Wix Ever After

“Harry, wait!” Two words to bring Draco’s world to a halt. Everyone turned as one to the voice, sharing in Silas’s grand reveal. They were radiant in shades of cream draped around them, nearly white and undoubtedly intended to conjure up images of wedding robes.

Draco turned back to Harry, as if he could explain what was happening. Harry’s focus was entirely on Silas. His hand, still holding Draco’s rose, had dropped to the side, taking the rose out of Draco's reach.

“Silas, what are you doing here?” Draco was still looking at Harry, taking in his wonder and boundless curiosity. His green eyes were wide and shining as he stared at someone else.

“I had something I needed to say,” Silas was speaking with the sort of earnestness Draco never managed to summon. An earnestness that made their young fans believe Silas loved them and believed they were amazing. “I’m sorry, Harry, that I didn’t say it before.” Draco willed Harry to look away from Silas, just for a moment. It didn’t happen. Harry was enthralled by Silas’s declaration.

Maybe a better person would have been able to turn away from Harry to look at Silas as they recited a passionate and heartbreaking tale of their sister’s childhood battle with Scrofungulus, and how they refused to share it with Harry because they carefully maintain their privacy in a world that would take every piece of them apart if they didn’t set boundaries. Draco wasn’t a better person. Perhaps he was too selfish to care about Silas’s moving speech, when it was accompanied by the man of Draco’s dreams being swept up in it. Draco could see it in the tilt of Harry’s eyes. He watched every sympathetic micro expression cross Harry’s face. Silas was taking the chance to answer every concern Harry raised in their fight weeks ago. Draco knew what was coming before it happened. There was nothing but numbness when Silas made their appeal asking Harry to give them another chance. To pick them to come back to the competition.

Draco bit back a noise of dissent. It had been the obvious reason Silas was here, and still it came out of nowhere. Draco was so off guard he had nothing to say for himself. No pleas for Harry’s attention. Perhaps it didn’t matter. Harry didn’t look at Draco. He looked at Lee.

“It’s your decision, Harry,” Lee sounded so warm and reassuring, like he wanted Harry to know it was fine to change his mind and send Draco home. “We want you to find love.”

Only then did Harry turn to Draco, all wide-eyed and uncertain. Draco felt his heartbeat in his throat. He felt sick. He held all the panic in tight so Harry wouldn’t see it. This was a crucial moment. The moment Harry had a chance to step up and say he still picked Draco. Draco tried to look like the man Harry had picked just minutes ago, someone Harry thought maybe there was a future where they could be together. It was just Harry kept silently staring at Draco, and it took too long for Draco to realize this wasn’t a stare that proclaimed affection. No, Harry wanted something. Harry was giving Draco a moment to respond to everything that just happened, maybe say something, to plead his case with the same passion and elegance that Silas was able to. As if Draco, too, had known this was coming and had ages to rehearse. As if Draco was expected to fall over himself and beg.

Draco’s guts twisted. He knew that, try as he might, there was no way he was hiding his fear from his face. He’d long since lost the skill. He hadn’t considered over all those long years alone that he would put himself in a position like this one. He’d already begged Harry today, because he had made himself too vulnerable and needed Harry once again to save him from his mistakes. Now, Harry’s gaze entreated Draco to put even more of himself out on the line. Off script and outside the bounds of the contest. Why would he ever put himself in a spot to be rejected on someone else’s terms, all rules and promises be damned? In the unfairness of it Draco found he was completely at a loss of what to say.

Which left only silence. So Harry turned away, and Draco felt cold down to his bones.

“Do I have to decide right now?” Draco wasn’t looking at Harry so he couldn’t have said if Harry’s face looked as uncertain as his voice sounded. It didn’t feel uncertain to Draco. The rejection felt crystal clear.

“Only three contestants can move forward.” Lee pitched his voice to be kind no matter how unkind the words were.

Harry made the sort of noise Draco was holding in. Something dark and a little bitter. “C’mon, Lee, you can’t just spring this on me and expect…” he trailed off and Draco still wasn’t looking. He stood close enough for Harry to reach out and touch and ached to know it was too close. Too visible. What could Harry see on Draco’s face as Draco stared down at the floor? “Give me some time.”

Lee let time drag, then. Perhaps to give Harry space to think. Perhaps to think himself. It was long and agonizing and a million thoughts went through Draco’s head, all of them horrible and self pitying. Draco knew he should say something. He could fill the silence Lee left hanging between everyone. Draco could put on his charming grin and look up at Harry and remind him that he wanted Draco. He chose Draco. He was clearly attracted to Draco. They’d danced to island music and chopped vegetables to radio classics. Draco was wearing his bracelet filled with Harry’s good memories. Draco had shown Harry the worst parts of himself and Harry had still been willing to give Draco a chance. Draco had a place here. He did.

Just none of that felt as real as the fresh memory of how Harry’s eyes filled with wonder when Silas arrived. None of that felt as real as Harry taking the rose back. The only real thing was Harry asking for more time, instead of being certain Draco was for him.

It tore the certainty from Draco’s chest that he belonged here at all.

