FIC: Benevolence (Part Three)
Oct. 1st, 2011 06:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dysonrulesPosting more to give myself some incentive to finish it already. :D
Harry cleaned like a madman when he arrived home. Kreacher was relatively useless as a house-elf. Although he kept the kitchen tidy enough, the rest of the house had fallen to Harry to maintain, and he was not the most organized person. Quidditch magazines, books, miscellaneous mail and pamphlets were strewn over every flat surface, bits of clothing were draped over chair backs and sofa arms, and random socks seemed to be everywhere (which explained why he only had three pairs that still matched in his drawer).
Once the majority of the spaces Draco would be most likely to view (living room, kitchen, hallway) were clean, Harry next had to decide what to prepare for dinner. Draco was probably used to the finer things in life, although watching him stoop to eating Muggle fish and chips had been eye-opening. Still, Harry had not cooked anything fancy since a surprise birthday party for Hermione nearly two years previous.
He did not have time to cook a beef roast or a duck, so he settled on risotto and some sort of fish, which required a trip to the market for something freshly-caught. He decided on sea bass after a quick consultation with the fishmonger. After tossing his purchases in the cooling cupboard, he hurried upstairs to bathe and then figure out what to wear. After rejecting his seventh potential outfit, he realized he was far too anxious for this "not-date Quidditch-talk" and forced himself to relax. It was Draco Malfoy, for fuck's sake. Chances were good they would end up hexing each other before the night was out, so what he wore would scarcely be an issue.
In the end, he decided on a royal-blue shirt that Hermione had purchased for him and a pair of dark blue jeans. He fussed with his hair off and on for forty minutes, and in the end it looked exactly the same as it always did, so he gave up and hurried downstairs to begin meal preparation.
He knew nothing about wine, but several bottles resided on a dusty shelf. Kreacher watched him flounder before pointing out a proper bottle of white wine and helped Harry scrub a silver wine bucket and nestle the bottle inside for chilling.
The cauliflower and scallop risotto was set to simmering and the fish was ready to be steamed when the clock chimed eight. Harry tried not to pace nervously as he waited, but his relief was immense when the kitchen fireplace flared green and Draco's face appeared at 8:07.
"Potter?"
"Yes, come on through."
Draco stepped elegantly out of the flames and Harry was glad he had taken extra time with his wardrobe. Draco looked positively edible in dark grey trousers and a shirt that looked vaguely purplish. His hairstyle seemed softer than usual, falling over his forehead nearly to his eyes.
Draco held out a bottle of wine. "I brought this, even though I wasn't sure what you were preparing. It smells delicious."
Harry took it and glanced at the label. It was French, and could have been written in hieroglyph for all the sense it made to him. He smiled and wondered vaguely whether it was supposed to be chilled or served at room temperature. "Thank you. Um... it's actually almost ready, if you want to have a seat."
Kreacher popped up and rescued the wine from Harry's ineptitude. Harry busied himself giving the risotto one final stir while Draco sat down at the table. "Shall I pour the wine?" he asked.
"Please," Harry replied and sent the pea salad winging to the table with a flick of his wand. He heard liquid being poured into glasses behind him and took a deep breath as he carried the platter of fish over and placed it before Draco. Another spell brought the risotto to the table and Harry sat down across from Draco, who smiled.
"I am impressed, Potter. This looks extraordinary."
Harry mumbled his thanks and picked up his wine glass to hide behind, feeling his cheeks go pink.
They ate in silence, which was surprisingly comfortable at first, until Harry noticed himself watching Draco eat, marvelling at the precision of his movements and admiring the way the tines of his fork pushed into his fish. He began to think he was losing his mind.
"So, who do you fancy this year?" Draco asked.
Harry nearly dropped his fork and was thankful he had just swallowed and thereby avoided choking. "F... fancy?"
Draco smirked. "For the Quidditch World Cup. We are supposed to talk Quidditch, remember?"
"Quidditch. Yes! Well, I think the Tornadoes chances are quite good."
Draco rolled his eyes, countered with an impressive set of statistics and the argument began. Harry embraced it with a sense of relief that was nearly overwhelming. Familiar ground, at last.
"Hornsby couldn't fly his way to the goalposts with a bloody map and a Point Me Charm," Draco said scathingly sometime later as Harry stood up to clear away the dishes.
"He's better than Chalmers!"
Draco snorted. "He's fitter than Chalmers; are you looking at his skill or his arse?"
Harry gaped at him. "What are you implying?" he demanded.
