Many thanks to YetiBettyFoufetti for beta-reading.

Chapter Text

The long summer days seemed endless to Harry. No pastime distracted enough from the purposelessness of the hours passing him by, like ships in a port at the end of the world.

He'd lay on the sofa - he'd found his old favorite spot, raised up just enough to see into the kitchen of the apartment from across the stress, naked feet crossed over the edge - and allow the days to blend into each other until life felt like one single, never ending summer day.

"... I would have understood it coming from Ulmer, but to have Cristopher screw up like that…"

Ron was peeling an orange leaning on Harry's armchair. He appeared so much younger than he was, his freckles deepened by the sun. Draco was sitting primly on the other armchair, looking out the open window. The dark circles around his eyes had, at some point, disappeared.

"Christopher never struck me as the kind of person who could act under pressure. I told you so-"

He'd learned early on that the hardest part of the whole process was coming back to yourself. It didn't happen all at once. Instead it came in waves, the intensity of heightened senses gradually giving way to the same old, familiar fear.

"What did Cristopher do?"

Both men turned towards Harry, as if startled to discover him in his own living room.

"He threw the whole department under the bus in an interview for the Daily Prophet," Ron started explaining, recovering quickly from the shock. "He basically said it's everybody's fault but his that the killing spree from last autumn took place. As if he could have predicted that. We just couldn't be bothered to enlist him to do it."

While Ron spoke Draco just looked at him, his gaze impenetrable.

"Damn," Harry said, accepting half of the peeled orange from Ron. And then, because he had nothing else to say, again. "Damn."

That night he got his apartment back. He was by all means still a prisoner in his own home. Charms were up. He could feel them all around him. And they'd be back first thing in the morning. But he was, at last, alone.

He went around every room, gathering objects that didn't belong to him - Ron's toothbrush by the kitchen sink, Hermione's book, Ginny's magazines, Neville's socks - and cried. It was a dull, lifeless sort of crying. More like a chore. Something to do, something to mark the occasion. It felt like worn grief. And maybe it was.

Under the sofa he found one of Draco's t-shirts. It smelled like him. It threw him back to those early days of hell when they'd been so close, as if closeness was something they knew how to do with one another. It felt like a lifetime ago to Harry. But it had been mere weeks. Two? Three? In those weeks, they had managed to grow distant again. The more Harry felt like himself, the less he knew how to react to Draco's closeness; Draco had understood that very quickly. Too quickly. He had stopped searching for his hand, had stopped putting an arm around him while he dozed off on the sofa. Had stopped kissing his forehead before leaving. But he still showed up, day after day, bringing with him Harry's favorite dessert. Or books he thought he'd like ("It's about a cop who finds missing people, yet he's completely lost. It's basically your autobiography"). Little things like that.

The hardest part of coming back to himself was discovering, time and time again, how uncomfortable intimacy made him. He just didn't know what to make of it, like a question in a test he hadn't studied for.

He glanced over at the door, still holding Draco's t-shirt. He could break the charms. He could just disappear somewhere far, far away. Somewhere nobody would find him. Somewhere without Draco.

The doorbell woke him up. He knew it was a show they put on for him - they all had a spare key. They all had more freedom to come in and out of his own apartment than himself. It annoyed him. He didn't need them to pretend. He could face the reality of the situation just fine. He considered staying in bed just to force whoever was on the other side of the door to break character. But he didn't. He got up and welcomed Ginny as if she was a guest he'd been expecting.

Ginny was easy. Maybe the easiest. She'd been there the first time, in those early post-war days. She knew how to handle him, how to see through all his moods. She took him out for a walk. He requested to go home after fifteen minutes. There were too many people. They all seemed to all have somewhere to be, something to do.

In the mornings nobody came, he didn't get out of bed. He'd lay there until half past five, when Ron, Hermione and Draco arrived.

He had been reading the first paragraph of a random book he picked up from the floor over and over again, stretched out on the sofa, when the doorbell rang. Neville had been there that day. They had spent it repotting Harry's three apartment plants. He still had dirt under his fingernails. The doorbell rang again.