“Monday.” There was a level of glee to that one word that drew Draco’s eyes to Lee, who just couldn’t help but look pleased with himself. “We’ll do a very special elimination episode on Monday.”

-

Pansy snapped her fingers before Draco had even sat down for his mandatory confessional visit. The red lights of the cameras blinked off.

“Draco,” she said, packing all the things that could be said into one word.

“You should turn the cameras back on before they notice.”

Pansy’s eyes narrowed. “Draco,” she said again, firmer this time.

Draco didn’t look at her. He stared at the dull camera, blanking on what he’d say to it when it lit up.

“Tell me you’re alright.”

“Yeah, I’m alright.” The words came easy because they didn’t matter.

“You’re lying to me,” Pansy growled. “We don’t lie to each other.”

Draco pulled his gaze away from the camera so he could settle it on Pansy. She wore black slacks and a turtle neck, with her hair pulled back severely from her face. She’d dressed to blend into the darkness of the throne room instead of in her normal sassy attire. One more oddity to make Draco feel out of place. He was so numb it felt easy to ask, “Did you know they were coming?”

“Draco…” once again, too much packed into one word. “I didn’t know you’d be chosen third. I thought… he really does like you.” Pansy’s reassurance sat there between them, not making Draco feel better at all.

Draco closed his eyes to block everything out. He tried to breath deep but the air caught in his throat. His eyes itched and he worried if he opened them he’d start crying. “I thought Harry cared about being fair,” Draco croaked out. “I did all the things I was supposed to, mostly followed the rules, took your advice… he called my name. It was… it was my rose. It was my turn.” Draco blinked open his eyes, searching for Pansy but finding a blinking red light instead.

They’d turned it on again without Pansy’s prompting, and instead of warning Draco she’d let it record him.

Something ugly twisted inside him and he was very worried he couldn’t hide it any better than he’d stopped himself from looking terrified in front of Harry. Draco tried to take a deep, calming breath. He tried to calm his fidgeting hands to stop his nails from picking at his skin, cutting into his cubicles and drawing blood. He didn’t want to be this way on screen. He didn’t want to act like this when everyone could see him.

He was afraid he wouldn’t be able to stop himself.

Draco set his jaw. He squared his shoulders. He stared the camera down with too harsh intensity and no fucks left to give. “It’s fine. What matters is Harry finds love.” Impossible to believe he meant it.

“Draco.”

Maybe Draco could withdraw his emotions. Maybe it was like flying a broom. Do it enough in your youth and it’ll come back to you when you need it. He didn’t acknowledge Pansy. He just stared at that damned light, with no desire to create content so he could be sent home with dramatic flair.

Sunday

Draco put up with Pansy waltzing into his room the next morning with Dominique and a makeup artist in tow, but he wouldn’t sit through their discussion of what outfit would make Draco most appealing to Harry.

Draco could sit through Silas telling Sol and Rene how wonderful it was to see them during breakfast, but he got up and walked out when they tried to insist they meant no hard feelings with Draco.

Draco could swallow down his anger when his very special pre-elimination date with Harry was yet another walk, because it was “their thing”, but he felt queasy when they arrived and Harry’s answer to “why here?” was “the producers picked it.”

Of course they did. Lee and the producers probably had an encyclopedia of everything Draco ever said on the show, and Harry probably already forgot that Draco once told him about how his family visited Bournemouth beaches.

So there Draco stood, staring off over a sandy shore and the pale blue water so familiar to him from his youth. It wasn’t the same as when he was little. His family had come at a cooler time of year, and landed close to a walking path on a hill above the beach instead of in the sand itself. Plus, everything looked bigger when you were a child. Even the English Channel. It was still beautiful. It was still something, Draco was surprised to discover, he didn’t want to share with Harry right now.

“Shall we off?” Harry asked, already facing the trail they were meant to romantically explore together.

“Fine.” Draco trudged forward without waiting for Harry to keep up. He was thankful he wore sensible shoes, at least, but begrudged the fact they’d probably still get sand in them because he was in a mood to begrudge everything.

Of course Harry tried to make small talk. This was, technically, a date, and, as always, the cameras were watching. Draco shouldn’t have let himself be monosyllabic in response. But. Well.

“Are you angry at me?” It was a natural question and Draco shouldn’t have been irked Harry came out and said it.

Draco pasted on that charming smile he couldn’t muster yesterday, when it perhaps would have been helpful. “Not at all. This is lovely.” Harry had the gall to look hurt by Draco’s lying. He’d hated contestants lying more than anything.

They silently walked past golden beaches, beach grass, and sand dunes, all of which Draco couldn’t muster appreciation for. Draco pulled his hands behind his back, trying to keep his fingers from fidgeting to rob the producers of content for the screen.

“I know this is hard for you.” Ah, Harry wasn’t done yet. He was trying to push back Draco’s standoffishness to make conversation happen. “It was a shock for me, too.” Draco’s expression had already been dull but now it grew tight. Hearing about Harry’s extra opportunity to toss out Draco coming as a shock was not the reassurance Harry had intended.

“It’s fine, Harry.” Even if Draco couldn’t look at Harry when he said it.

“You don’t sound like it’s fine.”

