A Way to Begin Again. (Over Tea and Cookies)
Title: A Way to Begin Again. (Over Tea and Cookies)
Rating: PG-13 on the outside
Word Count: 2180
Challenge: Monday Fun at
slythindor100, prompt from
enchanted_jae of baking Christmas cookies. I will tag
facecat with chocolate milk
Authors Notes: Don’t ask me how this turned into a ficlet, it just expanded from the first idea into what it is. I’m pleased with it though, I hope you like.
The house was dark and silent as Draco made his way tentatively down the stairs. He was still wary of the house, it was old and stifling as if it was built to suffocate and indeed it had. It had sucked the life out of so many people, members of his family, and here he was, the last Black, and he was caught here too. Ensnared, like the others before him, he was imprisoned here; on the edge. Only time would reveal his fate, would he be destroyed like the rest, or would he escape?
He tiptoed past the portrait of his great aunt, foul thing that she was; at first she had been inclined to praise Draco, but all too soon it became apparent that he too was a blood traitor and since that day the insults had been thicker and more brutal whenever Draco was around. He sighed deeply. Blood traitors were all too common these days, perhaps that was as it should be, an indicator that pureblood beliefs were outdated, prejudiced and just plain wrong. After all, if Draco Malfoy could see the error in those ways, it must surely mean something.
And Draco had seen the error. The full destructive powers of Voldemort really hit home to him that night at Hogwarts, and he had played a major part. He was shamed, deeply shamed by his weakness; not, as many would think, of his inability to kill Dumbledore, no, his shame stemmed from the fact that he had tried in the first place. When he’d agreed to try he had already been uncertain and had taken on the task only out of a misplaced sense of responsibility towards his parents. The fact that he couldn’t kill Dumbledore was the only thing about that night he was proud of. Maybe, just maybe, it meant he was redeemable. No, if Draco was ashamed of anything, it was his mistaken pride, his refusal to accept help, whether from Dumbledore or, more importantly perhaps, from Snape. Now that he was here and aware of Snape’s loyalties, he found himself shockingly relieved. His life was more impossible than ever, but for the first time in years he felt some small sense of peace. Here, he could finally learn to be Draco, and leave the Malfoy behind. He hoped.
Most of the inhabitants of the house were wary of allowing him the chance, and he had to admit he could hardly blame them. The sight of Bill Weasley’s face, scared and brutally swollen; a face that had once been handsome and oh, had he ever been handsome, was a constant reminder of what he had done. Draco automatically gulped down thoughts of the eldest Weasley’s former and present attractiveness before remembering that he was no longer held by his father’s beliefs and that, for the first time in his life, he was free to think what he wanted to think. But thinking of Bill Weasley just left him feeling ill. He had done that, he was responsible. No wonder the Weasley’s barely tolerated him. All except for two. Molly Weasley had taken to him right away, accepting his heartfelt apology for what it was, and had enfolded him in her arms. Draco had been taken aback, unused to such displays of motherly affection, but soon he’d found himself clinging back, the tears falling freely as she held him. That first release had gone along way to calming him. Molly’s acceptance had gone a long way in shifting the tide, and now the disgust towards him was muted, no longer openly hostile.
The other Weasley who had accepted him immediately was Charlie. The stocky dragon tamer had been kinder to Draco than any of the other Weasley brothers; perhaps because he was further removed from the situation, he hadn’t known anything about Draco other than his name before meeting him at Grimmauld, but Draco was certain that Charlie’s acceptance had more to do with the fact that he was openly gay and clearly interested in Draco. He never pushed or flirted overtly, but his interest was by no means a secret. Draco had felt himself wishing that he could return it, now that he was at liberty to admit his preferences to himself; he had found himself admitting that Charlie was indeed attractive, all of the Weasley boys were. ‘Damnit! I don’t like red hair!’ Draco reminded himself, but he had to admit this dislike stemmed more from his intense dislike of Ron Weasley than any disinclination to the color in general. As for his dislike of Ron, he had to admit that, while the youngest male Weasley was clearly a git, his distaste stemmed more from what he had, rather than who he was.
That was another thing Draco was free to admit to himself now. Ron Weasley had what he’d wanted all these years, something he had not been able to come to terms with wanting until now, and it rankled. Not that he wanted what Weasley had exactly, he’d since learned what he’d really wanted was something else altogether, and the knowledge of that had left him feeling softer towards his least favorite Weasley. Not much, but some.
Draco padded silently down the steps to the kitchen hearing for the first time the bangs and thumps emanating from the room below. Someone else was up; the noise was out of place in the otherwise dark and silent house. Draco stopped halfway down, he was really not in the mood for company, and he turned to go back to his room, but the sweet scent of baking cookies wafted over him, and his stomach growled. He sighed again. Getting a hold of a cookie or two would be worth the no doubt onerous company of whoever was baking them.
He stepped into the lighted kitchen and stopped, shocked at the unexpected sight before him. There, in nothing but soft sleep pants and a snug tee, taking a batch of cookies from the oven, was none other than Harry Potter himself. Draco drew in a sharp breath as the other boy bent over to readjust the racks, his pants stretching tight across firm buttocks, the flex of muscle visible to Draco’s hungry eyes. There it was; that was what he’d wanted. He bit his lip and closed his eyes, willing his body to relax. Being thrown into close contact with the Boy Wonder had been wreaking havoc on Draco’s self control, especially since they were effectively on the same side and now that Draco was a guest in Potter’s home, his long denied feelings were out in the open for anyone to see. Well, maybe not anyone, but Draco was well aware of them, and that was enough.
