Sunday evening

“Papa, is it okay that I didn’t want to show Grandfather my art?” Scorpius looked at Draco with worry in his eyes as soon as they sat in the car.

Draco smiled reassuringly. “He seemed satisfied enough that you didn’t want to show him your portrait of him until you were finished with it, but I have the feeling you only started drawing him after that?”

Scorpius smiled sheepishly. “Yes, when he asked to see what I was working on, I was colouring my picture of Aunt Daphne and Aunt Emily, but Aunt Emily is wearing the trans flag colours.”

Scorpius had already spent quite a while drawing a portrait of his aunts on his tablet as a gift for their wedding anniversary.

“I think it’s better you avoided the topic, although it means you have two art projects now.” Draco fastened his seat belt and looked over to make sure Scorpius’ seat belt was fastened, too. Then he started the drive home.

“I’m almost done with Aunt Daphne and Aunt Emily’s anniversary picture.” Scorpius turned on the playlist with Astoria’s favourite songs.

Draco thought about how proud Astoria would be if she could see what a kind, intelligent and creative teenager Scorpius had become. Astoria had died when Scorpius had been four years old, and since then, it had been just the two of them with some occasional help from Mother, Daphne and Emily, Pansy or Blaise.

“They will love it!” Draco smiled.

“Did Grandfather try to persuade you to marry another woman again?” Scorpius asked.

“No, today he didn’t remember your mum is dead. He told me to bring her along next time.” Draco knew it was a sign the dementia was progressing, but at the same time there was a feeling of relief he didn’t have to listen to another tirade about what parts of housework were 'completely unacceptable for a man'.

“When Mum was alive, did Grandfather not realise you weren’t attracted to her?” Scorpius’ voice sounded incredulous.

“I think he didn’t want to look closely at my relationship with her. I had proposed to a woman, and that was enough for him to tell his colleagues. In his books, I wasn’t a womaniser or marrying someone he didn’t consider respectable. Of course, he didn’t know the truth.” Draco stopped at the traffic light. They were quiet until halfway to the next set of lights.

“You proposed to Mum even though you were gay?” Scorpius’ voice sounded conflicted. Draco remembered he had never discussed this part of the story with him. But if Scorpius asked about it, it meant he was old enough.

Draco took a deep breath. “I wasn’t out at that time, not even completely to myself. Things began to change at my twenty-third birthday party. My friends from school met my friends from uni, and from that moment Emily and Daphne were inseparable. Until that point, Greg and Vince had been best friends, but they had a falling out and Vince left our friend group. Around that time, Greg and Emily told me they were sorry they had used homophobic language as teenagers. I didn’t really know why they talked to me about it.”

“They apologised to you,” Scorpius summarised.

“Yes, but I was still in denial. It took a lot of conversations with your Mum, Pansy, Greg and Blaise for me to admit to myself that all of my crushes had been blokes.” Draco laughed. “I had told myself it was just being interested in culture to record Pride and Prejudice on video and to watch it at every opportunity and that the reason wasn’t that I enjoyed seeing Colin Firth in a wet shirt. And I thought everyone noticed my football teammate Marcus Flint’s spectacular abs.”

“And what happened then?” Scorpius asked curiously.

Draco drove silently past a bus waiting at the bus stop, then answered. “When Emily began transitioning, Mum and I accompanied her and Daphne to Pride as their allies. We were already married, but I met a cute bloke from Brazil there and we had a secret fling. Of course, it didn’t last as he was going back after three months and by that time you were on the way.”

“Do you sometimes wish things had been different?” Merde alors! Why did Scorpius ask such questions?

“Then I wouldn’t have you.” Draco was thankful he’d made lots of good choices for his mental health and done things like seeking help, so he could be his best self for Scorpius.

Scorpius looked at him pensively. “But you could have met someone after I was born…”

“Maybe, but it didn’t happen. Well, neither looking after a spouse who is dying of cancer nor being a single dad with a demanding job really goes well with looking for a partner, and I didn’t find one by coincidence. Plus therapy.” Draco shrugged.

“If you ever find someone, I’ll be happy for you. Unless he’s mean. But I think you would have good taste in men,” Scorpius encouraged. “A girl I talked to said that her dad is the only single adult among his friends and family. She said he feels lonely a lot, especially now that his kids are all teenagers.”

Draco had never told Scorpius that he often felt lonely as well. But of course, Scorp was very perceptive.

