The Black Retreat [H/D, rated PG-13] - Part 1/2
Author: sesheta_66
Beta: fantasyfiend09
Title: The Black Retreat
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco
Summary: Draco's life as an interior designer was going swimmingly until he found himself having to work with contractor Harry Potter of all people. Surprisingly, they worked well together. Which was the reason Draco had completely taken leave of his senses and asked Potter to help him build something for his mother’s birthday. Pansy's pretty sure there's more to it than meets the eye.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Warning(s): None
Epilogue compliant? Not in the least
Word Count: ~10K
Author's Notes: Thanks so much to my amazing beta. ♥ ♥ ♥ The story is all the better thanks to your help. Any remaining mistakes are my own.
Read on AO3 | [Read on LJ]
The Black Retreat
Draco brushed Floo powder from his shoulders as he and Pansy headed for the lifts. "Why did we have to be here again?" He hadn't had much sleep the prior night and had only half listened when Pansy'd announced they needed to be at the client's office at nine. Circe's tits, but he could use some more caffeine.
Pansy’s heels clicked alongside him, the noise echoing off the marble floor. "The contractor we'd been slated to work with had to pull out of the agreement, and they're going with another. Today we're meeting with the new contractor to go over the work schedules of our various teams and to generally cover the same business we did at our initial meeting with the previous contractor."
As they walked past towering white walls in the too-bright lobby, he rather thought they should have been hired to decorate this place, too. It reminded him of every other building in every new highrise in most major cities. Would a hint of colour and warmth have killed them? "Brilliant. Starting from scratch all over again."
She sighed in the way she reserved only for Draco and Blaise - exasperated and mildly humouring at once. "Not really, darling. The scope of the project remains the same, and we hadn't done much in the way of planning beyond initial design, so our schedule's not disrupted."
He longingly thought of the espresso machine back at the office, and of the expert way in which Constance always prepared his. Entering the lift, he scowled as the fluorescent lighting bounced off the mirrors and attacked his retinas. "Today’s is," he grumbled.
She snickered. "My, aren't you in fine form."
He ignored her and they made their way to the office in silence. The receptionist greeted them and escorted them to the boardroom where she said that the team would be along shortly.
A minute later, the client's team entered, all looking positively chipper. He hated them all. Bailey, the Operations Manager, motioned for everyone to take a seat, his bald head reflecting the light, nearly as much as the mirror in the lift, as he angled his pudgy frame into his own chair. Draco forced himself not to touch his own hairline in sympathy. "Thanks for joining us today." He turned to Draco. “I trust Ms. Parkinson has brought you up to speed."
Draco nodded. "I understand we'll be working with another contractor that had bid on the project?"
"Truth be told, he was our first choice." Bailey looked rather pleased with the turn of events as he leaned back in his chair and rested his hands on his ample belly. As the chair creaked in protest, Draco amused himself wondering if it would eventually just collapse beneath the man. “But when we'd discussed the schedule, he'd had to respectfully withdraw due to another commitment."
Draco frowned. "Does that mean we're changing the schedule now?" Pansy nudged him under the table, but he didn’t care. They'd secured other clients based on their ability to deliver, and this particular job was going to tie them up for weeks. He didn’t fancy the idea of having to rearrange all that.
"Not to worry," Bailey said, righting the chair once more. "It turns out they finished their prior job with some time to spare and they're able to jump right in."
"Glad to hear it," Pansy said cheerfully. There was a reason she took point on client liaison.
"Perhaps you know the job," Bailey continued. "That new children's centre."
No. Draco knew the job alright, but that meant -. No, no, no, no, no! This could not be happening.
Before Draco had a chance to say a word, the door burst open and in blew who he just knew would be - as always - the bane of his existence.
Potter.
Well, fuck.
Wheels spinning, Draco tried to figure out a graceful exit, but he knew their contract was iron-clad. His team and the awarded contractor’s team would work together, as required, but otherwise they each had their own separate agreement with the client. Unless the timing was drastically altered, and it seemed it hadn't been, there was no getting out of it without financial penalty and a potential black stain on their reputation, something they could ill afford. He wondered idly what had happened with the other contractor.
Besides, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Pansy's reminded him, this was a career make-or-break project. He and Pansy had built this business together. They’d worked too hard for too long to make a name for themselves. At first the only clients they could get - the only people that would even consider them - were old family friends and associates. And even then, it was all rather hush-hush, no one wanting to be publicly associated with a former Death Eater, not even to have him redecorate a room. It had taken years before anyone besides former Slytherins would let either of them past their threshold.
But then one day out of the blue, Luna Lovegood, of all people, had hired them to design the new offices of the Quibbler. She'd run a six-page spread in the next issue, and they'd been busy since. Sure, some clients had been wary, despite the article, and Draco had felt dark magic detection spells descend on him on more than one occasion, but that was in the past. Mostly. They'd developed an extensive portfolio of satisfied clients and a waiting list that ran anywhere from three to six months over most of the past three years.
In fact, Pansy had suggested hiring on another designer, but Draco hadn't yet warmed to the idea. He liked the exclusivity of their current setup. Besides, it felt right. Almost like family.
The weight of Pansy's foot pressing on his own brought Draco back to the present and the problem at hand. For the next few weeks, he would be working with Potter on possibly the biggest project of his career. A quick glance her way told Draco that Pansy didn't look particularly surprised to see Potter. The bitch.
"Malfoy. Parkinson." Potter breezed in like he owned the place, shook Bailey's hand and took a seat across from Draco.
"Ah, I see you've met then." Bailey looked pleased.
Draco wanted to wipe that stupid look off his face. "Yes," he answered, a large, fake smile plastered on his face. "We all went to school together, actually."
"Well, schoolmates. It'll be just like old times then."
Pansy snorted but covered it with a cough. It was Potter who responded. "Well, let's hope not. We rather hated each other at the time." Draco stared at him. What was he trying to do, get them all ousted from the job? He ignored Draco's look and continued. "But I like to think that we've all grown up since then. Plus I've had a chance to see some of their work over the years and it's quite impressive. I'm sure we'll get along famously now."
Is he now? His smile looked genuine, but after years in the public eye, perhaps Potter had grown more subtle and was able to mask his true feelings. Whatever the case, Draco had no choice. Fuck, he needed some caffeine. Possibly something stronger.
