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Title: Not Your Run-of-the-Mill Question
Author: me
Pairing: H/D
Rating: R
Summary: Harry attempts to come to terms with his loss. Part 6 of the Marriage Arc.
Disclaimer: Boys aren't mine. Their argument is, though.
Marriage Arc parts One Two Three Four Five
Part 6:
Not Your Run-of-the-Mill Question
Harry was trying not to breathe. He didn’t need air. He didn’t. Besides, breathing was probably one of those ridiculously plebeian activities that weren’t suited for Malfoys, like drinking water at dinner, or not using house-elves around the mansion. It made quite a lot of sense, actually. Malfoys sneered too much to breathe; there just wasn’t time enough in one day. One had to get up and sneer before breakfast. And then there was the sneering at work. And if Malfoys didn’t work, well, then they sneered about that instead. There was the sneering at nosy boys selling them raspberry-toffee-triple sec chocolate. They sneered extra hard when they lied to their lovers, and then there was the sneering just as they came home and broke up with their fiancés—
Harry breathed. And got a lungful of Draco’s scent from the pillow clutched in his arms. And began to cry in earnest.
Oh. Now he really wasn’t suited for a Malfoy.
Harry cursed himself inwardly for being an absolute twat. It wasn’t doing anyone any good, lying there snuffling in a bed that was now completely owned by him, getting tears all over the Malfoy family heirloom. It wasn’t his family, after all, and he was fairly certain that if Narcissa Malfoy knew what he was doing, she would have the ring sandblasted and dunked in boiling acid for five years straight before letting anyone else touch it.
Of course, she’d probably do that anyway.
Harry held his breath again and went back over what had happened from the beginning. It was the fifth time he’d done so, and he still couldn’t figure out exactly why his reasoning an hour earlier was now looking rather pointless.
Harry had a list of reasons to break up with a significant other. Not that he’d had many significant others, but it had felt important to make a list just in case something came up somewhere down the line. He ticked down it yet again.
No, Draco had not been plotting his death, no sense in dwelling on it.
No, Draco had not wanted to steal his money; Merlin knew he had enough of his own bloody money, and he wasn’t in it for the fame and glory either (that was number three on the list) because there weren’t any wizarding reporters left who would come near the house. Not after that incident involving the Prophet’s gossip columnist and the interruption of Draco’s first morning of vacation after five weeks of overtime.
And Harry had absolutely no reason to consider number four: Draco was not cheating on him. It was the one thing he was completely sure about. Draco spent so many hours at the Potions licensing office that it simply was not feasible, and obsessed about perfection in his job too much to skip out for some illicit affair. Besides, Draco would never have had the energy to pursue said illicit affair, given all the time he spent engaging in more enjoyable activities with his self-proclaimed lover, in the very bed Harry was lying in. And on the couch. And on the kitchen table. And in the nook between the house and the backyard fence where those feather ferns grew all over the ground.
And that just made Harry cry all over again, because now that was over too.
So in the end… what was the issue? It wasn’t premeditated murder or Galleon-grabbing. It wasn’t the next front page article in the Prophet or a tart on the side. Draco certainly wasn’t straight, so there was little point in pretending that was a factor.
Was Harry not interesting enough for Draco? More importantly, was Harry really just another notch on the Malfoy stick of joyful flings? If he was very, very honest with himself, he didn’t think so. He refused to believe it had all meant so little to Draco. His lover had shown him so many times that they had more than just a quick shag against the refrigerator before work, or a bout of sound snogging while Draco’s secretary pounded down the door to his office. No, it was a quick shag against the refrigerator after Draco had made Harry’s favorite omelet and hunted down the last of the Devonshire cream for his scone. It was a bout of sound snogging followed by Draco taking the rest of the day off to tend to the latest fracture Harry’d received teaching the “little Quidditchy annoyances of Britain” how not to fall off their new Nimbuses.
But in the end. What did Harry Potter have that Draco Malfoy wanted, in the long run?
Harry sighed miserably. Potter was such a plain name next to Parkinson, or… or that other one. What could he possibly have to offer Draco Malfoy? The Potter family “estate,” which currently consisted of a world-renowned scar and a meager little vault in the bowels of Gringotts? ‘Draco Lucius Octavius Cyrano of the Malfoy line, husband of the Saffold-Insbrook heir’ sounded much more sophisticated than ‘Draco Lucius Octavius Cyrano of the Malfoy line, husband of Harry James Potter, heir of all the crud that can be foisted on a single person in one lifetime.’
