Broken Glass

2. We'll sort it

2 September 2018

Dear Gin,

Glad you arrived safely.

Kids all caught the Hogwarts Express without a problem. Jamie ran off without a backwards glance. Al was caught up with finding Scorp and only just remembered to give me a hug goodbye. Rose took care of Lils and Hugo. As you thought, they were all too excited to be thinking about us.

They send their love and look forward to seeing you at Christmas.

Much love, Harry x

***

After Diagon Alley and Harry's quick visit to Gringotts and the Owl Post Office, Draco dragged him around various shops in Muggle London.

'Robes are all well and good but not every day wear. We'll sort you a new set of dress robes another time. Besides, they need tailoring properly. First things first, a complete overhaul of the basics, right down to your socks. New life starts here.'

'Dray, I'm not even sure...'

'...this works both ways. It might just be what you need to revive the mess you're both in. You don't need to make a decision either way yet. Just start by focusing on you and putting you first, not the job, or the kids, or your wife, or her family. This is about you.'

Harry went with it. It was easier than arguing.

He wondered whether it was okay to be thirty-eight and buying a leather biker-jacket, but he liked it, especially when Draco wrapped a Slytherin-green scarf around his neck and said, 'yes, you can wear it; no, you're not too old. And the scarf brings out the colour of your eyes. On a fashion basis alone, you were so wrong to argue with the Sorting Hat.'

He looked at himself in the full-length mirror, half-depressed, half-happy, well, half-happier anyway. 'Merlin, look at me, Dray. I've become rounded.' He wasn't exactly over-weight, just not as toned as he'd once been. At least he hadn't developed a belly like Ron but either way, he definitely lacked definition and the edges were definitely a bit softer.

'We all have, it's called middle-aged spread.'

'When the fuck did that happen?'

'When you weren't looking, obviously.'

'You haven't!' he accused, as if Draco had some magical portrait in the attic which had kept him tall and slim, youthful and good-looking.

'Of course I have. I'm nowhere near as bony and pointy as I used to be. We're all just a bit cuddlier, that's all.'

'Hmph!' Harry wasn't sure he agreed with that. 'You still look pretty pointy to me. I want to go to a sports shop. I'm going to start training again. I was fitter than a butcher's crup not so long ago. I must be able to regain that.'

'I'm sure you can, you're a stubborn git when it comes to these things.'

When they got to Grimmauld Place, Draco blanched and muttered, 'fuck!'

Admittedly, it was bad.

'When were you last here?'

Harry shrugged, uncertain. 'Maybe just after Al was born. I needed somewhere when I was on that stake out when we eventually caught Rowle.'

The house smelt chokingly musty and damp. They picked their way between thick curtains of cobwebs, across threadbare carpets and over creaking floorboards until Old Mrs Walburga Black started screeching incoherent madness at them. Harry waved his wand in her direction, casting a 'Muffliato.'