Disclaimer – All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc., are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
This fic was written for the 2015 hd Family Fest based on a prompt submitted by dragon2stars. Based on the prompt, there is necessarily some heaviness to this fic, but while I did bear in mind the need to deal with the grief both Harry and especially Draco have experienced, I tried to keep the overall theme of the fic one of healing and rebuilding. Draco will talk about the loss of his son, but it is not the dominant thread of the fic.
I would like to thank my awesome betas, eidheann_writes and kohaku_imaki55, for all their help and, as always, also thank you to all the lovely Brits at hp_britglish for helping this American to British her writing up a bit. Thanks also, of course to dragon2stars, I so glad you're happy with how the story came out!
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.oOo.
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Holy bloody fuck.
Harry stood dazed as he watched Draco hurry off. Draco had kissed him. Harry was stunned beyond the ability to speak. He felt like he'd been hit with both Confundus and Cheering charms simultaneously.
Holy bloody fucking shit.
He touched the tips of his fingers to his lips. Maybe he was closer to being ready to be with someone than he'd thought. That it was a man rather than a woman who'd given him the nudge he'd needed to realise it didn't come as a complete shock to him, but it certainly would to everyone else.
Who that man had been would have them flat on their backs.
Slow down, Harry told himself. Draco hadn't meant anything by that kiss. There was nothing in it other than a man overcome by emotion at having a possible solution to a seemingly insurmountable problem suddenly in the palm of his hand.
Harry told himself that was the reason he felt so energized, as well.
.oOo.
Upon arriving at the manor, Draco found waiting for him a response to the owl he'd sent to Professor Slughorn saying he found the idea intriguing and that he would consult with a colleague and be in touch. Thus encouraged, he went straight to the manor's conservatory to harvest a supply of aconite from his potions garden.
.oOo.
Almost the moment he and his children stepped into their living room, Harry pulled his wand from his sleeve, and seconds later the familiar bright white, translucent stag pranced around the room, weaving around the children and nuzzling its head against them. He gave his message for Horace Slughorn to his Patronus and sent it on its way. He then did the same to get Draco's message to Percival Petherbridge. That done, Harry threw a fistful of Floo powder in the flames and got down on his knees. "Weasley Cottage! Ron! Hermione! Are you there?" he called out. "He may've done it!"
.oOo.
Horace Slughorn, former Potions Master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was passing a cup of tea to his student-turned-colleague and asking his opinion on the matter they'd been discussing when a an impressive corporeal Patronus came charging through his wall and stood before him. This particular Patronus was not one he'd seen in person before, but he immediately knew the identity of the wizard who had sent it. Their entire world knew who cast a Patronus in the form of a great stag. Confirming what he already knew, Harry Potter's voice filled the room.
"Professor Slughorn, Draco Malfoy asked me to let you know he's onto something regarding the aconite leaves, and he would like your opinion. I think he's cracked it, sir!"
The stag pranced around their table once and evaporated into wisps of smoke.
Professor Slughorn's guest looked at the spot the stag had stood in astonishment. "Good Lord, was that . . . ?"
"That, my good man, was my very dear friend, Mr. Harry Potter." Wiping his mouth on a napkin, Professor Slughorn pushed his great bulk from the table and with significant effort, got himself to his feet. "What say you? Shall we call upon Mr. Malfoy and see what he's come up with?"
.oOo.
The Petherbridge family was just finishing their evening meal when a great white stag burst in upon them to their utter astonishment. The parents dropped their cutlery in surprise, and the children jumped from their seats and chased after the creature in delight.
A voice filled the room, identifying itself as Harry Potter and informing them that Draco Malfoy had asked him to tell Mr. Petherbridge he was pursuing a promising idea for detoxifying aconite leaves and would like his input.
.oOo.
In his lab, Draco had a large pile of fresh aconite leaves, and he continued to pull more leaves from the stems he'd gathered. Once he had a sufficient amount, he would dry them with a spell to prepare them for brewing.
.oOo.
"My word . . . a bezoar, you say? Whole?" Andromeda asked.
