It was obvious by the look on Draco's face that he was confused by their Apparition destination. Harry had kept in mind that Draco's favourite type of food was Chinese and had brought them back to downtown London to find a restaurant that could cater to his tastes. The bravery, strength, and honesty that Draco had shown during the interview had astounded Harry and he felt it only right that they finish the evening off with a nice dinner.

"Where are we going?" Draco asked as the two of them began walking.

"You'll see," Harry replied, a smirk on his lips.

They didn't walk far before restaurants began popping up. Harry looked at the names of these restaurants and wondered if there would even be a Chinese restaurant to go to. There were several Italian restaurants, some American-style places, and even more classic British restaurants. They walked further and Harry saw a restaurant that seemed to served a mixture of all Asian cuisine and steered them towards the building.

"We're going out to eat?" Draco asked as Harry began tugging his hand.

"You said you liked Chinese food. When was the last time you had it?"

"It's been a long time," Draco said thoughtfully. "But I haven't got any money with me. I can't expect you to pay for me every time we go out."

"Don't worry about it," Harry said with a wave of his hand. He pulled the door to the restaurant open and they were assaulted by the wonderful smells inside. "This is a date. A redo of our first one, so let me pay for you. It's really no big deal."

Draco said nothing and instead followed Harry to an empty booth. When the server came to take their orders Harry was lost. He asked the server to allow them to have a moment to order, but placed drink orders in the meantime. He hoped that sake tasted alright.

Chinese food was something that had never been served in the Dursley's home, partially due to their racist views, but also because Vernon hated trying new foods. Looking over the menu before him, Harry wondered what in the world these meals were. There weren't any pictures next to them, just descriptions, and Harry wasn't sure what most of the ingredients were to begin with. What was it like to eat bamboo shoots? He thought of a panda and wondered if it was the same kind of bamboo they ate. Then there was a dish named after a general of some sort. General Tso must have been a strange general to have had a chicken type meal named after him.

"Er, Draco?" he asked as a certain meal caught his eye. Draco looked up with excitement from his menu.

"Have you decided already? I already know what I want." He seemed so sure of himself, which made Harry more embarrassed.

"Well… I was actually wondering… there's a dish called dragon noodles? I'm assuming that since this is a muggle restaurant there isn't actual dragon meat in this dish. Is it safe to assume that?" Draco began sniggering behind his menu.

"Are you being serious right now?" Draco caught glance of Harry's expression and laughed even harder. "How the hell would muggles get ahold of a dragon in the first place? Have you really never had dragon noodles?"

"No." Harry looked down at his own hands nervously. "To be honest, I've hardly ever eaten out, and I've never been to a Chinese place." When Harry's eyes found Draco's again they had softened. His expression had changed to a quizzical look, as if he couldn't ponder the idea of never having tried Oriental cuisine.

"It's pretty pathetic that you've never had Chinese food," Draco said playfully. "Just order what I order. I promise I won't make you eat anything too strange. Though you really should try calamari." There was a sly twinkle in Draco's silver gaze that made Harry a bit apprehensive.

"What is calamari?" Harry asked, suspicion coating his question.

"Oh, you know." Draco shrugged. "Octopus."

"Okay, I was going to trust you to steer me in the right direction, but clearly I can't," Harry said, half serious.

"I'm only joking, but it does taste really good," he said while laughing softly.

"That's great. I think I'll pass, though, if you don't mind." Draco shrugged again.

"Suit yourself."

The waiter came back with Harry's sake and Draco's champagne. Harry was genuinely surprised that a Chinese restaurant had champagne, but then again he'd never actually been to a Chinese restaurant, so he wasn't sure what they served.

"Are you ready to order yet, sirs?" the man asked with a practiced smile.

"We are," Draco said confidently. "I'd like the beef lo mein with a side of spring rolls and posh chopped suey." The waiter wrote down Draco's order quickly and nodded, then turned to Harry.

"I suppose…" He thought for a moment. Nothing had really stuck out to him on the menu, but then he hadn't seen the entrees that Draco had ordered, or what went in them. He thought it might be risky to take Draco's lead, but he had nothing else lined up as a backup plan. "I suppose I'll just have what he's having," he said finally. The server jotted a couple of notes, smiled, and walked away. "What did I just order?"

