Finally! Not Yet 3! *throws confetti*
(Previous installments:
NY1: When
NY2: Not Yet)
And without further ado... oh wait, just a little bit more ado. Disclaimer: yeah, really not mine. I only make them wait. And wait. And wait.
Special chocolate coated thanks to luzmaria8 who suggested the dinner menu and puts up with all my nonsense, and shatter_glass who kicked me in the arse, answered all my stupid questions and made this a hundred times better. All residual stupidity is the property of me.
Oh, and I really hope you enjoy reading this. Okay, no more ado :D
"...We are not living in eternity. We only have this moment, sparkling like a star in our hand-and melting like a snowflake." ~ Marie Beynon Ray
***
Draco supposed he could have had better timing. He could have waited till Snape had actually put down the simmering vial of liquid that he’d spent three days preparing before uttering the words, "So Potter and I had an encounter," but the need to talk about what had happened had reached its critical mass and there was no turning back.
Luckily, Snape’s reflexes were still sound and the vial made it to the cooling rack without incident.
Snape glared at him. "Please. Do not elaborate."
"Fine."
Draco leaned on the workbench in Snape’s laboratory and watched Snape work. It was a brand new facility, funded in part by one Draco Malfoy. He didn’t usually make a point of visiting any of the labs that were working with Malfoy money. Then again, he wasn’t here in a purely professional capacity either.
"It was a private encounter."
Draco remembered the wall at his back, the feel of Harry’s hands hard at his hips.
Snape’s eyebrows arched. "Then why, pray tell, are you telling me about it?"
Draco smirked.
"I hadn’t seen him in months and then suddenly there he was, and we were touching, and I wasn’t the slightest bit concerned or over-thinking things until-"
He broke off at the sight of Snape with eyes closed and taking deep, calming breaths. "My kingdom for a wire brush and a sharp implement to pierce my eardrums," he muttered.
"All right, no more explicit details."
Snape checked on the potion with a critical eye. "I should be so lucky."
"But Potter’s expressed interest."
Snape raised an eyebrow. "In so many words?"
"You know Potter. He has his own brand of subtlety."
"Indeed. And yourself?" Snape looked unhappy with himself for encouraging this conversation, and Draco smiled.
"I’m... considering it."
"I see."
"So we had that shared..."
Snape cringed.
"...moment."
Snape relaxed. "But before things could progress beyond a moment, though, I stopped him." Draco looked at his hands. "I had to."
"And what did Potter do?"
"He said, ‘ok.’"
"That’s all?"
"Of course not. There was a lot of blinking and shuffling about and trying not to feel guilty that he’d pushed me too far too fast, but the gist of it is that he said, ‘ok’." Draco sighed. "He thinks he’s fond of me. I think he’s insane."
"Yes, Draco. I think that twenty minute’s repetition of those very same words has accurately conveyed your dismay."
"Why are you humoring me? You should be helping me! What should I do?"
"Tell him you never want to see him again."
"What? Are you mad? I can’t do that. I can’t. Not when I don’t know how-"
"Bloody hell," Snape said, as the potion in the vial turned mauve, then puce. "Another failure."
"-I feel," Draco finished.
Snape sighed and put the cauldron into the sink for his lab assistants to clean. He wiped his hands on a rag and scratched a few notes into his notebook. When he left the lab and headed to the lounge area, Draco followed. "If you insist on bothering me, you might as well continue. What happened after this... moment?"
"He said he needed to speak to the manager of Flourish and Blotts about the next day’s signing. And then he invited me for dinner."
Snape poured himself a cup of tea and plunked a mug of cocoa in front of Draco the way he liked it, dark and sweet, before settling onto a couch.
"And you said...?"
Draco cupped his hands around the mug even though he wasn’t cold. "I said I was meeting with you in the afternoon. But that dinner was fine." He smiled slightly. "I also told him he was paying."
"Draco..."
"He wasn’t even fazed. He just smiled and said he was looking forward to it."
"Draco-"
"I don’t know what that means. What do you think it means?"
"Draco. You will not use this meeting with me as an excuse to miss your appointment." He arched an eyebrow. "Don’t think I haven’t noticed the time or your reluctance to leave."
Draco shrugged. "He would understand. I think he would understand. It’s not like I don’t have a good reason..."
Snape leaned forward and pulled the mug from Draco’s hands. "Listen to me. If you want to go, then go, for god’s sake. If not, tell him so. Do what’s best for you, Draco. Whatever that might be."
"Don’t I always." He sighed. "It isn’t that easy."
"It is. So stay. Or go."
He hesitated.
He went.
***
"I was beginning to think you weren’t going to come."
"I was running a bit late," Draco said, and slid into the chair.
Their table was secluded, in the corner of the restaurant. It was a small place, with small tables. Their knees clanged together under the table several times and when Draco looked up he saw Harry trying to look unaffected and composed.
Draco let Harry order for both of them so he could spend time looking around, looking at Harry. The first thing Draco noticed was Harry’s wide-open expression and hopeful eyes, the glances that kept sliding Draco’s way. For a moment, Draco couldn’t remember why he’d even considered backing out of dinner and then he did-oh yes, the abject fear. The second thing that Draco noticed was Harry’s jumper: it looked to be pettably soft, maybe a wool-cashmere blend, caramel colored, and V-necked. Draco’s mind began coming up with ways he could touch the jumper and find out just how it felt over Harry’s skin, touch the collarbone notch just visible, or lean into him and feel the fabric crush between their bodies. He was blushing and dinner hadn’t even begun. He was clearly doomed.
When the waiter returned, he had a plate of mushroom stuffed ravioli in a cream pesto sauce for Draco and a plate of penne in a marinara sauce with a hint of red wine and basil for Harry.
"You’ve eaten here before, I presume?" Draco said.
"Once in a while. It’s quiet."
"With other people?"
"Sometimes."
"Business or pleasure?"
"Both." Harry took a long sip of water, and Draco had to wait before he asked his next question.
"And which would this happen to be?"
Harry set down his glass and looked Draco straight in the eye. "Both."
Draco blinked. That wasn’t the answer he’d been expecting.
"Both?"
"I have a proposal for you. Not that kind of proposal. Work-related. Except it’s not exactly something I can officially ask you yet, as I haven’t exactly... run it by Dumbledore yet."
Draco looked up sharply. He had been thinking book-related, not Hogwarts-related.
"So, in essence, you’re not supposed to be telling me this at all."
"In essence. But I don’t see that he’ll say no."
Draco put down his fork. "If it has anything to do with the Potions position..."
"It doesn’t. Dumbledore knows your wishes."
"So you brought this up entirely to tease me? Dangle information in front of my nose only to snatch it away? That isn’t very sporting of you."
Draco had the vague understanding that he was flirting and Potter was responding with a smile.
"It’s to give you forewarning for when an owl arrives from Hogwarts with an invitation. Please don’t hex this one, all right?"
"I give you my word that I will suspend judgment until after reading your invitation."
"That’s all I ask. Thank you."
Draco scraped his plate and watched Harry do the same.
"So how did your meeting go with the bloke from Flourish and Blotts? He must be rolling in the profits."
Harry smiled. "Not exactly."
"Why not?"
"I was offering the students a discount on the book."
Draco raised an eyebrow. "How much of a discount?"
"Fifty-five percent."
Draco gaped. "Fifty-five percent? Are you bloody insane? You might actually lose money on this enterprise."
