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A Secondary Education	By : Thunderbird Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 27880 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any affiliated characters. I make no profit from this story.

Chapter List
- 9
- 10
- 11
A/N: All right, I know I made you guys wait a while for this one. The school year was wrapping up and I had a lot to do. Plus, when I started writing this chapter, I didn't realize how freaking massive it was going to be! 16 thousand words, people! Took me forever. Anyway, I hope the length and the juicy content will make up for the wait. I also hope it's not a complete mess. I cover a lot in here.
As always, it was the reviews that kept me motivated, and knowing you guys wanted to find out what happens next. Please keep those coming! It's the only payment I receive for my hard work.
Lesson 10: Even Saviors Have Daddy Issues
Draco watched the star anise pod bob around in his mulled wine, hearing only vaguely the way his mother cooed temperately over whatever box of jewelry she’d just opened. Considering there were five she’d already opened, and at least another two or three to go, Draco had to wonder how she mustered the enthusiasm for even that.
Christmas morning with his parents had never felt so quiet and small. It didn’t make any sense why, as when Draco was married that only added Astoria – one other person – to the celebrations. But last year had been full of excitement and energy, as Draco and his wife had opened gift after gift from the elder Malfoys that were really intended for the baby: little shirts and trousers, soft, airy gowns for sleeping, tiny socks and shoes, books up on books, and enough toys to practically fill a nursery. Conversation was never far from the topic of the child, and how weren’t they just so thrilled it was a boy (they were), and if they had picked a name yet (they had), and if Astoria was just so ready, at eight and a half months, for the baby to go ahead and come out (she was).
So maybe that’s what he was remembering, why that Christmas had felt so full. It wasn’t full of people. It was full of spirit, of happiness. This though, was altogether different.
“Draco,” his mother said, pulling his attention to her. “Would you like to open another?”
“Of course,” Draco said. He picked up a slim parcel wrapped expertly in gold paper (undoubtedly by one of the elves; Narcissa Malfoy didn’t do wrapping). Inside was a wooden box, and inside that was a quill.
“It’s self-correcting,” his mother told him. “I picked it out myself. It’s not like those cheap ones they sell at Flourish and Blott’s or other places. These are handcrafted and carry multiple, long-lasting charms to check spelling and neaten handwriting. I thought it might be useful to you, with all that marking you do these days.”
“Thank you, Mother,” Draco said, glad he could actually mean it. “That’s very thoughtful. I will put it to good use soon as soon as I get home.”
He snuck a glance at his father, who appeared to not be paying attention and was merely staring into the fire. Draco knew better though.
“Thank you, Father, for the quill,” Draco said, knowing, in the back of his mind, that he was asking for trouble.
Lucius turned his elegant head, his long, silver-blond hair swaying a little as he did. “It was not my doing.”
“Well, even so, it was your money that paid for it.”
“Draco,” his mother admonished softly. It was hardly polite to speak of money when exchanging gifts, but Draco found he didn’t care. He was watching his father.
“I’m just trying to demonstrate my gratitude,” he said. He wasn’t sure what made him want to bait his father like this; he never had in the past. He usually took the snide little comments about his insufficiencies the way a Malfoy son was supposed to, with aplomb and a mind to be better, more sufficient, in the future.
But he was quite tired of it. He was quite tired of a lot of things.
“And I am trying to demonstrate that your gratitude is ill-placed,” the Malfoy patriarch replied, returning his gaze to the fire.
“And why is that?”
“Because I would never choose to gift you with something so crass as a self-correcting quill, simply so you can be more efficient in your paltry choice of a career,” the man replied acidly, finally seeming to have snapped.
Draco clenched his teeth, feeling a powerful surge of anger come over him. Not for the comments about Draco’s career choice – those were hardly a surprise – but for the insult directed at his mother. He could see, as he glanced at her, that her cheeks had turned pink, and she looked away, no doubt embarrassed, and also likely hurt, by Lucius’ words. He stood.
“Well, I can see the festivities have come to a close,” he said. If he remained in the room much longer, there was a very good chance he would hex his father into oblivion, and that would rather ruin his mother’s Christmas, even if it made Draco’s more satisfying. He turned to his mother. “Thank you, Mother, for the quill. And for your graciousness, your generosity, and your thoughtfulness. It’s nice to see that someone in this house is living up to the name of Malfoy.” He saw his father’s mouth twist in a sneer out of the corner of his eye, and smirked openly. You see? he wanted to say to his father. I can do passive-aggressive insults as well as anyone. Aren’t you just so proud of me?
But he didn’t. He simply turned and left the room.
By the time he made it back to his bedroom he was vibrating with anger. His father had always been able to wind him up better than anyone – with the exception, perhaps, of Harry Potter, back in his youth – but he didn’t remember it ever being this bad. Whatever criticism he’d had of Draco, Lucius had always been loving and protective of Narcissa. Draco couldn’t understand what had changed; perhaps his parents were in the midst of some sort of row that put them at odds. He could readily admit that there was much about his parents’ marriage that he didn’t understand or wasn’t privy to.
He was so full of anger, in fact, that it took him a moment to realize that there was a gray eagle owl waiting for him on his writing desk. He stared at it a moment, wondering why it seemed familiar but not immediately recognizable. And then he understood. It was Harry’s owl – Demeter, he thought her name was – who he’d only seen a few times. His heart jumped in his chest, especially when he saw that the owl carried with her a small package that was addressed to him.
“Hello, Demeter,” he said to the creature, testing it out. It seemed his guess on the name was correct, because she hooted in a friendly way and stuck out her leg. Draco untied the package. “Perhaps you’d be so kind as to wait for me to write a reply?” he asked her as he gave her an owl treat.
She hooted again in what he assumed was agreement, taking the treat and flying to one of the bookshelves. He set the package aside and unrolled the letter.

Happy Christmas, Draco.
I’ve been thinking of you since you left yesterday, especially when George showed me this particular product that he’s just developed for his shop. It seemed apropos for your current situation. I’m about to head to the Burrow for Christmas morning celebrations but I wanted to send it now in the hopes you would receive it in enough time to make your own holiday more pleasant. I have other gifts for you when you return, of course, but this one seemed more urgent. It is more a gift for the whole family, really, so feel free to share.
A couple of drops in your father’s tea, for example, might do the trick.
The house is not nearly as interesting without you in it. I am already anticipating your return to me tomorrow, as I’ve composed a few lesson plans for us to go over. I have some new material that I believe you will find quite stimulating.
Until tomorrow.
Yours,
Harry

Draco smiled, finding his anger effectively driven out by curiosity and a general feeling of warmth rising up in him. His eyes lingered a few moments longer over Harry’s words, enjoying his subtle hints at their sexual escapades, before curiosity won out, and he reached for the package to open it.
It contained a small bottle of blue liquid, and he immediately recognized the label as being from the surviving Weasley twin’s joke shop. He let himself roll his eyes (Harry had sent him a gift from there, of all places?) but then read the label, seeing that the potion contained inside was something called “The Bully’s Demise” and appeared to be mainly targeted at children of Hogwarts age.
He turned the bottle over to read the other side, both skeptical and intrigued.
“Show that bully he’s full of hot air,” he read aloud softly to himself. “Torment your tormentors by adding this simple potion to any drink and watching the pyrotechnics.” He snorted to himself as he kept reading silently. Apparently, any drinker of this potion would be plagued with excessive flatulence every time they uttered a cruel word towards someone else.
He snorted. It was absurdly childish, fitting for a Hogwarts student, certainly. But did Harry really think that Draco would use something like this on his father, punish the man’s cruelty with… gas?
Though he couldn’t help reliving the snide comment Lucius had made only a few minutes ago and imagining what it would have been like if the insult had been followed by a sudden, loud breaking of wind. He snorted again, then giggled, then started laughing in earnest.
It was absurd, but perhaps that was the point. It made Lucius Malfoy’s words far less impressive than they had seemed at the time.
The point is to undermine the bully, not hurt them.
It was actually rather brilliant in its simplicity, but then, hadn’t the Weasley twins always had a knack for that? And Draco was beginning to think that Harry had not sent the bottle to him because he believed Draco would actually use the product, but rather because Draco would be undoubtedly entertained by the idea of using it. That alone was enough.
Draco chuckled some more and shook his head, placing the bottle on the desk. He glanced at Demeter, who was waiting patiently for him on the other side of the room, and grabbed a piece of parchment to write a reply.

Dear Harry,
A very Happy Christmas to you. What a thoughtful and suitable gift. It is a true friend who knows a man’s needs before he is aware of them himself.
I hope your time at the Burrow has been enjoyable. We have finished opening gifts here and are awaiting the serving of Christmas dinner. In the Malfoy household said meal is always an elaborate affair and enjoyed by all, though whether that will be the case this year remains to be seen. I suppose it depends on what we have to drink with it, and whether some of us accidentally drink something we didn’t intend to.

Draco paused, smiling to himself, then wondering if he was being too subtle for Harry to get the joke. He didn’t think so. He continued the letter.

Of course, a delicious meal is always made more enjoyable by pleasant company, but for that I’m afraid I must wait another day. A man can’t have everything he desires all at once, it seems.
And speaking of desires, I greatly look forward to reading the lesson plans you have composed. I always find your instruction very enlightening. I do, however, hope that we will be continuing our focus on practicum rather than theory. You know I always believe a student learns better by doing.
I remain, as always, your most eager student.
Until tomorrow,
Draco

He sent the letter off with Demeter, feeling considerably better than he had since arriving at his parents’ French estate. He found he had enough energy to do some more marking of his fourth years’ end-of-term exams.
“Tilly!” he called, and a house elf appeared.
“Young Master called?”
Draco rolled his eyes at the idea of being called “young master” but didn’t comment, instead asking the elf to fetch the self-correcting quill his mother had just given him for Christmas.
“And inform both of my parents that I have quite a lot of marking to do and it will take all of the afternoon. I will be available again when dinner is served.”