Draco shrugged, not looking at him as he reached for the bottle, only to frown when he realized it was empty. "I'm implying that Hornsby has a great arse. Who do you think is the fittest Quidditch player?"
Harry spluttered, taken aback by the subject change, and flabbergasted that Draco had matter-of-factly proclaimed a male player to be fit. He scrambled to reply. "Um... Raquel Clarke."
"Hmmm."
Harry turned away and filled the sink with water. Cleaning Charms were faster, but he always felt the dishes were cleaner when washed with soap and water. He pushed up his sleeves. "What about you?" he asked casually.
"Cameron Shoemaker."
Harry's eyes widened and he was glad he was facing away from Draco. Several people had remarked on Harry's resemblance to Shoemaker. The bloke had amazing green eyes, a ready smile, and a thick head of black hair. Apparently his teammates often called him "Harry Potter" as a matter of course. Harry glared over his shoulder. "You're having me on."
"Why would I? You asked, and I answered."
His reply seemed matter-of-fact and though Harry tried to find sarcasm beneath the tone, it eluded him. He tugged a hand through his hair. "Um... I didn't know you..."
Draco looked him in the eye and finished, "Beat for the other team?"
Harry nodded and was glad when Kreacher chose to pop in at that moment with another bottle of wine. He gave it to Draco and then disappeared. Draco spelled the cork out.
"Both teams, actually," Draco said and poured, refilling both glasses with pale liquid. "I don't believe in limiting myself. What about you? Firmly in the hetero camp, then? You're still dating Weasley's sister, according to the papers. When do you plan to settle down and start mass-producing new gingers?"
"We broke up," Harry admitted.
Wine sloshed over the rim of the glass for a moment before Draco pulled the bottle away and set it aside. He raised one pale brow. "You broke up? How did I not hear the sound of hearts healing all over the wizarding world? I am surprised there is not a queue of hopefuls lined up outside. Do tell, Potter."
Harry glared at him before striding forward to snatch his glass. "There is nothing to tell. I just want... something different." Harry's eyes met Draco's and held. He hadn't meant for the last to sound suggestive, but his heart gave a strange lurch as tension seemed to explode through the space between them. Harry dropped his gaze and took a drink, feeling heat stealing through his veins that had little to do with the alcohol.
“Different,” Draco whispered.
Harry nodded and stepped away from the table. Even with the furniture between them, Draco suddenly seemed too close, too tantalising, and far too dangerous.
“Pudding?” Harry asked. “I have this tiramisu tart… thing. I picked it up at the market, so don’t expect me to take credit for baking.”
Draco chuckled. It was a nice sound. “All right.”
The dessert was good, not too sweet, and it went well with the additional glass of wine Harry drank while eating it. He tried not to watch Draco, whose expressions of bliss were a wonder to behold.
“Hey!” Harry offered when they were nearly finished. “Would you like to see something?”
“That’s a very ambiguous question, Potter.”
Unaccountably, Harry flushed. Draco’s tone hadn’t been teasing, had it? Harry wished he hadn’t consumed quite so much wine. He was obviously becoming befuddled. “It’s something I made, you wanker.”
“Oh.” Had Draco sounded disappointed? Harry mentally pinched himself. It had been a single word! He needed to stop projecting his own… wants…
Harry stood up abruptly. Draco looked startled.
“Yes, of course, I want to see whatever it is you’ve made, Potter,” he said quickly, as though Harry had changed his mind at his initial hesitation.
“It isn’t anything exciting, just… Well, come on.” Harry left the kitchen and took the stairs, managing not to take them two at a time as he usually did. Draco followed Harry to the third floor and the large bedroom that had been converted into Harry’s workshop. As Harry stepped inside he realized he should have tidied here, as well. Sawdust covered the floor (and most other surfaces) and paint splatters were everywhere. Several mugs, glasses, and plates were strewn over the workbench, some containing the dried remains of meals eaten in a distracted daze.
Draco seemed to notice none of it. His gaze was riveted on the shelves. The far wall contained a floor-to-ceiling shelving unit with one hundred and eight individual alcoves, nine across and twelve high. Only about twenty of the spaces were filled, but it was enough to catch Draco’s eye.
Draco strode forwards and reached out a hand, only to pause and look at Harry askance. Harry nodded, feeling strangely pleased, and smiled when Draco picked out a green one.
“It’s a dragon,” Draco said in wonder.
“Oh, good,” Harry replied. “I was afraid you would think it looked like a hippogriff or a thestral and tell me to take up a new hobby.”
