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The House That Lovers Built	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 14853 -:- Recommendations : 4 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this fanfic.

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Chapter Fourteen--Oh, What a Dinner

            "No offense, mate, but Hermione is still wondering if he raped you. And now you want to invite us to dinner with him?"

            Harry could feel himself flushing, and knew that Ron's incredulous stare wasn't helping. But this was still Ron, his best friend, and he could answer him as he couldn't answer Draco for fear of scaring him away. "I don't know why Hermione is still wondering about that. I was very clear when I answered that he hadn't. Does she not trust me anymore?"

            Ron grimaced and rubbed the back of his neck, then slung his feet over his desk and cast a few Privacy Charms on the door. "It's more complicated than that, mate. Hermione trusts you. She believes you. But that doubt keeps sneaking into her mind when she looks at you. You didn't find anyone since Ginny who gave you what you wanted, and now you find that in him?"

            "No."

            Ron's gaze snapped right back to him, and Harry saw the very dangerous transformation behind his friend's face that he'd only seen a handful of times before, mostly when Harry was in danger. "Really?" Ron asked quietly. "So he can't give you anything you want, but he's forcing his company on you anyway?" He started to rise to his feet. It was like watching a mountain move.

            "You're not listening." Harry snapped. "I don't know if he can give me what I want yet because I don't really know what I want. I'm still talking to him because I want to find out what the fuck that is. When I know, then I can decide whether I want to spend more time around him."

            Ron blinked, and sank slowly back in his seat. Then he nodded. "Okay, mate," he said. "Okay. As long as you--as long as you know that I will destroy him if he hurts you."

            "That would be the same about anyone I dated." Harry rolled his eyes, remembering when Ron had got carried away threatening one of the female Aurors who had flirted with Harry. It would probably never have got beyond that; Sandra had already realized that Harry was all business on the job, and was about to retire from the flirtation field in disappointment. But Ron had dropped "subtle" hints about the pain curses he'd been studying until she fled in disarray.

            "This is different." Ron planted his fists on the desk. "Because you went so far as to have sex with him, but if he doesn't understand the meaning of 'no' and keeps pushing you..."

            "I could have thrown him off if I wanted to," Harry said. "I could have punched him in the face if I wanted to, since we came out of the house, and stopped talking to him. I haven't. I want to figure out what I have with him, Ron. But it takes an awful lot of thrashing through the memories and soothing his insecurities first."

            "Does he ever do the same for you?"

            "He tries." Harry rubbed his hand over his face, and wondered what Ron would say if Harry told him Draco's version of reassurance, which mostly seemed to revolve around sex. Imagining that was good for a laugh, anyway. "I wouldn't say that he's anything but shit at it, though."

            "You need to be with someone who can--"

            "Love me for me, and understand my wants, and not want me for my fame," Harry broke in impatiently. "I'm sure of the last one for Draco, at least. He would prefer it if I'd never had any other lover, if no one else had ever heard of me. The first two, we're still working on. But, Ron, much as I love you and Hermione, you don't get final say in who I choose to be with. I want you to come to this dinner, but I only want you there if you can shut up and listen and not insult him. Okay?"

            Ron blinked several times. Harry wondered if he had gone too far. They were blunt with each other, all the time, but Harry had crossed a line that they didn't usually cross with each other, either.

            Then Ron smiled, and from the sheer, dazzling brilliance of that smile, Harry knew himself forgiven. He let his head droop as Ron reached over and punched him on the shoulder. "I can't promise we'll like the ferret, and I won't keep quiet if he says something to me first. But we'll be there."

            "That's all I can ask," Harry said, and squeezed Ron's fist. He thought of saying it was all he would ask of Draco, too, but he knew that would be a lie. For one thing, what he wanted from Draco, whatever that was, would almost certainly end up being different from what he wanted of his friends.

            For another, there was no way that Draco would say something as plain and logical. Harry was still learning to read him.

            And God, is it a complicated book.

*

            Harry stood back and glared at his kitchen, then shook his head. It was no use trying to come up with something delicate and symbolic for three people whose only thing in common was him. He would do the same salad and bread he'd done for Draco the other night, and have fresh fruit and cheese and nuts available for Hermione, who liked all of them, and plenty of butterbeer for Ron. At least that way Ron would get the satisfaction of apparently drinking while not really taking in enough alcohol to chance becoming violent.

            Harry called Kreacher to him and started cooking. There was no way that he would get everything all perfectly arranged without help. Kreacher worked away with a will. Since the war, he was somewhat in awe of Hermione, tolerated Ron, and was thrilled to be helping to prepare dinner for someone with Black blood.

