Ten Steps

Author's Note: Many thanks to Kasey and Shannon for their beta work on this chapter and thanks to all who have reviewed the story so far (I can hardly believe how popular this story is!). I may write it for me, but I love hearing what you guys have to say. I revamped my outline slightly and it seems there will be about 25 chapters in this story.

Chapter 11 Early Riser

It was too quickly apparent to Harry that Oliver was an early morning kind of person. Harry wasn’t the kind of guy who liked to luxuriate in his bed long after waking, or sleep for hours upon hours – his nightmares usually prevented that – but neither was he bright and chipper at six in the morning as it seemed Oliver was.

He grudgingly went to the window to let in Oliver’s owl, a stunning bird with feathers so tawny they nearly looked orange. He tried to stifle a yawn and failed, then tried not to be irked by the fact that Oliver’s bird had woken him up a whole hour earlier than he would have liked, especially given the way the man had left without a word the night before, and in this he was more successful.

Harry had reasoned last night, after the front door to his flat slammed shut behind a livid Malfoy, that he had no right to be jealous of Logan when he himself was entertaining thoughts – however brief and unheeded – about another man. The dark angel on his left shoulder wanted desperately to call Oliver out on the obvious attraction Logan had for him, but the light angel on his right shoulder told him to stop being such a hypocrite. Besides, just because Logan so clearly fancied Oliver, didn’t mean Oliver was ever going to act on it. Just like he was never going to allow anything romantic to culminate between he and Malfoy.

It just wasn’t going to happen.

With those thoughts in mind, Harry tore open the letter and read through the familiarly messy writing of his boyfriend.

Harry,

You handled that broom with more skill than I had anticipated possible after years away from regular practice. I was very impressed. Still, did you have to go and make a mess of my Seeker? Logan’s at St. Mungo’s and they think he’ll be okay after a couple weeks but that pulls him out of some much-needed practice. I’m not blaming you, Harry. I’m just frustrated that my Seeker is in Hospital and my boyfriend disappeared.

What happened to you last night?”

Olli

Harry sighed and shifted uncomfortably in his chair as if Oliver were right there demanding the answers. Too late, Harry had realized that he maybe should have gone with his boyfriend to St. Mungo’s but his injured pride had sent him home instead, where he ended up fighting with the other important man in his life. When had Draco Malfoy become important to him for Merlin’s sake? Why did that prat, storming out like a scorned two-year-old, make Harry feel worse than this polite dressing down he got from his boyfriend – the man he was supposed to spend the rest of his life with? It was crazy, insane, mad…he could go on forever about how ridiculous it was, but that wouldn’t be very productive. He had another lesson with the blond in a few hours and he could vent then, but he refused to think about the petulant Slytherin until then.

Instead, he sat down to write Oliver back, mulling over the best response to his questions. Olli had always been forthright with him, so it only made sense to use the same direct method when writing the man back.

My dearest Olli,

I honestly don’t know what came over me last night. Perhaps it was the effect of preparing too many tedious canapés or too much adrenaline on my broom, or maybe I was jealous of Logan. It’s likely the latter. He seems rather enamored of you and I didn’t handle it as smoothly as I should have. I’m truly sorry he got hurt, but he shouldn’t enter into a dive he can’t handle, so I don’t think I should be taking the blame for that much at least, but I do regret challenging him at all. It was petty and childish and won’t happen again.

As for my leaving, you seemed preoccupied, so I thought it was best to stay out of your way. I was a little disappointed with who you chose to leave with, although I understand.

Yours,

Harry

After reading it over a few times, Harry sealed it and sent it to Oliver with his own owl and sagged into his chair. He knew the letter he replied with sounded abrupt and maybe even slightly bitter, but that’s how he felt this morning. In the aftermath of his disjointed date with Oliver and his eruption with Malfoy, he didn’t know how to feel any other way.

The morning seemed cluttered with errands, so many that he was easily able to push both men out of his mind until he had to show up at Draco’s flat later that day. The peace of mind was nice, and Harry relished in his morning alone, even if he did have a million things to do.

