Draco hides from Harry for almost the entirety of Tuesday. In the morning, he stays in his room until he hears Harry traipse up the stairs to one of the higher floors before emerging to make his morning tea. Then he dons his gnome suit and spends the day cleaning the ballroom. He considers using another foam bomb, but decides that he would prefer the manual labor of scourgify-ing and tergeo-ing it by hand. So that's what he does, pausing briefly for lunch, only when he's absolutely certain that Harry is not in the kitchen.

By the time five o'clock rolls around, the ballroom floor is spotless. The chandelier could still use some work, but without a house elf, or taking it down, Draco's not sure how it's going to get to the point of sparkling. Before he leaves the room at the end of the day, to change out of his gnome suit, he takes a moment to look around the room.

Now that it is not covered in dust, he can see that the floor is in an intricate parquet pattern; the dark wood is laid out in a large star pattern, the center of which lines up with the chandelier. Golden hour sunlight is streaming through the west facing the windows and the small, inlaid stained glass panes send lines of color into the room. Draco can almost imagine the floor filled with guests in their finest dress robes, with waiters flitting around carrying trays of drinks. It's a thing he hopes they can make happen some day. Or, at least, someone can make happen, if Harry insists on selling the house.

And speak of the devil, Harry pokes his head into the room, just as Draco is about to leave.

"Oh, wow," he says, his eyes going wide as he takes in the work Draco has done. "This looks incredible."

"All I did was clean it," Draco says, not looking Harry in the eye.

"Still, it looks fantastic." Draco shrugs. Harry's leaning against the door frame, which makes it impossible for him to leave without pushing past him. "I'm about to make dinner. Care to join me?" Draco presses his lips into a thin line that is thankfully hidden by his mask. He nods once, looking down at his feet.

"I'll be down in a minute," he says. He hopes that Harry will take the hint and leave, but Harry stays standing in the door. He's staring up at the chandelier with a look of wonder in his eyes, so Draco just shuffles his feet slightly and stays where he is. He's about to start twiddling his thumbs when Harry pushes off of the door frame and makes his way out into sitting room.

"I'll see you down there," he says as he disappears into the corridor.

…

Draco takes his time changing. He still doesn't feel ready to face Harry, but it's not like he wants to go hungry for the night. And he has to face him eventually.

Plus, it was just a kiss. It meant nothing.

He sighs, even trying to tell himself it meant nothing doesn't seem to work. Because he can still remember exactly what Harry's lips felt against his. And he can remember how the butterflies in his stomach had swelled and how his heart had felt like it was fit to burst with joy…

But he can do this. He can walk downstairs and act completely normal. After all, Harry had seemed to manage it just fine when he'd stopped by the ballroom. Draco takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders, and then walks down the stairs.

He expects to find Harry chopping something, or standing at the stove, but Harry's waiting for him by the door, gin and tonic in hand.

"Here," he says, holding it out to Draco, who accepts it gratefully. He follows Harry into the kitchen, where the smell of garlic hits him.

"What's for dinner?" he asks.

"Sainsbury's Ready Meal."

"So you don't have to do anything?" Draco asks. He walks over to his usual seat at the table and sits down. Harry sits in his usual place.

"I think we should talk," Harry says, saying the five words Draco has dreaded hearing all day. Draco brings his glass to his mouth and takes a large sip, wincing as the bubbles go up his nose.

"Should we?" he asks. "And ruin this wonderful friendship we have going on?"

"Wonderful?" Harry asks, his eyebrows going up.

"Decent," Draco amends with a smirk.

"You've avoided me all day," Harry says. "I'm not sure having a conversation is what's causing problems with our friendship." Draco bites his bottom lip and looks down at his hands, ashamed.

"Sorry," he says. "I..." He doesn't know what to say. Harry's right. It wasn't Draco's hiding in the ballroom that had fucked things up, it was Draco and his stupid mouth the night before. And he'd managed to do it by not talking for once.

He's saved from having to finish his sentence by the bell, as whatever timer Harry had set goes off. Harry sighs and stands up. He walks over to the oven and puts on his oven mitts.

