Potter appeared to have succeeded in emptying the cupboard, providing even more accompaniments for toast than he had the previous day. Draco was feeling a little unsteady on his feet, although the tea had helped with that. As he watched, Potter plated up some more toast, and carried it over. He ran his fingers through his hair as he put it down on the table.
Draco found himself contemplating the fact that somehow, ridiculously, Potter's hair was worse today than it had been the previous night. Potter too seemed to be in a strangely foul mood – looking around the room, staying back at an awkward distance, glancing towards the door and then stepping away from it.
"Are you... feeling alright?" Draco asked to shatter the silence, as Potter seemed to be working himself into a state. Draco had seen Potter angry before, countless times. He had made it a point of pride to know how to anger Potter by fifth year. But this seemed like fear, and he couldn't understand why. Potter had faced down the Dark Lord for Merlin's sake, he couldn't possibly be afraid of fighting Draco. Seven years of schooling, bloody noses and black eyes, indicated how that particular fight would end.
"Fine." Potter snapped, and then took a deep breath. "I'm good. Really good. Thank you, Draco. You?" His words sounded forced, and he kept glancing between Draco and the door.
"I'm fine." Draco told him. He was surprised to realise that was the truth - that he'd slept better than he had for a long time the preceding night. When he wasn't exhausted, everything felt a little less terrible. Potter's metal box chucked out some more toast. Potter grabbed it and made to add it to Draco's plate, then thinking better of it and taking a slice for himself.
"Potter," Draco said, keeping his voice level. "What on earth is wrong?" Even as he said it, he realised what the problem was. Potter had been drunk the previous night, and Draco had been available and easy. Now, Potter was regretting it. He was willing to marry Draco to save his life, but drew the line at touching him. Draco carefully crushed the sense of disappointment that bubbled inside of him. He knew that heroes didn't fall for people like him.
"I just..." Potter stared at him, and shook his head, and Draco allowed himself to feel a spark of offence there, because it hadn't been bad, last night. Potter'd enjoyed it, he didn't need to act like it was the worst thing ever. "I'm sorry about last night."
"I won't tell anyone," Draco sneered, trying to transfigure all that pain into anger. "No one need know that Saint Potter had sex with a Death Eater."
"Malfoy-" Potter began, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Draco had a sudden urge to keep pushing, to prove to himself what Potter was like, to get the treatment he deserved. He was probably in range if Potter wanted to take a swing at him. Rather than worry about that, he buttered another piece of toast. "It's not about you being a... having been a Death Eater. I took advantage, and it... it won't happen again."
Draco stared at Harry. trying to make sense of his words. It was far too early in the morning for shit like this to be happening, and he didn't understand it. "I don't understand what you're talking about, Potter."
The smile Potter gave back was more like a grimace. "I know you don't, Malfoy." He paused for a moment, clearly lost in his own thoughts, then looked up at Draco. "I might go and see Ron and Hermione later. Do you want to come?"
"No." Draco told him honestly. "I will if you want me there."
"Not if you don't want to," Potter answered. "Uh, you can take a look around if you want, I can show you the library or... or you can go there, if there's any books you want, or any... I meant what I said about decorating it." He was standing there, looking at Draco like he wanted to say something, but Draco didn't know what the problem was. "You can always say what you'd like and I can sort it out..."
Potter wasn't meeting his eyes. Draco tried not to feel offended, because it really hadn't been that bad the previous night. He pushed aside his pride, reminding himself he was here to survive. "Have you decided on your subjects yet?"
"Not yet. I'll talk to Hermione and Ron, see what they think. What do you think?"
"I think... I think that you're stubborn enough that you'll do whatever you want, and then get a good grade. I know what you're like." Draco tried to put false confidence in his mouth, and for a brief moment it worked, and Harry smiled.
"Are you really going to be okay in here on your own?" Harry asked, as though he half-expected to return and find the boggart upstairs had eaten Draco. "Do you need anything, or is there... is there anything I can do?" Harry sighed. "I promise I won't... last night shouldn't have happened."
"You weren't complaining at the time," Draco muttered, pushing away the rest of his toast because he suddenly didn't feel very hungry.
