Unconditionally

Author: TheSiner
Title: Unconditionally - continued
Genre: Drama, Romance.
Pairing: Harry/Draco (main), Hermione/Ron
Summary: HP/DM slash. Sequel to Unconditionally Draco and Harry are happy together, but others have hard time accepting it.
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: These characters are not my own and belong to J.K. Rowling and affiliates.
Warnings: slash (duh!), swearing, sex, dubious consent, some fluff. Not beta-edited.
Setting after Voldemort’ demise. Kind of HBP compliant, but almost ignores DH.

AN: This takes off exactly were ‘Unconditionally’ left you.

Yes, I am posting the sequel right here, I thought, why not, easier to find.

This is the first sequel I have ever written, but I guess it just happened. those who liked the first one… well, I don’t want to disappoint you as it often happens with sequels, but I have this policy of posting everything I write, even if I hate it, because I mostly hate it. So here you go.

There might be disturbing moments in this one too, besides all the fluff and soul-searching which I warn you, is there. Be aware.

1.
Hermione’s POV

I look at my watch. It’s time.

Since Harry has returned from St. Mungo’s we are checking on him every day. It is uncomfortable for all of us. And by uncomfortable I don’t mean inconvenient. Harry is more important than anything besides it is not like we have much to do until our return to Hogwarts in September.

It is uncomfortable in embarrassing kind of way, because no one likes to be checked on, but I am not sure that there is a better solution. Al this patronising is necessary. We just can’t leave him alone. I am afraid that he could do something drastic and irreversible.
Harry always says that he is fine, but I have never heard him saying the opposite, never ever, so it is his own fault that we are not taking his word for it. He says that the potions are taking the edge off everything. But we know that it’s not so simple.

They are not drastically changing him; there is nothing he can take to get rid of his veela part. It is possible to suppress it, which is awful enough. He is using calming draught when he is feeling anxious, pepper up potion when he is feeling fatigued, poppy-seed tincture when he feels like sadness will overcome him, draught of contentment when he feels desperate and some really strange concoction containing opium to dull his senses when it’s necessary. It is scary. I find it hard to approve. Most of those potions can be addictive after all.
For the first days we were staying with him to make sure that Harry could manage. It turned out he could and that was a great relief. But it doesn’t mean that he is absolutely alright.

Getting over the depression caused by the loss of his ‘mate’ is going to take time. His mate. Draco Malfoy! Who would have thought that our Harry was harbouring feelings for Draco – I am so much better than you - Malfoy! Oh, sure I have to admit that he is kind of attractive in his own androgynous way (not my thing though), but what else Harry saw in that spoiled git I can’t imagine and I am a very tolerant person. I am sure that Ron doesn’t even think about that if he can help it. We can’t really afford to be angry with Harry for making poor choices. He is already going through hell.

If it was someone else it would be perfect. I have read about veelas a lot since we found out about Harry. They are so dedicated to their partners and generous. The person who attracts such a lover is really lucky. Veelas don’t date a lot, they choose their partners carefully, because they really grow attached to the person they spend time with and even more after the couple make love. After that something really remarkable has to happen to make a veela change her or his mind about their chosen.

It’s so romantic. Only now I really understand Fleur and I feel guilty that I was not exactly nice to her in the beginning. Her nature is one reason why she ignored the fact that Bill’s family initially disliked her (and weren’t good at hiding that) since she was ready to put up with so much more for the one she loved.

If only Harry had fallen for someone else… Malfoy doesn’t deserve him.

But sulking and casting the blame is not going to solve anything. I believe that we will get over it. We survived Voldemort. We will survive this too. Harry will eventually get over Malfoy and get better and then he will find a nice girl or, eh, a nice boy and be happy again. Yes, that’s it.

So ten o’clock in the morning like every day we both throw some floo-powder in the fireplace and floo over to Harry’s house.

He is sitting on the sofa, waiting for us already. Three mugs with hot, steaming tea and a plate with oatmeal cookies are already there. I smile at him. I feel so sorry for Harry, even if he most likely hates that, I can’t hep it, I wish there was something more we could do for him.

Then he returns my smile and I am surprised to see, how wide and sincere his grin is.

“Hi, mate, what’s up?” Ron greets and I can see that he is surprised to see Harry smiling as well.

Harry’s grin only becomes wider and I am intrigued to find out what has caused the sudden change in demeanour. I hope he hasn’t been abusing one of the potions.

“Well,” he looks me in the eye and then glances at Ron. “Something really has happened. Something good for a change.”

We both sit down. I am really surprised. I haven’t seen him in such a good mood for weeks!

“Out with it!” Ron urges him. “If you finally have some good news we want to hear them.”

He’s damn right!