Draco made himself turn to look Harry dead in the eye. He adopted his most pleasant smile. “This show is for you. The important part is you find love. I’m glad you’re taking that seriously. I wouldn’t want you to end up with someone you’d regret.” He was proud none of it even sounded bitter.

“Draco.” Harry said it with as much force as Pansy. Draco’s cool indifference was hitting its mark. Harry stretched his shoulders like a bird ruffling out their feathers. He took a step backwards, creating distance between himself and Draco. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know this was going to happen. I’m just not my best when put on the spot.”

It was hard to have sympathy. All this show did was put Draco and the rest of the contestants on the spot. Why shouldn’t Harry have to deal with it?

Except, of course, it was Harry’s show. Harry didn’t have to jump through hoops or cling to infrequent affection. He was… well, he was everything the contestants could ask for. Everything Draco ever dreamed of. Too good for Draco by half. Being allowed near him was only possible because Draco had consented to all the trials and games.

Draco couldn’t dredge up another fake smile to wear like armor against Harry. He must have looked rather bleak. Harry took half a step forward towards Draco. A contemplation of closing the distance between them. He looked like he wanted to speak again. Try again to get Draco to talk about why he was upset, as if there was any mystery why he was upset. As if Harry hadn’t shown Draco how little he was worth.

Draco’s chest felt tight. The palm of his hand hurt where his nails dug into it. It felt cruel to make him stay here, play acting he was an actual contender and jumping through all the damn hoops, when ultimately Harry would send him home. Harry just should have done it yesterday. He should have known in the moment, when the sight of Silas grabbed his full attention, that he was ready to swap Draco out for another option. If not then, then at least after Silas’s heartfelt confession captured Harry’s emotions. At least Harry should have realized what it meant to be open to the idea. Perhaps Draco should have realized. Harry had picked him last three times. Harry had never been certain of him. Not like he was certain of Rene, or of Sol. Draco was… expendable.

It was cruel to force him into this charade of intimacy just for the camera. If Harry had any heart at all he’d get it over with. He’d send Draco packing.

Maybe Harry could see the anger or the anguish Draco had finally failed to hide from his face, because he held his tongue instead of speaking whatever was on his mind. Once again plunging them into silence, give or take the sound of the sea. The woosh of waves hovered between them, with all the things unsaid. They stood there, staring at each other, long past awkward, long enough that Draco realized he did have something to say.

“If,” he had to pause to gulp, “if you can see yourself falling in love with Silas and not with me, then send me home.”

Harry might have made a sound then, but it was too faint to know for sure over the churn of the water. “It’s not that-”

Draco wasn’t in the mood to hear Harry explain himself. “Isn’t it?” His agitation was rising again. He had the sudden impulse to force the issue. Everything was out of control, but maybe he could take some part of it back. If he had to go home, why not do it on his own terms? “Trust your gut, Harry. You second guessed everything the moment Silas arrived. Clearly, I’m not someone you need here.”

“This isn’t easy for me-“

“If I was someone important to you it would be easy,” Draco interrupted. “If it were Rene or Sol it would be easy.”

“Damnit, Draco,” gruff Harry was back, with furrowed eyebrows to deepen his glare. “I told you, I don’t like being out on the spot.”

What could Draco do but throw up his hands in the most over-exaggerated shrug. “You had all night to think about it. How was that not enough time for you to come to your senses and realize I’m a placeholder?”

Harry took another step forward, stepping right into Draco’s space. “Don’t talk about yourself like that.”

Draco actually, foolishly, stopped fidgeting long enough to reach out and push Harry back. It was nearly, rule-breakingly aggressive, only Harry caught his feet before he could fully stumble. Draco regretted it as soon as it happened, but he didn’t say sorry. He just let his anger and embarrassment churn inside him until he had to bite the inside of his cheek to hold back tears.

Harry didn’t try to come close again. In fact, he stepped further away, a suspicious glare leveled at Draco over the gulf Draco shoved between them. “I thought you’d changed,” words as bad as any crucio.

Again, Draco could say sorry. He could apologize or explain himself. Only then when Harry sent him home it would feel even worse. He only clenched his jaw tighter and turned away from Harry to stare into the beauty of nature, hardly seeing anything through the strain of withheld emotion.

“Whatever. Let’s go back.” Harry looked tense himself when Draco returned his attention to the other man. Harry was holding his arm out despite the distance between them. He looked agitated when Draco couldn’t help but look confused. Harry shook his arm at Draco. “I side-alonged you here. We’re going back the same way.” He looked so angry and still expected Draco to reach out and touch him.

It seemed somehow more foolish to take Harry’s arm than it had been to shove him. Draco didn’t want to remember what it felt like to hold on to Harry. Surely it would feel good, and Draco would have to live with losing the chance to ever feel it again.

Draco swallowed around a lump. “I’m sure if you tell them you’re sending me home someone else will fetch me.”

Harry dropped his arm to his side, balling his hand into a fist. “Gods, Draco. It’s like you want to leave.”

Turns out hiding his thoughts from the world wasn’t like riding a broom after all. Apparently it took dedication and practice, two things Draco hadn’t granted it. Which meant Harry could read too much in Draco’s shifty eyes and blazing red blush.