“Grandma was alone for a long time, too, after she divorced Grandfather,” Draco said after a pause.

“But she found someone new. And now she and Marcel want to get married. And Marcel is cool.”

Draco thought of how Mother had started working in a gallery and met Marcel, a photographer. Last summer, Draco and Scorpius had been in Paris to celebrate their engagement. Draco was happy for her, but he had felt his loneliness a bit more during and after that visit.

Monday, late morning

Draco’s mobile rang just as he had ushered his client to the door.

“Mr. Malfoy, this is Ella Sampson from the retirement home. We’ve got a bit of a situation here—your father started a fight with another resident.”

Draco took a deep breath. Started a fight? What did that mean? Such a heated loud argument that it disturbed the whole floor? Name calling and slurs? One of them refusing to be in the same activity room as the other? Will I have to calm him down or apologise for him? “I’m coming over. I’ll be there in ten to fifteen minutes.”

He cut the connection, told his secretary Vivian he had a family emergency, and rushed to his car. It was only as the retirement home came into view that it occurred to him that he hadn’t even asked any questions, just said he’d be there. Was this the appropriate way of handling this? He didn’t know anyone to ask. But it was too late to turn back. He was once again failing miserably at knowing what was normal.

Astoria would tell me to take a deep breath and remind me that normal is a social construct. I don’t owe the world normal. I owe them to be a decent person. Breathe in… breathe out… Father may have been good at seeming normal, but he was never a decent person, and he still isn’t. I’ll go inside, and talk to the staff about it. I’m not fucking up; if it weren’t for Father’s dementia, he would be the one who fucked up.

It felt weirdly relieving and satisfying to allow himself to think that Father had fucked up. To reject the internalised accuser with his father’s voice and throw words back to him that Father would never say.

Normality had always been an almost moral requirement in the Malfoy household, topped only by sophistication and family values. That meant being straight, marrying in his twenties and fathering between one and three children, ideally two.

Draco parked his car and reminded himself that his father yelling, even his father calling someone slurs wasn’t the end of the world, it was just a sign Father had always been a racist, sexist snob and now he had lost his inhibitions due to his dementia. Draco decided to try to distract himself until he knew more and entered the reception of the retirement home. Ian, the receptionist, greeted him, then called Ella.

From outside, Draco heard the noise of a motorbike, then a man with long black hair in messy curls and a motorbike helmet under his arm came in. He seemed to be about Draco’s age, perhaps a bit smaller than Draco but he looked like he never skipped a gym day. He looked serious, until the moment he greeted Ian with a smile, revealing gorgeous dimples on his cheeks. As a lock of his hair shifted a little, Draco saw a scar on his forehead that bisected his left brow.

Draco reminded himself that obviously ogling roguishly handsome strangers in the foyer of a retirement home was extremely rude.

“Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Potter, thank you both for coming here so quickly.” Ella’s voice from behind him stopped Draco from ogling the man more effectively than his own berating had. At first Draco felt relieved that he had come to the retirement home immediately, then it occurred to him that if Mr. Potter was here for the same reason, it must be his relative that Father had started a fight with. Nothing to see here, just my shitty bad luck upon seeing the most attractive bloke I’ve ever seen. Anyway, for all I know he’s probably straight, married and has three kids.

“Hello,” Draco said, feeling a bit like he was just pretending to be a man in his forties. How do you act if you are called into the office not because of your child’s misbehaviour but because of your father’s?

Ella ushered them into her office.

As they took a seat at a round table, Mr. Potter asked, “So, what happened?”

“We had our monthly singalong concert with Nicole and Paul, and Mr. Weasley asked if they could play ‘There is Power in a Union’ or another Billy Bragg song.” Ella took a deep breath. “Mr. Malfoy got up from his chair, walked over to Mr. Weasley and slapped him across the face, calling him a dirty communist.”

Draco felt nauseous. His father had forgotten so many other things. Why couldn’t he forget his Thatcherism?

“I’m sorry for my father’s behaviour,” he said, almost tripping over the words. “Is Mr. Weasley okay?”

“The doctor is still examining him, what we know is his cheek is bruised,” Ella said gingerly.

That’s a catastrophe! Father beats up harmless people over politics! “I’m so sorry… It’s so awful.”

So many people grow soft in their old age. Why can’t Father be like them, why does he grow worse as he ages?

