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Chapter Six
*a day before Draco meets Harry's Family.*

"Hey, come on. It'll all be just fine. They're good people," Harry whined in a vain attempt to reassure Draco, who had been pacing restlessly around the room for a solid six minutes. He was mentally preparing himself for their visit to the Burrow next day. A simple meal oughtn't to be a stressful affair for anyone, but Draco seemed quite adamant about not only making himself worry but making Harry feel jittery about it as well.

Draco, darn-near hysterics, paused in the middle of the bedroom rug and barked out bitter laughter. "Huh! Easy for you to say," said Draco. "Last time I checked, they still worshiped the ground you walked on..."

Harry rolled his eyes, leaning back in bed as he speculated about the twisted logic that Draco governed his whole life by. He decided that the inside of Draco's head was a scary, scary place.

Contrary to his exasperated musings, Harry's voice was almost conversational. "Oh damn. You're not going to sleep at all tonight, are you?"

"No," was Draco's curt and prompt reply.

Harry gave Draco a shit-eating grin and said, "Well, see, Drake, I can think of about seventeen different ways–off the top of my head–to spend the night in a better way..."

Draco sighed, loud and dramatic, and tugged at his hair. "Harry Potter, you can lie there without a single stitch of clothing, but I am not having sex tonight," he insisted, making each of his words very clear.

Harry's grin widened and got wider still when he saw how it infuriated Draco. "You're sure, are you? I've been told that I'm very good. And if I'm not wrong, I quote," here he pitched his voice upwards a few octaves, "'dammit, that stuff that we just did will be the death of me. Oh fuck. That was the most phenomenal sex I have ev-pffhmp'!" Harry was abruptly cut off when a pillow came down on his face, accompanied by a shrill objection on Draco's behalf.

"I do not sound like that," hissed Draco, furiously red in the face. Harry chortled, but his laughter died when he noticed that Draco had gone quiet. And he wasn't trying to bludgeon him with goose feathers anymore, so that didn't bode well.

"Harry, what if they don't like me?" asked Draco in a rather small voice. He scowled at himself. "Merlin, I sound like such a wuss." He flopped in a dejected and distinctly un-Malfoy-like manner at the end of the bed, sprawling in desolation.

"They do like you, especially Ron and 'Mione," Harry insisted, "and George and Charlie."

Draco looked up sharply. "Wait, why do George and Charlie like me?" he demanded.

A light smile graced Harry's face, and he absently ran his fingers through Draco's fine hair. "Aah, scavenging for compliments, are we?" he cooed.

The resounding glare could have been felt miles away. "I'm serious, Potter," said Draco through gritted teeth.

Harry hummed a bit, then explained, "Well, George and I, we saw you at Fred's funeral."

Draco's eyes widened, and he propped himself up a bit on his elbows. "Wha-what? No. No. Really?" Draco said, his expression alone begging for elaboration.

Harry nodded. "Yeah. Contributed a lot to our relationship, that did. And Charlie likes you, or rather, Charlie likes us mostly because we're gay," Harry explained halfheartedly. "Anyway, the rest of them, they don't particularly like you, per se. Your task tomorrow is to make them see the person I do everyday. Just be you, and it will be fine. I swear on Merlin. Come on, Draco, let's go to sleep… Tomorrow's a big day. Come on, Blondie."

Harry patted the bed beside him, willing Draco to lay there. His expression could have been seen as odd, but the blond had seen it enough to identify it as what it truly was–sensual.

The look and the name earned Harry a half-glare-half-smile, which–though appreciated–clearly spelled a hell of a lot of trouble for Harry if the nickname ever went public.

Draco climbed without complaint into Harry's arms before muttering a quick charm to dim the lights. Harry looked down at him and marvelled at the situation. It had him awestruck every time. For the millionth time, he wondered: was he living or dreaming?

"What if it's not okay?" Draco whispered, panic gripping his voice and causing him to tense in Harry's embrace. He was blatantly terrified of not being accepted. It was a whisper of a man, broken by life, insecure about the only thing that mattered to him anymore.

Harry heard the barely audible premonition and felt an odd sort of pang in the vicinity of his chest. He closed his eyes for a moment, reflexively assessing the feeling, and said in the softest and most un-Potterish voice that he could manage, "Hey. Hey. Listen to me. I'm not saying that they will forget everything that has happened. I'm not saying that they will accept you with open arms. They very well may, they very well may not." Draco looked up, eyes glistening.

Harry pressed on without hesitation. "But I know for a fact that they will try their best. They love me, and they want me to be happy. And in case you didn't notice, you make me happy. I swear to be there, whatever happens. Be yourself, and it will be fine. I love you, Drake, and I swear that it'll be fine," said Harry in a voice completely void of uncertainty.

Draco gave shaky sigh. "How in Merlin can you–wait," the blond cut himself off. He locked eyes with Harry and asked, "What did you just say?"

"Took you long enough to figure that one out, Blondie," Harry said, laughter in his voice and exuberance evident, even in the dark.

"Did you say-?"

"Yes, I said I love you, Draco Malfoy," Harry started, "and I have for quite a few months now. You may be the first one to say it, but I just knocked the ball out of the park with my sense of timing. Ah, stop gaping, and kiss me al-ngmph!"

Harry was happily interrupted as Draco's lips crashed into his, and they lost themselves in the overflow of sensations. Their bodies and feelings yearned for the familiarity and comfort of each other, sleep and the 'big day tomorrow' forgotten by the bedside.