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'Alright' - A Drarry Drabble

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     "Hey."

     Without looking up from the sink, Draco replied back, "You shook off the Weasel? Thought you two were having lunch?"

     Shaking his head at the old name—Ron still called him Ferretboy but the two didn't seem to take offense at either insult these days, and really, if you thought about it, what was so insulting about being called a ferret or a weasel? They were both awfully cute critters, and as Luna would say, much better evolved to stand the elements than humans—Harry smiled. "Yeah. Astoria showed up as a surprise with some sort of bacon quiche thing. You know how Ron is about bacon."

     Grimacing and never quite having gotten used to prim, prissy, proper, petite little Astoria running off with that big, dopey, lumbering idiot, Draco dried his hands and turned. Slipping the flannel back into his coat pocket—he refused to use the hospital's cloths, not wanting to share in spite of St. Mungo's strict sanitation policies—he gave Harry a smile but didn't, as he would have at home, lean in for a kiss. They'd agreed upon first entering training that they'd keep the relationship quiet at both their workplaces to avoid unnecessary drama. It was impossible to avoid all drama, of course: the Healers still made a fuss anytime look, it's Harry Potter! showed up to say hello to Young Dr. Black, now, isn't he a charmer, and the Ministry workers still glared daggers when the son of that foul bastard Malfoy, how dare he intruded upon their territory to pull Harry, what a good sport away for lunch.

     Occasionally, Harry accidentally broke something when there was a particularly vicious comment, or Draco couldn't repress a snicker at some of the more ludicrous assertions about either of them. Once in a while, some brave soul actually approached to ask them if they were really together? As in, together? For the most part, though, they just pretended not to notice the gossiping or paparazzai and Draco regularly thanked their lucky stars that they were photogenic. Enough, at least. Not even his best vanity charm could fix Harry's hair.

     It was the only way to stay sane, really.

     "Alright, where are we off to today, then?" Draco asked, falling into step alongside the rookie Auror as they left the break room. Their schedules didn't often line up for lunch so he certainly wasn't going to complain when it did. Their intensive training schedules had been rough enough on the both of them, but getting used to their very full-time jobs had proven even rougher.

     Harry hesitated before answering, fighting to keep a smile off his lips. The restaurant was going to be a dead giveaway, he knew, but he hoped it would at least curb his lover's temper when he dropped the bomb. "Chez Libellule."

     Draco's step slowed, but did not stop. He did, however, cross his arms and cast Harry a sidelong glare. "Alright, what did you do now?" he demanded, although he kept his voice low. The hospital's halls echoed, and they had a hard enough time keeping eavesdroppers out of their business as it was. "At least you pronounced the damn thing right this time."

     Full-out grinning now, Harry rubbed his neck. For a moment he looked very much like an awkwardly embarrassed 18 year old boy again rather than a confident 23 year old Auror. "It's not that bad. It's just... Kingsley was saying how he and his wife haven't had more than an hour to themselves in a year, so I thought—you get along well with Adelaide and..."

     Groaning, Draco rubbed his forehead. "Adelaide Shacklebolt is an unholy terror," he asserted. She meant well but the six year old girl didn't have a lick of her father's calm quiet, and was already notorious for having the voice of an opera star. The volume of it, anyway—there was nothing operatic about her shrieking.

     "I couldn't say no," Harry insisted weakly. "He looked so tired, and it's their anniversary next weekend. Besides, she gets along well with Teddy so..." This time, Draco did come to a complete stop and Harry quickly raised his hands. "It's exam time! You know how exam time gets for Remus and Severus. He's well-behaved but they could do with not having to worry about him. Besides, he adores us, and you're the only one who can put a cork in Adelaide..."

     "Because you and Shacklebolt are whipped when it comes to children," Draco drawled. "For god's sakes, we haven't had a free weekend in months, either! And we finally finished redoing the upholstery in the parlour—they're going to destroy it."

     "Well, Victoire's good at keeping Teddy in check..."