Harry sighs and his grin dims a bit: “I am not sure that you will agree with me. They are good news for me. But, I guess, there is no other way to say it. So, are you ready? The thing is that Draco has returned.”

I must remember to close my mouth. I look at Ron and his eyes are as wide as a house elf’s. And I am not blaming him. Sweet Merlin! I hope Harry isn’t delusional and isn’t seeing things now. I just don’t believe it. Why would Malfoy suddenly return? Yes, Harry hallucinating seems more believable.

So, I must ask: “Harry, are you sure?” It’s all I manage to get past my lips. I am just that stunned.

He nods: “Yes, very.” And then he sighs again and chews on his lower lip suddenly looking so young, careless, happy and unsure all in the same time.

Well, these are news. I mean NEWS. I have to think about it. Process everything. It is a it much.

Ron mutters a curse, but not loud enough and I can’t make out what exactly he says. It’s not like I am going to berate him. It’s the last thought on my mind at the moment. I am still coming to terms with what Harry just told us. Draco has returned. Draco Malfoy is back, he is somewhere here in Harry’s house, basically breathing the same air as we at this very same moment.

I have to keep my cool though. Someone has to.

“Where is he?” I ask. The question is stupid. He is here obviously, what does it matter if he’s in the bathroom, bedroom or… but I have to ask something.

“In his room, I think he is still sleeping, he was very tired yesterday,” Harry states as if it was nothing special, as if it is something what goes without saying and the way things are supposed to be

“And you just let him in? Do you know why he is here? Do you know what he wants from you?” Ron finally loses it, which is really something that was going to happen eventually. Some occurrences are inevitable. Ron’s temper is like a thunderstorm – it just happens.

“Ron,” Harry groans. “He is here and… I don’t know all the answers yet. We couldn’t talk yesterday, Draco was very worn-out and not really well, so I had to put him to bed. I was not going to interrogate him. We will talk when he’s ready.”

“Oh, no, Harry,” Ron’s face has turned into ugly shade of red and I am afraid that he is about to say something drastic. “We are not leaving this house before we see the ferret!”

I almost agree with my boyfriend. That is exactly what I would like to do. The list with questions I have in my head is already sixteen inches long. But when I see how cold suddenly turns Harry’s expression…

“Right,” Harry snorts. “You think that I will let you to interrogate him?”

I put my hand on Ron’s knee and squeeze it in warning. He must stop for a bit and think. Force, arguing and shouting at each other won’t get us anywhere right now. God, I hate Malfoy more than ever for turning our lives upside down again, but telling that Harry will not earn us any points.

We must also remember that Harry is different now. No matter that the change is nothing we can see, but it doesn’t make it less real. He is a veela with a lots of complicated instincts, protectiveness over his mate being one of them.

We must thread carefully.

The room is silent now. Ron has closed his eyes, obviously trying to calm himself down. I am so proud. He has matured after all.

Then Harry smiles sadly: “I know that what happened with us was… oh, God, it was so fucked up and I just…some days I just don’t know how to cope with it. But he is still here; I can’t believe it, that after everything he wants to be here with me. But I am ready to try, to work things out, even if I don’t know how. I have a lot to make up to him for…”

“Don’t talk like that!” Ron doesn’t shout, but it is close enough. “It was not your fault.”

“But the things I did…”

“You couldn’t control!”

“I should have…”

“But he is going to hurt you,” Ron growls.

Harry doesn’t answer for some time.

“I can’t help it, I need him and I love him,” he finally admits tiredly.

“Love!” Ron sputters. “It’s not love! It’s a condition! Damn it! Tell him to get lost and take your potions!”

“Ron,” I squeeze his knee again whishing he would shut up. You are not helping love.

“You know that it is not completely true, Ron. You know that there had to be something before I became veela, even if I hadn’t acknowledged it. And then it suddenly grew stronger, stronger than me… well you red the damn books too, stop denying the truth! And what does that change for me, Ron? What difference it makes? What does it matter? I feel what I feel! I don’t care what the reasons are, they don’t change my feelings!”

I have to agree. He has a point there, we all know it. We have been through it already. Harry is a magical creature no matter how strange it sounds (ridiculous to me!) and there is nothing anyone can do about that.

“We worry, Harry,” I say as gently as I can, I don’t want him to be offended. I know how he is after all.

When he thinks that someone is trying to reprimand him without a good reason and believes that he is the one who is right, Harry doesn’t take it well. I can only assume that it’s because of the Dursleys, who were like that all the time. Otherwise Harry is the kind of person who wants to please others and can be very hard on himself when he thinks that he has done something wrong.

Harry sighs and says that he knows. He knows that we worry: “But you must understand one thing. Draco is very important to me. I am not going to give him up… I think I couldn’t… please don’t make me choose.”