But he couldn’t help wondering if Garrett Saffold-Insbrook had ever seen just how Draco’s body shivered when his favorite middle name was whispered into his ear, seconds before he came. Or how bright his eyes got waiting for Harry to come first.
Of course, it didn’t matter now. Maybe Draco hadn’t been as truthful as a fiancé should be. But Harry hadn’t given him the benefit of the doubt at all, had he?
He really should get out of there, he thought. Draco’s pillow was a soggy mess now, the ring was probably misshapen already from how hard he was clutching it, and he had wrapped himself so tightly into Draco’s cream-coloured sheets that he couldn’t even move his right leg. But he couldn’t bring himself to leave either. Just another few minutes. He pressed his face into the pillow and shut his eyes. Just another minute.
The bed had already dipped on his right side by the time Harry came to himself and jerked around. Draco sat there, one hand outstretched, hovering just inches from Harry’s shoulder. He looked quite pale. Harry dropped his eyes, feeling the heat and the horrendous wail burgeoning in his chest. He wasn’t ready to go. He wasn’t.
“Sorry,” he muttered, trying to pull himself free of the sheets. “Give me a second and I’ll go.”
Draco’s hand touched his shoulder and Harry froze. Just how angry was Draco? Threats from his lover had never been things to cast idly aside, but then, Harry had not been on the receiving end of them for the last few years. Maybe that was why this hurt the most: he had tasted that feeling again earlier that evening. Not that he hadn’t deserved it completely.
He focused on extricating himself from the sheets. So when Draco’s hand touched his face, he jerked in surprise. Draco was not looking at him as much as he was studying him; his eyes drifted over Harry’s face. Fingers came up hesitantly, and then smoothed something from his cheek. Harry looked down.
It was a tear.
No. He would do his crying later, when he could be alone. He scooted backward. “Draco…”
“Harry, stop. Please.”
It was the quiet of Draco’s voice that did it. Harry stopped moving, glancing up before he could help it. Draco’s face was a hollow façade of what it had been when he’d stalked out earlier that evening. There were lines between his brows, a tight grimace on his lips. His eyes were wet. Harry’s mouth dropped open in shock at the change. “Draco?”
His lover swallowed and dropped his hand to Harry’s wrist. It tightened, long fingers clenching spasmodically. “I came in and the house was so quiet. I thought you’d left.”
Harry bit his lip. “I was about to. I mean, I…” He straightened, but couldn’t force himself to pull his arm away. Draco’s touch was, plain and simple, his touch. Harry craved it with everything he had. He sighed, feeling more useless than ever. “I’ll go downstairs. Until you’re done.”
“Harry, don’t listen to my mother.” Draco’s voice had a sudden, frantic edge to it. The look in his eyes told Harry he hadn’t meant to speak those words, not in that way. The rush of hope in Harry’s chest nearly overwhelmed him, it tasted so sweet. He looked at Draco, and knew his voice was going to be unsteady.
“She was lying?”
Draco shifted and shut his eyes. His hand did not leave Harry’s arm. “No, she…” Draco took a deep breath. “I need to tell you something. A few things, actually. And I want you to sit here and listen, at least.”
“She wasn’t lying, then.” His stomach was hurting again.
“Harry?” Draco was looking at him carefully now, and it wasn’t anything like when Draco talked about his latest potions applicant, or his family, or even when he brought home bad news about having to work late for the following week. This expression was direct, weighted, and more than a little fearful. “Just listen. Then you can leave.”
Harry sat mutely and waited, more rigid than he would have liked. It was difficult, listening while wondering if this would be the last he would hear of Draco’s voice. But he wanted to hear Draco’s voice. His heart was jumping about in his chest, and it was all he could do to sit still. Rigidity was the only safe way.
Draco took a deep breath, then pursed his lips and studied the duvet pattern. “I didn’t want to fight tonight. But it was so much all at once, and after this whole month—”
“What are you talking about?”
Draco let out a heavy sigh. “You’ve been acting oddly. I figured you were trying to break it off, and then the ring, and that note…”
Harry tried to sort it out for himself, but there seemed to be holes in his information everywhere. “I wasn’t trying to break it off.”
