AN: why are these two invading my mind they need to go away I have more important things I need to do
also somehow in the middle they got really dysfunctional. I tried to fix it up, but idk if I did a good job.
Kids, if your boyfriend has Death Eater tendencies at all, that's a dealbreaker.
For Harry, Monday is when the Auror workweek starts, so always Draco thinks of it as the beginning. It doesn't get worse than Mondays, so all that can happen is they can go up from there. Harry comes home, tired and bruised and sporting all sorts of nasty cuts and scrapes. Draco trails his wand along them, intentionally gentle, as the wounds disappear behind the tip. He murmurs the incantations low, because Harry looks so exhausted and sometimes it's nice to talk quietly. Harry leans his head against Draco's chest.
"Couldn't you have had someone do this there?" Draco complains, not because he minds doing it but because Harry has been hurting and why don't they fix it right then? It's not like it's difficult.
"Because they already had to deal with undoing all the other, bigger magical injuries," says Harry. Draco feels the low rumble of his voice all the way through him, and he shivers. But now is not the time. Harry's hurt, right now. "You know, getting my hand hexed into twice its size."
"Oh, right," says Draco. "Because they couldn't take the five seconds- "
"You know they do the best they can."
"Yeah, because Luna's really focused on her work, and not off looking for Twinkle-headed Snickerdoodles or whatever- "
"She is competent," says Harry, "and you know it. Just stop, Draco."
Draco does, swallowing the fear and anger. He's not looking for a fight. He almost even apologizes, but Harry beats him to it.
"Sorry," says Harry suddenly.
Draco is amazed. "For what?"
"I bring this home," Harry says. Draco pulls back, looking at him in utter shock.
"You know, Potter, I think that's the stupidest thing you've ever said. Don't ever say it again."
Tuesdays are better, because on Tuesdays Harry has a shorter shift and also, this Tuesday, he's stuck in the office doing paper pushing work and he figures that while it's not the most exciting thing ever, at least it doesn't put Draco on edge when he gets home. Draco would definitely laugh at him if he got a papercut, though, which he promptly does because apparently it's not enough that at least once a week some nutjob Death Eater attempts murder.
"Hermione?"
She huffs when she sees what he's done, and promptly casts the spell for a bandage.
"Oh, Harry, sometimes you remind me of Neville."
Harry grins. Ron glances over.
"Are you almost done with your stack?" he asks.
"No," says Harry.
"Well, you would be, if you didn't keep taking 'coffee breaks'," says Hermione snidely, with air quotes. "I am."
"This is boring," said Ron. "I need coffee just to keep awake through it."
"Done," says Harry.
"Blimey- oh, right, you wanted to get home early today, didn't you?"
But Harry's out the door. There are some days when his job is the thing that makes him feel the most fulfilled- the place where he is really needed, but today is not one of those days. Tuesdays, as relaxing as they are, never do. Besides, Draco promised to cook tonight, and that's something Harry has got to see to believe.
Wednesday is spent at home, sick. Draco, having apparently chosen to the fully-cooked chicken breast for himself, was spared.
"Don't ever, ever cook for me again, Malfoy!"
"Well, how was I supposed to know the chicken wasn't fully cooked?"
But Draco is making a potion to relieve nausea, and when Harry drinks it too fast to pay attention to the fact that it sort of spills, Draco wipes it off Harry's face with his thumb.
Thursday, Draco is at work in Diagon Alley at the Apothecary, and Harry is off.
Since Ron and Hermione are busy on their own date, and Luna's got some kind of creature she's tracking down with her dad and boyfriend, and everyone is generally busy, he stays at home and watches reruns of old shows on the television that Draco was finally persuaded to buy (and was surprised by when the moving portraits didn't talk to him back). When that gets boring, he gets up to look around Malfoy Manor- or, as he now thinks of it, home.
Lining the wall are family portraits, Harry's been down this wall enough that he can remember most of their names. Brutus and Elena, Circinus and Canis, Abraxas and Lydia, Caius and Matilda... Lucius and Narcissa. All but the last two glower at him as he walks past, and- there's another portrait at the end.
He stares at a man with messy black hair and green eyes, whose pointy-faced and pale-haired companion smiles coyly.
"He didn't tell you we were here, I expect," says Draco's portrait. "It was absolute scandal up and down the hallway. Only natural, though. Another Malfoy got married, so obviously there had to be a portrait."
"Abraxas was especially upset," Harry's portrait tells him. "Kept saying he was of a mind to petition to have us moved out."
"I didn't have to pose," says Harry, surprised. Portrait-Harry wears the same golden ring that real Harry does, and that, for some reason, makes him smile.
"I brought in a photograph," says Portrait-Draco. Harry and Portrait-Harry raised their eyebrows at him. "Well, you know what I mean."
"Draco- real Draco, that is," says Portrait Harry, "wanted this to be a kind of a surprise."
"It is," says Harry.
"But not a bad one, right?" asks Portrait-Draco, or at least Harry thinks so for a moment, except when he realizes Portrait-Draco isn't talking. He turns around and real-Draco is behind him. Harry takes Draco's hands in his own.
"Absolutely not," he says, kissing him. "Next time, though, I want to sit with you for it."
Draco has the grace to look at least a little embarrassed.
Friday is much worse.