“Seriously?” Harry sounded affronted, like he was the one with the right to be hurt. “If you want to leave so bad you could just ask, instead of being a complete prick.”

Which wasn’t what Draco wanted him saying at all. It was quite the opposite. He wanted - he needed - Harry to just say what he wanted instead of making Draco suffer. Draco pursed his lips in frustration, but didn’t let his frustration go further than that. He tried to look dignified as he held his hand out, as if Harry would deign to offer his arm a second time. He stayed standing tall and what he hoped was confident as Harry considered not bothering with him. Draco could feel the thudding of his heart in his chest as he hoped Harry would reach back for him, while at the same time he hoped Harry would just make up his mind already, say no and send Draco packing.

Harry’s hand wrapped around Draco’s and for a brief moment Draco had to stand there holding hands without making eye contact with the man of his dreams. Draco squeezed his eyes closed, but that just made the touch more real to him. Harry’s fingers were tough and callused, and so incredibly warm. Had they ever held hands before? Would they ever again?

With a woosh, Harry apparated them away.

They landed at the front of the castle, right where Harry stood and smiled at the start of every Wix Ever After episode. There was no smile as Harry yanked his hand out of Draco’s.

That was it, then. Of course that was it. But it was really it, this time.

“Harry,” Draco hadn’t meant his voice to croak. Harry had already been turning to leave and almost didn’t bother to stop. Draco tried to steady himself but it didn’t work, his voice wobbled. “Don’t wait until tomorrow. I can’t-” he hesitated, “trust your gut and make up your mind. Please.” Draco was begging afterall.

Harry stiffened and breathed in deeply through his nose. His brows furrowed to their bushiest and he put both hands on his hips as he seethed over whether or not to respond. He glanced wearily at Draco, as if maybe Draco wasn’t worth it. Only Harry had always been far braver and more generous than Draco, so he spoke up anyway. “Do you have to throw a fit every time you get upset instead of talking to me about it?”

Draco opened his mouth to speak, to insist he wasn’t throwing a fit, or even more adamantly insist he wasn’t upset at all. Only it didn’t take much to realize neither comment would endear himself to Harry, who looked as if he was on his last thread of patience and anything less than talking about whatever “it” was would cut through it.

So Draco snapped his mouth closed. And Harry left.

-

There was only one very large couch in the theatre room that night, with more than enough room and cushions for the four contestants to sprawl out comfortably. It would be particularly churlish not to join the other contestants on it. Precisely the fit Harry had accused him of throwing. Draco sat on the floor in the back of the room anyway.

His behavior was souring the mood for everyone. The unofficial rule not to be an ass about being the most likely to be sent home wasn’t quite unspoken. Draco was regularly coached by Pansy on how contestants were expected to behave, and when he could get away with pushing bounds to spice up the drama. He thunked his head against the wall behind him. Just yesterday he’d pledged not to give them drama for the camera. As if he was capable of being cold and dignified, instead of pathetic and a prick.

Lights dimmed and the familiar theme song kicked off, drawing all attention to the screen. Draco stared at the ceiling, frustrated that Pansy had cut through his efforts to avoid her today to remind him that he was contractually obligated to come to these viewings. Because she knew him well enough to anticipate how capable he was of self sabotage.

Lee’s voiceover didn’t require eyes on the screen. He explained to the audience what Draco already knew, they were down to the final four and Harry was ready to meet their families. Cue sentimental music and probably a montage of some sort. Draco hated how his eyes were drawn to the screen at the first sound of Marcus’s voice.

Marcus walked Harry into a luxury flat with all the hybrid muggle-wizard mod-cons a wix could ask for. It was black and chrome, had a well stocked bar, and very little food in the cabinets. To Marcus’s delight, three people greeted them with balloons and muggle-style confetti poppers. Two brothers and a sister in law, all there to greet Marcus with bear hugs and Harry with an effort of equal enthusiasm. The family had laid out catered platters for lunch, and there was high energy and warmth right up until everyone left to give the couple time to settle in before the next activity. Then it was clear how much the space suited gatherings of people more than something like curling up on the designer leather couch. Something Harry only briefly tried to do, before standing up awkwardly, looking very unsure of where he belonged. Clearly Harry enjoyed visiting the Wimbourne Wasps, and especially watching Marcus practice with the team. He looked happy enough to go out to the dinner Marcus’s siblings had arranged for them and a few of Marcus’s friends from the Wasps. He even seemed to have a good time for the first round of shots. But the energy went from high to rowdy, and Harry’s energy didn’t match it. Draco could see he was trying. He wanted to get to know Marcus’s family and friends. It clearly mattered a great deal to him. He just never seemed to fit.