It was perfect. Now he had an excuse to not have to spend more time in their company than necessary, something he thought they all might appreciate right now.
He did mark exams for a while, and when he grew tired of that he read by the fire. Once he grew tired of that he simply stared off into the fire and thought about Harry and what fun, “stimulating” lessons the man would have in store for him when he returned to Grimmauld. He was quite looking forward to it. It would be much, much better than being here.
Tilly fetched him for dinner just as the sun was starting to set behind the mountains that he could see from his bedroom windows.
“Very good, Tilly,” he said. “I’ll be right down.”
On his way he passed his desk, where the little blue bottle of Bully’s Demise sat innocently on top of Harry’s folded letter. He picked it up and looked at it.
If only it were that easy. If only sneaking a few drops of this into his father’s wine and listening as he loudly and embarrassingly passed gas all night would actually be enough to shut him up once and for all.
Yes, it would be childish, Draco knew. But oh, so satisfying.
He left the bottle on the desk with a sigh and made his way toward the dining room. Narcissa and Lucius were already seated across from each other, leaving Draco to take a seat at the head of the table, between them.
“Nice of you to finally join us,” Lucius said as Draco made himself comfortable. “I didn’t realize marking would take you so long.”
“I teach seven years of Potions,” Draco said, aware that his tone was defensive. “And I gave all of my students exams at the end of the term, and I have to mark each and every one of them myself. It’s a lot of work.”
“I just thought,” Lucius said lightly, sipping on his wine, “when you made the choice to become a teacher you would have made sure you had the talent to be more efficient at it.”
Draco watched as his father drank more wine, imagining that he was drinking it laced with the potion. How long did it take the Bully’s Demise to start working, he wondered. Would he start breaking wind with the next insult, or would it take a while? He smiled to himself at the thought.
“Actually,” he said, turning to his mother, “now that I have that quill you gave me, I think I will be more efficient. I was using it just now and it worked beautifully.”
“I’m so glad,” Narcissa said, her hand lightly brushing over his. “I’d love to hear about some of your students. Do you have any favorites?”
“I do,” Draco said cheerfully, ignoring the way his father scowled behind his wine. “My NEWT students are fantastic, and I even have a fourth year who I’ve sort of taken under my wing. She’s really gifted; has the best intuition for Potions I’ve ever seen for someone her age.”
“The best you’ve ever seen, with all those years of teaching you’ve done,” Lucius said drily.
Draco breathed through the annoyance and imagined this dig being followed by an obvious toot of flatulence, which made him feel better. He actually had to suppress a laugh as he turned back to his mother. “Her name is Raisie McNeal. I’m told by other professors that she’s a strong student overall, but I think I can convince her to pursue a Potions mastery when she graduates. She seems very interested.”
“McNeal… I don’t recognize the name,” Lucius said, sounding suddenly suspicious. “Is she a half-blood?”
“Lucius,” Draco heard his mother say under her breath, almost inaudible.
“Muggleborn,” Draco said, smiling blandly at his father. “And a Gryffindor as well.”
He didn’t back down from his father’s icy stare. “I see. And I thought you couldn’t sink any lower.”
“She’s gifted,” Draco said lightly, pretending he didn’t understand his father’s disapproval. “Reminds me a bit of Hermione Granger, to tell you the truth. Though Miss McNeal doesn’t get in nearly as much trouble as Granger did. Of course, there’s also not a war on and secret Death Eater plots to thwart.”
The table was pervaded by silence, and Draco took a moment to savor it. He didn’t know why he was enjoying himself so much all of a sudden, but he rather was. Perhaps it was that every time his father said something awful he knew he could think of the Bully’s Demise and entertain himself instead of getting insulted. Or perhaps it was the thought of the Gryffindor he had waiting eagerly for him back at Grimmauld Place. Or maybe it was the fact that his parents really didn’t have any say in his life anymore. Draco was already lord of the Malfoy estate; it had passed to him when he married Astoria. They couldn’t disinherit him, and they couldn’t force him to get remarried to someone of their choosing. They couldn’t tell him where to go and what to do.
I’m free, he thought. I’m completely free and I never knew it until now.
***
By the time Draco was scheduled to leave the next afternoon, the elder Malfoys seemed well ready for him to go. Draco was all right with that. He certainly didn’t want to make his parents’ lives more difficult, but neither was he willing to sit around and be insulted or made to feel guilty anymore. The fact that he was no longer tolerating his father’s jibes, and was actually laughing at them instead meant that neither Lucius nor Narcissa really seemed to know what to make of him. It was as though they didn’t recognize him, and perhaps they didn’t.
He left with little more than a polite nod to his father and a kiss to his mother’s cheek. He promised to write her, at least, and keep her apprised of the goings-on at Hogwarts. She looked at him with sad eyes, and perhaps there was some disappointment in them as well. If there was, Draco could not feel remorse for it, not when he wasn’t really sorry.
There were a number of packages waiting for him when he arrived back at his estate, and the elves were eager to show him. He had gifts from Pansy, Theo, and Gideon, Greg Goyle, and just about every member of the Hogwarts staff. He opened them, delighted as he saw that he had received some of his favorite treats, including some bottles of Ogden’s, elven wine, and a box of fine Swiss chocolates. Apparently his friends and colleagues knew him well. Francesca had sent him wine as well, but it was a Chianti from her father’s estate, a 2003 vintage, just as she had promised. She’d included a very friendly note with it, hoping he had a lovely holiday and encouraging him to not let his parents ruin it for him. Draco smiled wistfully as he read it. She was proving herself to be a kind and thoughtful friend. He wished he wanted to sleep with her.
Oh well, he thought. She will make some other man very happy, I’m sure. He just wasn’t going to be that man. He unpacked and repacked his trunk with fresh clothes, and included some of the wine, including Francesca’s bottle, to share with Harry. Then he bid his elves goodbye and flooed to Grimmauld Place with a light heart.
He was going to see Harry again.
The house was quiet when he arrived; Harry was not in the sitting room waiting for him as he had been the first time. He swallowed disappointment at that (the man wasn’t required to sit around waiting for him like an eager krup, of course) and decided to go searching.
“Harry?” he called as he passed through the kitchen. No answer. He made his way to the front of the house and stopped at the bottom of the staircase. “Harry?” Perhaps he was upstairs, Draco thought, and couldn’t hear him.
He called once more in the second floor hallway and received a reply from the direction of the dreaded study.
Ah, he realized. Harry was cleaning.
He entered the room through the open door and saw Harry standing before a large cabinet with glass doors, his hands on his hips as he appeared to be contemplating the object. Funnily enough, Kreacher stood next to him in the exact same posture, as though deliberately imitating him, and Draco chuckled at the sight.
Harry turned and smiled at him.
“Hi.”
“Hello.” Draco approached, and Harry leaned in to kiss him in greeting. “What are you doing, exactly?” he asked when their lips parted.
“Contemplating the cabinet,” said Harry.
“Yes, I could see that much. But why?”
“Because there are some quite nasty things in there, and we’re trying to figure out how to get rid of them without also doing damage to the heirlooms within.”
“Master should be letting Kreacher draw them out,” the elf said. “And when they is attacking him, Master is taking the treasures and protecting them.”
“That’s not going to happen, Kreacher,” Harry said, with a patience in his tone that made it clear that they’d already had this argument many times. “I am not risking your life for the sake of a few trinkets.”
The elf shook his wrinkled little head as if this sentiment was absurd to him, which it likely was.
“Can I help?” Draco asked.
Harry shook his head. “I’m not risking your life either.”
“I hardly think whatever is in there will kill me. I’m quite a good wizard, you know.”
“And Kreacher is being a good elf,” the elf chimed in.
“I know,” Harry said with a smile to each of them. “But it’s not worth the risk, not to me. We don’t even know what’s in there. Let me run some more diagnostics first, then I’ll tackle it when I have the time.”
“On your own?” Draco asked, arching a brow. “I don’t think so.”
“Let’s worry about it later,” Harry said placatingly.
Draco and Kreacher exchanged a look, but didn’t argue. Instead they followed Harry out of the study. When they were in the hall Harry paused, letting Kreacher pass them and then grabbing Draco around the waist and pulling him close.
“Time for a proper greeting,” he murmured. His hands slipped into the back pockets of Draco’s trousers as his mouth captured Draco’s in a deep kiss.
Draco hummed happily. This was exactly what he had been craving while he was away. He let his hands roam, feeling the solid muscles of Harry’s back and shoulders.
“I’m glad you’re back,” Harry said as his mouth ventured across Draco’s jaw towards that sensitive spot right under his ear.
“Mm, me too,” said Draco, biting back a groan as Harry nipped at his skin, sending jolts of lust through him. I get two more weeks of this. That realization felt like its own gift.
Harry returned his lips to Draco’s for a few more languid kisses before pulling away just enough to see Draco’s whole face. “How did everything go, in the end? With your parents?”
Draco gave him a wry smirk. “It… went.”
“That bad, hm?”
“Actually… well… no, it wasn’t good, but… I’m not upset. I suppose I have you to thank for that, and your little gift.”
Harry laughed. “You didn’t actually use it, did you?”
“Of course not!” said Draco, offended. “But did I think about it? Yes. Yes I did.”
Harry laughed some more and kissed him again. “Come on, I’ll make some dinner. What would you like?”
“Well, I did get some very nice bottles of wine for Christmas. Perhaps we can make something that will go nicely with one of them.” He took Harry to his room and then extracted his trunk and reverted it to its normal size.
“Elven wine?” Harry asked as Draco opened it to look through what he had packed.
“Mostly. And this.” Draco held the bottle of Chianti out to him.
Harry took it, looking at the label briefly before shaking his head. “She really likes you.”
“Maybe,” said Draco, standing upright. “Or she just sent it because she promised. You know, that first night, at the staff social.” He watched Harry’s expression turn incredulous and then smiled. “Yes, all right. She fancies me quite a lot.”
