Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!
Chapter Seventy-Eight: Three Hours
"Why on earth you didn't come to me immediately, young man, I will never know…"
Harry half-closed his eyes, taking comfort in the way Madam Pomfrey bustled around him, looking up the spells and fetching the potion she would need to soothe his throat. She'd told him bluntly that his magical exhaustion from yesterday had combined with the ache in his throat from singing, and that was the reason he felt as if he were being stabbed with hot wires every time he tried to speak. It would take magical means to heal it, unless Harry wanted to go without speaking for two weeks or more, to give the magical part of his fatigue time to fade.
Harry hadn't thought that would be so bad, but Draco's gaze, even and keen and piercing, had kept him from admitting anything of the kind.
But Draco had ducked out now, with a murmur about using the loo, and Madam Pomfrey talked to Harry exactly as she would have talked to any other student who had taken a reckless risk with his health—half-angry and half-worried, muttering under her breath as she flipped pages and practiced incantations, or uttered a small "Ah!" when she realized she remembered the spell. There was no different, special treatment for him because of who he was. He was simply Harry, a rather stubborn and awkward boy who insisted on making his life more stubborn and awkward.
"Here you are, Harry."
She held out a vial of green potion to him, soothing in both color and smell. Harry recognized it as the Moly Draught, created to heal internal spell damage. He swallowed obediently, and sighed; though the taste was nothing to brag about, the sheer thickness and coolness of the liquid helped.
"Now lie back and lie still," Madam Pomfrey directed, and Harry reclined against the pillows. He listened to the incantations she cast, and recognized the purpose of most of them from his mad dash through medical magic last year. Spells for the easing of pain, for the rooting out of magical fatigue, and to break the unfortunate bond between the purely physical ache and the less tangible damage to his magical core, which together could cause more trouble than either on its own.
Slowly, the fire seemed to run back up his throat and spill out his mouth. Harry half-slitted his eyes, thinking he should be able to watch it do so, but of course, other than a faint tracery of magic, there was nothing to see.
Madam Pomfrey murmured the final spell, and gave him a stern look. "As little talking as possible for the next week," she said. "Absolutely no singing. You used so much magic that your magical core stretched a bit, to accommodate the phoenix song, and imprinted unfortunate patterns in regards to it. Now, if you start singing, it'll think that this exhaustion is what's supposed to happen and reach for it. Keep silent on the phoenix front, do you understand?" Her lips twitched, but Harry had no doubt from her eyes that she was serious.
Harry nodded and tried to look penitent. The matron nodded back and held out a vial of the Moly Draught.
"Keep this by you and take three sips every morning and evening until it's gone," she said. "No attempts to improve it, either."
Harry worked to keep the look of resentment off his face—he'd only tried to improve the medicine Madam Pomfrey gave him once, after a Potions lesson on how adding normally volatile ingredients to a thick base could make it taste sweeter—and hopped off the bed. As he made his way to the door of the hospital wing, he could feel Madam Pomfrey's eyes on his back, both tender and exasperated.
At least she treats me normally. At least she doesn't think the world's ended because I'm the one in pain.
He stuck his head out the doors of the hospital wing and glanced up and down the corridor. Draco is taking a long time in the loo.
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
Draco was not actually in the loo, but he had raced into it to relieve himself before he went to do the rest of his tasks, so he did not consider it lying.
He'd contacted Professor Snape with the phoenix song spell first, and told him, as simply and directly as he could, what had happened to Harry and why he'd run away from the ceremony. Snape had listened in silence, and agreed without pause to Draco's suggestion that he and Harry take a holiday, and not take too long about it, either, in case someone delayed Harry out of sheer good will—or Harry decided to delay himself because he couldn't just go away like that.
Then Draco spoke to the Headmistress. She was more reserved, but when Draco related the tale of what had happened at the ceremony to award the Order of Merlin, she sighed.