Harry had to go on a raid, Draco had to deal with stupid customers, and the two of them really have fought today, and it really is not looking good. Harry is furious with him for letting out a stupid comment about one of his ridiculous Gryffindor friends. Draco is furious that he's taking it so seriously, and furious with himself for being so stupid as to say it in the first place. Not that he's apologized.
He can hear Harry one room over Floo-ing Ron and Hermione, and he strains to listen but he can't hear, and suddenly everything goes quiet and there's a bit of a buzz and he realizes Harry has put up that bloody silencing spell. He retreats to his old room, where he toys with the idea of reading a book or something, but can't keep his mind on it.
He supposes he could throw some Floo powder in the fireplace, listen to their conversation, but he decides against it. What he needs right now is either a stiff drink or... Harry to not be angry with him.
He goes to visit the portraits of his parents, remembering too late that there are the new ones of himself and Harry down there.
"Draco?" asks his father, surprised to see him.
"We had a fight," says Draco. Narcissa nods knowingly. His parents exchange a Look. The Draco and Harry portraits are sound asleep, or pretending to be, Harry in the chair and Draco sitting beside him on the floor, cheek resting against Harry's knees. God, Draco is so jealous.
"Well," said his mother, "don't go to bed angry."
It's terrible advice. Draco does exactly what she says, only not what she meant. He goes out and gets utterly and completely drunk with one of his work friends, some girl he knew vaguely from Hogwarts named Astoria, who Side-Along Apparates him home, so he has to remember to thank her later. He fumbles for the keys, but lets himself in after a minute. Well, if by letting himself in, he means, "Harry comes to the door, scowls at him, lets him through, slams it shut, and walks off."
He falls asleep on the sofa, very not angry because he's very drunk.
When he wakes up in the morning on Saturday, Harry is still scowling at him.
"I thought you might be dead," he says. Draco has the most terrific headache in the history of headaches. It's like a thousand hippogriffs are trapped inside his head, banging on the inside of his skull trying to get out.
"Wish I was," Draco manages. Harry hands him a glass of water and taps Draco's head with his wand. Then he leaves.
When Draco's headache is sufficiently, magically gone, Draco sighs, knowing what he has to do.
Harry is in their room, reading a book. Draco knows it is for Auror studies, so he can catch up on what he's missed. Supposedly, Hermione is making him do it, but Draco has seen how much Harry absolutely enjoys studying Defense Against the Dark Arts. He talks to Draco about it all the time, and Draco likes to hear it because Harry is so passionate about it. Sometimes, Draco hopes that Harry will become a DADA teacher, because he'd be really, really good at it.
"I'm sorry," says Draco.
Harry raises an eyebrow at him.
"For saying that thing I said about Longbottom," Draco clarifies.
"I always think," says Harry, "that you've changed. And then you say stupid stuff, and prove me wrong."
"I just don't like him," Draco says, frowning. "That doesn't mean- you know, I think I acknowledged a while back that he's actually achieved competency in his particular area of study- "
"Yeah, only because now he knows more about plants than you do," says Harry. "He showed you up. At least you accepted it."
"Yeah," says Draco, latching onto this.
Harry puts down the book.
"I still need a little time to think," he says, and Draco's heart sinks.
"I've thought," says Harry, and it's Sunday now.
Draco spent a miserable day at work yesterday dealing with miserable people, although he didn't forget to thank Astoria for helping him out. Draco slept on the couch again.
"Sometimes," says Harry, "you kind of piss me off."
Draco decides it would probably be best if he didn't say anything right now. Harry comes and sits next to him on the couch, and Draco thinks that definitely his prospects are looking up.
"I knew we'd have problems," Harry continues, "but I didn't know that they'd be this big."
Harry looks at him, and Draco's heart leaps. Their knees are brushing against one another, Draco's left against Harry's right, and Draco wants to try to explain to Harry that he really does respect Longbottom. And Granger, and Weasley, and all the others, because Harry loves them, too, and even if he doesn't personally like him then he doesn't at least write them off completely.
"Oh," says Harry, sounding surprised, and Draco realizes he's said all that out loud.
"Er," says Draco, feeling awkward. "And while we're at it, I probably should've not tried to eavesdrop on you telling Granger and Weasley about it."
"Right," says Harry, looking even more dubious now.
"Do you forgive me?" Draco asks, a little rushed, because he's nervous about the words.
"I do," says Harry, and Draco can deal with that, even if it's a little bit worried, and kisses him. Sunday afternoon, beautiful in Malfoy Manor, with its glass windows that catch the golden sunlight and throw rainbows across the floor. It's a nice day outside, but a little warm, and inside is perfect. Harry's hand is on Draco's arm, and maybe it is a little warm inside after all. Draco breaks off to breathe.
"You know," he drawls, putting his head on Harry's shoulder, "I sort of think we should have a party. You invite all your friends, and I'll invite all mine, and we'll see if they get on."
Harry lets out a short bark of laughter.
"I've got a better idea," he says, and Draco traces his jawline with a slender finger. "Let's have two parties. One will be all your friends, and the other will be all of mine."
The birds chirp outside, as Draco laughs this time.
Sunday is followed by Monday again, but it's all right, because there are Tuesdays and Thursdays, and Wednesdays where Harry doesn't get food poisoning, and Fridays where they don't fight, and Saturdays where Harry talks to him, and Draco tries harder to be nice about Gryffindor bravado unless it's Harry's, in which case he taunts him full-force. And on Monday, Draco heals Harry's wounds again.