“Makes me feel a bit guilty,” Harry admitted. “I knew she fancied you, and I slept with you anyway. She’s my friend and I don’t usually… go after people my friends fancy.”
Draco eyed him. “Do you regret it?”
Harry’s expression turned, if possible, even more sheepish. “Not for a moment.”
“Good. Because Francesca and I… it was never going to happen. And you and I… were… inevitable. So there’s no need to feel guilty.”
Harry stared at him, his eyes warm but the rest of him very difficult to read. After a moment he held up the bottle of wine. “This calls for Italian, then, don’t you think? I’m sure I have the ingredients for spaghetti Bolognese. It’s one of my favorites, and this wine will pair perfectly.”
Draco smiled. “That sounds lovely.”
Once in the kitchen Harry put on a record of someone called Dean Martin.
“I always play his music when I cook Italian,” Harry explained as Draco listened to the big, jazzy sounds of the band and Martin’s sultry voice. “It puts me in the right mood.” He opened the Chianti and poured them each half a glass to taste.
“Wow,” Draco said after he took his first sip of the ruby liquid. “That is delicious.” He was not very familiar with Italian wines, but after tasting this he was ready to learn a bit more. In fact, there were a number of things he wanted to learn from Harry. The list just kept growing.
“You can sit and relax, if you like,” Harry told him.
“Actually, I’d rather like to learn how to make spaghetti Bolognese, if you don’t mind showing me.”
Harry grinned widely. “Of course. This is actually the perfect dish to learn, if you’re a beginner.”
“Well, consider me a complete novice. Assume I know nothing.”
Harry kissed him. “I could never assume that. But I’ll talk you through it. First, we need onions and garlic.”
Soon he had Draco chopping veg, sautéing garlic, and spicing meat. All the while they sipped on their wine and listened to Martin serenade them over the phonograph. Harry sang along a bit, as usual, and moved to the music, and Draco just watched and laughed openly at him, which, of course, didn’t deter Harry a bit.
“That’s a job well done,” Harry said, tasting the sauce for the last time and declaring it perfectly seasoned. “We make a good team.”
“Let’s be honest; you did most of it,” said Draco. “But if you want to give me credit, I’ll take it.”
They sat down to dinner, large plates of spaghetti and little bowls of salads in front of them. They clinked their full glasses of wine and then dug in.
“This is my comfort food,” said Harry between rich bites of pasta. “The best thing for a cold winter night like this one.”
“Did you eat spaghetti as a child?” Draco asked him. He understood it was something Muggles ate regularly, and given that Harry was raised by Muggles, it was easy to imagine little Harry eating spaghetti with the same relish he was doing now.
“Every now and then,” Harry answered. He took a sip of wine. “So, what else did you get for Christmas?”
They compared gifts, and Harry told Draco about his time at the Burrow with the Weasleys. The family had grown considerably since their Hogwarts days, and now there were multiple grandchildren running around and filling the house with noise, Harry said.
“Sounds nice,” Draco said.
“It is, for about…” His head swayed, considering, “…four hours or so. Then it starts to wear on me. I like people, and I like children, but I need my space too, you know?”
“Sure.”
“I enjoyed it more back when we were at Hogwarts, the chaos of the Weasleys. Now I like smaller celebrations. Ron, Hermione, and I usually slip out after the early supper, grab a drink together. Though, this time, Hermione was just sipping pumpkin juice, given that she’s expecting in May.”
“Granger’s pregnant.”
“Yep,” said Harry. "I’m going to be a godfather. Well… I’m already a godfather, obviously, with Teddy and all. But I’m going to be one again.”
“That’s great news.” He waited for the bitter taste in his mouth, the churning of jealousy in his gut, but it didn’t come. Weasley was going to be a father, he and Granger were happy together, and they both got to be best friends with Harry Potter. He would have expected himself to be jealous, but he wasn’t.
Maybe things really are getting better for me.
“It is. I’m really happy for them. But it will change things between us,” Harry said. “I’m… mentally preparing myself for that.”
“Some things will change, yes. But they’ll never stop caring about you,” said Draco.
“I know that.”
“Things got a bit strange with Pansy and me, when she had her son, especially after… you know… Astoria…”
“Yeah.”
“But, in the end, it doesn’t matter that we’re in different places in our lives. She’s too important to me to let our friendship slip away, you know?”
Harry took another sip of wine and thought that over. “Of course,” he said. “That’s true.”
Draco moved on to his salad, enjoying the garlicky, vinegary dressing that Harry had whipped up for them. “Besides, holidays and birthdays with a pregnant woman are fun. I’m sure Hermione got all sorts of clothes and toys and other things for the baby.”
“Some. Although she hadn’t announced it to the whole family yet, only some people. She’ll be getting more when they have their shower in March.”
“Ah, yes, of course.”
“But Molly and Arthur did give her and Ron some things. Wee socks and a couple of hats that Molly knitted. And the tiniest little jumper you’ve ever seen.”
Draco smiled wistfully and ate his salad.
“Draco?”
“Hm?”
“Are you sure your holiday was all right?”
Draco looked at him. “My father is a bastard. So, given that, it was fine.”
“Has he… always been that way?”
Draco arched a brow. “You know him. You already know he has.” Harry didn’t say anything, and Draco sighed. “I don’t know if it’s that he’s gotten worse, or if I’ve just gotten… sensitive. But he’s really bitter, contemptuous even. He hates that I got divorced. I mean, he just… hates it. He’s angry at me for going through with it. He’s angry that the son wasn’t mine, as if that was my fault.” He looked down into his nearly empty salad bowl. “For a while I thought it was my fault too, you know. I kept going over in my head what I could have done to keep her faithful to me, what must I have done to drive her to another man’s arms. But the more I think about it… the more I remember… You know, I really think I was a good husband. I wasn’t perfect, and the marriage was awkward at first, because it was arranged. But I did grow to love her, and I told her so all the time, and I treated her like a bloody princess. And she still went and fucked my best friend and didn’t even have the common decency to use effective protection. So I don’t know what my father is so bloody angry at me for. I’m trying not to let it upset me, and it’s getting a lot easier. But it still… frustrates me, I suppose.”
Harry was silent for a while and Draco swirled his wine around in the glass, wondering if his little rant had ruined the mood. But then Harry spoke.
“Do you think a part of him is angry at himself? Do you think maybe he feels guilty?”
Draco glanced up to find the brunet looking contemplative. “For what?”
“Isn’t he the reason you married Astoria in the first place?”
“Yes. He and my mother, and the Greengrasses.”
“So, in a sense, he’s as responsible for your failed marriage as you are.”
“He may have arranged it, but it was my duty as a Malfoy to keep her-“
“And it was his duty as a Malfoy to make sure the wife he selected for his son was a good and honorable one, right?”
Draco stared at him.
“I mean, let me know if I have it wrong, since I know nothing about pureblood traditions and arranged marriages. But it seems to me that if he was so invested in picking your spouse for you and in you having what you needed to keep your marriage intact and healthy, then he should have put in a little more effort. Sounds to me like you did everything he wanted. You did everything right. So he was the one who failed you.”
“It’s not his fault. There was no indication that Astoria would betray me like this. It was no one’s fault but hers.”
Harry smiled at him. “So you don’t blame your father?”
“No, I don’t,” he said honestly. “I just wish he would stop being so angry. I wish he would choose to be happy again.” Lucius had been happy, once. When Draco was married and had a son on the way, Lucius Malfoy was happy.
“I think, when he’s forgiven himself for what he thinks he’s done, he will,” said Harry.
Draco wasn’t sure what to say to that. Was Harry right? Was Lucius angry at himself and just taking it out on his wife and son? He wasn’t sure. The man had always been an enigma to Draco.
“Can I ask you something?” Harry broke the silence.
“Sure.”
“You talk a lot about Astoria and what she did. Not too much, I’m not saying that. I just mean that when you do bring up your divorce she’s the one you talk about. She’s the one you blame. But you hardly ever talk about Zabini.”
Draco stared at him. “That’s true.”
“I just wondered why. I mean, he was as responsible as she was. He knew she was your wife. He betrayed you too.”
“I don’t…” Draco really thought about it for a moment. “I don’t like to think about him if I can help it.”
Harry nodded soberly. “Yeah.” He finished his wine. “Yeah. Betrayal by a lover, a spouse, would be bad enough. But a best mate… they’re the ones who are supposed to be there when things fall through. He was the one who was supposed to be there for you when your marriage ended, not be the cause of it.”
“Yeah,” said Draco, swallowing. “That’s about the size of it.”
Harry huffed a laugh suddenly. “I’m sorry. I’ve put us in quite a mood, haven’t I?”
“It’s all right,” said Draco. “The holidays have a way of making us melancholy, I think.”
“Too true. But let’s talk about something else. Something better.”
“Like what?”
“Like the lesson I have planned for us tonight,” Harry said, a familiar grin splitting his face.
Draco licked his lips and tried to look demure, mostly because he knew how much Harry liked it. “And what would that be, then, Professor?”
Harry watched Draco’s mouth as he took his last sip of wine. “How much experience do you have with simultaneous oral reciprocation?”
***
“I’ve got you in six.”
Harry glanced up from the chess board to give Draco a skeptical glare. “Why do experienced chess players always say things like that, about how many moves are left in the game?”
“Because that’s how many moves there are left. For me, anyway.”
“How do you know that? You can’t possibly know that. I think you’re just saying it to sound smart.”
Draco snorted. “I’m not. I can see what you’re going to do next, and I know what move I’ll make after that, and I know how you’ll react…”
“You can’t know. Not really. Not until it’s happened.”
“I know the most logical course of action for you to take. So I’m making an educated guess,” Draco explained.
“Ah,” said Harry holding up a finger. “And therein lies the rub. What if I don’t take the most logical course of action? What if I make a move you don’t expect?”
“You mean what if you do something entirely illogical?”
“Yes, exactly.”
Draco thought about that. “Like if you moved your queen’s castle across the board to sit in front of my pawn and get taken, or something?”
