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“Sorry I’m late, Robards wanted those reports done tonight! Are you ready to leave? Molly’s expecting us any minute!” Harry hurried across Draco’s flat— taking in the sparkling floors and the sterilized feel to the air— and began to walk a bit faster. He found Draco was lying on his back in the middle of his pristine bed, freshly washed sheets and all, staring blankly at the ceiling.
Harry gingerly stepped through the doorway, and stopped, watching Draco carefully, gently leaning in the door frame. He was in one of those moods. The one where he’s finally given up on fretting and has taken to funneling his nervous energy into obsessively cleaning everything the muggle way (within reason, of course, as this is still Malfoy). Harry’s learned the hard way to approach cautiously— Draco’s reactions tend to sway towards slightly volatile when he’s nervous.
*
Draco doesn’t acknowledge Harry, doesn’t actually notice him, really, as caught up as he is in his inner turmoil.
What am I getting myself into, going to the Weasley’s house for Friday night dinner? Former-Granger will talk me to death with her know-it-all attitude, but not before the holey one and his younger brother kick me out on my arse. At least the mother know’s I’m coming. She’ll hear Harry out before I’m forced to leave. He deserves that much. But what if Ron convinces Harry to leave me? What if he reminds him of everything that happened at school and Harry’s the one that kicks me out? What if…
“Draco?”
Draco sits up abruptly, staring at Harry. When did he get here? How long have I been lying here?
“Draco?” Harry repeats. “Are you okay?”
“What kind of question is that?” Draco pouts, before falling back on the bed. “Can I get a raincheck for tonight? Can’t we just wait till next month?”
“Draco, we talked about this. It’s already bad enough we’ve been dating for 4 months and I haven’t told my friends. They’re beginning to think I’ve gone mental.”
Draco rolls his eyes, “You’re definitely mental. Nothing to worry about there.”
“Draco.”
“I’m not going.”
“Draco.”
“You can’t make me!”
“Draco…”
There he goes again, looking like someone just went and kicked his puppy. “Fine. But I’m bringing your Cloak.”
Harry rolls his eyes, “No.”
“Then I’m wearing my Slytherin scarf.”
And that makes Harry smile fondly, the prat. “Fine.”
They finally apparate to the Weasley’s front lawn 20 minutes later, which, Harry supposes, is rather fast considering Draco wasn’t dressed to leave when he arrived.
Harry carefully treks up to the front door, hand resting against the small of Draco’s backside, making sure that Draco doesn’t give up before they make it inside. He knocks seriously, taking Draco’s hand and squeezing for a moment before letting go. “We’ll be okay,” he whispers, “Just be yourself.”
“Harry! Draco! Welcome, welcome. Please, come inside dears! It’s much too cold to stay outside too long.” Molly bustled forward, grabbing Harry in an almost-too-tight hug and kissing him on the cheek, before moving to do the same to Draco— much to his astonishment, and Harry’s amusement. “Dinner’s nearly ready boys. Draco, why don’t you help me in the kitchen? Harry dear, everyone else seems to have gathered in the living room.”
Harry shot Draco a sympathetic look, to which Draco replied with a cautious smile. He’ll be alright. Molly seems to have taken the news well, at least.
*
Draco was terrified, to say the least. Molly seems to have taken pity on him, though she might be faking it for Harry’s sake. He’ll take what he can get though— especially when he’s in the Weasley’s house.
“Draco, would you mind tossing that salad over there by hand? Magic always makes a mess when tossing salad, you can save food if you do it yourself.”
“Yes ma’am, Mrs. Weasley.” Draco says cautiously.
“Don’t call me that, dearie. Call me Molly. After all, it seems as though you’ll be joining the family soon.” She winks at him then, and Draco turns away towards the salad— face coloring.
They work in companionable silence for a several minutes, with just the sound of the fireplace for the ambience noise. Soon enough, though, Molly finally sighs and turns to face him.
“Do you love him?”
“I’m sorry?” He starts, turning to face her.
