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Harry woke up two early on Sunday morning, wanting to get a good breakfast in before quidditch practice. The week long vacation for the players was over.
He swung his legs over his bed and trudged to the bathroom across the hall, never having moved into the Ms. Black's old master suite. That room gave him the willies. In fact, he'd turned that whole part of the house over to Kreacher, leaving that wing as it was while the rest of the house, with the exception of Sirius's room, had been redone: cherry woods and neutral paints over the dark wallpaper. He washed his face in the basin sink and brushed his teeth before heading back into his bedroom. He threw on a pair of jeans he'd left crumpled on the floor for three days and a clean gray t-shirt and slipped into his trainers. He grabbed his practice duffle and carried it downstairs only drop it heavily on the landing as he walked into the kitchen. Kreacher was already up, clanking around when Harry sat at the little breakfast nook.
"Morning, Kreacher," Harry said, clearing his throat.
"French toast almost done, Master Harry," Kreacher answered, muttering happily to himself.
At first Kreacher had been unhappy about the changes Harry wanted to make to Grimmuald Place, what with new wizarding laws requiring proper uniforms (Harry had had to show the official Ministry letter to the elf five times before the Kreacher believed that Harry was not giving him clothes but the Ministry, so therefore he was not being forced into freedom.) and the redecorating. But Harry had promised that no family heirloom would be taken out of the house, and in fact, Kreacher was allowed to keep it all stored in his new wing of the house, Since then Kreacher had been getting his better mood back, better mood for Kreacher anyway. Hermione had even finally figured out how to take Ms. Black's portrait down, after many scream and insults echoed throughout the house, and Kreacher had promptly took to his quarters where Harry was sure he cuddled up to it every night.
The elf sat a plate in front of Harry piled high with French toast dripping in powdered sugar, jam, and syrup with fresh strawberries on the side and a hot cup of tea. Harry looked at it lovingly as it was the most beautiful sight he'd seen that day.
"Thanks, Kreacher," he said sincerely, and began forking off chunks into his eager mouth.
Kreacher only muttered about polishing and dusting later, and Harry enjoyed eating. He was taking his last few bites, drowning them in the sticky pools left behind, when he heard his name coming from the fire place.
"Harry! Er, Harry? You there? I tried your room but it was empty." Harry stood and walked over to the grate where Percy Weasley's head was hovering in the flames, his red hair blending into the fire.
"Oh there you are," Percy said, relieved when Harry was in view. "Morning, Harry!"
"Morning, Perc," Harry greeted. "What can I do for you?"
"Oh, just wanted to catch you before you left. I've got a draft of the marriage contract drawn for your side, just need to go over some things. Would you mind stopping by the house after dinner at Mum's? I'm staying home with Penelope tonight; she's having terrible back pains."
Harry looked a little worried.
"Nothing serious though. Just a big baby," Percy amended, catching the look.
"Oh, yeah, of course," Harry said. "I'll pop in right after I leave."
"Great!" Percy said, grinning as the wood crackled. "Oh, Penelope's calling me. Good luck in practice today, Harry. Goodbye!"
"Bye," Harry returned, and the fire call ended, leaving his fireplace back to normal.
Harry apparated to the Arrow's quidditch stadium a little later, walking into the office side where the receptionist greeted him.
"Hello, Moira," Harry greeted.
"Hello, Harry," the brunette girl returned cheerfully. She stopped him from making his way to the locker room. "Oh, Harry! I've got your guest tickets right here."
Harry turned and took the envelope she was holding. "Thanks!" he said, about to turn away again.
"And I added an extra for your boyfriend, too," she said, all smiles.
Harry's eyes darted to the magazine she was reading on the desk. A big picture of Draco and Harry dancing at The Newt's Eye was taking up most of the article space.
The black haired man inwardly sighed and forced out a reply. "Er, thanks."
"No problem," she said, winking at him. "He's a cutie."
Harry's cheeks reddened as he tried to quickly get to the hallway leading to the locker rooms. He's your boyfriend, now, Harry, fake boyfriend or not, the man repeated to himself. She meant it as a compliment.
Harry was certain Draco would have had a merry little laugh at Moira's comment.
As soon as he entered the player's locker room, he was greeted by cat calls and whistles.
"Eh, Potter! Why didn't you tell us you had a new bloke!" his teammate Adrian crowed.
