wanted him to fight a little harder.

And he was willing to accept the challenge because it was worth it and he felt more than
capable.

The only thing he didn't like was Potter's conviction about never loving him, about still being
in love with the ghost of his wife. How the hell was Draco going to get her out of his mind if
he wouldn't even let him remove that ominous painting from the living room?

He sighed and leaned his head back, looking at the ceiling.

Out of the corner of his eye he caught Potter's gaze on his neck and he swallowed the urge to
smile.

"You refuse to be my husband as the vow we made demands, but you agree to be my alpha in
my 'times of need'? What will you do? Ask me to tie a handkerchief to the doorknob when I
feel myself starting to get wet and you will come in the middle of the night to make love to
me?" He sneered a little and the satisfaction of seeing him embarrassed by his choice of
words was great. "It's true that you all think with your cocks more than your brains, right?"

What would your disgusting wife say?

"If you don't want to…”

 "I accept. Of course I accept. What else could I say?" That was better than nothing, what he
woke up thinking he would get.

Potter, to his surprise, relaxed in his seat. He stared at him for a while without saying
anything else, but finally added, "Eat your soup," which made Draco smile.

Good, they were communicating like human beings now. They just had to keep it up from
now on.

Chapter End Notes

I have to say many things, so I’ll write a list. Many are IMPORTANT:

1.- Thanks to all the people who have been waiting for this chapter since January. I
know I’ve said I’ll be updating every Thursday, but that won’t happen from now on. I’ll
update when I have free time.

2.- I DON’T WRITE FOR MINORS.

This fic is EXPLICIT and MATURE because I write for ADULTS. So, if you are a
minor, I want you to know that I’m not thinking about you nor your feelings/thoughts
when I write. This is because I hope adults (like myself) have the criteria to recognize
when a plot is not for them and just take their jacket and go looking for something else
instead of coming at me because “it should be AS I want to!”. Nope. It is as I, the
author, want and I hope my honest and truthful readers can respect that.

3.- From now on, this fic will only be available for registered users. This because some
individuals had been coming at me anonymously letting me know “what they think”
about what I write. So, I suppose it should be fair and at least like that I could go into
their profiles, judge their works too and give them a piece of mine (also, if you have
nothing published and you are rolling around, criticizing other people works, trying to
be spiteful, it says a lot of you, don’t think otherwise).

4.- READ THE TAGS.

This is very mature, very explicit, deals with a lot of adult themes that might be
triggering for some people. There are explicit deaths, gore, unwanted gripping, more
gore, mental health issues, and I think I’m forgetting the gore, so that covers all for now.
And I’ll be letting you know when something triggering happens again, so you can be
ready, don’t worry.

Thank you so much to all of you who have been so kind. This is written for you and I
hope you can enjoy.
 Chapter 10
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

Potter didn't leave. He sat in the chair, looking thoughtful, while Draco made a superhuman
effort to finish his soup, slow spoonful after slow spoonful, because he suspected that was the
reason his husband hadn't left yet.

He wanted him there, by his side, where he could continue to measure him and see how much
they could tolerate each other after what had happened. Although he pretended, he still had
his guard up, because only a fool would have gotten so confident so quickly (which was
saying something because, to be honest, he came into this relationship quite confident).

Eventually, the silence grew a little awkward, so Draco broke it with the other thing that was
bothering him, although he had a lot on his mind to think about.

"Tell me about my parents," he asked, keeping his eyes on his bowl, which was already half
full.

Harry, taken aback, raised his eyebrows, wincing. Draco's voice made him react like a
firecracker going off next to his ear.

He realized that he didn't usually talk much when he was in this house unless it was to argue
with Madame Brown. Perhaps that was why he kept her around, to provoke him, because
otherwise he would sink into a dreadful silence, as if his tongue had been severed.

James told him that Draco had been reading and singing to him and Al. He was genuinely
shocked when the boy revealed that this Queen Marie Antoinette was helping him take care
of his animals, something he didn't even force himself to participate in and avoided whenever
he could. Harry... didn't do much for them, really, always relying on them to get from the
Weasleys what he couldn't give them.

It was possible that this had nothing to do with mourning for his wife, but rather with his
emotional shortcomings growing up with the Dursleys: how could he know what it was like
to support a child's development when he himself had grown up as a helpless puppy,
surviving on scraps? Aunt Petunia had never kissed him or cradled him or comforted him, he
knew that much, so in the past, when Ginny had said, "give him a hug, take him to the park,
buy him an ice cream," he had simply obeyed and hoped that was participation enough.

But Draco Malfoy, the longed-for, pampered, cherished, adored, spoiled child, could sing to
them, read to them, protect them, and make them feel loved because he knew what that was,
and since he'd received it, he could give it back.

Thank goodness you came here, he thought with an anguish that made his chest ache, because
everything his children had been through up until now wasn't fair. They deserved someone
who would treat them well. And Draco… he didn't deserve anything Harry had done to him
up until now.

The scar left on Draco's wrist was still etched in his retinas and stung his own body like the
mark Voldemort had left on his forehead once had.

The guilt… he'd never get over it, even if Draco forgave him.

"Listen, when I told you that about them, I was upset," he admitted, not feeling too proud of
himself. Since his widowhood, he'd acquired that habit: reproaching with the intention of
hurting, perhaps as a form of defense. "Doesn't mean I lied. They worked for Voldemort: yes.
They helped me during the war (in their own way and for their own convenience): yes. Don't
torture yourself by dwelling on it too much; it's all water under the bridge. And, apparently,
they learned from their mistake." He shrugged, hoping that would be enough because he
didn't know what else to say.

He didn't care about the Malfoys, to be honest. He felt a little sorry for them, too. They had
all the power anyone could want, and yet it was of no use to them when it mattered: they
barely managed to survive the war, and this time, they had to let their son go to keep him safe
from all those swine who were itching to get their hands on him because they themselves
weren't so fresh anymore. Draco was incredibly young, very beautiful, and as soon as his
primary caregivers were gone, a bunch of vultures would jump on him, ready to tear him
apart with their claws in every way possible: a pureblood alpha, bloodthirsty wolves by
nature, the apex predators among humans, would display him like a war trophy. He'd
impregnate him immediately, take away his family name, seize his inheritance, turn him into
a nonentity. A worthless thing.

Harry understood the Malfoys on that score. Poor devils: they must have been scared stiff
when they came to him as a last resort.

Harry knew that if one of his sons presented himself as an omega and found himself in the
same predicament as Lucius, he wouldn't go begging another alpha for help: he would protect
his son to the death if necessary. Although, of course, who would dare to stand up to Harry
Potter? Lucius was too clever in that regard.

Draco licked his lips and blinked very slowly, not at all happy with the explanation.

He was moving more slowly than usual, a sign that he was still ill, weakened. Occasionally,
his cough returned. Harry thought it best for him to get some more sleep, especially after the
shock he'd had when he saw Molly taking the children away.

How on earth had he managed to wake up at just the right time? Maybe he was one of those
omegas with a hellish instinct to protect their offspring… though Albus and James weren't
exactly his.

"All my life I've known they have a past," he said quietly, without looking at Harry. "I know
that was the reason we lived abroad until I got the Hogwarts letter." He sighed, remembering
that period in his life that now felt so distant. "They have 'acquaintances' they can't stand, but
force themselves to tolerate for reasons they've never explained to me. And when all those
marriage proposals started coming in, signed with the surnames of those acquaintances, I saw
them go crazy. And it wasn't just the horror of marrying their only son off to an old man,
but... they were truly afraid."

Remembering that made him feel very aware of his situation.

"And that fear brought us here today: my father offered Saint Harry Potter to take me under
his wing, didn't he?" Harry found it quite funny that he called him Saint Harry Potter. He
smiled against his will. "Not because Harry Potter owed him his life and therefore a favor,
nor because he held him in such high regard as his stupid son might have thought, but
because Lucius Malfoy was truly desperate, wasn't he? Throwing me into your arms was the
best thing he could do to get me safe. But from what?"

Harry sighed. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He hadn't slept well for days, not
since the heat had started, so he hadn't even rested since his last mission. So why the hell had
he taken the leave for? And here was Draco Malfoy, putting more on his plate than he wanted
right now.

To his relief, the room still smelled of his sweet omega-in-heat pheromones, so Harry
breathed them in and relaxed, sinking comfortably into the armchair.

No one was home.

Madam Brown was out doing her spinster witch business, which didn't bother him. Kreacher
was probably asleep in his den in the basement, where he liked to be.

There was peace around them, even though the conversation wasn't the most pleasant, and
Harry was oddly calm now that they'd sat down to talk like civilized people (or not so
civilized because, allowing himself to be drugged by the faint scent of pheromones, he
imagined moving the little table to one side to bury his face between Draco's legs and breathe
in more deeply that soothing scent. Damn Hermione).

“You’ve received proposals from both Theodore Nott and his father, both separately,” he
explained, swallowing his disgust at the thought of both son and father trying to court the
same omega. “Five of Nott Jr.’s seven wives have died under mysterious circumstances. The
other two are currently at St. Mungo’s, one due to insanity, supposedly after losing her baby
to unknown causes, and the other due to a potion-laced accident that left her mentally
impaired.” He exhaled. “The father has a reputation for abuse. He frequents omega brothels,
gets into trouble, and then sweeps it all under the rug. How do I know this? Because they
both have a long history of reports of using black magic, but we haven’t been able to lock
them up due to lack of evidence. Of course Lucius was terrified”.

“Then we have Selwyn, Yaxley, and Jugson’s proposals. Can you guess where your father
met them? At which social club?” He realized he was mocking him and tried to stop. He
crossed one leg over the other and rested his head in his hand, looking at Draco. “I
understand that in those kinds of circles, a simple ‘no’ isn’t enough. And it’s true that your
parents were desperate enough to come to me because they know what those guys are capable
of. As long as you live under my roof, no one can touch you.”
Draco stared uncomfortably at the wardrobe doors in front of him.

If his parents had been any other kind of people, they would have sold him without hesitation
to any of those alphas.

In “their circle,” as Potter called it, being an omega was equivalent to being a special kind of
commodity used to seal pacts, deals, or unions between families.

Draco knew perfectly well what went on behind closed doors in those loveless marriages;
Pansy had told him and he'd heard the rumors.

He ran a finger over the long scar on his wrist, wondering if this was the worst thing Potter
would ever do to him.

"How convenient, isn't it? That all this happened at the very moment we both needed similar
things," he commented dejectedly.

Harry shrugged.

"It happens." His eyes were glued to the way Draco stroked his scar, and to his chagrin, he
suspected what he was thinking.

He was about to bring the dittany with the soup, but he forgot. What an idiot. He started to
get up to fetch it, but Draco interrupted him hastily.

"How many people did my father kill?" Draco had no idea why it was important. And in fact,
he suspected he didn't care, because, as Potter said, that was all water under the bridge.

Nothing Lucius had ever done would make his son hate him. He was everything to him, just
like Narcissa. Just like any product of his womb would be if there ever was one.

Harry grimaced.

"Only he knows that." He sank back into his chair. "Though, to be honest, I never thought
Lucius had the guts for murder. Your Aunt Bellatrix, on the other hand…”

Draco closed his eyes, swallowing the sudden anger that surged through him as he heard his
husband belittling his father. Of course, they were talking about "killing," but he was
realizing that his husband despised his family name with a vengeance, and it cut him deep.

Draco always thought he was above everyone else. The Weasleys, for example, and Harry
Potter was making him feel small. Like a stain on the floor.

"My mother rarely speaks of her. She flinches when her name is mentioned," he recalled,
directing that resentment at the image of the black-haired woman he'd sometimes seen in old
photographs his mother didn't often bring out.

Harry nodded.
He felt inexplicably bad for him, as if he'd seen Draco enter a contest based on good luck
only to win the worst prize.