“You made these?” Draco sounded awed and he actually clutched the wooden dragon close to his body as he surveyed the others. Harry felt a flash of real pride.
“Yes. Hermione dragged me to a Muggle crafting fair a couple of years ago and there was a man making birdhouses and miniature windmills… but he had this eagle that looked really realistic, with a sharp beak and open talons. I thought it was amazing. He also had a dragon, but it didn’t look right. I suppose it’s hard for Muggles, who have never seen a real dragon. Anyway, I rushed out and bought some books on woodcarving and started… Well, to be perfectly honest I started destroying a lot of perfectly good wood. It took me ages and I think I Vanished an entire forest worth of sawdust before I got the first one right.”
Harry glanced at the bookshelf on the opposite wall. Woodworking With a Wand. Alder to Yew: Know Your Wood. Magical Furnishing Secrets Revealed. Harder is Better: A Guide to Hardwoods.
Draco held the dragon at arm’s length and turned it this way and that. “It’s very nice.”
“Um. Hold on.” Harry pulled out his wand and cast a quick spell.
Draco nearly dropped the dragon as it flexed its wings and yawned. The dragon blinked at him sleepily and promptly wrapped its tail around Draco’s wrist. Draco drew in a breath. “It’s alive!”
Harry shook his head. “Not really. It’s just a spell, but I worked hard to animate them in a lifelike manner. I’ve been improving with each one.” He shrugged. “They are just toys. I sell them by mail-order. Under an assumed name, of course.” He flushed, realizing only at that moment how Draconis Enterprises would sound to Draco Malfoy. “I think Malachite likes you.”
“Malachite?” Draco asked.
Harry nodded. “I name them after whatever gemstones I use for their eyes. That one is Malachite. The stones fit well with his green scales.”
Draco peered more closely at the dragon, who flapped his wings and opened his mouth to emit a jet of green flame. Draco yelped and thrust his arms out, but the flames were illusary. Harry laughed.
“It’s a toy, Draco. I wouldn’t risk a child being hurt by real flame. It looks good, though, yeah?”
Draco snorted. “Very realistic, Potter. Thank you for the warning.” Harry noticed, however, that Draco did not put the dragon back on the shelf; instead he pulled the toy back in and smoothed over the green scales with his pale fingers. “Sorry, Malachite. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
The dragon began to purr and Draco shot Harry a surprised stare. Harry grinned. “I think he’s yours now.” Indeed, Harry had worked hard on the Bonding Charm. Whenever a dragon was first Activated, it bonded with the person holding it at the time.
“Mine?”
Harry’s smile faded. “I mean, unless you don’t want him. It. Whatever.”
Draco stared at him. “Of course I want him. How much do you normally charge?”
“What, payment? Oh no, he’s yours. I actually… Well, I sort of thought of you when I was making that one.” Harry blushed, because he tried to infuse personalities into his creations and he had made Malachite in the image of Draco, although at the time Harry had only been thinking “temperamental” and “prickly” and “a bit obnoxious”.
“You thought of me? When did you make him?”
“I don’t know. Four… five months ago?” Honestly, Harry didn’t know why he had thought of Draco at the time. Something about the Slytherin green colour of the paint he had used on the dragon had triggered his memories. And Draco loved to fly. “Toss it into the air,” Harry said.
Draco obediently lifted his arms and heaved. Malachite made a squawking sound, but unwrapped his tail from Malfoy’s wrist and leaped into the air, flapping his wings lazily. He flew in a slow circle around their heads and then fluttered to the top of the bookcase and let loose another jet of fire. Then he sat primly and wrapped his tail around himself.
“Come back now!” Draco called and waved to the dragon.
Malachite gave him a haughty look and turned his head to gaze out the window. Harry burst out laughing. “He really is like you.”
Draco threw him a petulant look, but Harry lifted his arm and called, “Malachite! Come here!”
The dragon paused for a moment and then turned and fluttered down from the bookcase to land on Harry’s arm. It breathed a jet of fire at Harry’s face and Harry frowned, glad he had made their flames harmless. “Stop that,” he admonished. “Draco only threw you because I told him to. Now, be nice.”
He handed the dragon back to Draco. It immediately climbed up Draco’s arm to his shoulder and then nuzzled the side of his face. Draco’s eyes widened. “It has claws.”
Harry nodded. “They kept flying around and trying to land on things, and then slipping off. I had to give them talons. But they aren’t very sharp!”
