Harry Potter and The Charming Prince (BP7)

It had been nearly a week since the unexpected arrival of Narcissa at Malfoy Manor. She had spent the first two days enclosed within her suite and Harry had assumed she simply needed some time to herself after the emotional reunion with Draco. Harry spent the days with Hermione and Ron while Draco looked after his mother. Valen and April were also brought to their grandmother's suite for small visits throughout those two days.

Harry was honestly happy for Draco and knew how much it meant to his husband that Narcissa was not only alive but back in his life once more. There were other feelings inside of Harry though, that he tried to ignore. He wondered how Narcissa's presence in the house would affect Draco and what kind of changes it might mean for all of them.

Once Narcissa emerged from her sanctuary and began joining them for meals or to spend time in the gardens, it was clear to Harry that she was only relaxed when she was with Draco or the children. Harry often caught her looking at him and when his eyes met hers she would continue to study him for a moment before looking away. He could also see her discomfort when Ron or Hermione came into the room. Harry wanted to talk to Draco about his concerns if Narcissa chose to live there with them permanently but every time they were alone and the moment seemed right, Draco would mention something that Narcissa had said and Harry saw the way his husband's eyes lit up in happiness at having his mother back. Harry didn't want to be the one to dim that light.

It was now the weekend and Hermione had suggested the day before that she and Ron could take the children to The Burrow for the evening while Harry, Draco and Narcissa enjoyed a quiet dinner together. Harry knew Hermione was only trying to be helpful and that she believed that if they could spend more time together that the slightly cool reserve that Narcissa kept in check around Harry might warm up but, Merlin, an entire evening with Mrs Malfoy? Harry wasn't convinced. He wasn't sure yet about his feelings for Narcissa but the feeling that concerned him the most was one of distrust. He didn't understand where that was coming from but, for Draco's sake, he was willing to make the effort to get to know his mother-in-law better. Only for Draco.

The candles around the dining room cast an amber glow that pushed the shadows into the corners but did nothing to erase them completely. The table was elegantly set with china and stemware that had been passed down through several generations. Harry sat nervously to the right of Draco who was seated at the head of the table while Narcissa sat with a calm look on her face to the left of Draco. The appetizers had already been cleared away and the soup had just been served. Harry kept one hand below the edge of the table, resting on his knee, as a reminder not to jiggle his leg up and down. A cushioned hush enveloped the room and Harry would have given anything at that moment to hear April screaming or Valen yelling. Anything to distract him while Narcissa spoke about the flowers that were now blooming in the gardens. Harry was pulled from his thoughts when he realised that Draco and Narcissa were both looking at him expectantly.

“I’m sorry?” Harry said after clearing his throat. “Did you ask me something?”

Draco could tell both Narcissa and Harry were nervous. He'd been so overjoyed to see his mother alive and well, and he still was, but he was also worried about the growing tension between Narcissa and his husband. He'd hoped that they would find a way to come to terms with each other but he didn't know how he could help that happen. Narcissa had asked if Harry liked the leek soup, and Draco could tell that not only had Harry not been listening, he didn't like the soup. "Harry's not overly fond of soup," he answered for him, realising it was probably obvious what he was trying to do.

Harry glanced at Draco and gave him a tight smile before shifting his gaze to Narcissa. "It's very good, Mrs Malfoy ... for soup. I guess Draco's right, though; it isn't one of my favourite foods."

"It wasn't always a course that Draco appreciated either when he was a child," Narcissa replied. "We hosted a dreadfully boring dinner party when he was just a little older than Valen and he fell asleep during the second course, tipping face first into his soup. Lucius and I were grateful for the distraction." Narcissa then turned and smiled at Draco. "The next few times we served soup you begged your father to place a Sticking Charm on you that would hold you to the chair. It took several months before you lost your fear of soup."

Draco blushed, looking down into the remains of his current soup. He hadn't thought about that in years. It had been embarrassing at the time and he had worried that he'd been in trouble. His parents had found it much more endearing than he had.

Harry felt his entire body tense up at the mention of Lucius. It was as though the man was suddenly sitting at the dinner table with them. It took Harry a second to realise that the hand on his knee had clenched itself into a fist. Looking over at his husband, Harry wondered if the mention of his father was the reason for the faint pink on his cheeks.