This actually doesn’t come as a surprise. The only surprise was Malfoy’s return. I didn’t even consider it. I considered Malfoy going to the ‘Daily Prophet’, trying to blackmail Harry or dragging him to court, but not this.

But what if Malfoy asks him to give us up? Maybe that’s why he has returned, maybe he has realised what kind of power he has over Harry and how powerful Harry really is. Maybe is some kind of sick plan of revenge or maybe there is something Malfoy wants Harry to do for him with his magic? Oh, dear, the possibilities are endless.

But I am going to keep my mouth shut for now. Harry is not ready to hear any anti-Malfoy theories. I will have to contact Remus and Tonks, since they are only ones who know what really has happened to Harry. We need to discuss possibilities and make some plans. Harry is too important not only to us, but to the Wizarding World as well and Malfoy is too… too Slytherin, too Malfoy, too ex-Death Eater? All of those, really.

Ron doesn’t say anything else, he just silently turns his back on Harry, I smile at him somewhat apologetically and we floo back to the Burrow.

As soon as we are sure Harry doesn’t hear us anymore Ron swears again and hits the wall with his fist. He says he wishes he could get his hands on ‘the bloody, stinking ferret’. I remind him that it wouldn’t change anything, just make Harry angry. Right now I think we should inform some people about the recent development. And then? Then we’ll see.

Harry’s POV

I slouch in the sofa as my best friends vanish in the fire place. It could have been worse, couldn’t it? Well, I had to tell them. I didn’t expect that it would be easy or that they would understand. Or that they would be happy for me. Maybe I hoped a bit…

But it doesn’t matter for now. There is nothing I can do about Ron right now and Hermione, well, Hermione at least accepts the fact that I have made a choice and that is enough for now.

I understand their worry and reservations about Draco. I do. But it doesn’t mean I am going to give him up not now when he is here.

I didn’t expect it. How could I? After everything.

But there it was. There he was, standing right in front of me.

I didn’t know why I keyed him to the wards. But I had some of his hair lying around, his magical signature still clinging to it, so I put it to use. I was not really expecting that he would simply turn up one nice day and my wards would chime like hundreds of golden, sweet tinklers announcing his arrival. But then I heard them.

I almost couldn’t believe it, but then I dropped my mug on the kitchen table with a bang not caring if it broke or not and ran to the door. Didn’t even put my shoes on.

When I opened the door I froze on the threshold for a moment. It was really him, it was not a ghost it wasn’t something created by my feverish dreams or overactive imagination or wormwood(1). It was Draco. I could smell him from there, me being veela with all those keen senses I sometimes hated, especially when I had to be in the same room with witches who were using perfumes on top of perfumed lotions on top of perfumed soaps and shampoos and shower gels and who knows what else. But Draco… he smells incredible.

I didn’t know why, but I could only assume that he was there for me. He didn’t look like he had come to take vengeance or hex me into oblivion. Those possibilities crossed my mind, of course, but it took only one look at him to see that it was not what he had come for. Somehow I could tell.

I can’t really describe what I felt that moment. I am not really that great with words. But it was something like elation. The purest of joys washing all over me like a tidal wave…

Draco Malfoy was here because he needed something and he thought that he could get that something from me.

I wasn’t sure about that. I didn’t know what he wanted and honestly I am not sure if he himself did. The situation was just too complicated… but whatever. I decided to go for it. Whatever was that he needed I decided to try and to do my best to give it to him.

Besides whatever was coming could wait until I got him inside where it was warmer and probably a cup of tee was in order. So I just smiled and went to him. I was glad to see him after all. This was complicated enough, so I was not going to make him wonder if he was wanted at all, especially when it couldn’t be further from the truth.

Of course, I didn’t dare to show Draco how wanted exactly he was here, I didn’t dare. That he let me take him in my arms was more than I would ever hope for. That he grabbed my shirt and sowed that he didn’t want me to let go almost brought tears into my eyes. But it was not the time. I could sense with my every cell, with my every single nerve ending how distraught he was. It was Draco who needed me and I was not going to burden him with my needing him. I also realised that I had no right to ask for anything, that even if he decided to leave in the morning…

No, that thought was unbearable, so I scooped him up in my arms and carried towards the house. I kept counting the good signs – that he didn’t protest, that he let his head rest on my shoulder…

When we were inside I gently lowered him on the couch in the living room, got the soft comforter and wrapped around him. I was not sure if Draco was trembling because he was cold or for some other reason. He was not afraid, fear is one of the easiest emotions to smell. But the comforter wouldn’t hurt. I offered him a cup of tea and Draco just nodded.

Preparing tea for him gave me a chance to escape his presence for a bit, but still, it didn’t help with collecting my thoughts as I had hoped. That was not going to be so easy, I realised. But there was no rush, I decided. We had all the time in the world to figure out what was happening and how to deal with it, didn’t we?