Draco stroked Malachite, who seemed to have forgiven him as he settled against Draco’s shoulder. “No, they’re fine.”
“Do you think…?” Harry glanced at the shelves full of dragons and then back at Draco. “Do you think Daisy would like one?”
He saw Draco draw in a sharp breath and then scowl. “She’s a Muggle, Potter.”
“I know that! I just… you wouldn’t have to activate it. I mean, you couldn’t. But it could stay on the shelf. She might like one, don’t you think?”
Draco looked at the dragons and frowned. They were all still, just a row of wooden toys without the triggering magic that gave them a semblance of life. “Which one?”
Harry stepped forward immediately and picked up a deep red dragon with gold-tipped horns and claws. A very fine dusting of gold shimmered over the scales. He was Harry’s favourite, but somehow he seemed quite suited to Daisy. “She seems like a Gryffindor,” Harry explained as he handed it to Draco.
Draco shook his head. “I wish I could argue, but you are correct. She is very brave. How do I keep it from coming alive accidentally?”
Harry took a small card from the shelf where the dragon had nestled. “The incantations are different for each dragon, and very precise. There is no way to accidentally activate one.”
Draco took the card. “Garnet?”
“I told you, I named them after the stones used for their eyes. It was easier than their colours, as I repeated some of those.” Harry gestured to the shelf where three other red dragons rested. The others were not as elaborate as Garnet, and none of them had gold accents.
“All right,” Draco said and tucked the card into a pocket. “Do you have a box?”
Harry nodded and took the red dragon. He packed it carefully in a box and then gift-wrapped it with a spell. He was getting better at tying bows and it barely looked lopsided. When he was finished, Harry handed Draco the box. Their fingers brushed for a moment and Harry felt himself blushing, which had to be a new record for the number of times his face had flamed in one evening.
Get a grip, Harry, he admonished himself.
“Different, how?” Draco asked quietly.
Harry blinked at him, aware that he was standing far too close. Draco had a soft, sexy look about him in the muted light of the workshop, with one of Harry’s handcrafted creations on his shoulder. It was slightly overwhelming. “What?” Harry asked.
“You said you wanted something different. Downstairs. What sort of different?”
Harry swallowed. Different than Ginny. Different than girls. Afraid the truth shone from his eyes, Harry looked away, unable to speak. To his surprise, Draco took a step forward and his voice pitched even lower.
“Harry?” he asked and the sound of his given name on Draco’s lips was nearly his undoing. Harry suddenly knew exactly what sort of different he wanted. He knew exactly who he wanted.
“I—“ he began.
“Harry!”
He jumped at the sound, which carried up the stairs and through the open door.
“Harry, where are you?” It was Ginny’s voice. Harry nearly groaned aloud. Of all the bloody times for her to arrive unannounced.
“Here!” he called and stepped away from Draco, trying to ignore the fact that it felt almost like a physical separation, like tearing a plaster from a wound. He avoided Draco’s gaze, afraid of what he might read there. Disappointment? Amusement? Disdain?
Harry walked into the hallway and heard Ginny trotting up the stairs.
“I should go,” Draco said. “Thank you for the dragons. Are you certain you will not accept payment?”
Harry shook his head and smiled. “Come on. I’ll walk you to the Floo.”
They met Ginny partway down the steps. She stopped short and stared at Draco suspiciously.
“Ginevra,” Draco said politely.
Her brows drew up. “Draco,” she said and it only sounded mildly scornful.
“I’ll be right back, if you want to wait for me in the workshop, Gin,” Harry said smoothly. “Draco is on his way out.”
“You bought dragons?” she asked in a surprised tone.
Draco made a noncommittal sound and continued down the stairs. Harry threw her an anxious grin. “Be right back,” he repeated.
He hurried after Draco. In the kitchen, Draco walked to the fireplace and picked up a handful of Floo Powder. He paused and turned to face Harry. “Thank you for dinner, Potter. And the dragons.”
Harry glanced at the doorway and stepped closer to Draco. He felt nearly paralyzed with nervousness, but he couldn’t bear to let him just leave after… Well, without knowing if he would see him again. Or whatnot.
“Thank you for coming. I had a lovely time,” Harry said. With that, he leaned in and placed a quick kiss on the side of Draco’s mouth. Or, that was his intention. Draco turned his face just enough to meet Harry’s lips full-on, and the peck turned into an actual kiss, held for the space of two heartbeats, before Harry pulled away with eyes wide and heart thumping.
“Goodnight,” Draco said and then turned and was gone in a flash of green flame.
