A/N: Thank you so much to all of you who are reviewing. :D It makes my heart go all warm and fuzzy every time I read about how much you guys are liking this. I hope you like this chapter, and please continue to review! It makes writing so much fun.
It Comes and Goes In Waves (I Was Never One to Believe the Hype)
12 August, 2002
"Harry, for Merlin's sake, will you quit fidgeting?" Draco scolds him for the fifth time that evening as he pulls Harry's collar back down to its proper place.
Harry pulls a face, his drink clamming up in his hand as he tries to wriggle away from Draco. "Why did I have to get new dress robes anyway?" he asks, frustrated. "It's not as though this is actually important."
Two weeks ago, they'd been guilted into attending the Daily Prophet Gala for Integrity in Journalism by a very overeager Hermione who, after starting her new job at the Ministry, is in charge of organising the affair and ensuring it goes off smoothly. It's one of a seemingly endless stream of ambiguously charitable events that they're regularly invited to and often ignore. This time, though, Hermione had been so insistent, so hopeful when she'd asked them, that they'd felt as though they couldn't say no. Draco, ever conscious of making a good impression, had insisted that Harry at least purchase a new set of robes for the occasion. Harry had been planning on just wearing the same set he'd worn for their wedding, but Draco had scoffed at that and, while Harry agreed that they'd gone a bit out of fashion over the last few years, the new ones are a bit too fitted for his taste.
Draco bats his hand away as Harry reaches up to tug at the bow tie around his neck. "You're worse than Teddy, honestly," he mutters as he smooths the stiff fabric. "Just pretend you're comfortable. People are staring."
"People are always staring," Harry says, brushing him off unhappily.
Whenever they go out in public, it seems to be assumed that they're making a spectacle of themselves. Harry often wishes he could walk around in a disguise or take his Invisibility Cloak to events like this; he would be able to avoid an awful lot of prying questions that way. Things had actually begun to quiet down a bit for them once James's birth was no longer fresh news, but now that England seems to have good chances for the Quidditch Cup in two years, Harry, as the captain of the team, has all eyes on him once again.
Draco huffs, giving up on Harry, and casts a glance around the room. Harry knows that it's worse for Draco than it is for him when they're plastered across the papers. Even after all these years, people still seem to find issue with the fact that Harry chose a Malfoy, of all people, to settle down with. While the unwanted attention pointed in Harry's direction is usually at least positive, Draco gets the darker side of a lot of it.
"When will they ever get enough of you, Potter?" Draco asks distractedly, running a hand through his hair.
Harry takes a deep breath, catching one of Draco's wrists and squeezing it lightly. "Hey, it's okay. It doesn't matter what all of them think, alright?" he says, pulling Draco's focus back to him. "Look, we've made our appearance. Hermione'll be happy we showed up, and we can get out of here."
If there's one thing Harry's learnt about Draco over the years, it's that he needs a constant stream of reassurances. Though he talks a big game, when they're put in the spotlight, it quickly becomes apparent that he's one of the least self-confident people Harry knows. This was something that he'd had to get used to very quickly when they'd first begun to make their relationship public, but he supposes it makes sense in light of everything he's known about Draco since they met. Everything Draco had done all those years, all the bullying and vicious taunting, it's obvious now, looking at the man that Harry's come to know, that he was lashing out, unsure of himself, feeling around for a place in the world.
"Yeah, you're probably right," Draco says, a muscle clenching in his jaw. "We should be getting back home anyway. The boys have probably burnt down the house by now under Longbottom's watchful eye."
"Don't start that again," Harry laughs, shaking his head as he began to steer Draco from the room. "It's good of Ginny and Neville to watch them."
"Good of them?" Draco scoffs, snatching a drink from a passing waiter. "Longbottom would probably burn down the house himself if she wasn't there."
Harry laughs again, rolling his eyes. He's about to open his mouth to reply when a short, squat, garishly dressed woman of about thirty appears in their way. The two of them stop short, staring at her apprehensively. Her name is Bellonia Watershed, the newest Rita Skeeter on the scene. After a few recent, unflattering articles printed about the two of them in the Prophet and Witch Weekly, Harry is feeling very cautious as she sizes them up eagerly, her tiny eyes flicking to Harry's hand on Draco's waist.
"What do you want, Bellonia?" Draco asks, his voice gone suddenly cold. "We were just leaving."
She gives them a simpering smile, her bright pink lips curling upward to reveal a row of rather jagged teeth. "Oh, don't mind me," she says in her high-pitched voice. "I was just hoping to catch the elusive couple before they escaped yet again. Since I have you here, I'm sure you wouldn't mind my asking a few questions."
Harry sighs, his shoulders straightening a bit as he steps closer to Draco protectively. "We're really in a bit of a hurry," he says guardedly, watching her quill carefully, which is scribbling away, nearly out of sight. "Need to get home to the boys, you understand."
"Of course, of course," she says politely, though Harry can see a dangerous glint in her eye. "And how are your boys? We so rarely see them out and about."
