Vagary

{Six}

The wards shivered at the lack of people in Grimmauld Place, but the clamor in the kitchen from Kreacher cleaning up supper made it still feel very full.

The warmth coming from Malfoy's hand on Harry's lower back didn't help the stuffy feeling though.

"Malfoy-" he let it slip before he could control it, trying to get him to stop touching him and also in an attempt to start the dreaded conversation, to break his heart.

"Potter," he sighed, looking off, "It's Potter or Draco, just pick one, Harry."

"I'm sorry, really, but you've got to listen-"

"It doesn't matter," Draco said, brushing off the whole thing and putting some space between them, "I imagine you talked to Hermione about going home... that she figured it out? I just need this nightmare to be over. I've been trying so hard with you, and tonight was nice, formidable even, but this really makes me miss how easy already having you was, or him. Whatever."

This wasn't the time for this conversation, as much as he felt he needed to have it now. It would be cruel, maybe as cruel as waiting, but if they did this now, Draco's marriage would end sooner than he would like. Tomorrow at least, Harry could decide if Malfoy deserved even a chance.

"Can we talk about all this tomorrow? It's been the longest day of my life, and trust me... I've seen a lot."

Draco sighed, fed-up though trying not to be.

"Tomorrow, sure. I might feel better after some sleep. Where... fuck, Harry, where do you usually sleep? Assuming you even live here in your world..."

"Second floor."

"Right. I'll see you in the morning then. I'll send Kreacher with some clothes for you."

He apparated on the spot and left Harry all on his own, feeling even more guilty as he crashed into the couch, not wanting to see his own room empty and set up for a guest.

Kreacher popped in and out with an offending toss of his clothes. He saw where his elf's loyalties lay, though he probably only assumed he and Mafloy were pissed at one another.

Trudging up the stairs, too afraid he might splinch himself, Harry changed and went to bed, unable to cry but unable to rest peacefully either.

The heavy footsteps from the fourth floor were probably in his head, but he understood them regardless.

The next morning was daunting. It came all too soon, no matter how many times he would roll over and try to grab another hour of sleep it would only be minutes at a time. Finally at nine on that bleary Saturday morning, Harry dragged himself up.

Draco was already downstairs with breakfast when he went down, Harry wearing clothes that he stole from the closet on the fourth floor after invading their room. It felt like an invasion, despite the fact that this was going to be his permanent residence. Now only to tell the prim and proper blonde sitting at his dining room table.

"Morning, Hare."

"Morning, Draco."

He looked up briefly, as though his husband had returned to him. It didn't help Harry as he sat across from him, feeling more nervous than the time he faced the Hungarian Horntail in the tri-wizard tournament. This was the same thing really.

"Can we have that talk now?" He started delicately, not in the least bit hungry as Draco took a bite of a perfectly cooked egg.

"We ought to."

Gripping his wand below the table, Harry spoke evenly.
"Hermione and I were talking last night about the unchanged changes to us, and how things like this happen. Time is delicate, she knows better than anyone having taken extra classes in our third year using a time-turner. She's brilliant, but even I came to the conclusion last night that... well, our minds won't be able to go back."