"The only good thing I'm going to tell you about your parents is this: when you were born,
they stopped being jerks," and he said it with such certainty that Draco smiled. "Have you
heard what they say? That they tried for a long time to have children without success? And
then suddenly, the year after Voldemort returned, bam! There you were. In the middle of it
all. And that same year, Voldemort tasked your father with getting Trelawney's prophecy, and
he failed. How do you think Voldemort threatened them? With you. And when war broke out
and they had him living in your manor, what do you think was the sword of Damocles he
used against them? You. Then they discovered that there is something far more important
than blood purity, and look at you: here you are. And you're not nasty or conceited or the kind
of monster one would expect to have been born to a pair of Death Eaters”.

He tried to make it more of a compliment than a reproach, but it didn't quite work.

Draco smiled, not looking at him. Harry had no idea if he did so because he trusted his words
or just wanted to make light of the situation.

"Who says I can't be unpleasant and boastful?" he asked. "I'm no saint, and I have my
temper."

Harry smiled back.

"I guess time will tell."

The spare room Potter had moved Draco into after removing him from the master bedroom
had a slight draft coming through the space under the balcony door, so that night the blond
man woke to the feel of it against his face, creating a dichotomy between the warmth of his
body beneath the covers and the sensation of something on his nose and cheeks.

When he realized that the curtain was moving and had time to think about the reasons,
discovering where that feeling of cold was coming from, he sighed, burying his head a little
deeper into the pillow.

His wand rested on the bedside table, a simple, long, black stick with an elegant design that
felt like an extension of his own hand when he touched it.

Auror Potter, with a know-it-all air, advised him, before leaving, to make a habit of placing it
somewhere where not just anyone could reach it in case of emergency.

"But never put it in your back pocket," he added at last, his eyes widening, as if only just
realizing what he had said. He touched his forehead, brushing back his bangs, which made
him look more attractive and made Draco blush. "I mean, it's advice Alastor Moody gave me
a long time ago, and I've had the opportunity to confirm its accuracy: in my first year as an
Auror, Michael Ashby lost a buttock like that."
Draco, unsure of how to interpret the comment (whether as a very bad joke or just an
unfortunate anecdote), gave the slowest of smiles and lowered his head slightly, keeping his
gaze high, making something inside Potter's chest flutter.

"I'm not much of a trousers-wearer," Draco reminded him, preferring robes and knee-high
stockings.

"Oh, I've noticed!" Potter revealed, oblivious, and Draco's smile deepened, though not
tellingly so.

It was a simple gesture, one of those ingratiating gestures and nothing more. He had the
impression that if he took things any further, he'd just get that brute to run away.

As soon as the Auror paid attention to his words, his cheeks flushed slightly, and Draco
pumped an imaginary fist in the air.

"Well, I'll leave you," Potter finished, and ran off anyway.

At the time, Draco's victory was very satisfying, because he realized that Potter saw him,
whether he liked it or not, but now that he'd woken up and had the chance to remember
everything exactly as it had happened, a pressure settled in his chest, giving him heartburn.

He rolled over in bed and stared at the ceiling.

Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, The Chosen One, The Savior of the Wizarding World.

Draco inhaled until his lungs were full. The sound of his breathing in the room was
thunderous in the darkness. He exhaled just as slowly. Harry Potter, the alpha of his dreams,
fifteen years his senior, who rejected him once six years ago even though Draco didn't
actually make a proposal, and who triggered his first heat.

He lowered the hand he'd been resting on his chest across his stomach to place it on his belly,
that part of his body that had become so important to him since learning of his marriage.

Harry Potter, his widowed husband, still hopelessly in love with his late wife and apparently
having attitude problems.

Harry Potter, the idiot who'd made dirty comments about Draco in front of a bunch of
reporters and hadn't apologized, the jerk who'd destroyed his hard work on this house, and the
bastard who'd physically attacked him, leaving scars, both physical and mental, that would
never fade.

Is this really what you wanted? He wondered, blinking in the blackness of the bedroom,
which was growing colder as the air outside blew.

Winter would soon be here. Draco had never experienced it in such a rural area, so the
thought caused him some anxiety.

I want the reputation, he admitted. I want the fame of his family name. I want the warmth of
his body against mine. I want to give birth to his child…
He closed his eyes, swallowing the lump of anguish that closed in his throat at the thought of
something like that never happening.

The deal he made with Potter felt almost as bureaucratic as that fiasco of a wedding that
might as well have been the signing of a will.

All Potter had done was ask him to babysit his children and promise that, in return, he'd
provide him with food, shelter, and sex when their baser instincts took over. This had left him
feeling a little humiliated because, as an alpha, Potter would obviously agree to have
intercourse with him to satisfy his own needs.

Draco had ended up feeling a bit like Madame Brown: employed full-time, the only
difference being that he was being paid in kind rather than cash.

When he realized this, he felt the muscles in his legs tense, ready to run back to his parents'
house.

He was afraid.

Afraid of the horrific prospect that was unfolding before his eyes as he realized that not
everything was hunky-dory, but at the same time, he was excited by the "hunt."

Potter liked him, even if he couldn't admit it himself. But Draco had seen it in the way the
Auror had picked him up in the courtyard, wanting to keep him from getting hurt again, and
the way he'd stayed with him until he was sure Draco had finished his soup and his fever was
down.

Potter was a protector, so all Draco had to do was give him something to protect so he could
reach some sense of fulfillment.

The problem was, he was sure Potter wouldn't make it easy for him, simply because he was
an idiot.

In the bedroom across the hall, Harry Potter himself was struggling with his insomnia,
although less fervently than Draco, since he was already used to sleeplessness and the terrible
feelings it brought.

Like his young husband, he was thinking about his marriage: not the second, but his first,
now that his mind seemed to be functioning normally again.

Ginny's portrait (which he had returned to the living room, accompanied by a Permanent
Presence Charm) was etched in his mind, and every time he blinked, it flashed like Fawkes
did the afternoon he appeared in Dumbledore's office to save him from the Aurors.

He exhaled, his bare chest sinking heavily because he was struggling to breathe again, just as
he had been before Draco's heat, which seemed to have reset him in more ways than one,
although the effects were wearing off.
He no longer remembered the sound of his wife's laughter. Although he had a vague idea of ​
what it was like, time and countless other memories had managed to alter it, so by now he
might as well have been remembering a random laugh he heard in a park once...

He no longer remembered her smell either, and although after his conversation with Draco he
had rummaged through the dressing room, trying to find something that still smelled of her,
he hadn't found it.

He cursed himself for not having used a charm, but he thought it would have been a little
odd, and if he had had that constant reminder of what he had and lost, like so many other
things, he truly would have ended up going mad.

Perhaps he would have even killed himself, as he had often intended, just like that Peverell
brother who played with the Resurrection Stone just to see his fiancée again.

How many times had he thought about going to the Forbidden Forest to find it and have the
chance to see Ginny again, just as he saw his parents, Sirius, and Remus?

Hermione, who was too smart and knew him like the back of her hand, must have foreseen it
because she warned him not to, and since it was in front of the entire family, Harry felt like
he was on a limb, overexposed and forced by the presence of his children to not do anything
stupid that could leave them orphaned and traumatized like he had been.

Perhaps his resentment toward his friends and what remained of his family had started from
that moment on, and now that he remembered it, the same heartburn from before began to
burn in his stomach, making him nauseous.

He felt so sick after this short period of being relatively well that he surprised himself by
turning over in bed, fully intending to cross the hall and sneak into the opposite room,
seeking Draco's calming scent so that his emotions, so tied to his dynamic as alpha, would
stabilize.

When he realized his intentions, the nausea grew much stronger, and he remained rooted to
the spot, pulling the covers over him like a shackle.

Draco Malfoy had slept in this bed for a full month, and the little bastard had left traces of his
scent everywhere.

Harry hadn't had time to get rid of his things yet, moving them to the other room, so there
were whiffs of him everywhere that Harry could read like little notes stuck on various
surfaces.

For example, he'd discovered that this boy had a habit of brushing his hair in bed before
sleeping because his silver brush, with very yellow bristles as soft as a horse's mane, was
resting on Harry's bedside table, next to his clock and the book he'd supposedly been reading
for the past five years. By now, it was more of a decoration than anything else, a gift from
Hermione for some birthday or Christmas or whatever. Draco seemed to have noticed it
because there was a bookmark between the pages.
Harry reached out and touched the brush, surprised at how cold the silver could get. He
picked it up to sniff it, pretending not to know what he was doing, and, indeed, he calmed
down almost immediately, although Draco Malfoy's hair didn't smell so much like his
pheromones, but rather like his shampoo.

Apples.

Harry had already smelled it at the registry office, when they ran down the stairs. He had also
smelled it when he said goodbye to James before leaving on his trip, surprised by how easily
scents could stick to children, and, unfortunately, he had also smelled it on the day of the
fight, when he had grabbed him by the head and thrown him to the ground.

Apples.

After that, they had become one of his worst memories, and, as if to spit in his face, Draco
Malfoy had taken it upon himself to plant a bunch of apple trees in the driveway of his house.

…he would have to throw them down.

Don't be a son of a bitch.

He ran his hands over his face, irritated.

He found himself unable to alter James's bedroom because he thought it would be a dirty
trick on his son, but at least he calmed down by changing Albus's, who was younger and
probably wouldn't notice.

Draco hadn't made too many changes there. He'd only changed the soft blue-gray walls to a
more cheerful green, matching the bright curtains with silver stars, and he'd touched up the
furniture.

But Ginny used to carve little designs into the wood of Albus's bureau when she was bored,
and Harry didn't want the boy to lose that. She'd also been the one to buy him a bunch of
plush toys from a secondhand shop in Diagon Alley, and before Draco's initiative had even
come along, they'd been stuffed into Albus's bookshelf, watching over him at night when he
found it hardest to sleep.

At least he hadn't been cynical enough to throw them away, so Harry had retrieved them from
the basement, along with the painting and many other things.

He tidied up his youngest son's bedroom with a flick of his wand without making too much
of a fuss, and as soon as he saw everything back to how it had been, he felt at peace.

Ginny... Ginny was there again, in those small details she'd left behind, and Harry wished
magic could be so powerful as to bring someone back to life and give them a second chance,
but fate was too cruel, so he'd have to settle for reliving her through James's eyes, which were
hers, and the smile of Albus, whom Ginny loved with all her heart, to the point of sacrificing
herself for him when everyone advised her not to go through with the pregnancy, which was
putting her health at risk.
Had Harry Potter been her bad luck, just as he was his parents' and so many other people's?

With Draco's brush between his fingers, he turned over in bed and closed his eyes, trying to
force himself to sleep.

He dreamed for the first time in a long time instead of having nightmares. He saw an orchard
flecked with the dappled light of the afternoon sun and heard children laughing. A handful of
gray-furred rabbits scampered between the tree trunks, chased by the clumsy footsteps of
small feet.

James? Albus?

He must have said it out loud, because the little feet stopped chasing the rabbits. Then the
boy looked at Harry, who looked back at him.

Gray eyes, platinum-blond hair.

The boy, seeing him, smiled and threw himself into his arms, shouting "Daddy, Daddy!"

Knowing it was a dream (a very gentle one, at that), Harry smiled back, picking him up to
spin him around among the apple trees, kissing his forehead. The little boy laughed,
fascinated, and that sound made Harry the happiest person in the world.

When he woke up the next morning, he remembered nothing, but he was at peace.

Molly Weasley had appeared on the grounds of the manor on Monday morning to return the
children; unfortunately, she did so minutes after Harry had left for work, so Draco had to
greet them, bypassing the unpleasant Madame Brown, who was treating him more sullenly
than usual, for some reason.

Hearing them fluttering around the courtyard, he put down his reading to get up and go to the
door, with a harsh sense of déjà vu at the memory of having done the same thing for his
husband on the day of the disaster. He tried to swallow his discomfort, just as he had when he
discovered Ginny Potter's portrait back in the living room, above the fireplace, looking down
on him as if mocking him. For the time being, he decided he could spend his time anywhere
else in the house (because his face fell with embarrassment every time he saw that Potter had
left everything just as it had been before his arrangements, which made him feel small and
unappreciated even though they were now able to have a conversation without so much fuss.
He thought they would talk about it a little more, but they didn't).