"I suspect Mr. Pott—that is, our vates does need surroundings Hogwarts cannot provide him," she murmured. "You may leave for the weekend, Mr. Malfoy, with the understanding that you are to make up your schoolwork, and that you are not to trade my indulgence for special favors in the future. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Headmistress," Draco said submissively, and fought to keep from snorting. Of course it's clear. Does she really think I'm stupid enough to let her find out I'm skiving off, even if I were?
The next thing he did was settle down with a piece of parchment, ink, and a quill, and compose a letter. He didn't think Harry would let him send it. It could serve as a model of the one he thought Harry should write, though.
Dear Minister Scrimgeour:
This is a formal apology for the scene I made on exiting the award ceremony this afternoon. I beg your indulgence, as I was suddenly overcome by emotions built up from the duel with the sirens, and afraid of causing more harm if I remained. Circumstances similar to the trial of my parents applied, as you yourself were able to see when Falco displayed one of my memories. I will be out of reach for the next few days, but I did wish to send this owl and explain my side of the story.
Draco thought for a moment, then added below that, I will be happy to accept the Order of Merlin in private, and offer a likewise private apology to Elder Juniper of the Wizengamot. Harry would hate that, but Draco thought it was necessary after the debacle Harry had made at the ceremony. For one thing, he didn't want to make a political enemy of Juniper, whom Draco was hearing more and more about lately.
He indulged himself completely by signing the letter Harry Malfoy, and then turned it around to admire it.
Harry opened the door of their bedroom just then, at the same moment as red letters sprang to life in front of Draco. There you are, Draco. What are you doing?
Draco turned around and fixed a stern eye on Harry. He was, potentially, caught off-guard and doing something he should be ashamed of, writing Harry's political correspondence for him. But he was only that way if he allowed himself to be. What he wanted to be, what he would be, was completely in control of the situation and assuring that Harry got his holiday whether he wanted it right now or not. "Giving you an example to follow," he said, and held the letter out.
Harry read it. Draco knew the exact moment when he reached the part about the Order of Merlin; his brow, clear until that point, furrowed, and he jerked his head up with a soundless hiss.
"You have to," Draco said insistently, leaning forward, never relinquishing Harry's gaze. "I understand your memory, Harry, but part of the reason you reacted so strongly was that you hadn't had time to let your emotions go. Now you have. And now's your chance to prove that your thoughts about your unwillingness to take the reward really are just remnants of your training, which you can overcome with some thought. Unless they aren't, of course," he added, sharpening his voice to a needle. "And then I think we'll need to talk, and include Snape and Joseph in the conversation."
Harry glanced away from him.
"You deserve it," Draco continued remorselessly. "You do, Harry." He saw Harry's face start flaming as it had at the ceremony; this time, he hoped, only embarrassment was behind the blush, and not anger. "If you try to convince me you don't, you'll have to explain why."
You know why.
"Temporary feelings of unworthiness, yes. And since they were temporary, they're gone now," said Draco. It wasn't an easy thing, to ignore Harry's glare, but since it needed to be done, he did it.
I don't like it.
"Now you sound like you're whining."
Writing doesn't have a sound.
"Splitting hairs, Harry?" It wasn't so hard to hold his gaze, now. Harry was wrong and he knew it. Draco liked arguing with people in that state. He stood up and took a step forward. "This is unworthy of you, all of it—both blaming your training when we all know it's just modesty, and then acting like a sulky child. You're an adult, Harry, and part of being an adult means owning up to your actions. You don't just get to shoulder all the delicious guilt and leave the praise behind. Accept it, now."
Harry clenched his flesh hand around the silver one, and a brief wind of magic rippled the bedcurtains. Draco didn't back down. He knew—had known since the Presence of War, if not before that—that Harry would never hurt him.
At last, Harry's fingers loosened, letting the parchment drift free. He sighed and glared at Draco. All right. But I'm going to write the letter. And I'm not signing myself with a last name.