            "Master Draco will be settling with Master Harry," Kreacher said, bobbing his head while his fingers worked incredibly fast, shredding nuts of their casings. "Master Harry will be reopening the mistress's house, and there will be small Blacks..."

            Harry rolled his eyes and shut his ears to that kind of talk, since it would drive him mental otherwise. He was making the salad, and cutting the fruit, when his Floo chimed. He glanced at the clock. It was at least half-an-hour before the dinner, and he'd asked Ron and Hermione not to be early, since that would only increase Draco's paranoia.

            That left one person it could be.

            He went to open the Floo himself, because sending Kreacher might make Draco feel neglected, and Harry wanted to do everything he could to make the evening run smoothly. When he opened the connection, Draco stepped through, slapped dust from his robes, and handed him something Harry hadn't paid close attention to, just assuming it was a dish of some kind.

            "This is for you." Draco's voice jangled and clanged, and he looked around in a way that made Harry especially glad he'd told his friends not to show up early.

            Harry stared blankly at the bouquet of white roses for a moment, then blinked and looked at Draco. "Um, thank you," he said. A blush tried to start to life on his cheeks. He ignored it and nodded to Draco, calling Kreacher from the kitchen to bring him a vase and some water. "It's very nice of you."

            "And unexpected." Draco gave the walls that glare again that said he expected invisible enemies, or maybe enemies who became visible the instant he relaxed. "You didn't expect romantic gestures of me, did you?"

            "Not this kind," Harry said, startled into deeper honesty than he'd planned. "This seems a little, um, Gryffindor. Maybe you'd bring me Potions ingredients, or something."

            "But you're not that good at Potions, and you wouldn't like them or have any use for them." Draco's eyes were fastened on him so intently that Harry felt as though he would tear his eyelashes if he tried to look away. "I want to give you things you'd like. I want to do things for you, not because I would enjoy them."

            Harry smiled then, and couldn't stop. He leaned forwards. Draco froze like a rabbit at the sight of a hawk, which wasn't the reaction Harry had wanted.

            But he remembered all the different things Draco had said he felt for Harry, and decided that he would go ahead with this anyway. "Thank you," he whispered into Draco's ear. "That's the thing you've said that most reassures me."

            And he kissed Draco, sparing one hand for the vase that Kreacher brought him, and enchanting the flowers to hover between them so that he could touch the back of Draco's head and softly stroke the nape of his neck.

            Draco made equally soft noises into his mouth, and pulled away only when Harry's hands began to ache from their odd position, so enchanted that Harry smiled again at him. "This way to the kitchen and the food," he said, tugging on Draco's arm.

            "But your friends aren't here yet," Draco whispered, his hands coming down on Harry's arm.

            "Yeah, but I need to get these flowers in water and then sit down before I kiss you again," Harry said.

            Draco laughed aloud then, and Harry liked the way it sounded better than any noise Draco had made since they were in the house. Well, all right, maybe those gasps he made after I pulled away count, too, Harry thought a little smugly as he led the way into the kitchen.

            "You're a lot more practical than I thought you were," Draco said, folding his hands beneath his chin and fluttering his eyelashes a little when Harry looked up from the flowers and the vase. "You come up with things to do that I hadn't thought you would consider. Or things that a house-elf could do for you."

            Harry shrugged as he moved back to examine the food. The leaves of lettuce in the salad looked all right, he decided. He had been worried about them wilting. "It's probably only having magic for fifteen years or so. I'm still not always used to all the things you can do with it."

            "But you've had magic all your life. Unless you're going to tell me that those ridiculous rumors about Muggleborns stealing pure-bloods' wands were true after all, and you knocked some kid down in Diagon Alley and took his."

            Harry froze, staring at the wall. Then he rolled his eyes. You're the one who brought this up. Draco didn't say anything about it.

            He forced himself to move and speak casually as he cast one more spell on the fruit, to clean off a little dirt and heal some of the bruised patches on their skin. "I mean that I grew up with Muggles. They knew about it, but I didn't, so until I was eleven it was like I didn't have magic at all."

            Silence from behind him. Harry turned around to see Draco watching him with a really strange expression on his face.

            Concern, Harry realized a moment later. He'd seen Draco looking the same way in the house sometimes, but then Harry would say something that knocked Draco back into irritation or at least banter, and they would move past that instant when things could have marched a different direction. Here, there was nothing but the grumbling of Kreacher in the background and the ticking of the clock.

            "I knew you grew up with Muggles," Draco said. "Not the rest of it." He made a vague motion with his hand, paused and looked disturbed at himself, and then said quietly, "Will you tell me about it?"

