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The Thought behind It	By : Sasunarufan13 Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 3474 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter nor make profit of it. J.K. Rowling owns it.

Chapter List
- 1-Part 1
- 2-Part 2
- 1
- 2
Author's note: I finally got around to finishing the last part. I'm really sorry for the delay, guys; I never meant take this long to finish this twoshot, but university and stuff in real life has been kicking my butt so far. But well, at least you didn't have to wait a month? ^^;
Thanks to the following reviewer: Annecia89
Warnings: Fluff basically. That's it. Fluff.
I hope you'll like this last part!
Part 2
Barely a week later he received a second gift from his secret admirer. This time it wasn't something as complicated as a rune engraved wand holster, but that didn't make the present less meaningful. It was a bouquet of pure white lilies with a single deep red one inserted into the middle.
The card with it read, 'Perhaps this would have been more suited for your mother, but I hope you'll appreciate these flowers nonetheless. Your Secret Admirer'
It wasn't as if this admirer was the first one to give him a present with a reference to one of Harry's parents. The majority of them focused on his eyes, giving him an object that resembled the green colour of his eyes. After being told so many times in which aspect he looked like his mother, it had become a bit tiring to receive gifts all focused on that specific colour. Sure, it was nice to know he resembled his mother with a part of his looks, but he didn't need more than a hundred green gems to be reminded of that constantly.
So no, gifts with references to his parents weren't rare, more like ten a penny even. Nobody had ever thought to send him lilies, however, even if one should assume that would have been an obvious choice if people wanted to flatter him with his parents' memory. Perhaps they thought he wouldn't appreciate flowers, because he was a man, which was quite frankly a ridiculous assumption. What did gender have to do with being able to appreciate flowers?
Gently he brushed his right index finger across the silky smooth surface of a red petal, wondering absently whether the red colour of the single lily was a reference to his mother's brilliant red hair.
Whoever this person was who had sent him this gift and the previous one, they obviously had done their homework quite well – a lot better than the other people sending him gifts.
Ignoring the pile of other presents he'd received, he picked up the bouquet and went to search for a vase, humming softly to himself.
He didn't take a lot of vacation days, something which his best friends often lamented about, insisting he needed to relax more instead of always being busy with his practice. Coming from Hermione who tended to work even longer hours a day than Harry did, that was quite rich, but she always shot back that at least she granted herself leave for at least three weeks a year; something Harry didn't.
He didn't see a point in going on a holiday which lasted for weeks, though. He loved doing his job and unlike his exaggerating friends, he did take off most of the weekends, unless there was a dire emergency requesting his immediate help. Otherwise the weekends were reserved for his friends and for Andromeda and Teddy.
There were a couple of days in the year that he absolutely refused to accept appointments on, however; dates he wouldn't budge on at all. One of those days was the thirtieth of January.
The gravel crunched underneath his shoes when he made his way between the rows of graves; the sky overcast but not ready to release a torrent of rain – yet. Some of the graves had started leaning towards one side, the ground sinking in slowly underneath the weight of the tombs. There was nobody else but him present in the graveyard at the moment, which wasn't really surprising considering it was early on a Thursday morning and most people would be at work right now.
He liked being the only one here; in spite of this being a place primarily made up out of the dead, the atmosphere was quite serene, peaceful even, and he unwound a bit, his shoulders relaxing and letting go of the tension he hadn't been quite aware had gathered there. A self-proclaimed fan had accosted him last night when he'd been saying his goodbyes to Hermione and Ron after having gone out for dinner; the woman clamping onto his arm and flirting heavily with him, despite the fact that he'd been quite clear that he wasn't interested at all.
It had taken Hermione icily proclaiming she would sue the woman for harassment if she didn't let go that very instant and disappeared immediately – only said in much less nice words, because Hermione wasn't one to mince her language at all when one of her friends was being harassed – for the woman to finally scamper off with fire red cheeks.
The encounter with the woman would have been merely a blimp, a brief flash of irritation, nothing else, if his day hadn't already been filled with three difficult cases and he hadn't had to spend nearly two hours and a half talking down a patient from her panic attack. That wasn't to say he'd been annoyed with the panic attack – nobody liked having those and he hadn't minded at all helping the woman with hers – but the whole day overall had definitely drained him by the time he'd met up with his friends. The situation with the clingy fan had just been the icing on the cake.
Here at the graveyard now, surrounded with nothing but peaceful silence, he felt himself relax; able to leaving the stress of yesterday behind him.