“Right. Like that. You wouldn’t be expecting it.”
“No, I wouldn’t. Because that move would be very stupid. I would just take your castle, meaning that you would lose faster.”
Harry crossed his arms. “Hmph.” He directed his knight to attack Draco’s last remaining bishop, which, of course, Draco saw coming. He moved his castle into position to take Harry’s queen two moves from now, then waited for Harry to take his turn. “I’m just not sure I see the point in playing,” Harry said, his eyes skimming the board, “if you can predict every move I’m going to make and then counteract that move. I’ll never win, because I’m not as good at predicting those things as you are.”
“I thought losing didn’t bother you.”
“It doesn’t,” Harry said calmly. “But it still makes me wonder what the point of it is.”
“Then why do you keep offering to play with me?” They’d played chess once almost every day that Draco had been staying at Grimmauld so far. And now he had been there for nearly two weeks, all told.
Harry looked up, giving him a lopsided smile. “Because I like watching you while you play.”
Draco felt his face flush and rolled his eyes. “Are you going to move or not?”
Harry winked at him. “Knight to D7.”
Draco then took Harry’s queen’s side castle, and Harry huffed. “Great. You’re after my queen.”
Draco chuckled. “Aren’t I always?”
“Queen to…” Harry trailed off, looking around the board. “Bugger,” he said. “I can’t move her. You’ve backed me into a trap.”
“Yes, I know,” Draco said smugly, while Harry’s queen yelled at him that she’d been trying to warn him of this all along, and how he never listened.
It was true that Harry never listened to his chess pieces. He claimed he found them too distracting, as they were always yelling at him and trying to save their own skins. Draco didn’t have the same problem; his pieces trusted him implicitly, probably because he always won.
“I always figured you’d see the value in chess,” Draco commented, “given that you had to fight and win a war. And I imagine dueling and other aspects of being an Auror also involve strategizing. You know, moves and countermoves.”
“Maybe for some,” said Harry, finally moving his queen, though he knew it was futile. Draco took her with his pawn. “But I always just operate on instinct. I react to what’s in front of me.”
“And that works for you?”
“Most of the time. I did win a war, didn’t I?”
Draco conceded the point silently.
“In my experience, human behavior is not like chess at all. People do things you never expect all the time. You can’t always assume you know what will happen next. You have to stay on your toes.”
“I can see how that would be true,” Draco replied. “But you can make educated guesses a lot of the time, can’t you?” He moved his castle. “Check.”
Harry sighed and moved his king. “Sometimes. But you can’t rest on the certainty that your guesses are correct. Because you always get that one insane wizard who, when cornered, tries to curse your nose off instead of doing something more practical, more rational, to try and escape.”
Draco looked at Harry, confused. “That's awfully specific. That happened to you, when you were an Auror?”
“Yes. It was a dark wizard who’d been placing curses on books and then hiding them in libraries, just to watch people suffer. He was a bastard, but he was hardly stupid. When we cornered him, I expected him to try and blast his way through, take out as many Aurors as he could, or Apparate, or something. But he didn’t. He just tried to curse my nose off, I guess because I was closest. Luckily I put up a shield in time, and the other Aurors took him while he was distracted. Then they hauled him back to the Ministry. I was so confused at the time, about why he decided to use that curse, which he had to know wouldn’t actually let him escape. So later, during an interrogation, I asked him about it. And do you know what he told me?”
“What?” Draco asked, after directing his knight where it needed to go.
“He told me it was the only thing he could think of, in the heat of the moment. Surrounded by six Aurors, with very little hope of escape, with all the evidence in the world against him… he panicked, and couldn’t think of anything except the curse to blast someone’s nose off. So he tried to blast my nose off. It didn’t make any sense; it was completely random… but it’s what he thought of.”
“Hm,” said Draco. “That is quite illogical.”
“Yes. Because the world isn’t some giant chess board. People don’t all follow the same rules, or think in the same way, or even think at all, some of the time. And that’s not even accounting for all the crazy things that just happen for no reason.” He moved, exactly where Draco assumed he would. Draco’s mouth was just opening to command his knight when Harry spoke again. “It’s how I defeated Voldemort, you know. By doing things he never expected.”
Draco closed his mouth and swallowed. “Yeah?”
Harry nodded. “By befriending house elves, and sparing the lives of his allies so they owed me life debts, and using the disarming charm on him instead of trying to kill him outright,” He paused, his gaze flicking to Draco briefly. “By sacrificing myself.”
Draco closed his eyes, remembering that moment, the moment the Dark Lord announced that Harry Potter was dead, the moment all hope was lost.
“Things he would never do, that he would never even think to do,” Harry went on. He met Draco’s eyes. “I’m not saying I did it alone, and I’m not saying that a lot of it wasn’t because of the plan Dumbledore put in motion from the time I was a child, but I did do it, in the end. And it wasn’t because everything went according to plan, because a lot of it didn’t. It was because I didn’t follow his rules. That’s how I beat him.”
Draco stared at him, taking that in, and Harry looked back at him, waiting for him to respond, or perhaps just waiting for the final blow that would mean the end of the game. Draco’s gaze returned to the board. “Knight to E2,” he said. “Checkmate.”
“I suppose that’s why I’ve never got very good at chess,” Harry said with a sigh, watching as his king removed his crown and bowed in defeat. “I don’t work well within a strict set of rules.”
“So you work better in the real world,” Draco said with a shrug. “That’s hardly a bad thing.”
Harry gave him a small smile. “True.”
A pleasant chime suddenly rang out, and Harry’s head snapped up and turned towards the sound.
“Is that the floo?” Draco asked him.
“No,” said Harry, his brow furrowed. “It’s the doorbell.”
“Oh. Are we expecting company?”
Harry shook his head. “Of course not. I mean, you’re here, and I know you don’t want anyone to see you. Besides which, pretty much anyone I know who would come for a visit would use the floo.”
“Who would use the front door?”
Harry blinked slowly, thinking. “Someone who has permission to come through my wards, but who doesn’t have the means to use the floo,” he said finally, a grave realization in his voice.
“You know who it is.”
“Yes,” Harry said, his eyes closing. “I think I do.” He stood and left the sitting room, making his way down the hallway towards the door. Draco wavered for a moment, not sure what to do. He was curious at what sort of person would elicit this reaction from Harry, but nervous about being seen by someone they knew. The curiosity won out when he decided that even if it was a witch or wizard who would recognize him, he could play off his presence at Grimmauld as a visit among friends, rather than lovers.
But the man at the door was not someone Draco immediately recognized. He was tall and hulking, with straw blond hair and wary blue eyes. He was staring at Harry with an expression that spoke of a long and complicated relationship.
An old lover, perhaps? Draco wondered. When he looked at Harry, though, he didn’t think that was it. The brunet’s expression was one of tolerance and resignation.
“Dudley,” Harry greeted the man.
“Hullo, Harry,” the man, Dudley, replied.
“It’s been a while. What brings you here?”
The man looked at Harry a moment. “Maybe I should have called first. But I… need to talk to you about something. It’s not something that can wait.”
Harry sighed. “It’s all right. You can, um… yeah. Come on in.”
The blond man nodded and stepped into the house, looking around cautiously, like something was going to jump out at him any second. He spotted Draco and gave him a surprised raise of the eyebrows, then nodded politely. Draco returned the nod.
“Dudley,” Harry said after he’d closed the front door. “This is a friend of mine, Draco Malfoy. He’s been visiting over the holidays. Draco, this is my cousin, Dudley Dursley.”
His cousin. That made sense of some things. Not a lover or a friend, but someone close enough to Harry to have permission to pass through the wards. And a Muggle, meaning he didn’t use the floo.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Draco said.
“Yeah, you too,” the man grunted. He looked at Harry, leaning and saying, in a sort of faux whisper, “Is he, you know, a friend, or a… friend?”
Harry snorted and rolled his eyes. “You mean a friend who I sleep with?” He looked at Draco, who was too surprised to react, at first. Then he shrugged at Harry, unsure. It was unlikely this Muggle cousin would go spreading rumors. He would trust Harry’s judgment. “Yeah, he’s a friend I sleep with,” said Harry, turning back to his cousin. “Is that a problem?” There was a sudden challenge in his voice, but the cousin didn’t react defensively, only dispassionately.
“No,” he said. “It’s not a problem.”
“Good,” Harry said curtly, turning. “I’ll get us some tea, then.”
Dudley Dursley exchanged a look with Draco, then followed Harry down the hall towards the kitchen.
“Kreacher!” Draco heard Harry call. “Make us some tea, would you?” Though it was worded like a request, the tone itself had an edge of command that Draco had never heard Harry use with the elf before. He reemerged from the kitchen and looked from Draco to Dursley, his face a mask of blankness. “My house elf is making tea. We can have it in the sitting room.” He gestured for them to follow him.
A strange tingle ran up Draco’s spine as he walked behind the two men, as Harry settled Dursley in an armchair and then invited Draco to join him on the sofa. It was as though Draco had stepped sideways and somehow fallen into a pensieve memory, or something like it. The air was thick with a history Draco had no part in. He’d never felt more like a visitor since entering Grimmauld than in this moment, someone intruding, but unobtrusively, on the scene, a witness rather than a participant. He remained quiet as Harry made small talk with Dursley.
“How’s Allison?”
“Really good. Excited.”
“About the wedding?”
“Yeah,” Dursley grunted. “Which reminds me.” He reached around to where he had draped his coat on the back of the armchair, pulling an envelope out of one of the pockets. He held it out to Harry. “We’ve moved up the date of the wedding. It’s to be in June now.”
“June? That soon?” Harry said, taking the envelope and opening it. He glanced briefly at the card inside before sliding it back in.
Dursley nodded. “That’s the new Save the Date card. Mum thought I ought to hand-deliver it, as she never trusts the postman to be able to deliver here.”
“My postbox functions like anyone else’s,” Harry told his cousin, sounding half amused, half exasperated. “I can receive Muggle – you know, normal – post.”
