Chapter 49—A Most Uncomfortable Dinner Party

Draco lowered the book and stared at Harry as if he were mad. Harry sniffed a bit. He didn't think his suggestion deserved that extreme a reaction.

"Are you mad?" Draco demanded, confirming the judgment of his eyes.

Harry shrugged and slouched back in his chair. "Hardly. But since I'm not leaving—" He had to pause a moment to absorb the smile Draco gave him when he said that, but he rallied and went on. "And neither are your mum, and neither are Snape or any of your friends who might hate me, I think a dinner party like this would be a good idea. Take away the wands of everyone who comes. Set spells that will punish actual insults. It's what they did a few times at the Ministry when two different Departments or committees couldn't get along. Yes, it didn't always encourage friendship, but at least it made it possible for people to see that cooperation might exist between them. Someday," he added, when Draco's face lengthened. He had to admit he couldn't imagine cooperating with Snape in the near future.

"But if we invite Severus and my mother," Draco said, "and perhaps Blaise and his mother, that leaves you alone."

"I was going to ask Dean Thomas and Neville Longbottom, actually," Harry admitted. He'd easily obtained their addresses from McGonagall, since Dean had done some portraiture work for the school not long before and Neville had sent samples of his plants to Hogwarts's greenhouse. The Headmistress hadn't been able to find Seamus's address, but then, it seemed that few people had heard from him since the war.

"Longbottom?"

"He was in Gryffindor," said Harry. "My year."

"God, Harry, don't remind me." Draco dramatically threw his book to the floor. "The memory of his Potions mishaps still keeps me up nights. I shiver to think that incompetence like that exists in the world." He paused for a moment. "Besides, I never thought he was your close friend."

"My close friends are all gone, Malfoy," Harry snapped, before he could stop himself. Then he shook his head and took a deep breath. "Sorry."

"I rather like anger on you," Draco said, his voice deepening. "I think I've told you that before."

Harry rolled his eyes and ignored the blatant invitation to bed. Draco used sex as a distraction technique too often. "So. I want to invite Neville and Dean, and I want to have the people you care for in the same room, under the same conditions I named. Tell me why this is mad."

"They'll accept you sooner or later," Draco said confidently. "The people I care for, I mean. They have to know they won't be welcome in the Manor unless they can stop arguing with you."

"And will you accept other Gryffindors?"

Draco scowled and looked away.

"None of us are what we were," Harry reminded him. "So Dean could have become a fascinating person, and Neville likewise. You won't know until you meet them."

"I don't like the thought of sharing you with anyone," Draco mumbled.

Harry smiled in spite of himself and the reply he knew he had to give. "And this is why Theresa thinks our relationship is unhealthy. It's not normal to want to share me with your friends but not mine, Draco."

Draco spent a few minutes staring at the far wall of the library, then gave an abrupt nod and stood. "You're right, Harry. Why don't you send the invitations to Thomas and Longbottom? I'll take care of the others."

"I was hoping you'd say that," Harry murmured. The thought of facing Snape by Floo or in person was impossible, and if he sent an invitation by owl, Snape would most likely ignore it or blast it with the Killing Curse. Multiple times, even.

The cynical thought, and the even more cynical ones of everything that could go wrong with a party like this, still couldn't dampen his enthusiasm.

I may finally be adding more to Draco's life than I take away from it.


Draco raised an eyebrow at Severus through the flames, something he knew his old friend particularly hated. He hadn't expected his student to pick up his old trick so quickly and easily, and had been irritated since the first time Draco tried it. "Yes, the invitation is real. Since Harry's here, and he's not leaving, he thought he might as well try to get along with you."

"You great fool," Severus said.

That wasn't the response Draco had expected; a tirade on the subject of Harry's intelligence would have been more like it. He raised the eyebrow further, purely for the pleasure of seeing Severus's face darken. "What?"

"You've fallen in love with him." Severus's voice and face were both severely displeased. "You've given him the power to hurt you, to deprive you of everything you have, for—what? A pair of eyes? The look in a pair of eyes? In all my time at Hogwarts, Mr. Malfoy, I only saw a few Slytherins act as greater idiots."