Harry shrugged. "If I do, so be it. I didn’t like the idea of students’ families having to scrimp and save for a mere textbook. They’ll learn more by being in the classroom and actively participating."
Draco smirked. "You sound like a bloody professor already, Professor. Anyway, I was going to suggest you put out a second edition next year with some superficial changes and charge more, but something tells me you wouldn’t go for that."
"I really wouldn’t. Anyway, you saw the people in the lineups. Most of them weren’t Hogwarts students, they were-"
"Middle-aged obsessed fans with nothing better to do than line up for some ordinary wizard’s autograph?"
"-well, I was going to say adult wizards and witches but your description fits as well. Besides, you were in that lineup too, if I recall correctly."
"That was different and you know it."
Harry grinned and Draco’s stomach did a lazy roll.
Dessert came in the form of a giant tiramisu, two forks and one plate. While Harry stared at the flatware dilemma, Draco meanwhile had no such compunctions and launched right into the dessert.
"I’m glad you came," Harry said.
"So am I." He meant every word. After cutting himself off from the world for so long, Draco was finding reconnecting with it a perilous, exhausting task. But there were unexpected pleasures, too. Feeling buoyed by anticipation and restrained hopefulness, Draco felt better than he had in a long time.
***
The owl came a week later. Draco had managed to keep himself busy, staying away from the Manor to keep from watching the window where the owls arrived with the post. His telephone box remained quiet too. Harry had started his term at Hogwarts and probably had precious little time in between preparing lesson plans and dispensing inspirational advice to first years with huge eyes. So Draco had gone to Munich for his physiotherapy, taken a side trip to Venice and bought clothes and some Italian novels that he couldn’t read but liked anyway because they reminded him of his dinner with Harry, and grudgingly had a session with his psychologist in London.
The owl was waiting for him when he arrived back home, the envelope bearing Hogwarts’ official crest.
He still wasn’t sure what to expect and was reluctant to be too hopeful or too anxious. Sitting down in the atrium with a cup of tea, Draco broke the seal and pulled out the piece of parchment.
Draco,
I’m just writing to tell you that I’ve successfully run my proposal by Dumbledore. He thinks I should discuss it with you in person and I agree. Can you make it to Hogwarts some time this week? Dumbledore will want to speak to you first, and then I can let you in on my idea. Leave a reply with the owl, she’s been instructed to stay till you reply.
Harry
P.S. I hope you’re well.
The owl stayed with Draco into the night. She watched him from the windowsill, watched him sit on the couch and read for a bit, and eat dinner, and light the fire. She watched all the in-betweens, when Draco would sit down and pick up his quill only to leave again a moment later.
At three in the morning, Draco went into his office, wrote, "I’ll be there tomorrow at four," and sent the owl on her way.
***
As soon as he walked up the stone corridor to the spiral staircase, Draco felt compelled to flee. He didn’t even know the password to Dumbledore’s office. Wasn’t that good enough reason to leave?
"Jawbreaker," came a voice.
"What?" He spun around to see a painting that hadn’t been there when he’d been a student. It was of a man standing in a vast golden field wearing a hat.
"Mr. Malfoy, is it? The Headmaster told me to keep an eye out for you and give you the password. It’s ‘jawbreaker’."
"I see," Draco said, realizing he had no excuses left now. "Thank you."
The man tipped his hat and turned back to the field. Draco watched the painting for a moment longer, because it seemed like the man was waiting for something and if he stood there long enough perhaps he would find out what-
"Go on, then," the man said, and Draco relented.
He stepped up on to the staircase and spoke the password.
When he opened the door to Dumbledore’s office, he was met with an odd sight. Dumbledore was holding up his little trinkets one at a time to the light, running his hand over his beard, and giving each one a discriminatory glance before setting each one down again.
"Sir, what are you doing?"
"I’m packing, Mr. Malfoy." He put down a shiny object that was reminiscent of a globe, and tilted his head. "Over the years I’ve accrued quite a collection of things. I’m sure each one represented something significant at the time but memory is a tricky thing, I suppose. I can’t think of a single item I’d like to take with me."
Draco noted that Dumbledore didn’t have a suitcase.
"Where are you going?"
"I’ve heard Antarctica is lovely this time of year."
"Why Antarctica?"
"I’ve always wanted to visit there."
Dumbledore seemed to have the infinite patience of someone who was going on a long trip and not planning to return for a long time. If ever. Something clicked in Draco’s mind and he thought immediately of Harry.
"Harry-does he know? You have to tell him, you know, you can’t just leave and not say anything-"
"Oh, he knows, my dear boy. They all do. I dislike leaving in the middle of a school term but sometimes we do what we must. Now then, Professor Potter has submitted a proposal to me and I have given my approval. It’s up to you whether you wish to proceed or not."
"What is it in regards to?"
"Ah," Dumbledore said, "I believe I will leave that to him to explain. His quarters are in Gryffindor Tower beside the painting of the sailboats; I believe he is expecting you."
"Thank you," Draco said, watching Dumbledore pick up and discard yet another trinket.
"There is one more thing I’d like to discuss with you before you depart, however. What happened to you during the war..."
Rage swirled inside Draco but it eluded his grasp. It didn’t seem worth it, somehow. "It was my decision," he said, looking at his hands. "I thought I could convince him... I underestimated just how far he’d fallen, how little of my father was still left. I should never have gone home."
And yet, his father had saved him from Voldemort’s enslavement. It was bewildering, and Draco had yet to understand or come to terms with all that had transpired.
"You did what you thought was best."
"I regret it," Draco said fiercely, catching Dumbledore’s gaze. He sighed. "Once in a while, I regret it."
He paced away from Dumbledore, coming to stand by Fawkes’ perch. The bird tipped its head and warbled softly. Draco reached out to touch those glossy feathers.
"Fawkes will need a new keeper soon," Dumbledore said. "Would you like to take him?"
"What? I-" Draco’s hand hovered over the plumage. "He should stay with you." He caught sight of Dumbledore’s expression and realized that Dumbledore was making a serious request, not a charitable offer. He swallowed and stroked his hand down the long, smooth feathers. "But if Fawkes should ever find his way to Malfoy Manor, he would find himself well cared for."
"Excellent!" Dumbledore said, clapping his hands. "I shouldn’t keep you any longer. You have things to attend to, do you not?"
Draco nodded, and was suddenly filled with a strange reluctance to leave. "Goodbye, sir."
Dumbledore’s hand on his shoulder was warm.
"Goodbye, Mr. Malfoy."
***
Draco walked the stone hallways with a sense of nostalgia, nausea and anticipation. He felt vaguely unsettled by his conversation with Dumbledore and his anxiety was compounded by his impending conversation with Harry. But he knocked on Harry’s door in the sunlit hallway before he had a chance to change his mind.
The door swung open and Draco gave himself a moment to drink in the sight of Harry dressed in his teaching robes, looking formal and dignified and quite a departure from his usual disheveled appearance. And yet, somehow he was still very much the Harry Potter that Draco knew. Draco looked him up and down, lingering on Harry’s hands curled around the door frame and his mouth so very close.
"Hello," Harry said, and Draco felt heat pool low in his belly. "Come on in. How was your talk with Dumbledore?"
"He told me about his... impending departure."
