"Oh!" Harry exclaims as he and Draco are packing up books from the secret library on Monday. The plan is to send them to Hogwarts because if anyone can deal with the dangerous books from the notorious Black house, it's Irma Pince. Viktor and Pansy had been helping, but they've stopped for tea with Ron, which sounds all too much like they were going off to do something else that Draco hadn't pressed the issue when they'd left.
And so they're alone with the books. Draco looks up from the tome bound in what appears to be human skin that he's levitating into a box to see Harry looking down at his phone.
"'Oh' what?" he asks when it seems as though Harry's not going to be forthcoming.
"Hermione says she thinks they're well on their way to finalizing a vaccine for the R2-05 virus."
"A vaccine? Like Muggles use?"
"Yes."
"Can we blame this new invention on Granger then?"
"Why do you say that like it's a bad thing? If we can get inoculated against the virus, we could potentially leave the house." On the one hand, Draco is excited by the prospect, but he's also scared. Because this relationship of his and Harry's— it's so fragile. It's never going to last in the outside world. And he's not sure how to share this worry with Harry.
"Do you reckon lots of wizards are going to line up for this muggle invention?" Draco's not asking to be combative, but because he's curious to hear what Harry thinks.
"Why not?" Harry has that stubborn look on his face, the one that Draco remembers from school. He can tell that Harry's jutting his chin out, even underneath the mask. It makes Draco want to pull the mask down and kiss the scowl right off of Harry's face. But instead he sighs and sits down on the nearest closed up box.
"I'm not sure if you remember this, but we did recently fight a war over people's magical prejudices."
"Yes," Harry bites out. "And we won." Draco doesn't point out that he was not actually included in that we. Yes, he's changed since the war and has been made to see the errors in his previous ways of thinking, but by no stretch of the imagination could he have ever been called 'on Potter's side' of the war. Instead he sighs again, slumping his shoulders for a minute before he sits up and faces Harry.
"And did that change everyone's minds?" he asks. Harry doesn't say anything and Draco's heart sinks at his naïvité. He takes a deep breath."Good point," he says to Harry's silence. "It was like magic. I must have misunderstood my mother's friend Rosemary the other day when she said she didn't understand why the tearoom they frequent was now obliged to allow the riff-raff in."
"Well of course some people think like that—"
"—People like my mother?"
"—No, I didn't mean—"
"—Yes, you did," Draco snaps. And this — this! — is why they'll never work as a couple outside of this house. Because while they're cut off from the world, they don't have to think about these differences between them.
Harry doesn't appear to have any response to that. He just sits down on another box and he looks so forlorn that Draco almost relents. But it won't help either of them if he mollycoddles Harry now. Instead, he gnaws on his lip for a moment, hidden of course by his mask, before he says,
"Some people's opinions have changed — mine, for example," and here he waves his hand at Harry. "But you need to remember than some people's haven't."
"I know, Draco," Harry says. "I was an auror, remember? I know how some people are." And yet, that's not what Draco thinks is the right takeaway either.
"People are just people, Harry," Draco says. "We're all flawed in our own ways. But people can change. It just doesn't happen overnight because some noseless asshole dies."
"I know that," Harry hisses. "I just wish—" He stops himself, his eyes screwing up in frustration as he struggles to find the words for what he's trying to say. Draco reaches out a gloved hand and places it over one of Harry's.
"I know," he says. "I do too." Because he does.
"Maybe they can Imperio everyone into taking the vaccine."
"Fucking hell, Potter," Draco says, slipping into using his last name again in his outrage. "That would be massive government overreach. That's— You—" He stops and takes a deep breath. Bites back what he was about to say. Clenches and unclenches his fist as he thinks how best to continue. "I understand where you're coming from," he says finally. "But you have to let people make their own decisions."
"But—"
"—Even when they're not necessarily going to make the right ones."
"But—"
"And even when their choices affect your way of life as well. Otherwise," and here his voice gets quiet. "You're no better than Voldemort."
"I— what?"
"Forcing people to do things against their will, even if it's for their own good, is still forcing people to do things against their will. You can encourage them, sure, or make it a requirement in order to do things such as with an apparition license, but you can't use the fucking Imperius Curse." Harry's eyebrows knit together. "I imagine this is why you never went into politics?"