Potter sighed, and looked at him. "I find you attractive, Draco. But you're here as my guest, and I am meant to keep you safe, not..."
"Potter, we both enjoyed last night. It doesn't have to mean something. Sometimes things are just fun."
"Yeah," Potter stuttered, and he looked relieved. Draco tried to ignore the ache in his heart at that, because he knew it had meant something to him. He wondered if Potter had just found he was the closest warm body. But that... that didn't sound like Potter.
The rest of breakfast was a subdued affair, although at the end Harry looked up and smiled. "You are right about Defence Against the Dark Arts. Ron's been telling me it's an easy E, and-"
"Potter, you defeated the Dark Lord. They should give you an O."
Harry grinned, just for a moment, looking more cheerful than he had all morning. "We'll see. Thanks." He hesitated. "I'll talk to Hermione, see if she knows anything else you'll need for your classes..."
"Thank you," Draco answered. Potter still seemed off, somehow, but he had cheered up a bit. Draco told himself there were worse things in life than having meaningless sex with his husband.
"Is there anything else you need? I know you didn't bring much and-" Potter started, then frowned. "I mean. I was going to ask anyway because we're planning for Diagon Alley this week, but-"
"No, I'm fine, thank you." Draco reassured him. He managed to keep a civil tongue until Potter had stepped into the green flames, and then he headed back up to his room. He lay in the spot Potter had lain that morning. The pillow smelled faintly of him, and Draco took a deep breath. Harry hadn't been scared of him, he didn't think. He told himself he didn't need Potter. Potter had done enough.
Eventually, he gave up on lying there and returned to his books, flicking through them absently, unable to focus on any one page for long. He stayed in his room through the day, even through lunch. Poking around the kitchen seemed like it was a sure way to get accused of poisoning Potter or something equally ludicrous. It was alright. The books were at least interesting, and there were a few he could use to prepare for his studies.
He carefully righted both photographs on his desk, smiling as he saw the younger Slytherins wave. He knew that a photograph wasn't the same as being able to talk to his mother, but he smiled at her anyway, and after a moment she smiled back.
By the time Potter Flooed back home that evening, Draco was feeling a bit more positive. He had slept well the previous night, and that was important. Potter called up the stairs that he was home, and after a few moments Draco ventured down.
The first thing he noticed was that there were some flowers in the dining room, which hadn't been there before. Beside the vase there was a set of runestones. Potter looked up at him and shrugged. "Hermione says she didn't need these, and I thought it would be a start, until we can get you some more. If you want them, or..." Potter trailed off again, and Draco considered. He had a set back at home - at the manor. But he hadn't brought them, and he didn't think he could get them now. He picked them up to take a look at them.
"I can use those. Thank you, Potter." It wasn't so hard, thanking him. He supposed this was survival. But Potter seemed to relax, smiling brighter than ever. Joy bubbled up in Draco, and he wasn't sure he could blame it on simply being alive. Potter muttered something about food, walking through to the kitchen.
Potter clattered about in the kitchen. He seemed to be determined to cook like a muggle, and after a moment, curiosity overcame Draco. He settled down at the kitchen table to watch, poking at the runestones so that he wasn't obviously staring. Potter seemed sure about cooking at least.
"How were your friends?"
"Good, thanks. They said hello. Hermione said she's taking runes too, asked if you'd like to write to her, and you guys could meet up if you wanted..." Harry suggested. "Ron's still not sure about doing his NEWTs, but I'm pretty sure Hermione'll insist."
"I wouldn't recommend being on the wrong side of Granger," Draco conceded.
"That's a good point," Potter answered, smiling as he began to grab things from cupboards. Draco watched, intrigued, as Potter picked up a knife and began to slice up peppers and then chicken.
"You always cook... that way?" Draco asked, watching him.
"It helps. It's something I can do - I know I'm good at it, and it's not... it's not life or death." Potter answered, running his fingers through his hair again. "Did you have a good day?"
"Looked in the library," Draco answered carefully. "There's a lot there."
