Harry,

Are you done remembering yet? I think four days has been long enough. I've spent the past two days running the shop, and it's gotten quite boring.

Perhaps you could drop by sometime today, and we could talk about your plans for the gala. Ha, I never thought I'd say that. You, planning a gala! Half of me wonders if you were even being serious.

Stop by anytime today. I'll be open.

Draco

Harry grinned at the letter. He had just spent the entire morning finishing the tree sculpture, but he had to admit he'd been wondering if and when Draco would ask to see him again. It had been surprisingly strange to spend four days without him. The mystic sentimentality he had felt the night they were at Hogwarts had since faded, at least on his part, and he was feeling slightly back to normal.

He had not forgotten the kiss, of course, or the lingering touches and promises of fair, romantic treatment. But once he'd given himself a few days to distance himself, his head felt clearer. He no longer felt as though he were tumbling into something with Draco too quickly, want it as he might.

He had needed the time for the logical part of his mind to take back over and to tell him that just because he had spent seven years at Hogwarts obsessing over Draco, and the years afterwards worrying for him, did not justify jumping into anything just because an emotional night had triggered feelings. He needed proof that it was more than just an old infatuation taking advantage of his loneliness.

But the minute he read the letter, he felt his heart skip a beat. He really did want to see Draco again, as much as the "logical" part of his mind told him he needed to stay away a while longer. Once that emotional part took over, he found himself thinking that his "logic" sounded like the self doubt he had felt that waking morning…

But be practical. He reminded himself, feeling like the third party to his own head. You're there to talk about the gala with him. And it's hardly been two weeks since you met him again after the trials. This is still new; you still don't know him.

But he had also spent his days away reading Pennom's articles, and he felt like that also gave him some sort of passage to knowing Draco's mind.

I'm hopeless. He thought dizzily, as he stepped outside to apparate to Draco's shop. He could apparate from the inside, of course, being the master to the wards, but he wanted to see if this was easier.

Snap, and he was standing inside of the record shop, feeling as though that had been much easier. He hadn't felt the need to apparate outside, as Draco had said he would be open.

"Hello." Draco greeted him, sitting up tall behind his counter. "You surprised me," he added.

"Sorry," Harry apologized, grateful that there was no one else in the shop to scare. It was completely devoid of customers, but there was some music playing softly in the background.

Draco must have noticed him tilting his head to listen. "Day Old Runes," he informed him. "One of my favorites, in case you wanted to know."

Harry smiled. "I think you might have mentioned it, actually," he replied.

"Oh. Well, I talk about my music a lot." Draco admitted with a shrug. "Do you want to go upstairs? I don't want to risk staying open another minute, or else I might have another middle aged witch coming in and asking where I keep my Celestina Warbeck..." He muttered, and Harry was humored to see him shiver in distaste.

"You really dislike her, don't you?" Harry asked with a smirk.

Draco turned towards the staircase, locking the door and extinguishing the lights with a wave of his wand. "Yes. I can't have anything so cheesy getting stuck in my head, you know," he replied. "Especially with how mushy I've been feeling around you lately."

Harry stopped. "About that, Draco."

Draco froze, and Harry could feel the ice rolling off of him. "What about it?" He asked, not turning around. Harry wasn't sure if he was feeling rage or fear roll off of the other man, but he decided that neither were proper emotions for what he was going to say.

Harry walked up close behind him, taking Draco by the arm like they had at Hogwarts. "Relax, I'm not going to tell you I changed my mind or anything." Harry assured him, intertwining their fingers through their already linked arms. "I just was wondering if you had seen the picture in The Prophet." He elaborated, choosing not to mention his "logical" mind's earlier protests to their relationship, as they seemed very far away and unrealistic to him now.

Draco laughed nervously, pulling out the newspaper cutting out of his shirt pocket once they had reached the top of the staircase and entered the dark sitting area. "Yeah. I really liked it."

Harry pulled him into the natural light of the kitchen, where he took out his own copy. "I kept mine, too," he whispered giddily. Draco laughed and squeezed his hand.

"You had me worried there, for a minute."

Harry pulled away. "You worry too much, you know." He told him, placing a hand on his shoulder. After a moment, he moved it up to feel the spot where Draco's pulse was beating, slightly irregularly. "But, I still want to take this slow." He added. "It all feels strangely intimate."

Draco laughed, pulling away from Harry's hand. "Why?" He asked. "Because two weeks ago, you wouldn't have fathomed this?" He sounded slightly accusatory.