Rene’s sister Deja and their Aunts Meredith and Frankie waited outside the aunts’ house to welcome Rene and Harry on their arrival. They held homemade signs that burst bunches of glitter that stuck in everyone’s hair the entire day. Rene dropped everything to run into their arms. Frankie had made sandwiches, and Meredith had pulled out an entire crate of photo albums so they could make an afternoon of trying their hardest to embarrass Rene with childhood stories. Rene dressed in a children’s tuxedo doing tap dance, Rene missing two of her front teeth, grinning at the camera because she came in second at the school spelling bee, that time Frankie and Rene both dyed their hair purple for Rene’s first summer back from Hogwarts. After lunch, Deja walked with Rene and Harry to the school where Rene worked. They never showed the children on camera, and apparently they didn’t tell any of the kids that Harry was the reason Rene had been gone for a few months, but they did show Rene giving Harry a tour of her classroom, and all three of the adults left with piles of finger paint art. They all went to this little restaurant for dinner, the sort of place where the owners came out of the kitchen to greet them and give Rene a hug. Then they gave Harry a hug, because Rene had finally brought a nice person home to meet the family. That night, Rene slept in her childhood room, long since converted to a guest/craft room. Harry, the perfect gentleman, slept on the couch.

It was Draco who welcomed Harry to the manor. He looked as awkward on screen as he remembered being, but he hadn’t realized how sweetly he smiled when he invited Harry in. The camera followed them as they walked down the long path to Draco’s home. Someone made a choice to let the camera zoom out, so the audience could see the whole picture of a stately home, not too different from how they highlighted the castle at the start of every show. The cameras were just as careful to capture the majesty of the grand entrance. The show must have dedicated an entire minute to Draco walking Harry through the house, peeking into various preserved or restored rooms, as if from Harry’s perspective. Draco had no family to tell Harry his secrets, only a house too large for one, with enough secrets to tantalize viewers. Draco had called Harry voyeuristic, but he realized now he’d been dead wrong. It was the producers, the viewers, everyone on the outside, who would want to see the house where the Dark Lord had lived. The place where a war was fought. They might have been in a museum, or a mausoleum, either way a moment encased in history, outside of its time. The only consolation was how Draco looked as out of place as his guest. Right up until the plan for the day slipped from Draco’s fingers and he let Harry into somewhere real. His room, and then his childhood room. Of course Harry smiled, then. A big, boyish grin, that made Draco’s stomach flip flop.

It was all like that. Draco settling into a carefully structured plan where he felt… well, Draco supposed there was safety in hiding the pieces of himself that meant the most to him from Harry. He could show Harry all the beauty his land had to offer, all the magnificent pieces the Lord of the manor should take pride in, all the curated parts of his life that tried to sweep away the war and all the scars just out of view. And every time he tried, Harry nudged him off kilter, until they were places Draco had never been before, or had mud up to their ankles, or Harry was looking to get lost in the library stacks, all the while offering Draco a dazzling smile that lit up his emerald green eyes. It hadn’t been Draco’s imagination that Harry had invited Draco to stay the night with him. They played the entire conversation on screen. Every word. Unlike Thursday, where they showed only a morning flight and the light sprite dance. That, and Harry holding tight to Draco like he wanted the moment to last forever.

Sol walked Harry into a tavern. It looked to be busy with a lunch rush, except Sol wasn’t half a step inside before he started laughing, and, as if on cue, everyone turned to the couple at the door and cheered. Then there were people, so many people, Sol’s parents, siblings and cousins, aunts and uncles, a wiry old man who might have been a grandfather, each one speaking in a thicker Scottish brogue than the last. Children were there, nieces and nephews who squealed to see their uncle and had no reservations about throwing their whole weight on him in an attempt to tackle Sol to the ground. Harry and Sol were dragged to the bar to find seats. The family surrounded them, talking a mile a minute with constant questions they mostly answered themselves. It was Sol’s uncle behind the bar, him being the one that owned the tavern, and every person in it was at home in the space they’d clearly spent their lives sharing. Eventually there was ale. Eventually there was food. Eventually there were two sisters and a cousin who cornered Harry and demanded to know why he hadn’t pulled his head out of his arse and married Sol already. Eventually it was Sol dragging Harry away, slipping his date out a side door and not bothering to look back as he apologized for throwing Harry into the deep end. Harry’s smile was small, but his eyes twinkled. He let Sol talk as fast and as loud as his family had, walking Harry through the city he’d been raised in, where he’d always belonged, where he didn’t know how to live when he was the only one here who happened to be a wizard. Sol’s mother wasn’t the least surprised her son had dipped out early from his own party. She kissed his cheek and served the men tea and biscuits, sitting down with them at a table and pulling out a deck of cards so she could wallop them both at catch the ten. They played late into the night, and Harry didn’t even seem to notice how easily he answered questions, or the small looks Sol shot him when he told Sol’s mother things he’d kept secret from Sol, and probably every other contestant on the show.

Then they were all together in the throne room. Harry stylized in a suit that by now was clear he’d never choose on his own to wear. They all now knew how he chose to dress nice, when he wanted to impress people on your behalf. But Harry played the game they’d all signed up for. He was there to hand out three roses. It should have been three roses. Only Draco never got his. Instead there was Silas. Who hadn’t been here for weeks. Who hadn’t opened their entire life up to Harry. Who Draco didn’t stay to look at once the show had ended, because he didn’t want to see how they felt after they watched all of the ways Harry had pictured being part of everyone else’s home.