Right after disconnecting from Ron and Hermione's Floo, Harry made another call, to Andromeda that time. As Remus Lupin had been her son-in-law, she had taken a particular interest in Draco's research into improving the Wolfsbane potion.
"If he is successful and his theory holds true, the difference this could make to so many. . . ."
.oOo.
Anxiously, Narcissa waited for her son to bring her news on his experiment. How long could it take to brew a pot of tea? Certainly not longer than a few minutes—far less time than he had been ensconced in his laboratory.
If Draco was successful in improving the Wolfsbane potion, it would make the front page of the Daily Prophet, and his name would be made. His reputation would be transformed overnight.
The flames in the grate in the reception hall unexpectedly roared to life.
"Who could that be?" Lucius asked from a large gilded frame where he waited as impatiently as did Narcissa.
"I've no idea, I'm sure."
Narcissa rose and smoothed her robes. Leaving the drawing room, she entered the reception hall and lowered herself to the flames.
"Mrs. Malfoy," said a very cheery voice coming from a large, bald head inside the flames. "Most exciting! We've just had Harry Potter's Patronus telling us of young Draco's breakthrough, and we are most excited, I do assure you!"
"Professor Slughorn," Narcissa began. She rather wished Potter had held his tongue—what if Draco's experiment was unsuccessful? Much better to be assured of success before broadcasting it. Such an impetuous young man—a Slytherin would have known better. "Yes, it is, as you say, very exciting. Of course, it is early stages yet. But it is promising."
"As it happens, a friend and I were just discussing the problem at hand ourselves. Draco was kind enough to owl earlier and ask the advice of his old teacher, don't you know. We wondered if we might impose ourselves upon you to witness the experiment. Big moment in the world of potions brewing if he is successful, wouldn't want to miss it!"
"I—why, yes. Yes, of course. Please, do come through," Narcissa replied while mentally cursing rash, impulsive Gryffindors.
She stepped away from the Floo and moments later two men joined her. One was her own former Potions Master, the man to whom she'd just been speaking. The other she did not recognize in the least.
Professor Slughorn shook her hand warmly in both of his, and just as she was about to be introduced to the man standing with him, the flames erupted a second time.
"Mrs. Malfoy?" the caller asked.
"If you'll excuse me," Narcissa said to her guests, bewildered at who else Potter might've told.
"Of course, of course."
"We've never formally met, Mrs. Malfoy, but your son Draco has been involved with my firm in a freelance research capacity for some time. My name is Percival Petherbridge."
"Mr. Petherbridge. Yes, yes, of course. I am afraid Draco is unavailable just at present."
Mr. Petherbridge explained that he had just had a terribly exciting Patronus from Harry Potter relating to him that Draco was pursuing a theory on the detoxification of aconite leaves.
"If he is successful, Mrs. Malfoy, I'm sure I needn't tell you he may be on the path to one of the greatest advancements in potion brewing seen in many a year."
He, too, asked if it would be too much of an imposition were he to witness the experiment.
Cursing Harry Potter in ever stronger terms in her mind, Narcissa said she should be delighted to have Mr. Petherbridge join them.
Her guests needed no introduction to one another, and after she had been introduced to the Professor Slughorn's companion, whose name sounded familiar although she could not place at the moment, Narcissa extended her arm in front of her. "If you will follow me, please. I will show you to Draco's laboratory."
.oOo.
The most nerve-wracking thing in the world, Draco decided, was watching tea brew.
In front of him, two size one silver cauldrons were at a rolling boil over a medium flame. Beside one of the cauldrons sat a bezoar. In their cages to his left, two white mice he had transfigured out of pebbles scampered about. He hoped that after his experiment, one of the two still would.
The timer spell he'd cast when the first bubble rose from the bottom of the cauldrons emitted a buzzing sound. Five minutes down. Five more to go.
His journal lay open to his right, a self-inking quill beside it. He had already recorded every step he had taken to that point. He studied the colour of the tea at the halfway mark—amber with a tinge of green—and made note of it.
An unexpected knock at his door broke his concentration.
"Draco?" his mother called. "You've guests."