"I think dinner parties are boring too," Harry said to Draco while trying to unclench his fist. "I'm surprised more people don't fall asleep in their soup although I think we'll wait until the children are older to subject them to things like that. Right, Draco?"

Draco frowned, glancing unhappily at his husband. He didn't agree actually, but found himself torn between feeling like defending his mother but not wanting to upset his husband. The reason they didn't have formal dinners, at least as far as Draco thought about it, was that Harry himself didn't like them, not because of the children. "I think learning table manners is a gradual process," he said as the most neutral answer he could come up with.

"It is a gradual process, son," Narcissa agreed with a small nod. Her blue eyes then rested on Harry. "Draco did not attend most of our formal gatherings until he was older but Lucius and I did want to give him the opportunity to join us once in a while as a measure of including him. He was quite excited about the prospect of the dinner; it was the reality that put him to sleep."

Harry saw the smile that rested on Narcissa's lips as she recalled family memories. He couldn't believe that she had mentioned Lucius' name again in front of both of them. Harry gave up on his fist and let it remain in a tight knot on his knee. He realised that what he had mistaken earlier for distrust of Narcissa was actually anger and he knew he needed to get it under control but how was he to do that when he didn't know what he was angry about? Harry looked down into his own bowl of soup and took a deep breath. He decided it might be better to let Narcissa and Draco enjoy their meal while he kept quiet until the evening ended. Harry was tempted to tip face first into his own bowl of soup if it meant not having to hear Lucius' name again.

Draco was tempted to sigh, but knew both his mother and husband would take that as a critique. Probably rightly so, and deserved, but not something he wanted to engage in at the moment. The difficulty was that he could practically hear what each of them were thinking. He knew the world of his mother, the values of a proper pure-blood of "their station." They were the rules he had taken for granted until he started Hogwarts.

Draco also knew Harry saw all of them as, at best, outdated, and more commonly, as outright wrong. It was a conflict between them on a regular basis. And Harry blamed Draco's parents for a lot. Again, Lucius mostly earned that. Harry couldn't understand how Draco still had good memories and loving feelings toward them. Draco failed to control it, sighing before he could stop it.

Harry heard the sigh and glanced up through lowered lashed just in time to see Narcissa arch one eyebrow as she looked toward Draco. In that moment, Harry saw three generations superimposed over one face. It was somewhat expected that he would see something of Draco in his mother but to see Draco and Valen in Narcissa's face with one simple gesture was slightly unsettling. Feeling guilty for his part in creating the sigh, Harry attempted to engage his mother-in-law in one of her favourite subjects ... Draco. Fortunately, that happened to be one of Harry's favourite subjects, as well. Harry fidgeted a bit in his seat and cleared his throat. Mother and son looked over at Harry who smiled apologetically at Draco and then looked across the table at Narcissa.

"Draco sometimes plays the piano for us," Harry began awkwardly, unsure of what might be considered a safe subject. "I'm hoping maybe that's a gift passed down in your family since I can't play any instruments and it would be nice if Valen and April could. I ... like hearing him play."

Draco didn't blush but was amused by Harry bringing up the piano. Harry and their children were the only ones he had played for since he was much younger.

Narcissa smiled at Harry's words but paused for a moment before answering. "Draco's educational goals were fairly well in place before he was born. Lucius was firm about which subjects our son would be tutored in before attending Hogwarts and music was one of the subjects that we certainly agreed upon. As a young girl, I was actually taught to play the violin but I do prefer the piano and I've enjoyed listening to my son play since he was a small boy. Will Valen and April be taking piano lessons, as well?"

Harry stared at Narcissa and realised, a moment too late, that his mouth was actually hanging slightly open from the moment he heard her mention Lucius' name for what had to be the third time. The woman seemed determined to include Lucius in every subject they discussed and Harry had had enough. He felt his face growing warm in anger and, after closing his mouth, sat back in his seat with both hands now clenched into fists and resting in his lap. Oxygen seemed to be in short supply as Harry tried to keep his breathing steady.

"If they show an interest in piano then I'm sure we'll arrange lessons," Harry replied in a controlled voice, "But we won't be forcing anything on them."

