The Foundation

The Foundation

By Newshound

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and company are the exclusive property of J. K. Rowling. This fiction is entirely for entertainment purposes and no money is being made from it.

Chapter 11 Strike Two

After quickly Apparating back to his cottage, Draco trudged up the stone path to his front door. He kicked a few loose pebbles and hung his head morosely, trying to shake off a bad feeling. He whispered a soft “Alohomora” and the door obediently swung open. He walked over to his fireplace, casting another spell – the one his mother had taught him – and the flames sprang to life. He plopped down on a chair strategically placed near the warmth of the fire and heaved a deep sigh.

Their date had been a success; he’d had a really good time with Harry, especially over their sundaes, when they’d discussed Harry’s growing interest in art. As he watched Harry’s animated face and listened to the excitement in his voice, all sorts of warning bells started going off in his head.

He’d seen this before, hell, he’d experienced it himself; the desire to explore the world. He understood Harry’s urge to discover the world, have some adventures that had nothing to do with the role placed on him by Wizarding society. He’d always felt somewhat restricted by his – as well as his father’s – reputation, but that was nothing compared to how boxed in Harry was. Draco could empathize and there was a time when he would have liked nothing better than to join Harry on his travels, but everything had changed for him.

Not only was it his circumstances that had changed, it was his attitude. He loved his foundation; he loved the influence he had on other people’s lives. Nothing had ever felt better than knowing he’d made a difference in someone’s life. He also had his daughter; the thought of spending more than a few days away from her was nearly unbearable.

He recognized the need for independence and self-expression and he respected it, but was that need compatible with a serious relationship? Eventually wasn’t Harry going to want to do exactly what Draco had done? Head out into the world with nothing but his abilities and determination and find his true destiny? He shuddered when he considered what he might have become had he not spent those few years opening his eyes – and mind – to the world (Muggle and Wizard) around him; really discovering who and what he was. He’d also discovered what truly mattered in life. Harry had to find that out for himself.

He’d always followed the advice to take each moment as it came, not to worry about the future and most importantly, not to make decisions based out of fear. It just seemed that he and Harry were at different places in their lives; Harry wanted freedom and independence and he wanted commitment and security.

What he really wanted was a loving companion, someone to share his life; someone he could grow with and learn from, but mostly someone he could depend on to be there when things got tough. And he wanted that in the context of a committed relationship; he’d done enough indiscriminate sexual experimentation. .

For instance, right now all he wanted was to crawl in his bed and cuddle up; be close to someone who understood him, someone with whom he could talk over the day’s events. He wanted someone to take care of him when he was sick, laugh at his silly jokes and berate the people who insulted him. Someone he knew, without a doubt, was on his side, but also, someone who wouldn’t put up with any of his nonsense; would confront him if they saw him doing something wrong.

Not any easy order to fill, unfortunately, and he had no way of knowing if Harry was that person (or even if he wanted to be that person), but Draco wanted, more than anything, to find out if he was.

He’d wanted to kiss Harry so many times during the evening, but every time he thought about it, it didn’t seem right. He’d even considered persuading Harry to sneak down to Puddlemere’s tent for some privacy, but he thought Harry deserved better than to be dragged down to a cold, drafty tent to be groped and fondled. If they had been lovers for a while it would have been exciting, but at this stage in their relationship it seemed tawdry and cheap; like someplace you brought a stranger for a quick fuck.

He didn’t want to kiss Harry in the Quidditch stands either, not with a crowd of people watching. He didn’t mind public displays of affection at all, but not this early in a relationship. He associated affection in public with either couples who had been together a while or people who were looking for casual sex. Why would you allow someone you barely knew to put their hands all over you otherwise?

He wanted Harry to know that his interest was genuine and the only way he knew of to do that was to keep his hands to himself. The only thing stronger than the urge to kiss Harry had been the urge to touch him and not just in a sexual way. He wanted to move Harry’s hair back in place after the wind had mussed it a bit; wanted to adjust the collar and smooth Harry’s robes when he stood up. But most of all, he’d wanted to slip Harry’s hand in his, entwine their fingers and caress the back of Harry’s hand with his thumb, feel how soft and supple the skin was before he pulled it up to his mouth for a gentle kiss.