            That's better than the demand that he probably would have made a little while ago, Harry thought, and rubbed his forehead. He considered the clock, the fact that Ron and Hermione would probably arrive soon, and the equal fact that he had been the one to bring this up in the first place.

            And what Draco would feel if Harry said something about it and then tried to change the conversation from that subject on the weak excuse that his friends were coming soon. Draco would probably feel that Harry was choosing his friends over him again, and it would be worse now that he had a concrete example to point to and not just his own fears.

            "All right," Harry said, turning around. "But we can't discuss it in detail right now. Ron and Hermione are coming, and they don't--they get too upset about it. I want it to be a private conversation with you. It can't be that if they join in."

            He knew he had said the right thing when Draco's eyes brightened, and he nodded and leaned forwards on his chair, gaze fastened eagerly on Harry's face and hands fastened together. "I won't say anything else," he promised. "While they're here."

            But when they're gone...

            Well, I reckon that it's at least a sign of growing closeness if I can hear the words that he wants to speak so clearly, Harry thought wryly, and took the chair across from Draco. Kreacher could handle the last parts of dinner, and it would make him happier to do so.

            "My relatives knew about magic, and it freaked them out," Harry said. "They wanted to be normal. Mundane. So when Dumbledore left me on their doorstep with a note about my parents being killed by him, they decided that they were never going to tell me. If I didn't know anything about it, I couldn't do magic."

            "That's stupid," Draco said. "Children do accidental magic all the time, they can't help it." He sounded as though he was reciting from an aphorism of his father's, but this time, as though it was something Lucius might have said to comfort him instead of indoctrinate him.

            "You know that, and I know that. My relatives didn't have any other experience with wizarding children."

            "That's insane." Draco sat up with his eyes sparking. "When you said they knew about magic, I thought--but why did Dumbledore leave you with them? I know he wasn't the batty old man he liked to pretend he was, but this is insane. I'm sorry you had to go through that, Harry."

            Harry silently put out his hand, and Draco gripped it. Harry realized that he had forgotten to listen for the chime of the Floo, that he wasn't that worried about Ron and Hermione arriving right now and walking into the middle of this. He could do this.

            It's wonderful how I feel when I focus on him. No, when he focuses on me, and does it in a way that's not about sex.

            "He was afraid of who might influence me if I grew up in the wizarding world," Harry said quietly. "That I might turn into a pampered, spoiled hero who was convinced I only had to lift a finger and I could save the world. Or, worse, that a bunch of people would jump to serve me if I lifted that finger. Or what if the family who raised me tried to push me in a certain political direction before I knew anything? He thought it was better for me to come in ignorant."

            "Not ignorant of magic."

            Harry hesitated for a minute. Then he shook his head. "No, I don't think he planned on that."

            "Then he was insane," Draco repeated flatly. "I know you might not want to hear that, because I know he was a hero to you--"

            "Not so much of a hero," Harry interrupted, and the Floo chimed. He sighed and stood up. "Thanks for listening. Can you not talk about it as long as Ron and Hermione are here?"

            "I'll do my best," Draco said steadily. "And they already know about this, anyway, don't they? So there's no reason for me to hint around about knowing a secret." He sat back with his arms folded and watched Harry thoughtfully.

            "Exactly," Harry said, smiling and turning around as the Floo chimed again. He could have let Kreacher answer it, but he preferred not to, simply because of the way that Kreacher squinted at Ron. Ron always said it put him right off his dinner. "Thanks, Draco. For--for listening, and for agreeing."

            Draco sat back with a small smile. Harry suspected it was probably a smug smile that they had shared a private conversation before Ron and Hermione got here, but he couldn't even blame him for that. Harry was the one who had brought up the topic, who had made the decision to talk about it, who had asked Draco to wait. And Draco was going to wait.

            As he went to welcome his friends, Harry was almost sorry that he couldn't tell them about this, because they would have been awed by how forbearing and considerate Draco had just showed himself.

*

            And the dinner went--all right.

            Draco and Harry sat on one side of the table, Ron and Hermione on the other. Harry had hesitated over the seating arrangements, wondering if it would make his friends feel like he was against them, but something that left Draco beside one of them would probably be far worse. And, frankly, Harry didn't want to be at the other end of the table from Draco, distant from him and thus unable to kick him if he started in with some snotty comment.

            Draco made no snotty comments, though. He nodded in response to Ron's office talk and Hermione's talk about house-elves, passed the dishes when asked and asked for them in turn when he couldn't reach them, said, "Please," and "Thank you," and didn't try to touch Harry in embarrassing ways. Harry let his slightly-raised hand finally drop to his lap, and squeezed Draco's wrist instead.

