"Circe's tits, Draco, you look like shit. You're not sleeping, are you?"

Harry's hand lowers outside the cracked door to what appears to be Draco's study. It's ajar enough to allow him to look inside without being seen from the hallway. Draco's bent slightly at the waist, with his back to the door, speaking with a good-looking bloke from the Floo. He makes a mental note to ask how many Floos the Manor has, since there seems to be one in just about every room.

"I sleep just fine, Renault," Draco replies with a drawl.

"Tell that to the heaps of luggage under your eyes. You look positively dreadful." The other man's tone is jovial, but Harry hears the undertone of worry it carries. This man cares for Draco.

"How flattering."

"Not still pining after Blaise, then?"

Draco's posture stiffens, but he doesn't rise. "No," he says firmly. "My relationship with Blaise has run its course. Permanently. There's nothing in Switzerland left for me but you and the chocolate."

Harry's eyes widen. Blaise Zabini? So that's the reason he left England.

"Then it's high time you found yourself someone new, darling. Celibacy has never been a good look for you. You're far too debauched for that sort of thing."

Draco laughs, really laughs, and Harry marvels at the true ring of sound. He's glimpsed it before, and it trills sweetly in his ears. Draco needs to laugh more often.

"And you'd know all about that, wouldn't you? Deviant prick." Draco's tone is light and teasing, almost sultry, and it hits Harry straight at the base of his spine. This flicker of Draco's true nature is addictive, and it makes Harry wonder what else Draco's been hiding.

"Not that I don't love chatting with you, but you realize there would less of this back and forth if you would just claim the trust. It makes the paperwork so much easier, and it would certainly give you more time to your hobbies." Renault's face cracks into a wide grin. "I've missed seeing you at the club, despite Blaise's idiocy." When Draco doesn't respond, he adds, "I am sorry about that. If I'd known that's what he was planning, I'd never have agreed to it, you know that, don't you?"

Draco sighs, a long, forlorn exhalation of breath. "I know, Renault. Nothing about him was what I expected, and I suppose it's the same for him. I can't look back and I can't go forward, either. It seems what I want isn't to be found. Not there and certainly not here." Draco's fingers clench at his side. "It's alright, though. I guess you can't really miss what you never had."

Draco sounds wistful and tired, like a man who's resigned himself to a certain point of fact.

"Don't let it close you off. Don't let one bad apple put you off fruit entirely." Renault smiles with cheek. "The world is your orchard, Draco Malfoy. And I know how much you love apples."

Draco waves a hand at him and chuckles. "Merlin, you're maudlin."

There's a bellow from the Floo and the other man looks back and then to Draco again. "I've got to go, love. Duty calls. Remember what I said about the trust. The longer you put it off, the worse it's going to be."

"Go back to Heinrich, Renault. I'll send these along when I've looked them over."

"Heinrich was ages ago. This one's called Raoul." Renault sucks in a lascivious breath. "Exquisitely exotic."

"You're a lech," Draco laughs.

"What? As gorgeous as Heinrich was, he was as thick as a post. There's something to be said for actual conversation, you know. One can only hear, "Fuck me harder" so many times before it gets tedious. In German, no less."

"Go away, you bastard," Draco says lightly. "I'll owl you soon."

"Very well, but you should come to Lucerne. And bring your mother, because if I have to stare at your brooding face the whole time I'll go spare. It puts me off my tea," Renault pouts.

"Go," Draco shoos.

Renault winks at him and disappears from the Floo. Draco turns and begins to flip idly through the paperwork on his desk, pausing for brief seconds before continuing to read.

"Lurking in corridors, are we?"

Harry pushes open the door and strides into the room, unashamed at being caught.

"I was going to knock. I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but I didn't want to interrupt you, either."

Draco makes a noncommittal noise and glances down at his paperwork again. "What do you want?"