The rest of the conversation passed in a blur as Draco kept spiraling. He vaguely registered that Ella informed him that for the next two weeks, Father would only be allowed to participate in those activities Mr. Weasley didn’t participate in, and after that all accommodations would be in place and Mr. Weasley would return home. Until then, the nurses would do all they could to avoid Father’s and Mr. Weasley’s paths crossing.

When he walked out of the office, he hoped he could hold himself together until he reached his car. But he felt tears stinging in his eyes. It was a losing battle.

“Are you okay, Mr. Malfoy?” A hand touched his arm. Mr. Potter. Draco recognised the rich baritone voice.

Draco didn’t know what to do or to say. He just froze up.

“Guess that answers it. Tell me five things you’re seeing.”

“Your shoes. The floor. A chair. The door. The wall,” Draco said slowly under his breath.

“Well done, now four things you hear.” Mr. Potter’s voice felt like a lifeline.

“Your voice. The elevator. Someone walking with a stick. A telephone.” It got easier.

“Three things you can feel.”

“The ground under my feet. The sleeve of my shirt. Your hand on my arm.” Draco felt a lot safer because Mr. Potter was still touching his arm.

“Very good. Now two things you can smell.”

“Hand disinfectant and your cologne. Nice cologne.”

“Are you feeling a bit better?” Mr. Potter removed his hand, but looked at him like it meant something to him, like he wasn’t the son of a man who had attacked his… what was Mr. Weasley to Mr. Potter?

“Yes, thank you so much. And I’m so sorry.” Draco felt angry at himself. Why couldn’t he have his shit together. He had made it all about himself!

“It’s okay. Anxiety attacks happen.” Mr. Potter smiled at him. “I’ve had my share of them, too. Would you like to drink a cuppa at the café next door to calm down further?”

“That… I’d like that. Thank you.” Draco followed Mr. Potter to the café. They took a seat in two armchairs close to the window.

“I’ll order. What can I get you to drink?” Mr. Potter asked.

“Water, please.”

“I think that’s good to calm down. Should I get you a hot chocolate, too? In my family, hot chocolate is the go-to feel better drink,” Mr. Potter offered.

Draco had a lump in his throat. “Why are you so friendly? I’m the son of…”

“The son, not the man who did it. I know that one’s family can be shitty, and that doesn’t mean you’re like them.” Mr. Potter took a deep breath. “So, can I bring you hot chocolate, or something else?”

“Yes, that would be nice.” Draco felt the tears stinging in his eyes again. “Thank you.”

Mr. Potter went to the counter and returned with a tray that held two glasses of water and two cups of hot chocolate, as well as two chocolate muffins.

Draco brought out his wallet. “How much do I owe you?”

“Nothing.”

Draco looked at him flabbergasted. “You invite me for hot chocolate and biscuits when my father slapped your…”

“Ex father-in-law. And yes, you’re not your father. If you feel like it, you can buy us something to drink later on, but this round’s on me.” He winked. “Most likely, your father wouldn’t walk around beating people before his dementia progressed.”

“No, he would consider physical altercations with strangers beneath him. His weapon of choice was the scathing remark, or spreading nasty rumors. He never was a good person.” Draco wondered if he had said too much.

“We can’t choose our blood relatives.” Mr. Potter nodded sagely. “I have my experience with shitty relatives, too. When I was one year old, my parents died in a car crash, and only I survived. When I was out of the hospital, I lived for ten years with my racist and abusive aunt and uncle. They hated my mother for marrying a Desi man and me for being his child. The only reason my aunt and uncle took me in at all was that they got the kinship care support. I’m glad I don’t need to see them again.”

“The social services failed you,” Draco said. “You should have been raised by loving adoptive parents.”

“When I was eleven years old, I got away from them,” Mr. Potter stated, then changed the subject. “If we talk about our whole lives, we might as well call each other by our first names. I’m Harry.”

“My name is Draco. It’s a weird family tradition in the maternal side of my family to name children after stars and constellations.” Draco had some experience with comments on his unusual first name.

“There are some people with unusual first names in my found family. You’d fit right in.” Harry winked.

Is he flirting? I wish I was better with such social cues.

Harry’s phone rang. “Hello… Thank you… I’ll visit him after lunch… I’m relieved. Yes, after one. Bye.”

He turned to Draco. “The doctor’s examination is over. Arthur is okay, apart from a small bruise.”