A shiver ran down his spine when he saw Molly Weasley approaching with a slow step and a
smile on her lips while she held the hands of her grandchildren, who made no effort to keep
up with her, but quite the opposite.

James was humming something while pointing at the sky, making noises just like one of
those Muggle engines, while Albus walked with a finger in his mouth, occasionally craning
his neck to see a bird that had flown overhead or the fish swimming in the fountain (Potter
had kept those, perhaps out of laziness or resignation).

Draco took a deep breath and held it, suppressing a sudden cough.

One thing he'd always known was that his father despised Arthur Weasley and his obsession
with Muggles, which led him to propose countless laws in their favor that, after the war, were
ultimately passed, no matter how ridiculous (to Lucius, anything that came out of Arthur's
mouth was ridiculous, even if it was just a breath).

Draco, while he hadn't grown up listening to all the garbage about blood purity that his
parents had internalized, had grown up listening to him rant and swear against Arthur, so,
over the years, he'd come to terms with the fact that this family was... well.

And the idea of ​being related to them now unnerved him for some reason.

There was something about Molly Weasley and her old, rainbow-colored knitted sweater that
offended him deeply and put him on the defensive.

Or maybe it was just the fact that this woman was the mother of the omega that Harry Potter
hadn't tired of making clear was far above him in this house, despite having been dead for
two years.

And you'd better stay that way, he thought, massaging his chest, trying not to let that thought
show on his face.

"Oh, dear!" Molly said, seeing him in the doorway. "Are you feeling better? You shouldn't
have gone out if you're still sick. Everyone at home wishes you the best. I made you cakes.
These two helped me."

Draco felt his face heat up. Who the hell was "everyone," and why would they have to know
he was in poor health? Who did they think they were, talking about him behind his back?
And of course he wasn't going to put something made by that woman in his mouth!

But he was only overreacting to the idea that these people knew more about him than he
knew about them.

He felt deeply humiliated to think that they had surely read the statements Harry Potter had
made to reporters about him on his wedding day.

What if they thought he was really just here as a trophy husband and couldn't possibly be a
good father to those children?

Father.

Father? Wasn't he going too far? Could he already think of himself like that? Did he want the
children to see him that way?

The idea fascinated him as much as it terrified him.

Yes, one day he hoped to be called that, by his own flesh and blood or by these boys, whom
he'd declared his own in front of this woman the day he'd run after them, believing they were
being stolen from him.

It was a beautiful concept, especially for an omega. He'd never realized it until today.

He smiled sweetly at James, who was stunned by the sight, his mouth forming an O, as if
Draco were an apparition before his eyes.

Draco went down the steps, bent down to his level, and offered his arms. Overjoyed, James
ran over and jumped into his chest to hug him back. Draco inhaled the scent of his hair and
kissed his cheek, momentarily enclosing himself with him in a large, colorful bubble where
only the two of them existed. His weight in his arms was comforting, as was his warmth.

Using him as a shield, he felt able to look at the woman, whose eyes were bright as her chin
trembled. She was obviously a freak.

"I'm feeling better, thank you," he replied, trying not to sound too curt.

"I told Gran she needs to see my room!" James said brightly, still holding Draco. "She's going
to love my bed! Uncle Ron said I was lying, that a pirate ship couldn't fit in my bedroom, but
I told him it wasn't true! Uncle Ron is a fool!"

Draco grinned at him.

"You shouldn't call your elders fools." My God, how he enjoyed acting important in front of
that kid.

He was sure he'd soon find a taste for being a father figure.

"Uncle Ron isn't my oldest! He's a fool!" James insisted.

Molly laughed.

Draco pushed James aside to go over to Albus, but the youngest Potter child took a step back,
hiding behind his grandmother's skirt, eyeing him somewhat suspiciously as he continued to
nibble at his finger.

Draco didn't know how to react to the blatant rejection and stood there, blinking, unsure
whether to continue.

Unfortunately for him, Molly Weasley noticed everything.

"It's no big deal," she explained. "That's the way this boy is. Every time he visits The Burrow,
he comes back a bit fussy and has a hard time getting along with his nannies again…" She
opened her mouth to say something else, but couldn't seem to find the way, and that gave
Draco time to interpret her words as an insult.

He regarded her coldly, realizing that the comment had sunk deep because his conversation
with Potter had made it clear that, more than a husband, he was just that in this house: a
 simple nanny.

He remembered not liking Albus at first, and at that very moment, he stopped liking him
again, as much as his grandmother.

"I'm married to his father: I'm not his nanny," he contradicted her.

Molly grew uncomfortable.

She had to crane her neck a lot to see his face because Draco was tall.

"I know, I know, darling! I didn't mean...! It's just...!" Molly stumbled over her words, and
Draco sighed.

"Why don't you show Granny Molly your room quickly, James? Then we'll have the whole
afternoon to ourselves," he said, turning his back on the red-haired woman, stroking the
brown-eyed boy's head before walking back into the house, his heart pounding in his throat.

Chapter End Notes

Thanks for your supportive comments last week.

I'll try to get back to my old update schedule, but I can't promise anything :'(
Could you all stop by my Twitter profile (@6thHannibal) to say hi and share Drarry
stuff? One like and it's suddenly full of Dramione x_x If you could recommend some
Drarry fanfics, that would be awesome too.
 Chapter 11
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

Although Draco believed things between them would be better after that first talk, Potter left
on a trip on Tuesday morning, leaving him alone with the children and Madame Brown.

Draco, who hadn't said anything to his husband, was still offended by Mrs. Weasley's words,
so he was somewhat serious with Albus, who, in turn, had thrown a tantrum upon discovering
his room.

He wasn't at all pleased to see that everything was the same as before Draco changed it.
Although his decor was nowhere near as extravagant as James's, Albus had enjoyed the silver
stars on his curtains, as well as a larger bed that was more appropriate for his age, and was
now once again boxed into a single with guardrails that resembled a vegetable crate (given
the way his grandmother dressed, it was easy to figure out who had picked it, because he
doubted Potter would have had the brains to move him from his crib when he outgrew it - if it
had been up to him, he would have kept Albus there until his teens out of nostalgia).

Him bringing back the boy's old room… also made Draco feel bad.

Why did Potter leave James's room alone but change Albus's? He wanted to ask, especially
when it was obvious the younger boy hadn't liked it, but it was precisely because of the
nuclear crying fit that Draco kept his mouth shut, because Potter was in a bad mood, so he
was the one who had to endure the green-eyed boy's scratching and yelling (no matter how
hard he tried to leave him at the hands of the house-elf or the governess).

"Are you and I the outcasts?" he asked James when he finally got Albus to sleep and it was
the eldest's turn to be tucked in.

"What's ut... otcas... tuc...?"

Draco smiled at him and pulled the covers up to his neck, patting him on the chest. James
looked at him through his long eyelashes, dazzled. Draco kissed his forehead.

Everything was easier with James than with Albus. That's why he was his favorite. He wasn't
ashamed to admit it.

"It's better if you don't know, sweetheart." He closed the boy’s eyes, bringing a smile to his
face, and turned off the lights. "Dream beautiful things."

That was what Narcissa used to tell him as a child to help him sleep without nightmares, and
it gave him indescribable pleasure to have someone to say it to, too.

He really hoped he'd be able to say it to his own children one day…
As he turned to leave the room, he nearly died of fright when he saw Potter standing under
the threshold, arms crossed, leaning against the doorframe. Draco placed a hand on his chest,
turning bright red as he noticed the way those green eyes were fixed on him.

Potter gestured for him to follow, and his heart leaped, wondering what it was about.

They stood in the hallway, illuminated by the yellowish light of candles trapped in glass
lanterns.

"Don't teach my children those words," was the first thing Potter said, though not in the spirit
of a scolding, but Draco automatically felt defensive. "No one is an outcast here. Why would
they be? Don't make the mistake of putting those ideas into their heads; they're very young."
He paused, noticing something. "What would someone like you know about being an outcast,
anyway?" What was meant to be a kind of compliment came out more like another reproach.

Draco balled his hands into fists and twisted his mouth.

"Fine," he relented, smiling. "My mistake," he agreed, slurring the letters in a way that let
Harry know he was insulting him secretly. "Any further instructions you wish to give me, my
lord?" he gripped his robes and gave a courtly curtsy that came out extremely elegant and
controlled even though he was trembling with rage.

Harry sighed very slowly and zipped his lips, because it was obvious they were both making
an effort here.

"I'll travel again," he said, getting to the point. "I'll be back in France for a while" Draco's
stomach knotted at that word, which implied a lot of time "and possibly then America."
Potter grimaced, wondering why he had to give him so many details. He massaged his
temples, trying to get rid of a migraine that had been bothering him all afternoon and had
been made worse by Albus's tantrum. "I'll try to keep in touch, but remember…"

"I shouldn't try to communicate with you by any means. I know. I'm not an idiot." Draco
rolled his eyes.

Harry snorted, doing the same.

"I know you're not an idiot, but you'd be doing me a huge favor if you didn't act like one right
now," he retorted, and Draco opened his mouth to protest, but thought better of it.

He didn't want to fight, especially if this jerk was going to be gone in the morning for who
knows how long.

Draco sighed, and Harry had the decency to look a little apologetic. He scratched behind his
ear.

"I hope Albus doesn't continue to be such a nuisance," he commented, not knowing what else
to say.

He had locked himself in his office all afternoon, reading documents, but the boy's crying
plagued him the entire time. The only reason he didn't use a Muffliato was that he felt like a
coward leaving the whole package to Draco.

Draco puffed out his chest in pure annoyance.

"He would have been quite content if he'd found his room the way he left it," he pointed out.
"He chose everything, you know? His bed, his curtains, his toys, just like James. They're
little, but they're not stupid: they have their own tastes. That bookcase full of plush toys was
giving him nightmares, and now he has it back there again. They're hideous! With those
bulging, glassy eyes!"

Harry narrowed his eyes, and Draco wondered what he could have said to upset him. He must
have chosen them…

“He would have been quite content if you hadn’t changed his bedroom in the first place, and
that’s another thing I wanted to mention.” Draco pursed his lips at this, bracing himself for
something he wasn’t going to like. “Don’t change anything while I’m gone, okay? Don’t do
anything I wouldn’t like.” Draco opened his mouth to rant, making it clear he didn’t seem to
like nothing at all, but Potter put a finger to his lips to silence him, and seemed to be
surprised because he snatched it back, as if he’d been burned. “I told you: I’m not open to
major changes. Respect that. You can do whatever you want in your bedroom, but everything
else… please, no.” He was going to add “maybe in the future,” but the thought of that
possibility seemed far-fetched, so he swallowed it.

“About Madame Brown,” he licked his lips, taking a breath, “when I told you to take care of
this house, I meant, more than anything, the children, because she really runs everything,
even when I’m here. She pays and handles the bills, buys the supplies, cleans the rooms,
answers my mail, keeps the place running. Very much in her own way. My elf is old, so I
can’t ask that much of him.” He clicked his tongue, looking around this place that had never
felt like home to him. “When I’m away, she helps me keep the wards up. She’s good at it
mainly because she’s a bitch,” he hissed as he realized what he’d just said, something that
usually stayed inside his head. He ignored Draco’s snicker. “I mean, she’s quite territorial. So
far, the only times we've had any trouble with curious people trying to break in” gossips sent
by Rita Skeeter, mainly “she has handled it just fine by sending them to hell. Let's just say
he's not very subtle”.

Draco blinked, and Harry inhaled, making his point clear:

"Do you want to learn how to do that?" he asked finally.

Draco laughed again.