Harry sighed. "Right." He left Draco by the open door and sat down on the couch. Draco shut the door and approached Harry cautiously. "I didn’t think it would happen so soon. And yet... a part of me thought he’d die during the war. It never occurred to me that he could die of old age. Anyway... I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to unload this on you; Remus entertains enough of my self-indulgent prattling."
Draco was intrigued. So Potter talked to someone about things like he did with Snape.
"You did ask me here for a reason, didn’t you?" Draco said.
"Right, of course. Sit down."
Draco did and sipped at the tea that appeared in front of him.
"I’d like you to give a talk to my seventh years about the Imperius curse."
Images of a frantically dancing spider appeared in Draco’s head and his hand trembled. He set down the cup and it clanked heavily against the saucer.
"And what makes you think there’s even a remote possibility I’d say yes?"
"Well, you did help write the chapter."
"And that means what, exactly?"
"It means that I trust you to give them accurate information. I trust you to do it right. That’s all."
Draco felt a flush of warmth at the praise.
"Harry..."
"I’ll pay for your time, of course."
"Of course you will. But that’s not what I want."
Draco wasn’t sure what he wanted but the words were out of his mouth and Harry looked at him expectantly. All Draco knew was that the Manor was empty and too big for one person, and something about this place, Harry’s place, was welcoming. He wanted excuses to come back, to sit in this chair, or maybe on the sofa next to Harry, to drink tea from Harry’s china and look at himself in Harry’s mirror. He thought about Harry’s offer from that night outside Malfoy Manor’s gates: "Spend time with me. Say yes."
"Well?" Harry said. "I hope you’re not plotting anything too complicated. I can juggle scarves for about ten seconds before things start going pear-shaped, and I can boil soup, but not at the same time."
Draco smiled slowly. "Tea," he said. That was innocuous enough, wasn’t it?
"Your condition is tea? That’s... obtuse."
"My condition is that we have tea, idiot," Draco said. "Here. Some time after my brilliant guest lecture. You will make time for me in your oh-so-busy schedule."
He studied Harry’s face, feeling more anxious than he was willing to admit. It felt like he had suddenly upped the ante, making demands, and he wasn’t entirely sure if he was ready for the consequences.
But Harry smiled. "I think I can handle tea. But not here though, god knows I spend too much time in this place already. What about your place?"
"All right," Draco said, because negotiations were always part of any deal and it was such a small concession. "Let me know."
***
A week later, Draco was standing in front of fifty seventh-year students, wondering if he’d ever really been that small and wide-eyed.
"Imperius, out of the three Unforgivables, is arguably the most destructive. In my opinion, it’s the most terrible. It takes away who you are. It takes away your ability to choose. Under Imperius, you can do things you would never do ordinarily, and things you very well might do but keep hidden. That aspect of it is difficult to come to terms with, especially for survivors. St. Mungo’s did a retrospective study from 1943 to 1993 and concluded that out of the 111 suicides, thirty three percent were known to be survivors of Imperius. The important thing to remember about this study is, first, it’s just one study. And second, there’s no indication of a causal link between Imperius and suicide beyond a correlation and some educated guessing. But depression is a documented side-effect of Imperius and state-of-mind is a powerful, powerful thing."
Throughout he could see Harry in his peripheral vision, sitting quietly in the back row.
***
It seemed like a good idea, right up till the time that he actually said the words.
He’d had the idea when one student had asked him about Alastair Moody’s now infamous Imperius lessons and whether they were going to have it cast on them. Harry had interrupted gently, saying that they wouldn’t. But the notion of it had lingered in Draco’s mind for the rest of the class. The thought grew bolder and more insistent while, after class, Draco discussed the lecture with Harry, and manifested itself suddenly in mid-conversation:
"Cast Imperius on me."
Harry went white. "What?"
"You heard me. Consider it. You have clearance from the Ministry, I know you do."
"My god, Draco, you can’t seriously be asking me this."
"I’m being entirely serious."
Harry shook his head like Draco was crazy, which made Draco even more determined to get Harry to agree.
"Do you know what it was like to wake up and know exactly what you’ve done, exactly how weak your will is?"
Draco’s first instincts upon being released from the curse had been to find someplace quiet to turn his father’s wand on himself. And that knowledge burned in him, white-hot shame.
"The strangest thing happens to me at the most benign of times. I’ll be tying my shoes, or turning the page of the Daily Prophet-"
-or reaching out to touch you, but he didn’t say those words-
"-and I’ll wonder if I’m doing those things because I want to or because someone is forcing me. It’s a horrible way to live. I don’t like being helpless. If I can fight it, it means I have a chance, that I’m in control and I won’t end up like them."
They were the people in St. Mungo’s, brain damaged beyond repair from Imperius; they were the people who had killed themselves because they couldn’t live with what they had done; they were the cold statistics in Harry’s book, those thirty three percent.
"You aren’t like them," Harry said desperately. "You’re here, talking to me, walking around. You have your own thoughts and feelings and hell, you aren’t afraid to use them. Casting Imperius on you is going to fuck with your head. My god, it could kill you, and you want me to be responsible for that?"
"Harry-"
"No. I won’t. Period. I’ve had enough of hurting people. Do you even understand what you’re asking me?"
"Please. I trust you. I trust you to do it right. I need to know that-"
Harry was suddenly on his feet, gripping Draco’s arm so hard his skin went white. "You don’t understand. It doesn’t matter how gentle I aim to be, how pure my intentions. If I even accept the power you’re throwing at me, I’m no better than him."
"Harry..."
"Go. Right now."
Draco left.
***
"What is this?"
Draco glared at Snape across the lab bench, Snape’s parchment in his fist.
Snape looked at him evenly. "My proposal. The deadline is today, is it not?"
"I know perfectly well that it is your proposal and that the deadline is today. I also recognize the changes you’ve made to the potion and the additional resources you require because we’ve discussed those. But I do not recall this."
He threw down the parchment, jabbing his finger where his name was under the list of researchers.
"My list of required resources," Snape said.
"You aren’t serious."
"I assure you I am."
"I’ve told you before. I don’t-"
"I’ve heard all your pathetic excuses, you brat. You’ve been forcing them upon me for months on end." Snape stood up slowly, each movement measured and meant to intimidate. "It’s about time you stopped wallowing about in your pathetic little excuse for a life. Wake up. Be useful. Find something to do with your brain before it rots away entirely."
"There’s nothing wrong with me-" His conversation with Harry flashed through his mind. "All right, maybe there is."
"I beg your pardon?"
Draco sighed. "I asked Harry to cast the Imperius curse on me."
"You did what?"
"He has clearance from the Ministry to cast it for educational purposes. And he wouldn’t hurt me, Severus."
"I don’t presume to know anything about Harry Potter’s state of mind, or his intentions. But have you even thought about your own health? You were under Imperius for over a month. You of all people know the effects..."
"Are you telling me that I’m unhinged?"
"I’m telling you that you’re insane. There is a difference."
"You care about me," Draco said suddenly.
Snape looked absolutely appalled. "Don’t presume-"
"I’m not," he said. "I know. I have to go."
"But what about-"
Draco paused and looked at the proposal, wrinkled from his rough handling. He smoothed it out, frowning at the empty spot that required his signature for official authorization.
"Leave this with me, all right?" he said. "I’ll consider the changes."
Snape immediately composed himself. "Very well. Good... day."
