"Right, come on."

Draco led the way to his rooms, mainly as he couldn't rightly avoid it. His Mum had neatly outflanked him and there was no help for it.

"It's a bit of hike, isn't it?" Potter muttered after the first two minutes trotting along. "No wonder you Malfoys are thin as rails. Walk a mile to breakfast every day, do you?"

A muffled laugh burst out of Draco; he couldn't stifle it. He stopped and waited for Potter to catch him up, extending a hand as the other man drew level. A quick twist of wrist and his fingers were slotting about Potter's, gripping.

"What?" he snorted, bumping up as Potter didn't instantly jerk away, though he treated Draco to a very level stare before continuing to walk on, barely pausing. Draco fell into an easy lope close beside him, as if this were perfectly natural, what they were doing, holding hands like two schoolgirls. They'd not done such a thing before, ever, at least not meaning to. He wasn't sure why he wanted it now, but he did.

And no, he'd have preferred to wait a bit on showing Potter what he'd—they'd—done up for him, but it was inevitable he'd see it, so…best to be a bit cool, right? No big deal, this.

"You can't keep up, Potter? It's only a house, you know. Like any other." That earned him a pronounced roll of eyeballs and a snort.

"The hell it is! It's more it's a ridiculous pile of—oh, er!"

Potter's cheeks went a bit pink. His manners—ah? Draco had been fairly sure Potter had them, somewhere tucked away, whether he choose to employ them or not. They must've caught up with him suddenly, because he gulped, and twisted his lips as if actively engaged in reshaping the words that came spilling out.

"N-Not that your house, Malfoy, exactly, is ridiculous, but—"

"Yes, well…" Draco took pity and shrugged an easy shoulder, peering sideways at Potter. The Manor must be enormous in comparison to the tiny Muggle sty Potter was raised in. Nothing like on Hogwarts scale, but still—a substantial residence, right? He couldn't very well take offense if Potter was a little taken aback by the magnitude, could he? No…he couldn't. He wouldn't, either. "It is what it is. And it's not half bad, even after—even after—er!"

He zipped lip abruptly, humping the opposite shoulder in lieu of continuing down what was likely a quite brambly path, politically. Discretion and all that. He didn't like to recall any of it himself, what had gone on before. Potter wouldn't either, and it wasn't at all to the point that he should, was it? Point was, Potter should learn to like the Manor a little. Bring the baby here. Maybe stay.

"Ah...forget it," Draco gulped, gaze anywhere other than on Potter. "It's nothing much, really. No—no. You're probably perfectly correct. It is a bit much. My house."

"...No," Potter replied, after a long moment of steady pacing, eyes travelling curiously about the details of the corridor they were traversing, flickering over the open doors of all the rooms that populated the Main House as they went. "No…it's nice, really."

That surprised another bark of a laugh from Draco. "'Nice', Potter? Really, now. Thank you."

"Welcome," Potter replied, all laconic and eyes forward, trudging along regardless. Draco merely sniffed at him in return, not meaning anything by it, and they'd fallen into a semi-companionable silence by the time they arrived at the split stairwell leading up to the next floor, where the family's private suites were mainly situated.

"This way, then. Not much farther," Draco offered up casually, and didn't leave go of Potter's hand as they began the climb. It was the way he used most often, faster by far to traverse than the main staircase, the grand one up front his parents had only ever descended to impress visitors. This back one rose up in easy landings from the rear of the main house and, if they'd gone a little farther down the corridor, past it, they'd've found themselves by the kitchens and thence to the smaller, more private rooms he and his Mum used most regularly nowadays. Morning Room, Music Room, Conservatory. "I'm only up one flight."

"Ah."

Draco became very conscious of Potter's breathing. It was a bit harsher, and his eyes were narrowed behind the reflective lenses of his specs, as if he were feeling somewhat strained. It had been a long day, really, even for Draco. Tiring, although the majority had been spent sitting. Potter might like a little lie-down before dinner in place of exploring; Draco made a mental note to ask him if he'd prefer a kip on his bed instead.

"Super." Potter nodded gamely, and slowed up even more, his other hand finding the carved banister as he went, gripping on for balance. Draco instinctively matched his steps, idling along as unobtrusively as possible as Potter took on the shallow stairs with a will and a certain iron set to his jaw. Probably if he dared slip an arm 'round Potter's back the stubborn fool would glare at him and shake him off, disdaining the boost, so he let it be, only making certain to keep their fingers entwined and go along at a snail's pace. A terribly geriatric snail, too.

All the same, he couldn't wrench his eyes off Potter's person as they went.