“I’ve tried to explain that to her already. But you know how she is.” The man smirked, but in a strangely apologetic way, and Draco saw Harry’s shoulders relax a little.
“Yes, I do know.”
Kreacher came in then, floating a tray of tea and biscuits onto the low table in front of them. Dursley watched the elf warily, seeming not unfamiliar with him, but hardly comfortable either.
“Shall Kreacher be serving his master and Mr. Malfoy and the Muggle their tea?” the elf asked Harry, but Harry quickly waved a hand.
“That’s not necessary, Kreacher, thank you,” he said, his tone nearly back to the normal, kind one he always used with the elf. “We’ll serve ourselves.”
Kreacher didn’t argue, but instead shot a scathing glance at Dursley before turning away and heading back towards the kitchen, mumbling under his breath as he went.
Harry poured everyone some tea. “Milk and sugar?” he offered his cousin.
“Yeah, thanks,” Dursley replied before doctoring his tea accordingly.
Harry turned to Draco, but before Harry could ask Draco told him, “I’m going to have mine black today, thanks.”
Harry smiled softly, then reached out and gave Draco’s knee a gentle squeeze. The gesture spoke volumes, Draco thought, including that Harry was still glad Draco was here with him, though the circumstances had become rather strange.
“So, is this why you came by?” Harry asked Dursley, holding up the envelope. “To deliver this?”
“No,” said Dursley. “There’s something else.”
“All right.”
Dursley cast Draco a furtive glance but didn’t comment on his presence, returning his gaze to Harry. “It’s Dad. He’s ill.”
Harry sat back against the sofa, taking that in. “It’s serious?”
“Very. It’s cancer… hepatic, they call it, which means it’s in his liver. Or, that’s where it originated. It’s actually…” Dursley set his tea down. “It’s all very widespread, at this point. And treatment isn’t really working.”
“They’ve been doing chemotherapy?” Harry asked, his voice flat, devoid of emotion.
“They did that first; surgery wasn’t an option, because it had already spread. And chemo didn’t work so they tried something else. I can’t remember it all.”
“Radiation, maybe.”
“Immuno-something. I don’t know.”
Draco, though he didn’t follow much of what they were saying, understood enough to know that something was quite wrong with Harry’s uncle. Draco could only assume, given that he hadn’t heard of any other Muggle relatives of the Gryffindor, that it was the uncle who had raised him, and the blond man sitting here now was the cousin Harry had grown up with.
“I’m sorry, Dudley,” Harry said, closing his eyes. “This is why you’re moving the wedding up, I assume?”
Dursley nodded. “They’re trying everything they can, but the outlook isn’t good. Six to eight months, they think, unless something really turns around for him with the treatment. So we’re…” He paused, fidgeting with his hands. “We decided we’d rather have a smaller, simpler ceremony with him there than have him… miss it.”
“That’s understandable,” said Harry. “How’s your mum?”
“Not good. I mean, she’s… coping. But it’s been hard.”
“Yeah.” Harry’s voice wasn’t flat anymore, but Draco couldn’t make out exactly what it was. There was too much buried in there for him to distinguish. It would make sense for Harry to be upset; this was his surrogate father they were talking about. Then again, Harry hadn’t even known the man was ill before now, and it sounded like he had been ill for a while. Draco didn’t really know what to make of it, or what his role should be here. So he decided to just follow his instincts, reaching out and placing a hand lightly on Harry’s knee. Harry put a hand over his and held him there. Dursley’s eyes flicked towards the movement, his gaze impassive as he stared at their joined hands, before he looked into Harry’s face again.
“I have something to ask of you.”
Harry went very still. “All right…”
“I’d like for you to…” He cleared his throat. “We’d like for you to come see him. You know, talk to him.”
Harry’s hand tightened on Draco’s. “Who’s ‘we?’”
Dursley stared at his cousin, a vein in his large jaw twitching.
“You know why I’m asking, right?” Harry continued, when Dursley didn’t say anything. “Because if he doesn’t want me there-“
“He doesn’t know what he wants,” Dursley cut him off.
“Oh, I think he’s always been pretty clear about it,” Harry replied, and though his tone was mild there was something in it, barely discernable, that made Draco rub his thumb across Harry’s knee as his hand rested there, offering comfort.
Dursley sighed and took a sip of his tea, putting the mug down forcefully enough that it rattled. Harry didn’t flinch, only watched him.
“If you don’t come now, if you don’t talk to him now, then there probably won’t be another chance. This is it.”
Harry took a while to answer, fingering the handle of his mug, taking a sip of tea, and fingering the handle some more, before finally speaking. “I understand. But I don’t see it as up to me. If he doesn’t want to talk to me, then-“
“If you came, what choice would he have?”
Harry shook his head in disbelief. “You know full well that Vernon Dursley will do whatever damn well pleases Vernon Dursley, and there’s nothing either of us can do about it.”
“Harry-“
“He won’t apologize,” Harry said, his voice rising enough to cut the other man off. “He has no interest in apologizing. He has no interest in making amends. That’s what you want-“
“I thought you did too,” Dursley replied, his eyes blazing at Harry.
“I told you I was open to it,” the brunet said. “But there’s no point if he won’t.... If he can’t apologize, if he can’t even admit-“ Harry stopped himself, swallowing, gripping Draco’s hand hard. “There’s no point, Dudley.”
“I think if you came and he saw you he would change his mind,” the blond man insisted.
“Fucking hell, Dudley,” Harry said, rubbing a hand through his hair enough that they looked like the unruly locks of yesteryear. “Why do you want this? Why do you want this for him when he doesn’t even want it himself?”
Dursley looked at his cousin for a long moment, his eyes softening into sadness. “You know why,” he said quietly.
Harry rested his forehead against his hand, staring at the floor. “Fuck,” he whispered.
Draco glanced past Harry and saw that Dursley was looking at him, trying to communicate something with his eyes. Draco thought he understood. This was family business, and Harry and Dursley had things to say to each other that they likely didn’t want Draco to be privy to.
“Harry,” Draco said softly, squeezing his knee. “Maybe I should…”
Harry looked at him and blinked. “Draco,” he said, sighing. “I’m sorry. Yeah, um… could you give us a few minutes?”
“It’s fine. I’ll be in the front parlor if you need me.” He made to stand, but Harry held onto him, keeping him there.
To his surprise, Harry gripped his neck and planted a firm kiss on his mouth. “Thank you,” he said quietly when he pulled away.
“Of course,” Draco said, feeling odd and a bit out of his body. Still, he managed to stand and walk towards the door. He spared a glance for Dursley, whose own surprise was still evident on his face, but who nodded to him in thanks anyway.
So, Draco thought as he made his way to the front of the house, the cousin at least had accepted Harry’s sexuality. The uncle, it seemed, hadn’t, or that was Draco’s best guess. Harry and this Vernon Dursley had obviously had some sort of falling out over it that the Dursley son wanted them to overcome. He could see why it was a fraught situation and why Harry was upset over it. Draco just hoped, when this was over and Dursley had left, that Harry would give Draco some clue as to how to help him. This was entirely new territory for him.
He settled himself on a loveseat in the front parlor and summoned a book from his room. It was hard to stay focused on his reading, though, as his ears kept straining to hear when the two men would be done with their conversation. He thought he heard raised voices a couple of times, but didn’t get up to investigate. Harry could handle himself just fine, and it wasn’t Draco’s business, not really.
Only… well, he was sleeping with Harry. He was staying at his house and spending a great deal of time with him. That didn’t make them boyfriends but it did make them lovers, and… friends. And friends helped each other through things like this, didn’t they?
Especially since I myself know plenty about feeling rejected by a father figure. Harry was so self-possessed and confident that Draco never would have guessed he’d ever faced that kind of rejection. Apparently Draco had more in common with Harry than he realized.
“Would Mr. Draco Malfoy be liking more tea?”
Draco was pulled from his thoughts by Kreacher’s question. He looked up to see the elf standing in the doorway.
“No, thank you, Kreacher, I’m fine.”
“Mr. Malfoy left his cup of tea with Master and the Muggle,” Kreacher said. “He is to be needing more.”
“I really didn’t need it at all, to tell you the truth,” Draco said. “I was just drinking it because Harry was serving it.”
The elf stood and blinked at him slowly.
“Does he come around often?” Draco asked him. “Dursley, I mean.”
“Sometimes the Muggle is visiting in the summer,” the elf replied. “Sometimes he is bringing his Muggle mother as well.”
Harry’s aunt, then. “But Harry’s uncle never comes, obviously.”
The elf shook his head violently. “He is being the worst of all Muggles. They is all being nasty Muggles, but he is being the worst. When they is talking of the Muggle uncle on their visits it is always making Master upset. When they is visiting Master is always being a little upset. He is not being himself.”
“Hm.” There was obviously more to this than Draco understood at the moment. He wished he knew more, at least enough to be able to help Harry.
There were sounds of heavy footsteps in the hall, and Draco put down his book and stood. Dursley appeared then, making for the front door, but he stopped when he saw Draco. They stood there a moment.
“I’m sorry about your father,” Draco said, because well, even though he didn’t really know this man, that was the sort of thing you were supposed to say.
“Thank you,” Dursley said. He lingered, fiddling with his black wool coat. “How well do you know Harry? How long have you two been together?”
We’re not together, Draco almost said, before realizing that that would require quite a long explanation, one he hardly owed to Dudley Dursley. “We’ve only been together a few months, but we’ve known each other a long time. Not as long as you’ve known him, obviously. But we went to school together. At Hogwarts. And we teach there together now.”