     "Vic—"

     "They're keeping Dominique at home," Harry added hurriedly. "She's not ready to be away from her folks for a night, but Vicky's been dying to visit Grimmauld Place again. Apparently she started ranting in French like Fleur does when she's at her wit's end and wouldn't stop until Bill Floo'd me this morning to ask. Since I'd already said yes to Remus and Kinsley I figured, well, what's one m..."

     His voice trailed off at Draco's stormy expression. He was long past thinking Draco would take off on him after every row they had—and they'd certainly had plenty of them, although it was still nothing compared to their Hogwarts years—but he still didn't like to upset the blond. Besides, he knew how highly Draco valued their privacy—hell, he did, too; privacy'd been damn near impossible for him to get since he was eleven—and bugger, he really should have checked with Draco before making all these promises, but he was such a sucker for pleading kids, and he had been meaning to spend some time with his godson soon, and Draco really did command respect from them in a way nobody else could when they'd get all wound up...

     Just as his spiraling thoughts were on the verge of making him offer to sleep on the couch that night, Draco cracked. He began to laugh.

     Harry blinked.

     "If anyone had told me," the former Slytherin began once his chuckles had subsided and they were walking again, "back at the start of seventh year—" The second seventh year, after the war, when they'd finally started to reconcile their differences before somehow defying all odds and ending up forming a lifelong commitment, "that in five years time I'd be babysitting a Lupin, a Weasley and a Shacklebolt with my husband, and that said husband had to bribe me with expensive cuisine he still can't pronounce to save his life, I would have hexed them six ways to Sunday for the sheer amount of ludicrous nonsense in that statement." Swaying closer to slip a hand around Harry's waist, he pulled the slightly shorter wizard closer and gave him a kiss on the temple. "C'est bien, poilu, t'en fais pas. It'll be good practice."

     Completely thrilled with the unexpected public display of affection and, he suspected, beaming dorkily, Harry almost didn't catch the last bit. "Wait, prac—?!" he asked, eyes widening as he missed a step and nearly tripped, catching his balance with a hand to the wall just in time.

     Rolling his eyes, Draco smirked at him. "Eventually, I mean—don't have a heart attack. Maybe a few year's time. After all our friends have gotten it out of their systems, and there are ample experienced babysitters around."

     Harry grinned. Surprises in his life had a habit of being rather nasty, but the idea that Draco had been thinking of—and knowing him, probably already saving up and planning for—kids together was rather... pleasant. A little exciting, even. The last time they'd talked about children had been before they'd gotten together, casually discussing what they'd anticipated happening in the ten years after graduation. They knew they both wanted more than one but less than four, but it hadn't been discussed since.

     Maybe it was time to start discussing.

     Having kept walking even as Harry stood there taking it all in, Draco reached the doors at the end of the corridor and pushed them open. Bright sunlight streamed in and the blond turned, raising an eyebrow expectantly. "Come along, slowpoke," he teased, "or I'm taking off without you."

     He wouldn't, they both knew.

     Breaking into a run and not caring who was shouting at him to stop running on the tile, Harry tackled Draco straight out the doors in a happy hug. For the first time in fifteen years, he really, honestly, finally, completely felt that everything was going to be alright.
Yeah, fic instead of art this time. XD

This is just a random little daydream I had at work. My best friend and I occasionally type up daydreams of our RP characters for each other to read, and our latest thing has been stepping back from our original stories to revisit our original fandom. The end result was slightly longer than I expected, so I decided I may as well share it with all of you~ Which is, um, something new, so I'm a bit embarrassed, as I have not shown anyone any fic, especially any HP fic, even a drabble, in years. XD

The nickname of "poilu" is from :iconsordidhumor:, writer of "Conscience"!

Also... je ne peux pas parler en français, donc PLEASE let me know if I completely butchered what little I attempted there. I'd be more than happy to fix it. XD Is C'est bien okay or should it be C'est rien or something else?

Let me know if having the dialogue in bold is obnoxious. That's how we do it for roleplays, as it makes it easier to read, but I know it's not typical of fics. ^^;

Enjoy! ♥
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Dimiann1912's avatar
DAwwee I loved this soooo much :)