He almost turned around to flee, but found himself transfixed as Potter turned, removing the gaudy oven mitts and spotting Draco. It was too late to run now and besides, the sight of Potter with a smudge of flour across his turned up nose; hair messier than ever and lightly dusted in white made his mouth water, far more than the enticing smell of the freshly baked cookies.
“Malfoy.” Potter greeted, and they stared at each other for a long moment. Draco was unsure of what to do next, but it seemed Potter had reached a decision. “Do you want a cookie?” he asked, turning back to the counter and sprinkling red sugar across the surface of the still warm cookies.
Draco took a moment to answer. Potter was being civil, nice even and Draco could not pass up the opportunity to spend time with him. “Sure, I’d love one.” He answered softly, moving across the room to join Potter at the counter.
“I came down for some tea.” He added when he’d stepped up beside the smaller boy. He caught a whiff of soap beneath all the sugar and had to close his eyes as a wave of lust surged through him.
“Oh, brilliant.” Potter, Harry, responded, giving Draco a sideways look and a small smile. “Why don’t you make some and I’ll finish here. They’ll be cool soon.” Draco nodded, his heart pounding now. Potter’s, Harry’s, smile was a beautiful thing and it had never been turned on him before. Draco felt a whole new world open up in front of him at the sight of those upturned lips. He moved away, mouth dry; to make the tea as Harry shook some green sugar over the last of the cookies. Draco watched from the corner of his eye as Harry shifted the cookies from the tray to a waiting rack and then he piled some cookies from another rack onto a plate. The water was boiling then, so Draco set some tea to brewing, taking the pot and setting it at one end of the large kitchen table. Harry set the plate down and they moved in a tentative rhythm, getting mugs and spoons, sugar and cream before sitting down opposite each other to share the snack.
“Thanks…Harry.” He said softly as his tea was poured, pleased at the shy grin that followed the look of shock on Harry’s face at the sound of his name falling from Draco’s lips.
“You’re welcome, Draco.” He responded, and Draco felt a shiver go through him as the gesture was reciprocated.
They ate and drank in silence for a moment, the house was still and to Draco it felt like they were in a timeless place, that it was only the two of them in the whole world. Peace he had never felt before settled over Draco and he found he could not regret the events that had come before, not now that they had led him unerringly to this place.
“These are really good.” He said, delighting at the blush that rose over Harry’s face at the compliment.
“Thanks. I couldn’t sleep and I had the wild urge to bake Christmas cookies.” Harry grinned at Draco and he grinned back, feeling as if he owned the world right in that moment. They sat in silence for a few more minutes, smiling at each other occasionally.
“Draco…” Harry started; his voice hesitant, unsure.
“Yeah, Harry?” he asked, eager to use Harry’s name whenever he could, now that he had permission to do so.
“Are you…I mean, do you…” he took a deep breath, and started again. “Charlie likes you a lot.”
Draco was surprised; the statement was the last thing he’d been expecting. “Yes, he does.” He answered simply, patient to see exactly what Harry was alluding too.
“Do you…I mean, are you…” Draco grinned. Eloquent as ever.
“Interested in him?” he asked, smirking a little.
“Um, yeah.” Harry was tracing a gouge in the table with one calloused finger and Draco wondered what it would feel like tracing his lip, or his neck.
“No, I’m not.” He said simply.
“Oh.” Harry’s finger stilled. “Is it because he’s a Weasley?” he asked softly.
“No.”
“Because he’s a man?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
Silence covered them again, and Draco took another sip of his tea, heart pounding.
“I might be interested; he’s clearly fit, but…” Draco trailed off, as Harry’s eyes snapped up from the table to meet his. He continued with difficulty, his tongue heavy all of a sudden. “But I’m interested in someone else.”
Harry’s eyes widened. “So you…you’re…” he looked as if he was searching for an appropriate word.
“Gay?” Draco provided. Harry nodded. “Yes, Harry. I’m gay.” Just saying the words made it real, and Draco felt a burden lift from his shoulders. The feeling of freedom that had followed him, even in the depths of this oppressive house, expanded and he felt lighter than he ever had before.
“Oh.” Harry’s eyes dropped down to the table again. Draco reached out and took the last cookie, snapping the tree shape in half and handing one piece across the table. Harry looked up, green eyes bright as he took the piece, warmth tingling from the tips of Draco’s fingers where Harry had touched them. Oh, he was interested in someone else, alright. They ate in silence, until Harry cleared his throat.
“So am I.” he said quietly, his eyes meeting Draco with an open honesty that took Draco’s breath away. Draco felt the weight of the confession settle on him, but it did not bring back any of the heaviness that had covered him before. Their eyes met, and Draco felt more alive than he had ever before.
“I’m gay I mean.” Harry smiled wryly. “And I’m interested in someone as well. Not Charlie.” He clarified. Draco smiled at him, and Harry smiled back.
“I’m glad to hear it.” Draco said, voice a whisper that was clear as a trumpet in the silence of the room. Their eyes held and Draco knew that they had turned a corner, they had moved past their childish rivalry and that there was no going back. The knowledge filled him with joy, and he knew suddenly that this would be the best Christmas ever. All the Weasleys in the world couldn’t change that.