***
Draco left the laboratory. He considered Apparating to Hogwarts and demanding an audience with Potter but he didn’t think that would be well received. Instead he Apparated home and dug out the telephone box that hadn’t seen use in a long while. He placed it carefully on his desk and sat down, heart pounding.
"Potter? Are you there?"
He heard a startled yelp on the other end and the sound of scattering parchments.
"...the hell?" Draco heard, followed by imaginative swearing, and much shuffling of objects and even more books and parchments. When Harry spoke next, his voice was clear and wary. "This isn’t a good time, Draco."
"Wait, please. I’m sorry." Draco wished he could see Harry’s expression, to know whether he actually had a chance to fix this or if he’d finally gone that inch too far. "Harry, I’m sorry."
After a long moment, Harry said, "Tell me you understand. Because I really need you to."
Draco’s throat was painfully dry and it hurt to swallow.
"I understand that the last thing that I need is to be cursed like that again, for any amount of time or for any reason. And I understand that the last thing you need... the very worst thing I could do to you is ask you to hurt me."
Draco cleared his throat, listening hard, waiting for a sign, hoping he was making even a bit of sense.
Was it strange that he was so attuned to Harry’s breathing, so aware of his own fingernails pressing into his palms?
"Thank you," Harry said softly, and Draco felt so relieved and suddenly very brave.
"There’s something else," he said.
"What?"
"Actually, I think I need to say this to you in person. May I come by?"
"It’s too late for visitors," Harry said, and Draco felt his stomach sinking. "But I can Apparate to you."
"Come by Floo. I’ve reconnected the Manor to the Network with selective wards." Aside from Harry, Snape was the only other person who was permitted through.
"I’m on my way."
Draco had a moment to contemplate hope, cruel and shining. He wasn’t sure if he was ready for this, but he wanted to try. He had to try.
Harry stepped out of the Floo with bare feet, and he noticed this at the exact moment that Draco did. "Um," he said, a blush rising to his face. He twisted his robe around his pajamas and shuffled about. "I was getting ready for bed." He coughed and said, "You were saying?"
"Right," Draco said, trying to resist the urge to sneak glances. He took a deep breath. "Not every twitchy, untrusting, horrible thing about me has to do with my father or my stint as Voldemort’s little puppet. Some things I earned all by myself. And it’s been a while since I’ve been able to make that differentiation. Questioning my every action, examining my motivations for everything, has been difficult but I think I’m learning. I’ve had to reevaluate every one of my relationships. My mother. Snape. You, for god’s sake. I’ve had to ask myself why any of you would want to be around me, why I would want to be around you. Do you understand?"
Potter looked confused, and Draco was this close to despair.
He took a steadying breath and decided that words were sometimes too safe.
When he reached out to cup his hand against the nape of Harry’s neck, the gesture felt huge, like it went on for miles. And whether he leaned forward or whether Harry was the one who closed the distance between them or both, Draco wasn’t sure. But Harry’s lips softened and parted against his with such transparent welcome and affection that Draco couldn’t help but respond in kind. The hand that Harry placed on Draco’s hip was loose and gentle, warm like reassurance. Harry’s hand slid up his body to press against the curve of his back and he whimpered.
In a rush, the fear was back, pulsing the blood in Draco’s veins and triggering the fight or flight reaction. Gasping, Draco pushed Harry back but not away, one hand still on his arm.
"Draco..."
"Wait," Draco said. "Don’t do anything, just... wait. Please."
How could he trust what he felt? How could he trust himself?
Maybe all he had to do was step back and think this through. Was this something he would ordinarily do? Did it make sense? Did he recognize himself in all this?
No, no, and no.
He felt good though, for the first time in a long while he felt strong both in body and mind. And he was curious about this undeniable attraction he possessed for this other human being. He wanted the feel of Harry’s mouth on his again. He wanted to give in. He wanted.
Draco took Harry’s hand and led him to the couch. He was barely breathing and for once it wasn’t nerves. It was anticipation and heady desire, tempered by an acute awareness of not only himself but of Harry. His nearness, his warmth, his subtle breathing, the way he was turning towards Draco and kissing him again. Draco tilted his head, inviting Harry deeper, exposing his throat. He shivered at the feel of Harry’s fingers in his hair, feeling a rush of heat and vulnerability that prickled the back of his neck and raised the hairs on his arms. Harry slipped his arm around Draco’s waist and drew him closer.
"Would you mind if I stayed?" Harry whispered.
"Stay."
***
Draco woke up slowly. His awareness drifted back to him carrying whispers of memory: the crackle of energy brought on by the slow slide of Harry’s fingers up his bare back; the roughness of Harry’s elbows, the languid contentment that had fallen over them as the night wore on.
He was still wearing all his clothes except his socks, and his bare feet were wedged between two cushions for warmth. His face was turned in towards Harry’s rumpled pajama top and he breathed in the warmth and scent of Harry’s skin.
A rustle of feathers by the window made Draco realize that something had actually woken him up, and he slowly lifted his head to look. It was probably the owl post, arriving early for once-
Draco gasped.
"Harry," he whispered, his heart pounding. He hated to wake him and for a moment he was actually tempted to let Harry sleep on. Sighing, he brushed his fingers down Harry’s cheek and kissed him on the temple. "Harry, wake up."
Harry stirred. "How long have I been sleeping?" he said, rubbing his eyes and smiling. His smile faded when he took in Draco’s expression. "What’s wrong?"
Draco gestured to the window.
Harry sat up to see Fawkes perched on the sill, smoothing his feathers down with his beak. Harry’s breath caught in his throat.
"I’m sorry."
***
Draco sat at the table with his hands around his cup of tea. Another cup of tea awaited Harry, kept warm with a spell. The waning afternoon sun filled the entire room with a soft glow, patches of light stippling the couch where Harry slept. One arm was tucked under his head, the other trailed over the edge of the couch. Fawkes slept too, his head tucked beneath a wing while he perched by Harry’s feet.
Harry had returned to Hogwarts. After several hours of consoling students and making arrangements for one thing or another, Harry had been ordered by McGonagall to go home. Harry had Flooed immediately back to Malfoy Manor, exhausted.
Draco fingered the two envelopes before him. Mr. Draco Malfoy. Mr. Harry Potter. They were addressed in Dumbledore’s handwriting and had been sealed with his personal seal.
Harry’s letter was on the floor by the couch where he had dropped it upon falling asleep. Draco could see the scrawl of Dumbledore’s writing from where he sat. He kept himself forcibly in his seat, reminding himself that it was a private matter and none of his business. He couldn’t help his curiosity, however. He wondered what Dumbledore had written, just what words he had chosen that could possibly ease the reality of his death and its impact on Harry. There were none, Draco knew, but he was grateful that Dumbledore had tried.
With a deep breath, he picked up his own letter and broke the seal with his thumbnail.
Dear Mr. Malfoy,
I suppose you will know by Fawkes’ arrival what has transpired; I sincerely hope you were not alarmed or upset by his sudden appearance. I know he is in good hands and I could not have asked for a better keeper than yourself.
I leave you with this, Draco: in life, often the smallest joys are the most precious. Be brave.
It has been a pleasure and an honor to know you. I wish you well.
Sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore
Draco stood up and stretched. He cast another look at Harry, at the trust inherent in his relaxed hands and unguarded throat, and suddenly remembered Snape’s proposal in his pocket.
With a fearlessness he hadn’t known he possessed, Draco picked up his quill and signed his name.
