Chapter Sixteen
House-warming
The next day, Draco was already awake and eating breakfast when Harry staggered out of bed. Yawning and slumping down in one of the eight chairs around the table, Draco handed him a cup of coffee without a word. Harry, still half asleep took a sip.
“Ew,” he said, grimacing. “Give me the sugar.”
Draco rolled his eyes and gave Harry what he’d asked for. “Ruin perfectly good coffee with sugar.”
“You have yours with milk,” Harry said once he’d gulped the coffee down.
“Yes, and?”
Harry didn’t bother to answer. After buttering a piece of toast, he said, “We need to go shopping today.”
“Hm, yes, party tonight,” Draco said. “It would be good to have some food to serve.”
“Yeah, and plates for all the people coming,” Harry said.
“All the people? How many have you invited?”
“Oh, just ‘Mione, Myra and Darius,” Harry said. “But knowing Darius, he’ll bring a few friends. You’ll like them – they’re all girls, blonde and usually wear very little clothes.”
“Isn’t Darius into Myra?” Draco asked.
Harry raised an eyebrow. “Been eaves-dropping on our conversations, have you?”
Draco just rolled his eyes. “Of course not, I have been bored but not that bored. But those two – they’re just like Weasley and Granger all over again.”
He snapped his mouth shut as soon as the sentence was out. Unknown emotions flashed in his eyes, but disappeared behind a cool mask before Harry had time to understand what they were. Harry was too filled up with his own overwhelming emotions at the moment. Draco had said Ron’s name. No one had said Ron’s name out loud in his presence since he left Hogwarts.
“I— I—” Draco began, for once at a loss for words.
Harry held up a shaking hand, his eyes tightly shut against fleeting memories invading his mind. “Don’t – it doesn’t matter.”
“You – we need to talk about it some time,” Draco said quietly.
Harry stared at him. “You want to talk about it?”
“No,” Draco said. “But we have to if this is going to work.”
Harry took a deep, shaky breath. He opened his eyes slowly, almost expecting to look into pale blue eyes that had been dead for years. His memories were vivid, colourful, powerful, happy, sad, all at once, overwhelming him. Yet when he opened his eyes, he was met with intense, stormy grey eyes that were fighting hard to keep the blank mask intact.
“Not today,” Harry whispered.
Draco understood, although Harry wasn’t sure why or how. But he knew that Harry wouldn’t be able to handle a conversation like that if they were going to have a party that night. Harry didn’t have the many years of training in acting properly even when breaking down on the inside that Draco had. If he had the conversation now, then Harry would be bleeding, open; he definitely wouldn’t be able to handle having guests.
Draco stretched his hand out and squeezed Harry’s hand gently. Harry looked up, green eyes startled.
“Let’s go get some groceries and I’ll start preparing the food for tonight,” Draco said and Harry was surprised by the softness of his voice. Draco could really be gentle and comforting when he wanted to be, he realised. Then he remembered how Draco had been with him at the hospital and he realised that he had already known Draco’s softer side.
“Oh, but he’s a softie too,” Myra had said. “He sat by your bed for two weeks, barely eating or sleeping. If that isn’t softness, then I don’t know what is.”
“Yeah,” Harry said, his voice still shaking. “Let’s go shopping.”
The grocery store was a twenty-minute walk away from the house and it passed quietly. Once at the store, however, Draco seemed to be making an effort to make Harry forget their earlier conversation, as he suggested foods for the evening.
“We don’t want anything that is sit-down-and-serve,” he said, “especially since we don’t know how many guests are coming.”
“But if not – what else is there?”
“A buffet of course,” Draco said with a French accent. “Some bread, butter, a few different kinds of cheese, a salad and some meat. If there are leftovers, it will be easy to cook a meal out of it.”
Harry just nodded. It sounded like a good plan. Harry was good at making food but planning a dinner for more than himself and one more person; that was beyond him. He just followed Draco around as he wheeled himself through the store, picking out groceries. Occasionally he had to stretch and take down whatever item Draco wanted, but other than that, his role was very passive, except for the one time.
“We need some of these,” Harry said.
“Smoke detectors?” Draco snorted. “Yes, that might be a good idea after what happened with your apartment.”
The groceries filled two heavy bags, which Harry carried out of the store. Once outside, Harry stopped.
“Draco?” His voice was hesitant.
“Yes?” Draco squinted up at him against the sun.
“Would you mind – I could push your wheelchair—“
“No thanks, Potter, I’ll do it myself,” Draco sneered at him, reminding Harry of the Draco he’d known at Hogwarts.