-

“You have to change.” It was Pansy, waiting for Draco outside his room. It was her way to get around his cold shoulder. Wait in the one place he couldn’t avoid forever.

Draco looked down at his old sweater and trousers. The same outfit he’d worn to the beach, and sweated in as he lugged things around in his room. “What’s wrong with this?”

Pansy didn’t quite sneer at Draco’s fashion sense, but only not quite. “You’ve got one more scene to shoot tonight and you need to dress up.”

Draco actually snorted. He edged around Pansy, intending to tell her where she could shove it, only once he’d passed her by to enter his room he saw Dominique was there hanging up two different suits, both blue, both magnificent. “I’m not wearing those,” Draco said instantly.

Dominique considered pouting but it took only a glance at the stubborn set of Draco’s jaw for him to let the thought go as quick as it came. He gave up and plopped down on a desk chair at the far side of the room. “They’re everything you could have wanted, but go off then. Shun my genius.”

“Draco is sulking,” Pansy said, having come in right on Draco’s heel.

Draco would have insisted he was not sulking but, clearly, he was, and he had the self awareness to know he’d just look more of an ass if he argued about it. “I look fine. Take me wherever we’re going and let’s get this over with.”

Dominique looked Draco from toe to head. “Honey…” he said, letting the word trail off in such a way that he didn’t actually have to say what he was thinking.

Draco’s jaw set harder. “I’m not putting on a suit so you can have a nice camera shot when I’m kicked out of the castle.”

There were dual noises of dissent, but Pansy was the first to make actual words. “Well if you are sent home what good does it do you to look a mess when it happens?”

Draco whirled on her, angry and reckless in a way he finally felt free to be since for once there wasn’t a single camera. “I am a mess. My whole life is a mess. And I was so fucking stupid I came on this complete dumpster fire of a show and let - let - let,” Draco choked back the name he didn’t want to admit he was thinking, “the whole world see what a mess I am.”

Which of course meant Pansy had to stare at Draco with pity, because of all the things she wanted for him out of the show it wasn’t for him to completely break down.

Thank Merlin Dominique was there to cut through all the feelings with a loud, commanding clap. “New plan,” he announced. “Since Draco is committed to this give-up-before-Harry-hurts-me debacle, and even went so far as to pack up all his actual clothes,” Dominique gestured to a trunk stuffed full of everything Draco brought with him, sans the outfit he wore now, “Why don’t we have him wear an outfit that truly says IDGAF, but is at least clean?” Dominique rose gracefully to his feet and threw open the wardrobe doors, where Draco had left all the clothes stylists had made for him since he came on the show. He had no intention of taking them home. Dominique pulled out one of his decadently long sweaters, this one black and white. He turned with a flourish and put it on display. “Please do wear it, Draco, you’ll be our very own sad panda.” He waggled his eyebrows like it was a joke, even if it went over Draco’s head.

Draco sagged in defeat. Even if he only gave in because he didn’t want to unpack his trunk, or wear one of the fancy outfits, and giving in was the easiest path to the end of this whole thing. Even if Pansy was still clearly worried Draco was self-destructing, and Dominique was still drawing unwanted attention to how Draco was stubbornly giving up on his dreams. At least he could put on the damn clothes.

-

The patio was transformed into a luscious jungle of vining plants, twined up into a tall tunnel twinkling with fairy lights. At the end was Harry. He wore a freshly pressed white buttoned shirt under what may as well have been a luminescent sports coat, what with the way the soft lights reflected off the fabric. Rae and her team must have been hard pressed to pull everything together on such short notice, but they did so flawlessly. The scene looked romantic. Magic. Perfect.

Except for Draco, who trudged in wearing his oversized panda sweater over those comfortable muggle leggings, not at all like he was the one who belonged here.

It was Harry’s job to speak next. He knew this because Rae had told him to walk forward until the mark on the ground and then wait for Harry to speak. Only Harry wasn’t saying anything. He’d just narrowed his eyes again to stare at the sight in front of him, completely perplexed. That left them staring at each other, long past awkward, long enough that Draco realized he cared fuck all for the rules. He had something he needed to say.

“Thank you, Harry.”

Harry blinked. “What?”

“Thank you?” Draco tried again. Only Harry had heard his words, he just hadn’t understood them. “For,” Draco cleared his throat, “moving this up to tonight. And,” he tried not to shuffle too noticeably, “for the other thing, not being in the show that aired tonight.” Referencing the disastrous end to Harry visiting the manor wasn’t quite enough to break Draco into fidgets, but he could feel sweat budding on his neck and forehead.

The frown lines on Harry’s face softened. “Oh, yeah. Of course, Draco. It’s not a big deal.”

Draco had to fight not to roll his eyes, but he expected he failed to hide it as badly as he’d failed to hide so many feelings lately. “Well it was a big deal to me. So,” he did his best to square his shoulders and stand up tall and proud, like this was a serious moment and he could be serious in it. “Thank you.”

