Chapter 9 – Malfoy Manor

Draco had not thought this through.

That much was apparent as he sat with his head in his hands, ignoring the hard cover of the grimoire below him pressing into his elbows. He had spent hours poring over a family tree for a lesser known half-blood family descended from the Selwyn lineage, and it was one of the more complex contracts he had come across. The family was so interbred with muggles it was difficult to trace the bloodlines, and Draco was frustrated.

However, it wasn't his work that bothered him. No, that was a challenge for Draco, and he enjoyed the thrill of finally cracking cases such as this. It was his ill-thought dinner invitation to bloody Potter of all people that had him groaning. Had he mulled over the decision since he had apparated home on Sunday evening, and continued to dwell on the problem for the last four days.

It must have been the magic, Draco told himself, that caused him to lose his head slightly around Potter. All that power pressing against him must have addled his usually logical brain. Draco sniffed. Yes, that was the excuse he would use when he spoke to Narcissa about having an extra visitor for dinner. That and the fact that Teddy Lupin would be in attendance would be sure to placate his rather pompous mother – blood mattered to Malfoy's more than anything else, and Narcissa would be pleased to lay eyes on her great – nephew, even if his blood was sullied with the werewolf gene.

Resolved, Draco stood and stretched his lean legs. His robes hung carelessly over the back of his chair, leaving him in a simple pair of trousers and a plain white chambray which exposed his forearms. A quick spell ironed out the creases which had formed during the hours spent poring over his desk, and he slowly made his way through the cavernous halls of the manor.

He found Narcissa seated in her parlour in east wing, the area of the manor that she had claimed after Lucius' capture. She was reading a potions book, allowing Draco a moment to study her. Narcissa Malfoy had always been an exceptionally elegant woman and she had aged most gracefully. Pale hair framed a proud face with high cheekbones and arched brows, fine lines only now collecting at the corners of them. Narcissa maintained the haughty indifference of a Malfoy when in public, but her eyes gave away the love she had for her family as she looked up at Draco.

"Draco," she smiled pleasantly. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Draco leaned against the doorway to the room, crossing his arms. He was hoping to rely on that love now as he was well aware that Narcissa had never truly learnt tolerance of half bloods and mixed breeds, despite her public stance.

"I am having guests tonight Mother," Draco told her formally. "I would understand if you did not wish to take your meal with Scorpius and I this evening."

"Nonsense, Draco." Narcissa's smile still graced her face. "Who is your guest."

Draco cleared his throat, running a hand through his blonde hair. A frown marred the soft beauty of his Mother's face – she knew when he was distressed or nervous. "Harry Potter," Draco finally told her after a brief silence. "And your own great – nephew, Edward Lupin."

Narcissa's facial expression did not change. She rose to her feet gracefully, folding the book she was reading and placing it on the seat below her. She dignified Draco with one arched eyebrow, wordlessly asking him to explain.

"He's not the same." Draco was abrupt in his explanation. "He no longer associates with those Weasel blood traitors" – he sneered without realising – "and he's raising a child alone with no other magical children around him." Draco wisely chose to leave out the part about Potter living in muggle London, knowing his Mother would react with utter disdain to that fact. "The boy is my cousin, Mother, and Scorpius' too." His voice was soft with a hidden plea, one Narcissa understood well. Draco had very few remaining family members, and he had expressed on more than one occasion regret that Scorpius had no other children to run around and play with.

"I am not pleased, Draco." Narcissa's tone was soft, but despite her words she did not appear to be angry. "However, I understand your desire to learn of those sharing your blood. I will take refreshments with yourself and Mr. Potter – I have unresolved matters to discuss with him."

Narcissa seated herself once more and turned her eyes back to her reading. It was a clear dismissal, and Draco left feeling somewhat troubled. He wasn't aware of a history between his Mother and Harry Potter, and not for the first time he questioned his own sanity in inviting the other wizard into his home.

It was with trepidation that Draco sat in the Solarium of the manor, watching the sun set through the great glass windows. This was one of his favourite places in the home – one of the only places that didn't feel gothic and miserable. Draco also felt Potter may feel more comfortable in this room, as it was not one of the rooms he had been exposed to during his time spent here in the War. Spent here? Draco raised an eyebrow to himself. Potter had been tortured here.

Draco scoffed to himself. Since when did he care if somebody else felt comfortable in his home?

He turned his eyes to his son. Scorpius looked every inch of a pureblood prince in dark robes embroidered in silver, blonde locks styled back – however the effect was ruined as the small boy was currently bouncing up and down in his seat, positively bursting with excitement. Draco smiled slightly – Scorpius had been thrilled to learn he had a cousin close to his own age that he could play with.

