@hogwartsfirebolt I hope you’ll enjoy this! PS: I love you omg
2. Royal AU + 60. Poorly timed confession
“The Malfoy Prince, out of his palace? How lucky am I,” Drawls a voice.
Draco turns back, hand already reaching for his sword.
The man is twice the size he is, with a black hood and a scar across his face and - and -
“Harry?” He asks, disbeliving. Harry laughs, and Draco shoves him, trying to calm his racing heart. “You’re a prick.”
Harry laughs, pushes back his hood, and Draco can only see his impossibly green eyes, the reason he’d recognize Harry anywhere.
I love you, Draco’s brain supplies. He reminds himself it’s not like that. They don’t date, they fuck. That’s it.
Harry grabs Draco by the waist and pulls him close. His hair’s longer now, pulled back into a bun, and he has a beard.
Draco runs his fingers against Harry’s cheek softly. “You grew a beard.”
Harry grins cheekily, turning his head and pressing his lips softly against Draco’s palm. “Do you like it?”
He does. He so, very much does.
“No,” he lies. “It makes you look like some sort of - of - criminal.”
Harry’s grin gets wider. “Baby, I am a criminal.” He pulls Draco closer, pushes him against the wall and into a deep kiss just as some guards walk by, probably looking for him, or Draco, or both. Draco for running away, Harry for being the leader of the underground group against the king, Draco’s father.
He pulls away, breath soft and warm against Draco’s hair. Tall, Draco’s brain supplies uselessly.
“Could probably get thrown in jail just for touching you,” he murmurs, kissing Draco’s hair, hands pulling him tighter against him. “For kissing you.”
Draco wraps his arms around Harry’s neck. “Then why do you?”
It’s something he’s been wondering ever since they started this. Harry’s risking everything, and for what, a shag? Draco’s sure he could get that anywhere else.
Harry hums, makes Draco yelp when he lifts him off the ground. The blond immediately wraps his legs around Harry’s waist, arms tighter around him to steady himself. “Are you complaining?”
“No,” Draco says immediately. “Gods, no.”
Harry grins and kisses him again.
They end up in some hotel, in bed. They always do. And every time, he swears to himself it’s going to be the last one. Everytime he doesn’t see Harry for months at a time he thinks he’s strong enough that when Harry’s message comes to meet him at whatever dark alley he’s in now, Draco will say no.
But then the message comes, and every time, ever single fucking time, Draco’s heart flutters, his brain conjures up thousands of images of what he and Harry could be together, and he doesn’t even consider refusing.
“This one’s new,” Draco murmurs, tracing a long, thick scar across Harry’s chest. They’re lying in bed, Draco’s head resting on Harry’s chest, their legs tangled together. Draco’s sore in all the best ways.
“It wasn’t too serious.” Harry says, even though Draco can see how deep it used to be. Harry must’ve been close to dying, and the thought sends a pang of bitter pain through Draco’s chest.
“I can’t keep doing this,” He says.
Harry sits up then, frown between his brows. Draco wants to kiss it again, but he doesn’t. He can’t.
“Did something happen?” Harry asks.
Draco laughs drily, pulls on his clothes. “Did something happen? No. Will something happen if we keep doing this? Yes. You’ll be killed.”
Draco right along with him, probably. Not good for selling for marriage anymore, not once he’s not a virgin. And Gods know that that ship sailed long ago, the first time he fell into bed with Harry.
“I knew what I was getting into when we started this.” Harry says.
Draco crouches down, tightens his boots roughly. “Things have changed.”
“What things?” Harry asks.
I’ve fallen for you, Draco thinks.
“Things,” he says, vaguely. “None of which are any of your concern.”
He can see Harry frowning from the corner of his eye, can see his throat work. He stands up.
“I’m leaving.” he says. He can’t bear to be here a moment longer, with the way his heart is shattering. He can’t look at Harry again, so he opens the door, doesn’t look back. “Au revoir, Harry Potter. We won’t be seeing each other again.”
And he leaves, closes the door behind him.
Two months pass without Harry. It’s not an unusual amount of time to go without seeing him - there’s a war, after all, and Harry’s leading one of the sides - but Draco feels worse and worse every day, because this time, there’s no ‘when’ he sees Harry again. There’s not even an ‘if’ he sees Harry again.
He’d resigned himself to unhappiness when he’d said goodbye to Harry, though, so he’d expected being miserable. He wasn’t going to see Harry again. That was all there was.
So, of course, he’s reasonably surprised when, while sitting on his throne beside his mother, Harry’s brought in, struggling between four guards.
Draco stands. Harry meets his eyes and freezes for a second, before he snarls and resumes struggling. Draco’s mother pulls him down by his elbow.
“Well, well, well.” Lucius says, a sneer on his face. “What do we have here?”
The guards throw Harry at Lucius’s feet - which Draco thinks is mighty stupid of them, since he knows just how good Harry is at improvising - and Harry’s face twists with fury.