***
All in all, the entire project had gone well. Bailey had outlined his vision and introduced the point person for each part of the build at the initial meeting, then left them to it. Much to Draco’s surprise, Potter had been right. Draco wouldn’t have said they’d got on famously but they’d managed to be professional and respectful and had even had lunch together twice without either of them stirring up trouble.
They’d finally made it to the ribbon-cutting ceremony for the new building, and he and Potter had both brought their teams with them for the event. Mesmerised by the play of light on Bailey’s bald pate and lulled into semi-consciousness as the man droned on and on, Draco had let his gaze drift over their teams - all present looking pleased to be there, and not just for the free food and drink. They’d looked proud - rightly so - of the finished product. Draco had to admit, if only to himself, that they’d all worked well together. From the beginning, he and Potter had made a good team, planning and executing their joint vision and breathing life into what might have become yet one more ordinary and blindingly bright building.
Perhaps the proud faces around him had made him do it. Or maybe the champagne was to blame. Reflecting on the success of the project, Draco had pulled Potter aside for a private chat just as the festivities were winding down and the house-elves cleaned up around them. In a fit of insanity, he was now sure, he’d asked if Potter would consider doing some work on a more personal project. As the crowd slowly dispersed around them, he stood clutching his empty glass and staring at Potter, waiting for a reply.
"I suppose that depends on what you mean by personal," Potter mused, after the initial shock of the question had worn off.
Draco's mind betrayed him, flashing images of some decidedly personal scenarios involving Potter before he had a chance to dismiss them. His face warmed.
Potter had the nerve to smirk - smirk! - at him and Draco just knew he'd turned as red as a Weasley's hair. Curse his fair complexion.
He put his glass down on the tray of a passing house-elf. "I mean that I was thinking about something special for my mother - an outdoor retreat of sorts on the manor property."
"Your ... mother?" Potter blinked rapidly before schooling his features to once again appear all business, but not fast enough for Draco to miss that look on his face. Disappointment perhaps? Had Potter hoped he’d meant something else? Interesting. Draco would store that away for future consideration.
"Yes, Potter, my mother. She has a rather significant birthday coming up, and I thought I'd like to do something special for her."
Potter smiled - that disarming smile he'd started using (or Draco had started noticing) of late. "I think she'd like that."
Draco frowned. "You haven't even heard what I'm proposing yet."
Potter's grin widened. "No, but if it's something from you - something you put a lot of thought into - I'm sure she'll love it."
Draco's lips twitched. "Are you now?"
This time Potter laughed. "This is the woman who defied Voldemort so she could get to you and make sure you were okay. Yes, I'd say I'm very sure she would appreciate anything you did for her."
Draco knew Potter was right. All the same, it was rather unnerving - and if he allowed himself to appreciate the sentiment, nice - to hear Potter say it. "So you'll do it then?"
Potter chuckled, his eyes warm. "Sure."
It was Draco's turn to smirk. "Without even knowing how much work it'll involve? The proposed timing? And how big my budget is? Why, Potter, that's rather foolhardy of you, isn't it?"
"Just chalk it up to my Gryffindor impetuousness. Jump first, ask questions later."
Draco snorted. "That's a dangerous prospect when dealing with a Slytherin, you know."
Potter stepped closer, eyes calculating and body invading his personal space. Draco held his ground. "I like living on the edge. Makes things interesting."
Draco swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry and his body much warmer than the situation warranted. "It does?"
Potter grinned and leaned in to whisper in Draco's ear. "Absolutely."
Draco only just stopped himself from swaying and leaning into Potter's cheek, forgetting for a moment that they were in a public place. Damn it. He was the Slytherin. He wasn't supposed to lose control. He cleared his throat and took a step back, extending his hand. "Then we have a deal?"
Potter stared at the proffered hand. Despite their work together over the past few weeks, Draco only now realised that they’d never had occasion to shake hands. Visions of the Hogwarts Express all over again flashing before his eyes, Draco half expected Potter to balk, but instead he gripped Draco's hand and nodded. "Deal."
***
Later that evening, brandy in hand and staring into the flames of his flat's fireplace, Draco's thoughts drifted back to his encounter with Potter that afternoon. If he didn't know better, he'd think Potter had been flirting with him. But that couldn't be right. This was Potter, after all. Subtlety was lost on the man. Besides, he was Potter and Draco was Malfoy. There could never be anything between them. It had been a challenge and nothing more. It had to have been. Anything else would be preposterous to even consider. Wouldn't it?
Yet, even as he pondered it, the idea didn't put him off like he would have expected. Potter was fit, after all, no longer the skinny, scrawny boy from school. He'd definitely grown into his looks. And he positively exuded confidence and strength, no longer the arrogance of his youth.
If he'd ever actually been arrogant. Draco wondered if he'd misjudged Potter from the start. No different than he'd misjudged you, an irritated voice echoed in his head. But had he really? Draco had been a bit of a twat in school, even he had to admit. He'd have probably reacted the same way Potter had.
Draco shook his head to clear it. These thoughts - rewriting history - were getting him nowhere. Exhaustion and alcohol were playing tricks on his memories. They'd both been prats to each other; might as well leave it at that. Potter liked a challenge, and Draco had always been able to get a rise out of him. That's all it was. Nothing more. He swallowed the last of his brandy and went to have a shower, eager to wash away his wayward thoughts. He had a meeting with Potter at nine the next morning. He didn't need ridiculous notions of things that could never be distracting him. He had a job to do and his mother deserved the best he could give.
If only he could master his dreams.
***
The next morning, Draco blinked away the image of dark hair and green eyes. A shower, a quick wank and two cups of coffee later, he felt nearly human enough to face the day.
"What rock did you crawl out from under?" Trust Pansy to tell it like it was. And barge into his office in the process, closing the door behind her.
He cringed. "Do I look that bad?"
She smirked and stalked over to him, caressing his tie with long, scarlet nails. "On the contrary," she said, tugging at the tie playfully, "you look like you've been shagged senseless. Anyone I know?"
His eyes widened at her pronouncement. "What?"
She chuckled. "You have that dazed look you get the day after, when you're thinking about the night before. I've seen it more than once."
Fuck. He can't see Potter like this. He was starting to panic. Breathe. Breathe. Can't let on to Pansy that he'd been having dreams featuring Potter in the leading role.