By the time he comes back to the table with their dinner, Draco's finished most of his gin and tonic. Harry eyes his glass and the corner of his mouth lifts.

"I'll open some wine," he says. He puts the plates down and disappears into the wine cellar. Draco chews nervously on a hangnail before he tells himself to get it together. He's been through worse. He'd lived with the Dark Lord in his house for Merlin's sake. What's a conversation with Harry Potter in comparison to that?

Even more terrifying is the answer.

Harry takes his time opening the wine, so by the time he's pouring two glasses, Draco's finished his gin and tonic. He accepts the glass Harry hands him and even deigns to clink it against Harry's.

"So," Harry says, picking up his knife and fork. "You think the house has feelings?" Draco manages not to sigh in relief, but it's a close thing. He takes a moment to think about his response as he chews on a bite of chicken.

"I think it has a sort of sentience," he says. "There's some old magic here. Hogwarts had something similar, though it wasn't quite the same. Hogwarts had the moving staircases and the Room of Hidden Things—"

"—The Room of Requirement," Harry says immediately. Draco lifts one shoulder in a shrug.

"The Room of Requirement," he says. "Was probably the most obvious example of Hogwarts' sentient magic. You could almost feel it…" He trails off in the hopes that will mean he won't think too hard about sixth year, but it's too late. He can already see that damnable cabinet in his mind's eye. He shivers, recalling the way the Room had turned cold as the first Death Eater had stepped out of the cabinet that night.

"Hey," Harry says, reaching out and covering one of Draco's hands with his. Draco jerks his head up. "You're safe. You're not there." Draco nods and pulls his hand out of Harry's. He collects his thoughts.

"So, I think it's a bit like that," he says. "The house, I mean." Harry nods, chewing thoughtfully. "Also," Draco adds. "I think the roombas feed off that energy. I know you said they weren't sentient, — and they may not have been when you first enchanted them — but I think they are now." He tells the story of the biscuits again, and emphasizes that part where Padfoot had immediately come to suck up the crumbs. Harry frowns.

"You might be right," he says and then takes a decisive bite of chicken.

…

They manage to talk about things other than the kiss for the rest of dinner, and by the end of it, Draco's starting to relax. The wine has helped mellow him, and Harry excited chatter about everyone's arrival tomorrow has him feeling happy. He's excited to see Pansy, he realizes. He's not sure the last time he'd gone so long without seeing her.

Once dinner is done, Harry leans back in his chair and folds his hands over his stomach. Draco takes this as his cue to do the dishes, but they don't take as long as they usually do since all Harry'd had to do was heat things up.

And somehow he knows that Harry's going to bring up last night. There is only so much time left in the day, and it doesn't seem like the kind of thing he would leave to discuss with other people around. Draco takes a nervous sip of wine. He'd rather not have that conversation here.

"Should we, ah, go upstairs?" Draco asks. Harry gives him a small shrug but pushes himself to his feet. He picks up both his glass and the rest of the bottle of wine, and walks to the stairs.

"Are you coming?" Harry asks, turning to look back at Draco who hasn't moved yet. Draco nods. He makes his way over to the stairs, and follows as Harry walks into the sitting room. Harry stays standing, but Draco makes a beeline for the couch.

Harry walks over and sits down next to him, so Draco stands and starts to pace the room. He thinks he hears Harry sigh behind him, but then Harry's in front of him. He moves so quickly that Draco doesn't have a chance to escape.

"Look at me, Draco," Harry says. Draco swallows hard and then lifts his eyes to Harry's. "What's wrong?"

"You," Draco mumbles. Harry and the conversation they're about to have.

"Me?"

"No. I— You make it hard to think," Draco starts to turn away, but Harry grabs his hand.

"What are you doing?" Draco asks. Harry's face is now remarkably close to his. And Harry's staring at him with those gorgeous, green eyes.

