Wix Ever After

Sunday

“First rose,” Pansy said. Not quite a congratulation.

Draco looked down at the rose in his hand. He’d been told to bring it to this morning’s recap. All the roses Harry handed out were cut fresh and brilliantly beautiful. Draco had a vase in his room where he kept his rose each week for encouragement. A first rose was always the most beautiful of the bunch, and it held a status charm to keep it forever in bloom. This one would be with Draco as long as he was on the show. Draco would have it even if Harry sent him home. It was lovely to behold, with the sweetest scent. He took a moment to sniff it once more. He wanted to remember this moment each time the smell of roses crossed his path in the future. The time Harry picked him.

Pansy did not watch his saccharine display. Instead she pulled out her note cards from an actual pocket in the front of a black dress that may have started its life as a hoodie. “How does it feel to be picked first?” She did not sound as if she truly cared.

Pansy’s ambivalence couldn’t spoil Draco’s mood. Draco was supposed to be sent packing two Rose Ceremonies ago, and now he had a first rose. Draco couldn’t help his goofy smile. He tried not to gush too much as he answered Pansy’s standard questions on his feelings about the last week.

He felt good. He felt happy. He felt so, so happy. Pansy couldn’t ask a question that got him to say anything else.

Out of nowhere, the confessional door slammed open.

It was unmistakingly Lee, except Draco almost mistook him for someone else due to him dressing like a normal human in dark trousers and a jumper, without a lick of pink. He had a beanie pulled down low covering his distinctive hair. There were deep bags under his eyes and he held what may have been the world’s largest coffee. He let the door slam shut just as hard behind him as he pulled a folding chair Pansy never used from the wall and slapped it open. Lee set it out, the chair back to Draco, then straddled the chair so he could sit slumped over the back of the chair to watch.

Lee motioned to Pansy. “Don’t let me stop you. I sit in for all the first rose confessionals. Perfectly normal.”

Pansy had Draco’s ability to stand perfectly still when feeling threatened. It was the sort of thing you learned when you were surrounded by Death Eaters who got off on making people afraid. That’s how she was able to ignore the abnormality of the sleep deprived host of the show personally choosing to monitor her charge and simply flip to the next question she had written out. “What made you stand out from your peers this week?”

Lee made a noise of disapproval. Pansy’s eyes barely shifted to look at him. She flipped the cards again. “Who is your biggest competition this week?”

This time Lee sighed. “I’ve got a question,” he cut in, clearly lying from the beginning about the business as normal. “Did you and Harry ever hook up in school?”

Draco made the least dignified noise imaginable. Something akin to a squeak. He blushed crimson and refused to look at the camera. “No!”

The charming Lee from TV land was nowhere to be seen on this man’s shark-like face. “You two spent two years mooning at each other from across the great hall. You sure that little obsession never led to a moment between you two? You had to have seen it, Pans, they were mad for each other.”

“We were not!” Draco insisted, forgetting both that he absolutely had been and also the cameras were watching. Lee’s direct approach left Draco defensive. “I kicked him in the face once, and he cursed me bad enough I still have the scars.”

“Draco.” One word from Pansy to bring him back to reality.

Draco glanced at his friend, then to the cameras, then back at Lee. He gulped.

Lee swished the coffee in his cup then took a swig of it. He looked deep in thought. He looked deeply tired. “You hook up later, then?”

Draco couldn’t stop himself from bristling. “Of course not. Until this show, I hadn’t seen Harry since the trials.”

Lee pointed like Draco made his point for him. “He spoke for you at the trials,” Lee said like that was evidence Draco must be lying.

Draco looked imploringly at Pansy, who for once was starting to look a bit stressed. She pulled herself together and crossed her arms over her chest, or under it since her chest was larger than what would be comfortable otherwise. “Draco’s was a repressed love,” she said in that perfect, apathetic monotone.

It was Lee’s turn to squint at her dubiously. He gave up his squint and sighed instead as he rubbed his eyes. “Fine, fine,” he groaned. He drank even more coffee then put the cup on the ground so he could rub his hands together and focus. “We’ve got to put our brains together on this one, folks. I’ve been up all night trying to fix this fuck up. No one likes you Draco. You’re constantly our lowest public polled contestant. I got to tell you ‘repressed’ isn’t what the audience is looking for. So help me out here, what story are we selling them? What trope can they glom on to? Enemies to lovers? Opposites attract? Forbidden love?”

“Errr,” said Draco, eloquently. His nerves reached the point where he was picking at his cubicles and would need to beg one of the makeup assistants to help him fix it.