Yes, that was it. Patience.

I was a lot calmer after all when I handed Draco the mug, steaming and full of white and sweet tea. Once it had seemed so important to find out how he liked it. Now I had more questions and not enough courage to ask them. Yet. It was ironic that the famous Gryffindor bravery went just that far. But the courage I needed to fight evil wizards was not the kind of courage that could help me then. I have learned that there are many different kinds.

I sat on the opposite end of the sofa to give Draco enough space and watched him wrap his pale, elegant fingers around the steaming, dark blue mug. He took a little slip. I would have made slurping sound, but good manners obviously came so naturally for him, where I had to think not to make a blunder, Draco would probably have to make an effort if he wanted to appear anything but proper and graceful. That was only one of the things I found incredibly fascinating about him. I have never seen him goofy or awkward as teenage boys tended to be.

I wanted to warn him to be careful, that the tea was very hot. I wanted to take him in my arms, to hug him, to ask what was wrong and if I could do something about it. I wanted to fix it, to fix him…

But I didn’t dare. I was sitting there as a beggar, ready to plead for scraps of his attention, for a chance to stay near him, for a chance to say that I were story for everything I had done, for mistakes I had made. Some part of me wanted to fire-call someone and beg to take him away, not to let me hurt him again. How could he be there, back in the house where I had imprisoned and kept him against his will.

I couldn’t simply agree with my mediwitch who had said that it had all been an unfortunate conjuncture. With the battle and power boost and sudden change of species, awakening of dormant heritage… she said that the situation was too confusing and I was not ready to deal with my new instincts. My sub-consciousness was suddenly speaking louder than ever and telling me how much I had always desired my school rival, my enemy even. My consciousness wouldn’t shut up and was insisting on opposite, it was reminding me what a bad person Draco was. My instincts insisted on binding my mate to me in every possible way and keeping him safe. No wonder that I was feeling so torn all the time.

But the thing is that I can’t plead insanity. I understand what the mediwitch says, but I just can’t accept it. I am responsible for my actions no matter what caused them. I just hate-- I hate that everyone is so eager to forgive me! Make excuses. It isn’t fair, it isn’t fair to Draco. Even if they are saying that I couldn’t have hurt him if he hadn’t let me, I did. They say I couldn’t have…. For fucks sake, let’s call things by their proper names, the word is ‘rape’. But everyone says I couldn’t have raped him, that my veela instincts wouldn’t have let me.

What should I think then? That Draco wanted that? How fucked up is that? How fucked up am I? How fucked is he? How fucked up are we? Oh shite…

Even if Draco allowed it, allowed me to hurt, to abuse him, it doesn’t make what I did right. It doesn’t.

But he was simply sitting there and hypnotising the mug. I didn’t know what to say to him. I didn’t want to bullock this up and that was a good reason to keep my mouth shut.

But it was getting late and we couldn’t sit like this all night long. So I tentatively said his name and he turned his head and I was struck by all that silver gorgeousness. I actually did shake my head to get the fog out of it. But there was dull fatigue in those beautiful orbs. He was very tired and sad.

“Draco,” I repeated gently, standing up. I took away his mug and put it on the small tea-table at the side. Then I held out my hand and he took it. A wave of happiness washed over me. I helped Draco to his feet.

“You need to get some sleep, come,” I said and he followed me. He didn’t ask any questions, just went with me.

Draco’s POV

I am alone when I wake up in the morning.

I open my eyes and the familiar setting is so very much soothing, more than Severus’ custom made calming draught, but probably he wouldn’t allow me to use his given name anymore, so it must be ‘Snape’s custom made calming draught’ now. I wonder if he knows that I am at Potter’s, that I did probably the worst thing I could after our row (the understatement of the century) yesterday. I proved that Severus was right. I ran straight to Potter. But I just can’t be alone right now. And I have that strange sense of belonging. Like I belong here. With him. And I know that he can take care of me.

I guess I am finally admitting that I need someone to take care of me. I am willingly admitting my weakness. But then, I think this makes me more of a Malfoy If I am letting someone to take care of me then I am choosing the strongest and the best as my champion. Who else is more remarkable than The-Boy-Who-Lived these days? I guess the Malfoy in me should be placated by that. Only the best is good enough.

Does not mean that generations of ancestors are not turning in their graves at this very moment.

But then, I am not sure if I deserve to use our name anymore since what I have recently done betrays everything my pure-blooded ancestors have ever believed in… but if I really think about what the Malfoy name stands for. It doesn’t only mean that my family originally comes from France. Mal Foi, the house of Malfoy, is the house of Bad Faith.
And what most likely is more important there is that I am the one Malfoy who is pretty much alive and breathing.
However, even it is not important (but still a fact) – no matter how I excuse myself, I still feel like a traitor. But… oh well, there are just some things one has to learn to live with.
A bit of guilt gnawing in my stomach is not something I am going to die of, what can’t be said about the Dementor’s kiss or Killing curse.