"And such a good looking and rich one at that!" Tommy, the other beater, piped in, bringing a chorus of laughs.
Bloody hell, Harry groaned to himself.
Harry's face turned as red as all the Weasley's hair. He quickly tried to cover it up by pulling on his robes over his head.
"Read where he said he was gonna give us all free spa treatments. Hang on to that one, there Harry. I like him." Edgar said after Harry's head reappeared, clapping Harry on the back before putting on his Keeper helmet.
Harry just shook his head, trying to appear good natured about all the taunts. Harry should have prepared himself for his teammate's ribbings. He knew they'd read the papers, and they always teased when someone had a new love interest. Draco was no exception. He prayed to Merlin that a bludger would knock him out right then so he wouldn't have to talk about it. Tommy was the type of mate who liked to hear details about the bedroom, and Harry just could not keep the mortification off his face if it came to that conversation.
Luckily Harry was soon saved by a familiar barking voice.
"All right ladies," Janice Leavy shouted, strolling into the men's locker room. She was the only girl on the team, and she was a chaser and a captain.
Harry breathed in relief at her appearance.
"Oi, Janice! Some of us are changing, here!" Adrian cried.
"I'm sure I wouldn't be impressed, Henderson," she retorted without hesitation to which the rest of the team guffawed.
Adrian blushed and gripped his robes tighter, but said nothing.
"Enough, enough," she said, quieting them. "Vacation is officially over. It's back on the broom, boys, and I better not see this free week having turned you into a bunch of lazy, half-arse flying pansies."
Harry grinned at his captain. He wished he could set Janice and Oliver Wood up. If they didn't immediately break into a fight about favorite teams and the best moves, they'd be a perfect match.
"First game with Norway is on Sunday. We got a week to practice our newest defense maneuver, the Hurtling Duo. If we want a shot at the European cup, then we've got to go all out. I want all of you on pre-game diets."-a collective groan filled the room, and Harry already thought longingly of his breakfast this morning-"Take the tactic book home and study it. Practices aren't over until we've nailed everything to perfection. And get plenty of rest. No late nighters! Including you, Potter. No going out dancing with your new boyfriend."
Everyone laughed again. Potter spluttered, the grin falling right off his face.
"Okay, team. Get out there and prove to me your Appleby Arrows!"
The whole team yelled the chant, "Arrows straight and true!" before pulling on robes and leaving for the pitch. Harry's chanting wasn't as jubilant as everyone else's. He grabbed his broom and followed suit.
"Oi, Potter." Janice said, throwing an arm around Harry's shoulders. "Don't be sore. I was just taking the Mickey out of ya."
Harry mustered a small smile.
"Truth be told," she said. "He's quite fit." She slapped Harry on the back and left him speechless as they stepped onto the pitch.
She spread her arms out before her to the sunny open sky.
"Ah," she said, ignorant of Harry's horrified expression. "It's a great day for Quidditch."
"Well, gentleman. It has been a pleasure," Draco said to his two business men, shaking their hands. "Dragon Tamer is ready for bigger and better territory."
The two men congratulated Draco once more on his official permit to open shop and took off down the street. Draco smiled at the newly signed parchment giving him legal rights to sell his products on Diagon Alley and then at the empty but soon to be filled shop front before him.
Must owl Pucey as soon as I get home, Draco thought to himself. So many details still need attending.
"Draco!" A voice interrupted the blonde's planning. He looked up to see Blaise strolling towards him.
"Ah, Blaise!" Draco returned. "Best of news today I hope."
"Not bad, but it seems you're the one with news," the taller man said, smiling broadly.
"It's official," Draco beamed, showing the parchment to his old school mate. "The shop opens in two weeks."
"Fantastic!" Blaise cried, taking Draco's hand and shaking it. "Listen, I'm just here to grab some lunch. Luna's visiting her father. Want to join? My treat. We'll celebrate."
The two friends walked, talking idly, to a tiny little restaurant they visited often.
"Luna sends her thanks for the nail potions. Now she won't come back with ink stained hands from the printing press," Blaise said warmly as they ordered their sandwiches and soups.
Draco nodded. "She is, of course, always welcome," he replied.
They chit chatted about the latest pieces of gossip Blaise's mother had shared with him before their lunch arrived and both were silent for a moment as they dug in.