Draco smirked. He did think he'd manage to change Harry's mind on that, someday, too, but that was for the future. He'd wanted two victories today. One was making Harry accept the Order of Merlin.
The second was now.
"I'd hurry and write it if I were you," he told Harry casually. "Since we're leaving for our holiday three hours from now, and you'll need to accomplish everything you want to between now and then."
Harry stepped back from him with a speed that was comic, and his writing turned yellow and acquired several exclamation marks. Then he shook his head, and new letters appeared. Three hours isn't enough time, Draco.
"Make it be."
Harry frowned.
"You did say that you wanted to spend the holiday with me." Draco took a step forward, and ideas flashed past him more rapidly, lending him an air of the same kind he'd had when he confronted Lucius. Though he hadn't thought about it before, he knew where Harry would have taken him; suspicions coalesced too rapidly into certainty for him to trace the path. "At Cobley-by-the-Sea."
How did you know that?
Harry's eyes were gratifyingly wide, and Draco gave a casual shrug. "Never you mind. The point is, you wanted to go. Are you changing your mind now?"
No. That is. Harry stopped his writing as though he had to consider, hard, what he was about to say. That didn't bother Draco. It only ate into Harry's time, after all, and not anything else. He leaned back against the desk, folded his arms, and gave Harry a stare that grew longer as he waited.
I didn't expect such a short length of time, Harry said at last. The werewolves aren't in Cobley-by-the-Sea any more, since they've chosen a new pack leader and gone either to Woodhouse or back into wizarding society—
"They chose a new pack leader?" Draco hated the surprise dripping from his voice, since this was a situation where he'd wanted to remain completely in control, but he had shown it, and now there was no way of taking it back.
Harry raised his eyebrows at him. Yes. Camellia finally admitted that they needed more of me than I can give them. She offered to bite me, but I couldn't do that, especially not to Snape. So they chose her as leader, and though they're still welcome in the Black houses for sanctuary if they need them, they're living elsewhere. I think that relieves Regulus, Harry added, with a slight smile on his face. He thought constantly of all the treasures and traps in the houses that could stab anyone who's not actually linked to the legacy of his family.
"You didn't tell me about the pack," Draco said.
I was sure I had. Harry shrugged. Sorry?
That was another thing that would have to change, Draco thought determinedly. If he was going to spend as much time and devotion on Harry as he wanted, he would demand equal time and devotion, and push Harry for it, until sharing things Draco wanted to hear became second nature. Certainly the fact that he'd left that memory of this afternoon in the Pensieve was a step in the right direction. Draco could coax Harry further, could make him see that he wanted to let Draco in.
This holiday would be the perfect chance to do that.
"So we're going to Cobley-by-the-Sea," Draco said. "And no one else is going to disturb us there, so you should tell your brother farewell, and write the letter to Scrimgeour. I'm not sure what else you need to do, but you should do it." He waved his wand, murmuring, "Pack," and his own clothes and treasures began to jump obediently into his trunk.
It's too short, Harry said, sliding the letters like an envelope under Draco's nose so that he couldn't pretend not to see them. Give me a little more time.
Draco looked up at him, and smiled pleasantly. "No," he said. "Both Snape and the Headmistress already know, and you have their permission. Besides, you don't have the best record of making decisions today. I want to go on holiday, and I've already arranged matters. So there," he added.
Harry's face darkened. You're a spoiled brat with no sense of shame.
"And at a time like this, how fine a thing that is," Draco drawled, while he gathered up their blankets with another wave of his wand. They were probably cleaner and less dusty than anything at Cobley-by-the-Sea, and he wanted to sleep in comfort; he had no intention of making himself deliberately uncomfortable on what was supposed to be a holiday. He looked up and raised his eyebrows. "Are you still just standing there and scowling at me? It must be two hours and fifty minutes, by now."
Harry stiffly stuck out a hand, and the air next to him flared and turned into a representation of a clock. Harry glanced at it, sighed, and then gathered up parchment and ink and sat down to write his letter.