"No!" he replied, as if Harry were asking him if he wanted to butcher a pig and eat it raw.
"That's a job for employees. I'm willing to hire someone to replace her. I've asked for
recommendations, and I'm sure my father can send someone to take care of…"

Harry's shoulders slumped, his mouth twisting.

"This is what Ginny did, you know? It's taking care of a house from the ground up, not just
putting makeup on it to your specifications," he contradicted him, level-headed, though his
voice wasn't at all kind. Draco swallowed a grimace, noticing the change in the air. He hated
the mention of Ginny and wanted to tell him that maybe she should have been putting
makeup on this hole, which looked like the setting for a horror novel, in addition to just
paying the bills, but he kept it to himself. “However, I had a feeling you'd respond something
like that, so I'm just going to say this: ignore her and she'll ignore you, okay? It's easier for
everyone”.

Easy for him, who could get away without a care.

The thing about Harry Potter was that he was used to ignoring insults and abuse. He'd had
plenty of that growing up with his aunt and uncle, and a bit more in the wizarding world,
being who he was, but it had never occurred to him how difficult it could be for others to
tolerate such annoying behavior, especially for someone like Draco, whom his parents would
have rather thrown off a cliff than allow him to endure such a thing.

Harry, being the master of the house, didn't give a damn if his employees offended him as
long as they got the job done (the same with his Aurors, from whom he occasionally earned a
few swear words for pushing them too hard, especially after his widowhood). He had no idea
how difficult it was for others (more normal people) to implement his ideology without going
crazy.

Draco took a deep breath. Maybe he should have just said yes… yes to buying hay for the
sheep and heating the rooms, worrying about whether the guards around the property were up
every night, and keeping an eye out for any strange noises or anything out of place.

What a pain.

It was true: changing the look of everything was more fun than what he was proposing right
now, and why should he be interested in those tasks if he wasn't allowed to make any
changes? Idiot. In that case, he would have truly become more of a worker than a husband.
Of course he didn't want that!

"I'll ask my father to…"

"It's not necessary."

"But he knows a lot of people who..."

"Draco." Harry, who had no intention of fighting with him again by telling him he wouldn't
accept any recommendations from Lucius Malfoy (other than marrying his son, a decision
that had already bitten him in the arse), closed his eyes, pinching at his tear ducts, and
something in his body language let Draco know he was truly suffering.

While he liked the idea of ​him paying a little for everything he was saying, he also realized
he shouldn't waste opportunities when they presented themselves.

"Do you want me to help you with that?" he asked, moving a little closer to Potter, allowing
him to smell his scent.
The alpha swallowed and took a step back.

"With what?" he asked, startled.

Draco rolled his eyes.

"The headache," he explained. Potter frowned, sullen but curious.

"How?"

Draco grabbed his wrist and dragged him into his room.

He locked the door, as if that would prevent Potter from running away, as he clearly intended,
and gestured toward the balcony to open the curtain, allowing the moonlight to be his only
illumination.

"Sit down," he told Potter, pushing him onto the seat at the foot of his bed.

The alpha fell as if he'd turned to paper. He lay there, his elbows buried in Draco's soft
mattress, his eyebrows raised in surprise.

He was wearing black trousers and a white shirt with a waistcoat. There was a shadow of
beard across his face, and his eyes, swimming in dark circles, looked deeper than ever.

Draco, standing in front of him, removed his hair tie, letting it fall free down his back before
untying the belt of his robes, allowing it to fall open and expose the sheer gauze dressing
gown he wore underneath.

Potter jumped up.

"I don't know what you're up to, but I assure you it's not..." he began.

Draco laid a hand on his chest. He released his pheromones, and when Potter inhaled them,
he knew he won, and he felt good about it.

"It's skin-to-skin contact, silly," he explained. "Haven't you heard of it? Like with babies.
How do you think I got Albus to stop crying?" He opened his dressing gown to show him his
neck, where there were deep red scratches.

Harry's eyes widened.

"Shit," he said, leaning closer for a better look, thinking that a child's uncut fingernails could
be like the sharp hands of a bowtruckle.

Draco swallowed a smile, thinking it was fortunate his skin marked easily.

"It's calming. It relaxes you," he continued. "Why do you think alphas and omegas rely so
much on sex to stay sane?" He enjoyed mentioning the word "sex" in front of him, especially
since, although he couldn't see it in detail, he was certain that Potter blushed in the gloom.
He wanted to ask, "Would you like to have sex with me?" but knew it would be too much.
Maybe, if he provoked him enough...

He waited.

He bent down to take off his boots, and when his feet, clad in white socks that reached mid-
thigh, touched the carpet, he couldn't help but sigh with pleasure because those shoes were
torture, and taking them off was bliss.

Potter swallowed.

"Tell me, yes or no?" Draco persisted.

Potter was silent for a long moment.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked quietly.

Draco smiled.

"I told you to sit down."

Potter obeyed, though not without hesitation. He returned to the bench, giving him the
impression that he had no idea what to do with his hands, which he moved constantly, placing
them on his knees, interlacing them, moving them to his thighs, to his sides...

Draco sighed, amused, and opened his robe, revealing his chest, legs, and tiny underwear.

Green eyes slid over his body, illuminated by the moonlight. He felt a warmth crawling
through his veins from his belly because this was the first time he'd shown himself naked,
sober, in front of someone, and Potter's reaction didn't disappoint him. He felt attractive, and
more than that, he knew he was.

His self-esteem soared, and it was the most wonderful experience he'd had in days. He
stopped feeling bad about having exposed himself to him during his heat if there was a
chance that, rather than making a fool of himself, he might have seduced him to the point of
making him lose his mind.

He went to straddle the alpha's lap, making sure his pubis was firmly pressed against Potter's,
resting his head on his shoulder, his full weight on top of him.

Potter sank into the mattress automatically, and the two of them fit together like puzzle
pieces.

"It might be easier if you opened your shirt," Draco whispered, closing his eyes, relaxing
completely.

"I like it the way it is, thank you very much." But he knew Potter was lying, which made him
smile wider.
"Just don't scratch me like your son, will you? It hurts." That word seemed to be the magic
spell, because Potter's hand came to rest on the small of his back, above his robe, as if to
comfort him. Its warmth was soothing.

He drew tiny circles on Draco's back with his fingertips, causing a delicious tingle. It was his
apology on behalf of Albus.

Potter closed his eyes too, and Draco began to slowly release his pheromones for him, lulling
himself to the point of forgetting his original intentions.

He found himself wet between his legs and blushed, but tried to ignore it.

His hand was resting on the spot where Potter's heart was beating.

"How many times have you done this?" Potter asked suddenly, and Draco swallowed a laugh.

Did he really want to know that? Did he consider him some kind of degenerate who shared
his body with just anyone?

"Um, it's hard to say," he pretended to think it over. "With some of the alphas at school, you
know, the usual," he lied, and he couldn't help but sound a little bitter. "Pureblood omegas are
trained well for this," but Potter didn't seem to get the rebuke from what he'd said to Rita
Skeeter the other time.

His arm, instead, went around Draco's torso, squeezing, making his ribs ache.

He could feel Potter's erection at the same time he smelled his pheromones, warm but spicy, a
little annoyed by what he'd just told him.

He didn't want to anger him. Nor did he want to make him think less of him. He wanted
Potter to see him in a light as soft as the one he used to contemplate his children or the
damned painting of his dead wife.

"I only asked because I've never... it's the first time I..." But he couldn't connect the thought,
perhaps out of embarrassment, although Draco understood.

This was the primordial embrace that an alpha or omega parent could offer a child, as
Narcissa did with him to calm his fears and as Draco did with Albus to quell his anger. Harry
Potter, who lost his parents at a young age and grew up in a precarious environment, had no
chance of having experienced it. Perhaps, long ago, after a heat with his wife, there had been
a similar embrace, a feeling of closeness that tickled his heart, but if he himself was admitting
that this was the first time he'd felt something like this, then Draco could consider himself the
winner.

Doing this as a couple, without sex involved, was more like touching each other's souls, like
the interconnected roots of two trees.

Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. He might have kept his life after Voldemort's attack, but in
exchange, he had lost so many other things…
Draco sympathized, allowing the love he felt for his own parents to stir a special warmth in
his chest. He adored them with all his soul and certainly had no idea what he would do
without them.

“When I was little, I had nightmares,” he admitted. “My mom did this to help me sleep. I
know she does it with my dad, too. They didn’t have a good time after the war. Now I know
why.” He swallowed, trying to find the courage to continue. “You’re the first alpha I’ve ever
done this with. You’re the only one I want to do this with. Come find me when you need me.
It feels good, doesn’t it? Like we’ve become one, like all the world’s problems disappear and
it’s just you and me…”

Potter couldn’t help himself, but he thrust into Draco, causing a moan come from him. His
hand settled on the small of his back, trailing down the curve of his buttocks until his fingers
brushed against his hole through his clothes, soaked and hot and ready to take him whenever
he felt like it.

Draco gasped, mouth falling open, his forehead on Potter’s shoulder, waiting.

He clung to the alpha's white shirt as if he were about to fall off a cliff.

Potter closed his eyes and began to massage him gently, sighing with pleasure as he heard
Draco's purrs. Draco pressed his mouth against his throat, allowing him to feel the steam of
his labored breathing.

Harry, who had never exposed his neck to anyone, frowned, but was reassured by the
reminder that Draco Malfoy posed no danger to him: he was his omega by right, Harry had
smelled his blood, and shared his heat. Every particle of that body, from the strands of his
hair to the eggs in his womb waiting to be fertilized, belonged completely to him.

Knowing that was even more pleasurable than smelling the fumes of his arousal.

The traces of his migraine disappeared, and he found himself drowsy, wanting to stay there
forever, resting in those arms.

He suddenly remembered Ginny's scent: something floral. Something floral that invited him
to run through the fields, to ride a broomstick to play Quidditch, or to do something daring,
like jumping off a rock into a stream.

But that "something floral" had been neutralized and was now nothing more than a memory
forever frozen in his mind.

Draco's scent was very different. Like sitting by a window on a rainy afternoon, drinking tea
and reading. It was peaceful. Like a sunset or a weekend with the family.

He thought… he didn't want to go on a trip the next morning. He thought he wanted to stay
here, at home, discovering a little more about this new scent that seemed to have seeped into
every orifice of his body, drugging him.

Something peaceful.
Draco smelled of something peaceful that seduced Potter's alpha like nothing else in the
world had, because even Ginny's scent had captivated the man more than the primal instinct
inside him.

He didn't remember doing this kind of thing with Ginny. With her, he was all reason and
feelings, while with Draco, he wanted to be bare skin, moans, and sweat.

Draco opened his mouth over his jugular, pressed his lips there, and began to suck, drawing a
moan from him that deepened as he used his teeth to mark him more effectively. For only a
microsecond, Harry had the urge to reach up and push him away because no one should ever
get that close to an alpha's neck, but he ignored it in time. As soon as the hickey was formed
and the omega released him with the snap of a kiss, Harry violently pushed him down and
stayed on top of him, grabbing Draco's wrists and pinning them above his head. Draco looked
up at him with large, dilated gray eyes in the darkness, his chest as white as snow rising and
falling rapidly. Harry inhaled through his mouth, struggling to fill his lungs.

Draco's scent soured with a hint of fear, something he didn't like. His omega should never be
afraid around him. Harry had been made alpha only to protect him.

He buried his face in that long, pale neck, savoring the pulse in his veins and the faint scent
of blood on the wounds Albus had inflicted.

"What a rude boy," he breathed.

He pressed his mouth to the longest cut and kissed, running his tongue over it. He filled
Draco's throat with licks, savoring every sound he managed to extract from his mouth, and
pressed himself against him, thrusting into him with hard pushes of his hips, seeking his own
satisfaction.

He tangled his fingers in Draco's underwear, tearing them off, leaving only bare, soaked skin
where his fingertips met. He lustfully stroked the nest of platinum pubic hair, eliciting a
symphony of moans.