“Potter,” Lucius cocks an eyebrow. He stands, grabs his sword, and Draco breathes in sharply. Lucius gestures around the room. “Welcome to the palace. Like what you see?”
Harry’s jaw clenches, and he doesn’t respond.
“Very well,” Lucius says calmly. “Any last words?”
Everyone turns to look at him.
“What, Draco?” His father snaps impatiently.
Draco opens his mouth, closes it again. Open, closed. His throat is dry, and he tries to swallow. His heart is hammering against his ribs.
“I - I -” He thinks he might be close to sobbing. The panic’s coursing through his veins wildly, and he doesn’t have a plan, but he needs - he needs to save Harry. “You can’t.”
“I can’t?” Lucius’s nostrils flare, and Draco’s mother looks at him with a mix of horror and concern.
“Not now.” Draco says. “It has to be public.”
Yes. Yes, this is it. This has to be it.
“Well, make an example of him, right?” Draco asks, speaking too quickly and too unevenly for it to be casual. He stands, cautiously moving to Harry’s side. He can see Harry looking at him with something Draco can’t quite recognize, Lucius looking at him suspiciously. “For - for the other rebels. It - it needs to be public. Tomorrow morning. For your birthday, it’s perfect!”
“Draco’s right, sweetheart.” Narcissa pipes in. Draco, Harry, and Lucius look at the queen in surprise. “Besides, the maids have just cleaned the rug. Blood on it is going to be just impossible to get out.”
Lucius looks between the three of them, and Draco prays to every single god he knows that it will work. It has to. Otherwise he doesn’t know what he’ll do to save Harry.
“Fine,” The king says, annoyed. He throws Harry a disgusted look. “Throw him in the dungeons.”
The guards carry Harry away once again, and Draco very nearly sobs with relief.
“We should announce it to the people, darling,” Narcissa says kindly. “The sooner they know the better.”
Lucius nods and begins walking away. Narcissa stands and follows him, stopping for a split second to hug Draco.
“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing,” she murmurs, impossibly quiet against his ear.
When she pulls away, he blinks at her, surprised. She merely follows his father out the door.
The execution is to happen the next morning at first light, Draco finds out. He needs to get Harry out before then.
Just after midnight, he pulls on a dark cloak and grabs a lantern, breaks it against the ground, lights his curtains on fire. He walks down to the dungeons. There are eight guards on Harry’s door, and Draco knows they have orders to never leave.
He walks towards them as confidently as he can, hides his shaking hands by gripping one wrist tightly in the other behind his back.
“What are you still doing here?” he barks out, in the best impression of his father that he has.
It must work, because the guards flinch before they see him. They relax.
“We’re guarding the prisioner, Prince,” one of the guards says. “It was your father’s orders-”
“There’s a fire spreading through the north wing,” Draco sneers. “It’s become top priority, and you eight are still here, with someone who’s sitting behind bars? Bit useless, aren’t you?”
“No, of course not, Prince,” Another guard says. “We just-”
“I don’t care,” Draco snarls. He signals out the tiny window, where he can see his room on fire, violent and contrasting against the night sky. “Go!”
The guards scramble down the hall, and as soon as they’re out of sight, Draco breathes out a relieved sigh.
Harry’s green eyes still on him, and Draco can’t breathe.
“I didn’t think you’d come.” He says, finally.
Draco thinks he just might cry.
Instead, he reaches for the knife in his boot, begins to work on the lock, prays to all gods that he can open it before the guards realizes he was tricking them.
“Why did you?” Harry asks, awfully calm for someone who’s scheduled to be executed. “Come, I mean.”
“Because I fucking love you,” Draco snarls, panic growing when he hears his father’s voice down the hall. “I’m fucking in love with you, Potter, and if you want to be a little less useless-”
“Fuck,” Draco breathes out. He throws the door open - there’s an infernally loud sound, and there’s a yell down the hall. Fuck. Harry doesn’t move. “Harry, move, come on, you need to-”
Harry’s lips are crashing against his, suddenly, and it’s everything.
He wraps his arms around Harry’s neck, kisses him fiercely before he pushes him away roughly. He grabs his hand, runs them to the stables and grabs Serpent, his horse. He practically pushes Harry on her.
“Leave,” he begs. “Please, leave, you need to get away, I can’t see you executed-”
“Come with me,” Harry interrupts. His eyes look a little wild, and he’s still holding Draco’s hand even if he’s on a horse, and Draco loves him. “Come with me. Let’s run away.”
“I-” Draco looks back. There’s no time. “I-”
“I love you, too, Draco Malfoy.” Harry says fiercely. “I don’t care that you’re a prince, and I don’t care what anyone will think. I love you, and I can’t lose you again.”
Draco doesn’t think. He lets Harry haul him up, wraps his arms tightly around Harry’s waist to steady himself, buries his nose against the back of Harry’s neck.
When they start getting away, he looks back towards the burning castle, sees his mother in a night gown, staring at him from the field.
“A bientot, mother,” he murmurs. “We will see each other again.”
And he pulls Harry closer as they gallop away.
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