Wix Ever After

Wednesday

It was a beautiful day, and he’d been up for too much of it. He’d arrived at the same mangled, wrought iron gate he waited at now before the sun had even risen. Draco had gazed down the long path, shadowed by the remnants of a once grand garden and his decommissioned fountain, asking Pansy and Rae and all their helpers, “Is this really the surprise?”

It looked better in daylight. Pansy, always enterprising, had submitted a requisition request weeks ago, and started badgering Rae about approval the moment last week’s rose was in Draco’s hand. It gave her the money to pay townsfolk to come tend to the yard and the shrubbery. Hire some extra hands to rebuild all the outer structures Draco had let collapse. At least enough to fool the cameras. Spring was nearing its end, and most of the planting was already done, so there had been people to do the work. Whoever Pansy had bought off had done the job with care, if not with the skill of the two dozen trained elves that had once kept the grounds pristine.

It was good enough for the cameras Rae had released before she left. Only after she’d done her run through of the property, her small team of PAs scouring every mote of dust and speck of dirt available to them. It had been a lot of dust and dirt. More than two months’ worth. Like Draco had been gone for centuries.

Still, Draco had been back for hours, and the frantic whisps of magic that ran wild through the manor had mostly settled down. The dirt under his feet lay still, when before it shivered at his very presence, trembling as magic pulsed towards him. The hungry tendrils feeding the wards had someone to latch on to. They were pulling harder than they should. Perhaps because of the guests rampaging through the property. Perhaps because of whatever ruffled the curtains up in the east wing.

It was good they got there early. Early enough for Pansy to wall off the carnivorous garden. Early enough for Rae to direct Ceto the PA to walk through the manor with Draco and mark off what was out of bounds with green tape. Early enough to send Dominique, in his rich pure blood robes, into town to make arrangements for lunch. Early enough that Rae could pull the plug if she decided Draco couldn’t do this. That he couldn’t welcome Harry into his home.

The crack of apparition was loud in this place that no one visited.

It was nice that Harry dressed up for him. Not in those fancy muggle suits he wore for the rose ceremonies, but in pressed trousers and a nice jumper over a collared shirt. The sort of thing you might put on to meet your significant other’s parents.

“Welcome, Harry.” It lacked the sophistication his father always managed, but that was Draco all over. Unsophisticated, in his work jeans and plain shirt. He’d had just enough time to shower and change, and no Pansy or Dominique around to tell him what he was meant to wear. The welcome was what mattered. It shifted the air around them. Gave Harry a path through the wards.

Harry quirked a smile, aware of the irony of walking into this place as a guest. “Thank you for having me.” It was sincere, at least. Draco had worried this would be week one all over. The producers forcing Harry to put up with Draco in ways he hated. Harry refusing to even step foot into a house where nightmares were made real.

Sometimes Draco wondered if it was worth stepping foot inside. It would be easier to raze it to the ground. He knew the spells. He’d looked them up years ago, the first time he was on the brink. When he was so weak and tired and hopeless. They were the dark sort that seared into your mind and wouldn’t let you forget them. The hungry sort that wanted release. Draco had put that book back firmly. The dark promise in it spurred him on to find a better way. One less terrifying.

It was that house, with all the dark-magic filled books and torturous memories, that Draco led Harry into. That house, with harsh wards that must have itched on Harry’s skin because he wasn’t pureblood. Thankfully Rae had come in first, giving Draco a chance to reign the magic in hard against whatever half of her blood wasn’t human. Draco himself didn’t care anymore. It would just take decades of layering new spells over the wards for him to push his more tolerant intent into their core. Who had the time? Or the spare magic? At least he had enough to hold back the worst of his house’s judgement so Harry might only have thought the push on his skin normal for any guest who was once an enemy.

At least Rae had come through, with every pureblood PA Wix Ever After could spare, and did literal magic to remind Draco what the manor was meant to look like. It meant Harry walked into a shiny hall, with polished hardwood floors and clean blue wallpaper. With two grand staircases spiralling upwards, and bright windows letting in sun that sparkled off of chandeliers. The world had been right to forget about Malfoy Manor. If Draco had to bring it back to their attention, at least he had the chance to do so without shame.

“This is…” Harry’s thought trailed off as he took in the grandeur of it. It was a far cry from the dingy hellscape he visited when the Dark Lord commandeered Draco’s home.

“It’s not normally this nice,” Draco admitted. “I think Rae got a bit carried away.”

Maybe it was being in the manor, and all the suspicious memories that came with it, because Harry’s furrowed brows were back, driving away the easy smile he’d worn outside the gates. Now he was all ruffled and suspicious. “Rae was here?”

“Mmm,” Draco non-answered. He gestured towards one staircase before starting up it. “She said they coordinated with everyone else’s family directly. But, you know.” Draco let that hang there in the hope they could just let that conversation die. “Let me show you where you’ll be sleeping.”

It was a fine room. North facing, so sunlight would shine in all day through the tall windows. The bed was large and soft, the wardrobe spacious. Not one thing objectionable. Harry leaned in to look at it, then pulled back to look at Draco. An emotion Draco couldn't read flickered over his face. “Where are you sleeping?”

Which is how Draco accidentally showed Harry his room. It had the same cursory dusting as everywhere else, but was a bit stale from not having been aired out. True to form, Draco kept things tidy. His books and papers were stacked neatly on a desk. His socks and underthings all stored as they should be in the dresser. His bed was made up with old afghans and quilts. Sentimental things faded with use that weren’t grand enough for the Manor’s lord, but Draco chose them anyway.

Draco wasn’t sure he liked how long Harry stared. Harry had auror eyes that could catch small details. Perhaps he could uncover Draco’s entire life through this one room. Although, after a good long stare, he admitted, “It’s not what I was expecting.”

Draco laughed. “What, did you think it’d be all Slytherin banners and quidditch toys?” Harry might have looked a bit sheepish. Sheepish enough Draco took pity. He motioned again, and led Harry further into the manor. This room was one he didn’t visit anymore, but also, he’d never changed it. He rolled his eyes at Harry’s quizzical stare and pushed the door open. Nosy, curious Harry, went straight in.

