Grand Designs

by germankitty aka Dagmar Buse

Draco Malfoy is trying to rebuild the family's fortune and reputation after the war. When he learns that some of his former Muggleborn schoolmates are looking for a place to live in close proximity to their parents, he decides to lease some land to the project. If only he didn't have to deal with investor (and project manager) Harry Potter. H/D pre-slash, fest fic, fluff. COMPLETE!

Grand Designs

Disclaimer: All things Harry Potter that you recognize belong to J.K. Rowling and associates; no copyright infringement is intended as I'm only playing in their sandbox and promise to return the toys where I've found them.

A/N: Written for the 2017 Harry/Draco Career Fair, over at LiveJournal, to one of my own prompts (entirely by accident; it's a long story and yes, I felt like a right idiot when I realized it). Anyway, British real-estate hunting and home makeover shows are a (not-so-)guilty pleasure of mine and this particular plot bunny has been hopping through my brain for ages, so the fest gave me a perfect reason to write up the scenario at last. The title just begged to be filch-, er, ahem, borrowed (without permission; no harm, no foul) from the Channel Four show bearing the same name. - This is pre-slash; nothing happens except for some kissing. Unfortunately, the boys refused to let me in on any behind-closed-doors shenanigans; sometimes, they're just mean that way. Hmph. I hope the story pleases regardless - and please visit the feedback box on your way out?

Many thanks as usual to my wonderful Beta Candamira, who did her utmost to improve this story; any remaining gaffes are mine, alllllllllllll mine!

xoxoxoxoxox

"Well, fuck it."

Draco threw down the letter from the publisher of Potions Monthly with a disgusted sigh. His latest plan to find gainful employment – and thereby hopefully restoring the Malfoy fortune, by rewriting Advanced Potion-Making based on the extra hints and tips he'd received from Severus – had failed. Just like every other of the half-dozen or so attempts he'd made at other ventures since the War. He'd tried everything he could think of, from apprenticing himself to a Potions Master (nobody seemed to be hiring whenever he asked), offering to tutor students in Potions, Charms or even History of Magic (everybody claimed they couldn't afford extra lessons), writing for the Daily Prophet (he'd been told that his literary style wasn't popular enough) to teaching a course of his own devising which he'd named Wizarding Customs (dancing, dueling and pureblood etiquette).

At least Headmistress McGonagall had been almost painfully honest about why she'd refused his services. "I'm sorry, Mr Malfoy. While I agree with your reasoning that a class like that would be a quite useful, not to mention sensible complement to Muggle Studies, I sincerely doubt I could get approval from the Board of Governors."

"May I ask why?" he'd asked stiffly.

To her credit, she had met his eyes straight on. "Officially for budgetary reasons, but the truth nobody wants to speak is ... it's your name, I'm afraid. If you were anyone but a Malfoy …"

It was what he'd feared and Draco did his best to maintain an impassive mask, but McGonagall saw right through him. "I won't pretend tae claim it's right, lad," she said, her brogue getting thicker with genuine regret and compassion. "I'm nae Albus Dumbledore, but I know that if there's anyone who deserves a second chance, it's you. And teaching others tae gain a better understanding of our world would be a good way tae redeem yourself. But my hands are tied. Mayhap in a few years … I'd be glad tae have you then."

"But not now."

"Alas, no."

And that had been very much that.

xoxoxox

Resignedly, Draco leaned back in the large leather chair that still felt not right for him to sit in. It had been his father's, like the massive carved-oak desk it stood behind, the shelves filled with all kinds of books, the few trinkets pertaining to the family legacy … hell, the whole room was indelibly stamped with Lucius' personality, making Draco feel like a fraud or impostor for even trying to fill his father's shoes.

He sighed, reaching once more for the ledger that recorded his assets and obligations. The numbers hadn't changed since the last time he'd gone over them; while the Malfoys weren't exactly destitute yet, their fortune had taken a massive hit over the last decade or so. First, the Dark L— No. Even within the privacy of his own mind, Draco would no longer give this honorific to the creature who was responsible for the family's downfall. I'm not going to call him 'Voldemort' anymore, either, he resolved. Only someone called 'Riddle' would think of using a stupid anagram to make up his assumed name. He snorted derisively.

Draco shook himself, trying to recapture his train of thought. Everything would be easier if the work he could do, namely managing his estate, didn't bore him to tears. He loved the Manor and those parts of his inheritance that weren't unsavoury, no mistake about it; if it were just a matter of curating them, he'd do so happily. But now he had to care about taxes, investions, salaries for human employees, Ministry regulations ... the list seemed endless. His father had thrived on it; Draco not only lacked interest, he also had no talent for these things - and it showed. Consequently, the Malfoy vaults at Gringotts were emptying rapidly and with all the bad luck plaguing the grand plans he'd made, he absolutely had to find the money to change things around – or at least maintain the status quo. The question was how.

xoxoxoxoxox

"Mother?"

Narcissa looked up from her book. She didn't like being disturbed when she was reading, but there was something in Draco's voice, a certain tentativeness that was clearly audible to her even in that single, questioning word.

"Yes, Draco?"

Draco was fidgeting. Oh, not overtly, but to someone who knew him as well as she did, the signs were there – had been there for nearly a fortnight now that she thought about it. She bit back a smile. Despite his nearly twenty-six years, he might as well be the little boy who'd accidentally fallen into her prized roses while zooming around the garden on his training broom and didn't want to confess.

"May I ask you a question?"

"You just did," Narcissa murmured, waited for the inevitable blush to tint his cheeks at her teasing, then took pity on her son and nodded. "Of course you may."

"There's a problem I need your help with," he said hesitantly. "It's a financial matter."

She marked her page with a deep blue silk ribbon and sat up on the velvet-upholstered day bed, pleased that he would seek her advice even if it was on a somewhat disturbing topic. "Sadly, I know very little about these affairs, dear, but if there's anything I can do for you, I will."

Draco cleared his throat. "Well … I don't know if you're aware, but a lot of our Galleons were spent on financing Riddle's agenda since the 1970s," he began. "The reparations we had to pay to the Ministry since the War haven't exactly helped our situation, either. However, that's done and could be recouped in time even without resorting to the kind of shady businesses Grandfather started and Father continued."

Narcissa frowned. "I know that they sometimes provided monetary encouragement to certain officials, but may I surmise that things went beyond that?" At Draco's nod, she sighed. "Was it really that bad?"

"Let's say that I've found everything from simply dubious via borderline illegal to outright criminal," he muttered bitterly.

"Draco!" she exclaimed, shocked.

He pushed back his hair and sighed. "Not all of their dealings were that bad and to Father's credit, he didn't start anything new in that vein, but …"

"But he didn't stop them either, did he?" Narcissa's lips formed a moue of distaste. She loved her husband, but that didn't mean she was blind to his faults.

"No. They were extremely profitable, after all."

As ever, Narcissa was quick to spot nuances. "Were?"

Draco gave her a defiant look. "As soon as I took over, I've withdrawn from or liquidated any and all assets that weren't aboveboard. I'll try my hardest to rebuild our fortune, but I'll be doing it honestly, by wit and cunning." A fleeting smile played across his features. "Not through bribery, lies, extortion or worse."

She gazed back at her son with quiet pride. "An ambition worthy of a true Slytherin."

"Thank you." Then he grimaced. "Of course, there's also the matter of supporting Father and his new hobby."

Narcissa sighed. Lucius had been sentenced to five years in Azkaban, an outcome which they'd more or less expected. Some people had even called it lenient; all things considered, they weren't entirely wrong. She was just grateful that the Dementors were gone. However, neither she nor Lucius had anticipated that on his release the senior Malfoy would immediately be exiled for a ten-year period. That had happened three years ago. Draco had sought and received permission to establish his father on the ancestral Malfoy seat in Normandy, France, about an hour away from Bayeux. To all appearances, Lucius was reasonably content with a staff of free elves and a Squib couple looking after his needs while he occupied himself with managing the quite respectable farmland. All under strict supervision by the French magical authorities and the ICW, of course.

That alone wouldn't cause many undue expenses, she knew, but recently Lucius had conceived the notion of going into competition with his Muggle neighbours by producing brandy from his apple orchards.

"Let me guess – Folie de Luc?"

Draco snorted. "Yes. It's not a bad Calvados for a first attempt, but really, isn't the name just a tad … well … over the top? Honestly, 'Lucius' Folly'?"

"Your father always had a tendency to be somewhat ostentatious," she commented with vast understatement. "Just be glad I could talk him out of calling it Maison Malfoy." She didn't say how glad she was that Lucius was selling the brandy. Not drinking it, as she'd feared he might.

"Oh, Merlin!" Draco briefly covered his eyes before recovering and got back to the point. "Whatever he calls it, the brandy may in time cover the running costs of the estate if he keeps improving it and is successful. In the meantime, though, it's a drain on our vaults which we can ill afford. Not if we want to maintain our lifestyle," he added after a moment's pause.

Narcissa gave him a steady look. "You mean my lifestyle."

He acknowledged the truth with a slight dip of his head. "Well ... yes. But Mother – between that snake-faced bastard, Father and myself, you've been through enough for several lifetimes. I would not deprive you of anything if it's in my power to give."

She smiled at him. "That's very nice of you, dear, and I appreciate it. Now, what was your question? Because you haven't actually asked me anything yet," she rebuked gently.

"Oh. Erm." Draco took a deep breath, clenched one hand around the armrest of his chair and blurted, "HowdoyoufeelabouttheDowerHouse?"

She raised a finely-drawn eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?"

Draco gulped, then repeated what he'd said, enunciating in the quiet, precise manner Lucius had always favoured. Narcissa quickly smothered a pang of longing. Morgana, but she missed her husband, faults and all! At least from this winter onward, she'd be permitted to visit him in France once a year.

"Forgive me," Draco said. "I was wondering how you feel about the Dower House."

So she had heard right. With measured movements, Narcissa laid her book aside and gave her full attention to her son.

"Is that a very unsubtle hint that you wish me to vacate the Manor?" she asked, fighting to keep her voice even against a sudden sense of dread. She wasn't certain if she could cope with having to leave her home of over thirty years on top of everything else.

"What? No!" Draco exclaimed, jumping up and joining her on the antique recamier. He reached for her hand and gave it a firm squeeze. "Mother, I'd never – no. Not in a million years," he added earnestly.