"Beef lo mein is sort of a pasta dish, it's really good. Spring rolls are vegetables and sprouts stuffed into a wonton wrap, and posh chopped suey is a chicken and vegetable dish. You'll like them, I think."

"And if I don't?"

"Then we'll take home your leftovers and I'll eat it," Draco said simply. "Or you can do what my mother would do and complain to the waiter that it wasn't what you ordered and demand that they fix it. Though in this situation I doubt that would work, simply because you ordered what I ordered."

"I think I'll just settle with it," Harry said with a chuckle.

Two glasses of sake and champagne later their food arrived and both Draco and Harry were a bit tipsy. While waiting for their food the two of them gained several odd looks from other patrons in the restaurant for their too-loud laughter. Neither of them paid the other customers any mind, however, as they were so sucked into enjoying their 'first' date. Harry ended up liking his food and even requested a third order of spring rolls to take home with them. He'd been apprehensive about the oyster sauce, but that was really good, too.

When they got home Draco had a letter waiting for him, and by the thickness of the paper, the spiraling calligraphy on the front, and the crimson wax seal he could tell that it was from his mother. Even the Ministry couldn't pull off that much pomp and circumstance in one letter. Draco took the letter to the drawing room and sat down on one of the grey couches, curling his legs beneath him.

Harry sat down beside him and asked, "Who's that from? Looks fancy."

"It is fancy and it's from my mother," Draco replied as he popped the stiff seal.

His eyes moved over the parchment unsteadily, partially due to the amount of alcohol he'd drank, but also due to his nervousness. As his mother's message sank in he began to sober up, however. He had not expected this to be good news, but he could hardly believe what he was reading. Maybe he'd drank more than he realised because there was no way this was what she'd written.

"I think my mum's gone mad," Draco mumbled, half to himself.

"You just realised that?" Harry asked. "What did she say?"

"Oh, you know, she just asked how I've been, invited me for a cup of tea." Draco was putting that wall of his back up, using sarcasm to protect himself from his emotions. Looking at Harry it appeared he wasn't going to get away with it.

"That bad, eh?" Harry asked softly. With a sympathetic expression Harry placed his hand on Draco's knee, something that comforted him despite his attempt to appear unaffected by his mother's words.

"She's written to tell me that she's back at the manor and that I'm more than welcome to come home." Harry scoffed.

"That can't be true."

"It is true. Of course she added a few simple conditions that I would have to meet beforehand. Things like leaving my new life behind, telling the public that you forced me into this relationship and that I'm not actually gay, that I was rebelling against my father━though I'm not exactly sure how believable that is."

"Simple conditions?" Harry asked, sounding greatly confused. "That doesn't sound simple to me. Are you considering going along with them?" Harry's mouth twisted into a deep frown.

"Are you daft?" Draco sputtered, dropping his mother's letter to the floor. He had meant to come off as sarcastic and he hadn't expected to be believable. Draco thought that the alcohol might have caused Harry to be less perceptive than he typically was, which said a lot; on Harry's good days he was hardly more observant than a blind chipmunk. "I haven't done any of these things yet, have I? Do you honestly expect me to follow through with them now?"

"Well… no, I suppose not," Harry said thoughtfully. "But you're taking this rather lightly. Aren't you upset at all?"

"I'm done being upset by my mother," Draco lied. "If she wants to take the petty route in all of this that's her choice. I'm choosing to rise above it."

"If you say so." Harry did not sound like he believed Draco's attempt at shielding his emotions.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, nothing," Harry said, putting his hands up and then clapping them back down on his thighs. "I just think you're trying to be tough about all of this needlessly." He paused, as if contemplating saying his next words. "It's not a sign of weakness to show your emotions, Draco."

Draco sat there stiffly for a moment. Bending over, he picked up the fallen letter from his mother and stood from the sofa. "I'm really tired," he said, not looking at Harry.

"I am too," Harry said, standing up. "But I also think you're avoiding talking about this."

"I'm not━"

"You are, though," Harry interrupted. "That's fine. You have to deal with this in your own way. You don't wanna talk about it, that's alright. When you do━ or if you do━ I'll be here for you." Harry wrapped his arms around Draco and planted a soft kiss on his cheek, then left the room. Draco listened to the sound of Harry's footsteps on the creaking floor as they became softer and felt tears stinging the corners of his eyes.