Lee gave up on Draco and turned to Pansy expectantly. She had that thoughtful look that was always worrisome. “Dumb jock hero falls for nerdy homebody.”

“He’s not supposed to be the nerd,” Lee lamented. “He’s supposed to be the sexy bad boy you’d like to bang but would never take home to your parents.”

“Ummm,” Draco said, as if that would stop them. He hadn’t thought of himself as sexy since… well, before he fully understood what sex was.

“Tragic past?” Pansy offered. Then, with her eyes twinkling. “Harry could save him.”

Lee rubbed his temples. “He wears cardigans,” as if Draco’s choice in sweater was personally offensive. “He’s too fucking wholesome.”

Pansy’s mouth was set in a way that meant she’d reached a decision. “You’re right. It’s a second chance romance.”

This was all very much going over Draco’s head. “What is a-”

Pansy waived his question off before he could ask it. She shoved her note cards back into her pocket. “Draco, when did you first realize you had feelings for Harry?”

Draco bit his lip worryingly. “I’m really not sure this is the right-”

Lee shook his head even while drinking more coffee. He finished the swig before saying, “No, that’s what we’re doing. Don’t blame me. I told Harry to send you home, but you saw how bad that went.” Lee got to his feet, leaving the empty coffee cup on the floor behind him. He pointed at Draco. “You’re going to step up and salvage this mess.” He pointed at Pansy. “And you’re going to get him to give me what I need to sell this to the audiences. I already have Rae breathing down my neck because we’ve got to swap the next two week’s schedules. If we don’t make the public fucking love him,” he jerked his thumb at Draco, “by episode seven we’ll all be royally fucked.”

-

Lee barging into Draco’s confessional was the harbinger that this week would be different.

The first change was even though Draco showed up to the viewing early enough to find a seat on his own, he didn’t have to. Roshni was already there munching on finger foods, and she called Draco over to sit with her. Sol may have been tentative when he joined them, but he followed Roshni’s lead and for the first time in the castle Draco wasn’t all on his own.

The second change was the episode started with a feature on Draco. They cut to Draco in a confessional, sharing his feelings about being chosen last again, and how important it was he make a connection with Harry else he would definitely be going home. The producers then took a voiceover from later in the week, when days without seeing Harry had heightened Draco’s nerves, making it sound like it was a continuation of his original thought. He was babbling about how he knew he and Harry were compatible and he just needed more time with Harry for their connection to deepen.

Cut to a scene of Susan, Maurice and Everett gossiping about Draco and how he’d for sure be the next one to go. It was Maurice who said, “Harry has no interest in a man who won’t even kiss him.”

Cut to a flashback that had foggy edges like you were viewing it in a pensive. It was Draco walking into the Interview Room. Draco recognized the outfit he was wearing. He recognized how Harry tapped those cards so forebodingly against his legs.

He recognized that kiss. Deep and soul searching. Entirely committed.

Someone in the viewing room gasped and Draco didn’t even care who it was. He felt splayed open and on display. Worse still, because he hadn’t even considered it a possibility that past actions could be brought back to the forefront.

Harry’s hands on Draco’s hips. Harry leaning into Draco’s body. Draco could remember the taste of Harry’s lips.

Draco had forgotten Pansy asked him last week about that first kiss. Right up until his words were put on screen for the world to see.

He’d never imagined being on television would be like this. Like any secret could be revealed.

With so much initial screen time, it didn’t look strange that Draco wasn’t present for Monday’s breakfast with Harry (that apparently everyone else was invited to). Afterwards Harry did speed individual dates with the contestants he hadn’t yet had one-on-one time with. It was him “problem solving” needing to know them better.

Tuesday was Silas, Rene, and Sol joining Harry in an obstacle course that required teamwork to complete by the one hour mark. Their good natured cooperation explained why all three ended up high in the rankings at the end of the week. Susan, Maurice, and Marcus joined Harry for a scavenger hunt that required them to use a muggle map, clues, and a muggle compass to complete the puzzle. Maurice and Marcus bickered continuously over who was in charge, and Susan spent more time asking Harry to help explain muggle navigation to her than helping the team to progress. It took them almost two hours to complete the puzzle, and the trio was sent back to the castle without the special evening date. The show captured the frenetic energy of the puzzle room, and made a point of making everyone look like they contributed, even Everett. The camera definitely showcased every interaction between Harry and Draco. When it came down to the wire and it was unclear if they’d won, the image on the screen was Harry holding tight to Draco, both faces worried and hopeful. The audience saw their shared jubilation when “congratulations!” rang out. Footage from the evening date focused on Roshni, not Draco, although Draco was very much shown to be part of the good cheer.