Maybe there was a ghost of a smile, right on the edge of Harry’s lips, just barely twinkling in his eyes. But it didn’t last. Harry glanced down at the table next to him. It was a small, round thing, just big enough to hold a single rose. Harry clasped his hands together in front of him instead of reaching for the flower. He set his jaw and lifted his chin so he could stare straight into Draco’s eyes. Whatever fleeting pleasure Draco had sparked in him had faded just as fast. It had been so long since Draco had seen Harry’s eyes this cold.

Time didn’t actually slow down. Pansy had once explained that muggle science identified how in times of stress a brain releases some chemical that makes you process information faster, and it wasn’t actually magic that gave Draco the power to watch every shift of Harry’s expression as he began to open his mouth to tell Draco he was going home.

Only then, right then, did it grip Draco that none of the work he’d done to prepare himself had worked. None of the barriers he’d put up to block out his feelings would be able to hold them back. He was hurt, and afraid, and amidst those feelings he just gave up. He’d lashed out and now there was not one minute of being petty and resentful that he wouldn’t regret. Harry could have been the… the…

Draco was out of time to hide his feelings, even from himself. Stoicism wouldn’t save him. Not when deep down Draco always knew, Harry could be the love of his life.

“I’m falling in love with you!”

Draco didn’t know why he said it. Obviously, he had to say something. He’d regret it his entire life if he hadn’t finally said something. And he had to say it fast before Harry had a chance to start talking and Draco lost his chance. But it didn’t have to be that. He didn’t have to choose the declaration that made Harry unclasp his hands and take a step back while his eyebrows shot skeptically up towards his hairline. Maybe it was Draco’s memory of Marcus out here on this same patio, holding himself back from saying the same words, because he’d known what it would mean to put it all on the line and have Harry say he didn’t feel it, too.

So what. So fucking what? Let it mean everything. Let the world know how he felt. Let Harry know how he felt. Because if Draco was going to be sent home, it wasn’t going to be because anyone thought he didn’t care.

“I’m sorry I’ve been a jackass. I shouldn’t have, I know it. Only I’m falling in love with you, and you’d just seen… everything… and I was sure you’d hate me for it, only you didn’t, and it meant… I thought it meant that maybe you could really fall in love with me, all of me, and I was so happy, Harry. You made me so happy. But then, yeah. Yeah.” Draco wasn’t making any sense. He knew he wasn’t making any sense. More than not he wished Harry would jump in and interrupt him. Wasn’t he a savior? Couldn’t he see Draco was in distress? Draco couldn’t tell. He didn’t know what that wide-eyed look meant. It wasn’t a familiar expression on Harry’s face.

Draco didn’t know what Harry needed him to say so he just kept talking so Harry didn’t have time to say “Stop, go home.”

“I said the first night on the show that if you gave me a chance I thought you could fall in love with me. And you did, you gave me the chance. You’ve given me so many chances. I- for the rest of my life, I’ll always be thankful that you took a chance on me. Only now that you have, I realize maybe I was wrong. Maybe I didn’t just need a chance and then you’d fall in love. Maybe you were never going to love me. And that’s fine, of course that’s fine. I mean, it would break my heart but that’s okay, that’s kind of the whole show, and it’s fine. Merlin, I’m saying this wrong. It’s just, Harry, you picked me.” Draco finally paused to breathe, but it was hard because his chest felt tight. The truth of his feelings hurt. “You picked me. Then you took it back because you thought someone else might be better. And that means you’re not falling in love with me. That-” Draco had to blink rapidly against the sudden prickle of tears, “You kept waiting for me to make my own declaration, which should have been easy because I desperately want to stay here with you, but you gave me a shot, and that’s more than I ever expected,” Draco made a sad hiccup of a laugh, “I thought you’d send me home the first night, actually. But here we are, and I don’t need a chance anymore. You gave me that and more. I just need to know how you feel. And, well, you might be surprised to learn this, but I have a lot of trust issues,” gods, this laugh might have been half a sob, “and I guess, what I’m saying, is that all of this with Silas, well, I guess it poked holes in my trust for you. And I don’t think I can be here, begging to stay, or telling you I’m the one you should choose. I can just, you see, I guess all that there is to say is… if you think you might be falling in love with me, and you want me here, I need… well, I need you to choose me because you want to. And I need it to be a choice you won’t second guess this time. I…” Draco swallowed down whatever else he might have blubbered. There was no collecting himself but he tried valiantly to pull a life’s worth of training together to recover some smidgen of pride. His eyes were puffy and his face was blotchy and he was every bit the mess he’d told Pansy he was, but he still tried to muster what pride he could. “It’s okay if you send me home. Of course it’s okay. I just want you to be happy.”

Which is how Draco left it. He tried to grimly smile while staring through eyes blurry from unshed tears. He could hardly see Harry’s reaction to every spare thought and insecurity he’d just unloaded on the poor man in the least coherent speech he could imagine. He tried so hard to be strong and brave, like he imagined Harry would be, while he waited for Harry’s final verdict.

Draco could feel Harry’s warmth before he realized Harry had stepped close. Large, warm hands cupped Draco’s cheeks. Harry’s thumbs brushed tears out from under Draco’s eyes. Draco had to blink to clear his vision enough to see those bright green eyes, right in front of Draco, still incredibly warry.