"I received a letter," Blaise said, trying for nonchalance, eyeing Draco cautiously. "From Gregory."
A vision of the last time Draco seen his friend loomed in the blonde's mind: Vincent's memorial service; he pushed it away, his face remaining passive.
"Oh? And how is he doing?" He sipped his potato soup demurely.
"He's well. Staying with his aunt in Germany right now."
A relief tugged at him, and Draco neutralized his expression so Blaise could not see any soft emotion.
"Good for him," Draco said and went on with his soup.
Blaise continued his careful topic approach. "He read about you and, uh, Harry. He offers his congratulations."
Draco put down his spoon with just a hint of force and began nibbling his sandwich. He would not get upset. He would not discuss this again.
"Draco, Blaise began."I think he'd-"
"We're not talking about this, Blaise," Draco said suddenly, lowering his sandwich, his jaw set. He could hear Ms. Conner, his therapist telling his seventeen year old self that it was not good to block out feelings. Sorry, Ms. Conner, he thought. But to hell with that.
"He barely even sees his fath-"
"Blaise, we are changing the subject," Draco added warning to his tone, looking Blaise in the eye. Blaise knew he was skirting the line.
The taller man's shoulders drooped before he pushed them straight again.
"Alright," Blaise admitted defeat for not the first time. He picked up his rueben and began eating. Draco, feeling certain the subject had been dropped, started eating again, too.
"So how are you and Harry?" Blaise sighed, going back to friendly chatter.
Draco's posture relaxed. They could discuss that.
"We've called a truce," he replied. "Even managed some jokes." Blaise smiled a little across from him.
"Lovely," Blaise commented. "I thought he was going to pour that drink straight in your lap when you ordered it for him. Gryffindors are very prideful."
"Yes, well," Draco laughed. "I was right about the drink, you know."
Blaise shook his head playfully at his friend. "Is Harry coming to your grand shop opening then?"
Draco paused. It would be strange if his intended was not present. He'd have to ask Harry about it later, perhaps owl him. He hoped Harry would agree.
"Yes," Draco answered, drinking his ice water. "I guess he should be, shouldn't he?"
Hello, Master Draco, sir," Dolly called, curtsying as Draco entered the manor. "Your new suit was delivered today, sir. And the ingredients you ordered."
"Thank you, Dolly," Draco told the elf, giving her a brief smile. "I will see to them in a moment."
He left her to find his mother, in the garden no doubt, where she would surely be lounging on such a nice day. He kissed her cheek in greeting upon spotting her and sat across from her in the garden chairs.
"Oh, hello, darling," Narcissa greeted him, putting down a fiction piece. What did you get up to today?"
"The shop is official," Draco beamed proudly. "Everything is signed."
"Wonderful!" she said, sitting up and placing a hand on his wrist. "You've worked very hard for this. The family is proud."
"Thank you, Mother." Draco said, bowing his head to her.
"Oh," she said suddenly. "This just arrived for you. From Mister Potter." She wrapped her sari around her while settling back into the cushions and handed Draco an envelope with his name written in untidy scrawl.
He slit it open neatly and found a single quidditch ticket inside for the Sunday match and a note that simply said: "For you.-Harry." Draco smirked at the brevity of the message. He did not expect sentimentalities from the man, that was for certain.
"Oh, you're going to see him play. How nice," his mother said, looking at the ticket in Draco's hand.
"Yes, I suppose I will. I always love a good game," Draco responded, slipping the ticket back in the envelope.
Narcissa's mouth twisted into a wicked smile. "I trust all is going well between you two. Mister Potter seems cordial enough from what the papers say."
Draco eyed his mother, seeing the teasing gleam in her eye. "We are civil, doing our best to be publicly united," he answered slowly. "No bad press, I hope?"
His mother shook her long blonde hair.
"No, no," she assured, and then added, "There's a wonderful photo of you to at that dance club the other night."
"Yes," Draco sighed, leaning back, remembering the light he could not place. "I thought I saw a camera flash. Glad we are convincing as a couple."
"Well, perhaps this marriage can be tolerable for you both, since you've reached a civil agreement."
Draco gave a small smile to his mother. "Perhaps."
"Let's hope so," she said, eyebrows lifting as she caught his eye. "I'm seeing about drafting the contract for your side of the marriage tomorrow."