"Don't use hyperbole, it's unbecoming," she said automatically, then returned the pressure of his fingers. "Well, if you have no plans to evict me from my home, then why are you asking me …" Narcissa let her voice trail off, regarding him speculatively. "Not that I would mind, exactly, if you had plans to, ah … change your circumstances," she went on. "If you were to get married …"

Draco sighed. "No, Mother. I still have no intention of taking a wife. You know my inclinations lie in a different direction."

"Intentions and inclinations can change," she replied, reluctant to bury her hopes for him. "Must I remind you that you'll need an heir?"

"No – and let me remind you that I gave you a promise that I'd see to it. Eventually – in my own time, and my own way. Which will not include a wife. Ever." The finality in Draco's voice was absolute, and Narcissa gave up the argument with a slight nod.

"Understood. But why, then, are you asking about my sentiments about the Dower House?"

A quick wave of his wand drew his chair towards the recamier she was sitting on and Draco settled back into it, resting his elbows on his knees as he started to explain. A house elf, obeying a silent signal Narcissa had given on Draco's entrance, popped in, set out a tea tray on a table next to them and disappeared again as quietly as it had come.

"You know that the house has stood empty for quite some time, right?"

"Of course – ever since your father's great-aunt Apollonia died in 1933. I remember that your grandmother was quite put out because she'd let the house go to the dogs. Quite literally, really," Narcissa sniffed. "Apollonia liked to hunt and kept two full packs of Crups around her all the time. What those beasts did to the furniture is really unconscionable."

Draco grinned briefly. He could still vividly recall the lecture he'd got as a boy when his Kneazle kitten had shed all over the graceful Chippendale furniture in the salon.

"Didn't you visit Mrs Parkinson a couple of weeks ago?"

She prepared two cups of tea and handed one to Draco. "You know I did." Violet Parkinson was one of the few persons in their former circle who wouldn't treat her like a pariah.

"Well, spending the evening by myself was unappealing, so I decided to go out." He paused briefly. "I went to the Leaky Cauldron."

Really, Draco should know better than to jump from one topic to another without apparent rhyme or reason. However, it took Narcissa only a second to make the connection. "You attended the Hogwarts Alumni meeting?"

"That's a rather grand name for what's essentially just weekly after-work drinks, but … yes. You know I'm not overly keen on the event, as it's mostly Potter's merry band of Gryffindor friends plus a few random Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, but they're adamant about not excluding anyone regardless of former House affiliation, so …" Draco shrugged eloquently. "Unsurprisingly, I was the only Slytherin present. Still, it was not entirely unpleasant ... anyway, as it happened a problem came up that piqued my interest." He drew a deep breath and took a sip from his tea. "It could be just the way to restore our fortune. Eventually."

She frowned. "Is this going to be another one of your outlandish designs? Draco, I wish you'd stop, you'll only set yourself up for more rejection and disappointment."

He gave her a reassuring smile. "I doubt that, seeing that this time Potter will be involved. Actually, it was something he said which gave me the idea in the first place. It won't cost us a thing, may actually earn us some income and if it's successful may do a lot to restore our reputation. Provided you're agreeable, of course."

It had been a long time since Narcissa had seen Draco so intense and focused. In fact, she would almost call him genuinely optimistic rather than desperate and half-defeated as he'd been when starting his previous schemes. Determined to support Draco no matter what – and not a little bit intrigued – she leaned forward and took his hand.

"Then do tell. Please."

Breathing a silent sigh of relief, Draco proceeded to do just that.

"It all started when a former member of Longbottom's resistance group dropped in. You wouldn't know him, he was a year or two behind us at Hogwarts, a Muggleborn Gryffindor named Creevey ..."

xoxoxox

Two weeks earlier

"Here you go," Finnegan said as he levitated the next round of drinks from the bar to the table, distributing them with a flick of his wand. He smirked when a glass of dark stout ale settled in front of Draco and floated the next, containing a light blond ale, towards Potter. "Dark Side for Malfoy and Prophecy for Harry."

Granger rolled her eyes, reaching for her own glass of Chardonnay as it landed on the table before her. "Really, can you two be any more clichéd?"

"I happen to like stout," Draco said. "And it's hardly my fault that the one I like best has such a ridiculous name."

"What he said," Potter agreed amiably, taking a deep draught of his drink. "Blame Hannah, if you must."

"Leave my wife out of this," Longbottom said placidly, raising his own pint of Newcastle Brown Ale. "She didn't name the beer, she just sells it. And don't tell me you don't prefer them over the home brew old Tom used to have on tap." He emptied half the glass in one long drought.

"It's lots better than before," Weasley agreed, helping himself to a handful of chips from the basket in the middle of the table. "I mean, no disrespect to Tom, but Hannah's done a great job with the place in general, not only with the drinks she's selling"

There were nods all around the table. Hannah Abbott had not only made the Leaky Cauldron into a much lighter, friendlier venue, she'd also revamped the menu and branched out into selling domestic microbrews, attracting a more varied, younger crowd of customers which made the pub the perfect meeting place for the 'War Generation'.

"It's a good blend of both the Muggle and wizarding worlds," Dean Thomas mused. "I mean, we're still hidden away and living our life the way we want to, but can take advantage of some things wizards haven't thought of."

"Yet," Draco murmured. He was still rather baffled at how relatively painless it was to sit and share drinks with people he'd disliked and despised for years for being Mudbloods and Blood Traitors. However, he wasn't about to count the pinions on a gift Abraxan's wings. Being here was certainly preferable to brooding alone back home in Wiltshire. Besides, the stout really was good. Old habits died hard, though, and before he could stop himself, he said, "I'm sure given time and the right incentive, wizards could match anything the Muggles invented." He couldn't quite keep the habitual disdain from his voice.

"Maybe not everything," Potter objected, giving Draco a pointed look for his remark that he acknowledged with a slight shrug and nod. "Some things just don't mesh well – like magic and electronics. You have no idea how often I've wished I could use a computer or a phone for business with wizards. Some Muggle things are just easier and faster than our way."

"Not necessarily better, though."

"I never said that." Both glared at each other, bristling like they were still sixteen.

"Don't you two start," Susan Bones sighed. "Let's not fight the war all over again just because some of us value convenience and ease over tradition."

"Apologies," Draco muttered reluctantly, taking another drink. "You were extolling the virtues of mixing wizarding ways with Muggle?"

Finnegan shrugged. "Would it really kill us to try and blend in some more? In both directions?"

"It'd certainly make life easier for me," Dennis Creevey sighed. "Now that Aislinn has had the baby, we're constantly going back and forth, trying to please both our families. It's easier with hers, as they are reasonably familiar with Muggle things over in County Armagh, but my parents? Both all Muggle, whom we can't invite into our home without precautions for fear they see something they shouldn't or wouldn't understand, or worse, get injured." His expression turned even more despondent. "Besides … being around magic just makes them very uncomfortable."

"Why? I should think after having two kids turn out magical they'd be used to it," Finnegan said, thinking of his own father. "Well, at least to some degree," he amended, smiling ruefully.

It wasn't just Creevey who looked at him as if he had lost at least half of whatever wits he'd been born with. "They might have once, but ever since we lost Colin …"

Finnegan had the grace to blush. "Oh. Sorry, I forgot for a moment."

Granger rolled her eyes, looking as if she'd like nothing better than berating her former Housemate for his gaffe. She'd probably do it at some other time, too, if Draco knew her at all. He almost felt sorry for Finnegan. "Honestly," she huffed, "can't any of you think before you speak? Anyway, it's not just Dennis who has that problem. All of us first-generation magicals do. We can't live in a totally Muggle environment—"

"Especially not once children start having accidental magic," Creevey said. "It was bad enough with Colin and me, but at least we used to live out in the sticks up in Cheshire because my Da wanted to be close to the dairy, not in the centre of town. Aislinn and I both need Floo access for work at the very least, though. Considering that any kind of housing which still has open fires is way beyond our means …"

"I don't understand." Longbottom frowned. "Why would having a house with a real fireplace be more expensive?"

"Muggles used to use coal instead of wood for fires," Granger replied. "It's a long and complicated story, but after World War II – the Grindelwald War," she added for the purebloods' benefit, "they put in all sorts of regulations that restricted the use of open fireplaces in homes. Central heating had been reinvented by then and they'd found using gas or oil was much cheaper, more efficient and cleaner. Consequently, fires turned ornamental rather than practical, often using gas for fuel."

"But you can't use Floo powder with those!"

"Exactly."

"Oh."

Granger sniffed. "Getting back to the point at hand, wizards face any number of problems in the Muggle world if they don't want to run the risk of constantly violating the Statute of Secrecy. Starting with their sheer ignorance, of course! Why, just the other day—"

Potter nudged her. "Don't rant. Not tonight, okay?"

She glared at the interruption but subsided after a minute or so. "Oh, very well," she huffed. "As I was going to say, it's equally problematic for Muggles, only differently, to live in a purely wizarding environment without access to modern technology. To them, it would be like going back to the Middle Ages."

Draco wanted to protest, but a moment's reflection on the few Muggle inventions he was familiar with told him that she had a point. It galled to admit it, but if, say, Minister Gambol hadn't authorised the adaptation of a Muggle steam engine into the Hogwarts Express - why, they might still have to use horse-drawn carriages, or worse, just to reach the school!

Creevey drained his glass. "I just wish there was a way where we all could live close to each other," he sighed despondently. "Some place where we could really combine both worlds. I mean, I'm proud of being a wizard, but I really don't want to cut my parents out of my life."

The discussion went on for quite a while, growing heated at times. Through all of it, Potter sat, quietly nursing his drink and the next while he appeared to listen, but never contributed. Only when the arguments died down did he speak up.

"What if we had a gated community?"

They all gave him puzzled looks.

"A what?" Longbottom asked eventually.

Potter shrugged. "You know I inherited quite a few chunks of real estate from my dad and Sirius, right? Some of them are in the United States; Mum made them invest there," he explained. "That's where I've seen them. They're smallish, privately-owned residential areas with restricted or even monitored access, and it's completely up to the owners who gets to live there."

"Aren't most of them retirement communities?" Thomas asked, obviously at least somewhat familiar with the concept.

"Most of them, yeah, but some were built for housing employees close to one's business or whatever. There's actually one in Southwark, the Kingswood Community Centre. That one got started with an old converted mansion, and now it's grown into almost a miniature village."