She positively cackled now. He really did hate her sometimes. "Now you just look spooked. Dare I ask why?"
"I have a meeting at nine and ... well. I can't very well look dazed, can I?"
"Why didn't I know about this meeting? Is it a new client?"
"It's with Potter." Shit. He'd blurted that out without thinking. "He's going to do some work for my mother," he said, attempting recovery.
“Your mother who is currently on the continent?"
“Yes. For her birthday. A gift from me."
But it was no use. She had that look on her face: the one that said she saw entirely too much for his liking. "You and Potter? After all this time? That's positively delicious!"
"No, you wench. There's nothing between me and Potter."
She pouted, but it was as fake as Umbridge’s laughter. "So it wasn't Potter that put that look on your face?"
"Of course not!" he barked. In hindsight, that might have been a bit over the top.
"Tsk, tsk. Methinks thou doth protest too much, darling."
"Nothing happened between me and Potter!" he insisted again. Nothing had, technically. Not in reality.
"But you want it to." It wasn't a question.
He took a fortifying breath. "Pansy, darling, I know you are under the delusion -"
"Draco, darling," she cut through his protest, "do we really need to discuss which one of us is delusional?"
He coughed. "Saying it over and over again doesn’t make it so."
Ignoring him, she continued. "You've been gagging for Potter since at least fourth year."
"I have not." Though this was not a new subject of argument between them, she'd been blessedly - and shockingly - silent on the issue through the entire project. He should have known that wouldn't last.
"Fine, then. Fifth year."
"He had my father sent to Azkaban that year."
"Mmm. Yes, he did. And that made you want him even more."
"I am not having this discussion with you. Again."
"Because I'm right and you know it. Don’t think I didn’t see the two of you cosying up at the ribbon-cutting. Hell, Blaise and Millie know it too. And now -" She looked up at the clock on the wall behind Draco's head. "The object of your desire will be arriving in five minutes."
He whipped his head around and got a crick in his neck for his troubles. "Shit!"
"Indeed." The humour in her voice didn't go unnoticed. "And you looking ready to jump into bed with him at the drop of a hat. What will the golden boy think?"
He turned on her. "I loathe you."
She grinned wickedly. "You love me, darling. And fortunately for you, I love you too and - just for today - I shall take pity on you."
She went to her own office, reached for something in her desk, and returned with a vial of light blue liquid. She handed it to him. "Drink."
It was a measure of how desperate he suddenly felt that he gulped it back without so much as a sniff to be sure the bottle didn't contain anything nefarious.
"Oh, my, you are trusting." When he turned panicked eyes on her, she shook her head, chuckling again. "Don't worry. It was my stand-by clarity potion. Should shake off the fuzzy brain feeling." She lowered her voice to a whisper to be sure Constance didn’t hear. “Nothing that would make you do something entirely out of character, like say for instance, throw yourself at a certain Dark-Lord-slaying Gryffindor." She brushed her hands over his shoulders, straightening his shirt. "Though that would be fun to watch." She winked and waved away the empty vial.
"You are evil." He heart Constance chuckle as she walked away from her desk, hopefully en route to getting him an espresso. “Truly evil."
Pansy picked up her wand and waved it at him before he even registered she might be up to something. A cool sensation spilled over him, head to toe, leaving him relaxed, his heart rate and breathing slowing to near normal levels. "Feel better?"
He nodded, taking a deep breath and centering his thoughts. "Calming spell?"
She nodded. "Didn't have a potion for that, and it's the next best thing."
"I still hate you."
"Of course you do." She sat down and crossed her long legs, her sinfully short skirt showing off her best feature, one pump dangling from her toes. "Nearly as much as you hate Potter."
"Did I hear my name?" The man himself walked through the door looking positively edible. Draco schooled his features; Pansy was far too observant.
Draco felt another wave of coolness and turned to face Pansy. "Potter and I have a meeting. Do let Constance know he’s arrived when she comes back?"
"Will do." She stood up and brushed past Potter as she walked towards the door. "Potter."
"Parkinson."
"As lovely as this has been, I'll leave you two to ... whatever it is." She clicked the door shut behind her.
The office seemed suddenly very small. And warm. Draco made a show of shuffling paint and fabric samples around his desk as he tried to calm himself. When he looked up, Potter was scowling. "I know you like to project that brooding hero look, but I'm the only one here. You can stop scowling." Potter's head snapped up and his scowl turned into something Draco couldn't name, though it may have resembled disappointment. "What?" It came out sharper than Draco had intended, but Potter always did put him out of sorts and bring out the worst in him.
"I thought we'd got past all that ..." He scowled some more. "Well, our past."
What was Potter on about now? "I'm sure I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about." Really, who could know what was bouncing around that head of his?
"Just now, when I came in."
Draco blinked, willing his patience not to flee. "I'm going to need a bit more than that, Potter."
"What Parkinson said." As if that explained all.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, willing the calming spell to do its job. "You're going to have to speak in full sentences if you expect me to understand what in Salazar's name you're on about."
Potter narrowed his eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. "She said you hate me. I thought we'd moved on from that."
Oh. Oh. Draco's jaw dropped and he had to make an effort to close it again. Was he serious? Was he really annoyed - did he really care - that Draco might hate him? "Pansy -" he started, prepared to fabricate something, anything, but then caught sight of Potter's face and yes, it was disappointment that he saw there.
Draco stood up and flung his arms in the air dramatically before walking to the window. Damn it if Potter wasn't affecting him. Making him tell the truth. Well, at least he didn't have to look Potter in the eye whilst doing so. It was all Pansy's fault for getting him worked up to begin with. He hadn't had the chance to calm down properly before Potter'd waltzed in.
"It was sarcasm, Potter. Pansy is rather adept at it."
"I don't understand."
"No, I don't imagine you do, given that you obviously walked in at the tail end of the conversation." Despite his self-preservation instincts, Draco turned around and faced him. "I'd just told Pansy that I hate her and she suggested that I hate her nearly as much as I hate you. Which I don't. Either one of you. Ergo, sarcasm."
"You don't hate me?" Bloody hell, now Potter sounded hopeful.
