I haven't posted a Drarry related thing in ages and I just felt like it so here is a excerpt of a fic I've written.
It took approximately three days for the secret to fall apart.
Not that it had been a secret, exactly. Draco had merely suggested they “see how things go” before telling anyone. And Harry — still half-smitten, half-stunned that the dog had decided to sleep curled between their shoes — had agreed.
Which was why, when their friends arrived for dinner that Sunday, the scene they walked into was not, strictly speaking, what they expected.
“Harry Potter,” Hermione began the moment she crossed the threshold, her eyes narrowing as something small and furry bolted past her ankles, “please tell me you did not bring a dog into this flat.”
“Er,” Harry said, from somewhere near the kitchen. “Define bring?”
Draco appeared behind him, perfectly composed, as though nothing was amiss. “Technically, he followed Harry home.”
“Technically?” Ron said, half laughing, half bewildered, as the dog trotted proudly into the room with one of Draco’s socks in his mouth. “Blimey, he’s already moved in!”
Pansy — lounging by the door with a glass of wine — gave the scene an approving once-over. “Honestly, Potter, this is the most domestic thing I’ve ever seen you do. Adopting a stray. It’s practically romantic."
“It’s chaotic,” Blaise countered dryly, stepping out of the way as Ash (because, of course, he already had a name) tried to jump onto the couch. “That thing’s going to shed on the Italian linen.”
“Consider it character,” Luna said dreamily, kneeling down to let Ash lick her fingers. “He’s got the kind of soul that knows storms but still wags his tail.”
Draco lifted his teacup with a mild smile. “It appears so.”
Harry ducked his head to hide his grin. “It’s not like I planned it,” he said quickly. “He just—” His gaze softened, landing on the dog now curled at Draco’s feet. “—he needed somewhere safe.”
That, apparently, was all it took. The teasing quieted. For a heartbeat, the room felt warmer — laughter still lingering, but edged with something gentler, something that felt like understanding.
Ron nudged Hermione. “You realise this means they’re officially parents now.”
“Godfather and godfather,” George said solemnly from the sofa. “What’ll you name him?”
Harry opened his mouth, but Draco spoke first. “Ash.”
The name settled between them — soft, inevitable. “Figures,” Pansy murmured. “Leave it to you to name him something poetic.”
Draco didn’t deny it. “It suits him.”
The dog’s tail thumped once, as if in agreement. Luna smiled, eyes bright. “Ash from ruin, but still warm enough to glow.”
Harry met Draco’s gaze over the laughter that followed — a quiet look, threaded with the same thought they both knew but never said aloud: we’re allowed to have good things now.
And as Ash jumped onto the couch, wedged himself comfortably between them, and laid his head across both their knees, Harry laughed — helpless, happy, finally home.
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Sunday again, and the flat smells like garlic and rosemary before anyone even knocks. Ash has learned to greet guests by presenting them with whatever sock he’s stolen that morning; today it’s one of Harry's neon-striped creations, draped across Blaise’s Italian loafers like a flag of surrender.
They’re halfway through pudding when Harry stretches, casual as you please, and says, "We've already got a dog, I was thinking we could get a get a ferret next.”
The room went very still.
Ron’s pumpkin juice came out his nose. George applauded like Harry’d just announced a new Weasleys’ product. Pansy actually stood up and took a bow, face creasing up. Hermione tried to look stern, but the corners of her mouth were orbiting her ears.
Draco blinked, utterly nonplussed. “What?”
Harry looked around, confused—or pretending to be. “What?” he repeated. “They’re clean, they’re quiet, they—”
“Harry,” Draco interrupted, narrowing his eyes as realisation dawned.
Harry’s mouth twitched. “I was thinking we could name it Bounce.”
Draco’s fork clattered to his plate. “You absolute menace.”