The End.
NY1: When
NY2: Not Yet)
And without further ado... oh wait, just a little bit more ado. Disclaimer: yeah, really not mine. I only make them wait. And wait. And wait.
Special chocolate coated thanks to luzmaria8 who suggested the dinner menu and puts up with all my nonsense, and shatter_glass who kicked me in the arse, answered all my stupid questions and made this a hundred times better. All residual stupidity is the property of me.
Oh, and I really hope you enjoy reading this. Okay, no more ado :D
"...We are not living in eternity. We only have this moment, sparkling like a star in our hand-and melting like a snowflake." ~ Marie Beynon Ray
***
Draco supposed he could have had better timing. He could have waited till Snape had actually put down the simmering vial of liquid that he’d spent three days preparing before uttering the words, "So Potter and I had an encounter," but the need to talk about what had happened had reached its critical mass and there was no turning back.
Luckily, Snape’s reflexes were still sound and the vial made it to the cooling rack without incident.
Snape glared at him. "Please. Do not elaborate."
"Fine."
Draco leaned on the workbench in Snape’s laboratory and watched Snape work. It was a brand new facility, funded in part by one Draco Malfoy. He didn’t usually make a point of visiting any of the labs that were working with Malfoy money. Then again, he wasn’t here in a purely professional capacity either.
"It was a private encounter."
Draco remembered the wall at his back, the feel of Harry’s hands hard at his hips.
Snape’s eyebrows arched. "Then why, pray tell, are you telling me about it?"
Draco smirked.
"I hadn’t seen him in months and then suddenly there he was, and we were touching, and I wasn’t the slightest bit concerned or over-thinking things until-"
He broke off at the sight of Snape with eyes closed and taking deep, calming breaths. "My kingdom for a wire brush and a sharp implement to pierce my eardrums," he muttered.
"All right, no more explicit details."
Snape checked on the potion with a critical eye. "I should be so lucky."
"But Potter’s expressed interest."
Snape raised an eyebrow. "In so many words?"
"You know Potter. He has his own brand of subtlety."
"Indeed. And yourself?" Snape looked unhappy with himself for encouraging this conversation, and Draco smiled.
"I’m... considering it."
"I see."
"So we had that shared..."
Snape cringed.
"...moment."
Snape relaxed. "But before things could progress beyond a moment, though, I stopped him." Draco looked at his hands. "I had to."
"And what did Potter do?"
"He said, ‘ok.’"
"That’s all?"
"Of course not. There was a lot of blinking and shuffling about and trying not to feel guilty that he’d pushed me too far too fast, but the gist of it is that he said, ‘ok’." Draco sighed. "He thinks he’s fond of me. I think he’s insane."
"Yes, Draco. I think that twenty minute’s repetition of those very same words has accurately conveyed your dismay."
"Why are you humoring me? You should be helping me! What should I do?"
"Tell him you never want to see him again."
"What? Are you mad? I can’t do that. I can’t. Not when I don’t know how-"
"Bloody hell," Snape said, as the potion in the vial turned mauve, then puce. "Another failure."
"-I feel," Draco finished.
Snape sighed and put the cauldron into the sink for his lab assistants to clean. He wiped his hands on a rag and scratched a few notes into his notebook. When he left the lab and headed to the lounge area, Draco followed. "If you insist on bothering me, you might as well continue. What happened after this... moment?"
"He said he needed to speak to the manager of Flourish and Blotts about the next day’s signing. And then he invited me for dinner."
Snape poured himself a cup of tea and plunked a mug of cocoa in front of Draco the way he liked it, dark and sweet, before settling onto a couch.
"And you said...?"
Draco cupped his hands around the mug even though he wasn’t cold. "I said I was meeting with you in the afternoon. But that dinner was fine." He smiled slightly. "I also told him he was paying."
"Draco..."
"He wasn’t even fazed. He just smiled and said he was looking forward to it."
"Draco-"
"I don’t know what that means. What do you think it means?"
"Draco. You will not use this meeting with me as an excuse to miss your appointment." He arched an eyebrow. "Don’t think I haven’t noticed the time or your reluctance to leave."
Draco shrugged. "He would understand. I think he would understand. It’s not like I don’t have a good reason..."
Snape leaned forward and pulled the mug from Draco’s hands. "Listen to me. If you want to go, then go, for god’s sake. If not, tell him so. Do what’s best for you, Draco. Whatever that might be."
"Don’t I always." He sighed. "It isn’t that easy."
"It is. So stay. Or go."
He hesitated.
He went.
***
"I was beginning to think you weren’t going to come."
"I was running a bit late," Draco said, and slid into the chair.
Their table was secluded, in the corner of the restaurant. It was a small place, with small tables. Their knees clanged together under the table several times and when Draco looked up he saw Harry trying to look unaffected and composed.
Draco let Harry order for both of them so he could spend time looking around, looking at Harry. The first thing Draco noticed was Harry’s wide-open expression and hopeful eyes, the glances that kept sliding Draco’s way. For a moment, Draco couldn’t remember why he’d even considered backing out of dinner and then he did-oh yes, the abject fear. The second thing that Draco noticed was Harry’s jumper: it looked to be pettably soft, maybe a wool-cashmere blend, caramel colored, and V-necked. Draco’s mind began coming up with ways he could touch the jumper and find out just how it felt over Harry’s skin, touch the collarbone notch just visible, or lean into him and feel the fabric crush between their bodies. He was blushing and dinner hadn’t even begun. He was clearly doomed.
When the waiter returned, he had a plate of mushroom stuffed ravioli in a cream pesto sauce for Draco and a plate of penne in a marinara sauce with a hint of red wine and basil for Harry.
"You’ve eaten here before, I presume?" Draco said.
"Once in a while. It’s quiet."
"With other people?"
"Sometimes."
"Business or pleasure?"
"Both." Harry took a long sip of water, and Draco had to wait before he asked his next question.
"And which would this happen to be?"
Harry set down his glass and looked Draco straight in the eye. "Both."
Draco blinked. That wasn’t the answer he’d been expecting.
"Both?"
"I have a proposal for you. Not that kind of proposal. Work-related. Except it’s not exactly something I can officially ask you yet, as I haven’t exactly... run it by Dumbledore yet."
Draco looked up sharply. He had been thinking book-related, not Hogwarts-related.
"So, in essence, you’re not supposed to be telling me this at all."
"In essence. But I don’t see that he’ll say no."
Draco put down his fork. "If it has anything to do with the Potions position..."
"It doesn’t. Dumbledore knows your wishes."
"So you brought this up entirely to tease me? Dangle information in front of my nose only to snatch it away? That isn’t very sporting of you."
Draco had the vague understanding that he was flirting and Potter was responding with a smile.
"It’s to give you forewarning for when an owl arrives from Hogwarts with an invitation. Please don’t hex this one, all right?"
"I give you my word that I will suspend judgment until after reading your invitation."
"That’s all I ask. Thank you."
Draco scraped his plate and watched Harry do the same.
"So how did your meeting go with the bloke from Flourish and Blotts? He must be rolling in the profits."
Harry smiled. "Not exactly."
"Why not?"
"I was offering the students a discount on the book."
Draco raised an eyebrow. "How much of a discount?"
"Fifty-five percent."
Draco gaped. "Fifty-five percent? Are you bloody insane? You might actually lose money on this enterprise."