Draco, high on their pheromones, unzipped his fly, and Harry thanked him, rubbing himself
against him, taking advantage of their natural fluids.

The room filled with their scent, and when Harry noticed it, he yielded, though he felt like he
could have done better, just as he had when he'd shared Draco's heat, regretting the whole
time that he'd taken the inhibitor.

"Please," Draco panted, his head thrown back, barely able to form words. He was offering
him his throat in the most perfect act of submission. "Please, I beg you, please..."

Harry smiled.

"Please what, boy?" he asked hoarsely.

Draco meowed, flustered.

"I want you inside me, please. Please."

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, pausing for a second to fight himself.

At that moment, he felt capable of doing anything for him, even if he asked him to jump off
the tallest building in Britain.

But this…

"No."

He wasn't ready. And, despite what he thought, neither was Draco. They would both end up
regretting it.

He stripped off his vest and shirt, throwing them to the floor in his haste, and continued
grinding against Draco, his cock moving back and forth between his buttocks until he
managed to make him cum with a scream that pierced his soul.

Draco writhed beneath him, twitching and kicking, gasping with his mouth open as he came
all over himself in an incredible spectacle. He was too sensible, and it was obvious he'd never
done anything with anyone before, never even dared to play with himself, from the way he
reacted to his alpha's touch.

Harry inhaled the scent of his orgasm, as sweet as treacle, and he came too, spurting it all
over him, so that Draco had to bite his lip to keep from howling with pleasure.

Harry could feel the electricity in the air.

His alpha was more satisfied than ever, puffing his chest out, smiling, full again...

Bite him! A voice inside his head exclaimed, and he was about to do it, bending down to
press his mouth to Draco's shoulder, in the crook of his neck, but instead, he settled for giving
him a hickey as well. Draco reacted as if he were on fire inside, and Harry had to hold him
down on the bed to stop him from struggling or he'd end up on the floor.

Surrendered, enjoying every wave of pleasure, he collapsed on top of Draco, crushing him on
the mattress, covering him with his body.

They remained silent like that, just breathing, sharing body heat.

Harry began to fall asleep. He was afraid to start preparing to go to his room and stir, since
deep rest had been so rare in his life for a long time, so he sat up with minimal effort, unmade
the bed, and pulled Draco under the covers.

He thought about cleaning him up and reached for his wand, but a spark in his brain stopped
him: he wanted him like this, drenched in his fluids, smelling like him. He knew he was
acting like a madman and that it wasn't right, but who was there to hold it against him? If
Draco had disliked the idea, he would have said so, right? But he didn't.

There he was, tangled in his sheets, half-naked and covered in his alpha's scent, which had
his cheeks flushed in the moonlight, breathing hard in time with his racing heart.
Somehow, seeing him in bed seemed much obscener than having him naked and straddling
him.

He rolled his eyes, thinking he was turning into a pervert, and shed the rest of his clothes and
glasses to crawl under the covers and go to sleep, not wanting to waste any more time. As
soon as his head, relaxed and light, hit the pillow, he began to calm down.

Draco Malfoy's pheromones were like his own personalized ayahuasca trip, leaving him
floating and quite at ease, to be honest.

Would it have been the same with any omega? He remembered everyone he'd met on those
dates orchestrated by Hermione and couldn't help the surge of disgust that washed over him.

He slipped an arm around Draco’s waist, as if to prove a point. Draco smiled, just as sleepy
as he was. He buried his face in Harry's chest.

"Is the pain gone?" he asked through gritted teeth.

Harry mumbled.

"The pain's gone," he confirmed, and in a second, he was snoring, deep in a nice, dreamless
sleep.

The next morning, Harry Potter woke to the sound of a rooster crowing, feeling a strange
weight on his body and a tickling sensation on his chin, all thanks to Draco Malfoy sleeping
on his chest, his long platinum-blond hair sticking to Harry's scruffy beard.

He flinched, but when the omega's steady breathing became noticeable, he was able to regain
control.

He placed his open palm against the hollow of Draco's bare back. Only Harry was wrapped in
the duvet, while the omega was pressed against his side, absorbing his warmth. His skin was
cool, but he didn't seem uncomfortable.

Harry lay there for a long time, staring at the white ceiling, remembering all those times he'd
told Hermione that even if he got married, it wouldn't be a conventional marriage.

In a way, it felt like he'd lied to her, because it was obvious they were having sex. And
incredible sex, to his annoyance.

But he couldn't blame himself for that. It was the natural outcome for alphas and omegas.
Everyone knew it. Draco had been right when he said they both needed physical contact too
much to keep them sane, and here was the proof.

Harry was much more focused now than he had been the last two years, but for that very
reason, he also felt guilty, as if he had disrespected Ginny.
I'm not going to fall in love with him, he thought, very convinced, certain, in fact, because
nurturing that emotion in his chest again was something implausible. It was only his flesh
responding to Draco's like one bird responding to another's song.

He was only a little afraid of playing with fire in the sense that now he was more convinced
than ever that Draco expected more from him than he let on.

He was a young omega, in the prime of his life, and he had that fire in his blood that only
people who haven't lived long enough to know better possess.

Harry was sure that little blond head was thinking it could get something from him that Harry
certainly wasn't willing to give, and that worried him.

Should he stop fueling the flames with this kind of thing? Yes, of course.

Could he? Surely not.

He was never a very physical person, perhaps because of the abnormal way he grew up,
without much physical contact from the people around him (unless you counted Dudley's
beatings). When he started dating Ginny, of course, they flirted a little, and he enjoyed it, but
it was nothing special. He never wanted to let himself get carried away like any other alpha
would have with his omega because deep down he knew there was a chance the war would
finish him off: he didn't want to use Ginny to satisfy himself (as he now suspected he was
using Draco) and then end up kicking the bucket by facing Voldemort, leaving her alone and
helpless.

At the end of the war, they began that natural part of their lives, but Harry always kept a level
head, for one reason or another, perhaps because from a young age he'd been taught the taboo
that the intensity an alpha could show towards an omega was unnatural.

He never bit her. He never left bruises on her, like so many other alphas did with their
omegas. He never lunged at her like he did Draco Malfoy last night, completely out of his
mind.

And Draco did bear his scars, though they weren't inflicted during sex.

How did that make him feel?

He closed his eyes and stroked Draco's back, feeling the softness of his pale skin.

As with any omega after sex with an alpha, Draco now smelled more like Harry than himself.

That stunned him a little, leaving him very satisfied.

He stroked Draco’s legs, his hips and between his thighs a little more... he laid him back on
the bed, without Draco even frowning, and, burying his face in his neck, inhaling his scent,
he touched his chest, trapping a nipple between his fingers to twist it.

He had to go.
Leave before he did something as stupid as truly burying himself inside him.

Would all this be happening if Draco hadn't surprised him with his heat? Harry hadn't even
remembered omegas had those until he saw him there, lying in the middle of the hallway,
soaked and waiting for an alpha.

He worked up the courage to get out of bed and stood in front of the mattress, gazing down at
Draco, who was sleeping like a princess, now snuggled up in the pearly gray duvet, which
would become his signature color in this house, just like white.

He was indescribably beautiful and equally terrifying.

He stood there, wondering if he should kiss him goodbye on the cheek like he did with
Ginny, until something frightened inside his chest told him not to and made him leave with
his tail between his legs, satiated but paying a high price in the form of overwhelming
confusion.

Before leaving, he took the white gown Draco had thrown on the floor sometime during the
night, balled it up, and, in his room, tossed it into his trunk, trying not to think about the
significance of what he was doing for his own sanity.

It was a couple of days after his husband's departure that Draco received a note from Pansy
letting him know her baby was about to be born at St. Mungo's, which threw him into an
incredible frenzy.

With Potter gone, he realized how little there was to do around here, especially now that he
was forbidden from dealing with any household details, so he hurried to get ready to go out,
getting the children ready as well.

Things with Albus had smoothed over again, so Draco could confidently hold him again,
though it was obvious the boy still resented losing the improvements to his bedroom, so he
now spent more time in James's, who wasn't happy about it, and they argued a lot about it.

He made them wear sweaters and hats, wondering if he should add some scarves and gloves
since the weather was getting colder as December approached, but ultimately decided against
it.

He took them and, ignoring Madame Brown's fussy look, used the Floo network to transport
himself. He was getting more and more proficient at moving around with the children, and by
the time the three of them fell into the hospital reception, it wasn't so difficult for Draco to
make sure no one ended up with a bump, which had happened that first time they went to
Diagon Alley (he had to buy them a lot of things in exchange for not telling anyone).

James sat up quickly, adjusting his red hat on his head, while Draco, with Albus in his arms,
caught his breath and accepted the help a Healer offered him to stand up.

"What are we here for?" James asked curiously, looking around. "Are we sick?"
"No, dear," Draco replied, shaking his hand after straightening Albus's sweater. "My best
friend had a baby. We came to see it."

"Oh, a baby!" James exclaimed, perking up, raising his eyebrows. "That'll be great, Al,
someone to play with!"

"I don't want to!" the green-eyed boy replied, clutching Draco's hair, which he liked to do
when he was in his arms.

Draco liked to think he was warming to him somehow, because Albus struck him as even a
little more possessive than James, which might work to his advantage.

He hoped his stupid father would learn a thing or two from him.

They walked to reception, Draco tugging James along when he saw a horned man patiently
waiting his turn in the waiting room, and he had to ask a Healer for directions to the
maternity ward.

It wasn't common for an omega to recover in the hospital, as home births were favored, but
Pansy had had a complicated pregnancy following her miscarriage. Her baby, she'd been told,
was much smaller than normal and would require magical support at birth, so they suggested
giving birth at St. Mungo's, where they could provide immediate care.

Draco, who spent the early stages of the pregnancy by her side, never believed he'd be
married with two stepchildren by the time the birth occurred.

He was happy for her and, to be honest, a little envious, but with James and Albus here, he
felt a little better.

He wasn't arriving empty-handed. He had a story to tell, and he'd planned it perfectly before
coming, just in case.

He knew Pansy would pester him with questions, so he prepared himself well.

Before going to their room, they stopped by the gift shop on the fifth floor and bought a
congratulatory basket. James convinced him to buy him a enchanted fish that sang and
pretended to swim while floating in the air, and for Albus he bought a large bag of fried
witches that the boy held against his chest as if it were his greatest treasure.

Finally, they met Pansy, who was in a chamber located in one of the most harmless sections
of the entire hospital, where witches could be seen wandering around with all sorts of injuries
caused by magic or encounters with fantastical creatures (the children were fascinated, and
Draco, a little disgusted, to tell the truth).

"You came!" Pansy burst out, overjoyed to see the door opening and him there.

She was somewhat pale and wore no makeup. Her long black hair was tied in a bun behind
her head, and in her arms, she held a tiny pink bundle that let Draco know that his friend had
given birth to a girl, who was currently making noises against her mother's chest.
 "Wow!" he said. "Christie!" That was the name they had chosen together in case Pansy had a
daughter.

Although the woman's smile remained, Draco saw the corners of her lips droop a little, but it
didn't last long because James jumped up next to the bed, trying to get closer for a better
look.

"Is this your baby?" he asked.

"Can we see?!" Albus had chased after his brother.

Now that he was talking a little more, he'd also gotten into the habit of asking his questions
with lots of exclamation points, which made Madame Brown's hair stand on end.

Draco tried to be gentle with him by reminding him not to shout and giving him the same
advice his mother had given him when he was growing up ("Respecting others' comfort by
maintaining the appropriate volume makes them like you"), along with some affectionate
gestures. Albus responded well to this, like a small animal being trained, and Draco found it
fascinating. Of course, they needed a little more practice, but he had the impression they were
doing well.

Pansy raised her eyebrows and looked at Draco.

"And these are…?"

Draco smiled and closed the door behind him.

"Don't pretend you don't know. We've all known since this little boy was born," he said, going
to place his hand on James's head. Pansy smiled, venomous as always, which made Draco
smile back. "This are James and Albus Potter, Pansy, and they're all mine. Just like their
father."