“Oh, come on, Harry.” Draco glanced up at him. “You’ve barely let me touch you all month—”
Harry drew back, stung. “I was a little distracted! I couldn’t help it, not after—” He looked at Draco, unable to keep the hurt down. “Was your mother lying? Just tell me that.”
Draco’s face paled and his eyes flicked away. Harry felt something clench in his chest. He’d been so certain Narcissa had lied – he’d convinced himself, curled up on the bed – he’d been sure that he hadn’t given Draco enough time to refute it, and if he just asked Draco… But the expression on the other man’s face was enough to squash that hope into paste. He looked down. “I guess it explains a lot.”
“Harry, I admit, there are things she said that were true, but—”
“She said you’d never commit to marrying me.”
Silence. Harry continued to stare at his hands, but now that everything was coming out of him, he just didn’t have the energy to stop it anymore. He felt empty of all emotion, just the need to finally have this one question answered.
“I have no idea when we’re getting married,” he said softly. “I haven’t ever known. Not for the four months since I proposed.”
Draco’s shoulders slumped. “I didn’t want to set a date, Harry,” he whispered.
Well, this was just going right down the path he’d been trying to avoid. Harry pulled back, feeling his throat begin to burn again. “You didn’t.”
“Harry, I just…” Grey eyes fell from Harry’s to the crumpled bedspread. “I wasn’t ready for it.”
Harry grimaced and began to tug at the sheets, intent on getting out of the room before he made a blubbering fool of himself. Downstairs. Out onto the porch. Out to the park. Somewhere Else. “It would have been nice to know that from the beginning,” he muttered.
“Everything is fine until you set a date,” Draco whispered in a broken voice.
Harry stopped tugging, uncertain if he’d heard correctly. He turned to stare at Draco and found his former fiancé – yes, former, there was no sense in wishing for what didn’t exist anymore – looking at him with yearning sadness.
“I tried. More than once.” Draco’s voice hitched again. He looked so resigned. “But all I could see was you pulling back, going through the door and out of my life and I—”
Harry blinked. “Draco, what—”
“I was engaged once before.” Draco’s eyes were shut tightly, as if he were trying to hold back all the words, yet unable to keep them from tumbling out. “You aren’t the first person I’ve proposed to. My mother didn’t lie to you about that.”
It was like turning around and flying directly into a Bludger he’d been trying to escape. It was so easy to pretend until it actually hit him. “Pansy Parkinson,” Harry whispered.
Draco lifted his head sharply. “That was none of my doing, Harry.”
“But you were engaged.”
His hand covered Harry’s where it clutched around the pillow. “Hard to say no to something that was arranged before I was old enough to speak.”
Harry nodded slowly, and Draco’s fingers tightened. “But that… Pansy and I ended that family fantasy as soon as we knew about it. That wasn’t what I… what I meant…”
Harry looked right at Draco and said the name in careful, deliberate syllables. “Garrett Saffold-Insbrook, then.”
So soft it was almost a breath: “Yes.”
Why? Why didn’t you just tell me about him? Harry stared mutely at Draco, wanting to ask, to find out what was so secret about that other man that it had been necessary to hide his very existence from Harry. Draco must have seen it in his face. His cheeks flushed and his gaze darted away.
“I just wanted to put that part of my life behind me. I didn’t…” Draco grimaced. “Didn’t want you to know about him.”
“Draco.” Harry cast about for a moment before returning his attention to the hands he knew so well, the ones now clasping each other tightly enough to whiten the knuckles attached. “Why not?”
“Because he’s the only other person I’ve given so much to, until I had you,” Draco said quietly. “And then… you trumped it all, twice over, and I knew if what happened before happened again, it would hit twice as hard.”
“Draco, what did happen?” Harry heard the hush of his own voice with some surprise.
“I proposed.” Draco spoke dully, eyes closed. “He accepted. We set a date. And then— then he—”
“Broke it off.”
Draco shook his head and gave a bitter laugh. “No, that was me. He didn’t have the decency to do even that.”
It dawned on Harry slowly, like a cloudbank rolling away. He reached out before he could stop himself. “He cheated on you?”