He halted for a particular white gravestone and smiled softly. "Hey, mum, happy birthday," he murmured, placing a small bouquet of yellow tulips on the grave. "Been a while since I last was here, huh?"
His gaze glided towards the tombstone on the right. This one was made of the same marble as the tombstone of his parents; the text simple yet meaningful.
Mischief Managed
Sirius Black
B. 03/11/1959
D. 18/06/1996
There wasn't a body buried here, of course. The Veil at the Ministry of Magic had made sure Harry didn't have anything of his godfather to bury. He'd paid for a gravestone nonetheless, ordering it to be placed right next to the one of his parents. There had been some protest about that at first. Some people were appalled that he would dare to put his parents' traitor right next to their grave, while others – Purebloods mainly – protested that the stone should have been placed with the rest of the Black family, like was expected of a Pureblood member.
Harry had ignored them all. It was none of their business where he put his godfather's last resting place. They hadn't cared about Sirius when he'd still been alive, so why did they think they had a right to an opinion now that he was dead?
They could fuck right off, all of them.
"So my business has been doing well," he said, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "More and more people are starting to trust that I won't screw up helping them. If this keeps up, I might actually have to hire someone else in the future to help me out."
He talked for a long time, telling his parents and Sirius about what Ron and Hermione had been up to, about the pranks the Weasley twins were developing, about McGonagall inviting him over to Hogwarts to teach a DADA lesson. He told them about Teddy and his stubborn fixation on convincing both his godfather and his grandmother that he was old enough by now to ride Harry's Firebolt.
He talked until he fell silent and then he just stood there, gazing at their tombstones, listening to the bare branches creaking when the wind played with them; dead leaves rustling past him.
Soon he became aware of eyes resting on him and when he turned his head, he was surprised to see Draco standing a bit further down the path, gazing at him with intense grey eyes.
Frowning, Harry turned around fully and asked, "What are you doing here?"
Godric's Hollow wasn't anywhere near Malfoy Manor and it would shock Harry if any Malfoy had been buried here. Draco's presence here didn't make any sense at all.
"I was curious why you were so insistent on not having any appointments today so I decided to follow you," Draco answered frankly; his hands resting into the pockets of a long, royal blue coat. At least he'd had the good sense to dress more inconspicuous. "I remembered you refused this particular date the previous years as well."
Harry thought he would be angry at having been followed, but instead all he felt was weary amusement. "You could have just asked, you know," he pointed out. "No need to follow me around for this."
"True, but how would I know whether you'd have told me the truth?" Draco shrugged, wandering closer. His eyes flitted between the two tombstones. "So this was the whole outrage about a couple of years ago," he mentioned idly.
Harry followed his gaze to Sirius' grave. "You're here to tell me how much of a disgrace I am for not respecting Pureblood culture?" he asked dryly, crossing his arms.
The blond man shrugged again. "I never knew him; mother never talked about him. From what I know, though, I'd say he'd feel a million times better being buried here than with the rest of his family." He smirked. "I have a feeling the rest of the Blacks would agree with that."
The dark haired man huffed out a short laugh. "Yeah, I suppose they would," he agreed, thinking back to the screaming portrait of Mrs. Black.
"I'm surprised your friends aren't here with you," Draco remarked casually, side-eyeing him.
"What would be the point?" Harry said calmly. "I don't visit their dead relatives either."
Draco inclined his head. "You stay here the whole day and talk to them?"
"Not the whole day." Harry shook his head, letting his arms rest at his sides. "But yeah, I talk to them for a bit, keep them updated about my life. I know it's stupid, because they're long gone, but - "
"Not stupid at all," Draco murmured; his gaze growing distant for a couple of seconds. "Nothing wrong with talking to your loved ones, even if they're long gone."
"Yeah …" Harry breathed out slowly; hooking his thumbs behind the loops of his jeans. "Sometimes I wish there was a way for them to talk back, you know? Even if it was just once, it would be nice …" he trailed off, staring unseeingly at Lily's and James' gravestone.
He'd talked to them before, one during his fourth year and then when he'd been about to walk into the Forbidden Forest, on his way to meet Voldemort. But that wasn't the same as actually being able to talk to them, he thought. Those previous times had only happened because he'd been in danger or had been about to walk into danger. He hadn't been able to really talk to them like he'd wanted to so much.