"Erm." Draco stands up, moves until he's standing behind Harry and then puts his hands on his shoulders. Feeling how tense they are, he starts to massage them and Harry leans back against him.
"I guess what I'm trying to say, is don't get your hopes up that this will be over soon." Draco certainly isn't.
But then, the longer this pandemic drags on, the longer he gets to spend with Harry, safe from the pressures of the outside world. So while part of him wants to be able to leave the house, a larger part of him wants to hide away here with Harry forever.
Harry sighs and looks up at Draco. He leans his head against one of Draco's arms.
"I'm just so tired of being stuck inside." Draco sighs and lets go of Harry's shoulders. He walks around until he's facing the man.
"I understand," he says. He's about to continue with some platitude or other when an idea comes to him and he changes tack. "Say, what are you doing tomorrow?"
"Same as today. Why?"
"I have an idea." Harry stares at him, a question in his eyes but Draco shakes his head. "It's a surprise."
"I don't like surprises," Harry says immediately. He levels a stare at Draco.
"Not even good ones?"
"No." Harry shakes his head vehemently. Draco supposes that's fair, given his history. He nods once and then says,
"Fuck work. I'm taking you on a date."
"What? How?"
"In my car. We'll find a nice quiet field somewhere in the middle of nowhere and have a picnic." Draco's rather proud of himself of coming up with this idea, basic as it may be. But it will be nice to get out of the house, just the two of them. He'll have Winky prepare them a hamper, because, really, Draco's not going to be able to do it himself.
"Really?"
"Really."
"What will we tell the others?" Harry asks and bugger if that's not a good point.
"That you're ill and then I'll sneak you out under the invisibility cloak." This has the added benefit of hiding Harry from the prying camera lenses of the press. Harry raises his eyebrows as he thinks over what Draco's just said before he nods and says,
"Ok."
…
"Is this really necessary?" Harry asks as he swings the invisibility cloak over himself the following morning.
"Yes," Draco says. "Gossip witches and what have you."
"Right," Harry says. "Of course." Draco can only assume he is following him down the stairs because not only is Harry now invisible, but he's remarkably quiet. It is his house, after all, so he must know which of the stairs squeak. The only indication Draco has that the other man is still behind him is a small "ooh" when he picks up the picnic hamper in the front hall. Draco makes a big show of saying goodbye to the other occupants of the house and then of putting the picnic basket in his still disguised car, in order to give Harry time to first get out of the house and then get into the car.
"I thought you had a Bentley," he hears Harry whisper as he pushes past him into the car. Draco waits a moment and then hears Harry say, "Oh," as he takes in the interior. Draco smirks to himself and then walks around to the driver's side. He slides into his seat and sighs as he takes the leather covered steering wheel in his hands.
Harry waits until they're decently far from the house before he takes the cloak off. Then he reaches over and takes Draco's free hand in his. Draco glances quickly at him and smiles before turning his attention back to the road.
They drive for just over an hour. Harry spends the time flipping through wireless stations until he settles on one that plays the kind of music they've been listening to for the past month and a half. Then he sings along to the songs that he knows as loud as he can, making Draco smile.
They don't bother with the cloak once they get out of the car. There's no one around and the only sound is the chattering of the birds. They walk until they can no longer see the car park. Draco chooses a nice tree, under which he spreads the picnic blanket.
"Lovely," Harry says, sitting down on one side of the picnic basket, his legs stretched out in front of him.
"Are you warm enough?" Draco asks. "I have more blankets."
"It's perfect." Draco twists his mouth to the side but doesn't argue. When he settles down next to Harry though, he does drape a blanket over his own legs.
"Shall we see what Winky packed us?"
"Let's," Harry says, his face breaking into a grin.
…
It's strange, Draco thinks once they've pulled all the food out and arranged it around the blanket. Though they've been alone with each other for long periods of time, they've never been together in such a date-like setting. He finds that he's self-conscious. He suddenly doesn't know what to do with his hands. Nor does he know what to say.
"Sandwich?" he suggests, picking up the plate of ham and cheese sandwiches and proffering it towards Harry.
"Thanks." Harry takes one and bites into it. Draco eats one too, just to have something to do. His stomach is aflutter in a way that it shouldn't be. He's seen the man naked for Merlin's sake! They've been dating for almost three weeks. Why is he still so nervous?