Potter continued to explain, but the mention of a mansion as the hub of such a housing project sparked Draco's interest more than the generalities. He mentally started to sift through possibilities as the group discussed the potential of establishing such a community for Muggleborns and their non-magical relatives. Part of him rebelled at the very notion of having to deal with not just Mudbl— Draco stopped himself mid-thought. If the plan beginning to form in his mind should ever have a chance at success, he'd have to watch his vocabulary. I'd better not even think certain words, just so I don't slip up. What did Granger call Muggleborns again? 'First-generation magicals'. Right. He would also require his mother's consent and cooperation, but if it were at all doable, it just might be the solution to a number of his problems. He tuned back in to the conversation just as it wound down.

"I don't think it'd raise flags with the Muggle administration or government, even though it's a bit unusual. Besides, I'm sure Kingsley could put a word in with the Prime Minister," Potter concluded. "I really think it's a solution."

"That's all fair and well," Creevey remarked, "but have you looked at real estate prices lately, especially for new builds? Aislinn and I might be able to swing a mortgage or even high rent just because the exchange rate of Galleons to pounds is good, but my parents? They can't even afford to buy a council house in Congleton! Besides, where would we find an area that could be developed like that?"

This was Draco's cue. He ruthlessly squashed everything he'd ever been taught to believe with a stern reminder to himself that pragmatism, even as extreme as this, was an essential Slytherin virtue. Needs must. Deliberately not looking at anyone, he aligned his glass precisely within the ring of moisture it had left on the table earlier and spoke quietly into the momentary silence that had fallen on the table.

"Actually, I might be able to help with that."

xoxoxox

"You want to offer them the use of the Dower House and Farm," Narcissa surmised once Draco had finished recounting the conversation.

"Yes. It meets most of the criteria mentioned, it's not as if we're using it anyway, and as I said earlier, it might just solve a lot of our problems," he said.

"Maybe," his mother conceded. "If they agree, if the house and land in fact suit, if you can negotiate the right amount of compensation …"

"I know it won't be easy," Draco replied, refilling both their cups. "But I have a good feeling about this, Mother. Most of all because this time I wouldn't be doing it alone – Potter is planning to invest; his name alone will generate good will. To name just two more, Finch-Fletchley is a Muggle-born former Hufflepuff who apparently has family connections to real estate developers, and Granger has already volunteered to do the necessary research. Some of the others are also willing to help in whichever way they can and the need for such a venture seems real enough that we should easily be able to find more investors. There'd be a legitimate company, too. I know I'm barely half the businessman Father was, but I believe it'll be worth the risk."

Narcissa thought it over as she stirred honey and cream into her tea. "You're correct in saying that the Dower House isn't of much use to us," she said slowly. "And it's undeniable there'd be benefits to us."

He cocked an eyebrow at her still-dubious expression. "I hear a 'but' in there."

"Very astute," Narcissa replied. "I just never thought …"

"Yes?"

She sighed. "Really, Draco – Muggles? On Malfoy land?"

Draco shrugged fatalistically. "To be perfectly honest, I like the notion as little as you do. I'm sure Grandfather would be turning in his crypt if he knew, but times have changed – and if we don't change with them, I'm afraid there won't be any land to the Malfoy name in a few years."

Her eyes widened in shock. "The situation is already that bad?"

"Unfortunately."

This time, Narcissa's sigh was much deeper. She'd never thought she would have to accept living with Muggles and their offspring in her neighbourhood. But looking back on the last decade-and-a-half of her life, she came to the conclusion that she'd done far harder things. Having to host That Creature in her home was one; watching Lucius lose all pride and dignity before her very eyes was another. Fearing for Draco's life, begging Severus to save him and ultimately lying to the Monster's face had been even worse, and yet she'd come through. She could survive this, too. Making up her mind to accept the inevitable with as much grace as she could muster, she looked into the grey eyes so like Lucius'. "Very well. For what it's worth, you have my permission."

Yes! Draco did his best to hide his elation, just inclined his head. "Thank you, Mother," he murmured.

"Just don't tell your father. At least not until you have the success you hope."

Despite himself, Draco had to laugh. "Trust me, I won't." Even though seeing his expression would be more than worth it!

xoxoxoxoxox

"Well, now you've seen everything. Will it suit?"

Draco stood next to Potter on the small rise near the edge of Malfoy property, their backs to the old Dower House where widowed or unmarried women of the family used to live. Most of its thirty-odd rooms had been standing empty for decades, only housing the Squib farm managers for those occasions when the Malfoys needed to trade produce off their lands. If everything came together as planned, they would be offered accommodations in the project as well. After a brief tour, Finch-Fletchley declared that it would definitely be possible to convert the Georgian mansion into several large apartments. Ahead, gently sloping towards the narrow, shaded lane that went past the nearest village before joining the B road towards Warminster, lay the old farm – a narrow cluster of stone-built barns and stables, long disused but still in reasonably good condition. Maybe a mile or so further in-field, conveniently out of direct sight, also stood the remains of an old cattle barn, deemed too dilapidated and small to serve the project.

It had taken some effort to convince the others that his offer had been sincere and wasn't serving any kind of sinister purpose. Suspicions still ran deep, old grievances festered, and it cost Draco a lot of pride to explain why he was even interested in entering into a business relationship with his former adversaries. He'd often felt resentment, even anger, at the situation as a whole, but had managed to keep his eyes on the prize and done what he had to.

Most irritating of all had been Creevey's almost pathetic thankfulness once things began to fall into place. The man was so eager to have a chance to live near his parents that he would have made a deal with a Dementor if necessary. Accepting Draco's word paled to virtually nothing against the alternatives as he saw them. And of course, Saint Potty and his band of merry Gryffindors would do anything to please this … this Crup puppy!

None of his tumultuous thoughts showed on Draco's face as he waited for the others to voice their opinions on the property he was offering. Potter seemed genuinely enthusiastic about the whole venture. Because most of his fortune was based in real estate, the man had had to learn to manage his affairs and discovered in the process that he actually liked the work, claiming he much preferred it over a lifetime of hunting Dark wizards and other miscreants as an Auror. Draco could only shake his head in bewilderment. He would love to do almost anything other than administering his heritage. If he'd only made better choices in the past! Well, that's water under the bridge. And to each their own, I suppose.

"Potter?" he asked at last when the silence amongst the seven of them became uncomfortable. "What do you think?"

Potter took his time before giving an answer, almost making Draco fidget with impatience. He'd been scribbling notes into a Muggle notebook during the whole inspection, notes which Draco couldn't read but was itching to know and understand. Now he was conferring with Finch-Fletchley in tones so low that Draco caught maybe one word in ten. Finally, the two men nodded, then Potter tucked his writing materials into a pocket and turned to grin at Draco.

"I think it's great ‒ both the house and farm. If everything comes together the way we want it to, I see no reason why our plan shouldn't work."

"I'm sure it'll work splendidly," Justin Finch-Fletchley joined in, ambling over from where he'd stood with Granger, Weasley and the Creeveys. "Plenty of potential now to get started, and for some expansion later. How much acreage did you say you could spare?"

"Around twenty acres," Draco replied. "This used to be an independent farm; old enough to be mentioned in the Domesday Book, even. The boundaries are clearly defined and can easily be separated by hedgerows and a few wards. Orlando Malfoy bought it for his widowed mother shortly before the Statue of Secrecy came into effect, in 1685, I think. He got it cheap, too; the former Muggle owner was executed because he led a local rebellion against the King," he said with some pride in his ancestor's business acumen.

Granger's eyes widened in mild horror. "Oh heavens, that must have been the Monmouth Rebellion at the end of the Restoration! You don't mean to tell me that your ancestor actually profiteered from the Bloody Assizes, do you?!"

Finch-Fletchley unexpectedly winked at Draco. "He was hardly the only one," he murmured. "Pretty much standard practice at the time. I've heard stories about Jeremiah Finch and how he acquired Fletchley Grove during the Commonwealth. We suspect he might have been a Roundhead," he added conspiratorially.

Granger made a choking noise, clearly about to tear into both of them, but was stopped by her husband. "It was over three hundred years ago, luv; let it go." Weasley draped a long arm around her shoulder. "We'll just assume that Malfoy's ancestor was a horrible man because he was a Malfoy and forgive the Finch family doing the same thing because Justin's such a nice bloke. Right?" He grinned lopsidedly at Draco and the curly-haired Hufflepuff, who were both smart enough not to enter into a fight with Granger in her Avenging Angel mode and merely nodded. "Now, are we all agreed that twenty acres are fit to build this gated community thing? Because to me it certainly sounds big enough to even add a garden to each house," Weasley said, probably thinking of The Burrow. "Cuts back on time and money, what with no need to go buy groceries elsewhere."

Finch-Fletchley frowned and shook his head. "I don't think so. Yes, it'd be nice, but we don't want to overstretch the place. Adding a large garden to each unit would definitely hike up property prices, too. A bit of lawn and some flowerbeds we can do, but anything bigger, no. We might scare away potential tenants."

"Hmm, you have a point there." Granger somewhat grudgingly allowed herself to be diverted. "But so does Ron. What if we set up allotments instead?" This suggestion, garnering instant approval from the Creeveys, necessitated another round of explanations on how Muggles managed to have gardens to grow produce even if they didn't own land.

Draco would rather die than admit he found all this new – to him – information fairly fascinating, especially the ways and means of incorporating at least a limited amount of technology into the homes. Words like 'green build', 'solar panels', 'geothermal heating' and 'satellite dishes' meant little to him, but both Potter and Granger had nodded when Finch-Fletchley brought them up to keep the new community 'off the grid' – whatever that meant. Their confidence was enough for him. All he cared about was that they assured him it'd be a means to keep Muggle involvement with his lands as minimal as possible.

"It'll be a shame to tear everything down, though," he mused after answering several questions about the Dower Farm and the well that served it as well as the mansion. "I think the current buildings are from the late 18th century, replacing older ones, but I suppose it can't be helped."

"What? Oh no," Finch-Fletchley protested. "We'll be tearing down nothing! I admit they don't look like much now, but the substance is still sound; I'll have to talk to the architects, but I'm reasonably certain they can be converted into cottages."

"They can?" Both Weasley and Draco exclaimed in unison, causing them to glare half-heartedly at each other while the rest of the small party started to snicker.

"But … wouldn't that mean living literally next door to someone else?" Draco wonderingly shook his head. How could anyone even wish not to have their own space?

"Haven't you inherited Snape's house in Spinner's End?" Potter unexpectedly wanted to know.

"Well, yes, but …" Draco hadn't been able to bring himself to even look at or do something with the property. He'd just instructed his elves to carefully pack up everything and lock up behind them. The boxes were still stacked in the bedroom Severus had stayed in when he'd visited the Manor. According to his mother, Spinner's End was an ugly, dismal place and while he was certain her perception had been coloured by the dire straits she'd been in on the one time she'd entered Severus' house, he couldn't bear to think of his former mentor having grown up, much less used to live, in such surroundings.