Draco’s childhood room was mostly Slytherin banners and quidditch toys. Well, mostly was pushing it. Remnants of texts from his potion brewing obsession could be seen across his book shelves. Dragon breed charts took up half a wall. The charm on his ceiling has mostly faded, but you could still see Polaris and Sirius twinkling down from above. The room was tidy in the way that forgotten places could be, but also clearly had been fully lived in before Draco developed his current need to assert control over his space.

Harry stood in the middle of it, grinning.

“Stop being voyeuristic. Let’s go get lunch.”

It had been Draco’s idea to take Harry out for lunch. Overall, he was on the side of spending as much time outside the manor as possible. He and Pansy had brainstormed a list of TV-friendly activities for Rae to plan out logistics for, which would, more importantly, keep Harry too busy to get curious about why nearly all the hallways were marked out of limits.

Galdorshire was every bit as rustic and charming as any other historic village in Wiltshire. They strolled past timber-framed cottages and larger brick buildings. Draco kept up a steady stream of nonsensical facts. The same stories his father told him over a hundred strolls into town. Harry nodded in all the right places. He asked questions. His smile was encouraging but didn’t reach his eyes as he watched and listened to Draco nervously flitter through anecdotes of times past.

It should have been easy, because it was walking. This was kind of their thing. Only, it was hard, because this was Draco’s place, not some made up fairy tale castle assembled for a game show. Draco wanted to share it with Harry, show Harry why it was beautiful. He also wanted to keep it hidden, unspoiled from memories of Harry’s visit. When all of this was over, Draco would come back here to his life, and the people peeking out of their windows at him would still be looking at him. Knowing he put himself out there for Harry Potter, almost certainly to be rejected.

Did Harry see the impact he had, visiting a place like this? Could he spot the villagers watching them? Could he read between the lines of Draco’s stories and understand this was somewhere special?

In any case, there were only three restaurants in town and only one a Malfoy ever visited and that’s where Draco planned to go.

“Why?” Harry asked.

“Why what?”

“Why do you never go to the other two?”

Never in his life had Draco considered. It was one of those universal truths. One of the things “father says”.

“I suppose they’re more pubs than proper restaurants.”

Harry smirked, sly and mischievous. “I could go for a pint.”

Draco huffed out his breath. Was this what life with Harry would be? Ignoring tradition and all the carefully laid out logistics? “Rae will be cross with us for veering off schedule,” Draco warned without bite. He was already walking down the road, towards a tavern with only a wooden sign with a chimaera on it to mark its name.

Now Harry’s grin lit up his entire face. He walked close enough to Draco that their shoulders bumped together pleasantly. “It’s our day, Draco. We can make the schedule whatever we want.”

Inside was dim-lit with simple wooden tables and stools to sit at them. Draco could imagine his father sneering at it, but Draco could see it was clean and the handful of folk sitting around the room looked content. At least until Draco walked in and shook everything up.

“Lord Malfoy,” said the balding man behind the bar counter. Draco heard the clatter of dropped forks and knives as his name bounced around the room.

Draco did his best to nod graciously, the way his father always could. It never actually put anyone at ease, but it was what one did and Draco still lived his life desperate to live up to these people’s expectations. “Afternoon, Alimorn.” When Draco was little he feared he wouldn’t remember all the townspeople's names, but they came easy now after years of visiting each household with his ledger to record what was owed to him. Or, more frequently, what he owed.

With the air of someone who’d long ago learned to ignore people staring at him, Harry didn’t hesitate to take a seat at one of the small round tables. He grinned up at Draco, waiting for Draco to join him. As if he was happy here, in this lowbrow place.

Draco was not used to people staring. Not at him, nor his guests (which he never had), or the flying cameras making quick work of recording the scene. “Sorry about all this,” Draco said to Alimorn, gesturing to the cameras, then more bashfully at himself. “We were going to go to Lenora’s, but…” he looked helplessly at Harry’s smile and sighed. Then he took a seat, because he knew Harry would get that happy look again. True enough, he did.

“What’s good here?” Harry asked when Alimorn walked over. It wasn’t a place with menus. It was a place that likely had served the same thing for the last two hundred years.

“Cottage pie,” Alimorn said gruffly.

Harry beamed. “Yeah, let’s have that.”

Alimorn glanced at Draco for confirmation. Draco nodded. “Would you be wanting a beverage?” Alimorn wasn’t looking at Draco anymore, he was looking at the camera hovering next to them. If Draco hadn’t been Lord Malfoy, Alimorn would likely have his wand out already blasting the buggers. The barkeep spared a glance for Harry, clearly knowing who he was. “Perhaps the reserve?”

Draco bit back a groan. He’d known the show was, well, popular, and people would have heard about it. But they only pulled out the reserve for weddings and coronations. “The house ale will be fine, thank you.” Draco may have sounded a bit sharp.

“What’s the reserve?” Harry asked when Alirmorn had wandered off.

Draco twisted his fingers, suddenly wishing this was a place with menus so he’d have something to fiddle. “A local gin. Too strong by half.”

“Is it really?” Draco should have known better than to say that because now Harry looked like he wanted to try it.

“Tell you what,” Draco had to steer this back somewhere safe. “We’ll put it on a wishlist of things you can do if you come back.”

“Like go past all the green tape in the manor?” Harry asked. Of course he’d clocked that. Draco suspected he saw everything.

Draco’s shrug was haphazard at best. “I didn’t know they’d be putting the Manor on camera. I… wasn’t ready.” That, Harry accepted.

They were served their ales, which gave both men a break from conversation to savor the malty beverage. Maybe that’s why Malfoys didn’t come here. Draco couldn’t imagine his father ever savoring an ale. “This is good,” Draco said, rebelliously.

“There are good things to be had when you let go of all your prepared plans and logistics.” It didn’t sound like a jab, exactly. Then again, it didn’t exactly not.

“You’re going to like what I have planned,” Draco said firmly. Harry looked up at him with twinkling eyes, and Draco had the vague sense he was poking fun at something Draco couldn’t understand.

The food was simple but good in a way that Draco strived for in his own cooking, and which was culinary mastery according to Harry who was uncomfortably profuse in his praise. Honestly, that was not how things were done. Maybe to make up for it, Alimorn insisted Draco’s money was no good there and the meal was on the house. This was the sort of ridiculous thing people used to do for Draco’s father, back when the land was healthy and the Lord did right by his people. Not now, when Draco knew Alimorn must need the money. It rankled Draco, making him hot under his skin. This never would have happened at Lenora’s.