"By we, I'm assuming you mean the rest of the world?" Draco asks, arching an eyebrow. "People who have no business discussing my son's or my nephew's lives?"
Harry glances sideways at Draco for a brief moment, noting the warning look in his eye. Draco gets like this whenever he feels threatened; he reverts to the lessons he was taught by his father about the proper behaviour of a Malfoy and becomes cold and imperious, filled with a distant sort of fury that would make a lesser person quiver in their shoes. Harry's surprised that Bellonia hasn't run away yet; if he had been fixed with that look, he knows he'd probably be back-pedalling at the least.
"Well, you're a very talked about family," she says, charging on bravely despite the menacing look on Draco's face. "You must know that keeping them away from the spotlight only increases suspicion. How can we know they're being properly cared for? Tell me, is there any truth behind the recent rumours of a Ministry Inquiry into the boys' welfare?"
"How dare you," Draco hisses viciously, his expression quickly changing to one of rage.
It's very lucky that a dancing couple knocks into them just then, because the drink in Draco's hand flies forward and splashes down the front of Bellonia's dress before Harry's fully comprehended what happened. The diversion gives him a brief second to react and he's able to catch Draco by the wrist as he reaches for his wand.
"Not here," Harry whispers to him furiously, pulling his hand away from the pocket that contains his wand. "You will not do this now."
Draco draws himself up, jerking his hand from Harry's grasp. "Fine," he says, his voice still cold. He casts a withering look in Bellonia's direction before turning to Harry. "We're leaving."
"I should think so," Harry mutters, but Draco ignores him and, in a whirl of robes, he's marching toward the door.
"Sorry about the drink," Harry calls to Bellonia as he follows Draco from the room. He smiles awkwardly at the people they pass who are now openly gawking at them after the scene they've made. "Sorry," he says again.
He hears the crack of Draco apparating before he even reaches the hall outside the ballroom, the noise louder than normal. He follows suit, assuming Draco has gone home, and when he opens his eyes, he catches a glimpse of Draco walking quickly up the drive toward the front door.
"Draco, stop," he calls after him, running to catch up. "Wait."
Draco doesn't slow down, but he does pause on the porch, slumping against the wall, pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand. He doesn't look up when Harry reaches him, but when Harry places a gentle hand on his waist, Draco flinches away from the touch.
"Integrity in journalism," he scoffs, his eyes still squeezed shut. "Unbelievable. You'd think she'd at least have enough decency not to make things up like that."
"What were you thinking, trying to draw your wand in a crowded room like that?" Harry asks him, more concerned than angry, but Draco takes offence.
He looks up at Harry, his mouth hanging open. "What was I thinking? You heard what she said!" he says, raising his voice. "A Ministry Inquiry? What a complete load of dragon —"
"I know what she said," Harry interrupts, feeling himself getting a bit frustrated. "But that's no excuse. You can't do things like that, Draco. Not anymore. As much as I hate to say it, we've got an image to keep up. Think of the boys!"
Draco stands up straighter. "I was thinking of them," he says, gesturing with his hands as he talks. "Why do you think she got to me? After all we've done, all you've done for the lot of them, they keep trying to find reasons to hate you. I'm sick of it."
"Well, what do you expect me to do?" Harry asks him, consciously trying to keep his voice down. Ginny and Neville are just inside, and the last thing he wants them to find is the two of them having an argument on the doorstep. "It isn't as though I've asked for any of this. You know that."
Draco rolls his eyes, crowding closer to Harry, a finger poking into his chest. "You know, that's your problem," he says, his tone getting nastier. "Famous Potter, always apologising for the attention he gets. If you spent half as much time trying to make a good impression as you do hiding from it all, maybe we wouldn't be in this situation."
Harry rolls his eyes, backing up from Draco. "Oh, now you're just trying to pick a fight," he says exasperatedly. "You aren't even making sense anymore."
"I'm not?" Draco asks, his face flushing redder. "You're trying to tell me it isn't true? That you don't hide away and pretend none of this exists?"
Harry shakes his head. "Alright, that's it," he says, waving a hand in Draco's direction and turning to the door. "I'm not doing this tonight. You can stay out here if you want, but I'm going in."
"Don't you walk away from me now, Potter," Draco says, still angry.
"Draco, we aren't even arguing about anything," Harry says, annoyed. He runs a hand through his hair as he turns back to face him. "You're just upset and you want someone to yell at. I don't want to do this with you right now."
"You know, you're right. I am upset," Draco says furiously. "I'm upset because if it weren't for you, I'd probably be living a nice, normal life right now. I wouldn't have to answer to reporters about the welfare of my children, and I wouldn't be hounded every time I go out for details about the Boy With a Scar."
"Don't you dare go there," Harry says, feeling the hot prickle of anger in spite of himself. "This isn't my fault. Don't make it about me. No one's forcing you to be here."