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Draco lounged in his brightly lit breakfast nook and stared out at the people flagging his street. Any Muggle would be unaware of him watching, seeing only an empty window, and there were rarely more than Muggles who took this street. It was far enough away from the magical towns littering London and its outskirts that he felt a sense of privacy he wouldn’t have if he’d purchased a flat in Diagon Alley or River Haven - a lesser known, more elite cluster of shops and housing located near London Bridge.

He could easily imagine Harry sitting there and taking tea with him, rolling his eyes as Draco gossiped about the garish outfits or exceeding the weight limit on a specific article of clothing. Harry would read the Quibbler, while Draco filled him in on what the Daily Prophet had to say, and they would eat fresh croissants and drink their tea and laugh and joke. At the same time, Draco tried his very damnedest not to think about Harry at all, least of all their fairytale life together, which would never and could never exist.

Not one, but two powerful spells were leveled against him, making sure he acted in Harry and Oliver’s best interest, not his own. It was ridiculous that even after the cold shoulder he’d gotten the night before, Draco was still eager to see the brunet. Love seemed to have deprived him of every Slytherin skill of emotional avoidance he had learned over the years. Why did it have to be Potter who had this effect on him? Why did Potter have to be completely off limits?

An idea struck him, and Draco nearly smacked himself for not thinking of it before. If Harry could be golden matched to Oliver and pure matched to him, why couldn’t Oliver be well matched with someone else? He’d seen it before. Some of his clients had three or even four good potential mates from his catalog of profiles. Usually Draco would stop when he found one, but ever once in a while, he would come across a very picky client who wanted options. Not everyone had more than one person they were destined to be with, but many people did.

The trick would be to find someone that was a golden match or better for Oliver and to throw that person in Wood’s path. If the magic was being nitpicky, it might still punish him for his inadvertent part in the dissolve of Harry and Oliver’s bond, but even if one or both of the spells chose to reap vengeance on him, it would still be a lesser problem than telling Harry outright that they were soul mates and demanding he ditch Wood right this very moment.

With renewed vigor in his step, Draco rushed to his study and pulled out the large stack of profiles he’d accumulated over the years and started the process of going through them, looking for a new match for Oliver so that Draco could have Harry all to himself.

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Harry made sure to show up early to his second meeting with Malfoy, both to try and make up for his bad mood the night before and to show the Slytherin that he was perfectly capable of being on time. All said and done, he managed to arrive on the blond’s doorstep three minutes ahead of their noon appointment and he was quite proud of himself when he knocked.

Noon came and Harry was still standing on Draco’s stoop after knocking four times. He was beginning to wonder if the man was purposefully refusing to answer the door as some sort of punishment. It might be justified, but that didn’t mean Harry had to like it. In a fit of frustration at both himself and Draco, he decided to try the knob and found – quite pleasantly – that it was unlocked.

“Draco?” he called out, after pushing the door ajar just wide enough for him to see inside. All the lights were on, so Draco was either home, or terribly neglectful of his energy use. He thought the latter was rather unlikely, so he stepped further into the pristine flat. “Draco? Did you forget we had an appointment?” he tried. He figured if the blond was anywhere within earshot that he would hear the insult and come bustling into the room with his protests that Slytherins never forget.

Alas, no one answered.

Harry didn’t know what to do. The polite Gryffindor in him wanted to just leave him a note and go back home, the sneaky Slytherin in him wanted to take the opportunity to wander Draco’s flat and learn more about the elusive man, and the Auror in him worried that something was wrong and that Draco might need his help. In the end, his hero-complex won out and he shut the door softly behind him and started moving through the flat, going from room to room as he looked for any sign of a struggle or foul play.

Harry found him at last, but instead of seeing him lying in a pool of his own blood, or gagged and tied to a chair, he discovered him rather uneventfully poring through a stack of paperwork in his study. He was relieved the man was unharmed, though he had to quickly dispel all thoughts of the stunning blond tied up and at his mercy. By the time he’d rinsed all dirty thoughts from his mind, Draco still hadn’t looked up or even noticed that he had company.