Smug, Draco turned back to his packing. He had, of course, no right to indulge himself in a fit of temper if Harry didn't. Harry could have argued that he wanted more time, and if he'd done it strenuously enough, then Draco would have given in.
But then, he could have asked for more time before he attended the ceremony the Ministry held, too.
He'll learn to stick up for himself, even if I have to lie in his path like a log in order for him to do it.
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
Harry watched as Hedwig flew away with his letter to Scrimgeour, and sighed. He'd made his writing less purely apologetic than he wanted to, and he'd also written in a sentence about accepting the Order of Merlin. The cause of both had been Draco watching over his shoulder, and now and then making a "tch" sound with his tongue between his teeth when Harry seemed about to sign the letter.
He turned around to make his way to Gryffindor Tower, and started. Connor was standing in the doorway of the Owlery, watching him with a faint, fond smile on his face.
"Some fighter you are," he said. "I followed you all the way up here, and you didn't even notice."
Harry frowned a little. If that were true, he would have to work on that. Perhaps he should look for a spell that would increase his sensory alertness. It wouldn't do to have enemies sneak up on him on the field of battle.
Connor rolled his eyes and came over to hug him. "You're leaving for holiday, aren't you?" he murmured into Harry's neck. "The Headmistress told me. She seemed convinced you were departing right away, and she didn't want me to worry."
I wouldn't go without saying farewell, Harry said, positioning the letters behind his shoulder so Connor could see them. Unless we were having an argument, or it was a matter of life and death.
Connor laughed into his neck. "You take everything so seriously, Harry. Maybe a few days alone with Draco will teach you how to laugh once more. You knew how for a while, and it's slipped again."
Harry stirred restlessly. This holiday was supposed to be a reward for him, and it's turned into—
"What?"
Harry waved his silver hand vaguely, unable to find the words. He would have been even if he could speak.
"You have a lover who thinks of you and tries his best to make sure that you're happy, not just indulging him," Connor mocked, pulling away. "How sad, Harry. I'm sure most people in your situation would be whimpering and begging to escape."
Since when did Draco become your hero? You didn't used to think so much of him.
"Since I changed my mind about things in general, and realized I have to be an adult and no one will make it go away." Connor caught his chin and tilted his head up. "Think of it as a corresponding turn to the one you've made, Harry," he added. "I've learned to be more adult, and so has Draco, and so has Snape, if he'd ever admit he wasn't perfect before. And now you've learned how to be a child again. You've had the bad effects today, exploding in public like that." Harry looked at him warily, but Connor didn't seem inclined to scold. "So now you get to experience the better side of it, which is being taken care of. I ought to be an expert on that, don't you think?"
It feels like going to the Sanctuary, even if I won't be gone so long. I just know that things will explode in my absence.
"So let them explode," said Connor. "We can get some practice picking up the pieces, and I think that will be good for all of us." He hugged Harry abruptly, and so hard that Harry wheezed when he let him go. "You won't always be there for every crisis," he said, gripping Harry's shoulders nearly as hard as he'd hugged him. "You weren't there during the First War, even if you did end it, and they survived without you. You have the right to this, Harry. Go." He gave him a little push towards the top of the Owlery stairs.
Harry went, occasionally glancing over his shoulder. Connor, it seemed, hadn't come to send a letter, but just to play with Godric. At his whistle, the black eagle-owl came down to his arm and landed, careful not to dig his talons in too far, but ducking his head to nuzzle and nip at Connor's free hand. Harry heard his brother laugh, a sound he hadn't heard in too long.
I should spend more time with him, too. But not because it's an obligation, or because I want Parvati to think well of me. Just because I want to, and because I want to hear him laugh again.
The clock floated up against his shoulder, nudging at it. Harry glanced at it, and sighed. He had very little time left in the three hours Draco'd given him; writing the letter had taken longer than he thought.