Oh, he supposed he could use the Resurrection Stone; the blasted thing would definitely be eager enough for it, but he wasn't about the mess with one of the Hallows again. Certainly not the Resurrection Stone, which might arguably be one of the most dangerous ones of the three.
Shaking his head, he turned his back to the graves. "Come on, let's go before the clouds decide it's time to release all the rain they've been storing up the past few days."
Draco looked up at the sky and pulled a face at how dark it looked. "Sounds like a good plan," he announced, easily falling into step with Harry. "You're feeling up for some company during lunch or not?"
Harry thought about it and was tempted to say yes, but days like today he preferred being on his own. "No sorry," he said regretfully, "I'd rather be alone today if you don't mind."
"Suit yourself," Draco murmured, but the hand he rested on Harry's arm at the graveyard's entrance was warm; the soft squeeze he gave settling something within Harry.
Before Harry could say something else, Draco Apparated, leaving him standing alone in front of the gates.
It was only much later when he was at home, listening to the rain battering against the windows that he realised that Draco had only approached him when he already had finished talking to his family.
The last two weeks leading up to Valentine's Day had package after package showing up to the point where owls had to wait in long queues for Harry to free them of their presents. Ron and Hermione even came over every morning to help him with the amount of them, sorting them into piles of 'Straight into the trash or burn them, I don't care' and 'Useful to donate'.
Present after present disappeared into the two piles depending on their content, taking up way too much of Harry's time than he would have liked. If he didn't deal with the presents when they arrived, however, there was a good chance he wouldn't be able to enter his kitchen if the gifts kept piling up.
Dealing with the abundance of gifts had become a yearly tradition by now, something he went through almost robotically. Brain switched off and dumping the presents into their corresponding pile – a state he always found himself in during this time of the year.
Unlike all the previous years however, this time he couldn't help but keep an eye out for a certain type of handwriting. His Secret Admirer had only sent him two packages so far, but those two presents had been so thoughtful that it had piqued Harry's interest. For the first time since this avalanche of gifts had started, he found himself hoping to get another one of his mysterious admirer, anticipating which thoughtful present he'd be given next.
It was a weird feeling to have, considering he normally wasn't interested in the people clamouring for his attention by giving him presents. Somehow this person was different, though, intriguing him with the effort they'd put into their presents so far. He had no clue whether it was a woman or a man, but he caught himself wondering several times when he would get to meet them.
Unlike all the other people sending him presents, however, this Secret Admirer didn't put any time or date when he would like to meet Harry. It made him question whether this person was somehow really shy. But why start 'courting' him – for a lack of a better word – if they didn't want to meet him? That didn't make much sense.
Or was he being too impatient now? Perhaps he was pinning his hopes too much on one person. For all he knew this person could be an annoying twat or even a bigot or turn out to be worse than some of his more 'intense' fans.
Somehow he didn't think that was the case, though. Someone who went through the effort of putting so much thought in their presents could hardly be a bad person.
He didn't receive any presents from his Secret Admirer until two days before Valentine's Day.
It didn't arrive until well into the evening; the owl catching him right before he went upstairs to go to bed. The owl was perched regally on the windowsill outside, having located him in the living room. It hooted softly when Harry opened the window, hopping inside and holding out its leg immediately.
"Well, what do we have here?" Harry murmured, freeing the owl from its burden. His stomach performed several flips in excitement when he recognised the fine handwriting on the card attached to the package.
Very eager to enlarge and open the gift, he had just enough presence of mind to give the owl some treats, who hooted almost cheerfully before jumping outside and spreading his wings, sailing off into the dark sky. For a couple of seconds the owl looked like a small spot against the half full moon before darkness completely swallowed it up.
Quickly he closed the window and plopped down onto the couch; every last trace of sleepiness having promptly disappeared as anticipation for the new gift filled him. He was behaving ridiculously, he knew. This person had only sent him two gifts so far, but those presents had intrigued him so much that he couldn't help but want to know what kind of thoughtful gift this person had come up with next. He really should find a way to figure out who this mysterious person was; even if there was no actual romantic click when they met in real life, he would at least be able to thank them for being so thoughtful.
After enlarging the package, he weighed it carefully in his hand. The square box covered nearly both his hands from view and whatever was inside of it wasn't that light, but not terribly heavy either. Forgoing the card for now, he placed the small, cream coloured box on the table in front of him and carefully removed the lid.