After clearing his throat rather dramatically, Harry laughed when Draco jumped clear out of his chair and nearly toppled over from the force of it. Even when Malfoy leveled him with a vicious glare, Harry could hardly contain his mirth. “Working on something more important than me?” Harry goaded, walking up to peer over the man’s shoulder.

Draco quickly stuffed the paper back into a drawer - Harry felt sure it had been better organized before Harry startled him – and shot him a dirty look. “As if you’re capable of thinking anything else is more important that you.”

“Ouch.” Harry didn’t have to try hard for the look of pained offence he plastered on his face. After all these visits, Harry thought the blond knew him better than that. “I was only teasing, Malfoy. No need to get nasty.”

Draco looked as though he had a malicious retort on the tip of his tongue, but a moment later he sighed and shook his head. “Sorry,” he apologized, as if the words weren’t completely foreign to him. “I’m just a little out of it today.”

“Should we reschedule? I don’t want to be a bother,” Harry asked, though he honestly didn’t want to go. Something about being around the Slytherin was soothing. Even when Draco was being a complete arse, he still seemed to exude this intoxicating charm that Harry found nearly irresistible, which was as good a reason as any to stop these meeting altogether and run to Oliver’s arms, but Harry didn’t think he could do that right now even if a Death Eater pressed a wand to his temple and ordered him to.

Draco looked so vulnerable sitting there at his wide, polished desk, his eyes haunted by whatever task he’d been absorbed in. Harry wanted to embrace the man, squeeze away all his worries.

“No, no,” Draco replied at last, looking as though he was trying to ward off a terrible headache. “I was just a little preoccupied. We can go downstairs and get started now, if you’d like?”

Harry merely shrugged and held out his hand, which Malfoy took without any hesitation, and Harry led him down the stairs of his own home and into his own sitting room. “I should make us some tea,” Harry offered. “Where would I find it?”

“Third cupboard on the right,” Draco replied after shooting Harry a reluctant grin. He never thought he would miss having someone fuss over him, but listening to Harry putter about in his kitchen, fixing him tea to sooth away his worries, made Draco miss that very thing. He hadn’t had anyone fix him a cup of tea since he was a small boy still living at the manor, unless you counted the baristas at the café, which he didn’t. No one was paying Harry to make him tea. No one was forcing him to be generous and kind.

Did that prove that Harry was meant for him, or did it just illustrate the time-honored tradition of Gryffindors being the more loyal House?

Harry returned after a few minutes with two warm mugs of tea, and Draco accepted his with an equally warm smile. “Can I ask you something?” Draco was hesitant to mention the dilemma, knowing that both the spells he’d attached his life force to would prevent him from saying too much, but he thought that if he talked hypothetically, that it might work.

“Of course,” Harry replied, as if it were silly for Draco to even feel the need to ask.

“Well, I have this client,” Draco began, selecting each word carefully, “and I’ve recently discovered that they have more than one match available to them.”

“You make it sound like that’s a problem,” Harry replied, taking deliberate sips of his tea.

“Well, you see, I’m trying to decide whether or not to tell the client,” Draco replied. “They seem really happy in their current match, so would it make things worse if I told them about the other person, or would it be better to let them know all their options?”

“Well, how long have they been with the current match?” Harry asked, quite reasonably, Draco noted.

“Awhile,” Draco answered vaguely. “Long enough that they seem pretty sure of one another.”

“And are they a good match?” he asked, again managing to astound Draco with his logical questions.

“Almost the highest tier match one could be,” Draco confirmed.

“I would leave it alone then,” Harry replied. “It would only plant doubts in a mind that was already made up and happy in its decision, or so it sounds.”

“Right,” Draco sighed, slumping ever so slightly in his chair. “So if it was you, and you had another match out there, you’d rather just stay with Oliver?”