Saying it out loud somehow made him believe it.

Chapter End Notes

WARNING: The following chapter (12) will contain graphic scenes of s*xu*l
harassment. Proceed with caution in case this may be triggering for you.

Have in mind this is a MA/Explicit fic, please, written by an adult for adults.

Thanks to all my regular readers. I really enjoy reading your reviews here and your
comments in twitter. See you next week!
 Chapter 12
Chapter Notes

Remember this chapter had a WARNING. You can read it in the end notes of the last
chapter.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Draco sat the children down to eat fried witches by the window, and he took the chair next to
his friend's bed to hold the baby, who he thought was beautiful, with a doll-like face and a
streak of black hair on her forehead.

She was tiny and smelled like everything Draco thought a newborn should smell like, so he
buried his face in her tiny neck, not considering whether Pansy might mind, taking deep
breaths, allowing the scent to stir his stomach. He wanted to kiss her and hold her until he
was full, so it was a long time before he could come out of his reverie, rubbing his cheek
against the baby's blanket (he wanted to ask Pansy what it felt like to carry her inside her, or
how exciting it was the first time she moved inside her, but a lock on his mouth prevented
him from doing so: he longed to go through this with all his soul, but he didn't dare admit it
for fear of never experiencing it, given his circumstances. He was being cautious after
everything he'd learned).

When he raised his face again, Pansy was looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Are you pregnant?" she asked bluntly, and Draco reacted as if she'd smacked him in the
nose.

"No!" he replied, his cheeks bright red, and Pansy, instead of giving up, gestured with her
eyebrows, smiling even wider.

"But you could be, couldn't you?" she insisted. "Have you checked yourself? You're all
flushed. Your air has changed. I smelled you as soon as you walked in: the scent of an alpha
is all over you." She smiled very morbidly. "You're no longer," she gestured, "a virgin."

Draco opened his mouth to answer, but stopped himself in time, realizing that this was where
the lie must begin. It just seemed stupid now: he'd been married two months and was as
immaculate as when he'd left his parents' house. Unless, of course, Harry Potter's magical
fingers had managed to crush his cherry and squeeze out all the juice. He was half a virgin.

He deliberately ran a hand down his neck, where Potter's hickey still stung, and Pansy's eyes
widened, letting out a high-pitched laugh at the angry bruise.

"Does it have to be in front of the children?" He glanced at James and Albus, who were quite
distracted by sucking on scoops of ice cream that actually lifted them inches off their seats.
Pansy rolled her eyes.

"Oh, come on! You've been a father for, what, two months, and you're already such a prude!"
she chided him. "You married Harry Potter! Every omega's wet dream. And you think I won't
ask you questions? I already gave birth! Getting information out of you about that will make
me forget how painful it was to push that little head out of my body." She gestured to the
baby with her chin.

Draco grimaced.

As for the birthing part, he didn't want to know anything in particular. Not yet, anyway.
Things between female and male omegas were very different, and he shuddered to think that
Pansy, just hours after giving birth, was already giving a fight, while it would have taken him
much longer to recover, just because of his gender. Months, even. Some simply didn't make
it.

He shook his head to avoid thinking about that because it wasn't as if he was going to give
birth tomorrow. If he ever had to cross that bridge, he'd figure out how.

If ever…

Harry Potter was an idiot.

"All right," he steeled himself. "What do you want to know?"

Pansy looked very pleased, her cheeks flushing slightly.

"On a scale from one to ten, how good is he at it?" she asked, and Draco burst out laughing
after a moment of astonishment.

At Hogwarts, they already played a similar game, trying to guess things like this about
famous people they liked or classmates. Pansy, inevitably, always asked him how he thought
things would be with Harry Potter, since she was the one most aware of his crush on him.

"Eleven," he said, nodding with complete certainty. "Maybe a twelve..." He rolled his eyes.
"A fifteen, maybe."

Pansy's mouth fell open.

"You're making this up!"

"A twelve, all right." I mean, that last orgasm from Potter had left him seeing stars and
walking like a fawn the next day, and all he'd done was grind himself between his legs.

Pansy clapped a hand to her chest.

"I'm dying of envy!" she exclaimed, and Draco told her to keep her voice down, turning back
to the children, who weren't paying attention to them, thanks to Salazar. "I give my husband a
six, and he feels like a hundred. Poor fool. Remember that Hufflepuff who asked me out in
sixth year? A nine, easy. Delicious. And he was a Hufflepuff! Are you sure you're not lying?"
Draco's mouth twisted.

He hated Pansy's husband, and he couldn't understand how she'd decided to stay by his side
despite what he'd done to her, but he knew it was for money and prestige, so it was best not to
mention it.

Besides, he himself was in circumstances that didn't allow him to criticize others'.

"Did he live up to your expectations the first time?" she continued. "How was it? I know you
were saving yourself for him." She batted her eyelashes mockingly.

Draco's face turned much redder.

"I was in…" He looked at the children, pursing his lips, "you know what. I don't remember
much, but I'm sure it was amazing." He kept his gaze fixed on everything but her, ignoring
the way a knot tightened in his chest at the memory of broken glass and icy water.

A string of profanities rushed through his mind, all spoken in Harry Potter's voice, and he
frowned, suddenly feeling humiliated... but that was in the past. They'd talked it over. Potter
promised he'd never treat him like that again.

He made sure his sleeve covered the scar on his wrist because he didn't want Pansy to see it.
He'd decided against it for several reasons: given how Potter reacted to it, having it was the
most convenient thing for Draco if he ever needed to play the guilt card. For the one on his
forehead, which he found most repugnant simply because it was on his face, he was putting
on a fader, but he was delaying it because that night, when Potter climbed into bed with him
and they cuddled, his lips had rested on it, very aware and regretful of its existence, and that
was how they fell asleep.

Pansy covered her mouth with a hand, fascinated.

"Maybe it was better that way. You were too fussy at school. The heat must have gotten you
to enjoy it a bit. It's okay to make a fool of yourself in front of someone you don't care about
if it's your first time, but it's Harry Potter. Darling, you better have read the Kama Sutra
before you got into that bed," she joked, and Draco felt his face heat up, not because of the
subject matter, but because he was sure he had a pretty high "goofy in front of Harry Potter"
count by now. "And then?"

"It has been interesting," he shrugged. He couldn't pretend it wasn't. Everything around Harry
Potter felt like flying the world's fastest racing broomstick through a proving ground. "I know
I'm going to learn a lot."

Pansy grimaced: only Draco Malfoy could refer to sex as something to be learned about.

"Some weird fetish?" she persisted.

Draco pressed his lips together, his mind racing. His dressing gown was gone, and no matter
how hard he looked, he couldn't find it. He was sure Potter had taken it, but why?

He smiled, deciding the facts were what mattered most.

"My clothes, maybe? He rips them off. He travels too much, so this time, after you know
what, he took what I was wearing." He closed his eyes for a moment, relishing the thought
that Potter had done it with the intention of keeping Draco in mind while he was away.

If that simple white dressing gown smelled of their mingled pheromones, perhaps Potter
would come back eager to finish the job. He hoped so. Draco had all his hopes pinned on it to
get their relationship off the ground.

Pansy let out a squeal, hitting the bed. This time, the boys did look up, and the baby
whimpered in Draco's arms, and he rocked her reassuringly. He didn't have the best moves or
the necessary technique, but he hoped to learn soon. He was an omega: these things had to
come naturally to him, just as caring for the Potter children had.

“If you’re still wearing that same nonsense you wore at school under your robes, I damn well
understand. You’re beautiful! And devilishly sexy! If you weren’t an omega, I would have
tried to sleep with you a long time ago.” She let out a mad laugh that Draco had to share,
though Pansy’s comment made him shudder a little. “I have to admit, I thought he was a
complete idiot for what he said to that wretched Skeeter on the wedding day,” his friend
commented, suddenly serious, but then she smiled again. “I’ve heard a lot of idiots making
fun of that and I can’t believe your husband provoked this.” Draco felt faint, but he tried to
hide it. He didn’t want to imagine how his parents would have reacted, with whom he’d cut
off communication somewhat since the argument with Potter, just in case. To know that there
were people out there laughing at what came out of his husband’s big mouth… good heavens.
His throat went dry. “Well, he's an alpha, of course he's stupid. The important thing is that he
treats you well. He hasn't done anything wrong to you, right? Are you okay? Nothing strange
has happened between you two?”

Draco looked into her eyes and for a second seemed inclined to tell her, but he realized Pansy
wasn't that kind of confidant.

They were friends, and of course they could talk about private matters, but he understood that
they were, more than anything, superficial. If he told her that Harry Potter had beaten him,
made him bleed, humiliated him, and doused him in ice water in the middle of his heat, he
was sure he wouldn't like the look on her face. And he was also sure that he would feel
insecure about her from that moment on because he would have no idea who she might tell.
They had fought and stabbed each other in the back in the past, using very personal
information they knew to hurt each other, so, no. He wasn't going to say anything to her, even
though he wanted to talk to someone to make himself feel a little better.

Besides, he felt like things with Potter were improving.

The fact that they'd been able to hook up without the need of a heat was something, as was
the theft of his nightgown.

"Everything's perfect, Pansy. It's a dream come true. He was angry when he said that. You
know that Skeeter is a tough cookie. But he's crazy about me. He adores me. I'm his
everything. His world would fall apart if he didn't have me by his side." Why was he talking
so fast, and why did his voice sound so high-pitched? Better to calm down before tying the
noose around his neck.
And from the way she looked slightly disappointed, he knew he'd made the best decision.

He was alone in this.

Although at the time he believed he'd get over it eventually (that emptiness in his chest that
always seemed to be waiting for something that seemed like it would never materialize) he
had no idea that this emotion would be the dominant one in his marriage, that it would make
him feel, at more than one point, trapped in a prison with no way out.

He looked at the baby.

"Where's your husband?" he changed the subject.

Pansy rolled her eyes, sinking into the pillows and, thankfully, forgetting Draco's marriage.

"Far from here," she replied indifferently. "How do you think he reacted when they told him
it was a girl? For all I care, he can rot. I don't want to see him again."

Draco raised his eyebrows. He knew Pansy wasn't going to divorce him even if she said so. If
she did, as an omega with a baby, her only suitors would be elderly widowers like the ones
who hounded Draco. Young, handsome, virile alphas didn't usually go after "used" omegas.

"Was he so miserable as to reject her?" He unconsciously squeezed the girl a little tighter,
intending to show her affection.

His paternal side had been very much on display since he'd started living with the Potter
children.

"He was obviously hoping for a boy," Pansy clarified, trying to act unhurt. "Even if Christie
presents herself as an alpha, that idiot is old-fashioned. He didn't even look at her. I told you:
alphas."

But the disappointment and anguish were palpable in her voice. With a guy like that at his
side, Draco knew what awaited his friend: countless infidelities and bastard children.

Her husband hadn't marked her as an alpha, which meant he wasn't smitten with her.

Just like Potter with me, he thought, feeling miserable.

...what would he do if, by some miracle, he got pregnant and Potter didn't want the child? In
truth, he knew nothing about him. What if he was disappointed in a girl too or something? He
already had two boys. Could that work in his favor if he gave him a daughter? But for that to
happen, they'd have to have real sex first, and he had no idea if he'd ever get there because
that "no" had been pretty resounding, even though Potter was the one who seemed more lost
in his lust at the moment.

Having no idea what the hell his future held terrified him, an emotion he wasn't familiar with.

*
They left Pansy when it was time to eat.

The children kissed the baby goodbye, and when Pansy suggested they meet up for a
"playdate" sometime, they were both excited.

"Hurry up and give them a sibling, will you?" the woman suggested, winking at him, and
Draco didn't know how to react. Firstly, because he was sure Potter would be furious if he
even thought of inviting his friends over to Pelles' estate (it seemed embarrassing to even be
in the know after all the ups and downs their "relationship" had been going on, even though
they'd only been together a short time), and secondly, because his womb felt emptier than
ever, and he was sure it would stay that way for a while.