"You haven't ever been there, have you." Potter made it a statement, not a question.

"Well, no," Draco admitted reluctantly. "It's ... not something I'm comfortable doing yet."

"Um, right." Potter managed to look contrite, which made Draco feel marginally better. "Anyway, I went there once when I visited my mum's birthplace after the war," Potter continued, "and it was your typical two-up, two-down. You should take a look sometime; it'd show you how much better these cottages will be compared to most city terraces. Granted, they'll be on the small side, but not everyone will want or need that much space. Especially not if the Muggle parents are of retirement age."

"I'll take your word for it," Draco murmured, strangely reassured. He might be forced by the changing times and circumstances to sacrifice part of his legacy to necessity and repurpose the buildings, but he was grateful that despite the alterations they wouldn't be destroyed. And he honestly couldn't care less about having them 'listed', whatever that meant.

xoxoxoxoxox

It took longer than they had anticipated to get the Dower House Project up and running. But once Crossover Development, Inc. had been established as a bona fide enterprise, things started happening with astonishing speed, all things considered. They would all hold shares; Draco was to lease the grounds and existing buildings for a commensurate cut of rental income and Potter would be the main investor and on-site project manager. Finch-Fletchley immediately started scouting and hiring architects and tradesmen on the Muggle side; Granger was making sure they were in compliance with all regulations and standards, on both the Muggle and wizarding fronts. How they'd managed to convince Percy Weasley, of all people, to be their Ministry liaison and in charge of recruiting applicants, Draco didn't know; the man was still a first-class prat, if a highly organised, meticulous and efficient one. Who also had a Muggle-born wife, Draco recalled.

That's reason enough, I suppose. Whatever works.

Draco also didn't quite know how he'd let himself be roped into helping Dennis Creevey with putting together an advertising brochure-cum-information package and vetting potential tenants.

"You're the one most familiar with the area," Granger had said when Draco tried to explain he knew next to nothing about either process. "After all, you've lived here all your life, right? And these people will practically be living on your doorstep. That makes you the logical choice."

"I know that Warminster is the nearest town and have sometimes flown over the countryside, but that's all," he'd protested. "I never really visited Muggle places, much less interacted with them, either! What do I know about their wants and needs?"

"Despite past evidence to the contrary, you're not stupid," she'd replied. "You can go and find out."

He'd griped and grumbled and fought every step of the way, all to no avail. So over the past few months, Draco willy-nilly had become an expert on local amenities, especially in Warminster, the nearest town. He now knew where shopping could be done, how many schools, churches and other facilities could be found in town, that there was a cricket club and a hospital run by the NHS. And he felt quite smug when he learned that the Hogwarts Express had been established years earlier than Great Western Railway had built a train station for the Muggles.

xoxoxox

Over the past few months, Draco had been busy collecting notes for the brochure; today he was going to have a first look at photographs Dennis Creevey had taken to go with them. The man wasn't as gifted with a camera as his brother had been, but was doing a creditable job with both wizarding and Muggle pictures. Draco was actually mildly excited to have a look as he prepared to Apparate to the construction site.

It was a wet, cold and windy autumn day in Wiltshire, miserable enough to make him long for his broom, if only to shorten the distance. Not for the first time did he wish the small beech grove hiding the Apparition point was closer to his goal, but by necessity, a lot of the initial building work regarding power lines and so on had to be done by Muggles. Therefore most workers didn't know about magic; the sharp crack caused by Apparating had been mistaken for a minor explosion once already and had brought a few men running to investigate.

The Ministry's Obliviators had not been pleased.

So he grudgingly accepted the situation and walked. Besides, it wasn't as if he didn't have the time.

At least that's something I still have plenty of, he thought grudgingly as he trudged along the muddy path, huddled into the hood of his cloak. Although he had to admit he'd been busier than he'd ever thought he'd be now that their venture had taken off. Still, rain is for the birds.

"Morning, Mr Malfoy!"

Draco waved in reply to the cheerful greetings from the construction crew as he reached the site proper. Passing the as-yet untouched Dower House, he navigated his way around holes, ditches and mounds of earth and gravel. The conversion of the farm buildings had been started first and was progressing nicely, as was mapping out a street plan of sorts. A lot of earthworks was needed to lay water pipes and yards of cables to provide heating and whatnot to operate Muggle technology. It always gave him a pang to see the erstwhile pristine farmland so torn up, but he consoled himself with the fact that it was only temporary; no ugly power lines would mar the landscape once they were finished – and grass could be regrown, after all.

Draco had been quite astonished at how inventive and ingenious Muggles could be when they had to compensate for their lack of magic. The machines used to dig trenches for the supply lines were loud and cumbersome, but extremely efficient … and needed only one operator compared to a team of wizards doing the job magically. And who knew that simply doubling the window panes or putting a layer of cork under the floor, say, worked just as well as Warming Charms even if it was more laborious and costly?

Of course, some fancy spellwork would be applied as well to make the dwellings suitable for either wizards or Muggles. Some of the charms and wards to shield the strange appliances easing household chores were being specially adapted or even invented and would be set into walls, floors and ceilings over the holiday break. It would then be possible to switch these wards on and off as needed, depending on whether an occupant was magical or not.

xoxoxox

The site really is a mess, Draco thought as he skirted yet another plastic-sheeted stack of building materials. He skidded on a patch of mud but managed to catch himself before he fell. Thank Merlin I'm nearly there!

Draco sloshed his way over to the former tithe barn – a staggered row of three stone buildings being cleverly converted into four cottages. One was already nearly finished, to serve as a show home for prospective tenants; he was headed there now to meet with Creevey. Dividing walls and a second storey had been built, a front door cut; now the ground floor was one big, open space containing a compact kitchen, living area and dining space, defined and 'zoned' merely by the clever placement of furniture. A staircase led to the upper floor with two spacious bedrooms, a fully-fitted bathroom and separate loo plus a linen cupboard.

At first, it had seemed cramped and poky to him, but with plain yet serviceable furnishings in place now, it didn't look too bad. The style of light woods, white paint and neutral accents was a far cry from the elegant period furniture he had grown up with, but he had to admit that the overall result was pleasant enough. Each property would serve equally well for either a young family or an older couple.

In any case, the Creeveys seemed to like it if their big smiles were any indication as Draco entered the show house.

"Creevey; Madam Creevey," he greeted them politely.

"Oh, please, it's just Aislinn," the petite woman told him, a distinctly Irish lilt to her voice. "It's bad enough I'm being called 'madam' at work – it always makes me feel positively ancient!" Her eyes sparkled. "And forget about 'Mrs Creevey', too. That's my mother-in-law."

He smiled slightly at her exuberance. "Aislinn, then," he conceded. It wasn't the traditional way he'd been taught, but there was little harm in indulging the informality. "How do you like the cottage?"

"Oh, it's perfect," she gushed. "We've already applied to rent one of these. It's just right for us, and the second bedroom is even big enough for a second child, in case we decide to have another while Colly's still small."

Just then, Draco felt a pull on his trouser leg. Surprised, he looked down and stared at a tiny girl of maybe three years who had her hand fisted in the dark wool. She looked back up at him with big blue eyes.

"I'ma gonna live here," she informed him seriously. "With Mummy and Poppa. Poppa says I'ma have my own room!"

Draco had little experience with toddlers – he hadn't met his cousin Teddy until the boy had started lessons – but her guileless joy was disarming. "Is that so?" he said gravely.

"Yes." She nodded, copper curls bouncing around her sweet face. Then she released his trouser leg and held out a tiny paw. "I'ma Colly. Who're you?"

Creevey tsk-ed and swept his daughter up, settling her on his hip. "Colleen Marie, you're impossible," he chided fondly, then turned towards Draco. "Sorry about that. She's a bit young to always mind her manners." He gently drew back her still-outstretched hand. "As you may have guessed, this is our daughter Colleen," he said, tapping her button nose. "Colly, say a proper hello to Mr Malfoy!"

"Hello, Mr Maffy," the girl piped obediently. "My name is from Uncle Colin. He's dead. Is your name from someone, too?"

Draco heard Creevey wince at the child's artless chatter and gave the man a sympathetic glance before turning back to her. "Actually, yes," he replied. "I was named Draco, after the constellation. It means 'dragon'."

She tilted her head in puzzlement. "What's a cons-lashun?"

"A group of stars in the sky," he explained, chuckling. "You can see them at night when it's dark."

The girl mulled that over. "Mummy says I hafta sleep then," she said finally, sending a clearly reproachful look towards her mother.

"Because that's what nice little girls do," Aislinn said with practised patience. "You can see the stars when you're bigger."

"I'ma big now," Colleen pouted. "I'ma three!" She showed both hands, holding up her thumb on one, thumb and pointer finger on the other.

"Wow, that's old," Draco said, smothering a grin.

"Yes. Mummy, c'n I see the De-raco star?"

Both Aislinn and Creevey groaned. "Colly …"

"I'll show you," Draco said impulsively, then added what even he knew was a necessary caveat. He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "But we'll have to wait until your mummy says I can. Besides, it's better to see in summer."

"And summer is over now," the proud father admonished.

The little girl frowned, but her expression quickly cleared again. "Now comes Yule," she cried, clapping her pudgy little hands. "And kissmess!" There was the frown again. "Can Santa find the new house, Mr Maffy?"

"Not Maffy, Colleen – it's Malfoy. Draco Malfoy," Creevey corrected his daughter, painstakingly pronouncing each syllable.

Colleen smiled widely, showing all of her pearly baby teeth. "Mr Dragon," she giggled. "Mr Maffy-dragon!"

Aislinn scooped the girl from her father's into her own arms. "That's quite enough out of you, little miss," she chided. "Come, we'll have another look at your room."

"Okay," Colleen agreed, already diverted. She waved cheerfully at Draco as Aislinn carried her upstairs. "Bye, Mr Maffy-dragon!"

Creevey gave Draco a sheepish smile once his wife and daughter were out of earshot. "Sorry about Colly," he murmured, noting Draco's rather bemused expression. "She's quite a handful sometimes."

"Don't worry about it," Draco replied. "I've heard worse from my cousin."

Creevey laughed. "Teddy Lupin? I've only met the kid once, but I can imagine. If only half the stories Harry told from when he was Colly's age are true, I can only hope Hogwarts will still be standing once she gets her letter!"

"Quite. If it's any consolation, Teddy will have sat his N.E.W.T.s by then."

