"Harry, there you are." Narcissa's voice is fond as he strolls into the dining room. "I was hoping you would join us. It seems we've all gotten a late start this morning." Her face is open and bright, while Draco sits next to her, glowering at his plate.

Blinky lets go of his hand. "You's be sitting, Master Harry. Blinky is to be bringing you breakfast." The cheery little elf prods him in the direction of the nearest chair, forcing him down into it with a tiny, but very strong grip on his elbow.

As he sits, Draco's audible gasp is heard from the other end of the table.

"What?" Harry asks, noting the way Narcissa's face goes a little pale. Draco's jaw tenses and the hand holding his fork in midair drops to the table with a heavy thunk.

"It's alright, Draco." Narcissa puts a hand on her son's arm. "Blinky wouldn't have directed him there if—"

"It's Father's seat," Draco hisses at her.

Harry glances down, realizing that Blinky has, in fact, put him at the head of the table. Where the patriarch sits. Where Lucius Malfoy would be sitting if he were still alive. This can't be right. He expects the mistake to be rectified at once. Maybe the house will oust him from the chair. Maybe the specter of an angry Lucius Malfoy will make his presence known and wreak havoc until Harry gets his arse out of the chair. But nothing like that happens.

"I can—here, I'll move. I didn't even realize—" Harry's words trail as he moves to rise, but now there's a twinge of magic not just over the chair, but the entire table. It's weighing him down, and he can't get up. His legs feel bolted to the floor, and his arse feels like it's become permanently attached to the velvet cushion underneath it. The Manor doesn't want him to move. It doesn't want to let him go.

He shifts helplessly in the ornate chair, a little disgruntled that he's being subdued. A quick glance down the table has him watching Narcissa as wonder flits over her face like the flicker of a candle. It pauses, leaving behind a receptive smile. She's apparently more in tune with what's going on, which isn't surprising.

"Stay seated, Harry," she says. "There's no need to move. All is as it should be."

He complies, though he knows he couldn't move if he wanted to. Harry's a powerful wizard, but he's fairly certain the Manor could wipe with floor with him if it were so inclined. The smile on Narcissa's face is reassuring, and he can't detect any hint of malice in the magic. Yes, it's strong, but it's insistent, almost entreating in a way.

"You can't be serious, Mother!" Draco seethes next to her. His eyes are narrowed in contempt, his knuckles white from the clenched fists he has resting on the table. "The head of house always—"

"This house has no head!" she shoots back in annoyance. "Your father saw to that. And you have chosen not to take his place there. The house has made other arrangements, it seems." Her eyes flash at Draco and he backs down. "Even if only in the interim." She directs her gaze back to Harry. "Keep your seat, Harry. Everything is fine."

The meddlesome house irritates him to no end. First, it's the silk-draped fantasy of Draco Malfoy in his bed, and now it's the high-handed show of power that's got him glued to this seat. But Harry knows that on some level he asked for this. He's still not certain if it's his magic, or the Manor, or a conspiracy of the two. He called for sanctuary. And this is what he got.

Harry grips the armrests of the chair tighter, preparing to see just how much the house is willing to accommodate him. "Fine," he says loudly into the air, "I'll accept the head. But I prefer to take my meals in a more intimate setting." That's the truth; he really doesn't want to spend the rest of his meals here down at the arse-other end of the table. The rectangular monstrosity seats sixteen, which given that it's only the three of them, is ridiculous. Harry waits, curious to see what happens next.

Narcissa and Draco gasp again as the extra chairs lining the table start disappearing one by one with a succession of audible pops. Once gone, a shudder of magic ripples over the table and it begins to shrink down toward Narcissa and Draco at the other end, stopping when it reaches a much smaller size. Only one extra chair remains, and it's opposite Draco, yet the table looks as if it can seat six comfortably. Harry's not at all surprised when his chair starts sliding across the floor toward the table. When Harry's flush, staring much closer at Narcissa and Draco's faces (hers amused, his slightly appalled), Blinky pops in with his breakfast.

"This is being much more cozy for the family," she says, putting down a full English in front of him. Blinky fusses with his napkin, and pats at him with a cheery grin. "Will Master Harry be taking tea or coffee?"