Dursley nodded. “Right. Well, then maybe you can talk some sense into him. He doesn’t…” He sighed. “We do our best, Harry and I, but stuff like this… He’s not going to do it just because I asked him. He has to have a good reason. He has to have someone who he trusts, who he’ll really listen to.” He looked at Draco, his eyes suddenly pleading. “So maybe you could… you know…”
“That’s not how it works, I’m afraid,” Draco said, straightening his posture. “I’ll be supporting Harry in whatever he wants to do. I won’t be talking him into anything.” He doubted he could convince Harry even if he tried; the man was incredibly obstinate when he wanted to be. But that wasn’t even the point. The point was that even if he could, he wouldn’t. He didn’t know what had happened between Harry and his uncle, but it seemed to him that Harry had a good reason for refusing to see him. He trusted Harry to make that call for himself.
“It’s serious between the two of you, then, I suppose,” Dursley said.
Draco was temporarily floored by that assumption, and didn’t reply.
“I’ve never seen him look at anyone like how he looks at you. And you’re here for the holiday. I don’t think he’s ever… well… it just seems that way.”
“It’s new,” Draco said, equivocating.
Dursley snorted. “That doesn’t matter. A lot can happen in a few months. I would know. My fiancée, Allison… I knew I wanted to marry her after three dates.”
Draco sighed internally. He wasn’t about to explain how off the mark Dursley was, how different the situation was in so many ways. “In the end, it doesn’t matter how new or how serious it is between us,” Draco says. “Because Harry… What it comes down to is that Harry is the best person I know. He’s helped me through a lot, saved me in more ways than one. And he deserves someone who will stand by him, who will take care of him as well as he has always taken care of others. That’s all I’m trying to do.”
Dursley took a step forward, leaning in. “Believe it or not, that’s what I’m trying to do too. Maybe it doesn’t seem like it, but… it is what I’m trying to do. That, and trying to finally get some absolution for my father, after… everything. And I don’t know how else to do it.”
Draco nodded. “I do believe you. But you’re torn between Harry and your father, understandably. And I… I’m just here for Harry.”
Dursley sighed. “Right.” He took a step back, taking some gloves out his pocket and putting them on. “Well, I tried.”
“Yeah.”
“He’s still in the sitting room. I think he… wants you there.”
“All right.”
The man held out a gloved hand. “It was nice to meet you. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again. Perhaps you’ll join Harry at the wedding in June.”
Draco took the hand and shook it once. “It was nice to meet you as well,” he said. “Happy New Year.”
Dursley nodded. “You too.” And he was gone.
Draco did find Harry in the sitting room, standing in front of the windows, staring out into the back garden.
“Harry?”
The brunet didn’t reply. His posture was stiff, his arms crossed over his chest, and when Draco got close enough to see his face, he noticed the hard set of his jaw, the grim line of his mouth, and eyes that were staring at nothing.
What did a person say at a time like this? He had no idea if Harry wanted comfort, or reassurance, or validation for his decision. Did he need someone to listen or did he simply need a distraction? Did he want to be alone? His face and body gave nothing away.
Realizing he had no words to offer, Draco merely reached out, placing a tentative hand on Harry’s back, between his shoulder blades. Harry let out a breath and closed his eyes, and Draco took that as a good sign. He moved closer, behind Harry, wrapping both arms around his waist. When Harry didn’t tense or push him away he moved closer still, until Harry’s back was molded to Draco’s front. Then Draco stood there, holding Harry firmly - but not too tight - and waited.
The brunet let out another deep breath and Draco felt him melt and soften against him. Harry’s arms came to rest on top of Draco’s where they were around his waist, and Draco kissed him gently behind his ear.
Harry hummed, and Draco found himself smiling. No, he didn’t have any words, but he had this to give, and this, he thought, was enough. He rested his chin on Harry’s shoulder and they stood that way for long minutes, both staring out now into the overgrown garden that was dusted with the frost of winter and glinting as thin icicles refracted the afternoon light.
Finally, Harry turned, staying close enough that when they were face to face there were mere inches between them. His face was relaxed now and his eyes a deep, tranquil green.
“What can I do?” Draco asked softly.
Harry kissed him instead of answering. Or perhaps that was his answer. The kiss was slow but consuming, and when Draco opened his mouth to it Harry slipped his tongue inside. Hands roamed down Draco’s back and pulled him closer, and when they cupped his arse and squeezed, Draco understood exactly where Harry wanted to go with this.
Well, he could go with that too. If that was what Harry needed, he would happily provide it.
“Hold onto me,” Harry whispered against his lips, and Draco was about to ask why when Harry suddenly turned them on the spot, and Draco was squeezed through space as they Apparated together.
It took a moment to get oriented, to realize they were in Harry’s bedroom, but once he got his bearings he found Harry’s mouth again, kissing him for all he was worth. He didn’t even miss a beat when his and Harry’s clothes suddenly vanished – Harry’s doing, no doubt – and their warm skin was pressed together.
All right, so Harry was in a hurry. Draco could go with that too.
They tumbled onto the bed, Draco on top, and the blond immediately put his mouth on that beautiful, scarred body, starting with the neck. Harry arched in pleasure as Draco’s mouth descended lower, down the collarbone to one of Harry’s peaked nipples. He wrapped his lips around it, sucking hard, and Harry groaned.
“What do you want, Harry?” Draco asked in a breathy whisper. “I’ll do whatever you want me to. Just tell me.”
Harry didn’t answer right away, so Draco had it in mind to give him some ideas. His mouth traveled down Harry’s abdomen, nipping as he went, making for the always-sensitive skin of Harry’s hips, and the cock that was already hardening and waiting for attention.
But Harry grabbed him around the bicep and pulled, bringing their faces level again. Draco stared at Harry in confusion as the brunet searched his face with darting eyes.
“Fuck me.”
There was a light buzzing in Draco’s ears, suddenly, and he had to blink and shake his head slightly to clear it. “What?”
“You heard me,” Harry said, his mouth twitching. “I want you to fuck me.”
Draco stared down at his lover, his body screaming, Yes, yes, Merlin, yes! while his brain contended with the timing of the request and its implications.
“I know you want to,” Harry said, his voice almost a challenge. “I know you’ve been waiting for this. I know how much you’ve been thinking about it.”
Draco swallowed, not bothering to argue that point. Harry had that mysterious sexual Legilimency, after all. He had to know how much Draco had fantasized about being inside Harry from the moment they’d started this arrangement. “It’s not about what I want right now,” he said.
Harry hooked his ankles around the backs of Draco’s thighs and arched against him. “It’s about what we both want. And you want to fuck me, and I want you to fuck me.”
Well, when he put it like that…
But Draco still shook himself, knowing that if he didn’t get undeniable confirmation that they would both regret it. “Are you sure, Harry? This isn’t some… this is something you already decided you wanted, and not just because of… everything that happened today, right?”
“You mean because my uncle is dying and my cousin wants me to go see the man who was second only to Voldemort in his absolute and complete hatred of me? It’s ok, Draco,” he said, when the blond stared down at him in disbelief. “Let’s call it what it is. Yeah, I’ll admit, I’m a little… mixed up at the moment, but not about this. I’ve been wanting this, thinking about this, for a while. I wasn’t sure how I wanted to do it, how I wanted to approach it, but right now… I’ve decided that I want myself a nice… hard… pounding.” He arched against Draco again, making him gasp. “So, are you going to give it to me?”
Draco stared at him some more, looking for any trace of doubt. But Harry’s eyes were clear and determined, his skin flushed a dusty rose in arousal, and his hard and weeping cock digging imploringly into Draco’s bare hip. And so Draco made his choice.
“You’ll have to help me, you know. I still need… guidance.”
“Of course,” said Harry. “That’s half the fun.”
His face broke into a smile, and Draco grinned back. “Still,” he said. “Let’s see if I can use what I’ve learned first.”
“All right…”
“You need to be prepared. Which means I need lube.”
Harry’s smile widened. “Very good. You know how to do this. You’ve just got to be more… thorough than usual. Stretch me wide.”
Draco conjured the lube and set to work, Harry’s arse familiar territory by now. One finger was quickly replaced by two, and he scissored and pumped, watching Harry’s face all the while. Harry stared up at him and smiled, and when Draco brushed his prostate the first time, he let out a delighted cry, almost like a laugh.
“Three fingers now,” he said. Draco added a third finger, and Harry breathed through it, a soft smile still on his face. “Gods, Draco, I can’t wait to have your cock inside me. It’s been so long since I’ve been properly filled, you know?”
Draco groaned. “That’s what you want, Harry, for me to fill you up? Fill you with my cock?”
“And with your cum,” Harry replied, working himself against Draco’s fingers. “You have no idea how good it feels to be filled with hot cum.”
“Sweet Morgana, Harry,” Draco said, his voice half a warning. “If you keep talking like that while I’m fucking you, I’m not going to last long.”
Harry smirked at him. “I already asked for a nice hard pounding. You’re not going to last long anyway.” Draco laughed breathlessly. “But that’s all right. That’s what I want. If you can manage it, hold out until I come, though. That’s more for you than for me. It’s unbelievable, having an arse clench around you during an orgasm. You’re going to love it.”
“I want to come when you come,” Draco told him. Draco’d always had a thing for simultaneous orgasms, though he hadn’t given it much thought until he’d started sleeping with Harry and really had the chance to consider what he liked.
“Trust me, you will,” said Harry. “Mere seconds after.” He gripped Draco’s wrist. “I’m ready,” he said. “Time to lube yourself up.”
Draco extracted his hand from Harry, conjuring more lube. Harry rolled over onto his stomach, presenting his beautiful arse to Draco like an offering. Draco pumped his cock gently, not wanting to stimulate it too much. The sight of Harry ready and waiting for him was already a bit much to bear.
Harry turned his head to look at Draco over his shoulder, his eyes suddenly hot and needy as he said, “Go slow at first, for both our sakes. And when you’re fully inside, give me some time to adjust. I will quickly if you don’t move. I’ll tell you when I’m ready and then…” He licked his lips. “Fuck me hard, got it?”
Draco nodded, his stomach flipping and his heart pounding. “Got it.”
He moved closer, adjusting Harry’s legs wider, giving him better access to Harry’s entrance. Gripping his cock, he placed the head at Harry’s hole, teasing in and out a bit. Harry moaned eagerly and squirmed against the bed.