Harry shook his head, moved behind Draco, and stood on his tiptoes to whisper closely in Draco's ear. "Two weeks ago, I spotted you through glamours and thought I'd do this to get your attention." He breathed onto Draco's neck, and he saw the hairs stand up a bit.

Draco shivered again. "Fair enough. But a single week ago, you were blowing up a storm in my shop and in denial that I was Pennom."

"And then the next day I spent the night with you. Because you happen to be rather charming," Harry told him, pressing a quick kiss to his shoulder.

"Endearing, I believe you said," Draco corrected him. "Anyhow, I suppose you've thought it all out, too. Do you want to talk about the gala now?" he inquired.

Harry chuckled, and sat down in one of the kitchen's chairs. "Yes, of course."

"What's so funny?"

Harry shook his head. "It's not, really. I was just thinking how much I hate these sort of events." He muttered, scratching the back of his neck, feeling slightly uncomfortable all of a sudden.

Draco wandered over to the cupboards and began making tea. "Well, luckily for you, I know a lot." He told Harry, pouring water into a kettle. "I'll help you, I promise. Even if I hate them just as much as you do."

Harry felt his cheeks go red. "I'd really appreciate that, Draco. But, before we get started on anything, I think you should know I don't want this to be your conventional gala." He started.

"Oh?" Draco didn't even look over. "That's no surprise, I suppose." Harry hoped he had just imagined the minuscule stiffening in Draco's posture.

"I was just thinking about it, and I had some ideas. I thought I'd run them over with you," Harry continued, realizing he might be stepping on eggshells soon enough. He knew that Draco was extremely uncomfortable in social situations, and he had just discovered that Draco had certain rules that helped him cope with these social situations. He wasn't sure if he would be overstepping any boundaries or breaking any rules with this.

"Well, spit it out, Potter. I can handle it," Draco's voice was only partially jovial, and Harry could still hear the wariness in his voice. "What is it going to be? A strictly no-clothing dress code? Or perhaps you plan on using paper plates and plastic cutlery."

"Well, not quite…"

"Wait." Draco set down the kettle. "You're not planning on having Celestina Warbeck as the entertainment, are you? Is that why you're being so cautious around me?" He demanded. Harry had a feeling he was joking, but he still didn't know Draco well enough to be sure.

"No, Draco! Gods, no, I wouldn't do that to you." He laughed.

"Then what would you do?" Draco asked innocently, pouring their drinks into cups and carrying them over to the table. He sat next to Harry and placed a warm hand over his. "I appreciate your concern, but keeping me on edge is possibly your worst offense."

Harry nodded in apology. "Right, sorry. Well, I don't know if you remember this, but I hate formal robes. And dancing," he explained.

"I remember the Yule Ball," Draco laughed, blowing on his tea to cool it. He paused a moment, and then set the cup down. "Wait, so there will be a no-clothing dress code?" His eyes widened, and he looked horrified. Harry wasn't sure if he was joking or not.

"A no formal clothing dress code." Harry corrected him with a grin. "I was thinking we ought to require our guests should be required to wear the line of clothes the children designed."

"Merlin's pants... You are a wild man, Harry." Draco whispered with exaggerated awe. "What good will that even do?"

"Just think about it, Draco!" Harry exclaimed. "Luna has promised all the profits from the clothes will go to the orphanage. The purpose of this gala is to raise money for the orphans, along with the victims from the attacks. It will also promote the clothing line, which will increase money that goes towards the orphanage!" He was very excited, and Draco hadn't yet expressed a personal issue with the idea, which was good enough for him at the moment.

Draco shook his head. "It's a gala, Harry. As much as you like to mix things up, the people that you want to come are still high society, and they won't want to come to a costume party."

"You really don't think so? I think it could work." Harry told him. "I mean, think about it. The power is shifting to the younger generation these days. Wouldn't they enjoy this?"

Draco shook his head. "Would you willingly wear those garish clothes? Just because they're young doesn't mean they want to make fools of themselves."

Harry turned his palm upside down to squeeze Draco's hand. "I also wanted to have you in charge of the music, so we could hear something good. No boring, classical songs, yeah?" He knew it was a little low, using side handed flattery and a sweetly appealing smile, but he wanted Draco to be on board with this.

Draco narrowed his eyes, apparently noticing the diversion. He didn't let it slide, either. "Oh, yes, because we plan on having sophisticated conversation over my blasting music," he sneered, but he still squeezed Harry's hand back. "Just don't even bother calling it a gala. It's a party, Harry. A fundraising party." He laughed, shaking his head.