He blinked several times rapidly when he got a good look at the content. He could only stare at it bemused, completely befuddled as to what it was exactly – or well, more precisely what it was supposed to do.
It was some type of rock, perhaps some kind of gemstone, but if so Harry didn't have the faintest clue which one exactly it was. It was a matted marble white with smudges of grey and light blue and golden streaks. The rock was flat and rounded, around an inch thick, and there was a large hole in the middle of it. The hole didn't look hacked out; the edges and insides were smooth as if the rock had naturally formed with a hole inside of it.
What was it supposed to do? Was it meant to be some sort of decoration?
Completely baffled, he turned his attention to the card for now, hoping there would be some kind of explanation written inside of it.
'Stones like this one are hard to find; some say you might only have one chance in your entire life to find one. As you obviously noticed, I managed to have that chance.
You might be wondering why I would gift it to you instead, if stones like these are rare ones. That is because I decided you could use it more than I ever could. This particular stone is not only rare to find, but it also has a very rare ability: if you hold it up to the sky on Halloween and use the spell "Cara Mihi Loquere" you will be able to talk to the ones you lost to the afterlife.
It only works during Halloween unfortunately, because the veil between our world and theirs is at its thinnest then, allowing contact to be made. It's not a Dark spell, in case you're worried about that. It is quite old, however, and only works with a type of stone like this one.
I hope I'm not overstepping any boundaries with this gift; I just thought you might like the opportunity to talk to your family.
Your Secret Admirer'
Harry sat there staring at the card for a long time before he looked at the stone again. It gleamed innocently in the weak light of the fireplace, belying its importance. A stone he could use to talk to his parents again … A stone which would allow him to talk to Sirius again, tell him all the things he wished he could have said when he was still alive. Something which could connect him to Remus, show him how big Teddy had become already.
It was something he never thought he would have; not after having decided to never use the Resurrection Stone again. But here it was: a way for him to talk to his family again.
How had his admirer guessed that this –
All at once the pieces of the puzzle connected in his mind and he finally realised who his secret admirer was.
Of course, how could he have been this oblivious?
"I bet you're going to be happy once Friday is over and the avalanche of gifts will stop for a while," Draco smirked, humming absently when Harry started kneading the lower part of his right wing, where the wing connected to his back.
"I bet the charities will be disappointed," Harry muttered, focusing on keeping his voice nonchalant and his hands steady.
Draco was his final client of today; a very last minute appointment when the Veela couldn't stand the aching pain any longer.
"You got any special plans for tomorrow?" Harry inquired casually, straightening out some feathers carefully.
"To Pansy's utmost regret, no," Draco answered dryly. "Not for a lack of trying on her part, though. If only she would have applied this same persistence in studying Potions then she wouldn't have annoyed Snape that much."
Harry hummed, focusing all his attention on a particular stubborn knot in the wing.
It was quiet for a couple of minutes before the blond man stirred slightly. "And you? Has one of your many admirers managed to capture your attention long enough to deem them worthy of your time?" he questioned teasingly, arching his back lightly when Harry accidentally brushed his hand across his back.
"Hm, well, there is one in particular who stands out," Harry murmured, smiling faintly when he felt Draco still underneath his hands. He went on as if he hadn't noticed his remark had snatched the Veela's full attention, "Very thoughtful this one. Didn't send me that many gifts compared to some of the others, but the ones they did send … Those really showed they had put a lot of effort in them."
"Did you like those gifts then?" If Draco was aiming for a casual tone, he'd shot straight past it with how strangled his voice sounded instead.
"I really do actually," Harry replied lightly, running his fingers gently through the pure white feathers. "I didn't think I would, given my experience with other presents from admirers, but these gifts were something else. I kept them, which should be quite telling I think. Didn't I mention before how I normally either throw the gifts away or donate them."
"Yeah, you might have mentioned something like that." Draco jerked his head down in a nod; his shoulders oddly tense for someone who was receiving a relaxing massage.
"Yeah, so I kept these, because I really like them. Couldn't get myself to throw them away, because they're some of the most amazing gifts I've ever received," Harry said cheerfully. "Too bad they've remained anonymous so far."
"Why? You're thinking of going on a date with them?"
If the Veela became any tenser, he'd undo all the hard work Harry had put in him so far.
"You know, I actually might," Harry mused aloud; his touch turning light and airy, the massaging movements slowly transforming into something akin to a caress. "They've really got me intrigued now with their thoughtful presents."
"Ah. Even when you don't know who it is?"