"I know it's a bit of a mess, but when we decorate it... any ideas of colour?" Potter asked, friendly. Seeing his friends seemed to mean he would act normally, at least.
"Pale green?" Draco suggested after a moment.
"Not pale red?" Harry was smiling, and Draco found himself mirroring the expression without meaning to.
"Pale red is pink, Potter. And anyway, at school..." Draco felt his smile slip for a moment, but he kept talking. "We all said that red walls would send anyone a little mad."
Potter laughed, and Draco let out a breath he hadn't meant to be holding. It didn't make sense. Potter was beyond confusing, and deeply frustrating - kind and welcoming one moment, and awkward the next. "Wouldn't want to send you mad. Pale green works, mostly I just think we need some light in there." Potter hesitated. "There's a pen and paper over by the fridge, if you grab it..."
"What's the fridge?" Draco asked as he got to his feet, looking around.
"The one with the photographs," Harry told him. Draco walked over, found photographs of the Weasley family glaring at him, and images of Harry, Ron and Hermione when they were younger. A picture too of Lily and James, and one of Sirius and Lupin. He didn't look for long. The pictures weren't for him to see. He found a small notepad and pen and took it back to the table.
"I thought maybe we could start with the library, as long as your room's alright for now? That way we have a study space if we're going to be learning... I can show you the brewing room after dinner..." Potter spoke, mostly to himself, and Draco tried to nod and smile when he was meant to, jotting down the plans Potter made. A pen felt strange in his fingers, but he could get used to it.
"I gave some thought to lessons. I thought... well, Hermione and I discussed it, and we thought we could carry on with what we started before it all..." Potter shrugged. "I mean, I made a start on Charms, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, Transfiguration and Potions... I think I might not do Herbology yet, because there's nowhere here to grow plants, and I think I might drop Potions for now." Potter took a deep breath. "If I can do Transfiguration, Defence Against the Dark Arts and Charms... that's three." Potter seemed to be mostly trying to reassure himself. "It's not... I mean. There's a lot of other things I'm meant to be doing right now."
"Oh?" Draco looked at him curiously.
"I mean, I'm trying to pass school but... well. There's a lot of people who want a piece of me, and I'm meant to be Teddy's godfather, and..." Potter shook his head. "Sorry, Draco, you don't need to hear about all this. We should send a letter though, telling the Headmistress our subjects."
Draco nodded, remembering the amusement in the Dark Lord's voice as he had asked Draco if he intended to babysit Tonks' cub. "I... I can write it, if you'd like." He probably needed the practice at writing Draco Potter. He closed his eyes for a moment, took a few deep breaths. He was grateful. Potter had saved his life. He owed Potter everything. He just had to remember that. It would get easier.
"Thanks," Potter smiled, and Draco wondered if he had any parchment he could use - he refused to send the Headmistress of Hogwarts a letter on paper of all things. Harry was cooking the food now, and it seemed to take a long time, as he poured in various things from various jars and never once grabbed his wand.
The food was good. Draco wasn't used to muggle cooking, but he liked this - some stupid part of him liked the fact Potter had made it for him. As though Potter actually cared, as though he wanted to keep him well. Draco knew it wasn't that - Potter simply needed to eat and was too much of a hero to let Draco starve - but he could pretend.
After dinner, Draco felt anxiety begin to bubble. He wasn't sure what to expect now - if Potter would want him, or if Potter was still disgusted. He didn't want to ask, because he knew that he was meantto know the answer already.
"Maybe tomorrow we can take a look at the library," Potter said carefully. "And then the day after I'll go to Diagon Alley. Are you sure there's nothing else you need?"
Draco shook his head, he didn't trust his voice to hold steady if he spoke. He missed his own stuff, missed who he had been before the war had come. But he knew he owed Potter everything. It was thanks to Potter he got to live, got to study, got to pretend in at least some small way that his life was normal. "Schoolbooks and potions ingredients." That was more than he deserved. More than he was worth.
After dinner and cleaning up the plates with magic, he headed up to shower. He sat on his bed, closing his eyes to focus on the perimeter spells he had active. Potter walked past his room on his way to his own bed. There was the sound of Potter's shower, then it stopped, and he heard the floorboards creak as Potter went to his bedroom.