"Just come in!" he shouted from the sofa, irritated. Nobody did, so he eventually dragged his feet to the door. "Just come in by yourselves-" he started, but stopped when he realized Draco was alone, carrying a large bag in his arms. "Oh."

"Hello to you, too."

Harry moved out of the way so that Draco could come in. He had already changed out of his work robes and was wearing a thin t-shirt, looking fresh despite the torrid afternoon heat. Harry suddenly wished he'd at least taken a shower. Which was stupid. It's not like he wasn't expecting Draco. He just wasn't expecting him alone. The fact that they hadn't been alone since sharing a bed became, in that moment, a fact of extreme importance to Harry.

"Ron and Hermione came down with a stomach bug. So you're stuck with me tonight."

"Oh."

"Don't look so sullen," he said, acting hurt. "I brought dinner - your favorite - and desert - your favorite, again - and a film - my favorite, but I'm sure you'll love it. It's basically a date."

Harry was glad Draco's view was partially obstructed by the large bag in his hands because he had forgotten how to compose his face. Draco went into the kitchen and started transferring the food into proper plates, proving an intimate knowledge of Harry's kitchen that only deepened Harry's growing anxiety.

When they were both sitting at the table, dishes full of Harry's favorite items from the Indian restaurant from around the corner, Harry cleared his throat. It was time.

"You seem so much better. Are you feeling better?" Draco suddenly said, before Harry could open his mouth.

"I… yeah. Yes."

"I'm glad."

They sat in silence for a while, Draco immersed in the act of filling his plate.

"Draco… "

"Yeah?" he said absentmindedly, choosing between two dips.

"I'm- I really want to- I know I must have said a lot of things and- "

"Don't be silly. All is forgotten. You weren't yourself."

"Yes… yeah, well- still - I feel like…" his voice trailed off. "You and me…"

"Ah, you and me! Don't worry about that, Harry. You and I are fine."

Harry let go of his fork, annoyed at Draco's merry attitude. It hit the plate with a clink. Draco's gaze moved from Harry's hand to his eyes. He straightened up on the chair.

"Sorry," he said. "Go ahead."

"It's just- I'm just not sure right now is the moment to… you know… er… I don't know if I have the mental headspace to really…" in an effort to put into words the wordlessness of it all, his mind went back to their earlier interaction. "To go on a date."

Draco stared at him. "Harry, I was joking. Of course this is not a date."

"No, no, I know you were joking. I just mean- in general."

Breaking up a piece of bread, Draco took his time to answer. "Harry, I don't expect us to start dating, if that's what you mean. I don't expect anything. I'm going through a divorce and you're coming off a bad potions habit, to put it mildly. So stop stressing over it."

"Okay, because I thought… I know I said things, and did things…"

"And I've forgotten them all. Alright?"

Harry opened his mouth to answer, but Draco gestured to him to let him carry on.

"And let me be very clear, because I think we haven't been clear with each other in the past. I'm here now because I do really like you and I do care about you and I do want to spend time with you. And if you want to spend time with me as well, great, we can take it from here. Wipe the slate clean, you know?"

Harry became aware that his hands had curled up into firsts under the table. He relaxed them. "Really?" he asked, incredulously.

Draco laughed. "Why are you making that face? What did you think I'd say?"

Harry allowed himself to smile as well. "I don't know, I thought you'd be mad. Tell me I'm- bipolar, or something."

"Bipolar?" Draco chortled.

Harry laughed too at the ridiculousness of it all. "Or just crazy."

"Ah, that, you obviously are. I hope you're seeing somebody."

"I am, actually," Harry said, on a whim. Draco's laughter turned into a softer smile.

"Tell me about it."

"Her name's Emma," Harry said, taking the first bite out of his food. "She's in her forties. I see her on Thursdays."

"All the important facts, right there."