He didn’t dare do any of that, though. There was no way he could stop at kissing Harry’s hand, in public or private; of that he was positive. It was best, for right now, to keep their physical contact to a minimum, at least until he was sure Harry trusted him.

He had Sunday afternoon to look forward to. He could spend time with Harry and they would be in public where he could keep his urges in check, yet he could still find the occasional excuse to touch him.

* * * * *

The weekend proved quite stressful for Draco. Daphne had arrived at his office Friday afternoon, with a whiny, fussy child who obviously had neither a bath nor a change of clothes in several days. Daphne was in tears, obviously distraught over her mother’s condition. The Healer in charge of the case had recommended moving her mother to the permanent ward until they could devise some method of treatment.

“I simply can’t bear the thought of her trapped in that awful place!” she cried, depositing their daughter into Draco’s welcoming arms.

“Calm down, Daphne,” Draco said soothingly. “They’ll find out what’s wrong with her and have her all fixed up in no time, you’ll see. The Healers down at St. Mungo’s have the finest in Medi-wizard training, she’s receiving the best care there is.”

“I’m supposed to have a date tonight,” she whined. “How am I supposed to have a life of my own if she keeps getting sick all the time? Or if she has to stay at St. Mungo’s? Father’s down at The Leaky Cauldron drowning all his problems in Firewhiskey, what about me? What do I have?”

“I’ll watch her tonight,” Draco said agreeably. “I can keep her until Sunday afternoon; things should have quieted down by then.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Draco,” Daphne said, giving him a swift peck on the cheek. “I’ve left her trunk with your assistant.”

Draco walked to his chair, carrying his daughter and sat down in it. He sincerely hoped Daphne showed up Sunday afternoon; otherwise he’d have to break his date with Harry. He’d planned on having her this weekend, and he really didn’t mind taking care of her tonight; it was obvious Daphne hadn’t paid much attention to her lately. He laughed when he thought of the things his friends at Hogwarts would say if they saw him now.

By Sunday afternoon, both his daughter’s and his ex-wife’s mood had improved dramatically. Daphne’s mother was no better, but Daphne had spent the weekend “at a resort” and his daughter, after being spoiled for the weekend, once again resembled the quiet, content toddler he’d known.

Daphne looked well rested – and a few other things it seemed to Draco – when she came to collect their daughter. She left Draco’s cottage cuddling and playing with the little girl in her arms.

He didn’t have much time to prepare for his date with Harry. During his daughter’s short morning nap he’d set aside the clothes he’d planned to wear. Draco did not intend on conducting business of any sort tonight no matter who might be at the gallery opening. He wanted to enjoy viewing Andre’s students’ offerings without having to promote his foundation, not to mention see what Harry thought of the event. He enjoyed wearing Muggle clothes and since he knew that Andre had several students who were Muggle-born, he didn’t anticipate looking out of place. Plus they were artists and on several occasions Draco had spotted them wearing the most outrageous, hideous outfits. One even looked like he had only a passing acquaintance with soap and water, as well as retrieving his clothes from a waste bin.

He’d decided to wear his favorite pair of jeans – he expected to spend a great deal of time walking about and then sitting while they ate - and he didn’t want to waste one minute of his date feeling uncomfortable. He pulled a black cotton shirt from his wardrobe; he’d selected it because Daphne had given him numerous compliments on the shirt. It was long sleeved, but he always wore the sleeves rolled up so he could display his silver watch. The watch had been a wedding present from Daphne; she had selected the elegant watch knowing his penchant for all things Muggle and she knew it was one item that Muggles often wore that Draco did not possess.

Draco considered it his “lucky” watch. His marriage hadn’t lived up to the designation, but he’d had it on every time he’d been successful in obtaining an important benefactor’s support. He had grown to cherish the watch; at first he hadn’t really liked it, but after receiving numerous comments about it, he had to acknowledge Daphne’s superior taste.

He didn’t want to look too dressed up, but then again he didn’t want to look like a complete slob either. He knew appearances weren’t all that important to Harry, but he didn’t want someone to get the wrong impression about him. He made it a point to dress properly in public at all times; it was a lot easier to ask for money if you at least looked like you knew what to do with it.