Draco’s arm shuddered under his fingers. “I’ve no idea. But he wasn’t… as interested in us as I was. There were weeks when all I knew was that he was abroad. He never told me why or where, or when he’d be back, or if he’d be back. It was ‘just a game.’ His own words, not mine. Suddenly he didn’t see a need to tie himself down with me. After two years of saying just the opposite.” Draco rubbed his face with both hands. “I… maybe I pushed too hard.”
“No.”
Draco looked up. His eyes met Harry’s, then he let out a long breath in a whoosh. “I… Well. Couldn’t have people thinking I’d been used. Malfoys don’t allow that. Disgraceful.”
Harry frowned. “Your mother.”
“I acted like it had never been serious. Then, and after. It wasn’t difficult to play the part; I’d had it with commitment. That is…” Draco’s fingers clenched around each other again. “Until three years ago.”
Harry felt heat rush through his body. But something painful was worming around in his gut. He looked at the floor. It was suddenly so interesting. “I never should have listened to her,” he said miserably.
He heard Draco sigh again. “Harry, it’s not as if I gave you much of anything to—”
“Yes, you did. Every… every day. If I hadn’t been so unsure of myself, I would have–” He clamped his mouth shut. Apparently tears had a flood season all their own.
Draco went on. “I don’t know what I thought would happen. If I waited long enough, maybe I’d get the courage to… But I forgot about my mother’s extreme dislike for you. For me, really, when I’m controlling my own life.”
Harry felt like covering his head in the duvet and never coming out again. Not even for Christmas, when it came along eventually. “I should never have believed her. But I thought… It all fit together so neatly, and we never talked about the wedding.” He hid his face in his hands, feeling wretched. “I’m such an arse.”
“You really thought I would leave you?” Draco’s voice came hesitantly.
“I didn’t know what to think.”
A hand touched his back. “I’d never been so scared in my life. When I walked in and saw the ring, just lying there…” Draco gave a soft laugh. “I guess I should answer my own question.”
“I wasn’t going to leave you. Not like that.”
“The note?” Uncertainly.
Harry turned a watery smile Draco’s way. “It’s actually to your mother. I was so angry, but who yells at Narcissa Malfoy?”
“I just did.”
Harry grinned, a lopsided quirk of his lips. “So, Thursday nights are free now?”
“Potter, you really are hopeless,” Draco exhaled. He carefully untangled the sheet from around Harry’s legs and dropped it in a little pile on the floor. Harry straightened, holding the pillow again. Draco gave him a very shaky smile and took Harry’s hand in his.
“Harry, I have something important to ask you,” he said.
Harry nodded. Draco took a deep breath and let it out. “It’s not really your run-of-the-mill question, but I was asked myself earlier this year and I botched it up a bit, you see.”
Very slowly, Draco dropped down from the bed onto one knee. Harry swallowed hard.
“Harry… I do not want to go through my life knowing I was stupid enough to let the person I love more than anyone… anything I have ever known, walk out of it. I don’t have a ring for you. Not yet. And I lied to you. I kept things from you that you should have— that you—”
Draco’s voice cracked. He was looking down at Harry’s hand, cradled between his own. His shoulders shook.
“Yes,” Harry whispered. “Draco. Yes.”
Draco looked up. His eyes were floundering. “But I haven’t asked—”
“Yes, Draco.” Harry slid from the bed onto his knees in front of Draco. His lover was on the verge of breaking, holding his hand so tightly it ached. He moved closer, and Draco trembled. “I do. I will. And I’m tired of rings.”
Draco’s laugh was just as much a sob as he enfolded Harry in his arms.
...
When Draco came home a little late one night a week later, Harry said nothing about it. Not when his fiancé readied dinner in silence and poured himself a shot of firewhiskey when he thought Harry wasn’t looking.
Not when he silently placed a small black box next to Harry’s salad fork.
Inside was a ring made of silver and gold entwined in soft, intricate loops. The tail of a lion, and the tail of a snake, flowing gently around and over each other’s bodies. The inscription on the inside was simple: H & D, in keenly edged, delicate letters.
Harry wondered briefly how much it had cost to melt down an old, heavily enchanted family heirloom, to pay for the week of studious workmanship, the interweaving of such flawless silver. But the hush in their bedroom that night, the gentle touches and lingering whispers – Draco’s fingers laced between his own – drove it from his mind completely.
...