Draco began pacing as he reread the letter over and over until the lines began to blur together and he had to tear his eyes away from the parchment to stop the nagging, sly voice of his mother from playing in his head along with them. It was all well and good for Harry to claim that to feel wasn't weak. Harry wore his heart on his sleeve. That much was apparent. Draco, however, had trained himself from a young age to mask his emotions, to bury them until they ceased to exist, or else until he had become so numb to the feeling that it melded with himself, became an asset of his own personality. Such guards proved necessary growing up, what with being surrounded constantly by Dark magic and questionable people, which meant that hiding his true feelings was the difference between life and death at times. Allowing the outside world to view his most inner emotions would not happen in a day; even as tears slid gently down his defined cheekbones, he hastily wiped them away as if even he wasn't allowed to witness his own vulnerability. Damn it, why did he have to cry so much? And yet there was a part of him that wanted to let go, to allow all of his pent up emotions to seep through the barrier he had built up for just once.

He had told himself that he would be different, that he would stop hiding so much behind that veil of insult and sarcasm that he had created for himself. Thinking back on the time he'd lived with Harry he could see a vast improvement, but he still had a long way to go. Sure, he'd stopped insulting Harry at every turn, but he was still lost when it came to the process of working through his emotions. To him it was the way things were done, shoving back things like fear, grief, and hatred— except, perhaps, where Harry and his friends were concerned. It was going to take him a lot of effort to begin actually feeling. Draco looked down at the letter once more and had the sudden desire to crumple it and throw it across the room, or perhaps burn it, but instead folded it neatly and made his way back to his bedroom.

Draco had already been awake for an hour when Harry came half-stumbling down the stairs to the kitchen. He watched as the messy haired man hurriedly stuffed toast in his mouth without acknowledging Draco. It wasn't until he loudly cleared his throat and said a hoarse, "Morning" that Harry paid him any attention at all.

"Morning, sorry. How did you sleep?" Draco merely shrugged. He had the feeling that Harry wanted to talk about the letter from last night but, despite Draco's desire to be more open with Harry, he wasn't yet ready to reopen the subject.

"Fine, thanks. Off to work?" He looked down at the breakfast that Kreacher had prepared for him and hoped that Harry would take his hint and stay off the subject of the letter.

"In a bit, yeah. I want to wait for the paper, though."

"Oh, mine already came. It's on the counter, if you want to read it." Harry quickly snatched it up and immersed himself, leaving Draco to sit with his own thoughts. Every once and a while, Harry would peer over the top of the paper at him, as if he wanted to say something, but the air remained thankfully quiet until Harry folded up the paper again and placed it on the table.

"I take it you've already had a look at it, then?" He asked. Draco nodded. Harry paused. "Listen, about that letter that your mum—"

"I don't want to talk about it, Harry. I'm tired of letting my mother have control over my life and my conversations and my feelings. I'm over it."

"So you admit it, then?"

"Admit what?"

"That what she said affected you."

"I didn't say a damn thing," he snapped, and instantly regretted it. Draco exhaled sharply through his nose and said more calmly, "Yeah, okay, it did. But the more she can manipulate my emotions, the more control she has over my life and I'm not going to give her that advantage."

"Have you responded to any of her letters?"

"N-no?" Draco wasn't sure why that mattered.

"Then you're not putting an end to it. You're not telling her these things, so they'll keep bothering you."

"But that's exactly what I'm saying! If I respond, that only shows that she got under my skin."

"You're wrong," Harry stated as though it were the simplest thing in the world.

"And you don't understand how my mother━"

"You're still not standing up for yourself. So, really, you're letting her have some sort of control over you. She's treating you like a child and you're letting her by not telling her your real feelings. You've got to assert yourself."

"Merlin, you never mind your own business, do you?" Draco was trying not to get temperamental, but Harry's confident air in telling him how to deal with his own mother was really beginning to bother him. "I would like to think that, after eighteen years of dealing with the woman, I might have just a smudge of a better idea of how to handle interacting with her than you do." A stifling, ringing silence followed Draco's words, and Harry looked dumbfounded.

Harry shrugged and said, "Alright." He stood up from his chair and walked towards the fireplace, taking a handful of Floo powder from a jar on the mantle. Draco chewed the inside of his cheek.