Friday opened with Harry in the Interview Room with Lee and their deep heart-to-heart about when Harry made the decision to go to therapy. Harry was bluntly open about how he hadn’t been able to be the person his past partners deserved, because he hadn’t been willing to look at himself and recognize how he avoided intimacy and was afraid to trust other people. He said it was important to him that anyone he marries be open to the idea of talking about their past and, if needed, working on themselves so they could do their part to keep their relationship strong. He chose this exercise to see how each contestant handled difficult conversations and whether they’d be willing to be open and vulnerable.

The producers showed a montage of contestants sharing, or resisting sharing, the results of their assessment. Draco’s time was cut down to Draco’s nervous glances and discomfort, followed by his rush to get the words out so he could stop sharing more than he had to. Maurice refused to take the assessment at all. He told Harry he didn’t see a purpose in ever going to therapy. It was harsh enough that there was no surprise when he was the one sent home.

Monday

Lee was back in flamingo pink, smiling dazzlingly for the cameras as he announced that after such a whirlwind of activity, Harry wanted to give everyone time to relax this week. Every activity would be about laying back and enjoying themselves.

It kicked off with a group dinner. Everyone had the chance to choose out and prepare one item to dip into fondue pots. Draco chose bell peppers because he’d never smothered those in cheese before. Harry prepared the cheese and chocolate.

The seats around Harry were swiftly claimed by Silas and Rene, and Draco’s stomach dropped for just a moment when he saw the wide smile Harry offered both of them. Harry laughed so carefree at whatever Silas said. He leaned into them and let Silas hand feed him a cheese smothered piece of apple.

Roshni bumped Draco’s shoulder to knock sense into him. Draco blinked and looked away. “He’s as smitten with you as anyone,” Roshni said good naturedly, as if it didn’t bother her at all to watch Harry’s attraction to anyone else. “Come sit with me, take your mind off it.” Draco did sit with her. While it took a minute for Draco’s nerves to defrost, before he knew it they were chatting about food and life like they were old friends. Roshni pulled in Marcus to explain the intricacies of muggle football, since apparently Marcus played that before getting the letter saying he was a wizard.

For once, it was Harry who was caught staring at Draco. Draco had been laughing without inhibition, like he hadn’t done since before he took the Dark Mark at sixteen. Draco felt Harry’s eyes from across the table. Harry was once again too far away to properly talk to without having to shout, he couldn’t hear whatever had been said that set Draco off. But he could see Draco relaxed and open.

Draco smiled at Harry from across the table, large and toothy. Harry opened his mouth as if maybe he would say something, ask some question. As if he wanted to be included in whatever brought Draco this cheer. He looked like maybe he’d even get up and walk across the table to be a part of it.

Rene tugged on Harry’s arm to draw his attention back to whatever she was saying. Harry tried to hide his annoyance as he returned his attention to her. A moment later Harry glanced back at Draco again, once more catching Draco’s eyes.

It was different, completely different, to feel how Harry wanted to connect with Draco. Wanted Draco here with him, part of his life.

What a world. Draco didn’t exchange a single word with Harry, but he was happy.

Tuesday

It was hard not to be disappointed when Everett got the one-on-one date with Harry. First rose didn’t always get the first date the next week. It was just, Draco kind of thought he would. His guts twisted as he warred with himself over whether his inaccurate expectations were warranted, or if he was letting himself turn egotistical and selfish.

Everett was… well, he was still here. So Harry must see something in him. Like he saw something in Rene, who he constantly shared sweet smiles with. Or Silas, who he constantly found reasons to touch gently on the hand or perhaps the shoulder.

Draco tried to turn his fidgets into art projects with the other contestants, all of which had to wile away the time somehow. He tried to channel his nerves into chit chat with a crowd who no longer collectively boxed him out.

He tried to remind himself he’d been here for weeks, and he had never once felt entitled to Harry’s time. Because he wasn’t. Whatever relationship he was forming with Harry was too new and too precarious. It had no guarantees. First rose didn’t mean he got another date. It didn’t mean he’d be invited to stay another week.

Wednesday

That morning arrived with more than a schedule (6:00 p.m.: slumber party in the theater room). Pansy also brought new clothes.

“I don’t need underwear,” Draco said as he pawed through them.

Pansy raised an eyebrow and that’s when Draco realized this was the swimsuit argument all over again.