Draco himself was dressed formally in dress robes, his hair loose to his shoulders. He had wisely chosen long sleeves for the evening, wanting to hide any reminders of his past affiliations including the mark that remained on his left forearm which had never faded. He was uncertain and feeling slightly nervous about the evening – both feelings that the usually confident wizard was not used to. Draco shook himself out of his own thoughts, it was too late to back out now.

The wards around the manor indicated Potter's presence before Beeky appeared to announce his arrival. As his house elf disapparated to greet their guest, Scorpius' bouncing intensified.

"Scorpius," Draco scolded. "We must show our best manners for our guests."

"Will Teddy like me Daddy?" The words surprised him; his son was so confident and exuberant that Draco hadn't considered he might also be nervous about meeting his cousin for the first time.

"Of course, he will," Draco smiled, gently stroking his son's hair. Before he could add anything further, Beeky appeared in the solarium with a bow, ushering Potter and his godson into the room.

Draco let out a single chuckle as his attention was captured by the young boy with bright green hair. Young Teddy must have inherited his mother's metamorphic traits, and Draco was educated enough to guess that the bright colour most likely reflected his excitement.

The boy came to about Harry's waist in height and appeared for all intents and purposes a healthy and happy child. His robes were elegant and clean, and his eyes sparkled with life. Potter had done a fine job raising the boy in his parents' absence, Draco conceded.

"Green, Potter?" He arched an eyebrow at the other man, tilting his chin towards the boy's hair. Before the other man had a chance to respond, the object of Draco's attention spoke.

"Uncle Harry said Slythen's like green," he burst out, skipping over the word Slytherin. "He said that Scorpius would like it."

Draco smiled genuinely at the boy. "Slytherins do like green," he advised the boy seriously. "Green is Scorpius' favourite colour, isn't it?" He turned to find his son peering shyly from where he sat but with obvious interest.

"Yes daddy," Scorpius smiled. He slid off the chair and toddled to his cousin. "Can I touch it?"

Draco had worried for nothing. The two boys immediately took to one another like long lost friends. Before the minute was out, Scorpius was leading the older boy by the hand into the left corridor towards his bedroom. Draco ordered Beeky to keep an eye on the boys and turned to face Potter, pleased with how the first meeting between the two relations had gone.

Unfortunately, the same couldn't be said for Potter.

The man was tensely picking at a thread on his dress robes (which Draco had to force himself not to admire as they hugged his chest tightly), his eyes taking in the room slowly. The pulse of his magic was slow and careful – Draco knew it was the memories of being in the manor that had put him on edge.

"It's just memories, Potter." He made the comment offhand, watching as Harry stopped glancing around and peered at him slightly guiltily. The tightness in his jaw and shoulders remained, however. "Shall we take some light refreshments?" Perhaps a drink would calm the man down a bit.

Potter gestured for Draco to take the lead. "After you," he murmured. His voice was calm and deep, and Draco took an unnecessary breath before sweeping past him.

To move into the drawing room, Draco had to take Potter past the entrance to the cellar. He watched Potter visibly shudder as moved past the dark staircase, averting his gaze. Draco considered for a second how Potter must feel being back at the source of terror for himself and his friends; he couldn't imagine if the situations were reversed that he would be particularly pleased.

Thankfully, the drawing room had been artfully decorated and prepared by Beeky and appeared to distract Potter's mind from his memories. The room was the grandest room in the Malfoy home – it was thirty feet tall and had a handsome, ornate marble mantelpiece which framed the room. A dark chestnut table easily able to seat twenty people took up the space proportionally, and crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling. The fire was crackling and a bottle of scotch with two glasses sat prepared near the fireplace, causing Potter to titter.

"At least you remembered my preference," he said to Draco, smiling slightly.

"Who says it's just your preference," Draco responded blandly.

The two men silently took a seat in front of the flames, Draco wordlessly pouring a glass for them both. If anybody had told him five years ago that he would be sharing a drink with Harry bloody Potter, he would have laughed at them and hexed the hell out of them for daring to make such a stupid comment. The idea didn't seem so far fetched now however as he watched the striking man out of the corner of his eye.

He hadn't even had a chance to open his mouth before soft footsteps could be heard behind them. Potter turned in alarm, but Draco remained as he was, staring mindlessly into the crackling of the burning wood. He knew the sound of his mother's footsteps and had no desire to involve himself in a conversation between her and Potter.

