Part Two

In which friends are shocked, Harry is propositioned, Draco is wise, and breakfast is had.

The next morning Draco discovers that breakfast is something with very little ceremony in Harry's house. Harry has a butler sort of person that also seems to function as cook, cleaning service, gardener, and the driver that took them from the club the night before. Sterling, his name is, and he speaks in a monotone with a very straight face and, Draco discovers as he serves them a huge breakfast, has a deeply entertaining and very dry sense of humor. But despite his formal demeanor, when Harry and Draco wander downstairs in the boxers and denim cutoffs they wore to bed, they find him at the stove, cooking breakfast with perfect posture and a bathrobe.

What astonishes Draco the most about him is that he's a Muggle. Not even a Squib, born to a wizarding family but with no magic, but a Muggle born in the Muggle society who, at some point, had either stumbled onto the wizarding world or had been introduced to it. Draco stares at the man, who handles the frying pan and spatula that contains their eggs with the same grace and practical reverence that very great wizards use with their wands, and thinks two things.

First, that Harry must be the only wizard in the world who would pick a Muggle serving man when he could his pick of the best wizarding servants in the world.

Second, that Sterling is an awe-inspiring sort of person.

And yet, despite the surreal surroundings and situation, Draco feel strangely comfortable at the cozy little kitchen table. Harry ends up scooting his chair closer and closer while the bacon fries with a sizzle until he's right next to him, his bare thigh brushing against Draco's own while they eat slowly, trying not to laugh at each other when they both list the wrong way when Sterling tries to serve them their bacon.

And it's just... nice. Nice isn't something Draco is accustomed to, so he enjoys it more than anything, knowing that not only does he get to have a morning that's actually nice, but also that if Harry can be believed, he has several such mornings in store for him. He wriggles a little at the thought, and Harry grins at him around a mouthful of bacon and brushes his fingers over Draco's palm in a secret little caress.

And just then, the doorbell rings.

Harry gets halfway up out of his chair, then seems to think better of it and sits back down, catching Sterling's eye and jerking his head towards the door. Sterling nods and vanishes from the kitchen, and a second later Draco hears voices coming from the hallway, voices that are different from those he remembers but still familiar. He tries to get up, to flee through the back door and up the steps back to Harry's cozy bedroom, but Harry holds him back, holds him down, and he doesn't have a chance to get away before Ron and Hermione walk into the warm, cozy little kitchen.

They both stop dead, of course, as soon as they spot him, sitting with such obvious intimacy and half-dressed-ness with their Golden Boy, and their eyes widen comically as their voices fade away. Draco takes the opportunity to look them over, and to see the differences in them.

Ron is tall, he's always been tall, but now he's filled out to the point of being almost intimidating in his size, especially to a man who's always been small, and will never really grow past his teenage delicacy of appearance. He still has a shock of bright red hair, but it's threaded with gray now, and his skin isn't quite so pale under the freckles. On his ring finger is a simple gold band, one that perfectly matches the one on Hermione's hand.

The brightest witch of their graduating class looks no different physically, save a few grey hairs to match her husband's. Legacy of the wars that effected them all, Draco supposes, but he's not so stupid as to be blind to the less visible differences on the young witch, such as the deep determination and the shadow of sadness that simultaneously light and darken her eyes.

Before he can say anything else Ron's mouth shut with a snap and he glares at Draco with a deep loathing that's all too familiar. "What the hell is he doing here?"

"I invited him, Ron," Harry says, very slowly, as if talking to a halfwit. Draco isn't sure whether to laugh or be very, very afraid of Harry's cool audacity, or does he really not care what his oldest and truest friends think?

"And... clothes," Hermione says. "Harry, you're sitting there wearing cutoffs."

"Like I do every morning, Hermione," Harry says with a nod. "Nothing different there."

"But... he's here. And he's wearing boxers. And you're wearing cutoffs."

"And Sterling's wearing a bathrobe," Harry says cheerfully, gesturing to his butler-person that has edged past the two gaping people in the doorway and is even now serving them their neglected eggs. "Aren't you, Sterling?"

"I most certainly am, sir," Sterling says, and carries the now-empty pan over to the sink. "And Mrs. Granger was very correct in her statement of your choice of attire, if I may so, sir."

"Mrs. Granger?" Draco echoes, forgetting his apprehension as he looks at Harry, a bit gape-mouthed himself. "She kept her last name?"

"Always been a bit of a feminist, our Herm. And she says that 'Hermione Weasley' just didn't have the proper ring to it. It's a bit of a sore spot with Ron."

And indeed, Ron is glaring at them as if he sincerely wishes to commit murder, and has no trouble figuring out who he intends to commit it upon. "You still," he says, very slowly and with gritted teeth, "haven't explained why he's here."

"Oh, well, it's like this, you see," Harry says, cheerful as can be. "I ran into him last night, decided I could use a bit of company with me out here, and brought him home to stay."

"He's staying here!" Ron snarls, and looks like he really wants to kill something now. By this point Draco has lost his fear, and is starting to see the amusement of the whole situation.

"Yes, he is," Harry says firmly, and moves on. "And you haven't explained why you're here, anyway," he adds, looking at the two of them with something close to disapproval. "Which, you have to admit, is very rude."

