Three Years after the Battle of Hogwarts

Draco Flooed into the kitchen at Grimmauld Place to find his boyfriend, Harry, cooking dinner, rushing hither and yon like some kind of mad whirling dervish as he flitted from station to station. Draco could never help but be impressed with the way Harry could juggle tasks when it came to putting a meal together, why he'd struggled with potions with a talent like that was beyond him. The pleasure he found in his task a nearly tangible thing in the room as he flitted about chopping ingredients, stirring pots, taste testing, and seasoning his nascent culinary masterpieces.

With a dejected sigh, Draco hauled out a chair at the kitchen table and flopped into it gracelessly, all the poise that his parents had drummed into him as a child forgotten in his melancholy. He stared off into space pensively as he contemplated the results of his day's efforts, another fruitless day spent going from business to business seeking employment only to be turned away wanting. He could tell the instant they'd made their decision; it was a pattern that was repeated nearly every time he'd hand over his resume.

They'd typically start by skipping past his contact information, jumping straight into his education and qualifications. Their eyebrows would raise progressively as they read over his educational accomplishments: they'd start with his roles as Hogwarts Prefect, Quidditch Captain, Head Boy, and salutatorian before moving on to his nine Outstandings on his N.E.W.T.s and his matching O.W.L. scores.

Finally, having been duly impressed by his credentials, and no doubt wondering why such a qualified applicant should be interested in working at their establishment, they'd shift their attention back to the top of his resume and their eyes would narrow as they read his name. If he was lucky, he'd be sent on his way with their apologies and feigned regret that 'the position has already been filled.' When he wasn't so fortunate, their responses ranged from condescending chastisements or verbal abuse to drawing their wands and either brandishing it threateningly at him or outright chasing him out the door with hexes.

It was getting to the point that Draco was despairing of ever finding gainful employment in the wizarding world. After having handed over the bulk of the Malfoy Estate to the Ministry to make reparations for his family's involvement in the war, and anonymously donating the rest to charities benefitting families whose lives had been impacted by the war, Draco had struck out to make his own way in the world, determined to rebuild the Malfoy name through hard work and his own merits. Now, it was looking increasingly likely that he'd become a kept man, dependent upon his boyfriend's fortune until Harry inevitably tired of having a penniless deadbeat for a boyfriend and cut him loose.

"…aco? Draco?" Draco was drawn out of his musings by the sound of Harry's concerned voice calling to him from across the room. He looked over at his boyfriend to find him looking apprehensively at him from beside the stove as he stood stirring the contents of a medium-sized saucepan. The troubled expression on Harry's face was nearly his undoing and Draco took a deep breath, clinging desperately to the remaining shreds of his composure and forcing himself to give his boyfriend a weak smile.

"Sorry, Harry, I got a bit lost in my thoughts. How was your day?"

Harry gave him a contemplative look before responding. "Things went okay," Harry said before continuing with a small frown, "the work is progressing well, but the foreman thinks things will take a few weeks longer than originally expected."

Harry had surprised many throughout the wizarding world when he turned down an invitation to join the Auror Department as a Senior Auror straight out of Hogwarts with rumors circulating that he was to be groomed to be the future Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Once the news broke, Harry had been flooded with owls carrying job offers from businesses in every industry imaginable, he'd even received invitations to join twelve of the thirteen teams of the British and Irish Quidditch League (only the Holyhead Harpies, understandably, abstained), only to turn down every single one. Instead, he'd gotten involved with the reconstruction efforts, lending his hands and his magic as a volunteer rebuilding homes and shops throughout the wizarding world for two years before investing in a large plot of land on Hogsmeade's main street and beginning construction on a restaurant.

"Parvati stopped by while I was there with a swatch book and some flooring samples, and she and I spent the afternoon back at her office going through catalogs picking out fixtures." The mention of their classmate brought Draco's depression burgeoning back to the forefront, swelling with the reminder that even their least academically inclined classmates had managed to find careers after their graduation.

Parvati and her fiancé Lavender Brown had started their own design firm, Mode Magique, straight out of Hogwarts and taken the fashion world by storm. Barely a week went by these days when one of their designs wasn't featured on the front covers of Witch Weekly, Gentlewizard's Quarterly, L'Officiel Magie, or any number of other publications – even the Daily Prophet and the Quibbler got in on the action. Their work on Harry's restaurant would represent the duo's first official foray into the world of interior design, but from everything he'd seen so far from accompanying Harry to meetings at their tastefully appointed offices, they'd be massively successful.