"You know nothing," Draco said coolly. From other people, this accusation might have made him fly into a rage, but he knew Severus too well. For one thing, he would only match cutting words with cutting words; for another, Severus had always disapproved of his obsession with Harry, so this wasn't new; and for a third, he knew things about Severus that no one else did, things confessed during the terror of the War when they hid together. "You've never been in love yourself, you told me that, so why would you know what it looked like?"

Severus's lips thinned. "I will only attend this dinner party if you beg me, Draco. And if you keep your mother seated between me and Potter."

Draco did the begging, in words of flattery he'd learned his first year at Hogwarts. Severus knew his students were buttering him up, and they knew he knew it, and in general everything worked out nicely. And Severus accepted the invitation as Draco had known he would, before vanishing abruptly from the fireplace to go back to the garden.

Draco sat back and shook soot out of his hair.

And so what if I have fallen in love with Harry? Unless I'm greatly mistaken, he's on the verge of falling in love with me, and he's given me more power over him than I can ever trade to him. He's more vulnerable than I am. He has more points of weakness.

Severus is being paranoid.


Harry waited in front of the Manor. Narcissa, Blaise, and Mrs. Zabini had all accepted their invitations, and even Dean and Neville had returned polite if puzzled answers. Draco had assigned him the task of greeting the guests—except for Snape, who could come in through a private Floo connection and who would have regarded Harry's greeting him with the same delight that he would being Transfigured into a newt—while he supervised the house-elves in their preparation of the dinner.

Narcissa was the first to appear, landing in front of him without a sound, but with the same faint smile she'd displayed when she came to visit the other day. Harry kissed her hand, but made sure that nothing but common politeness showed in his eyes. He wasn't about to look as if he were falling over himself in gratitude, not when that might seem like a weakness to her.

"I see you are not leaving, Mr. Potter," she said. "Neither the Manor nor Draco's life."

Harry returned her gaze full-on. It really wasn't any harder than meeting Madam Bones's glare. "That's true."

Narcissa nodded, a sharp motion like a wading bird thrusting its beak into the water. "Then we should speak, Mr. Potter. There are too many things I have to say to you. A few days from now?"

Harry slowly let out his breath. He was sure Draco would want to check the offer for traps, but at least Narcissa was making the effort, and Harry wouldn't deprive Draco of his family. "I look forward to it, ma'am."

She curtsied to him and passed inside, just as Neville Apparated into the garden in a whoosh of noise. Harry grinned slightly as he walked over to greet him. Neville was powerful, of course, but he'd never won much control over his magic.

Neville was and was not the boy Harry remembered from the last months of the war, unexpectedly aged by an attack the Lestranges had made on his home that nearly cost his grandmother her life. He had lost the fat that made him chunky as a teenager and turned into a solid man, someone you could brace yourself on, Harry thought, as they shook hands. Dirt was crusted under his fingernails. Neville noticed it a moment after Harry did and rubbed his hands self-consciously.

"I should have cleaned up better…"

Harry shook his head and focused his accidental magic to cast a simple cleaning spell. "That's fine, Neville. I'm glad you came." And he was. He couldn't banish that slight grin from his face, and it had grown into a full-fledged smile. He turned around when he heard another crack, and raised his voice. "And you, too, Dean!"

"Harry?"

The incredulity in the tone just made Harry smile more. If Dean had ever seen him during his work as an Auror, then he must be wondering about the cause of the change. He nodded and walked over to shake Dean's hand in turn. Dean had grown tall enough that Harry didn't think he would recognize him without his voice. Of course, the glasses perched on his nose contributed to that feeling, too. He had evidently done more cleaning charms than Neville, since his hands were free of paint.

"I can't believe that you're living in the Manor with Malfoy, of all people," said Dean, when the handshake and the initial assessment were over.

"Or that you have his permission to invite people to dinner parties," Neville suggested, behind him.