Part 7: To Be Expected
Author: me
Pairing: H/D
Rating: R
Summary: Harry attempts to come to terms with his loss. Part 6 of the Marriage Arc.
Disclaimer: Boys aren't mine. Their argument is, though.
Marriage Arc parts One Two Three Four Five
Part 6:
Not Your Run-of-the-Mill Question
Harry was trying not to breathe. He didn’t need air. He didn’t. Besides, breathing was probably one of those ridiculously plebeian activities that weren’t suited for Malfoys, like drinking water at dinner, or not using house-elves around the mansion. It made quite a lot of sense, actually. Malfoys sneered too much to breathe; there just wasn’t time enough in one day. One had to get up and sneer before breakfast. And then there was the sneering at work. And if Malfoys didn’t work, well, then they sneered about that instead. There was the sneering at nosy boys selling them raspberry-toffee-triple sec chocolate. They sneered extra hard when they lied to their lovers, and then there was the sneering just as they came home and broke up with their fiancés—
Harry breathed. And got a lungful of Draco’s scent from the pillow clutched in his arms. And began to cry in earnest.
Oh. Now he really wasn’t suited for a Malfoy.
Harry cursed himself inwardly for being an absolute twat. It wasn’t doing anyone any good, lying there snuffling in a bed that was now completely owned by him, getting tears all over the Malfoy family heirloom. It wasn’t his family, after all, and he was fairly certain that if Narcissa Malfoy knew what he was doing, she would have the ring sandblasted and dunked in boiling acid for five years straight before letting anyone else touch it.
Of course, she’d probably do that anyway.
Harry held his breath again and went back over what had happened from the beginning. It was the fifth time he’d done so, and he still couldn’t figure out exactly why his reasoning an hour earlier was now looking rather pointless.
Harry had a list of reasons to break up with a significant other. Not that he’d had many significant others, but it had felt important to make a list just in case something came up somewhere down the line. He ticked down it yet again.
No, Draco had not been plotting his death, no sense in dwelling on it.
No, Draco had not wanted to steal his money; Merlin knew he had enough of his own bloody money, and he wasn’t in it for the fame and glory either (that was number three on the list) because there weren’t any wizarding reporters left who would come near the house. Not after that incident involving the Prophet’s gossip columnist and the interruption of Draco’s first morning of vacation after five weeks of overtime.
And Harry had absolutely no reason to consider number four: Draco was not cheating on him. It was the one thing he was completely sure about. Draco spent so many hours at the Potions licensing office that it simply was not feasible, and obsessed about perfection in his job too much to skip out for some illicit affair. Besides, Draco would never have had the energy to pursue said illicit affair, given all the time he spent engaging in more enjoyable activities with his self-proclaimed lover, in the very bed Harry was lying in. And on the couch. And on the kitchen table. And in the nook between the house and the backyard fence where those feather ferns grew all over the ground.
And that just made Harry cry all over again, because now that was over too.
So in the end… what was the issue? It wasn’t premeditated murder or Galleon-grabbing. It wasn’t the next front page article in the Prophet or a tart on the side. Draco certainly wasn’t straight, so there was little point in pretending that was a factor.
Was Harry not interesting enough for Draco? More importantly, was Harry really just another notch on the Malfoy stick of joyful flings? If he was very, very honest with himself, he didn’t think so. He refused to believe it had all meant so little to Draco. His lover had shown him so many times that they had more than just a quick shag against the refrigerator before work, or a bout of sound snogging while Draco’s secretary pounded down the door to his office. No, it was a quick shag against the refrigerator after Draco had made Harry’s favorite omelet and hunted down the last of the Devonshire cream for his scone. It was a bout of sound snogging followed by Draco taking the rest of the day off to tend to the latest fracture Harry’d received teaching the “little Quidditchy annoyances of Britain” how not to fall off their new Nimbuses.
But in the end. What did Harry Potter have that Draco Malfoy wanted, in the long run?
Harry sighed miserably. Potter was such a plain name next to Parkinson, or… or that other one. What could he possibly have to offer Draco Malfoy? The Potter family “estate,” which currently consisted of a world-renowned scar and a meager little vault in the bowels of Gringotts? ‘Draco Lucius Octavius Cyrano of the Malfoy line, husband of the Saffold-Insbrook heir’ sounded much more sophisticated than ‘Draco Lucius Octavius Cyrano of the Malfoy line, husband of Harry James Potter, heir of all the crud that can be foisted on a single person in one lifetime.’