“That’s a relief. Again, I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do for your ex father-in-law? Or is it inappropriate to ask this? Am I making it about myself?” Draco felt anxiety rise again.

“Your father’s actions aren’t your fault or responsibility, but Arthur might be happy that the son of the man who assaulted him has such a kind heart. I’ll tell him about you if it’s okay.”

“Thank you so much! Your divorce or separation must have been very amicable if you’re still an emergency contact of your ex’s father?” Draco just couldn’t resist asking.

“Yeah, I’ve been close to the Weasley family since primary school. One of their sons was in my class and befriended me on the first day. I was used to being bullied, and he was my first friend ever. The Weasleys noticed that my aunt and uncle were abusing me. They contacted the social services and got me out of there, but having seven children themselves and barely enough money to cope, didn’t qualify for adopting me. But what they did was find my godfather and his life partner and prove that they were qualified to adopt me. Unfortunately, that process took five years. Arthur Weasley and his wife and children have always been a safe place for me. Them and my godfathers.”

“Godfathers? Like a gay couple?” Draco perked up. He suppressed his urge to bounce on his chair by tapping his fingers against each other.

“Yes, being pansexual myself, I couldn’t have better parental figures.” Harry smiled. “The way you smile, I’d guess you’re part of the community, too.”

“I’m gay.” It felt good to tell Harry. Draco had never told a new acquaintance at the first meeting, unless they had met at Pride or in a gay bar. Of course, he’d only been to a gay bar three times before Astoria was too ill to tell him to go out. “My father still has no idea about it. Well, his face could be on the Wikipedia page for homophobia. I only came out to my mother after she divorced him.”

“Do you have a partner?” Harry leaned forward as if the question was important to him.

“No. I never had the opportunity for a serious relationship. My father raised me with all that conservative homophobic bullshit.” Draco grimaced. “And until I was twenty-three, I was so desperate to make him proud. I even got married to a woman. Luckily, she was aro ace, and it was rather to keep both our parents off our backs. And also to have a child.”

“I have three children.” Harry smiled. “Two sons and a daughter. They tend to keep a parent busy.”

“My wife and her sister made me come to terms with my sexuality. She encouraged me to have flings, until the cancer… Our relationship was strictly platonic, but I miss her horribly.” Draco scolded himself internally for talking about it.

But Harry put a hand on his arm. “She was one of your best friends, of course you miss her. She must have been an amazing person.”

“Yes, she was.” Draco fell silent and took a drink from his cup.

“Erm, would you like me to tell you about my ex-wife and kids?” Harry asked.

Thank goodness! It’s almost as if he knows I don’t feel like silence but can’t talk more about it just yet.

“Yes, thank you.”

“I was studying art and helping out my godfather in his tattoo parlor. And Ginny, one of her brothers, his girlfriend and I would go clubbing in the evenings. Sometimes I would pull someone, or she would, but a few times neither of us did and we just decided to have some fun together. It was just friends with benefits.” Harry tore pieces off his napkin. “But then the pill failed when she had a stomach flu. We knew Jamie was my child; her last few flings had been women.”

Draco put his hand on Harry’s arm. Harry didn’t need to be nervous.

“I proposed to her the week after she told me. It seemed the right thing to do then, at least to me. My godfathers had met at eleven and they’ve been together since they were fifteen. Arthur and his wife Molly are extremely monogamous, too, and I wanted to be like them.” Harry sighed. “It turned out Ginny and I weren’t well-suited as a couple, and a second pregnancy resulting in twins, Al and Lily, didn’t change that. When the twins were three, Ginny sat me down and told me she liked me more as a friend. And it felt like a relief.”

Draco felt like he needed to know an answer to an important question. “And have you found someone else?”

Harry took a breath like someone summoning all his courage. “I met a gorgeous man today, with platinum blond hair, and I’d love to see him again and find out where it could go.”

“Me?” Draco blushed.

“I’m sorry if that went too far. I don’t know what’s come over me, I usually don’t do that but you…” Harry spoke quickly with nervousness.

“I’d like that. I usually also don’t tell someone my life story when I’ve only just met them, and have you seen yourself?” Draco couldn’t hold back.

Monday evening

“Papa, do you have anything to tell me?” Scorpius leaned forward, his pose an imitation of Pansy when she was gossiping with Daphne.

“Aunt Pansy is a bad influence on you. Grandma wouldn’t like to see your elbows on the table.” Draco looked at him over his reading glasses.