Things with alphas were strange in that sense (though Draco couldn't claim to know much
about them): they acted on instinct far more than an omega, since they were the ones who
directed their dynamic, so Draco knew full well that if Potter had wanted a baby with him, he
would have already put it inside him. Likewise, if he had wanted to have sex with him, he
would have already done so.

These little games between the two, encouraged by Draco, were nothing more than releases
for Potter, which was disheartening.

Was Draco not an omega beautiful enough to entice him? To make him want him?

As they left the room, he looked at himself in the mirror by the door and, for the first time in
his life, instead of just seeing his strengths, he also saw his flaws, or what he thought
someone like Potter might consider those.

Was his hair too light, too straight, too straight? Now that he looked closely, it looked like a
veil all the time, moving with him in sync instead of blowing in the wind and giving him that
disheveled look everyone in the Potter family seemed to have. It was too perfect, so to speak,
and perhaps therein lay a problem that never was that for him.

He looked at the two boys flanking him, with their dark, unruly hair, and a sigh escaped him.

Perhaps he was too pale? Had taking care of him after his heat made Potter think Draco was
too sickly for his liking? Ginny Potter had died of an illness, after all… should Draco start
wearing blush or something? It was just that those things didn't suit male omegas as much as
they did females.

Perhaps he was too tall, too thin… perhaps it had to do with his expression, which, to be
honest, was mostly one of annoyance and distaste, something like disgust, simply because he
was easily irritated by people and their idiosyncrasies.

He was now very aware that he lacked that "sweetness" that everyone seemed to attribute to
Ginevra Potter, as if death had just beatified her (Draco was more than aware that the
woman's only real achievement was having married the Savior of the Wizarding World. And
for that matter, he'd achieved exactly the same thing, so why did he feel so worthless around
her?). It was just that, having met Molly Weasley and heard her call him "darling" all those
times, he could certainly imagine James and Albus's mother as a paragon of virtue, one of
those people everyone naturally liked, while he was... well.

A Slytherin didn't have many acquaintances outside their private circle, he had to admit that.
They weren't like Gryffindors, making friends with everyone, Ravenclaws, snooping around
in other people's places to gain new knowledge, or Hufflepuffs, naturally cowering in front of
anyone.

Not many people liked him at Hogwarts. He was admired and pursued, yes, renowned for his
family's fortune and his looks, but "Draco Malfoy," as an individual, wasn't liked by many
people, for one reason or another (and it wasn't as if he'd tried so hard to be an angel to
everyone back then, quite the contrary).

Even those alphas who had pursued him so much in his later years of school gave up when
they decided his physical attractiveness wasn't worth tolerating the things that came out of his
mouth. Hence, in the end, he was left with only the advances of the old green-tailed men.

On the other hand, Ginny Potter seemed to attract everyone like honey to flies. She was
beautiful, intelligent, powerful, and coveted. Everyone loved her.

Harry Potter, in particular, was crazy about her, and now he knew it wasn't just media hype.

Draco hated her for that as much as he hated the painting he couldn't get rid of and whom he
interpreted as the third wheel in his marriage (although during his depressed nights, he
thought the third wheel was him).

He walked through the halls of St. Mungo's, not really looking where he was going, tugging
at the sticky little hands of that woman's children.

Yes, his omega instinct had been on edge ever since he'd met them, but in that moment, he
imagined abandoning them, losing them, and returning home in tears, screaming for his
husband to comfort him. Then, perhaps, Potter would soften, and if they never found these
children again, maybe he'd feel the need to make a new one, to place in Draco's womb what
he'd been longing for so long...

He closed his eyes, trying to control himself, so when he collided with an unfamiliar body, he
almost fell backward.

"Watch out!" Albus exclaimed, having dropped his bag of witch fries.

James rushed over to help him pick them up.

"They all spilled!" he lamented, launching ice cream balls into the bag at top speed.

Draco couldn't pay attention to them because he was stuck in the grip of the man he'd
collided with, who had caught him by the waist to keep him from falling.

"Excuse me. I didn't see where I was going," he said, trying to escape, but it was nearly
impossible because the arm around his waist tightened like a vice.
He didn't know him personally, but he knew he'd seen him at a few meetings he'd attended
with his family. He was a tall, gray-haired man with a long face. While he didn't look very
healthy, as far as an alpha could go, he was moderately attractive, and his pheromones
smelled good, another reason Draco didn't want him around.

He was Theodore Nott, if he remembered correctly.

Harry Potter's voice echoed in his head, telling him that this man and his father were involved
in shady things too ugly for Draco to be involved with them. He assumed he was at St.
Mungo's visiting one of those wives he kept in the mental health ward...

"I appreciate your help," he lied, "but could you let me go? This is beginning to be
inappropriate of you."

The man smiled in a very strange way.

"Just beginning?" He sneered, his voice sending a shiver through his back. He spoke as if
holding a piece of gum between his back teeth. "Mr. Malfoy, I assure you that this unseemly
behavior began before you willingly fell into my arms."

Draco, alerted, gave him a shove.

Theodore Nott didn't seem bothered at all. He simply brushed away the wrinkles Draco had
left in the front of his robes.

The alpha's beady eyes fixed on the children on the ground, paying no attention to anything
but the overturned candy. Draco leaped to stand between them and that stare, filled with
something that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

Was it because of what Potter had said about the strange deaths of his wives? Nott certainly
didn't look like a ruthless killer, but there was something about him that would have terrified
him had he encountered him in a dark alley in the middle of the night.

In fact, he was a little terrified now.

Why did these things have to happen to him? Still, his brain was blaming Potter for not being
here by his side, protecting him like every alpha was supposed to do with his omega.

Oh, if you were Ginny Potter, he would move heaven, earth, and sea to keep you safe.

Some of that thought must have crept onto his face because Nott grinned and went back to
the attack, clutching Draco's arms against his body so he couldn't fight back. With his free
hand, he touched him fully, letting his fingers run down Draco's side.

He struggled, awestruck.

As an omega, he wasn't a weakling. Towering above females, an omega male might have the
strength of a beta male, but an alpha… those things were insane, demon-spawns that no
omega, of any kind, would ever want to be on bad terms with. In fact, many times even
alphas didn't want to fight each other, but they ended up doing so because it was part of their
nature.

"Stop!" he exclaimed, pushing him again, twisting to get away. "Who do you think you are?!"
But Nott had the strength of a rhinoceros, and he was breathing down his neck.

Draco stepped on one of the children, causing a cry of pain, and stopped immediately. One of
the two clutched at his robes, and Draco could feel the candy pulverizing beneath his boots.
He groped and brushed the tassel of a cap with his fingertips. Automatically, every cell in his
body was programmed to protect them from this unknown alpha, no matter what.

If he had to serve as their shield, he would do it without hesitation.

Nott smiled and stroked Draco's hair, tucking a strand behind his ear, making him stir. He was
releasing pheromones to subdue him, and a bitterness rose in his throat when his body didn't
recognize them as those of his alpha, but a strange warmth flushed his cheeks nonetheless.

No, he thought desperately. No, no, no!

His own pheromones responded with rejection, turning acidic, trying to alert his alpha of the
danger he was in with their cubs.

But-Potter-wasn't-here!

"I've always loved the way an omega rules themselves when it comes to their babies. It's like
they've got no other brains left," the alpha said, the sinister smile still on his ashen lips.

Draco's heart was in his throat. He couldn't even reach his wand with the way Nott was
holding him. His face was dangerously close to his and he was sniffing at his neck, making
him feel very vulnerable.

One part of his mind, the one that wanted to keep him safe, told him to bare his throat and
beg for mercy. Another, the part that belonged with a maddening force to Harry Potter's
alpha, told him to kill himself before committing such an atrocity, and this was the one that
resonated the loudest.

All he could do was raise his shoulder, tilt his head a little, shuddering, protecting that
vulnerable spot that stung a little from the bruise Harry had left there. But a hickey wasn't a
bite. It wasn't a claim. It wasn't protection against other alphas.

Nott pulled Draco's waist against him, and Draco grimaced in disgust, making a sound. Nott
sniffed his neck, forcing him to smell the despicable vapor of his breath.

"I always wanted a boy, but none of my wives ever made it," he murmured, speaking softly,
as if he were lost in his own universe. "It was this and that. I guess none of them were right to
bear my child. That's why this time I thought I would have liked something different, but
Potter had to get there first. He's always done that, ever since school: sticking his nose where
it doesn't belong, ruining other people's plans..." he sighed, fascinated by the situation. Draco,
sensing a dangerous shift in his attitude, prepared to scream for help, but Nott got there first,
covering his mouth with an icy palm. "I wonder what would happen if I ruined something for
him this time?" Draco's eyes widened, a groan uttering that caught beneath the other's hand.

He kicked, flailed, and pushed, but it was like fighting a wall, just like when Potter had
grabbed his head.

A desperate tear ran down his cheekbone and wet Nott's fingers, whose eyes, as gray as his
own, sparked with life.

Draco's hand trembled on the head of one of the children. He had no idea who it was. He just
prayed to the heavens that they would stay still, that they wouldn't open their mouths, that
they wouldn't draw this thing's attention...

He realized that he didn't really care what happened to him. He would put up with anything
as long as Albus and James were okay.

Nott’s hand, the one resting on the small of Draco’s back, slid over the curve of his buttocks,
his fingers pressing against that private spot that no one but his husband should touch.

Draco regained some consciousness, passing through the pheromone mist, and shook his
head, freeing the hand from his mouth.

"NO!" he roared, beginning to struggle like crazy, but Nott didn't give in and squeezed a little
harder.

"He didn't bite you," he said, tugging at the collar of his robes, popping a button, to reveal
Draco's bare neck, sliding the tip of his nose across the purple-flecked skin. "And his scent on
your body is very subtle. But what a waste. It's like a child digging its hands into cake
unwilling to eat."

He opened his mouth, showing a flash of teeth, and Draco froze in panic at the thought of
being bitten by a strange alpha rather than his own, which would amount to rape, when James
stood behind him and shouted:

"Uncle Ron! Aunt Hermione!" and ran down the corridor.

"UNCLE! AUNT!" Albus bellowed back, dropping Draco's robes to follow his brother on his
stubby little legs.

That seemed to be Nott's cue to step aside. He let go of Draco, who lost his balance and,
slipping on the candies on the floor, fell backward onto a small table, knocking over the
magazines and vase on top of it. There was a crash. He could feel something dripping down
his shoulder, soaking his chest and arm. A handful of chrysanthemums landed on his head
and ended up in his lap.

“It was a pleasure to have seen you and shared this moment with you, Mr. Malfoy,” Nott
crooned, speaking like a true gentleman. “Or should I say ‘Malfoy-Potter’? It doesn’t feel
quite like that, does it? I assure you, I’ll be thinking about you for a long time. Best regards to
your parents… and your alpha. Excuse me.” And he slipped away with the agility of a rat,
turning down the corridor, giving the impression that he hadn’t been there at all.

Oh, but he had been, because Draco could still feel the traces of his presence all over him,
like the repulsive pressure of his hands on his body and the scent of his pheromones, too
strong, impregnating his clothes. Although he hadn’t managed to do much, he had still
managed to leave him in pain, and he supposed that was what happened when the person
really wanted to hurt.

How different the way his husband touched him, even though he didn't love him, causing
delicious sensations that tore the soul from his body because his touch was welcomed and
longed for. Nott's, on the other hand... tore him to pieces.

He wished, with all his might, that Harry Potter were by his side so he could crawl into his
arms and ask him to wash away the detestable feeling with his touch.

He felt disgusting. Tainted. Degraded in a way he would never overcome.

His eyes began to sting, and his stomach ached with shame.

He'd never experienced anything like this before, not even at school, so the whole thing had
caught him completely off guard.