As Harry prattled on about fabric selections, flatware designs, and the other minutiae of outfitting a new restaurant that he'd discussed with Parvati that afternoon, Draco found himself unable to recover from his latest bout of desolation and the remains of his composure came crashing down around him. His mask cracked, and he let out an involuntary sob. Before he knew it, a torrent of tears was flowing forth from his clenched eyes and down his face as loud, ugly sobs came bursting forth uncontrolled from deep within him.

Suddenly, Draco found himself pulled forth from his chair, arms wrapping around him as he was gathered into his boyfriend's warm embrace. He was vaguely away of being guided up the stairs and into the sitting room on the ground floor before being drawn down into Harry's lap. He sat there for long minutes sobbing hysterically as his boyfriend's hands ran down his back, the firm pressure soothing and calming him. As he regained control, he became aware of Harry's voice calmly whispering in his ear, his words grounding him further as he fought to reclaim his composure.

"There you go, Draco. That's it. Deep breaths now, try to match my breathing." Draco did his best to follow Harry's instructions while Harry's hands continued to run over his back, the more he worked at it, the easier it became until the sobs finally stopped coming. He gave an undignified sniff and swiped at the tears still slowly trickling from his eyes before blinking at the sight of a handkerchief hovering in front of his eyes. His boyfriend gently wiped the tears from Draco's cheeks before holding the handkerchief to his nose and directing him to blow. Draco instinctively wanted to roll his eyes at being treated like a child, but he couldn't bring himself to mind Harry's ministrations and complied with the instruction.

The handkerchief vanished with a small pop and Draco did roll his eyes this time at his boyfriend's casual use of wandless and wordless magic to banish the damp cloth to the laundry room before snuggling back into his boyfriend's embrace as Harry brought his arm back around him once more. Wrapped in his boyfriend's warm embrace, Draco could almost forget the adversity and hatred he faced every time he ventured out. It was irrational, he knew, but he wished he could stay like this forever.

"There you are, Draco, you're okay now. Talk to me, tell me what's going on, let me in. You never tell me what you do when you go out, and every time, I have to watch you come back in lower spirits than you left. You've been increasingly despondent of late and no matter what I try you refuse to open up to me. It's obvious that this has been building up to this point for months now, you're not one to break down like this, so, please, talk to me, tell me what's going on."

Guilt curled in Draco's stomach, and he made to get up, but Harry wouldn't let him, his boyfriend's arms tightening around him unyieldingly and Draco trembled in his arms. Harry didn't need this, didn't need him and his baggage; he was the hero of the wizarding world, the Man-Who-Defeated-Voldemort, his star was perpetually on the rise, and he could have anyone he wanted, he didn't need some freeloading ex-Death Eater weighing him down. "I'm sorry," Draco whispered, "you deserve better."

Harry's embrace tightened once more. "You stop that right now, Draco Malfoy. I know exactly what you're doing, and I won't let you distract me from this. I have said it before, and I will repeat it again now. We've known each other since we were eleven and spent years at each other's throats before growing up, I know exactly who you are and what you've done. I won't allow you to repudiate yourself for a mistake you made when you were sixteen years old. You saw the error of your ways and have made every effort to make amends, you've changed, and you need to move on and accept that your past is not your future."

Draco squirmed in his boyfriend's lap, turning Harry's words over his mind as they clashed with the words and actions of the business owners he'd met with. "How can you say that? Nobody else seems to think so," he muttered bitterly.

Harry unwound one of his arms from around Draco's body and gently grasped his chin, forcing Draco to turn his head to face him. "'How can I say that?' How can you doubt it? I'll repeat myself every day until I'm blue in the face if that's what it takes to make you believe me. As for nobody else believing it, how do you account for Ron and Hermione? The rest of the Weasleys? Lavender and Parvati? Dean? Seamus? All of my other friends?

"Merlin, Draco, you've managed to win over Ron despite our shared history, his skepticism about our relationship, and his prejudice against Slytherins. Molly has practically adopted you as an honorary son, why do you think they keep inviting you to the Sunday dinners? Talk to me, Draco, tell me what's making you think like this!" he said, shaking Draco slightly with his last words, caught up in the passion of his words.

Harry's vehement defense began eroding the barriers the callous words of the employers he'd met with had created overwhelming any validation of Draco's efforts to redeem himself. He lowered his gaze and began to speak, the words coming easier when he wasn't meeting Harry's eyes. "I-I've been trying to find a job," he stammered out, "I d-do-don't want to be a burden on you, but nobody wants to hire a reformed Death Eater." Suddenly, as though a dam had burst, the words came flowing out, and he couldn't stop.