Draco saw the change in Harry immediately, shaking his head, dismayed that there didn't seem to be a safe topic between his husband and Narcissa. This time, Draco wasn't even sure what had set his husband off. He was confused by the anger in Harry's tone, and the accusation. And it wasn't as if he didn't have plans himself as to what his children should learn. "Harry," he admonished.

Harry turned to look at Draco with his eyes slightly widened behind his glasses. It sounded to him as if that one word was Draco's way of telling him that he was out of line and when he saw the look on his husband's face he realised that that was exactly what was happening. Harry felt hurt but, most of all, he felt the slow lazy burn of anger and what frustrated him the most was he still didn't know why. Harry lifted his chin slightly as he looked at Draco and said in a low voice, "I don't think there's anything wrong in giving our children some control over their lives, do you, Draco?"

Draco winced when the stemware trembled, the wine dancing in the glass. "Harry, I liked the piano lessons," he pointed out, trying to placate his husband's anger. "And you like that I can play now." He didn't want to argue over their children's education right then. He had a feeling Harry was angry about something more.

"Yes, but what if you wanted to play something different like the flute or the cello or ... or ... the tambourine!" Harry replied, frowning at Draco. "The point is you never had a choice just because it was what he wanted and your mother let him decide. I want Valen and April to have a voice in what happens to them, that's all."

Before Draco could reply to Harry, they both heard the soft sound of Narcissa clearing her throat and both young men turned to look at her. "Draco, the dinner has been lovely and it has been my pleasure to spend the evening with both of you," she said, while laying her napkin over her plate. "I believe, however, that the soup may have been a bit too rich for my appetite and I'm not feeling well. If you'll both excuse me, I'll just retire to my room for the evening."

Narcissa gracefully stood up and gave a slight nod to Harry who, along with Draco, also stood. She then stepped over to her son and lightly kissed his cheek. Without a sound, Narcissa glided across the floor and left the dining room, closing the doors gently behind her. Harry and Draco sank back down into their chairs while watching her leave.

As Harry saw the doors close, he felt the tension in his body begin to drift away like the last lingering scent of the perfume that Narcissa had been wearing. He took a deep breath and exhaled, bringing one hand up to rest on the table while his fingers slowly began drumming lightly. The silence in the room was a blanket that Harry wanted to throw off of both of them right away and he knew his husband might be upset that Narcissa didn't stay to finish the meal. He was sure she left because of his comments but Harry felt that it was out of line for her to continue bringing Lucius into the conversation in light of all that the man had done to them. Looking everywhere but at Draco, Harry wondered how he might be able to salvage the situation. He didn't want his husband to be angry with him but he also didn't want Draco to be hurt by being forced to think about his father. If Harry had to choose one feeling over the other for Draco then he knew he would rather deal with Draco being mad instead of wondering if he was thinking about the past.

"Well, I don't really like the soup that much, but I don't think it's too rich," Harry said cautiously, deciding that ignorance might work best. "I hope she feels better, though."

Draco had been staring after his mother, stunned by her sudden, if still polite, retreat. The moment his husband spoke, he started, turning angry grey eyes on Harry. He hadn't wanted this badly to hit Harry since the end of the war. "To hell with the soup," Draco declared, getting to his feet again so fast he nearly knocked the chair over.

Reacting with instincts that were mostly dormant since the end of the war, Harry shoved his own chair back and also stood. "What!?" Harry retorted, his face and neck now flushed in light crimson. "You think it's my fault that she left? How is that, Draco?"

Draco's fingers curled into his palms, only his realisation of the futility of it keeping him from drawing his wand. He couldn’t outdraw Harry's wandless magic. His husband's anger crackled in his magic, making the hair on Draco's arms stand on end and the china rattle on the table. "You twisted everything she said into an insult and flung it back in her face!"

Before Harry could answer, there was a muffled popping sound and he glanced down at the table in time to see the remnants of Narcissa's soup being soaked into the linen tablecloth and dripping over the edge of the table as the delicate china bowl lay there in several pieces. Harry had an urge to summon Mrs Malfoy and let her know the soup was no longer an issue. Lifting narrowed eyes back up to rest on Draco's angry features, Harry felt a fresh surge of anger and growled, "I'm sorry my manners aren't quite up to Malfoy standards. You might want to give me some guidelines on which responses are appropriate so I don't mess up next time! Merlin forbid I actually speak my mind or anything!"