But he couldn’t help wondering if Garrett Saffold-Insbrook had ever seen just how Draco’s body shivered when his favorite middle name was whispered into his ear, seconds before he came. Or how bright his eyes got waiting for Harry to come first.
Of course, it didn’t matter now. Maybe Draco hadn’t been as truthful as a fiancé should be. But Harry hadn’t given him the benefit of the doubt at all, had he?
He really should get out of there, he thought. Draco’s pillow was a soggy mess now, the ring was probably misshapen already from how hard he was clutching it, and he had wrapped himself so tightly into Draco’s cream-coloured sheets that he couldn’t even move his right leg. But he couldn’t bring himself to leave either. Just another few minutes. He pressed his face into the pillow and shut his eyes. Just another minute.
The bed had already dipped on his right side by the time Harry came to himself and jerked around. Draco sat there, one hand outstretched, hovering just inches from Harry’s shoulder. He looked quite pale. Harry dropped his eyes, feeling the heat and the horrendous wail burgeoning in his chest. He wasn’t ready to go. He wasn’t.
“Sorry,” he muttered, trying to pull himself free of the sheets. “Give me a second and I’ll go.”
Draco’s hand touched his shoulder and Harry froze. Just how angry was Draco? Threats from his lover had never been things to cast idly aside, but then, Harry had not been on the receiving end of them for the last few years. Maybe that was why this hurt the most: he had tasted that feeling again earlier that evening. Not that he hadn’t deserved it completely.
He focused on extricating himself from the sheets. So when Draco’s hand touched his face, he jerked in surprise. Draco was not looking at him as much as he was studying him; his eyes drifted over Harry’s face. Fingers came up hesitantly, and then smoothed something from his cheek. Harry looked down.
It was a tear.
No. He would do his crying later, when he could be alone. He scooted backward. “Draco…”
“Harry, stop. Please.”
It was the quiet of Draco’s voice that did it. Harry stopped moving, glancing up before he could help it. Draco’s face was a hollow façade of what it had been when he’d stalked out earlier that evening. There were lines between his brows, a tight grimace on his lips. His eyes were wet. Harry’s mouth dropped open in shock at the change. “Draco?”
His lover swallowed and dropped his hand to Harry’s wrist. It tightened, long fingers clenching spasmodically. “I came in and the house was so quiet. I thought you’d left.”
Harry bit his lip. “I was about to. I mean, I…” He straightened, but couldn’t force himself to pull his arm away. Draco’s touch was, plain and simple, his touch. Harry craved it with everything he had. He sighed, feeling more useless than ever. “I’ll go downstairs. Until you’re done.”
“Harry, don’t listen to my mother.” Draco’s voice had a sudden, frantic edge to it. The look in his eyes told Harry he hadn’t meant to speak those words, not in that way. The rush of hope in Harry’s chest nearly overwhelmed him, it tasted so sweet. He looked at Draco, and knew his voice was going to be unsteady.
“She was lying?”
Draco shifted and shut his eyes. His hand did not leave Harry’s arm. “No, she…” Draco took a deep breath. “I need to tell you something. A few things, actually. And I want you to sit here and listen, at least.”
“She wasn’t lying, then.” His stomach was hurting again.
“Harry?” Draco was looking at him carefully now, and it wasn’t anything like when Draco talked about his latest potions applicant, or his family, or even when he brought home bad news about having to work late for the following week. This expression was direct, weighted, and more than a little fearful. “Just listen. Then you can leave.”
Harry sat mutely and waited, more rigid than he would have liked. It was difficult, listening while wondering if this would be the last he would hear of Draco’s voice. But he wanted to hear Draco’s voice. His heart was jumping about in his chest, and it was all he could do to sit still. Rigidity was the only safe way.
Draco took a deep breath, then pursed his lips and studied the duvet pattern. “I didn’t want to fight tonight. But it was so much all at once, and after this whole month—”
“What are you talking about?”
Draco let out a heavy sigh. “You’ve been acting oddly. I figured you were trying to break it off, and then the ring, and that note…”
Harry tried to sort it out for himself, but there seemed to be holes in his information everywhere. “I wasn’t trying to break it off.”