"I've tried everything I can think of from wearing glamours to conceal my identity to offering to work for a trial period, free of charge. Nothing works. They read over my resume, and I watch their eyes light up as they read over my qualifications, only to darken immediately upon reading my name. The wizarding world isn't willing to give me a chance to prove myself, it doesn't matter what I do. Every one of our classmates is moving on, even our classmates from Slytherin who supported Voldemort have managed to find jobs, start careers, begin families. Everyone but me…"

As Draco trailed off, he raised his eyes to gauge Harry's reaction and couldn't discern what his boyfriend was thinking. The face that was usually so openly expressive, exposing every emotion, was impossible to read, the best description Draco could come up with for what he was seeing was 'conflicted.' There were flashes of any number of emotions coming through, from sadness and regret, to anger the likes of which Draco hadn't seen since their days at Hogwarts, all overlaid with that indecipherable emotion Draco had seen on Harry's face more often than not these days.

Anger, Draco could recognize easily, he'd been exposed to it so many times as a child when he'd disappointed his father in some way, and the sadness and regret were all too familiar from looking at his own face in the mirror these past few years. As he watched his boyfriend process what he'd said the emotions warring across Harry's face began to stabilize with that enigmatic emotion taking pride of place, the other emotions dying back to the fringes.

Draco looked down, convinced that this would be it, the moment that Harry would decide he didn't want a deadbeat for a boyfriend. Harry brought his hand up to Draco's face and cupped his cheek, stroking it gently with his thumb. "Thank you for telling me, I'm sorry I didn't force the matter sooner," Harry said quietly, carefully guiding Draco's head up to look him in the eye. "I want you to know right now that no matter what you end up doing, no matter whether you get a job or not, I'll never consider you to be a burden."

Draco glanced down, unwilling to meet Harry's eyes. "I just wish… sometimes I wish I were anybody else. The name Malfoy has power, but not the kind of power my father dreamed of; despite being exonerated by the Ministry, I feel like I'll forever be living under the shadow of my father's name and my own mistakes. Perhaps if Lucius hadn't gotten off after the first war with his fictional Imperius Curse defense, it would be different, but all anyone sees when they see my name is the Death Eater that got away with it."

"What if you changed your name?" Harry asked, quietly, and the question came as such a surprise that Draco couldn't help looking up to meet Harry's eyes. What seemed at face value to be an absurd suggestion was proven sincere by a mere glance at Harry's face. There was no joking discernible in his expression.

Draco shrugged his way out of Harry's embrace and stood, pacing back and forth in front of his boyfriend. "I can't just change my name, it's not that simple, people know who I am! And even if it were that simple, everything I've worked towards since the war ended to redeem the Malfoy name would be for naught, it would be like giving up!" he railed, gesticulating wildly as he spoke.

Harry stood and grabbed Draco's hands, stilling his movements and forcing him to stop pacing. Draco met his eyes and was taken aback by the intensity he saw there. That mysterious emotion was uncontested on his boyfriend's face once again, and it felt like Harry's gaze was boring clear through him, rendering him incapable of turning away. "Not giving up," Harry said softly but forcefully, "Never giving up, just moving on." Harry released Draco's wrists and dug a hand into one of his pockets as he lowered himself onto one knee.

"I had a plan, you know, this whole evening orchestrated just for this. I had Kreacher set out the good silver, the stuff with the Black crest that you love, I even convinced him to take a bath and sent him off to Madam Malkin's for a proper uniform to replace those rags he's been wearing for God knows how long. I was just finishing up the last of the dishes for dinner when you came home, and he was going to wait on us." Draco's eyes widened in disbelief as he suddenly realized what was going on.

"We were going to start with prosciutto-wrapped cantaloupe in an olive oil and balsamic glaze, I even bought a nice bottle of rose to go with it; followed by your favorite wild mushroom soup with shaved asiago and a lovely chardonnay. Then we'd have grilled salmon and rapini in a lemon butter dill sauce with a bottle of that pinot noir we found in the Black wine cellar; for the fourth course, we'd have those blackened scallops with mint pea puree and citrus slivers that I made for you on our first anniversary. I'd planned to pair it with the cabernet you brought home from that tasting in Tuscany we went to. Next would be that braised lamb stew Dobby taught me to make that he said was your favorite and a zinfandel I picked up on my trip to California before finally finishing up with an iced strawberry souffle and Fortescue's finest vanilla ice cream."