"Fine. Then we call it that. As long as we raise money, and I don't feel like a snob, and you enjoy yourself." Harry slid his arm up Draco's forearm, trying to give him reassurance with the touch. Draco only grimaced.

"I don't really like being touched there, Harry." He whispered pulling his arm away.

"Wha-oh." Harry pulled away, realizing that it was his left forearm, where the Dark Mark had been. He had almost forgotten that Draco had been a Death Eater. He had stopped thinking about Draco that way after the trial. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright. It's just a scar now," Draco assured him. "Anyway, the party." He added, offering Harry his right hand to hold instead. Harry continued with the gesture of gripping his forearm.

"So, if I manage to put it together, would you come, Draco?" Harry asked. "If there's anything that makes you... anxious or anything, you wouldn't have to go." He watched Draco with a concerned expression.

Draco smiled warmly. "I won't know until you've planned out the details. Which is why I intend to help you."

"Thank you, Draco."

"Thank you."

Draco knew he was grinning like a fool again, but he didn't care. He held his tea up to his lips to hide it feebly anyway. He listened to Harry babble on about his inane plans for the party, and his aloofness made it all the more endearing.

In all honesty, he thought Harry had lost his mind if he was convinced that he could bring together a group of influential witches and wizards with some tacky pajama-like clothes and wicked music. He was also convinced of doing it in Grimmauld Place, and that he would find some free house elves for hire to do the preparing.

"Harry," Draco interrupted him. "Grimmauld Place would only be appealing if this party was for Halloween, or perhaps Walpurgis night. And as far as I can tell, you want it much sooner than that, and you want to be successful."

"Yes. What's your point?" Harry asked him, pulling that sweetly confused face again.

Draco rolled his eyes. "You need a proper location. Somewhere nice, and somewhere that can host enough people for this kind of party. Even if it does end up to be completely ridiculous and informal, you need to at least put some consideration into where the event will take place." He explained.

"Well, what would you suggest?" Harry asked him.

"Malfoy Manor." Draco replied without skipping a beat. Harry raised his eyebrows.

"You don't think that's a bit risky?" He asked cautiously.

"I thought you liked taking risks," he snapped teasingly, but then noticed the concern etched into Harry's face. He remembered then that Draco wasn't the only one who had complicated history with the Manor.

"Of course, if the idea makes you uncomfortable..." Draco murmured, feeling Harry tighten his grip on his right forearm again.

"Actually, I was more worried about you. I didn't think you would go back there," Harry admitted with what seemed to be sheepishness.

"I don't, or I try not to." He replied. Harry would know why- Voldemort had infested that house. It was tainted and full of painful memories, for the both of them, if he were honest. "But it's just one night. And if we just stick to the ballroom, and perhaps the outdoor grounds, enough decorations could mask it to be pleasant enough."

"Why?" Harry asked.

"Why?' Draco repeated. "Because it would add my name to the project. If it's successful, it will prove that the victims of the attacks have my full support, and that I hold no more grudges against muggles or muggleborns. And it's a nice revenue."

Harry shook his head in apparent disbelief. "Thank you, Draco. Even if you make it sound incredibly self serving." He added with a sly grin.

"Oh, it is. You should know that by now. I should be able to suffer through it, I think-especially if you manage to get a good amount of calming draught for me." Draco added, remembering the beneficial effect it had when he had visited Hogwarts.

"I think that can be arranged," Harry replied, lifting Draco's right hand up in both of his own. "I just want to stop whatever that was that happened at Hogwarts from happening again."

"I call them the wolves," Draco blurted, not meaning to say that aloud.

"What?" Harry asked, looking perplexed as he took away one hand and twined his fingers with the remaining.

"When I have a panic attack, I visualize it as wolves. They prowl around in my head, and they snap at me. Sometimes, it helps to chase them away." Draco explained.

"Is that an Occlumency technique?" Harry asked, nearly wincing. Draco remembered that Snape had spent some time training Harry in it. Apparently, he hadn't enjoyed it.

Draco frowned. "I'm not sure, actually." He confessed. "Though it sounds like something Aunt Bella might have done. Not to help me, of course, but maybe to issue some control over me... Hmm."

Harry stared at him intently.

"Now that I think about it, my anxiety wasn't such a big problem until I had started training with her. When I started serving the Dark Lord," he added. "That must be it, then." He frowned, finding the revelation was neither satisfying or helpful.

"She taught you to use your own mind against you, then," Harry snarled.

"More or less, I suppose." Draco frowned.

"That helps to know, though, doesn't it? We could try and figure out some way to destroy it." Harry had a hopeful glint in his eye, and Draco couldn't help but admire his optimism after everything. Draco doubted the wolves could be done away with, and they gave their agreement to this with a series of painful snaps.