"About breakfast—I don't want you to think I'm trying to usurp your authority or anything. I'm not sure why your house is doing these things, but—"

Draco's head snaps up. "I know." Harry expects to see more of Draco's earlier indignation, but there's nothing behind his gray eyes but flat acceptance. "Your do-gooder Gryffindor nature wouldn't allow it. And there's nothing to usurp, as my mother so tactfully pointed out. I'm assuming the house magic is latching on to the nearest powerful presence." A pale eyebrow rises in a perfect arch. "Of course, that would be you."

"Why haven't you taken the trust?" he blurts. Harry has no idea what's holding Draco back, after all, isn't this the very thing he's wanted? The head of house, the seat on the Wizengamot that comes with it, the rightful title as Lord Malfoy. He's been primed since birth to accept the mantle. Hell, he was prepared to follow his father into service for a Dark Lord for a promise of the glory to be had. To have it within his reach now and not take it makes Harry wonder if Draco ever wanted it in the first place.

"A number of reasons. All of them personal, thank you very much." Draco's frosty tone isn't steady.

Harry shrugs. "I just don't understand why you've not taken things over from your father. It's your birthright, isn't it? This is your proper place in the grand scheme, right?"

"My father didn't think kindly on the sort of man I'd become. I'd failed him at every turn." Draco's eyes shadow with haunted memory. "I was a terrible Death Eater, I barely graduated from the same institution I tried to help bring down, and to add insult to injury, I prefer wizards to witches, so he could see the dream of the hallowed Malfoy line circling the drain." He barks out a sarcastic laugh. "Oh yes, he was so proud. I'm sure I was the talk of block in Azkaban. Lucius Malfoy's pathetic queer of a son. Even worse," he presses his hand to his chest in mock horror, "a bottom." Draco shakes his head. "Scandalous." Draco steps out from behind his desk to rest against the front, crossing his arms over his chest. "There didn't seem to be a point to taking up where he left off. He wouldn't have wanted me to have it anyway."

"But everything was willed to you, wasn't it? That should mean something," Harry entreats.

"A matter of oversight, I'm sure. I don't think updating his will was his first priority while withering away in prison." Draco sighs, and it's a heavy sound that echoes through the room. "I disappointed him, and he was ashamed of me. I didn't care either way. It was one of the reasons I went to Switzerland in the first place with Blaise. If I wasn't going to give a fuck, I might as well go all the way." Draco's lips curl into a wry smile full of regret. "I suppose it doesn't matter now, anyway. He was right. He told me I wouldn't end up happy with Blaise. He's right, and now he's dead." Draco pulls a disinterested face, and his arms fall his side. He braces his hands on the edge of the desk. "And I can't step into his shoes knowing that for all I was angry with him, the bastard was right all along."

"You know I've never been a fan of your father's, but I can't imagine he was right about everything. He made his fair share of poor decisions. I don't think he could really fault you for that."

Draco chuckles. "You have met my father, haven't you? Think about what you just said."

Harry laughs along with him. "You know what I mean. Running off just to arse your father can't possibly compete with the idiocy attributed to Lucius Malfoy."

"I know," Draco says soberly. His voice goes quiet and soft around the edges, and his eyes search the rug beneath his feet. "It's just that if I take his place, it means he's really gone. If I can still be angry with him, then it's like he's still here. If I lose that and accept what he left for me, then he's really dead." Draco's eyes glance up to meet Harry's, and Harry is lost in the pain he sees there. "As much as he hated me, as enormous a bastard as he was, he was still my father. And there's a rather large part of me that doesn't want him to be gone. Because even after everything, I still love him."

Harry's breath leaves him in a rush. Draco's heartfelt admission is staggering. "I can't even begin to know how you feel. I'm so sorry, Draco."

"Don't," Draco says roughly. "I know you lost people, too. I know my grief isn't any more special than anyone else's."