“You pay him, Harry, since he won’t take it from me.”

Once outside Draco felt foolish for his outburst. This would be about the time he’d normally retreat to his room and sulk, but not this time. Harry was still there, and it was hardly two o’clock. They had hours yet. The whole evening. An entire night.

Hours alone with Harry.

Draco did his best to conjure a smile as he led Harry back the way they’d come. He couldn’t conjure the easy chatter from before. It left them strolling among nature sounds, past picturesque buildings, through one of the most scenic and beautiful places in the world. Gods, how Draco struggled with it.

“What’s over there,” Harry asked, once they were past the little houses.

Draco glanced at the rows of imposing trees that had more or less come out of nowhere. “Magic forest,” he said lightly. Most great lands had them, and Draco was pleased his looked properly dark and broody. It had survived even Greyback’s werewolves’ attempt to ravish the power holding it up.

“Like the Forbidden Forest?” Harry asked. It was a little cute how Harry could light up with curiosity over the strangest things.

“Not by half,” Draco was forced to admit. “Even in its heyday, Malfoy Manor couldn’t sustain anything like the Forbidden Forest.” Which was for the best, because that forest was terrifying. A younger Potter may have made fun of Draco for his fear, but that was only because Harry had been stupid in his youth and didn’t understand how many creatures would easily devour a thirteen-year old. Draco’s father hadn’t even let him venture alone into their less-threatening woods until he was twelve.

“Can we go in?” Draco took back everything he was thinking. Harry was still stupid and unaware of how many creatures could devour a fully grown wizard.

“You want to spend our afternoon traipsing through the forest and, what, helping me harvest death-cap and wiggentree bark?”

“Is that what you’d normally do?” There was his sincere voice again. His boundless curiosity.

Draco took a hard turn towards the trees, muttering under his breath, “You would have liked what I actually had planned for today.”

Thankfully Draco didn’t actually need any ingredients at present, because Harry was shit at gathering them. Harry did manage to transfigure a large piece of bark into a fairly sturdy basket, though, so at least Draco had a place to put the things he found. Even if it was just mostly Draco carefully parsing through different types of mushrooms, trying to explain which was useful and which would kill you if you touched them to a doofus who was definitely out to get himself killed. It didn’t take long before Draco banished Harry from touching anything. Which just gave Harry plenty of time to ask questions about everything.

Was this how Draco spent his days? (sometimes)

Were there any centaurs here? (no) How about unicorns? (hell no)

Could Draco really wander through this whole woods without getting lost? (yes)

How’d he do it? (this is my land, Harry)

What does that mean? (it’s my land. The magic’s mine)

What’s that mean? (oh shut up and pull out that bubotuber root for me)

Draco hadn’t meant to get snappish, but two months in the castle must have made him soft and it was hard work trekking through forests, pulling out the plants that wouldn’t kill you. He didn’t understand why Harry was looking pleased with himself. He’d hardly managed to pull one intact root that Draco could put to use.

It simply was what it was when Draco popped out the far side of the forest, cameras buzzing and Harry on his heels, in perfect view of the manor which hadn’t had a forest outside it that morning. Draco marched forward, ignoring how Harry looked back at the trees, perhaps wondering if they’d be there the next time he looked for them. The joy of coming in through the back was that it was the part of the ground Draco cared about. He invested as much of his limited time as was needed to maintain his pea patch so he’d have a constant supply of fresh vegetables, and probably more time than was wise in what was left of his mother’s rose garden. It was a far cry from its former splendor, and he couldn’t even lie and say he needed it for anything practical. Still. When he used some of his stipend to pay for Tanner’s young son Luke to tend to things while he was away, he’d thrown in a few knuts extra for the roses.

They had to walk the length of the house to go in through the west gate. Draco stopped in the mud room to kick dirt from his shoes before giving up and just changing to a different, more worn down set so he didn’t track a mess in and ruin all of Rae’s cleaning. It was Harry who pulled out his wand and cast a quick scourgify with more force than necessary. Draco’s whole shoe shelf got a sudden shine. Harry winced. “Sorry.”

The warm feeling welling up inside of Draco felt suspiciously like affection. “No apology needed. You’re welcome to clean my house anytime.” He picked his basket back up. “Come along, I’ll put these away and figure out what we still have time for.”

The path down the hall was familiar from years of repetition. Draco didn’t even think as he turned left, about to head downwards to the cellar.

“Draco.”

Harry’s insistent tone made Draco stop. He looked around for what was wrong, and spotted the green tape around the doorway. “Oh. Right.” Draco looked back at Harry, unsure of protocol.

“I’m not allowed to cross the green markings,” Harry said. In a way, it was reassuring that Harry didn’t plan to wander off to where he really shouldn’t be. “Unless…” the reassurance vanished. “If you’re alright with me following you, you could take these markings down?”

Blast it, Draco should have been paying attention. How was he to explain to Harry why he couldn't do that? In a voice all together too tight, Draco gritted out, “We didn’t clean down there. It’s not camera ready.” If anything, Harry took that as encouragement. As if he wanted to see some unpolished part of Draco’s house.

Draco had the sudden fear that Harry would do something interesting, like push the issue, and that Lee would decide it’d make good television. So Draco made the sort of foolhardy, rushed decision that had never, ever served him well. He jumped across the line of tape, which he knew Harry couldn’t cross, but more importantly the cameras could not record past.

“It’s not dangerous,” Draco said the moment he could without the risk of the entire world hearing him. “It just would look…” how to explain that Draco had an entire store room filled with harvested potion ingredients, many resembling controlled substances, and some actually being them. “I swear everything is registered and legal, but a casual observer might reach other conclusions. And I don’t want to give them the chance.”

Harry’s lips settled into a very thin line. “You blocked things off because you were worried they wouldn’t look good?” Harry didn’t need a furrowed brow to convey his displeasure.

“No, no,” Draco started, unsure of how to finish. It made Draco antsy and he said something he really shouldn’t. “You could come down, with me. If you wanted to see.”

“I’m not allowed past the green markings,” Harry repeated. Entirely firm.

“And you were always a stickler for the rules.” Draco was trying for teasing.