He so seldom really saw Potter simply to look at. In fact he couldn't think when he'd a recent opportunity to really evaluate him carefully. It was glimpses here and snatches there and not much more, and all in passing. They spent very little time together during the actual school day, no longer being automatically paired up as partners even being in the same lectures, and then with Potter not playing Quidditch nor beavering away as he had on the remaining bits of the castle that were in need of repair on the weekends there simply wasn't much chance for them to come into contact, except at a distance. And Potter still sat at Gryffindor for his meals, naturally enough, and he at Slytherin. And gods knew, they certainly weren't meeting up for a quick snog in a deserted lav or a fast wank in a closet like they been used to, either. No…they weren't.

He was…Potter was very much a changed man, no argument. Draco had certainly taken a great interest in the changes all along, but maybe he'd been a bit removed from it, concerned with the potion, or comparing the physical rate-of-maturation data to what he'd learnt of his Cousin deLisle's experience? But...it was a bit shocking, how a formerly fit young man's body did what it did when landed with a great deal of very much centred and meaningful weight gain. Draco's fingertips had of course told him by night how Potter was softer, all about; how the lean vulpine lines of him had blurred as the baby grew. Part of it water and part of it blood, Healer Zook had remarked casually one day; part of it a gentle padding of fat and flesh, protective especially about the abdomen, where the child had made a space for him or herself out of Nothing and Magic, combined. No—not 'Nothing'. Requirement.

And some of it was Draco, himself. Part of him, integrating into Potter. Creating something...someone...special. Someone new.

New? The Manor had changed as well, and by way of his will alone. Well...theirs, as he'd his mother's help. In any event, it had a whole new place made inside it, 'specially just for Potter.

...Potter.

Draco's fingers curled convulsively as he flinched, each step seeming to weigh a little more, be a little heavier, as he and Potter went ever slower rounding the first landing. Only thirteen steps to his floor and then a very short stretch down the corridor to his doorway. It was a bit nerve-wracking, the fear of arriving, though he'd never admit it—not to Potter.

It was only...he wasn't sure if Potter would like it, what they'd done, he and his Mum together. It might be an affront and Potter's temper was already more unstable than ever; he'd be offended, wouldn't he? Or…it might simply be viewed as an intrusion, just as he was an intrusion in Potter's life. Well…Potter believed Draco was one, pretty clearly. Now, at least. Not always, no, but now.

Draco was still seized by a sudden impulse, impossible to deny.

"I, erm. You…ah."

He could explain it? Or, if not explain, precisely...perhaps a bit of advance warning might ease the way? Sensible—it would be sensible, especially after his own mother's machinations. To set the stage, as it were.

"There's…well."

"Yeah?" Potter panted lightly, turning his shoulders to glance over. He was breathing markedly harder, only pausing a bare instant to catch a hurried gulp of air. "Ah! What, Malfoy?"

"Uh..." Draco stared determinedly at the steps rising up in front of them, glacier slow but still coming. Halfway up and chugging along, they were. "I—oh, ah." He heaved a worried sigh. "Yeah, it's. It's, I've…I have something to show you, that's all. Yours. It's yours. 'Specially for your use, I mean. While you're visiting."

"Oh?"

"In my rooms," Draco said, in a rush, all at once feeling horribly tongue-tied under Potter's steady gaze. "Part of my rooms, at least. We've converted over the second study, the smaller one; I wasn't using it for anything much in particular anyway and I thought—I thought, maybe—"

"…Maybe?"

Even three-quarters turned to face Potter, gazing at him nearly full-on as they stumbled along, Draco couldn't learn anything additional from the way the man coolly returned his stare, a stray hank of ruffled hair tumbling down his forehead and obscuring half his spectacles. The eyes behind them were blanking out, emotionless and null of all expression, as was the usual these days—giving nothing away. Dead jade, them. And the lips—those quirky, expressive lips had nothing more to convey to Draco, nor did the level tone of his voice. Curious, that was all. Just curious, was Potter.

"Maybe what, Malfoy?" A little spark of something, a ghostly hope that Draco was barely even aware he'd been holding—it died out in a blink, as if it had never been. Draco scowled.

"Right. You'll see soon enough, I suppose." Put off, Draco replied sharply, shortly, mentally throwing his hands up over the whole idiot idea. Potter would either like it or hate it intensely and only Potter knew which it would be, the squirrely little prat he was. He gave the git's hand a little squeeze, to urge him on. And a yank, too, for good measure. They were almost there. "Look. No sense rushing it; it's nothing much, really, anything I've. Er. But come on along, will you? It's only just there."

"Where?"

They'd made the start of the first floor hall, which stretched on for ages, a vast carpeted vista studded with closed entries, for these were the private rooms of the family. But Draco's quarters were first along it. At the wave of his free hand a set of double doors swung open and Potter's eyebrows lofted slightly when he caught the motion of them.