He hurried off to fetch Argutus, now and then calling his name in Parseltongue. The Omen snake still wandered the castle fairly often, and hadn't wanted to go to some boring ceremony the way the Many snake had.
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
Rufus read over Harry's letter a few times, to make sure he understood all the nuances of tone. Then he firecalled Elder Juniper, sitting back in his chair near the office hearth while he read the letter one more time. Percy had come up and hovered gently near his shoulder until Rufus let him see it. His own face expressed more honest doubt than Rufus felt able to show.
"Do you really think that he'll keep his promise, sir?" he asked. "After the way he embarrassed you earlier?"
"That wasn't deliberate, to look at this." Rufus stroked the parchment. "And yes, I think he will."
The fire flared, and Juniper strolled into sight. Rufus nodded to him. "I have an apology from Harry vates here, if you'd like to see it," he said, holding it out. "And an offer to accept the Order of Merlin and apologize to you in person."
Juniper didn't even look at the letter. "I expected no less of such an honorable young man," he said. "Tell me, Minister, if the choice came down to supporting Harry or supporting the Ministry, what would you choose?"
Rufus narrowed his eyes. Juniper could intimidate him as few other people could, but that did not mean he was allowed to get away with cowing this blatant. "The Ministry, of course," he said coldly. "I believe I have already demonstrated that sufficiently. I did not support Harry's rebellion. I took control of the Ministry with the Ritual of Cincinnatus only when I believed that I had no other choice, given the rebellion of my own Department Heads against me."
Juniper stared at him then, looking him directly in the eye, and nodded. "You are right," he said. "You are loyal to the Ministry, and always have been. My apologies."
The fire flared, and he vanished. Rufus sat back and rattled the parchment in his hand, intent eyes on the flames.
"Sir?" Percy asked from behind him.
"Hmmm?" Rufus asked. His mind raced with visions of why Juniper might have been so abrupt with him, when just yesterday they had watched the vision of Harry battling the sirens and shared some of the same emotions. He was coming up with a limited number of allies Juniper could both have and be willing to risk offending the Minister for. He hoped he was wrong on his guesses.
"Why did Harry do what he did? The real, political reason? In your opinion, of course, sir," Percy added hastily.
"I do believe what he wrote in the letter." Rufus smoothed the parchment out again and attempted to ignore his speeding heartbeat. "That he had a bad moment, and erupted. That's all. He has no reason to lie about something like that, and if he could have put a better face on it, he would have."
"But that's—" Percy shook his head and fell silent.
"Worrisome in a political figure, yes." Rufus was tempted to continue, to remind Percy that Harry had never been a conventional political figure, but he held his tongue. Harry had been effective because he could still be so gathered and so calm so young, because he had much to offer his allies that no other single person could duplicate. It was indeed a bad sign if, when the pressure began to increase, their vates lost his temper and became slightly more human.
On a personal level, Rufus was relieved Harry was acknowledging his abuse and acting more like a human being. But he didn't usually deal with Harry on a personal level.
Hold firm and hold fast, Harry, he thought, gaze going to the last few lines of the letter, the ones that talked about a holiday. If a holiday is what you need, then take it. We require you too badly to let you explode simply because you wish to.
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
"You're sure about this." Juniper's eyes were dark, both because that was their natural color and because of the emotions thronging them. They fastened on her; he was leaning against the hearth of his main welcoming room, sipping carefully at the wine his house elves had brought them. Juniper was an old Light traditionalist. While he might listen to the arguments against keeping house elves carefully, he was not going to let them go simply because of a bit of pretty rhetoric and sentimental reasoning.
"Sure." Aurora Whitestag leaned back in her chair and lifted her chin. She had worn her most formal robes, precisely because of that old Light traditionalism. Once, a host had been able to demand that his guests wear colors indicating their allegiance, though that custom had fallen into disuse long ago. Aurora had chosen pale blue robes, the color of an undeclared witch. Juniper would appreciate the gesture, even as he knew she used it in hopes of manipulating him. But that she was willing to make the gesture at all, no matter what her motivations for making it, showed her as someone he could, potentially, work with.