And the bitter truth is that the name I have been so proud of has lost a lot of its value these days.

Besides at the moment I don’t care of my fortune, of the Manor or any other estates. I am back in my attic room and it is fine, turns out that it is what I wanted after all. I realise that it is probably not very sane. I do. But I can’t deny that there is something I have missed about it. I think it has something to do with the way I felt when I was here the last time. I feel like I belong here. I feel safe here, wrapped up in Potter’s power.

Only now, I realize how much I actually like this room. The light, soothing colours, the fluffy rug on the floor, the roof window through which I can always see the sky, whether it’s light blue, cloudy or lit up with stars in the night. There is nothing luxurious about it, but everything I need. Just after a couple of days living at Sev…Snape’s spacious Manor I started feeling lost. Here everything is smaller, closer, cosier and warmer.

And Harry is here.

But I wake up alone. I don’t like it. He didn’t sleep with me. Does it men that he doesn’t want me anymore?

Potter just let me in yesterday, then he took me to my room, he said that I must be tired and I was. But then he left me alone and I couldn’t sleep. I spent at least two hours twisting and turning in the large bed.

Now I have woken up. I am alone again and I want Harry here with me. He is the one I returned to after all. I am lying on the bed and looking at the door. I know I should just get up, walk to the door, open it and go downstairs looking for him. But there is a problem. It’s probably silly, but I just can’t make myself to open that door. It had always separated me from the outside world during my stay here. I have never been allowed to open that door on my own. Maybe it’s even locked, still.

But, no, it probably isn’t, I am just being… well, myself. Whatever that means these days. The concept has become kind of ambiguous. I can’t be my mother’s darling little boy anymore. She’s dead. I can’t be the proud Malfoy heir. There is nothing to be proud of. I never really learned how to be the son my father wanted, so that wouldn’t have worked anyway. The same goes for a Death Eater. I was an awful one and there are no Death Eaters anymore anyway. To be the Slytherin Prince? Other Slytherins are needed for that, because a prince needs to rule over something. To be Potters archrival? Oh, but that was the biggest lie of them all.

My masks have fallen. They are crumpling one after another and I am terrified. I am afraid that there might be no face underneath. Or if there is a face after all, then not even I myself know what it looks like. What if it’s not a face I can stand sand looking at in the mirror every day?

I am not completely sure about anything. I wish I were. I wish I were more certain about everything, but that was long time ago.

Finally I stand up and go to the bathroom. I use the toilet and take a reasonably long shower. I dry my hair, magically, since I have my wand back. It’s not good for hair to rub it with a towel and I don’t have to wait until my hair dries, I just wave my wand and my blonde locks are as perfect as they have ever been. I may sound vain, but my hair is perfect. And it’s perfect, because I take care of it. Blaise used to make fun of me because I knew more various manicure spells than any girl in our house. But that was inevitable – I spent ten years of my life in my mother’s room watching her making her morning toilet, her evening toilet, her afternoon toilet.

Is it any surprise that no matter how embarrassing that is the first spells I learned were hair straightening and depilatory charms? As soon as I got my wand which was many years before receiving my Hogwarts letter, since my family didn’t care for those ridiculous underage magic laws, I started repeating what I saw and at the age of eight knew everything my mother did. I think she got to me first. I never told my father, but for some reason I preferred the smell of exotic oils, lotions and perfumes to that of blood, burning flesh and fear which came with the Dark Arts. I preferred luxurious boudoirs to dark and damp dungeons and mirrors, trinkets and sparkling jewels and expensive silks and velvets to skulls, withered hands and dusty, screeching tomes. Yes, I am weird like that.

After I have done all the primping I could think of, I have to return to my room.

Now I am standing there staring at the flowery wallpaper like an idiot. I have no idea what to do. Once again I stare at the door that is not going to open itself. Can I get any more pathetic?

I am saved by a knock. No one comes in, so I assume that the one behind that door is waiting for me to say that they can enter. It’s funny because for long time no one has bothered to wait until I allowed them entrance. My father never knocked on the door – he sent a house elf who announced that ‘The Lord Malfoy was about to grace the young master with his presence’. The house elf was not asking, he was announcing.

My status in The Dark Lord’s lair was so low that I was completely stripped of any rights to privacy. Everyone who needed a potion barged in without even announcing themselves and I was too grateful that it was only another Death Eater and not HIM to really care.

Then I became Potter’s prisoner. He never knocked before. Now, when I am here from my free will which probably makes me a different kind of prisoner, but let’s not get too philosophical here.

I take a deep breath and call out: “Come in!”