Surprised, and not a little apprehensive at being proved wrong in front of an audience, Draco ran an eye over his workspace. When he'd asked Harry to contact Professor Slughorn and Percival Petherbridge, he'd not thought they'd actually come to the manor, but perhaps he ought to have done. He checked the flames and the speed of the boil to make sure both remained consistent before leaving his cauldrons.
Opening the door Draco was greeted by his mother and three men, the first two being the two he'd expected. The third man, on the other hand, was not someone Draco had ever met but knew by sight before Professor Slughorn could introduce them.
"We do hope you'll pardon our intrusion, my good man, but we received dear Mr. Potter's Patronus on your breakthrough and wanted to be there for the big moment," Professor Slughorn said before turning to his companion and making the introduction. "Damocles Bilby, may I introduce Draco Malfoy."
Draco felt rather star-struck. Damocles Bilby was legend in the world of potions brewing—inventor of the very potion Draco hoped to improve and an Order of Merlin, Second Class recipient for his creation of that very potion. Feeling a bit ill with nerves—failure in front of this man would be shattering—Draco held his hand out.
"I am most pleased to meet you, Mr. Malfoy," the older wizard said as he shook Draco's hand heartily. " I can't tell you how delighted I was when Horace contacted me to discuss your theory. I'm sure I needn't tell you the very great impact this will have on the lives of those afflicted if it is successful. Please excuse our barging in on you, and, please, do feel free to tell us point blank to get out if you prefer to not be disturbed."
"No," Draco insisted at the same time as his spell buzzed again. Six minutes down. Four to go. "Not at all."
"I'll leave you gentlemen to it, then," Narcissa said.
"Well, then. Let's see what you've got," Percival said, speaking for the first time.
.oOo.
On her way back to the drawing room, Narcissa was stopped in the corridor by their house-elf; the creature was in a state of nervous excitement with her hands clasped in front of her.
"Mistress! You's sister is being in the Floo. She is being wanting to come through, but Biddy is not being knowing what to do."
"What?" Narcissa asked, taken aback. "Andromeda? Wanting to come here?" She raised her hand to her chest. As well aware of the very painful associations the manor represented to her sister as Narcissa was, she could not imagine what could possibly have happened to make Andromeda wish to come to her home.
"I will come at once," she said, hastening her pace.
Entering the reception hall, she saw the flames glowing bright lime green, and she hurried across the vast room, dropping to her knees the moment she reached the hearth.
"Andy? What is it? What's wrong? What has happened?"
"Did it work?" Andromeda asked breathlessly. "The bezoar—did it work? Harry's just told us, and naturally, we're very eager to know whether it worked."
Astonished, Narcissa asked, "The bezoar?" Just how many people had that blasted Potter told! "Draco is still—the experiment is still underway."
"Would you mind awfully if we came through? Teddy is terribly excited. And, of course, I am as well."
Narcissa found herself saying she should be delighted yet again.
Andromeda stepped through the Floo looking every bit as ill at ease as Narcissa would have expected her to be and was soon followed by her grandson, Teddy.
"Whoa," the boy said, his eyes as wide as an owl's as he took in the size of the hall.
Turning and guiding her sister and nephew towards the drawing room, Narcissa surreptitiously searched the paintings lining the walls for her husband's portrait and soon located him in the corner of a landscape on the opposite wall. Their eyes met, and she gave him a minute shrug of one shoulder as if to ask, "Have you ever?"
No more than five steps from the Floo, the flames roared once more.
"Er, Mrs. Malfoy?" came the tentative voice of the caller.
Narcissa's steps faltered. She inhaled deeply.
"Mr. Potter," she said with restraint.
"Hey, Harry!" Teddy exclaimed, returning to the Floo. Leaning into the flames, he whispered, "You should see this place—it's huge."
"Teddy?" Potter asked. He sounded genuinely surprised to find his godson speaking to him from Malfoy Manor.
"Gran and I came to see if Draco's idea works. This place is as big as Hogwarts."
"Perhaps you would like to join us to await the results as well, Mr. Potter?" Narcissa said in her best hostess voice—out of practice as that voice was.
"I—you wouldn't mind?" he asked.
In spite of her irritation with the man, Narcissa softened towards him ever so slightly at the uncertainty in his voice. There was none of the presumption or entitlement she'd expected.