Harry laughed. The sound was rusty, but it flowed easily enough from his lips. "It was—well, it was complicated. And there's a lot that I don't want to talk about yet. But he woke up me from a living nightmare, one I should have awakened myself from earlier." He gave his shoulders a brisk shake. He really didn't want to talk about it. "What have you been doing?"

"Painting," said Dean, at the same moment as Neville said, "Gardening." They paused and looked at each other for a moment, and then Neville tried to stammer an apology at the same moment as Dean gave one. And then they both smiled, and for a moment Harry felt as if he stood in sunlight.

"I'm married," Dean added softly. "I don't suppose you remember Susan Bones?"

Harry blinked. "Of course I do. Congratulations, Dean."

Dean inclined his head modestly. "Thank you. We're expecting our first daughter in the spring."

Harry turned to Neville. "And what are you doing?"

Neville looked down shyly. Harry thought he was probably more self-confident than this, usually—the lines around his mouth and eyes were mostly laugh lines—but being in the presence of someone he hadn't seen in eleven years, and in front of Malfoy Manor, probably affected him. "Keeping the greenhouses," he said. "And—well, caring for my grandmother." He glanced up, and sadness had softened his features. "She was never really the same after the Lestrange attack, but she isn't quite dead yet."

Harry briefly let his hand brush Neville's, then looked up as Blaise and Mrs. Zabini Apparated in. "I have just two more guests to greet, and then we can go inside," he said. "Wait for me a moment?"

Neville nodded, but Dean called after him as he jogged off. "What are you and Malfoy, Harry? Friends?"

Harry hesitated for a split second, then replied, "Lovers." He didn't turn to watch their faces. He would deal with the repercussions of that announcement later.


Draco had arranged matters very carefully. That was, he had given intricate instructions to the house-elves and made sure they carried them through to the letter.

Severus sat next to Draco on his left. Harry was at his right. Draco, of course, had the place of honor at the head of the table. He had thought of doing exactly what Severus asked and separating him and Harry with Narcissa, but he had not been able to pass up the temptation to let everyone at the dinner party see exactly where Harry belonged. They weren't rivals for Harry's affection, but they should know what place Harry held in his life, just in case anyone disagreed or thought Draco would grow bored and drop Harry in a few days.

Dean Thomas sat on Severus's other hand, since Draco didn't remember his being incompetent in potions. Neville was beyond him, then Gloriana Zabini at the bottom of the table. Narcissa was on Harry's right, next to Blaise. Draco hoped the positioning of the table would give his mother a bit to think about.

Blaise had accompanied his mother back home after a bit of shouting, of course. Draco made sure to catch his friend's eye when he and Gloriana entered the room and raise his eyebrows. Blaise turned away with a grimace on the edge of discomfort and looked around for a drink. Draco had instructed the house-elves not to give him anything. He wouldn't have his own dinner party interrupted with a scene, thank you.

Severus stood scowling in a corner of the room and said nothing to anyone until Narcissa entered, at which point he stalked over to speak with her. Narcissa nodded calmly, but her face was so expressionless Draco couldn't tell what she thought, if anything.

Dean Thomas struck up a quiet conversation with Blaise, and Longbottom with Gloriana. Harry stepped through them and up to Draco. Draco felt his muscles relax from a cramped position he hadn't known he held. With Harry next to him, he felt much more confident about the success of this party.

"They seem to be getting along well, so far," Harry said.

Draco snorted and motioned with his head towards Severus, who was glaring at Longbottom for all he was worth. "Only so far, Harry."

"Thank you for letting me invite them," Harry murmured, taking no notice of this.

"The Manor is your home, as well, Harry," Draco said firmly. "You should be able to invite whom you desire. You know that."

Harry gave him a sidelong look that blossomed into a true smile, and he squeezed Draco's arm. "Thank you."

Then he was gone, walking over to Longbottom and Gloriana and saying something that made them both laugh. Draco shuddered. He hoped Blaise would come over and speak to him—that would be better than his mother—but, surprisingly enough, it was Dean Thomas who did.