It’s Potter. Who else could it be? Another team of Aurors, like the last time?

He says good morning and asks if I slept well. I say, I did. It is a lie, but, when people ask those questions, they don’t really expect to hear the truth, right? How are you? Did you sleep well? How was your day? Those are just phrases to be answered with phrases. I sometimes wonder why those who despise lies and any kind of deceit with fervour are the ones who insist on habitual laying in sake of politeness the most? Self-righteous and proper – those are so called light wizards to you. When I lie there is usually a lot more than somebody’s discomfort on the line.

“I made breakfast,” Potter says.

I am surprised. Does he mean it? Has he really made breakfast himself? When I am just standing there and staring at him, Potter fidgets and says that he hopes that I am hungry. He obviously doesn’t see a reason for my bewilderment. I think that it is still possible that I have misunderstood something and he has a house-elf hiding somewhere, so I better don’t say anything and simply follow him downstairs.

We are obviously going to eat in the kitchen. I have never had a meal in a kitchen during my whole life. But I sit down trying not to stare at all the strange objects around us too much, I don’t want to look like a mudblood first time at Diagonall Alley.
Potter pours me some tea in a huge, dark blue mug with a golden brim. He adds two spoons of sugar and milk. He remembers how I like my tea even if we have had it together only once, and I remember that we have had tea together only once, so we are probably even.

Then Potter starts piling food on his plate. I take it as a cue and do the same. I still don’t see any house elf.

Potter notices that I am looking around: “Something’s wrong?”

“Don’t you have a house elf?” I blab out.

He tells me that he kind of does. Kind of? How is that? You have one or you don’t.

“Well, Dobby pops up three, four times a weak, cleans the house, does the laundry and stocks up the groceries,”

If we had started talking about it, I think I can ask about cooking. I feel like I have to say something, because the awkwardness between us is smothering and adding silence it would be unbearable. And I know that it’s better that I ask my questions, because his questions are probably not something we are ready for. Not yet.
It turns out that he is really doing all the cooking himself. I am impressed. Truly. I would like to see that. All the nice food that I have eaten while I lived in this house Potter has cooked himself.

His lips quirk a bit, he is amused.

“Cooking is not hard. A bit like potions, there is a recipe, you mix together ingredients, but it’s easier, since nothing blows up if one adds a pinch of pepper too much and it is possible to improvise more.”

It actually sounds interesting.

“I could teach you,” he offers and I think I wouldn’t mind.

After we finish eating Potter cleans up the table. He puts some of the leftover food in a big white box with shelves and cold coming from it. I wonder what it is, but don’t ask, because I don’t want him to think that I am dim-witted. He obviously has no shame. Then he starts cleaning plates manually. Without magic. I don’t know the spell myself, but I am not supposed to know house-keeping spells. I would never admit to anyone if I knew any. It’s not becoming. And doing things the muggle way is even less proper. It is unbecoming for a pure blood at least.

But Potter is not a proper pure-blood I guess. He is a muggle-loving Gryffindor. And maybe it’s not like he has to prove that he has the magic; Potter killed The Dark Lord after all. That means he must be magically strong. I am curious; I would like to know how strong exactly he is. It is a slytherin thing. A little snake in me is writhing and hissing with pleasure at the notion that here I am, sitting in the kitchen of one of the most powerful wizards in Britain and he is ready to do everything for me…

It is thrilling.

Then he abruptly turns around and I am almost caught staring. He had finished with the plates.

Potter folds his arms over his chest and looks at me. The green eyes are swirling holes in me. Pun intended. But he is looking as if he wants to see something, like he is searching for something. I am suddenly nervous that he might find… I am not sure what I m worried about.

“Draco,” Potter says calmly. “I am glad that you are here. You can’t imagine how glad I am… and you can stay as long as you wish, but I just wanted to tell you that you can leave anytime if you change your mind.”

It is obvious that he doesn’t really want me to leave though. I can see it in his eyes, in his posture, in everything. He’s so needy, so happy to have me here and a little bit desperate. And unlike me he can’t really hide it.

He is just being fair. The bloody Gryffindor. He is not going to be selfish, he is not going to use his power to seize everything he desires and do anything to keep it.

I don’t need his fairness. I don’t want him to be fair. He is giving me a choice, but I don’t want it.

Here he is, standing in front of me, looking at me with those incredibly green and honest eyes, thank Merlin, he has gotten rid of those ridiculous spectacles. He is wearing jeans, those muggle trousers I have never had, since they are considered inappropriate in my circles, for obvious reasons. But secretly I have always wanted to own a pair, since there is something very special about them. I can’t name it, but it’s there. And when I see the way they hug Harry’s muscular legs, I think my heart starts beating faster. One somehow leads to another and next thing I know; I am staring at the triangle of bare flesh where at least three buttons of his dark green, almost black shirt are left undone.