"Wait." Harry turned and gave him a questioning look. Draco took a deep breath. "Sorry. I didn't mean to get so worked up. It's not your fault. I should have—"

"No, it's fine. You're right, it isn't my business." Harry gave a weak smile. "I have the tendency to get myself involved in business that isn't mine though, don't I?"

"Maybe a little," he agreed with a smirk. And with that, Harry stepped into the fireplace, shouted for the Ministry, and flew out of sight.

As he ate his breakfast Draco thought about how it had taken Harry almost no effort to cause him to get upset. Why was he so easily piqued when it came to Harry? It had always been that way, though. Out of everyone, Harry always had the ability to bring out the stronger emotions in him. Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe Harry would, in a roundabout way, help Draco get better at facing his feelings. Regardless of whether or not that was the case, he couldn't rely on Harry to do this and knew he had to take things into his own hands.

There was no place to hide. Harry supposed that was the point of the exercise, though. As he rolled between and dodged an array of brightly coloured sparks that shot from seemingly all directions, he almost wished he'd never decided to become an Auror afterall. This exercise was meant to test his reflexes and the strength of his wards, but with the speed of the spells being thrown at him he hadn't had time to cast one yet. Just when he'd been about to give up on trying to avoid the random spells being shot from the stone walls they stopped entirely. His eyes darted around the spacious room and his body remained tense as he awaited the next onslaught, but it never came. Then the wall opened up to form a doorway and John Dawlish strutted into the room with a look that made Harry think he was less than impressed.

"Any particular reason you failed to cast a single shield or counter curse?" Dawlish asked as he stopped several feet from the exhausted and sweaty wizard.

"Didn't exactly have time to," Harry said between his heaving breaths.

"It's not about having time. Did I not make it clear that you were meant to practice dodging and blocking?" Harry was beginning to get heated, and not in a dripping-with-sweat way.
"I'm sorry, but I didn't see anyone else have such a fast attack from the room. Why am I the one being pushed to my limits? Doesn't exactly seem fair, if you ask me."

"Not fair, eh? My apologies, Potter. Next time I'll go easy on you and let you sit out entirely." Dawlish laughed cruelly. "Oh, wait… Sitting out would mean you're fired. Is that your preference?" Harry stared blankly at his higher-up, so bewildered that he couldn't immediately formulate a response.

"Why are you like this?" he asked when his brain had finally caught up with his ears. "Why are you targeting me?"

"Why are you involved with a Death Eater?" Harry clenched his fists and eyes shut at the same time.

This was inappropriate work behaviour, but he knew not much could be done about it. If he were to take Dawlish's bait and act out in violence he would surely be fired. This was an empty threat. Instead of responding, Harry simply walked out of the room and left Dawlish standing there alone. Looking at the clock directly across from the dueling/practice room Harry saw that he'd been in there for forty minutes longer than any of his coworkers had been during their tests and he was late to leave work. He mumbled profanities beneath his breath as he gathered up the few belongings he needed to take home and headed towards the Floo room.

About halfway to the Floo room Harry had the sudden urge to walk home instead of using the Floo Network. He hadn't had much time at all to think about Narcissa's most recent letter to Draco, his relationship with Draco, or pretty much anything that wasn't work related. The walk would do him good, he decided as he turned left down the hall where he usually took a right. He exited the building in no time and felt a chill as the cold air met his sweat soaked clothes. Taking his wand from his pocket he silently cast a drying spell followed by a warming charm. It probably wouldn't last until he got home, but it did what it was meant to and allowed his brain to think freely while he stayed warm.

No matter how hard he tried he couldn't come up with a way to get Draco to let his real feelings out without prying to get to them. If he pried, Draco would get upset. If he left the matter alone, Draco would wind up hurting with no way to get relief. Harry tried to tell himself that it was none of his business, but that wasn't true. Due to the fact that it was him Narcissa had an issue with, the entire situation involved him. Maybe Draco's emotions weren't exactly his business, but it certainly felt like it.
"Mummy! Looket me!" Harry's head turned at the sound of a young child's voice calling for their mother. In a park across the street from him was a young mother watching her son ride a tricycle with less than full interest. She held an open book on her lap and glanced up when the child called for her, but shortly after looked back down at her novel.

