Notes:

Many thanks to my wonderful beta YetiBettyFoufetti.

CW: mention of death

Chapter Text

Harry was in a haze the weeks following Ulmer's arrest. Between all the paperwork that needed to be done, the audit and the investigation into Ulmer's activities since he'd served as Head of the Department, he didn't have the time to respond to Dudley's letter and accept his invitation to dinner.

Then Christmas came. It was Draco's first time at the Burrow. It was also the first time Harry was bringing somebody over since - well, since Shaun. So it was a big deal for him and it was a big deal for the Weasleys and most important of all, it was a big deal for Draco. He spent hours agonizing over gift idea lists and even longer dragging Harry around London in search of the perfect wrapping paper.

Harry complained about his indecisiveness any chance he had, but in fact enjoyed following Draco into stores he'd never heard about, lined with objects that seemed to belong in palaces from places far away. He especially enjoyed watching him pick up certain things that Harry would have never noticed but which, in Draco's hands, became so beautiful and so precious, as if Draco made them shine when before they had been covered under a layer of dust.

After copious pondering, countless magical and muggle stores and discussions with various clerks, they settled on a beautiful china set for Molly and Arthur, a pair of dragonskin gloves for Charlie, cashmere matching scarfs for Bill and Fleur, a suitcase for Percy, an assortment of speciality cooking oils for George and a set of crystal wine glasses for Ginny. They splurged on Ron and Hermione's gift but they couldn't talk themselves out of buying them an antique set of lamps they've been eyeing for months. And that wasn't everything; the list didn't include all the guests expected to attend Christmas at the Weasleys. They ended up with so many packages that Draco had to borrow David's car so they could drive to the Burrow.

The presents occupied the trunk and the entire back seat. Harry performed a spell to keep them from tumbling over on the sinuous country roads. On top of the pile was his own present for Draco; a signed copy of Freedom by Johnathan Franzen, Draco's latest favorite book. Harry had to use ten portkeys and the power of his name a lot more than he liked to to get to the New York signing and back in under 12 hours, all without raising Draco's suspicion.

As the familiar, wonky silhouette of the Burrow made its appearance on the horizon there was a perceptible mood shift. Draco stopped humming along to the song on the radio. He was staring at the house as if hypnotized by its improbable architecture. Harry put a hand over his leg and squeezed.

"It's going to be fine."

"Do you think-?"

"No. It was too long ago."

Draco acknowledged Harry's words with a faint nod.

"I guess," he sighed. And then, "How did you know I was thinking about how I used to make fun of Ron's house?"

Harry wondered that himself. Some days his new found ability to anticipate Draco's anxieties seemed like previously unearthed magic to him. An understanding that had developed without his notice.

Thankfully, he didn't need to exercise his new talent that night. The party was a success and Draco fit right in. Arthur wanted to know everything about his muggle studies ("A muggle university! What a wonderful adventure that must have been!") and he only left his side when Molly dragged him away.

Their presents were well received, especially by Ron and Hermione who got a bit teary eyed. Draco reacted to his gift the way Harry had predicted, by getting very quiet and staring at the signature far longer than one needed to to decipher the words For Draco under Franzen's signature.

"Thank you," he'd whisper later, as they settled around the dinner table. "It's perfect."

As for Harry, he received the traditional jumper from Molly alongside numerous wonderful things (new set of quills, a wand case and so on). Draco offered him a pair of slippers (he always stole Draco's) and front row tickets to the next Quidditch World Cup.

"I could have given you those for free," Ginny complained, looking over Harry's shoulder at the shiny tickets.

"Following that logic, he could have also bought those quills himself," Draco retorted.

"There's two tickets here," Harry said, looking up at Draco questioningly.

"I thought you'd like to bring a date, but if you'd rather go alone…"

"You mean you'll come with me?"

Draco took a sip from his glass, then nodded.

"Thank you," Harry said, grinning from ear to ear. It may have not been flying yet, but it was a start.

Dinner was spectacular. When they left Draco's cheeks were red from the homemade wine and from laughter and he seemed so happy. Harry was so happy too. As they struggled up the stairs to Draco's apartment, their bellies so full every step took a monumental effort, Harry thought that maybe, just maybe, dinner with Dudley could also go that well. That if Draco could have had such a good time despite how worried he'd been about it, then maybe there was a chance Harry could too.

He didn't write back though. It was Christmas after all.

Then New Years came, and it felt inappropriate to impose so soon after the holiday season. January came and went. When February rolled around Harry told himself he was going to write back this month.

Then he caught a nasty virus that kept him in bed for two weeks. He woke up one morning with a fever so high not even Draco's strongest potion could bring it down. Healers were called and the verdict came quickly: he had the flu and he needed to rest. Since he was already in Draco's bed, he remained there.