"Perhaps," he mumbled, rubbing the back of his head in attempt to quell the beasts.

"Is there anything else you want to tell me?" Harry asked him.

"Not now," Draco told him. "But I do have a question." He looked Harry in the eye and mustered his best I'm trying not to compare myself to you but I have to know face, which was my no means difficult.

"Shoot."

"How well do you function?" Draco asked him. "You seem fine, but after everything... I don't know if I believe it." From all he had seen, Harry was perfectly well off going into public, he just didn't like it. He didn't seem to harbor any fears or uncertainties. Harry just... was.

He felt Harry nudge him absently with his feet from under the table as he looked away from

Draco's face.

"I'm alright now," he said. "The first two years were hard. All I did was grieve for months, and I developed an addiction to Dreamless Sleep potions in order to function. That was when there were still all the formalities: trials, ceremonies, parties, funerals, diplomatic visits... You know. Boy Who Lived stuff. It was really stressful, but I managed. The Ministry won't let me near any sleep potions now, though." He spoke wryly, and Draco had a feeling there was more to it than all that.

"That's all? Nightmares? Harry, even you aren't invincible. There was more," Draco insisted.

Harry shrugged, looking away. "I was depressed for a while. During the second year, there was a three month period where I never left the house." He looked uncomfortable. If he wasn't ready to talk, Draco wouldn't make him.

"If you're okay now, then I guess that's all that matters." Draco murmured, pressing a kiss to Harry's knuckles from over the table.

"I am," he perked up. "And you will be one day, soon. Do you think you've gotten any better? Since the trials, or whenever."

"Definitely. Once my father was in Azkaban, and I started venturing into the muggle world, it got easier. That was in the second year." Draco told him, and Harry seemed to like hearing that.

So, Draco spent the next hour or so telling Harry about the year he had spent immersed in traveling the muggle world. How he had traveled to Africa for a month and learned to live away from luxury. How he had taken a summer to backpack across most of Europe. How he had discovered his writing when he had kept a journal after spending a few weeks in Wizarding Berlin. About the road trip he had taken across North America, from Canada to Mexico. How he'd thrived in those far off places, without people to recognize him or judge him for what he had done in younger years.

He realized he missed traveling. He missed the freedom of the anonymity and not having to worry about keeping ties to other people. When Harry asked him if he'd give up his life now to do it again, though, he realized he wouldn't.

"No. I was running from myself then. The wolves weren't attacking then, sure. But that's because I was doing what they wanted." He philosophized. "I'm learning to accept myself now."

"So, you really are improving." Harry had beamed at him.

He supposed he was.

Harry had stayed with Draco late into the evening. They had moved from the kitchen table to the bedroom, and Draco had rested himself on Harry's chest, talking easily. They had chattered on about memories from school, how they had both obsessed over each other, how they had "hated" each other.

Draco found himself spewing his insecurities. How he still hated himself for having followed his father so blindly, how he felt as though he had to prove himself, how he was glad to have quit Healing training, but at the same time felt tremendously guilty. Harry had supplied with him with a constant stream of advice and assurance, reminding him that he had only been a child, that the past is gone, and how he had proved himself, and he deserved to be happy. Harry told him how brave Draco had been to tell the world he was Pennom, how much he had admired him for speaking up for what he had believed in.

Draco had needed it, he realized, as silly as it felt to need to be coddled like that. No one had ever been so encouraging or so kind to him. Not even his mother, who had been forced to raise him Lucuius' way or face his wrath.

Harry had needed something different. As Harry had bled out his own insecurities-how he was nothing more than a name, how he was only a hero out of blind luck, how he had gotten out too easy after the war, how he felt he didn't deserve the adoration. He didn't need to be told he was good or worthy or forgiven. He had responded best when Draco reminded him that there was hope for the future, that he had to use his fortune and good name to become the do-gooder he wanted to become. He had to be told that it was okay for him to use his fame for good causes, though.

After hours of talking, Draco realized he and Harry weren't that different. They were both working for the same cause in order to win out over their past selves. They both wanted to be seen differently by the world. They both felt obligated to fix the way things were.

By the time the sun had begun to set, Draco had cast the charm on the ceiling to make it reflect

the sky again. He and Harry were much less awake this time around, and they had fallen asleep again on top of the covers.

Draco thought he might never want to buy a sofa if the bed so successfully promised Harry's spending the night.

Once a Slytherin, always a Slytherin, he assured himself.