“Well, that explains a few things,” Ginny said dryly from behind him.
Harry cleaned like a madman when he arrived home. Kreacher was relatively useless as a house-elf. Although he kept the kitchen tidy enough, the rest of the house had fallen to Harry to maintain, and he was not the most organized person. Quidditch magazines, books, miscellaneous mail and pamphlets were strewn over every flat surface, bits of clothing were draped over chair backs and sofa arms, and random socks seemed to be everywhere (which explained why he only had three pairs that still matched in his drawer).
Once the majority of the spaces Draco would be most likely to view (living room, kitchen, hallway) were clean, Harry next had to decide what to prepare for dinner. Draco was probably used to the finer things in life, although watching him stoop to eating Muggle fish and chips had been eye-opening. Still, Harry had not cooked anything fancy since a surprise birthday party for Hermione nearly two years previous.
He did not have time to cook a beef roast or a duck, so he settled on risotto and some sort of fish, which required a trip to the market for something freshly-caught. He decided on sea bass after a quick consultation with the fishmonger. After tossing his purchases in the cooling cupboard, he hurried upstairs to bathe and then figure out what to wear. After rejecting his seventh potential outfit, he realized he was far too anxious for this "not-date Quidditch-talk" and forced himself to relax. It was Draco Malfoy, for fuck's sake. Chances were good they would end up hexing each other before the night was out, so what he wore would scarcely be an issue.
In the end, he decided on a royal-blue shirt that Hermione had purchased for him and a pair of dark blue jeans. He fussed with his hair off and on for forty minutes, and in the end it looked exactly the same as it always did, so he gave up and hurried downstairs to begin meal preparation.
He knew nothing about wine, but several bottles resided on a dusty shelf. Kreacher watched him flounder before pointing out a proper bottle of white wine and helped Harry scrub a silver wine bucket and nestle the bottle inside for chilling.
The cauliflower and scallop risotto was set to simmering and the fish was ready to be steamed when the clock chimed eight. Harry tried not to pace nervously as he waited, but his relief was immense when the kitchen fireplace flared green and Draco's face appeared at 8:07.
"Potter?"
"Yes, come on through."
Draco stepped elegantly out of the flames and Harry was glad he had taken extra time with his wardrobe. Draco looked positively edible in dark grey trousers and a shirt that looked vaguely purplish. His hairstyle seemed softer than usual, falling over his forehead nearly to his eyes.
Draco held out a bottle of wine. "I brought this, even though I wasn't sure what you were preparing. It smells delicious."
Harry took it and glanced at the label. It was French, and could have been written in hieroglyph for all the sense it made to him. He smiled and wondered vaguely whether it was supposed to be chilled or served at room temperature. "Thank you. Um... it's actually almost ready, if you want to have a seat."
Kreacher popped up and rescued the wine from Harry's ineptitude. Harry busied himself giving the risotto one final stir while Draco sat down at the table. "Shall I pour the wine?" he asked.
"Please," Harry replied and sent the pea salad winging to the table with a flick of his wand. He heard liquid being poured into glasses behind him and took a deep breath as he carried the platter of fish over and placed it before Draco. Another spell brought the risotto to the table and Harry sat down across from Draco, who smiled.
"I am impressed, Potter. This looks extraordinary."
Harry mumbled his thanks and picked up his wine glass to hide behind, feeling his cheeks go pink.
They ate in silence, which was surprisingly comfortable at first, until Harry noticed himself watching Draco eat, marvelling at the precision of his movements and admiring the way the tines of his fork pushed into his fish. He began to think he was losing his mind.
"So, who do you fancy this year?" Draco asked.
Harry nearly dropped his fork and was thankful he had just swallowed and thereby avoided choking. "F... fancy?"
Draco smirked. "For the Quidditch World Cup. We are supposed to talk Quidditch, remember?"
"Quidditch. Yes! Well, I think the Tornadoes chances are quite good."
Draco rolled his eyes, countered with an impressive set of statistics and the argument began. Harry embraced it with a sense of relief that was nearly overwhelming. Familiar ground, at last.
"Hornsby couldn't fly his way to the goalposts with a bloody map and a Point Me Charm," Draco said scathingly sometime later as Harry stood up to clear away the dishes.
"He's better than Chalmers!"
Draco snorted. "He's fitter than Chalmers; are you looking at his skill or his arse?"
Harry gaped at him. "What are you implying?" he demanded.