Draco ran a hand across his face. He wasn't used to this honesty business. Give him subterfuge and innuendo anytime. "No, Potter, much as the realisation would no doubt shock anyone who knew us at school, I find that I do not, in fact, hate you."
Potter smiled widely, and it was all Draco could do to hold back a smile of his own. Honestly, were they Hufflepuffs all of a sudden?
Draco shook his head. "I should have thought that was obvious when I enlisted your services to create something special for my mother."
Potter's stupid grin remained as he ignored Draco and said, "I don't hate you either."
Draco pointedly ignored the jolt of pleasure that caused and rolled his eyes. "Yes, well ... now we've cleared that up, can we get on with the business at hand?"
They discussed Draco's idea - more of a mishmash of thoughts than anything concrete, really. His mother loved all things to do with the spring - flowers and scents and the warming of the air, and he thought he'd like to create an outdoor retreat for her, somewhere she might putter around with plants. More accurately, where she could direct the activities of the house-elves as they puttered around with plants.
After a couple of hours, they decided they’d done all they could off-site, and agreed their next meeting would be at the manor.
"My plate's full much of the day tomorrow, and I'd like to do a bit of research before we meet again," Potter said. "How does Wednesday work for you? I can clear the whole day if you want to get moving on this."
Draco masked his surprise, barely containing his, You'd do that for me question. Instead, he said, "I didn't realise the Chosen One's schedule was so open."
"It isn't." Potter frowned. "And please don't call me that."
"But it -"
"That was a long time ago. Another lifetime." Draco nodded. "Besides, I thought you said time was of the essence, that your mother's only away for a few more weeks."
"True."
"Then we'd better get moving on this. I suspect we're not going to be using prefabricated materials, and we'll need time to custom order everything once we've decided what to use."
"Of course. It's just ..." You're doing this for me and I'm not sure I can quite grasp that.
"Hmm?"
"Never mind."
Potter looked ready to press the issue but then shrugged instead. "Is nine o'clock okay for you?"
"That's fine. I'll adjust the wards so you can get through the gates. Just walk up to the door."
"I could Floo."
He fidgeted about with a design board. "About that. Let's just say we had some trouble after the war. Some people thought it would be highly amusing to ... well, let's just say we had to close it off to ensure our safety. And it seems the person we hired to do the job was rather enthusiastic about security, and we've had a hell of a time trying to get it to work again. No one at the Ministry is particularly concerned that the Malfoys can't access the Floo network, either, so we haven't had much luck reconnecting it."
Not surprisingly, Potter looked irritated - he really did wear his sense of fairness like a cloak. But without responding, he merely nodded and said he'd see Draco Wednesday.
***
Several days into their work and nearing the end of the day, Draco found himself watching Potter work, a level of deep focus and concentration evident in every look, every move. Draco never would have guessed the impetuous boy of their youth could sit still, engrossed in one thing for so long. He supposed he wasn't the only one who'd matured since school. As Draco considered Potter, and how obviously committed he was to the project, a conversation from the previous day interrupted his musings.
"But why," Pansy asked, "is he doing it?"
"Because my mother saved his life and I didn't identify him, blah blah blah. The usual."
"But that was years ago. And as I and the rest of the wizarding world recall, Potter paid those debts in full, several times over."
Draco shrugged. "I suppose."
"He saved your life - not once, but twice. Then he testified for you and Narcissa at your trials, undoubtedly saving you both from a life behind bars. Then he took up the cause to make sure the Ministry didn't get their grubby paws on your ancestral home - and the homes of other Death Eater families. And let's not forget how he helped bridge the gap between your mother and her sister." She looked fiercely into his eyes, and he got the sensation of her boring into his brain. He Occluded himself to be safe. "If anyone owes a debt of gratitude, it would be you. And yet ... for some reason, the man is putting his life, his work, on hold. For you. Surely there's something more to it than you're letting on."
Back to the present, he suddenly had to know. "Potter."
"Hmm?"
"Why are you doing this? You've very nearly put your life on hold for this project."
"I haven't really." He shrugged. "I'll put in some time on site or in the office when I'm needed, but most of my ongoing jobs are at the stage where others can manage without my presence most of the time. I have a good team."
"So you've said. But why are you personally handling everything here?"
Potter frowned. "If you'd rather I not -"
"Don't be ridiculous. It's just that we've barely tolerated each other until recently."
"There's an understatement."
"See? That's just it. Why then are you willing to dedicate so much of your time to -" He almost said me "- this job?"
"Your mother saved my life and you -"
"Yes, yes, we've gone over that before. But you've already paid back any perceived debt several times over. Besides, saving your life was secondary as you well know. My mother only lied to save me."
"That's just it, isn't it?"
"Sorry?"
Potter set aside his designs, put down his quill and ran his hand through his hair. He looked vulnerable all of a sudden, and Draco had the strange urge to reach out to him.
"Your mom loves you so much that she would have given her life for you - still would, I'm sure." Draco nodded, knowing it was the truth. "My mom did give up her life for me." Potter turned away and walked to the window. He spoke to the pane, or perhaps to someone or something in the distance only he could see. "I can't do anything special for my own mother - I never could - but when you proposed this project, I thought maybe I could help you do something special for yours."
Draco didn't know what to say. He hadn’t expected Potter to open up like that. Not sure what he had expected, Draco said nothing. They remained in a strangely comfortable silence for awhile, Potter continuing to stare out the window.
Eventually, Potter turned to face Draco once more and smirked. "Besides, you asked me."
Draco laughed. "I'm sure lots of people ask you for lots of things all the time."
"Yeah, but they're not you."
While Draco's heart hammered in his chest and his brain tried to work out what the hell Potter had meant by that - Pansy's voice nattering on inside his head - Potter gathered up his things, leaving them in a neat pile on the table by the French doors leading to the gardens.
Potter caught him staring and grinned. "I never could resist a challenge from you, could I?"
Oh. Of course that's what he'd meant. Draco schooled his features, drawing upon his Malfoy smirk. "You're so easy, Potter."
Potter's grin widened and turned almost predatory. He stalked over to where Draco stood and leaned in, brushing his hair against Draco's cheek as he growled into his ear, "You wish." Then he pulled back, turned and walked out the door.
Draco stood frozen in place, heart racing and mind reeling as he heard the front door open. Just before it clicked shut again, Potter's amused voice called back to him, "See you Monday, Malfoy."