"No, I'm not saying that, but listen; I grew up hating my aunt and uncle. Until I came to Hogwarts, I didn't really care about anyone. In those few years, I came to love so many people, and lost a lot of them, yes. I didn't have time to develop the kind of relationship that you had with your father. It would have been so much worse for me if I had. I don't love lightly, and I suspect neither do you. I can only imagine your heartbreak at losing him."

Suddenly, there's a sneer painted across Draco's lips and ice in his words. "I suppose you think I'm weak, don't you? A man who can't stand up to his father, even after he's dead. A man who would willingly get on his knees for someone else's pleasure. A man who can't take what is rightfully his because he knows deep down he's not worthy of it."

Harry catches Draco's gaze and holds it. "You're as worthy a man as I've ever met. You've shown that much. And there is no weakness in submission, Draco."

Draco rolls his eyes with exaggerated zeal and huffs, "Spoken like a true Dom. And I'm assuming you are, if the Prophet is to be believed. If this is the part where you say I've been kneeling for the wrong people, I'll pass." Draco's left arm twitches. "I've made rather a habit out of it. Blaise took great pains to remind me of that fact."

Potter snorts with derision. "Then he's an idiot."

"What?"

The proverbial ball is rolling, and Harry thinks it's time he made himself a little more visible in Draco's vision. "I think Blaise Zabini had you on your knees and didn't have the first clue what to do with you."

"And you would?" Harry knows Draco means to sound combative, like the 'Scared, Potter?' of their boyhood taunts, but it comes out colored with genuine confusion.

"Yes." Harry leans in, getting close enough to smell Draco's aftershave, and his voice drops to a low rumble. "Yes, I would."

Draco's spine snaps to attention, and his eyes narrow on Harry's. "No, thank you. I know how this game is played. I've been tied up and laughed at for what I want, what I am. I have no desire to repeat the experience."

Harry sucks in a breath at the thought. "Then you don't know me as well as you think you do. Neither does the Prophet. I don't see this as a game. And if I were ever fortunate enough to have you in my bed, beautifully tied, wanton and begging for my touch, I wouldn't mock you for it." Harry lets his voice pitch lower to drip over Draco like honey. "I would worship you for it."

Draco gapes at him, pupils blown wide with incredulity, unable to speak. He's thinking about it, Harry knows, has to be because they're close enough to touch now. He's thinking about what it would be like to be in Harry's bed, trussed up and exposed, naked, with nothing but the promise of pleasure between them. Harry knows because it's the same thought that's running rampant in his head at the moment. The same thought that's got him hard in his jeans, itching to run his hands and his mouth all over Draco's prone body, leaving marks of said worship behind like a victory flag.

But for all Draco's responding, he's still got a lesson to learn. His behavior is self-indulgent, reckless and selfish, and it will lead them nowhere. Not if Harry lets it go unchecked. Harry pulls back and regards him with not with a glare, but with a stony countenance that exudes authority. If he balks now, there's very little hope in getting Draco to come around. But if he concedes, then Harry knows it's merely the matter of a firm hand before Draco settles and accepts what is happening between them. What could be inevitable. Harry's patient, but he's not interested in manipulating Draco to become someone he can't be. Experience tells him it's best to know now.

"I'll expect to see you at dinner this evening," Harry says with finality. "Your mother may be used to dealing with your petulance, but I'll not tolerate it. She enjoys sharing meals with you. It disappoints me that you would deprive her of that for your own childish whims. Understood?"

The effect is instantaneous, and the wind blows from Draco's sails. His shoulders droop as his face lines with remorse. To his credit, he swallows, but does not look away, taking the rebuke and shouldering its consequences.

"Very well," Draco says. The tone is low, but steady.

Harry leans closer, lips almost brushing, as he frowns. "In the future, a 'Yes, Harry' shall suffice."

Draco swallows again, as if he's having hard time keeping moisture in his mouth. "Yes, Harry."

Harry turns his head and lets his breath ghost over Draco's ear. The resulting shudder makes Harry smile. "Oh, that's much better." He turns and heads for the door, calling over his shoulder, "Enjoy the rest of your afternoon."