Draco shrugged, not looking at him as he reached for the bottle, only to frown when he realized it was empty. "I'm implying that Hornsby has a great arse. Who do you think is the fittest Quidditch player?"
Harry spluttered, taken aback by the subject change, and flabbergasted that Draco had matter-of-factly proclaimed a male player to be fit. He scrambled to reply. "Um... Raquel Clarke."
"Hmmm."
Harry turned away and filled the sink with water. Cleaning Charms were faster, but he always felt the dishes were cleaner when washed with soap and water. He pushed up his sleeves. "What about you?" he asked casually.
"Cameron Shoemaker."
Harry's eyes widened and he was glad he was facing away from Draco. Several people had remarked on Harry's resemblance to Shoemaker. The bloke had amazing green eyes, a ready smile, and a thick head of black hair. Apparently his teammates often called him "Harry Potter" as a matter of course. Harry glared over his shoulder. "You're having me on."
"Why would I? You asked, and I answered."
His reply seemed matter-of-fact and though Harry tried to find sarcasm beneath the tone, it eluded him. He tugged a hand through his hair. "Um... I didn't know you..."
Draco looked him in the eye and finished, "Beat for the other team?"
Harry nodded and was glad when Kreacher chose to pop in at that moment with another bottle of wine. He gave it to Draco and then disappeared. Draco spelled the cork out.
"Both teams, actually," Draco said and poured, refilling both glasses with pale liquid. "I don't believe in limiting myself. What about you? Firmly in the hetero camp, then? You're still dating Weasley's sister, according to the papers. When do you plan to settle down and start mass-producing new gingers?"
"We broke up," Harry admitted.
Wine sloshed over the rim of the glass for a moment before Draco pulled the bottle away and set it aside. He raised one pale brow. "You broke up? How did I not hear the sound of hearts healing all over the wizarding world? I am surprised there is not a queue of hopefuls lined up outside. Do tell, Potter."
Harry glared at him before striding forward to snatch his glass. "There is nothing to tell. I just want... something different." Harry's eyes met Draco's and held. He hadn't meant for the last to sound suggestive, but his heart gave a strange lurch as tension seemed to explode through the space between them. Harry dropped his gaze and took a drink, feeling heat stealing through his veins that had little to do with the alcohol.
“Different,” Draco whispered.
Harry nodded and stepped away from the table. Even with the furniture between them, Draco suddenly seemed too close, too tantalising, and far too dangerous.
“Pudding?” Harry asked. “I have this tiramisu tart… thing. I picked it up at the market, so don’t expect me to take credit for baking.”
Draco chuckled. It was a nice sound. “All right.”
The dessert was good, not too sweet, and it went well with the additional glass of wine Harry drank while eating it. He tried not to watch Draco, whose expressions of bliss were a wonder to behold.
“Hey!” Harry offered when they were nearly finished. “Would you like to see something?”
“That’s a very ambiguous question, Potter.”
Unaccountably, Harry flushed. Draco’s tone hadn’t been teasing, had it? Harry wished he hadn’t consumed quite so much wine. He was obviously becoming befuddled. “It’s something I made, you wanker.”
“Oh.” Had Draco sounded disappointed? Harry mentally pinched himself. It had been a single word! He needed to stop projecting his own… wants…
Harry stood up abruptly. Draco looked startled.
“Yes, of course, I want to see whatever it is you’ve made, Potter,” he said quickly, as though Harry had changed his mind at his initial hesitation.
“It isn’t anything exciting, just… Well, come on.” Harry left the kitchen and took the stairs, managing not to take them two at a time as he usually did. Draco followed Harry to the third floor and the large bedroom that had been converted into Harry’s workshop. As Harry stepped inside he realized he should have tidied here, as well. Sawdust covered the floor (and most other surfaces) and paint splatters were everywhere. Several mugs, glasses, and plates were strewn over the workbench, some containing the dried remains of meals eaten in a distracted daze.
Draco seemed to notice none of it. His gaze was riveted on the shelves. The far wall contained a floor-to-ceiling shelving unit with one hundred and eight individual alcoves, nine across and twelve high. Only about twenty of the spaces were filled, but it was enough to catch Draco’s eye.
Draco strode forwards and reached out a hand, only to pause and look at Harry askance. Harry nodded, feeling strangely pleased, and smiled when Draco picked out a green one.
“It’s a dragon,” Draco said in wonder.
“Oh, good,” Harry replied. “I was afraid you would think it looked like a hippogriff or a thestral and tell me to take up a new hobby.”