***
Part 2
Beta: fantasyfiend09
Title: The Black Retreat
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco
Summary: Draco's life as an interior designer was going swimmingly until he found himself having to work with contractor Harry Potter of all people. Surprisingly, they worked well together. Which was the reason Draco had completely taken leave of his senses and asked Potter to help him build something for his mother’s birthday. Pansy's pretty sure there's more to it than meets the eye.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Warning(s): None
Epilogue compliant? Not in the least
Word Count: ~10K
Author's Notes: Thanks so much to my amazing beta. ♥ ♥ ♥ The story is all the better thanks to your help. Any remaining mistakes are my own.
Read on AO3 | [Read on LJ]
The Black Retreat
Draco brushed Floo powder from his shoulders as he and Pansy headed for the lifts. "Why did we have to be here again?" He hadn't had much sleep the prior night and had only half listened when Pansy'd announced they needed to be at the client's office at nine. Circe's tits, but he could use some more caffeine.
Pansy’s heels clicked alongside him, the noise echoing off the marble floor. "The contractor we'd been slated to work with had to pull out of the agreement, and they're going with another. Today we're meeting with the new contractor to go over the work schedules of our various teams and to generally cover the same business we did at our initial meeting with the previous contractor."
As they walked past towering white walls in the too-bright lobby, he rather thought they should have been hired to decorate this place, too. It reminded him of every other building in every new highrise in most major cities. Would a hint of colour and warmth have killed them? "Brilliant. Starting from scratch all over again."
She sighed in the way she reserved only for Draco and Blaise - exasperated and mildly humouring at once. "Not really, darling. The scope of the project remains the same, and we hadn't done much in the way of planning beyond initial design, so our schedule's not disrupted."
He longingly thought of the espresso machine back at the office, and of the expert way in which Constance always prepared his. Entering the lift, he scowled as the fluorescent lighting bounced off the mirrors and attacked his retinas. "Today’s is," he grumbled.
She snickered. "My, aren't you in fine form."
He ignored her and they made their way to the office in silence. The receptionist greeted them and escorted them to the boardroom where she said that the team would be along shortly.
A minute later, the client's team entered, all looking positively chipper. He hated them all. Bailey, the Operations Manager, motioned for everyone to take a seat, his bald head reflecting the light, nearly as much as the mirror in the lift, as he angled his pudgy frame into his own chair. Draco forced himself not to touch his own hairline in sympathy. "Thanks for joining us today." He turned to Draco. “I trust Ms. Parkinson has brought you up to speed."
Draco nodded. "I understand we'll be working with another contractor that had bid on the project?"
"Truth be told, he was our first choice." Bailey looked rather pleased with the turn of events as he leaned back in his chair and rested his hands on his ample belly. As the chair creaked in protest, Draco amused himself wondering if it would eventually just collapse beneath the man. “But when we'd discussed the schedule, he'd had to respectfully withdraw due to another commitment."
Draco frowned. "Does that mean we're changing the schedule now?" Pansy nudged him under the table, but he didn’t care. They'd secured other clients based on their ability to deliver, and this particular job was going to tie them up for weeks. He didn’t fancy the idea of having to rearrange all that.
"Not to worry," Bailey said, righting the chair once more. "It turns out they finished their prior job with some time to spare and they're able to jump right in."
"Glad to hear it," Pansy said cheerfully. There was a reason she took point on client liaison.
"Perhaps you know the job," Bailey continued. "That new children's centre."
No. Draco knew the job alright, but that meant -. No, no, no, no, no! This could not be happening.
Before Draco had a chance to say a word, the door burst open and in blew who he just knew would be - as always - the bane of his existence.
Potter.
Well, fuck.
Wheels spinning, Draco tried to figure out a graceful exit, but he knew their contract was iron-clad. His team and the awarded contractor’s team would work together, as required, but otherwise they each had their own separate agreement with the client. Unless the timing was drastically altered, and it seemed it hadn't been, there was no getting out of it without financial penalty and a potential black stain on their reputation, something they could ill afford. He wondered idly what had happened with the other contractor.
Besides, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Pansy's reminded him, this was a career make-or-break project. He and Pansy had built this business together. They’d worked too hard for too long to make a name for themselves. At first the only clients they could get - the only people that would even consider them - were old family friends and associates. And even then, it was all rather hush-hush, no one wanting to be publicly associated with a former Death Eater, not even to have him redecorate a room. It had taken years before anyone besides former Slytherins would let either of them past their threshold.
But then one day out of the blue, Luna Lovegood, of all people, had hired them to design the new offices of the Quibbler. She'd run a six-page spread in the next issue, and they'd been busy since. Sure, some clients had been wary, despite the article, and Draco had felt dark magic detection spells descend on him on more than one occasion, but that was in the past. Mostly. They'd developed an extensive portfolio of satisfied clients and a waiting list that ran anywhere from three to six months over most of the past three years.
In fact, Pansy had suggested hiring on another designer, but Draco hadn't yet warmed to the idea. He liked the exclusivity of their current setup. Besides, it felt right. Almost like family.
The weight of Pansy's foot pressing on his own brought Draco back to the present and the problem at hand. For the next few weeks, he would be working with Potter on possibly the biggest project of his career. A quick glance her way told Draco that Pansy didn't look particularly surprised to see Potter. The bitch.
"Malfoy. Parkinson." Potter breezed in like he owned the place, shook Bailey's hand and took a seat across from Draco.
"Ah, I see you've met then." Bailey looked pleased.
Draco wanted to wipe that stupid look off his face. "Yes," he answered, a large, fake smile plastered on his face. "We all went to school together, actually."
"Well, schoolmates. It'll be just like old times then."
Pansy snorted but covered it with a cough. It was Potter who responded. "Well, let's hope not. We rather hated each other at the time." Draco stared at him. What was he trying to do, get them all ousted from the job? He ignored Draco's look and continued. "But I like to think that we've all grown up since then. Plus I've had a chance to see some of their work over the years and it's quite impressive. I'm sure we'll get along famously now."
Is he now? His smile looked genuine, but after years in the public eye, perhaps Potter had grown more subtle and was able to mask his true feelings. Whatever the case, Draco had no choice. Fuck, he needed some caffeine. Possibly something stronger.