Of course, Pansy won. So Draco walked into the theater wearing what Pansy insisted were not boxers. Pansy suggested he wear knickers under them if he was that concerned. Of course Draco flamed red, but he put on the skimpy attire patterned with Hungarian Horntails and Norwegian Ridgebacks. Pansy had somehow found an old, well worn Hogwarts T shirt that almost fit him right. Like it had been big on Draco as an adolescent and he’d just never gotten rid of it. And while none of that is what Draco considered proper pajamas (he had propper pajamas, Pansy, and they would have been perfectly fine), what truly made him balk were the slippers. They were happy little snakes, with fake tongues wagging out from the front of Draco’s toes.

“It’s wholesome!” Pansy insisted, clearly not having the first clue what was actually wholesome. “Harry likes snakes,” she tried the second time, without any evidence at all.

Draco did it for the content. He did it for the camera. He did it because he trusted his friend to know what would make him stand out. If Pansy was putting this much energy into him it could only mean the producers expected him to be here long enough for it to matter. Draco could care less what stereotype romance storyline they were trying to box him into, but he believed in Pansy if nothing else. If she said to dress silly and nostalgic, then that’s what Draco would do.

Of course, Pansy was immediately proven right when Draco walked into the theater room and Harry’s eyes focused in on him. It could have been Harry looking to be distracted from his conversation with Everett, only Draco could see Harry’s eyes linger on how the shirt stretched against Draco’s chest, before drifting down to Draco’s long legs and dragon covered package.

There was that blush again. For once he didn’t mind his bashfulness, because he could see Harry light up in a smile when he noticed Draco’s pink cheeks.

Harry excused himself from Everett and walked over to greet Draco, who tried not to jump out of his skin when Harry wrapped him up in the briefest of hugs. “Thanks for coming,” Harry said as if there was any world in which Draco wouldn’t.

Draco tried to smile without awkwardness. “Thanks for throwing the party.”

Harry nudged Draco’s shoulder with his own as if Draco had made a joke. “Come on, let’s get popcorn.”

There was more than popcorn. There was candy and ice cream and even hot dogs if anyone wanted something more substantive. Draco let Harry prepare him a bowl of popcorn, light on the butter but heavy on salt. Draco stayed lock-step with Harry all the way back to the row of pillows and sleeping bags that had been laid out in the front row of the theater, as if they were all teenagers at an actual slumber party. Draco settled himself in and didn’t mind one bit when Harry sat next to him, then shifted closer. It always felt so warm to be this close to Harry. It warmed Draco from the inside out. It soothed his panic that Harry didn’t have any special affection for him. Harry could have sat next to anyone. Everyone wanted to be where Draco was.

Like Sol, who sat on Harry’s other side and struck up a conversation about Harry’s choice in film. Apparently, it was a classic, and somewhere between Sol expressing his genuine love for the movie and the two men’s dramatic recitals of “Inconceivable!” and “You killed my father. Prepare to die!” Harry drifted away from Draco’s side and towards his other suitor.

Of course the movie was a love story. A love story that Harry was sharing with another man.

Any possibility of relaxing had been stomped to pieces and Draco was considering spending the next hour biting his fingernails instead of watching the movie, except the characters on screen did not do what he expected. He got caught up in Buttercup’s broken heart, in Inigo’s quest for revenge, in the idea of being rescued by a dreaded pirate who was good with his sword. Fencing, fighting, torture, revenge, giants, monsters, chases, escapes, true love, miracles. Draco hadn’t known muggles could make a story this exciting.

After the movie, Draco launched the discussion with Sol and Harry about how they discovered the film with an abundance of enthusiasm. It wasn’t even about the thrill of Harry’s attention being on him.

Harry’s attention was on him, though, at least a little bit. Harry was giving Draco that thoughtful look again, the one he used when he caught sight of Draco caught up in something enjoyable that wasn’t at all about Harry. And Harry tugged on Draco’s hand when everyone else was leaving to ask him to stay a moment longer.

“Draco, will you go on a date with me tomorrow?” Harry asked, as if he was stepping out of any number of Draco’s school-aged fantasies.

Draco’s heart thudded so loud surely Harry heard. Surely Harry could see all of Draco’s eagerness and devotion. Surely, Draco’s beaming smile made his answer clear.

Draco answered, “As you wish.”