By this time Harry's hand had emerged from his pocket, and he reached up to grasp one of Draco's hands in one of his own. "I was just finishing up the prep work for the souffle when you arrived and… well, needless to say, my grand plan for the reveal was rather ruined as I'd planned to place it inside yours." Harry held up his other hand and slowly opened it, revealing a ring. Draco looked down at Harry, his vision blurry with fresh tears and a single question on his mind.

"Why?"

Draco felt Harry squeeze his hand and press a brief kiss against the back of it. "You've made me the happiest man in the world, and I can only hope that I've brought you some of the same happiness you've given me. You are not the same person you were when you accepted that madman's mark, you were nearly as much a prisoner to your fate as I was with that bloody prophecy hanging over my head. I've told you countless times that I don't hold your past against you and I don't think anyone should.

"You're a good man, Draco, it doesn't matter if your last name is Malfoy, Spungen, or even Spinks. When I look at you, I don't see Malfoy, the school rival-cum-bully, or Malfoy, the Death Eater, I just see Draco, the wonderful man who I love more than anyone in the world. The work you did helping me repair those shops and homes, and the money you gave away that nobody else knows about, those actions show the real you, and if the rest of the world is too blind to see it, that's their loss.

"I can't promise that this will solve anything, I don't know what the future holds, but I know I want you with me when I get there. If nobody hires you, then we'll figure something out. J. Pippin's never reopened their Hogsmeade location after the war, and I've heard a rumor that the property is up for sale. I know for a time you'd expressed an interest in working with potions, so that's always an option, Merlin knows Hogsmeade needs an apothecary. If not, maybe you'd like to help me run the restaurant. You know I'd be lost without you to help me keep my books straight as it is, I could use a trustworthy manager to help me keep the place in order.

Whatever you decide, just know that I love you, Draco, no matter what anybody else thinks. So, now that my elaborate plans to wine and dine you in the hopes that you'd say 'yes' have been foiled, I believe there's only one question left to answer. Will you, Draco Lucius Malfoy, marry me?"

Draco could hardly believe this was happening, here he stood in the parlor in Number Twelve Grimmauld Place with Harry Potter on a knee before him professing his love and asking him to marry him, perhaps even to take his name. Harry, who could have anyone he wanted, wanted him. With a tremulous smile on his face, Draco nodded his head and whispered. "Yes."

Three Years Later

Draco stepped out into the crisp spring air and closed the door of the apothecary firmly behind him. As he walked down the bustling main street of Hogsmeade towards the restaurant to meet up with Harry for their weekly date night, he couldn't help reminiscing about the changes in his life over the past three years.

The reaction when the story of their impending marriage had broken in the Daily Prophet had been astounding. It seemed that anybody and everybody had a strong opinion on their relationship and wanted to be heard. Harry had been forced to contract the goblins at Gringotts to erect a strong mail redirection charm around Grimmauld Place and pay them an exorbitant fee for their mail processing service to deal with the resulting backlash. Together, they had drafted a form response for the goblins to send to any of the popinjays who saw fit to comment on their engagement and had all cursed items, be they letters or parcels, forwarded to the DMLE for investigation. They donated any benign gifts to the Widows and Orphans Fund to either be put to use or auctioned off at the charity's summer gala.

For three solid weeks, there wasn't a single cover of any publication with one of Mode Magique's designs on it unless it was being worn by Harry or, less frequently, Draco. The Daily Prophet nearly doubled the number of pages per issue and the Evening Prophet became a daily publication in the weeks immediately following the announcement as every reporter on the staff felt the need to publish an opinion piece on the matter.

It finally took the Wizarding Wireless Network broadcast of the league final between the Montrose Magpies and Puddlemere United being replaced five minutes into the match with a talk show hosted by none other than Rita Skeeter to goad Harry into action. He'd Apparated to the studio on the spot, casually brushing off the anti-Apparation wards on the studio meant to prevent just such an occurrence, and cast Silencio on the vile bottom feeder and threatened to reveal her secret live on the air if she interrupted him. Whatever Harry had on Skeeter must be good because she made nary a peep while he commandeered her show to address the wizarding world at large.

Draco flushed as he remembered the impassioned speech Harry had given in defense of their relationship and Draco himself. He'd shamed the entire country when he said that this wasn't the wizarding world he'd fought against Voldemort to create. Draco had been mildly embarrassed when Harry had shared the story of how he'd spent nearly a year searching fruitlessly for a job, even applying for positions he was grossly overqualified for only to be turned away. His embarrassment had only grown as Harry went on to state unequivocally that Draco had played a critical role in the defeat of Lord Voldemort and then continued by outlining Draco's efforts to aid in the reconstruction. Draco had worried that he had developed a permanent blush by the time Harry closed out his address with an appeal to the wizarding world to move on from the grievances of the past, to focus their efforts on building a better tomorrow, and to butt out of his personal life.