They eat in silence for a while. Every time Draco looks over at Harry, the other man looks relaxed. Slowly Draco finds himself unwinding.
"Hey," Harry says suddenly. "Thanks for this."
"What's that?"
"I'm having a lovely time. Thank you."
"Oh." Draco can feel his cheeks turn pink and he gives Harry a bashful smile. Harry responds by leaning over and kissing the smile off of his face. Well, Draco thinks, there are worse ways to get him to relax.
…
"What do you think is going to happen to us?" Draco asks later. The food is all but gone — the only ones enjoying it now are the ants who are carrying away the crumbs. Draco is laying on his back, his hands behind his head, staring up at the white clouds scudding across the sky.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean when the pandemic's over and I move out and life goes back to normal."
"We'll stay together." Harry says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Before Draco can stop himself he snorts at Harry's optimism. Harry's face looms over him, a frown etched on his forehead. "What's that for?"
"Nothing." Harry stares at him. Draco sighs. "I— I'm just worried that we won't work well together in the real world," he says. "I mean, the press alone…"
"So what?" Harry snaps. "We're just going to break up?" Draco sits up and turns to face Harry. This is not a conversation to have while horizontal.
"I don't know. Maybe?"
"I think I'm in love with you," Harry blurts out. Oh Merlin. Draco just stares at him. Fuck, Harry's confession has knocked him for a six. His brain isn't even working properly. Half of it is trying hard not to say I love you back because he can't. Not after he's said they should maybe break up.
"I'm not sure Mother's going to let you stay at the Manor," he says, instead as his train of thought reverts back to what he'd been thinking about before Harry's confession.
"So?"
"We'll have nowhere to go once you sell Grimmauld."
"What, so you don't want to be with me if there's no convenient place to fuck me?"
"What? No. Potter—" Draco stops himself, screws up his face and then spits out, "Merlin, you're impossible sometimes."
"Potter, is it?"
"I just— We wouldn't work in the real world."
"So you've said." Harry frowns and looks angrily towards a spot on the blanket, refusing to meet Draco's eye. Draco watches as he grinds his teeth. "Why not?" He looks up at last, his gaze challenging.
"Because you're Harry Potter, savior of the goddamn wizarding world, and I'm Draco Malfoy, Death Eater." To prove his point, Draco rolls up his left sleeve and shoves his forearm into Harry's face.
"Ex-Death Eater."
"The point still stands."
"You do realize that the sugar skull make-up makes your mark far less intimidating, right?" Harry asks.
"That's not the fucking point." Draco wrenches his sleeve back down. "The Prophet won't care that I've tried to cover it up like that. Or that I've changed. Or about anything I've done in the seven years since the war fucking ended. They'll care only that I got the mark in the first place."
"You do realize that the sugar skull make-up makes your mark far less intimidating, right?" Harry asks.
"Not the fucking point." Draco wrenches his sleeve back down. "The Prophet won't care that I've tried to cover it up like that. Or that I've changed. Or about anything I've done in the seven years since the war fucking ended. They'll care only that I got the mark in the first place."
"So?" Harry asks.
"What do you mean 'so'?"
"Fuck the Prophet. I don't care what they'd say."
"I wish I could believe that," Draco says bitterly. When Harry stares at him, eyes wide, he continues, "You can't even tell your supposed best friend that we're together." Harry scrunches up his face in a way that's confession enough to Draco. He starts to get up from the blanket, but Harry stops him by saying,
"Fine. We'll tell Ron. As soon as we get back." Draco pauses, then nods, like he'll believe it when he sees it, before flopping back down again. He can't bring himself to look at Harry. He doesn't want to see the disappointment in his eyes. He can't believe he even brought this up on their date. He's officially the worst boyfriend ever. He says as much to Harry who twists his mouth to the side before saying,
"Not the worst."
"I'm sorry," Draco says. He wants to explain that he's never had a relationship that's lasted more than a few weeks because inevitably the gossip witches descend and ruin things for him. He wants to explain that he doesn't feel like he deserves Harry's love, not after what he'd done. He doesn't deserve happiness with anyone, and Merlin does the Prophet ever remind him of that. But he keeps his mouth shut because he's already ruined this picnic enough.