***
All in all, the entire project had gone well. Bailey had outlined his vision and introduced the point person for each part of the build at the initial meeting, then left them to it. Much to Draco’s surprise, Potter had been right. Draco wouldn’t have said they’d got on famously but they’d managed to be professional and respectful and had even had lunch together twice without either of them stirring up trouble.
They’d finally made it to the ribbon-cutting ceremony for the new building, and he and Potter had both brought their teams with them for the event. Mesmerised by the play of light on Bailey’s bald pate and lulled into semi-consciousness as the man droned on and on, Draco had let his gaze drift over their teams - all present looking pleased to be there, and not just for the free food and drink. They’d looked proud - rightly so - of the finished product. Draco had to admit, if only to himself, that they’d all worked well together. From the beginning, he and Potter had made a good team, planning and executing their joint vision and breathing life into what might have become yet one more ordinary and blindingly bright building.
Perhaps the proud faces around him had made him do it. Or maybe the champagne was to blame. Reflecting on the success of the project, Draco had pulled Potter aside for a private chat just as the festivities were winding down and the house-elves cleaned up around them. In a fit of insanity, he was now sure, he’d asked if Potter would consider doing some work on a more personal project. As the crowd slowly dispersed around them, he stood clutching his empty glass and staring at Potter, waiting for a reply.
"I suppose that depends on what you mean by personal," Potter mused, after the initial shock of the question had worn off.
Draco's mind betrayed him, flashing images of some decidedly personal scenarios involving Potter before he had a chance to dismiss them. His face warmed.
Potter had the nerve to smirk - smirk! - at him and Draco just knew he'd turned as red as a Weasley's hair. Curse his fair complexion.
He put his glass down on the tray of a passing house-elf. "I mean that I was thinking about something special for my mother - an outdoor retreat of sorts on the manor property."
"Your ... mother?" Potter blinked rapidly before schooling his features to once again appear all business, but not fast enough for Draco to miss that look on his face. Disappointment perhaps? Had Potter hoped he’d meant something else? Interesting. Draco would store that away for future consideration.
"Yes, Potter, my mother. She has a rather significant birthday coming up, and I thought I'd like to do something special for her."
Potter smiled - that disarming smile he'd started using (or Draco had started noticing) of late. "I think she'd like that."
Draco frowned. "You haven't even heard what I'm proposing yet."
Potter's grin widened. "No, but if it's something from you - something you put a lot of thought into - I'm sure she'll love it."
Draco's lips twitched. "Are you now?"
This time Potter laughed. "This is the woman who defied Voldemort so she could get to you and make sure you were okay. Yes, I'd say I'm very sure she would appreciate anything you did for her."
Draco knew Potter was right. All the same, it was rather unnerving - and if he allowed himself to appreciate the sentiment, nice - to hear Potter say it. "So you'll do it then?"
Potter chuckled, his eyes warm. "Sure."
It was Draco's turn to smirk. "Without even knowing how much work it'll involve? The proposed timing? And how big my budget is? Why, Potter, that's rather foolhardy of you, isn't it?"
"Just chalk it up to my Gryffindor impetuousness. Jump first, ask questions later."
Draco snorted. "That's a dangerous prospect when dealing with a Slytherin, you know."
Potter stepped closer, eyes calculating and body invading his personal space. Draco held his ground. "I like living on the edge. Makes things interesting."
Draco swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry and his body much warmer than the situation warranted. "It does?"
Potter grinned and leaned in to whisper in Draco's ear. "Absolutely."
Draco only just stopped himself from swaying and leaning into Potter's cheek, forgetting for a moment that they were in a public place. Damn it. He was the Slytherin. He wasn't supposed to lose control. He cleared his throat and took a step back, extending his hand. "Then we have a deal?"
Potter stared at the proffered hand. Despite their work together over the past few weeks, Draco only now realised that they’d never had occasion to shake hands. Visions of the Hogwarts Express all over again flashing before his eyes, Draco half expected Potter to balk, but instead he gripped Draco's hand and nodded. "Deal."
***
Later that evening, brandy in hand and staring into the flames of his flat's fireplace, Draco's thoughts drifted back to his encounter with Potter that afternoon. If he didn't know better, he'd think Potter had been flirting with him. But that couldn't be right. This was Potter, after all. Subtlety was lost on the man. Besides, he was Potter and Draco was Malfoy. There could never be anything between them. It had been a challenge and nothing more. It had to have been. Anything else would be preposterous to even consider. Wouldn't it?
Yet, even as he pondered it, the idea didn't put him off like he would have expected. Potter was fit, after all, no longer the skinny, scrawny boy from school. He'd definitely grown into his looks. And he positively exuded confidence and strength, no longer the arrogance of his youth.
If he'd ever actually been arrogant. Draco wondered if he'd misjudged Potter from the start. No different than he'd misjudged you, an irritated voice echoed in his head. But had he really? Draco had been a bit of a twat in school, even he had to admit. He'd have probably reacted the same way Potter had.
Draco shook his head to clear it. These thoughts - rewriting history - were getting him nowhere. Exhaustion and alcohol were playing tricks on his memories. They'd both been prats to each other; might as well leave it at that. Potter liked a challenge, and Draco had always been able to get a rise out of him. That's all it was. Nothing more. He swallowed the last of his brandy and went to have a shower, eager to wash away his wayward thoughts. He had a meeting with Potter at nine the next morning. He didn't need ridiculous notions of things that could never be distracting him. He had a job to do and his mother deserved the best he could give.
If only he could master his dreams.
***
The next morning, Draco blinked away the image of dark hair and green eyes. A shower, a quick wank and two cups of coffee later, he felt nearly human enough to face the day.
"What rock did you crawl out from under?" Trust Pansy to tell it like it was. And barge into his office in the process, closing the door behind her.
He cringed. "Do I look that bad?"
She smirked and stalked over to him, caressing his tie with long, scarlet nails. "On the contrary," she said, tugging at the tie playfully, "you look like you've been shagged senseless. Anyone I know?"
His eyes widened at her pronouncement. "What?"
She chuckled. "You have that dazed look you get the day after, when you're thinking about the night before. I've seen it more than once."
Fuck. He can't see Potter like this. He was starting to panic. Breathe. Breathe. Can't let on to Pansy that he'd been having dreams featuring Potter in the leading role.