"That's nice, darling," she said as she continued to read.

The child looked to be two years or so older than Teddy, his godson. The thought of the young boy he hadn't seen since the war sent a guilty pang through Harry's chest. What a godfather he was, not even bothering to visit. Harry looked down at the pavement in front of him and did his best not to look back at the young boy spinning in circles around the park's fountain as his voice rang out across the way.

With new resolve, Harry decided that the following weekend he would visit Teddy. A thought struck him just as soon as he'd made that decision, however. What about Andromeda? What did she think of the situation between him and Draco? Did she even know that Narcissa was blackmailing her son? Would Andromeda want Harry in her home, knowing it could put a new divide between her and her sister? Questions continued to filter their way into Harry's now confused brain. By the time he reached the stoop of Number 12 he was ready to collapse in his bed and not think about anything at all.

Harry opened the door to his home, carefully avoiding the umbrella stand so as not to rouse the silent portrait of Mrs. Black, and made his way quietly upstairs. He realised that he probably reeked after the days work and passed by his bedroom, heading straight to the master bathroom. After a long, hot shower, he wrapped himself in a towel and left the loo, nearly running into Draco as he rubbed a hand towel over his damp face.

"Er, hi," Harry said as he hastily covered his chest with the hand towel. It dawned on him just how silly doing that was as soon as he did it. He didn't have breasts, but it felt embarrassing standing in the hall nearly nude with Draco blushing at him and blatantly staring.

"Did you just get home?" Draco asked, sounding rather nonchalant, although Harry thought he caught the faintest constriction in Draco's throat.

"I did, yeah." Harry, on the other hand, felt very uncomfortable. He'd been shirtless in front of Draco before and had even had Draco's hands in his pants━ a thought that still caused him to pinch his eyes shut in mortification━ but even with those things, it felt scandalous.

"How was your day?"

"Could I fill you in after I'm dressed?"

"I was quite enjoying the view, actually," Draco replied, definitely clearing his throat this time. He still had the same blasé air as he leaned against the wall, giving Harry room to pass, but the pink glow from before remained firmly set on his normally pale cheeks.

"Er, okay."

With his hand tightly holding his towel secure on his hips, Harry breezed past Draco to his room and tried not to slam the door behind him. Once he was in the privacy of his room he groaned quietly into his palm. Why did he get so worked up about it? It wasn't like he had never been seen in only a towel before. It wasn't just him, though. He was sure that Draco had felt awkward too, judging by his unconscious mannerisms, but he was unlikely to admit to it. Doing his best to ignore the anxiety in his stomach he pulled on some comfortable clothes and met Draco back in the corridor.

"Took you long enough," Draco said with his typical sass. His smirk was in place, though, so Harry knew he wasn't serious.

"My day was fine, thanks. Yours?" he said sarcastically.

"Dreadful."

"And why's that?" Harry began towards the stairs and Draco followed behind him. He figured the drawing room would be as good a place as any to chat before bed.

"There's nothing to do in this horrid house," Draco said in what Harry could only describe as a whine.

"Sure there is. You could pick up where I left off with renovations. Don't you have any hobbies?"

"I used to." Draco sounded genuinely sullen. Harry pulled open the french doors to the drawing room, went straight to one of the silver couches, making himself comfortable. Draco followed suit on the other sofa.

"What did you do back when you were a spoiled rich boy in Malfoy Manor?" he teased, eliciting a half-hearted scowl from Draco.

"For starters, I used to play the cello. Sometimes I would paint or write, but my main hobby and passion was the cello." Harry could recall Draco mentioning his cello during their interview, but he hadn't thought much about it since that day. In all honesty he hadn't much thought of it then, either.

"There's a storage area in the attic. I doubt there's a cello up there, but maybe there's something you could find entertaining while I'm gone," Harry suggested. Draco nodded, but didn't seem very interested. Harry wondered for a moment if he should ask for Draco's opinion on visiting Teddy and talking to Andromeda, but after all of the day's stress he didn't feel up to it. "Why don't you go out when I'm gone?"

"And get assaulted by another group of ruffians? I think not."

"Ruffians? Draco, you sound like a seventy year old man," Harry laughed. He had an idea, then. He would get Draco a new cello, if he was so set on not finding a new hobby. Though he knew very little about stringed instruments, he knew of a muggle music shop that he was sure could point him in the proper direction. "What sort of music did you play?"

