A/N: I have to go back to work tomorrow, so this will probably be the last update this week… And, this chapter is a whole page longer than the last one D
Disclaimer: Has Harry shouted "Expelliarmus!" twenty times in this story? No. Therefore, I don't own them.
Chapter Eleven
Draco had determined that, if Harry didn't apologize that day, he was leaving. He would pack up his stuff, move out, and go to the Muggle part of London, until he could figure out somewhere farther away. Because, honestly, was Harry worth all of the pain, suffering, threats, angst, internal conflict and misery that Draco was going through?
And, with a self-defeated groan, Draco found that he did think Harry was worth all of that…
"Stupid Scar Head." Draco mumbled, locking up Flourish and Blotts for the night, before Apparating home.
--
Harry was a lousy chef. No, really, he was. Forget the fact that he had grown up as slightly more than a servant in a Muggle household. He couldn't cook to save his life. Which, probably, made his attempt at an "I'm Sorry" cake completely worthless.
But, he was going to try.
--
Draco smelled something burning when he first opened the door. His face crinkled in disgust, and he headed towards the kitchen.
When he reached the kitchen, the disgust turned to amazement and then anger.
"And just what do you think that you're doing?" Draco asked, his arms crossed defiantly against his chest.
Harry was startled, and the bowl in his hand went flying, causing Draco to roll his eyes.
"Um… cooking?" Harry lamely suggested, Draco's anger not being abated.
"Knowing full well that you can't cook to save your life?" Draco questioned.
"Heh…" Harry sheepishly grinned.
Draco's eyes rolled again. "Well, why are you making the rest of us suffer through your poor cooking skills?"
"Well…" Harry began, "I wanted to make you an 'I'm Sorry' cake."
Draco stared at him. "Uh huh… and how were you going to apologize for poisoning me?"
Harry blushed. "I… I… don't know…"
Draco shook his head, eyes to the ceiling. "Perhaps, Potter, next time you should think through your actions."
Harry just meekly agreed.
Draco turned away, and let his anger seep away. Now his heart was racing for a different reason—Harry cooking for him was sweet…
He mentally groaned at how sappy and love struck he had become, then headed elsewhere in the house so that he wouldn't have to deal with Harry's unknown charm.
--
Harry sighed. It seemed as if he couldn't do anything right these days. Resigning himself to defeat, Harry began to clean up the mess that he had made in the kitchen.
He would just have to come up with another way to say that he was sorry…
--
Draco had mistakenly walked by the fireplace on his walk away from the kitchen. Seeing the fireplace reminded him that he still had yet to talk to Narcissa…
He groaned, and cursed Harry once more as he threw the Floo powder in and muttered, "Malfoy Manor!"
--
Harry surveyed the newly cleaned kitchen. He frowned. Now he had to think again and, lately, thinking hadn't been his forte.
--
"Mother?" Draco called, as he brushed the soot off his clothes. There was no reply, causing Draco to sigh and head off to search the manor once more.
--
The idea was perfect, Harry felt. He didn't have to try and cook anything and, better yet, the act would show how truly sorry he was…
--
Draco found Narcissa in the master bedroom, primping.
"Mother?" He cautiously inquired.
"Mmm?" She murmured in acknowledgement, inclining her head as an indication for him to come in. "Your father said I should be expecting you."
Draco swallowed in an attempt to make his throat less dry. This was not going to be a pleasant conversation…
--
Harry marveled at how empty Diagon Alley was in the evening. He just hoped that the one store he needed would be open this late…
--
"Did he?" Draco questioned.
Narcissa nodded.
Draco inhaled. "He didn't mention why, perchance, did he?"
Narcissa's mouth thinned into a nearly indistinguishable line. "No, he just said that it was a matter you needed to tell me personally."
Draco exhaled, then laughed nervously. "Haha, okay…"
--
The Boy Who Lived felt very fortunate that he was able to pick up the one item that would complete his plea for forgiveness. "Now…" Harry mused, "To figure out when…"
--
Draco stood in the doorway, not wanting to be any closer to his mother. "Well, you see, Mother, I have…" he faltered, unable to come up with a less confrontational term, "See, the thing is…" He sighed. This was a disaster, and he had yet to tell her.
--
Harry had searched the house for Draco—there had been no sign of the angered blonde. Worried, he paced in front of the fireplace, hoping that Draco would return via Floo…
--
"Draco, dear, I can't believe that you have forgotten all of your formal training. I bet it's because you insist on working like a common wizard." Narcissa frowned.
Draco started to defend his work, then thought better of it, knowing that he did not need to add another fight to today's visit. "Mother," he resolutely said, "I'm dating Harry Potter." And, before she could say anything, Draco had hastened to the fireplace.
Had he stayed, the hairbrush would surely have hit his head, as opposed to the wall.
--
Harry had quit pacing, and was now slumped on the couch.
Suddenly, a slightly flustered Draco jumped out of the fireplace, soot flying across the floor and table.
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Run into the ghost of Voldemort?"
Draco glared at him. "No, worse, my mother." He quipped, and then sighed when he saw the mess.
"Don't worry." Harry said. "I can get it later…"
"But if you wait until later then it will sink in and I'll never be able to get it out!" Draco exclaimed.
"Draco, love, I think that you're—" Harry began, but was cut off by Draco snapping at him.
"Don't call me love! I'm still mad at you!"
Harry sighed. The evening was not going as smoothly as he had hoped it would.