Carey ‘W’Recs Wednesday(。•̀ᴗ-)✧ presents: True Love Gave To Me
epitomereally @epitomereally
Chapters: 3/3
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Characters: Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Scorpius Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson, Hermione Granger
Additional Tags: Christmas, Time Loop, Fluff, Kid Fic, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, But Scorpius Can Stay, Getting Together, Falling In Love, but in reverse, Timey-Wimey, Non-Linear Narrative, Magico-Muggle Repairman Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter wants a family, Harry Potter Needs a Hug, Pining Harry Potter, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Cinnamon Roll Scorpius Malfoy, On-Screen Past Pregnancy of a Minor Character, Past Death of a Partner, Loneliness, Grief/Mourning, Self-Esteem Issues, Bisexual Draco Malfoy, Drinking, Explicit Sexual Content, Blow Jobs, Anal Sex, Rimming, Switching, Semi-Public Sex, Additional Warnings in Author's Notes, H/D Erised 2023
It’s the first of December, and all Draco wants to do is make Christmas lovely for Scorpius. But then Harry Potter shows up, asking him to save the world, and it turns out they’ve almost saved the world a couple of times before. One-hundred and forty-four times, to be exact.
Or: what happens after the time loop?
Then they hear a chirp. Just one. They turn. A glowing, gorgeous, bountiful pear tree has blossomed in the middle of Draco’s shop, growing right out of the wooden floorboards. Warmth suffuses the whole room, despite the snow howling through the blown-out wall. Golden sunlight illuminates the tree, full of red-yellow pears, so succulent it makes Draco’s mouth water. A single partridge is perched on a low branch.
Potter gets up and approaches the tree. He reaches out to touch a pear, and Draco says, suddenly sure, “Don’t eat the fruit, Potter.”
Potter lets his hand hang, traces the gorgeous pear with his gorgeous fingers, lit tan and healthy. “What do you think we’re meant to do?”
Draco stands and approaches the partridge. He looks at it, its burnt orange head, its wise eyes, the dove grey soft puff of feathers on its chest. He turns to Potter. “What do you think?”
Potter’s biting his lip, circling the tree. His voice is tentative, perhaps a little scared when he admits, “I just…don’t know. I don’t know, Draco.”
Draco holds his finger out and the partridge flutter-hops onto it. Potter’s known how to handle every obstacle the box has thrown at them, calling out instructions and commands like he’s the Head Auror; it’s almost enough to make Draco suspicious that Potter planned this, orchestrated it himself. But now, Potter looks lost, hands planted on his hips, scowling at the tree.
The partridge flutters its wings, just once. Draco turns back to it. Finally, he just addresses it, “Could you please let us go?”
The partridge cocks its head, regards him with one wise, black eye, and then nods. A giant rushing sound fills the shop, growing louder and louder. The partridge flaps back to its perch on the pear tree and then the pear tree is dissolving down to nothingness. Draco and Potter are surrounded by a hurricane of magic, sparking red and gold and green and silver.
“You did it!” Potter shouts. “How did you—” His grin stretches across his whole face; Draco has never seen Potter smile so large. Tears are starting to run down his face, amplifying his green eyes, snot bubbling out of one nostril. It should be horrifying, but it is the most gorgeous Draco has ever seen Potter. “You actually fucking did it. I can’t believe—you absolute genius—fuck!”
And then Potter is sobbing, and the magic is roaring all around them, pressure building on their shoulders, distorting and compressing their faces, and Potter is reaching out, grabbing Draco around the shoulder. Potter pulls him in. Draco stumbles into his arms. And then. And then Potter’s kissing him; his lips are soft and chapped and his breath tastes like the massive amount of peppermint they had to ingest to ward off the Krampus. His stubble is scratchy against Draco’s chin, and Draco can feel the warm damp of Potter’s tears against his cheek—and Draco doesn’t know why, but maybe he’s crying a little bit too. And, incomprehensibly, Draco is kissing Potter back, filled with the golden glow of the day, in the intoxicating rush of Potter’s confidence in him, in the absolute majesty of the moment.
The pressure mounts—Draco’s skull feels like it might crack. The roaring, babbling rush of magic about them is loud enough to burst Draco’s ear drums. The light is now blindingly bright behind Draco’s closed lids. And still, gloriously, he’s kissing Potter.
And then everything goes to black, and Draco startles awake in his bed.