"Oh, Tchaikovsky, Bach, Pablo Casals, Aage Kvalbein. Mostly classical," Draco said. As he began speaking about the musicians whose music he played his eyes lit up. "I used to write my own music, too. I've been so out of practice lately that I'm sure I'd be rusty going back at it, but I miss it so much."

"What kind of cello did you have?"

"Stradivarius, hand crafted in the seventeenth century." Harry had no idea what Stradivarius was, but it sounded posh and expensive. Only the best for Draco Malfoy.

"That sounds… nice," Harry settled on the word, having very little knowledge of the instrument. Draco scoffed.

"Nice is the biggest understatement I've ever heard. That cello is probably worth more than four million galleons today. It was a family heirloom, so it didn't cost us a thing, thankfully. And now it'll go to waste with no one to play it."

"Your mother doesn't play?" Harry asked before he could catch himself. Seeing as they were already on the topic of Malfoy Manor, however, he doubted it would make a difference whether he mentioned Draco's mother.

"No. My grandfather taught me. Mother plays piano, but only when she has a roomful of people to impress." He paused, then said a bit sadly, "Except when I was younger. We used to play duets while I was still learning how to play cello, and once I got good at it I was allowed to play with her at parties."

"I can't picture that," Harry said honestly. He couldn't picture the Malfoy's parties, was what he meant, but Draco's next words made him see that he'd phrased his statement wrong.

"Believe it or not, my parents were actually very kind to me when I was younger. It wasn't until this year that mother began treating me like an outcast."

"I only meant— well, I can't really imagine a dinner party at the manor. The only dinner parties I've been to were Slughorn's." Draco snorted at that, and Harry was glad that he had realized that Harry had not meant to offend him.

"I'm sure those were a hoot, hanging out with all of those wannabes that Slughorn picked out. For being from one of the sacred twenty eight, he sure knew how to mingle with the low-end of society."

"Wow, Draco. Didn't know you still felt that way." Harry couldn't help himself, even if his statement did cause an argument. He wouldn't stand by Draco talking that way about him and his friends, or anyone else that sweeping generalisation could've been meant for.

"I-I don't," Draco stammered. He looked as though he regretted saying it, but it had already been said. Harry knew that, while Draco had certainly made improvements where his blood supremacy was concerned, he was nowhere near accepting as Harry thought he should be. "I don't think that, really. It's just, well—"

"You already said it, Draco. Don't bother." Draco looked at Harry and Harry looked back, and he could tell that Draco was truly remorseful.

"I was jealous, alright?" A beat passed before Draco continued, red creeping into his cheeks. "I wanted to be included, too. Zabini was there, and Belby, and even Granger and that Weasley girl. I thought that maybe he'd want me there because of my grandfather, but apparently not." Harry had figured Draco was jealous at the time, but he didn't think he'd still feel that way now.

"It was a stupid club anyway. I didn't even want to go to his parties. They were always so stuffy and weird and everyone was supposed to suck up to him or something. Why would he want to socialize with a bunch of kids? I never understood that."

"I know it's stupid. Honestly, but I couldn't stand that both you and Granger were invited."

"Why? I know you couldn't stand her, but why would it matter? If you knew the parties were stupid then it shouldn't have bothered you." Draco didn't answer, but instead stared at Harry and began blushing furiously once again. Harry really couldn't understand why Draco would blush at his question, but he decided not to press further on the subject. Draco seemed to dislike it when he did that.

"Anyway," Draco said finally. "It's getting late. You've probably had a long day, and though mine was boring beyond description we should probably head to bed." Harry's stomach growled. He checked his watch and saw that it was only seven in the evening.

"I'm not sure it's late enough for bed, yet," he chuckled. "You're hiding something, aren't you?"

"No, not really," Draco said, his eyebrows raising. "I'll go get Kreacher━" Just then Kreacher cracked loudly into the room with a tray full of food.

"Masters are hungry," the old elf said. He set the trays down on the coffee table between Harry and Draco, then left once again.

"I don't know how he always knows just when I need food," Harry commented absently as he heaped a large portion of casserole on his plate. "I swear he eavesdrops on us constantly."