He looked in the mirror satisfied with his appearance. He hoped it wouldn’t get too chilly out tonight; he didn’t have a jacket that looked good with the outfit he had on. Too bad he couldn’t ask Harry to keep him warm. He was limiting himself to just holding hands tonight, maybe even slipping an arm about Harry’s shoulders if his control hadn’t been tested too much. Actually, he was growing fond of the enforced minimal physical contact; he didn’t have to worry about how and when he was going to get Harry into bed. He could simply enjoy their time together, knowing that when the evening was over, they were both headed back to their respective homes. He debated whether he should give Harry a polite goodbye kiss on the cheek. He definitely wanted to, but he was afraid that Harry would want something more, would try to kiss him and if that happened, he would lose all resolve. Well, he’d figure that out later, after he’d seen how the evening was going.

He Flooed to Davinci’s Exchange knowing he’d arrive a few minutes early. He needed a visit with Davinci before departing with Harry. He climbed the stairs to Davinci’s private office where to his dismay, Davinci’s assistant told him that Davinci had become ill and left earlier.

He headed back down to the main floor ready to meet Harry.

* * * * *

Harry, on the other hand, didn’t spend more than a few minutes selecting his wardrobe for the evening. He figured it was just going to be artists there and most of them didn’t really concern themselves too much about what they- or anyone else – wore.

Of course he didn’t want to look like he’d just rolled out of bed, either. Selecting an outfit was always easy for Harry. He just picked out whatever was clean and closest to each other in the wardrobe. He did want to look presentable, though. He grabbed his favorite maroon flannel shirt and the gray T-shirt hanging next to it. The colors seemed to match fairly well and he rummaged through his dresser finding a pair of clean jeans. He flung the clothes on the bed and went to shower.

He arrived at Davinci’s about five minutes late, but Draco didn’t seem the least upset by his tardiness. Draco smiled at him when he saw him approach, giving him an appreciative glance. “You look nice, Harry,” he said.

“I wish you’d told me to dress up,” Harry said, eyeing Draco’s shirt. “I’d have worn something a little nicer.”

“This is hardly dressed up,” Draco replied. “I like that color on you.”

“Will there be a large crowd?” Harry asked, ignoring Draco’s compliment.

“I don’t imagine there’ll be too many people there,” Draco answered. “Andre has only ten students and although he’s invited quite a few people, he’s not particularly well-liked.”

“Why’s that?” Harry said.

“He’s your typical artist, lives and breathes for art alone,” Draco said. “He’s moody, too; completely lives up to the tortured artist label. He is a genius, though and a phenomenal instructor from what I’ve heard.”

“You’ve never studied with him?” Harry replied.

“No,” Draco said laughing. “I can barely draw stick figures. I have quite a fine art collection though.”

“You’ll have to show me sometime,” Harry said. “Anything indecent?”

“You know me fairly well, what do you think?” Draco said grinning.

“I think deep down, you’re prim and proper,” Harry said smiling. “So, no, nothing indecent.”

“Don’t you know it’s the prim and proper ones you really have to watch out for?” Draco joked.

“Hopefully, I’ll find out tonight if that’s true,” Harry answered suggestively. He frowned when he saw Draco quickly look away, avoiding an answer to the comment. “Look, Draco –” he began

“Will you just look at the time,” Draco said, glancing at his watch. “We really should be going. We’ll have to Apparate again; Andre’s Floo isn’t connected with the network, yet.” He grasped Harry’s hand in his leading him out the front doors. They walked in an uncomfortable silence to the side of building, where they Apparated to the gallery.

The gallery proved a quaint, old-fashioned two-story brick building. A sign in the large front window proclaimed it “Martin’s Art Armamentarium” and a beautiful rich, maroon cloth awning hung over the entrance. The upper floor had intricate stained glass window panes. Next to the gallery stood a deep russet colored barn.

“The upper floor is Andre’s living quarters and the art studio,” Draco explained. “He’s converted the bottom floor into a gallery, but I see he hasn’t changed the name. It used to be a shop, as you might have surmised.”