He spent his days catching up on case files. When he got too tired for that, he caught up on all the sleep he'd lost with Cole's poisoning. After a week in bed, he had learnt the schedule of the upstairs neighbor, a retired muggle who spent his days watching tv and going for walks at the same time every day.

When Draco came back from work that night Harry told him about his new discovery. He didn't know why. Maybe because he had nothing better to report, maybe because he wanted to prove something to Draco. In any case, he didn't expect Draco to say, "Maybe you should just move in."

Harry stared at Draco.

"Here?"

"Yes," Draco shrugged, as if it was nothing. "We always sleep here. It wouldn't make such a big difference. You'd just have all your things with you."

"I'm not moving into Camille's apartment," Harry blurted out before common sense could stop him.

Draco looked like he'd just been slapped.

"Excuse me?"

"I mean-"

"I think I understood what you meant." He shoved something into Harry's hand; it was the potion his Healer had prescribed that Draco brewed every day at the office. "Drink this and forget I said anything."

Harry took the potion from Draco's hand and gulped it down; he thought that could buy him some time to think about what to say. It didn't, really, and by the time he was finished Draco was already in the bathroom.

Harry pulled the covers tighter around him and stared at the molded ceiling, the whooshing of water running filling the heavy silence.

They didn't speak about moving in together again. After his shower, Draco picked up a book from his nightstand and Harry fell asleep in his arms, sedated by the healing potion. Next morning, he wrote to Dudley while Draco got ready for work and handed him the letter before he headed out.

"Could you mail this out for me, please?"

Draco looked at the name of the recipient and the sharpness around his eyes softened. He kissed Harry, and the kiss said I'm not upset anymore and Harry let out a breath of relief and went back to sleep.

Dudley's answer came just as quickly as last time. They settled on a date, two weeks from then.

Harry could have sworn they were in Little Whinging. The rows of identical houses repeated after each curb. It was an overcast, gray kind of day, and everything around them looked gray as well. Draco was driving slowly, checking the house numbers as they advanced.

"Ah, here we are!"

The shallow excitement in his voice was further undermined by the concerned look he shot Harry as David's car came to a halt.

"I'm fine."

"I never said otherwise," Draco retorted, nonplussed. He picked up the bottle of wine from the back seat as Harry braced for the cold outside. Winter was continuing well into March that year but Harry had abandoned his winter coat prematurely. Draco put his arm around him as they crossed the street towards the house.

Draco rang the bell. It was Dudley who opened the door. He was taller and broader than Harry remembered, yet somehow more gaunt. His hair had a bit of white at the temples. He looked much older than the abstract picture Harry had had of what his 31 year old cousin would look like. Or maybe he just looked more like an adult, while Harry still looked like he did ten years ago. Maybe it was the effect of fatherhood. Or maybe Harry was just stuck.

"Blimey, Harry," Dudley said, stunned, taking him in from head to toe.

"Dudley," was all Harry could say.

"I'm so glad you made it. Come on in."

After shaking Draco's hand and accepting the bottle of wine from him, Dudley hurried out of the way, making enough space in the narrow entryway for them to slide by into the small living room.

"This must be Victor then," Draco said cheerfully and Harry noticed the young boy sitting primly on the brown sofa, with his feet hanging a couple inches above the ground.

Victor said hello timidly, nudged by his father. He appeared as scared of them as Harry was of him.

"What a lovely house," Draco said, looking around at the modest sized room. Maybe Harry would have believed Draco if he hadn't heard his opinions on interior design so often. The room lacked everything Draco appreciated. The furniture was modern and trendy, the ground was covered in toys and there was a huge television in front of the fireplace. Harry however found the room very pleasant. It didn't look anything like Petunia and Vernon's living room.

"Thanks," Dudley mumbled.

He was nervous too, Harry realized. He kept looking at Draco when he thought Draco wasn't looking at him. It had been Dudley who had suggested Harry could bring someone over for dinner. Was Draco not what he'd expected when Harry wrote he'd be bringing his boyfriend?

Despite having lost the posh accent and the perfect posture he used to have in school, Draco still gave off an aristocratic air. He didn't look so out of place in London where there were all sorts of people from everywhere, but he definitely did so in Dudley's suburban living room, looking at a family picture hung at an angle with his hands on his hips like an art critic evaluating a museum piece.

Just then a woman in a brown jumper and washed out jeans entered the living room from a different part of the house. She must have picked up on the awkwardness in the room because she immediately took control of the situation. First, she gestured to Dudley who disappeared into the kitchen. She introduced herself as Linda, Dudley's wife, and invited Harry and Draco to take a seat on the sofa. Linda talked very fast. She asked about the traffic, about London, about gas prices. Draco and Harry could barely keep up. Sometime during this deluge of small talk Dudley returned from the kitchen with glasses of water.