I realise that I had been a bit lost in my thoughts when he asks if I am alright. Am I? Depends on whom you ask.

“You are an idiot,” I say and look at him closely very much enjoying the confusion I see. It’s time to regain some control over everything. I grab him by the front of his shirt and pull until his body is pressed against mine. I burry my other hand in his mess of hair, I am not going to stand on my toes to kiss him, I pull him down and he complies.

I would be smirking if my lips weren’t pretty much otherwise occupied.

Harry’s POV

His lips brush against mine, so soft and gentle, the touch is feather-light and teasing. I am taken by surprise and confused when the tip of his hot, sweet tongue sweeps over my upper lip. He looks into my eyes with such intensity that I can almost see the silver grey of his irises sparkling. There is challenge in those incredible eyes. It is as if Draco was asking ‘what are you going to do with me now, Potter?’

What I want to do is to spell away the dishes and throw the cheeky brat on the kitchen table, that much Draco sets my blood afire. Does he realise what he is doing to me and what the consequences could be? Looking at me like that, almost the way he was sometimes looking at me when we fought back at school. Only this time he had just licked his lips and now they are glistening, wet and ripe, so tempting, and his hand has left my hair, it’s sliding down my back, sending shivers down my spine it and tugging the shirt out of my trousers.

Is Draco trying to make me loose it?

“Wait,” I manage to get out, but I manage. “Shouldn’t we… um talk or…”

I can’t finish, since he presses his hand over my mouth and I have almost unbearable desire to kiss his palm. I can smell several kinds of body care products which I got him on those fingers, right under my nose… I mentally shake my head to regain some control and focus. Everything about him is so distracting; my brain is turning into mush by his presence alone. There are things we need to talk about, I need to say how sorry I am and I am not sure how to get it past my lips since I already feel how small and stupid that ‘sorry’ is going to sound, but I need to say something.

I lift my straying eyes and look into his silver orbs again.

“So you’re here, with us again,” he says and smirks. Oh, Merlin, how familiar that smirk is. “Talking is exactly what we don’t need to do,” he keeps looking into my eyes with the same intensity and smirking with the same impudence. “You are an idiot,” he says it with such affection that one hundred ‘I-love-yous’ would never measure up.

“Hasn’t anyone told you not to look a gift unicorn into mouth?” he is obviously teasing now. Then Draco’s expression suddenly turns serious: “I am as aware as you that many things have happened between us.” He lets out a little nervous laugh: “Merlin! There are… I realise how fucked up this would seem to everyone else and… don’t you think that I haven’t spent enough days and nights thinking about it all of it over and over again and I can bet the Malfoy fortune that you have done the same.”

“And I can bet it again that it hasn’t helped one bit, this thinking and trying to make sense of this, of us. Trying to find the right words to say what you want to say, what you think should be said. Much good it had done to me… and well, I don’t really want to insult your intelligence… or maybe I do, but anyway, I think the point is that if I hadn’t figured out a better way to deal with the situation, then I doubt that you have. So, maybe let’s not deal with it, let’s leave it alone. Forgive and forget.”

I freeze for a moment. What a perfect sense everything is making. What a strange squeezing-twisting sensation it causes in my gut. How much easier it makes everything.

“Potter!” that calls me back to reality.

“Harry,” he says in much gentler tone. “I know how lame it’s going to sound and don’t you dare to ever tell anyone, that I said this, not even under veritaserum, but, let’s stop thinking and just feel…”

There is silence between us and then I almost double over with laughter. “God, that really was the lamest, corniest thing I have ever heard…” Well, yeah, it bloody is! I can’t stop laughing and my eyes are tearing up.

He balls up his fist and hits me on my shoulder, he doesn’t really mean it and I see the corners of his mouth twitching.

“I think I could blame it on my mother’s poor taste in literature. She had a thing for cheap romance novels. Damsel in distress, the brave, handsome wizard against the old ugly warlock… that kind of thing,” she lets out a tiny, cute giggle. Oh, god, he’’s so unbelievably cute! I feel drunk…

“Now I expect Salazar Slytherin banging on the door every moment from now and disowning me as one from his house,” he finally breaks down and bursts into laughter. I have never seen Draco laughing like this without any trace of malice.

“Don’t worry, Hufflepuffs will welcome you with open arms now,” it’s so funny and we just can’t stop laughing, holding on each other and it’s deliberating as hell, it’s like all the tension around us is evaporating, the air is getting lighter and suddenly it’s easier to breath and easier to be close to each other.

As we stop my hand is raking through his hair and thumb tracing the contour of his pale arched brow, he takes a deep breath that hitches in the end and parts his lips. I realise that his hands are on my waist and they are no longer staying put.

He lets go the breath he has just taken and it comes out shaky.