It's pointless now to be surprised by anything else that happens, Harry realizes. He can't control the house, or its magic, but the one thing he can control is his reaction to it. Nothing sinister has happened so far, and Blinky is beside herself with happiness. Narcissa seems resigned, and Draco—well, Draco's going to be the only foreseeable obstacle. Barring that, there's nothing he can do except follow the lead. He smiles at Blinky.

"Coffee would be lovely."

Blinky pours from a silver pitcher, and Harry tucks into his breakfast because he doesn't know how to follow showy house magic. "Pass the salt" seems a bit underwhelming.

Narcissa sips her tea and dabs at her mouth with her napkin before addressing him. "I trust your quarters are acceptable?"

"Yes, you've thought of everything. Thank you."

She waves her hand. "It was no trouble, I assure you. We merely want you to be as comfortable as possible." Her head turns to her son. "Don't we, Draco?"

Draco's face is pinched around the edges, but there's no outright frown. He looks constipated.

"Of course, Mother. Harry's comfort is our foremost priority."

He'd like to say that he's not outwardly affected at how hearing his given name rolls off Draco's tongue, but he is. It doesn't go unnoticed by Narcissa, either.

"Well," she says, amused, "it looks as though you two had a lovely chat last night."

Harry swallows a mouthful of fluffy omelet. "We did. I think Draco and I have come to an agreement to put the past behind us."

Narcissa looks to Draco for confirmation. His head is bowed over his toast, and he crunches into it with force, nodding curtly.

"He did show me the studio," Harry adds. "It will perfectly suit my needs. Everything here will."

Draco's eyes are still firmly fixed on his half-empty plate, and that attractive blush is creeping into his cheeks again. Harry's not sure if it's from the scrutiny he's giving Draco, or more the fact that Draco doesn't like to be talked about as if he's not even in the room.

"Oh, that's wonderful, Harry. But there's no need to rush yourself into anything. Take some time to rest, as well. In fact, I think the two of you should have a good, old-fashioned lie-in today."

Draco chokes on his toast, spraying crumbs everywhere.

Harry reaches out and claps him soundly on the back. He coughs and splutters, shooting daggers at his mother with his gaze through each hacking breath.

"I don't think she meant together," Harry chuckles.

Narcissa rubs a hand over Draco's arm. "Of course not."

Draco sits back and inhales a cleansing breath before downing a gulp of water. "That's not what—I didn't—oh, bugger off, Potter." He shakes off Harry's touch with a violent shudder.

Narcissa tsks under her breath at her son's language, but Harry simply smiles at her. "I don't think you'd be up for it anyway," He grins at Narcissa. "I'm a cuddler."

Wide gray eyes meet his and Draco's mouth falls open to reply with something snarky, Harry's sure of it, when Narcissa replies from behind the rim of her tea cup. "So is Draco."

The teasing from his mother has to be the last straw, because Draco's head whips around to seethe, "Merlin, Mother!" at her with the most indignant of hisses. He pushes back from the table with a jerk and throws his napkin into his plate with a huff. "If you'll excuse me, I'm expecting a firecall from Switzerland this morning. A business associate is sending over some contracts that need to be signed. I'll be busy well into the evening, so don't bother calling me for dinner." He glares at his mother once more before turning to Harry and inclining his head. "Harry."

"Draco," Harry parrots, a tiny smile tugging at the edge of his lips.

With that, Draco is gone, and Harry can't resist the bubble of laughter that escapes when the doors are slammed shut behind the retreating blond.

"I suppose I shouldn't tease him."

Narcissa waves a hand. "Draco's always had a hard time not taking himself too seriously. He's much better than he used to be." Her eyes glint in the streams of sunlight cascading in through the windows. "He interests you," she says. "Draco."

"Yes." There's so much more to it than that, but Harry can't find the words.

"That's good, because my son is interesting. There's more to him than a handsome face."

Harry sips his coffee, and decides now that he's admitted to himself, there's no point in trying to hide it from Narcissa. "You're right, but I won't deny that I find him very attractive. In many ways."