“No, no,” Harry said, “it wasn’t to— It’s just— these bags are heavy and I thought I could hang them on the handles of the wheelchair, but it’d get heavier for you and—”
Draco regarded him silently for a few moments. “Okay,” he said finally.
Harry, who’d been studying the ground, looked up and smiled at Draco. He didn’t say another word, only hung the bags like he said he would and started pushing the wheelchair towards their home.
When they got home, Harry cleaned the house and put the smoke detectors up while Draco collapsed on the couch, beat from the trip to the store. He turned the TV on and sleepily watched some soap. Harry made them lunch at about two in the afternoon. Sandwiches, made with some of the new bread they’d bought.
“When are they coming?” Draco asked, brushing crumbs off his shirt.
“At six,” Harry said. “Should we start on the food?”
“Three and a half hours before they arrive when we’re serving all cold food? Most definitely not,” Draco said. “Have you never had a dinner party before?”
“No, actually I haven’t,” Harry said. “And how is it that you know so much about it?”
“I’m a Malfoy, remember?” Harry was surprised by the vehemence when Draco said his last name.
“How could I forget,” Harry mumbled.
“We had dinner parties once a week,” Draco said. “I wasn’t there at most of them, of course, because father rarely wanted me there. But I still learned.”
“I thought your house-elves made the food,” Harry said carefully, knowing they were both treading on territory that would be best left alone at the moment.
“They did. But I snuck down there quite often,” Draco said. “I never thought I’d have to use the knowledge of course, but it was fun terrorizing the house elves.”
“Fun?” Harry echoed, involuntarily recalling Dobby when he’d been under Lucius’ command.
“I didn’t hurt them,” Draco said, “so don’t look at me like that. I am not my father.”
No, Harry thought, Draco was most certainly not his father. They looked a bit alike; both pale, with white-blond hair and silver eyes. But Lucius had always been bigger, more dangerous than Draco had ever managed to become. Now, when Harry looked at Draco, the differences between Draco and Lucius were much more striking than the ways they looked alike. Draco, though he’d gained a small amount of muscles on his upper body by now, was still frail and weak – although Harry hesitated to use the word when it came to Draco; it just wasn’t him – whereas Harry’s memories of Lucius had been a tall, slim yet well-muscled and terrifying man.
Then again, Lucius Malfoy was rotting away in Azkaban as far as Harry knew and it was possible that father and son did look alike after all.
But beyond the physical aspects, the two were nothing alike. Lucius was cold, calculating and dangerous. Draco was— Draco was passionate, moody, spoiled yet at the same time oddly thankful for life’s gifts. He was strong, much stronger than Harry had believed him to be.
“Harry?”
Draco waved his hand in front of Harry’s face to bring him back from his reverie. He didn’t ask questions on where Harry had been; he only sat back on the couch and returned his attention to the TV. Harry shook his head and disappeared into his bedroom, where he sat down and added another fifteen pages to his new story.
At exactly seven, the doorbell rang. Harry, who’d been pouring champagne into glasses, went to open the door.
Hermione stood outside, smiling. “I’m already in love with the outside of your house,” she said. “It looks wonderful.”
“Thanks,” Harry said. “Come on inside, there is a house waiting to be shown – and champagne.”
Once she’d taken her jacket off, she asked, “Am I the first to arrive?”
Harry nodded. “Darius is known for being late and since Myra is probably riding with him— well, they’ll be here within a half hour at least.”
Draco waited in the living room. Their greetings were cold but civil and Harry looked upon it as progress. He took Hermione by the arm and showed her around the house as Draco put the final touches on the food.
Harry showed her his bedroom with the adjoining bathroom and then gave her a quick look of Draco’s room – Harry wasn’t sure of how happy Draco was about the thought of having people he considered strangers or close to it going through his room – and the living room and kitchen. Lastly, they looked into what had been a garage and were now a construction place.
“The pool will be over there, with a shower here and we’ve chosen blue and white tiles,” Harry told her, bubbling with excitement.
“But what do you need an inside pool for, Harry?” Hermione asked.
“For Draco’s training, of course,” Harry said. “I’ve read about it in my books and they all say that water is the best way to get better after being paralysed.”
Hermione nodded. “I haven’t read much about it,” she said. “But it makes sense. The body feels lighter in water.”
“Yeah, so that’s why I’m putting this here. Besides, an inside pool could never hurt,” Harry grinned. “I need to start working out more anyway.”
“You look quite fine to me,” Hermione said with a devilish grin and Harry blushed crimson. “Those clothes really look good on you.”
“Draco picked them out for me,” Harry said, his face still red. “He said my taste in clothes was completely awful. Or, well, he said I didn’t have a taste in clothes at all. Something along those lines.”
“Well, there’s one thing I agree with him on,” Hermione said.