“What a guy has to do to get taken to bed here?” Draco asks lifting his head to look in my eyes looking a bit innocent, a bit cheeky and a bit eager.

Nothing. Nothing at all. A guy simply has to be Draco Malfoy.

***

Draco’s POV

The first thing I know when I wake up the next morning is that I have quite overexerted myself. Well, no, actually ‘overexerted’ doesn’t quite cut it. I feel like I have had an especially nasty Quidditch practice after a long time of not doing anything physical or like I have been run over by a dragon. But I can’t help smiling. There are much better things to ride than brooms… ew, that was crude. I sound like Blaise. Does having sex do it to everyone? Blaise used to have a lot of it and was never shy about it.

But I think I understand better now, it is a really amazing thing if one really makes an effort or if two people together make an effort.

Why did I ever have any doubts about this arrangement? No, really?

I am lying with my head on Harry’s shoulder with one of his arms holding me there securely. And when I open my eyes the first thing I see is a dusky nipple not that far from my face, I wouldn’t even have to move much if I wanted to stick out my tongue and ran it across the nub. I would do it once and then again, I’d like to see if I could get Harry moan before he even wakes up.

I lick my suddenly dry lips. What would happen if I just blew on it? Or better wetted one of my fingers, spread the moisture on it and then teased with my breath… oh, shite, I just made a funny sound, all that wistful thinking almost made me moan and suddenly the room is much hotter and I feel need to move my hips to get some friction against the sheet which is covering me. Again! I thought that it would be enough for some time after the last night!

“I know you’re ‘wake,”

Wha… Merlin’s beard! He almost gives me a heart attack by startling me out of my fanta… oh whatever… like that.

“Oh, sorry, I startled you,” I glare at him. Yeah, right, someone who is terribly sorry about something looks exactly like Potter at the moment. With his eyes still closed, grinning blissfully like kneazle who got the pixie.

Who does he think he’s teasing?

I am the one who is smiling when he yelps like a little girl when I bite the damned nipple which has been annoying me so shamelessly. Hard.

But I don’t get to bask in the air of superiority because next moment I am already lying on my back and Harry is not loosing his time and retaliating with fervour. And I can’t force myself to complain right now. But then I might remember this crude treatment and he would have to make it up to me.

Oh, good, it’s great to be me.

***

But I don’t get to bask in the air of superiority because next moment I am already lying on my back, Harry is holding both of my arms pinned to the bed above my head. And then he grinds down.

Ah…

His cock brushes against mine, it’s already rock hard. A wave of heat washes over my skin. He looks in my eyes, Harry’s pupils are dilated, black has almost swallowed the green and his desire for me is swallowing us both. I lift my hips and brush my arousal against his, then again. I have never had much patience out of the potions laboratory.

Harry doesn’t need any encouraging, his lips descend on mine the same way his cock does. His lips are soft, but firm on mine. His tongue is thrusting in my mouth, mimicking the rhythm with which his arousal is grinding against mine.

I open my legs wider. I want to feel more of him, have him closer and draw him into me. I love the way the hair on his legs are rubbing against my much smoother skin. My lower belly and loins are full of molten hotness which is rapidly spreading all over my body. It wants to burst out.

I want to touch him, but he’s still holding my arms with one of his big hands and being restricted and overpowered just increases my desire.

His other hand is between us, rubbing our cocks together Oh, I love his hands, his mouth, his everything!

When I come I am completely gone, out of my mind, I can’t tell if he’s coming as well, and honestly I don’t care, I can’t tell who was screaming, him or me.

Potter collapses on top of me, his face still buried in the crook of my neck, lips gently nibbling on my shoulder. He has released my hands and I put them to use combing my fingers through the wild mess he calls hair. After… how many now… romps in the bed it’s just impossible. I smooth it out a bit with my hands and then muss it again.

***

It’s afternoon when we finally get out of the bed. Really late afternoon. Well, it’s not like we woke up very early, or went to sleep early yesterday. And I am tired already. He, I made Harry to carry me to the bath and down stairs afterwards, because it is his fault that I can’t walk properly. I wonder if it is a veela thing?

Now I am sitting on the one of those high stools at the kitchen table improved with some cushioning charms and watching Harry as he is scrambling some eggs for both of us. It is fascinating, the cooking thing I mean. But I wish he would hurry up, because I am famished. But then I have this very warm, mellow feeling inside me and I can’t really make myself to complain about anything.

Then Harry suddenly turns his head, curses and extinguishes the fire and looks at me somewhat apologetically and then I also hear the noise coming from the living-room. Who could be there?

“Harry!” Someone calls out and for the first time since I returned to the Godric’s Hollow I wish I were somewhere else.

TBC

A/N: And, yes, I do like reviews, so feel free to indulge me.