Merlin, he really wants this, Draco thought, and had to compose himself. He wouldn’t –couldn’t - come just upon entering. He refused to ruin this for both of them.
Our first time.
He pushed forward, breaching the tight, hot space. He paused, then pushed forward some more, focusing on taking it slow as Harry instructed, rather than on how deliciously Harry was squeezing him and how incredible that heat felt around his shaft. Feeling it with a finger was one thing, but this was altogether more revelatory.
Don’t think about that. He couldn’t think about the way Harry’s muscles were already trying to milk him, or the way Harry moaned erotically as Draco sank further into him, inch by slow inch.
He finally hit the point where he could go no further, his hips pressed against Harry’s arse, his sac resting against Harry’s warm skin. He trembled with the need to move, but he kept in control, breathing as he felt Harry clench and relax, clench and relax. To take his mind off his cock he bent forward, kissing and licking Harry on his shoulder blades.
“Draco.” Harry’s voice was rough, whether in lust or discomfort, Draco didn’t know until he looked up and their eyes met. Harry’s pupils were blown, his irises only a thin, shimmering ring of green around them. “Fuck me. Please.”
Draco placed one more kiss on his shoulder before pulling back and pulling his cock out enough to get really good leverage. Then, his heart in his throat, he slammed forward, making Harry cry out below him.
“Like that?” he gasped out.
“Again,” Harry demanded, and when Draco slammed home once more Harry hissed, “Yes. Yes. Fast and hard, Draco. Give it to me.”
And so Draco upped the pace, keeping his thrusts powerful and punishing, trusting that Harry’s moans were those of pleasure. The brunet was clutching the mattress, trembling as he held himself up under Draco’s unremitting blows.
The pleasure was intense around Draco’s cock, but he kept it at bay by focusing on Harry. He wished he knew if he was hitting the man’s prostate, but Harry was groaning and writhing so much that it was impossible to tell which thrusts were hitting home. However, with the way Harry was working himself against Draco, starting to meet him thrust for thrust, moaning and whimpering all the while, Draco could only assume he was doing something right.
“Oh, Gods,” he breathed. Harry was rolling against him in the most perfect way, his arse cocooning every inch of Draco’s shaft in heat and pleasure. As predicted he wasn’t going to last, which was probably for the best, as his legs were shaking and his abdominal muscles screaming at him with the effort of fucking Harry at this brutal pace.
Which meant it was time for Harry to come too.
Resting on one elbow he reached around Harry with his other arm, his hand finding Harry’s rigid pole of an erection. Precum coated his hand as he worked the shaft, and Harry mewled and started moving faster, grinding forward into Draco’s hand and then back against Draco’s cock, and then forward again. Back and forth, back and forth. The movements were desperate, and Draco knew he was close.
“That’s it, Harry,” he said. “Come for me. Come around my cock. Milk me until I fill you with cum.”
“Oh, yes, Draco,” Harry replied, his cock starting to pulse. “Come inside me. Empty yourself into me. Give me everything!”
Harry had been right; the pleasure was unreal when Harry finally came and his muscles tightened around Draco. There was no holding back, and Draco shot his load with an incoherent cry, thrusting erratically as his climax moved through him in waves.
He buried his face in Harry’s shoulder, his cock still inside the brunet and moving in almost imperceptible little thrusts as Harry wrung every last drop out of him with his powerful muscles. Merlin, it felt so good. He never wanted to leave Harry’s arse. He would be content so stay there forever.
But eventually he softened and slipped out with a groan, and Harry groaned beneath him as well. It was a satisfied sound, and Draco smiled against Harry’s slick and sweaty skin.
“Was that hard enough for you?” Draco asked, hoping to magic the answer was yes. Harry deserved satisfaction on every level, and Draco wanted to be the one to give it to him.
Harry released a breath that was almost a laugh and said, “That was exactly what I needed.”
Draco kissed his skin lazily. “Good.”
He lay there a moment or two longer, then made himself move, knowing Harry was supporting a lot of his weight. They were also quite a sticky mess, the two of them, and he grabbed his wand and cast some cleansing charms over them, including the gentle one to remove the cum from inside Harry. The Gryffindor grunted, as though suddenly bereft.
“Now I feel all empty,” he said, looking at Draco with one eye as the rest of his face was pressed into the pillow. His voice was a little muffled, but Draco could make out half of his smile. “I guess you’ll just have to fill me up, again, hm?”
Draco chuckled. “Let a man recover a bit, won’t you?”
Harry rolled his one visible eye. “I meant later, of course. I need to recover too. It really has been a while since I bottomed.”
Draco stroked a hand lightly up and down Harry’s back. “But it was all right, right? I mean… it was good? I didn’t hurt you or-“
“It was great, Draco. Really great. I wanted a pounding and you gave me one, in exactly the right way. I’m just going to be sore, that’s all. I may take a pain potion later.”
“But that’s not a bad thing?”
“No, it’s not a bad thing. It can be sort of… it’s hard to explain. It’s a good kind of ache. A satisfying one.”
Draco’s fingers continued to stroke. He would just have to take Harry’s word for it. “And you’re all right? After… you know… everything today?”
Harry rolled over onto his back and gave Draco a wry smirk. “I was wondering when you were going to finally ask me that. I figured it was only a matter of time.”
“Well…” Draco wasn’t sure what the right thing to say was here, so he went with honesty. “It’s a reasonable question, isn’t it? But I also don’t want to pry into your life. If you want me to butt out, you can always just tell me.”
Harry closed his eyes. “I’m all right. I’m… if this were five years ago, I probably wouldn’t be so all right. I’d probably be drowning in guilt.”
“For not agreeing to see your uncle?”
“Yeah.” Harry sighed. “I used to think the way he treated me was my fault. I mean… that’s how he wanted me to feel so… I still had some of that buried in me, even as an adult. But I saw a Mind Healer about it, right around the time I started teaching at Hogwarts. Not just because of my uncle, because of a lot of things. My Auror work, and the war.” He chewed on his lip. “Anyway, I put most of that behind me. I don’t feel guilty anymore. I know I don’t owe him anything.”
Draco reached out tentatively and placed a hand on Harry’s flat stomach. Harry smiled softly, seeming happy to have him there.
“Can I ask…?” Draco began, wondering at what point he would cross the line and cause Harry to retreat. But Harry simply watched him, waiting for him to finish the question. “What you said, about how your uncle was second only to… to Voldemort in how much he hated you… Is that really… true?”
“You find it hard to believe? You think there are other people who hate me enough to come second?” Harry asked, sounding amused. “I mean, you actually have a point. I have been rather hated, or at least strongly disliked, by a lot of people. But most of them disliked me on principle, or because they didn’t know me and believed all the nasty rumors about me, or the dislike was more complicated, like with Snape, for example.”
“That’s not what I meant. I just… the way you said it…” Draco hesitated, wondering how to phrase it in a diplomatic way. “I mean, Voldemort hated you so much that he wanted you dead. He wanted to kill you. That’s a level of hatred that’s rather hard to imagine, to be honest.”
“Well, that’s comforting,” Harry said, still seeming amused.
“So when you say your uncle was second to that,” Draco pressed, ignoring him, “are you saying that he…” He couldn’t finish he sentence.
But Harry seemed to understand. “He never wanted to kill me, that’s true. But I really don’t think he would be upset if I died. I think he would be relieved. One less bother in his life, in that case.”
Draco tried to take that in, the wheels in his mind turning rapidly. “This isn’t just about you being gay, then, is it?”
Harry snorted. “Gods, no. That’s hardly the issue. I mean, don’t get me wrong, the man’s a homophobic bastard and a massive, unapologetic bigot. But my sexuality is only just one of the many reasons he disapproves of my very existence, and it’s pretty low on the list.”
“What’s at the top?”
Harry pursed his lips. “That would be my magic, without question.”
“But…” Draco’s brow furrowed. “You’ve been magical your whole life. You were born magical.”
“Well, I was born gay, too, you know,” Harry said with the arch of a brow.
“Yeah, but you didn’t know you were gay until you were grown.”
“Well, I didn’t know I was magical until I was eleven,” Harry countered. “But Vernon did, so, your point still stands.” He sighed. “Yes, he hated me for something I was born with, something I couldn’t change about myself, something he had no reason to hate me for, other than that it made me ‘not normal,’ and according to Vernon Dursley there is nothing worse than not being normal.” His fingers danced softly across the knuckles of Draco’s hand as it rested on Harry’s stomach. They traced the joints in small circles and figure eights absently. “It wasn’t just him at the time, though. It was the whole family. My Aunt Petunia… well… I don’t know if she hated me. She was afraid of me, of what might happen to Dudley if my freakish magic was unleashed. And she was also carrying around a lot of baggage from her childhood, being jealous that my mum got to go to Hogwarts and have magic when she couldn’t. And my cousin hated me because he was raised to hate me. In a way, it wasn’t really his fault. When he grew up he made things right with me. He’s really made an effort, and he’s also bridged the gap between my aunt and I.” He looked at Draco. “They were in hiding during the height of the war, that final year, under Order protection. And when the war ended, and Voldemort was dead, members of the Order told them what happened, how I sacrificed myself and died, and then came back to life. Apparently that… I don’t know what happened, but it changed my aunt. It changed her feelings towards me. I don’t know why. But she was more accepting. She apologized for her part in my…” He trailed off, turning his gaze to the ceiling.
“Her part in your what?” Draco asked, genuinely unsure about how that sentence was supposed to end.
Harry looked at him again, more warily this time. “This isn’t something I… talk about. I mean, there are people who know. My Mind Healer from five years ago, and Ron and Hermione, and Sirius, though it’s only his portrait who knows and not the real him. I don’t talk about it because I don’t like to, and because it’s better if not many people know. It’s better for me. It’s better for…” He licked his lips. “It’s just better.”