The dark haired man shrugged. "That's what the date would be for, no? Getting to know each other better. I mean, they can't be that awful, considering how thoughtful their presents were."
"Right."
Harry occupied himself with running his hands gently over the wing; the appendage trapped between his palms. He was careful not to rub against the feathers, but couldn't resist lightly tugging at some of them. Each light, barely there tug had Draco twitching and Harry gazed at the back of Draco's head amused, contemplating whether he should end the Veela's misery or not.
In the end he decided he would, if only because Draco seemed content to impersonate a statue for the time being. A statue who still twitched and fluttered his wings with every light touch of Harry, but a statue nonetheless.
"I know it's you," he broke the silence, watching the other man freeze. "I admit I didn't have the faintest clue at first, but your third gift allowed me to put all the pieces together. You're the only one I ever told I'd like to talk to my family again and yesterday I received a gift that will allow me to do exactly that. I admit I can be rather oblivious, but even I stop being so oblivious with such an obvious gift." He smiled wryly.
He waited, but when Draco didn't say anything, he asked, "What was your endgame with this? Were you ever planning on telling me you were the one sending me those gifts?"
Draco shrugged stiffly. "Eventually, when I was absolutely certain you wouldn't reject me."
"How long?"
Draco didn't ask what he meant. "More than a year already. Or hell, maybe even before." He huffed, running a hand through his hair; an obvious sign of how agitated he was right now. "Who knows? Maybe this whole thing developed during Hogwarts; all I know is that it got way worse more than a year ago."
"The massages never help for long because you don't have a mate," Harry muttered, crossing his arms and frowning. "You couldn't have confessed earlier? You fucked up your muscles for no reason!"
That had Draco whirling around and snapping, "No reason? Oh yes, like I was just going to confess out of the blue to you that I'm interested in you! That would have gone oh so bloody marvellous! Are you that thick, Potter?"
"You're calling me thick?" Harry said incredulously, waving wildly at the wings. "You nearly fucked up all your muscles all because you couldn't be arsed to move your mouth and say something to me!"
"I didn't want you to say yes out of some goddamn pity, Potter!" Draco snarled; his eyes flashing a pure silver now. Talons briefly flickered into view before he forced them back. "And that's exactly what you would have done after you found out that my Veela side is acting out because I don't have a lover!"
Harry opened his mouth to keep arguing, before he paused and realised how ridiculous they were acting now. They had basically confessed to each other and instead of agreeing on a date, they were arguing about why Draco hadn't said something sooner!
That realisation had him grinning, making Draco squint at him suspiciously. "Why the hell are you grinning, Potter?" he demanded to know.
"Just how stupid we're both being now," Harry chuckled and walked around the table so he could stand in front of Draco.
The Veela followed his short trek around the table, a confused cooing noise escaping him when Harry rested his hands lightly on his thighs.
"I mean, we both basically confessed that we're interested in each other and instead of doing something with that, we're fighting about how stupid you were," Harry said, smiling when silver grey eyes narrowed.
"I'm not stupid! Forgive me for not wanting to - "
"So how about this? You and I go on a date tomorrow and you can show me how thoughtful you really are," Harry interrupted him before he could work up steam to start another argument.
Draco blinked, clearly taken aback. Insecurity briefly crossed his face and he asked, "You mean it?"
"Wouldn't waste my time here if I didn't mean it," Harry assured him, leaning a bit closer.
"Well, in that case, expect to be thoroughly wooed, Harry," Draco smirked; silver grey eyes positively gleaming now as hands came to rest on Harry's hips, urging him closer between Draco's legs.
"Sounds like a wonderful plan," Harry murmured and their mouths met in a soft kiss.
Large white wings wrapped around him, cocooning him as Draco crooned softly, pressing feather light kisses on his cheeks, his nose, his eyelids even before capturing his mouth in another soft kiss.
For the first time in years Harry was looking forward to what Valentine's Day would bring him.
(The day brought him a very thoughtful Veela, a very nice dinner and an amazing evening with the Veela in question.
He also ended up losing a client that day, but that was okay. Because he could still give his ex-client massages – in the private setting of their home. And if those massages sometimes turned into something else … Well, that was neither here nor there.)
The End
AN2: I hope this was a suitable last part to the story!
Please leave your thoughts behind in a review; should you spot any mistakes, please point them out to me.
I hope to see you all back in my future stories!
Cuddles
Melissa
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The Thought behind It