"We should be pleased to have you join us. Please, do come through."
Seconds later, the most prominent wizard alive was standing in her reception hall and looking as antsy as a first year crossing the lake towards Hogwarts.
"Mr. Potter," Narcissa greeted him. "Professor Slughorn, Damocles Bilby, and Percival Petherbridge are with Draco in his laboratory, if you would care to—"
"No! No. No, I—I wouldn't—I, that is to say, I wouldn't want to interrupt."
"In that case, we were just going to await the news in the drawing room." Narcissa raised her arm to guide her guests in the right direction, but she saw Potter's face pale and his eyes dart from one closed door to the next. Andromeda touched the back of his hand gently. Narcissa's arm dropped an inch, but she kept it from falling to her side by shear strength of will. "It's just this way," she said in a forced tone of calm. "We've found that since our views and values have changed, we prefer the manor's smaller, simpler rooms to the larger spaces that, while grand, we now find cold."
Narcissa waited with her heart in her throat and hoped her meaning had been understood and had been enough. How could she have been so foolish? Had she ruined all of Draco's chances?
Slowly, Potter's colour returned to normal, and his features relaxed.
Narcissa breathed easier.
"Where are the children, Harry?" Andromeda asked.
"With Ron and Hermione," Potter answered. "When I called them on the Floo to tell them Draco thought he was on to something, the kids wanted to play with their cousins." He added, "They're anxious for word."
"Indeed? You told your friends?" Narcissa asked, striving for a conversational tone. Really, how many people had the man told?
"Yes. After I sent Patronuses off to the men Draco asked me to contact for him."
Reaching the drawing room, Narcissa stopped before entering. Potter had been doing as Draco asked when he contacted Professor Slughorn and Mr. Petherbridge?
"I hope he won't mind," Potter continued, "but with the number of people aware of his idea, I thought it best to prevent any possible problems down the road should his experiment not succeed on the first try."
"I'm afraid I don't understand," she said. "What possible problems do you foresee?" But even as she asked the question, comprehension donned on her, and she could not believe she had not thought of the possibility herself. "You mean that should Draco not succeed tonight, one or more of the people who know of his theory could conduct experiments of their own, and if they are successful before him, claim the discovery as theirs."
"I mean exactly that. I don't mean to suggest I have the slightest reason to suspect anything of the sort as being at all likely. I'm sure the men Draco has shared his theory with are perfectly honourable—Professor Slughorn, in particular, I would personally vouch for—but in the Aurors, I've learnt it's best to prevent temptation, regardless of how honourable you believe people to be, than to learn the hard way you were wrong. There will be both significant financial gain and prestige should Draco's theory prove successful. I'm sure you realise that. Maybe even an Order of Merlin. Now it will be known by all involved that there are a number of people on the outside of the thing, so to speak, who know the theory is Draco's and can attest to that to the Wizengamot if needed."
Narcissa looked at Potter with new admiration growing inside her. "Won't you sit down?" she asked her guests.
.oOo.
Draco checked the temperature of his cooling aconite tea. Human body temperature was thirty-five degrees Celsius, and that was what he was going to allow the tea to cool to before casting a spell to maintain that temperature and adding the bezoar to one of the two cauldrons. The exact criteria necessary for a bezoar to counteract toxins was unknown. It was entirely possible there was some necessary interaction with the digestive fluids in the stomach without which the bezoar would be ineffective, in which case Draco's hypothesis was fatally flawed, and he would fail utterly in front of three highly regarded potioneers. Other possibilities dogged his mind. The process might require an oxygen free environment, or total darkness, or Merlin knew what else.
He felt distinctly ill. He wished he'd never asked Harry to contact anyone. Better to fail in private.
The spell he'd cast informed him his tea had cooled to thirty-seven degrees.
Professor Slughorn put an encouraging hand on his shoulder. The man had been the Potions Master at Hogwarts for several decades over his two tenures, and the teacher in him remained. "The big moment has almost arrived, and you are suffering from a bad case of nerves, I should think, Mr. Malfoy. Every one of us standing here has felt what you feel right now. You've hit on an intriguing and original theory, and you mustn't allow yourself to be defeated if you do not achieve your aim on the first attempt. There is not a potioneer in history who has not suffered setbacks. You must remember that an unsuccessful experiment is not a failure." He clapped Draco twice on the shoulder.