“Oh, come on, Harry.” Draco glanced up at him. “You’ve barely let me touch you all month—”
Harry drew back, stung. “I was a little distracted! I couldn’t help it, not after—” He looked at Draco, unable to keep the hurt down. “Was your mother lying? Just tell me that.”
Draco’s face paled and his eyes flicked away. Harry felt something clench in his chest. He’d been so certain Narcissa had lied – he’d convinced himself, curled up on the bed – he’d been sure that he hadn’t given Draco enough time to refute it, and if he just asked Draco… But the expression on the other man’s face was enough to squash that hope into paste. He looked down. “I guess it explains a lot.”
“Harry, I admit, there are things she said that were true, but—”
“She said you’d never commit to marrying me.”
Silence. Harry continued to stare at his hands, but now that everything was coming out of him, he just didn’t have the energy to stop it anymore. He felt empty of all emotion, just the need to finally have this one question answered.
“I have no idea when we’re getting married,” he said softly. “I haven’t ever known. Not for the four months since I proposed.”
Draco’s shoulders slumped. “I didn’t want to set a date, Harry,” he whispered.
Well, this was just going right down the path he’d been trying to avoid. Harry pulled back, feeling his throat begin to burn again. “You didn’t.”
“Harry, I just…” Grey eyes fell from Harry’s to the crumpled bedspread. “I wasn’t ready for it.”
Harry grimaced and began to tug at the sheets, intent on getting out of the room before he made a blubbering fool of himself. Downstairs. Out onto the porch. Out to the park. Somewhere Else. “It would have been nice to know that from the beginning,” he muttered.
“Everything is fine until you set a date,” Draco whispered in a broken voice.
Harry stopped tugging, uncertain if he’d heard correctly. He turned to stare at Draco and found his former fiancé – yes, former, there was no sense in wishing for what didn’t exist anymore – looking at him with yearning sadness.
“I tried. More than once.” Draco’s voice hitched again. He looked so resigned. “But all I could see was you pulling back, going through the door and out of my life and I—”
Harry blinked. “Draco, what—”
“I was engaged once before.” Draco’s eyes were shut tightly, as if he were trying to hold back all the words, yet unable to keep them from tumbling out. “You aren’t the first person I’ve proposed to. My mother didn’t lie to you about that.”
It was like turning around and flying directly into a Bludger he’d been trying to escape. It was so easy to pretend until it actually hit him. “Pansy Parkinson,” Harry whispered.
Draco lifted his head sharply. “That was none of my doing, Harry.”
“But you were engaged.”
His hand covered Harry’s where it clutched around the pillow. “Hard to say no to something that was arranged before I was old enough to speak.”
Harry nodded slowly, and Draco’s fingers tightened. “But that… Pansy and I ended that family fantasy as soon as we knew about it. That wasn’t what I… what I meant…”
Harry looked right at Draco and said the name in careful, deliberate syllables. “Garrett Saffold-Insbrook, then.”
So soft it was almost a breath: “Yes.”
Why? Why didn’t you just tell me about him? Harry stared mutely at Draco, wanting to ask, to find out what was so secret about that other man that it had been necessary to hide his very existence from Harry. Draco must have seen it in his face. His cheeks flushed and his gaze darted away.
“I just wanted to put that part of my life behind me. I didn’t…” Draco grimaced. “Didn’t want you to know about him.”
“Draco.” Harry cast about for a moment before returning his attention to the hands he knew so well, the ones now clasping each other tightly enough to whiten the knuckles attached. “Why not?”
“Because he’s the only other person I’ve given so much to, until I had you,” Draco said quietly. “And then… you trumped it all, twice over, and I knew if what happened before happened again, it would hit twice as hard.”
“Draco, what did happen?” Harry heard the hush of his own voice with some surprise.
“I proposed.” Draco spoke dully, eyes closed. “He accepted. We set a date. And then— then he—”
“Broke it off.”
Draco shook his head and gave a bitter laugh. “No, that was me. He didn’t have the decency to do even that.”
It dawned on Harry slowly, like a cloudbank rolling away. He reached out before he could stop himself. “He cheated on you?”