            Draco turned slightly pink, but said nothing. Hermione was the one who glanced back and forth between them and said, "You seem pretty comfortable with each other, Harry."

            "Yes, we do," Harry said firmly, and gave Hermione a quelling look as Draco's chin started to rise. Hermione gave him the standard "I am concerned about you" look in response. Harry made his face into the "I don't give a fuck, shut up," glare that he only used once or twice a year, and Hermione shut her mouth and blinked.

            "We get along better than I thought we could, once we were outside the house," Draco said, speaking the sentence in a way that made it sound as if it was coming from between clenched teeth. Harry couldn't blame him for that, though. "It--I didn't want to leave the house because I thought I would lose Harry. It seems I haven't, though."

            "Are you sure that you won't?" Ron's eyes were moving back and forth between him and Draco, making Harry grit his teeth. Ron only met his eyes in some confusion when Harry tried to shake his head at him, though. It's a nice conversation, I asked a polite question.

            "Not sure. He told me that." Draco's chin could have cut ice. "But I trust him to tell me honestly when he doesn't want me anymore or--or when he feels like it isn't working out. That isn't something I'm used to."

            "Especially not in the war," Hermione said, nodding, her voice that perfect mixture of softness that Harry couldn't have imitated and gentleness that meant she could get away with a lot more than most people could. "Yes, I understand. Most of us would have a hard time trusting people after the war."

            It looked as though Draco might say something really unfortunate, and Harry pinched the back of his hand. Draco choked a little, nodded, and said, "Yes, the war did a number on all our minds," which pleased Hermione to the extent of making her smile at him.

            "You don't mind if we go on calling you Malfoy, do you?" Ron asked, picking up the salt in the middle of the table and liberally scattering it over the apple halves Harry had given them earlier. Harry had yet to figure out why he wanted to ruin perfectly good apples that way, and Hermione had only said that she couldn't really get him to stop when Harry asked, so Harry had been forced to give in and ignore it. "Only it would be weird to call you by your first name when we've thought of you by your last name for so long."

            Draco pressed his lips firmly together, probably so that his snort of laughter wouldn't escape. But he nodded. "As long as you don't mind that I'll go on calling you Granger and Weasley, too."

            "Just don't say it in the tone you usually have, and we'll be fine," Ron said placidly, and bit into his disgusting apples. He winked at Harry, but Harry thought that came more from the face he was undoubtedly making than because he thought he'd got a victory over Draco.

            "Or compare us to small animals." Hermione promptly turned around and frowned at Ron. "Any small animals are out of bounds for anyone when it comes to comparisons."

            Ron held up his hand in surrender, but Harry heard him mutter, "What about large ones?" A moment later, he winced as Hermione kicked him under the table.

            "Good," Harry said loudly, and stood up to begin clearing dishes from the table. "So now that you know each other a little better, can you stop depending on me to translate for you and stop asking me behind my back if I'm going to abandon you any time soon?"

            "We'll try." Hermione gave him a melting look that didn't fool Harry for a second and reached across the table to squeeze his hand. "We just care about you and want you to be happy, you know."

            Harry squeezed back, but said, "I know that. The way you go about it is just bloody exhausting, sometimes."

            Draco blinked, maybe because Harry had said something to Hermione that Draco himself must have thought at one time. Hermione chuckled a little and shook her head. "Fine, Harry, have it your way," she said, and stood up, stretching and pressing her hands to her back. "I'm for bed. I was up late last night."

            "And I wasn't," Ron told Harry with a pouting lip. "How's that for fair?"

            There was a flurry of farewells then, the joke about firecalling that Ron always did and Hermione trying to tell Harry about half a dozen meetings on house-elf rights in the next week that he could attend if he wanted to. Draco hung back, and Harry turned to him when the Floo closed behind Ron and Hermione and realized that he was biting his lip and staring at the floor.

            It was obvious what he wanted.

            Harry just didn't know if he was up to giving it to him.

            But they had a conversation to finish, and the dinner had gone spectacularly, which meant Harry wasn't retiring to his bed with a glass of Firewhisky and bitter contemplations of the mess that was his life. So he took a deep breath, and said, "Would you like to stay? For a while?"

            Draco's face lit up like a firework.

*

            unneeded: It would at least be most comfortable for Harry. Maybe for Draco, too, in the long run.

            delia cerrano: That perception is part of what Harry's trying to struggle against, though. Because if he goes too much the other way, it's not good, either. He doesn't want Draco to believe that he can just make demands on Harry to ignore his friends.

            SP777: This is not the sort of thing it's easy to solve.

            Diana: Thank you!
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The House That Lovers Built