"If it weren't for James and Teddy, who says I would be here?" Draco asks, and though Harry knows he doesn't mean it, he feels the blood begin to pound in his ears. "You haven't exactly been kind to me over the years. You tried to kill me once, in case you'd forgotten. Who's to say you won't do it again?"
It's Harry's turn to become irrationally angry. He pushes Draco back against the wall, the pounding in his ears deafening. "How can you say something like that?" he asks furiously, but the words don't feel right coming out of his mouth, oddly twisted and strange. "You know I never meant to do that. That was years ago, and while we're bringing up the past, if it weren't for me, Malfoy, you know where you'd be? You'd be rotting in a prison cell right now, stuck there for the rest of your life. How would you like that, hmm?"
But as Harry stands close to him in the dim light of the porch, he notices that the anger in Draco's face seems to have dissolved away, replaced instead by a slack-jawed look of surprise. Harry's blood is still boiling, and he's not sure why Draco seems to have given up on their fight, but then Draco's hand flies forward and catches him by the collar, jerking him closer. Their lips collide roughly, and for a moment, Harry's frozen, surprised by the sudden onslaught.
"Parseltongue," Draco groans into Harry's mouth by way of explanation. "God, I hate you sometimes."
Draco flips them and, before Harry knows it, he's the one being pinned against the wall, Draco's hands tugging impatiently at the bow tie around his neck. Harry bites down hard on his lip, his anger not entirely forgotten, but Draco doesn't seem to mind. If anything, he becomes more desperate as Harry continues to bite at his jawline and his neck without remorse, drawing blood in a few places as he goes. When Draco's hands begin to drift downward, though, Harry is abruptly reminded of where they are, and he has to struggle to free himself from the frantic hold Draco has on him.
"Inside," Harry growls, his eyes dark. "Upstairs."
It's all he can say, careful to make sure the words come out in English. Draco doesn't speak as he fumbles with the doorknob and hurries up to the bedroom, completely bypassing the sitting room, from which they can hear soft voices drifting into the hall. Harry follows the noise and finds Ginny and Neville sitting on the couch by the fire, talking quietly. When he enters the room, Neville looks up at him and raises an eyebrow, a wicked grin spreading across his face.
"Had a good night, then?" he asks, clearly amused.
Harry blushes, suddenly very aware of his ruined tie and rumpled clothing. He runs a hand over his hair, which is even more on end than usual.
"Well, it wasn't all bad," Harry says uncomfortably, his voice still not quite back to normal. "How were the kids?"
"Oh, they were fine," Ginny says, giggling. "They're already asleep, which I suppose is a good thing. Be sure not to forget a silencing charm, though."
"Yeah, I guess we'll be off, then," Neville says, standing up from the couch and pulling Ginny up after him. "Wouldn't want to keep you."
"Oh, shut up," Harry says, feeling himself flush even redder.
"Good night, Harry," Ginny says, her eyes still sparkling with mirth as she steps into the fireplace to Floo home.
"Thanks for everything, Gin," Harry calls after her. Neville turns to him, still laughing, and Harry points a finger in his direction. "Don't you dare high-five me."
"Wouldn't dream of it," Neville says, turning to follow Ginny into the fire and back to their flat.
Harry waves a hand at him. "I'm going to bed," he says, laughing.
"I'm sure you are," Neville replies, stepping into the fireplace and disappearing before Harry can say anything else.
Harry makes his way up the stairs to the third floor where their bedroom is, his heart rate picking back up. When the door clicks behind him, Draco pins him against the wall again, tugging even more impatiently at his collar.
"Took you long enough," he mutters into the skin of Harry's neck, breathing deeply.
Harry presses a hand into his back, holding him close as he guides them toward the bed. They seem to have slowed down a bit and Harry, no longer angry, has lost a bit of his fiery edge. He runs his thumb over a particularly purple coloured bite mark on the side of Draco's neck and plants a light kiss there, apologetic. Their hands begin to wander, no longer in any rush, knowing they have at least a few hours before James wakes up looking for attention, and when Draco flops back onto the pillows a half hour later, sticky with sweat and his hair a wreck, Harry curls close into his side.
Draco begins to laugh quietly, rumbling in his chest, the motion rocking Harry a bit.
"What?" Harry asks around a yawn, a smile spreading across his face.
Once of Draco's hands rubs slowly up his back. "You win every fight we have," Draco mutters, his nose buried in Harry's hair. "It's just not fair. Whenever you get angry, you start up with that, and I can't help myself."
Harry lets his eyes fall closed, the smooth up-and-down motion of Draco's hand lulling him to sleep. "Not my fault it's your weakness," he says, his voice quiet.
"You're my weakness," Draco tells him pulling him a bit closer.
And though he knows they'll probably be woken in a few hours by a screaming toddler, that they'll spend most of the next day trying to keep Teddy from crashing his toy broom through one of the windows, and that this won't be the last argument they have, Harry feels as though everything is perfect right now, like he could stay in this place for weeks, months, and never want to leave. He tightens his arm on Draco's chest, pulling himself in a little bit closer, and allows himself to drift off.