“That wasn’t the answer you wanted,” Harry said, and it was more of an observation than a question.

“Maybe not, but it was the right answer,” Draco replied and tried his best to smile over at his friend, for that was all Harry could ever be to him. The answer had come straight out of the Gryffindors mouth. Profile after profile yielded no other match for Oliver, and Draco had nearly tried them all when Harry had come bursting in on his work. It was a last ditch effort to try and appeal to Harry directly, or as directly as possible under the circumstances.

“Is it me?” Harry asked rather sheepishly a moment later and Draco laughed.

“I thought you wouldn’t want to know?” Draco challenged.

“I wouldn’t,” he replied, a firmness to his voice that let Draco know he wouldn’t be bringing it up again. “So, what’s today’s lesson?”

“Well, did Oliver come back to your flat last night?” Draco asked, squelching the jealousy he felt rise up in his throat like bile.

“No,” Harry replied, “but he sent me a letter this morning and I wrote back.”

Harry explained what both letters said and all Draco could do was blink at him when he’d finished. “You berated him in your apology letter?”

“Well, not really,” Harry replied, biting sharply into his bottom lip. “Sort of, I guess,” he replied after a moment. “Do you think that’s bad? Do you think Oliver’s going to break up with me?”

“Over that?” Draco scoffed. “If he does, he never deserved you to begin with. He should understand that you’re a bit blunt with your explanations, especially when it comes to your feelings.”

“Hey, you make it sound like I’m some simpleton who is unable to be coy,” Harry protested.

“You are unable to be coy,” Draco frowned, “but I wasn’t posing it as a negative assessment. You know what you want and you’re passionate about it. You don’t like to waste time with games.”

“No,” Harry replied resolutely. “I don’t.”

“If I’ve observed it, Wood most likely has too, but it wouldn’t hurt to be more tactful in future letters. Sending an owl gives you the time to think before you speak, something you aren’t afforded very often, so take advantage of it,” Draco reprimanded.

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Harry replied with a wry grin. “So, the lesson?” he prompted and Draco rolled his eyes.

“So impatient. You’d think you were trying to be rid of me,” Draco mused.

“Not at all,” Harry balked, a flush coloring his cheeks in a beautiful rosy color. “I just want to get my homework assignment out of the way so we can move on to more fun topics, like, what you were doing in your office earlier.”

“None of your business, Potter,” Draco grumbled and dropped his gaze down to his half full teacup.

“I’m just saying,” Harry started, his tone full of teasing promise, “that you seemed so startled you would have thought I’d caught you wanking.”

“You wish,” Draco hissed. “Let’s get on with the lesson, shall we?” He didn’t like to think of what would have happened had Harry caught him with his pants down literally, when it would be bad enough if Harry were to find out he’d been up there scheming to break up his relationship with Oliver.

It didn’t matter anymore though, because he was through. Was Harry potentially the ideal person for him to spend the rest of his life with? Maybe. Would telling him that make any difference? No. Harry was happy with Oliver, and if Draco was the soul mate his spell deemed him to be, than he could at the very least support his soul mate’s happiness, even if it was with another man. Besides, who said soul mates couldn’t just be really close friends? Maybe that was what the spell had meant all along.

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Draco seemed exceptionally distracted today. Harry tried not to assume that he was the cause of it, because Draco kept assuring him that wasn’t the case, but he couldn’t help but feel responsible. The Slytherin would pause meaningfully between every sentence, as if willing Harry to read between his lines of speech, but Harry couldn’t grasp what the man was hinting at.

Still, he would relish in the warm smiles Draco rewarded him with when he asked a clever question and he found himself lost in the dulcet tones the man spoke in when telling Harry about the next step he’d mapped out. “It works out perfectly, actually,” he said. “I couldn’t have planned it better had I tried.”

“What’s that?” Harry asked, his brow knit tightly with confusion.

“Well, given the fact that you might have insulted Oliver with that letter, and you were a bit of an arse last night, it makes the next task fit right in,” Draco mused, ignoring Harry’s dirty look about his recent attitude.