Draco can feel his resolve melting. He's held out this long, but if Potter's the one making the moves now, who is Draco to say no? He certainly doesn't want to say no. Draco pulls his lower lip in between his teeth and nibbles on it nervously. Harry's eyes flick down at the movement, and when he meets Draco's stare again, Draco's breath hitches.

"I don't know," Harry says and it takes Draco a moment to remember he'd even asked a question. "I feel like I never know what I'm doing when it comes to you."

"Oh." Draco's head is spinning. He feels like they're on the precipice of something, but he's not going to be the one to make the first move. He's far too chickenshit for that. Particularly after yesterday. And anyway, Harry's the Gryffindor.

Harry takes another step closer to him, and Draco concentrates on simply breathing. He can smell Potter now and the scent of him overwhelms Draco. He takes a step forward himself, and now he can feel the heat of Harry's chest close to his. Harry reaches out with his other hand and takes Draco's free one. Draco glances down and when he looks back up, Harry's forehead presses against his.

Harry is still staring at him and it's all Draco can do to hold his gaze. Harry tips his head slightly to the side, and now his nose is pressing against Draco's. Draco takes in a nervous breath. His pulse is racing. He's sure Harry can feel it, or even hear it. Everywhere Harry is touching him, his skin is on fire. His hand. His forehead. His cheek.

And oh Merlin. Now his lips.

Draco's gone. He's died and gone to heaven. It must be. Because otherwise why the hell would Harry Potter be kissing him?

Before Draco can process any of his thoughts, he's reaching up to cup Harry's cheek in his hand and Harry's free hand is coming up to press against Draco's lower back. Draco sighs into the kiss and his lips part, letting Harry's tongue dip inside. Harry's clutching him closer now, and it's all Draco can do to stay upright.

And then Harry's pushing him backwards. Draco feels his knees hit the back of the sofa and he falls back onto it, pulling Harry down on top of him. Harry's hands tangle into Draco's hair and Draco's hands tangle into Harry's shirt.

"Draco," Harry sighs. Draco takes this as permission to pull off Harry's shirt, separating their faces for just as long as it takes to get the offending item of clothing off. Harry does the same with Draco's shirt and then Harry's mouth is on his collarbone, moving swiftly southward. He mouths over Draco's sectumsempra scars like they're no different from the rest of his skin, and for once, Draco doesn't think they look ugly.

"What are you—?" Draco starts to ask, but Harry silences him by bringing his lips back to Draco's. He can feel Harry's hands on his belt buckle now and really, it all just feels inevitable. They were always headed here, from that first moment on the train when Harry had spurned Draco's friendship. Harry Potter. Draco's lifelong obsession. The oil to his vinegar.

Determined not to be passive, Draco starts to work on Harry's trousers, and soon they're both in just their boxers, separated by only those two pieces of cloth.

"Is this okay?" Draco asks, pulling back for a moment to look at Harry. Harry's pupils are blown wide with lust and his mouth is soft and pink.

"Yes," Harry says. "More than."

"Is it because I changed out of the gnome outfit?" Harry's lips curve in a slow smile.

"Got it in one."

"Mm, less talking," Draco says and then presses his mouth back to Harry's. He weaves the fingers of one hand into Harry's hair, pulling Harry's body closer to his. Harry's erection rubs against his and Draco's whole body is heady with anticipation. Almost before he can quite comprehend what's happening, Harry's pulled his boxers down and his hand is on Draco.

Draco gasps as Harry starts to move his hand and then Harry's pulling his mouth away, moving down Draco's body. All rational thought leaves Draco as Harry puts his mouth on him. The world narrows until it's just Draco and Harry as Harry deftly sends Draco over the edge, swallowing it all down as Draco cries out in pleasure.

Once he can think straight, he pulls Harry back up his body, fully intending to return the favor, but Harry shakes his head.

"Don't you want—?" Draco asks, trailing off and using his hand to finish the question by wrapping it around Harry's erection.

"Maybe not on the couch," he says, even though he's just taken Draco apart on the couch. Draco nods, then leans in and kisses Harry once, hard on the lips.

"Come on then," he says, jerking his head towards the door.