"By anyone's standard, you were a boorish oaf," Draco snapped, turned hard on his heel and headed for the door, entire body shaking both with his own feelings and Harry's magic prickling over his skin.

"Walking out like your mother, Malfoy?" Harry spat out, waving one hand at the door to charm it to stay closed. The candles now flared and dimmed behind their glass globes. Harry didn't want to bring up why he had been upset at dinner but his emotions seemed to be taking control of his tongue. "I'm not the one that couldn't open my mouth without mentioning Lucius every single time which seems pretty fucking inconsiderate to me but maybe since I'm just a boorish oaf I might not be up on proper dinner etiquette!"

Draco knew it was stupid, but he slammed his silver fist into the locked door, the wood splintering and pain reverberating up the rest of his arm. The last time he and Harry had actually really fought was during the mess with Nott. Now, there was no binding compulsion for Draco to follow Harry's orders, but that didn't mean that Draco was any match for the most powerful wizard in the world. He kept his back to Harry. "Let me out."

"No," Harry said stubbornly, but in a more even voice. He had winced at what Draco had done and knew it had to have been painful but he knew he couldn't let his husband leave or it would just make everything worse. Not to mention the fact that if Draco walked out, Harry was sure he would head straight to his mother's room to check on her and they could commiserate with each other on Harry's bad manners. Deep down, Harry knew Draco would never do that to him but Narcissa's arrival seemed to be bringing out a side of Harry that he hadn't seen in himself since he had attended Hogwarts.

"I don't think I said anything wrong or that wasn't true," Harry said, his tone still tinged with anger but quieter. "Maybe I could have said it differently, though, or ... used fancier words so that nobody was offended!" So much for attempting to make things better.

Draco had thought they had worked past this kind of hostility and it cut deep. He looked down at the silver hand, and the ring on it. "You were an arse, making it sound like everything my mother did was about manipulating and controlling me. What? Are we back to all Slytherins as untrustworthy snakes?" he sneered.

Harry paused and considered Draco's words. "No," he began slowly, "I don't think your mother is controlling or manipulating, actually. I think Ron's mother is actually more controlling than your mother; it's not a Slytherin thing ... it's a -" Harry had a confused look as he tried to think since it felt like his anger with Narcissa was different than what he was feeling at that moment. "I think it's a ... Malfoy thing."

Draco turned, eyes narrowed and brow furrowed as he looked at Harry. "What?" he hissed. It hurt even more. Harry had sometimes bragged about "his Malfoys" when talking about Draco and their children. "Just what is it that you have a problem with!" he demanded.

Harry took a step backward without realising he had done it as his hands curled up into fists and he felt much as he had when they were in school and the line between the Malfoys and the Potters was clearly drawn. "Oh, I don't know," he snapped back. "Maybe the way they look at the rest of the world as if a bad odour had the audacity to get close. Your mother barely speaks to Ron and Hermione and they live here! How fucking rude is that?"

Draco knew it was true, that Narcissa was very uncomfortable whenever she was around Ron or Hermione. He suspected that although part of it was prejudice, some of it might be much more about her own failings to help Draco. He wasn't about to say any of that to Harry, especially given the man's current behaviour. "And that justifies your behaving like a berk and insulting both her and me at dinner?"

"Yes, Draco," Harry replied sarcastically. He couldn't believe that Draco would defend Narcissa's ill manners while attacking his own. "I believe it does justify it, especially since the times she isn't ignoring people that I consider family she spends looking at me like she thinks I'm about to steal something from her. Of course, that's only when the two of you bother to be around any of us at all!"

"Who would want to be around a judgmental prick?" Draco snapped. "You even have to lock me in here now!"

"I'm a judgmental prick?!" Harry yelled, ignoring the comment about the door since he had no intention of unlocking it. A small china saucer flew from the table and shattered against the back wall. Harry's anger escalated into fury with less than a second of transition time. "When it comes to judging others, you Malfoys are the fucking rulers of that world!! And why is that? I'll tell you why; because nobody is good enough and especially not the Potters so now that your mother is back you can both look down your noses at the rest of us and congratulate yourselves for being born into the right family! Don't fucking talk to me about judgment!"