“You made these?” Draco sounded awed and he actually clutched the wooden dragon close to his body as he surveyed the others. Harry felt a flash of real pride.
“Yes. Hermione dragged me to a Muggle crafting fair a couple of years ago and there was a man making birdhouses and miniature windmills… but he had this eagle that looked really realistic, with a sharp beak and open talons. I thought it was amazing. He also had a dragon, but it didn’t look right. I suppose it’s hard for Muggles, who have never seen a real dragon. Anyway, I rushed out and bought some books on woodcarving and started… Well, to be perfectly honest I started destroying a lot of perfectly good wood. It took me ages and I think I Vanished an entire forest worth of sawdust before I got the first one right.”
Harry glanced at the bookshelf on the opposite wall. Woodworking With a Wand. Alder to Yew: Know Your Wood. Magical Furnishing Secrets Revealed. Harder is Better: A Guide to Hardwoods.
Draco held the dragon at arm’s length and turned it this way and that. “It’s very nice.”
“Um. Hold on.” Harry pulled out his wand and cast a quick spell.
Draco nearly dropped the dragon as it flexed its wings and yawned. The dragon blinked at him sleepily and promptly wrapped its tail around Draco’s wrist. Draco drew in a breath. “It’s alive!”
Harry shook his head. “Not really. It’s just a spell, but I worked hard to animate them in a lifelike manner. I’ve been improving with each one.” He shrugged. “They are just toys. I sell them by mail-order. Under an assumed name, of course.” He flushed, realizing only at that moment how Draconis Enterprises would sound to Draco Malfoy. “I think Malachite likes you.”
“Malachite?” Draco asked.
Harry nodded. “I name them after whatever gemstones I use for their eyes. That one is Malachite. The stones fit well with his green scales.”
Draco peered more closely at the dragon, who flapped his wings and opened his mouth to emit a jet of green flame. Draco yelped and thrust his arms out, but the flames were illusary. Harry laughed.
“It’s a toy, Draco. I wouldn’t risk a child being hurt by real flame. It looks good, though, yeah?”
Draco snorted. “Very realistic, Potter. Thank you for the warning.” Harry noticed, however, that Draco did not put the dragon back on the shelf; instead he pulled the toy back in and smoothed over the green scales with his pale fingers. “Sorry, Malachite. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
The dragon began to purr and Draco shot Harry a surprised stare. Harry grinned. “I think he’s yours now.” Indeed, Harry had worked hard on the Bonding Charm. Whenever a dragon was first Activated, it bonded with the person holding it at the time.
“Mine?”
Harry’s smile faded. “I mean, unless you don’t want him. It. Whatever.”
Draco stared at him. “Of course I want him. How much do you normally charge?”
“What, payment? Oh no, he’s yours. I actually… Well, I sort of thought of you when I was making that one.” Harry blushed, because he tried to infuse personalities into his creations and he had made Malachite in the image of Draco, although at the time Harry had only been thinking “temperamental” and “prickly” and “a bit obnoxious”.
“You thought of me? When did you make him?”
“I don’t know. Four… five months ago?” Honestly, Harry didn’t know why he had thought of Draco at the time. Something about the Slytherin green colour of the paint he had used on the dragon had triggered his memories. And Draco loved to fly. “Toss it into the air,” Harry said.
Draco obediently lifted his arms and heaved. Malachite made a squawking sound, but unwrapped his tail from Malfoy’s wrist and leaped into the air, flapping his wings lazily. He flew in a slow circle around their heads and then fluttered to the top of the bookcase and let loose another jet of fire. Then he sat primly and wrapped his tail around himself.
“Come back now!” Draco called and waved to the dragon.
Malachite gave him a haughty look and turned his head to gaze out the window. Harry burst out laughing. “He really is like you.”
Draco threw him a petulant look, but Harry lifted his arm and called, “Malachite! Come here!”
The dragon paused for a moment and then turned and fluttered down from the bookcase to land on Harry’s arm. It breathed a jet of fire at Harry’s face and Harry frowned, glad he had made their flames harmless. “Stop that,” he admonished. “Draco only threw you because I told him to. Now, be nice.”
He handed the dragon back to Draco. It immediately climbed up Draco’s arm to his shoulder and then nuzzled the side of his face. Draco’s eyes widened. “It has claws.”
Harry nodded. “They kept flying around and trying to land on things, and then slipping off. I had to give them talons. But they aren’t very sharp!”
Draco stroked Malachite, who seemed to have forgiven him as he settled against Draco’s shoulder. “No, they’re fine.”