Narcissa, he knew, would be dressed in her finest robes to make a statement if nothing else. Made of silk with her hair pinned gracefully behind her head, she was the true embodiment of a pureblood wife. To his credit, Draco noticed that Potter didn't appeared to be awed in any way, staring only at the approaching woman with narrowed eyes. Probably too unrefined to appreciate her beauty, he told himself.

The two stared at each other, Potter standing politely as Narcissa reached the table. At least the man had developed some manners over the years. Draco took that back, however, as he saw the slight protrusion of Potter's wand pressing ever so slightly against his wrist inside his robe. Obviously, Potter was still on edge. If he had known anything about Purebloods however he would have known it was the height of rudeness for an invited guest to be assaulted by their invitee.

"Mister Potter," Narcissa spoke finally, extending her hand to him regally. Draco was certain Potter would show his lack of breeding by ignoring her gesture, but to his immense surprise Potter took it with grace and kissed the back of it gently. Well. A flicker of surprise and only a hint of disgust displayed through one arched eyebrow crossed Narcissa's face before she withdrew her hand gracefully – Draco was oddly pleased that Potter had stunned his mother with his actions as well.

"It has been many years," she spoke, her cadence polite but disdainful at the same time. "I am very sorry to hear about your wife."

Draco half started from his chair at the utter rudeness his mother was showing towards a houseguest, but his worry was for naught. Potter didn't rise to the bait, instead smiling at her without warmth. "Thank you, ma'am," he replied, his tone edged. "Likewise, I am sorry to hear about your husband. Life in Azkaban must be incredibly difficult of course, but surely you agree that it is the only punishment fitting a prominent death eater."

Draco hid his smirk or there would be hell to pay. Potter had backed his Mother into a corner – if she reacted to his statement, she would out herself as sympathetic to Lucius' plight and show that her entire public act was exactly that – an act. Draco was certain Potter knew full well his Mother hadn't changed, but the way he skilfully manoeuvred her smacked of Slytherin maliciousness.

"Indeed, Mister Potter." Narcissa's tone had a biting edge, but her piercing eyes showed Potter had risen infinitesimally in her estimation. Draco realised with a burst of clarity that his Mother was testing Potter – she was far to perceptive for her own good and was one of the few who knew of Draco's sexuality. He pushed down a flush which would be unbefitting in present company – he would need to question his Mother later on that matter.

"Please enjoy our hospitality, Mister Potter," his Mother invited with a sly smile. "I am sure you and I will become acquaintances should you continue to engage my son's attentions." Her gaze flickered to Draco briefly and only he caught the edge of amusement to them. So, she knew about his feelings regarding Potter. Fuck.

"Regardless," she continued, "I need to think on how I can utilise the life debt you owe me before too much time passes, don't I?" Narcissa, still smiling, turned elegantly to glide from the room leaving Potter looking thunderous and Draco shocked.

"What life debt?" Draco finally asked, turning on the other man. "You never told me about a life debt!"

"When was I going to get the chance?" Potter laughed sardonically. "Your Mother saved my life," Potter added. "During the final War. She told Voldemort I was dead when he killed me the second time – if she hadn't have done that, he would have killed me again."

"Again?" Draco scoffed at the utter absurdity of the comment. "Wasn't twice enough?"

Potter stared at him with a haunted face and Draco was smart enough to know he was missing something very important, something unknown in this conversation. "I wouldn't have been so lucky the third time," he replied. The tone of his voice made it clear that the conversation was over for now, and never one to allow for social awkwardness Draco summoned the children for dinner. This conversation was not over however – Draco planned one way or another to pry Potter's secrets from him.

Beeky had outdone herself, Draco reflected as he admired the remnants of dessert in front of him, a chocolate lava cake with vanilla gelato. A three-course meal had been served befitting a Malfoy gathering, and everyone was pleasantly full. The two boys had continued to chatter to one another, filling the uncomfortable silence between Harry and Draco with pleasant noisiness.

He was onto his third glass of scotch and Potter his second. The alcohol had relaxed the other man, but he still appeared ill at ease in the manor.

"Still uneasy, Potter?" Draco asked, eyes remaining fixed to his glass. He watched from the corner of his eye as the other man shifted slightly.

"Yeah," he responded, surprising Draco with his honestly. Then again, Potter had always been exceptionally unrefined when it came to diplomacy. "Brings back memories, you know?"

"Hmm." Draco was noncommittal. "Do you still speak to the Weasel and the mud – Granger, Potter?" He caught himself mid word, forcing himself to call the witch by her name. He was shamelessly snooping into Potter's personal life, and it would do him no good to anger Potter into silence or worse, leaving altogether.