"I'm going to friggin' show you rude..." Ron snarls. "To hell with manners. I'm not talking about this in front of him."

"And why ever not?" Harry asks. "It's not like you can possibly have anything to tell me that needs to be kept secret. I'm not exactly in the inner circle of Aurors, like you two, no matter how much they would have rather I joined them after the Wars were over."

"It doesn't have anything to do with Auror business," Hermione says quietly. "But Harry, I think you really would rather hear this news in private."

Harry opens his mouth to protest again, but Draco sees, somehow, that Hermione is really serious about that, and isn't just objecting to his presence in particular as Ron was. "Don't worry about it," he says, with forced lightness of tone. "I'll take my breakfast upstairs."

"I'll come up as soon as they're gone," Harry promises, ignoring the little choking sound of anger Ron makes at his words. "Then we can make plans for the rest of the day, yeah?"

"Uh, sure," he agrees. He isn't really sure that he wants to do anything but laze around, but if Harry wants to go somewhere and take him along, well, he isn't really going to protest.

He curls his fingers around the edge of his plate, ready to pick it up and go upstairs, but then Harry reaches up and cups his fingers around the back of his neck. Startled, Draco bends his head to look Harry in the eyes, and he has just enough time to be alarmed by the glint in them before Harry has pulled his head all the way down and pressed his lips to Draco's in their first kiss.

Draco freezes, and Harry pulls back, staring into his eyes. "I'll be upstairs soon. This shouldn't take long." He shoots an angry look at Ron and Hermione. "I'll make sure it won't."

Ron doesn't look to happy at that statement, but he keeps his mouth shut, apparently having learned to pick and choose his battles for moments when they can be more easily won. Draco nods and smiles, a slightly hesitant, fleeting little smile, and then leaves the kitchen.

He hears Harry say, "What the hell do you want that so goddamned important?" in a surly voice that borders on true anger as he walks down the hallway, but Ron's reply is too low to be heard. He starts climbing the steps, and hears an incredulous, "They want me to what?" from Harry, but keeps going. He knows that Harry will tell him whatever it is if it's important when he's done his talk, and so staying around to eavesdrop isn't really worth the effort and risk of getting caught.

He waits patiently in Harry's bedroom, settled comfortably on the bed with the plate balanced on his knees, and waits for the guests to leave. Ten minutes later he hears muted voices from the floor below, and then a door opens and shuts and a car pulls away from the sidewalk.

Harry enters the room a minute later, his expression thunderous. "I can't believe their motherfucking nerve," he snarls. "They should friggin' well know better than to ask that of me. Of all people, those two should know better. And instead they volunteer to tell me the news themselves. Probably know that I would have cursed anyone else the minute the words left their mouth."

"What do they want you to do?" Draco asks softly. "What is it that's so bad?"

"It seems that like all people who fill this position, the Defense against Dark Arts teacher has lost his position. Unlike all the ones from our childhood, however, he was neither evil, nor a liar, nor a werewolf. Herm told me that he was fired for sexually harassing a student."

"They want you to take his place, don't they?" Draco says shrewdly.

"Oh, yes," Harry says bitterly. "It's not enough that I saved the world from Voldemort." A tiny flinch from Draco at hearing that name aloud, even now, years later. "No, I have to teach legions of children how to save worlds too, if it comes to it."

Draco is silent for a very long moment before making his decision. "Please don't curse me," he says. "But I think it would be a good idea."

Harry head turns slowly to stare at him. "I'm not going to curse you," he says, almost absently but with an edge of burning intentness. "You don't have to worry that I'll ever hurt you. I'd like to know why you think so, though."

"Some of my reasons I'm guessing are the ones Weasley and Granger gave you- you're famous for defeating the Dark Lord, the students would worship you. And it is true that while you claim killing, um, Voldemort," and he flinches a little bit harder at actually saying the name himself, "may have been purely self-defense and you were never trying to save the world, it's also true that you have a better grasp of Defense Against Dark Arts than any wizard of this day and age, except perhaps Dumbledore. I think that if you ask him, however, you'll find that he would say you are the greater wizard."

Draco falls silent, not really willing to say the rest. Harry waits for a moment, then says, "I know you have another reason."

"Well, it's... it's like this." He pauses again, then explains all in a rush, words tumbling over each other almost in one breath. "You think that people worship you for no reason and you think that you're not worth more than the common wizard, and so you hide away here. But I think that you're not going to ever feel any better until you stop hiding."

There is a long, long silence, in which Draco squirms nervously and hopes like hell that when Harry stops staring thoughtfully at the ceiling and looks at him again there will be something other than cold contempt in the other man's green eyes.

Harry finally does look at him, and Draco can see the warmth of real caring, and something that's very much like wonder, and a little bit of awe. "You know, I took you home because I was hoping to save you from yourself and everything else that eats at you," Harry says slowly. "Also because I thought you might be good for me. I think I chose more wisely than I knew."

Draco grins, his relief so intense that the smile just appears on his face without any conscious direction from his brain. "You'll take the job?"

"Yeah," Harry says, and settles on the bed next to him, carefully avoiding bumping the plate. "Yeah, I'll take the job."