“Hey!” Harry said. “Don’t you go ganging up on me as well. Draco already has Myra and D on his side.”
“D?”
“Darius. He’s—“ The doorbell rang, “—here.”
Harry hurried back out of the garage to the front door and opened it. Darius stood outside with Myra. Harry’s eyebrows rose and he went over to Darius, pretending to search for something.
“No little blonde thing hiding somewhere?” he asked.
Darius gave him an embarrassed grin. “No, not this time,” he said.
“I asked him about it too,” Myra said.
“Except she wasn’t as nice about it,” Darius said, sulking.
“I asked if he’d been replaced by an alien,” Myra said, shrugging. “Now can we come in? I’m dying to see this new house of yours.”
“Of course,” Harry said. “Welcome to Harry and Draco’s house.”
Hermione and Draco were at the other end of the hallway and Myra hugged Draco and greeted Hermione happily, then went about exploring the house, dragging Harry along with her. Darius, who’d only met Hermione once or twice at the hospital, was nice and formal with her, until she started joking with him. Then he loosened up and they seemed to bond quickly, as far as Harry could see. He only caught glimpses, of course, as Myra made him tell everything about the house.
Once Harry had shown Myra around the house, Draco presented them with the glasses of champagne, which they all gladly accepted.
Harry watched Draco, impressed with the way he hosted the small party, bringing them from the sipping of champagne to the table and the awaiting buffet.
“Harry, this tastes absolutely delicious,” Myra said.
Harry grinned. “Tell that to Draco; he’s the one responsible for most of the food on this table.”
Myra turned to Draco. “You really are a good cook, Dray.”
“Dray?” Harry said, choking slightly.
“He needed a nickname,” Myra said, “and he can’t go by ‘D’, because that’s already taken, and I didn’t think you’d like it if I called him Dragon, now would you?”
This time, Harry choked for real. “Um—”
“Why couldn’t she call you Dragon?” Darius asked.
Draco shrugged. Looking at Myra, who was smiling with an evil glint in her eye at Harry, he said, “Probably some private joke between those two.”
“Actually, I think ‘Dray’ is a good nick name,” Darius said. “Mind if I start calling you that too?”
“I may curse you into next Tuesday,” Draco said smiling angelically, “but you can try?”
This time, both Hermione and Harry started coughing at the same time. Myra and Darius both looked at them oddly.
“Curse me?” Darius asked.
Draco realised why they’d reacted as they had and smoothed it over, “It’s just an expression.”
Darius nodded, smiling as though understanding. “I may start using that too.”
Hermione was very nice and pleasant throughout the dinner. As her parents had both been Muggles, she had no problem understanding everything Darius and Myra talked about when they spoke of the university, of computers, cars – Hermione even owned one, after all – and other Muggle inventions. She offered stories of her own to the conversation and Harry noticed that Darius listened interestedly at everything she said. Myra was glad to have found a new friend who was just as interested in studying as she was.
Hermione was the first to leave, claiming that she had to be at the hospital regrettably early the next morning. The good byes were long as they were all quite intoxicated by then, but Hermione finally made it into the waiting cab.
Myra, Darius, Draco and Harry were left in the house and they ended up in the living room. Harry sat on one couch with Draco next to him, Myra on the other couch and Darius on the floor. As the hour became even later and more alcohol was downed, however, the seating arrangements became more and more disordered.
“You know,” Draco said drunkenly from his place lying with his head in Harry’s lap, “you three are really good friends.”
Myra giggled. “You’re a really good friend too,” she said, holding her glass up in a toast.
Harry just smiled happily, petting Draco’s blond locks slowly, as if that one action took all his concentration.
“And what am I?” Darius asked. “’m I not a good friend?”
Myra giggled again, patting his head. “You’re also a good friend,” she said.
“But I don’t wanna be friends,” Darius whined. “I love you.”
Myra giggled. “I love you too.”
Draco rolled his eyes. “’s a big ol’ I-love-you-party now, Potter.”
“Mhm,” Harry said, his eyes closed, continuing to enjoy the feeling of running his hands through Draco’s soft hair. He wasn’t quite as intoxicated as Darius and Draco were, but he still felt calmer than he should have, with Draco’s head on his lap, a bit too close for comfort to things that were getting—hard, especially as Draco wriggled to get more comfortable. He hoped Draco wouldn’t notice, or if he did, that he wouldn’t remember it the next day.
At four in the morning, Draco was sleeping soundly with his head on Harry’s lap and Harry’s right hand on Draco’s chest. Myra was lying on her stomach, one arm over Darius’ shoulder, holding Darius’ hand. Darius was still sitting on the floor, a drunken smile on his face.
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