Draco was absolutely sure he wasn't doing that and he was stunned that Harry would say such a thing to him. He opened his mouth to speak but couldn't find words, closing it again and beginning to shake now. He had a flash of memory, his father glowering down at him, shouting at him in the same tone as Harry was using now. He backed into the door, terror that was as much memory as present flattening him against it.

Harry was panting for breath after the last words he had flung out into the room and it took him a moment to realise that Draco wasn't screaming back. From where he stood, there appeared to be nothing but naked fear on Draco's face and Harry quickly spun around to look behind him as if the ghost of Lucius himself might have decided to make an appearance and was swooping in for the kill. Seeing nothing and nobody else around them, Harry felt his heart drop when he understood that the only one in the room that could be scaring Draco was ... Harry. He froze all movement and unclenched his fists, bringing both hands up in front of him as a calming measure. "Draco?" he said hesitantly. "Are – are you okay, love?"

It had been a long time since Draco had had such a vivid flashback and Harry's magic, usually something that excited him, made his stomach flip uncomfortably. His hands were splayed out flat against the door, his heart thudding hard in his chest, his mouth dry and gaping like a fish. "I ...." He couldn't form words.

Harry's first instinct was to run to Draco and hold him but, for the first time, he was scared that his presence would be more damaging rather than healing. He didn't know what to do and finally shuffled back slowly a few steps, putting more distance between the two of them and hoping it would help. "See, Draco?" Harry said in a soft voice, almost singing the words like he might do with the children after a bad dream. "It's just me, Harry, and everything is all right. It's just you and me and we're fine. Can I ... can I come over there, maybe?"

Draco tried to take a deep breath. He didn't know if it was the man's change in tone and body language or the shift in Harry's magic. Probably both. The air had felt so thick he couldn't breathe and now it was clearing. He blinked, realising his eyes were stinging and tears now slid down his cheeks. "Harry," he managed in a breath.

"Yes, Draco," Harry murmured, hating the tears that he saw but feeling a small bit of relief that the terror seemed to be leaving. He was still afraid to move, though, without permission to be in Draco's space. "Everything is good, love. We're all safe and together and I really want to help you, Draco. Please ... can I come to you?"

Draco came to himself enough to know where he was and what had happened. Fear had replaced anger, but now that the fear was lessening, it left him feeling bewildered at his husband's behaviour. "Why?" he asked and, to his shame, his voice cracked even on the one word.

Harry's gaze dropped to the floor and he stayed where he was, the distance between them now seeming to have doubled. The feelings that had risen to the surface since dinner had always been there but it took the arrival of Narcissa Malfoy to coax them from the shadows. Harry patted his thighs absently, still searching the floor for the right words. "I'm not ... one of you," Harry said, letting the words bypass his brain and come straight from his fears. "It was okay before because it was just us but now it's different. It's me and it's both of you and the children look like her and they're Malfoys so it's all four of you ... and me."

Draco felt a different kind of fear then – that old fear of the gulf between them, that Harry wouldn't want him. He wasn't even aware of the conscious choice as he sunk to his knees, looking up at Harry. "I am yours," he said, looking up imploringly at Harry. It was a phrase that had been essentially in the Binding Spell that had separated Draco from his parents, from their control, and tied him to Harry. The binding now was mutual, but Harry had done the claiming that had freed Draco from the aspects of being a Malfoy he had not wanted.

Harry bridged the distance between them and sank down to kneel before his husband but still not touching him. "I know that, Draco, and I'm yours," Harry said quietly. "But that's not what I mean. Being mine doesn't stop you from being a Malfoy; I wouldn't want it to. It's just that I ... don't understand dinner parties with three year olds, tutors and music lessons, ordering meals in French but ... you do and your friends do. Your mother knows that world and so will our children and I'll still be a boorish oaf with bad manners ... I'm afraid of being left behind, I guess."

Draco's hands trembled but reached for Harry's anyway. "I ... I don't want you to be anyone or anything but who you are. I love you, love that our children are part of both of us. I walked away with you, turned my back on my family, on being a Malfoy, thinking I would never have that back. I know you don't understand, but just because my father was wrong, that he did horrible things, doesn't make everything about our heritage, our family evil." His eyes pleaded with Harry to understand.

[Hard stuff. And difficult to stop here…]