Draco turned towards his former professor and nodded his head in appreciation of his words. He inhaled and cast the spell once again. The aconite tea had cooled to thirty-five degrees. "Tenere Caliditas," he said with a wave of his wand.
All three far more experienced potioneers crowded around him, as rapt as spectators at the World Cup following a race between the Seekers to be the first one to the Snitch.
"Well?" Professor Slughorn asked. "Which cauldron will it be? The left or the right?"
Draco picked up the bezoar and dropped it into the centre of the cauldron on the left.
Percival Petherbridge checked his watch. "Seven thirty-four and twenty seconds," he said.
Draco noted the time the bezoar had been added in his journal before stirring the tea.
"How long will you wait?" Damocles Bilby asked.
"I don't know. Perhaps I should have prepared three or four cauldrons of tea to allow for varying lengths of time."
"An idea for follow up experiments, should they be necessary," Percival said.
"A bezoar typically acts very rapidly. That, combined with the wide range of poisons against which it is active, is what makes it so valuable as an antidote," contributed Professor Slughorn.
Draco recorded the number and direction of stirs and consulted his notes. He'd re-measured the volume of liquid after boiling to determine the amount of reduction. It stood to reason, the greater the volume, the greater the length of time necessary to destroy the toxins. Making a decision, he said, "I'll wait three minutes."
Looking at his watch, Percival waited a length of time before saying, "Sixty seconds."
Draco stirred the tea again, the same number of stirs in the opposite direction.
"Thirty seconds."
A pair of long, silver tongs lay on the table, ready to be used.
"Twenty."
As Percival counted down the remaining seconds, Draco picked up the tongs and held them ready to retrieve the bezoar.
". . . three, two, one."
Plucking the bezoar out, Draco placed it on a small towel. He retrieved an eyedropper and suctioned up a quantity of the, hopefully, now detoxified tea.
"Here goes," he said as he collected the test subject mouse from its cage. He gave it the tea via the dropper and returned it to its cage.
He repeated the process with the control subject mouse and the untreated tea.
The times both mice were give the tea was entered into his log.
Huddled around the cages, the four men waited.
.oOo.
Harry let his eyes roam around the room in which he and the others waited. It was soft and inviting, hardly the austere type of space he'd always associated with the manor. The wealth of the Malfoy family was evident in every square inch, but it was not a room designed to flaunt that wealth. The furniture was plush and comfortable. The walls were a buttery yellow, and navy blue curtains hung from near the ceiling all the way to the floor, which was covered by a thick rug Harry was sure was worth several months of his salary. With the exception of a large and conspicuously empty frame of intricately carved wood, the walls were adorned with watercolours. The late evening sun was low in the sky, and a warm golden light spilled in through the large windows.
It was just a room, and Malfoy Manor, large as it was, was just a family home. A monster no longer roamed its corridors. Harry told himself that repeatedly.
The door was flung open, and Draco charged into the room. Already on edge, Harry sprang to his feet.
In his hands, Draco held a small white mouse, its nose twitching and its eyes darting all around. Three men followed close on his heels. All four wore triumphant expressions on their faces.
"It worked!" Draco exclaimed. "It really worked!"
Mrs. Malfoy hurried to her son's side. "Draco! That's marvellous!"
"How wonderful," Andromeda said as she and Teddy joined them.
"Well sick!" Teddy exclaimed emphatically.
At the adults dumfounded expressions, Andromeda explained that was the en vogue expression for teenage approval.
Harry remained where he stood, watching. He laid his hand on the arm of the chair in which he'd sat and leaned his weight against it. He'd never noticed before just how handsome Draco was, but then, Harry thought to himself, he'd never seen Draco's expression so radiantly happy.
Draco was clearly surprised to see his aunt and cousin there; however, that surprise was nothing compared to his shock when he saw Harry.