Draco’s arm shuddered under his fingers. “I’ve no idea. But he wasn’t… as interested in us as I was. There were weeks when all I knew was that he was abroad. He never told me why or where, or when he’d be back, or if he’d be back. It was ‘just a game.’ His own words, not mine. Suddenly he didn’t see a need to tie himself down with me. After two years of saying just the opposite.” Draco rubbed his face with both hands. “I… maybe I pushed too hard.”
“No.”
Draco looked up. His eyes met Harry’s, then he let out a long breath in a whoosh. “I… Well. Couldn’t have people thinking I’d been used. Malfoys don’t allow that. Disgraceful.”
Harry frowned. “Your mother.”
“I acted like it had never been serious. Then, and after. It wasn’t difficult to play the part; I’d had it with commitment. That is…” Draco’s fingers clenched around each other again. “Until three years ago.”
Harry felt heat rush through his body. But something painful was worming around in his gut. He looked at the floor. It was suddenly so interesting. “I never should have listened to her,” he said miserably.
He heard Draco sigh again. “Harry, it’s not as if I gave you much of anything to—”
“Yes, you did. Every… every day. If I hadn’t been so unsure of myself, I would have–” He clamped his mouth shut. Apparently tears had a flood season all their own.
Draco went on. “I don’t know what I thought would happen. If I waited long enough, maybe I’d get the courage to… But I forgot about my mother’s extreme dislike for you. For me, really, when I’m controlling my own life.”
Harry felt like covering his head in the duvet and never coming out again. Not even for Christmas, when it came along eventually. “I should never have believed her. But I thought… It all fit together so neatly, and we never talked about the wedding.” He hid his face in his hands, feeling wretched. “I’m such an arse.”
“You really thought I would leave you?” Draco’s voice came hesitantly.
“I didn’t know what to think.”
A hand touched his back. “I’d never been so scared in my life. When I walked in and saw the ring, just lying there…” Draco gave a soft laugh. “I guess I should answer my own question.”
“I wasn’t going to leave you. Not like that.”
“The note?” Uncertainly.
Harry turned a watery smile Draco’s way. “It’s actually to your mother. I was so angry, but who yells at Narcissa Malfoy?”
“I just did.”
Harry grinned, a lopsided quirk of his lips. “So, Thursday nights are free now?”
“Potter, you really are hopeless,” Draco exhaled. He carefully untangled the sheet from around Harry’s legs and dropped it in a little pile on the floor. Harry straightened, holding the pillow again. Draco gave him a very shaky smile and took Harry’s hand in his.
“Harry, I have something important to ask you,” he said.
Harry nodded. Draco took a deep breath and let it out. “It’s not really your run-of-the-mill question, but I was asked myself earlier this year and I botched it up a bit, you see.”
Very slowly, Draco dropped down from the bed onto one knee. Harry swallowed hard.
“Harry… I do not want to go through my life knowing I was stupid enough to let the person I love more than anyone… anything I have ever known, walk out of it. I don’t have a ring for you. Not yet. And I lied to you. I kept things from you that you should have— that you—”
Draco’s voice cracked. He was looking down at Harry’s hand, cradled between his own. His shoulders shook.
“Yes,” Harry whispered. “Draco. Yes.”
Draco looked up. His eyes were floundering. “But I haven’t asked—”
“Yes, Draco.” Harry slid from the bed onto his knees in front of Draco. His lover was on the verge of breaking, holding his hand so tightly it ached. He moved closer, and Draco trembled. “I do. I will. And I’m tired of rings.”
Draco’s laugh was just as much a sob as he enfolded Harry in his arms.
...
When Draco came home a little late one night a week later, Harry said nothing about it. Not when his fiancé readied dinner in silence and poured himself a shot of firewhiskey when he thought Harry wasn’t looking.
Not when he silently placed a small black box next to Harry’s salad fork.
Inside was a ring made of silver and gold entwined in soft, intricate loops. The tail of a lion, and the tail of a snake, flowing gently around and over each other’s bodies. The inscription on the inside was simple: H & D, in keenly edged, delicate letters.
Harry wondered briefly how much it had cost to melt down an old, heavily enchanted family heirloom, to pay for the week of studious workmanship, the interweaving of such flawless silver. But the hush in their bedroom that night, the gentle touches and lingering whispers – Draco’s fingers laced between his own – drove it from his mind completely.
...
Part 7: To Be Expected
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Date: 2005-12-05 09:13 am (UTC)From:*drinks more of maddy*
Thanks, lovely.