Draco manages to avoid Harry for the rest of the afternoon by getting back into his gnome gear and locking himself in the game room where he scours the giant chess set until it's sparkling. He had figured Harry might follow him down, but either Harry is giving him space or he feels as strange about the situation as Draco does and so stays away. Draco knows he'll have to see Harry eventually. They're sharing a house after all. But as he works, he takes stock of his thoughts.
They've been together, just the two of them, for almost three weeks, which is enough for any two people to start getting annoyed with each other over the tiniest of things. But added to that, is the fact that Draco's confused about his feelings for Harry. He wonders if sleeping together would help things, or make it worse. And there are seven more people joining them soon. Draco hopes this will help to diffuse some of the tension, sexual or otherwise, because at least they'll be able to talk to other people as well as to each other.
But then, Krum is coming. And Harry's slept with Krum. He'd said he didn't want to again, but what if Krum walks into the house in his quidditch gear, looking like the attractive international quidditch player that he is and Harry changes his mind? Draco's quite sure he'd be crushed. He distracts himself briefly with the idea that he too might try to sleep with Krum, but his heart's not in it. There's only one person he wants, even if the Gryffindor bastard still sometimes annoys him to the point of knocking him backward onto a bed and straddling him.
Oh Merlin, but he wants to do it again. Just not in an angry manner. And Draco's just gone and made his situation worse because now he can picture what Harry looks like lying underneath him…
He takes out his frustration on the dartboard, casting tergeo after tergeo at it until it's as clean as if it were new. Then he throws the darts at the board, burying them deep in the cork before tackling the shuffleboard court.
It takes the rest of the afternoon to clean the game room, and when Draco checks his watch as he leaves the room, he finds that it's well past five. That's odd. Harry hadn't bothered him for cocktail hour.
Draco changes back out of his gnome suit, fixes his hair briefly in the mirror, and then makes his way down to the kitchen
"Hey," Harry says as Draco enters. Harry is chopping what looks like peppers, and Draco wants to ask what he's making, but he also isn't sure if he wants to talk to him because he's sure the conversation will turn to what happened in Sirius's bedroom. He still doesn't have an explanation for it that doesn't just sound like he wants to shove Harry up against a wall and kiss him senseless.
"Uh, hi," Draco says. He can't bring himself to look at Harry because he knows if he looks at him his cheeks are going to burst into flame.
"Not going to try to hit me again?" Harry asks.
"I wasn't—" Draco starts to say but then stops himself. That must be why Harry hadn't followed him downstairs. He'd thought Draco was angry at him. "I wasn't trying to hit you. I was just overwhelmed."
"By the thought of ordering furniture over the internet?"
"By everything." By you, Draco wants to say, but won't. "By wanting to get as much done as we can before Wednesday."
"They're going to be locked in their rooms for three days once they arrive," Harry points out.
"I know," Draco spits out, his irritation rising again.
"And then everyone'll pitch in," Harry says. He gives Draco a tentative smile. "It should make things easier, no?" Draco sighs and sits down at the table.
"Probably," he says. He leans back in his chair, letting his head flop backwards as he looks up at the ceiling. Harry doesn't say anything for a long moment, just continues with his chopping. Draco sits up straight again. His eyes start to rove the kitchen in search of the cocktail shaker. The last he'd seen it, it was in the drying rack, but it's not there anymore. He sighs again.
"D'you want a drink?" Draco asks.
"If you're having one." Draco nods once and then pushes himself back to his feet. He's bone tired from the intense cleaning he'd done, but Harry likely is too and he's also making dinner, so it's the least Draco can do. He rummages around the cupboards for a moment before he finds the cocktail shaker in its usual spot.
Ice, gin, vermouth, and a splash of elderflower liqueur later, and Draco places a modified martini in front of Harry.
"I was feeling uninspired," he says. "So it's rather basic." Harry picks up his glass and takes a sip.
"It's good," he says. "Thank you." Draco nods once at him and then resumes sitting in his usual spot. It's easier, he thinks, with a drink in his hand.
"What's for dinner?" he asks.
"Pasta," comes Harry's one word answer.
"Shall I leave you to it then?" Draco asks, making as if to get up. Harry shakes his head.
"Please stay." So Draco does.
…
Later that night, after probably one too many glasses of wine, Draco finds Harry in the sitting room. Draco, as has been his wont, had done the dishes, while Harry had wandered off to watch something on the telly. Harry switches it off when Draco walks in.
"Hi," he says. Draco nods at him and then sits down on the couch, opposite where Harry is sitting with one leg over the arm of his chair.
They'd avoided talking about the incident in Sirius's room over dinner, by concentrating instead on the people arriving soon. Draco had a mental list of the finishing touches they needed to do tomorrow, which once they talked through it, turned out to be less than he had expected. The knot of worry in his chest had loosened some, knowing that. And the wine had helped too. But now it's back, tightening again, because Harry's just staring at him and Draco doesn't know what to say.