"I saw her yesterday, actually. She told me- she's the one that told me I'm not- it's not a good idea to start something now," he said, suddenly realizing he should probably explain it wasn't that he didn't want to , that he very much wanted to, but he was just too all over the place, his moods too-

"She seems to know what she's talking about, then," Draco laughed.

Harry laughed too. How come this was so easy, when it had been so hard before? "She also told me… that you probably need some time as well."

Draco stopped laughing and considered him carefully.

"So let's listen to your Emma then. And when the dust has settled, and if you still want to, I'll take you out. On a date. A proper date. Somewhere other than this bloody apartment," he said, gesturing around as if to make clear which apartment he was referring to.

"A date, huh?" It had been a clever joke earlier, highlighting the contrast between what a normal afternoon between them could look like and what it actually was - an obligation. He would have laughed at it if he hadn't been in such a panicked state. But said like that, as if it was something they could actually do, it just seemed absurd. The idea of getting dressed and going out to a restaurant, of sitting down and consulting a menu, of doing small talk with waiters and fellow diners, just seemed so distant from the reality Harry was inhabiting in that moment. So impossible. Yet despite all that, despite not truly believing it could ever happen, he recognized instantaneously how much he wanted to. A warmth spread through his body. "I look forward to it," he smiled, meeting Draco's eyes before quickly looking back at his food.

Draco smiled back. It was settled, then.

"So, how are you?" Harry asked, reaching over the table to get to his favorite sauce.

"Me? Making do. Making do."

"How's Camille?"

"He's… er, he'll live. I don't think he was expecting it at all, but it seems like he finally accepted it. His father is really upset though. Sent me an angry letter."

"Really?"

"He felt the need to tell me personally he will make sure I don't get one cent of Camille's money. That I'm dreaming if I think I'm going to demand half of it. We didn't sign a prenup, you see. So I could ask for it."

Harry hadn't quite considered the administrative part of the process.

"And are you going to?" he asked.

"Of course not! What a question. We'll divide our assets accordingly. Which means he's keeping everything and I'm now officially broke again," he laughed. "He is letting me keep the apartment though, which is … very kind of him, all things considered."

"Oh. I thought it was already yours."

"No, obviously. Do you know how much we get paid? You probably don't, do you?"

"I don't," Harry admitted, mouth full.

"Well, it's very little, and let's just leave it at that."

They ate in silence for a while.

"Is it - er, hard for you?"

"You'll have to be more specific than that."

"I don't know, the money thing."

Draco laughed. "No, Harry, it's not hard. I'm actually quite well off compared to when I met Camille so I won't complain just because I can't afford to dine at La Rochelle anymore. And anyways, I don't see the problem," he added with a smirk, "since you're filthy rich as well."

Harry actually burst out laughing this time. Not a pained chuckle, but true laughter, the kind that makes your throat hurt.

"I'm joking," he added, even though there was no need for it, because that's just how Draco was. Always having to explain twice he wasn't who he used to be.

"I am filthy rich, and I'll buy you everything you want," Harry said, realizing he meant it as he said it.

"Watch what you're saying, Potter," he retorted, pointing a fork dangerously at Harry, "or we might not even make it until next Thursday, and what will poor Emma think? You'll be her worst client."

"I think I already am," Harry shrugged, feeling lighter than he'd felt in months.

Once Draco left - only after making Harry suffer through an interminable French movie - Harry made his way to bed, even if it was still early. He'd go for a walk the next day, along the river. Maybe, in a couple of weeks, he'll go back to work. And sometime after that, when the dust had settled, as Draco had put it, he'll go on a date. A proper date.

Things weren't that easy though. He didn't go for a walk the next day. He spent it in bed, paralyzed by anxieties whose sharpness had not faded despite their familiarity. It took another week for him to finally get to the Thames, alongside Neville and Luna. And another one to finally ask whether Ron had decided to fire Christopher. He hadn't, to Draco's disappointment.

"You know, I did have a crush on you in school. Ever since I knew who you were."