"Thank Merlin for small favours," Creevey said.

Getting down to business, the two men proceeded to look through the portfolio of pictures Dennis had brought, choosing those that would match the articles Draco had already finished. Taking advantage of a short break in the weather, they then went outside to inspect the area at the back of the barn that would serve as a communal kitchen garden for the cottages. The allotment area Granger had proposed was very low on the agenda, but they'd all agreed that having the most common herbs and plants within easy reach would be useful – whether for cooking or potion-making. Suddenly a gleeful squeal sounded through the open upstairs window, followed by an exasperated "Colleen, no!"

Draco winced at the high pitch. "Your daughter has … good lungs."

"I know," Creevey sighed. "Do I ever." He shrugged. "Most kids that age have only three settings - loud, too loud and deafening. Hopefully, she'll grow out of it before she starts school."

"There's time yet."

"Right." Creevey grinned unexpectedly. "Anyway, come to think of it, I won't have to worry after all about Teddy or Colly wrecking Hogwarts."

"How so?"

"Hey, the place survived both Voldemort, Snape and that gang of Harry's father and seven years of you versus Harry. What could possibly be worse?" Before Draco could react, he gave him a jaunty wave and sauntered off. "Ta-ta, Malfoy!"

Draco stared at the retreating back, torn between amusement and mild outrage as a lot of memories rushed in. And speaking of Potter … A quick glance at his pocket watch showed him it was just past noon; with any luck, he might yet get to the second reason he'd ventured out into the rain and mud.

xoxoxox

His business with Creevey finished, Draco left the farm behind and took a slightly different path back to the mansion. It was just as unpleasant, though, little more than a dirt track leading across a small grassy knoll. He sighed in relief once he'd passed the top; there on the gravelled area about halfway towards the Dower House stood Potter's vehicle. It was raining again, making Draco once more consider Apparating the distance, but … Damn. There's a delivery truck incoming. Shank's mare it is. He pulled up his hood and quickened his steps as he made for the Dower House. He'd be drenched, but it was nothing a Drying Charm couldn't fix – and if he was lucky, he just might be able to cadge a nice, hot mug of tea.

When he entered the site office that had been set up on the mansion's ground floor, Potter was talking to Ed Sanderson, the Muggle transport captain. He only looked up briefly from the lists they were studying. "Hey, Malfoy. Make yourself comfortable, I'll be with you in a moment."

"Right, no worries." Grumbling to himself, Draco took off his sodden cloak and draped it on a hook right next to the door, then went to the window. Sanderson wasn't in the know about magic so he couldn't use his wand to dry and warm himself, but the metal contraption standing next to the wall gave out welcome heat and would do for now. As the sheeting rain obscured what little view there was, Draco leaned his back against the fogged-up pane and unobtrusively watched Potter instead.

What he saw made him feel as if a Golden Snidget had been caught in his stomach and was being chased by the whole British Quidditch league. Potter had certainly grown into his looks. He'd never be conventionally handsome, but he'd learned to do the most with what he had. The black hair was still as messy as ever, but at least the man had replaced his horrid round, black glasses with a more stylish pair in thin silver wire. The blue, grey and white pattern of his Fair Isle sweater made his shoulders look surprisingly broad and Draco was reasonably certain that his legs would be encased in the denim fabric which seemed to be ubiquitous to construction workers everywhere. Both garments fit much better than the too-large and baggy clothes Draco remembered from their school days … and he kept telling himself (and Pansy, and Blaise, and Theo, and everybody who knew he was gay, really) that he was most definitely not drooling over the man's trim body.

Or his eyes. That green IS truly spectacular.

He was brought back from his musings when Sanderson stood, ready to leave.

"Right, Harry. We'll have everything on-site by eight o'clock on Monday."

"Fantastic, Ed. Have a good weekend." They shook hands, Sanderson shrugged into a waterproof jacket and picked up a bright yellow hard hat.

"Ditto. You, too, Mr Malfoy."

"Thank you, Sanderson," Draco murmured. "Give my regards to your family." It had taken him some time, but by now exchanging polite pleasantries even with Muggles had become a habit.

There was a slight gust of wind as the door opened briefly and closed again, then Draco found himself alone with Potter who looked him up and down with a strange little smile playing around his lips. As so often lately since they'd become not-quite-friends-yet, his throat tightened and his mouth dried up.

He is not checking me out. He can't possibly be!

And yet Draco couldn't help the impulse to straighten his spine and shift one leg just a tad forward, in order to show off his equally trim, if slightly taller and more slender physique. He knew he looked good, effortlessly portraying a young British Country Gentleman in bespoke jodhpurs and tweed. Only someone who knew what to look for would notice that the high boots were made of Dragonhide, that the breeches were for Quidditch rather than horse-riding, and that the leather patches reaching from cuff to elbow on his jacket sleeve cleverly concealed a wand holster. Quite the contrast to Potter's far more casual outfit, but then Draco's work on the project happened in his office at the Manor, not scrambling around on a building site.

A traitorous blush began to rise from the base of Draco's throat, threatening to creep upwards and stain his cheeks pink. Taking a few surreptitious centring breaths, Draco tried to hide his reaction by pushing back his hair, only to discover the bright strands stuck wetly to his forehead

"Well, look what the Kneazle dragged in," Potter said with a faint grin. "You look almost as if someone had dunked you in the duck pond."

To cover his confusion, Draco fell back on his primary weapon, snark.

"If I recall correctly, you asked me for a meeting today. And of course, you just had to pick a place where one can't safely Apparate to on such a dismal day!"

Potter shrugged and gestured him to the now-vacated chair. "It was fine two days ago when I asked you to come. Contrary to what the Daily Prophet may claim, I cannot yet control the weather."

Draco sat and winced when the damp fabric of his breeches chafed against his thighs. He immediately drew his wand and cast a few charms on himself, sighing in relief when his shivers subsided soon after.

"Ugh, I hate rain!"

"Better move to the Caribbean, then; monsoon season lasts only a few weeks at a stretch, or so I'm told."

"At least it'd be warm rain," Draco muttered grumpily. "Unlike the oh-so-lovely year-round cold precipitation we have here in Britain."

Potter's lips twitched even as he twirled his own wand to fill a mug with tea from a thermos bottle, dropped a lump of sugar into the steaming liquid and floated it towards Draco. "What, you don't like that part of our national heritage?"

Draco made a rude noise as he snagged the mug mid-air and gratefully wrapped his hands around the hot ceramic. "Fuck heritage."

Potter burst out laughing. "Of all people, I never thought I'd hear you say that!"

"Well, fuck you, too."

There was a small pause. "That … could be arranged." And suddenly the very air in the small room seemed to hum like the generator in the Dower House basement, brimming with power just waiting to be channelled into heat.

Startled, Draco nearly choked on his first sip as his eyes flew up to Potter's, their deep green half-hidden by sooty lashes. What he read there vanished the last of the chill in his body. "Don't make promises you don't intend to keep," he said hoarsely once he found his voice.

"Who says I won't?" Potter's voice had lowered, become warm and shockingly intimate. His gaze was steady and intense, and the flame lighting those amazing eyes stole Draco's breath.

The constricting feeling around his throat rushed back with a vengeance and Draco knew there was nothing he could do this time to hide his flaming face.

"I'd be tempted to hold you that promise," he rasped, in a last-ditch attempt to keep control of the situation. "If I could believe even for a minute that you actually meant it."

Potter leaned forward. "Would you believe me if I said I do mean it?"

A breathless silence hung between them and Draco opened his mouth to speak, but just then Potter's mobile communication device emitted a loud buzz.

With a muttered curse, Potter picked it up and thumbed it on. "Yes," he almost snarled.

Someone was speaking rapidly, and Potter listened intently, his erstwhile open expression closing down the longer he listened. He asked a few terse questions, got what seemed to be unsatisfactory answers and finished the call with a sigh. "Oh, very well. I'll be with you in a bit," he muttered crossly. "Just keep things going until I get there."

A part of Draco resented the interruption of what had promised to become a highly fascinating conversation, but another part of his brain – the sane part – told him in no uncertain terms that it was for the best. Is he really interested? In ME? Do I even want him to be? Certain regions of his body told him quite enthusiastically 'yes, please!' and 'don't be stupid!', but he rather ruthlessly tamped it down. Must. Think. First!

He used the few minutes while Potter talked into his mobile to compose himself and managed to present a reasonably good facsimile of his usual mask. And yet, he couldn't quite let it go.

"Not the best time for this type of conversation, is it?" he said as casually as he could.

Potter ran his hand through his hair, making it even messier. Draco squelched the impulse to get up and try to smooth the wild dark strands down.

"Unfortunately, no," Potter sighed. "That was Justin; there's a problem with the land title register and he needs some documentation I have. But … maybe we could pick it up again at a better time?" He smiled lightly and the look he sent Draco's way fairly smouldered. "Over dinner, perhaps?"

Draco's breath caught, and he needed a few seconds to still his suddenly hammering heart.

"That ... could be arranged," he said huskily, giving Potter his own words back.

"It's a deal, then," Potter replied and held out his hand across the desk. "Shake on it?"

Draco's mind instinctively flashed back to another, sunnier autumn day fifteen years ago, to an encounter on the Hogwarts Express. Then, Potter had refused his hand because Draco had been a stuck-up git. Not that he'd ever admit it out loud. Draco hesitated briefly, trying to read the other man's expression.

A tiny wry grin quirked Potter's lips who was clearly remembering as well. "We're different people now," he murmured. "Let's start over, shall we?"

Draco raised an eyebrow and slowly reached out, wrapping his fingers around Potter's. "Oh, very well," he drawled with an equally small smile of his own. "To being different people."

Potter's smile was blinding. "Yeah, vive la différence. That's the correct phrase, right?"

Ending the handshake, both sat back and reached for their tea mugs in an oddly synchronised motion. Potter laughed, Draco groaned, and just like that their customary equilibrium was restored.

"Can you still tell me why you wanted to see me, or will this have to wait, too? And yes, it's the right expression, although out of context. And for the record, your accent is atrocious."

"I never learned French, so you can sod off," Potter replied, glanced at his watch and grimaced. "Damn. I really must go." He rose and reached for his weatherproof jacket, a vest in an eye-searingly-bright colour and the ubiquitous hard hat which Draco regularly preferred to 'forget'. He waited until Draco had shrugged into his cloak, then gestured him out the door. Thankfully the rain had momentarily let up again. "Walk me to my car? I really had just a proposition for you, and I can at least give you an idea on the way."