"Because of the kind of man he is?" It's a loaded question, and now Harry has absolutely no doubt that Narcissa knows not only exactly what kind of man her son is, but what kind of man Harry is as well. There's no judgment in her tone; she asks the question as if it's a point of fact. As if his and Draco's sexual inclinations are as mundane as discussing the weather.

And it's with a clear and pointed honesty that Harry looks Narcissa right in the eye and replies, "Because of the man he's become."

It's clearly the right thing to say because Narcissa's face glows with approval. The fact that it's the absolute truth is simply par for the course. But she's slightly hesitant, if the miniscule tremble to her fingers is anything to by. He's good enough at this to know whatever's happened in Draco's immediate past (Switzerland) gives her reason to worry. Harry feels compelled to take his honesty one step further. "I don't know about Draco's previous relationships, but I think you should know that have no plans to hurt him. Now, or in the future. Even if we become nothing more than friends."

"I know," she says with a wry smile, "because if you did, you wouldn't have lasted the night."

Her well-schooled expression makes him shiver beneath his skin, and he's reminded that sitting across from him is a woman who is most likely the greatest Occlumens of any recorded age. A woman by virtue of her own cunning skill managed to elude taking the Mark, kept her true feelings hidden from both her husband and the Dark Lord, harbored said Dark Lord under her roof, and lied to his face without breaking a sweat. Killing Harry in his sleep has got to be a parlor trick.

"Am I to take that as encouragement?"

"If you like." That's as close to an endorsement as he's going to get for the moment, but it blossoms in his heart all the same.

The tapping at the window breaks the mood as Blinky pops in to let open it for the fluffy gray owl. It immediately settles on Blinky's arm and she trots it over to Narcissa. Her eyes widen in surprise as she examines the outstretched leg. "It's from your Mr. Longbottom. I didn't expect to hear anything so quickly."

"I firecalled him this morning. Nev said he'd send something over."

"Well, I'll take this into my study and see if a reply is necessary." She places her napkin on the table and rises slowly. "Blinky, would take the owl, please?" Harry follows in deference as Blinky hops out of the room.

"Please sit, enjoy your breakfast. I presume I will see you at dinner, if not my son," she says smiling.

"I wouldn't miss it. And I'll talk to Draco. Let him know that we're not actually conspiring against him."

"Yes, but don't draw too much attention to it. You'll do more harm than good."

"Noted."

She turns with a rustle of skirts, and all of a sudden Harry feels an emptiness in his chest the farther away she moves. It's a little thing, this want that has unfurled inside him, something easily pushed aside, but he finds he can't bear to squash it.

"Narcissa?"

"Yes?" She stops and looks back, and he could stare into the acceptance he sees in her eyes forever.

Harry opens his arms. "Would you mind?"

She's in his arms in an instant, enfolding him in sweet jasmine and crinkly silk. Her hand is pressed to the top of his back, right between his shoulder blades. It's so comforting, so warm, this different fire that she incites to burn inside him.

"You must think me rather silly, I suppose, asking for a hug in broad daylight," he murmurs into her hair. "I don't think I ever asked for a hug before. They've always been sort of given to me." He pulls back to see the beginnings of tears in her eyes. Happy ones, he surmises, based on the brightness glimmering there. "I hope Draco doesn't think I'm trying to steal you away from him or some such nonsense."

"My son is wiser than he seems." Her breath is soft in the air between them. "Don't let it worry you. A mother's love is the foundation on which all confident men are bred." Her hand cups his cheek, and Harry leans into it, leans into the raw affection he feels there. "And I have enough love for the both of you, whenever you require it."

"Thank you." It's inadequate, but it's heartfelt.

"You're more than welcome. Enjoy your afternoon, Harry."

Harry watches her go, head held high, with smooth, gliding steps. He can still feel her warmth, just like he can feel the Manor's magic wrapped around his knees. It's determined to ground him here, to brand him into this place, to make him a part of it. He wonders if he should feel guilty about the way he's responding to Narcissa Malfoy. He wonders if it's an insult to his own mother. Somehow, Harry has the feeling that if everything had happened in the opposite direction, he'd be watching Lily Potter mother Draco Malfoy.

The magic pinning him to the floor thrums in agreement.