Harry shrugged. "If I do, so be it. I didn’t like the idea of students’ families having to scrimp and save for a mere textbook. They’ll learn more by being in the classroom and actively participating."
Draco smirked. "You sound like a bloody professor already, Professor. Anyway, I was going to suggest you put out a second edition next year with some superficial changes and charge more, but something tells me you wouldn’t go for that."
"I really wouldn’t. Anyway, you saw the people in the lineups. Most of them weren’t Hogwarts students, they were-"
"Middle-aged obsessed fans with nothing better to do than line up for some ordinary wizard’s autograph?"
"-well, I was going to say adult wizards and witches but your description fits as well. Besides, you were in that lineup too, if I recall correctly."
"That was different and you know it."
Harry grinned and Draco’s stomach did a lazy roll.
Dessert came in the form of a giant tiramisu, two forks and one plate. While Harry stared at the flatware dilemma, Draco meanwhile had no such compunctions and launched right into the dessert.
"I’m glad you came," Harry said.
"So am I." He meant every word. After cutting himself off from the world for so long, Draco was finding reconnecting with it a perilous, exhausting task. But there were unexpected pleasures, too. Feeling buoyed by anticipation and restrained hopefulness, Draco felt better than he had in a long time.
***
The owl came a week later. Draco had managed to keep himself busy, staying away from the Manor to keep from watching the window where the owls arrived with the post. His telephone box remained quiet too. Harry had started his term at Hogwarts and probably had precious little time in between preparing lesson plans and dispensing inspirational advice to first years with huge eyes. So Draco had gone to Munich for his physiotherapy, taken a side trip to Venice and bought clothes and some Italian novels that he couldn’t read but liked anyway because they reminded him of his dinner with Harry, and grudgingly had a session with his psychologist in London.
The owl was waiting for him when he arrived back home, the envelope bearing Hogwarts’ official crest.
He still wasn’t sure what to expect and was reluctant to be too hopeful or too anxious. Sitting down in the atrium with a cup of tea, Draco broke the seal and pulled out the piece of parchment.
Draco,
I’m just writing to tell you that I’ve successfully run my proposal by Dumbledore. He thinks I should discuss it with you in person and I agree. Can you make it to Hogwarts some time this week? Dumbledore will want to speak to you first, and then I can let you in on my idea. Leave a reply with the owl, she’s been instructed to stay till you reply.
Harry
P.S. I hope you’re well.
The owl stayed with Draco into the night. She watched him from the windowsill, watched him sit on the couch and read for a bit, and eat dinner, and light the fire. She watched all the in-betweens, when Draco would sit down and pick up his quill only to leave again a moment later.
At three in the morning, Draco went into his office, wrote, "I’ll be there tomorrow at four," and sent the owl on her way.
***
As soon as he walked up the stone corridor to the spiral staircase, Draco felt compelled to flee. He didn’t even know the password to Dumbledore’s office. Wasn’t that good enough reason to leave?
"Jawbreaker," came a voice.
"What?" He spun around to see a painting that hadn’t been there when he’d been a student. It was of a man standing in a vast golden field wearing a hat.
"Mr. Malfoy, is it? The Headmaster told me to keep an eye out for you and give you the password. It’s ‘jawbreaker’."
"I see," Draco said, realizing he had no excuses left now. "Thank you."
The man tipped his hat and turned back to the field. Draco watched the painting for a moment longer, because it seemed like the man was waiting for something and if he stood there long enough perhaps he would find out what-
"Go on, then," the man said, and Draco relented.
He stepped up on to the staircase and spoke the password.
When he opened the door to Dumbledore’s office, he was met with an odd sight. Dumbledore was holding up his little trinkets one at a time to the light, running his hand over his beard, and giving each one a discriminatory glance before setting each one down again.
"Sir, what are you doing?"
"I’m packing, Mr. Malfoy." He put down a shiny object that was reminiscent of a globe, and tilted his head. "Over the years I’ve accrued quite a collection of things. I’m sure each one represented something significant at the time but memory is a tricky thing, I suppose. I can’t think of a single item I’d like to take with me."
Draco noted that Dumbledore didn’t have a suitcase.
"Where are you going?"
"I’ve heard Antarctica is lovely this time of year."
"Why Antarctica?"
"I’ve always wanted to visit there."
Dumbledore seemed to have the infinite patience of someone who was going on a long trip and not planning to return for a long time. If ever. Something clicked in Draco’s mind and he thought immediately of Harry.
"Harry-does he know? You have to tell him, you know, you can’t just leave and not say anything-"
"Oh, he knows, my dear boy. They all do. I dislike leaving in the middle of a school term but sometimes we do what we must. Now then, Professor Potter has submitted a proposal to me and I have given my approval. It’s up to you whether you wish to proceed or not."
"What is it in regards to?"
"Ah," Dumbledore said, "I believe I will leave that to him to explain. His quarters are in Gryffindor Tower beside the painting of the sailboats; I believe he is expecting you."
"Thank you," Draco said, watching Dumbledore pick up and discard yet another trinket.
"There is one more thing I’d like to discuss with you before you depart, however. What happened to you during the war..."
Rage swirled inside Draco but it eluded his grasp. It didn’t seem worth it, somehow. "It was my decision," he said, looking at his hands. "I thought I could convince him... I underestimated just how far he’d fallen, how little of my father was still left. I should never have gone home."
And yet, his father had saved him from Voldemort’s enslavement. It was bewildering, and Draco had yet to understand or come to terms with all that had transpired.
"You did what you thought was best."
"I regret it," Draco said fiercely, catching Dumbledore’s gaze. He sighed. "Once in a while, I regret it."
He paced away from Dumbledore, coming to stand by Fawkes’ perch. The bird tipped its head and warbled softly. Draco reached out to touch those glossy feathers.
"Fawkes will need a new keeper soon," Dumbledore said. "Would you like to take him?"
"What? I-" Draco’s hand hovered over the plumage. "He should stay with you." He caught sight of Dumbledore’s expression and realized that Dumbledore was making a serious request, not a charitable offer. He swallowed and stroked his hand down the long, smooth feathers. "But if Fawkes should ever find his way to Malfoy Manor, he would find himself well cared for."
"Excellent!" Dumbledore said, clapping his hands. "I shouldn’t keep you any longer. You have things to attend to, do you not?"
Draco nodded, and was suddenly filled with a strange reluctance to leave. "Goodbye, sir."
Dumbledore’s hand on his shoulder was warm.
"Goodbye, Mr. Malfoy."
***
Draco walked the stone hallways with a sense of nostalgia, nausea and anticipation. He felt vaguely unsettled by his conversation with Dumbledore and his anxiety was compounded by his impending conversation with Harry. But he knocked on Harry’s door in the sunlit hallway before he had a chance to change his mind.
The door swung open and Draco gave himself a moment to drink in the sight of Harry dressed in his teaching robes, looking formal and dignified and quite a departure from his usual disheveled appearance. And yet, somehow he was still very much the Harry Potter that Draco knew. Draco looked him up and down, lingering on Harry’s hands curled around the door frame and his mouth so very close.
"Hello," Harry said, and Draco felt heat pool low in his belly. "Come on in. How was your talk with Dumbledore?"
"He told me about his... impending departure."