“Are you actually going to tell me about it, or are you just going to hint at it all evening?” Harry grumbled.

“The next step is a romantic gesture,” Draco told him. “Some sort of gift, or special act with Oliver in mind.”

“Such as?” Harry asked.

“Maybe there is a restaurant that he likes but you don’t,” he mentioned, “you could take him there for dinner one night. Maybe there is a trinket he’s been coveting, or a certain event he’s wanted to go to-”

“Like a play or something?” Harry asked, his nose turned up slightly.

Draco rolled his eyes and gave a furtive smile. “Why is that so distasteful?” Draco asked.

“I just…I’ve never been to a ballet, or opera or anything like that,” he admitted reluctantly.

“You live in London, the theatre capital of the world, and you’ve never seen a live performance?” he griped. “How is that possible?”

Harry shrugged and glanced down at his hands. He felt so inadequate all of a sudden until he realized it wasn’t Malfoy that he was courting, but Oliver. Who cared if Malfoy thought he was just some uncultured Half-blood. He lifted his eyes and met Malfoy with a challenging gaze. “Just because you like that stuff, doesn’t mean Oliver does.”

“True, but even if Oliver doesn’t appreciate the fine arts, doesn’t mean you can’t,” Draco countered. “I’m taking you to see La bohème tomorrow night.”

Harry blinked rapidly in response, unsure what to say or do. Was Malfoy asking him out on a date? Well, he didn’t seem to be asking at all, more like demanding Harry’s company. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea,” Harry tried, but Draco brushed the statement off like lint from his coat.

“Nonsense,” he replied. “Who knows, maybe Oliver likes the theatre. Wouldn’t you feel silly if you couldn’t offer any insight of your own on the subject?”

“Well, I suppose so,” Harry murmured. He certainly felt silly now, so it was a safe assessment that he’d feel equally awkward broaching the subject with his boyfriend. Oliver traveled the world for Quidditch and Harry didn’t really know what sort of things the man was into outside of the game. Perhaps Malfoy was right and Oliver fancied a trip to the theatre every now and again.

“Do you already have plans?” he pressed, refusing to relent on the subject.

“Well, no, not exactly,” Harry replied, chewing on his bottom lip. Going to the opera with Draco seemed like a date. Would it feel like one too? Would Oliver think it seemed like a date were Harry to tell him about it? The blond seemed innocent enough, and they were friends. Was this the sort of things he would be required to do if he were to become better friends with the Slytherin?

“Then it’s settled,” he replied. “You’ll love it, I promise.”

“What happens if I don’t?” Harry asked teasingly. Having the decision pulled from his hands was sort of refreshing. He didn’t have to feel bad about cheating on Oliver, one, because he wasn’t, he and Draco were just friends, and two; it wasn’t as if this was his idea. Malfoy was making him go out on a romantic date with him. Harry shook his head and tried not to grin at his own thoughts. How did he get himself into these messes?

“Well, then I’ll just have to cut you off then, won’t I?” Draco quipped, but his smile never faded. “So, to recap, you need to choose a romantic gift or give Oliver some token of your affection within the next week, and if you don’t have nice dress robes, buy some tomorrow. You’ll want to look nice for the theatre.”

“Whatever you say, Malfoy,” Harry laughed and got up from his chair, angling toward the door.

“I’ll pick you up at seven,” Draco told him before winking and shutting the door in his face. All Harry could do was stand on the stoop and shake his head, his ebony curls becoming damp in the gathering moisture from the coming rain. Tomorrow afternoon he’d go shopping for the perfect token of his affection for Oliver, and tomorrow night he’d go to the opera with Malfoy, strictly as friends of course. Harry reckoned he could use the occasion to run his gift idea by the blond, get the Malfoy seal of approval before sending it to Oliver. That would make it seem less like a date.

Because it certainly wasn’t a date.

Author's Note: Nope. Not a date. How could it be a date? Just because they're going to a romantic Italian play? That's just silly.