Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
A/N: This should stand on its own, but it is a small part of a bigger project, which now has three other stories: Please Wake Up, On Roses and Healing, and Cheating in Quidditch. This one is uber-fluffy. There will be more to this story arc, eventually. This one-shot was originally written for the HP ficathon, 8-5-06.
One Day at a Time
I suppose we both thought this would be easy. We love each other enough. I mean, we should, right? We're going to be married soon. Despite all the crap we've gone through, we really thought we could make this work.
And yet, each day is a challenge. Love isn't always enough. We disagree on petty little things, and it seems that our fights are more violent than the ones we had when we were at Hogwarts. After the Oliver incident, we've both become quite defensive when there's no need to be. But I have reason for that, right? Harry cheated on me, after all.
Today's challenge comes in the form of a seemingly innocent Weasel child. Her name is Penelope, and she is the two-year-old daughter of Harry's two best friends. We're supposed to take care of her for a day.
At first, all seems to go well. We play with her, she laughs a lot, and she spends a lot of the time mispronouncing my name. I fear that I will always be 'Dako' to her. Harry gives her a little bunny toy that is spelled to dance when she commands it to, and she seems to like it.
I don't understand children, but I'm trying, for Harry's sake. I know he wants one. I feel like I should be trying harder for him. He's waited this long for me to be ready for this sort of commitment, and now that I've finally accepted it, I really want to be there for him. In truth, I'm afraid of losing Harry. I nearly did twice, once to the war and once to Quidditch (we don't even speak of Oliver anymore).
Harry insists that I help feed Penny, and I place the food in front of here wearily. I don't know what I'm doing. Harry laughs when she throws a handful of cheesy macaroni at me, and I glare at him. I leave him with the mess she's creating to get some fresh robes.
I transfigure the guest bed into a crib, and we put the little girl down for a nap. She cries, and I don't understand why. Harry picks her up, and she stops; but when he puts her back into the crib she begins crying again. Harry says he's going to floo-call Molly, and hands Penny to me. She begins crying immediately. I stand there hopelessly, trying to come up with any comforting words I can.
"It's okay. Harry will be right back. Dako… I mean Draco is here. I'll take care of you, as well as I know how, anyway... Why are you crying? Can't you talk yet? 'Baggallubuh' isn't coherent!" I snort irritably. How long does it take Harry to make a floo-call, anyway? "Look, you've got nothing to cry about! You have two men here at your beck and call. How many girls can say that?"
Eventually Harry comes back with a bottle of warm milk and takes the child from me. I glare at him and go to our room.
When Harry joins me I'm reading a book, steadfastly trying to ignore him and that little girl. I'm quickly coming to the realization that I don't want one of those things interrupting my life.
"What's wrong, Draco?" Harry asks. He sounds tired. Taking care of a kid is more work than we thought it would be.
In response, I glare at him, challenging him to interrupt my attempt at relaxation.
"She's a baby, Draco, she needs this sort of attention. I'm sorry, I know you like being the center of attention," Harry says. It's an unusually snide comment from him.
"She's a menace! Do you actually want one of those… those things? Do you know what it would do to our perfect little life?"
"She's not a thing, Draco!" Harry takes a deep breath and sits on the bed next to me, not meeting my eyes. "I thought you would be willing to try this. You know I want a family."
"I can be your family, plus you've got the Weasels," I say. I'm being immature about the whole thing, but somehow, I can't stop myself.
"You know it's not the same. You mean the world to me, Draco, but I want this more than anything. I always have." He finally looks up at me with pleading eyes.
"I'm… I guess I'm… um… sorry," I stutter. I frown. Malfoys don't stutter, but Malfoys also don't apologize.
"I want to believe you," he says. He leaves the room, and I get a horrible feeling of guilt in the pit of my stomach.
---
Hermione and Ron pick up their daughter after (a rather tense) dinner. They talk and laugh a bit with Harry, and attempt small talk with me. They may accept me now- I suppose Hermione is even a friend- but we don't always get along the way Harry wishes we would.
When they leave, Harry glares at me, then stomps off toward the bedroom, like an indignant child. I call after him, but he ignores me.
I refuse to follow him, to give in to such antics. Instead, I go to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of wine. Instinctively, I grab two glasses. Realizing what I was doing, I shove one aside. It slides off the counter and shatters on the floor. I don't bother to pick it up, even though I knew I should.
The wine feels good going down my throat. I pour another glass, then another. I'm quickly becoming lightheaded.
Harry enters the kitchen. He sighs when he saw the almost-empty wine bottle, the broken glass, and me. I'm slightly tipsy, and leaning against the counter; smiling into space like an idiot, or possibly Loony Lovegood.
I chug the rest of the wine, ignoring the fact that good wine should never be chugged. Harry's expression changes to one of worry as I sway on my feet.
"How much wine did you drink?" he asks.
"Enough," I say.
Harry shakes his head. "Let's go to bed, Angel."
He's using his pet name for me. That either means he's not angry at all, or he's so frustrated he doesn't want to talk about it. Considering everything that happened that day, I decide it's the second.
"Not until you tell me why you're upset," I say. Considering how fast I was drinking that wine, I'm remarkably coherent.
Harry's eye gives a slight twitch. "I'm not upset with you," he says, but I don't believe him. I snort derisively. "Fine, I am upset with you, but that doesn't mean I don't love you. Now, come to bed with me."
"I want to give you everything you want, you know," I say.
Harry closes his eyes. I know he doesn't want to talk about this now, but I'm afraid if we keep ignoring the topic, our relationship will suffer.
"You say that, Draco, but when it comes down to it, you're really uncomfortable with the whole commitment thing," he says.
"I want to be, though," I say. I know it's not really good enough, but it's a start, right?
"You can't handle kids, and you refuse to talk about our lives after we get married. Sometimes I think you're missing the point of it all," Harry says, frustrated.
"No, I want it. It's just a bit… overwhelming," I try to explain.
"I know, but it's something I'm ready for. I'd like you to be ale to say the same," he says.
There's a long pause before I reply. I know the correct answer to that, but I'm not sure I can give it to him. All I can do is try, but he wants something more solid than that.
"I love you," I say finally.
"I know, Angel." He smiles. "I never doubt that. I doubt if you're ready for all of this."
"I don't think I ever will be, but I'm willing to try," I admit.
Harry pulls me into a hug and kisses me sweetly.
---
The bed is warm and welcoming when we are both in it. Harry crawls on top of me and kisses me fervently. He moans softly into my mouth and grinds his hips against mine. We are both quickly becoming hard.
Soon we are naked and hot, mouths offering wet kisses and whispered affections. Harry's hands stroke me, while mine explore his body, running along familiar skin and muscles. We bring each other, slowly and passionately, to the edge; then collapse together in the afterglow of orgasm.
We may have our problems, but the sex is always good. We fall asleep comfortable in each other's arms, as if our earlier argument had never happened. Maybe that's our problem. No matter how much we argue, it always eventually leads to sex, and when we are naked and needy nothing else seems to matter. The problem is forgotten until we have another argument. Nothing is ever actually solved.
But when Harry is laying in my arms like this, I think we can make this work. No matter what, we love each other enough that none of the arguing matters.
For a few days after that, we are the perfect couple. We are loving and considerate; sickeningly sweet. No one can deny the way we feel about each other, and I begin to think this commitment thing won't be so bad.
Then we have another argument, and the cycle begins again. The anger and frustration; the talking and attempts at understanding; and the hot make-up sex.
Yet, it all seems worth it. I value this relationship above all things. I love Harry more than I thought possible, despite, or maybe because of, what we went through in the past. I know we can make this work.