Juniper nodded several times, slow jerks of his head that Aurora knew had sometimes made his political enemies think him senile. Those political enemies weren't influential any more. Those weren't drowsy motions, those were the motions of a wading bird spearing fish, or opponents. "He does seem more like a child and less like a young man, in the face of gestures like this," he murmured.
"That is the contradiction of our vates." Aurora leaned forward earnestly. "He was too adult at first, but with the revelation of his abuse, the cracks come clear. There are times when he will act as if he had every difficult area of his past mastered, and then he stumbles as he has here. That was one of the main purposes I attempted to accomplish with the monitoring board: giving him advisers who could watch for such stumbles and prevent them from being too catastrophic."
"That is not the way it happened," Juniper murmured, watching her.
Aurora shook her head. "I lost sight of my purpose, and did not recruit the right allies."
"And why should I think that you will have any better success now?" Juniper took a moody gulp of wine.
"Because I am working with you," said Aurora honestly. "Because you can keep me on track, and because you can recruit Light allies who wouldn't listen to me. Understand, I would not be the controlling or guiding force this time. That would be you, Elder."
"You are eager to surrender power, then."
Aurora shrugged. "What is done with power matters more to me than the degree of it I personally possess, Elder. If I am in a position where I can influence the future course of the British wizarding world, but at the same time not expose myself to fighting that I'm not good at, nor open attempts at manipulation I also lack the skill for, then I will be content."
She was silent, awaiting his decision. She had been the one to approach him, after all, not the other way around, moving immediately after the debacle in front of the Ministry. This was the kind of slip she had feared Harry would make, and she was determined that he not drag Britain down with him. Juniper, potentially personally offended by the mistake, would make a good ally.
"Your proposal has merit," Juniper said at last, setting his wineglass down. "The trick will be not to depend too much on the young man's psychology. It is key to understanding him, but even that can fall afoul of his determined protectors and the laws that account for Lord-level wizards." He arched an eyebrow at her. "This time, Mrs. Whitestag, I am determined to have a way to work with our vates that is not, in the finer points, illegal."
"Understood," said Aurora, and felt gratitude and relief wash over her. I may yet hope to help save our world, and this time working with someone who has more political acumen than I do.
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
Harry shook his head as they appeared with a bump in Cobley-by-the-Sea; Regulus had given them a Portkey, so as not to have to drop the house's wards. Harry had told him he thought they were perfectly safe in Cornwall, let alone in a Black house. Regulus had given him a flat look, and Harry, unsure what had caused his friend's dark mood, had not asked further.
Regulus had sent them to the bedroom they would probably want to use, Harry saw, as he looked around. The bed was large, and already stripped of dusty hangings, so that Draco could spread out the sheets and blankets he'd taken from their bedroom in Slytherin. Regulus had probably come and stripped the bed himself. Harry licked his lips, feeling an uncomfortable frisson of humility.
Argutus nudged him under the chin. "You are being very silly," he informed Harry loftily. "I am going to explore, and see what has changed since last time we were here." He slithered down from Harry's shoulder, and Harry charmed the door open so that he could make his way into the hallway.
"Here we are."
Harry moved out of the way so that Draco could put his trunk against the wall, and watched in amusement as Draco began to unpack it. Draco sometimes seemed incapable of staying anywhere for a single night without making it look as much like a home as possible.
Then Draco glanced at him over his shoulder. "I think the mirror I gave you for Christmas would look nice on that wall, Harry," he said, nodding to the one on Harry's right.
Harry froze for a moment. He kept the mirror tucked away. It made him deeply uncomfortable, and he couldn't see much practical use for it. And if Draco was alone with him here—which was certainly the case; he could feel the wards whispering to him about the absence of other wizards in the house—then the main thing for the glass to show would be their reflections. Harry didn't mind looking at Draco's. He didn't know that he wanted Draco looking at his.