"I'm sorry," he says. "For earlier. I shouldn't have pushed you onto the bed like that." Harry shrugs.
"S'ok," he says. "D'you want me to show you the internet? I couldn't quite tell."
"What? Oh." Draco had almost forgotten what he had been so worked up about in the first place. "Yeah. Go on then." Harry shifts his leg off of the arm of his chair before slowly pushing himself to standing. He walks over to Draco and holds out his hand.
"Come on then," he says. "It's downstairs." Draco takes Harry's hand and allows himself to be pulled to his feet.
He follows Harry through the library and into the study where Harry motions for Draco to sit in the chair behind the desk. Draco sits and Harry leans over his shoulder to reach the desk. There's a metallic, mostly flat rectangle sitting there and as Draco watches, Harry pulls the lid of what is presumably a computer up. There's an array of buttons, and when Draco peers at them, he can see that they include all the letters of the alphabet, along with some others. Harry presses a button on the side of the machine and the screen lights up. Then he straightens up.
"It takes while to boot up," he says. He raises his hands above his head and stretches, exposing a line of bare stomach where his shirt rides up. It's almost perfectly at Draco's eye level and Draco can't help but stare, though he drags his eyes away to the screen before Harry can notice him looking. The computer makes a series of beeps as it loads, flitting through different screens until Draco's looking at a picture of a Gryffindor lion. Then Harry leans down over his shoulder again.
It must be uncomfortable for him, Draco muses, to keep bending over like that. But Harry makes no move to find another chair, even as his demonstration starts to edge into the five minute mark. Draco wonders if he just likes them being this close together. He knows he does. It's taking all of his willpower to even concentrate on what Harry's saying and to follow the "mouse" as it moves across the screen.
"I assume you have a credit card," Draco says once Harry has navigated to a site which sells the kind of furniture they're looking for.
"Of course."
"Do you have it on you?" Draco looks up in time to see Harry shake his head no.
"Should I go get it?" Harry asks.
"Yes." Draco reaches over and takes the mouse from Harry, their hands brushing as Harry moves away.
"And you're what? Just going to buy things?"
"That's the idea," Draco says. He has a pretty good idea of how he wants the sitting room to look at the very least. Harry hasn't moved, so Draco turns his face to him and asks, "Do you trust me?"
"What?"
"With the furniture."
"Oh, yes," Harry says.
"Then go get your credit card," Draco says, nudging him in the side. Harry looks at him for a long moment but he does finally leave the room.
The internet, Draco decides, as he adds various items to the "cart", is wonderful. He can't wait to show Pansy. As it is, he shows Harry what he's added, which is almost as fun.
"Thoughts?" he asks once Harry's eyes have roved over his choices.
"If you think it will look good, I trust you." Draco is used to his clients saying things like this, but somehow it's different with Harry. Having Harry Potter's trust feels weightier somehow. But maybe it's the wine talking. Harry presses his credit card into Draco's hand and Draco nods once at him. He retreats to the library and Draco spends the next five or so minutes sorting out the rest of the details, yelling out the occasional question to Harry as he does.
…
"Of course your email address is scarletboysroar," Draco says as he joins Harry in the library. "You're such a bloody Gryffindor." He's miffed to see that Harry has a snifter of whisky. How had he managed to get it into the library when the room had rebuffed all of Draco's attempts to bring anything in? Harry says nothing, only smirks. Draco twists his mouth to the side and takes the seat opposite Harry. Harry toasts him with the whisky. "How did you get that in here?" Draco asks, unable to keep the question in. Harry frowns at him.
"What do you mean?"
"The library won't let me bring food in."
"The library won't?"
"It stops me at the door. Or, more accurately, it stops whatever I'm trying to bring in." He relates the story of the biscuits and Harry bursts out laughing, though he still looks confused.
"Maybe it won't allow guests to bring food in? But as the owner…" he trails off. Draco frowns.
"Maybe," he says. He feels a surprising stab of jealousy. The house is starting to feel like home now, and the fact that this room still thinks of him as an outsider stings.
"Have you noticed any other weird quirks?" Harry asks. "Is your bathwater ever cold? Or are there rooms that won't open for you on a Tuesday?" Draco stares down at his hands as he considers the question.
"My closet picks my clothes up for me," he says. "If I leave them on the floor. It's very handy."
"Does it? Mine doesn't."
"I can tell."
"Hey!" Now it's Draco's turn to smirk.
