Draco stood awkwardly at the edge of the rickety wooden fence, his polished dragon-hide boots sinking slightly into the soft, earthy ground. The sound of chickens clucking and a distant cow mooing filled the air, a far cry from the pristine silence of Malfoy Manor. He flicked an invisible speck of dirt off his sleeve and scanned the modest farmhouse. Its shutters painted a cheerful blue and the chimney puffing lazy curls of smoke.

His lover appeared from behind the barn, wiping your hands on an apron smudged with flour and bits of grass. The sight of them, radiant and utterly at ease in the rustic setting, made Draco’s usual sneer soften.

“I see you’ve traded elegance for… this,” he drawled, gesturing vaguely at the barn and the chickens pecking at his feet.

You laughed, stepping closer and placing a hand on his arm. “It’s not so bad once you get used to it. Besides, you could use some fresh air.”

Draco raised a skeptical brow but didn’t pull away from your touch. “Fresh air is fine. Fresh mud, however…” He lifted a boot, now speckled with something suspiciously unidentifiable. “... is another matter entirely.”