“Do you love Harry?” She repeats, eyes going soft. “I know he loves you. For the past few months he’s been full of bright smiles and cheery hellos, and I never would have believed he fell for a Malfoy, of all people. But the look in his eyes when he called on the Floo yesterday…”
“Yes,” Malfoy interrupts. “I mean, we’ve never said as much, but yes— yes I do.”
“Then that’s all I needed to know.” She smiles warmly then, a mischievous sparkle in her eye. “Why don’t you run along and join Harry in the living room? I think I’m just about done in here. You can let everyone else know.”
Harry anxiously walks into the living room, not wanting to leave Draco, but wanting to follow Molly’s lead and warn his friends before Draco appears.
“Hey Harry! Glad you could make it,” Hermione says, standing up from her place beside Ron to hug him.
“Well it just wouldn’t be right to miss Molly’s cooking, now would it?” Harry jokes, embracing Hermione while everyone chuckles.
“We were just talking about you, mate,” Ron stands up to greet Harry as well. “Wondering wether or not you’d be gracing us with your presence tonight, seeing as you couldn’t make it last month.”
Harry grimaces, thinking back to last month, when he and Draco decided to go on a spontaneous trip to the seaside, where they set up a muggle camp— with a little magical assistance, of course.
“Yeah well something came up and…” Harry starts.
“And we’re glad you made it this time,” Hermione finishes, shooting Ron a look before she pulls him back to their spot.
Harry just shrugs, looking around the room, at his family, and smiles. George is sitting in an armchair, with Angelina on the floor, leaning against his legs. To his left, on the couch, is Charlie, Percy, Bill, and Arthur. Across from them in the love seat is Ron and Hermione, with Hermione’s legs tucked in beside her. Ginny and Fleur are in the middle, playing with baby Victoire.
“Well, I’ve got an announcement to make,” Harry begins, but, of course, nobody’s going to let him finish.
“Oh are you finally going to reveal the name of your mystery man, Harry?” Angelina croons, smirking.
“Yeah, mate! We’ve been waiting for ages, and all we’ve gotten so far is that he’s a bloke!” George cries.
“And that it’s not Malfoy,” Ginny adds, albeit unhelpfully.
“Well… About that…” Harry scratches his head, looking around for an escape.
“What, Harry?” Hermione said, leaning forward, “Don’t tell us you’ve gone and started dating Malfoy, of all people!”
“Well, you see…” Harry starts again, only to be interrupted by a hand on his shoulder. Harry turns his head, meeting Malfoy’s stoic gaze with a sympathetic one of his own.
The room falls silent, various expressions falling across everyone’s face. Arthur looks somewhat amused (it figures, though, couple’s telepathy and all that). Bill, Percy, Charlie, and George all wear scarily similar faces of abject horror, while Angelina and Fleur stare at each other, disbelief clear on their faces. Ginny just looks— torn, between anger and shock, while Hermione stares speculatively and Ron— Ron looks oddly…
Smug.
“Bloody finally!!” Ron exclaims, loudly, and the entire focus of the room shifts to him. “What? Didn’t you all see this coming?”
“No…” Hermione mutters, utterly confused. “And why would we have seen this coming? Ron, what is it you’re not telling us?”
“Well I guess you lot wouldn’t get it, seeing as though you don’t work with Harry and me up in the Auror offices, but, you see, we see Malfoy up there more often than you’d think. You’d be surprised how many times we have to consult with a potions master while working a case, and Malfoy is the closest thing we’ve got these days. Anyhow, about 5 months ago or so, Harry and I were roped in on an illegal potions case gone South. And the group we were pursuing had such a poorly organized stash, so we had to call in an expert to help us sort ‘em all out. So, naturally, Robards goes ahead and calls in Malfoy, since the man always did have a weird since of humor. Now, since that day, I could’ve swore I was seeing things, the way Harry and Malfoy just kept giving each other these looks, and it’s gotten so bad that even I was resigned to the fact my best mate was dating a bloody Malfoy behind my back.” Ron paused then, giving Harry a half-hearted glare, to which Harry responded with a helpless shrug.
“But, I’ve had to notice, too, that I’ve never seen my mate happier than he has been with that ferret.”