In retrospect, Draco thinks a week really isn't that long. However, it's been a week to the day since Harry Potter dropped in and turned everything upside down. It's altogether maddening, and Draco's quite at sixes and sevens over the whole situation. Harry and his presence. Harry and his eyes. Harry and that damned domineering confidence. It's enough to drive anyone spare. It's enough to make Draco rethink the trajectory of his life. Or the course of his wants. He admits he's resigned himself to self-imposed celibacy. Because his experiences have not matched up to the needs of his soul. And now here's Harry, telling Draco he can have it all. It's ridiculous.

Isn't it?

"Come in here before you wear a hole in the carpet," Narcissa's voice calls out from the cracked door of her room, chiding but gentle.

Draco steps inside and finds his mother relaxing with a book and a cup of tea. She's in her dressing gown, hair soft around her shoulders, slippered feet tucked up beneath her in the overstuffed chair. He lets out a breath. It's rare she lets him see her like this, unfettered and real. This is the mother of his childhood, when it was all hushed endearments, soothing hugs, and soft smiles.

She sets her book to the side and pats the cushion next to her. "Tell me."

Draco sits and huffs. "There's nothing to tell."

Her mouth trips into a wry smile. "Liar. This is about Harry, isn't it?"

"Why do you think it's about Harry?" He wants to wince at the childish defiance in his tone.

"Because, my love," she says knowingly, "hasn't it always been about Harry?"

He glares in response. "That's not fair. There were several years of my life where Harry Potter didn't play a starring role, thank you very much."

"I know, and it ended up sending you to Switzerland. And I think we can both agree that was a mistake."

Draco sighs and throws his head back. "Harry Potter had nothing to do with my choice to see Blaise."

He can feel her stiffen beside him at the use of Blaise's name. His mother hates Blaise. Has always hated Blaise. Even in school. With good reason, his brain supplies.

"Not directly, no. You were looking for something. Something that had been missing since he first spurned your hand. It colored a great deal of your relationships after that."

"Please stop analyzing me," he groans.

She pats him on the knee. "You're the one doing the pacing."

Her face is open and quiet, like it always is when he comes to her in these moments. She is the bedrock of his life, the one constant through the squall of war and the hell of aftermath.

"I don't know what to do," he says, not knowing what else to say.

"What do you want to do?"

"It's not that simple, Mother." Draco shakes his head and leans forward, casting his eyes to the floor.

"What does Harry want?"

And damned if that isn't the million-Galleon question. What's worse is that he knows the answer. He turns his head to the side to look at her.

"He wants everything." The words fall heavy from his mouth, and Draco's a little amazed he didn't hear them thunk onto the rug.

Narcissa pulls in a deep breath and leans over to place her hand on his shoulder. "Well, then. How fortunate that's exactly what you have to give him."

"How can you say that?" Draco hisses, jumping to his feet and turning to glower down at her. "How can you advocate for this?" He hears his voice strangling higher, but he doesn't care. Narcissa's face goes from calm to shocked to glaring in the space of a second. "How can you tell me to give everything I am to him? To give him that kind of dominion over me? To hand a man like that this kind of power?"

"And what about Blaise, hm?" his mother shoots back, sliding from her chair in an angry swish of silver satin to stand before him. "You fell into his bed knowing what sort of lover he was."

Draco's seeing red and he spits, "Yes, and as soon as I realized it would never make me happy, I left. I didn't care for him. Blaise is nothing compared to Harry! Harry—Harry could destroy me! What makes you think he won't?"

Narcissa holds her chin high, managing to look down on him even though he's a head taller. "Because Harry is powerful. He will always be powerful. Do you forget that he held the fate of our world in his hands? Do you forget that he could have become twice the Dark Lord Voldemort was? Harry is an extraordinary man without equal. All that power he holds in his hands, and what did he do with it?" Her stare is unwavering, as is the command in her voice. "He saved us all."

The fact is so bracing, Draco has to turn away, as if he can escape the memory it dredges up. Fear, thick and cloying, like the smoke of Fiendfyre.

"That is the kind of man who is worth your everything. That is kind of man who is worth my son." She steps forward to cradle his face in her hands. Her fingers brush the fringe back from his eyes, and he looks into her face to see a wanting sadness there. "Listen to me, Draco. You can trust Harry. He values the things and people that are important to him. He will honor you, in your bedroom and out. He wants a partner, above all else. He will want you to stand beside him, not behind him. Because he will stand beside you. There's something missing in his life that has seen fit to bring him to us. To you." Her hands are warm on his skin, and Draco can feel the heat pressing into his bones like her words are pressing into his ears. "He is not complete. And neither are you. But you could be, my darling. Be the half that makes him whole."

In his heart, Draco knows his mother is right. He isn't complete, and neither is Harry. They're circling around something close to completion, but Draco is too scared to breach the wall and make a grab for it. Because his life is as empty and as hollow as an open grave. But it's easy, and boring, and doesn't carry with it the sort of soul-shattering disappointment he knows he might find tied to the end of Harry's bedpost.

Then there's the Manor, pushing Harry into a place he, quite honestly, is more entitled to than Draco. And he thinks that maybe the Manor didn't bring Harry here for Harry's sake. Maybe the Manor brought Harry here for his own.

To reach for Harry is to reach for his own happiness. On whatever terms Harry sees fit. Draco has to either accept that, and place all his trust in Harry, or live with the regret he knows will certainly follow if he doesn't.

Narcissa pulls him in tight for a hug, wrapping her arms around him in comfort. He sags in the embrace, knowing she's always been strong enough to hold him up at his worst. It is one of her most defining qualities.

She steps back and runs her fingers over his face once more with a sigh. "Draco, there is nothing I want more in this world than your happiness. Don't let your fear keep you from it."

Draco takes her hands in his and raises them to his lips, pressing a soft kiss on the backs. "Thank you, Mother."

Narcissa pushes him toward the door with a soft smile on her lips. "Go to him. Trust him."

Draco's feet send him out into the hallway. He has no idea where Harry is at the moment, but his feet are moving along the carpet in a stride just short of a jog, propelled by the tingle of an unseen hand. Suddenly, he's outside the studio. He raps twice on the door and waits for the sound of Harry's voice.

He's going to be doing a lot of that from now on.