That thin line of a mouth did not budge. “It’s not fair to the other contestants.” Ah. It was about fairness. That meant more than rules and Draco should have seen it coming. Harry actually took a step back, towards where they came from. “We probably shouldn’t be talking, like this.”

Which of course left Draco with nothing to say. He looked down at his feet, his basket, the green markings along the floor. He imagined actually taking it off. Giving Harry the peak into Draco’s life that he so clearly wanted.

Draco didn’t look up when he stepped back over the line, murmuring for the camera, “I’ll just put these in the kitchen,” like no other conversation had ever happened. As if he hadn’t failed spectacularly at, well, everything.

Draco didn’t wait to see if Harry followed him. He probably should have. If he put in the effort maybe he could have reached the point of easy banter he and Harry sometimes fell into. Only, his thoughts didn’t feel easy right now.

It hadn’t altogether been a lie to say the cellar behind the green tape wasn’t dangerous. It wouldn’t have been, if Harry had gone with Draco and not touched anything he shouldn’t. It wouldn’t have been, if Harry didn’t stick his head down other hallways. If he reigned in his desire to explore. Which was all to say that Draco had definitely been lying, it was dangerous as fuck, and Draco couldn’t even have said why he lied.

Well. Yes, he could have. He knew exactly why. Because Harry had also been right. He was worried things wouldn’t look good and being face to face with all the Malfoy horrors would finally be what led Harry to sending Draco home. Or leaving Draco home, he supposed. He could have fixed the lie. Set things straight between them. But it wouldn’t be between them. It wouldn’t be fair for Draco to have a chance to explain himself, to talk about the lingering horrors from their childhood. If he did, it would be for the entire world.

The kitchen wasn’t really a good place for potion ingredients. It was half underground, but short windows near the ceiling still let sunlight in. Draco shoved the basket on top of a counter in the far corner, where it got the least light. He opened the cabinet under it and started sifting through his things. Pulling out pots to leave scattered on the floor, except for the two he thought useful for storage. He separated his findings into piles that wouldn’t vex each other and settled what needed hiding in the room he made. He stomped over to a rack of hanging tools to pull off the colander so he could rinse off the bits that had to be cleaned right away. He still didn’t look to see if Harry had followed him. He tried not to care as he scrubbed at the bubotubers Harry harvested. It was easier not to care when his hands were busy with familiar tasks. Useful tasks that would help him long after Harry left the manor with his mind made up that he’d never be back.

Draco slammed the roots down too hard and yanked at the knob to turn off the water. His hands grasped at the edge of the counter, just needing something to hold on to.

He was fucked, wasn’t he?

“What had you planned to do for the day?” Harry asked from what sounded like the doorway.

Draco leaned forward, resting his weight on his hands. He should probably turn around and have the discussion. He could still salvage this. Earn himself another week.

“We should talk about the war,” he said instead.

There was a pause that lasted far too long. Draco didn’t fill it.

“Your plan was to talk about the war?” Draco didn’t know what Harry sounded like. He sounded like nothing.

“My plan was to visit my tenants and let you see where the gin is made and cuddle sheep.” Draco hadn’t meant to sound harsh when he said it. It would have been a fun lark. Entirely pleasant.

“Is that what you do here?” was Harry’s infuriating question.

Draco finally turned around so he could tell him directly, “No that’s not what I do here. I don’t go into town. I’m not a tourist.”

Draco didn’t know what he expected from Harry. It wasn’t this perfect stillness. Like he was watching a statue instead of a man. A statue that came alive just to ask, “Then why would you treat me like a tourist when you’re supposed to be showing me your home?”

Draco put in the effort to stop himself from gesticulating wildly. He was the opposite of still. He was a wild hippogriff on a rampage. He was a mandrake root, pulled unskillfully from the ground. He was all the pain that had seeped into the bones of this house ready to lash out at anyone who dared touch it.

And there were cameras. Watching everything.

Draco tried to center himself. He tried to find a way to bridge the divide between them. “I also planned to make you dinner tonight,” he said because it was true. “I thought we could do that together.” It wasn’t so much an olive branch as whatever sort of branch you used to hide all your problems.

“Do you cook a lot?” Harry asked, because he wouldn’t fucking let it go. Draco could hear Marcus’s words in his head saying he knew they weren’t endgame because Harry never shared anything. Only it felt like Harry was sharing, something, in his indirect, needy way. Draco was just too flustered to listen.

“Obviously I cook a lot,” Draco did mean to be snappish this time. “How do you not know that? I live all by myself without a house elf and I made you a treacle tart from memory. I thought you were a detective.” Circe’s tits, he was veering into a rather unattractive snarl.

Maybe Harry had seen the not-quite olive branch for what it was. Maybe he realized he had disrupted Draco’s carefully structured plan to stop everything falling apart. Maybe he just wanted to eat before breaking things off with Draco forever.

In any case, what he said was, “Alright then. Make me dinner.”

It was such an unexpected capitulation that Draco was surprised into saying, “I planned for you to help.”

Of all things, that had Harry grinning again. This lopsided smile that made Draco’s chest thump loud in his chest.

Draco gave Harry the lamb to cut into bite sizes and started on chopping up an onion. He’d expected this to be the odd part of the day. Something to do to tide them over between more exciting sightseeing. Only Harry was taking to his role with the same relish he brought to digging up roots. If Draco didn’t know better, he’d say Harry enjoyed it.

Draco was just starting to heat the stove top when Harry asked, “Got any music?” He had just put the last of the meat aside and went to wash his hands.

Obviously, Draco could have said no. Likely Harry would just silently nod and carry on helping out without expressing any disappointment. But Harry didn’t usually ask for anything. Which meant Draco had to leave the oven to heat and Harry to brown the meat while he climbed the stairs two at a time on his way to rifle through all the carefully put away pieces of his childhood. He’d talked his parents into purchasing the radio for him because his classmates all had one and he felt left out (even though he’d sneered at all the Slytherins for being unsophisticated). It also meant that during the war… well, as far as his parents knew he’d only ever listened to music. They might not even know Potterwatch was a thing.