She positively cackled now. He really did hate her sometimes. "Now you just look spooked. Dare I ask why?"
"I have a meeting at nine and ... well. I can't very well look dazed, can I?"
"Why didn't I know about this meeting? Is it a new client?"
"It's with Potter." Shit. He'd blurted that out without thinking. "He's going to do some work for my mother," he said, attempting recovery.
“Your mother who is currently on the continent?"
“Yes. For her birthday. A gift from me."
But it was no use. She had that look on her face: the one that said she saw entirely too much for his liking. "You and Potter? After all this time? That's positively delicious!"
"No, you wench. There's nothing between me and Potter."
She pouted, but it was as fake as Umbridge’s laughter. "So it wasn't Potter that put that look on your face?"
"Of course not!" he barked. In hindsight, that might have been a bit over the top.
"Tsk, tsk. Methinks thou doth protest too much, darling."
"Nothing happened between me and Potter!" he insisted again. Nothing had, technically. Not in reality.
"But you want it to." It wasn't a question.
He took a fortifying breath. "Pansy, darling, I know you are under the delusion -"
"Draco, darling," she cut through his protest, "do we really need to discuss which one of us is delusional?"
He coughed. "Saying it over and over again doesn’t make it so."
Ignoring him, she continued. "You've been gagging for Potter since at least fourth year."
"I have not." Though this was not a new subject of argument between them, she'd been blessedly - and shockingly - silent on the issue through the entire project. He should have known that wouldn't last.
"Fine, then. Fifth year."
"He had my father sent to Azkaban that year."
"Mmm. Yes, he did. And that made you want him even more."
"I am not having this discussion with you. Again."
"Because I'm right and you know it. Don’t think I didn’t see the two of you cosying up at the ribbon-cutting. Hell, Blaise and Millie know it too. And now -" She looked up at the clock on the wall behind Draco's head. "The object of your desire will be arriving in five minutes."
He whipped his head around and got a crick in his neck for his troubles. "Shit!"
"Indeed." The humour in her voice didn't go unnoticed. "And you looking ready to jump into bed with him at the drop of a hat. What will the golden boy think?"
He turned on her. "I loathe you."
She grinned wickedly. "You love me, darling. And fortunately for you, I love you too and - just for today - I shall take pity on you."
She went to her own office, reached for something in her desk, and returned with a vial of light blue liquid. She handed it to him. "Drink."
It was a measure of how desperate he suddenly felt that he gulped it back without so much as a sniff to be sure the bottle didn't contain anything nefarious.
"Oh, my, you are trusting." When he turned panicked eyes on her, she shook her head, chuckling again. "Don't worry. It was my stand-by clarity potion. Should shake off the fuzzy brain feeling." She lowered her voice to a whisper to be sure Constance didn’t hear. “Nothing that would make you do something entirely out of character, like say for instance, throw yourself at a certain Dark-Lord-slaying Gryffindor." She brushed her hands over his shoulders, straightening his shirt. "Though that would be fun to watch." She winked and waved away the empty vial.
"You are evil." He heart Constance chuckle as she walked away from her desk, hopefully en route to getting him an espresso. “Truly evil."
Pansy picked up her wand and waved it at him before he even registered she might be up to something. A cool sensation spilled over him, head to toe, leaving him relaxed, his heart rate and breathing slowing to near normal levels. "Feel better?"
He nodded, taking a deep breath and centering his thoughts. "Calming spell?"
She nodded. "Didn't have a potion for that, and it's the next best thing."
"I still hate you."
"Of course you do." She sat down and crossed her long legs, her sinfully short skirt showing off her best feature, one pump dangling from her toes. "Nearly as much as you hate Potter."
"Did I hear my name?" The man himself walked through the door looking positively edible. Draco schooled his features; Pansy was far too observant.
Draco felt another wave of coolness and turned to face Pansy. "Potter and I have a meeting. Do let Constance know he’s arrived when she comes back?"
"Will do." She stood up and brushed past Potter as she walked towards the door. "Potter."
"Parkinson."
"As lovely as this has been, I'll leave you two to ... whatever it is." She clicked the door shut behind her.
The office seemed suddenly very small. And warm. Draco made a show of shuffling paint and fabric samples around his desk as he tried to calm himself. When he looked up, Potter was scowling. "I know you like to project that brooding hero look, but I'm the only one here. You can stop scowling." Potter's head snapped up and his scowl turned into something Draco couldn't name, though it may have resembled disappointment. "What?" It came out sharper than Draco had intended, but Potter always did put him out of sorts and bring out the worst in him.
"I thought we'd got past all that ..." He scowled some more. "Well, our past."
What was Potter on about now? "I'm sure I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about." Really, who could know what was bouncing around that head of his?
"Just now, when I came in."
Draco blinked, willing his patience not to flee. "I'm going to need a bit more than that, Potter."
"What Parkinson said." As if that explained all.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, willing the calming spell to do its job. "You're going to have to speak in full sentences if you expect me to understand what in Salazar's name you're on about."
Potter narrowed his eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. "She said you hate me. I thought we'd moved on from that."
Oh. Oh. Draco's jaw dropped and he had to make an effort to close it again. Was he serious? Was he really annoyed - did he really care - that Draco might hate him? "Pansy -" he started, prepared to fabricate something, anything, but then caught sight of Potter's face and yes, it was disappointment that he saw there.
Draco stood up and flung his arms in the air dramatically before walking to the window. Damn it if Potter wasn't affecting him. Making him tell the truth. Well, at least he didn't have to look Potter in the eye whilst doing so. It was all Pansy's fault for getting him worked up to begin with. He hadn't had the chance to calm down properly before Potter'd waltzed in.
"It was sarcasm, Potter. Pansy is rather adept at it."
"I don't understand."
"No, I don't imagine you do, given that you obviously walked in at the tail end of the conversation." Despite his self-preservation instincts, Draco turned around and faced him. "I'd just told Pansy that I hate her and she suggested that I hate her nearly as much as I hate you. Which I don't. Either one of you. Ergo, sarcasm."
"You don't hate me?" Bloody hell, now Potter sounded hopeful.
Draco ran a hand across his face. He wasn't used to this honesty business. Give him subterfuge and innuendo anytime. "No, Potter, much as the realisation would no doubt shock anyone who knew us at school, I find that I do not, in fact, hate you."