He lay awake that night, again, watching as passing cars made lights move across the ceiling. Potter might have expected him. No, he thought to himself. Potter was probably disgusted with him, disgusted by what he'd done. He wondered if Potter had told his friends, what they had said.
The next morning, Potter seemed cheerful. He made them both a full breakfast.
"I need some parchment if I'm writing to the school," Draco told him, careful to look down - he'd cast a glamour to hide any sign of tiredness, but he couldn't be certain it wouldn't be visible if Potter looked too closely.
"Sure, uh, I think there's some in the library actually." Potter told him. He was in a good mood, excited about decorating the library and his trip to Diagon Alley the following day. Potter got to spend time with his friends, and Draco knew he deserved that, but he kept thinking about Crabbe. He'd got his friend killed. Harry saved his friends, and Draco had destroyed his.
He knew that Weasley hated him. It seemed likely as not that spending time with Weasley would remind Potter of everything Draco had ever done wrong, and he'd pay for it when Potter got home. But he went to the library with Potter after they had eaten and let Potter flick through the books until he found the spells he wanted for decorating. He wrote the letter to the Headmistress, and listened as Potter set out his plans for the room. There were curtains full of doxies, and Draco at least knew how to remove those.
He'd spent some time in the war just... trying to keep the manor presentable. Servant's work, really, but he knew that the state it was in bothered his mother, and it was his own way of trying to help her. People were always watching, and his family was disgraced, but he could at least try and keep things clean. It felt familiar to cast those spells again, to make things better.
Potter kept smiling over at him, and Draco refused to meet his eyes. He was tired, and he didn't understand why when Potter had been there, he had slept fine. Better than normal, and usually if there was someone else in the bed he'd lay awake all night. But Potter... Potter was different, Potter had always been different, and Draco resented that.
Potter seemed pleased with their progress when they broke for lunch, but Draco didn't want to carry on with the cleaning. He'd been stuck inside since he married Potter. Grimmauld Place was considerably bigger than a cell in Azkaban, but he still wanted to scream, to drop to his knees and beg to at least be allowed outside if he didn't go past the hedges - but Grimmauld Place didn't have grounds.
Draco smiled, the placid vacant expression he'd seen his mother use before. "I have a headache, would you mind if I go and lie down?"
"Of course... uh, do you need anything? Potion? Paracetamol? Water?" Potter offered. Draco ignored him, heading to his bedroom. He didn't manage to fall asleep, but he at least managed to rest a little, before Potter called him for dinner.
Potter didn't join him that night, either. The next morning, Potter was flipping pancakes when Draco walked in. "I'm off to Diagon Alley, you're sure-"
"I'm sure, Potter." Draco answered, and they ate in almost silence. There was tension in the way Potter kept looking at him, but he left without saying anything.
Rather than eating lunch, Draco managed a brief nap when he was alone in the house. Then Potter returned laden with books and everything Draco could possibly need for his subjects. It felt like falling deeper and deeper into debt that he'd never be able to repay, as Potter showed him what he'd got.
"It was good. It looks better there." Potter was telling him, blathering on about which shops were open and what he'd been able to buy. Draco let the words wash over him. He remembered walking with his mother down those streets, before the world had turned upside-down. He wished he could write to her.
"Do you want sex tonight, Potter?"
"What?" Potter stared at him, trying to follow the conversation. "I don't... we weren't... what?" He blinked. "Draco, we don't-"
"You got me those books." Draco said with a shrug. "And honestly, I'd rather know." It was blunt, but he could be blunt. He could manage. It wasn't asking Potter for sex. It was just finding out information that he could use.
"Malfoy, you're not-" Potter began, and Draco glared at him.
"Potter." He spat the word. "Remember? You were there."
"What... Draco, what's wrong?"
"I'm going to bed." Draco stormed out of the room. He'd barely reached the stairs when panic began to build in his chest. He'd left the books there, things that he needed and now Potter would be fully within his rights to burn them, or lock them away, and he knew it would break Mother's heart if he never got his NEWTs. He could hear Potter approaching, and it felt like his own heart was going to leap from his chest. He was breathing too fast, struggling to gasp for air. His legs felt weak.