Potter glared at him briefly, anger burning bright in those green eyes for a second. Draco's breath caught – the man looked dangerous, like he was ready to attack. The combination of those eyes with that heady rush of magic and the scars stretching his face caused a tingle down Draco's spine. As soon as it had begun, however, Potter dropped his eyes with a sigh choosing to ignore the comment. Again, Draco was surprised at the change over the years – as a teenager that comment would have landed Draco a broken nose.

"No," he told Draco, his voice heavy with repressed grief. "Not after Ginny died."

"That seems rather unfair," Draco whispered. He could taste victory as Potter's shoulders dropped. He had no doubt the other man was lonely, and it wouldn't be too hard to break down the secrets around his life. Draco leaned across the table to get closer but unbeknown to him, as he moved forward his robes had pulled back slightly, exposing his left forearm.

The change in Potter was instant. He paled drastically and gasped, hand reaching to rub at the scar on his forehead. Draco was too shocked to laugh at the ridiculous sight, instead rushing to his feet. "Potter, are you alright?" He asked, hurrying around the bloody great table. He cursed the sheer size of the thing – of all the times for Malfoy pride to get in the way.

Potter's hands framed his face as he groaned into the table. "Stupid bloody thing," he moaned, leaning his forehead against the cool tabletop. Draco didn't even comment on how uncouth the act was.

No, Draco understood exactly what had caused Potter to flinch. He glanced down – the mark on his left arm stood out vividly against his skin, almost straining against the muscles in his forearm. "Oh shit," Draco swore, then immediately scolded himself internally for allowing the word to escape his lips. He quickly pulled his sleeve back down to cover the mark and Potter sagged in relief, falling backwards against the back of the chair.

Draco felt in that moment something he hadn't felt for another person outside his own family in many years. Unreserved concern for another person. Potter looked so pitiful slouched there, glasses askew and eyes clenched shut, that Draco couldn't simply bring himself to utter a single sarcastic remark.

Instead, he carefully made his way to the man and kneeled next to him, sweeping his robes around himself to prevent dirt from collecting in them. "Potter," he asked softly, "are you alright?"

He fully expected the other wizard to turn on him, to be angry, to spit reminders of his past in his face. He wouldn't have been surprised if Potter had left the room screaming hexes at him, vowing to never return. That would have been the way most other wizards would have reacted, even without his mark affecting them the way it did Potter.

Instead, Potter merely grimaced. He opened his eyes to meet Draco's, green meeting grey, and smiled a dry lopsided smile.

"I'm swell, Malfoy," he drawled, and it took Draco a moment to realise Potter was being sarcastic. Scoffing, he held his hand out to the other man in assistance and froze.

The action was so reminiscent of his extended hand all those years ago that Draco was struck once more by the rejection he had felt back then. Really, it was that one moment which had tainted his interactions with Potter for the following seven years. He had felt rejected and betrayed by Potter and had taken that resentment out on him for years to come. If Potter didn't accept his hand now, he did not know how he would react.

Fortunately, he didn't need to.

Potter reached up and grasped his hand firmly, allowing Draco to hoist him to his feet. His scar stood out like a red beacon on his face and he reached up with his other hand to readjust his glasses.

Draco dropped Potter's hand and turned to move back around the table. He covered his face with his hands, making sure to keep the mark covered.

"I'm sorry," he finally told Potter, aware of the other man's eyes still on him. "I was a child when it happened, you know." He didn't need to refer to the mark by name – the other wizard knew what he was referring to. "A stupid child."

"A stupid child pressured into a life or death situation." Potter's voice cut him off firmly. "Really Malfoy, what choice did you have?" He took the seat next to Draco, staring broodily at the table in front of him. "If you had refused the mark, Voldemort would have killed you."

"Maybe better to be dead than have this on my arm for all eternity" Draco spat bitterly, allowing a sliver of the anger he felt at his past decisions to make itself known. "It's the only thing people see when they look at me."

"It's not the only thing I see." Draco whipped his head up to stare at the other man, but he kept his eyes firmly away from Draco's. "I see a man who survived despite the odds, survived being in the very clutches of Voldemort, and kept fighting." A self-depreciating grimace appeared on Potter's face. "Unlike me. I just… gave up."

Draco wanted to argue Potter's point, argue that Potter had defeated the Dark Lord for Christ Sake, but he wasn't good with feelings. Instead, he asked another question.

"Do you still have nightmares?" He asked. His tone was curious, gentle.