This largely one-sided chatter continued until Dudley gently interrupted with, "Sweetie, do you want me to go check the oven?" when a burnt smell started coming from the kitchen

"I'm going. Don't worry about it, love."

As soon as she was gone, the awkwardness returned. Draco asked a couple of questions about Victor (he was indeed four years old). All Harry could do was listen to Dudley's stilted responses and nod when Draco turned to him inquisitively, as if he too was part of the conversation. But Draco lacked the conversational bludgeoning power of Linda and he soon ran out of topics.

Victor, who had been completely silent so far, was starting to get fidgety in Dudley's arms. Harry couldn't stop himself from comparing the young boy to his father. He didn't have many memories from that age, but ones involving Dudley had him screaming, shouting or otherwise hitting something at all times.

Draco leaned forwards towards Victor. "Do you want to see a magic trick, Victor?"

His words had an instantaneous impact. Dudley straightened up, alert, while Harry made himself smaller. He felt a familiar jolt of panic in his stomach, as if something dangerous was going to happen. As if he didn't know whatever Draco was about to do, it couldn't possibly involve real magic.

Draco pretended to make a coin appear from behind Victor's ear. Harry couldn't tell who was more impressed by this, the son or his father. Dudley's demeanor towards Draco warmed up instantly.

"Wasn't that impressive?" he said towards his son, over pronouncing each word.

"How did you do that?" the child asked, lifting himself up so he could inspect Draco's coin. He was very cute, Harry concluded, even if he looked like a mini Dudley.

"I'll teach you if you want," Draco said with a wink.

Victor nodded enthusiastically and struggled to get off Dudley's lap so he could come closer to Draco.

Harry caught Dudley looking at him. He let out an awkward chuckle and whispered, "For a second, I thought he meant real- you know."

Harry didn't know what he was supposed to say to that. Me too, maybe?

"Not that I would mind," Dudley continued, sounding defensive.

"We're not allowed to do that in front of Linda," Harry explained in a low voice, as if excusing himself. "Not unless you told her about it."

"No!" exclaimed Dudley. "How does one tell someone about that? She'd probably think I was mental."

"Yes," Harry agreed mechanically, "probably."

"And I didn't mean you have to use it. I just meant I wouldn't be scared of it."

Despite Harry desperately wanting to turn to look at Draco he kept his eyes on Dudley.

"That's- I'm glad to hear it."

"So you're… one too?" Dudley asked Draco out of nowhere.

"Yes," Draco answered, moving closer to the snack covered coffee table to retrieve the coin that Victor had just dropped. Dudley nodded more enthusiastically than the brisk response warranted.

"Draco comes from a very old magical family," Harry found himself saying. "All of his ancestors were wizards."

Why did he say that? Draco seemed to be wondering the same thing, throwing Harry a quizzical look. However, Dudley seemed very impressed by this information.

"How interesting!"

Harry didn't know what to make out of Dudley's sudden interest in everything magical so he was relieved when Linda returned to the living room.

Once she did and they moved over to the dining table, the conversation never faltered. She had a way of making people feel comfortable, Harry noticed, and he wasn't surprised to learn she was an elementary school teacher. She didn't look at him oddly, which was one thing he'd been dreading about tonight.

Victor grew more and more attached to Draco as the night drew on. After learning the magic trick - Harry had to remember to ask Draco where in the world he'd learnt that - and performing it on Draco a total of ten times with various degrees of success, Victor became very interested in showing Draco his toys. He'd disappear from the table and reappear carrying a truck or a dinosaur that then Draco would carefully inspect and comment on. As soon as the desert was finished, Victor asked Draco to go upstairs so he could show him his car collection.

Ignoring Dudley and Linda's attempts to prevent Victor from bothering their guest, Draco stood up and announced he'd like nothing more than to see Victor's car collection. Watching him go up the stairs, holding the child's hand and listening to him as if utterly mesmerized by his story, Harry found himself the host of a very particular feeling. Something between envy, sadness and admiration.

He barely noticed that Linda had left with a pile of empty plates leaving Harry and Dudley alone.

"He's really nice. Your boyfriend. And good with kids."

Harry nodded. He took off his glasses and cleaned one lens with the hem of the table napkin. What did that mean? That he wasn't good with kids? Obviously, he wasn't. He was well aware he hadn't said one word to Victor. He didn't really know how to act around children. He remembered being a kid well enough, but somehow he just couldn't seem to put that information to any use.

"How are Petunia and Vernon?" he asked, feeling the time had come for him to do so.

Dudley didn't react to the sudden change of topic.

"Dad's the same as ever."

Harry paused to examine how this information made him feel. Nothing, mostly.

"Glad to hear it."