He's relatively quiet on the drive back to Grimmauld. He half listens to Harry chatter away and sing along to the radio while his brain spins and spirals, full of reasons why Harry deserves someone better than him. He hardly notices when Harry pulls the cloak back over himself. The only thing he registers is Harry's whispered,
"I love you," as he passes him on his way into the house.
…
Harry loves him. Draco doesn't know what to do with that information. Because of course he loves him back. But he can't tell him that. Not yet at least.
Draco sits down hard on his bed. His arms come up of their own accord and he finds himself resting his head in them while he tries to think. They had arrived back from their picnic a few minutes ago and Harry had immediately gone off to find Weasley.
If things go well with Weasley — and that's a big if — they still have others and also the press to deal with. Merlin, Draco can only imagine the vitriol they'll be on the receiving end of once the Prophet finds out. Why hadn't he thought about this before he'd fallen into bed with Harry? He had, he supposes, he just hadn't cared. The outside world had felt so far away after almost two months with just the two of them.
And while part of him thinks he should have just kept a lid on his emotions and kept his dick in his pants, he can't regret it. Because this might be the happiest he's been in years, even with their inability to leave the house and do any of the fun things he would normally associate with being happy.
But then, there it is: the voice in the back of his mind that tells him he doesn't deserve this. Who is he of all people to feel happy?
He's been making amends for years, in any way he can think of, but the guilt of everything he'd done still weighs heavily on him. He can hardly blame Weasley for not liking him, even now, because he did poison him. Accidentally, sure, but it was still poison. He'd done his best to put that incident from his mind when Weasley joined them at the house, but now with the prospect of Harry telling his friend that they're together, he's worried that it might come to the surface of everyone's minds again.
He wishes, not for the first time, that he could travel back to sixth year and stop himself from doing any of the things he had done. Even though Dumbledore had been right, on the Astronomy tower, that his heart hadn't been in his various murder schemes, they'd still been murder schemes and he'd still carried them out.
He wishes every day that he hadn't.
He stands up and balls his hands into fists. He doesn't deserve Harry's affection, and he needs to tell Harry this before Harry tells Weasley that they're dating. Harry shouldn't have to go through the stress of trying to reason with his "best friend" because of him. Draco's not worth it, and he fully intends to tell Harry that.
He's made it three steps before his door flies open.
"You!" It is Weasley. Which can only mean that Draco is too late.
"Me what?"
"You and Harry."
"What of it?"
"What are your intentions with him?" Weasley asks, taking a step forward.
"Intentions?" Draco asks. "What are you? His father?"
"I'm his friend," Weasley snaps. "And I'm worried about him."
"I didn't slip him a love potion if that's what you're thinking."
"That wasn't my question."
"Right," Draco drawls. "You want to know my intentions. Like we're Edwardian ladies." Weasley crosses his arms in front of his chest and stares at Draco.
"Well?" he asks after an uncomfortable amount of time has passed. "What are they?"
"I don't know," Draco says. Because he doesn't. All he knows is that he wants Harry to be happy. He says as much to Weasley who doesn't say anything, only grunts to let Draco know he's heard him.
"Well that's something," he says at last. And really, can Draco expect any more from the man?
"I'm sorry that I don't live up to your expectations, O'Brien." Weasley gives him a withering look.
"Few can," he says. "Harry's my best friend. I want the best for him."
"Then you should want him to be with me." Draco smirks, feeling like he's on more stable footing. He's a pro at winding Weasley up. "I can give him the best." At Weasley's confused look, Draco winks and gives a small thrust with his hips. Weasley rolls his eyes and takes a step towards Draco.
"Fine," he says. "You have my cautious approval, but if you hurt him." Weasley makes a threatening motion with his fist which Draco doesn't find at all intimidating after having dealt with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his ilk, but he nods because the implication is clear.
"I didn't know you were into that kind of thing," he says. He pushes past a confused looking Weasley and whispers, "fisting, that is," as he goes by. He snickers at Weasley strangled yell of horror as he leaves the room.
Trying to talk about the intricacies of human nature and politics is hard in a story. I've tried not to be too one sided or preach-y but I'm with Harry on this: get your vaccines people!