Draco couldn't resist. "I thought we had agreed less than five minutes ago to negotiate any propositions at a later date over dinner," he said archly.

"Not that kind of proposition, you prat," Potter laughed and strode towards the car park. Draco easily kept pace. "Actually, it's more of a question."

"Ask away, then."

"There's this old barn on top of the hillock behind the Apparition point," Potter began.

"Yes," Draco said. "It's a real eyesore, it's so dilapidated. We should probably demolish it eventually."

"Actually, I'd like to buy it."

Draco stopped in his tracks, completely taken by surprise. "What? Whatever for?" He hurried to catch up.

"To turn it into a house," Potter said. "My house, to be exact."

Somewhat taken aback, Draco shook his head. "You're welcome to the pile of bricks, but … you'd really want to live here? On my land?" They had reached Potter's vehicle and were staring at each other across the roof.

"Well, that's the rub," Potter admitted. "I'd want to buy two, maybe three acres of land as well."

"I – I don't know," Draco said hesitantly. "I mean, I'm okay with leasing the farm to the project, but I've never considered actually selling part of my land. No Malfoy has ever—"

"I thought as much, and have a few thoughts that might change your mind, but …" Somewhat desperately, Potter glanced at his watch again. "Crap, I've gotta go or Justin will kill me if I don't get those papers to him on time. Let's talk about it over our dinner, yeah? I'll owl you the details."

Draco nodded, hiding his confusion. "But I—you— … oh, all right."

"Great. See you!" Within moments, Potter was buckled in, started the engine, made a tight turn on the gravel and sped away. Thoroughly bemused, Draco watched until the car had disappeared behind a high hedge, then took a few steps and simply Apparated back to the Manor, remembering too late that he wasn't supposed to.

Oh, to hell with it. I doubt anyone saw me, but if they did …

Wandering up to his rooms, Draco decided that he just didn't care. He could be a good, law-abiding citizen again tomorrow. Today he had a date with Pot- … no, with Harry to fantasise about.

xoxoxoxoxox

Harry took Draco to an Indian-French restaurant near Marble Arch, right in the centre of London. Draco was a little apprehensive about venturing so deeply into the Muggle world but had to agree with Harry's reasoning that they would be hard-pressed to have the same amount of privacy and anonymity in a wizarding place. So he Transfigured a set of robes into suitable Muggle attire and let Harry usher him into the quite plain-looking establishment. Looking back on it later, all Draco would remember was an abundance of lush tropical palms amid white rattan furniture, warm woods, saffron-coloured tableware amid gleaming silver and sparkling crystal while waiters dressed in deep red and gold uniforms – Harry lad actually laughed when Draco had made a sarcastic comment about the rather Gryffindorish colour scheme – served delicious food from shining copper dishes. The air was redolent with the scent of exotic spices and the explosion of taste, unlike any Draco had ever experienced, still lingered on his tongue when they left the restaurant well over two hours later.

"Would you care to join me for a drink?" Harry asked casually as they strolled down Oxford Street towards Charing Cross and the Leaky Cauldron.

A quip full of innuendo about being plied with alcohol before Harry could make his proposition hovered at the tip of Draco's tongue, but he swallowed it down. So far, their first date had gone really well and he didn't want to spoil the mellow mood.

"Why not," was all he said, though. "Did you have a specific place in mind?"

"Mm-hmm," Harry nodded. "But it's too far to walk. Unless you fancy a ride on the Tube, we'll have to take a taxi."

"Um. Do we have to?" Draco obviously didn't care for either method of transportation, not that Harry entirely blamed him.

"Well, I could side-along us," he suggested with a slight smile, offering his arm. "Trust me?"

"Said the Acromantula to the Thestral foal," Draco snarked, but willingly followed Harry into the entrance to Bond Street station. Feeling suddenly reckless, he even stepped close enough to wrap his own arm around Harry's waist, relishing the surprise on the other man's features. "What? It's safer this way," he said innocently.

"Well, yes, but …" Harry sputtered, but to Draco's delight didn't try to push him away; no, if he wasn't mistaken, Harry actually tightened his hold. When he encountered no resistance, his gaze sharpened. "Draco?"

Draco squeezed lightly back. "Yes, Scarhead, I trust you," he murmured.

Harry inhaled sharply and their eyes locked. Time seemed to have stopped. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't kiss you senseless right now," he said at last, in a voice rough with emotion.

Draco shrugged with feigned nonchalance. "We've hated each other since we were boys. We're business partners. We're still not quite sure whether we're even friends. Our friends and families will have a collective heart attack. Wizarding Britain may spontaneously combust."

"That's at least five reasons. I only asked you for one."

"So? You know me, I never do things by halves."

Harry started to smile. "Tell me one convincing reason."

"If I must," Draco sighed with an exaggerated eye-roll, freed one hand and cupped it around a lean cheek. "It's too soon," he whispered at last. "Do I want you to kiss me? Merlin, yes. I'm more than flattered that it seems to be mutual. But a part of me feels I have to get to know you first."

"We've known each other since we were eleven," Harry protested, but Draco shook his head.

"Not in the ways that count."

They stared at each other until Harry closed his eyes and groaned in defeat. "Damn, I hate when you're right," he muttered.

"I'm not saying no," Draco said quietly. "I just want to take this ... thing ... between us slowly."

"How slow is slowly?"

"I have no idea. However long it takes, I suppose." Draco shook his head when Harry visibly pouted. "You're such a Gryffindor, Potter. No patience at all."

"Yeah, well …"

"No," Draco said firmly. "We're not having this conversation now. And when we do, I'd prefer to have it somewhere other than out in the cold, hiding behind a closed tourist kitsch stall in an Underground station."

Harry winced. "You're right. So – drinks? For that other conversation we forgot to have over dinner?"

"Please."

Making sure they couldn't be seen by passing Tube passengers or CCTV cameras, Harry concentrated, twisted on the spot and they disappeared with a muted 'crack' that got lost in the rumble of trains rushing by below. They popped back into existence some distance away, behind a now-closed pavilion coffee shop.

Draco reluctantly released Harry only to find his hand gripped firmly in strong fingers instead. He let himself be pulled along.

"Where are we?"

"St Katharine Docks, near the Tower," Harry said. "Come on, that hotel over there has a great bar."

xoxoxox

They made their way into a rather ugly, sprawling concrete building with a spacious, but bland and somewhat characterless lobby. They took an elevator upstairs and entered a dimly-lit room with small tables and comfortable armchairs pushed against a huge panorama window that offered a fantastic view of the illuminated Tower Bridge. They procured drinks at the central bar and settled in a quiet corner where they could talk without being easily overheard.

"Are we having our conversation now?" Harry asked at last once they'd gone halfway through their drinks.

Draco sighed and leaned back. "The one we'd originally planned to have, anyway," he said. "You can start with why you want to buy my old barn. More precisely, why you'd actually want to live there; don't you already have a house?"

Harry gave a short laugh that held very little humour. "Three, actually – the Potter family seat which is way too big for me, and 12 Grimmauld Place which I inherited from my Godfather."

"The old Black house? I think Mother took me there once or twice when I was small, to visit her family. That's in … Islington, right?"

"Yeah. Most of what little time I had with Sirius was spent there, but … never mind. It's gloomy and in any case, I want more than just a townhouse." He took a sip of his drink, momentarily losing himself in memories.

"And the third?" Draco asked after a while.

"Godric's Hollow, in Wales." Harry grimaced. "The house is actually close to what I want, roomy enough and on a largish plot in a nice village with both wizards and Muggles." He hesitated a few seconds, rubbing absently at the faded scar on his forehead. "I considered it, but I can't bring myself to live there."

Draco had noticed the gesture. "Is that where …?"

"Where my parents were killed, yes."

"Ouch. Understandable." Draco really understood; even now, eight years later, he still couldn't pass the locked doors of the Manor's dining room at night without hearing ghostly echoes of the screams from Bellatrix's victims as they were being tortured by the mad witch – and the rare occasions when he couldn't avoid passing through would still give him nightmares of Nagini devouring Professor Burbage. Narcissa had once admitted to similar experiences. He'd have stripped and completely refurbished the whole of Malfoy Manor years ago, both for his own and his mother's peace of mind, but without enough ready cash at hand, it was yet another grand scheme that had to be put on hold.

The thought brought him back to the topic at hand. "Right. That still doesn't answer my question – why Wiltshire, why the barn?"

Harry crossed his legs and signalled a waiter. Ordering refills for their drinks, he waited until they were delivered and started to explain. "I actually got the idea when we started Project Dower Farm," he said. "I've known for a while that I really would like to live in a mixed community like we're building there. At first, I'd planned to move into one of the houses, but I soon realised that I'd want a much bigger plot than we're giving everyone else. It wouldn't be fair to the mixed families to take away so much space for one person."

"I doubt many people would begrudge it to you."

"That's not the point." Harry waved his hand. "Anyway, I discovered the barn one day when I was walking along the farm's boundaries - just to get a feel for the whole size, you know. The barn is close enough to hook up to the facilities we're putting in at the project anyway, but with ample space between so I could have privacy. I talked to one of the architects, let her take a look and she said that with a bit of care not only could the structure be saved, but that it would be possible to connect a house to the water supply, sewage and heating system. Power I can get from solar panelling, a satellite dish for communication and entertainment is easily installed … it'd be perfect. The best of both worlds, so to speak."

Draco nodded. "I can see the attraction. And I'd be worse than a hypocrite if I didn't think my corner of Britain is a great place to live."

Harry smiled. "There's also the part of where living close to each other would give us the perfect opportunity to learn what counts about ourselves."

"I'd like that," Draco admitted with surprising frankness. He warred with himself for a moment, then squared his shoulders. It was time to speak plainly, especially if their relationship should have a chance to shift into this tantalising new direction. "There's just one problem. While the Malfoy estate isn't entailed and mine to do with as I like, I have no problem leasing the Dower House and farm to the project. And as you know, the property got added much later to the family estate." He paused, then quietly went on, "However, the barn stands just beyond the project's boundary, on a part belonging to the original land grant given to Armand Malfoy by William of Normandy. I'd gladly rent or sell you the building, but the thought of giving away a piece of my family's legacy, even just the two or three acres you want … no. It's belonged to my family for nearly a thousand years, you see. I … I just couldn't do it."

"Sometimes I really envy you all that family history," Harry said wistfully. "I've learned that the Potters are descended from the Peverells which goes pretty far back, too, but so much knowledge has been lost … I have no clue whether there might be records, and there's nobody alive anymore to ask. And I know even less about the Evans' side."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Harry leaned forward. "I had a feeling you might refuse to sell – well, obviously not the precise reason you've just given me, but in general – and I think I've come up with a solution. If you agree, we could both have what we want."