Harry looked up from his plate and glanced over the kitchen island in Draco's direction. He'd come to have breakfast with him before going to work.

"No, you did not," Harry retorted.

"Did so."

"Is that why you bullied me relentlessly?"

"Well- yes, obviously."

"Why are you telling me this?" he snickered.

"Because I had an epiphany under the shower this morning."

"An epiphany, you say?"

"An epiphany." Draco went around the island, stopped right next to Harry. Harry's heart skipped a beat as Draco leaned in and moved the hair out of the way to look at his scar. He had never done that before.

"The first time we saw each other, I didn't know who you were. I didn't find you all that special."

"Er… that's quite revolutionary, as far as shower thoughts go."

"It's the only time I treated you fairly, that day."

"I'm getting more confused the more you go on. It kind of defeats the purpose of a conversation."

"Just wanted to let you know," he said, getting up and making for the living room.

"Let me know what?!"

"That I don't care you're Harry fucking Potter anymore."

Harry just stared at him. "I didn't know you cared before," Harry eventually admitted, voice catching.

The fluorescent lights were flickering. Draco had convinced him to go grocery shopping. What a stupid idea. "Maybe you'll want to cook again, in this lifetime," he'd said. Harry had tried to argue that he didn't have the energy for it, but then Draco said he was craving Harry's lasagna. He wanted to do something for Draco, since Draco had been doing so much. So he admitted defeat and joined him, shopping list in hand. It felt surreal, being out. Being surrounded by so many people. He was trying to calm down his breathing by the dairy aisle - he was certain he was about to faint - when Draco finally came back with the eggs.

"I want to go home," was all Harry had to say. Draco ended up going back to the store alone. Harry didn't cook that lasagna, and the eggs went bad in his fridge.

"Tell me more about this crush of yours," Harry said. It was scorching hot. He was laying down on the shadiest part of the wooden living room floor while Draco was reorganizing his books alphabetically. Harry hadn't asked for it, but didn't see the harm in it either.

"Which crush?"

"This crush you had on me. When did it start? And, more importantly, when did it stop?"

"Ah, what you'd give to know."

"C'mon, tell me. I'm in a bad mood."

"Why are you in a bad mood?"

"Just one of those days."

"Well, I can't say no to that, can I?"

"No, you can't."

"I guess it started when you refused to shake my hand on the first day of school."

"Really? That's all it took?"

"I'm a man of simple complexes. Always wanted to get into whatever club didn't want me. Still do, mind you. I fucking hate the fact that Dorothy's gang never invite me out." He had said that part so spitefully Harry had no trouble accepting it as an absolute truth, despite finding nothing at all interesting in Dorothy's gang. "But maybe crush is not the right word. I think it was more complex than that. There was attraction, yes, but there were many other sides to it. One of which was constant envy."

"Yes, that sounds more like my side of the experience."

"What about you? What did you feel about me?"

Harry let out a chuckle. "I couldn't stand you."

Draco laughed. "How rude. I was quite dashing."

"You used to call Hermione a mudblood," Harry said, before he could stop himself.

If there had been any air in the room to begin with, it would have been all sucked out. Draco turned to look at him, holding a book in each hand. "I did," he said in a small voice.

Harry rose up on his elbows. "When did that change? For you? In your mind?"

Draco put the books on a random shelf. "Too late, I think. When they took my magic. And I met muggles."

"Not before?"

"Before, but not… not entirely. When we were- when things got… real, and I saw people getting tortured, I realized. I realized it wasn't just words. That it wasn't really about me being smarter because of who my parents were. That it was about… hurting others. I think the moment I really stopped believing all that bullshit about blood was when I got a chance to meet other people. When I saw their kindness…" his voice trailed off.

Harry nodded. "Makes sense."

"Thank you. For asking," Draco said, turning back to the bookcase.

"You were always annoyingly handsome though," Harry admitted, laying back down on the cool wooden beams.