"Malfoy." His intent brown eyes were not hostile, but assessing, wary, as if he were about to paint Draco's portrait before his execution and needed to know what light he looked best in.

"Thomas," Draco said, and accepted his hand without a flinch. He saw Thomas's eyebrows rise, and supposed he won points for that. Thomas was Muggleborn. He might have expected screaming insults and a flash of Draco's Dark Mark. Draco kept his private eyeroll to himself. Such gestures did nothing. He'd learned that before the end of his sixth year, or, at the latest, the moment Dumbledore fell from the Tower.

"I'd like to ask you a question, if you don't mind," Thomas said.

"Of course." Draco kept his voice and face both blank and polite.

"Why did you decide to become Harry's lover?"

Draco checked himself from a startled reaction with haste. So Harry had told him, then, since he wouldn't have known what to believe from the Daily Prophet. He studied Thomas carefully, but could see only genuine curiosity and interest. He supposed he wouldn't be the recipient of a "if you hurt Harry" speech, then. If he had been, he would have laughed in Thomas's face. Harry's Gryffindor friends had lost the right to say that kind of thing to him when they left Harry completely on his own after the war.

"Because I care a great deal about him," said Draco. "Because no one else was taking care of him. Because of many other reasons that I doubt you would understand unless you've had male lovers yourself, Thomas."

That made the other man flinch, a bit, but his eyes were still steady. "At least you sound like it's real to you," he said, "not a game."

Draco waved a hand at the people around them, half of them staring suspiciously at the other half. "This would be a bit much for a game, don't you think?"

"I don't know." Thomas had a casual, easy shrug, though Draco found he preferred Harry's utterly open mannerisms. "I've never been able to tell what's real to people like you and what isn't."

Draco settled for a scowl. If I didn't love you, Harry, I never would have agreed to this.


It wasn't perfect. It was very far from perfect. There was a short, vicious conversation with Snape that made Harry wince when he recalled it. Gloriana Zabini and Narcissa conversed together for a while, and then Narcissa laughed in a soft way Harry didn't like at all. Neville stuttered and stared at his own feet for most of dinner, or sat in utter silence. Dean kept studying Draco as if he wondered what Draco's secret evil plans were. Blaise searched in desperation for alcohol, a search that became more and more obvious as the meal went on.

But it didn't collapse or become a disaster, and that was because of Draco.

Draco appeared in between Harry and Snape and drew Snape away when things would have become heated, with a question that demanded the Potions master's expertise in a non-obvious way. Draco made a joke that distracted Harry from worrying about what his mother and Mrs. Zabini might be planning. He led Neville, as if naturally, into talking about Herbology for the last few minutes of dinner. He ignored Dean's stare entirely. He demanded that Blaise tell stories and jokes at just the moments when his antics with the house-elves could have been embarrassing otherwise.

He was amazing. Harry found he could hardly take his eyes off him, and that didn't have anything to do with the way he looked; in fact, Draco had chosen casual robes for the meal, as if to protest the idea of dressing up in front of either his old friends or Harry's. His face hadn't changed, either, or acquired any sudden glow of beauty. What made it remarkable was the alertness shining through him, the way he caught and anticipated problems and turned them aside, when Harry could easily picture the Draco of a decade ago letting them happen for spite and entertainment.

He might not care for Dean or Neville, but he was making an effort, because Harry wanted them to be his friends. He wanted this to succeed for Harry's sake, and not his own. In fact, it involved a lot of inconvenience and possibly jealousy for him, since he seemed reluctant to give up Harry's company for a second.

Draco, as if feeling his gaze, looked up once, and saluted him with a wry smile and a toast from his wineglass.

It was ridiculous to think of the flourish of someone's wrist as unlocking a secret, but there he was. Harry thought that way, and suddenly he was in a brighter, more dangerous, more mysterious world.

I'm in love with him, I think.

It was very strange, and he nearly blurted it out to Narcissa when she asked him to pass the salt. Harry blinked, and shook his head a little, and looked back at Draco.

Draco was still smiling at him.

It was real.

This time, Harry didn't try to keep himself from smiling back.