Draco was dubious but intrigued. "I'm listening."

Harry drew a deep breath. "You sell me the barn and three acres of land which border the community we're building. Full legal contract, magically sealed by the Goblins, the works," he said in a rush. "I'll pay full market value, even." He named a positively staggering sum.

"Harry, I just told you—"

"No, hear me out," Harry interrupted, looking both earnest and hopeful. "You sell to me. Not to whoever will eventually inherit what I'll leave behind. The contract ends with my death and every piece of land will revert to the Malfoy family." Harry's mouth quirked in a tiny grin. "I'm sure somebody can write up a clause that will make sure your heirs and mine have to come to a reasonable arrangement about the house and its contents."

Draco's mind whirled. "That … that's unusual." He picked up his glass and drained the contents in one long swallow. "I'll have to think about it," he said at last. "Talk it through with Mother first." He looked straight at Harry, resolutely avoiding to even think about what he could do with the small fortune he was being offered. "And I'll have to consult my father as well; the Ministry may have made me head of the family, but I owe him to at least have a say."

Harry's expression didn't change as he accepted that with a nod. "Fair enough."

Draco actually had very few illusions about his father's reaction. Most likely, Lucius would rant and rave at the idea at first, claiming it was inconceivable to sell even the smallest bit of Malfoy land. But whatever scruples he might still have - few as they were, given his past - had always been different than Draco's, less about tradition but the advancement of the Malfoy name and fortune. As soon as he learned just how much gold Harry was offering, he might well change his tune ... after 'a proper interval of sober reflection', of course. Also, knowing that the family vaults would be refilled from the Potters', especially given the proviso Harry had suggested, would be too deliciously tempting for Lucius' mercenary nature. Or maybe Father will surprise me after all and refuse. Draco simply couldn't tell

With a mental shake, he stopped this train of thought. This wasn't a decision to be made lightly. He'd abide by Lucius' choice either way or make his own with his mother's advice if it came to that. Meanwhile he'd have time to consider what having Harry live practically on his doorstep would mean to him. And what if whatever we've started between us tonight comes to nothing? Draco's head began to hurt with the mass of possibilities and ramifications flooding in.

"I'm sorry," he murmured when the silence settling over them became uncomfortable for the first time that night. "I really can't make a decision right now."

"I understand," Harry said. "Don't worry about it." He tossed back the rest of his drink, got up and reached for his coat. "Let's call it a night, shall we?"

"Sure." Draco stood as well and the two men left the bar. Once outside, they walked towards Tower Hill; the bit of shrubbery around the Tube station would make a safer Apparition spot than St Katharine Dock, where many restaurants were just now releasing their customers. "It's been a long day."

"Yes. Interesting, though," Harry replied lightly.

"Interesting's good."

"Is it? Hermione once told me that the Chinese Muggles have a saying, 'May you live in interesting times'. They believe it's a curse."

Draco was surprised into laughter. "Seriously?"

"That's what Hermione said."

"And of course Granger is always right?" They had reached their goal, and without really knowing how it had come about, Draco found that they were once again holding hands. It felt … nice.

"It's Weasley now. And yeah, she usually is."

"Must be annoying," Draco teased.

"Oh, sure. But also quite useful sometimes."

"I suppose." Regretfully, Draco tried to let go of Harry's hands. Instead, the pressure of strong fingers around his increased.

"Don't take too long thinking," Harry murmured, leaning towards Draco who stood very still. "I'll be waiting for your decision."

"On what?" Draco asked, his own voice barely louder than a whisper. "Us, or the barn?" Their faces were close enough that they could feel each other's breaths.

"Either. Both."

The urge to bend down, to cross that final inch and brush his lips against Harry's was overwhelming, but Draco managed to resist. Barely. Instead, he freed his right hand at last and gently touched the firm mouth.

"I'll do my best," he promised. "Good night, Harry And thank you for your patience."

"Thank you for not saying no to either of my propositions right away," Harry said, pressing his cheek briefly against Draco's fingers. "Good night."

xoxoxoxoxox

Draco was working on prospective tenants' applications at the estate office when he heard a commotion outside. Annoyed that his focus was broken by the noise, he couldn't help listening in. Within a short time, he could make out that Dennis Creevey was scolding his daughter over something or other, and little Colly's increasingly whiny replies. He'd heard that the child had been unwell recently; that was probably why he hadn't seen her for a few days.

Smiling ruefully, he got up to see what was going on. He wouldn't admit it out loud to anyone but Harry, but he'd almost missed the little nuisance. Ever since their first meeting nearly a year ago, Colleen had attached herself to Draco despite the fact that he pretended to ignore her as much as he could. Everyone involved with Crossover Development thought it adorable and cute how she followed him around like a copper-haired Kneazle kitten whenever he set foot on the project site. Even his mother called it 'charming' – which in Narcissa-speak meant she was all but gushing over the girl.

It was really quite embarrassing.

As he stepped outside, Dennis was trying to coax Colly into the family car. The engine was already running and Aislinn was in the driver's seat, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel. "Den! Radio says there's roadworks on the A27 near Shepton Mallet with lots of heavy traffic, and it's only going to get worse once rush hour starts. If we don't get going now, your parents will be stuck at the airport who knows how long," she called through the window.

"Nxoxoxoxoxoxxoxoxoxo! Don' wanna go!" Colleen wailed, struggling against her father's hold in earnest now. She was crying loud enough that even the two Muggle workers who were setting up a small playground stopped working to watch and listen. So did the Golden Retriever tied to a post.

"Colly, Nana and Grampy are coming back from Majorca. Don't you want to come with us to pick them up?"

"No." Colleen glowered at Dennis.

"Not even if they've brought you a neat present?"

She seemed to waver for a moment, scrunched up her face and repeated stubbornly, "No!"

"Dennis, hurry up!" Aislinn shouted impatiently.

Exasperated, Creevey made to grab his daughter, but the tiny girl scampered out of his reach. "Colleen Marie, you come here right this second!"

"Don' wanna," she cried. "Wanna stay with Princess!"

"You can't stay here all by yourself, and there is no princess," Dennis growled, only to be interrupted by one of the workers.

"Princess is my dog," he said apologetically. "The tyke has been petting her all morning." He scratched the back of his neck. "Princess is great with kids and loves to play. If it were up to me, I'd let them in a heartbeat. But I can't do my job and watch 'em both."

Spontaneously, Draco stepped forward. "I'll do it," he offered. "Jones, is the dog comfortable inside?"

"Sure. She'll like it better than being tied up here."

"Great. There's a blanket I can put in one corner, and I'm sure we can come up with a piece of wood or something so they have a toy." He gave Dennis a speaking look and unobtrusively touched his wand. "She'll be quite safe."

Torn, Dennis looked from his wife to Colly to Draco. "I wouldn't want to impose," he muttered. "It'll take us a good three hours at least to Bristol Airport and back …"

Draco waved him off. "Don't worry. I have enough to do in the office, and if the weather stays nice, I can always take Colly and Princess for a walk." Sotto voce, he added, "And if you take longer, we'll either be at Harry's or at the Manor."

"DENNIS!"

Creevey cursed briefly. "If you're sure?"

"Absolutely," Draco replied.

"Okay then. Colly, will you stay with Mr Malfoy? He'll let you play with Princess in the office while he works."

"Yay!" Colleen jumped and danced as if she'd never thrown a tantrum less than five minutes ago.

"Behave and mind Mr Malfoy, you hear?"

"Yes, Poppa. Promise!"

Dennis looked less than convinced that this was a good idea. But he simply didn't have the time to deal with the situation in any other way. He sighed. "I hope you know what you're letting yourself in for."

Draco shrugged. "Don't worry; Colly and I will be fine." Really, how much trouble can it be to look after one four-year-old girl and a docile dog for a few hours? I had to put up with Riddle, Greyback and Aunt Bella living in my home for months; compared to that, it'll be child's play, literally! "You and Aislinn have a safe trip."

"Thanks. I owe you one." Aislinn honked, and Dennis threw up his hands. "I'm coming! Bye, Colly, bye, Malfoy!"

"Bye, Poppa!" The smudge-faced little angel stood at Draco's side and waved until the blue Toyota was out of sight. "C'n we get Princess now?"

"Of course. Please ask Mr Jones if he'll untie her for you. Then bring her inside."

"'Kay." She ran off and returned a couple of minutes later, the dog's leash firmly wrapped around her little fist. "Is there biscuits, Uncle Dragon?" she asked sweetly.

Draco smiled down at the tiny person who in seven years' time surely was destined for Slytherin. "Perhaps," he replied, giving her a wink that made her giggle. "But first I need to work some more."

"Okay. C'n me and Princess have a ball?"

"Not inside. How would you like to give her a treat instead?"

"Ooh, yeah!"

"Very well. Tenny!" he called. One of his house elves appeared with a loud 'pop'.

"Yes, Master Draco?"

"Tenny, we'd like a few dog treats – nothing messy, mind, some juice and a plate of shortbread. And refresh my tea."

"Tenny will be right back, Master Draco."

Shortly thereafter Colleen was happily munching on a shortbread finger, watching with fascination as the dog chomped down on a jumbone. Draco refilled his china mug and angled his desk chair so could still watch both out of the corner of his eye while he turned back to his paperwork, feeling quite the expert child-minder. Take that, Granger, he thought smugly. So much for 'men can't multitask'!

xoxoxox

An hour later, Draco was feeling less smug than frazzled; this dog-and-child-minding business was turning out to be more complicated than he'd expected. First, Colly needed the loo. While she could do her business on her own, she still needed help re-ordering her clothes and a lift to reach the sink afterwards. When they came back, the area around Draco's desk was littered with the contents of the wastepaper basket which Princess was still happily rooting through. Thank Merlin for magic! A few flicks of his wand set everything to rights again. Five minutes later, Colly complained that Princess wouldn't sit still to have her coat combed; that was when Draco discovered she'd appropriated his carved-ivory, natural-bristle hairbrush from the bathroom for the purpose.

Mentally gnashing his teeth, he gave her a stack of paper and a pack of conjured crayons which she cheerfully glomped on, telling him that she'd draw both him and Princess.

"You do that, Colly," he said absently, mind already back on the rental applications.

A short time later, she tugged on his sleeve. "Come look at my pick-shers, Uncle Dragon!"