“That’s why I only do it at home.” Scorpius grinned. “Also, you’re texting on your phone during dinner. And I’ve never seen you smile like that.”

“Okay. I met someone today. His name is Harry. He’s a single dad, too; he has three children and the younger two are your age.” Was that how you told your child you planned to go on a date on Friday?

“Where did you meet him?” Scorpius raised an eyebrow.

“I had to go to the retirement home this morning because Grandfather slapped another resident. Harry is one of the man’s emergency contacts. I spiraled, and Harry calmed me down. We had hot chocolate together, and I… I have a crush on him. He has three kids, the younger two are your age, twins.” Draco worried that Scorpius might consider it stupid how fast he, a grown man, had developed a crush, but stupid or not, he was determined to tell Scorpius the truth.

“Wait, twins? Is it Lily and Arthur Leo?” Scorpius looked at his father with big eyes.

“Yes, I think Harry called him Al. I think the older kid is called James.” Draco fidgeted with his sleeve. “Do you know them?”

“You remember last week, when I left Grandfather’s room to wait outside when you were looking through his clothes to decide what he needed you to buy new?” Scorpius’ voice sounded excited. “I was drawing and Al came and watched. We talked a little, and when I told him I was named after a constellation, he told me his middle name is a constellation, too. I was too shy to ask to exchange numbers, but I would have liked to.”

Draco took a slow sip from his glass and summoned all his courage. “Would you be okay with me going on a date with Harry?”

“I told you I’d be happy if you found someone good.” Scorpius sounded as if the question was completely redundant. “And I think you don’t feel safe with people easily. If you feel safe with him, it’s probably a good sign.”

The phone pinged again. My kids say they know your son already. They approve.

Draco quickly typed, So does Scorpius.

Friday, 6 pm

“Aunt Emily, Aunt Daphne, we can’t go yet. Papa has to show us what he’s going to wear,” Scorpius demanded and sat down on the armchair. “He can dress for work, but dressing for a date?”

“O-kay,” Draco shouted from the bedroom. As if Pansy hadn’t designed the suit especially for me.

He was afraid of arriving late to his date with Harry. It should be a twenty minute drive, but what if there was a traffic jam?

He got dressed in the forest green three-piece suit, no tie, instead he left the top two buttons of his shirt undone. He applied mascara on his lashes and a bit of eyeliner. Then he descended the stairs, put on his shoes and went to the sitting room.

Daphne beat a drum roll on the coffee table, Emily and Scorpius looked at Draco curiously, then Emily exclaimed, “You’re looking great! He’s going to—”

“Emily Nott-Greengrass, there’s a minor in the room,” Draco warned, thinking of the explicit things Pansy and Blaise had said Harry would want to do once he saw Draco.

“I know, I wanted to say he’s going to feel he’s the luckiest man ever to get to go on a date with you.” Emily sounded apologetic. Draco was sure it was not what she had thought of.

He took his wallet, his phone and his keys, then looked back. “I’m going. I can’t be late. If I’m early, I’ll wait in the car outside his tattoo shop.”

“He’s a tattoo artist? Are you going to get inked, then?” Daphne inquired.

“Bold of you to assume I’m not inked already.” Draco grinned.

“Are you? I mean after having that awful thing you got at sixteen removed?” Daphne’s voice was skeptical.

Draco shuddered. That skull and snake, an image from an album cover he had worn on his arm, only to fully grasp later that the Death Eaters were fascists. At twenty, he had cleaned houses to earn the money for the tattoo removal. After that, he had thought he would only ever get a tattoo again if the tattoo meant something extremely personal, looked perfect and Draco trusted the artist with his life.

Over the years, he had often considered getting a tattoo for Astoria and Scorpius, but was neither sure of the art nor the artist. “No, I don’t have any tattoos, but I might change that if things work out with Harry.”

Daphne laughed. “Go, I don’t want to hear you ranting about getting there late.”

Draco left. He knew Daphne and Emily would lock the door, fetch takeaway with Scorpius and they would watch some anime Scorpius liked that Draco couldn’t stand. The flashing images Scorpius’ favourite anime contained always gave him sensory issues.

He drove to the address Harry had given him. The tattoo shop was called Black Dog Ink, and the logo had the outline of a shaggy dog. There was a parking spot directly in front of the door.

As soon as he had parked his car, the door to the shop opened, and Harry waved at him. Draco looked at his clock. Ten minutes early.