“And the barn?” Harry asked.

“That’s the restaurant,” Draco informed him. “In this case, appearances are quite deceptive, as you’ll discover later.”

“Draco,” Harry said. “I think there’s something we need to talk about before we go inside.”

“What?” Draco said innocently.

“You know what,” Harry insisted. “Why are you avoiding touching me? If you’re not interested in me like that, what’s the point of all this?”

“I’ll explain that over supper,” Draco assured him. “Just give me a chance, that’s all I ask. Come on, let’s enjoy the gallery opening.” He leaned in, giving Harry’s lips a soft, chaste kiss, before he slipped Harry’s hand in his, threading their fingers.

“I guess I’ll settle for just holding your hand all night,” Harry said slightly put out.

“Who knew you could be so accommodating?” Draco teased him.

“I could be a whole lot more accommodating if you’d let me,” Harry said, winking at him.

“Come, Harry,” Draco said, opening the door to Andre’s new gallery and ushering Harry in.

* * * * *

There was a large wall that divided the gallery into two sections, the first devoted to Andre’s works and the second containing works submitted by his students. Some of the paintings hung on the wall and some were displayed on easels and even benches and chairs.

Andre greeted them as soon as they entered and was kind enough to take Harry and Draco on a private tour of his quarters and the studio, as well as point out some of his favorite works downstairs in the gallery.

The next few hours seem to fly by for Harry. He had to agree with Draco’s assessment of Andre, especially the part about him being a genius. Harry’s exposure to art was extremely limited, but he was overwhelmed not only with Andre’s works, but with his students’ offerings.

Harry enjoyed himself visiting with Andre’s students, who were far more sociable and friendly than their teacher. The other guests had barely noticed his presence and seemed to pay more attention to Draco, who appeared to know everyone there.

Draco hadn’t let go of his hand throughout the entire evening, content to let Harry take his time viewing the various pieces and converse with the artists. He was more than happy to share his knowledge of art – which seemed vast in Harry’s estimation – and give his opinion on the pieces they viewed. Harry was particularly taken with one student’s attempts at sculpture and watercolors, something on which Draco admitted he had little expertise.

“Are you going to buy anything?” Draco asked him, after they had viewed most of the gallery offerings.

“I don’t know what would be a good investment,” Harry said.

“Oh, don’t worry about a good investment,” Draco advised. “Just pick your favorite piece.”

“Well, then, I want the sculpture,” Harry replied, glancing at a young man standing in the corner next to his work. “I like his watercolors, too. Although, it’s the closest he’s been to water in the past six months, I’d say.”

“He certainly looks the starving artist part, doesn’t he?” Draco said. “Just let Andre know you want it and he’ll set it aside for you.”

“It’s a little expensive, don’t you think?” Harry remarked.

“I doubt it will clean out your Gringotts’ vault,” Draco said. “Come on, let’s talk to Andre and then go. I’m starving.”

They visited with Andre for a few minutes and Harry made arrangements to pick up the sculpture later in the week. The night air was a bit cool, but both seemed to enjoy the fresh air. They walked the short distance to the barn next door.

Harry was pleasantly surprised by the interior of the restaurant, which Draco informed him was simply known as “the barn.”

“Everyone who knows Andre comes here,” he remarked. “The food’s quite good, but it’s the atmosphere most people really come for.”

Inside the barn thousands of lit candles floated in the air, bathing the room in soft light. A large stone fireplace stood at the opposite end of the barn surrounded by numerous small tables with stools for seating. A bar occupied one wall of the barn; it was made out of stone as well, dark polished wood provided the top surface and stools of every size were drawn up against the bar. Across from the bar were several booths. In the back next to the fireplace area sat several billiard tables and there were dart boards on the wall.

The loft above was obviously where everyone ate. There were large round tables with seating for four and a narrow, rickety ladder provided the only access to the loft.

Draco greeted the bartender, shaking his hand warmly and inquiring about his family. “We’ll have whatever your house special is tonight,” he told him and directed Harry to the ladder.

“You first,” Harry said with a grin.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Draco answered.

He began to climb the ladder, pausing after a few steps to glance back down at Harry.

“Well?” he asked.