“Do you think…?” Harry glanced at the shelves full of dragons and then back at Draco. “Do you think Daisy would like one?”
He saw Draco draw in a sharp breath and then scowl. “She’s a Muggle, Potter.”
“I know that! I just… you wouldn’t have to activate it. I mean, you couldn’t. But it could stay on the shelf. She might like one, don’t you think?”
Draco looked at the dragons and frowned. They were all still, just a row of wooden toys without the triggering magic that gave them a semblance of life. “Which one?”
Harry stepped forward immediately and picked up a deep red dragon with gold-tipped horns and claws. A very fine dusting of gold shimmered over the scales. He was Harry’s favourite, but somehow he seemed quite suited to Daisy. “She seems like a Gryffindor,” Harry explained as he handed it to Draco.
Draco shook his head. “I wish I could argue, but you are correct. She is very brave. How do I keep it from coming alive accidentally?”
Harry took a small card from the shelf where the dragon had nestled. “The incantations are different for each dragon, and very precise. There is no way to accidentally activate one.”
Draco took the card. “Garnet?”
“I told you, I named them after the stones used for their eyes. It was easier than their colours, as I repeated some of those.” Harry gestured to the shelf where three other red dragons rested. The others were not as elaborate as Garnet, and none of them had gold accents.
“All right,” Draco said and tucked the card into a pocket. “Do you have a box?”
Harry nodded and took the red dragon. He packed it carefully in a box and then gift-wrapped it with a spell. He was getting better at tying bows and it barely looked lopsided. When he was finished, Harry handed Draco the box. Their fingers brushed for a moment and Harry felt himself blushing, which had to be a new record for the number of times his face had flamed in one evening.
Get a grip, Harry, he admonished himself.
“Different, how?” Draco asked quietly.
Harry blinked at him, aware that he was standing far too close. Draco had a soft, sexy look about him in the muted light of the workshop, with one of Harry’s handcrafted creations on his shoulder. It was slightly overwhelming. “What?” Harry asked.
“You said you wanted something different. Downstairs. What sort of different?”
Harry swallowed. Different than Ginny. Different than girls. Afraid the truth shone from his eyes, Harry looked away, unable to speak. To his surprise, Draco took a step forward and his voice pitched even lower.
“Harry?” he asked and the sound of his given name on Draco’s lips was nearly his undoing. Harry suddenly knew exactly what sort of different he wanted. He knew exactly who he wanted.
“I—“ he began.
“Harry!”
He jumped at the sound, which carried up the stairs and through the open door.
“Harry, where are you?” It was Ginny’s voice. Harry nearly groaned aloud. Of all the bloody times for her to arrive unannounced.
“Here!” he called and stepped away from Draco, trying to ignore the fact that it felt almost like a physical separation, like tearing a plaster from a wound. He avoided Draco’s gaze, afraid of what he might read there. Disappointment? Amusement? Disdain?
Harry walked into the hallway and heard Ginny trotting up the stairs.
“I should go,” Draco said. “Thank you for the dragons. Are you certain you will not accept payment?”
Harry shook his head and smiled. “Come on. I’ll walk you to the Floo.”
They met Ginny partway down the steps. She stopped short and stared at Draco suspiciously.
“Ginevra,” Draco said politely.
Her brows drew up. “Draco,” she said and it only sounded mildly scornful.
“I’ll be right back, if you want to wait for me in the workshop, Gin,” Harry said smoothly. “Draco is on his way out.”
“You bought dragons?” she asked in a surprised tone.
Draco made a noncommittal sound and continued down the stairs. Harry threw her an anxious grin. “Be right back,” he repeated.
He hurried after Draco. In the kitchen, Draco walked to the fireplace and picked up a handful of Floo Powder. He paused and turned to face Harry. “Thank you for dinner, Potter. And the dragons.”
Harry glanced at the doorway and stepped closer to Draco. He felt nearly paralyzed with nervousness, but he couldn’t bear to let him just leave after… Well, without knowing if he would see him again. Or whatnot.
“Thank you for coming. I had a lovely time,” Harry said. With that, he leaned in and placed a quick kiss on the side of Draco’s mouth. Or, that was his intention. Draco turned his face just enough to meet Harry’s lips full-on, and the peck turned into an actual kiss, held for the space of two heartbeats, before Harry pulled away with eyes wide and heart thumping.
“Goodnight,” Draco said and then turned and was gone in a flash of green flame.
“Well, that explains a few things,” Ginny said dryly from behind him.