He collapsed to his knees. Not an elegant drop, but a fall. He wrapped his arms around himself as he lay on the floor, trying to pull the emotions that were flowing through him back under control. He waited for Potter's anger, for his rage. He knew Potter was easy to rile up, and he'd done it now, he was sure of it. He tensed as Potter's hand brushed his shoulder, waiting for the punches to start.
"Draco, Draco, breathe..." Potter was murmuring, his voice soft, rubbing his hand up and down Draco's back. "There we go, it's okay, it's alright, it's a panic attack, Ron has them sometimes, I know it feels like you're dying but you're not, it's alright..." His words kept coming, and Draco was aware that he was crying, shaking as Potter pulled him close.
"I'm sorry," Draco whispered. "Please, give me another chance." He could do better. He could bebetter, he knew it, he'd just lost his temper for a moment. "Please still let me study, I won't... I won't be a problem, I swear I can behave, I..."
"Draco..." Potter's voice sounded strange, like he was fighting with his words. "I won't stop you from studying. It's okay. It's alright, come on, let's get you up to bed and I'll get you some water, you're just..." Potter seemed to hesitate, not sure what to say there. "You just need to lie down, you..." Potter paused. "You have that sleeping draught, don't you? You should take that, get some rest..."
Draco let Potter take him to his room. He felt dizzy, unstable. Potter helped him into his pyjamas, but there was nothing desiring in Potter's touches - they felt almost cold. Then he helped Draco take a sip of his sleeping draught, and got him a glass of water. Potter tucked a blanket around him, and sat on the edge of his bed. "Get some sleep, Draco. It's alright."
Draco felt his eyes close under the weight of the sleeping potion. Potter's fingers were in his hair, but they were gentle. When he opened his eyes again, Potter had gone and it was light outside.
Potter had left his books piled up on the desk. Draco stood up and approached them, scarce able to believe they were real. There was a note on the top, which he picked up and opened.
Hi Draco, I've gone out for the day to get some more food and because I thought you might need some peace and quiet. If you need anything and have to get in touch with me, there's a black-framed mirror in the bathroom. If you pick that up, we can talk through it. I'll be back later this evening. I hope you slept well. I've got the wallpaper in the library sorted. See you later, Harry.
Draco read over it twice before the words sunk in. He'd managed to chase Potter away from his own house. But he was safe here, at least for a little while. He was rested, no matter how artificially, so he picked up his charms book and started to flick through it.
There was a section on healing spells. That seemed a good place to start, the kind of thing he would need to know. He found it, and he began to read over the descriptions. Some of these would have been good to know before, might have helped when he'd seen the prisoners in a bad way. But Draco knew he was too much of a fucking coward to have used the healing spells on them anyway.
He put the book aside, looking at ancient runes for a little while. That at least was calming - at least until he reached the page on Eihwaz, and he found himself thinking about the bottle that Harry had taken - the bottle that was meant to ensure he didn't find himself in trouble as a result of letting Potter... he grabbed the Charms book again and flicked back to the healing section.
The book set out clearly how to check for a child - at least a magical one. How to test for the weak signature of foreign magic that would be visible even a couple of days after conception.
Draco didn't want to find out. He knew that for men it was to do with magical compatibility, but he also knew that Potter was strong enough with his magic that he could ride roughshod over any normal concerns. And if he was with child... a sense of calm settled over Draco. If he was, then he was going to need to be careful. He was going to have to keep Potter on side, find a way to ensure Potter didn't ever get angry with him.
He studied the spell for a short while, hoping against hope that it would end up coming back blank and he would be able to forget about it. Potter would be back soon. He had to know before then.
He concentrated, directing his own magic at himself. "Conceptum Revelare" he whispered, and watched as the magic passed through him, then lifted up before him in a pale green light. As he stared, a yellow sphere coalesced in the middle of it.
A trace of foreign magic.
The room seemed to spin as Draco sat down on the bed and tried to remember how to breathe.