Potter smiled widely, and it was all Draco could do to hold back a smile of his own. Honestly, were they Hufflepuffs all of a sudden?
Draco shook his head. "I should have thought that was obvious when I enlisted your services to create something special for my mother."
Potter's stupid grin remained as he ignored Draco and said, "I don't hate you either."
Draco pointedly ignored the jolt of pleasure that caused and rolled his eyes. "Yes, well ... now we've cleared that up, can we get on with the business at hand?"
They discussed Draco's idea - more of a mishmash of thoughts than anything concrete, really. His mother loved all things to do with the spring - flowers and scents and the warming of the air, and he thought he'd like to create an outdoor retreat for her, somewhere she might putter around with plants. More accurately, where she could direct the activities of the house-elves as they puttered around with plants.
After a couple of hours, they decided they’d done all they could off-site, and agreed their next meeting would be at the manor.
"My plate's full much of the day tomorrow, and I'd like to do a bit of research before we meet again," Potter said. "How does Wednesday work for you? I can clear the whole day if you want to get moving on this."
Draco masked his surprise, barely containing his, You'd do that for me question. Instead, he said, "I didn't realise the Chosen One's schedule was so open."
"It isn't." Potter frowned. "And please don't call me that."
"But it -"
"That was a long time ago. Another lifetime." Draco nodded. "Besides, I thought you said time was of the essence, that your mother's only away for a few more weeks."
"True."
"Then we'd better get moving on this. I suspect we're not going to be using prefabricated materials, and we'll need time to custom order everything once we've decided what to use."
"Of course. It's just ..." You're doing this for me and I'm not sure I can quite grasp that.
"Hmm?"
"Never mind."
Potter looked ready to press the issue but then shrugged instead. "Is nine o'clock okay for you?"
"That's fine. I'll adjust the wards so you can get through the gates. Just walk up to the door."
"I could Floo."
He fidgeted about with a design board. "About that. Let's just say we had some trouble after the war. Some people thought it would be highly amusing to ... well, let's just say we had to close it off to ensure our safety. And it seems the person we hired to do the job was rather enthusiastic about security, and we've had a hell of a time trying to get it to work again. No one at the Ministry is particularly concerned that the Malfoys can't access the Floo network, either, so we haven't had much luck reconnecting it."
Not surprisingly, Potter looked irritated - he really did wear his sense of fairness like a cloak. But without responding, he merely nodded and said he'd see Draco Wednesday.
***
Several days into their work and nearing the end of the day, Draco found himself watching Potter work, a level of deep focus and concentration evident in every look, every move. Draco never would have guessed the impetuous boy of their youth could sit still, engrossed in one thing for so long. He supposed he wasn't the only one who'd matured since school. As Draco considered Potter, and how obviously committed he was to the project, a conversation from the previous day interrupted his musings.
"But why," Pansy asked, "is he doing it?"
"Because my mother saved his life and I didn't identify him, blah blah blah. The usual."
"But that was years ago. And as I and the rest of the wizarding world recall, Potter paid those debts in full, several times over."
Draco shrugged. "I suppose."
"He saved your life - not once, but twice. Then he testified for you and Narcissa at your trials, undoubtedly saving you both from a life behind bars. Then he took up the cause to make sure the Ministry didn't get their grubby paws on your ancestral home - and the homes of other Death Eater families. And let's not forget how he helped bridge the gap between your mother and her sister." She looked fiercely into his eyes, and he got the sensation of her boring into his brain. He Occluded himself to be safe. "If anyone owes a debt of gratitude, it would be you. And yet ... for some reason, the man is putting his life, his work, on hold. For you. Surely there's something more to it than you're letting on."
Back to the present, he suddenly had to know. "Potter."
"Hmm?"
"Why are you doing this? You've very nearly put your life on hold for this project."
"I haven't really." He shrugged. "I'll put in some time on site or in the office when I'm needed, but most of my ongoing jobs are at the stage where others can manage without my presence most of the time. I have a good team."
"So you've said. But why are you personally handling everything here?"
Potter frowned. "If you'd rather I not -"
"Don't be ridiculous. It's just that we've barely tolerated each other until recently."
"There's an understatement."
"See? That's just it. Why then are you willing to dedicate so much of your time to -" He almost said me "- this job?"
"Your mother saved my life and you -"
"Yes, yes, we've gone over that before. But you've already paid back any perceived debt several times over. Besides, saving your life was secondary as you well know. My mother only lied to save me."
"That's just it, isn't it?"
"Sorry?"
Potter set aside his designs, put down his quill and ran his hand through his hair. He looked vulnerable all of a sudden, and Draco had the strange urge to reach out to him.
"Your mom loves you so much that she would have given her life for you - still would, I'm sure." Draco nodded, knowing it was the truth. "My mom did give up her life for me." Potter turned away and walked to the window. He spoke to the pane, or perhaps to someone or something in the distance only he could see. "I can't do anything special for my own mother - I never could - but when you proposed this project, I thought maybe I could help you do something special for yours."
Draco didn't know what to say. He hadn’t expected Potter to open up like that. Not sure what he had expected, Draco said nothing. They remained in a strangely comfortable silence for awhile, Potter continuing to stare out the window.
Eventually, Potter turned to face Draco once more and smirked. "Besides, you asked me."
Draco laughed. "I'm sure lots of people ask you for lots of things all the time."
"Yeah, but they're not you."
While Draco's heart hammered in his chest and his brain tried to work out what the hell Potter had meant by that - Pansy's voice nattering on inside his head - Potter gathered up his things, leaving them in a neat pile on the table by the French doors leading to the gardens.
Potter caught him staring and grinned. "I never could resist a challenge from you, could I?"
Oh. Of course that's what he'd meant. Draco schooled his features, drawing upon his Malfoy smirk. "You're so easy, Potter."
Potter's grin widened and turned almost predatory. He stalked over to where Draco stood and leaned in, brushing his hair against Draco's cheek as he growled into his ear, "You wish." Then he pulled back, turned and walked out the door.
Draco stood frozen in place, heart racing and mind reeling as he heard the front door open. Just before it clicked shut again, Potter's amused voice called back to him, "See you Monday, Malfoy."
***
Part 2