But Draco's eyes held a distinct challenge. They were alone here. Harry didn't need to worry about anyone wandering into the bedroom and exclaiming about what they'd chosen to decorate it with, at least for a few days. And if he was committed to sharing himself with Draco, if this was private time together, hiding secrets Draco mostly already knew about made no sense.
He turned away and began to unpack, taking out most of the gifts he'd received at Christmas and on various other holidays, and which he mostly kept tucked away. Draco's mirror he hung on the right wall, and Draco almost instantly moved a table that sat next to the bed under it and placed on the table the Pensieve Harry had given him. Harry leaned his Firebolt against the wall, next to the wooden carving of many animals Peter had given him for Christmas last year, once he'd unshrunken it. He Transfigured a shelf for their books, while Draco was hanging the Slytherin curtains around their bed and sometimes cursing at the rods under his breath.
They were done in a much shorter time than Harry had expected. Looking around, he gave another little shiver. The room also looked more like home than he had thought it would.
Where is home?
Harry was somewhat disturbed to realize he didn't know the answer to that question. He could think of Malfoy Manor as home in some contexts, and Hogwarts, perhaps most closely. But his mind shied from the thought of applying the word to Lux Aeterna or Godric's Hollow any more, and he still considered the Black houses Regulus's property, to be used if he needed them, but not lived in—not by him. And other places he had stayed in or seen, like the Sanctuary, of course couldn't qualify.
He bit his lip thoughtfully, and then Draco murmured in his ear, "What did you have planned for this holiday, Harry?"
He turned around. Draco was watching him, hands folded beneath his chin as if his head were resting on a desk, but for once making no attempt to touch him.
Harry cleared his throat, then winced as it sent a prompt pulse of burning through his mouth. He'd carefully packed the Moly Draught, and he looked forward to the next dose he could take of it. He turned to his writing, and reminded himself that no one else was here, no one else could see, and that Draco wasn't likely to think he was writing anything particularly ridiculous.
I wanted to show you what I see when I look at you. Everything I see when I look at you. So we would have discussions and debates about the Grand Unified Theory, and I could give you lessons that would help you further along the road to achieving your Animagus form. Except that you did that by yourself, of course. He shot Draco a swift grin, which didn't change Draco's level, calm gaze at all. And I wanted to watch the hippocampi with you, and sleep in during mornings when we didn't have anything else to do, and tell you why and how I appreciate you. And perhaps have arguments about what I didn't appreciate, of course. And, um.
He couldn't write the word. Draco followed his gesture to the bed, though, and gave him a dazzling smile for one moment.
"Well. Not too far from what I planned, then." He stepped forward and lowered his voice. "Listen, Harry. There's no reason that we can't still do that, given how much I like to be spoiled—"
Harry felt his own face brighten.
"Except that it'll work for both of us." Draco cocked his head. "So you tell me things about yourself, too, and I tell you what I appreciate, and, at least once, you lie back in the bed and just let me do whatever I wish with you. You've given me gifts like that several times, after the Rosier attack and after that disastrous meeting with the monitoring board. I've never been able to just give you a gift, though. The closest was Midwinter, but you disobeyed me and moved around."
Harry's face hurt from his blush. He didn't move, though, when Draco caught his eye and held it.
"Will you agree to that?" he asked.
Harry let out a slow breath. No one else is here. And Draco's hardly about to turn around and use this against me. And if it's a weakness to be petted and spoiled on occasion—well, that's what I wanted to do to Draco. It wouldn't make him weak, would it? So it shouldn't make me weak.
He gave back a hesitant nod.
Draco's face softened in a way Harry hadn't seen before, though he didn't smile. He reached out and caught Harry's hand.
"Come on," he said, tugging him towards the door of their bedroom. "Let's go watch the hippocampi."