Thursday

Draco woke up extra early that morning and spent hours sifting through everything he owned to decide what he should wear for this special date. He could try for suave and sexy. Harry had admitted he found Draco attractive. But Lee’s remark on how Draco was meant to be the man you wanted to shag but not someone you’d bring home to the family rubbed at Draco. He had to show Harry that he was someone Harry could be committed to for the long term. He needed to be marriage material.

If only Draco knew what marriage material looked like. In the end, he dithered long enough he had to throw on a basic outfit Harry had probably already seen him wear before. Corduroy pants and a magic knit sweater. It was just as well that the first thing they did on their date was take all their clothes off.

Draco didn’t peek at Harry, who was undressing on his side of a privacy screen. He might have looked though, just for a moment, when Harry stepped out with the towel wrapped around his waist. His breath might have caught when he got a clear view of Harry’s abs. His broad shoulders. His smug smirk when he noticed Draco was looking.

Then each laid down on their respective table and put their very best effort into relaxing.

What no one ever told Draco about a couple’s massage was that it wasn’t so much spending time with your date as it was having some strangers hands touch you while you were face down on a table without anything to look at. The music was nice. Soothing and all that. Bells and chimes with nature sounds thrown in. The scent of lavender, presumably relaxing, wafted through the air.

It wasn’t that the massage wasn’t nice, only that Draco was used to living entirely on his own with exactly one friend who didn’t like touching people. He still found it jarring when Roshni bumped his shoulder or Harry held his hand. Each caress resonated.

This was… a lot. He didn’t know the person touching him. The masseuse was talented and relentless. Her gentle fingers dug into all the high strung parts of Draco and eased them as much as anyone could. Intellectually, he liked the concept. Medically, he could see value. Romantically? No, this was a turn off. His touch-starved skin didn’t find relief in this stranger’s menstrations, and his anxious heart wasn’t soothed with the knowledge yet another person was touching the man he wanted to marry.

He was so thankful when it ended. The spa gave both men luxurious fluffy robes and Draco found comfort folding himself up in his. Once again he and Harry caught each other’s gazes. This time it broke ice between them. Both men found themselves awkwardly giggling at the strangeness of the situation.

“Never done that before,” Harry admitted afterwards when they were set up outside on a patio with a charcuterie board for lunch.

“Couple’s massage?” Draco asked around a bite of prosciutto.

Harry shrugged. “Any massage.”

Draco nodded because it made sense. “It’s a bit odd of an experience. Nice, though, I suppose.”

“Yeah?” Harry asked as he stacked all the cheese options onto a single cracker.

“Mmhmm,” was Draco’s non committal murmur.

Harry fit the entire bite in his mouth and was polite enough to chew before continuing. “I can’t ever tell if I’d actually like these activities if it weren't on camera,” he admitted. “We go through all that,” he gestures at the building behind them where the massages took place, “and instead of relaxing, I’m stuck thinking about if they folded that towel too far down and now my buttcrack is going to be plastered on television.”

Draco coughed on a cracker. “You mean the wizarding public will get to see your butt before I do?”

Harry’s chuckle was deep and rumbly. “They’ll have to blur it out. They’ll just get the suggestion of a butt crack.”

“Tantalizing,” Draco said with a smirk while he went in for some sort of apricot jam.

“You laugh, but I have a nice ass,” Harry insisted.

Draco’s smirk grew. He glanced over at Harry, not quite leering. “I’m well aware.” Harry threw an olive at Draco, who laughed when it bounced off his chin. Draco picked it up and plopped it in his mouth.

Harry turned over in his reclining lawn chair so he could look at Draco properly. “Did you enjoy it?” he genuinely wanted to know.

Draco took his time chewing on the olive. When he finished he shrugged a single shoulder and tried to smile coyly.

That put the frown line on Harry’s forehead. “Are you enjoying being on the show?” was his follow up. A question so deep and ominous Draco could climb out of it with an ascendio.

Draco hadn’t meant to escalate the conversation. If he wasn’t ready to explain how uncomfortable Draco felt being touched by strangers, he definitely wasn’t ready to go deep on Draco’s terror of how the public might perceive him. “I enjoy when I spend time with you,” he felt confident in saying.

That eased Harry’s brow just a little, but he still had that furrowed look he got when he was thinking. “You’re not upset I kept you on?” As if anyone would be. As if Harry wasn’t worth all the anxiousness and agony of this competition. Draco bit his lip as he tried to figure out the heart of Harry’s questions. It was almost like he was… insecure. About Draco.