He found it, back behind the headboard of his bed where it had stayed safe from Death Eaters, if only because they’d never actually gone looking. He tried to switch it on, but at some point in the last decade the charge had fizzled out and it didn’t even light up. Instead of giving up, he took it back downstairs on a hunch Harry would know how to zap power back into the thing.

Of course Harry did know how to sort out an electronic. He had that modern sort of magical skill that blended seamlessly with muggle contraptions. It was natural to hand off the radio for Harry to tinker with, while Draco took over the pot of food, spooning out the lamb and throwing in the onion. Draco wasn’t a master chef by any means, but he could make a hotpot. By the time the dish was in the oven for the first bit and Draco was off chopping carrots Harry had turned the radio on and tuned to a station crooning out the bass-baritone of Blodwyn Bludd.

Harry set the radio aside so he could step up behind Draco, laying one hand on either of Draco’s hips so that Draco would know he was there. As if Draco hadn’t felt the heat of him behind him before the touch. Harry rested his chin on Draco’s shoulder so he could peer down at Draco’s hands being all hard at work. “What can I help with?”

Draco’s hands gradually paused their chopping. He could feel Harry’s breath on his neck from where he still stood so very close. Warmth enveloped him like he was snuggled in blankets on a cold night. The fingers on his hip were gentle but firm. It was nice in a way Draco hadn’t imagined possible. “Potatoes?” it was the right answer, but Draco didn’t actually want Harry to step away.

He had to, of course. To chop potatoes. Harry’s slices were all jagged and uneven but Draco left him to it because he liked the feeling of working side by side, with Harry humming to songs that Draco’s parents used to listen to. Then all the chopping was done, and everything was laid out attractively in a dish, and it was all back in the oven to cook some more. Which left Draco and Harry with nothing to do for an hour and change.

The plan had been to take Harry on a tour of all the most impressive parts of Draco’s lands. Draco had worked very hard these last ten years providing all the support he could so the families who depended on him would be able to re-establish once thriving businesses. They’d had to import new sheep after the werewolves hunted all the herds. It had required funds to rebuild the looms in the factory where wix spun charmed wool. It had taken years to rebuild credibility across the nation and win old clients back. But it was impressive now, and Harry would have liked to see it, Draco was sure. The gin wasn’t magic anymore, but it was still good, and Harry had liked the distillery tours. They could have taken a bottle home, and used this hour to sample it or make cocktails with the supplies Dominique had gathered while the rest of production cleaned. Then after diner Draco would have whisked Harry off to a nearby town. Muggle, actually. Pansy had forced Draco to go with her on her birthday. Her parents had just kicked her out, and Draco had been willing to brave anything. He still took Pansy once a year, and he knew there was a lovely walk along the river, and a club that played live music that Draco planned to make Harry dance to.

It was growing rapidly clear that none of that would make Harry as happy as using their down time to peer around Draco’s obviously well-used kitchen while mouthing the lyrics to classic Weird Sisters’ songs.

“What were you thinking for dessert?” Draco asked on a whim.

Which led to the predictable, “What would you normally make?”

Draco snorted. He wandered away from the counter and over to a cupboard. It opened onto an improbably vast collection of books thanks to an enlarging spell. Themis’ recipe book was front and center where Draco liked it. “I like baking,” he told Harry as he laid the book out in front of him. “And I like compliments.” Draco nudged the book towards Harry pointedly. “So pick out something you’ll like and I’ll make it for you.” It was as hard and firm as Draco knew how to be when making eye contact with Harry.

They ate dinner outside near the roses. This time when Draco chattered it felt natural. It was his own stories, of building the garden bed and learning how to use the cookery charms. Harry spoke, too, if not in anyway that could be called chatter. But he still shared how he’d learned to cook from muggles and still liked it better the muggle way. How he ate takeaway more than he cooked. How he tried to keep a garden after he retired but would forget to water it in the summer and lose half the plants.

Against Draco’s better judgement, they took dessert up to the library. Draco did not want to be eating dessert in the library. He very rarely ate anything in the library at all, although on occasion he’d take up tea. Only Harry had asked him what he normally did at night, and, when he didn’t have a project to obsess over, what he normally did was read. So up to the library they went, bringing their treacle tart (of course it was treacle tart) into Draco’s favorite space, with its improbable vast collection of tomes that extension charm after extension charm had allowed to grow unchecked.

“Blimey. This is as big as Hogwarts’ library,” Harry said in awe.

Draco shrugged. He wasn’t wrong. “Less well organized by half, though. Don’t wander off just because I didn’t tape it off limits.”

Harry slowly turned in a circle to take in the corridors of ceiling length shelves. “How many have you read?”

“Only the ones I’ve needed to, or had the spare time to enjoy.”

Which led to Harry asking approximately as many questions as there were books in front of them. Draco would have expected him to ask about which books Draco read for pleasure, but all the questions were about what information Draco had needed to discover over the years. Before Draco knew it, he was walking Harry through all the pieces of his family history, explaining how they were organized by collector rather than topic, and the slow process Draco had to follow to learn about each of his ancestor’s interests in order to best guess who would be able to offer wisdom on how to handle glumbumbles in your bee hives or ghouls in the attic.

Then Draco made Harry sit down so they could finish their treat without leaving crumbs everywhere, even though Harry could cast a cleaning charm strong enough to cleanse the carpets and leave them fluffy. Draco sat in his favorite chair, but only after moving all his favorite books from the chair next to him, because for the first time ever there was someone to share the space with.

It was when Draco was walking Harry back to his room that he realized how thoroughly Harry had wormed his way into Draco’s life. There would never be a day after Draco went home where he wouldn’t remember what it had been like to have Harry here with him. Draco had gone on the show for the money as well as the vague hope that his childhood crush could blossom into more. It had worked. He’d gotten a head start on the money to fix the manor and support the town. And… and… well. It felt so incredibly, wonderfully nice to have someone to share his day with. The menial tasks that were Draco’s everything. The pieces of his world he loved. All with a man who was most happy when Draco did the least possible to be impressive.

They’d reached Harry’s room and he was standing at the door instead of going in. He had his hands in his pockets instead of opening the door. Those green eyes stared at Draco intensely, but his brows were calm. It was just Harry, clearly wanting something that he wouldn’t say.

“We have an early morning,” Draco reminded because he couldn’t just stand there uncertainly.