"And mum. Well, I didn't want to tell you, but since you mentioned them…"

Harry's throat suddenly closed up. The fear and the hate he had felt for Petunia and Vernon as a child and then as a teenager had morphed during adulthood. It had transformed into something that was harder to name than hate or loathing. It had turned into something akin to regret; a sense of loss similar to grief. But who had died? Who had he lost?

The little boy that would have liked to have some toys to show off to handsome house guests, he thought lamely.

He didn't say anything, waiting for Dudley's next words like one waits for the executioner's ax.

"... mum passed away this December. She had cancer. She's been fighting it for a long time now."

The drive home was quiet. Harry turned his head away from Draco and pretended to look out the window for most of the journey back to London.

"My love," Draco said, putting a hand on his arm.

"I didn't know you were so good with children." The memory of Draco with Victor repeated again and again in his head like a song he couldn't get rid of. He tried to sound natural like he'd mentally rehearsed, but apparently he had failed.

"Are you alright?" Draco asked.

"Yes."

"Do you want to go do something fun?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know. It's Friday night. We could go to a club."

Draco moved his eyes from the road to Harry. Harry let out a chuckle. "That sounds like the complete opposite of fun. And no, I don't want to do anything fun."

"We're not going to the office if that's what you had in mind."

"I just want to go home," Harry sighed, rubbing his eyes.

"Home it is then."

Harry realized his mistake too late. Ever since their unresolved fight (Harry's speciality), everytime Harry used the word home Draco would inevitably follow up with which one. It was the fact that tonight Draco didn't say which one, the kindness of the gesture, that made him finally break. He buried his head in his hands.

"Jesus. I can't believe she's dead."

"Oh, my love," Draco said, putting an arm around him and barely looking at the road. "My darling, I'm so sorry."

The car stopped moving and Draco's arms were all around him.

"I want to go to your apartment," Harry said, clinging on to Draco.

"We'll go where you want."

"I want us to move in together."

"Then we'll move in together."

It wasn't that he didn't want to move in with Draco. Of course he wanted to. He desperately wanted to. He just didn't know how to go about it. And while announcing it in the middle of the highway while simultaneously grieving in the most confusing way had the benefit of taking away the responsibility of finding a way to go about it, that couldn't be avoided for ever. In fact, it seemed it could be avoided for exactly 12 hours.

"I don't understand why you don't want us to move here when you don't even want to go back to your apartment," Draco was saying, pacing up and down his kitchen the next morning. "When's the last time you slept there? Three months ago?"

"I already told you."

"Camille never even really lived here."

"He bought you this apartment. It's like- a testament of his love for you."

"What are you talking about? I chose it. I decorated it. I paid for it from our shared account. He just didn't take it back after the divorce. That's hardly a testament of love in my book. This is my house."

"What's wrong with my apartment?"

"It's a bachelor pad! It's a one bedroom, there's no place for me to set up a potions room. And it's not my style," he added bitterly.

"At least my ex husband didn't buy it for me," Harry mirrored the bitterness.

Draco opened his mouth, but seemed to change his mind right before speaking. Turning away from Harry, he opened the pantry door and fumbled inside. Feeling miserable, Harry took a bite out of his toast. It had gone cold during their argument. The feeling that what should have been simple - what was, indeed, simple for most people - always became difficult when it involved Harry became overwhelming.

On one hand, he wanted to give in. He really liked Draco's apartment and he knew Draco loved it, spending way too much time and money on it. But Harry had never really stopped feeling like an intruder in someone else's life when he was there.

"What about finding a new place then?" he asked, raising his voice so that Draco can hear him over the sound of jars being pushed against each other.

Silence. Harry swallowed the cold piece of toast stuck in his throat. Draco's head appeared out of the pantry door.

"A new place could work," he said tentatively.

Harry raised and took the two steps that separated them. "I'm sorry. I know you love this apartment."

Draco walked the rest of the distance between them and wrapped his arms around him. "I just want to be with you," he said, grabbing Harry and kissing him. "I couldn't care less where we live."

A bit surprised by how quickly he had managed to turn everything around but very pleased by the outcome, Harry let himself be pushed into the nearest wall. The thought that they'd be late for work barely registered. He felt Draco's hands moving down his chest, staring to unbutton his shirt. The idea of them actually moving in together became more and more real in his mind and with every second that passed, he wanted Draco more. The idea of knowing they'd wake up together every single morning, that they'd share a room and a kitchen and everything that came with, like a cutlery drawer and an umbrella stand and-

"You know," Harry exclaimed, breaking their kiss. How had he not thought about this before? "We could move into my house."

"You have a house?" asked Draco, moving away an inch or two.

"Yes. Ten minutes away from here. In Islington. At 12 Grimmauld Place."

Draco stared at him. "You own Grimmauld Place?"