“You could have said any of that, at any point before now.” Harry’s voice was deep and much colder than the hands still cupping Draco’s face.

Draco wasn’t sure he could have. In fact, he was incredibly sure he never would have said anything if he’d had even a shred of hope left in him. He gulped back another ramble and said instead, “Good point. Well made.”

Harry sighed deep enough to make something ache in Draco’s chest. If Harry had moved even the tiniest bit away Draco would be without hope again. “We can’t - couples can’t - this isn’t how people should handle problems, Draco. You need to tell people when you’re upset. You need to be able to talk about it.”

“True,” Draco said, because it was, even if he hadn’t done what he should and he couldn’t promise he would next time, either. “Very true.”

This time the sigh was small, and it was accompanied by Harry leaning his forehead to rest against Draco’s. Their breaths mingled and it was warm in a way Draco hadn’t dared to hope for. “What am I going to do with you Draco?”

This time Draco stayed silent. Because he couldn’t very well say, “Love me.” Harry either did, or he didn’t. He either could or he couldn’t. And Draco ached to know how much that wasn’t up to him. It was up to Harry alone, and all Draco could do was hope that even if he was a giant mess, it was the sort of mess Harry thought he could love. Well, he could also have the guts to stand by his decision to accept nothing less than a man who could love him.

Harry’s hands slid back until his fingers carded Draco’s hair. “I can’t promise you forever.”

Draco’s laugh was one part hiccup. “No one really promises forever. Even pure bloods accept divorce, these days.”

“I can’t promise marriage, either.” Harry’s tone softened just enough that Draco’s knot of hopelessness eased.

Draco finally dared to reach out his own hands to wrap around Harry’s waist. It was no trouble at all, Harry was already so very close. “You have weeks before you decide on marriage,” Draco reminded, aware that Harry needed him to affirm that’s not what he was asking for today. Draco gave in to his urge to be even closer to Harry. He leaned down and rested his head on Harry’s shoulder, his face tucked into the warmth of Harry’s neck. It was easier to talk with his face hidden. “But I can’t stay here, unless you see me as someone you could love and marry. You might decide you love someone else more in the end, but it wouldn’t be fair to me to ask me to stay if you’ll never fall in love with me at all. Honestly, I also don’t think it would be fair to you, to waste your time on something that isn’t real.”

“This is real for you?” Draco was surprised to hear a note of uncertainty in Harry’s voice. As if he still, after all this time, doubted Draco’s commitment. Then again, maybe it wasn’t Draco. Maybe it was everyone. Ten weeks in and Harry still kept a level of distance between him and the contestants. Draco had come to understand he would learn more in how Harry acted without speaking than he would be waiting for Harry to share his thoughts aloud. Maybe it was as hard for Harry to trust as it was for Draco.

“This is the most real thing that’s ever happened to me,” Draco said with as much conviction as he could.

Harry’s fingers tightened in Draco’s hair, clinging to him. Then Harry pulled back shakily. He stepped back to the table to pick up the rose. It was fresh and beautiful, and not quite what Draco wanted.

“Do you think,” Draco asked, somehow braving to seek more than the bare minimum, “they still have my rose? I mean, the one you were going to give me yesterday?”

Harry paused his hand, looking from the perfect rose on the table, then up to Draco. His eyes were furrowed but Draco decided to trust that it didn’t mean Harry was angry. He was just thinking hard, the way Draco so often made him do. Harry turned away from Draco to stare into the spaces beyond the decorations. Patches of darkness where PAs hid as they silently kept the show running. Harry paused long enough, stared hard enough, that a PA Draco didn’t recognize eventually did feel compelled to pop out of the darkness just to shake their head no. No one had thought to save a flower, which would surely have wilted slightly, and would only matter in anyway to one person.

Draco did his best to smile through his disappointment. The flower didn’t actually matter. It was a symbol, and it was easy to give meaning to a new symbol. The new rose Harry was picking up now would have plenty of meanings. Fresh starts, hope, trust, whatever Draco decided was most important.

Only Harry was staring hard at the rose, as if just realizing how big of a symbol it could be. He glanced up at Draco, and Draco’s stomach fluttered to see Harry’s eyes twinkle. Harry’s lips tilted upwards into half a grin. “This is a first rose,” Harry said, holding it out to Draco. “Which means I choose you first this week.”

Draco’s heartbeat may actually have stuttered. “Um, I don’t think…”

“I do think,” Harry corrected, still holding the rose out. “They made up the new rules about this head-to-head contest, and I’m saying that if they’re going to make contestants suffer through this nonsense, then whoever’s picked gets first rose. End of story.”

Draco flexed his fingers, almost reaching out to take the rose. Only… “What about Sol and Rene?”

Maybe Harry’s smile dipped a little, but he didn’t let it go. “Consider this me showing you that you can trust me. You’re not a placeholder, Draco. And, well, you’re definitely someone I could fall in love with. Maybe am falling in love with. I don’t know, that part’s confusing, but I don’t regret you being here. So take the bloody rose and say yes, you’ll be here with me to the end.”

Draco did take the rose, and it meant everything.