The notion of a smile flickered over Harry’s lips. “It’s our day, we can make up any schedule we want.” It wasn’t a suggestion of anything, although Draco wondered if Harry meant it to be.

“You’ll like what I have planned for you.” Draco had the strangest desire to spend the rest of his life insisting these sorts of things to Harry.

The smile was back, firmer this time. “You’re an early riser, aren’t you?”

It was so playful Draco couldn’t help but smile back. “Guilty as charged.”

Harry hummed thoughtfully. He rocked on the balls of his feet instead of making any motion towards his door. “I’m not so good at getting up on time. I might need help.” Again he didn’t ask anything outright. He didn’t even make a suggestion. He just stared at Draco with that deep, soulful gaze and Draco’s heart fluttered.

It was tempting, oh so tempting, to make the move for Harry. Draco could step into the opening Harry left in front of him and offer to stay in his room and set an alarm for both of them. Or go back to Draco’s, where Harry would be welcome to sleep. Just sleep. Maybe cuddle a bit. Feel Harry’s warm arms wrapped around him again. The ghost of Harry’s breath on Draco’s neck. Perhaps the brush of lips, the slow stroke of hands.

It was tempting.

Only Draco had given up so much of himself already and he didn’t know what would be left when Harry sent him home for good. He couldn’t let every piece of what was left here waiting for him remind him of everything he lost.

So Draco made the choice to carefully lean forward and peck Harry goodnight on the cheek. A chaste kiss. Almost completely unsatisfying. “Good night, Harry.” It took all the bravery he had to say it. All the conviction in him to leave Harry there at his door alone, and not look back when he heard the door open as Harry also walked away.

Thursday

Draco still ended up in bed with Harry. Not in the sexy way. In the Merlin-are-you-a-child, get-the-fuck-up sort of way. Harry groaned and swatted Draco away until Draco stole all his covers. Thank goodness Harry didn’t sleep in the nude.

It was still pitch black outside and Draco held out a lumos as he led the way across the entire yard to the shed. He pulled out two brooms, a bit worried that the yawning Harry trudging after him wouldn’t be up for flying. Then he remembered this was Harry. He was more likely to trip over his own feet than lose his seat when on a broom in the air.

Flying in the dark meant staying close to each other so no one got lost. Harry was grouchy, to be sure, but he still used the excuse to fly shoulder to shoulder with Draco. As if lack of sleep made him more open in his desire for proximity and affection.

The hint of daybreak added the softest haze of light. Draco kept his eyes peeled on the rolling fields beneath them. Timing was everything, and if missed a sign they’d miss out entirely.

There. One tiny flash of light.

Draco dived. Perhaps the early hour made him fuzzy as well because he didn’t warn Harry before he did so. But he didn’t need to. Harry shifted with him, matching Draco’s speed to stay close enough to touch right up until the ground was before them and they both yanked their broom handles up before they crashed. Harry was better at that. His dismount was the picture of grace. Draco didn’t quite fall off after him. He took Harry’s offered steading hand. There was a flicker of light over Harry’s shoulder. Draco leaned his whole wait on Harry’s body as he pointed past him. “Look!”

One yellow light flickered. Then a green. Then a dozen, all shimmering. Then a wave of light, in all the shades of the meadow, sparked in one spot and fluttered forward, expanding and contracting as it danced above the ground. There was no sound but the wind and birds chirping, but there was a pulse in the air that felt like the beat of a song, and each beat sent out a new wave of light that took off in dazzling color. The not-song beat faster and it was hard to tell where one wave of color started and another ended, so quickly were they glittering and dancing. It was almost a blanket now. A blanket that covered all the land around them, but not as far as the eye could see. Not everywhere that once was, and that Draco could only hope would one day be again. Today they only had this one patch of color. This once chance to feel the music and the magic rising up in a crescendo as all of the pieces of the lights dazzled in the last moments of darkness. Then the sun crested the horizon, and all the lights exploded out to shine as bright as they ever could. Draco swore he heard a beautiful, perfect note all the way to his bones.

Then it was morning, and the sun shined on the beautiful, tranquil meadow, and everything was silent. Draco still had his body pressed to Harry as both men stared at where they’d just witnessed magic. Harry wrapped his own arm over Draco’s, holding Draco to his chest.

“What was that?”

This time Draco pressed his chin into Harry’s shoulder. It would have felt unbelievably presumptive in another time and another place. “Light sprites. They come out in the spring and summer.”

Harry squeezed Draco’s hand. “It was beautiful.”

“Mmhmm.” Draco didn’t quite nuzzle against him. He didn’t quite smirk. “I kept telling you that you’d like what I had planned.”

The flight back to the manor was slow and carefree. They didn’t have to fly hip to hip, so instead they flew loose. Harry would loop back and forth around Draco, circling him almost like a taunt, but the moment Draco kicked up speed to chase Harry would slow down and fly in close, pretending he hadn’t been teasing. Draco’s chest fluttered and his familiar blush came back in force. It felt decadent, how this not-talking said so much about what Harry felt that morning.

It was well into morning by the time they landed on the eastside of the grounds, back by the shed. Both men were eager to pack up and head in for breakfast. Draco had stepped into the shed to hang up both brooms in the back.

“What was that?” he heard Harry ask.

Draco took a half step back out so he could see Harry and everything around them. They weren’t far from the garden, where the spring crops had grown up high and beans and peas were already ripe for the picking. They were closer to the manor, the east wing shut up tight with the curtains closed snug. Harry was staring at the building. Draco hesitated to even make a guess what drew his attention, but it was best to draw him away as soon as he could. “Give me just a moment and we’ll go inside.”

Draco had just hung both brooms up in storage when he felt the shift. Not in the air or in the ground, but deep in his chest where the manor magic rooted to him. He had his wand out and was casting before he’d given any time to look for what was wrong.

“Expecto Patronum!” Draco thought of his mother tending to her roses. He thought of his father telling Draco he was proud. He thought of Harry holding his arm to Harry’s chest in a moment of perfect contentment. Then a light jumped out of the tip of Draco’s wand and charged out towards the danger. Draco charged after it.

Harry, a complete bellend, had fucking opened a door to the east wing. On the other side was the sort of deep, covetous dark that could not survive full sunlight, which is what gave Draco’s spell the chance to dash through the doorway and detonate in the wraith’s core.