This place, a hospital, was supposed to be safe, and yet he'd had one of the worst experiences
of his life in its halls.

What would have happened without that interruption? What would he have done if Nott had
attacked the children to make a move on him?

He felt in his robes for his wand and found it buried deep inside, where it would have been of
no use because he couldn't pull it out quickly.

What an idiot. How inept.

He should have been more cautious, should have paid more attention, not been so distracted,
daydreaming like a child…

Lying on the floor, he remembered that afternoon when Potter had thrown him face-first into
a pile of broken glass as if Draco were worthless. Shaking, he raised a hand and touched the
scar on his forehead, hidden beneath his bangs.

A hiccup escaped his mouth without him being able to stop it.

His robes had risen, revealing his lace-up boots and long white socks that reached mid-thigh.

He was now a mated omega, he had children under his care, and he still dressed like that, in
the fashion of a schoolboy looking for trouble.

He remembered Madame Brown calling him immodest, and then all those rude things Potter
had said to him in the bathtub, though inside his head they sounded distorted, as if they were
someone else's voice.

He thought about what Potter had told Rita Skeeter on their wedding day, about pureblood
omegas being raised to be whores for their alphas. Potter had hinted to Rita and the world
that he would enjoy Draco's hole the way Nott had just attempted, to the point of making him
feel disgusted and horrified by his own body.

You're dressed like a whore right now, he thought, because, playfully, Pansy had told him
exactly the same thing. Maybe that was why Theodore Nott believed it was okay to do what
he did.

It would take him a long time to see it differently. To stop feeling dirty in a way that made
him want to jump out of his skin. It wasn't his fault, of course it wasn't his fault, any more
than that altercation with Potter was, but it was hard to see from where he was right now.

This kind of thing could happen to anyone, but him. He was a Malfoy, Harry Potter's
husband. He was… he was the perfect omega (he closed his eyes, remembering his husband's
hand in his hair, his statement that he only married him because he was the worst option, and
the shove that had sent him tumbling straight into hell).

He tugged at his clothes, wanting to hide somewhere dark and never come out again. He
couldn't stop shaking, and he was sure that if he parted his lips, he would scream.

A hand appeared on his shoulder, making him jump.

He looked to his left and, upon discovering the brown eyes of a woman, an omega, which
stopped him from holding his breath, he relaxed.

He knew who it was. And it was comforting at first, as much as it became humiliating later.

Hermione Granger. Or rather, Hermione Granger-Weasley, who kneeled beside him, closely
followed by her husband, a tall, freckled, and somewhat stocky man, carrying a little girl as
freckled and red-haired as he was. James and Albus were at their sides.

"Are you okay?" she asked gently, with a maternal care that made his face burn. He felt his
cheeks to make sure they weren't wet, because his eyelashes were soaked, but he hoped they
thought it was because of the water in the vase. "What did he do to you?" But it was obvious
she knew because her eyes lit up as soon as she asked. "That good-for-nothing idiot! Ron!"
she said, looking over her shoulder at her husband. "In a hospital. How dare he?! How
disgusting! I'll file a report right now!"

Draco, feeling extremely uncomfortable with that comment, made a superhuman effort to get
up, bracing himself on the floor with his hands, pushing himself up even though his legs had
turned to jelly (he had escaped Hermione Granger's grasp when she made a move to help
him, pretending not to have seen her. The eyes of Ron Weasley, another alpha, looking him
up and down as if he were a pitiful sight, made his face turn bright red).

The chrysanthemums scattered at his feet, but a few petals remained stuck to the lace of his
robes. He adjusted them carefully, making sure they covered him well, dusting himself off,
but the scoops of ice cream had left a mess on his backside, as if he had sat on a rainbow of
paint.

He reached for his wand again, but Hermione Granger beat him to it: she pulled hers out with
incredible speed and, shaking it out, made sure to leave Draco as good as new, removing the
dirt and moisture from his clothes. She even repaired the broken vase and put the flowers
back inside, all in the blink of an eye.

Draco nodded to thank her, having lost his voice, although he wished she hadn't helped him
because she was making him feel even more useless.

He was the bloody husband of an Auror, of the head of department, on top, and he was acting
like a squib.

In fact, it was a good thing Granger-Weasley helped him with the robes because he seriously
doubted he knew the Cleansing Charm…

Everything was becoming more and more degrading, and he couldn't stand it. He ran his
hands through his hair and walked over to James and Albus. He squatted down in front of
them and placed his hands on their shoulders, looking them in the eye. The lump in his throat
grew to the size of a tennis ball as he faced them, seeing them there, so small and clueless.

"Are both of you okay? Were you scared? Nothing happened here. It was just a silly thing."
He wished his damn voice hadn't cracked as he said it. "Everything's fine."

But what would have happened if it hadn't? What would have happened if Nott had hurt
them?

He paled at the thought.

"We're fine," James shrugged, licking the candy stains off his fingers. "What a strange guy!
And how ugly! Did he make you mad? We should call Dad and have him kick his ass."

Albus nodded.

Draco breathed a sigh of relief, seeing that nothing had happened to them. He cupped James's
cheeks and kissed him on the forehead before pulling Albus to do the same. It took him a
moment to let go, stroking their hair and looking into their eyes, trying to convince himself
that they were truly safe.

For them, it must have been just an argument or a very rough hug, nothing that should have
made them startled. Nott hadn't yelled at him, hadn't frightened them, unlike Harry that time.
He had spoken charmingly, like a snake luring him into its lair to devour him.

Lip trembling, clenched between his teeth, he nodded. He tried to calm himself. He didn't
want to make a fool of himself in front of strangers, but above all, he didn't want to scare the
children. He didn't want them to realize something "bad" had happened so close to them. He
didn't want them to be afraid of anything, least of all because of him, because he hadn't been
able to protect them.
If Nott had tried to hurt them, Harry Potter would have torn Draco to pieces. Just imagining
Ginny Potter's precious children hurt because of him made him shudder as he considered the
possible scenarios of how that man might try to get even.

It took him a long time to think clearly again, trying to decide what to do next.

Hermione Granger-Weasley stood beside him.

"Your name is Draco, right?" she asked, as if she didn't already know, as if she hadn't done
some research on him when his idiot best friend announced he was taking him as his
husband. "Can I call you by your first name?"

Draco wanted to say no, but shrugged. He knew he had to ingratiate himself with these two,
but he didn't want to, and right now he didn't have the energy to fake friendliness.

He needed to get home and take a really long shower.

He wished he'd never left there.

"Molly told us about you," Hermione continued, wanting to sound friendly, even though she
was still shaking with rage. "These two did too, that weekend they spent at the Burrow."
Draco thought it was stupid to name a house like that, but who was he to judge people's
vulgarities? "They think highly of you. I wish Harry were here so we could plan a get-
together or a double date or something to get to know each other better." But the more he
listened to her talk, Draco knew he wouldn't have enjoyed any of it, just as he knew Pansy
and his other friends wouldn't have enjoyed meeting Potter.

Now he saw why.

There was a world of difference between the two of them. Fifteen years between one life and
the other. And Potter, already a full-fledged department head with risky assignments,
certainly wouldn't enjoy spending time with young, wealthy pureblood heirs whose most
interesting activity was sipping glasses of chardonnay on the terrace while gossiping about
other people.

That's why he only seemed interested in sex with him... why Draco didn't attract him in any
other way... why he slammed the door in his face so rudely when Draco tried to transform
that little red world of his to try to integrate into it...

The lump in his throat tightened.

What was he going to talk about at a meeting with people like this? Was he going to listen to
them babble about the regulation of magical creatures or the new stock for that crazy shop in
Diagon Alley?

No, thank you.

"He's out of the country at the moment," he said, fighting the feeling of having swallowed a
whole orange, squeezing the children's little hands for strength. "It’ll be a while before he's
back."
Hermione Granger-Weasley frowned and exchanged a look with her husband that made
Draco tense up even more.

So they knew. They knew how bad things were between them. They knew that Draco meant
nothing to him. It wouldn't be worth lying to them like it was to Pansy.

He could go back to saying "bad" because, after the incident with Nott, he'd lost all hope with
Potter: it was true. He hadn't bitten him, hadn't marked him in a way that would count, and
the scent of the sex they'd had would soon dissipate, leaving him naked before the rest of the
alphas.

"Yes, I understand. It's complicated," the woman said, trying to give some ground, although it
was obvious she was somewhat conflicted. "Listen, would you like to come to the cafeteria
with us? We brought Rosie for her annual checkup. Maybe you'd like to meet her. We're
family, after all." She indicated the red-haired girl in her father's arms, who must have been
Albus's age. Her huge blue eyes were fixed on Draco as if she were coveting the porcelain
doll on a sideboard. "Did you come in for a checkup? We heard you got sick recently."

Draco's mouth twisted, wondering what to say.

"We came to see a baby!" Albus explained, speaking loudly, looking his aunt in the eye, a
rare sight for him.

Hermione raised her eyebrows.

"A baby? What baby?" the red-haired girl asked in a high-pitched voice, kicking a little in her
father's arms.

From her demeanor, it was obvious that she was usually the one with the interesting stories
and wasn't too pleased about the change in favor of her cousins.

"That lady said we should get a little brother," James commented, and this time Hermione
Granger-Weasley's eyebrows nearly touched her hair. Her eyes widened almost comically.
"Auntie, where do we get a baby? Can you get us one now? Can I write to Dad and have him
bring one when he gets back?"

Ron Weasley let out an unconvincing cough that he tried to hide in his daughter's curls, who
patted him on the face. Draco wanted to disappear.

"Oh, dear, well..."

"We've got to go," Draco interrupted, more than a little uncomfortable. "It was nice meeting
you." He gave them a nod and, pulling the children along, started down the corridor as if he
were flying.

"Auntie!" James bellowed, relentlessly. Draco pressed his lips together. "Tell Dad I want a
little brother for Christmas! If it can't be done, a racing broom!”

Draco sighed, grateful to have his back to the other two, because at that moment his face was
very red.
 If everything were as easy as telling Harry Potter he wanted a baby, he would be in his first
trimester.

The realization only deepened his depression.

When he got home, he discovered that Madame Brown had used the time to rummage
through his things and "put them in order."

She had taken out his clothes and scattered them on Draco's bed, separating them into the
"acceptable" items, which were those severe outfits only worn to church or very rigorous
ceremonies, and the "immodest" items, which honestly made up a much larger pile.

Draco, who had been furious at first, stared at both piles, torn between what this woman
considered acceptable and what she didn't.

But not because she'd dared to put her hands in his things, something he would never have
forgiven her for at another time and would have made her pay dearly for, but because… he
agreed with her.

All because of that scare and having met his husband's friends, who were as out of place with
him as a piece of coal thrown into the snow.

He felt very self-conscious, something he'd never felt before.

He was ashamed. Very much so. And he felt singled out on both sides for multiple reasons.

With the memory of Theodore Nott's hands moving across his body, he agreed to let Madame
Brown pack the largest pile of clothes into boxes "for donation."

It was the only time he saw the woman nod in his direction with true approval.

When he emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a gray bathrobe, he looked at himself in
the mirror and tried to see himself as Potter would, but he couldn't. He only saw a blur, a
pale, saddened shadow against the glass. Perhaps he was that for his alpha. A smear in the
perfect mirror of his life, and nothing more.

He noticed the same thing Nott had: an unbitten neck, a body that with each shower became
more and more free of his alpha's scent.

He remembered that night, begging Potter to mount him and Potter saying "no."

How would he react if he found out what happened with Nott?

"I highly doubt he'd care," his reflection replied, and Draco, exhausted, agreed.

Chapter End Notes

WARNING for chapter 13: minor violence between the main couple.
*
Thank you to all the readers who always leave a review (nice reviews) and to those 4
people who let me brag about this plot in Twitter. Thanks to you I don't go (completely)
crazy.
Bisous~
End Notes

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