Draco was deeply immersed in a financial statement. "Just bring them here, Colly," he murmured.

The girl shook her head. "Can't. You hafta come."

"What? Why?"

"Too big," Colleen shrugged.

Groaning inwardly, Draco got up from his chair and turned around. "Where are they then?"

Colleen pointed. "There."

Now Draco groaned out loud – if only to stop himself from cursing. The sheets of paper were covered with mostly meaningless scribbles, but there was one picture with meaning – a stick figure with violently yellow hair, grey lower half and green on top that obviously represented Draco. It was also almost as big as the girl herself and drawn with thick, bold strokes on the freshly-painted wall next to the door.

"It's you, Uncle Dragon," she chirped, obviously terribly pleased with her masterpiece. "I drawed you!"

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Have you now," he grated through clenched teeth.

"You like it?"

He was so tempted to make a scathing remark – the wall had been painted with heritage colour, at eight Galleons a tin. Covering up Colleen's 'artwork' would cost as much as an Ollivander wand! However, she was too young to understand, and— She was looking up at him with big, bright blue eyes and Draco just couldn't bring himself to lash out. He sighed gustily instead.

"It's … nice, Colly." Don't you EVER do it again!

"Now I'm gonna draw Princess," she declared, making a beeline for another piece of free, white-painted wall, brown crayon in hand.

Draco lunged. "NO!"

Giving up on getting any more work done, Draco bundled Colleen into her coat, clipped the leash onto the retriever's collar and took them both outside. It was a sunny if slightly blustery day; hopefully, a good long ramble across the fields would keep both girl and dog – who had slobbered half of the content of her water bowl onto the recently sanded and stained parquet floor – out of further mischief.

xoxoxox

After what surely must have been the longest eighty-five minutes of his life, he trudged back towards the office, feeling completely drained. Colleen and Princess had been indefatigable, running hither and yon with abandon while Draco had done the best to keep up. During that time, he'd had to free them from brambles, prevent Princess from digging up a Niffler's lair and snatch Colleen away from a cluster of toadstools she'd been about to sample. He'd also been dragged through a creek as Princess insisted on chasing a couple of squirrels, had to untangle an irate Bowtruckle from Colleen's locks and finally slipped on a patch of mud, tumbled down a hillock and landed in a fresh cow patty. To add insult to injury, Princess had taken his misfortune as an invitation to pin him down and give him a thorough doggy wash, making Colleen laugh so hard that she was still having hiccups now, a full ten minutes later. Not that it dampened her energy in any way.

Draco was wet, dirty, freezing – his Warming Charm had worn off a while ago – and utterly exhausted. It was all he could do to hand over the dog to a smirking Jones, watch Colly take a lengthy leave of her four-legged playmate and shuffle after her as she skipped towards the office.

"Wait, Colly, I'll unlock the do—"

"It's open," she warbled, pushing the heavy wood inwards. "Hi, Uncle Harry! Hi, Mrs Maffy!"

Draco wanted to die.

xoxoxox

Narcissa only needed to take one look at her bedraggled son and his beaming charge to make a good guess at what had happened. She didn't even bother to mask her smile, took Colleen by the hand and informed the men that she would treat the energetic little girl to a bath, fresh clothes, some hot chocolate and then have story time up at the Manor until the Creeveys returned.

"You will inform Colleen's parents of her whereabouts?"

"Of course, Mother," Draco sighed, slumping against the wall.

"Uncle Dragon! You're smearing my pick-sher!"

"And what a nice picture it is, too," Narcissa said with an admirably straight face. "I'm sure Draco will appreciate it more, though, once he has had a chance to clean up." She led a still-bouncing Colleen back to the door, intending to pat Draco's arm but stopped herself just in time as she took in the state of his clothes. She wrinkled her nose. "You look a mess, dear. And what is that disgusting smell?"

"Uncle Dragon slippered down a hill and fell into cow poo," said Colleen, clearly awed. "It stunk!"

"Obviously," Narcissa murmured. She turned to look at Harry, who hadn't said a word yet except for exchanging a brief hello with the little girl. "I trust you'll be able to look after Draco's needs while I see to this young lady's?"

"Of course, Mrs Malfoy," Harry replied promptly. "Don't worry, I'll take good care of him."

If Draco hadn't been so knackered, he might have wondered why Harry's normally smooth voice sounded rather strangled.

Narcissa's smile grew noticeably warmer. "I'm sure you will."

Harry returned her probing gaze without flinching. "It'll be my pleasure, ma'am."

Draco was startled by the short, melodic burst of laughter coming from his mother's lips. "Of that, I have no doubt. Shall I expect both of you for breakfast tomorrow – or maybe a late brunch? Inform the elves, please."

"Yes, Mother," Draco muttered, then roused himself into greater coherence. "And thank you for taking Colly."

"Thanks, Mrs Malfoy," Harry added. "We'll be there."

"Very well. Goodnight, Draco. Until tomorrow … Harry."

The door closed behind Narcissa and her guest, and an instant later the men heard the muted sound of Disapparition. With a tired sigh, Draco pushed his hair off his forehead and stepped away from the wall he'd been leaning against. He nearly lost his footing when he stepped on a forgotten crayon, arms windmilling wildly. Harry was at his side in an instant, wrapping a steadying arm around Draco's waist.

"Don't, I'm filthy," Draco mumbled even as he gratefully accepted the support.

"I know," Harry said calmly. "I don't care."

There was a note in his voice that Draco hadn't heard since that night in London during their first date. Harry had been true to his word and taken a step back, giving Draco the time and space he'd requested.

He slowly raised his eyes to Harry's, and what he read in them made him think that maybe he'd had enough of both. However, there was a certain spark in the emerald depths …

"Are you laughing at me?!" He was far too weary to summon proper outrage.

The spark bloomed into a tiny flame. "Well … maybe a little," Harry confessed with a rather cheeky grin. "Merlin, you should see yourself! Whatever possessed you to take the kid outside, especially after feeding her biscuits?"

"How do you know about th—"

"There are crumbs in the corner."

"Oh."

Harry smiled and tightened his hold on Draco. "Next time you go on a ramble with her, don't get her a on sugar high before."

"Next time? Next time?! I'd rather face the Killing Curse than have a 'next time' with that little copper-headed fiend!" Draco sputtered, outraged. "Or that furred menace!"

Harry chuckled. "That's what I said, too, the first time I had Teddy for a whole day. Not even a six-hour Quidditch match at Hogwarts was as bad. In February, in a rainstorm," he added after a moment's thought.

"Hmph."

"And playing Slytherin, of course."

"Well, I should hope so," Draco huffed. "We were always your toughest opponents."

"You sure were," Harry agreed amiably. "But for now, Mr Tough Opponent, let me take care of you. Can't go back on the promise I made your mother, now can I?"

"If you did, you wouldn't live long to tell the tale," Draco stated matter-of-factly. "Mother is not someone I'd like to cross."

"Oh, I know," Harry said. "Trust me, I know."

Draco's breath caught. Harry hadn't used this particular phrase towards him in nearly twelve months; Draco still remembered quite well how he'd replied and what Harry's reaction had been.

Am I ready for a replay?

'Probably as much as you'll ever be,' his brain said. 'Hell, yes! And past time, too,' was his body's resounding reply. But it was the simple, quiet 'yes' coming from his heart that tipped the scales for Draco.

I'm ready.

He lifted not-quite steady fingers to the lean face and trailed them across the strong brows, over the tiny bump in the straight nose he'd broken half a lifetime ago and finally to the full mouth.

"I trust you, Harry," Draco whispered.

Harry froze, remembering as well. "More than a year ago?" he asked huskily.

"In all the ways I can." Draco smiled and leaned forward, touching his lips to Harry's at long last. "In all the ways that count."

The kiss lasted until they grew short of breath and yet wasn't remotely long enough; it was everything Draco had dreamed of and yet left him hungry for more. Panting softly, he rested his forehead against Harry's. There was only one thing left to say.

"Take me to your house, Harry. Take me home."

So he did.

Finite Incantatem.

Final Notes: Just in case you're curious and prone to fall down the research hole as much as I am, here are a few bits of information about elements I used in the story:

a) All distances and geographical circumstances are as correct as I could make them, either by personal experience (eg., all scenes set in London) or with the help of Google maps (eg., driving from Warminster to Bristol airport).

b) I chose the area around Warminster for the Malfoy estate because I wanted a reasonably large city not too far away and was tired of having it be right next door to Stonehenge. Also, the tidbit about the Warminster Railway Station is fact - and the information about the Hogwarts Express comes from Pottermore.

c) The beers Harry and Draco are drinking at the Leaky Cauldron actually exist; both "Dark Side" and "Prophecy" are being brewed by the Bath Ales company. Neville likes Newcastle Brown Ale (also real and happens to be my favourite British beer as well) because my headcanon for Neville is that he's a Geordie from Lancashire like his actor Matt Lewis and Newcastle is a major city in the county. (It also plays to the delicious historical irony that the two men Neville had the most problems with, Snape and Voldemort, were both Yorkshiremen. One could almost say they were fated to hate each other!)

d) Dennis Creevey marries an Irish girl because the name 'Creevey' is of Gaelic origin – see the "Etymology" section in the article on the Harry Potter Wikia; it seemed plausible that there'd still be a family connection. Armagh was chosen at random, though. Also, I decided that the family hails from Congleton, Cheshire because it's a middling-sized town with a dairy that actually still (in 2017) employs milkmen, which is Dennis' father's job.

e) The Monmouth Rebellion took place in the West Country, which Wiltshire belongs to, in 1685. There's a link in the article to another about the Bloody Assizes Hermione mentions. Related, the International Statute of Secrecy separating wizards and Muggles was written in 1689, which is the historical connection I was looking for.

f) The Kingswood Community is a real gated community.

g) The Dower House and farm: the image I had in mind of the mansion closely resembles Belton House, which fits the period. The Dower Farm buildings are modelled on Stancombe Farm in Devon, now a lovely holiday location I visited in 2016. (Incidentally, one of the rental cottages is named "Lupin" – alas, after the flower, not our favourite werewolf!)

h) The restaurant and bar Harry and Draco visit on their first date are, respectively, La Porte des Indes and the Xi Bar and Lounge at "The Tower" hotel. (The hotel and bar had a minor name change due to new ownership since 2006 when the story is set. I do not know if the bar is/was accessible to non-residents, but it truly has a spectacular view of Tower Bridge on both day and night).

(You can find links to all of this in the end notes on AO3, here: archiveofourown works / 12314112 ... just remove the spaces!)