“Harry, get down!” Draco didn’t wait to see if Harry would listen before casting again. Lumos. Riddikulus. Expecto Patronum. That should have been enough. It had always been enough. Maybe an extra jinx if a ghoul got in, but that wasn’t what he was feeling. This was darker. Angrier.

Of course Harry hadn’t gotten out of danger. Maybe Draco should have just shouted to shut the damn door and hoped that the wards could mend before whatever swarm of ectoplasmic rage tore what was left of them to ribbons. Even if it would never have worked. Draco had left a curse unbroken and without someone there to prune the ghosts the throng of evil spirits had grown out of hand. They would burst out any moment. And even with the sun, and the wards, and all of the land's power at Draco’s call, Harry was right there.

Before the war, there had been a portrait of Brutus Malfoy that Draco liked to talk to whenever he was in need of wisdom and terrified of his father. Brutus liked to say that the simplest solution was usually the right solution. He had been referring to the subdication of muggles in order to establish wizard supremacy, but in times of panic Draco took the core of the advice to heart. These were ghosts. Draco knew how to banish a ghost. Every Hogwarts student learned the Skurge Charm in second year and the only reason he hadn’t tried it before was that if he put all his energy and all the house’s power behind one decisive casting then that would be the end of it. The end of all the Malfoy ghosts who were part of the Malfoy family. Like the end of the portraits the Death Eaters had torn apart for fun. The end of his parents, who’d died in captivity for all their war crimes.

Yet Draco cast, his wand movements more assured than ever before in his life. His intent resolute. And in magic, intent mattered.

The walls of the manor actually shook. Either from the weight of the undead being decimated, or the magic pulled from their very core to fuel the spell. The emptiness of magic rang out like a sound when really it was the absence of everything.

Draco stumbled, almost falling. Only he couldn’t fall. He couldn’t waste this moment. It had been years since he was certain that not so much as a poltergeist would threaten him if he went to the east wing. It had been so hard to safely explore and find whatever cursed object was summoning the undead. Now he had a moment. He’d given up the last of his store of magic, and any chance of his descendants connecting with Grandma Druella and the other ghosts that had been as much a part of the house as Draco himself, to create this one solitary chance. So he had to stumble forward, shaking the stiffness from his limbs so he could run. “Just stay there!” He shouted at Harry, who had stumbled himself and was now holding onto the manor wall for balance.

“I’m an auror, I can help.” The fool wasn’t going to listen.

Draco didn’t have time to argue with a stubborn git about who would charge into Malfoy Manor and put their life at risk. “Green tape, Harry. Stay out.” Then Malfoy was gone, through the door he slammed shut behind him, with all the magic he could pull from the walls around him fueling the wards so that Harry couldn’t follow.

One thing Draco was completely sure of was that if Harry hadn’t been waiting Draco wouldn’t have made it out.

It had taken so long to find the music box, an old broken thing that Draco first mistook for another piece of rubble long ago destroyed. Its purple inky glow under Draco’s detection spell gave it away, and under further investigation Draco recognized the pungent odor of his aunt’s magic. At least he was well practiced in untangling Bellatrix’s curses. Blood spoke to blood and Malfoy used his family ties and every last drop of available magic in him to tear the cursed ghost song from its anchor.

Which was when Draco crumbled. He’d followed every step of Grilco Wuthering’s guide to curse breaking but did not get the tail-tale blast of frantic magic after that usually energized him just long enough to find somewhere safe to collapse. Today he’d skipped just to collapsing. Which might have been fine, with all the ghosts banished, if not for all the other cursed items that littered the chamber and the groan of the damaged floorboards beneath him relying on magic alone to maintain structural integrity. Draco was all out of magic. So was his home, and it pulled on him to make the magic right.

It would have been easy to let exhaustion drag him under and not consider what that would mean for the manor, the town, the magic forest, the light sprites in the meadow. Maybe the house could feed on itself instead of Draco. Pull power from the small charms that kept it warm and clean, or the large charms expanding the library and the cellar. Cannibalize the wards and pull the life from the garden. Maybe the house would just destroy itself and Malfoy in it.

Only then Harry would come inside, because he was a moron who thought he had to save everyone, and he’d just get tangled up in the failing magic and collapsing building and probably trigger some other blood curse. Then he’d be dead, and Draco couldn’t bear it.

So Draco crawled until he could muster the energy to stand and he hobbled until he had the energy to walk. He clawed his way past aching pillars holding up sagging ceilings and overburdened walls. He ignored the damage the ghosts had done, and how all that damage was layered on top of what his father had willingly invited in. And somehow he came out through all of that to reach the sunlight.

Saturday

Draco staggered into the room, almost falling, but Harry was there to catch him. It felt foggily familiar, an echo of sensation from when Draco had passed out in Harry’s arms on Thursday. Draco was quite determined not to pass out again, so he let Harry support his weight and walk him to his chair.

“Are you alright? They said you’ve been sleeping.”

Draco had been sleeping. He’d slept two days straight. He was still fuzzy headed and groggy. “I think I might murder the next person who gives me a replenishing potion.”

Thankfully Harry laughed. He was still next to Draco, crouched down to eye level next to his chair. “You gave us all quite the scare.” That was putting it mildly. Pansy said Harry had called in the entire crew when Draco locked him out of the manor and it had taken two med-wix and a foolhardy blast of magic from Harry himself just to get Draco stable. Draco had blacked it all out and remembered nothing.

“Harry…” Draco didn’t want to ask, he really didn’t want to ask, it felt like the sort of thing that was definitely overstepping but he didn’t know what else to do, “can you make sure they don’t put any of that in the episode?”

Harry’s eyes widened just enough it could have been surprise or disapproval. “I’m not really supposed to do that.”

“Please.” Draco gulped. He’d asked Pansy and she’d gone tight lipped which meant she thought he was too weak to hear she couldn’t help him. “Please, Harry. None of that was supposed to happen.”

There was that statue stillness again. Draco didn’t know what it meant when Harry stared without emotion. It could mean anything. “I know you said you worked on curse breaking but… is that normally what you do there? Fight off dark magic?”