It was Harry's first day back at work. It felt strange going back after what felt like an entire life. He'd insisted nobody come pick him up; he didn't want to make a fuss about it. Draco was in his office five minutes after he arrived.

"Auror Potter," he said, acknowledging seeing him in work robes for the first time in forever.

"What do you want?" he scoffed, half annoyed at being checked on so quickly, half glad he was there.

"Just wanted to see you."

"Well, here I am."

"Here you are," he said, voice catching.

"Stop it. Stop being dramatic about it. I'm trying to act normal."

"And you're so, so good at acting normal. Ouch, I'm serious," he said, dodging the quill Harry threw at him. "The best at pretending everything is perfectly fine, thank you very much!"

"Get out!"

Harry came over to Draco's place for the first time since that night. He entered the apartment tentatively, as if it could hurt him.

"Oh, wow. You changed everything around." Not one piece of furniture was where he remembered it.

"Just needed a fresh start."

"You took down the floral wallpaper."

They were going into Draco's study because Draco wanted to test a hair changing potion on Harry's dark hair.

"Yes, it was Camille's idea."

"Did you throw away every single thing Camille bought?"

"Not every single thing. Just the ones I didn't care for. I didn't throw away the couch, for example. Or the fridge."

"No, that would have been quite impractical."

"Here," Draco said, handing him a letter from a drawer before going to pick up the cauldron from the fireplace. "I read it, by the way."

Harry stared down at the letter in his hand and waited for the room to settle back into shape.

"What does it say?"

"It says sorry, but in many more words. He invites you over for dinner. He talks about your childhood. About your Aunt and Uncle."

Harry turned away from Draco, placed the envelope in his back pocket.

"I'm sorry I read it. I shouldn't have without your permission."

"That's fine. I don't mind," he said, finding it was true. "But I don't want to talk about it."

Draco offered him a glass full of a shimmering potion. "We should probably talk about it. One day."

"One day," Harry echoed, accepting the glass.

The meeting was interminable. He had met trees with more charisma than the department's accountant. He should have skipped it. But Draco had dragged him to it, like he did most places these days. "Come have lunch with us," he'd say, and Harry wouldn't be able to refuse. "Come have drinks after work"; "Come in my office while I brew this potion for Ulmer."; "Come to this accounting meeting, it will be interesting."

Draco, who was leaning on the wall opposite Harry, not bored as one would expect, or even slightly distracted, but actively listening. To a report about the department's expenses.

Draco, so beautiful it took Harry's breath away. And when he eventually turned to look at Harry - as he always did - and smiled, it made suffering through two hours of lectures about using less paper clips worth it.

"Want to walk home together?"

"Yes, just give me ten minutes."

"Ten whole minutes? I don't know if I can," and then, sweetly, "I'll be in the lunchroom."

Harry finished the report he was working on and gathered his things, a knot forming in his throat.

"So," he said when they stepped up into the light of the day from the dark atrium, bracing for the August heat. He felt as if he was going to explode with the question that he'd been building up to for the whole day. For the whole week. For months. "What are you doing on Friday?"

"On Friday?" Draco asked, hands in pockets, looking up, searching his memory, completely unaware of where Harry was going with this.

"On Friday."

"Hmm, nothing that I can remember. Why? Wanna do something?"

"Yes. I- I thought maybe-", he had to stop, to catch his breath. "I thought maybe you'd like to go on a date. With me."

Draco stopped in the middle of the street as if short circuited. Harry did the same, suddenly thrown back in time to another walk they took, when Harry had said almost the same thing, only not really - not at all.

"Of course. Of course. We can go now, if you want," he said, much more touched than Harry had expected him to be.

"No," he answered, too forcefully maybe. "On Friday. I made a reservation," he explained.

"Jesus," Draco muttered, voice heavy with emotion. Harry felt it too, all the emotion. "You planned it, too?"

"I did," Harry laughed, relief and worry mingled so tightly, like old friends.

Draco bit his lip. "Friday it is, then."

"I'll pick you up at eight?"

"Sounds perfect."