“All right…”
“But we’re here, and you heard some things between me and Dudley and you… you’re here, so I’m just… talking.” He put a hand over his eyes for a moment. “I don’t know why I’m talking so much.”
Draco waited, wondering if Harry was going to go on. Then he thought maybe Harry needed some sort of reassurance from Draco before he could.
“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” he said. “But I wouldn’t tell anyone. Whatever you told me, I wouldn’t talk to anyone about it.”
“I know you wouldn’t,” said Harry. “But you might not want to know.”
“I do want to know. I don’t have to know, but I do want to.”
Harry eyed him. “You say that now…”
Draco propped himself up on an elbow to get a better look at Harry. “You think I haven’t already figured out, based on what you’ve just said, that your home life with your aunt and uncle was fairly fucked up? It’s obvious that it was, and it’s obvious that you might tell me some disturbing or upsetting things if you give me the details. I’m already prepared for all that. And I’m all right with it. I’ve seen plenty of fucked up things myself, and I already burden you regularly with the sordid details of my failed marriage and how much of a bastard my father is. I don’t see this as being all that different.”
Harry blinked at him, and Draco settled back down into the bed, resting his head on a pillow only inches from Harry. Something entered those green eyes, then, a kind of clarity.
“You’re right,” Harry said. “I sometimes forget that other people… I don’t know… When I was a kid I felt so alone. I had no one. And sometimes I still feel that way, even though I have people around me all the time who care about me. But when you’re alone for so long, you start to think no one else can understand or relate to your problems. But a lot of people can. I forget that sometimes. That’s rather self-absorbed, I suppose.”
Draco snorted. “You of all people don’t have to worry about being self-absorbed.”
Harry sighed. “I do, though, because when you’ve been labeled the bloody Savior of the Wizarding World, and people are fawning all over you all the time, you have to make sure it doesn’t go to your head. I have to be very conscious of it.”
“Is that really what you want to talk about right now, or are you just avoiding discussing your aunt and uncle and what they did? Because by all means, avoid away, if you want. I’m not going to make you tell me about it.” Harry scowled, and Draco pressed on. “But it seems like maybe you do want to talk about it. And if that’s the case, then you should probably quit changing the subject.”
Harry sighed heavily. “Where do I begin, then? It’s been a while since I’ve done this.”
“Well, you could start by finishing that sentence you didn’t finish. Your aunt apologized for her part in your…” He waited, letting the unfinished sentence hang between them.
“My abusive childhood,” Harry said, closing his eyes.
“All right,” Draco said, after a moment. “That’s a start.”
Harry stared at the ceiling for long enough that Draco thought maybe that was all he was going to say. But then he took a deep breath, opened his mouth, and started talking.
He began with the small things: the way Harry had to wear his cousin’s hand-me-down clothes, or the fact that he only got Dudley’s leftovers to eat, while his cousin could have whatever he wanted. It sounded unfair, certainly, but Draco had a feeling that these were just pieces of a much larger picture he couldn’t quite see yet.
Then Harry talked about his birthdays, or lack thereof, and the way he was forced to watch while Dudley opened a mountain of presents on his own birthday. And he talked about the bullying from Dudley, and the way he kept other children from befriending Harry, and the way Vernon and Petunia told his teachers and neighbors he was a troublemaker, and was not to be trusted, which was further confirmed whenever Harry would do some accidental magic to protect himself.
And then he talked about the cupboard, and Draco could see the picture quite clearly.
“They wanted you to feel worthless, which is why they constantly compared you to your cousin, and gave him everything while they gave you nothing.”
“Yeah,” said Harry. “Pretty much.”
“And they wanted you isolated too, obviously, so you had nowhere to turn for help.”
Harry sighed. “Yep.”
Draco shifted, rolling onto his stomach for a moment to quell some of the restless energy that was building up in him. “How long did they make you live in the cupboard?”
“Until the summer before I left for Hogwarts. When my Hogwarts letter came, it was addressed to me in my cupboard, and they became convinced that wizards were spying on them. So they moved me into Dudley’s second bedroom, as a precaution.”
“Your cousin had two bedrooms,” Draco clarified flatly.
“Yeah, until I moved into one of them. Though he didn’t move out his stuff. You know, all his broken toys he didn’t use but didn’t want to get rid of. But I didn’t have very much stuff, so it didn’t really matter. It was better than the cupboard anyway, Although…”
That led to a story about bars on the windows and a catflap on the door and being let out only for bathroom breaks, all because a house elf (Draco’s former house elf, no less) had smashed a pudding in the kitchen.
“They were trying to keep me from going back to Hogwarts,” Harry explained in response to Draco’s horrified expression. “They always wanted to keep me from doing magic, if they could. But then Ron and the twins rescued me in their dad’s flying Ford Anglia, so… I got out, in the end.”
“They fed you through a flap in your bedroom door,” Draco said, resting his chin on one of his hands and staring at the headboard. He realized he was simply repeating a lot of what Harry was saying in disbelief, but he couldn’t help it. “They kept you prisoner, to stop you from learning magic.”
“That was the most important thing,” Harry said. “Keep me from magic at all costs. They didn’t even want me to know I was a wizard.”
“I suppose they thought, if you learned magic, you’d one day return and take your revenge, and there was nothing they could do to stop you.”
“I thought about it,” Harry said darkly. “I thought about it a lot more than I care to admit, especially…”
“Especially…”
But Harry only shook his head.
“Something worse than what you’ve already told me?”
“I don’t know,” Harry said. “I guess not. Or maybe... It… Most of their abuse was psychological and verbal, you know? It was… horrible, but once I learned I was a wizard and went to Hogwarts and made friends, it got so much easier. I started to have hope. It made the things they said seem… foolish, I guess, and they lost a lot of their power. They could only really get me upset by insulting my parents, which they did, sometimes. But for the most part it was all right, after I started Hogwarts. But before…” He ran a hand over his face, making a frustrated noise, as if he were exasperated with himself. Finally he sighed and looked at Draco again. “There were times when it was physical.”
It took Draco a second to catch up. “The abuse?”
“Yeah.”
“They hit you?”
“Vernon did. A few times, only when I did some accidental magic that was really bad. He would… beat me, with a belt.”
Draco thought about some of the scars he had seen on Harry’s back, scars that looked like they were from a whipping.
Or a belting.
“How old were you?” he asked Harry quietly.
“The first one was… when I was about eight, I think? Eight or nine. Like I said, it only happened a few times.”
Draco swallowed, hiding his shaking hands under his pillow. He found it made no difference that Harry’s tone was matter-of-fact, that he could talk about this without tears in his eyes or a tremor in his voice. That didn’t seem to stop the powerful anger that was roiling inside him heavily like molten lead.
“Is there anything else?” he rasped.
Harry turned to him again. “There’s plenty, but… I think you’ve got a good sense of things. I’ve hit the important bits anyway.”
“Mm,” said Draco. He didn’t know how to deal with this feeling he was having, like he wanted to wrap Harry in his arms and never let him go, only it wasn’t this grown Harry he wanted to do that for, it was the small Harry, the one that didn’t really exist anymore.
But those feelings did no good, because Harry didn’t want to be babied, or pitied. Draco could see that much.
And the desires he had to go find the Dursleys and rip out their throats with his bare hands, well… those feelings didn’t do him much good either.
“Well,” he said finally, when it was clear Harry wanted him to say something. “At least I can confirm, without a doubt, that you definitely shouldn’t feel guilty about not visiting your uncle on his deathbed. Frankly, you simply ignoring him is far more than he deserves.”
“Yeah, probably,” Harry agreed. “But cursing him into nothing would upset Dudley and Petunia, so…”
Draco scoffed. “There’s something else I don’t understand. They were awful to you as well.”
“So how could I forgive them?”
“Right.”
“There’s a complicated answer to that, and there’s a simple one. The simple one is that I didn’t want to hang onto anger anymore, if I could help it. And if they wanted to make amends, I figured that could be healing, for all of us. And I wanted to move on. It’s been a good thing, overall, I think. Things with Petunia are still… a little rocky sometimes, but Dudley… he’s genuinely a decent bloke now. He doesn’t always understand me, and he’s still uncomfortable around magic, but he puts up with it, for my sake. He makes an effort.”
Draco supposed he could see how that was true. It still just seemed too… generous of Harry, given what he had gone through. But it wasn’t his life. “If you say so,” he said.
“You’re angry.”
Draco looked at him. “I’m sorry. I know I don’t really have a right to be. It was you that all this happened to.”
“No. Angry is good. Angry is…” He thought a moment. “Angry is better than a lot of other things.”
“Like if I felt sorry for you?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t feel sorry for you. I mean, maybe I do for small Harry, for the child you were, but not for who you are now. After everything you’ve done and are doing, for everything that you are now… all I have is… admiration.”
Harry reached up, running a hand along Draco’s forehead, right on the edge of his fringe. “You have a way of… helping me see things clearly,” he said. Draco wasn’t sure what to say, so he simply smiled softly. “Come here,” Harry said, pulling him closer. “Enough talking. Time to just... feel something.”
“Mm, and what exactly would you like to feel right now?” Draco asked, his mouth playing with the skin under Harry’s jaw.
“You,” Harry replied, bucking against him, rubbing their bodies together. “Everywhere.”
Draco smiled. He didn’t really know what Harry meant by that, but he was more than happy to take the time to figure it out.
goddess-of_dragons: Here you go! I hope this one satisfied your curiosity!
Nowsthethyme: Yep, they are getting closer and closer, as you can see. Draco has been holding back, but remember that he still thinks of this as a temporary situation, at this point. He still believes he’ll end up with a woman. He also doesn’t have any reason to believe Harry would want a relationship, given his history. But Draco is giving himself over more and more. As for whether this will lead to a fallout, I guess you’ll just have to wait and see!
Teddy-Potter95: Thank you! I’m so glad you took the time to review. I love hearing from new readers! And I’m glad you like this Harry. I do too :) Welcome to the party!
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A Secondary Education