"Why? Does your water sometimes run cold?" Draco asks. Harry nods. "I didn't realize the house had so much personality. Maybe we should be more careful with it." He's thinking specifically of how he'd torn out an entire section of the wall to get Walburga down, though now he thinks about it, the house has felt warmer since they'd done that. As if some of the old mustiness had been cleared away with that painting. Perhaps the house had hated her as much as Harry had. "Hang on," he says. "Does it feel warmer to you?"
"What?" Harry asks. Draco frowns, trying to figure out how best to explain what he thinks might be happening.
"When I first arrived, the house felt damp, and a little cold."
"It's always been that way," Harry says. "It's an old house."
"Yes, but does it feel that way now?" He looks intently at the other man, hoping that his stare alone will get his point across.
"I think I'm used to it by this point," Harry says. Draco sighs. This won't do. He stands up and walks over to Harry's chair and holds out his hand.
"What?"
"We're going outside."
"Now?"
"Yes." Draco's determined to prove his point.
"Can I bring this?" Harry holds up his whisky.
"Only if I can have some," Draco says. He takes Harry's free hand and pulls him up, even as Harry looks at him in surprise. But Draco is too busy dragging Harry into the hallway to care. A few seconds later, they're outside, the door shut just to against the doorframe, and shivering the early April air.
"Coats might have been a good idea," Harry says.
"That's what the whisky is for," Draco says. He reaches over and pulls it out of Harry's hand, taking a sip before Harry can stop him. Harry's eyebrows shoot up.
"Is that how it is?"
"That's exactly how it is," Draco says, handing the whisky back.
"How long do we need to be out here?"
"A few minutes should do." Draco sits down on the top stair and immediately regrets it as the cold of the stone starts to seep through his trousers. But then Harry sits next to him and Draco shuffles up next to him, in order to steal his body heat, and that makes things better.
"Fuck me, it's cold," Harry mutters.
"Didn't realize you were such an exhibitionist, Potter," Draco says, looking slyly sideways at him. He knows he won't be able to keep his amusement off of his face so he doesn't even try to.
"I'll do anything for the attention, obviously." Harry takes a sip of whisky and then lets Draco take the glass out of his hand so he can have some too.
"Of course," Draco agrees. "It's why you put your name in the Goblet of Fire."
"Thank god there was some Slytherin git to bring me back down to earth with badges letting me know how big of a knob I was."
"Someone had to," Draco says.
"Mm, because the dragons were just an ego boost." Draco turns his head to look at Harry. The other man is silhouetted by the light from the nearest streetlight.
"I know you couldn't see it," he says. "Because you were, well, doing the thing. But you looked damn impressive squaring up against that horntail."
"You remember which dragon I faced," Harry says, sounding pleased. Draco rolls his eyes. Harry clearly hadn't heard Ludo Bagman's commentary. The man wouldn't stop talking about how impressive it was that Harry was facing the horntail — the most vicious of the dragons — and he was only fourteen. Like Draco hadn't already been impressed as hell.
"Yes, her name was Ruth and she still hasn't forgiven you for stealing her favorite child." Harry lets out a bark of laughter and Draco's insides feel warmer than any amount of the whisky has made them. And yet, he still shivers as the chill of the night starts to get to him.
"Is it time to go back in?" Harry asks.
"I think so." Draco stands, one of his knees popping as he does. They make their way back to the door and Draco pushes it open. They step inside, and as they do, Draco can feel it. The air is warmer than it was, and it doesn't just feel that way because they've been out in the cool April air. The dampness is gone, which makes it feel much less like he's walking into an abandoned building, and more like he's stepping into someone's home.
"Holy shit," Harry says. "You're right. It does feel different."
"I think it's the lack of Walburga," Draco says. "I'm not sure the house appreciated her presence."
"Really? But it was her house."
"Yes, and it's yours now. And she upset you."
"Do you think the library won't let you bring food in because it thinks that I'm worried you'll mess up the books?" Harry leans back against the wall, one hand in his pocket, the other holding the whisky.
"Are you worried I'll mess up the books?" Draco asks.
"No. And it also doesn't explain my occasional cold showers."
"Are you in need of a cold shower when the house gives one to you?"
"I beg your pardon."
"Maybe it's a prude," Draco says with a shrug. He pulls the whisky glass out of Harry's hand again and takes another sip.
"If that were the case," Harry says, snatching the glass back. "It's not going to let Viktor cross the threshold on Wednesday. He's a terrible flirt." He drains the last of the whisky just as jealousy shoots through Draco. For the second time that day, he doesn't think, he just acts. He closes the space between them and presses his lips to Harry's. Harry drops the glass in surprise. It clunks onto the carpet with a dull thud, though it doesn't break.
But the sound brings Draco back to his senses. And for the second time that day, he flees, taking the stairs two at a time in his rush to get away.
I know, I know. I updated yesterday. But I want this fic to be finished before Christmas... so new chapters every weekday! (Because my weekends are completely full)