Harry wanted to say something, to congratulate him on his success, but he found himself too absorbed in how well Draco had grown into his features. He'd once looked nothing but pale and pointy to Harry, but as his personality and views had changed, so had his appearance. The sharp, angular contours were still there, but they now gave him a piercing, classic attractiveness. He was every bit as fair complected as he'd ever been, with the same light gray eyes and white-blond hair, but now Harry saw how striking and unique Draco's colouring was.
Draco Malfoy had grown into a very handsome man.
But he'd grown into more than that. He'd grown into a handsome man who was so devoted to improving potions for the betterment of wizardkind he gave no thought to protecting his own interests. More still, a handsome man, devoted to his work, who was not above blowing bubbles into root beer floats through a straw until they spilled over.
Harry felt something inside himself stir to life. Something inside his chest raised its head and blinked its eyes open, sniffing the air around him experimentally. It was waking up and rising to its feet and stretching itself out. It was nothing like he'd felt when he fell for Ginny at the age of sixteen, but it was every bit as undeniable.
Harry was falling for Draco Malfoy, and he had no idea what to do about it.
.oOo.
Oh, Merlin. Harry.
Draco heard his mother call for Biddy to bring them a bottle of their best elf-made wine. He heard the congratulations and the questions. But all he could see was Harry. He didn't take his eyes off Harry until a glass was put in his hand and toast was called for.
He'd not so much forgotten that he'd kissed Harry as been focused on his hypotheses, but now that his experiment had been proved successful, it left his mind free to focus on the kiss—and focus on the kiss it did.
He heard the words of praise for his accomplishment, and he tasted the wine when he drank it, but all he could think about was the fact that he had kissed Harry Potter and, in all likelihood, ruined the friendship Harry had for whatever reason chosen to offer him.
He finished his glass of wine. He hadn't realized how much he wanted that friendship until just then, when it was almost certainly lost.
"How did you hit upon the idea of using a bezoar whole in a separate potion?" someone asked—Draco had no idea who.
"Most clever," another person commented—Draco thought it was perhaps Slughorn, but he would not have bet upon it.
He set his glass down, wanting to pour himself another and only resisting because he knew from experience if he did that, he'd drink his way through the rest of the open bottle and another after that.
"It wasn't my idea," he answered, his eyes on his empty glass. "It was Harry's."
Professor Slughorn beamed with pleasure, saying how he'd known some of his mother's knack for the subject had been passed on and recounting the very same potions lesson Harry had talked about earlier at the play park when Slughorn had taught them about Golpalott's Third Law.
"Every other student half-mad with adding this and that and counting the number of times they stirred and in what direction, and there Mr. Potter stood, calm as could be, and held out a bezoar on the palm of his hand."
Harry disagreed. "Not at all. It was all Draco's own idea. All I did was say it was a pity you couldn't just give the person a bezoar. He took it from there."
Draco raised his head and looked at Harry. His words had spoken so candidly and with such notable affection and admiration that Draco dared to hope that maybe the damage he'd done to their young friendship might not be irreparable after all.
And there was the simple fact that Harry had come to the manor; he'd wanted to be there to hear the results of Draco's experiment. That had to be significant, Draco told himself. He understood what returning to the manor must have cost Harry. But he'd done it. Draco breathed easier; Harry would certainly not be standing in his mother's drawing room if he never wanted to see him again.
One by one, their guests took their leave, starting with Professor Slughorn and Mr. Bilby and ending with Draco's aunt and cousin, until only Harry remained.
"I can't tell you how surprised I was to see you here," Draco said as he and Harry stood in front of the large Floo in the reception hall, his mother having already given her goodbyes and thanks.
"You don't have to," Harry said with an easy laugh. "It was written all over your face." His voice lowering and losing all trace of humour, he added, "I wanted to be here. I'm glad I was."
"I'm glad you were, too." Draco rubbed the back of his neck. The tension of the past couple hours had his muscles knotted tight. "I know coming here couldn't have been easy for you."
Harry studied him for a long while before answering, "Very few things that are easy are worth doing." His eyes dropped before looking quickly away.
Draco's stomach tightened—he could swear Harry had looked at his mouth. What did that mean? His pulse picked up, and his legs felt weak beneath him. His mouth felt dry. "I want to apologies for . . . at the play park."