Harry sighed. "Right." He left Draco by the open door and sat down on the couch. Draco shut the door and approached Harry cautiously. "I didn’t think it would happen so soon. And yet... a part of me thought he’d die during the war. It never occurred to me that he could die of old age. Anyway... I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to unload this on you; Remus entertains enough of my self-indulgent prattling."
Draco was intrigued. So Potter talked to someone about things like he did with Snape.
"You did ask me here for a reason, didn’t you?" Draco said.
"Right, of course. Sit down."
Draco did and sipped at the tea that appeared in front of him.
"I’d like you to give a talk to my seventh years about the Imperius curse."
Images of a frantically dancing spider appeared in Draco’s head and his hand trembled. He set down the cup and it clanked heavily against the saucer.
"And what makes you think there’s even a remote possibility I’d say yes?"
"Well, you did help write the chapter."
"And that means what, exactly?"
"It means that I trust you to give them accurate information. I trust you to do it right. That’s all."
Draco felt a flush of warmth at the praise.
"Harry..."
"I’ll pay for your time, of course."
"Of course you will. But that’s not what I want."
Draco wasn’t sure what he wanted but the words were out of his mouth and Harry looked at him expectantly. All Draco knew was that the Manor was empty and too big for one person, and something about this place, Harry’s place, was welcoming. He wanted excuses to come back, to sit in this chair, or maybe on the sofa next to Harry, to drink tea from Harry’s china and look at himself in Harry’s mirror. He thought about Harry’s offer from that night outside Malfoy Manor’s gates: "Spend time with me. Say yes."
"Well?" Harry said. "I hope you’re not plotting anything too complicated. I can juggle scarves for about ten seconds before things start going pear-shaped, and I can boil soup, but not at the same time."
Draco smiled slowly. "Tea," he said. That was innocuous enough, wasn’t it?
"Your condition is tea? That’s... obtuse."
"My condition is that we have tea, idiot," Draco said. "Here. Some time after my brilliant guest lecture. You will make time for me in your oh-so-busy schedule."
He studied Harry’s face, feeling more anxious than he was willing to admit. It felt like he had suddenly upped the ante, making demands, and he wasn’t entirely sure if he was ready for the consequences.
But Harry smiled. "I think I can handle tea. But not here though, god knows I spend too much time in this place already. What about your place?"
"All right," Draco said, because negotiations were always part of any deal and it was such a small concession. "Let me know."
***
A week later, Draco was standing in front of fifty seventh-year students, wondering if he’d ever really been that small and wide-eyed.
"Imperius, out of the three Unforgivables, is arguably the most destructive. In my opinion, it’s the most terrible. It takes away who you are. It takes away your ability to choose. Under Imperius, you can do things you would never do ordinarily, and things you very well might do but keep hidden. That aspect of it is difficult to come to terms with, especially for survivors. St. Mungo’s did a retrospective study from 1943 to 1993 and concluded that out of the 111 suicides, thirty three percent were known to be survivors of Imperius. The important thing to remember about this study is, first, it’s just one study. And second, there’s no indication of a causal link between Imperius and suicide beyond a correlation and some educated guessing. But depression is a documented side-effect of Imperius and state-of-mind is a powerful, powerful thing."
Throughout he could see Harry in his peripheral vision, sitting quietly in the back row.
***
It seemed like a good idea, right up till the time that he actually said the words.
He’d had the idea when one student had asked him about Alastair Moody’s now infamous Imperius lessons and whether they were going to have it cast on them. Harry had interrupted gently, saying that they wouldn’t. But the notion of it had lingered in Draco’s mind for the rest of the class. The thought grew bolder and more insistent while, after class, Draco discussed the lecture with Harry, and manifested itself suddenly in mid-conversation:
"Cast Imperius on me."
Harry went white. "What?"
"You heard me. Consider it. You have clearance from the Ministry, I know you do."
"My god, Draco, you can’t seriously be asking me this."
"I’m being entirely serious."
Harry shook his head like Draco was crazy, which made Draco even more determined to get Harry to agree.
"Do you know what it was like to wake up and know exactly what you’ve done, exactly how weak your will is?"
Draco’s first instincts upon being released from the curse had been to find someplace quiet to turn his father’s wand on himself. And that knowledge burned in him, white-hot shame.
"The strangest thing happens to me at the most benign of times. I’ll be tying my shoes, or turning the page of the Daily Prophet-"
-or reaching out to touch you, but he didn’t say those words-
"-and I’ll wonder if I’m doing those things because I want to or because someone is forcing me. It’s a horrible way to live. I don’t like being helpless. If I can fight it, it means I have a chance, that I’m in control and I won’t end up like them."
They were the people in St. Mungo’s, brain damaged beyond repair from Imperius; they were the people who had killed themselves because they couldn’t live with what they had done; they were the cold statistics in Harry’s book, those thirty three percent.
"You aren’t like them," Harry said desperately. "You’re here, talking to me, walking around. You have your own thoughts and feelings and hell, you aren’t afraid to use them. Casting Imperius on you is going to fuck with your head. My god, it could kill you, and you want me to be responsible for that?"
"Harry-"
"No. I won’t. Period. I’ve had enough of hurting people. Do you even understand what you’re asking me?"
"Please. I trust you. I trust you to do it right. I need to know that-"
Harry was suddenly on his feet, gripping Draco’s arm so hard his skin went white. "You don’t understand. It doesn’t matter how gentle I aim to be, how pure my intentions. If I even accept the power you’re throwing at me, I’m no better than him."
"Harry..."
"Go. Right now."
Draco left.
***
"What is this?"
Draco glared at Snape across the lab bench, Snape’s parchment in his fist.
Snape looked at him evenly. "My proposal. The deadline is today, is it not?"
"I know perfectly well that it is your proposal and that the deadline is today. I also recognize the changes you’ve made to the potion and the additional resources you require because we’ve discussed those. But I do not recall this."
He threw down the parchment, jabbing his finger where his name was under the list of researchers.
"My list of required resources," Snape said.
"You aren’t serious."
"I assure you I am."
"I’ve told you before. I don’t-"
"I’ve heard all your pathetic excuses, you brat. You’ve been forcing them upon me for months on end." Snape stood up slowly, each movement measured and meant to intimidate. "It’s about time you stopped wallowing about in your pathetic little excuse for a life. Wake up. Be useful. Find something to do with your brain before it rots away entirely."
"There’s nothing wrong with me-" His conversation with Harry flashed through his mind. "All right, maybe there is."
"I beg your pardon?"
Draco sighed. "I asked Harry to cast the Imperius curse on me."
"You did what?"
"He has clearance from the Ministry to cast it for educational purposes. And he wouldn’t hurt me, Severus."
"I don’t presume to know anything about Harry Potter’s state of mind, or his intentions. But have you even thought about your own health? You were under Imperius for over a month. You of all people know the effects..."
"Are you telling me that I’m unhinged?"
"I’m telling you that you’re insane. There is a difference."
"You care about me," Draco said suddenly.
Snape looked absolutely appalled. "Don’t presume-"
"I’m not," he said. "I know. I have to go."
"But what about-"
Draco paused and looked at the proposal, wrinkled from his rough handling. He smoothed it out, frowning at the empty spot that required his signature for official authorization.
"Leave this with me, all right?" he said. "I’ll consider the changes."
Snape immediately composed himself. "Very well. Good... day."