Draco didn’t know what answer Harry needed to make the decision to help him. He couldn’t tell what Harry was thinking about any of this. His ten minutes of background from Pansy when she woke him up an hour ago was not enough to fill in all the blanks about what happened and what fate had in store for him next. Harry wasn’t giving him any reassurance that what Draco said here and now in the Interview Room in front of the cameras wasn’t going to be used on television tomorrow night to paint Draco as a dangerous, dark wizard just like everyone thought. He hadn’t wanted anyone to see that part of his life. He hadn’t wanted Harry to see it. He thought if he could just get enough time, enough money, enough magic, he could fix it all before anyone ever found out.

Only Draco was absolutely certain Harry would know if he lied right now. Like he was up above the pool again, forced to make the choice between winning a small contest or showing Harry he could be trusted.

“I can’t do it all the time. I don’t have-” Merlin Draco was actually going to say it, and if they put it on TV that would be the end. The ministry would decide it was too dangerous and come take his home away and all his land and it would never reach the splendor of his youth ever again, “-enough magic to stop it all.”

Something in Harry’s expression shifted towards stern. He’d been an auror, he must have seen old magic lose control and he knew what it meant. “So it’s always like that?”

“No.” Draco was thankful he sounded confident. “I’ve just been gone and it spiralled faster than I expected. There was a summoning curse Bellatrix left behind as a trap. I stopped it, so there shouldn’t be any more vengeful spirits.”

“Why didn’t you stop it before? It must have been summoning wraiths for years.”

It had. It absolutely had.

“There are always more curses, Harry. I’ve been working through them.”

Draco’s admittance was the opposite of reassuring. Harry’s eyes went dark and stormy, his brow furrowing into its bushiest form. “So all of that green tape…” He didn’t have to finish the question for Draco to understand. Draco didn’t need to confirm Harry’s suspicions for Harry to know the truth.

“Please, Harry, don’t let them put it on TV.” Draco was begging now. He was willing to beg for this. “They’ll take the manor away from me.”

“Would that be so bad?” Harry’s question punched right into Draco’s gut. Draco might have whimpered. Harry was unrepentant as he added, “You could have died.”

“I didn’t, though,” even though Draco knew that was only because Harry had been there. “And that curse is broken, and I already know how to do most of the repairs,” that the east wing needed not to collapse, but saying that would be a step too far, “and my magic will recover, and you saw the land is getting better. The forest is healthy and the sprites are coming back. And I had planned to show you the businesses, they’re almost back on their feet. I’m doing my job, Harry, I’m fixing it. Please don’t ruin everything.”

“Draco…” It was impossible to understand all the emotion Harry packed into that one word. It made Draco’s heart pound in the worst way.

“Please, Harry. I swear I can handle it. I’ve managed for ten years, this was just a fluke. Send me home if you’re worried, so nothing will have time to boil up while I’m away. I… I just…” It was very possible Draco might cry.

Then Harry’s hand was on Draco’s cheek, his thumb whipping a tear away, and it felt just as warm and sweet as Draco had imagined.

“Do you want to go home?” Harry asked, because he was impossible like that.

Draco cry-laughed-hiccuped. “Not without you.”

-

It struck Draco that standing next to contestants he hadn’t seen all week, without any context of how their days with Harry compared to his own, was a new form of torment that rivaled facing a hoard of angry spirits. The spirits might have killed him, but Draco had no way of knowing if Harry was about to rip out his heart.

There was Lee, with his big smile and his bold pink tuxedo. There was Harry, in a crisp blue suit holding an enchanted rose. Harry’s green eyes were forlorn, which was the furthest from reassuring because it told Draco how Harry already knew who he was sending home, and it was someone he cared deeply for.

There was a long pause the producers would cover over with suspenseful music, and then the clear, crisp announcement of Sol being selected for first rose. Sol gasped, his hands lifting to cover the shock on his face before stepping forward. He wrapped an arm around Harry when he took the rose, pulling him into a hug that spoke of familiarity and affection.

That was fine. Draco hadn’t expected to be first. Not when Sol had a whole amazing family that surely welcomed Harry with love and affection, easily fitting Harry into their world in a way Draco could never have managed.

Harry held up the second rose. Maybe this would be it. Maybe affection outweighed suspicion in the Interview Room today and Harry would show Draco that he had a real chance at Harry’s love.

Rene. It was obviously Rene. Sweet, gentle Rene who might have shown Harry her cozy house and her bright and shiny classroom. Rene, who might have a ghoul in the attic, but it would be the good kind that kept the pests away.

Which meant it was Draco and Marcus that the PAs rearranged to stand shoulder to shoulder, right across from Harry. Marcus loomed next to Draco, strong and gorgeous and capable of smashing Draco’s heart to pieces. It had been a joke, an offhand remark, that Draco saw Marcus as competition. He’d never thought he would make it this far to find himself in the final four, having to face up to Harry liking Marcus better.

Draco had told Harry to send him home if he was worried, hadn’t he. He’d given Harry an out to make the choice easy today. Afterall, Harry wouldn’t want to tie himself to a failed wizard who couldn’t control his own house or stop his magic from fizzling into nothing.

Draco was pale as a sheet. He stood statue still like Harry. It was so much more threatening to be sent home because Harry had seen the truth of him, instead of Harry just liking someone else better.

Harry held out the rose and took a deep breath. Draco forced himself to watch. Forced himself to listen.

“Draco.”

Draco snapped backwards like he’d been hit. Wide-eyed, he looked around to make sure everyone heard what he had. Lee was smiling. Marcus looked devastated. Harry was still holding out the rose, waiting for Draco to take it. Draco looked back at Marcus, feeling he ought to do something or say something or otherwise commiserate with the person in the position he’d have sworn would be his. But Marcus, with his set jaw and eyes fixed firmly on the ground, was not wanting comfort.

So Draco stepped forward, unsteady still from the aftermath of the curse and the shock of being chosen. It might have all been too much if Harry wasn’t waiting for him, his gaze certain and a faint smile on his lips. Enough reassurance that this was what Harry wanted. Draco was what Harry wanted.

And Draco was almost there, the rose almost in his hand, when everything came to a halt.

“Harry, wait!”

Draco looked back behind him as if Marcus, who had pledged he wasn’t a person who gave up, had decided to make a final appeal.

It wasn’t Marcus. No. Behind him, completely unannounced, stood Silas.