"Every damn night," Potter muttered. That explained the dark rings of exhaustion around his eyes. He didn't elaborate further, and Draco didn't push.

"I can give you a potion for that, you know." The words spilled out of Draco's' mouth without conscious thought, and Potter finally met his eyes with those piercing green ones. "I mean, it isn't like you were ever proficient in potions you know."

Harry grunted, but a small smile graced his face. "You and I both know that was because I had Snape breathing down the back of my damned neck every second of his class," he said lightly. The comment was enough to break the tension and Draco smirked.

"I'll concede that perhaps that may have coloured your potions experience," Draco offered graciously, and Harry took the opportunity to move the conversation into small talk. Draco noted that Potter did not accept the offer for him to brew a potion – trust, he mused, was hard won when there was so much history between two people.

It was much later, after several cups of tea that Draco and Harry went to find their two boys. As they entered Scorpius' room, the same soft smile graced both faces. Scorpius and Teddy had fallen asleep curled together in his son's four-poster bed, Teddy clutching Scorpius' beloved stuffed dragon in his hands. Potter turned to smile at Draco, and despite the warped expression Draco was struck again at how the expression changed Potter's face into something beautiful.

"I suppose I will need to carry him," Potter offered, beginning to stride forward.

Draco reached out and caught his arm with his hand, stopping him. "Wait," he said to Potter. "Let them sleep. I can drop him off tomorrow?"

To his surprise, Potter's head dropped. "I have work tomorrow," he mumbled. Draco frowned. He wondered what kind of work Potter would be able to perform without his identity being exposed. Hearing his unasked question, Potter explained further. "I work as an archivist at a local university," he told Malfoy, his eyes not meeting Draco's. "Pays well, and its work I quite enjoy."

Draco understood what Potter wasn't saying – it also kept him hidden from the world, and from those who would stare and gawp at him for his fame or appearance. "Fair play," he told Potter honestly. "It's not too different from what I do."

"Oh I know," Harry replied with a laugh in his voice. "Neville's grandmother is very vocal about your work with wizarding lineages."

Malfoy smirked, turning to leave the room, "Tell me where you work," he said to Harry, knowing the immense trust he was asking the other wizard to share with him. "I'll drop him to you before you head home for the day."

Harry was silent for a moment, before smiling at Draco. "Sure," he told him, quickly writing the address on a summoned bit of parchment. "Teddy sees a tutor during the day however – he will be pleased to not have to go."

"Oh?" Draco asked, curious.

"Hannah Abbott, Neville's partner. She runs a small group for children of the war, and I can trust her to keep Teddy's secret."

Draco nodded. Finding someone to trust with his child had been the hardest part of finding a tutor for Scorpius also. "If you don't think he would mind, I could send Teddy to Scorpius' tutor tomorrow?" The offer was an easy one for Draco to extend – he knew he only employed the best and wanted a chance to show off a little to the other man. "Who knows, he might even learn something."

The last sentence was said with such arrogance that Potter groaned. "Shut up Malfoy," he responded without heat and Draco smirked to himself. Some things never changed. Potter agreed to his offer and Draco followed him into the foyer, watching as Potter tenderly sent a final glance at his godson before closing the door silently.

Following Potter through the halls of the manor, Draco realised something. Harry Potter had grown into a rather sensitive man, placing his son's needs above his own in every way (for he was truly the boy's father in all but blood). It must have been incredibly uncomfortable for him to have come to the home of a man who had hated him and a place where he himself had been tortured with his friends, but he had done so for his son.

Blood and family meant everything to Draco. Above all other standards, loyalty to family was the non-negotiable trait Draco demanded in those he allowed close to him. Potter, it seemed, possessed that trait in droves. It complicated things, Draco reflected to himself, as it only served to raise the other man's esteem in his eyes. Every excuse he had made not to engage with the other wizard was slowly draining away, leaving him with very few reasons to keep his distance any longer.

And why should he? The man was immensely powerful, carried a strong wizarding name and was loyal to his family. Sure, he was also stubborn to a fault and a halfblood, but Draco might be able to overlook those in time. Smirking, he reached out to touch Potter's hand before he could apparate through the wards that Draco had altered to allow him out.

"I enjoyed your company immensely, Potter," Draco drawled, silver eyes sparkling with an undefined mixture of mischief and arousal. "I hope we can do this again sometime."

Draco squeezed Potter's hand before turning on his heel. He left the other wizard staring dumbfounded after him, mouth agape. Potter couldn't see the smirk which adorned his handsome face as he heard the faint pop of apparition behind him.

The night had indeed been a success.