Draco made a point of turning over himself to show Harry he had Draco’s complete focus. “This has been one of the best weeks of my life.” He said it simply, as if it were a fact the same as any other. For all the ups and downs and anxieties the week had brought, it also was one of the few times in his life he wasn’t afraid that he was failing everyone he cared about. “I-” his words caught themselves up and he had to pause to steady himself. He had never spoken these words around and he was terrified to actually do so. Terrified that he’d put himself out there just to be rejected. But Harry looked worried, and Draco didn’t want to be sent home because Harry didn’t think Draco took this seriously.

“I’ve spent most my life wanting you to consider me as a… I suppose, as a romantic partner. I haven’t always known how to express it, and you know as well as I that I often expressed it poorly, but deep down it has always been you. From the day I met you, I hoped you would see me as someone worthy of your friendship. And now, I hope you can see me as someone more. Every week you pick me to stay in this competition is a gift. I want you to keep me on until the very end.”

Harry’s furrowed brow had faded to be replaced with wide eyes. Draco didn’t know what that look meant. It was intense, but didn’t leave him warm and fuzzy. It left him thinking he had messed. Maybe Draco had shared too much. Had been too open.

Draco tried to laugh to break the tension. “Sorry, ignore that. Pretend I didn’t say it.”

“Draco-” Harry started, but it sounded cautious and questioning.

Draco bludgeoned forward before Harry could complete his thought. “No, that was too much. Let’s do something normal. What do you usually talk about on these dates?”

There was the briefest of pauses before Harry replied in what must have been artificial casualness. “I get to know folks. Learn about who they are, where they come from, things like that.”

“Perfect,” Draco said with equally artificial cheer. “Get to know me.”

That broke through Harry’s awkwardness. He was soon staring at Draco side-eyed and drawling out, “I know you, Draco.”

Something fluttered in Draco’s belly because the way he said it didn’t sound all bad. Still, Harry could hardly see him as more than the boy he’d known in school. The boy Draco regretted ever being. So he forced a playful smile and forged ahead. “Nonsense,” Draco insisted. “We’ve been over this, you hardly know anything at all.”

“I know quite a lot about you Dra-”

“Ask me about my manor’s east wing,” Draco interrupted, desperate to prove he had hidden depths.

Harry blinked long and slow while he considered it. His tone was all skepticism when he said, “What about the east wing?”

“It’s haunted!”

Harry couldn’t help his lips from quirking upwards. “That’s not about you, Draco, that’s about your house. And dead-” he paused like he was considering all the options for who might be dead in the manor.

“It’s my grandparents,” Draco said to swiftly clear it up. “Well, my great, great, great, great, great, great grandparents. They got divorced!”

The furrow in Harry’s brows was back. “Were people even allowed to divorce that far back?” he asked.

“Yes! Because they never consummated the marriage.”

“What?” This wasn’t clearing up any of Harry’s confusion. Possibly because it was not clear at all what the fuck was Draco even talking about.

“They both agreed to a magical binding contract that required them to produce an heir, but Brutus jacked off into a cup and Druella sorted it out on her own, and nine months later there was a baby.”

“Okay,” Harry responded, “I see my gap in knowledge. But how is this about you?”

Draco grinned. “I am a master at marriage contracts. You best let me write yours, I’ll make sure you get whatever you want.”

Harry was smiling a bit bemusedly. “This story doesn’t make any sense.”

Draco waved the concern away. “You’re not letting me tell it right. The point is, Grandma Druella taught me absolutely everything there is to know about marriage contracts. She is a marvel, simply top notch, and it’s been her life, well, her death-mission to make sure every Malfoy heir carries the tradition forward.”

“The tradition of technical loopholes to get out of marriage?”

“Hardly!” Draco’s eyes twinkled because he loved telling stories about his oddest and most inspirational ancestors, and it had been so long since he’d had the chance. “Druella and Brutus’s families forced them into an arranged marriage, but Druella was in love with another witch. So she spent the entire month before the wedding researching marriage contracts and wrote her own so well that her parents didn’t even realize what she’d done until she popped out the baby, got divorced, and moved her new wife into Malfoy Manor. Druella even played matchmaker to help Brutus find his own love match, and the four of them lived happily ever after.”

Harry thunked his head down on the chair, his eyebrows working over time to put his thoughts on display. “I have so many questions.”

Draco snuggled down into his comfy robe, simply content to have Harry’s full attention. “Ask me anything,” He said, “I want you to know me.”

Friday

Harry wanted to be indulgent. He wanted to spoil everyone.

Draco already felt like the entire week had been him being spoiled over and over again. It had been so long since anyone had spoiled Draco.