“Come in, let me show you where I work,” Harry called out.

Draco got out of the car, pressed the lock button on his key and went inside. It was nothing like he had imagined, a difference like day and night from the tattoo shop he had been at at sixteen with the fake letter from his father.

The reception area was comfortable, with a mural of a group of people under a rainbow. Opposite the reception desk, there was a blue sofa. David Bowie sang from a loudspeaker.

A door opened, and an older man with a silver-streaked black ponytail and lots of tattoos in a Led Zeppelin tee ushered a client, a woman in her twenties, out.

Harry grinned at him. “Sirius, meet my date. This is Draco.”

“Hi, Draco. So you’re the man my godson talks about without a break.” Sirius gave Draco a smile. “With that first name, you could be a relative of mine. Not that I would know, I left them at fifteen and went no contact. Anyway, it would be great to know someone from their lot has grown up to become a decent person.”

“You can compare family trees later,” said a slightly husky voice from a half-open door labeled Staff only. “Let the boys go on their date.”

“Yes, Moonbeam,” Sirius answered in a tender tone.

The owner of the voice from the staff room came in, walking with a cane. He was a tall man with gray curly hair and laugh lines in his face.

“That’s my other godfather, Remus. Remus, meet Draco,” Harry said. He showed Draco the tattooing rooms.

“Can you show me some of your art?” Draco asked.

Harry presented a sketch book with a drawing on the front page, a yellow ball with wings, and the words “Hope is the thing with feathers” like a smile under it.

“That’s beautiful. Does the placement on the title page mean that it’s special to you?” Draco inquired. He imagined this tattoo on his own skin. But wasn’t it somebody else’s? Draco loved poetry, and this poem by Emily Dickinson had always appealed to him.

“I never inked it on anybody, it was just an idea I had. But I never suggested it to anybody.” Harry looked at his shoes. “I think it’s waiting for someone special.”

It’s weird, but I feel like I want to be that special someone. Draco looked at the tattoo designs Harry leafed through, some with photographs of the finished tattoos clipped on with colourful paperclips. He stopped at one page, showing a standing baby deer on Sirius’s shoulder and a sitting one on Remus’s.

“Those were the first important tattoos I did. They wanted one that represented me, as they both have a stag tattoo with lilies wound around the antlers for my parents. And their nickname for me has always been Bambi,” Harry said, lowering his voice like he wasn’t sure if it was embarrassing.

“My mother still calls me Little Dragon sometimes; that’s just how parents are. And I guess godfathers who adopted you are parents, too,” Draco replied.

Harry looked relieved. He turned the pages to an image of a red-headed man with a full sleeve. It consisted of wind and cloud swirls and three swooping dragons that differed in style. “This shows the development of my tattooing. The first dragon was one of my first independent works, the one close to the wrist I inked just recently.”

“Gorgeous. It makes me want a tattoo. But not now.” Draco giggled.

“I don’t do spur of the moment tattoos. No tattoos that people will regret the next day,” Harry replied. “If you think about it and we plan it well, I’ll be glad to be your tattoo artist. But we ought to go if we want to catch our reservation at Patil’s.”

They got into Draco’s car and drove to Patil’s. Harry was a regular there. The owner, a woman in her sixties called Priya Patil, told Draco she had never seen Harry bring a date. Only a group of friends or his godfathers and children.

Priya was a second cousin of Harry’s father, but Harry had met her and her daughters only when he was at uni.

“Can I taste your thali? It looks delicious,” Draco asked Harry.

“It’s spicier than your food. But I have an idea.” Harry waved to Priya and asked her for two mango lassis. When she brought them, he dripped a little sauce on his naan and tore off a big piece. “Open your mouth.”

Draco opened, and Harry fed him the piece of naan, his fingers touching Draco’s lips. Draco wondered if it was okay to close them around Harry’s fingers. But he didn’t dare.

“It tastes good. Can I taste the other ones, too?” Draco asked.

“Yes, but for fairness’ sake you could give me a bite of your aloo gobi.” Harry smiled mischievously.

Draco immediately put some on his naan and reached over the table. Harry opened his mouth and Draco gave him the piece of naan moving his hand slowly enough for Harry to close his lips around them if he chose. And Harry locked his eyes with Draco and did.

When he released Draco’s fingers with a small pop, Draco pushed the dishes a bit to the side, leaned over the table and captured Harry’s lips in a kiss.