“Just admiring the view,” Harry remarked and started up after him. They found a nice table and sat down.

“I didn’t want to wait too long before we came here,” Draco explained. “It’s going to fill up very quickly, you’ll see.”

“I think we need to talk about why you won’t do anything but hold my hand,” Harry began, hesitating a bit. “Really, Draco, if all you want to be is a friend, that’s fine, you don’t have to keep this up just because of what happened the other night.”

“Harry, I think you know I’m attracted to you,” Draco said. “Almost every relationship I’ve had seems like a mad dash into bed. I just want to have some kind of foundation to base that aspect of a relationship on before we do that again. I’d like to actually know you. I want intimacy, Harry, and that doesn’t happen overnight.”

When Harry wouldn’t meet his eyes, Draco continued.

“I told you before, Harry, if it’s simply experience you’re after, you’ll need to find someone else,” he said firmly.

“Draco it’s easy for you to be patient, you’ve done this before,” Harry argued. “I don’t want to wait.”

Their food and drink arrived – floating up from bar downstairs - and for a while the subject was abandoned in favor of enjoying their supper.

“Harry, the last relationship I had ended pretty badly,” Draco began after they’d finished their meal. “I don’t want to make the same mistakes. I rushed into something without thinking it through and as a result I made a mess of not only my life, but my daughter’s and Daphne’s. We’re okay now, but she was pretty bitter for a long time. She divorced me right after our daughter was born. I didn’t see my daughter till she was seven or eight months old, Harry.”

“What did you do that was so awful?” Harry said.

“You mean besides fucking every man I came in contact with?” Draco said sarcastically.

“Look, everyone makes mistakes, Draco,” Harry said. “I doubt you were entirely to blame. If the marriage – and her daughter’s happiness – was so important to her, she should have forgiven you, given you another chance.”

Draco stared at him, speechless.

“She loved you, right?” he continued. “Why do you walk away from someone you love after they make a mistake, an error in judgment? Besides, if she really loved you, she would have recognized something was wrong and tried to speak to you about it- tried to help you. She should have made sure that there was nothing you couldn’t share or confide in her about. Isn’t that what true love – and hopefully marriage – is all about? Not having to pretend you’re someone you’re not? Having someone you can confide in when you’re in trouble, when something’s wrong?”

“I never thought about that way,” Draco whispered.

“No, you just accepted her pronouncement,” Harry said. “Because you felt guilty.”

“You don’t understand; I didn’t treat her right,” Draco said.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Harry said lightly. “You probably gave her the best three minutes of her life.”

“Oh, thanks,” Draco replied, laughing. “I see I’ve improved from the 60 seconds you gave me credit for.”

“Listen, I’d give my wand arm for it to have lasted only 60 seconds,” Harry joked. He folded his arms across the table and leaned over, face almost touching Draco’s and whispered seductively, “And I’d give my other arm if you’d be willing to take another stab at it.”

“However do you intend to satisfy me with no arms?” Draco asked, leaning all the way back in his chair.

“I guess I’ll just have to use my mouth and tongue,” Harry answered with a smirk. “And a few other various body parts. You get to choose which.”

“Tempting,” Draco said. “Maybe later.”

Harry’s head flopped down on his folded arms. “That means not tonight, I guess,” he muttered thickly.

“It’s getting late,” Draco announced. “We really should be going. Are you ready?”

“Yeah,” Harry replied. “Ready for another evening of wanking or a cold shower.”

Draco ignored him, climbing down the ladder and walking out the door. When Harry followed him out a few minutes later, he reached out and gently took hold of Harry’s shoulder.

Look, Harry,” he began.

“No, forget it, Draco,” Harry said angrily. “You know what? Floo me when you’ve progressed past the 12-year-old hand holding stage. I’m not a little teenage girl who needs to be wooed, okay? I expect some adult attention, and if you don’t want to give me that, fine. I know you want me to feel respected, but I don’t; all I feel is frustrated and embarrassed that I’m being treated like a child. I don’t want to go out on dates; I want to get laid!”

With that final exclamation, Harry walked off and Apparated away leaving behind a stunned, hurt Draco.

End Chapter 11