Today, each contestant woke up to flowers and chocolates. Draco’s was Honeydukes, the same flavors that his mother used to send him via owl when he was in school. Like maybe Harry had been watching Draco as closely as Draco watched him, and remembered to this day how much the chocolates meant to him. The flowers were lilies, the same shade as the one Draco gave Harry his first night on the show.

There were no set activities, but there were special touches to each meal. Pastries for breakfast flown in fresh from France. Fresh picked berries for the taking. A rich and creamy pasta sauce for dinner. Everything was always nice, but today it was decadent.

The day ended with each contestant receiving a special gift during their confessional. Draco’s heart leapt when Pansy handed him the red box with white ribbon wrapped around it.

Draco didn’t think of the cameras as he opened it reverently. He pulled at the edges of the ribbon and watched the bow pull apart. He found the edges of tape and gently scraped at them until they separated from the paper beneath, so he could keep the wrapping tidy and fresh. Inside was a clamshell box. He held his breath as he pried it open.

It was a charm bracelet, delicately displayed. Three charms dangled on it. A tiny dragon, a slice of pie, and a strange shape that might have been a piece of cloth hanging over a round ball. Draco squinted long and hard enough to realize it was the muggle depiction of a ghost.

Saturday

Draco was in such a good mood when he walked into the green waiting nook just outside the Interview Room that he easily smiled at Marcus and wished him good morning, even though Marcus was still skeptical of Draco by and large.

Marcus nodded back from his perch on one of the chairs set out for contestants. “He’s running late,” Marcus grumbled. That wasn’t something Draco minded at all. All they had in the castle was time and the threat of doing something stupid on camera. At least this space was delineated a camera free zone. Only then Marcus added resentfully, “He’s been in with his favorites.”

That held Draco up just as he was about to take his own seat. “His favorites?” he couldn’t stop his startled tone.

The look Marcus gave Draco was one part contempt and at least four parts pity. “Right. Rene was still in when I first arrived, and Silas has been in there since.”

Draco forced himself to take a seat as if Marcus’s comments were no big deal. “They are lovely,” he offered, trying to take the sting out of Marcus’s suggestion that Harry liked them better than anyone else. “But Harry has spent plenty of time with the rest of us.”

Marcus snorted and shook his head, but he didn’t bother to argue with Draco.

Draco didn’t want to lay out all the ways Harry had singled him out for individual attention and instead tried to find an example of Harry and Marcus connecting at some point in the week. His mind blanked and he couldn't find even one. “You two have so much in common,” Draco tried instead.

There was that snort. It wasn’t so much unappealing as unattractively bitter. “He won’t get over how I let him win at quidditch.”

“Did you really?” Draco asked before he could think better of it. Marcus glared at him and Draco bit his lip and looked away. Silence fell, and it was really fucking awkward.

No one showed up to yell when Silas went way over on time. Marcus and Draco just had to wait out in the hall, not talking to each other, until they emerged, radiantly happy. Marcus saw their joy just as easily as Draco did, and he didn’t look happier for it. Still, he pulled himself together and put on an easy going grin before he went in for his turn at making a lasting impression.

At least it was Roshni after Draco, and they were able to make light small talk as they waited. Draco didn’t build the nerve to ask her if she agreed with Marcus’s take on the favorites.

Marcus was only in for the standard timeframe. His stress was well concealed, but Draco could see how he frowned once he was completely out of Harry’s sight.

When Draco went in, Harry was welcoming enough. He said hello and asked how Draco was, but when the niceties were done he pulled out his prepared stack of cards as if he didn’t have any questions of his own.

“Thank you for the bracelet,” Draco said before Harry could ask anything.

Harry lowered the stack of cards he’d just been about to look at. “Oh, yeah,” he looked a little shy. “I wasn’t sure if you’d like it, I never see you wear jewelry.”

Draco pulled back the cuff of his sleeve to show Harry he wore it now. “I love it,” he insisted. Then, as if worried Harry might go back to the cards instead of genuinely talking to him, Draco asked, “How did you pick the charms?”

This had the unexpected effect of flustering Harry, as if he didn’t expect to have to explain himself. “They’re each something from your time here on the show. Memories that I like.” For once it was Harry being bashful.

Draco fingered the charms as a smile tugged at his lips. “A ghost, for my exemplary story telling. A pie, tart rather, for my outstanding baking. And a dragon,” he paused to glance up at Harry, “for my bold and fiery nature?”

Harry blushed and didn’t meet his eyes. “Yeah, that,” he agreed too easily.