***
Draco left the laboratory. He considered Apparating to Hogwarts and demanding an audience with Potter but he didn’t think that would be well received. Instead he Apparated home and dug out the telephone box that hadn’t seen use in a long while. He placed it carefully on his desk and sat down, heart pounding.
"Potter? Are you there?"
He heard a startled yelp on the other end and the sound of scattering parchments.
"...the hell?" Draco heard, followed by imaginative swearing, and much shuffling of objects and even more books and parchments. When Harry spoke next, his voice was clear and wary. "This isn’t a good time, Draco."
"Wait, please. I’m sorry." Draco wished he could see Harry’s expression, to know whether he actually had a chance to fix this or if he’d finally gone that inch too far. "Harry, I’m sorry."
After a long moment, Harry said, "Tell me you understand. Because I really need you to."
Draco’s throat was painfully dry and it hurt to swallow.
"I understand that the last thing that I need is to be cursed like that again, for any amount of time or for any reason. And I understand that the last thing you need... the very worst thing I could do to you is ask you to hurt me."
Draco cleared his throat, listening hard, waiting for a sign, hoping he was making even a bit of sense.
Was it strange that he was so attuned to Harry’s breathing, so aware of his own fingernails pressing into his palms?
"Thank you," Harry said softly, and Draco felt so relieved and suddenly very brave.
"There’s something else," he said.
"What?"
"Actually, I think I need to say this to you in person. May I come by?"
"It’s too late for visitors," Harry said, and Draco felt his stomach sinking. "But I can Apparate to you."
"Come by Floo. I’ve reconnected the Manor to the Network with selective wards." Aside from Harry, Snape was the only other person who was permitted through.
"I’m on my way."
Draco had a moment to contemplate hope, cruel and shining. He wasn’t sure if he was ready for this, but he wanted to try. He had to try.
Harry stepped out of the Floo with bare feet, and he noticed this at the exact moment that Draco did. "Um," he said, a blush rising to his face. He twisted his robe around his pajamas and shuffled about. "I was getting ready for bed." He coughed and said, "You were saying?"
"Right," Draco said, trying to resist the urge to sneak glances. He took a deep breath. "Not every twitchy, untrusting, horrible thing about me has to do with my father or my stint as Voldemort’s little puppet. Some things I earned all by myself. And it’s been a while since I’ve been able to make that differentiation. Questioning my every action, examining my motivations for everything, has been difficult but I think I’m learning. I’ve had to reevaluate every one of my relationships. My mother. Snape. You, for god’s sake. I’ve had to ask myself why any of you would want to be around me, why I would want to be around you. Do you understand?"
Potter looked confused, and Draco was this close to despair.
He took a steadying breath and decided that words were sometimes too safe.
When he reached out to cup his hand against the nape of Harry’s neck, the gesture felt huge, like it went on for miles. And whether he leaned forward or whether Harry was the one who closed the distance between them or both, Draco wasn’t sure. But Harry’s lips softened and parted against his with such transparent welcome and affection that Draco couldn’t help but respond in kind. The hand that Harry placed on Draco’s hip was loose and gentle, warm like reassurance. Harry’s hand slid up his body to press against the curve of his back and he whimpered.
In a rush, the fear was back, pulsing the blood in Draco’s veins and triggering the fight or flight reaction. Gasping, Draco pushed Harry back but not away, one hand still on his arm.
"Draco..."
"Wait," Draco said. "Don’t do anything, just... wait. Please."
How could he trust what he felt? How could he trust himself?
Maybe all he had to do was step back and think this through. Was this something he would ordinarily do? Did it make sense? Did he recognize himself in all this?
No, no, and no.
He felt good though, for the first time in a long while he felt strong both in body and mind. And he was curious about this undeniable attraction he possessed for this other human being. He wanted the feel of Harry’s mouth on his again. He wanted to give in. He wanted.
Draco took Harry’s hand and led him to the couch. He was barely breathing and for once it wasn’t nerves. It was anticipation and heady desire, tempered by an acute awareness of not only himself but of Harry. His nearness, his warmth, his subtle breathing, the way he was turning towards Draco and kissing him again. Draco tilted his head, inviting Harry deeper, exposing his throat. He shivered at the feel of Harry’s fingers in his hair, feeling a rush of heat and vulnerability that prickled the back of his neck and raised the hairs on his arms. Harry slipped his arm around Draco’s waist and drew him closer.
"Would you mind if I stayed?" Harry whispered.
"Stay."
***
Draco woke up slowly. His awareness drifted back to him carrying whispers of memory: the crackle of energy brought on by the slow slide of Harry’s fingers up his bare back; the roughness of Harry’s elbows, the languid contentment that had fallen over them as the night wore on.
He was still wearing all his clothes except his socks, and his bare feet were wedged between two cushions for warmth. His face was turned in towards Harry’s rumpled pajama top and he breathed in the warmth and scent of Harry’s skin.
A rustle of feathers by the window made Draco realize that something had actually woken him up, and he slowly lifted his head to look. It was probably the owl post, arriving early for once-
Draco gasped.
"Harry," he whispered, his heart pounding. He hated to wake him and for a moment he was actually tempted to let Harry sleep on. Sighing, he brushed his fingers down Harry’s cheek and kissed him on the temple. "Harry, wake up."
Harry stirred. "How long have I been sleeping?" he said, rubbing his eyes and smiling. His smile faded when he took in Draco’s expression. "What’s wrong?"
Draco gestured to the window.
Harry sat up to see Fawkes perched on the sill, smoothing his feathers down with his beak. Harry’s breath caught in his throat.
"I’m sorry."
***
Draco sat at the table with his hands around his cup of tea. Another cup of tea awaited Harry, kept warm with a spell. The waning afternoon sun filled the entire room with a soft glow, patches of light stippling the couch where Harry slept. One arm was tucked under his head, the other trailed over the edge of the couch. Fawkes slept too, his head tucked beneath a wing while he perched by Harry’s feet.
Harry had returned to Hogwarts. After several hours of consoling students and making arrangements for one thing or another, Harry had been ordered by McGonagall to go home. Harry had Flooed immediately back to Malfoy Manor, exhausted.
Draco fingered the two envelopes before him. Mr. Draco Malfoy. Mr. Harry Potter. They were addressed in Dumbledore’s handwriting and had been sealed with his personal seal.
Harry’s letter was on the floor by the couch where he had dropped it upon falling asleep. Draco could see the scrawl of Dumbledore’s writing from where he sat. He kept himself forcibly in his seat, reminding himself that it was a private matter and none of his business. He couldn’t help his curiosity, however. He wondered what Dumbledore had written, just what words he had chosen that could possibly ease the reality of his death and its impact on Harry. There were none, Draco knew, but he was grateful that Dumbledore had tried.
With a deep breath, he picked up his own letter and broke the seal with his thumbnail.
Dear Mr. Malfoy,
I suppose you will know by Fawkes’ arrival what has transpired; I sincerely hope you were not alarmed or upset by his sudden appearance. I know he is in good hands and I could not have asked for a better keeper than yourself.
I leave you with this, Draco: in life, often the smallest joys are the most precious. Be brave.
It has been a pleasure and an honor to know you. I wish you well.
Sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore
Draco stood up and stretched. He cast another look at Harry, at the trust inherent in his relaxed hands and unguarded throat, and suddenly remembered Snape’s proposal in his pocket.
With a fearlessness he hadn’t known he possessed, Draco picked up his quill and signed his name.
The End.