Unfortunately, Harry's address had proven to be only partially successful. Overnight they went from being front page news under the scorn of the public at large to being the wizarding world's golden couple. Everywhere they went they were hounded by the press and the public at large, all wanting to be seen with the couple. Where the papers and periodicals had previously held scathing opinion pieces, now they held speculation on everything from what designer's clothes they'd be wearing for their wedding to where the ceremony might be held, who would be in attendance to where they'd be having their honeymoon. There was even speculation as to what they'd name their kids!

The one bright spot of the whole affair had been the recovery of Potter Manor, the ancestral seat of the Potter Family. James Potter had sold the manor following the passing of his parents in order to help finance the war effort. The buyer had rendered the property unplottable and, with no contact information for the new owner, Harry and Draco had despaired of ever having the chance to restore the family home. After having heard Harry's address on the wireless, the owner had been moved and covertly met them in the guise of a food critic interested in previewing the new restaurant. After his meal, during which he'd engaged the couple in a discussion on all manner of topics, they had been shocked when he pulled out the deed to the manor and handed it over, wishing them the best and offering it up as an early wedding present.

As far as Draco's employment situation went, things took a dramatic turn. Where before he'd been unemployable, suddenly Draco found himself in the same position as Harry had been, swimming in job offers. He'd only read through a handful before giving it up as a bad job and sending the lot on to Gringotts with a form response attached declining the position and a directive to modify their mail filter accordingly. Draco had sometimes wondered why Harry had refused the positions he'd been offered, but no longer. Not a single one of those offers had been made on the basis of his merits, all they'd cared about was the fact that he was the future spouse of the Boy-Who-Lived-to-Expelliarmus-Voldemort-to-Death. Draco immediately took up the role of general manager of Harry's restaurant, Le Chaudron Magique, and set about getting the project back on track. By the time he'd finished the foreman had been sacked and replaced, and the project was a full month ahead of schedule.

They'd married that Autumn in the Great Hall of Hogwarts Castle on September 1, a date chosen for its symbolism as the beginning of their relationship a decade prior (the chance encounter at Madam Malkin's notwithstanding), while the train was making its way from London to Hogsmeade. The Minister of Magic himself, Kingsley Shacklebolt, officiated the ceremony and the duo was married surrounded by their closest friends and family without a member of the press in sight – Hermione had captured Rita once again the day before as a precaution.

Molly and Arthur put together a delightful reception in the ballroom at Potter Manor and a good time was had by all. Minerva McGonagall was even spotted on the dance floor leading a bemused Horace Slughorn in a lively two-step. Dennis Creevey photographed the ceremony and reception, and the happy couple sent a copy of their favorite shot to every publication before embarking on a two-month world tour to celebrate the joyous occasion.

Over the intervening years, the furor surrounding the happy couple had slowly died down to a dull roar. Le Chaudron Magique was a massive success on its own merits, Harry having carefully guarded the secret of his role as owner and chef de cuisine by means of an Unbreakable Vow with all of the workmen who built the place and his employees, enforced by Draco, and the use of glamours when called out to meet a table. Draco had hopes that someday Harry would feel comfortable in taking credit for his accomplishment, but for now, they were happy, and that's all he could ask for.

Arriving at the restaurant, Draco was surprised not to recognize the maître d'hôtel on duty but shrugged it off as his involvement with the restaurant these days was largely administrative. The maître d' offered to seat him, to which Draco replied that he was there to meet up with Harry; the maître d' raised an eyebrow in surprise before denying Harry's presence as expected when addressing the general public. With a chagrinned smirk, amazed that he'd somehow gone unrecognized, Draco handed the man a business card before brushing past him and heading for the kitchen to collect his wayward husband.

The maître d' opened his mouth to object as he turned the business card he'd been handed over to take a look. His mouth closed with an audible 'clop' as he read the card. The card, which was printed on high-quality stock in inks of purple and black, featured a bubbling cauldron with a large P emblazoned upon the body of the cauldron. Below the cauldron, it read as follows:

D. Potter's Potions
Main Street, Hogsmeade

Draco Potter
Proprietor, Master Potioneer

- The End -

On AO3 this story ends with a picture of Draco's business card that he handed to the maître d', sadly FF is unable to support such an embedded image so you'll have to make do with your imagination.