Draco’s smile widened but he didn’t push to see if Harry had really admired his pajama bottoms enough to put them on his bracelet. He leaned forward instead to say, “It’ll be nice to see what else you add to it. When we make more memories.”

It wasn’t a sentiment Draco thought would cause strife, but Harry still didn’t meet his eyes after he said it. Draco waited for some response, but it didn’t come. Instead Harry cleared his throat and picked the stack of cards back up. He made a point of staring hard at the first one. “Why did you choose bell peppers for fondue?” he read, a question so clearly written by someone who didn’t know or care about Draco.

Draco forced the smile to stay on his face as he did his best to muster up sincerity for his answer.

Harry didn’t even keep Draco for the whole time allotment. “Sorry, Draco, I’m running behind.”

Draco liked to think he did at least as well as Marcus at hiding how much it hurt. At least, Harry didn’t seem to notice.

-

This had far and above been Draco’s best week on the show. He started so optimistic, and until that morning his optimism hadn’t faltered. Not really. Not beyond the nerves that were Draco’s constant companion.

Draco hadn’t taken the time to consider exactly what it meant that only eight contestants were left until Rene, Silas, and Sol were chosen before him. The last time he came in fourth it felt like a victory. This time it was barely in the top half, leaving him once again wondering how he let himself have high enough expectations that this would be a disappointment. Draco did his best to be gracious and encouraging when he stepped up to take his rose. He stared into Harry’s eyes as if simply by doing so he could summon that spark that zinged between them only yesterday.

It did not. In the rush of filming and pressure of so many PAs and contestants watching, Draco was just another rose among many, nothing special.

He stayed aware of the cameras and didn’t let his face fall when he took his spot with everyone else advancing to the next week.

Susan joined him next, and did a much better job of looking thrilled about it.

Then there were three. Tension built as Harry made himself pause for suspense. Maybe he was counting the producer-required seconds in his head, but his face looked contemplative and soul searching. Like the choice was so close that whatever he saw in the three contestants now would influence the decision he made. He opened his mouth, about to speak.

“Hold on, wait.” It was Roshni. Harry actually held on and waited, just like everyone else who shifted their attention to who was normally the most predictable and non pulsed of the contestants. She didn’t mind their attention. She never minded. She just half smiled half apologetically at Harry as she spoke. “I thought maybe you were about to name me, and I realized I’d really rather you not.”

You could have heard a pin drop, the room was so silent. Except of course for the woosh of cameras zooming around the room to capture every reaction from every angle. Once zoomed in close to capture Draco cover his surprised gasp with both hands.

“Roshni…” was all Harry managed.

“It’s not that I don’t like you,” Roshni felt the need to say, “I just like you more as a friend who I go down to the pub every now and again, not as someone I want to spend my life with. Plus, these blokes really do, like you that is, so you should pick them instead.”

Harry alternated between staring hard at Roshni and looking at Lee, as if seeking guidance on how to proceed when this goes off script. Lee had a twinkle in his eye and absolutely no advice for Harry.

So Harry had to muddle through on his own. He turned back to Roshni and actually sounded pained when he asked, “Are you certain?”

“Pretty certain, yeah,” Roshni said, not unkindly.

“If that’s what you want,” Harry hedged. “I was hoping we’d spend more time together.”

Roshni’s smile was slipping towards less kind. “You did choose five people before me, Harry. It’s not a sign of true, unyielding love.”

That was the final nail in the coffin to Harry’s attempts to convince Roshni to stay. If there were favorites to be had, Roshni wasn’t one of them. She said since the beginning that she came on the show for herself, not out of an obsessive love for Harry (not that Draco would describe his own fascination that way). Perhaps Harry had never considered that while he was seeking out a spark, a connection, some clear sign of who he was meant to spend the rest of his life with, Roshni was, too. And somehow, beyond belief, Harry hadn’t measured up.

Harry was forced to awkwardly hand out the last two roses. He did it at the same time so the two remaining men would always have to wonder if this was the week they otherwise would have been sent home.

Roshni hugged Harry goodbye, and thanked him for giving her the chance to find out what she was really looking for. Perhaps not so different than Druella, who had outsmarted everyone to create her happily ever after. Everyone in the castle loved Roshni, and the farewells were bittersweet.

Draco hugged her tightest of all as he tried to hold at bay the fear of being back in the house all alone without the friend who he’d just discovered, who had always looked out for him.

“I’m rooting for you,” were the words Roshni left him with, and his heart leapt knowing that she’d be here with him in spirit, until the very end.