"Huh," he huffed, fleeting curiousity replaced by a dubious smirk. "I see." Or perhaps it was more a breathless sneer. "All the mod cons laid on, then. Must be nice, Malfoy. To be you."

Draco gritted his teeth silently and restrained himself from growling at Potter.

"No," he replied, a wealth of learnt patience in his voice. "It's not me, Potter. It's the Manor. It's what it does. That's my room and it knows it, so it's helping me out, is all. It's saying its welcome to me, wanting me to come in."

"Ah." Potter blinked as they arrived. "Your doors do that?" He touched the solid frame of the gaping entry with a curious fingertip in passing as Draco practically shoved him on through. "Hmm. That's…that's nice, I guess. Muggle houses don't do that, not at all."

"Wizarding ones do, proper ones, that is," Draco replied sedately. "Ours is proper, of course."

He nodded round his familiar old room, taking in the fact the elves had tidied and polished within an inch of their lives while he'd been away and all was spit-spot. Yet another tray of tea was set out on the small table before the hearth and two of his armchairs were drawn cozily up before a blazing little fire. The lavatory door stood open, giving a view of a generous tub, acres of pristine white toweling and gleaming brass fittings. And there, beyond the first closed door of the first 'study', as Draco liked to call it, or rather what was really the largish spare space in which Draco had always kept his own books and his precious Quidditch collection, was a second entry—a second 'study'. That door had been left wide open by the elves, perhaps in some sense of misguided anticipation.

Really, he wished they hadn't. He'd have liked to introduce Potter to what lay behind that second door in his own good time.

"Yes, indeed." Draco ducked his chin down, very deliberately not glancing in that direction at all. With any sort of dumb luck, Potter wouldn't spot it immediately. "Malfoy is very proper. As it should be. Er...tea?"

"Oh…" Potter, however, paid him not the slightest attention. "Oh!" They'd made their way fully inside, Potter could see anything and everything, and blast it, but there that Room was, in all its wonky glory.

"Um, how about over here, by the fire?" Draco tried, but it was fruitless. "Potter?"

Too late; Potter was clearly caught by his view into the second study. Which was no 'study' of Draco's any longer, no.

Colours practically spilt out of it, that second door; a riotous blossom of impressions blaring into the dignified setting of Draco's elegantly taupe and hunter green-hued sitting-cum-bed room. The slivers of lime green and a rich royal purple-blue mixed were a bit of visual corker, really. So was the vivid orange, blending to a blood-red tint at the edges. Black metal and glassy reflections, like mirrors—those were the various posters, framed—then the teapots, all odd and all weird, every one of them—and then the sofa, set just so in pride of place. The centerpiece, that particular divan. And remarkably familiar, too.

In lavender, a dense shade of it. Soft and inviting, with the sheets that were Draco's in particular. And tucked over in a corner, 'neath windows charmed to curve, was a Muggle music machine and a shelf of the silly vinyl discs that went with.

Potter's eyes went wide as he tugged his hand from Draco's finally and went wandering toward the study door and all it lead into, lost in an apparent daze—and perhaps some sort of shocked form of Potterish delight. He ducked his head in once—twice, then pulled back and rolled it about on the stem of his neck, eyes closed. As if he couldn't believe it, could simply not lay credence to it, and his had eyes deceived him. But was pleased, very pleased, all the same.

Draco caught his breath, holding it tight within him till his very lungs felt like bursting, and didn't even know he was doing so, not a bit of it. It was the very hardest of things to do, waiting.

But…Potter did glance back at last, chin tipped sideways as he regarded Draco's still figure, left abandoned a little way into the master bedroom. Draco straightened to his full height instantly, squaring his shoulders, and licked his lips quickly, for they were all at once bone-dry. He stepped back a pace defensively, till his spine almost knocked into the doorframe, and wondered vaguely what the verdict might be.

"Do you like it, then?" He noted he sounded a little odd. Not like himself at all, really. "Er. That."

Win or lose, pass or fail, it might very set the tenor for this whole visit. What he'd done, him and his Mum. For Potter.

"I tried—we thought—you—might. Well…"

"You? You—really?"

Potter squinched up his face at Draco, curiosity in every line. His eyes were utterly brilliant, green as dragon-fire in the low-level lighting the elves had left behind after their cleaning spree. He stuck the flat of one hand out, fingers curling up as he waggled them about aimlessly. As if he'd been handed something, and didn't quite know how best to hold on to it, maybe.

Draco blinked back at him and shut the fuck up. He'd not been making much headway explaining, had he?

"You've made my Room for me? Here, Draco?"