"No apology needed," Harry said, sounding like someone who tried to speak after running up three flights of stairs.
"I'm sure you aren't accustomed to men—"
"Grabbing me by the shirt and kissing me? No, I can't say I'm accustomed to it, but that—that doesn't mean I'm entirely opposed to it either."
Draco inhaled in surprise so sharply, he was sure Harry had to have heard. Both men found a hundred fascinating all around the reception hall things to study; neither looked at the other for quite some time.
"I should be off. Have to collect the Stooges, and Ron and Hermione will be wanting to hear about your success."
Draco rather doubted that. While he was sure they would be happy to hear his experiment had worked, he was equally sure they'd rather that success had been anyone's but his. He wondered what they thought of Harry's friendship with him—nothing favourable, he was sure.
"They're, um, they're coming to dinner tomorrow night. I make a pretty good Bolognese."
"Oh," Draco said, telling himself he would not be seeing Harry tomorrow then. He was more disappointed than he should have been.
"Why don't you come?"
"What?"
"Come to dinner tomorrow."
"At your house?"
Harry bit his lip and laughed nervously. "Er, yeah."
"With your friends?"
"You're my friend, too."
Draco felt like the bones in his legs had just vanished. He wasn't sure how he was still on his feet. To hear Harry say they were friends . . . "It's—it's not quite the same thing, though."
For the second time, Harry's eyes lowered and quickly darted away. That time, Draco was sure he'd looked at his mouth. What did that mean? Did it mean . . . ? Draco's heart beat faster. When Harry said he wasn't opposed to a man kissing him, did he mean men in general? Or Draco in particular?
Harry reached for the Floo powder. Before tossing it into the flames, he looked at Draco. "Think about it?" he asked. Then, with a Whoosh of green flames, he was gone.
.oOo.
Alone in his bedroom later that night after getting the kids tucked into bed, Harry sat quietly and twisted the gold ring on his finger. He thought about Ginny, about how happy they'd been. He thought about how easy being with her had been; they'd understood each other inside and out. Gin was the only person to whom he'd ever confessed that he found men as attractive as he found women. She'd asked him outright one night when they'd had a porn movie on during sex. Apparently, straight men only ever noticed the women in those movies and didn't comment about the bloke's cock. He'd felt sick to his stomach admitting it, terrified she'd be furious, but he wouldn't lie to her. He'd never lied to her about anything. He'd sworn it didn't matter, begged her to believe him—he loved her, he wanted her, only her. She'd laughed in her easy way and kissed him. "Silly. Don't you think I know that?" she'd asked him.
Then she'd ordered him onto his hands and knees and done things to him that he'd done to her.
Being with Gin had been as easy as breathing. It had been everything their friends and family had wanted, not that that had mattered. They'd been together because neither could imagine not being with the other. If the people they both loved had disapproved, it would not have stopped them.
Being with Draco would be anything but easy.
Harry sighed and rubbed his eyes. Was he seriously considering this? Or was he just daydreaming? Draco was the first person to wake up these feelings inside him. Was that all it was? Draco aroused him. Was that all he was feeling? Or was there more to it?
What even made him think there was a chance Draco returned whatever it was he was feeling? The only relationship he knew for certain Draco had ever been in had been with Scorpius' mother, even if he'd said it hadn't been serious. He'd likely had others, but what made Harry think he had any interest in men?
Harry's mind kept returning to that kiss, but he knew very well it had meant nothing. Draco had been overwhelmed; he'd got caught up in the excitement and emotion of having hit upon the solution he'd needed. That was all.
Still, Harry couldn't imagine a single scenario, no matter how monumental, that would ever make him grab one of his friends and kiss them.
Harry had a dozen unanswered questions in his head as he twisted the ring around his finger. But he did have one answer, at least. Standing up and leaving his bedroom, Harry slipped his wedding ring off his finger for good and placed it beside Ginny's in the safe concealed in the corridor wall.
He touched the door of the safe after locking it. I will always love you, Gin. Nothing will ever change that. But I'm ready to let you go now. I'm ready to start living again.
.oOo.
