Chapter Text
The aftermath was a tangled mess of exhaustion, grief, and quiet rebuilding. Draco was beyond weary, but he refused to stand still. With Harry and their friends, he threw himself into the monumental task of managing what remained of the kingdom. Most citizens returned to their villages to mend their own lives, while a few chose to seek a fresh start beyond the borders.
Most of the corrupt nobility had met their end at the hands of those they’d wronged. The evidence was clear: the future of this land would not be a monarchy. Draco had no objections. He was simply grateful to lend his mind to the planning, to help rebuild and fix whatever he could for the people who remained.
His friends had chosen their own paths. Pansy and Blaise would stay, determined to build their business. Gregory wanted to become a hunter; Vincent, an herbalist. Theo had already packed a bag, declaring his new career as a “professional adventurer,” whatever that means.
“Are you sure you don’t want to go with your mother?” Harry asked one evening. Narcissa had decided to return to the kingdom of her birth, to the family estate she had left decades before.
Draco smirked. “Why? So you’d have an excuse to kidnap me all over again?”
Harry snorted, then laughed, the sound rich and warm. He pulled Draco into a tight embrace, spinning him around until Draco shrieked for him to stop. Gently, Harry set him down, his hands coming up to cradle Draco’s face.
“Draco,” he said, his green eyes shining with a joy so deep it looked like love. “There’s no reason left for me to put you in a prison.” He brushed a thumb over Draco’s cheekbone. “But instead of binding your limbs… would you be willing to bind your life to mine?”
Draco’s smile was open, unreserved. “Of course that’s how you’d propose, Mr. Kidnapper.” With his hands linked behind Harry’s neck, he pulled him down into a kiss—open, passionate, and deep, pouring every frustration, every missed chance, and every hope for the future into it.
Their wedding was supposed to be small and private. But word, it seemed, traveled with a will of its own.
“THE HEROES’ WEDDING!” the people called it. Draco understood Harry’s title, but his? A hero? Ridiculous.
Yet, everyone and their grandmother seemed to think otherwise. They came in droves, bringing feasts, songs, and laughter that filled the clearing and the air over the once-called a cursed land with undiluted joy.
Ah, speaking of that… the people had given it a new name, too. They now called it “The Lover’s Nest.”
What a ridiculous, cheesy, utterly perfect joke, Draco thought, but he held his tongue. Everyone seemed to prefer it to “the cursed land,” and really, who was he, a regular person, to argue with any of them?
꧁ ༺♔ ༻ ꧂
"Seriously? Aren't you tired?" Draco asked, watching Harry crawl, gloriously naked, across the expanse of their marriage bed.
"You've seen how I fight, Draco." Harry's smile was pure, unadulterated smugness.
Draco rolled his eyes, but the protest died as his hot husband pressed him down into the sheets, capturing his mouth in a deep, claiming kiss. His clever, calloused hands began to roam, mapping, before his fingers, slick and sure, found Draco's entrance and began a slow, deliberate push inside.
Draco moaned, arching into the touch, a wordless plea for more, for it to be deeper.
Harry's teasing grin softened into something more intense, more raw. He met Draco's gaze, watching for any flicker of hesitation. Finding none, he followed the silent command, his fingers sinking in with careful, thorough purpose.
"I-I'm ready, Harry," Draco panted, sinking back against the pillows. His own hands traced the tense muscles of Harry's back, feeling the power coiled there. "Make me yours, my love."
Harry’s eyes, already dark, seemed to swallow all the light in the room. The last thread of his restraint snapped. With a low groan, he aligned himself and pushed forward, his thick, throbbing length filling Draco in one smooth, breathtaking stroke.
A ragged cry tore from Draco's throat. His husband's size was something—it was a delicious, overwhelming fact that matched how he fought.
The room dissolved into a symphony of gasps and moans, skin against skin, whispered vows lost between frantic kisses. Their fingers laced together, gripping tight as Harry found a relentless, driving rhythm, each deep thrust expertly aimed until Draco was seeing stars, his world narrowing to the exquisite friction and the green eyes locked on his.
One final, perfect thrust. Draco screamed, his release painting his stomach in hot stripes as Harry buried himself, pulsing deep within him, filling Draco to the brim.
They collapsed into a tangled, panting heap, a mess of sweat and satisfaction, holding onto each other as their racing hearts slowly found a shared, steady beat.
"Hah… how was… my performance… Your Highness?" Harry whispered into the crook of Draco's neck, his breath still coming in gusts.
Draco chuckled, a spent, happy sound. "Solid ten out of ten. I expect the same treatment for my next kidnapping case, Mr. Kidnapper."
Harry's laughter shook them both. "As long as you don't cry like a toddler anymore, my love." and he received a swift, satisfyingly crisp slap on the back.
꧁ ༺THE♔END ༻ ꧂