"Would you be surprised if that were the case?" Draco wondered as he followed suit and filled his own plate. His tone said that he wouldn't have been surprised at all.

"Not really."

For a while the two of them ate in silence, until Draco said, "You never did tell me about your day."

"Oh, yeah I forgot about that." Harry took another bite of food.

"So are you going to tell me?"

"I had training today and Dawlish is putting me through hell. I think he has it out for me." Harry knew Dawlish had it out for him, and Draco probably knew so just as well as he did.

"Why?"

Oh, because I'm basically dating an ex-Death Eater— who he got arrested— and he works for the Ministry, so he naturally hates said ex-Death Eater, Harry thought. "He's just been in a bad mood lately," he said instead.

"I was being facetious. I'm fairly sure I know why he'd be in a bad mood with you. What did he do?"

"He's made training more difficult for me than anyone else and made it last longer for me, too. I called him out on it today and he threatened to fire me."

"That sounds like something you should bring up with Shacklebolt," Draco suggested.

"I'm got going to bother with it. Whatever he throws at me I can take."

"You shouldn't have to, though."

"When has my life ever been fair?" Harry pointed out. Draco shrugged as if to say he agreed.

"Still stupid."

"I'm aware."

They finished eating, chatting here and there. By the time they were done filling up on Kreacher's surprisingly delicious combination of lemongrass chicken and assorted cheeses stuffed into a casserole dish, they were ready to sleep for a year. Draco wasn't sure how to ask for a goodnight kiss, but he eventually found the words for it. Later, when he lay in bed, he thought about his cello.

"It's probably just sitting there getting coated with dust in my room," he lamented, Cosmos being his only audience. "I swear if it gets cracked, I'll━" He'd what? Break into the manor, where he was no longer welcome, and steal a broken antique instrument that, even broken, was worth more than his life? No, he wouldn't. There was nothing to be done about it. His mother was not going to give it over to him, either, after all he'd done. At the mention of his mother he looked over to his dresser and the folded piece of paper that sat on top of it. Draco wasn't sure if he would ever send that letter, but it felt good just having written everything down. As much as he hated to admit it, Harry had been correct about writing out his thoughts. Even if he did send it his mother would only react even worse than she had already.

Unable to stop himself, he got out of bed and crossed the room to grab the folded parchment. Once he was back in his bed, propped up by his plush pillows that he'd transfigured, he read over it for what felt like the hundredth time.

I don't even know why I'm bothering to write this in the first place. You probably don't care how I feel. It's obvious that you don't.

I'm so fed up with all of this. I've tried to ignore it, but you continue to send me hateful letters and I can't pretend that it doesn't bother me anymore. Blackmail, really? You would stoop so low? To your own son? Your only son?

I've tried to be what you wanted. My entire life was just trying to be what you and father wanted. I'm tired of it. I'm sick and tired of being what everyone else expects me to be. Our family has been ruined by pretending and I'm ending the cycle now. I'm not going to leave here. I'm not going to tell the magical world that I'm not gay or that I was Imperiused or whatever other hogwash you wanted me to spout about myself. I'm not going to lie to you or to magical kind and I'm especially not going to lie to myself. I'm finally fucking happy and I refuse to let you take that from me. Be bitter if you wish, take all the money, disinherit me, I don't care. If you can't accept me, just leave me alone.

There was no signature at the bottom of the parchment. She would know exactly who it was from, if she ever received it. If Draco ever sent it. He still hadn't decided if that was what he would do. If he were to ask Harry about it, he would say that Draco needed to send the letter "for his own good" or "peace of mind" or whatever sort of moral-based reason. It wasn't really up to Harry, in the end. This was something Draco had to do if that was what he thought he needed to do.

After placing the letter carefully beneath his pillows he relaxed into them and sighed as his tensed muscles slowly loosened against the cushioning charm on his mattress. He felt guilty, not telling Harry about the letter, but it wasn't his business. Maybe it was, but he didn't want to admit it and he certainly didn't want to show Harry the letter. Not now, not ever. Not even if he never planned to send it.

It took Draco a long time to fall asleep that night. He stayed up hours after he put the letter away and repeated his own words mentally as he imagined them being scrawled onto the ceiling above him. Even after he fell asleep he heard them whispered in his dreams.